Lines 1-14 Summary
Lines 1-5
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forced fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
- Laurels?
Myrtles? Say what now? The speaker of "Lycidas" opens his
lengthy poem by talking to some flowers. Yep, flowers. He tells them he is
again coming to pick their berries and trim their leaves.
- The
laurel is a small evergreen tree, and it's one of those plants that means something in
literature. In fact, it's associated with poetry, and with a god named
Apollo, who was often depicted wearing a laurel wreath on his head. Why?
Well, it's all goes back to the story of Apollo and
Daphne,
so make sure you brush up on your Ancient romances.
- A
myrtle is yet another kind of tree. "Sere" means "dry"
or "withered," so we're thinking it's probably evergreen, too,
if the myrtles are "never sere."
- Oh,
and "rude" doesn't mean impolite here, but rather
"harsh" or "violent." And "mellowing"
doesn't mean calming down; it means "maturing." So the speaker
is violently picking the flowers and berries off these trees before they
have ripened; in other words, too early.
- Okay,
now that we have that out of the way, let's take a closer look at these
lines:
- First
things first: our speaker doesn't seem too happy, now does he? What is his
big beef with these trees? They never did anything to hurt him.
- And
speaking of those trees, what's with all the natural imagery going on
here?
- Let's
talk rhyme.
Did you notice any? We've got the pairing of "sere" and
"year," plus "crude" and "rude." We might
have a rhyming pattern going on, but we'll have to read more of the poem
to see if we can figure it out.
- And
while we're on the subject of form, we'll go ahead and mention that each
of these lines (except for line 3) appears to be in a little something we
like to call iambic
pentameter. For more on this, check out our "Form and Meter" section.
- Finally,
it's also worth noting that the speaker is using a little something we
like to call apostrophe here. No, we're
not talking punctuation. We're talking about the fact that our speaker is
speaking to objects that can't speak back – trees.
Lines 6-9
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
- Oh,
now we get
it. Our speaker's beef with trees is all because of some "sad
occasion." Although, now that Shmoop thinks about it, that doesn't
tell us much, because we still have no idea what this sad occasion is.
- Patience,
dear Shmoopers. Line 8 tells us that the "sad occasion" is the
death of some guy named Lycidas before ("ere") his
"prime" or peak, and that's what is compelling him to pick the
berries before their time.
- Wait
a minute, why would a death be a "dear" occasion? Well, because
"dear" in this instance means "hard," "grievous,"
or "burdensome." So the occasion is sad, and also really tough.
Sounds about right.
- "Peer"
means something similar to what it means nowadays, as in a fellow or
equal. According to these lines, Lycidas has died, and he hasn't left us
with anybody as good as he was.
- Awesome.
We totally get it, right? This guy Lycidas has died before his time and
that is what's making the speaker pick the berries before they're ripe,
right?
- Hold
your horses. Does that even make sense? Well, it sort of does in an
elaborately poetic kind of way. He is picking the berries before their
prime because Lycidas died before his; it's a metaphor for the
death of a young man "ere his prime."
- Of
course we know by now (thanks to our handy "In a Nutshell" section)
that Lycidas is a stand-in for Milton's dear friend Edward King, who was
also a poet, and who also died before his time; the poor guy drowned at
sea. Make sure you keep these tidbits in mind as you read through the rest
of the poem.
- One
more thing before we move on to the next few lines: rhyme. Yep, we've
still got some of that going on with "dear" and
"peer." Plus, "due" sounds a bit like "rude"
and "crude" from the first couple lines. We call an almost rhyme
like this slant
rhyme.
Lines 10-11
Who would not sing for Lycidas? He knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
- Abandoning
the trees for now, the speaker asks us a rhetorical question, as if to say,
how could he not write
a poem for Lycidas? After all, Lycidas was also a poet, and a pretty good
one at that (he built "the lofty rhyme").
- Singing
in English verse is often synonymous with poetry (remember Apollo?), so
the speaker is essentially saying that it is impossible not to write a poem
about Lycidas, who wasn't just a poet, but one who wrote in a lofty style.
- And
of course, we've got some rhyme going on here, too. "Knew"
rhymes with the "due" at the end of line 7, and
"rhyme" takes us back to "prime" in line 8. We're
having a tough time spotting an actual pattern or rhyme scheme, though.
While there is definitely rhyme going on, it doesn't seem to be following
any rules we know about. As you read through the poem, keep your eye out
for more rhymes, and see if you can't spot a pattern Shmoop can't.
Lines 12-14
He must not float upon his watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
- First,
we're going to go ahead and give you the scoop on some of these more
obscure words, then we can tackle the meaning of these lines:
"bier" is another word for tomb; "welter" is being
used as a verb, here, and it means tossed or tumbled; "meed"
means a fitting reward or accompaniment.
- Phew.
Now that we have that out of the way, we can get down to business.
- According
to our speaker, Lycidas must be mourned with the fitting reward of the
tears of his friends. And we're not just talking about the saltwater that
gushes out of our eyes when we're sad. We're talking poetry, or "some
melodious tear."
- Basically,
Lycidas should not remain "unwept" or unmourned while floating
in the ocean (his "watery" tomb), where he might get tossed
around by the wind.
- Of
course the ocean is not actually a tomb, so we might consider Milton's use
of the word "bier" as a metaphor. Add to that the
metaphor of the "melodious tear," which represents poetry, and
we've got some major comparing going on.
Lines 15-36 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 15-17
Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring,
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring,
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
- Sisters?
No, not these sisters. Here, our
speaker is calling on the Nine muses, who were Ancient mythical women
thought to inspire poetry.
- As
it turns out, the ancient Greek word mousa
means "poem" or "song" as well as muse.
- This
"sacred well" to which these sisters belong refers to either Aganippe or Hippocrene, two springs
that, in Greek mythology, were thought to be the dwelling places of the
muses on Mount
Helicon.
- Here,
the speaker is asking the muses for help in writing his poem for his
friend Lycidas. He needs some inspiration, pronto, so he is hoping the
muses will "sweep the string," which is a poetic way of saying,
"play music."
- This
appeal to the muses (called the invocation) is a frequent feature of
western poetry, from Homer through the
19th century. No one likes writer's block.
- In
these lines, the poet strays squarely into the world of myth. Our speaker
is asking the muses for help, which means we're in a world of imagination
and inspiration. We have left the poet's Cambridge home behind.
Lines 18-22
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse,
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destined urn,
And as he passes turn
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.
So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destined urn,
And as he passes turn
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.
- More
muse-invoking here. Essentially, our speaker is hoping that a "gentle
Muse" will help him write. Only, instead of asking for help writing a
poem about his friend Lycidas, our speaker is hoping that one day, when he
dies, someone will do the same for him.
- Let's
break it down. The phrase "hence with denial vain, and coy
excuse" is a tough one, that's for sure. The speaker seems to be
saying something like, "All right, quit being a baby. No more denial
and excuses – it's time for me to get cracking on the poem."
- An
"urn" is a vase that contains a person's ashes, but the speaker
is probably just using it here as a metaphor
for a grave or tomb. And a "shroud" is a sheet (usually white)
in which a corpse is wrapped. A "sable shroud," however is a
black one. This image
gives the line a more melancholy, ominous tone.
- These
last two lines are tricky, but our speaker seems to be saying,
"Hopefully some future poet, when he passes by my grave or tomb, will
say 'peace be with you' or 'rest in peace.'" Maybe this poem will
help ensure that that happens.
Lines 23-24
For we were nursed upon the selfsame hill,
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
- Looks
like the speaker and this Lycidas fellow were childhood friends.
- "Nursed
upon the selfsame hill" is a poetic way of saying that the two of
them grew up in the same countryside, and tended the same flock of sheep.
These two were buddies from the start. By the way, a "rill" is a
small stream or rivulet. Next time you're on a hike, you can impress your
friends by dropping that vocab on them. Or maybe not.
Lines 25-27
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared
Under the opening eye-lids of the morn,
We drove a-field […]
Under the opening eye-lids of the morn,
We drove a-field […]
- More
of the same going on here. The speaker continues to describe his past with
Lycidas, saying that they both used to get up before the sun rose to take
their sheep out to the fields.
- "High
lawns" here refers to open spaces between woods, not suburban front
yards. There are no kids running through sprinklers here.
- Of
course these lawns don't appear magically; they just seem to when the sun
comes up – when the "morn" opens its eyes. Everything is dark,
and suddenly, when the sun comes up, a whole world appears. That's a nice
thought, huh?
- Oh,
and "drove" refers to the act of driving or moving sheep.
Lines 27-31
[…] and both together heard
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the star that rose, at evening, bright,
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel.
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the star that rose, at evening, bright,
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel.
- Word
alert! There's all kinds a crazy vocab being tossed around in these lines.
Lucky for you, Shmoop loves to play dictionary: a "gray-fly"
probably refers to any number of insects. Just imagine your standard bug;
"sultry" does not mean attractive and alluring the way it does
today. Nope, it just means hot and toilsome.
- Remember
from the last couple lines that the speaker and his best bud Lycidas would
be out before the dawn shepherding their flock. Well, when that morning
comes, they hear the sound of this insect, the gray-fly, which indicates
the sun is up, and hot.
- Apparently,
they spend all day out there, "battening" or fattening their
flocks on the dew that has accumulated overnight, until "the star
that rose, at evening, bright" starts to set, or slope "his
westering wheel."
- This
star our speaker is talking about is probably not a star at all, but the
planet Venus, which many folks in the way back days called the evening
star. In other words, they used to hear the "gray-fly" for quite
some time (even after the evening star had risen and started to descend).
- What's
the takeaway point here? We're glad you asked. What these lines tell us is
that Lycidas and our speaker were pretty inseparable. After all, they
would spend all day together (and even some of the night), tending to
their flock.
Lines 32-36
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,
Tempered to the oaten flute;
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long.
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
Tempered to the oaten flute;
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long.
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.
- The
speaker tells us that he and Lycidas would compose songs or poems
("ditties") to the tune of an "oaten flute" (a pipe
made from the stem of an oat). Sounds like good times out on the lawn.
- Various
mythological creatures, like satyrs and fauns danced along to
their tunes; they couldn't resist, not even Damoetas.
- For
all you pastoral poetry experts out there (anyone?), the name Damoetas
just might sound familiar. It's a name often used in pastoral poetry for a
shepherd, and Virgil, whose work inspired Milton, used it in his Eclogues.
- "Tempered"
means "in harmony with" or "attuned to." "Rural
ditties" might be a reference to the type of pastoral poetry found in
"Lycidas."
- If
we had any doubt before, the mention of satyrs and fauns seals the deal:
we have entered into a dreamy, mythological world, one that is very
different from Milton's real England.
Lines 37-49 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 37-38
But O! the heavy change now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return!
Now thou art gone and never must return!
- All
right, pal, the time for daydreaming is over.
- He
has undergone a "heavy change" because Lycidas has passed away.
No more frolicking on the lawn, no more boogieing with the satyrs. It's
time to face a very different kind of music.
- Note
the repetition of "now thou art gone." Our speaker can't seem to
get over the loss of his friend. He even tops it off with an exclamation
mark. Now that's some serious business.
Lines 39-41
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert
caves,
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
And all their echoes mourn.
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
And all their echoes mourn.
- Another
apostrophe.
Here, our speaker talks to Lycidas directly. The problem is, the dude is
dead, so he's not actually around to hear our speaker.
- In
talking to Lycidas, he tells him just how much his death has affected the
natural world.
- Even
the caves (which are overgrown with "wild thyme" and
"gadding vine") and the woods mourn his death.
"Gadding" means "wandering" or "roving."
- You
may have noticed that the structure of these lines is a wee bit tricky.
The verb ("mourn") comes in the last line, but its object
("thee," referring to the shepherd Lycidas) is in the first. In
between the object and its verb comes the description of the caves
("o'ergrown" with "wild thyme" etc.).
- These
lines are also an example of personification. The speaker is giving non-human
things, like caves and woods, human qualities – in this case, emotions.
Lines 42-44
The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
- It's
not just the caves and woods that are bummed out about Lycidas' death. The
willows and the hazel trees are down in the dumps, too.
- How
do we know those trees are sad? Well, they aren't shaking their tail
feathers… oops, we mean "leaves" to the rhythms of Lycidas'
righteous tunes, or "lays."
- A
"lay" is a short poem or narrative meant to be sung; usually, it
is a synonym for poetry.
Lines 45-49
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.
- Yikes.
We've got a very complex sentence here. Basically, we can think of these
lines as a bunch of similes
strung together.
- Something
is "as killing as the canker to the rose." A canker is a disease
that infests rose plants. Uh oh.
- That
same something is like a "taint-worm to the weanling herds." A
"taint-worm" is an intestinal worm that kills young (or
"weanling") calves. Pause for "ew"s.
- And
finally, that same something is as deadly as frost is to blooming (as in,
wearing their "gay wardrobe") flowers.
- What's
that something? Lycidas' death. Just in case you were still in the dark:
Lycidas' death was very very bad to our speaker. Very bad.
- This
sequence of lines is a simile, except instead of saying "Lycidas'
death was like…" the speaker inverts the order.
Lines 50-63 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Line 50-51
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless
deep
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas?
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas?
- The
speaker wonders where the nymphs who supposedly
love Lycidas were when he drowned in the ocean, which he calls "the
remorseless deep."
- He's
addressing these nymphs directly, as though he wants to call them out. He
is none too pleased with their behavior. Not cool, nymphs.
Lines 52-55
For neither were ye playing on the steep
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
- The
speaker says the nymphs weren't at any of their normal hangouts when
Lycidas was drowning.
- What
are those normal hangouts? Well, they should have been on the
"steep," which refers to a pinnacle or mountain. The phrase
"old bards, the famous Druids, lie" tells us that this mountain
just might be located on an island called Bardsey, off the north
coast of Wales. In Milton's time, it was rumored that 20,000 saints were
buried there.
- Druids
were priests in the pre-Roman Celtic cultures of Ireland, Wales, England,
etc. We don't know much about them, and neither did Milton, but they have
become the stuff of legend. In some traditions, they were viewed as
priests of Apollo, which explains why Milton relates them to the nymphs.
- And
these nymphs weren't on the "shaggy top of Mona" either. No,
he's not talking about a bad haircut on a girl. In this case, Mona
probably refers to the Isle of Anglesey, an island off
the northwest coast of Wales. It was thought to have been inhabited by
druids at one point, too.
- Lastly,
the nymphs weren't near the Deva, either. Deva refers to the Dee, a river
that runs through Wales and England, and partly marks the border between
them. "Wizard" here means enchanted or magical. Sounds like
quite the river.
Lines 56-57
Ay me, I fondly dream!
Had ye been there, for what could that have done?
Had ye been there, for what could that have done?
- This
speaker has a habit of being lost in daydreams, only to shake himself out
of them when he remembers the cruel fact of Lycidas' death. His use of the
exclamation shocks us out of our reverie, too.
- After
calling out the nymphs for not being where a jolly old Englishman might
usually find them, the speaker realizes he shouldn't blame the nymphs;
that's just fantasizing ("I fondly dream").
- He
seems to think that they wouldn't have been able to do anything even if
they had been there, a point he makes by asking another rhetorical question.
Lines 58-63
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus
bore,
The Muse herself for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
The Muse herself for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
- As
evidence that the nymphs couldn't have prevented Lycidas' death, the
speaker alludes to the story of Orpheus, a poet in
Greek mythology whose mother (the Muse Calliope) wasn't able to
save him from being dismembered and washed downstream by the "rout
that made the hideous roar."
- These
lines are tough, but here's a way you might paraphrase them: "what
could the muse that mothered Orpheus, [what could] the muse herself [do]
for her son whom nature mourned, when his head was sent down the river
Hebrus by a group of hooligans who had it out for him?"
- Who
were those hooligans? Well, it might help to know some background on this
Orpheus dude. For more info, check out Shmoop's page on Orpheus and
Eurydice.
- Hebrus
is the Ancient Greek name for a river that runs through modern-day
Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey. And "Lesbian shore" refers to the
island of Lesbos, off the coast
of Greece.
- That's
a pretty long, complicated allusion. But really, all the speaker is saying
here is that if even Calliope couldn't save her own son, why should he
expect the Muses to have saved Lycidas? Maybe he should cut them some
slack.
Lines 64-76 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 64-66
Alas! what boots it with uncessant care
To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse
To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse
- We've
got another exclamation to open these lines. Our speaker is all kinds of
unhappy.
- Shmooptionary
to the rescue: "Boots" here is a verb, meaning something like to
profit, or to gain. And "uncessant" is just an older spelling of
incessant, or without stopping.
- Essentially,
in these lines, the speaker is wondering what he would gain by continuing
to live like a shepherd (without good old Lycidas by his side), and
dwelling, or "strictly meditat[ing]" on the fact that the Muse
does not seem interested in helping him out (in other words, she is
"thankless").
- We
can't help but thinking that he probably doesn't have much to gain at all,
the poor guy.
- You
know what's interesting here? Earlier, when the speaker was describing the
shepherd's life, it sounded pretty awesome, right? He and Lycidas
frolicked with the fauns and salsaed with the satyrs. But now that life
seems not-so-great; in fact, it's "homely" and "slighted"
(or ugly, and ignored). What's the point anymore?
Lines 67-69
Were it not better done as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?
- In
other words: Wouldn't it be better to "sport with Amaryllis" and
the "tangles of Neaera's hair" like everyone else ("better
done as others use") than think about the muse and live the difficult
life of a shepherd?
- Okay,
now we understand the question, but do we actually know what he's asking?
It might help to get a little background:
- Amaryllis
is a shepherdess who appears in the work of several ancient pastoral
poets, most notably Virgil (in the Eclogues) and Theocritus
(in the Idylls).
- Neaera
is another nymph who pops up in pastoral poetry; she appears in Virgil's Eclogues and the work
of several later poets. The "tangles" of her hair are always
mentioned. May we recommend conditioner?
- Here,
the speaker builds on the idea he introduced in the previous lines: He
might have a better time of it if he ditched the shepherd life and took up
with some nymphs. Maybe then he could get over the loss of his buddy.
Lines 70-72
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth
raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days;
- For
the past few lines, the speaker has been asking the age-old question: Why
bother?
- Now,
he gives us the answer. The speaker is saying that the only we reason we
"scorn delights" (like hanging out with Amaryllis and Neaera)
and live a life of labor is because the prospect of fame
"spur[s]" us on.
- Milton
has always been a fan of strange syntax, and these lines are no exception.
When you read "Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth
raise," it sounds like the clear spirit is raising the spur of fame,
right? Wrong.
It actually means that the spur of fame raises the clear spirit. Funky,
huh?
- Basically,
he is using a metaphor
to say that fame prods the spirit to action, much like a spur prods a
horse to move.
- Awesome.
We have that part down. Now what's this "last infirmity of noble
mind" all about? Well, that phrase modifies fame, which means that
fame is something that makes a noble mind sick.
- If
you think about it, that makes perfect sense. If noble people get caught
up in trying to be famous, they probably will ignore fun things and focus
too hard on their work.
- Wait,
but people become famous now for all kinds of "delights." And
many famous people have barely done any work at all.
- True,
but in Milton's day, you became famous through your work. Milton wanted to
be a very famous poet, so he probably scorned a fair number of delights in
his day, and focused only on toiling away at the pen.
- Again,
he is continuing the idea he started a few lines ago: shepherding is no
longer the fun it used to be, when Lycidas was around. Now it sounds like
tough work.
Lines 73-76
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life. […]
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life. […]
- This
fame thing is pretty fickle. In fact, it's downright elusive. The speaker
continues talking about the elusiveness of fame: When we think we've
finally found it, or that our time has come ("and think to burst out
into sudden blaze"), Fate comes and kills us.
- A
"guerdon" is a reward, which means that fame is presented as a
reward. The problem is, just when we think we have found that guerdon,
"blind Fury," or fate, comes to take it away.
- How
does fate rob us of fame? With its "shears" that can easily cut
through the flimsy, or "thin-spun" material that is human life.
- In
other words, just when Lycidas was about to "burst out in a sudden
blaze" (now there's an image)
of fame, fate intervened and killed him. Tough break.
- This
"blind Fury," by the way, is yet another classical allusion
to Greek mythology. The Fates, of which this Fury in an example, were
three female figures who were in charge of determining how long a person
would live. The specific Fury, or Fate that our speaker is referring to
here is probably Atropos, who was the
one in charge of cutting the "thread" with "abhorred
shears," which ended a person's life.
Lines 76-84 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 76-77
[…] But not the praise,
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears;
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears;
- Enter
Apollo, the Greek god of the sun, music, and poetry, among all kinds of
other things (the Greek gods were major multitaskers). In these lines,
he's called by his Roman name, Phoebus.
- Phoebus
tells the speaker that while the "blind Fury" does destroy human
life, she doesn't destroy all the praise we get for our achievements
(especially the poetic ones, right?).
- He
says this while touching the speaker on the ears. What's up with that, you
ask? Well, it's an allusion to Virgil's Eclogues,
in which the speaker's ears are touched as well. It's a form of
admonishment, or scolding. Essentially, Phoebus is telling our hotheaded
speaker to cool his jets.
Lines 78-80
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistening foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies,
Nor in the glistening foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies,
- Phoebus
describes Fame as something that cannot be found in this mortal world
("soil"), and especially not in one's reputation or
"rumour."
- Wait.
What? Essentially, Phoebus is telling our guy that fame isn't about how
many people on earth know and respect you.
- "Foil"
here refers to a piece of silver or gold placed under a precious stone to
enhance its luster (presumably for display purposes). In this sense, a
foil creates an illusion, the same way that looking for fame on earth
does.
- We
might think of these lines as a kind of negative metaphor. Fame is
not a
plant, and it's not
a foil. Awesome. Wait. What is it, then?
Lines 81-84
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure
eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
- Phoebus
tells the speaker that fame actually "lives" and grows, or
"spreads" aloft as a result of Jove's decisions. Jove has the final
word, as he "pronounces lastly on each deed."
- Here,
fame is metaphorically
compared to a tree or plant that grows in heaven, provided Jove allows it
to, of course.
- Remember
the word "meed" from line 14? Here it means about the same
thing: a fitting reward. The idea here is that Jove will give us however
much fame in heaven we deserve.
Lines 85-107 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 85-87
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood:
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood:
- Phoebus
out. Now that Phoebus has finished yammering on, the speaker resumes,
well, speaking. Here, in another apostrophe,
he addresses the Arethuse and the Mincius.
- For
those not in the know, the Arethuse is a fountain on the island of Sicily.
And the Mincius is a river (or "flood") that runs through
northern Italy. Virgil mentions it in his Eclogues, in which he mentions the
river's "reeds," which our speaker describes as "vocal." Our speaker
sure has a thing for Virgil, doesn't he?
- In
his address to the fountain and the river, the speaker tells us that
Phoebus' speech was of a "higher mood," meaning that it was a
bit too fancy-pants for a pastoral poem.
Lines 88-92
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea,
He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea,
He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
- Oat?
Is he talking about a piece of grain with ears, toddling along, listening
to the ocean?
- We
wish. No, he's talking about his song, the pastoral poem he's writing.
"Oat" is a stand-in for a musical instrument made out of an
oat-stalk, like the "oaten reed" he mentioned way back in line
33.
- When
he says "my oat proceeds," the speaker means he is continuing
his song. He describes how Triton, the
"herald of the sea," comes to defend ("came in […]
plea") Neptune, who is the god
of the sea, from the charge of Lycidas' death.
- Milton's
friend Mr. King drowned in the ocean, so it makes sense that our speaker
might blame the god of the sea for his friend's death. But Triton isn't
having it.
- In
fact, Triton wants to understand what went down, too. So he asks the waves
and the savage (or "felon") winds what happened to Lycidas, the
"gentle swain."
- Sure
Triton, just blame it on the weather, why don't you?
Lines 93-99
And questioned every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beaked promontory:
They knew not of his story,
And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed;
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
That blows from off each beaked promontory:
They knew not of his story,
And sage Hippotades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed;
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.
- This
Triton dude is all about getting some answers. He also asked the
"wings" blowing from pointed ("beaked") promontories
(a piece of land jutting out into the sea), and they didn't know anything
about Lycidas' story.
- These
wings might be a synecdoche for birds,
flying from sea-cliffs, or perhaps it's just referring to the wind.
- Who
is this Hippotades guy? Well, that's just another name for Aelous, the god of the
winds. He kept the winds stored in a cave ("dungeon") and tells
the speaker that all of his winds were at home when Lycidas died, so they
couldn't have had anything to do with the tragedy.
- Hippotades
also says that the "air was calm," and Panope, one of fifty sea Nereids, was seen playing
on the calm ("level") sea, or "brine."
Lines 100-102
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
- "Perfidious
bark"? Is there a dog around? Perfidious means deceitful, or
untrustworthy, and bark is another word for ship. Here, our speaker is
saying that the ship is to blame for Lycidas' death, not the winds or the
sea. The ship is what "sunk so low that sacred head of thine."
In other words, "The ship is what drowned you, Lycidas."
- Eclipses
were once considered evil omens, and the speaker implies that because the
ship was built during one it was "rigged with curses dark,"
which caused Lycidas' death. Let that be a lesson, all you shipbuilders
out there.
Lines 103-107
Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.
"Ah! Who hath reft" (quoth he) my dearest pledge?"
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.
"Ah! Who hath reft" (quoth he) my dearest pledge?"
- Camus
appears, another word for the river Cam (which runs near Cambridge
University, the home of Milton and King). The speaker personifies the
river by saying that it is clearly mourning for Lycidas – it is
"inscribed with woe." He also asks who has taken
("reft") his dearest "pledge." The river wants to know
who has taken Lycidas.
- The
speaker goes even further with his personification, describing Camus as a
university student, complete with a furry academic gown ("mantle
hairy") and wearing a "bonnet sedge." A "sedge"
is a rush-like plant that grows near water.
- The
bonnet is compared to the "sanguine flower," the hyacinth. In Greek
mythology, a Spartan youth named Hyacinthus was
accidentally killed while playing with Apollo, god of the sun, music, and
poetry. According to one myth, hyacinth flowers sprung up from his blood
that was spilled. Supposedly, the flower was marked with the Greek word
"AI," which translates to "alas," which is a pretty
woeful word, if we may say so.
Lines 108-131 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 108-112
Last came, and last did go,
The Pilot of the Galilean lake.
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake
The Pilot of the Galilean lake.
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake
- "The
Pilot of the Galilean lake" refers to none other than Saint Peter,
one of Jesus' star disciples. In these lines, he appears (the last of all
the figures that have appeared before our speaker) with two keys made of
two different kinds of metal and begins to speak.
- The
golden key opens the gates (presumably to heaven) while the iron one shuts
them quickly, or "amain." This is a reference to the fact that
Saint Peter was the guy in charge upstairs; according to the Bible, he
held the keys to the kingdom of heaven (Matthew
16:17-20).
- A
miter, by the way, is
a type of headdress or cap worn by certain religious figures. To have
"mitred locks" means that Peter's hair is stuffed up underneath
a miter, which makes sense when you consider that, according to the
Catholic Church, Saint Peter was the first pope.
- Here's
something that jumped out to Shmoop: in these lines, the speaker makes a biblical allusion,
rather than a classical one. It marks a shift in the poem from pagan
references to Christian ones. Why do you think our speaker makes this
change?
Lines 113-115
"How well could I have spared for thee,
young swain,
Enow of such as for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!
Enow of such as for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!
- He
speaks! In these lines, Peter begins a speech that is confusing, to say
the least. He seems to be saying to the speaker, "How well could I
have saved for you, young shepherd. Enough of those guys who break into
the fold only to eat ("for their bellies' sake")."
- In
other words, Peter is not a fan of self-interested people, who find fame
and belonging only for the sake of material gain.
- Peter
could have reserved one of those guys for the speaker to sing about, but
he didn't.
- Based
on Milton's note at the beginning of the poem, which claims that the poem
will also "foretell the ruin of our corrupted clergy," it is
clear that the bad shepherds St. Peter goes on to detail refer to bad
religious leaders who don't care about their "flocks," and care
more about fattening their bellies.
- Lines 116-118
Of other care they little reckoning make
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest
- St.
Peter goes into more detail about these good-for-nothing shepherds.
- These
dudes don't care about anything else ("of other care they little
reckoning make") but scrambling for food at the feast and forcing out
those who were actually invited ("shove away the worthy bidden
guest").
- He's
reinforcing the idea, introduced in Line 65, that shepherding just ain't
what it used to be back when Lycidas was around.
Lines 119-121
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how
to hold
A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs!
A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs!
- These
guys not only come where they aren't wanted, but they don't even know how
to hold a "sheep-hook" or do anything else that a shepherd
should know how to do ("aught else the least / That to the faithful
herdsman's art belongs"). Shepherd posers. Not cool.
- The
"blind mouths" might refer to the fact that they eat without
looking or are somehow blindly led by the desire to feed their mouths.
- Basically,
the takeaway point is that the shepherding profession is being overrun by
bad dudes. Peter is not happy, and neither, we imagine, is our speaker.
Lines 122-124
What recks it them? What need they? They are
sped;
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
- These
bad shepherds don't even care about their inabilities as shepherds because
they have what they want and are perfectly satisfied, or "sped."
- When
they choose, "list," they sing weak, bad, and "flashy"
songs. These songs sound terrible and grating when they play them on their
squeaky, or "scrannel" pipes.
- "What
recks it them" means "what business is it of theirs?" Peter
is referring to line 121, in which he talks about the "faithful
herdsman's art." He is saying, why should these no-good shepherds
even bother caring about the fine art of sheep herding, when they are
perfectly happy being not-so-good at it.
Lines 125-127
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But swoll'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;
But swoll'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;
- St.
Peter isn't finished, folks. He still has a bone or two to pick.
- According
to him, the sheep look to their inadequate shepherds because they're
hungry; they are full ("swollen") with wind and mist, but not
tasty food like, you know, grass.
- As
a result, they're slowly wasting away and spreading diseases, or
"contagion."
- Note
the word choices here: "rank," "rot," and
"foul." These words, in combination with the fact that we have
Saint Peter, who literally holds the keys to Christian heaven saying them,
hint at the corruption in the clergy that Milton alludes to in the preface
to his poem.
Lines 128-131
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said;
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more."
Daily devours apace, and nothing said;
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more."
- All
this lousy shepherding going on is even worse when you add to it the fact
that the sheep are already being attacked by wolves on a daily basis. Of
course these lame shepherds don't even say anything about it.
- Peter
also says that some "two-handed engine" is ready to
"smite" or cut down these bad shepherds for good. Once this
"engine" smites them, he will "smite no more," because
the job is done.
- "Privy"
means "clandestine," "secret," or
"stealthy."
- Some
critics think that the "wolf" is a reference to the Roman
Catholic Church, which Milton, a radical Protestant, hated. Yep, hated.
- Nobody
really knows what that "two-handed engine" is, and there are
about as many speculations as there are lines in the poem. Some think that
it refers to the sword in the book of Revelations, which
represents the word of God. But it could also be a reference to just about
any other sword that appears in the Bible – and there are a fair few,
friends.
- Whatever
that sword represents, it's ready to do some damage. We might think of
this as Milton assuring his readers that the unworthy members of the
clergy in England will pay the price for their corruption eventually. And
his 1645 preface reminds us that they totally did.
Lines 132-153 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 132-135
Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their bells and flow'rets of a thousand hues.
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their bells and flow'rets of a thousand hues.
- Now
that Peter has finally run out of steam, the speaker pipes up again. He
tells Alpheus to come back now that St. Peter's speech is over, or his
"dread voice is past." We guess Peter's little lecture had
driven Alpheus off for a
while. Because he is a river god, the speaker tells us that Alpheus had
peaced out by saying he had "shrunk [his] streams." Oh, and you
might find it interesting that Alpheus is often associated with Arethuse,
a river the speaker mentions in lines 85-6.
- The
speaker also appeals to the "Sicilian Muse" and asks her to tell
the winds ("vales") to send flowers in all kinds of colors.
Because the founder of pastoral poetry was a Greek poet from Sicily named
Theocritus, invoking the "Sicilian Muse" means he is invoking
the muse that inspired some of the world's very first pastoral poems –
those of Theocritus.
- Alpheus
refers to a river and god that is often associated with Arethuse (see
lines 85-6 where the speaker talks about this river). In one story,
Alpheus fell in love with the nymph Arethuse. He pursued her, but Diana (a.k.a.
Artemis, goddess of the hunt and virginity) turned her into a stream before
he could catch her. The stream mingled with Alpheus, went underground, and
re-emerged in Sicily.
- We
might think of this as the speaker addressing Alpheus as a stand-in for
pastoral poetry, as if the poet were saying, "come back, my pastoral
themes. How I've missed you."
Lines 136-141
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use,
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes,
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes,
That on the green turf suck the honied showers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
- Our
speaker must be a huge fan of addressing nonliving things, because we've
got another apostrophe
here. In these lines, he addresses valleys – with beautiful shades, winds,
and brooks. He tells them to cast their eyes ("throw hither all your
quaint enamelled eyes") where he is looking. Awesome. But wait,
where's our guy looking? Perhaps toward Lycidas?
- "Whispers"
refers to a soft, rustling sound, almost like the sound of – you guessed
it – whispering voices. "Use" here means "go
frequently" or "haunt." The speaker is referring to valleys
in which there are often "whispers."
- Now
that we have the first couple lines down, let's tackle the more confusing
later lines.
- What's
a "fresh lap" and a "swart star," you ask?
- Well,
the word lap can refer to a hollow, or a place between hills, kind of like
– you guessed it – a valley.
- The
"swart star" is Sirius, the dog star. According to Homer, Sirius
was the canine companion of Orion, a hunter in Greek mythology. When Zeus made Orion into
a constellation, he let Sirius join his human master in the stars. Now,
Sirius the star is associated with extreme heat and sometimes a lack of
fertility.
- The
word "swart" means dark in appearance, which is a bit of a
strange description when you consider that Sirius is the brightest star in
the sky. But maybe our speaker is alluding to the fact that the dog star
looks on "sparely," which means it doesn't look on very much. In
other words, the valley is so fertile the dog star doesn't affect it very
much.
- The
speaker is asking these valleys to toss around their "quaint
enamelled eyes," which means he wants these valleys to spread their
beautiful, many-colored eyes, or flowers.
- These
flowers of the valley "suck" the sweet rainwater, or
"honeyed showers," from the "green turf" and make the
ground look purple with spring flowers.
- What's
interesting here is that way back at the beginning of the poem, the
speaker did not seem at all interested in having things bloom. Remember,
he wanted to pluck all the berries and leaves from the trees before they
had a chance to bloom and ripen? But now he's all about flowering. He
wants the world to bloom – a lot.
Lines 142-148
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
- Let's
dig a little deeper into this flower imagery, shall we? The speaker goes
into more detail about these "enamelled eyes." He tells the
valleys to bring the "rathe," or ripening, primrose, the wild
hyacinth (which he calls a "tufted crow-toe"), jasmine, and the
pink and the pansy (which we can just think of as generic flowers).
- That
sounds nice and all, but these blooms are "freaked with jet,"
which means they are streaked with black, which is a sign of mourning.
- He
also tells them to bring the violet, the woodbine, and pale
("wan") cowslips that seem to be hanging their heads. Basically,
he is saying bring every flower that seems to look sad – the ones that
wear "sad embroidery."
- It
seems like he's okay with blooming, as long as that blooming doesn't
involve happy flowers. If the flowers look sad, that's fine by him.
Lines 149-151
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
- The
speaker continues, telling the valleys to ask "amaranthus" to
shed his beauty and the daffodils to shed tears. We learn that the speaker
wants these flowers, and all the flowers he mentioned in his earlier lines
to decorate Lycidas' coffin. (That's where the "strew the laureate
hearse" part comes in. Because Lycidas was an aspiring poet, his
coffin has a laurel on it.)
- While
the amaranth is a real flower, it also refers to a mythical one that
supposedly never fades or loses its beauty. It is associated with Eden, or
paradise, and the fact that the speaker is asking this always beautiful
flower to shed its beauty is telling, don't you think? His grief for
Lycidas is so extreme that he even wants the amaranth to show it.
Lines 152-153
For so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
- The
speaker says that he must "dally with" (engage with or
entertain) a "false surmise" in order to "interpose a
little ease."
- What's
that all about? Well, the "false surmise" refers to the act of
strewing Lycidas' coffin with all those flowers, because technically there
is no hearse: Lycidas' body is somewhere beneath the ocean.
- Still,
he wants to have some sort of ceremonial grieving process to mark the
occasion. Thinking about strewing Lycidas' coffin with flowers at least
gives our speaker a little taste of solace.
Lines 154-164 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 154-164
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding
seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward angel now, and melt with ruth.
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward angel now, and melt with ruth.
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
- In
these tricky lines, the speaker elaborates on the fact that Lycidas' body
is missing. This is the beginning of a long and slightly complicated
sentence. Don't worry, Shmoopers, we'll break it down for you.
- In
fact, we'll go ahead and paraphrase it: "While the seas and shores
wash your body far away, wherever your bones are hurled, whether that be
beyond the stormy Hebrides, where you might be underneath the ocean and
visiting a realm of sea monsters; or whether, despite our tearful prayers,
you're sleeping by the fable of Bellerus, from where one can see Namancos
and Bayona's hold, I want you, angel, to look homewards and feel sad. And
dolphins, convey Lycidas' body safely home."
- Phew!
Even with our improvised modern English translation, there are still a few
places to get tripped up.
- First,
the Hebrides are a group of islands off the coast of Scotland.
"Whelming" means engulfing, and "Moist vows" means
tearful prayers.
- "Bellerus"
is a hero that Milton invented in order to explain the word Bellerium, a Latin
word meaning land's end. In other words, the speaker is saying to Lycidas,
"whether you're stuck beneath the ocean or resting at land's end,
please look homewards."
- The
"great vision of the guarded mount" refers to a story about how
some monks reportedly saw a vision of St. Michael on St. Michael's Mount,
an island off the southwest coast of England.
- "Vision"
also means "one's line of sight" from the top of St. Michael's
Mount.
- So,
at lands end, or St. Michael's Mount, the line of sight stretches toward
Namancos and Bayona's hold. "Namancos" is an old name for a
region in northwestern Spain, and "Bayona's hold" refers to an
old fortress town in western Spain.
- Both
of these places are meant to evoke the threat of Spanish Catholicism; the
speaker wants Lycidas to look homeward to England, not Catholic Spain.
- The
"angel" likely refers to Lycidas, who appears to being crying
with grief, or "ruth."
- Finally,
the speaker asks dolphins to help Lycidas, the hapless or
"unlucky" youth, to drift along. Sailors often thought the sight
of dolphins was a good omen.
Lines 165-181 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 165-167
Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor.
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the wat'ry floor.
- Hmm.
Shmoop senses a change afoot. Do you? Things start to turn around for the
speaker here. He tells his fellow shepherds to stop weeping, because
Lycidas isn't really dead, even though he has sunk into the ocean. Or at
least, that's what we think he means…
- But
the line "for Lycidas your sorrow is not dead" can be read two
ways. In one interpretation, "sorrow" modifies Lycidas, as in
"Lycidas, the man for whom you feel sorrow, is not dead."
- Alternatively,
the speaker could be addressing Lycidas himself, saying, "Hey
Lycidas, your sorrow isn't over because you're not really dead; therefore
you're still going to suffer."
- Shmoop
is swayed by the first reading, but we could be convinced by a good
argument for the second. What's your take?
Lines 168-171
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
- How
can Lycidas not be dead, though, if he has sunk beneath the ocean?
- The
speaker gives us a simile
to answer that very question: the sun ("the day-star") appears
to sink into the ocean in the west, but it rises the next day, appearing
in the morning sky. Maybe Lycidas will rise again, too, in just the same
way.
- "Anon"
means right away, or very soon. "Repairs" in line 169 means to
reappear, or to go again. So each time the sun sinks in the west, it
reappears soon enough in the east, where it rises.
- And
when the sun does rise again, he "tricks," or adorns his beams
with "new-spangled ore" or newly sparkling gold.
- Our
speaker personifies
the sky, here, giving it a human forehead.
Lines 172-177
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,
Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,
Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
- Here's
where we get the tail end of the simile
that started in the previous lines.
- Lycidas,
like the sun, has sunk but also risen again, through the power of Jesus
Christ ("might of Him that walked the waves"). Lycidas has risen
to a place resembling heaven or paradise ("blest kingdoms meek of joy
and love").
- He
now spends his time among different "groves" and
"streams," and he washes ("laves") his slimy
("oozy," as a result of the ocean) hair ("locks") with
nectar in paradise. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal.
- While
there, he also hears an "unexpressive nuptial song." The song is
"unexpressive" because angels can communicate without resorting
to speech.
- The
idea here is that, sure, Lycidas has died. But he has also risen to heaven
(like the sun rises in the sky), which should be a source of hope and
happiness. That's why those "woeful shepherds" from line 165
should "weep no more."
Lines 178-181
There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
- Lycidas
is definitely in heaven because all the "saints" are there
entertaining him in large, friendly groups that sing, move him, and wipe
the tears from his eyes. Not too shabby for our poor shepherd.
- That
tricky "for ever" in line 181 is ambiguous. It could mean that
the saints wipe the tears from his eyes so that he never cries ever again.
Or, it could mean that they continually wipe the tears from his eyes, as
if he is perpetually sad because he is no longer down on earth with his
shepherd buddies.
- Shmoop
will go with the first interpretation, but if you like the second, well,
you go right on ahead.
Lines 182-193 Summary
Get out the
microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 182-185
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
- Here,
our speaker shifts from addressing his fellow weepy shepherds to talking
to Lycidas directly in another apostrophe.
The speaker talks to Lycidas again, noting that the shepherds no longer
weep for him and that he is now the "genius of the shore." That
means that dear old Lycidas will protect all the sailors on the dangerous
ocean, or "perilous flood."
- In
this case, "genius" doesn't mean someone really smart, but
rather a protective deity or spirit, often associated with a particular
place. Lycidas has become this spirit, and his particular place is the
ocean, where he is now buried.
- "Recompense"
here means "reward." The implication is that becoming a
"genius" is Lycidas' reward for dying. Hey, at least the guy got
something out of it.
Lines 186-189
Thus sang the uncouth swain to th' oaks and
rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals grey;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
While the still morn went out with sandals grey;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
- Hold
on a minute. Milton, do you mean to tell us that this whole poem has been
a quoted speech all along? Way to spring that one on us, buddy.
- That's
right, the "uncouth," or unknown "swain," or shepherd
has been singing this whole poem to the oak trees and streams
("rills") around him. Some other guy has just been reporting
that speech to us. Now that's
a twist.
- The
swain sang this song while the morning was giving way to the day; he was
playing some kind of handmade pipe ("touched the tender stops of various
quills") while singing his rustic, pastoral song ("Doric
lay").
- "Doric"
refers to a dialect of ancient Greek used by the famous pastoral poets
Theocritus, Moschus, and Bion.
Lines 190-193
And now the sun had stretched out all the
hills,
And now was dropped into the western bay.
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
And now was dropped into the western bay.
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
- The
sun has started to set, appearing to sink into the ocean in the west. The
swain gets up, touches his "mantle," or garment, and starts off
for new adventures – "fresh woods, and pastures new."
- The
phrase "stretched out all the hills" presumably means that the
setting sun has lengthened the shadows on the hills, creating an image of a
lovely, peaceful evening.
- The
poem finishes off on a hopeful note. We think the last line of the poem
would be a great way to end all your emails
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