-----Original Message-----
From: [log in to unmask]
[mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of sent
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2012 6:07 AM
To: John Milton Discussion List
Subject: Re: [Milton-L] In Quintum Novembris

Have a great celebration of the great deliverance from the terror of 1605 as
well as the change of season 
s as well as the wonder of the glorious revolution and the landing of king
William at Torbay! Holla Boys! 
Follow the biggest celebrations in the uk via Rocket FM live broadcast from
Lewes Sussex here
Find a bonfire somewhere and light off some fireworks!
From: Carol Barton, Ph.D., CPCM <mailto:[log in to unmask]>  
Sent: Monday, November 05, 2012 6:57 AM
To: John Milton Discussion List <mailto:[log in to unmask]>  
Subject: [Milton-L] In Quintum Novembris

	From the translation by Dana F. Sutton (UC Irvine) at

	Age 17 

	Now pious James, coming from the extreme North, possessed the
Teucer-born peoples and the widespread realms of the folk of Albion, and now
an inviolable pact conjoined English scepters to the Caledonian Scots, and
James sat as a peacemaker and a prosperous man on his new throne, secure
from hidden wiles and any foe, when the savage tyrant of Acheron, flowing
with fire, the father of the Eumenides, the vagrant exile from celestial
Olympus, chanced to be wandering through the world, counting his allies in
crime, his loyal servants, destined to be partners in his kingdom after
their sad demise. Here he stirred up great storms in mid-air, there he sowed
hatred between like-minded friends, armed unconquered nations against each
others' vitals, overturned kingdoms flourishing in peace that bears the
olive branch, and whoever he saw to be enamored of pure virtue, these he
craved to add to his empire. The master of deceits tried to corrupt the
inaccessible heart with evil, setting stealthy snares, stretching his hidden
nets, that he might capture the unwary, as the Caspian tigress follows her
prey through the trackless wastes under a moonless night sky and stars
winking in slumber. With such things Summanus attacks people and cities,
wreathed in a smoky whirlwind of blue fire. And now the fields white with
their booming cliffs appeared, that land dear to the sea-god, to which his
son had once lent his name, a man who did not shrink from crossing over the
sea and challenging Amphitryon's violent son to furious combat, before the
cruel age which saw the storming of Troy.
<>  But as soon as he
saw that Albion was blessed with wealth and festive peace, her fields rich
with the bounty of Ceres, and (which vexed him the more) her people
worshipping the sacred divinity of the true God, at length he heaved sighs
stinking of Tartarus' fires and yellow sulphur, sighs such as grim and
monstrous Typhoeus emits from his corrosive mouth, shut up by Jove in
Sicilian Aetna. His eyes blazed, his row of adamantine teeth gnashed like
the clash of arms, like the sound of spear beating against spear. And he
said, "I have wandered all the world, and have found this one thing to be
lamentable, this single race is rebellious towards me, scornful of my yoke,
stronger than my art. But if my endeavors have any power, she will not long
experience this with impunity, she will not go scot-free." So much he spoke,
and swam through the liquid air on pitch-black wings. And where he flew,
unfriendly winds ran before him in a battle-line, the clouds gathered, much
lightning flashed.
<>  Now he swiftly
passed the frosty Alps and gained the Ausonian land. On his left were the
misty Apennines and the ancient Sabines, on the right Tuscany, notorious for
its poisoners, and he saw you too, Tiber, giving furtive kisses to Thetis.
Next he landed on the citadel of Mars-born Quirinus. Now the dusk was making
the light uncertain, while the wearer of the triple tiara was traveling
throughout the city, bearing his gods made of baked bread, borne on the
shoulders of men. Kings preceded him on their knees and a lengthy file of
mendicant friars, holding waxen candles, blind, born and living out their
lives in Cimmerian darkness. Then they entered shrines glowing with many
tapers (the evening was that consecrated to Peter), and the bawling of the
choirs filled the hollow vaults, the empty spaces, just as Dionysus and his
throng howl, singing at their orgies on Echionian Arachynthus, as Asopus
quakes in his pellucid waters and Cithaeron echoes at a distance with its
crannied cliffs.
	 <> These things
finally accomplished with solemnity, Night silently quit the embrace of old
man Erebus and drove her horses headlong, her whip lashing them onward:
blind Typhlon, fierce Melanchaetes, sluggish Siope born of an Acherontean
sire, and Phrix bristling with a shaggy mane. Meanwhile the master of kings
and heir of Phelegethon entered his marriage-chamber (for this furtive
adulterer spends no loveless nights without a soft mistress), but sleep had
scarcely closed his eyes when the black lord of the shades, ruler of the
silent, that predator on mankind, stood by him, clad in disguise. His
temples gleamed with false white locks, a long beard covered his breast, an
ash-colored garment swept the ground with its hem, a cowl hung from his
tonsured head, and, lest anything be lacking from his artfulness, he girded
his lusty loins with a hempen rope and wore open sandals on his slow-moving
feet. Such is Francis supposed to have been in the vast wilderness, as he
used to wander alone in the harsh haunts of wild beasts, bringing pious
words of salvation to the denizens of the wood (though impious himself),
taming the wolves and the Libyan lions.
<>  The crafty
serpent, concealed by such a rig, deceitfully opened his hateful mouth and
said: "Are you sleeping, my son? Even now does slumber overwhelm your limbs,
oh you who are unmindful of the Faith and forgetful of your flock, while a
barbarian nation born beneath the Hyperborean pole, the quiver-bearing
British mock your see, venerable one, and your triple tiara? Come, awake,
rise up, you lazy fellow worshipped by Latin Caesar, a Father for whom the
portals of arching heaven lie open. Shatter their swollen spirits, their
bold disdain, let these blasphemers learn the power of your curse, the power
of the holder of the apostolic key. Gain vengeance, mindful of the
devastation of the Spanish fleet, their pennants sunk in the vast deep, and
so many Saints' bodies nailed to the shameful cross during the recent reign
of the Thermodontean maiden. But if you prefer to wallow in your soft bed,
and refuse to smite our enemy's growing powers, he will fill the Tyrrhenian
Sea with a multitude of soldiers, and plant his bright banners on the
Aventine hill; he will shatter the remains of antiquity and set them aflame,
he will plant his profane feet on your sacred neck, though kings used to
delight in kissing your feet. But do not attempt to assail him with warfare
and open contention, for that is a fruitless effort; employ deceit cleverly,
it is permitted to spread any nets at all against heretics. And now their
great King is summoning leading men from farflung regions to a council, and
also Peers blessed in their lineage, and aged fathers venerable for their
gowns and hoary heads. You will be able to scatter them in the air,
dismembered, and reduce them to ashes by throwing gunpowder's fire beneath
the building in which they are convened.
<>  Further, you must
warn whomever of the faithful England still possess of your intention and of
the deed. Will none of your countrymen dare carry out the mandates of the
supreme Pope? When they are stricken by sudden terror and amazed at their
misfortune, either the cruel Frenchman or the fierce Spaniard will invade.
Thus at length the Marian centuries will return there, and you will gain
mastery of the warlike English. Have no fear, know that the gods and
goddesses are well disposed, and all the divinities you adore on holy days."
Thus the Treacherous One spoke and, putting off his borrowed attire, fled to
unspeakable Lethe, his gloomy realm. Now Tithonia, throwing open the gates
of the dawn, clothed the golden land with her returning light and, still
mourning her swarthy son's sad fate, she shed her ambrosial drops on the
mountain tops, when the doorkeeper of night's starry court banished sleep,
rolling away nocturnal visions and welcome dreams.
<>  There is a place
surrounded by night's eternal mist, once the proud foundations of structures
now ruined, now the caverns of brutal Murder and two-tongued Betrayal,
whelped at the same time by wild Discord. Here amidst rubble and half-broken
stones lie men's unburied bones and bodies run through with steel. Here
black Guile always sits with her eyes askew, and Quarrels, and Libel, armed
with fangs in her jaws, and Madness, here can be seen a thousand manners of
death, and Fear; bloodless Horror always circles the place, ghosts
constantly howl in the mute silence, and the guilty earth pools with blood.
Murder and Betrayal themselves lurk in terror in the bowels of the cave,
though nobody pursues them through the cavern, the shadowy cave, craggy,
dark with wild shadows. They flee in guilt, rolling back their eyes. The
Babylonian bishop summoned these weapons, loyal to Rome for long centuries,
and spoke thus: "A nation hateful to me inhabits the waters pouring around
the western ends of the earth, prudent Nature refused to join them to our
world, being unworthy. I command you to hasten there on swift feet, and let
them be blown into thin air by Hellish powder, both the King and his Lords,
and also his wicked offspring; and as many men as have been burning with
zeal for the true Faith you must make partners in your plan and the agents
of our work." He made an end, and the unbending twins obeyed.
<>  Meanwhile He who
bends the heavens in their long curve looked down, the Lord Who hurls
lightning from His citadel in the skies, laughed at the vain endeavors of
this perverse gang, and chose to defend in Person the cause of His people.
	 <> They say
there is a place where fertile Europe parts from Asia and looks at the
waters of Lake Maeotis. Here is built the lofty tower of Rumor, daughter of
a Titaness, brazen, broad, resonant, nearer to the gleaming stars than Athos
or Pelion piled atop Ossa. A thousand doors and portals lie open, and a like
number of windows, and through its thin walls the rooms within can be seen.
Here a rabble congregation emits sundry whispers, as do swarms of flies with
their buzzings as they circle a milk-pail, or fly though the sheep pen made
of woven wicker, when the Dogstar seeks the heights of heaven, its summer
high-point. Rumor herself sits atop her citadel, her mother's avenger; her
head is held aloft, encircled by a thousand ears by which she receives the
smallest sound, the lightest murmur of an undertaking, from the farthest
ends of the widespread world. Not even you rolled so many eyes in your
pitiless face, son of Arestor, wrongful guardian of the Isis-cow, eyes that
never lowered in quiet slumber, eyes gazing wide over the outspread earth.
With these Rumor is often wont to examine places that are lacking in light,
even places impervious to the radiant sun. Then, babbling with her thousand
tongues, she wantonly pours forth the things she has heard and seen to
anyone at all, now lyingly diminishing the truth, now exaggerating it with
invented tales. But you deserve my song's praise, Rumor, for the good you
did (nothing ever more truthful). You deserve to be sung of by me, nor shall
I be ashamed to have mentioned you in such a lengthy song, and we English,
wandering goddess, saved by your offices, repay you in equal measure. For
God Who governs the eternal fires in their movement first sent forth a
lightning bolt, and as the earth trembled then said:
<>  "Are you silent,
Rumor? Or does that Papist crew escape your notice, conspiring against Me
and My British? Do you not know of the novel murder being planned against
scepter-wielding James?" He said no more, she immediately understood the
Thunderer's injunctions and (though she had been swift enough before) she
put on whirring wings and clothed her slender body with particolored
feathers. In her right hand she bore a ringing trumpet of Temesaean brass.
Without delay she traversed the air that yielded to her pinions; it was a
trifle to outrun the scudding clouds - now she left the winds and the horses
of the sun behind her and at first, in her usual way, spread enigmatic words
and uncertain whispers through the cities of England. Soon she denounced the
schemes and published the hateful work of treason, and also deeds horrible
to describe, adding the names of the architects of the crime, nor in her
prattle did she remain silent about places arranged for their secret
treacheries. People were astounded by her revelations, both young men and
girls shivered, as did feeble old men, awareness of so great a collapse
quickly penetrated to every age. But in the meantime our heavenly Father
took pity on the people from on high, and checked the Papists' cruel
attempts. But pious incense and grateful honors are paid to God, our happy
streets are all smoking with joyous bonfires, the youthful throng goes
a-dancing: in the whole year no day is celebrated more than the Fifth of






Milton-L mailing list
[log in to unmask]
Manage your list membership and access list archives at

Milton-L web site: