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| Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name |
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| If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine |
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| Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, |
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| Above the flight of Pegasean wing! |
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| The meaning, not the name, I call: for thou |
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| Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top |
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| Of old Olympus dwellest; but, heavenly-born, |
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| Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed, |
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| Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse, |
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| Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play |
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| In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased |
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| With thy celestial song. Up led by thee |
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| Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed, |
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| An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, |
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| Thy tempering: with like safety guided down |
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| Return me to my native element: |
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| Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once |
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| Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,) |
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| Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall, |
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| Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn. |
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| Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound |
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| Within the visible diurnal sphere; |
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| Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, |
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| More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged |
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| To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, |
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| On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues; |
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| In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, |
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| And solitude; yet not alone, while thou |
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| Visitest my slumbers nightly, or when morn |
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| Purples the east: still govern thou my song, |
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| Urania, and fit audience find, though few. |
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| But drive far off the barbarous dissonance |
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| Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race |
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| Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard |
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| In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears |
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| To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned |
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| Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend |
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| Her son. So fail not thou, who thee implores: |
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| For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream. |
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| Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael, |
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| The affable Arch-Angel, had forewarned |
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| Adam, by dire example, to beware |
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| Apostasy, by what befel in Heaven |
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| To those apostates; lest the like befall |
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| In Paradise to Adam or his race, |
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| Charged not to touch the interdicted tree, |
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| If they transgress, and slight that sole command, |
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| So easily obeyed amid the choice |
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| Of all tastes else to please their appetite, |
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| Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve, |
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| The story heard attentive, and was filled |
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| With admiration and deep muse, to hear |
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| Of things so high and strange; things, to their thought |
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| So unimaginable, as hate in Heaven, |
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| And war so near the peace of God in bliss, |
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| With such confusion: but the evil, soon |
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| Driven back, redounded as a flood on those |
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| From whom it sprung; impossible to mix |
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| With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repealed |
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| The doubts that in his heart arose: and now |
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| Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know |
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| What nearer might concern him, how this world |
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| Of Heaven and Earth conspicuous first began; |
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| When, and whereof created; for what cause; |
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| What within Eden, or without, was done |
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| Before his memory; as one whose drouth |
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| Yet scarce allayed still eyes the current stream, |
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| Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites, |
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| Proceeded thus to ask his heavenly guest. |
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| Great things, and full of wonder in our ears, |
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| Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed, |
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| Divine interpreter! by favour sent |
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| Down from the empyrean, to forewarn |
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| Us timely of what might else have been our loss, |
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| Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach; |
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| For which to the infinitely Good we owe |
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| Immortal thanks, and his admonishment |
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| Receive, with solemn purpose to observe |
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| Immutably his sovran will, the end |
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| Of what we are. But since thou hast vouchsafed |
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| Gently, for our instruction, to impart |
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| Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned |
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| Our knowing, as to highest wisdom seemed, |
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| Deign to descend now lower, and relate |
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| What may no less perhaps avail us known, |
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| How first began this Heaven which we behold |
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| Distant so high, with moving fires adorned |
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| Innumerable; and this which yields or fills |
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| All space, the ambient air wide interfused |
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| Embracing round this floried Earth; what cause |
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| Moved the Creator, in his holy rest |
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| Through all eternity, so late to build |
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| In Chaos; and the work begun, how soon |
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| Absolved; if unforbid thou mayest unfold |
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| What we, not to explore the secrets ask |
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| Of his eternal empire, but the more |
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| To magnify his works, the more we know. |
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| And the great light of day yet wants to run |
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| Much of his race though steep; suspense in Heaven, |
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| Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears, |
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| And longer will delay to hear thee tell |
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| His generation, and the rising birth |
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| Of Nature from the unapparent Deep: |
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| Or if the star of evening and the moon |
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| Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring, |
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| Silence; and Sleep, listening to thee, will watch; |
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| Or we can bid his absence, till thy song |
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| End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine. |
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| Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought: |
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| And thus the Godlike Angel answered mild. |
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| This also thy request, with caution asked, |
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| Obtain; though to recount almighty works |
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| What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice, |
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| Or heart of man suffice to comprehend? |
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| Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve |
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| To glorify the Maker, and infer |
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| Thee also happier, shall not be withheld |
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| Thy hearing; such commission from above |
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| I have received, to answer thy desire |
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| Of knowledge within bounds; beyond, abstain |
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| To ask; nor let thine own inventions hope |
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| Things not revealed, which the invisible King, |
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| Only Omniscient, hath suppressed in night; |
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| To none communicable in Earth or Heaven: |
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| Enough is left besides to search and know. |
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| But knowledge is as food, and needs no less |
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| Her temperance over appetite, to know |
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| In measure what the mind may well contain; |
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| Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns |
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| Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. |
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| Know then, that, after Lucifer from Heaven |
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| (So call him, brighter once amidst the host |
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| Of Angels, than that star the stars among,) |
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| Fell with his flaming legions through the deep |
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| Into his place, and the great Son returned |
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| Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent |
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| Eternal Father from his throne beheld |
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| Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake. |
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| At least our envious Foe hath failed, who thought |
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| All like himself rebellious, by whose aid |
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| This inaccessible high strength, the seat |
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| Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed, |
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| He trusted to have seised, and into fraud |
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| Drew many, whom their place knows here no more: |
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| Yet far the greater part have kept, I see, |
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| Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retains |
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| Number sufficient to possess her realms |
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| Though wide, and this high temple to frequent |
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| With ministeries due, and solemn rites: |
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| But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm |
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| Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven, |
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| My damage fondly deemed, I can repair |
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| That detriment, if such it be to lose |
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| Self-lost; and in a moment will create |
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| Another world, out of one man a race |
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| Of men innumerable, there to dwell, |
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| Not here; till, by degrees of merit raised, |
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| They open to themselves at length the way |
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| Up hither, under long obedience tried; |
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| And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth, |
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| One kingdom, joy and union without end. |
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| Mean while inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven; |
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| And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee |
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| This I perform; speak thou, and be it done! |
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| My overshadowing Spirit and Might with thee |
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| I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep |
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| Within appointed bounds be Heaven and Earth; |
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| Boundless the Deep, because I Am who fill |
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| Infinitude, nor vacuous the space. |
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| Though I, uncircumscribed myself, retire, |
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| And put not forth my goodness, which is free |
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| To act or not, Necessity and Chance |
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| Approach not me, and what I will is Fate. |
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| So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake |
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| His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect. |
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| Immediate are the acts of God, more swift |
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| Than time or motion, but to human ears |
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| Cannot without process of speech be told, |
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| So told as earthly notion can receive. |
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| Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven, |
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| When such was heard declared the Almighty's will; |
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| Glory they sung to the Most High, good will |
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| To future men, and in their dwellings peace; |
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| Glory to Him, whose just avenging ire |
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| Had driven out the ungodly from his sight |
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| And the habitations of the just; to Him |
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| Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained |
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| Good out of evil to create; instead |
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| Of Spirits malign, a better race to bring |
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| Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse |
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| His good to worlds and ages infinite. |
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| So sang the Hierarchies: Mean while the Son |
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| On his great expedition now appeared, |
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| Girt with Omnipotence, with radiance crowned |
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| Of Majesty Divine; sapience and love |
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| Immense, and all his Father in him shone. |
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| About his chariot numberless were poured |
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| Cherub, and Seraph, Potentates, and Thrones, |
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| And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged |
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| From the armoury of God; where stand of old |
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| Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodged |
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| Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand, |
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| Celestial equipage; and now came forth |
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| Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived, |
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| Attendant on their Lord: Heaven opened wide |
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| Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound |
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| On golden hinges moving, to let forth |
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| The King of Glory, in his powerful Word |
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| And Spirit, coming to create new worlds. |
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| On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore |
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| They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss |
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| Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild, |
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| Up from the bottom turned by furious winds |
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| And surging waves, as mountains, to assault |
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| Heaven's highth, and with the center mix the pole. |
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| Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, peace, |
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| Said then the Omnifick Word; your discord end! |
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| Nor staid; but, on the wings of Cherubim |
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| Uplifted, in paternal glory rode |
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| Far into Chaos, and the world unborn; |
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| For Chaos heard his voice: Him all his train |
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| Followed in bright procession, to behold |
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| Creation, and the wonders of his might. |
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| Then staid the fervid wheels, and in his hand |
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|
| He took the golden compasses, prepared |
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| In God's eternal store, to circumscribe |
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| This universe, and all created things: |
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| One foot he centered, and the other turned |
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| Round through the vast profundity obscure; |
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| And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, |
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| This be thy just circumference, O World! |
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| Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth, |
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| Matter unformed and void: Darkness profound |
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| Covered the abyss: but on the watery calm |
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| His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, |
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| And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth |
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| Throughout the fluid mass; but downward purged |
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| The black tartareous cold infernal dregs, |
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| Adverse to life: then founded, then conglobed |
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| Like things to like; the rest to several place |
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| Disparted, and between spun out the air; |
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| And Earth self-balanced on her center hung. |
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|
| Let there be light, said God; and forthwith Light |
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|
| Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure, |
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| Sprung from the deep; and from her native east |
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|
| To journey through the aery gloom began, |
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|
| Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet the sun |
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| Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle |
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| Sojourned the while. God saw the light was good; |
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|
| And light from darkness by the hemisphere |
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| Divided: light the Day, and darkness Night, |
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| He named. Thus was the first day even and morn: |
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| Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung |
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| By the celestial quires, when orient light |
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|
| Exhaling first from darkness they beheld; |
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| Birth-day of Heaven and Earth; with joy and shout |
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|
| The hollow universal orb they filled, |
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| And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised |
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| God and his works; Creator him they sung, |
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| Both when first evening was, and when first morn. |
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| Again, God said, Let there be firmament |
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| Amid the waters, and let it divide |
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| The waters from the waters; and God made |
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| The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure, |
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| Transparent, elemental air, diffused |
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| In circuit to the uttermost convex |
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| Of this great round; partition firm and sure, |
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| The waters underneath from those above |
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| Dividing: for as earth, so he the world |
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| Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide |
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| Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule |
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| Of Chaos far removed; lest fierce extremes |
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| Contiguous might distemper the whole frame: |
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| And Heaven he named the Firmament: So even |
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|
| And morning chorus sung the second day. |
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| The Earth was formed, but in the womb as yet |
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| Of waters, embryon immature involved, |
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| Appeared not: over all the face of Earth |
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|
| Main ocean flowed, not idle; but, with warm |
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| Prolifick humour softening all her globe, |
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| Fermented the great mother to conceive, |
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| Satiate with genial moisture; when God said, |
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| Be gathered now ye waters under Heaven |
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| Into one place, and let dry land appear. |
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|
| Immediately the mountains huge appear |
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| Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave |
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| Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky: |
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| So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low |
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| Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, |
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| Capacious bed of waters: Thither they |
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| Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled, |
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| As drops on dust conglobing from the dry: |
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| Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct, |
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| For haste; such flight the great command impressed |
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| On the swift floods: As armies at the call |
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| Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard) |
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| Troop to their standard; so the watery throng, |
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|
| Wave rolling after wave, where way they found, |
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|
| If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain, |
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| Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill; |
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| But they, or under ground, or circuit wide |
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| With serpent errour wandering, found their way, |
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| And on the washy oose deep channels wore; |
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| Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry, |
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|
| All but within those banks, where rivers now |
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| Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train. |
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| The dry land, Earth; and the great receptacle |
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| Of congregated waters, he called Seas: |
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|
| And saw that it was good; and said, Let the Earth |
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|
| Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed, |
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| And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind, |
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| Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth. |
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| He scarce had said, when the bare Earth, till then |
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| Desart and bare, unsightly, unadorned, |
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| Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad |
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|
| Her universal face with pleasant green; |
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| Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered |
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|
| Opening their various colours, and made gay |
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|
| Her bosom, smelling sweet: and, these scarce blown, |
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| Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept |
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|
| The swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed |
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|
| Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub, |
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|
| And bush with frizzled hair implicit: Last |
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| Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread |
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|
| Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed |
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|
| Their blossoms: With high woods the hills were crowned; |
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|
| With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side; |
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|
| With borders long the rivers: that Earth now |
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|
| Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where Gods might dwell, |
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|
| Or wander with delight, and love to haunt |
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|
| Her sacred shades: though God had yet not rained |
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|
| Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground |
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|
| None was; but from the Earth a dewy mist |
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|
| Went up, and watered all the ground, and each |
|
|
| Plant of the field; which, ere it was in the Earth, |
|
|
| God made, and every herb, before it grew |
|
|
| On the green stem: God saw that it was good: |
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|
| So even and morn recorded the third day. |
|
|
| Again the Almighty spake, Let there be lights |
|
|
| High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide |
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|
| The day from night; and let them be for signs, |
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|
| For seasons, and for days, and circling years; |
|
|
| And let them be for lights, as I ordain |
|
|
| Their office in the firmament of Heaven, |
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|
| To give light on the Earth; and it was so. |
|
|
| And God made two great lights, great for their use |
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|
| To Man, the greater to have rule by day, |
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|
| The less by night, altern; and made the stars, |
|
|
| And set them in the firmament of Heaven |
|
|
| To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day |
|
|
| In their vicissitude, and rule the night, |
|
|
| And light from darkness to divide. God saw, |
|
|
| Surveying his great work, that it was good: |
|
|
| For of celestial bodies first the sun |
|
|
| A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first, |
|
|
| Though of ethereal mould: then formed the moon |
|
|
| Globose, and every magnitude of stars, |
|
|
| And sowed with stars the Heaven, thick as a field: |
|
|
| Of light by far the greater part he took, |
|
|
| Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed |
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|
| In the sun's orb, made porous to receive |
|
|
| And drink the liquid light; firm to retain |
|
|
| Her gathered beams, great palace now of light. |
|
|
| Hither, as to their fountain, other stars |
|
|
| Repairing, in their golden urns draw light, |
|
|
| And hence the morning-planet gilds her horns; |
|
|
| By tincture or reflection they augment |
|
|
| Their small peculiar, though from human sight |
|
|
| So far remote, with diminution seen, |
|
|
| First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, |
|
|
| Regent of day, and all the horizon round |
|
|
| Invested with bright rays, jocund to run |
|
|
| His longitude through Heaven's high road; the gray |
|
|
| Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danced, |
|
|
| Shedding sweet influence: Less bright the moon, |
|
|
| But opposite in levelled west was set, |
|
|
| His mirrour, with full face borrowing her light |
|
|
| From him; for other light she needed none |
|
|
| In that aspect, and still that distance keeps |
|
|
| Till night; then in the east her turn she shines, |
|
|
| Revolved on Heaven's great axle, and her reign |
|
|
| With thousand lesser lights dividual holds, |
|
|
| With thousand thousand stars, that then appeared |
|
|
| Spangling the hemisphere: Then first adorned |
|
|
| With their bright luminaries that set and rose, |
|
|
| Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth day. |
|
|
| And God said, Let the waters generate |
|
|
| Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul: |
|
|
| And let fowl fly above the Earth, with wings |
|
|
| Displayed on the open firmament of Heaven. |
|
|
| And God created the great whales, and each |
|
|
| Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously |
|
|
| The waters generated by their kinds; |
|
|
| And every bird of wing after his kind; |
|
|
| And saw that it was good, and blessed them, saying. |
|
|
| Be fruitful, multiply, and in the seas, |
|
|
| And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill; |
|
|
| And let the fowl be multiplied, on the Earth. |
|
|
| Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay, |
|
|
| With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals |
|
|
| Of fish that with their fins, and shining scales, |
|
|
| Glide under the green wave, in sculls that oft |
|
|
| Bank the mid sea: part single, or with mate, |
|
|
| Graze the sea-weed their pasture, and through groves |
|
|
| Of coral stray; or, sporting with quick glance, |
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|
| Show to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold; |
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| Or, in their pearly shells at ease, attend |
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| Moist nutriment; or under rocks their food |
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| In jointed armour watch: on smooth the seal |
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| And bended dolphins play: part huge of bulk |
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| Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait, |
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| Tempest the ocean: there leviathan, |
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| Hugest of living creatures, on the deep |
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| Stretched like a promontory sleeps or swims, |
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| And seems a moving land; and at his gills |
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| Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out, a sea. |
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| Mean while the tepid caves, and fens, and shores, |
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| Their brood as numerous hatch, from the egg that soon |
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| Bursting with kindly rupture forth disclosed |
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| Their callow young; but feathered soon and fledge |
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| They summed their pens; and, soaring the air sublime, |
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| With clang despised the ground, under a cloud |
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| In prospect; there the eagle and the stork |
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| On cliffs and cedar tops their eyries build: |
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| Part loosely wing the region, part more wise |
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| In common, ranged in figure, wedge their way, |
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| Intelligent of seasons, and set forth |
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| Their aery caravan, high over seas |
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| Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing |
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| Easing their flight; so steers the prudent crane |
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| Her annual voyage, borne on winds; the air |
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| Floats as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes: |
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| From branch to branch the smaller birds with song |
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| Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings |
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| Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale |
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| Ceased warbling, but all night tun'd her soft lays: |
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| Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bathed |
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| Their downy breast; the swan with arched neck, |
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| Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows |
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| Her state with oary feet; yet oft they quit |
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| The dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, tower |
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| The mid aereal sky: Others on ground |
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| Walked firm; the crested cock whose clarion sounds |
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| The silent hours, and the other whose gay train |
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| Adorns him, coloured with the florid hue |
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| Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus |
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| With fish replenished, and the air with fowl, |
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|
| Evening and morn solemnized the fifth day. |
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| The sixth, and of creation last, arose |
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| With evening harps and matin; when God said, |
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| Let the Earth bring forth soul living in her kind, |
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| Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the Earth, |
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| Each in their kind. The Earth obeyed, and straight |
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| Opening her fertile womb teemed at a birth |
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| Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms, |
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| Limbed and full grown: Out of the ground up rose, |
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| As from his lair, the wild beast where he wons |
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| In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den; |
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| Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked: |
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| The cattle in the fields and meadows green: |
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| Those rare and solitary, these in flocks |
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| Pasturing at once, and in broad herds upsprung. |
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| The grassy clods now calved; now half appeared |
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| The tawny lion, pawing to get free |
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| His hinder parts, then springs as broke from bonds, |
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| And rampant shakes his brinded mane; the ounce, |
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|
| The libbard, and the tiger, as the mole |
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|
| Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw |
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| In hillocks: The swift stag from under ground |
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| Bore up his branching head: Scarce from his mould |
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|
| Behemoth biggest born of earth upheaved |
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| His vastness: Fleeced the flocks and bleating rose, |
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| As plants: Ambiguous between sea and land |
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| The river-horse, and scaly crocodile. |
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|
| At once came forth whatever creeps the ground, |
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|
| Insect or worm: those waved their limber fans |
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|
| For wings, and smallest lineaments exact |
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|
| In all the liveries decked of summer's pride |
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|
| With spots of gold and purple, azure and green: |
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|
| These, as a line, their long dimension drew, |
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|
| Streaking the ground with sinuous trace; not all |
|
|
| Minims of nature; some of serpent-kind, |
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|
| Wonderous in length and corpulence, involved |
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|
| Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept |
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|
| The parsimonious emmet, provident |
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|
| Of future; in small room large heart enclosed; |
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|
| Pattern of just equality perhaps |
|
|
| Hereafter, joined in her popular tribes |
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|
| Of commonalty: Swarming next appeared |
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|
| The female bee, that feeds her husband drone |
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| Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells |
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|
| With honey stored: The rest are numberless, |
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|
| And thou their natures knowest, and gavest them names, |
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|
| Needless to thee repeated; nor unknown |
|
|
| The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field, |
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|
| Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes |
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|
| And hairy mane terrifick, though to thee |
|
|
| Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. |
|
|
| Now Heaven in all her glory shone, and rolled |
|
|
| Her motions, as the great first Mover's hand |
|
|
| First wheeled their course: Earth in her rich attire |
|
|
| Consummate lovely smiled; air, water, earth, |
|
|
| By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was walked, |
|
|
| Frequent; and of the sixth day yet remained: |
|
|
| There wanted yet the master-work, the end |
|
|
| Of all yet done; a creature, who, not prone |
|
|
| And brute as other creatures, but endued |
|
|
| With sanctity of reason, might erect |
|
|
| His stature, and upright with front serene |
|
|
| Govern the rest, self-knowing; and from thence |
|
|
| Magnanimous to correspond with Heaven, |
|
|
| But grateful to acknowledge whence his good |
|
|
| Descends, thither with heart, and voice, and eyes |
|
|
| Directed in devotion, to adore |
|
|
| And worship God Supreme, who made him chief |
|
|
| Of all his works: therefore the Omnipotent |
|
|
| Eternal Father (for where is not he |
|
|
| Present?) thus to his Son audibly spake. |
|
|
| Let us make now Man in our image, Man |
|
|
| In our similitude, and let them rule |
|
|
| Over the fish and fowl of sea and air, |
|
|
| Beast of the field, and over all the Earth, |
|
|
| And every creeping thing that creeps the ground. |
|
|
| This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee, O Man, |
|
|
| Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed |
|
|
| The breath of life; in his own image he |
|
|
| Created thee, in the image of God |
|
|
| Express; and thou becamest a living soul. |
|
|
| Male he created thee; but thy consort |
|
|
| Female, for race; then blessed mankind, and said, |
|
|
| Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth; |
|
|
| Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold |
|
|
| Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air, |
|
|
| And every living thing that moves on the Earth. |
|
|
| Wherever thus created, for no place |
|
|
| Is yet distinct by name, thence, as thou knowest, |
|
|
| He brought thee into this delicious grove, |
|
|
| This garden, planted with the trees of God, |
|
|
| Delectable both to behold and taste; |
|
|
| And freely all their pleasant fruit for food |
|
|
| Gave thee; all sorts are here that all the Earth yields, |
|
|
| Variety without end; but of the tree, |
|
|
| Which, tasted, works knowledge of good and evil, |
|
|
| Thou mayest not; in the day thou eatest, thou diest; |
|
|
| Death is the penalty imposed; beware, |
|
|
| And govern well thy appetite; lest Sin |
|
|
| Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death. |
|
|
| Here finished he, and all that he had made |
|
|
| Viewed, and behold all was entirely good; |
|
|
| So even and morn accomplished the sixth day: |
|
|
| Yet not till the Creator from his work |
|
|
| Desisting, though unwearied, up returned, |
|
|
| Up to the Heaven of Heavens, his high abode; |
|
|
| Thence to behold this new created world, |
|
|
| The addition of his empire, how it showed |
|
|
| In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair, |
|
|
| Answering his great idea. Up he rode |
|
|
| Followed with acclamation, and the sound |
|
|
| Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tuned |
|
|
| Angelick harmonies: The earth, the air |
|
|
| Resounded, (thou rememberest, for thou heardst,) |
|
|
| The heavens and all the constellations rung, |
|
|
| The planets in their station listening stood, |
|
|
| While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. |
|
|
| Open, ye everlasting gates! they sung, |
|
|
| Open, ye Heavens! your living doors;let in |
|
|
| The great Creator from his work returned |
|
|
| Magnificent, his six days work, a World; |
|
|
| Open, and henceforth oft; for God will deign |
|
|
| To visit oft the dwellings of just men, |
|
|
| Delighted; and with frequent intercourse |
|
|
| Thither will send his winged messengers |
|
|
| On errands of supernal grace. So sung |
|
|
| The glorious train ascending: He through Heaven, |
|
|
| That opened wide her blazing portals, led |
|
|
| To God's eternal house direct the way; |
|
|
| A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold |
|
|
| And pavement stars, as stars to thee appear, |
|
|
| Seen in the galaxy, that milky way, |
|
|
| Which nightly, as a circling zone, thou seest |
|
|
| Powdered with stars. And now on Earth the seventh |
|
|
| Evening arose in Eden, for the sun |
|
|
| Was set, and twilight from the east came on, |
|
|
| Forerunning night; when at the holy mount |
|
|
| Of Heaven's high-seated top, the imperial throne |
|
|
| Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure, |
|
|
| The Filial Power arrived, and sat him down |
|
|
| With his great Father; for he also went |
|
|
| Invisible, yet staid, (such privilege |
|
|
| Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordained, |
|
|
| Author and End of all things; and, from work |
|
|
| Now resting, blessed and hallowed the seventh day, |
|
|
| As resting on that day from all his work, |
|
|
| But not in silence holy kept: the harp |
|
|
| Had work and rested not; the solemn pipe, |
|
|
| And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop, |
|
|
| All sounds on fret by string or golden wire, |
|
|
| Tempered soft tunings, intermixed with voice |
|
|
| Choral or unison: of incense clouds, |
|
|
| Fuming from golden censers, hid the mount. |
|
|
| Creation and the six days acts they sung: |
|
|
| Great are thy works, Jehovah! infinite |
|
|
| Thy power! what thought can measure thee, or tongue |
|
|
| Relate thee! Greater now in thy return |
|
|
| Than from the giant Angels: Thee that day |
|
|
| Thy thunders magnified; but to create |
|
|
| Is greater than created to destroy. |
|
|
| Who can impair thee, Mighty King, or bound |
|
|
| Thy empire! Easily the proud attempt |
|
|
| Of Spirits apostate, and their counsels vain, |
|
|
| Thou hast repelled; while impiously they thought |
|
|
| Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw |
|
|
| The number of thy worshippers. Who seeks |
|
|
| To lessen thee, against his purpose serves |
|
|
| To manifest the more thy might: his evil |
|
|
| Thou usest, and from thence createst more good. |
|
|
| Witness this new-made world, another Heaven |
|
|
| From Heaven-gate not far, founded in view |
|
|
| On the clear hyaline, the glassy sea; |
|
|
| Of amplitude almost immense, with stars |
|
|
| Numerous, and every star perhaps a world |
|
|
| Of destined habitation; but thou knowest |
|
|
| Their seasons: among these the seat of Men, |
|
|
| Earth, with her nether ocean circumfused, |
|
|
| Their pleasant dwelling-place. Thrice happy Men, |
|
|
| And sons of Men, whom God hath thus advanced! |
|
|
| Created in his image, there to dwell |
|
|
| And worship him; and in reward to rule |
|
|
| Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air, |
|
|
| And multiply a race of worshippers |
|
|
| Holy and just: Thrice happy, if they know |
|
|
| Their happiness, and persevere upright! |
|
|
| So sung they, and the empyrean rung |
|
|
| With halleluiahs: Thus was sabbath kept. |
|
|
| And thy request think now fulfilled, that asked |
|
|
| How first this world and face of things began, |
|
|
| And what before thy memory was done |
|
|
| From the beginning; that posterity, |
|
|
| Informed by thee, might know: If else thou seekest |
|
|
| Aught, not surpassing human measure, say. |
|
|