Milton's "Nativity Ode"
Though entitled "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," the poet's point of view often leaps about from the present Christmas morning, to the past, and to the prophetic future. Through these shifts, Milton can better instruct the reader as to the meaning of Christ's Nativity, while also celebrating this joyous moment of Christian history. The poem divides into several sections: the prologue, the immediate effect of the Birth on Earth, the enrapturing music, the speakers own musings, the banishment of the pagan deities, and the peaceful return to the actual morning scene. Each section of the ode varies in point of view, diction, and/or subject matter.
In the prologue, the speaker writes as one with knowledge of the current situation, but not as one who can speak with the flowing, inspirational emotion that should erupt from the Nativity. During the opening stanzas, he realizes the importance of the "happy morn" and the "great redemption" that the Birth means for man (s. I). The speaker also understands the gravity of Christ's decision to leave "Heav'n's high Council-Table" for the "darksome House" of post-lapsarian man (s. II). The apparent magnitude of this occasion leads the speaker to invoke the "Heav'nly Muse" to inspire him to write a hymn as a gift for "the Infant God" (s. III). With this heavenly gift, the speaker would have "the honor first, thy Lord to greet" and sing in the "Angel Choir," even before the "Star-led wizards" arrive with their simple gifts (s. IV). In these initial stanzas, we are given obvious clues to the Nativity at hand and are being set up for the following hymn.
The speaker in the prologue writes in the present tense, as if he is alive during the time of Christ's nativity. By writing in the present tense, one feels an urgency of time for the speaker to produce a worthy gift before the heavenly moment passes, or before the wise men arrive. But half way through the prologue, two passages suggest that the speaker is no longer merely a fictional character in the ode, but he becomes an extension of John Milton's character. First, Milton's personality is heard through the speaker's words in the typical Miltonian invocation of the "Heav'n'ly Muse." At this point, Milton forewarns the reader to be prepared for something truly inspirational and visionary to follow (which it is). But not for a single moment does Milton seem to doubts the quality of this work, for he often utilizes the invocation of the Muse as a dramatic convention to highlight the quality of the following stanzas. By juxtaposing the unfeeling speaker in the prologue with the inspired and prophetic poet of The Hymn, Milton successfully exaggerates the beauty and complexity of his imagery, diction, and scriptural comprehension. Secondly, Milton's ego also blazes through in the speaker's hope of being at the feet of the Lord before the wise men arrive. This is a bold wish, for by arriving before the wise men, the speaker (i.e., Milton) would be effectively rewriting established Scripture. This brazen desire accords with Milton's own confidence in his faith, which sometimes seems to border on outright arrogance. These two passages demonstrate that even at the age of twenty-one, Milton already feels confident in his poetic skill and religious faith. This confidence in himself will one day make him a cultural leader in his time.
In The Hymn, the speaker becomes a poet, and he begins his poetical outburst. The poet describes the shamed responses of "gaudy" Nature and "her lusty Paramour," the Sun, at the blazing sight of the radiant Newborn (ss. II-III & VII). He mentions the workings of "meek-ey'd" Peace, who ceases war and battle, calms the "Sea and Land," and amazes the Stars "in their glimmering Orbs" (ss. III-VI). He then notes the kindly, rustic Shepherds who seem oblivious to the Nativity, until the heavenly music alerts "their souls in blissful rapture" (ss. VIII-IX). Finally, the poet mentions Nature's admittance of inferiority to that holy music (s. X), and he describes the battle-armed Angels' blazing descent and harmonious choir as they arrive before "Heav'n's new-born Heir" (ss. XI-XII). These stanzas are the immediate effects of the Nativity.
In these twelve stanzas, the poetic voice shifts to past tense. In the poet's description of events, his eye and ear ranges over vast territories, much like a narrator in a third person novel. Milton's shift from present tense in the prologue, to past tense in The Hymn, has the effect of rendering what is portrayed as more truthful and less subjective. By this, I mean that the poet has ceased being an interactive character with the events going on. Instead, he has become a roving eye or camera lense which plays back the unfolded events without personal input. This solidifies the heavenly events as factual, without tainting them with human limitations of perception. The result is a series of powerful, moving, and descriptive stanzas, which are not unlike the medieval dream visions of Old English poetry (e.g., "The Dream of the Rood").
In stanza XIII, the poet's voice again shifts back to the present tense. He finds himself in the middle of his description, in which he cries for the "Crystal spheres" to "Move in melodious time" (s. XIII). The poet no longer observes events, but takes part in them and becomes entwined in "th'Angelic symphony" (XIII). Milton's sudden return to the present tense emphasizes the immediate joy of the celebration. By pulling the poet into the middle of the rejoicing, he effectively pulls in the reader in, too. The written words become our words: we are calling on the spheres to chime.
The following four stanzas, XIV-XVII, mark an important shift in the tone of the hymn. In stanzas XIV and XV, the poet speculates on the power of the celestial music in which he is currently engaged. He muses that "such holy Song" could turn back time and "fetch the age of gold," that is, the pre-lapsarian state of man and Nature (s. XIV). This in turn leads him to postulate that "speckl'd vanity/Will sicken soon and die," and "Hell itself will pass away" (XIV). His contemplation further wanders to the thought that even Truth, Mercy, and Justice will descend to earth and "open wide the Gates of her high Palace Hall" (s. XV). However, the beginning line of the sixteenth stanza, "But wisest Fate says no," alters The Hymn from a jovial celebration, to a more sober realization of history to come. The poet realizes that before the eternal festivities can begin, the Babe must "on that bitter cross/... redeem our loss" (s. XVI), and man must undergo the terrible Last Judgement, in which "The dreadful Judge in middle Air shall spread his throne" (s. XVII).
Within these four stanzas, the poet's voice leaves the current events at hand, and he begins his prophetic discourse on the Nativity's meaning for the future. For two stanzas (XIV and XV), the poet is engrossed in only the Eternal Prize, but not in the scriptural history which must first pass. The poet's enrapture in the angelic harmony inspires him to make a grand leap of faith to New Jerusalem, a leap which initially bypasses the suffering and faith required to get there. Only "wisest Fate" can sober the poet's high flown visions. Now, the former words of celebration are replaced with fearsome expressions of the Crucifixion and the Apocalypse: the cross becomes "bitter," the "trump of doom" is sounded, there is a "horrid clang" and a "terror of that blast," "red fire, and smold'ring clouds outbrake," and finally, the Infant becomes "The dreadful Judge" of doom (ss. XVI and XVII). By abruptly exchanging the jovial tone for a somber one, Milton achieves two important goals. First, he reminds us of the sufferings Christ has to undergo in order to redeem our tainted souls. In stanza XVI, our image of the radiant Infant is suddenly interrupted by the grizzly image of Him one day being nailed to the rood for our sins. Through this pitiful image of the Crucifixion, and the horrid description of the Apocalypse, Milton stresses the importance of our own faith and reminds us of the love we owe Him. Secondly, this poetic shift from ecstatic revels to somber emotions accentuates the drama of the following nine stanzas, in which the pagan deities are cowed and removed before the sight of the true Lord.
Stanzas XVIII-XXVI catalogues the pagan gods who will be marched to Hell at the Last Judgement. The first to suffer is Satan, the "Dragon," who is "wroth to see his Kingdom fail" (s. XVIII). Next, the gods and false prophesying oracles of ancient Greece are sent off with a "hollow shriek" (s. XIX). Following them with "A voice of weeping" are the pastoral gods, Genius and Nymphs, who are "with a sighing sent" (s. XX). Next, the dead priests and gods of ancient Rome "moan with midnight plaint" as each "forgoes his wonted seat" (s. XXI). In stanzas XXII-XXIV, various gods are sent shrinking before the Lord, including the war-like idol, Moloch, and the deities of ancient Egypt. Eventually, the "shadows pale/Troop to th'infernal jail" before the "dreaded" Infant, who can even "in his swaddling bands control the damned crew" (ss. XXV and XXVI). Finally, the catalogue ends with a grim image as "each fetter'd Ghost slips to his several grave" (XXVI).
As before, the fictional character of the poet fades, and we once again have a third person description of the fleeing pagan gods. Milton's skill as a poet, who can create mood, shines through in these passages. His use of dolorous and horrid imagery is striking: the oracles become "dumb" in silence (XIX), deities exit with a "loud lament" (XX), some produce a "drear and dying sound" as they are forced to depart (XXI), while others "shrink" (XXII), and "In vain with Cymbal's ring" do their followers call after them (XXIII). On the whole, it seems as if Milton takes delight in describing the horrible and fearful psyche of those who flee at the Second Coming. But, in stanza XX, where the pastoral gods are sent away, Milton describes their departure in pitiful terms, such as with "weeping heard, and loud lament" and "with sighing" are they sent. This stanza reveals of Milton's personal reluctance to completely rid the world of those who he has obviously long studied and apparently enjoyed. Personally, I'm a little surprised that Milton completely banishes the gods of old, since he takes such delight in using them in his extensive metaphors found throughout many of his other works. But, on the other hand, I realize that this ode is a celebration of Christianity, and Holy Scripture does not allow for the existence of pagan deities.
Finally, stanza XXVII ends Milton's ode to the Nativity. The inspired gift closes with the Virgin Mother laying "her Babe to rest," and the armed Angels sitting "in order serviceable" about their "sleeping Lord" (s. XXVII). For the last time, the poet returns to the present tense to describe the situation. No longer is the Infant a "dreadful Judge," but He is once again a peaceful Babe, who for the moment, begins his reign on earth in calm peace. By ending the ode with this peaceful description, the last image Milton installs in the reader's mind is a loving vision of the sleeping Child. This final scene, I believe, is intended to strengthen one's love for Christ. This scene tempers the gravity of the preceding stanzas, and lets the reader walk away with thoughts of that "happy morn."
"On the Morning of Christ's Nativity" is a highly descriptive, moving, and instructional ode. Milton's complexity in shifting the point of view, usage of effective diction, and far reaching subject matter, make this poem a rich addition to the English canon of literature. (Normally, I find religious poetry to be either boring or impenetrable, but through careful reading (and footnotes), I believe I better understand this ode's material and Milton's intentions.)
Work Cited:
Milton, John. "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity." John Milton: Complete Poems and Major Prose. Ed. Merritt Y. Hughes. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1957. 43-50.
© sklender, 1996 - Until My Death, and then three weeks beyond that.