|
|
| Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime |
|
|
| Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl, |
|
|
| When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep |
|
|
| Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred, |
|
|
| And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound |
|
|
| Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, |
|
|
| Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song |
|
|
| Of birds on every bough; so much the more |
|
|
| His wonder was to find unwakened Eve |
|
|
| With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek, |
|
|
| As through unquiet rest: He, on his side |
|
|
| Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love |
|
|
| Hung over her enamoured, and beheld |
|
|
| Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, |
|
|
| Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice |
|
|
| Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, |
|
|
| Her hand soft touching, whispered thus. Awake, |
|
|
| My fairest, my espoused, my latest found, |
|
|
| Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight! |
|
|
| Awake: The morning shines, and the fresh field |
|
|
| Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring |
|
|
| Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove, |
|
|
| What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, |
|
|
| How nature paints her colours, how the bee |
|
|
| Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet. |
|
|
| Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye |
|
|
| On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake. |
|
|
| O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, |
|
|
| My glory, my perfection! glad I see |
|
|
| Thy face, and morn returned; for I this night |
|
|
| (Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed, |
|
|
| If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee, |
|
|
| Works of day past, or morrow's next design, |
|
|
| But of offence and trouble, which my mind |
|
|
| Knew never till this irksome night: Methought, |
|
|
| Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk |
|
|
| With gentle voice; I thought it thine: It said, |
|
|
| 'Why sleepest thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time, |
|
|
| 'The cool, the silent, save where silence yields |
|
|
| 'To the night-warbling bird, that now awake |
|
|
| 'Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song; now reigns |
|
|
| 'Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light |
|
|
| 'Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain, |
|
|
| 'If none regard; Heaven wakes with all his eyes, |
|
|
| 'Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire? |
|
|
| 'In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment |
|
|
| 'Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.' |
|
|
| I rose as at thy call, but found thee not; |
|
|
| To find thee I directed then my walk; |
|
|
| And on, methought, alone I passed through ways |
|
|
| That brought me on a sudden to the tree |
|
|
| Of interdicted knowledge: fair it seemed, |
|
|
| Much fairer to my fancy than by day: |
|
|
| And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood |
|
|
| One shaped and winged like one of those from Heaven |
|
|
| By us oft seen; his dewy locks distilled |
|
|
| Ambrosia; on that tree he also gazed; |
|
|
| And 'O fair plant,' said he, 'with fruit surcharged, |
|
|
| 'Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet, |
|
|
| 'Nor God, nor Man? Is knowledge so despised? |
|
|
| 'Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste? |
|
|
| 'Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold |
|
|
| 'Longer thy offered good; why else set here? |
|
|
| This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm |
|
|
| He plucked, he tasted; me damp horrour chilled |
|
|
| At such bold words vouched with a deed so bold: |
|
|
| But he thus, overjoyed; 'O fruit divine, |
|
|
| 'Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt, |
|
|
| 'Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit |
|
|
| 'For Gods, yet able to make Gods of Men: |
|
|
| 'And why not Gods of Men; since good, the more |
|
|
| 'Communicated, more abundant grows, |
|
|
| 'The author not impaired, but honoured more? |
|
|
| 'Here, happy creature, fair angelick Eve! |
|
|
| 'Partake thou also; happy though thou art, |
|
|
| 'Happier thou mayest be, worthier canst not be: |
|
|
| 'Taste this, and be henceforth among the Gods |
|
|
| 'Thyself a Goddess, not to earth confined, |
|
|
| 'But sometimes in the air, as we, sometimes |
|
|
| 'Ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see |
|
|
| 'What life the Gods live there, and such live thou!' |
|
|
| So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, |
|
|
| Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part |
|
|
| Which he had plucked; the pleasant savoury smell |
|
|
| So quickened appetite, that I, methought, |
|
|
| Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds |
|
|
| With him I flew, and underneath beheld |
|
|
| The earth outstretched immense, a prospect wide |
|
|
| And various: Wondering at my flight and change |
|
|
| To this high exaltation; suddenly |
|
|
| My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down, |
|
|
| And fell asleep; but O, how glad I waked |
|
|
| To find this but a dream! Thus Eve her night |
|
|
| Related, and thus Adam answered sad. |
|
|
| Best image of myself, and dearer half, |
|
|
| The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep |
|
|
| Affects me equally; nor can I like |
|
|
| This uncouth dream, of evil sprung, I fear; |
|
|
| Yet evil whence? in thee can harbour none, |
|
|
| Created pure. But know that in the soul |
|
|
| Are many lesser faculties, that serve |
|
|
| Reason as chief; among these Fancy next |
|
|
| Her office holds; of all external things |
|
|
| Which the five watchful senses represent, |
|
|
| She forms imaginations, aery shapes, |
|
|
| Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames |
|
|
| All what we affirm or what deny, and call |
|
|
| Our knowledge or opinion; then retires |
|
|
| Into her private cell, when nature rests. |
|
|
| Oft in her absence mimick Fancy wakes |
|
|
| To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes, |
|
|
| Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams; |
|
|
| Ill matching words and deeds long past or late. |
|
|
| Some such resemblances, methinks, I find |
|
|
| Of our last evening's talk, in this thy dream, |
|
|
| But with addition strange; yet be not sad. |
|
|
| Evil into the mind of God or Man |
|
|
| May come and go, so unreproved, and leave |
|
|
| No spot or blame behind: Which gives me hope |
|
|
| That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, |
|
|
| Waking thou never will consent to do. |
|
|
| Be not disheartened then, nor cloud those looks, |
|
|
| That wont to be more cheerful and serene, |
|
|
| Than when fair morning first smiles on the world; |
|
|
| And let us to our fresh employments rise |
|
|
| Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers |
|
|
| That open now their choisest bosomed smells, |
|
|
| Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store. |
|
|
| So cheered he his fair spouse, and she was cheered; |
|
|
| But silently a gentle tear let fall |
|
|
| From either eye, and wiped them with her hair; |
|
|
| Two other precious drops that ready stood, |
|
|
| Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell |
|
|
| Kissed, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse |
|
|
| And pious awe, that feared to have offended. |
|
|
| So all was cleared, and to the field they haste. |
|
|
| But first, from under shady arborous roof |
|
|
| Soon as they forth were come to open sight |
|
|
| Of day-spring, and the sun, who, scarce up-risen, |
|
|
| With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean-brim, |
|
|
| Shot parallel to the earth his dewy ray, |
|
|
| Discovering in wide landskip all the east |
|
|
| Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains, |
|
|
| Lowly they bowed adoring, and began |
|
|
| Their orisons, each morning duly paid |
|
|
| In various style; for neither various style |
|
|
| Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise |
|
|
| Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced, or sung |
|
|
| Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence |
|
|
| Flowed from their lips, in prose or numerous verse, |
|
|
| More tuneable than needed lute or harp |
|
|
| To add more sweetness; and they thus began. |
|
|
| These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, |
|
|
| Almighty! Thine this universal frame, |
|
|
| Thus wonderous fair; Thyself how wonderous then! |
|
|
| Unspeakable, who sitst above these heavens |
|
|
| To us invisible, or dimly seen |
|
|
| In these thy lowest works; yet these declare |
|
|
| Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. |
|
|
| Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, |
|
|
| Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs |
|
|
| And choral symphonies, day without night, |
|
|
| Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven |
|
|
| On Earth join all ye Creatures to extol |
|
|
| Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. |
|
|
| Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, |
|
|
| If better thou belong not to the dawn, |
|
|
| Sure pledge of day, that crownest the smiling morn |
|
|
| With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, |
|
|
| While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. |
|
|
| Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, |
|
|
| Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise |
|
|
| In thy eternal course, both when thou climbest, |
|
|
| And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fallest. |
|
|
| Moon, that now meetest the orient sun, now flyest, |
|
|
| With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies; |
|
|
| And ye five other wandering Fires, that move |
|
|
| In mystick dance not without song, resound |
|
|
| His praise, who out of darkness called up light. |
|
|
| Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth |
|
|
| Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run |
|
|
| Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix |
|
|
| And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change |
|
|
| Vary to our great Maker still new praise. |
|
|
| Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise |
|
|
| From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, |
|
|
| Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, |
|
|
| In honour to the world's great Author rise; |
|
|
| Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky, |
|
|
| Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, |
|
|
| Rising or falling still advance his praise. |
|
|
| His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, |
|
|
| Breathe soft or loud; and, wave your tops, ye Pines, |
|
|
| With every plant, in sign of worship wave. |
|
|
| Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, |
|
|
| Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. |
|
|
| Join voices, all ye living Souls: Ye Birds, |
|
|
| That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, |
|
|
| Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. |
|
|
| Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk |
|
|
| The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; |
|
|
| Witness if I be silent, morn or even, |
|
|
| To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, |
|
|
| Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. |
|
|
| Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still |
|
|
| To give us only good; and if the night |
|
|
| Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, |
|
|
| Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark! |
|
|
| So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts |
|
|
| Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm. |
|
|
| On to their morning's rural work they haste, |
|
|
| Among sweet dews and flowers; where any row |
|
|
| Of fruit-trees over-woody reached too far |
|
|
| Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to check |
|
|
| Fruitless embraces: or they led the vine |
|
|
| To wed her elm; she, spoused, about him twines |
|
|
| Her marriageable arms, and with him brings |
|
|
| Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn |
|
|
| His barren leaves. Them thus employed beheld |
|
|
| With pity Heaven's high King, and to him called |
|
|
| Raphael, the sociable Spirit, that deigned |
|
|
| To travel with Tobias, and secured |
|
|
| His marriage with the seventimes-wedded maid. |
|
|
| Raphael, said he, thou hearest what stir on Earth |
|
|
| Satan, from Hell 'scaped through the darksome gulf, |
|
|
| Hath raised in Paradise; and how disturbed |
|
|
| This night the human pair; how he designs |
|
|
| In them at once to ruin all mankind. |
|
|
| Go therefore, half this day as friend with friend |
|
|
| Converse with Adam, in what bower or shade |
|
|
| Thou findest him from the heat of noon retired, |
|
|
| To respite his day-labour with repast, |
|
|
| Or with repose; and such discourse bring on, |
|
|
| As may advise him of his happy state, |
|
|
| Happiness in his power left free to will, |
|
|
| Left to his own free will, his will though free, |
|
|
| Yet mutable; whence warn him to beware |
|
|
| He swerve not, too secure: Tell him withal |
|
|
| His danger, and from whom; what enemy, |
|
|
| Late fallen himself from Heaven, is plotting now |
|
|
| The fall of others from like state of bliss; |
|
|
| By violence? no, for that shall be withstood; |
|
|
| But by deceit and lies: This let him know, |
|
|
| Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend |
|
|
| Surprisal, unadmonished, unforewarned. |
|
|
| So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfilled |
|
|
| All justice: Nor delayed the winged Saint |
|
|
| After his charge received; but from among |
|
|
| Thousand celestial Ardours, where he stood |
|
|
| Veiled with his gorgeous wings, up springing light, |
|
|
| Flew through the midst of Heaven; the angelick quires, |
|
|
| On each hand parting, to his speed gave way |
|
|
| Through all the empyreal road; till, at the gate |
|
|
| Of Heaven arrived, the gate self-opened wide |
|
|
| On golden hinges turning, as by work |
|
|
| Divine the sovran Architect had framed. |
|
|
| From hence no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight, |
|
|
| Star interposed, however small he sees, |
|
|
| Not unconformed to other shining globes, |
|
|
| Earth, and the garden of God, with cedars crowned |
|
|
| Above all hills. As when by night the glass |
|
|
| Of Galileo, less assured, observes |
|
|
| Imagined lands and regions in the moon: |
|
|
| Or pilot, from amidst the Cyclades |
|
|
| Delos or Samos first appearing, kens |
|
|
| A cloudy spot. Down thither prone in flight |
|
|
| He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky |
|
|
| Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing |
|
|
| Now on the polar winds, then with quick fan |
|
|
| Winnows the buxom air; till, within soar |
|
|
| Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems |
|
|
| A phoenix, gazed by all as that sole bird, |
|
|
| When, to enshrine his reliques in the Sun's |
|
|
| Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies. |
|
|
| At once on the eastern cliff of Paradise |
|
|
| He lights, and to his proper shape returns |
|
|
| A Seraph winged: Six wings he wore, to shade |
|
|
| His lineaments divine; the pair that clad |
|
|
| Each shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast |
|
|
| With regal ornament; the middle pair |
|
|
| Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round |
|
|
| Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold |
|
|
| And colours dipt in Heaven; the third his feet |
|
|
| Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail, |
|
|
| Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia's son he stood, |
|
|
| And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled |
|
|
| The circuit wide. Straight knew him all the bands |
|
|
| Of Angels under watch; and to his state, |
|
|
| And to his message high, in honour rise; |
|
|
| For on some message high they guessed him bound. |
|
|
| Their glittering tents he passed, and now is come |
|
|
| Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh, |
|
|
| And flowering odours, cassia, nard, and balm; |
|
|
| A wilderness of sweets; for Nature here |
|
|
| Wantoned as in her prime, and played at will |
|
|
| Her virgin fancies pouring forth more sweet, |
|
|
| Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss. |
|
|
| Him through the spicy forest onward come |
|
|
| Adam discerned, as in the door he sat |
|
|
| Of his cool bower, while now the mounted sun |
|
|
| Shot down direct his fervid rays to warm |
|
|
| Earth's inmost womb, more warmth than Adam needs: |
|
|
| And Eve within, due at her hour prepared |
|
|
| For dinner savoury fruits, of taste to please |
|
|
| True appetite, and not disrelish thirst |
|
|
| Of nectarous draughts between, from milky stream, |
|
|
| Berry or grape: To whom thus Adam called. |
|
|
| Haste hither, Eve, and worth thy sight behold |
|
|
| Eastward among those trees, what glorious shape |
|
|
| Comes this way moving; seems another morn |
|
|
| Risen on mid-noon; some great behest from Heaven |
|
|
| To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe |
|
|
| This day to be our guest. But go with speed, |
|
|
| And, what thy stores contain, bring forth, and pour |
|
|
| Abundance, fit to honour and receive |
|
|
| Our heavenly stranger: Well we may afford |
|
|
| Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow |
|
|
| From large bestowed, where Nature multiplies |
|
|
| Her fertile growth, and by disburthening grows |
|
|
| More fruitful, which instructs us not to spare. |
|
|
| To whom thus Eve. Adam, earth's hallowed mould, |
|
|
| Of God inspired! small store will serve, where store, |
|
|
| All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk; |
|
|
| Save what by frugal storing firmness gains |
|
|
| To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes: |
|
|
| But I will haste, and from each bough and brake, |
|
|
| Each plant and juciest gourd, will pluck such choice |
|
|
| To entertain our Angel-guest, as he |
|
|
| Beholding shall confess, that here on Earth |
|
|
| God hath dispensed his bounties as in Heaven. |
|
|
| So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste |
|
|
| She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent |
|
|
| What choice to choose for delicacy best, |
|
|
| What order, so contrived as not to mix |
|
|
| Tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but bring |
|
|
| Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change; |
|
|
| Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk |
|
|
| Whatever Earth, all-bearing mother, yields |
|
|
| In India East or West, or middle shore |
|
|
| In Pontus or the Punick coast, or where |
|
|
| Alcinous reigned, fruit of all kinds, in coat |
|
|
| Rough, or smooth rind, or bearded husk, or shell, |
|
|
| She gathers, tribute large, and on the board |
|
|
| Heaps with unsparing hand; for drink the grape |
|
|
| She crushes, inoffensive must, and meaths |
|
|
| From many a berry, and from sweet kernels pressed |
|
|
| She tempers dulcet creams; nor these to hold |
|
|
| Wants her fit vessels pure; then strows the ground |
|
|
| With rose and odours from the shrub unfumed. |
|
|
| Mean while our primitive great sire, to meet |
|
|
| His God-like guest, walks forth, without more train |
|
|
| Accompanied than with his own complete |
|
|
| Perfections; in himself was all his state, |
|
|
| More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits |
|
|
| On princes, when their rich retinue long |
|
|
| Of horses led, and grooms besmeared with gold, |
|
|
| Dazzles the croud, and sets them all agape. |
|
|
| Nearer his presence Adam, though not awed, |
|
|
| Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek, |
|
|
| As to a superiour nature bowing low, |
|
|
| Thus said. Native of Heaven, for other place |
|
|
| None can than Heaven such glorious shape contain; |
|
|
| Since, by descending from the thrones above, |
|
|
| Those happy places thou hast deigned a while |
|
|
| To want, and honour these, vouchsafe with us |
|
|
| Two only, who yet by sovran gift possess |
|
|
| This spacious ground, in yonder shady bower |
|
|
| To rest; and what the garden choicest bears |
|
|
| To sit and taste, till this meridian heat |
|
|
| Be over, and the sun more cool decline. |
|
|
| Whom thus the angelick Virtue answered mild. |
|
|
| Adam, I therefore came; nor art thou such |
|
|
| Created, or such place hast here to dwell, |
|
|
| As may not oft invite, though Spirits of Heaven, |
|
|
| To visit thee; lead on then where thy bower |
|
|
| O'ershades; for these mid-hours, till evening rise, |
|
|
| I have at will. So to the sylvan lodge |
|
|
| They came, that like Pomona's arbour smiled, |
|
|
| With flowerets decked, and fragrant smells; but Eve, |
|
|
| Undecked save with herself, more lovely fair |
|
|
| Than Wood-Nymph, or the fairest Goddess feigned |
|
|
| Of three that in mount Ida naked strove, |
|
|
| Stood to entertain her guest from Heaven; no veil |
|
|
| She needed, virtue-proof; no thought infirm |
|
|
| Altered her cheek. On whom the Angel Hail |
|
|
| Bestowed, the holy salutation used |
|
|
| Long after to blest Mary, second Eve. |
|
|
| Hail, Mother of Mankind, whose fruitful womb |
|
|
| Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons, |
|
|
| Than with these various fruits the trees of God |
|
|
| Have heaped this table!—Raised of grassy turf |
|
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| Their table was, and mossy seats had round, |
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| And on her ample square from side to side |
|
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| All autumn piled, though spring and autumn here |
|
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| Danced hand in hand. A while discourse they hold; |
|
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| No fear lest dinner cool; when thus began |
|
|
| Our author. Heavenly stranger, please to taste |
|
|
| These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom |
|
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| All perfect good, unmeasured out, descends, |
|
|
| To us for food and for delight hath caused |
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| The earth to yield; unsavoury food perhaps |
|
|
| To spiritual natures; only this I know, |
|
|
| That one celestial Father gives to all. |
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| To whom the Angel. Therefore what he gives |
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| (Whose praise be ever sung) to Man in part |
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|
| Spiritual, may of purest Spirits be found |
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|
| No ingrateful food: And food alike those pure |
|
|
| Intelligential substances require, |
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| As doth your rational; and both contain |
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| Within them every lower faculty |
|
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| Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste, |
|
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| Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate, |
|
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| And corporeal to incorporeal turn. |
|
|
| For know, whatever was created, needs |
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|
| To be sustained and fed: Of elements |
|
|
| The grosser feeds the purer, earth the sea, |
|
|
| Earth and the sea feed air, the air those fires |
|
|
| Ethereal, and as lowest first the moon; |
|
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| Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurged |
|
|
| Vapours not yet into her substance turned. |
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| Nor doth the moon no nourishment exhale |
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| From her moist continent to higher orbs. |
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| The sun that light imparts to all, receives |
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|
| From all his alimental recompence |
|
|
| In humid exhalations, and at even |
|
|
| Sups with the ocean. Though in Heaven the trees |
|
|
| Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines |
|
|
| Yield nectar; though from off the boughs each morn |
|
|
| We brush mellifluous dews, and find the ground |
|
|
| Covered with pearly grain: Yet God hath here |
|
|
| Varied his bounty so with new delights, |
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|
| As may compare with Heaven; and to taste |
|
|
| Think not I shall be nice. So down they sat, |
|
|
| And to their viands fell; nor seemingly |
|
|
| The Angel, nor in mist, the common gloss |
|
|
| Of Theologians; but with keen dispatch |
|
|
| Of real hunger, and concoctive heat |
|
|
| To transubstantiate: What redounds, transpires |
|
|
| Through Spirits with ease; nor wonder;if by fire |
|
|
| Of sooty coal the empirick alchemist |
|
|
| Can turn, or holds it possible to turn, |
|
|
| Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold, |
|
|
| As from the mine. Mean while at table Eve |
|
|
| Ministered naked, and their flowing cups |
|
|
| With pleasant liquours crowned: O innocence |
|
|
| Deserving Paradise! if ever, then, |
|
|
| Then had the sons of God excuse to have been |
|
|
| Enamoured at that sight; but in those hearts |
|
|
| Love unlibidinous reigned, nor jealousy |
|
|
| Was understood, the injured lover's hell. |
|
|
| Thus when with meats and drinks they had sufficed, |
|
|
| Not burdened nature, sudden mind arose |
|
|
| In Adam, not to let the occasion pass |
|
|
| Given him by this great conference to know |
|
|
| Of things above his world, and of their being |
|
|
| Who dwell in Heaven, whose excellence he saw |
|
|
| Transcend his own so far; whose radiant forms, |
|
|
| Divine effulgence, whose high power, so far |
|
|
| Exceeded human; and his wary speech |
|
|
| Thus to the empyreal minister he framed. |
|
|
| Inhabitant with God, now know I well |
|
|
| Thy favour, in this honour done to Man; |
|
|
| Under whose lowly roof thou hast vouchsafed |
|
|
| To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste, |
|
|
| Food not of Angels, yet accepted so, |
|
|
| As that more willingly thou couldst not seem |
|
|
| At Heaven's high feasts to have fed: yet what compare |
|
|
| To whom the winged Hierarch replied. |
|
|
| O Adam, One Almighty is, from whom |
|
|
| All things proceed, and up to him return, |
|
|
| If not depraved from good, created all |
|
|
| Such to perfection, one first matter all, |
|
|
| Endued with various forms, various degrees |
|
|
| Of substance, and, in things that live, of life; |
|
|
| But more refined, more spiritous, and pure, |
|
|
| As nearer to him placed, or nearer tending |
|
|
| Each in their several active spheres assigned, |
|
|
| Till body up to spirit work, in bounds |
|
|
| Proportioned to each kind. So from the root |
|
|
| Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves |
|
|
| More aery, last the bright consummate flower |
|
|
| Spirits odorous breathes: flowers and their fruit, |
|
|
| Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublimed, |
|
|
| To vital spirits aspire, to animal, |
|
|
| To intellectual; give both life and sense, |
|
|
| Fancy and understanding; whence the soul |
|
|
| Reason receives, and reason is her being, |
|
|
| Discursive, or intuitive; discourse |
|
|
| Is oftest yours, the latter most is ours, |
|
|
| Differing but in degree, of kind the same. |
|
|
| Wonder not then, what God for you saw good |
|
|
| If I refuse not, but convert, as you |
|
|
| To proper substance. Time may come, when Men |
|
|
| With Angels may participate, and find |
|
|
| No inconvenient diet, nor too light fare; |
|
|
| And from these corporal nutriments perhaps |
|
|
| Your bodies may at last turn all to spirit, |
|
|
| Improved by tract of time, and, winged, ascend |
|
|
| Ethereal, as we; or may, at choice, |
|
|
| Here or in heavenly Paradises dwell; |
|
|
| If ye be found obedient, and retain |
|
|
| Unalterably firm his love entire, |
|
|
| Whose progeny you are. Mean while enjoy |
|
|
| Your fill what happiness this happy state |
|
|
| Can comprehend, incapable of more. |
|
|
| To whom the patriarch of mankind replied. |
|
|
| O favourable Spirit, propitious guest, |
|
|
| Well hast thou taught the way that might direct |
|
|
| Our knowledge, and the scale of nature set |
|
|
| From center to circumference; whereon, |
|
|
| In contemplation of created things, |
|
|
| By steps we may ascend to God. But say, |
|
|
| What meant that caution joined, If ye be found |
|
|
| Obedient? Can we want obedience then |
|
|
| To him, or possibly his love desert, |
|
|
| Who formed us from the dust and placed us here |
|
|
| Full to the utmost measure of what bliss |
|
|
| Human desires can seek or apprehend? |
|
|
| To whom the Angel. Son of Heaven and Earth, |
|
|
| Attend! That thou art happy, owe to God; |
|
|
| That thou continuest such, owe to thyself, |
|
|
| That is, to thy obedience; therein stand. |
|
|
| This was that caution given thee; be advised. |
|
|
| God made thee perfect, not immutable; |
|
|
| And good he made thee, but to persevere |
|
|
| He left it in thy power; ordained thy will |
|
|
| By nature free, not over-ruled by fate |
|
|
| Inextricable, or strict necessity: |
|
|
| Our voluntary service he requires, |
|
|
| Not our necessitated; such with him |
|
|
| Finds no acceptance, nor can find; for how |
|
|
| Can hearts, not free, be tried whether they serve |
|
|
| Willing or no, who will but what they must |
|
|
| By destiny, and can no other choose? |
|
|
| Myself, and all the angelick host, that stand |
|
|
| In sight of God, enthroned, our happy state |
|
|
| Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds; |
|
|
| On other surety none: Freely we serve, |
|
|
| Because we freely love, as in our will |
|
|
| To love or not; in this we stand or fall: |
|
|
| And some are fallen, to disobedience fallen, |
|
|
| And so from Heaven to deepest Hell; O fall |
|
|
| From what high state of bliss, into what woe! |
|
|
| To whom our great progenitor. Thy words |
|
|
| Attentive, and with more delighted ear, |
|
|
| Divine instructer, I have heard, than when |
|
|
| Cherubick songs by night from neighbouring hills |
|
|
| Aereal musick send: Nor knew I not |
|
|
| To be both will and deed created free; |
|
|
| Yet that we never shall forget to love |
|
|
| Our Maker, and obey him whose command |
|
|
| Single is yet so just, my constant thoughts |
|
|
| Assured me, and still assure: Though what thou tellest |
|
|
| Hath passed in Heaven, some doubt within me move, |
|
|
| But more desire to hear, if thou consent, |
|
|
| The full relation, which must needs be strange, |
|
|
| Worthy of sacred silence to be heard; |
|
|
| And we have yet large day, for scarce the sun |
|
|
| Hath finished half his journey, and scarce begins |
|
|
| His other half in the great zone of Heaven. |
|
|
| Thus Adam made request; and Raphael, |
|
|
| After short pause assenting, thus began. |
|
|
| High matter thou enjoinest me, O prime of men, |
|
|
| Sad task and hard: For how shall I relate |
|
|
| To human sense the invisible exploits |
|
|
| Of warring Spirits? how, without remorse, |
|
|
| The ruin of so many glorious once |
|
|
| And perfect while they stood? how last unfold |
|
|
| The secrets of another world, perhaps |
|
|
| Not lawful to reveal? yet for thy good |
|
|
| This is dispensed; and what surmounts the reach |
|
|
| Of human sense, I shall delineate so, |
|
|
| By likening spiritual to corporal forms, |
|
|
| As may express them best; though what if Earth |
|
|
| Be but a shadow of Heaven, and things therein |
|
|
| Each to other like, more than on earth is thought? |
|
|
| As yet this world was not, and Chaos wild |
|
|
| Reigned where these Heavens now roll, where Earth now rests |
|
|
| Upon her center poised; when on a day |
|
|
| (For time, though in eternity, applied |
|
|
| To motion, measures all things durable |
|
|
| By present, past, and future,) on such day |
|
|
| As Heaven's great year brings forth, the empyreal host |
|
|
| Of Angels by imperial summons called, |
|
|
| Innumerable before the Almighty's throne |
|
|
| Forthwith, from all the ends of Heaven, appeared |
|
|
| Under their Hierarchs in orders bright: |
|
|
| Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanced, |
|
|
| Standards and gonfalons 'twixt van and rear |
|
|
| Stream in the air, and for distinction serve |
|
|
| Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees; |
|
|
| Or in their glittering tissues bear imblazed |
|
|
| Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love |
|
|
| Recorded eminent. Thus when in orbs |
|
|
| Of circuit inexpressible they stood, |
|
|
| Orb within orb, the Father Infinite, |
|
|
| By whom in bliss imbosomed sat the Son, |
|
|
| Amidst as from a flaming mount, whose top |
|
|
| Brightness had made invisible, thus spake. |
|
|
| Hear, all ye Angels, progeny of light, |
|
|
| Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers; |
|
|
| Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand. |
|
|
| This day I have begot whom I declare |
|
|
| My only Son, and on this holy hill |
|
|
| Him have anointed, whom ye now behold |
|
|
| At my right hand; your head I him appoint; |
|
|
| And by myself have sworn, to him shall bow |
|
|
| All knees in Heaven, and shall confess him Lord: |
|
|
| Under his great vice-gerent reign abide |
|
|
| United, as one individual soul, |
|
|
| For ever happy: Him who disobeys, |
|
|
| Me disobeys, breaks union, and that day, |
|
|
| Cast out from God and blessed vision, falls |
|
|
| Into utter darkness, deep ingulfed, his place |
|
|
| Ordained without redemption, without end. |
|
|
| So spake the Omnipotent, and with his words |
|
|
| All seemed well pleased; all seemed, but were not all. |
|
|
| That day, as other solemn days, they spent |
|
|
| In song and dance about the sacred hill; |
|
|
| Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere |
|
|
| Of planets, and of fixed, in all her wheels |
|
|
| Resembles nearest, mazes intricate, |
|
|
| Eccentrick, intervolved, yet regular |
|
|
| Then most, when most irregular they seem; |
|
|
| And in their motions harmony divine |
|
|
| So smooths her charming tones, that God's own ear |
|
|
| Listens delighted. Evening now approached, |
|
|
| (For we have also our evening and our morn, |
|
|
| We ours for change delectable, not need;) |
|
|
| Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn |
|
|
| Desirous; all in circles as they stood, |
|
|
| Tables are set, and on a sudden piled |
|
|
| With Angels food, and rubied nectar flows |
|
|
| In pearl, in diamond, and massy gold, |
|
|
| Fruit of delicious vines, the growth of Heaven. |
|
|
| On flowers reposed, and with fresh flowerets crowned, |
|
|
| They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet |
|
|
| Quaff immortality and joy, secure |
|
|
| Of surfeit, where full measure only bounds |
|
|
| Excess, before the all-bounteous King, who showered |
|
|
| With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy. |
|
|
| Now when ambrosial night with clouds exhaled |
|
|
| From that high mount of God, whence light and shade |
|
|
| Spring both, the face of brightest Heaven had changed |
|
|
| To grateful twilight, (for night comes not there |
|
|
| In darker veil,) and roseat dews disposed |
|
|
| All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest; |
|
|
| Wide over all the plain, and wider far |
|
|
| Than all this globous earth in plain outspread, |
|
|
| (Such are the courts of God) the angelick throng, |
|
|
| Dispersed in bands and files, their camp extend |
|
|
| By living streams among the trees of life, |
|
|
| Pavilions numberless, and sudden reared, |
|
|
| Celestial tabernacles, where they slept |
|
|
| Fanned with cool winds; save those, who, in their course, |
|
|
| Melodious hymns about the sovran throne |
|
|
| Alternate all night long: but not so waked |
|
|
| Satan; so call him now, his former name |
|
|
| Is heard no more in Heaven; he of the first, |
|
|
| If not the first Arch-Angel, great in power, |
|
|
| In favour and pre-eminence, yet fraught |
|
|
| With envy against the Son of God, that day |
|
|
| Honoured by his great Father, and proclaimed |
|
|
| Messiah King anointed, could not bear |
|
|
| Through pride that sight, and thought himself impaired. |
|
|
| Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain, |
|
|
| Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour |
|
|
| Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolved |
|
|
| With all his legions to dislodge, and leave |
|
|
| Unworshipt, unobeyed, the throne supreme, |
|
|
| Contemptuous; and his next subordinate |
|
|
| Awakening, thus to him in secret spake. |
|
|
| Sleepest thou, Companion dear? What sleep can close |
|
|
| Thy eye-lids? and rememberest what decree |
|
|
| Of yesterday, so late hath passed the lips |
|
|
| Of Heaven's Almighty. Thou to me thy thoughts |
|
|
| Wast wont, I mine to thee was wont to impart; |
|
|
| Both waking we were one; how then can now |
|
|
| Thy sleep dissent? New laws thou seest imposed; |
|
|
| New laws from him who reigns, new minds may raise |
|
|
| In us who serve, new counsels to debate |
|
|
| What doubtful may ensue: More in this place |
|
|
| To utter is not safe. Assemble thou |
|
|
| Of all those myriads which we lead the chief; |
|
|
| Tell them, that by command, ere yet dim night |
|
|
| Her shadowy cloud withdraws, I am to haste, |
|
|
| And all who under me their banners wave, |
|
|
| Homeward, with flying march, where we possess |
|
|
| The quarters of the north; there to prepare |
|
|
| Fit entertainment to receive our King, |
|
|
| The great Messiah, and his new commands, |
|
|
| Who speedily through all the hierarchies |
|
|
| Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws. |
|
|
| So spake the false Arch-Angel, and infused |
|
|
| Bad influence into the unwary breast |
|
|
| Of his associate: He together calls, |
|
|
| Or several one by one, the regent Powers, |
|
|
| Under him Regent; tells, as he was taught, |
|
|
| That the Most High commanding, now ere night, |
|
|
| Now ere dim night had disincumbered Heaven, |
|
|
| The great hierarchal standard was to move; |
|
|
| Tells the suggested cause, and casts between |
|
|
| Ambiguous words and jealousies, to sound |
|
|
| Or taint integrity: But all obeyed |
|
|
| The wonted signal, and superiour voice |
|
|
| Of their great Potentate; for great indeed |
|
|
| His name, and high was his degree in Heaven; |
|
|
| His countenance, as the morning-star that guides |
|
|
| The starry flock, allured them, and with lies |
|
|
| Drew after him the third part of Heaven's host. |
|
|
| Mean while the Eternal eye, whose sight discerns |
|
|
| Abstrusest thoughts, from forth his holy mount, |
|
|
| And from within the golden lamps that burn |
|
|
| Nightly before him, saw without their light |
|
|
| Rebellion rising; saw in whom, how spread |
|
|
| Among the sons of morn, what multitudes |
|
|
| Were banded to oppose his high decree; |
|
|
| And, smiling, to his only Son thus said. |
|
|
| Son, thou in whom my glory I behold |
|
|
| In full resplendence, Heir of all my might, |
|
|
| Nearly it now concerns us to be sure |
|
|
| Of our Omnipotence, and with what arms |
|
|
| We mean to hold what anciently we claim |
|
|
| Of deity or empire: Such a foe |
|
|
| Is rising, who intends to erect his throne |
|
|
| Equal to ours, throughout the spacious north; |
|
|
| Nor so content, hath in his thought to try |
|
|
| In battle, what our power is, or our right. |
|
|
| Let us advise, and to this hazard draw |
|
|
| With speed what force is left, and all employ |
|
|
| In our defence; lest unawares we lose |
|
|
| This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill. |
|
|
| To whom the Son with calm aspect and clear, |
|
|
| Lightning divine, ineffable, serene, |
|
|
| Made answer. Mighty Father, thou thy foes |
|
|
| Justly hast in derision, and, secure, |
|
|
| Laughest at their vain designs and tumults vain, |
|
|
| Matter to me of glory, whom their hate |
|
|
| Illustrates, when they see all regal power |
|
|
| Given me to quell their pride, and in event |
|
|
| Know whether I be dextrous to subdue |
|
|
| Thy rebels, or be found the worst in Heaven. |
|
|
| So spake the Son; but Satan, with his Powers, |
|
|
| Far was advanced on winged speed; an host |
|
|
| Innumerable as the stars of night, |
|
|
| Or stars of morning, dew-drops, which the sun |
|
|
| Impearls on every leaf and every flower. |
|
|
| Regions they passed, the mighty regencies |
|
|
| Of Seraphim, and Potentates, and Thrones, |
|
|
| In their triple degrees; regions to which |
|
|
| All thy dominion, Adam, is no more |
|
|
| Than what this garden is to all the earth, |
|
|
| And all the sea, from one entire globose |
|
|
| Stretched into longitude; which having passed, |
|
|
| At length into the limits of the north |
|
|
| They came; and Satan to his royal seat |
|
|
| High on a hill, far blazing, as a mount |
|
|
| Raised on a mount, with pyramids and towers |
|
|
| From diamond quarries hewn, and rocks of gold; |
|
|
| The palace of great Lucifer, (so call |
|
|
| That structure in the dialect of men |
|
|
| Interpreted,) which not long after, he |
|
|
| Affecting all equality with God, |
|
|
| In imitation of that mount whereon |
|
|
| Messiah was declared in sight of Heaven, |
|
|
| The Mountain of the Congregation called; |
|
|
| For thither he assembled all his train, |
|
|
| Pretending so commanded to consult |
|
|
| About the great reception of their King, |
|
|
| Thither to come, and with calumnious art |
|
|
| Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears. |
|
|
| Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers; |
|
|
| If these magnifick titles yet remain |
|
|
| Not merely titular, since by decree |
|
|
| Another now hath to himself engrossed |
|
|
| All power, and us eclipsed under the name |
|
|
| Of King anointed, for whom all this haste |
|
|
| Of midnight-march, and hurried meeting here, |
|
|
| This only to consult how we may best, |
|
|
| With what may be devised of honours new, |
|
|
| Receive him coming to receive from us |
|
|
| Knee-tribute yet unpaid, prostration vile! |
|
|
| Too much to one! but double how endured, |
|
|
| To one, and to his image now proclaimed? |
|
|
| But what if better counsels might erect |
|
|
| Our minds, and teach us to cast off this yoke? |
|
|
| Will ye submit your necks, and choose to bend |
|
|
| The supple knee? Ye will not, if I trust |
|
|
| To know ye right, or if ye know yourselves |
|
|
| Natives and sons of Heaven possessed before |
|
|
| By none; and if not equal all, yet free, |
|
|
| Equally free; for orders and degrees |
|
|
| Jar not with liberty, but well consist. |
|
|
| Who can in reason then, or right, assume |
|
|
| Monarchy over such as live by right |
|
|
| His equals, if in power and splendour less, |
|
|
| In freedom equal? or can introduce |
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| Law and edict on us, who without law |
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| Err not? much less for this to be our Lord, |
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| And look for adoration, to the abuse |
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| Of those imperial titles, which assert |
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| Our being ordained to govern, not to serve. |
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| Thus far his bold discourse without controul |
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| Had audience; when among the Seraphim |
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| Abdiel, than whom none with more zeal adored |
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| The Deity, and divine commands obeyed, |
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| Stood up, and in a flame of zeal severe |
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| The current of his fury thus opposed. |
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| O argument blasphemous, false, and proud! |
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| Words which no ear ever to hear in Heaven |
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| Expected, least of all from thee, Ingrate, |
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| In place thyself so high above thy peers. |
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| Canst thou with impious obloquy condemn |
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| The just decree of God, pronounced and sworn, |
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| That to his only Son, by right endued |
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| With regal scepter, every soul in Heaven |
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| Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due |
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| Confess him rightful King? unjust, thou sayest, |
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| Flatly unjust, to bind with laws the free, |
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| And equal over equals to let reign, |
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| One over all with unsucceeded power. |
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| Shalt thou give law to God? shalt thou dispute |
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| With him the points of liberty, who made |
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| Thee what thou art, and formed the Powers of Heaven |
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| Such as he pleased, and circumscribed their being? |
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| Yet, by experience taught, we know how good, |
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| And of our good and of our dignity |
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| How provident he is; how far from thought |
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| To make us less, bent rather to exalt |
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| Our happy state, under one head more near |
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| United. But to grant it thee unjust, |
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| That equal over equals monarch reign: |
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| Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count, |
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| Or all angelick nature joined in one, |
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| Equal to him begotten Son? by whom, |
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| As by his Word, the Mighty Father made |
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| All things, even thee; and all the Spirits of Heaven |
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| By him created in their bright degrees, |
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| Crowned them with glory, and to their glory named |
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| Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers, |
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| Essential Powers; nor by his reign obscured, |
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| But more illustrious made; since he the head |
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| One of our number thus reduced becomes; |
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| His laws our laws; all honour to him done |
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| Returns our own. Cease then this impious rage, |
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| And tempt not these; but hasten to appease |
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| The incensed Father, and the incensed Son, |
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| While pardon may be found in time besought. |
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| So spake the fervent Angel; but his zeal |
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| None seconded, as out of season judged, |
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| Or singular and rash: Whereat rejoiced |
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| The Apostate, and, more haughty, thus replied. |
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| That we were formed then sayest thou? and the work |
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| Of secondary hands, by task transferred |
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| From Father to his Son? strange point and new! |
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| Doctrine which we would know whence learned: who saw |
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| When this creation was? rememberest thou |
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| Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being? |
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| We know no time when we were not as now; |
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| Know none before us, self-begot, self-raised |
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| By our own quickening power, when fatal course |
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| Had circled his full orb, the birth mature |
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| Of this our native Heaven, ethereal sons. |
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| Our puissance is our own; our own right hand |
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| Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try |
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| Who is our equal: Then thou shalt behold |
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| Whether by supplication we intend |
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| Address, and to begirt the almighty throne |
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| Beseeching or besieging. This report, |
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| These tidings carry to the anointed King; |
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| And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight. |
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| He said; and, as the sound of waters deep, |
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| Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause |
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| Through the infinite host; nor less for that |
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| The flaming Seraph fearless, though alone |
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| Encompassed round with foes, thus answered bold. |
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| O alienate from God, O Spirit accursed, |
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| Forsaken of all good! I see thy fall |
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| Determined, and thy hapless crew involved |
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| In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread |
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| Both of thy crime and punishment: Henceforth |
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| No more be troubled how to quit the yoke |
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| Of God's Messiah; those indulgent laws |
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| Will not be now vouchsafed; other decrees |
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| Against thee are gone forth without recall; |
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| That golden scepter, which thou didst reject, |
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| Is now an iron rod to bruise and break |
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| Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise; |
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| Yet not for thy advice or threats I fly |
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| These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrath |
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| Impendent, raging into sudden flame, |
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| Distinguish not: For soon expect to feel |
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| His thunder on thy head, devouring fire. |
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| Then who created thee lamenting learn, |
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| When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know. |
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| So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found |
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| Among the faithless, faithful only he; |
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| Among innumerable false, unmoved, |
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| Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified, |
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| His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal; |
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| Nor number, nor example, with him wrought |
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| To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, |
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| Though single. From amidst them forth he passed, |
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| Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained |
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| Superiour, nor of violence feared aught; |
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| And, with retorted scorn, his back he turned |
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| On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed. |
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