In the first series of _Notes and Queries_, vol. v. p. 369 (April 17, 1852), is a note from which the following is an extract: ‘In vol. v, p. 275, mention is made of Cromwell’s skull; so it may not be out of place to tell you that I have handled one of Milton’s ribs. Cowper speaks indignantly of the desecration of our divine poet’s grave, on which shameful occurrence some of the bones were clandestinely distributed. One fell to the lot of an old and esteemed friend, and between forty-five and fifty years ago, at his house, not many miles from London, I have often examined the said rib-bone.’
The lines of Cowper’s to which he refers were written in August, 1790, and are entitled
_On the late indecent Liberties taken with the remains of the great Milton. Anno 1790._
‘Me too, perchance, in future days, The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow.
But I, or ere that season come, Escaped from every care, Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, And sleep securely there.’[16]
So sang, in Roman tone and style, The youthful bard, ere long Ordain’d to grace his native isle With her sublimest song.
Who then but must conceive disdain, Hearing the deed unblest, Of wretches who have dared profane His dread sepulchral rest?
Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones Where Milton’s ashes lay, That trembled not to grasp his bones And steal his dust away!
O ill-requited bard! neglect Thy living worth repaid, And blind idolatrous respect As much affronts thee dead.
Leigh Hunt possessed a lock of Milton’s hair which had been given to him by a physician--and over which he went into such rhapsodies that he composed no less than three sonnets addressed to the donor--which may be found in his ‘Foliage,’ ed. 1818, pp. 131, 132, 133. The following is the best:--
_On his giving me a lock of Milton’s hair_.
It lies before me there, and my own breath Stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside The living head I stood in honoured pride, Talking of lovely things that conquered death. Perhaps he pressed it once, or underneath Ran his fine fingers, when he leant, blank-eyed, And saw, in fancy, Adam and his bride With their heaped locks, or his own Delphic wreath. There seems a love in hair, though it be dead. It is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread Of our frail plant--a blossom from the tree Surviving the proud trunk;--as if it said, Patience and Gentleness is Power. In me Behold affectionate eternity.