WRFH/Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM - The Poetry Fix: Comus

Episode Date: November 23, 2025

Erika Kyba introduces Milton's "Comus," a purported morality masque which is perhaps not what it seems to be. Alexandra Comus narrates the part of the Attendant Spirit.

Welcome to The Poetry Fix on Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM. I'm your host, Erica Kaiba, bringing you your weekly fix of poetry from across time. Today we're reading an excerpt from Milton's Comus. This poem is in the genre of the courtly mask and purports to celebrate the virtues of the noble Egerton family as they resist the malignant trickster Comus in his quest to seduce the young lady Egerton. The poem opens with a soliloquay from an attendant spirit, who is coming to age the mortal Egerton's in this struggle against personified vice. It seems like a pretty stock morality tale if you take the spirit at face value, but notice the language he uses

to describe earthly life. To him, Earth is a dim spot where men keep up a frail and feverish being. To him, it's a great sacrifice to leave his celestial form and expose himself to the rank vapors of this sin-worn mold. Does Milton really want us to nod along as the spirit says this? or is there something a little bit manichaean and problematic in this view of the world that he wants us to question? Let's consider that as we dive in. Comus by John Milton, narrated by Alexandra Comas. Before the starry threshold of Job's Court, my mansion is where those immortal shapes of bright aerial spirits live and sphereed in regions mild of calm and serene air.

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, which men call earth and with low-thoughted care, confined and pestered in this pinfold here, strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, unmindful of the crown that virtue gives. After this mortal change to her true servants amongst the enthroned gods on saint's seats, yet some there be that bydo steps aspire to wade their just hands on that golden key

that opens the palace of eternity. To such my errand is, and but for such, I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds with the rank vapors of the sin-worn mold. But to my task, Neptune, besides the sway of every salt flood in each ebbing stream, took in by lot twixt high in nether jove,

imperial rule of all the sea-girt aisles that liked rich in various gems in love, the unadorned bosom of the deep, which he to grace his tributary gods by course commits to several government, and gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns and wield their little tridents. But this isle,

greatest and the best of all the main, he quarters to his blue-haired deities, and all this tract that fronts the falling son, a noble peer of mickle trust and power, as in his charge with tempered awe to guide, an old and haughty nation proud in arms, where his fair offspring nurse and princely lure are coming to attend their father's state, and new and trusted sceptre but their way lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood. the nodding horror of whose shady brows threats the forlorn and wandering passenger. And here their tender age might suffer peril, but that by quick command from Sovereign Jove I was dispatched for their defense and guard,

and listen why, for I will tell you now, what never yet was heard entail or song from old or modern bard in hull or bow. Bacchus that first from out the purple grape crushed the sweet poison of misused wine, after the Tuscan mariners transformed, coasting the Tyrian shore as the winds listed on Circe's island fell. Who knows not Circe, the daughter of the son, whose charmed cup whoever tasted lost his upright shape, and downward fell into a grovelling swine. This nymph that gazed upon his clustering locks, with ivy berries wreathed and his blithe youth, had by him ere he parted thence a son, much like his father, but his mother more, whom therefore she bowed.

brought up in comus-named, who ripe and frolic of his full-grown age, rovingly Celtic and Iberian fields, at last he takes him to this ominous wood, and in thick shelter of black shades and bowered, excels his mother at her mighty art, offering to every weary traveler his orient liquor in a crystal glass. You've been listening to The Poetry Fix with Erica Kaiba. If you enjoyed this episode, consider following the Poetry Fix on Spotify, YouTube, or Apple podcasts. And if you have any poems you want to see in a future episode, email your suggestions to The Poetry Fix at gmail.com. Join me next week and we'll be continuing our journey through Milton's Comus.