Shall 'scape his punishment ordain'd, and we Instead shall double ours upon our heads. No more be mention'd then of violence Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness, That cuts us off from hope, and savours only Rancour and pride, impatience and despite, Reluctance against God and his just yoke Laid on our necks. Remember with what mild And gracious temper he both heard and judg'd Without wrath or reviling; we expected Immediate dissolution, which we thought Was meant by death that day, when lo, to thee Pains only in child-bearing were foretold, And bringing forth, soon recompens'd with joy, Fruit of thy womb: on me the curse aslope Glanc'd on the ground; with labour I must earn My bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse; My labour will sustain me; and lest cold Or heat should injure us, his timely care Hath unbesought provided, and his hands Cloth'd us unworthy, pitying while he judg'd; How much more, if we pray him, will his ear Be open, and his heart to pity incline, And teach us further by what means to shun The inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow? Which now the sky with various face begins To shew us in this mountain, while the winds Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks Of these fair spreading trees; which bids us seek Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherish Our limbs benumb'd, ere this diurnal star Leave cold the night, how we his gather'd beams Reflected, may with matter sere foment, Or by collision of two bodies grind The air attrite to fire, as late the clouds Justling or push'd with winds rude in their shock Tine the slant lightning, whose thwart flame driven Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine, And sends a comfortable heat from far, Which might supply the sun: such fire to use, And what may else be remedy or cure To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought,. He will instruct us praying, and of grace Beseeching him, so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life sustain'd By him with many comforts, till we end In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do, than to the place Repairing where he judg'd us, prostrate fall Before him reverent, and there confess
Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek? Undoubtedly he will relent and turn
From his displeasure; in whose look serene, When angry most he seem'd and most severe, What else but favour, grace, and mercy shone ? So spake our Father penitent, nor Eve Felt less remorse: they forthwith to the place Repairing where he judg'd them, prostrate fell Before him reverent, and both confess'd
Humbly their faults, and pardon begg'd with tears Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek.
SENTENCE PRONOUNCED ON ADAM AND EVE.
To re-salute the world with sacred light Leucothea wak'd, and with fresh dews imbalm'd The earth, when Adam, and first matron Eve Had ended now their orisons, and found Strength added from above, new hope to spring Out of despair, joy, but with fear yet link'd; Which thus to Eve his welcome words renew'd:
Eve, easily may faith admit, that all
The good which we enjoy from Heav'n descends; But that from us aught should ascend to Heaven So prevalent as to concern the mind
Of God high-blest, or to incline his will, Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer, Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne Ev'n to the seat of God. For since I sought By pray'r th' offended Deity to appease, Kneel'd and before him humbled all my heart, Methought I saw him placable and mild, Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew That I was heard with favour; peace return'd Home to my breast, and to my memory His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foc; Which then not minded in dismay, yet now Assures me that the bitterness of death
Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee, Eve rightly call'd Mother of all Mankind, Mother of all things living, since by thee Man is to live, and all things live for man.
To whom thus Eve with sad demeanor meek. Ill worthy I such title should belong To me transgressor, who for thee ordain'd A help, became thy snare; to me reproach Rather belongs, distrust and all dispraise: But infinite in pardon was my Judge, That I who first brought death on all, am grac'd The source of life; next favourable thou, Who highly thus t' entitle me vouchsaf'st, Far other name deserving. But the field To labour calls us now with sweat impos'd, Tho' after sleepless night; for see the morn, All unconcern'd with our unrest, begins Her rosy progress smiling; let us forth, I never from thy side henceforth to stray, Where'er our day's work lies, though now injoin'd Laborious, till day droop; while here we dwell, What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks? Here let us live, tho' in fall'n state, content.
So spake, so wish'd much humbled Eve, but Fate Subscrib'd not; Nature first gave signs, impress'd On bird, beast, air, air suddenly eclips'd After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight The bird of Jove stoop'd from his airy tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove; Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, First hunter then, pursu'd a gentle brace, Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind; Direct to th' eastern gate was bent their flight. Adam observ'd, and with his eyes the chace Pursuing, not unmov'd, to Eve thus spake : O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Which Heav'n by these mute signs in Nature shews,
Forerunners of his purpose, or to warn Us haply too secure of our discharge From penalty because from death releas'd Some days; how long, and what till then our life, Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust, And thither must return, and be no more? Why else this double object in our sight Of flight pursu'd in th' air, and o'er the ground, One way the self-same hour? why in the east Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light More orient in yon western cloud that draws O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, And slow descends, with something heav'nly fraught? He err'd not; for by this the heav'nly bands Down from a sky of jasper lighted now In paradise, and on a hill made halt, A glorious apparition, had not doubt
And carnal fear that day dimm'd Adam's eye. Not that more glorious, when the angels met Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw
The field pavilion'd with his guardians bright; Nor that which on the flaming mount appear'd In Dothan, cover'd with a camp of fire, Against the Syrian king, who, to surprise One man, assassin-like had levied war, War unproclaim'd. The princely Hierarch In their bright stand there left his pow'rs to seize Possession of the garden; he alone,
To find where Adam shelter'd took his way, Not unperceiv'd of Adam, who to Eve, While the great visitant approach'd, thus spake: Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps Of us will soon determine, or impose New laws to be observ'd; for I descry From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill, One of the heav'nly host, and by his gait None of the meanest, some great potentate, Or of the thrones above, such majesty Invests him coming; yet not terrible, That I should fear, nor sociably mild, As Raphael, that I should much confide, But solemn and sublime, whom not t' offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire. He ended; and th' Archangel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flow'd Livelier than Mclibrean, or the grain Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof, His starry helm unbuckled shew'd him prime In manhood, where youth ended; by his side, As in a glist'ring zodiac, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. Adam bow'd low; he kingly from his state Inclin'd not; but his coming thus declar'd: Adam, Heav'n's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days
Giv'n thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done May'st cover; well may then thy Lord appeas'd Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim; But longer in this paradise to dwell Permits not; to remove thee I am come,
And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. He added not, for Adam at the news Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discover'd soon the place of her retire.
O unexpected stroke, worse than of death! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of Gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day
| That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last
At even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and give ye names, Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount? Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower world, to this obscure
And wild? how shall we breathe in other air Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits? Whom thus the angel interrupted mild: Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost: nor set thy heart, Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine; Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil.
Adam by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scatter'd spirits return'd, To Michael thus his humble words address'd.
Celestial, whether among the thrones, or nam'd Of them the highest, for such of shape may seem Prince above princes, gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, And in performing end us; what besides Of sorrow and dejection and despair Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring, Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only' consolation left Familiar to our eyes, all places else Inhospitable appear, and desolate,
Nor knowing us nor known; and if by pray'r Incessant I could hope to change the will Of him who all things can, I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries: But pray'r against his absolute decree No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth: Therefore to his great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that departing hence, As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent With worship place by place where he vouchsaf'd Presence divine, and to my sons relate, On this mount he appear'd, under this tree Stood visible, among these pines his voice I heard, here with him at this fountain talk'd: So many grateful altars I would rear Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone Of lustre from the brook, in memory, Or monument to ages, and thereon
Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers: In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or footsteps trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory, and far off his steps adore.
To whom thus Michael, with regard benign: Adam, thou know'st Heav'n his, and all the earth, Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives, Fomented by his virtual pow'r, and warm'd: All th' earth he gave thee to possess and rule, No despicable gift; surmise not then His presence to these narrow bounds confin'd Of Paradise or Eden: this had been
Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread All generations, and had hither come From all the ends of th' earth, to celebrate And reverence thee, their great progenitor.
But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down To dwell on even ground now with thy sons: Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain God is as here, and will be found alike Present, and of his presence many a sign Still following thee, still compassing thee round With goodness and paternal love, his face Express, and of his steps the track divine. Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirm'd Ere thou from hence depart, know I am sent To shew thee what shall come in future days To thee and to thy offspring; good with bad Expect to hear, supernal grace contending With sinfulness of man; thereby to learn True patience, and to temper joy with fear And pious sorrow, equally inur'd By moderation either state to bear, Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead Safest thy life, and best prepar'd endure Thy mortal passage when it comes. This hill; let Eve (for I have drench'd her eyes) Here sleep below, while thou to foresight wak'st; As once thou slept'st, while she to life was form'd.
ADAM AND EVE DRIVEN OUT OF PARADISE.
HE ended, and thus Adam last reply'd: How soon hath thy prediction, Seer blest, Measur'd this transient world, the race of time, Till time stand fix'd? beyond is all abyss, Eternity, whose end no eye can reach. Greatly instructed I shall hence depart, Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain ; Beyond which was my folly to aspire. Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best, And love with fear the only God, to walk As in his presence, ever to observe His providence, and on him sole depend, Merciful over all his works, with good Still overcoming evil, and by small
Accomplishing great things, by things deem'd weak Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise
By simply meek: that suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory,
And to the faithful death the gate of life; Taught this by his example whom I now Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest.
To whom thus also th' angel last reply'd: Thus having learn'd, thou hast attain'd the sum Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars Thou knew'st by name, and all th' ethereal powers, All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works, Or works of God in Heav'n, air, earth, or sea, And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, And all the rule, one empire; only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith, Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love, By name to come call'd Charity, the soul Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loth To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A paradise within thee, happier far. Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation; for the hour precise Exacts our parting hence; and see the guards, By me incamp'd on yonder hill, expect Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword, In signal of remove, waves fiercely round; We e may no longer stay: go, waken Eve; Her also I with gentle dreams have calm'd Portending good, and all her spirits compos'd To meek submission: thou at season fit Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard, Chiefly what may concern her faith to know," The great deliverance by her seed to come (For by the woman's seed) on all mankind: That ye may live, which will be many days, Both in one faith unanimous though sad, With cause, for evils past, yet much more cheer'd With meditation on the happy end.
He ended; and they both descend the hill: Descended, Adam to the bower where Eve Lay sleeping ran before, but found her wak'd; And thus with words not sad she him receiv'd.
Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st I know; For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, Which he hath sent propitious, some great good Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress Wearied I fell asleep: but now lead on, In me is no delay; with thee to go, Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me Art all things under Heav'n, all places thou, Who for my wilful crime art banish'd hence. This further consolation yet secure
I carry hence; though all by me is lost, Such favour I unworthy am vouchsaf'd, By me the promis'd seed shall all restore.
So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard Well pleas'd, but answer'd not; for now too nigh Th' Archangel stood, and from the other hill To their fix'd station, all in bright array The cherubim descended; on the ground Gliding meteorous, as evening mist Ris'n from a river o'er the marish glides, And gathers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel Homeward returning. High in front advanc'd, The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat,
And vapour as the Lybian air adust, Began to parch that temp'rate clime; whereat In either hand the hast'ning angel caught Our ling'ring parents, and to the eastern gate Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast To the subjected plain; then disappear'd. They looking back, all th' eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
FROM PARADISE REGAINED.-THE POWER OF BEAUTY.
SET women in his eye, and in his walk, Among the daughters of men the fairest found; Many are in each region passing fair As the noon sky; more like to goddesses Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet, Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild And sweet allay'd, yet terrible t' approach, Skill'd to retire, and in retiring draw Hearts after them, tangled in amorous nets. Such object hath the power to soft'n and tame Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow, Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve, Draw out with credulous desire, and lead At will the manliest, resolutest breast, As the magnetic hardest iron draws. Women, when nothing else, beguil'd the heart Of wisest Solomon, and made him build, And made him bow to the gods of his wives. To whom quick answer Satan thus return'd: Belial, in much uneven scale thou weigh'st All others by thyself; because of old
Thou thyself doat'st on womankind, admiring Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace, None are, thou think'st, but taken with such toys. Before the flood, thou with thy lusty crew, False titled sons of God, roaming the earth, Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men, And coupled with them, and begot a race. Have we not seen, or by relation heard,
In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st, In wood or grove, by mossy fountain side, In valley or green meadow, to way-lay Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene, Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa,
Or Amymone, Syrinx, many more,
Too long; then lay'st thy scapes on names ador'd, Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan,
Satyr, or Faun, or Sylvan? But these haunts Delight not all; among the sons of men,
How many have with a smile made small account Of beauty and her lures, easily scorn'd All her assaults, on worthier things intent? Remember that Pellean conqueror, A youth, how all the beauties of the East He slightly view'd, and slightly overpass'd; How he surnam'd of Africa dismiss'd
In his prime youth the fair Iberian maid; For Solomon, he liv'd at ease, and full Of honour, wealth, high fare, aim'd not beyond Higher design than to enjoy his state; Thence to the bait of women lay expos'd: But he whom we attempt is wiser far Than Solomon, of more exalted mind, Made and set wholly on th' accomplishment Of greatest things; what woman will you find, Tho' of this age the wonder and the fame, On whom his leisure will vouchsafe an eye Of foul desire? Or should she confident, As sitting queen ador'd on Beauty's throne, Descend with all her winning charms begirt T'enamour, as the zone of Venus once Wrought that effect on Jove, so fables tell; How would one look from his majestic brow, Seated as on the top of Virtue's hill, Discount'nance her despis'd, and put to rout All her array; her female pride deject, Or turn to reverent awe; for Beauty stands In th' admiration only of weak minds Led captive; cease t'admire, and all her plumes Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy, At every sudden slighting quite abash'd: Therefore with manlier objects we must try His constancy, with such as have more shew Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise; Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd.
DESCRIPTION OF GREECE. To whom the Fiend with fear abash'd reply'd: Be not so sore offended, Son of God, Though sons of God both angels are and men, If I to try whether in higher sort
Than these thou bear'st that title, have propos'd What both from men and angels I receive, Tetrarchs of fire, air, flood, and on the earth Nations besides from all the quarter'd winds, God of this world invok'd and world beneath; Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold To me so fatal, me it most concerns. The trial hath indamag'd thee no way; Rather more honour left and more esteem; Me nought advantag'd, missing what I aim'd. Therefore let pass, as they are transitory, The kingdoms of this world; I shall no more Advise thee; gain them as thou canst, or not. And thou thyself seem'st otherwise inclin'd Than to a worldly crown, addicted more To contemplation and profound dispute, As by that early action may be judg'd, When slipping from thy mother's eye thou went'st Alone into the temple; there wast found Among the gravest Rabbies disputant On points and questions fitting Moses' chair, Teaching, not taught; the childhood shews the man, As morning shews the day. Be famous then By wisdom; as thy empire must extend, So let extend thy mind o'er all the world In knowledge, all things in it comprehend: All knowledge is not couch'd in Moses' law, The Pentateuch, or what the Prophets wrote; The Gentiles also know, and write, and teach To admiration, led by Nature's light;
And with the Gentiles much thou must converse, Ruling them by persuasion as thou mean'st; Without their learning, how wilt thou with them, Or they with thee hold conversation meet? How wilt thou reason with them, how refute Their idolisms, traditions, paradoxes? Error by his own arms is best evinc'd.
Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount, Westward, much nearer by southwest, behold Where on the Ægean shore a city stands Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil, Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,
City or suburban, studious walks and shades; See there the olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long; There flowery hill Hymettus with the sound Of bees' industrious murmur oft invites To studious musing; there Ilissus rolls
His whisp'ring stream: within the walls then view The schools of ancient sages; his who bred Great Alexander to subdue the world, Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next:
There shalt thou hear and learn the secret power Of harmony in tones and numbers hit By voice or hand, and various-measured verse, Eolian charms and Dorian lyric odes, And his who gave them breath, but higher sung, Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd, Whose poem Phœbus challeng'd for his own. Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught In Chorus or Iambic, teachers best Of moral prudence, with delight receiv'd In brief sententious precepts, while they treat Of fate, and chance, and change in human life; High actions, and high passions best describing: Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook th' arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne: To sage philosophy next lend thine ear, From Heav'n descended to the low-rooft house Of Socrates; see there his tenement, Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued forth Mellifluous streams that water'd all the schools Of Academics old and new, with those Surnam'd Peripatetics, and the sect Epicurean, and the Stoic severe;
These here revolve, or, as thou lik'st, at home, Till time mature thee to a kingdom's weight; These rules will render thee a king complete Within thyself, much more with empire join'd.
THE FIRST SCENE DISCOVERS A WILD WOOD.
The attendant Spirit descends or enters. BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live inspher'd 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 Confin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold 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 enthron'd gods on sainted seats. Yet some there be that by due steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of eternity:
To such my errand is; and but for such, I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.
But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway Of every salt-flood, and each ebbing stream, Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles, That like to rich and various gems inlay 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, The greatest and the best of all the main, He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities; And all this track that fronts the falling sun A noble peer of mickle trust and power Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide An old and haughty nation proud in arms: Where his fair offspring nurs'd in princely lore Are coming to attend their father's state, And new-entrusted sceptre; but their way Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood, The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wand'ring passenger; And here their tender age might suffer peril, But that by quick command from sov'reign Jove I was dispatch'd for their defence and guard; And listen why, for I will tell you now What never yet was heard in tale or song, From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of mis-used wine, After the Tuscan mariners transform'd, Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, On Circe's island fell: (Who knows not Circe, The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed cup Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape, And downward fell into a grovelling swine) This nymph that gaz'd upon his clust'ring locks, With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth, Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son Much like his father, but his mother more, Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus nam'd, Who ripe, and frolic of his full grown age, Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,
At last betakes him to this ominous wood, And in thick shelter of black shades imbower'd Excels his mother at her mighty art, Offering to every weary traveller His orient liquor in a crystal glass,
To quench the drouth of Phoebus, which as they taste, (For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst) Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance, Th' express resemblance of the Gods, is chang'd Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear,
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