John Milton (Джон Мильтон)

To the Lord General Fairfax

Fairfax, whose Name in Arms through Europe rings,
  And fills all Mouths with Envy or with Praise,
  And all her Jealous Monarchs with Amaze.
  And Rumours loud which daunt remotest Kings,
Thy firm unshaken Valour ever brings
  Victory home, while new Rebellions raise
  Their Hydra-heads, and the false North displays
  Her broken League to Imp her Serpent Wings:
O yet! a Nobler task awaits thy Hand,
  For what can War, but Acts of War still breed
  Till injur'd Truth from Violence be freed;
And publick Faith be rescu'd from the Brand
  Of publick Fraud; in vain doth Valour bleed,
  While Avarice and Rapine shares the Land.

1. Psalm 3 (Lord how many are my foes)
2. Psalm 4 (Answer me when I call)
3. Psalm 114 (When the blest seed of Terah's faithful Son)
4. Paradise Lost : Book 11
5. To Sir Henry Vane the Younger

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1710

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