WRFH/Radio Free Hillsdale 101.7 FM - The Poetry Fix: Nativity Ode, Part One

Episode Date: February 2, 2025

Today, we explore Milton's "On the Morning of Christ's Nativity," which ponders the cosmic effects of Christ's coming into the world.

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 on the Morning of Christ's Nativity by John Milton. This is one of Milton's earlier works, and it meditates on the far-reaching effects of Christ's coming into the world as an infant, an event which ripples throughout the cosmos. We'll see Milton use the image of light over and over again, as Christ is the great light that Isaiah foresaw coming to a darkened world. The nativity ode also wrestles with what to make of the pagan classical tradition, now that greater revelation has come to the world. Milton begins his ode by invoking the muse, a convention that's rooted in ancient Greco-Roman epics.

However, he modifies the invocation to address the heavenly muse, who is a moment of the moment of the most. likely the Holy Spirit. At least in Paradise Lost, Milton explicitly names the Spirit as his muse. How Milton attempts to synthesize the classical and Christian traditions is a good question to consider as we read. With all that said, let's dive in. On the Morning of Christ's Nativity, by John Milton, this is the month, and this the happy morn. We're in the sun of heaven's eternal king, of wedded made and virgin mother born, our great redemption from above did bring, for so the holy sages once did sing, that he our deadly forfeit should release, and with his father work us a perpetual peace, that glorious form, that light insufferable, and that far-beaming blaze of majesty, wherewith

he want at heaven's high council table, to sit the midst of trinal unity. He laid aside. He laid aside, and here with us to be, forsook the courts of everlasting day, and chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein afford a present to the infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, to welcome him to this his new abode? Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, hath took no print of the approaching light, and all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright. See how far upon the eastern road

the star-led wizards haste with odors sweet. O'Run, prevent them with thy humble ode, and lay it lowly at his blessed feet. Have thou the honor first thy lord to greet, and join thy voice unto the angel choir, from out his secret altar, touched with hallowed fire. It was the winter wild, while the heaven-born child all meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies.

Nature, in awe to him, had doffed her gaudy trim, with her great master so to sympathize. It was no season then for her to wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair she wooes the gentle air, to hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, pollute with sinful blame, the saintly veil of maiden white to throw, confounded that her maker's eyes should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, sent down the meek-eyed peace. She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding down through the turning sphere,

his ready harbinger, with turtle wings the amorous clouds dividing, and waving wide her myrtle wand, she strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 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 the Nativity Ode.