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27 pages 54 minutes read

John Milton

Lycidas

Fiction | Poem | Adult | Published in 1638

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Themes

Grief and the Transience of Life

“Lycidas,” as an elegy, explores the nature of grief endured by the speaker, who is mourning the death of his friend. In recounting his loss and his memories of his friend, the speaker offers a portrait of both personal bereavement and a general meditation on the transience of life.

The expression of grief and a sense of loss are prominent in the elegy from the beginning. It is a “sad occasion” (Line 6) that prompts the speaker—the country swain—to pluck the laurels, myrtles, and ivy before they are ripe. Lycidas, taken before his time, must not go unmourned. The speaker identifies with Lycidas, recalling their shared memories: “For we were nurs’d upon the self-same hill / Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill” (Lines 23-24). The word “nurs’d” suggests from a very early age on; the word “Together” follows immediately (“Together both” [Line 25]) and is repeated just two lines later: “We drove afield, and both together heard / What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn” (Lines 27-28). The emphasis is on their closeness, even inseparability, as the swain nostalgically recalls the happy, carefree days of youth as they tended their flocks and played their pipes (i.e., composed their poetry). They are presented almost as twins.

The swain (who is Milton himself as he appears under the conventions of the pastoral elegy) senses in Lycidas’s death his own. Death is on his mind in more ways than one. When, for example, he calls on the Muse to mourn Lycidas, he offers a hope that he himself, when the time comes, will receive the same treatment:

So may some gentle muse
With lucky words favor my destin’d urn,
And as he passes turn,
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud! (Lines 19-22).

In hoping that the “gentle muse” will offer “lucky words” to his own “urn” and wish “peace” upon his “shroud,” the swain emphasizes the sacred importance of the grieving process, both for those who are left behind and for those who, through the commemoration of others, are remembered and honored in a fitting way. The swain presents life as not only transient, but fragile, as at times “the blind Fury with th’abhorred shears / […] slits the thin-spun life” (Lines 75-76) without warning. The suddenness of loss, the speaker suggests, adds to the tragedy. In seeking to offer his lost friend the appropriate rites and praises through his song, the swain both confronts his grief and creates a memorial in words that can defy death.

The Question of Divine Justice

The question of divine justice underlies the poem, although the topic is approached in an oblique manner. Milton does not openly question or challenge God, but he does raise the issue of why Lycidas was permitted to drown. Lycidas, after all, was a blameless, gifted young man, a hard-working poet who was about to become a minister, and yet he perished “ere his prime” (Line 8).

After the initial expression of grief and mourning, the questioning begins at Line 50. The speaker asks the nymphs about their whereabouts when Lycidas was drowning. They were not in their usual haunts, where they might have offered him some protection. Then, a note almost of despair creeps in, as the swain thinks he is just indulging in wishful thinking: “Ay me! I fondly dream / Had ye bin there—for what could that have done?” (Lines 56-57). The swain remembers that even the supreme singer and poet Orpheus experienced a grievous and untimely death. What is the point, then, of laboring at one’s calling—the poet might as well abandon all thought of serving the Muse and amuse himself as others do by flirting with pretty shepherdesses. Why pursue fame when one of the Furies will likely come and cut off the thread of life?

Milton supplies an answer that seems to affirm divine justice, or at least divine reward, in Lines 76-84, in which Phoebus Apollo states that what happens on earth is not the final word, since Jove grants immortality and fame in heaven to those deserving of it. However, this answer seems not to have satisfied the speaker, as he explores his doubts and uncertainties further as the poem proceeds. This can be seen in the inquiry that begins in the next stanza, in which the speaker hears from Hippotades (Aeolus, god of the winds) that Lycidas simply had bad luck. The ship that carried him was built during an eclipse, an ill-fated time.

The flowers that are gathered to place on Lycidas’s bier add to the sense of loss and injustice, since there is no bier to place them on. The thought of the flower-strewn bier is simply, the swain admits, a “false surmise” designed to “interpose a little ease” into “our frail thoughts” (Lines 52-53). The false belief is that Lycidas’s body has been recovered and that he can thus be given a full Christian burial. The swain’s thoughts then turn to the harsh and brutal reality, that Lycidas’s bones have been scattered at sea and could be anywhere. The speaker can only wish that the dolphins can guide him home. Any divine justice seems far off at this point. The earlier appearance of St. Peter offers little comfort, since he promises only punishment for corrupt bishops—which is a kind of divine justice but has no relevance for the virtuous but doomed Lycidas.

The question is only resolved in the penultimate stanza, when Lycidas is granted eternal life in a Christian heaven. He may have met with misfortune in his earthly life, but he is to be compensated now, “in the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love” (Line 177). Thus, taken in its entirety, his life is under the direction of a just and merciful God who offers the reward of eternal life to compensate for undeserved suffering on Earth.

The Mingling of Pre-Christian and Christian

In English literature, a pastoral elegy is always rife with classical allusions, since it harks back to ancient Greek and Roman models (See: Background). Milton observes these conventions in full measure, but he presents the final consolation for the death of Lycidas in emphatically Christian terms, thus mingling elements of classical pre-Christian thought and Christianity together in the poem.

The first movement of the poem (Lines 1-83) is set entirely in a pre-Christian, pastoral world, although some of the classical imagery, such as the laurel, myrtle, and ivy in Lines 1-3, was carried over into Christian symbolism as well. Laurel, for example, represents immortality, eternity, and chastity, in both the classical and Christian traditions. Myrtle is also a Christian symbol of love and peace. The symbolism of ivy—which was associated with Dionysus (Bacchus to the Romans) and Hymenaios, the god of marriage—represented immortality and devotion, and was also carried over into Christianity.

In the second movement of the elegy, after some reference to classical gods and nymphs, Christianity enters the picture in the figure of St. Peter, the “Pilot of the Galilean lake” (Line 109). Galilee is where Christ lived and taught and where Peter made a living as a fisher. This section is grounded in the New Testament. St. Peter is presented as holding the keys to heaven (“Two massy keys he bore of metals twain / (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)” [Lines 110-11]), and St. Peter also alludes (by contrast) to the metaphor of the good shepherd and his sheep in the gospel of John. The “two-handed engine” (Line 130) that is used to take vengeance on the wicked hints at the Christian notion of hell and concludes the elegy’s second movement.

The climax to the third movement is also thoroughly Christian, with the raising of Lycidas to eternal life “Through the dear might of him [Jesus] that walk’d the waves” (Line 173), and the imagery of the “nuptial song” (Line 176) taken from the Book of Revelation. The notion of immortality, first mentioned at the end of the first movement of the elegy with the words of Phoebus Apollo, is now amplified and given more splendor and glory in the firmly biblical-based Christian framework that points to the bliss of the saints and the resurrected souls. In this elegy, the pre-Christian world is not the one in which final destiny is revealed in its fullness—instead, that is reserved for Christianity.

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