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MA N O A H, the Father of Samson.
Chorus of Danites.
The SCENE before the Prison in Gaza.
Sams. A Little onward lend thy guiding hand
A To these dark steps, a little further on; For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade:
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil, S. 5
Daily' in the common prison else injoin'd me,
Where I a prisoner chain’d, scarce freely draw
The air imprison'd also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of Heav'n fresh blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire. II
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works; unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence with leave 15
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease,
Ease to the body fome, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
Of hornets arm’d, no sooner found alone, 20
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
O wherefore was my birth from Heav'n foretold
Twice by an Angel, who at last in fight
Of both my parents all in flames ascended 2
From off the altar, where an offering burn’d,
As in a fiery column charioting
His god-like presence, and from some great act
Or benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race?
Why was my breeding order’d and prescrib'd
As of a person separate to God,
Design'd for great exploits; if I must die
Betray’d, captiv’d, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze;
To grind in brazen fetters under talk
With this Heav'n-gifted strength? O gloriousstrei
Put to the labor of a beast, debas'd
Lower than bondslave! Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philiftian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find hir .
Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke :
Yet stay, let me not rafhly call in doubt
Divine prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfill'd but through mine own defa
Whom have I to complain of but myself? these
Who this high gift of strength committed to
In what part lodg’d, how easily bereft me, cel :
Under the seal of silence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman must reveal it, 50
O’ercome with importunity and tears.
O impotence of mind, in body strong!
But what is strength without a double share
Of wisdom, vaft, unwieldy, burdensome,
Proudly secure, yet liable to fall
By weakest subtleties, not made to rule,
But to subserve where wisdom bears command!
God, when he gave me strength, to show withal
How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair.
But peace, I must not quarrel with the will 60
Of highest dispensation, which herein
Haply had ends above my reach to know:
Suffices that to me strength is my bane,
And proves the source of all my miseries ;
So many, and so huge, that each apart 65
Would ask a life to wail, but chief of all, .
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!
Light the prime work of God to me' is extinct, 70
And all her various objects of delight
Annull’d, which might in part my grief have eas’d,
Inferior to the vilest now become
Of man or worm; the vileft here excel me,
They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos’d 75
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,
Within doors, or without, still as a fool,
In pow'r of others, never in my own;
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 80
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day!
O first created Beam, and thou great Word,
Let there be light, and light was over all;
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree ? 85
The sun to me is dark
And silent as the moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,
She all in every part; why was the fight
To such a tender ball as th’eye confin’d,
So obvious and so easy to be quench’d? 95
And not as feeling through all parts diffus'd,
That she might look at will through every pore?
Then had I not been thus exil'd from light,
As in the land of darkness yet in light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And bury’d; but O yet more miserable!
Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave,
Bury'd, yet not exempt
By privilege of death and burial
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs, 105