Alas! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse Were it not better donc, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Newra'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 abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. But not the praise,' Phoebus replied, and touch'd 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.'
[Satan's Address to the Sun.]
[From Paradise Lost.']
O thou, that, with surpassing glory crown'd, Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminish'd 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 deserv'd no such return From me, whom he created what I was In that brig uinence, and with his good Upbraided nose, 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 prov'd 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 burdensome 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? O, had his powerful destiny ordain'd 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 aspir'd, 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 arm'd. Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand? Thou hadst whom hast thou, then, or what to accuse, But heaven's free love dealt equally to all? Be then his love accurst; since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal wo:
Nay, curs'd be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues. Me miserable!-which way shall I fly Infinite wrath 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 repentance, 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. Ay 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 height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay What feign'd submission swore! Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void. For never can true reconcilement grow Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep; Which would but lead 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, in stead Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight, Mankind, created, and for him this world. So farewell hope; and with hope, farewell fear; Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good; by thee at least Divided empire with heaven's king I hold, By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign; As man ere long and this new world shall know.
[Assembling of the Fallen Angels.]
All these and more came flocking; but with looks Down cast and damp, yet such wherein appear'd Obscure some glimpse of joy, t' have found their chief Not in despair, t' have found themselves not lost In loss itself; which on his countenance cast Like doubtful hue: but he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised Their fainting courage, and dispell'd their fears. Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound Of trumpets loud and clarions, be uprear'd His mighty standard; that proud honour claim'd Azazel as his right, a cherub tall;
Who forthwith from the glitt'ring staff unfurl'd Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advanc'd, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich emblaz'd Seraphic arms and trophies, all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: At which the universal host up sent A shout, that tore Hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air With orient colours waving: with them rose A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array, Of depth immeasurable: anon they move In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood Or flutes and soft recorders; such as rais'd To height of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle; and, instead of rage, Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmov'd, With dread of death, to flight or foul retreat; Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'suage, 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 Mov'd on in silence to soft pipes, that charm'd Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil; and now
Advanc'd in view, they stand, a horrid front Of dreadful length, and dazzling arms, in guise Of warriors old with order'd spear, and shield, Awaiting what command their mighty chief Had to impose: he through the armed files Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse The whole battalion, views their order due, Their visages and statures as of Gods;
Their number last he sums. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hard'ning in his strength Glories; for never since created man
Met such embodied force as, nam'd with these, Could merit more than that small infantry Warr'd on by cranes; though all the giant brood Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were join'd, That fought at Thebes, and Ilium on each side Mix'd with auxiliar gods; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son, Begirt with British and Armoric knights; And all who since, baptis'd or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban, Damasco or Morocco, or Trebisond; Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemain with all his peerage fell By Fontarabia. Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd Their dread commander; he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tow'r; his form had not yet lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than Archangel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd: as when the sun new risen Looks through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone Above them all th' Archangel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage and considerate pride, Waiting revenge: cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather, (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain; Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd Of Heav'n, and from eternal splendours flung For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood, Their glory wither'd: as when Heav'n's fire Hath scath'd the forest oaks, or mountain pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare, Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepar'd To speak: whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: attention held them mute. Thrice he assay'd; and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth; at last Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way.
[The Garden of Eden.]
[From the same.]
So on he fares, and to the border comes Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, Now nearer, crowns with her inclosure green, As with a rural mound, the champaign head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied; and overhead upgrew Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend, Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops The verd'rous wall of Paradise up-sprung:
Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into his nether empire neighb'ring round. And higher than that wall a circling row Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, Appear'd, with gay enamel'd colours mix'd; Of which the sun more glad impress'd his beams Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, When God hath shower'd the earth; so lovely seem'd That landscape; 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-west winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the blest; with such delay Well pleas'd they slack their course, and many a league,
Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.
[Eve's Account of her Creation.]
I first awak'd, and found myself repos'd Under a shade of flow'rs, much wond'ring where And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. Not distant far from thence a murm'ring sound Of waters issued from a cave, and spread Into a liquid plain, then stood unmov'd, Pure as the expanse of Heav'n; I thither went With inexperienc'd thought, and laid me down On the green bank, to look into the clear Smooth lake, that to me seem'd another sky. As I bent down to look, just opposite, A shape within the wat'ry gleam appear'd, Bending to look on me; I started back, It started back: but pleas'd I soon return'd, Pleas'd it return'd as soon with answ'ring looks Of sympathy and love: there I had fix'd Mine eyes till now, and pin'd with vain desire, Had not a voice thus warn'd me; What thou 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 embraces; he Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy, Inseparably thine; to him shalt bear Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd Mother of human race.' What could I do, But follow straight, invisibly thus led? Till I espied thee, fair indeed and tall, Under a plantain; yet methought less fair, Less winning soft, less amiably mild,
Than that smooth wat'ry image: back I turn'd; Thou following cry'st aloud, 'Return, fair Eve, Whom fly'st thou? whom thou fly'st 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 Seiz'd mine; I yielded, and from that time see How beauty is excell'd by manly grace And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.
So spake our general mother, and with eyes Of conjugal attraction, unreprov'd, And meek surrender, half embracing, lean'd 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,
[Morning in Paradise.] [From the same.]
Now morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, When Adam waked, so custom'd, for his sleep Was airy light from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song Of birds on ev'ry bough; so much the more His wonder was to find unawaken'd Eve, With tresses discompos'd and glowing cheek, As through unquiet rest: he on his side Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love, Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice Mild as when Zephyrus or Flora breathes, Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus: Awake, My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found, Heav'n's last best gift, my ever new delight, Awake: the morning shines, and the fresh 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.'
To the field they haste. But first, from under shady arb'rous roof Soon as they forth were come to open sight Of day-spring, and the sun, who scarce up-risen, With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean brim, Shot parallel to th' earth his dewy ray, Discovering in wide landscape all the east Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains, Lowly they bow'd adoring, and began Their orisons, each morning duly paid In various style; for neither various style Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced or sung Unmeditated, such prompt eloquence Flow'd from their lips, in prose or numerous verse, More tunable 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 wond'rous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heav'ns To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and 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 heav'n : 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 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 has gain'd, and when thou fall'st. Moon! that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies; And ye five other wand'ring fires! that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. Air, and ye elements! the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that in quaternian 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 uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs, 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 Heav'n 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 gather'd aught of evil or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.'
So pray'd they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recover'd soon and wonted calm. On to their morning's rural work they haste Among sweet dews and flow'rs; where any row Of fruit-trees over-woody reach'd too far Their pamper'd boughs, and needed hands to check Fruitless embraces or they led the vine
To wed her elm; she, 'spous'd, about him twines Her marriageable arms, and with her brings Her dow'r, th' adopted clusters, to adorn His barren leaves.
[Evening in Paradise.]
[From the same.]
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 long her amorous descant sung; Silence was pleas'd: now glow'd the firmament With living sapphires; Hesperus that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
When Adam thus to Eve: Fair Consort, th' hour Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest, Mind us of like repose, since God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night, to men Successive; and the timely dew of sleep Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, inclines Our eye-lids: other creatures all day long Rove idle unemploy'd, and less need rest; Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, And the regard of Heav'n 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 flow'ry 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 adorn'd: 'My Author and Disposer; what thou bidst Unargued I obey; so God ordains;
God is thy law, thou mine: to whom 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, Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft show'rs; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of Heav'n, her starry train; But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower, Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night, With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glitt'ring starlight, 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 reply'd: 'Daughter of God and Man, accomplish'd Eve, These have their course to finish round the earth By morrow evening, and from land to land In order, though to nations yet unborn, Minist'ring 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, tho' men were none, That Heav'n would want spectators, God want praise. Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep: 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 Heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic numbers join'd, their songs Divide the night, and lift our souls to Heaven.' Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd On to their blissful bow'r; it was a place Chos'n by the sov'reign Planter, when he fram'd All things to man's delightful use; the roof Of thickest covert was inwoven shade Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, Fenc'd up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower, Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine,
Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought Mosaic; underfoot the violet,
Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay
Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone Of costliest emblem: other creatures here,
Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none; Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bow'r, More sacred and sequester'd, though but feign'd, Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph, Nor Faunus haunted. Here in close recess, With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs, Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed, And heav'nly choirs the hymenæan sung, What day the genial Angel to our sire Brought her, in naked beauty more adorn'd, More lovely than Pandora, whom the gods Endow'd with all their gifts, and, O too like In sad event, when to the unwiser son Of Japhet, brought by Hermes, she ensnar'd Mankind with her fair looks, to be aveng'd On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire.
Thus, at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood, Both turn'd, and under open sky ador'd The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven, Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe, And starry pole: Thou also mad'st the night, Maker omnipotent, and thou the day, Which we in our appointed work employ'd Have finish'd happy in our mutual help And mutual love, the crown of all bliss Ordain'd by thee, and this delicious place For us too large, where thy abundance wants Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. But thou hast promis'd 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.
[Expulsion from Paradise.]
[From the same.]
He ended; and the Archangel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man
I Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flow'd, Livelier than Meliboan, or the grain Of Sarrah, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof; His starry helm unbuckled show'd him prime In manhood where youth ended; by his side, As in a glist'ring zodiac, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. Adam bow'd low; he kingly, from his state Inclin'd not, but his coming thus declared:—
'Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and death Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days,
Giv'n thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done May'st cover: well may then thy Lord appeas'd Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim⚫ But longer in this Paradise to dwell Permits not; to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.' He added not, for Adam at the news Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen, Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discover'd soon the place of her retire.
'O unexpected stroke; worse than of death! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both. O flowers! That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last
At even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names!
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount? Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower world, to this obscure
And wild? how shall we breathe in other air Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?'
Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild :- 'Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart, Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine: Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil.' Adam by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scatter'd spirits return'd, To Michael thus his humble words address'd :-- 'Celestial, whether among the thrones, or nam'd Of them the highest, for such of shape may seem Prince above princes, gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, And in performing end us; what besides Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair, Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring; Departure from that 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 pray'r against his absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth: Therefore to his great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that, departing hence, As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent With worship place by place where he vouchsafed Presence divine, and to my sons relate, On this mount he appear'd, under this tree Stood visible, among these pines his voice
I heard, here with him at this fountain talk'd:
So many grateful altars I would rear Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone Of lustre from the brook, in memory,
Or monument to ages, and thereon
Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers. In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or footstep trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory, and far off his steps adore.'
Now too nigh Th' Archangel stood, and from the other hill To their fix'd station, all in bright array, The cherubim descended; on the ground Gliding meteorous, as evening mist Ris'n from a river o'er the marish glides, And gathers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel Homeward returning. High in front advanc'd, The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat, And vapours as the Libyan air adust, Began to parch that temp'rate clime: whereat In either hand the hast'ning Angel caught Our ling'ring parents, and to the eastern gate Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast To the subjected plain; then disappear'd. They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon. The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
[Satan's Survey of Greece.]
[From Paradise Regained.]
Westward, much nearer by southwest, behold, Where on the Egean shore a city stands, Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil; Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades. See there the olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long; There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites To studious musing; there Ilissus rolls
His 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 shalt thou hear and learn the secret power Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit
By voice or hand; and various-measur'd verse, Eolian charms and Dorian lyric odes,
And his, who gave them breath, but higher sung, Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd, Whose poem Phoebus challeng'd for his own: Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught In chorus or Iambic, teachers best
Of moral prudence, with delight receiv'd In brief sententious precepts, while they treat Of fate, and chance, and change in human life, High actions and high passions best describing: Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratie, Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece, To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne:
To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear, From heaven descended to the low-roof'd house Of Socrates; see there his tenement, Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued forth Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools Of Academics old and new, with those Surnam'd Peripatetics, and the sect Epicurean, and the Stoic severe; These here revolve, or, as thou lik'st, at home, Till time mature thee to a kingdom's weight; These rules will render thee a king complete Within thyself, much more with empire join'd.
ANDREW MARVELL (1620-1678) is better known as a prose writer than a poet, and is still more celebrated as a patriotic member of parliament. He was associated with Milton in friendship and in public service. Marvell was born in Hull, where his father, a clergyman, resided. A romantic story is related of the elder Marvell, and of the circumstances attending his death. He embarked in a boat with a youthful pair whom he was to marry in Lincolnshire. The weather was calm, but the clergyman had a presentiment of danger; and on entering the boat, he threw his cane ashore, and cried out, Ho, for heaven!' His fears were but too truly verified; the boat went down, and the whole party perished. The son was educated at Cam
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