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| Which to our general sire gave prospect large |
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| Into his nether empire neighbouring round. |
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| And higher than that wall a circling row |
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| Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, |
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| Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, |
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| Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed: |
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| On which the sun more glad impressed his beams |
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| Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, |
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| When God hath showered the earth; so lovely seemed |
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| That landskip: And of pure now purer air |
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| Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires |
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| Vernal delight and joy, able to drive |
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| All sadness but despair: Now gentle gales, |
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| Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense |
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| Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole |
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| Those balmy spoils. As when to them who fail |
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| Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past |
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| Mozambick, off at sea north-east winds blow |
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| Sabean odours from the spicy shore |
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| Of Araby the blest; with such delay |
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| Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league |
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| Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles: |
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| So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend, |
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| Who came their bane; though with them better pleased |
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| Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume |
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| That drove him, though enamoured, from the spouse |
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| Of Tobit's son, and with a vengeance sent |
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| From Media post to Egypt, there fast bound. |
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| Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill |
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| Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow; |
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| But further way found none, so thick entwined, |
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| As one continued brake, the undergrowth |
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| Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed |
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| All path of man or beast that passed that way. |
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| One gate there only was, and that looked east |
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| On the other side: which when the arch-felon saw, |
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| Due entrance he disdained; and, in contempt, |
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| At one flight bound high over-leaped all bound |
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| Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within |
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| Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf, |
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| Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, |
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| Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve |
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| In hurdled cotes amid the field secure, |
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| Leaps o'er the fence with ease into the fold: |
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| Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash |
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| Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors, |
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| Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault, |
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| In at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles: |
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| So clomb this first grand thief into God's fold; |
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| So since into his church lewd hirelings climb. |
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| Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life, |
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| The middle tree and highest there that grew, |
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| Sat like a cormorant; yet not true life |
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| Thereby regained, but sat devising death |
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| To them who lived; nor on the virtue thought |
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| Of that life-giving plant, but only used |
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| For prospect, what well used had been the pledge |
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| Of immortality. So little knows |
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| Any, but God alone, to value right |
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| The good before him, but perverts best things |
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| To worst abuse, or to their meanest use. |
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| Beneath him with new wonder now he views, |
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| To all delight of human sense exposed, |
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| In narrow room, Nature's whole wealth, yea more, |
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| A Heaven on Earth: For blissful Paradise |
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| Of God the garden was, by him in the east |
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| Of Eden planted; Eden stretched her line |
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| From Auran eastward to the royal towers |
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| Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings, |
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| Of where the sons of Eden long before |
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| Dwelt in Telassar: In this pleasant soil |
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| His far more pleasant garden God ordained; |
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| Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow |
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| All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; |
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| And all amid them stood the tree of life, |
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| High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit |
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| Of vegetable gold; and next to life, |
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| Our death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by, |
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| Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ill. |
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| Southward through Eden went a river large, |
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| Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill |
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| Passed underneath ingulfed; for God had thrown |
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| That mountain as his garden-mould high raised |
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| Upon the rapid current, which, through veins |
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| Of porous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn, |
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| Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill |
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| Watered the garden; thence united fell |
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| Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, |
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| Which from his darksome passage now appears, |
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| And now, divided into four main streams, |
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| Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm |
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| And country, whereof here needs no account; |
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| But rather to tell how, if Art could tell, |
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| How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, |
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| Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, |
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| With mazy errour under pendant shades |
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| Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed |
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| Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art |
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| In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon |
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| Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, |
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| Both where the morning sun first warmly smote |
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| The open field, and where the unpierced shade |
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| Imbrowned the noontide bowers: Thus was this place |
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| A happy rural seat of various view; |
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| Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm, |
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| Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, |
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| Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, |
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| If true, here only, and of delicious taste: |
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| Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks |
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| Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, |
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| Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap |
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| Of some irriguous valley spread her store, |
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| Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose: |
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| Another side, umbrageous grots and caves |
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| Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine |
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| Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps |
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| Luxuriant; mean while murmuring waters fall |
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| Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, |
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| That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned |
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| Her crystal mirrour holds, unite their streams. |
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| The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, |
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| Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune |
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| The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, |
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| Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, |
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| Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field |
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| Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, |
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| Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis |
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| Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain |
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| To seek her through the world; nor that sweet grove |
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| Of Daphne by Orontes, and the inspired |
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| Castalian spring, might with this Paradise |
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| Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseian isle |
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| Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, |
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| Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Libyan Jove, |
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| Hid Amalthea, and her florid son |
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| Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye; |
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| Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard, |
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| Mount Amara, though this by some supposed |
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| True Paradise under the Ethiop line |
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| By Nilus' head, enclosed with shining rock, |
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| A whole day's journey high, but wide remote |
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| From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend |
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| Saw, undelighted, all delight, all kind |
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| Of living creatures, new to sight, and strange |
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| Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, |
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| Godlike erect, with native honour clad |
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| In naked majesty seemed lords of all: |
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| And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine |
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| The image of their glorious Maker shone, |
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| Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, |
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| (Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,) |
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| Whence true authority in men; though both |
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| Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed; |
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| For contemplation he and valour formed; |
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| For softness she and sweet attractive grace; |
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| He for God only, she for God in him: |
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| His fair large front and eye sublime declared |
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| Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks |
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| Round from his parted forelock manly hung |
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| Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad: |
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| She, as a veil, down to the slender waist |
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| Her unadorned golden tresses wore |
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| Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved |
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| As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied |
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| Subjection, but required with gentle sway, |
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| And by her yielded, by him best received, |
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| Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, |
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| And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. |
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| Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed; |
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| Then was not guilty shame, dishonest shame |
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| Of nature's works, honour dishonourable, |
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| Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind |
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| With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure, |
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| And banished from man's life his happiest life, |
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| Simplicity and spotless innocence! |
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| So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight |
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| Of God or Angel; for they thought no ill: |
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| So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair, |
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| That ever since in love's embraces met; |
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| Adam the goodliest man of men since born |
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| His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve. |
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| Under a tuft of shade that on a green |
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| Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain side |
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| They sat them down; and, after no more toil |
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| Of their sweet gardening labour than sufficed |
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| To recommend cool Zephyr, and made ease |
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| More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite |
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| More grateful, to their supper-fruits they fell, |
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| Nectarine fruits which the compliant boughs |
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| Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline |
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| On the soft downy bank damasked with flowers: |
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| The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind, |
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| Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming stream; |
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| Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles |
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| Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems |
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| Fair couple, linked in happy nuptial league, |
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| Alone as they. About them frisking played |
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| All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase |
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| In wood or wilderness, forest or den; |
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| Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw |
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| Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards, |
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| Gambolled before them; the unwieldy elephant, |
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| To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed |
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| His?kithetmroboscis; close the serpent sly, |
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| Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine |
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| His braided train, and of his fatal guile |
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| Gave proof unheeded; others on the grass |
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| Couched, and now filled with pasture gazing sat, |
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| Or bedward ruminating; for the sun, |
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| Declined, was hasting now with prone career |
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| To the ocean isles, and in the ascending scale |
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| Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose: |
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| When Satan still in gaze, as first he stood, |
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| Scarce thus at length failed speech recovered sad. |
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| O Hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold! |
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| Into our room of bliss thus high advanced |
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| Creatures of other mould, earth-born perhaps, |
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| Not Spirits, yet to heavenly Spirits bright |
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| Little inferiour; whom my thoughts pursue |
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| With wonder, and could love, so lively shines |
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| In them divine resemblance, and such grace |
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| The hand that formed them on their shape hath poured. |
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| Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh |
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| Your change approaches, when all these delights |
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| Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe; |
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| More woe, the more your taste is now of joy; |
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| Happy, but for so happy ill secured |
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| Long to continue, and this high seat your Heaven |
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| Ill fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe |
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| As now is entered; yet no purposed foe |
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| To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn, |
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| Though I unpitied: League with you I seek, |
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| And mutual amity, so strait, so close, |
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| That I with you must dwell, or you with me |
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| Henceforth; my dwelling haply may not please, |
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| Like this fair Paradise, your sense; yet such |
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| Accept your Maker's work; he gave it me, |
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| Which I as freely give: Hell shall unfold, |
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| To entertain you two, her widest gates, |
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| And send forth all her kings; there will be room, |
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| Not like these narrow limits, to receive |
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| Your numerous offspring; if no better place, |
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| Thank him who puts me loth to this revenge |
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| On you who wrong me not for him who wronged. |
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| And should I at your harmless innocence |
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| Melt, as I do, yet publick reason just, |
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| Honour and empire with revenge enlarged, |
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| By conquering this new world, compels me now |
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| To do what else, though damned, I should abhor. |
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| So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, |
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| The tyrant's plea, excused his devilish deeds. |
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| Then from his lofty stand on that high tree |
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| Down he alights among the sportful herd |
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| Of those four-footed kinds, himself now one, |
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| Now other, as their shape served best his end |
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| Nearer to view his prey, and, unespied, |
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| To mark what of their state he more might learn, |
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| By word or action marked. About them round |
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| A lion now he stalks with fiery glare; |
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| Then as a tiger, who by chance hath spied |
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| In some purlieu two gentle fawns at play, |
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| Straight couches close, then, rising, changes oft |
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| His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground, |
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| Whence rushing, he might surest seize them both, |
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| Griped in each paw: when, Adam first of men |
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| To first of women Eve thus moving speech, |
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| Turned him, all ear to hear new utterance flow. |
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| Sole partner, and sole part, of all these joys, |
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| Dearer thyself than all; needs must the Power |
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| That made us, and for us this ample world, |
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| Be infinitely good, and of his good |
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| As liberal and free as infinite; |
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| That raised us from the dust, and placed us here |
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| In all this happiness, who at his hand |
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| Have nothing merited, nor can perform |
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| Aught whereof he hath need; he who requires |
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| From us no other service than to keep |
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| This one, this easy charge, of all the trees |
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| In Paradise that bear delicious fruit |
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| So various, not to taste that only tree |
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| Of knowledge, planted by the tree of life; |
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| So near grows death to life, whate'er death is, |
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| Some dreadful thing no doubt; for well thou knowest |
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| God hath pronounced it death to taste that tree, |
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| The only sign of our obedience left, |
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| Among so many signs of power and rule |
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| Conferred upon us, and dominion given |
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| Over all other creatures that possess |
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| Earth, air, and sea. Then let us not think hard |
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| One easy prohibition, who enjoy |
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| Free leave so large to all things else, and choice |
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| Unlimited of manifold delights: |
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| But let us ever praise him, and extol |
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| His bounty, following our delightful task, |
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| To prune these growing plants, and tend these flowers, |
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| Which were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet. |
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| To whom thus Eve replied. O thou for whom |
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| And from whom I was formed, flesh of thy flesh, |
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| And without whom am to no end, my guide |
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| And head! what thou hast said is just and right. |
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| For we to him indeed all praises owe, |
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| And daily thanks; I chiefly, who enjoy |
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| So far the happier lot, enjoying thee |
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| Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou |
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| Like consort to thyself canst no where find. |
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| That day I oft remember, when from sleep |
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| I first awaked, and found myself reposed |
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| Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where |
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| And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. |
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| Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound |
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| Of waters issued from a cave, and spread |
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| Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved |
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| Pure as the expanse of Heaven; I thither went |
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| With unexperienced thought, and laid me down |
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| On the green bank, to look into the clear |
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| Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. |
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| As I bent down to look, just opposite |
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| A shape within the watery gleam appeared, |
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| Bending to look on me: I started back, |
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| It started back; but pleased I soon returned, |
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| Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks |
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| Of sympathy and love: There I had fixed |
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| Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, |
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| Had not a voice thus warned me; 'What thou seest, |
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| 'What there thou seest, fair Creature, is thyself; |
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| 'With thee it came and goes: but follow me, |
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| 'And I will bring thee where no shadow stays |
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| 'Thy coming, and thy soft embraces, he |
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| 'Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy |
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| 'Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear |
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| 'Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called |
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| 'Mother of human race.' What could I do, |
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| But follow straight, invisibly thus led? |
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| Till I espied thee, fair indeed and tall, |
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| Under a platane; yet methought less fair, |
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| Less winning soft, less amiably mild, |
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| Than that smooth watery image: Back I turned; |
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| Thou following cryedst aloud, 'Return, fair Eve; |
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| 'Whom flyest thou? whom thou flyest, of him thou art, |
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| 'His flesh, his bone; to give thee being I lent |
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| 'Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart, |
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| 'Substantial life, to have thee by my side |
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| 'Henceforth an individual solace dear; |
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| 'Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim |
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| 'My other half:' With that thy gentle hand |
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| Seised mine: I yielded;and from that time see |
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| How beauty is excelled by manly grace, |
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| And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. |
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| So spake our general mother, and with eyes |
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| Of conjugal attraction unreproved, |
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| And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned |
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| On our first father; half her swelling breast |
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| Naked met his, under the flowing gold |
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| Of her loose tresses hid: he in delight |
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| Both of her beauty, and submissive charms, |
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| Smiled with superiour love, as Jupiter |
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| On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds |
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| That shed Mayflowers; and pressed her matron lip |
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| With kisses pure: Aside the Devil turned |
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| For envy; yet with jealous leer malign |
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| Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained. |
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| Sight hateful, sight tormenting! thus these two, |
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| Imparadised in one another's arms, |
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| The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill |
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| Of bliss on bliss; while I to Hell am thrust, |
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| Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, |
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| Among our other torments not the least, |
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| Still unfulfilled with pain of longing pines. |
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| Yet let me not forget what I have gained |
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| From their own mouths: All is not theirs, it seems; |
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| One fatal tree there stands, of knowledge called, |
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| Forbidden them to taste: Knowledge forbidden |
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| Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord |
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| Envy them that? Can it be sin to know? |
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| Can it be death? And do they only stand |
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| By ignorance? Is that their happy state, |
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| The proof of their obedience and their faith? |
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| O fair foundation laid whereon to build |
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| Their ruin! hence I will excite their minds |
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| With more desire to know, and to reject |
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| Envious commands, invented with design |
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| To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt |
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| Equal with Gods: aspiring to be such, |
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| They taste and die: What likelier can ensue |
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| But first with narrow search I must walk round |
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| This garden, and no corner leave unspied; |
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| A chance but chance may lead where I may meet |
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| Some wandering Spirit of Heaven by fountain side, |
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| Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw |
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| What further would be learned. Live while ye may, |
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| Yet happy pair; enjoy, till I return, |
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| Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed! |
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| So saying, his proud step he scornful turned, |
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| But with sly circumspection, and began |
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| Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam |
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| Mean while in utmost longitude, where Heaven |
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| With earth and ocean meets, the setting sun |
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| 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 angelick guards, awaiting night; |
|
|
| About him exercised heroick 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 sun-beam, swift as a shooting star |
|
|
| In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired |
|
|
| Impress the air, and shows 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 aery 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 winged warriour thus returned. |
|
|
| Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight, |
|
|
| Amid the sun's bright circle where thou sitst, |
|
|
| See far and wide: In at this gate none pass |
|
|
| The vigilance here placed, but such as come |
|
|
| Well known from Heaven; and since meridian hour |
|
|
| No creature thence: If Spirit of other sort, |
|
|
| So minded, have o'er-leaped these earthly bounds |
|
|
| On purpose, hard thou knowest it to exclude |
|
|
| Spiritual substance with corporeal bar. |
|
|
| But if within the circuit of these walks, |
|
|
| In whatsoever shape he lurk, of whom |
|
|
| Thou tellest, 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 rolled |
|
|
| Diurnal, or this less volubil 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 long her amorous descant sung; |
|
|
| Silence was pleased: Now glowed the firmament |
|
|
| With living sapphires: 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 slumbrous weight, inclines |
|
|
| Our eye-lids: Other creatures all day long |
|
|
| Rove idle, unemployed, 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; |
|
|
| Mean while, as Nature wills, night bids us rest. |
|
|
| To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned |
|
|
| My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst |
|
|
| 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 fertile 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 this 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, |
|
|
| These have their course to finish round the earth, |
|
|
| By morrow evening, and from land to land |
|
|
| In order, though to nations yet unborn, |
|
|
| Ministring 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 others note, |
|
|
| Singing their great Creator? oft in bands |
|
|
| While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, |
|
|
| With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds |
|
|
| In full harmonick number joined, their songs |
|
|
| Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven. |
|
|
| Thus talking, hand in hand alone 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 jessamin, |
|
|
| Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought |
|
|
| Mosaick; underfoot the violet, |
|
|
| Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay |
|
|
| Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone |
|
|
| Of costliest emblem: Other creature here, |
|
|
| Bird, beast, 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 |
|
|
| Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess, |
|
|
| With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs, |
|
|
| Espoused Eve decked first her nuptial bed; |
|
|
| And heavenly quires 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 authentick 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 employed, |
|
|
| 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 encrease; 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 range; 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 domestick sweets, |
|
|
| Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced, |
|
|
| Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used. |
|
|
| Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights |
|
|
| His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, |
|
|
| Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile |
|
|
| Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared, |
|
|
| Casual fruition; nor in court-amours, |
|
|
| Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, |
|
|
| Or serenate, which the starved lover sings |
|
|
| To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. |
|
|
| These, lulled by nightingales, embracing 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, seise 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 falshood 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 grisly king; |
|
|
| Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon. |
|
|
| Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell |
|
|
| Comest thou, escaped thy prison? and, transformed, |
|
|
| Why sat'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 stoodest 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, |
|
|
| Champing 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, |
|
|
| A waiting 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; |
|
|
| Employed, 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 knowest only good, |
|
|
| But evil hast not tried: and wilt object |
|
|
| His will who bounds 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 wrath, |
|
|
| Which thou incurrest 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? 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 knowest I stood |
|
|
| Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid |
|
|
| The blasting vollied 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 |
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| To settle here on earth, or in mid air; |
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| Though for possession put to try once more |
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| What thou and thy gay legions dare against; |
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| Whose easier business were to serve their Lord |
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| High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne, |
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| And practised distances to cringe, not fight, |
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| To whom the warriour Angel soon replied. |
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| To say and straight unsay, pretending first |
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| Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy, |
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| Argues no leader but a liear traced, |
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| Satan, and couldst thou faithful add? O name, |
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| O sacred name of faithfulness profaned! |
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| Faithful to whom? to thy rebellious crew? |
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| Army of Fiends, fit body to fit head. |
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| Was this your discipline and faith engaged, |
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| Your military obedience, to dissolve |
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| Allegiance to the acknowledged Power supreme? |
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| And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem |
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| Patron of liberty, who more than thou |
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| Once fawned, and cringed, and servily adored |
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| Heaven's awful Monarch? wherefore, but in hope |
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| To dispossess him, and thyself to reign? |
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| But mark what I arreed thee now, Avant; |
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| Fly neither whence thou fledst! If from this hour |
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| Within these hallowed limits thou appear, |
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| Back to the infernal pit I drag thee chained, |
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| And seal thee so, as henceforth not to scorn |
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| The facile gates of Hell too slightly barred. |
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| So threatened he; but Satan to no threats |
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| Gave heed, but waxing more in rage replied. |
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| Then when I am thy captive talk of chains, |
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| Proud limitary Cherub! but ere then |
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| Far heavier load thyself expect to feel |
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| From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King |
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| Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers, |
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| Us'd to the yoke, drawest his triumphant wheels |
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| In progress through the road of Heaven star-paved. |
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| While thus he spake, the angelick squadron bright |
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| Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns |
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| Their phalanx, and began to hem him round |
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| With ported spears, as thick as when a field |
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| Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends |
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| Her bearded grove of ears, which way the wind |
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| Sways them; the careful plowman doubting stands, |
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| Left on the threshing floor his hopeless sheaves |
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| Prove chaff. On the other side, Satan, alarmed, |
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| Collecting all his might, dilated stood, |
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| Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremoved: |
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| His stature reached the sky, and on his crest |
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| Sat Horrour plumed; nor wanted in his grasp |
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| What seemed both spear and shield: Now dreadful deeds |
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| Might have ensued, nor only Paradise |
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| In this commotion, but the starry cope |
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| Of Heaven perhaps, or all the elements |
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| At least had gone to wrack, disturbed and torn |
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| With violence of this conflict, had not soon |
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| The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, |
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| Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen |
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| Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign, |
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| Wherein all things created first he weighed, |
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| The pendulous round earth with balanced air |
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| In counterpoise, now ponders all events, |
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| Battles and realms: In these he put two weights, |
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| The sequel each of parting and of fight: |
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| The latter quick up flew, and kicked the beam, |
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| Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the Fiend. |
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| Satan, I know thy strength, and thou knowest mine; |
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| Neither our own, but given: What folly then |
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| To boast what arms can do? since thine no more |
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| Than Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now |
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| To trample thee as mire: For proof look up, |
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| And read thy lot in yon celestial sign; |
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| Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak, |
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| If thou resist. The Fiend looked up, and knew |
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| His mounted scale aloft: Nor more;but fled |
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| Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night. |
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