THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 THE 
 
 CABINET 
 
 OF 
 
 POETRY, 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 THE BEST ENTIRE PIECES TO BE FOUND IN 
 
 THE WORKS 
 or 
 
 THE BRITISH POETS. 
 
 ' If the grain were separated from the chafF which fills the 
 " works of our National Poets, what is truly valuable 
 * would be to what is useless in the proportion of a mole. 
 * bill to a mountain." Burke. 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR RICHARD PHILLIPS, 
 
 BRIDGE-STREET, 3LACKFRIARS. 
 
 1808. 
 
 T. Bensley, Bolt-court.
 
 C 114 
 V. 1 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF THE FIRST YOLUME. 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Paradise Lost, Book 1 3 
 
 Book II 23 
 
 Book III 48 
 
 Book IV 67 
 
 Book V 92 
 
 Book VI 114 
 
 Book VII 136 
 
 Book VIII 152 
 
 Book IX 168 
 
 Book X 197 
 
 Book XI 224 
 
 Book XII 246 
 
 Comus, a masque 262 
 
 L' Allegro 289 
 
 UPenseroso ^ 293 
 
 Lycidas 298 
 
 Samson Agooistes 30/ 

 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 THE Poets at large^ like the Statutes at 
 large, are proverbial for the useless lumber 
 which they contain, and have long been a 
 heavy tax on the purse and the patience of the 
 Public. 
 
 The present Work is compiled on the prin- 
 ciple of rejecting all the worthless and un- 
 interesting parts of their compositions, and 
 retaining only the best and most exquisite 
 pieces. It is in regard to the mass of Eng- 
 lish Poetry, strictly a cabinet of gems; and 
 though it may not include every poem which, 
 according to various opinions, might properly 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 ii ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 appear in such a Selection, no articles will be 
 found in it which do not possess unquestionable, 
 beauty, and afford adequate specimens of the 
 peculiar genius and manner of their respectiye 
 Authors. 
 
 London, 
 February 12, 1808.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Definition and general Characteristic. 
 
 POETRY, or Poesy, (which latter word, as more 
 musical, and nearer to the original, deserves to have 
 the preference,) derives its name from the Greek noun 
 rtoinffK, formed from a verb signifying to make, to 
 image, or to create ; and indeed imagery and inven- 
 tion are (lie grand characteristics of poetry. 
 
 Poetry is generally defined to be the art of com- 
 posing^ so as to delight) in verse. 
 
 This definition seems to agree with the form, the 
 matler, the means, and the end : and it will apply 
 to good poetry of every kind. There is however one 
 strong objection to it ; as some works of transcendant 
 excellence of invention and imagination, are not 
 f)octrj/ according to this definition. 
 
 Aristotle makes the essence of poetry consist in 
 imitation : at the beginning of his Poetics, he de- 
 scribes music, dancing, and poetrj', as imitative arts. 
 Horace requires the poet to make his language a 
 copy of life: respicere exemplare -cila;. 
 
 Among modern critics, Vossius defines poetry te 
 a2
 
 IV ESSAY ON POETRY". 
 
 be the art of representing actions in metre ; BuKeaUx, 
 in his Belles Lettres, calls poetry the imitatio i of ele- 
 gant nature ; and Trapp, in his Lectures on Poetry, 
 gives, upon the same principle, this laboured defini- 
 tion : " Poctrj' is the art of imitating or illustrating, 
 in raetricril numbers, every being in nature, and 
 every object of the imagination, for the delight and 
 improvement of mankind." Without dwelling upon 
 the obvious objection to this definition, that the 
 term imitation is improperly used to express the de- 
 scription of objects by arbitrary signs, which exhibit 
 no copy of nature; if the definition be admitted, it 
 must evidently comprelieiid all verbal delineations of 
 nature, whether in verse or prose. A prose-comedy 
 is at least as perfect an imitation of nature, as a tra- 
 gedy in verse; and a well written novel is as accu- 
 rate a copy of nature, as an epic poem. 
 
 Other critics have chosen to derive their definition 
 of poetry from its end; though they have by no 
 means agreed, whether that end be principally to 
 instruct or to please. Racine, and others, have 
 held, that the primary object of poetry is instruc- 
 tion; and in support of this opinion they have re- 
 marked, that, in ancient times, poetry was employ- 
 ed as an auxiliary to promote the influence of reli- 
 gion and virtue. Dr. LlurJ, a critic of afreat refine- 
 mc-it and classical taste, has, on the contrary, 
 taken much pains to prove that tlic first object of 
 poetry is to please, and that this is the only kind of
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. V 
 
 literary composition in which use is subordinate to 
 pleasure; and he has hence deduced a definition of 
 poetry, considered as an art, describing it to be 
 " such a way, or method, of treating a subject, as is 
 found most pleasing and delightful to us." 
 
 A definition of poetry, similar to that of bishop 
 Hurd, is given by Johnson. " Poetry is the art of 
 uniting pleasure with truth, by calling imagination 
 to the help of reason." " The true poet," he ad<Is, 
 " enables you to feel what you remember to have 
 felt before, and to feel it with a great increase of sen- 
 sibility: you recognize a familiar image, but meet 
 it again amplified and expanded, embellished with 
 beauty, and enlarged with majesty." 
 
 Those writers have perhaps ajiproached nearest 
 to a true definition of poetry, who have understood 
 it to be the immediate ofi'spring of a vigorous ima- 
 gination and quick sensibility, and have called it 
 the lang(5age of fancy and passion. This appears 
 to have been the idea entertained of poetry by Plato, 
 and to have furnished the chief ground of his exclu 
 sion of poets from his ideal republic. Cicero formed 
 the same notion of poetry; and said, that '* while all 
 other accomplishments must be acquired by instruc- 
 tion and precept, the poet derives sufficient resources 
 |"rom himself, from the native vigour of his mind, 
 *and a certain divine impulse." His sentiment is 
 adopted, among the moderns, by Dr. Blair. From 
 Ibis conception of poetry arise the ictms poetic enthu'
 
 VI ESSAY ON POETRr. 
 
 siasm, and poetic inspiration. In the state of nature, 
 before the art of versification was known, men ranst 
 have felt strong passions, and expressed them strong- 
 ly. Their language would be bold and figurative ; it 
 would be vehement and abrupt : sometimes, under the 
 impulse of the gentle and tender, or the gay and joyous 
 passions, it would flow in a kind of wild and unfet- 
 tered melody ; for,'under such feelings, melody is na- 
 tural to man. These first expressions of passion and 
 sentiment would be poetry, but they would not assume 
 the regular form of verse. So artificial an invention 
 must have been the result of innumerable efforts, and 
 could not attain any high degree of perfection but in 
 a period of great refinement. *' No one can doubt," 
 s:tys Quintilian, " that poetry, at first, flowed with- 
 out art ; and that it was reduced to metre after the 
 ear had discovered, by frequent observation, the re- 
 gular intervals of melodious sounds." 
 
 If the several excellences of poetry be distinctly 
 examined, it will be found that, except measured 
 harmony, none of these are excluded from prose. 
 
 The character of poetry, which may seem most 
 to require'that it be limited io verse, is i(s appropri- 
 ate diction. It will be admitted, that metaphorical 
 language, being more impressive than general terms, 
 is best suited to poetry. That excited state of mind, 
 which poetry supposes, naturally prompts a fii^ura- 
 tive st^le. But the linguage of fancy, sentiment, 
 and passion, is not peculiar to verse. AVhatever is
 
 E8SAY ON POETllV. Vll 
 
 the natural and proper expression of any concep- 
 tion or feeling in metre, or rhyme, is its natural and 
 proper expression in prose. All beyond this is a 
 departure from the true principles of taste. If the 
 artificial diction of modern poetry would be im- 
 proper, on similar occasions, in prose, it is equally 
 improper in verse. In support of this opinion, an 
 appeal may be made, not only to the general 
 sense of propriety, but to those most perfect models 
 of fine writing, the Greek poets. The language of 
 these great masters is always so consonant to nature, 
 that, if thrown out of rhythm (or metre), it would 
 become the proper expression of the same sentiment 
 in prose. If modern poetry will seldom bear to be 
 brought to such a test, it is because the taste of the 
 moderns has been refined to a degree of fastidiousness, 
 which leads them to prefer the unsolid ornaments of 
 art, to the genuine simplicity of nature. 
 
 Horace gives th<? honourable appellation of poe<, 
 not to Ihe mere versifier, but to the man who possesses 
 the divine inspiration of genius, and can command a 
 suitable grandeur of expression : 
 
 Ingenium ciiisit, cui mens divinior, atqueos 
 Magna sonaturum, des noniinis hiijus honorem. 
 
 And to prevent misapprehension, he gives an exam- 
 ple of a passage from Enniu, in which, when the 
 verse is broken up ((hat is, when (he passage be- 
 comes prose), the reader still finds the limbs of the 
 disjointed poet: disjecta membra poetce.
 
 Vlll 8SAy on POETIIY. 
 
 In limiting the name of poet to the composer of 
 verses, it has not been sufficiently perceived, that all 
 the essential and most valuable powers of poetry may 
 be found in a writer who does not understand, or 
 is unwilling to submit to the mental fatigue of prac- 
 tising, the art of versification. It is not my design 
 to depreciate this art. Though it may not, in these 
 degenerate times, be able to perform all the wonders 
 recorded of Orpheus's lyre, it can still add an irre- 
 sistible charm to the works of fancy. Verse is cer- 
 tainly the fairest dress of poetry; and when true 
 genius and correct taste employ it to embellish their 
 labours, the finished piece is deservedly placed in the 
 first class of human productions. But let not the 
 honour due to that divine enchantress. Poesy, whose 
 sublime conceptions fill the imagination and delight 
 the heart, be bestowed upon the handmaid whose 
 humble office consists alone in melodious arrange- 
 ment. This would be as if the mechanical hand 
 that prepares and mixes the painter's colours, were 
 to carry off the praise due to the creative mind which 
 formed and executed the design. Nor let those whose 
 literary compositions are dictated by a ready inven- 
 tion, a glowing fancy, and a feeling soul, and chas- 
 tised by a sound judgment, be refused an honourable 
 station among poets, merely because their works are 
 not cast in the mould of verse. The exclusive ho- 
 m-}ge which has hitherto been paid to the former 
 class of writers, should be dismissed with other su-
 
 EgSA.Y ON POETRY. IX 
 
 perstitions ; and the merit of every literary perform- 
 ance should be fairly estimated, not by the compara- 
 tively trivial circumstance of having been written in 
 prose or verse, but by its share of those far superior 
 qualities before mentioned. 
 
 It obviously follows, froili the point thus establish- 
 ed, that the terms poetrj/ and prose are incorrectly 
 opposed to each other. Verse alone is, properly con- 
 sidered, the contrary bi prose-, and because poetry 
 speaks the language of fancy, passion, and senti- 
 ment, and philosophy speaks the languageof reason, 
 writing should be divided, not into poetry and prose, 
 but into poetri/ and 'philosophy : a division which 
 might answer an useful purpose, by occasionally re- 
 minding both poets and philosophers of the necessity 
 of keeping within their respective provinces. Poets 
 might learn that their proper office is to amuse rather 
 llian to instruct the world, in which latter attempt 
 they have hitherto had little success : and (which is 
 more important) philosophers might learn, in in- 
 structing naankind, to abandon the idle project of 
 amusing 1 hem at the same time with poetical fancie* 
 and fictions. 
 
 a o
 
 >C ESSAY ON POETIIY. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 On the Form and Matter of Poetry, 
 
 In its form, Poetry divides itself into the episto- 
 lary, the INSCRIPTIVE, the didactic, the ele- 
 giac, the lyuic, thc'DRAMATic, and the epic. 
 
 Poetry, in its matter, divides itself into the lu- 
 dicrous, the descriptive, the festive, the sen- 
 timental, and the ethic. 
 
 We have thus six principal divisions as to form, 
 and five as to subject, under which all the others may 
 be reduced. 
 
 The encomiastic and satiric are not noticed, as 
 being species of the ethic, whenever they can be 
 brought under any description of legitimate poetry: 
 nor the epigrammatic, as it belongs either to the 
 INSCRIPTIVE (its original sense), the satiric (its 
 most general modern application), or to some of the 
 other classes. The sonnet is properly referable to 
 the LYRIC 
 
 These classes are arranged according to their dig- 
 nify; beginning with the least considerable, and end- 
 ing with the greatest. 
 
 The LUDICROUS, the elegiac, the ethic, the 
 EPIC, and the dramatic, have (the first three gene- 
 rally, the fourth and fifth always) their appropriate 
 measure and form of verse ; at least ihe exceptions 
 are so rare, that they cannot properly enter into a 
 general enumeration. 
 
 As comedy is the least poetic form of the drama,
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XI 
 
 LUDICROUS poetry in general may be regarded as 
 least partaking of the poetic spirit and character ; 
 from wanting dignity and pathos, and that vesture 
 of imagery, diction, and cadence, by which poetry 
 in the higher kinds is distinguished. 
 
 The ludicrous may be divided into the common 
 and the burlesque; and the burlesque into the mock- 
 heroic and (he macaronic. 
 
 Of the common ludicrous the specimens are very 
 numerous. The Hudibras of Butler, and the poems 
 (so fertile in good and bad) of Dr. Wolcot, arc the 
 best. 
 
 Of the mock-heroic, the Lutrin of Boileau, the 
 Dispensary of Garth, and the Rape of the Lock of 
 Pope, are examples which almost universally recur to 
 the mind whenever this kind of poetic composition is 
 mentioned. 
 
 The macaronic consists of verses partly in one 
 language and partly in another: it is hardly neces- 
 sary to state examples of this whimsical medley; 
 the late ingenious Dr. Geddcs condescended to give 
 some superior specimens. 
 
 Satirical poetry is descriptive of men and man- 
 ners ; its aim is to delineate the follies and chastise 
 the vices of the age. Satire is evidently the offspring 
 of polished times ; and, unlike other poets, the sati- 
 rist finds his empire enlarged, and his influence ex- 
 tended, by the progress of society. 
 
 Satire is cither pointed or oblique : eloquence is
 
 Xll ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 the soul of the one, and ridicule of the other. The one 
 rushes on its object in a torrent of vehemence and 
 declamation; the other pursues a smooth tortuous 
 course, occasionally reflecting to the mind the most 
 momentous truths in the playful aspect of wit and 
 humour. In Mudibras, the Lutrin, and the Rape of 
 the Lock, the effect of oblique satire is heightened 
 by an assumption of the heroic style, the perversion 
 of which produces an effect exquisitely ludicrous. 
 Gay's Shepherd's Week, and Greset's Ver-vert, 
 belong to this species ; a:s do many of Voltaire's 
 lighter poems, and most of La Fontaine's tales. 
 Swift's satire is commonly of a similar cast. The 
 satire of Young is always pointed and saturnine. 
 In Wolcot and Churchill the pointed and the ob- 
 lique are uniled : as they are in Dry den and Pope, 
 tlie two great original masters of English satire ; 
 who both possessed with wit and fancy a know- 
 ledge of men and manners, and an intuitive dis- 
 cernment of characters with Ihe aptitude of describ 
 ing tliem, which arc its first requisites. 
 
 The following extracts afford a specimen of the 
 manner of each in the delineation of character: it 
 must however be remembered, that Pope moralizes 
 while Dr yden declaims : 
 
 " Some of their chiefs were leaders of the land: 
 In the first rank of these d:d Zimri stand ; 
 A man so various, that he secm'd to be 
 ISot one, but all mankind's epitome :
 
 fiSSAV ON POETRY. XUI 
 
 Stiff in opinion, always in the wrong. 
 
 Was every thing by starts, and nothing long; 
 
 But in the course ot one revolving moon. 
 
 Was chemist, lidler, statesman, and buif'oon ; 
 
 Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking. 
 
 Beside ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 
 
 Blest madman ! who could every hour employ 
 
 With something new to wish, or to enjoy. 
 
 Railing and praising were his usual themes ; 
 
 And both, to shew his judgment, in extremes. 
 
 Is ever violent, or ever civil. 
 
 That every man with him was God or devil. 
 
 In squandering wealth was his peculiar art ; 
 
 Nothing went unrewarded, but desert: 
 
 Begg-ar'd by fools, whom still he found too late. 
 
 He had his jest, and they had liis estate. 
 
 He luugh'd himself from court ; then sought relief 
 
 In forming parties, but would ne'er be chief." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 ' In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, 
 
 Tlw walls of plaister, and tlie floor of dung ; 
 
 On once a flock-bed, now repair'd with btraw. 
 
 With tape-tied curtams never meant to draw; 
 
 The George and garter dangling from his head. 
 
 Where tawdry yellow strove wiih dirty red ; 
 
 Great Villiers lies: ;ilas ! how chang'dfrom him 
 
 The life of pleasure, and the soul of whim. 
 
 Gallant and gay, in Cliveden's proud alcove. 
 
 The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love ; 
 
 Or just as gay at council, in a ring 
 
 Of mimic statesmen and iheir meiry king! 
 
 No wit to flatter left of all his store ; 
 
 No Ibol to laugh at, which he valued more;
 
 aClV BSSAY ON POETHY* 
 
 The victor of his health, his fortune, friends. 
 And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends." 
 
 Tt'vould be amusing to pursue the comparison 
 between these two great po(?(s in the Dunciad 
 and Mac Flecknoe; to observe the unpruned exube- 
 rance and careless vigour of the elder bard, and the 
 exquisite judgment of his incomparable imitator. 
 
 We come now to descriptive poetry. This in 
 its present state has much less of originality and force 
 than the ludicrous : but it has abundantly more of the 
 sweet and pleasing, of the elegant and the graceful. 
 
 When descriptive poetry is merely such, it falls 
 so much short of the distinctness and vividness of 
 which painting is capable, that it cannot long inte- 
 rest. But when it is combined with philosophic 
 thought, tender and generous feelings, and exalted 
 sentiment, as in Dyer, Thomson, and Akenside, it 
 constitutes a mixed species of poetry, of transcendant 
 excellence. The simply natural, the soft and elegant, 
 the beautiful, the picturesque, the magnificent and 
 grand, ascending ultimately to the true sublime, con- 
 stitute the principal characteristics of the different 
 species of descriptive poelry. Descriptive poetry, 
 "when it rises into dialogue and aciion, with appro- 
 priate scenery, becomes pastoral, pictorial, or vcna- 
 torial, according (o its subjects. 
 
 Pastoral poetry has much of the descriptive. 
 The scene necessarily implies it. Simj licity and sweet- 
 ness are its most distinguishing features ; a sort of
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XV 
 
 naivete in the characters, con isting of rusticity and 
 acutenss, m<>dety and frankness. '1 heocritus is the 
 great model of pastoral [Melry ; and had Blo(jm field 
 written in dialogue, he would have been our Theo- 
 critus. If Gaj's was meant for ridicnle, the na- 
 tural genius of the writer, and his good-niture, car- 
 ried him to something far better than the most suc- 
 cessful ridicule. Cunningham ^vas perhaps at first 
 too much admired, and certainly is at pnsent too little 
 remembered. To close the descriptive list, those 
 surely may well justify their opinion, who preferSan- 
 nazarius * to Virgil in this branch of poetic compo- 
 sition. His numbers are full of dignity, variety, and 
 impressive power ; his local scenery and manners 
 uncommonly happy ; and his incidental passages 
 most pathetic, beautiful, and elevated. 
 
 Pastoral poetry is, above all other, the most limit- 
 ed in its object ; and when formed on the model 
 presented to us by Virgil and Theocritus, should be 
 a description of rural scenes and natural feelings, 
 enriched with elegant language, and adorned by the 
 m st melodious numl)ers. 
 
 Few Englisli pastorals will be recognized in this 
 definition ; the scenes which they represent are artifi- 
 cial, and the sentiments utmatural amon*' us, be- 
 cause imitated from poets who were natives of a lux- 
 uriant region, and accustomed to the livi ig tinis and 
 
 * It) his piscatory eclogues.
 
 XVI E8SAY ON tO^RY* 
 
 glowi !g azure of a cloudless sky. From this censnre, 
 however, the pastoral drama of Allan Ramsay must 
 be excepted, as should Sherit>tone's celebrated ballad. 
 The ballad is perhaps the happiesl vehicle of pastoral 
 poetry, and there are in our language many ballads 
 of exquisite beauty. Some of our pastorals are ele- 
 giac; such is Miltoa's monody on Lycidus: 
 
 " Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
 
 Under the opening eyelid oi the Morn, 
 
 "We drove afield ; and both together heard 
 
 What time the grey Hy winds her sultry horn, 
 
 Batt'ning our tiocks with the fresh dews of night. 
 
 Oft till the star that rose at evening bright. 
 
 Towards heaven's descent had slop'd his westering wheel." 
 
 The conclusion of this poem is in the true spirit of 
 elegant pastoral : 
 
 " Thus sung the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills. 
 When the still Morn went out in sandals grey ; 
 He touch'd the tender stops of various quills 
 With eager thought, warbling his Doric lay; 
 And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills. 
 And now was dropt into the western bay. 
 At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue. 
 To morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new." 
 
 Of the FESTIVE we have examples in the odes oF 
 Anacreon: though concerning many of these a doubt 
 has been, and apparently with reason, entertained, 
 whether they are not much more modern. They 
 are beautifully imitated by Cowley.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XVll 
 
 The sTentimental may be distributed into five 
 principal classes, all which have the sentiments or 
 affections for their objects; the simplj/ affectionate, 
 the amatory, the patriotic, the philanthropic, and 
 the devotional. 
 
 The simply affectionate are those which are de- 
 voted to friendship, or the parental, filial, and fra- 
 ternal, duties and affections ; or to the general sym- 
 patJiies v.'hich interest man in the welfare of perci- 
 pient and sentient nature in general. The amatory 
 are sufficiently expressed in the form of these : some 
 of the epistles of Ovid in the character of the Gre- 
 cian heroines, his own to his wife, several of the ele- 
 gies of Tibullus, and some of those of Propertius, 
 are beautiful examples. Among the Italians, Pe- 
 trarch , Tasso, Vittoria, Colonna, Veronica, Gambara, 
 and Sannazarius, are pre-eminent, generally in 
 chastity, refinement, and elevation, and frequently 
 in the tenderness and natural sweetness of the 
 passions : and among our own poets, Hammond, 
 Shcnstonc, Thomson in his two exquisite songs and 
 in many detached passages, Shakspeare and Milton 
 in their occasional delineations, and Mrs. Robinson in 
 her scries of sonnets, and in many of her poems, which 
 have exceeding delica(;y, sweetness, and tenderness, 
 with truth and energy of affection. Hammond, it is 
 true, has something of a cold appearance, of which he 
 would have had loss if he had been more avowedly 3 
 translator of Tibullus. Shenstone has often, with a
 
 XVlU ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 most musical sweetness, the truest and most affecting 
 simplicity. 
 
 Of patriotic poetry, it must be owned, there is but 
 little : some noble odes of Akenside, Thomson's Liber- 
 ty, and Glover's Leonidas, breathe however this 
 spirit. Nor is Smollet's Ode to Independance to be 
 deprived of a high rank in this class. 
 
 Of the philanthropic, we have some noble spe- 
 cimens in the poems written to promote the aboli- 
 tion of the slave-trade. 
 
 Of the devotional, except some wonderful pas- 
 sages in the Psalms and prophets, instances of great 
 excellence are rare ; and I know not whetlicr the 
 Italian poets have not been more frequently successful 
 than ours. In the Esther and the Athalie of Racine, 
 there are admirable examples of devotional sentiment 
 combined with poetry. In our own language, se- 
 veral passages in sir Richard Blackmore's too much 
 neglected poem on the Creation ; Baker on the Uni- 
 verse ; some hymns and psalms of Watts, Addison, 
 Barbauld, and Steele; many passages in Milton, 
 and the sublime hymn which closes the Seasons ; 
 prove that poetry is capable, even in this class of 
 vying with the dignity of its subject : though the 
 majority of instances, it must be acknowledged, are 
 exceedingly unhappy in sentiment and imagery. 
 
 There reniains only the ethic among the principal 
 classes (as to matter) of poetry. And horc, ihough 
 Pope is frequently excellent, both in sentiment and
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XIX 
 
 manner, I know not any author who so uniformlj 
 excels as Horace in several of his epistles ; or with 
 such sublimity as Juvenal in his tenth satire, which 
 Dr. Johnson lias imitated with considerable success. 
 The name of elegy was originally given to fune- 
 real monody, but was afterwards attached to all 
 plaintive strains. In the Latin language it was al- 
 ways written in hexameter and pentameter verse. By 
 the moderns an elegiac stanza was invented, assimi- 
 lating as nearly as possible with those slow melodious 
 numbers. Many elegies, and perhaps the best, are 
 expressive only of soothing tenderness: such are 
 those of Tibullus, so happily imitated by Hammond. 
 The Jesse of Shenstone, which has perhaps never 
 been surpassed, is all pathos. The celebrated elegy 
 of Gray combines every charm of description and 
 sentiment. The usual elegiac stanza, the monotony 
 of which soon becomes oppressive to the ear, is some- 
 times happily exchanged for a lighter measure, as in 
 Cowper's Juan Fernandez : 
 
 " Ye winds that have made me your sport. 
 Convey to this desolate shore 
 
 Some cordial endearing report 
 Of a land I shall visit no more. 
 
 My friends do they now and then send 
 A wish or a thought after me ? 
 
 Oh ! tell me I yet have a friend. 
 Though a friend I am never to see." 
 
 The sonnet represents in an abridged form the an- 
 cient elegy ; the same slow stanza is assigned to each,
 
 XX ESSAY ON POETny. 
 
 and the sentiments suitable to one are appropri- 
 ate to the other. The sonnet is derived from the 
 Italian school, and was much cultivated in England 
 during the seventeenth century. It is always limited 
 to fourteen lines, an artificial character which seem* 
 to indicate an Oriental extraction. The following,. 
 by Milton, is a fine specimen of English sonnet in the 
 Italian manner : 
 
 " O nightingale, that on yon leafy spray 
 Wast blest at ever when all the woods are still ! 
 Thou with fresh hopes the lover's heart dost fill. 
 When the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. 
 Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of Day, 
 First iieard before the shallow cuckoo's bill. 
 Portend success in love. Oh ! if Jove's will 
 Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, 
 Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 
 Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh , 
 As thou from year to year hast sung too late 
 For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. 
 Whether the muse or love call tiiee his mate. 
 Both them I serve, and of their train am I." 
 
 In the following sonnet, which is of a modern date, 
 the stanza is happily accommodated to the English 
 language: 
 
 Written in the church-yard of Middkton, Sussex. 
 
 " Press'd by the moon, mute arbitress of tides. 
 Whilst the loud equinox its power combines. 
 The sea no more its swelling surge confines. 
 But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
 
 ESSAY on POETRY. XXI 
 
 Tlie wild blast rising from the western cave. 
 Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed. 
 Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead. 
 And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave. 
 With shells and sea-weed mingled on the shore, 
 Lo! their bones vvhiten on the frequent wave. 
 But vain to them the winds and waters rave. 
 They hear the warring elements no more ; 
 While I am doom'd, by life's long storm opprest. 
 To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest." 
 
 Pope's Elegy to an Unfortunate Lady, and his 
 Eloisa, arc in heroic verse; which, in the hands of 
 that great master, is adequate to the expression of 
 every feeling. 
 
 ]jYRic poetry is versatile and miscellaneous, 
 admitting almost every variety of measure and sub- 
 ject. Love and heroism, friendship and devotional 
 sentiment, the triumphs of beauty, and the praises 
 of patriotism, arc all appropriate to lyrical compo- 
 sition. The soul of enthusiasm, the spirit of philo- 
 sophy, and (he voice of sympathy, mfiy unite 
 ill the same ode. Of our lyrical writers, Dryden is 
 confessedly eminent; Gray is distinguished by the 
 majesty and delicacy of his expression, and the cor- 
 rectness of his style; Collins is occasionally animated 
 by a portion of Pindaric spirit. Among our heroic 
 odes there are perhaps none that breathe a loftier 
 strain than the following patriotic invocation by 
 Burns :
 
 XXU ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 *' Scots, who have witli Wallace bled, 
 Scots, whom Bruce hath often led> 
 Welcome to the gory bed. 
 
 Or to glorious victory. 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour. 
 See the front of battle lour; 
 See approach proud Edward's power, 
 
 Edward's chains and slaverj'. 
 
 Who will be a traitor knave? 
 Who can ask a coward's grave ? 
 Who so base to be a slave ? 
 
 Traitor, coward, turn and flee. 
 Who for Scotland, king, and law. 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa' ? 
 
 Caledonian, on wi' me. 
 
 By oppressions, woe?, and pains. 
 By your master's servile chains. 
 We will draw our dearest veins. 
 
 But they shall be, shall be free. 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ; 
 Tyrants fall in every foe. 
 Liberty's in every blow : 
 
 Forward let us do, or die.** 
 
 In the minor lyrics arc included songs, a species 
 of composition sedulously cultivated by English 
 writers. The (hemes of songs are in general amatory 
 or convivial ; there are however some, of which the 
 strain is purely patriotic and martial ; and not a few 
 are of the humorous cast. Shakspeare, Jonson, and 
 other elder bards, have bequeathed to us songs of 
 exquisite beauty. During the last century Prior
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXlll 
 
 excelled in these short compositions, but the most po- 
 pular song-writer was Gay. Allan Ramsay has left 
 some enchanting airs. Percy's Collection has re- 
 stored many lyrical pieces of inimitable pathos and 
 simplicity. In latter times, many songs of classical 
 eminence have been supplied by Stevens, Wolcot, 
 Sheridan, Dibdin, Roscoe, and Burns. 
 
 Didactic poetry is minutely preceptive, and 
 professes to convey useful instruction on some parti- 
 cular subject. It is obviously not easy to discover 
 situations in which an author may become a practical 
 teacher, without ceasing to be a poet : and this 
 difficulty is aggravated to the English writer, who 
 has not the resources of the Greek and Roman in the 
 metrical capacities of his language. 
 
 Virgil's georgical poem is a performance of the 
 first master, operating with the best materials. In 
 imitation of Virgil, a poem was composed by Phillips 
 on cyder. Toward the middle of the last century, 
 when the didactic muse had most votaries, even pole- 
 mics, physics, and metaphysics, were expounded in 
 verse ! But verse is not the medium by which in- 
 formation can be communicated with most advan- 
 tage; and it is less suitably employed in elucidating 
 abstract speculation, than in enforcing popular and 
 acknowledged truths. The philosophy of A kenside 
 is relished only for his imagery and harmonious lan- 
 guage. The aphorisms of Armstrong are remem- 
 bered only where the author was more sensible to the
 
 XXIV ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 influences of Apollo than of Esculapius. The Eco- 
 nomy of Vegetation, and the Loves of the Plants, 
 are formed on a plan entirely original. It is pro- 
 bable that the primary idea of this work was 
 suggested to the author by the perusal of Cowley's 
 Garden ; but on that simple site he has erected a 
 magnificent palace, in which no vestige of the an- 
 cient edifice remains. With an imagination luxu- 
 riant as that of Ovid, and with powers of description 
 scarcely less universal, he has invented a machinery 
 appropriate to his subject, and which is also derived 
 solely from the philosophy of modern times. From 
 the extensive notes appended to his poems, it is how- 
 ever obvious, that though he might thus embody the 
 principles of science to the eye of fancy, he despair- 
 ed of rendering them intelligible without the agency 
 of prose. Mason's English Garden is more descrip- 
 tive than didactic. De Lille's Jardins is a chef- 
 d'oeuvre in its kind. In the Essay on Criticism, 
 Pope has most happily enlivened didactic style with 
 wit and satire. 
 
 Epic poetry concentrates all that is sublime in 
 action, description, or sentiment. In the structure 
 of a regular epic poem, criticism requires that the 
 fable should be founded in fact ; and that fiction 
 should fill the picture, of which the outline is 
 traced by truth. In the conduct of the poem, 
 the machinery must be subservient to the main 
 design, and the action should be simple and uni-
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXT 
 
 form. In the Iliad, the action is limited to the de- 
 struction of Troy, which is only to be effected by 
 the conciliation of Achilles to the common cause. 
 In the Odyssey, it is the establishment o Ulysses in 
 Ithaca; an event which, after innumerable difficul- 
 ties, he is finally enabled to accomplish. In the 
 ^neid, the hero is destined to found aTrojan colony 
 in Latium. In the Jerusalem Delivered, the object 
 of the poem, from its commencement to its close, is 
 the restoration of that city to the Christians. 
 
 Criticism requires that poetical justice should be 
 dispensed to all parties ; success being awarded to 
 the virtuous, and punishment inflicted on the guilty. 
 On these principles, three authors only, Homer, Vir- 
 gil, 'and Tasso, have produced epic works. There are 
 however many poems of the epic or heroic cast to 
 which criticism has hilhcrfo assigned no character- 
 istic name : such are the Lusiad of Caraoens, and 
 the Ilenriade of Voltaire. In {lie Paradise Lost, 
 Milton appears in solitary majesty and magnifi- 
 cence. He maintains a lofty independance on rules 
 and systems, and eternizes to himself a distinction 
 sui>erior to all that criticism has to withhold or to 
 bestow. The Inferno of Dante, the Orlando of Ari- 
 osto, and the Fairy Queen of Spenser, are romances ; 
 a species of composition purely fictitious, in which 
 no other restriction is imposed on the poet's fancy 
 than that he shall continue to interest and amuse his 
 reader. 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 XXVI ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 Several romances of a recent da(e are ejitillcd lo 
 praise: such as the Obcron of Wiclimd, ably trans- 
 Lited by Mr. Sollieby ; tlie Tfialaba of Sotitliey, of 
 which Ihe beauties would be more generally appre- 
 ciated if the work was less tinged witli gloom ; and 
 the Lay of the Last Minstrel, in which a fable of the 
 most superficial texture is drawn out in a succession 
 of scenes which perpetually animate and delight the 
 imagination. 
 
 It is obvious, that the poetical nomenclature esta- 
 blished on classical authority, is not sufficiently ex- 
 tensive to include all the compositions of modern 
 times. 
 
 To what classical name shall we refer the noble 
 ethics of Pope in his Epistles, and of Cowper in his 
 Task ? By what name shall we designate the Tra- 
 veller and the Deserted Village, the Pleasures of 
 Memory, the Pleasures of Hope, and many other 
 exquisite productions ? Ossian's poems have been 
 classed with epic compositions ; but they are more 
 analogous to the old heroic lays chanted by the 
 scalds, bards, and minstrels. The relics of Scandi- 
 navian literature afford many specimens of poetry 
 which, though inferior in beauty, are obviously of 
 similar origin and execution. 
 
 Origin-illy a drama was a metrical composition, 
 and exhibited all the critical refinements of poetry. 
 The tide of poet is still given to every dramatic 
 author, even if his composition is written in prose,
 
 ESSAY OX POETRY. XtVll 
 
 ami though the highest dramatic powers may exist 
 without tlie smallest talent for poetry. The avowed 
 ooji'ct of the drama is to develope the passion?, or 
 to dclinea'e the manners, of mankind : tragedy elTccls 
 the one, and comedy the other. In the English lan- 
 guage are many popular dramas of a mixed cha- 
 racter, written in verse intermingled with prose, 
 and called p la /ys. The best pieces in Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, and even of Shakspeare, belong to 
 this order. The English drama deviates essentially 
 from that of classical antiquity; and independant 
 of the division of acts and scenes, there is little 
 resemblance between them. The triple unities of 
 time, place, and action, are seldom observed on 
 the English stage; and our best writers have al- 
 lowed, that between the acts any change of scene is 
 admissible. In reality this operation is performed 
 in most tragedies and all comedies, at any season, 
 without cither condition or restriction ; nor perhaps 
 is any change censurable, the cause and object of 
 which are immediately comprehended by the audi- 
 ence. To the limitation of time more attention is 
 paid. In many tragedies the action is included in 
 one day. Unity of design is obviously an obliga- 
 tion imposed by good sense: and Shaksixjare, guided 
 only by his feelings of propriety, is in general care- 
 ful to exclude from his plays a divided interest; an 
 error perpetually committed by Beaumont and 
 Fletcher, and his other dramatic contemporaries. 
 b2
 
 XXVIU ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 To construct a simple dramatic fable is no very easy 
 task. The author has to provide sources of con- 
 stantly augmenting interest, to present a discrimina- 
 tion of characters, to suggest situations capable of 
 extorting from the spectators an active participation 
 in the scene ; and above all, to supply a series of na- 
 tural incidents, the springs of dramatic action, by 
 which all the life and motion of the piece are pro- 
 duced. 
 
 The dramatic style should imbibe its character 
 from that of the individuals introduced in the scene, 
 and transmit the impression of every feeling which 
 is there pourtra^ed. On this excellence is founded 
 the superiority of Shaksi)eare to all other drama- 
 tists : from him each passion receives its appropriate 
 language. Witli a few masterly touches, he lays 
 open the heart, exhibits its most secret movements, 
 and excites in every bosom correspondent emotions. 
 The poet who, next to Shakspcare, has excelled in 
 the dramatic style, is Otway. The tragedies of 
 Rowe possess extraordinary merit. In the plays of 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, and Massinger, are innu- 
 merable passages of high poetical beauty ; and in 
 those of Dryden are discovered the most brilliant 
 combinations of thought and fancy : but slill he 
 wants the touches of nature; that true dramatic idiom 
 which is instantly understood by the heart ; and the 
 absence of which is not compensated by benutiful 
 imagery, or the most refined graces of composition. 
 
 Dramatic blank verse, when flowing with freedom
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXIX 
 
 and facility, is more happily adapted than prose 
 to the expression of strong emotion ; it is not only 
 more harmonious, but more concise ; and being exo- 
 nerated from that metrical precision which is expect- 
 ed in other styles of poetry, is simply the language of 
 impassioned feeling. Much of the imagery which 
 might delight in the closet, would offend on (he 
 stage : yet figurative language is often employed 
 with great effect in describing the tempestuous pas- 
 sions. In a state of agitation the mind becomes pe- 
 culiarly susceptible of new combinations. Grief is 
 eloquent: and though the chain of thought is too 
 tenacious to be broken by sensible inn)ressions, it 
 discovers in every external object some typical illus- 
 tration of its own suffermgs ; some image which, by 
 a kind of fictitious sympathy, seems respondent to 
 its individual feelings. Thus Lear, though insen- 
 sible to the storm, invokes the elements, reverting to 
 the contumely he has experienced : 
 
 " I tax not you, y e elements, witli unkindness ; 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children ; 
 You owe me no subscription." 
 
 In impassioned language, even a mixture of me- 
 taphors is not indefensible : in a moment of distrac- 
 tion the mind is versatile, and indistinct in its per- 
 ceptions ; and consequently becomes liable to form 
 abrupt, desultory, and even incongruous associa- 
 tions. 
 
 It is true, that further than as ethics combine them-
 
 XXX ESSAY ON POETRT. 
 
 selves with sentiment and affection, it is difScuIt, re- 
 spectable as they are, to elicit poetry from the princi- 
 ples of morality ; but thus combined, they shine 
 forth like the sun with a glorious and beneficent 
 union of light and animating warmth. This gives 
 the Platonic philosophy (which embodies Virtue, and 
 presents her visible in divine beauty) such advan- 
 tage in poetry; and as a proof of this, we may read 
 Akenside with admiration and transport never to b 
 exhausted. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Of the General Characteristics of Poetry. 
 
 Metrical harmony is but the medium by which 
 the poet transmits his ideas and sentiments: it con- 
 stitutes the fabric into which his conceptions arc 
 wrought, the form in which his sentiments are exhi- 
 bited. Metrical harmony is common to all who as- 
 sume the name of poets; from the humble versifier 
 creeping through hedge-rows of rhym.e at the foot 
 of Parnassus, to the son of genius, who has drunk 
 of inspiration at lis source, and rides 
 
 " Upon the-seraph wing of ecstacy." 
 
 It has appeared difficult to suggest a proper mode 
 of distinction between these two orders of writers; 
 and it has been often asked,What is the real difference 
 between the legitimate bard and a maker of pretty 
 verses ? Their respective pretensions might, it seems.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXXI 
 
 be amicably adjusted, by leaving to the former an ex- 
 clusive right to the unqualified character of poet, and 
 ass gning the rank of metrical poel to the latter. There 
 is v\ metrical harmony a charm that often renders a 
 trivial thought pleasing. There are also certain 
 agiceable epithets which, if not egregiously mis- 
 placed, must always call lo the mind grateful asso- 
 ciations; and which, when aided by melodious verse, 
 will generally impart some <ransient sensation of de- 
 light. To awaken strong and permanent feelings of 
 this nature, is the prerogative only of the origitial 
 bard. Poetical emotion springs from admiration or 
 frixn sympathy, and may be awakened by the novelty 
 or the renovation of sensation. It may arise from 
 coiibinations new to the fancy, or from recollections 
 interesting to the heart. In the energy of his con- 
 ceptions, and in the charm of his expression, resides 
 all the poet's power. There are no features of 
 sublimity and mi'gnificcncc, no touches of tender- 
 ness or pathos, but may be traced to those two 
 soirees of poetical excellence. Sublimity originates 
 in the amplitude of the poet's mind; and is disco- 
 vered in the majesty of his images, or the grandeur 
 ofhis sentiments : a sensation of terror, mingled wi(h 
 aAniration, aUo belongs to the sublime. Such is 
 tint awakened by Milton's awful description of the 
 grtes of hell : 
 
 " On a sudden open fly 
 With impetuous recoil, and jarring souod.
 
 XXXll ESSAY ON POETRY; 
 
 Th' infernal doors; and on their hinges grate 
 Harsh thunder, tliat the lowest bottom shook 
 Of Erebus." 
 
 The promotion of virtue may be considered a 
 essential to the character of Poetry. The virtue of 
 descriptive poetry in general, or of pastoral, convi- 
 vial, and amatory poetry, will be questioned. And 
 yet it may be said. Is it not truly poetry ? It is trily 
 poetry if it gives just, and pleasing, and amiable 
 views of nature. It is truly poetic, if it celebrates 
 love and beauty as they deserve to be celebrated; if 
 it exalts agreeably io the benign and wise constituton 
 of our nature, passions into aiFections, and affections 
 into virtues ; if it inspires sentiments of simplicity 
 and gentleness, of content and benevolence ; if it 
 tranquillizes and refines, softens and purifies, ihe 
 heart. And, in truth, all blameless pleasure is in its 
 tendency and effect virtuous : nor is pleasure otter- 
 wise vicious then if it offends the principles of sOi)er 
 moderation, or violates justice and benevolence. And 
 in the higher poetry, such as the Seasons of Than- 
 son, the Pleasures of Imagination by Akenside, very 
 much of Shakspeare, and almost all of Milton, th<re 
 is a divine philosophy more truly moral, and mtre 
 effectually meliorating, than many laboured systens 
 of ethics, and volumes of theological prose. 
 
 Poetry is iu a peculiar and most comprehensive 
 sense, an imitative art. In its two highest kinds, tie 
 epic and the dramatic, this is most evident. Tlis
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXXill 
 
 imitation it effects partly by its sentiments and 
 imagery, and partl_y (like music) by the very tone and 
 cadence But iu ai art, the beauiful and the ex- 
 cellent are the proper objects of iniiiation ; and there 
 ought to be no other imitation than such as may be 
 subservient to thtse. Now there being nothing so 
 beautiful as virtue and goodness, the pure, the 
 tender, the generous, and the elevated affections, 
 true poetry cannot be the instrument of vice and folly. 
 If verse descends to this, it may retain its dress, and 
 some remains of its air and (one; but it has lost the 
 divine spirit essential to its character. 
 
 What follows is iu the genuine spirit of terrific 
 sublimity : 
 
 " She opened ; but to shut 
 
 Exceh'd her power. The gates wide open stood; 
 
 That with extended wing a bannered host. 
 
 Under spread ensigns marching, might pass tlirough 
 
 With horse and chariots rank a la loose array. 
 
 So wide they stood; and hke a furnace-mouth 
 
 Cast forth redounding smoke, and ruddy llanie. 
 
 Before their eyes in sudden view appear 
 
 The secrets of the hoaiy deep ; a dark 
 
 Illimitable ocean, without bound, 
 
 "Without dimension, where length, breadth, and highth. 
 
 And time, and place, are lost." 
 
 Sublimity is produced by grandeur of sentiment : 
 
 ** Farewell, happy fields. 
 Where joy for ever dwells ! Hail, horrors ! hail, 
 b5
 
 XXXIV ESSAY OK POETIir. 
 
 Infernal world ! and thou, profoiindest hell. 
 Receive thy new possessor ; one wiio brings 
 A mind not to be clianged by place or time. 
 The mind is its own place ; and in itsvlf 
 Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." 
 
 In sublime composition no image should be intro- 
 duced which is not calculated to impress the mind 
 with feelings of solemnity. The following descrip- 
 tion of Satan exemplifies the union of sublime 
 imagery, with sublimity of sentiment. There is 
 even something like pathos in the concluding pas- 
 sage: 
 
 *' He, above the rest 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent. 
 Stood like a tower. His form had not yet lost 
 All her original brightness; nor appear'd 
 Lss than arch-angel ruined, and the excess 
 Of glory obscur'd : as when the sun, new-risen, ^ 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air. 
 Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon. 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs. Darkened, so yet shone 
 Above them all the arch-angel : but his face 
 Deep scars of thunder had entrench'd, and care 
 Sat on his faded cheek; but under brows 
 Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride 
 Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast 
 Signs of remorse and passion, to behold 
 Tlie fellows of his crime (the followers rather). 
 Far other once beheld in bliss, condemn'd 
 For ever now to have their lot in pain:
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXXV 
 
 Millions of spirits, for his fault, amerced 
 Of heaven, and from eternal splendour flung 
 For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood ; 
 Their glory withered : as when heaven's fire 
 Ilath scathed the forest oak, or mountain pine. 
 With singed top their stately growth, though bare. 
 Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared 
 To speak ; whereat their double ranks they bend 
 From wing to wing, and half inclose him round 
 With all his peers: attention held them mute. 
 Thrice heessay'd; and tlirice, in spite of scorn. 
 Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth : at last 
 Words interwove with sighs found out their way." 
 
 An energetic simplicity is essential to the sublime, 
 ^liicli disclaims artificial ornament. Description 
 includes many of the elements of poetry, and alter- 
 nately produces emotions of sublimity and beauty. 
 The figurative style is often assumed, in order to 
 give more richness and vividness to description. 
 The elements are thus embodied, and morn and 
 evening are perpetually represented under some po- 
 pidar and pleasing image. Thus Milton personifies 
 tlie morning : 
 
 " Now Mom, her early steps in the eastern clime 
 Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl." 
 
 And Shakspeare : 
 
 " But see, the Mom, in russet maatle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dews of yon high eastern hill." 
 
 Description is sometimes rendered more lively by 
 the introduction of a figurative allusion. Thus, iu
 
 XXXVl ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 the Allegro, Milton illustrates his description of sun- 
 rise; 
 
 " Sometimes walking not unseen. 
 
 By hedge-row elms, or hillocks green ; 
 Right against the eastern gate. 
 Where the great sun begins his state, 
 Rob'd in flames and amber bright. 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight." 
 
 In the Peuseroso he again enlivens his imagery by 
 an interesting allusion : 
 
 " Missing thee, I walk unseen 
 On the dry smooth-shaven green ; 
 To behold the wandering moon 
 Riding near her highest noon. 
 Like one that hath been led astray 
 Through the heaven's wide pathless way ; 
 And oft as if her head she bow'd. 
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud.'* 
 
 In Dryden's poem of the Flower and the Leaf is 
 the following beautiful illustration of the spring : 
 
 " When first the tender blades of grass appear; 
 
 And buds, that yet the breath of Eurus fear. 
 
 Stand at the door of life, and ask to clothe the year." 
 
 Poetical description is either general or local, and 
 admits of artificial or simple imagery. In the two 
 following passages Pope exemplifies the difference 
 of general and local description : 
 
 " Thy trees, fair Winrhor, now shall leave their wood> 
 And half thy forests rush into my flood ; 
 Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display. 
 To the bright regions of the rising day ;
 
 E8SAY ON fOEtRV. XXXVii 
 
 Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll. 
 Where clearer tiaiiies glow round the Irozen pole ; 
 Or under southern skies exalt their sails. 
 Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales. 
 For mc the balnx shall bleed, tiie amber tiow. 
 The coral retlden, and the ruby glow. 
 The pearly shell its lucid globe enfold, 
 And Phoebus wami the ripening ore to gold." 
 
 Here the author dwells not sufficiently long on any 
 object to leave a distinct picture on the mind. But 
 in the ensuing lines the delineation is too bold to be 
 missed : 
 
 " In genial spring, beneath the quiv'ring shade. 
 Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead. 
 The patient tisher takes his silent stand. 
 Intent, iiis angle trembling in his hand ; 
 With looks unniov'd he hopes the scaly breed. 
 And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed. 
 Our plenteous streams a various race supply: 
 The bright-eyed perch, witi) fins of 'J'yrian dye ; 
 The silver eel, in shniing volumes roll'd ; 
 The yellow carp, in scales bedropt with gold." 
 
 The two following extracts from Milton happily 
 illustrate the difference of artificial and simple ima- 
 gery : 
 
 " Now the bright morning-star, day's harbinger. 
 Comes dancing from the east, and leads with lier 
 The Howery May, who from her green lap throws 
 The yel'ow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 
 Hail, l;e ute>)us May, that dost mspire 
 Mirth, and youth, and warm desire !
 
 XXKVIU ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 Woods and groves are of thy dressing. 
 Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing." 
 
 " While the plowman near at liand 
 Whistles o'er the fiirrow'd land ; 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
 And the mower whets his scythe. 
 And every shepherd tells his tale 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale." 
 
 In general description, it is the poet's object io 
 force on the mind a variety of brilliant ideas and 
 vivid impressions. In his local or individual deli- 
 neations, he presents images palpable to the imagr- 
 nalion, and almost to the senses ; he stimulates latent 
 feelings, or renovates forgotten sensations. In the 
 combination of artificial imagery, he employs the 
 power of novelty ; in that of simple images, he relies 
 on the charm of truth. With the one the attention 
 is awakened, by the other it is absorbed. The reader 
 perceives ia himself a capacity for forming associa- 
 tions till then unknown ; but he is yet more pleased 
 to retrace scenes and sentiments familiar to memory, 
 and dear to to the heart. In one instance he is asto- 
 nished by the variety of the poet's conceptions : in 
 the other he is enchanted by the fidelity of his imita- 
 tions. The magnificence of figurative language and 
 metaphorical description extorts admiration: the 
 simplicity of natural images inspires delight. In 
 local description the poet should introduce only such 
 objects as harmonize perfectly with his design . Thus
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. XXXIX 
 
 in his delicious landscape of Eden, Milton carefull/ 
 avoids the intrusion of exotic imagery ; 
 
 " Thus was this place 
 A happy rural seat, of various views : 
 Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balms; 
 Otliers, whose fruit burnished with golden rind 
 Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true 
 (If true) here only, and of delicious taste. 
 Betwixt them, lawns, or level downs, and flocks 
 Grazing the tender herb, were interposed : 
 Or palmy hillock, or the flow'ry top 
 Of some irriguous valley, spreads her store ; 
 Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. 
 " Another side, umbrageous grots and caves 
 Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine 
 Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps 
 Luxuriant: meanwhile murmuring waters fall 
 Down the slope hill dispers'd ; or in a lake 
 That to the fringed bank, with myrtle crown'd. 
 Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams." 
 
 There is in local description a charm that renders 
 objects, in themselves uncongenial, engaging to the 
 mind. The folloAving passage presents few images 
 of beauty ; but in contemplating it, who docs not 
 feel, that without being removed from the common 
 walk of nature, he is visited by the influences of 
 poetry ? 
 
 " The day is come, wlien I again repose 
 Here under this dark sycamore, and view 
 Those plots of cottage ground, the orchard tufts. 
 Which at this season, with their unripe fruits.
 
 X\ ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 Among the woods and copses lose themselves. 
 Nor with their green and simple hues disturb 
 The wild green landscape. Once again I see 
 Hedge-rows, then hardly hedge-rows, little lines 
 Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms. 
 Green to the very door, and wreaths of smoke 
 Sent up in silence from among the trees ; 
 "With some uncertain notice, as might seem, 
 Of vagrant dwellers in the fenceless woods ; 
 Or of some hermit's cave, where by hi fire 
 The hermit sits alone," 
 
 If such is the charm of local scenery, yet greater 
 is the captivation of that individual and character- 
 istic sentiment, which, from its appropriationto the 
 drama, has been called dramatic. Such indeed is its 
 enchantment, (hat it has been found capable of pro- 
 ducing the most exquisite emotion, without any 
 auxiliary embellishments from figurative language 
 or picturesque imagery. We are never more delight- 
 ed with the poet, than when thus intimately admitted 
 to his confidence ; when we are suffered to commune 
 with his heart, to explore his most retired thoughts, 
 and partake his most sacred feelings. This charm 
 of itidividutdity was in some of their poems eminently 
 possessed by Chaucer, and other of our elder bards; 
 it constituted the leading feature in Cowper's lays; 
 it formed the magic of Burns ; and it distinguishes 
 the author of the Lyrical Ballads. The pathetic, 
 like the sublime, must be concise and simple. It 
 depends not so much on the thought as the expres-
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. xll 
 
 sion. Virgil's description of Andromache on recog- 
 nizing ^neas at the tomb of Hector, is strikingly 
 beautiful : 
 
 " Verane tua facies ? et verus mihi nuncius affcrs ? 
 Nate de^, vivisne ? aut, si lux alma recessit, 
 Ubi Hector est ?" 
 
 The whole passage is affecting, but the pathos dwells 
 in the " ubi Hector est?" Figurative language is 
 often happily employed in the description of impas- 
 sioned feeling. Sometimes it appears to be the na- 
 tural overflowing of tenderness : 
 
 " Thy cave should be a lover's bower, 
 Though raging winter rent the air ; 
 
 Ana Mhe. a lovely little flower, 
 That I would tend, and shelter tnere." 
 
 In general, however, the simple and unadorned 
 style is most appropriate to pathos and tenderness. 
 Thus Constance, in her touching appeal to the car- 
 dinals, exclaims of her son : 
 
 " And so he'll die; aHd rising so again, 
 When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 
 I shall not know him ; therefore never, aever. 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more." 
 
 The curiosa felicilas, that charm or felicity of ex- 
 pression which Horace so happily exemplified, is 
 one of the most powerful agents in pro<lucing poet- 
 ical emotion. It is the attribute which belongs 
 only to the poet of nature ; and is the effusion of 
 some fortunate moments, when consummate judg-
 
 Xlil ESSAY ON POETnV. 
 
 ment has been impelled and inspired by exquisite 
 feeling. It is impossible but that the readers of 
 Shakspeare and Milton must recollect innumerable 
 examples of this kind of excellence. Who has not 
 felt the enchantment conveyed by Shakspeare's 
 *' heaven-kissing hill?" What lover of nature has 
 not in some bright autumnal morning, while con- 
 templating a rural scene, experienced that mixed 
 sensation of enjoyment and stillness which is all de- 
 scribed in " the air smells wooingly?" Felicity of 
 expression is the native idiom of genius ; and as the 
 goddess of beauty was discovered by her first move- 
 ments, the genuine poet may be detected by a single 
 epithet. The spirit of poetry is ""* cnfinpd to 
 subjects of dignity and importance : it may be per- 
 ceived in a simple lay, and even in a sportive song. 
 It visited Sappho, as it had sojourned with Pindar ; 
 and was as truly the attendant of Theocritus as of 
 Homer. Nor is poetical emotion inspired only by 
 the song of heroes and of gods. It may be awakened 
 even by the strain of playful tenderness, in which 
 the lover celebrates some darling of his mistress. 
 The requisites of the true poetical character are 
 thus happily summed up by the duke of Bucking- 
 ham: 
 
 ** *Tis not a flash of fancy, which sometimes, 
 Dazzling our minds, sets off the slightest rhymes, 
 Briglit as a blaze, but in a moment done. 
 True wit is everlasting; like the sun.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. Xlui 
 
 Which, though sometimes behind a cloud retired, 
 Brealvs out again, and is by all admired. 
 Number, and rhyme, and that harmonious sound 
 Which not the nicest car with harshness wouud, 
 Are necesary, yet but vulgar arts: 
 And all in vain these superficial parts 
 Contribute to the structure of the whole. 
 Without a genius too, for that's the soul; 
 A spirit which inspires the work throughout. 
 As that of nature moves the world about ; 
 A flame that glows amid conceptions fit. 
 Even something of divine, and more than wit; 
 Itself unseen, yet all things by it shewn. 
 Describing all things, but describ'd by none." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Of English Versification. 
 
 In the English language, yersification depends 
 not on the quantities, or the length and shortness, of 
 tlie syllables : but on the modulation of the accents, 
 and the disposition of the pauses ; to which is gene- 
 rally added the recurrence of rhyme. The heroic 
 verse consists of ten syllables : its harmony is pro- 
 duced by a certain proportionate distribution of ac- 
 cented and unaccented syllables ; and its specific 
 character, whether lively or solemn, soft or slow, is 
 determined by their order and arrangement. When 
 unaccented and accented syllables are regularly al* 
 temated, it is called the iambic verse j as,
 
 Xliv ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 " A shepherd's boy, he seeks no higher name. 
 Led forth his flock beside the silver Thame." 
 
 When this order is inverted, and the unaccented is 
 preceded by the accented syllable, it is called a 
 trochaic Terse ; as, 
 
 " Ambition first sp7'ung from the blest abodes." 
 " Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear." 
 
 The frequent intervention of the trochaic is apt to 
 produce harshness. The monotony which it might 
 be expected would result from a succession of iambic 
 lines, is obviated by the freedom with which the 
 pause is transferred from one syllable to another ; a 
 freedom which constitutes the charm, and produces 
 all the variety, of English verse. The pause of 
 cesura is that interval of suspension which must na- 
 turally arise in every verse, but the position of which 
 the English poet is allowed to change and diversify 
 at pleasure. When the pause falls on the fourth syl- 
 lable, the strain is smooth and airy ; as, 
 
 " Soft is the strain | when Zephyr gently blows. 
 And the smooth stream | in smoother numbers flows." 
 
 When it falls on the second it is commonly accele- 
 rated ; as, 
 
 " Not so I when swift Camilla scours the plain." 
 
 Occasionally the pause dwells on the first, second, or 
 penultimate syllable : 
 
 '* O friend! | may each domestic bliss be thine: 
 Be no unpleasing melancholy | miae.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. xlv 
 
 Me I let the tender office long engage. 
 To rock the cradle of declining age." 
 
 A second pause is sometimes happily introduced : 
 
 " O ever beauteous | ever lovely ! | tell. 
 Is it in heaven a crime to love too well r" 
 
 In the following examples, the first passage has 
 all the spirit and energy of (he ode ; the second, the 
 slow and plaintive melody of the elegiac strain : 
 
 " Come then, my friend, my Genius, come along, 
 
 O master of the poet and the song ! 
 
 And while the muse now stoops, | and now ascends. 
 
 To man's low passions, | or their glorious ends. 
 
 Teach me, like thee, | in various nature wise. 
 
 To fall with dignity, | with temper rise ; 
 
 Form'd by thy converse, ( happily to steer 
 
 From grave to gay, | from lively to severe ; 
 
 Correct with spirit, | eloquent with ease. 
 
 Intent to reason, | or polite to please." 
 
 " In these deep solitudes, ) and awful cells, 
 "Where heavenly-pensive contemplation | dwells, 
 And ever-musing melancholy reigns." 
 
 The heroic verse is often diversified by the inter- 
 vention of an Alexandrine line of twelve syllables, 
 which is liberally used by Drydcn : its abuse is point- 
 edly censured by Pope : 
 
 " A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 
 
 Which, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along." 
 
 It forms a noble termination : 
 " Teach me to love and to forgive ; 
 Exact my own defects to scan. 
 What others are to feel, and know myself a niah."
 
 xlvi ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 Triplets often occur in heroic vers; a practice lo 
 "wliich Dryden was strongly addicted, but which is 
 now generally avoidctl by correct writers. 
 
 The stanza of nine lines, the imitation of the Ita- 
 lian, was introduced by Spenser. Of this verse 
 (which, if not impracticable, was at least repugnant, 
 to the English language) the following extract is a 
 favourable specimen : 
 
 ** A gentle knight was pricking on the plalne, 
 
 Yclad in mightie arms, and silver shield. 
 
 Wherein old dintes of deep woundes did remain. 
 
 The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 
 
 Yet armes till that time did he never wield. 
 
 His angry steed did chide his foaming bitt. 
 
 As much disdainixig to the curb to yield: 
 
 A jolly knight he seem'd, and faire did sit. 
 
 As one for knightly gc-sts and fierce encounters fitt." 
 
 A stanza more polished in its structure is adopted 
 by Mr. Sotheby in his admirable translation of \Vie- 
 land's Oberon. The following passage describes 
 Rezia's first interview with the Hermit : 
 
 *' Rezia, at once entranced in holy bliss, 
 
 Aw'd by his look, that beams celestial grace. 
 
 Bows, as before the Genius of the place. 
 
 And prints his wrinkled hand with pious kiss. 
 
 " ouched by his gracious mien or friendly air. 
 
 His beard that swept his breast with silver hair. 
 
 Her soul this stranger as her sire reveres; 
 
 A second look has banish'd all her fears : 
 
 Each reads the other's heart, nor finds a stranger tliere.*'
 
 ESSAV ON POETRY. xlvii 
 
 The most popular stanza is that appropriate fo the 
 balhd, wliich is composed of four lines with inter- 
 changing rhymes. Such is the measure of Gold- 
 smith's beautiful tale of Edwin and Angelina : 
 
 " Turn, gentle hermit of the dale. 
 And guide my lonely way 
 
 To where yon taper cheers the vale 
 With hospitable ray." 
 
 And such, with the remission of rhyme in the first and 
 third lines, is the measure of Chevy Chace : 
 
 ** God save the king, and bless the land. 
 In plenty, joy, and peace ; 
 
 And grant henceforth that foul debate 
 'Twixt noblemen may cease." 
 
 The elegiac stanza consists of four allernately re- 
 sponsive lines of ten syllables each : it is we! I adapted 
 to short poems ; but in compositions of any length, 
 its slow monotonous cadence becomes oppressive to 
 the car. In the celebrated elegy of Gray, its de- 
 fects, however, are concealed by a profusion of poet- 
 ical beauties; and by the graceful muse of Ham- 
 mond its fetters are rendered elegant and ornamental: 
 
 " Why should the lover quit his pleasing home. 
 In search of danger on some foreign ground? 
 
 Or from his weeping fair ungrateful roam. 
 And risk in every stroke a double wound ? 
 
 Ah ! better far, beneath the spreading shade. 
 With cheerful friends to drain the sprightly bow]. 
 
 To sing the beauties of my darling maid, 
 Aad on the sweet idea feast my soul."
 
 Xlviii ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 The common anapestic verse, of eleven and twelve 
 syllables, in which the accent falls on every third 
 syllable, has generally been appropriated to humo- 
 rous subjects : when formed into the stanza, it as- 
 sumes a different character. In the noble war-song 
 of Burns it is however a strain truly sublime ; and in 
 the following passage flows with equal sweetness and 
 pathos : 
 
 " 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more : 
 I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ; 
 
 For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 
 Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. 
 
 Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; 
 Kind nature the embryo blossom will save : 
 
 But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ? 
 Oh ! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ?" 
 
 This stanza is, from the intractable nature of the 
 anapestic measure, of difficult execution. In that 
 employed by Cowper in the following instance, con- 
 structed on similar principles, the syllables are less 
 numerous, and the cadence is in general more har- 
 monious : 
 
 " I am monarch of all I survey, 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 
 From the centre, all round to the sea, 
 1 am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 
 O Solitude ! where are the charms 
 That sages have found in thy face } 
 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms. 
 Than reign in this desolate place.''
 
 ESSAY ON" POETRY* xlix 
 
 The occurrence of double rhymes is neither very 
 Frequent nor very easy in English verse ; they are 
 chiefly employed in songs, and are seldom admitted 
 in the higher order of lyrical composition. The 
 following passage from Dryden's ode on St. Cecilia's 
 day, affords the most happy example of this kind of 
 "verse in our language : 
 
 ** Softly sweet in Lydian measures. 
 
 Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. 
 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble, 
 
 Honour but an empty bubble ; 
 
 Never ending, still beginning, 
 
 Fighting still, and still destroying : 
 
 If the world be worth thy winning. 
 
 Think, oh ! think it worth enjoying." 
 The simplest and most fluent of all verse is tlie 
 couplet of eight syllables. In this measure Milton 
 has written his two exquisite poems, the All^ro iaiid 
 
 Penseroso : 
 
 " And may at length my weary age 
 Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
 The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
 Where 1 may sit, and rightly tell 
 Of every star that heaven doth shew, 
 And every herb that sips the dew. 
 Till old experience do attain 
 To something like prophetic strain !" 
 
 Pope and Gray are generally considered as the 
 most correct writers of rhyme ; and Dryden, who 
 knew the affluence of the English language, has in 
 his own compositions exhibited all its various capa- 
 cities of harmony and versification. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 1 ESSAY OW POETRY. 
 
 Besides the iambic and the trochaic, there is an- 
 other kind of verse very common in English poetry, 
 called the anapestic. In this the accent falls on 
 every third syllable : it is a quick and lively measure, 
 and therefore very often used in songs. Sometimes 
 the first accent of a line is made to rest on its first or 
 second syllable. The following lines are examples of 
 this verse : 
 
 At the cl6se of the d&y, when the himlet is stfll. 
 And mdrtals the sweets of forg6tfulness pr6ve. 
 
 A very curious and not un pleasing structure of verse 
 existed in the early age of English poetry, during 
 the fourteenth century. The principles of this were, 
 that each line should consist of four poetical feet, in 
 the anapestic measure ; and instead of rhyming the 
 ends of the lines, it was required that in each line 
 the same letter should occur three times ; twice in 
 the first half of the line, and once in the last. Some- 
 times however the alliteration extended to only two 
 instances, or to four; and sometimes, where there were 
 three, two of them occurred in tlie last half-line : the 
 corresponding letters were generally at the beginning 
 of a word, but sometimes not. The following is an 
 example of this versification : we have reduced the 
 words, as much as possible, to the modern ortho- 
 graphy, to make them more intelligible; but have 
 been obliged to retain the superfluous letters, when 
 these were either accented, or necessary to the alli- 
 teration. The corresponding letters are printed in
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. It 
 
 Italics; and where an accent is marked, the instance 
 must be pronounced as a separate syllable. The 
 passage here quoted is from an old poem called the 
 Visions of Pierce Plowman, of which an interesting 
 account is given in Mr. Godwin's Life of Chaucer : 
 it is a sublime and energetic description of Nature 
 obeying the call of Conscience, to afflict mankind 
 with punishments for their crimes. 
 
 ATind' Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets,* 
 
 And sent/orth his foragers. jFevers and /luxes, 
 
 Coughfe and cardiacles,' cramp^s and tooth-aches, 
 
 flheums and radgondes* and raVnous scalles,' 
 
 B\li and Notches and fcuming agues. 
 
 Frenzies and/oul evil,ybragers of Kind, 
 
 Had pricked and preyed' polles of the people,' 
 
 That* /argelya /egionZosten ' their Zives soon. 
 
 There was "//arow!'" and /jelp ! here cometh Kind, 
 
 With Death that is rfreadful, to undo us all." 
 
 The lord that Ziv'th after /ust" then a/oud cried 
 
 After Comfort, a knight, to come and bear his banner. 
 
 " A/arm, a/arm !" quoth that loni, " each I'lfe keep his own '."" 
 
 And then met these men : their 7Hinstrels 7night "pipe. 
 
 And tiieir /leralds of anns /tad descried lords.'* 
 
 ' Kind is an old word for Nature: the passage here is. Nature 
 tiien heard Conscience. K and c were considered as the same 
 letter in this versification ; even when the k was silent, as in the 
 twelfth and the last lines. ^ Tlie planets were anciently supposed 
 to be the sources of diseases. 'Heart-aches. "* The piles. 'Gnaw- 
 ing leprosy. ' Marked out and preyed upon. ' That is, so many 
 polls (or heads) of the people; as we say a poll-tax. ' So that. 
 Lost. '"An old P'rench word for help. " j4Jier lust means in 
 nxury. '' LrCt each preserve his own life! "Did. ^* Lords 
 
 g2<
 
 Hi ESSAY ON POETRV. 
 
 Age the hoar he was in the vatt-tvard," 
 
 And Aare the banner before Death ; hy right he it claim'd. 
 
 ATinde came after, with many ^een sores, 
 
 Asplagi.es and pestilences, and much people shent.'* 
 
 So A^ind through corruptions tilled full many, 
 
 Z)eath came driving after ; and all to dust pashed'* 
 
 ^ing^sand Caisers," Anight6s and popes. 
 
 Blank verse is composed of lines which flow into 
 each other without the intervention of rhymes ; its 
 metrical principle resides in its pauses, which should 
 be so judiciously spread as never to suffer the want 
 of rhyme to be felt. Of the few poets who have at- 
 tempted this species of composition , Milton first, and 
 after him Thomson, Armstrong, Akenside, and Cow- 
 per, are pre-eminent. The amplitude of Milton's 
 verse is unequalled : it dilates with the author's 
 thought, it harmonizes wilh the reader's sentiment, 
 and its varied cadence alternately rolls with majesty, 
 or falls in a mellifluent strain of melody on the un- 
 wearied and unsated ear. The] princii)le of this ex- 
 quisite mechanism has been lately referred by a judi- 
 cious critic (the Rev. Mr. Crowe, in his Lectures at 
 the Royal Insitution) to Milton's bold practice of 
 distributing in different lines, words so nearly con- 
 nected (such as the preposition governing the noun, 
 and the pronoun attached to the yerb) as almost to 
 appear inseparable. That this practice, which Mr. 
 
 here means the hostile leaders. '^Van. "Hurt. "Dashed, 
 vith the paw or hoof. ' Casars, or emperors.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. liu 
 
 Crowe calls breaking the natural joint of the sentence, 
 is favourable to the freedom of blank verse, cannot 
 be disputed ; but it may be questioned whether the 
 poet was himself conscious of the mechanism which 
 he employed, or was directed by any other principle 
 than his own acute sensibility to harmony. The 
 following short extracts may illustrate the difference 
 of style perceptible in the various writers of blank 
 verse. 
 
 " Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe. 
 With loss of Eden till one greatef Man 
 Restore us, and regain the blissful seat. 
 Sing, heavenly muse that on the secret top 
 Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
 The shepherd who first taught the chosen seed. 
 In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
 Rose out of cha-js ; or if Sion hill 
 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed 
 Fast by the oracle of God, I thence 
 Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song; 
 That with no middle flight intends to soar 
 Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues 
 Tilings unattempted yet in prose or rhyme." 
 
 Milton. 
 " He comes ! he comes ! in every breeze, the power 
 Of Philosophic Melancholy comes. 
 His near approach the sudden-starting tear. 
 The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air. 
 The soften'd feature, and the beating heart 
 Pierc'd deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. 
 O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes. 
 Inflames imagination, through the breast
 
 liv B8SAT ON POETliY. 
 
 Infuses every tenderness, and far 
 
 Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought." 
 
 Thomson, 
 " From heaven my strains begin; from heaven descends 
 The flame of genius to the chosen heart. 
 And beauty with poetic wonder join'd 
 And inspiration. Ere the rising sun 
 Shone o'er the deep, or mid the vault of night 
 The moon her silver lamp suspended ; ere 
 The vales with spring were water'd, or with grove* 
 Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd; 
 Then the great Spirit whom his works adore. 
 Within his own deep essence view'd the forms, 
 The forms eternal, of created things : 
 The radiant sun. the moon's nocturnal lamp. 
 The mountains and the streams, the ample stores 
 Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first. 
 On that full scene his love divine he fix'd. 
 His admiration ; till in time complete. 
 What he admired and lov*d, bis vital power 
 Unfolded into being." Akenside. 
 
 " O ye whose souls relentless love has tamed 
 
 To soft distress, or friend untimely fallen ! 
 
 Court not the luxury of tender thought ; 
 
 Nor deem it impious to forget those pains 
 
 That hurt the living, nought avail the dead. 
 
 Go, soft enthusiast, quit the cypress groves; 
 
 Nor to the rivulet's lonely moanings tune 
 
 Your sad complaint. Go, seek the cheerful haunts 
 
 Of men, and mingle with the bustling crowd ; 
 
 Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame the wish 
 
 Of nobler minds, and push them night and day ; 
 
 Or join the caravan, inquest of scenes 
 
 New to your eyes, and shifting every hour. 
 
 Beyond the Alps, beyond the Appenints." 
 
 Armst&omg.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. iT 
 
 *' O winter, ruler f the inverted year, 
 Thy scatter'd hair with sleet-like ashes fill'd. 
 Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
 Fringed with abeard made white with other snows 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre^ and thy throne 
 A sliding car indebted to no wheels. 
 But urged by storms along its slippery way ! 
 1 love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st. 
 And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the sun 
 A pris'ner in the yet undawning east, 
 Short'ning his journey between mom and noon. 
 And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
 Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still 
 Compensating his loss with added hours 
 Of social converse, and instructive ease." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 The defect of Young's blank verse is, that the sense 
 commonly closes with the line ; and that it has too 
 much of the systematical uniformity, without the 
 musical varieties, of rhyme. Whether rhyme or 
 blank verse is entitled to pre-eminence, is a question 
 which must ultimately be determined by individual 
 taste. In the choice of his measure, the poet must 
 obviously be influenced by the nature of his subject ; 
 and rhyme, and blank verse,will alternately obtain his 
 preference. In fill the gay and airy excursions of 
 fancy, or the lighter touches of feeling, he will find 
 in rhyme an auxiliary equally pleasing and impor- 
 tant. To such compositions as require a measure of 
 spirited and vivacious movement, rhyme is an indis- 
 pensable appendage. To satire it adds poignancy,
 
 Ivi ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 to humour it gives elegance : it imparts renovation 
 to old ideas, and lends attraction to trivial senti- 
 ments : it renders familiar illustration graceful, and 
 plain sense eloquent. In all but the Alpine regions 
 of poetry, rhyme is a fence no less useful than orna- 
 mental, enriching and enlivening every object. In 
 the Allegro and Penseroso, even Milton conceived 
 it no dereliction of poetical freedom, to pursue 
 the path traced out by his predecessors : but in his 
 Paradise Lost, when he soared " beyond the visible 
 diurnal sphere," his deviation into blank verse was 
 as judicious as fortunate ; because his subject was 
 then too sublime, his conceptions were too gigantic, 
 for the narrow limits and demarcations of rhyme. 
 Wherever much originality of thought exists, this 
 metrical charm is unnecessary; and where imagination 
 reigns in wild luxuriance, it is impertinent. In some 
 of his juvenile poems, Milton appears to jhave been 
 incumbered with the dignity of his thoughts ; and 
 Shakspeare, perplexed by the richness and variety 
 of his combinations, is apt to become affected when 
 he quits blank verse. Attempts have been made to 
 enlarge the limits of blank verse, by the introduction 
 of various measures analogous to those employed in 
 rhyme : but to all these efforts the genius of our lan- 
 guage discovers an invincible repugnance ; vainly 
 are varieties presented to the eye, which are imper- 
 ceptible to the mind, and untasted by tlie ear. All 
 rhymelcss numbers either flow into good blank verse.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. IvU 
 
 or form lines harsh and intractable ; a succession of 
 abrupt sounds and mutilated sentences, which by no 
 art of typography, by no imposition of nomencla- 
 ture, <can be made to constitute any metre at all. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Origin and Progess of Poetri/. 
 
 History not only informs us, that Moses and Mi- 
 riam, the first authors that are known to mankind, 
 sung, on the borders of the Red Sea, a song of di- 
 vine praise, to celebrate the deliverance which the 
 Almighty had vouchsafed to the people of Israel, 
 by opening a passage to them through the waters; 
 but it has also transmitted to us the song itself, 
 which is at once the most ancient monument, and a 
 masterpiece, of poetic composition. 
 
 The Greeks, a people the most ingenious, the 
 most animated, and in every sense the most accom- 
 plished, that the world ever produced, strove to ra- 
 vish from the Hebrews the precious gift of poetry, 
 which was vouchsafed them by the Supreme Author 
 of all nature, that they might ascribe it to their false 
 deities. According to their ingenious fictions, 
 Apollo became the god of poetry ; and dwelt on the 
 hills of Phocis, Parnassus, and Helicon, whose feet 
 were washed by the waters of Hippocrene, of whicli 
 each mortal that ever drank was seized with a sacred 
 delirium. The immortal swans floated on its waves. 
 
 c5
 
 Iviii E88AT ON POETHT. 
 
 Apollo was accompanied by the muses, those nine 
 learned sisters, the daughters of Memory ; and he 
 was constantly attended by the Graces. Pegasus, 
 his winged courser, transported him with a rapid 
 flight into every region of the universe. 
 
 The literary annals of all nations afford vestiges of 
 poetry from the remotest ages. They arc found 
 among the most savage of the ancient barbarians, and 
 the most desolate of all the Americans. Nature as- 
 serts her rights in every country and every age. 
 Tacitus mentions the verses and the hymns ef the 
 Germans, at the time when that rough people yet 
 inhabited the woods, and while their manners were 
 still savage. The first inhabitants of Runnia, and 
 tlic other northern countries, those of Gaul, Albion, 
 Iberia, Ausonia, and other nations of Europe, had 
 their poetry; as well as the ancient people of Asia, 
 and of the known borders of Africa. 
 
 Til at the higher order of poetry is not unattain- 
 able in an uncultivated age, is a truth eminently 
 illustrated by the example of the Hebrew people. 
 Admitting language to be, as Mr. Richardson inge- 
 niously observes, the barometer of society, by which 
 its comparative barbarism or civilization is indicat- 
 ed, it will be obvious that the bards of Sion com- 
 posed their lofty songs for a primitive nation, tena- 
 cious of its customs and opinions, unenlightened by 
 science, uncorrected by taste, and as little acquaint- 
 ed with the arts as the refinements of polished life.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. llX 
 
 The simplicity and energy of the Hebrew lan- 
 guage, accorded happily with the sublime nature of 
 sacred poetry ; and lo the peculiarities in its consti- 
 tution it is perhaps owing, that the simple cha- 
 racter of its composition is inseparably preserved, to 
 whatever language traustcrred, or with whatever 
 idioms assimilated. The musical harmony of the 
 Hebrew language is now but imperfectly known ; its 
 prosody is, however, sufficiently understood to sug- 
 gest a comparison between its rhymes, and the wild . 
 measures familiar to the Scandinavian nation. Alli- 
 teration was freely admitted in its verse, as were 
 identical terminations and other artificial embellish- 
 ments; but its distinctive feature was a symmetrical 
 disposition of the sentences, which were cast into 
 parallel verses of equal length, and correspondent in 
 sense and sound : the sentiment expressed in the first 
 distich being repeated and amplified in the second, 
 as iH tlie following examples : " The Lord rewardeth 
 me according to my righteousness : according to the 
 cleanness of my hand he hath recompensed me. The 
 statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart : 
 the commandment of the Lord is pure, and enlight- 
 eneth the eyes. The fear of the Lord is clean, en- 
 during for ever: the judgments of the Lord are 
 pure and righteous altogether." This practice, 
 which appears to have been peculiar to the Hebrews, 
 was derived from their maimer of worship; in which 
 the sacred hymns were chaurited by bands of singers, 
 who answered each other.
 
 Ix ESSAY ON POETJIY. 
 
 The Hebrew bards employ few epithets. The bre- 
 vity of their style rcrulers its sublimity conspicuous. 
 Their imagery is bold ami energetic ; their magnifi- 
 cent conceptions issue from the mind in nalive ma- 
 jesty and strength ; their imagination is ever rich and 
 exuberant ; and to them, metaphors spontaneously 
 arise on every subject, in inexhaustible beauty and 
 fertility. 
 
 Though Hebrew poetry presents nothing that in 
 critical language can be classed with epic or dra- 
 matic composition, it affords innumerable examples 
 of the lyric, the elegiac, and the didactic styles. In 
 the Prophecies, the favourite figure is allegory : the 
 Hebrews having, in common with other Oriental na- 
 tions, a decided predilection for the parabolic spe- 
 cies of writing. It would be injustice to the sacred 
 bard, not to remember in what country he wrote,and 
 with what people he lived. On examination, his 
 images v. ill be found to have been faithfully tran- 
 scribed from nature, and beautifully to have harmo- 
 nized wi!h the scenes and manners familiar to his 
 observation and experience ; but the pure and un- 
 corrupted theism maintained by the inspired poet, 
 is his most exalted attribute, and is evidently the 
 cause of his pre-eminence in sublimity over all other 
 Oriental writers. 
 
 The Arabs were not, like the Hebrews, a stationary 
 people, insulated from the rest of mankind. Alter- 
 nately engaged in commerce and in war, their cr-
 
 ESSAY ON POETaV. Ixi 
 
 ratic chiefs visited distant regions ; and in their in- 
 tervals of leisure, were no less ambitious to obtain 
 poetical distinction, than they had been to secure 
 military fame. 
 
 Poetry, which constituted the sacred science of 
 the Hebrews, became with the Arabs a polite ac- 
 complishment ; and as the copiousness of their lan- 
 guage supplied all the aptitudes of numbers, it is 
 not surprizing that improvisatori bards should have 
 been found in their deserts. The distich, and many 
 other forms of metrical composition adapted to fa- 
 miliar occasions, were of Arabian invention ; and it 
 is the plausible suggestion of sir William Jones, 
 that rhymes were borrowed from Eastern literature 
 by the Provencal and Castilian poets, through 
 whose influence they were naturalized to Europe. 
 With all the copiousness and flexibility of the Ara- 
 bic, the Persian language is found to possess an ame- 
 nity and an elegance whicli render it eminently sus- 
 ceptible of poetical beauty. Its poets, like those of 
 ancient Greece, have the power of rendering lan- 
 guage subservient to their pleasure, and of clothing 
 original conceptions in a new-created word. 
 
 Several Arabic and Persian poems are of the epic 
 and dramatic cast; but the compositions most in- 
 viting to the European for translation, are those of 
 an amatory, elegiac, or lyric character. In general. 
 Oriental poetry deviates from the primitive sim- 
 plicity so conspicuous in Hebrew compositions, and
 
 Ixii ESSAY ON POETBY. 
 
 often degenerates into affectation and bombast. In 
 its most admired authors iadeed, a passion for the 
 gaudy and gorgeous is ever predominant. The mag- 
 nificence of their materials is disguised by their fan- 
 tastic arrangement; and the eye which has dwelt 
 with delight on the chaste graces of classical litera- 
 ture, soon turns with disgust from the jewelled tur- 
 ban and the " barbaric gold." There are however 
 some passages, particularly in brarainical poetry, 
 which are perfectly simple and sublime : of these a 
 noble specimen is given by sir William Jones in the 
 Hymn to Narayena, or the Spirit of God ; of which 
 the following is the conclusion ; 
 
 Omniscient Spirit, whose all-ruling power 
 
 Bids from each sense bright emanations beam ; 
 Glows in the rainbow, sparkles in the stream. 
 
 Smiles in the bud, and glistens in the flower 
 
 That crowns each vernal bower ; 
 
 Sighs in the gale, and warbles in the throat 
 
 Of every bird that hails the bloomy Spring, 
 
 Or tells his love in many a liquid note. 
 
 Whilst envious artists touch the rival string. 
 Till rocks and forests ring ; 
 
 Breathes in rich fragrance from the sandal grove. 
 
 Or where the precious musk-deer playful rove ; 
 In dulcet juice from clustering fruit distils. 
 
 And bums salubrious in the tasteful clove ! 
 
 Soft banks and verdurous hills 
 
 Thy present influence fills ; 
 
 In air, in floods, in caverns, woods, and plains. 
 
 Thy will inspirits all, thy sovereign Maya* reigns. 
 
 * An Indian name for the operation of the Divine Spirit.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. Ixii 
 
 Blue crystal vault, and elemental fires. 
 
 That in th' ethereal fluid blaze and breathe ; 
 
 Thou tossing main, whose snaky branches wreathe 
 Tliis pensile orb with intertwisted gyres ; 
 Mountains whose radiant spires 
 
 Presumptuous rear their summits to tlie skies. 
 And blend their emerald hue with sapphire light ; 
 
 Smooth meads and lawns that glow with varying dyes 
 Of dew-bespangled leaves and blossoms bright ; 
 Hence ! vanish from njy sight. 
 Delusive pictures, unsubstantial shows ! 
 My soul absorb'd One only Being knows. 
 
 Of all perceptions One abundant source. 
 Whence every object every moment flows. 
 
 Suns hence derive their force. 
 
 Hence planets learn their course : 
 But suns and fading worlds I view no more ; 
 God only I perceive, God only I adore. 
 
 The germs of genius scattered through Oriental 
 compositions with wild luxuriance, appear in clas- 
 sical poetry displayed in full perfection and beauty. 
 To what causes the pre-eminence of ancient Greece 
 in this department of literature is to be attributed, it 
 would here be futile to conjecture. From the suscep- 
 tibility of his language, the poet was enabled to exhibit 
 the same idea under a new aspect, and to give to 
 every fluctuation of feeling a permanent expression. 
 If the vivacity of his descriptions fascinated the ima- 
 gination, his numbers dwelt with no less enchantment 
 on the car. The length and shortness of syllables 
 in the Greek and Roman languages, which consti- 
 tuted their quantities, was determined by rules no
 
 Ixiv ESSAY ON POETRY. 
 
 less accurate than those of the notes in music ; and on 
 the proper distribution and adjustment of the quan- 
 tities, the harmony of their metre depended. A 
 stated interval of time was allowed to the pronuncia- 
 tion of every verse. To facilitate the labour of com- 
 position, artificial combinations of syllables (called 
 feet) were invented ; and by the number of tliese, and 
 the quantities included in them, the character of the 
 verse was ascertained. 
 
 To these combinations various names were given : 
 the most important were the spondee, composed of 
 two long syllables ; and the dactyl, [formed by one 
 long and two short syllables. These were solely 
 employed in the construction of the hexameter verse, 
 of which an imitation has been vainly attempted in 
 the English language. The pronunciation of the 
 Greek and Latin languages is, indeed, almost as 
 much lost to us, as that of the Hebrew ; but such is 
 the exquisite ^mechanisna of tlllir anetre, that their 
 verses cannot be read without producing a rich and 
 often a melodious intonation, perceptible even to the 
 unlettered ear. 
 
 In the happy regions of Greece, it is uncertain 
 what species of poetry was first cultivated. Fables 
 were compositions of great antiquity; the ode formed 
 a part of religious worship ; and the pastoral must 
 have been introduced in an age sufficiently refined to 
 relish simplicity. The immortal poems of Homer 
 were composed at an early epoch of Grecian lite-
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. \XV 
 
 rature ; and, as is well known, transmitted by oral 
 tradition to a more polished age. Of this extraordi- 
 nary man so much has been said, that it appears diffi- 
 cult to add any thing which would not now be trivial 
 or impertinent. This arduous task the perseverance 
 of modern criticism has, however, achieved ; and a 
 scholastic sect is now known to exist who would 
 sacrilegiously remove the shrine of Homer from the 
 temple of Fame, and abandon as if to superstitious 
 credulity a name sanctified by the enthusiasm and 
 feneration of preceding ages. 
 
 It is pretended that the Iliad and Odyssey were 
 composed at different eras, by various authors ; and; 
 that these desultory tales of Troy were at length' 
 collocated and edited by some ingenious critic, wha 
 might possibly have been distinguished by the appel- 
 lation of Homer. The novelty, and perhaps the 
 extravagance, of this hypothesis, have obtained for. 
 it partisans among those professed sceptics and se- 
 paratists who can perceive no difference between- 
 vulgar errors and popular opinions, and whose am- 
 bition it is to recede as far as possible from all pcirti-* 
 cipation in the sentiments or conviction of other men. 
 It is generally admitted that the excellence in which 
 Homer stands unrivalled, is the energy of his con- 
 ceptions, which gives to his personages, his scenes,, 
 and his descriptions, a real and individual existence. 
 With such felicity are his characters cast, that no 
 reader of feeling can be at a loss to conceife how
 
 Ixvi ESSAY ON POETHY* 
 
 Achillef5 would look, or Nestor speak, or Ulysses acf, 
 on any imaginary occasion. The unprejudiced will 
 decide whether such exquisite harmony of design 
 could have been the result of chance, or whether each 
 book had its sepamte Homer, or whether they were 
 all planned and executed by one. 
 
 In lyrical composition, the most popular was the 
 heroic ode. The narae of Pindar has descended to us 
 Tfith honour ; but the poems which inspired in his 
 compatriots the most exalted enthv.siasm, are but 
 imperfectly understood by the student, and are al- 
 most impracticable to translation. The public reci- 
 tation of (he ode was accompanied by both music 
 and dancing, a circumstance to which its structure 
 was obviously adapted. The first two stanzas, 
 called the strophe and the autistrophe, were of equal 
 length. In the first part the perfDrmcrs ap- 
 proached *,he altars of the god j in the latter, the 
 dance being inverted, they retraced .each their 
 sieps to their former place, where, while they sung 
 the epode, they stood still. It appears that this form 
 was peculiar to the heroic ode. There were other 
 lyrical compositions of a different cast. Sappho's 
 poems breathe only tender impassioned sentiment : 
 those of Anacreon, whether amatory or convivial, 
 are equally remote from the sublimity of Pindar, 
 and the melting softness of Sapplio. The hryid 
 imagination of Pindar is compared by Horace to the 
 impetuosity of a mountain- torrent.
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. Ixvil 
 
 The heroic ode is evidently of dramatic character, 
 And was the primitive source from which the regular 
 drama was produced. Tragedy originated in the 
 hymns sung in honour of Bacchus ; and its name was 
 derived (from a Greek word signifying a goat, which 
 was the victim consecrated to that deity. The inven- 
 tion of dialogue and action belongs to Eschylus. The 
 original ode was preserved in the chorus, which con- 
 stituted the popular part of the entertainment. The 
 chorus, like the band of a modem orchestra, was 
 composed of several persons who recited in a different 
 manner from the other performers. We learn from 
 Horace that their business was to deduce from the 
 passing scene some lesson of morality, or to inculcate 
 on the spectator some religious precept. The inter- 
 vention of the chorus, which is now rejected by even 
 the most zealous votaries of Greece, is not more re- 
 pugnant however to our ideas of propriety, than many 
 other usages of the ancient stage : for the performers 
 appeared in masks ; and in their recitations tliey 
 were constantly accompanied by musical instruments, 
 by which the voice was sustained, and the melody of 
 the verse rendered sensible to an immense audience. 
 The rules of the ancient drama were suited to its in- 
 stitution. The unities of time and place were neces- 
 sary in a performance to which the auxiliary resources 
 of modern machinery were wanting, and from which 
 all the magical illusions of the modern scene were 
 precluded. The tragedies of Euripides and Sophocles 
 were masterpieces in their kuid, but would now pro-
 
 Ixviii ES8AY ON POETRY. 
 
 bablj be little relished even bj scholars and scholastic 
 enthusiasts. 
 
 Comedy, like tragedy, originally consisted of a 
 chorus, which derived its name from the god Comus. 
 The rudiments of the comic art may perhaps be de- 
 tected in the satyrs, a sort of interlude annexed (o tra- 
 gedies, in which the scene was rural, and the person- 
 ages were Satyrs, or sylvan deities. In the plays of 
 Aristophanes, living characters were introduced, and 
 Socrates beheld himself ridiculed on the stage. This 
 abuse a better taste corrected ; and the comedies of 
 Menander, which were imitated by Terence, exhi- 
 bited only interesting pictures of domestic life. The 
 chorus at first appendant on comedy, was gradually 
 changed into the Prologue ; a personage w ho care- 
 fully apprized the spectators of all they were to see 
 on the stage. 
 
 The Roman writers modelled themselves on those 
 of Greece, and it was long before they attempted to 
 emulate their masters ; yet Ennius, one of their elder 
 poets, produced the satire, a species of miscellaneous 
 poetry purely Roman, which was destined to re- 
 ceive perfection from Horace. With equal origi- 
 nality, Lucretius wrote his metaphysical poem, in 
 which are developed the philosophical systems of 
 his age ; but it was not till the era of Augustus that 
 the Latian bards established their equality with 
 the Grecian. It was then that Horace, not satis- 
 fied with having transplanted all the lyric beauties 
 to his odesj opened a rich vein of satiric poetry ; aad
 
 ESSAY ON POETRY. IxUC 
 
 Virgil, having equalled Theocritus, without temerity 
 aspired to emulate Homer. In the Eneid, it may 
 be acknowledged that he sometimes fell short of his 
 master ; his characters possess not the same features 
 of durability and grandeur, nor are his scenes equally 
 animated and dramatic. But to atone for these 
 defects, he unites every charm that gives interest to 
 narrative or lends enchantment to description : occa- 
 sionally he rises to the sublime, but the beautiful is 
 his natural element; he can excite terror, but he is 
 more prone to inspire tenderness and pity. In the 
 delicate touches of nature and pathos, he seems to 
 have grown enamoured of his subject, and to have 
 lingered affectionately on the endearing scenes and 
 charities of domestic life. The first four books of 
 the Eneid contain a tale so sweetly told, that if it 
 were transferred to a rude language totally unsuscep- 
 tible of the lUerary graces, it would still be read and 
 remembered by all who had capacities for sympathy 
 and tenderness. 
 
 In the Georgics, Virgil lias left a model of didac- 
 tic composition, ennobled by a strain of philoso- 
 phical sentiment, pure, graceful, and persuasive. 
 Ovid, whose talents were not less versatile than those 
 of his contemporaries, adorned the fables of mytho- 
 logy with description, and illustrated in his Epistles 
 almost every romantic story of antiquity. Thestyl* 
 of his Elegies is not unlike that of his Epistles : he 
 paints to the eye, but has often too much wit ^njl 
 fancy to touch the heart.
 
 IXX E88AV ON POETRY. 
 
 Tibullus has exceeded every other elegiac writer 
 in simplicity and tenderness. Lucan and Statins 
 were also epic poets ; but they are seldom quoted, 
 and not often read. Lucan possessed a genius of 
 an exalted order : but his subject was peculiarly un- 
 fortunate ; and his beauties are now neglected, be- 
 cause they are found in scenes repulsive to the ima- 
 gination, and uncongenial to the feelings. 
 
 Among the last poets of Rome, appeared Juvenal 
 and Persius, of whom the former was one of the most 
 original writers she produced. He professes to 
 exhibit a picture of his times ; and there is in his 
 manner an undissembled and almost a holy fervour 
 that atones for his occasional ruggedness and aspe- 
 rity. 
 
 The primitive sources of modern poetry may be 
 traced to the old Romance; whence was derived 
 the simple Ballad so popular in England and Scot- 
 land, and under various names and forms universally 
 adopted in Europe. On the revival of letters, when 
 the study and imitation of the classics became the 
 passion of literary men, their nomenclature was ea- 
 gerly assumed ; and volumes of poetry were soon 
 composed, which the high-sounding names of odes, 
 pastorals, satires, and epic poems, have not saved 
 from oblivion : volumes of criticism were also com- 
 piled, to shew how pastorals, odes, and satires, ought 
 to be written. 
 
 The Gothic nations who overran Rome, though 
 ignorant of the polite arts, were not insensible to the
 
 ESSAY ON POETttr. IxXI 
 
 charms of poetry. Their bards were no less vene- 
 rated than their priests; and whatever instruction 
 they received, whatever knowledge they possessed, 
 were commnuicatedin metre, and probably in rhyme. 
 
 In the age of Charlemagne, the minstrels of Pro- 
 vence (or, as they were called, the troubadours) in- 
 troduced the metrical tales or ballads ; which, from 
 the dialect in which they were written, acquired the 
 name of romances. Their poems were all composed 
 in rhyme ; but whether this practice was borrowed 
 from the Arabs or the Goths, is uncertain. The 
 Italian language (which, of all the corrupt dialects 
 introduced by the barbarians, most assimilated with 
 the Roman) soon acquired a tincture of elegance. In 
 the middle ages Dante wrote ; Ariosto fallowed ; and 
 Petrarch, the enthusiastical votary of classical ge- 
 nius, appeared among the first founders of modem 
 literature. The passion for allegory, so long the 
 characteristic of the Italian school, was by Chaucer 
 rendered as prevalent in England as it had previ- 
 ously been on the continent. During several ages, 
 . Italy continued to be the Poets'-Iand of Europe ; 
 'and in that interval was produced the Jerusalem 
 Delivered, a poem not unworthy of a Roman bard, 
 or an Augustan age. 
 
 In Spain, poetry was early cultivated, but with 
 little attention to classical taste. (In France, it emer- 
 ged not from barbarism till the reign of Francis the 
 First, and arrived at its ultimate point of perfection
 
 Ixxii 
 
 EBSAV ON POBTnV. 
 
 in the era of Louis the Fourteenth. La Fontaine 
 and Boileau, Coraeille and Racine, had then lived, 
 and produced works destined to immortalize their 
 names. Unfortunately for French poets, criticism 
 was then almost coeval with poetry ; and a pedantic 
 attention to rules was soon permitted to repress the 
 native energies of genius. 
 
 The modern drama, it is well known, originated 
 in the Mysteries ; a sort of religious farce, imported 
 from the East. To the mysteries succeeded alle- 
 gorical plays, called Moralities : these produced the 
 Masque, which became Ihe favourite amnsemeiit of 
 the court in the time of Charles the First, and is re- 
 deemed from opprobrium and oblivion by Milton's 
 Comus. Gondibert, written by lord Sackvillc, was tlie 
 first tragedy represented on an English stage. Till 
 the commencement of the eighteenth century, the 
 German language was almost a stranger to poetry. 
 Klopstock invented hexameter verse, in wliich the 
 mechanism of classical numbers is rather perceived 
 than felt by the reader. From that era, Germany 
 has been more^ productive of books than all the rest 
 of Europe; and during this period, many fine writers 
 have arisen of real and original genius : but tlie lite- 
 rary commerce of the country is chiefly supported by 
 translation.
 
 MILTON, 
 
 Oreece justly boasts of her Homer, Rome of her 
 Virgil, and England of her Milton. As epic poets the/ 
 will probably for ever remain unrivalled. 
 
 John Milton was the son of a respectable scrivener, 
 who resided in Bread Street, London, where our poet 
 was born, Dec. 9, ] 60S. The family originally sprang 
 from Milton, ui Oxfordshire, where they possessed an 
 estate that was lost in the civil conflicts between the 
 Yorkists and Lancastrians. 
 
 Milton was educated at St. Paul's school, and at tlie 
 age of seventeen became a student of Christ's College, 
 Cambridge, where he distinguished liimself by his clas- 
 sical and poetical talents. His fatlier having retired to 
 Horton, in Buckinghamshire, after leaving college, the 
 son spent some years there, in studious retirement, 
 producing in tliis interval his '* Comus," his " L' Alle- 
 gro," " Penseroso," and " Lycidas," which alone would 
 have rendered him iminortal. 
 
 In l638 he set out on his travels through France and 
 Italy, where he was received with the respect due to his 
 known talents ; and returning a year after, established a 
 seminary of education in Aldersgate Street, and married 
 Mary, the daughter of Richard Powell, Esq. who soon 
 after deserted him ; but suing for a reconciliation, tlie 
 torch of love burnt with brighter lustre than before. 
 
 From this period till the restoration Milton was deeply 
 engaged in tlie unhappy politics of the times j and taking 
 part with the parliament, published various polemical 
 tracts in defence of die cause he had espoused. Such 
 indeed was the zeal and industry with which he carried 
 on his literary warfare, that his eyes began to be affect- 
 ed } and by degrees, a gutta serena totally deprived him 
 of vision. Under those melancholy circumsianccs, ne 
 lost his first wife, who left him three daughters j and. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ( ii ) 
 
 soon after a second wife, the daughter of a Captain 
 Woodcock. 
 
 Having been some years secretary to Oliver Cromwell, 
 on the death of the Protector he found it prudent to 
 withdraw from the busy scene, and to consult his safety 
 by concealment. His friends, however, interfered with 
 so much zeal, that he was included in the general par- 
 don j and removing from obscure lodgings to Jewin 
 Street, he entered a third time into the bonds of wed- 
 lock. 
 
 Blind, infirm, and poor, he now resumed his " Para- 
 dise Lost," which had been sketched many years before; 
 and finished this immortal poem at Chalfont, in Bucks, 
 where he had retired from the plague of idGs. He sold 
 the copy right for five pounds, with certain eventual 
 conditions, which yielded about ten pounds more. Such 
 have been, not, however, without some splendid excep- 
 tions, the rewards of genius in every age ! 
 
 His " Paradise Regained," which adds nothing to his 
 fame, and his " Sampson Agonistes," a play on the 
 Greek model, were produced at subsequent intervals, 
 and under every discouragement which might well de- 
 press the flame of poetic inspiration. 
 
 In his youth, Milton is said to have been eminently 
 beautiful. His attainments were multifarious, and his 
 memory tenacious. Worn out with repeated attacks of 
 the gout, he resigned his breath with Christian compo- 
 sure and resignation, Nov. 10, 1674, and was buried in 
 Cripplegate church. His fame can never die ! 
 
 We have selected the following pieces from among 
 the works of this writer, as possessed of the most ac- 
 knowledged merit: 
 
 Pakadisb Lost, 
 L'Allegro, 
 
 II hfcNSEROSO, 
 
 Lycidas, and 
 
 Cowus.
 
 PARADISE LOST. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 THB ARGUMENT. 
 
 This First Book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject. Man's 
 disobedience, and the loss thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was 
 placed : then touches the prime cause of his fall, the serpent or 
 rather Satan in the serpent ; who, revolting from God, and draw- 
 ing to his side many legions of angels, was, by the command of 
 God, driven out of heaven, with all his crew, into the great deep. 
 Which action pass'd over, the Poem hastens into the midst of 
 things, presenting Satan with his angels now fallen into hell, 
 describ'd here not in the centre (for heaven and earth may be 
 supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet accursed), but in s 
 place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos : here Satan, with 
 his angels lying on the burning lake, thunder-struck and asto- 
 nish 'd, after a certain space, recovers as from confusion, calls \xp 
 him who next in order and dignity lay by him ; they^ confer of 
 their miserable fall. Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till 
 then in the same manner confounded ; they rise, their numbers, 
 array of battle, their chief leaders nam'd, according to the idols 
 known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To 
 these Satan directs his speech, comforts them with hope yet of 
 regaining heaven, but tells them, lastly, of a jiew world, and 
 new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient pro* 
 phecy or report in heaven ; for that angels were long before this 
 visible creation, was the opinion of many ancient Fathers. To 
 find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine there- 
 on, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence at- 
 tempt. Pandemonium the palace of Satan rises, suddenly built, 
 out of the deep : the infernal peers there sit in council. 
 
 Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe. 
 With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
 Restore us, and regain the blissful seat. 
 Sing heav'nly Muse, that on the secret top 
 Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
 B 2
 
 4 MILTON. BOOK I. 
 
 That shepherd, wlio first taught the chosen seed. 
 In the beginning, how the heav'ns and earth 
 Rose out of Chaos : or \i Sion hill 
 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'd 
 Fast by the oracle of God ; I thence 
 Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, 
 That with no middle flight intends to soar 
 Above til' Aonian mount, while it pursue* 
 Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 
 And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 
 Before all temples the upright heart and pure, 
 Instruct me, for thou know'st ; thou from the first 
 Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread. 
 Dove-like sats't brooding on the vast abyss. 
 And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark 
 Illumine, what is low raise and support j 
 That to the height of this great argument 
 I may assert eternal providence. 
 And justify the ways of God to men. 
 
 Say first, for Heav'n hides nothing from thy view. 
 Nor the deep tract of Hell, say first what cause 
 Mov'd our grand parents, in that happy state, 
 Favour'd of Heav'n so highly, to fall off 
 From their Creator, and transgress his will. 
 For one restraint, lords of the world besides ? 
 Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt ? 
 Th' infernal serpent ; he it was, whose guile, 
 Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, deceivd 
 The mother of mankind, what time his pride 
 Had cast him out from heav'n, witli all his host 
 Of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring 
 To set himself in glory above his peers. 
 He trusted to have equall'd the Most High, 
 If he oppos'd -, and with ambitious aim. 
 Against the throne and monarchy of God 
 Rais'd impious war in heav'n and battle proud. 
 With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power 
 Hurl'd headlong flaming from the ethereal sky. 
 With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
 To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 
 la adamantine chains and penal fire.
 
 TOOK I. PARAl)ISE LOST. 
 
 Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms. 
 
 Nine times the space that measures day and night 
 
 To mortal men, he with his horrid crew 
 
 Lay vanqiiish'd, roHing in the fiery gulf 
 
 Confounded, though immortal : but his doom 
 
 Reserv d him to more wrath ; for now the thought 
 
 Both of lost happiness and lasting pain 
 
 Torments him ; round he throws his baleful eyes. 
 
 That witness'd huge affliction and dismay, 
 
 Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate : 
 
 At once, as far as angels' ken, he views 
 
 The dismal situation waste and wild : 
 
 A dungeon horrible on all sides round 
 
 As one great furnace tlam'd, yet from those flames 
 
 No light, but rather darkness visible, 
 
 Serv'd only to discover sights of woe. 
 
 Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace 
 
 And rest can never d vvell, hope never comes. 
 
 That comes to all 5 but torture without end 
 
 Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 
 
 With ever-burning sulphur unconsum'd : 
 
 Such place eternal Justice had prepar'd 
 
 For those rebellious, here their prison oi'dain'd 
 
 In utter darkness, and their portion set 
 
 As far remov'd from God and light of heav'n 
 
 As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole. 
 
 O how unlike the place from whence they fell ! 
 
 There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelm'd 
 
 With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire. 
 
 He soon discerns, and welt'ring by his side 
 
 One next himself in pow'r, and next in crime. 
 
 Long after known in Palestine, and nam'd 
 
 Belzebub. To whom th' arch-enemy. 
 
 And thence in heav'n called Satan, with bold words 
 
 Breaking the horrid silence, thus began : 
 
 If thou bcest he ; but O how fall'n ! how chang'd 
 From him, who, in the happy realms pf light, 
 Cloth'd with transcendent brightness, didst outshine 
 Myriads though bright ! If he whom mutual league. 
 United thoughts and counsels, equal hope 
 And hazard in the glorious enterprise, 
 b3
 
 a MILTON. 
 
 OOK t. 
 
 Join'd with me once, now misery hath joln'd 
 
 In equal ruin : into what pit thou seest. 
 
 From what height fall'n, so much the stronger prov'd 
 
 He with his thunder : and till then who knew 
 
 The force of tliose dire arms ? yet not for those. 
 
 Nor what the potent Victor in his rage 
 
 Can else inflict, do I repent or change. 
 
 Though chang'd in outward lustre, that fix'd mind. 
 
 And high disdain from sense of injurd merit. 
 
 That with the Mightiest rais'd me to contend. 
 
 And to the fierce contention brought along 
 
 Innumerable force of spirits arm'd. 
 
 That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring. 
 
 His utmost pow'r witli adverse pow'r oppos'd 
 
 In dubious battle on the plains of Heav'n, 
 
 And shook his throne. What tliough the field be lost? 
 
 All is not lost ; th' unconquerable will, 
 
 And study of revenge, immortal hate. 
 
 And courage never to submit or yield. 
 
 And what is else, not to be overcome ? 
 
 That glory never shall his wrath or might 
 
 Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace 
 
 With suppliant knee, and deify his power. 
 
 Who from the terror of this arm so late 
 
 Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed ; 
 
 That were an ignominy, and shame beneath 
 
 This downfall since by fate the strength of gods 
 
 And this eujpyreal substance cannot fail. 
 
 Since through experience of this great event. 
 
 In arms not worse, in foresight much advanc'd. 
 
 We may with more successful hope resolve 
 
 To wage by force or guile eternal war, 
 
 Irreconcileable to our grand Foe, 
 
 Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy 
 
 Sole reigning holds the tyranny of heav'n. 
 
 So spake the apostate angel, though in pain. 
 Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep despair ; 
 And him thus answer'd soon his bold compeer : 
 
 O Prince ! O chief of many throned powers. 
 That led th" embattl'd seraphim to war 
 Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds
 
 BOOK I. PARADISE LOST. 
 
 Fearless, endangefd heav'n's perpetual King, 
 
 And put to proof his high supremacy. 
 
 Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate. 
 
 Too well I see and rue the dire event. 
 
 That with sad overthrow and foul defeat 
 
 Hath lost us heaven, and all this mighty host 
 
 In horrible destruction laid thus low. 
 
 As far as gods and heav'nly essences 
 
 Can perish : for the mind and spirit remains 
 
 Invincible, and vigour soon returns. 
 
 Though all our glory extinct, and happy state 
 
 Here swallow'd up in endless misery. 
 
 But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now 
 
 Of force believe Almighty, since no less 
 
 Than such could have o'ei-pow'r'd such force as ours) 
 
 Have left us this our spirit and strength entire 
 
 Strongly to suffer and support our pains. 
 
 That we may so suffice his vengeful ire. 
 
 Or do him mightier service as his thralls 
 
 By right of war, whate'er his business be. 
 
 Here in the heart of hell to work in lire. 
 
 Or do his errands in the gloomy deep j 
 
 What can it then avail, though yet we feel 
 
 Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being 
 
 To undergo eternal punishment ? 
 
 Whereto with speedy words th' arch-fiend reply'd: 
 
 Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable. 
 Doing or suffering : but of this be sure. 
 To do aught good never will be our task. 
 But ever to do ill our sole delight. 
 As being the contrary to his high will 
 Whom we resist. If then his providence 
 Out of our evil seek to bring forth good. 
 Our labour must be to pervert that end. 
 And out of good still to find means of evil; 
 Which oft-times may succeed, so as perhapi 
 Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb 
 His inmost counsels from their destined aim. 
 But see the angry Victor hath recall'd 
 His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 
 Back to the gates of heav'n : the sulph'rous hail 
 b4
 
 8 MILTON. HOOK I 
 
 Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid 
 
 The fiery surge, that from the precipice 
 
 Of heavn rcceiv'd us falling ; and the thunder 
 
 Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage. 
 
 Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now 
 
 To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. 
 
 Let us not slip th' occassion, whether scorn. 
 
 Or satiate fury yield it from our foe. 
 
 Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild. 
 
 The seat of desolation, void of light. 
 
 Save what the glimmering of these vivid flamei - 
 
 Casts pale and dreadful ? thither let us tend 
 
 From off the tossing of these fiery waves; 
 
 There rest, if any rest can harbour there. 
 
 And re-assembling our afflicted powers. 
 
 Consult how we may henceforth most offend 
 
 Our enemy, our own loss how repair. 
 
 How overcome this dire calamity. 
 
 What reinforcement we may gain from hope. 
 
 If not what resolution from despair. 
 
 Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate. 
 With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes 
 That sparkling blaz'd, his other parts besides 
 Prone on the flood, extended long and large. 
 Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge 
 As whom the fables name of monstrous size, 
 Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove^ 
 Briareus or Typhon, whom the den 
 By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast 
 Leviathan, which God of all his works 
 Created hugest that swim th' ocean stream i 
 Him haply slumb'ring on the Norway foam 
 The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff. 
 Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell. 
 With fixed anchor in his scaly rind 
 Moors by his side under the lee, while night 
 Invests the sea, and wished morn delays : 
 So stretch'd out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay 
 Chain'd on the burning lake, nor ever thence 
 Had ris'n or heav'd his head, but that the will 
 And high permission of all-ruling Heaven,
 
 BOOK I. PARA.DISE LOST. 9 
 
 Left him at large to his own dark designs. 
 
 That with reiterated crimes he might 
 
 Heap on himself damnation, while he sought 
 
 Evil to others, and enrag'd might see 
 
 How all his malice serv'd but to bring forth 
 
 Infinite goodness, grace aiid mercy shewn 
 
 On man by him seduc'dj but on himself 
 
 Treble confusion, wrath and vengeance pour'd. 
 
 Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool 
 
 His mighty stature; on each hand the flames 
 
 Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and roll'd 
 
 In billows, leave i' th' midst a horrid vale. 
 
 Then with expanded wings he steers his flight 
 
 Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air 
 
 That felt unusual weight, tiU on dry land 
 
 He lights, if it were land that ever burn'd 
 
 With solid, as the lake with liquid fire; 
 
 And such appear'd in hue, as when the force 
 
 Of subterranean wind transports a hill 
 
 Torn from Pelorus, or the shatter'd side 
 
 Of thundering ^tna, whose combustible 
 
 And fuel'd entrails tlience conceiving fire, 
 
 Sublim'd with mineral fury, aid the winds 
 
 And leave a singed bottom all involv'd 
 
 With stench and smoke : such resting found the sole 
 
 Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate. 
 
 Both glorying to have 'scap'd the Stygian flood 
 
 As gods, and by their own recoverd strength. 
 
 Not by the sufTrance of supernal Power. 
 
 Is this the region, this the soil, the clime. 
 Said then the lost Arch-angel, this the seat 
 That we must change for Heuv'n, this mournful gloom 
 For that celestial light? Be it so, since he 
 Who now is Sov' reign, can dispose and bid 
 W^hat shall be right: farthest from him is best. 
 Whom reason hath equall'd, force hath made supreme 
 Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields. 
 Where joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail 
 Infernal woild, and thou profoundest Hell 
 Receive thy new possessor; one who brings 
 A mind not to be chang'd by pl:\ce or lime. 
 The mind is its own place, and in itself 
 B 5
 
 10 MILTON. BOOK .. 
 
 Can make a, heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n. 
 What matter where, if I be still tlie same. 
 And what I should be, all but less than he 
 Whom thunder hath made greater ? Here at least 
 We shaU be free j th' Almighty hath not built 
 Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: 
 Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, 
 To reign is worth ambition though in Hell : 
 Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heav'n. 
 But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, 
 Th' associates and copartners of our loss. 
 Lie thus astonish'd on tli' oblivious pool, 
 And call them not to share with us their part 
 In this unhappy mansion, or once more. 
 With rallied arms, to try what may be yet 
 Regain'd in heav'n, or what more lost in hell ? 
 
 So Satan spake, and him Belzebub 
 Thus answer'd : Leader of those armies bright. 
 Which but th' Omnipotent none could have foil'd^ 
 If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge 
 Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft 
 In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge 
 Of battle when it rag'd, in all assaults 
 Their surest signal, they will soon resume 
 New courage, and revive^ though now they lie 
 Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire. 
 As we e'er while, astounded and amaz'd. 
 No wonder, fall'n such a pernicious height. 
 
 He scarce had ceas'd, when the superior Fiend 
 Was moving tow'rd the shore; his pond'rous shield. 
 Ethereal temper, massy, large and round, 
 Behind him cast; the broad circumference 
 Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
 Through optic glass tlie Tuscan artist views 
 At evening from the top of Fesole, 
 Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands. 
 Rivers or mountains on her spotty globe. 
 His spear, to equal which the tallest pine, 
 Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast 
 Of some great ammiral, were but a wand. 
 He walk'd with to support uneasy steps 
 Over the burning marie, not like those step?
 
 BOOK I. PARADISE LOST. 11 
 
 On heav'n's azure, and the torrid clime 
 
 Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire ; 
 
 Nathless he so endur'd, till on the beach 
 
 Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call'd 
 
 His legions, angel forms, who lay entranc'd 
 
 Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooki 
 
 In Valambrosa, where th' Etrurian shades 
 
 High over-arch'd embow'r; or scatter'd sedge 
 
 Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion arm'd 
 
 Hath vex'd the Red-sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew 
 
 Busiris and his Memphian chivalry. 
 
 While with perfidious hatred they pursued 
 
 The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld 
 
 From the safe shore their floating carcases 
 
 And broken chariot wheels : so thick bestrown. 
 
 Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood. 
 
 Under amazement of their hideous change. 
 
 He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep 
 
 Of hell resounded. Princes, Potentates, 
 
 Warriors, the flow'r of heav'n, once yours, now lost. 
 
 If such astonisljment as this can seize 
 
 Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this place. 
 
 After the toil of battle, to repose 
 
 Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 
 
 To slumber here, as in the vales of Heav'n ? 
 
 Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
 
 To adore the Conqueror ? who now beholds 
 
 Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood 
 
 With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon 
 
 His swift pursuers from heav'n gates discern 
 
 Th' advantage, and descending tread us down 
 
 Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
 
 Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf. 
 
 Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen ! 
 
 They heard, and were abash'd, and up they sprang 
 Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch 
 On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread. 
 Rouse and bestir themselves e'er well awake. 
 Nor did they not perceive the evil plight 
 In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel ; 
 Yet to their General's voice they soon obcy'd. 
 Innumerable. As when the potent rod 
 b6
 
 X2 MILTON. BOOK I. 
 
 Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day, 
 
 Wav'd round the coast, up call'd a pitchy cloud 
 
 Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind. 
 
 That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung 
 
 Like night, and darken'd all the land of Nile : 
 
 So numberless were those bad angels seen. 
 
 Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell, 
 
 'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires; 
 
 Till, as a signal giv'n, th' uplifted spear 
 
 Of their great Sultan waving to direct 
 
 Their course, in even balance down they light 
 
 On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain ; 
 
 A multitude, like which the populous North 
 
 Pour d never from her frozen loins, to pass 
 
 Rhene or the Danaw, when her barb'rous son* 
 
 Came like a deluge on the South, and spread 
 
 Beneath Gibraltar to the Lybian sands. 
 
 Forthwith from every squadron and each band 
 
 The heads and leaders thither haste, where stood 
 
 Their great Commander ; godlike shapes and forms 
 
 Excelling human, princely dignities. 
 
 And powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones ; 
 
 Though of their names in heav'nly records now 
 
 Be no memorial, blotted out and ras'd 
 
 By their rebellion from the books of Life. 
 
 Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve 
 
 Got them new names, till wandring o'er die earth. 
 
 Through God's high suiF'rance for the trial of man. 
 
 By falsities and lies the greatest part 
 
 Of mankind they corrupted to forsake 
 
 God their Creator, and th' invisible 
 
 Glory of him that made them to transform 
 
 Oft to the image of a brute, adorn' d 
 
 With gay religions full of pomp and gold. 
 
 And devils to adore for deities : 
 
 Then were they known to men by various names. 
 
 And various idols through the heathen world. 
 
 Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, v^ ho last, 
 
 Rous'd from the slumber, on that fiery couch. 
 
 At their great Emp'ror's call, as next in worth 
 
 Came singly where he stood on the bare strand. 
 
 While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof.
 
 BOOK I. PARADISE LOST. 1$ 
 
 The chief were those who from the pit of Hell 
 
 Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst fix 
 
 Their seats long after next the seat of God, 
 
 Their altars by his altar, gods ador'd 
 
 Among the nations round, and durst abide 
 
 Jehovah thund'ring out of Sion, thron'd 
 
 Betw^een the cherubim ; yea often plac'd 
 
 Within his sanctuary itself their shrines. 
 
 Abominations ; and with cursed things 
 
 His holy rites and solemn feasts profan'd. 
 
 And with their darkness durst aft'ront his light. 
 
 Inrst Moloch, horrid king, besmear'd with blood 
 
 Of human sacrifice, and parent's tears, 
 
 Thougli for the noise of drums and timbrels loud 
 
 Their children's cries unheard, that pass'd through fire 
 
 To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite 
 
 Worshipp'd in Rabba and her wat'ry plain. 
 
 In Argob and in Basan, to the stream 
 
 Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such 
 
 Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart 
 
 Of Solomon he led by fraud to build 
 
 His temple right against die temple of Gk)d, 
 
 On the opprobrious hill, and made his grove 
 
 The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence 
 
 And black Gehenna call'd, the type of Hell. 
 
 Next Chemos, th' obscene dread of Moab's sons. 
 
 From A roar to Nebo, and the wild 
 
 Of southmost Abarim ; in Hesebon 
 
 And Horonaim, Seon's realm, beyond 
 
 The flow'ry dale of Sibma, clad with vines. 
 
 And Eleale to th' Asphaltic pool. 
 
 Peor his other name, when he entic'd 
 
 Israel in Sittim on their march from Nile 
 
 To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe. 
 
 Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarg'd 
 
 Ev'n to tliat hill of scandal, by the grove 
 
 Of Moloch homicide j lust hard by hate j 
 
 Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell. 
 
 With these came they, who from the bord'ring flood 
 
 Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts 
 
 Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names 
 
 Of Baalim and A&htarolh, those male.
 
 14 MILTON. BOOK I. 
 
 These feminine. For spirits, when they please. 
 
 Can either sex assume, or both j so soft 
 
 And uncompounded is their essence pure. 
 
 Not ty'd or manacl'd with joint or limb. 
 
 Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones. 
 
 Like cumb'rous flesh ; but in what shape they choose 
 
 Dilated or condens'd, bright or obscure. 
 
 Can execute their airy purposes. 
 
 And works of love or enmity fulfil. 
 
 For those the race of Israel oft forsook 
 
 Their living strength, and unfrequented left 
 
 His righteous altar, bowing lowly down 
 
 To bestial Gods ; for w hich their heads as low 
 
 Bow'd down in battle, sunk before the spear 
 
 Of despicable foes. With these in troop 
 
 Came Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians call'd 
 
 Astarte, Queen of Heav'n, with crescent horns j 
 
 To whose bright image nightly by the moon 
 
 Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs j 
 
 In Sion also not unsung, where stood 
 
 Her temple on th' offensive mountain, built 
 
 By that uxorious king, whose heart, though large, 
 
 Beguil'd by fair idolatresses, fell 
 
 To idols foul. Tammuz came next behind. 
 
 Whose annual wound in Lebanon allur'd 
 
 The Syrian damsels to lament his fate 
 
 In amorous ditties all a summer's day ; 
 
 While smooth Adonis from his native rock 
 
 Ran purple to the sea, suppos'd with blood 
 
 Of Tammuz yearly wounded j the love-tale 
 
 Infected Sion's daughters with like heat. 
 
 Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch 
 
 Ezekiel saw, when by the vision led 
 
 His eye survey'd the dark idolatries 
 
 Of alienated Judah. Next came one 
 
 Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark 
 
 Maim'd his brute image, head and hands lopt off 
 
 In his own temple, on the grunsel edge, 
 
 Where he fell flat, and sham'd his worshippers : 
 
 Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man 
 
 And downward fish : yet had his temple high 
 
 Reafd in Azotus, dreaded through the coast
 
 BOOK I. PARADISE LOST. i 
 
 Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, 
 
 And Accaron and Gaza's frontier bounds. 
 
 Him follow'd Rinimon, whose delightful seat 
 
 Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks 
 
 Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. 
 
 He also against the house of God was bold: 
 
 A leper once he lost, and gain'd a king, 
 
 Ahaz his sottish conqu'ror, whom he drew 
 
 God's altar to disparage and displace 
 
 For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn 
 
 His odious offerings, and adore the Gods 
 
 Whom he had vanquish'd. After these appear'd 
 
 A crew, who, under names of old renown, 
 
 Osiris, Isis, Orus and their train. 
 
 With monstrous shapes and sorceries abus'd 
 
 Fanatic Egypt and her priests, to seek 
 
 Their wand'ring gods disguis'd in brutish forms 
 
 Rather than human. Nor did Israel 'scape 
 
 Th' infection, when their borrow'd gold compos'd 
 
 The calf in Oreb ; and the rebel king 
 
 Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan, 
 
 Likening his Maker to the grazed ox, 
 
 Jehovah, who in one night when he pass'd 
 
 From Eg}'pt marching, equall'd with one stroke 
 
 Both her first-born and all her bleating gods. 
 
 Belial came last, than whom a sp'rit more lewd 
 
 Fell not from heaven, or more gross to love 
 
 Vice for itself: to him no temple stood 
 
 Nor altar smok'd ; yet who more oft than he 
 
 In temples and at altars, when the priest 
 
 Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled 
 
 With lust and violence the house of God ? 
 
 In courts and palaces he also reigns. 
 
 And in luxurious cities, where the noise 
 
 Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers. 
 
 And injury and outrage : and when Night 
 
 Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons 
 
 Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. 
 
 Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night 
 
 In Gibeah, when the hospitable door 
 
 Exposd a matron to avoid worse rape. 
 
 These were the prime in order and in might 5
 
 16 MILTON, BOOK I 
 
 The rest were long to tell, though far renown'd, 
 
 Th' Ionian gods of Javan's issue, held 
 
 Gods, yet confessed later than Heav'n and Earth 
 
 Their boasted parents : Titan, Heav'n's hrst-bom. 
 
 With his enormous brood, and birthright seiz'd 
 
 By younger Saturn ; he from mightier Jove 
 
 His own and Rhea's son like measure found ; 
 
 So Jove usurping reign'd : these first in Crete 
 
 And Ida known, thence on the snowy top 
 
 Of cold Olympus rul'd the middle air. 
 
 Their highest heav'n ; or on the Delphian cliff. 
 
 Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds 
 
 Of Doric land ; or who with Saturn old 
 
 Fled over Adria to th' Hesperian fields. 
 
 And o'er the Celtic roam'd the utmost isles. 
 
 All these and more came flocking > but with looks 
 Downcast and damp, yet such wherein appear'd 
 Obscure some glimpse of joy, t' have found their chief 
 Not in despair, t' have found themselves not lost 
 In loss itself; which on his countenance cast 
 Like doubtful hue : but he his wonted pride 
 Soon recollecting, with high words that bore 
 Semblance of worth, not substance, gently rais'd 
 Their fainting courage, and dispell'd their fears. 
 Then straight commands, that at the warlike sound 
 Of trumpets loud and clarions be uprear'd 
 His mighty standard ; that proud honour claim'd 
 Azazel as his right, a cherub tall ; 
 Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfiirl'd 
 Th' imperial ensign, which full high advanc'd 
 Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind. 
 With gems and golden lustre rich emblaz'd. 
 Seraphic arms and trophies ; all the while 
 Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds : 
 At which the universal host up sent 
 A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond 
 Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night, 
 All in a moment through the gloom were seen 
 Ten thousand banners rise into the air 
 With orient colours waving : with them rose 
 A forest huge of spears ; and thronging helm$ 
 Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array
 
 BOOK I. PARADISE LOST. 1^ 
 
 Of depth immeasurable : anon they move 
 
 In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 
 
 Of flutes and soft recorders ; such as rais'd 
 
 To height of noblest temper heroes old 
 
 Arming to battle ; and instead of rage 
 
 Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmov'd 
 
 With dread of death to flight or foul retreat j 
 
 Nor wanting pow'r to mitigate or swage 
 
 With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase 
 
 Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and pain. 
 
 From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they. 
 
 Breathing united force, Mith fixed thought 
 
 Mov'd on in silence to soft pipes that charm'd 
 
 Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil ; and now 
 
 Advanc'd in view, they stand, a horrid front 
 
 Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise 
 
 Of warriors old with order'd spear and shield. 
 
 Awaiting what command their mighty chief 
 
 Had to impose ; he through the armed files 
 
 Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse 
 
 The whole battalion, views their order due. 
 
 Their visages and stature, as of gods ; 
 
 Their number last he sums. And now his heart 
 
 Distends with pride, and hard'ning in his strength 
 
 Glories : for never since created man 
 
 Met such embodied force, as nam'd with these 
 
 Could merit more than that small infantry 
 
 Warr'd on by cranes j 'though all the giant brood 
 
 Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were join'd 
 
 That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side 
 
 Mix'd with auxiliar Gods ; and what resounds 
 
 In fable or romance of Uther's son. 
 
 Begirt with British or Armoric knights ; 
 
 And all who since, baptiz'd or infidel. 
 
 Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban, 
 
 Damasco, or Morocco, or Trebisond, 
 
 Or whom Biserta sent from Afric's shore 
 
 When Charlemain, with all his peerage, fell 
 
 By Fontarabia. Thus far these beyond 
 
 Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd 
 
 Their dread Commander : he above the rest 
 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent.
 
 18 MILTON. loon r. 
 
 Stood like a tower j his form had yet not lost 
 All her original brightness, nor appear'd 
 J^ess than Arch-angel ruin d, and th' excess 
 Of glory obscnr'd} as when the sun new risen 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air 
 Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon 
 In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes raonarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone 
 Above them all th' Arch-angel j but his face 
 Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care 
 Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows 
 Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride 
 Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast 
 Signs of remorse and passion to behold 
 The fellows of his crime, the followers rather 
 (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemn'd 
 For ever now to have their lot in pain; 
 Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd 
 Of Heav'n, and from eternal splendors flung 
 For his revolt, yet faithful, how they stood. 
 Their glory wither'd : as when Heaven's fire 
 Hath scathd the forest oaks, or mountain pines. 
 With singed top their stately growth, though bare. 
 Stands on the blasted heath, He now prepar'd 
 To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
 From wing to wing, and half inclose him round 
 With all his peers : attention held them mute. 
 Thrice he essay'd, and tlrrice in spite of scorn. 
 Tears such as angels weep, burst forth : at last 
 Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way. 
 
 O myriads of immortal Sp'rits ! O Powers 
 Matchless ! but with th' Almighty, and that strife 
 Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire. 
 As this place testifies, and this dire change. 
 Hateful to utter : but what pow'r of mind 
 Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth 
 Of knowledge past or present, could have fear'd. 
 How such united force of gods, how such 
 As stood like these, could ever know repulse ? 
 For who can yet believe, though after loss. 
 That all these puissant legions, whose exile
 
 ooK I. PARADISE LOST. j^ 
 
 Hath emptied Heav'n, shall fail to re-ascend, 
 
 .Self-rais'd, and repossess their native seat ? 
 
 For me be witness, all the host of heaven. 
 
 If counsels different, or dangers shunn'd 
 
 By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns 
 
 Monarch in Heav'n, till then as one secure 
 
 Sat on his throne, upheld by okl repute 
 
 Consent or custom, and his regal state 
 
 Put forth at full 5 but still his strength conceal'd. 
 
 Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. 
 
 Henceforth his might we know, and know our own. 
 
 So as not either to provoke, or drend 
 
 New war, provok'd ; our better part remains 
 
 To work in close design, by fraud or guile. 
 
 What force effected not ; that he no less 
 
 At length from us may find, who overcomes 
 
 By force, hath overcome but half his foe. 
 
 Space may produce new worlds ; whereof so rife 
 
 There went a fame in Heav'n, tliat he e'er long 
 
 Intended to create, and therein plant 
 
 A generation, whom his choice regard 
 
 Should favour equal to the sons of Heav'n : 
 
 Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps 
 
 Our first eruption, thither or elsewhere : 
 
 For this infernal pit shall never hold 
 
 Celestial sp'rits in bondage, nor th* abyss 
 
 Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts 
 
 Full counsel must mature : peace is despair'd. 
 
 For who can think submission ? War then, war. 
 
 Open or understood, mu.st be rcsolv'd. 
 
 He sp:ike : and to confirm his words, out flew 
 Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 
 Of mighty cherubim ; the sudden blaze 
 Far round illumin'd Hell : highly they rag'd 
 Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arma 
 Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war. 
 Hurling defiance tow'rd the vault of heav'n. 
 
 There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top 
 Belch'd fire and rolling smoke j the rest entire 
 Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign 
 That in his womb was hid metallic ore, 
 I'he work of sulphur. Thither wing'd with spee4
 
 10 MILTON. BOOK I. 
 
 A numerous brigade hasten'd : as when bands 
 
 Of pioneers, with spade and pick-axe arm'd. 
 
 Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field. 
 
 Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on. 
 
 Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
 
 From Heav'n, for ev'n in Heav'n his looks and tlioughts 
 
 Were always downward bent, admiring more 
 
 The riches of Heav'n's pavement, trodden gold. 
 
 Than aught divine, or holy else enjoy'd 
 
 In vision beatific : by him first 
 
 Men also, and by his suggestion taught, 
 
 Ransack'd the centre, and with impious hands 
 
 Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth 
 
 For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew 
 
 Open'd into the hill a spacious wound. 
 
 And digg'd out ribs of gold. Let none admire 
 
 That riches grow in Hell : that soil may best 
 
 Deserve the precious bane. And here let those 
 
 Who boast in mortal things, and wond'ring tell 
 
 Of Babel, and the works ofMemphian kings. 
 
 Learn how their greatest monuments of fame. 
 
 And strength, and art, are easily out-done 
 
 By spirits reprobate, and in an hour 
 
 What in an age they with incessant toil. 
 
 And hands innumerable, scarce perform. 
 
 Nigh on the plain in many cells prepard. 
 
 That underneath had veins of liquid fire 
 
 Sluic'd fi"ora the lake, a second multitude 
 
 With wondrous art found out the massy ore, 
 
 Sev'ring each kind, and scumm'd the bullion dross ; 
 
 A third as soon had form'd witiiin the ground 
 
 A various mould, and from tlie boiling cells. 
 
 By strange conveyance, fiU'd each hollow nook. 
 
 As in an organ from one blast of wind 
 
 To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes. 
 
 Anon, out of the earth a fabric huge 
 
 Rose like an exhalation, with the sound 
 
 Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, 
 
 Built like a temple, where pilasters round 
 
 Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid 
 
 With golden architrave ; nor did there want 
 
 Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven j
 
 BOOK I. PARADISE LOST. Si 
 
 The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, 
 
 Nor great Alcairo such magnificence 
 
 Equall d in all their glories, to inshrine 
 
 Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat 
 
 Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove 
 
 In wealth and luxury. Th' ascending pile 
 
 Stood fix'd her stately height, and straight the doori 
 
 Opening their brazen folds, discover wide 
 
 Within her ample spaces o'er the smooth 
 
 And level pavement : from the arched roof 
 
 Pendent by subtle magic, many a row 
 
 Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 
 
 "With Naphtha and Asphaltus, yielded light 
 
 As from a sky.- The hasty multitiude 
 
 Admiring enter'd, and the work some praise. 
 
 And some the architect : his hand was known 
 
 In Heav'n by many a tow'red structure high. 
 
 Where scepter'd angels held their residence. 
 
 And sat as princes, whom the supreme king. 
 
 Exalted to such power, and gave to rule. 
 
 Each in his hierarchy, the orders bright. 
 
 Nor was his name unheard or unador'd 
 
 In ancient Greece j and in Ausonian land 
 
 Men call'd him Mulciberj and how he fell 
 
 From heav'n they fabled, thrown by angr)' Jot 
 
 Sheer o'er the crystal battlements: from morn 
 
 To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, 
 
 A summer's day ; and with the setting sun 
 
 Dropt from the zenith, like a falling star. 
 
 On Lemnos th' iEgean isle : thus tliey relate. 
 
 Erring ; for he with this rebellious rout 
 
 Fell loui^ before ; nor aught avail'd him now 
 
 T* have built in Heaven high tow'rs ; nor did he 'scapo 
 
 By all his engines, but was headlong sent. 
 
 With his industrious crew, to build in Hell. 
 
 Meanwhile the winged heralds by command 
 Of sov' reign pow'r, with awful ceremony 
 And trumpet's sound, throughout the host proclaina 
 A solemn council forthwith to be held 
 At Pandemonium, the high capital 
 Of Satan and his peers : their summons call'd 
 From every baud and squared regiment
 
 22 MILTON. jiooit I. 
 
 By place or choice the worthiest ; they anon 
 
 With hundreds and with thousands trooping came 
 
 Attended: all access was throng'd, the gates. 
 
 And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall 
 
 (Though like a cover'd field, where champions bold 
 
 Wont ride in arm'd, and at the Soldan's chair 
 
 Defy'd the best of Panim chivalry 
 
 To mortal combat, or career with lance) 
 
 Thick swarra'd, both on the ground and in the air 
 
 Brush'd with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees 
 
 In spring-time, when the sun with Taurus rides, 
 
 Pour forth their populous youth about the hive 
 
 In clusters ; they among fresh dews and flower* 
 
 Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank. 
 
 The suburb of their straw-built citadel. 
 
 New rubb'd with balm, expatiate and confer 
 
 Their state affairs. So thick the airy crowd 
 
 Swarm'd and were straiten'd j till, the signal given, 
 
 Behold a wonder! they but now who seem'd 
 
 In bigness to surpass earth's giant sons. 
 
 Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room 
 
 Throng numberless, like that Pygmean race 
 
 Beyond the Indian mount, or fairy elves. 
 
 Whose midnight revels by a forest side 
 
 Or fountain some belated peasant sees. 
 
 Or dreams he sees, while over-head the moon 
 
 Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth 
 
 Wheels her pale course ; they on their mirth and dance 
 
 Intent with jocund music charm his ear j 
 
 At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. 
 
 Thus incorporeal sp'rits to smallest forms 
 
 Reduc'd their shapes immense, and were at large. 
 
 Though without number still amidst the hall 
 
 Of that infernal court. But far within. 
 
 And in their own dimensions like themselves. 
 
 The great seraphic lords and cherubim 
 
 In close recess and secret conclave, sat ; 
 
 A thousand demi-gods on golden seats, 
 
 Frequent and full. After short silence then. 
 
 And summons read, the great consult began.
 
 PARADISE LOST. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The consultation begun, Satan debates whether another battle be 
 to be hazarded for the recovery of Heaven : some advise it, othcrc 
 dissuade. A third proposal is preferr'd, mentioned before by 
 Satan, to search the truth of that prophecy or tradition in Hea- 
 ven concerning another world, and another kind of creature, 
 equal or not much inferior to themselves, about this time to be 
 created : their doubt who shall be sent on this difficult search. 
 Satan, their chief, undertakes alone the voyage, is honour'd and 
 tpplauded. The council thui ended, the rest betake them several 
 ways, and to several employments, as their inclinations lead them, 
 to entertain the time till Satan return. He passes on his journey 
 to Hell gates, finds them shut, and who sat there to guard them, 
 by whom at length they are open'd and discover to him the 
 gulf between Hell and Heaven ; with what difficulty he passes 
 through, directed by Chaos, the power of that place, to the sight 
 of this new world which he sought. 
 
 High on a throne of royal state, which far 
 
 Outshone the wealth of Ornius and of Ind, 
 
 Or where the gorgeous east with richest hand 
 
 Show'rs on her kings Barbaric pearl and gold, 
 
 Satan exalted sat, by merit rais'd 
 
 To that bad eminence ; and from despair 
 
 Thus high uplified beyond hope, aspires 
 
 Beyond thus high, insatiate to -nirsue 
 
 Vain war with lieav'n, and, by success untaughf. 
 
 His proud imaginations thus display'd. 
 
 Pow'rs and dominions, deities of Heav'n, 
 For since no deep wii'iin her gvilph can hold 
 Immortal vigour, though oppress'd and fall'n, 
 I give not heav'n for lost. From this descent 
 Celestial virtvies rising, will appear 
 More glorious and more dread tl\an from no fall. 
 And trust themselves to fear no second fate. 
 Me though just right, and the rix'd laws of Heav'n 
 Did first create your leader, next free choice.
 
 04 MILTON. BOOK ir. 
 
 With what besides, in counsel or in fight. 
 Hath been achiev'd of merit, yet this loss. 
 Thus far at least recover'd, hath much more 
 Establish'd in a safe unenvied throne. 
 Yielded with full consent. The happier state 
 In heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw 
 Envy from each inferior; but who here 
 Will envy whom the highest place exposes 
 Foremost to stand against the thund'rer's aim. 
 Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share 
 Of endless pain ? where there is then no gool 
 For which to strive, no strife can grow up there 
 From faction; for none sure will claim in hell 
 Precedence; none, whose portion is so small 
 Of present pain, that with ambitious mind 
 Will covet more. With this advantage then 
 To union, and firm faith, and firm accord. 
 More than can be in Heaven, we now return 
 To claim our just inheritance of old. 
 Surer to prosper than prosperity 
 Could have assur'd us; and by what best way. 
 Whether of open war or covert guile. 
 We now debate; who can advise may speak. 
 
 He ceas'd ; and next him Moloch, scepter'd king. 
 Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest spirit 
 That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair : 
 His trust was with th' Eternal to be detm'd 
 Equal in strength, and rather than be less 
 Car'd not to be at all ; with that care lost 
 Went all his fear : of God, or hell, or worse 
 He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake: 
 
 My sentence is for open war : of wiles, 
 More unexpert, I boast not: them let those 
 Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. 
 For while they sit contriving, shall the rest. 
 Millions that .stand in arms, nnd longing wait 
 The signal to ascerd, sit ling'ring here 
 Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling plac 
 Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame^ 
 The prison of his t)ranny who reigns 
 Uy our delay ? No, let us rather choose^
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 25 
 
 Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once 
 
 O'er heav'n's high tow'rs to force resistless way. 
 
 Turning our tortures into horrid arms 
 
 Against the tort'rer: when to meet the noise 
 
 Of his almighty engine he shall hear 
 
 Infernal thunder, and for lightning see 
 
 Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 
 
 Among his angels, and his throne itself 
 
 Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire. 
 
 His own invented torments. But, perhaps. 
 
 The way seems difficult and steep to scale 
 
 With upright wing against a higher foe. 
 
 Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
 
 Of that forgetful lake benumb not still. 
 
 That in our proper motion we ascend 
 
 Up to our native seat : descent and fall 
 
 To us is adverse. Who but felt of late. 
 
 When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear, 
 
 iTisulting, and pursued us through the deep. 
 
 With what compulsion and laborious flight 
 
 We sunk thus low ? Th' ascent is easy then j 
 
 Th' event is fear'd ; should we again provoke 
 
 Onr stronger, some worse way his wrath may find 
 
 To our destruction ; if there be in hell 
 
 Fear to be worse destroy'd : what can be worse 
 
 Than to dwell here, driv'n out from bliss, condemn'd 
 
 In this abhorred deep to utter woe ; 
 
 Where pain of unextinguishable fire 
 
 Must exercise us, without hope of end. 
 
 The vassals of his anger, when the scourge 
 
 Inexorably, and the torturing hour 
 
 Calls us to penance ? More destroy'd than thus. 
 
 We should be quite abolish'd, and expire. 
 
 What fear we then ? what doubt we to incense 
 
 His utmost ire? which, to the height enrag'd. 
 
 Will either quite consume us, and reduce 
 
 To nothing this essential, happier far 
 
 Than miserable to have eternal being : 
 
 Or if our substance be indeed divine. 
 
 And cannot cease to be, we are at worst 
 
 On this side nothing j and by proof we feel
 
 26" MILTON. BOOK II. 
 
 Our pow'r sufficient to disturb his heav'n. 
 And with perpetual inroads to alarm. 
 Though inacccssiblCj his fatal throne : 
 Which, if not victory, is yet revenge. 
 
 He ended frowning, and his look dcnounc'd 
 Desp'rale revenge, and battle dangerous 
 To less than gods. Ou th' other side up rose 
 Belial, in act more graceful and humane ; 
 A fairer person lost not heav'n ; he seem'd 
 For dignity compos'd, and high exploit : 
 But all was false and hollow ; though his tongue 
 Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear 
 The better reason, to perplex and dash 
 Maturest counsels : for his thoughts were low. 
 To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 
 Tim'rous and slothful : yet he pleas'd the ear. 
 And M'ith persuasive accent thus began : 
 
 I should be much for open war, O Peers, 
 As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd 
 Main reason to persuade immediate war. 
 Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast 
 Ominous conjecture on the whole success : 
 When he who most excels in fact of arms. 
 In what he counsels, and in what excels. 
 Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair 
 And utter dissolution, as the scope 
 Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 
 First, what revenge ? the towers of heav'n are fillM 
 With armed watch, that render all access 
 Impregnable ; oft on the bord'ring deep 
 Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing 
 Scout far and wide into the realm of night, 
 Scorning surprise. Or could we break our w ay 
 By force, and at our heels all hell should rise 
 With blackest insurrection, to confound 
 Heav'n's purest light, yet our great enemy. 
 All incorruptible, would on his tlirone 
 Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mould. 
 Incapable of stain, would soon expel 
 Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire. 
 Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hop
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 27 
 
 Is flat despair : we must exasperate 
 Th' almighty victor to spend all his rage j 
 And that must end us, that must be our cure. 
 To be no more. Sad cure ! for who would lose. 
 Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
 Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 
 I'o perish rather, swallow'd up and lost 
 III the wide womb of uncreated night. 
 Devoid of sense and motion ? and who knows. 
 Let this be good, whether our angry foe 
 Can give it, or will ever? how he can. 
 Is doubtful ; that he never will, is sure. 
 Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire. 
 Belike through impotence, or unaware. 
 To give his enemies their wish, and end 
 Them in his anger, whom his anger saves 
 To punish endless ? Wherefore cease we then ? 
 Say they who counsel war, we are decreed, 
 Reserv'd, and dcstin'd to eternal woe. 
 Whatever doing: what can we suffer more, 
 W'h:it can we suffer worse ? Is this then worst. 
 Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms ? 
 What, when we fled amain, pursu'd and struck 
 With heaven's afllicting thunder, and besought 
 The deep to shelter us? this hell then seem'd 
 A refuge from those wounds : or when we lay 
 Chain'd on the burning lake? that sure was wors;. 
 What, if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 
 Awak'd, should blow them into sevenfold rage. 
 And plunge us in the flames ? or from above. 
 Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
 His red right hand to plague us? what, if aU 
 Her stores were open'd, and this firmament 
 Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire. 
 Impendent horrors, threat'ning hideous fall 
 ( )ne day upon our heads ; while we, perhaps. 
 Designing or exhorting glorious war, 
 C'aught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurl'd 
 Kach on hisrock transfix'd, the spt)rt and prey 
 ()f wracking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk 
 Lender yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; 
 c 2
 
 IS MILTON. BOOK II. 
 
 Inhere to converse with everlasting groans, 
 
 Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd. 
 
 Ages of hopeless end ! this would be worse. 
 
 War, therefore, open or conceal'd, alike 
 
 My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile 
 
 With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye 
 
 Views all things at one view ? he from heav'n's height 
 
 All these our motions vain sees and derides j 
 
 Not more almighty to resist our might. 
 
 Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. 
 
 Shall we then live thus vile, the race of heaven. 
 
 Thus trampled, thus expell'd to suffer here 
 
 Chains and these torments ? better these than worse 
 
 By my advice j since fate inevitable 
 
 Subdues us, and omnipotent decree. 
 
 The victor's will. To suffer, as to do. 
 
 Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust 
 
 That so ordains : this was at first resolv'd. 
 
 If we were wise, against so great a foe 
 
 Contending, and so doubtful what might fall. 
 
 I laugh, when those who at the spear are bold 
 
 And vent'rous, if that fail them, shrink and fear 
 
 What yet they know must follow, to endure 
 
 Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain, 
 
 Tlie sentence of tiieir coiKjueror : this is now 
 
 Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear. 
 
 Our supreme foe in time may much remit 
 
 His anger, and perhaps, thus far remov'd. 
 
 Not mind us, not offending, sati.sf)''d 
 
 With what is punish'd; whence these raging fires 
 
 Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. 
 
 Our purer essence then will overcome 
 
 Their noxious vapour, or, inur'd, not feel. 
 
 Or chang'd at length, and to the place conform'd 
 
 In temper and in nature, will receive 
 
 Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain ; 
 
 This horror will grow mild' this darkness light. 
 
 Besides what hope the never-ending flight 
 
 Of fi'tur'" days may bring, what chance, what change 
 
 V/orth V. .iiting, since our present lot appears 
 
 For hippy though but ill, for ill not worst.
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 2 
 
 If we procure not to ourselves more woe. 
 
 Thus Belial, with words cloth'd in reason's garb, 
 Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth. 
 Not peace: and after him thus Mammon spake: 
 
 Either to disenthrone the King of heav'n 
 We war, if war be best, or to regain 
 Our own right lost : him to unthrone we then 
 May hope, when everlasting fate shall yield 
 To fickle chance, and Chaos judge the strife : 
 The former vain to hope, argues as vain 
 Tlie latter: for what place can be for us 
 "Within heav'n's bound, unless heav'n's Lord supreme 
 We overpow'r? Suppose he should relent. 
 And publish grace to all, on promise made 
 Of new subjection; witii what eyes could we 
 Stand ill his presence humble, and receive 
 Strict laws impos'd to celebrate his throne 
 With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing 
 Forc'd hallelujahs; while he lordly sits 
 Our envied Sov'reign, and his altar breathes 
 Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers. 
 Our servile oft"' rings ? This must be our task 
 In heav'n, this our delight ; how wearisome 
 Eternity so spent in worship paid 
 To whom we hate 1 Let us not then pursue 
 By force impossible, by leave obtain'd 
 Unacceptable, though in heav'n, our state 
 Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek 
 Our own good from ourselves, and from our own. 
 Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess. 
 Free, and to none accountable, preferring 
 Hard liberty before the easy yoke 
 Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear 
 Then mo-.t conspicuous, when great things of small. 
 Useful of hurtful, prosp'rous of adverse 
 We can create, in what place soe'er 
 Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain. 
 Through labour and endurance. This deep world 
 Of darkness do we dread ? How oft amidst 
 Thick clouds and dark doth heav'n's all-ruling sire 
 Choose to reside, his glory unobscur'd. 
 And witli the majesty of darkness round 
 c 3
 
 30 MILTON. BOOK 
 
 Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders roar, 
 
 Must'ring their rage, and hcav'n resembles hell? 
 
 As he our darkness, cannot we his light 
 
 Imitate when we please? This desert soil 
 
 Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold ; 
 
 Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise 
 
 Magnificence; and what Ciin heav'n shew more? 
 
 Our torments also may in length of time 
 
 Become our elements ; these piercing fires 
 
 As soft as now severe; our temper chang'd 
 
 Into their temper; which must needs remove 
 
 The sensible of pain. All things invite 
 
 To peaceful counsels, and the settled state 
 
 Of order, how in safety best we may 
 
 Compose our present evils, with regard 
 
 Of what we are and where, dismissing quite 
 
 All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise. 
 
 He scarce had finish'd, when such murmur fiUd 
 Th' assembly, as when hollow rocks retain 
 The sound of blust'ring winds, which all night long 
 Had rous'd the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull 
 Sea- faring men o'erwatch'd, whose bark by chance 
 Or pinnace anchors in a craggy bay 
 After the tempest : such applause was heard 
 As iVIamraon ended, and his sentence pleas'd. 
 Advising peace: for such another field 
 They dreaded w orse than hell : so much the fear 
 Of thunder and the sword of Michael 
 Wrought still within them : and no less desire 
 To found this nether empire, which might ri.se 
 By policy, and long process of time, 
 ]n emulation opposite to Heav'n. 
 Which, when Beelzebub perceiv'd, than whom, 
 ?atan except, none higher sat, with grave 
 Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd 
 A pillar of state; deep on his fiont engraven 
 Deliberation sat, and public care; 
 And princely counsel in his face yet shone 
 IMajestic, though in ruin : sage he stood. 
 With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear 
 The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look 
 Drew audience and attention still as night
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 31 
 
 Or summer's noon-tide air, while thus he spake : 
 
 Thrones and imperial power's, offspring of Heav'n, 
 Ethereal virtues ; or these titles now 
 Must we renounce, and, changing style, be call'd 
 Princes of Hell ? for so the popular vote 
 Inclines, here to continue, and build up here 
 A growing empire 5 doubtless, while we dream, 
 And know not that the King of Heav'n hath doom'd 
 This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat 
 Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt 
 From Heav'n's high jurisdiction, in new league 
 Banded against his throne, but to remain 
 In strictest bondage, tho' thus far remov'd 
 Under th' inevitable curb reserv'd 
 His captive multitude: for he, be sure. 
 In heighth or depth, still first and last will reign 
 Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part 
 By our revolt, but over hell extend 
 His empire, and with iron sceptre rule 
 Us here, as with his golden those in heav'n. 
 What ! sit we then projecting peace and war ? 
 War hath determin'd us, and foil'd with loss 
 Irreparable; terms of peace yet none 
 Vouchsaf 'd or sought : for what peace will be givea 
 To us inslav'd, but custody severe. 
 And stripes, and arbitrary punishment 
 Inflicted ? and what peace can we return 
 But to our power hostility and hate, 
 Untam'd reluctance, and revenge, though slow. 
 Yet ever plotting how the conqu'ror least 
 May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice 
 In doing what we most in suffering feel ? 
 Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need. 
 With dangerous expedition, to invade 
 Heav'n, whose high walls fear no assault or siege. 
 Or ambush from the deep. What, if we find 
 Some easier enterprise ? There is a place, 
 (If ancient and prophetic fame in heav'n 
 Err not) another world, the happy scat 
 Of some new race call'd MAN, about this (ime 
 To be created like to us, though less 
 In power and excellence, but favour'd more 
 cl
 
 32 MILTON. BOOK if. 
 
 Of him who rules above ; so was his will ' 
 
 Prpnounc'd among the gods, and, by an" oath. 
 That shook heav'n's whole circumference, conlirm'd. 
 Tliither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn 
 What creatures there inhabit, of what mould 
 Or substance, how endued, and what their power. 
 And where their weakness, how attempted best. 
 By force or subtlety. Though Heav'n be shut. 
 And Heav'n's high Arbitrator sit secure 
 hi his own strength, this place may lie expos'd. 
 The utmost border of his kingdom, left 
 To their defence who hold it : here perhaps ^ 
 Some advantageous act may be achiev'd 
 By sudden onset, either with hell fire 
 To waste his whole creation, or possess 
 All as our own, and drive, as we were driven. 
 The puny habitants } or if not drive. 
 Seduce them to our party, that their God 
 May prove their foe, and with repenting hand 
 Abolish his own woi'ks. This would sui"pass 
 Common revenge, and interrupt his joy 
 In our contusion, and our joy upraise 
 In his disturbance J when his darling sons, 
 Hurl'd head-long to partake with us, shall curse 
 Their frail original, and faded bliss. 
 Faded so soon. Advise if this be worth 
 Attempting, or to sit in darkness here 
 Hatching vain empires. Thus Beelzebub 
 Pleaded his devilish counsel, first devis'd 
 By Satan, and in part propos'd : for whence^ 
 But from the author of all ill, could spring 
 So deep a malice, to confound the race 
 Of mankind in one root, and earth with hell 
 To mingle and involve, done all to spite 
 The great Creator ? but their spite still serves 
 His glory to augment. The bold design 
 Pleas'd highly those infernal States, and joy 
 Sparkled in all their eyes ; with full assent 
 They vote : whereat his speech he thus renews : 
 Well have ye judg'd, well ended long debate. 
 Synod of gods, and, like to what ye are. 
 Great things resolv'd, which from the lowest deep
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 33 
 
 Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate. 
 
 Nearer our ancient seat ; perhaps in view 
 
 Of those bright confines, whence with neighb'ring arms 
 
 And opportune excursion, "we may chance 
 
 lie-enter heav'n -, or else in some mild zone 
 
 Dwell not unvisited of heav'n's fair light 
 
 Secure, and at the bright'ning orient beam 
 
 Purge off this gloom ; the soft delicious air. 
 
 To heal the scar of these corrosive fires. 
 
 Shall breathe her balm. But first, whom shall we send 
 
 In search of this new world ? whom shall we find 
 
 Sufficient ? who shall tempt with wand' ring feet 
 
 The dark unbottom'd infinite abyss, 
 
 And through the palpable obscure find out 
 
 His uncouth way, or spread his airy flight. 
 
 Upborne with indefatigable wings. 
 
 Over the vast abnipt, e'er he arrive 
 
 The happy isle j what strength, what art can then 
 
 Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe 
 
 Through the strict senteries and stations thick 
 
 Of angels watching round ? here he had need 
 
 All circumspection; and we now no less 
 
 Choice in our sutFrage ; for on whom Ave send. 
 
 The weight of all, and our last hope relies. 
 
 This said, he sat ; and expectation held 
 His look suspense, awaiting who appear'd 
 To second, or oppose, or undertake 
 The perilous attempt : but all sat mute, 
 Pond'riiig the danger with deep thoughts ; and each 
 In others count'nance read his own dismay, 
 Astonish'd : none among the choice and prime 
 Of those heav'n-warring champions, could be found 
 So hardv as to proffer or accept 
 Alone the dreadful voyage ; till at last 
 Satan, whom now transcendent glory rai-i'd 
 Above his fallows, with monarchal pride 
 Conscious of highest worth, unmov'd tlr.is ';pake : 
 
 () progeny of heav'n ! empyreal throne-- ! 
 With reason hath deep silence and demur 
 Scis'd us, though undismay'd : long is the way. 
 And iiard, that out of hell leads up to ligh.t ; 
 Our prison strong 5 this huge convex 'of fire, 
 c 5
 
 34 MILTON. BOOK I 
 
 Outrageous to devour, immures us round, 
 
 Ninefold, and gates of burning adamant 
 
 Barrd over us, prohibit all egress. 
 
 These pass'd, if any pass, the void profound 
 
 Of unessential Night receives him next 
 
 Wide gaping, and with utter loss of being 
 
 Threatens him, plung'd in that abortive gulf. 
 
 If thence he 'scape, into whatever world. 
 
 Or unknown region, what remains him less 
 
 Than unknown dangers, and as hard escape ? 
 
 But I should ill become this throne, O Peers ! 
 
 And this imperial sov'reignty, adorn'd 
 
 With splendour, arm'd with power, if aught propos'd 
 
 And judg'd of public moment, in the shape 
 
 Of difficulty or danger could deter 
 
 Me from attempting. Wherefore do I assume 
 
 These royalties, and not refuse to reign. 
 
 Refusing to accept as great a share 
 
 Of hazard as of honour, due alike 
 
 To him who reigns, and so much to him due 
 
 Of hazard more, as he above the rest 
 
 High honour'd sits ? Go, therefore, mighty powei s. 
 
 Terror of Heav'n, tho' fall'n ; intend at home. 
 
 While here shall be our home, what best may ease 
 
 The present misery, and render Hell 
 
 More tolerable ; if there be cure or charm 
 
 To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain 
 
 Of this ill mansion : intermit no watch 
 
 Against a wakeflil foe, while I abroad. 
 
 Through all the coasts of dark destruction, seek 
 
 Deliv'rance for us all ; this enterprise 
 
 None shall partake with me. Thus saying, rose 
 
 The monarch, and prevented all reply j 
 
 Prudent, lest from his resolution rais'd. 
 
 Others among the chief might offer now 
 
 (Certain to be refus'd) what erst they fear'd ; 
 
 And so refu!>'d, might in opinion stand 
 
 His rivals, A\'inning cheap the high repute 
 
 Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they 
 
 Dreaded not more th' adventure than his voice 
 
 Forbidding ; and at once with him they rose ; 
 
 Their risino- all at once was as the sound*
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 35 
 
 Of thunder heard remote. Tow'rds him tliey bend 
 
 \\ ith awful rev'rence prone; and as a Grxi 
 
 Kxtol him equal to th' Highest in Heav'n : 
 
 Nor fail'd limy to express how much they prais'd, 
 
 'lliat for tlitj general safety he despis'd 
 
 His own : fur neither do the spirits damn'tl 
 
 Lose all their virtue j lest bad men should boast 
 
 Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites. 
 
 Or close ambition varnish'd o'er with zeal. 
 
 'I'hus they their doubtful ccnisultations dark 
 
 Ended, rejoicing in their matchless'chief : 
 
 As when from mountain tops the dusky clouds 
 
 Ascending, while the north wind sleeps, o'erspread 
 
 Heav'n's cheerful face, tlie louring element 
 
 Scowls o"cr tl)c darkcn'd landskip snow, or shower j. 
 
 If chance the radiant sun with farewel sweet 
 
 Extend his i \"ning beam, tiie fields revive, 
 
 Tiie birds their notes renew, and bleating hrrds 
 
 Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. 
 
 () shame to men, devil with devil damn'd 
 
 I'lrm concord holds, men only disagree 
 
 Of creatures rational, iho' imder hope 
 
 Of heav'nly grace: and God proclaiming peace. 
 
 Vet live in hatred, enmity, and strife 
 
 Among theniselves, and levy cruel wars, 
 
 V^'a^tiMg the earth, each other to destroy : 
 
 As if (w Inch might induce us to accord) 
 
 Man hid not hellish foes enough besides. 
 
 That ilay and night for his destruction wait. 
 
 The Stygian council thus dissolv'd; and forth 
 In order c.ime the grand infernal peers : 
 Midst came their mi.;iity paramount, and seem'd 
 Al )iie the antagonist of Heav'ii, nor less 
 'I'll iM Ik-li's dread emperor with pomp supreme,. 
 And godlike imitated state; him round 
 A globe of fiery seraphim inclos'd 
 W \\\\ briglit imhla/.onry, and horrent arms. 
 TIkh of their session eiuled they bid < ry 
 \\ ith trumpets" regal sound the great reiult : 
 'J'ov. 'rds the lt)ur winds tour spcidv < lurubinx 
 Tut to ilieir mouths tiie sounding ilcheiuv 
 Uy lieraUrs voice explain'd i the licllow abyss
 
 36 MILTON. BOOK ix. 
 
 Heard far and wide^ and all the host of hell 
 
 AVith deaf'ning shout return'd them loud acclaim. 
 
 Thence more at ease tlieir minds, and somewhat rais'd 
 
 By false presumptuous hope, the ranged powers 
 
 Disband, and wand'ring, each his several way 
 
 Pursues, as inclination or sad choice 
 
 Leads him, perplex'd where he may likeliest find 
 
 Trace to his restless thoughts, and entertain 
 
 The irksome hours, till his great chief return. 
 
 Part on the plain, or in the air sublime. 
 
 Upon the wing, or in swift race contend. 
 
 As at th' Olympian games or Pythian fields. 
 
 Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 
 
 With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form. 
 
 As when to warn proud cities war appears 
 
 Wag'd in the troubled sky, and armies rush 
 
 To battle in the clouds, before each van 
 
 Prick forth the airy knights, and couch their spears 
 
 Till thickest legions close ; with feats of arms 
 
 Prom either end of Heav'n the welkin burns. 
 
 Others, with vast Typhcean rage more fell, . 
 
 Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air 
 
 In whirlwind ; Hell scarce holds the wild uproar. 
 
 As when Alcides, from Oechalia crown'd 
 
 With conquest, felt th' envenoni'd robe, and tore 
 
 Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines. 
 
 And Lichas from tlie top of Oeta threw 
 
 Into th' Euboic sea. Others more mild. 
 
 Retreated in a silent valley, sing 
 
 With notes angelical to many a harp, 
 
 Their own heroic deeds, and hapless fall 
 
 By doom of battle ; and complain that Fate 
 
 P'ree virtue should inthrall to force or chance. 
 
 Their song was partial, but the harmony 
 
 (What could it less when sp'rits immortal sing?) 
 
 Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment 
 
 The thronging audience. In discourse more sweet 
 
 (For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense) 
 
 (Jthers apart sat on a hill retired. 
 
 In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high 
 
 Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, 
 
 Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute. 
 
 And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
 
 BOOK n. PARADISE LOST. 3/ 
 
 Of" good and evil much they argu'd, then 
 
 Of Jiappiness and final misery. 
 
 Passion and apathy, and glory and shame. 
 
 Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy : 
 
 Yet with a pleasing sorcery could charm 
 
 Pain for a wliile, or anguish, and excite 
 
 Fallacious hope, or arm th' obdur'd breast 
 
 With stubborn patience as with triple steel. 
 
 Another part, in squadrons and gross bands 
 
 On bold adventure to discover wide 
 
 That dismal world, if any clime perhaps 
 
 Might yield them easier habitation, bend 
 
 Four ways their flying march along the banks 
 
 Of lour infernal rivers, that disgorge 
 
 Into the burning lake their baleful streams; 
 
 Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate; 
 
 Sad Acheron, of sorrow, black and deep; 
 
 Cocytus, nam'd of lamentation loud, 
 
 Heard on the nieful stream; fierce Phlegethon, 
 
 Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. 
 
 Far otl" from these a slow and silent stream, 
 
 Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls 
 
 Her wat'ry labyrinth, whereof who drinks 
 
 Forthwith his former state and being forgets. 
 
 Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. 
 
 IJeyond this flood a frozen continent 
 
 Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms 
 
 Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land 
 
 Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems 
 
 Of ancient pile ; or else deep snow and ice, 
 
 A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog 
 
 Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, 
 
 Where armies whole have sunk : the parching air 
 
 Hums frcre, and cold performs ih' eflect of lire. 
 
 Thither, by harpy-footed furies hal'd, 
 
 At certain revolutions, all the damnd 
 
 Are brought, and feel by turns the bitter change 
 
 Of fierce extremes, by change more fierce. 
 
 From iK'ds of raging fire to starve in ice 
 
 'J'iieir soft etiiereal warmth, and there to pine 
 
 Immoveable, infix'd, and frozen round, 
 
 Periods of time", thence hurried back to lire.
 
 38 ' MILTON. BOOK ir. 
 
 They ferry over this Lethean sound 
 
 Both to and frp, their sorrow to augment. 
 
 And wish and struggle as they pass, to reach 
 
 The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose 
 
 In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe. 
 
 All in one moment, and so near the brink j 
 
 But fate withstands, and to oppose th' attempt 
 
 Medusa with Gorgon ian terror, guards 
 
 The ford, and of itself the water flies 
 
 All taste of living wight, as once it fled 
 
 The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on 
 
 In confus'd march forlorn, th' advent'rous bandS;, 
 
 With shudd'ring horror pale, and eyes aghast, 
 
 View'd first their lamentable lot, and found 
 
 No rest : through many a dark and dreary vale 
 
 They pass'd, and many a region dolorous. 
 
 O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, 
 
 Books, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of deaths 
 
 A universe of death, which God by curse 
 
 Created evil, for evil only good, 
 
 "Where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds,^ 
 
 Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things. 
 
 Abominable, inutterable, and worse 
 
 Than fables yet have feign'd, or fear conceiv'd, 
 
 Gorgon s, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire. 
 
 Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, 
 Satan, with thoughts inflam'd of high'st design. 
 Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell 
 Explores his soiitavy flight ; sometimes 
 He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left; 
 Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 
 Up to the fiery concave tow'ring high. 
 As when far off at sea a fleet descry'd 
 Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds 
 Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 
 C>f Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 
 Tiieir spicy drugs : they on the trading flood 
 Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape 
 Ply stemiuing nightly tow'rd the pole. So seem'd 
 Ear off the flying Fiend : at last appear 
 Hell bounds high reaching to the horrid roof, 
 And thrice three-fold the gates ; three folds were brass.
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. SQ 
 
 'Jhree iron, three of adamantine rock. 
 
 Impenetrable, impal'd with circling lire. 
 
 Yet uiiconsuni'd. Belbre the gates there sat 
 
 On eitlier side a formidable shape ; 
 
 The one seem'd woman to the waste, and fair, 
 
 Ikit ended foul in many a scaly fold 
 
 Volun)inous and vast, a serpent arm'd 
 
 With mortiil sting: about her middle round 
 
 A cry (jf hell-hounds never ceasing bark'd 
 
 With wide Ccrberean mouths full loud, and rung 
 
 A hideous peal; yet, when they list, would creep, 
 
 if ai.ght disiurb'd their noise, into her womb, 
 
 And kennel there, yet there still bark'd and howld 
 
 \Viihitf, unseen. Far lefes abhorr'd than these, 
 
 W'x'd Scylla bathing in the sea that parts 
 
 ("alalma from the hoarse Trinacrian shore ; 
 
 Xor uglier follow the night hag, when call'd 
 
 Jn ^ecret, riding ihrougli the air she comes, 
 
 r.ur'il with the smell of infant blood, to dance 
 
 Willi l^.ipl iui witches, while the lah'ring moon 
 
 K<-lip.se-. lit their rhar!nr<. 1 he oilier shape, 
 
 It slnjje it might be eall'd that sh;ipe had none 
 
 I)i.-tin.;ui->hable in member, jc;int, or limb, 
 
 Or substancx' might be cnll'd ihat shadow .seem'd, 
 
 I''<>r e;Kh seeiad either; black it stood as Night, 
 
 I'ierce ;!S ten Furies, terribL* as Hell, 
 
 And shook a dreadful dart : w hat seenid his head, 
 
 'J he likeiuss of a Uingly crown had on. 
 
 S.it.m was now at hand, and from his seat 
 
 TliL" monster moving, onward came as fast 
 
 \\'iih horrid strides: hell tren)l)kd as he strode. 
 
 'I h' undaiiiiled fiend what this might be aumir'd > 
 
 Admir d, not fear'd; Ciod and his son except. 
 
 Created thing nought valued he or ^Iulnn'^l; 
 
 And willi disdainful louk thus lir^l began: 
 
 Whence and wh.it art thou, execr.ible .hape, 
 That dar'.Nt, thoui;h grim and terrible, ad\.!iue 
 Til) miscreated tniit athwart mv way 
 Ti) yotuler gates ? through them I mean to pnss, 
 liiat be as-,ur"d, without leave ;isk"d of tlue : 
 Retire, tir taste thy folly, and learn by prool", 
 llell-borii, not to coiUend with sp'rits of heav'n.
 
 40 MILTON. BOOK ii. 
 
 To whom the goblin full of wrath reply'd : 
 Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he 
 Who first broke peace in heav'n and faith, till then 
 Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
 Drew after him the third part of heav'n's sons 
 Conjur'd against the high'st, for which both thou 
 And they, outcast from God, are here condemn'd 
 To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 
 And reckon' st thou thyself with sp'rits of heav'n. 
 Hell-doom' d, and breath'st defiance here, and scornj 
 Where I reign king, and to enrage thee more. 
 Thy king and lord ? Back to thy punishment. 
 False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings. 
 Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
 Thy ling'ring, or with one stroke of this dart 
 Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before. 
 
 So spake the grisly Terror, and in shape. 
 So speaking and so threafning, grew tenfold 
 More dreadful and deform : on th' other side, 
 Incens'd with indignation, Satan stood 
 Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd. 
 That fires the length of Opiuchus huge 
 In the Arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
 Levell'd his deadly aim ; their fatal hands 
 No second stroke intend, and such a frown 
 Each cast at th' other, as when two black clouds. 
 With heav'n's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian, then stand front to front 
 Hov'ring a space, till winds the signal blow 
 To join their dark encounter in mid air : 
 So frown'd the mighty combatants, that Hell 
 Grew darker at their frownj so match'd they stood ; 
 For never but once more was either like 
 To meet so great a foe : and now great deeds 
 Had been achiev'd, whereof all Hell had rung. 
 Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
 Fast by Hell gate, and kept the fatal key, 
 Ris'n, and with liideous outcry msh'd between, 
 
 O father, what intends thy Irmd, she cry'd. 
 Against thy only son ? What fuxy, O son. 
 Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 41 
 
 Against thy father's head ? and know'st for whom ? 
 For him who sits above and laughs the while 
 At thee ordain'd his drudge, to execute 
 Whafer his wrath, which he calls Justice, bids; 
 His wrath, which one day will destroy ye both. 
 
 She spake, and at her words the hellish pest 
 Forbore. I'hen these to her Satan return'd. 
 
 So strange thy outcry, and thy words so strange 
 Thou interposest, that my sudden hand 
 Prevented spares to tell thee yet by deeds 
 What it intends; till first 1 know of thee, 
 What thing thou art, thus double-form'd, and why. 
 In this infernal vale first met, thou call'st 
 Me Father, and that phantasm call'st my Son; 
 I know thee not, nor ever saw till now 
 Sight more detestable than him and thee. 
 
 T' whom thus the portress of hell gate reply'd : 
 Hast thou forgot me then, and do I seem 
 Now in thine eyes so foul ? once decm'd so fair 
 In heav'n, when at th' assembly, and in sight 
 Of all the seraphim with thee combin'd 
 In bold conspiracy against Ileav'n's King, 
 All on a sudden miserable pain 
 Surpris'd thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swum 
 In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast 
 Threw forth, till on the i< ft side opening wide, 
 Likest to thee in shape and count'nance bright. 
 Then shining heav'nly fair, a goddess arm'd 
 Out of thy head I *;pning : amazement seis'd 
 All th' host of Htav'n ; back they recoil'd afraid 
 At first and call'd me Sin, and for a sign 
 Portentous held me ; but t'amiliar grown, 
 I pleas'd, and with attractive graces won 
 The most avers*', thee chiefly, who full oft 
 Thyself in n)e thy j>erfect image viewing, 
 H(*cam"t enamour'd, and such joy thoii took'st 
 With nie in secret, that my womb conceiv'd 
 A growing burden. Meanwhile war arose, 
 And fit-ids wfre fought in Heav'n ; wherein remain'd 
 (For what could else r) to our almighty Foe 
 Clear victory, to our part \o<^ and rout 
 Throu<.;h all the empyrean, down they fell.
 
 42 MILTON. Bof 
 
 Driv'n headlong from the pilch of Meav'n, down 
 Into this deep, and in the general fall 
 I also ; at which time this powerful key 
 Into my hand was giv'n, with charge to keep 
 These gates for ever shut, which none can pass 
 Without my op'ning. Pensive here I sat 
 Alone, but long I sat not, till my womb. 
 Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown. 
 Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. 
 A.t last this odious offspring whom thou seent. 
 Thine own begotten, breaking violent way. 
 Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain 
 Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew 
 Transform'd : but he, my inbred enemy. 
 Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart. 
 Made to destroy : I fled, and cry'd out Death ; 
 Hell trembled at die hideous name, and sigh'd 
 From all her caves, and back resounded Death, 
 I fled, but he pursued (though more, it seems, 
 Inflam'd with lust than rage) and swifter far. 
 Me overtook, his mother, all dismay'd. 
 And in embraces forcible and foul 
 Ingendring with me, of that rape begot 
 These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry 
 Surround me, as thou saws't, hourly conceiv'd 
 And hourly born, with sorrow infinite 
 To me ; for when they list, into the womb 
 That bred them, they return and howl, and gnaw 
 My bowels, their repast 3 then bursting forth 
 Afresh, with conscious terrors vex me round. 
 That rest or intermission none I find. 
 Before mine eyes in opposition sits 
 Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on. 
 And me his parent would full soon devour 
 For want of other prey, but that he knows 
 His end with mine involv'd ; raid knows that I 
 Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane, 
 Whenever that shall be; so Fate pronounc'd. 
 But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun 
 His deadly arrow 5 neither vainly hope 
 To be invulnerable in th<)se bright arms. 
 Though temper d heav'nly, for that mortal dint.
 
 BOOK. II. PAPxADISE LOST. 43 
 
 Snve he wI\o reigns above, none can resist, 
 
 Slje finish'cl ; and the subtle Fiend his lore 
 Soon learn'd, now milder; and thus answer'd smooth : 
 Dear daughter, since thou claim'st me for thy sire 
 Anil my fair son here show'st me, tlic dear pledge 
 Of dalliance had with thee in Hcavn, and joys 
 Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change 
 BcfaH'n us unforeseen, unthought of; know, 
 1 come no enemy, but to set free 
 From out this dark and dismal house of pain. 
 Both him and thee, and all the heav'nly host 
 Of spirits that in our just pretences ann'd, 
 PVU with us Irom on high : from them I go 
 This uncouth errand, sole, and one for all 
 Myself expose, witii lonely steps to tread 
 Th' uiifounded deep, and through the void immense 
 To search with wand'ring quest a place foretold 
 Should be, and, by concurring signs, e'er now 
 Crt- ated vast and round, a place of bliss 
 In the purlieus of Heaven, and therein plac'd 
 A race of upstart creatures, to supply 
 IVrhaps our vacant room, though more remov'd, 
 Lcst Heav'n, surcharg'd with potent multitude, 
 jVIight hap to move new broils: be this or aught 
 Than this more secret now design'd, I haste 
 To know, and this once known, shall soon return. 
 And bring ye to the place where thou and Death 
 Slmll dwell at case, and up and down unseen 
 Wing silently the buxom air, embalm'd 
 With odours; there ye shall be fed and filld 
 Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey. 
 
 He ceas'd; for both seem'il highly i)leas'il, and De.iilj 
 Crinn'd liorrible a ghastly smile, to hear 
 His famine should be filld, and blest his maw 
 IVbfinil to that good hour: no less rejoic'd 
 His mother had, and thus bespake her sire: 
 
 The key of this infi-rnal pit bv due. 
 And by command of Heav'n's all-powcrfid Kintr. 
 I keep, by him forbidden to unlock 
 Thes<' adamantine gates: against :ill force 
 Doath ready stands to iiili-rpost- liis dart, 
 Fea:lss to be o'crmatch'd by living niii^ht.
 
 44 MILTON. BOOK II. 
 
 But what owe I to his coijimands above. 
 Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down 
 Into this gloom of Tartarus profound. 
 To sit in hateful office here confin'd. 
 Inhabitant of Heav'n, and heavnly born, 
 Here in perpetual agony and pain. 
 With terrors and with clamours compass' d round 
 Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed ? 
 Thou art my father, thou my author ; thou 
 My being gav'st me ; whom should I obey 
 But thee, whom follow ? thou wilt bring me soon 
 To that new world of light and bliss, among 
 The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign 
 At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems 
 Thy daughter and thy darling, without end. 
 Ihus saying, from her side the fatal key. 
 Sad instrument of all our woe, she took ; 
 And tovv'rds the gate rolling her bestial train. 
 Forthwith the huge portcullis high up drew. 
 Which but herself, not all the Stygian powers 
 Could once have mov'd ; then in the key-hole tumi 
 Th' intricate wards, and every bolt and bar 
 Of massy ir'n or solid rock, with ease 
 Unfastens : on a sudden open fly. 
 With impetuous recoil and jarring sound. 
 Til' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 
 Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook 
 Of Erebus. She open'd, but to shut 
 Excell'd her pow'rj the gates wide open stood. 
 That with extended wings a banner'd host 
 Under spread ensigns marching might pass through. 
 With horse and chariots rank'd in loose array ; 
 So wide they stood, and like a furnace mouth 
 Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame. 
 Before their eyes in sudden view appear 
 The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark 
 Illimitable ocean without bound. 
 
 Without dimension, where length, breadth, and height. 
 And time, and place, are lostj where eldest Night 
 And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold 
 Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise 
 Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.
 
 BOOK II. PARADISE LOST. 
 
 For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four championi fierce. 
 
 Strive here for mast'ry, and to battle bring 
 
 Their embryoa atoms; they around the flag 
 
 Of each his faction, in their several clans, 
 
 Light-arm'd or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift or slow. 
 
 Swarm populous, unnumber'd as the sands 
 
 Of Barca or Cyrene's torrid soil. 
 
 Levied to side with warring winds, and poise 
 
 Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere. 
 
 He rules a moment ; Chaos umpire sits. 
 
 And by decision more embroils the fray 
 
 By which he reigns: next him high arbiter 
 
 Chance governs all. Into tliis wild abyss 
 
 The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave. 
 
 Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire. 
 
 But all these in tlieir pregnant causes mix'd 
 
 Confus'dly, and which thus must ever tight. 
 
 Unless th" almighty Maker them ordain 
 
 His dark materials to create more worlds : 
 
 Into this wild abyss the wary Fiend 
 
 Stoml on the brink of Hell, and look'd a while, 
 
 Pond'ring his voyage ; for no narrow frith 
 
 He had to cross. Nor was his ear less peal'd 
 
 With noises loud and ruinous (to compare 
 
 Great things with small) than when Bellona storms. 
 
 With all her battering engines, bent to raze 
 
 Some capital city ; or less than if this frame 
 
 Of Hcav'n were falling, and these elements 
 
 In mutiny had from her axle torn 
 
 The stcdf'ast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans 
 
 He spreads fur tliglit, and in the surging smoke 
 
 Uplittcd spurns the ground ; thence many a league. 
 
 As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides 
 
 Audacious ; but that scat soon failing, meets 
 
 A vast vacuity : all unawares. 
 
 Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb down he drops 
 
 Ten thousand fathom deep, and to this hour 
 
 Down had been falling, had not by ill cliantx* 
 
 The strong rebutf of some tiuimltui.us iloud, 
 
 Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him 
 
 A-* many miles aloft : th.it fury stay'd, 
 
 Qucncli'd in a boggy syrlis, neither sea.
 
 40 MILTON. BOOK ii. 
 
 Nor good dry land : nigh fonnder'd, on he fares. 
 
 Treading the crude consistence, half on foot. 
 
 Half flying ; behoves him now both oar and sail. 
 
 As whein a gryphon through the wilderness 
 
 With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale. 
 
 Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth 
 
 Had from his wakeful custody purloin'd 
 
 The guarded gold : so eagerly the Fiend 
 
 O'er bog, or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or raie^ 
 
 With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his ^\ ay. 
 
 And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies : 
 
 At length a universal hubbub wild 
 
 Of stunning sounds and voices all confus'd. 
 
 Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his car 
 
 With loudest vehemence : thither he plies. 
 
 Undaunted, to meet there whatever power 
 
 Or spirit of the nethermost abyss 
 
 Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask 
 
 Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies 
 
 Bord'ring on light 5 when straight behold the throne 
 
 Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 
 
 Wide on the wasteful deepj with him enthron'd 
 
 Sat sable-v^ested Night, eldest of things. 
 
 The consort of his reign ; and by them stood 
 
 Orcus and Ades, and the dreadful name 
 
 Of Demogorgon ; Rumour next, and Chance, 
 
 And Tumult and Confusion, all embroil'd. 
 
 And Discord, with a thousand various mouths. 
 
 T' whom Satan turning boldly, thus : Ye powers 
 
 And Spirits of this nethermost abyss. 
 
 Chaos and ancient Night, I come no spy,* 
 
 With purpose to, explore or to disturb 
 
 The secrets of your realm, but by constraint 
 
 Wandring this darksome desert, as my way 
 
 Lies through your spacious empire up to light. 
 
 Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek 
 
 What readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds 
 
 Confine with Heav'n ; or if some other place. 
 
 From your dominion won, th' ethereal King 
 
 Possesses lately, thither to arrive 
 
 I travel this profound ; direct my course ; 
 
 Directed no mean recompense it brings
 
 BOOK. II. PARADISE LOST. 47 
 
 To your behoof, if I that region lost. 
 All usurpation thence expcll'd, reduce 
 To our original darkness and your sway, 
 (Which is my present journey) and once more 
 Erect the standard there of ancient Night ; 
 Yours be th advantage all, mine the revenge. 
 
 Thus Satan ; and him thus the Anarch old. 
 With fault'ring speech and visage incompos'd, 
 Answer'd. I know thee. Stranger, who thou art. 
 That mighty leading angel, who of late 
 Made head against Heaven's King, though overthrown., 
 I saw and heard, for such a numerous host 
 Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep 
 With ruin upon ram, rout on rout. 
 Confusion worse confounded j and Heav'n gates 
 Pour'd ovit by millions her victorious bands 
 Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here 
 Keep residence ; if all I can will .serve 
 That little which is left so to defend, 
 Kncronch'd on still through your intestine broili, 
 Weak'ning the sceptre of old Night; first Hell, 
 Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath 3 
 Now lately Heav'n; and Earth, another world. 
 Hung o'er my realm, link'd in a golden chain 
 To that side Heav'n from whence your legions fell : 
 If that way be your walk, you have not far : 
 So nmch the nearer danger j go and speed ; 
 Havoc, and spoil, and niin, are my gain. 
 
 I le ccas'd ; and Satan stay'd not to reply ; 
 But glad that now his sea shouKI find a shore. 
 With fresh alacrity and force renew'd. 
 Springs upward like a pyramid of fire 
 JiUo the wild expanse, and througli the shock 
 Of fighting elements, on all sides round 
 Knviron'd wins his way; harder beset 
 And more enilangerd, than when Ar^o pass'd 
 Through Hosphorus betwixt thejustling rocks: 
 Or uhen Ulysses on the larboard shuiin'd 
 Cliarybdis, and by th' otlier whiilpool steer'd. 
 So he with ditlicidty and labour hird 
 Mov'd on, V. iih ditlicuUy ami labour he ; 
 But he once past, soon after when nwm fell.
 
 49 MILTON, BOOK II. 
 
 Strange alteration ! Sin and Death amain 
 Following his track, such was the will of Heav'nj 
 Pav'd after him a broad and beaten way 
 Over the dark abyss, whose boiling gulf 
 Tamely endur'd a bridge of wondrous length. 
 From Hell continu'd reaching th' utmost orb 
 Of this frail world j by which the sp'rits perverse 
 With easy intercourse pass to and fro 
 To tempt or punish mortals, except whom 
 God and good angels guard by special grace. 
 
 But now, at last, the sacred influence 
 Of light appears, and from the walls of Heav'n 
 Shoots far into the bosom of dim night 
 A glimmering dawn ; here Nature first begins 
 Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire ; 
 As from her outmost works a broken foe 
 With tumult less and with less hostile din. 
 That Satan with less toil, and now with ease. 
 Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light. 
 And like a \yeather-beaten vessel holds 
 Gladly the port, though shrouds and tackle torn ; 
 Or in the emptier waste, resembling air. 
 Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold 
 Far off th' empyreal Heav'n extended wide 
 In circuit, undetermin'd square or round. 
 With opal tow'rs and battlements adorn'd 
 Of living sapphire, once his native seatj 
 And fast by hanging in a golden chain 
 This pendent world, in bigness as a star 
 Of smallest magnitude close by the moon. 
 Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 
 Accurs'd^ and in a cursed hour he hies. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 THE AKGUMENT. 
 
 God sitling on his throne, sees Satan flying towards this world, 
 then newly created: shews him to the Son, who sat at his right 
 hand ; foretells the success of Satan in perverting Mankind ; 
 clears his own justice and wisdom from all imputation, having 
 created Man free and able enough to have withstood his Temptei ; 
 yet declares his purpose of grace towards him, in regard he fell
 
 Boom I. PARADISE LOST. 4fj 
 
 not of his own malice, as did Satan, but by him seduced. 1 he 
 sun of God rcndeis piaiscs to his Father for (he maniioiation of 
 his gracious purpose towards Man ; but God ae^ain declares, that 
 grace cannot be extended towards man without the satisfaction 
 of divine Justice ; Man hath offended the majesty of God tr a?* 
 piring to Godhead, and therefore, with all his progeny devoted ro 
 death, must die, unless some one can be found sufficient to an- 
 swer for his oflfcnce, and undergo his punishment. The Sun of 
 God fseely offers himself a ransom for Man : The Father ac- 
 cepts him, ordains his incarnation, pronounces his exaltation 
 above all names in heaven and earth ; commands all the angels 
 to adore him ; they obey, and, hymning to their harp* in full 
 choir, celebrate the Father and the Son. Meanwhile Satan 
 alights upon the bare convex of this world's outermost orb ; 
 where, wandering, he first finds a place since call'd the I.imlio of 
 Vanity; what persons and things fly up thither; tlicrjcc comes 
 to the gale of Heaven, describ'd ascending by stairs, and the 
 waters above the firmament that flow about it: his passage 
 thence to the orb of the sun! he finds there Uric! the regent 
 of that orb, but first changes himself into the shape of a meaner 
 ngcl ; and pretending a zealous desire to behold the new cre- 
 ation, and Man whom God hath plac'd here, inquires of him 
 the place of his habitation, and is directed ; alights firft on 
 Mount Niphatcs. 
 
 Hail holy Light, offspring of honv'n first b(rn. 
 
 Or of ih' Etcrnnl coeternal beam, 
 
 May I express thee' unblam'd ? Since God is Vv^hi, 
 
 And never but in unapproached light 
 
 Dwelt from eternity, dwelt tben in thee, 
 
 Bright effluence of bright essence incrcatc. 
 
 Or hearst thou rather, pure ctluTcnl stream. 
 
 Whose fountain who shall till ? before the sun, 
 
 Before the heav'ns thou wert, and at the voice 
 
 Of God, as with a mantle didst invest 
 
 The rising world of waters dark and deep. 
 
 Won from the void and formless infinite. 
 
 Thee I revisit now with bolder winsj, 
 
 Escap'd the Stygian pool, tliongh long detain'd 
 
 In that f)bscore sojourn, while in my lliglit 
 
 Through utter and through middle darkness lorn*. 
 
 \^ ith other notes than to th' Orphean ly.e 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 MILTON. BOOK M!. 
 
 I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 
 
 Taught by the heav'nl}' Muse to venture down 
 
 The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, 
 
 Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe. 
 
 And feel thy sov' reign vital lamp ; but thou 
 
 Bevisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
 
 So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs. 
 
 Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more 
 
 Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt. 
 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
 
 Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
 
 Thee, Sion, and the flow'ry brooks beneath. 
 
 That wash thy haliow'd feet, and warbling How, 
 
 Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
 
 Those other two equall'd with me in fate. 
 
 So were I equall'd with them in renown. 
 
 Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, 
 
 And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : 
 
 Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 
 
 Harmonior.s numbers ; as the wakeful bird 
 
 Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
 
 Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
 
 Seasons return, but not to me returns 
 
 Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn. 
 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose. 
 
 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 
 
 But cloud instead, and ever during daik 
 
 Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
 
 Cut off, and for the book of Knowledge fair 
 
 Presented with a universal blank 
 
 Of nature's works to me expung'd and raz'd. 
 
 And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 
 
 So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 
 
 Shine inward, and the Mind through all her powers 
 
 Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from tlience 
 
 Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. 
 
 Now had th' ^dmiglity Father from above. 
 From the pure emp}rean where he sits 
 High-thron'd above all height, bent down his eye.
 
 BOOK 111. r.VRADISE LOST. 5! 
 
 I lis own works and their works at once to view : 
 
 About him all the sanctities of Heaven 
 
 Stood thick as stars, and from his sight receiv'd 
 
 Beatitude past utterance ; on his right 
 
 The radiant image of his glory sat. 
 
 His only son ; on earth he first beheld 
 
 Our two first Parents, yet the only two 
 
 Of mankind, in the happy garden plac'd, 
 
 Heaping immortal fruits of joy and love. 
 
 Uninterrupted joy, unrival'd love. 
 
 In blissful solitude ; he then sunoy'd 
 
 Hell and the gulf between, and SaLin there 
 
 Coasting the wall of Heav'n on this side Night 
 
 In the dun air sublime, and ready now 
 
 To stoop with wearied wings and willing feet 
 
 On the bare outside of this world, that seeni'd 
 
 Firm land embosom'd, without firmament. 
 
 Uncertain which, in ocean or in air. 
 
 Him God beholding from his pros;>ect liigli, 
 
 Wherein past, present, future, ho beholds. 
 
 Thus to his only son foreseeing spake : 
 
 Only beg(jtten Son, seest thou wh.it rage 
 Transports our adversary ? whom no bounds 
 Prescrib'd, no bars of Hell, nor all the cliains 
 Heap'd on him there, nor yet the main abyss 
 Wide interrupt can hold ; so bent he seems 
 On desperate revenge, that shall redound 
 Upon his own rebellious head. And now 
 Through all restraint broke loose, lie wings his wai 
 Not far ort" Heav'n, in the precincts of liglit. 
 Directly towards the new created world. 
 And Man there plac'd, with purpose to assay 
 If him by force he can destroy, or worse. 
 By some false guile {K-nert ; and shall |H.Tvcrt, 
 For Man w ill hearken to his glozing lies. 
 And easily transgress the sole con)niand, 
 Sole pledge of his obedience : so will fall. 
 He and his faithless progeny : Whose fault ? 
 Whose but his own ? In^rate, he had of nir 
 ,'\11 he could have; I made him just .nd rigtit, 
 Sulficient to have stood, iho' free to fall. 
 o2
 
 52 MILTON. BOOK in. 
 
 Such I created all th' ethereal powers 
 
 And sp'rits, both them who stood, and them who fail'd } 
 
 Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. 
 
 Not free, what proof could they have giv'n sincere 
 
 Of true allegiance, constant faith or love. 
 
 Where only what they needs must do appear'd. 
 
 Not what they vi'ould ? what praise could they receive ? 
 
 What pleasure I from such obedience paid. 
 
 When will and reason (reason also 's choice) 
 
 Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd. 
 
 Made passive both, had serv'd Necessity, 
 
 Not me ? They, therefore, as to right belong'd. 
 
 So were created, nor can justly' accuse 
 
 Their Maker, or their making, or their fate. 
 
 As if predestination over-rul'd 
 
 Their will disposd by absolute deeree 
 
 Or high foreknowledge 5 they themselves decreed 
 
 Their own revolt, not I ; if I foreknew. 
 
 Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault. 
 
 Which had no less prov'd certain unforeknown. 
 
 So without least impulse or shadow of fate. 
 
 Or aught by me immutably foreknown. 
 
 They trespass, authors to themselves in all 
 
 Both what they judge, and what they choose ; for so 
 
 I form'd them free, and free they must remain 
 
 Till they inthrall themseh es ; I else must change 
 
 Their nature, and revoke the high decree 
 
 Unchangeable, eternal, which ordain'd 
 
 Their freedom ; they themselves ordain'd their fall. 
 
 The first sort by their own suggestion fell. 
 
 Self-tempted, self-deprav'd : Man falls, deceiv'd 
 
 By th' other first : Man, therefore, shall find grace. 
 
 The other none : in mercy' and justice both, 
 
 Through Heav'n and earth, so shall my glory' excel. 
 
 But mercy first and last shall brightest shine. 
 
 Thus, white God spake, ambrosial fragrance fiU'd 
 All Heav'n, and in the blessed sp'rits elect 
 Sense of riew joy ineffable ditfus'd : 
 Beyond compare the Son of God was seen 
 Most glcrious ; in him all his father shone 
 Substantially express'd ; and in his face 
 Divine compassion visibly appear d.
 
 ooc III. PARADISE LOST. 53 
 
 Ix>ve without end, and without measure gracej 
 Which utt'ring, thus he to his father spake : 
 
 O Father ! gracious was that word which closd 
 Thy sovreign sentence, tliat Man should find gracej 
 For which both Heav'n and enrth shall high extol 
 Thy praises, with th' innumerable soiuid 
 Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throu 
 Incompass'd shall resound thee aver blest. 
 For should Man finally be lost, should Man, 
 Thy creature late so lov'd, thy youngest son. 
 Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though join'd 
 \Vith his own folly ? that be from thee far. 
 That far be from tJiee, Father, who art judge 
 Of all things made, and judgest only right. 
 Or shall the Adversary tlius obtain 
 His end, and frustrate thine ? shall he fulfil 
 His malice, and thy goodness bring to nought. 
 Or proud return, though to his lieavier doom. 
 Yet with revenge accomplish'd, and to Hell 
 Draw after him the whole race of mankind, 
 By him corrupted ? or wilt thou thyselt' 
 Abolish thy creation, and unmake 
 For him, what for thy glory thou hast made ? 
 So should thy goodnes and thy greatness both 
 Be cjuestion'd and blasphem'd without defence. 
 
 To whom the great Creator tlius reply'd. 
 O Son, in whom my soul hath chief delight. 
 Son of my bosom, Son who art alone 
 My word, my wisdom, and eftectual might. 
 All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all 
 As my eternal purposti hath decreed: 
 Man sh;ill not quite be lost, but sav'd who will. 
 Yet not of will in him, but grace in me 
 Freely vouchsafd; once more I will renew 
 His lapsed powers, though forfeit and enthrall'd 
 By sin to t(ji'.l exorbitant desires ; 
 Upheld by me, vet once more he shall stand 
 On even ground againiR his mortal foe; 
 By mc upheld, that he may know how frail 
 His f.illcn condition is, and to me owe 
 All his deliverance; and to none but me.
 
 .-34 MILTON. BOOK 
 
 Some I have chosen of peculiar grace 
 
 Elect above the restj so is my will: 
 
 The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warn'd 
 
 Their sinful state, and to appease betimes 
 
 Th' incensed Deity, while ofFer'd grace 
 
 Invites J for I will clear their senses dark. 
 
 What may suffice, and soften stony hearts 
 
 To pray, repent, and bring obedience due. 
 
 So pray'r, repentance^ and obedience due. 
 
 Though but endeavour'd with sincere intent. 
 
 Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut. 
 
 And I will place within them as a guide 
 
 My umpire conscience, whom if they will hear^ 
 
 Light after light well us'd they shall attain. 
 
 And to the end persisting, safe arrive. 
 
 This my long sufferance and my day of grace 
 
 They who neglect and scorn, shall never taste ; 
 
 But hard bebarden'd, blind be blinded more. 
 
 That they may stumble on and deeper fall } 
 
 And none but such from mercy I exclude. 
 
 But yet all is not done j Man disobeying. 
 
 Disloyal breaks his fealty, and sins 
 
 Against the high supremacy of Heaven, 
 
 Affecting God-head, and so losing all. 
 
 To expiate his treason hath nought left. 
 
 But to destruction sacred and devote. 
 
 He with his whole posterity must die. 
 
 Die he or justice must j unless for him 
 
 Some other able, and as willing, pay 
 
 The rigid satisfaction, death for death. 
 
 Say heav'nly Pow'rs, where shall we find such love ? 
 
 Which of ye will be mortal to redeem 
 
 Man's mortal crime, and just th' unjust to save; 
 
 Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear ? 
 
 He ask'd^ but all the heav'nly choir stood mute. 
 And silence was in Heav'n : on Man's behalf 
 Patron or intercessor none appear'd. 
 Much less that durst upon his own head draw 
 The deadly forfeiture, and ransorae set. 
 And now without redemption all mankind 
 Must have been lost, adjudg'd to Death and Hell 
 By doom severe, had not the Son of God,
 
 BOOK. III. PARADISE LOST. 55 
 
 In whom the fulness dwells of love divine. 
 His dearest mediation thus renew'd. 
 
 Father, thy word is past, Man shall find grace; 
 And shall grace not find means, that lluds lier way 
 The speediest of" thy winded messengers. 
 To visit all thy creatures, and to all 
 Comes unprevcntcd, unimplor'd, unsought? 
 Happy for Man, so coming; he her aid 
 Can never seek, oHce dead in sins and lost; 
 Atonement for himself or oftering meet, 
 Indebted and undone, hath none to bring : 
 Behold me then ; me for him, life for lite 
 I offer; on me let thine anger fall ; 
 Account me Man ; I for his sake will leave 
 Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee 
 Freely put off, and for him lastly die 
 Well pleas'd ; on me let death wreak all his rage ; 
 Under his gloomy pow'r I shall not long 
 Lie vanquish'd ; thou hast given me to possess 
 Life in myself for ever ; by thee I live. 
 Though now to Death I yield, and am his due. 
 All that of me can die ; yet tliat debt paid. 
 Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave 
 His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul 
 For ever with corruption there to dwell ; 
 But I shall rise victorious, and subdue 
 My vanquisher, spoil'd of his vaunted spoil ; 
 Death his death's wound shall then receive and stoop 
 Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarm'd. 
 I tlirough the ample air in triumph high 
 Shall lead Hell captive, maugre Hell, and shew 
 The pow'rs of darkness bound. Thou at the sight 
 Pleas'd, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile. 
 While by thee rais'd I niin all my foes. 
 Death last, and with his carcase glut the grave ; 
 Then with the multitude of my redeem'd 
 Shall enter Hcav'n long absent, and return. 
 Father, to see thy face, v herein no cloud 
 Ot angf^r shall remain, but jwace assur'd 
 And reconcilement; wrath shall be no more 
 Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire. 
 D 4
 
 36 MILTON. BOOK in. 
 
 His words here ended, but his meek aspect 
 Silent yet spake, and breath'd immortal love 
 To mortal men, above which only shone 
 Filial obedience : as a sacrifice 
 Glad to be ofter'd, he attends the will 
 Of his great father. Admiration seiz'd 
 All Heav'n, what this might mean, and whither tend^ 
 Wond'ring ; but soon the Almighty thus reply'd. 
 
 O thou in Heav'n and Earth, the only peace 
 Found out for mankind under wratli, O thou 
 My sole complacence! well thou know'st how dear 
 To me are all my works, nor Man the least. 
 Though last created) that for him I spare 
 Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save. 
 By losing thee a while, the whole race lost. 
 Thou therefore, whom thou only canst redeem. 
 Their nature also to thy nature join ; 
 And be thyself Man among men on earth. 
 Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed. 
 By wond'rous birth : be thou in Adam's room 
 The head of all mankind, though Adams son. 
 As in him perish all men, so in thee. 
 As from a second root, shall be restor'd 
 As many as are restor'd, without thee none. 
 His crime makes guilty all his sons; thy merit 
 Imputed shall absolve them who renounce 
 Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds. 
 And live in thee transplanted, and from thee 
 Receive new life. So man, as is most just. 
 Shall satisfy for Man, be judg'd and die. 
 And dying rise, and rising with him raise. 
 His brethren, ransom'd with his own dear life. 
 So heav'nly love shall outdo hellish hate. 
 Giving to death, and dying to redeem. 
 So dearly to redeem, what hellish hate 
 So easily destroy'd, and still destroys 
 In those who, when they may, accept not grace. 
 Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume 
 Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own. 
 Because thou hast, though thron'd in highest bliss 
 Equal to God, and equally enjoying
 
 jooK in. PARADISE LOST. ST 
 
 God-like fruition, quitted all to save 
 
 A world from utter loss, and hast been found 
 
 By merit more than birthright. Son of God, 
 
 Found worthiest to be so by being good. 
 
 Far more than great or high} because in thee 
 
 Love hath abounded more than glory abounds. 
 
 Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt 
 
 With thee thy manhood also to this throne; 
 
 Here shalt tliou sit incarnate, here shalt reign 
 
 Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man, 
 
 Anointed universal king ; all power 
 
 I give thee; reign for ever, and assume 
 
 Thy merits i under thee as head supreme 
 
 Tlux>nes, Princedoms, Pow'rs, Dominions I reduce ; 
 
 All knees to tliee shall bow, of them that bide 
 
 In Heav'n, or Earth, or under Earth in Hell : 
 
 When thou attended gloriously from Heaven 
 
 Shalt in the sky appear, and from tliee send 
 
 The summoning Arch-angels to proclaim 
 
 Thy dread tribunal; fortliwith from all winds 
 
 The living, and forthwith the cited dead 
 
 Of all past ages, to the general doom 
 
 Shall hasten, such a peal shall rouse their sleep. 
 
 Then all tJiy saints assembled, thou shalt judge 
 
 Bad men and angels; they arraign'd shall sink 
 
 Beneath thy sentence; Hell, hsr numbers fall. 
 
 Thenceforth shall be forever shut. Meanwhile 
 
 The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring 
 
 New Heav'n and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell, 
 
 And after all their tribulations long 
 
 See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, 
 
 With joy and love triumphing and fair truth. 
 
 Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by, 
 
 For rwgal sceptre tlien no more shall need ; 
 
 God shall be all in all. But all ye Gods, 
 
 Adore him, who to compass all this dies; 
 
 Adore the Son, and honour him as me. 
 
 No sooner had the Almighty ceas'd, but all 
 The multitude of angels, with a shout 
 Loud as trom numbers without number, sweet 
 \'i froui blest voices, uttering joy, Heav'n rung 
 V 5
 
 53 MILTON. BOOK III. 
 
 "With jubilee, and loud Hosannas fill'd 
 
 Th' eternal regions: lowly reverend 
 
 Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground 
 
 "With solemn adoration down they cast 
 
 Their crowns inwove with anaarant and gold 3 
 
 Tmmorta.1 amarant, a flow'r which once 
 
 In Paradise, fast by the tree of life. 
 
 Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence 
 
 To Heav'n remov'd, where first it grew, there grows. 
 
 And flow'rs aloft, shading the fount of life. 
 
 And where the river of bliss through midst of Heaven 
 
 Rolls o'er Elysian flow'rs her amber stream: 
 
 With these that never fade the Spirits elect 
 
 Bind their resplendent locks inwreatli'd with beams, 
 
 Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright 
 
 Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, 
 
 Empurpled with celestial roses smil'd. 
 
 Then crown'd again, their golden harps they took. 
 
 Harps ever tun'd, that glittering by their side 
 
 Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet 
 
 Of charming symphony, they introduce 
 
 Their sacred song, and waken raptures high ; 
 
 No voice exempt, no voice but well could join 
 
 Melodious part, such concord is in Pleaven. 
 
 Thee, Father, first they sung. Omnipotent, 
 Immutable, Immortal, Infinite, 
 Eternal King ; thee Author of all being. 
 Fountain of light, thyself invisible 
 Amidst tiie glorious brightness where thou sili'st 
 Thron'd inaccessible, but when thou shad'st 
 The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud 
 Drawn round about thee like a radiant .shrir.e, 
 Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear. 
 Yet dazzle Heav'n, tliat brightest Seraphim 
 Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes. 
 Thee next they sang, of all creation first. 
 Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, 
 In whose conspicuous count'nance, without cloud 
 Made visible, th' Almighty Father shines, 
 Whom else no creature can behold; on thee 
 Impress'd th' effulgence of his glory' abides.
 
 HOOK HI. PARADISE LOST. 59 
 
 Transfus'd on thee his ample Spirit rests. 
 
 He Heav'n of Heav'ns, and all the Pow'rs therein 
 
 By thee created, and by thee threw dow a 
 
 Th' aspiring Dominations; thou that diiy 
 
 Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare. 
 
 Nor stop thy flaming chariot wheels tliat shook 
 
 Heav'n's everlasting frame, while o'er tlie necks 
 
 Thou drov'st of warring Angels disarray'd. 
 
 Back from pursuit ihy Pow'rs witii loud acclaim 
 
 Thee only extoll'd. Son of thy Father's might. 
 
 To execute tierce vengeance on his foes. 
 
 Not so on Man: Him, through their malice fall'n. 
 
 Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom 
 
 So strictly, but much more to pity incline: 
 
 No sooner did thy dear and only Son 
 
 Perceive thee purpos'd not to doom frail Man 
 
 So strictly, but much more to pity inclin'd. 
 
 He to appease thy wrath, and end the strife 
 
 Of mercy and justice in thy face discern'd. 
 
 Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat 
 
 Second to thee, offer'd himself to die 
 
 F"or Man's offence. O unexampled love. 
 
 Love no where to "be found less than divine ! 
 
 Hail Son of God, Saviour of Men ! thy name 
 
 Shall be the copious matter of my song 
 
 Henceforth; and never shall my harp thy praise 
 
 Forget, nor from tiiy Father's praise disjoin. 
 
 Thus they in Heav'n, above the starry splierc. 
 Their happy hours in joy and hymning hpent. 
 Meanwhile, upon the firm o{)acous globe 
 Of this round world, whose first convex divides 
 The luminous inferior orbs intlos'd 
 From Chaos and th' inroad of darkness old, 
 Satan alighted walks: a globe far off 
 It scem'd, now seems a boundless continent 
 Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Xight 
 Starless expos'd, and ever-threat'iung storms 
 Of Chaos blust'ring round, inclement i^ky; 
 Save on that sidewliich from the wall of Heaven, 
 Tlio' disiant far, some small rellection gains 
 Of glimmering air, le->s vexd with tempest loud : 
 1 lerc walk'd the Fiend at large in spacious field.
 
 60 MILTON. BOOK nr. 
 
 As when a vulture, on Imseus bred. 
 
 Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds. 
 
 Dislodging from a region scarce of prey. 
 
 To gorge the flesh of lambs or weanling kids 
 
 On hills where flocks are fed, flies tow'rds the springs 
 
 Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams j 
 
 But in his way lights on the barren plains 
 
 Of Serirana, where Chineses drive 
 
 With sails and wind their can}'- waggons light : 
 
 So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend 
 
 Walk'd up and down alone, bent on his preyj 
 
 Alone, for other creature in this place 
 
 Living or lifeless to be found was none ; 
 
 None yet, but store hereafter from the earth 
 
 Up hither like aerial vapours flew 
 
 Of things transitory' and vain, when sin 
 
 With vanity had fill'd the works of men ; 
 
 Both all things vain, and all who in vain things 
 
 Built their fond hopes of glory, or lasting fiime. 
 
 Or happiness in this or th' other lifej 
 
 All who have their reward on earth, the fruits 
 
 Of painful superstition and blind zeal. 
 
 Nought seeking but the praise of men, here find 
 
 Fit retribution, empty as their deeds ; 
 
 AH th' unaccomplish'd works of Nature's hand. 
 
 Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mix'd, 
 
 Dissolv'd on earth, fleet hither, and in vain. 
 
 Till final dissolution, wander here. 
 
 Not in the neighbouring moon, as some have dreara'd^. 
 
 Those argent fields more likely habitants. 
 
 Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold 
 
 Betwixt th' angelical and human kind. 
 
 Hither of ill-join'd sons and daughters born 
 
 First from the ancient world those giants came 
 
 With many a vain exploit, tho' then renown'd: 
 
 The builders next of Babel on the plain 
 
 Of Sennaar, and still with vain design 
 
 New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build : 
 
 Others came single j he who, to be deem'd 
 
 A god, leapt fondly into .^tna flames, 
 
 Empedoclesj and he who to enjoy 
 
 Plato's Elysium, leapt into the sea.
 
 BOOK III. PARADISE LOST. 6l 
 
 Cleombrotus j and many more too long. 
 
 Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars 
 
 While, black, and grey, with all their trumpery. 
 
 Here pilgrims roam, that stray'd so far to seek 
 
 In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven ; 
 
 And they who, to be sure of Paradise, 
 
 Dying put on the weeds of Dominic, 
 
 Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis'd ; 
 
 They pass the planets sev'n, and pass the fix'd. 
 
 And that chrystalline sphere who!-e balance weighs 
 
 The trepidation talk'd, and that first movd ; 
 
 And now Saint Peter at Heavn's wicket seems 
 
 To wait them with his keys, and now at foot 
 
 Of Heav'n's ascent they lift their feet, when lo 
 
 A violent cross wind from either coast 
 
 Blows them transverse ten thousand leagues away 
 
 Into the devious air; then might ye see 
 
 Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers tost. 
 
 And flutter'd into rags> then reliques, beads, 
 
 Indulgencts, dispenses, pardons, bulls, 
 
 The sport of winds : all these upwhirl d aloft 
 
 Fly o cr the backside of the world far off 
 
 Into a Limbo large and broad, since call'd 
 
 The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown 
 
 Long after, now unpeopled and untrod. 
 
 All this dark globe the Fiend found as he pass'd. 
 
 And long he wander'd, till at last a gleam 
 
 Of dawning light turn'd thitherward in haste 
 
 His travcl'd sieps: far distant he descries 
 
 Ascending by degrees magnificent 
 
 Up to the wall of Heav'n a structure high ; 
 
 At top wljeroof, but far more rich, appear'tl 
 
 The work as of a kingly palace gate. 
 
 With frontispiece of diamond and gold 
 
 Embellish'd j thick with sparkling orient gems 
 
 The jwrtal shone, inimitable on earth 
 
 By m<xlel, or by khading pencil drawn. 
 
 The stairs were such as whereon Jacob "^nw 
 
 Angels ascending and descending, bands 
 
 Of g\iardians bright when he from Ksau tied 
 
 To P.idan Aram, in th<- lield ot Luz 
 
 Dreaming by night under the open sk-y,
 
 da MILTON. BOOS 
 
 Asd waking cry'd. This is the gate of Heaven, 
 
 Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood 
 
 There always, but drawn up to heav'n sometimes 
 
 Viewless, and underneath a bright sea flow'd 
 
 Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon 
 
 Who after came from earth, sailing arriv'd. 
 
 Wafted by angels, or flew o'er the lake 
 
 Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds. 
 
 The stairs were then let down, whether to dare 
 
 The Fiend by easy' ascent, or aggravate 
 
 His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss: 
 
 Direct against which open'd from beneath. 
 
 Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise, 
 
 A passage down to th' Earth, a passage wide. 
 
 Wider by far than that of after times 
 
 Over mount Sion, and, tho' that were large. 
 
 Over the Promis'd Land, to God so dear. 
 
 By which, to visit oft those happy tribes. 
 
 On high behests his angels to and fro 
 
 Pass'd frequent, and his eye with choice regai-d 
 
 From Paneos, the fount of Jordan's flood 
 
 To Beersaba, where the Holy Land 
 
 Borders on Egypt and th' Arabian shore ; 
 
 So wide the opening seem'd, where bounds were set 
 
 To darkness such as bound the ocean wave. 
 
 Satan from hence, now on the lower stair 
 
 That scal'd by steps of gold to Heaven gat-e. 
 
 Looks down with wxinder at the sudden viev/ 
 
 Of all this world at once. As when a scout 
 
 Through dark and desert ways with peril gone 
 
 All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn 
 
 Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill. 
 
 Which to his eye discovers unaware 
 
 The goodly prospect of some foreign land 
 
 First seen, or some renown'd metropolis 
 
 With glist'ring spires and pinnacles adorn'd. 
 
 Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams: 
 
 Such wonder seiz'd, tho' after Heaven seen. 
 
 The Sp'rit malign, but much more en\y seiz'd. 
 
 At sight of all this world beheld so fair. 
 
 Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood 
 
 So high above the circling canopy
 
 BOOK III. PARADISE LOST. 63 
 
 Of night's extended shade) from eastern point 
 
 Ot' Libra to the fleecy star that bears 
 
 Andromeda far off Atlantic seas 
 
 Beyond th' horizon ; then from pole to pole 
 
 He views in breadth, and without longer pause 
 
 Downright into the world's first region throws 
 
 His flight precipitant, and winds with ease 
 
 'I'hrough the pure marble air his oblique way 
 
 Amongst innumerable stars, that shone 
 
 Stars distant, hut nigh hand seem'd other worlds: 
 
 Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy is'es, 
 
 Ivike those Hesperian gardens fam'd of old. 
 
 Fortunate fields, and groves, and flow'r)' vales, 
 
 'J'hrice happy isles! but who dwelt happy there 
 
 He stay'd not to inquire: above them all 
 
 The golden sun in splendor likest Heaven 
 
 Allur'd his eye: thither his course he bends 
 
 Through the calm firmament, (but up or ('own, 
 
 J'.y centre, or eccentric, hard to tell,. 
 
 < )r longitude,) where the great luminary 
 
 Al(K)f tiie vulgar constellations thick. 
 
 That from his lordly eye keep distance due. 
 
 Dispenses light Irom farj tht-y, as they move 
 
 Their starry dance in numbers tliat compute 
 
 Days, months, and years, tow'rds his all cheering lamp 
 
 Turn switt their variovLS motions, or are turn'd 
 
 Ky his magnetic beam, that gently warms 
 
 TJ)e universe, and to each inward part 
 
 With gentle i)enetralion, though unseen. 
 
 Shoots invisible virtue ev'n to the deep; 
 
 So wondrously was set his station bright. 
 
 There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps 
 
 Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb 
 
 Through his glaz'd optic tube yet never saw. 
 
 'I'hf place he found beyond expression bright, 
 
 C'oinpar'd \^itli aught on earth, metal or stone. 
 
 Not all parts like, but all alike inform'd 
 
 With radiant light, as glowing ir'n with fire ; 
 
 If metal, part seem'd gold, part silver clear j 
 
 If stone, carbuncle most or cr}solite, 
 
 lluby or top;iz, or the twelve that shone 
 
 In Aaron's breast-plate, and a stone beside*
 
 64 MILTON. BOOK 
 
 Imagln'd rather oft than elsewhere seen. 
 
 That stone, or like to that, which here below 
 
 Philosophers in vain so long have sought. 
 
 In vain, though by their powerful art they bind 
 
 Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound. 
 
 In various shapes, old Proteus from the sea, 
 
 Draind through a limbec to his naked form. 
 
 What wonder then if tields, and regions, here 
 
 Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run 
 
 Potable gold, when with one virtuous touch 
 
 Th' arch-chimic sun, so far from us remote. 
 
 Produces with terrestrial humour mix'd. 
 
 Here in the dark so many precious things 
 
 Of colour glorious, and etfect so rare ? 
 
 Here matter new to gaze the devil met 
 
 Undazzled : far and wide his eye commands. 
 
 For sight no obstacle found here, or shade. 
 
 But all sun-shine } as when his beams at noon 
 
 Culminate from th' Equator j. as they now 
 
 Shot upward still direct, whence no way round 
 
 Shadow from body opaq<;e can fall, and th' air 
 
 (No where so clear) sharpen'd his visual ray 
 
 To objects distant far, whereby he soon 
 
 Saw within ken a glorious angel stand. 
 
 The same whom John saw also in the sun : 
 
 His back was tum'd, but not his brightness- hid : 
 
 Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar 
 
 Circl'd his head, nor less his locks behind 
 
 Illustrious on his shoulders, fledge with wings. 
 
 Lay waving round : on some great charge enaploy'd 
 
 He seem'd, or fixt in cogitation deep. 
 
 Glad was the spirit impure, as now in hope 
 
 To ilnd who might direct his wand'ring flight 
 
 To paradise, the happy seat of man. 
 
 His journey's end, and our beginning woe. 
 
 But first he casts to change his proper shape. 
 
 Which else might work him danger, or delay: 
 
 And now a stripling Cherub he appears, 
 
 Not of llie prime, yet such as in his face 
 
 Youth smil'd celestial, and to every limb 
 
 Suitable grace dift'us'd, so well he feign'd. 
 
 Under a coronet his flowing hair
 
 ooK III. PARADISE LOST. 6S 
 
 In curls on either cheek play'd; wings he wore- 
 
 Of many a colour'd plume, sprinkl'd with gold: 
 
 His habit fit for speed succinct, and held 
 
 Before his decent steps a silver wand. 
 
 He drew not nigh unheard, the angel bright. 
 
 Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turn'd, 
 
 Admonish'd by his ear; and strait was known 
 
 Th" arch-angel Uriel, one of the sev'n 
 
 Who in God's presence nearest to his throne. 
 
 Stand ready at comn)and, and are his eyes 
 
 'i'hat run through all the heav'ns, or down to the earth 
 
 Bear his swift errands, over moist and dry. 
 
 O'er sea and land : him Satan thus accosts : 
 
 Uriel ! for thou of those sev'n spirits tliat stand 
 In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, 
 1'he tirst art wont His great authentic will 
 Interpreter through highest heaven to bring. 
 Where all his sons thy embassy attend : 
 And here ar't likeliest by supreme decree 
 Like honour to obtain ; and as his eye. 
 To visit oft this new creation round ; 
 UnsjK?akable desire to see, and know 
 All tliese his wondrous works, but chiefly Man, 
 His chief delight and favour; him, for whom 
 All these his works so wondreus he ordain'd. 
 Hath brought me from the choirs of Cherubim 
 Alone thus wand'ring: brightest Seraph ! tell. 
 In which of all these shining orbs hath maa 
 His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none, 
 But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell ; 
 That I may find him, and with secret gaze. 
 Or open admiration, him behold 
 On whom the great Creator halh bestow'd 
 Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces pour'd; 
 That both in him, and all things, as is meet. 
 The universal maker we may praise ; 
 Wlio justly hath driven out his rebel foes 
 To deepest Hell ; and, to rcp.iir their los?. 
 Created this new happy race of men, 
 To stTve him l>ettir : wise are all his ways ! 
 
 So spake the false dissembler unjxrrceiv'd , 
 Vor neillicr Man nur Ar.gol can disccru.
 
 66 MILTON. BOOK 
 
 Hypocrisy, (the only evil that walks 
 
 Invisible, except to God alone. 
 
 By his permissive will, through heaven and earth : 
 
 And oft though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps 
 
 At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity 
 
 Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill 
 
 Where no ill seems) which now for once beguil'd 
 
 Uriel, though regent of the sun, and held 
 
 The sharpest sighted ppirit of all in heav'n : 
 
 Who to the fraudulent impostor foul. 
 
 In his uprightness answer thus return'd. 
 
 Fair Angel ! thy desire which tends to know 
 The works of God, thereby to glorify 
 The great work-master, leads to no excess 
 That reaches blame, but rather merits praise 
 The more it seems excess, that led thee hither 
 From thy impyreal mansion thus alone. 
 To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps. 
 Contented with report, hear only in Heav'n : 
 For wonderful indeed are all His works ! 
 Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all 
 Had in remembrance always with delight. 
 But, what created mind can comprehend 
 Their number, or the wisdom infinite 
 That brought tliem forth, but hid their causes deep ? 
 I saw when at His word the formless mass. 
 This world's material mould, came to a heap: 
 Confusion heard His voice, and wild uproar 
 Stood rul'd, stood vast infinitude confin'd : 
 Till at His second bidding darkness fled. 
 Light shone, and order from disorder sprung. 
 Swift to their several quarters hasted then 
 The cumbrous elements, earth, flood, air^ fire. 
 And the ethereal quintessence of Heav'n 
 Flew upward, spirited with various forms. 
 That roU'd orbicular, and turn'd to stars. 
 Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move j 
 Each had his place appointed, each his course 3 
 The rest in circuit walls this universe. 
 Look downward on that globe whose hither side 
 With light from hence, tho' but reflected, shines: 
 That place is earth, the seat of Man j that light
 
 BOOH IV. PARADISE LOST. 6? 
 
 His day, which else, as th' other hemisphere, 
 
 Night would invade; but there the neighbouring moon 
 
 (So call that opposite fair star) her aid 
 
 Timely interposes, and her monthly round 
 
 Still ending, still renewing through mid hcav'n. 
 
 With borrow'd light her countenance triform 
 
 1 lence fills, and empties, to enlighten th* earth. 
 
 And in her pale dominion checks th' night. 
 
 That spot to which 1 point is Paradise, 
 
 Adams abode, those lofty shades his bow'r; 
 
 Thy way thou can'st not miss, me mine requires. 
 
 Thus said, he turn'd; and Sa'.an bowing low 
 (As to superior spirits is wont in heav'n. 
 Where honour due, and reverence none neglects) 
 Took leave, and tow'rd the coast of earth beneath, 
 Down from th' ecliptic, sped with hop'd success, 
 'I'iirows his steep flight in many an airy wheel j 
 Nor staid, till on Niphates top he lights. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Satan, now in prospect of Eden, and nigh the place where he must 
 now attempt the bold enterprise which he undertook alone 
 against God and Man, falls into many doubts with himself, and 
 many passions, fear, envy, and despair: but at length confirms 
 himself in evil, journeys on to Paradise, whose outward prospect 
 and situation is described, overleaps the tx>unds, sits in the shape 
 of a cormorant on the tree of Life, as the highest in the garden, 
 to look about liim. The garden described ; Satan's fifst sight of 
 Adam and Eve ; his wonder at their cxcelknt form and happy 
 itatc, but with resolution to work their fall ; ovcrlicurs their 
 dijcoursc ; thence gathers that the tree of Knowledge was forbid- 
 den ihcm to cat of, under penalty of death ; and thereon intends 
 to found hi; temptation, by seducinj; ihem to irans_^rcss : then 
 Ica\cs them awhile to know farther of their state by some other 
 means. Meanwhile Uriel descendins; on a sun-beam warns 
 Gabrial (who had in charge the gate oi Paradise) that some evil 
 spirit had escaped the Deep, and past at noon by his sphere in 
 the shape of a pool Angel down to Paradise, discovered after- 
 wards h\ hit furious gefturcs in the m^iunf. Gabriel promises fo 
 find hiiugui e'er nioinin;. Night coming on, Adam and Eve dis>
 
 68 MILTON. BOOK IV. 
 
 course of going to thcit rest : their bower described ; their even- 
 ing worship. Gabriel drawing forth his bands of night watch to 
 walk the round of Paradise, appoints two strong Angels to Ailam's 
 bower, lest the evil spirit should be there doing some harm to 
 Adam or Eve sleeping ; there they find him at the ear of Eve, 
 tempting her in a dream, and bring him, though unwilling, to 
 Gabriel; by whom question'd, he scornfully answers, prepares 
 resistance, but, hinder'd by a sign from hcav'n, flies out of Pa- 
 radise. 
 
 O FOR that warning voice, which he who saw 
 Th' Apocalyps heard cry in Heav'n aloud. 
 That when the Dragon, put to second rout. 
 Came furious down to be reveng'd on men 
 JFb to th' inhabitants on earth I that now. 
 While time was, our first parents had been warn'd 
 The coming of their secret foe, and 'scap'd. 
 Happily, so 'scap'd his mortal snare: for now 
 Satan, now first inflam'd with rage, canoe down 
 The tempter e'er th' accuser of mankind. 
 To wreak on innocent frail man his loss 
 Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell: 
 Yet not rejoicing in his speed, tho' bold. 
 Far oiF and fearless, nor with cause to boast. 
 Begins his dire attempt, which nigh the birth 
 Now rolling boils in his tumultuous breast. 
 And like a devilish engine back recoils 
 Upon himself; horror and doubt distract 
 His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir 
 The Hell within him ; fur within him Hell 
 He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell 
 One step no more than from himself can fly 
 By change of place : now conscience wakes despair 
 That slumber'd, wakes the bitter memory 
 Of what he was, what is, and what must be, 
 "Worse j of worse decls, whose suffenngs must ensue. 
 Sometimes tow'rds Edei), which now in his view 
 Lay pleasaut, his griev'd look he fixes sad; 
 Sometime tow'rds Heaven and the fiili-blazing sun. 
 Which now sat high in his meridian tower : 
 Then much rev^olving, thus in sighs began : 
 Q tixou that^ with, surpassing glory crow li'd.
 
 BOOK IV. P\RADISE LOST. 69 
 
 Look'st from thy sole dominion like the Gkxl 
 Of this new world ; at whose sight all tlie stars 
 Hide their diminish'd heads ; to thee I call. 
 But with no friendly voice, and add tliy name, 
 
 Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams. 
 That bring to my remembrance from what state 
 
 1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ! 
 Till pride and worse ambition threw me down. 
 Warring in Heav'n against Heav'u matchless King; 
 Ah wherefore ! he deserv'd no such return 
 
 From me, whom he created what I was 
 
 In that bright eminence, and with his good 
 
 Upbraided none; nor was his service hard. 
 
 What could be less than to afford him praise. 
 
 The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks : 
 
 How due ! yet all his good prov'd ill in me. 
 
 And wrought but malice ; lifted up so high 
 
 I'sdcin'd subjection, and thought one step higher 
 
 Would set me high'st, and in a moment quit 
 
 The ilebt immense of endless gratitude. 
 
 So burdensome still paying, still to owe; 
 
 Forgetful what from him 1 still receiv'd. 
 
 And understood not tliat a grateful mind 
 
 IJy owing owes not, but still pays, at once 
 
 Indebted and discharg'd ; what burden then ? 
 
 O had his powerful destiny ordain'd 
 
 Me some inferior Angel, I had stood 
 
 ITicn happy ; no unbounded hope had rais'd 
 
 Ambition. Yet, why not ? some otlier Power 
 
 As gre:it might have aspir'd, and me, tho' mean. 
 
 Drawn to his part ; but other Pow'rs as great 
 
 Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within 
 
 Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. 
 
 Hadst thou the same free will and pow'r to stand ? 
 
 Thou hadst ; whom hast thou then, or what, t' accuse^ 
 
 But Heav'n's free love dealt equally to all ? 
 
 Bo then his love accurs'd, since love or hate. 
 
 To me alike, it deals eternal woe. 
 
 Nay c-urs'd be thou ; since against his tliy will 
 
 Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 
 
 Me miserable! which way shall I fly 
 
 Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?
 
 /e MILTON. BOOK IV. 
 
 "Which way I fly is hell ; myself am Hell ; 
 
 And in the lowest deep a lower deep 
 
 Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide. 
 
 To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven. 
 
 O then at last relent : is there no place 
 
 Left for repentance, none for pardon left ? 
 
 None left but by submission ; and that word 
 
 Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 
 
 Among the Sp'rits beneath, whom I seduc'd 
 
 With other promises and other vaunts 
 
 Than to submit, boasting I could subdue 
 
 Th' Omnipotent. Ah me, they little know 
 
 How dearly I abide that boast so vain. 
 
 Under what torments inwardly I groan. 
 
 While they adore me on the throne of Hell. 
 
 With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd. 
 
 The lower still I fall, only supreme 
 
 In misery} such joy ambition finds. 
 
 But say I could repent, and could obtain 
 
 By act of grace my former state ; how soon 
 
 Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay 
 
 What feign'd submission swore ? ease would recant 
 
 Vows made in pain, as violent and void. 
 
 For never can true reconcilement grow. 
 
 Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep ; 
 
 Which would but lead us to a worse relapse 
 
 And heavier fall : so should 1 purchase dear 
 
 Short intermission bought with double smart. 
 
 This knows my punisher ; therefore as far 
 
 From granting he, as I from begging peace : 
 
 All hope excluded thus, behold instead 
 
 Of us out-cast, exil'd, his new delight. 
 
 Mankind created, and for him this world. 
 
 So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, 
 
 Farewell remorse ; all good to me is lost ; 
 
 Evil be thou my good ; by thee at least 
 
 Divided empire with Heav'n's king I hold. 
 
 By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ; 
 
 As Man e'er long, and this new world, shall know. 
 
 Thus while he spake, each passion dimmd his facej 
 Thrice chang'd with pale ire, envy, and despair ; 
 Which marr'd his borrow'd visage, and betray'd
 
 BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. yi 
 
 Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld. 
 
 For heav'nly minds from such distempers foul 
 
 Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware, 
 
 Each perturbation smooth'd with outward calm. 
 
 Artificer of fraud, and was the first 
 
 That practis'd falsehood under saintly shew. 
 
 Deep malice to conceal, couch'd with revenge: 
 
 Yet not enough had practis'd to deceive 
 
 Uriel once warn'd j \\hose eye pursued him down 
 
 'I'he way he went, and on th' Assyrian mount 
 
 Saw him disfigur'd, more than could befal 
 
 Sj)irit of happy sort: his gestures fierce 
 
 lie mark'd, and mad demeanour, then alone. 
 
 As he suppos'd, all unobserv'd, unseen. 
 
 So on he fares, and to the border comes 
 
 Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, 
 
 Now nearer, crowns with her inclosure green. 
 
 As with a rural mound, the champain head 
 
 Ol" a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides 
 
 With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild. 
 
 Access deny'd ; and over head up grew 
 
 Insuperable height of loftiest shade, 
 
 Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, 
 
 A sylvan scene ; and as the ranks ascend 
 
 Shade above shade, a woody theatre 
 
 Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops 
 
 The verd'rous wall of Paradise up-sprung : 
 
 Which to our general sire gave prospect large 
 
 Into his nether empire ncighbVing round. 
 
 And higher than that wall a circling row 
 
 Of goodliest treses, loaden with fairest fruit. 
 
 Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, 
 
 Appear'd, with gay enamel'd colours mix'd : 
 
 On which the sun more glad impressed his beams 
 
 Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow. 
 
 When God hath show'r'd the earth ; so lovely seem'd 
 
 That landskip : and of pure, now purer air 
 
 Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires 
 
 Vernal delight and joy, able to drive 
 
 All sadness but despair: now gentle gales. 
 
 Fanning their odorifentis wings, disjx'nse 
 
 Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
 
 7i MILTON. BOOK IV. 
 
 Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail 
 Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 
 Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow 
 Sabean odour from the spicy shore 
 Of Araby the blest; with such delay 
 Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league, 
 Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles : 
 So entertain'd those odorous sweets the Fiend, 
 Who came their bane, though with them better pleas'd 
 Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume 
 That drove him, tlio' enamour'd, from the spouse 
 Of Tobit's son, and with a vengeance sent 
 From Media post to Egypt, there fast bound- 
 Now to th' ascent of that steep savage hill 
 Satan had journey'd on, pensive and slow; 
 But fiirther way found none, so thick intwin'd. 
 As one continued brake, the undergrowth 
 Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplex'd 
 All path of man or beast that pass'd that way : 
 One gate there only was, and that look'd east. 
 On th' other side: which, when th' arch-felon saw. 
 Due entrance he disdain'd, and in contempt. 
 At one slight bound high over-leap'd all bound 
 Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within 
 Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf, 
 AVhom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey. 
 Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve 
 In hurdled cotes amid the fields secure. 
 Leaps o'er the fence witli ease into the fold : 
 Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash 
 Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors, 
 Cross-barr'd and bolted fast, fear no assault. 
 In at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles : 
 So clomb this first grand thief into God's fold ; 
 So since into his church lewd hirelings climb. 
 Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life, 
 The middle tree, and highest there that grew. 
 Sat like a cormorant; yet not true life 
 Thereby regain'd, but sat devising deatli 
 To them who liv'd ; ner on the virtue thought 
 Of that life-giving plant, but only us'd 
 For prospect, what, well us'd, had been the pledge
 
 B.)ofc lY. PARADISE LOST. 7* 
 
 Of immortality. So little knows 
 
 Any, but God alone, to value right 
 
 The good before him, but perverts Ijest things 
 
 To worst abuse, or to their meanest use. 
 
 Beneath him with new wonder now he views. 
 
 To all delight of human sense expos'd 
 
 In narrow room, Nature's whole wealth, yea morc< 
 
 A Heav'n on h'arth : for blissful Paradise 
 
 Of God the garden was, by him in th' east 
 
 Of Eden planted ; Edeti stretch'd her iino 
 
 From Auran eastward to the royal towers 
 
 Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings. 
 
 Or where the sons of Eden long before 
 
 Dwelt in Telassar : in this pleasant soil 
 
 His far more pleasant garden God ordain'd ; 
 
 Out of the fertile ground he caus'd to grow 
 
 All trees of noblest kind, for sight, smell, taste j 
 
 And all amid them stood the tree of life. 
 
 High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit 
 
 Of vegetable gold ; and next to life. 
 
 Our death, the tree of knowledge grew fast by, 
 
 Knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. 
 
 Southward through iiden went a river large. 
 
 Nor chang'd his course, but through the shaggy hill 
 
 Pass'd underneath ingulf 'd ; for God had thrown 
 
 That mountain as his garden mound, hi;^h rais'd 
 
 Upon the rapid current, which through \eins 
 
 Of porous earth with kindly thirst up drawn, 
 
 Rose a fresh foimtain, and with many a rill 
 
 Water'd the garden ; thence united fell 
 
 Down the steep glade, and met the netlier AockT, 
 
 Which from his darksome passage now appears. 
 
 And now divided into four main streams. 
 
 Runs diverse, wand'riug many a famous re;dm 
 
 And country, whereof here iieods no :uc<-uiit ; 
 
 But rather to tell how, if An could tell, 
 
 How from that sapphire fount the cri>ped brook*^ 
 
 Rolling on orient pearl and sands of g(j!d 
 
 With mazy error under j)endent shades. 
 
 Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed 
 
 Flow'rs worthy of Paradsie, whiih not nice Art 
 
 In [x.'ds and curious knots, but N.iiure boon 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 74 MILTON. BOOK iv. 
 
 Pour d forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain. 
 
 Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
 
 The open field, and where the unpierc'd shade 
 
 Imbrown'd the noon-tide bow'rs: Thus was this place 
 
 A happ}' rural seat of various viewj 
 
 Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balmj 
 
 Others, whose fruit burnished with golden rind 
 
 Hung amiable : Hesperian fables true. 
 
 If true, here only, and of delicious taste. 
 
 Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks 
 
 Grazing the tender herb, were interpos'd : 
 
 Or palmy hillock, or the flow'ry lap 
 
 Of some irriguous valley spread her store : 
 
 Flow'rs of all hue, and without thorn the rose. 
 
 Another side, umbrageous grots, and caves 
 
 Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine 
 
 Lays foi'th her purple grape, and gently creeps 
 
 Luxuriant : meanwhile murm'ring waters fall 
 
 Down the slope hills, dispers'd, or in a lake, 
 
 (That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown'd 
 
 Her crystal .mirror holds) unite tlieir streams. 
 
 The birds their choir apply : airs, vernal airs. 
 
 Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 
 
 The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, 
 
 Knit with the Graces, and the Hours, in dance 
 
 Led on th' eternal spring. Not that fair field 
 
 Of Enna, w here Proserpine gath^-ing flowers. 
 
 Herself a fairer flow'r, by gloomy Dis 
 
 Was gather'd; which cost Ceres all that pain 
 
 To seek her through the world : nor tliat sweet grove 
 
 Of Daphne by Orontes, and th' inspir'd 
 
 Castalian spring, might with this Paradise 
 
 Of Eden strive : nor that Nyseian isle 
 
 Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, 
 
 (Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove) 
 
 Hid Amalthea, and her florid son 
 
 Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye : 
 
 Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard. 
 
 Mount Amara (though this by some suppos'd 
 
 True Paradise) under the JEthiop Line 
 
 By Nilus head, inclos'd with shining rock, 
 
 A whole day's journey high; but wide retnotc
 
 KooK IV. PARADISE LOST. 7i 
 
 rom this Assyrian garden : wliere the fiend 
 Saw undelighted all delight, all kind 
 Of" living creatures, new to sight, and strange. 
 
 Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall. 
 Godlike erect ! with native honour clad 
 In naked majesty, seem'd lorils of all : 
 And worthy seeni'd ; for in their lfK>ks divine 
 The image of their glorious Maker shone, - 
 Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and purej 
 Severe, but in true filial freedom plac'd, 
 Whence tme authority in men : though both 
 Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd : 
 For contemplation he, and valour form'd j 
 For softness she, and sweet attractive grace ; 
 He for God only ; she for God in him. 
 His fair large front, and eye sublime, declar'd 
 Absolute rule J and hyacinthin locks 
 Round from his parted forelock manly hung 
 Clustring, but not beneath his shoulders broad : 
 She as a veil, down to the slender waist 
 Her unadorned golden tresses wore, 
 Disshevel'd ; but in wanton ringlets wav'd. 
 As the vine curls her tendrils, which imply'd 
 Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway j 
 And by her yielded, by him best recciv'd : 
 V'ielded with coy submission, modest pride. 
 And sweet reluctant amorous delay. 
 Nor those mysterious parts were then conccnl'd; 
 Then was not guilty shame, dishonest shame 
 Of nature's works : honour dishonourable ! 
 Sin-bred ! how have ye troubl'd all mankind 
 With shews instead, mere shews of seeming pure. 
 And banish'd from man's life his happiest life, 
 Simplicity, and spotless iuncx^ence ? 
 So pass'd they naked on, nor shun'd the sight 
 Of G(kI or Angel, for they thought no ill. 
 So hand in hand they pass'd, the loveliest pair 
 That ever since in love's embraces met ; 
 Adam the gcKKlliest man of mvn since l)orn 
 His sons ; thf tairest of her daughteis Kve. 
 Under a tutt of shade, that on a green 
 '^'ocxl whi-'pring soft, by a fresh fountain side 
 
 K i
 
 76 MILTON. BOOR iv. 
 
 They sat them down ; and after no more toil 
 
 Of their sweet gard'ning labour than sufficed 
 
 To recommend cool zephvr, and made ease 
 
 More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite 
 
 More grateful, to their supper fruits they fell. 
 
 Nectarine fruits, which the compliant boughs 
 
 Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline 
 
 On the soft downy bank damask'd with flowers: 
 
 The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind 
 
 Still as they thirsted scoop the brimming stream j 
 
 Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles 
 
 Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems 
 
 Fair couple, link'd in happy nuptial league. 
 
 Alone as they. About them frisking play'd 
 
 All beasts of th' earth, since wild, and of all chase 
 
 In wood or wilderness, forest or den : 
 
 Sporting the lion ramp'd, and in his paw 
 
 Dandled the kid 5 bears, tigers, ounces, pards, 
 
 Gambold before them ; th' unwieldy elephant 
 
 To make them mirth, us"d all his might, and wreath'd 
 
 His lithe proboscis ; close the serpent sly 
 
 Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine 
 
 His braided train, and of his fatal guile 
 
 Gave proof unheeded : others on the grass 
 
 Couth'd, and now filld with pasture, gazing sat. 
 
 Or bedward ruminating; for the sun 
 
 Declin'd was hasting now with prone career 
 
 To th' ocean isles, and in th' ascending scale 
 
 Of Heav'n the stars that usher evening rose : 
 
 When Satan, still in gaze, as first he stood. 
 
 Scarce thus at length fail'd speech recover d sad, 
 
 O Hell ! what do mine eyes with grief behold! 
 Into our room of bliss thus high advimc'd 
 Creatures of other mould ; earth-born perhaps. 
 Not spirits ; ye to heav'nly spirits bright 
 Little inferior} whom my thoughts pursue 
 With wonder, and could love, so lively shines 
 In them divine resemblance, and such grace 
 The hand that form'd 'em on their shape hath pcur'd. 
 Ah gentle pair! ye little think how nigh 
 Your change approaches; when all these delights 
 Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe ;
 
 BOOK IV PARADISE LOST. 77 
 
 More woe, the more your taste is now of joy: 
 
 Happy ! bnt for so hajipy ill secur'J 
 
 Long to continue ; and this high seat your hcav'n, 
 
 lU-lenc'd for heav'n, to keep out such a foe 
 
 As now is enter'd : yet no purpos'd foe 
 
 To you, whom I coald pity thus forlorn, 
 
 Tljoiigh I unpiiicd. Lc jgue with you I seek. 
 
 And mutual amity, so strait, so close. 
 
 That I with yuu must dwell, or you with me 
 
 IIciucforl!i : my dwelling haply may not please. 
 
 Like this fair paradise, your sense ; yet such 
 
 Accept, your maker's work ; he gave it me. 
 
 Which 1 as freely give : hell shall unfold. 
 
 To entertain you two, her widest gates. 
 
 And send forth all her kings ; there will be room, 
 
 (Not like these narrow limits,) to receive 
 
 Your numerous otlspring ; if no better place. 
 
 Thank him who puts me loth to this revenge 
 
 On you, who wrong me not, for him who wrong'd. 
 
 And should I at your harmless innocence 
 
 Melt, (as I do) > et public reason just. 
 
 Honour, and empire, with revenge enlarg'd. 
 
 By con<|uring this new world, compels me now 
 
 To do, what else (though damn'd) I should abhor. 
 
 So spake the fiend ; and with necessity, 
 (The tyrant's plea) excus'd his devilish deeds: 
 Then from his lofty stand on that high tree, 
 Down he alights among the sportful herd 
 Of those four-footed kinds ; himself no a- one. 
 Now other, as their shape best serv'd his end 
 Nearer to view his prey, and unespy'd. 
 To mark what of their state he more might leam, 
 Uy word, or action mark'd : al}Out ihem round, 
 A li<in now he stalks with liery glare ; 
 Then, as a tiger, who by chance hath spyd. 
 In some purlieu, two gentle fawns at play. 
 Strait couches close, then rising chang s oft 
 His couchant watch, as one who cliose his ground, 
 Wlvnce rushing, he might surest seize them both, 
 (irip'd in each paw: when Adam, lirst of men, 
 T) first of women, Eve, thus moving sjx'ech, 
 Turn'd him, all ear, to hear new utterance flow, 
 E 3
 
 7S MILTON. BOOK IV 
 
 Sole partner, and sole part of all these joy* ! 
 !t)earer thyself than all ! needs must the pow'r 
 Ihat made us, and for us this ample world, 
 Ee infinitely good, and of His good 
 As liberal and free, as infinite ; 
 That rais'd us from the dust, and plac'd us here 
 Jn all this happiness, who at His hand 
 Have nothing merited, nor can perform 
 Aught whereof he hath need : He! who requires 
 Prora us no other service than to keep 
 This one, this easy charge, of all the trees 
 In Paradise, that bear delicious fruit 
 So various, not to taste that only tree 
 Of knowledge, planted by the tree of life j 
 So near grows death to life, whate'er death is. 
 Some dreadful thing no doubt ; for well thou know'st 
 God hath pronounc'd it death to taste that tree. 
 The only sign of our obedience left. 
 Among so many signs of pow'r and rule 
 Conferr'd upon us, and dominion given 
 Over all other creatures that possess 
 Earth, air, and sea. Then let us not think hard 
 One easy prohibition, who enjoy 
 Free leave so large to all things else, and choice 
 Unlimited of manifold delights : 
 But let us ever praise him and extol 
 His bounty, following our delightful task, 
 I'o prune these growing plants, and tend these flowers. 
 Which were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet. 
 
 To V, horn thus Eve reply'd. O thou for whom 
 And from whom I was form'd, flesh of thy flesh. 
 And without whom am to no end, my guide 
 And head, what thou hast said is just and right : 
 For v.e to him indeed all praises owe. 
 And daily thanks ; I chiefly, who enjoy 
 So far the happier lot, enjoying thee 
 Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou 
 Like consort to thyself canst no where find. 
 That day I oft remember, when from sleep 
 I first awak'd, and found myself repos'd 
 Under a shade of flow rs, much wond'ring where 
 And what I was j whence thither brought, and how :
 
 BOOK IV. fARADISE LOST. 79 
 
 Not distant far from thence a murm'ring sound 
 
 Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
 
 Into a liquid plain, then st(K)d unniov'd 
 
 Pure as th' expanse of Heav'n ; I thither v'ent 
 
 With inexperienc'd thought, and laid nie down 
 
 On the grjen bank, to look into the clear 
 
 Smooth lake, that to me seem'd another tkj. 
 
 As I bent down to look, just opposite 
 
 A shape within the wat'rv gleam appear'd. 
 
 Bending to look on me : I started back. 
 
 It started back ; but pleas'd I soon return'd ; 
 
 Pleas'd it return'd as soon, with answ'ring looks 
 
 Of sympathy and love: there I had fix'd 
 
 Mine eyes till now, and pin'd with vain desire. 
 
 Had not a voice thus warn'd me ; " What thou scest. 
 
 What there thou scest, fair Creature, is thyself j 
 
 With thee it came and goes : but follow me. 
 
 And I will bring thee where no shadow stayt 
 
 Thy coming, and thy soft embraccj, he 
 
 Whose image thou art ; him thou shalt enjoy 
 
 Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear 
 
 Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd 
 
 Mother of human race." What could I do. 
 
 But follow strait, invisibly thus led, 
 
 1111 I espy'd thee? fair indeed and tall. 
 
 Under a plantain ; yef methought less fair, 
 
 I^ss winning soft, less amiably mild. 
 
 Than that smooth watry image: back I tum'd; 
 
 Thou following cr)''st aloud. Return, fair Eve ; 
 
 WIkmti Hy"st thou .' whom thou fly'st, of him thou art. 
 
 His riesh, his bone; to give thee being, I lent 
 
 Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart. 
 
 Substantial life, to have thee by my side 
 
 Hencefortli an individual solace dear j 
 
 Pirt of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim 
 
 My other half! with that thy gentle hand 
 
 Seiz'd mine J I yieliled, and from that time see 
 
 How bMuty is excell'd by manly grace 
 
 And wisdom, which alone is trxily fair. 
 
 So s^xike our grtieral mother, and with eyes 
 Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd. 
 And meek surrender, half embracing lean'd 
 K i
 
 80 MILTON. BOOK IV 
 
 On our first father j half her swelling breast 
 
 Naked met his under the flowing gold 
 
 Of her loose tresses hid : he in delight 
 
 Both of her beauty and submissive charms 
 
 Smil'd with superior love, as Jupiter 
 
 On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds 
 
 That shed May flow'rsj and press'd her matron lip 
 
 Witii kisses pure: aside the Devil turn'd 
 
 For envy J yet with jealous leer malign 
 
 Ey'd them askance, and to himself thus plain'd: 
 
 Sight hateful, sight tormenting ! thus these two 
 Imparadis'd in one another's arms. 
 The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill 
 Of bliss on bliss 5 while I to Hell am thrust. 
 Where neither joy, nor love, but fierce desire. 
 Among our other torments not the least. 
 Still unfulfill'd with pain of longing pines. 
 Yet let me not forget what I have gain'd 
 From tlieir own mouths: all is not theirs it seems j 
 One fatal tree there stands, of knowledge call'd. 
 Forbidden them to taste. Knowledge forbidden ? 
 Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord 
 Envy them that ? can it be sin to know ? 
 Can it be death ? and do they only stand 
 By ignorance ? is that their happy state, 
 The proof of their obedience and their faith ? 
 O fair foundation laid whereon to build 
 Their ruin ! Hence I will excite their minds 
 With more desire to know, and to reject 
 Envious commands, invented with design 
 To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt 
 Equal with Gods : aspiring to be such. 
 They taste and die: what likelier can ensue ? 
 But first with narrow search I must walk round 
 This garden, and no corner leave unspy'd ; 
 A chance but chance may lead where I may meet 
 Some wand' ring Spirit of Heav'n by fountain side. 
 Or in thick shade retir'd from him to draw 
 What further would be learn'd. Live while ye may. 
 Yet happy pair; enjoy, till I return. 
 Short })leasures, for long woes are to succeed 
 So saying, his proud step he scornful turnd,
 
 BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 81 
 
 But with sly circumspection, and began 
 
 Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his 
 
 roam. 
 Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heav'n 
 With earth and ocean meets, the setting sun 
 Shnvly descended, and with right aspect 
 Against the eastern gate of Paradise 
 Levell'd his evening rays : it was a rock 
 Of alabaster, pil'd up to the clouds, 
 Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent 
 Accessible from earth, one entrance highj 
 The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung 
 Still as it rose, impossible to climb. 
 Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat. 
 Chief of tlr angelic guards, awaiting night ; 
 About him exercis'd heroic games 
 Th' unarmd youth of Heav'n, but nigh at hand 
 Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears, 
 Hung high, with diamond flaming, nnd with gold. 
 Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even 
 On a sun beam, swift as a shooting star 
 In autimjn thwarts the night, when vapours fir'd 
 Impress the air, and shew the mariner 
 From what point of his compass to beware 
 Impetuous winds: he thus began in haste. 
 
 Gabriel, to tliee thy course by lot hath given 
 Charge and strict watch, that to this happy place 
 No c\il thin:; approach or ( ntcr in. 
 This day at height at n(K)n came to my sphere 
 A spirit, zealous, as he seem'd, to know 
 More of th" Almighty's works, and chiefly Man, 
 G.xl's l:itest imige: I describ'd his way. 
 Bent- ail on speed, and mavk'd his airj' gait ; 
 But in the mount that lies from l.den north, 
 WluTc he first lighted, ^oon diicern'd his looks 
 Alien from Heav'n, with passions foul obscur'd: 
 Mine eye purNVied him still, but under shade 
 l,ost si(;!ii of him: one of the baiii>h'il crew, 
 I fear, hath vtniur'd from the deei), to raise 
 New troul)U>; ; him thy (are must be to find. 
 
 To whom the winged w.trrior thus return'd: 
 I'ritl. i)u wonder if thy perfect si^ht, 
 F. 5
 
 82 MILTON. BOOK IV. 
 
 Amid the sun's bright circle where thou sltt'st. 
 
 See far and wide: in at this gate none pass 
 
 The vigilance here plac'd, but such as come 
 
 Well known from Heav'nj and since meridian hour 
 
 No creature thence : if Spirit of other sort, 
 
 So minded, have o'er-leap'd these earthy boundii 
 
 On purpose, hard thou know'st it to exclude 
 
 Spiritual substance with corporeal bar. 
 
 But if within the circuit of these walks, 
 
 Jn whatsoever shape he lurk, of whom 
 
 Thou tell'st, by morrow dawning I shall know. 
 
 So promis'd hej and Uriel to his charge 
 Eetum'd on that bright beam, whose point now rais'd 
 Bore him slope downward to the sun, now fall'n 
 Beneath th' Azores ; whither the prime orb, 
 incredible how swift, had thither roU'd 
 Diurnal, or this less voluble earth, 
 By shorter flight to th' east, had left him there 
 Arraying with reflected purple and gold 
 The clouds that on his western throne attend. 
 Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
 Had in her sober livery all things clad ; 
 Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird. 
 They to their grassy couch, these to their nests 
 AVere slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; 
 She all night long her amorous descant sung ; 
 Silence was pleas'd : now glow'd the firmament 
 With living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 
 The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 
 llising in clouded majesty, at length 
 Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light. 
 And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. 
 
 When Adam thus to Eve. Fair Consort, th' Iwor 
 Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest. 
 Mind us of like repose, since God hath set 
 Labour and rest, as day and night to men 
 Successive -, and the timely dew of sleep 
 Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight inclines 
 Our eye-lids: other creatures all day long 
 Rove idle, unemploy'd, and less need rest j 
 Man hath his daily work of body or mind 
 Appointed^ which declares his dignity,
 
 BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 83 
 
 And the regard of Heav'n on all his ways. 
 While other anlmaU unactive range. 
 And of their doings God takes no account. 
 To-morrow, e'er fresh moniing streak the east 
 With first approach of light, we must be risen. 
 And at our pleasant labour to reform 
 Yon flowrj' arbours, yonder alleys green. 
 Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown. 
 That mock our scant manuring, and require 
 More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth : 
 Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums. 
 That lie bestrown unsightly and unsniooth, 
 Ask riddance, if we mean to trend with ease; 
 Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us rest. 
 
 To whom thus Eve with perfect beauty adom'd : 
 My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst 
 Unargued I obey ; so Grod ordains ; 
 God is thy law, thou mine : to know no more 
 Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise. 
 With thee conversing, I forget all time ; 
 All seasons and their cliange, all please alike. 
 Sweet is the breatli of mom, her rising sweet. 
 With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun. 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads 
 His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit and flower, 
 Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After sott show'rs; and sweet the coming on 
 Of grateful evening mild; then silent night 
 With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon. 
 And these the gems of Heav'n, her starry train : 
 Rut neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
 With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun 
 On this delight/ul land; nor herl), fruit, flower, 
 Glist'ring with dew ; nor fragrance after showers; 
 Nor gratefiij evening mild ; nor silent night 
 With this lier solemn bird; nor walk by moon. 
 Or glittering star-light, without thee is swi'ct. 
 But wherefore all night long shine these ? ft)r whorn 
 This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes? 
 
 To whom our general anccNtor reply'd: 
 Daughter of God and Man, aceoinplish'd Eve! 
 Thc*e have tlicir course to finish round the earth.
 
 84 MILTON. BOOK iv. 
 
 By morrow evening, and from land to land 
 
 In order, though to nations yet unborn, 
 
 Ministring light prepar'd, they set and rise; 
 
 Lest total darkness should by night regain 
 
 Her old possession, and extinguish life 
 
 In nature and all things, which these soft fires 
 
 Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat 
 
 Of various influence foment and warm. 
 
 Temper or nourish, or in part shed down 
 
 Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow 
 
 On earth, made hereoy apter to receive 
 
 Perfection from the sun's more potent ray. 
 
 These then, though unbeheld in deep of night. 
 
 Shine not in vainj nor think, though men were none. 
 
 That Heav'n would want spectators, God want praise ; 
 
 Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
 
 Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep : 
 
 AH these with ceaseless praise his works behold 
 
 Both day and night: how often from the steep 
 
 Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard 
 
 Celestial voices to the midnight air. 
 
 Sole, or responsive each to other's note. 
 
 Singing their great Creator? oft in bands 
 
 While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk. 
 
 With heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds 
 
 In full harmonic number join'd, their songs 
 
 Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven. 
 
 I'hus talking hand in hand alone they passd 
 On to their bhssful bow'r ; it was a place 
 Chosen by the sov'reign Planter, when he fram'd 
 All things to Man's delightful use ; the roof 
 Of thickest covert was inwoven shade. 
 Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew 
 Of firm and fragrant leaf, on either side 
 Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub 
 Fenc'd up the verdant v/all ; each beauteous flower. 
 Iris all hues, roses, and jessamin, 
 
 Eear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought 
 Mosaic ; underfoot the violet. 
 Crocus and hyacinth, with rich inlay 
 Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone 
 Of costliest emblem ; other creature here.
 
 BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 85 
 
 Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none ; 
 Surh was llitir qwc ot Man. In shadier lM)\ver 
 More sacred and secjuesterd, though but itign'd. 
 Tan or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph, 
 Nor Faunus liauntcd. Here in close recess 
 With flowers, garlands, and sweet smelling herbs 
 Kspoused Kvc- dcck'd first her nuptial lied. 
 And hcav'nly quires the hymcn.-ean sung. 
 What day the genial Angel to our sire 
 Brought lier in naked l)tauty more- adom'd. 
 More io\e!y than I'andora, whom the GikIs 
 Kndow'd with all their gifts, and O too like 
 Jn sad e\ent, when to th unwiser son 
 Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she tusnar'd 
 Mankind with her fair looks, to be avcng'd 
 On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire. 
 
 Thus at i!)eir shady lodge arrivd, both stood, 
 Bolh tuni'd, and under cpen sky adord 
 1'Iie (i)cl iliat made bolh sky, air, earth, and heaven, 
 AV Inch ihey beheld, tlic moon's resplendent globe. 
 And starry [hAc : Thou also mad'st the night, 
 jVlaker omnipotent, and thou the day, 
 ^\'hi^ll we in our appointed work employ 'd 
 li.wc fir.ish'd, happy in our mutual help 
 And mnfuil love, the crown of all our bliss 
 Ordain'd by thee, and this dt licious place. 
 For us too large, where thy abundance wants 
 I'.iriakers, and uncropt fdls to the ground. 
 But tliou hast prouiis'd from us two a race 
 To fill the earth, who shall with us extol 
 Thy goodness infinite, bolh when we wake, 
 ^\ud when we seek, as now, thy gilt of sleep. 
 
 Tliis said unr.nituous, and other rites 
 Obxersing none, but adoration pure, 
 NN'I'ich Goil likes best, into their inmost bower 
 H;i;id.cl liiey went ; and eas'd the putting off 
 Th'.>e troublesome di-.guises which we wear, 
 Strait side by side were laid } nor turn'd I ween 
 Adam from hii fair spouse, nor Kve tl)c rites 
 Mysterious of connubial love refus'd : 
 Vhaiever hypocrites austerely talk 
 Of i)urity, and place, and innocence.
 
 86 Milton. 
 
 BOOK IT. 
 
 Defaming as impure what God declares 
 
 Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all. 
 
 Our Maker bids increase ; who bids abstain 
 
 But our destroyer, foe to God and Man ? 
 
 Hail wedded love, mysterious law, true source 
 
 Of human offspring, sole propriety 
 
 In paradise ! of all things common else. 
 
 By thee adult'rous lust was driven from men 
 
 Amon-j: the bestial herds to range 5 by thee. 
 
 Founded in reason, loyal, just and pure. 
 
 Relations dear, and all the charities 
 
 Of /uther, son, and brother, first were known. 
 
 Far be it, that 1 should write thee sin or blame. 
 
 Or think thee unbefitting holiest place. 
 
 Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets. 
 
 Whose bed is undefil'd and chaste pronounc'd. 
 
 Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs us'd. 
 
 Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights 
 
 His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings. 
 
 Reigns here and revels 5 not in the bought smile 
 
 Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendear'd. 
 
 Casual fruition ; nor in court amours, 
 
 Mix'd dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball. 
 
 Or serenade, which the starved lover sings 
 
 To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. 
 
 These lull'd by nightingales embracing slept. 
 
 And on their naked limbs the fiowry roof 
 
 Shower'd roses which the morn repair'd. Sleep On, 
 
 Blest pair ; and O yet happiest, if ye seek 
 
 No happier state, and know to know no more. 
 
 Now had night measur'd with her shadowy cone 
 Half way up hill this vast sublunar vault. 
 And from their ivory port the Cherubim 
 Forth issuing at th' accustom'd hour stood arm'd 
 To their night watches in warlike parade, 
 "When Gabriel to his next in pow'r thus spake : 
 
 Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the south 
 With strictest watch; these other wheel the north j 
 Our circuit meets full west. As flame tbey part. 
 Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear. 
 From these, two strong and subtle Sp'rits he call'd 
 That near him stood, and gave them thus in chargfet
 
 BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 87 
 
 Ithuriel and Zephon, with wing'd speed 
 Search through this garden, leave unsearch'd no nook; 
 liut chiefly v here those two fair creature s lodge. 
 Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm. 
 This evening from the sun's decline arriv'd. 
 Who tells of some infernal Spirit, seen 
 Hithervvard bont (who could have thought?) escap'd 
 The bars of Hell, on errand bad, no doubt; 
 Such where ye fmd, seize fast and hither bring. 
 
 So saying, on he led his radiant files. 
 Dazzling the moon ; these to the bow'r direct 
 In search of whom they sought: him there they found 
 Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, 
 Assjiying by his devilish art to reach 
 The organs of her fancy, and with them forge 
 Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams : 
 Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint 
 Th' animal spirits, that from pure blood arise 
 Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence rai*r 
 At last distenijxT d, discontented thoughts. 
 Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, 
 Blown up with high conceits ingend'ring pride. 
 Him thus intent Ithuriel, with his spear, 
 Touch'il lightly; for no falsehood can endure 
 Touch of celestial temper, but returns 
 Of force to its own likeness ; up he starts, 
 Discover'd and surprisd. As when a spark 
 Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid 
 Fit for the tun, some magazine to store. 
 Against a rumour"d war, the smutty grain. 
 With sudden blaze diffus'd, inflames the air: 
 So started up, in his own shape, the Fiend. 
 Back slept those two fair Angels, half araaz'd. 
 So sudden to Ix'hold the grisly king ; 
 Yet thus, unmov'd with fear, accost him soon: 
 
 Which of those rebel Sprits adjudg'd to Hell 
 CoiTi'st thou, escap'd thy prison? and transform'd. 
 Why sal'st thou like an enemy in wait, 
 Here watching at the head of these that sleep? 
 
 Know ye not then, s:iid Satan, fill'd with scorn. 
 Know ye not me? ye knew me once, no mate 
 For you; there sitting where you durst not soar^; 
 Not to know mc argues yourselves unknown.
 
 88 MILTON. BOOK IV 
 
 The lowest of your throng ; or if ye know, 
 
 Why ask ye, and superfluous begin 
 
 Your message, Hke to end as much in vain ? 
 
 To whom thus Zephon, answ'ring scorn with scorn: 
 Think not, revolted Sp'rit, thy shape the same. 
 Or undiminish'd brightness to be known, 
 As when thou stood'st in heavn, upright and purcj 
 That glory then, when thou no more wast good. 
 Departed from thee' ; and thou resemblest now 
 Thy sin and place of doom, obscure and foul. 
 But come J for thou, be sure, shall give account 
 To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep 
 This place inviolable, and these from harm. 
 
 So spake the Cherub ; and his grave rebuke. 
 Severe in youthful beauty, added grace 
 Invincible: abash'd the Devil stood. 
 And felt how awful goodness is, and saw 
 Virtue' in her shape how lovely ; saw and pin'd 
 His loss J but chieily to find here observ'd 
 His lustre visibly impair'd; yet seem'd 
 Undaunted. If I must contend, said he. 
 Best with the best, the sender, not the sent. 
 Or all at once ; more glory w ill be won. 
 Or less be lost. Thy fear, said Zephon bold. 
 Will save us trial what the least can do 
 Single against thee wicked, and thence weak. 
 
 The Fiend reply'd not, overcome with rage ; 
 But like a proud steed rein'd, went haughty on. 
 Champing his iron curb : to strive or fly 
 He held it vain; awe from above had queli'd 
 His heart, not else dismay'd. Now drew they nigh 
 The western point, where those half-rounding guards 
 Just met, and closing stood in squadron join'd. 
 Awaiting next command. To whom their chief 
 Gabriel from the front thus call'd aloud : 
 
 O friends, I hear the tread of nimble feet 
 Hasting this way, and now, by glimpse discern 
 Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade. 
 And with them comes a third of regal port. 
 But faded splendour wan ; who, by his gait 
 And fierce demeanour, seems the prince of Hell, . 
 Not likely to part hence without contest j 
 Stand firm ; for in his look defiance lours.
 
 BOOK IV. PARADISE LOST. 8^ 
 
 He scarce bad ended, when those two approach'd. 
 And brief related wliom they brought, where tbund. 
 How busied, in what form and posture couth'd. 
 
 lb wliom, with stern regard, thus Gabriel bpake : 
 Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds prescrib'd 
 To thy transgression, and disturb'd the charge 
 Of others, who approve not to transgress 
 Ky tliy example, but have pow'r and right 
 To question thy bold entrance on this place; 
 JCniploy'd, it seems, to violate sleep, and those 
 \\'liose dwelling Go<l hath plantetl here in bliss ? 
 
 To whom thus Satim, with contemptuous brow : 
 Gabriel, thou hadst in Heav'n th' esteem of wise. 
 And such I held thee; but this question ask'd. 
 Puts me in doubt. Lives there \sho loves his pain ? 
 Who would not, finding way, break loose from hell, 
 Tho' thither doom'd ? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt,. 
 And boldly venture to whatever place 
 Farthest from pain, where thou might'st hope to change 
 Torment with ease, and soonest recompense 
 Dole with delight, which in this place I sought; 
 To thee no reasi)n, who know'st only good, 
 liut evil hast not try'd : and wilt object 
 His will who bound us . let him surer bar 
 His iron g.itcs, if he intends our stay 
 In tJial dark durance : thus much what was ask'd. 
 The rest is tme ; they found me where they say ; 
 But that implies not violence or hann. 
 
 Thus he in scorn. The warlike Angel mov'd, 
 DisdainfiilU , h;ilf snjiling, thus reply'd. 
 O l()>s of one in Heav'n, to judge of wise. 
 Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew. 
 And now returns him, from his pri'?on 'scap'd. 
 Gravely in doulit, whether to hold I hem wise 
 Or not who ask what boldness brought him hither, 
 L'nlicensM, from his l)Ounds in Hell prescribed ; 
 So wise he judges it to tly from pain, 
 Howi-viT, and to 'scajx; his punishment. 
 So j;u!gf thou still, presumptuous, till the wrnlh, 
 Whirli jhou incurr'st by flying, mnt thy tlii^lit 
 S(\ iU;iM, and scourge th.it w isd )m b.iik to Hell, 
 W'liii h t;;n;;ht tlu-e yet no l>eUor, ihat no iwin 
 Can eir.i.il ;.nger intinilc pruvok'd.
 
 90 MILTON. BOOK i 
 
 But wherefore tliou alone ? wherefore w ith thee 
 Came not all Hell broke loose? is pain to them 
 Less pain^ less to be fled ? or thou than they 
 Less hardy to endure ? courageous Chief! 
 The first in flight from pain ? hadst thou alledg'd 
 To thy deserted host this cause of flight. 
 Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive. 
 
 To which the Fiend thus answer d, frowning stern: 
 Not that I less endure, or shrink from pain. 
 Insulting Angel ; well thou know'st, I stood 
 Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid 
 The blasting voUied thunder made all speed. 
 And seconded thy else not dreaded spear. 
 But still thy words at random, as before^ 
 Argue thy inexperience, what behoves 
 From hard assays and ill successes past 
 A faithful leader, not to hazard all 
 Through ways of danger by himself untry'd : 
 I therefore, I alone first undertook 
 To wing the desolate abyss, and spy 
 This new created world, whereof in Hell 
 Fame is not silent ; here in hope to find 
 Better abode, and my afflicted Powers 
 To settle here on earth, or in mid air j 
 The' for possession put to tr}'' once more 
 What thou and thy gay legions dare against ; 
 Whose easier business were to serve their Lord 
 High up in Heav'n, with songs to hymn his throne. 
 And practis'd distances to cringe, not fight. 
 
 To whom the warrior angel soon reply'd. 
 To say, and strait unsay, pretending first 
 Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy. 
 Argues no leader, but a liar trac'd, 
 Satan, and couldst thou faithful add? O name, 
 O sacred name of faitlifulness profan'd! 
 Faithful to whom ? to thy rebellious crew. 
 Army of fiends ? fit body to fit head. 
 Was this your discipline and faith engag'd. 
 Your military obedience, to dissolve 
 Allegiance to th' acknowledg'd Power Supreme ? 
 And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem 
 Patron of liberty, who inore than thou 
 Once fawn'dj and cring'd, and senilely ador'd
 
 nooK IV. PARADISE LOST. ^\ 
 
 I leav'ns awflil monarch ? wherefore but in hope 
 To dispossess him, and thyself to reign? 
 But mark what I arread thee now. Avaunt ; 
 Fly thither whence thou fledst: if from this hour 
 Within these hallow'd limits thou apjjear. 
 Back to th' infernal pit I drag thee chain'd, 
 And seal thee so, as henceforth not to scoru 
 I'he facile gates of Hell too slightly barr'd. 
 So thrcaten'd he; but Satan to no threats 
 Gave heed, but waxing more in rage, reply'd: 
 
 Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains. 
 Proud limitary Cherub; but e'er then 
 Far heavier load thyself expect to feel 
 From my prevailing arm, tho' Heaven's King 
 Ride on thy wings, and thou, with thy compeers, 
 Us'd to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels 
 In progress through the road of Heav'n star-pav'd. 
 
 While thus he spake, th' angelic stjuadron bright 
 Turnd fiery red, sharp'ning in mooned horns 
 1 lieir phalanx, and began to hem him round 
 With ported spears, as thick as when a field 
 Of Ceres rijK? for hanest waving bend 
 Her bearded grove of cars, which way the wind 
 Sways them; the careful ploughman doubling stands, 
 I^st on the threshing floor his hojietul sheaves 
 Prove chaff". On t'other side, Satan alarm'd. 
 Collecting all his might, dilated stixxl. 
 Like Tenerifl'or Atlas unremov'd : 
 His stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest 
 Sat horror plum'd; nor wanted in his grasp 
 Whu socni'tl both spear and shield. Now dreadful deeds 
 Might h:ive rnsu'd, not only Paradise 
 In this conunotion, but the starry cope 
 Of Heav'n perhaps, or all the elenunts, 
 At le.iit had gone to wreck, disturbed and torn 
 VVitli violence of this conflict, had not soon 
 Th" Kti-rnal, to prevent such horrid fray, 
 Hung forth in Heav'n his golden scales, yet seen 
 Hetwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign, 
 Wherein all things created first he weigh'd, 
 The jKNidulous round earth, with balanc'd air 
 In couiUt-rpois^, now pond'rs ;)11 e\ents, 
 Haltles and realms : in these he put two weights.
 
 92 MILTON. BOOK V. 
 
 The sequel each of parting and of fight; 
 
 The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam ; 
 
 "Which Gabriel spying; thus bespake the Fiend : 
 
 Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine j 
 Neither our own, but giv'n ; what folly then 
 To boast what arms can do ? since thine no more 
 Than Heav'n permits, nor mine, though doubled now. 
 To trample thee as mire : for proof, look up. 
 And read thy lot in yon celestial sign, 
 Wiiere thou art weigh'd, and shewn how light, how 
 
 weak. 
 If thou resist. The Fiend look'd up, and knew 
 His mounted scale aloft; nor more ; but fled 
 Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night. 
 
 BOOK V, 
 
 THE AKGUMENT. 
 
 Morning approached, Eve relates to Adam her troublesome dream ; 
 he likes it not, yet comforts her : They come forth to their day 
 labours: Their morning hymn at the door of their bower : God, 
 to render man inexcusable, sends Raphael to admonish him of 
 his obedience, of his free estate, of his enemy near at hand, who 
 he is, and why his enemy, and whatever else may avail Adam to 
 know. Raphael comes down to Paradise ; his appearance de- 
 scribed ; his coming discerned by Adam afar off, silting at the 
 door of his bower ; he goes out to meet him, brings him to his 
 lodge, entertains him with the choicest fruits of Paradise, got 
 together by Eve ; their discourse at table: Raphael performs his 
 message, minds Adam of his state and of his enemy ; relates, at 
 Adam's request, who that enemy is, and how he came to be so, 
 beginning from his first revolt in Heaven, and the occafion 
 thereof; hovf he drew his legions after him to the parts of the 
 north, and there incited them to rebel with him; persuading all 
 but only Abdiel, a Seraph, who in argument dissuades and op- 
 poses him ; then forsakes him. 
 
 Now morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime 
 Advancing, sow'd the eartli with orient pearl. 
 When Adam wak'd, so custom'd ; for his sleep 
 Was airy light, from pure digestion bred. 
 And temp'rate vapours bland, which th' only sound 
 Of leaves and fuming rill, Aurora's fan.
 
 BOOK \'. PAKADIGE LOST. 9.$ 
 
 Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song 
 Of birds on every bough; so much tiie more 
 His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve, 
 With tresses discompos'd, and glowing cheek. 
 As through unquiet rest: he on his side 
 Leaning, halt'-rais'd, with looks of cordial love 
 Hung over her enamour d, and beheld 
 Beauty, which, whetJier waking or asleep, 
 Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice 
 Mild, as when Zcphyrus on Flora breathes. 
 Her hand solt touching, whisper'd thus: Awake, 
 My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found, 
 Heav'n's last best gift, my ever new delight. 
 Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh iield 
 Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring 
 Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove. 
 What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed. 
 How nature paints her colours, how the bee 
 Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet. 
 
 Such whisp'ring wak'd her, but with startled eye 
 On Adam, whom embracing, tlms she spake : 
 
 O sole, in whom my tlioughts find all repose. 
 My glory, my perfection ! glad I see 
 Thy face, and morn retum'd; for I this night 
 (Such night till this I never pass'd) have dreara'd. 
 If dream'd, not as I oft am wont, of thee. 
 Works of day past, or morrow's next design; 
 But of otl'oncc and trouble, which my mind 
 Knew never till this irksome night : Methought 
 Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk 
 With gentle voice, I thought it thine; it said. 
 Why sleep'st thou. Eve? now is the pleasant time. 
 The cool, the silent, save where silence yields 
 To the night-warbling bird, that now awake 
 Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song ; now reigns 
 Full orb'd the moon, and with more pleasant light 
 Shadowy sets off the face of things ; in vain. 
 If pone regnrd : Heaven wakes with all his eyes. 
 Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire? 
 In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment 
 Attracted by thy beauty still to c;aze. 
 I rose as at thy call, but found thee not; 
 To find thee I directed then my walk;
 
 S4 * MILTON. BooK\ 
 
 And on, methought, alone I pass'd through ways 
 That brought me on a sudden to the' tree 
 Of interdicted knowledge : fair it seem'd. 
 Much fairer to my fancy than by day : 
 And as I wond'ring look'd, beside it stood 
 One shap'd and wing'd like one of those from Heaven 
 By us oft seen J his dewy locks distill'd 
 Ambrosia; on that tree he also gaz'd; 
 And, O fair plant! said he, with fruit surcharg'd. 
 Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet. 
 Nor God, nor Man? is knowledge so despis'd? 
 Or envy', or w^iat reserve forbids to taste ? 
 JForbid who will, none shall from me withhold 
 Jjonger thy offer'd good ; why else set here ? 
 This said, he paus'd not, but, with vent'rous arm. 
 He pluck'd, he tasted ; me damp horror chill'd 
 At such bold words, vouch'd with a deed so bold: 
 But he thus, overjoy'd ; O fruit divine ! 
 Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt ! 
 Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit 
 For Gods, yet able to make Gods of Men : 
 And why not Gods of Men, since good, the more 
 Communicated, more abundant grows. 
 The author not impair'd, but honour'd more ? 
 Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve, 
 Partake thou also : happy tho' thou art, 
 ^Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be : 
 Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods, 
 Thyself a Goddess ; not to earth confin'd. 
 But sometimes in the air, as we ; sometimes 
 Ascend to Heav'n, by merit thine, and see 
 What life the Gods live there, and such live thou. 
 So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, 
 Ev'n to ray mouth, of that same fruit held part. 
 Which he had pluck'd; the pleasant savoury smell 
 So quicken'd appetite, that I, methought. 
 Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds 
 With him I flew, and underneath beheld 
 The earth outstretch'd immense, a prospect wide 
 And various : wond'ring at my flight and change 
 To this high exaltation ; suddenly 
 My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down.^ 
 And fell asleep ; but O how glad I wak'd.
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 95 
 
 To find this but a dream ! Thus Eve her night 
 Related, and thus Adam answer'd sad : 
 
 Best image o( myself, and dearer half. 
 The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep 
 Affects me equally ; nor can I like 
 This uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear; 
 Yet evil whence? in thee can harbour none. 
 Created pure. But know that in the soul 
 Are njany lesser faculties, that serve 
 Reason as chief: among these fancy next 
 Her office holds ; of all external things 
 Which the five watchftd senses represent^ 
 She forms imaginations, airy shapes. 
 Which reason joining or disjoining, frame* 
 All what we' affirm or what deny, and call 
 Our knowledge or opinion ; then retires 
 Into her private cell when Nature rests. 
 Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes 
 To imitate her ; but misjoining shapes. 
 Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams, 
 111 matching words and deeds, long past or late. 
 Some such resemblances, metbinks, I find 
 Of our late evening's talk, in this thy dream. 
 But with addition strange ; yet be not sad : 
 Evil into the mind of God or Man 
 May come and go, so unapprov'd, and leave 
 No spot or blame behind : Which gives me hope 
 I'hat what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream. 
 Waking thou never wilt consent to do. 
 Be not dishearten'd then, nor cloud those looks. 
 That wont to be more cheerful and serene. 
 Than when fair morning first smiles on the world ; 
 And let us to our fresh employments rise 
 Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers. 
 That ojx'u now their choicest bosom'd smells, 
 Rcscrv'd from night, and kept for thee in store. 
 
 So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was checr'd; 
 Rut silently a gentle tear let fall 
 From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair; 
 Two other precious drops that ready stotxl, 
 Kirh in liieir chrystal sluice, he, e'er they fell, 
 Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse 
 And pious awe, that fcar'd to have offended.
 
 ^ MILTON. BOOK V. 
 
 So all was clear' d, and to the field they haste. 
 
 But first, fi"om under shady arb'rous roof. 
 
 Soon as they forth were come to open sight 
 
 Of day-spring, and tlie sun, who scarce uprisen. 
 
 With wheels yet hov'ring o'er the ocean brim. 
 
 Shot parallel to th' earth his dewy ray, 
 
 Disco^ring in wide landskip all the east 
 
 Of Paradise, and Eden's happy plains. 
 
 LoiA'ly they bow'd, adoring, and began 
 
 Their orisons, each morning duly paid 
 
 In various style ; for neither various style 
 
 Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise 
 
 Their Maker, in fit strains pronounc'd or sung 
 
 Unmeditated, such prompt eloquence 
 
 Flow'd from their lips, in prose or numerous verse. 
 
 More tuneable than needed lute or harp, 
 
 To add more sweetness : and they thus began. 
 
 These are thy glorious works. Parent of Good, 
 Almighty ! thine this universal frame. 
 Thus wondrous fair, thyself how wond'rous then! 
 Unspeakable ! who sitt'st above these heav'ns 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine. 
 Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light. 
 Angels ! for ye behold him, and with songs 
 And choral symphonies, day without niglit. 
 Circle his throne, rejoicing ; ye in Heaven : 
 On earth join all ye creatures to extol 
 Him first, him last, him midst, and without end! 
 Fairest of stars, last in the train of night. 
 If better thou belong not to the dawn, 
 Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn 
 With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere. 
 While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
 Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul. 
 Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise 
 In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st. 
 And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. 
 Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st. 
 With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies. 
 And ye five other wand'ring fires that move 
 In mystic dance^ not without song, resound
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. ^7 
 
 His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. 
 
 Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
 
 Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
 
 Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
 
 And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change 
 
 Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
 
 Ye mists and exhalations that now rise 
 
 From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, 
 
 Till the sun paint your fleecy skirls with gold. 
 
 In honour to the world's great Author rise : 
 
 Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky. 
 
 Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers. 
 
 Rising or falling, still advance his praise. 
 
 His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
 
 Breatlie soft or loud j and wave your tops, ye pines, 
 
 \\'ith every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
 
 Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow. 
 
 Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. 
 
 Join voices, all ye living souls : ye birds. 
 
 That, singing, up to Heaven-gate ascend, 
 
 Rear on your wings, and in your notes his praise. 
 
 Ye tlmt in waters glide, and ye that walk 
 
 Tlie earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; 
 
 Witness if I be silent, morn, or even, 
 
 To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade. 
 
 Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
 
 Hail ! universal Lord, be bounteous still 
 
 To give us only good ; and if the night 
 
 Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd. 
 
 Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. 
 
 So pray'd they innocent, and to their thoughts 
 Firm peace recover'd soon, and wonted calm. 
 On to their morning's niral work they haste 
 Among sweet dews and flow'rs; where any row 
 Of fruit-trees over-woody reach'd too far 
 Iheir pam{)er'd boughs, and necdeti hands to check 
 Fmitless embraces : or they led the vine 
 To wed her elm : she, spous'tl, ab*)ut him twines 
 Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 
 Her dow'r, th" adopted clusters, to adorn 
 His barren leaves. Them thus employ "d, beheld 
 Witli pity Heavn's high King, and to hun call'd 
 \ (;l. I. \
 
 08 MILTON. BOOK V. 
 
 Raphael, that sociable Spirit, that deign'd 
 
 To travel with Tobias, and secur'd 
 
 His marriage with the sev'n-times v/edded maid. 
 
 Raphael, said he, thou hear'st what stir on Earth 
 Satan, from Hell 'scap'd through the darksome gulf. 
 Hath rais'd in Paradise, and how disturb'd 
 This night the human pair, how he designs 
 In them at once to ruin all mankind. 
 Go therefore, half this day, as friend with friend. 
 Converse with Adam in what bow'r or shade 
 Thou lind'st him, fi'om the heat of noon retir'd. 
 To respite his day-labour witli repast. 
 Or with repose ; and such discourse bring on 
 As may advise him of his happy state, 
 Happiness in his pow'r left free to w ill, 
 Left to his own free will, his will tho' free. 
 Yet mutable ; whence warn him to beware 
 He swerve not too secure : tell him withal 
 His danger, and from whomj what enemy. 
 Late fall'n himself from Heav'n, is plotting now 
 The fall of others from like state of bliss ; 
 By violence ? no ; for that shall be withstood; 
 
 But by deceit and lies ; this let him know, . 
 Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend 
 Surprisal, unadmonish'd, unforewani'd. 
 
 So spake the eternal Father, and fliliiil'd 
 All justice: nor delay'd the winged Saint 
 After his charge veceiv'd ; but from among 
 Thousand celestial ardours, where he stood 
 Veil'd with his gorgeous wings, up sprir.ging light. 
 Flew thro' the midst of Heav'n; th' angelic quires. 
 On each hand parting, to his speed gave way 
 Through all th empyreal road ; till at the gate 
 Of Heav'n arriv'd, the gate self-open'd wide. 
 On golden hinges turning, as by work 
 Divine, the Sovereign architect had fram'd. 
 From hence no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight. 
 Star interpos'd, however small, he sees. 
 Not unconform to other shining globes. 
 Earth, and the gard'n ot God, with cedars crown'd 
 Above all hills. As when by night the glass 
 Of Galileo^ less assur'd, observes
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 99 
 
 Imagin'd lands and regions in the moon ; 
 Or pilot, from amidst the Cyclades, 
 Delos or Samos, first appearing, kens 
 A cloudy spot. Down thither prone in flight 
 He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky 
 SaiLs between worlds and worlds, with steady wing 
 Now on the polar winds, then with quick fan 
 Winnows the buxom air; till within soar 
 Of tow'ring eagles, t'all the fowls he seems 
 A phoenix, gaz'd by all, as that sole bird, ' 
 
 Wljcn to enshrine his reliqucs in the sun's 
 Bright temple, to Egyptian I'hebes he flies. 
 At once on th' eastern clifl" of Paradise 
 He lights, and to his proper shape returns, 
 A SiT.iph wing'd ; six wings he wore, to shade 
 His lineaments divine ; the pair that clad 
 Each shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast 
 ^^'ith regal ornament; the middle pair 
 dirt like a starry zone his waist, and round 
 Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold 
 And colours dipt in Heav'n ; the third his feet 
 Sliadow'd from either heel with feather'd mail, 
 Sky-linctur'd grain ! Like Maia's son he .stood. 
 And sjjook liis plumes, that heav'nly fragrance fill'd 
 I'lu" circuit wide. Straight knew him all the band* 
 Of Angels under watch ; and to his state. 
 And to his message high, in honour rise ; 
 For on some message high they guess'd him bound. 
 Their glittering tents he pass'd, and now is come 
 Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh. 
 And flow'ring odours, cassia, nard, and balm; 
 A wild< rni'ss of sweets; for Nature here 
 Wanton'd as in her primr, and play'd at will 
 Her virgin linicies, pouring foitli more sweet. 
 Wild above rule or art ; enormous bliss ! 
 Him through the spicy forest onward come 
 Adam distx-rn'd, as In the door he sat 
 Of his cool bow'r : while now the n)ounted on 
 Slifit down (lirrct his fervid rays to warm 
 K.jnli's inmost womb, more warmth than Adam needs: 
 And Kw u itiiin, due at lu-r hour prepared 
 I-'or Jiiiufi .>avoury fruits, of taste to please 
 I 2
 
 100 MILTON. BOOK V. 
 
 True nppetite, aud not disix'lish tliirst' 
 
 Of nect'rous draughts between, from milky stream. 
 
 Berry or grape : to whom thus Adam call'd. 
 
 Haste hither, Eve, and worth thy sight, behold 
 Eastward among those trees, what glorious shape 
 Comes this way moving ; seems another morn 
 Ris'n on mid-noon ; some great behest from Heaven 
 To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe 
 This day to be our guest. But go with speed. 
 And what thy stores contain, bring forth and pour 
 Abundance, iit to honour and receive 
 Our heav nly stranger : well we may afford 
 Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow 
 From large bestow'd, where Nature multiplies 
 Her fertile growth, and by disburdning grows 
 More fruitful, which instructs us not to spare. 
 
 To whom thus Eve. Adam, earth's hallow'd mould. 
 Of God inspir'd, small store will serve, where store. 
 All seasons, ripe for use, hangs on the stalk : 
 Save what by frugal storing firmness gains 
 "i'o nourish, and superfluous moist consumes : 
 But I will haste, and from each bow and brake. 
 Each plant and juiciest gourd, will pluck such choice 
 To entertain our Angel guest, as he 
 Beholding shall confess, that here on earth 
 God hath dispens'd his bounties as in Heaven. 
 
 So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste 
 She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent. 
 What choice to choose for delicacy best. 
 What order, so contriv'd, as not to mix 
 1 astes, not well join'd, inelegant, but bring 
 Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change j 
 Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk 
 Whatever Earth, all-bearing mother, yields 
 In India, East or West, or middle shore 
 In Pontus, or the Punic coast, or where 
 Alcinous reign'd, fruit of all kinds, in coat 
 Rough or smooth rind, or bearded husk, or shell. 
 She gathers, tribute large, and on the board 
 Heaps with unsparing hand 5 for drink, the grape 
 She crushes, (inoffensive must!) and meaths 
 From many a berry', and from sweet kernels prcss'tl
 
 BOOK T. PARADISE LOST. lOI 
 
 She tempers dulcet creams ; nor these to Iiold 
 Wants her fit vessels pure ; then strews the ground 
 With rose and odours from the- shrub unfiim'd. 
 
 Meanwhile our primitive great sire, to meet 
 His god -like guest, walks forth, without more train 
 Accompanied, than with his own complete 
 Perfections; in himself was all his state. 
 More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits 
 On princes, when their rich retinue long 
 Of horses letl, and grooms bfsniear'd with gold. 
 Dazzles the crowd, and sets them all agape. 
 Nearer his presence, Adam, tho' not aw'd. 
 Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek. 
 As to' a superior nature, bowing low. 
 Thus said : Native of Heav'n, for other place 
 None can than Heav'n such glorious shape contain j 
 Since by descending from the thrones above. 
 Those happy places, thou hast dcign'd a while 
 To want, and honour these, vouchsafe with us 
 Two' only, who yet by sovereign gift possess 
 This spacious ground, in yonder shady bower 
 To rest, and what the garden choicest bears 
 To sit and taste, till lliin meridian he^t 
 Be over, and the sun more cool decline. 
 
 Whom thus th' angelic \'irtue answer'd mild. 
 Adam, I therefore came ; nor art thou such 
 Created, or such place hast here to dwell, 
 As may not oft invite, tho' Sp'rits of Heaven, 
 To visit thee; lead on then wliere thy lx)wer 
 O'ershades, for these mid-hours, till ev'ning rise, 
 I have at will. So to the sylvan lodge 
 They came, that like Pomona's arbour smil'd 
 With How'rets deck'd and fragrant smells ; but Eve 
 Undeck'd, save with herself, more lovely fair 
 Than wood-nymph, or the fairest goddess fei<;n"d 
 Of three that in mount Ida naked strove, 
 Srood to' entertain her guest from heav'n ; no veil 
 She needed, virtue-proof; no thought infirm 
 Alter'd her cheek. On whom the Angel hail 
 Hestow'd, the holy salutation us'd 
 Long after to blest Mary, secontl K\c. 
 
 Hail Mother of Mankind, whose fruitful womb 
 '' 3
 
 102 MILTON. BOOK V 
 
 Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons. 
 Than with these various fruits the trees of God 
 Have heap'd this table. Raisd of grassy turf 
 Their table was, and mossy seats had round. 
 And on her ample square from side to side 
 All avitumn pil'd, tho' spring and autumn here 
 Danc'd hand in hand. Awhile discourse they hold : 
 No fear lest dinner cool ; when thus began 
 Our author. Heav'nly stranger, please to taste 
 These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom 
 All perfect good, unmeasur'd out, descends. 
 To us for food and for delight hath caus'd 
 The earth to yield ; unsavoury food, perhaps. 
 To spiritual natures ; only this I know. 
 That one celestial Father gives to all. 
 
 To whom the angel. Therefore what he gives 
 (Whose praise be ever sung) to Man in part 
 Spiritual, may of purest Sp'rits be found 
 No' ingrateful food : and food alike those pure 
 Intelligential substances require, / 
 As doth your rational } and both contain 
 V/ithin them every lower faculty . 
 Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste. 
 Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate. 
 And corporeal to incopor'al turn. 
 For know, whatever was created, needs 
 To be sustain'd and fed 5 of elements 
 The grosser feeds the purer, earth the sea. 
 Earth and the sea feed air, the air those tires 
 Ethereal, and as lowest first the moon ; 
 Whence in her visage round those spots unpurg'd 
 Vapours not yet into her substance turn'd. 
 Nor doth the moon no nourishment exhale 
 From her mist continent to higher orbs. 
 The sun, that light imparts to ail, receives 
 From all his alimental recompense 
 In humid exhahitions, and at even 
 Sups with the ocean. 1 hough in Heav'n the trees 
 Of life, ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines 
 Yield nectar ; though from oft' the boughs each morn 
 We brush mellifluous dews, and find the ground 
 Covered with pearly grain : yet God hath here
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 103 
 
 Varied his bounty so with new delights. 
 
 As may compare with Heaven; and to taste 
 
 Think not I shall be nice. So down they sat. 
 
 And to their viands fell ; nor seemingly 
 
 The Angel, nor in mist, the common gloss 
 
 Of Theologians ; but with keen dispatch 
 
 Of real hunger, and concoctive heat 
 
 To transubstantiate : wliat redounds, transpires 
 
 Througli Spirits with case ; nor wonder, if by tire 
 
 Of s(j<)ty coal th' empiric alchymist 
 
 Can turn, or holds it possible to turn, 
 
 Metals of drt)S!>iest ore to perfect gold 
 
 As from the mine. Mcanwiiile, at table. Eve 
 
 Minister'd naked, and their flowing cups 
 
 With pleasant liquors crowu'd : O innocence 
 
 Deserving Paradise ! if ever, then. 
 
 Then had the sons of God excuse to have been 
 
 Enamour'd at that sight ; but in those hearts 
 
 lx>ve unlibid'nous reigu'd, nor jealousy 
 
 Was understood, the injur'd lovers hell. 
 
 Thus when with meuis and drinks they had suffic'd. 
 Not burden'd nature, suJclen mind arose 
 In Adam, not to let th' occasion pass 
 Gir'n him by this great conference, to know 
 Of things above this world, and of their being 
 Who dwell in Heav'n, whose excellence he saw 
 Transcend his own so far, whose radiant forms. 
 Divine etfulgence ! whose high jx)\v r so far 
 Exceeded human, and his wary speech 
 Thus to th' enipyrt-al minister he fram'd. 
 
 Inhabitant with God, now know 1 wt-ll 
 Thy favour, in this honour done to man, 
 Under whose lowly roof thou hast vouchsnf 'd 
 To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste ; 
 Food not of Angels, yet accepted so, 
 As that more willingly thou couldst not seem 
 At Heav'ns high feasts to' have fed: yet what compare ? 
 
 To whom the winged Hierarch reply d. 
 O Adam, one Almighty is, from whom 
 All things proceed, and up to him return. 
 If not deprav'd from good ; created all 
 Such to perfection, one fust matter all, 
 V 4
 
 J 04 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK. V 
 
 Endued with various forms, various degrees 
 
 Of substance, and in things that live, of life j 
 
 But more refiu'd, more spiritous, and pure. 
 
 As nearer to him plac'd, or nearer tending 
 
 Each in their several active spheres assign'd. 
 
 Till body up to spirit work, in bounds 
 
 Proportion'd to each kind. So from the root 
 
 Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves 
 
 More airj, last the bright consummate flower 
 
 Spirits odorous breatlies : flow'rs and their fruit, 
 
 Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'd. 
 
 To vital spirits aspire, to animal. 
 
 To intellectual ; give both life and sense. 
 
 Fancy and understanding ; whence the soul 
 
 Reason receives, and reason is her being. 
 
 Discursive, or intuitive ; discourse 
 
 Is oftest yours, the latter most is ours ; 
 
 Differing but in degree, of kind the same. 
 
 Wonder not then, what God for you saw good 
 
 If I refuse not, but convert, as you. 
 
 To proper substance : time may come, when Mea. 
 
 With Angels may participate, and find 
 
 No inconvenient diet, nor too light fare j 
 
 And from these corporal nutriments perhaps 
 
 Your bodies may at last turn all to spirit, 
 
 Improv'd by tract of time, and wing'd ascend 
 
 Ethereal, as we, or may at choice 
 
 Here or in heav'nly Paradises dwell. 
 
 If ye be found obedient, and retain 
 
 Unalterably firm his love entire. 
 
 Whose progeny you are. Meanwhile enjoy 
 
 Your fill what happiness this happy state 
 
 Can comprehend, incapable of more. 
 
 To whom the patriarch of mankind reply'd. 
 O favourable Spirit, propitious guest. 
 Well hast thou taught the way that might direct 
 Our knowledge, and the scale of nature set 
 From centre to circumference, whereon 
 In contemplation of created things 
 By steps we may ascend to God. But say. 
 What meant that caution join'd. If ye be found 
 Obedient ? can we want obedience ihen
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 105 
 
 To him, or possibly his love desert. 
 Who form'd ns from the dust, and plac'd us here 
 Full to the utmost measure of what bliss 
 Human desires can seek or apprehend ? 
 
 To whom the Angel. Son of Heav'n and Earth, 
 Attend : That thou art happy, owe to God j 
 That thou continuest such, owe to thyself. 
 That is, to thy obedience; therein stand. 
 This was that caution giv'n thee j be advis'd. 
 God made thee perfect, not immutable ; 
 And good he made thee, but to persevere 
 He left it in thy pow'r ; ordain'd thy will 
 By nature free, not over-rul'd by fate 
 Inextricable, or strict necessity : 
 Our voluntary service he re<^uires. 
 Not our necessitated ; such with him 
 Finds no acceptance, nor can fin<l ; for how 
 Can hearts, not free, be try'd whether they serve 
 Willing or no, who will but what they must 
 By destiny, and can no other choose ? 
 Myself and all th' angelic host, that stand 
 In sight of God cnthron'd, our happy state 
 Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds : 
 On other surety none ; freely we senc. 
 Because we freely love, as in our will 
 To love or not ; in this we stand or fall : 
 And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, 
 And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell ; O fall 
 From what high state of bliss into what woe I 
 
 To whom our great progenitor. Thy words 
 Attentive, and with more delighted ear. 
 Divine instructor, I have heard, than when 
 Cherubic songs by night from neighb'ring hills 
 Aereal music send : nor knew I not 
 To be both will and deed created free j 
 Yet that we never shall forget to love 
 OtSr Maker, and obey him whose command 
 Single is yet so just, my constant thoucjhls 
 Assiu-'d me, and still assure: though what thou tell'st 
 Hath pass'd in Heav'n, some doubt within mc move,. 
 But more desire to hear (if thou consent) 
 The full relation, which must needs be strange. 
 Worthy of sacred silence to be heard ; 
 V 5
 
 io6 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 And we have yet large day, for scarce the sun 
 Hath finish'd half his journey, and scarce begins 
 His other half in the great zone of Heav'n. 
 
 Thus Adam made request ; and Raphael 
 After short pause assenting, thus began. 
 
 High matter thou enjoin'st me, O prime of men. 
 Sad tasi<. and hard ; for how shall I relate 
 To human sense th' invisible exploits 
 Of warring Spirits ? how without remorse 
 The ruin of so many, glorious once. 
 And perfect while they stood ? how last unfold 
 The secrets of another world, perhaps 
 Not lawful to reveal ? yet for thy good 
 This is dispensed j and what "surmounts the reach 
 Of human sense, I shall delineate so. 
 By likening spiritual to corporeal forms. 
 As may express them best ; though what if Earth 
 Be but the shadow of Heav'n, and things therein 
 Each t'other lii<e, more than on earth is thought? 
 
 As yet this world was not, and Chaos wild 
 Reign'd where these Heav'ns now roll, where Earth 
 
 now rests 
 Upon her centre pois'd ; when on a day 
 (For time, though in eternity, apply'd 
 To motion, measures all things durable 
 By present, past, and future) on such day 
 As Heav'n s great year brings forth, the empyreal host 
 Of Angels, by imperial summons call'd 
 Innumerable before th' Almighty's throne. 
 Forthwith from all the ends of Heav'n appear'd 
 Under the hierarchs in orders bright : 
 Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanc'd. 
 Standards and gonfalons 'twixt van and rear 
 Stream in the air, and for distinction serve 
 Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees j 
 Or in their glittering tissues bear imblaz'd 
 Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love 
 Recorded eminent. Thus when in orbs 
 Of circuit inexpressible they stood. 
 Orb within orb, the Father infinite. 
 By whom in bliss embosom'd sat the Son, 
 Amidst as from a flaming mount, whose top 
 Brightness had made invisiblej thus spake.
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 107 
 
 Hear all ye Angels, progeny of light, 
 Thrones, Durnin itions, Piyncedoins, Virtues, Powers, 
 Hear my decree, which unrevok'd shall stand. 
 This day I have begot whom I declare 
 My only S:in, and on this holy hill 
 Him have aiiointed, whom ye now behold . 
 At my riglit hand ; your head I him appoint j 
 Anil by myself have sworn to him shall bow 
 All knees in Heav n, and shall coniess him Lord j 
 Under his gicat vice-gerent reign abide 
 United as one indi\idnal soul 
 For ever happy : Hiii who disobeys. 
 Me disobeys, l)re:iks union, and that day. 
 Cast out from G(kI and blessed vision, falls 
 Inio utter darkness, deep ingulf 'd, his place 
 Ordain'd without redemption, without end. 
 
 80 spake th" Omnipotent, and with his words 
 All seem . well pleas'd ; aJl seem d, but were not all, 
 'Jhat day, as other solemn days, they spent 
 In son^ and dance alxmt the sacred hill ; 
 Mystical ilance, which yonder starry sphere 
 Of planets, anti of lix.'d, in all her wheels 
 Reseml)les nearest; mazes intricate. 
 Eccentric, intervolv'd, yet regular 
 Thew n)05t, when most irregular they seem j 
 And in their motions harmony divine 
 So smooths her charming tones, that God's own ear 
 Listens delighted. Evening now approach'd 
 (For we have also our evening and our morn. 
 We ours for change ilelectable, not need) 
 Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn 
 Desirous ; all in circles as they stood. 
 Tables are set, and on a sudden pil'd 
 With angels' loed, and rubied nectar flows 
 In jH-arl, in diamond, and massy gold. 
 Fruit of delicious vines, the growth of Heaven. 
 On flow rs rej>os"d, and with fresh tlowrets crown'd. 
 The) eat, they drink, and in communion sweet 
 Quatf iuunortality and joy, secure 
 Ot surfeit where fvill measure only bounds 
 Excess, iH'fore th" all-boiinteous King, who thow'r'd 
 With copious band, rejoicing in their joy, 
 r d
 
 108 MILTON. BOOK V. 
 
 Now when ambrosial night, with clouds exlial'd 
 
 From that high mount of God, whence light and shade 
 
 Spring both, the face of brightest Heav'n had chang'd 
 
 To grateful twilight (for night comes not there 
 
 In darker veil) and roseat dews dispos'd 
 
 All but th' unsleeping eyes of God to rest ; 
 
 Wide over all the plain, and wider far. 
 
 Than all this globous earth in plain outspread, 
 
 (Such are the courts of God) th' angelic throng, 
 
 Dispers'd in bands and files, their camp extend 
 
 By living streams among the trees of life. 
 
 Pavilions numberless ! and sudden rear'd. 
 
 Celestial tabernacles, where they slept 
 
 Fann'd with cool winds ; save those who in their course 
 
 Melodious hymns about the sov'ran throne 
 
 Alternate all night long : but not so wak'd 
 
 Satan ; so call him now, his former name 
 
 h heard no more in Heav'n j he of the first. 
 
 If not the first Arch-Angel, great in power. 
 
 In favour and pre-eminence, yet fraught 
 
 With envy against the Son of God, that day 
 
 Honour'd by his great Father, and proclaim'd 
 
 Messiah, King anointed, could not bear 
 
 Through pride that sight, and thought himself impair'd. 
 
 Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain. 
 
 Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour 
 
 Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolv'd 
 
 With all his legions to dislodge, and leave 
 
 Unworshipt, unobey'd, the throne supreme 
 
 Contemptuous, and his next subordinate 
 
 Awak'ning, thus to him in secret spake. 
 
 Sleep'st thou, companion dear ! what sleep can close 
 Thy eye lids ? and remember'st what decree 
 Of yesterday, so late hath pass'd the lips 
 Of Heav'n"s Almighty. Thou to me thy thoughts 
 Was wont, I mine to thee was wont to impart; 
 Both waking we were one ; how then can now 
 Thy sleep dissent ? New laws thou seest impos'd ; 
 Kew laws from him who reigns, new minds may raise 
 In us who serve, new counsels, to debate 
 What doubtfid may ensue t- more in this place 
 To utter is not safe. Assemble thou
 
 BOOK V. PARADISE LOST. 109 
 
 Of all those myriads which we lead the chief; 
 Tell them that by command, ere yet dim night 
 Her shadowy cloud withdraws, I am to haste. 
 And all who under me their banners wave 
 Homeward with flying march where we possess 
 I'he (jiiarlers of the north ; there to prepare 
 P'it entertiinment to receive our king. 
 The great Messiah, and his new commands. 
 Who s[)eedily through all the hierarchies 
 Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws. 
 
 So spake the false Arch-angel, and infus'd 
 B.id influence into th' unwary breast 
 Of his associate : he together calls. 
 Or several, one by one, the regent Powers, 
 Under him regent ; tells, as he was taught. 
 That the most High commanding, now e'er night. 
 Now e'er dim night had disincunil)er'd Heaven, 
 The great hierarchal sLnndard was to move ; 
 Tells ihe suggested cause, ami casts between 
 Ambiguous words and jealousies, to sound 
 Or taint integrity : but all obey'd 
 The wonted signal, and superior voice 
 Of their great potentate ; for great indeed 
 His name, and high was his decree in Heaven ; 
 His count'nance, as the morning htar that guides 
 The starry flock, allur'd them, and with lies 
 Drew after him the third part of Heavn'.s host. 
 
 Meanwhile th' eternal eye, whose sight discerns 
 Abstrusest thoughts, from forth his holy mount 
 .\nd from within the golden lamps that burn 
 Nightly before him, saw without their light 
 Rebellion rising, saw in whom, how spread 
 Among the sons of moni, what multitudes 
 Were banded to opj>ose his high decree ; 
 And smiling to his only Son, thus iaid : 
 
 Son, thou in whom my glory I behold 
 In full resplendence, heir of all mv might, 
 Nearly it now concerns us to be sure 
 Of our omnipotence, aiul with what arms 
 Wf mean to hold what anrienlly we claim 
 Of deity or empire ; such a foe 
 Ik rising, who intends to erect his throne
 
 110 MILTON. BOOK V. 
 
 Equal to ours, throughout the spacious north ; 
 Nor so content, hath in his thought to try 
 In battle, what our pow'r is, or our right. 
 Let us advise, and to this hazard draw 
 With speed what force is left, and all employ 
 In our defence, lest unawares we lose 
 This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill. 
 
 To whom the Son with calm aspect and clear, 
 Light'ning divine, ineffable, serene. 
 Made answer. Mighty Father, thou thy foes 
 Justly hast in derision, and secure 
 Laugh'st at their vain designs and tumults vain : 
 Matter to me of glory, whom their hate 
 Illustrates, when they see all regal power 
 Giv'n to me to quell their pride, and in event 
 Know whether [ be dextrous to subdue 
 Thy rebels, or be found the worst in Heaven. 
 
 So spake the Son ; but Satan v^ith his powers 
 Far was advanc'd, on winged speed, an host 
 Innumerable as the stars of night. 
 Or stars of morning, dew-drops, which the sun 
 Impearls on every leaf and every flower. 
 Regions they pass'd, the mighty regencies 
 Of Seraphim, and Potentates, and Thrones 
 In their triple degrees ; regions to which 
 All thy dominion, Adam, is no more 
 Than what this garden is to all the earth. 
 And all the sea, from one entire globose 
 Stretch'd into longitude ; which having pass'd. 
 At length into the limits of the north 
 They came, and Saltan to his royal seat 
 High on a hill, far blazing, as a mount 
 Rais'd on a moi'nt, with pyramids and towers 
 From diamond quarries hewn, and rucks of gold ; 
 The palace of great Lucifer, (so call 
 That structure in the dialect of men 
 Interpreted) which not long after, he, 
 At^eciing all equ lity with God, 
 In imitation of that mount whereon 
 Messia') was dclared in sight of Heaven, 
 The Mountain of the congregation call'd; 
 For thither he assembled all his train.
 
 BOOK 7. PARADISE LOST. Ill 
 
 Pretending, so commanded, to consult 
 About tlie great reception of their king. 
 Thither to come ; and with calumnious art 
 Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears. 
 
 Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtuei, powers. 
 If these magnitic titles yet remain 
 Not merely titular, since by decree 
 Another now hath to himself ingross'd 
 All pbw'r, and us eclips'd under the name 
 Of King anointed, for whom all this haste 
 Of midnight march, and hurried meeting here. 
 This only to consult, how we may best. 
 With what may be devis'd of honours new. 
 Receive him, coBiing to receive from us 
 Knee-tribute yet unpaid, prostration vile. 
 Too much to otje ! but double, how endur'd ! 
 To one, and to his image now proclaim'd! 
 But what if better counsels might erect 
 Our minds, and teach us to cast oft" this yoke ? 
 Will yf submit your necks, and choose to bend 
 The supple knee ? ye will not, if 1 trust 
 To know ye right, or if ye know yourselves 
 Natives and sons of Hcav'n, possessed before 
 By none, and if not ecjual all, yet free. 
 Equally free ; for orders and degrees 
 Jar not with lil)erty, but well consist. 
 Who can in reason then, or right, assume 
 Monarchy over such as live by right 
 His equals ; if in pow r and splendour less. 
 In freedom e<]u;d ? or can introduce 
 Law and edict on us, who without law 
 Krr not ; much less for this to be our Lord, 
 And look for adoration to th" abuse 
 (Jf thusi' imperial titles, which assert 
 Our b: ing ordain'd to govern, not to sen'e ! 
 
 Thu'* far his bold discourse without controul 
 Had avulience, when among the Senphim 
 AlnlicI, than whom none with more zeal ador'd 
 The Deity, and divine commands olx'y'd, 
 SiikkI up, and in a flame of zeal severe 
 The current of his fury thws op|X)s'd. 
 
 O argument bLisphemous, false and proud !
 
 112 MILTON. BOOK. V. 
 
 Words which no ear ever to hear in Heav'n 
 
 Expected, least of all from thee, ingrate ! 
 
 In place thyself so high above thy peers. 
 
 Canst thou with impious obloquy condemn 
 
 The just decree of God, pronounc'd and sworn. 
 
 That to his only Son by right endued 
 
 "With regal sceptre, every soul in Heav'n 
 
 Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due 
 
 Confess him rightful king ? unjust, thou say'st. 
 
 Flatly unjust, to bind m ith laws the free. 
 
 And, equal over equals, to let reign. 
 
 One over all with unsucceeded power. 
 
 Shalt thou give law to God, shalt thou dispute 
 
 With him the points of liberty, who made 
 
 Thee what thou art, and form'd the Power's of Heav'n 
 
 Such as he pleas'd, and circumscrib'd their being ? 
 
 Yet, by experience taught, we know how good. 
 
 And of our good and of our dignity 
 
 How provident he is, how far from thought 
 
 To make us less, bent ratlier to exalt 
 
 Our happy state, under one head more near 
 
 United. Eut to grant it thee unjust, ^ 
 
 That equal over equals rnonarchs reign : 
 
 Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou county 
 
 Or all angelic nature join'd in one. 
 
 Equal to him begotten Soia r by whom. 
 
 As by his word the mighty Father made 
 
 All things, ev'n thee ; and all the Spirits of Heaven, 
 
 By him created in their bright degrees, 
 
 Crown'd them with glory, and to their glory nam'd 
 
 Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers ; 
 
 Essential pow'rs ! nor by his reign obscur'd. 
 
 But more illustrious made j since he the head 
 
 One of our number thus reduc'd becomes ; 
 
 His laws our laws ; all honour to him done 
 
 Returns our own. Cease then this impious rage. 
 
 And tempt not these 5 but hasten to appease 
 
 Th' incensed Father, and th' incensed Son, 
 
 While pardon may be found in time besought. 
 
 So spake the fervent Angel ; but his zeal 
 None seconded, as out of season judg'd. 
 Or singular and rash j whereat rejoic'd
 
 BooKV. PARADISE LOST. 113 
 
 Til' Apostate, and more liaughty thus reply'd : 
 
 That we were form'd then, say'st thou ? and the work 
 
 Of secondary liaiids, by task transferr'd 
 
 From Father to his Son ? strange point and new ! 
 
 Doctrine which we would know whence learn'd: who saw 
 
 When this creation was ? remember'st thou 
 
 Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being ? 
 
 We know no time when we were not as now ; 
 
 Know none before us, self-begot, self-rais'd 
 
 By our own quick'ning pow'r, when fatal course 
 
 Had circl'd his full orb, the birth mature 
 
 Of this our native Heav'n, ethereal sons. 
 
 Our puissance is our own ; our own right hand 
 
 Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to tiy 
 
 Who is our equal : then thou shalt behold 
 
 Whether by supplication we intend 
 
 Address, and to begirt th' Almighty throne 
 
 Beseeching or besieging. This report. 
 
 These tidings, carry to th' anointed King ; 
 
 And fly, e'er evil intercept tljy flight. 
 
 He said ; and, as tlie sound of waters deep. 
 Hoarse murmur echo'd to his words applause 
 Through the infinite host ; nor less for that 
 The flaming Seraph fearless, though alone 
 Incompassd round with foes, thus answer'd bold. 
 
 O alienate from God, O Spirit accurs'd. 
 Forsaken of all good ! I see thy fall 
 Determin'd, and thy hapless crew involv'd 
 In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread 
 Both of thy crime and punishment : hencefortJi 
 No more be troubled how to quit the yoke 
 Of God's Messiah ; those indulgent laws 
 Will not be now vouchsaf d ; other decrees 
 Ag.iinst thee arc gone forth without ri*call j 
 That golden sceptre, which thou didst reject. 
 Is now an iron rod to bruise and break 
 Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise, 
 Yet not for thy advice or ihreals I fly 
 Those wicked tents devoted, k'st the wratii 
 Impendent, raging into sudden flame 
 Distinguish not : for soon expect to feel 
 His lluuuler on tliy head, devouring fire
 
 114 MU.TON. BooKTi. 
 
 Therij who created thee^ lamenting learn. 
 When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know. 
 
 So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful fovmd 
 Among the faithless, faithful only hej 
 Among innumerable false, unmov'd. 
 Unshaken, unseduc'd, unterrify'd. 
 His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal j 
 Nor number, nor example with him wrought 
 To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, 
 Though single. From amidst them forth he pass'd. 
 Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustain'd 
 Superior, nor of violence fear'd aught ; 
 And with retorted scorn his back he turn'd 
 On those proud tow'rs, to swift destruction doom'd. 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Raphael continues to relate how Michael and Gabriel were sent 
 forth to battle against Satan and his angels. The first fight 
 describ'd: Satan and his powers retire under night: he calls 
 a council, invents devilis^h engines, which in the second day's 
 fight put Michael and his angels to some disorder; but they 
 at length, pulling up mountains, overwhelm'd both the force 
 and machines of Satan: yet the tumult not so ending, God on 
 the third day sends Messiah his Son, for whom he had reserv'd 
 the glory of that victory: he in the power of his Father coming 
 to the place, and causing all his legions to stand still on either 
 side, with his chariot and thunder driving into the midst of his 
 enemies, pursues them unable to resist, towards the wall of 
 Heaven ; which opening; they leap down with horror and con- 
 fusion into the place of punishment prepar'd for them in the 
 deep : Messiah returns with triumph to his Father. 
 
 All night the dreadless angel unpursued 
 
 Through Heav'n's wide champain hejd his way, till Morn, 
 
 Wak'd by the circling Hours, with rosy hand 
 
 Unbarr'd the gates of Light. Thei'e is a cave 
 
 Within the mount of God, fast by his throne. 
 
 Where light and darkness in perpetual round 
 
 Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through Heav'n 
 
 Grateful vicissitude, like day, and night : 
 
 Light issues forth, and at the other door
 
 COOK VI. PARADISE LOST. 115 
 
 Obsequious Darkness enters, till her hour, 
 
 I'd veil the Heaven, though darkness there might well 
 
 Seem twilight here: and now went forth the Morn, 
 
 Such as in highest Ileav'n, array'd in gold 
 
 Knipyreal ; from before her vanish'd Night, 
 
 Shot through with orient beams; when all the plain 
 
 Cover'd with thick embattl'd squadrons bright. 
 
 Chariots and tianiing arms, and fiery steeds 
 
 Rffleeting blaze on blaze, first met his view : 
 
 War he perceiv'd, war in procinct, and found 
 
 Already known what he for news had tliought 
 
 'I'o have reported : gladly then he mix'd 
 
 Among those friendly powers, who him receiv'd 
 
 With joy and acclama,tions loud, that one. 
 
 That of so many myriad's fall'n, yet one 
 
 lloturn'd not lost : on to the Sacred Hill 
 
 'I'hey led him high applauded, and present 
 
 Before the seat supreme ; from whence a voice 
 
 From midst a golden cloud thus mild was heard : 
 
 ScVvant of God, well done ; well hast tliou fought 
 The better tight, who single hast maintain'd 
 Against revolted multitudt-s the cause 
 Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms; 
 And for ilie tcstiuiwiiy of trutli lust borne 
 Universal reproach, far worse to bear 
 Than violence ; for this was all thy care. 
 To stand approv'd in sight of God, though worlds 
 Judgd tiiee perverse : the easier conquest now 
 Uenuins thci", aided by this host of friends. 
 Back on thy foes more glorious to return 
 Than scorn'd thou did'st depart, and to subdue 
 By force, who reason tor their law refuse, 
 Bight reason for their law, and for their king 
 Mtssi.ih, who by rig!u of merit reigns. 
 Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince. 
 And thou in military prowess next, 
 G.ii)riel ! lead forth to battle these my sons 
 Inviiuible ! lea I forth my armed saints 
 By tiums.inds and by nullions, rang'd for fight, 
 K'|u.il in iiumlwr to tiiat gcxllcss crew, 
 Bcbtllious ; them with (ire and hostile arms " 
 I'carKsi ass.uilt, and to the brow of Heav'n
 
 116 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK VX. 
 
 Pursuing, drive them out from God and bliss 
 Into their place of punishment, the gulf 
 Of Tartarus which ready opens wide 
 His fiery chaos to receive their fall. 
 
 So spake the Sov'reign Voice, and clouds began 
 To darken all the hill, and smoke to roll 
 In dusky wreaths, reluctant flames, the sign 
 Of wrath awak d ; nor with less dread the loud 
 Ethereal trumpet from on high 'gan blow : 
 At which command the powers militant, 
 That stood for Heav'n, in mighty quadrate join'd 
 Of union irresistible, mov'd on 
 In silence their bright legions, to the sound 
 Of instrumental harmony, that breath'd 
 Heroic ardour to advent' rous deeds 
 Under their god-like leaders, in the cause 
 Of God and his Messiah. On they move, 
 Indissolubly firm ; nor obvious hill. 
 Nor strait'ning va!e, nor wood, nor stream, divides 
 Their perfect ranks ; for high above the ground 
 Their march was, and the passive air upbore 
 Their nimble tread} as when the total kind 
 Of birds in orderly array on wing 
 Came sumraoii'd over Eden to r^K^eive 
 Their names of thee ; so over many a tract 
 Of Heav'n they march'd, and many a province wide. 
 Tenfold the length of this terrene : at last 
 Far in th' horizon to the North appear'd 
 From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretch'd 
 In battleous aspect, and nearer view 
 Bristled with upright beams innumerable 
 Of rigid spears, and helmets throng'd, and shields 
 Various, with boastful argument portray'd. 
 The banded powers of Satan, hasting on 
 With furious expedition ; for they ween'd 
 That self-same day by fight, or by surprise. 
 To win the mount of God, and on his throne 
 To set the envier of his state, the proud 
 Aspirerj but their thoughts prov'd fond and vain 
 In the mid-way : though strange to us it seem'd 
 At first, that Angel should with Angel war, 
 And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet
 
 BOOK VI. PARADISE I.0S1'. li; 
 
 So oft in festivals of joy and love 
 Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire 
 Hymning tli* eternal father : but the shout 
 Of battle now began, and rushing sound 
 Of onset ended soon each milder thought. 
 High in the midst, exalted as a god, 
 Th* Apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat. 
 Idol of majesty divine, indos'd 
 With flaming cherubim and golden shields ; 
 Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now 
 Twixt host and host but narrow space was left, 
 A dreadful intenal ! and front to front 
 Presented stood in terrible array 
 Of hideous length : before the cloudy van. 
 On the rough edge of battle e'er it join'd, 
 Satan with vast and hauglity strides advanc'd. 
 Came tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold; 
 Abdiel that sight endur'd not, where he stood 
 Among tlie mightiest, bent on higljest deeds ; 
 And thus his own undaunted heart explores. 
 
 O Heaven ! that such resemblance of the Highest 
 Should yet remain, where faith and realty 
 Remain not : wherefore should not strength and miglit 
 There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove 
 Where boldest, though to fight unconquerable } 
 His puissance, trusting in th' Almighty's aid, 
 1 mean to try, whose reason I have tr)-'d 
 Unsound and false ; nor is it aught but just. 
 That he who in debate of truth hath won 
 Should win in arms, in both disputes alike 
 Victor ; though bmtish that contest and foul. 
 When Reason hath to deal with Force: yet so 
 Most reason is tliat Reason overcome. 
 
 So pondering, and from his armed j>e<'rs 
 Forth stepping opposite halfway he met 
 His daring foe, at this prevention more 
 Incens'd, and thus scairely him defy'd. 
 
 Proud, art thou met ? thy hope was to have reach'd 
 The height of thy aspiring, unoppos'd. 
 The throne of God unguarded, and his side 
 Abandon'd at the terror of thy power 
 Or potent tongue J fool, not to think how vain
 
 H8 MILTON. BOOK vi. 
 
 Against th' Omnipotent to rise in arras ; 
 
 Who out of smallest things could without end 
 
 Have rais'd incessant armies to defeat 
 
 Thy folly ; or with solitary hand 
 
 Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow. 
 
 Unaided, could have finish'd thee, and whelm'd 
 
 Thy legions under darkness : but thou seest 
 
 All are not of thy train ; there be who faith 
 
 Prefer, and piety to God, though then 
 
 To thee not visible, when I alone 
 
 Seem'd in thy world eiToneous to dissent 
 
 From all: my sect thou seest j now learn, too late. 
 
 How few sometimes may know, when thousands err. 
 
 Whom the grand foe, with scornfiil eye askance. 
 Thus answer'd. Ill for thee, but in wish d hour 
 Of my revenge, first sought for, thou return' st 
 From flight, seditious angel, to receive 
 Thy merited reward, the first essay 
 Of this right hand provok'd, since first that tongue 
 Inspir'd with contradiction durst oppose 
 A third part of the gods, in synod met 
 Their deities to assert, who, while they feel 
 Vigour divine within them, can allow 
 Omnipotence to none. Rut well thou com'st 
 Before thy fellows, ambitious to win 
 From me some plume, that thy success may shew 
 Destruction to the rest: this pause between 
 (Unanswer'd lest thou boast) to let thee knowj 
 At first I thought that Liberty and Heav'n 
 To heav'nly souls had been all one ; but now 
 I see that most through sloth had rather sen^e, 
 Minist'ring spirits, train'd up in feast and song j 
 Such hast thou armd, the minstrelsy of Heav'n, 
 Servility with Freedom to contend. 
 As both their deeds compar'd this day shall prove. 
 
 To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern reply'd : 
 Apostate, still thou err'st, nor end will find 
 Of erring, from the path of Truth remote : 
 Unjustly thou deprav'st it with the name 
 Of :-ervitude, to serve whom God ordains. 
 Or nature : God and nature bid the same. 
 When he who rules is worthiest, and excels
 
 ooKYi. PARADISE LOST. llf 
 
 Them whoqi he govenis. This is servitude. 
 To serve th' unwise, or him who hath rebell'd 
 Against liis worthier, as thine now serve thee, 
 Thyself not free, but to thyself inthraJl'd ; 
 Yet lewdly dar'st our minist'ring upbraid. 
 Reign thou in Hell, ihy kingdom j let me serve 
 In Heav'n, God ever blest, and his divine 
 Behests obey, worthiest to be obey'd; 
 Yet chains in Hell, not realms expect : meanwhile 
 From me rcturn'd, as erst thou saidst, from flight. 
 This greeting on thy impious crest receive. 
 So say'ing, a noble stroke he lifted high. 
 Which hung not, but so swift witli tempest fell 
 On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight. 
 Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield 
 Such ruin intercept : ten paces huge 
 He back recoil'd ; the tenth on bended knee 
 His massy spear upstay'd ; as if on earth 
 VVinds under ground, or waters forcing way. 
 Sidelong had push'd a mountain from his seat 
 Half sunk with all his pines. Amazement seiz'd 
 The relK'l thrones, but greater rage to see 
 Thus foil'd their mightiest: ours joy fiU'd, and shout. 
 Presage of victory, and fierce desire 
 Of battle : whereat Michael bid sound 
 Th* arrh-angel trumjHn ; through the vast of Heav'n 
 It sounded, and the faithful armies rung 
 Hosnnnah to the High'st : nor sftxxl at gaze 
 The adverse legions, nor lc-.s hideous join'd 
 The horrid shock : now storming; fury rose 
 And clamour, such as heard in lleavu till now 
 Was never; arms on arm(;ur dashing bray'd 
 Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 
 Of brazen chariots rag'd ; dire was the noise 
 Of conflict ; over head the dismal hiss 
 Of tierv darts in fi.uning vollics flew. 
 And flyins^ vaulted either host with tire. 
 So luider fierv cojx' together rush'd 
 Roth battles niain, with uiinous a-isanlt 
 And inc\^ill^ui^hable rage ; all Heav'n 
 Ucsoundfd, and had Karth been then, all F!arth 
 Had to lur centre shook. What wonder ? when 
 Millions of ficrce-encount'ring ;ingcls fought
 
 120 MILTON. Booi 
 
 On either side, the least of whom could wield 
 These elements, and arm him with the force 
 Of all their regions : how much more of power 
 Army against army numberless to raise. 
 Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb. 
 Though not destroy, their happy native seat ; 
 Had not th' eternal King omnipotent 
 From his strong hold of Heav'n high over-rul'd. 
 And limited their might ; though number'd such 
 As each divided legion might have seem'd 
 A numerous host 5 in strength each armed hand 
 A legion ; led in fight, yet leader seem'd 
 Each warrior; single as in chief, expert 
 When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway 
 Of battle, open when, and when to close 
 The ridges of grim War : no thought of flight, 
 None of retreat, no unbecoming deed 
 That argued fear; each on himself rely 'd. 
 As only in his arm the moment lay 
 Of victory ; deeds of eternal fame 
 Were done, but infinite ; for wide was spread 
 That war, and various, sometimes on firm ground 
 A standing fight, then soaring on main wing 
 Tormented all the air ; all air seem'd then 
 Conflicting fire ; long time in even scale 
 The battle hung ; till Satan, who that day 
 Prodigious power had shewn, and met in arms 
 No equal, ranging through the dire attack 
 Of fighting seraphim, confus'd, at length 
 Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and fell'd 
 Squadrons at once ; with huge two-handed sway 
 Erandish'd aloft the horrid edge came down 
 Wide wasting ; such destruction to withstand 
 He hasted, and oppos'd the rocky orb 
 Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield, 
 A vast circumference : at his approach 
 The great arch-angel from his warlike toil 
 Surceas'd, and glad, as hoping here to end 
 Intestine war in Heav'n, th' Arch-foe subdu'd 
 Or captive dragg'd in chains, with hostile frown 
 And visage all inflam'd first thus began : 
 Author of evil, unknown till tliy revolt.
 
 BOOK VI. PARADISE LOST. 121 
 
 Unnaru'd in Hcav'n, now plenteous, as thou seest 
 
 These acts of Wtetul strife, hateful to all, 
 
 Thou;;h heaviest by just measure on thyself 
 
 And thy adherents: how hast thou disturb'd 
 
 Heav'n's blessed peace, and into Nature brought 
 
 Misery, uncreated till tlie crime 
 
 Of thy rel)elliou! how hast thou instill'd 
 
 Thy malice into thousands, once upright 
 
 And faill'.fiil, now prov'd false ! but think not here 
 
 To trouble holy rest : Heav'n casts thee out 
 
 From all her confines. Heav'n, the seat of bliss, 
 
 l^rooks not the works of Violence and \N'ar. 
 
 Hence then, and evil go with thee -ilong. 
 
 Thy olfspriiig, to the place of evil, Hell ; 
 
 Thuu and t!iy wicked crew ; there mingle broils. 
 
 E'er this avenging sword begin thy doom. 
 
 Or some more sudden vengeance, wingd from God, 
 
 Precipitate tliee with augmented pain. 
 
 So spake the Trince of Angels ; to whom thus 
 The adversary. Nor think tiiou with wind 
 Of airy threats to awe whom yet with tleeils 
 riiou canst not. Hast tlion tiirn'd the least of these 
 'i'o tlight ? or if to fall, but that tiiey rise 
 Unvancjuish'd ; easier to transact witii nie 
 'i'hat thou shouldst hope, imperious I and with threats 
 To chase me hence? err not tli:it so sljall end 
 I'he strife whicli thou call'st Evil, but we style 
 Tlie strife of Glory ; which we mean tu win. 
 Or turn this Heav'n itself into the Hell 
 Thou fablest; here however to dwell free, 
 If not to reign : meanwhile thy utmost force, 
 (And jf>in him nam'd Almighty to iliy ai'!,) 
 I tly not, but have sought thee far and nigli. ^ 
 
 Tlicy ended parle, and both address'd tor fight 
 Unspeakable ; for who though with the tong\ic 
 Of angels, can relate, or to what things 
 I-iken )n earth conspicuous, tliat may lift 
 Human imagination to such height 
 )f godlike power ? for likest gods they seem'd, 
 SI(kk1 (hey or mov'd, in stature, motion, arms; 
 Fit to decide the empire of great Heav'n. 
 Now wav'd their fiery swords, and in the air 
 VOL. I. o
 
 123 MILTON. BOOK Yi. 
 
 Made horrid circles ; two broad suns their shields 
 
 Blaz'd opposite, while Expectation stood 
 
 In horror; from each hand with speed retir'd. 
 
 Where erst was thickest tight, th' angelic throng. 
 
 And left large lield, unsafe within the wind 
 
 Of such commotion ; such, as (to set forth 
 
 Great things by small) if Nature's concord broke. 
 
 Among the constellations war were sprung. 
 
 Two planets rushing from aspect malign 
 
 Of fiercest opposition in mid sky 
 
 Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound. 
 
 Together both with next to almighty arm 
 
 Uplifted imminent, one stroke they aim'd 
 
 That might determine, and not need repeat, 
 
 As not of power at once j nor odds appear'd 
 
 In might or swift prevention : but the sword 
 
 Of Michael, from the armoury of God, 
 
 Was giv'n him temper'd so, that neither keen 
 
 Nor solid might resist that edge : it met 
 
 The sword of Satan with steep force to smite 
 
 Descending, and in half cut sheer; nor staid. 
 
 But with swift wheel reverse, deep ent'ring, shar'd 
 
 All his right side : then Satan first knew pain. 
 
 And writh'd him to and fro convolv'd; so sore 
 
 The griding sword with discontinuous wound 
 
 Pass'd through him : but the ethereal substance clos'd. 
 
 Not long divisible; and from the gash 
 
 A stream of nect'rous humour issuing llowd 
 
 Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed, 
 
 And all his armour stain'd ere wjiile so bright. 
 
 Porthwith on all sides to his aid was run 
 
 By angels many and strong, who interpos'd 
 
 Defence, while others bore him on their shields 
 
 Back to his chariot, where it stood retir'd 
 
 From off the files of war; there they him laid. 
 
 Gnashing for anguish, and despite and shame. 
 
 To find himself not matchless, and his pride 
 
 Humbled by such rebuke, so far beneath 
 
 His confidence to equal God in power. 
 
 Yet soon he heal'd; for sp'rits that live throughout 
 
 Vital in every part, not as frail man 
 
 In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins^ 
 
 Cannot but by annihilating die ;
 
 uooK Ti. PARADISE LOST. 125 
 
 Nor in their liquid texture mortal wound 
 Receive; no more than can the fluid air: 
 All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear. 
 All intellect, all sense ; and as they please. 
 They limb iliem'^elvcs, and colour, shape and size 
 Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare. 
 
 Meanwhile in other parts like deeds dcser\'d 
 Memorial, where the might of Gabriel foi:ght. 
 And with fierce ensigns pierc'd the deep array 
 Of Moloch, furious king; who him defy'd. 
 And at his chariot wheels to drag him bound 
 Threatend, nor from the Holy One of Heav'n 
 Refrain'd his tongue blasphemous: but anon 
 Down clov'n to ilie waist, with shatter'd arms 
 And uncouth pain fled bellowing. On each wing 
 Uriel and Raphael his vaunting foe, 
 Thougli huge, and in a rock of diamond arm'd, 
 Vanquish'd Adramelech and Asmadia, 
 Two potent thrones, that to be less than go<ls 
 Disilain'd, but meaner thoughts Icarn'd in their flight. 
 Mangled with ghastly wounds throo::h plate and mail. 
 Nor sIckkI unmindful Aldiel to annoy 
 liic atheist crew, but m ilh redoubled blow 
 Arid and Ariocb, and the violence 
 Of llamicl scorchd and blasted overthrew. 
 I njiglit relate of thousands, and their names 
 Kternizc here on earth ; but those elect 
 Angels, contented with their fame in Heav'n, 
 Seek not the praise of men : the other sort, 
 In might though wondrous, and in acts of war, 
 Nor of renown less eager, yet by doom 
 CancelM from Heav'n and sacred memnry. 
 Nameless in dark oblivion let tlu ni dwell. 
 For strength from truth divided, ;!nd from just, 
 Illaudablc, nought merits but dispraise 
 Ami iguuniiny ; yet to glory aspires 
 \'ain-gl()rious, and through itit.imy .seeks func . 
 'iherelijre eternal silence i)e their doom. 
 
 And now their mightiest quell'd, the ir.ttlc swei\'J, 
 NN ith many an inro.id gor'd; deformed rout 
 Knter'd. and tbul di-order; all the grour.d 
 \N ith shiver'd armour strown, and on a heap 
 G 2
 
 124 MILTON. BOOK VI 
 
 Chariot and charioteer lay overturn 'd. 
 
 And fiery foaming steeds: what stood recoil'd 
 
 O'erwearied, though the fr.int Satanic host 
 
 Defensive scarce, or with pale fear surpris'd. 
 
 Then first with fear surpris'd and sense of pain. 
 
 Fled ignominious, to such evil breught 
 
 By sin of disobedience, till that hour 
 
 Not liable to fear, or flight, or pain. 
 
 Far otherwise th' inviolable saints 
 
 Jn cubic phalanx firm advanc'd entire. 
 
 Invulnerable, impenetrably arm'd ; 
 
 Such high advantages their innocence 
 
 Gave them above their foes ; not to have sinn'd. 
 
 Not to have disobey'dj in fight they stood 
 
 Unwearied, ur.obnoxious to be p-iin'd 
 
 By wound, tliough from their place by violence mov'd. 
 
 Now Night her course began, and over Ileav'n 
 Inducing darkness, grateful truce impos'd. 
 And silence on the odious din of Wcr : 
 Under her cloudy covert both retir'd, 
 Victor and vanquish'd : on the foughten field 
 Michael and his angels prevalent 
 Encamping, plac'd in guard their watches round. 
 Cherubic waving fires : on th' other part 
 Satsn, with his rebellious disappear'd. 
 Far in the dark dislodg'd: and void of rest. 
 His Potentates to council call'd by night 3 
 And in the midst thus undismay'd began : 
 
 O ! now in danger Iry'd, now known in arms 
 Not to be overpower'd, Companions dear. 
 Found worthy not of liberty alone. 
 Too mean pretence, but what we more affect. 
 Honour, dominion, glory and renown ; 
 Who have sustain'd one day in doubtful fight 
 (And if one day, why not eternal days?) 
 What Heaven's Lord had powerfnllest to send 
 Against us from about his throne, andj'udg'd 
 Sufficient to subdue us to his will. 
 But proves not so ; then fallible, it seem?. 
 Of future we may deem him, tliough till now 
 Omniscient thought. True is, less firmly arm'd. 
 Some disadvantage we endur'd and pain.
 
 BOOH VI. PARADISE LOST. 1 25 
 
 Till now not known, but known, as soon contemn'd; 
 
 Since now we find this our empyreal form 
 
 Incapable of mortal injury. 
 
 Imperishable ; ami though pierc'd with wound. 
 
 Soon closing, and by native vigour heal'd, 
 
 C>f evil then so small as easy think 
 
 The remedy j perliaps more valid arms, 
 
 Weajwns more violent, when next we meet. 
 
 May serve to better us, and worse our foes : 
 
 Or equal what between us made the odds. 
 
 In nature none: if other hidden cause 
 
 Left them superior, while we can preserve 
 
 l.'nhurt our minds and understanding sound. 
 
 Due search and consultation will disclose. 
 
 He sat ; and in th' assembly next upstood 
 Kisroch, of principalities the prime ; 
 As one he stood escap'd from cruel fight. 
 Sore toil'd, his riven arms to havoc hewn, 
 And chnuiy in aspect thus answ'ring spake: 
 
 De'ivcrer fp )ni new lords, leader to tree 
 Knjoyment of our right as go<lsi yet liard 
 For gods, and too nu'tjual work we find, 
 Again-it une<ivial arms to fight in pain, 
 Against unpaiti'd, impassive; from whli h evil 
 Ruin must neeils ensue; tor what avails 
 Valour or strength, though niafchl- ss, quell'd wit'i pain 
 Which all subJues, aul makes rnniss tlie hands 
 Of mightiest? Sense of pleasure we may well 
 Spare out of lite jH'rh.ips, and not repine, 
 Ikit live content, which is the calmest life : 
 f5ut j)ain is perfect misery, the worst 
 Of evils, and excessive, overturns 
 All patience. He who therefore can invent 
 \\ itii what more forcible we may olft-nd 
 Our yet un wounded enemies, or arm 
 Ourselves with like defence, to mv (lc>?rves 
 No less f.'ian for deliverance what ue owe. 
 
 Whereto, with lo'>k compos'd, Satan replyM : 
 Not uniiiventcd that, which thou aright 
 Keli -v'st so main to our success, 1 bring. 
 Whit h of us who beholds the bright surface 
 Ot Llii> cthcreous mould whereon wo *tand
 
 12(5 MILTON. BOOK VI. 
 
 This continent of spacious Heav'n, adorn'd 
 
 With plant, fruit, flow'r ambrosial, gems and gold ; 
 
 Whose eye so superficially surveys 
 
 These things, as not to mind from whence they grow 
 
 Deep under ground, materials dark and crude, 
 
 Of spiritous and hery spume, till touch'd 
 
 With Heav'n's ray, and temper'd, they shoot forth 
 
 So beauteous, op'ning to the ambient light } 
 
 These, in their dark nativity, the deep 
 
 Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal flame ; 
 
 Which into hollow engines long and round 
 
 Thick ramm'd, at th' other bore with touch of fire 
 
 Dilated, and infuriate, shall send fortli 
 
 From far, with thund'ring noise, among our foes 
 
 Such implements of mischief, as shall dash 
 
 To pieces, and o'erv.dielm whatever stands 
 
 Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarm 'd 
 
 The thund'rer of his only dreaded bolt. 
 
 Nor long shall be our labour; yet ere dawn. 
 
 Effect shall end our wish. Meanw hile revive; 
 
 Abandon fear; to strength and counsel join'd 
 
 Think nothing hard, much less to be despair'd. 
 
 He ended; and his words their drooping cheer 
 Enlighten'd, and their languish'd hope reviv'd. 
 Th' invention all admir'd, and each, how he 
 To be th' inventor miss'd ; so easy' it seem'd 
 Once found, which yet unfound, most would have 
 Impossible : yet haply of thy race [thought 
 
 In future days, if malice should abound. 
 Some one intent on mischief, or inspir'd 
 With devilish machination, might devise 
 Like instrument to plague the sons of men 
 For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent. 
 Forthv>ith from council to the work they flewj 
 None arguing stood : innumerable hands 
 Were ready ; in a moment up they turn'd 
 Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath 
 Ih' originals of Nature in their crude 
 Conception ; sulphurous and nitrous foam 
 They found, they mingled ; and with subtile art. 
 Concocted and adusted, they reduc'd 
 To blackest grain, and into store convey'd: 
 Part hidden Acins digg'd up (nor hath this earth
 
 BOOK Yi. PARADISE LOST. 12/ 
 
 Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone. 
 Whereof to found their engines and their balls 
 Of missive ruin j part incentive reed 
 Provide, pernicious with one touch of fire. 
 So all ere day-spring, under conscious Night, 
 Secret they finish'd, nnd -n order set. 
 With silent circumspection, unespy'd. 
 
 Now, when fair murn orient in Heav'n appear'd. 
 Up rose tlie victor Angels, and to arms 
 The matin trumpet sung: in arms they stood 
 Of golden panoply, refulgent host I 
 Soon banded : others from the dawning hills 
 Ivook'd round, and scouts each coast light-armed scour 
 Each quarter, to descry the distant foe. 
 Where lodg'd, or whither fled, or if for fight. 
 In motion or in halt: liim soon they met. 
 Under spread ensigns, moving nigh, in slow. 
 But firm battalion; back with speediest sail 
 Zophii-l, of Chenibim the swiftest wiu'^, 
 Came tlying, and, in mid air, aloud llius cry'd : 
 
 Arm, Warriors, arm fur fight; the foe at hand. 
 Whom fk'<l wc thought, will .save us long pursuit 
 'Jliisday; fear not his flight; so thick a cloud 
 He comes, and settled in his face I see 
 Sad resolution, and secure: let each 
 His adamantine coat gird well, and each 
 Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield. 
 Borne ev'n or high; for this day will pour down. 
 If I conjecture aught, no dri/zling shower, 
 But rattling storm of arrows barb'd with fire. 
 
 So :rn'd he them, aware themselves, and soon 
 In order, quit of all impediment. 
 Instant, without disturb, they took alarm. 
 Anil onward move rmbattl'd; when, behold 
 Not distant far, with lie:ivy pace, the fo;.' 
 Approacljing gross a:id huge, in hollow cube. 
 Training his devilish cngin'rv, impal'd 
 On every bide with sh.idowiiig squadrons deep. 
 To iiide the fraud. At interview botli stood 
 Awhile; but suddenly at head apiK'ard 
 Satan ; and thus was heard connnnnding loud: 
 
 V'angiurd, to right and left, the front unfold; 
 o 4
 
 128 MILTON. BOOK VI, 
 
 That all may see, who hate us, how we seek 
 Peace and composure, and, with open breast^ 
 Stand ready to receive them, if they like 
 Our overture, and turn not back perverse ; 
 But that I doubt; however, witness Heavn, 
 tieav'n, witness thou anon, while we discharge 
 Freely our part j ye who appointed, stand. 
 Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch 
 What we propound, and loud, that all may hear. 
 
 So scoffing, in ambiguous words, he scarce 
 Had ended; when, to right and left, the front 
 Divided, and to either flank retir'd : 
 Which to our eyes discover'd, new and strange, 
 A triple mounted row of pillars laid 
 Oh wheels (for like to pillars most they seem'd,, 
 Or hollow'd bodies made of oak or flr. 
 With branches lopt in wood or mountain fell'd) 
 Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths. 
 With hideous orifice, gap'd on us wide. 
 Portending hollow truce : at each behind 
 A Seraph stood, and in his hand a reed 
 Stood waving, tipt with fire; while we suspense 
 Collected stood, within our thoughts amus'd. 
 Not long ; for sudden all at once their reeds 
 Put forth, and to a narrow vent apply'd. 
 With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame. 
 But soon obscur"d with smoke, all Heav'n appear'd. 
 From those deep-throated engines belch'd, whose roar 
 Embowel'd with outrageous noise the air. 
 And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul 
 Their devilish glut, chain'd thunderbolts and hail 
 Of iron globes; which on the victor host 
 I.evell'd with such impetuous fury smote. 
 That v/hom they hit, none on their feet might stand, 
 Tho' standing else as rocks, bi.t down they fell 
 By thousands, angel on arch-angel roU'd; 
 The sooner for their arms 3 unarra'd they might 
 Have easily as sp'rits evaded swift 
 By quick contraction, or remove; but now 
 Foul dissipation follow'd, and forc'd rout; 
 Nor scrv'd it to relax their serried files. 
 What should tliey do? If on they rush'd, repulse 
 Bepeatedj and indecent overthrow
 
 BOOK VI. PARADISE LOST. 129 
 
 Doubled, wouM render tljem yet more despis'd. 
 
 And to their foes a laughter } for in view 
 
 Stood raiik'd ofserapliiin another row. 
 
 In posture to displode their second tire 
 
 Of thunder ; back defeated to return 
 
 They worse abhorr'd. Satan beheld their plight. 
 
 And to his mates thus in derision call'd: 
 
 O I'Yiends, why come not on these victors proul? 
 Erewhile tliey tierce were coining ; and when we 
 To entertain them fair with open front 
 And breast (what could we niore?) propounded terms 
 Of compcjsition, straight they chang'd their minds. 
 Flew olf, and into strange vagaries fell. 
 As they would dance ; yet for a dance they seem'd 
 Somewhat extravagant and wild : perhaps 
 For joy of ofier'd peace : but I suppose. 
 If our proiK)sals once again were heard. 
 We should compel tliem to a (piick result. 
 
 To whom thus Reiial, in like gamesome mooti : 
 J.eadcr, the terms we sent were terms of weight. 
 Of hard contents, and full of force urg'd home. 
 Such as wc might perceive amused them all. 
 And stumbled niany ; wlio receives them right. 
 Had need from head to f >ot well understand ; 
 Not understood, this gift they have besides. 
 They shew us when our foes walk not upright. 
 
 So they among themselves, in pleasant vein. 
 Stood scoffing, heighten'd in their thoughts beyond 
 All doubt of victory : Kternal might 
 To match with their inventions they presum'd 
 So easy*, and of his thunder made a scorn. 
 And all his host derided, while they stood 
 Awhilf in trouble, but tiiey stood not long; 
 Uage prompted them at length, and found them arms 
 Against such hellish mischief tit t' oppose. 
 Forthwith (behold the excc-llince, the power. 
 Which (iod hath in his mighty angels placd) 
 Their arms away t!uv throw, and to the hills 
 ^For Eartlj hith tiiis variety trom Hea\'n 
 Of pltM-,ur. sitiute in hill and dale) 
 Iai;!it as t!ir li-^hining glimpse they ran, they llc'.vj 
 I'Vom th.cir toundations liM)s"iung to and Iro' 
 u 5
 
 ]30 MILTON. EooKVr. 
 
 They pluck'd the seated hills, with all their load. 
 
 Rocks, waters, woods, and by their shaggy tops. 
 
 Uplifting bore them in their hands : amaze. 
 
 Be sure, and terror, seiz'd the rebel host. 
 
 When coming towards them so dread they saw 
 
 The bottom of the mountains up\iard turn'd; 
 
 Till on those cursed engines' triple row 
 
 They saw them whelm'd, and all their confidence 
 
 Under the weight of mountains buried deep ; 
 
 Themselves invaded next, and on their heads 
 
 Main promontories flung, which in the air 
 
 Came shadowing, and oppress'd whole legions arm'd ; 
 
 Their armour help'd their harm, crush'd in and brnis'd 
 
 Into their su))stance pent, which wrought them pain 
 
 Implacable, and many a dolorous groan ; 
 
 Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind 
 
 Out of such pris'n, tho' Sp'rits of purest light; 
 
 Purest at first, now gross by sinning grov/n. 
 
 The rest in imitation to like arms 
 
 Betook them, and the neighb'ring hills uptore j 
 
 So hills, amid the air, encomiter'd hills, 
 
 Hurl'd to and fro with jaculation dire. 
 
 That under ground they fought in dismal shades 
 
 Infernal noise ; war seem'd a civil game 
 
 To this uproar j horrid confusion heap'd 
 
 Upon confusion rose : and now all Heav'n 
 
 Had gone to wreck, with ruin overspread. 
 
 Had not th' Almighty Father, where he sits 
 
 Shrin'd in his sanctuary of Heav'n secure. 
 
 Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen 
 
 This tumult, and permitted all, advis'd : 
 
 That his great purpose he might so fulfil. 
 
 To honour his anointed Son, aveng'd 
 
 Upon his enemies, and to declare 
 
 All power on him transferr'd: whence to his Son, 
 
 Th' assessor of his throne, he thus began : 
 
 Effulgence of my glory. Son belov'd, 
 Son, in whose face invisible is beheld 
 Visibly, what by deity I am. 
 And in whose hand what by decree I do. 
 Second Omnipotence, two days are past, 
 (Two days, as we compute the days of Heav'n,)
 
 BOOK VI. PARADISE LOST. 131 
 
 Since Michael and his powers went forth to tame 
 
 These disobedient : sore hath been their fight. 
 
 As likeliest was, when two such foes met arm'd; 
 
 For to themselves! left them, and thou know'st. 
 
 Equal in their creation ihey were forni'd. 
 
 Save what sin hath iinpalr'd, which yet hath wrought 
 
 Insensibly ; for I suspend their doom ; 
 
 Whence in perpetual fight they needs must last 
 
 Endless, and no solution will be found : 
 
 War wearied lialh performed what war can do. 
 
 And to disorder'd rage let loose the reins, 
 
 Willi mountains as with weapons arm'd, which makes 
 
 Wild work in Heav'n, and dangerous to the main. 
 
 Two days are therefore past ; the third is thine j 
 
 For thee I have ordain'd it, and thus far 
 
 Have suflTer'd, that the glory may be thine 
 
 Of ending this great war, since none but thou 
 
 Can end it. Into thee such virtue and grace 
 
 Immense I have transfus'd, that all may know 
 
 In Heav'n and Hell thy power above compare _j 
 
 And this ^>cr^erse commotion govern"d thus. 
 
 To manifest tliee worthiest to be Heir 
 
 Of all things ; to be Heir and to be King 
 
 Dy sacred unction, thy deserved right. 
 
 Go then, thou Mightiest, in thy Father's might. 
 
 Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels 
 
 That shake Heav'n s basis, bring forth all my war. 
 
 My bow and thunder, my Almighty arms 
 
 Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh. 
 
 Pursue these sons of darkness, drive them out 
 
 I'rom all Ileav'n's bounds into the utter deep: 
 
 'I'here k-t them leani, as likes them, to despise 
 
 God, and Messiah, his anointed King. 
 
 He said, and on his Son with rays direct 
 Shone full ; he all his Father full expreb>,d 
 Intffably into his face receiv'd ; 
 And thus the filial Gfxlhead answ'ring sp;iko : 
 
 O Falhir, O Supreme of he.jv'nly throut-s ! 
 F.rst, Highest, Holiest, Best, thou always bcek':>t 
 'i') glorify thy son, I always thee, 
 .\s is n^oii just ; iliis I my glory ac( cnmt, 
 (i
 
 132 MILTON. BOOK VI. 
 
 My exaltation, and my whole delight, 
 
 That thou in me well pleas d, declar'st thy will 
 
 Fulfilld, which to fulfil is all my bliss. 
 
 Sceptre, and power, thy giving, 1 assume ; 
 
 And gladlier shall resign, when, in the end. 
 
 Thou shalt be all and all, and I in thee 
 
 Fer ever ; and in me all whom thou lov'st : 
 
 But whom thou hat'st, I hate, and can put on 
 
 Thy terrors, as I put thy mildness on, 
 
 Image of thee in all things ; and shall soon, 
 
 Arm'd with thy might, rid Heavn of these rebell'd.; 
 
 To their prepar'd ill mansion driven down. 
 
 To chains of darkness, and the undying worm: 
 
 That from thy just obedience could revolt, 
 
 ^Vhom to obey is happiness entire. 
 
 Then shall thy saints unmixd, and from th' impure 
 
 Par separate, circling thy holy Mount 
 
 Unfeigned hallelujahs to thee sing. 
 
 Hymns of high praise, and I among them chief. 
 
 So said, he o'er his sceptre bowing, rose 
 From the right hand of Glory where he sat j 
 And the third sacred morn began to shine. 
 Dawning through Heav'n : forth rush'd v.ith whirlwind 
 
 sound 
 The chariot of paternal Deity, 
 
 Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel undrawn. 
 Itself instinct with spirit, but convoy'd 
 By four cherubic shapes ; four faces each 
 Had wond'rous ; as with stars their bodies all 
 And wings were set with eyes, with eyes the wheels 
 Of beryl, and careering fires between j 
 Over their heads a crystal firmament. 
 Where a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure 
 Amber, and colours of the show'ry arch. 
 He in celestial panoply all arm'd 
 Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought. 
 Ascended 3 at his right hand Victory 
 Sat eagle-wing'd ; beside him hung his bow 
 And quiver, with three-bolted thunder stor'd. 
 And from about him fierce effusion roll'd 
 Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkles dire :
 
 BOOK VI. PARADISE LOST. ^ 133 
 
 Attended with ten tin usand thousand saints. 
 
 He onward cam? ; tar otf' his coming shone ; 
 
 And twenty tho'is.nn.! (I their nniiibfr heard) 
 
 Chariots (A God, haT en eacli hand were seen : 
 
 He f)H tlie wings of Chenib ro !e sublime 
 
 On the crystalline sky, in sapphTre thron'd^ 
 
 Illastrious far and wido, rut bv his own 
 
 Kirst seen; them unexpected joy surpris'd. 
 
 When the great ensig.i of Messiah blaz'd, 
 
 Aloft by angels borne, his sign in Heav'nj 
 
 I 'nder whose conduct Michael soon reduc'd 
 
 His army, circnmfusd on either wing, 
 
 L'nder their hcail embodied all in one. 
 
 Before him Pou er divine his way prepar'd ; 
 
 At his command th' upr.xited hills retir'd 
 
 Kach to his place ; they heard his voice, and went 
 
 ObstHjuious ; Heav'n his wonted t'Ace renewM, 
 
 And wiili ^'^e^!l llow'relM hill and valley smil'd. 
 
 riiis saw his h ipless tix?s, but st(H^l obtlur'd. 
 
 And to rclK'Uious tight rallied their powers 
 
 Insensate, hope conceiving from despair. 
 
 In heav'niy sprits coidd suth jjetverscness dwell? 
 
 Hut to convii.ce the proud what signs avail, 
 
 ( )r Wonders move th' olxlurate to relent, 
 
 They harden'd more by what might most reclaim, 
 
 (irieving to see his glory, at the sight 
 
 Took envy; and aspiring to his height, 
 
 Stood rcimbnttl'd tierce, by force or fraud 
 
 Weening to prosper, and at length prevail 
 
 Against Ciod and Messiah, or to fall 
 
 In uni\ersal ruin last ; and now 
 
 To tinal battle drew, disdaining tlight. 
 
 Or flint retreat : when the great Son of God 
 
 To all his hosts on either hand thus spake : 
 
 Staml still in bright array, )e Saints, here stand 
 Ve angels arm'd ! this day from battle rest ; 
 Faithful hath b<'en your warfare, and of Gixl 
 Accepted, fearless in his righteous cause ; 
 And as ye have received, so have ye done 
 Invincibly -, but of this cursed crew 
 The punishment to other hand Ix'longs; 
 Vengeance is his, or whose he sole appoints:
 
 134 MILTON. BOOK VI. 
 
 Number to this day's work is not ordain' d. 
 Nor multitude ; stand only and behold 
 God's indignation on these godless pourd 
 By me ; not you but me they have despis'd, 
 Yet envied ; against me is all their rage. 
 Because the Father, to' whom in Heav'n supreme 
 Kingdom, and power, and glory appertains. 
 Hath honour'd me according to his will. 
 Therefore to me their doom he hath assign'd ; 
 That they may have their wish, to try with me 
 In battle which the stronger proves 5 they all. 
 Or I alone against them, since by strength 
 They measure all, of other excellence 
 Not emulous, nor care who them excels ; 
 Nor other strife with them do I vouchsafe. 
 
 So spake the Son, and into terror chang'd 
 His count'nance, too severe to be beheld I 
 And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 
 At once the Four spread out their starry wings 
 With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs 
 Of bis fierce chariot roU'd, as w^ith the sound 
 Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 
 He on his impious foes right onward drove. 
 Gloomy as night ; under his burning wheels 
 The steadfast empyrean shook throughout. 
 All but the throne itself of God. Full soon 
 Among them he arriv'd, in his right hand 
 Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
 Before him, such as in their souls inlix'd 
 Plagues ; they astonish'd, all resistance lost. 
 All courage} down their idle weapons dropt; 
 O'er shields and helms and helmed heads he rode, 
 Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate. 
 That wish'd the mountains now might be again 
 Thrown on them as a shelter from his ire. 
 Nor less on either side tempestuous fell 
 His arrows from the four-fold visag'd Four 
 Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels 
 Distinct alike with multitude of eyes 3 
 One spirit in them rul'd, and every eye 
 Glar'd light'ning, and shot forth pernicious fire 
 Among th' accurs'd, that wither'd all their strength
 
 KooK VI. TARADISK LOST. 13* 
 
 And of their woiuetl vigour lefi them draiii'd, 
 
 Exhau-.tpd, spiritless, nffliiicJ, fall'n. 
 
 Yet halt' his slron;^lli he put not Ibrth, bat chcck'd 
 
 His tiiutulcr in i.iid vcUy ; Tor he meant 
 
 Not to destroy, but root them out of Heavu : 
 
 The overthiowii he rals'i!, and as a herd 
 
 Of goats or liiii'rous tlock, together t'l.rong'd. 
 
 Drove ihttn before him thunder-struck, pursued 
 
 With terrors and \\ ith furies to the bounds 
 
 And cr)st;:l wall (;f lleav'n, wliich opening wide, 
 
 lloird inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd 
 
 Into the wasteful Deep; the monstrous sight 
 
 Struck liieni \^ ith horror backwards : but lar worse 
 
 Urg'il them behind; headlong themselves they threw 
 
 Dow n from the verge of Hcav'n ; eternal Wrath 
 
 BurnM after them to the bottomless pit. 
 
 Hell heard th' unsulferable noise; Hell saw 
 Heav'n ruining tVom Hi'av'n, and would have fled 
 AilVighted : but strict I'atc had cast Ux) deep 
 Her dark foundations, and \oo fast had bound. 
 Nine days they fell : confounded Chaos roar'd. 
 And felt tenfiild c( nfusion in their fall 
 U'hrough iiis wild anarchy, so huge a rout 
 Incumbcr'd him with ruin : Hell at last 
 Yawning rrcciv'd them whole, and on them clos'd; 
 Hell their tit habitation, fraught with fire 
 Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. 
 Disburden'd Heav'n rejoic'd, and soon repair'd 
 Her mural breach, returning whence it roll'd. 
 Sole victor from ih' expulsion of his foes, 
 Messiah his triumphal chariot turn'd : 
 To meet him all his saints, who silent stood 
 Eye-witnesses of his almighty acts. 
 With jubilee advanc'd; and as they went. 
 Shaded with branching palm, each order bright 
 Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King, 
 Son, Heir, and Ixjrd, to him dominion given. 
 Worthiest to reign ; he celebrated rode 
 Triumph.int thruiigh mid Heav'n, into the courts 
 Anil temple of his mighty Father thron'd 
 On high ; wlio into glory him recciv'd. 
 Where now lie siti at the riglit hand of bliw.
 
 136 MILTON. BOOK VII. 
 
 Thus measuring things in Heav'n by things en earth. 
 At thy re(]iiest, and that thou may'st beware 
 By what is past, to thee I have reveal'cl 
 What might have else to human race been hidj 
 The discord which betel, and war in Heav'n 
 Among th' angelic powers, and the deep tall 
 Of those too high aspiring, who rebell'd 
 With Satan ; he who envies now thy state. 
 Who now is plotting how he may seduce 
 Thee also from obedience, that with him 
 Bereav'd of happiness thou may'st partake 
 His punishment, eternal misery; 
 Which would be all his solace and revenge. 
 As a despite done against the Most High, 
 Thee once to gain companion of his woe. 
 But listen not to his temptations j warn 
 Thy weaker ; let it jjrolit thee to' have heard. 
 By terrible example, the reward 
 Of disobedience ; firm they might have stood. 
 Yet fell ; remember and fear to transgress. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Raphael, at the request of Adam, relates how and wherefore this 
 world was first created; that God, after the expelling of Satan 
 and his angels out of Heaven, declared his pleasure to create 
 another world and other creatures to dwell therein; sends his 
 Son '.vith glory and attendance of angels, to perform the work of 
 creation in six days : the angels ceiehratc with hvmns the per- 
 formance thcreot, and his re-ascension into Heaven. 
 
 l^ESCEXD from Heav'n, Urania, by that name 
 
 If riihtly thou art call'd, whose voice divine 
 
 Following, above th' Olympian hill I soar. 
 
 Above the flight of Pegasean \^ing. 
 
 The meaning, not the name, 1 call : for thou. 
 
 Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top 
 
 Of old Olympus dwell'st, but heav'nly born. 
 
 Before the hills appear'd, or fountain flow'd,. 
 
 Thou with eternal wisdom didst converse,
 
 BOOK vii. PARADISE LOST. 
 
 Wisdom thy sister, niul willi her didst play 
 In j)resence ottli' AJniiijhly Kithcr, plcas'd 
 With thy celestial song. I'plcJ by tlicc 
 Into the Heiv'n ot" Heav'ns, I hast' prosimi'd. 
 An cartlily <;ncsl, and drawn empyrvai air, 
 Thy teaip'rini; ; v. iiii like safety [guided down 
 luturn nie to my nalivj cleaif-nt : 
 J^st tVoiii this rt ; ing steed iinrein'd, (as once 
 15eiiero})hon. thvj' tVum a lower clinic) 
 Dismounted, on lii" .Vlcian field I fall 
 Krnineons there to wander, and lorlorn. 
 H df yet remains unsung, but narrower bound 
 Within the visible diurnal sphere; 
 Standing on earth, nor r.ipl above the pole, 
 More safe I .sing with mortal.voice, unchang'd 
 To hoar.sc or mule, tho" fiU'n on evil days. 
 On evil days tliough fall'n and evil tongues; 
 In darkness, and with dangers cimpi-.s"d round. 
 And solitude; yet not alone, while thou 
 \ isit'st my slumbers nightly, or when Morn 
 I'urples the east : still govern thou my song, 
 Urani.i, and tit audience fnid, tho' few : 
 But drive far otVihe barbarous dis.sonance 
 Of IJacchiis antl his revellers, the race 
 Of th.it wild rout tii.it tore thcThracian bard 
 In Rlio<lcpe, where woods and rocks had ears 
 To rapture, till the savage clamour drown'd 
 Both harp and voice ; nor could the .\Iusc defend 
 Her son. So fail not tliou, who thee implores : 
 For thou art heavenly, s!ie an empty dream. 
 
 S ly, Goddess, wliat ensued, w lien Raphael, 
 Tiie altable Arcli-angel, had torcwarn'd 
 Ad.ini, by dire e\anipie, to bew.ire 
 .\posiacy, by what betel in lleav'n 
 To those apostates, lest the like befal 
 In Paradise, to Adam or his race, 
 Cliarg'd not to ti;uch the interdicted tree. 
 If they transgress, and slight that sole command. 
 So ea^iiy obey d amid the choice 
 Of all tjitrs el>e t( please their apj>etite, 
 'Iho' wand'ring. He, with his contorted Kvc, 
 Tlie story heard attentive, and was liil'd 
 With admiration, atid deep niuc, to hr.ir
 
 138 MILTOI^. BOOK VII. 
 
 Of things so high and strange; things to their thought 
 
 So unimaginable as hate in Heav'n, 
 
 And war so near the peace of God in bliss. 
 
 With such confusion : but the evil soon, 
 
 Driv'n back, redounded as a flood on those 
 
 From whom it sprung, impossible to mix 
 
 With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repeal'd 
 
 The doubts that in his heart arose : and now 
 
 Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know 
 
 (What nearer might concern him,) how this world 
 
 Of Heav'n and Earth conspicuous first began ; 
 
 When, and whereof created ; for what cause j 
 
 What within Eden or without was done 
 
 Before his memory, as one whose drought 
 
 Yet scarce allay'd, still eyes the current strearn, 
 
 Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites. 
 
 Proceeded thus to ask his heav'nly guest : 
 
 Great things, and full of wonder in our ears. 
 Far differing from this world, thou hast reveal'd. 
 Divine interpreter, by favour sent 
 Down from the empyrean, to forewarn 
 Us timely' of what might else have been our loss. 
 Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach : 
 For which to th' infinitely Good we owe 
 Immortal thanks, and his admonishment 
 Eeceive, with solemn purpose to observe 
 Immutably his sov'reign will, the end 
 Of what we are. But since thou hast vouchsaf'd 
 Gently for our instruction to impart 
 Things above earthly thought, which yet conccrn'd 
 Our knowing, as to highest wisdom seem'd, 
 Deign to descend now lower, and relate 
 What may no less perhaps avail us known. 
 How first began this Heaven which we behold 
 Distant so high, with moving fires adorn'd 
 Innumerable, and this which yields or fills 
 All space, the ambient air wide interfus'd 
 Embracing round this florid earth ; v/hat cause 
 Mov'd the Creator in his holy rest 
 Through all eternity so late to build 
 In Chaos, and the work begun, how soon 
 Absolv'd, if unforbid thou may'st uniljld
 
 BOOK vii. PARADISE LOST. 139 
 
 What we, not to explore the sscrets ask 
 
 Of his eternal empire, but the more 
 
 To magnify his works, the more we know. 
 
 And the great light of clay yet wants to run 
 
 Much of his race, tho steep ; suspense in Heav'n, 
 
 Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears. 
 
 And longer will delay to hear thee tell 
 
 His generation, and the rising birth 
 
 (Jf Nature from the unapparcnt Deep : 
 
 Or if the star of evening and the moon 
 
 Haste to thy audience. Night witli her will bring 
 
 Silence, and Sleep list'ning to thee will watch. 
 
 Or we can bid his absence, till thy song 
 
 Knd, and dism:^s thee e'er the morning shine. 
 
 Ih'is Adam his illustrious guest besought : 
 And thus the godlike Angel answer'd mild. 
 This also thy recjuest, with caution nsk'd. 
 Obtain : tho' to recount Almighty works 
 What words or tongue of seraph can suffice. 
 Or heart of man sutiice to comprehend ? 
 Vet what thou amst attain, which best may serve 
 To glorify the Maker. ;i:id infer 
 Thee also happier, shall not be with-held 
 Thy hearing: such commission from above 
 I have receiv'd, to answer thy desire 
 Of knowledge within bounds ; beyond abstain 
 To ask ; nor let thine own inventions hope 
 Things not reveal'd, which ih' invisible King, 
 Only omniscient, hath suppress'd in night, 
 To none communirable in Karth or Heav'n j 
 Enougli is left besides to search and know. 
 Kut knowledge is as food, and needs no less 
 Her temp' ranee o\cr appetite, to know- 
 In uienMire what the mind may well contain; 
 Oppri'S-.:-. else with surfeit, and soon turns 
 Wisdom to folly', as nourishment to wind. 
 
 Kpow, then, that after Lucilcr from Heav'n 
 (So call him, brii;htcr once amidst the host 
 Of Angels than tli:;t >-l.ir the st.irs among) 
 Fell with his tiaming legions through the deep 
 Juto his place, and tlie great Son return'd 
 \'ictorioui with his Saints, th' Omnipotent
 
 J JO MILTON. BOOK VII. 
 
 Eternal Father from his throne beheld 
 Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake : 
 
 At least our envious foe hath fail'd, who thought 
 All like himself rebellious, by whose aid 
 This inaccessible high strength, the seat 
 Of Deity Supreme, us dispossess'd, 
 He trusted to have seiz'd, and into fraud 
 Drew many, whom their place knows here no mere : 
 Yet far the greater part have kept, I see. 
 Their station ; Heav'n yet populous retains 
 Number sufficient to possess her realms, 
 Tho" wide, and this high temple to frequent 
 With ministeries due and solemn rites : 
 But lest his heart exalt him in the liarm 
 Already done, to have dispeopled Heav'n, 
 My damage fondly deem'd, I can repair 
 That detriment, if such it be to lose 
 Self-lost, and in a moment will create 
 Another world ; out of one man a race 
 Of men innumerable, there to dwell, 
 
 Not here, till by degrees of merit rais'd 
 They open to themselves at length the way 
 Up hither, under long obedience try'd. 
 And Earth be chang'd to Heav'n, and Heav'n to Earth, 
 One kingdom, joy and union without end. 
 Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye Pow'rs of Heav'n, 
 And thou my word, begotten Son, b)' thee 
 This I perform ; speak thou, and be it done : 
 My overshadowing Sp'rit and might with thee 
 I send along ; ride forth, and bid the Deep 
 Within appointed bounds be Heav'n and Earth ; 
 Boundless the Deep, because I AM who till 
 Infinitude, nor vacuous the space. 
 Tho' I uncircumscrib'd m\ self retire. 
 And put not forth my goodness, which is free 
 To act or not : Necessity and Chance 
 Approach not me, and what I will is fate. 
 
 So spake th' Almighty ; and to what he spake 
 His Word, the filial Godhead, gave effect. 
 Immediate are tlic acts of God, more swift 
 Than time or motion, but to human ears 
 Cannot without process of speech be told >
 
 BJoitTit. PARADISE LOST. 141 
 
 Sj toUl as carihly notion can receive. 
 
 Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heav'n, 
 
 When sucli was heard declard, th' Ahnighty's vrill; 
 
 Glory they sung to tlie Most High, good will 
 
 To future men, and in their dwellings peace : 
 
 Glory to hitn, whosfjust avenging ire 
 
 Had driv'n out ih' ungodly from his sight. 
 
 And th' habitations of the just ; to him 
 
 Glory and praise, whose wisdom liad ordain'd 
 
 Good out of evil to create, instead 
 
 Of sp'rits malign a belter race to bring 
 
 Into their vacant room, and thence ditfjse 
 
 His good to worlds and ages infinite. 
 
 So sang the Hierarchies : meanwhile the Sun 
 On his great expeilition n(w appear'd. 
 Girt with Omnipotence, with radiance crown'd 
 Of majesty divine ; sapience and love 
 Immense, and all his Father in him shone. 
 About his chariot numberless were p.ur'd 
 Cherub, and seraph, potentates, and thrones. 
 And virtues, winged spirits, and chariots wing'd 
 From th' arm mry of GckI, where stand of old 
 Myriads between two bra/.en mountains lodg'd 
 Against a solemn day, hamess'd at hand, 
 Celestial equipage ! and now came forth 
 Spontaneous (for within them spirit liv'd,) 
 Attendant on their I,ord : Heav'n open'd wide 
 Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound ! 
 On gol Icn hinges moving, to let forth 
 'I'he King of Glory, in his powerful Word 
 And Spirit coming to create newworlds. 
 <^n heav'n ly ground tlu-y stcxxi, and from the shore 
 They view'd the vast immeasurable abyss, 
 Outrageous as a sea, dark, wastefid, wild. 
 Up from tlie Ix/ttom turnd by furious winds 
 And surging waves, as mountains, to assault 
 Hi'av'ns height, and with the centre mix tiie pole. 
 
 Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, peace. 
 Said then th' oinnifu" Word ; your discon! end 
 Nor sfay'd, but on the wings of Cherubim 
 Uplirted, in paternal glory rode 
 K.ir into Chaos, and the world unborn j
 
 M2 MILTON. BOOK. VII. 
 
 For Chaos heard his voice : him all his train 
 Folio w'd in bright procession, to behold 
 Creation, and the wonders of his might. 
 Then stay'd the fervid wheels, and in his hand 
 He took the golden compasses, prepar'd 
 In God's eternal store, to circumscribe 
 This universe, and all created things ; 
 One foot he center'd, and the other turn'd 
 Round through the vast profundity obscure. 
 And said. Thus far extend, thus tar thy bounds. 
 This be thy just circumference, O World ! 
 Thus God the Heav'n created, thus the Earth, 
 Matter unform'd and void : darkness profound 
 Cover'd th' abyss ; but on the wat'ry calm 
 His brooding wings the Sp'rit of God outspread. 
 And vital virtue' infus'd, and vital warmth 
 Throughout the fluid mass, but downward purg'd 
 The black tartareous cold infernal dregs. 
 Adverse to life : then founded, then conglob'd 
 Like things to like, the rest to several place 
 Disparted, and between spun out the air. 
 And Earth, self-balanc'd, on her centre liung. 
 
 Let there be Light, said God, and forthwith Light 
 Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure. 
 Sprung from the deep, and from her native East 
 To journey through the airy gloom began, 
 Spher'd in a radiant cloud ; for yet the sun 
 Was not 3 she in a cloudy tabernacle 
 Sojourn'd the while 5 God saw the light was good j 
 And light from darkness by the hemisphere 
 Divided: light the Day, and darkness Night 
 He nam'd. Thus was the first day ev'n and morn : 
 Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung 
 By the celestial quires, when Orient light 
 Exhaling first from darkness, they beheld j 
 Birth-day of Heav'n and Earth ; with joy and shout 
 The hollow universal orb they fiil'd. 
 And touch'd their golden harps, and hymning prais'd 
 God and his works ; Creator, him they sung. 
 Both when first evening was, and when first morn. 
 
 Again, God said. Let there be firmanent 
 Amid the waters, and let it divide
 
 BOOK VII. PARADISE LOST. HS 
 
 Tli(i waters from the waters : and God made 
 
 The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure. 
 
 Transparent, elemental air, ditftis'd 
 
 In circuit to the uttermost convex 
 
 Of this great round: partition firm and sure. 
 
 The waters underneath from those above 
 
 Dividing ; for as Karth, so he the world 
 
 Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide 
 
 Crystalline ocean, and the loud miirule 
 
 Of Chaos far remov'd, lest fierce extremes 
 
 Contiguous might distemper the whole frame : 
 
 And Heav'n he nam'd the Firmament : so even 
 
 And morning chonis sung the second day. 
 
 The earth was form'd ; but in the womb as yet 
 
 Of waters, embryon immature involv'd, 
 
 Appear'd not : over all the face of Earth 
 
 Ma-n ocean flow'd, not idle, but with warm 
 
 Prolific humour soft'ning all her globe, 
 
 Fermented the great mother to conceive. 
 
 Satiate with grnial moisture, when God said. 
 
 Be gaihcr'd now, ye waters under Heav'n, 
 
 Into one place, and let dry land apj>ear. 
 
 Immediately the mountains huge appear 
 
 Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave 
 
 Into the clouds, their tups ascend the sky : 
 
 So high as hea\'d the tumid hiils, io low 
 
 Down sunk a hollow bottom, broad and deep. 
 
 Capacious bed of waters : thither tliey 
 
 Hasted with glad precipitance, uproird 
 
 As drops on dust conglobing from the dry ; 
 
 Part rise in crystal wall, or ridce direct. 
 
 For haste ; such llight the great command impress'd 
 
 On the swift floods : as anni( s at the call 
 
 Of trumpet {for of our armies thou hast heard) 
 
 TnHip to their standard, so the wat'ry throng, 
 
 \Va\c rolling alter wave, where uay tiiey found, 
 
 Jf sleep uitli torrent r.;plun , if through phiin, 
 
 Sot't-ebhiii!; ; nor wiiI)io 1 them rock or hill, 
 
 r.ui tluy, or under ground, or circuit wide. 
 
 With serf)enl error uand'ring, tound their way. 
 
 And on tlr- washy oose deej) cl..iiin' is wore ; 
 
 Easy, ere Ci *d li.id hid l!c i^iound Ixj dry,
 
 144 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK vir. 
 
 All but within those banks, where rivers now 
 
 Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train. 
 
 The dry land Earth, and the great receptacle 
 
 Of congregated waters, he call'd Seasj 
 
 And saw tliat it was good : and said. Let th' Earth 
 
 Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed. 
 
 And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind. 
 
 Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth. 
 
 He scarce had said, when the bare earth, till then 
 
 Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorn'd. 
 
 Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad 
 
 Her universal face with pleasant green; 
 
 Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flower'd. 
 
 Opening their various colours, and made gay 
 
 Her bosom, smelling SMeet : and these scarce blown^ 
 
 Forth tlourish'd thick the clustring vine, forth crept 
 
 The smelling gourd, up stood the corny reed 
 
 Embattl'd in her field, and th' humble shrub. 
 
 And bush with frizzled hair implicit : last 
 
 Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread 
 
 Their branches hung with copious fruit, cr gemm'd 
 
 Their blossoms 3 with high woods the hills were crown'd. 
 
 With tufts the valleys ; and each fountain side. 
 
 With borders long the rivers : that Earth now 
 
 Seem'd like to Heav'n, a seat where gods might dwell. 
 
 Or wander with delight, and love to haunt 
 
 Her sacred shades : tho' God had yet not rain'd 
 
 Upon the Earth, aud man to till the ground 
 
 None was, but from the Earth a dewy mist 
 
 Went up and water'd all the ground, and each 
 
 Plant of the field, which, ere it was in th' Earth 
 
 God made, and every herb, before it grew 
 
 On the green stem : God saw that it was good : 
 
 So ev'n and morn recorded the third day. 
 
 Again th' Almighty spake : Let there be lights 
 High in th' expanse of Heav'n, to divide 
 The day from night j and let them be for signs. 
 For seasons, and for days, and circling years. 
 And let them be for lights, as I ordain 
 I'heir office in the firmament of Heav'n 
 To give light on the Earth ; and it was so. 
 And God made two great lights, great for their uss
 
 ooK VII. PARADISE LOST. I4i 
 
 To man, the greater to have rule by day. 
 
 The less by night aUern j and made the stars. 
 
 And set tliem in the firmament of Heav'n, 
 
 T' illuminate the Earth, and rule the day 
 
 In their vicissitude, and rule the night ; 
 
 And light from darkness to divide. God saw. 
 
 Surveying his great work, that it was good : 
 
 For of celestial bodies first the sun 
 
 A mighty sphere he fram'd, unlightsome first, 
 
 Tho' of etliereal mould : tlicn form'd the moon 
 
 GloboiC and every magnitude of stars, 
 
 And sow'd with stars the Heav'n thick as a field : 
 
 Of light by far tiie greater part he took. 
 
 Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and plac'd 
 
 In the sun's orb, made porous to receive 
 
 And drink the liquid light, firm to retain 
 
 Hcr^ 'tlicr'd beams, great palace now of light. 
 
 Hither, as to their fountain, otlier stars 
 
 Repairing, in their golden urns draw light. 
 
 And hence the morning planet gilds her horns ; 
 
 By tincture or reflection they augment 
 
 Their small peculiar, though from human sight 
 
 So far remote, with diminution seen. 
 
 First in his East the glorious lamp was seen. 
 
 Regent of day, and all ih' horiron round 
 
 Invested with bright rays, jocund to run 
 
 His longitude thro' Heav'n's high road j the gray 
 
 Dawn, and the Pleiades before him danc'd. 
 
 Shedding sweet influence : less bright the moon. 
 
 But opposite in levcl'd West was set. 
 
 His mirror, witli full face borrowing her light 
 
 From him, tor oilier light she needed none 
 
 In that aspect, and still that distance keeps 
 
 Till night J then in tlie cist her turn she shines, 
 
 Revolv'd on Heav'n's gre-at axle, and her reign 
 
 With thousand lesser ligiits dividual holds, 
 
 With thousand thousand stars, that then ;<p|^ar'd 
 
 Spangling the hemisphere: then first ;. loru'd 
 
 Will) their bright luminaries that s-.-t and rose. 
 
 Glad Kv'ning and glad Morn crown'd ihc fourth day. 
 
 And God s.iid, lx*t the waters ;;eneiate 
 Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul : 
 # vol., I. II
 
 146 MILTON. BOOK. vii. 
 
 And let fowl fly above the Earth, with wings 
 
 Display'd on th' open firmament of Heav'n ; 
 
 And God created the great whales, and each 
 
 Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously 
 
 The waters generated by their kinds. 
 
 And every bird of wing after his kind ; 
 
 And saw that it was good, and bless'd them, saying. 
 
 Be fruitful, multiply, and in the seas. 
 
 And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill ; 
 
 And let the fowl be multiply'd on th' Earth. 
 
 Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay. 
 
 With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals 
 
 Offish that with their fins and shining scales 
 
 Glide un<ler the green wave, in sculls that oft 
 
 Bank the mid sea : part single or with mate 
 
 Graze the sea weed, their pasture, and through gi'oves 
 
 Of coral stray, or sporting with quick glancv"? 
 
 Shew to the sun their wav'd coats dropt with gold. 
 
 Or in their pearly shells at ease, attend 
 
 Moist nutriment, or under rocks their food 
 
 In jointed armour watch : on smooth the seal. 
 
 And bended dolphins play : part, huge of bulk. 
 
 Wallowing un^^'ieldly, enormous in their gait. 
 
 Tempest the ocean : there leviathan, 
 
 Hugest of living creatures, on the deep 
 
 StreLch'd like a promontory, sleeps or swims. 
 
 And seems a moving land, and at his gills 
 
 Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out a sea. 
 
 Menu while the tepid caves, and fens, and shores. 
 
 Their brood as numerous hatch, from th' egg that soon 
 
 Bursting with kindly rupture forth disclos'd 
 
 Their callow young, but fearher'd soon and fledge 
 
 They summ'd their pens, and soaring th' air sublime 
 
 With clang despis'd the ground, under a cloud 
 
 In prospect ; there the eagle and the stork 
 
 On clii+'s and cedar tops their eyries build: 
 
 Part looselr wing the reg!(;n, part more wise 
 
 In common, rang'd in figure, wedge their way, 
 
 LiteUigent of seasons, and set forth 
 
 Their aiiy caravan high over seas 
 
 Flying, and over lards with mutual wing 
 
 Easing their flight ; *:o steers the prudent crane 
 
 Her aiuiual voyage, borne on winds ; the air
 
 Boot VII PARADISE LOST. 147 
 
 Floats, as they pass, fann'd with unnumber'd plumes. 
 
 From branch to branch the smaller birds with song 
 
 Solac'd the woods, and spread their painted wings. 
 
 Till ev'n ; nor then the solemn nightingale 
 
 Ccas'd warbUng, but all night tun'd her S(jlt lays : 
 
 Others on silver lakes and rivers bath'd 
 
 Their downy breasts; the swan, with arched neck. 
 
 Between her wliite w ings mantling proudly, rowi 
 
 Her state with oary lert ; yet oft tliey quit 
 
 The dank, and rising on still' ptnons, tower 
 
 The mid acrcal sky : others on ground 
 
 Walk'd lirm : the crested cock, whose clarion sounds 
 
 The silent hours, and th' otlier whuio piy train 
 
 Adorns him, colour'd with the florid hue 
 
 Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters tluis 
 
 With tish rcplenish'd, and the air with {owl, 
 
 E\'ning and Morn, s(<lcmiiiz'd the tilth day. 
 
 The si.vth, and of creation last, arose 
 With evening harps and matin ; v. hen God saiJ, 
 Let til" Kirth bring forth fowl living in h.^r kind. 
 Cattle and creeping things, and beast oith' Earth, 
 Each in their kind. The Earth obey'd, and slraiglit 
 Opening her fertile womb, tcem'd at a birth 
 Innumerous living creatures, i>erfect forms, 
 Limb'd and full grown; out of the ground up rose, 
 As from his lair, the wild beast, where lie vvoiis 
 in forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den ; 
 Among tiie trees in pairs they rose, the\ w..lkM; 
 The cattle in the fields and meadows grccii : 
 Ihose Hire and solitary, those in fiorks 
 Pasturing at once, and in broad herds upsprung. 
 The grassy clods now calv'd, now half appear'd 
 The tawny lion, pawing to get free 
 His hinder parts, then springs as broke i'roiu hoiil-.. 
 And rampant shakes his brinded maix- j the ounce. 
 The libard and the tiger, as the mole 
 Rising, tJK* crumbled earth abovi' them threw 
 In hii!(Hks : the swift stag from undrrgnnmd 
 Kore up his bran< hiiig iiead: scarce t'tir.u his mould 
 Rchemoih, l)iggest born of Earth, liplu-av'd 
 His vastiiess : fleec'd the ll<H-ks and ble.iling, rose 
 li 2
 
 148 MILTON. BOOK vu. 
 
 As plants : ambiguous between sea and land. 
 
 The river horse and scaly crocodile. 
 
 At once came forth whatever creeps the ground. 
 
 Insect or worm : those wav'd their limber fans 
 
 For wings, and smallest lineaments exact 
 
 In all the liveries deck'd of summer's pride. 
 
 With spots of gold and purple, azure and green : 
 
 These^ as a line their long dimension drew. 
 
 Streaking the ground with sinuous trace j not all 
 
 Minims of Nature ; some of serpent kind. 
 
 Wondrous in length and corpulence, involv'd 
 
 Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept 
 
 The parsimonious emmet, provident 
 
 Of future, in small room large heart enclos'd. 
 
 Pattern of just equality perhaps 
 
 Hereafter, join'd in her popular tribes 
 
 Of commonalty : swarming next appeard 
 
 The female bee, that feeds her husband drone 
 
 Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells 
 
 With honey stor'd : the rest are numberless. 
 
 And tJiou their natures know'st, and gav'st them names. 
 
 Needless to thee repeated ; nor unknown 
 
 The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field. 
 
 Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes 
 
 And hairy mane terrific, though to thee 
 
 Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. 
 
 Now Heav'n in all her glory shone, and roll'd 
 Her motions, as the great first Mover's hand 
 First wheel'd their course ; Earth, in her rich attire 
 Consummate lovely smil'd ; air, water, earth. 
 By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was walk'd 
 Frequent ; and of the sixth day yet remain'd j 
 There wanted yet the master-woik, the end 
 Of all yet done ; a creature who not prone 
 And brute as other creatures, but endu'd 
 With sanctity of reason, might erect 
 His stature and upright with front serene 
 Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thence 
 Magnanimous to correspond with Heav'n ; 
 But grateful to acknowledge vviience his good 
 Descends ; thither with heart, and voice, and eyes 
 Directed in devotion, to adore 
 And worship God supreme, who made him chief
 
 BOOK VM PARADISE LOSV. uy 
 
 Of all his works : therefore th' Omnipotent 
 Eternal Father (for where is not he 
 Present ?) thus to his Son audibly spake : 
 
 I>et us make now Man in our image, Man 
 In our similitude, and let them rule 
 0\er the fish and fowl of sea, and air, 
 Beast of the field, and over all tlie Earth, 
 And every creeping thing that creeps the ground. 
 This said, he form'd thee, Adam, thee, O man. 
 Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breath'd 
 The breath of lifej in his own image he 
 Created thee, in the image of God 
 Exjircss, and thou becam'st a living soul. 
 Male he created thee, but thy consort 
 Female for race ; then bles.s'd Mankind, and said 
 Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth j 
 Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold 
 Over fish of the bca, and fowl of th' air. 
 And every living thing tliat moves on th* Earth, 
 Wherever thus created; for no place 
 Is )ot distinct by name : thence, as thou know'st. 
 He brought thee into this delicious grove. 
 This garden, planted with the trees of God, 
 Delectable both to lx?hold and taste; 
 And freely all their pleasant fruit for food 
 Gave then; ; all sorts are here tliat ail th' Earth yields. 
 Variety without end ; bvii ol the tree 
 "Which tasted works knowledge of gofxl and evil. 
 Thou may St not -, in the day thou eat'st tliou dy'st; 
 Death is the penalty impos'd; beware. 
 And go\orn well thy ai)(;elite, lest Sin 
 Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death. 
 
 Here finish'd he ; and nil that he had made 
 View'd ; nnd l)elK)lil all was entirely gc od ; 
 So Fv'n and Morn accomplish'd the sixth day: 
 Vet not till the Creator from his wotk 
 Desisting, though unwearitxl, up rcturn'd. 
 Up to the Hea\n of lltnvns, his higii abode. 
 Thence to Ixhold this new-created world, 
 I'll" addition of his ciiipi'.v, how it shcw'd 
 In prosjM.ct from his throne, how good, how Cur^ 
 iVnswering his great idea. Up be rode 
 u S
 
 150 MILTON. BOOK viT. 
 
 Follow'd with acclamation and the sound 
 
 Symphonious of ten thousand harps that tun'd 
 
 Angelic harmonies: the earth, the air 
 
 Resounded, (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st) 
 
 The Heav'ns and all the constellations rung. 
 
 The planets in their station list'ning stood. 
 
 While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. 
 
 Open, ye everlasting Gates, they sung. 
 
 Open, ye Heav'ns, your living doorsj let in 
 
 The great Creator, from his work return'd 
 
 Magnihcent, his six day's work, a World j 
 
 Open, and henceforth oft; for God will deign 
 
 To visit oft the dwellings of just Men 
 
 Delighted, and with frequent intercourse 
 
 Thither will send his winged messengers 
 
 On errands of supernal grace. So sang 
 
 The glorious train ascending : he through Heav'n, 
 
 That open'd wide her blazing portals, led 
 
 To God's eternal house direct the way, 
 
 A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold 
 
 And pavement stars, as stars to thee appear. 
 
 Seen in the galaxy, that milky way. 
 
 Which nightly as a circling zone thon seest 
 
 powder d v/ith r.tars. And now on Earth the seventh 
 
 Evening arose in Eden, for the sun 
 
 Was set, and twilight from the east came on. 
 
 Forerunning Night ; when, at the holy mount 
 
 Of Heav'n's high-seated top, th' imperial throne 
 
 Of Godhead, fix'd for ever tirm and sure. 
 
 The filial Power arriv'd, and sat him down 
 
 With his great Father ; for he also went 
 
 Invisible, yet stay'd, (sucli privilege 
 
 Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordain'd. 
 
 Author and end of all things, and from v/ork 
 
 Now resting, bless'd and hallov^^'d the sev'nth day. 
 
 As resting on that day from all his work, 
 
 But not in silence holy kept; the harp 
 
 Had work, and rested not ; the solemn pipe. 
 
 And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop. 
 
 All sounds on fret by string or golden wire, 
 
 Temper'd soft tunings, intermix'd with voice 
 
 Choral or unison : of incense clouds
 
 BOOK VII. I'ARADISE LOST. 151 
 
 Fuming from gylden censers hid the mount. 
 
 Creation and the six days acts they sung. 
 
 Great arc thy works, Jehovah, inhuite 
 
 1'hy power: what thought rnn measure thee or tongu* 
 
 Relate thee? greater now in thy return, 
 
 I'han from tlie giant angels ; tiice that day 
 
 Tliy thunders niagnify'd ; but to create. 
 
 Is greater, than created, to destroy ; 
 
 Who can impair thee, mighty King, or bound 
 
 I'hy empire? easily the proud attempt 
 
 Ot i)irits a{)()state and their counsels vain 
 
 Thou hast repell'd, while impiously they thought 
 
 Thee to diminish, and from thee witlulraw 
 
 The number of thy worshippers. Who seeks 
 
 To k-Msen thee, agaiubt his purpose serves 
 
 To manifest the more thy miglit; his evil 
 
 Thou uscst, and from thence creal'st more good. 
 
 Witness this new-made World, another Heav'n! 
 
 From ileav'n gate not f.ir, founded in \iew 
 
 On the clear hyaline, the glassy sea ; 
 
 Of amplituile almost inmiense, with stars 
 
 Nunurous, and every star perhaj)S a world 
 
 Of tiesiinil ha'oii.iiion ; but thou know'st 
 
 '1 heir se.isons : among these the seat of men, 
 
 Farth u iih her nether cxean circuinfu>"d. 
 
 Their pleasant dwelling place. Thrice iiappy men. 
 
 And sons of n)en, whom God hath thus aci\anc'd, 
 
 C're'ited in his insage, there to dwell 
 
 And worship him, and in reward to rule 
 
 Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air. 
 
 Ami multiply a race of worbliipp* rs 
 
 Holy and just : liirice happy il lliey lsno\T 
 
 Their hippiness, and persevere upright. 
 
 So sung they; aiivl the t!v,pyre;in rung 
 Will'. !i.;Ucluj:;li-. : t'lus \\.is sabbath kej)!. 
 And thy rciui >t think now fuhill'i!. tli.it .i>k'd 
 How tjrst this WorM, and face of thini:'. Ik j.<n. 
 And what biiore thy memory wa^ v.. 'tie 
 From the iK'ginning. that posterity 
 Inforiu'd i)y lliec niight know; if else thou seck"l 
 Aught, nut kurp.issing huni.m ir.easure, kjy. 
 II 4
 
 153 MILTON, 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Adam inquires concerning celestial motions, is doubtfully answcr'd, 
 and exhorted to search rather things more worthy of knowledge : 
 Adam assents, and still desirous to detain Raphael, relates to him 
 what he rcmember'd since his own creution, his placing in Para- 
 dise, his talk with God concerning solitude and fit society, his 
 first meeting and nuptials with Eve, his discourse with the angsl 
 thereupon ; who after admonitions repeated departs. 
 
 IHE angel ended; and in Adam's ear 
 So charming left his voice, that he awhile 
 Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear; 
 Then, as new wak'd, thus gratefully reply'd : 
 
 What thanks sufficient, or what recompense 
 Equal have I to render thee, divine 
 Historian, who thus largely hast allay'd 
 The thirst I had of knowledge, and voucbsaf 'd 
 This friendly condescension to relate 
 Things else by me unsearchable, now heard 
 With wonder, but delight, and as is due. 
 With glory attributed to the high 
 Creator? Something yet of doubt remains. 
 Which only thy solution can resolve. 
 When I behold this goodly frame, this world. 
 Of Heav'n and Earth consisting, and compute 
 Their magnitudes 3 this Earth, a spot, a grain. 
 An atom, with the firmament compafdj 
 And all her number'd stars, that seem to roll 
 Spaces fncomprehensible (for such 
 Their distance argues and their swift return 
 Diurnal) merely to officiate light 
 Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot^ 
 One day and night in all their vast survey 
 Useless besides; reas'ning I oft admire, 
 How iSIature, wise and frugal, could commit 
 Such disproportions, with superfluous hand 
 So many nobler bodies to create. 
 Greater so manifold to this one use.
 
 BOOK Yiii. PARADISE lost: 153^ 
 
 For aught appears, and on their orbs impose 
 Such restless revolution, day by day 
 Repeated, while the sedentary Earth, 
 That better might with far less comj^ss move, 
 Scrv"d by more noble than herself, attains 
 Her end without least motion, and receives. 
 As tribute, such a sumless journey brought 
 Ot incorporeal speed, her warmth and light; 
 Spoed, to describe whose swiftness number fails. 
 
 So spake our sire; and by his count" nance seem'd 
 Entring on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve 
 Perceiving, u here she sat rctir'd in sight. 
 With lowliness majestic from her seat. 
 And grace that won \vho saw to wish her stay. 
 Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers. 
 To visit how they prosper'd, bud and bloom. 
 Her nursery ; tliey at her coming sprimg. 
 And tourh'd by her fair tendence gladlier grew. 
 Yet wc-nt she not, as not with such discourse 
 Delighted, or not capable her ear 
 Of what was high: such pleasure she reser\''d, 
 Adam rel iting, she sole auditress; 
 Her jjusband the relator she preferr'd. 
 Before the angel, and of him to ask 
 Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermix 
 Gratcflil digressions, and solve high dispute 
 With conjugal caresses ; from his lip 
 Not words alone pleas'd her. O when meet now 
 Such pairs in love and mutual honour join'd ! 
 With goddess-like deme.inour forth she went. 
 Not unattended, for on hrr, as queen, 
 A pomp of winning graces waited still. 
 And from about her shot ddrls of desire 
 Info all eyes, to wish lur btill in sight. 
 And n iwhael now to Adam's doubt propos'd. 
 Benevolent and facile, thus rcply'd : 
 
 To .i>,k or search I blame thee not for Hcav'n 
 h ns the Ijook of Go I bef.)re thee set, 
 Wlurein t. read his wondrous wnrks, and learn 
 His se.ison, hours, or days, or months, or years: 
 Tliis to attain, whether Urnv'n move or E. rth, 
 Imporii not, if tJiou reckon right ; the rest 
 u5
 
 154 MILTON. BOOK riii. 
 
 From man or angel the great Architect 
 
 Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge 
 
 His secrets to be scann'd by them who ought 
 
 Rather admire J or if they list to try 
 
 Conjectare, he his fabric of the Heav'ns 
 
 Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move 
 
 His laughter at their quaint opinions wide 
 
 Hereafter, when they come to model Heav'n 
 
 And calculate vhe stars, how they will wield 
 
 The mighty frame, how build, unbuild, contrive 
 
 To save appearances, how gird the sphere 
 
 With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er. 
 
 Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb: 
 
 Already by thy reasoning this I guess. 
 
 Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest 
 
 That bodies bright and greater should not serve 
 
 The less not bright, nor Heavn such journeys run, 
 
 Eartli sitting still, when she alone receives 
 
 The benefit : consider first, that great 
 
 Or bright infers not excellence : the Earth, 
 
 Though in comparison of Heav'n, so small. 
 
 Nor gxist ring, may of solid good contain 
 
 More plenty than the Sun that barren shines ; 
 
 Whose virtue on itself works no efiect. 
 
 But in the fruitful Earth; there first receiv'd 
 
 His beams, unactive else, their vigour find. 
 
 Yet not to Earth or those bright luminaries 
 
 Officious, but to thee. Earth's habitant. 
 
 And for the Heav'n 's wide circuit, let it speak 
 
 The Maker's high magnificence, M'ho built 
 
 So spacious, and his line stretch'd out so far. 
 
 That man may know he dwells not in his own; 
 
 An edifice too large for him to fill, 
 
 Lodg'd in a small partition, and the rest 
 
 Ordain'd for usf s to his Lord best known. 
 
 The swiftness of those circles attribute. 
 
 Though numberless, to his omnipotence. 
 
 That to corporeal substances could add 
 
 Speed almost spiritual; me ihou think'st not slow. 
 
 Who since the morning hour set out from Heav'n 
 
 Where God resides, and e'er mid day arriv'd 
 
 In Edens distance inexpressible
 
 ooK viii. PARADISE LOST. 155 
 
 By numbers that liave name. But this I urge. 
 Admitting r.u)t:i;:i in the Heav'ns, to show 
 Invalid thit which tlu'e to dovht it mov'dj 
 Not that I so alfirm, Ih-ugii so it seem 
 To tlj -c, who l;ast th.y d'.\elling here on Earth. 
 God to remove l.;s uays from human s'nse, 
 Phic'd Hea\ 11 in m Kari'.i so far, that eirthly sight. 
 If it presume, uiiL^iit err in thiiu.'s t;o liigh. 
 And no .. -.aiitaiie gain. \' lui :1 the sun 
 Be cenMv to tie world, .Tiid other stars 
 By h,-' .;tirartive virtue and tlieir own 
 Intr- . '..mre about iiim \;;rious rounds? 
 Tht i. .' iid'riu; couise now high, now low, then hid, 
 Fnj^.i.- ive, !e.r.)i;r.!d.\ <ir t.indiiig still, 
 In - . thou see-.t : and uhat if seventli to these 
 Th.e pia'iet Karth, so stedfa^t though she seem, 
 Inie;i.-.ii)Iv lliree dilVerent luot.ons move? 
 ^Vh>.h else to siver.il splieres thou must as<Tibc, 
 Mo\ 1 coDtrar}' with tliwarl obliciuitics ; 
 Or save ilie Sun his lalxiur, and tlial swift 
 N.Miurual and diurnal ruomb supposed, 
 Invisil/e rU-- above ..11 stars, tlie wheel 
 (); ilay ai'.d n!i,iil; whicli needs not thy belief 
 If Karth industrious of herseli' fetch day 
 Trt\ tiling e.'.st, and with !ier part averse 
 I'ViMu l!;e .svui's beam meet niacht, her otlicr part 
 Stid huiii.ious by his ray. What if that li^ht 
 Sent from lu-r through the wide transj/icuous air, 
 T* tlie tern-sinal moon be as a star 
 Eiili.,.i'i iiiMLC in" iier d,\Y, :\< sh<* by ni;^!it 
 This eaiili ? tc cipnH'al, if 1 'nd be there, 
 Eields and iiili ib;t ut.^: her spots thou seest 
 As < , ; .;', .Hi : I l.j'.ids may ra.n, and rain produce 
 I ri'.'.i 1.! ],.v ;;iend soil, li.r some to eat 
 A!i.>'.i .'. there ; and (tiher suns |)crhaps 
 \;'/.'.i i;k !i attendant nux-ns tlicai wilt deser}', 
 ('.,:i,".r.i;,'.c.':in.; in.iie and female light: 
 V. ii' i; lv.il 'jv.l sexes a:iir.'..iti' the \\ orK! ; 
 1^.. :M i.i eaiti .>in peiliaj's with some that live. 
 i r '11 'i \ i'\ iiH>\.\ in Nate.re unpossess'd 
 i'.\ !ivi:i_^ - a'.l, de-t rt and ile-i'l;;U'. 
 Oi.ly to sliine, yet scarce to eomribute 
 11
 
 150 MILTON. BooKvm. 
 
 Each orb a glimpse of light, convey'd so far 
 Down to this habitable, which returns 
 Light back to thein, is obvious to dispute. 
 But whether thus these things, or whether not j 
 Whether the sun predominant in Heav'n 
 Eisc on the Earth, or B arth rise on the sun ; 
 He from the East his flaming road begin, 
 Or she from west her silent course advance. 
 With inoffensive pace, that spinning sleeps 
 On her soft axle, while she paces even. 
 And bears thee soft with the smooth air along. 
 Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid ; 
 Leave them to God above, him serve and fear j 
 Of other creatures, as him pleases best. 
 Wherever plac'd, let him dispose: joy thou 
 In what he gives to thee, this Paradise 
 And thy fair Evej Heav'n is for thee too high 
 To know what passes there; be lowly wise; 
 Think only what concerns thee and thy being; 
 Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there 
 Live, in what state, condition or degree. 
 Contented that thus far hath been reveal'd. 
 Not of Earth only, but of highest Heav'n. 
 
 To whom thus Adam, clear'd of doubt, reply'd. 
 How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure 
 Intelligence of Heav'n, Angel serene. 
 And freed from intricacies, taught to live 
 The easiest way, nor with perplexing thought* 
 To internapt the sweet of life, from which 
 God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares. 
 And not molest us, unless we ourselves 
 Seek them with wand'ring thoughts, and notions vain. 
 But apt the mind or fancy is to rove 
 Uncheck'd, and of her roving is no end; 
 Till warn'd, or by experience taught, she learn. 
 That not to know at large of things remote 
 From use, obscure and subtile, but to know 
 That which before us lies in daily life. 
 Is the prime wisdom ; what is more, is fiirae 
 Or emptiness, or fond impertinence. 
 And renders us in things that most concern 
 Uxipractis'd, unprepar'd, and still to seek.
 
 looK VIII. PARADISE LOST. 157 
 
 Therefore from Uiis high pitch let us descend 
 A lower flight, and speak of things at hand 
 Useful, wlience haply mention may arise 
 Of something not unseasonable to ask. 
 By sufF'rance and thy wonted favour deign'd. 
 Tliee I have heard relating what was done 
 E'er my remembrance : now hear rae relate 
 My story, which perhaps thow hast not heard ; 
 And day is yet not spent ; till then tliou seett 
 How subtly to detain thee I devise. 
 Inviting thee to hear while I relate : 
 Fond, were it not in hope of thy reply : 
 For while I sit with thee, I seem in Heav'n, 
 And sweeter thy discourse is to my car 
 Than fruits of palm-tree pleas^mtest to thirst 
 And hunger botli, from labour, at the hour 
 Of sweet repast ; they satiate, and soon fill 
 Though pleasant, but thy words with grace divine 
 Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety. 
 
 To whom thus Raphael answcr'd heav'nly meek. 
 Nor are thy lips ungraceful. Sire of Men, 
 Nor tongue ineloquent ; for God on thee 
 Abundantly his gifts hath also pour'd ; 
 Inward and outward both, his image fair: 
 Speaking or mute, all comeliness and grace 
 Attends thee, and each word, each motion forms; 
 Nor less think we in Heavn of ihee on Earth 
 Than of our fellow-servant, and inquire 
 Gladly into the ways of God with Man : 
 For God we see hath honour'd thee, and set 
 On man his equal love: say therefore onj 
 For I that day was absent, as befel, 
 Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure, 
 Far on excursion tow'rd tho gates of Hell; 
 Scjuard in full legion (such command we had) 
 To see that none thence i.ssued forth a spy. 
 Or enemy, while God was in his work. 
 Lest he, incens'd at stich eruption bold, 
 Destruction with creation might have mix"d. 
 Not that they durst without his leave attempt. 
 But us he sends \\\wn his high l>ehcsts 
 For state, as Sov' reign King, and to inure
 
 158 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK Vllf. 
 
 Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut. 
 
 The dismal gates, and barricado'd strong ; 
 
 But long e'er our approaching heard within 
 
 Noise, other (han the sound of dance or song ! 
 
 Torment and loud lament, and furious rage. 
 
 Glad we return'd up to the Coasts of Light 
 
 E'er sabbath evening : so Ave had in charge. 
 
 But thy relation now ; for I attend, 
 
 Pleas'd with thy words no less than thou with mine. 
 
 So spake the godlike Power ; and thus our Sire. 
 For man to tell how human life began 
 Is hard } for who himself beginning knew ? 
 Desire with thee still longer to converse 
 Indued me. As new wak'd from soundest sleep. 
 Soft on the floweiy herb I found me laid 
 In balmy sweat, which with his beams the sun 
 Soon dry'd, and on the reeking moisture fed. 
 Straight toward Heav'n my wond ring eyes I turn'd. 
 And gaz'd awhile the ample sky, till rais'd 
 By quick instinctive motion up I sprung. 
 As thitherward endeavouring, and upright 
 Stood on my feetj about me round I saw 
 Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains. 
 And liquid lapse of murm'ring streams ; by these. 
 Creatures that liv'd, and mov'd, and walk'd, or flew. 
 Birds on the branches warbling 5 all things smil'd. 
 With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflow d. 
 Myself I then peitis'd, and lim.b by limb 
 Survey'd, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran 
 With supple joints, as lively vigour led : 
 But who I was, or where, or fiom what cause. 
 Knew not j to speak I trj-'d, and forthwith spake } 
 My tongue obey'd, and readily could name 
 Whate'er I saw. Thou Sun, said I, fair light. 
 And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay. 
 Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains. 
 And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell. 
 Tell if ye saw, how came I thus, how here.^ 
 Not of myself j by some great Maker then. 
 In goodness and in power pre-eminent ; 
 Tell me how may I know him, how adore. 
 From whom I have that thus I move and live.
 
 ooK yiii. PARADISE LOST. 159 
 
 And feel that I am happier than I know. 
 
 While thus I call'd, and str.iy'd I knew not whitlier. 
 
 From where 1 lirst drew air, and first beheld 
 
 This hnpi)y liglit, when answer none return'd. 
 
 On a green shady bank profuse of flowers 
 
 Pensive I sat me down ; there gentle Sleep 
 
 First found me, and with soft oppre>sion seiz'd 
 
 My droused sense, untroubled, though 1 thought 
 
 I then was passing to my foniicr state 
 
 Insensible, and forthwitli to dissolve : 
 
 When suddenly stood at my head a Dream, 
 
 Whose inward apparition gently mo\ d 
 
 My fancy to believe I yet had being. 
 
 And liv d : One came, metbought of shape divine. 
 
 And said, Thy mansion wants thee, Adam, rise. 
 
 First Man, ot men innumerable ordain'd 
 
 First Father I call'd by thee 1 come thy guide 
 
 To the (iarden of Bliss, thy seat prcpard. 
 
 So saying, by the hand he took me raisd. 
 
 And over fields and waters, as in air 
 
 Smootli sliding without step, last led me up 
 
 A wocxly mountain, whose high lop was plain, 
 
 A circuit wide enclosd, with goodliest trees 
 
 I'laniod, with walks, and bowers, that what I savr 
 
 Of Earth U'tbre scarce pleasant setm'd. Each tree 
 
 Ixiaden witli fiirest fruit that hung to th' eye 
 
 'I'empting. stirrd in me sudden appetite 
 
 To pluck and eat ; whereat I wak'd and found 
 
 Heloie mine eyes all real, as tlie dream 
 
 Had lively shadow'd : here had new begun 
 
 My wandring, had not he who was ujy guide 
 
 I'p hithiT, from anion.; the trees appear'd, 
 
 I'rescnce divine. Rejoicing, but witii awe. 
 
 In aduraiion at his feet I Idl 
 
 Submiss : he reard me, anil whom thou sought'.st I am, 
 
 Sail! luiliily, author of all this thou >'.est 
 
 Ab.i\r, <.r round about thee, or beneath. 
 
 Tl\is I'ar.idise I give thee, count it thine 
 
 Til till, and keep, and of the fruit tj e.it : 
 
 Of every tree tluit in the garden gruus, 
 
 Eat Jreily with gl.id hc.irt ; le.u liere no deartli : 
 
 Uut iif the tree whose operation brings
 
 l60 MILTON. BOOK rni. 
 
 Knowledge of good and ill, -which I have set 
 
 The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith. 
 
 Amid the garden b^ the tree of lite. 
 
 Remember what I warn thee, shun to taste. 
 
 And shun the bitter consequence : for know. 
 
 The day thou eat'st thereof, cay sole command 
 
 Transgressd, inevitably thou shalt die. 
 
 From that day mortal, and this happy state 
 
 Shalt lose, expell'd from hence into a world 
 
 Of woe and sorrow. Sternly he pronounc'd 
 
 The rigid interdiction, which resounds 
 
 Yet dreadfal in mine ear, though in my choice 
 
 Not to incur ; but soon his clear aspect 
 
 Return'd, and gracious purpose thus renew'd. 
 
 Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth, 
 
 To thee and to thy race 1 give ; as lords 
 
 Possess it, an<i all things that therein live. 
 
 Or live in sea, or air, beast, fish, and fowl. 
 
 In sign whereof each bird and beast behold 
 
 After their kinds J 1 bring them to receive 
 
 From thee their names, and pay thee fealty 
 
 With low subjection ; understand the same 
 
 Of tibh within their wat'ry residence 
 
 Not hither summon 'd, since they cannot change 
 
 Their element to draw the thinner air. 
 
 As thus he spake each bird and beast behold 
 
 Approaching two and two; these cow'ring low. 
 
 With l:)landishment; each bird stoop'd on his wing. 
 
 I nam d them, as they pass'd, and understood 
 
 Their nature, with such knowledge God indued 
 
 My sudden appre'iension : but in these 
 
 I found not what methought I wanted still; 
 
 And to the heav'ni > Vision thus presum'd : 
 
 O by what name, for thou above all these. 
 Above mankind, or anght than mankind higher, 
 Surpassest far my nan^ing, how may I 
 Adore thee. Author of this universe. 
 And all this good to man? for v, hose well being 
 So amply, and with hands so liberal. 
 Thou hast provided ail things : but with me 
 I see not v. ho partakes. In solitude 
 What happuiess .' who can enjoy alone.
 
 BooKviif, PARADISE LOST. l6l 
 
 Or all enjoying, what contentment find ? 
 Thus I, presumptuous ; and the Vision bright. 
 As -wiili a smile more brighten'd, thus reply'd : 
 
 What callst thou solitude ? is not tiie Earth 
 With various living creatures, and the air 
 Replcnish'd, and all these at thy command 
 To come and play before thee ? know'st thou not 
 Their language and their ways ? they also know. 
 And rcnsf)ii not contemptibly; with these 
 Find pastime and l>ear rule ; thy realm is large. 
 So p.:ke the universal Lord, and secm'd 
 So ord'ring. I with leave of speech implor'd. 
 And humble deprecation, thus reply'd. 
 
 Let ntt my words olTend thee, heav'nly Powerj 
 My Maker, be propitious while I speak. 
 Hast ihou not made me here thy substitute. 
 And these inferior far beneath me set ? 
 Among uncfjuals what society 
 C:iii son, what harmony or true delight? 
 Which must be iuufual, in proportion due 
 Giv'n and receiv'd ; but in disparity 
 The one intense, the other still remiss 
 Cannot well suit witii eitiier, but soon prove 
 Tedious alike : of fellowship I speak 
 Such as I seek, fit to participate 
 All rational delight, wherein the brute 
 Cannot be human consort ; they rejoice 
 Eacli with their kind, lion with lioness; 
 So fitly them in pairs thou hast combin'd ; 
 Much less can bird with l)east, or fish with fowl 
 So well c(jnverse, nor with the ox the ape; 
 Wor-c then can man with beast, and least of all. 
 
 Whereto th' Almiglity answer'd, not displeas'd. 
 A nice aiul subtile happiness I see 
 TIiou to tin self pr4i;>i)-.est, in the choice 
 Of thv assmi.ites, Ad.mi, and wilt taste 
 Xi pl( asure, thougli in pleasure, solitary. 
 Wh.'t il,i:jkst thort then of nv, and liiis mr state? 
 Seem I to thee sufficiently possc-s'd 
 Ot hap]>ine-is or not ? who am alone 
 From all i ternity, f )r none I know 
 Second to me, or like, equal much leif.
 
 i62 MILTON. BOOK Yin, 
 
 How have I then with whom to hold converse. 
 Save with the creatures which I made, and those 
 To me inferior, infinite descents 
 Beneath wliat other creatures are to thee ? 
 
 He ceas'd ; I lowly answer'd. To attain 
 The height and depth of thy eternal ways 
 All human thoughts come short. Supreme of things^ 
 Thou in thyself ait perfect, and in thee 
 Is no deficience found : not so is man. 
 But in degree, the cause of his desire 
 By conversation with his like to help. 
 Or solace his defects. No need that thou 
 Should'st propagate, already infinite. 
 And through all numbers absolute, though one 5 
 But man by number is to manifest 
 His single imperfection, and beget 
 Like of his like, his image multiply'd. 
 In unity defective, which requires 
 Collateral love, and dearest amity. 
 Thou in thy secresy although alone. 
 Best with thyself accompanied, seek'st not 
 Social communication, yet so pleas'd. 
 Canst raise thy creature to what height thou wilt 
 Of union or communion, deify'd ; 
 I by conversing cannot these erect 
 From prone, nor in their ways complacence find. 
 Thus I embolden'd spake, and freedom us'd 
 Permissive, and acceptance found, which gain'd 
 This answer from the gracious voice divine. 
 
 Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleas'd. 
 And find thee knowing not of beasts alone. 
 Which thou hast rightly nam'd, but of thyself. 
 Expressing well the spirit within thee free. 
 My image, not imported to the brute. 
 Whose fellowship therefore unmeet for thee. 
 Good reason was, thou freely shouldst dislike; 
 And be so minded still ; I, ere thou speak'st. 
 Knew it not good for man to be alone. 
 And no such company as then thou saw'st 
 Intended thee, for trial only brought. 
 To see how thou could'st judge of iit and meet : 
 What next I bring shall please tliee, be assur'd.
 
 BOOK \in. PARADISE LOST. J6 
 
 Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy olhtT self. 
 Thy wish, exactly to thy heart's desire. 
 
 He ended, or i heard no more; fur now 
 My earthly by his heav'nly overpower'd. 
 Which it had long st(KHl under, strain'd to tin' height 
 In that celestial colhxjuy sublime. 
 As with an object that excels the sense 
 Dazzled and spent, sunk down and sought repair 
 Of skep, which instantly fell on me, call'd 
 Uv Xaiure as in aid, and dos'd mine eyes. 
 Mine eyes he clos'd, but open K-ft the cell 
 Of fancy, my internal sight, by which 
 /\bstr.ict, as in a trance, methought I saw. 
 Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape 
 Si ill glorious before whom awake I stood : 
 Who stooping ojwn'd my left side, and took 
 From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm. 
 And life-blood streaming fresh} wide was the wound, 
 But suddenly with flesh fdl'd up and heal'd : 
 The rib he lorm'd and fashion'd with his hands; 
 Under his forming hands a creature grew 
 Maidike, but dillerent sex; so lovely fair. 
 That what seem'd fair in all the world, seem'd now 
 Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contain'd 
 And in her looks j which from that time infus'J 
 Sweetness into my heart unfelt before, 
 And into all things from her air inspii'd 
 'Ihe spirit of love and amorous delight. 
 She disaj)pear"d, and left me dark: I wak'd 
 'I'o fujd her, or fur ever to deplore 
 Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure : 
 When out of hope, behold her, not far off. 
 Such as I saw her in mv dream, adorn'd 
 With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow 
 To m.ike her amiable : on she came, 
 Ixd by her heav'nly Maker, though u!".<;een, 
 And guided by his voice, nor uninform'd 
 Of nupti.d sanctity and marriage riUs: 
 Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in hei eye. 
 In every gesture dignity and love. 
 I ovcrjoy'd could not foHx ar aloud: 
 
 Tiiis turn lialh made amendi; tJiou hast fiilfill'd
 
 1(54 MILTON. BOOK vin. 
 
 Thy words. Creator bounteous and benign. 
 Giver of all things fair, but fairest this 
 Of all thy giffs, nor enviest. I now see 
 Bone of my bone, flesh of :ny flesh, myself 
 Before me 5 Woman is her name, of Man 
 Extracted J for this cause he shall forego 
 Father and mother, and to his wife adhere j 
 And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul. 
 
 She heard me thus; and tho' divinely brought 
 Yet innocence and virgin n^odesty. 
 Her virtue and the conscience of her worth. 
 That would be woo d, and not unsouglit be won. 
 Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retir'd 
 The more desirable, or 'to say ail, 
 Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought. 
 Wrought in her so, that seeing me, she turn'd; 
 I foUow'd her, she what was honour knew, 
 And with obsequious majesty approvd 
 My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower 
 I led her blushing like the Morn : all Heav'n, 
 And happy constellations on that hour 
 Shed their selectest influence; the Earth 
 Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ; 
 Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs . 
 Whisper'd it to the woods, and from ^heir wings 
 Flung rose, flang odours from ilie spicy shrub. 
 Disporting ! till the amorous bird of night 
 Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star 
 On his hill top, to light the bridal lamp. 
 
 Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought 
 My story to the sum of earthly hli.ss 
 Which I enjoy, and must coufess to find 
 In all things else delight indeed, but such 
 As us'd or not, works in t:ie mind no change. 
 Nor vehement desire ; these de.icacies 
 I mean of taste, sight, smell, licrb., fruits, and floweri^ 
 Walks, and the melody of Ijirds ; bu" .'lere 
 Far otber-A-ise, transported I behold. 
 Transported touch; here passion nrst I felt. 
 Commotion strange, in all eiijoy'nents else 
 Superior and unmov'd, here only weak 
 Against the charm of Beauty's pov/erful glance.
 
 ooK-vni. PAR/VDISE LOST. l05 
 
 Or nature fail'd in me, and left soiue part 
 Not proof enough such object to sustain. 
 Or from my ide s^^bducting, took, perhaps 
 More tJian enough ; at least on her bestow'd 
 Too much of ornanicut, in outward shew 
 Elaborate, of inward less exact. 
 For well 1 understand in ihe prime fid 
 Of Nature her th' interior, in the mmd 
 And in vard faculties which must excel. 
 In outward also her resembling less 
 His image wii^ :-,ade both, and less expressing 
 Tlie cijararter uf that dominion given 
 O'er other creatures; yet when I approach 
 Her loveHness, sa absolute she seems. 
 And in herself complete, so well to know 
 Her ov n, that what she wills to do or say 
 Seems wisest, '. 'rtuouse't, discreetest, best; 
 All higher kuowledge in her presence falls 
 Degraded, Wisdom in discourse with her 
 Los- s, discountenaiic'd, and like Folly shews; 
 Authority and Reason on her wait. 
 As one intended first, not after made 
 Occasionally; and to consummate all. 
 Greatness of mind, and Nobleness their seat 
 Build in her loveliest, and create an awe 
 About h;T, as a guard angelic plac'd. 
 
 To whom tlie angel with contracted brow. 
 Accuse not Nature, she haili done her part j 
 Do thou but tliine. and be not. diffident 
 Of VVisdcm, she ueserls tiiee not, if thou 
 Dismiss not her, wlu n most iliou need'st her nigh. 
 By attributing )Vtr mucli to things 
 Lrs cxcelloiit, ;..; thou thyself jx'rcciv'st. 
 For what ..dniir'st thou, what tiansports Uiee so? 
 An oiit-.id'", fiir nciuoubt, and worthy well 
 Thy ch. risiiing, thy honouring. :nd lliy love, 
 N >l thy su'j.riiou : wc'gl. with ht-T thyself; 
 Then vahif: oft-tin.es r..)thing profiis inori", 
 Tinn elf-esttvm, i^.oundcd onju'tand ri^ht 
 Well mam mI; oi tnai skiii the uior. ihou know'st. 
 The nioic sue \\\\] icknt.wlcdgv tl/ f h.er head. 
 Anil ;o rialitt.'s yioUl all her show>: 
 Made ^^), adorn tar u\y delight iIk" more.
 
 166 MILTON. BOOK vm. 
 
 So awful, that with honour thou niay'st lore 
 Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise. 
 But if the sense of touch whereby mankind 
 Is propagated seem such dear delight 
 Beyond all other, think the same vouchsaf d 
 To cattle and each beast; which would not be 
 To them made common and divailg'd, if aught 
 Therein enjoy'd were worthy to subdue 
 The soul of man, or passion in him move. 
 What higher in her society thou find'st 
 Attractive, human, rational, love still; 
 In loving thou dost well, in passion not. 
 Wherein true love consists not ; Love refines 
 The thoughts, and heart enlarges, hath his seat 
 In reason, and is judicious ; is the scale 
 By which to heav'nly love thou may'st ascend, 
 Not sunk in carnal pleasure, for which cause 
 Among the beasts no mate for thee was found. 
 
 To whom thus half abash'd Adam replj^'d : 
 Neither her outside form'd so fair, nor anght 
 In procreation common to all kinds 
 (Though higher of the genial bed by far. 
 And with mysterious reverence I deem) 
 So much delights me, as those graceful acts, 
 Those thousand decencies that daily flow 
 From all her words and actions, raix'd with love 
 And sweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd 
 LTnion of mind, or in us both one soulj 
 Harmony to behold in wedded pair. 
 More gratefid than harmoniou? sound to th' ear. 
 Yet these subject not; I to thee disclose 
 What inward thence I feel, not therefore foil'd. 
 Who meet with variovts objects, from the sense 
 Variously representing; yet still free 
 Approve the best, and follow what J approve. 
 To love thou blam'st me not, for !ove thou says't 
 Leads up to Heav'n, is both the way and gtiide; 
 Bear with me then, if lawful what I ask; 
 Love not the heav'nly spirits, and how their love 
 Express they, by looks only', or do they mix 
 Irradiance, virtual or immediate touch ? 
 
 To whom the angel, with a smile that glow'd
 
 BOOK nil. PARADISE LOST. IO7 
 
 Celestial rosy red. Love's proper hue, 
 
 Answcr'd. Let it suffice thee that thou know'tt 
 
 Us happy', and without love no happiness. 
 
 Whatever pure thou in the body' eiijoy'st 
 
 (And pure iliou wcrt created) we enjoy 
 
 In eminence, and obstacle find none 
 
 Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive barsj 
 
 Easier than air with air, if sprits embrace. 
 
 Total ihey mix, union of pure with pure 
 
 Desiring; nor restrain'*! convey.ince nerd 
 
 As riesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul. 
 
 But I can now no more ; the parting sun 
 
 Beyond the Earth s green cape ..nd verdant isles 
 
 He>perian sets, my signal todcpirt. 
 
 Be strong, live happy, and love, bt;t fir.-.t of all 
 
 Him whom to love is to obey, and keep 
 
 His great command ; lake heed lest i)assion sway 
 
 Thy juilg'iicnt to do aught, w hich eK.e free will 
 
 Wiiuld not admit; thine and of all thy sons 
 
 The weal or woe in thee is plac'd ; beware! 
 
 I in thy persevering sh.iU rejoice. 
 
 And ail the Blest ; stand fa<;t ; to stand or fiill 
 
 Free in thine own arbitrcment it lies: 
 
 I'erfect within, n > outward nid require; 
 
 And all temptation to transgress rejx 1. 
 
 So saying, he aro~e; wliom Adam thus 
 Follow'd with Iwneiliction : since to part, 
 (fO heiv'nly guest, ethereal niesst-nijer. 
 Sent friim whose sov'reign goodness I adore, 
 (icntle to me and all'aMe hath been 
 Thy condescension, and shall be honour'd ever 
 With grateful memory: tliou to mankind 
 Be good and triendly still, and ott return. 
 
 So p;:rted tl;ey, the angel up to Heav n 
 From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower.
 
 168 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Satan having compassed the earth with meditated guile, returns 
 as a mist by night into Paradise, enters into the serpent sleeping. 
 Adam and Eve, in the morning, go forth to their labours, vrhich 
 Eve proposes to divide in several places, each labouring apart ' 
 Adam consents not, alleging the danger, lest that enemy, of 
 whom they were forewarned, should attempt her found alone : 
 Eve, loath to be thought not circumspect or firm enough, 
 urges her going apart, the rather desirous to make trial of her 
 strength ; Adam at last yields : the serpent finds her alone ; his 
 subtile approach, first gazing, then speaking, with much flattery, 
 extolling Eve above all other creatures. Eve, wondering to hear 
 the serpent speak, asks how he attained to human f^peech and 
 such understanding not till now ; the serpent answers, that 
 by tasting of a certain tree in the garden, he attained both to 
 speech and reason, till then void of both : Eve requires him to 
 bring her to that tree, and finds it to be the Tree of Knowledge 
 forbidden : The serpent now grown bolder, with many wiles and 
 arguments, induces her at length to eat : she, pleased with the 
 taste, deliberates awhile whether to impart thereof to Adam or 
 not, at last brings him of the fruit, relates what persuaded her 
 to eat thereof : Adam, at first amazed, but pcroeiving her lost, 
 resolves, through vehemence of love, to perish with her ; 
 and, extenuating the trespass, eats also of the fruit : the 
 effects thereof in them both ; they seek to cover their naked- 
 ness ; then fall to variance and accusation of one another. 
 
 No more of talk where God or Angel guest 
 With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd 
 To sit indulgent, and with him partake 
 Rural repast, permitting him the while 
 Venial discourse unblam'dj I now must change 
 Those notes to tragic j foul distrust and breach 
 Disloyal on the part of man, revolt. 
 And disobedience : on the part of Heav'n, 
 Now alienated, distance and distaste. 
 Anger and just rebuke, and judgment giv'n. 
 That brought into this world, a world of woe. 
 Sin and her shadow Death, and Miser/
 
 BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. iGg 
 
 Deatli's harbinger: sad task, yet argument 
 
 Not less, but more heroic than the wrath 
 
 Of stem Achilles on his foe pnrsuci 
 
 Thrice fugitive about Troy wall ; or rage 
 
 Of Turnis for La\inia disespous'd, 
 
 Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long 
 
 Perplex'd the Greek and Cytherca's son; 
 
 If answerable style I can obtain 
 
 Of my celestial Patroness, who deigns 
 
 Her night'y visitation unimplor'd. 
 
 And dictates to me slumb'ring, or inspire* 
 
 Easy my unpremeditated verse : 
 
 Since first this subject for heroic sons^^ 
 
 Pleas'd me, long choosing, and beginning late; 
 
 Not sedukms by nature to indite 
 
 Wars, hitlierto the only argimient 
 
 Heroic deem'd, chief mastery to dissect 
 
 With long and tedious havock fabled knights 
 
 In battles feign'd ; the better fortitude 
 
 Of Patience and heroic Martyrdom 
 
 Unsung ; or to describe races and games, 
 
 Or tilting furniture, emblazon'd shields. 
 
 Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds ; 
 
 liases and tinsel lrapj)ings, gorgeous knights 
 
 At joust and tournament ; then marshal'd feast 
 
 Serv'd up in hall with sewers, and scncshals ; 
 
 Ihe skill of artifice or office mean. 
 
 Nut that which justly gives heroic name 
 
 To person or to poem. Me, of these 
 
 Nor skill'd, nor studious, higher argument 
 
 Remains, sufficient of itself to raise 
 
 'I'hat name, unless an age too late, or cold 
 
 Climate, or years, damp my intended wing 
 
 Depress'd : and much they may, if all be mine. 
 
 Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear. 
 
 The sun was sunk, and after him the star 
 Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring 
 Twilight upon the Earth, short arbiter 
 'Twixt day and night, and now from end to end 
 Night's hemisphere had veil'd th' horizon round: 
 When Satan who late fled before the threat* 
 Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improv'd 
 
 TOL. I. I
 
 i;0 MILTON. BOOK. IX. 
 
 In meditated fraud and malice, bent 
 
 On man's destruction, maugre what mii.^ht hap 
 
 Of heavier on himself, fearless return'd. 
 
 By night he fied, and at midnight relurn'd 
 
 From compassing the earth, cautious of day. 
 
 Since Uriel, regent of the sun descry'd 
 
 His entrance, and forewarnd the cherubim 
 
 That kept their watch; thence full of anguish driven^ 
 
 The space of sev'n continued nights he rode 
 
 With darkness, thrice the equinoctional line 
 
 lie circl'd, four times cross'd the car of Night 
 
 I'Vom pole to pole, traversing each colure; 
 
 (Jn th' eighth return'd, and on the coast averse 
 
 From entrance or cherubic watch, by stealth 
 
 Found unsuspected way. There was a place. 
 
 Now not, (though Sin not Time, first wrought the 
 
 change) 
 Where Tigris at the foot of Paradise 
 Into a gulf shot under ground, till part 
 Rose up a fountain by the Tree of Life; 
 In with the river sunk, and with it rose 
 Satan involv'd in rising mist, then sought 
 Where to lie hid} sea he had search'd and land 
 From Eden over Pontus, and the pool 
 iSIoeotis, up be)'ond the river Ob; 
 Downward as far antarctic; and in length 
 West from Orontes to the ocean barr'd 
 At Darien, thence to the land where flows 
 Ganges and Indus: thus the orb he roam'd 
 With narrow search, and with inspection deep. 
 Considered every creature, which of all 
 Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found 
 The serpent, subt'lest beast of all the field ; 
 Ilim, after long debate, irresolute 
 i){ thoughts revolv'd, his final sentence chose 
 Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom 
 To enter, and his dark suggestions hide 
 I*'rom sharpest'sight: for in the wily snake. 
 Whatever sleights none would suspicious mark. 
 As from his wit and native subtlety 
 Proceeding, which in other beasts observ'd. 
 Doubt might beget of diabolic pow'r.
 
 BooMx. PARADISE LOST. l/l 
 
 Active wiUiin beyond the sense of bnitc. 
 Thus be resolv'd; but first from inward grtef 
 His bursting passion into plaints tlius pour'd. 
 
 O Eartli, how hke to Heav'n ! if not preferr'd 
 More justly, seat worthier of god, as built 
 Willi second thoughts, reforming what was old! 
 For what God, alter better, worse would build ? 
 Terreslri.d Ileav'n, dant'd round by other heav'us 
 That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, 
 Ivight above light, for thee alone,'"'us seems. 
 In thee concentring all their precioilxs beams 
 Of sacred influence! As God in Heav'n 
 Is centre, yet extends to all j so thou 
 Centring, receiv'st from all these orbs j in thee. 
 Not in themselves, all their known virtue' appears 
 Productive, in herb, plant, and nobler birth 
 Of creatures animate, with graduiil life 
 Of growth, sense, rerjwn, n'l sTimnid up in man. 
 With what delight could I have walk'd thee round. 
 If I could joy in aught : sweet interchange 
 Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains. 
 Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crown'd, 
 Rocks, dens, and caves! but I in none of these 
 Find place or refuge ; and the more I see 
 I'leasures about me, so much more I feel 
 Torment within me', as from tlie hateful siege 
 ( )f contraries ; all goo<.l to me becomes 
 Banc, and in Heav'n much worse would be my state. 
 Kut neither here seek I; no, nor in Heav'n 
 To dwell, unless by mast'ring Heav'n's Supreme; 
 Nor iiope to be myself less mi.serable 
 Hy what I seek, but others to make such 
 As I, tho' thereby worse to me redound : 
 For only in destroying I find ease 
 To my relentless thoughts ; and him destroyed. 
 Or won to what may work his utter loss, 
 For wlium all this was made, all this will soon 
 Follow, as to him link'd in weal or woe. 
 In woe then, that destaiction wide may range: 
 To me shall be the glory sole among 
 Til' infernal powers, in one day to have marr'd 
 What he Almighty sty I'd, six nights and days
 
 172 MILTON. BooKix. 
 
 Continued making ; and who knows how long 
 Before had been contriving, tho' perhaps 
 Not longer than since I in one night freed 
 From servitude inglorious well nigh half 
 Th' angelic name, and thinner left the throng 
 Of his adorers : he, to be aveng'd. 
 And to repair his numbers thus impair'd. 
 Whether such virtue spent of old now fail'd 
 More Angels to create, if they at least 
 Are his created, or to spite us more, 
 Determin'd to advance into our room 
 A creature form'd of earth, and him endow. 
 Exalted from so base original. 
 With heav'nly spoils, our spoils : what he decreed 
 He effected ; Man he made, and for him built 
 Magnificent this world, and Earth his seat. 
 Him lord pronounc'd ; and, O indignity ! 
 Subjected to his service angel wings. 
 And flaming ministers, to watch and tend 
 Their earthly charge : of these the vigilance 
 I dread ; and to elude, thus wrapt in mist 
 Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry 
 In every bush and brake, where hap may find 
 The serpent sleeping, in whose mazy folds 
 To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. 
 O foul descent ! that I, who erst contended 
 With gods to sit the high'st, am now constrain'd 
 Into a beast, and mixt with bestial slime. 
 This essence to incarnate and imbrute j 
 That to the height of Deity aspir'd ! 
 But what will not ambition and revenge 
 Descend to ? who aspires, must down as lovr 
 As high he soar'd, obnoxious first or last 
 To basest things. Revenge, at first tho' sweety 
 Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils ; 
 J^t it; I reck not, so it light well aim'd ; 
 Since higher I fall short, on him who next 
 Provokes my envy, this new favourite 
 Of Heav'n, this Man of Clay, Son of Despite, 
 Whom us the more to spite, his Maker rais'd 
 From dust : Spite, then, with spite, is best repaid. 
 So saying, through each thicket, dack or dry.
 
 looK. IX. PARADISE LOST. 173 
 
 Like a black mist low creeping, he held on 
 
 His midnight search, where, soonest, he might find 
 
 The serpent : him fast sleeping soon he found 
 
 In labyrinth of many a round self-roll'd, 
 
 His head the midst, well stor'd with subtile wiles : 
 
 Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den. 
 
 Nor nocent yet, but on the grassy herb 
 
 Fearless, unfear'd he slept : in, at his mouth 
 
 I'he Devil enter'd, and his brutal sense. 
 
 In heart or head, possessing soon inspir'd" 
 
 With act intelligential ; but his sleep 
 
 Disiurb'd not, waiting close th' approach of tnorn. 
 
 Now when, as sacred light began to dawn 
 In Ldcn on the humid flowers, that breath'd 
 I'heir morning incense, when all things that breathe. 
 From th' Earth's great altar send up silent praise 
 To the Creator, and his nostrils fill 
 Wit!i grateful smell, forth came tlie human Pair, 
 And join'd their vocal worship to the tjuirc 
 Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake 
 I'he season, prime for sweetest scents and airs : 
 Then commune how that day they best may ply 
 'I'heir growing work ; for much their work outgrew 
 The hands' dispatch of two gard'ning so wide, ' 
 And Eve, first to her husband thus began : 
 
 Adam, well may we labour still to dress 
 This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower. 
 Our pleasant task enjoin'd -, but till more haidi 
 Aid u-., the work under our labour grows 
 Luxuriant by restraint; what we by day 
 Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, 
 One night or two with wanton growth derides. 
 Tending to wild. Thou, therefore, now advise. 
 Or hear what to my mind first thoughts present; 
 IaM us divide our labours, thou, where choice 
 Ix*ads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind 
 The wootlbine round this arbour, or direct 
 The clasping ivy where to climb, while I 
 In yonder spring, of roses intermix'd 
 With myrtle, find what to redress, till noon: 
 For wiiile so near each other tluis all day 
 Our task wc choose, what wonder if, so near, 
 I S
 
 174 MILTON. BOCK jx. 
 
 Looks intervene, and smiles, or object new 
 Casual discourse draw on, which intermits 
 Our day's work, brought to little, tho' begun 
 Early, and th' hour of supper comes unearn'd. 
 
 To whom, mild answer Adam thus return'd : 
 Sole Eve, -associate sole, to me beyond 
 Compare, above all living creatures dear. 
 Well hast thou motion'd, well thy thoughts employ'd. 
 How we might best fulfil the work which heie 
 God hath assign'd us, nor of me shalt pass 
 Unprais'd : for nothing lovelier can be found 
 In woman, than to study household good. 
 And good v.orks in her husband to promote. 
 Yet not so strictly hath our Lord irnpos'd 
 Labour, as to debar us when we need 
 Refreshment, whether food, or talk between. 
 Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse 
 Of looks and smiles ; for smiles from reason flow. 
 To brute deny'd, and are of love the food. 
 Love, not the lowest end of human life. 
 For not to irksome toil, but to delight 
 He made us, and delight to reason join'd. 
 The paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands 
 "U ill keep from wilderness with ease, as wide 
 As we need walk, till younger hands, ere long 
 Assist us: but if much converse perhaps 
 Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield : 
 For solitude, sometimes, is best society. 
 And short retirement urges sweet return. 
 But other doubt possesses me, lest harm 
 Befal thee sever'd from me ; for thou know'st 
 What hath been warn'd us, what malicious foe 
 Envying our happiness, and of his own 
 Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame 
 By sly assault , and some where nigh at hand 
 Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to lind 
 His wish and best advantage, us asunder. 
 Hopeless to circumvent us join'd, where each 
 To other speedy aid might lend at need ; 
 Whether his first design be to withdraw 
 Our fealty from God, or to disturb 
 Conjugal love, than which, perhaps, no blis.s
 
 BOCK IX. PARADISE LOST. ir.5 
 
 Enjoy'd by us excites his envy more ; 
 
 Or this, or worse, leave not the fuithful side 
 
 That gave thee being, still shades thee, and protv tls. 
 
 The wife, where danger or dishonour lurk-;. 
 
 Safest and seemliest by her husband stays. 
 
 Who guards her, or with her the worst endures. 
 
 To whom the virg'n majesty of Eve, 
 As one who loves and some unkindncss meets. 
 With sweet austere composure thus reply "d. 
 
 Offspring of Heav'n and Earth, and all Earth's lord. 
 That such an enemy we have, who se*. ks 
 Our ruin, both by thee inform'd I learn. 
 And Irorn the parting angel overheard. 
 As in a shady nook I stood behind. 
 Just then return'd at shut of evening flowers-. 
 But tli.it thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt 
 To Go.l or thee, because we have a foe 
 May tempt it, I expected not to hear. 
 His violence thou fear'st not, l)eing such 
 As we, not capable of death or pain. 
 Can either not receive, or can repel. 
 His fraud is then thy fear, which plain infers 
 I'hy equal fear, that my firm faith and love 
 Can by his fraud be shaken or seduc'd ; 
 Thoughts, which how foiuid they harbour in thy breast, 
 Adam, misthought of her to thee so dear r 
 
 To whom, with healing words, Adam reply d : 
 Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve, 
 For such thou art, from .sin and blame entire : 
 Not diffident of thee do I dissuade 
 Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid 
 Th' attempt itself intended by our foe. 
 Ef)r he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperse* 
 'i'he tcHipted with dishonour foul, suppos'd 
 Not incorruptible of fiith, nut proof 
 Against temptation : thou thyself, with .^co^^ 
 And anger, wouldst resent the ofl'er'd wrong, 
 Tho' incrt'ectual found ; misdeem not then. 
 If such atTront I labour to avert 
 I'loui thee alone, which on us both at once 
 The enemy, tho" bold, will hardly dare. 
 Or daring, first on mc th' assault shall ligbt^ 
 I 4
 
 17(5 MILTON. BOOK ix. 
 
 Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn ; 
 Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce 
 Angels; nor think superfluous others aid. 
 I, from the influence of thy looks, receive 
 Access in every virtue ; in thy sight 
 More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were 
 Of outward strength : while shame, thou looking 'ol|_, 
 Shame to be overcome or over-reach'd 
 Would utmost vigour raise, and rais'd, unite. 
 Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel 
 When I am present, and thy trial choose 
 With me, best witness of thy virtue try'd ? 
 
 So spake domestic Adam in his care 
 And matrimonial love ; but Eve, who thought 
 Less attributed to her faith sincere. 
 Thus her reply, with accent sweet, renew'd. 
 
 If this be our condition, thus to dwell 
 In narrow circuit straiten'd by a foe. 
 Subtle or violent, we not endued 
 Single with like defence, wherever met. 
 How are we happy, still in fear of harm ? 
 But harm precedes not sin : only our foe 
 Tempting affronts us with his foul esteem 
 Of our integrity : his foul esteem 
 Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns 
 Foul on himself: then wherefore shunn'd or fear'd 
 By us ? who rather double honour gain 
 From his surmise provd false, find peace within. 
 Favour from Heav'n, our witness from th' event. 
 And what is faith, love, virtue unassay'd 
 Alone, without exterior help sustain'd ? 
 Let us not then suspect our happy stat 
 Left so imperfect by the Maker wise. 
 As not secure to single or combin'd. 
 Frail is our happiness, if this be so. 
 And Eden were no Eden thus expos'd. 
 
 To whom thus Adam fervently reply'd : 
 O Woman, best are all things as the will 
 Of God ordain'd them 3 his creating hand 
 Nothing imperfect or deficient left 
 Of all that he created, much less man, 
 Or aught that might his happy state secure.
 
 aooK IX. PARADISE LOiT. 177 
 
 Secure from outward force, within himself 
 
 The danger lies, yet lies within liis power: 
 
 Against his will he can receive no harm. 
 
 But God left free the will, for what obeys 
 
 Reason, is free, and Reason he made right. 
 
 But bid her well beware, and still erect. 
 
 Lest, by some fair appearing good surpris'd. 
 
 She dictate false, and misinform the will. 
 
 To do what God expressly hath forbid. 
 
 Not then mistrust, but tender love enjoins, 
 
 That I should mind thee oft, and mind thou me. 
 
 Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve. 
 
 Since reason not impossibly may meet 
 
 Some specious object by the foe suborn'd. 
 
 And fall into deception unaware. 
 
 Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warn'd. 
 
 Seek not temptation then, which to avoid 
 
 Were better, and most likely, if from me 
 
 Thou sever not : trial will come unsought. 
 
 Wouldst thou approve thy consLincy ? approve 
 
 First thy obedience ; th' other who can know. 
 
 Not seeing tliee attempted ? who attest ? 
 
 But if thou think, trial unsought may find 
 
 Us both securer than thus warn'd thou seem'st. 
 
 Go ; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more ; 
 
 Go in thy native innocence, rely 
 
 On what thou hast of virtue, summon all; 
 
 For God tow'rds tliee hath done his part ; do thine. 
 
 So spake the Patriarch of Mankind ; but Eve 
 Persisted, yet submiss, though last, reply'd : 
 
 With thy permission then, and thus forewarn'd 
 Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words 
 Touch'd only, that our trial, when least sought. 
 May tind us both perhaps far less prepar'd. 
 The wiUin;er I go, nor much expect 
 A fo<- so proud will hr>t the weaker seek ; 
 So iK-nt, the more shall shame him his repulse. 
 
 Thus saying, from her husband's hand, her hand 
 Soft ^he withdrew ; and, like a wiKKl-nymph light. 
 Oread or Dryad, or of Delias train. 
 Betook her to the groves; but Delia's self 
 In gait surpass'd, and goddess-like deport : 
 1 5
 
 178 'MILTON. BOOK IX, 
 
 Tho' not as she with bow and quiver arm'd. 
 
 But with such gard'ning tools as art, yet rude. 
 
 Guiltless of fire, had form'dj or Angels brought. 
 
 To Pales, or Pomona, thus ador'd, 
 
 Likest she seera'd ; Pomona, when she fled 
 
 Vertumnus^ or to Ceres in her prime. 
 
 Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove. 
 
 Her, long with ardent look his eye pursu'd 
 
 Delighted, but desired more her stay. 
 
 Oft he to her his charge of quick return 
 
 Repeated, she to him, as oft engag'd 
 
 To be return'd by noon amid the bower. 
 
 And all things in best order to invite 
 
 Noon-tide repast, or afternoon's repose. 
 
 O much deceiv'd, much failing, hapless Eve, 
 
 Of thy presum'd return ! event perverse ! 
 
 Thou never from that hour in Paradise 
 
 Found' st either sweet repast, or sound repose : 
 
 Such ambush laid among sweet flow'rs and shades 
 
 Waited with hellish rancour imminent 
 
 To intercept thy way, or send thee back 
 
 Despoil'd of innocence, of faith, of bliss. 
 
 For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend, 
 
 Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come, 
 
 And on his quest, where likeliest he might find 
 
 The only two of mankind, but in them 
 
 The whole included race, his purpos'd prey. 
 
 In bower and field he sought where ;iny tuft 
 
 Of grove or garden plot more pleasant lay. 
 
 Their tendence or plantation for delight ; 
 
 By fountain or by shady rivulet 
 
 He sought them both, but widld his hap might find 
 
 Eve separate ; he wish'd, but not with hope 
 
 Of what so seldom chanc'd, when to his wish. 
 
 Beyond his hope. Eve separate he spies, 
 
 Veii'd in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood. 
 
 Half spy'd, so thick the roses blushing round 
 
 About her glow'd, oft stooping to support 
 
 Each flower of slender stalk, whoKc head, though gay 
 
 Carnation, purple', aznre, or speck'd with gold. 
 
 Hung drooping unsustain'd) them she upstays 
 
 Ckntly with myrtle band, mindless the while
 
 BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. I7y 
 
 Herself, tlio' fairest unsupported fiowcr. 
 From her best prop so far, and storm so nigli. 
 Nearer he drew, and many a walk travers'd 
 Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm ; 
 Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen 
 Among thick-woven arborels and flowers 
 Imborder'd on each bank, tlie hand ot Kvc : 
 Spot more delicious thi'.n those gardens fei gn'd, 
 i)r of reviv'd Adonis, or rcnown'd 
 Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son ; 
 Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king 
 Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse. 
 Much he the place adniird, the person more. 
 As one who long in populous city pent. 
 Where houses thick and skewers annoy the air, 
 Forth issuing on a sunimei's morn to breathe 
 Among the pleasai.t villages and farms 
 Adjuind, from each thing met conceives delight. 
 The smell of giain, or tedded grass, or kine, 
 Or dairy-', each rural sight, each rural sound ; 
 If chance, with nymph-lii.e step, fair virgin pass, 
 Wliat pleasing seem'd, for her now pleases more. 
 She most, and in her look iums all delight. 
 Such pleasure took the serpent lo behold 
 This flower}' plat, the sweet recess of Eve 
 Thus early, thus alone ; her heav'nly form 
 Angflic, but more soft ard feminine 
 Her graceful innocence, her every air 
 Of gesture or least r.ction ovemw'd 
 His malice, and with rapine sweet lx'rc.:v'd 
 His fierceness of the tierce intent it brotsght : 
 I'hat space the Evil-one abstracted st(x>d 
 From his own evil, ami for tiie time remaind 
 Stupidly good, of enmity dis:jrm'd. 
 Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge; 
 But the hot hell that always in him burns, 
 Tho" in mid Heav'n, soon ended his i.ieli;jlit. 
 And tortures iiim now more, the more he s ei 
 (Jf pleasure, uot tor him urdaiii'd : then ^'JOU 
 Fierce hate !je recollects, and all his thoughts 
 Of mischief, gratulating. thus excites, 
 
 Thoiijhts, whither have \e led me I wilii wli.it sucei
 
 185 MILTON. 
 
 SOOK IX. 
 
 Compulsion thus transported to forget 
 
 What hither brought us ! hate, not love, nor hope 
 
 Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste 
 
 Of pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy. 
 
 Save what is in destroying ; other joy 
 
 To me is lost. Then let me not let pass 
 
 Occasion, which now smiles ; behold ! alone 
 
 The Woman, opportune to all attempts j 
 
 Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh. 
 
 Whose higher intellectual more I shun. 
 
 And strength, of courage haughty, and of limb 
 
 Heroic built, tho' of terrestrial mould. 
 
 Foe not informidable, exempt from wound, 
 
 J, not ; so much hath Hell debas'd, and pain 
 
 Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heav'n. 
 
 She, fair, divinely fair, fit love for gods. 
 
 Not terrible, tho' terror be in love 
 
 And beauty, not approach'd by stronger hate, 
 
 Hate stronger, under shew of love well feign'd. 
 
 The way which to her ruin now I tend. 
 
 So spake the enemy' of mankind, enelos'd 
 In sequent, inmate bad, and tow'rd Eve 
 Address'd his way, not with indented wave. 
 Prone on the ground, as since, but on his rear. 
 Circular base of rising folds, that toward 
 Fold above fold, a surging maze, his head 
 Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes; 
 With burnish'd neck of verdant gold, erect 
 Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass 
 Floated redundant : pleasing was his shape 
 And lovely ; never since of serpent kind 
 Lovelier, not those that in Illyria chang d 
 Hermione and Cadmus, or the God 
 In Epidaurus ; nor to which transform'd 
 Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline was seen. 
 He, with Olympias, this with her who bore 
 Scipio, the height of Piome. With tract oblique 
 At first, as one who sought access, but fear'd 
 To interrupt, side-long he works his way : 
 As when- a ship, by skilful steersman M'rought 
 Nigh river's mouth, or foreland, where the wind 
 Veers oft^ as oft so steers and shifts her sail :
 
 BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. 181 
 
 So varied he, and of his tortuous train 
 Curl'd many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, 
 To lure her eye ; she, busied, heard the sound 
 Of nistling leaves, but minded not, as us'd 
 '1 o such disport before or through the field, 
 From every beast, more duteous at her call 
 Than at Circenn call the herd disguis'd. 
 He, bolder now, uncall'd before her stood, 
 lUit as in gaze admiring : oft he bow'd 
 His turret crest, and sleek enamel'd neck. 
 Fawning, and lick'd the ground whereon she trod. 
 His gentle dumb expression turn'd, at length. 
 The eye of Eve to mark his play ; he, glad 
 Of her attention gain'd, with serpent tongue 
 Organic, or impulse of vocal air, 
 His fraudulent temptation tlius began : 
 
 Wonder not, sov'reign Mistress, if, perhaps. 
 Thou canst, who art sole wonder; much Lss arm 
 Thy looks, the heav'n of mildness, with disdain, 
 Displeas'd that I approach tliee thus, and gaze 
 Insatiate; I thus single, nor have fear'd 
 Thy awful brow, more awful thus retir'd. 
 Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair. 
 Thee, all things living gaze on, all things thine 
 By gift, and thy celestial l)eauty' adore. 
 With ravishment beheld ; there, best beheld 
 Where universally admir'd ; but here 
 In this inclosure wild, these beasts among. 
 Beholders rude ! and shallow to discern 
 Halfwli.it in thee is fair, one man except. 
 Who sees thee' ? (and what is one!) who shouldat be 
 
 seen 
 A goddess among gods, ador'd and serv'd 
 By angels numberless, thy daily train. 
 
 So gloz'd the tempter, and his jMoem tiin'd ; 
 Into tiie heart of Eve his words made way, 
 Tho' at the voice much mar^elling, at length. 
 Not unaniaz'd, she thus in answer spake : 
 What may this mean ? language of man pronounc'4 
 By tongue of brute, and human sense exprcbs'd ! 
 The hrst at least of these I thought deny'd 
 To beasts, whom God, on their creation-day.
 
 182 MILTON. BOOK IX. 
 
 Created mute to all articulate sound ; 
 The latter I demur ; for in their looks 
 Much reason, and in their actions oft appears. 
 Thee, Serpent, subt'lest beast of all the field 
 I knew, but not with human voice indu'd ; 
 Redouble then this miracle, and say. 
 How cam'st thou speakable of mute, and how. 
 To me so friendly grown above the rest 
 Of brutal kind, that daily are in sight ? 
 Say; for such wonder claims attention due. 
 
 To whom die guileful tempter thus reply 'd r 
 Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve, 
 Easy to me it is to tell thee all 
 "What thou command'st, and right thou shouldst be 
 
 obey'd : 
 I was at first as other beasts that graze 
 The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low, ' 
 
 As was my food 5 nor aught but food discern'd. 
 Or sex, and apprehended nothing high : 
 Till, on a day roving the field, I chanc'd 
 A. goodly tree far distant to behold, 
 Loaden with fruit of fairest colours mix'd. 
 Ruddy and gold : I nearer drew to gaze j 
 When from the boughs a savoury odour blown,. 
 Grateful to appetite, more pleas'd my sense 
 Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats 
 Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at even, 
 Unsuck'd of lamb or kid, that tend their play. 
 To satisfy the sharp desire 1 had 
 Of tasting those fair apples, I resolv'd 
 Not to defer ; hunger and thirst at once. 
 Powerful persuaders ! quicken'd at the scent 
 Of that alluring fruit, vu^g'd me so keen. 
 i\bout the mossy trunk I wound me soon ; 
 For high from ground the branches would require 
 Thy utmost reach, or Adam's : round the tree 
 All other beasts that saw, with like desire 
 Longing and envying stood, but could not reach. 
 Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung 
 Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill, 
 I spar'd not, for such pleasure till that hour 
 At feed or fountain never had I found.
 
 BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. 183 
 
 Sated at length, ere long I might perceive 
 
 Strange alteration in me, to degree 
 
 Of reason in my inward powers, and speech 
 
 Wanted not long, tho' to this shape retain'd. 
 
 Thenceforth, to sjx^culalions high or deep 
 
 I turn'd my thoughts, and with capacious mind 
 
 Considerd all things visible in Heav'n, 
 
 Or eirth, or middle, all things fair and good ; 
 
 But al! lliit fair and good in. thy divine 
 
 Semblance, and in thy beauty's heav'nly my 
 
 I 'nitcd I beheld ; no fair to thine 
 
 Kquivalent or second, whit h compell'd 
 
 Me thus, iho' importune perhaps, to come 
 
 And gaze, and worship thee, of right declar'd, 
 
 Sov'reign of creatures, universal dame. 
 
 So talk'd the spirited sly snake; and Eve 
 Yet moic amaz'd, unwary thus reply'd : 
 Seq)ent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt 
 The virtue of that faiit, in thcc fir-t prov'd : 
 But say, where grows the tree, from hence iiow far } 
 For many are the trees of God that grow 
 In Paradise, and var'oMS, yet unknown 
 To us, in such abundance lies our choice. 
 As leaves a greater store of fruit untoueh'd. 
 Still hanging incorruptible, till men 
 CJrow up to their provision, and more haiids 
 Hf Ip to disburden Xature of her birth. 
 
 To whom the wily adder blithe and glad : 
 impress, the way is ready, an I not long ; 
 Ke)ond a row of myrtles, on a flat, 
 I'ast by a fountain, one small tliickct past 
 Ofblowiii::^ myrrh and balm ; if thou accept 
 .My comluct, I can bring thee tliither soon. 
 ?-ead then, s tid Eve. He leading swiftly roH'd 
 In tangles, and made intricate seem straight. 
 To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy 
 Brightens his crest. As when a w.ind'ring fire, 
 (\)mpact of unctuous vapotir, which the night 
 (-ontlenses, and the cold environs round. 
 Kindled, through agitation, to a tlanie, 
 (Which oft, tl;.-y say, some evil sprit attends) 
 Havering and blazing, with dclusi\e light,
 
 184 MILTON. BOOK ix. 
 
 Misleads th' amaz'd night-wand' rer from his way. 
 
 Thro' bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool. 
 
 There swallow'd up and lost, from succour far 3 
 
 So glister'd the dire snake, and into fraud 
 
 Led Eve, our credulous mother,, to the tree 
 
 Of prohibition, root of all our woe -, 
 
 Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake : 
 
 Serpent, we might have spar'd our coming hither. 
 Fruitless to me, tho' fruit be here t' excess 3 
 The credit of whose virtue rest with thee, 
 "Wond'rous indeed, if cause of such effects. 
 But of this tree we may not taste nor touch ; 
 God so commanded, and left that command 
 Sole daughter of his voice; the rest, we live 
 Law to ourselves, our reason is our law. 
 
 To whom the Tempter guilefully reply'd : 
 Indeed ! hath God then said, that of the fruit 
 Of all these garden trees ye shall not eat. 
 Yet lords declar'd of all in earth or air ? 
 
 To whom thus Eve, yet sinless. Of the fruit 
 Of each tree in the garden we may eat. 
 Rut of the fruit of this fair tree amidst 
 The garden, God hath said. Ye shall not eat 
 Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die. 
 
 She scarce had said, though brief, when now more 
 bold 
 The Tempter, but, with shew of zeal and love 
 To man, and indignation at his wrong. 
 New part puts on, and as to passion mov'd. 
 Fluctuates disturb'd, yet comely and in act 
 Rais'd, as of some great matter to begin. 
 As when of old some orator renown'd 
 In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence 
 Flourish'd, since mute, to some great cause address'd. 
 Stood in himself collected, while each part. 
 Motion, each act won audience, ere the tongue 3 
 Sometimes in height began, as no delay 
 Of preface brooking through his zeal of right : 
 So standing, moving, or to height up grown. 
 The Tempter, all impassion'd, thus began : 
 
 O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant, 
 Mother of Science, now I feel thy power
 
 Boot 11. PARADISE LOST. IS5 
 
 Within me clear ; not only to discern 
 
 Things in their causes, but to trace the wajs 
 
 Of highest agents, deem'd however wise. 
 
 Queen of this universe, do not believe 
 
 Those rigid tlu"eats of death ; ye shall not die : 
 
 How should you ? by the fruit ? it gives you Vifm 
 
 To knowledge j by the Threat'ner ? look on me. 
 
 Me who have touch'd and tasted, yet both live. 
 
 And life more perfect have attain'd than Fate 
 
 Meant me, by vent'ring higher than my lot. 
 
 Shall that be shut to man, which to the beast 
 
 Is open? or will God incense his ire 
 
 For such a petty trespass, and not praise 
 
 Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain 
 
 Of death denounc'd, whatever thing deatli b^ 
 
 Deterr'd not from achieving what might lead 
 
 To happier life, knowledge of good and evil ; 
 
 Of Good, how just ? of evil, if what is evil 
 
 Be real, why not known, since easier shunn'd : 
 
 God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just ; 
 
 Not just, not God ; not fear'd then, nor obey'd: 
 
 Your fear itself of death removes the fear. 
 
 Why then was this forbid ? why, but to awe;. 
 
 Why but to keep you low and ignorant, 
 
 Hii worshipjjers j he knows that in the day 
 
 You eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear,, 
 
 Yet arc but dim, shall perfectly be then 
 
 Open'd and clear'd, and ye shall be as gods. 
 
 Knowing both good and evil, as they know. 
 
 That ye shall be as gods, since I as man. 
 
 Internal man, is but proportion meet; 
 
 1 of brute human, ye of human gods, 
 
 So yc shall die j>erh;ips, by putting oft* 
 
 Human, to put on gods ; death to be wish'd, 
 
 Tho' threaten'd, which no worse than this can bring. 
 
 And what are gods, that man may not become 
 
 As they, participating g(xl-likc food ? 
 
 The gods are first, and that advantage use 
 
 On our belief, that :ill from them proceeds: 
 
 I iue!ition it; for this f.iir earth I see, 
 
 Warni'd by the sun, produ<in<; every kind. 
 
 Them notliing : if they all things, who encloi'd
 
 186 MILTON. EooK IX. 
 
 Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, 
 That whoso eats thereof, forthwith attains 
 Wisdom without their leave ? and wherein lies 
 Th' offence, that man should thus attain to know ? 
 What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree 
 Impart against his will, if all be his ? 
 Or is it envy, and can envy dwell 
 In heav'nly breasts ? these, these and many more 
 Causes import your need of this fair fruit. 
 Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste. 
 
 He ended ; and his words, replete with guile. 
 Into her heart too easy entrance won : 
 Fix'd on the fi-uit she gaz'd, which to behold 
 Might tempt alone, and in her ears the sound 
 Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregn'd 
 With reason, to her seeming, and with truth ; 
 Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and wak'd 
 An eager appetite, rais'd by the smell 
 So savoury of that fruit, which with desire. 
 Inclinable now grown to touch or taste 
 Solicited her longing eye ; yet first 
 Pausing a while, thus to herself she mus'd: 
 
 Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits, 
 Tho' kept from man, and worthy to be admir'd. 
 Whose taste too long forborn, at first assay 
 Gave elocution to the mute, and taught 
 The tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise : 
 Thy praise he also who forbids thy use 
 Conceals not from us, naming thee the Tree 
 Of Knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; 
 Forbids us then to taste ; but his forbidding 
 Commends thee more, while it infers the good 
 By thee communicated, and our want : 
 For good unknown, sure is not had ; or had. 
 And yet unknown, is as not had at all. 
 In plain, then, what forbids he but to know. 
 Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise ? 
 Such prohibitions bind not. But if death 
 Bind us with after-bands, what profits then 
 Our inward freedom ? In the day we eat 
 Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die! 
 How dies the serpent } he hath eat'n and lives. 
 And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns.
 
 LOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. It? 
 
 Irrational till then. For us alone 
 
 Was death inventpd ? or to us deny'd 
 
 This intellectual food, for beasts reserv'd ? 
 
 For leasts it seems : yet that one beast v hich firjt 
 
 Hath tasted, envies not, but bringn with joy 
 
 The good befall'n him, author unsuspect, 
 
 Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile. 
 
 WlvM fear I then? raiher whril know to fear 
 
 I'ndcr this ignorance of good and evil. 
 
 Of God or de;ith, of law or penalty ? , 
 
 Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine. 
 
 Fair to the eye, inviting to the tjste, 
 
 Of virtue to make wise : what hinders tlien 
 
 To reach, and feed at once both body' and mind ? 
 
 So saying, her rn^^h hand, in evil hour. 
 Forth reaching to tlie fruit, she pluck'd, she eat: 
 F>artii felt the wound, and Nature from her seat 
 Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe. 
 That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk 
 The guilty serpent, and well might; for Eve 
 Intent now wholly on iier taste, nought else 
 Regarded, such delight till then, as seem'd. 
 In fruit she never tasted, whether true 
 Or fancy'd so, through expectation high 
 Of knowledge ; nor was God-head from her thought. 
 Greedily she ingorg'd without restraint. 
 And knew not, eating death ; satiate at lengtli. 
 And heighten'd as witli w ine, jocund and boon. 
 Thus to herself she pleasingly began : 
 
 O sov'reign, virtuous, precious of all trees 
 In Paradise, of operation bless'd 
 To sapience, hitherto obscur'd, infam'd. 
 And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end 
 Cre.Uod ; hut henceforth my early care, 
 Not without song, each morning, and due praise. 
 Shall tend thee, :ind the fertile burden case 
 Ot' thy full branclu's otler'd free to all ; 
 Till dieted by thee I grow mature 
 In knowledge, as the gods, who all things know{ 
 Tlio' others envy what tliev cannot give; 
 For had the gift been theirs, it h:ul not here 
 Thu'; grown. Experience, next to thee, I owe.
 
 188 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 Best guide ; not following thee, I had remain'd 
 In ignorance ; thou open'st wisdom's way. 
 And giv'st access, the' secret she retire. 
 And I perhaps am secret; Heav'n is high. 
 High, and remote to see from thence distinct 
 Each thing on Earth : and other care perhaps 
 May have diverted from continual watch 
 Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies 
 About him. But to Adam in what sort 
 Shall I appear? shall I to him make known 
 As yet my change, and give him to partake 
 Full happiness with me, or rather not, 
 But keep the odds of knowledge in my power 
 Without copartner? so to add what wants 
 In female sex, the more to draw his love. 
 And render me more equal, and perhaps, 
 A thing not undesirable, sometime 
 Superior ; for inferior who is free ; 
 This may be well : but what if God have seen. 
 And death ensue ? then I shall be no more. 
 And Adam wedded to another Eve, 
 Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct; 
 A death to think. Confirm'd then I resolve, 
 Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe : 
 So dear I love him, that with him all deathg 
 J could endure, without him live no life. 
 
 So saying, from the tree her step she turn'd ; 
 But first low reverence done, as to the power 
 That dwelt within, whose presence had infus'd 
 Into the plant sciential sap, deriv'd 
 From nectar, drink of gods, Adam the while. 
 Waiting desirous her return, had wove 
 Of choicest flowers a garland to adorn 
 Her tresses, and her rural labours crown. 
 As reapers oft are wont their harvest queen. 
 Great joy he promis'd to his thoughts, and new 
 Solace in her return, so long delay'd ; 
 Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill. 
 Misgave him J he the falt'ring measure felt 
 And forth to meet her went, the way she took 
 That morn when first they parted ; by the tree 
 Of knowledge he must pass j there he her met.
 
 BOOK 11. PARADISE LOST. I89 
 
 Scarce from the tree returning; in her hnnd 
 
 A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smil'd. 
 
 New gatherd, and ambrosial smell ditfus'd. 
 
 To hini she hasted ; in her face excuse 
 
 Came prologue, and apology too prompt. 
 
 Which with bland words at wil she thus address'dt 
 
 Hast thou not wonder'd, Adam, at my stay ? 
 Thee I have miss'd, and thought it long, depriv'd 
 Thy presence, agony of love till now 
 Not felt, nor shall be twice; for never more 
 Mean I to try, what rash untry'd I sought. 
 The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange 
 Hath been the cause, and wontlerful to hear : 
 This tree is not as we are told, a tree 
 Of danger tasted, nor to evil unknown 
 Ojwning the way, but of divine eftect 
 To open eyes, and make them gods who taste; 
 And hath been tasted such; the serpent wise. 
 Or not rcstrain'd as we, or not obeying. 
 Hath eaten of the fruit, and is become. 
 Not dead, as we are threaten'd, but thenceforth 
 Indued with human voice and human sense. 
 Reasoning to admiration, and with me 
 PtTsuasivcly hath so prevail'd, tliat I 
 Have also tasted, and have also found 
 Th' effects to correspond : of>ener mine eyes, 
 Dim erst ; dilated spirits, ampler hOart, 
 And growing up to Godhead ; which lor thee 
 Chietly I sought, without thee can despise. 
 For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss ; 
 Tedious, unshar'd with thee, and otiious soon. 
 Thou therefore also taste, that equal lot 
 May join us, equal joy, as equal love ; 
 I>est thou not tasting, different degree 
 Disj(/m us, and I then too late renounce 
 Deity for thee, when fate will not permit. 
 
 Thus Eve with c<AuU'nance blithe her story told ; 
 Bill in her cheek distemper flushing glow'd. 
 On the other side, Adam, soon as he heard 
 The tat.il trespass done by Kve, am.i/'d, 
 Astonied stixxi and blank, while liorrDr chill 
 Ran ihrouj^h hit veins, and all his joi.its relax'd;
 
 igo MILTON. soc 
 
 From his slack hand the garland wreath'd for Eve 
 Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed : 
 Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length 
 First to himself he inward silence broke : 
 
 O fairest of Creation, last and best 
 Of all God's works, creatine in whom excell'd 
 Whatever can to sight or thonght be form'd. 
 Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet ! 
 How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, 
 Defac'd, deflower'd, and now to death devote ! 
 Rather how hast thou ) ielded to transgress 
 The strict forbiddance, how to violate 
 The sacred fruit forbidd'n ? some cursed fraud 
 Of enemy hath beguil'd thee, yet unknown. 
 And me with thee hath ruin'd, for with thee 
 Certain my resolution is to die ; 
 How can I live without thee^ how forego 
 Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly join'd. 
 To live again in these wild woods forlorn ? 
 Should God create another Eve, and I 
 Another rib afford, yet loss of thee 
 Would never from my heart ; no, no, I feel 
 The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh. 
 Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state 
 Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe. 
 
 So having said, as one from snd dismay 
 Recomforted, and after thoughts disturbed 
 Submitting to what seem'd remediless. 
 Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turn'd : 
 
 Bold deed thou hast presum'd, advent" rous Eve, 
 And peril great provok'd, who thus hath dar'd. 
 Had it been only coveting to eye 
 That sacred fruit : sacred to abstinence. 
 Much more to taste it, under ban to touch. 
 But past who can recal, or done undo ? 
 Not God omnipotent, nor Fate ; yet so 
 Perhaps thou shalt not die, perhaps the fact 
 Is not so heinous now, foretasted fruit, 
 Profan'd first by the serpent, by him first 
 Made common and unhallow'd ere our taste; 
 Nor yet on him found deadly, he yet lives. 
 Lives as thou saidst, and gains to live as man
 
 BOOK IX. FARADlSfi LOST. I91 
 
 Higher degree of life, inducement strong 
 
 To us, as likely tasting to attain 
 
 Proportional ascent, wiiich cannot be 
 
 But to be gods, or angels demi-gods. 
 
 Nor can I think that God, Creator wise. 
 
 Though threat'ning, will in earnest so destroy 
 
 Us his prime creatures, dignity'd so high. 
 
 Set over all his works, which in our fall. 
 
 For us createi!, needs with us must fail, 
 
 Dependent made ; so God shall uncreate. 
 
 Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose : 
 
 Not well conceiv'd of God, who thougli his power 
 
 Creation could repeat, yet would be loath 
 
 Us to abolish, lest the Adversary 
 
 Triumpli and say ; fickle their state wjiom God 
 
 Most f'.vours; who can please him long ? Me first 
 
 lie ruiii'd, MOW mankind j whom will he next? 
 
 Matter of scorn, not to be given the foe. 
 
 However, I with thee have fix'd my lot, 
 
 Certain to undergo like doom ; if cleatli 
 
 Consort with thee, death is to me as life j 
 
 S') forcible within my heart I feel 
 'I'he bond of Nature draw me to my own : 
 My own in thee, for what thou art is mine j 
 Our state cannot be sever'd, we are one, 
 One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself. 
 So Adam ; and thus Eve to him reply 'd : 
 O glorious trial of exceeding love. 
 Illustrious evidence, example high ! 
 Fngaging me to emulate, but short 
 (Jfthy perfection, how shall I attain, 
 Adam ? from whose dear side I boast me sprung. 
 And gladly of our union hear thee speak. 
 One heart, one soul in both; whereof good proof 
 'Ihis day affords, dt"claring thee resolv'd, 
 Rather than death or aught than death more dread 
 Sh.ill separate us, link d in love so dear. 
 To uiulrrgo with me one guilt, one crime. 
 If any be, of tasting this fair fruit. 
 Whose \iriiie (^for of goo.l still ^(hk[ proceeds. 
 Direct, or by (xva.sion) hath prrsented 
 Thi'; happy trial of thv love, which else
 
 192 MILTON. BOOK 11. 
 
 So eminently never had been known. 
 
 Were it I thought death menac'd would ensue 
 
 This my attempt, I would sustain alone 
 
 The worst, and not persuade theej rather die 
 
 Deserted, than oblige thee with a fact 
 
 Pernicious to thy peace, chiefly assur'd 
 
 Remarkably so late of thy so true. 
 
 So faithful love unequal'd ; but I feel 
 
 Far otherwise th' event, not death, but life 
 
 Augmented, open'd eyes, new hopes, new joys 5 
 
 Taste so divine, that what of sweet before 
 
 Hath touch'd my sense, flat seems to this^ and harsli. 
 
 On my experience, Adam, freely taste. 
 
 And fear of death deliver to the winds. 
 
 So saying, she embrac'd him, and for joy 
 Tenderly wept, much won tliat he his love 
 Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur 
 Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. 
 In recompense (for such compliance bad 
 Such recompense best merits) from the bough 
 She gave him of that fair enticing fruit 
 With liberal hand : he scrupled not to eat 
 Against his better knowledge ; not deceiv'd. 
 But fondly overcome with female charm. 
 Earth trembled from her entrails, as again 
 In pangs, and Nature gave a second groan. 
 Sky lour'd, and, mutt'ring thunder, some sad drops 
 Wept at completing of the mortal sin 
 Original 5 while Adam took no thought. 
 Eating his fill, nor Eve to iterate 
 Her former trespass fear'd, the more to sooth 
 Him with her lovd society, that now 
 As with new wine intoxicated both 
 They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel 
 Divinity within them breeding wings. 
 Wherewith to scorn the Earth : but that false fruit 
 Far other operation first display'd. 
 Carnal desire inflaming j he on Eve 
 Began to cast lascivious eyes, she him 
 As wantonly repaid; in lust they burn : 
 Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move. 
 
 Eve, now I see thou art exact of ta^tej
 
 BOOK IX. PARADISE LOST. 1 93 
 
 And elegant, of sapience no small part. 
 Since to each meaning savor we apply. 
 And palate call judicious ; I the praise 
 Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purvey'd. 
 Much pleasure we have lost, while we ahstain'd 
 From this delightful fruit, nor known till now 
 True relish, tasting ; if such pleasure be 
 In things to us forbidd'n, it might be wish'd. 
 For this one tree, had been forbidden ten. 
 But come, so well refresh'd, now let us pl.iy, 
 As meet is, after such delicious fare ; 
 For never did thy beauty since the day 
 I saw thee lirst and wedded thee, adorn'd 
 With all perfections, so inHame my sense 
 With ardour to enjoy thee } fairer now 
 Than ever, bounty of this virtuous tree. 
 
 So said he ; and forcbore not glance or toy 
 Of amorous intent, well understood 
 Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire. 
 Her hand he seiz'd, and to a shady bank, 
 'I'iiick overhead with verdant roof imbower'd. 
 He led her, nothing Icxith; tiowers were the couch, 
 I'ansii's and violets, and asplioc'.el. 
 And hyacinth. Earth's freshest softest lap. 
 There they their fill of love and love's disport 
 Took largely, of tlieir mutual guilt the seal. 
 The solace (^f their sin : till dewy sleep 
 Oppress'd them, wearied with their amorous play. 
 
 Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit. 
 That with exhilarating vapour bland, 
 About their sp'rits had play'd, and inmost powers 
 Made err, was now exhal'd ; and grosser sleep, 
 Hrcd of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams 
 Ipcuml)er d, now had left them ; up they rose 
 As from unrest, and each the other viewing, 
 Soon found their eyes how open'd, and their mind< 
 How darken'd ! InnfKcnce, that as a veil 
 Had shauow'd them from knowing ill, was gone! 
 Just confuionce, and native righteousness. 
 And honour from al)out them, naked left 
 'I'o guiliy shame ; he cover'tl, but his robe 
 I 'nrover'd more. So rose the Danite strong 
 
 n:.. 1. K
 
 194 MILTON. BJOK. IX. 
 
 Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap 
 
 Of Philistean Dalilah, and wak'd 
 
 Shorn of his strength : they destitute and bare 
 
 Of all their virtue ! silent, and in face 
 
 Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute : 
 
 Till Adam, though not less than Eve abash'd. 
 
 At length gave utterance to these words constrain'd : 
 
 O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear 
 To that false worm, of whomsoever taugiit 
 To counterfeit man's voice, true in our fall, 
 False in our promis'd rising ; since our eyes 
 Open'd we hnd indeed, and find we know. 
 Both good and evil ! good lost, and evil got ! 
 Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know. 
 Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void. 
 Of innocence, of faith, of purity. 
 Our wonted ornaments now soil'd and stain'd. 
 And in our faces evident the signs 
 Of foul concupiscence J whence evil storey 
 Ev'n shame, the last of evils ; of the first 
 Be sure then. How shall I behold the {^xce 
 Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy 
 And rapture so oft beheld ? those heav'nly shapes 
 Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze 
 Insufferably bright. O might I here 
 In solitude live savage, in some glade 
 (Jbscur'd, where highest woods impenetrable 
 To star or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad 
 And brown as evening! cover me, ye pines. 
 Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs 
 Hide me, where I may never see them more ! 
 But let us now, as in bad plight, devise 
 What best may for the present ser\-e to hide 
 The parts of each from other, that seem most 
 To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen ; 
 Some tree, whose broad smootli leaves together sovv'd^ 
 And girded on our loins, may cover round 
 Those middle parts, that this new comer Shame, 
 There sit not, and reproach us as unclean. 
 So counsel'd he, and both together went 
 Into the tiiickest wood ; there soon they chose 
 The fis-tree, not that kind for fruit rcnown'd.
 
 KooK i\. PARADISE LOST KJS 
 
 fiut such as at this day, to Indians known 
 In Malabar or Dccan, spreads her arms 
 Branching so broad and long, tlut in the ground 
 The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow- 
 About tlie mother tree, a pillar'd shade 
 High ovcrnrch'd, and echoing walks between ; 
 There oft the Indian herdsman shunning heat 
 Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds 
 At loopholes cut through thickest shade : those leaves 
 They gatherd, broad as Amaionian targe, 
 And with what skill they had, together sow'd, 
 To gird their waist : vain covering, if to hide 
 Iheir guilt and dreaded shame ; O how unlike 
 To that first naked glory ! Such of late 
 Columbus found th* American, so girt 
 With feathcr'd cincture ; naked else and wild 
 Among the trees on isles and woody shores. 
 Thus fcnc'd, and as they thought, their sluiinc in part 
 Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind. 
 They sat them down to weep ; nor only tears 
 Rain'd at their eyes, but high winds \\()r^e within 
 Began to rise, high passions, anger. Irate, 
 Mistrust, suspicion, discord, and shook sore 
 Their inward state of mind, calm region once. 
 And full of jxrace, now tost and turbulent : 
 For understanding rul'd not, and the will 
 Heard not her lore, both in subjection now 
 To sensiul appetite, who from beneath 
 Usurping over sov reign reason claim'd 
 Superior sway : from thus distemper'd breast, 
 Adam, estrang'd in look and alter'd style. 
 Speech intermitted, thus to Eve renew'd. 
 
 Would thou had.t hearkcn'd to my words, and ^lay'd 
 With me^ as I besought thee, when that strange 
 Desire of wand'ring this unhappy morn, 
 I know not whence, possess'd tlue; we had then 
 Uemain'd still happy, not as now, desjxil'd 
 ( )f all our good, sli:un"d, naked, miserable. 
 Let none lit-nt-eforth seek needless rau^e to approve 
 rhr laith tiiey owe ; when earnestly thev .sock 
 Such proof, conclude, they then hcgin to fail. 
 
 Tu wliom, v<x)n mov'd with ti)U( !i of blame, thus Lve : 
 K I
 
 Jt>6 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK IX, 
 
 What viords have pass'd thy lips, Adam severe ! 
 
 Imput'st thou that to my default, or will 
 
 Of wand'ring, as thou call'st it, which who knows 
 
 But might as ill have happen'd thou being by ; 
 
 Or to thyself perhaps, hadst tliou been there ? 
 
 Or here th' attempt, thou could'st not have discern'd 
 
 Fraud in the serpent, speaking as he spake ; 
 
 No ground of enmity between us known, 
 
 "Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm ? 
 
 Was I to have never parted from thy side ? 
 
 As good have grown there still a lifeless rib ! 
 
 Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head. 
 
 Command me absolutely not to go. 
 
 Going into such danger as thou saidst ? 
 
 Too facile then thou didst not much gainsay. 
 
 Nay didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss. 
 
 Hadst thou been firm and tix'd in thy dissent. 
 
 Neither had I transgress'd nor thou with me. 
 
 To whom, then first incens'd, Adam reply'd : 
 Is this the love, is this the recompense 
 Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, express'd 
 Immutable when thou wert lost, not I, 
 W^ho might have liv'd and joy'd immortal bliss, 
 Yet willingly chose rather death with thee ? 
 And am I now upbraided as the cause 
 Of thy transgressing ? not enough severe. 
 It seems, in my restraint! what could I more ? 
 I warn'd thee, I admonish'd thee, foretold 
 The danger, and the lurking enemy 
 That lay in wait ; beyond this had been force. 
 And force upon free-will hath here no place. 
 But confidence then bore thee on, secure 
 Eitlier to meet no danger, or to find 
 Matter of glorious trial ; and perhaps 
 I also err'd in overmuch admiring 
 What seem'd in thee so perfect, that I thought 
 No evil durst attempt thee ; but I rue 
 That error now, which is become my crime. 
 And thou th' accuser. Thus it shall befal 
 Him who to worth in w^omen overtnisting 
 Lets her will rule : restraint she will not brook, 
 And left to herself, if evil thence ensue, 
 she first his weak indulgence will accuse.
 
 ooR X. PARADISE LOS r. Uj: 
 
 Thus tliey in mutual accusation spent 
 TJje fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning: 
 And of their vain contest appear d no end. 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 THE AKGUMENT. 
 
 Mtn's transgression known, the guardian ant^ls forsake Paradisr, 
 and return up to Heaven to appro%e their vigilance, and arc 
 approv'd ; Gud declaring that the entrance of Satan could n<it 
 be by them prevented. He send* his Son to judge the trans- 
 gressor*, who descends and gives sentence accordingly ; then i;i 
 pity clathes ihcm both, and reasccnds. Sin and Death sittin;; 
 till then at the gitts of Hell, by wondrous sympatiiy fcclir;^, 
 ti.c success of Satan in this new world, ami the sin by man there 
 committed, resolve to sit no longer connu'd in Hell, but to 
 fDllo'.v Satan their sire up to the phcc of Man: to make the 
 way casii.r from Hell to this world to and fro, they pave a 
 bruad high-w.iy or bridge over Chaos, according to the tract 
 itiit Satan first made ; then preparing for Earth, they meet him 
 (rroud of his success returning to Hell ; their mutual gnuiilatiou- 
 Satan arrives at Pandemonium, in full assembly relates with 
 boasting his success against Man; instead of a|>plause, is en- 
 tertained with a general hiss by all his audience, transform'd 
 with him>clf aUo suddenly into ser|>cnts, according to his 
 doom given \h I'aradiic ; then (lclu<led with a shew of the for- 
 bidden Tree springing up before them, they greedily reaching 
 to take of the fruit, chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings 
 of Sill an I Death ; God fortels the final victory of his Sou 
 over them, and the renewing of all things ; but for the pre- 
 sent coiununds Ins argel.s to make several alterations in the 
 Htav-ns ;i:.d elements. Adam more and more percei\ing lii" 
 (al'en iwndition, luavily bewails, lejects the condolenieiit of 
 Eve; she pcrsiits, and at It ngth appeases him: then, to evade 
 the curse likely to tall on their off>pring, proposes to Adam 
 vio'ent vva)s, which he approves not, but conceiving bem-r 
 lu)|>e, puts her in mind of the late promise made them, that 
 her Seed should he rcveng'd on the serjKnt, and exhorts her 
 Willi him t) seek peace with the olTcndcd Deity, by rcpnt- 
 incc iind supplication. 
 
 y>l:. \N WHILE the licinous and despiteful act 
 (Jt S.iLan dune in Paradise, and how 
 K 3
 
 lys MILTON, BOOK X. 
 
 He in the serpent had perverted Eve, 
 
 Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit. 
 
 Was known in Heav'nj for what can 'scape the eye 
 
 Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart 
 
 Omniscient ? who in all things wise and just, 
 
 Hinder'd not Satan to attempt the mind 
 
 Of Man, with strength entire, and free-will arm'd ; 
 
 Complete to have discover'd and repuls'd 
 
 Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend. 
 
 For still they knew, and ought t' have still remember'd. 
 
 The high injunction not to taste that fruit. 
 
 Whoever tempted ; which they not obeying, 
 
 Incurr'u (what could they less ?) the penalty : 
 
 And manifold in sin, des^rv'd to fall. 
 
 Up into Heav'n from Paradise in haste 
 Th' angelic guards ascended, mute and sad 
 For man ; for of his state by this they knew ; 
 Much wond'ring how the subtle Fiend had stol'n 
 Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news 
 From Earth arriv'd at Heaven- gate, displeas'd 
 All were who heard ; dim sadness did not spare 
 That time celestial visages, yet mix'd 
 With pity, violated not their bliss. 
 About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes 
 Th' ethereal people ran, to hear Snd know 
 How all befel : they tow'rds the throne supreme 
 Accountable made haste to make appear 
 With righteous plea their utmost vigilance. 
 And easily approv'd ; when the Most High 
 Eternal Father, from his secret cloud. 
 Amidst, in thunder utter'd thus his voice. 
 
 Assembled Angels, and ye powers return'd 
 From unsuccessful charge, be not dismay'd. 
 Nor troubled at these tidings from the Earth, 
 Which your sincerest care could not prevent j 
 Foretold so lately what would come to pass. 
 When first this Tempter cross'd the gulf from Hell. 
 I told ye then he should prevail and speed 
 On his bad erraud ; man should be seduc'd 
 And fiatter'd out of all, believing lies 
 Against his Maker ; no decree of mine ' 
 
 Concurring to necessitate his fall.
 
 BOOK X. PARADISE LOSl\ 199 
 
 Or touch with lightest moment of impulse 
 
 His free-will, to her own inclining left 
 
 In even scale. But fall'n he is, and now 
 
 What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass 
 
 On his transgression, death denounc'd that day ? 
 
 Which he presumes already vain and void. 
 
 Because not yet inflicted, as he fear'd. 
 
 By some immediate stroke ; but soon shall find 
 
 Forbearance no acquittance, e'er day end. 
 
 Justice shall not return as bounty scorn'd. 
 
 But whom send I to jvidge them ? whom but thee, 
 
 Vicegerent Son ? to thee I have transferi'd 
 
 All judgment, whether in Hcavn, or Earth, or Hell. 
 
 Easy it might be seen that I intend 
 
 Mercy colleague with justice, sending tliee 
 
 Man s friend, his mediator, his design'd 
 
 Both ransom and redeemer voluntary. 
 
 And destin'd Man himself to judge man fall'n. 
 
 So spake the Father, and unfolding bright 
 Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son 
 Blaz'd forth unclouded deity } he full 
 Resplendent all his Father manifest 
 Expresa'd, and thus divinely answer'd mild. 
 
 Father Eternal, thine is to decree ; 
 Mine both in Heav'n and Earth to do thy will 
 Supreme ; that thou in me thy Son belov'd. 
 May St ever rest well pleas'd, I go to judge 
 On Eartii tliese thy transgressors j but thou know'st, 
 Wh(x;ver judg'd, the worst on me must light. 
 When time shall be j for so I undertook 
 Before tlice; and, not repenting, this obtain 
 Of right, that I may mitigate their doom 
 On me deri\ 'd, yet I shall temper so 
 Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most 
 Them fully satisfy'd, and thee appease. 
 Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none 
 Are to behold the judgment, but the judg'd, 
 Those two ; the third best absent is condenin'd. 
 Convict by flight, and rebel to all law : 
 Conviction to the serpent none belong!. 
 
 Tims saying, from his radiant seat he rose 
 Of higli collateral glory : him thrones and powers, 
 
 K 4
 
 200 MILTON. BOOK X. 
 
 Princedoms, and dominations ministrant. 
 
 Accompanied to Heav'n-gate, from whence 
 
 Eden, and all the coast, in prospect lay. 
 
 Down he descended straight ; the speed of gods 
 
 Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes "wing'd, 
 
 Now was the sun in western cadence low 
 
 From noon, and gentle airs due at their hour 
 
 To fan the Earth now wak'd, and usher in 
 
 Th' ev'ning cool, \\ hen he, from wrath more cool. 
 
 Came the mild judge and intercessor both. 
 
 To sentence Man : the voice of God they heard. 
 
 Now walking in the garden, by soft winds 
 
 Brought to their ears, while day declin'd ; they heard, 
 
 And from his presence hid themselves among 
 
 The thickest trees, both man and wife : till God 
 
 Approaching, thus to Adam call'd aloud : 
 
 Where art thou Adam, wont with joy to meet 
 My coming, seen far off? .1 miss thee here, 
 X*f ot pleas'd ; thus entertain'd with solitude. 
 Where obvious duty e'er while appear'd unsought : 
 Or come I less conspicuous ? or what change 
 Absents thee, or what chance detains ? Come fortli. 
 
 He came, and with him Eve, more loath, though firist 
 To offend ; discountenanc'd both, and discompos'd j 
 Love was not in their looks, either to God 
 Or to each other ; but apparent guilt. 
 And shame, and perturbation, and despair. 
 Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile. 
 When Adam, falt'ring long, thus answer'd brief. 
 
 I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice 
 Afraid, being naked, hid myself. To whom 
 The gracious judge without revile, reply'd : 
 
 My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not fear'd. 
 But still rejoicd : how is it now become 
 So dreadful to thee ? that thou art naked, who 
 Hath told thee ? hast thou eaten of the Tree, 
 Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat ? 
 
 To whom thus Adam, sore beset, reply'd: 
 O Heav'n ! in evil strait this day I stand 
 Before my Judge, either to undergo 
 Myself the total crime, or to accuse 
 My other self, tlie partner of my life ;
 
 BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 201 
 
 Whose failing, while hrr faith to me remains, 
 
 I should conceal, and not expose to blame 
 
 By my complaint ; but strict necessity 
 
 Subdues me, and calamitous constraint. 
 
 Lest on my head both sin, and punishment, 
 
 Howcrcr insupportable, be all 
 
 Develv'd ; though should I hold my peace, yet thou 
 
 Would>t ca-iilj detect what I conceal. 
 
 This Woman, whom thou m.tdest to be my help. 
 
 And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good, 
 
 So fit, so acceptal)le, so divine. 
 
 That from her h;ind I conld suspect no ill. 
 
 And what she did, whatever in itself. 
 
 Her doing secm'd to justify the deed ; 
 
 Shf gave me of the tree, and I did eat. 
 
 To whom the Sovereign Presence thus reply 'd : 
 Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey 
 Before his voice ? or was she made thy guide, 
 Superior, or but e(|ual, that to her 
 Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place 
 Wherein God set thee above her, made of thee, 
 And for thee, whose perftx,'tion far excell'd 
 Hers in all real dignity ? Adf)rn'd 
 She was indeed, and lovely to attract 
 Tliy love, not thy suhj'.'ction ; and her i;ifts 
 Where "^uch as under government, well secni'd. 
 Unseemly to bear nile, which was t!iy p'lrr 
 And person, hadst thou known thyself aright. 
 
 Sj Laving said, he thus to Eve in few. 
 Say, V\'oman, what is this which thou hast done? 
 
 To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh ovcrwhelm'd, 
 Co:ifc>siiig soon, yet not before her Judge 
 Bold or io<inacious, thus aba^h'd reply'd : 
 The serpent me beguil'd, and 1 did eat. 
 
 Which when the Lord God heard, witiiout delay 
 I'o jud;.;n<cnt he proceeded on th' acais'd 
 ScrjK'ni t!if.u<:h brute, un.ible to transfer 
 Tiie guilt on him who m;ide him instminent 
 Ol' niiscirkt", and polluted !rom the end 
 Of his cn*a;inn ; justly then accursM, 
 Ab vlti.ued in nature : more to know 
 Concornd not man (since he no further kncw^ 
 K 5
 
 202 MILTON, BOOK 
 
 Nor alter'd his offence ; yet God at last 
 
 To Satan first in sin his doom apply'd. 
 
 Though in mysterious terms, judg'd as then best : 
 
 And on the serpent thus his curse let fall. 
 
 Because thou hast done this, thou art accurs'd 
 
 Above all cattle, each beast of the field j 
 
 Upon thy belly groveling thou shalt go. 
 
 And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life. 
 
 Between thee and the woman I will put 
 
 Enmity, and between thine and her seed ; 
 
 Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel. 
 
 So spake this Oracle, then verify 'd 
 When Jesus son of Mary, second Eve, 
 Saw Satan fall like lightning down from Heav'n, 
 Pfince of the Air; then rising from his grave 
 Spoil'd principalities and powers, triumph'd 
 In open shew, and with ascension bright 
 Captivity led captive through the air ; 
 The realm itself of Satan long usurp'd. 
 Whom he shall tread at last under our feetj 
 Ev'n he who now foretold his fatal bruise. 
 And to the v/oman thus his sentence turn'd : 
 Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply 
 By thy conception ; children thou shalt bring 
 In sorrow forth ; and to thy husband's will 
 Thine shall submit ; he over thee shall rule. 
 
 On Adam last thus judgment he pronounc'd. 
 Because thou hast hearken'd to th' voice of thy wife. 
 And eaten of the tree, concerning which 
 I charg'd thee, saying. Thou shalt not eat thereof : 
 CiJrs'd is the ground for thy sake ; thou in sorrow 
 Shalt eat thereof all the days of thy life j 
 Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth 
 Unbid ; and thou shalt eat th' herb of the field. 
 In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread 
 Till thou return unto the ground ; for thou 
 Out of the ground wast taken ; know thy birth. 
 For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return. 
 
 So judg'd he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent. 
 And di' instant stroke of death denounc'd that day 
 Removd far ofFj then pitying how they stood 
 Before hira naked to the air, that now
 
 BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 203 
 
 Must suffer change, disdain'd not to begin 
 
 Thenceforth the form of ser\'ant to assume. 
 
 As when he washd his servants' feet, so now. 
 
 As father of his family he clad 
 
 Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain. 
 
 Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid j 
 
 And thought not much to clothe his enemies: 
 
 Nor he their outward only with the skins 
 
 Of beasts, but inward nakedness, much more 
 
 Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness 
 
 Arraying, covcr'd from his Father's sight. 
 
 To him with swift ascent he up returnd. 
 
 Into his blissful bosom reassum'd 
 
 In glory as of old ; to him appeas'd, 
 
 All, though all-knowini::, what had pass'd with man 
 
 Recounted, mixing intercession swcot. 
 
 Meanwhile, ere thus was sinn'd and judg'd on Earth, 
 Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death, 
 In counterview within the gates, that now 
 Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame 
 Far into C'haos, since the Fiend pass'd through. 
 Sin opening, who thus now to Death be^an : 
 
 () Son, why sit we here each other viewing 
 Idly, while Satan our great author thrives 
 In other worlds, and happier seat provides 
 For us his offspring dear ? It cannot be 
 Rut that success attends him ; if mishap. 
 E'er this he had retum'd, with fury driven 
 By his avengers, since no place like this 
 Can tit his punisliment, or their revenge. 
 Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, 
 Wings growing, and dominion giv'n me large 
 Beyond this deep ; whatever draws me on, 
 Or sympithy, or some connatural force. 
 Powerful at greatest distance to unite. 
 With secret amity, things of like kin<l. 
 By .^ecrctest conveyance . Thou my shade 
 Inhcp.Trable nuist with me along : 
 For I)e.i(h from Sin no power can separate. 
 }?ut le>t the dirticulty of passing back 
 Stay hi^ return, |>erhnps, over this gulf 
 Impaisable, impervious, let us try, 
 k6
 
 204 MILTON. BOOK X, 
 
 (Adventrous work, yet to thy power and mine 
 Not unagreeable), to found a path 
 Over this main from Hell to that new world 
 Where Satan now prevails, a monument 
 Of merit high to all th infernal host, 
 Easing their passage hence, for intercourse. 
 Of transmigration, as their lot shall lead. 
 Nor can 1 miss the way, so strongly drawn 
 By this new-felt attraction and instinct. 
 
 Whom thus the meagre shadow answer'd soon : 
 Go whither Fate and inclination strong 
 Leads thee; I shall not lag behind, nor err 
 The way, thou leading, such a scent I draw 
 Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste 
 The savour of death from all things there that live : 
 Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest 
 Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid. 
 So saying, with delight he snuff 'd the smell 
 Of mortal change on earth. As when a flock 
 Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote. 
 Against the day of battle, to a field. 
 Where armies lie encamp'd, come flying, lur'd 
 With scent of living circases designd 
 For death, the following day, in bloody fight ; 
 So scented the grim feature, and upturn'd 
 His nostrils wide into the murky air. 
 Sagacious of his quarry from so far. 
 Then both from out Hell gates into the waste 
 Wide anarchy of Chaos damp and dark 
 Flew diverse, and with power (their power was great) 
 Hovering upon the waters, what they met 
 Solid or slimy, as in raging sea 
 Tost up and down, together crouded drove 
 From each side shoaling tow'rds the mouth of Heii : 
 As when two polar winds, blowing adverse 
 Upon the Cronian sea, together drive 
 Mountains of ice, that stop th' imagin'd way 
 Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich 
 Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil 
 Death with his macxj petrific, cold and dry. 
 As with a trident smote, and fix'd as firm 
 -As Delos floating once ; the rest his look
 
 Booit X. PARADISE LOST. 205 
 
 Pound with Gorgonian rigour not to move j 
 
 And Willi Asphaltic slime, broad as the gate. 
 
 Deep to t!ie roots of Hell the gather'd beach 
 
 They fasten'd, ;hi<1 the mole immense wrought on 
 
 Over the I'uaining deep high arch'd, a bridge 
 
 Of lenj^th prodigious, joining to the wall 
 
 Iniinoveable of tliis now fenceless world 
 
 Forfeit to Death ; from henco a passage broad. 
 
 Smooth, -asy, inoffensive, down to Hell. 
 
 So, if great things to small may be compar'd, 
 
 Xerxes, the lilnrty of Greece to yoke. 
 
 From Susa, his Memnonian palace high. 
 
 Came to the sea, and over Hellespont 
 
 Bridging his way, Europe with Asia join'd. 
 
 And scourg'd with many a stroke th' indignant wave*. 
 
 Now had they brought th- work by wond'roui art 
 
 Pontifical, a ridge of pendent rock. 
 
 Over the vex'd abyss, following the track 
 
 Of Satan to the self-same place wherr he 
 
 First lighted from his wing, and landed safe 
 
 From out of Chaos, to the outside bare 
 
 Of this round world : witli pins of adamant 
 
 And chains they made all fast, too fast they made 
 
 And durable ; and now in little space 
 
 The confines met of empyrean Heav'n 
 
 And of this world, and on the left hand Hell 
 
 With long reach interpos'd ; three several ways 
 
 In light, to each of these three places led. 
 
 And now their way to Karth they had descry'd, 
 
 To Paradise first tending, when behold 
 
 Satan in likeness of an angel bright 
 
 Betwixt the Centaur and the Scoq^on steering 
 
 His zenith, while the sun in .Aries rose : 
 
 Disguis'd he caine, hut those his children dear 
 
 Their parent soon discern'd, though in disguise. 
 
 lie after Eve sediicM, unminded slunk 
 
 Into the wood fast by, and changing shape 
 
 To observe the .sequel, saw his guileful act 
 
 Hy Eve, though all unwccting, seconded 
 
 Upon her husband ; saw their shame that itoiigbl 
 
 Vain covertures i but when he saw descend 
 
 The Son of God to judge thcra, terrify'd
 
 206 MILTON. book x. 
 
 He fled, not hoping to escape, but shun 
 The present, fearing, guilty, what his wrath 
 Might suddenly inflict; that past, return'd 
 By night, and hst'ning where the hapless pair 
 Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint. 
 Thence gatherd his own doom, which understood 
 Not instant, but of future time, with joy 
 And tidings fraught, to Hell he now return'd 3 
 And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot 
 Of this new wondrous pontifice, unhop'd. 
 Met, who to meet him came, his offspring dear. 
 Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight 
 Of that stupendous bridge his joy increas'd. 
 Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair 
 Inclianting daughter, thus the silence broke : 
 
 O Parent, these are thy magnific deeds. 
 Thy trophies, which thou viewest as not thine own ; 
 Thou art their author and prime Architect : 
 For I no sooner in my heart divin'd, 
 (My heart, which by a secret harmony 
 Still moves with thine, join'd in connection sweet,)' 
 That thou on earth hadst prosper d, which thy looks- 
 Now also evidence, but straight I felt, 
 Though distant from thee, worlds between, yet felt 
 That I must after thee with this thy son. 
 Such fatal consequence unites us three : 
 Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds. 
 Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure 
 Detain, from following thy illustrious track. 
 Thou hast achiev'd our liberty, confia'd 
 Within Hell gates till now ; tlwu us impower'd 
 To fortify thus far, and overlay 
 With this portentous bridge the dark abyss. 
 Thine now is all this world j thy virtue hath woa 
 What thy hands builded not, thy wisdom gain'd 
 With odds what war hath lost, and fully aveng'd 
 Our foil in Heav'n -, here thou shalt monarch reigU;,. 
 There didst not ; there let him still victor sway. 
 As battle hath adjudg'd, from this new world 
 Retiring, by his own doom alienated. 
 And henceforth monarchy with thee divide 
 Of all things, parted by th' empyreal bounds,.
 
 BooKX. PARADISE LOST. 207 
 
 His quadrature, from thy orbicular world. 
 
 Or try thee, ncnv more dang'rous to his throne. 
 
 Whom thus the Prince of Darkness answer'd glad : 
 Fnir daughter, and thou son and grandchild botii. 
 High proof ye now have giv'n to be the race 
 Of Satan, (for I glory in the name. 
 Antagonist of Heavn s almighty King) 
 Amply have merited of me, of ail 
 Tir infernal empire, that so near Heav'n's door 
 Triumphal with triumphal act have met. 
 Mine wiili this glorious work, and made one realm 
 Hell and this world, one realm, one continent 
 Of easy thoroughfare. Therefore while I 
 Descend through darkness, on your road with ease. 
 To my associate powers, them to acquaint 
 With these successes, and with them rejoice. 
 You two this way, among these numerous orbs. 
 All yours, right down to Paradise descend j 
 There dwell and reign in bliss, thence on the earth 
 Dominion exercise, and in the air. 
 Chiefly on man, sole lord of all declar'd: 
 Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill. 
 My substitutes I send ye, and create 
 I'lonipotent on earth, of matchless might 
 Issuing from me : on your joint vigour now 
 My hold of this new kingdom all depends; 
 Through sin to death expos'd by my exploit. 
 If your joint power prevail, th' affairs ot Hell 
 No detriment need fear ; go and be strong. 
 
 So saying, he dismiss'd them ; they with speed 
 Their rourst* through thickest constellations held. 
 Spreading their bane ; the blasted stars look'd wan. 
 And planets, planet-stnuk, real eclipse 
 Then suff'er'd. The other way Satan went down 
 The c.uisey to Hell gate; on either side 
 Disparted Chaos over -built exclaimd. 
 And with rebounding surge the bars aiiail'd 
 That scorn'd his indignation : tlirou;h the gate, 
 Wiilf ojx;n and unguarded, Satan pass'd, 
 .\nd all about found desolate ; for those 
 Appointed to sit there had left their charge. 
 Flown to the upper world j the ret were all
 
 208 MILTON. BOOK X. 
 
 Far to th' inland retir'd, about the walls 
 
 Of Pandemonium, city and proud seat 
 
 Of Lucifer, so by allusion call'd 
 
 Of that bright star to ^atan paragon'd. 
 
 There kept their waich the legions, while the Grand 
 
 In council sat, solicitous what chance 
 
 Might intercept their emp'ror sent ; so he 
 
 Departing gave command, and they observ'd. 
 
 As when the Tartar from his Russia n foe 
 
 By Astracan, over the snowy plains 
 
 Retires, or Eactrian SopDi from the horns 
 
 Of 1 urkish crescent, leaves all waste beyond 
 
 The realm of Aladule, in his retreat 
 
 To Tauris, or Casheen ; so these the late 
 
 Heav'n-banish'd host left desert utmost Hell 
 
 Many a dark lea ue, re.iuc'd in careful watch 
 
 Round their metropolis, and now expecting 
 
 Each hour their great adventurer from the search 
 
 Of foreign worlds ; he through the midst unmark'd. 
 
 In shew plebeian angel militant 
 
 Of lowest order, pass'd ; and from the door 
 
 Of that Plutonian hall, invisible 
 
 Ascended his high throne, which under state 
 
 Of richest texture spread, at the upper end 
 
 Was plac'd in regal lustre. Down awhile 
 
 He sat, and round about him saw unseen : 
 
 At l)St as from a cloud his fulgent head 
 
 And shape star-bright appear'd, or brighter, clad 
 
 With what permissive glory since his fall 
 
 Was left him, or false glitter : all amaz'd 
 
 At that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throng 
 
 Bent their aspect, and whom they wish'd beheld. 
 
 Their mighty Chief return'd : load was the acclaim ; 
 
 Forth nish'd in haste the great consulting peers, 
 
 Rais'd from the dark divan, and with like joy 
 
 Congratulant approach'd him, who v/ith hand 
 
 Silence, and with the^e v/ords attention won. 
 
 Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers, 
 For in possession such, not only of right, 
 I call ye and declare ye now, return'd 
 Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forth 
 Triumphant out of this infernal pit
 
 LOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 209 
 
 Abominable, accurs'd, the house of woe. 
 
 And dungeon of our Tyrant : now possess. 
 
 As lords, a spacious world, to our native Heavn 
 
 Little inferior, by my adventure hard 
 
 With peril great achiev'd. Long were to tell 
 
 What I have done, what sufter'd, wlih what pain 
 
 Voyag'd t!i' unreal, vast, unbounded deep 
 
 Of horrible confusion, over which 
 
 Ry Sin and Death a broad >a ny now is pav'd 
 
 To expedite your glorious march ; but I 
 
 Toil'd out my uncoutii passage, forc'd to ride 
 
 Th" untractable abyss, plung'd in the womb 
 
 Of unoriginal Night and Chaos wild. 
 
 That jealous of their secrets fiercely oppos'd 
 
 My journey strange, with clamorous uproar 
 
 Protesting fate supreme j thence how I found 
 
 'Ilie new-created world, which fame in Heav'u 
 
 Long had foretold, a fabric wonderful. 
 
 Of absolute j>erfection ! therein Man 
 
 Plac'd in a Paradise, by our exile 
 
 Made happy : him by fraud 1 liave seduc'd 
 
 From his Creator, and the more to increase 
 
 ^'our wonder, with an apple : he thereat 
 
 Offended, worth your laughter, hatli giv'n up 
 
 lioth his beloved man and all his world 
 
 To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us. 
 
 Without our hazard, labour^ or alarm. 
 
 To range in, and to dwell, and over man 
 
 To rule, as over all he should have rul'd. 
 
 True is, me also he hath judg'd, or rather 
 
 Me not, but the brute serpent in whose sliapc 
 
 Man I deceiv'd : that which to me belongs 
 
 Is enmity, which he will put between 
 
 Me and mankind ; I am to bruise his heel ; 
 
 Hii seed, (when is not set,) shall bruise my head : 
 
 A world who would not purchase with a bruise. 
 
 Or much more grievous pain ? Ye have th' account 
 
 Of my performance: What remains, ye Gotls, 
 
 But up and enter now into full bliss ? 
 
 So li.iving said, awhile he stood, ex{>ecting 
 Tljcir universal shout and high applause 
 To fill his car : when contrary he hears
 
 210 MILTON. BOOK X. 
 
 On all sides, from innumerable tongues, 
 A dismal universal hiss, the sound 
 Of public scorn ; he wonder'd, hut not long 
 Had leisure, wond'ring at himself now more -, 
 His visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare j 
 His arms clung to his ribs, his legs entwining 
 Each other, till supplanted down he fell 
 A monstrous serpent on his belly prone. 
 Reluctant, but in vain ! a greater Power 
 Now rul'd him, punish'd in the shape he sinn'd 
 According to his doom : he would have spoke. 
 But hiss for hiss return'd with forked tongue 
 To forked tongue ; for now were all transform'd 
 Alike, to serpents all, as accessories 
 To his bold riot : dreadful was the din 
 Of hissing through the-hall, thick swarming now 
 With complicated monsters, head and tail. 
 Scorpion, and asp, and amphisbsena dire. 
 Cerastes horn'd, Hydrus, and Elops drear. 
 And Dipsas (not so thick swarm' d once the soil 
 Bedropt with blood of Gorgon, or the isle 
 Ophiusa) but still greatest he i' the midst. 
 Now Dragon grown j larger than whom the sun 
 Ingender'd in the Pythian vale on slime. 
 Huge Python, and his power no less he seem'd 
 Above the rest still to retain ; they all 
 Him foUow'd issuing forth to th' open field. 
 Where all yet left of that revolted rout 
 Heav'n-fall'n, in station stood or just array. 
 Sublime with expectation when to see 
 In triumph issuing forth their glorious Chief j 
 They saw, but other sight instead, a croud 
 Of ugly serpents ; horror on them fell. 
 And horrid sympathy ; for what they saw. 
 They felt themselves now changing ; down their arms, 
 Down fell both spear and shield, down they as fast. 
 And the dire hiss renew'd, and the dire form 
 Catch'd by contagion, like in punishment. 
 As in their crime. Thus was th' applause they meant 
 Turn'd to exploding hiss, triumph to shame 
 Cast on themselves from their own mouths. There 
 stood
 
 HOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 211 
 
 A grove hard by, sprung up with this their change. 
 
 His will who reigns above, to aggravate 
 
 Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like that 
 
 Which grew in Paradise, the bait ot" Eve 
 
 IJs'd by the Tempter: on that pr()spcct strange 
 
 Their earnest eyes they fix'd, imagining 
 
 For one forbidden tree a multitude 
 
 Xow ris'n, to work them further woe or sliame; 
 
 Yet parch'd with scalding tliirst and hunger tierce, 
 
 Tho' to delude them sent, could not abs*- -'i, 
 
 IkU on they rolld in heaps, and up the trees 
 
 Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky l(x;ks 
 
 'Ihat curi'd Megaera: greedily they piuck'd 
 
 The fruitage tair to sight, like that wiiich grew 
 
 Near that bituminous lake, where Sodom flam'd ; 
 
 I'his more delusive, not tlie touch, but taste, 
 
 Deceiv'd j they fondly thinking to allay 
 
 Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit, 
 
 Chew'd bitter ashes, which th' offended taste 
 
 With spattering noise rejected: oft tliey' assay'd. 
 
 Hunger and thirst constraining, drug'd as oft. 
 
 With hatefuUest disrelish, writh'd their jaws 
 
 With soot and cinders fiU'd ) so oft they fell 
 
 Into the same illusion, not as man 
 
 Whom they triumph'd, once laps'd. Thus were they 
 
 plagu'd 
 And worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss. 
 Till their lost shape, permitted, they resum'd, 
 Yearly enjoin'd, some say, to undergo 
 This annual humbling certain number'd days. 
 To da-ih their pride, and joy for man scduc'd. 
 However, some tradition they dispcrs'd 
 Among the Heathen of their purchase got. 
 And fabled how the serpent, whom they call'd 
 Ophioii with Eurynome, the wide 
 Encroaehing Eve perhaps, had first the rule 
 t)t higli Olympus, thence by Saturn driven 
 And (->ps, ere yet Diclaean Jove was born. 
 Meanwhile in Paradise the hellish pair 
 Too soon arrivd ; Sin there in power before. 
 Once actual, now in body, and to dwell 
 Habitual habitajU] behind her Death
 
 212 MILTON. BOOK X. 
 
 Close following, pace for pace, not mounted yet 
 On his pale horse : to whom Sin thus began : 
 
 Second of-Satan sprung, all-conqu'ring Death, 
 What think'st thou of our empire now, though earn'd 
 With travel difficult, not better far 
 Than still at Hell's dark threshold to' have sat watch 
 Unnam'd, undreaded, and thyself half-staiVd ? 
 
 Whom thus the sin-born monster answer'd soon. 
 To me, who with eternal famine pine. 
 Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heav'n ; 
 There best, where most with ravin I may meet ; 
 Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems. 
 To stuff this maw, this vast unhide-bound corpse. 
 
 To whom th' incestuous mother thus reply'd : 
 Thou therefore on these herbs, and fruits, and flo^vers 
 Feed first, on each beast next, and fish and fowl. 
 No homely morsels ; and whatever thing 
 The scithe of time mows down, devour unspar'd ; 
 Till I in Man residing through the race. 
 His thoughts, his looks, words, actions, all infect. 
 And season him thy last and sweetest prey. 
 
 This said, they both betook them several ways. 
 Both to destroy, or unimmortal make 
 All kinds, and for destruction to mature 
 Sooner or later : which th' Almighty seeing. 
 From his transcendent seat the saints among. 
 To those bright orders utter'd thus his voice : 
 
 See with what heat these dogs of Hell advance 
 To waste and havoc yonder world, which I 
 So fair and good created, and had still 
 Kept in that stale, had not the folly' of man 
 Let in these wasteful furies, who impute 
 Folly to me ; so doth the Prii^ce of Hell 
 And his adherents, that with so much ease 
 I suffer them to enter, and possess 
 A place so heav'nly, and conniving seem 
 To gratify my scornful enemies. 
 That laugh, as if transported with some fit 
 Of passion, I to them had quitted all. 
 At random yielded up to their misrule ; 
 And know not that I call'd, and drew them thither 
 My hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filth
 
 BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 213 
 
 Which man's polluting sin with taint had shed 
 
 On what was pure, till cramm'd and gorg'd, nigh burst 
 
 Witli suck'd and glutted offal, at one sling 
 
 Of thy victorious arm, well-pleasing Son, 
 
 Both Sin and Death, and yawning Grave at last. 
 
 Thro' Chaos hurl'd, obstruct the mouth of Hell 
 
 For ever, and seal up his ravenous jaws. 
 
 Then Heav'n and Karth renew'd shall be made pure 
 
 To sanctity that shall receive no stain : 
 
 Till then the curse pron;ju:ic'd on both precedes. 
 
 He ended ; and the HtMv'nly audience loud 
 Sung hallelujah, as the sound of .seas. 
 Through multitude that sung : Just are thy ways. 
 Righteous are tliy decrees on nil tliy works ; 
 Who can extenuate thee ? Next, to the Son, 
 Destin'd Restorer of mankind, by whom 
 New Heav'n and E.'rlh shall to tJie ages rise. 
 Or down from Heav'n ili'scend. Such was their song 
 Wliilf the Oeator calling forth by name 
 His migljty Angels, gave tlicm several charge 
 As sorted best with present things. The sun 
 Had tirst his precept so to move, so shine, 
 As might atfect the earth with cold and heat 
 Scarc'j tolcn.ble, and from the north to call 
 Decrepit winter, from the south to bring 
 Solstitial summer's heat. To the blank moon 
 Her olHcc they prescrib'd, to th' otlicr live 
 Their planetary motions and aspects 
 In sextile, sjjuare, and trine, and opposite 
 Of noxious etfic.uy, and when to jom 
 In synod unbenis;;n ; and taught the fix'd 
 Their influence malignant when to shower. 
 Which of them rising with the sun, or falling. 
 Should prove tempestuous : to the winds they set 
 Tlieir comers, when with bluster to confound 
 Sea, air, and shore, the thunder \%lun to roll 
 Wiilj tenor llirough the d:'.rk aerial hail. 
 Some say he bid hi-, angels turn ascar.se 
 The poles ot eailii twice ten degrees iuul more 
 l''r(im the sim's axle ; they with lihour puvli'd 
 Obliijue the centric glolK*; some s.iy t!;e sun 
 Was bid turn reins from th" t'(n;':inH.ii.'.l roa>'
 
 214 MILTON. BOOK : 
 
 Like distant breadth to Taurus with the seven 
 
 Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins 
 
 Up to the Tropic Crab ; thence down amain 
 
 By Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales, 
 
 As deep as Capricorn, to bring in change 
 
 Of seasons to each chme; else had the spring 
 
 Perpetual smil'd on earth with vernant flowers. 
 
 Equal in days and nights, except to those 
 
 Beyond the polar circles ; to them day 
 
 Had unbenighted shone, while the low sun 
 
 To recompense his distance, in their sight 
 
 Had rounded still th horizon, and not linown 
 
 Or east or west, which had forbid the snow 
 
 From cold Estotiland, and south as far 
 
 Beneath Magellan. At that tasted fruit 
 
 The sun, as from Thyestean banquet turn'd 
 
 His course intended ; else how had the world 
 
 Inhabited, tho' sinless, more than now. 
 
 Avoided pinching cold, and scorching heat ? 
 
 These changes in the Heav'ns, though slow, produc'd 
 
 Like change on sea and land, sideral blast. 
 
 Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot. 
 
 Corrupt and pestilent: now from the north 
 
 Of Norumbega, and the Samoed shore. 
 
 Bursting their brazen dungeon, arm'd with ice 
 
 And snow, and hail, and stormy gust, and flaw, 
 
 Boreas, and Caecias, and Argestes loud. 
 
 And Thrascias rend the woods, and seas upturn ; 
 
 With adverse blast upturns them from the south 
 
 Notus and Afer, black with thund'rous clouds 
 
 From Sierra Leona ; thwart of these as fierce 
 
 Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds 
 
 Eurus and Zephyr ; with their lateral noise, 
 
 Sirrocco, and Libecchio. Thus began 
 
 Outrage from lifeless things ; but Discord first. 
 
 Daughter of Sin, among the irrational. 
 
 Death introduc'd through fierce antipathy : 
 
 Beast now w^ith beast 'gan M'ar, and fowl with fov.l. 
 
 And fish with fish ; to graze the herb ail leaving, 
 
 Devour'd each other; nor stood much in awe 
 
 Of man, but fled him, or with'count'nance grim 
 
 Glar'd on him passing. These were from v.'ithout
 
 BooKi. PARADISE LOST. 2i3 
 
 The growing miseries which Adam saw 
 Already in part, tho' hid in gloomiest sliade, 
 To sorrow' abandon'd, but worse felt witiiin. 
 And in a troubled sea of passion tust, 
 Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint. 
 
 O miserable of happy ! is this the end 
 Of this new glorious world, and me so late 
 The glory of that glory, who now become 
 Accurs'd of blessed? hide me from the fice 
 Of (}od, whom to behold was then my height 
 Of happiness! yet well, if here would end 
 The misery j I deserv'd it, and would bear 
 My own deservingsj but this will not serve j 
 All that I eat or drink, or shall beget, 
 Is propagated curse. O voice once heard 
 Delightfully, Increase and multiply, 
 Now ileath to hear I for what can I increase 
 Or muhiply, but curses on my head f 
 Who of all ages to succeed, but feeling 
 'ihe evil on him brought by me, will curse 
 My head? Ill fare our aneesttjr impure J 
 For this we may thank Adam ; but his thanks 
 Sh.ill be the execration ; so besides 
 Mine o\vn that bide upon me, all from me 
 Siiall with a fierce reflu.v on me redound, 
 On me as on their natural centre light 
 Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joys 
 Of Para^lise, dear bought with lasting woes ! 
 Did I request thee, Maker, from my elay 
 To mould me man, did I solicit thee 
 From darkness to promote me, or here place 
 In this delicious garden ? As my will 
 Concurr'd not to my being, it were but r'^r.t 
 And e<iual to reduce me to my dust, 
 Desirous to resign and render baek 
 All I receiv'd, unable to perform 
 Thy terms too hard, by which 1 w.is to Ivxd 
 The good I sought not. To the loss of that, 
 Sufticient jK'nahy, why hast thou added 
 The sense (>f endless woes? inexplical''e 
 'Ihy justice siems ; yet, to say tiuth, loo l.tte 
 I thus contest : then hhouli^ have bei ii refus'W
 
 ai6 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK K. 
 
 These terms whatever, when they were propos'd : 
 
 Thou didst accept them: wilt thou enjoy the good 
 
 Then cavil the conditions ? and though God 
 
 Made thee without thy leave, what if thy son 
 
 Prove disobedient, and reprov'd, retort. 
 
 Wherefore didst thou beget me ? I sought it not : 
 
 Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee 
 
 That proud excuse r yet him not thy election. 
 
 But natural necessity begot. 
 
 God made thee of choice his own, and of his own 
 
 To ser\'e him ; thy reward was of his grace. 
 
 Thy punishment then justly is at his will. 
 
 Be it so, for I submit ; his doom is fair. 
 
 That dust I am, and shall to dust return. 
 
 O. welcome hour vv'henever ! why delays 
 
 His hand to execute what his decree 
 
 Fix'd on this day ? why do I overlive. 
 
 Why am I mock'd with death, and lengthen'd out 
 
 To deathless pain ? how gladly would I meet 
 
 Mortality my sentence, and be earth 
 
 Insensible J how glad would lay me down 
 
 As in my mother's lap ? there I should rest 
 
 And sleep secure j his dreadful voice no more 
 
 Would thunder in my ears, no fear of worse 
 
 To me and to my offspring would torment me, 
 
 With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt 
 
 Pursues me still, lest all I cannot die ; 
 
 Lest that pure breath of life, the sp'rit of man 
 
 Which God inspir'd, cannot together perish 
 
 With this corporeal clod ; then in the grave. 
 
 Or in some other dismal place, who knows 
 
 But I shall die a living death ? O thought 
 
 Horrid, if true ! yet why? it was but breath 
 
 Of life that sinn'd ; M'hat dies but what had life 
 
 And sin ? the body properly hath neither. 
 
 All of me then shall die : let this appease 
 
 The doubt, since human reach no further knows. 
 
 For though the Lord of all be infuiite, 
 
 Is his wrath also? be itj man is not so. 
 
 But mortal doom'd. How can he exercise 
 
 Wrath without end on man whom death must end ? 
 
 Can he make deathless death ? that w( re to make
 
 booK X. PARADISE LOST. 21/ 
 
 Strange contradiction, whicli to God himself 
 Impossible is held, as argument 
 Of weakness, not of power. Will he draw out. 
 For anger's sake, finite to infinite 
 In puniih'd man, to satisfy his rigour, . 
 Satisfy'd never? that were to cxtCHd 
 His sentence beyond dust and Nature's law. 
 By which all causes else according still 
 To the reception of their matter act. 
 Not to th' extent of their own spliore. But say. 
 That death be not one stroke, as I supposd. 
 Bereaving sen-.e, but endless misery 
 From this day onward, which I feel begun 
 Both in lue, and without me, and so last 
 To perpetuity Ah ! me, that fear 
 Comes thund'ring back with dreadful revolution 
 On my defenceless head ; both death and I 
 Am found eternal, and incorporate botli. 
 Nor 1 on my part single; in me all 
 Posterity stands curs'd: fair patrimony 
 That I must leave ye, Soiis ; O were I able 
 To waste it all myself, and leave ye none! 
 So ilisinhcrited, how would ye bless 
 Me, now your curse ! Ah, why should all mankind 
 For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemn'd, 
 if guiltless ? but from me wliat can proceed. 
 But all corrupt, both mind and will deprav'd. 
 Not to do only, but to will the same 
 With me? how can they then acquitted stand 
 In >igl>t of God ? him, after all disputes 
 Furr'd I absolve : all my evasions vain. 
 And reasonings, though through mazes, lead mc still 
 But to my own conviction: first and last 
 On me, me only, as the source and spring 
 Of all corruption, all the blame lights due; 
 So might the wrath. Fond wish! couldst thou support 
 That buriien heavier than the earth tt) bear, 
 Ihan all the world niucli heavier, thougli divided 
 Wiih that bad woman? thus wliat lliou desir'st 
 And wli.it thou fcarsf, alike (Icstroys .dl hoj)C 
 Ot' refuge, and concludes thee nii>t r.ible 
 Beyond all past example and future : 
 VOL. I. X.
 
 2 . 8 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 To Satan only like, both crime and doom. 
 
 conscience, into what abyss of fears 
 
 And horrors hast thoix driven me ; out of which 
 
 1 find no way, from deep to dv-eper plung'd! 
 
 Thus Adam to himself lamented loud 
 Through the still night, not now, as ere man fell, 
 Wholsome and cool, and mild, but with black air 
 Accompanied, v/ith damps and dreadful gloom. 
 Which to his evil conscience represented 
 All things with double terror : on the ground 
 Outstretch'd he lay, on the cold ground, and oft 
 Curs'd his creation ; Death as oft accus'd 
 Of tardy execution, since dcnounc'd 
 The day of his offence. Why comes not Death, 
 Said he, with one thrice acceptable stroke 
 To end me? shall Trath fail to keep her word. 
 Justice divine not hasten to be just. '' 
 But Death comes not at call ; Justice divine 
 Mends not her slowest pace for pray'rs or cries. 
 
 woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales and bowers. 
 With other echo late I taught your shades 
 
 To answer, and resound far other song ! 
 Wliom, thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld. 
 Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh. 
 Soft words to his fierce passion she assay'd : 
 But her with stern regard he thus repell'd. 
 
 Out of my sight, thou serpent ! that name best 
 Befits thee with him leagu'd, thyself as false 
 And hateful ; nothing wants, but that thy shape. 
 Like his, and colour serpentine, may shew 
 Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee 
 Henceforth ; lest that too he-iv'nly form, pretended 
 To hellish falshood, snare them. But for thee 
 
 1 had persisted happy, had not thy pride 
 And wand'ring vanity, when least was safe, 
 Bejected my forewarning, and disdain'd 
 Not to be trusted, longing to be seen 
 Though by the Devil himself, him overweening 
 To over-reach, but with the serpent meeting 
 Fool'd and beguil'd ; by him thou, I by thee. 
 To trust thee from my side; imagin'd wise, 
 Constant, mature^ proof against all assaults.
 
 BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 219 
 
 And understood nt^t all was but a sliew 
 
 Rather than solid virtue ; all but a rib, 
 
 Crooked by Nature, bent, as now appears. 
 
 More to the part sinister, from me drawn ; 
 
 Well if throw n out, as supernumerary 
 
 To my just number found. O why did God, 
 
 Creator wise, that peopled highest Heav'n 
 
 With spirits ma-iculine, create at last 
 
 This novqhy on earth, this fair defi.t;t 
 
 Of \atu/o, and not rill the world at once 
 
 \\'it!i men as angels without fenunine. 
 
 Or rind Jomc other way to generate 
 
 Mankind? this mischief had not then l>efairn. 
 
 And more tliat shall befal : innumerable 
 
 Disturbance.^ on earth through female snares. 
 
 And straight conjunction with this sex: for either 
 
 He never shall rind out l.l mate, but such 
 
 As some misfortune briigs him, or mistake; 
 
 Or whom he wishes nu>->t sliall seUlom g;ii:i 
 
 Throui^h her pcnLrseness, but sliall see her gain'd 
 
 l<y a fir worse ; or if she love, withlield 
 
 }5y parents; or his h:ii>pie.st choice too late 
 
 Slinll meet already lin!;\i and wcd!(K-k-bouud 
 
 To a fell adversary, his hate or >hamc : 
 
 Whit h inrinite calamiiy sliall cau^e 
 
 To human life, anil houselioKl peace confound. 
 
 He added not, iimi from her turn'd; l)ul tWc 
 Not so ropvd>'d, wi'.h !iars that ct-a^'d not i'owing, 
 AjuI tresses all disordered, at his feet 
 Fell humble, and embracing thciU, besouglit . 
 His prace, and thus proreeilid in jier plaint : 
 
 For-iake me not t!ii:s, Adam; witue?>s Heav'n 
 Wliat love sincere, and reverence in my licart 
 I bear ther, and unweeling have oliliuied, 
 1 Jnhappily dccciv'd; thy suppliaiu 
 I Ix-g, and clasp thy knees; berc.ve n.c not, 
 Wheretin I live, thy gentle lH>ks, thy aid, 
 'J hy counsel in jhis uilcrmost distress. 
 My only strengtii and slay ! f r!' .n of thee. 
 Whither shall I Ix-take me, uh'-re subsist? 
 \V liili- yet we live, scarce o:ie ^hort hour, jK-rljaps, 
 Iktueen us t\\( let there be peace, both joining, 
 L 2
 
 220 MILTON. BOOK K. 
 
 As join'd in injuries, one enmity 
 Against a foe by doom express assigned us^ 
 That cruel serpent: on me exercise not 
 Thy hatred for this misery befall'n. 
 On me already lost, me than thyself 
 More miserable; both have sinn'd, but thou 
 Against God only, I against God and thee ; 
 And to the place of judgment will retvurn. 
 There with my cries importune Heav'n, that all 
 The sentence from thy head remov'd may light 
 On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe. 
 Me, me only, just object of his ire. 
 
 She ended weeping; and her lowly plight. 
 Immoveable till peace obtain'd from fault 
 Acknowledg'd and deplor'd, in Adam wrought 
 Commiseration ; soon his heart relented 
 Tow'rds her, his life so late and sole delight. 
 Now at his feet submissive in distress ! 
 Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking. 
 His counsel, whom she had displeas'd, his aid ; 
 As one disarm'd, his anger all he lost. 
 And thus with peaceful words upraisd her soon : 
 
 Unwary, and too desirous, as before. 
 So now of what thou know'st not, thou desir'st 
 The punishment all on thyself; alas. 
 Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain 
 His fviU wrath, whose thou feel'st as yet least part. 
 And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayers 
 Could alter high decrees, I to that place 
 Would speed before thee, and be louder heard. 
 That on my head all might be visited ; 
 Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgive-.i. 
 To me committed and by me expos'd. 
 But rise ; let us no more contend, nor blame 
 Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but strive 
 In offices of love how we may lighten 
 Each other's burden in our share of woe; 
 Since this day's death denounc'd, if aught I see. 
 Will prove no sudden, but a slow-pac'd evil, 
 A long day's dying to augment our pain, 
 And to our seed (O hapless seed!) deriv'd. 
 
 To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, reply 'd :
 
 BooKx. PARADISE UJST. 221 
 
 Adam, by sad experiment I know 
 How little weight my words with tbec can find, 
 Kound so erroneous, thence, by just event, 
 Found so unfortunate i nevertheless, 
 Restor'd by thee, vile as I am, to place 
 Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain 
 Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart. 
 Living or dying, from thee I will not hide 
 What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen. 
 Tending to some relief of our extremes. 
 Or end ; though sharp and sad, yet tolerable. 
 As in our evils, and of easier choice. 
 If care of our descent perplex us most. 
 Which must be born to certain woe, devour'd 
 By Death at last } and ixiiierable it is 
 To be to otliers cause of misery. 
 Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring 
 Into this cursed world a woefnl race. 
 That after wretched life must be at last. 
 Food for so foul a monster; in thy power 
 It lies, yet ere conception, to prevent 
 The race unblest, to being yet unbegot. 
 Childless thou art, childless remain : so Death 
 Shall be deceiv'd his glut, and with us two 
 Be forc'd to satisfy his ravenous maw. 
 But if thou judge it hard and difficult. 
 Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain 
 From Love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet. 
 And with desire to languish without hope. 
 Before the present object lan;^uishing 
 With like desire, which would be niiserv. 
 And torment less than none of what we dread ; 
 Tlicn both ourselves and seed at tMice to five 
 From what wc ita: fur hud;, '.rt trs mnke siior!) 
 I-ot us seek Death, or he not fouiul, supply 
 With our own hands his office on ourselves: 
 Why stand we longer shivering under fears. 
 That sliew no end but death, and have the power. 
 Of many ways to die, the shortest choosing, 
 IXsirurtion with destruction to destroy ? 
 She rtulrd here, or vehement despair 
 Broke olf the rest; so much of death her thoughts 
 L 3
 
 222 MILTON. BGOKx. 
 
 Had entertain'd, as dy'd her cheeks with pale, 
 i^ut Adam with such counsel nothing sway'd. 
 To better hopes his more attentive mind 
 Lab'ring had rais'd, and thus to Eve reply'd : 
 
 Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure, seems 
 To argue in thee something more sublime 
 And excellent than what thy mind contemns ; 
 But self destruction, therefore, sought, refutes 
 That excellence, thovight in thee, and implies. 
 Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret 
 For loss of life, and pleasure overlov'd. 
 Or, if thou covet death, as utmost end 
 Of misery, so thinking to evade 
 The penalty pronouncd, doubt not but God 
 Hath wiselier arm'd his vengeful u-e than so 
 To be forestalVdj much more I fear lest death 
 S snatch'd, will not exempt us from the pain 
 We are by doom to pay ; rather such acts 
 Of contumacy will provoke the Highest 
 To make death in us live : then let us seek 
 Some safer resolution, which, methinks, 
 1 have in view, calling to mind with heed 
 Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise 
 The serpent's head j piteous amends ! unless 
 Be meant, whom I conjecture, our grand foe, 
 Satan, who in the serpent hath contriv'd 
 Against us this deceit : to crusli his head 
 Would be revenge indeed j which will be lost 
 By death brought on ourse'.ves, or childless days 
 Resolv'd as thou proposestj so our foe 
 Shall 'scape his punishment ordain'd, and we 
 Instead, siial! double ours upon our heads. 
 No more be mention'd then of violence 
 Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness, 
 Tiiat 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 
 VVitliout wrath or reviling; we expected 
 Immediate dissolution, which we thought 
 Was meant by death that day, when lo ! to thee
 
 BOOK X. PARADISE LOST. 223 
 
 Pains only in child-bearing were forL-loKI, 
 
 And bringing forth, soon recoinpens'd with joy. 
 
 Fruit of thy womb : on me the curse aslope 
 
 Glanc'd on the ground ; w ith labour I mu.-,t earn 
 
 My bread ; w hat harm ? Idleness had been worse ; 
 
 IVIy labour will sustain me ; and lest cold 
 
 Or heat should injure us, his timely care 
 
 Hath unbcsought provided, anil his hanils 
 
 Clolh'd us, unuorthy, pitying while Jir judg'd; 
 
 How much m<re, if we pray iiim, will his ear 
 
 Ik" open, :'nd his heart to pity incline; 
 
 And teach us furtlier by what means to shun 
 
 Ihe inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow ? 
 
 Wnich now the sky, wiU: \arious face, begins 
 
 To shew us in this iitountain, while the winds 
 
 Blow moist and keen, shattering the grac; tul lotks 
 
 Of these iair sprrnding trees ; which bids us seek 
 
 Some better shroud, some lietter warmth to cherish 
 
 Our limbs beni'.m'd, e'er this diurnal star 
 
 Li-ave cold the night, how we his gather'd beams 
 
 Kelicctcd, may with matter f^eie fomert. 
 
 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 tliwart Hamc driven 
 
 down 
 Kindles the gummy bark of fir and p'ne. 
 And sends a comlortable heat from far. 
 Which might supply the sun : such fire to use. 
 And what niay else be remedy or cure 
 To evils which our own miidceds have wrocgbt. 
 Me will instruct us praying, and of grnre 
 Brseeching him ; so as we need not fear 
 To pass commodiously this lite, sustaind 
 By him with many comforts, till we e:ul 
 In dust, our final rest and native home. 
 What bettrr can we do, than to tlie place 
 lUpairing where he judg'd us, prosir.iie fall 
 Betore him reverent, and there confess 
 Hiunbly our faults, and pardon beg, wi'h tears 
 Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air 
 Frecjucnting, sent from hearts contrite, in ig 
 l4
 
 224 MILTON. BOOK XI. 
 
 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 liim reverent^ and both confess'd 
 Humbly their faults, and pardon begg'dj 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. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Son of God present? to his Father the prayers of our First Parents 
 now repenting, and intercedes for them: God accepts them, but 
 declares that they must no longer abide in Paradise ; sends Michael 
 with a band of Cherubim to dispossess them; but first to reveal 
 to Adam future things: Michael's coming down. Adam shews 
 to Eve certain ominous signs; he discerns Michael's approach; 
 goes out to meet him: the Angel denounces their departure. 
 Eve's lamentation. Adam pleads ; but submits : the Angel leads 
 him up to a high hill ; sets before him in vision 'what shall hap- 
 pen till the flood. 
 
 Thus they in Iov.'HCi^l plight repentant stood 
 
 Pr-iyjijg ; Ibr from the mercy-seat above 
 
 Prevenient grace descending had remov'd 
 
 The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh 
 
 Regenerate grow instead ; that sighs now breath'd 
 
 Unutterable, which tlie sp'rit of prayer 
 
 Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n witli speedier flight 
 
 Than loudest oratory ; yet their port 
 
 Not of mean suitors, nor important less 
 
 Seem'd their petition, than when th' ancient pair 
 
 In fables old, less ancient yet than these.
 
 BOOK XT. PARADISE LOST. 22* 
 
 Deucalion and thasie Pyrrlia, to restore 
 The race of mankind drown'd, before the shrine 
 Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n their pray'ri 
 Flew up, nor miss'd the way, by eiuious winds 
 Blown vagabond, or frustrate : in tlu>y pass'd 
 Dimensionlcss thro' heav'nly doors ; then clad 
 With incense, where the golden altar fum'd, 
 r>y their great Intercessor, cam^ in sight 
 Before the Father's throne : them the glad Son 
 Presenting, thus to intercede began : 
 
 See, Father, what tirsi fruits on earth are sprung 
 From thy im|dantc<l grai e in man, these sighs 
 And pray'rs, which in this golden censer, mix'd 
 With incense, I, thy Priest, before thee bring : 
 Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed 
 S)wn with conlrition in his heart, tlian tliosc 
 VVhich, his own hand miiuiring, all the trees 
 Of Paradise covUd have pioduc'd, e'er fall'n 
 From innocence. Now tlierefore bend ihiuc ear 
 'I'o supplication, hear his sii;hs, tho" mute ; 
 Unskiltul \\ itli wliat words to pray, let me 
 Interpret for him, me his advocate. 
 And propitiation ; all his works on me, 
 Cood or not gooti, ingraft ; my merit, those 
 Sliall perfect, and for these my death .sliall pay. 
 A(cept me, and in me from these recx'ive 
 'I'lie smell of p^'ace tow'rd mankind ; let him li\e 
 Bclore thee rcconcil d, at lea>t his days 
 Xumbcr'd, though sad, till death, his doom, (which 1 
 To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse) 
 To U-tter life sliall yield him, where, w i(h roc. 
 All my rede< m (I may dwell in joy and biiss. 
 Made one with me, as I with thee am one. 
 
 To wliom the Father, without cloud, serene: 
 All thy retiucst for man, accepted Son, 
 Obt.iiu ; all thy re<)uest was my decree : 
 But longer in that Paradise to dwell, 
 T lie \.i\\ I gave to Nature him forbids : 
 Tliost- pure inunoria! elements that know 
 No ;;ros-,, no inharmonious mixture foul, 
 F.jict him tainted now, and purgr him ott 
 As a disttmiHT gross, to air as grr.-', 
 L 3
 
 226 MILTON. BOOK XI. 
 
 And mortal food ; as may dispose him best 
 
 For dissolution wrought by sin, that first 
 
 Disteraper'd all things, and of incorrupt 
 
 Corrupted. I at first with two fair gifts 
 
 Created him endow'd, with happiness 
 
 And immortality : that fondly lost. 
 
 This other sev\"d but to eternize woe. 
 
 Till I provided death j so death becomes 
 
 His final remedy, and after life 
 
 Try'd in sharp tribulation, and refin'd 
 
 By faith and faithful works, to second life, 
 
 Wak'd in the renovation of the just. 
 
 Resigns him up with Heav'n and Earth renew'd. 
 
 But let us call to synod all the blest 
 
 Through Heav'n's wide bounds ; from them I will not 
 
 hide 
 My judgments, how with mankind I proceed, 
 As how with peccant angels late they saw, 
 And in their state, though firm, stood more confirm'd. 
 
 He ended ; and the Son gave signal high 
 To the bright minister that watch'd ; he blew 
 His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps 
 When God descended, and perhaps once more 
 To sound at general doom. Th' angelic blast 
 Fiird all the regions : from their blissful bower* 
 Of amafantine shade, fountain, or spring. 
 By the waters of life, where'er they sat 
 In fellowships of joy, the sons of Light 
 Hasted, resorting to the summons high. 
 And took their seats ; till, from his throne supreme^ 
 Th' x\lmighty thus pronounc'd his sov"reign will. 
 
 O Sons, like one of us Man is become 
 To know both good and evil, since his taste 
 Of that defended fruit; but let him boast 
 His knowledge of good lost and evil got ; 
 Happier, had it suffic'd him to have known 
 Good 'oy itself, and evil not at all. 
 He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite j 
 My motions in him ; longer th sn they n^.o^e, 
 His heart J know, how variable and vain 
 Self-left. Lest therefore now his bolder hand 
 Reach also of the tree of life, and eat
 
 BOOK XI. PARADISE LOST. atf 
 
 And live for ever, dream at least to live 
 For ever, to remove him I decree, 
 And send hiin tVom tiie garden forth to till 
 Tlie ground wlicnce he was taken, litter soil. 
 
 Michael, this my behest have thou in charge; 
 Take to tliei- from among the Cherubim 
 Thy choice of tbming warriors, lest the Fiend, 
 Or in behalf of man, or to invade 
 Vacant posstsiion, some new trouble raise : 
 Il.iste thee, and from the Paradise of God, 
 Without rcTuorse. drive out the sinful pair, 
 From h.illow'd groMivl ih' unholy, and denounce 
 To them and to their progeny from thence 
 Per})etual hanisliment. \et, lest they faint 
 At liie sad sentence rigorously urg'd ; 
 For I behold them soften'd, and with tears 
 Bewailing their excels, all terror hide. 
 If patiently thy bidding they obey. 
 Dismiss them lu^t di.scon->olate ; reveal 
 To Adam what s!) ill come in future days. 
 As I shall thee enlighten ; intern)ix 
 My cov'nant in t!ie Woman's seed renew'd ; 
 So send them firth, tho' sorrowing, yet in peace : 
 And on the ca-.i side of the gardetj place, 
 Where tntraue up from Mden easiest climbs. 
 Cherubic watch, ami of a sword the flame 
 Wide-waving, all approach far ofl" to fright, 
 And guard all passage to the Tree of Life : 
 I/.'st Paradise a rec-ptacle prove 
 To spirits t'oul, and all my trees their prey. 
 With whose stijl'n fruit Man on(e more to delude. 
 
 Ileccas'd: and ih' arch-angcUc Powr, [irepaid 
 For swit'i d 'Scent ; with him the colu)rt blight 
 <.)f watchful Ciuri.bim ; four taccs ca< h 
 Hail like a double Janus, all their shape 
 Sj)ingled with eyes more numerous than tliosc 
 Of Argus, and more waketul than to drouse, 
 Chariu'd with Arcadian pipe, the past'ral rccJ 
 ( )f Hermes, or his opiate rod. Memwhilc 
 To re-vdm- the world wiiii sacred light 
 I^vuothca wak'd, and with fresh dews imbalni'd 
 Tijc e.'itli, when Adam, and tirst matron Eve, 
 L (j
 
 228 MILTON. BOOK xr. 
 
 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 j 
 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 j 
 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 breatli, 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 humbl'd 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 foe j 
 Which tlien 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 } 
 111 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 deser\'ing. But the field 
 To labour calls us, now with sweat impos'd, 
 Tho' after sleepless night ; for see thee 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 enjoin'd 
 Laborious, till day droop j while here we dwell.
 
 BOOK XI. PARADISE LOST. 229 
 
 What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks ? 
 Here let us live, tho' in fail'n state, content. 
 
 So spake, so wish'd much humbled Eve, but Fat* 
 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 ; 
 Dow n from a hiil the beast that reigns in woodi. 
 First lumter then, pur^u'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 eye the chace 
 Pursuing, not unmov'd, to Eve thus spake : 
 O Bve, some further cliange 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 dischai^e 
 From penalty, because from death releas'd 
 Si)me days ; how long, and what till then our life 
 Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust. 
 And tliitiier must return, and Ix; no more ? 
 ^^'hy else this double object in our sight 
 Of ilight pursu'd in th' air, and o'er the ground. 
 One way the self-same hour ? why in the east 
 Darkness e'er day's raid-course, and morning-light 
 More orient in yon western cloud that draws 
 Oer the blue firmament a radiant white. 
 And slow descends, with sometliing heav'nly fraught ? 
 
 He err'd not ; for by this the heav'nly bauds 
 Down from a sky of jasper lighted now 
 In Paradise, and on a hill made halt : 
 A glorious apparition, had not doubt 
 And carnal tear that day dimm'd Adam's eye. 
 Not that more glorious, when the angels met 
 Jacob in Mach.main), 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 liie Syrian king, who, to surprise 
 One man, assassin-like had levied war, 
 War unproclaim'd. The princely Hierarch
 
 430 MILTON. BOOK. XI. 
 
 In their bright stand there left his pow'rs to seize 
 
 Posiession of the crarden ; he alone, 
 
 lb find where Adam shelter'd took his way. 
 
 Not unperceiv'd of Adam, who to Eve, 
 
 While the great visitant approat'h'd, thus spake : 
 
 Eve, now expect great tidings, Avhich perhaps 
 Of us will soon d-r termine, 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 abi ve, such majesty 
 Invests liim coming ; yet not terrible. 
 That I shou;d fe.-;r, nor socifibly 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' Arch-angel 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 tiian Melibccan, 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 : 
 
 Ada Ti, Heav'n's high behest no preface needs : 
 Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and Death, 
 Then due l)y sentence when thou didst transgress. 
 Defeated of his sei/Aire many days 
 Giv'n thee of gn:ce, 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 ; 
 B'st longer in tliis Paradise to dwell 
 Pcrmiis not ; to remove thee I am come. 
 And send thee from the garden forth to till 
 I'he ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.
 
 uooK XI. PARADISE LOST. 2.'Ji 
 
 He added not, (or Adam at the news 
 Heiirl-struik witli ihilliii^ St^ilX-' ot sorrow stood. 
 That all his sentos bound ; Eve, who unseen 
 Yet all havl li' ard, with a 'dibie lament 
 Discover d soon the place of her retire. 
 
 (.) unex[)e(tid stroke, worse than ot' death ! 
 Miisl I thus leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave 
 Thcf, native soil, tluse happy walks and shades, 
 tit haunt ot i^oils where I had hojn- to spend, 
 Quie', though sad, the respite of that day 
 That must he mortal to us both. () flowers, 
 'J'hat never will in othtr climate grow. 
 My early visitation, and my last 
 At even, which I bred up with tender hand 
 From the first opening bud, and gave ye namen. 
 Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank 
 Your tribes, and water from th' ainbiosial fount ? 
 I'lice lastly, nuptial bow r, by me adorn'il 
 Wuh what to sigiu or smell was sweet, from thee 
 How shall I part, and whittuT watider down 
 Into a lo\\er w )rid, to this obscure 
 And wild r how shall we breathe in other air 
 Ix'ss pure, accustom (1 to immortal fruits ? 
 
 \Vlu;m thu-) the angel internipted mild: 
 Lament n.>t Kve, but patiently resign 
 What justly thou hast lost ; nor set thy heart. 
 Thus i)ver-!ond, on that which is not thine ; 
 'i'hy going is not lonely ; with thee goes 
 Thv luisband ; him to t(jllow tliou art bound; 
 Where he abides, think there thy native soil. 
 
 Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp 
 Uccovermg, and hi- .scatter'd sp rits return'd. 
 To Micl-.nel thus his humble words adiln-ss'd : 
 
 Celestial, whether among the thrones, or nam'd 
 Of them the highest ; for such of sliaj)e may seem 
 Prill e al) >ve priiu-es, genilv h.:st ih <u told 
 Tiiy lU'.'ssage, winch might else in t -lling wound. 
 And in pcrfornjing, end us ; what Ivsides 
 Of sorrow, and ttejeetion, and despair. 
 Our Iradty can sustain, l!iy ti lings l)ring, 
 Dcpir uti- from this happv phue, out sweet 
 Ucccsg, and only consolation left,
 
 M2 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK xr. 
 
 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 assidiious 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 J seek 
 
 His bright appearances, or footstep 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 earthy 
 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 wlience had spread 
 All generations, and had hither come 
 From all the ends of th' earth, to celebrate 
 And reverence thee, their great Progenitor*
 
 BOOK XI. PARADISE LOST. 233 
 
 J5ut this pn-eemiuence thou hast lost, brought down 
 
 To dwell on even ground now with thy sons: 
 
 \'ct doubt not but in valley and in plain 
 
 (iod is as here, and will be found alike 
 
 Prej^ent, and of his presence many a sign 
 
 vStill following thee, still compassing tliee round 
 
 Willi goodness and paternal love, his face 
 
 Express, and of his steps the track divine. 
 
 Which that thou inay'st believe, and be confirm'd 
 
 K'er thou from hence depart, know I am sent 
 
 To shew thee what shall come in future days 
 
 'Jo thee and to thy offspring ; good with bad 
 
 Expert to hear, supernal grace contending 
 
 With sintUlness of men ; thereby to learn 
 
 True patience, and to temper joy with fear 
 
 And pious sorrow, equally innurd 
 
 By moderation either state to bear. 
 
 Prosperous or adverse j so shalt tliou lead 
 
 Safest thy life, and best prepar'd endure 
 
 'J hy mortal passage wlion it comes. Ascend 
 
 This hill; let Eve (for I have drtriich'd her eyes) 
 
 HiTf sleep below, while thou to foresight wak'st ; 
 
 As once thou slepst, while she to life was form'd. 
 
 To whom thus Adam grateful'^' reply'd. 
 Ascend, I follow thee, safe gxiide, the path 
 Thou leadst me, and to the hand of Heav'n submit. 
 However ch^st'ning! to the evil turn 
 My obvious breast, arming to overcome 
 oy "^unri-iiig, Kud c;ir;i rest frciri; Jnbtmr won. 
 If so I may attain. So both ascend 
 In the visions of (iod : It was a hill 
 Of Paradise the highest, from whose top 
 The hemisphere of earth in clearot ken 
 Strctchd out to th' implest reach of prosjiect lay. 
 Not hi'^lier that hill, nor wider looking round. 
 Whereon for different cause the Tempter set 
 Our src )nd Adam in the wildcrnes.s. 
 To shew him all Earth s kingdoms and their glory. 
 His eye might there command wherever stood 
 City ot Old or modern fame, the seat 
 Of mii;iitiest empire, fiom the iKwtind walls 
 Of Cambalu. .c.it of Cathaijn Can,
 
 234 MILTON. boo 
 
 And Samarchand by Oxus^ Temir's throne. 
 
 To Pekin of Sinaean kings, and thence 
 
 To Agra and Lahor of great Mogul 
 
 Down to the golden Chersonese; or where 
 
 The Persian in Ecbatan sat, cr since 
 
 In Hispahan ; or where the Russian Czar 
 
 In Moscow, or the Sultan in Bizance, 
 
 Turchestan-born ; nor could his eye not ken 
 
 Th' empire of Negus to his utmost port 
 
 Ercoco, and the less maratime kings 
 
 Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind, 
 
 And Sofala, thought Ophir, to the realm 
 
 Of Congo, and Angola farthest south ; 
 
 Or tlience from Niger flood to Atlas mount. 
 
 The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez, and Sus, 
 
 Morocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen j 
 
 Or Europe thence, and where Rome was to swaj 
 
 The world : in sp'rit perhaps he also saw 
 
 Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezuma, 
 
 And Cusco, in Peru, the richer seat 
 
 Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoii'd 
 
 Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons 
 
 Call El Dorado : but >-^ri0bler sights 
 
 Michael from Adam's eyes the him remov'd. 
 
 Which that false fruit that promis'd clearer sight 
 
 Had bred ; then purg'd wich euphrasy and ru 
 
 The visual nerve, for he had much to see ; 
 
 And from the weU of life three drops iustUi'd. 
 
 So deep the power of these ingredients pierc'd. 
 
 E'en to th' inmost seal of mental sight. 
 
 That Adam now enforc'd to close his eyes. 
 
 Sunk down, and all his sp'rits became entranc'd ; 
 
 But him the gentle angel by the hand 
 
 Soon rais'd, and his attention thus recall'd. 
 
 Adam, now ope thine eyes, and tirst behold 
 Th' effects which thy original crime hath wrought 
 In some to spring from thee, who never touch'd 
 Th' excepted tree, nor wiih the snake conspir'd. 
 Nor sinn'd thy sin, yet from that sin derive 
 Corruption to bring forth more violent deeds. 
 
 His eyes he open'd, and beheld a tield. 
 Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves
 
 BOOR XI. PARADISE LOST. 235 
 
 New reap'd, the other pait sliecp-walks and folds ; 
 
 r th' midst an altar as the land-mark stood. 
 
 Rustic, of grassy sod ; thither anon 
 
 A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought 
 
 Fir<t fniiis, the green ear, and the yellow sheaf, 
 
 Uncull'd, as came to hand ; a shepherd next 
 
 Moro meek came with the firstlings of his flock. 
 
 Choicest and best ; then sacrificing, laid 
 
 The inwards and their fat, with incenst! strew'd. 
 
 On tlie cleft wood, and all due rites perform'd. 
 
 His otVering soon propitious fire from Heav'n 
 
 Consum'd with nimble glance, and grateful steam ; 
 
 The other's not, for his was not sincere ; 
 
 Whereat he inly rag'd, and as they talk'd. 
 
 Smote him into the midritf with a stone. 
 
 That bent out life; he fell, and deadly pale 
 
 (jronn'd out his soul w ith gusiiing blotxl effus'd. 
 
 Much at the siglil was Adam in his heart 
 
 Dismay 'd, and thus in haste to th" angel cry'd: 
 
 O Teacher, some great ml-.chief hath befall'n 
 To (hat nvek mnn, v.-ho well had saerifio'd ) 
 Is pieiy tiuis and pure devotion paid ? 
 
 T' whom Michael thus, he also mov'd, reply'd. 
 These two are brethren, Adam, and to come 
 Out ff thy loins; th' unjust the just hath slain. 
 For envy that his brother's otiering found 
 From Heav'n a^x-eptsnce; but the bloo'ly fact 
 Will !)( avcng'd, and th other's fiith approv'd 
 I-')i no reward, tho' here tliou seir him tlie. 
 Rolling in dust and gore. To which our Hire. 
 
 Alas, both for the deed and tor the cause ! 
 But hi\e I now secu death ? is this the waj 
 I must retura ^o native tlust ? O sight 
 ()f tc.''."7, toul ami ugly to behold, 
 iiunid to think, how horrible to feel! 
 
 To whom thus Michael. Deaih thou hast seen 
 In his first shajK* o! man ; but many sh i[)cs 
 Of dc.uh, and nuny are the ways that lead 
 To hi> grim cave, all dismal ; yet to s nse 
 More terrible at th' entrance ihui waiiin. 
 Some, as thou saw'st, by \ioleiit stroke sijall die. 
 By fire, flo'nl, famine, by inlemp'rance more
 
 236 MILTON. BOOK XI. 
 
 In meats and drinks, which on the earth shall bring 
 Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew 
 Before thee shall appear ; that thou may'st know 
 What misery th' inabstinence of Eve 
 Shall bring on men. Immediately a place 
 Before his eyes appear'd, sad, noisome, dark, 
 A lazar-house it seem'd, wherein were laid 
 Numbers of all diseas'd, all maladies ; 
 Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms 
 Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds. 
 Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs. 
 Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs. 
 Demoniac phrenzy, moping melancholy. 
 And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy. 
 Marasmus, and wide- wasting pestilence. 
 Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint racking rheums. 
 Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; Despair 
 Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch ; 
 And over them triumphant Death his dart 
 Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd 
 Vv'^ith VGV.'&, as tlici;* chief g<K)d, aiid final hope. 
 Sight so deform, what heart of rock could long 
 Dry-ey'd behold ? Adam could not, but wept. 
 Though not of woman bom ; compassion quell'd 
 His best of man, and gave him up to tears 
 A space, till firmer thoughts restrain'd excess ; 
 And scarce recovering words his plaint renew'd. 
 O miserable Mankind, to what fall 
 Degraded, to what wretched state reserv'd ! 
 Better end here unborn ! Why is life given 
 To be thus wrested from us ? rather why 
 Obtruded on us thus ? who if we knew 
 What we receive, would either not accept 
 Life ofFer'd, or soon beg to lay it down. 
 Glad to be so dismiss'd in peace. Can thu 
 Th' image of God in man created once 
 So goodly and erect, though faulty since. 
 To such unsightly sufferings be debas'd 
 Under inhuman pains? why should not man. 
 Retaining still divine similitude 
 In part, from such deformities be free. 
 And for his Maker's image sake exempt ?
 
 ii0K XI. PAUADISE LOST. 23/ 
 
 Their Maker's image, answer'd Michael, then 
 Forsook them, when themselves they vilify'd 
 To serve ungovern'd appetite, and took 
 His image whom they serv'd, a brutish vice. 
 Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve. 
 Therefore so abject in their punishment. 
 Disfiguring not God s likeness, but their own ; 
 Or if his likeness by themselves dcfac'd, 
 While they per\ert pure Nature's healthful rules 
 To loathsome sickness, worthily, since they 
 God's image did not reverence in themselves. 
 
 I yield it just, said Adam, and submit. 
 But is there yet no other way, besides 
 These painful p.issages, how we may come 
 To death, and mix with our connatural dust? 
 
 There is, said Michael, if thou well ohser\e 
 The rule of not too much, by tcnip'rance taught. 
 In what thou eat'st ami drink'st, seeking from thence 
 I3ue nourishment, not gluttonous delight, 
 Till many years over thy head return : 
 So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop 
 Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease 
 (iather'd, not harshly pluck'd, for death mature: 
 This is old age; but then tiiou must outlive 
 Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will changt 
 To wither'd weak, and grey ; thy >enscs then 
 Obtuse, all taste of pleasure imist forego 
 To what thou hast ; and for the air of youth, 
 Hopeful and rheerfid. in thy blcKid will reign 
 A nu'lanchuly damp of cold and dry 
 To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume 
 The balm of lite. To whom our Ancestor: 
 
 Henceforth 1 fly not death, nor would prolong 
 Life much, bent rather how I may be (juit 
 Fairest and easiest of this cumbrous charge. 
 Which I must keep till my appointed day 
 Of rend ring up, and patiently attend 
 My dissolution. Michael reply'd. 
 
 Nor love thy life, nor hate : but what thou liv'st 
 Live well ; how long or short permit to Heav'n : 
 And now prepare thee for another ^ight. 
 
 He look d, and saw a spacious plain, whca'on
 
 238 MILTON. BOOK. xi. 
 
 Were tents of various hue ; by some were herds 
 Of cattle grazing ; others, whence the sound 
 Of insti-uments that made melodious chime 
 Was heard, of harp and organ j and who mov'd 
 Their stops and chords, were seen ; his volant touch 
 Instinct through all proportions low and high 
 Fled and pursu'd transverse the resonant fugue. 
 In other part stood one, who at the fcrge 
 Lab'ring, two massy clods of ir'n and brass 
 Had melted, (whether found where casual fire 
 Had wasted woods on mountain or in vale, 
 Down to the veins of earth, thence gliding hot 
 To some cave's mouth, or whether wash'd by stream 
 From underground) the liquid ore he drain'd 
 Into fit moulds prepar'd; from which he form'd 
 First his own tools; then, w.hpt might else be wrought 
 Fusil or grav'n in metal. After these. 
 But on the hither side, a difl:ereDt sort 
 From the high neighbouring hills, w hich M'as their seat, 
 Down to the plain descended ; by their guise 
 Just men they seem'd, and all their study bent 
 To worship God aright, and knovv^ his works 
 Kot hid, nor those things last which might preserv'e 
 Freedom and peace to men : they on the plain 
 Long had not walk'd, when from the tents behold 
 A bevy of fair women, richly gay 
 In gems and wanton dress; to th' harp they sung 
 Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on : 
 The men, though grave, ey'd them, and let their eyes 
 Rove witliout rein, till in the amorous net 
 Fast caught, they lik'd, and each his liking chose ; 
 And now of love they treat, till th' evening star. 
 Love's harbinger, appear'd ; then all in heat 
 They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke 
 Hymen, then first to marriage rites invok'd : 
 With fcMst and music all the tents resound. 
 Such happy interview and fair event 
 Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers. 
 And charming symphonies attach'd the heart 
 Of Adam, soon inclin'd t' admit delight. 
 The bent of Nature ; which lie thus express'd : 
 True opener of mine eyes, prime Angel biest.
 
 BOOK XI. PARADISE LOST. 230 
 
 Much better seems this vision, and more hope 
 Of peaceful days portends than those two p:is;; 
 Those were of hntc and death, or pain much worse; 
 Here Nature seems fiilfiil'd in all her ends. 
 
 To whom lliui Michael. Judge not what is best 
 By pleasure, though to nature seeming meet; 
 Created, as thou art, to nobler end. 
 Holy and pr.ie, conformity divine. 
 Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant, were the tenti 
 Of Wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race 
 W'iio slew his brother; studious they appear 
 Of arts that polish life, inventors raie. 
 Unmindful of their Maker, tiiough his spirit 
 Taught them; but they his gifts acknowledg'd none. 
 Yet they a beauteous otispring shall beget ; 
 For that fair female troop th.iu s;uv'st, tliat seem'd 
 Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay. 
 Yet emjity of all good, wherein consists 
 \\'on)an's domestic honour and chief praise; 
 Krtd only and completed to the taste 
 Of lustful appetence, to hing, to dance. 
 To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye, 
 I'o these, that sober race of men, whose lives 
 Religious titled them the sons of (iod, 
 Slu'.ll yield up all their virtue, all their fame 
 Ignoblv. to the trains and to the smiles 
 (Jf these fair atheists, and now swim in joy, 
 Kre long to swim at large, and laugli ; for whicli 
 The world ere long a world of tears must weep. 
 
 To w'lich thus Adam, of short joy bereft: 
 O pity" and shame, that thi-y who to live well 
 Kiiter'd so fair, should turn aside to tread 
 Paths indirect, or in the miilwny faint! 
 Hut s'ill J see the tenor of n-.an's wot* 
 Holds <jn the same, from woman to begin 
 
 I'Vom man's et^'eminale sl.Kkness it b.rgins, 
 S.iid tir Angel, who should better h >lcl his place 
 hv wi>idom and superior gilts receiv'd: 
 But now prepare thee tor another scene. 
 
 He KK)k'd, and saw wide territory spread 
 Bet'ore him, towns, and rural works between; 
 Cities of men, with lofty gates and towers,
 
 240 MILTON. book xi. 
 
 Concourse in arms, fierce faces threat'ntng wars. 
 
 Giants of mighty bone, and bold emprise ; 
 
 Part wield their a"Fms, part curb the foaming steed. 
 
 Single, or in array of battle, rang'd 
 
 Both horse and foot, nor idly must'ring stood ; 
 
 One way a band select from forage drives 
 
 A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine 
 
 From a fat meadow ground j or fleecy flock. 
 
 Ewes and their bleating lambs over the plain. 
 
 Their booty ; scarce with life the shepherds fly. 
 
 But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray ; 
 
 With cruel tournament the squadrons join; 
 
 Where cattle pastur'd late, now scatter'd lies 
 
 With carcases and arms th' insanguin'd field 
 
 Deserted: others to a city strong 
 
 Lay siege, encamp'd ; by battery, scale, and mine, 
 
 Assaulting; others from tlie wall defend 
 
 With dart and javeline, stones and sulphurous fire: 
 
 On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds. 
 
 In other part, the scepter'd heralds call 
 
 To council in the city gates : anon 
 
 Grey-headed men, and grave, with warriors mix'd 
 
 Assemble, and harrangues are heard, but soon 
 
 In factious opposition, till at last 
 
 Of middle age one rising, eminent 
 
 In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong. 
 
 Of justice of religion, truth, and peace. 
 
 And judgment from above: him old and young 
 
 Exploded, and had seiz'd with violent hands. 
 
 Had not a cloud descending snatch'd him thence 
 
 Unseen amid the throng : so violence 
 
 Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law 
 
 Thro' all the plain, and refuge none was found. 
 
 Adam was all in tears, and to his guide 
 
 Lamenting, turn'd full sad: O what are these. 
 
 Death's ministers, not men, who thus deal death 
 
 Inhumanly to men, and multiply 
 
 Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew 
 
 His brother : for of whom such massacre 
 
 Make they but of their brethren, men of men ? 
 
 But who was that just man, whom had not Heav'n 
 
 Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost ?
 
 BOOK XI. TAUADISE LOST. Ill 
 
 To whom thus Michael. These are the product 
 Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st ; 
 Where good with bad were match'd, who of themselves 
 Abhor to join ; and by imprudence mix'd, 
 Produce prodigious births of body' or mind. 
 Such were these giants, men of liigh renown : 
 For in those days might only slia!! be admir'd, 
 And valour and heroic virtue call'd ; 
 To overcome in battle, and subdue 
 Nations, and bring home sj^oils with infinite 
 Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch 
 Ot human glory, and for glory done 
 Of triumph, to be stil'd great conquerors, 
 Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods. 
 Destroyers rightlicr call'd, and phgtici of nif n. 
 Thus fame shall be achiev'd, renown on e:irth, 
 And what most merits fame, in silence hid. 
 But he the sev'nth from tlice, whom thou beheldst 
 The only righteous in a world perverse, 
 And therefore hated, tliercfore so beset 
 With foes, for daring single to be just. 
 And utter odious truth, that God would come 
 To judge them with his saints: him the most High 
 Rapt in a balmy cloud, with winged steeds 
 Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with God 
 High in salvation and the climes of bliss, 
 Execnpt from death ; to shew thee wluit reward 
 Awaits the good, the rest what punishment ; 
 Which now direct thine eyes, and soon behold. 
 
 He look'd, and saw the face of things quite chang'd ; 
 The brazen throat of war had ceas'd to roar : 
 All now was turn'd to jollity and game. 
 To luxury and riot, feast and dance, 
 Marrying or prostituting, (as befc-l.) 
 RajK- or adulter)', where passing fair 
 Allur'd them J thence from cups to civil broiU. 
 At length a reverend sire among them came. 
 And of their doings great dislike declar'd. 
 And testify'd against their ways j he oft 
 Frequented their assemblies, whercso met, 
 Triumphs of festivals, and to them preach'd 
 Conversion and repentance, as to souU 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 In prison under judgments imminonf : 
 
 But all in vain, which when he saw, he ceas'd 
 
 Contending, and remov'd his tents tar off; 
 
 Then from the mountain hewing timber tall. 
 
 Began to build a vessel of huge bulk, 
 
 Measur'd by cubit, length, and breadth, and height, 
 
 Smear'd round with pitch, and in the side a door 
 
 Contriv'd, and of provisions laid in large 
 
 For man and beast : when lo a wonder strange ! 
 
 Of every beast, and bird, and insect small 
 
 Came sev'ns, and pairs, and enter 'd in, as taught 
 
 Their order : last the sire, and his three sens 
 
 With their four wives ; and God made fast th.e door. 
 
 Meanwhile the south wind rose, and with black win^ 
 
 "Wide hovering, all the clouds together drove. 
 
 From under Heav'n ; the hills to iheir supply 
 
 Vapour and exhalation, dusk and moist. 
 
 Sent up amain ; and now the thicken'd sky 
 
 Like a dark ceiling stood ; down rush'd the rain 
 
 Impetuous, and continued till the earth 
 
 No more was seen ; the floating vessel swum 
 
 Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow 
 
 Bode tilting on the waves ; all dwellings else 
 
 Flood overwhelm'd, and them with all their pomp 
 
 Deep under water roU'd, sea cover'd sea. 
 
 Sea without shore; and in their palaces 
 
 W here luxury late reign'd, sea-monsters whelp'd 
 
 And stabled: of mankind, so numerous late. 
 
 All left, in one small bottom swam embark'd. 
 
 How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold 
 
 The end of all thy offspring, end so sad. 
 
 Depopulation ! thee another flood. 
 
 Of tears and sorrow' a flood, thee also drown'd. 
 
 And sunk thee as thy sons ; till gently rear'd 
 
 By the Angel, on thy feet thou stoodst at last, 
 
 Tho" comfortless, as when a father mourns 
 
 His children, all in view destroyd at once ; 
 
 And scarce to th" Angel utter'dst thus thy plaint. 
 
 O visions ill foreseen ! better had I 
 Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne 
 My part of evil only, each day's lot 
 Enough to bear 3 those now, that were dispeni'd
 
 aooK XI. PARADISE LOST. 243 
 
 The burd'n of many ages, on me light 
 
 At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth 
 
 Abortive, to torment me ere their being. 
 
 With thought tliat they must be. I.et no man seek 
 
 Henceforth to be foretold what shall befal 
 
 Him or his children ; evil he may be sure. 
 
 Which neither his foreknowing can pn-^ent ; 
 
 And he the future evil shall no less 
 
 In apprehension than in substance feel. 
 
 Grievous to bear : but that care now is past, 
 
 Man is not whom to warn : those few escap d 
 
 Famine and anguish will at last consume, 
 
 Wand'ring that wat'ry desert: I had hope 
 
 When violence was ceas'd, and war on earth, 
 
 All would have then gone well, ptace would ha\e 
 
 crown'd 
 With length of happy days the race of man ; 
 Put I was far deceived, for now I see 
 Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. 
 How comes it tlius? unfold, (xlcstial Guide, 
 And whether here the race of man will end. 
 
 To whom thus Michael. Those vhcmi last thou 
 saw'st 
 In triumph and luxurious wealth, are tliev 
 First seen in acts of prowess cmineiit 
 And great exploits, but of true virtue void ; 
 Wlio having spilt much blood, and done much waste, 
 .Subduing nations, and achiev'd thereby 
 Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey, 
 Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, an-i sl)th, 
 Surfeit, and lust, till wantonness and pride 
 Kaise (JUt of friendship hostile deeds in jieate. 
 The conquer'd also, and enslav'd by war. 
 Shall with their freedom lost all virtue lose 
 And fear of God, from whom their piety feign'd 
 In sharp contest of battle found no aid 
 Against invaders ; therefore cool'd in zeal 
 Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure. 
 Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords 
 Shall leave them to enjoy; for th' earth shall Iwar 
 More than enough, that temp'rance may be Iryd ; 
 So all shall Uirn degenerate, all deprav'd, 
 M i
 
 244 MILTON. BOOK xf. 
 
 Justice and temp'rancC;, truth and faith forgot ! 
 
 One man except, the only Son of Light 
 
 In a dark age, against example good. 
 
 Against allurement, custom, and a world 
 
 Offended ; fearless of reproach and scorn. 
 
 Or violence, he of their wicked ways 
 
 Shall them admonish, and before them set 
 
 The paths of righteousness, how much more safe 
 
 And full of peace, denouncing wrath to come 
 
 On their impenitence} and shall return 
 
 Of them derided ; but, of God observ'd. 
 
 The one just man alive ; by his command 
 
 Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheldst. 
 
 To save himself and household from amidst 
 
 A vi'orld devote to universal wreck. 
 
 No sooner he with them of man and beast 
 
 Select for life shall in the ark be lodg'd, 
 
 And shelter'd round, but all the cataracts 
 
 Of Heav'n set open on the earth shall pour 
 
 Rain day and night ; all fountains of the deep 
 
 Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp 
 
 Beyond all bounds, till inundation rise 
 
 Above the highest hills ; then shall this movmt 
 
 Of Paradise by might of waves be mov'd 
 
 Out of his place, push'd by the horned flood. 
 
 With all his verdure spoird, and trees adrift, 
 
 Down the great river to the op'ning gailf. 
 
 And there take root an island salt and bare, 
 
 The haunt of seals, and ores, and sea-mews clang : 
 
 To teach thee that God attributes to place 
 
 No sanctity, if none be thither brought 
 
 By men who there frequent, or therein dwell. 
 
 And now what further shall ensue, behold. 
 
 He look'd, and saw the ark hull on the flood. 
 Which now abated ; for the clouds were fled, 
 Driv'n by a keen north-wind, that blowing dry 
 Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decay'd ; 
 And the clear sun on his wide wat'ry glass 
 Gaz'd hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, 
 As after thirst, which made their flowing shrink 
 From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole 
 With soft foot tow'rds the deep, who now had stopt
 
 BOOK XI. PARADISE LOST. 245 
 
 His sluices, as the Heav'n his windows shut. 
 The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground 
 Fast on tlic top of some high mounlain hx'd. 
 And now the tops of hills as rocks appear j 
 With clamour thence the rapid tnirrents drive 
 Tow'rds the retreating sea their furious tide. 
 Forthwith from out the ark a raven flics. 
 And after him, the surer messenger, 
 A dove, sent forth once and again to spy- 
 Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light ; 
 The second time returning, in his bill 
 An olive leaf he brings, pacific sign : 
 Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark 
 The ancient sire descends with all his train : 
 Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout. 
 Grateful to Hcavn, o'er his head beholds 
 A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow 
 Conspicuous with three listed colours gay. 
 Betokening peace from God, and covenant new : 
 Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad, 
 Gre.itly rijoic'd ; and thus his joy broke forth: 
 
 O thou who future things can represent 
 As present, heav'niy Instructor, I revive 
 At this lasi siglit, assur'd that man shall live 
 With all the cruilurcs, and their seed preser\c 
 Far less I now Imnent for one whole world 
 Of wicked sons destroy'd, than I rejoice 
 For one man found so perfect and so just. 
 That G(xl vouclisafi's to raise another world 
 From him, ami all his anger to forget, 
 fiat say, what mean those colour d streaks in Heav'n, 
 Distended as the brow of Go^l appeas'd ; 
 Or M-ne they as a flow'ry verge to bind 
 The fluid skirts <jf that same watry cloud. 
 Lest it again dissolve and show'r tlie earth ? 
 
 To whom the archangel. IVxt'rously thou aim'st ^ 
 So willingly doth God remit his ire, 
 Though late repenting him of man deprav'd, 
 GrievM at his heart, when looking down he saw 
 The whole earth hlld with violenie, and all flesh 
 Corrupting e'.ch their way; yet th(i>e remov d, 
 Such >^race shall one jiut man hnd in hu sight. 
 
 Hi
 
 240 MILTON. BOOK XII. 
 
 That he relents, not to blot out mankind. 
 
 And makes a covenant never to destroy 
 
 The Earth again by flood, nor let the sea 
 
 Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world. 
 
 With man therein or beast j but when he brings 
 
 Over the earth a cloud, will therein set 
 
 His triple-colour'd bow, whereon to look. 
 
 And call to mind his covenant : day and night. 
 
 Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost 
 
 Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new. 
 
 Both Heav'n and Earth, wherein the jitst shall dwell. 
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The angel Michael continues from the flood to relate what shall 
 succeed ; then, in the mention of Abraham, comes by degrees 
 to explain, who that Seed of the Woman shall be, which was 
 promised Adam and Eve in the fall ; his incarnation, death, re- 
 surrection, and ascension ; the state of the Church till his second 
 coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and recomforted by these rela- 
 tions and promises, descends the hill with Michael ; wakens 
 Eve, who all this while had slept, but with gentle dreams com- 
 posed to quietness of mind and submission. Michael, in either 
 hand, leads them out of Paradise, the fiery sword waving behind 
 them, and the cherubim taking their stations to guard the 
 place. 
 
 As one who in his joiu'ney bates at noon. 
 Though bent on speed ; so here th' arch -angel paus'd 
 Betwixt the world destroy 'd, and world restor'd. 
 If Adam aught perhaps might interpose ; 
 Then with transition sweet, new speech resumes. 
 Thus thou hast seen one world begin and end ; 
 And man, as from a second stock, proceed. 
 Much thou hast yet to see, but I perceive 
 Thy mortal sight to fail ; objects divine 
 Must needs impair and weary human sense 5 
 Henceforth what is to come I will relate ; 
 Thou, therefore, give due audience, and attend.
 
 ooK XII. PARADISE IXDST. 24/ 
 
 This second source of men, while yet but few. 
 And while iho drfad of judgment past, remains 
 Fresh in their minds, fearing the Ueity, 
 With some regard to what is just and right. 
 Shall lead tlieir lives, and multiply apace, 
 Lab'ring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop. 
 Corn, wine, and f)ilj and iVom the herd or flock 
 Oft sa( ritiiing bullock, l;:mb, or kid. 
 With l.irge winc-otlerings pour'd, and sacred feast. 
 Shall spend tlieir days in joy unblam'd, and dwell 
 Long time in peace by families and tribes 
 Under paternal rule j till one shall rise 
 Of proud ambitious heart, wlio not content 
 With fair equality, fraternal state, 
 Will arrogate ilominion undeserv'd 
 Over his breihren, and fjuite dispossess 
 Concord and law of nature, from the earth. 
 Hunting (and men, not beasts, shall be his game) 
 Witii war and hostile snare, such as refuse 
 Subjeciiun to his empire tyrannous j 
 A inij^hty huntt-r thence !>e shall be styl'd 
 Befor..' tlie Ixird, as in dcspight of Heav'n, 
 i)T from Heav'n claiming second sov'reigntyj 
 And from rebellion siiall derive his name. 
 Though of rel)ellion otlicrs he accuse. 
 He, with a crew, whoiTi like ambition joins 
 With him, or un.Ur liitn to tyrannize. 
 Marching from Kdin tow'rds the west, shall find 
 The plain, \vhfrein a black bituminous gurge 
 Boils out from underground, the mouth of Hell ; 
 Of brick, autl of that stutl'they cast to build 
 A city' and to.ver, whose top may reach to Heav'n; 
 And get themselves a name, lest far dispers'd 
 In foreign lands, their memory be lost, 
 Regantle-.s w hether good or evil fame. 
 But God, who ofl des<"en:ls to visit men 
 Unseen, and through their habitations walks 
 To mark their doings, them Ix'holding soon. 
 Comes down to i>ee their city, ere the tower 
 Obstruct Heav'n-tow'rs, and in derision sets 
 Upon their tongues a various sp'rit to rase 
 Quite out their native language, and instead, 
 M 4
 
 2^8 MILTON. 
 
 BOOK XII, 
 
 To sow a jangling noise of words unknown j 
 Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud 
 Among the builders ; each to other calls 
 Not understood, till hoarse, and all in rage. 
 As mock'd, they storm ; great laughter was in Heav'n, 
 And looking down, to see the hubbub strange. 
 And hear the din ; thus was the building left 
 llidiculous, and the work Confusion nam'd. 
 
 Whereto thus Adam, fatherly, displeas'd : 
 O execrable son, so to aspire 
 Above his brethren, to himself assuming 
 Authority usurp'd, from God not giv'n : 
 He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl. 
 Dominion absolute ; that right we hold 
 By his donation ; but man over men 
 He made not lord 3 such title to himself 
 Reserving, human left from human free. 
 But this usurper his encroachment proud 
 Stays not on man ; to God his tow'r intends 
 Siege and defiance} wretched man I what food 
 "Will he convey up thither to sustain 
 Himself and his rash army, where thin air 
 Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross. 
 And famish him of breath, if not of bread ? 
 
 To whom thus Michael. Justly thou abborr'st 
 That son, who on the quiet state of men 
 Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue 
 Rational liberty ; yet know withal. 
 Since thy orig'nal lapse, true liberty 
 Is lost, which always with right reason dwells 
 Twinn'd, and from her hath no dividual being : 
 Reason in man obscur'd, or not obey'd. 
 Immediately, inordinate desires. 
 And upstart passions catch the government 
 From reason, and to servitude reduce 
 Man, till then free. Therefore, since he permit* 
 Within himself unworthy powers to reign 
 Over free reason, God, in judgment just. 
 Subjects it from without to violent lords: 
 Who oft as undeservedly inthrall 
 His outward freedom ; tyranny must be. 
 Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.
 
 aooK xii. PARADISE LOST. M9 
 
 Yet, sometimes, nations will decline so low 
 From virtue, which is reason, tliat no wrong. 
 But justice, and some fatal curse annex'd. 
 Deprives them of their outward liberty. 
 Their inward lost : witness th' irreverent son 
 Of him who built tlie ark, who for the sliame 
 Done to his father, heard tliis heavy curse. 
 Servant of servants, on his vicious race. 
 Thus will the latter, as tle former world. 
 Still tend from bad to worse, till God at last. 
 Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw 
 His presence from among them, and avert 
 His holy eyes ; resolving, from thenceforth. 
 To leave them to their own polKited waysj 
 And one ]>eculiar nation to select 
 From all the rest, of whom to be invok'd j 
 A nntion from one faithful man to spring: 
 Him, on this side Euphrates yet residing, 
 Bred up in idol-worship. O that men 
 (('.wist thou believe ?) should 1)C so stupid grown. 
 While yet the Patri.'.rch liv'd, who scap'd the flood. 
 As to forsaki; the living God, and fall 
 'i'u worship their own work in wood and stone. 
 For CmkIs ! yet him, God the most High vouchsafes 
 To call, by vision, from his father's house. 
 His Ki.idrcd and false gods, into a land 
 Whicli h<' will shew him, and from him will raise 
 A mighty nation, and upon him shower 
 His IxMiediction so, that in his seed 
 All nations sliall be blest ; he straight ol)eys, 
 Nc.t knowing to what Land, yet firm believes ; 
 1 see him, but thou canst not, witli what laitli 
 He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil, 
 Ur of Chaldaca, pas>ing now the furd 
 To Haran ; after him a cumbrous train 
 Of herds and flocks, and numerous bcrvitudc ; 
 Not wand'riiig poor, but trustinc ail his wealth 
 Wiih (iO<l, who caird him, in a land unknown. 
 Caiman h-* now attains; I see his tents 
 Pitth'd al out Sechem, and the ncighbring plain 
 Of Moreh; thcri", bv promise, he rccei\es 
 (iift to his progeny of all that land, 
 M 5
 
 250 MILTON. BOOK ill. 
 
 From Hamath northward, to the desert south,' 
 
 (Things by their names I call, though yet uunam'd) 
 
 From Herraon east to the great western sea ; 
 
 Mount Hermon ! yonder sea ; each place behold 
 
 In prospect, as I point themj on the shore 
 
 Mount Carmel ; here the double-founted stream 
 
 Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons 
 
 Shall dwell to Seir, that long ridge of hills. 
 
 This ponder, that all nations of the earth 
 
 Shall in his seed be blessed ; by that seed 
 
 Is meant thy great deliverer, who shall bruise 
 
 The serpent's head ; whereof to thee anon 
 
 Plainlier shall be reveal'd. This patriarch blest, 
 
 "Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call, 
 
 A son, and of his son a grand-child leaves. 
 
 Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown ; 
 
 The grand-child with twelve sons increas'd departs 
 
 From Canaan, to a land, hereafter call'd 
 
 Egypt, divided by the river Nile ; 
 
 See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths 
 
 Into the sea: to sojourn in that land 
 
 He comes, invited by a younger son 
 
 In time of dearth ; a son, whose worthy deeds 
 
 Raise him to be the second in that realm 
 
 Of Pharaoh : there he dies, and leaves his race 
 
 Growing into a nation ; and now grown 
 
 Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks 
 
 To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests 
 
 Too numerous ; whence of guests he makes them slaves 
 
 Inhospitably', and kills their infant males j 
 
 Till by two brethren (ihose two brethren call 
 
 Moses and Aron) sent from God to claim 
 
 His people from inthralment, they return 
 
 With glory' and spoil, back to their promis'd land. 
 
 But first the lawless tyrant, who denies 
 
 To know their God, or message to regard, 
 
 Must be compell'd, by signs and judgments dire ; 
 
 To blood unshed their rivers must be turn'd ; 
 
 Frogs, lice, and flies, must all his palace fill 
 
 With loath'd intrusion, and fill all the land j 
 
 His cattle, must of rot and murrain die; 
 
 Botches and blains must all bis flesh emboss.
 
 BOOK XII. PARADISE LOST. tSl 
 
 And all hi people ; thunder mix'd with hail, 
 Hail mix'd with fire, must rend th' Egyptian sky. 
 And wheel on th' earth, devouring where it rolls ; 
 What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain, 
 A darksome cloud of locusts swanying down 
 Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green ; 
 Darkness must overshadow all his bounds. 
 Palpable darkness, and blot out three days; 
 Last with one midnight-stroke all the firat-bom 
 Of Eg)'pt must lie dead. Thus with ten wounds 
 T!je river-dragon tam'd, at length, submits 
 To let his sojourners depart, and oft 
 Humbles his stubborn heart, but still as ice 
 More harden'd after thaw, till in his rage 
 Pursuing whom he late dismiss'd, the sea 
 Swallows him with his host, but them lets pass 
 As on dry land, between two crystal walls, 
 Awd by the nxl of Mows so to stand 
 Divided, till hi-, rescued, gain their shore : 
 Such wondrous jxjwcr God to his saint will lend. 
 Though present in his angel, wlio shall go 
 Jkfore ihem in a cloud, and pillar of tire j 
 liy d.iy a cloud, by night a pillar of tire ; 
 To guide them in their journey, and remove 
 Behind them, while th obdurate king pursues : 
 All night he will pursue, but his a])paoa(-h 
 Darkness defends between, till morning watch; 
 Theti through the tiery pillar and the cloud 
 God looking forth will trouble all his host. 
 And craze tlieir chariot wheels : when, by command, 
 Moses once nure his potent rod extends 
 Over the tea; the sea his rod obeys; 
 On thw'ir embaltl'd rinks the waves return. 
 And over'rti.elni their war ; the race elect 
 S it'e towards Canaan liom the shore advance 
 'I'hrough the wild desert, not the readiest way. 
 Lest ente:iiig on the Catiaanite alarm'd. 
 War territ'y then) inexpert, and fear 
 III t'lrii them back to Kgypt, choosing rather 
 Fugloriou:^ lite with sT\ituile ; for lite. 
 To noble and ignoble, is more sweet 
 L^nlrain'd a arms, where rashness leads not on. 
 M 6
 
 252 MILTON. Boo&xii. 
 
 This also shall they gain by their delay 
 
 In the wide wilderness ; there they shall found 
 
 Their government, and their great senate choose 
 
 Through the twelve Tribes, to rule by laws ordain'd : 
 
 God, from the mount of Sinai, whose grey top 
 
 Shall tremble, he, descending, xrill himself 
 
 In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpet's sound. 
 
 Ordain them lawsj part such as appertain 
 
 To civil justice, part religious rites 
 
 Of sacrifice, informing them, by types 
 
 And shadows, of that destin'd seed to bruise 
 
 The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve 
 
 Mankind's deliverance. But the voice of God 
 
 To mortal ear is dreadful j the}' beseech 
 
 That JNIoses might report to them his will. 
 
 And terror cease ; he grants what they besought. 
 
 Instructed that to God is no access 
 
 Without a Mediator, whose high office now 
 
 Moses in figure bears, to introduce 
 
 One greater, of whose day he shall foretel. 
 
 And all the Prophets in their age the times 
 
 Of great Messiah shall sing. Thus laws and rites 
 
 Establish'd, such delight hath God in men 
 
 Obedient to his Nvill, that he vouchsafes 
 
 Among them to set up his tabernacle. 
 
 The Holy One with mortal men to dwell ; 
 
 By his prescript, a sanctuary is fram'd 
 
 Of cedar, overlaid with gold 5 therein. 
 
 An ark, and in the ark his testimony. 
 
 The records of his covenant ; over these, 
 
 A rnercy-seat of gold, between the wings 
 
 Of two bright cherubim ; before him burn 
 
 Sev'n lamps, as in a zodiac, representing 
 
 The heav'nly fires ; over the tent a cloud 
 
 Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night. 
 
 Save when they journey, and at length they come. 
 
 Conducted by his Angel, to the land 
 
 Promis'd to Abraham and his seed : the rest 
 
 Were long to tell, how many battles fought. 
 
 How many kings destroy'd, and kingdoms won ; 
 
 Or how the sun shall in mid Heav'n stand still 
 
 A day entire, and night's due course adjourn, 
 
 Man's voice commanding Suu ! in Gibeon stand.
 
 BOOK xu. PARADISE LOST. 253 
 
 And thou. Moon, in the vale of Ajalon, 
 Till Israel overcome j so call the third 
 From Abraham, son of Isaac, and from him 
 His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win. 
 
 Here Adam interpos'd. O sent from Heavn, 
 Enlight'ner of my darkness, gracious things 
 Thou hast reveal'dj those chiefly, which concern 
 Just Abraham and his seed : now first I find 
 Mine eyes true op'ning, and my heart much eas'd, 
 Erewhilc, perplex'd with thoughts what would becem* 
 Of me and all mankind j but now I see 
 His day, in whom all riations shall be blest; 
 Favour unmerited by me, who sought 
 Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means. 
 Yet this I apprehend not, why, to those 
 Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth. 
 So many and so various laws are given ; 
 So many laws argue so many sins 
 Among them ; how can God with such reside ? 
 
 To whom tluis Michael. Doubt not, but that Sin 
 Will reign among them, as of thee begot ; 
 And, thert'fore, was law giv'n them to evince 
 Their natural pravity, by stirring up 
 Sin against law to fight : that when they see 
 ImIw can discover sin, but not remove. 
 Save by those shadowy expiations weak. 
 The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude. 
 Some blood more precious must be paid for man, 
 Just for unjust, that in such righteousness 
 To them by faith impute<i, they may find 
 Justification towards God, and peace 
 Of conscience, which the law by ceremonies 
 Cannot appease, nor man the nwirtal part 
 Pert'orm, and not jxirforming cannot live. 
 So law appears imperfect, and but given 
 With purpose to resign them in full time 
 Up to a better covenant, disciplind 
 From shadowy types to tnith, from flesh to spirit. 
 From imposition of strict laws to free 
 Acccpt.ince of largo grace, from wr\ ilc fear 
 To filial, works of law to works of faith ; 
 And, thcrvfore, shall not Moses, though of God
 
 364 MILTON. BOOK xii. 
 
 Highly belov'd, being but the minister 
 
 Of law, his people into Canaan lead ; 
 
 But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call. 
 
 His name and office bearing, who shall quell 
 
 The adversary serpent, and bring back 
 
 Through the world s wilderness long wander'd man 
 
 Safe to eternal paradise of rest. 
 
 Meanwhile, they in their earthly Canaan plac'd. 
 
 Long time shall dwell and prosper ; but when sins 
 
 National, interrupt their public peace. 
 
 Provoking God to raise them enemies: 
 
 From whom as oft he saves them, penitent. 
 
 By judges first, then under kings; of whom 
 
 The second, both for piety renown'd 
 
 And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive 
 
 Irrevocable, that his regal throne 
 
 For ever shall endure ; the like shall sing 
 
 All prophesy, that of the royal stock 
 
 Of David (so I name this king) shall rise 
 
 A son, the woman's seed, to thee foretold. 
 
 Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust 
 
 All nations, and to kings foretold, of kings 
 
 The last, for of his reign shall be no end. 
 
 But first a long succession must ensue. 
 
 And his next son, for wealth and wisdom fam'd. 
 
 The clouded ark of God, till then, in tents 
 
 "VVand'ring, shall in a glorious temple' inshrine. 
 
 Such follow him as shall be register'd 
 
 Part good, part bad, of bad the longer scroll. 
 
 Whose foul adolatries, and other faults 
 
 Heap'd to the popular sum, will so incense 
 
 God, as to leave them, and expose their land. 
 
 Their city', his temple, and his holy ark. 
 
 With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey 
 
 To that proud city, whose high walls thou saw'st 
 
 Left in confusion, Babylon, thence call'd. 
 
 There, in captivity he lets them dwell 
 
 The space of sev'nty years, then brings them back, 
 
 Bemembering mercy, and his covenant sworn 
 
 To David, 'stablish'd as the days of Heav'n. 
 
 Return'd from Babylon, by leave of kings 
 
 Their lords, whom God dispos'd, the house of God
 
 BOOK xn. PARADISE LOST. 255 
 
 They first re-edefy, and for awhile 
 
 In mean estate live moderate, till grown 
 
 In wealth and multitude, factious they grow; 
 
 But tirst, among thr priests dissentiun springs. 
 
 Men whu attend the altar, and should most 
 
 Endeavour peace ; their strite pollution brings 
 
 Upon the temple itsell : at last they seize 
 
 The sceptre, and regard not David's sons, 
 
 I'hen lose it to a stranger, that the true 
 
 Anointed king Messiah might be born, 
 
 Barr'd of his right; yet, at his birth, a star 
 
 Unseen before in Heav'n, proclaims him come. 
 
 And guides the eastern Sages, who inquire 
 
 His place, to offer incense, myrrh and gold} 
 
 His place of birth a solemn angel tells 
 
 To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night ; 
 
 They gladly thither haste, and by a quire 
 
 Of squadron'd angels, hear his carol sung. 
 
 A virgin is his motlier, but his sire 
 
 The power of the most High ; he shall ascend 
 
 The throne hereditary, and bound his reign 
 
 With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the Heav'ns. 
 
 He ceas'd, discerning Adam witli such joy 
 Surcharg'il, as had, like grief, been dew'd in tears, 
 Without the vent of words, whirli these he breath'd. 
 
 () Prophet of glad tidings, tinisher 
 Of utmost hojx? ! now clear 1 understand 
 What oft my steadiest thoughts have searcli'd in vainj 
 \\'hy our great expectation should l>e call'd 
 The Seed of Woman : Virgin-Mother, hail, 
 High in the love of Heav"n, yet trom my loins 
 'J'liou shah pnx'ecd, and from thy wciinb the son 
 ()\ (.'lod niofct High; so God, ^^ilh mm miites. 
 Needs must the serpent now his capital bruise 
 Expect, with mortal pain: say, where, and when, 
 Their li^ht, what strokes shall bruise the vitfor's heel? 
 
 'J"o whom thus Michael Dnam not of their fight 
 As of a duel, or the local wounds 
 Of heal or heel : not, tlierclore, joins the Son 
 Mauliood to Gtxlhead, with more strength to foil 
 Thy enemy ; nor so is overcome 
 JSalan. wIdsc fall trom Heav'n, a deadlier bruiie, 
 Di>.ibU'd uol ti> 2i\e tliee thy deatli's wound;
 
 256 MILTON. BOOK xir. 
 
 Which he, who comes thy Saviour, shall re-cure; 
 
 Not by destroying Satan, but his works. 
 
 In thee and in thy seed : nor can this be 
 
 But by fulfilling that which thou didst want. 
 
 Obedience to the law of God, impos'd 
 
 On penalty of death, and suffering death. 
 
 The penalty to thy transgression due. 
 
 And due to theirs which out of thine will growj 
 
 So only can high justice rest appaid. 
 
 The law of God exact he shall fulfil. 
 
 Both by obedience and by love, though love 
 
 Alone fulfil the law ; thy punishment 
 
 He shall endure, by coming in the flesh 
 
 To a reproachful life and cursed death. 
 
 Proclaiming life to all who shall believe 
 
 In his redemption, and that his obedience 
 
 Imputed, becomes theirs by faith; his merits 
 
 To save them, not their own, though legal works. 
 
 For this he shall live hated, be blasphem'd, 
 
 Seiz'd on by force, judg'd, and to death condemn'd, 
 
 A shameful and accurs'd ! nail'd to the cross 
 
 By his own nation, slain for bringing life ; 
 
 But to the cross he nails thy enemies. 
 
 The law that is against thee, and the sins 
 
 Of all mankind, with him there crucify'd. 
 
 Never to hurt them more who rightly trust 
 
 In this his satisfaction ; so he dies. 
 
 But soon revives; Death over him no power 
 
 Shall long usurp; e'er the third dawning light 
 
 Return, the stars of morn shall see him rise 
 
 Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light. 
 
 Thy ransom paid, which man from death redeems. 
 
 His death for man, as many as offer'd life 
 
 Neglect not, and the benefit embrace 
 
 By faith, not void of works: this God-like act 
 
 Annuls thy doom, the death thou should'st have dy'd;, 
 
 In sin for ever lost from life ; this act 
 
 Shall bruise the head of Satan, crush his strength. 
 
 Defeating sin and death, his two main arms. 
 
 And fix far deeper in his head their stings 
 
 Than temp'ral death shall bruise the victor's heel. 
 
 Or theirs whom he redeems, a deathlike sleep.
 
 BOOK xn. PARADISE LOST. 2S7 
 
 A gentle wafting to immortal life. 
 
 Nor, after resurrection, shall he stay 
 
 Longer on earth than certain times to* appear 
 
 To his disciples, men who in his life 
 
 Still follow d him ; to them, shall leave in ciiarge 
 
 To teach all nations what of him they learn'd. 
 
 And his salvation ; them who shall believe 
 
 Baptizing in the profiuent stream, the sign 
 
 Of washing them from guilt of sin to life 
 
 Pure, and in mind prepar'd, if so befal. 
 
 For death, like that which the Redeemer dy'd. 
 
 All nations they sh;dl teach j for from that day 
 
 Not only to the sous of Abraham's loins 
 
 Salvation shall be preach'd, but to tlie sons 
 
 Of Abraham's faith wherever tlirough tlie world ; 
 
 So in his seed all nations shall be blest. 
 
 Then to the Heav'n of Heav'ns he shall ascend 
 
 With victory, triumphing through the air 
 
 Over his foes and thine j there sliall surprise 
 
 The Serpent, prince of air, and drag in chains 
 
 Through all his realm, and there confounded leavt : 
 
 Then enter into glory, and resume 
 
 His seat at God's right hand, exalted high 
 
 Above all names in Heav'n ; and thence shall come. 
 
 When tliis world's dissolution shall be ripe. 
 
 With glory' and power to judge both quick and dead; 
 
 To judge th' unfaithful dead, but to reward 
 
 His faithful, and receive them into bliss. 
 
 Whether in Heav'n or Earth ; for then the Earth 
 
 Shall all be Paradiie, far happier place 
 
 Than this of Eden, and far happier days. 
 
 So spake th" arch-angel Michael, then paus'd. 
 As at the world's great period ; and our sire 
 Replete with joy and wonder thus reply'd : 
 
 O Goodness infinite. Goodness immense ! 
 That all this g(X)d of evil shall pnxluce, 
 And evil turn to good ; more wonderful 
 Than that which, by creation, first brought fortli. 
 Light out of darkness ! full of doubt I stand. 
 Whether I should re|)enl me now of sin 
 By nic done and (K-casion'd, or rejoice 
 Much more, tliat much more y>oU tliereof shall spring:
 
 258 MILTON. BOOK xn. 
 
 To God more glory, more good will to men 
 From God, and over wrath grace shall abound. 
 But say, if our Deliverer up to Heav'n 
 Must reascend, what will betide the few 
 His faithful, left among th' unfaithful herd. 
 The enemies of truth ? who then shall guide 
 His people, who defend ? will they not deal 
 Worse with his followers than with hira they dealt ? 
 
 Be sure they will, said th' angel j but from Heav'n 
 He, to his own, a comforter will send, 
 1 he promise of the Father, who shall dwell 
 His Spirit within them, and the law of faith 
 Working through love, upon their hearts shall write. 
 To guide them in all tiTith, and, also, arm 
 With spiritual armour, able to resist 
 Satan's assaults, and quench his fiery darts ; 
 What marji can do against them, not afraid. 
 Though to the death ; against such cruelties 
 With inward consolations recompens'd^ 
 And oft supported so as shall amaze 
 Their proudest persecutors : for the Spirit 
 Pour'd first on his Apostles, whom he sends 
 To' evangelize the nations, then on all 
 Baptiz'd, shall them with wondrous gifts indue 
 To speak all tongues, and do all miracles, 
 As did their Lord before them. Thus they win 
 Great numbers of each nation to receive 
 With joy the tidings brought from Heav'n : at length 
 Their ministry perform'd, and race well run. 
 Their doctrine and their story written left. 
 They die; but in their room, as they forewarn. 
 Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves. 
 Who all the sacred mysteries of Heav'n 
 To their own vile advantages shall turn 
 Of lucre and ambition, and the truth 
 With superstitions and traditions taint. 
 Left only in those written records pure. 
 Though not but by the Spirit understood. 
 Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names. 
 Places, and titles, and with these to join 
 Secular power ; though feigning still to act 
 By spiritual, to themselves appropriating
 
 BOOK xir. PARADISE LOST. 259 
 
 The Spirit of God, promis'd alike and giv'n 
 To all believers ; and from that pretence, 
 Spiritual laws by carnal power shall force 
 On every conscience; laws which none sliall find 
 Left tliem inroH'd, or what the Spirit within 
 Shall on the heart engrave. What will they then. 
 But force the Spirit of Grace itself, and bind 
 His consort Liberty ? what, but unbuild 
 His living temples, built by faith to stand. 
 Their own faith, not another's ? for on earth 
 Who against faith and conscience can be heard 
 Infjllible? yet many will presume: 
 Wlience heavy persecution shall arise 
 On all, who in the worship persevere 
 Of spirit and trutli; the rest, far greater part, 
 Will deem in outward rites and specious form 
 Religion satisfy'd; Truth shall retire 
 Bestuck with sland'rous darts, and works of faith 
 Rarely be found : so shall the world go on. 
 To good malignant, to bad men benign. 
 Under her own weight groaning, till the day 
 Appear of respiration to the just. 
 And vengeance to the wicked, at return 
 Of him, so lately promis'd to thy aid, 
 The Woman's Seed, obscurely then foretold. 
 Now amplier known thy Saviour and thy Lord j 
 Last in the clouds from Heav'n to be reveal'd 
 In glory of the Father, to dissolve 
 Sat;ui with his perverted world ; then raise 
 From the conflagrant mass, purg'd and refin'd. 
 New Hi-av'ns, new Earth, ages of endless date. 
 Founded in righteousness and peace, and love, 
 T( bring f)rtli fruits, joy and eternal bliss. 
 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, 
 Fternity, whose end no eye can reach. 
 Greatly instructed I shall henre depart, 
 (Jre:itly in peace of thought, and have my fill 
 Of knowlfdge, what this vessel can contain i 
 lU'voiul wlncli was my folly to aspire.
 
 2(50 MILTON. BOOK XII. 
 
 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 : 
 This having learn'd, thou hast attain'd the sum- 
 Of wisdom j hope no higher, thovigh 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 tliis world enjoy'dst. 
 And all the rule, one empire 3 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 loath 
 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 encamp d on yonder hill, expect 
 Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword. 
 In signal of remove, waves fiercely round; 
 We 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.
 
 BOOK XII, PARADISE LOST, 26l 
 
 Both in one faith unanimous though sad, 
 
 Witli 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 tlie bower where Kve 
 Lay sleqiing, ran before, but found her wak'd j 
 And thus with words not sad she him receiv'd. 
 
 Whence thf)U n-turnst, and whither went'st I know j 
 For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, 
 Which he hath sent propitious, some great go<xi 
 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 b.inish'd hence. 
 This further consol.;ti<jn yet wrure 
 I carry hence; though all by me is lost. 
 Such fivour I unworthy am \ouchsafd, 
 l\y me the promis'd Seeil shall all restore. 
 
 So spake our mother Kve, and Adam heard 
 Well plcas'd, but answcr'd not; for now too nigh 
 Th' .-?rch-angel stood, and from the other hill 
 To their fix'd station, nil in bright array 
 The cherubim descended ; on the ground 
 Gliding meteorous, as evening mist 
 Ris'n from a river o'er the mariih glides, 
 And gathers ground fast at the laborer's heel 
 Honuward returning. High in front advanc'd. 
 The brandish'd sword of Cnxl before them blaz'd 
 Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat. 
 And vapour as the Lybian air ndn^t, 
 Ben;an to parch that temp'nUe iliinc; wjicreat 
 In either hand the hastniiig angel caught 
 Our ling'ring Parents, and to tin eastern gate 
 Led them direct, and down the tlitV.'s fast 
 'I'o the siil>jrcted plain ; then dis.ipparM. 
 They looking back, all fh' e.i^tern side In'held 
 ( )f Para<li>>e, <o late their hajipy seat, 
 ^^'avd over by that flaming brand, the gate 
 With dreadful ficcs throng'd and ficr)' armi :
 
 2dt, COMUS. 
 
 Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon j 
 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. 
 
 COMUS. 
 
 The first Scene discovers a Wild Wood. 
 
 The attendant Spirit descends or etiters. 
 
 Bei-ore the starrj'^ 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 vapors of this sin-worn mould. 
 But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway 
 Of every salt-flood, and each ebbing sti-eam. 
 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
 
 COMUS. 2QB 
 
 The unadorn'd bosom of the Deep, 
 
 Which he to grace his tributary gods 
 
 By course commits to several government, 
 
 And gives them leave to wear their sappiiire crowns. 
 
 And wield their little tridants : 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 jK'cr of mickle trust and power 
 
 Has in his iharge, 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-intnisted sceptre; but their way 
 
 Lies through the porple.x'd paths of this drear wood. 
 
 The nodding horror of \vho'e shady brows 
 
 Threats the firlorn and wanJ'ring passenger ; 
 
 And here their tender age might suffer peril. 
 
 But that by quick command from sovereign Jov 
 
 1 was dispauh'd for their defence and guard ; 
 
 And listen why, for I will tell you now 
 
 What never yet was heard in t lie or song, 
 
 I'Vom old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 
 
 Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape 
 Crush'd the sweet poiton of mis-used wine. 
 After the Tuscan marintr-> transform'd. 
 Coasting the 'J'yrrhene's shore, as the winds listed. 
 On Circes island fell ; (Wijo knows not Circe 
 The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup 
 Whoever tasted, lest his upright shapr. 
 And downward fell into a grovelling swine ?) 
 This nymj)h that gaz'd upon his clusi'ring hxks. 
 With ivy berries wreath'd, and his bhthe youth, 
 Had by him, ere he parted tiience, a son 
 Much like his father, but his mother more. 
 Whom iheri'fore she brought up, and Comas nam'd ; 
 \\ ho ripo, and frolic of his full-grown age, 
 Uoviiig the Critic md IlK-rian field. 
 At l.ist betakes him to this ominous wootl. 
 And in thick shelter of lil.irk shadt s imbower'd 
 F.xcels liis niotlur at Ikt mighty art, 
 Otiering to evrry weary traveller
 
 264 COM US. 
 
 His orient liquor in a crystal glass. 
 
 To quench the drought of Phoebus, which as they taste, 
 
 (For most do taste thro' 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. 
 
 Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat. 
 
 All other parts remaining as they were ; 
 
 And tliey, so perfect is their misery. 
 
 Not once perceive their foul disfigurement. 
 
 But boast themselves more comely than before. 
 
 And all their friends and native home forget. 
 
 To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 
 
 Therefore, when any favour'd of high Jove 
 
 Chances to pass through this advent' rous glade. 
 
 Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 
 
 I shoot from Hcav'n to give him safe convoy. 
 
 As now I do : but first I must put off 
 
 These my sky robes, spun out of Iris woof. 
 
 And take the weeds and likeness of a swain, 
 
 That to the service of this house belongs. 
 
 Who with his soft pipe, and smooth-dittied song. 
 
 Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar. 
 
 And hush the waving woods ; nor of less faith. 
 
 And in this office of his mountain watch. 
 
 Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid 
 
 Of this occasion. Rut I hear the tread 
 
 Of hateful steps. I must be viewless now. 
 
 CoMUS enters with a charming rod in one hand, hit 
 glass in the other; with him a rout of monsters, 
 headed like sundry sorts of ivild leasts, lut other- 
 wise like vien and u'omen, their apparel glittering ; 
 they come in making a riotous and unruly noise, 
 with torches in their hands. 
 
 Com. The star that bids the shepherd fold. 
 Now the top of Heav'n doth hold. 
 And the gilded car of Day, 
 His glowing axle doth allay 
 In the steep Atlantic stream. 
 And the slope sun his upward beam
 
 COMUS. 205 
 
 Shoots against the dusky pole. 
 
 Pacing toward the other goal 
 
 Of his chamber in the East ; 
 
 Meanwhile, welcome Joy and Feait, 
 
 Midnight Shout and Revelry, 
 
 Tipsy Dance, and Jollity. 
 
 Braid your locks with rosy twine. 
 
 Dropping odours, dropping wine. 
 
 Rigour now is gone to bed, 
 
 And Advice with scrupulous head. 
 
 Strict Age, and sour severity. 
 
 With their grave saws, in slumber lie. 
 
 We that are of purer tire 
 
 Imitate the starry quire, 
 
 Who in their nightly watchful spheres, 
 
 I^ad in swift round the months and years. 
 
 The sounds and sea>, with all their fuiny drove, 
 
 Now to the moon in wavering morrice movej 
 
 And on the tawny sands and shelves 
 
 Trip till' jHTt fairies and the dapper elves. 
 
 By dimpled brook and fountain brim. 
 
 The wood-nymphs deck'd with daisies trim. 
 
 Their merry wakes and pastimes keep: 
 
 What halh night to do with sleep ? 
 
 Night hath better sweets to prove, 
 
 Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 
 
 Come let us our riles begin, 
 
 "lis only day-light that makes sin. 
 
 Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 
 
 Hail goddess of ncxrturnal sport, 
 
 Dark-veild Colytto, f whom the secret flame 
 
 Of midnight torches burns ; mysterious dame. 
 
 That ne'L'r art call'd, but when the dragon won.b 
 
 Of Stygian darkness spits her thickest glooiu. 
 
 And makes one blot of all the air. 
 
 Stay thy cloudy ebon chair. 
 
 Wherein thou rid'st uith Hecat', and befriend 
 
 Us, thy vowd priests, till utmost end 
 
 (.)f all thy dues be dune, and none left out. 
 
 Ere the blabbing eastern stout, 
 
 The nice morn on the Indian bleep 
 
 From her cabin'd loophole peep, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 MILTON. 
 
 And to the tell-tale sun descry 
 
 Our conceal'd solemnity. 
 
 Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 
 
 In a light fantastic round. 
 
 THE MEASURE. 
 
 Break off, break off, I feel the different pace 
 
 Of some chaste footing near about this ground. 
 
 Hun to j'our siirouds, within these brakes and trees ; 
 
 Our number may affright : some virgin sure 
 
 (For so I can distinguish by mine art) 
 
 Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms. 
 
 And to my wily trains ; I shall, ere long, 
 
 Ee well stock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd 
 
 About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl 
 
 My dazzling spells into the spungy air. 
 
 Of power to cheat the eye M-ith blear illusion. 
 
 And give it false presentments, lest the place 
 
 And my quaint habits breed astonishment. 
 
 And put the damsel to suspicious flight. 
 
 Which must not be ; for that's against my course 3 
 
 I, under fair pretence of friendly ends. 
 
 And well-plac'd words of glozing courtesy. 
 
 Baited with reasons not unplausible. 
 
 Wind me into the easy-hearted man. 
 
 And hug him into snares. When once her eye 
 
 Hath met the virtue of this magic dust, 
 
 I shall appear some harmless villager. 
 
 Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear. 
 
 But here she comes 5 I fairly step aside, 
 
 And hearken, if I may, her business here. 
 
 The Lady enters. 
 
 This way the noise was, if mine ear be true. 
 My best guide now ; methought it was the sound 
 Of riot, and ill-managed merriment. 
 Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe 
 Stiis up among the loose unletter'd hinds. 
 When for their teeming flocks, and granges fiill. 
 In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, 
 And thank the God amiss, I should be loath 
 To meet the rudeness, and swUl'd insolence
 
 COMUS. 267 
 
 0( such late wassailcrs j yet oh where else 
 
 Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
 
 In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 
 
 My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
 
 With this long way, resolving here to lodge 
 
 Under the spreading favour of these pines, 
 
 Stept, as they said, to the next thicket side 
 
 To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
 
 As tlie kind hospitable woods provide. 
 
 They left me tlicn, when the grey- hooded Even, 
 
 Like a sad votarist in palmer's weeds, 
 
 Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. 
 
 But where they are, and why they came not back. 
 
 Is now the labour of my thought : 'tis likeliest 
 
 They had engag'd their wand'ring steps too fir. 
 
 And envious darkness, ere tlu-y could return, 
 
 Had stole them from me ; else, O thievish Night, 
 
 Why wouldst thou, but for some felonious end. 
 
 In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, 
 
 That Nature hung in Heav'n, and fill'd their lamp* 
 
 With everlasting oil, to give due light 
 
 To the misled and lonely traveller ? 
 
 This is tlie place, as well as I may guess. 
 
 Whence even now the tumult of loud MirtJi 
 
 Was rife and perfect in my list'iiing ear; 
 
 Yet nought but single darkness do I find. 
 
 What might this be ? A thousand fantasies 
 
 Begin to throng into my memory. 
 
 Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire. 
 
 And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 
 
 On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 
 
 These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 
 
 The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
 
 By a strong siding champion, Conscience. 
 
 welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, 
 Thou hovering Angel, girt with i;olJi-n \^ing8. 
 And thou unblemish'd torm ol Chaatity ; 
 
 1 see )c visibly, and now believe 
 
 That he, the Supreme Ciood. t' wiiom all things ill 
 Are but as slavish ollioers of vciigearire, 
 Wouhl s( nd a glisi'ring guardian, if need were. 
 To keep my life and honour un.issail'd. 
 ! 2
 
 268 MILTON. 
 
 Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud 
 Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? 
 I did not err j there does a sable cloud 
 Turn forth her silver lining on the night. 
 And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 
 I cannot hallow to my brothers, but 
 Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest 
 I'll venture ; for my new eniiven'd spirits 
 Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. 
 
 Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen 
 Within thy airy shell. 
 By slow Meander's margent green. 
 And in the violet-embroider'd vale. 
 
 Where the love-lorn nightingale 
 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well ; 
 Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
 That likest thy Narcissus are ? 
 
 O if thou have 
 Hid them in some flow'ry cave. 
 Tell me but where. 
 Sweet queen of Parly, daughter of the Sphere, 
 So may'st thou be translated to tlie skies. 
 And give resounding grace to all Heav'n's harmonies. 
 
 Com. Can any mortal, mixture of earth's motld. 
 Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment ? 
 Sure something holy lodges in that breast. 
 And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
 To testify his hidden residence : 
 How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
 Of silence, through the empty vaulted night. 
 At every fall smoothing the raven down 
 Of darkness till it smil'd ! I have oft heard 
 My mother Circe, with the Sirens three. 
 Amidst the flow'ry-kirtled Naiades 
 Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs. 
 Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul. 
 And lap it in Elysium ; Scylla wept. 
 And ehid her barking waves into attention. 
 And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause :
 
 COM us. 2(J9 
 
 Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the s-n^c, 
 
 And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself ; 
 
 But such a sacred and home-felt deliglii. 
 
 Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
 
 i never heard till now. I'll speak to her. 
 
 And she shall be my queen. Hail foreign wonder. 
 
 Whom certain these rough shades did never breed. 
 
 Unless the goddess that in rural shrine 
 
 Dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan, by blest song 
 
 Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog 
 
 To touch the prosp'rous growth of this tall wood. 
 
 La. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise 
 That is address'd to unattending ears ; 
 Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
 How to regain my sevcr'd company, 
 Compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo 
 To give me answer from her nio^sy couch. 
 
 Co.M. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus? 
 
 La. Dim darkness, and this liafy labyrinth. 
 
 Co.M. Could that divide you from near-ushering 
 guides .' 
 
 La. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 
 
 Com. By falschcMxl, or discourtesy, or why? 
 
 La. To seek i' th' valley M^me cyol friendly spring. 
 
 Com. And left your fair side all unguarded, Tidy? 
 
 La. They were but twain, and puqws'd cjuick return. 
 
 Com. Perhaps forestalling Night prevented them. 
 
 La. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! 
 
 Com. Im{)orts their loss, l)esides the present need ? 
 
 La. No less than if I should my brothers lose. 
 
 Com. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom ? 
 
 La. As smooth as HcIk's their unrazor'd lips. 
 
 Com. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd o.\ 
 In his loose traces from the furrow came. 
 And the swinkt hcdger at his supper sat ; 
 I saw them under a green mantling vine 
 Tliat crawls along the side of yon small hill, 
 I'hicking ripe clusters from tlit- tender sh(K)ts ; 
 Their port was more than human, as they stood; 
 I f(H)k it for a faery vision 
 Of some gay creatures of the element. 
 That in the colours of the rainbow live, 
 K 3
 
 270 MILTON. 
 
 And play i' th' plighted clouds. I was awe-struck. 
 And as I pass'd, I worshipt j if those you seek. 
 It were a journey like the path to Heav'n, 
 To help you find them. 
 
 La. Gentle Villager, 
 What readiest way would bring me to the place ? 
 
 Com. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. 
 
 La. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose. 
 In such a scant allowance of star-light, 
 Would over-task the best land-pilot's art. 
 Without the sure guess of well practised feet. 
 
 Com. I know each lane, and every alley green. 
 Dingle, or bushy dell of this wild wood. 
 And every bosky bourn fi"om side to side. 
 My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood ; 
 And if your stray-attendance be yet lodg'd. 
 Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
 Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
 From her thatch'd pallet rouse ; if, otherwise, 
 I can conduct you. Lady, to a low. 
 But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 
 Till further quest. 
 
 La. Shepherd, I take thy word. 
 And trast thy honest ofi'er'd courtesy. 
 Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 
 With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls 
 And courts of princes, where it first was nam'd. 
 And yet is most pretended : in a place 
 Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
 I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. 
 Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial 
 To my proportion'd strength. Shepherd, lead on, 
 
 TAe two Brothers. 
 
 E. Bro. UnmufBe ye faint Stars, and thou fair Moon, 
 That wont'st to love the traveller's benizon. 
 Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud. 
 And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here 
 In double night of darkness and of shades j 
 Or if your influence be quite damm'd up 
 With black usurping mists, some gentle taper. 
 Though a rush candle, from the wicker hole
 
 COM us. 271 
 
 Of some clay habitation, visit us 
 
 With thy long levell'd rule of streaming light. 
 
 And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, 
 
 Or Tyrian Cynosure. 
 
 Y. Bho. Or if our eyes 
 Be barr'd that happiness, might we but hear 
 The folded docks pcnn'd in their wattled cotes. 
 Or sound of past'ral reed with oaten stops. 
 Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock 
 Count the night watches to his feathery dames, 
 'T would be some solace yet, some little cheering 
 In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. 
 But O that hapless virgin, our lost sister, 
 "Where may she wander now, whither betake her, 
 From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles ? 
 Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now, 
 Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broail elm 
 Leans her unpillow'd head, fraught with sad fears. 
 What, if in wild amazement and affright, 
 Or, while we speak, within the direful gra>p 
 Of savage hunger, or of savage heat ? 
 
 E. Bro. Peace, Brother, be not over-'\<juisite 
 To cast the fashion of uncertain evils : 
 For grant they be so, while tliey rest unknown, 
 What need a man forestall his cUue of grief. 
 And run to meet w liat he would most avoid ? 
 Or if they be but false alarms of fear. 
 How bitter is such self-delusion ? 
 I do not think my sister so to seek, 
 Or so unprincipled in Virtue's book. 
 And the sweet peace that goutiness bosoms ever. 
 As that the sin>;le want of light and noiie 
 (Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 
 Could stir the constant mood of her calm thouj^hls, 
 Anil put them into misbecoming pli^lit. 
 Virtue could see to do what Virtue would, 
 By her own radiant lii;lit, thougli sun and nux)n 
 Were in the fl;jt sea sunk. And Wi^iloms self 
 Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude. 
 Where with her best nur>e Conlempl.ition 
 She plumes her feat!>ers, and lets grow her wings. 
 That in the various bustle of resort 
 
 K 1
 
 272 MILTON. 
 
 Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd. 
 He that has light within his own clear breast. 
 May sit i' th' centre, and enjoy bright day : 
 But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts. 
 Benighted walks under the mid-day sun : 
 Himself is his own dungeon. 
 
 y. Bro. 'Tis most true. 
 That musing Meditation most affects 
 The pensive secrecy of desert cell. 
 Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds. 
 And sits as safe as in a senate house ; 
 For who would rob a hermit of his weeds. 
 His few books, or his beads, or maple dish. 
 Or do his grey hairs any violence ? 
 But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree 
 Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard 
 Of dragon-watch, with uninchanted eye. 
 To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit 
 From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. 
 You may as well spread out the unsunn'd heaps 
 Of misers' treasure by an outlaw's den. 
 And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 
 Danger will wink on Opportunity, 
 And let a single helpless maiden, pass 
 Uninjur'd in this wild surrounding waste. 
 Of night or loneliness it recks me not; 
 I' fear the dread events that dog them both, 
 ILest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person 
 ( )f our unowned sister. 
 
 E. Bro. I do not. Brother, 
 Infer, as if I thought my sister's state 
 Secure without all doubt, or controversy : 
 Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear 
 Does arbitrate th' event, my nature is 
 That I incline to hope, rather than fear. 
 And gladly banish squint Suspicion. 
 My sister is not so defenceless left 
 As you imagine; she has a hidden strength 
 Which yovi remember not. 
 
 Y. Bko. What hidden strength, 
 Unless the strength of Heav'n, if you mean that? 
 
 . Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength.
 
 coMUS. rr% 
 
 Which if Heav'n gave it, may be term'd her own j 
 
 "Tis Chastity, my brother. Chastity: 
 
 She that has that, is clad in complete steel. 
 
 And like a (juiver'd nymph with arrows keen. 
 
 May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths. 
 
 Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds. 
 
 Where, through the sacred rays of Chastity, 
 
 No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer 
 
 Will dare to soil her virgin purity : 
 
 Yea there, where very desolation dwells. 
 
 By grots, and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades^ 
 
 She may pass on with unblench'd nnajesty. 
 
 Be it not done in pride, or in presumption: 
 
 Some say, no evil thing that walk>i by night. 
 
 In fog, or fire, by lake, or moorish fen. 
 
 Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid gho<it. 
 
 That breaks his magic chains at curfew time. 
 
 No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine. 
 
 Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity. 
 
 Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 
 
 Auti(]uity from the old schools of Greece, 
 
 To testify the arms of Chastity ? 
 
 Hence, had the huntress Dian her dread bow. 
 
 Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste. 
 
 Wherewith she tam"d the brinded lioness. 
 
 And spotted mountain pard, but set at nought 
 
 The frivolous bolt of Cupid ; gods and men 
 
 Fear'd her stern frown, and she was Queen o* th' 
 
 Woods. 
 What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield, 
 Th:ii wise Miner\-a wore, unconqucr'd virgin. 
 Wherewith she freezd her foes lo congeal'd stone. 
 Bat rigid looks of chaste austerity. 
 And noble grace that daiii'd brute violence 
 With >uddcn adoration, and blank awe? 
 Si) dear to Heav'n is saintly Chnstity, 
 That w hen a soul is found sincerely so, 
 A thousand liveried angels lacky htr. 
 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt. 
 And in clear dream, and solemn vision, 
 Tcli her ol things that no gross ear cm hear. 
 Till oft converse wiih heavnly habitants
 
 274 MILTON. 
 
 Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape. 
 
 The unpolluted temple of the mind. 
 
 And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence. 
 
 Till all be made immortal : but when Lust, 
 
 By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk. 
 
 But most, by lewd and lavish act of sin. 
 
 Lets in Defilement to the inward parts. 
 
 The soul grows clotted by contagion, 
 
 Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose 
 
 The divine property of her first being. 
 
 Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp. 
 
 Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres, 
 
 Ling'ring and sitting by a new-made grave. 
 
 As loath to leave the body that it lov'd. 
 
 And link'd itself by carnal sensuality 
 
 To a degenerate and degraded state. 
 
 Y. Bro. How charming is divine philosophy f 
 Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose. 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute j 
 And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets. 
 Where no crude surfeit reigns. 
 
 E. Bro. List, list, I hear 
 Some far-off halloo break the silent air. 
 
 Y. Bro. Methought so too; what should it be? 
 
 E. Bro. For certain. 
 Either some one like us night-founder'd here. 
 Or else some neighbour wood-man, or at worst. 
 Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 
 
 Y. Bro. Heav'n keep my sister. Again, again and 
 near; 
 Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 
 
 E. Bro. I'll halloo; 
 If he be friendly, he comes well ; if not. 
 Defence is a good cause, and Heav'n be for us. 
 
 The attendant SpiniT habited like a shepherd. 
 
 That halloo I should know; what are you ? speak; 
 Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. 
 
 Spi. What voice is that? my young Lord? speak 
 again. 
 
 Y. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, sure.
 
 COMUS. 275 
 
 . Bao. Thyrsis ? whose artful strains have oft 
 delay'd 
 The huddling brook to hear his madrigal. 
 And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale. 
 How cam'st thou here, good Swain ? hath any ram 
 Slipt from the fold, or young kid lost his dam. 
 Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook ? 
 How couldst thou find this dark sequester'd nook? 
 Spi. O my lov'd master's heir, and his next joy, 
 I came not here on such a trivial toy 
 As a stray'd ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
 Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth 
 That doth enrich these downs, is worth a tliought 
 To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
 But, O my virgin Lady, where is she ? 
 How chance she is not in your company ? 
 
 E. Bro. To tell thee sadly. Shepherd, without blame. 
 Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. 
 
 Srr. Ay me unhappy ! then my fears are true. 
 P).Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis ? Pryihee briefly shew; 
 Spi. I'll tell you; 'tis not vain or fabulous; 
 (Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorr.uce) 
 Svhat tlie sage poets, taught by th" heav'uly Muse, 
 Story 'd of old in high immortal verse. 
 Of dire chimeras and inchanted isles. 
 And rit'ted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell; 
 For such there be, but unbelief is blmd. 
 
 Within the navel of tliis hideous wood, 
 Immur'd in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells, 
 Of Bacchus and of Circe bom, great Coraus, 
 Deep hkiird in all his mother's witcheries. 
 And here to every thirsty wanderer 
 By sly enticement gives his baneful cup. 
 With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison 
 The visage quite transforms of him that drinks. 
 And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
 I'lxes instead, unmoulding Ueason's mintage 
 C'liaractcrd in the face; this have I Icanjt 
 '1 ending my flocks hard by i' th' hilly crofts 
 '1 !kU brow this bottom glade, whence night by night 
 \\c, and his monstrous rour, are heard to howl 
 like sUjblcJ wolves^ or tigers at their prey, 
 k6
 
 2f6 MILTON, 
 
 Doing abhorred rites to Hecate, 
 
 In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 
 
 Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells. 
 
 To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense 
 
 Of them, that pass unweeting by the way. 
 
 This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
 
 Had ta'en their supper on the savory herb 
 
 Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, 
 
 I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
 
 With ivy canopied, and interwove 
 
 With flanting honey-suckle, and began. 
 
 Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy. 
 
 To meditate my rural minstrelsy. 
 
 Till Fancy had her fill ; but ere a close 
 
 The wonted roar was up amid'st the woods. 
 
 And fiU'd the air with barbarous dissonance y 
 
 At which I ceas'd, and listen'd them awhile. 
 
 Till an unusual stop of sudden silence. 
 
 Gave respite to the drousy-flighted steeds, 
 
 That draw the litter of close- curtain'd Sleep; 
 
 At last a soft and solemn breathing sound 
 
 Hose like a stream of rich distill'd perfumes. 
 
 And stole upon the air, that even Silence 
 
 Was took e'er she was ware, and wish'd she might 
 
 Deny her nature, and be never more. 
 
 Still to be so displac'd. I was all ear. 
 
 And took in strains that might create a soul 
 
 Under the ribs of Death : but O ere long 
 
 Too well I did perceive it was the voice 
 
 Of my most honour'd Lady, your dear sister. 
 
 Amaz'd I stood, harrow'd with grief and fear: 
 
 And O poor helpless nightingale, thought I, 
 
 How sweet thou sing'st, how nenr the deadly snare I 
 
 Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste. 
 
 Through paths and turnings often trod by day, 
 
 Till guided by mine ear 1 found the place. 
 
 Where that damn'd wizard, hid in sly disguise 
 
 (For so by certain signs I knew) had met 
 
 Already, e'er my best speed could prevent. 
 
 The aidless innocent Lady, his wish'd prey,. 
 
 Who gently ask'd if he had seen such two;^ 
 
 Supposing him some neighbour villager,
 
 C0MU8. in 
 
 Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guess'd 
 Ye were tlie two she meant; witli that I sprting 
 Into swift flight, till I had found you here; 
 But furtlier know I not. 
 
 Y. Bro. O night and shades. 
 How are ye join'd with Hell in triple knot, 
 Againiit th" unarm'd weakness of one virgin 
 Alone, and helpless! Is this the confidence 
 You gave me Brother ? 
 
 E. Bro. Yes, and keep it still j 
 F/can on it safely ; not a period 
 Shall be unsaid for me : against the threats 
 Of Malice, or of Sorcery, or that power 
 Which ening men call Chance; this I hold firm. 
 Virtue may be assaii'd, but never hurt ; 
 Surpris'd by unjust force, but not inthrail'd ; 
 Yea even that which Mischief meant most harm. 
 Shall in the happy trial prove most glory; 
 But evil on itself shall back recoil 
 yVnd mix no more with goodness; when, at last, 
 Gatht r'd like scum, and settled to itself. 
 It bliall be in eternal restless change, 
 Sel.-fed, and self-consura'd : if this fail. 
 The pillar'd firmament is rottenness, 
 And earth's base built on stubble. But come, let's o.n. 
 Against th' opposing will and arm of Ileav'n 
 May never thiijust sword be lifted up; 
 Hut for that danm'd Magician, let him be girt 
 With all the grisly legions that troop 
 I'nder the sooty flag of Airhcron, 
 Harpies and Hydras, or nil the monstrous form 
 "I'wixt Africa and Ind, Til lind him out. 
 And forte him to restore his purcha-iC back. 
 Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, 
 Curs'd as his life. 
 
 Sim. Alas I good \ent'rous Youlh, 
 I love thy courage yet, and lx)!d etnpi ise ; 
 Hut here thy sw rd can do thee little stf :d ; 
 F'.ir other arms, and other weapons must 
 Be those that cuiell the might of htllish charms : 
 ile with his bare wand <an unilircad thy joiutx, 
 Aud crumble ail thy kintAMi.
 
 278 MILTON. 
 
 E, Bro. "Why, prythee. Shepherd, 
 How durst thou then thyself approach so near^ 
 As to make this relation ? 
 
 Spi, Care and utmost shifts 
 How to secure the Lady from surprizal. 
 Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad. 
 Of small regard to see to^ yet well skill'd 
 In every virtuous plant, and healing herb. 
 That spreads her verdant leaf to th' morning ray: 
 He lov'd me well, and oft would beg me singj 
 "Which when I did, he on the tender grass 
 "Would'st sit, and hearken even to extasy. 
 And in requital ope his leathern scrip. 
 And shew me simples of a thousand names. 
 Telling their strange and vigorous faculties : 
 Among the rest a small unsightly root. 
 But of divine effect, he cuU'd me out j 
 The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it. 
 But in another country, as he said. 
 Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil : 
 Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain 
 Treads on it daily, with his clouted shoon ; 
 And yet more med'cinal is it than that Moly 
 That Hermes once to wise LTlysses gave ; 
 He call'd it Hemony, and gave it me. 
 And bade me keep it as of sov'reign vise 
 'Gainst all inchantments, mildew^ blast, or damp. 
 Or ghastly furies' apparition. 
 I purs'd it up, but little reck'ning made. 
 Till now that this extremity compelld : 
 But now I find it true ; for by this means 
 I knew the foul enchanter, though disguis'd ; 
 Enter'd the very lime-twigs of his spells. 
 And yet came off; if you have this about you, 
 (As I will give you when we go) you may 
 Boldly assault the Necromancer's hall ; 
 Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood. 
 And brandishM blade, rush on him, break his glass. 
 And shed the luscious liquor on the ground. 
 But seize his wand ; though he and his curs'd crew 
 Fierce sign of battle make^ and menace high.
 
 COMUS. 279 
 
 Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoke, 
 Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink. 
 
 E. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I'll follow thee. 
 And some good angel bear a shield before us. 
 
 The Scene changes to a stalely palace, set out unth aU 
 manner of deliciousness : soft music, talks spread 
 with al/ dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, 
 and the Lady set in an inchanted chair, to whom he 
 offers his glass, and which she puts by, and goes 
 alout to rise. 
 
 Com. Nay, lady, sit; if I but wave this wand. 
 Your ncr^es are all chain'd up in alabaster. 
 And you a statue, or as Daphne was 
 Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 
 
 La. Fool, do not boast ; 
 Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind. 
 With all tlry charms, althougli this corporal rind 
 Tliou hast immanacl\l, while Heav'n sees good. 
 
 Com. Why are you vcxt, lady? why do you frown? 
 Here dwell no frowns, nor anger ; from tliese gates 
 Sorrow flies far : see here be all the pleasures 
 That Fancy can beget on youthful thoughts. 
 When the fresh blood grows lively, and return! 
 Brisk as tl>c April buds in primrose-season. 
 And first behold this cordi.il julep here. 
 That flames and dances in his crystal bounds. 
 With spi'rits of balm, and fragrant syrups mix'd. 
 Not that Nepenthes, wljit h the wife of Thone, 
 In Kgypt gave to Jove-born Helena, 
 Is of such power to stir up joy as this, 
 To lite so friendly, or so cool to thirst. 
 Why should you be so cruf 1 to yourself". 
 And to those dainty limb, wliich nature lent 
 For gentle usage, auvl soft dcli<Mey r 
 Kut you invert the covcn.ints other trust, 
 And harshly deal like an ill borrower 
 With that w hieh you receiv'd on other terms. 
 Scorning the uncxenii)t onditioii 
 Hy which all mortal frailty must subsist, 
 Ueficshnicut alter toil, ease ;iJ"ter |)aLn,
 
 80 MILTON. 
 
 That have been tir'd all day without repast. 
 And timely rest have wanted j but, fair Virgin, 
 This will restore all soon. 
 
 La. 'Twill not, false traitor, 
 'Twill not restore the truth and honesty 
 That thou hast banish'd from thy tongue with lies. 
 Was this the cottage and the safe abode 
 Thou toldst me of ? What grim aspects are these. 
 These ugly-headed monsters ? Mercy guard me ! 
 Hence with thy brew'd inchantments, foul deceiver j 
 Hast thou betray'd my credulous innocence 
 With visor'd falsehood, and base forgery ? 
 And would'st thou seek again to trap me here 
 With liquorish baits fit to insnare a brute ? 
 Where it a draft for Juno when she banquets, 
 I would not taste any treasonous offer; none 
 But such as are good men can give good things. 
 And that which is not good, is not delicious 
 To a well-govern'd and wise appetite. 
 
 Com. O foolishness of men ! that lend their ears 
 To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur. 
 And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub. 
 Praising the lean aixl sallow abstinence. 
 Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth 
 With such a full and unwithdrawing hand. 
 Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks. 
 Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable. 
 But all to please, and sate the curious taste ? 
 And set to work millions of spinning worms. 
 That in their green shops weave the smooth-hair'd 
 
 silk. 
 To deck her sons ; and that no corner might 
 Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins 
 She hutch't th' all-worship't ore, and precious gems. 
 To store her children with : if all the world. 
 Should, in a pet of temp' ranee feed on pulse. 
 Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, 
 Th' All-giver would be unthank'd, would be unprais'd. 
 Not half his riches known, and yet despis'd. 
 And v>'e should seiTe him as a grudging master. 
 As a penurious niggard of his wealth. 
 And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons :
 
 COMUS. 381 
 
 Who would be quite surcharge! with her own weight, 
 
 And strangled with her waste fertility. 
 
 'Ih' earth cumbcr'd, and tlie wing'd air darkt with 
 
 plumes. 
 The herds would over-multitude their lords; 
 The sea o'ertVaught would swell j and th" unsought 
 
 diamonds 
 Would so imblaze the forehead of the Deep, 
 And so bestud with stars, that they below 
 \\'ouKl grow inur'd to light, and come at last 
 To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows. 
 List, lady, be not coy, and be not cozen'd 
 With that same vaunted name. Virginity. 
 Beauty is Nature's coin, must not be hoarded. 
 But must be current, and the good thereof 
 Consists in mutual and partaken bliss. 
 Unsavoury in th" enjoyment of itself; 
 If you let slip time, like a neglected rose, 
 It withers on the stalk with languish'd head. 
 Beauty is Nature's brag, and must be shewn 
 In courts, in feasts, and high solemnities. 
 Where most may wonder at tlie workmanship; 
 It is for homely features to keep home ; 
 They had their name thence ; coarse complexions. 
 And cheeks of sorry grain, will scivc to ply 
 The sampler, and to tease the housewife's wool. 
 What need a vermeil-tinctur* d lip for that, 
 Love-d:>rting eyes, or tresses like the Morn ? 
 I'here was another meaning in these gifts. 
 Think what, and be advis'd; you are but young yet. 
 
 La. I had not thought to have unlock'd my lip 
 In this unhallowd air, but that this juggler 
 Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes. 
 Obtruding false ndrs, prankt in Reason's garb. 
 I hate, when Vice can boll her arguments. 
 And Virtue has no tongue to check her pride. 
 Impostor, do not charge most inn(x-cnt Nature, 
 As if ihe would her children should be riotous 
 With her abundance; she, good catercss, 
 Meaiis her provision only to the good. 
 That live according to her sober laws. 
 And holy dictate of spare Tem|x?ranco :
 
 22 MILTON. 
 
 If every just man^ that now pines with want^ 
 
 Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
 
 Of that which lewdly-pamper'd luxur}' 
 
 Now heaps upon some few with vast excess. 
 
 Nature's full blessings would be well dispens'd 
 
 In unsuperfiuous, even proportion. 
 
 And she no wit incuniber'd with her store ; 
 
 And then the giver would be better thank'd. 
 
 His praise due paid ! for swinish gluttony 
 
 Ne'er looks to Heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast. 
 
 But with besotted base ingratitude 
 
 Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on ? 
 
 Or have I said enough ? To him that dares 
 
 Arm his profane tongue with contem])tuous words. 
 
 Against the sun-clad pow'r of Chastity, 
 
 Fain would I something say, yet to what end ? 
 
 Thou hast nor ear, nor soul to apprehend. 
 
 The sublime notion, and high mystery. 
 
 That must be utterd to unfold the sage 
 
 And serious doctrine of Virginity, 
 
 And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know 
 
 More happiness than this thy present lot. 
 
 Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric. 
 
 That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence j 
 
 Thou art not fit to hear thyself conviiic'd : 
 Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worth 
 Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits 
 To such a flame of sacred vehemence. 
 That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathize. 
 And the brute earth would lend her nerves, and shake. 
 Till all thy magic structures, rear'd so high. 
 Were shatter'd into heaps o'er thy false head. 
 Com, She fables notj I feel that I do fear 
 Her words, set off by some superior power j 
 And though not mortal, yet a cold shudd'ring dew 
 Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove 
 Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus 
 To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble. 
 And try her yet more strongly. Come, no more. 
 This is mere moral babble, and direct 
 Against the canon laws of our foundation ; 
 I must not suffer this, yet 'tis but the lees
 
 COM us. 293 
 
 And settling of a melancholy blood : 
 But this will cure all straight ; one sip of this 
 Will bathe the dr(x)ping spirits in delight 
 Boyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and t^ste. 
 
 The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his 
 irlass out of his hand, and break it against the ground; 
 his rout make sign of resistance, tut are all driven in; 
 the attendant Spirit comes in. 
 
 Spi. What, have you let the false inchanter scape! 
 O ye mistook, ye should have snatch'd his wand. 
 And bound him fast ; without his rod revers'd. 
 And backward mutters of dissevering power, 
 Wc cannot free the lady that sits here. 
 In stony fetters fix'd, and motionless : 
 Yet stay, be not disturb'd ; now I bethink me. 
 Some other means I have, which may be usd. 
 Which once, of Meliburus old, I learnt, 
 The soothest shepherd that e'er pip'd on plains. 
 
 There is a gentle nymph not far from hence. 
 That witli moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream; 
 Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; 
 Wniilome she was the daughter of Locrino, 
 'I'hat had the sceptre from his father Brute. 
 She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
 Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen, 
 (.'oinmendrd her fair innocence to the flood, 
 That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course. 
 The water-nymphs that in the bottom play'd. 
 Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in. 
 Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' liall ; 
 Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head. 
 And gave her to his daughters to imbathe 
 In nectar'd lavers strow'd with asphodil, 
 And through the porcii and inlet of each sense 
 Dropt ill ambrosial oils, till she reviv'd. 
 And uiulrrvvont a quick immortal change, 
 Madr Goddess of the rivrr ; still she retains 
 Her maidrn gentleness, and oft at eve
 
 284 MILTON. 
 
 Visits the herds along the twilight meadows. 
 
 Helping all urchin blast, and ill-luck signs 
 
 That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make. 
 
 Which she with precious vial'd liquors heals ; 
 
 For which the shepherds at tlieir festivals 
 
 Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays. 
 
 And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 
 
 Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. 
 
 And, as the old swain said, she can unlock 
 
 The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell. 
 
 If she be right invok'd, in warbled song; 
 
 For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 
 
 To aid a virgin, such as was herself. 
 
 In hard-besetting need ; this will I try. 
 
 And add the power of some adjui'ing verse. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Sabrina fair, 
 
 Listen where thou art sitting 
 Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave. 
 
 In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
 The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair y 
 
 Listen, for dear Honour's sake. 
 
 Goddess of the silver lake. 
 
 Listen and eave j 
 
 fasten and appear to us. 
 In name of great Oceanus j 
 By th' earth shaking Neptune's mace. 
 And Tethys' grave majestic pace ; 
 By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look. 
 And the Carpathian wisard's hook ; 
 By scaly Triton's winding" shell. 
 And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell j 
 By Lencothea's lovely hands. 
 And her son that rules the strands ; 
 By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet. 
 And the songs of Sirens sweet; 
 By dead Parthenope's dear tomb. 
 And fair Ligea's golden comb. 
 Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks^ 
 Sleeking her soft alluring locks 3
 
 COMUS. 285 
 
 By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
 Upon thy streams, with wily glance; 
 Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
 From thy coral-paven bed, 
 And bridle in thy headlong wave. 
 Till thou our summons answer'd have. 
 Listen and save. 
 
 Sabrina rises, attended iy water-nympfis, and sings* 
 By the rushy- fringed bank, 
 Where grows the willow and the osier dank. 
 
 My sliding chariot stays, 
 Thick set with agar, and the azure sheen 
 Of turkis blue, and cmrald green. 
 
 That in the channel strays ; 
 Whilst from otl'the waters fleet 
 Thus I set my printless feet 
 O'er the cowslips velvet hend. 
 That bends not as I tread ; 
 Gentle Swain, at thy request, 
 I am here. 
 Sri. Goddess dear. 
 We implore thy powerful hand 
 To undo the charmed band 
 Of true Virgin here distrest, 
 Through the Ibrce, and through tlie wilr 
 Of unblcst inchanter vile. 
 
 Sab. Shepherd, 'tis my office best 
 To help insiiared chastity : 
 Brightest Lady, look on me ; 
 Thus I sprinkle on thy bnast 
 Drops that from my tbu:itain pure 
 I have kept of precious ( ure, 
 Thrice upon thy fingers' tip. 
 Thrice upon thy rubied lip ; 
 Next this m:irble-venom'd seat, 
 Smear'd with gums of glutenous heat, 
 I touch with chaste palms moist and cold ; 
 Now the spell hath lost hi^ hold; 
 And I must haste e'er morning hour 
 To wait on Amphitritc's bower.
 
 286 MILTON. 
 
 Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her isat. 
 
 Spi. Virgin, daughter of Locrine 
 Sprung from old Anchises' line. 
 May thy brimmed waves for this 
 Their full tribute never miss 
 From a thousand petty rills. 
 That tumble down the snowy hills : 
 Summer drouth, or singed air 
 Never scorch thy tresses fair. 
 Nor wet October's torrent flood 
 Thy molten chrystal fill with mud; 
 May thy billows roll ashore 
 The beryl, and the golden ore ; 
 May thy lofty head be crown'd 
 With many a tower and terras round. 
 And here and there thy banks upon 
 With groves of myrrh, and cinnamon. 
 
 Come, Lady, while heav'n lends us grnce. 
 Let us fly this cursed place, 
 Lest the Sorcerer us entice 
 With some other new device. 
 Not a waste, or needless sound. 
 Till we come to holier ground; 
 I shall be your faithful guide 
 Through this gloomy covert wide. 
 And not many furlongs thence 
 Is your father's residence, 
 Where this night are met in state 
 Many a friend to gratulate 
 His wish'd presence, and beside 
 All the swains that near abide. 
 With jigs and rural dance resort; 
 We shall catch them at their sport. 
 And our sudden coming there 
 Will double at their mirth and cheer. 
 Come let us haste, the stars grow high. 
 But night sits monarch yet in the raid skv !
 
 COMUS. 287 
 
 The scene changes, presenting Ludlotv town and the 
 president's castle; then come in country dcnceri ; after 
 them the attendant Spibit, with the two Bbothbrs, 
 and the Lady. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Spi. Back, Shepherds, back, enough your plaj 
 Till next sun-shine holiday; 
 Here be without duck or nod 
 Other trippings to be trod 
 Of lighter toes, and such court guise 
 As Mercury did first devise 
 Witii the mincing Dryades 
 On the lawns, and on the leas. 
 
 This second song presents them to their father and 
 mother. 
 
 Noble I>ord, and Lady briglit, 
 
 I have brougiit you new delight; 
 
 Here b'-!iold, so gfKxlly grt'wn, 
 
 Three fair branches of your own ; 
 
 Heav'n hath li n ly try'd their youfli. 
 
 Their faith, lii -ir patience, and their truth. 
 
 And sent thcni here through hard assays 
 With a crown t/t deathless praise. 
 
 To triumph in victorious dance. 
 O'er sensual folly and intemperance. 
 
 The dance ended, the Spirit epiloguizes. 
 
 Spi. To the ocean now I fly. 
 And those liappy clinu-s th.it lie 
 Where Day never shuts 1.;^ rye, 
 Up in the broad fields oi the sky : 
 There I suck the liquid .iir, 
 All amidst the gar'.i. as iv.r 
 Of Hesperus, and lii.-> 'lau.^htcrs three, 
 'I'hat sing ab')ut the goKiin tree : 
 Along the crispid shades and ii iwers 
 Revels the spruce and jocund Sprinsj, 
 The Gracc'j. and tfie nisy-bosnm'd Hours, 
 Thither all their bounties bring ;
 
 288 MILTON. 
 
 That there eternal Summer dwells, 
 And west- winds with musky wing 
 About the cedar'n alleys fling 
 Nard and Cassia's balmy smells. 
 Iris there with humid bow 
 Waters the odorous banks, that blow 
 Flowers of more mingled hue 
 Than her purfled scarf can shew, 
 And drenches with Elysian dew 
 (List mortals, if your ears be true) 
 Beds of hyacinth and roses. 
 Where young Adonis oft reposes. 
 Waxing well of his deep wound 
 In slumber soft, and on the ground 
 Sadly sits th' Assyrian queen } 
 But far above in spangled sheen 
 Celestial Cupid, her fam'd son, advanc'd^ 
 Holds her dear Psyche sweet intranc'd. 
 After her wand'ring labours long. 
 Till free consent the gods among 
 Make her his eternal bride. 
 And from her fair unspotted side 
 Two blissful twins are to be born. 
 Youth and Joy ; so Jove hath sworn. 
 
 But now my task is smoothly dons, 
 I can fly, or I can run 
 Quickly to the green earth's end. 
 Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend. 
 And from thence can soar as soon 
 To the corners of the moon. 
 
 Mortals that would follow me. 
 Love Virtue, she alone is free. 
 She can teach you how to climb 
 Higher than the sphery chime ; 
 Or if Virtue feeble were, 
 Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
 
 ( 289 ) 
 
 L' A L L E G R O. 
 
 IIe.4ck, loathed Melancholf, 
 
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bom ; 
 fn Stygian cave forlorn 
 
 Mong'st horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholj 
 Find out some uncouth cell. 
 
 Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings. 
 And the night raven sings ; 
 
 There under ebon shades and low brow'd rocks. 
 As ragged as thy locks. 
 
 In dark Cimerian desert evtr dwell. 
 But come, thou Goddess fair and firee. 
 In Heav'n, yclepd Euphrosyne, 
 And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
 Whom lovely Venus at a birth 
 With two sister Graces more 
 To iv}' -crowned Bacchus bore j 
 Or whether (as some sages sing) 
 The frolic wind that breathes the spring. 
 Zephyr with Aurora playing. 
 As he met her once a Maying, 
 There on beds of violets blue. 
 And fresh blown roses wash'd in dew, 
 
 Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair. 
 So biixom, blithe, and debonair. 
 Haste thee, Kymph, and bring with thee 
 Jest and youthful Jollity, 
 Quips and ('ranks, and wanton Wiles, 
 Nods and Becks, and wTeathed Smiles, 
 Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
 And love to live in dimples sleek ; 
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
 And I<nughter holding both his sides. 
 Come, and trip it as you go 
 On the light fantastic toe, 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 MILTON. 
 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee. 
 
 The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty j 
 
 And if I give thee honour due. 
 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
 
 To live with her, and live with thee. 
 
 In unreproved pleasures free ; 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight. 
 
 And singing startle the dull night. 
 
 From his watch-tower in the skies. 
 
 Till the dappled Dawn doth rise j 
 
 Then to come in spite of Sorrow, 
 
 And at my window bid good morrow. 
 
 Through the sweet-brier, or the vine. 
 
 Or the twisted eglantine : 
 
 While the cock with lively din 
 
 Scatters the rear of Darkness thin. 
 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
 
 Stoutly struts his dames before j 
 
 Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn, 
 
 Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring Morn, 
 
 From the side of some hoar hill. 
 
 Through the high wood echoing shrill : 
 
 Some time walking not unseen 
 
 By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green. 
 
 Eight against the eastern gate. 
 
 Where the great Sun begins his state, 
 
 Rob'd in flames, and amber light. 
 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight. 
 
 While the plow-man near at hand 
 
 Whistles o'er the the furrow'd land. 
 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
 
 And the mower wets his sithe. 
 
 And every shepherd tells his tale 
 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures. 
 
 Whilst the landskip round it measures, 
 
 Kusset lawns, and fallows gray. 
 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray. 
 
 Mountains on whose barren breast 
 
 The lab'ring clouds do often rest. 
 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied. 
 
 Shallow brooks and rivers wide.
 
 L'ALLEGRO. 291 
 
 Towers and battlements it sees 
 
 Bosom'd high in tufted trees. 
 
 Where perhaps some beauty lies. 
 
 The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes. 
 
 Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes. 
 
 From betwixt two aged oaks. 
 
 Where Cordyon and Thyrsis met. 
 
 Are at their savoury dinner set. 
 
 Of herbs, and other country messes. 
 
 Which the neat-banded Phyllis dreies ; 
 
 And then in haste her bower she leaves^ 
 
 With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; 
 
 Or if the earlier season lead . 
 
 To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 
 
 Sometimes with secure delight 
 
 The upland hamlets will invite. 
 
 When the merry bells ring round, 
 
 "And the jocund rebecs sound 
 
 To many a youth, and many a maid. 
 
 Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; 
 
 And young and old came forth to play 
 
 On a sunshine holy-day. 
 
 Till the live-long day-light &U ; 
 
 Tlien to the spicy nut-brown ale. 
 
 With stories told of many a feat. 
 
 How fairy Mab the junkets eat. 
 
 She was pinch'd, and puH'd she said. 
 
 And he by friar's lantern led. 
 
 Tells how the drudging goblin sweat. 
 
 To earn his cream-bowl duly set. 
 
 When in one night, e'er glimpse of mom. 
 
 His shndowy flail hath thrcsh'd the com 
 
 That ten dny-lab'rers could not end j 
 
 Then lies him down the lubbar fiend. 
 
 And stretch'd out all the chimney's length. 
 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strengtli, 
 
 And crop full out of doors he flings. 
 
 E'er the first cock his matin rings. 
 
 Tims done the tales, to bed tliey creep. 
 
 By whisp'ring winds soon lull'd asleep. 
 
 Towered cities please tis then. 
 
 And the busy hum of men, 
 
 o3
 
 292 MILTON. 
 
 Where throngs of knights and barons bold 
 
 In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold. 
 
 With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
 
 Rain influence, and judge the prize 
 
 Of wit, or arms, while both contend 
 
 To win her grace, whom all commend. 
 
 There let Hymen oft appear 
 
 In saffron robe, with taper clear. 
 
 And Pomp, and Feast, and Revelry, 
 
 With Mask and antique Pageantry, 
 
 Such sights as youthful poets dream. 
 
 On summer eves by haunted stream. 
 
 Then to the well- trod stage anon. 
 
 If Jonson's learned sock be on. 
 
 Or sweetest Shakespear, Fancy's child. 
 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild. 
 
 And ever against eating cares. 
 
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 
 
 Married to immortal Verse, 
 
 Such as tlie meeting soul may pierce 
 
 In notes with many a winding bout 
 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out. 
 
 With wanton heed, and giddy cunning. 
 
 The melting voice through mazes running. 
 
 Untwisting all the chains, that tie 
 
 The hidden soul of harmony j 
 
 That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
 
 From golden slumber on a bed 
 
 Of heapt Elysian flow'rs, and hear 
 
 Such strains as would have won the ear 
 
 Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
 
 His half regain'd Eurydice. 
 
 These delights, if thou canst give. 
 
 Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
 
 ( 293 ) 
 
 IL PENSEROSO. 
 
 IIencc, vain deluding Joys, 
 
 The brood of Folly without father bred. 
 How little you bested, 
 
 Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ? 
 Dwell in some idle brain. 
 
 And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess. 
 As thick and numberless 
 
 As the gay motes that people the sun-beamt. 
 Or likeliell hovering dreams. 
 
 The fickle pensioners of Morpheus* train. 
 But hail, tliou Goddess, sage and holy, 
 Hail, divinest Melancholy, 
 Whose saintly visage is too bright 
 To hit the sense ot Human sight. 
 And therefore to our weaker view 
 Oerlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; 
 Black, but such as in esteem 
 Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
 Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove 
 To set her beauty's praise above 
 The sea-nymphs, and their pow'rs offended : 
 Yet thou art higher far descended j 
 Thee bright-hair'd Vesta long of yore 
 To solitary Saturn bore ; 
 His daughter she (in Saturn's reign. 
 Such mixture was not held a stain). 
 Oft in glimmering bowers and glade* 
 He met her, and in secret shades 
 Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
 While yet there was no fear of Jove. 
 Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure. 
 Sober, stedfast, and demure, 
 All in a robe of darkest giain. 
 Following with majestic train, 
 o J
 
 2p4 MILTON. 
 
 And sable stole of Cyprus lawn. 
 
 Over thy decent shoulders drawn j 
 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
 
 With even step, and musing gate. 
 
 And looks commercing with the skies. 
 
 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 
 
 There held in holy passion still. 
 
 Forget thyself to marble, till 
 
 With a sad leaden downward cast 
 
 Thou fix them on the earth as fast : 
 
 And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
 
 Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. 
 
 And hears the Muses in a ring 
 
 Aye round about Jove's altar sing : 
 
 And add to these retired Leisure, 
 
 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure j 
 
 But first, and chiefest, with thee bring. 
 
 Him that yon soars on golden wing. 
 
 Guiding the fiery- wheeled throne. 
 
 The cherub Contemplation ; 
 
 And the mute Silence hist along, 
 
 'Less Philomel will deign a song. 
 
 In her sweetest, saddest plight. 
 
 Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 
 
 While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke. 
 
 Gently o'er th' accustom'd oak 3 
 
 Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly. 
 
 Most musical, most melancholy ! 
 
 Thee chaun tress oft the woods among 
 
 I woo to hear thy even- song ; 
 
 And missing thee, I walk unseen 
 
 On the dry smooth-shaven green. 
 
 To behold the waud'ring moon. 
 
 Riding near her highest noon. 
 
 Like one that had been led astray 
 
 Through the Heav'n's wide pathless way. 
 
 And oft, as if her head she bow'd. 
 
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
 
 Oft on a plat of rising ground, 
 
 I hear the far-off' curt'ew sound. 
 
 Over some wide-water'd shore. 
 
 Swinging slo\r with sullen roar ;
 
 IL PENSEROSO. 293 
 
 Or if the air will not permit, , 
 
 Some still removed place will fit. 
 Where glowing embers through the room 
 Teach Light to counterfeit a gloora. 
 Far from all resort of mirth. 
 Save the cricket on the hearth. 
 Or the belman's drousy chanm. 
 To bless the doors from nightly harm : 
 Or let my bmp at midnight hour. 
 Be seen in some high lonely tow'r, 
 Where I may oft out-watch the Bear, 
 With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere 
 The spirit of Plato to unfold 
 What worlds, or what vast regions hold 
 *The immortal mind tliat hatli forsook 
 Her mansion in this fleshly nook : 
 And of those demons that are found 
 In fire, air, flooti, or under ground. 
 Whose power hath a true consent 
 With planet, or with element. 
 Sometimes let gorgeous Tragedy 
 In scepter'd pall come sweeping by. 
 Presenting Thebes* or Pclops' line. 
 Or the tale of Troy divine. 
 Or what (though rare) of later age 
 Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. 
 But, O sad Virgin, that thy jxiwer 
 Might raise Musjrus from liis bower. 
 Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
 Such notes, as warbled to the string. 
 Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, 
 And made Hrll grant wli:it Love did seek. 
 Or call up him that left half told. 
 The story of Cambuscan Ixild, 
 Of Caniball, and of Algarsife, 
 And who had Canace to wife, 
 1'hat own'd the virtuous ring and glaM, 
 And of the wondrous horse of brass. 
 On which the Tartar king did ride; 
 And if aught else great bards beside 
 I n sage and solemn tunes have sung. 
 Of lumeys aod of trophies hung, 
 o 4
 
 29<5 MILTON. 
 
 Of forests, and inchantments drear, 
 
 "Where more is meant than meets the ear. 
 
 Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career^ 
 
 Till civil-suited Morn appear ; 
 
 Not trickt and frounct as she was wont 
 
 With the Attic boy to hunt. 
 
 But kercheft in a comely cloud. 
 
 While rocking winds are piping loud. 
 
 Or usher'd with a shower still. 
 
 When the gust hath blown his fill. 
 
 Ending on the rustling leaves. 
 
 With minute drops from off the eaves. 
 
 And when the sun begins to fling 
 
 His flaring beams, me goddess bring 
 
 To arched walks of twilight groves> 
 
 And shadows brown that Sylvan loves 
 
 Of pine, or monumental oak. 
 
 Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 
 
 Was never heard the nymphs to daunt. 
 
 Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt j 
 
 There in close covert by some brook. 
 
 Where no profaner eye may look. 
 
 Hide me from Day's garish eye. 
 
 While the bee.with honied thigh. 
 
 That at her flowery work doth sing. 
 
 And the waters murmuring 
 
 With such consort as they keep. 
 
 Entice the devvy-feather'd sleep : 
 
 And let some strange mysterious dream 
 
 Wave at his wings in airy stream 
 
 Of lively portraiture display 'd. 
 
 Softly on my eye-lids laid. 
 
 And as I wake, sweet music breathe 
 
 Above, about, or underneath. 
 
 Sent by some spirit to mortals good. 
 
 Or th' unseen Genius of the wood. 
 
 But let my due feet never fail 
 
 To walk the studious cloysters pale. 
 
 And love the high embowed roof . 
 
 With antic pillars massy proof. 
 
 And storied windows richly dight. 
 
 Casting a dim religious light.
 
 IL PENSEROSO. 297 
 
 There let the pealing organ blow. 
 
 To the full-voic'd quire below. 
 
 In service high, and anthems clear. 
 
 As may with sweetness, through mine ear. 
 
 Dissolve me into ecstasies. 
 
 And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes. 
 
 And may at last my weary age 
 
 Fmd out the peaceful hermitage. 
 
 The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
 
 Where I may sit and rightly spell 
 
 Of every star tliat Heav'n doth shew. 
 
 And every herb that sips the dew j 
 
 Till old Experience do attain 
 
 To something like prophetic straia. 
 
 These pleasures. Melancholy, give. 
 
 And I with thee will choose to live. 
 
 5
 
 2gfi MILTON. 
 
 L Y C I D A S. 
 
 In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, un- 
 fortunately drowned on his Passage from Chester, on 
 the Irish Seas, l637, and hy occasion foretels the ruin 
 of our corrupted Clergy, then in their height. 
 
 Yet once more^ O ye laurels, and once more. 
 Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never soar, 
 I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude. 
 And with forc'd fingers rude 
 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear. 
 Compels me to disturb your season due : 
 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. 
 Young Lycidas, and hatli not left his peer : 
 Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew 
 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhirae. 
 He must not float upon his wat'ry bier 
 Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
 "Without the meed of some melodious tear. 
 
 Begin then. Sisters of the Sacred Well, 
 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring. 
 Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep (he string. 
 Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse. 
 So may some gentle Muse 
 With lucky words favour my destin'd urn. 
 And as he passes turn. 
 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud : 
 For we were nurst upon the self-same hill. 
 Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rilL
 
 LYCIDAS. 299 
 
 Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd 
 Under tlie opening eye lids of the Mom, 
 We drove a- field, and both together heard 
 What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn, 
 Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night 
 Oft till die star that rose at evening bright, 
 Tow'rds Hcav ns descent had slopt his west'ring wheeL 
 Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, 
 'lempcr'ci to th' oaten flute. 
 Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel 
 From the glad sound would ncU be absent long. 
 And old Damxtas lov'd to bear our song. 
 
 But O the heavy change, now thou art gone. 
 Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
 Thee Shepherd, tliee the woods and desert caves 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown. 
 And all their echoes mourn. 
 The willows and the hazel copses green, 
 Sliall now no more be seen. 
 Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
 As killing as the canker to the rose. 
 Or taint worm to the weanling herds that graze. 
 Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear. 
 When first the white-thorn blows ; 
 Such, Lycidaii, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
 
 Where were ve. Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
 Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas ? 
 For neither were ye playing on the steep. 
 Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie. 
 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. 
 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : 
 Ay mc ! I fondly dream 
 
 Had you been there ; for what could that have done ? 
 What could the Muse herself that Oqjheus bore. 
 The Muso herself for her enchanting son. 
 Whom universal Nature did lament. 
 When by the rout that made the hideous roar. 
 His goary visage down the stream was sent, 
 Down the swifl Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? 
 o 6
 
 300 MILTON. 
 
 Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 
 To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade^ 
 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? 
 Were it not better done, as others use. 
 To sport witli Amaryllis in the shade. 
 Or with the tangles of Nesera's hair ? 
 Fame is the spur that the clear sp'rit doth raise 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 To scorn delights, and live laborious days j 
 But the fair guerdon when we hope to find. 
 And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 
 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears. 
 And slits the thin-spun life. But not the praise, 
 Phoebus reply'd, and touch'd my trembling ears j 
 Fame is no plant that grows in mortal soil. 
 Nor in the glistering foil 
 Set off to th' world, nor in broad Rumour lies. 
 But lives, and spreads aloft by those pure eyes. 
 And perfect witness of all-judging Jovej 
 As he pronounces lastly on each deed. 
 Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. 
 
 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood. 
 Smooth sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds^ 
 That strain I heard was of a higher mood : 
 But now my oat proceeds. 
 And listens to the herald of the sea 
 That came in Neptune's plea ; 
 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds. 
 What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain : 
 And question'd every gust of rugged winds 
 That blows from off each beak'd promontory ; 
 They knew not of his story. 
 And sage Hippotades llulr answer brings. 
 That not a blast vi as from his dungeon stray'd. 
 The air was calm, and on the level brine 
 Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. 
 It was that fatal and perfidious bark 
 Built in th' eclipse, and riggd with curses darkj 
 That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.
 
 LYCIDAS. SOI 
 
 Next Camus, reverend sire, when foot'iDg slow. 
 His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, 
 Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
 Like to tliat sanguine flower, inscrib'd with woe. 
 Ah ! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge! 
 Last came, and last did go. 
 The pilot of the Galilean lake, 
 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, 
 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) 
 He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake. 
 How well could I have spar'd for thee, young Swain, 
 Enow of such as for their bellies' sake 
 Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ? 
 Of other care they little reck'ning make. 
 Than how to scramble at the shearer's feast. 
 And shove away the worthy bidden guest; 
 Blind moutlis! that scarce themselves know how to 
 
 hold 
 A sheep-hook, or have leam'd aught else the least 
 That to tlie taithful herdsman's art belongs ! 
 What recks it them ? what need they ? they are sped j 
 And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
 Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw. 
 The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 
 But swolT'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw^ 
 Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 
 Besides what the grim wolf, with privy paw. 
 Daily devours apace ; and nothing said. 
 But that two-handed engine at the door. 
 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more. 
 
 Retom, Alphecu, the dread voice is past 
 That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, 
 And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
 Their bells, and flow'rets of a thousand hues. 
 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
 Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks. 
 On whose fresh lap the swart star rarely looks. 
 Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes, 
 That on the green turf suck the honied showers. 
 And purple all the ground with venial flowers. 
 Bring the rathe primrose that forsokca dies.
 
 302 MILTON. 
 
 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. 
 The white pink, and the pansy freakt with jet. 
 The glowing violet. 
 
 The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine. 
 With cowslips wan, that hang the pensive head. 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears : 
 Bid Amarantus all his beauty shed. 
 And dafFadillies till their cups with tears. 
 To stow the laureat herse where Lycid lies. 
 For so to interpose a little ease. 
 Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 
 Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
 "Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd. 
 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
 "Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
 "Visit" st the bottom of the monstrous world j 
 Or whether thou to our moist vow s deny'd, 
 Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 
 "Where the great vision of the guarded mount 
 Looks tow'rd Namancos and Bayona's hold ; 
 Look homeward angel now, and melt with ruth: 
 And, O ye Dolphins, waft tlie hopeless youth. 
 
 "Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no morcj 
 For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead. 
 Sunk tho' he be beneath the wat'ry floor; 
 So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed. 
 And yet anon repairs his drooping head. 
 And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky. 
 So Lytidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
 Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves, 
 "Where other groves and other streams along, 
 "With nectar hue his oozy locks he laves. 
 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song. 
 In the blest kingdoms meek of Joy and Love. 
 There entertain him all the saints above. 
 In solemn troops and sweet societies. 
 That sing, and singing in their glory move. 
 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 
 Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
 Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore.
 
 LYCIDAS. 303 
 
 In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
 To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
 
 Thus sai)g the uncouth swain to th' oaks and rills. 
 While the still Mom went out with sandals gray. 
 He touch'd the tender stops of various quills. 
 With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: 
 And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills. 
 And now was dropt into the western hay; 
 At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue; 
 To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES,* 
 
 A DRAMATIC POEM. 
 
 * B)- misukr, in the notice of Milton's Life, Samson Agonistes 
 wai not added to the litt of selections.
 
 THE PERSONS. 
 
 Samson. 
 
 Man o AH, the Father of Samson. 
 
 Dalila, his "Wife. 
 
 Haeapha of Gath. 
 
 Public Officer. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Chorus of Danites. 
 
 The Scene before the Prison in Gaza.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 
 
 THE AROUMBMT. 
 
 Samson made captive, blind, and now in the prison at Gata, there 
 to labour as in a common work-house, on a festival day, in the 
 general cessation from labour, comes forth into the open air, to 
 a place nigh, somewhat rctir'd, there to sit a while and bemoan 
 his condition: Where he happens at length to be visited by cer- 
 tain friends and equals of his Tribe, which make the Chorus, 
 who seek to comfort him what they can ; then by his old father 
 Manoah, who endeavours the like, and withal tells him his 
 purpose to procure his liberty by ransom; lastly, that tbii 
 feast was proclaim'd by the Philistines as a day of thanksgiving 
 for their deliverance from the hands of Samson, which yet more 
 troubles him. Manoah then departs to prosecute his endeavour 
 with the Philistine lords for Samson's redemption ; who in the 
 mean while is visited by other persons; and lastly by a public 
 officer to require his coming to the feast before the lords and 
 people, to play or shew his strength in their presence ; he at 
 first refuses, dismissing the public officer with absolute denial to 
 come ; at length, |>eisuaded inwardly that this wa< from God, 
 he yields to go along with him, who came now the sri^nd time 
 with great threaienings to fetch him : the Chorus yet remaining 
 on the place, Manoah returns full ot joytul hope, to procure 
 ere long his son's deliverance, in the mii!st of which discourse 
 an Hebiew comes in haste, confusedly at first, un^i afterwards 
 more distinctly relating the catastrophe, what Samson had done 
 to the Philistines, and by accident to himself; wherewilli the 
 tragedy ends. 
 
 SAMSON. 
 
 A LITTLE onward lend thy guiding hand 
 To these dark steps, a little further on; 
 For yonder biink hath choice ot sun or shade : 
 There I am wont to sit, when any chance 
 Relieves me from my task of servile toil. 
 Daily in the common prison else enjoin'd me.
 
 308 MILTON. 
 
 Where I a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw 
 
 The air imprison'd also, close and damp. 
 
 Unwholesome draught : but here I feel amends. 
 
 The breath of Heav'n fresh blowing, pure and sweet. 
 
 With day-spring born ; here leave me to respire. 
 
 This day a solemn feast the people hold 
 
 To Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid . 
 
 Laborious works ; unwillingly this rest 
 
 Their superstition yields mej hence with leave 
 
 Retiring from the popular noise, I seek 
 
 This unfrequented place to find some ease, 
 
 Ease to the body some, none to the mind 
 
 From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm 
 
 Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone. 
 
 But rush upon me thronging, and present 
 
 Times past, Avhat once I was, and what am now. 
 
 O wherefore was my birth from Heav'n foretold 
 
 Twice by an angel, who at last in sight 
 
 Of both my parents all in flames ascended 
 
 From off the altar, where an offering burn'd. 
 
 As in a fiery column charioting 
 
 His god-like presence, and from some great act 
 
 Or benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race ? 
 
 Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd 
 
 As of a person separate to God, 
 
 Design'd for great exploits ; if I must die 
 
 Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out. 
 
 Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze j 
 
 To grind in brazen fetters under task 
 
 With this Heav'n-gifted strength ? O glorious strength 
 
 Put to the labour of a beast, debas'd 
 
 Lower than bond-slave ! Promise was that I 
 
 Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver ; 
 
 Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him 
 
 Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves, 
 
 Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke : 
 
 Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt 
 
 Divine prediction ; what if all foretold 
 
 Had been fulfill'd, but through mine own default. 
 
 Whom have I to complain of but myself? 
 
 Who this high gift of strength committed to me. 
 
 In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 80y 
 
 Under the seal of silence could not keep. 
 
 But weakly to a woman must reveal it, 
 
 O'ercome with importunity and tears j 
 
 O impotence of mind, in body strong ! 
 
 But what is strength without a double share 
 
 Of wisdom ? vast, unwieldly, burthensome. 
 
 Proudly secure, yet liable to fall 
 
 By weakest subtleties, not made to rule. 
 
 But to subserve where wisdom bears command! 
 
 God, when he gave mc strength, to shew withal 
 
 How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair. 
 
 But peace ; I must not quarrel with the will 
 
 Of highest dispensation, which herein 
 
 Haply had ends above my reach to know : 
 
 Suffices that to me strength is my bane. 
 
 And proves the source of all my miseries; 
 
 So many and so huge, that each apart 
 
 Would ask a life to wail, but chief of all, 
 
 O loss of sight, of thee I most complain ! 
 
 Blind among enemies, O worse than cliains. 
 
 Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age ! 
 
 Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct. 
 
 And all her various objects of delight 
 
 Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd. 
 
 Inferior to the vilest now become 
 
 Of man or worm : the vilest here excel mej 
 
 They creep, yet seej I, dark in light, expos'd 
 To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong. 
 
 Within doors, or without, still as a fool. 
 
 In power of others, never in my own ; 
 
 Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. 
 
 O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon. 
 
 Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 
 
 Without all hojxj of day I 
 
 O first created beam, and thou great word, 
 
 I.et there be light, and light was over all; 
 
 Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree? 
 
 The sun to me is dark 
 
 And silent as the m(X)n, 
 
 When she deserts the night 
 
 Hid in her vacant intcrlunar cave. 
 
 Since light so necessary is to life.
 
 SIO MILTON. 
 
 And almost life itself, if it be trae 
 
 That light is in the soul. 
 
 She, all in every partj why was the sight 
 
 To such a tender ball as th' eye confin'd ? 
 
 So obvious and so easy to be quench'd ? 
 
 And not as feeling through all parts difRis'd, 
 
 That she might look at will through every pore ? 
 
 Then had I not been thus exil'd from light. 
 
 As in the land of darkness yet in light. 
 
 To live a life half dead, a living death. 
 
 And bury'd: but O yet more miserable ! 
 
 Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave, 
 
 Bury'd, yet not exempt 
 
 By privilege of death and burial 
 
 From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs. 
 
 But made hereby obnoxious more 
 
 To all the miseries of life. 
 
 Life in captivity 
 
 Among inhuman foes. 
 
 But who are these ? for with joint pace I hear 
 
 The tread of many feet steering this way; 
 
 Perhaps my enemies, who come to stare 
 
 At ray affliction, and perhaps to insult. 
 
 Their daily practice, to afflict me more. 
 
 Chor. This, this is he; softly a while. 
 Let us not break in upon him; 
 O change beyond report, thought or belief! 
 See how he lies at random, carelessly diffiis'd, 
 With languish'd head unpropt. 
 As one past hope, abandon'd. 
 And by himself given over; 
 In slavish habit, ill fitted weeds 
 O'er- worn and soil'd; 
 
 Or do my eyes misrepresent ? Can this be he. 
 That heroic, that renown'd. 
 Irresistible Samson; whom unarm'd 
 No stren-tth of man, or fiercest wild beast could with- 
 stand ; 
 Who tore the lion, as the lion tears tlie kid. 
 Ran on imbattl'd armies clad in iron. 
 And weaponless himself. 
 Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. SlI 
 
 Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer'd cuiiasSy 
 
 Clialybean teii)i)er'd steel, and frock of mail 
 
 Adamantean proof; 
 
 But safest lie who stood aloof. 
 
 When insupportably his foot advanc'd. 
 
 In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools, 
 
 Spum'd ilic-m to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite 
 
 Fled from his lion ramp, old warriors tum'd 
 
 Their plated backs under his heel ; 
 
 Or grov'ling soil'd their crested helmets in the dust. 
 
 Then with what trival weapon came to hand. 
 
 The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone, 
 
 A thousand foreskins fell, tlie flower of Palestine, 
 
 In Ramah-lechi famous to this day. 
 
 Then by main force puH'd up, and on his shoulders bore. 
 
 The gates of Azza, post, and massy bar. 
 
 Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old. 
 
 No journey of a sabbath-cby, and loaded so ; 
 
 Like whom the Gentiles feign'd to bear up Heav'o. 
 
 Which shall I first bewail. 
 
 Thy bondage or lost sight. 
 
 Prison within prison 
 
 Inseparably dark ? 
 
 Thou art become (O worst imprisonment !) 
 
 The dungeon of thyself ; thy soul 
 
 (Which men enjoying sight oft without cavue complain) 
 
 Imprison'd now indeed, 
 
 In real darkness of the body dwells. 
 
 Shut up from outward light 
 
 To incorporate with gloomy night j 
 
 For inward light, alas I 
 
 Puts forth no visual beam. 
 
 O mirror of our fickle state, 
 
 Since man on earth unparallcH'd ! 
 
 The rarer thy example stands. 
 
 By how much from the top of wondrous glory. 
 
 Strongest of mortal men. 
 
 To lowet pitch of abject fortune thou art fall'n ! 
 
 For him I reckon not in high estate 
 
 Whom long descent of birth 
 
 Or the sphere of fortune raises; 
 
 But thee whose strength, while virtue was her mate.
 
 312 MILTON. 
 
 Might have subdued the earth. 
 Universally crown'd with highest praises. 
 
 Sam. I hear the sound of words, their sense the air 
 Dissolves unjointd ere it reach my ear. 
 
 Chor. Hespiaks) let us draw nigh. Matchless in 
 might. 
 The glory late of Israel, now the grief j 
 We come tliy friends and neighbours not unknown 
 From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale. 
 To visit or bewail thee, or if better. 
 Counsel or consolation we may bring. 
 Salve to thy sores ; apt words have power to swage 
 The tumours of a troubled mind. 
 And are as balm to fester'd wounds. 
 
 Sam. Your coming, friends, revives me j for I learn 
 Now of my own experience, not by talk. 
 How counterfeit a coin they are who friends 
 Bear in their superscription, (of the most 
 I would be understood) in prosp'rous days 
 They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head. 
 Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O friends. 
 How many evils have enclos'd me round ; 
 Yet that which was the worst now least inflicts me. 
 Blindness ; for, had I sight, confus'd with shame. 
 How could I once look up, or heave the head. 
 Who like a foolish pilot have shipwreck'd 
 My vessel trusted to me from above, 
 Gloriously rigg'd ; and for a word, a tear. 
 Fool, have divulg'd the secret gift of God 
 To a deceitful woman ? tell me, friends. 
 Am I not sung and proverb'd for a fool 
 In every street ? do they not say how well 
 Are come upon him his deserts .' yet why? 
 Immeasurable strength they might behold 
 In me, of wisdom nothing more than mean; 
 This with the other should, at least have pair'd. 
 These two proportion'd ill drove me transverse. 
 Chor. Tax not divine disposal ; wisest men 
 Have err'd, and by bad women been deceiv'd 3 
 And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise. 
 Deject not then so overmuch thyself. 
 Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides 3
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 313 
 
 Yet truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder 
 Wliy thou should'st wed Philistian women rather 
 Than of thine own tribe fairer, or as fair. 
 At least of thy own nation, and as noble. 
 
 Sam. The first I saw at Timna, and she pleas'd 
 Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed 
 The daughter of an infidel : they knew not 
 That what I mention'd was of Grod ; I knew 
 From intimate impulse, and therefore urg'd 
 The marriage on : that by occasion hence 
 I might begin Israel's deliverance. 
 The work to which I was divinely call'd. 
 She proving false, the next I took to wife 
 (( ) that I never had ! fond wish too late) 
 Was in the vale of Sorec, Dalila, 
 That specious monster, my accomplish'd snare. 
 I thought it lawful from my former act. 
 And the same end; still watching to oppress 
 Israel's oppressors: of what now I suffer 
 She was not the prime cause, but I myself. 
 Who, vanquish'd with a peal of words. (O weakness !) 
 Gave up my fort of silence to a woman. 
 
 Chor. In seeking just occasion to provoke 
 The Philistine, thy country's enemy, 
 Thou ni-ver wast remiss, I bear thre witness: 
 Yft Israel still serves with all his sons. 
 
 Sam. That fault I take not on me, but transfer 
 On Israel's govemors, and heads of tribes. 
 Who seeing those great acts, whiih God had done 
 Singly by me against their conquerors, 
 Acknowledg'd not, or not at all consider'd 
 Deliverance offer'd : I on the other side 
 Us'd no ambition to comniend my deeds j 
 The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the 
 
 doer; 
 But they persisted deaf, and wotild not seem 
 To count them things worth notice, till at length 
 Their lords, the Philistines, with gather'd power* 
 Knter'd Judea seeking me, who then 
 Safe to the rock of Etham was retird, 
 Not flying, but forecasting in what place 
 
 VOL. I. r
 
 314 MILTON. 
 
 To set upon them, what advantag'd best : 
 
 ]\''ean while the men of Judah, to prevent 
 
 The harass of their land, beset me round j 
 
 I willingly on some conditions came 
 
 into their hands, and they as gladly yield me 
 
 Tn the uncircumcis'd a welcome prey. 
 
 Bound with two cords; but cords to me were threads 
 
 Touch'd with the flame : on their whole host I flew 
 
 Unarm'd, and with a trivial weapon fell'd 
 
 Their choicest youth ; they only liv'd who fled. 
 
 Had Judah that day join'd, or one whole tribe. 
 
 They had by this possess'd the towers of Gath, 
 
 And lorded over them whom they now serve : 
 
 But what more oft in nations grown corrupt. 
 
 And by their vices brought to servitude, 
 
 Than to love bondage more than liberty. 
 
 Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty,- 
 
 And to despise, or envy, or suspect 
 
 "Whom God hath of his special favour rais'd 
 
 As their deliverer ; if he aught begin. 
 
 How frequent to desert him, and at last 
 
 To heap ingratitude on worthiest deeds ? 
 
 Chor. Thy words to my remembrance bring 
 How Succoth and the fort of Penuel 
 Their great deliverer contemn'd. 
 The matchless Gideon in pursuit 
 Of Madian and her vanquish'd kings: 
 And how ungrateful Ephraim 
 Had dealt with Jeptha, who by argument. 
 Not worse than by his shield and spear. 
 Defended Israel from the Ammonite, 
 Had not his prowess qucll'd their pride 
 In that sore battle, when so many dy'd 
 Without reprieve adjudg'd to death. 
 For want of well-pronouncing Shibboleth. 
 
 Sam. Of such examples add me to the rollj 
 Me easily indeed mine may neglect. 
 But God s propos'd deliverance not so. 
 
 Chor. Just are the ways of God, 
 And justifiable to men j 
 Unless there be who tliink not God at allj
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 813 
 
 If any be, they walk obscure; 
 
 For of such doctrine never was there school. 
 
 But the heart of the fool, 
 
 And no man therein doctor but himself. 
 
 Yet more tiiere be who doubt his ways not just. 
 As to his own edicts found contradicting, 
 Then give the reins to wand' ring thought. 
 Regardless of his glory's diminution ; 
 'I'ill, by their own perplexities involv'd. 
 They ravel more, still less resolv'd, 
 But never find self-satisfying solution. 
 
 As if they would confine th' Interminable, 
 And tie him to his own prescript. 
 Who made our laws to bind us, not himself. 
 And hath full right t' exempt 
 Whom so it pleases him by choice 
 From national obsiriction, without taint 
 Of sin, or legal debt; 
 For with his own laws he can best dispense. 
 
 He would not else who never wanted means. 
 Nor in respect of th' enemy just cause 
 To set his |)eople free, 
 I lave prompted this heroic Nazarite, 
 Agaiiist his vow of strictest purity. 
 To seek in marriage tliai fallacious bride. 
 Unclean, unchaste. 
 
 Down reason then, at least vain reasonings down, 
 Tho' reason here aver 
 That moral verdict cjuits her of unclean ; 
 Unchaste was subsequent, her stain, not his. 
 
 But see here comes thy reverend sire 
 With careful step, locks white as down. 
 Old Mnnoah: advise 
 Forthwith how thou ought'st to receix'e him. 
 
 Sam. Ay me, another inward grief, awak'd 
 With mention of that name, renews th' assault. 
 
 Man. Brethren, and men of Dan ; for such ye seem, 
 Tho' in this uncouth place; if old respect, 
 As I suppose, tow'rds your once glory'd friend. 
 My son, now captive, hither hatli inform'd 
 Your younger feet, while mine, cast back with age. 
 Came lagging after 3 say if he be here > 
 r 2
 
 316 MILTON. 
 
 Chor. As signal now in low dejected state. 
 As erst in high'st, behold him where he lies. 
 
 Man. O miserable change ! is this the man. 
 That invincible Samson, far renown'd. 
 The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength 
 Equivalent to Angels, walk'd their streets, 
 None offering fight; who single combatant 
 Duel'd their armies, rank in proud array. 
 Himself an army, now unequal match 
 To save himself against a coward arm'd 
 At one spears length, O ever-falling trust 
 In mortal strength ! and oh what not in man 
 Deceivable and vain? Nay what thing good 
 Pray'd for, but often proves our wo, our bane ? 
 I pray'd for children, and thought barrenness 
 In wedlock a reproach ; I gain'd a son. 
 And such a son as all men hail'd me happy j 
 Who would be now a father in my stead ? 
 O wherefore did God grant me my request. 
 And as a blessing with such pomp adorn'd ? 
 "Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt 
 Our earnest pray'rs, then given with solemn hand 
 As graces, draw a scorpion's tail behind ? 
 For this did th' Angel twice descend ? for this 
 Ordain'd thy nurture holy, as of a plant 
 Select, and sacred, glorious for a while. 
 The miracle of men; then in an hour 
 Insnar'd, assaulted, overcome, led bound. 
 Thy foes' derision, captive, poor, and blind, 
 Into a dungeon thrust, to work with slaves? 
 Alas, methinks, whom God hath chosen once 
 To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err. 
 He should not so o'erwhelm, and as a thrall 
 Subject him to so foul indignities. 
 Be' it but for honours sake of former deeds. 
 
 S \M. Appoint not heav'nly disposition, father j 
 Nothing of all these evils hath befall'n me 
 But justly; I myself have brought them on. 
 Sole author I, sole cause: if aught seems vile. 
 As vile hiith been my folly, who have profan'd 
 The mystery of God giv'n me under pledge 
 Of vow, and have betray'd it to a woman.
 
 SAMSON AGOXISTES. tl7 
 
 A Canaanite, my faithless enemy. 
 
 This well 1 knew ; nor was at all surpris'd. 
 
 But warn'd by oft experience : did not she 
 
 Of I'imna first betray me, and reveal 
 
 I'he serrrt wrested from me in her height 
 
 Of nuptial love profess d, carrying it straight 
 
 To them who had corrupted her, my spies. 
 
 And rivals ? In this other was there found 
 
 More fiith, who also in her prime of love, 
 
 Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold, 
 
 'I'ho' ofter'd only, by the scent ctmceiv'd 
 
 1 ler spurious first-bom, treason against me ? 
 
 Thrice she assay'd me with flattering pray'rs and sighs, 
 
 And amorous reproaches, to win from me 
 
 My capital secret, in what part my strength 
 
 l^y stor'd, in what part summ'd, that sIil' might knowj 
 
 Thrice I deluded her, and tuni'd to sjiort 
 
 Her importunity, each time perceiving 
 
 How openly, and with what in)pudencc 
 
 She purpos'd to betray me, and (which was Morse 
 
 'J'han undissembled hate) with what contempt 
 
 She sought to make me traitor to mys*. If ; 
 
 Yet the fourth time, when must"ring all her wile, 
 
 With blandish'd parlies, feminine as>aults, 
 
 Tongue-batteries, she surceas'd not d;iy nor night 
 
 To storm me, overwatch'd and wearied out. 
 
 At limes when men seek most repose and rest, 
 
 1 yielded, and unlock'd her all my heart, 
 
 Who with a grain of manhood well re-ttjU'd 
 
 Might easily have sho<jk off all her snares; 
 
 Hut foul effeminacy held mc yok'd 
 
 Her bond-slave; () indignity, O blot 
 
 To honour and religion I servile mind 
 
 Rewarded well with servile punishment ! 
 
 The bii-se degree to which I now am fiU'n. 
 
 These rags, this grimling is uM yet so base 
 
 As was niy former servilUite, ignoble, 
 
 Unmanly, ignominious, infamous. 
 
 True slavery, and that blindness woim* than this. 
 
 That saw not how degenerately I er\'d. 
 
 Maw. I cannot praise thy marriage choices. Son,
 
 Sl MILTON. 
 
 Eather approv'd them not j but thou xildst plead 
 Divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st 
 Find some occasion to infest our foes. 
 I state not that ; this I am sure, our foes 
 Found soon occasion thereby to make thee 
 Their captive, and their triumph ; thou the sooner 
 Temptation found' st, or over potent charms 
 To violate the secret tnast of silence 
 Deposited with thee ; which to have kept 
 Tacit was in thy power : true ; and thou bear'st 
 Enough, and more, the burden of that favilt j 
 Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying 
 That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains ; 
 This day the Philistines a popular feast 
 Here celebrate in Gaza 5 and proclaim 
 Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud 
 To Dagon, as their God, who hath deliver'd 
 Thee, Samson, bound and blind into their hands, 
 Them out of ihine, who slowest them many a slain. 
 So Dagon shall be magnify 'd, and God, 
 Besides whom is no God, compar'd with idols, 
 Disglorify'd, blaspherij'd, and had in scorn 
 By the idolatrous rout amidst their winej 
 Which to l)ave come to pass by means of thee, 
 Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest. 
 Of all reproach the most with shame that ever 
 Could have befall'n thee and thy father's house. 
 Sam. Father, I too acknowledge and confess 
 That I this honour, I this pomp have brought 
 To Dagon, and advanc'd his praises high 
 Among the Heathen round; to God have brought 
 Dishonour, obloquy, and op'd the mouths 
 Of idolists, and atheists; have brought scandal 
 To Jsrael, diffidence of God, and doubt 
 In feeble hearts, propense enough before 
 To waver, or fall off, and join with idols j 
 Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow. 
 The anguish of my soul, that suffers not 
 Mine eyes to harbour sleep, or thoughts to resti 
 This only hope relieves me, that the strife 
 With me hath end ', ajl the contest is ow
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. Si 9 
 
 Twlxt God aiivi Dagoii; Dagon hath presuni'd. 
 Me o\ei thrown, 10 enter lists with God, 
 His deity comparing and preferring 
 iScfore tlie God of Abraham. He, be sure. 
 Will not connive or linger, thus provok d, 
 But will arise, and his great name assert: 
 Uagon must stoop, and shall e'er long receiv^B 
 Such a discomfit as shall quite depoil him 
 Of all these boasted trophies won on me. 
 And with confusion blank his worshippers. 
 Man. With cause this hope relicvei thee^ and these 
 words 
 I as a prophecy receive; for God, 
 Nothing more certain, will not long defer 
 To vindicate the glory of his name 
 Against all competition; nor will long 
 Endure it doubttul whether God be Lord, 
 Or Dagon. But for ihec what shall be done? 
 Thou must not in the mean while here forgot 
 Lie in this miserable loathsome plight, 
 
 Neglected. 1 already have made way 
 
 To some Philistian lords, with whom to treat 
 
 About thy ransom : well tliey may by this 
 
 Have satisfy 'd tlieir utmost of revenge 
 
 By ]\nins and slaveries, worse than death inflicted 
 On tiiee, who now no more canst do them harm. 
 Sam. Spare that proposal. Father, spare the trouble 
 
 Of that solicitation ; let me here 
 
 As I deserve, pay on my punishment j 
 
 And expiate, if possible, my crime. 
 
 Shameful garrulity. To have reveal'd 
 
 Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend. 
 
 How heinous had the fact been, how deserving 
 
 Contempt and scorn of all, to be excluied 
 
 All friendship, and avoided as a blab, 
 
 'I'hc mark of ftxjl set on his front .' 
 
 But I, God's couuscl have not kept, his holy accrvt 
 
 presumptuously have publisji'd impiously. 
 
 Weakly at leas;, and shamefully : a sin 
 
 That Gentiles in their parables condemn 
 
 Tu their abyss and horrid pains conlin'd. 
 y 4
 
 320 MILTON. 
 
 Man. Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite, 
 But act not in tliine own affliction. Son: 
 Repent of sin, but if the punishment 
 Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids } 
 Or th' execution leave to high disposal. 
 And let another hand, not thine, exact 
 Thy penal forfeit from thyself j perhaps 
 God will relent, and quit thee all his debt ; 
 Who ever more approves and more accepts, 
 (Best pleas'd with humble' and filial submission) 
 Him who imploring mercy sues for life. 
 Than who self rigorpus chooses death as due ; 
 Which argues over-just, and self-displeas'd. 
 For self-offence, more than for God offended. 
 Reject not then what oflerd means; who knows 
 But God hath set before us, to return thee 
 Home to thy country and his sacred house. 
 Where thou may'st bring thy offerings, to avert 
 His further ire, with pray'rs and vows renew'd ? 
 
 Sam. His pardon I implorcj but as for life, 
 'I'o what end should I seek it? when in strength 
 All mortals I excell'd, and great in hopes 
 With youthful courage and magnanimous thoughts 
 Of birth from Heav'n foretold and high exploits. 
 Full of divine instinct, after some proof 
 Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond 
 The sons of Anak, famous now and blaz'd. 
 Fearless of danger, like a petty god 
 I walk'd about admir'd of all, and dreaded 
 On hostile ground, none daring my affront. 
 Then swoU'n with pride, into the snare 1 fell 
 Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains, 
 Soften'd with pleasure and voluptuous life. 
 At length to lay my head and hallow'd pledge 
 Of all my strength in the lascivious lap 
 Of a deceitful concubine, who shore me 
 Like a tame weather, all my precious fleece. 
 Then turn'd me out ridiculous, despoil'd, 
 Shav'n, and disarm'd among mine enemies. 
 
 Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks. 
 Which many a famous warrior o'erturns.
 
 \ 
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 321 
 
 Thou couldst repress, nor dul the dancing ruby 
 Sparkling, out pour'd, the riavour, or the smell. 
 Or taste that cheers the heart of gods and men, 
 Allure thee from the cool cr^stallin stream. 
 
 Sam. Wherever fountain or fresh current flow'd 
 Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure 
 With touch ethereal of Heav n's fiery rod 
 I drank, from the clear milky juice allaying 
 Thirst, and refreshM ; nor envy'd them the grape 
 Whose heads that turbulent li.|Uor fills wiiii tumes. 
 
 Chor. O madness, to tliiak use of strtmijcst wines 
 And strongest drinks our chief support ot health. 
 When God with these forbidd'n made choice to rear 
 His mighty champion, strong ubovf* compare. 
 Whose drink was only from the Tujuid brook. 
 
 Sam. But what avail'd this temp'rancc, not complete. 
 Against another object more enticing ? 
 What boots it at one gate to make defence. 
 And at another to let in the foe, 
 Kffeminately vancpiishd ? by which means, 
 Now blind, dishe.irten'd, shnni'd, dishonour'd, quell'd. 
 To what can I be useful, wherein serve 
 My nation and the work from Heav'n impos'd. 
 But to sit idle on the household hearth, 
 A b'arJ'iious drone; to visitants a gaze, 
 (")r pity'd object, these redundant l<x:ks 
 Robustious to no purpose, clust'ring down. 
 Vain monuments cf strength; till length of year* 
 And sedentary numness craze my limbs 
 To a contemptible old age obscure ? 
 Here rather let me drudge and earn my bread, 
 Till vermin or the drall" of servile food 
 Consume me, and ot't invoked dealh 
 Hasten the welcome end of all my pains. 
 
 Man. Wilt thou then serve the I'iiilislines with tliat 
 gift 
 Which was expressly giv'n thee to annoy them 
 Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle. 
 Inglorious, unemploy'd, with age outworn. 
 But God who caus'd a fuunt.MH at tijy prayer 
 From the dry ground to spring, thy lhirt to" allay 
 p 5
 
 322 MILTON. 
 
 After the brunt of battle, can as easy 
 Cause light again within thy eyes to spring, 
 "Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast; 
 And I persuade me soj why else this strength 
 Miraculous yet remaining in those locks ? 
 His might continues in thee not for nought, 
 Kor shall his wond'rous gifts be frustrate thus. 
 
 Sam. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend. 
 That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light. 
 Nor th' other light of life continue long. 
 But yield to double darkness, night at hand : 
 So much I feel my genial spirits droop. 
 My hopes all flat. Nature within rae seems 
 In all her functions weary of herself. 
 My race of glory run, and race of shame. 
 And T shall shortly be with them that rest. 
 
 Man. Believe not these suggestions, which proceed 
 From anguish of the mind and humours black. 
 That mingle with thy fancy. I, however. 
 Must not omit a father's timely care. 
 To prosecute the means of thy deliverance 
 By ransome, or how else : meanwhile be calm. 
 And healing words from these thy friends admit. 
 
 Sam. O that torment should not be confin'd 
 To the body's wounds and sores. 
 With maladies innumerable 
 In heart, head, breast, and reins j 
 But must secret passage find 
 To th' inmost mind. 
 There exercise all his fierce accidents. 
 And on her purest spirits prey. 
 As on entrails, joints, and limbs. 
 With answerable pains, but more intense. 
 Though void of corporal sense. 
 
 My griefs not only pain me 
 As a lingering disease. 
 But, finding no redress, ferment and rage. 
 Nor less than wounds immedicable 
 Rankle, and fester, and gangrene. 
 To black mortification. 
 Thoughts my tormentors, arra'd with deadly stings>
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. S33 
 
 Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts. 
 
 Exasperate, cxulcerate, and raise 
 
 Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb 
 
 Or medicinal liquor can assuage, 
 
 Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp. 
 
 Sleep hath forsook and giv'n me o'er 
 
 To death-benumbing opium, as ray only cure: 
 
 Thence faintings, swoonings of despair. 
 
 And sense of Heav'n's desertion. 
 
 I was his nursling once, and choice delight. 
 His destin'd from the womb, 
 Promis'd by lieav'nly message twice descending. 
 Under his special eye 
 Abstemious I grew up and thriv'd amain ; 
 He led me on to mightiest deeds 
 Above the nerve of mortal arm 
 Against th' uncircumcis'd, our enemies : 
 But now hath cast me off as never known. 
 And to those cruel enemies. 
 Whom I by his appointment had provok'd, 
 I^eft me all helpless with the irreparable lois 
 Of sight, reser\''d alive to be repeated 
 The subject of their cruelty or scorn : 
 Nor am I in the list of them that hope ; 
 Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless; 
 This one prayer yet remains, might 1 be heard, 
 No long jjctition, speedy death. 
 The close of all ray miseries, and the balm. 
 
 Cnon. Many are the sayings of tlje wise 
 In ancient and in modern books inroH'd, 
 Extolling patience as the truest fortitude; 
 And to the bearing well of all calamities, 
 All chances incident to man's frail life, 
 ConsoliLiries writ 
 
 With study'd argimicnt, and much persuasion sought, 
 l/'nicnt of grief and anxious thought: 
 But with th' afflicted in his pangs their sound 
 Little prevails, or rather seems a tune 
 Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaiat ; 
 Unless he feel within 
 Some source of consolation from above, 
 r ()
 
 324 MILTON. 
 
 Secret refreshings, that repair his strength. 
 And fainting spirits uphold. 
 
 God of our fathers, what is man? 
 That thou towards him with hand so various. 
 Or might I say contrarious, 
 Texnper'st thy providence thro' this &hort course. 
 Nut ev'nly, as thou rul'st 
 Th' angeHc orders, and inferior creatures mute. 
 Irrational and brute. 
 
 Nor do I name of men that common rout, 
 Tliat, wand'ring loose about. 
 Grow up and perish as the summer flie. 
 Heads without name no more remember'd. 
 But such as thou hast solemnly elected, 
 "With gifts and graces eminently adorn'd 
 To some great work, thy glory. 
 And people's safety, which in part they' effect 
 Yet towards these thus dignify'd, thou oft 
 Amidst their height of noon 
 
 Changest thy count'nance and thy hand, with no regard 
 Of highest favours past 
 From thee on them, or them to thee of service. 
 
 Nor only dost degrade them, or remit 
 To life obscur d, which were a fair dismission. 
 But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt themhigh ; 
 Unseemly falls in human eye. 
 Too grievous for the trespass or omission ; 
 Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword 
 Of Heathen and profane, their carcasses 
 To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'dj 
 Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times. 
 And condemnation of th' ungrateful multitude. 
 ]f these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty 
 With sickness and disease, thou bows't them down. 
 Painful diseases and deform" d. 
 In crude old age ; 
 
 'I'ho' not disordinate, yet causeless suffering 
 The punishment of dissolute days : in fine. 
 Just or unjust alike seem miserable. 
 For oft alike both come to evil end. 
 
 So deal not with this once thy glorious champion.
 
 SAMSON AGOXISTES. 3m 
 
 The image of thy strength, and mighty minrster. 
 What do I beg ? how hast thou dealt already ? 
 Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn 
 His labours, for thou can'st, to peaceful end. 
 
 But who is this ? what thing of sea or land ? 
 Female of sex it seems. 
 That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay. 
 Comes this way sailing 
 Like a stately ship 
 Of Tarsus, bound for th' isles 
 Of Java n or Gadire, 
 
 With all her bravery on, and tackle trim. 
 Sails fill'd, and streamers waving, 
 Courted by all the winds that hold them play. 
 An amber scent of odorous perfume 
 Her harbinger, a damsel train behind ; 
 Some rich Philistian matron she may seem. 
 And now at nearer view, no other certain 
 Tlian Dalila tliy wife. 
 
 Sam. My wife, my traitress, let her not come near me. 
 
 Chok. Yet on she moves, now stands and eyes thee 
 fix'd, 
 About t' have spoke, but now, with head decHn'd 
 Like a fair flower surcharg'd with dew, she weeps. 
 And words address'd seem into tears dissolv'd. 
 Wetting the borders of her silken veil: 
 But now again she makes nddress to speak, 
 
 Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resolution 
 I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson, 
 Which to have merited, without excuse, 
 I cannot but acknowledge ; yet, if tears 
 May expiate (though the fact more evil drew 
 In the perverse event, than I foresaw) 
 My penance hath not slackend, tho" my pardon 
 No way assur'd. But conjugal affection 
 Prevailing over fear, and timorous doubt. 
 Hath led me on, desirous to behold 
 Once more thy face, and know of thy estate. 
 If aught in my ability may acne 
 To lighten what thou saitferst, and appeate 
 Thy mind with what amends i in my power.
 
 326 MILTON. 
 
 Though late, yet in some part to recompense 
 My rash, but more unfortunate misdeed. 
 
 Sam. Out, out hyaena; these are thy wonted arts. 
 And arts of every woman false like thee. 
 To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray. 
 Then as repentant, to submit, beseech. 
 And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse j 
 Confess, and promise wonders in her change ; 
 Not truly penitent, but chief to try 
 Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears. 
 His virtue or weakness which way to assail : 
 Then with more cautious and instructed skill 
 Again transgresses, and again submits. 
 That wisest and best men full oft beguil'd 
 With goodness principled not to reject 
 The penitent, but ever to forgive. 
 Are drawn to wear out miserable days, 
 
 Intangled with a pois'nous bosom snake. 
 If not by quick destruction soon cut off 
 
 As I by thee, to ages an example. 
 
 Dal. Yet hear me, Samson, not that I endeavour 
 
 To lessen or extenuate my offence, 
 
 3ut that on the other side if it be weigh'd 
 
 By* itself, with aggravations not surcharg'd. 
 
 Or else with just allowance counterpois'd, 
 
 I may if possible thy pardon find 
 
 The easier tow'rds me, or thy hatred less. 
 
 First granting, as 1 do, it was a weakness 
 
 In me, but incident to all our sex. 
 
 Curiosity, inquisitive, importune 
 
 Of secrets, then with like infirmity 
 
 To publish them, both common female faults : 
 
 Was it not weakness also to make known 
 
 For importunity, that is for naught. 
 
 Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety? 
 
 To what I did thou shewd'st me first the way. 
 
 But I to enemies reveal'd, and should not: 
 
 Nor should' st thou have trusted that to woman's frailty j 
 
 E'er I to tliee, thou to thyself wast cruel. 
 
 Let weakness then with w eakness come to parley. 
 
 So near related or the same of kind ,
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 32/ 
 
 Thine forgive mine, that men may censure thine 
 
 The gentler, if severely tliou exact not 
 
 More strength from me than in thyself was fovind. 
 
 And what if love, which thou interpret'st haste. 
 
 The jealousy of love, powerful of sway 
 
 In human hearts, nor less in mind tow'rds thee, 
 
 Caus'd what 1 did ? I saw thee mutable 
 
 Of fancy, fear d lest one day thou wouldst leave nM 
 
 As her at Timna j sought by all means therefore 
 
 How to indear, and hold thee to me firmest : 
 
 No better way I saw than by' importuning 
 
 To learn thy secrets, get into my power 
 
 I'he key of strength and safety : thou wilt say. 
 
 Why then reveal'd ? I was assur'd by those 
 
 Who tempted me that nothing was design'd 
 
 Against thee, but safe custody and hold : 
 
 That made for me ; I knew that liberty 
 
 Would draw thee forth to perilous enterprises, 
 
 While I at home sat full of cares and fears, 
 
 Wailing thy absence in my >*'idow'd bed : 
 
 Here 1 should still enjoy thee day and night 
 
 Mine and love's prisoner, not the Philistines, 
 
 Whole to myself, unhazarded abroad. 
 
 Fearless at home of partners in my love. 
 
 These reasons in love's law have past for good. 
 
 Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps ; 
 
 And love hath oft, well meaning, wrought much wo. 
 
 Yet always pity or pardon hath obtain'd. 
 
 Be not unlike all others, not austere 
 
 As thou art strong, inflexible as steel. 
 
 If thou in strength all mortals dost exceed, 
 
 In uncompassionate anger do not so. 
 
 Sam. How cunningly the sorceress displays 
 Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine ; 
 That nwlice not repentance brought thee hither. 
 By this appears : 1 gave, thou say'st, th' example, 
 I led the way : bitter reproach, but true; 
 I to myself was false e'er thou to me ; 
 Such pardon therefore as I give my folly. 
 Take to thy wicked deed ; which when thou Kert 
 Impartial, self>severe, inexorable.
 
 328 MILTON. 
 
 Thou wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather 
 
 Confess it feign'd : weakness is thy excuse. 
 
 And I believe it, weakness to resist 
 
 Philistian gold : if weakness may excuse. 
 
 What murderer, what traitor, parricide, 
 
 Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it ? 
 
 All wickedness is weakness : that plea therefore 
 
 With God or man will gain thee no remission. 
 
 But love constrain'd theej call it furious rage 
 
 To satisfy thy lust : love seeks to have love ; 
 
 My love how could'st thou hope, who took'st the way 
 
 To raise in me inexpiable hate. 
 
 Knowing, as needs I must, by tliee betray'd ? 
 
 In vain thou striv'st to cover shame with shame. 
 
 Or by evasions thy crime uncover' st more. 
 
 Dal. Since thou determin'st v/eakness for no plea 
 In man or woman, though to thy own condemning. 
 Hear what assaults I had, what snares besides. 
 What sieges girt me round, e'er I consented j 
 Which might have aw'd the best resolv'd of men. 
 The constantest, to have yielded without blame. 
 It was not gold, as to my charge thou lay'st. 
 That wrought with me : thou know'st the magistrates 
 And princes of my country came in person. 
 Solicited, commanded, threaten'd, urg'd. 
 Adjur'd by all the bonds of civil duty 
 And of religion, press'd how just it was. 
 How honourable, how glorious to intrap 
 A common enemy, who had destroy'd 
 Such numbers of our nation : and the priest 
 Was not behind, but ever at my ear, 
 I'reaching how meritorious with the gods 
 It would be to insnare an irreligious 
 Dishonourer ofDagon: what had I 
 To oppose against such powerful arguments? 
 Only my love of thee held long debate. 
 And combated in silence all these reasons 
 With hard contest : at length that grounded maxim 
 So rife and celebrated in the mouths 
 Of wisest men, that to the public good 
 Private respects must yield, with grave authority
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 32$ 
 
 Tcx)k full possession of me, and prevail d j 
 V irtue, as I thought, truth, duty so enjoining. 
 
 Sam. I thought where all thy circling %iles would 
 end J 
 In feign'd religion, smooth hypocrisy. 
 But had thy luve, still odiously pretended, 
 Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught thee 
 Far other reasonings , brought forth other de^U. 
 I before all the daughters of my tribe 
 And of my nation chose thee from among 
 My enemies, lov'd thee, as too well thou knew'it. 
 Too well, unbosom'd all my secrets to thee. 
 Not out of levity, but over-power'd 
 By thy request, who could deny thee nothing j 
 Yet now am judg'd an enemy. Why then 
 Didst thou at first receive me for thy husband. 
 Then, as since tlien, thy country's foe profes*d? 
 Being once a wife, for me tliou wast to leave 
 Parents and country ; nor was I their subject, 
 
 Nor under their protection, but my own ; 
 Thou mine, not theirs : if aught against my life 
 Thy country sought of tliee, it sought unjustly. 
 Against tlie law of nature, law of nations. 
 No more thy country, but an impious crew 
 Of men conspiring to uphold tlieir state 
 By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends 
 For which our country is a name so dear; 
 Not therefore to be obey'd. But zeal mov'd thee; . 
 To please thy gods thou didst it ; gods unable 
 I'o acquit themselves and prosecute their foes 
 But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction 
 Of their own deity, gods cannot be j 
 Less therefore to be pleas'd, obey'd, or fear'd. 
 These false pretexts and varnish'd colours failing. 
 Bare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear ! 
 
 Dal. In argument with men a woman ever 
 Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause. 
 
 Sam. For want of words no doubt, or lack of breath ; 
 Witness when i was worried with thy peals. 
 
 Dal. I was a fool, too rash, and, quite mi.stakcn 
 III what I thought would have succeeded best.
 
 330 MILTON. 
 
 Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson, 
 
 AiFord me place to shew what recompense 
 
 Towards thee I intend for v hat I have misdonc. 
 
 Misguided ; only what remains past cure 
 
 Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist 
 
 To afflict thyself in v^ain : though sight be lost. 
 
 Life yet hath many solaces, enjoy'd 
 
 Where other senses want not their delights 
 
 At home in leisure and domestic ease. 
 
 Exempt from many a care and chance to which 
 
 Eye-sight exposes daily men abroad. 
 
 r to the lords will intercede, not doubting 
 
 Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee 
 
 From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide 
 
 With me, where my redoubled love and care 
 
 With nursing diligence, to me glad office. 
 
 May ever tend about thee to old age. 
 
 With all things grateful cheer'd, and so supply'd. 
 
 That what by me thou hast lost thou least shall misa. 
 
 Sam. No, no, of my condition take no carej 
 It fits not ; thou and I long since are twain : 
 Nor think me so unwary or accurs'd 
 To bring my feet again into the snare 
 Where once I have been caught; I know thy traina 
 Though dearly to my cost, tliy gins, and toils j . 
 Thy fair inchanted cup, and warbling charms 
 No more on me have power, their force is nuU'd, 
 Sq much of adder's wisdom I have learn'd 
 To fence my ear against thy sorceries. 
 If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men 
 Lov'd, honour' d, fear'd me, thou alone couldst hate 
 
 me 
 Thy husband, slight me, sell me and forego me; 
 How wouldst thou use me now, blind, and thereby 
 Deceivable, in most things as a child 
 Helpless, thence easily contemn'd, and scorn'd. 
 And last neglected ? How wouldst thou insult. 
 When I must live uxorious to thy will 
 In perfect thraldom, how again betray me. 
 Bearing my words and doings to the lords 
 To gloss upon, and censuring, frown or smile ?
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 331 
 
 This jail I count the house of liberty 
 
 To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter. 
 
 Dal. Let nie approach at least, anU touch thy band. 
 
 Sam. Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance wake 
 My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. 
 At distance I forgive thee, go with that ; 
 }}ewail thy falsehood, and the pious works 
 It hath brought forth to make thee memorable 
 Atnong illustrious women, faitliful wives : 
 Cherish thy hastend widowhood witli the gold 
 Of matrimonial treason : so farewcl. 
 
 Dal. I see thou art implacable, more deaf 
 To prayers than winds and seas ; yet winds to teas 
 Are rcconcil'd at length, and sea to shore : 
 Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages, 
 I'.tcrual tempest never to be calm'd. 
 Why do I humble thus myself, and suing 
 For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate? 
 Jiid go wiili evU omen and the brand 
 Of infamy upon my name denounc'd ? 
 To mix with thy concernments I desist 
 Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. 
 Fame if not double fac'd is double mouth'd. 
 And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds | 
 On both his wings, one black, the other white, 
 Jkars greatest names in his wild air)' flight. 
 My name perhaps among the circumcis'd 
 In D:ui, in Judah, and the bordering tribes, 
 To all posterity may stand defam'd. 
 With malediction mcntion'd, and the blot 
 Of falsehood most unconjuc;al traduc'd : 
 liut in my country, where I most desire. 
 In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath, 
 1 shall be nam'd among the famousest 
 Of women, sung at solemn festivals, 
 Ijiving and dead recorded, who to save 
 Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose 
 Above the faith of wedlock-bands, my tomb 
 With odours visited and annual flowers ; 
 Not less renown'd than in Mount Ephraira 
 Jacl, who with inhospitable guile
 
 332 MILTON. 
 
 Smote Sicera sleeping through the temple nail'd. 
 
 Nor shall I count it heinous to enjoy 
 
 The public marks of honour and reward 
 
 Conferr'd upon me for the piety 
 
 Which to my country I was judg'd to have shewn. 
 
 At this who ever envies or repines, 
 
 I leave him to his lot, and like my own. 
 
 Chor. She's gone, a manifest serpent by her sting 
 Discover'd in the end, till now conceal'd. 
 
 Sam. So let her go ; God sent her to debase me. 
 And aggravate my folly, who committed 
 To such a viper his most sacred trust 
 Of secrecy, my safety, and my life. 
 
 Chor. Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange 
 power. 
 After offence returning, to regain 
 Love once possess'd, nor can be easily 
 Eepuls'd, without much inward passion felt 
 And secret sting of amorous remorse. 
 
 Sam, Love quarrels oft in pleasing concord endj 
 Not wedlock-treacher)' endang'ring life. 
 
 Chor. It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit. 
 Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit. 
 That woman's love can win or long inherit j 
 But what it is, hard is to say. 
 Harder to hit, 
 
 (Which way soever men refer it) 
 Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day 
 Or sev'n, though one should musing sit. 
 
 If any of these, or all, the Timnian bride 
 Had not so soon preferr'd 
 Thy paranymph, worthless to thee compar'd. 
 Successor in tliy bed. 
 Nor both so loosely disally'd 
 Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherously 
 Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head. 
 Is it for that such outward ornament 
 Was lavish'd on their sex, that inward gifts 
 Were left for haste unfinish'd, judgment scant,, 
 Capacity not rais'd to apprehend 
 Or value what is best
 
 SAMSON /VGONISTES. 333 
 
 In choice, but oftest to affect tlje wrong ? 
 
 Or was too much of self-love inix'd. 
 
 Of constancy no root infix'd. 
 
 That either they love nothing, or not long ? 
 
 Whate'er it be, to wisest men and best 
 Seeming at first all heav'nly under virgin veil. 
 Soft, modest, meek, demure. 
 Once join'd, the contrary she proves, a thorn 
 Intestine, far within defensive arms 
 A cleaving mischief, in his way to virtue 
 Adverse and turbulent, or by her charms 
 Draws him awry enslav'd 
 With dotage, and his sense deprav'd 
 To folly nni sliameful deeds which ruin ends. 
 What pilot so expert but needs must wreck 
 Imbark'd with such a steers-mate at the helm ? 
 
 Favour'd of Heav'n, who finds 
 One virtuous rarely found, 
 That in domestic gcxxl combines : 
 Happy thit house ! his way to peace is smooth : 
 lUit virtue, which breaks through all opposition. 
 And all temptation can remove. 
 Most shines and most is accepjable above. 
 
 Therefore Gal's universal law 
 Gave to the man despotic power 
 Over his female in due awe. 
 Nor from that right to part an hour. 
 Smile she or lour : 
 So shall lie least confusion draw 
 On his whole life, not sway'd 
 By female usurpation, or dismay 'd. 
 
 But had we best retire, 1 see a storm ? 
 
 San. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain. 
 
 CnoR. Hut this another kind of teni|H;st bring*. 
 
 S*M. Be less abstnise ; my riddlingdays are post. 
 
 Choh. I,-,x)k now for no inchanting voice, nor fear 
 The bait of honit d woriis ; a rougher tongue 
 Draws hithf-rward, I know him by his stride, 
 'J'lie giant Hirapha ofCiath; his look 
 I lauglity as is his pile high-built and proud. 
 Como> he in iK-acc ? what wind hath blown him hither
 
 334 MILTON. 
 
 I less conjecture than when first I saw 
 The sumptuous Dalilah floting this way : 
 His habit carries peace, his brow defiance. 
 
 Sam. Or peace or not, alike to me he comes. 
 
 Chor. His fraught we soon shall know 5 he no^ 
 arrives, 
 
 Har. I come not, Samson, to condole thy chance. 
 As these perhaps, yet wish it had not been. 
 Though for no friendly intent. I am of Gath, 
 Men call me Harapha, of stock renown'd 
 As Og or Anak and the Emmims old 
 That Kiriathaim held ; thou know'st me now 
 If thou at all art known. Much I have heard 
 Of thy prodigious might and feats perform'd 
 Incredible to me, in this displeas'd. 
 That I was never present on the place 
 Of those encounters, where we might have try'd 
 Each other's force in camp or listed field j 
 And now am come to see of whom such noise 
 Hath walk'd about, and each limb to survey. 
 If thy appearance answer loud report. 
 
 Sam. The way to know were not to see but taste. 
 
 Har. Dost thou already single me ? I thought 
 Gyves and the mill had tam'd thee. O that Fortune 
 Had brought me to the field, where thou art fam'd 
 To have wrought such wonders with an ass's jaw ; 
 I should have forc'd thee soon with other arms. 
 Or left thy carcase where the ass lay thrown : 
 So had the glory of prowess been recover'd 
 To Palestine, won by a Philistine, 
 From the unforeskinn'd race, of whom thou bear'st 
 The highest name for valiant acts ; that honour 
 Certain to have won by mortal duel from thee, 
 I lose, prevented by thy eyes put out. 
 
 Sam. Boast not of what thou would'st have done, 
 but do 
 What then thou would'st, thou seest it in thy hand. 
 
 Har. To combat with a blind man I disdain. 
 And thou hast need much washing to be touch'd. 
 
 Sam. Such usage as your honourable lords 
 Afford me assassinated and betray'd.
 
 SAMSON' AGONISTES. 33i 
 
 Who durst not with their whole united powen 
 In tight withstand me single and unarm'd. 
 Nor in the house with chamber ambushes 
 Close-banded durst attack me, no not sleeping. 
 Till they had hir'd a woman with their gold. 
 Breaking her marriage faith to circumvent me. 
 Therefore witliout feign'd shifts let be assign'd 
 Some narrow place enclos'd, where sight may give thee. 
 Or rather flight, no great advantage on me ; 
 Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet 
 And brigand ine of brass, tliy broad habergeon. 
 Vaunt-brass and greves, and ganntler, add thy spear, 
 A weaver's beam, and scven-times-folded shield ; 
 I only with an oaken staff will meet thee. 
 And raise sucli outcries on thy clatter'd iron. 
 Which long shall not witlihold from me thy head. 
 That in a little time wiulc breath remains ihcc. 
 Thou oft shalt wish thyself at Gath to boast 
 Again in safety what thou would'sl have done 
 I'i) Samson, but shalt never see Oath more. 
 
 Har. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms. 
 Which greatest heroes have in battle worn. 
 Their ornament ami safety, had not spells 
 And black inchantments, some Magician's art, 
 Arm'd thee or charm'd tliee strong, which thou from 
 
 Heav'n 
 Feign 'dst at thy birth was giv'n thee in thy hair, 
 Wlicre strength can least abide, though ail thy hairs 
 Were bristles ranc;'d like those tint ridge the back 
 Of chafd wild boars, or ruffled porcupines, 
 
 Sam. I know no spells, use no forbidden arts j 
 My trust is in the living God, who gave me 
 At my nativity this strength, ditl'us'd 
 No less through all my sinews, joints and bones, 
 Than thine, while I preserv'd these locks uiuboni. 
 The pledge of my unviolatetl vow. 
 lor proof hereof, if Dagon l)e thy god, 
 Go to his temple, invocato his aid 
 With solcmn'st devotion, spread before him 
 How highly it concerns his glory now 
 To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells.
 
 336 MILTON. 
 
 Which I to be the power of Israel's God 
 Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test. 
 Offering to combat thee his champion bold. 
 With th' utmost of his godhead seconded : 
 Then thou shalt see, or rather to thy sorrow 
 Soon feel, whose God is strongest, thine or mine. 
 
 Har. Presume not on thy God, whate'er he bej 
 Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off 
 Cluite from his people, and deliver d up 
 Into thy enemy's hand, permitted them 
 To put out both thine eyes, and fetter'd send thee 
 Into the common prison, there to grind 
 Among the slaves and asses thy comrades. 
 As good for nothing else, no better service 
 With those tliy boist'rous locks, no worthy match 
 For valour to assail, not by the sword 
 Of noble warrior, so to stain his honour. 
 But by the barber's razor best subdued. 
 
 Sam. All these indignities, for such they are 
 From thine, these evils I desen^e, and more. 
 Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me 
 Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon. 
 Whose ear is ever open, and his eye 
 Gracious to re-admit the suppliant: 
 In confidence whereof 1 once again 
 Defy thee to the trial of mortal fight. 
 By combat to decide whose god is God, 
 Thine, or whom I with Israel's sons adore. 
 
 Har. Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in tmsting 
 He will accept thee to defend his cause, 
 A murderer, a revolter, and a robber. 
 
 Sam. Tongue- doughty Giant, how dost thou prove 
 me these ? 
 
 Har. Is not thy nation subject to our lords ? 
 Their magistrates confess'd it, when they took thee 
 As a league-breaker and deliver'd bound 
 Into our hands : for hadst thou not committed 
 Notorious murder on those thirty men 
 At Ascalon, who never did thee harm. 
 Then like a robber stripp'dst them of their robes ? 
 The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 337 
 
 Went up with armed powers thee only seeking. 
 To others did no violence, nor spoil. 
 
 Sam. Among the daughters of the Philistine* 
 I chose a wife, which argued me no focj 
 And in your city held my nuptial feast: 
 But your ill-meaning politician lords. 
 Under prrtcnce of bridal friends and guests. 
 Appointed to await me thirty spies, 
 AVho, threat'ning cruel death, constraiii'd the bride 
 To wring from me, and tell to them my secret. 
 That solv'd the riddle which I had propos'd. 
 When I percciv'd all set on enmity. 
 As on my enemies, where%*er chanc'd, 
 1 us'd hostility, and took their spoil 
 'I'o pay my underminers in their coin ; 
 My nation was subjected to your lords. 
 It was the force of conquest ; force with force 
 Is well ejected when the conqucr'd can. 
 But I a private pers*)n, whom my country 
 A a kague-breakcr gave up bound, presum'd 
 Single rebellion, and did hostile acts. 
 ] was no private, but a person rais'd 
 With strength sufficient and command from Heav'n, 
 To free my country; if their servile minds 
 Ale their deliverer sent would not receive. 
 But to their master* gave me up for nought, 
 Th" unworthier they ; whence to this day they serve, 
 I was to do my part from Heav'n assign d. 
 And had perform'd it, if my known ofl'ence 
 Had not disabled me, not all your force : 
 These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant, 
 'i'hough by his blindness maim'd for high attempts. 
 Who now defies thee thrice to single fight. 
 As a petty enterprize of small enforce. 
 
 Har. With thee a man condemn'd, a slave enroU'd, 
 Due by the law to capital punikhnu>nt ; 
 To fight with thee no man of arms will deign. 
 
 Sam. Camst thou for this, vaiii boaster, to surrry 
 me. 
 To descant on my strength, and give thy verdict ? 
 Come nearer, jiart not hctu:e so slight iuform'd ; 
 
 VOL. I. tt
 
 338 MILTON. 
 
 But take good heed my hand survey not fliee. 
 
 Har. O Baal-zebub ! can my ears unus'd 
 Hear these dishonours, and not render death ? 
 
 Sam. No man witliholds thee, nothing from thy 
 hand 
 Fear 1 incurable ; bring up thy van ; 
 ]Vjy heels are fetterd, but my fist is free. 
 
 Har. This insolence other kind of answer fits. 
 
 Sam. Go baflflied coward, lest I run upon thee 
 Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast. 
 And with one buffet lay thy structure low. 
 Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down 
 To th' hazard of thy brains and shatter d sides. 
 
 Har. By Astaroth, e'er long thou shalt lament 
 These braveries in irons loaden on thee. 
 
 Chor. His Giantship is gone somewhat crest fall'n. 
 Stalking with less unconscionable strides, \ 
 
 And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe. 
 
 Sam. I dread him not, nor all his giant-broody 
 Though Fame divulge him father of five sons,-: 
 All of gigantic size, Goliath chief. >* 
 
 Chor. He will directly to the lords, I fear. 
 And with malicious counsel stir them up 
 . Some way or other yet further to afflict thee. 
 
 Sam. He must allege some cause, and ofFer'd fight 
 Will not dare mention, lest a question rise 
 Whether he durst accept th' offer or not ; 
 And that he durst not, plain enough appear 'd. 
 Much more afifliction than already felt 
 They cannot well impose, nor I sustain. 
 If they intend advantage of my labours. 
 The work of many hands, which earns my keepin<3r 
 With no small profit daily to my owners. 
 But come what will, my deadliest foe will prove 
 My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence. 
 The worst that he can give, to me the best. 
 Yet so it may fall out, because their end 
 Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine 
 Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed. 
 
 Chor. O how comely it is, and how reviving 
 .^o the spirits of just men long oppress'd.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 339 
 
 When God into tlie bands of their deliverer 
 
 Puts invincible might 
 
 To quell the mighty of the earth, th* oppressor. 
 
 The brute and boist'rous force of violent men 
 
 Hardy and industrious to support 
 
 Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue 
 
 l1ie righteous and all such as honour irutii j 
 
 He all their ammunition 
 
 And feats of war defeats, 
 
 %Vith plain heroic magnitude of mind 
 
 And celestial vigour arm'd. 
 
 Their armories and magazities contemns. 
 
 Renders tliem useless, while. 
 
 With winged expedition. 
 
 Swift as the lightning glance he executes 
 
 His errand on the wicked, who surpris'd 
 
 Lose their defence, distracted and an)az'd. 
 
 But patience is moie nit the exercise 
 Of saints, the trial of tluir fortitude. 
 Making them each his own deliverer, 
 And victor over all 
 That Tyranny of Fortune can inflict. 
 Either of these is in thy lot, 
 Samson, with might endued 
 Above the sons ot men ; but siglit bereav'd 
 May chance to numb; r thee with those 
 "Whom patience finally must crown. 
 
 This idol's day hath been to thee no day ofr est, 
 labouring thy mind 
 More than the working day thy hands. 
 And yet perhaps more trouble is behind. 
 For I descry this way 
 Some other tending, in his hnnd 
 A sceptre or quaint statl' he bears, 
 Comes on amain, speed in his look. 
 By his habit I discern him now 
 A public officer, and now at hand. 
 His message will be short and voluble. 
 
 Op. Hebrews, the pris'ner Samsnn here I seek. 
 
 CiiOR. His manacles reujark him, there he sits. 
 
 Of. barason, to thee our lords thus bid me say t 
 o 2
 
 340 MILTON. 
 
 This daj' to Dagon is a solemn feast. 
 With sacrifices, triumph^ pomp, and games ; 
 Thy strength they know surpassing human rate. 
 And now some public proof thereof require 
 To honour this great feast, and great assembly j 
 Eise therefore with all speed and come along, 
 "Where I will see thee hearten'd and fresh clad 
 To appear as fits before th' illustrious lords. 
 
 Sam. Thou know'st I am an Hebrew, therefore tell 
 them 
 Our law forbids at their religious rites 
 My presence J for that cause I cannot come. 
 
 Of. This answer, be assur'd will not content them, 
 
 Sam. Have they not sword-players, and every sort 
 Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners, 
 Jugglers and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics. 
 But they must pick me out with shackles tir'd, 
 And over-labour'd at their public mill 
 To make them sport with blind activity ? 
 Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels 
 On my refusal to distress me more. 
 Or make a game of my calamities ? 
 lieturn the way thou cam'st^ J will not come. 
 
 Of. Regard thyself 3 this will oflend them highly. 
 
 Sam. Myself? my conscience and internal peace. 
 Can they think me so broken, so debas'd 
 With corporal servitude, that my mind ever 
 Will condescend to such absurd commands j 
 Although their drudge, to be their fool or jester, 
 -And in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief 
 To shew them feats, and play before their god. 
 The worst of all indignities, yet on me 
 Join'd with extreme contempt ? I will not come. 
 
 Of. My message was impos'd on me with speed. 
 Brooks no delay : is this thy resolution ? 
 
 Sam. So take it with what speed thy message needs. 
 
 Of. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce. 
 
 Sam. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed. 
 
 Chuh. Consider, Samson, matters now are strain'd 
 Up to the height, whether to hold or break j 
 He's goncj and who knows how he may report
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. ' Ml 
 
 Thy words, by adding fuel to the flame ? 
 Expect another message more imperious,. 
 More lordly thund'ring than thou well wilt bear. 
 
 Sam, bhall I abuse this consecrated gift 
 Of strengtli, again returning with my hair 
 After my great transgression, so requite 
 Favour renew'd, and add a greater sin 
 By prostituting holy things to idols ; 
 A Nazarite in place abominable. 
 Vaunting my strength in honour to their Dagon ? 
 Besides, how vile, contemptible, ridiculous. 
 What act more execrably unclean, profane ? 
 
 Chor. Yet with thi* strength thou scrv'st the Phi- 
 listines, 
 Idolaters, imcircunrKis'd, unclean. 
 
 Sam. Not in their idol-worship, but by labour 
 Honest and lawful to deserve my food 
 Of those who have me in their civil power. 
 
 Cuos. Where the heart joins not, outward acts de.ll* 
 not. 
 
 Sam. Where outward force constrains, the sentence 
 holds ; 
 But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, 
 Not dragging? the Philistian lords command. 
 Commands are no constraints. If I obey them, 
 I do it freely, vent'ring to displease 
 God for the fear of man, and man prefer. 
 Set God behind : which in his jealousy 
 Shall never unrepented, find forgiveness. 
 Yet that he may dispense with me or thee 
 Present in temples at idolatrous rites 
 For some important cause, tliou need'st not dmibt. 
 
 CuoR. How thou wilt here come off surmounts my 
 reach. 
 
 Sam. Be of g(x>d courage ; I begin to feel 
 Svime rousing motions in me, which dispose 
 To something extraordinary my thoughts. 
 1 with this messenger will go along, 
 Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour 
 Our law, or 8t;iin my vow of Nazarite. 
 If there be aught of presage in the mind, 
 u3
 
 ^42 MILTON. 
 
 This day will be remarkable in my life 
 By some great act, or of my days the last. 
 
 Chor, In time thou hast resolv'd j the man returns. 
 
 Of, Samson, this second message from our lord* 
 To thee I am bid say. Art thou our slave. 
 Our captive, at the public mill our drudge. 
 And dar'st thou at our sending and command 
 Dispute thy coming? come without delay j 
 Or we shall find such engines to assail 
 And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force, 
 Though thou wert firmlier fasten'd than a rock. 
 
 Sam. I could be well content to try their art. 
 Which to no few of them would prove pernicious. 
 Yet knowing their advantages too many. 
 Because they shall not trail me through their streets 
 Like a wild beast, I am content to go. 
 Masters' commands come with a power retistless 
 To such as owe them absolute subjection ; 
 And for a life who will not change his purpose ? 
 (So mutable are all the ways of men) 
 Yet this be sure, in noticing to comply 
 Scandalous, or forbidden in our law. 
 
 Of, j praise thy resolution : doff these links) 
 By this compliance thou wilt win the lords 
 To favour, and perhaps to set thee free. 
 
 Sam. Brethren fare wel ; your company along 
 I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them 
 To see me girt with friends j and how the sight 
 Of me as of a common enemy. 
 So dreaded once, may now exasperate them, 
 I know not : lords are lordliest in their wine ; 
 And the well-feasted priest then soonest fir'd 
 With zeal, if aught religion seem'd concern d j 
 Ko less the people on their holy-days 
 Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable : 
 Happen what may, of me expect to hear 
 Nothing dishonourable, impure, unworthy 
 Our God, our law, my nation, or myself. 
 The last of me or no I cannot warrant. 
 
 CnoR. Go, and the Holy One 
 Of Israel be thy guide 
 To what may serve his glory best, and spread his name
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 848 
 
 Great among the Heathen round ; 
 
 Send thee the angel of thy birth, to stand 
 
 Fast by thy side, who from thy fatlier's field 
 
 Rode up in flames, after his message told 
 
 Of thy conception, and be now a shield 
 
 Of fire; that Spirit that first nuh'd on thee 
 
 In the camp of Dan 
 
 Be efficacious in thee now at need. 
 
 For never was from Hcav'n imparted 
 
 Measure of strength so great to mortal scetl, 
 
 As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen. 
 
 lint wherefore comes old Manoah in such haste. 
 
 With youthful steps ? much livelier tlian erewbile 
 
 He seems : supposing here to find his son. 
 
 Or of him bringing to us some glad news ? 
 
 Man. Peace with you, brethren; my inducement 
 hither 
 Was not at present here to find my son, 
 By order of the lords new parted hence 
 To come and play before them at their feast. 
 I heard all as I came ; the city rings. 
 And numbers thither flock ; I had no will, 
 I/est I should see him forc'd to things unseemly. 
 But that which mov'd my coming now was chiefly 
 To give ye part with me what hope I liave 
 With good success to work his libierty. 
 
 Choh. Tliat hope would much rejoice us to partake 
 With tljee : say, reverend Sire ; we thirst to hear. 
 
 Man. I have attempted one by one the Lords, 
 Either at home or through tlie high street passing. 
 With supplication prone, and father's tears. 
 To accept of ransom for my son, their pris'iier. 
 Some much averse I found, and wondrous harsh, 
 C'ontemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite; 
 That part most reverenc'd Dagon and hiu j)rifst ; 
 Others more moderate seeming, but their aim 
 I*rivate reward, for which both God and stale 
 They easily would set to sale: a third, 
 More generous far and civil, who confew'd 
 They had enough reveng'd, having reduc J 
 Their foe to mi*cr)' beneath their fears.
 
 344 MILTON. 
 
 The rest was magnamity to remit. 
 
 If some convenient ransom were propos'd. 
 
 What noise or shout was that ? it tore the sky. 
 
 Chor. Doubtless the people shouting to behold 
 Their once great dread, captive and blind before them. 
 Or at some proof of strength before them shewn. 
 
 Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritance 
 May compass it, shall willingly be paid 
 And number'd down : much rather I shall choose 
 To live the poorest in my tribe, than richest. 
 And he in that calamitous prison left. 
 No, I am fix'd not to part hence without him. 
 For his redemption all my patrimony. 
 If need be, I am ready to forego 
 And quit : not wanting him, 1 shall want nothing. 
 
 Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for tlieir sons. 
 Thou for thy son are bent to lay out all : 
 Sons wont to nurse their parents in old age. 
 Thou in old age car'st how to nurse thy son. 
 Made older than thy age through eye-sight lost. 
 
 Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes. 
 And view him sitting in the house, ennobled 
 With all those high exploits by him achiev'd. 
 And on his shoulders waving down those locks. 
 That of a nation arm'd the strength contain'd : 
 And I persuade me God had not permitted 
 His strength again to grow up with his hair 
 Garrison'd round about him like a camp 
 Of faithful soldiery, were not his purpose 
 To use him further yet in some great service. 
 Not to sit idle with so great a gift 
 Useless, and thence ridiculous about him. 
 And since his strength with eye-sight was not lost, 
 God will restore him eye-sight to his strength. 
 
 Chor. Thy hopes are not ill founded, nor seem vain. 
 Of his delivery, and the joy thereon 
 Conceiv'd, agreeable to a fathers love. 
 In both which we, as next, participate. 
 
 Man. I know your friendly minds, and O what 
 noise ! 
 Mercy of Heav'n, what hideous noise was that ! 
 Horribly loud, unlike the former shout.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 345 
 
 Cmoe. Notse call you it, or universal groan, 
 As if the whole inliabiiation perish'd ! 
 Blood, death, aud deathful deeds, are in tliat noise, 
 lluin, destruction at the utmost point. 
 
 Man. Of ruin indeed, methought I heard the noise: 
 Oh it continues ; they have slain my son. 
 
 CiiOR. Thy son is rather slaying them, that outcry 
 I'roin slaughter of one foe could not ascend. 
 
 Man. Some disuul accident it needs mut bej 
 ^Vllat shall we do, stay here or run and sec ? 
 
 Chok. Best keep together here, lest running thithei 
 Wc unawares rmi into Danger's moutli. 
 Ihis evil on the Philistines is fall'n ; 
 From whom could else a general cry be heard ? 
 The sufferer's then will scarce molest us here. 
 From other hands we need not much to fear. 
 What if his eye-sight (for to Israel's God 
 Noiliing is hard) by miracle restor'd. 
 He now be dealing dole among bis foes. 
 And over heaps of slaughtcr'd walk his way } 
 
 Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thought, 
 
 Chor. Yet Gotl hath wrought things as incredible, 
 Vor his people of old j what binders now ? 
 
 Man. He can I know, but doubt to think be will) 
 Yet hope would fain subscribe, and tempts belief. 
 A little stay will bring some notice hither. 
 
 Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner> 
 For evil news rides post, while good news baits. 
 And to our wish I see one hither speeding. 
 An Hebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. 
 
 Mes. O whither shall I run, or which way Hy 
 The sight of this so horrid spectacle. 
 Which erst my eyes beheld, and yet behold? 
 For dire imagination still pursues me. 
 But Providence or instinct of nature seems. 
 Or reason though disturb'd, and scarce consulted. 
 To have guided me ariglit, I know not how, 
 To thee first reverend Klanoah, and to these 
 My countrymen, whom here I knew remaining. 
 As at some distance from the place of horror, 
 So in the sad event too much conccni d.
 
 345 MILTON. 
 
 Man. The accident was loud, and here before thee 
 With rueful cry, yet what it was we hear not ; 
 No preface needs, thou sees't we long to know. 
 
 Mes, It would burst forth, but I recover breath 
 
 nd sense distract, to know well what I utter. 
 
 Man. Tell us the sum; the circumstance defer. 
 
 Mes. Gaza yet stands, but all her sons are fall'n. 
 All in a moment overwhelm'd and fall'n. 
 
 Man. Sadj but thou know'st to Israelites not 
 saddest. 
 The desolation of a hostile city. 
 
 Mes. Feed on that first, there may in grief b6 
 surfeit. 
 
 Man. Relate by whom. 
 
 Mes. By Samson. 
 
 Man. That still lessens 
 The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy. 
 
 Mes. Ah, Manoah, I refrain too suddenly 
 To utter what will come at last too soon ^ 
 Lest evil tidings with too rude irruption 
 Hitting thy aged ear should pierce too deep, 
 
 Man. Suspense in news is torture ; speak them out, 
 
 Mes. Take then the worst in briefj Samson is dead. 
 
 Man. The worst indeed, O all my hopes defeated 
 To free him hence ! but Death, who sets all free. 
 Hath paid his ransom now, and full discharge, 
 "What windy joy this day had I conceiv'd. 
 Hopeful of his delivery, which now proves 
 Abortive as the first born bloom of Spring 
 Nipt with the lagging rear of Winter's frost ! 
 Yet e'er I give the reins to grief, say first 
 How dy'd he ? death to life is crown or shame. 
 All by him fell thou say'st; by whom fell he ? 
 What glorious hand gave Samson his death's wound ? 
 
 Mes. Unwounded of his enemies he fell. 
 
 Man. Weared with slaughter then, or how ? ex- 
 plain. 
 
 Mes. By his own hands. 
 
 Man. Self-violence ? what cause 
 Brought him so soon at variance with himself. 
 Among his foes ? 
 
 Mes. Inevitable cause
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. $4/ 
 
 At once both to destroy and be destroy 'd ; 
 The edifice, where all were met to see him. 
 Upon their heads, and on his own he pull'd. 
 
 Man. O lastly overstrong against thyself I 
 A dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge. 
 More than enough we know ; but while things yet 
 Are in confusion, give us, if thou c;?nst. 
 Eye-witness of what first or last was done, 
 llclation more particular and distinct. 
 
 Mes. Occasions drew me early to this city; 
 And as the gates I enter'd with sim-rise. 
 The morning trumpets festival proclaim'd 
 Through each high street; little I bad dispatch'd, 
 ^Vhen aU abroad was rumour'd that this day 
 Samson should be brought forth to shew the people 
 Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games. 
 I sorrow'd at his captive state, but minded 
 Not to be absent at that spectacle. 
 The building was a spacious theatre. 
 Half-round, on two main pillars vaulted high. 
 With scats, where all the lords, and each degree 
 Of sort might sit in order to behold ; 
 I'lie otlier side was open, where the throng 
 On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; 
 I among these aloof obscurely stood. 
 The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice 
 Had fill'd their hearts widi mirth, high cheer, and 
 
 wine. 
 When to their sports tiiey tuni'd. Immediately 
 Was Samson as a public servant brought, 
 In their state livery clad ; before him pipes 
 And timbrels, on each side went armed giurds. 
 Both horse and foot, before him and behind 
 Archers, and slingers, cataphracts and spears. 
 At sight of him the people wiih a shout 
 Jlifted the air, clamouring their gcxi with praise. 
 Who had made their dreadful enemy their ihniU. 
 Hi* patient, but undaunted where tlK:y led him, 
 C.i;ne to the place, and what was set before him, 
 Wliich without help of eye might be assay'd 
 I'o heave, pull, draw, or break, he still perfonii'd
 
 348 MILTON. 
 
 All with incredible, stupendous force. 
 
 None daring to appear antagonist. 
 
 At length for intermission sake they led him. 
 
 Between the pillars, he his guide requested 
 
 (For so from such as nearer stood we heard) 
 
 As overtir'd to let him lean a while 
 
 With both his arms on those two massy pillars, 
 
 That to the arched roof gave main support. 
 
 He unsuspicious led him ; which when Samson 
 
 Felt in his arms, with head awhile inclin'd. 
 
 And eyes fast fix'd he stood, as one who pray'd. 
 
 Or some greater matter in his mind revolv'd : 
 
 At last with head erect thus cry'd aloud, 
 
 Hitherto, Lords, what your commands impos'd 
 
 I have perform'd, as reason was obeying. 
 
 Not without wonder or delight beheld : 
 
 Now of my own accord such other trial 
 
 I mean to shew you of my strength, yet greater. 
 
 As with amaze shall strike all who behold. 
 
 This utter'd, straining all his nerves he bow'd. 
 
 As with the force of winds and waters pent. 
 
 When mountains tremble ; those two massy pillars. 
 
 With horrible convulsions, to and fro 
 
 He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came, and 
 
 Drew the whole roof after them, with burst of thunder. 
 
 Upon the heads Oi^aW who sat beneath ; 
 
 Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests. 
 
 Their choice nobilit}', and flower, not only 
 
 Of this but each Philistian city round. 
 
 Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. 
 
 Samson with these immix'd, inevitably 
 
 PuU'd down the same destruction on himself j 
 
 The vulgar only scap'd who stood without. 
 
 Choe. *0 dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious f 
 Living or dying thou hast fulfill'd 
 The work for which thou wast foretold 
 To Israel, and now ly'st victorious 
 Among thy slain, self-kill'd, 
 Not willingly, but tangled in the fold 
 Of dire necessity, whose law in death conjoin'd
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. S49 
 
 Thee with thy slaughter'd foes in number more sablime 
 Than all tliy life bath slain before. 
 
 1. Semichor. While their hearts were jocund, and 
 Drunk with idolatr)', drunk with wine. 
 
 And fat regorg'd of bulls and goats, 
 
 Chaunting their idol, and preferring 
 
 Before our living dread, who dwells 
 
 In Silo, his bright sanctuary : 
 
 Among them he a sp'rit of phrenzy sent. 
 
 Who hurt their minds. 
 
 And urg'd them on with mad desire 
 
 To call in haste for their destroyer j 
 
 They, only set on sport and play, 
 
 Unweetingly importun'd 
 
 Their own destnKtion to come speedy upon them. 
 
 So fond arc mortal men 
 
 Fall'n into wrath divine. 
 
 As tlicir own ruin on themselves to invite. 
 
 Insensate left, or to sense reprobate. 
 
 And with blindness internal struck. 
 
 2. Semichor. fiut he, though blind of sigb^ 
 Despis'd, and thought extinguisb'd quite. 
 With inward eyes Hluminated, 
 
 His tiery virtue rous'd 
 
 From under ashes into sudden flame. 
 
 And as an e>'ening dragon came. 
 
 Assailant on the perched roosts. 
 
 And nests in order rang"d 
 
 Of tame villatic fowl } but as an eagle 
 
 His cloudless thunder bolted ou their hcadl. 
 
 So virtue giv'n for lost, 
 
 Depress'd, and overthrown, as secm'd. 
 
 Like that self-begotten bird. 
 
 In the Arabian wo<xls inibost. 
 
 That no second knows nor third. 
 
 And lay erewhile a holocaust. 
 
 From out licr ashy womb now tecm'd. 
 
 Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous m<t 
 
 When most unactive decm'd, 
 
 And thougli her btxiy die, her fame sunives 
 
 A secular bird ages of lives. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 350 MILTON. 
 
 Man. Come, come, no time for lamentation now, 
 ISior much more cause; Samson hath quit himself 
 Like Samson, and heroicly hath finish'd 
 A lite heroic ; on his enemies 
 Fully reveng'd, hath left them years of mourning. 
 And lamentation to the Sons of Caphtor 
 Through all Philistian bounds, to Israel 
 Honour hath left, and freedom, let but them 
 Find courage to lay hold on this occasion ; 
 To' himself and father's house eternal fame. 
 And which is best and happiest yet, all this 
 With God not parted from him, as was fear'd. 
 But favouring and assisting to the end. 
 Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail 
 Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt. 
 Dispraise or blame, nothing but well and fair. 
 And what may quiet us in a death so noble. 
 Let us go find the body where it lies 
 Soak'd iu his enemies' blood, and from the stream 
 With layers pure, and cleansing herbs wash off 
 The clotted gore. I with wiiat speed the while 
 (Gaza is not in plight to say us nay) 
 Will send for all my kindred, all my friends. 
 To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend 
 With silent obsequy, and funeral train. 
 Home to his father's house : there will I build hira 
 A monument, and plant it round with shade 
 Of laurel ever green, and branching palm. 
 With all his trophies hung, and acts inroli'd 
 In copious legend, or sweet lyric song. 
 Thither shall all the valiant youth resort. 
 And from his memory inflame their breasts 
 To matchless valour, and adventures high : 
 The virgins also shall on feastful days 
 Vi.sit his tomb with flow'rs, only bewailing 
 liis lot unfortunate in nuptial choice. 
 From whence captivity and loss of eyes. 
 
 Chor. All is best, though we oft doubt 
 What th' unsearchable dispose 
 Of highest Wisdom brings about. 
 And ever best found in the close.
 
 SAMSON AGONISTES. 831 
 
 Oft he seems to hide his face. 
 
 But unexpectedly returns, 
 
 And to his faithful champion hath in place 
 
 Bore witness gloriously ; whence Gaza nooorn^ 
 
 And all that band them to resist 
 
 His uncontrolbble intent } 
 
 His sen'ants he with new acquist 
 
 Of true experience from this great event. 
 
 With peace and consolation hath dismist. 
 
 And calm of mind all passions spent. 
 
 END OV THB FIBST VOLVMB. 
 
 ERRATUM, 
 r. jio, 1. 3. In lome copifs, for net tm, red f un. 
 
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