He
tried to teach them in some sort. He was dependent now on others
to read to him, and he made his daughters take their share of
this. He succeeded in teaching them to read in several
languages, but they understood not a word of what they read, so
it was no wonder that they looked upon it as a wearisome task.
They grew up with neither love for nor understanding of their
stern blind father. To them he was not the great poet whose name
should be one of the triumphs of English Literature. He was
merely a severe father and hard taskmaster.
Four years after his first wife died Milton married again. This
lady he never saw, but she was gentle and kind, and he loved her.
For fifteen months she wrought peace and order in his home, then
she too died, leaving her husband more lonely than before. He
mourned her loss in poetic words. He dreamed she came to him one
night:--
"Came vested all in white, pure as her mind;
Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
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