7/6/2007

Harvard Classics

Harvard Classics, Volume IV

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John Milton

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Complete Poems

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Introductory Note

AMONG English men of letters there is none whose life and work stand in more intimate relation with the history of his times than those of Milton. Not only was he for a long period immersed in political controversy and public business, but there are few of his important works which do not become more significant in the light of contemporary events, and in turn help the understanding of these events themselves. It is evidence of this intimate relation, that the periods into which his life naturally falls coincide with the periods into which English history in the seventeenth century divides itself. The first of these extends from Milton’s birth to his return from Italy, and corresponds with that period in the reigns of James I and Charles I during which the religious and political differences which culminated in the Civil War were working up to a climax. The second ends with his retirement into private life, in 1660, and coincides with the period of the Civil War and the Commonwealth. The third closes with his death in 1674, and falls within the period of the Restoration.

John Milton was born in Bread Street, London, on the ninth of December, 1608. He was the son of John Milton, a prosperous scrivener (i. e., attorney and law-stationer), a man of good family and considerable culture, especially devoted to music. In the education of the future poet the elder Milton was exceptionally generous. From childhood he destined him for the Church, and the preparation begun at home was continued at St. Paul ’s School and at Cambridge. We have abundant evidence that the boy was from the first a quick and diligent student, and the late study to which he was addicted from childhood was the beginning of that injury to his eyes which ended in blindness. He entered Christ’s College, Cambridge, in 1625, took the degree of B.A. in 1629, and that of M.A. in 1632, when he left the University after seven years’ residence. But the development of affairs in the English Church had overturned his plans, and the interference of Laud with freedom of thought and preaching among the clergy led Milton “to prefer a blameless silence before the sacred office of speaking bought with servitude and forswearing.” So he retired to his father’s house at Horton in Buckinghamshire, and devoted the next six years to quiet study and the composition of a few poems.

In 1638 Milton set out on a journey to Italy. After some days in Paris, he passed on by way of Nice to Genoa, Leghorn, Pisa, and Florence, in which last city he spent about two months in the society of wits and men of letters. After two months more spent in Rome, he visited Naples, and had intended to cross to Sicily and go thence to Greece, when rumors of civil war in England led him to turn his face homeward, “inasmuch,” he says, “as I thought it base to be traveling at my ease for intellectual culture while my countrymen at home were fighting for liberty.” His writings produced abroad were all in Italian or Latin, and seem to have brought him considerable distinction among the Italian men of letters whom he met.

Yet Milton did not plunge rashly into the political conflict. After he returned from the Continent, the household at Horton was broken up, and he went to London to resume his studies, and decide on the form and subject of his great poem. Part of his time was occupied in teaching his two nephews, and afterward he took under his care a small number of youths, sons of his friends. In 1643 he married Mary Powell, the daughter of an Oxfordshire Royalist. In about a month she left him and remained away for two years, at the end of which time she sought and obtained a reconciliation. She died in 1653 or 1654, leaving him three little daughters.

The main occupation of his first years in London was controversy. Liberty was Milton ’s deepest passion, and in liberty we sum up the theme of his prose writings. There are “three species of liberty,” he says, “which are essential to the happiness of social life—religious, domestic, and civil,” and for all three he fought. His most important prose works may, indeed, be roughly classed under these heads: under religious, his pamphlets against Episcopacy; under domestic, his works on Education, Divorce, and the Freedom of the Press; under civil, his controversial writings on the overthrow of the monarchy. In all of these he strove for freedom and toleration; and when England became a Republic, he became officially associated with the new government as Secretary of Foreign Tongues, in which capacity he not only conducted its foreign correspondence, but also acted as its literary adviser and champion in the controversies by pamphlet that arose in connection with the execution of the King and the theory of the Commonwealth. It was in the midst of these activities that a great calamity overtook him. The defence of the late King had been undertaken by the famous Dutch Latinist Salmasius in a “Defensio Regis,” and to Milton fell the task of replying to it. His eyesight, weakened even in childhood by overstudy, was now failing fast, and he was warned by physicians that it would go altogether if he persisted in this work. But to Milton the fight he had entered on was no mere matter of professional employment as it was to his opponent, and he deliberately sacrificed what remained to him of light in the service of the cause to which he was devoted. The reply was a most effective one, but it left Milton hopelessly blind. With the aid of an assistant, however, he retained his office through the Protectorate of Cromwell, until the eve of the Restoration.

Oliver Cromwell died in 1658, his son Richard succeeded him for a short time, and in 1660 Charles II was restored to the throne. To the last Milton fought with tremendous earnestness against this catastrophe. For, to him, it was indeed a catastrophe. The return of the Stuarts meant to him not only great personal danger, but, what was far more important, it meant the overthrow of all that he had for twenty years spent himself to uphold. It meant the setting up in government, in religion, and in society, of ideals and institutions that he could not but regard as the extreme of reaction and national degradation. Almost by a miracle he escaped personal violence, but he was of necessity forced into obscure retirement; and there, reduced in fortune, blind, and broken-hearted, he devoted himself to the production of “Paradise Lost” and “Paradise Regained.” The great schemes which in his early manhood he had planned and dreamed over had for years been laid aside; but now at last he had a mournful leisure, and with magnificent fortitude he availed himself of the opportunity.

“Paradise Lost” had been begun even before the King’s return; in 1665 it was finished, and in 1667 the first edition appeared. “Paradise Regained” and “Samson Agonistes” were published in 1671.

In 1657 Milton ’s second wife, Catherine Woodcock, had died. For about seven years after, he lived alone with his three daughters, whom he trained to read to him not merely in English, but in Latin, Greek, Italian, French, Spanish, and Hebrew, though they did not understand a word of what they read. What little we know of their relations to their father is not pleasant. They seem to have been rebellious and undutiful, though doubtless there was much provocation. In 1663 Milton took a third wife, Elizabeth Minshull, who did much to give ease and comfort to his last years, and who long survived him.

The retirement in which he lived during this third period, when public affairs seemed to him to have gone all wrong, was not absolutely solitary. The harshness that appears in his controversial writings, and the somewhat unsympathetic austerity that seems to be indicated by his relations with his first wife and his children, are to be counterbalanced in our minds by the impression of companionableness that we derive from the picture of the old blind poet, sought out by many who not merely admired his greatness, but found pleasure in his society, and counted it a privilege to talk with him and read to him. Stern and sad he could hardly fail to be, but his old age was peaceful and not bitter. He died on November 8, 1674, and was buried in the Church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, London.

In spite of Milton ’s association with the Puritan party in the political struggles of his time, the common habit of referring to him as “the Puritan Poet” is seriously misleading. The Puritans of the generation of Milton’s father were indeed often men of culture and love of the arts, but the Puritans of the Civil War, the Puritans whom we think of to-day in our ordinary use of the term, were, in general, men who had not only no interest in art, but who regarded beauty itself as a temptation of the evil one. Even a slight study of Milton ’s works will convince the reader that to this class Milton could never have belonged. Side by side with his love of liberty and his enthusiasm for moral purity—qualities in which even then the Puritans had no monopoly—Milton was passionately devoted to beauty; and the reason why his work survives to-day is not because part of it expresses the Puritan theology, but because of its artistic qualities—above all because it is at once more faultless and more nobly sustained in music than that of any other English poet.

Poems Written at School and at College, 1624—1632

On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity

(1629)

I

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn,

Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King,

Of wedded maid and Virgin Mother born,

Our great redemption from above did bring;

For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release,

And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

II

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,

And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,

Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside, and, here with us to be,

Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

III

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant God—

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,

To welcome him to this his new abode,

Now while the heaven, by the Sun’s team untrod,

Hath took no print of the approaching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright—

IV

See how from far upon the Eastern road

The star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet!

Oh! run; prevent them with thy humble ode,

And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire,

From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.

The Hymn

I

It was the winter wild,

While the heaven-born child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;

Nature, in awe to him,

Had doffed her gaudy trim,

With her great Master so to sympathize:

It was no season then for her

To wanton with the Sun, her lusty Paramour.

II

Only with speeches fair

She woos the gentle air

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,

And on her naked shame,

Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;

Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes

Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

III

But he, her fears to cease,

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:

She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding

Down through the turning sphere,

His ready Harbinger,

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;

And, waving wide her myrtle wand,

She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

IV

No war, or battail’s sound,

Was heard the world around;

The idle spear and shield were high uphung;

The hookèd chariot stood,

Unstained with hostile blood;

The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng;

And Kings sat still with awful eye,

As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.

V

But peaceful was the night

Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began.

The winds, with wonder whist,

Smoothly the waters kissed,

Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,

Who now hath quite forgot to rave,

While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

VI

The stars, with deep amaze,

Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence,

And will not take their flight,

For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;

But in their glimmering orbs did glow,

Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII

And, though the shady gloom

Had given day her room,

The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed,

And hid his head of shame,

As his inferior flame

The new-enlightened world no more should need:

He saw a greater Sun appear

Than his bright Throne or burning axletree could bear.

VIII

The Shepherds on the lawn,

Or ere the point of dawn,

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;

Full little thought they than

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly come to live with them below:

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

IX

When such music sweet

Their hearts and ears did greet

As never was by mortal finger strook,

Divinely-warbled voice

Answering the stringèd noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took:

The air, such pleasure loth to lose,

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.

X

Nature, that heard such sound

Beneath the hollow round

Of Cynthia’s seat the airy Region thrilling,

Now was almost won

To think her part was done,

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:

She knew such harmony alone

Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.

XI

At last surrounds their sight

A globe of circular light,

That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed;

The helmèd Cherubim

And sworded Seraphim

Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,

Harping in loud and solemn quire,

With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s newborn Heir.

XII

Such music (as ’tis said)

Before was never made,

But when of old the Sons of Morning sung,

While the Creator great

His constellations set,

And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,

And cast the dark foundations deep,

And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII

Ring out, ye crystal spheres!

Once bless our human ears,

If ye have power to touch our senses so;

And let your silver chime

Move in melodious time;

And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow;

And with your ninefold harmony

Make up full consort of the angelic symphony.

XIV

For, if such holy song

Enwrap our fancy long,

Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold;

And speckled Vanity

Will sicken soon and die,

And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;

And Hell itself will pass away,

And leave her dolorous mansions of the peering day.

XV

Yes, Truth and Justice then

Will down return to men,

The enamelled arras of the rainbow wearing;

And Mercy set between,

Throned in celestial sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;

And Heaven, as at some festival,

Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.

XVI

But wisest Fate says No,

This must not yet be so;

The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy

That on the bitter cross

Must redeem our loss,

So both himself and us to glorify:

Yet first, to those chained in sleep,

The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,

XVII

With such a horrid clang

As on Mount Sinai rang,

While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:

The aged Earth, aghast

With terror of that blast,

Shall from the surface to the centre shake,

When, at the world’s last sessiön,

The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

XVIII

And then at last our bliss

Full and perfect is,

But now begins; for from this happy day

The Old Dragon under ground,

In straiter limits bound,

Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,

And, wroth to see his Kingdom fail,

Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.

XIX

The Oracles are dumb;

No voice or hideous hum

Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.

Apollo from his shrine

Can no more divine,

Will hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.

No nightly trance, or breathèd spell,

Inspires the pale-eyed Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX

The lonely mountains o’er,

And the resounding shore,

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;

Edgèd with poplar pale,

From haunted spring, and dale

The parting Genius is with sighing sent;

With flower-inwoven tresses torn

The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI

In consecrated earth,

And on the holy hearth,

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;

In urns, and altars round,

A drear and dying sound

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;

And the chill marble seems to sweat,

While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII

Peor and Baälim

Forsake their temples dim,

With that twice-battered god of Palestine;

And moonèd Ashtaroth,

Heaven’s Queen and Mother both,

Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine:

The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn;

In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.

XXIII

And sullen Moloch, fled,

Hath left in shadows dread

His burning idol all of blackest hue;

In vain with cymbals’ ring

They call the grisly king,

In dismal dance about the furnace blue;

The brutish gods of Nile as fast,

Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

XXIV

Nor is Osiris seen

In Memphian grove or green,

Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud;

Nor can he be at rest

Within his sacred chest;

Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;

In vain, with timbreled anthems dark,

The sable-stolèd Sorcerers bear his worshiped ark.

XXV

He feels from Juda’s land

The dreaded Infant’s hand;

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;

Nor all the gods beside

Longer dare abide,

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:

Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,

Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.

XXVI

So, when the Sun in bed,

Curtained with cloudy red,

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,

The flocking shadows pale

Troop to the infernal jail,

Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,

And the yellow-skirted Fays

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.

XXVII

But see! the Virgin blest

Hath laid her Babe to rest,

Time is our tedious song should here have ending:

Heaven’s youngest-teemèd star

Hath fixed her polished car,

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;

And all about the courtly stable

Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.

A Paraphrase on Psalm CXIV

(1624)

WHEN the blest seed of Terah’s faithful Son

After long toil their liberty had won,

And passed from Pharian fields to Canaanland,

Led by the strength of the Almighty’s hand,

Jehovah’s wonders were in Israel shown,

His praise and glory was in Israel known.

That saw the troubled sea, and shivering fled,

And sought to hide his froth-becurlèd head

Low in the earth; Jordan’s clear streams recoil,

As a faint host that hath received the foil.

The high huge-bellied mountains skip like rams

Amongst their ewes, the little hills like lambs.

Why fled the ocean— and why skipped the mountains—

Why turnèd Jordan toward his crystal fountains—

Shake, Earth, and at the presence be aghast

Of Him that ever was and aye shall last,

That glassy floods from rugged rocks can crush,

And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush.

Psalm CXXXVI

LET us with a gladsome mind

Praise the Lord for he is kind;

For his mercies aye endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.

Let us blaze his Name abroad,

For of gods he is the God;

For his, &c.

O let us his praises tell,

That doth the wrathful tyrants quell;

For his, &c.

That with his miracles doth make

Amazèd Heaven and Earth to shake;

For his, &c.

That by his wisdom did create

The painted heavens so full of state;

For his, &c.

That did the solid Earth ordain

To rise above the watery plain;

For his, &c.

That by his all-commanding might,

Did fill the new-made world with light;

For his, &c.

And caused the golden-tressèd Sun

All the day long his course to run;

For his, &c.

The hornèd Moon to shine by night

Amongst her spangled sisters bright;

For his, &c.

He, with his thunder-clasping hand,

Smote the first-born of Egypt land;

For his, &c.

And, in despite of Pharao fell,

He brought from thence his Israel;

For his, &c.

The ruddy waves he cleft in twain

Of the Erythraean main;

For his, &c.

The floods stood still, like walls of glass,

While the Hebrew bands did pass;

For his, &c.

But full soon they did devour

The tawny King with all his power;

For his, &c.

His chosen people he did bless

In the wasteful Wilderness;

For his, &c.

In bloody battail he brought down

Kings of prowess and renown;

For his, &c.

He foiled bold Seon and his host,

That ruled the Amorrean coast;

For his, &c.

And large-limbed Og he did subdue,

With all his over-hardy crew;

For his, &c.

And to his servant Israel

He gave their land, therein to dwell;

For his, &c.

He hath, with a piteous eye,

Beheld us in our misery;

For his, &c.

And freed us from the slavery

Of the invading enemy;

For his, &c.

All living creatures he doth feed,

And with full hand supplies their need;

For his, &c.

Let us, therefore, warble forth

His mighty majesty and worth;

For his, &c.

That his mansion hath on high,

Above the reach of mortal eye;

For his, &c.

On the Death of a Fair Infant Dying of a Cough

(1625—26)

I

O FAIREST Flower, no sooner blown but blasted,

Soft silken Primrose fading timelessly,

Summer’s chief honour, if thou hadst outlasted

Bleak Winter’s force that made thy blossom dry;

For he, being amorous on that lovely dye

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss

But killed, alas! and then bewailed his fatal bliss.

II

For since grim Aquilo, his charioter,

By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel got,

He thought it touched his Deity full near,

If likewise he some fair one wedded not,

Thereby to wipe away the infámous blot

Of long uncoupled bed and childless eld,

Which, ’mongst the wanton gods, a foul reproach was held.

III

So, mounting up in icy-pearlèd car,

Through middle empire of the freezing air

He wandered long, till thee he spied from far;

There ended was his quest, there ceased his care;

Down he descended from his snow-soft chair,

But, all un’wares, with his cold-kind embrace,

Unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair biding-place.

IV

Yet thou art not inglorious in thy fate;

For so Apollo, with unweeting hand,

Whilom did slay his dearly-lovèd mate,

Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas’ strand,

Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land;

But then transformed him to a purple flower:

Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power!

V

Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead,

Or that thy corse corrupts in earth’s dark womb,

Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed

Hid from the world in a low-delvèd tomb;

Could Heaven, for pity, thee so strictly doom—

Oh no! for something in thy face did shine

Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine.

VI

Resolve me, then, O Soul most surely blest

(If so be it that thou these plaints dost hear)

Tell me, bright Spirit, where’er thou hoverest,

Whether above that high first-moving sphere,

Or in the Elysian fields (if such there were),

Oh, say me true if thou wert mortal wight,

And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

VII

Wert thou some Star, which from the ruined roof

Of shaked Olympus by mischance didst fall;

Which careful Jove in nature’s true behoof

Took up, and in fit place did reinstall—

Or did of late Earth’s sons besiege the wall

Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some Goddess fled

Amongst us here below to hide thy nectared head—

VIII

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before

Forsook the hated earth, oh! tell me sooth,

And camest again to visit us once more—

Or wert thou [Mercy], that sweet smiling Youth—

Or that crowned Matron, sage white-robèd Truth—

Or any other of that heavenly brood

Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good—

IX

Or wert thou of the golden-wingèd host,

Who, having clad thyself in human weed,

To earth from thy prefixèd seat didst post,

And after short abode fly back with speed,

As if to shew what creatures Heaven doth breed;

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire

To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire—

X

But oh! why didst thou not stay here below

To bless us with thy heaven-loved innocence,

To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe,

To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,

Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,

To stand ’twixt us and our deservèd smart—

But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI

Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child,

Her false-imagined loss cease to lament,

And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;

Think what a present thou to God hast sent,

And render him with patience what he lent:

This if thou do, he will an offspring give

That till the world’s last end shall make thy name to live.

At a Vacation Exercise in the College, Part Latin, Part English

(1628)

The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began:—

HAIL, Native Language, that by sinews weak,

Didst move my first-endeavouring tongue to speak,

And madest imperfect words, with childish trips,

Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips,

Driving dumb Silence from the portal door,

Where he had mutely sat two years before:

Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask,

That now I use thee in my latter task:

Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee,

I know my tongue but little grace can do thee.

Thou need’st not be ambitious to be first,

Believe me, I have thither packed the worst:

And, if it happen as I did forecast,

The daintiest dishes shall be served up last.

I pray thee then deny me not thy aid,

For this same small neglect that I have made;

But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure,

and from thy wardrobe bring thy chieftest treasure;

Not those new-fangled toys, and trimming slight

Which takes our late fantastics with delight;

But cull those richest robes and gayest attire,

Which deepest spirits and choicest wits desire.

I have some naked thoughts that rove about,

And loudly knock to have their passage out,

And, weary of their place, do only stay

Till thou hast decked them in thy best array;

That so they may, without suspect or fears,

Fly swiftly to this fair Assembly’s ears.

Yet I had rather, if I were to choose,

Thy service in some graver subject use,

Such as may make thee search thy coffers round,

Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound:

Such where the deep transported mind may soar

Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven’s door

Look in, and see each blissful Deity

How he before the thunderous throne doth lie,

Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings

To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings

Immortal nectar to her kingly Sire;

Then, passing through the spheres of watchful fire,

And misty regions of wide air next under,

And hills of snow and lofts of piled thunder,

May tell at length how green-eyed Neptune raves,

In heaven’s defiance mustering all his waves;

Then sing of secret things that came to pass

When beldam Nature in her cradle was;

And last of Kings and Queens and Heroes old,

Such as the wise Demodocus once told

In solemn songs at King Alcinoüs’ feast,

While sad Ulysses’ soul and all the rest

Are held, with his melodious harmony,

In willing chains and sweet captivity.

But fie, my wandering Muse, how thou dost stray!

Expectance calls thee now another way.

Thou know’st it must be now thy only bent

To keep in compass of thy Predicament.

Then quick about thy purposed business come,

That to the next I may resign my room.

Then ENS is represented as Father of the Predicaments, his ten Sons; whereof the eldest stood for SUBSTANCE with his Canons; which ENS, thus speaking, explains:—

Good luck befriend thee, son; for at thy birth

The faery Ladies danced upon the hearth.

The drowsy Nurse hath sworn she did them spy

Come tripping to the room where thou didst lie,

And, sweetly singing round about thy bed,

Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head.

She heard them give thee this, that thou shouldst still

From eyes of mortals walk invisible.

Yet there is something that doth force my fear;

For once it was my dismal hap to hear

A Sibyl old, bow-bent with crooked age,

That far events full wisely could presage,

And, in Time’s long and dark prospective-glass,

Foresaw that future days should bring to pass.

“Your Son,” said she, “(nor can you it prevent,)

Shall subject be to many an Accident.

O’er all his Brethren he shall reign as King;

Yet every one shall make him underling,

And those that cannot live from him asunder

Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under.

In worth and excellence he shall outgo them;

Yet, being above them, he shall be below them.

From others he shall stand in need of nothing,

Yet on his Brothers shall depend for clothing.

To find a foe it shall not be his hap,

And peace shall lull him in her flowery lap;

Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door

Devouring war shall never cease to roar;

Yea, it shall be his natural property

To harbour those that are at enmity.”

What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not

Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot—

The next, QUANTITY and QUALITY, spake in prose: then RELATION was called by his name.

Rivers, arise: whether thou be the son

Of utmost Tweed, or Ouse, or gulfy Dun,

Or Trent, who, like some earth-born Giant, spreads

His thirty arms along the indented meads,

Or sullen Mole, that runneth underneath,

Or Sevren swift, guilty of maiden’s death,

Or rocky Avon, or of sedgy Lea,

Or coaly Tyne, or ancient hallowed Dee,

Or Humber loud, that keeps the Scythian’s name,

Or Medway smooth, or royal-towered Thame.

The rest was prose.

The Passion

(1620)

I

EREWHILE of music, and ethereal mirth,

Wherewith the stage of Air and Earth did ring,

And joyous news of heavenly Infant’s birth,

My muse with Angels did divide to sing;

But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In wintry solstice like the shortened light

Soon swallowed up in dark and long outliving night.

II

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,

And set my Harp to notes of saddest woe,

Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long,

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so,

Which he for us did freely undergo:

Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight

Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight!

III

He, sovran Priest, stooping his regal head,

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,

Poor fleshly Tabernacle enterèd,

His starry front low-roofed beneath the skies:

Oh, what a mask was there, what a disguise!

Yet more: the stroke of death he must abide;

Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethren’s side.

IV

These latest scenes confine my roving verse;

To this horizon is my Phbus bound.

His godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,

And former sufferings, otherwhere are found;

Loud o’er the rest Cremona’s trump doth sound:

Me softer airs befit, and softer strings

Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things.

V

Befriend me, Night, best Patroness of grief!

Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw,

And work my flattered fancy to belief

That Heaven and Earth are coloured with my woe;

My sorrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black whereon I write,

And letters, where my tears have washed, a wannish white.

VI

See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels,

That whirled the prophet up at Chebar flood;

My spirit some transporting Cherub feels

To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,

Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood.

There doth my soul in holy vision sit,

In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.

VII

Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock

That was the casket of Heaven’s richest store,

And here, though grief my feeble hands up-lock,

Yet on the softened quarry would I score

My plaining verse as lively as before;

For sure so well instructed are my tears

That they would fitly fall in ordered characters.

VIII

Or, should I thence, hurried on viewless wing,

Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,

The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring

Would soon unbosom all their Echoes mild;

And I (for grief is easily beguiled)

Might think the infection of my sorrows loud

Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.

This Subject the Author finding to be above the years he had when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished.

On Shakespeare

(1630)

WHAT needs my Shakespeare, for his honoured bones,

The labour of an age in pilèd stones—

Or that his hollowed relics should be hid

Under a stary-pointing pyramid—

Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame,

What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name—

Thou, in our wonder and astonishment,

Hast built thyself a livelong monument.

For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art,

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart

Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book,

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took;

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,

Dost make us marble, with too much conceiving;

And, so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie,

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

On the University Carrier

(1631)

Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reason of the Plague.

HERE lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt,

And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt;

Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one

He’s here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.

’T was such a shifter that, if truth were known,

Death was half glad when he had got him down;

For he had any time this ten years full

Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and The Bull.

And surely Death could never have prevailed,

Had not his weekly course of carriage failed;

But lately, finding him so long at home,

And thinking now his journey’s end was come,

And that he had ta’en up his latest Inn,

In the kind office of a Chamberlin

Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,

Pulled off his boots, and took away the light.

If any ask for him, it shall be said,

“Hobson has supped, and ’s newly gone to bed.”

Another on the Same

HERE lieth one who did most truly prove

That he could never die while he could move;

So hung his destiny, never to rot

While he might still jog on and keep his trot;

Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

Until his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers Motion, yet (without a crime

’Gainst old truth) Motion numbered out his time;

And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight,

His principles being ceased, he ended straight.

Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,

And too much breathing put him out of breath;

Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation hastened on his term.

Merely to drive the time away he sickened,

Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened.

“Nay,” quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretched,

“If I may n’t carry, sure I ’ll ne’er be fetched,

But vow, though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,

For one carrier put down to make six bearers.”

Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,

He died for heaviness that his cart went light.

His leisure told him that his time was come,

And lack of load made his life burdensome,

That even to his last breath (there be that say ’t),

As he were pressed to death, he cried, “More weight!”

But, had his doings lasted as they were,

He had been an immortal Carrier.

Obedient to the moon he spent his date

In course reciprocal, and had his fate

Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas;

Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase.

His letters are delivered all and gone;

Only remains this superscription.

An Epitaph on the marchioness of Winchester

THIS rich marble doth inter

The honoured wife of Winchester,

A viscount’s daughter, an earl’s heir,

Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.

Summers three times eight save one

She had told; alas! too soon,

After so short time of breath,

To house with darkness and with death!

Yet, had the number of her days

Been as complete as was her praise,

Nature and Fate had had no strife

In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth and her graces sweet

Quickly found a lover meet;

The virgin quire for her request

The god that sits at marriage-feast;

He at their invoking came,

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;

And in his garland, as he stood,

Ye might discern a cypress-bud.

Once had the early Matrons run

To greet her of a lovely son,

And now with second hope she goes,

And calls Lucina to her throes;

But, whether by mischance or blame,

Atropos for Lucina came,

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoiled at once both fruit and tree.

The hapless babe before his birth

Had burial, yet not laid in earth;

And the languished mother’s womb

Was not long a living tomb.

So have I seen some tender slip,

Saved with care from Winter’s nip,

The pride of her carnation train,

Plucked up by some unheedy swain,

Who only thought to crop the flower

New shot up from vernal shower;

But the fair blossom hangs the head

Sideways, as on a dying bed,

And those pearls of dew she wears

Prove to be presaging tears

Which the sad morn had let fall

On her hastening funeral.

Gentle Lady, may thy grave

Peace and quiet ever have!

After this thy travail sore,

Sweet rest seize thee evermore,

That, to give the world encrease,

Shortened hast thy own life’s lease!

Here, besides the sorrowing

That thy noble House doth bring,

Here be tears of perfect moan

Wept for thee in Helicon;

And some flowers and some bays

For thy hearse, to strew the ways,

Sent thee from the banks of Came,

Devoted to thy virtuous name;

Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt’st in glory,

Next her, much like to thee in story,

That fair Syrian Shepherdess,

Who, after years of barrenness,

The highly-favoured Joseph bore

To him that served for her before,

And at her next birth, much like thee,

Through pangs fled to felicity,

Far within the bosom bright

Of blazing Majesty and Light:

There with thee, new-welcome Saint,

Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,

With thee there clad in radiant sheen,

No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

On His Being Arrived to the Age of Twenty-Three

(1631)

HOW soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,

That I to manhood am arrived so near,

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th.

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven,

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-master’s eye

Poems Written at Horton, 1632—1638

L’Allegro

(1633)

HENCE, loathèd Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn

’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy,

Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven sings;

There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

But come, thou Goddess fair and free,

In heaven yclep’d Euphrosyne,

And by men, heart-easing Mirth,

Whom lovely Venus at a birth

With two sister Graces more

To ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore;

Or whether (as some sager 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 washed in dew,

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,

So buxom, blithe and debonair.

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,

Nods, and Becks, and wreathèd Smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek;

Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides.

Come, and trip it as ye go,

On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee

The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;

And, if I give thee honour due,

Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

To live with her, and live with thee,

In unreprovèd 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;

Then to come, in spite of sorrow,

And at my window bid good-morrow,

Through the sweet-briar 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:

Oft listening how the hounds and horn

Cheerily rouse the slumbering Morn,

From the side of some hoar hill,

Through the high wood echoing shrill:

Sometime walking, not unseen,

By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,

Right against the eastern gate,

Where the great Sun begins his state,

Robed in flames and amber light,

The clouds in thousand liveries dight;

While the ploughman, near at hand,

Whistles o’er the furrowed land,

And the milkmaid singeth blithe,

And the mower whets his scythe,

And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,

Whilst the lantskip round it measures:

Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray;

Mountains on whose barren breast

The labouring clouds do often rest;

Meadows trim with daisies pied;

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.

Towers and battlements it sees

Bosomed high in tufted trees,

Where perhaps some Beauty lies,

The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes

From betwixt two aged oaks,

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met

Are at their savoury dinner set

Of hearbs and other country messes,

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;

And then in haste her bower she leaves,

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;

Or, if the earlier season lead,

To the tanned haycock in the mead.

Sometimes with secure delight

The upland hamlets will invite,

When the merry bells ring round,

And the jocond rebecks sound

To many a youth and many a maid

Dancing in the chequered shade;

And young and old come forth to play

On a sunshine holyday,

Till the livelong daylight fail:

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,

With stories told of many a feat,

How fairy Mab the junkets eat:

She was pinched and pulled, she said;

And he, by Friar’s lanthorn led,

Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat

To earn his cream-bowl duly set,

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn

That ten day-labourers could not end;

Then lies him down, the lubber fiend,

And, stretched out all the chimney’s length,

Basks at the fire his hairy strength,

And crop-full out of doors he flings,

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.

Towered cities please us then,

And the busy hum of men,

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

Of 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 Johnson’s learned sock be on,

Or sweetest Shakespeare, 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 the meeting soul may pierce,

In notes with many a winding bout

Of linkèd 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;

That Orpheus’ self may heave his head

From golden slumber on a bed

Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear

Such strains as would have won the ear

Of Pluto to have quite set free

His half-regained Eurydice.

These delights if thou canst give,

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

Il Penseroso

(1633)

HENCE, vain deluding Joys,

The brood of Folly without father bred!

How little you bested,

Or fill the fixèd 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 sunbeams,

Or likest hovering dreams,

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus’ train.

But hail! thou Goddess sage and holy!

Hail, divinest Melancholy!

Whose saintly visage is too bright

To hit the sense of human sight,

And therefore to our weaker view

O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue;

Black, but such as in esteem

Prince Memnon’s sister might beseem,

Or that starred Ethiop Queen that strove

To set her beauty’s praise above

The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.

Yet thou art higher far descended:

Thee bright-haired 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 glades

He met her, and in secret shades

Of woody Ida’s inmost grove,

Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,

Sober, steadfast, and demure,

All in a robe of darkest grain,

Flowing with majestic train,

And sable stole of cypress lawn

Over thy decent shoulders drawn.

Come; but keep thy wonted state,

With even step, and musing gait,

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 retirèd Leisure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;

But, first and chieftest, with thee bring

Him that yon soars on golden wing,

Guiding the fiery-wheelèd 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 the accustomed oak.

Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly,

Most musical, most melancholy!

Thee, Chauntress, oft the woods among

I woo, to hear they even-song;

And, missing thee, I walk unseen

On the dry smooth-shaven green,

To behold the wandering Moon,

Riding near her highest noon,

Like one that had been led astray

Through the heaven’s wide pathless way,

And oft, as if her head she bowed,

Stooping through a fleecy cloud.

Oft, on a plat of rising ground,

I hear the far-off curfew sound,

Over some wide-watered shore,

Swinging slow with sullen roar;

Or, if the air will not permit,

Some still removèd place will fit,

Where glowing embers through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,

Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth,

Or the Bellman’s drowsy charm

To bless the doors from nightly harm.

Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,

Be seen in some high lonely tower,

Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,

With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere

The spirit of Plato, to unfold

What worlds or what vast regions hold

The immortal mind that hath forsook

Her mansion in this fleshly nook;

And of those Daemons that are found

In fire, air, flood, or underground,

Whose power hath a true consent

With planet or with element.

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy

In sceptred pall come sweeping by,

Presenting Thebs, or Pelops’ line,

Or the tale of Troy divine,

Or what (though rare) or later age

Ennobled hath the buskined stage.

But, O sad Virgin! that thy power

Might raise Musaeus from his bower;

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing

Such notes as, warbled to the string,

Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,

And made Hell grant what Love did seek;

Or call up him that left half-told

The story of Cambuscan bold,

Of Camball, and of Algarsife,

And who had Canace to wife,

That owned the virtuous ring and glass,

And of the wondrous horse of brass

On which the Tartar King did ride;

And if aught else great Bards beside

In sage and solemn tunes have sung,

Of turneys, and of trophies hung,

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 tricked and frounced, as she wont

With the Attic boy to hunt,

But kerchieft in a comely cloud,

While rocking winds are piping loud,

Or ushered 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 archèd 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 hallowed haunt.

There, in close covert, by some brook,

Where no profaner eye may look,

Hide me from Day’s garish eye,

While the bee with honeyed thigh,

That at her flowery work doth sing,

And the waters murmuring,

With such consort as they keep,

Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.

And let some strange mysterious dream,

Wave at his wings in airy stream,

Of lively portraiture displayed,

Softly on my eyelids laid.

And as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,

Or the unseen Genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloister’s pale,

And love the high embowèd roof,

With antick pillars massy proof,

And storied windows richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light.

There let the pealing organ blow,

To the full voiced Quire below,

In service high and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age

Find out the peaceful hermitage,

The hairy gown and mossy cell,

Where I may sit and rightly spell,

Of every star that Heaven doth shew,

And every hearb that sips the dew;

Till old experience do attain

To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give

And I with thee will choose to live.

Sonnet to the Nightingale

(1632—33)

O NIGHTINGALE that on yon blooming spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,

Thou with fresh hopes the Lover’s heart dost fill,

While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill,

Portend success in love. O if Jove’s will

Have linked 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 had’st no reason why.

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate,

Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

Song on May Morning

(1632—33)

NOW the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!

Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

On Time

(1633—34)

FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race:

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace;

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more than what is false and vain,

And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain!

For, whenas each thing bad thou hast entombed,

And, last of all, thy greedy Self consumed,

Then long eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss,

And joy shall undertake us as a flood;

When everything that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine

About the supreme Throne

Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone

When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb,

Then, all this earthly grossness quit,

Attired with stars we shall forever sit,

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee,

O Time!

At a Solemn Music

(1633—34)

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy,

Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse,

Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ,

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce;

And to our high-raised phantasy present

That undisturbèd Song of pure consent,

Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured Throne

To Him that sits thereon,

With saintly shout and solemn jubily;

Where the bright Seraphim in burning row

Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow,

And the Cherubic host in thousand quires

Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,

With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms,

Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

That we on Earth, with undiscording voice,

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportioned Sin

Jarred against Nature’s chime, and with harsh din

Broke the fair music that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motions swayed

In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long

To his celestial consort us unite,

To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light!

Upon the Circumcision

(1634)

YE flaming Powers, and wingèd Warriors bright,

That erst with music, and triumphant song,

First heard by happy watchful Shepherds’ ear,

So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along,

Through the soft silence of the listening night,—

Now mourn; and if sad share with us to bear

Your fiery essence can distill no tear,

Burn in your sighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep sorrow,

He who with all Heaven’s heraldry whilere

Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease.

Alas! how soon our sin

Sore doth begin

His infancy to seize!

O more exceeding Love, or Law more just—

Just Law indeed, but more exceeding Love!

For we, by rightful doom remediless,

Were lost in death, till He, that dwelt above

High-throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust

Emptied his glory, even to nakedness;

And that great Covenant which we still transgress

Intirely satisfied,

And the full wrath beside

Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess,

And seals obedience first with wounding smart

This day; but oh! ere long,

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

Arcades

(1633)

Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield by some Noble Persons of her Family; who appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of state, with this song:

I. Song

LOOK, Nymphs and Shepherds, look!

What sudden blaze of majesty

Is that which we from hence descry,

Too divine to be mistook—

This, this is she

To whom our vows and wishes bend:

Here our solemn search hath end.

Fame, that her high worth to raise

Seemed erst so lavish and profuse,

We may justly now accuse

Of detraction from her praise:

Less than half we find expressed;

Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreads,

In circle round her shining throne

Shooting her beams like silver threads:

This, this is she alone,

Sitting like a Goddess bright

In the centre of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be,

Or the towered Cybele,

Mother of a hundred gods—

Juno dares not give her odds:

Who had thought this clime had held

A Deity so unparalleled—

As they came forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and, turning toward them, speaks.

Gen. Stay, gentle Swains, for, though in this disguise,

I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes;

Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung

Of that renowned flood so often sung,

Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice,

Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse;

And ye, the breathing roses of the wood,

Fair silver-buskind Nymphs, as great and good.

I know this quest of yours and free intent

Was all in honour and devotion meant

To the great Mistress of yon princely shrine,

Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,

And with all helpful service will comply

To further this night’s glad solemnity,

And lead ye where ye may more near behold

What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;

Which I full oft, midst these shades alone,

Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon.

For know, by lot from Jove, I am the Power

Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,

To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove

With ringlets quaint and wanton windings wove;

And all my plants I save from nightly ill

Of noisome winds and blasting vapours chill;

And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,

And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,

Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,

Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites.

When Evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round

Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground;

And early, ere the odorous breath of morn

Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasselled horn

Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,

Number my ranks, and visit every sprout

With puissant words and murmurs made to bless.

But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness

Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I

To the celestial Sirens’ harmony,

That sit upon the nine enfolded spheres,

And sing to those that hold the vital shears,

And turn the adamantine spindle round

On which the fate of gods and men is wound.

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,

To lull the daughters of Necessity,

And keep unsteady Nature to her law,

And the low world in measured motion draw

After the heavenly tune, which none can hear

Of human mould with gross unpurged ear.

And yet such music worthiest were to blaze

The peerless height of her immortal praise

Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,

If my inferior hand or voice could hit

Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go,

Whate’er the skill of lesser gods can show

I will assay, her worth to celebrate,

And so attend ye toward her glittering state;

Where ye may all, that are of noble stem,

Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture’s hem.

II. Song

O’er the smooth enamelled green,

Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me, as I sing

And touch the warbled string.

Under the shady roof

Of branching elm star-proof

Follow me.

I will bring you where she sits,

Clad in splendour as befits

Her deity.

Such a rural Queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

III. Song

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more

By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks;

On old Lycaeus, or Cyllene hoar,

Trip no more in twilight ranks;

Though Erymanth your loss deplore,

A better soil shall give ye thanks.

From the stony Maenalus

Bring your flocks, and live with us;

Here ye shall have greater grace,

To serve the Lady of this place.

Through Syrinx your Pan’s mistress were,

Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural Queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

Comus, a Mask

THE PERSONS

THE ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS.

Comus, with his Crew.

THE LADY.

FIRST BROTHER.

SECOND BROTHER.

SABRINA, the Nymph.

PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1634, BEFORE THE EARL OF BRIDGEWATER, THEN PRESIDENT OF WALES

The Chief Person which presented were:—The Lord Brackley; Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother;The Lady Alice Egerton.

The first Scene discovers a wild wood.The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters.

BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove’s court

My mansion is, where those immortal shapes

Of bright aerial Spirits live insphered

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,

Confined and pestered in this pinfold 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 enthronèd gods on sainted seats.

Yet some there be that by due steps aspire

To lay their just hands on that golden key

That opes the Palace of Eternity.

To such my errand is; and, but for such,

I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds

With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.

But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway

Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,

Took in, by lot ’twixt high and nether Jove,

Imperial rule of all the sea-girt Isles

That, like to rich and various gems, inlay

The unadornèd bosom of the Deep;

Which he, to grace his tributary gods,

By course commits to several government,

And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns

And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,

The greatest and the best of all the main,

He quarters to his blue-haired deities;

And all this tract that fronts the falling sun

A noble Peer of mickle trust and power

Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide

An old and haughty Nation, proud in arms:

Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,

Are coming to attend their father’s state,

And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way

Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows

Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;

And here their tender age might suffer peril,

But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,

I was despatched for their defence and guard!

And listen why; for I will tell you now

What never yet was heard in tale or song,

From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape

Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,

After the Tuscan mariners transformed,

Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,

On Circe’s island fell. (Who knows not Circe,

The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup

Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,

And downward fell into a grovelling swine—)

This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,

With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,

Had by him, ere he parted thence, a Son

Much like his Father, but his Mother more,

Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named:

Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age,

Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,

At last betakes him to this ominous wood,

And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered,

Excels his Mother at her mighty art;

Offering to every weary traveller

His orient liquor in a crystal glass,

To quench the drouth of Phbus; which as they taste

(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),

Soon as the potion works, their human count’nance,

The express resemblance of the gods, is changed

Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,

Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat

All other parts remaining as they were.

And they, 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 favoured of high Jove

Chances to pass through this adventrous glade,

Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star

I shoot from heaven, 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. But I hear the tread

Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.

COMUS enters with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the other; with him a rout of Monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistering. They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands.

Comus. The star that bids the shepherd fold

Now the top of heaven 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

Shoots against the dusky pole,

Pacing toward the other goal

Of his chamber in the east.

Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,

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 fire,

Imitate the starry Quire,

Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,

Lead in swift round the months and years.

The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,

Now to the Moon in wavering morrice move;

And on the tawny sands and shelves

Trip the pert Fairies and the dapper Elves.

By dimpled brook and fountain-brim,

The Wood-Nymphs, decked with daisies trim,

Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:

What hath night to do with sleep—

Night hath better sweets to prove;

Venus now wakes, and wakens Love

Come, let us our rites begin;

’T is only daylight that makes sin,

Which these dun shades will ne’er report.

Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,

Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame

Of midnight torches burns! mysterious Dame,

That ne’er art called but when the dragon womb

Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,

And makes one blot of all the air!

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou ridest with Hecat’, and befriend

Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out

Ere the blabbing eastern scout,

The nice Morn on the Indian steep,

From her cabined loop-hole peep,

And to the tell-tale Sun descry

Our concealed 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.

Run to your shrouds 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

Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed

About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl

My dazzling spells into the spongy air,

Of power to cheat the eye with 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.

I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,

And well-placed 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; I fairly step aside,

And hearken, if I may her business hear.

The LADY Enters

Lady. 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 jocond flute or gamesome pipe

Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,

When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,

In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,

And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth

To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence

Of such late wassailers; 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,

Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side

To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit

As the kind hospitable woods provide.

They left me then when the grey-hooded Even,

Like a sad Votarist in palmer’s weed,

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phbus’ wain.

But where they are, and why they came not back,

Is now the labour of my thoughts. ’T is likeliest

They had ingaged their wandering steps too far;

And envious darkness, ere they could return,

Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night,

Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,

In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars

That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps

With everlasting oil, to give due light

To the misled and lonely travailler—

This is the place, as well as I may guess,

Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth

Was rife, and perfet in my listening 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.

O welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,

Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings,

And thou unblemished form of Chastity!

I see ye visibly, and now believe

That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,

Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,

To keep my life and honour unassailed…

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night—

I did not err: there does a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night,

And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.

I cannot hallo to my brothers, but

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest

I’ll venter; for my new-enlivened spirits

Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.

SONG

Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv’st unseen

Within thy airy shell

By slow Meander’s margent green,

And in the violet-embroidered 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 flowery cave,

Tell me but where,

Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!

So may’st thou be translated to the skies,

And give resounding grace to all Heaven’s harmonies!

Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould

Breathe such divine inchanting 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 smiled! I have oft heard

My mother Circe with the Sirens three,

Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,

Culling their potent hearbs and baleful drugs,

Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul,

And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,

And child her barking waves into attention,

And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,

And in sweet madness robbed it of itself;

But such a sacred and home-felt delight,

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 prosperous growth of this tall wood.

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise

That is addressed to unattending ears.

Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift

How to regain my severed company,

Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo

To give me answer from her mossy couch.

Comus. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus—

Lady. Dim darkness and this leavy labyrinth.

Comus. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides—

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf.

Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why—

Lady. To seek i’ the valley some cool friendly spring.

Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady—

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return.

Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need—

Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose.

Comus. Where they of manly prime, or youthful bloom—

Lady. As smooth as Hebe’s their unrazored lips.

Comus. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox

In his loose traces from the furrow came,

And the swinked hedger at his supper sat.

I saw them under a green mantling vine,

That crawls along the side of yon small hill,

Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots;

Their port was more than human, as they stood.

I took it for a faery vision

Of some gay creatures of the element,

That in the colours of the rainbow live,

And play i’ the plighted clouds. I was awe-strook,

And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek,

It were a journey like the path to Heaven

To help you find them.

Lady. Gentle villager,

What readiest way would bring me to that place—

Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.

Lady. To find out that, good Shepherd, I suppose,

In such a scant allowance of star-light,

Would overtask the best land-pilot’s art,

Without the sure guess of well-practised feet.

Comus. I know each lane, and every alley green,

Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood,

And every bosky bourn from side to side,

My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;

And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged,

Or shroud within these limits, I shall know

Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark

From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise,

I can conduct you, Lady, to a low

But loyal cottage, where you may be safe

Till further quest.

Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word,

And trust thy honest-offered courtesy,

Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds,

With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls

And courts of princes, where it first was named,

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 proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on…

The TWO BROTHERS.

Eld. Bro. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair Moon,

That wont’st to love the travailler’s benison,

Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,

And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here

In double night of darkness and of shades;

Or, if your influence be quite dammed up

With black usurping mists, some gentle taper,

Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole

Of some clay habitation, visit us

With thy long levelled rule of streaming light,

And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,

Or Tyrian Cynosure.

Sec. Bro. Or, if our eyes

Be barred that happiness, might we but hear

The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes,

Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,

Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock

Count the night-watches to his feathery dames,

’Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering,

In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.

But, Oh, 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 broad elm

Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears.

What if in wild amazement and affright,

Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp

Of savage hunger, or of savage heat!

Eld. Bro. Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite

To cast the fashion of uncertain evils;

For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown,

What need a man forestall his date of grief,

And run to meet what 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 goodness bosoms ever,

As that the single want of light and noise

(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not)

Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,

And put them into misbecoming plight.

Virtue could see to do what Virtue would

By her own radiant light, though sun and moon

Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom’s self

Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,

Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,

She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,

That, in the various bustle of resort,

Were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired.

He that has light within his own clear breast

May sit i’ the 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.

Sec. 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 unsunned heaps

Of miser’s 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

Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste.

Of night or loneliness it recks me not;

I fear the dread events that dog them both,

Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person

Of our unownèd sister.

Eld. 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 the event, my nature is

That I encline 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 you remember not.

Sec. Bro. What hidden strength,

Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that—

Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength,

Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own:

’Tis Chastity, my brother, Chastity:

She that has that is clad in com’plete steel,

And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen,

May trace huge forests, and unharboured 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 shagged with horrid shades,

She may pass on with unblenched majesty,

Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.

Some say no evil thing that walks by night,

In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,

Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,

That breaks his magic chains at curfew time,

No goblin or swart faery of the mine,

Hath hurtful power o’er true virginity.

Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call

Antiquity 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 tamed the brinded lioness

And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought

The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men

Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o’ the woods.

What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield

That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,

Wherewith she freezed her foes to con’gealed stone,

But rigid looks of chaste austerity,

And noble grace that dashed brute violence

With sudden adoration and blank awe—

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity

That, when a soul is found sincerely so,

A thousand liveried angels lackey her,

Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,

And in clear dream and solemn vision

Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear;

Till oft converse with heavenly habitants

Begin to cast a beam on the 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,

Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave,

As loth to leave the body that it loved,

And linked itself by carnal sensuality

To a degenerate and degraded state.

Sec. Bro. How charming is divine Philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,

But musical as is Apollo’s lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,

Where no crude surfeit reigns.

Eld. Bro. List! list! I hear

Some far-off hallo break the silent air.

Sec. Bro. Methought so too; what should it be—

Eld. Bro. For certain,

Either some one, like us, night-foundered here,

Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst,

Some roving robber calling to his fellows.

Sec. Bro. Heaven keep my sister!

Again, again, and near!

Best draw, and stand upon our guard.

Eld. Bro. I’ll hallo.

If he be friendly, he comes well: if not,

Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us!

The ATTENDANT SPIRIT, habited like a shepherd.

That hallo I should know. What are you— speak.

Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else.

Spir. What voice is that— my young Lord— speak again.

Sec. Bro. O brother, ’tis my father’s Shepherd, sure.

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayed

The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,

And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale.

How camest thou here, good swain— Hath any ram

Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam,

Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook—

How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook—

Spir. O my loved master’s heir, and his next joy,

I came not here on such a trivial toy

As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth

Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth

That doth enrich these downs is worth a thought

To this my errand, and the care it brought.

But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she—

How chance she is not in your company—

Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame

Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.

Spir. Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.

Eld. Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis—

Prithee briefly shew.

Spir. I’ll tell ye, ’tis not vain or fabulous

(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance)

What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,

Storied of old in high immortal verse

Of dire Chimeras and inchanted Isles,

And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell;

For such there be, but unbelief is blind.

Within the navel of this hideous wood,

Immured in cypress shades, a Sorcerer dwells,

Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,

Deep skilled in all his mother’s witcheries,

And here to every thirsty wanderer

By sly enticement gives his baneful cup,

With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poision

The visage quite transforms of him that drinks,

And the inglorious likeness of a beast

Fixes instead, unmoulding reason’s mintage

Charactered in the face. This have I learnt

Tending my flocks hard by i’ the hilly crofts

That brow this bottom glade; whence night by night

He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl

Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey,

Doing abhorrèd rites to Hecate

In their obscurèd haunts of inmost bowers.

Yet have they many baits and guileful spells

To inveigle and invite the 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 savoury 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 flaunting honeysuckle, 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 amidst the woods,

And filled the air with barbarous dissonance;

At which I ceased, and listened them a while,

Till an unusual stop of sudden silence

Gave respite to the drowsy-flighted steeds

That draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep.

At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound

Rose like a steam of rich distilled perfumes,

And stole upon the air, that even Silence

Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might

Deny her nature, and be never more,

Still to be so displaced. I was all ear,

And took in strains that might create a soul

Under the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere long

Too well I did perceive it was the voice

Of my most honoured Lady, your dear sister.

Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear;

And “O poor hapless Nightingale,” thought I,

“How sweet thou sing’st, how near the deadly snare!”

Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste,

Through paths and turnings often trod by day,

Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place

Where that damned wisard, hid in sly disguise

(For so by certain signs I knew), had met

Already, ere my best speed could prevent,

The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey;

Who gently asked if he had seen such two,

Supposing him some neighbour villager.

Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed

Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung

Into swift flight, till I had found you here;

But furder know I not.

Sec. Bro. O night and shades,

How are ye joined with hell in triple knot

Against the unarmèd weakness of one virgin,

Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence

You gave me, brother—

Eld. Bro. Yes, and keep it still;

Lean on it safely; not a period

Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats

Of malice or of sorcery, or that power

Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm:

Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt,

Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled;

Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm

Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.

But evil on itself shall back recoil,

And mix no more with goodness, when at last,

Gathered like scum, and settled to itself,

It shall be in eternal restless change

Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail,

The pillared firmament is rottenness,

And earth’s base built on stubble. But come, let’s on!

Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven

May never this just sword be lifted up;

But, for that damned magician, let him be girt

With all the griesly legiöns that troop

Under the sooty flag of Acheron,

Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms

’Twixt Africa and Ind. I’ll find him out,

And force him to restore his purchase back,

Or drag him by the curls to a foul death,

Cursed as his life.

Spir. Alas! good ventrous youth,

I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise;

But here thy sword can do thee little stead.

Far other arms and other weapons must

Be those that quell the might of hellish charms.

He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,

And crumble all thy sinews.

Eld. Bro. Why, prithee Shepherd,

How durst thou then thyself approach so near

As to make this relation—

Spir. Care and utmost shifts

How to secure the Lady from surprisal

Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad,

Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled

In every virtuous plant and healing hearb

That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray.

He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing;

Which when I did, he on the tender grass

Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy,

And in requital ope his leathern scrip,

And shew me simples of a thousand names,

Telling their strange and vigorous faculties.

Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,

But of divine effect, he culled me out.

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 esteemed, 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 Ulysses gave.

He called it Haemony, and give it me,

And bade me keep it as of sovran use

’Gainst all inchantments, mildew blast, or damp,

Or ghastly Furies’ apparition.

I pursed it up, but little reckoning made,

Till now that this extremity compelled.

But now I find it true; for by this means

I knew the foul inchanter, though disguised,

Entered 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 brandished blade rush on him: break his glass,

And shed the luscious liquor on the ground;

But seize his wand. Though he and his curst crew

Fierce sign of battail make, and menace high,

Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke,

Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace; I’ll follow thee;

And some good angel bear a shield before us!

The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner of deliciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. COMUS appears with his rabble, and the LADY set in an inchanted chair; to whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and goes about to rise.

Comus. Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand,

Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster,

And you a statue, or as Daphne was,

Root-bound, that fled Apollo.

Lady. Fool, do not boast.

Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind

With all thy charms, although this corporal rind

Thou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good.

Comus. Why are you vexed, Lady— why do you frown—

Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates

Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasures

That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts,

When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns

Brisk as the April buds in primrose season.

And first behold this cordial julep here,

That flames and dances in his crystal bounds,

With spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed.

Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone

In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena

Is of such power to stir up joy as this,

To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.

Why should you be so cruel to yourself,

And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent

For gentle usage and soft delicacy—

But you invert the covenants of her trust,

And harshly deal, like an ill borrower,

With that which you received on other terms,

Scorning the unexempt condition

By which all mortal frailty must subsist,

Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,

That have been tired all day without repast,

And timely rest have wanted. But, fair virgin,

This will restore all soon.

Lady. ’T will not, false traitor!

’T will not restore the truth and honesty

That thou has banished from thy tongue with lies.

Was this the cottage and the safe abode

Thou told’st me of— What grim aspects’ are these,

These oughly-headed monsters— Mercy guard me!

Hence with thy brewed inchantments, foul deceiver!

Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence

With vizored falsehood and base forgery—

And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here

With lickerish baits, fit to ensnare a brute—

Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,

I would not taste thy 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-governed and wise appetite.

Comus. 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 and 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-haired silk,

To deck her sons; and, that no corner might

Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins

She hutched the all-worshiped ore and precious gems,

To store here children with. If all the world

Should in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse,

Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,

The All-giver would be unthanked, would be unpraised

Not half his riches known, and yet despised;

And we should serve him as a grudging master,

As a penurious niggard of his wealth,

And live like Nature’s bastards, not her sons,

Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight,

And strangled with her waste fertility:

The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked with plumes;

The herds would over-multitude their lords;

The sea o’erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds

Would so emblaze the forehead of the Deep,

And so bestud with stars, that they below

Would grow inured to light, and come at last

To gaze upon the Sun with shameless brows.

List, Lady; be not coy, and be not cozened

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 the injoyment of itself.

If you let slip time, like a neglected rose

It withers on the stalk with languished head.

Beauty is Nature’s brag, and must be shown

In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities,

Where most may wonder at the workmanship.

It is for homely features to keep home;

They had their name thence: coarse complexions

And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply

The sampler, and to tease the housewife’s wool.

What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that,

Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the Morn—

There was another meaning in these gifts;

Think what, and be advised; you are but young yet.

Lady. I had not thought to have unlocked my lips

In this unhallowed air, but that this Juggler

Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes,

Obtruding false rules pranked in reason’s garb.

I hate when Vice can bolt her arguments

And Virtue has no tongue to check her pride.

Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature,

As if she would her children should be riotous

With her abundance. She, good Cateress,

Means her provision only to the good,

That live according to her sober law’s

And holy dictate of spare Temperance.

If every just man that now pines with want

Had but a moderate and beseeming share

Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury

Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,

Nature’s full blessings would be well-dispensed

In unsuperfluous even proportion,

And she no whit encumbered with her store;

And then the Giver would be better thanked,

His praise due paid: for swinish Gluttony

Ne’er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast,

But with besotted base ingratitude

Crams and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on—

Or have I said enow— to him that dares

Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words

Against the sun-clad power 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 uttered 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;

Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.

Yet, should I try, the uncontrollèd worth

Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits

To such a flame of sacred vehemence

That dumb things would be moved to sympathize,

And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake,

Till all thy magic structures, reared so high,

Were shattered into heaps o’er thy false head.

Comus. She fables not. I feel that I do fear

Her words set of by some superior power;

And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering 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 ’t is but the lees

And settlings of a melancholy blood.

But this will cure all straight; one sip of this

Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight

Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste…

The BROTHERS rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and break it against the ground: his rout make sign of resistance, but are all driven in. The ATTENDANT SPIRIT comes in.

Spir. What! have you let the false Enchanter scape—

O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand,

And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed,

And backward mutters of dissevering power,

We cannot free the Lady that sits here

In stony fetters fixed and motionless.

Yet stay: be not disturbed; now I bethink me,

Some other means I have which may be used,

Which once of Melibus old I learnt,

The soothest Shepherd that ere piped on plains.

There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence,

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream:

Sabrina is her name: a virgin pure;

Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,

That had the sceptre from his father Brute.

She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit

Of her enragèd stepdame, Guendolen,

Commended her fair innocence to the flood

That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course.

The water-Nymphs, that in the bottom played,

Held up their pearlèd wrists, and took her in,

Bearing her straight to aged Nereus’ hall;

Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodil,

And through the porch and inlet of each sense

Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived.

And underwent a quick immortal change,

Made Goddess of the river. Still she retains

Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve

Visits the herds along with twilight meadows,

Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs

That the shrewd meddling Elf delights to make,

Which she with pretious vialed liquors heals:

For which the Shepherds, at their festivals,

Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays,

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream,

Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffadils.

And, as the old Swain said, she can unlock

The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell,

If she be right invoked 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 adjuring 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;

Listen for dear honour’s sake,

Goddess of the silver lake,

Listen and save!

Listen, and appear to us,

In name of great Oceanus,

By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace

And Tethys’ grave majestic pace;

By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look,

And the Carpathian wizard’s hook;

By scaly Triton’s winding shell,

And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell;

By Leucothea’s lovely hands,

And her son that rules the strands;

By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered 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;

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 answered have.

Listen and save!

SABRINA rises, attended by Water-nymphs, and sings.

By the rushy-fringèd bank,

Where grows the willow and the oiser dank,

My sliding chariot stays,

Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen

Of turkis blue, and emerald green,

That in the channel strays:

Whilst from off the waters fleet

Thus I set my printless feet

O’er the cowslip’s velvet head,

That bends not as I tread.

Gentle swain, at thy request

I am here!

Spir. Goddess dear,

We implore thy powerful hand

To undo the charmed band

Of true virgin here distressed

Through the force and through the wile

Of unblessed enchanter vile.

Sabr. Shepherd, ’t is my office best

To help insnarèd Chastity,

Brightest Lady, look on me.

Thus I sprinkle on thy breast

Drops that from my fountain pure

I have kept of pretious cure;

Thrice upon thy finger’s tip,

Thrice upon thy rubied lip:

Next this marble venomed seat,

Smeared with gums of glutinous heat,

I touch with chaste palms moist and cold.

Now the spell hath lost his hold;

And I must haste ere morning hour

To wait in Amphitrite’s bower.

SABRINA descends, and the LADY rises out of her seat.

Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine,

Sprung of 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 crystal fill with mud;

May thy billows roll ashore

The beryl and the golden ore;

May thy lofty head be crowned

With many a tower and terrace round,

And here and there thy banks upon

With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.

Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace,

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 wished presence, and beside

All the Swains that there abide

With jigs and rural dance resort.

We shall catch them at their sport,

And our sudden coming there

Will double all their mirth and cheer.

Come, let us haste; the stars grow high,

But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.

The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town, and the President’s Castle: then come in Country Dancers; after them the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, with the two BROTHERS and the LADY.

SONG

Spir. Back, Shepherds, back! Enough your play

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

With the mincing Dryades

On the lawns and on the leas.

This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother.

Noble Lord and Lady bright,

I have brought ye new delight.

Here behold so goodly grown

Three fair branches of your own.

Heaven hath timely tried their youth,

Their faith, their patience, and their truth,

And sent them here through hard assays

With a crown of deathless praise,

To triumph in victorious dance

O’er sensual Folly and Intemperance.

The dances ended, the SPIRIT epiloguizes.

Spir. To the ocean now I fly,

And those happy climes that lie

Where day never shuts his eye,

Up in the broad fields of the sky.

There I suck the liquid air,

All amidst the Gardens fair

Of Hesperus, and his daughters three

That sing about the Golden Tree.

Along the crispèd shades and bowers

Revels the spruce and jocond Spring;

The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours

Thither all their bounties bring.

There eternal Summer dwells,

And west winds with musky wing

About the cedarn 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 the Assyrian queen;

But far above in spangled sheen

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,

Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranced,

After her wandring 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 done,

I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earth’s end,

Where the bowed 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 ye how to climb

Higher than the spheary chime:

Or, if Virtue feeble were,

Heaven itself would stoop to her.

Lycidas

(1637)

In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637; and, by occasion, foretells 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 sere,

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,

And with forced 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 hath not left his peer.

Who would not sing for Lycidas— he knew

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

He must not float upon his watery 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 the string.

Hence with denial vain and coy excuse:

So may some gentle Muse

With lucky words favour my destined urn,

And as he passes turn,

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud!

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill,

Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill;

Together both, ere the high lawns appeared

Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,

We drove a-field, and both together heard

What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn,

Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night,

Oft till the star that rose at evening bright

Toward heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel.

Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute;

Tempered to the oaten flute

Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel

From the glad sound would not be absent long;

And old Damtas loved to hear our song.

But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone,

Now thou art gone and never must return!

Thee, Shepherd, thee 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,

Shall 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, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep

Closed o’er the head of your loved 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 wisard stream.

Ay me! I fondly dream

“Had ye been there,”… for what could that have done—

What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,

The Muse herself, for her inchanting son,

Whom universal nature did lament,

When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,

His gory visage down the stream was sent,

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore—

Alas! what boots it with uncessant 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 with Amaryllis in the shade,

Or with the tangles of Neaera’s hair—

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

(That last infirmity of noble mind)

To scorn delights and live laborious days;

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,

And think to burst out into sudden blaze,

Comes the blind Fury with the abhorrèd shears,

And slits the thin-spun life. “But not the praise,”

Phbus replied, and touched my trembling ears:

“Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,

Nor in the glistering foil

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies,

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;

As he pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.”

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood,

Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned 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 asked the waves, and asked the felon winds.

What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain—

And questioned every gust of rugged wings

That blows from off each beaked promontory.

They knew not of his story;

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,

That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed:

The air was calm, and on the level brine

Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.

It was that fatal and perfidious bark,

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend Sire, went footing slow,

His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,

Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge

Like to that sanguine flower inscribed 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 mitred locks, and stern bespake:—

“How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,

Anow of such as, for their bellies’ sake,

Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold!

Of other care they little reckoning make

Than how to scramble at the shearers’ feast,

And shove away the worthy bidden guest.

Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold

A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least

That to the faithful Herdman’s art belongs!

What recks it them— What need they— They are sped;

And, when they list, their lean and fleshy songs

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,

But, swoln 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.”

Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past

That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,

And call the vales, and bid them hither cast

Their bells and flowerets 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 sparely looks,

Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes,

That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers,

And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,

The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine,

The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,

The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine,

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,

And every flower that sad embroidery wears;

Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,

To strew the laureate hearse 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 hurled;

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide

Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world;

Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,

Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old,

Where the great Vision of the guarded mount

Looks toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold.

Look homeward, Angel now, and melt with ruth:

And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,

For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the watery 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 Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,

Where, other groves and other streams along,

With nectar pure 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,

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good

To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth Swain to the oaks and rills,

While the still Morn went out with sandals grey:

He touched the tender stops of various quills,

With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:

And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,

And now was dropt into the western bay.

At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:

To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

Poems Written During the Civil War and the Protectorate, 1642—1658

When the Assault was Intended to the City

(November, 1642)

CAPTAIN, or colonel, or knight in arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms.

He can requite thee, for he knows the charms

That call fame on such gentle acts as these,

And he can spread thy name o’er lands and seas,

Whatever clime the sun’s bright circle warms.

Lift not thy spear against the Muse’s bower;

The great Emathian conqueror bid spare

The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower

Went to the ground; and the repeated air

Of sad Electra’s Poet had the power

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

To a Virtuous Young Lady

(1644)

LADY! that in the prime of earliest youth

Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green,

And with those few art eminently seen,

That labour up the Hill of Heavenly Truth,

The better part with Mary and with Ruth

Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,

And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,

No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.

Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light.

And Hope that reaps not shame; therefore be sure,

Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastful friends

Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,

Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

To the Lady Margaret Ley

(1644—5)

DAUGHTER to that good Earl, one President

Of England’s Council and her Treasury,

Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee,

And left them both, more in himself content,

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament

Broke him, as that dishonest victory

At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty,

Killed with report that old man eloquent,

Though later born than to have known the days

Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,

Madam, methinks I see him living yet:

So well your words his noble virtues praise

That all both judge you to relate them true

And to possess them, honoured Margaret.

On the Detraction which Followed upon my Writing Certain Treatises

(1645—6)

A BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordon,

And woven close, both matter, form, and style;

The subject new: it walked the town a while,

Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored on.

Cries the stall-reader, “Bless us! what a word on

A title-page is this!; and some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile—

End Green. Why, is it harder, sirs, than Gordon,

Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp—

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek

That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.

Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek,

Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,

When thou taught’st Cambridge and King Edward Greek.

On the Same

(1645—6)

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs

By the known rules of ancient liberty,

When straight a barbarous noise environs me

Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs;

As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs

Railed at Latona’s twin-born progeny,

Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.

But this is got by casting pearl to hogs,

That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And still revolt when Truth would set them free.

Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

For who loves that must first be wise and good:

But from that mark how far they rove we see,

For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.

On the New Forcers of Conscience under the Long Parliament

(1646)

BECAUSE you have thrown off your Prelate Lord,

And with stiff vows renounced his Liturgy,

To seize the widowed whore Plurality,

From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred,

Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword

To force our consciences that Christ set free,

And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy,

Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford—

Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent,

Would have been held in high esteem with Paul

Must now be named and printed heretics

By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d’ye-call!

But we do hope to find out all your tricks,

Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,

That so the Parliament

May with their wholesome and preventive shears

Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears,

And succour our just fears,

When they shall read this clearly in your charge:

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.

To Mr. H. Lawes on His Airs

(1646)

HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song

First taught our English music how to span

Words with just note and accent, not to scan

With Midas’ ears, committing short and long,

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,

With praise enough for Envy to look wan;

To after age thou shalt be writ the man

That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue.

Thou honour’st Verse, and Verse must lend her wing

To honour thee, the priest of Phbus’ quire,

That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story.

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher

Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing,

Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson, my Christian Friend, deceased Dec. 16, 1646

(1646)

WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,

Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,

Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load

Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.

Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,

Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod;

But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod,

Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best

Thy handmaids, clad them o’er with purple beams

And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,

And speak the truth of thee on glorious themes

Before the Judge; who henceforth bid thee rest,

And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

On the Lord General Fairfax at the Siege of Colchester

(1648)

FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings,

Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,

And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,

And rumours loud that daunt remotest kings,

Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory home, though new rebellions raise

Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays

Her broken league to imp their serpent wings.

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand

(For what can war but endless war still breed—)

Till truth and right from violence be freed,

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand

Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed,

While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

To the Lord General Cromwell, on the Proposals of Certain Ministers at the Committee for the Propagation of the Gospel

(1652)

CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud

Not of war only, but detractions rude,

Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,

To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,

And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud

Hast reared God’s trophies, and his work pursued,

While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,

And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcester’s laureate wreath: yet much remains

To conquer still; Peace hath her victories

No less renowned than War: new foes arise,

Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.

Help us to save free conscience from the paw

Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.

To Sir Henry Vane the Younger

(1652)

VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,

Than whom a better senator ne’er held

The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled

The fierce Epirot and the African bold,

Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;

Then to advise how war may best, upheld,

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,

In all her equipage; besides, to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,

What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done.

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:

Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans

In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

On the Late Massacre in Piemont

(1655)

AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered Saints, whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;

Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones,

Forget not: in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold

Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow

O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway

The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow

A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way,

Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

On His Blindness

(1655)

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one Talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He returning chide,

“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied—”

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o’er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait.”

To Mr. Lawrence

(1656)

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,

Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

From the hard season gaining— Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius reinspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire

The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air—

He who of those delights can judge, and spare

To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

To Cyriack Skinner

(1656)

CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench

Of British Themis, with no mean applause,

Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench,

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

In mirth that after no repenting draws;

Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede intend, and what the French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;

For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,

And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day,

And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

To the Same

(1655)

CYRIACK, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear,

To outward view, of blemish or of spot,

Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;

Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear

Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot

Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer

Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask—

The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied

In liberty’s defence, my noble task,

Of which all Europe rings from side to side.

This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask

Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

On his Deceased Wife

(1658)

METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,

Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint.

Mine, as whom washed from spot of childbed taint

Purification in the Old Law did save,

And such as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.

Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight

Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

So clear as in no face with more delight.

But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Paradise Lost, 1658—1663

Paradise Lost: The Verse

(1658—1663)

The measure is English heroic verse without rime, as that of Homer in Greek, and of Virgil in Latin—rime being no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre; graced indeed since by the use of some famous modern poets, carried away by custom, but much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse, than else they would have expressed them. Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of prime note have rejected rime both in longer and shorter works, as have also long since our best English tragedies, as a thing of itself, to all judicious ears, trivial and of no true musical delight; which consists only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings—a fault avoided by the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory. This neglect then of rime so little is to be taken for a defect, though it may seem so perhaps to vulgar readers, that it rather is to be esteemed an example set, the first in English, of ancient liberty recovered to heroic poem from the troublesome and modern bondage of riming.

Paradise Lost: The First Book

THE 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 drawing 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 passed over, the Poem hastes into the midst of things; presenting Satan, with his Angels, now fallen into Hell—described here not in the Centre (for heaven and earth may be supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet accursed), but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos. Here Satan, with his Angels lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and astonished after a certain space recovers, as from confusion; calls up 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 named, 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 new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy, 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 thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. 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, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top

Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire

That Shepherd who first taught the chosen seed

In the beginning how the heavens and earth

Rose out of Chaos: 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 adventrous song,

That with no middle flight intends to soar

Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues

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 sat’st brooding on the vast Abyss,

And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark

Illumine, what is low raise and support;

That, to the highth of this great argument,

I may assert Eternal Providence,

And justify the ways of God to men.

Say first—for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,

Nor the deep tract of Hell—say first what cause

Moved our grand Parents, in that happy state,

Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off

From their Creator, and transgress his will

For one restraint, lords of the World besides.

Who first seduced them to that foul revolt—

The infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,

Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived

The mother of mankind, what time his pride

Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host

Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring

To set himself in glory above his peers,

He trusted to have equalled the Most High,

If he opposed, and, with ambitious aim

Against the throne and monarchy of God,

Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,

With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power

Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,

With hideous ruin and combustion, down

To bottomless perdition, there to dwell

In adamantine chains and penal fire,

Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.

Nine times the space that measures day and night

To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew,

Lay vanquished, rowling in the fiery gulf,

Confounded, though immortal. But his doom

Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought

Both of lost happiness and lasting pain

Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,

That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,

Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.

At once, as far as Angel’s ken, he views

The dismal situation waste and wild.

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,

As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames

No light; but rather darkness visible

Served only to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace

And rest can never dwell, hope never comes

That comes to all, but torture without end

Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed

With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed.

Such place Eternal Justice had prepared

For those rebellious; here their prison ordained

In utter darkness, and their portion set,

As far removed from God and light of Heaven

As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole.

Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell!

There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,

He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side,

One next himself in power, and next in crime,

Long after known in Palestine, and named

Beëlzebub. To whom the Arch-Enemy,

And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words

Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—

“If thou beest he—but Oh how fallen! how changed

From him!—who, in the happy realms of light,

Clothed 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,

Joined with me once, now misery hath joined

In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest

From what highth fallen: so much the stronger proved

He with his thunder: and till then who knew

The force of those dire arms— Yet not for those,

Nor what the potent Victor in his rage

Can else inflict, do I repent, or change,

Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind,

And high disdain from sense of injured merit,

That with the Mightiest raised me to contend,

And to the fierce contention brought along

Innumerable force of Spirits armed,

That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,

His utmost power with adverse power opposed

In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,

And shook his throne. What though the field be lost—

All is not lost—the 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 empyreal substance, cannot fail;

Since, through experience of this great event,

In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,

We may with more successful hope resolve

To wage by force or guile eternal war,

Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,

Who now triumphs’, and in the excess of joy

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.”

So spake the apostate Angel, though in pain,

Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;

And him thus answered soon his bold Compeer;—

“O Prince, O Chief of many thronèd Powers

That led the embattled Seraphim to war

Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds

Fearless, endangered Heaven’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 Heavenly Essences

Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains

Invincible, and vigour soon returns,

Though all our glory extinct, and happy state

Here swallowed 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’erpowered 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 fire,

Or do errands in the gloomy Deep—

What can it then avail though yet we feel

Strength undiminished, or eternal being

To undergo eternal punishment—”

Whereto with speedy words the Arch-Fiend replied:—

“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 ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps

Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb

His inmost counsels from their destined aim.

But see! the angry Victor hath recalled

His ministers of vengeance and pursuit

Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,

Shot after us in storm, o’erblown hath laid

The fiery surge that from the precipice

Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder,

Winged 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 the occasion, 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 livid flames

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 uplift above the wave, and eyes

That sparkling blazed; 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 warred on Jove,

Briareos or Typhon, whom the den

By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast

Leviathan, which God of all his works

Created hugest that swim the ocean-stream.

Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,

The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,

Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell,

With fixèd anchor in his scaly rind,

Moors by his side under the lee, while night

Invests the sea, and wishèd morn delays.

So stretched out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay,

Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence

Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will

And high permission of all-ruling Heaven

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 enraged might see

How all his malice served but to bring forth

Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn

On Man by him seduced, but on himself

Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured.

Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool

His mighty stature; on each hand the flames

Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and, rowled

In billows, leave i’ the midst a horrid vale.

Then with expanded wings he steers his flight

Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air,

That felt unusual weight; till on dry land

He lights—if it were land that ever burned

With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,

And such appeared in hue as when the force

Of subterranean wind transports a hill

Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side

Of thundering AEtna, whose combustible

And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,

Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,

And leave a singèd bottom all involved

With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole

Of unblest feet. Him followed his next Mate;

Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood

As gods, and by their own recovered strength,

Not by the sufferance of supernal power.

“Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,”

Said then the lost Archangel, “this the seat

That we must change for Heaven——this mournful gloom

For that celestial light— Be it so, since He

Who now is sovran can dispose and bid

What shall be right: fardest from Him is best,

Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme

Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,

Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,

Infernal World! and thou, profoundest Hell,

Receive thy new possessor—one who brings

A mind not to be changed by place or time.

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

What matter where, if I be still the same,

And what I should be, all but less than he

Whom thunder hath made greater— Here at least

We shall be free; the 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 Heaven.

But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,

The associates and co-partners of our loss,

Lie thus astonished on the 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

Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell—”

So Satan spake; and him Beëlzebub

Thus answered:—“Leader of those armies bright

Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foiled!

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 raged, 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 erewhile, astounded and amazed;

No wonder, fallen such a pernicious highth!”

He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend

Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous 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 the Tuscan artist views

At evening, from the top of Fesolè,

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,

Rivers, or mountains, in 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 walked with, to support uneasy steps

Over the burning marle, not like those steps

On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime

Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.

Nathless he so endured, till on the beach

Of that inflamèd sea he stood, and called

His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced

Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks

In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades

High over-arched imbower; or scattered sedge

Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed

Hath vexed 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 called so loud that all the hollow deep

Of Hell resounded:—“Princes, Potentates,

Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,

If such astonishment 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 Heaven—

Or in this abject posture have ye sworn

To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds

Cherub and Seraph rowling in the flood

With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon

His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern

The advantage, and, descending tread us down

Thus drooping, or with linkèd thunderbolts

Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf——

Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”

They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung

Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch,

On duty sleeping found by whom they dread,

Rouse and bestir themselves ere 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 obeyed

Innumerable. As when the potent rod

Of Amram’s son, in Egypt’s evil day,

Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud

Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,

That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung

Like Night, and darkened 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 given, the uplifted spear

Of their great Sultan waving to direct

Their course, in even balance down they light

On the firm brimstone, and fill the plain:

A multitude like which the populous North

Poured never from her frozen loins to pass

Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons

Came like a deluge on the South, and spread

Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan 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 Heavenly records now

Be no memorial, blotted out and rased

By their rebellion from the Books of Life.

Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve

Got them new names, till, wondering o’er the earth,

Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,

By falsities and lies the greatest part

Of mankind they corrupted to forsake

God their Creator, and the invisible

Glory of Him that made them to transform

Oft to the image of a brute, adorned

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, who last,

Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch,

At their great Emperor’s call, as next in worth

Came singly where he stood on the bare strand,

While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof.

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 adored

Among the nations round, and durst abide

Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned

Between the Cherubim; yea, often placed

Within His sanctuary itself their shrines,

Abominations; and with cursed things

His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned,

And with their darkness durst affront His light.

First, Moloch, horrid King, besmeared with blood

Of human sacrifice, and parents’ tears;

Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud,

Their children’s cries unheard that passed through fire

To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite

Worshiped in Rabba and her watery 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 the temple of God

On that opprobrious hill, and made his grove

The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence

And black Gehenna called, the type of Hell.

Next Chemos, the obscene dread of Moab’s sons,

From Aroar to Nebo and the wild

Of southmost Abarim; in Hesebon

And Horonaim, Seon’s realm, beyond

The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines,

And Elealè to the Asphaltick Pool:

Peor his other name, when he enticed

Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile,

To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe.

Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged

Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove

Of Moloch homicide, lust hard by hate,

Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell.

With these came they who, from the bordering flood

Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts

Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names

Of Baalim and Ashtaroth—those male,

These feminine. For Spirits, when they please,

Can either sex assume, or both; so soft

And uncompounded is their essence pure,

Not tied or manacled with joint or limb,

Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,

Like cumbrous flesh; but, in what shape they choose,

Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure,

Can execute their aery 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 which their heads, as low

Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear

Of despicable foes. With these in troop

Came Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians called

Astarte, queen of heaven, with cresent horns;

To whose bright image nightly by the moon

Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs;

In Sion also not unsung, where stood

Her temple on the offensive mountain, built

By that uxorious king whose heart, though large,

Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell

To idols foul. Thammuz came next behind,

Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured

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, supposed with blood

Of Thammuz yearly wounded: 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 surveyed the dark idolatries

Of alienated Judah. Next came one

Who mourned in earnest, when the captive Ark

Maimed his brute image, head and hands lopt off,

In his own temple, on the grunsel-edge,

Where he fell flat and shamed his worshipers:

Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man

And downward fish; yet had his temple high

Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast

Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon,

And Accaron and Gaza’s frontier bounds.

Him followed Rimmon, 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 gained a king—

Ahaz, his sottish conqueror, 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 vanquished. After these appeared

A crew who, under names of old renown—

Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train—

With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused

Fanatic Egypt and her priests to seek

Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms

Rather than human. Nor did Israel scape

The infection, when their borrowed gold composed

The calf in Oreb; and the rebel king

Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan,

Likening his Maker to the grazèd ox—

Jehovah, who, in one night, when he passed

From Egypt marching, equalled with one stroke

Both her first-born and all her bleating gods.

Belial came last; than whom a Spirit more lewd

Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love,

Vice for itself. To him no temple stood

Or altar smoked; 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

Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape.

These were the prime in order and in might:

The rest were long to tell; though far renowned

The Ionian gods—of Javan’s issue held

Gods, yet confessed later than Heaven and Earth,

Their boasted parents;—Titan, Heaven’s first-born,

With his enormous brood, and birthright seized

By younger Saturn: he from mightier Jove,

His own and Rhea’s son, like measure found;

So Jove unsurping reigned. These, first in Crete

And Ida known, thence on the snowy top

Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air,

Their highest heaven; 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 the Hesperian fields,

And o’er the Celtic roamed the utmost Isles.

All these and more came flocking; but with looks

Downcast and damp; yet such wherein appeared

Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief

Not in despair, to 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, nor substance, gently raised

Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears:

Then straight commands that, at the war-like sound

Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared

His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed

Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall:

Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled

The imperial ensign; which, full high advanced,

Shon like a meteor streaming to the wind,

With gems and golden lustre rich imblazed,

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 helms

Appeared, and serried shields in thick array

Of depth immeasurable. Anon they move

In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood

Of flutes and soft recorders—such as raised

To highth of noblest temper heroes old

Arming to battle, and instead of rage

Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved

With dread of death to flight or foul retreat;

Nor wanting power to mitigate and 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 with fixed thought,

Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed

Their painful steps o’er the burnt soil. And now

Advanced in view they stand—a horrid front

Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise

Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield,

Awaiting what command their mighty Chief

Had to impose. He through the armed files

Darts his experienced 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, hardening in his strength,

Glories: for never, since created Man,

Met such imbodied force as, named with these,

Could merit more than that small infantry

Warred on by cranes—though all the giant brood

Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined

That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side

Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what resounds

In fable or romance of Uther’s son,

Begirt with British and Armoric knights;

And all who since, baptized or infidel,

Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban,

Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond,

Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore

When Charlemain with all his peerage fell

By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond

Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed

Their dread Commander. He, above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,

Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost

All her original brightness, nor appeared

Less than Archangel ruined, and the excess

Of glory obscured: 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 shon

Above them all the Archangel: 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), condemned

For ever now to have their lot in pain—

Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced

Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung

For his revolt—yet faithful how they stood,

Their glory withered; as, when heaven’s fire

Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines,

With singèd top their stately growth, though bare,

Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared

To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend

From wing to wing, and half enclose him round

With all his peers: Attention held them mute.

Thrice he assayed, and thrice, 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 Spirits! O Powers

Matchless, but with the Almighty!—and that strife

Was not inglorious, though the event was dire,

As this place testifies, and this dire change,

Hateful to utter. But what power of mind,

Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth

Of knowledge past or present, could have feared

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

Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to reascend,

Self-raised, and re-possess their native seat—

For me, be witness all the host of Heaven,

If counsels different, or danger shunned

By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns

Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure

Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute,

Consent or custom, and his regal state

Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed—

Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.

Henceforth his might we know, and know our own,

So as not either to provoke, or dread

New war provoked: 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 Heaven that He ere long

Intended to create, and therein plant

A generation whom his choice regard

Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven.

Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps

Our first eruption—thither, or elsewhere;

For this infernal pit shall never hold

Caelestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss

Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts

Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired;

For who can think submission— War, then, war

Open or understood, must be resolved.”

He spake; and, to confirm his words, out-flew

Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs

Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze

Far around illumined Hell. Highly they raged

Again the Highest and fierce with graspèd arms

Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war,

Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.

There stood a hill not far, whose griesly top

Belched fire and rowling smoke; the rest entire

Shown with a glossy scurf—undoubted sign

That in his womb was hid metallic ore,

The work of sulphur. Thither, winged with speed,

A numerous brigad hastened: as when bands

Of pioners, with spade and pickaxe armed,

Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,

Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on—

Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell

From Heaven; for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts

Were always downward bent, admiring more

The riches of Heaven’s pavement, trodden gold,

Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed

In vision beatific. By him first

Men also, and by suggestion taught

Ransacked the Centre, and with impious hands

Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth

For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew

Opened into the hill a spacious wound,

And digged out ribs of gold. Let none admire

That riches grow in Hell: that soil may best

Deserve the pretious bane. And here let those

Who boast in mortal things, and wondering tell

Of Babel and the works of Memphian kings,

Learn how their greatest monuments of fame,

And strength, and art, are easily outdone

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 prepared,

That underneath had veins of liquid fire

Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude

With wondrous art founded the massy ore,

Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion-dross.

A third as soon had formed within the ground

A various mould, and from the boiling cells

By strange conveyance filled 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:

The roof was fretted gold. Not Babilon

Nor great Alcairo such magnificence

Equalled in all their glories, to inshrine

Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat

Their kings, when AEgypt with Assyria strove

In wealth and luxury. The ascending pile

Stood fixed her stately highth; and straight the doors

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 multitude

Admiring entered; and the work some praise,

And some the Architect. His hand was known

In Heaven by many a towered structure high,

Where sceptred 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 unadored

In ancient Greece; and in Ausonian land

Men called him Mulciber; and how he fell

From Heaven they fabled, thrown by angry Jove

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, the AEgaean isle. Thus they relate,

Erring; for he with this rebellious rout

Fell long before; nor aught availed him now

To have built in Heaven high towers; nor did he scape

By all his engines, but was headlong sent,

With his industrious crew, to build in Hell.

Meanwhile the wingèd Haralds, by command

Of sovran power, with awful ceremony

And trumpet’s sound, throughout the host proclaim

A solemn council forthwith to be held

At Pandaemonium, the high capital

Of Satan and his peers. Their summons called

From every band and squarèd regiment

By place or choice the worthiest: they anon

With hundreds and with thousands trooping came

Attended. All access was thronged; the gates

And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall

(Though like a covered field, where champions bold

Wont ride in armed, and at the Soldan’s chair

Defied the best of Panim chivalry

To mortal combat, or career with lance),

Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the air,

Brushed 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 flowers

Fly to and fro, or on the smoothèd plank,

The suburb of their straw-built citadel,

New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and confer

Their state-affairs: so thick the aerie crowd

Swarmed and were straitened; till, the signal given,

Behold a wonder! They but now who seemed

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 faery elves,

Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side

Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,

Or dreams he sees, while overhead the Moon

Sits arbitress, and nearer to the Earth

Wheels her pale course: they, on their mirth and dance

Intent, with jocond music charm his ear;

At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.

Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms

Reduced 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: The Second Book

THE ARGUMENT.—The consultation begun, Satan debates whether another battle is to be hazarded for the recovery of Heaven: some advise it, others dissuade. A third proposal is preferred, mentioned before by Satan—to search the truth of that prophecy or tradition in Heaven 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 honoured and applauded. The council thus ended, the rest betake them several ways and to several imployments, 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 opened, and discover to him the great 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

Outshon the wealth of Ormus and of Ind,

Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand

Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,

Satan exalted sat, by merit raised

To that bad eminence; and, from despair

Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires

Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue

Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught,

His proud imaginations thus displayed:—

“Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!—

For, since no deep within her gulf can hold

Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen,

I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent

Celestial Virtues rising will appear

More glorious and more dread than from no fall,

And trust themselves to fear no second fate!—

Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,

Did first create your leader—next, free choice,

With what besides in council or in fight

Hath been achieved of merit—yet this loss,

Thus far at least recovered, hath much more

Established in a safe, unenvied throne,

Yielded with full consent. The happier state

In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw

Envy from each inferior; but who here

Will envy whom the highest place exposes

Foremost to stand against the Thunderer’s aim

Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share

Of endless pain— Where there is, then, no good

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 assured us; and by what best way,

Whether of open war or covert guile,

We now debate. Who can advise may speak.”

He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,

Stood up—the strongest and the fiercest Spirit

That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.

His trust was with the Eternal to be deemed

Equal in strength, and rather than be less

Cared not to be at all; with that care lost

Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,

He recked 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, and longing wait

The signal to ascend—sit lingering here,

Heaven’s fugitives, and for their dwelling-place

Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,

The prison of His tyranny who reigns

By our delay— No! let us rather choose,

Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once

O’er Heaven’s high towers to force resistless way,

Turning our tortures into horrid arms

Against the torturer; 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

Mixed 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

Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep,

With what compulsion and laborious flight

We sunk thus low— The ascent is easy, then;

The event is feared! Should we again provoke

Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find

To our destruction, if there be in Hell

Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse

Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned

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 destroyed than thus,

We should be quite abolished, and expire.

What fear we then— what doubt we to incense

His utmost ire— which, to the highth enraged,

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; and by proof we feel

Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,

And with perpetual inroads to alarm,

Though inaccessible, his fatal Throne:

Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.”

He ended frowning, and his look denounced

Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous

To less than gods. On the other side up rose

Belial, in act more graceful and humane.

A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed

For dignity composed, 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

Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear,

And with persuasive accent thus began:—

“I should be much for open war, O Peers,

As not behind in hate, if what was urged

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 Heaven are filled

With armèd watch, that render all access

Impregnable: oft on the bordering Deep

Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing

Scout far and wide into the realm of Night,

Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way

By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise

With blackest insurrection to confound

Heaven’s purest light, yet our great Enemy,

All incorruptible, would on his throne

Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould,

Incapable of stain, would soon expel

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,

Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope

Is flat despair: we must exasperate

The Almighty Victor to spend all his rage:

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,

To perish rather, swallowed up and lost

In 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,

Reserved, and destined to eternal woe;

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,

What can we suffer worse—’ Is this, then, worst—

Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms—

What when we fled amain, pursued and strook

With Heaven’s afflicting thunder, and besought

The Deep to shelter us— This Hell then seemed

A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay

Chained on the burning lake— That sure was worse.

What if the breath that kindled those grim fires,

Awaked, 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 all

Her stores were opened, and this firmament

Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,

Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall

One day upon our heads; while we perhaps,

Designing or exhorting glorious war,

Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled.

Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey

Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk

Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,

There to converse with everlasting groans,

Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved,

Ages of hopeless end— This would be worse.

War, therefore, open or concealed, 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 Heaven’s highth

All these our motions vain sees and derides,

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 expelled, to suffer here

Chains and these torments— Better these than worse

By my advice; 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 resolved,

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 ventrous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear

What yet they know must follow—to endure

Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,

The sentence of their conqueror. This is now

Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear,

Our Supreme Foe in time may such remit

His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,

Not mind us not offending, satisfied

With what is punished; whence these raging fires

Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames.

Our purer essence then will overcome

Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel;

Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed

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 future days may bring, what chance, what change

Worth waiting—since our present lot appears

For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,

If we procure not to ourselves more woe.”

Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason’s garb,

Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth,

Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake:—

“Either to disinthrone the King of Heaven

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

The latter; for what place can be for us

Within Heaven’s bound, unless Heaven’s Lord Supreme

We overpower— Suppose he should relent,

And publish grace to all, on promise made

Of new subjection; with what eyes could we

Stand in his presence humble, and receive

Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne

With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing

Forced Halleluiahs, while he lordly sits

Our envied sovran, and his altar breathes

Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,

Our servile offerings— This must be our task

In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome

Eternity so spent in worship paid

To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue,

By force impossible, by leave obtained

Unacceptable, though in Heaven, 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 none accountable, preferring

Hard liberty before the easy yoke

Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear

Then most conspicuous when great things of small,

Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse,

We can create, and in what place soe’er

Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain

Through labour and indurance. This deep world

Of darkness do we dread— How oft amidst

Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven’s all-ruling Sire

Choose to reside, his glory unobscured,

And with the majesty of darkness round

Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar,

Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!

As He our darkness, cannot we His light

Imitate when we please— This desart soil

Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;

Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise

Magnificence; and what can Heaven shew more—

Our torments also may, in length of time,

Become our elements, these piercing fires

As soft as now severe, our temper changed

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 finished, when such murmur filled

The assembly as when hollow rocks retain

The sound of blustering winds, which all night long

Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull

Seafaring men o’erwatched, whose bark by chance,

Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay

After the tempest. Such applause was heard

As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased,

Advising peace: for such another field

They dreaded worse than Hell; so much the fear

Of thunder and the sword of Michaël

Wrought still within them; and no less desire

To found this nether empire, which might rise,

By policy and long process’ of time,

In emulation opposite to Heaven.

Which when Beëlzebub perceived—than whom,

Satan except, none higher sat—with grave

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed

A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven

Deliberation sat, and public care;

And princely counsel in his face yet shon,

Majestic, 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

Or summer’s noontide air, while thus he spake:—

“Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven,

Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now

Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called

Princes of Hell— for so the popular vote

Inclines—here to continue, and build up here

A growing empire; doubtless! while we dream;

And know not that the king of Heaven hath doomed

This place our dungeon—not our safe retreat

Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt

From Heaven’s high jurisdiction, in new league

Banded against his throne, but to remain

In strictest bondage, though thus far removed,

Under the inevitable curb, reserved

His captive multitude. For He, be sure,

In highth of 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 Heaven,

What sit we then projecting peace and war—

War hath determined us and foiled with loss

Irreparable; terms of peace yet none

Voutsafed or sought; for what peace will be given

To us enslaved, but custody severe,

And stripes and arbitrary punishment

Inflicted— and what peace can we return,

But, to out power, hostility and hate,

Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow,

Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror 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

Heaven, 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 Heaven

Err not)—another World, the happy seat

Of some new rave, called Man, about this time

To be created like to us, though less

In power and excellence, but favoured more

Of Him who rules above; so was His will

Pronounced among the gods, and by an oath

That shook Heaven’s whole circumference confirmed.

Thither 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 Heaven be shut,

And Heaven’s high Arbitrator sit secure

In his own strength, this place may lie exposed,

The utmost border of his kingdom, left

To their defence who hold it: here, perhaps,

Some advantageous act may be achieved

By sudden onset—either with Hell-fire

To waste his whole creation, or possess

All as our own, and drive, as we are 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 works. This would surpass

Common revenge, and interrupt His joy

In our confusion, and our joy upraise

In His disturbance; when his darling sons,

Hurled headlong 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 Beëlzebub,

Pleaded his devilish counsel—first devised

By Satan, and in part proposed: 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

Pleased 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 judged, well ended long debate,

Synod of Gods and, like to what ye are,

Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep

Will once more lift us up, in spite of Fate,

Nearer our ancient Seat—perhaps in view

Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbouring arms,

And opportune excursion, we may chance

Re-enter Heaven; or else in some mild zone

Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven’s fair light,

Secure, and at the brightening 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 wandering feet

The dark, unbottomed, infinite Abyss,

And through the palpable obscure find out

His uncouth way, or spread his aerie flight,

Upborne with indefatigable wings

Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive

The happy Isle— 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 suffrage; for on whom we send

The weight of all, and our last hope, relies.”

This said, he sat; and expectation held

His look suspense, awaiting who appeared

To second, or oppose, or undertake

The perilous attempt. But all sat mute,

Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each

In other’s countenance read his own dismay,

Astonished. None among the choice and prime

Of those Heaven-warring champions could be found

So hardy as to proffer or accept,

Alone, the dreadful voyage; till, at last,

Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised

Above his fellows, with monarchal pride

Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus spake:—

“O Progeny of Heaven! Empyreal Thrones!

With reason hath deep silence and demur

Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the way

And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light.

Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire,

Outrageous to devour, immures us round

Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant,

Barred over us, prohibit all egress.

These passed, if any pass, the void profound

Of unessential Night receives him next,

Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being

Threatens him, plunged 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 sovranty, adorned

With splendour, armed with power, if aught proposed

And judged 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 honoured sits— Go, therefore, mighty Powers,

Terror of Heaven, though fallen; 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 wakeful Foe, while I abroad

Through all the coasts of dark destruction seek

Deliverance for us all. This enterprise

None shall partake with me.” Thus saying, rose

The Monarch, and prevented all reply;

Prudent lest, from his resolution raised,

Others among the chief might offer now,

Certain to be refused, what erst they feared,

And, so refused, might in opinion stand

His rivals, winning cheap the high repute

Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they

Dreaded not more the adventure than his voice

Forbidding; and at once with him they rose.

Their rising all at once was as the sound

Of thunder heard remote. Towards him they bend

With awful reverence prone, and as a God

Extol him equal to the Highest in Heaven.

Nor failed they to express how much they praised

That for the general safety he despised

His own: for neither do the Spirits damned

Lose all their virtue; lest bad men should boast

Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites,

Or close ambition varnished o’er with zeal.

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark

Ended, rejoicing in their matchless Chief:

As, when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds

Ascending, while the North-wind sleeps, o’erspread

Heaven’s cheerful face, the louring element

Scowls o’er the darkened lantskip snow or shower,

If chance the radiant sun, with farewell sweet,

Extend his evening beam, the fields revive,

The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds

Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings.

O shame to men! Devil with devil damned

Firm concord holds; men only disagree

Of creatures rational, though under hope

Of heavenly grace, and, God proclaiming peace,

Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars

Wasting the earth, each other to destroy:

As if (which might induce us to accord)

Man had not hellish foes enow besides,

That day and night for his destruction wait!

The Stygian council thus dissolved; and forth

In order came the grand Infernal Peers:

Midst came their mighty Paramount, and seemed

Alone the Antagonist of Heaven, nor less

Than Hell’s dread Emperor, with pomp supreme,

And god-like imitated state: him round

A globe of fiery Seraphim inclosed

With bright imblazonry, and horrent arms.

Then of their session ended they bid cry

With trumpet’s regal sound the great result:

Toward the four winds four speedy Cherubim

Put to their mouths the sounding alchemy,

By harald’s voice explained; the hollow Abyss

Heard far and wide, and all the host of Hell

With deafening shout returned them loud acclaim.

Thence more at ease their minds, and somewhat raised

By false presumptuous hope, the rangèd Powers

Disband; and, wandering, each his several way

Pursues, as inclination or sad choice,

Leads him perplexed, where he may likeliest find

Truce 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 the 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

Waged in the troubled sky, and armies rush

To battle in the clouds; before each van

Prick forth the aerie knights, and couch their spears,

Till thickest legions close; with feats of arms

From either end of heaven the welkin burns.

Others, with vast Typhan 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 crowned

With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, and tore

Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines,

And Lichas from the top of Oeta threw

Into the 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

Free Virtue should enthrall to Force or Chance.

Their song was partial; but the harmony

(What could it less when Spirits immortal sing—)

Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment

The thronging audience. In discourse more sweet

(For Eloquence the Soul, Song charms the Sense)

Others apart sat on a hill retired,

In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high

Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate—

Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute—

And found no end, in wandering mazes lost.

Of good and evil much they argued then,

Of happiness 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 while or anguish, and excite

Fallacious hope, or arm the obdured 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 four 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, named of lamentation loud

Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegeton,

Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.

Far off from these, a slow and silent stream,

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rowls

Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks

Forthwith his former state and being forgets—

Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.

Beyond 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; all 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

Burns frore, and cold performs the effect of fire.

Thither, by harpy-footed Furies haled,

At certain revolutions all the damned

Are brought; and feel by turns the bitter change

Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce,

From beds of raging fire to starve in ice

Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine

Immovable, infixed, and frozen round

Periods of time,—thence hurried back to fire.

They ferry over this Lethean sound

Both to and fro, 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;

But Fate withstands, and, to oppose the attempt,

Medusa with Gorgonian 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 confused march forlorn, the adventrous bands,

With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast,

Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found

No rest. Through many a dark and dreary vale

They passed, and many a region dolorous,

O’er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp,

Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death—

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 feigned or fear conceived,

Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimaeras dire.

Meanwhile the Adversary of God and Man,

Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design,

Puts on swift wings, and toward the gates of Hell

Explores his solitary 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 towering high.

As when far off at sea a fleet descried

Hangs in the clouds, by aequinoctial winds

Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles

Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring

Their spicy drugs; they on the trading flood,

Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape,

Ply stemming nightly toward the pole: so seemed

Far off the flying Fiend. At last appear

Hell-hounds, high reaching to the horrid roof,

And thrice threefold the gates; three folds were brass,

Three iron, three of adamantine rock,

Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire,

Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat

On either side a formidable Shape.

The one seemed a woman to the waist, and fair,

But ended foul in many a scaly fold,

Voluminous and vast—a serpent armed

With mortal sting. About her middle round

A cry of Hell-hounds never-ceasing barked

With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung

A hideous peal; yet, when they list, would creep,

If aught disturbed their noise, into her womb,

And kennel there; yet there still barked and howled

With in unseen. Far less abhorred than these

Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts

Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore;

Nor uglier follow the night-hag, when, called

In secret, riding through the air she comes,

Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance

With Lapland witches, while the labouring moon

Eclipses at their charms. The other Shape—

If shape it might be called that shape had none

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be called that shadow seemed,

For each seemed either—black it stood as Night,

Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell,

And shook a dreadful dart: what seemed his head

The likeness of a kingly crown had on.

Satan was now at hand, and from his seat

The monster moving onward came as fast

With horrid strides; Hell trembled as he strode.

The undaunted Fiend what this might be admired—

Admired, not feared (God and his Son except,

Created thing naught valued he nor shunned),

And with disdainful look thus first began:—

“Whence and what art thou, execrable Shape,

That dar’st though grim and terrible, advance

Thy miscreated front athwart my way

To yonder gates— Through them I mean to pass,

That be assured, without leave asked of thee.

Retire; or taste thy folly, and learn by proof,

Hell-born, not to contend with Spirits of Heaven.”

To whom the Goblin, full of wrauth, replied:—

“Art thou that Traitor-Angel, art thou he,

Who first broke peace in Heaven and faith, till then

Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms

Drew after him the third part of Heaven’s sons,

Conjured against the Highest—for which both thou

And they, outcast from God, are here condemned

To waste eternal days in woe and pain—

And reckon’st thou thyself with Spirits of Heaven,

Hell-doomed, and breath’st defiance here and scorn,

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 lingering, or with one stroke of this dart

Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before.”

So spake the griesly Terror, and in shape,

So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold

More dreadful and deform. On the other side,

Incensed with indignation, Satan stood

Unterrified, and like a comet burned,

That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge

In the artick sky, and from his horrid hair

Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head

Levelled his deadly aim; their fatal hands

No second stroke intend; and such a frown

Each cast at the other as when two black clouds,

With Heaven’s artillery fraught, come rattling on

Over the Caspian,—then stand front to front

Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow

To join their dark encounter in mid-air.

So frowned the mighty combatants that Hell

Grew darker at their frown; so matched they stood;

For never but once more was either like

To meet so great a foe. And now great deeds

Had been achieved, whereof all Hell had rung,

Had not the snaky Sorceress, that sat

Fast by Hell-gate and kept the fatal key,

Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between.

“O father, what intends thy hand,” she cried,

“Against thy only son— What fury, O son,

Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart

Against thy father’s head— And know’st for whom—

For Him who sits above, and laughs the while

At thee, ordained his drudge to execute

Whate’er his wrauth, which He calls justice, bids—

His wrauth, which one day will destroy ye both!”

She spake, and at her words the hellish Pest

Forbore: then these to her Satan returned:—

“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 I know of thee

What thing thou art, thus double-formed, and why

In this infernal vale first met, thou call’st

Me father, and that fantasm call’st my son.

I know thee not, nor ever saw till now

Sight more detestable than him and thee.”

To whom thus the Portress of Hell-gate replied:—

“Hast thou forgot me, then; and do I seem

Now in thine eyes so foul——once deemed so fair

In Heaven, when at the assembly, and in sight

Of all the Seraphim with thee combined

In bold conspiracy against Heaven’s King,

All on a sudden miserable pain

Surprised thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swum

In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast

Threw forth, till on the left side opening wide,

Likest to thee in shape and countenance bright,

Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess armed,

Out of thy head I sprung. Amazement seized

All the host of Heaven; back they recoiled afraid

At first, and called me Sin, and for a sign

Portentous held me; but, familiar grown,

I pleased, and with attractive graces won

The most averse—thee chiefly, who, full oft

Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing,

Becam’st enamoured; and such joy thou took’st

With me in secret that my womb conceived

A growing burden. Meanwhile war arose,

And fields were fought in Heaven: wherein remained

(For what could else—) to our Almighty Foe

Clear victory; to our part loss and rout

Through all the Empyrean. Down they fell,

Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down

Into this Deep; and in the general fall

I also: at which time this powerful Key

Into my hands was given, with charge to keep

These gates for ever shut, which none can pass

Without my opening. 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.

At last this odious offspring whom thou seest,

Thine own begotten, breaking violent way,

Tore through my entrails, that, with fear and pain

Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew

Transformed: but he my inbred enemy

Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart,

Made to destroy. I fled, and cried out Death!

Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed

From all her caves, and back resounded Death!

I fled; but he pursued (though more, it seems,

Inflamed with lust than rage), and, swifter far,

Me overtook, his mother, all dismayed,

And, in embraces forcible and foul

Engendering with me, of that rape begot

These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry

Surround me, as thou saw’st—hourly conceived

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; 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 involved, and knows that I

Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane,

Whenever that shall be: so Fate pronounced.

But thou, O Father, I forewarn thee, shun

His deadly arrow: neither vainly hope

To be invulnerable in those bright arms,

Though tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint,

Save He who reigns above, none can resist.”

She finished; and the subtle Fiend his lore

Soon learned, now milder, and thus answered smooth:—

“Dear daughter—since thou claim’st me for thy sire,

And my fair son here show’st me, the dear pledge

Of dalliance had with thee in Heaven, and joys

Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change

Befallen us unforeseen, unthought-of—know,

I come no enemy, but to set free

From out this dark and dismal house of pain

Both him and thee, and all the Heavenly host

Of Spirits that, in our just pretences armed,

Fell with us from on high. From them I go

This uncouth errand sole, and one for all

Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread

The unfounded Deep, and through the void immense

To search, with wandering quest, a place foretold

Should be—and, by concurring signs, ere now

Created vast and round—a place of bliss

In the pourlieues of Heaven; and therein placed

A race of upstart creatures, to supply

Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed,

Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude,

Might hap to move new broils. Be this, or aught

Than this more secret, now designed, I haste

To know; and this once known, shall soon return

And bring ye to the place where thou and Death

Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen

Wing silently the buxom air, imbalmed

With odours. There ye shall be fed and filled

Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey.”

He ceased; for both seemed highly pleased, and Death

Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear

His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw

Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced

His mother bad, and thus bespake her Sire:—

“The key of this infernal Pit, by due

And by command of Heaven’s all-powerful King,

I keep, by Him forbidden to unlock

These adamantine gates; against all force

Death ready stands to interpose his dart,

Fearless to be o’ermatched by living might.

But what I owe I to His commands above,

Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down

Into this gloom of Tartarus profound,

To sit in hateful office here confined,

Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly-born—

Here in perpetual agony and pain,

With terrors and with clamours compassed 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.”

Thus saying, from her side the fatal key,

Sad instrument of all our woe, she took;

And, toward the gate rowling her bestial train,

Forthwith the huge portcullis high up-drew,

Which, but herself, not all the Stygian Powers

Could once have moved; then in the keyhole turns

The intricate wards, and every bolt and bar

Of massy iron or solid rock with ease

Unfastens. On a sudden open fly,

With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,

The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate

Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook

Of Erebus. She opened; but to shut

Excelled her power: the gates wide open stood,

That with extended wings a bannered host,

Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through

With horse and chariots ranked 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 highth,

And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night

And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold

Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise

Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.

For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce,

Strive here for maistrie, and to battle bring

Their embryon atoms: they around the flag

Of each his faction, in their several clans,

Light-armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow,

Swarm populous, unnumbered 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 imbroils the fray

By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter,

Chance governs all. Into this wild Abyss,

The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave,

Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire,

But all these in their pregnant causes mixed

Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,

Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain

His dark materials to create more worlds—

Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend

Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,

Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith

He had to cross. Nor was his ear less pealed

With noises loud and ruinous (to compare

Great things with small) than when Bellona storms

With all her battering engines, bent to rase

Some capital city; or less than if this frame

Of heaven were falling, and these elements

In mutiny had from her axle torn

The steadfast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans

He spreads for flight, and, in the surging smoke

Uplifted, spurns the ground; thence many a league,

As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides

Audacious; but, that seat soon failing, meets

A vast vacuity. All unawares,

Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb-down he drops

Ten thousand fadom deep, and to this hour

Down had been falling, had not, by ill chance,

The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud,

Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him

As many miles aloft. That fury stayed—

Quenched in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea,

Nor good dry land-nigh foundered, on he fares,

Treading the crude consistence, half on foot,

Half flying; behoves him now both oar and sail.

As when a gryfon through the wilderness

With wingèd course, o’er hill or moory dale,

Pursues the Arimpasian, who by stealth

Had from his wakeful custody purloined

The guarded gold; so eagerly the Fiend

O’er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,

With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,

And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.

At length, a universal hubbub wild

Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused,

Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear

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

Bordering on light; when straight behold the throne

Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread

Wide on the wasteful Deep! With him enthroned

Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things,

The consort of his reign; and by them stood

Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name

Of Demogorgon; Rumour next, and Chance,

And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled,

And Discord with a thousand various mouths.

To 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

Wandering 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 Heaven; or, if some other place,

From your dominion won, the Ethereal King

Possesses lately, thither to arrive

I travel this profound. Direct my course;

Directed, no mean recompense it brings

To your behoof, if I that region lost.

All usurpation thence expelled, reduce

To her original darkness and your sway

(Which is my present journey), and once more

Erect the standard there of ancient Night.

Yours be the advantage all, mine the revenge!”

Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old,

With faltering speech and visage incomposed,

Answered:—“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 ruin, rout on rout,

Confusion worse confounded; and Heaven-gates

Poured out 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,

Encroached on still through our intestine broils

Weakening the sceptre of old Night: first, Hell,

Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath;

Now lately Heaven and Earth, another world

Hung o’er my realm, linked in a golden chain

To that side Heaven from whence your legions fell!

If that way be your walk, you have not far;

So much the nearer danger. Go, and speed;

Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain.”

He ceased; and Satan staid not to reply,

But, glad that now his sea should find a shore,

With fresh alacrity and force renewed

Springs upward, like a pyramid of fire,

Into the wild expanse, and through the shock

Of fighting elements, on all sides round

Environed, wins his way; harder beset

And more endangered than when Argo passed

Through Bosporus betwixt the justling rocks,

Or when Ulysses on the larboard shunned

Charybdis, and by the other Whirlpool steered.

So he with difficulty and labour hard

Moved on. With difficulty and labour he;

But, he once passed, soon after, when Man fell,

Strange alteration! Sin and Death amain,

Following his track (such was the will of Heaven)

Paved after him a broad and beaten way

Over the dark Abyss, whose boiling gulf

Tamely endured a bridge of wondrous length,

From Hell continued, reaching the utmost Orb

Of this frail World; by which the Spirits 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 Heaven

Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night

A glimmering dawn. Here Nature first begins

Her fardest verge, and Chaos to retire,

As from her utmost 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 weather-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 the imperial Heaven, extended wide

In circuit, undetermined square or round,

With opal towers and battlements adorned

Of living sapphire, once his native seat,

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,

Accurst, and in a cursed hour, he hies.

Paradise Lost: The Third Book

THE ARGUMENT.—God, sitting 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 Tempter; yet declares his purpose of grace towards him, in regard he fell not of his own malice, as did Satan, but by him seduced. The Son of God renders praises to his Father for the manifestation of his gracious purpose towards Man: but God again declares that Grace cannot be extended towards Man without the satisfaction of Divine Justice; Man hath offended the majesty of God by aspiring to Godhead, and therefore, with all his progeny, devoted to death, must die, unless some one can be found sufficient to answer for his offence, and undergo his punishment. The Son of God freely offers himself a ransom for Man: the Father accepts 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 harps in full quire, 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 called the Limbo of Vanity; what persons and things fly up thither: thence comes to the gate of Heaven, described 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 Uriel, the regent of that orb, but first changes himself into the shape of a meaner Angel, and, pretending a zealous desire to behold the new Creation, and Man whom God had placed here, inquires of him the place of his habitation, and is directed: Alights first on Mount Niphates.

HAIL, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born!

Or of the Eternal coeternal beam

May I express thee unblamed— since God is light,

And never but in unapproached light

Dwelt from eternity-dwelt then in thee,

Bright effluence of bright essence increate!

Or hear’st thou rather pure Ethereal Stream,

Whose fountain who shall tell— Before the Sun,

Before the Heavens, 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 wing,

Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained

In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight,

Through utter and through middle Darkness borne,

With other notes than to the Orphean lyre

I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,

Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down

The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,

Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe,

And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou

Revisit’st not these eyes, that rowl in vain

To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;

So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs,

Or dim suffusion veiled. 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 flowery brooks beneath,

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,

Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget

Those other two equalled with me in fate,

(So were I equalled with them in renown!)

Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides,

And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old:

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move

Harmonious 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 even 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 dark

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 expunged and rased,

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 thence

Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell

Of things invisible to mortal sight.

Now had the Almighty Father from above,

From the pure Empyrean where He sits

High throned above all highth, bent down his eye,

His own works and their works at once to view:

About him all the Sanctities of Heaven

Stood thick as stars, and from his sight received

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 placed,

Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love,

Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love,

In blissful solitude. He then surveyed

Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there

Coasting the wall of Heaven 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 seemed

Firm land imbosomed without firmament,

Uncertain which, in ocean or in air.

Him God beholding from his prospect high,

Wherein past, present, future, he beholds,

Thus to His only Son foreseeing spake:—

“Only-begotten Son, seest thou what rage

Transports our Adversary— whom no bounds

Prescribed, no bars of Hell, nor all the chains

Heaped 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, he wings his way

Not far off Heaven, in the precincts of light,

Directly towards the new-created World,

And Man there placed, with purpose to assay

If him by force he can destroy, or, worse,

By some false guile pervert: and shall pervert;

For Man will hearken to his glozing lies,

And easily transgress the sole command,

Sole pledge of his obedience: so will fall

He and his faithless progeny. Whose fault—

Whose but his own— Ingrate, he had of me

All he could have; I made him just and right,

Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.

Such I created all the Ethereal Powers

And Spirits, both them who stood and them who failed;

Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.

Not free, what proof could they have given sincere

Of true allegiance, constant faith, or love,

Where only what they needs must do appeared,

Not what they would— What praise could they receive,

What pleasure I, from such obedience paid.

When Will and Reason (Reason also is Choice),

Useless and vain, of freedom both despoiled,

Made passive both, had served Necessity,

Not Me— They, therefore, as to right belonged

So were created, nor can justly accuse

Their Maker, or their making, or their fate,

As if Predestination overruled

Their will, disposed by absolute decree

Or high foreknowledge. They themselves decreed

Their own revolt, not I. If I foreknew,

Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault,

Which had no less proved certain unforeknown.

So without least impulse or shadow of fate,

Or aught by me immutably foreseen,

They trespass, authors to themselves in all,

Both what they judge and what they choose; for so

I formed them free, and free they must remain

Till they enthrall themselves: I else must change

Their nature, and revoke the high decree

Unchangeable, eternal, which ordained

Their freedom; they themselves ordained their fall.

The first sort by their own suggestion fell,

Self-tempted, self-depraved; Man falls, deceived

By the other first: Man, therefore, shall find grace;

The other, none. In mercy and justice both,

Through Heaven and Earth, so shall my glory excel;

But mercy, first and last, shall brightest shine.”

Thus while God spake ambrosial fragrance filled

All Heaven, and in the blessèd Spirits elect

Sense of new joy ineffable diffused.

Beyond compare the Son of God was seen

Most glorious; in him all his Father shon

Substantially expressed; and in his face

Divine compassion visibly appeared,

Love without end, and without measure grace;

Which uttering, thus He to his Father spake;—

“O Father, gracious was that word which closed

Thy sovran sentence, that Man should find grace;

For which both Heaven and Earth shall high extol

Thy praises, with the innumerable sound

Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne

Encompassed shall resound thee ever blest.

For, should Man finally be lost—should Man,

Thy creature late so loved, thy youngest son,

Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though joined

With his own folly -! That be from thee far,

That far be from thee, Father, who art judge

Of all things made, and judgest only right!

Or shall the Adversary thus obtain

His end, and frustrate thine— Shall he fulfil

His malice, and thy goodness bring to naught

Or proud return, though to his heavier doom

Yet with revenge accomplished, and to Hell

Draw after him the whole race of mankind,

By him corrupted— Or wilt thou thyself

Abolish thy creation, and unmake,

For him, what for thy glory thou hast made——

So should thy goodness and thy greatness both

Be questioned and blasphemed without defense.”

To whom the great Creator thus replied:—

“O Son, in whom my soul hath chief delight,

Son of my bosom, Son who art alone

My word, my wisdom, and effectual might,

All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all

As my eternal purpose hath decreed.

Man shall not quite be lost, but saved who will;

Yet not of will in him, but grace in me

Freely voutsafed. Once more I will renew

His lapsed powers, though forfeit, and enthralled

By sin to foul exorbitant desires:

Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand

On even ground against his mortal foe—

By me upheld, that he may know how frail

His fallen condition is, and to me owe

All his deliverance, and to none but me.

Some I have chosen of peculiar grace,

Elect above the rest; so is my will:

The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warned

Their sinful state, and to appease betimes

The incensèd Deity, while offered grace

Invites; for I will clear their senses dark

What may suffice, and soften stony hearts

To pray, repent, and bring obedience due.

To prayer, repentance, and obedience due,

Though but endeavoured 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 used 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 be hardened, 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. Man disobeying,

Disloyal, breaks his fealty, and sins

Against the high supremacy of Heaven,

Affecting Godhead, and, so losing all,

To expiate his treason hath naught left,

But, to destruction sacred and devote,

He with his whole posterity must die;

Die he or Justice must; unless for him

Some other, able, and as willing, pay

The rigid satisfaction, death for death.

Say, Heavenly Powers, where shall we find such love—

Which of ye will be mortal, to redeem

Man’s mortal crime, and just, the unjust to save—

Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear—”

He asked, but all the Heavenly Quire stood mute,

And silence was in Heaven: on Man’s behalf

Patron or intercessor none appeared—

Much less that durst upon his own head draw

The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set.

And now without redemption all mankind

Must have been lost, adjudged to Death and Hell

By doom severe, had not the Son of God,

In whom the fulness dwells of love divine,

His dearest mediation thus renewed:—

“Father, thy word is passed, Man shall find grace;

And shall Grace not find means, that finds her way,

The speediest of thy winged messengers,

To visit all thy creatures, and to all

Comes unprevented, unimplored, unsought—

Happy for Man, so coming! He her aid

Can never seek, once dead in sins and lost—

Atonement for himself, or offering meet,

Indebted and undone, hath none to bring.

Behold me, then: me for him, life for life,

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 pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage.

Under his gloomy power I shall not long

Lie vanquished. 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 men can die, yet, that 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, spoiled of his vaunted spoil.

Death his death’s wound shall then receive, and stoop

Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed;

I through the ample air in triumph high

Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show

The powers of Darkness bound. Thou, at the sight

Pleased, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile,

While, by thee raised, I ruin all my foes—

Death last, and with his carcase glut the grave;

Then, with the multitude of my redeemed,

Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return,

Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud

Of anger shall remain, but peace assured

And reconcilement: wrauth shall be no more

Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire.”

His words here ended; but his meek aspect’

Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love

To mortal man, above which only shon

Filial obedience: as a sacrifice

Glad to be offered, he attends the will

Of his great Father. Admiration seized

All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend,

Wondering; but soon the Almighty thus replied:—

“O thou in Heaven and Earth the only peace

Found out for mankind under wrauth, 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 wondrous birth; be thou in Adam’s room

The head of all mankind, though Adam’s son.

As in him perish all men, so in thee,

As from a second root, shall be restored

As many as are restored; 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 judged and die,

And dying rise, and, rising, with him raise

His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life.

So Heavenly love shall outdo Hellish hate,

Giving to death, and dying to redeem,

So dearly to redeem what Hellish hate

So easily destroyed, 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 throned in highest bliss

Equal to God, and equally enjoying

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 thou 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; under thee, as Head Supreme,

Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions, I reduce:

All knees to thee shall bow of them that bide

In Heaven, or Earth, or, under Earth, in Hell.

When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven,

Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send

The summoning Archangels to proclaim

Thy dread tribunal, forthwith 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 thy Saints assembled, thou shalt judge

Bad men and Angels; they arraigned shall sink

Beneath thy sentence; Hell, her numbers full,

Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Meanwhile

The World shall burn, and from her ashes spring

New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell,

And, after all their tribulations long,

See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds,

With Joy and Love triumph’ing, and fair Truth.

Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by;

For regal sceptre then 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 ceased but—all

The multitude of Angels, with a shout

Loud as from numbers without number, sweet

As from blest voices, uttering joy—Heaven rung

With jubilee, and loud Hosannas filled

The eternal regions. Lowly reverent

Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground

With solemn adoration down they cast

Their crowns, inwove with amarant and gold,—

Immortal amarant, a flower which once

In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life,

Began to bloom, but, soon for Man’s offence

To Heaven removed where first it grew, there grows

And flowers aloft, shading the Fount of Life,

And where the River of Bliss through midst of Heaven

Rowls o’er Elysian flowers her amber stream!

With these, that never fade, the Spirits elect

Bind their resplendent locks, inwreathed with beams.

Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright

Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shon,

Impurpled with celestial roses smiled.

Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took—

Harps ever tuned, 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 Heaven.

Thee, Father, first they sung, Omnipotent

Immutable, Immortal. Infinite,

Eternal King; thee, Author of all being,

Fountain of light, thyself invisible

Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sitt’st

Throned inaccessible, but when thou shad’st

The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud

Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine

Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear,

Yet dazzle Heaven, that 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 countenance, without cloud

Made visible, the Almighty Father shines,

Whom else no creature can behold: on thee

Impressed the effulgence of his glory abides;

Transfused on thee his ample Spirit rests.

He Heaven of Heavens, and all the Powers therein,

By thee created; and by thee threw down

The aspiring Dominations. Thou that day

Thy Father’s dreadful thunder didst not spare,

Nor stop thy flaming chariot-wheels, that shook

Heaven’s everlasting frame, while o’er the necks

Thou drov’st of warring Angels disarrayed.

Back from pursuit, thy Powers with loud acclaim

Thee only extolled, Son of thy Father’s might,

To execute fierce vengeance on his foes.

Not so on Man: him, through their malice fallen,

Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom

So strictly, but much more to pity encline.

No sooner did thy dear and only Son

Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail Man

So strictly, but much more to pity enclined,

He, to appease thy wrauth, and end the strife

Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned,

Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat

Second to thee, offered himself to die

For Man’s offence. O unexampled love!

Love nowhere 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 thy Father’s praise disjoin!

Thus they in Heaven, above the Starry Sphere,

Their happy hours in joy and hymning spent.

Meanwhile, upon the firm opacous globe

Of this round World, whose first convex divides

The luminous inferior Orbs, enclosed

From Chaos and the inroad of Darkness old,

Satan alighted walks. A globe far off

It seemed; now seems a boundless continent,

Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night

Starless exposed, and ever-threatening storms

Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky,

Save on that side which from the wall of Heaven,

Though distant far, some small reflection gains

Of glimmering air less vexed with tempest loud.

Here walked the Fiend at large in spacious field.

As when a vultur, on Imaus bred,

Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds,

Dislodging from a region scarce of prey,

To gorge the flesh of lambs or yearling kids

On hills where flocks are fed, flies toward the springs

Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams,

But in his way lights on the barren plains

Of Sericana, where Chineses drive

With sails and wind their cany waggons light;

So, on this windy sea of land, the Fiend

Walked up and down alone, bent on his prey:

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 all things transitory and vain, when sin

With vanity had filled the works of men—

Both all things vain, and all who in vain things

Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame,

Or happiness in this or the other life.

All who have their reward on earth, the fruits

Of painful superstition and blind zeal,

Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find

Fit retribution, empty as their deeds;

All the unaccomplished works of Nature’s hand,

Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixed,

Dissolved on Earth, fleet hither, and in vain,

Till final dissolution, wander here—

Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamed:

Those argent fields more likely habitants,

Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold,

Betwixt the angelical and human kind.

Hither, of ill—joined sons and daughters born,

First from the ancient world those Giants came,

With many a vain exploit, though then renowned:

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; he who, to be deemed

A god, leaped fondly into AEtna flames,

Empedocles; and he who, to enjoy

Plato’s Elysium, leaped into the sea,

Cleombrotus; and many more, too long,

Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars,

White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery.

Here pilgrims roam, that strayed 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 disguised.

They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,

And that crystal’lin sphere whose balance weighs

The trepidation talked, and that first moved;

And now Saint Peter at Heaven’s wicket seems

To wait them with his keys, and now at foot

Of Heaven’s ascent they lift their feet, when, lo!

A violent cross wind from either coast

Blows them transverse, then thousand leagues awry,

Into the devious air. Then might ye see

Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost

And fluttered into rags; then reliques, beads,

Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls

The sport of winds: all these, upwhirled aloft,

Fly o’er the backside of the World far off

Into a Limbo large and broad, since called

The Paradise of Fools; to few unknown

Long after, now unpeopled and untrod.

All this dark globe the Fiend found as he passed;

And long he wandered, till at last a gleam

Of dawning light turned thitherward in haste

His travelled steps. Far distant he descries,

Ascending by degrees magnificent

Up to the wall of Heaven, a structure high;

At top whereof, but far more rich, appeared

The work as of a kingly palace-gate,

With frontispiece of diamond and gold

Imbellished; thick with sparkling orient gems

The portal shon, inimitable on Earth

By model, or by shading pencil drawn.

The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw

Angels ascending and descending, bands

Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled

To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz

Dreaming by night under the open sky,

And waking cried, This is the gate of Heaven.

Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood

There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes

Viewless; and underneath a bright sea flowed

Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon

Who after came from Earth sailing arrived

Wafted by Angels, or flew o’er the lake

Rapt is 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 opened from beneath,

Just o’er the blissful seat of Paradise,

A passage down to the Earth—a passage wide;

Wider by far than that of after—times

Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large,

Over the Promised Land to God so dear,

By which, to visit oft those happy tribes,

On high behests his Angels to and fro

Passed frequent, and his eye with choice regard

From Paneas, the fount of Jordan’s flood,

To Beërsaba, where the Holy Land

Borders on AEgypt and the Arabian shore.

So wide the opening seemed, where bounds were set

To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave.

Satan from hence, now on the lower stair,

That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven-gate,

Looks down with wonder at the sudden view

Of all this World at once. As when a scout,

Through dark and desart 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 renowned metropolis

With glistering spires and pinnacles adorned,

Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams;

Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen,

The Spirit malign, but much more envy seized,

At sight of all this World beheld so fair.

Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood

So high above the circling canopy

Of Night’s extended shade) from eastern point

Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears

Andromeda far off Atlantic seas

Beyond the horizon; then from pole to pole

He views in breadth,—and, without longer pause,

Down right into the World’s first region throws

His flight precipitant, and winds with ease

Through the pure marble air his oblique way

Amongst innumerable stars, that shon

Stars distant, but nigh-hand seemed other worlds.

Or other worlds they seemed, or happy isles,

Like those Hesperian Gardens famed of old,

Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales;

Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy there

He staid not to inquire: above them all

The golden Sun, in splendour likest Heaven,

Allured his eye. Thither his course he bends,

Through the calm firmament (but up or down,

By centre or eccentric, hard to tell,

Or longitude) where the great luminary,

Aloof the vulgar constellations thick,

That from the lordly eye keep distance due,

Dispenses light from far. They, as they move

Their starry dance in numbers that compute

Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp

Turn swift their various motions, or are turned

By his magnetic beam, that gently warms

The Universe, and to each inward part

With gentle penetration, though unseen

Shoots invisible virtue even 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 glazed optic tube yet never saw.

The place he found beyond expression bright,

Compared with aught on Earth, metal or stone—

Not all parts like, but all alike informed

With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire.

If metal, part seemed gold, part silver clear;

If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite,

Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shon

In Aaron’s breast-plate, and a stone besides;

Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen—

That stone, or like to that, which there 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,

Drained through a limbec to his native form.

What wonder then if fields and regions here

Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run

Potable gold, when, with one virtuous touch,

The arch-chimic Sun, so far from us remote,

Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed,

Here in the dark so many precious things

Of colour glorious and effect so rare—

Here matter new to gaze the Devil met

Undazzled. Far and wide his eye commands;

For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade,

But all sunshine, as when his beams at noon

Culminate from the equator, as they now

Shot upward still direct, whence no way round

Shadow from body opaque can fall; and the air,

Nowhere so clear, sharpened 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 turned, but not his brightness hid;

Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar

Circled his head, nor less his locks behind

Illustrious on his shoulders fledge with wings

Lay waving round: on some great charge imployed

He seemed, or fixed in cogitation deep.

Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope

To find who might direct his wandering 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 the prime, yet such as in his face

Youth smiled celestial, and to every limb

Suitable grace diffused; so well he feigned.

Under a coronet his flowing hair

In curls on either cheek played; wings he wore

Of many a coloured plume sprinkled 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 turned,

Admonished by his ear, and straight was known

The Archangel Uriel—one of the seven

Who in God’s presence, nearest to his throne,

Stand ready at command, and are his eyes

That run through all the Heavens, 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 seven Spirits that stand

In sight of God’s high throne, gloriously bright,

The first art wont his great authentic will

Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring,

Where all his Sons thy embassy attend,

And here art likeliest by supreme decree

Like honour to obtain, and as his eye

To visit oft this new Creation round—

Unspeakable desire to see and know

All these his wondrous works, but chiefly Man

His chief delight and favour, him for whom

All these his works so wondrous he ordained,

Hath brought me from the quires of Cherubim

Alone thus wandering. Brightest Seraph, tell

In which of all these shining orbs hath Man

His fixed seat—or fixèd 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 hath bestowed

Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces poured;

That both in him and all things, as is meet,

The Universal Maker we may praise;

Who justly hath driven out his rebel foes

To deepest Hell, and, to repair that loss,

Created this new happy race of Men

To serve him better. Wise are all his ways!”

So spake the false dissembler unperceived;

For neither man nor angel can discern

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 beguiled

Uriel, though Regent of the Sun, and held

The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven;

Who to the fraudulent impostor foul,

In his uprightness, answer thus returned:—

“Fair Angel, thy desire, which tends to know

The works of God, thereby to glorify

The great Work-maister, leads to no excess

That reaches blame, but rather merits praise

The more it seems excess, that led thee hither

From thy empyreal mansion thus alone,

To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps,

Contented with report, hear only in Heaven:

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 them 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 ruled, stood vast Infinitude confined;

Till, at his second bidding, Darkness fled,

Light shon, and order from disorder sprung.

Swift to their several quarters hasted then

The cumbrous elements—Earth, Flood, Air, Fire;

And this ethereal quint’ essence of Heaven

Flew upward, spirited with various forms,

That rowled orbicular, and turned to stars

Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move:

Each had his place appointed, each his course;

The rest in circuit walls this Universe.

Look downward on that globe, whose hither side

With light from hence, though but reflected, shines:

That place is Earth, the seat of Man; that light

His day, which else, as the other hemisphere,

Night would invade; but there the neighbouring Moon

(So called that opposite fair star) her aid

Timely interposes, and, her monthly round

Still ending, still renewing, through mid-heaven,

With borrowed light her countenance triform

Hence fills and empties, to enlighten the Earth,

And in her pale dominion checks the night.

That spot to which I point is Paradise,

Adam’s abode; those lofty shades his bower.

Thy way thou canst not miss; me mine requires.”

Thus said, he turned; and Satan, bowing low,

As to superior Spirits is wont in Heaven,

Where honour due and reverence none neglects,

Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath,

Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success,

Throws his steep flight in many an aerie wheel,

Nor staid till on Niphates’ top he lights.

Paradise Lost: The Fourth Book

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 bounds; sits, in the shape of a Cormorant, on the Tree of Life, as highest in the Garden, to look about him. The Garden described; Satan’s first sight of Adam and Eve; his wonder at their excellent form and happy state, but with resolution to work their fall; overhears their discourse; thence gathers that the Tree of Knowledge was forbidden them to eat of under penalty of death, and thereon intends to found his temptation by seducing them to transgress; then leaves them a while, to know further of their state by some other means. Meanwhile Uriel, descending on a sunbeam, warns Gabriel, who had in charge the gate of Paradise, that some evil Spirit had escaped the Deep, and passed at noon by his Sphere, in the shape of a good Angel, down to Paradise, discovered after by his furious gestures in the Mount. Gabriel promises to find him ere morning. Night coming on, Adam and Eve discourse of going to their rest; their bower described; their evening worship. Gabriel, drawing forth his bands of night—watch to walk the rounds of Paradise, appoints two strong Angels to Adam’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 questioned, he scornfully answers; prepares resistance; but, hindered by a sign from Heaven, flies out of Paradise.

O FOR that warning voice, which he who saw

The Apocalypse heard cry in Heaven aloud,

Then when the Dragon, put to second rout,

Came furious down to be revenged on men,

Woe to the inhabitants on Earth! that now,

While time was, our first parents had been warned

The coming of their secret Foe, and scaped,

Haply so scaped, his mortal snare! For now

Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came down,

The tempter, ere the 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, though bold

Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast,

Begins his dire attempt; which, nigh the birth

Now rowling, 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; for 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 slumbered; wakes the bitter memory

Of what he was, what is, and what must be

Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue!

Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view

Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad;

Sometimes towards Heaven and the full-blazing Sun,

Which now sat high in his meridian tower:

Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began:—

“O thou that, with surpassing glory crowned,

Look’st from thy sole dominion like the god

Of this new World—at whose sight all the stars

Hide their diminished heads—to thee I call,

But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,

O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,

That bring to my remembrance from what state

I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere,

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down,

Warring in Heaven against Heaven’s matchless King!

Ah, wherefore— He deserved 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 recompense, and pay him thanks,

How due— Yet all his good proved ill in me,

And wrought but malice. Lifted up so high,

I ’sdained subjection, and thought one step higher

Would set me highest, and in a moment quit

The debt immense of endless gratitude,

So burthensome, still paying, still to owe;

Forgetful what from him I still received;

And understood not that a grateful mind

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once

Indebted and discharged—what burden then—

Oh, had his powerful destiny ordained

Me some inferior Angel, I had stood

Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised

Ambition. Yet why not— Some other Power

As great might have aspired, and me, though mean,

Drawn to his part. But other Powers as great

Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within

Or from without to all temptations armed!

Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand—

Thou hadst. Whom has thou then, or what, to accuse,

But Heaven’s free love dealt equally to all—

Be then his love accursed, since, love or hate,

To me alike it deals eternal woe.

Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will

Chose freely what it now so justly rues.

Me miserable! which way shall I fly

Infinite wrauth and infinite despair—

Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep

Still threatening 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 repentence, none for pardon left—

None left but by submission; and that word

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame

Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced

With other promises and other vaunts

Than to submit, boasting I could subdue

The Omnipotent. Aye 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 advanced,

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 highth recal high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned 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 pierced so deep)

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I 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, outcast, exiled, 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 Heaven’s King I hold,

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign;

As Man ere long, and this new World, shall know.”

Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his face,

Thrice changed with pale—ire, envy, and despair;

Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed

Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld:

For Heavenly minds from such distempers foul

Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware

Each perturbation smoothed with outward calm,

Artificer of fraud; and was the first

That practised falsehood under saintly shew,

Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge:

Yet not enough had practised to deceive

Uriel, once warned; whose eye pursued him down

The way he went, and on the Assyrian mount

Saw him disfigured, more than could befall

Spirit of happy sort: his gestures fierce

He marked and mad demeanour, then alone,

As he supposed, all unobserved, unseen.

So on he fares, and to the border comes

Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,

Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,

As with a rural mound, the champain head

Of a steep wilderness whose hairy sides

With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild.

Access denied; and overhead up-grew

Insuperable highth 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 verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung;

Which to our general Sire gave prospect large

Into his nether empire neighbouring round.

And higher than that wall a circling row

Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit,

Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue,

Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed;

On which the sun more glad impressed his beams

Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow,

When God hath showered the earth; so lovely seemed

That lantskip. 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 odoriferous wings, dispense

Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole

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 odours from the spicy shore

Of Araby the Blest, with such delay

Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league

Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles;

So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend

Who came their bane, though with them better pleased

Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume

That drove him, though enamoured, from the spouse

Of Tobit’s son, and with a vengeance sent

From Media post to AEgypt, there fast bound.

Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill

Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow;

But further way found none; so thick entwined,

As one continued brake, the undergrowth

Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed

All path of man or beast that passed that way.

One gate there only was, and that looked east

On the other side. Which when the Arch-Felon saw,

Due entrance he disdained, and, in contempt,

At one slight bound high overleaped all bound

Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within

Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf,

Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey,

Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve,

In hurdled cotes amid the field secure,

Leaps o’er the fence with ease into the fold;

Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash

Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors,

Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault,

In at the window climbs, or o’er the tiles;

So climb 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 regained, but sat devising death

To them who lived; nor on the virtue thought

Of that life-giving plant, but only used

For prospect what, well used, had been the pledge

Of immortality. So little knows

Any, but God alone, to value right

The good before him, but perverts best things

To worst abuse, or to their meanest use.

Beneath him, with new wonder, now he views,

To all delight of human sense exposed,

In narrow room Nature’s whole wealth; yea, more—

A Heaven on Earth: for blissful Paradise

Of God the garden was, by him in the east

Of Eden planted. Eden stretched her line

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 ordained.

Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow

All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste;

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 Eden went a river large,

Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill

Passed underneath ingulfed; for God had thrown

That mountain, as his garden-mould, high raised

Upon the rapid current, which, through veins

Of porous earth with kindly thirst updrawn,

Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill

Watered the garden; thence united fell

Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood,

Which from his darksome passage now appears,

And now, divided into four main streams,

Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm

And country whereof here needs no account;

But rather to tell how, if Art could tell

How, from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks,

Rowling on orient pearl and sands of gold,

With mazy error under pendant shades

Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed

Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art

In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon

Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain,

Both where the morning sun first warmly smote

The open field, and where the unpierced shade

Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was this place,

A happy rural seat of various view:

Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm,

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 interposed,

Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap

Of some irriguous valley spread 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 hills dispersed, or in a lake,

That to the fringèd bank with myrtle crowned

Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.

The birds their quire 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 the eternal Spring. Not that fair field

Of Enna, where Proserpin gathering flowers,

Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis

Was gathered—which cost Ceres all that pain

To seek her through the world—nor that sweet grove

Of Daphne, by Orontes and the inspired

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 supposed

True Paradise) under the Ethiop line

By Nilus’ head, enclosed with shining rock,

A whole day’s journey high, but wide remote

From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend

Saw undelighted all delight, all kind

Of living creatures, new to sight and strange.

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,

God—like erect, with native honour clad

In naked majesty, seemed lords of all,

And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine

The image of their glorious Maker shon,

Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure—

Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,

Whence true authority in men: though both

Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed;

For contemplation he and valour formed,

For softness she and sweet attractive grace;

He for God only, she for God in him.

His fair large front and eye sublime declared

Absolute rule; and Hyacinthin locks

Round from his parted forelock manly hung

Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad:

She, as a veil down to the slender waist,

Her unadornèd golden tresses wore

Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved

As the vine curls her tendrils—which implied

Subjection, but required with gentle sway,

And by her yielded, by him best received—

Yielded, with coy submission, modest pride,

And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.

Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed:

Then was not guilty shame. Dishonest shame

Of Nature’s works, honour dishonourable,

Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind

With shews instead, mere shews of seeming pure

And banished from man’s life his happiest life,

Simplicity and spotless innocence!

So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight

Of God or Angel; for they thought no ill:

So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair

That ever since in love’s embraces met—

Adam the goodliest man of men since born

His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve.

Under a tuft of shade that on a green

Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain—side.

They sat them down; and, after no more toil

Of their sweet gardening labour than sufficed

To recommend cool Zephyr, and make ease

More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite

More grateful, to their supper-fruits they fell—

Nectarine fruits, which the complaint boughs

Yielded them, sidelong as they sat recline

On the soft downy bank damasked with flowers.

The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind,

Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming stream

Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles

Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems

Fair couple linked in happy nuptial league,

Alone as they. About them frisking played

All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase

In wood or wilderness, forest or den.

Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw

Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards,

Gambolled before them; the unwieldy elephant,

To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed

His lithe proboscis; close the serpent sly,

Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine

His breaded train, and of his fatal guile

Gave proof unheeded. Others on the grass

Couched, and, now filled with pasture, gazing sat,

Or bedward ruminating; for the sun,

Declined, was hastening now with prone career

To the Ocean Isles, and in the ascending scale

Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose:

When Satan, still in gaze as first he stood,

Scarce thus at length failed speech recovered sad:—

“O Hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold—

Into our room of bliss thus high advanced

Creatures of other mould—Earth-born perhaps,

Not Spirits, yet to Heavenly 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 formed them on their shape hath poured.

Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh

Your change approaches, when all these delights

Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe—

More woe, the more your taste is now of joy:

Happy, but for so happy ill secured

Long to continue, and this high seat, your Heaven,

Ill fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe

As now is entered; yet no purposed foe

To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn,

Though I unpitied. League with you I seek,

And mutual amity, so strait, so close,

That I with you must dwell, or you with me,

Henceforth. My dwelling, haply, may not please,

Like this fair Paradise, your sense; yet such

Accept your Marker’s work; he gave it me,

Which I 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 offspring; if no better place,

Thank him who puts me, loath, to this revenge

On you, who wrong me not, for him who wronged.

And, should I at your harmless innocence

Melt, as I do, yet public reason just—

Honour and empire with revenge enlarged

By conquering this new World—compels me now

To do what else, though damned, I should abhor.”

So spake the Fiend, and with necessity,

The tyrant’s plea, excused 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 now one,

Now other, as their shape served best his end

Nearer to view his prey, and, unespied,

To mark what of their state he more might learn

By word or action marked. About them round

A lion now he stalks with fiery glare;

Then as a tiger, who by chance hath spied

In some pourlieu two gentle fawns at play,

Straight crouches close; then rising, changes oft

His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground,

Whence rushing he might surest seize them both

Griped in each paw: when Adam, first of men.

To first of women, Eve, thus moving speech,

Turned him all ear to hear new utterance flow:—

“Sole partner and sole part of all these joys,

Dearer thyself than all, needs must the Power

That made us, and for us this ample World,

Be infinitely good, and of his good

As liberal and free as infinite;

That raised us from the dust, and placed us here

In all this happiness, who at this hand

Have nothing merited, nor can perform

Aught whereof he hath need; he who requires

From 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;

So near grows Death to Life, whate’er Death is—

Some dreadful thing no doubt; for well thou know’st

God hath pronounced it Death to taste that Tree:

The only sign of our obedience left

Among so many signs of power and rule

Conferred 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,

To prune these growing plants, and tend these flowers;

Which, were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet.”

To whom thus Eve replied:—“O thou for whom

And from whom I was formed flesh of thy flesh,

And without whom am to no end, my guide

And head! what thou hast said is just and right.

For we 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 nowhere find.

That day I oft remember, when from sleep

I first awaked, and found myself reposed,

Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where

And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.

Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound

Of waters issued from a cave, and spread

Into a liquid plain; then stood unmoved,

Pure as the expanse of Heaven. I thither went

With unexperienced thought, and laid me down

On the green bank, to look into the clear

Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky.

As I bent down to look, just opposite

A Shape within the watery gleam appeared,

Bending to look on me. I started back,

It started back; but pleased I soon returned

Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks

Of sympathy and love. There I had fixed

Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,

Had not a voice thus warned me: ‘What thou seest,

What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;

With thee it came and goes: but follow me,

And I will bring thee where no shadow stays

Thy coming, and thy soft imbraces—he

Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy

Inseparably thine; to him shalt bear

Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called

Mother of human race.’ What could I do,

But follow straight, invisibly thus led—

Till I espied thee, fair, indeed, and tall,

Under a platan; yet methought less fair,

Less winning soft, less amiably mild,

That that smooth watery image. Back I turned;

Thou, following, cried’st aloud, ‘Return, fair Eve;

Whom fliest thou— Whom thou fliest, of him thou art,

His flesh, 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

Henceforth an individual solace dear:

Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim

My other half.’ With that thy gentle hand

Seized mine: I yielded, and from that time see

How beauty is excelled by manly grace

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.”

So spake our general mother, and, with eyes

Of conjugal attraction unreproved,

And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned

On our first father; 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,

Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter

On Juno smiles when he impregns the clouds

That shed May flowers, and pressed her matron lip

With kisses pure. Aside the Devil turned

For envy; yet with jealous leer malign

Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained:—

“Sight hateful, sight tormenting! Thus these two,

Imparadised in one another’s arms,

The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill

Of bliss on bliss; while I to Hell am thrust,

Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire,

Among our other torments not the least,

Still unfulfilled, with pain of longing pines!

Yet let me not forget what I have gained

From their own mouths. All is not theirs, it seems;

One fatal tree there stands, of Knowledge called,

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 unspied;

A chance but chance may lead where I may meet

Some wandering Spirit of Heaven, by fountain-side,

Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw

What further would be learned. Live while ye may,

Yet happy pair; enjoy, till I return,

Short pleasures; for long woes are to succeed!”

So saying, his proud step he scornful turned,

But with sly circumspection, and began

Through wood, through waste, o’er hill, o’er dale, his roam.

Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heaven

With Earth and Ocean meets, the setting Sun

Slowly descended, and with right aspect

Against the eastern gate of Paradise

Levelled his evening rays. It was a rock

Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds,

Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent

Accessible from Earth, one entrance high;

The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung

Still as it rose, impossible to climb.

Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat,

Chief of the angelic guards, awaiting night;

About him exercised heroic games

The unarmed youth of Heaven; but nigh at hand

Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears,

Hung high, with diamond flaming and with gold.

Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even

On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star

In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired

Impress the air, and shews the mariner

From what point of his compass to beware

Impetuous winds, He thus began in haste:—

“Gabriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given

Charge and strict watch that to this happy place

No evil thing approach or enter in.

This day at highth of noon came to my sphere

A Spirit, zealous, as he seemed, to know

More of the Almighty’s works, and chiefly Man,

God’s latest image. I described his way

Bent all on speed, and marked his aerie gait,

But in the mount that lies from Eden north,

Where he first lighted, soon discerned his looks

Alien from Heaven, with passions foul obscured.

Mine eye pursued him still, but under shade

Lost sight of him. One of the banished crew,

I fear, hath ventured from the Deep, to raise

New troubles; him thy care must be to find.”

To whom the wingèd Warrior thus returned:—

“Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight,

Amid the Sun’s bright circle where thou sitt’st,

See far and wide. In at this gate none pass

The vigilance here placed, but such as come

Well known from Heaven; since meridian hour

No creature thence. If Spirit of other sort,

So minded, have o’erleaped these earthly bounds

On purpose, hard thou know’st it to exclude

Spiritual substance with corporeal bar.

But, if within the circuit of these walks,

In whatsoever shape, he lurk of whom

Thou tell’st, by morrow dawning I shall know.”

So promised he; and Uriel to his charge

Returned on that bright beam, whose point now raised

Bore him slope downward to the Sun, now fallen

Beneath the Azores; whether the Prime Orb,

Incredible how swift, had thither rowled

Diurnal, or this less volúbil Earth

By shorter flight to the 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

Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.

She all night longer her amorous descant sung:

Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament

With living Saphirs; Hesperus, that led

The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,

Rising in clouded majesty, at length

Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,

And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw;

When Adam thus to Eve:—“Fair consort, the hour

Of night, and all things now retired 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 slumberous weight, inclines

Our eye-lids. Other creatures all day long

Rove idle, unimployed, and less need rest;

Man hath his daily work of body or mind

Appointed, which declares his dignity,

And the regard of Heaven on all his ways;

While other animals unactive range,

And of their doings God takes no account.

To—morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east

With first approach of light, we must be risen,

And at our pleasant labour, to reform

Yon flowery 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 unsmooth,

Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease.

Meanwhile, as Nature wills, Night bids us rest.”

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned:—

“My author and disposer, what thou bidd’st

Unargued I obey. So God 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 change; all please alike.

Sweet is the breath of Morn, 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,

Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertil Earth

After soft showers; 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 Heaven, her starry train:

But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends

With charm of earliest birds; nor rising Sun

On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,

Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;

Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night,

With her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,

Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.

But wherefore all night long shine these— for whom

This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes—”

To whom our general ancestor replied:—

“Daughter of God and Man, accomplished Eve,

Those have their course to finish round the Earth

By morrow evening, and from land to land

In order, though to nations yet unborn,

Ministering light prepared, 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 hereby apter to receive

Perfection from the Sun’s more potent ray.

These then, though unbeheld in deep of night,

Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none,

That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise.

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth

Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep:

All 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 heavenly touch of instrumental sounds

In full harmonic number joined, their songs

Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.”

Thus talking, hand in hand along they passed

On to their blissful bower. It was a place

Chosen by the sovran Planter, when he framed

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,

Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower,

Iris all hues, roses, and gessamin,

Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought

Mosaic; under foot the violet,

Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay

Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone

Of costliest emblem. Other creature here,

Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none;

Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bower

More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned,

Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph

For Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess,

With flowers, garlands, and sweet—smelling hearbs

Espousèd Eve decked first her nuptial bed,

And heavenly choirs the hymenaean sung,

What day the genial Angel to our Sire

Brought her, in naked beauty more adorned,

More lovely, than Pandora, whom the gods

Endowed with all their gifts; and, O! too like

In sad event, when, to the unwiser son

Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnared

Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged

On him who had stole Jove’s authentic fire.

Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood,

Both turned, and under open sky adored

The God that made both Sky, Air, Earth, and Heaven,

Which they beheld, the Moon’s resplendent globe,

And starry Pole:—“Thou also madest the Night,

Maker Omnipotent; and thou the Day,

Which we, in our appointed work imployed,

Have finished, happy in our mutual help

And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss

Ordained by thee; and this delicious place,

For us too large, where thy abundance wants

Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.

But thou hast promised from us two a race

To fill the Earth, who shall with us extol

Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,

And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.”

This said unanimous, and other rites

Observing none, but adoration pure,

Which God likes best, into their inmost bower

Handed they went, and, eased the putting-off

These troublesome disguises which we wear,

Straight side by side were laid; nor turned, I ween,

Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites

Mysterious of connubial love refused:

Whatever hypocrites austerely talk

Of purity, and place, and innocence,

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 adulterous lust was driven from men

Among the bestial herds to raunge; by thee,

Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,

Relations dear, and all the charities

Of father, son, and brother, first were known.

Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame,

Or think thee unbefitting holiest place,

Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets,

Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced,

Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used.

Here Love his golden shafts imploys, here lights

His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings,

Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile

Of harlots—loveless, joyless, unindeared,

Casual fruition; nor in court amours,

Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight bal,

Or serenate, which the starved lover sings

To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain.

These, lulled by nightingales, imbracing slept,

And on their naked limbs the flowery roof

Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on,

Blest pair! and, O! yet happiest, if ye seek

No happier state, and know to know no more!

Now had Night measured with her shadowy cone

Half-way up-hill this vast sublunar vault,

And from their ivory port the Cherubim

Forth issuing, at the accustomed hour, stood armed

To their night-watches in warlike parade;

When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake:—

“Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the south

With strictest watch; these other wheel the north:

Our circuit meets full west.” As flame they part,

Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear.

From these, two strong and subtle Spirits he called

That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge:—

“Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed

Search through this Garden; leave unsearched no nook;

But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge,

Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm.

This evening from the Sun’s decline arrived

Who tells of some infernal Spirit seen

Hitherward bent (who could have thought—), escaped

The bars of Hell, on errand bad, no doubt:

Such, where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring.”

So saying, on he led his radiant files,

Dazzling the moon; these to the bower direct

In search of whom they sought. Him there they found

Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve,

Assaying 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

The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise

Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise,

At least distempered, discontented thoughts,

Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires,

Blown up with high conceits ingendering pride.

Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear

Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure

Touch of celestial temper, but returns

Of force to its own likeness. Up he starts,

Discovered and surprised. As, when a spark

Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid

Fit for the tun, some magazine to store

Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain,

With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air;

So started up, in his own shape, the Fiend.

Back stept those two fair Angels, half amazed

So sudden to behold the griesly King;

Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon:—

“Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell

Com’st thou, escaped thy prison— and, transformed,

Why satt’st thou like an enemy in wait,

Here watching at the head of these that sleep—”

“Know ye not, then,” said Satan, filled with scorn,

“Know ye not me— Ye knew me once no mate

For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar!

Not to know me argues yourselves unknown,

The lowest of your throng; or, if ye know,

Why ask ye, and superfluous begin

Your message, like to end as much in vain—”

To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn:—

“Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same,

Or undiminished brightness, to be known

As when thou stood’st in Heaven upright and pure.

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; for thou, be sure, shalt 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. Abashed the Devil stood,

And felt how awful goodness is, and saw

Virtue in her shape how lovely—saw, and pined

His loss; but chiefly to find here observed

His lustre visibly impaired; yet seemed

Undaunted. “If I must contend,” said he,

“Best with the best—the sender, not the sent;

Or all at once: more glory will 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 replied not, overcome with rage;

But, like a proud steed reined, went haughty on,

Chaumping his iron curb. To strive or fly

He held it vain; awe from above had quelled

His heart, not else dismayed. Now drew they nigh

The western point, where those half—rounding guards

Just met, and, closing, stood in squadron joined,

Awaiting next command. To whom their chief,

Gabriel, from the front thus called 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’.

Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours.”

He scarce had ended, when those two approached,

And brief related whom they brought, where found,

How busied, in what form and posture couched.

To whom, with stern regard, thus Gabriel spake:—

“Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds prescribed

To thy transgressions, and disturbed the charge

Of others, who approve not to transgress

By thy example, but have power and right

To question thy bold entrance on this place;

Imployed, it seems to violate sleep, and those

Whose dwelling God hath planted here in bliss—”

To whom thus Satan, with contemptuous brow:—

“Gabriel, thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of wise;

And such I held thee; but this question asked

Puts me in doubt. Lives there who loves his pain—

Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell,

Though thither doomed— Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt,

And boldly venture to whatever place

Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change

Torment with ease, and soonest recompense

Dole with delight; which in this place I sought:

To thee no reason, who know’st only good,

But evil hast not tried. And wilt object

His will who bound us— Let him surer bar

His iron gates, if he intends our stay

In that dark durance. Thus much what was asked:

The rest is true; they found me where they say;

But that implies not violence or harm.”

Thus he in scorn. The warlike Angel moved,

Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied:—

“O loss of one in Heaven to judge of wise,

Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew,

And now returns him from his prison scaped,

Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise

Or not who ask what boldness brought him hither

Unlicensed from his bounds in Hell prescribed!

So wise he judges it to fly from pain

However, and to scape his punishment!

So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrauth,

Which thou incurr’st by flying, meet thy flight

Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell,

Which taught thee yet no better that no pain

Can equal anger infinite provoked.

But wherefore thou alone— Wherefore with 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 alleged

To thy deserted host this cause of flight,

Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive.”

To which the Fiend thus answered, 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 volleyed 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 untried.

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;

Though for possession put to try once more

What thou and thy gay legions dare against;

Whose easier business where to serve their Lord

High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne,

And practiced distances to cringe, not fight.”

To whom the Warrior-Angel soon replied:—

“To say and straight unsay, pretending first

Wise to fly pain, professing next to spy,

Argues no leader, but a liar traced,

Satan; and couldst thou ‘faithful’ add— O name,

O sacred name of faithfulness profaned!

Faithful to whom— to thy rebellious crew—

Army of fiends, fit body to fit head!

Was this your discipline and faith ingaged,

Your military obedience, to dissolve

Allegiance to the acknowledged Power Supreme—

And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem

Patron of liberty, who more than thou

Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored

Heaven’s awful Monarch— wherefore, but in hope

To dispossess him, and thyself to reign—

But mark what I areed thee now: Avaunt!

Fly thither whence thou fledd’st. If from this hour

Within these hallowed limits thou appear,

Back to the Infernal Pit I drag thee chained,

And seal thee so as henceforth not to scorn

The facile gates of Hell too slightly barred.”

So threatened he; but Satan to no threats

Gave heed, but waxing more in rage, replied:—

“Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains,

Proud limitary Cherub! but ere then

Far heavier load thyself expect to feel

From my prevailing arm, though Heaven’s King

Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy Compeers,

Used to the yoke, draw’st his triumphant wheels

In progress through the road of Heaven star—paved.”

While thus he spake, the angelic squadron bright

Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns

Their phalanx and began to hem him round

With ported spears, as thick as when a field

Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends

Her bearded grove of ears which way the wind

Sways them; the careful ploughman doubting stands

Lest on the threshing-floor his hopeful sheaves

Prove chaff. On the other side, Satan, alarmed,

Collecting all his might, dilated stood,

Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremoved:

His stature reached the sky, and on his crest

Sat Horror plumed; nor wanted in his grasp

What seemed both spear and shield. Now dreadful deeds

Might have ensued; nor only Paradise,

In this commotion, but the starry cope

Of Heaven perhaps, or all the Elements

At least, had gone to wrack, disturbed and torn

With violence of this conflict, had not soon

The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,

Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen

Betwixt Astraea and the Scorpion sign,

Wherein all things created first he weighed,

The pendulous round Earth with balanced air

In counterpoise, now ponders all events,

Battles and realms. In these he put two weights,

The sequel each of parting and of fight:

The latter quick up flew, and kicked the beam;

Which Gabriel spying thus bespake the Fiend:

“Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know’st mine,

Neither our own, but given; what folly then

To boast what arms can do! since thine no more

Than Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now

To trample thee as mire. For proof look up,

And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,

Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak

If thou resist.” The Fiend looked up, and knew

His mounted scale aloft: nor more; but fled

Murmuring; and with him fled the shades of Night.

Paradise Lost: The Fifth Book

THE ARGUMENT.—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 described; his coming discerned by Adam afar off, sitting 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 massage, 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 occasion thereof; how 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 opposes him, then forsakes him.

NOW Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime

Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,

When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep

Was aerie light, from pure digestion bred,

And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound

Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora’s fan,

Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song

Of birds on every bough. So much the more

His wonder was to find unwakened Eve,

With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,

As through unquiet rest. He, on his side

Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love

Hung over her enamoured, and beheld

Beauty which, whether waking or asleep,

Shot forth peculiar graces; then, with voice

Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,

Her hand soft touching, whispered thus:—“Awake,

My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,

Heaven’s last, best gift, my ever-new delight!

Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh field

Calls us; we lose the prime to mark how spring

Our tended 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 whispering waked her, but with startled eye

On Adam; whom imbracing, thus she spake:—

“O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose,

My glory, my perfection! glad I see

Thy face, and morn returned; for I this night

(Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed,

If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee,

Works of day past, or morrow’s next design;

But of offence 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-laboured song; now reigns

Full-orbed the moon, and, with more pleasing light,

Shadowy sets off the face of things—in vain,

If none regard. 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 gaze—

I rose as at thy call, but found thee not:

To find thee I directed then my walk;

And on, methought, alone I passed through ways

That brought me on a sudden to the Tree

Of interdicted Knowledge. Fair it seemed,

Much fairer to my fancy than by day;

And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood

One shaped and winged like one of those from Heaven

By us oft seen: his dewy locks distilled

Ambrosia. On that Tree he also gazed;

And, ‘O fair plant,’ said he, ‘with fruit surcharged,

Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet,

Nor God nor Man— Is knowledge so despised—

Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste—

Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold

Longer thy offered good, why else set here—

This said, he paused not, but with ventrous arm

He plucked, he tasted. Me damp horror chilled

At such bold words vouched with a deed so bold;

But he thus, overjoyed: ‘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 impaired, but honoured more—

Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve!

Partake thou also: happy though 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 confined,

But sometimes in the Air; as we; sometimes

Ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see

What life the gods live there, and such live thou.’

So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held,

Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part

Which he had plucked: the pleasant savoury smell

So quickened appetite that I, methought,

Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds

With him I flew, and underneath beheld

The Earth outstretched immense, a prospect wide

And various. Wondering 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 waked

To find this but a dream!” Thus Eve her night

Related, and thus Adam answered sad:—

“Best image of 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 many lesser faculties, that serve

Reason as chief. Among these Fancy next

Her office holds; of all external things,

Which the five watchful senses represent,

She forms imaginations, aerie shapes,

Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames

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,

Ill matching words and deeds long past or late.

Some such resemblances, methinks, I find

Of our last 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 unapproved, and leave

No spot or blame behind; which gives me hope

That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream

Waking thou never wilt consent to do.

Be not disheartened, 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 imployments rise

Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers,

That open now their choicest bosomed smells,

Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store.”

So cheered he his fair spouse; and she was cheered,

But silently a gentle tear let fall

From either eye, and wiped them with her hair:

Two other precious drops that ready stood,

Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell,

Kissed as the gracious signs of sweet remorse

And pious awe, that feared to have offended.

So all was cleared, and to the field they haste.

But first, from under shady arborous roof

Soon as they forth were come to open sight

Of day-spring, and the Sun—who, scarce uprisen,

With wheels yet hovering o’er the ocean-brim,

Shot parallel to the Earth his dewy ray,

Discovering in wide lantskip all the east

Of Paradise and Eden’s happy plains—

Lowly they bowed, 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 pronounced, or sung

Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence

Flowed 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 wondrous then!

Unspeakable! who sitt’st above these heavens

To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare

Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.

Speak, ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light,

Angels—for ye behold him, and with songs

And choral symphonies, day without night,

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 gained, and when thou fall’st.

Moon, that now meet’st the orient Sun, now fliest,

With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies;

And ye five other wandering Fires, that move

In mystic dance, not without song, reasound

His praise who out of Darkness called 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 gray,

Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,

In honour to the World’s great Author rise;

Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured 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,

Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,

With 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,

Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.

Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk

The 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 gathered aught of evil, or concealed,

Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.”

So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts

Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm.

On to their morning’s rural work they haste,

Among sweet dews and flowers, where any row

Of fruit-trees, over-woody, reached too far

Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to check

Fruitless imbraces; or they led the vine

To wed her elm; she, spoused, about him twines

Her marriageable arms, and with her brings

Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn

His barren leaves. Them thus imployed beheld

With pity Heaven’s high King, and to him called

Raphael, the sociable Spirit, that deigned

To travel with Tobias, and secured

His marriage with the seven-times-wedded maid.

“Raphael,” said he, “thou hear’st what stir on Earth

Satan, from Hell scaped through the darksome Gulf,

Hath raised in Paradise, and how disturbed

This night the human pair; now he designs

In them at once to ruin all mankind.

Go, therefore; half this day, as friend with friend,

Converse with Adam, in what bower or shade

Thou find’st him from the heat of noon retired

To respite his day-labour with repast

Or with repose; and such discourse bring on

As may advise him of his happy state—

Happiness in his power left free to will,

Left to his own free will, his will though free

Yet mutable. Whence warn him to beware

He swerve not, too secure: tell him withal

His danger, and from whom; what enemy,

Late fallen himself from Heaven, 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, unadmonished, unforewarned.”

So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfilled

All justice. Nor delayed the winged Saint

After his charge received; but from among

Thousand celestial Ardours, where he stood

Veiled with his gorgeous wings, upspringing light,

Flew through the midst of Heaven. The angelic quires

On each hand parting, to his speed gave way

Through all the empyreal road, till, at the gate

Of Heaven arrived, the gate self-opened wide,

On golden hinges turning, as by work

Divine the sovran Architect had framed.

From hence—no cloud or, to obstruct his sight,

Star interposed, however small—he sees,

Not unconform to other shining globes,

Earth, and the Garden of God, with cedars crowned

Above all hills; as when by night the glass

Of Galileo, less assured, observes

Imagined 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 towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems

A phnix, gazed by all, as that sole bird,

When, to enshrine his relics in the Sun’s

Bright temple, to AEgyptian Thebes he flies.

At once on the eastern cliff of Paradise

He lights, and to his proper shape returns,

A Seraph winged. Six wings he wore, to shade

His lineaments divine: the pair that clad

Each shoulder broad came mantling o’er his breast

With regal ornament; the middle pair

Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round

Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold

And colours dipt in heaven; the third his feet

Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail,

Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia’s son he stood,

And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled

The circuit wide. Straight knew him all the bands

Of Angels under watch, and to his state

And to his message high in honour rise;

For on some message high they guessed him bound.

Their glittering tents he passed, and now is come

Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh,

And flowering odours, cassia, nard, and balm,

A wilderness of sweets; for Nature here

Wantoned as in her prime, and played at will

Her virgin fancies, pouring forth more sweet,

Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss.

Him, through the spicy forest onward come,

Adam discerned, as in the door he sat

Of his cool bower, while now the mounted Sun

Shot down direct his fervid rays, to warm

Earth’s inmost womb, more warmth than Adam needs’

And Eve, within, due at her hour, prepared

For dinner savoury fruits, of taste to please

True appetite, and not disrelish thirst

Of nectarous draughts between, from milky stream,

Berry or grape: to whom thus Adam called:—

“Haste hither, Eve, and, worth thy sight, behold

Eastward among those trees what glorious Shape

Comes this way moving; seems another morn

Risen on mid-noon. Some great behest from Heaven

To us perhaps he brings, and will voutsafe

This day to be our guest. But go with speed,

And what thy stores contain bring forth, and pour

Abundance fit to honour and receive

Our heavenly stranger; well may we afford

Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow

From large bestowed, where Nature multiplies

Her fertile growth, and by disburdening grows

More fruitful; which instructs us not to spare.”

To whom thus Eve:—“Adam, Earth’s hallowed mould,

Of God inspired, small store will serve where store,

All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk;

Save what, by frugal storing, firmness gains

To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes.

But I will haste, and from each bough 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 dispensed 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 contrived as not to mix

Tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but bring

Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change:

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 reigned, fruit of all kinds, in coat

Rough or smooth-rined, or bearded husk, or shell,

She gathers, tribute large, and on the board

Heaps with unsparing hand. For drink the grape

She crushes, inoffensive must, and meaths

From many a berry, and from sweet kernels pressed

She tempers dulcet creams—nor those to hold

Wants her fit vessels pure; then strews the ground

With rose and odours from the shrub unfumed.

Meanwhile our primitive great Sire, to meet

His godlike 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 retin’ue long

Of horses led and grooms besmeared with gold

Dazzles the crowd and sets them all agape.

Nearer his presence, Adam, though not awed,

Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek,

As to a superior nature, bowing low,

Thus said:—“Native of Heaven (for other place

None can than Heaven such glorious Shape contain),

Since, by descending from the Thrones above,

Those happy places thou hadst deigned a while

To want, and honour these, voutsafe with us,

Two only, who yet by sovran gift possess

This spacious ground, in yonder shady bower

To rest, and what the Garden choicest bears

To sit and taste, till this meridian heat

Be over, and the sun more cool decline.”

Whom thus the angelic Virtue answered mild:—

“Adam, I therefore came; nor art thou such

Created, or such place hast here to dwell,

As may not oft invite, though Spirits of Heaven,

To visit thee. Lead on, then, where thy bower

O’ershades; for these mid-hours, till evening rise,

I have at will. “So to the sylvan lodge

They came, that like Pomona’s arbour smiled,

With flowerets decked and fragrant smells. But Eve,

Undecked, save with herself, more lovely fair

Than wood-nymph, or the fairest goddess feigned

Of three that in Mount Ida naked strove,

Stood to entertain her guest from Heaven; no veil

She needed, virtue-proof; no thought infirm

Altered her cheek. On whom the Angel “Hail!”

Bestowed—the holy salutation used

Long after to blest Mary, second Eve:—

“Hail! Mother of mankind, whose fruitful womb

Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons

Than with these various fruits the trees of God

Have heaped this table!” Raised of grassy turf

Their table was, and mossy seats had round,

And on her ample square, from side to side,

All Autumn piled, though Spring and Autumn here

Danced hand-in-hand. A while discourse they hold—

No fear lest dinner cool—when thus began

Our Author:—“Heavenly Stranger, please to taste

These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom

All perfect good, unmeasured-out, descends.

To us for food and for delight hath caused

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 Spirits be found

No ingrateful food: and food alike those pure

Intelligential substances require

As doth your Rational; and both contain

Within them every lower faculty

Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste,

Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate,

And corporeal to incorporeal turn.

For know, whatever was created needs

To be sustained and fed. Of Elements

The grosser feeds the purer: Earth the Sea;

Earth and the Sea feed Air; the Air those Fires

Ethereal, and, as lowest, first the Moon;

Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurged,

Vapours not yet into her substance turned.

Nor doth the Moon no nourishment exhale

From her moist continent to higher Orbs.

The Sun, that light imparts to all, receives

From all his alimental recompense

In humid exhalations, and at even

Sups with the Ocean. Though in Heaven the trees

Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines

Yield nectar—though from off the boughs each morn

We brush mellifluous dews and find the ground

Covered with pearly grain—yet God hath here

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: what redounds transpires

Through Spirits with ease; nor wonder, if by fire

Of sooty coal the Empiric Alchimist

Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,

Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold,

As from the mine. Meanwhile at table Eve

Ministered naked, and their flowing cups

With pleasant liquors crowned. O innocence

Deserving Paradise! If ever, then,

Then had the Sons of God excuse to have been

Enamoured at that sight. But in those hearts

Love unlibidinous reigned, nor jealousy

Was understood, the injured lover’s hell.

Thus when with meats and drinks they had sufficed,

Not burdened nature, sudden mind arose

In Adam not to let the occasion pass,

Given him by this great conference, to know

Of things above his world, and of their being

Who dwell in Heaven, whose excellence he saw

Transcend his own so far, whose radiant forms,

Divine effulgence, whose high power so far

Exceeded human; and his wary speech

Thus to the empyreal minister he framed:—

Inhabitant with God, now know I well

They favour, in this honour done to Man;

Under whose lowly roof thou hast voutsafed

To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste,

Food not of Angels, yet accepted so

As that more willingly thou couldst not seem

At Heaven’s high feasts to have fed: yet what compare!”

To whom the wingèd Hierarch replied:—

“O Adam, one almighty is, from whom

All things proceed, and up to him return,

If not depraved from good, created all

Such to perfection; one first matter all,

Indued with various forms, various degrees

Of substance, and, in things that live, of life;

But more refined, more spiritous and pure,

As nearer to him placed or nearer tending

Each in their several active spheres assigned,

Till body up to spirit work, in bounds

Proportioned to each kind. So from the root

Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves

More aerie, last the bright consummate flower

Spirits odorous breathes: flowers and their fruit,

Man’s nourishment, by gradual scale sublimed,

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 Men

With Angels may participate, and find

No inconvenient diet, nor too light fare;

And from these corporal nutriments, perhaps,

Your bodies may at last turn all to spirit,

Improved by tract of time, and winged ascend

Ethereal, as we, or may at choice

Here or in heavenly 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 replied:—

“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 joined, If ye be found

Obedient— Can we want obedience, then,

To him, or possibly his love desert,

Who formed us from the dust, and placed us here

Full to the utmost measure of what bliss

Human desires can seek or apprehend—”

To whom the Angel:—“Son of Heaven and Earth,

Attend! That thou art happy, owe to God;

That thou continuest such, owe to thyself,

That is, to thy obedience; therein stand.

This was that caution given thee; be advised.

God made thee perfect, not immutable;

And good he made thee; but to persevere

He left it in thy power—ordained thy will

By nature free, not over-ruled by fate

Inextricable, or strict necessity.

Our voluntary service he requires,

Not our necessitated. Such with him

Finds no acceptance, nor can find; for how

Can hearts not free be tried whether they serve

Willing or no, who will but what they must

By destiny, and can no other choose—

Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand

In sight of god enthroned, our happy state

Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds.

On other surety none: freely we serve,

Because we freely love, as in our will

To love or not; in this we stand or fall.

And some are fallen, to disobedience fallen,

And so from Heaven to deepest Hell. Of fall

From what high state of bliss into what woe!”

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 neighbouring hills

Aerial music send. Nor knew I not

To be, both will and deed, created free.

Yet that we never shall forget to love

Our Maker, and obey him whose command

Single is yet so just, my constant thoughts

Assured me, and still assure; though what thou tell’st

Hath passed in Heaven some doubt within me move,

But more desire to hear, if thou consent,

The full relation, which must needs be strange,

Worthy of sacred silence to be heard.

And we have yet large day, for scarce the Sun

Hath finished half his journey, and scarce begins

His other half in the great zone of heaven.”

Thus Adam made request; and Raphael,

After short pause assenting, thus began:—

“High matter thou injoin’st me, O prime of Men—

Sad task and hard; for how shall I relate

To human sense the 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; and what surmounts the reach

Of human sense I shall delineate so,

By likening spiritual to corporal forms,

As may express them best—though what if Earth

Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein

Each to other like more than on Earth is thought!

“As yet this World was not, and Chaos wild

Reigned where these heavens now rowl, where Earth now rests

Upon her centre poised, when on a day

(For Time, though in Eternity, applied

To motion, measures all things durable

By present, past, and future), on such day

As Heaven’s great year brings forth, the empyreal host

Of Angels, by imperial summons called,

Innumerable before the Almighty’s throne

Forthwith from all the ends of Heaven appeared

Under their hierarchs in orders bright.

Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanced,

Standards and gonfalons, ’twixt van and rear

Stream in the air, and for distinction serve

Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees:

Or in their glittering tissues bear imblazed

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 imbosomed sat the Son,

Amidst, as from a flaming Mount, whose top

Brightness had made invisible, thus spake:

“‘Hear, all ye Angels, Progeny of Light,

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers,

Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand!

This day I have begot whom I declare

My only Son, and on this holy hill

Him have anointed, whom ye now behold

At my right hand. Your head I him appoint,

And by myself have sworn to him shall bow

All knees in Heaven, and shall confess him Lord.

Under his great vicegerent reign abide,

United as one individual soul,

For ever happy. Him who disobeys

Me disobeys, breaks union, and, that day,

Cast out form God and blessed vision, falls

Into utter darkness, deep ingulfed, his place

Ordained without redemption, without end.’

“So spake the Omnipotent, and with his words

All seemed well pleased; all seemed, but were not all.

That day, as other solemn days, they spent

In song and dance about the sacred Hill—

Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere

Of planets and of fixed in all her wheels

Resembles, nearest; mazes intricate,

Eccentric, intervolved, yet regular

Then most when most irregular they seem;

And in their motions harmony divine

So smooths her charming tones that God’s own ear

Listens delighted. Evening now approached

(For we have also our evening and our morn—

We ours for change delectable, not need);

Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn

Desirous: all in circles as they stood,

Tables are set, and on a sudden piled

With Angels’ food; and rubied nectar flows

In pearl, in diamond, and massy gold,

Fruit of delicious vines, the growth of Heaven.

On flowers reposed, and with fresh flowerets crowned,

They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet

Quaff immortality and joy, secure

Of surfeit where full measure only bounds

Excess, before the all-bounteous King, who showered

With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy.

Now when ambrosial Night, with clouds exhaled

From that high mount of God whence light and shade

Spring both, the face of brightest Heaven had changed

To grateful twilight (for Night comes not there

In darker veil), and roseate dews disposed

All but the 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), the Angelic throng,

Dispersed in bands and files, their camp extend

By living streams among the trees of life—

Pavilions numberless and sudden reared,

Celestial tabernacles, where they slept,

Fanned with cool winds; save those who, in their course,

Melodious hymns about the sovran Throne

Alternate all night long. But not so waked

Satan—so call him now; his former name

Is heard no more in Heaven. He, of the first,

If not the first Archangel, great in power,

In favour, and preëminence, yet fraught

With envy against the Son of God, that day

Honoured by his great Father, and proclaimed

Messiah, King Anointed, could not bear,

Through pride, that sight, and thought himself impaired.

Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain,

Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour

Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolved

With all his legions to dislodge, and leave

Unworshiped, unobeyed, the Throne supreme.

Contemptuous, and, his next subordinate

Awakening, thus to him in secret spake:—

“‘Sleep’st thou, companion dear— what sleep can close

Thy eyelids— and rememberest what decree,

Of yesterday, so late hath passed the lips

Of Heaven’s Almighty— Thou to me thy thoughts

Wast 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 imposed;

New laws from him who reigns new minds may raise

In us who serve—new counsels, to debate

What doubtful may ensue. More in this place

To utter is not safe. Assemble thou

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

The Quarters of the North, there to prepare

Fit entertainment to receive our King,

The great Messiah, and his new commands,

Who speedily through all the Hierarchies

Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws.’

“So spake the false Archangel, and infused

Bad influence into the 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 ere Night,

Now ere dim Night had disincumbered Heaven,

The great hierarchal standard was to move;

Tells the suggested cause, and casts between

Ambiguous words and jealousies, to sound

Or taint integrity. But all obeyed

The wonted signal, and superior voice

Of their great Potentate; for great indeed

His name, and high was his degree in Heaven:

His countenance, as the morning-star that guides

The starry flock allured them, and with lies

Drew after him the third part of Heaven’s host.

Meanwhile, the Eternal Eye, whose sight discerns

Abstrusest thoughts, from forth his holy Mount,

And 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 Morn, what multitudes

Were banded to oppose his high decree;

And, smiling, to his only Son thus said:—

“‘Son, thou in whom my glory I behold

In full resplendence, Heir of all my might,

Nearly it now concerns us to be sure

Of our Omnipotence, and with what arms

We mean to hold what anciently we claim

Of deity or empire: such a foe

Is rising, who intends to erect his throne

Equal to ours, throughout the spacious North;

Nor so content, hath in his thought to try

In battle what our power is or our right.

Let us advise, and to this hazard draw

With speed what force is left, and all imploy

In our defence, lest unawares we lose

This our high place, our Sanctuary, our Hill.’

“To whom the Son, with calm aspect and clear

Lightening 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

Given me to quell their pride, and in event

Know whether I be dextrous to subdue

Thy rebels, or be found the worst in Heaven.’

“So spake the Son; but Satan with his Powers

Far was advanced on wingèd 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 passed, 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

Stretched into longitude; which having passed,

At length into the limits of the North

They came, and Satan to his royal seat

High on a hill, far-blazing, as a mount

Raised on a mount, with pyramids and towers

From diamond quarries hewn and rocks of gold—

The palace of great Lucifer (so call

That structure, in the dialect of men

Interpreted) which, not long after, he,

Affecting all equality with God,

In imitation of that mount whereon

Messiah was declared in sight of Heaven,

The Mountain of the Congregation called;

For thither he assembled all his train,

Pretending so commanded to consult

About the great reception of their King

Thither to come, and with calumnious art

Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears:—

“‘Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers—

If these magnific titles yet remain

Not merely titular, since by decree

Another now hath to himself ingrossed

All power, and us eclipsed 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 devised of honours new,

Receive him coming to receive from us

Knee-tribute yet unpaid, prostration vile!

Too much to one! but double how endured—

To one and to his image now proclaimed—

But what if better counsels might erect

Our minds, and teach us to cast off this yoke!

Will ye submit your necks, and choose to bend

The supple knee— Ye will not, if I trust

To know ye right, or if ye know yourselves

Natives and Sons of Heaven possessed before

By none, and, if not equal all, yet free,

Equally free; for orders and degrees

Jar not with liberty, but well consist.

Who can in reason, then, or right, assume

Monarchy over such as live by right

His equals—if in power and splendour less,

In freedom equal— or can introduce

Law and edict on us, who without law

Err not— much less for this to be our Lord,

And look for adoration, to the abuse

Of those imperial titles which assert

Our being ordained to govern, not to serve!

“Thus far his bold discourse without control

Had audience, when, among the Seraphim,

Abdiel, than whom none with more zeal adored

The Deity, and divine commands obeyed,

Stood up, and in a flame of zeal severe

The current of his fury thus opposed:—

“‘O argument blasphe’mous, false, and proud—

Words which no ear ever to hear in Heaven

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, pronounced and sworn,

That to his only Son, by right endued

With regal sceptre, every soul in Heaven

Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due

Confess him rightful King— Unjust, thou say’st,

Flatly unjust, to bind with 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 formed the Powers of Heaven

Such as he pleased, and circumscribed 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 rather to exalt

Our happy state, under one Head more near

United. But—to grant it thee unjust

That equal over equals monarch reign—

Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count,

Or all angelic nature joined in one,

Equal to him, begotten Son, by whom,

As by his Word, the mighty Father made

All things, even thee, and all the Spirits of Heaven

By him created in their bright degrees,

Crowned them with glory, and to their glory named

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers——

Essential Powers; nor by his reign obscured,

But more illustrious made; since he, the head,

One of our number thus reduced becomes;

His laws our laws; all honour to him done

Returns our own. Cease, then, this impious rage,

And tempt not these; but hasten to appease

The incensèd Father and the incensed Son

While pardon may be found, in time besought.’

“So spake the fervent Angel; but his zeal

None seconded, as out of season judged,

Or singular and rash. Whereat rejoiced

The Apostat, and, more haughty, thus replied:—

“‘That we were formed, then, say’st thou— and the work

Of secondary hands, by task transferred

From Father to his Son— Strange point and new!

Doctrine which we would know whence learned! 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-raised

By our own quickening power when fatal course

Had circled his full orb, the birth mature

Of this our native Heaven, Ethereal Sons.

Our puissance is our own; our own right hand

Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try

Who is our equal. Then thou shalt behold

Whether by supplication we intend

Address, and to begirt the Almighty Throne

Beseeching or besieging. This report,

These tidings, carry to the Anointed King;

And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight.’

“He said; and, as the sound of waters deep,

Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause

Through the infinite Host. Nor less for that

The flaming Seraph, fearless, though alone,

Encompassed round with foes, thus answered bold:—

“‘O alienate from God, O Spirit accursed,

Forsaken of all good! I see thy fall

Determined, and thy hapless crew involved

In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread

Both of thy crime and punishment. Henceforth

No more be troubled how to quit the yoke

Of God’s Messiah. Those indulgent laws

Will not be now voutsafed; other decrees

Against thee are gone forth without recall;

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 threats I fly

These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrauth

Impendent, raging into sudden flame,

Distinguish not: for soon expect to feel

His thunder on thy head, devouring fire.

Then who can created thee lamenting learn

When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know.’

“So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found;

Among the faithless faithful only he;

Among innumerable false unmoved,

Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,

His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;

Nor number nor example with him wrought

To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,

Though single. From amidst them forth he passed,

Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained

Superior, nor of violence feared aught;

And with retorted scorn his back he turned

On those proud towers, to swift destruction doomed.”

Paradise Lost: The Sixth Book

THE ARGUMENT.—Raphael continues to relate how Michael and Gabriel were sent forth to battle against Satan and his Angels. The first fight described: Satan and his Powers retire under night. He calls a council; invents devilish engines, which, in the second day’s fight, put Michael and his Angels to some disorder; but they at length, pulling up mountains, overwhelmed 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 reserved 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 confusion into the place of punishment prepared for them in the Deep. Messiah returns with triumph to his Father.

“ALL night the dreadless Angel, unpursued,

Through Heaven’s wide champaign held his way, till Morn,

Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand

Unbarred the gates of Light. There 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 Heaven

Grateful vicissitude, like day and night;

Light issues forth, and at the other door

Obsequious Darkness enters, till her hour

To veil the heaven, though darkness there might well

Seem twilight here. And now went forth the Morn

Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold

Empyreal; from before her vanished Night,

Shot through with orient beams; when all the pain

Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright,

Chariots, and flaming arms, and fiery steeds,

Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view.

War he perceived, war in precinct, and found

Already known what he for news had thought

To have reported. Gladly then he mixed

Among those friendly Powers, who him received

With joy and acclamations loud, that one,

That of so many myriads fallen yet one,

Returned not lost. On to the sacred Hill

They led him, high applauded, and present

Before the Seat supreme; from whence a voice,

From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard:—

“‘Servant of God, well done! Well hast thou fought

The better fight, who single hast maintained

Against revolted multitudes the cause

Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms,

And for the testimony of truth hast borne

Universal reproach, far worse to bear

Than violence; for this was all thy care—

To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds

Judged thee perverse. The easier conquest now

Remains thee—aided by this host of friends,

Back on thy foes more glorious to return

Than scorned thou didst depart: and to subdue,

By force who reason for their law refuse—

Right reason for their law, and for their King

Messiah, who by right of merit reigns.

Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince,

And thou, in military prowess next,

Gabriel; lead forth to battle these my sons

Invincible; lead forth my armed Saints,

By thousands and by millions ranged for fight,

Equal in number to that godless crew

Rebellious. Them with fire and hostile arms

Fearless assault; and, to the brow of Heaven

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 Sovran Voice; and clouds began

To darken all the Hill, and smoke to rowl

In dusky wreaths reluctant flames, the sign

Of wrauth awaked; nor with less dread the loud

Ethereal trumpet from on high gan blow.

At which command the Powers Militant

That stood for Heaven, in mighty quadrate joined

Of union irresistible, moved on

In silence their bright legions to the sound

Of instrumental harmony, that breathed

Heroic ardour to adventurous deeds

Under their godlike leaders, in the cause

Of God and his Messiah. On they move,

Indissolubly firm; nor obvious hill,

Nor straitening vale, 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 summoned over Eden to receive

Their names of thee; so over many a tract

Of Heaven they marched, and many a province wide,

Tenfold the length of this terrene. At last

Far in the horizon, to the north, appeared

From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretched

In battailous aspect; and, nearer view,

Bristled with upright beams innumerable

Of rigid spears, and helmets thronged, and shields

Various, with boastful argument portrayed,

The banded Powers of Satan hasting on

With furious expedition: for they weened

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

Aspirer. But their thoughts proved fond and vain

In the mid-way; though strange to us it seemed

At first that Angel should with Angel war,

And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet

So oft in festivals of joy and love

Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire,

Hymning the 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,

The Apostat in his sun-bright chariot sat,

Idol of majesty divine, enclosed

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 interval, and front to front

Presented stood, in terrible array

Of hideous length. Before the cloudy van,

On the rough edge of battle ere it joined,

Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced,

Came towering, armed in adamant and gold.

Abdiel that sight endured not, where he stood

Among the mightiest, bent on highest 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 might

There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove

Where boldest, though to sight unconquerable—

His puissance, trusting in the Almighty’s aid,

I mean to try, whose reason I have tried

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 brutish that contest’ and foul,

When reason hath to deal with force, yet so

Most reason is that reason overcome.’

“So pondering, and from his armed peers

Forth-stepping opposite, half-way he met

His daring foe, at this prevention more

Incensed, and thus securely him defied:—

“‘Proud, art thou met— Thy hope was to have reached

The highth of thy aspiring unopposed—

The Throne of God unguarded, and his side

Abandoned at the terror of thy power

Or potent tongue. Fool! not to think how vain

Against the Omnipotent to rise in arms;

Who, out of smallest things, could without end

Have raised incessant armies to defeat

Thy folly; or with solitary hand,

Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow,

Unaided could have finished thee, and whelmed

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

Seemed in thy world erroneous to dissent

From all: my Sect thou seest; now learn too late

How few sometimes may know when thousands err.’

“Whom the grand Foe, with scornful eye askance,

Thus answered:—’Ill for thee, but in wished hour

Of my revenge, first sought for, thou return’st

From flight, seditious Angel, to receive

Thy merited reward, the first assay

Of this right hand provoked, since first that tongue,

Inspired 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. But well thou com’st

Before thy fellows, ambitious to win

From me some plume, that thy success may show

Destruction to the rest. This pause between

(Unanswered lest thou boast) to let thee know.—

At first I thought that Liberty and Heaven

To heavenly souls had been all one; but now

I see that most through sloth had rather serve,

Ministering Spirits, trained up in feast and song;

Such hast thou armed, the minstrelsy of heaven—

Servility with freedom to contend,

As both their deeds compared this day shall prove.’

“To whom, in brief, thus Abdiel stern replied:—

‘Apostat! still thou err’st, no end wilt find

Of erring, from the path of truth remote.

Unjustly thou deprav’st it with the name

Of servitude, to serve whom God ordains,

Or Nature: God and Nature bid the same,

When he who rules is worthiest, and excels

Them whom he governs. This is servitude—

To serve the unwise, or him who hath rebelled

Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee,

Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled;

Yet lewdly dar’st our ministering upbraid.

Reign thou in Hell, thy kingdom; let me serve

In Heaven god ever blest, and His Divine

Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed.

Yet chains in Hell, not realms, expect: meanwhile,

From me returned, as erst thou saidst, from flight,

This greeting on thy impious crest receive.’

“So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high,

Which hung not, but so swift with 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 recoiled; the tenth on bended knee

His massy spear upstayed: as if, on earth,

Winds under ground, or waters forcing way,

Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat,

Half-sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized

The rebel Thrones, but greater rage, to see

Thus foiled their mightiest; ours joy filled, and shout,

Presage of victory, and fierce desire

Of battle: whereat Michaël bid sound

The Archangel trumpet. Through the vast of Heaven

It sounded, and the faithful armies rung

Hosannah to the Highest; nor stood at gaze

The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined

The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose,

And clamour such as heard in Heaven till now.

Was never; arms on armour clashing brayed

Horrible discord, and the madding wheels

Of brazen chariots raged; dire was the noise

Of conflict; overhead the dismal hiss

Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,

And, flying, vaulted either host with fire.

So under fiery cope together rushed

Both battles main with ruinous assault

And inextinguishable rage. All Heaven

Resounded; and, had Earth been then, all Earth

Had to her centre shook. What wonder, when

Millions of fierce encountering Angels fought

On either side, the least of whom could yield

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 the Eternal King Omnipotent

From his strong hold of Heaven high overruled

And limited their might, though numbered such

As each divided legion might have seemed

A numerous host, in strength, each armèd hand

A legion! Led in fight, yet leader seemed

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 relied

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 seemed then

Conflicting fire. Long time in even scale

The battle hung; till Satan, who that day

Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms

No equal, ranging through the dire attack

Of fighting Seraphim confused, at length

Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled

Squadrons at once: with huge two-handed sway

Brandished aloft, the horrid edge came down

Wide-wasting. Such destruction to withstand

He hasted, and opposed the rocky orb

Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield,

A vast circumference. At his approach

The great Archangel from his warlike toil

Surceased, and, glad, as hoping here to end

Intestine war in Heaven, the Arch-foe subdued,

Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown

And visage all inflamed, first thus began:—

“‘Author of Evil, unknown till thy revolt,

Unnamed in Heaven, now plenteous as thou seest

These acts of hateful strife—hateful to all,

Though heaviest, by just measure, on thyself

And thy adherents—how hast thou disturbed

Heaven’s blessed peace, and into Nature brought

Misery, uncreated till the crime

Of thy rebellion! how hast thou instilled

Thy malice into thousands, once upright

And faithful, now proved false! But think not here

To trouble holy rest; Heaven casts thee out

From all her confines; Heaven, the seat of bliss,

Brooks not the works of violence and war.

Hence, then, and Evil go with thee along,

Thy offspring, to the place of Evil, Hell—

Thou and thy wicked crew! there mingle broils!

Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom,

Or some more sudden vengeance, winged from God,

Precipitate thee with augmented pain.’

“So spake the Prince of Angels; to whom thus

The Adversary:—’Nor think thou with wind

Of airy threats to awe whom yet with deeds

Thou canst not. Hast thou turned the least of these

To flight—or, if to fall, but that they rise

Unvanquished—easier to transact with me

That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats

To chase me hence— Err not that so shall end

The strife which thou call’st evil, but we style

The strife of glory; which we mean to win,

Or turn this Heaven itself into the Hell

Thou fablest; here, however, to dwell free,

If not to reign. Meanwhile, thy utmost force—

And join Him named Almighty to thy aid—

I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh.’

“They ended parle, and both addressed for fight

Unspeakable; for who, though with the tongue

Of Angels, can relate, or to what things

Liken on earth conspicuous, that may lift

Human imagination to such highth

Of godlike power— for likest gods they seemed,

Stood they or moved, in stature, motion, arms,

Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven.

Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air

Made horrid circles; two broad suns their shields

Blazed opposite, while Expectation stood

In horror; from each hand with speed retired,

Where erst was thickest fight, the Angelic throng,

And left large field, unsafe with 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 aimed

That might determine, and not need repeat

As not of power, at once; nor odds appeared

In might or swift prevention. But the sword

Of Michaël from the armoury of God

Was given him tempered 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 stayed,

But, with swift wheel reverse, deep entering, shared

All his right side. Then Satan first knew pain,

And writhed him to and fro convolved; so sore

The griding sword with discontinuous wound

Passed through him. But the ethereal substance closed,

Not long divisible; and from the gash

A stream of nectarous humour issuing flowed

Sanguin, such as celestial Spirits may bleed,

And all his armour stained, erewhile so bright,

Forthwith, on all sides, to his aid was run

By Angels many and strong, who interposed

Defence, while others bore him on their shields

Back to his chariot where it stood retired

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 healed; for Spirits, that live throughout

Vital in every part—not, as frail Man,

In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins—

Cannot but by annihilating die;

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 themselves, and colour, shape, or size

Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare.

“Meanwhile, in other parts, like deeds deserved

Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought,

And with fierce ensigns pierced the deep array

Of Moloch, furious king, who him defied,

And at his chariot-wheels to drag him bound

Threatened, nor from the Holy One of Heaven

Refreined his tongue blasphémous, but anon,

Down cloven to the waist, with shattered arms

And uncouth pain fled bellowing. On each wing

Uriel and Raphaël his vaunting foe,

Though huge and in a rock of diamond armed,

Vanquished—Adramelech and Asmadai,

Two potent Thrones, that to be less than Gods

Disdained, but meaner thoughts learned in their flight,

Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate and mail.

Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy

The atheist crew, but with redoubled blow

Ariel, and Arioch, and the violence

Of Ramiel, scorched and blasted, overthrew.

I might relate of thousands, and their names

Eternize here on Earth; but those elect

Angels, contented with their fame in Heaven,

Seek not the praise of men: the other sort,

In might though wondrous and in acts of war,

Nor or renown less eager, yet by doom

Cancelled from Heaven and sacred memory,

Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell

For strength from truth divided, and from just,

Illaudable, nought merits but dispraise

And ignominy, yet to glory aspires,

Vain-glorious, and through infamy seeks fame:

Therefore eternal silence be their doom!

“And now, their mightiest quelled, the battle swerved,

With many an inroad gored; deformed rout

Entered, and foul disorder; all the ground

With shivered armour strown, and on a heap

Chariot and charioter lay overturned,

And fiery foaming steeds; what stood recoiled,

O’er-wearied, through the faint Satanic host,

Defensive scarce, or with pale fear surprised—

Then first with fear surprised and sense of pain—

Fled ignominious, to such evil brought

By sin of disobedience, till that hour

Not liable to fear, or flight, or pain.

Far otherwise the inviolable Saints

In cubic phalanx firm advanced entire,

Invulnerable, impenetrably armed;

Such high advantages their innocence

Gave them above their foes—not to have sinned,

Not to have disobeyed; in fight they stood

Unwearied, unobnoxious to be pained

By wound, though from their place by violence moved.

“Now Night her course began, and, over Heaven

Inducing darkness, grateful truce imposed,

And silence on the odious din of war.

Under her cloudy covert both retired,

Victor and Vanquished. On the foughten field

Michael and his Angels, prevalent

Encamping, placed in guard their watches round,

Cherubic waving fires: on the other part,

Satan with his rebellious disappeared,

Far in the dark dislodged, and, void of rest,

His Potentates to council called by night,

And in the midst thus undismayed began:—

“‘O now in danger tried, now known in arms

Not to be overpowered, companions dear,

Found worthy not of liberty alone—

Too mean pretence—but, what we more affect,

Honour, dominion, glory and renown;

Who have sustained one day in doubtful fight

(And, if one day, why not eternal days—)

What Heaven’s Lord had powerfullest to send

Against us from about his Throne, and judged

Sufficient to subdue us to his will,

But proves not so: then fallible, it seems,

Of future we may deem him, though till now

Omniscient thought! True is, less firmly armed,

Some disadvantage we endured, and pain—

Till now not known, but, known, as soon contemned;

Since now we find this our empyreal form

Incapable of mortal injury,

Imperishable, and, though pierced with wound,

Soon closing, and by native vigour healed.

Of evil, then, so small as easy think

The remedy: perhaps more valid arms,

Weapons 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

Unhurt our minds, and understanding sound,

Due search and consultation will disclose,’

“He sat; and in the assembly next upstood

Nisroch, of Principalities the prime.

As one he stood escaped from cruel fight

Sore toiled, his riven arms to havoc hewn,

And, cloudy in aspect’, thus answering spake:—

“‘Deliverer from new Lords, leader to free

Enjoyment of our right as Gods! yet hard

For Gods, and too unequal work, we find

Against unequal arms to fight in pain,

Against unpained, impassive; from which evil

Ruin must needs ensue. For what avails

Valour or strength, though matchless, quelled with pain,

Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands

Of mightiest— Sense of pleasure we may well

Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine,

But live content—which is the calmest life;

But pain is perfect misery, the worst

Of evils, and, excessive, overturns

All patience. He who, therefore, can invent

With what more forcible we may offend

Our yet unwounded enemies, or arm

Ourselves with like defence, to me deserves

No less than for deliverance what we owe.’

“Whereto, with look composed, Satan replied:—

‘Not uninvented that, which thou aright

Believ’st so main to our success, I bring.

Which of us who beholds the bright surface

Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand—

This continent of spacious Heaven, adorned

With plant, fruit, flower 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 spirituous and fiery spume, till, touched

With Heaven’s ray, and tempered, they shoot forth

So beauteous, opening 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-rammed, at the other bore with touch of fire

Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth

From far, with thundering noise, among our foes

Such implements of mischief as shall dash

To pieces and o’erwhelm whatever stands

Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmed

The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt.

Nor long shall be our labour; yet ere dawn

Effect shall end our wish. Meanwhile revive;

Abandon fear; to strength and counsel joined

Think nothing hard, much less to be despaired.’

“He ended; and his words their drooping cheer

Enlightened, and their languished hope revived.

The invention all admired, and each how he

To be the inventor missed; so easy it seemed,

Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought

Impossible! Yet, haply, of thy race,

In future days, if malice should abound,

Some one, intent on mischief, or inspired

With devilish machination, might devise

Like instrument to plague the sons of men

For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent.

Forthwith from council to the work they flew;

None arguing stood; innumerable hands

Were ready; in a moment up they turned

Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath

The originals of Nature in their crude

Conception; sulphurous and nitrous foam

They found, they mingled, and, with subtle art

Concocted and adusted, they reduced

To blackest grain, and into store conveyed.

Part hidden veins digged up (nor hath this Earth

Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone,

Whereof to found their engines and their balls

Of missive ruin; part incentive reed

Provide, pernicious with one touch to fire.

So all ere day-spring, under conscious Night,

Secret they finished, and in order set,

With silent circumspection, unespied.

“Now, when fair Morn orient in Heaven appeared,

Up rose the victor Angels, and to arms

The matin trumpet sung. In arms they stood

Of golden panoply, refulgent host,

Soon banded; others from the dawning hills

Looked round, and scouts each coast light-armèd scour,

Each quarter, to descry the distant foe,

Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight,

In motion or in halt. Him soon they met

Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow

But firm battalion: back with speediest sail

Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing,

Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried:—

“‘Arm, Warriors, arm for fight! The foe at hand,

Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit

This day; 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 orbèd shield,

Borne even or high; for this day will pour down,

If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower,

But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire.’

“So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon

In order, quit of all impediment.

Instant, without disturb, they took alarm,

And onward more embattled: when, behold,

Not distant far, with heavy pace the Foe

Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube

Training his devilish enginery, impaled

On every side with shadowing squadrons deep,

To hide the fraud. At interview both stood

A while; but suddenly at head appeared

Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud:—

“‘Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold,

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 Heaven!

Heaven, witness thou anon! while we discharge

Freely our part. 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 retired;

Which to our eyes discovered, new and strange,

A triple mounted row of pillars laid

On wheels (for like to pillars most they seemed,

Or hollowed bodies made of oak or fir,

With branches lopt, in wood or mountain felled),

Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths

With hideous orifice gaped 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 amused.

Not long! for sudden all at once their reeds

Put forth, and to a narrow vent applied

With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame,

But soon obscured with smoke, all Heaven appeared,

From those deep-throated engines belched, whose roar

Embowelled with outrageous noise the air,

And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul

Their devilish glut, chained thunderbolts and hail

Of iron globes; which, on the Victor Host

Levelled, with such impetuous fury smote,

That whom they hit none on their feet might stand,

Though standing else as rocks, but down they fell

By thousands, Angel on Archangel rowled,

The sooner for their arms. Unarmed, they might

Have easily, as Spirits, evaded swift

By quick contraction or remove; but now

Foul dissipation followed, and forced rout;

Nor served it to relax their serried files.

What should they do— If on they rushed, repulse

Repeated, and indecent overthrow

Doubled, would render them yet more despised,

And to their foes a laughter—for in view

Stood ranked of Seraphim another row,

In posture to displode their second tire

Of thunder; back defeated to return

They worse abhorred. Satan beheld their plight,

And to his mates thus in derision called:—

“‘O friends, why come not on these victors proud—

Erewhile they fierce were coming; and, when we,

To entertain them fair with open front

And breast (what could we more—), propounded terms

Of composition, straight they changed their minds,

Flew off, and into strange vagaries fell,

As they would dance. Yet for a dance they seemed

Somewhat extravagant and wild; perhaps

For joy of offered peace. But I suppose,

If our proposals once again were heard,

We should compel them to a quick result.’

“To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood:

‘Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight,

Of hard contents, and full of force urged home,

Such as we might perceive amused them all,

And stumbled many. Who receives them right

Had need from head to foot 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, heightened in their thoughts beyond

All doubt of victory; Eternal Might

To match with their inventions they presumed

So easy, and of his thunder made a scorn,

And all his host derided, while they stood

A while in trouble. But they stood not long;

Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms

Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose.

Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power,

Which God hath in his mighty Angels placed!)

Their arms away they threw, and to the hills

(For Earth hath this variety from Heaven

Of pleasure situate in hill and dale)

Light as the lightning-glimpse they ran, they flew,

From their foundations, loosening to and fro,

They plucked the seated hills, with all their load,

Rocks, waters, woods, and, by the shaggy tops

Uplifting, bore them in their hands. Amaze,

Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel Host,

When coming towards them so dread they saw

The bottom of the mountains upward turned,

Till on those cursed engines’ triple row

They saw them whelmed, 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 oppressed whole legions armed.

Their armour helped their harm, crushed in and bruised,

Into their substance pent—which wrought them pain

Implacable, and many a dolorous groan,

Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind

Out of such prison, though Spirits of purest light,

Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown.

The rest, in imitation, to like arms

Betook them, and the neighbouring hills uptore;

So hills amid the air encountered hills,

Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire,

That underground they fought in dismal shade:

Infernal noise! war seemed a civil game

To this uproar; horrid confusion heaped

Upon confusion rose. And now all Heaven

Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread,

Had not the Almighty Father, where he sits

Shrined in his sanctuary of Heaven secure,

Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen

This tumult, and permitted all, advised,

That his great purpose he might so fulfil,

To honour his Anointed Son, avenged

Upon his enemies, and to declare

All power on him transferred. Whence to his Son,

The assessor of his Throne, he thus began:—

“‘Effulgence of my glory, Son beloved,

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 passed,

Two days, as we compute the days of Heaven,

Since Michael and his Powers went forth to tame

These disobedient. Sore hath been their fight,

As likeliest was when two such foes met armed:

For to themselves I left them; and thou know’st

Equal in their creation they were formed,

Save what sin hath impaired—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 hath performed what war can do,

And to disordered rage let loose the reins,

With mountains, as with weapons, armed; which makes

Wild work in Heaven, and dangerous to the main.

Two days are, therefore, passed; the third is thine:

For thee I have ordained it, and thus far

Have suffered, 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 transfused, that all may know

In Heaven and Hell thy power above compare,

And this perverse commotion governed thus,

To manifest thee worthiest to be Heir

Of all things—to be Heir, and to be King

By sacred unction, thy deserved right.

Go, then, thou Mightiest, in thy Father’s might;

Ascend my chariot; guide the rapid wheels

That shake Heaven’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

From all Heaven’s bounds into the utter Deep;

There let them learn, as likes them, to despise

God, and Messiah his anointed King.’

“He said, and on his Son with rays direct

Shon full. He all his Father full expressed

Ineffably into his face received;

And thus the Filial Godhead answering spake:—

“‘O Father, O Supreme of Heavenly Thrones,

First, Highest, Holiest, Best, thou always seek’st

To glorify thy Son; I always thee,

As is most just. This I my glory account,

My exaltation, and my whole delight,

That thou in me, well pleased, declar’st thy will

Fulfilled, which to fulfil is all my bliss.

Sceptre and power, thy giving, I assume,

And gladlier shall resign when in the end

Thou shalt be all in all, and I in thee

For 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,

Armed with thy might, rid Heaven of these rebelled,

To their prepared ill mansion driven down,

To chains of darkness and the undying Worm,

That from thy just obedience could revolt,

Whom to obey is happiness entire.

Then shall thy Saints, unmixed, and from the impure

Far separate, circling thy holy Mount,

Unfeigned halleluiahs 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;

And the third sacred morn began to shine,

Dawning through Heaven. Forth rushed with whirlwind sound

The chariot of Paternal Deity,

Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel; undrawn,

Itself instinct with spirit, but convoyed

By four cherubic Shapes. Four faces each

Had wondrous; as with stars, their bodies all

And wings were set with eyes; with eyes the wheels

Of beryl, and careering fires between;

Over their heads a crystal firmament,

Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure

Amber and colours of the showery arch.

He, in celestial panoply all armed

Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought,

Ascended; at his right hand Victory

Sat eagle-winged; beside him hung his bow,

And quiver, with three-bolted thunder stored;

And from about him fierce effusion rowled

Of smoke and bickering flame and sparkles dire.

Attended with ten thousand Saints,

He onward came; far off his coming shon;

And twenty thousand (I their number heard)

Chariots of God, half on each hand, were seen.

He on the wings of Cherub rode sublime

On the crystallin sky, in saphir throned—

Illustrious far and wide, but by his own

First seen. Them unexpected joy surprised

When the great ensign of Messiah blazed

Aloft, by Angels borne, his Sign in Heaven;

Under whose conduct Michael soon reduced

His army, circumfused on either wing,

Under their Head embodied all in one.

Before him Power Divine his way prepared;

At his command the uprooted hills retired

Each to his place; they heard his voice, and went

Obsequious; Heaven his wonted face renewed,

And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled.

“This saw his hapless foes, but stood obdured,

And to rebellious fight rallied their Powers,

Insensate, hope conceiving from despair.

In Heavenly Spirits could such perverseness dwell—

But to convince the proud what signs avail,

Or wonders move the obdurate to relent—

They, hardened more by what might most reclaim,

Grieving to see his glory, at the sight

Took envy, and, aspiring to his highth,

Stood re-imbattled fierce, by force or fraud

Weening to prosper, and at length prevail

Against God and Messiah, or to fall

In universal ruin last; and now

To final battle drew, disdaining flight,

Or faint retreat: when the great Son of God

To all his host on either hand thus spake:—

“‘Stand still in bright array, ye Saints; here stand,

Ye Angels armed; this day from battle rest.

Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God

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 belongs;

Vengeance is his, or whose He sole appoints.

Number to this day’s work is not ordained,

Nor multitude; stand only and behold

God’s indignation on these godless poured

By me. Not you, but me, they have despised,

Yet envied; against me is all their rage,

Because the Father, to whom in Heaven supreme

Kingdom and power and glory appertains,

Hath honoured me, according to his will.

Therefore to me their doom he hath assigned,

That they may have their wish, to try with me

In battle which the stronger proves—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 voutsafe.’

“So spake the Son, and into terror changed

His countenance, too severe to be beheld,

And full of wrauth bent on his enemies.

At once the Four spread out their starry wings

With dreadful shade continguous, and the orbs

Of his fierce chariot rowled, as with 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 arrived, in his right hand

Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent

Before him, such as in their souls infixed

Plagues. They, astonished, 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 prostate,

That wished 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 fourfold-visaged Four,

Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels,

Distinct alike with multitude of eyes;

One spirit in them ruled, and every eye

Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire

Among the accursed, that withered all their strength,

And of their wonted vigour left them drained,

Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen,

Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked

His thunder in mid-volley; for he meant

Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven.

The overthrown he raised, and, as a herd

Of goats or timorous flock together thronged,

Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued

With terrors and with furies to the bounds

And crystal wall of Heaven; which, opening wide,

Rowled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed

Into the wasteful Deep. The monstrous sight

Strook them with horror backward; but far worse

Urged them behind: headlong themselves they threw

Down from the verge of Heaven: eternal wrauth

Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.

“Hell heard the unsufferable noise; Hell saw

Heaven ruining from Heaven, and would have fled

Affrighted; but strict Fate had cast too deep

Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound.

Nine days they fell; confounded Chaos roared,

And felt tenfold confusion in their fall

Through his wild Anarchy; so huge a rout

Incumbered him with ruin. Hell at last,

Yawning, received them whole, and on them closed—

Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire

Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.

Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired

Her mural breach, returning whence it rowled.

Sole victor, from the expulsion of his foes

Messiah his triumphal chariot turned.

To meet him all his Saints, who silent stood

Eye-witnesses of His Almighty acts,

With jubilee advanced; and, as they went,

Shaded with branching palm, each order bright

Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King,

Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given,

Worthiest to reign. He celebrated rode

Triumphant through mid Heaven, into the courts

And temple of his mighty Father throned

On high; who into glory him received,

Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss.

“Thus measuring things in Heaven by things on Earth,

At thy request, and that thou may’st beware

By what is past, to thee I have revealed

What might have else to human race been hid—

The discord which befell, and war in Heaven

Among the Angelic Powers, and the deep fall

Of those too high aspiring who rebelled

With Satan: he who envies now thy state,

Who now is plotting how he may seduce

Thee also from obedience, that, with him

Bereaved 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; warn

Thy weaker; let it profit thee to have heard,

By terrible example, the reward

Of disobedience. Firm they might have stood,

Yet fell. Remember, and fear to transgress.”

Paradise Lost: The Seventh Book

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 with glory, and attendance of Angels, to perform the work of creation in six days: the Angels celebrate with hymns the performance thereof, and his reascension into Heaven.

DESCEND from Heaven, Urania, by that name

If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine

Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,

Above the flight of Pegasean wing!

The meaning, not the name, I call; for thou

Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top

Of old Olympus dwell’st; but, heavenly—born,

Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed,

Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse,

Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play

In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased

With thy celestial song. Up led by thee,

Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,

An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,

Thy tempering. With like safety guided down,

Return me to my native element;

Lest, from this flying steed unreined (as once

Bellerophon, though from a lower clime)

Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,

Erroneous there to wander and forlorn.

Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound

Within the visible Diurnal Sphere.

Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole,

More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged

To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,

On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues,

In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,

And solitude; yet not alone, while thou

Visit’st my slumbers nightly, or when Morn

Purples the East. Still govern thou my song,

Urania, and fit audience find, though few.

But drive far off the barbarous dissonance

Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race

Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian Bard

In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears

To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned

Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend

Her son. So fail not thou who thee implores;

For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.

Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael,

The affable Archangel, had forewarned

Adam, by dire example, to beware

Apostasy, by what befell in Heaven

To those apostates, lest the like befall

In Paradise to Adam or his race,

Charged not to touch the interdicted Tree,

If they transgress, and slight that sole command,

So easily obeyed amid the choice

Of all tastes else to please their appetite,

Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve,

The story heard attentive, and was filled

With admiration and deep muse, to hear

Of things so high and strange—things to their thought

So unimaginable as hate in Heaven,

And was so near the peace of God in bliss,

With such confusion; but the evil, soon

Driven back, redounded as a flood on those

From whom it sprung, impossible to mix

With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repealed

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 heaven and earth conspicuous first began;

When, and whereof, created; for what cause;

What within Eden, or without, was done

Before his memory—as one whose drouth,

Yet scarce allayed, still eyes the current stream,

Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites,

Proceeded thus to ask his Heavenly Guest:—

“Great things, and full of wonder in our ears,

Far differing from this World, thou hast revealed,

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 the infinitely Good we owe

Immortal thanks, and his admonishment

Receive with solemn purpose to observe

Immutably his sovran will, the end

Of what we are. But, since thou hast voutsafed

Gently, for our instruction, to impart

Things above Earthly thought, which yet concerned

Our knowing, as to highest Wisdom seemed,

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 adorned

Innumerable; and this which yields or fills

All space, the ambient Air, wide interfused,

Imbracing round this florid Earth; what cause

Moved the Creator, in his holy rest

Through all eternity, so late to build

In Chaos; and, the work begun, how soon

Absolved: if unforbid thou may’st unfold

What we not to explore the secrets ask

Of his eternal empire, but the more

To magnify his works the more we know.

And the great Light of Day yet wants to run

Much of his race, though steep. Suspense in heaven

Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he hears

And longer will delay, to hear thee tell

His generation, and the rising birth

Of Nature from the unapparent Deep:

Or, if the Star of Evening and the Moon

Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring

Silence, and Sleep listening to thee will watch;

Or we can bid his absence till thy song

End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine.”

Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought;

And thus the godlike Angel answered mild:—

“This also thy request, with caution asked,

Obtain; though to recount Almighty works

What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice,

Or heart of man suffice to comprehend—

Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve

To glorify the Maker, and infer

Thee also happier, shall not be withheld

Thy hearing. Such commission from above

I have received, to answer thy desire

Of knowledge within bounds; beyond abstain

To ask, nor let thine own inventions hope

Things not revealed, which the invisible King,

Only Omniscient, hath suppressed in night,

To none communicable in Earth or Heaven,

Enough is left besides to search and know;

But Knowledge is as food, and needs no less

Her temperance over appetite, to know

In measure what the mind may well contain;

Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns

Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind.

“Know then that, after Lucifer from Heaven

(So call him, brighter once amidst the host

Of Angels then that star the stars among)

Fell with his flaming Legions through the Deep

Into his place, and the great Son returned

Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent

Eternal Father from his Throne beheld

Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake:—

“‘At least our envious foe hath failed, who thought

All like himself rebellious; by whose aid

This inaccessible high strength, the seat

Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed,

He trusted to have seized, and into fraud

Drew many whom their place knows here no more.

Yet far the greater part have kept, I see,

Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retains

Number sufficient to possess her realms,

Though wide, and this high temple to frequent

With ministeries due and solemn rites.

But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm

Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven—

My damage fondly deemed—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 raised,

They open to themselves at length the way

Up hither, under long obedience tried,

And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,

One kingdom, joy and union without end.

Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven;

And thou, my Word, begotten Son, by thee

This I perform; speak thou, and be it done!

My overshadowing Spirit and might with thee

I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep

Within appointed bounds be heaven and earth.

Boundless the Deep, because I am who fill

Infinitude; nor vacuous the space,

Though I, uncircumscribed, myself 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 the Almighty; and to what he spake

His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect.

Immediate are the acts of God, more swift

Than time or motion, but to human ears

Cannot without process’ of speech be told,

So told as earthly notion can receive.

Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven

When such was heard declared the Almighty’s will.

Glory they sung to the Most High, goodwill

To future men, and in their dwellings peace—

Glory to Him whose just avenging ire

Had driven out the ungodly from his sight

And the habitations of the just; to Him

Glory and praise whose wisdom had ordained

Good out of evil to create—instead

Of Spirits malign, a better Race to bring

Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse

His good to worlds and ages infinite.

“So sang the Hierarchies. Meanwhile the Son

On his great expedition now appeared,

Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crowned

Of majesty divine, sapience and love

Immense; and all his Father in him shon.

About his chariot numberless were poured

Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,

And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged

From the armoury of God, where stand of old

Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodged

Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand,

Celestial equipage; and now came forth

Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived,

Attendant on their Lord. Heaven opened wide

Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound

On golden hinges moving, to let forth

The King of Glory, in his powerful Word

And Spirit coming to create new worlds.

On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shore

They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss,

Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,

Up from the bottom turned by furious winds

And surging waves, as mountains to assault

Heaven’s highth, and with the centre mix the pole.

“‘Silence, ye troubled waves, and, thou Deep, peace!’

Said then the omnific Word: ‘your discord end!’

Nor stayed; but, on the wings of Cherubim

Uplifted, in paternal glory rode

Far into Chaos and the World unborn;

For Chaos heard his voice. Him all his train

Followed in bright procession, to behold

Creation, and the wonders of his might.

Then stayed the fervid wheels, and in his hand

He took the golden compasses, prepared

In God’s eternal store, to circumscribe

This Universe, and all created things.

One foot he centred, and the other turned

Round through the vast profundity obscure,

And said, ‘Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds;

This be thy just circumference, O World!

Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth,

Matter unformed and void. Darkness profound

Covered the Abyss; but on the watery calm

His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread,

And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth,

Throughout the fluid mass, but downward purged

The black, tartareous, cold, infernal dregs,

Adverse to life; then founded, then conglobed,

Like things to like, the rest to several place

Disparted, and between spun out the Air,

And Earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung.

“‘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 aery gloom began,

Sphered in a radiant cloud—for yet the Sun

Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle

Sojourned the while. God saw the Light was good;

And light from darkness by the hemisphere

Divided: Light the Day, and Darkness Night,

He named. Thus was the first Day even and morn;

Nor passed uncelebrated, nor unsung

By the celestial quires, when orient light

Exhaling first from darkness they beheld,

Birth-day of Heaven and Earth. With joy and shout

The hollow universal orb they filled,

And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised

God and his works; Creator him they sung,

Both when first evening was, and when first morn.

“Again God said, ‘Let there be firmament

Amid the waters, and let it divide

The waters from the waters!’ And God made

The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure,

Transparent, elemental air, diffused

In circuit to the uttermost convex

Of this great round—partition firm and sure,

The waters underneath from those above

Dividing; for as Earth, so he the World

Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide

Crystallin ocean, and the loud misrule

Of Chaos far removed, lest fierce extremes

Contiguous might distemper the whole frame:

And Heaven he named the Firmament. So even

And morning chorus sung the second Day.

“The Earth was formed, but, in the womb as yet

Of waters, embryon immature, involved,

Appeared not; over all the face of Earth

Main ocean flowed, not idle, but, with warm

Prolific humour softening all her globe,

Fermented the great Mother to conceive,

Satiate with genial moisture; when God said,

‘Be gathered now, ye waters under heaven,

Into one place, and let dry land appear!’

Immediately the mountains huge appear

Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave

Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky.

So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low

Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,

Capacious bed of waters. Thither they

Hasted with glad precipitance, uprowled,

As drops on dust conglobing, from the dry:

Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct,

For haste; such flight the great command impressed

On the swift floods. As armies at the call

Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard)

Troop to their standard, so the watery throng,

Wave rowling after wave, where way they found—

If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain,

Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill;

But they, or underground, or circuit wide

With serpent error wandering, found their way,

And on the washy ooze deep channels wore:

Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry,

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 called Seas;

And saw that it was good, and said, ‘Let the 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, unadorned,

Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad

Her universal face with pleasant green;

Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered,

Opening their various colours, and made gay

Her bosom, smelling sweet; and, these scarce blown,

Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept

The smelling gourd, up stood the corny reed

Imbattled in her field: add the humble shrub,

And bush with frizzled hair implicit: last

Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread

Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed

Their blossoms. With high woods the hills were crowned,

With tufts the valleys and each fountain-side,

With borders long the rivers, that Earth now

Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where gods might dwell,

Or wander with delight, and love to haunt

Her sacred shades; though God had yet not rained

Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground

None was, but from the Earth a dewy mist

Went up and watered all the ground, and each

Plant of the field, which ere it was in the Earth

God made, and every herb before it grew

On the green stem. God saw that it was good;

So even and morn recorded the third Day.

“Again the Almighty spake, ‘Let there be Lights

High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide

The Day from Night; and let them be for signs,

For seasons, and for days, and circling years;

And let them be for lights, as I ordain

Their office in the firmament of heaven,

To give light on the Earth!’ and it was so.

And God made two great Lights, great for their use

To Man, the greater to have rule by day,

The less by night, alternor; and made the Stars,

And set them in the firmament of heaven

To 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 framed, unlightsome first,

Though of ethereal mould; then formed the Moon

Globose, and every magnitude of Stars,

And sowed with stars the heaven thick as a field.

Of light by far the greater part he took,

Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed

In the Sun’s orb, made porous to receive

And drink the liquid light, firm to retain

Her gathered beams, great palace now of Light.

Hither, as to their fountain, other 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 the horizon round

Invested with bright rays, jocond to run

His longitude through heaven’s high-road; the grey

Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danced,

Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the Moon,

But opposite in levelled west, was set,

His mirror, with full face borrowing her light

From him; for other light she needed none

In that aspect, and still that distance keeps

Till night; then in the east her turn she shines,

Revolved on heaven’s great axle, and her reign

With thousand lesser lights dividual holds,

With thousand thousand stars, that then appeared

Spangling the hemisphere. Then first adorned

With her bright luminaries, that set and rose,

Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth Day.

“And God said, ‘Let the waters generate

Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul;

And let Fowl fly above the earth, with wings

Displayed on the open firmament of Heaven!’

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 blessed them, saying,

‘Be fruitful, multiply, and, in the seas,

And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill;

And let the fowl be multiplied on the earth!’

Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay,

With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals

Of fish that, with their fins and shining scales,

Glide under the green wave in sculls that oft

Bank the mid-sea. Part, single or with mate,

Graze the sea-weed, their pasture, and through groves

Of coral stray, or, sporting with quick glance,

Shew to the sun their waved 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 unwieldy, enormous in their gait,

Tempest the ocean. There Leviathan,

Hugest of living creatures, on the deep

Stretched 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.

Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores,

Their brood as numerous hatch from the egg, that soon,

Bursting with kindly rupture, forth disclosed

Their callow young; but feathered soon and fledge

They summed their pens, and, soaring the air sublime,

With clang despised the ground, under a cloud

In prospect. There the eagle and the stork

On cliffs and cedar-tops their eyries build.

Part loosely wing the Region; part, more wise,

In common, ranged in figure, wedge their way,

Intelligent of seasons, and set forth

Their aerie caravan, high over seas

Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing

Easing their flight: so steers the prudent crane

Her annual voyage, borne on winds: the air

Floats as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes.

From branch to branch the smaller birds with song

Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings,

Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale

Ceased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays.

Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bathed

Their downy breast; the swan, with arched neck

Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows

Her state with oary feet; yet oft they quit

The dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, tower

The mid aerial sky. Others on ground

Walked firm—the crested cock, whose clarion sounds

The silent hours, and the other, whose gay train

Adorns him, coloured with the florid hue

Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus

With Fish replenished, and the air with Fowl,

Evening and morn solemnized the fifth Day.

“The sixth, and of Creation last, arose

With evening harps and matin; when God said,

‘Let the Earth bring forth soul living in her kind,

Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the earth,

Each in their kind!’ The Earth obeyed, and, straight

Opening her fertile womb, teemed at a birth

Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms,

Limbed and full-grown. Out of the ground up rose,

As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wons

In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den—

Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked;

The cattle in the fields and meadows green:

Those rare and solitary, these in flocks

Pasturing at once and in broad herds, upsprung.

The grassy clods now calved; now half appeared

The tawny Lion, pawing to get free

His hinder parts—then springs, as broke from bonds,

And rampant shakes his brinded mane; the Ounce,

The Libbard, and the Tiger, as the Mole

Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw

In hillocks; the swift Stag from underground

Bore up his branching head; scarce from his mould

Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheaved

His vastness; fleeced the flocks and bleating rose,

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 waved their limber fans

For wings, and smallest lineaments exact

In all the liveries decked 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: not all

Minims of nature; some of serpent kind,

Wondrous in length and corpulence, involved

Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept

The parsimonious Emmet, provident

Of future, in small room large heart enclosed—

Pattern of just equality perhaps

Hereafter—joined in her popular tribes

Of commonalty. Swarming next appeared

The female Bee, that feeds her husband drone

Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells

With honey stored. The rest are numberless,

And thou 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 Heaven in all her glory shon, and rowled

Her motions, as the great First Mover’s hand

First wheeled their course; Earth, in her rich attire

Consummate, lovely smiled; Air, Water, Earth,

By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was walked

Frequent; and of the sixth Day yet remained.

There wanted yet the master-work, the end

Of all yet done—a creature who, not prone

And brute as other creatures, but endued

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 Heaven,

But grateful to acknowledge whence his good

Descends; thither with heart, and voice, and eyes

Directed in devotion, to adore

And worship God Supreme, who made him chief

Of all his works. Therefore the Omnipotent

Eternal Father (for where is not He

Present—) thus to his Son audibly spake:—

‘Let us make now Man in our image, Man

In our Timilitude, and let them rule

Over the fish and fowl of sea and air,

Beast of the field, and over all the earth,

And every creeping thing that creeps the ground!’

This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee, O Man,

Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed

The breath of life; in his own image he

Created thee, in the image of God

Express, and thou becam’st a living Soul.

Male he created thee, but thy consort’

Female, for race; then blessed mankind, and said,

‘Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth;

Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold

Over fish of the sea and fowl of the air,

And every living thing that moves on the Earth!

Wherever thus created—for no place

Is yet distinct by name—thence, as thou know’st,

He brought thee into this delicious grove,

This Garden, planted with the tress of God,

Delectable both to behold and taste,

And freely all their pleasant fruit for food

Gave thee. All sorts are here that all the earth yields,

Variety without end; but of the tree

Which tasted works knowledge of good and evil

Thou may’st not; in the day thou eat’st, thou diest.

Death is the penalty imposed; beware,

And govern well thy appetite, least Sin

Surprise thee, and her black attendant, Death.

“Here finished He, and all that he had made

Viewed, and behold! all was entirely good.

So even and morn accomplished the sixth Day;

Yet not till the Creator, from his work

Desisting, though unwearied, up returned,

Up to the Heaven of Heavens, his high abode,

Thence to behold this new-created World,

The addition of his empire, how it shewed

In prospect from his Throne, how good, how fair,

Answering his great Idea. Up he rode,

Followed with acclamation, and the sound

Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tuned

Angelic harmonies. The Earth, the Air

Resounded (thou remember’st, for thou heard’st),

The heavens and all the constellations rung,

The planets in their stations listening stood,

While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.

‘Open, ye everlasting gates!’ they sung;

‘Open, ye Heavens, your living doors! let in

The great Creator, from his work returned

Magnificent, his six days’ work, a World!

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 sung

The glorious train ascending. He through Heaven,

That opened 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 thou seest

Powdered with stars. 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 Heaven’s high-seated top, the imperial throne

Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure,

The Filial Power arrived, and sat him down

With his great Father; for He also went

Invisible, yet stayed (such privilege

Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordained,

Author and end of all things, and from work

Now resting. Blessed and hallowed the seventh 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,

Tempered soft tunings, intermixed with voice

Choral or unison; of incense clouds,

Fuming from golden censers, hid the Mount.

Creation and the Six Days’ acts they sung:—

‘Great are thy works, Jehovah! infinite

Thy power! what thought can measure thee, or tongue

Relate thee—greater now in thy return

Than from the Giant-angels— Thee that day

Thy thunders magnified; but to create

Is greater than created to destroy.

Who can impair thee, mighty King, or bound

Thy empire— Easily the proud attempt

Of Spirits apostate, and their counsels vain,

Thou hast repelled, while impiously they thought

Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw

The number of thy worshipers. Who seeks

To lessen thee, against his purpose, serves

To manifest the more thy might; his evil

Thou usest, and from thence creat’st more good.

Witness this new-made World, another Heaven

From Heaven-gate not far, founded in view

On the clear hyalin, the glassy sea;

Of amplitude almost immense, with stars

Numerous, and every star perhaps a world

Of destined habitation—but thou know’st

Their seasons; among these the seat of men,

Earth, with her nether ocean circumfused,

Their pleasant dwelling—place. Thrice happy men,

And sons of men, whom God hath thus advanced,

Created in his image, there to dwell

And worship him, and in reward to rule

Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air,

And multiply a race of worshipers

Holy and just! thrice happy, if they know

Their happiness, and persevere upright!’

“So sung they, and the Empyrean rung

With halleluiahs. Thus was Sabbath kept.

And thy request think now fulfilled that asked

How first this World and face of things began,

And what before thy memory was done

From the beginning, that posterity,

Informed by thee, might know. If else thou seek’st

Aught, not surpassing human measure, say.”

Paradise Lost: The Eighth Book

THE ARGUMENT.—Adam inquires concerning celestial motions; is doubtfully answered, and exhorted to search rather things more worthy of knowledge. Adam assents, and, still desirous to detain Raphael, relates to him what he remembered since his own creation—his placing in Paradise; his talk with God concerning solitude and fit society; his first meeting and nuptials with Eve. His discourse with the Angel thereupon; who, after admonitions repeated, departs.

THE ANGEL ended, and in Adam’s ear

So charming left his voice that he a while

Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear;

Then, as new-waked, thus gratefully replied:—

“What thanks sufficient, or what recompense

Equal, have I to render thee, divine

Historian, who thus largely hast allayed

The thirst I had of knowledge, and voutsafed

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 Heaven and Earth consisting, and compute

Their magnitudes—this Earth, a spot, a grain,

An atom, with the Firmament compared

And all her numbered stars, that seem to rowl

Spaces incomprehensible (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—reasoning, I oft admire

How Nature, wise and frugal, could commit

Such disproportions, with superfluous hand

So many nobler bodies to create,

Greater so manifold, to this one use,

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 compass move,

Served by more noble than herself, attains

Her end without least motion, and receives,

As tribute, such a sumless journey brought

Of incorporeal speed her warmth and light:

Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails.”

So spake our Sire, and by his countenance seemed

Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve

Perceiving, where, she sat retired in sight,

With lowliness majestic from her seat,

And grace that won who saw to wish her stay,

Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers,

To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom,

Her nursery; they at her coming sprung,

And, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew.

Yet went she not as not with such discourse

Delighted, or not capable her ear

Of what was high. Such pleasure she reserved,

Adam relating, she sole auditress;

Her husband the relater she preferred

Before the Angel, and of him to ask

Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermix

Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute

With conjugal caresses: from his lip

Not words alone pleased her. Oh, when meet now

Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined—

With goddess-like demeanour forth she went,

Not unattended; for on her as Queen

A pomp of winning Graces waited still,

And from about her shot darts of desire

Into all eyes, to wish her still in sight.

And Raphael now to Adam’s doubt proposed

Benevolent and facile thus replied:—

“To ask or search I blame thee not; for Heaven

Is as the Book of God before thee set,

Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn

His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years.

This to attain, whether Heaven move or Earth

Imports not, if thou reckon right; the rest

From Man or Angel the great Architect

Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge

His secrets, to be scanned by them who ought

Rather admire. Or, if they list to try

Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens

Hath left to their disputes—perhaps to move

His laughter at their quaint opinions wide

Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven,

And calculate the 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 Heaven such journeys run,

Earth sitting still, when she alone receives

The benefit. Consider, first, that great

Or bright infers not excellence. The Earth,

Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small,

Nor glistering, may of solid good contain

More plenty than the Sun that barren shines,

Whose virtue on itself works no effect,

But in the fruitful Earth; there first received,

His beams, unactive else, their vigour find.

Yet not to Earth are those bright luminaries

Officious, but to thee, Earth’s habitant.

And, for the Heaven’s wide circuit, let it speak

The Maker’s high magnificence, who built

So spacious, and his line stretched out so far,

That Man may know he dwells not in his own—

An edifice too large for him to fill,

Lodged in a small partition, and the rest

Ordained for uses to his Lord best known.

The swiftness of those Circles at’tribute,

Though numberless, to his Omnipotence,

That to corporeal substances could add

Speed almost spiritual. Me thou think’st not slow,

Who since the morning-hour set out from Heaven

Where God resides, and ere mid-day arrived

In Eden—distance inexpressible

By numbers that have name. But this I urge,

Admitting motion in the Heavens, to shew

Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved;

Not that I so affirm, though so it seem

To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth.

God, to remove his ways from human sense,

Placed Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sight,

If it presume, might err in things too high,

And no advantage gain. What if the Sun

Be centre to the World, and other Stars,

By his attractive virtue and their own

Incited, dance about him various rounds—

Their wandering course, now high, now low, then hid,

Progressive, retrograde, or standing still,

In six thou seest; and what if, seventh to these

The planet Earth, so steadfast though she seem,

Insensibly three different motions move—

Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe,

Moved contrary with thwart obliquities,

Or save the Sun his labour, and that swift

Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb supposed,

Invisible else above all stars, the wheel

Of Day and Night; which needs not they belief,

If Earth, industrious of herself, fetch Day,

Travelling east, and with her part averse

From the Sun’s beam meet Night, her other part

Still luminous by his ray. What if that light,

Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air,

To the terrestrial Moon to be as a star,

Enlightening her by day, as she by night

This Earth—reciprocal, if land be there,

Fields and inhabitants— Her spots thou seest

As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce

Fruits in her softened soil, for some to eat

Allotted there; and other Suns, perhaps,

With their attendant Moons, thou wilt descry,

Communicating male and female light—

Which to great sexes animate the World,

Stored in each Orb perhaps with some that live.

For such vast room in Nature unpossessed

By living soul, desert and desolate,

Only to shine, yet scarce to con’tribute

Each Orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so far

Down to this habitable, which returns

Light back to them, is obvious to dispute.

But whether thus these things, or whether not—

Whether the Sun, predominant in heaven,

Rise on the Earth, or Earth 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.

Of other creatures as him pleases best,

Wherever placed, let him dispose; joy thou

In what he gives to thee, this Paradise

And thy fair Eve; Heaven is for thee too high

To know what passes there. Be lowly wise;

Think only what concerns thee and thy being;

Dream not to other worlds, what creatures there

Live, in what state, condition, or degreed-

Contented that thus far hath been revealed

Not of Earth only, but of highest Heaven.”

To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied:—

“How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure

Intelligence of Heaven, Angel serene,

And, freed from intricacies, taught to live

The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts

To interrupt 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 wandering thoughts, and notions vain!

But apt the mind or fancy is to rove

Unchecked; and of her roving is no end,

Till, warned, or by experience taught, she learn

That not to know at large of things remote

From use, obscure and subtle, but to know

That which before us lies in daily life,

Is the prime wisdom: what is more is fume,

Or emptiness, or fond impertinence,

And renders us in things that most concern

Unpractised, unprepared, and still to seek.

Therefore from this high pitch let us descend

A lower flight, and speak of things at hand

Useful; whence, haply, mention may arise

Of something not unreasonable to ask,

By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deigned.

Thee I have heard relating what was done

Ere my remembrance; now hear me relate

My story, which perhaps, thou hast not heard.

And day is yet not spent; till then thou seest

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 Heaven;

And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear

Than fruits of palm-tree, pleasantest to thirst

And hunger both, 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 answered, heavenly meek:—

“Nor are thy lips ungrateful, Sire of Men,

Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee

Abundantly his gifts hath also poured,

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 Heaven of thee on Earth

Than of our fellow-servant, and inquire

Gladly into the ways of God with Man;

For God, we see, hath honoured thee, and set

On Man his equal love. Say therefore on;

For I that day was absent, as befell,

Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure,

Far on excursion toward the gates of Hell,

Squared in full legion (such command we had),

To see that none thence issued forth a spy

Or enemy, while God was in his work,

Lest he, incensed at such eruption bold,

Destruction with Creation might have mixed.

Not that they durst without his leave attempt;

But us he sends upon his high behests

For state, as sovran King, and to inure

Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut,

The dismal gates, and barricaded strong,

But, long ere our approaching, heard within

Noise, other than the sound of dance or song—

Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage.

Glad we returned up to the coasts of Light

Ere Sabbath-evening; so we had in charge.

But thy relation now: for I attend,

Pleased 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

Induced me. As new-waked from soundest sleep,

Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid,

In balmy sweat, which with his beams the Sun

Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed.

Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I turned,

And gazed a while the ample sky, till, raised

By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung,

As thitherward endeavoring, and upright

Stood on my feet. About me round I saw

Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains,

And liquid lapse of murmuring streams; by these,

Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew,

Birds on the branches warbling: all things smiled;

With fragrance and with joy my heart o’erflowed.

Myself I then perused, and limb by limb

Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran

With supple joints, as lively vigour led;

But who I was, or where, or from what cause,

Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake;

My tongue obeyed, and readily could name

Whate’er I saw. ‘Thou Sun,’ said I, ‘fair light,

And thou enlightened 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; by some great Maker then,

tin goodness and in power prae-eminent.

Tell me, how may I know him, how adore,

From whom I have that thus I move and live,

And feel that I am happier than I know!’

While thus I called, and strayed I knew not whither,

From where I first drew air, and first beheld

This happy light, when answer none returned,

On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers,

Pensive I sat me down. There gentle sleep

First found me, and with soft oppression seized

My drowsèd sense, untroubled, though I thought

I then was passing to my former state

Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve:

When suddenly stood at my head a Dream,

Whose inward apparition gently moved

My fancy to believe I yet had being,

And lived. One came, methought, of shape divine,

And said, ‘Thy mansion wants thee, Adam; rise,

First Man, of men innumerable ordained

First father! called by thee, I come thy guide

To the Garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.’

So saying, by the hand he took me, raised,

And over fields and waters, as in air

Smooth sliding without step, last led me up

A woody mountain, whose high top was plain,

A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest trees

Planted, with walks and bowers, that what I saw

Of Earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each tree

Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to the eye

Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite

To pluck and eat; whereat I waked, and found

Before mine eyes all real, as the dream

Had lively shadowed. Here had new begun

My wandering, had not He who was my guide

Up hither from among the trees appeared,

Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe,

In adoration at his feet I fell

Submiss. He reared me, and, ‘Whom thou sought’st I am,’

Said mildly, ‘Author of all this thou seest

Above, or round about thee, or beneath.

This Paradise I give thee; count it thine

To till and keep, and of the fruit to eat.

Of every tree that in the Garden grows

Eat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth.

But of the tree whose operation brings

Knowledge of Good and Ill, which I have set,

The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith,

Amid the garden by the Tree of Life—

Remember what I warn thee—shun to taste,

And shun the bitter consequence: for know,

The day thou eat’st thereof, my sole command

Transgressed, inevitably thou shalt die,

From that day mortal, and this happy state

Shalt lose, expelled from hence into a world

Of woe and sorrow.’ Sternly he pronounced

The rigid interdiction, which resounds

Yet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choice

Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect’

Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewed:—

‘Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth

To thee and to thy race I give; as lords

Possess it, and 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; I bring them to receive

From thee their names, and pay thee fealty

With low subjection. Understand the same

Of fish within their watery residence,

Not hither summoned, 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 cowering low

With blandishment; each bird stooped on his wing.

I named them as they passed, and understood

Their nature; with such knowledge God endued

My sudden apprehension. But in these

I found not what methought I wanted still,

And to the Heavenly Vision thus presumed:—

“‘O, by what name—or Thou above all these,

Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher,

Surpassest far my naming—how may I

Adore thee, Author of this Universe,

And all this good to Man, for whose well-being

So amply, and with hands so liberal,

Thou hast provided all things— But with me

I see not who partakes. In solitude

What happiness— who can enjoy alone,

Or, all enjoying, what contentment find—’

Thus I, presumptuous; and the Vision bright,

As with a smile more brightened, thus replied:—

“‘What call’st thou solitude— Is not the Earth

With various living creatures, and the Air,

Replenished, 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 reason not contemptibly; with these

Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.’

So spake the Universal Lord and seemed

So ordering. I, with leave of speech implored,

And humble deprecation, thus replied:—

“‘Let not my words offend thee, Heavenly Power;

My Maker, be propitious while I speak.

Hast thou not made me here thy substitute,

And these inferior far beneath me set—

Among unequals what society

Can sort, what harmony or true delight—

Which must be mutual, in proportion due

Given and received; but, in disparity,

The one intense, the other still remiss,

Cannot well suit with either, 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

Each with their kind, lion with lioness;

So fitly them in pairs thou hast combined:

Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl,

So well converse, nor with the ox the ape;

Worse, then, can man with beast, and least of all.’

“Whereto the Almighty answered, not displeased:—

‘A nice and subtle happiness, I see,

Thou to thyself proposest, in the choice

Of thy associates, Adam, and wilt taste

No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary.

What think’st thou, then, of Me, and this my state—

Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed

Of happiness, or not, who am alone

From all eternity— for none I know

Second to me or like, equal much less.

How have I, then, with whom to hold converse,

Save with the creatures which I made, and those

To me inferior infinite descents

Beneath what other creatures are to thee—’

“He ceased. I lowly answered:—’To attain

The highth and depth of thy eternal ways

All human thoughts come short, Supreme of Things!

Thou in thyself art 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;

But Man by number is to manifest

His single imperfection, and beget

Like of his like, his image multiplied,

In unity defective; which requires

Collateral love, and dearest amity.

Thou, in thy secrecy although alone,

Best with thyself accompanied, seek’st not

Social communication—yet, so pleased,

Canst raise thy creature to what highth thou wilt

Of union or communion, deified;

I, by conversing, cannot these erect

From prone, nor in their ways complacence find.

Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used

Permissive, and acceptance found; which gained

This answer from the gratious Voice Divine:—

“‘Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleased,

And find thee knowing not of beasts alone,

Which thou hast rightly named, but of thyself—

Expressing well the spirit within thee free,

My image, not imparted to the brute;

Whose fellowship, therefore, unmeet for thee,

Good Reason was thou freely shouldst dislike.

And be so minded still. I, ere thou spak’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 couldst judge of fit and meet.

What next I bring shall please thee, be assured,

Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self,

Thy wish exactly to thy heart’s desire.’

“He ended, or I heard no more; for now

My earthly, by his heavenly overpowered,

Which it had long stood under, strained to the highth

In that celestial colloquy sublime,

As with an object that excels the sense,

Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair

Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, called

By Nature as in aid, and closed mine eyes.

Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell

Of fancy, my internal sight; by which,

Abstract as in a trance, methought I saw,

Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the Shape

Still glorious before whom awake I stood;

Who, stooping, opened 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 filled up and healed.

The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands;

Under his forming hands a creature grew,

Man-like, but different sex, so lovely fair

That what seemed fair in all the world seemed now

Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained

And in her looks, which from that time infused

Sweetness into my heart unfelt before,

And into all things from her air inspired

The spirit of love and amorous delight.

She disappeared, and left me dark; I waked

To find her, or for ever to deplore

Her loss, and other pleasures all adjure:

When, out of hope, behold her not far off,

Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned

With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow

To make her amiable. On she came,

Led by her Heavenly Maker, though unseen

And guided by his voice, nor uninformed

Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites.

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,

In every gesture dignity and love.

I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud:—

“‘This turn hath made amends; thou hast fulfilled

Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign,

Giver of all things fair—but fairest this

Of all thy gifts!—nor enviest. I now see

Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my Self

Before me. Woman is her name, of Man

Extracted; for this cause he shall forgo

Father and mother, and to his wife adhere,

And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.’

“She heard me thus; and, though divinely brought,

Yet innocence and virgin modesty,

Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth,

That would be wooed, and not unsought be won,

Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired,

The most desirable—or, to say all,

Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought—

Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned.

I followed her; she what was honour knew,

And with obsequious majesty approved

My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower

I led her blushing like the Morn; all Heaven,

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

Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings

Flung rose, flung odours from the 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 bliss

Which I enjoy, and must confess to find

In all things else delight indeed, but such

As, use or not, works in the mind no change,

Nor vehement desire—these delicacies

I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers,

Walks, and the melody of birds: but here,

Far otherwise, transported I behold,

Transported touch; here passion first I felt,

Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else

Superior and unmoved, here only weak

Against the charm of beauty’s powerful glance.

Or Nature failed in me, and left some part

Not proof enough such object to sustain,

Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps

More than enough—at least on her bestowed

Too much of ornament, in outward show

Elaborate, of inward less exact.

For well I understand in the prime end

Of Nature her the inferior, in the mind

And inward faculties, which most excel;

In outward also her resembling less

His image who made both, and less expressing

The character of that dominion given

O’er other creatures. Yet when I approach

Her loveliness, so absolute she seems

And in herself complete, so well to know

Her own, that what she wills to do or say

Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.

All higher Knowledge in her presence falls

Degraded; Wisdom in discourse with her

Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shews;

Authority and Reason on her wait,

As one intended first, not after made

Occasionally; and, to consum’mate all,

Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat

Build in her loveliest, and create an awe

About her, as a guard angelic placed.”

To whom the Angel, with contracted brow:—

“Accuse not Nature! she hath done her part;

Do thou but thine! and be not diffident

Of Wisdom; she deserts thee not, if thou

Dismiss not her, when most thou need’st her nigh,

By attribu’ting overmuch to things

Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv’st.

For, what admir’st thou, what transports thee so—

An outside—fair, no doubt, and worthy well

Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love;

Not thy subjection. Weigh with her thyself;

Then value. Oft-times nothing profits more

Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right

Well managed. Of that skill the more thou know’st,

The more she will acknowledge thee her head,

And to realities yield all her shows—

Made so adorn for thy delight the more,

So awful, that with honour thou may’st love

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 voutsafed

To cattle and each beast; which would not be

To them made common and divulged, if aught

Therein enjoyed 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 Heavenly 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 abashed, Adam replied:—

“Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aught

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, mixed with love

And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned

Union of mind, or in us both one soul—

Harmony to behold in wedded pair

More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear.

Yet these subject not; I to thee disclose

What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled,

Who meet with various objects, from the sense

Variously representing, yet, still free,

Approve the best, and follow what I approve.

To love thou blam’st me not—for Love, thou say’st,

Leads up to Heaven, is both the way and guide;

Bear with me, then, if lawful what I ask.

Love not the Heavenly 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 glowed

Celestial rosy-red, Love’s proper hue,

Answered:—“Let it suffice thee that thou know’st

Us happy, and without Love no happiness.

Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy’st

(And pure thou wert created) we enjoy

In eminence, and obstacle find none

Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars.

Easier than air with air, if Spirits embrace,

Total they mix, union of pure with pure

Desiring, nor restrained conveyance need

As flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul.

But I can now no more: the parting Sun

Beyond the Earth’s green Cape and verdant Isles

Hesperean sets, my signal to depart.

Be strong, live happy, and love! but first of all

Him whom to love is to obey, and keep

His great command; take heed lest passion sway

Thy judgment to do aught which else free—will

Would not admit; thine and of all thy sons

The weal or woe in thee is placed; beware!

I in thy persevering shall rejoice,

And all the Blest. Stand fast; to stand or fall

Free in thine own arbitrement it lies.

Perfet within, no outward aid require;

And all temptation to transgress repel.”

So saying, he arose; whom Adam thus

Followed with benediction:—“Since to part,

Go, Heavenly Guest, Ethereal Messenger,

Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore!

Gentle to me and affable hath been

Thy condescension, and shall be honoured ever

With grateful memory. Thou to Mankind

Be good and friendly still, and oft return!”

So parted they, the Angel up to Heaven

From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower.

Paradise Lost: The Ninth Book

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, which 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, loth 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 subtle 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 speech 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 a while 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 perceiving 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 nakedness; 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 used

To sit indulgent, and with him partake

Rural repast, permitting him to while

Venial discourse unblamed. I now must change

Those notes to tragic—foul distrust, and breach

Disloyal, on the part of man, revolt

And disobedience; on the part of Heaven,

Now alienated, distance and distaste,

Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given,

That brought into this World a world of woe,

Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery,

Death’s harbinger. Sad task! yet argument

Not less but more heroic than the wrauth

Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued

Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage

Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused;

Or Neptune’s ire, or Juno’s that so long

Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea’s son:

If answerable style I can obtain

Of my celestial Patroness, who deigns

Her nightly visitation unimplored,

And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires

Easy my unpremeditated verse,

Since first this subject for heroic song

Pleased me, long choosing and beginning late,

Not sedulous by nature to indite

Wars, hitherto the only argument

Heroic deemed, chief maistrie to dissect

With long and tedious havoc fabled knights

In battles feigned (the better fortitude

Of patience and heroic martyrdom

Unsung), or to describe races and games,

Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields,

Impreses quaint, caparisons and steeds,

Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights

At joust and tournament; then marshalled feast

Served up in hall with sewers and seneshals:

The skill of artifice or office mean;

Not that which justly gives heroic name

To person or to poem! Me, of these

Nor skilled nor studious, higher argument

Remains, sufficient of itself to raise

That name, unless an age too late, or cold

Climat, or years, damp my intended wing

Depressed; 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 veiled the horizon round,

When Satan, who late fled before the threats

Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improved

In meditated fraud and malice, bent

On Man’s destruction, maugre what might hap

Of heavier on himself, fearless returned.

By night he fled, and at midnight returned

From compassing the Earth—cautious of day

Since Uriel, Regent of the Sun, descried

His entrance, and forwarned the Cherubim

That kept their watch. Thence, full of anguish, driven,

The space of seven continued nights he rode

With darkness—thrice the equinoctial line

He circled, four times crossed the car of Night

From pole to pole, traversing each colure—

On the eighth returned, 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 wraught 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, involved in rising mist; then sought

Where to lie hid. Sea he had searched and land

From Eden over Pontus, and the Pool

Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob;

Downward as far Antartic; and, in length,

West from Orontes to the ocean barred

At Darien, thence to the land where flows

Ganges and Indus. Thus the orb he roamed

With narrow search, and with inspection deep

Considered every creature, which of all

Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found

The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field.

Him, after long debate, irresolute

Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose

Fit vessel, fittest Imp of fraud, in whom

To enter, and his dark suggestions hide

From 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 observed,

Doubt might beget of diabolic power

Active within beyond the sense of brute.

Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief

His bursting passion into plaints thus poured:—

“O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred

More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built

With second thoughts, reforming what was old!

For what God, after better, worse would build—

Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens,

That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps,

Light above light, for thee alone, as seems,

In thee concentring all their precious beams

Of sacred influence! As God in Heaven

Is centre, yet extends to all, so thou

Centring receiv’st from all those orbs; in thee,

Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears,

Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth

Of creatures animate with gradual life

Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man.

With what delight could I have walked 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 crowned,

Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of these

Find place or refuge; and the more I see

Pleasures about me, so much more I feel

Torment within me, as from the hateful siege

Of contraries; all good to me becomes

Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.

But neither here seek I, nor in Heaven,

To dwell, unless by maistring Heaven’s Supreme;

Nor hope to be myself less miserable

By what I seek, but others to make such

As I, though 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 whom all this was made, all this will soon

Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe:

In woe then, that destruction wide may range!

To me shall be the glory sole among

The Infernal Powers, in one day to have marred

What he, Almighty styled, six nights and days

Continued making, and who knows how long

Before had been contriving— though perhaps

Not longer than since I in one night freed

From servitude inglorious well nigh half

The Angelic Name, and thinner left the throng

Of his adorers. He, to be avenged,

And to repair his numbers thus impaired—

Whether such virtue, spent of old, now failed

More Angels to create (if they at least

Are his created), or to spite us more—

Determined to advance into our room

A creature formed of earth, and him endow,

Exalted from so base original,

With heavenly spoils, our spoils. What he decreed

He effected; Man he made, and for him built

Magnificent this World, and Earth his seat,

Him Lord pronounced, 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 highest, am now constrained

Into a beast, and, mixed with bestial slime,

This essence to incarnate and imbrute,

That to the highth of Deity aspired!

But what will not ambition and revenge

Descend to— Who aspires must down as low

As high he soared, obnoxious, first or last,

To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet,

Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.

Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed,

Since higher I fall short, on him who next

Provokes my envy, this new favourite

Of Heaven, this Man of Clay, son of despite,

Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised

From dust: spite then with spite is best repaid.”

So saying, through each thicket, dank or dry,

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-rowled,

His head the midst, well stored with subtle wiles:

Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den:

Nor nocent yet, but on the grassy herb,

Fearless, unfeared, he slept. In at his mouth

The Devil entered, and his brutal sense.

In heart or head, possessing soon inspired

With act intelligential; but his sleep

Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn.

Now, whenas sacred light began to dawn

In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed

Their morning incense, when all things that breathe

From the Earth’s great altar send up silent praise

To the Creator, and his nostrils fill

With grateful smell, forth came the human pair,

And joined their vocal worship to the quire

Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake

The season, prime for sweetest scents and airs;

Then com’mune how that day they best may ply

Their growing work—for much their work outgrew

The hands’ dispatch of two gardening 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 enjoined; but, till more hands

Aid us, the work under our labour grows,

Luxurious 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.

Let us divide our labours—thou where choice

Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind

The woodbine round this arbour, or direct

The clasping ivy where to climb; while I

In yonder spring of roses intermixed

With myrtle find what to redress till noon.

For, while so near each other thus all day

Our task we choose, what wonder if so near

Looks intervene and smiles, or objects new

Casual discourse draw on, which intermits

Our day’s work, brought to little, though begun

Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned!”

To whom mild answer Adam thus returned:—

“Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond

Compare above all living creatures dear!

Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts imployed

How we might best fulfil the work which here

God hath assigned us, nor of me shalt pass

Unpraised; for nothing lovelier can be found

In woman than to study household good,

And good works in her husband to promote.

Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed

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 denied, 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 joined.

These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands

Will 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

Befall thee, severed from me; for thou know’st

What hath been warned us—what malicious foe,

Envying our happiness, and of his own

Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame

By sly assault and somewhere nigh at hand

Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find

His wish and best advantage, us asunder,

Hopeless to circumvent us joined, 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 bliss

Enjoyed by us excites his envy more—

Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side

That gave thee being, still shades thee and protects.

The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,

Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,

Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.”

To whom the virgin majesty of Eve,

As one who loves, and some unkindness meets,

With sweet austere composure thus replied:—

“Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth’s lord!

That such an Enemy we have, who seeks

Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn,

And from the parting Angel overheard,

As in a shady nook I stood behind,

Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.

But that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt

To God or thee, because we have a foe

May tempt it, I expected not to hear.

His violence thou fear’st not, being 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

Thy equal fear that my firm faith and love

Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced:

Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast,

Adam! misthought of her to thee so dear—”

To whom, with healing words, Adam replied:—

“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

The attempt itself, intended by our Foe.

For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses

The tempted with dishonour foul, supposed

Not incorruptible of faith, not proof

Against temptation. Thou thyself with scorn

And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong,

Though ineffectual found; misdeem not, then,

If such affront I labour to avert

From thee alone, which on us both at once

The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare;

Or, daring, first on me the assault shall light.

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 on,

Shame to be overcome or overreached,

Would utmost vigour raise, and raised 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 tried—”

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 renewed:—

“If this be our condition, thus to dwell

In narrow circuit straitened 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 shunned or feared

By us, who rather double honour gain

From his surmise proved false, find peace within,

Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event—

And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed

Alone, without exterior help sustained—

Let us not then suspect our happy state

Left so imperfet by the Maker wise

As not secure to single or combined.

Frail is our happiness, if this be so;

And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.”

To whom thus Adam fervently replied:—

“O Woman, best are all things as the will

Of God ordained them; his creating hand

Nothing imperfet or deficient left

Of all that he created—much less Man,

Or aught that might his happy state secure,

Secure from outward force. Within himself

The danger lies, yet lies within his 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 surprised,

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 suborned,

And fall into deception unaware,

Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.

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 constancy, approve

First thy obedience; the other who can know,

Not seeing thee attempted, who attest—

But, if thou think trial unsought may find

Us both securer than thus warned 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 towards thee hath done his part: do thine.”

So spake the Patriarch of Mankind; but Eve

Persisted; yet submiss, though last, replied:—

“With thy permission, then, and thus forewarned,

Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words

Touched only, that our trial, when least sought,

May find us both perhaps far less prepared,

The willinger I go, nor much expect

A Foe so proud will first the weaker seek;

So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse.”

Thus saying, from her husband’s hand her hand

Soft she withdrew, and, like a wood—nymph light,

Oread or Dryad, or of Delia’s train,

Betook her to the groves, but Delia’s self

In gait surpassed and goddess-like deport,

Though not as she with bow and quiver armed,

But with such gardening tools as Art, yet rude,

Guiltless of fire had formed, or Angels brought.

To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned,

Likest she seemed—Pomona when she fled

Vertumnus—or to Ceres in her prime,

Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove.

Her long with ardent look his eye pursued

Delighted, but desiring more her stay.

Oft he to her his charge of quick return

Repeated; she to him as oft engaged

To be returned by noon amid the bower,

And all things in best order to invite

Noontide repast, or afternoon’s repose.

O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve,

Of thy presumed return! event perverse!

Thou never from that hour in Paradise

Found’st either sweet repast or sound repose;

Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades,

Waited, with hellish rancour imminent,

To intercept thy way, or send thee back

Despoiled 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 purposed prey.

In bower and field he sought, where any tuft

Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay,

Their tendance or plantation for delight;

By fountain or by shady rivulet

He sought them both, but wished his hap might find

Eve separate; he wished, but not with hope

Of what so seldom chanced, when to his wish,

Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies,

Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood,

Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing round

About her glowed, oft stooping to support

Each flower of tender stalk, whose head, though gay

Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold,

Hung drooping unsustained. Them she upstays

Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while

Herself, though fairest unsupported flower,

From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.

Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed

Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm;

Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen

Among thick-woven arborets, and flowers

Imbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve:

Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned

Or of revived Adonis, or renowned

Alcinoüs, host of old Laertes’ son,

Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king

Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse.

Much he the place admired, the person more.

As one who, long in populous city pent,

Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,

Forth issuing on a summer’s morn, to breathe

Among the pleasant villages and farms

Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight—

The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,

Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound—

If chance with nymph-like step fair virgin pass,

What pleasing seemed for her now pleases more,

She most, and in her look sums all delight:

Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold

This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve

Thus early, thus alone. Her heavenly form

Angelic, but more soft and feminine,

Her graceful innocence, her every air

Of gesture or least action, overawed

His malice, and with rapine sweet bereaved

His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought.

That space the Evil One abstracted stood

From his own evil, and for the time remained

Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed,

Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge.

But the hot hell that always in him burns,

Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight,

And tortures him now more, the more he sees

Of pleasure not for him ordained. Then soon

Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts

Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites:—

“Thoughts, whither have ye led me— with what sweet

Compulsion thus transported to forget

What hither brought us— hate, not love, nor hope

Of Paradise for Hell, 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—

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, though of terrestrial mould;

Foe not informidable, exempt from wound—

I not; so much hath Hell debased, and pain

Infeebled me, to what I was in Heaven.

She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods,

Not terrible, though terror be in love,

And beauty, not approached by stronger hate,

Hate stronger under show of love well feigned—

The way which to her ruin now I tend.”

So spake the Enemy of Mankind, enclosed

In serpent, inmate bad, and toward Eve

Addressed his way—not with indented wave,

Prone on the ground, as since, but on his rear,

Circular base of rising folds, that towered

Fold above fold, a surging maze; his head

Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes;

With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect

Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass

Floated redundant. Pleasing was his shape

And lovely; never since the serpent kind

Lovelier—not those that in Illyria changed

Hermione and Cadmus, or the God

In Epidaurus; nor to which transformed

Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen,

He with Olympias, this with her who bore

Scipio, the highth of Rome. With tract oblique

At first, as one who sought access but feared

To interrupt, sidelong he works his way.

As when a ship, by skilful steersman wrought

Nigh river’s mouth or foreland, where the wind

Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail,

So varied he, and of his tortuous train

Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve,

To lure her eye. She, busied, heard the sound

Of rustling leaves, but minded not, as used

To such disport before her through the field

From every beast, more duteous at her call

Than at Circean call the herd disguised.

He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood,

But as in gaze admiring. Oft he bowed

His turret crest and sleek enamelled neck,

Fawning, and licked the ground whereon she trod.

His gentle dumb expression turned at length

The eye of Eve to mark his play; he, glad

Of her attention gained, with serpent-tongue

Organic, or impulse of vocal air,

His fraudulent temptation thus began:—

“Wonder not, sovran mistress (if perhaps

Thou canst who art sole wonder), much less arm

Thy looks, the heaven of mildness, with disdain,

Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze

Insatiate, I thus single, nor have feared

Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired.

Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair,

Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine

By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore,

With ravishment beheld—there best beheld

Where universally admired. But here,

In this enclosure wild, these beasts among,

Beholders rude, and shallow to discern

Half what in thee is fair, one man except,

Who sees thee (and what is one—) who shouldst be seen

A Goddess among Gods, adored and served

By Angels numberless, thy daily train—”

So glozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned.

Into the heart of Eve his words made way,

Though at the voice much marvelling; at length,

Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake:—

“What may this mean— Language of Man pronounced

By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed!

The first at least of these I thought denied

To beasts, whom God on their creation-day

Created mute to all articulate sound;

The latter I demur, for in their looks

Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears.

Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field

I knew, but not with human voice endued;

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 the guileful Tempter thus replied:—

“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 obeyed.

I was at first as other beasts that graze

The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low,

As was my food, nor aught but food discerned

Or sex, and apprehended nothing high:

Till on a day, roving the field, I chanced

A goodly tree far distant to behold,

Loaden with fruit of fairest colours mixed,

Ruddy and gold. In nearer drew to gaze;

When from the boughs a savoury odour blown,

Grateful to appetite, more pleased my sense

Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats

Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at even,

Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play.

To satisfy the sharp desire I had

Of tasting those fair Apples, I resolved

Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once,

Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent

Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.

About 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 spared not; for such pleasure till that hour

At feed or fountain never had I found.

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, though to this shape retained.

Thenceforth to speculations high or deep

I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind

Considered all things visible in Heaven,

Or Earth, or Middle, all things fair and good.

But all that fair and good in thy Divine

Semblance, and in thy beauty’s heavenly ray,

United I beheld—no fair to thine

Equivalent or second; which compelled

Me thus, though importune perhaps, to come

And gaze, and worship thee of right declared

Sovran of creatures, universal Dame!”

So talked the spirited sly Snake; and Eve,

Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied:—

“Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt

The virtue of that Fruit, in thee first proved.

But say, where grows the Tree— from hence how far—

For many are the trees of God that grow

In Paradise, and various, yet unknown

To us; in such abundance lies our choice

As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched,

Still hanging incorruptible, till men

Grow up to their provision, and more hands

Help to disburden Nature of her bearth.”

To whom the wily Adder, blithe and glad;—

“Empress, the way is ready, and not long—

Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat,

Fast by a fountain, one small thicket past

Of blowing myrrh and balm. If thou accept

My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon.”

“Lead, then,” said Eve. He, leading, swiftly rowled

In tangles, and made intricate seem straight,

To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy

Brightens his crest. As when a wandering fire,

Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night

Condenses, and the cold invirons round,

Kindled through agitation to a flame

(Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends),

Hovering and blazing with delusive light,

Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way

To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool,

There swallowed up and lost, from succour far:

So glistered 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 spared our coming hither,

Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess,

The credit of whose virtue rest with thee—

Wondrous, 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 replied:—

“Indeed! Hath God then said that of the fruit

Of all these garden-trees ye shall not eat,

Yet lords declared of all in Earth or Air—”

To whom thus Eve, yet sinless:—“Of the fruit

Of each tree in the garden we may eat;

But 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 moved,

Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely, and in act

Raised, as of some great matter to begin.

As when of old some orator renowned

In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence

Flourished, since mute, to some great cause addressed,

Stood in himself collected, while each part,

Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue

Sometimes in highth began, as no delay

Of preface brooking through his zeal of right:

So standing, moving, or to highth upgrown,

The Tempter, all impassioned, thus began:—

“O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant,

Mother of science! now I feel thy power

Within me clear, not only to discern

Things in their causes, but to trace the ways

Of highest agents, deemed however wise.

Queen of this Universe! do not believe

Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die.

How should ye— By the Fruit— it gives you life

To knowledge. By the Threatener— look on me,

Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live,

And life more perfect have attained than Fate

Meant me, by venturing 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 denounced, whatever thing Death be,

Deterred 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 shunned—

God, therefore, cannot hurt ye and be just;

Not just, not God; not feared then, nor obeyed:

Your fear itself of death removes the fear.

Why, then, was this forbid— Why but to awe,

Why but to keep ye low and ignorant,

His worshipers— He knows that in the day

Ye eat thereof your eyes, that seem so clear,

Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then

Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods,

Knowing both good and evil, as they know.

That ye should be as Gods, since I as Man,

Internal Man, is but proportion meet—

I, of brute, human; ye, of human, Gods.

So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off

Human, to put on Gods—death to be wished,

Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring!

And what are Gods, that Man may not become

As they, participating godlike food—

The Gods are first, and that advantage use

On our belief, that all from them proceeds.

I question it; for this fair Earth I see,

Warmed by the Sun, producing every kind;

Them nothing. If they all things, who enclosed

Knowledge of Good and Evil in this Tree,

That whoso eats thereof forthwith attains

Wisdom without their leave— and wherein lies

The 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 Heavenly 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.

Fixed on the Fruit she gazed, which to behold

Might tempt alone; and in her ears the sound

Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned

With reason, to her seeming, and with truth.

Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and waked

An eager appetite, raised 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 mused:—

“Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of Fruits,

Though kept from Man, and worthy to be admired,

Whose taste, too long forborne, 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 bad, 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 eaten, and lives,

And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,

Irrational till then. For us alone

Was death invented— or to us denied

This intellectual food, for beasts reserved—

For beasts it seems; yet that one beast which first

Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy

The good befallen him, author unsuspect,

Friendly to Man, far from deceit or guile.

What fear I, then— rather, what know to fear

Under this ignorance of Good and Evil,

Of God or Death, of law or penalty—

Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine,

Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste,

Of virtue to make wise. What hinders, then,

To reach, and feed at once both body and mind—”

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour

Forth-reaching to the Fruit, she plucked, she eat.

Earth 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 only her taste, naught else

Regarded; such delight till then, as seemed,

In fruit she never tasted, whether true,

Or fancied so through expectation high

Of knowledge; nor was Godhead from her thought.

Greedily she ingorged without restraint,

And knew not eating death. Satiate at length,

And hightened as with wine, jocond and boon,

Thus to herself she pleasingly began:—

“O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees

In Paradise! of operation blest

To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed,

And thy fair Fruit let hang, as to no end

Created! but henceforth my early care,

Not without song, each morning, and due praise,

Shall tend thee, and the fertil burden ease

Of thy full branches, offered free to all;

Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature

In knowledge, as the Gods who all things know,

Though others envy what they cannot give—

For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here

Thus grown! Experience, next to thee I owe,

Best guide: not following thee, I had remained

In ignorance; thou open’st Wisdom’s way,

And giv’st access, though secret she retire.

And I perhaps am secret: Heaven 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! Confirmed, then, I resolve

Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe.

So dear I love him that with him all deaths

I could endure, without him live no life.”

So saying, from the Tree her step she turned,

But first low reverence done, as to the Power

That dwelt within, whose presence had infused

Into the plant sciential sap, derived

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 promised to his thoughts, and new

Solace in her return, so long delayed;

Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill,

Misgave him. He the faltering 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; there he her met,

Scarce from the Tree returning; in her hand

A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smiled,

New gathered, and ambrosial smell diffused.

To him she hasted; in her face excuse

Came prologue, and apology to prompt,

Which, with bland words at will, she thus addressed:—

“Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay—

Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprived

Thy presence—agony of love till now

Not felt, nor shall be twice; for never more

Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought,

The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange

Hath been the cause, and wonderful to hear.

This Tree is not, as we are told, a Tree

Of danger tasted, nor to evil unknown

Opening the way, but of divine effect

To open eyes, and make them Gods who taste;

And hath been tasted such. The Serpent wise,

Or not restrained as we, or not obeying,

Hath eaten of the Fruit, and is become

Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth

Endued with human voice and human sense,

Reasoning to admiration, and with me

Persuasively hath so prevailed that I

Have also tasted, and have also found

The effects to correspond—opener mine eyes,

Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart,

And growing up to Godhead; which for thee

Chiefly I sought, without thee can despise.

For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss;

Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon.

Thou, therefore, also taste, that equal lot

May join us, equal joy, as equal love;

Lest, thou not tasting, different degree

Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce

Deity for thee, when fate will not permit.”

Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told;

But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed.

On the other side, Adam, soon as he heard

The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed,

Astonied stood and blank, while horror chill

Ran through his veins, and all his joints relaxed.

From his slack hand the garland wreathed 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, creature in whom excelled

Whatever can to sight or thought be formed,

Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!

How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost,

Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote!

Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress

The strict forbiddance, how to violate

The sacred Fruit forbidden— Some cursed fraud

Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,

And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee

Certain my resolution is to die.

How can I live without thee— how forgo

Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,

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 sad dismay

Recomforted, and, after thoughts disturbed,

Submitting to what seemed remediless,

Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned:—

“Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventrous Eve,

And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared

Had it been only coveting to eye

That sacred Food, sacred to abstinence;

Much more to taste it, under ban to touch.

But past who can recall, or done undo—

Not God Omnipotent, nor Fate! Yet so

Perhaps thou shalt not die; perhaps the fact

Is not so hainous now-foretasted Fruit,

Profaned first by the Serpent, by him first

Made common and unhallowed ere our taste,

Nor yet on him found deadly. He yet lives—

Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as Man,

Higher degree of life: inducement strong

To us, as likely, tasting, to attain

Proportional ascent; which cannot be

But to be Gods, or Angels, Demi-gods.

Nor can I think that God, Creator wise,

Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy

Us, his prime creatures, dignified so high,

Set over all his works; which, in our fall,

For us created, needs with us must fail,

Dependent made. So God shall uncreate,

Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose—

Not well conceived of God; who, though his power

Creation could repeat, yet would be loth

Us to abolish, lest the Adversary

Triumph and say: ‘Fickle their state whom God

Most favours; who can please him long— Me first

He ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next—’—

Matter of scorn not to be given the Foe.

However, I with thee have fixed my lot,

Certain to undergo like doom. If death

Consort with thee, death is to me as life;

So forcible within my heart I feel

The bond of Nature draw me to my own—

My own is thee; for what thou art is mine.

Our state cannot be severed; we are one,

One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.”

So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied:—

“O glorious trial of exceeding love,

Illustrious evidence, example high!

Ingaging me to emulate; but, short

Of thy 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

This day affords, declaring thee resolved,

Rather than death, or aught than death more dread,

Shall separate us, linked in love so dear,

To undergo with me one guilt, one crime,

If any be, of tasting this fair Fruit;

Whose virtue (for of good still good proceeds,

Direct, or by occasion) hath presented

This happy trial of thy love, which else

So eminently never had been known.

Were it I thought death menaced would ensue

This my attempt, I would sustain alone

The worst, and not persuade thee—rather die

Deserted than oblige thee with a fact

Pernicious to thy peace, chiefly assured

Remarkably so late of thy so true,

So faithful love unequalled. But I feel

Far otherwise the event—not death, but life

Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys,

Taste so divine that what of sweet before

Hath touched my sense flat seems to this and harsh.

On my experience, Adam, freely taste,

And fear of death deliver to the winds.”

So saying, she embraced him, and for joy

Tenderly wept, much won that 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 deceived,

But fondly overcome with female charm.

Earth trembled from her entrails, as again

In pangs, and Nature gave a second groan;

Sky loured, and, muttering thunder, some sad drops

Wept at completing of the mortal Sin

Original; while Adam took no thought,

Eating his fill, nor Eve to iterate

Her former trespass feared, the more to soothe

Him with her loved 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 displayed,

Carnal desire inflaming. 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 taste

And elegant—of sapience no small part;

Since to each meaning savour we apply,

And palate call judicious. I the praise

Yield thee; so well this day thou hast purveyed.

Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained

From this delightful Fruit, nor known till now

True relish, tasting. If such pleasure be

In things to us forbidden, it might be wished

For this one Tree had been forbidden ten.

But come; so well refreshed, now let us play,

As meet is, after such delicious fare;

For never did thy beauty, since the day

I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned

With all perfections, so enflame my sense

With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now

Than ever-bounty of this virtuous Tree!”

So said he, and forbore not glance or toy

Of amorous intent, well understood

Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire.

Her hand he seized, and to a shady bank,

Thick overhead with verdant roof imbowered,

He led her, nothing loth; flowers were the couch,

Pansies, and violets, and asphodel,

And hyacinth—Earth’s freshest, softest lap.

There they their fill of love and love’s disport

Took largely, of their mutual gilt the seal,

The solace of their sin, till dewy sleep

Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play.

Soon as the force of that fallacious Fruit,

That with exhilarating vapour bland

About their spirits had played, and inmost powers

Made err, was now exhaled, and grosser sleep,

Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams

Incumbered, now had left them, up they rose

As from unrest, and, each the other viewing,

Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds

How darkened. Innocence, that as a veil

Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone;

Just confidence, and native righteousness,

And honour, from about them, naked left

To guilty Shame: he covered, but his robe

Uncovered more. So rose the Danite strong,

Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap

Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked

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 abashed,

At length gave utterance to these words constrained:—

“O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear

To that false Worm, of whomsoever taught

To counterfeit Man’s voice—true in our fall,

False in our promised rising; since our eyes

Opened we find 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 soiled and stained,

And in our faces evident the signs

Of foul concupiscence; whence evil store,

Even shame, the last of evils; of the first

Be sure then. How shall I behold the face

Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy

And rapture so oft beheld— Those Heavenly Shapes

Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze

Insufferably bright. Oh, might I here

In solitude live savage, in some glade

Obscured, where highest woods, impenetrable

To star or sunlight, 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, serve to hide

The parts of each other that seem most

To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen—

Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves, together sewed,

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 counselled he, and both together went

Into the thickest wood. There soon they choose

The fig tree—not that kind for fruit renowned,

But such, as at this day, to Indians known,

In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms

Braunching so broad and long that in the ground

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow

About the mother tree, a pillared shade

High overarched, and echoing walks between:

There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat,

Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds

At loop-holes cut through thickest shade. Those leaves

They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe,

And with what skill they had together sewed,

To gird their waist—vain covering, if to hide

Their guilt and dreaded shame! O how unlike

To that first naked glory! Such of late

Columbus found the American, so girt

With feathered cincture, naked else and wild,

Among the trees on isles and woody shores.

Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in part

Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind,

They sat them down to weep. Nor only tears

Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within

Began to rise, high passions—anger, hate,

Mistrust, suspicion, discord—and shook sore

Their inward state of mind, calm region once

And full of peace, now tost and turbulent:

For Understanding ruled not, and the Will

Heard not her lore, both in subjection now

To sensual Appetite, who, from beneath

Usurping over sovran Reason, claimed

Superior sway. From thus distempered breast

Adam, estranged in look and altered style,

Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed:—

“Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed

With me, as I besought thee, when that strange

Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn,

I know not whence possessed thee! We had then

Remained still happy—not, as now, despoiled

Of all our good, shamed, naked, miserable!

Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve

The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek

Such proof, conclude they then begin to fail.”

To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus Eve:—

“What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe—

Imput’st thou that to my default, or will

Of wandering, as thou call’st it, which who knows

But might as ill have happened thou being by,

Or to thyself perhaps— Hadst thou been there,

Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discerned

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 fixed in thy dissent,

Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me.”

To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied:—

“Is this the love, is this the recompense

Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, expressed

Immutable when thou wert lost, not I—

Who might have lived, and joyed 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 thy restraint! What could I more—

I warned thee, I admonished 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

Either to meet no danger, or to find

Matter of glorious trial; and perhaps

I also erred in overmuch admiring

What seemed in thee so perfet that I thought

No evil durst attempt thee, But I rue

That error now, which is become my crime,

And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befall

Him who, to worth in women overtrusting,

Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook;

And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue,

She first his weak indulgence will accuse.”

Thus they in mutual accusation spent

The fruitless hours, but neither self—condemning;

And of their vain contest’ appeared no end.

Paradise Lost: The Tenth Book

THE ARGUMENT.—Man’s transgression known, the guardian Angels forsake Paradise, and return up to Heaven to approve their vigilance, and are approved; God declaring that the entrance of Satan could not be by them prevented. He sends his Son to judge the Transgressors; who descends, and gives sentence accordingly; then, in pity, clothes them both, and reascends. Sin and Death, sitting till then at the gates of Hell, by wondrous sympathy feeling the success of Satan in this new World, and the sin by Man there committed, resolve to sit no longer confined in Hell, but to follow Satan, their sire, up to the place of Man: to make the way easier from Hell to this World to and fro, they pave a broad highway or bridge over Chaos, according to the track that Satan first made; then, preparing for Earth, they meet him, proud of his success, returning to Hell; their mutual gratulation. Satan arrives at Pandemonium; in full assembly relates, with boasting, his success against Man; instead of applause is entertained with a general hiss by all his audience, transformed, with himself also, suddenly into Serpents, according to his doom given in Paradise; then, deluded with a shew of the Forbidden Tree springing up before them, they, greedily reaching to take of the Fruit, chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death; God foretells the final victory of his Son over them, and the renewing of all things; but, for the present, commands his Angels to make several alterations in the Heavens and Elements. Adam, more and more perceiving his fallen condition, heavily bewails, rejects the condolement of Eve; she persists, and at length appeases him: then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their offspring, proposes to Adam violent ways; which he approves not, but, conceiving better hope, puts her in mind of the late promise made them, that her seed should be revenged on the Serpent, and exhorts her, with him, to seek peace of the offended Deity by repentance and supplication.

MEANWHILE the hainous and despiteful act

Of Satan done in Paradise, and how

He, in the Serpent, had perverted Eve,

Her Husband she, to taste the fatal Fruit,

Was known in Heaven; for what can scape the eye

Of God all—seeing, or deceive his heart

Omniscient— who, in all things wise and just,

Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind

Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed

Complete to have discovered and repulsed

Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.

For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,

The high injunction not to taste that Fruit,

Whoever tempted; which they not obeying

Incurred (what could they less—) the penalty,

And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.

Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste

The Angelic Guards ascended, mute and sad

For Man; for of his state by this they knew,

Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen

Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news

From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased

All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare

That time celestial visages, yet, mixed

With pity, violated not their bliss.

About the new-arrived in multitudes,

The Ethereal People ran, to hear and know

How all befell. They towards the Throne supreme,

Accountable, made haste, to make appear,

With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance,

And easily approved; when the Most High,

Eternal Father, from his secret Cloud

Amidst, in thunder uttered thus his voice:—

“Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned

From unsuccessful charge, be not dismayed

Nor troubled at these tidings from the Earth,

Which your sincerest care could not prevent,

Foretold so lately what would come to pass,

When first this Tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.

I told ye then he should prevail, and speed

On his bad errand—Man should be seduced,

And flattered out of all, believing lies

Against his Maker; no decree of mine,

Concurring to necessitate his fall,

Or touch with lightest moment of impulse

His free will, to her own inclining left

In even scale. But fallen he is; and now

What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass

On his transgression, Death denounced that day

Which he presumes already vain and void,

Because not yet inflicted, as he feared,

By some immediate stroke, but soon shall find

Forbearance no acquittance ere day end.

Justice shall not return, as bounty, scorned.

But whom send I to judge them— whom but thee,

Vicegerent Son— To thee I have transferred

All judgment, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell.

Easy it may be seen that I intend

Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee,

Man’s Friend, his Mediator, his designed

Both Ransom and Redeemer voluntary,

And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen.”

So spake the Father; and, unfolding bright

Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son

Blazed forth unclouded deity. He full

Resplendent all his Father manifest

Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild:—

“Father Eternal, thine is to decree;

Mine both in Heaven and Earth to do thy will

Supreme, that thou in me, thy Son beloved,

May’st ever rest well pleased. I go to judge

On Earth these thy transgressors; but thou know’st,

Whoever judged, the worst on me must light,

When time shall be; for so I undertook

Before thee, and, not repenting, this obtain

Of right, that I may mitigate their doom

On me derived. Yet I shall temper so

Justice with mercy as may illustrate most

Them fully satisfied, and thee appease.

Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none

Are to behold the judgment but the judged,

Those two; the third best absent is condemned,

Convict by flight, and rebel to all law;

Conviction to the Serpent none belongs.”

Thus saying, from his radiant Seat he rose

Of high collateral glory. Him Thrones and Powers,

Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant,

Accompanied to Heaven-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 winged.

Now was the Sun in western cadence low

From noon, and gentle airs due at their hour

To fan the Earth now waked, and usher in

The evening cool, when he, from wrauth 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 declined; they heard,

And from his presence hid themselves among

The thickest trees, both man and wife, till God,

Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud:—

“Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet

My coming, seen far off— I miss thee here,

Not pleased thus entertained, with solitude,

Where obvious duty erewhile appeared unsought.

Or come I less conspicuous, or what change

Absents thee, or what chance detains— Come forth!”

He came, and with him Eve, more loth, though first

To offend, discountenanced both, and discomposed.

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.

Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief:—

“I heard thee in the Garden, and, of thy voice

Afraid, being naked, hid myself.” To whom

The gracious Judge, without revile, replied:—

“My voice thou oft has heard, and hast not feared,

But still rejoiced; 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, replied:—

“O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand

Before my Judge—either to undergo

Myself the total crime, or to accuse

My other self, the partner of my life,

Whose failing, while her 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,

However insupportable, be all

Devolved; though, should I hold my peace, yet thou

Wouldst easily detect what I conceal.

This Woman, whom thou mad’st to be my help,

And gav’st me as thy perfect gift, so good,

So fit, so acceptáble, so divine,

That from her hand I could suspect no ill,

And what she did, whatever in itself,

Her doing seemed to justify the deed—

She gave me of the Tree, and I did eat.”

To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied:—

“Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey

Before his voice— or was she made thy guide,

Superior, or but equal, that to her

Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place

Wherein God set thee above her, made of thee

And for thee, whose perfection far excelled

Hers in all real dignity— Adorned

She was indeed, and lovely, to attract

Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts

Were such as under government well seemed—

Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy part

And person, hadst thou known thyself aright.”

So having said, he thus to Eve in few:—

“Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done—”

To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed,

Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge

Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied:—

“The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat.”

Which when the Lord God heard, without delay

To judgment he proceeded on the accused

Serpent, though brute, unable to transfer

The guilt on him who made him instrument

Of mischief, and polluted from the end

Of his creation—justly then accursed,

As vitiated in nature. More to know

Concerned not Man (since he no further knew),

Nor altered his offence; yet God at last

To Satan, first in sin, his doom applied,

Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best;

And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall:—

“Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed

Above all cattle, each beast of the field;

Upon thy belly grovelling 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 verified

When Jesus, son of Mary, second Eve,

Saw Satan fall like lightning down from Heaven,

Prince of the Air; then, rising from his grave,

Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed

In open shew, and, with ascension bright,

Captivity led captive through the Air,

The realm itself of Satan, long usurped,

Whom He shall tread at last under our feet,

Even He who now foretold his fatal bruise,

And to the Woman thus his sentence turned:—

“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 pronounced:—

“Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife,

And eaten of the Tree concerning which

I charged thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat thereof,

Curs’d is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow

Shalt eat thereof all the days of thy life;

Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth

Unbid; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;

In the sweat of thy face thou shalt 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 judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent,

And the instant stroke of death, denounced that day,

Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood

Before him naked to the air, that now

Must suffer change, disdained not to begin

Thenceforth the form of servant to assume.

As when he washed 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;

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, covered from his Father’s sight.

To him with swift ascent he up returned,

Into his blissful bosom reassumed

In glory as of old; to him, appeased,

All, though all-knowing, what had passed with Man

Recounted, mixing intercession sweet.

Meanwhile, ere thus was sinned and judged 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 Chaos, since the Fiend passed through,

Sin opening; who thus now to Death began:—

“O Son, why sit we here, each other viewing

Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives

In other worlds, and happier sent provides

For us, his offspring dear— It cannot be

But that success attends him; if mishap

Ere this he had returned, with fury driven

By his Avengers, since no place like this

Can fit his punishment, or their revenge.

Methinks I feel new strength within me rise,

Wings growing, and dominion given me large

Beyond this Deep—whatever draws me on,

Or sympathy, or some connatural force,

Powerful at greatest distance to unite

With secret amity things of like kind

By secretest conveyance. Thou, my shade

Inseparable, must with me along;

For Death from Sin no power can separate.

But, lest the difficulty of passing back

Stay his return perhaps over this gulf

Impassable, impervious, let us try

(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 the infernal Host,

Easing their passage hence, for intercourse

Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead.

Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn

By this new-felt attraction and instinct.”

Whom thus the meagre Shadow answered 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 do the work thou enterprisest

Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid.”

So saying, with delight he snuffed 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 encamped come flying, lured

With scent of living carcases designed

For death the following day in bloody fight;

So scented the grim Feature, and upturned

His nostril 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

Tossed up and down, together crowded drove,

From each side shoaling, towards the mouth of Hell;

As when two polar winds, blowing adverse

Upon the Cronian sea, together drive

Mountains of ice, that stop the imagined way

Beyond Petsora eastward to the rich

Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil

Death with his mace petrific, cold and dry,

As with a trident smote, and fixed as firm

As Delos, floating once; the rest his look

Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move,

And with asphaltic slime; broad as the gate,

Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach

They fastened, and the mole immense wraught on

Over the foaming Deep high-arched, a bridge

Of length prodigious, joining to the wall

Immovable of this now fenceless World,

Forfeit to Death—from hence a passage broad,

Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell.

So, if great things to small may be compared,

Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke,

From Susa, his Memnonian palace high,

Came to the sea, and, over Hellespont

Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined,

And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves.

Now had they brought the work by wondrous art

Pontifical—a ridge of pendent rock

Over the vexed Abyss, following the track

Of Satan, to the self-same place where he

First lighted from his wing and landed safe

From out of Chaos—to the outside bare

Of this round World. With 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 Heaven

And of this World, and on the left hand Hell,

With long reach interposed; three several ways

In sight of each of these three places led.

And now their way to Earth they had described,

To Paradise first tending, when, behold

Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright,

Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering

His zenith, while the Sun in Aries rose!

Disguised he came; but those his children dear

Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise.

He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk

Into the wood fast by, and, changing shape

To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act

By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded

Upon her husband—saw their shame that sought

Vain covertures; but, when he saw descend

The Son of God to judge them, terrified

He fled, not hoping to escape, but shun

The present—fearing, guilty, what his wrauth

Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned

By night, and, listening where the hapless pair

Sat in their sad discourse and various plaint,

Thence gathered his own doom; which understood

Not instant, but of future time, with joy

And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned,

And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot

Of this new wondrous pontifice, unhoped

Met who to meet him came, his offspring dear.

Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight

Of that stupendious bridge his joy increased.

Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair

Inchanting daughter, thus the silence broke:—

“O Parent, these are thy magnific deeds,

Thy trophies! which thou view’st as not thine own;

Thou art their Author and prime Architect.

For I no sooner in my heart divined

(My heart, which by a secret harmony

Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet)

That thou on Earth hadst prospered, 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 achieved our liberty, confined

Within Hell-gates till now; thou us impowered

To fortify thus far, and overlay

With this portentous bridge the dark Abyss.

Thine now is all this World; thy virtue hath won

What thy hands builded not; thy wisdom gained,

With odds, what war hath lost, and fully avenged

Our foil in Heaven. Here thou shalt Monarch reign,

There didst not; there let him still victor sway,

As battle hath adjudged, from this new World

Retiring, by his own doom alienated,

And henceforth monarchy with thee divide

Of all things, parted by the empyreal bounds,

His quadrature, from thy orbicular World,

Or try thee now more dangerous to his Throne.”

Whom thus the Prince of Darkness answered glad:—

“Fair daughter, and thou, son and grandchild both,

High proof ye now have given to be the race

Of Satan (for I glory in the name,

Antagonist of Heaven’s Almighty King),

Amply have merited of me, of all

The Infernal Empire, that so near Heaven’s door

Triumphal with triumphal act have met,

Mine with 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;

There dwell and reign in bliss; thence on the Earth

Dominion exercise and in the air,

Chiefly on Man, sole lord of all declared;

Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill.

My substitutes I send ye, and create

Plenipotent 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 exposed by my exploit.

If your joint power prevail, the affairs of Hell

No detriment need fear; go, and be strong.”

So saying, he dismissed them; they with speed

Their course through thickest constellations held,

Spreading their bane; the blasted stars looked wan,

And planets, planet-strook, real eclipse

Then suffered. The other way Satan went down

The causey to Hell-gate; on either side

Disparted Chaos overbuilt exclaimed,

And with rebounding surge the bars assailed,

That scorned his indignation. Through the gate,

Wide open and unguarded, Satan passed,

And all about found desolate; for those

Appointed to sit there had left their charge,

Flown to the upper World; the rest were all

Far to the inland retired, about the walls

Of Pandemonium, city and proud seat

Of Lucifer, so by allusion called

Of that bright star to Satan paragoned.

There kept their watch the legions, while the Grand

In council sat, solicitous what chance

Might intercept their Emperor sent; so he

Departing gave command, and they observed.

As when the Tartar from his Russian foe,

By Astracan, over the snowy plains,

Retires, or Bactrian Sophi, from the horns

Of Turkish crescent, leaves all waste beyond

The realm of Aladule, in his retreat

To Tauris or Casbeen; so these, the late

Heaven-banished host, left desert utmost Hell

Many a dark league, reduced in careful watch

Round their Metropolis, and now expecting

Each hour their great Adventurer from the search

Of foreign worlds. He through the midst unmarked,

In shew plebeian Angel militant

Of lowest order, passed, 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 placed in regal lustre. Down a while

He sat, and round about him saw, unseen.

At last, as from a cloud, his fulgent head

And shape star-bright appeared, or brighter, clad

With what permissive glory since his fall

Was left him, or false glitter. All amazed

At that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throng

Bent their aspect, and whom they wished beheld,

Their mighty Chief returned: loud was the acclaim.

Forth rushed in haste the great consulting Peers,

Raised from their dark Divan, and with like joy

Congratulant approached him, who with hand

Silence, and with these words attention, won:—

“Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers!—

For in possession such, not only of right,

I call ye, and declare ye now, returned,

Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forth

Triumphant out of this infernal Pit

Abominable, accursed, the house of woe,

And dungeon of our tyrant! Now possess,

As lords, a spacious World, to our native Heaven

Little inferior, by my adventure hard

With peril great achieved. Long were to tell

What I have done, what suffered, with what pain

Voyaged the unreal, vast, unbounded Deep

Of horrible confusion—over which

By Sin and Death a broad way now is paved,

To expedite your glorious march; but I

Toiled out my uncouth passage, forced to ride

The untractable Abyss, plunged in the womb

Of unoriginal Night and Chaos wild,

That, jealous of their secrets, fiercely opposed

My journey strange, with clamorous uproar

Protesting Fate supreme; thence how I found

The new-created World, which fame in Heaven

Long had foretold, a fabric wonderful,

Of absolute perfection; therein Man

Placed in a Paradise, by our exile

Made happy. Him by fraud I have seduced

From his Creator, and, the more to increase

Your wonder, with an apple! He, thereat

Offended—worth your laughter!—hath given up

Both 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 ruled.

True is, me also he hath judged; or rather

Me not, but the brute Serpent, in whose shape

Man I deceived. That which to me belongs

Is enmity, which he will put between

Me and Mankind: I am to bruise his heel;

His 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 the account

Of my performance; what remains, ye Gods,

But up and enter now into full bliss—”

So having said, a while he stood, expecting

Their universal shout and high applause

To fill his ear; when, contrary, he hears,

On all sides, from innumerable tongues

A dismal universal hiss, the sound

Of public scorn. He wondered, but not long

Had leisure, wondering at himself now more.

His visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare,

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 ruled him, punished in the shape he sinned,

According to his doom. He would have spoke,

But hiss for hiss returned with forkèd tongue

To forkèd tongue; for now were all transformed

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 Amphisbaena dire,

Cerastes horned, Hydrus, and Ellops drear,

And Dipsas (not so thick swarmed once the soil

Bedropt with blood of Gordon, or the isle

Ophiusa); but still greatest the midst,

Now Dragon grown, larger than whom the Sun

Ingendered in the Phythian vale on slime,

Huge Python; and his power no less he seemed

Above the rest still to retain. They all

Him followed, issuing forth to the open field,

Where all yet left of that revolted rout,

Heaven-fallen, in station stood or just array,

Sublime with expectation when to see

In triumph issuing forth their glorious Chief.

They saw, but other sight instead—a crowd

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 renewed, and the dire form

Catched by contagion, like in punishment

As in their crime. Thus was the applause they meant

Turned to exploding hiss, triumph to shame

Cast on themselves from their own mouths. There stood

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 of Eve

Used by the Tempter. On that prospect strange

Their earnest eyes they fixed, imagining

For one forbidden tree a multitude

Now risen, to work them further woe or shame;

Yet, parched with scalding thirst and hunger fierce

Though to delude them sent, could not abstain,

But on they rowled in heaps, and, up the trees

Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky locks

That curled Megaera. Greedily they plucked

The fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew

Near that bituminous lake where Sodom flamed;

This, more delusive, not the touch, but taste

Deceived; they fondly thinking to allay

Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit

Chewed bitter ashes, which the offended taste

With spattering noise rejected. Off they assayed,

Hunger and thirst constraining; drugged as oft,

With hatefulest disrelish writhed their jaws

With soot and cinder filled; so oft they fell

Into the same illusion, not as Man

Whom they triumphed’ once lapsed. Thus were they plagued,

And, worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss,

Till their lost shape, permitted, they resumed—

Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergo

This annual humbling certain numbered days,

To dash their pride, and joy for Man seduced.

However, some tradition they dispersed

Among the Heathen of their purchase got,

And fabled how the Serpent, whom they called

Ophion, with Eurynome (the wide—

Encroaching Eve perhaps), had first the rule

Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driven

And Ops, ere yet Dictaean Jove was born.

Meanwhile in Paradise the Hellish pair

Too soon arrived—Sin, there in power before

Once actual, now in body, and to dwell

Habitual habitant; behind her Death,

Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet

On his pale horse; to whom Sin thus began:—

“Second of Satan sprung, all-conquering Death!

What think’st thou of our empire now— though earned

With travail difficult, not better far

Than still at Hell’s dark threshold to have sat watch,

Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half-starved—”

Whom thus the Sin-born Monster answered soon:—

“To me, who with eternal famine pine,

Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven—

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 the incestuous Mother thus replied:—

“Thou, therefore, on these herbs, and fruits, and flowers,

Feed first; on each beast next, and fish, and fowl—

No homely morsels; and whatever thing

The scythe of Time mows down devour unspared;

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 the Almighty seeing,

From his transcendent Seat the Saints among,

To those bright Orders uttered 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 state, had not the folly of Man

Let in these wasteful furies, who impute

Folly to me (so doth the Prince of Hell

And his adherents), that with so much ease

I suffer them to enter and possess

A place so heavenly, 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 called and drew them thither,

My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draft and filth

Which Man’s polluting sin with taint hath shed

On what was pure; till, crammed and gorged, nigh burst

With sucked and glutted offal, at one sling

Of thy victorious arm, well-pleasing Son,

Both Sin and Death, and yawning Grave, at last

Through Chaos hurled, obstruct the mouth of Hell

For ever, and seal up his ravenous jaws.

Then Heaven and Earth, renewed, shall be made pure

To sanctity that shall receive no stain:

Till then the curse pronounced on both precedes.”

He ended, and the Heavenly Audience loud

Sung Halleluiah, as the sound of seas,

Through multitude that sung:—“Just are thy ways,

Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works;

Who can extenuate thee— Next, to the Son,

Destined restorer of Mankind, by whom

New Heaven and Earth shall to the ages rise,

Or down from Heaven descend.” Such was their song,

While the Creator, calling forth by name

His mighty Angels, gave them several charge,

As sorted best with present things. The Sun

Had first his precept so to move, so shine,

As might affect the Earth with cold and heat

Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call

Decrepit winter, from the south to bring

Solstitial summer’s heat. To the blanc Moon

Her office they prescribed; to the other five

Their planetary motions and aspects,

In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite,

Of noxious efficacy, and when to join

In synod unbenign; and taught the fixed

Their influence malignant when to shower—

Which of them, rising with the Sun or falling,

Should prove tempestuous. To the winds they set

Their corners, when with bluster to confound

Sea, air, and shore; the thunder when to roll

With terror through the dark aerial hall.

Some say he bid his Angels turn askance

The poles of Earth twice ten degrees and more

From the Sun’s axle; they with labour pushed

Oblique the centric Globe: some say the Sun

Was bid turn reins from the equinoctial road

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 clime. Else had the spring

Perpetual smiles on Earth with vernant flowers,

Equal in days and nights, except to those

Beyond the polar circles; to them day

Had unbenighted shon, while the low Sun,

To recompense his distance, in their sight

Had rounded still the horizon, and not known

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, turned

His course intended; else how had the world

Inhabited, though sinless, more than now

Avoided pinching cold and scorching heat—

These changes in the heavens, though slow, produced

Like change on sea and land—sidereal blast,

Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot,

Corrupt and pestilent. Now from the north

Of Norumbega, and the Samoed shore,

Bursting their brazen dungeon, armed 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 blasts upturns them from the south

Notus and Afer, black with thundrous clouds

From Serraliona; thwart of these, as fierce

Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds,

Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise,

Sirocco and Libecchio. Thus began

Outrage from lifeless things; but Discord first,

Daughter of Sin, among the irrational

Death introduced through fierce antipathy.

Beast now with beast ’gan war, and fowl with fowl,

And fish with fish. To graze the herb all leaving

Devoured each other; nor stood much in awe

Of Man, but fled him, or with countenance grim

Glared on him passing. These were from without

The growing miseries; which Adam saw

Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade,

To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within,

And, in a troubled sea of passion tost,

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

Accursed of blessèd, hide me from the face

Of God, whom to behold was then my highth

Of happiness! Yet well, if here would end

The misery! I deserved it, and would bear

My own deservings. But this will not serve:

All that I eat or drink, or shall beget,

Is propagated curse. O voice, once heard

Delightfully, ’Encrease and multiply,’

Now death to hear! for what can I encrease

Or multiply but curses on my head—

Who, of all ages to succeed, but, feeling

The evil on him brought by me, will curse

My head— ‘Ill fare our Ancestor impure!

For this we may thank Adam!’ but his thanks

Shall be the execration. So, besides

Mine own that bide upon me, all from me

Shall with a fierce reflux on me redound—

On me, as on their natural centre, light;

Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joys

Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould me Man— Did I solicit thee

From darkness to promote me, or here place

In this delicious Garden— As my will

Concurred not to my being, it were but right

And equal to reduce me to my dust,

Desirous to resign and render back

All I received, unable to perform

Thy term too hard, by which I was to hold

The good I sought not. To the loss of that,

Sufficient penalty, why hast thou added

The sense of endless woes— Inexplicable

Thy justice seems. Yet, to say truth, too late

I thus contest; then should have been refused

Those terms, whatever, when they were proposed.

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, reproved, retort,

‘Wherefore didst thou beget me— I sought it not!’

Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee

That proud excuse— yet him not thy election,

But natural necessity, begot.

God made thee of choice his own, and of his own

To serve 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 whenever! Why delays

His hand to execute what his decree

Fixed on this day— Why do I overlive—

Why am I mocked with death, and lengthened out

To deathless pain— How gladly would I meet

Mortality, my sentence, and be earth

Insensible! how glad would lay me down

As in my mother’s lap! There I should rest,

And sleep secure; 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 Spirit of Man

Which God inspired, 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 sinned: what 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 infinite,

Is his wrauth also— Be it, Man is not so,

But mortal doomed. But can he exercise

Wrauth without end on Man, whom death must end—

Can he make deathless death— That were to make

Strange contradiction; which 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 punished Man, to satisfy his rigour

Satisfied never— That were to extend

His sentence beyond dust and Nature’s law;

By which all causes else according still

To the reception of their matter act,

Not to the extent of their own sphere. But say

That death be not one stroke, as I supposed,

Bereaving sense, but endless misery

From this day onward, which I feel begun

Both in me and without me, and so last

To perpetuity——Ay me! that fear

Comes thundering back with dreadful revolution

On my defenceless head! Both Death and I

Am found eternal, and incorporate both:

Nor I on my part single; in me all

Posterity stands cursed. Fair patrimony

That I must leave ye, sons! Oh, were I able

To waste it all myself, and leave ye none!

So disinherited, how would ye bless

Me, now your curse! Ah, why should all Mankind,

For one man’s fault, thus guiltless be condemned—

If guiltless! But from me what can proceed

But all corrupt—both mind and will depraved

Not to do only, but to will the same

With me— How can they, then, acquitted stand

In sight of God— Him, after all disputes,

Forced I absolve. All my evasions vain

And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me 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 wrauth! Fond wish! could’st thou support

That burden, heavier than the Earth to bear—

Than all the world much heavier, though divided

With that bad Woman— Thus, what thou desir’st,

And what thou fear’st, alike destroys all hope

Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable

Beyond all past example and future’—

To Satan only like, both crime and doom.

O Conscience! into what abyss of fears

And horrors hast thou driven me; out of which

I find no way, from deeper to deeper plunged!”

Thus Adam to himself lamented loud

Through the still night—not now, as ere Man fell,

Wholesome and cool and mild, but with black air

Accompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom;

Which to his evil conscience represented

All things with double terror. On the ground

Outstretched he lay, on the cold ground, and oft

Cursed his creation; Death as oft accused

Of tardy execution, since denounced

The day of his offence. “Why comes not Death,”

Said he, “with one thrice-acceptáble stroke

To end me— Shall Truth 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 prayers or cries.

O woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers!

With other echo late I taught your shades

To answer, and resound far other song.”

Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld,

Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh,

Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed;

But her, with stern regard, he thus repelled:—

“Out of my sight, thou Serpent! That name best

Befits thee, with him leagued, 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 heavenly form, pretended

To hellish falsehood, snare them. But for thee

I had persisted happy, had not thy pride

And wandering vanity, when least was safe,

Rejected my forewarning, and disdained

Not to be trusted—longing to be seen,

Though by the Devil himself; him overweening

To overreach; but, with the Serpent meeting,

Fooled and beguiled; by him thou, I by thee,

To trust thee from my side, imagined wise,

Constant, mature, proof against all assaults,

And understood not all was but a shew,

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 thrown out, as supernumerary

To my just number found! O, why did God

Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven

With Spirits masculine, create at last

This novelty on Earth, this fair defect

Of Nature, and not fill the World at once

With men as Angels, without fiminine;

Or find some other way to generate

Mankind— This mischief had not then befallen,

And more that shall befall—innumerable

Disturbances on Earth through female snares,

And strait conjunction with this sex. For either

He never shall find out fit mate, but such

As some misfortune brings him, or mistake;

Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain,

Through her perverseness, but shall see her gained

By a far worse, or, if she love, withheld

By parents; or his happiest choice too late

Shall meet, already linked and wedlock—bound

To a fell adversary, his hate or shame:

Which infinite calamity shall cause

To human life, and household peace confound.”

He added not, and from her turned; but Eve,

Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing,

And tresses all disordered, at his feet

Fell humble, and, imbracing them, besought

His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint:—

“Forsake me not thus, Adam! witness Heaven

What love sincere and reverence in my heart

I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,

Unhappily deceived! Thy suppliant

I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not

Whereon I live, they gentle looks, thy aid,

Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,

My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee,

Whither shall I betake me, where subsist—

While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,

Between us two let there be peace; both joining,

As joined in injuries, one enmity

Against a Foe by doom express assigned us.

That cruel Serpent. On me exercise not

Thy hatred for this misery befallen—

On me already lost, me than thyself

More miserable. Both have sinned; but thou

Against God only; I against God and thee,

And to the place of judgment will return,

There with my cries impor’tune Heaven, that all

The sentence, from thy head removed, 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,

Immovable till peace obtained from fault

Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wraught

Commiseration. Soon his heart relented

Towards 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 displeased, his aid.

As one disarmed, his anger all he lost,

And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon:—

“Unwary, and too desirous, as before

So now, of what thou know’st not, who desir’st

The punishment all on thyself! Alas!

Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain

His full wrauth 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 forgiven,

To me committed, and by me exposed.

But rise; let us no more contend, nor blame

Each other, blamed 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 denounced, if aught I see,

Will prove no sudden, but a slow—paced evil,

A long day’s dying, to augment our pain,

And to our seed (O hapless seed!) derived.”

To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied:—

“Adam, by sad experiment I know

How little weight my words with thee can find,

Found so erroneous, thence by just event

Found so unfortunate. Nevertheless,

Restored 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, devoured

By Death at last (and miserable it is

To be to others cause of misery,

Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring

Into this cursed world a woeful 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 deceived his glut, and with us two

Be forced to satisfy his ravenous maw.

But, if thou judge it hard and difficult,

Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain

From love’s due rites, nuptial imbraces sweet,

And with desire to languish without hope

Before the present object languishing

With like desire—which would be misery

And torment less than none of what we dread—

Then, both our selves and seed at once to free

From what we fear for both, let us make short;

Let us seek Death, or, he not found, supply

With our own hands his office on ourselves.

Why stand we longer shivering under fears

That shew no end but death, and have the power,

Of many ways to die the shortest choosing,

Destruction with destruction to destroy—”

She ended here, or vehement despair

Broke off the rest; so much of death her thoughts

Had entertained as dyed her cheeks with pale.

But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed,

To better hopes his more attentive mind

Labouring had raised, and thus to Eve replied:—

“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 thought in thee, and implies

Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret

For loss of life and pleasure overloved.

Or, if thou covet death, as utmost end

Of misery, so thinking to evade

The penalty pronounced, doubt not but God

Hath wiselier armed his vengeful ire than so

To be forestalled. Much more I fear lest death

So snatched 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

I have in view, calling to mind with heed

Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise

The Serpent’s head. Piteous amends! unless

Be meant whom I conjecture, our grand foe,

Satan, who in the Serpent hath contrived

Against us this deceit. To crush his head

Would be revenge indeed—which will be lost

By death brought on ourselves, or childless days

Resolved as thou proposest; so our foe

Shall scape his punishment ordained, and we

Instead shall double ours upon our heads.

No more be mentioned, then, of violence

Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness

That cuts us off from hope, and savours only

Rancour and pride, impatience and despite,

Reluctance against God and his just yoke

Laid on our necks. Remember with what mild

And gracious temper he both heard and judged,

Without wrauth or reviling. We expected

Immediate dissolution, which we thought

Was meant by death that day; when, lo! to thee

Pains only in child-bearing were foretold,

And bringing forth, soon recompensed with joy,

Fruit of thy womb. On me the curse aslope

Glanced on the ground. With labour I must earn

My bread; what harm— Idleness had been worse;

My labour will sustain me; and, lest cold

Or heat should injure us, his timely care

Hath, unbesought, provided, and his hands

Clothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged.

How much more, if we pray him, will his ear

Be open, and his heart to pity incline,

And teach us further by what means to shun

The inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow!

Which now the sky, with various face, begins

To shew us in this mountain, while the winds

Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks

Of these fair spreading trees; which bids us seek

Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherish

Our limbs benumbed—ere this diurnal star

Leave cold the night, how we his gathered beams

Reflected may with matter sere foment,

Or by collision of two bodies grind

The air attrite to fire, as late the clouds,

Justling, or pushed with winds, rude in their shock,

Time the slant lightning, whose thwart flame, driven down,

Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine,

And sends a comfortable heat from far,

Which might supply the Sun. Such fire to use,

And what may else be remedy or cure

To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought,

He will instruct us praying, and of grace

Beseeching him; so as we need not fear

To pass commodiously this life, sustained

By him with many comforts, till we end

In dust, our final rest and native home.

What better can we do than, to the place

Repairing where he judged us, prostrate fall

Before him reverent, and there confess

Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears

Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air

Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign

Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek—

Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn

From his displeasure, in whose look serene,

When angry most he seemed and most severe,

What else but favour, grace, and mercy shon—”

So spake our Father penitent; nor Eve

Felt less remorse. They, forthwith to the place

Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell

Before him reverent, and both confessed

Humbly their faults, and pardon begged, with tears

Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air

Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign

Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek.

Paradise Lost: The Eleventh Book

THE ARGUMENT.—The Son of God presents 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 happen till the Flood.

THUS they, in lowliest, plight, repentant stood

Praying; for from the Mercy-seat above

Prevenient grace descending had removed

The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh

Regenerate grow instead, that sighs now breathed

Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer322

Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight

Than loudest oratory. Yet their port

Not of mean suitors; nor important less

Seemed their petition than when the ancient Pair

In fables old, less ancient yet than these,

Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore

The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine

Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers

Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds

Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passed

Dimensionless through heavenly doors; then, clad

With incense, where the Golden Altar fumed,

By their great Intercessor, came in sight

Before the Father’s Throne. Them the glad Son

Presenting thus to intercede began:—

“See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth are sprung

From thy implanted grace in Man—these sighs

And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed

With incense, I, thy priest, before thee bring;

Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed

Sown with contribution in his heart, than those

Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees

Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen

From innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine ear

To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute;

Unskilful with what words to pray, let me

Interpret for him, me his Advocate

And propitiation; all his works on me,

Good or not good, ingraft; my merit those

Shall perfet, and for these my death shall pay.

Accept me, and in me from these receive

The smell of peace toward Mankind; let him live,

Before thee reconciled, at least his days

Numbered, though sad, till death, his doom (which I

To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse),

To better life shall yield him, where with me

All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss,

Made one with me, as I with thee am one.”

To whom the Father, without cloud, serene:—

“All thy request for Man, accepted Son,

Obtain; all thy request was my decree.

But longer in that Paradise to dwell

The law I gave to Nature him forbids;

Those pure immortal elements, that know

No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul,

Eject him, tainted now, and purge him off,

As a distemper, gross, to air as gross,

And mortal food, as may dispose him best

For dissolution wrought by sin, that first

Distempered all things, and of incorrupt

Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts

Created him endowed—with Happiness

And Immortality; that fondly lost,

This other served but to eternize woe,

Till I provided Death: so Death becomes

His final remedy, and, after life

Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined

By faith and faithful works, to second life,

Waked in the renovation of the just,

Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed.

But let us call to synod all the Blest

Through Heaven’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 confirmed.”

He ended, and the Son gave signal high

To the bright Minister that watched. He blew

His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps

When God descended, and perhaps once more

To sound at general doom. The angelic blast

Filled all the regions: from their blissful bowers

Of amarantin shade, fountain or spring,

By the waters of life, where’er they sate

In fellowships of joy, the Sons of Light

Hasted, resorting to the summons high,

And took their seats, till from his Throne supreme

The Almighty thus pronounced his sovran 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 sufficed him to have known

Good by itself and evil not at all.

He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite—

My motions in him; longer than they move,

His heart I know how variable and vain,

Self—left. Lest, therefore, his now bolder hand

Reach also of the Tree of Life, and eat,

And live for ever, dream at least to live

For ever, to remove him I decree,

And send him from the Garden forth, to till

The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil,

Michael, this my behest have thou in charge:

Take to thee from among the Cherubim

Thy choice of flaming warriors, lest the Fiend,

Or in behalf of Man, or to invade

Vacant possessions, some new trouble raise;

Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God

Without remorse drive out the sinful pair,

From hallowed ground the unholy, and denounce

To them, and to their progeny, from thence

Perpetual banishment. Yet, lest they faint

At the sad sentence rigorously urged

(For I behold them softened, and with tears

Bewailing their excess), all terror hide.

If patiently thy bidding they obey,

Dismiss them not disconsolate reveal

To Adam what shall come in future days,

As I shall thee enlighten; intermix

My covenant in the Woman’s seed renewed.

So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace;

And on the east side of the Garden place,

Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs,

Cherubic watch, and of a Sword the flame

Wide—waving, all approach far off to fright,

And guard all passage to the Tree of life;

Lest Paradise a receptácle prove

To Spirits foul, and all my trees their prey,

With whose stolen fruit Man once more to delude.”

He ceased, and the Archangelic Power prepared

For swift descent; with him the cohort bright

Of watchful Cherubim. Four faces each

Had, like a double Janus; all their shape

Spangled with eyes more numerous than those

Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse,

Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed

Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile,

To resalute the World with sacred light,

Leucothea waked, and with fresh dews imbalmed

The Earth, when Adam and first matron Eve

Had ended now their orisons, and found

Strength added from above, new hope to spring

Out of despair, joy, but with fear yet linked;

Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed:—

“Eve, easily may faith admit that all

The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends;

But that from us aught should ascend to Heaven

So prevalent as to concern the mind

Of God high-blest, or to incline his will,

Hard to belief may seem. Yet this will prayer,

Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne

Even to the seat of God. For, since I sought

By prayer the offended Deity to appease,

Kneeled and before him humbled all my heart,

Methought I saw him placable and mild,

Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew

That I was heard with favour; peace returned

Home to my breast, and to my memory

His promise that thy seed shall bruise our Foe;

Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now

Assures me that the bitterness of death

Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee!

Eve rightly called, 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 demeanour meek:—

“Ill-worthy I such title should belong

To me transgressor, who, for thee ordained

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 graced

The source of life; next favourable thou,

Who highly thus to entitle me voutsaf’st,

Far other name deserving. But the field

To labour calls us, now with sweat imposed,

Though after sleepless night; for see! the Morn,

All unconcerned 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 enjoined

Laborious, till day droop. While here we dwell,

What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks—

Here let us live, though in fallen state, content.”

So spake, so wished, much-humbled Eve; but Fate

Subscribed not. Nature first gave signs, impressed

On bird, beast, air—air suddenly eclipsed,

After short blush of morn. Nigh in her sight

The bird of Jove, stooped from his aerie tour,

Two birds of gayest plume before him drove;

Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods,

First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace,

Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind;

Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight.

Adam observed, and, with his eye the chase

Pursuing, not unmoved to Eve thus spake:—

“O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh,

Which Heaven by these mute signs in Nature shews,

Forerunners of his purpose, or to warn

Us, haply too secure of our discharge

From penalty because from death released

Some days: how long, and what till then our life,

Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust,

And thither must return, and be no more—

Why else this double object in our sight,

Of flight pursued in the air and o’er the ground

One way the self-same hour— Why in the east

Darkness ere day’s mid-course, and morning-light

More orient in yon western cloud, that draws

O’er the blue firmament a radiant white,

And slow descends, with something Heavenly fraught—”

He erred not; for, by this, the Heavenly bands

Down from a sky of jasper lighted now

In Paradise, and on a hill made halt—

A glorious Apparition, had not doubt

And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam’s eye.

Not that more glorious, when the Angels met

Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw

The field pavilioned with his guardians bright;

Nor that which on the flaming Mount appeared

In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire,

Against the Syrian king, who, to surprise

One man, assassin-like, had levied war,

War unproclaimed. The princely Hierarch

In their bright stand there left his Powers to seize

Possession of the Garden; he alone,

To find where Adam sheltered, took his way,

Not unperceived of Adam; who to Eve,

While the great Visitant approached, thus spake:—

“Eve, now expect great tidings, which, perhaps,

Of us will soon determine, or impose

New laws to be observed; for I descry,

From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,

One of the Heavenly host, and, by his gait,

None of the meanest—some great Potentate

Or of the Thrones above, such majesty

Invests him coming; yet not terrible,

That I should fear, nor sociably mild,

As Raphael, that I should much confide,

But solemn and sublime; whom, not to offend,

With reverence I must meet, and thou retire.”

He ended; and the Archangel soon drew nigh,

Not in his shape celestial, but as man

Clad to meet man. Over his lucid arms

A military vest of purple flowed,

Livelier than Meliban, or the grain

Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old

In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof.

His starry helm unbuckled shewed him prime

In manhood where youth ended; by his side,

As in glistering zodiac, hung the sword,

Satan’s dire dread, and in his hand the spear.

Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his state

Inclined not, but his coming thus declared:—

“Adam, Heaven’s high behest no preface needs.

Sufficient that thy prayers are heard, and Death,

Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress,

Defeated of his seizure many days,

Given thee of grace, wherein thou may’st repent,

And one bad act with many deeds well done

May’st cover. Well may then thy Lord, appeased,

Redeem thee quite from Death’s rapacious claim;

But longer in this Paradise to dwell

Permits not. To remove thee I am come,

And send thee from the Garden forth, to till

The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.”

He added not; for Adam, at the news

Heart-strook, with chilling gripe of sorrow stood,

That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen

Yet all had heard, with audible lament

Discovered soon the place of her retire:—

“O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise— thus leave

Thee, native soil— these happy walks and shades,

Fit haunt of Gods, where I had hope to spend,

Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day

That must be mortal to us both— O flowers,

That never will in other climate grow,

My early visitation, and my last

At even, which I bred up with tender hand

From the first opening bud, and gave ye names,

Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rank

Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount—

Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorned

With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee

How shall I part, and whither wander down

Into a lower world, to this obscure

And wild— How shall we breathe in other air

Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits—”

Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild:

“Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign

What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart,

Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine.

Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes

Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound;

Where he abides, think there thy native soil.”

Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp

Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned,

To Michael thus his humble words addressed:—

“Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named

Of them the highest—for such of shape may seem

Prince above princes—gently hast thou told

Thy message, which might else in telling wound,

And in performing end us. What besides

Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair,

Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring—

Departure from this happy place, our sweet

Recess, and only consolation left

Familiar to our eyes; all places else

Inhospitable appear, and desolate,

Nor knowing us, nor known. And, if by prayer

Incessant I could hope to change the will

Of Him who all things can, I would not cease

To weary him with my assiduous cries;

But prayer 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, deprived

His blessed countenance. Here I could frequent,

With worship, place by place where he voutsafed

Presence Divine, and to my sons relate,

‘On this mount He appeared; under this tree

Stood visible; among these pines his voice

I heard; here with him at this fountain talked.’

So many grateful altars I would rear

Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone

Of lustre from the brook, in memory

Or monument to ages, and thereon

Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers.

In yonder nether world where shall I seek

His bright appearances, or footstep trace—

For, though I fled him angry, yet, recalled

To life prolonged and promised 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 Heaven his, and all the Earth,

Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills

Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives,

Fomented by his virtual power and warmed.

All the Earth he gave thee to possess and rule,

No despicable gift; surmise not, then,

His presence to these narrow bounds confined

Of Paradise or Eden. This had been

Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread

All generations, and had hither come,

From all the ends of the Earth, to celebrate

And reverence thee their great progenitor.

But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down

To dwell on even ground now with thy sons:

Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain

God is, as here, and will be found alike

Present, and of his presence many a sign

Still following thee, still compassing thee round

With goodness and paternal love, his face

Express, and of his steps the track divine.

Which that thou may’st believe, and be confirmed

Ere thou from hence depart, know I am sent

To shew thee what shall come in future days

To thee and to thy offspring. Good with bad

Expect to hear, supernal grace contending

With sinfulness of men—thereby to learn

True patience, and to temper joy with fear

And pious sorrow, equally inured

By moderation either state to bear,

Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead

Safest thy life, and best prepared endure

Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend

This hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes)

Here sleep below while thou to foresight wak’st,

As once thou slept’st while she to life was formed.”

To whom thus Adam gratefully replied:—

“Ascend, I follow thee, safe Guide, the path

Thou lead’st me, and to the hand of Heaven submit,

However chastening—to the evil turn

My obvious breast, arming to overcome

By suffering, and earn rest from labour won,

If so I may attain.” So both ascend

In the Visions of God. It was a hill,

Of Paradise the highest, from whose top

The hemisphere of Earth is clearest ken

Stretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay.

Not higher that hill, nor wider looking ground,

Whereon for different cause the Tempter set

Our second Adam, in the wilderness,

To shew him all Earth’s kingdoms and their glory.

His eye might there command wherever stood

City of old or modern fame, the seat

Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls

Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can,

And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir’s throne,

To Pacquin, of Sinaean kings, and thence

To Agra and Lahor of Great Mogul,

Down to the golden Chersonese, or where

The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since

In Hispahan, or where the Russian Ksar

In Mosco, or the Sultan in Bizance,

Turchestan—born; nor could his eye not ken

The empire of Negus to his utmost port

Ercoco, and the less maritime kings,

Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind,

And Sofala (thought Ophir), to the realm

Of Congo, and Angola fardest south,

Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount,

The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus,

Marocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen;

On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway,

The world: in spirit perhaps he also saw

Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume,

And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat

Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoiled

Guiana, whose great city Geryon’s sons

Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights

Michael from Adam’s eyes the film removed

Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight

Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue

The visual nerve, for he had much to see,

And from the well of life three drops instilled.

So deep the power of these ingredients pierced,

Even to the inmost seat of mental sight,

That Adam, now enforced to close his eyes,

Sunk down, and all his spirits became intranced.

But him the gentle Angel by the hand

Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled:—

“Adam, now ope thine eyes, and first behold

The effects which thy original crime hath wrought

In some to spring from thee, who never touched

The excepted Tree, nor with the Snake conspired,

Nor sinned thy sin, yet from that sin derive

Corruption to bring forth more violent deeds.”

His eyes he opened, and beheld a field,

Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves

New-reaped, the other part sheep-walks and folds:

I’ the midst an altar as the landmark stood,

Rustic, of grassy sord. Thither anon

A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought

First-fruits, the green ear and the yellow sheaf,

Unculled, as came to hand. A shepherd next,

More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock,

Choicest and best; then, sacrificing, laid

The inwards and their fat, with incense strewed,

On the cleft wood, and all due rites performed.

His offering soon propitious fire from heaven

Consumed, with nimble glance and grateful steam;

The other’s not, for his was not sincere:

Whereat he inly raged, and, as they talked,

Smote him into the midriff with a stone

That beat out life; he fell, and, deadly pale,

Groaned out his soul, with gushing blood effused.

Much at that sight was Adam in his heart

Dismayed, and thus in haste to the Angel cried:—

“O Teacher, some great mischief hath befallen

To that meek man, who well had sacrificed:

Is piety thus and pure devotion paid—

To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied:—

“These two are brethren, Adam, and to come

Out of thy loins. The unjust the just hath slain,

For envy that his brother’s offering found

From Heaven acceptance; but the bloody fact

Will be avenged, and the other’s faith approved

Lose no reward, though here thou see him die,

Rowling in dust and gore.” To which our Sire:—

“Alas, both for the deed and for the cause!

But have I now seen Death— Is this the way

I must return to native dust— O sight

Of terror, foul and ugly to behold!

Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!

To whom thus Michael:—“Death thou hast seen

In his first shape on Man; but many shapes

Of Death, and many are the ways that lead

To his grim cave—all dismal, yet to sense

More terrible at the entrance than within.

Some, as thou saw’st, by violent stroke shall die,

By fire, flood, famine; by intemperance more

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 the inabstinence of Eve

Shall bring on me.” Immediately a place

Before his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark;

A lazar-house it seemed, wherein were laid

Numbers of all diseased—all maladies

Of ghastly spasm, of racking torture, qualms

Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds,

Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs,

Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs,

Daemoniac 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 delayed to strike, though oft invoked

With vows, as their chief good and final hope.

Sight so deform what heart of rock could long

Dry-eyed behold— Adam could not, but wept,

Though not of woman born: compassion quelled

His best of man, and gave him up to tears

A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess,

And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed:—

“O miserable Mankind, to what fall

Degraded, to what wretched state reserved!

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 offered, or soon beg to lay it down,

Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thus

The image of God in Man, created once

So goodly and erect, though faulty since,

To such unsightly sufferings be debased

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—”

“Their Maker’s image,” answered Michael, “then

Forsook them, when themselves they vilified

To serve ungoverned Appetite, and took

His image whom they served—a brutish vice,

Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve.

Therefore so abject is their punishment,

Disfiguring not God’s likeness, but their own;

Or, if his likeness, by themselves defaced

While they pervert 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 passages, how we may come

To death, and mix with our connatural dust—”

“There is,” said Michael, “if thou well observe

The rule of Not too much, by temperance taught

In what thou eat’st and drink’st, seeking from thence

Due 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

Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature.

This is old age; but then thou must outlive

Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change

To withered, weak, and grey; thy senses then,

Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgo

To what thou hast; and, for the air of youth,

Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign

A melancholy damp of cold and dry,

To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume

The balm of life.” To whom our Ancestor:—

“Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong

Life much—bent rather how I may be quit,

Fairest and easiest, of this cumbrous charge,

Which I must keep till my appointed day

Of rendering up, and patiently attend

My dissolution.” Michael replied:—

“Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv’st

Live well, how long or short permit to Heaven.

And now prepare thee for another sight.”

He looked, and saw a spacious plain, whereon

Were tents of various hue: by some were herds

Of cattle grazing: others whence the sound

Of instruments that made melodious chime

Was heard, of harp and organ, and who moved

Their stops and chords was seen: his volant touch

Instinct through all proportions low and high

Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue.

In other part stood one who, at the forge

Labouring, two massy clods of iron 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 washed by stream

From underground); the liquid ore he drained

Into fit moulds prepared; from which he formed

First his own tools, then what might else be wrought

Fusil or graven in metal. After these,

But on the hither side, a different sort

From the high neighbouring hills, which was their seat,

Down to the plain descended: by their guise

Just men they seemed, and all their study bent

To worship God aright, and know his works

Not hid; nor those things last which might preserve

Freedom and peace to men. They on the plain

Long had not walked when from the tents behold

A bevy of fair women, richly gay

In gems and wanton dress! to the harp they sung

Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on.

The men, though grave, eyed them, and let their eyes

Rove without rein, till, in the amorous net

Fast caught, they liked, and each his liking chose.

And now of love they treat, till the evening-star,

Love’s harbinger, appeared; then, all in heat,

They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke

Hymen, then first to marriage rites invoked:

With feast and music all the tents resound.

Such happy interview, and fair event

Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers,

And charming symphonies, attached the heart

Of Adam, soon inclined to admit delight,

The bent of Nature; which he thus expressed:

“True opener of mine eyes, prime Angel blest,

Much better seems this vision, and more hope

Of peaceful days portends, than those two past:

Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse;

Here Nature seems fulfilled in all her ends.”

To whom thus Michael:—“Judge not what is best

By pleasure, though to Nature seeming meet,

Created, as thou art, to nobler end,

Holy and pure, conformity divine.

Those tents thou saw’st so pleasant were the tents

Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race

Who slew his brother: studious they appear

Of arts that polish life, inventors rare;

Unmindful of their Maker, though his Spirit

Taught them; but they his gifts acknowledged none.

Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget;

For that fair female troop thou saw’st, that seemed

Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay,

Yet empty of all good wherein consists

Woman’s domestic honour and chief praise;

Bred only and completed to the taste

Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance,

To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye:—

To these that sober race of men, whose lives

Religious titled them the Sons of God,

Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame,

Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles

Of these fair atheists, and now swim in joy

(Erelong to swim at large) and laugh; for which

The world erelong a world of tears must weep.”

To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft:—

“O pity and shame, that they who to live well

Entered so fair should turn aside to tread

Paths indirect, or in the midway faint!

But still I see the tenor of Man’s woe

Holds on the same, from Woman to begin.”

“From Man’s effeminate slackness it begins,”

Said the Angel, “who should better hold his place

By wisdom, and superior gifts received.

But now prepare thee for another scene.”

He looked, and saw wide territory spread

Before him—towns, and rural works between,

Cities of men with lofty gates and towers,

Concourse in arms, fierce faces threatening war,

Giants of mighty bone and bold emprise.

Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed,

Single or in array of battle ranged

Both horse and foot, nor idly mustering stood.

One way a band select from forage drives

A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine,

From a fat meadow-ground, 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 pastured late, now scattered lies

With carcasses and arms the ensanguined field

Deserted. Others to a city strong

Lay siege, encamped, by battery, scale, and mine,

Assaulting; others from the wall defend

With dart and javelin, stones and sulphurous fire;

On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds.

In other parts the sceptred haralds call

To council in the city-gates: anon

Grey-headed men and grave, with warriors mixed,

Assemble, and harangues 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 seized with violent hands,

Had not a cloud descending snatched him thence,

Unseen amid the throng. So violence

Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law,

Through all the plain, and refuge none was found.

Adam was all in tears; and to his guide

Lamenting turned full sad:—“Oh, 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 Heaven

Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost—”

To whom thus Michael:—“These are the product’

Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw’st,

Where good with bad were matched; who of themselves

Abhor to join, and, by imprudence mixed,

Produce prodigious births of body or mind.

Such were these Giants, men of high renown;

For in those days might only shall be admired,

And valour and heroic virtue called.

To overcome in battle, and subdue

Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite

Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch

Of human glory, and, for glory done,

Of triumph to be styled great conquerors,

Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods—

Destroyers rightlier called, and Plagues of men.

Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth,

And what most merits fame in silence hid.

But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou beheld’st

The only righteous in a world perverse,

And therefore hated, therefore 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 wingèd steeds,

Did, as thou saw’st, receive, to walk with God

High in salvation and the climes of bliss,

Exempt from death, to show thee what reward

Awaits the good, the rest what punishment;

Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold.”

He looked, and saw the face of things quite changed.

The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar;

All now was turned to jollity and game,

To luxury and riot, feast and dance,

Marrying or prostituting, as befell,

Rape or adultery, where passing fair

Allured them; thence form cups to civil broils.

At length a reverend Sire among them came,

And of their doings great dislike declared,

And testified against their ways. He oft

Frequented their assemblies, whereso met,

Triumphs or festivals, and to them preached

Conversion and repentance, as to souls

In prison, under judgments imminent;

But all in vain. Which when he saw, he ceased

Contending, and removed his tents far off;

Then, from the mountain hewing timber tall,

Began to build a Vessel of huge bulk,

Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and highth,

Smeared round with pitch, and in the side a door

Contrived, and of provisions laid in large

For man and beast: when lo! a wonder strange!

Of every beast, and bird, and insect small

Came sevens and pairs, and entered in, as taught

Their order; last, the Sire and his three sons,

With their four wives; and God made fast the door.

Meanwhile the South-wind rose, and, with black wings

Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove

From under heaven; the hills to their supply

Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist,

Sent up amain; and now the thickened sky

Like a dark ceiling stood: down rushed the rain

Impetuous, and continued till the earth

No more was seen. The floating Vessel swum

Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow

Rode tilting o’er the waves; all dwellings else

Flood overwhelmed, and them with all their pomp

Deep under water rowled; sea covered sea,

Sea without shore: and in their palaces,

Where luxury late reigned, sea—monsters whelped

And stabled: of mankind, so numerous late,

All left in one small bottom swum imbarked.

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 drowned,

And sunk thee as thy sons; till, gently reared

By the Angel, on thy feet thou stood’st at last,

Though comfortless, as when a father mourns

His children, all in view destroyed at once,

And scarce to the Angel utter’dst thus thy plaint:—

“O Visions ill foreseen! Better had I

Lived ignorant of future—so had borne

My part of evil only, each day’s lot

Enough to bear. Those now that were dispensed

The burden of many ages on me light

At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth

Abortive, to torment me, ere their being,

With thought that they must be. Let no man seek

Henceforth to be foretold what shall befall

Him or his children—evil, he may be sure,

Which neither his foreknowing can prevent,

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 escaped

Famine and anguish will at last consume,

Wandering that watery desert. I had hope,

When violence was ceased and war on Earth,

All would have then gone well, peace would have crowned

With length of happy days the race of Man;

But I was far deceived, for now I see

Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

How comes it thus— Unfold, Celestial Guide,

And whether here the race of Man will end.”

To whom thus Michael:—“Those whom last thou saw’st

In triumph and luxurious wealth are they

First seen in acts of powers eminent

And great exploits, but of true virtue void;

Who, having split much blood, and done much waste,

Subduing nations, and achieved thereby

Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey,

Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth,

Surfeit, and lust, till wantonness and pride

Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace.

The conquered, also, and enslaved by war,

Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose,

And fear of God—from whom their piety feigned

In sharp contest of battle found no aid

Against invaders; therefore, cooled in zeal,

Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure,

Worldly, or dissolute, on what their lords

Shall leave them to enjoy; for the Earth shall bear

More than enough, that temperance may be tried.

So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved,

Justice and temperance, 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 wrauth to come

On their impenitence, and shall return

Of them derided, but of God observed

The one just man alive: by his command

Shall build a wondrous Ark, as thou beheld’st,

To save himself and household from amidst

A world devote to universal wrack.

No sooner he, with them of man and beast

Select for life, shall in the ark be lodged

And sheltered round, but all the cataracts

Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour

Rain day and night; all fountains of the deep,

Broke up, shall heaven the ocean to usurp

Beyond all bounds, till inundation rise

Above the highest hills. Then shall this Mount

Of Paradise by might of waves be moved

Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood,

With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift,

Down the great River to the opening Gulf,

And there take root, and island salt and bare,

The haunt of seals, and orcs, and sea—mews’ clang—

To teach thee that God at’tributes 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 looked, and saw the Ark hull on the flood,

Which now abated; for the clouds were fled.

Driven by a keen North-wind, that, blowing dry,

Wrinkled the face of Deluge, as decayed;

And the clear sun on his wide watery glass

Gazed 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 towards the deep, who now had stopt

His sluices, as the heaven his windows shut..

The Ark no more now floats, but seems on ground,

Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed.

And now the tops of hills as rocks appear;

With clamour thence the rapid currents drive

Towards the retreating sea their furious tide.

Forthwith from out the ark a Raven flies.

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 this train;

Then, with uplifted hands and eyes devout,

Grateful to Heaven, over 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,

Greatly rejoiced; and thus his joy broke forth:—

“O thou, who future things cants represent

As present, Heavenly Instructor, I revive

At this last sight, assured that Man shall live,

With all the creatures, and their seed preserve.

Far less I now lament for one whole world

Of wicked sons destroyed that I rejoice

For one man found so perfet and so just

That God voutsafes to raise another world

From him, and all his anger to forget.

But say what mean those coloured streaks in Heaven:

Distended as the brow of God appeased—

Or serve they as a flowery verge to bind

The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud,

Lest it again dissolve and shower the Earth—”

To whom the Archangel:—“Dextrously thou aim’st.

So willingly doth God remit his ire:

Though late repenting him of Man depraved,

Grieved at his heart, when, looking down, he saw

The whole Earth filled with violence, and all flesh

Corrupting each their way; yet, those removed,

Such grace shall one just man find in his sight

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: but, when he brings

Over the Earth a cloud, with therein set

His triple-coloured 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 Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell.”

Paradise Lost: The Twelfth Book

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, resurrection, and ascension; the state of the Church till his second coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and recomforted by these relations and promises, descends the hill with Michael; wakens Eve, who all this while had slept, but with gentle dreams composed 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 journey, bates at noon,

Though bent on speed, so here the Archangel paused

Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored,

If Adam ought 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.

Henceforth what is to come I will relate;

Thou, therefore, give due audience, and attend.

“This second source of men, while yet but few,

And while the dread of judgment past remains

Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,

With some regard to what is just and right

Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace,

Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop,

Corn, wine and oil; and, from the herd or flock

Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid,

With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast,

Shall spend their days in joy unblamed, and dwell

Long time in peace, by families and tribes,

Under paternal rule, till one shall rise,

Of proud, ambitious heart, who, not content

With fair equality, fraternal state,

Will arrogate dominion undeserved

Over his brethren, and quite dispossess

Concord and law of Nature from the Earth—

Hunting (and men, not beasts, shall be his game)

With war and hostile snare such as refuse

Subjection to his empire tyrannous.

A mighty Hunter thence he shall be styled

Before the Lord, as in despite of Heaven,

Or from Heaven claiming second sovranty,

And from rebellion shall derive his name,

Though of rebellion others he accuse.

He, with a crew, whom like ambition joins

With him or under him to tyrannize,

Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find

The Plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge

Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell.

Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build

A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven;

And get themselves a name, lest far dispersed

In foreign lands, their memory be lost—

Regardless whether good or evil fame.

But God, who oft descends to visit men

Unseen, and through their habitations walks,

To mark their doings, them beholding soon,

Comes down to see their city, ere the Tower

Obstruct Heaven-towers, and in derision sets

Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase

Quite out their native language, and, instead,

To sow a jangling noise of words unknown.

Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud

Among the builders; each to other calls,

Not understood—till, hoarse and all in rage,

As mocked they storm. Great laughter was in Heaven,

And looking down to see the hubbub strange

And hear the din. Thus was the building left

Ridiculous, and the work Confusion named.”

Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased:—

“O execrable son, so to aspire

Above his brethren, to himself assuming

Authority usurped, from God not given!

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—such title to himself

Reserving, human left from human free.

But this Usurper his encroachment proud

Stays not on Man; to God his Tower intends

Siege and defiance. Wretched man! 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 abhorr’st

That son, who on the quiet state of men

Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue

Rational liberty; yet know withal,

Since thy original lapse, true liberty

Is lost, which always with right reason dwells

Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being.

Reason in Man obscured, or not obeyed,

Immediately inordinate desires

And upstart passions catch the government

From Reason, and to servitude reduce

Man, till then free. Therefore, since he permits

Within himself unworthy powers to reign

Over free reason, God, in judgment just,

Subjects him from without to violent lords,

Who oft as undeservedly enthral

His outward freedom. Tyranny must be,

Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.

Yet sometimes nations will decline so low

From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong,

But justice and some fatal curse annexed,

Deprives them of their outward liberty,

Their inward lost: witness the irreverent son

Of him who built the Ark, who, for the shame

Done to his father, heard this heavy curse,

Servant of servants, on his vicious race.

Thus will this latter, as the 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 polluted ways,

And one peculiar nation to select

From all the rest, of whom to be invoked—

A nation from one faithful man to spring.

Him on this side Euphrates yet residing,

Bred up in idol-worship—Oh, that men

(Canst thou believe—) should be so stupid grown,

While yet the patriarch lived who scaped the Flood,

As to forsake the living God, and fall

To worship their own work in wood and stone

For gods!—yet him God the Most High voutsafes

To call by vision from his father’s house,

His kindred, and false gods into a land

Which he will shew him, and from him will raise

A mighty nation, and upon him shower

His benediction so that in his seed

All Nations shall be blest. He straight obeys;

Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes.

I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith

He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil,

Ur of Chaldaea, passing now the ford

To Haran—after him a cumbrous train

Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude—

Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth

With God, who called him, in a land unknown

Canaan he now attains; I see his tents

Pitched about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain

Of Moreh. There, by promise, he receives

Gift to his progeny of all that land,

From Hamath northward to the Desert south

(Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed),

From Hermon east to the great western sea;

Mount Hermon, yonder sea, each place behold

In prospect, as I point them: on the shore,

Mount Carmel; here, the double-founted stream,

Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons

Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills.

This ponder, that all nations of the Earth

Shall in his seed be blessèd. By that seed

Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise

The Serpent’s head; whereof to thee anon

Plainlier shall be revealed. This patriarch blest,

Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call,

A son, and of his son a grandchild, leaves,

Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown.

The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, departs

From Canaan to a land hereafter called

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:

Till, by two brethren (those two brethren call

Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim

His people from enthralment, they return,

With glory and spoil, back to their promised land.

But first the lawless tyrant, who denies

To know their God, or message to regard,

Must be compelled by signs and judgments dire:

To blood unshed the rivers must be turned;

Frogs, lice, and flies must all his palace fill

With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land;

His cattle must of rot and murrain die;

Botches and blains must all his flesh imboss,

And all his people; thunder mixed with hail,

Hail mixed with fire, must rend the Egyptian sky,

And wheel on the earth, devouring where it rolls;

What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain,

A darksome cloud of locusts swarming 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 first-born

Of Egypt must lie dead. Thus with ten wounds

The River-dragon tamed at length submits

To let his sojourners depart, and oft

Humbles his stubborn heart, but still as ice

More hardened after thaw; till, in his rage

Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea

Swallows him with his host, but them lets pass,

As on dry land, between two crystal walls,

Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand

Divided till his rescued gain their shore:

Such wondrous power God to his Saint will lend,

Though present in his Angel, who shall go

Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire—

By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire—

To guide them in their journey, and remove

Behind them, while the obdúrate king pursues.

All night he will pursue, but his approach

Darkness defends between till morning-watch;

Then through the fiery pillar and the cloud

God looking forth will trouble all his host,

And craze their chariot-wheels: when, by command,

Moses once more his potent rod extends

Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys;

On their imbattled ranks the waves return,

And overwhelm their war. The race elect

Safe towards Canaan, from the shore, advance

Through the wild Desert—not the readiest way,

Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed,

War terrify them inexpert, and fear

Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather

Inglorious life with servitude; for life

To noble and ignoble is more sweet

Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on.

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 ordained.

God, from the Mount of Sinai, whose grey top

Shall tremble, he descending, will himself,

In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpet’s sound,

Ordain them laws—part, such as appertain

To civil justice; part, religious rites

Of sacrifice, informing them, by types

And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise

The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve

Mankind’s deliverance. But the voice of God

To mortal ear is dreadful: they beseech

That Moses might report to them his will,

And terror cease; he grants what they besought,

Instructed that to God is no access

Without Mediator, whose high office now

Moses in figure bears, to introduce

One greater, of whose day he shall foretell,

And all the Prophets, in their age, the times

Of great Messiah shall sing. Thus laws and rites

Established, such delight hath God in men

Obedient to his will that he voutsafes

Among them to set up his Tabernacle—

The Holy One with mortal men to dwell.

By his prescript a sanctuary is framed

Of cedar, overlaid with gold; therein

An ark, and in the Ark his testimony,

The records of his covenant; over these

A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings

Of two bright Cherubim; before him burn

Seven lamps, as in a zodiac representing

The heavenly 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

Promised to Abraham and his seed. The rest

Were long to tell—how many battles fought;

How many kings destroyed, and kingdoms won;

Or how the sun shall in mid—heaven stand still

A day entire, and night’s due course adjourn,

Man’s voice commanding, ‘Sun, in Gibeon stand,

And thou, Moon, in the vale of Aialon,

Till Israel overcome!’—so call the third

From Abraham, son of Isaac, and from him

His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win.”

Here Adam interposed:—“O sent from Heaven,

Enlightener of my darkness, gracious things

Thou hast revealed, those chiefly which concern

Just Abraham and his seed. Now first I find

Mine eyes true opening, and my heart much eased,

Erewhile perplexed with thoughts what would become

Of me and all mankind; but now I see

His day, in whom all nations shall be blest—

Favour unmerited by me, who sought

Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means.

This yet 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 thus Michael:—“Doubt not but that sin

Will reign among them, as of thee begot;

And therefore was law given them, to evince

Their natural pravity, by stirring up

Sin against Law to fight, that, when they see

Law can discover sin, but no 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 imputed, they may find

Justification towards God, and peace

Of conscience, which the law by ceremonies

Cannot appease, nor man the moral part

Perform, and not performing cannot live.

So Law appears imperfect, and but given

With purpose to resign them, in full time,

Up to a better covenant, disciplined

From shadowy types to truth, from flesh to spirit,

From imposition of strict laws to free

Acceptance of large grace, from servile fear

To filial, works of law to works of faith.

And therefore shall not Moses, though of God

Highly beloved, 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-wandered Man

Safe to eternal Paradise of rest.

Meanwhile they, in their earthly Canaan placed,

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 renowned

And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive

Irrevocable, that his regal throne

For ever shall endure. The like shall sing

All Prophecy—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 famed,

The clouded Ark of God, till then in tents

Wandering, shall in a glorious Temple enshrine.

Such follow him as shall be registered

Part good, part bad; of bad the longer scroll:

Whose foul idolatries and other faults,

Heaped 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 called.

There in captivity he lets them dwell

The space of seventy years; then brings them back,

Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn

To David, established as the days of Heaven.

Returned from Babylon by leave of kings,

Their lords, whom God disposed, the house of God

They first re-edify, and for a while

In mean estate live moderate, till, grown

In wealth and multitude, factious they grow.

But first among the priests dissension springs—

Men who attend the altar, and should most

Endeavour peace: their strife pollution brings

Upon the Temple itself; at last they seize

The sceptre, and regard not David’s sons;

Then lose it to a stranger, that the true

Anointed King Messiah might be born

Barred of his right. Yet at his birth a Star,

Unseen before in heaven, 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 squadroned Angels hear his carol sung.

A Virgin is his mother, 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 Heavens.”

He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy

Surcharged as had, like grief, been dewed in tears,

Without the vent of words; which these he breathed:—

“O prophet of glad tidings, finisher

Of utmost hope! now clear I understand

What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain—

Why our great Expectation should be called

The Seed of Woman. Virgin Mother, hail!

High in the love of Heaven, yet from my loins

Thou shalt proceed, and from thy womb the Son

Of God Most High; so God with Man unites.

Needs must the Serpent now his capital bruise

Except with mortal pain. Say where and when

Their fight, what stroke shall bruise the Victor’s heel.”

To whom thus Michael:—“Dream not of their fight

As of a duel, or the local wounds

Of head or heel. Not therefore joins the Son

Manhood to Godhead, with more strength to foil

Thy enemy; nor so is overcome

Satan, whose fall from Heaven, a deadlier bruise,

Disabled not to give thee thy death’s wound;

Which he who comes thy Saviour shall recure,

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, imposed

On penalty of death, and suffering death,

The penalty to thy transgression due,

And due to theirs which out of thine will grow:

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 blasphemed,

Seized on by force, judged, and to death condemned

A shameful and accursed, nailed 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 crucified,

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. Ere 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 offered life

Neglect not, and the benefit imbrace

By faith not void of works. This godlike act

Annuls thy doom, the death thou shouldst have died,

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 temporal death shall bruise the Victor’s heel,

Or theirs whom he redeems—a death like sleep,

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 followed him; to them shall leave in charge

To teach all nations what of him they learned

And his salvation, them who shall believe

Baptizing in the profluent stream—the sign

Of washing them from guilt of sin to life

Pure, and in mind prepared, if so befall,

For death like that which the Redeemer died.

All nations they shall teach; for from that day

Not only to the sons of Abraham’s loins

Salvation shall be preached, but to the sons

Of Abraham’s faith wherever through the world;

So in his seed all nations shall be blest.

Then to the Heaven of Heavens he shall ascend

With victory, triumphing through the air

Over his foes and thine; there shall surprise

The Serpent, Prince of Air, and drag in chains

Through all his realm, and there confounded leave;

Then enter into glory and resume

His seat at God’s right hand, exalted high

Above all names in Heaven; and thence shall come,

When this World’s dissolution shall be ripe,

With glory and power, to judge both quick and dead—

To judge the unfaithful dead, but to reward

His faithful, and receive them into bliss,

Whether in Heaven or Earth; for then the Earth

Shall all be Paradise, far happier place

Than this of Eden, and far happier days.”

So spake the Archangel Michaël; then paused,

As at the World’s great period; and our Sire,

Replete with joy and wonder, thus replied:—

“O Goodness infinite, Goodness immense,

That all this good of evil shall produce,

And evil turn to good—more wonderful

Than that which by creation first brought forth

Light out of darkness! Full of doubt I stand,

Whether I should repent me now of sin

By me done and occasioned, or rejoice

Much more that much more good thereof shall spring—

To God more glory, more good-will to men

From God—and over wrauth grace shall abound.

But say, if our Deliverer up to Heaven

Must reascend, what will betide the few,

His faithful, left among the unfaithful herd,

The enemies of truth. Who then shall guide

His people, who defend— Will they not deal

Worse with his followers than with him they dealt—”

“Be sure they will,” said the Angel; “but from Heaven

He to his own a Comforter will send,

The 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 truth, and also arm

With spiritual armour, able to resist

Satan’s assaults, and quench his fiery darts—

What man can do against them not afraid,

Though to the death; against such cruelties

With inward consolations recompensed,

And often supported so as shall amaze

Their proudest persecutors. For the Spirit,

Poured first on his Apostles, whom he sends

To evangelize the nations, then on all

Baptized, shall them with wondrous gifts endue

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 Heaven: at length,

Their ministry performed, 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 Heaven

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,

Palaces, and titles, and with these to join

Secular power, though feigning still to act

By spiritual; to themselves appropriating

The Spirit of God, promised alike and given

To all believers; and, from that pretense,

Spiritual laws by carnal power shall force

On every conscience—laws which none shall find

Left them enrowled, 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

Infallible— Yet many will presume:

Whence heavy persecution shall arise

On all who in the worship persevere

Of Spirit and Truth; the rest, far greater part,

Will deem in outward rites and specious forms

Religion satisfied; Truth shall retire

Bestuck with slanderous 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 promised to thy aid,

The Woman’s Seed—obscurely then foretold,

Now amplier known the Saviour and thy Lord;

Last in the clouds from Heaven to be revealed

In glory of the Father, to dissolve

Satan with his perverted World; then raise

From the conflagrant mass, purged and refined,

New Heavens, new Earth, Ages of endless date

Founded in righteousness and peace and love,

To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss.”

He ended; and thus Adam last replied:—

“How soon hath thy prediction, Seer blest,

Measured this transient World, the race of Time,

Till Time stand fixed! Beyond is all abyss—

Eternity, whose end no eye can reach.

Greatly instructed I shall hence depart,

Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill

Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain;

Beyond which was my folly to aspire.

Henceforth I learn that to obey is best,

And love with fear the only God, to walk

As in his presence, ever to observe

His providence, and on him sole depend,

Merciful over all his works, with good

Still overcoming evil, and by small

Accomplishing great things—by things deemed 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 the Angel last replied:—

“This having learned, thou hast attained the sum

Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the stars

Thou knew’st by name, and all the ethereal powers,

All secrets of the Deep, all Nature’s works,

Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, or sea,

And all the riches of this world enjoy’dst,

And all the rule, one empire. Only add

Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add faith;

Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love,

By name to come called Charity, the soul

Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loth

To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess

A Paradise within thee, happier far.

Let us descend now, therefore, from this top

Of speculation; for the hour precise

Exacts our parting hence; and, see! the guards,

By me encamped 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 calmed,

Portending good, and all her spirits composed

To meek submission: thou, at season fit,

Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard—

Chiefly what may concern her faith to know,

The great deliverance by her seed to come

(For by the Woman’s Seed) on all mankind—

That ye may live, which will be many days,

Both in one faith unanimous; though sad

With cause for evils past, yet much more cheered

With meditation on the happy end.”

He ended, and they both descend the hill.

Descended, Adam to the bower where Eve

Lay sleeping ran before, but found her waked;

And thus with words not sad she him received:—

“Whence thou return’st and whither went’st I know;

For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise,

Which he hath sent propitious, some great good

Presaging, since, with sorrow and heart’s distress

Wearied, I fell asleep. But now lead on;

In me is no delay; with thee to go

Is to stay here; without thee here to stay

Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me

Art all things under Heaven, all places thou,

Who for my wilful crime art banished hence.

This further consolation yet secure

I carry hence: though all by me is lost,

Such favour I unworthy am voutsafed,

By me the Promised Seed shall all restore.”

So spake our mother Eve; and Adam heard

Well pleased, by answered not; for now too nigh

The Archangel stood, and from the other hill

To their fixed station, all in bright array,

The Cherubim descended, on the ground

Gliding meteorous, as evening mist

Risen from a river o’er the marish glides,

And gathers ground fast at the labourer’s heel

Homeward returning. High in front advanced,

The brandished sword of God before them blazed,

Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat,

And vapour at the Libyan air adust,

Began to parch that temperate clime; whereat

In either hand the hastening Angel caught

Our lingering Parents, and to the eastern gate

Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast

To the subjected plain—then disappeared.

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld

Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,

Waved over by that flaming brand; the gate

With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms.

Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;

The world was all before them, where to choose

Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.

They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,

Through Eden took their solitary way.

Paradise Regained, 1665—1667

Paradise Regained— The First Book

(1665—1667)

I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung

By one man’s disobedience lost, now sing

Recovered Paradise to all mankind,

By one man’s firm obedience fully tried

Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled

In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,

And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.

Thou Spirit, who led’st this glorious Eremite

Into the desert, his victorious field

Against the spiritual foe, and brought’st him thence

By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,

As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,

And bear through highth or depth of Nature’s bounds,

With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds

Above heroic, though in secret done,

And unrecorded left through many an age:

Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.

Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice

More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried

Repentance, and Heaven’s kingdom night at hand

To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked

With awe the regions round, and with them came

From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed

To the flood Jordan—came as then obscure,

Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon

Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore

As to his worthier, and would have resigned

To him his heavenly office. Nor was long

His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized

Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove

The Spirit descended, while the Father’s voice

From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.

That heard the Adversary, who, roving still

About the world, at that assembly famed

Would not be last, and, with the voice divine

Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom

Such high attest was given a while surveyed

With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,

Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air

To council summons all his mighty Peers,

Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,

A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,

With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:—

“O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World

(For much more willingly I mention Air,

This our old conquest, than remember Hell,

Our hated habitation), well ye know

How many ages, as the years of men,

This Universe we have possessed, and ruled

In manner at our will the affairs of Earth,

Since Adam and his facile consort Eve

Lost Paradise, deceived by me, though since

With dread attending when that fatal wound

Shall be inflicted by the seed of Eve

Upon my head. Long the decrees of Heaven

Delay, for longest time to Him is short;

And now, too soon for us, the circling hours

This dreaded time have compassed, wherein we

Must bide the stroke of that long-threatened wound

(At least, if so we can, and by the head

Broken be not intended all our power

To be infringed, our freedom and our being

In this fair empire won of Earth and Air)—

For this ill news I bring: The Woman’s Seed,

Destined to this, is late of woman born.

His birth to our just fear gave no small cause;

But his growth now to youth’s full power, displaying

All virtue, grace and wisdom to achieve

Things highest, greatest, multiplies my fear.

Before him a great Prophet, to proclaim

His coming, is sent harbinger, who all

Invites, and in the consecrated stream

Pretends to wash off sin, and fit them so

Purified to receive him pure, or rather

To do him honour as their King. All come,

And he himself among them was baptized—

Not thence to be more pure, but to receive

The testimony of Heaven, that who he is

Thenceforth the nations may not doubt. I saw

The Prophet do him reverence; on him, rising

Out of the water, Heaven above the clouds

Unfold her crystal doors; thence on his head

A perfect Dove descend (whate’er it meant);

And out of Heaven the sovraign voice I heard,

“This is my Son beloved,—in him am pleased.’

His mother, then, is mortal, but his Sire

He who obtains the monarchy of Heaven;

And what will He not do to advance his Son—

His first-begot we know, and sore have felt,

When his fierce thunder drove us to the Deep;

Who this is we must learn, for Man he seems

In all his lineaments, though in his face

The glimpses of his Father’s glory shine.

Ye see our danger on the utmost edge

Of hazard, which admits no long debate,

But must with something sudden be opposed

(Not force, but well-couched fraud, well-woven snares),

Ere in the head of nations he appear,

Their king, their leader, and supreme on Earth.

I, when no other durst, sole undertook

The dismal expedition to find out

And ruin Adam, and the exploit performed

Successfully: a calmer voyage now

Will waft me; and the way found prosperous once

Induces best to hope of like success.”

He ended, and his words impression left

Of much amazement to the infernal crew,

Distracted and surprised with deep dismay

At these sad tidings. But no time was then

For long indulgence to their fears or grief:

Unanimous they all commit the care

And management of this main enterprise

To him, their great Dictator, whose attempt

At first against mankind so well had thrived

In Adam’s overthrow, and led their march

From Hell’s deep-vaulted den to dwell in light,

Regents, and potentates, and kings, yea gods,

Of many a pleasant realm and province wide.

So to the coast of Jordan he directs

His easy steps, girded with snaky wiles,

Where he might likeliest find this new-declared,

This man of men, attested Son of God,

Temptation and all guile on him to try—

So to subvert whom he suspected raised

To end his reign on Earth so long enjoyed:

But, contrary, unweeting he fulfilled

The purposed counsel, pre-ordained and fixed,

Of the Most High, who, in full frequence bright

Of Angels, thus to Gabriel smiling spake:—

“Gabriel, this day, by proof, thou shalt behold,

Thou and all Angels conversant on Earth

With Man or men’s affairs, how I begin

To verify that solemn message late,

On which I sent thee to the Virgin pure

In Galilee, that she should bear a son,

Great in renown, and called the Son of God.

Then told’st her, doubting how these things could be

To her a virgin, that on her should come

The Holy Ghosts, and the power of the Highest

O’ershadow her. This Man, born and now upgrown,

To shew him worthy of his birth divine

And high prediction, henceforth I expose

To Satan; let him tempt, and now assay

His utmost subtlety, because he boasts

And vaunts of his great cunning to the throng

Of his Apostasy. He might have learnt

Less overweening, since he failed in Job,

Whose constant perseverance overcame

Whate’er his cruel malice could invent.

He now shall know I can produce a man,

Of female seed, far abler to resist

All his solicitations, and at length

All his vast force, and drive him back to Hell—

Winning by conquest what the first man lost

By fallacy surprised. But first I mean

To exercise him in the Wilderness;

There he shall first lay down the rudiments

Of his great warfare, ere I send him forth

To conquer Sin and Death, the two grand foes.

By humiliation and strong sufferance

His weakness shall o’ercome Satanic strength,

And all the world, and mass of sinful flesh;

That all the Angels and aethereal Powers—

They now, and men hereafter—may discern

From what consummate virtue I have chose

This perfet man, by merit called my Son,

To earn salvation for the sons of men.”

So spake the Eternal Father, and all Heaven

Admiring stood a space; then into hymns

Burst forth, and in celestial measures moved,

Circling the throne and singing, while the hand

Sung with the voice, and this the argument:—

“Victory and triumph to the Son of God,

Now entering his great duel, not of arms

But to vanquish by wisdom hellish wiles!

The Father knows the Son; therefore secure

Ventures his filial virtue, though untried,

Against whate’er may tempt, whate’er seduce,

Allure, or terrify, or undermine.

Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell,

And, devilish machinations, come to nought!”

So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tuned.

Meanwhile the Son of God, who yet some days

Lodged in Bethabara, where John baptized,

Musing and much revolving in his breast

How best the mighty work he might begin

Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first

Publish his godlike office now mature,

One day forth walked alone, the Spirit leading

And his deep thoughts, the better to converse

With solitude, till, far from track of men,

Thought following thought, and step by step led on,

He entered now the bordering Desert wild,

And, with dark shades and rocks environed round,

His holy meditations thus pursued:—

“O what a multitude of thoughts at once

Awakened in me swarm, while I consider

What from within I feel myself, and hear

What from without comes often to my ears,

Ill sorting with my present state compared!

When I was yet a child, no childish play

To me was pleasing; all my mind was set

Serious to learn and know, and thence to do,

What might be public good; myself I thought

Born to that end, born to promote all truth,

All righteous things. Therefore, above my years,

The Law of God I read, and found it sweet;

Made it my whole delight, and in it grew

To such perfection that, ere yet my age

Had measured twice six years, at our great Feast

I went into the Temple, there to hear

The teachers of our Law, and to propose

What might improve my knowledge or their own,

And was admired by all. Yet this not all

To which my spirit aspired. Victorious deeds

Flamed in my heart, heroic acts—one while

To rescue Israel from the Roman yoke;

Then to subdue and quell, o’er all the earth,

Brute violence and proud tyrannic power,

Till truth were freed, and equity restored:

Yet held it more humane, more heavenly, first

By winning words to conquer willing hearts,

And make persuasion do the work of fear;

At least to try, and teach the erring soul,

Not wilfully misdoing, but unware

Misled; the stubborn only to subdue.

These growing thoughts my mother soon perceiving,

By words at times cast forth, inly rejoiced,

And said to me apart, ‘High are thy thoughts,

O Son! but nourish them, and let them soar

To what highth sacred virtue and true worth

Can raise them, though above example high;

By matchless deeds express thy matchless Sire.

For know, thou art no son of mortal man;

Though men esteem thee low of parentage,

Thy Father is the Eternal King who rules

All Heaven and Earth, Angels and sons of men

A messenger from God foretold thy birth

Conceived in me a virgin; he foretold

Thou shouldst be great, and sit on David’s throne,

And of thy kingdom there should be no end.

At thy Nativity a glorious quire

Of Angels, in the fields of Bethlehem, sung

To shepherds, watching at their folds by night,

And told them the Messiah now was born,

Where they might see him; and to thee they came,

Directed to the manger where thou lay’st;

For in the inn was left no better room.

A Star, not seen before, in heaven appearing,

Guided the Wise Men thither from the East,

To honour thee with incense, myrrh, and gold;

By whose bright course led on they found the place,

Affirming it thy star, new-graven in heaven,

By which they knew thee King of Israel born.

Just Simeon and prophetic Anna, warned

By vision, found thee in the Temple, and spake,

Before the altar and the vested priest.

Like things of thee to all that present stood.’

This having heard, straight I again revolved

The Law and Prophets, searching what was writ

Concerning the Messiah, to our scribes

Known partly, and soon found of whom they spake

I am—this chiefly, that my way must lie

Through many a hard assay, even to the death,

Ere I the promised kingdom can attain,

Or work redemption for mankind, whose sins’

Full weight must be transferred upon my head.

Yet, neither thus disheartened or dismayed,

The time prefixed I waited; when behold

The Baptist (of whose birth I oft had heard,

Not knew by sight) now come, who was to come

Before Messiah, and his way prepare!

I, as all others, to his baptism came,

Which I believed was from above; but he

Straight knew me, and with loudest voice proclaimed

Me him (for it was shewn him so from Heaven)—

Me him whose harbinger he was; and first

Refused on me baptism to confer,

As much his greater, and was hardly won.

But, as I rose out of the laving stream,

Heaven opened her eternal doors, from whence

The Spirit descended on me like a Dove;

And last, the sum of all, my Father’s voice,

Audibly heard from Heaven, pronounced me his,

Me his belovèd Son, in whom alone

He was well pleased: by which I knew the time

Now full, that I no more should live obscure,

But openly begin, as best becomes

The authority which I derived from Heaven.

And now by some strong motion I am led

Into this wilderness; to what intent

I learn not yet. Perhaps I need not know;

For what concerns my knowledge God reveals.”

So spake our Morning Star, then in his rise,

And, looking round, on every side beheld

A pathless desert, dusk with horrid shades.

The way he came, not having marked return,

Was difficult, by human steps untrod;

And he still on was led, but with such thoughts

Accompanied of things past and to come

Lodged in his breast as well might recommend

Such solitude before choicest society.

Full forty days he passed—whether on hill

Sometimes, anon in shady vale, each night

Under the covert of some ancient oak

Or ceder to defend him from the dew,

Or harboured in one cave, is not revealed;

Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt,

Till those days ended; hungered then at last

Among wild beasts. They at his sight grew mild,

Nor sleeping him nor waking harmed; his walk

The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm;

The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof.

But now an aged man in rural weeds,

Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray ewe,

Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve

Against a winter’s day, when winds blow keen,

To warm him wet returned from field at eve,

He saw approach; who first with curious eye

Perused him, then with words thus uttered spake:—

“Sir, what ill chance hath brought thee to this place,

So far from path or road of men, who pass

In troop or caravan, for single none

Durst ever, who returned, and dropt not here

His carcass, pined with hunger and with drought.

I ask the rather, and the more admire,

For that to me thou seem’st the man whom late

Our new baptizing Prophet at the ford

Of Jordan honoured so, and called thee Son

Of God. I saw and heard, for we sometimes

Who dwell this wild, constrained by want, come forth

To town or village nigh (nighest is far),

Where aught we hear, and curious are to hear,

What happens new; fame also finds us out.”

To whom the Son of God:—“Who brought me hither

Will bring me hence; no other guide I seek.”

“By miracle he may,” replied the swain;

‘What other way I see not; for we here

Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inured

More than the camel, and to drink go far—

Men to much misery and hardship born.

But, if thou be the Son of God, command

That out of these hard stones be made thee bread;

So shalt thou save thyself, and us relieve

With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste.”

He ended, and the Son of God replied:—

“Think’st thou such force in bread— Is it not written

(For I discern thee other than thou seem’st),

Man lives not by bread only, but each word

Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed

Our fathers here with manna— In the Mount

Moses was forty days, nor eat nor drank;

And forty days Eliah without food

Wandered this barren waste; the same I now.

Why dost thou, then, suggest to me distrust,

Knowing who I am, as I know who thou art—”

Whom thus answered the Arch-Fiend, now undisguised:—

“’Tis true, I am that Spirit unfortunate

Who, leagued with millions more in rash revolt,

Kept not my happy station, but was driven

With them from bliss to the bottomless Deep—

Yet to that hideous place not so confined

By rigour unconniving but that oft,

Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy

Large liberty to round this globe of Earth,

Or range in the Air; nor from the Heaven of Heavens

Hath he excluded my resort sometimes.

I came, among the Sons of God, when he

Gave up into my hands Uzzean Job,

To prove him, and illustrate his high worth;

And, when to all his Angels he proposed

To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud,

That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring,

I undertook that office, and the tongues

Of all his flattering prophets glibbed with lies

To his destruction, as I had in charge:

For what he bids I do. Though I have lost

Much lustre of my native brightness, lost

To be beloved of God, I have not lost

To love, at least contemplate and admire,

What I see excellent in good, or fair,

Or virtuous; I should so have lost all sense.

What can be then less in me than desire

To see thee and approach thee, whom I know

Declared the Son of God, to hear attent

Thy wisdom, and behold thy godlike deeds—

Men generally think me much a foe

To all mankind. Why should I— they to me

Never did wrong or violence. By them

I lost not what I lost; rather by them

I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell

Copartner in these regions of the World,

If not disposer—lend them oft my aid,

Oft my advice by presages and signs,

And answers, oracles, portents, and dreams,

Whereby they may direct their future life.

Envy, they say, excites me, thus to gain

Companions of my misery and woe!

At first it may be; but, long since with woe

Nearer acquainted, now I feel by proof

That fellowship in pain divides not smart,

Nor lightens aught each man’s peculiar load;

Small consolation, then, were Man adjoined.

This wounds me most (what can it less—) that Man,

Man fallen, shall be restored, I never more.”

To whom our Saviour sternly thus replied:—

“Deservedly thou griev’st, composed of lies

From the beginning, and in lies wilt end,

Who boast’st release from Hell, and leave to come

Into the Heaven of Heavens. Thou com’st indeed,

As a poor miserable captive thrall

Comes to the place where he before had sat

Among the prime in splendour, now deposed,

Ejected, emptied, gazed, unpitied, shunned,

A spectacle of ruin, or of scorn,

To all the host of Heaven. The happy place

Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy—

Rather inflames thy torment, representing

Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable;

So never more in Hell than when in Heaven.

But thou art serviceable to Heaven’s King!

Wilt thou impute to obedience what thy fear

Extorts, or pleasure to do ill excites—

What but thy malice moved thee to misdeem

Of righteous Job, then cruelly to afflict him

With all inflictions— but his patience won.

The other service was thy chosen task,

To be a liar in four hundred mouths;

For lying is thy sustenance, thy food.

Yet thou pretend’st to truth! all oracles

By thee are given, and what confessed more true

Among the nations— That hath been thy craft,

By mixing somewhat true to vent more lies.

But what have been thy answers— what but dark,

Ambiguous, and with double sense deluding,

Which they who asked have seldom understood,

And, not well understood, as good not known—

Who ever, by consulting at thy shrine,

Returned the wiser, or the more instruct

To fly or follow what concerned him most,

And run not sooner to his fatal snare—

For God hath justly given the nations up

To thy delusions; justly, since they fell

Idolatrous. But, when his purpose is

Among them to declare his providence,

To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy truth,

But from him, or his Angels president

In every province, who, themselves disdaining

To approach thy temples, give thee in command

What, to the smallest tittle, thou shalt say

To thy adorers— Thou, with trembling fear,

Or like a fawning parasite, obey’st;

Then to thyself ascrib’st the truth foretold.

But this thy glory shall be soon retrenched;

No more shalt thou by oracling abuse

The Gentiles; henceforth oracles are ceased,

And thou no more with pomp and sacrifice

Shalt be enquired at Delphos or elsewhere—

At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute.

God hath now sent his living Oracle

Into the world to teach his final will,

And sends his Spirit of Truth henceforth to dwell

In pious hearts, an inward oracle

To all truth requisite for men to know.”

So spake our Saviour; but the subtle Fiend,

Though inly stung with anger and disdain,

Dissembled, and this answer smooth returned:—

“Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke,

And urged me hard with doings which not will,

But misery, hath wrested from me. Where

Easily canst thou find one miserable,

And not inforced oft-times to part from truth,

If it may stand him more in stead to lie,

Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure—

But thou art placed above me; thou art Lord;

From thee I can, and must, submiss, endure

Check or reproof, and glad to scape so quit.

Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk,

Smooth on the tongue discoursed, pleasing to the ear,

And tunable as sylvan pipe or song;

What wonder, then, if I delight to hear

Her dictates from thy mouth— most men admire

Virtue who follow not her lore. Permit me

To hear thee when I come (since no man comes),

And talk at least, though I despair to attain.

Thy Father, who is holy, wise, and pure,

Suffers the hypocrite or atheous priest

To tread his sacred courts, and minister

About his altar, handling holy things,

Praying or vowing, and voutsafed his voice

To Balaam reprobate, a prophet yet

Inspired: disdain not such access to me.”

To whom our Saviour, with unaltered brow:—

“Thy coming hither, though I know thy scope,

I bid not, or forbid. Do as thou find’st

Permission from above; thou canst not more.”

He added not; and Satan, bowing low

His gray dissimulation, disappeared,

Into thin air diffused: for now began

Night with her sullen wing to double-shade

The desert; fowls in their clay nests were couched;

And now wild beasts came forth the woods to roam.

Paradise Regained— The Second Book

MEANWHILE the new-baptized, who yet remained

At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen

Him whom they heard so late expressly called

Jesus Messiah, Son of God, declared,

And on that high authority had believed,

And with him talked, and with him lodged—I mean

Andrew and Simon, famous after known,

With others, though in Holy Writ not named—

Now missing him, their joy so lately found,

So lately found and so abruptly gone,

Began to doubt, and doubted many days,

And, as the days increased, increased their doubt.

Sometimes they thought he might be only shewn,

And for a time caught up to God, as once

Moses was in the Mount and missing long,

And the great Thisbite, who on fiery wheels

Rode up to Heaven, yet once again to come.

Therefore, as those young prophets then with care

Sought lost Eliah, so in each place these

Nigh to Bethabara—in Jericho

The city of Palms, AEnon, and Salem old,

Machaerus, and each town or city walled

On this side the broad lake Genezaret,

Or in Peraea—but returned in vain.

Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek,

Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play,

Plain fishermen (no greater men them call),

Close in a cottage low together got,

Their unexpected loss and plaints outbreathed:—

“Alas, from what high hope to what relapse

Unlooked for are we fallen! Our eyes beheld

Messiah certainly now come, so long

Expected of our fathers; we have heard

His words, his wisdom full of grace and truth.

‘Now, now, for sure, deliverance is at hand;

The kingdom shall to Israel be restored:’

Thus we rejoiced, but soon our joy is turned

Into perplexity and new amaze.

For whither is he gone— what accident

Hath rapt him from us— will he now retire

After appearance, and again prolong

Our expectation— God of Israel,

Send thy Messiah forth; the time is come.

Behold the kings of the earth, how they oppress

Thy Chosen, to what highth their power unjust

They have exalted, and behind them cast

All fear of Thee; arise, and vindicate

Thy glory; free thy people from their yoke!

But let us wait; thus far He hath performed—

Sent his Anointed, and to us revealed him

By his great Prophet pointed at and shown

In public, and with him we have conversed.

Let us be glad of this, and all our fears

Lay on his providence; He will not fail,

Nor will withdraw him now, nor will recall—

Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him hence:

Soon we shall see our hope, our joy, return.”

Thus they out of their plaints new hope resume

To find whom at the first they found unsought.

But to his mother Mary, when she saw

Others returned from baptism, not her Son,

Nor left at Jordan tidings of him none,

Within her breast though calm, her breast though pure,

Motherly cares and fears got head, and raised

Some troubled thoughts, which she in sight thus clad:—

“Oh, what avails me now that honour high,

To have conceived of God, or that salute,

‘Hail, highly favoured, among women blest!’

While I to sorrows am no less advanced,

And fears as eminent above the lot

Of other women, by the birth I bore:

In such a season born, when scarce a shed

Could be obtained to shelter him or me

From the bleak air— A stable was our warmth,

A manger his; yet soon enforced to fly

Thence into Egypt, till the murderous king

Were dead, who sought his life, and, missing, filled

With infant blood the streets of Bethlehem.

From Egypt home returned, in Nazareth

Hath been our dwelling many years; his life

Private, unactive, calm, contemplative,

Little suspicious to any king. But now,

Full grown to man, acknowledged, as I hear,

By John the Baptist, and in public shewn,

Son owned from Heaven by his Father’s voice,

I looked for some great change, To honour— no;

But trouble, as old Simeon plain foretold,

That to the fall and rising he should be

Of many in Israel, and to a sign

Spoken against—that through my very soul

A sword shall pierce. This is my favoured lot,

My exaltation to afflictions high!

Afflicted I may be, it seems, and blest!

I will not argue that, nor will repine.

But where delays he now— Some great intent

Conceals him. When twelve years he scarce had seen,

I lost him, but so found as well I saw

He could not lose himself, but went about

His Father’s business. What he meant I mused—

Since understand; much more his absence now

Thus long to some great purpose he obscures.

But I to wait with patience am inured;

My heart hath been a storehouse long of things

And sayings laid up, portending strange events.”

Thus, Mary, pondering oft, and oft to mind

Recalling what remarkably had passed

Since first her Salutation heard, with thoughts

Meekly composed awaited the fulfilling:

The while her Son, tracing the desert wild,

Sole, but with holiest meditations fed,

Into himself descended, and at once

All his great work to come before him set—

How to begin, how to accomplish best

His end of being on Earth, and mission high.

For Satan, with sly preface to return,

Had left him vacant, and with speed was gone

Up to the middle region of thick air,

Where all his Potentates in council sate.

There, without sign of boast, or sign of joy,

Solicitous and blank, he thus began:—

“Princes, Heaven’s ancient Sons, AEthereal Thrones—

Daemonian Spirits now, from the element

Each of reign allotted, rightlier called

Powers of Fire, Air, Water, and Earth beneath

(So may we hold our place and these mild seats

Without new trouble!)—such an enemy

Is risen to invade us, who no less

Threatens than our expulsion down to Hell.

I, as I undertook, and with the vote

Consenting in full frequence was impowered,

Have found him, viewed him, tasted him; but find

Far other labour to be undergone

Than when I dealt with Adam, first of men,

Though Adam by his wife’s allurement fell,

However to this Man inferior far—

If he be Man by mother’s side, at least

With more than human gifts from Heaven adorned,

Perfections absolute, graces divine,

And amplitude of mind to greatest deeds.

Therefore I am returned, lest confidence

Of my success with Eve in Paradise

Deceive ye to persuasion over-sure

Of like succeeding here. I summon all

Rather to be in readiness with hand

Or counsel to assist, lest I, who erst

Thought none my equal, now be overmatched.”

So spoke the old Serpent, doubting, and from all

With clamour was assured their utmost aid

At his command; when from amidst them rose

Belial, the dissolutest Spirit that fell,

The sensualest, and, after Asmodai,

The fleshliest Incubus, and thus advise.—

“Set women in his eye and in his walk,

Among daughters of men the fairest found.

Many are in each region passing fair

As the noon sky, more like to goddesses

Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet,

Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues

Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild

And sweet allayed, yet terrible to approach,

Skilled to retire, and in retiring draw

Hearts after them tangled in amorous nets.

Such object hath the power to soften and tame

Severest temper, smooth the rugged’st brow,

Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve,

Draw out with credulous desire, and lead

At will the manliest, resolutest breast,

As the magnetic hardest iron draws.

Women, when nothing else, beguiled the heart

Of wisest Solomon, and made him build,

And made him bow, to the gods of his wives.”

To whom quick answer Satan thus returned:—

“Belial, in much uneven scale thou weigh’st

All others by thyself. Because of old

Thou thyself doat’st on womankind, admiring

Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace,

None are, thou think’st, but taken with such toys.

Before the Flood, thou, with thy lusty crew,

False titled Sons of God, roaming the Earth,

Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men,

And coupled with them, and begot a race.

Have we not seen, or by relation heard,

In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk’st,

In wood or grove, by mossy fountain-side,

In valley or green meadow, to waylay

Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene,

Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa,

Or Amymone, Syrinx, many more

Too long—then lay’st thy scapes on names adored,

Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan,

Satyr, or Faun, or Silvan— But these haunts

Delight not all. Among the sons of men

How many have with a smile made small account

Of beauty and her lures, easily scorned

All her assaults, on worthier things intent!

Remember that Pellean conqueror,

A youth, how all the beauties of the East

He slightly viewed, and slightly overpassed;

How he surnamed of Africa dismissed,

In his prime youth, the fair Iberian maid.

For Solomon, he lived at ease, and, full

Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond

Higher design than to enjoy his state;

Thence to the bait of women lay exposed.

But he whom we attempt is wiser far

Than Solomon, of more exalted mind,

Made and set wholly on the accomplishment

Of greatest things. What woman will you find,

Though of this age the wonder and the fame,

On whom his leisure will voutsafed an eye

Of fond desire— Or should she, confident,

As sitting queen adored on Beauty’s throne,

Descend with all her winning charms begirt

To enamour, as the zone of Venus once

Wrought that effect on Jove (so fables tell),

How would one look from his majestic brow,

Seated as on the top of Virtue’s hill,

Discountenance her despised, and put to rout

All her array, her female pride deject,

Or turn to reverent awe! For Beauty stands

In the admiration only of weak minds

Led captive; cease to admire, and all her plumes

Fall flat, and shrink into a trivial toy,

At every sudden slighting quite abashed.

Therefore, with manlier objects we must try

His constancy—with such as have more shew

Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise

(Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wrecked);

Or that which only seems to satisfy

Lawful desires of nature, not beyond.

And now I know he hungers, where no food

Is to be found, in the wide Wilderness:

The rest commit to me; I shall let pass

No advantage, and his strength as oft assay.”

He ceased, and heard their grant in loud acclaim;

The forthwith to him takes a chosen band

Of Spirits likest to himself in guile,

To be at hand and at his beck appear,

If cause were to unfold some active scene

Of various persons, each to know his part;

Then to the desert takes with these his flight,

Where still, from shade to shade, the Son of God,

After forty days’ fasting, had remained,

Now hungering first, and to himself thus said:—

“Where will this end— Four times ten days I have passed

Wandering this woody maze, and human food

Nor tasted, nor had appetite. That fast

To virtue I impute not, or count part

Of what I suffer here. If nature need not,

Or God support nature without repast,

Though needing, what praise is it to endure—

But now I feel I hunger; which declares

Nature hath need of what she asks. Yet God

Can satisfy that need some other way,

Though hunger still remain. So it remain

Without this body’s wasting, I content me,

And from the sting of famine fear no harm;

Nor mind it, fed with better thoughts, that feed

Me hungering more to do my Father’s will.”

It was the hour of night, when thus the Son

Communed in silent walk, then laid him down

Under the hospitable covert nigh

Of trees thick interwoven. There he slept,

And dreamed, as appetite is wont to dream,

Of meats and drinks, nature’s refreshment sweet.

Him thought he by the brook of Cherith stood,

And saw the ravens with their horny beaks

Food to Elijah bringing even and morn—

Though ravenous, taught to abstain from what they brought;

He saw the Prophet also, how he fled

Into the desert, and how there he slept

Under a juniper—then how, awaked,

He found his supper on the coals prepared,

And by the Angel was bid rise and eat,

And eat the second time after repose,

The strength whereof sufficed him forty days:

Sometimes that with Elijah he partook,

Or as a guest with Daniel at his pulse.

Thus wore out night; and now the herald Lark

Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry

The Morn’s approach, and greet her with his song.

As lightly from his grassy couch up rose

Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream;

Fasting he went to sleep, and fasting waked.

Up to a hill anon his steps he reared,

From whose high top to ken the prospect round,

If cottage were in view, sheep-cote, or herd;

But cottage, herd, or sheep-cote, none he saw—

Only in a bottom saw a pleasant grove,

With chaunt of tuneful birds resounding loud.

Thither he bent his way, determined there

To rest at noon, and entered soon the shade

High-roofed, and walks beneath, and alleys brown,

That opened in the midst a woody scene;

Nature’s own work it seemed (Nature taught Art),

And, to a superstitious eye, the haunt

Of wood-gods and wood-nymphs. He viewed it round;

When suddenly a man before him stood,

Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad,

As one in city or court or palace bred,

And with fair speech these words to him addressed:—

“With granted leave officious I return,

But much more wonder that the Son of God

In this wild solitude so long should bide,

Of all things destitute, and, well I know,

Not without hunger. Others of some note,

As story tells, have trod this wilderness:

The fugitive Bond-woman, with her son,

Outcast Nebaioth, yet found here relief

By a providing Angel; all the race

Of Israel here had famished, had not God

Rained from heaven manna; and that Prophet bold,

Native of Thebez, wandering here, was fed

Twice by a voice inviting him to eat.

Of thee these forty days none hath regard,

Forty and more deserted here indeed.”

To whom thus Jesus:—“What conclud’st thou hence—

They all had need; I, as thou seest, have none.”

“How hast thou hunger then—” Satan replied.

“Tell me, if food were now before thee set,

Wouldst thou not eat—” “Thereafter as I like

The giver,” answered Jesus. “Why should that

Cause thy refusal—” said the subtle Fiend.

“Hast thou not right to all created things—

Owe not all creatures, by just right, to thee

Duty and service, nor to stay till bid,

But tender all their power— Nor mention I

Meats by the law unclean, or offered first

To idols—those young Daniel could refuse;

Nor proffered by an enemy—though who

Would scruple that, with want oppressed— Behold,

Nature ashamed, or, better to express,

Troubled, that thou shouldst hunger, hath purveyed

From all the elements her choicest store,

To treat thee as beseems, and as her Lord

With honour. Only deign to sit and eat.”

He spake no dream: for, as his words had end,

Our Saviour, lifting up his eyes, beheld,

In ample space under the broadest shade,

A table richly spread in regal mode,

With dishes piled and meats of noblest sort

And savour-beasts of chase, or fowl of game,

In pastry built, or from the spit, or boiled,

Grisamber-steamed; all fish, from sea or shore,

Freshet or purling brook, of shell or fin,

And exquisitest name, for which was drained

Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast

Alas! how simple, to these cates compared,

Was that crude Apple that diverted Eve!

And at a stately sideboard, by the wine,

That fragrant smell diffused, in order stood

Tall stripling youths rich-clad, of fairer hue

Than Ganymed or Hylas; distant more,

Under the trees now tripped, now solemn stood,

Nymphs of Diana’s train, and Naiades

With fruits and flowers from Amalthea’s horn,

And ladies of the Hesperides, that seemed

Fairer than feigned of old, or fabled since

Of faery damsels met in forest wide

By knights of Logres, or of Lyones,

Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore.

And all the while harmonious airs were heard

Of chiming strings or charming pipes; and winds

Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fanned

From their soft wings, and Flora’s earliest smells.

Such was the splendour; and the Tempter now

His invitation earnestly renewed:—

“What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat—

These are not fruits forbidden; no interdict

Defends the touching of these viands pure;

Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil,

But life preserves, destroys life’s enemy,

Hunger, with sweet restorative delight.

All these are Spirits of air, and woods, and springs,

Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay

Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their Lord.

What doubt’st thou, Son of God— Sit down and eat.”

To whom thus Jesus temperately replied:—

“Said’st thou not that to all things I had right—

And who withholds my power that right to use—

Shall I receive by gift what of my own,

When and where likes me best, I can command—

I can at will, doubt not, as soon as thou,

Command a table in this wilderness,

And call swift flights of Angels ministrant,

Arrayed in glory, on my cup to attend:

Why shouldst thou, then, obtrude this diligence

In vain, where no acceptance it can find—

And with my hunger what hast thou to do—

Thy pompous delicacies I contemn,

And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles.”

To whom thus answered Satan, malecontent:—

“That I have also power to give thou seest;

If of that power I bring thee voluntary

What I might have bestowed on whom I pleased,

And rather opportunely in this place

Chose to impart to thy apparent need,

Why shouldst thou not accept it— But I see

What I can do or offer is suspect.

Of these things others quickly will dispose,

Whose pains have earned the far-fet spoil.” With that

Both table and provision vanished quite,

With sound of harpies’ wings and talons heard;

Only the impor’tune Tempter still remained,

And with these words his temptation pursued:—

“By hunger, that each other creature tames,

Thou art not to be harmed, therefore not moved;

Thy temperance, invincible besides,

For no allurement yields to appetite;

And all thy heart is set on high designs,

High actions. But wherewith to be achieved—

Great acts require great means of enterprise;

Thou art unknown, unfriended, low of birth,

A carpenter thy father known, thyself

Bred up in poverty and straits at home,

Lost in a desert here and hunger-bit.

Which way, or from what hope, dost thou aspire

To greatness— whence authority deriv’st—

What followers, what retin’ue canst thou gain,

Or at thy heels the dizzy multitude,

Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost—

Money brings honour, friends, conquest, and realms.

What raised Antipater the Edomite,

And his son Herod placed on Juda’s throne,

Thy throne, but gold, that got him puissant friends—

Therefore, if at great things thou wouldst arrive,

Get riches first, get wealth, and treasure heap—

Not difficult, if thou hearken to me.

Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand;

They whom I favour thrive in wealth amain,

While virtue, valour, wisdom, sit in want.”

To whom thus Jesus patiently replied:—

“Yet wealth without these three is impotent

To gain dominion, or to keep it gained—

Witness those ancient empires of the earth,

In highth of all their flowing wealth dissolved;

But men endued with these have oft attained,

In lowest poverty, to highest deeds—

Gideon, and Jephtha, and the shepherd lad

Whose offspring on the throne of Juda sate

So many ages, and shall yet regain

That seat, and reign in Israel without end.

Among the Heathen (for throughout the world

To me is not unknown what hath been done

Worthy of memorial) canst thou not remember

Quintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regulus—

For I esteem those names of men so poor,

Who could do mighty things, and could contemn

Riches, though offered from the hand of kings

And what in me seems wanting but that I

May also in this poverty as soon

Accomplish what they did, perhaps and more—

Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools,

The wise man’s cumbrance, if not snare; more apt

To slacken virtue and abate her edge

Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.

What if with like aversion I reject

Riches and realms! Yet not for that a crown,

Golden in shew, is but a wreath of thorns,

Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights,

To him who wears the regal diadem,

When on his shoulders each man’s burden lies;

For therein stands the office of a king,

His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise,

That for the public all this weight he bears.

Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules

Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king—

Which every wise and virtuous man attains;

And who attains not, ill aspires to rule

Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes,

Subject himself to anarchy within,

Or lawless passions in him, which he serves.

But to guide nations in the way of truth

By saving doctrine, and from error lead

To know, and, knowing, worship God aright,

Is yet more kingly. This attracts the soul,

Governs the inner man, the nobler part;

That other o’er the body only reigns,

And oft by force—which to a generous mind

So reigning can be no sincere delight.

Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought

Greater and nobler done, and to lay down

Far more magnanimous, than to assume.

Riches are needless, then, both for themselves,

And for thy reason why they should be sought—

To gain a sceptre, oftest better missed.”

Paradise Regained— The Third Book

SO SPAKE the Son of God; and Satan stood

A while as mute, confounded what to say,

What to reply, confuted and convinced

Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift;

At length, collecting all his serpent wiles,

With soothing words renewed, him thus accosts:—

“I see thou know’st what is of use to know,

What best to say canst say, to do canst do;

Thy actions to thy words accord; thy words

To thy large heart give utterance due; thy heart

Contains of good, wise, just, the perfet shape.

Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult,

Thy counsel would be as the oracle

Urim and Thummim, those oraculous gems

On Aaron’s breast, or tongue of Seers old

Infallible; or, wert thou sought to deeds

That might require the array of war, thy skill

Of conduct would be such that all the world

Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist

In battle, though against thy few in arms.

These godlike virtues wherefore dost thou

Affecting private life, or more obscure

In savage wilderness, wherefore deprive

All Earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself

The fame and glory—glory, the reward

That sole excites to high attempts the flame

Of most erected spirits, most tempered pure

AEthereal, who all pleasures else despise,

All treasures and all gain esteem as dross,

And dignities and powers, all but the highest—

Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe. The son

Of Macedonian Philip had ere these

Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held

At his dispose; young Scipio had brought down

The Carthaginian pride; young Pompey quelled

The Pontic king, and in triumph’ had rode.

Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature,

Quench not the thirst of glory, but augment.

Great Julius, whom now all the world admires,

The more he grew in years, the more inflamed

With glory, wept that he had lived so long

Inglorious. But thou yet art not too late.”

To whom our Saviour calmly thus replied:—

“Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth

For empire’s sake, nor empire to affect

For glory’s sake, by all thy argument.

For what is glory but the blaze of fame,

The people’s praise, if always praise unmixed—

And what the people but a herd confused,

A miscellaneous rabble, who extol

Things vulgar, and, well weighed, scarce worth the praise—

They praise and they admire they know not what,

And know not whom, but as one leads the other;

And what delight to be by such extolled,

To live upon their tongues, and be their talk—

Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise—

His lot who dares be singularly good.

The intelligent among them and the wise

Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised.

This is true glory and renown—when God,

Looking on the Earth, with approbation marks

The just man, and divulges him through Heaven

To all his Angels, who with true applause

Recount his praises. Thus he did to Job,

When, to extend his fame through Heaven and Earth,

As thou to thy reproach may’st well remember,

He asked thee, ‘Hast thou seen my servant Job—’

Famous he was in Heaven; on Earth less known,

Where glory is false glory, attributed

To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame.

They err who count it glorious to subdue

By conquest far and wide, to overrun

Large countries, and in field great battles win,

Great cities by assault. What do these worthies

But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave

Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,

Made captive, yet deserving freedom more

Than those their conquerors, who leave behind

Nothing but ruin wheresoe’er they rove,

And all the flourishing works of peace destroy;

Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods,

Great Benefactors of mankind, Deliverers,

Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice—

One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other;

Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men,

Rowling in brutish vices, and deformed,

Violent or shameful death their due reward.

But, if there be in glory aught of good;

It may by means far different be attained,

Without ambition, war, or violence—

By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,

By patience, temperance. I mention still

Him whom thy wrongs, with saintly patience borne,

Made famous in a land and times obscure;

Who names not now with honour patient Job—

Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable—)

By what he taught and suffered for so doing,

For truth’s sake suffering death unjust, lives now

Equal in fame to proudest conquerors.

Yet, if for fame and glory aught be done,

Aught suffered—if young African for fame

His wasted country freed from Punic rage—

The deed becomes unpraised, the man at least,

And loses, though but verbal, his reward.

Shall I seek glory, then, as vain men seek,

Oft not deserved— I seek not mine, but His

Who sent me, and thereby witness whence I am.”

To whom the Tempter, murmuring, thus replied:

“Think not so slight of glory, therein least

Resembling thy great Father. He seeks glory,

And for his glory all things made, all things

Orders and governs; nor content in Heaven,

By all his Angels glorified, requires

Glory from men, from all men, good or bad,

Wise or unwise, no difference, no exemption.

Above all sacrifice, or hallowed gift,

Glory he requires, and glory he receives,

Promiscuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek,

Or Barbarous, nor exception hath declared;

From us, his foes pronounced, glory he exacts.”

To whom our Saviour fervently replied:

“And reason; since his Word all things produced,

Though chiefly not for glory as prime end,

But to shew forth his goodness, and impart

His good communicable to every soul

Freely; of whom what could He less expect

Than glory and benediction—that is, thanks—

The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense

From them who could return him nothing else,

And, not returning that, would likeliest render

Contempt instead, dishonour, obloquy—

Hard recompense, unsuitable return

For so much good, so much beneficence!

But why should man seek glory, who of his own

Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs

But condemnation, ignominy, and shame—

Who, for so many benefits received,

Turned recreant to God, ingrate and false,

And so of all true good himself despoiled;

Yet, sacrilegious, to himself would take

That which to God alone of right belongs—

Yet so much bounty is in God, such grace,

That who advance his glory, not their own,

Them he himself to glory will advance.”

So spake the Son of God; and here again

Satan had not to answer, but stood struck

With guilt of his own sin—for he himself,

Insatiable of glory, had lost all;

Yet of another plea bethought him soon:—

“Of glory, as thou wilt,” said he, “so deem;

Worth or not worth the seeking, let it pass.

But to a Kingdom thou art born—ordained

To sit upon thy father David’s throne,

By mother’s side thy father, though thy right

Be now in powerful hands, that will not part

Easily from possession won with arms.

Judaea now and all the Promised Land,

Reduced a province under Roman yoke,

Obeys Tiberius, nor is always ruled

With temperate sway: oft have they violated

The Temple, oft the Law, with foul affronts,

Abominations rather, as did once

Antiochus. And think’st thou to regain

Thy right by sitting still, or thus retiring—

So did not Machabeus. He indeed

Retired unto the Desert, but with arms;

And o’er a mighty king so oft prevailed

That by strong hand his family obtained,

Though priests, the crown, and David’s throne usurped,

With Modin and her suburbs once content.

If kingdom move thee not, let move thee zeal

And duty—zeal and duty are not slow,

But on Occasion’s forelock watchful wait:

They themselves rather are occasion best—

Zeal of thy Father’s house, duty to free

Thy country from her heathen servitude.

So shalt thou best fulfil, best verify,

The Prophets old, who sung thy endless reign—

The happier reign the sooner it begins.

Reign then; what canst thou better do the while—”

To whom our Saviour answer thus returned:—

“All things are best fulfilled in their due time;

And time there is for all things, Truth hath said.

If of my reign Prophetic Writ hath told

That it shall never end, so, when begin

The Father in his purpose hath decreed—

He in whose hand all times and seasons rowl.

What if he hath decreed that I shall first

Be tried in humble state, and things adverse,

By tribulations, injuries, insults,

Contempts, and scorns, and snares, and violence,

Suffering, abstaining, quietly expecting

Without distrust or doubt, that He may know

What I can suffer, how obey— Who best

Can suffer best can do, best reign who first

Well hath obeyed—just trial ere I merit

My exaltation without change or end.

But what concerns it thee when I begin

My everlasting Kingdom— Why art thou

Solicitous— What moves thy inquisition—

Know’st thou not that my rising is thy fall,

And my promotion will be thy destruction—”

To whom the Tempter, inly racked, replied:—

“Let that come when it comes. All hope is lost

Of my reception into grace; what worse—

For where no hope is left is left no fear.

If there be worse, the expectation more

Of worse torments me than the feeling can.

I would be at the worst; worst is my port,

My harbour, and my ultimate repose,

The end I would attain, my final good.

My error was my error, and my crime

My crime; whatever, for itself condemned,

And will alike be punished, whether thou

Reign or reign not—though to that gentle brow

Willingly I could fly, and hope thy reign,

From that placid aspect and meek regard,

Rather than aggravate my evil state,

Would stand between me and thy Father’s ire

(Whose ire I dread more than the fire of Hell)

A shelter and a kind of shading cool

Interposition, as a summer’s cloud.

If I, then, to the worst that can be haste,

Why move thy feet so slow to what is best—

Happiest, both to thyself and all the world,

That thou, who worthiest art, shouldst be their King!

Perhaps thou linger’st in deep thoughts detained

Of the enterprise so hazardous and high!

No wonder; for, though in thee be united

What of perfection can in Man be found,

Or human nature can receive, consider

Thy life hath yet been private, most part spent

At home, scarce viewed the Galilean towns,

And once a year Jerusalem, few days’

Short sojourn; and what thence couldst thou observe—

The world thou hast not seen, much less her glory,

Empires, and monarchs, and their radiant courts—

Best school of best experience, quickest in sight

In all things that to greatest actions lead.

The wisest, unexperienced, will be ever

Timorous, and loth, with novice modesty

(As he who, seeking asses, found a kingdom)

Irresolute, unhardy, unadventurous.

But I will bring thee where thou soon shalt quit

Those rudiments, and see before thine eyes

The monarchies of the Earth, their pomp and state—

Sufficient introduction to inform

Thee, of thyself so apt, in regal arts,

And regal mysteries; that thou may’st know

How best their opposition to withstand.”

With that (such power was given him then), he took

The Son of God up to a mountain high.

It was a mountain at whose verdant feet

A spacious plain outstretched in circuit wide

Lay pleasant; from his side two rivers flowed,

The one winding, the other straight, and left between

Fair champaign, with less rivers intervened,

Then meeting joined their tribute to the sea.

Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine;

With herds the pasture thronged, with flocks the hills;

Huge cities and high-towered, that well might seem

The seats of mightiest monarchs; and so large

The prospect was that here and there was room

For barren desert, fountainless and dry.

To this high mountain-top the Tempter brought

Our Saviour, and new train of words began:—

“Well have we speeded, and o’er hill and dale,

Forest, and field, and flood, temples and towers,

Cut shorter many a league. Here thou behold’st

Assyria, and her empire’s ancient bounds,

Araxes and the Caspian lake; thence on

As far as Indus east, Euphrates west,

And oft beyond; to south the Persian bay,

And, inaccessible, the Arabian drouth:

Here, Nineveh, of length within her wall

Several days’ journey, built by Ninus old,

Of that first golden monarchy the seat,

And seat of Salmanassar, whose success

Israel in long captivity still mourns;

There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues,

As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice

Judah and all thy father David’s house

Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste,

Till Cyrus set them free; Persepolis,

His city, there thou seest, and Bactra there;

Ecbatana her structure vast there shews,

And Hecatompylos her hundred gates;

There Susa by Choaspes, amber stream,

The drink of none but kings; of later fame,

Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands,

The great Seleucia, Nisibis, and there

Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon,

Turning with easy eye, thou may’st behold.

All these the Parthian (now some ages past

By great Arsaces led, who founded first

That empire) under his dominion holds,

From the luxurious kings of Antioch won.

And just in time thou com’st to have a view

Of his great power; for now the Parthian king

In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host

Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild

Have wasted Sogdiana; to her aid

He marches now in haste. See, though from far,

His thousands, in what martial equipage

They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms,

Of equal dread in flight or in pursuit—

All horsemen, in which flight they must excel;

See how in warlike muster they appear,

In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and wings.”

He looked, and saw what numbers numberless

The city gates outpoured, light-armed troops

In coats of mail and military pride.

In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong,

Prauncing their riders bore, the flower and choice

Of many provinces from bound to bound—

From Arachosia, from Candaor east,

And Margiana, to the Hyrcanian cliffs

Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales;

From Atropatia, and the neighbouring plains

Of Adiabene, Media, and the south

Of Susiana, to Balsara’s haven.

He saw them in their forms of battle ranged,

How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them shot

Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face

Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight;

The field all iron cast a gleaming brown.

Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor, on each horn,

Cuirassiers all in steel for standing flight,

Chariots, or elephants indorsed with towers

Of archers; nor of labouring pioners

A multitude, with spades and axes armed,

To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill,

Or where plain was raise hill, or overlay

With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke:

Mules after these, camels and dromedaries,

And waggons fraught with utensils of war.

Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp,

When Agrican, with all his northern powers,

Besieged Albracca, as romances tell,

The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win

The fairest of her sex, Angelica,

His daughter, sought by many prowest knights,

Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemane.

Such and so numerous was their chivalry;

At sight whereof the Fiend yet more presumed,

And to our Saviour thus his words renewed:—

“That thou may’st know I seek not to engage

Thy virtue, and not every way secure

On no slight grounds thy safety, hear and mark

To what end I have brought thee hither, and shew

All this fair sight. Thy kingdom, though foretold

By Prophet or by Angel, unless thou

Endeavour, as thy father David did,

Thou never shalt obtain: prediction still

In all things, and all men, supposes means;

Without means used, what it predicts revokes.

But say thou wert possessed of David’s throne

By free consent of all, none opposite,

Samaritan or Jew; how couldst thou hope

Long to enjoy it quiet and secure

Between two such enclosing enemies,

Roman and Parthian— Therefore one of these

Thou must make sure thy own: the Parthian first,

By my advice, as nearer, and of late

Found able by invasion to annoy

Thy country, and captive lead away her kings,

Antigonus and old Hyrcanus, bound,

Maugre the Roman. It shall be my task

To render thee the Parthian at dispose,

Choose which thou wilt, by conquest or by league.

By him thou shalt regain, without him not,

That which alone can truly reinstall thee

In David’s royal seat, his true successor—

Deliverance of thy brethren, those Ten Tribes

Whose offspring in his territory yet serve

In Habor, and among the Medes dispersed:

Ten sons of Jacob, two of Joseph, lost

Thus long from Israel, serving, as of old

Their fathers in the land of Egypt served,

This offer sets before thee to deliver.

These if from servitude thou shalt restore

To their inheritance, then, nor till then,

Thou on the throne of David in full glory,

From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond,

Shalt reign, and Rome or Caesar not need fear.”

To whom our Saviour answered thus, unmoved:—

“Much ostentation vain of fleshly arm

And fragile arms, much instrument of war,

Long in preparing, soon to nothing brought,

Before mine eyes thou hast set, and in my ear

Vented much policy, and projects deep

Of enemies, of aids, battles, and leagues,

Plausible to the world, to me worth naught.

Means I must use, thou say’st; prediction else

Will unpredict, and fail me of the throne!

My time, I told thee (and that time for thee

Were better farthest off), is not yet come.

When that comes, think not thou to find me slack

On my part aught endeavouring, or to need

Thy politic maxims, or that cumbersome

Luggage of war there shewn me—argument

Of human weakness rather than of strength.

My brethren, as thou call’st them, those Ten Tribes,

I must deliver, if I mean to reign

David’s true heir, and his full sceptre sway

To just extent over all Israel’s sons!

But whence to thee this zeal— Where was it then

For Israel, or for David, or his throne,

When thou stood’st up his tempter to the pride

Of numbering Israel—which cost the lives

Of threescore and ten thousand Israelites

By three days’ pestilence— Such was thy zeal

To Israel then, the same that now to me.

As for those captive tribes, themselves were they

Who wrought their own captivity, fell off

From God to worship calves, the deities

Of Egypt, Baal next and Ashtaroth,

And all the idolatries of heathen round,

Besides their other worse than heathenish crimes;

Nor in the land of their captivity

Humbled themselves, or penitent besought

The God of their forefathers, but so died

Impenitent, and left a race behind

Like to themselves, distinguishable scarce

From Gentiles, but by circumcision vain,

And God with idols in their worship joined.

Should I of these the liberty regard,

Who, freed, as to their ancient patrimony,

Unhumbled, unrepentant, unreformed,

Headlong would follow, and to their gods perhaps

Of Bethel and of Dan— No; let them serve

Their enemies who serve idols with God.

Yet He at length, time to himself best known,

Remembering Abraham, by some wondrous call

May bring them back, repentant and sincere,

And at their passing cleave the Assyrian flood,

While to their native land with joy they haste,

As the Red Sea and Jordan once he cleft,

When to the Promised Land their fathers passed.

To his due time and providence I leave them.”

So spake Israel’s true King, and to the Fiend

Made answer meet, that made void all his wiles.

So fares it when with truth falsehood contends.

Paradise Regained— The Fourth Book

PERPLEXED and troubled at his bad success

The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,

Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope

So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric

That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve,

So little here, nay lost. But Eve was Eve;

This far his over-match, who, self-deceived

And rash, beforehand had no better weighed

The strength he was to cope with, or his own.

But—as a man who had been matchless held

In cunning, over-reached where least he thought,

To salve his credit, and for very spite,

Still will be tempting him who foils him still,

And never cease, though to his shame the more;

Or as a swarm of flies in vintage-time,

About the wine-press where sweet must is poured,

Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;

Or surging waves against a solid rock,

Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew,

(Vain battery!) and in froth or bubbles end—

So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse

Met ever, and to shameful silence brought,

Yet gives not o’er, though desperate of success,

And his vain importunity pursues.

He brought our Saviour to the western side

Of that high mountain, whence he might behold

Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide,

Washed by the southern sea, and on the north

To equal length backed with a ridge of hills

That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men

From cold Septentrion blasts; thence in the midst

Divided by a river, off whose banks

On each side an Imperial City stood,

With towers and temples proudly elevate

On seven small hills, with palaces adorned,

Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts,

Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs,

Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes

Above the highth of mountains interposed—

By what strange parallax, or optic skill

Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass

Of telescope, were curious to enquire.

And now the Tempter thus his silence broke:—

“The city which thou seest no other deem

Than great and glorious Rome, Queen of the Earth

So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched

Of nations. There the Capitol thou seest,

Above the rest lifting his stately head

On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel

Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine,

The imperial palace, compass huge, and high

The structure, skill of noblest architects,

With gilded battlements, conspicuous far,

Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires.

Many a fair edifice besides, more like

Houses of gods—so well I have disposed

My aerie microscope—thou may’st behold,

Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs

Carved work, the hand of famed artificers

In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold.

Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see

What conflux issuing forth, or entering in:

Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces

Hasting, or on return, in robes of state;

Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power;

Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings;

Or embassies from regions far remote,

In various habits, on the Appian road,

Or on the AEmilian—some from farthest south,

Syene, and where the shadow both way falls,

Meroë, Nilotic isle, and, more to west,

The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea;

From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these),

From India and the Golden Chersoness,

And utmost Indian isle Taprobane,

Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed;

From Gallia, Gades, and the British west;

Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north

Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.

All nations now to Rome obedience pay—

To Rome’s great Emperor, whose wide domain,

In ample territory, wealth and power,

Civility of manners, arts and arms,

And long renown, thou justly may’st prefer

Before the Parthian. These two thrones except,

The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight,

Shared among petty kings too far removed;

These having shewn thee, I have shewn thee all

The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory.

This Emperor hath no son, and now is old,

Old and lascivious, and from Rome retired

To Capreae, an island small but strong

On the Campanian shore, with purpose there

His horrid lusts in private to enjoy;

Committing to a wicked favourite

All public cares, and yet of him suspicious;

Hated of all, and hating. With what ease,

Endued with regal virtues as thou art,

Appearing, and beginning noble deeds,

Might’st thou expel this monster from his throne,

Now made a sty, and, in his place ascending,

A victor-people free from servile yoke!

And with my help thou may’st; to me the power

Is given, and by that right I give it thee.

Aim, therefore, at no less than all the world;

Aim at the highest; without the highest attained,

Will be for thee no sitting, or not long,

On David’s throne, be prophesied what will.”

To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied:—

“Nor doth this grandeur and majestic shew

Of luxury, though called magnificence,

More than of arms before, allure mine eye,

Much less my mind; though thou should’st add to tell

Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts

On citron tables or Atlantic stone

(For I have also heard, perhaps have read),

Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne,

Chios and Crete, and how they quaff in gold,

Crystal, and myrrhine cups, imbossed with gems

And studs of pearl—to me should’st tell, who thirst

And hunger still. Then embassies thou shew’st

From nations far and nigh! What honour that,

But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear

So many hollow compliments and lies,

Outlandish flatteries— Then proceed’st to talk

Of the Emperor, how easily subdued,

How gloriously. I shall, thou say’st, expel

A brutish monster: what if I withal

Expel a Devil who first made him such—

Let his tormentor, Conscience, find him out;

For him I was not sent, nor yet to free

That people, victor once, now vile and base,

Deservedly made vassal—who, once just,

Frugal and mild, and temperate, conquered well,

But govern ill the nations under yoke,

Peeling their provinces, exhausted all

By lust and rapine; first ambitious grown

Of triumph, that insulting vanity;

Then cruel, by their sports to blood inured

Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts exposed;

Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier still,

And from the daily Scene effeminate.

What wise and valiant man would seek to free

These, thus degenerate, by themselves enslaved,

Or could of inward slaves make outward free—

Know, therefore, when my season comes to sit

On David’s throne, it shall be like a tree

Spreading and overshadowing all the earth,

Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash

All monarchies besides throughout the world;

And of my Kingdom there shall be no end.

Means there shall be to this; but what the means

Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell.”

To whom the Tempter, impudent, replied:—

“I see all offers made by me how slight

Thou valuest, because offered, and reject’st.

Nothing will please the difficult and nice,

Or nothing more than still to contradict.

On the other side know also thou that I

On what I offer set as high esteem,

Nor what I part with mean to give for naught.

All these, which in a moment thou behold’st,

The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give

(For, given to me, I give to whom I please),

No trifle; yet with this reserve, not else—

On this condition, if thou wilt fall down,

And worship me as thy superior Lord

(Easily done), and hold them all of me;

For what can less so great a gift deserve—”

Whom thus our Saviour answered with disdain:—

“I never liked thy talk, thy offers less;

Now both abhor, since thou hast dared to utter

The abominable terms, impious condition.

But I endure the time, till which expired

Thou hast permission on me. It is written,

The first of all commandments, ‘Thou shalt worship

The Lord thy God, and only Him shalt serve;’

And dar’st thou to the Son of God propound

To worship thee, accursed— now more accursed

For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve,

And more blasphémous; which expect to rue.

The kingdoms of the world to thee were given!

Permitted rather, and by thee usurped;

Other donation none thou canst produce.

If given, by whom but by the King of kings,

God over all supreme— If given to thee,

By thee how fairly is the Giver now

Repaid! But gratitude in thee is lost

Long since. Wert thou so void of fear or shame

As offer them to me, the Son of God—

To me my own, on such abhorred pact,

That I fall down and worship thee as God—

Get thee behind me! Plain thou now appear’st

That Evil One, Satan for ever damned.”

To whom the Fiend, with fear abashed, replied:—

“Be not so sore offended, Son of God—

Though Sons of God both Angels are and Men—

If I, to try whether in higher sort

Than these thou bear’st that title, have proposed

What both from Men and Angels I receive,

Tetrarchs of Fire, Air, Flood, and on the Earth

Nations besides from all the quartered winds—

God of this World invoked, and World beneath.

Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold

To me most fatal, me it most concerns.

The trial hath indamaged thee no way,

Rather more honour left and more esteem;

Me naught advantaged, missing what I aimed.

Therefore let pass, as they are transitory,

The kingdoms of this world; I shall nor more

Advise thee; gain them as thou canst, or not.

And thou thyself seem’st otherwise inclined

Than to a worldly crown, addicted more

To contemplation and profound dispute;

As by that early action may be judged,

When, slipping from thy mother’s eye, thou went’st

Alone into the Temple, there wast found

Among the gravest Rabbies, disputant

On points and questions fitting Moses’ chair,

Teaching, not taught. The childhood shews the man,

As morning shews the day. Be famous, then,

By wisdom; as thy empire must extend,

So let extend thy mind o’er all the world

In knowledge; all things in it comprehend.

All knowledge is not couched in Moses’ law,

The Pentateuch, or what the Prophets wrote;

The Gentiles also know, and write, and teach

To admiration, led by Nature’s light;

And with the Gentiles much thou must converse,

Ruling them by persuasion, as thou mean’st.

Without their learning, how wilt thou with them,

Or they with thee, hold conversation meet—

How wilt thou reason with them, how refute

Their idolisms, traditions, paradoxes—

Error by his own arms is best evinced.

Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount,

Westward, much nearer by south-west; behold

Where on the gean shore a city stands,

Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil—

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts

And eloquence, native to famous wits

Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,

City of suburban, studious walks and shades.

See there the olive-grove of Academe,

Plato’s retirement, where the Attic bird

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long;

There, flowery hill, Hymettus, with the sound

Of bees’ industrious murmur, oft invites

To studious musing; there Ilissus rowls

His whispering stream. Within the walls then view

The schools of ancient sages—his who bred

Great Alexander to subdue the world,

Lyceum there; and painted Stoa next.

There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power

Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit

By voice or hand, and various-measured verse,

AEolian charms and Dorian lyric odes,

And his who gave them breath, but higher sung,

Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called,

Whose poem Phbus challenged for his own.

Thence what the lofty grave Tragedians taught

In chorus or iambic, teachers best

Of moral prudence, with delight received

In brief sententious precepts, while they treat

Of fate, and chance, and change in human life,

High actions and high passions best describing.

Thence to the famous Orators repair,

Those ancient whose resistless eloquence

Wielded at will that fierce democraty,

Shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece

To Macedon and Artaxerxes’ throne.

To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear,

From heaven descended to the low-roofed house

Of Socrates—see there his tenement—

Whom, well inspired, the Oracle pronounced

Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued forth

Mellifluous streams, that watered all the schools

Of Academics old and new, with those

Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect

Epicurean, and the Stoic severe.

These here revolve, or, as thou likest, at home,

Till time mature thee to a kingdom’s weight;

These rules will render thee a king complete

Within thyself, much more with empire joined.”

To whom our Saviour sagely thus replied:—

“Think not but that I know these things; or, think

I know them not, not therefore am I short

Of knowing what I ought. He who receives

Light from above, from the Fountain of Light,

No other doctrine needs, though granted true;

But these are false, or little else but dreams,

Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.

The first and wisest of them all professed

To know this only, that he nothing knew;

The next to fabling fell and smooth conceits;

A third sort doubted all things, though plain sense;

Others in virtue placed felicity,

But virtue joined with riches and long life;

In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease;

The Stoic last in philosophic pride,

By him called virtue, and his virtuous man,

Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessing,

Equal to God, oft shames not to prefer,

As fearing God nor man, contemning all

Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life—

Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can;

For all his tedious talk is but vain boast,

Or subtle shifts conviction to evade.

Alas! what can they teach, and not mislead,

Ignorant of themselves, of God much more,

And how the World began, and how Man fell,

Degraded by himself, on grace depending—

Much of the Soul they talk, but all awry;

And in themselves seek virtue; and to themselves

All glory arrogate, to God give none;

Rather accuse him under usual names,

Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite

Of mortal things. Who, therefore, seeks in these

True wisdom finds her not, or by delusion

Far worse, her false resemblance only meets,

An empty cloud. However, many books,

Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads

Incessantly, and to his reading brings not

A spirit and judgment equal or superior,

(And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek—)

Uncertain and unsettled still remains,

Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself,

Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys

And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge,

As children gathering pebbles on the shore.

Or, if I would delight my private hours

With music or with poem, where so soon

As in our native language can I find

That solace— All our Law and Story strewed

With hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscribed,

Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon

That pleased so well our victor’s ear, declare

That rather Greece from us there arts derived—

Ill imitated while they loudest sing

The vices of their deities, and their own,

In fable, hymn, or song, so personating

Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame.

Remove their swelling epithetes, thick-laid

As varnish on a harlot’s cheek, the rest

Thin-sown with aught of profit or delight,

Will far be found unworthy to compare

With Sion’s songs, to all true tastes excelling,

Where God is praised aright and godlike men,

The Holiest of Holies and his Saints

(Such are from God inspired, not such from thee);

Unless where moral virtue is expressed

By light of Nature, not in all quite lost.

Their orators thou then extoll’st as those

The top of eloquence—statists indeed,

And lovers of their country, as may seem;

But herein to our Prophets far beneath,

As men divinely taught, and better teaching

The solid rules of civil government,

In their majestic, unaffected style,

Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome.

In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt,

What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so,

What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat;

These only, with our Law, best form a king.”

So spake the Son of God; but Satan, now

Quite at a loss (for all his darts were spent),

Thus to our Saviour, with stern brow, replied:—

“Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts,

Kingdom nor empire, pleases thee, nor aught

By me proposed in life contemplative

Or active, tended on by glory or fame,

What dost thou in this world— The Wilderness

For thee is fittest place: I found thee there,

And thither will return thee. Yet remember

What I foretell thee; soon thou shalt have cause

To wish thou never hadst rejected, thus

Nicely or cautiously, my offered aid,

Which would have set thee in short time with ease

On David’s throne, or throne of all the world,

Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season,

When prophecies of thee are best fulfilled.

Now, contrary—if I read aught in heaven,

Or heaven write aught of fate—by what the stars

Voluminous, or single characters

In their conjunction met, give me to spell,

Sorrows and labours, opposition, hate,

Attend thee; scorns, reproaches, injuries,

Violence and stripes, and, lastly, cruel death.

A kingdom they portend thee, but what kingdom,

Real or allegoric, I discern not;

Nor when: eternal sure—as without end,

Without beginning; for no date prefixed

Directs me in the starry rubric set.”

So saying, he took (for still he knew his power

Not yet expired), and to the Wilderness

Brought back, the Son of God, and left him there,

Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose,

As daylight sunk, and brought in louring Night,

Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both,

Privation mere of light and absent day.

Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind

After his aerie jaunt, though hurried sore,

Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest,

Wherever, under some concourse of shades,

Whose branching arms thick intertwined might shield

From dews and damps of night his sheltered head;

But, sheltered, slept in vain; for at his head

The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly dreams

Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic now

’Gan thunder, and both ends of heaven; the clouds

From many a horrid rift abortive poured

Fierce rain with lightning mixed, water with fire

In ruin reconciled; nor slept the winds

Within their stony caves, but rushed abroad

From the four hinges of the world, and fell

On the vexed wilderness, whose tallest pines,

Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest oaks,

Bowed their stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts,

Or torn up sheer. Ill was thou shrouded then,

O patient Son of God, yet only stood’st

Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror there:

Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round

Environed thee; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked,

Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou

Sat’st unappalled in calm and sinless peace.

Thus passed the night so foul, till Morning fair

Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice grey,

Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar

Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds,

And griesly spectres, which the Fiend had raised

To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.

And now the sun with more effectual beams

Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet

From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds,

Who all things now behold more fresh and green,

After a night of storm so ruinous,

Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray,

To gratulate the sweet return of morn.

Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn,

Was absent, after all his mischief done,

The Prince of Darkness; glad would also seem

Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came;

Yet with no new device (they all were spent),

Rather by this his last affront resolved,

Desperate of better course, to vent his rage

And mad despite to be so oft repelled.

Him walking on a sunny hill he found,

Backed on the north and west by a thick wood;

Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape,

And in a careless mood thus to him said:—

“Fair morning yet betides thee, Son of God,

After a dismal night. I heard the wrack,

As earth and sky would mingle; but myself

Was distant; and these flaws, though mortals fear them,

As dangerous to the pillared frame of Heaven,

Or to the Earth’s dark basis underneath,

Are to the main as inconsiderable

And harmless, if not wholesome, as a sneeze

To man’s less universe, and soon are gone.

Yet, as being ofttimes noxious where they light

On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbulent,

Like turbulencies in the affairs of men,

Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point,

They oft fore-signify and threaten ill.

This tempest at this desert most was bent;

Of men at thee, for only thou here dwell’st.

Did I not tell thee, if thou didst reject

The perfect season offered with my aid

To win thy destined seat, but wilt prolong

All to the push of fate, pursue thy way

Of gaining David’s throne no man knows when

(For both the when and how is nowhere told),

Thou shalt be what thou art ordained, no doubt;

For Angels have proclaimed it, but concealing

The time and means— Each act is rightliest done

Not when it must, but when it may be best.

If thou observe not this, be sure to find

What I foretold thee—many a hard assay

Of dangers, and adversities, and pains,

Ere thou of Israel’s sceptre get fast hold;

Whereof this ominous night that closed thee round,

So many terrors, voices, prodigies,

May warn thee, as a sure foregoing sign.”

So talked he, while the Son of God went on,

And staid not, but in brief him answered thus:—

“Me worse than wet thou find’st not; other harm

Those terrors which thou speak’st of did me none

, never feared they could, though noising loud

And threatening nigh: what they can do as signs

Betokening or ill-boding I contemn

As false portents, not sent from God, but thee;

Who, knowing I shall reign past thy preventing,

Obtrud’st thy offered aid, that I, accepting,

At least might seem to hold all power of thee,

Ambitious Spirit! and would’st be thought my God;

And storm’st, refused, thinking to terrify

Me to thy will! Desist (thou art discerned,

And toil’st in vain), nor me in vain molest.”

To whom the Fiend, now swoln with rage, replied:—

“Then hear, O Son of David, virgin-born!

For Son of God to me is yet in doubt.

Of the Messiah I have heard foretold

By all the Prophets; of thy birth, at length

Announced by Gabriel, with the first I knew,

And of the angelic song in Bethlehem field,

On thy birth-night, that sung thee Saviour born.

From that time seldom have I ceased to eye

Thy infancy, thy childhood, and thy youth,

Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred;

Till, at the ford of Jordan, whither all

Flocked to the Baptist, I among the rest

(Though not to be baptized), by voice from Heaven

Heard thee pronounced the Son of God beloved.

Thenceforth I thought thee worth my nearer view

And narrower scrutiny, that I might learn

In what degree or meaning thou art called

The Son of God, which bears no single sense.

The Son of God I also am, or was;

And, if I was, I am; relation stands:

All men are Sons of God; yet thee I thought

In some respect far higher so declared.

Therefore, I watched thy footsteps from that hour,

And followed thee still on to this waste wild,

Where, by all best conjectures, I collect

Thou art to be my fatal enemy.

Good reason, then, if I beforehand seek

To understand my adversary, who

And what he is; his wisdom, power, intent;

By parle or composition, truce or league,

To win him, or win from him what I can.

And opportunity I here have had

To try thee, sift thee, and confess have found thee

Proof against all temptation, as a rock

Of adamant and as a centre, firm

To the utmost of mere man both wise and good,

Not more; for honours, riches, kingdoms, glory,

Have been before contemned, and may again.

Therefore, to know what more thou art than man,

Worth naming Son of God by voice from Heaven,

Another method I must now begin.”

So saying, he caught him up, and, without wing

Of hippogrif, bore through the air sublime,

Over the wilderness and o’er the plain,

Till underneath them fair Jerusalem,

The Holy City, lifted high her towers,

And higher yet the glorious Temple reared

Her pile, far off appearing like a mount

Of alabaster, topt with golden spires:

There, on the highest pinnacle, he set

The Son of God, and added thus in scorn:—

“There stand, if thou wilt stand; to stand upright

Will ask thee skill. I to thy Father’s house

Have brought thee, and highest placed: highest is best.

Now shew thy progeny; if not to stand,

Cast thyself down. Safely, if Son of God;

For it is written, ‘He will give command

Concerning thee to his Angels; in their hands

They shall uplift thee, lest at any time

Thou chance to dash thy foot against a stone.’“

To whom thus Jesus: “Also it is written,

‘Tempt not the Lord thy God.’“ He said, and stood;

But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell.

As when Earth’s son, Antaeus (to compare

Small things with greatest), in Irassa strove

With Jove’s Alcides, and, oft foiled, still rose,

Receiving from his mother Earth new strength,

Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple joined,

Throttled at length in the air expired and fell,

So, after many a foil, the Tempter proud,

Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride

Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall;

And, as that Theban monster that proposed

Her riddle, and him who solved it not devoured,

That once found out and solved, for grief and spite

Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep,

So, strook with dread and anguish, fell the Fiend,

And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought

Joyless triumphals of his hoped success,

Ruin, and desperation, and dismay,

Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God.

So Satan fell; and straight a fiery globe

Of Angels on full sail of wing flew nigh,

Who on their plumy vans received Him soft

From his uneasy station, and upbore,

As on a floating couch, through the blithe air;

Then, in a flowery valley, set him down

On a green bank, and set before him spread

A table of celestial food, divine

Ambrosial fruits fetched from the Tree of Life,

And from the Fount of Life ambrosial drink,

That soon refreshed him wearied, and repaired

What hunger, if aught hunger, had impaired,

Or thirst; and, as he fed, Angelic quires

Sung heavenly anthems of his victory

Over temptation and the Tempter proud:—

“True Image of the Father, whether throned

In the bosom of bliss, and light of light

Conceiving, or, remote from Heaven, enshrined

In fleshly tabernacle and human form,

Wandering the wilderness—whatever place,

Habit, or state, or motion, still expressing

The Son of God, with Godlike force endued

Against the attempter of thy Father’s throne

And thief of Paradise! Him long of old

Thou didst debel, and down from Heaven cast

With all his army; now thou hast avenged

Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing

Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise,

And frustrated the conquest fraudulent.

He never more henceforth will dare set foot

In Paradise to tempt; his snares are broke.

For, though that seat of earthly bliss be failed,

A fairer Paradise is founded now

For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou,

A Saviour, art come down to reinstall;

Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall be,

Of tempter and temptation without fear.

But thou, Infernal Serpent! shalt not long

Rule in the clouds. Like an autumnal star,

Or lighting, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod down

Under his feet. For proof, ere this thou fell’st

Thy wound (yet not thy last and deadliest wound)

By this repulse received, and hold’st in Hell

No triumph; in all her gates Abaddon rues

Thy bold attempt. Hereafter learn with awe

To dread the Son of God. He, all unarmed,

Shall chase thee, with the terror of his voice,

From thy demoniac holds, possession foul—

Thee and thy legions; yelling they shall fly,

And beg to hide them in a herd of swine,

Lest he command them down into the Deep,

Bound, and to torment sent before their time.

Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both Worlds,

Queller of Satan! On thy glorious work

Now enter, and begin to save Mankind.”

Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meek,

Sung victor, and, from heavenly feast refreshed,

Brought on his way with joy. He, unobserved,

Home to his mother’s house private returned.

Samson Agonistes

Milton’s Introduction to Samson Agonistes

It suffices if the whole drama be found not produced beyond the fifth act. Of the style and uniformity, and that commonly called the plot, whether intricate or explicit—which is nothing indeed but such oe;conomy, or disposition of the fable, as may stand best with verisimilitude and decorum—they only will best judge who are not unacquainted with AEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the three tragic poets unequalled yet by any, and the best rule to all who endeavour to write Tragedy. The circumscription of time, wherein the whole drama begins and ends, is, according to ancient rule and best example, within the space of twenty-four hours.

Aristot. Poet. cap. 6. [Greek], &c.—Tragdia est imitatio actionis seriae, &c., per misericordiam et metum perficiens talium affectuum lustrationem.

Of That Sort of Dramatic Poem Called Tragedy

TRAGEDY, as it was anciently composed, hath been ever held the gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other Poems; therefore said by Aristotle to be of power, by raising pity and fear, or terror, to purge the mind of those and such-like passions—that is, to temper and reduce them to just measure with a kind of delight, stirred up by reading or seeing those passions well imitated. Nor is Nature wanting in her own effects to make good his assertion; for so, in Physic, things of melancholic hue and quality are used against melancholy, sour against sour, salt to remove salt humours. Hence philosophers and other gravest writers, as Cicero, Plutarch, and others, frequently cite out of tragic poets, both to adorn and illustrate their discourse. The Apostle Paul himself thought it not unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides into the text of Holy Scripture, 1 Cor. xv. 33; and Paraeus, commenting on the Revelation, divides the whole Book, as a Tragedy, into acts, distinguished each by a Chorus of Heavenly Harpings and Song between. Heretofore men in highest dignity have laboured not a little to be thought able to compose a tragedy. Of that honour Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious than before of his attaining to the tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his Ajax, but, unable to please his own judgment with what he had begun, left it unfinished. Seneca, the philosopher, is by some thought the author of those tragedies (at least the best of them) that go under that name. Gregory Nazianzen, a Father of the Church, thought it not unbeseemingly the sanctity of his person to write a tragedy, which he entitled Christ Suffering. This is mentioned to vindicate Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which in the account of many it undergoes at this day, with other common Interludes; happening through the poet’s error of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity, or introducing trivial and vulgar persons: which by all judicious hath been counted absurd, and brought in without discretion, corruptly to gratify the people. And, though ancient Tragedy use no Prologue, yet using sometimes, in case of self-defence or explanation, that which Martial calls an Epistle, in behalf of this tragedy, coming forth after the ancient manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus much beforehand may be epistled—that Chorus is here introduced after the Greek manner, not ancient only, but modern, and still in use among the Italians, In the modelling therefore of this poem, with good reason, the Ancients and Italians are rather followed, as of much more authority and fame. The measure of verse used in the Chorus is of all sorts, called by the Greeks Monostrophic, or rather Apolelymenon, without regard had to Strophe, Antistrophe, or Epode,—which were a kind of stanzas framed only for the music, then used with the Chorus that sung; not essential to the poem, and therefore not material; or, being divided into stanzas or pauses, they may be called Allaeostropha. Division into act and scene, referring chiefly to the stage (to which this work never was intended), is here omitted.

Samson Agonistes

(1667—1671)

SAMSON. A little onward lend thy guiding hand

To these dark steps, a little further on;

For yonder bank hath choice of 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 enjoined me,

Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw

The air, imprisoned also, close and damp,

Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends—

The breath of Heaven 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 me; 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 armed, no sooner found alone

But rush upon me thronging, and present

Times past, what once I was, and what am now.

Oh, wherefore was my birth from Heaven 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 burned,

As in a fiery column charioting

His godlike presence, and from some great act

Or benefit revealed to Abraham’s race—

Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed

As of a person separate to God,

Designed for great exploits, if I must die

Betrayed, captived, and both my eyes put out,

Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze,

To grind in brazen fetters under task

With this heaven-gifted strength— O glorious strength,

Put to the labour of a beast, debased

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 fulfilled 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 lodged, how easily bereft me,

Under the seal of silence could not keep,

But weakly to a woman must reveal it,

O’ercome with importunity and tears—

O impotence of mind in body strong!

But what is strength without a double share

Of wisdom— Vast, unwieldly, burdensome,

Proudly secure, yet liable to fall

By weakest subtleties; not made to rule,

But to subserve where wisdom bears command.

God, when he gave me 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 chains,

Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!

Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct,

And all her various objects of delight

Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased.

Inferior to the vilest now become

Of man or worm, the vilest here excel me:

They creep, yet see; I, dark in light, exposed

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,

Irrecoverábly dark, total eclipse

Without all hope of day!

O first-created Beam, and thou great Word,

“Let there be light, and light was over all,”

Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree—

The Sun to me is dark

And silent as the Moon,

When she deserts the night,

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

Since light so necessary is to life,

And almost life itself, if it be true

That light is in the soul,

She all in every part, why was the sight

To such a tender ball as the eye confined,

So obvious and so easy to be quenched,

And not, as feeling, through all parts diffused,

That she might look at will through every pore—

Then had I not been thus exiled from light,

As in the land of darkness, yet in light,

To live a life half dead, a living death,

And buried; but, O yet more miserable!

Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave;

Buried, 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 my 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 diffused,

With languished head unpropt,

As one past hope, abandoned,

And by himself given over,

In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds

O’er-worn and soiled.

Or do my eyes misrepresent— Can this be he,

That heroic, that renowned,

Irresistible Samson— whom, unarmed,

No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand;

Who tore the lion as the lion tears the kid;

Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,

And, weaponless himself,

Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass,

Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail

Adamantean proof:

But safest he who stood aloof,

When insupportably his foot advanced,

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools,

Spurned them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite

Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned

Their plated backs under his heel,

Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust.

Then with what trivial weapon came to hand,

The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone,

A thousand foreskins fell, the flower of Palestine,

In Ramath-lechi, famous to this day:

Then by main force pulled 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-day, and loaded so—

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven.

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 cause complain)

Imprisoned now indeed,

In real darkness of the body dwells,

Shut up from outward light

To incorporate with gloomy night;

For inward light, alas!

Puts forth no visual beam.

O mirror of our fickle state,

Since man on earth, unparalleled,

The rarer thy example stands,

By how much from the top of wondrous glory,

Strongest of mortal men,

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fallen.

For him I reckon not in high estate

Whom long descent of birth,

Or the sphere of fortune, raises;

But them whose strength, while virtue was her mate,

Might have subdued the Earth,

Universally crowned with highest praises.

Sams. I hear the sound of words; their sense the air

Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear.

Chor. He speaks: let us draw nigh. Matchless in might,

The glory late of Israel, now the grief!

We come, thy 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 festered wounds.

Sams. Your coming, friends, revives me; 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 prosperous days

They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head,

Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O friends,

How many evils have enclosed me round;

Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me,

Blindness; for, had I sight, confused with shame,

How could I once look up, or heave the head,

Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwrecked

My Vessel trusted to me from above,

Gloriously rigged, and for a word, a tear,

Fool! have divulged the secret gift of God

To a deceitful woman— Tell me, friends,

Am I not sung and proverbed 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 paired;

These two, proportioned ill, drove me transverse.

Chor. Tax not divine disposal. Wisest men

Have erred, and by bad women been deceived;

And shall again, pretend they ne’er so wise.

Deject not, then, so overmuch thyself,

Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides.

Yet, truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder

Why 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.

Sams. The first I saw at Timna, and she pleased

Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed

The daughter of an Infidel. They knew not

That what I motioned was of God; I knew

From intimate impulse, and therefore urged

The marriage on, that, by occasion hence,

I might begin Israel’s deliverance—

The work to which I was divinely called.

She proving false, the next I took to wife

(O that I never had! found wish too late!)

Was in the vale of Sorec, Dalila,

That specious monster, my accomplished 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, vanquished 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 never wast remiss, I bear thee witness;

Yet Israel still serves with all his sons.

Sams. That fault I take not on me, but transfer

On Israel’s governors and heads of tribes,

Who, seeing those great acts which God had done

Singly be me against their conquerors,

Acknowledged not, or not at all considered,

Deliverance offered. I, on the other side,

Used no ambition to commend my deeds;

The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.

But they persisted deaf, and would not seem

To count them things worth notice, till at length

Their lords, the Philistines, with gathered powers,

Entered Judea, seeking me, who then

Safe to the rock of Etham was retired—

Not flying, but forecasting in what place

To set upon them, what advantaged best.

Meanwhile the men of Judah, to prevent

The harass of their land, beset me round;

I willingly on some conditions came

Into their hands, and they as gladly yield me

To the Uncircumcised a welcome prey,

Bound with two cords. But cords to me were threads

Touched with the flame: on their whole host I flew

Unarmed, and with a trivial weapon felled

Their choicest youth; they only lived who fled.

Had Judah that day joined, or one whole tribe,

They had by this possessed the Towers of Gath,

And lorded over them whom now they 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 raised

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 contemned,

The matchless Gideon, in pursuit

Of Madian, and her vanquished kings;;And how ingrateful Ephraim

Had dealt with Jephtha, who by argument,

Not worse than by his shield and spear,

Defended Israel from the Ammonite,

Had not his prowess quelled their pride

In that sore battle when so many died

Without reprieve, adjudged to death

For want of well pronouncing Shibboleth.

Sams. Of such examples add me to the roll.

Me easily indeed mine may neglect,

But God’s proposed deliverance not so.

Chor. Just are the ways of God,

And justifiable to men,

Unless there be who think not God at all.

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 there be who doubt his ways not just,

As to his own edicts found contradicting;

Then give the reins to wandering thought,

Regardless of his glory’s diminution,

Till, by their own perplexities involved,

They ravel more, still less resolved,

But never find self-satisfying solution.

As if they would confine the Interminable,

And tie him to his own prescript,

Who made our laws to bind us, not himself,

And hath full right to exempt

Whomso it pleases him by choice

From national obstriction, 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 the enemy just cause,

To set his people free,

Have prompted this heroic Nazarite,

Against his vow of strictest purity,

To seek in marriage that fallacious bride,

Unclean, unchaste.

Down, Reason, then; at least, vain reasonings down;

Though Reason here aver

That moral verdict quits 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 Manoa: advise

Forthwith how thou ought’st to receive him.

Sams. Ay me! another inward grief, awaked

With mention of that name, renews the assault.

Man. Brethren and men of Dan (for such ye seem

Though in this uncouth place), if old respect,

As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend,

My son, now captive, hither hath informed

Your younger feet, while mine, cast back with age,

Came lagging after, say if he be here.

Chor. As signal now in low dejected state

As erst in highest, behold him where he lies.

Man. O miserable change! Is this the man,

That invincible Samson, far renowned,

The dread of Israel’s foes, who with a strength

Equivalent to Angels’ walked their streets,

None offering fight; who, single combatant,

Duelled their armies ranked in proud array,

Himself an Army—now unequal match

To save himself against a coward armed

At one spear’s length— O ever-failing trust

In mortal strength! and, oh, what not in man

Deceivable and vain— Nay, what thing good

Prayed for, but often proves our woe, our bane—

I prayed for children, and thought barrenness

In wedlock a reproach; I gained a son,

And such a son as all men hailed me happy:

Who would be now a father in my stead—

Oh, wherefore did God grant me my request,

And as a blessing with such pomp adorned—

Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt

Our earnest prayers, then, given with solemn hand

As graces, draw a scorpion’s tail behind—

For this did the Angel twice descend— for this

Ordained thy nurture holy, as of a plant

Select and sacred— glorious for a while,

The miracle of men; then in an hour

Ensnared, 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 honour’s sake of former deeds.

Sams. Appoint not heavenly disposition, father

Nothing of all these evils hath befallen me

But justly; I myself have brought them on;

Sole author I, sole cause. If aught seem vile,

As vile hath been my folly, who have profaned

The mystery of God, given me under pledge

Of vow, and have betrayed it to a woman,

A Canaanite, my faithless enemy.

This well I knew, nor was at all surprised,

But warned by oft experience. Did not she

Of Timna first betray me, and reveal

The secret wrested from me in her highth

Of nuptial love professed, carrying it straight

To them who had corrupted her, my spies

And rivals— In this other was there found

More faith, who, also in her prime of love,

Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold,

Though offered only, by the scent conceived

Her spurious first-born, Treason against me—

Thrice she assayed, with flattering prayers and sighs,

And amorous reproaches, to win from me

My capital secret, in what part my strength

Lay stored, in what part summed, that she might know;

Thrice I deluded her, and turned to sport

Her importunity, each time perceiving

How openly and with what impudence

She purposed to betray me, and (which was worse

Than undissembled hate) with what contempt

She sought to make me traitor to myself.

Yet, the fourth time, when, mustering all her wiles,

With blandished parleys, feminine assaults,

Tongue-batteries, she surceased not day nor night

To storm me, over-watched and wearied out,

At times when men seek most repose and rest,

I yielded, and unlocked her all my heart,

Who, with a grain of manhood well resolved,

Might easily have shook off all her snares;

But foul effeminacy held me yoked

Her bond-slave. O indignity, O blot

To Honour and Religion! servile mind

Rewarded well with servile punishment!

The base degree to which I now am fallen,

These rags, this grinding, is not yet so base

As was my former servitude, ignoble,

Unmanly, ignominious, infamous,

True slavery; and that blindness worse than this,

That saw not how degenerately I served.

Man. I cannot praise thy marriage-choices, son—

Rather approved them not; but thou didst 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 sacred trust of silence

Deposited within thee—which to have kept

Tacit was in thy power. True; and thou bear’st

Enough, and more, the burden of that fault,

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, and proclaim

Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud,

To Dagon, as their god who hath delivered

Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands—

Them out of thine, who slew’st them many a slain.

So Dagon shall be magnified, and God,

Besides whom is no god, compared with idols,

Disglorified, blasphemed, and had in scorn

By the idolatrous rout amidst their wine;

Which to have 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 befallen thee and thy father’s house.

Sams. Father, I do acknowledge and confess

That I this honour, I this pomp, have brought

To Dagon, and advanced his praises high

Among the Heathen round—to God have brought

Dishonour, obloquy, and oped the mouths

Of idolists and atheists; have brought scandal

To Israel, diffidence of God, and doubt

In feeble hearts, propense enough before

To waver, or fall off and join with idols:

Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow,

The anguish of my soul, that suffers not

Mine eye to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest.

This only hope relieves me, that the strife

With me hath end. All the contest is now

’Twixt God and Dagon. Dagon hath presumed,

Me overthrown, to enter lists with God,

His deity comparing and preferring

Before the God of Abraham. He, be sure,

Will not connive, or linger, thus provoked,

But will arise, and his great name assert.

Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive

Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him

Of all these boasted trophies won on me,

And with confusion blank his Worshipers.

Man. With cause this hope relieves 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 doubtful whether God be Lord

Or Dagon. But for thee what shall be done—

Thou must not in the meanwhile, here forgot,

Lie in this miserable loathsome plight

Neglected. I already have made way

To some Philistian lords, with whom to treat

About thy ransom. Well they may by this

Have satisfied their utmost of revenge,

By pains and slaveries, worse than death, inflicted

On thee, who now no more canst do them harm.

Sams. Spare that proposal, father; spare the trouble

Of that solicitation. Let me here,

As I deserve, pay on my punishment,

And expiate, if possible, my crime,

Shameful garrulity. To have revealed

Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend,

How heinous had the fact been, how deserving

Contempt and scorn of all—to be excluded

All friendship, and avoided as a blab,

The mark of fool set on his front!

But I God’s counsel have not kept, his holy secret

Presumptuously have published, impiously,

Weakly at least and shamefully—a sin

That Gentiles in their parables condemn

To their Abyss and horrid pains confined.

Man. Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite;

But act not in thy own affliction, son.

Repent the sin; but, if the punishment

Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids;

Or the execution leave to high disposal,

And let another hand, not thine, exact

Thy penal forfeit from thyself. Perhaps

God will relent, and quit thee all his debt;

Who ever more approves and more accepts

(Best pleased with humble and filial submission)

Him who, imploring mercy, sues for life,

Than who, self-rigorous, chooses death as due;

Which argues over-just, and self-displeased

For self-offence more than for God offended.

Reject not, then, what offered 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 prayers and vows renewed.

Sams. His pardon I implore; but, as for life,

To what end should I seek it— When in strength

All mortals I excelled, and great in hopes,

With youthful courage, and magnanimous thoughts

Of birth from Heaven foretold and high exploits,

Full of divine instinct, after some proof

Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond

The sons of Anak, famous now and blazed,

Fearless of danger, like a petty god

I walked about, admired of all, and dreaded

On hostile ground, none daring my affront—

Then, swollen with pride, into the snare I fell

Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains,

Softened with pleasure and voluptuous life

At length to lay my head and hallowed pledge

Of all my strength in the lascivious lap

Of a deceitful Concubine, who shore me,

Like a tame wether, all my precious fleece,

Then turned me out ridiculous, despoiled,

Shaven, and disarmed among my enemies.

Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks,

Which many a famous warrior overturns,

Thou could’st repress; nor did the dancing ruby,

Sparkling out-poured, the flavour or the smell,

Or taste, that cheers the heart of gods and men,

Allure thee from the cool crystal’lin stream.

Sams. Wherever fountain or fresh current flowed

Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure

With touch aethereal of Heaven’s fiery rod,

I drank, from the clear milky juice allaying

Thirst, and refreshed; nor envied them the grape

Whose heads that turbulent liquor fills with fumes.

Chor. O madness! to think use of strongest wines

And strongest drinks our chief support of health,

When God with these forbidden made choice to rear

His mighty Champion, strong above compare,

Whose drink was only from the liquid brook!

Sams. But what availed this temperance, not complete

Against another object more enticing—

What boots it at one gate to make defence,

And at another to let in the foe,

Effeminately vanquished— by which means,

Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonoured, quelled,

To what can I be useful— wherein serve

My nation, and the work from Heaven imposed—

But to sit idle on the household hearth,

A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze,

Or pitied object; these redundant locks,

Robustious to no purpose, clustering down,

Vain monument of strength; till length of years

And sedentary numbness craze my limbs

To a contemptible old age obscure.

Here rather let me drudge, and earn my bread,

Till vermin, or the draff of servile food,

Consume me, and oft-invocated death

Hasten the welcome end of all my pains.

Man. Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift

Which was expressly given thee to annoy them—

Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle,

Inglorious, unimployed, with age outworn.

But God, who caused a fountain at thy prayer

From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst to allay

After the brunt of battel, can as easy

Cause light again within thy eyes to spring,

Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast.

And I persuade me so. Why else this strength

Miraculous yet remaining in those locks—

His might continues in thee not for naught,

Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus.

Sams. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend—

That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light,

Nor the other light of life continue long,

But yield to double darkness nigh at hand;

So much I feel my genial spirits droop,

My hopes all flat: Nature within me seems

In all her functions weary of herself;

My race of glory run, and race of shame,

And I 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 ransom or how else: meanwhile be calm,

And healing words from these thy friends admit.

Sams. Oh, that torment should not be confined

To the body’s wounds and sores,

With maladies innumerable

In heart, head, breast, and reins,

But must secret passage find

To the 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, armed with deadly stings,

Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts,

Exasperate, exulcerate, 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 given me o’er

To death’s benumbing opium as my only cure;

Thence faintings, swoonings of despair,

And sense of Heaven’s desertion.

I was his nursling once and choice delight,

His destined from the womb,

Promised by heavenly message twice descending.

Under his special eye

Abstemious I grew up and thrived amain;

He led me on to mightiest deeds,

Above the nerve of mortal arm,

Against the Uncircumcised, our enemies:

But now hath cast me off as never known,

And to those cruel enemies,

Whom I by his appointment had provoked,

Left me all helpless, with the irreparable loss

Of sight, reserved 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 I be heard,

No long petition—speedy death,

The close of all my miseries and the balm.

Chor. Many are the sayings of the wise,

In ancient and in modern books enrolled,

Extolling patience as the truest fortitude,

And to the bearing well of all calamities,

All chances incident to man’s frail life,

Consolatories writ

With studied argument, and much persuasion sought,

Lenient of grief and anxious thought.

But with the afflicted in his pangs their sound

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune

Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint,

Unless he feel within

Some source of consolation from above,

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——

Temper’st thy providence through his short course:

Not evenly, as thou rul’st

The angelic orders, and inferior creatures mute,

Irrational and brute—

Nor do I name of men the common rout,

That, wandering loose about,

Grow up and perish as the summer fly,

Heads without name, no more remembered;

But such as thou hast solemnly elected,

With gifts and graces eminently adorned

To some great work, thy glory,

And people’s safety, which in part they effect.

Yet toward these, thus dignified, thou oft,

Amidst their highth of noon,

Changest thy countenance 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 obscured, which were a fair dismission,

But throw’st them lower than thou didst exalt them high—

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 captived,

Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times,

And condemnation of the ungrateful multitude.

If these they scape, perhaps in poverty

With sickness and disease thou bow’st them down,

Painful diseases and deformed,

In crude old age;

Though 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,

The image of thy strength, and mighty minister.

What do I beg— how hast thou dealt already!

Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn

His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end.

But who is this— what thing of sea or land—

Female of sex it seems—

That, so bedecked, ornate, and gay,

Comes this way sailing,

Like a stately ship

Of Tarsus, bound for the isles

Of Javan or Gadire,

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim,

Sails filled, 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

Than Dalila thy wife.

Sams. My wife! my traitress! let her not come near me.

Chor. Yet on she moves; now stands and eyes thee fixed,

About to have spoke; but now, with head declined,

Like a fair flower surcharged with dew, she weeps,

And words addressed seem into tears dissolved,

Wetting the borders of her silken veil.

But now again she makes address to speak.

Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resolution

I came, I 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 slackened, though my pardon

No way assured. 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 serve

To lighten what thou suffer’st, and appease

Thy mind with what amends is in my power—

Though late, yet in some part to recompense

My rash but more unfortunate misdeed.

Sams. 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 feigned remorse,

Confess, and promise wonders in her change—

Not truly penitent, but chief to try

Her husband, how far urged 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 beguiled,

With goodness principled not to reject

The penitent, but ever to forgive,

Are drawn to wear out miserable days,

Entangled with a poisonous 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,

But that, on the other side, if it be weighed

By itself, with aggravations not surcharged,

Or else with just allowance counterpoised,

I may, if possible, thy pardon find

The easier towards me, or thy hatred less.

First granting, as I 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 shew’dst me first the way.

But I to enemies revealed, and should not!

Nor should’st thou have trusted that to woman’s frailty:

Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel.

Let weakness, then, with weakness come to parle,

So near related, or the same of kind;

Thine forgive mine, that men may censure thine

The gentler, if severely thou exact not

More strength from me than in thyself was found.

And what if love, which thou interpret’st hate,

The jealousy of love, powerful of sway

In human hearts, nor less in mine towards thee,

Caused what I did— I saw thee mutable

Of fancy; feared lest one day thou would’st leave me

As her at Timna; sought by all means, therefore,

How to endear, and hold thee to me firmest:

No better way I saw than my importuning

To learn thy secrets, get into my power

Thy key of strength and safety. Thou wilt say,

“Why, then, revealed—” I was assured by those

Who tempted me that nothing was designed

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 widowed bed;

Here I 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 passed for good,

Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps;

And love hath oft, well meaning, wrought much woe,

Yet always pity or pardon hath obtained.

Be not unlike all others, not a stere

As thou art strong, inflexible as steel.

If thou in strength all mortals dost exceed,

In uncompassionate anger do not so.

Sams. How cunningly the Sorceress displays

Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine!

That malice, not repentance, brought thee hither

By this appears. I gave, thou say’st, the example,

I led the way—bitter reproach, but true;

I to myself was false ere thou to me.

Such pardon, therefore, as I give my folly

Take to thy wicked deed; which when thou seest

Impartial, self-severe, inexorable,

Thou wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather

Confess it feigned. Weakness is thy excuse,

And I believe it—weakness to resist

Philistian gold. If weakness may excuse,

What murtherer, 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 constrained thee! 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 thee betrayed—

In vain thou striv’st to cover shame with shame,

Or by evasions thy crime uncover’st more.

Dal. Since thou determin’st weakness 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, ere I consented;

Which might have awed the best-resolved 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, threatened, urged,

Adjured by all the bonds of civil duty

And of religion—pressed how just it was,

How honourable, how glorious, to entrap

A common enemy, who had destroyed

Such numbers of our nation: and the Priest

Was not behind, but ever at my ear,

Preaching how meritorious with the gods

It would be to ensnare an irreligious

Dishonourer of Dagon. 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

Took full possession of me, and prevailed;

Virtue, as I thought, truth, duty, so enjoining.

Sams. I thought where all thy circling wiles would end—

In feigned religion, smooth hypocrisy!

But, had thy love, still odiously pretended,

Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught thee

Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds.

I, before all the daughters of my tribe

And of my nation, chose thee from among

My enemies, loved thee, as too well thou knew’st;

Too well; unbosomed all my secrets to thee,

Not out of levity, but overpowered

By thy request, who could deny thee nothing;

Yet now am judged an enemy. Why, then,

Didst thou at first receive me for thy husband—

Then, as since then, thy country’s foe professed—

Being once a wife, for me thou 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 thee, it sought unjustly,

Against the law of nature, law of nations;

No more thy country, but an impious crew

Of men conspiring to uphold their state

By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends

For which our country is a name so dear;

Not therefore to be obeyed. But zeal moved thee;

To please thy gods thou didst it! Gods unable

To acquit themselves and prosecute their foes

But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction

Of their own deity, Gods cannot be—

Less therefore to be pleased, obeyed, or feared.

These false pretexts and varnished 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.

Sams. 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 mistaken

In what I thought would have succeeded best.

Let me obtain forgiveness, of thee Samson;

Afford me place to shew what recompense

Towards thee I intend for what I have misdone,

Misguided. Only what remains past cure

Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist

To afflict thyself in vain. Though sight be lost,

Life yet hath many solaces, enjoyed

Where other senses want not their delights—

At home, in leisure and domestic ease,

Exempt from many a care and chance to which

Eyesight exposes, daily, men abroad.

I 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 cheered, and so supplied

That what by me thou hast lost thou least shalt miss.

Sams. No, no; of my condition take no care;

It fits not; thou and I long since are twain;

Nor think me so unwary or accursed

To bring my feet again into the snare

Where once I have been caught. I know thy trains,

Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils.

Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms,

No more on me have power; their force is nulled;

So much of adder’s wisdom I have learned,

To fence my ear against thy sorceries.

If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men

Loved, honoured, feared me, thou alone could hate me,

Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forgo me,

How would’st thou use me now, blind, and thereby

Deceivable, in most things as a child

Helpless, thence easily contemned and scorned,

And last neglected! How would’st 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!

This gaol I count the house of Liberty

To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter.

Dal. Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand.

Sams. 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;

Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works

It hath brought forth to make thee memorable

Among illustrious women, faithful wives;

Cherish thy hastened widowhood with the gold

Of matrimonial treason: so farewell.

Dal. I see thou art implacable, more deaf

To prayers than winds and seas. Yet winds to seas

Are reconciled at length, and sea to shore:

Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages,

Eternal tempest never to be calmed.

Why do I humble thus myself, and, suing

For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate,

Bid go with evil omen, and the brand

Of infamy upon my name denounced—

To mix with thy concernments I desist

Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own.

Fame, if not double-faced, is double-mouthed,

And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds;

On both his wings, one black, the other white,

Bears greatest names in his wild aerie flight.

My name, perhaps, among the Circumcised

In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering Tribes,

To all posterity may stand defamed,

With malediction mentioned, and the blot

Of falsehood most unconjugal traduced.

But in my country, where I most desire,

In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath,

I shall be named among the famousest

Of women, sung at solemn festivals,

Living 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 renowned than in Mount Ephraim

Jael, who, with inhospitable guile,

Smote Sisera sleeping, through the temples nailed.

Nor shall I count it heinous to enjoy

The public marks of honour and reward

Conferred upon me for the piety

Which to my country I was judged to have shewn.

At this whoever envies or repines,

I leave him his lot, and like my own.

Chor. she’s gone—a manifest Serpent by her sting

Discovered in the end, till now concealed.

Sams. 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 possessed, nor can be easily

Repulsed, without much inward passion felt,

And secret sting of amorous remorse.

Sams. Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end;

Not wedlock-treachery endangering 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;

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 seven though one should musing sit.

If any of these, or all, the Timnian bride

Had not so soon preferred

Thy Paranymph, worthless to thee compared,

Successor in thy bed,

Nor both so loosely disallied

Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherously

Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head.

Is it for that such outward ornament

Was lavished on their sex, that inward gifts

Were left for haste unfinished, judgment scant,

Capacity not raised to apprehend

Or value what is best,

In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong—

Or was too much of self-love mixed,

Of constancy no root infixed,

That either they love nothing, or not long—

Whate’er it be, to wisest men and best,

Seeming at first all heavenly under virgin veil,

Soft, modest, meek, demure,

Once joined, 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, enslaved

With dotage, and his sense depraved

To folly and shameful deeds, which ruin ends.

What pilot so expert but needs must wreck,

Embarked with such a steers-mate at the helm—

Favoured of Heaven who finds

One virtuous, rarely found,

That in domestic good combines!

Happy that house! his way to peace is smooth:

But virtue which breaks through all opposition,

And all temptation can remove,

Most shines and most is acceptable above.

Therefore God’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 he least confusion draw

On his whole life, not swayed

By female usurpation, nor dismayed.

But had we best retire— I see a storm.

Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain.

Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings.

Sams. Be less abstruse; my riddling days are past.

Chor. Look now for no inchanting voice, nor fear

The bait of honeyed words; a rougher tongue

Draws hitherward; I know him by his stride,

The giant Harapha of Gath, his look

Haughty, as is his pile high-built and proud.

Comes he in peace— What wind hath blown him hither

I less conjecture than when first I saw

The sumptuous Dalila floating this way:

His habit carries peace, his brow defiance.

Sams. Or peace or not, alike to me he comes.

Chor. His fraught we soon shalt know: he now 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 renowned

As Og, or Anak, and the Emims 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 performed,

Incredible to me, in this displeased,

That I was never present on the place

Of those encounters, where we might have tried

Each other’s force in camp or listed field;

And now am come to see of whom such noise

Hath walked about, and each limb to survey,

If thy appearance answer loud report.

Sams. The way to know were not to see, but taste.

Har. Dost thou already single me— I thought

Gyves and the mill had tamed thee. O that fortune

Had brought me to the field where thou art famed

To have wrought such wonders with an ass’ jaw!

I should have forced thee soon with other arms,

Or left thy carcass where the ass lay thrown;

So had the glory of prowess been recovered

To Palestine, won by a Philistine

From the unforeskinned 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.

Sams. 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 touched.

Sams. Such usage as your honourable Lords

Afford me, assassinated and betrayed;

Who durst not with their whole united powers

In fight withstand me single and unarmed,

Nor in the house with chamber-ambushes

Close-banded durst attack me, no, not sleeping,

Till they had hired a woman with their gold,

Breaking her marriage-faith, to circumvent me.

Therefore, without feign’d shifts, let be assigned

Some narrow place enclosed, where sight may give thee,

Or rather flight, nor great advantage on me;

Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet

And brigandine of brass, thy broad habergeon,

Vant-brass and greaves and gauntlet; add thy spear,

A weaver’s beam, and seven-times-folded shield:

I only with an oaken staff will meet thee,

And raise such outcries on thy clattered iron,

Which long shall not withhold me from thy head,

That in a little time, while breath remains thee,

Thou oft shalt wish thyself at Gath, to boast

Again in safety what thou would’st have done

To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more.

Har. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms

Which greatest heroes have in battle worn,

Their ornament and safety, had not spells

And black inchantments, some magician’s art,

Armed thee or charmed thee strong, which thou from Heaven

Feign’dst at thy birth was given thee in thy hair,

Where strength can least abide, though all thy hairs

Were bristles ranged like those that ridge the back

Of chafed wild boars or ruffled porcupines.

Sams. I know no spells, use no forbidden arts;

My trust is in the Living God, who gave me,

At my nativity, this strength, diffused

No less through all my sinews, joints, and bones,

Than thine, while I preserved these locks unshorn,

The pledge of my unviolated vow.

For proof hereof, if Dagon be thy god,

Go to his temple, invocate his aid

With solemnest devotion, spread before him

How highly it concerns his glory now

To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells,

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 the 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 be,

Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off

Quite from his people, and delivered up

Into thy enemies’ hand; permitted them

To put out both thine eyes, and fettered 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 thy boisterous locks; no worthy match

For valour to assail, nor by the sword

Of noble warrior, so to stain his honour,

But by the barber’s razor best subdued.

Sams. All these indignities, for such they are

From thine, these evils I deserve 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 I 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 trusting

He will accept thee to defend his cause,

A murtherer, a revolter, and a robber!

Sams. Tongue-doughty giant, how dost thou prove me these—

Har. Is not thy nation subject to our Lords—

Their magistrates confessed it when they took thee

As a league-breaker, and delivered 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,

Went up with armed powers thee only seeking,

To others did no violence nor spoil.

Sams. Among the daughters of the Philistines

I chose a wife, which argued me no foe,

And in your city held my nuptial feast;

But your ill-meaning politician lords,

Under pretence of bridal friends and guests,

Appointed to await me thirty spies,

Who, threatening cruel death, constrained the bride

To wring from me, and tell to them, my secret,

That solved the riddle which I had proposed.

When I perceived all set on enmity,

As on my enemies, wherever chanced,

I used hostility, and took their spoil,

To 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 conquered can.

But I, a private person, whom my country

As a league-breaker gave up bound, presumed

Single rebellion, and did hostile acts!

I was no private, but a person raised,

With strength sufficient, and command from Heaven,

To free my country. If their servile minds

Me, their Deliverer sent, would not receive,

But to their masters gave me up for nought,

The unworthier they; whence to this day they serve.

I was to do my part from Heaven assigned,

And had performed it if my known offence

Had not disabled me, not all your force.

These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant,

Though by his blindness maimed for high attempts,

Who now defies thee thrice to single fight,

As a petty enterprise of small enforce.

Har. With thee, a man condemned, a slave enrolled,

Due by the law to capital punishment—

To fight with thee no man of arms will deign.

Sams. Cam’st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me,

To descant on my strength, and give thy verdict—

Come nearer; part not hence so slight informed;

But take good heed my hand survey not thee.

Har. O Baal-zebub! can my ears unused

Hear these dishonours, and not render death—

Sams. No man withholds thee; nothing from thy hand

Fear I incurable; bring up thy van;

My heels are fettered, but my fist is free.

Har. This insolence other kind of answer fits.

Sams. Go, baffled 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 the hazard of thy brains and shattered sides.

Har. By Astaroth, ere long thou shalt lament

These braveries, in irons loaden on thee.

Chor. His Giantship is gone somewhat crest-fallen,

Stalking with less unconscionable strides,

And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe.

Sams. I dread him not, nor all his giant brood,

Though fame divulge him father of five sons,

All of gigantic size, Goliah 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.

Sams. He must allege some cause, and offered fight

Will not dare mention, lest a question rise

Whether he durst accept the offer or not;

And that he durst not plain enough appeared.

Much more affliction 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 keeping,

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

To the spirits of just men long oppressed,

When God into the hands of their deliverer

Puts invincible might,

To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,

The brute and boisterous force of violent men,

Hardy and industrious to support

Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue

The righteous, and all such as honour truth!

He all their ammunition

And feats of war defeats,

With plain heroic magnitude of mind

And celestial vigour armed;

Their armouries and magazins contemns,

Renders them useless, while

With wingèd expedition

Swift as the lightning glance he executes

His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,

Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.

But patience is more oft the exercise

Of saints, the trial of their fortitude,

Making them each his own deliverer,

And victor over all

That tyranny or fortune can inflict.

Either of these is in thy lot,

Samson, with might endued

Above the sons of men; but sight bereaved

May chance to number thee with those

Whom Patience finally must crown.

This Idol’s day hath been to thee no day of rest,

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 hand

A sceptre or quaint staff 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.

Off. Ebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek.

Chor. His manacles remark him; there he sits.

Off. Samson, to thee our Lords thus bid me say:

This day 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.

Rise, therefore, with all speed, and come along,

Where I will see thee heartened and fresh clad,

To appear as fits before the illustrious Lords. them]

Sams. Thou know’st I am an Ebrew; therefore tell

Our law forbids at their religious rites

My presence; for that cause I cannot come.

Off. This answer, be assured, will not content them.

Sams. 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 tired,

And over-laboured 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—

Return the way thou cam’st; I will not come.

Off. Regard thyself; this will offend them highly.

Sams. Myself! my conscience, and internal peace.

Can they think me so broken, so debased

With corporal servitude, that my mind ever

Will condescend to such absurd commands—

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

Joined with extreme contempt! I will not come.

Off. My message was imposed on me with speed,

Brooks no delay: is this thy resolution—

Sams. So take it with what speed thy message needs.

Off. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce.

Sams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed.

Chor. Consider, Samson; matters now are strained

Up to the highth, whether to hold or break.

He’s gone and who knows how he may report

Thy words by adding fuel to the flame—

Expect another message, more imperious,

More lordly thundering than thou well wilt bear.

Sams. Shall I abuse this consecrated gift

Of strength, again returning with my hair

After my great transgression—so requite

Favour renewed, 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 this strength thou serv’st the Philistines,

Idolatrous, uncircumcised, unclean.

Sams. Not in their idol-worship, but by labour

Honest and lawful to deserve my food

Of those who have me in their civil power.

Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not.

Sams. 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, venturing 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, thou need’st not doubt.

Chor. How thou wilt here come off surmounts my reach.

Sams. Be of good courage; I begin to feel

Some rousing motions in me, which dispose

To something extraordinary in my thoughts.

I with this messenger will go along—

Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour

Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.

If there be aught of presage in the mind,

This day will be remarkable in my life

By some great act, or of my days the last.

Chor. In time thou hast resolved: the man returns.

Off. Samson, this second message from our Lords

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;

Or we shall find such engines to assail

And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force,

Though thou wert firmlier fastened than a rock.

Sams. 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 resistless

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 nothing to comply

Scandalous or forbidden in our Law.

Off. I praise thy resolution. Doff these links:

By this compliance thou wilt win the Lords

To favour, and perhaps to set thee free.

Sams. Brethren, farewell. Your company along

I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them

To see me girt with friends; and h w 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 fired

With zeal, if aught religion seem concerned;

No 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.

Chor. Go, and the Holy One

Of Israel be thy guide

To what may serve his glory best, and spread his name

Great among the Heathen round;

Send thee the Angel of thy birth, to stand

Fast by thy side, who from thy father’s field

Rode up in flames after his message told

Of thy conception, and be now a shield

Of fire; that Spirit that first rushed on thee

In the camp of Dan,

Be efficacious in thee now at need!

For never was from Heaven imparted

Measure of strength so great to mortal seed,

As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen.

But wherefore comes old Manoa in such haste

With youthful steps— Much livelier than erewhile

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,

Lest I should see him forced to things unseemly.

But that which moved my coming now was chiefly

To give ye part with me what hope I have

With good success to work his liberty.

Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to partake

With thee. Say, reverend sire; we thirst to hear.

Man. I have attempted, one by one, the Lords,

Either at home, or through the high street passing,

With supplication prone and father’s tears,

To accept of ransom for my son, their prisoner.

Some much averse I found, and wondrous harsh,

Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite;

That part most reverenced Dagon and his priests:

Others more moderate seeming, but their aim

Private reward, for which both God and State

They easily would set to sale: a third

More generous far and civil, who confessed

They had enough revenged, having reduced

Their foe to misery beneath their fears;

The rest was magnanimity to remit,

If some convenient ranson were proposed.

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 shown.

Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritance

May compass it, shall willingly be paid

And numbered 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 fixed not to part hence without him.

For his redemption all my patrimony,

If need be, I am ready to forgo

And quit. Not wanting him, I shall want nothing.

Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons;

Thou for thy son art 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 his house, ennobled

With all those high exploits by him achieved,

And on his shoulders waving down those locks

That of a nation armed the strength contained.

And I persuade me God hath not permitted

His strength again to grow up with his hair

Garrisoned 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 thy joy thereon

Conceived, agreeable to a father’s love;

In both which we, as next, participate.

Man. I know your friendly minds, and… O, what noise!

Mercy of Heaven! what hideous noise was that—

Horribly loud, unlike the former shout.

Chor. Noise call you it, or universal groan,

As if the whole inhabitation perished—

Blood, death, and deathful deeds, are in that noise,

Ruin, destruction at the utmost point.

Man. Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise.

Oh! it continues; they have slain my son.

Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them: that outcry

From slaughter of one foe could not ascend.

Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be.

What shall we do—stay here, or run and see—

Chor. Best keep together here, lest, running thither,

We unawares, run into danger’s mouth.

This evil on the Philistines is fallen:

From whom could else a general cry be heard—

The sufferers, 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

Nothing is hard) by miracle restored,

He now be dealing dole among his foes,

And over heaps of slaughtered walk his way—

Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thought.

Chor. Yet God hath wrought things as incredible

For his people of old; what hinders now—

Man. He can, I know, but doubt to think he 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 Ebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe.

Messenger. O, whither shall I run, or which way fly

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 disturbed and scarce consulted,

To have guided me aright, I know not how,

To thee first, reverend Manoa, 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 concerned.

Man. The accident was loud, and here before thee

With rueful cry; yet what it was we hear not.

No preface needs; thou seest we long to know.

Mess. It would burst forth; but I recover breath,

And sense distract, to know well what I utter.

Man. Tell us the sum; the circumstance defer.

Mess. Gaza yet stands; but all her sons are fallen,

All in a moment overwhelmed and fallen.

Man. Sad! but thou know’st to Israelites not saddest

The desolation of a hostile city.

Mess. Feed on that first; there may in grief be surfeit.

Man. Relate to whom.

Mess. By Samson.

Man. That still lessens

The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy.

Mess. Ah! Manoa, 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.

Mess. Then take the worst in brief: Samson is dead.

Man. The worst indeed! O, all my hope’s 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 conceived,

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, ere I give the reins to grief, say first

How died 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—

Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he fell.

Man. Wearied with slaughter, then, or how— explain.

Mess. By his own hands.

Man. Self-violence! What cause

Brought him so soon at variance with himself

Among his foes—

Mess. Inevitable cause—

At once both to destroy and be destroyed.

The edifice, where all were met to see him,

Upon their heads and on his own he pulled.

Man. O lastly over-strong against thyself!

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 canst,

Eye-witness of what first or last was done,

Relation more particular and distinct.

Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city;

And, as the gates I entered with sun-rise,

The morning trumpets festival proclaimed

Through each high street. Little I had dispatched,

When all abroad was rumoured that this day

Samson should be brought forth, to shew the people

Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games.

I sorrowed 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 seats where all the Lords, and each degree

Of sort, might sit in order to behold;

The other 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 filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine,

When to their sports they turned. Immediately

Was Samson as a public servant brought,

In their state livery clad: before him pipes

And timbrels; on each side went armed guards;

Both horse and foot before him and behind,

Archers and slingers, cataphracts, and spears.

At sight of him the people with a shout

Rifted the air, clamouring their god with praise,

Who had made their dreadful enemy, their thrall.

He patient, but undaunted, where they led him,

Came to the place; and what was set before him,

Which without help of eye might be assayed,

To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performed

All with incredible, stupendious 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 over-tired, 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 a while enclined,

And eyes fast fixed, he stood, as one who prayed,

Or some great matter in his mind revolved:

At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud:—

“Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed

I have performed, 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 uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed;

As with the force of winds and waters pent

When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars

With horrible convulsion to and fro

He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew

The whole roof after them with burst of thunder

Upon the heads of all who sat beneath,

Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests,

Their choice nobility and flower, not only

Of this, but each Philistian city round,

Met from all parts to solemnize this feast.

Samson, with these immixed, inevitably

Pulled down the same destruction on himself;

The vulgar only scaped, who stood without.

Chor. O dearly bought revenge, yet glorious!

Living or dying thou has fulfilled

The work for which thou wast foretold

To Israel, and now liest victorious

Among thy slain self-killed;

Not willingly, but tangled in the fold

Of dire Necessity, whose law in death conjoined

Thee with thy slaughtered foes, in number more

Than all thy life had slain before.

Semichor. While their hearts were jocund and sublime,

Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wine

And fat regorged of bulls and goats,

Chaunting their idol, and preferring

Before our Living Dread, who dwells

In Silo, his bright sanctuary,

Among them he a spirit of phrenzy sent,

Who hurt their minds,

And urged them on with mad desire

To call in haste for their destroyer.

They, only set on sport and play,

Unweetingly importuned

Their own destruction to come speedy upon them.

So fond are mortal men,

Fallen into wrath divine,

As their own ruin on themselves to invite,

Insensate left, or to sense reprobate,

And with blindness internal struck.

Semichor. But he, though blind of sight,

Despised, and thought extinguished quite,

With inward eyes illuminated,

His fiery virtue roused

From under ashes into sudden flame,

And as an evening Dragon came,

Assailant on the perched roosts

And nests in order ranged

Of tame villatic fowl, but as an Eagle

His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads.

So Virtue, given for lost,

Depressed and overthrown, as seemed,

Like that self-begotten bird

In the Arabian woods embost,

That no second knows nor third,

And lay erewhile a holocaust,

From out her ashy womb now teemed,

Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most

When most unactive deemed;

And, though her body die, her fame survives,

A secular bird, ages of lives.

Man. Come, come; no time for lamentation now,

Nor much more cause. Samson hath quit himself

Like Samson, and heroicly hath finished

A life heroic, on his enemies

Fully revenged—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 feared,

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

Soaked in his enemies’ blood, and from the stream

With lavers pure, and cleansing herbs, wash off

The clotted gore. I, with what 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 him

A monument, and plant it round with shade

Of laurel ever green and branching palm,

With all his trophies hung, and acts enrolled

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,

Visit his tomb with flowers, only bewailing

His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice,

From whence captivity and loss of eyes.

Chor. All is best, though we oft doubt

What the unsearchable dispose

Of Highest Wisdom brings about,

And ever best found in the close.

Oft He seems to hide his face,

But unexpectedly returns,

And to his faithful Champion hath in place

Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns,

And all that band them to resist

His uncontrollable intent.

His servants He, with new acquist

Of true experience from this great event,

With peace and consolation hath dismissed,

And calm of mind, all passion spent.

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Date:

7/6/2007