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The complete poetical works
of John Milton

John Milton, Nathan Haskell Dole

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JOHN MILTON

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

JOHN MILTON.*

John Milton was born on Friday, December 9, 1608, in a house
designated as " The Spread Eagle/' in Bread Street, Cheapsidei in the
very heart of old London.

His father, also John Milton, belonged to a respectable yeonian
family of the neighbourhood of Oxford. Having become a Protestant,
he was disinherited by his father, Richard Milton, the second of the .
name known in the line of the poet's ancestry, and went to London,
where he engaged in the lucrative business of a scrivener, which at that
time seems to have combined the duties of an attorney and a law
stationer.

In 1600, about a year after his admission to the Scrivener's Com-
pany, he was marriecl to Sarah, daughter to Paul Jeffrey, or Jetireys,.
formerly a merchant tailor of St. Swithin's Parish.

Six children were born to them. John Milton was third. Two —
besides John — lived to maturity — Anne,- several yea^s older, and
Christopher, seven years younger than John.

John Milton was carefully educated, his father, well known as a
musical composer of ability, taking personally great pains with him
and giving him the advantage of studying under private tutors and in
St. Paul's School, where he was for some time a day scholar.

That he was a diligent student is proved by his own statement that
from the twelfth year of his age he scarcely ever went from his lessons
to bed before midnight, and by his paraphrases on Psalms cxiv and
cxxxvj, composed in 1624, his last year at St. Paul's.

His school friendship with Charles Diodaii, the son of an exiled
Italian phvsician, probably turned his attention to Italian literature
and was afterwards commemorated in beautiful verse.

Italian, French, and Hebrew, as well as Greek and Latin, were a part
of his equipment when he entered Christ's College, Cambridge, as a

^ Details of MUtbn's liurary life hs\\\ be found in the Introductions t6 the various poems.

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iv BTOGRAPHTCAL SKETCH OP yOHN" MILTON',

" Lesser Pensioner." From April, 1625, until July, 1632, Milton resided
most of the time in the rooms which are still shown, though he made
frequent visits to L^don, and during his first year was suspended
owing to an altercation with his tutor, "a man of dry, meagre nature."

By the students — there were about twenty-nine hundred in the
sixteen colleges at that time and two hundred and sixty-five in Christ's
College — Milton was nicknamed "the Lady," because of his fair com-
plexion, long hair, graceful elegance of appearance, irreproachable
morals, and delicacy of taste ; he was also unpopular with the authorities,
probably because of his outspoken criticism of the University system
then in vo^e.

Nevertheless his abilities were recognised, and when he took his
degree of Master of Arts, which then required seven years' residence,
he was regarded as the foremost scholar of the University.

His first intention was to take orders in the Church ; had he done so,
he might have remained in residence much longer as a clerical Fellow.
He indeed subscribed to the Articles on taking his degree, but he had
no sympathy with the strict Church discipline represented by Arch-
bishop Laud.

It is evident both from the draft of a letter written to some dissatisfied
well-wisher, and from his " Sonnet on arriving at the Age of Twenty-
three," that these years were a period of despondency and uncertainty.
What career was open to him ? He had already written enough poems,
in Latin and English, including the ** Ode on the Morning of Christ's
Nativity," and the Sonnet to Shakspere, to make a volume that would
surely have established his reputation, but all save two were still in
manuscript.

Milton's father had retired to Horton in Buckinghamshire, about
twenty miles from London, and here the poet, after leaving Cambridge,
lived for five years and eight mopths, during which he himself says * he
was wholly intent through a period of absolute leisure on a steady
perusal of the Greek and Latin writers, but still so that occasionally he
exchanged the country for the city either for the purpose of buying
books, or for that of learning anythmg new in mathematics or in music
in which he then took delight.'

At Horton, Milton was inspired to compose the best of his shorter
poems: the "Sonnet to the Nightingale," the beautifully contrasted
pictures in '"L' Allegro" and "11 Penseroso," the "Arcades," the
masque of " Comus," and the classic lament for " Lycidas." " Comus "
was played at Ludlow Castle on Michaelmas Night, 1634, but there is
no proof that Milton himself was present. If he had been, he would
perhaps have found further inspiration in the historic castle where
among other famous memories that of the magnificent installation of
Charles I. as Prince of Wales was at that time still vivid.

In 1637 an anonymous edition of " The Masque presented at Ludlow
Castle" was published by Milton's friend, the musician, Henry Lawes,
and a copy was presented to Sir Henry Wotton or Wootton, Provost oif

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. V

Eton, who wrote to the author : '^ I should much commend the tragi-
cal part if the lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Dorique delicacy
in your songs and odes, whereunto I must plainly confess to have seen
yet nothing parallel in our language/^

In September of that same year Milton wrote to his friend Diodati
complaining of his cramped situation in the country and announcing a
project of taking chambers in London. The death of his mother un-
doubtedly had much to do with his discontent, and the quiet though
nightingale-haunted banks of the sluggish Colne were not best adapted
to satisfy the mind of a young man who was beginning to pine for a
wider existence. But before he should take up his residence in London,
a period of foreign travel seemed requisite and necessary, and, accord-
ingly, armed with letters of introduction from Sir Henry Wotton and
others, he found himself in Paris in April or May, 1638. Here he was
kindly received by the English Ambassador, Lord Scudamore^ who
introduced him to the famous Hugo Grotius, the Swedish envoy.
Accompanied by his man servant, Milton leisurely travelled to Italy,
making brief stops at Nice, Genoa, Leghorn, and Pisa. At Florence
he spent the months of August and September, enjoying the " acquain-
tance of many noble and learned. ^^ He especially mentions seven
young Italian literati as distinguished friends of his, and, while none of
them left a very deep mark on their native literature, they are remem-
bered for their connection with the English poet. Two of them sent
commemorative verses to be inserted in the "Paradise Lost." At
Florence, Milton met "the starry Galileo," recently released from con-
finement at Arcetri and dwelling under the surveillance of the Inquisi-
tion. Milton mentions him twice in "Paradise Lost" — onoe by
name — and was unquestionably greatly influenced by "the Tuscan
artist's " theories.

From Florence he went by way of Siena to " the Eternal City," where
he also spent two months and was received in the most select society.
He tells of being present at a magnificent concert at the palace of
Cardinal Barberini : " himself waiting at the doors, and seeking me out
in so great a crowd, nay, almost laying hold of me by the hand,
admitted me within in a truly most honourable manner." At this con-
cert he heard the singer Leonora Baroni, whose singing so impressed
him that he composed three Latin epigranis in her honour. A voice
inspired him morfe than all the relics of that antiquity which he had
made such a large part of his education.

He spent the two last months of the year at Naples^ whither he pro-
ceeded in company with " a certain Eremite Friar," by whom he was
introduced to the Marquis of Villa, Giovanni Battista Manso, then over
eighty years of age.

Manso had been the friend and patron of the poet Tasso, and this
title to fame Milton commemorates in a Latin poein wherein he
expressed his obli^tions for hospitality received. In this epistle also
he unfolds his project of writing an epic on King Arthur and the Table

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VI BIOGRAPHtCAL SKETCti OF JOHN lif/LTOM,

Round, and assured Manso that Britain was not wholly barbarous since
the Druids had been poets in tlieir day. Chaucer and Shakspere
would probably have seemed to the Italian as little less than barbari-
ans, as did the one to the English <:ontempOrary of Milton and Dryden,
and the other to Voltaire. He did not mention them. ■

Manso presented Milton with two silver cups, and remarked that he
should have liked him better if he had abstained from religious contro-
versy. Milton was certainly not one to hold his peace when a chance
arose to defend his faith. To be sure, he made the resolution not of
his .own accord ^to introduce conversation about religion, but if inter-
rogated about the faith, whatsoever he should sufter, to dissemble
nothing." He was not molested, but it is said that in Rome the Jesuits
kept their eyes on him. •

From Naples Milton intended to cross Over to Sicily and to continue
his tour even as far as Greece, but as he himself explained: *The
sad news of civil war in England determined him to return, inasmuch as
he thought it base to be travelling at his ease for intellectual culture
while his fellow-countrymen at home were fighting for their liberty.'
The news is supposed to have been the revolt of Scotland and Charles's
resolution to put the rebellion down by arms. Later reports seem to
have countermanded any haste, for, though he gave up his Eastern jour-
|iey he spent yet another two months in Rome in spite of the English
Jesuits who tried to entrap him in indiscreet utterances. Again he was
in Florence during March and April, 1639. He spent May in Venice,
whence he sent to England by sea the books that he had bought in
Italy. He himself crossed the Pennine Alps to Geneva, taking Bologna
and Ferrara on the way. It is possible that he wrote his Italian bonnets
at Bologna, the lady to whom they are all addressed being mentioned
as an inhabitant of " Reno's grassy vale," but it is not known whether
this lady was a myth or a reality.

For a week or two in June, 1639, ^^ "was in Geneva, where he spent
much time in conversation with. Dr. Jean Diodati, the theologian, the
uncle of his friend Charles. Thence by way of Paris he returned
home, which he reached in August, 1639, after an absence of nearly
sijiteen months.

His next Important, step must have been a trial to one who was con-
tempjating ** flights above the Aonian mount": his only surviving
sister, having been left a widow with two sons, had married again and
Milton found it his duty to undertake the education of his two nephews,
Edward and John Phillips, aged respectively eight and nine. The
younger came to live with his uncle, who " took him a lodging in St.
Bride's Churc;hyard, at the house of one Russel, a tailor." Tlie other
went daily from his mother's house to his lessons.

In the memorable year 1640 Milton hired <a house sufiitiently large
for himself and his books,' and removed there with his two nephews.
His elder n<ephew describes it as "a pretty garden-house in Aldersgate
Street, at the end of an ientry, and therefore the fittfer for his turn by

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON, Vli

reason of the privacy.'" It was described a few years later as resem-
bling "an Italian street by reason of the spaciousness and uniformity
of the buildings and straightness thereof, with the convenient di§Jance
of the houses.

Here he hoped to have the leisure to contribute to English literature
some lofty woric that would make his name famous. But he was to be
disappointed. The " Long Parliament " met on the third of November,
1640, and Milton soon saw that his duty was to take part in the broil of
politics. " I could not," he said, " be ignorant what is of Divine and
what is of human right ; I resolved, though I was then meditating, cer-
tain other matters, to transfer into this struggle all my genius and all
the strength of my industry."

This course was to leaa him into controversies, but he wished it to
be understood with what unwillingness he endured " to interrupt the
pursuit of no less hopes than these and leave a califi and pleasing
solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident thoughts, to embark in a
troubled sea of noises and hoarse disputes; put from beholding the
bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful
studies to come into the dim reflection of hollow antiquities sold
by the seeming bulk."

Among the first acts of the new Parliament was the trial and execu-
tion of Strafford, the impeachment and imprisonment of Laud, and
varioiis other proceedings that looked toward the security and perma-
nence of their government. No essential division was manifested till
the question arose whether the Church should be governed on an
Episcopal or on a Presbyterian basis. Into this important contro-
versy Milton threw himself with all his energy, and wifhin a year
brought out five "Anti-Episcopal Pamphlets" — the first general, the
others rejoinders to the attacks which it invited. Although these
have no longer any interest except to the antiquarian, they contain
magnificent specimens of impassioned and poetic prose which are
worth study by the istudent of English. Shortly after, in 1642, the
Civil War began. In this Milton took no active part, unless a curiouslr
whimsical one. Once, when there seemed some danger of an assauK
upon the city, he wrote a sonnet addressed to the ** Captain or Colonel;
or Knight in Arms," who might chance to seize upon his defenceless
doors, begging him to guard them and protect from harms the poet
Arho, in return for such gentle acts, could spread his name over all the
ivorld. This appeal to lift not the spear against the Muses' bower,
Uilton placarded upon his outside door, but the enemy did not come to
^ead it.

Milton, however, brought the war into his own house, and in the
same way as his own Samson. In the latter part of May, 1643, Milton
made a mysterious journey to the neighbourhood of Oxford, where his
ancestors had lived. This region was in the hands of the Royalists.
Attached to their cause was Mr. Richard Powell, a justice of the peace,
who had been at one time well off, and kept his own carriage. Milton's

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viii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON

father had many years before loaned Powell five hundred pounds, and
the interest on this sum was a part of Milton's regular income. Possi-
bly he went down into Oxfordshire to make arrangements for the pay-
ment of the principal or to inquire why the interest had stopped. He
was gone about a month, and, to use the words of his nephew, " home
he returns a married man that went out a bachelor."

Mr. Powell was blessed with a family of eleven children. Mary, the
eldest of the five daughters, was a little more than seventeen years old.
It is a question whether Milton had ever known her before, but she
was made his wife on this memorable journey, Milton's own words
implying that either he himself or the young bride felt some hesitancy
at such a hasty consummation; he implies that "the persuasion of
friends and the argument that increasing acquaintance would amend
all " had weight with one or both of them.

Some of Mrs. Milton's relatives accompanied her back to London,
and the quiet, philosophic house was given over for some days to
" feasting in celebration of the nuptials." When the bride was at
length left alone with a husband twice her age, the loneliness and
incongruity of her situation probably made her mope. Milton, who
had peculiar views of the duties of woman, could not have been at all
sympathetic. Indeed, it is charged that he composed his famous
treatise on divorce during that most forlorn of honeymoons ! Before
the summer was over, she returned on a visit to her father's house,
Milton consenting on condition that she should return to him before
the end of September. But when the appointed time came Mrs.
Milton came not. He sent letters and at last a messenger ; the letters
were unanswered, the messenger brought an insulting answer.

He had already published the first edition of his "Doctrine and
Discipline of Divorce " ; after his wife's refusal to return^ in the Febru-
ary following, he issued a second edition. He argued that incompati-
bility of mind or temper was equally with infidelity a fiill and sufficient
ground for dissolution of the marriage bond, and that the parties, after
divorce, were at liberty to marry again. The second edition was dedi-
cated to Parliament and naturally, in a country where even now a man
is not allowed to marry his deceased wife's sister, caused a storm of
indignation. He was denounced as a heretic, attacked from the pulpit,
denounced in bitter pamphlets. He replied to some of these attacks,
and when the Presbyterian divines made public complaint of him, he
and his writings became the subject of a special Parliamentary investi-
gation.

Meantime Milton's father had been living with Christopher in Read-
ing, but when Reading surrendered to the Parliamentary forces in
April, 1643, Christopher, who sympathised with the Royalists and
afterwards became a Roman Catholic, broke up his establishment, and
the elder Milton went to live with the poet. He had other additions to
his household : a number of pupils came to take advantage of his teach-
ing, and in September, 1645, requiring enlarged quarters, he removed

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. iX

to Barbican Street, two or three minutes' walk from his former house.
Here he lived two years, signalised at the very beginning by two
important events. One was the publication of his minor poems by
Moseley and the other was the return of Mrs. Milton. Two causes
are assigned for this reconciliation. The Civil War was practically
terminated in favour of the Parliamentarians by the battle of Naseby in
June, 1645. The positions of recalcitrants was disagreeable, and it is
surmised that the fact of Milton enjoying repute in the opposite and
triumphant party caused his wife's family to see in him a possible relief
from their troubles. Moreover, Milton had been openly on the way
to carrying out his heretical doctrines : he was paying his addresses to
" a very handsome and witty gentlewoman, one of Dr. Davis's daugh-
ters." Rumours of this may have reached the Powells. One day
Milton was calling at the house of a kinsman and " was surprised to see
one whom he thought to have never seen more, making submission and
begging pardon on her knees before him." Readers of "Samson,"
and the tenth book of the " Paradise Lost " will discover reminiscences
of the dramatic scene that ensued. It ended in reconciliation. Milton
magnanimously received to his house not only his recreant wife, but
also her father and mother and several of their sons and daughters, the
family having been completely ruined by the defeat of the Royalists.
The house must have been uncomfortably crowded, for there were
also about a dozen pupils under Milton's roof.

Milton's daughter Anne was born July 29, 1646; six months later
his father-in-law died, and in March, 1647, his own father died.
Shortly after, Milton, who perhaps no longer felt the necessity upon
him of giving so much time to teaching, dismissed his pupils and took a
smaller house. At the same time the Powells also removed to another
part of London where Milton helped to support them. As to himself,
he says : —

"No one ever saw me going about, no one ever saw me asking
anything among my friends, or stationed at the doors of a Court
with a petitioner's face. I kept myself almost entirely at home,
managing on my own resources, though in this civil tumult they were
often in great part kept from me. and contriving, though burdened
with taxes in the main rather oppressive, to lead my frugal life."

Little is known of his life during his residence at Lincoln's Inn Fields,
High Holbom, during eighteen months. He had several projects for
prose wprks, — a Latin Dictionary, a System of Divinity taken directly
from the Bible, and a History of'^ England. During the prosaic work
of collecting materials for tnese enterprises, stirring events were at
hand. Charles I. was executed on the thirteenth of January, 1649.
Milton defended this act, and in a pamphlet composed in a little more
than a week he argued that it was lawful " for any who have the power
to call to account a Tyrant or Wicked King, ana after due conviction,
to depose and put him to death."

This article brought its reward. The very next tnonth Milton was

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X BIOGRAPHJCAL SKETCH OF JOHN MJUON.

appointed Secretary for Foreign Tongues to the Council, at a salary of
£y>o a year — equivalent to about $5000 now. The duties were to
prepare, and translate into Latin, all despatches to and from foreign
governments. In order that he might be near the scene of his labours
he removed to Spring Gardens, and was soon afterwards provided with
an official residence in Whitehall Palace in Scotland Yard. Shortly
after he had occupied the seven or eight rooms of these official quarters
the Council voted him some of the hangings of the late king for their
decoration.

Milton was soon called upon to employ his talents in the contro-
versies raised by the execution of the king. First came the " Ikono-
klastes or Image Breaker," in reply to the famous " Eikon Basilik^ pr
Portraiture of His Sacred Majesty in his Solitudes and Sufferings " — a
book popularly supposed to be the work oi the king himself, written
during his last days, but now known to have been a forgery. It was
immensely popular and went through at least fifty editions. Milton's
answer to it went through only three. Then a Dutch professor, the
learned Salmasius, published his defence of Charles L and attack on
the Commonwealth It was ordered by the Council of State that
Milton should "• prepare something in answer to the book of Sal-
masius." He would gladly have abstained from this task: one eye
had become useless and he was in danger of becoming wholly blind.
The physicians warned him to desist, but he felt that his duty called
him to do the work. "The choice," he says, "lay before me of a
supreme duty and loss of eyesight ; in such a case I could not listen to
the physician, not if Esculapius himself had spoken from his sanctuary ;
I could not but obey that inward monitor, I know not what, that spoke
to me from heaven."

It is to be hoped that the heavenly voice did not impel him to the
more than vivacious invectives with which he overwhelmed the unfortu-
nate Salmasius. Personalities could hardly have been carried further.
But the work was a great success and it was universally felt that the
victory remained with Milton. Every foreigner of note then in London
called to congratulate him. Five editions were almost immediately
printed in Holland. Copies of the work had the honour of being
burned or confiscated in various parts of Europe, and Milton's name
was literally blazed through the world.

If the reward was fame, the penalty was blindness. He had recourse
to physicians, but with no result. The perpetual darkness to which he
was doomed was, as he says in his quaint English, rather whitish than
blackish, and his eyes were not disfigured- He was not permitted to
resign his situation. Assistants were appointed, but he was retained
in his full title, and every day he was to be seen, led by his attendant
from his new residence in Petty France across the Park to the meeting
of the Council. In this case the Republic belied the proverb of grati-
tude, but his enemies regarded his affliction as a just punishment.

Milton wrote his sonnets to Vane and Cromwell in the spring of

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF yOHl^ MILTON. xi

1652, just at the time when these two leaders were coming to an open
rupture. Cromwell expelled Vane and fifty-two other members on
April 20, 1653. The Commonwealth was at an end. Henceforth till
his death, September 3, 1658, Cromwell was supreme. Milton on the
whole approved of the dictatorship, and was therefore continued in the
Latin secretaryship. His State letters are remarkable examples of
clear, lucid style ; one of them — that in remonstrance on the massacre
of the Vaudois Protestants by the Duke of Savoy— has a splendid
corollary in his greatest sonnet beginning "Avenge, O Lord, thy
slaughtered saints."

In 1654 Milton's wife died, leaving three daughters, the eldest about
eight, the youngest an infant. The widowed poet in November, 1658,
married Kathenne Woodcock, but neither she nor her infant daughter
long survived. Milton's sonnet to his late deceased wife implies that
he had never seen her with his visual eyes. The same year that this
was written he began the composition of ** Paradise Lost " projected in
dramatic form nearly thirty years before.

During the twenty-one months of Richard Cromwell's inefficient
dictatorship Milton was still at his post and receiving his diminished
salary of £,10^ a year. But the majority of the people had declared in
favor of the Stuarts. In spite of all Milton's arguments monarchy was
to be again the established order. Charles made his re-entry toward
the last of May, 1660. Milton was already in hiding in Bartholomew
Close, Smithfield. For some time he was actually in danger, but while
no severity was spared in apprehending and executing the regicides,
Milton's case, by dexterous management in Parliament, was left in
abeyance and finally ignored. After the twenty-ninth of August he
was legally a fi-ee man. Nevertheless by some mistake or by malice
he was arrested shortly after and kept for a little time in custody.
Toward the middle of December he was ordered to be released on
payment of fees of £,\^o. These being considered exorbitant were
reduced, and Milton found. a temporary refuge on the north side of
Holborn till he secured another house in Jewin Street n6ar one of his
earlier habitations. Here he lived till 1664. Life must have been
gloomy enough to the blind man : the work of twenty years seemingly
thrown away, his friends dead or in exile, his property reduced,
domestic trials gathering about him.

The relations between Milton and his three daughters are not the
least pathetic among the tribulations of his last days, but it seems as il'
he himself were mainly to blame. His views of the -education of
women were peculiar ; his oldest daughter, who was p ,4ty though
slightly deformed, could not even write her own name ; the others were
taught to read to their father in foreign languages, but it was only
mechanically, repeating words without knowing the sense. They com-
bined with the serving maid to cheat him in the marketing ; they sold
his books, and they made his life miserable. At last he was advised to
' marry again, ^e offered himself to Elizabeth MinshuU, a young lady

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xii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN- MILTON',

of twenty-four. The marriage took place February 24, 1662-3. His
second daughter, Mary, is reported upon oath to have said * that it was
no news to hear of his wedding, but if she could hear of his death that
was something.' His third wife proved to be a blessing to him as long
as he lived. She was pretty and had golden hair ; she sang to nis
accompartiments on the organ or bass viol, and was sufficiently alive to
his intellectual requirements as to like to talk with him about Hobbes
and other learned men. Not long after their marriage they went to live
in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields. This was his last residence, and con-
siderable is known about the details of his domestic economy there.
He had a man servant named Greene, who, it is said, was able to read
aloud to him from the Hebrew Bible. His chief recreations were walk-
ing in his garden, swinging in a chair, and making music. Andrew
Marvell, Cyriack Skinner, and other distinguished men used often to
visit him. He is reported as having been " extremely pleasant in con-
versation . . . though satirical."

" Paradise Lost " was completed by 1663 and revised during the sum-
mer of 1665, while, in order to escape from the plague that was then
devastating London, he went with his wife and his three daughters
to Chalfont St. Giles in Buckinghamshire. His friend Elwood, the
Quaker, lived near there, and to him Milton loaned a copy of the great
poem. The Quaker approved of it, but suggested that he had said
much of Paradise Lost but nothing of Paradise Found. This sug-
gestion resulted in the shorter epic. The next year — that of Dryden's
Annus Mirabilis — the great fire still further abridged his fortunes by
destroying the house in which he had been born and which he still
owned. A few years later his comfort and that of his household was
increased by the departure of his daughters, who were sent out to learn
embroidery for their own support.

After the publication of his great epic visitors were frequent, and we
have several descriptions of his appearance, both as he sat out of doors
on his porch and as he was indoors, in a room hung with rusty green,
" sitting in an elbow chair, black clothes and neat enough, pale but not
cadaverous, his hands and fingers gouty and with chalk stones " ; his
habits at table were abstemious, but his later days were troubled
by gout. His last poem was the perfect Greek tragedy "Samson
Agonistes," which has an interesting autobiographic import. This was
written in 1671. Three years later "the gout struck in," and he died
on November 8, 1674, and was buried beside his father in the Church
of St. Giles, Cripplegate. All his learned and great friends in London,
and a ** friendly concourse of the vulgar," attended the funeral. Milton
had intended to cut off his " unkind " and " undutiful " children with
only that portion of his estate that was due it from the Powells, but
they contested the nuncupative will and received as their share of their
father's estate about ;£ioo each, while the widow was left with a
pittance of ;^6oo. She retired to her native Cheshire, and died in
1727, having survived her husband nearly fifty-three years. Among

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTOIST. xiil

her effects were copies of his " Paradise Lost and Regained " and two
juvenile portraits. Mary, the younger daughter, died the same year,
having married a weaver or silk mercer named Clark, by whom she had
ten children, only two of whom survived hereto have issue.

The collections made by Milton toward his Latin dictionary have
been embodied in later dictionaries. Several of his prose writings
were discovered long after his death. In one of them — a Latin treatise
on Christian Doctrine ^which he claims to be founded directly on the
Bible — he boldly advanced many theories at variance with the beliefs
of the Church — perhaps the most shocking being his arguments in
fevour of polygamy.

No one can study Milton's life without winning a deep respect and
even admiration for the man. To him, duty — " stem daughter of the
voice of God " — was ever paramount. Unflinchingly he sacrificed his
inclinations and his pleasures in order to take the place whereto he
was called in the Councils of the State. If ever a man was anointed
by the Muses it was Milton ; yet, conscious as he was of his poetic
powers, he threw himself heart and soul into the gross battle of politics,
and for twenty of the richest years of his life allowed his cherished
schemes to slumber. As a man, therefore, he is worthy of reverence,
even though we may not entirely sympathise with some of his views or
actions.

As a poet he takes rank among the few whom all the world recognises
as greatest, — Homer, Vergil, Dante, Chaucer, Shakspere. His deli-
cate musical ear taught him to modulate his numbers with a skill
unknown to any other English poet. Well has he been called " that
mighty arc of song — the divine Milton." As Wordsworth says, the
sonnet in his hand " became a trumpet whence he blew soul-animating
strains " ; his minor poems are marvels of elegance and grace, but by
his " Paradise Lost " he made himself as it were the prophet of English
theology, the work supplementing the Bible in the beliefs of many, and
strongly colouring the popular conception of Satan and the fall of man.
But aside from its theological import, it is by the grandeur of theme
and dignity of treatment almost superhuman — a work of which all who
speak the English tongue will be forever proud.

N. H. D.

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CONTENTS.

PAGE

Biographical Sketch . . iii

Preface xxi

PARADISE LOST: —
Introduction : —

/. Earliest Editions of the Poem I

II. Ori^n of the Poem and History of its Composition . •9

///. Scheme and Meaning of the Poem l8

Author's Preface on " The Verse " 35

Commendatory Verses, prefixed to the Second Edition . . • , 37

Text of the Poem:

Book I , . . .43

Book II "..61

Book III. . . . 84

Book IV loi

Book V. . . , 124

Book VI. . . . . . . . . . . .144

Book VII 164

Book VIII. .179

Book IX 194

Book X . . . .220

Book XI. . . .245

Book XII. 265

PARADISE REGAINED: —
Introduction ...•*•««••. 281

Text of the Po^m:

Book I. . . . . . . . . ., .. . . . 291

Book II. . . . . , 303

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CONTENTS.

Paradise Regained, continued — pxgb

Book III . • • • 314

Book IV 324

SAMSON AGONISTES:-

INTRODUCTION 339

The Author's Preface: "Of that sort of Dramatic Poem called

Tragedy" 349

The Argument and the Persons . . 35 1

Text of the Poem . 353

MINOR POEMS: —

General Introduction . . . . 393

Introductions to the Poems severally: —

Part I. — Introduction's to the English Poems .... 397

Part li. — Introductions to the Latin Poems 445

Moseley's Preface to the Edition of 1645 470

Text of the Poems.

Part I. — T^e English Poems: —

Paraphrases on Psalms CXIV. and CXXXVI 471

On the Death of a Fair Infant dying of a Cough .... 474

At a Vacation Exercise in the College 476

On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 479

Upon the Circumcision 486

The Passion 487

On Time 489

At a Solemn Music 49^

' Song on May Morning . 490

On Shakespeare 49'

On the University Carrier . . . . . . . .49'

Another on the Same . 492

An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester .... 492

L'AUegro 494

II Penseroso . . . 497

Arcades 502

Comus ; a Masque presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634 . . .5^5

Lawes's Dedication of the Edition of 1637 5^5

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CONTENTS. xvU

Minor Poems, continued — i^ace

Sir Henry Wotton's Commendatory Letter of 1638 . . . 505

The Persons . . -507

Text of the Masque 508

Lycidas . 532

Sonnets and Kindred Pieces : —

Sonnet I. To the Nightingale 537

Sonnet II. On his having arrived- at the Age of Twenty-three . 537

Sonnet III. Donna Uggiadra, <5r»r. 538

Sonnet IV. Qual in colle aspro^ dr^c 538

Canzone 538

Sonnet V. Diodati {e te 7 dirby ^c.) 539

Sonnet VI. Per certo, dr^c . . . 539

Sonnet VII. Giovaney piano, <Sr*r. . . . . , , 539

Sonnet VIII. When the Assault was intended to the City . , 540

Sonnet IX. To a Lady * 540

Sonnet X. To the Lady Margaret Ley 541

Sonnet XI. On the Detraction which followed upon my writing

certain Treatises 541

Sonnet XII. On the Same 541

On the New Forcers of Conscience • , . 542

Sonnet XIII. To Mr. H. Lawes on His Airs 542

Sonnet XIV. On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson 543

Sonnet XV. On the Lord General Fairfax . . * . . . 543

Sonnet XVI. To the Lord General Cromwell 544

Sonnet XVII. To Sir Henry Vane the Younger . , , . 544

Sonnet XVIII. On the late Massacre in Piedmont . . . 544

Sonnet XIX. On His Blindness 545

Sonnet XX. To Mr. Lawrence 545

Sonnet XXL To Cyriack Skinner 546

Sonnet XXII. To the Same . . 546

Sonnet XXIII. To the Memory of his Second Wife . . .546

Translations.

The Fifth Ode of Horace, Lib. 1 548

Nine of the Psalms done into Metre, 1648.

Psalm LXXX . 549

Psalm LXXXI 551

PsahnUCXXII ; 552

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CONTENTS.

MiNO^ Poems, continued — page

Psalm LXXXIII. 553

Psalm LXXXIV. . . . ' . . . . . , 555

Psalm LXXXV. . . 556

Psalm LXXXVI. . . • . . . . . ... 557

Psalm LXXXVII 55^5

Psalm LXXXVIII. 559

Eight of the Psalms done into Verse, 1653.

Psalm I. . . . . . . . . . • . 561

i Psalm- II. • . . ... . . . ... 561

Psalm III. . . . . . . . . . ^ . 562

Psalm IV 563

Psalm V. . ... . ; 564

Psalm VI. . . . . . . . . . . .565

Psalm VII. . 565

Psalm VIII . 567

Scraps from the Prose Writings 568

Part II.— The Latin Poems: —

De Auctore Testimonia . . . , , . , . '571

Elegiarum Liber.

Elegia I. Ad Caroium Diodatum . 575

Elegia II. In obitum Praeconis Academici Cantabrigiensis . . 577

■ Elegia HI. In obitum Ptaesulis Wintoniensis . . . .577

Elegia IV. Ad Thomam Junium, Praeceptorem suum . . .579

Elegia V. In Adventuni Veriis . . . . . . . 582

Elegia VI. Ad Caroium* Diodatum, rtiri commorantem . . 585

' Elegia VII. Anno aetatis undevigesimo . . . . . 587

In Proditionem Bombardicam" . . . . . . . 590

In Eand^m . . ... . . . . . . 590

In E^ndem , . •» 590

In Eandem . . . » . . • • . . .591

In Inventorum Bombardae .591

Ad Leonoram Ronaae CanenteW . . . . . . .591

Ad Eandem . ..... . . . .591

Ad Eandem . . . 592

Apologus de Rustioo et Hero , , 592

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CONTENTS.,

Minor Poems, continued — page

De Moro . . . 592

Ad Christinam, Suecorum Reginam, nomine Cromwelli . . 592

Sylvarum Liber.

In obitum Procancellarii Medici 593

In Quintum Novembris 594

In obitum Praesulis Eliensis . " . . . . . . 599

Naturam non pati Senium 600

De Idei Platonici quemadmodum Aristoteles intellexit . . 602

Ad Patrem 603

Greek Verses.

Psalm CXIV . .606

Philosophus ad Regem quendam 606

In Effigiei ejus Sculptorem . 606

Ad Salsillum, Poetam Romanum, aegrotantem .... 607

Mansus 608

Epitaphium Damonis . .610

Ad Joannem Rousium, Oxoniensis Academise Bibliothecarium . 615

In Salmasii Hundredam .618

In Salmasium .......... 618

Index to Poems, First Lines and Familiar Quotations . .619

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PREFACE.

The Text of the Poems in this edition will, it is hoped, be found
very accurate, having been carefully prepared by the Editor for the
larger Library Edition, called ** The Cambridge . Edition," in three
volumes 8vo. The Introductions are, with some revision, the same
as those given in "The Golden Treasury Edition" in two volumes
i8mo., and are an adaptation of the more extensive editorial matter of
" The Cambridge Edition." Their purpose is to elucidate the circum-
stances, motives, and intention, of each of the Poems individuallv:
they contain, therefore, a great oeai ui suen iniomiation as is usually
referred to Notes ; ana, if read m tneir cnronological order, they will
be found to supply also, after meir fasmon, a continuous and rather
minute Literary Biography of the Poet. I regret that the wording of
the Introduction to Sonnet XXIII. no longer corresponds with feet.
When that paragraph was written, the house No. 19 York Street,
Westminster, so interesting as having been Milton's residence from
1652 to 1660, was still in existence, as there described; but, when I
was last on the spot, only the ruined shell was left, and Ahat too, I
hear, is now demolished.

Edinburgh, March 1877.

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INTRODUCTION
TO PARADISE LOST.

I. EARLIEST EDITIONS OF THE POEM.

It was p>ossibly just before the Great Fire of London in September, 1666,
and it certainly cannot have been very long after that event, when Milton, then
residing in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, sent the nianuscript of his Paradise
Lost to receive the official licence necessary for its publication. The duty of
licensing such books was then vested by law in the Archbishop of Canter-
bury, who performed it through his chaplains. The Archbishop of Canterbury
at tiiat time (1663-1677) was Dr. Gilbert Sheldon j and the chaplain to whom
it fell to examine the manuscript of Paradise Lost was the Rev. Thomas Tom-
kyns, M. A. of Oxford, then incumbent of St. Mary Aldermary, London, and
afterwards Rector of Lambeth and D. D. He was the Archbishop's domestic
chaplain, and a very great favourite of his — quite a young man, but already the
author of one or two books or pamphlets. The nature of his opinians may
be guessed from the fact that his first publication, printed in the year of the
Restoration, had been entitled ** The Rebel's Plea Examined ; or, Mr. Bax
ter's Judgment concerning the Late War." A subsequent publication of his,
penned not long after he had^examined Paradise Losty was entitled " Th6 In-
conveniences of Toleration; " and, when he died in 1675, ^^^ young, he was
described on his tomb-stone as having been " Ecclesia AnglicancB contra
Schismaticos assertor eximius.^^ A manuscript by a n)an of Milton's politi-
cal and ecclesiastical antecedents could hardly, one would think, have fallen
into the hands of a more unpropitious examiner. It is, accordingly, stated
that Tomkyns hesitated about giving the licence, and took exception to some
passages in the poem — particularly to that (Book I. w. 594 — 599) where it
is said of Satan in his diminished brightness after his fall, that he still appeared

" as when the Sun, new-risen.
Looks throueh the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his oeams, or, from behind a cloud.
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs."

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST.

At length, however, Mr. Tomkyns was satisfied. There still exists the first
book of the actual manuscript which had been submitted to him.* It is a
fairly written copy, in a light, not inelegant, but rather characterless hand of
the period — of course, not that of Milton himself, who had been for fourteen
years totally blind. It consists of eighteen leaves of small quarto, stitched
together; and on the inside of the first leaf, or cover, is the following official
licence to print in Tomkyns's hand : —

Imprimatur: Tho. Tomkyns ^ Rmo. in Christo Patri ac Domino^ Dno. Gilberto^ divind
Providentid A rchiepiscopo Cantuariensi, a sacris Domesticis,

The other books of the manuscript having received a similar certificate, or
this certificate on the MS. of the first book sufficing for all, the copy was ready
for publication by any printer or bookseller to whom Milton might consign
it. Having already had many dealings with London printers and booksellers,
Milton may have had seversd to whom he could %o\ but the one whom he
favoured in this case, or who favoured him, was a certain Samuel Simmons, hav-
ing his shop " next door to the Golden Lion in Aldersgate Street." The date
of the transaction between Simmons and Milton is April 27, 1667. On that
day an agreement was signed between them to the following effect : — Milton,
" in consideration of Five Pounds to him now paid," gives, grants, and assigns
to Simmons " all that Bopk, Copy, or Manuscript o^ a Poem intituled Para-
" dise Lost, or by whatsoever other title or name the same is or shall be called
" or distinguished, now lately licensed to be printed;" on the understanding,
however, that, at the end of the first impression of the Book — " which im-
" pression shall be accoimted to be ended when thirteen hundred books of the
" said whole copy, or manuscript imprinted shall be sold or retailed off to par-
" ticular reading customers " — Simmons shall pay to Milton or his representa-
tives a second sum of Five Pounds; and further that he shall pay a third sum
of Five Pounds at the end of a second impression of the same number of
copies, and a fourth sum of Five Pounds at the end of a third impression
similarly measured. To allow a margin for presentation copies, we suppose, it
is provided that, while in the account between Milton and Simmons each of
the three first impressions is to be reckoned at 1,300 copies, in the actual print-
ing of each Simmons may go as high as 1,500 copies. At any reasonable re-
quest of Milton or his representatives, Simmons, or his executors and assigns,
shall be bound to make oath before a Master in Chancery " concerning his or
*' their knowledge and belief of, or concerning the truth of, the disposing and
** selling the said books by retail as aforesaid whereby the said Mr. Milton is to
" be entitled to his said money from time to time," or, in default of said oath,
to pay the Five Pounds pending on the current impression as if the same were
due.t

had descended, with other Milton relics, from the famous publishing family of the Tonsons,
connected with him by ancestry.

t The original of this document — or rather that one of the two originals which Simmons
kept — is now in the British Museum. To the poet's signature " John Milton " (which,
however, is written for him by another hand) is annexed his seal, bearing the family arms ot
the double-headed eagle; and the witnesses are "John Fisher" and " Benjamin Greene, servt.
to Mr. Milton."

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Im-RODCICTION TO PARADISE LOST.

It has been inferred from the wording of this document that Milton, before
bis bargain with Simmons, may have begun the printing of the poem at his
own expense. There seems no real ground, however, for thinking lo, or that
what was handed over to Simmons was anything else than the fairly copied
manuscript which had received the imprimatur of Mr. Tomkyns. With that
imprimatur Simmons might proceed safely in printing the book and bringing
it into the market. Accordingly, on the 20th of August, 1667, or four months
after the foregoing agreement, we find this entry in the books of Stationers'
HaU: —

August 20, 1667: Mr. Sam. Symons entered for his copie, under the hands of Mr. Thomas
Tomkyns and Mr. Warden Royston, a book or copie intituled " Paradise Lost, a Poem in
Tenne bookes by J. M."

The date of the above entry in the Stationers' registers fixes the time about
which printed copies of the Poem were ready for sale in London. There are
few books, however, respecting the circumstances of whose first publication
there is room for a greater variety of curious questions. This arises from the
fact that, among the numerous existing copies of the First Edition, no two are
in all particulars exactly alike. They differ in their title-pages, in their dates»
and in minute points throughout the text. There is involved in this, indeed, a
fact of general interest to English bibliographers. In the old days of leisurely
printing, it was quite common for the printer or the author of a book to make
additional corrections while the printing was in progress — of which corrections
only part of the total impression would have the benefit. Then, as, in the
binding of the copies, all the sheets, having or not having the corrections so
made, were jumbled together, there was no end to the combinations of dif-
ferent states of sheets that might arise in copies all really belonging to one
edition; besides which, if any change in the proprietorship, or in the author's
or publisher's notions of the proper titlct arose before aU the copies had been
bound, it was easy to cancel the first title-page and provide a new one, with
a new date if necessary, for the remaining copies. The probability is that
these considerations will be found to affect all our early printed books. But
they are applicable in a more than usual degree, so far as differences of title-
page are concerned, to the First Edition of Paradise Lost, Here, for example,
is a conspectus of the different forms of title-page and other accompaniments
of the text of the Poem that have be^n recognised among existing copies of the
First Edition. We arrange them, as nearly as can be judged, in the order
in which they were issued.

First .title-page. — "Paradise lost. A Poem written in, Ten Books By John Milton.
Licensed and Entred according to Order. London Printed, and are to lie sold by Peter
Parker under Creed Church neer Aldgate; And by Robert Boulter at the Turks Head in
Bishop^ate-street; And Matthias Walker under St. Dunstons Church in Fleet-street. 1667."
4to. pp. 343.

Second title-Page. — Same as above, except that the author's name ** John Milton " is in
larger type. 1667. 410. pp. 343.

Third title-page. — '* Paradise lost. A Poem in Ten Books. The Author J. M. [initials
only]. Licensed and Entred according to Order. London Printed &c. [as before, or nearly
soL s668. 4to. pp. 343.

Tomrth title-page. — Same as the preceding, but the type in the body of the title larger.
x668. 4to. pp. 343.

Fifth title-page. — "Paradise lost* A Poem in Ten Books. The Author John Milton.
Ivondon, Printed by S. Simmons, and to be sold by S. Thomson at the Bishops-Head in
Duck-lane, H. Mortlack at the White Hart in Westminster Hall, M. Walker under St.

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST,

Dunstons Church in Fleet-street, and R. Boulter. at the Turks^Head in Bishopsgate-^tvet.
1668." 4to. pp. 356. The most notable peculiarity in this issue as compared with its prede-
cessors is tl)e increase of the bulk of the volume bv fourteen pages or seven leaves. This is
accounted for as follows: — In the preceding issues there had been no Prose Argument, Preface,
or other preliminary matter to the text of the poem; but in this there are fourteen pages <^
new matter interpolated between the title-leaf and the poem. First of all there is this three-
line advertisement: *' The Printer to the Reader. Courteous Reader, There was no Argu-
" ment at first intended to the Book, but for the satisfaction of many that have desired it, is
" procured. S. Simmons." Then, accordingly, there follow the prose Ai^uments to the
several Books, doubtless by Milton himself, all printed together in eleven pages; after which,
in two pages of large open type, comes Milton's preface, entitled ** The Verse," explaining his
reasons for abandoning Rime — succeeded on the fourteenth page by a list of" Errata." But
this is not all. Simmons's three-line Address to the Reader, as given above, is, it will be ob-
served, not grammatically correct; and, whether because Milton had found out this or not,
there are some copies, with this fifth title-page, in which the ungrammatical three-line Address
is corrected into 2i five-line Address thus — " The Printer to the Reader. Courteous Reader,
" There was no Argument at first intended to the Book, but for the satisfaction of many that
" have desired it, I have procur'd it, and withaU a reason of that which stumbled many others,
" why the Poem Rimes not. S. Simmons"

Sixth title-page. — Same as the preceding, except that instead of four lines of stars under
the author's name there is a fleur-de-lis ornament. 1668. 4to. pp. 356. Here we have the same
preliminary matter as in the preceding. There seem to be some copies, however, with the
incorrect three-line Address, and others with the corx^ct. five-line Address, of the Printer.

Seventh tiile-Page. — " Paradise lost. A Poem in Ten Books. The Author John Milton.
London, Printed by S. Simmons, and are to be sold by. T. Helder, at the Angel, in Little-
Brittain, 1669." 4to. pp. 356. Some copies with this title-page still retain Simmons s incorrect
three-line Address to the Reader, while others have the five-line Address. Rest of pre-
liminary matter as before.

Eighth and Ninth title-Pages. — Same as last, except some insignificant changes of capital
letters and of pointing in the words of the title. 1669. 4to. pp. 356.

Here are at least nine distinct forms in which, as respects the title-page,
complete copies were issued by the binder, from the first publication of the
work about August 1667 on to 1669 inclusively; besides which there are the
variations among individual copies arising from the two forms of the Printer's
Advertisement, and the variations in the text of the poem arising from, the in-
discriminate binding together of sheets in the different states of correctness in
which they were printed off. The variations of this last class are of absolutely
no moment — a comma in some copies where others have it not; an error in the
numbering of the lines, or of a with for an in in some copies rectified in
others, &c. On the whole, the text of any existing copy of the First Edition is
as perfect as that of any other — though there is an advantage in having a copy
with the small list of Errata and the other preliminary matter. But the vari-
ations in the title-page are of greater interest. Why is the author's name
given in full in the title-pages of 1667, then contracted into " J. M." in two of
those of J 668, and again given in full in two of those of the same year, and
in all those of 1669? And why, though Simmons had acquired the copyright
in April 1667, and had entered the copyright as his in the Stationers' Books in
August 1667, is his name kept out of sight in all the title-pages prior to that
one of 1668 which is given as the Fifth in the foregoing list, and which is the
first with the preliminary matter — the preceding title-pages showing no printer's
name, but only the names of three booksellers at whose shops copies might be
had? Finally, why, after Simmons does think it right to appear on the tJile-
page» are there changes in the names of the booksellers — two of the former
booksellers first disappearing and giving way to other two, and then the three
of 1668 giving way in 1669 to the single bookseller, Helder of Little Britain?
Very probably in some of these changes nothing more was involved than

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INTRODUCTION^ TO PARADISE LOST.

convenience to Simmons in his circumstances at the time. Not impossibly,
however, more was involved than this in so much tossing-about of the book
within so short a period. May not Simmons have been a little timid about
his venture in publishing a book by the notorious Milton, whose attacks on the
Church and defences of the execution of Charles I. were still fresh in the mem-
ory of all, and some of whose pamphlets had been publicly burned by the hang-
man after the Restoration? May not his entering the book at Stationers' Hall
simply as " a Poem in Ten Books by J. M." have been a caution on his part;
and, though, in the first issues, he had ventured on the name " John Milton "
in full, may he not have found or thought it advisable, for a subsequent circu-
lation in some quarters, to have copies with only the milder "J. M." upon
them?

In any case, the first edition of Paradise Lost was a most creditably printed
book. It is, as has been mentioned, a small quarto — of 342 pages in such
copies as are without the "Argument" and other preliminary matter, and of
356 pages in the copies that have this addition. But the pages are not num-
bered — only the lines by tens along the margin in each Book. In one or two
places there is an error in the numbering of the lines, arising from miscounting.
The text in each page is enclosed within lines — single lines at the inner mar-
gin and bottom, but double lines at the top for the running title and the num-
ber of the Book, and along the outer margin columnwise for the numbering of
the lines. Very great care must have been bestowed on the reading «f the
proofs, either by Milton himself, or by some competent person who had under-
taken to see the book through the press for him. It seems likely that Milton,
himself caused page after page to be read over slowly to him, and occasionally
even the words to be spelt out. There are, at all events, certain systematic
peculiarities of spelling and punctuation which it seems most reasonable to
attribute to Milton's own instructions. Altogether, for a book printed in such
circumstances, it is wonderfully accurate ; and, in all the particulars of type,
paper, and general getting-up, the first appearance of Paradise Lost must have
been rather attractive than otherwise to book-buyers of that day.

The selling-price of the volume was three shillings — which is perhaps as if
a similar book now were published at about los. 6d. From the retail-sale of
1,300 copies, therefore, the sum that would come in to Simmons, if we make
an allowance for trade-deductions at about the modern rate, would be some-
thing under 140/. Out of this had to be paid the expenses of printing, &c.,
and the sum agreed upon with the author; and the balance would be Sim-
mons's profit On the whole, though he cannot have made anything extraor-
dinary by the transaction, it must have been sufficiently remunerative. For, by
the 26th of April 1669, or after the poem had been published a little over
eighteen months, the stipulated impression of 1,300 copies had been exhausted.
The proof exists in the shape of Milton's receipt (signed for him by another
hand) for the additional Five Pounds due to him on that contingency : —

April 26, 1669.
Received then of Samuel Simmons five pounds, being the Second five pounds to be paid
mentioned in the Covenant. I say reed, by me.

John Milton.
Witness, Bxlmund Upton.

Thus, by the month of April 1669, Milton had received in all Ten Pounds
for his Paradise Lost, This was all that he was to receive for it in his life.

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For, contrary to what might have been expected after a sale of the first edition
in eighteen months, there was no second edition for five years more, or till
1674. Either the book was out of print for these five years, or what demand
for it there continued to be was supplied out of the surplus of 200 copies which,
for some reason or other, Simmons had been authorized to print beyond the
1,300. But in 1674 — the last year of Milton's life — a second edition did ap-
pear, with the following title : —

" Paradise Lost. A Poem in Twelve Books. The Author J[ohn Milton. The Second Edition
Revised and Augmented by the same Author. London, Printed by S. Simmons next door to
the Golden Lion in AldersgatC'Street, 1674."

This edition is in small octavo, with the pages numbered, but with no mar-
ginal numbering of the lines — the pages of the text as numbered being '^'^'^,
There are prefixed two sets of commendatory verses — the one in Latin signed
" S. B,y M. D.," and written by a certain Samuel Barrow, a physician and a
private friend of Milton; the other in English, signed *M. M.,^ and written
by Andrew Marvel. But the most important difference between this and the
previous edition is that, whereas the poem had been arranged in Ten Books in
the first, it is here arranged in Twelve. This is accomplished by dividing what
had formerly been the two longest Books of the poem — Books VII. and X. —
into two Books each. There is a corresponding division in the " Arguments "
of these Books; and the "Arguments," instead of being given in a body at
the beginning, are prefixed to the Books to which they severally apply. To
smooth over the breaks made by the division of the two Books, the three new
lines were added which now form the beginning of Book VIII. and the five
that begin Book XII. ; and there are one or two other slight additions or alter-
ations, also dictated by Milton, in the course of the text, besides a few verbal
variations, such as would arise in reprinting. On the whole the Second Edition,
though very correct, is not so nice-looking a book as the First.

Four years sufficed to exhaust the Second Edition; and in 1678 {i.e. four
years after Milton's death) a Third Edition appeared with this title : ** Para-
dise Lost, A Poem in Twelve Books. The Author John Milton. The Third
Edition. Revised and Augmented by the same Author. London^ Printed by
S. Simmons i next door to the Golden Lion in Alder sgate Street^ 1678.? This
edition is in small octavo, and in other respects the same as its predecessor,
save that there are a few verbal variations in the printing. It is of no indepcTi-
dent value — the Second Edition being the last that could have been supervised
by Milton himself. From the appearance of a third edition in 1678, however,
it is to be inferred that by that time the second of those impressions of 1,300
copies which had to be accounted for to the author was sold off (implying per-
haps a total circulation up to that time of 3,000 copies), and that, consequently,
had the author been alive, he would have been then entitled to his third sum of
Five Pounds, as by the agreement. Milton being dead, the sum was due to his
widow. Whether, however, on account of disputes which existed between the
widow and Milton's three daughters by his first wife as to the inheritance of
nis property (disputes which were the subject of a law-suit in 1674-5), or for
other reasons, Simmons was in no hurry to pay the third Five Pounds. It was
not till the end of 1680 that he settled with the widow, and then in a manner
of which the following receipt given by her is a record : —

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I do hereby acknowledge to have received of Samuel Symonds, Cittizen and Stationer of
London, the oum of Eieht pounds : which is in full payment for all my right, Title, or Interest,
which I have, or ever had in the Coppy of a Poem Intitled Paradise Lost in Twelve Bookes
in 8vo. By John Milton, Gent., my late husband. Witness my hand this 2xst day of
December, x68o.

EuzABBTH Milton.
Witness, William Yapp.

Ann Yapp. "

That is to say, Simmons, owing the widow Five Pounds, due since 1678,
and in prospect of soon owing her other Five Pounds on the current impression
of the Poem, preferred, or consented, to compound for the Ten by a payment
of Eight in December 1680. The total sum which he could in any case have
been called upon to pay for Paradise Lost by his original agreement was 20/.
(for the agreement did not look beyond three impressions of 1,300 copies
each) ; and the total sum which he did pay was i8/. If he thus got off 2/. it
was probably to oblige the widow, who may have been anxious to realize all
she could of her late husband's property at once before leaving town. There
is, indeed, a subsequent document from which it would appear as if Simmons
feared having farther trouble from the widow. It is a document, dated April
29, 1 681, by which she formally releases Samuel Simmons, his heirs, executors,
and administrators for ever, from " all and all %nanner of action and actions,
•* cause and causes of action, suits, bills, bonds, writings obligatory, debts,
•* dues, duties, accounts, sum and sums of moneys, judgments, executions,
" extents, quarrels either in law or equity^ controversies and demands, and all
" and every other matter, cause, and thing whatsoever, which against the said
** Samuel Simmons " she ever had, or which she, her heirs, executors, or ad-
ministrators should or might have " by reason or means of any matter, cause,
" or thing whatsoever, from the beginning of the world unto the day of these
•• presents." About the most comprehensive release possible !

From 1680, accordingly, neither Milton's widow, nor his daughters, had any
share or interest whatever in the sale of Paradise Lost, The sole property in
it was vested in the printer Simmons. Nor did he keep it long. Shortly after
his last agreement with the widow be transferred his entire interest in the poem
to another bookseller, Brabazon Aylmer, for twenty-five pounds. But on the
17th of August, 1683, Aylmer sold half of his right at a considerably advanced
price to the famous bookseller, Jacob Tonson, who had begun business in
1677, and was already introducing a new era in the book-trade by his dealings
with Dryden and others; and in March, 1690, Tonson bought the other half of
the copyright. What are called the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions, accord-
ingly, were all issued by Tonson. The fourth was issued in 1688, in folio,
with a portrait by White, and other illustrations, and a list of more than
500 subscribers, including the most eminent persons of the day — some copies
including Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes, and having the general
title of Milton's Poetical Works. The fifth appeared in 1692, also in folio;
and with Paradise Regained aLppended. The sixth was published in 1695, also
in large folio and with illustrations, both separately, and also bound up with all
the rest of the poems under the general title of " The Poetical Works of Mr.
John Milton." This edition was accompanied by what is in reality the first
commentary on the poem, and also one of the best. It consists of no fewer
than 321 folio pages of Annotations, under this title, " Annotations on Milton's
" Paradise Lx)st : wherein the texts of Sacred Writ relating to the Poem are

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** quoted ; the parallel places and imitations of the most excellent Homer and
" Virgil cited and compared ; all the obscure parts rendered in phrases more
"familiar; the old and obsolete words, with their originals, explained and
"made easy to the English reader. By P. H., ^tXoirot^TT/s." The "P. H."
who thus led the way, so largely, carefully, and laboriously, in the work of
commentating Milton, was Patrick Mume, a Scotsman, of whom nothing more
has been ascertained than that he was then settled as a schoolmaster some-
where near London.

A common statement is that it was Addison's celebrated series of criticism!
on Paradise Lost in the Spectator, during the years 1711 and 1712, that, first
awoke people to Milton's greatness as a poet, and that till then he had been
neglected. The statement will not bear investigation. Not only had six
editions of the Paradise Lost been published before the close of the seven-
teenth century — three of them splendid folio editions, and one of them with
a commentary which was in itself a tribute to the extraordinary renown of the
poem; and not only before or shortly after Milton's death had there been
such public expressions of admiration for the poem by Dryden and others as
were equivalent to its recogiy^ion as one of the sublimest works of English
genius; but since the year 1688 these emphatic, if not very discriminating
lines, of Dryden, printed by way of motto under Milton's portrait in Tonson's
edition of that year, had been a familiar quotation in all men's mouths : —

" Three Poets in three distant ages bom,
Greece, Italy, and Eneland did adorn.
The first in loftiness of mind surpassed;
The next in majesty ; in both the last.
The force of nature could no further go;
To make a third she joined the former two."

Even before these lines were written the habit of comparing Milton with
Homer and Virgil, and of wondering whether the highest greatness might not
be claimed for the Englishman, had been fully formed. Addison's criticisms,
therefore, were only a contribution to a reputation already become traditional.
Three new editions of the Paradise Lost, by itself or otherwise, had been
published by Tonson before the appearance of these criticisms — to wit, in
1705, 1707, and 171 1; after which Addison's criticisms may have given an
impulse to the sale, visible in the rapid multiplication of subsequent editions.

The Tonson family had an undisturbed monopoly ol these editions, and
indeed of all Milton's poetry, till as late as the year 1750. Every one of the
numerous editions, in different sizes and forms, published in Great Britain down
to that year, bears the name of the Tonson firm on the title-page. This was
owing to the state of opinion as to copyright in books. In Great Britain the
understanding in, the book-trade was that a publisher who had once acquired a
book had a perpetual property in it. The understanding did not extend to Ire-
land ; and accordingly there had been three Dublin editions of Paradise Lost —
in 1724, 1747, and 1748 respectively. But about 1750 the understanding broke
down in Great Britain as well — being found inconsistent with the Copyright
Act of Queen Anne, passed in 1709; and, accordingly, from 1750 onwards
we find London and Edinburgh publishers venturing to put forth editions of
Milton to compete with thdse of the Tonsons. Not, however till the death,

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in 1767^ of Jacob Jotison terHuSy the grand-nephew of the original Tonson,
and the last of the famous firm, was the long connexion of the name of
Tonson with Milton's poetry broken, and the itraJB&c in Milton's poems really
thrown open. From that date to the present the number of editions of
Paradise Lost, and of Milton's other poems, by different pubhshers, and in
different feishions, is all but past reckoning.

II. ORIGIN OF THE POEM AND HISTORY OF ITS COMPOSITION.

A great deal has been written concerning " the origin " of Paradise Lost,
Voltaire, in 1727, suggested that Milton had, v»*ile in Italy in 1638-9, seen
performed there a Scriptural drama, entitled Adatno, written by a certain
Giovanni Battista Andteini, and that, "piercing through the absurdity of the
performance to the hidden majesty of the subject," he " took from that ridic-
ulous trifle the first hint of the noblest work \<^hich the human imagination
has ever attempted.". The Andreini thus retailed to notice was the son of
an Italian actress, and wa's known in Italy .and also in France as a writer' of
comedies and religious poems, and also of some defences of the drama. He
was bom in 1578, and, as he did not die till 1652, he may have been of some
reputation in Italy as a living author dt the time of Milton's visitK His Adamo,
of which special mention is made, was published at Milan in 161 3, again at
Milan in 1617; and there was a third edition of it at Perugia in 1641. It is a
drama in Italian verse, in five Acts, representing the Fall of Man. Among
the characters, besides Adam and Eve, are God the Father, the Archangel
Michael^ Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, the Serpent, and various allegoric person-
ages, silch as the Seven Mortal Sins, the World, the Flesh, Famine, Despair,
Death; and there are also choruses of Seraphim, Cherubim, Angels, Phan-
toms, and Infernal Spirits. From specimens which havie been given, it appears
that the play, though absurd enou^ on the whole to justify the way in whiph
Voltaire speaks of it, is not destitute of vivacity and other merits, and that, if
Milton did read it, or see it performed, he may" have retained a pretty strong
recollection of it.

The hint that Milton might have been indebted for the first idea of his poem
to Andreini opetted up one of those literary questions in which ferrets among
old books and critics of more ingenuity than judgmeivt delight to lose thenf-
selves. In various quarters h)rp6theses wet^. started as to piairticular authors to
whom, in addition to Andreini, Milton might have been indebted for this or
that in his Paradise Lost. The notorious William Laudet gave an impulse to
the question by his publications, from 1746 io 1755, openly accusing Milton
of plagiarism; and, though the controversy in theform in which Lauder had
raised it ended vidth thfe exposure of hisfor^geries, the so-calted ** Inquiry into
the Origin of Paradise Lost" has contitmed tb octupy to this day critics of a
very different stamp frota Lauder, and writing in a very different spirit The
result has been that some thirty authors have been cited, as entitled, along with
Andreini or- apart from him, to the credit of having probably or possibly con-
tributed something to "the cdndeption, the plan, br the execution of Milton's
great poem. Quite recently, for example, a claim has been advanced for the
Dutch poet,. Joost van den Vondel (1587*— 1679), one of whose productions:— a

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tragedy called ** Lucifer y^* acted at Amsterdam, and published in 1654 — de-
scribes the rebellion of the Angels, and otherwise goes over much of the
ground of Paradise Lost. Milton, it is argued, must have heard of this tragedy
before he began his own Epic, and may have known Dutch sufficiently to read
it. Then there was the somewhat older Dutch poet, Jacob Cats (1577 — 1660),
one of whose poems, describing Adam and Eve in Paradise, might have been
known to Milton, even though he could not read Dutch, as it had been trans-
lated into Latin by Caspar Barlseus, and published at Dordrecht in 1643. Nor,
if Vondel and Cats remained unknown to Milton, was it possible that he
should not be familiar with Adamm Exul, a Latin tragedy by the famous Hugo
Grotius, the most learned Dutchman of his age, and whom Milton himself had
met in Paris. This poem of Grotius, the work of his youth, had been before
the world since 1 60 1. But not from Dutch sources only is Milton supposed to
have derived hints. May he not have seen the following Latin works by
German authors — the Bellum Angelicum of Frederic Taubmann, of which two
books and a fragment appeared in 1604; the Damonomachia of Odoric Val- -
marana, published in Vienna in 1627; and the Sarcotis of the Jesuit Jacobus
Masenius, three books of which were published at Cologne in 1644? Among
possible Italian sources of help, better known or less known than Andreini's
AdamOi there have been picked out the following — Antonio Comozano,
Discorso in Versi delta Creazione del Mondo sino alia Venuta di GesU Cristo^
1472; Antonio Alfani, La Batlaglia Celeste tra Michele e Lucifer o^ 1568;
Erasmo di Valvasone, Angelada, 1590; Giovanni Soranzo, DelP Adamo, 1604;
Ami CO Anguifilo, // Caso di Lucifer 0 ; Tasso, Le Sette Giernate del Mondo
CreatOf 1607; Gasparo Murtola, Delia Creazione del Mondo: Poema Sacra,
1608; Felice Passero, Epamerone; overo^ LOpere desei Giorni, 1609; Marini,
Strage degli Innocenti^ 1633, and also his Gerusalemme Distrutta; Troilo
Lancetta, La Scena Tragica cTAdamo ed Eva, 1644; Serafino della Salandra,
Adamo Caduto : Trag. "Sacra, 1647. A. Spanish poet has been procured for
the list in Alonzo de Azevedo, the author of a Creadon del Mundo, published
in 1615; and a similar poem of the Portuguese Camoens, published in the
same year, has also been referred to. Finally, reference has been made to the
Locustce of the Englishman Phineas Fletcher, a poem in Latin Hexameters
published at Cambridge in 1627, ^"^^ to certain Poemata Sacra of the Scottish
Latinist, Andrew Ramsay, pubUshed at Edinburgh in 1633; as well as, more
in detail, to Joshua Sylvester's English translation of the Divine Weeks and
Works of Du Bartas, originally published in 1605, and thenceforward for
nearly half a century one of the most popular books in England, and to the
Scriptural Paraphrases of the pld Anglo-Saxon poet Caedmon, first edited and
made accessible in 1655.

What is to be said of all this? For the most part it is laborious nonsense.
That Milton knew most of the books mentioned, and, indeed, a great many
more of the same sort, is extremely likely; that Sylvester's Du Bartas had been
familiar to him from his childhood is quite certain; that recollections of this
book and some of the others are to be traced in the Paradise Ix)st seems dis-
tinctly to have been proved; but that in any of the books, or in all of them"
together, there is to be found " the origin of Paradise Lost," in any intelligible
sense of the phrase, is utterly preposterous. Indeed, some of the books have
been cited less from any knowledge of their contents than from confidence in
their titles as casually seen in book-catalogues.

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One conclusion, pertinent to the subject, which might have been suggested
by the mere titles of so many books, appears to have been'missed. The sub-
ject of Paradise Lost, it would seem, if only on the bibliographical evidence so
collected, was oi^ of those which already possessed in a marked degree that
quality of hereditary and widely diffused interest which fits subjects for the
purposes of great poets. Milton, it may be said, inherited it as a subject with
which the imagination of Christendom had long been fascinated, and which
had been nibbled at again and again by poets in and out of England, though
by none managed to its complete capabilities. There are traces in his juvenile
poems ^ as, for example, in his Latin poem In Quintum Novembris — of his
very early familiarity, in particular, with some of those conceptions of the per-
sonality and agency of Satan, and the physical connexion between Hell and
Man's World, which may be said to motive his great epic. Nothing is more
certain, however, than that, though thus signalled in the direction of his great
subject by early presentiments and experiments, he came to the actual choice
of it at last through considerable deliberation. The story of the first concep-
tion of Paradise Lost, and of the long-deferred execution of the project, is one
of the most interesting in the life of Milton.

It was in 1639, after his return from his Italian tour, in his thirty-first year,
that Milton, as he tells us, first bethought himself seriously of some great liter-
ary work, on a scale commensurate with his powers, and which posterity should
not willingly let die. He had resolved that it should be an English poem; he
had resolved that it should be an epic; nay, he had all but resolved — as is
proved by his Latin poem to Manso, and his Epitaphium Damonis — that his
subject should be taken from the legendary history of Britain, and should
include the romance of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Sud-
denly, however, this decision was shaken. He became uncertain whether the
dramatic form might not be fitter for his purpose than the epic, and, letting go
the subject of Arthur, he began to look about for other subjects. The proof
exists in the form of a list — written by Milton's own hand in 1 640-1, or cer-
tainly not later than 1642, and preserved among the Milton MSS. in Trinity
College, Cambridge — of about one hundred subjects, many of them Scriptural,
and the rest from British History, which he had jotted down, with the inten-
tion, apparently, of estimating their relative degrees of capability, and at last
fixing on the one, or the one or two, that should appear best. Now at the
head of this long list of subjects is Paradise Lost. TTiere are no fewer than
four separate drafts of this subject as then meditated by Milton for dramatic
treatment. The first draft consists merely of a list of dramatis persona, as
follows : —

;

^' The Persons: — Michael; Heavenly Love; Chorus of Ang[els; Lucifer; Adam, Eve,
"with the Serpent; Conscience; Death; Labour, Sickness, Discontent, Ignorance, with
"others, Mutes; Faith; Hope; Charity."

This Draft having been cancelled, another is written parallel with it, as
follows : —

" The Persons: — Moses [originally written * Michael or Moses,' but the words * Michael oi
'deleted, so as to leavt ' Moses ' as preferable for the drama]; Justice, Mercy, Wisdom;
'Heavenly Love; the Evening Star, Hesperus; Lucifer; Adam; Eve; Conscience; Labour,
'Sickness, Discontent, Ignorance, Fear, Death, [as J Mutes; Faith; Hope; Charity."

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This having also been scored out, there follows a third Draft, more com-
plete, thus:-^

** Paradise Lost: — The Persons: Moses irpoAoyi^ei, recountm|{ how he assumed his true
"body; that it corrupts not, because of his [being] with God in the mouAft; declares the like
" of Enoch 9nd £liah, besides the ptirity of the lUacc—^that certain pure winds, dews, and
** clouds preserve it from corruption; whence exhorts to the sight of God: tcHs them they can-
" not see Adam in the state of innocence by reason of their sin. — [Act 1.] : Justice, Mercy,
" Wisdom, debating what should become of Man if he fall. Chorus of Angels sing a hymn of
" the Creation. — Act II.: Heavenly Love; Evening Star. Chorus sing the marriage song
". and describe Paradise. — Act III. : Lucifer contrivmg Adam's ruin. Chorus fears for Adam
"aind relates Lucifer's rebellion and fall. — Act IV,: Adam, Eve, fallen; Conscience cites
** them to God's examination. Chorus bewails and tells the good Adam hath loit, — Act Y. :
** Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise, presented by an Angel with Labour, Grief, Hatred.
**Enyy, War, Famine, Pestilence, Sickness, Disoqntent, Jlgnor^mce, Fear> [as] Mutes — to
** whom he ^ives their names — likewise Winter, Heat, Tempest, &c.; Death entered into the
** world; Fsuth, Hope, Charity, comfort and instruct him. Chorus briefly concludes.**

This is left standing; 'but in another part of the MS., as if written at some
interval of time, is a fourth Draft, as follows : —

*|Adam Unparadized:— The Angel Gabriel, either descending or entering — showing,
"since the globe is created, his frequei^y as much on Earth as in Heaven — describes Para-
'1 dise. Next the Chorus, showing the reason of his coming — to keep his watch, after Luci-
''i^r*8 rebellion^ by the command of God — and withal expressing his desire to see and know
** more concerning this excellent and new creature, Man< The Angel Gabriel, as by his name
" signifying a Pnnce of Power, passes by the station of the Chorus, and, desired by them,

** relates what he knew of Man, as the creation of Eve, with their love and rharriage.

." After this, Lucifer appears, after his overthrow; bemoans himself; seeks revenge upon Man.
" The Chorus prepares resistance at his first approach. At last, after discourse of enmity on
** either side^, he departs; whereat the Chorus smg of the battle and victQry in Heaven against
" him and his accomplices, as belore, after' the firet Act, was sung a hymn of the Creation.
**-T— Here again may appear Lucifer, relating and consulting on what he had done to the
" destrucdon of Man.* Man next and Eve, having been by this time seduced by the Serpent,
"appear confusedly, covered with leaves. Conscience, in a shape, accuses him; Justice
** cites him to the place whither Jehovah called for him. In the meantime the Chorus enter-
** tains the stage and is informed by some Angel of the manner of the Fall. Here the Chorus
"bewaUs Adjun's fall;— —Adam and Eve return and accuse one another; but especially
•* Adam lays the blameto Hs wife.-^ is stubborn in his offgnce. Justice appears, reasons with
** him,, convinces himl The' Chorus admonishes Adam, and"^ bids him beware Lucifer's

'** example of impenitence. The Angel is sent to banish them out of Paradise; but, before,

*' causes to pass before his eyes, in shapes, a -masque of all the evils of this life and world. He
••'is humbled,. relents,. despairs. At last appears Mercy, comforts him, promises him the
** Messiah; then calls in Faith. Hope, Charity; instructs him. He repents, gives God
** the glory, submits to his penalty. The Chorus bi;iefly concludes. — — Compare this with
" the former Draft."

These schemes of a possible drama on the subject of Paradise Lost were
written out by Milton as early as between 1639 and 1642, or between his
thirty-first and his thirty-fourth year, as a portion of a list of about a hundred
subjects which occurred to him, in the course of. his reading at that time, as
worth considering for the great English Poem which he hoped to give to the
world. From the place and the proportion of space which they occupy in the
list, it is apparent that the subject of Paradise Lost had then fascinated Jiim
more strongly than any of the otheirs, and that, if his notion of an epic on
Arthur wa's then given up, a drama on Paradise Lost had occurred .to him as
the most likely substitute. It is also more probable than not that he then knew
•of previous dramas that had been written on the subject, and that, in writing
out his own schemes, he had the schemes of some of these dramas in his mind*
VondePs play was not then .n existence; but. Andreini's was.. Farther, there

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is evidence in Milton's prose parapHets published about this time that, if he
did ultimately fix on the subject he had so particularly been meditating, he was
likely enough to make himself acquainted with any previous efforts on the same
subject, and to turn them to account for whatever they might be worth. Thus,
in his Reason of Church Government (1641), taking the public into his con-
fidence in various matters relating to himself, and informing them particularly
how his mind had been recently occupied with thoughts of a great English
poem (whether an epic or a drama he had not, he hints, quite determined),
and with what reluctance he felt himself drawn away from that design to engage
in the political controversies of the time, he thus pledges himself that the
design* though necessarily postponed, shall not be abandoned : " Neither do I
" think it shame to covenant with any knowing reader that for some few years
" yet I may go on trust with him toward the ^ payment of what I am now in-
"debted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the
" vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar
" amorist, or the trencher-fury of a riming parasite, nor to be obtained by the
" invocation of Dame Memory and her Siren daughters, but by devout prayer
" to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and
" sends out his Seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify
" the lips of whom he pleases. To this must be added industrious and select
" readings steady observation, insight into all seemly and generous arts and
" affairs — till which in some measure be compassed, at inine own peril and cost
'* I refuse not to sustain this expectation from as many as are not loth to hazard
" so much credulity upon the best pledges that I can give them."

There is evidence that, about the time when Milton thus announced to the
public his design of some great English poem, to be accomplished at|fcure,
and when he was privately considering with himself whether a tragedycn the
si»J>ject of Paradise Lost might not best fulfil the conditions of such a design,
he had actually gone so far as to write not only the foregoimg drafts of the
tragedy, but even some lines by way of opening. Speaking of Paradise Lost^
and of the author's original intention that it should be a tragedy, Milton's
nephew, Edward Phillips, tells us in his Memoir of his uncle (1694) : " In the
"Fourth Book of the Poem there are six [ten?] verses, which, several years
" before the Poem was begun, were shown to me, and some others, as designed
**for the very beginning of the said tragedy." The verses referred to by
Phillips are those (P. L. iv. 32-41) that now form part of Satan's speech on
first standing on the Earth, and beholding, among the glories of the newly-
created World, the Sun in his full splendour in the Heavens : —

" O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned,
Look'st from thy soIe.dominion like the eod
Of this new World — at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads! to thee 1 call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,

0 Sun ! ^ to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to me remembrance from what state

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere,
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King! "

Phillips's, words " several years before the Poem wks begun " would not, by
themselves, fix the date at which he had seen these lines. But in Aubrey's

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14 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST

earlier Memoir of Milton (1680), containing information which Aubrey had
derived from Phillips, this passage occurs : " In the 4th book of Paradise Lost
" there are about 6 verses of Satan's exclamation to the Sun w«^ Mr. E. Phi.
" remembers, about 15 or 16 years before ever his poem was thought of; w«J»
" verses were intended for the beginning of a tragoedie, w<* he had design*d,
"but was diverted from it by other hesinesse." Here we have indirectly
Phillips's own authority that he had read the verses in question at a date which
we shall presently see reason to fix at 1642. He was then a pupil of his uncle,
and living with him in his house in Aldersgate Street.

Alas ! it was not '' for some few years " only, as Milton had thought in 1641,
that the execution of the great work so solemnly then promised had to be
postponed. For a longer time than he had expected England remained in a
condition in which he did not think it right, even had it been possible, that
men like him should be writing poems. Only towards the end of Cromwell's
Protectorate, when Milton had reached his fiftieth year, and had been for five
or six years totally blind, does he seem to have been in circumstances to resume
effectually the design to which he had pledged himself seventeen years before.
By that time, however, there was no longer any doubt as to the theme he would
choose. All the other themes once entertained had faded more or less into the
background of memory, and paradise lost stood out, bold, clear, and without
competitor. Nay more, the dramatic form, for which, when the subject first
occurred to him, Milton had felt a preference, had been now abandoned, and it
had been resolved that the poem should be an epic. He began this epic in
earn^t almost certainly before Cromwell was dead — " about 2 yeares before the
** Kjlg] came in," says Aubrey on Phillips's authority; that is, in 1658, when,
notwithstanding his blindness, he was still in official attendance on Cromwell
at Whitehall as his Latin Secretary, and writing occasional letters, in Crom-
well's name, to foreign states and princes.

The uncertain state of affairs after Cromwell's death, or, at all events, after
the resignation of his son Richard, may have interfered with the progress of
the poem ; and, when the Restoration came, there was danger for a time that
not only the poem but the author's life might be cut short. That danger over,
he was at liberty, " on evil days though fallen, and evil tongues," to prosecute
his labour in obscurity and comparative peace. He had finished it, according
to Aubrey, "about 3 years after the K.'s restauracion," i.e. about 1663. ^^
so, he had been five or six years in all engaged on the poem, and the places
in which he had successively pursued the task of meditating and dictating it
had been mainly these — first. Petty France (now York Street), Westminster,
till within a few weeks of the Restoration; next, some friend's house in Barthol-
omew Qose, West Smithfield, where he lay concealed for a while after the
Restoration; then, a house in Holborn, near Red Lion Fields, whither he
removed as soon as it was safe for him to do so; and, finally, from 1661
onwards, in Jewin Street, close to that part of Aldersgate Street where he had
had his house some eighteen or nineteen years before, when Paradise Lost first
occurred to his thoughts. During the five or six years occupied in the com-
position of the poem in these places Milton's condition had been that of a
widower, — his first wife having died in 1652 or 1653, in the house in Petty
France, leaving him three daughters ; the second, whom he had married in
Nov. 1656, while residing in the same house, having survived the marriage

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 15

little more than a year; and his marriage with his third wife, Elizabeth Min-
shull, not having taken place till February, 1662-63, when, if Aubrey's account
is correct, the poem was finished, or nearly so. It is probable, however, that,
though Milton may have had the poem in some manner complete in Jewin
Street, before his third marriage, there may have still been a good deal to do
with the manuscript in the house in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, to which
he and his wife removed shortly after their marriage (in 1663 or 1664), and
which was the last of Milton's many London residences, and that in which he
died. We have an interesting glimpse of this manuscript, at any rate, as in
Milton's possession, in a satisfactory state, during the summer of 1665. As
the Great Plague was then raging in London, Milton had removed from his
house in Artillery Walk to a cottage at Chalfont-St. -Giles, in Buckinghamshire,
which had been taken for him, at his request, by Thomas EUwood, a young
Quaker, whose acquaintance with him had begun a year or two before in Jewin
Street. Visiting Milton here as soon as circumstances would permit, EUwood
was received in a manner of which he has left an account in his Autobiography.
"After some common discburses," he says, "had passed between us,- he called
" for a manuscript of his; which, being brought, he delivered to me, bidding
** me take it home with me and read it at my leisure, and, when I had so done,
** return it to him with my judgment thereupon. When 1 came home, and had
" set myself to read it, I found it was that excellent poem which he entitled
''Paradise Lost:'

The anecdote proves the existence of at least one, and most probably of more
than one, complete copy in the autumn of 1665 — which may, accordingly, be
taken as the date when the poem was considered ready for press. The delay
of publication till two years after that date is easily accounted for. It was
not, says EUwood, till ** the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed, and
become safely habitable again," that Milton returned to his house in Artillery
Walk ; then, still farther paralysing business of all sorts, came the Great Fire
of Sept. 1666; and there were difficulties, as we have seen, about the licensing
of a poem by a person of MUton's political antecedents and principles.

Whether the time spent by MUton in the composition of Paradise Lost was
five years (1658 — 1663), or seven or eight years (1658 — 1665), it is certain
that he bestowed on the work all that care and labour which, on his first con-
templation of such a work in his earlier manhood, he had declared would be
necessary. The " industrious and select reading," which he had then spoken
of as one of the many requisites, had not been omitted. Whatever else Para-
dise Lost may be, it is certainly one of the most learned poems in the world.
In thinking of it in this character we are to remember, first of all, that, ere his
blindness had befallen him (1652), Milton's mind was stored with an amount
of various and exact learning such as few other men of his age possessed ; so
that, had he ceased then to acquire more, he would have stiU carried in his
memory an enormous resource of material out of which to build up the body
of his poem. But he did not, after his blindness, cease to add to his knowl-
edge by reading. At the very time when he was engaged on his Paradise
L)stt he had, as his nephew Phillips informs us, several other great under-
takings in progress of a different character, for which daily reading and research
were necessary, even if they could have been dispensed with for the poem — to
wit, the construction of a Body of Divinity from the Scriptures, the completion

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i6 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE * LOST.

of a History of England, and the collection of materials for a Thesaurus, or
Dictionary, of the Latin tongue* Laboriously every day, with a due division
of his time from early morning, he pursued these tasks, by a systematic use of
assistants whom he kept about him. As at the time, when the composition
of Paradise Lost was begun the eldest daughter, Anne, was but twelve years of
age, the second, Mary, but ten, and the youngest, Deborah, but six, and as
when the poem was certainly finished their ages were about eighteen, sixteen,
and twelve respectively, their services as readers during its composition can
have been but partial. But, whether with them as his readers; or with young
men and grown-up friends performing the part for hire or love, he was able to
avail himself for his poem, as well as for the drier works on which he was
simultaneously engaged, of any help which books could give. He may, ac-
cordingly, at this time, if not before, have made himself acquainted with some
of those poems and other works, Italian and Latin, in which his subject, or
some portion of it, had been previously treated. He was very likely to do so,
and to take any hint he could get.

It would not be difficult to prove, at any rate, that, among the " select read-
ings " engaged in specidly for the purposes of Paradise Lost while it was in
progress, must have been readings in certain books of geography and Eastern
travel, and in certain Rabbinical, early Christian, and mediaeval commentators
on the subjects of Paradise, the Angels, and the Fall. Nothing is more striking
in the poem, nothing more touching, than the frequency, and, on the whole,
wonderful accuracy, of its references to maps; and, whatever wealth of geo-
graphical information Milton may have carried with him into his bUndness,
there are evidences, I think, that he must have refreshed his recollections of
this kind by the eyes of others, and perhaps by their guidance of his finger,
after his sight was gone. In short, for the Paradise Lost, as well as for the
prose labours carried on gilong with it, there must have been abundance of
reading; and, remembering to what a stock of prior learning, possessed before
his blindness, all such increments were added, we need have no wonder at the
appearance now presented by the poem. Tq say merely that it is a niost
learned poem — the poem of a mind full of miscellaneous lore wherewith its
grand imagination might work — is not enough. Original as it is, original in
its entire conception, and in every portion and passage, the poem is yet full of
flakes -^vfe. can express it no otherwise — fuU of flakes from all that is greatest
in preceding literature, ancient or modern. This is what all the commentators
have observed, and what their labours in collecting parallel passages from other
poets and prose-writers have served more and more to illustrate. Such labours
have been overdone ; but they have proved incontestably the tenacity of Milton's
memory. In the first place. Paradise fast is permeated from beginning to
end with citations from the Bible. Milton must have almost had the Bible
by heart; and, besides that some passages of his poem, where he is keep-
ing close to the Bible as his authority, are avowedly coagulations of Script-
ural texts, it is possible again and again, throughout the rest, to detect the
flash, through his noblest language, of some suggestion from the Psalms, the
Prophets, the Gospels, or the Apocalyse. So, though in a less degree, with
Homer, the Greek tragedians (Euripides was a special favourite of his), Plato,
Demosthenes, and the Greek classics generally, and with Lucretius, Cicero,
Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Juvenal, Persius, and the other Latins. So with the
ItaUan writers whom he knew so vyell — Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, and

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others now less remembered^ > So with modern Latinists of various European
countries, still less recoverable. Finally, so with the whole series of preceding
English poets, particularly Spenser, Shakespeare, and some of the minor
Spenserians of the reigns of James and Charles 1., not forgetting that uncoutn
popular favourite of his boyhood, Sylvester's Du Bartas. In connexion with
all which, or with any particularly striking instance of the use by Milton of a
thought or a phrase from previous authors, let the reader remember his own
Detinition of Plagiarism, given in his tHKovoKXaarris. " Such kind of borrow-
ing as this," he there says, " i/i^ be not betUred by the borrower ^ among good
authors is accounted plagiary." And again, of quotations from the Bible, —
" It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hands to borrow good
" words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work
** of grace only froih above."

How was the poem, as it grew in Milton's mind, committed to paper? It
was dictated by parcels of ten,, twenty, thirty, or more lines at a time. Even
before his blindness, Milton had made use of amanuenses; but, after his blind-
ness, he scarcely wrote at all with his own Jiand. It would be difficult to pro-
duce a genuine autograph of his of later date than 1652. On this matter
Phillips is again our most precise authority. " There is another very remark-
"abie passage," h^ says, **in the composure of this poem, which I have a
" particular occasion to remember; for, whereas 1 had the perusal of it from
"the very beginning, for some years as I went from time to time to visit him,
" in a parcel of ten, twenty, or thirty verses at a time — which, being written
"by whatever hand came next, might possibly want correction as to the
*' orthography and pointing — having, as the summer came on, not been shewed
" any for 2^ conadorable while, and desiring the reason thereof, was answered, '
"that his verse never happily flowed but from the Autumnal Equinoctial to the.
*• Vernal {i.e. from the end of September to the end of March], and that
" whatever he attempted [at other titoes] was never to his satisfaction, though
"he exerted his fancy never so much; so that^ in all the years he was abmit
"this poem» he may be said to have spent but half his time therein." The
reader ought to correct by this extract, taken in connexion with , information
already given as to -Milton's domestic circumstamces, the impressions he niay
have received from flummery pictures representing the blind poet in a rapt
attitude dictating Paradise Lost to his attentive and revering daughters. His
eldest daughter, Anne, could not write; and though the other two could write, .
and may occasionally, when the poem was in progress, have acted as his
amanuenses, their ages exclude the idea of their having been his chi<ef assistants
in this capacity — while we also know that the poor motherless girls had grown
up in circumstances to make them regard the services they were required to
perform for their father as less a duty than a trouble. On the whole, Phillips's
words suggest what is probably the right notion — that Milton dictated his
poem in sinall portions at a time, chiefly within-doors, and more in winter than
in srnnmer, to any one that chanced to be about him. Sometimes it may have
been one of his daughters ; sometimes, latterly, when the poem was nearly
complete, it naay have been his third wife; frequently it may have been one of
the friends or youths who statedly read to him* From Phillips's statement it
is also clear that he assisted Milton in revising the gathered scraps of MS. from
time to time. Finally, when all was completed, a clean copy, or dean copies,

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i8 mfRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST.

must have been made by some practised Scribe. One such clean copy was that
sent to the hcenser, a portion of which, as has been mentioned, still exists.
The hand in that manuscript has not been identified.

in. SCHEME AND MEANING OF THE POEM.

Paradise Lost is an Epic. But it is not, like the Iliad or the iEneid, a
national Epic; nor is it an epic after any other of the known types. It is an
epic of the whole human species — an epic of our entire planet, or indeed of
the entire astronomical universe. The title of the poem, though perhaps the
best that could have been chosen, hardly indicates beforehand the full nature
. or extent of the theme; nor are the opening lines, by themselves, sufficiently
descriptive of what is to follow. According to them, the song is to be

•* Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought Death into the world, and all our woe.
With loss of Eden."

This is a true enough description, inasmuch as the whole story bears on this
point. But it is the vast comprehension of the story, both in space and time,
as leading to this point, that makes it unique among epics, and entitles Milton
to speak of it as involving

** Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme."

It is, in short, a poetical representation, on the authority of hints from the
Book of Genesis, of the historical connexion between Human Time and
Aboriginal or Eternal Infinity, or between our created World and the immeas-
urable and inconceivable Universe of Pre-human Existence. So far as our
World is concerned, the poem starts from that moment when our newly-created
Earth, with all the newly-created starry depths about it, had as yet but two
human beings upon it; and these consequently are, on this side of the pre-
supposed Infinite Eternity, the main persons of the epic. But we are carried
back into this pre-supposed Infinite Eternity, and the grand purpose of the
poem is to connect, by a stupendous imagination, certain events or courses of
the inconceivable history that had been unfolding itself there with the first
fortunes of that new azure World which is familiar to- us, and more particularly
with the first fortunes of that favoured ball at the centre whereon those two
/ human creatures walked. Now the person of the epic through the narration
/ of whose acts this connexion is established is Satan.. He, as ail critics have
' perceived, and in a wider sense than most of them have perceived, is the real
hero of the poem. He and his actions are the link between that new World
•f Man the infancy of which we behold in the poem and that boundless ante-
;dent Universe of Pre-human Existence which the poem assumes. For he
was a native of that Pre-human Universe — one of its greatest and most con-
spicuous natives; and what we follow in the poem, when its story is taken
chronologically, is the life of this great being, from the time of his yet unim-
paired primacy or archangelship among the Celestials, on to that time when,
in pursuit of a scheme of revenge, he flings himself into the new experimental
World, tries the strength of the new race at its fountain-head, and, by success

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 19

in his attempt, vitiates Man's, portion of space to his own nature, and wins
possession of it for a season. The attention of the reader is particularly re*

3 nested to the following remarks and diagprams. The diagrams are not mere
lustrations of what Milton may have conceived in his scheme of his poem.
They are what he </t</ conceive and most tenaciously keep before his mind from
first to last; and, unless they are thoroughly grasped, the poem will not, be
understood as a whole, and many portions of it will be misinterpreted.

Aboriginally, or in primeval Eternity, before the creation of our Earth or
the Starry Universe to which it belongs, universal space is to be considered,
according to the requisites of the poem, not as containing stars or starry
systems at all, but as, so to say, a sphere of infinite radius, divided equatorially
into two hemispheres, thus —

The upper of these two hemispheres of primeval Infinity is Heaven, or
The Empyrean — a boundless, unimaginable region of Light, Freedom, Happi-
ness, and Glory, in the midst whereof Deity, though omnipresent, has His
immediate and visible dwelling, and where He is surrounded by a vast popu-
lation of beings, called "the Angels," or "Sons of God," who draw near to
His throne in worship, derive thence their nurture and their delight, and yet
live dispersed through all the ranges and recesses of the region, leading sever-
ally their mighty lives and performing the behests of Deity, but organized into
companies, orders, and hierarchies. Milton is careful to explain that all that
he says of Heaven is said symbolically, and in order to make conceivable by
the human imagination whajt in its own nature is inconceivable ; but, this being
explained, he is bold enough in his use of terrestrial analogies. Round the
immediate throne of Deity, indeed, there is kept a blazing mist of vagueness,
which words are hardly permitted to pierce, though the Angels are represented
as from time to time assembling within it, beholding the Divine Presence and
hearing the Divine Voice. But Heaven at large, or portions of it, are figured
as tracts of a celestial Earth, with plain, hill, and valley, wherein the myriads
of the Sons of God expatiate, in their two orders of SeraphiiA and Cherubim,
and in their descending ranks as Archangels or Chiefs, Princes of various
degrees, and individual Powers and Intelligences. Certain differences, how-
ever, are implied as distinguishing these Celestials from the subsequent race of

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ao INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST,

Mankind. As they are of intinitely greater prowess, immortal, anji of move
purely spiritual nature, so their ways even of physical existence And action
transcend all that is withia human experience. Their forms are dilatable or
contractible at pleasure; they move with incredible swiftness; and, as they are
not subject to any law of gravitation, their motion, though ordinarily ■ repre-
sented as horizontal over the Heavenly ground, may as well be vertical or in
any other direction, and their aggregations need not, like those of men, be in
squares, oblongs, or other plane tigures, but may be in cubes, or other rectan-
gular or oblique solids, or in spherical masses. These and various other partic-
ulars are to be kept in-taind concerning Heaven and its pristine inhabitants.
As respects the other half or hemisphere of the primeval Infinity, though it too
is inconceivable in its nature, and has to be described by words which are at
best symbolical, less needs be said. For it is Chaos, or the Uninhabited — a
huge, limitless ocean, abyss, or qua^ure, of universal darkness and lifeless-
ness, wherein are jumbled in blustering confusion the elements of all matter.
Or rather the crude embryons of all the elements, ere as yet they are distin-
guishable. There is no light there, nor properly Earth, Water, Air, or Fire,
but only a vast pulp or welter of unformed matter, in which all these lie tem-
pestuously intermixed. Though the presence of Deity is there potentially too,
it is still, as it were, actually retracted thence, as from a realm unorganized and
left to Night and Anirchy; nor do any of the Angels wing down into its re-
pulsive obscurities. The crystal floor or wall of Heaven divides them from it;
underneath which, and unvisited of light, save what may glimmer through
upon its nearer strata, it howls and rages and stagnates eternally.

Such is and has been the constitution of the Universal Infinitude from ages
immemorial in the Angelic reckoning. But lo ! at last a day in the annals of
k Heaven when the grand monotony of existence hitherto is disturbed and
broken. On a day — " such a day as Heaven's great year brings forth " (v.
582, 583) — all the Empyreal host of Angels, called by imperial summons from
all the ends of Heaven, assemble innumerably before the throne of the
Almighty; beside whom, imbosomed in bliss, sat the Divine Son. • They had
come to hear this divine decree : — •

" 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
Hun ha V9 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.*'

With joy and obedience is this decree received throughout the hierarchies,
jave in one quarter. One of the first of the Archangels in Heaven, if not the
•very first — the coequal of Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, if not their superior
— is the Archangel known afterwards (for his first name in Heaven is lost) as
Satan, or Lucifer. In him the effect of the decree is rage, envy, pride, the res-
olution to rebel. He conspires with his next subordinate, known afterwards
as Beelzebub; and there is formed by them that faction in Heaven which in-
cludes at length one third of the entire Heavenlv host. Then ensue the wars
in Heaven — Michael and the loyal Angels warring against Satan and the rebel

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 3i

Angels, so that for two days the Empyrean is in uproar. But on the third day
the Messiah himself rides forth in his chariot of power, and armed with ten
thousand thunders. Right on he. drives, in his sole might, through the rebel
ranks, till they are trampled and huddled, in one indiscriminate flock, incapable
of resistance, before him and his tires. But his purpose is not utterly to destroy
them, — only to expel them from Heaven. Underneath their feet, accordingly,
the crystal wall or floor of Heaven opens wide, rolling inwards, and disclosing
a spacious gap into the dark Abyss or Chaos. Horrorstruck they start back;
but worse urges them behind. Headlong they fling themselves down, eternal
wrath burning after them, and driving them still down, down, through Chaos,
to the place prepared for them.

The place prepared for them ! Yes, for now there is a modification in the
map of Universal Space to suit the changed conditions of the Universe. At
the bottom of what has hitherto been Chaos there is now marked out a kind
of Antarctic region, distinct from the body of Chaos proper. This is Hell —

a vast region of fire, sulphurous lake, plain, and mountain, and of all forms of
fiery and icy torment. It is into this nethermost and dungeon-like portion of
space, separated from Heaven by a huge belt of intervening Chaos, that the
Fallen Angels are thrust. For nine days and nights they have been falling
through Chaos, or rather being driven down through Chaos by the Messiah's
pursuing thunders, before they reach this new home (vi. 871). When they
do reach it, the roof closes over them and shuts them in. Meanwhile the
Messiah has returned in triumph into highest Heaven, and there is rejoicing
over the expulsion of the damnedj

For the moment, therefore, there are three divisions. of Universal Space —
Heaven, Chaos, and Hell. Almost immediately, ho\^ever, there is a fourth.
Not only have the expelled Angels been nke days and nights in falling through
Chaos to reach Hell; but, after they have reached Hell and it has closed
over them, they lie for another period of nine days and nights (i. 50—53)
stupefied and bewildered in the fiery gulf. It is during this second nine days
that there takes place a great event, which farther modifies the map of Infini-
tude. Long had there been talk in Heaven of a new race of beings to be
created at some time by the Almighty, inferior in some respects to the Angels,
but in the history of whom and of God's dealings with them there was to be
a display of the divine power and love which even the Angels might contem-

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22 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST

plate with wonder. The time for the creation of this new race of beings has
now arrived. Scarcely have the Rebel Angels been enclosed in HeU, and
Chaos has recovered from the turmoil of the descent of such a rout through
its depths, when the Paternal Deity, addressing the Son, tells him that, in order
to repair the loss caused to Heaven, the predetermined creation of Man and of
the World of Man shall now take effect. It is for the Son to execute the will
of the Father. Straightway he goes forth on his creating errand. The ever-
lasting gates of Heaven open wide to let him pass forth ; and, clothed with
majesty, and accompanied with thousands of Seraphim and Cherubim, anxious
to behold the great work to be done, he does pass forth — far into that very
Chaos through which the Rebel Angels have so recently fallen, and which now
intervenes between Heaven and Hell. At length he stays his fervid wheels,
and, taking the golden compasses in his hands, centres one point of them
where he stands and turns the other through the obscure profundity around
(VII. 224 — 251). Thus are marked out, or cut out, through the body of Chaos,
the limits of the new Universe of Man — that Starry Universe which to us
seems measureless and the same as Infinity itself, but which is really only a
beautiful azure sphere or drop, insulated in Chaos, and hung at its topmost
point or zenith from the Empyrean. But, though the limits of the new expe-
rimental Creation are thus at once marked out, the completion of the Creation
is a work of Six Days (vii. 242, 550). On the last of these, to crown the
work, the happy Earth received its first human pair — the appointed lords of
the entire new Creation. And so, resting from his labours, and beholding all
that he had made, that it was good, the Messiah returned to his Father, reas-
cending through the golden gates, which were now just over the zenith of the
new World, and were its point of suspension from the Empyrean Heaven;
and the Seventh Day or Sabbath was spent in songs of praise by all the
Heavenly hosts over the finished work, and in contemplation of it as it hung

beneath them, ,, »^ x*

another Heaven,
From Heaven-gate no^ far, founded in view
On the clear hyaline."

And now,.accordingly» this was the diagram of the Universal Infinitude : —

There are the three regions of HeaveN, Chaos, and Hell as before; btit
there is also now a fourth region, hung drop-like into Chaos by an attachment
to Heaven at the north pole or zenith. This is the New World, or the

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISK LOST, 23

Starry Universe — all that Universe of orbs and galaxies which man's vision
can reach by utmost power of telescope, and which even to his imagination is
illimitable. And yet as to the proportions . of this World to the total map
Milton dares to be exact. The distgince from its nadir or lowest point to the
upper boss of Hell is exactly equal to its own radius; or, in other words, the
distance of Hell-gate from Heaven-gate is exactly three semidiameters of
the Human or Starry Universe (i. 73, 74).

Meanwhile, just as this final and stupendous modification of the map of In-
finitude has been accomplished, Satan and his rebel adherents in Hell begin to
recover from their stupor — Satan the first, and the others at his call. There
ensue Satan's first speech to them, their first surveys of their new domain, their
building of their palace of Pandemonium, and their deliberations there in full
council as to their future policy. Between Moloch's advice for a renewal of
open war with Heaven, and Belial's and Mammon's counsels, which recommend
acquiescence in their new circumstances and a patient effort to make the best of
them, Beelzebub insinuates the proposal which is really Satan's, and which is
ultimately carried. It is that there should be an excursion from Hell back
through Chaos, to ascertain whether that new Universe, with a new race of
beings in it, of which there had been so much talk in Heaven, and which there
was reason to think might come into existence about this time, had come into
existence. If it had, might not means be found to vitiate this new Universe
and the favourite race that was to possess it, and to drag them down to the level
of Hell itself? Would not such a ruining of the Almighty's new experiment at
its outset be a revenge that would touch Him deeply? Would it not be easier
than open war? And on the stepping-stone of such a success might they not
raise themselves to further victory, or at least to an improvement of their pres-
ent condition, and an extent of empire that should include more than Hell?

Satan's counsel having been adopted, it is Satan himself that adventures
the perilous expedition up through Chaos in quest of the new Universe. He
is detained for a while at Hell-gate by the ghastly shapes of Sin and Death
who are there to guard it; but, the gates being at length opened to him,
never to shut again, he emerges into the hideous Chaos overhead. His journey
up through it is arduous. Qimbing, swimming, wading, flying, through the
boggy consistency — now falling plumb-down thousands of fathoms, again
carried upwards by a gust or explosion — he reaches at length, about midway in
his journey, the central throne and pavilion where Chaos personiSed and Night
have their government. There he receives definite intelligence that the new
World he is in search of has actually been created. Thus encouraged, and
directed on his way, again he springs upward, ** like a pyramid of fire,"
through what of Chaos remains; and, after much farther flying, tacking, and
steering) he at last reaches the upper confines of Chaos, where its substance
seems thinner, so that he can wing about more easily, and where a glimmering
dawn of the light from above begins also to appear. For a while in this
calmer space he weighs his wings to behold at leisure (ii. 1046) the sight that
is breaking upon him. And what a sight !

" Far off the Empyreal Heaven extended wide
In crescent, undetermined square or round,
With opal towers and battlements adorned
Of living sapphire, once his native seat,
And, Cast by, hanging in a golden chain,
This pendent World, in bigness as a star
Of smallest magnitude close by the moon.*

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24 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST,

Care must be taken not to misinterpret this passage. Even Addison misin>
terpreted it. He speaks of Satan's distant discovery " of the>£arth that hung
close by the Moon " as one of the most "wonderfully beautiful and poetical "
passages of the poem. But it is more wonderfully beautiful and poetical than
Addison thought. For, as even a correct reading of the passage by itself
would have shown, the " pendent World " which Satan here sees is not tte
Earth at all, but the entire Starry Universe, or Mundane Sphere, hung drop-
like by a golden touch from the Empyrean above it. In proportion to this
Empyrean, at the distance whence Satan gazes, even the Starry Universe
pendent from it is but as a star of smallest magnitude seen on the edge of
the full or crescent moon.

At length (in. 418^ — 422) Satan alights on the opaque outside, or convex
shell, of the new Universe. As he had approached it, what seemed at first
but as a star had taken the dimensions of a globe; and, when he had alighted,
and begun to walk on it, this globe had become, as it seemed, a boundless con-
tinent of firm land, exposed, dark and starless, to the stormy Chaos blustering
round like an inclement sky. Only on the upper convex, of the shell, in its
angles towards the zenith. Some reflection of light was gained from the wall
of Heaven. Apparently it was on this upper convex of the outside of the
New World, and not at its nadir, or the point nearest Hell, that Satan first
alighted and walked (compare 11. 1034 — 1053, ill. 418 — ^430, x. 312 — 349).
At all events he had to reach the zenith before he could begin the real business
of his errand. For only at this point — only at the point of attachment or sus-
pension of the new Universe to the Empyrean — was there an opening into the
interior of the Universe. All the outer shell, save at that point, was hard,
compact, and not even transpicuous to the Ught within, as the spherical glass
round a lamp is, but totally opaque, or only gUstering faintly on its upper side
with the reflected light of Heaven. Accordingly — after wandering on this
dark outside of the Universe long enough to allow Milton that extraordinary
digression (in. 440— -497) in which he finds one of the most magnificently
grotesque uses for the outside of the Universe that it could have entered into
the imagination of any poet to conceive -^ the Fiend is attracted in. the right
direction to the opening at the zenith. What attracts him thither is a gleam
of light from the mysterious structure or staircase (in. 501 et seq.') which Uiere
serves the Angels in their descents from Heaven's gate into the Hiunan
Universe, and again in their ascents from the Universe to Heaven's gate.
Sometimes these stairs are drawn up to Heaven and invisible; but at the
moment when Satan reached the spot they were let down, so that, standing on
the lower stair, and gazing down through the opening right underneath, he
could suddenly behold the whole interior of the Starry Universe, at once. He
can behold it in all directions — both in the direction of latitude, or depth from
the pole where he stands to the opposite pole or nadir; and also longitudiaaUy,

" from eastern point
Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears
Andromeda far ofi* Atlantic seas
Beyond the hori2on.*'

At this point, and before following the Fiend in his flight down into the in*
terior of our Astronomical Universe, it is necessary to describe the system or
constitution of that interior as it is conceived by Milton and assumed through-

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 25

out the poem. Let us attend, therefore, moie particularly now to that small
central circle of our last diagram, hanging drop-like from the Empyrean, which
we have as yet described no farther than by- saying that, small as it is, it
represents our vast Starry Universe in Milton's total scheme of Infinitude.
Although a great part of the action of the poem takes p^ace in the Empyrean,
in Chaos, and in Hell, much of it also takes place within the bounds of this
Starry Universe; so that, if there is any peculiarity in Milton's conception of
the interior arrangements of this Universe, that peculiarity must be understood
before many parts of the poem are intelligible. Such a peculiarity there is;
and a distinct exposition of it is nearly all that is farther desirable in this Intro-
duction to the Poem.

Milton's Astronomy, or, at least, the astronomical system which he thought
proper to employ in his Paradise Lost, is not our present Copernican system
— which, in his time, was not generally or popularly accepted. It is the older
Astronomical System, now usually called " the Ptolemaic," because it had
been set forth in its main features by the astronomer Ptolemy of Alexandria,
who lived in the second century.

According to this " Ptolemaic system," the Earth was the fixed centre of the
Mundane Universe, and the apparent motions of the other celestial bodies
were caused by the real revolutions of successive Heavens, or Spheres of Space,
enclosing the central Earth at different distances. First, and nearest to the
Earth, were the Spheres or Orbs of the Seven Planets then known, in this
order — the Moon (treated as a planet). Mercury, Venus, the Sun (treated as
a planet — the " glorious planet Sol," Shakespeare calls it, TroiL and Cress.
Act I. Scene 3), Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Beyond these, as an Eighth
Sphere or Orb, was the Firmament or Heaven of all the fixed stars. These
eight Spheres or Heavens had sufficed till Aristotle's time, and beyond it, for
all the purposes of astronomical explanation. The outermost or Eighth Sphere
was supposed to wheel diurnally, or in twenty-four hours, from East to West,
carrying in it all the fixed stars, and carrying with it also all the seven interior
Heavens or Spheres — which Spheres, however, had also separate and slower
motions of their own, giving. rise to those apparent motions of the Moon
(months), Mercury, Venus, the Sun (years). Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, which
could not be accounted for by the revolution of the Starry Sphere alone. But,
later observations having discovered irregularities in the phenomena of the
heavens which the supposed motions of even the Eight Spheres could not
account for, two extra Spheres had been added. To account for the very slow
change called " the precession of the equinoxes," the discovery of which was
prepared by Hipparchus in the second century B.C., it had been necessary to
imagine a Ninth Sphere, called " the Crystalline Sphere," beyond that of the
Fixed Stars; and, finally, for farther reasons, it had been necessary to suppose
all enclosed in a Tenth Sphere, called " the Primum Mobile," or " first moved."
These two outermost spheres, or at least the Tenth' Sphere, had been added
M the Middle Ages; and, indeed, the Ptolemaic system, so completed up to
the final number of Ten Spheres, may be called rather the "Alphonsine
System," as having been adopted and taught by the famous King and astrono-
mer, Alphonso X. of Castille (1252 — 1284). It neefl only be added that the
Spheres were not necessarily supposed to be actual spheres of solid matter.
It was enough if they were conceived as spheres of invisible or transpicuous

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26 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST

space. Perhaps only the outennost Sphere, or Primum Mobile, enclosing the
whole Universe from absolute Infinity or Nothingness, had to be thought of as
in any sense a material or impenetrable shell.

The utter strangeness of this Ptolemaic system to our present habits of
thought causes us to forget how long it lasted. Although it was in 1543 that
Copernicus had propounded the other system, and although the vie^vs of
Copernicus struggled gradually into the belief of subsequent astronomers, and
had further demonstration given them by Galileo (i6io — 161 6), the Ptolemaic
or Alphonsine system, with its ten Spheres enclosing the stationary Earth at
different distances, and wheeling round it in a complex combination of their
separate motions, retained its prevalence in the popular mind of Europe, and
even in the scientific world, till the end of the seventeenth century. Hence
all the literature of England, and of other countries, down to that date, is
latently cast in the imaginative mould of that system, and is full of its phrase-
ology and of suggestions from it. When Shakespeare speaks of the " stars
starting from their spheres," he means from the Ptolemaic Spheres; and, simi-
larly, the word " sphere " in our old poetry has generally this meaning. Indeed,
it retains this meaning in some of our still current expressions, as ** This is not
iny sphere," " You are out of your sphere," &c. A full examination of our old
literature in the light of the principle of criticism here suggested — i.e. with
the recollection that it was according to the Ptolemaic conception of the Uni-
verse, and not according to the Copernican, that our old poets thought of
things and expressed their thoughts — might lead to curious results. We are
concerned at present, however, with Milton only.

In Milton's case we are presented with the interesting phenomenon of a
mind apparently uncertain to the last which of the two systems, the Ptolemaic
or the Copernican, was the true one, or perhaps beginning to be persuaded
of the higher probability of the Copernican, but yet retained the Rolemaic for
poetical purposes. For Milton's life (1608— 1674) coincides with the period
of the struggle bet\^'een the two systems. In his boyhood and youth he had,
doubtless, inherited the general or Ptolemaic belief — that in which Shakes-
peare died. Here, for example, is what everybody was reading during Milton's
youth in that favourite book, Sylvester's Translation of Du Bartas : —

" As the ag^e-sick upon his shivering pallet
Delays his health oft to delight his palate,
When wilfully his tasteless taste delights

In things unsavoury to sound appetites, ^

Even so some brain-sicks live there now-a-days ■
That lose themselves still in contrary ways —
Preposterous wits that cannot row at ease
On the smooth channel of our common seas;
And such are those, in my conceit at least,
Those clerks that think — think how absurd a jest ! —
That neither heavens nor stars do turn at all
Nor dance about this great round Elarthly Ball,
But the Earth itself, this massy globe of ours.
Turns round about once every twice-twelve hours."

Du Bartas had been a French Protestant, and his English translator, Sylvester,
was a Puritan. It was not, therefore, only to the Roman Inquisition or to
Roman Catholics that Galileo must have seemed a " brain-sick " and '* a pre-
posterous wit " when he advocated the Copernican theory. In 1638 Milton
had himself conversed with Galileo, then old and blind, near Florence.

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 27

"There it was," he wrote in 1644 (^Areopag^, "that I found and visited the
"famous Galileo, grown old, a prisoner to the Inquisition, for thinking in
" Astronomy otherwise than the Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought."
And yet, despite this passage, and other passages showing how strongly the
character and history of Galileo had fascinated him, it may be doubted
whether Milton even then felt himself entitled to reject the system which
Galileo had impugned. His friends and literary associates, the SmectymnuanSy
at all events, in their answer to Bishop Hall's "Humble Remonstrance"
(1641), had cited the Copernican doctrine as an unquestionable instance of a
supreme absurdity. " There is no more truth in this assertion," they say of
one of Bishop Hall's statements, " than if he had said, with Anaxagoras,
" * Snow is black,' or with Copernicus, * The Earth moves, and the Heavens
" stand still.' " There cannot be a more distinct proof than this incidental
passage affords, of the utter repulsiveness of the Copernican theory to even the
educated English intellect as late as the middle of the seventeenth century.
Milton was probably even then, if we may judge from the above-quoted refer-
ence to Galileo, in advance pf his contemporaries on this question; and in the
interval between that time and the completion of his Paradise Lost his Coper-
nicanism may have become decided. There are, at any rate, two passages in
Paradise Lost where he shows his perfect acquaintance with the Copernican
theory, and with the arguments in its behalf. The one (iv. 592 — 597) is an
incidental passage; in the other and much longer passage (viii. 15 — 178) he
makes the question a subject of express conversation between Raphael and
Adam. In this last passage Adam is represented as arriving by intuition at
the Copernican theory, or at least as perceiving its superior siihplicity over the
Ptolemaic ; and, though the drift of the Angel's reply is that the question is an
abstruse one, and that it is of no great consequence for man's real duty in the
world which system is the true one, yet the balance of the Angel's remarks is
also Copernican. There is no doubt that these two passages were inserted by
Milton to relieve his own mind on the subject, and by way of caution to the
reader that the scheme of the physical Universe adopted in the construction of
the poem is not to be taken as more than a hypothesis for the imagination.

That scheme is, undoubtedly, the Ptolemaic or Alphonsine. Accordingly
the little central circle, hung drop-like from the Empyrean in our last diagram
— and there representing the dimensions of the total Creation of the six days,
or, in other words, of our Starry Universe — may be exhibited now on a mag-
nified scale, by simply reproducing one of the diagrams of the Heavens which
were given in all the old books of Astronomy. The following is a copy (a
little neater than the original, but otherwise exact) from a woodcut which we
find in an edition, in 1610, oOki^ Sphcera of the celebrated middle-age astron-
omer, Joannes a Sacrobosco, or John Holy wood. This treatise, originally
written in the thirteenth century, and amended or added to by subsequent
writers, was the favourite manual of astronomy throughout Europe down to
Milton's time. He himself used it as a text-book, as we learn from his nephew
Phillips. The cut, the reader ought to understand, represents the interior of
the Mundane System in equatorial section as looked down into from the pole
of the ecliptic. It is, in short, a view down from the opening at the pole in
the preceding cut.

This, literally this, so far as mere diagram can represent it, is the World or
Mundane Universe, as Milton keeps it in his mind's eye throughout the poem.

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2% INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST,

It is an enormous azure round of space scooped or carved out of Chaos, and
communicating aloft with the Empyrean, but consisting within itself of ten
Orbs or hollow Spheres in succession, wheeling one within the other, down to
the stationary nest of our small Earth at the centre, with the elements of
water, air, and fire, that are immediately around it. It is according to this
scheme that Milton virtually describes the process of creation in the first, the
second, and the fourth of the six days of Genesis (vii. 232 — 275 and 339 —
386) — the only deviation being that the word "Firmament" is not there
applied spao*ncally to the eighth or Starry Sphere, but is used for the whole
oontinuou? iepth of .all the heavens as far as the Primum Mobile. As if to

prevent any mistake, however, there is one passage in which the Ten Spheres
are actually enumerated. It is that (ill. 481 — 483) where the attempted
ascent of ambitious §ouls from Earth to the Empyrean by their own effort is
described. In order to reach the opening into the Empyrean at the World's
zenith, what are the successive stages of their flight?

** They pass the Planets Seven, and pass the Fixed,
And that Crystalline Sphere whose balance w«ig)is
The trepidation talked, and that first Moved."

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INTRODUCTION lO PARADISE LOST 25

Here we have the Alphonsine heavens in their order, and with their exact
names. But all through the poem the language assumes the same astro-
nomical system. Where the words Orb and bphere occur, for example, they
^dmost invariably — not quite invariably -— mean Orb or Sphere in the Ptolemaic
sense. Yet, to make all safe, Milton, as we have seen, inserts two passages-
at least in which the Copernican theory of the heavens is distinctly suggested
as a possible or probable alternative; and, moreover, even while using the
language of the other theory, he so arranges that it need not be supposed he
does so for any other reason than ^oeti^a/ preference.

In one respect the diagram must fail to convey Milton*s complete notion of
the World or Mundane Universe at that moment where he supposes the Fiend
first gazing down into it from the glorious opening at the zenith, and then
plunging precipitate through its azure depths (iii. 561— 565) in quest of that
particular spot in it where Man had his abode. That small Earth which is so
conspicuous in the diagram, as being at the centre, either was not visible even
to angelic eyes from such an amazing distance as the opening at the zenith of
the Primum Mobile, or was not yet marked. The luminary that attracts Satan-
first, from its all-surpassing splendour, is the Sun. Though the tenant only of
the fourth of the Spheres, this luminary so far surpasses all others in majesty'
that it seems like the King not only of the seven planetary Orbs, but of all
the ten. It seems the very God of the whole new Universe — shooting its
radiance even through the beds of the stars, as far as the Primum Mobile itself
(ill. 571 — 587). It is thither, accordingly, that Satan hends his flight; it is
on this of all the bodies in the new Universe that he first alights; and it is
only after the Angel Uriel, whom he there encounters, and who does not
recognise him in his disguise, has pointed out to him the Earth shining at a
distance in the sunlight (ill. 722—724) that he knows the exact scene of his
further labours. Thus informed, he wings off again from the Sun's body, and,
. wheeling his steep flight towards the Earth, alights at length on the top of
Niphates, near Eden.

There is no need to follow the action of the poem farther in this Introduction.
All that takes place after* the arrival of Satan on the Earth — all that portion
of the story that is enacted within the bounds of Eden or of Paradise — the
reader can without difficulty make out for himself; or any such incidental
elucidation as may be requisite will easily occur to him. It is necessary only
to take account here of certain find modifications in Milton's imaginary phys-
ical structure of the Universe, which' take place aft6r the Tempter has suc-
ceeded in his enterprise and Man has fallen : — In the first place there is then
established — what did not exist before — a. permanent communication between
Hell and the new Universe. When Satan had come up through Chaos from
Hell-gate, he had done so with toil and difficulty^ as one exploring his way; but
no sooner had he succeeded in his mission than Sin and Death, whom he had
left at Hell-gate, felt themselves instinctively aware of his success, and of the
necessity there would thenceforward be for a distinct road between Hell and
the new World, by which all the Infernals might go and come. Accordingly
(x. 282 — 324) they construct such a road — a wonderful causey or bridge from
Hell-gate, right through or over Chaos, to that exact part of the outside of
the new Universe where Satan had first alighted,— i.^. not to its nadir, but to
some point near its zenith, where there is the break or orifice in the Primum

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30 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST.

Mobile towards the Empyrean. And what is the consequence of this vast
alteration in the physical structure of the Universe? The consequence is that
the Infernal host are no longer confined to Hell, but possess also the new
Universe, like an additional island or pleasure-domain, up in Chaos, and on
the very confines of their former home, the Empyrean. Preferring this conquest
to their proper empire in Hell, they are thenceforward perhaps more frequently
in our World than in Hell^ winging through its various Spheres, but chiefly
inhabiting the Air round our central Earth. But this causey from Hell to
the World, constructed by Sin and Death, is not the only modification of the
physical Universe consequent on the Fall. The interior of the Human World
as it hangs firom the Empyrean receives some alterations for the worse by the
decree of the Almighty Himself. The elements immediately round the Earth
become harsher and more malignant; the planetary and starry Spheres are so
influenced that thenceforward planets and stars look inward upon the central
Earth with aspects of malevolence; nay, perhaps it was now first that, either
♦ by a heaving askance of the Earth from its former position, or by a change in
the Sun's path, the ecliptic became oblique to the equator (x. 651 — 691). All
this is apart from changes in the actual body of the Earth, including the
obliteration of the site of the desecrated Paradise, and the outbreak of virulence
among all things animate.

From the foregoing sketch, it will be seen that, while the poem is properly
enough, as the name Paradise Lost indicates, the tragical story of the temp-
tation . and fall of the human race in its first parents, yet this story is included
in si more comprehensive epic, of which the rebel Archangel is the hero, and
the theatre of which is nothing less than Universal Infinitude. While the con-
summation, as regards Man, is the loss of innocence and Eden, and the liability
to Death, the consummation, as regards Satan, is more in the nature of a
triumph. He has succeeded in his enterprise. He has vitiated the new World
at its beginning, and he has added it as a conquest to the Hell which had
been assigned to him and his for their only proper realm. True, in the very
hour of his triumph a curse has been pronounced upon him; he and his host
experience st farther abasement of their being by transmutation into the image
of the Serpent; and he and they are left with the expectation of a time when
their supposed conquest will be snatched from them, and they will be driven in
ignominy back to whence they came. Still, for the present, and until that
, " greater Man " arise who is to restore the human race, and be the final and
\ universal victor, they are left in successful possession. Whatever the sequel is
to be (and it is foreshadowed in vision in the two last books), the Epic has
here reached its natural close. Its purpose was to furnish the imagination with
such a story of transcendent construction as should connect the mysteries of
the inconceivable and immeasurable universe anterior to Time and to Man-
with the traditions and experience of our particular planet. This is accom-
plished by fastening the imagination on one great being, supposed to belong to
the thronging multitudes of the angelic race that peopled the Empyrean before
our World was created; by following this being in his actions as a rebel in
Heaven and then as an e^ile into Hell; and by leaving him at last so far in
possession of the new Universe of Man that thenceforward his part as an
Archangel is well-nigh forgotten, and he is content with his new and de-
graded function as the Devil of mere terrestrial regions. Thenceforward

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INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 31

he and his are to dwell more in these terrestrial regions^ and particularly
in the air, than in Hell — mingling themselves devilishly in human affairs, and
even, by a splendid stroke of diabolic policy, enjoying the worship of men
while securing their ruin, by passing themselves off as gods and demigods
of all kinds of mongrel mythologies. That this is the main course and purport
of the Epic will be perceived all the more clearly if the reader will note how
much of the action, though it all bears ultimately on the fate of Earth, takes
place away from the Earth altogether, and at a rate different from that of
earthly causation — in the Empyrean, in Hell, in Chaos, or among the orbs and
starry interspaces of the entire Cosmos. The portions of the poem which are
occupied with descriptions of Eden and Paradise and the relation of events
'there are attractive from their peculiar beauty, but they amount to but a
fragment of the whole.

One result which ought to follow from a right understanding of the scheme
of the Poem, as it has been here exhibited, is a truer idea of. the place which
Milton's Epic holds sCmong the great poems of the world, and also of its rela-
tion to his total mind and life. What is that in any man which is highest,
deepest, and most essential in him -^ which governs all, reveals all, gives the
key to all that he thinks or is? What but his way of thinking or feeling,
whatever it may be, respecting the relation or non-rekition of the whole visible
or physical world to that which is boundless, invisible, unfeatured, metaphysical ?
What he thinks or feels on this subject is essentially his philosophy; if he
abstains from thinking on it at all, then that very abstinence is equally his
philosophy. And what greater character can there be in a poem, or in any
other work of art, than that it truly conveys the author's highest mind or mood
on this subject — his theory, if he has one, or his antipathy to any theory,
should that be the case? It may be doubted whether the world ever has
taken a poem to its larger heart, or placed it in the list of the poems spoken
of as great, except from a perception, more or less conscious, that it possessed,
in a notable degree, this characteristic — that it was the expression, in some
form or other, under whatever nominal theme, and with whatever intermixture
of matter, of the intimate personal philosophy of a great living mind. To
suppose, at all events, that Milton could have put forth any poem of large
extent uninformed by his deepest and most serious philosophy of life and of
the world, is to know nothing whatever about him. The ingenious construction
of a fiction that should anyhow entertain the world, and which the author
might behold floating away, detached from himself, as a beautifully-blown
bubble — this was not hii notion of poesy. Into whatever he wrote he was
sure to put as much of himself as possible; knd into that work which he
intended to be his greatest it would have been safe to predict that he would
studiously put the very most of himself. It would have been safe to predict
that he would make it not only a phantasy or tale of majestic proportions,
with which the human race might regale its leisure, but also a bequest of his
own thoughts and speculations on the greatest subjects interesting to man — a
kind of testament to posterity that it was thus and thus that he, Milton, veteran
and blind, had learnt to think on such subjects, and dared advise the world
for ever to think also. True, from the nature of the case, a poet must express
himself on such subjects not so much in direct propositions addressed to the
reason as in figurative conceptions, phantasmagories, or allegories, imagined

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32 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LO?T,

itidividuaUy and connectedly in accordance with his intellectual intention. In
as far, therefore, as Paradise Lost is an expression of Milton's habitual mode of
thought respecting Man and History in relation to an eternal and unknown
Infinity, it is so by way of what the Germans call Vorstellung (popular image
or representation), and not by way of Begriff (^mi^ or philosophic notion).
Whether on such subjects it is possible to address the human mind at all
except through visual or other sensuous images, and whether the most abstract
language of philosophers consists of anything else than such images reduced to
dust and made colourless, needs not here be inquired. Whatever might have
been Milton's abstract theory on any such subject, it was certainly in the nature
of his genius to express it in a Vorstellung, He had faith in this method as
that by which the collective soul of man had been impressed and ruled in all
ages, and would be impressed and ruled to the end of time. He more than
once inserts in the poem passages cautioning the reader that his descriptions
and narratives of supra-mundane scenes and events are not to be taken literally,
but only s3rmbolically. Thus, when the Archangel Raphael, yielding to Adam's
request, begins, after a pause, his narration of the everts that had taken place
in the Empyrean Heaven before the creation of Man and his Universe, he is
made (v. 563*— 576) to preface the narration with these words: —

" Hieh matter thou enioiTi*st me, O prime of Men —
Sad task and hard; lor 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 f how last unfold
The secrets of another world, perhaps
Not lawful to reveal ? Yet for thy good
This is dispensed ; and what surmounts the reach
Of human sense I shall delineate so,
By likening spiritual to corporal forms,
As may express them best — though what if Earth
Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein
Each to other like more than on Earth is thought?"

Let Paradise Lost, then, be called a Vorstellung. But what a Vorstellung
it is ! That World of Man, the world of all our stars and starry transparencies,
hung but drop-like after all from the. Empyrean; the great Empyrean itself,
" undetermined square or round," so that, though we do diagram it for form's
sake, it is beyond all power of diagram; Hell, far beneath but still measurably
far< with its outcast infernal Powers tending disastrously upwards or tugging
all downwards; finally, between the Empyrean and Hell, that blustering. black-
ness of an unimaginable Chaos, roaring around the Mundane Sphere, and
assaulting everlastingly its outermost bosses, but unable to break through, or
to disturb the serenity of the golden poise that steadies it from the zenith —
what phantasmagory more truly all-signiHcant than this has the imagination
of poet ever conceived? What expanse of space, comparable to this for
Vastness, has any other poet presumed to occupy with a coherent story? The
physical universe of Dante's great poem would go into a nutshell as compared
with that to which the imagination must stretch itself out in Paradise LosL
In this respect — in respect of the extent of physical immensity through which
the poem ranges, and which it orbs forth with, soul-dilating clearness and
divides with never-to-be-obliterated accuracy before the eye — no possible poem
can ever overpttss it And then the story itself! What story mightier, or

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INTJ^ODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 33

more iiill of meaning, can there ever be than thftt of the Archangel rebelling
in Heaven, degraded from Heavep ii^to Hell, reascending from Hell to the
Human Universe, winging through the starry spaces of that Universe, and
at last possessing himself of our central Earth, and impregnating its incipient
history with the spirit of Evil? Vastness of scene and power of story
together, little wonder that the poem should have so impressed the world.
Little wonder that it shQuld now be Milton's Satan, and Milton's narrative of
the Creation in its various transcendental connexions, that are in possession
of tbe British imagina,tion, rather than the strict Biblical accounts from which
Mlilton so scrupulously derived the hints to which he gave ^uch marvellous
expansion!

.But will the power of the poem be permanent? Crand conception as it
is, was it not a conception framed too much in cohgruity with special beliefs
and modes of thinking of Milton's own age to retain its efficiency for ever?
If the matters it symbolized are matters which the human imagination, and the
reason of man in its most exalted mood, must ever strive to symbolize in somp
form or other^ may .'not the very definiteness, the blazing visual exactness, of
Milton's symbolization jar on modern modes of thought? Do we not desire,
in our day^ also, to be left to our own liberty of symbolizing in these mattery,
and may it not be well to prefer, in the main, symbolisms the least fixed, the
least sensuous, the most fluent and cloud-like, the most tremulous to every
touch of new idea or new feeling? To this objection — an objection, however,
which would apply to all great Poetry and Art whatever, and would affect the

gaintings of Michael Angelo, for example, as much as the Paradise Lost of
lilton — something ipiist be conceded. Changes in human ideas since the
poem was written have thrown the poem, or parts of it, farther out of keeping
with. the de^hands of the modern imagination than it can have been with the
requirements of Milton's contemporaries. Not to speak of the direct traces
in it of a peculiar theology in the form of speeches and argumehts (in Which
kind, however;, there is less that need really be obsolete than some theological
critics have asserted), fhe Ptolemaism of Milton's astronomical scheme would
alone put the poem somewhat in conflict with the educated modern conceptions
of physical Nature. No longer now is the Mundane Universe thought of as
a deflnite succession of Orbs round the globe of Earth. No longer now can
the fancy of man be stayed at any distance, however immense, by an imaginary
Primum Mobile or outermost shell, beyond which all is Chaos. The Primum
Mobile has been for ever burst; and into the Chaos supposed to be beyond
it the imagination has voyaged out and still out, finding no Chaos, and no sign
of, shore or boundary, but only the same ocean of transpicuous space, with
firmaments for its scattered islands, and such islands still rising to view on every
farthest horizon. Thus accustomed to the idea of Nature as boundless, the
mind, in one of its moods, may refuse to conceive it as bounded, and may
regard the attempt to do so as a treason against pure truth. All this must be
conceded, though the effects of the concession will not stop at Paradise Lost.
But there are other moods of the mind — moral and spiritual moods — which
poesy is bound to serve; and, just as Milton, in the interest of these, know
mgly and almost avowedly repudiated the obligation of consistency with physical
science as known to himself, and set up a great symbolic phantasy, so to this
day the phantasy which he did set up has, for those anyway like-minded to
him, lost none of its sublime significance. For all such it not that physical

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34 mTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST,

Universe, which we have learnt not to bound, still, in its inconceivable totality,
but as a drop hung from the Empyrean; is not darkness around it; i^ not Hell
beneath it? And what though all are not Such? Is it not the highest function
of a book to perpetuate like-mindedness to its author after he is gone, and
may not Paradise Lost be doing this? Nay, and what though the relevancy
of the poem to the present soul of the world should hive been more impaired
. . f ... ,.,,,.,.. , , 'ttedit to be,

)f the world,
s! What a
th century it
ough worthy
e poem, "as
oubles as to
irk chamber,
through the
yond it, and
the consum-
jlace to him
t, that made
to me to be
there is that
nscia inrtusy
itself secure
eshing to be
so deep an
as an editor,
e points out.

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THE VERSE.

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

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COMMENDATORY VERSES,

PRBFIXBD TO THE SBCOND EDITION.

IN PARADJSUM AMJSSAM , SUMMI POETiE
JOHANNIS MlLtdNI.

Qui legis Amissam Paradisum^ grandia magni

Carmina Miltonl, quid nisi cuncta legis?
Res cuDctas, et cvnctarum primordia rerum,

Et fata, et tines, continet iste Uber*
Intima panduntjur magni penetralia Mundi,

Scribitur et toto quicquid in Orbe lajtet;
Terrseque, tractusque maris, ccelumque profmidum,

Sulpbureumque Erebi fiammivomumquc specus;
Quseque cplunt terras, pontumque, et Tartara cse(;^,

Quseque colunt summi lucida regna poli;
£t quodcunque uUis conclusum est finibus usquam;

£t sine fine Chaos, et sine fine Dens';
£t . sine fine magis, si quid .magis .est sine fine>

in Cbristo erga homines conciliatus amor.
Haec qui $peracel quis crederet ease futurum?

Et tamen beec ho^ie terra Britanna legit
O quantos in beUa. duces, qu» protuUt. arma I , ;

Quae canit, et quantft praelia dira tubft!
Coelestes acies, atque in certamine Coelumt

Et quae coelestes pugna deceret agros t
Quantus in aetheriis tollit*se Lucifer armis,

Atque ipso graditur vix Michaele minor!
Quantis et quam funestis concurritur iris,

Dum ferua hie Stellas protegit» iUe rapiti
Dum vulsos moates ceu tela reciproca torquent,

Et non mortali desuper igne pluunt^
Stat dubius cui se parti concedat* Olympus,

Et metuit pugnaenon superesse suae.
At simul in ccelis Messiae insignia fulgent,

£t curruft animes, armaque digna Deo,
Horrendumque rotae strident, et saeva rotarum

Erumpunt torvis - fulgura luminU)us»
£t flammae vibrant, et vera tonitr^a rauco

Admistis flammis insonwere p(do^

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38 COMMENDATORY VERSES.

Ejccidit attonitis mens omnis» et impetus omnis,

£t cassis dextris irrita tela cadunt;
Ad poenas fugiunt, et, ceu foret Orcus asylum,

Infemis certant condere se tenebris.
Cedite, Romani Scriptores; cedite, Graii;

£t quos fama recens vel celebravit anus:
Hsec quicunque leget tantum cecinisse putabit
^aeonidem ranas, VurgiHtikn culices. ' ' >' -

S. B., MJ).

ON PARADISE LOST.

When I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,

In slender book his vast design unfold—^

Messiah crowned, God's reconciled decree.

Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree,

Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All — the argument;

Held me a while misdoubting hi^ intent,

That he would ruin (for I saw him strong)

The sacred truths to fable and old song

(So Samson groped the temple's posts in spite)'.

The world overwhelming to revenge his sight.

Yet, as I read, soon growing less severe,
I liked his project, the success did fear-^—
Through that wide field how he his way should find
O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind;
Lest he perplexed the things he would explain.
And what was easy he should rend^ vain.

Or, if a work so infinite he spanned.
Jealous I was that some less skilful hand
(Such as disquiet always what is well.
And by ill-imitating would excel;) *
Might hence presume the whole Creation's day
To change in scenes, and 'show it in a play.

Pardon me, mighty Poet; nor despise
My causeless, yet not impious, surmise.
But I am now convinced, and none will dare
Within thy labours to pretend a share.
Thou hast no^ missed one thought that could be fit.
And all that was improper dost omit;
So that no room is here for writers left.
But to detect their ignorance or theft.

The majesty which through thy work doth reign
Draws the devout, deterring the profane.
And things divine thou treat'st of in such state
As them preserves, and thee» hiviolate.
At once delight and horroif on us seiee;

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COMMENDATORY VERSES, 39

Thou singfst with so much gravity and ease,
And above human flight dost soar aloft
With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft.
The bird named from the Paradise you sing
So never flags, but always keeps on wing.

Where could'st thou words of such a compass find?
Whence furnish such a vast expense of mind?
Just Heaven, thee like Tiresias to requite.
Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight.

Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure
With tinkling rime, of thy own sense secure;
While the Town-Bayes writes all the while and spells,
And, like a pack-horse, tires without his bells.
Their fancies like our i)ushy points appear;
The poets tag them, we for fashion wear.
I too, transported by the mode, offend,
And, while I meant to praise thee, must commend.
Thy verse, created, like thy theme sublime.
In number, weight, and measure, needs not rime.

A. M.

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PARADISE LOST:

A POEM IN TWELVE BOOKS,
THE AUTHOR

JOHN MILTON.

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK I.

THE ARGUMENT.

This First Book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject — Man's disobedience, and the
loss thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was placed: then touches the prime cause of his
fall — the Serpent^ or rather Satan in the Serpent ; who, revolting from God, and drawing to
his side many legions of Angels, was, by the command of God, driven out of Heaven, with
sill his crew, into the great Deep. Which action passed over, the Poem hastens into the
midst of things; presenting Satan, with his Angels, now fallen into Hell — described here
not in the Centre (for heaven and earth may be supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet
accursed) , but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos. Here Satan, with his Angels
lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck ^nd astonished, after a certain sp&ce recovers, as
from confusion; calls up htm who, next in order and dignity, lay by him: they confer of
their miserable fall. Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same malnner
confounded. They rise: their numbers, array of battle; their chief leaders named, accord-
ing to the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan
directs his speech ; comforts them with hope yet of regaining Heaven ; but tells them, lastly,
of a new world and new kind of creature to, be created, according to an ancient prophecy,
or report, in Heaven — for ^at Angels were long before this visible creation was the opinion
of many ancient Fathers. vTo find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine
thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandemonium, the
palace of Satan, rises, suddenly built out of the Deep: the infernal Peers there sit in council.

OF Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the tuissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or oi Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos : or, if Sion hill lo

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

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44 PARADISE LOST, [Book i.

And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer

Before all temples the upright heart and pure,

Instruct me, for Thou know'st ; Thou from the first

Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, 20

Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss,

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

Illumine, what is low raise and support ;

That, to the highth of this great argument,

I may assert Eternal Providence^

And justify the ways of God to men.- y

Say first — for Heaven hides nothing from thy view.
Nor the deep tract of Hell — say first what cause
Moved our grand Parents, ^n that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off 30

From their Creator, and transgress his will '
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?

The infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers.

He trusted to have ecjualled the Most High, 40

If he opposed, and, wi^^h ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky.
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire.
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.

Nine times the space that measures day and night 50

To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew.
Lay vanquished, rolliilg in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom
Reserved him to more wrath ; for now the thought
; Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him : round he throws his baleful eyes.
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay,
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate.
At once, as far as Angel's ken„ he views ^

The dismal situation waste and wild. 60

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round.
As one great furnace flamed ; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible

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Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 45

Served only to discover sights of woe,

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace

And rest can never dwell, hope never comes^ \

That comes to all, bUt torture without end ^

Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed

With ever-burhiiig sulphur unconsumed.

Such place Eternal Justice had prepared 70

For those rebellious ; here their prison ordained

In utter darkness^ and their portion set,

As far removed from: God and light of Heaven •

As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole.

Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell t

There the companions of his fall, overwhelmed

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,

He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side.

One next himself ini power, and next in crime,

Long after known in Palestine, and named 80

Beelzebub. To whom the Arch-Enemy,

And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words

Breaking the horrid silence, thus began : — \ . j

**If thou beest he — but Oh how fallen ! how changed ^ *-*
From him! — who, in the happy realms of light, ' ^

Clothed with traftscendent brightness, didst outshine
Myriads, though bright — if he whom mutual league.
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise.

Joined with me once, now misery hath joined 90

• In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest

From what highth fallen : so much the stronger proved
' — He with his thunder: and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change.
Though changed in outward histre, that fixed mind.
And high disdain from sense of injured merit.
That with the Mightiest raised nie to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along 100

Innumerable force of Spirits armed.
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, .

And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?^
gt — the uncbnquerable will, ^

Cnd study of revenge, immortal hate, '

|And courage never to submit or yield:
Vnd what Is else hot to be overcome.
That glory, never shall his wrath or might no

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46 PARADISE LOST. [Book i;

Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace

With suppliant knee, and deify his power

Who, from the terror of this arm, so late

Doubted his empire— r that were low indeed;

That were an ignominy and shame beneath

This downfall ; since, by fate, the stren^h of Gods,

And this empyreal substance, cannot £ul;

Since, through experience of this great event,

In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced,

We may with more successml hope resolve I20

To wage by force or guile eternal war.

Irreconcilable to our grand Foe,

Who now triumphs, and in the excess of joy

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven. ">

So spake the apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair;
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer : —

** O Prince, O Chief of many thronM Powers
That led the embattled Seraphim to war

Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds 130

Fearless, endangered Heaven's perpetual King,
And put to proof his high Supremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fete!
Too well I see and rue the dire event
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat, .
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As fer as Gods and Heavenly Essences
Can perish : for the mind and spirit remains .
Invincible, and vigour soon returns, 140

Though all our glory extinct, and happy state
Here swallowed up m endless misery.
But what if He our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o'erpowered such force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and stren^h entire,
Strongly to suffer and support our pains.
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire.
Or do him mightier service as ms thralls

By ri^ht of war, whatever his business be, 1 50

Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his enands in the gloomy Deep?

What can it then avail though yet we feel ... <

Strength undiminished, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?"

Whereto with speedy words the Arch-Fiend replied : —
" Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable, \

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Book i.] PARADISE LOST, 47

Doing or suffering: but of this be sure —

To do aught gooa never will be our taslc.

But ever to do ill our sole delight, ^^^ l6a

As being the contrary to His high will ^^ ■

Whom we resist. If tlien his providence

Out of our evil seek to bring forth good»

Our labour must be to pervert that end,

And out of good still to find means of evil;

Which ofttimes may succeed so as pnerhaps

Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb

His inmost counsels from their destined aim.

But see! the ancry Victor hath recalled

His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 170

Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail,

Shot after us in storm, o'erblown hath laid

The fiery surge tliat from the precipice

Of Heaven received us falling ; and the thunder,

Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage.

Perhaps hath s^nt his shafts, and ceases now .

To^bellow throufi'h the vast and boundless Deep.

Let us not slip me occasion, whether scorn

Or satiate fiiry yield it from our Foe.

Seest thou von dreary plain, forlorn and wild, l^o

The seat ot desolation, void of light,

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames

Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend

From off the tossing of these fiery waves ;

There rest, if any rest can harbour thete ;

And, re-assembling our afilicted powers^ , ,-.

Consult how we may henceforth most offend. \

Our enemy, our own loss how repair.

How overcome this dire calamity,

What reinforcement we may gain from hope, 190

If not what resolution from despair.^*

Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate.
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blazed ; his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large, ;

Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as hu^e ' ^r

As whom the isibles name of monstrous size, - -
Titanian or Earth-bom, that warred on Jove, '
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den

By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-be^t aoo

./^ieviathan^ which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim the ocean-stream.
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff.

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48 PARADISE LOST. [Book l.

Deeming some island, oft, as seamien tell,

With fixed anchor in his scaly rind.

Moors by his side under the lee, while night

Invests the sea, and wished mom delays.

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

Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence 2Ig

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

And high permission of all-ruling Heaven

Left him at large to his owp dark designs.

That with reiterated crimes he might

Heap on himself damnation, while he sought

Evil to others, and enraged might see

How all his malice served but. to bring forth

Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn

On Man by him seduced, but on himself

Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poure^. ' 220

Forthwith upright he rears from off the pooi
His mighty stature ; on each hand the flames
. Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and, rolled
In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air.
That felt unusual weight; till oti dry land
He lights — if it were land that ever burned
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire.

And such appeared in hue as when the force 230

Of subterranean wind transports a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side
Of thundering ^Ctna, whose combustible

And fiielled entrails, thence <ionceiving fire, -

Sublimed with mineral fury,- aid the winds.
And leave a singed bottom all involved ^

With stench and smpke. • Such resting found the sole
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate ;
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood
As gods, and by their own recovered strength, .240

Not by the sufferance of supernal power.

**Is this the region, this the sbil, the clime,"
Said then the lost Archangel, ** this the seat '

That we must change for Heaven? — this mourafiil g^oom
For that celestial light? Be it so, since He
Who now is sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right i^'fjurthest from Him is best, ^

Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fielife,

Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors I hail, • 250

Infernal World! ^ad thou, profoundest Hell,

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Book l] PARADISE LOST. 49

Receive thy new possessor — one who brings

Jfil mind not to be changed by place or time,
f The mind is its own place, and in itself
(Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. '

iVhat matter where, if I be still thfe same, •

And what I should be, all but less than he

Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least

We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built

tre for his envy, will not drive us hencber 260

re we may reign secure; and, in my choice, ■
reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: '
tter to reign in Hell than serve in Heiiven.
t wherefore let we then our futhful friends,
The associates and co-partners of our loss.
Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion, or once more
With rallieid'arms to try what may be yet
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?'* < 270

So Satan spake ; and him Beelzebub > . ;

Thus answered: — "Leader of those armies bright
Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foiled! < ^

If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge '

Of hope in fears and dangers — heard so oft : - ' •'

In worst extremes, and on the perilous ^g^
Of battle, when it raged, in '^1 assaults

Their surest signal — ^they will soon resume ; < ^

New courage and revive, though now they lie
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of nre, 280

As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious highth!'' •
He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend
Was moving towand the shore ; his ponderous shield.
Ethereal temper, massy« Isu-ge, and round,
Behind him cast. The broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders Hke the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, froxtt the top of Fesolfe,

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 2<^

Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
His spear — to equal which the tallest pine , /

.Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand —
He walked with, to support unisasy steps
Over the burning inarley not like those steps
On Heaven's azure ; and the torrid clime
Smote on him sore besides^ vaulted with fire.

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50 PARADISE LOST. [Book i.

Nathless he so endured, till on the beach

Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called 300

His legions — Angel Forms, who lay entranced

Thick as autumn^ leaves that strow the brooks

In .Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades

High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge

Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed

Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves overthrew

Busiris and his Memphian chivalry.

While with perfidious hatred they pursued

The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld

From the safe shore their floating carcases ,310

And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown.

Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood.

Under amazement of their hideous change.

He called so loud that all the hollow deep

Of Hell resounded: — "Princes, Potentates,

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

If such astonbhment as this can seize

Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place

After the toil of battle to repose

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 320

To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven? -

Or in this abject posture have ye sworn

To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds

Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood

With scattered arms and ensigns, tUl aiK>n

His swift pursuers fi*om Heaven-gates discj^m ,

The advantage, and, descending, tread us down

Thus drooping, or with linkM thunderbolts

Transfix us to the bottom of this culf? —

Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!" 330

They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung
Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch.
On duty ^leepmg found by whom they dread,
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake.
Nor did they not perceive the evil Flight
In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel;
Yet to their General's voice they soon obeyed
Innumerable. As when the potent rod
Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day.

Waved round the coast, up-called a pitdhy doud 3411

Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,
That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nik ;
So numberless were those bad Angels seen
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell,

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BOOKI.] PARADISE LOST. 51

n*wixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;
Till, as a signal given, the uplifted spear
Of their great Sultan waving to direct
Their course, in even balance down they light
On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain: 350

A multitude like which the populous North
Poured never from her frozen loins to pass
Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South, and spread
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.
Forthwith, from every squadron and each band,
The heads and leaders thither haste where stood
Their great Commander — godlike Shapes, and Forms
Excelling human; princely Dignities;

And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones, 360

Though of their names in Heavenly records now
* Be no memorial, blotted out and rased
By their rebellion from the Books of Life. . • '

Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve
fcot them new names, till, wandering o'er the earth,
[Through God's high sufferance for the trial of man,
py falsities and lies the greatest part
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake
God their Creator, and the invisible

Glory of Him that made them to transform 370

Oft to the image of a brute, adorned
With gay religions fiill of pomp and gold,
j\nd devils to adore for deities:
rThen were they known to men by various names.
And various idols through the Heathen World.

Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,
Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch,
At their great Emperor's call, as next in worth
Came singly where he stood on the bare strand,
While the promiscuous crowd stood yfet aloofi 380

The chief were those who, from the pit of Hell
Roaming to seek their prey on Earth, durst fix
Their seats, long after, next the seat of God,
Their altars by His altar, gods adored
Among the nations round, and durst abide
Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned
Between the Cherubim; yea, often placed
Within His sanctuary itself their shrines,
Abominations; and with cursed things

His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned, 39^

And with their darkness durst affront His light.
First, Moloch^ horrid king, besmeared with blood

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52 PARADISE LOST, [Book i.

Of human sacrifice,: and; parjents' tears;

Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud,

Their children's cries unheard that passed through fire

To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite

Worshiped in Rabba and her watery plain,

In Argob and in Basan, to the stream

Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such '

Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart 400

0( Solomon he led by fraud to build

His temple right against the temple of God.

On that opprobrious hill, and made his grove

The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence

And black Gehjsnna called, the type of Hell.

Next Chemos, the obscene dread of Moab's sons.

From Aroar to Nebo and the wild

Of southmost Abarim ; in Hesebon

And Horonaim, Seon's realm, beyond

The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, 410

And Eleal^ to the Asphaltic Pool:

Peor his other, i^me, when he enticed

Israel ia Sittim, on their march from Nile,

To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe. .

Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged '

Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove

Of Moloch homicide^ Just hard by hate.

Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell.

With these came they who, from the bordering flood

Of old Euphrates to the brook that, parts 420

Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names

Of Baalim and AsHtaroth — those male.

These feminine. For Spirits, when they please.

Can either sex assume, or both;. so soft

And uncompounded is their essence pure.

Not tied or manacled with joint or limb.

Nor founded on the brittle Strength of bones, f

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

Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure.

Can execute their aery purposes, 430

And works of love or enmity fulfil. ■

For those the race o£ Israd oft forsook .

Their Living Strength, and unfrequented left

His righteous altar, bowing lowly down

To bestial gods; for which their heads, as low

Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear

Of despicable foes. With these in. troop

Came Astoreth, whom the PhiDenicians called

Astarte, queen; of heaven, with crescent horns;

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Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 53

To whpse bright iniag€ nightly by the moon 440

Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs; , ;

I n Sion also not unsung, where stood
Her temple on the offensive mountain, built
By that uxorious king whose heart, though large.
Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell
To idols foul. Thammuz came next behind,
Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured t

The Syrian damsels to lament his fate
In amorous ditties all a sutnmer's day,

While smooth Adonis from his native rock 450

Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood
Of Thammuz yearly wounded : the love-tale
Infected Sion's daughters with like heat, /

Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch
Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led, : . <

His eye surveyed the dark idolatries
Of alienated Judah. Next came one
Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark
Maimed his brute- image, head and hands lopt off.
In his own tem^xle^ on the grunsel-edge, 460

Where he fell flat and shamed his worshipers:
Dagon his narnfe," sea-monster, upward man »

And downward ^sh; yet had his temple high
Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast
Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon,
And Accaron and . Gaza's frontier bounds.
Him followed Riinmon, whose delightful seat
Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks
Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid stream^.

He also against thd 'house of God was bold : 470

• A leper once he lost, and gained a kine —
Ahaz, his sottish conqueror, whom he drew
Qod's altar to disparage and displace
For one of Syrian mode, whereon to bum
His odious offerings, and adore the gods
Whom he had vanquished. After these appeared
A crew whb^ tnxder names of old renown —
Osiris y IsiSy Onts^ and their train —
With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused
Fanatic Egypt and her piriests to seek 480

Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms
Rather than human. Nor did Israel scape
Tfbe infection, when their borrowed gold composed ' '-

The calf in Oreb; and the rebel king
Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan,
Likening his Maker to the grazed ox— -

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54 PARADISE LOST. ' [Book i.

Jiehovah, who, in one night, when he passed

From Egypt marching, equalled with one stroke

Both her first-born and all her bleating gods. •

Belial came last; than whom a Spirit more lewd 490

Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love

Vice for itself. To him no temple stood

Or altar smoked; yet who more oft than he

In temples and at altars, when the priest '

Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled '

With lust and violence the house of God?

In courts and palaces he also reigns.

And in luxurious cities, where the noise

Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers,

And injury and outrage ; and, when night 500

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons

Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night

In Gibeah, where the hospitable door .

Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape.

These were the prime in order and in might:
The rest were long to tell; though far renowned
The Ionian gods ^- of Javan's issue held
Gods, yet confessed later than Heaven and Earth, .
Their boasted parents; — Titan , Heaven's first-bcMH, 510

With his enormous brood, and birthright seized
By younger Saturn: he from mightier Jove,
His own and Rhea's son, like measure found;
So yove usurping reigned. These, first in Crete
And Ida known, thence on the snowy top v

Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air.
Their highest heaven ; or on the Delphian cliff*
Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds
Of Doric land; or who with Saturn old

Fled over Adria to the Hesperian fields, 520

And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost Isles.

All these and more came flocking ; but with looks
Downcast and damp; yet such wherein appeared
Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief
Not in despair, to have found themseWes not lost
In loss itself; which on his countenance cast
I^ike doubtful hue. But he, his wonted pride
Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore
Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised
Their faintingf. courage, and dispelled their fears: 530

Then straight commands that, at the warlike sottnd
Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared
His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed^

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BoOKl.] PARADISE LOST. 55

Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall:

Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled

The imperial ensign ; which ^ full high advanced.

Shone like a meteor streaming to thie wind,

With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed,

Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while - •

Sonorous metal blowing mardal sounds: 540

At which the universal host up-sent

A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond

Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Nigntv

All in a moment through the gloom wer^ seen

Ten thousand banners rise into the air.

With orient colours waving : with them rose

A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms

Appeared, and serried shields in thick array

Of depth immeasurable. Anon they move

In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 550

Of flutes and soft recorders-^ such as raised

To highth of noblest temper heroes old

Arming to battle, and instead of rage .

Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved

With dread of death to flight or foul retreat ; '

Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage.

With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase

Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain

From mortal or immortal minds. . Thus they,

Breathing united force with fix^d thought, 560

Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed

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

Advanced in view they stand— a horrid front

Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise

Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield,

Awaiting what command their mighty Chief

Had to impose. He through the armM files

Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse

The whole battalion views — their order due,

Their visages and stature as of gods ; yjo

Their number last he sums. And now his heart

Distends with pride, and, hardening in his strength,

Glories: for never, since created A&,

Met such embodied force as, named with these, '

Could merit more than that small infiantry

Warred on by cranes — though all the giant brood

Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined

That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side

Mixed with auxiliar gods ; and what resounds

In fable or romance of Uther's son, .. 580

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,56 PARADISE LOST. [BooKi.

Begirt with British and Armoric khights;

And all who sihc6, baptized or infidel,

Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban,

Damasco, or Marocco^ or Trebisond,

Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore

When Charlemain with all his peerage fell

,By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond

Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed

Their dread Commander. He, above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 590

Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lest

All her original brightness, nor appeared

Less than Archangel ruined, and the excess

Of glory obscured : as when the sun new-risen

Looks through the horizontal misty air

Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon,
. in dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds

On half the nations; and with fear of change

Perplexes^ monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone

Above them all the Archangel: but his face /600

Deep scars of thunder had mtrenched, and care

Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows

Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride

Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast

Signs of remoarse and passion, to behold

The fellows of his, crime, the followers rather > *
' \(Far other once beheld in bliss), condemned

For ever now to have their lot in pain —

Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced

Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung 610

For his revolt — yet faithful how they stood.

Their glory withered ; afe, when heaven's fire ' '

Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines.

With singed top their stately growth, though bare.

Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared

To speak ; whereat, their doubled ranks they bend -

From wing to wing, and half enclose him round

With all his peers: attention held them mute.

Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn.

Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last 620

Words interwove with sighs found out their way:-^
**0 myriads of immortol Spirits! O Powers

Matchless, but with the Almighty!*— and that strife

Was not inglorious, though the event was dire,

As this place testifies, and this dire change,

Hateful to utter. But what power of mind»

Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth

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Book i.] PARADISE LOST. S7

Of knowledge past or present, could have feared
How such united force of gods, how such

As stood like these, could ever know repulse?) 630

For who can yet believe, though after loss, \
That all these puissant legions, whose exile {
Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re^ascend, < .
Self-raised, and re-possess their native seat?
For me, be witness all the host of Heaven,
If counsels different, or danger shunned
By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns
Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure
Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute.

Consent or custom, and his regal state » , 640

Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed —
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.
Henceforth his might we know, and know our own^
So as not either to provoke, or dread
New war provoked : our better part remains
To work in close design, by fraud or guile^
What force effected not; thiat he no less
At length from us may find. Who overcomes i,y,.(<A >
By force hath overcome but half his foe. ('i < -. ^^ ^ , ^/

'Space may produce new Worlds; whereof so rife *i <*'**- 650
There went a fame in Heaven that He ere long
Intended to create,, and therein plant
A generation whom his choice regard
Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven.
Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps
Our first eruption — thither, or elsewhere ;
For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss
Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts
Full counsel must mature. Peac^ is despaired; . 660

For who can think submission? War, then, war '\
Open or understood, must be resolved. -''

He spake ; and, to confirm his words, out-fiew
Millions of flaming swortis, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty Cherubim ; the sudden blaze
Far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged
Against the Highest, and fierce with griped airms
Qashed on their sounding shields the din of w^.
Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.

There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top > 670

Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire
Shone with a glossy scurf — undoubted sign
That in his womb was hid metallic ore, •
The work of sulphur. Thithtr, winged .with speted,

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58 PARADISE LOST. CBook i.

A numerous brigad hastened : as when- bands

Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed,

Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,

Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on —

Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell

From Heaven ; for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts 680

Were always downward bent, admiring more

The riches of Heaven's pavehient, trodden gold,

Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed

In vision beatific. By him first

Men also, and by his suggestion taught.

Ransacked the Centre, and with impious hands

Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth

For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew

Opened into the hill a spacious wound,

And digged out ribs of gold; Let none admire 690

That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best

Deserve the precious bane. And here let those

Who boast in mortal things, and wondering tell

Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings,

Learn how their greatest monuments of fame,

And strength, and art, are easily outdone

By Spirits reprobate, and in an hour

What in an age they, with incessant tdl

And hands innumerable, scarce perform.

Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, 700

That underneath had veins of liquid fire

Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude

With wondrous art founded the massy ore.

Severing each kind, and scummed the buUion-dross.

A third as soon had formed within the ground

A various mould, and from the boiling cells

By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook;

As in an organ, from one blaist of wind.

To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes.

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge 710

Rose like an exhalation, with the sound

Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet —

Built like a temple, where pilasters round

Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid

With golden architrave; nor did there want

Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven :

The roof was fi-etted gold. Not Babylon

Nor great Alcairo such magnificence

EquaBed in all their glories, to enshrine

Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat 720

Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove

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Book i.] PARADISE LOST, §9

In wealth and luxury. Th6 ascending pile

Stood fixed her stately highth; and straight the <loors.

Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide

Within, her' ample spaces o'er the smooth

And level pavement: from the archM roof,

Pendent by subtle magic, many a row

Of starry lamps and hSazing cressets, fed

With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light

As from a sky. The hasty multitude ^ 730

Admiring entered; and the work some praise.

And some the architect. His hand was known

In Heaven by many a towered structure high,

Where sceptred Angels held their residence, j

And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King

Exalted to such power, and gave to rule.

Each in his hierarchy, the Orders bright. . ^

Nor was his name unheard or unadored

In ancient Greece; and in Ausonian land

Men called him Mulciber; and how he fell 740

From Heaven they febled, thrown by angry Jove

Sheer o'er the crystal battlements: from mom

To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,

A summer's day, and with the setting sun

Dropt from the zenith, like a falling star,

On Lemnos, the -^gaean isle. Thus they relate.

Erring; for he with this rebellious rout

Fell long before; nor aught availed him now

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

By all his engines, but was headlong sent, 750

With his industrious crew, to build in Hell.

Meanwhile the wingM Haralds, by command
Of sovran power, with awfiil ceremony
And trumpet's sound, throughout the host proclaim
A solemn council forthwith to be held
At Pandemonium, the high capital
Of Satan and his peers. , Their summons called
From every band and squared regiment
By place or choice the worthiest : they anon
With hundreds and with thousands trooping came 760

Attended. All access was thronged ; the* gates
And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall
(Though like a covered field, where champions bold
Wont ride in armed, and at the Soldan's chair
Defied the best of Panim chivalry
To mortal combat, or career with lance).
Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the air.
Brushed with the hiss of rustlmg wings. As bees

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6o PARADISE LOST. [Book i.

In spring-time, when tKe Sun with Taurus rides,

Pour forth: their populous youth about the hive 770

In clusters ; they among fresh dews and flowers '

Fly to and fro, or on the' smoothed plank,

The suburb of their straw-built citadel,

New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and confer

Their state-affairs: so thick the aery crowd

Swarmed and were straitened; till, the signal given,

Behold a wonder! They but now who seemed

In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons.

Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room

Throng numberless — like that pygmean race 780

Bevond the Indian mount; or faery elves.

Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side

Or fountain, some belated peasant sees.

Or dreams he ^ees, while overhead the Moon

Sits arbitress, and nearer to the Earth

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

Intent, with jocund music charm his ear;

At once with joy and fear his heart retounds.

Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms

Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large, 790

Though without number still, amidst the hall

Of that infernal court. But far within.

And in their own dimensions like themselves,

The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim

In close recess and secret conclave sat,

A thousand demi^gods on eolden seats.

Frequent and full. After short silence then.

And summons read, the great consult began^

THE END OF THE FTRST BOOiC.

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PAITADISE LOST.

BOOK IL

THE ARGUMENT.

The consultatiiMi begun, Satan debates whether anptber Rattle be to be ha»rded for the
recovery of Heaven : some advise it, others dissuade. A third proposal is preferred, men-
tadncMl Defore by Satan — to search the truth of that proj[)hecy Or tradition in Heaven concern-
ing another world, and another kind o( creature, oquak or not much inferior, to themselves,
about this time to be created. Their doubt who sha|} be sent on this difficult search: Sa^an,
their chief, undertakes alone the voyage; is honoured and applauded. The councfl thus
ended* the rest betajosithem several wayS' and to several employments, as their inclinations
lead them, to entertain th^ time till Sat;an Mturti» He passes on his jonmey to, Hell-eates;
finds them shut, and who sat there to guard them; by whom at length they are opened, i and
discover to him the ereat gulf between Hell and Heaven. With wh^t difficulty he passes
through, directed by Chaos, the Power of that 'place, to the sight of this new Wond which he
sought.

IGH on a throne of royal state,, whkh far
Outshone the wealth of Oiinus and of Ind,

Or where .the gorgeous East with richest hand

Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold,

Satan exalted sat^ by merit raised

To that bad eminence ; andv from despair

Thus high uplifted beyond hope^ aspires '^

Beyond thus high, inisatiate to pursue

Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught.

His proud ima^nations thus displaydd : — ^ 'lo

** Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven !^-
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold
Immortal vigoiu*, though oppressed and fallen,
I eive not Heavea for lost: from this descent
Celestial yirtues rising will appear >

More glonous and more dread than from no fell,'
And trust themselves to fear no second fete! —
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven,
Did first create your leader— next, free choice,
With what besides in council or in fi^t '20

Hath been achieved of merit — yet this loss.
Thus fer at leadt recovered^ hath much more : . .

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62 PARADISE LOST. [Book n.

Established in a saf6, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state
In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw
Envy from each inferior; but who here
Will envy whom the highest place exposes
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share
Of endless pain? Where thei:e is, then, -no gopd 30

For which to stiive, no strife can grow up there
'^ From ^tion : for none sure will claim in Hell
Precedence; none whose portion is so small
Of present pain that with ambitious mind
Will covet more! With this advantage, then,
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,
More than can be in Heaven, we now refaim
To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity

Could have assured us; and by what best jsay, 40

Whether of open war or covert guile7
We now debate. Who can advise may speak."

He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up — the strongest and the fiercest Spirit
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair.
His trust was with the Eternal to be deemed
Equal in strength, and rather than be less
Cared not to l^ at all ; with that care lost ^ '

Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse,
^e recked not, and these words thereafter spake : — 50

V **My sentence is for open war. Of wiles.
More unexpert, I boast not: them let those
Contrive who need, or when they need; not now.
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest —
Millions that stand in arms, and londng wait
The signal to ascend — sit lingering here, '

Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame.
The prison of His tyranny who reigns

By our delay? No! let us rather choose, 1 60

Armed with Hell^flames and fury, all at once
O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures into horrid arms
Against the Torturer; when, ta meet the noise
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and, ifor lightning, see
Black fire and horror shot with equ^ rage
Among his Angels, and his throne itself
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and stftmge fire, ^

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Book n.] PARADISE LOST. 63

His own invented torments. But perhaps ' ' 70

The way seems difficult, and steep fo scale

With upnght wing against a hieher foe!

Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench

Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,

That in our proper motion we ascend

Up to our native seat; descent and £dl

To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,

Whei^ the fierce foe hung on ovu: broken rear

Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep,

With what compulsion and laborious flight 80

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

The event is feared! Should we again provoke

Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find

To our destruction, if there be in Hell

Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse

Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned

In this abhorred deep to utter woe;

Where pain of unextinguishable fire

Must exercise us without hope of end

The vassals of his anger, when the scourge 90

Inexorably, and the torturing hour.

Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus,

We should be quite abolished, and expire.

What fear we then? what doubt we to incense

His utmost ire? which, to the hiffhth enraged,

Will either quite consume us, and reduce

To nothing this essential — happier far

Than miserable to have eternal being! —

Or, if our substance be indeed divine.

And cannot cease to be, we are at worst lOo

On this side nothing ; and by proof we feel

Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,

And with perpetual inroads to alarm.

Though inaccessible, his fatal throne : ^^^ ^."^ V j

Which, if not vigtory, is yet reyengeJ^ 'L^.'.,<-w^

He ended frowning, and his look denounced
Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous ^ ^^J^

To less than gods. On the other side up rose i^ ."^
Belial, in kct more graceful and humane.

A lairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed no

For digmty composed, and high exploit.
But all was^false and hollow; though his tongue
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels : for his thoughts were low,^
To vice industticms, but tQjaobkt^eeds

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64 PARADISE LOST, [Book ii.

Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear,

And with persuasive accent thus began: —

** I should be much for open war, O Peers, /

As not behind in hate, if what was urged .120

Main reason to persuade immediate war

Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast

Ominous conjecture on the whole success; . • ;

When he who most excels in fact of arms,

In what he counsels and in what excels

Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair

And utter dissolution, as the scope

Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.

First, what revenff6? The towers of Heaven are filled

With arm^d watcn, that render all access 130

Impregnable: oft on the bordering Deep

Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing

Scout iax and wuie into the realm of Night,

Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way

By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise

With blackest insurrection to confound

Heaven's purest light, yet our great Enemy,

All incorruptible, would on his throne

Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould.

Incapable of stain, would soon expel ^o

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,

Victorious. Thus/repidsed, our final hope

Is flat despairs we must exasperate
(The Almighty Victor to spend all his rage;
JAnd that must end us; that must be our cure —

To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose.

Though full of pain, this intellectual being.

Those thoughts that: wander through eternity,

To perish rather, swaUowed up and lost

In the wide womb of uncreated Night, 150

Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows.

Let this be good, whether our angry Foe

Can give it, or will ever? How he can

Is doubtfiil ; that he never will is sure.

Will He, so wise^ let loose at once his ire, \

Belike through impotence or unaware.

To give his enemies their wish, and end

Them in his anger whom his anger saves

To punish endless? * Wherefore cease we, then?'

Say they who counsel war; * we are decreed, l6o

Reserved, and destined to eternal woe; t

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more.

What can we suffer worse?' Is this, then, woist— ,

'nr.

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Book n.] PARADISE LOST. 65

Thxis sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and strook
With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought
The Deep to shelter us? This, Hell then seemed
A refuge from those wounds. Or when we. lay
Chained on the burning lake ? That sure was worse.
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires^ 170

Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage;,.
And plunge us in the flames; or from above
Should intermitted' vengeance arm again
His red right hand to plague us? What if all
Her stores were opened, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire.
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall
One day upon our heads; whUe we perhaps,
Desigmng or exhorting glorious war.

Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 1 80

£acn on his rock transfixed, the sport and priey
Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk /^ ^

Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, /iiU^'^'*^^*"''*^^

Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse.. ^^ t* ***^ /* jC

fWar, therefore, open or concealed, alike . X

My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile ^*^ ^ci*^^^^^ ^^

With H4m,,<)r who deceive His mind, whose eye ^'*]^^/^*^^*

Views all things at one view? He from Heaven's highth/* igof^'
J All these our motions vain sees and derides,
J^Jot more almighty to resist our might
Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. ,
Shall we, then, live thus vilq — the race of Heaven
Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here
Chains and these torments? Better these thacr worse,
By my advice; sinc^ate igtevitabile
Subdues u&, ^nd omnipotent decree.
The Victor's will. To suffer, as to ^Oy

'Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust • 200

That so ordains. This was at first resolved.
If we were wise, againsit so great a foe
Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.
I laugh when those who at the spear are bold
And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear
What yet they know must follow — to endure
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain.
The sentence of their conqueror. This is now
Our doom ; which if we can sustain and bear.
Our Supreme Foe in time m;^y much remit 210

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(6 PARADISE LOST. [Book n.

His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed,
Not mind us not offending, satisfied
With what is punished ; whence these rasing fires
Will slacken, if his breath stir not their names.
Our purer essence then will overcome
Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel;
Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed
In temper and in nature, will receive
Familiar the fierce heat ; and, void of pain, •
This horror will grow mild, this daricness Hght; 220

Besides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting — since our present lot appears
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst,
If^we procure not to ourselves more woe."
yih}i& Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb,
* (Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth.

Not peace; and after him thus Maiiunon , spake : -^

** Either to disenthrone the Kihg of Heaven
We war, if war be best, or to regain 230

Our own right lost. Him to unthrone we then
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield
To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife.
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain
The latter ; for what place can be for us
Within Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's Lord Supreme
We overpower? Suppose he should relent.
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new subjection ; with what eyes could we
Stand in his presence humble, and receive 240

Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne
With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing
Forced Halleluiahs, while he lordly sits
Our envied sovran, and his altar breathes
Ambrosid odours and ambrosial flowers.
Our servile offerings? This must be our task
In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome
Eternity so spent in worship paid
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue,
By force impossible, by leave obtainea 250

Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state
Of splendid vassalage ; but rather seek
Our own good from ourselves, and from our own
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke
Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear

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Book u.] PARADISE LOST, 67

Then most conspicuous when ^reat things of small, .^ <-^'"^-^^[^^

Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse, •"fc^Zif *!f^^^^7

We can create, and in what pl^e soever , aJ-^ 2ob '^^^^

Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain

Through labour and endurance. This deep world

Of dan^ness do we dread? How oft amidst

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

Choose to reside, his glory unobsciu'ed,

And with the majesty of darkness round

Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar,

Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!

As He our darkness, cannot we His light

Imitate when we please? This desert soil 270

Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;

Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise

Magnificence; and what can Heaven show more?

Our torments also may, in length of time,

Become our elements, these piercing fires

As soft as now severe, our temper changed

Into their temper; which must needs remove

The sensible of pain. All things invite

To peaceful counsels, and the settled state

Of order, how in safety best we may 280

Compose our present evils, with re^rd

Of what we are and where, dismissing quite

All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise."

He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled
The assembly as when hollow rocks retain
The sound of blustering winds, which all night loi^
Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull ^

SeafEuing men overwatched, whose bark by chance.
Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay

After the tempest. Such applause was heard 290

As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased.
Advising peace: for such another field
They dreaded worse than Hell; so much the fear
Of thunder and the sword of Michael
Wrought still within them; and no less desire
To found this nether empire, which might rise.
By policy and long process of time.
In emulation opposite to Heaven.
Which when Beelzebub perceived — than whom,
Satan except, none higher sat — with grave 300

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed
A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven
Deliberation sat, and public care;
And princely counsel m his face yet shone.

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68 PARADISE LOST, [Book n.

Majestic, though in rum. Sage he stood,

With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear

The weight of mightiest monarchies ; his look

Drew audience and attention still as night

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

"Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven, 310

Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called
Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote
Inclines — here to continue, and build up here
A growing empire; doubtless! while we dr^am.
And know not that the King of Heaven hath doomed
' This place our dungeon — not our safe retreat
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt
From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league
Banded against his throne, but to remain 320

In strictest bondage, though thus far removed,
Under the inevitable curb, reserved
His captive multitude. For He, be sure,
In highth or depth, still first and last will reign
Sole King, and of his kingdom lose no part
By our revolt, but over Hell extend
His empire, and with iron sceptre rule
Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven.
What sit we then projecting peace and war?
War hath determined us and foiled with loss 330

Irreparable ; terms of peaise yet none
Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given
To us enslaved, but custody severe.
And s^pes afad arbitrary punishment
Inflicted? and what peace can we return.
But, to our power, hostility and hate.
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow,
Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least
May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice '
In doing what we most in suffering feel? 340

Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need
Wjth dangerous expedition to invade
Heayen, whose high walls fear no assault or siege.
Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find
Some easier enterprise? There is a place
(If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven
Err not) — another Wbrld, the happy seat
Of some new race, called Man, about this time
To be created like to us, though less

In power and excellence, but favoured mone 350

Of Him who rules above ; so was His will

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Book n.] PARAD/SE LOST. ^

Pronounced among the gods, and by an oath
That shook Heaven's whole circumference confirmed.
Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn
What Creatures there inhabit, of what mould
Or substance, how endued, and what their power
And where their weakness: how attempted best.
By force or subtlety. Though Heaven be shut^
And Heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure

In his own strength, this place may lie exposed, 360

t The utmost border of his kingdom, left
To their defence who hold it: here, perhaps.
Some advanli^eous act may be achieved
By sudden onset — either with Hell-fire
To waste his whol6 creatiooi, or possess
All as our own, and drive, as we are driven,
The puny habitants ; or, if not drive.
Seduce them to our party, that their God
May prove their foe, and with repenting hand
Abolish his own works. This would surpass 370

Common revenge, and interrupt His joy
In our confusion, and our joy upraise
In His disturbance ; when His darling sons.
Hurled he^dkpg to partake with us, shall curse
Their frail original, and faded bliss —
Faded so soon! Advise if this be worth
Attempting,; or to sit in darkness here
Hatching vain empires." Thus Beelzebub
Pleaded his devilish counsel — first devised

By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence, 380

But from the author of all ill, could spring
So deep a m^ic6, to confound the race
Of mankind in one root* atnd Earth with Hell .
To mingle and involve, done all to spite
The great Creatcw? But their spite still serves
His glory to augment. The bold design
Pleased highly those Infernal States, and joy
Sparkled in ail their eyes: with full assent
They vote : whereat hi? speech he thus renews : -^
**Well have ye judged, well ended long debate, 390

Synod of Gods, alia, like to what ye are.
Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep
Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate.
Nearer our ancient seat — perhaps in vi^w
Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbouring arms.
And opportune excursion, ^re may chance
Re-enter Heaven; or else in some mild zone,
Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven's fair light,

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70 PARADISE LOST. [Book ir.

Secure, and at the brightening orient beam

Purge off this gloom : the soft delicious air, 400

To heal the scar of these corrosive fires.

Shall breathe her balm. But, first, whom shall we send

In search of this new World? whom shall we find

Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandering feet

The dark, unbottomed, infinite- Abyss,

And through the palpable obscure find out

His uncouth way, or spread his aery flight,

Upborne with indefatigable wings »

Over the vast Abrupt, ere he arrive

The happy Isle? What strength, what art, can then 410

Suffice, or what evasion beai* him safe

Through the strict senteries and stations thick

Of Angels watching round? Here he had need

All circumspection: and we now no less

Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send

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

This said, he sat; and expectation held'
His look suspense, awaiting who appeared
To second, or oppose, or undertake

The perilous attempt. But all sat mute, 420

Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each
In other's countenance read his own dismay.
Astonished. None among the choice and prime
Of those Heaven-warring champions could be found
So hardy as to proffer or accept.
Alone, the dreadful voyage; till, at last,
Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised
Above his fellows, with monarchal pride
Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus spake : —

**0 Progeny of Heaven! Empyreal Thrones! 430

With reason hath deep silence and demur
Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the way
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light.
Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire,
Outrageous to devour, immures us round
Ninefold ; and gates of burning adamant,
Barred over us, prohibit all egress.
These passed, if any pass, the void profound
Of unessential Night receives him next.

Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being 440

Threatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf.
If thence he scape, into Whatever world,
Or unknown region, what remains him less
Than unknown dangers, and as hard escape?
But I should ill become this throne, O Peers,

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Book ii.] PARADISE LOST.^

And this imperial sovranty, adorned

With splendour, armed with power, if aught proposed

And judged of public moment in the shape

Of difficulty or danger, could deter ;

Me from attempting. Wherefore do I assume 450

These royalties, and not refuse to reign.

Refusing to accept as great a share

Of hazard as of honour, due alike

To him who reigns, and so much to him due

Of hazard more as he above the' rest

High honoured sits? Go, therefore, mighty Powers,

Terror of Heaven, though fallen ; intend at home,

While here shall be our home, what best may ease

The present misery, and render Hell

More tolerable; if there be cure or charm 460

To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain

Of this ill mansion : intermit no watch

Against a wakefril foe, while I abroad

Through all the coasts of dark destruction seek

Deliverance for us all. This enterprise

None shall partake with me." Thus saying, rose

The Monarch, and prevented all reply;

Prudent lest, from his resolution raised.

Others among the chief might offer now.

Certain to be refused, what erst they feared, 470

And, so refused, might in opinion stand

His rivals, winning cheap the high repute

Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they

Dreaded not more the adventure than his voice

Forbidding; and at once with him they rose.

Their rising all at once was as the sound

Of thunder heard remote. Toward him they bend

With awful reverence prone, and als a God

Extol him equal to the Highest in Heaven.

Nor failed they to express now much they praised 480

That for the general safety he despised

His own: for neither do the Spirits damned

Lose all their virtue: lest bad nien should boast

Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites,

Or close ambition varnished o'er with zeal.

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark
^ Ended, rejoicing in their matchless Chief:
As, when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds ■ - ''

Ascending, while the North-wind sleeps, o'erspread
Heaven's cheerful face, the louring element 490

Scowls t)'er the darkened landskip snow or shower,
If chance the radiant sun, with terewell sweet,

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72 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii.

Extend his evening beam, the fields j-evive.
The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds
Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings.
*D shame to men! Devil with devil damned
Firm concord hofds ; men only disagree
Of creatures rational, though under hope

Of heavenly grace, and, God proclaiming peace, '

Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife 500

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars
Wasting the earth, each other to destroy:
As if (which might induce us to accord)
Man had not hellish foes enow besides, .

That day and night for his destruction wait!
^ The Stygian council thus dissolved; and forth
In order came the grand Infernal Peers : .
Midst came their mighty Paramount, and seemed
Alone the antagonist 01 Heaven, nor less

Than Hell's dread Emperor, with pomp supreme, 510

And god-like imitated state: him round
A globe of fiery Seraphim enclosed
With bright emblazonry, and horreht arms.
Then of their session ended they bid cry
With trumpet's regal sound the great result:
Toward the four winds four speedy Cherubim
Put to their mouths the sounding alchymy.
By harald's voice explained; the hollow Abyss
Heard far and wide, and all the host of Hell
With deafening shout returned them loud acclaim. 520

Thence more at ease their minds, and somewhat raised
By false presumptuous hope, the ranged Powers
Disband; and, wandering, each his several way
Pursues, as inclination or sad choice
Leads him perplexed, where he may likeliest find
Truce to his restless thoughts, and entertain
The irksome hjQurs, till his great Chief return.
Part on the plain, or in the air sublime.
Upon the wing or in swtft race contend.

As at the Olympian games or Pythian fields; 530

Part curb' their fiery, steeds, or shun the goal
With rapid wheels, or fronted brigads form:
As when, to warn prottd cities, war appears
Waged in the troubled sky, and armies rush '

To battle in the clouds; before each van
Prick forth the aery knights, and douch their spears,
Till thickest legions close.; with feats of arms
From either end of heaven the welkin burns.
Others, with vast Typhoeatx rage, more, fell.

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BooKH.] PARADISE LOST, 73

Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the^r ^40

In whirlwind; Hell scarce holds the wild uproar:— ^

As when Alcides, from CEchalia crowned

With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, arid tore

Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pmes.

And Lichas from the top of CEta threw

Into the Euboic sea. Others, more mild,

Retreated in aisilent valley, sing

With notes angeUcal to many a harp

Their own heroic deeds, and hapless fall <

Sy doom of battle, and complain that Fate 550

~ V Free Virtue shoiuld enthrall to Force or Chance.

Their'song.was p^lial; but the harmony

(What could it less when Spirits immortal sing?)

Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment

The thronging audience. In discourse more:«weet

(For Eloquence the Saul, Song charms the Sense)

Others apart sat on a hill retired, '•

In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high ., :

Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate—* '

Fixed fete, free will, forekiliowledge absolute^—; ;56o

And found no end, in wandering mazes lost* ^ -

Of good and evil much they argued then,

Of happiness and. final misery.

Passion and apathy, and glory and shame:

Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy!— r- .

Yet, with a pleasing sorcery, could charm

Pain for a while or anguish^ and excite

Fallacious hop6, or arm the obdurM breast

With stubborn patience as with triple steeL

Another part, in squadrons and gross bands, 57c

On bold adventure to discover wide

That dismal world, if any dime perhaps

Might yield them easier habitation, bend

Four l^rays their flying march, along the banks :

Of four infernal rivers, that disgorge

Into the burning lake their baleful streams: —

Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate;

Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep; -

Cocytus, named of lamentation loud

Heard on the rueflil stream; fierce Phlegeton^' 580

Whose waves of torrent fire inflame ;with. rage.
• Far off" from these, a slow and silent strewn,

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls

Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks

Forthwith his former state and being forgets Tt-

Forgets both jpy and grief, pleasure and pain.

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74 PARADISE LOST, [Book d.

Beyond this flood a frozen continent '

Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms
Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land
Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems 590

Of ancient pile ; all else deep snow and ice,
A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog
Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old.
Where armies whole have sunk: the parching air
Bums frore, and cold performs the effect of Sre.
Thither, by harpy-footed Furies haled.
At certain revolutions all the damned
Are brought; and feel by turns the bitter cfaaage
Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce,
From beds of raging fire to starve in ice 600

Their soft ether^ warmth, and there \.o pine
Immovable, infixed, and frozen round
Periods of time, — thence hurried back to fire.
They ferry over this Lethean sound
Both to and fro, their sorrow to augment.
And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach
The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose
In sweet forgetfidness all pain and woe.
All in one moment, and so near the brink;
But Fate withstands, and, to oppose the attempt, 610

Medusa with Gorg^onian terror guards
The ford, and of itself the water flies
All taste of living wight, as once it fled
The lip of Tant3us. Thus roving on
In confused march foriom, the adventurous bands.
With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast,
Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found
No rest. Through many a dark and dreary vale
They passed, and many a region dolorous,

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, 620

Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death •^
A universe of death, which God by curse
Created evil, for evil only eood ;
Where all life dies, death fives, and Nature breeds.
Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things,
Abominable, inutterable, and worse
Than fables vet have feigned or fear conceived,
^orgons, and Hydras, and Chimaeras dire.

Meanwhile the Adversary of God and Man, •

Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design, 630

Puts on swift wings, and toward the gates of Hell
Explores his solitary flight: sometimes
He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left;

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BooKfi.] PARADISE LOST. 75

Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars
Up to the fiery concave towering high.
As when far off at sea a fleet descried
Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds
Qose sailing from Bengala, or the isles
Of Temate and Tidore, whence merchants bring
Their spicy drugs; they on the trading flood, 640

Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape,
Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seemed
Far off the flying Fiend. At last appear
Hell-bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof,
And thrice threefold the gates ; three folds were brass.
Three iron, three of adamantine rock.
Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire,
Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat
On either side a formidable Sh^)e.

The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, 650

But ended foul in many a scaly fold.
Voluminous and vast — a serpent armed
With mortal sting. About her middle round
A cry of Hell-hounds never-ceasing barked
With wide Cerbereari mouths full loud, and rung
A hideous peal ; yet, when they list, would creep,
If aught disturbed their noise, into her womb.
And kennel there ; yet there still barked and howled
Within unseen. Far less abhorred than these
Vexed Scylla; bathing in the sea that parts 660

Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore;
Nor uglier follow the night-hag, when, called
In secret, riding throiigh the Sr she comes.
Lured with the smell of infant bloodj to dance
With Lapland witches, while the laboming moon
Eclipses at their charms. The other Shape —
If shape it might be called that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;
Or substance might be called that shadow seemed,
For each seemed either— black it stood as Night, 670

Fierce as ten Furies', terrible as Hell,
And shook a dreadful dart: what seemed his head
The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Satan was now at hand, and from his seat
The monster moving onward came as fast
With horrid strides; Hell trembled as he strode.
The undaunted Fiend what this might be admired—
Admired, not feared (Gk>d and his Son except,
Created thing naught valued he nor shunned),
And with disdainful look thus first began : — 680

"Whence and what ait thou, execrable Shape,

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76 PARADISE LOST. [ElbOK ir.

That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance
Thy miscreated front athwart my way
To yonder gates? Through them 1 mean to pass-,
That be assured, without leave asked of thee.
Retire ; or taste thy folly, and learn by proof.
Hell-bom, not |o contend with Spirits of Heaven."

To whom the Goblin, full of wrath, rep^d : — -
"Art thou that Traitor-Angel, art thou he.

Who first broke peace in Heaven and faith, till then 690

Unbroken, and in proud rebellioiis arms , ;

Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons.
Conjured. agaitist the Highest— -for which both thou
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned
To waste eternal days in wo^ and pain?
And reckon'st thou thyself with Spirits of Heaven,
Hell-doomed, and breath'st defiance here and scorn,
. .Where I reign king,: and, to enrage thee more.
Thy king and lord? Back to thy punishment,
False fiigitive ; and to thy speed add wings, 700

Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart
Strange hoiTor seize thee, and pangs unfelt before."

So spake the. grisly Terror, and m shape.
So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfola
More drea&l and deform. On the other side.
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood

Unterrified, and like a comet burned,

That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge

In the arctic sky, aind fcom his horrid hair 710

Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head

Levelled his deadl)^ aim; their fatal hands

No second stroke intend ; and such a fi'own

Each cast at the other as' when two black clouds,

With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on .

Over the Caspian, — then stand front to front

Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow

To join their dark encounter in mioTair. '

So frowned the mighty conlbatants that Hell i

Grew darker at their fr'own; so matched they stood; . 720

For never but once more was, either like 1

To meet so great a foe- And now great deeds

Had been acnieved, whereof all Hell had rung, • i

Had not the snaky Sorceress; that sat ;

Fast by Hell-gate and kept the fatal key, : '

Risen, and with hideous .outcry > rushed between.

**0 father, what intends thy hand," she cried,
** Against thy only son? Wiiatfury^ O son,
Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart,.

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Book Hi] PARADISE LOST. "77

Against thy father's head? And know'st for whom? 730

For Him who sits above^ and laughs the whil^
At thee, ordained his drudge to execute ,
Whatever his wrath, which He calls justice, bids--r
His wrath, which one day will destroy ye both !."

She spake, and at her words.- the hellish Pest
Forbore: then these to her Satan returned: —

**So strange thy outcry, and thy words so strange
Thou interposest, that my sudden hand,

Prevented, spares to tell, thee yet by deeds ]>

What it intends, tiU first I know ot thee 74c

What thing thou art, thus double-formed,, and why, . :
Ip. this infernal vale first met, thou call's t
Me father, and that, phantasm calPst my son.
I know thee not, nor ever saw till npw
Sight more detestable than him and thee."

To whom thus the Portr^^s of Hell-gate replied : — ,
**Hast thou forgot me, then; and do I seem
Now in thine eyes so foul? — once deemed so fair ,
In Heaven, when at the assembly, and in sight
Of all the Seraphim with thee combined 750

In bold conspLcacy against Jieayen's . King,
All on a sudden miserable pajn;
Surprised thee, dim thine eyes, and diz?y swum
In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast
Threw forth, till on the left side opening wide,
Likest to thee in shape and countenance bright,
Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess armed.
Out of thy head I sprung. Amazement seized j

All the host of Heaven; back they recoiled afraid , ... 1

At first, and called me ^in, and for a sign , 760

Portentous held me; but, ^miliar .grown, . .-

1 1 pleased, and with atti^active graces won
The most averse — thee chiefly,, wjbo, full oft
Thyself in me thy perfect image vie>ying,
Becam'st enamoured;, and. such joy thou took'st
With me in secret that my womb conceived
A growing burden,; Meanwhile war arose,
And fields were fought in Heaven: wherein remained.
(For whjU could else ?) to . our Almighty Foe ,. , i

Clear victory; to our part ioss s^nd rout , . , 770

Through all the Empyrean. Down they fell.
Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down
Into this Deep; "and in the general fiall
I also: at which time this powerful key

Into my hands was givpn,,with charge to keep ; . . ^

These gates for ever shut, which none c^n pass .
Without my opening, Pensiye here J sat . . /

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73 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii.

Alone; but long I sat not, till my womb.

Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown.

Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. ;^8o

At last this odious offspring whom thou seest,

Thine own begotten, breaking violent way.

Tore through my entrails, that, with fear and pain

Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew

Transformed : but he my inbred enemy

Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart.

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

Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed

From all her caves, and back resounded Death!

I fled; but he pursued (though more, it seems, 790

Inflamed with lust than rage), and, swifter £eu*,

Me overtook, his mother, all dismayed.

And, in embraces forcible and foul

Engendering with me, of that rape begot

These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry

Surround me, as thou saw'st — hourly conceived

And hourly bom, with sorrow infinite

To me: for, when they list, into the womb

That bred them they return, and howl, and gnaw

My bowels, their repast; then, bursting forth 800

Afresh, with conscious terrors vex me round,

That rest or intermission none I find.

Before mine eyes in opposition sits

Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on,

And me, his parent, would fiill soon devour

For want of other prey, but that he knows

His end with mine involved, and knows that I

Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane,

Whenever that shall be: so Fate pronounced.

But thou, O fether, I forewarn thee, shun 810

His deadly arrow ; neither vainly hope

To be invulnerable in those bright arms.

Though tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint,

Save He who reigns above, none can resist."

She finished; and the subtle Fiend his lore
Soon learned, now milder, and thus answered smooth :>

"Dear daughter — since thou clmm'st me for thy sire.
And m^ fair son here show^st me, the dear pledge
Of daUiance had with thee in Heaven, and joys
Then sweet, now sad to mention, through aire change 820

Be£cdlen us unforeseen, unthoi^ht-of — know,
I come no enemy, but to set See
From out this dark and dismal house of pain
Both him and thee, and all the Heavenly host
Of Spirits that, in our just pretences armed.

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Book ii.] PARADISE LOST, 7$

Fell with us from on high. From them I go

This uncouth errand sole, and one for all

Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread

The unfounded Deep, and through the void immense

To search, with wandering quest, a place foretold 830

Should be — and, by concurring signs, ere now .

Created vast and round — a place of bliss

In the purlieus of Heaven; and therein placed

A race of upstart creatures, to supply

Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed,

Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude,

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

Than this more secret, now designed, I haste

To know; and, this once known, shall soon return,

And bring ye to the place where thou and Death 840

Shall dw3l at ease, and up and down unseen

Wing silently the buxom zxx, embalmed

With odours. There ye shall be fed and filled

Immeasurably; all things shall be yoin* prey."

He ceased; for both seemed highlv pleased, and Death
Grinned horrible a ehastly smile, to near
His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw
Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced
His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire^ —

** The key of this infernal Pit, by due 850

And by command of Heaven's aJl-powerfui King,
I keep, by Him forbidden to unlock
These adamantine gates; against all force
Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
Fearless to be o'ermatched by living might.
But what owe I to His commands above.
Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down
Into this ffloom of Tartarus profound.
To sit in hateful office here confined,

Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly-bom — 860

Here in perpetual agony and pain,
With terrors and with clamours compassed round
Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed?
Thou art my fether, thou my author, thou
My being gav'st me; whom should I obey
But thee ? whom follow ? Thou wilt bring me soon
, To that new world of light and bliss, amon^
The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign
At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems
Thy daughter and thy darling, without end.'** 870

Thus saying, from her side the fatal key.
Sad instrument of all our woe, she took ;
And, towards the gate rolling her bestial train.

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(80 PARADISE LOST, [Book ii.

Forthwith the huge portcailis high up-drewi
Which, but herself, not all the Stygian Powers •

Could once have moved ; then in the key^hole turns
The intricate wards, and every bolt and bar
Of massy iron or solid rock with ease '

Unfastens. On a sudden open fiy.

With impetuous recoil and jarring sounds 88c

The infernal dodrs, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder, that the lowest botton> shook
Of Erebus. She opened; but to shut , :

Excelled her power: the gates wide open stood.
That with extended wings a bannered host.
Under spread ensigns marching, might pass- through
With horse 'and chariots ranked in loose array; !

xj\J%o wide they 'stood, and like a furnace-mouth '

Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame.
Before their eyes in sudden view appear ' : '89c

The secrets of the hoary Deep -^ a dark
Illimitable ocean, without bound.

Without dimension; where length, breadth* and highth, '<
And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night
And Chaos, ancestors 6f Nature, hold ;

Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand:.
For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce,
Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring ' ' .

Their embryon atoms: they around the flag ^o

Of each his fection, in their several clans,
Light-armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow, '
Swarm populous, unnumbered as the sands •

Of Barca or Cyrene's , torrid soil.
Levied to side with warring winds, and poise
Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere
He rules a moment : Chaos umpire sits, i

And by decision more embroils the fray
By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter.
Chance governs all. Into this wild Abyss," 910

The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave.
Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire, i

But all these in their pregnant causes mixed
Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight.
Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain
His dark materials to create more worlds-^ ' •
Into this wild Abyss the .wary Fiend '
Stood on the briilk of .Hell and looked a while,
Pondering his voyage; foo: no narrow frith

He had to cross. Nor. was his ear less pealed 920

With noises loud and ruinous (to .compare ;

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Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 8i

Great things with small) than when Bellona storms

With all her battering engines, bent to rase

Some capital city ; or less than if this frame

Of heaven were falling, and these elements

In mutiny had from her axle torn

The steadfast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans

He spreads for flight, and, in the surging smoke

Uphfted, spurns the ground; thence many a league,

As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides 930

Audacious; but, that seat soon failing, meets

A vast vacuity. All unawares.

Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb-down he drops

Ten thousand faithom deep, and to this hour

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

The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud.

Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him

As many miles aloft. That fiiry stayed —

Quenched in a boffgy Syrtis, neither sea.

Nor good dry land — nigh foundered, on he fares, 940

Treading the crude consistence, half on foot.

Half flying ; behoves him now both oar and sail.

As when a gryphon through the wilderness

With wingM course, o'er hill or moory dale.

Pursues the Arimaspiari, who by stealth

Had from his wakeful custody purloined

The guarded gold; so eagerly the Fiend

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

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

And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies. 950

At length a universal hubbub wild

Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused.

Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear

With loudest vehemence. Thither he plies

Undaunted, to meet there whatever Power

Or Spirit of the nethermost Abyss

Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask

Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies

Bordering on light; when straight behold the throne

Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 960

Wide on the wasteful Deep! With him enthroned

Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things.

The consort of his reign; and by them stood

Orcus and Ades, and the. dreaded name

Of Demogorgon ; Rumour next, and Chance,

And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled,

And Discord with a thbusand various mouths.

To whom Satan, turning boldly, thus: — ** Ye Powers
And Spirits of this nethermost Abyss,

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82 PARADISE LOST. [Book n.

Chaos" and ancient Night, I come no spy 970

With purpose to explore or to disturb

The secrets of your realm ; but, by constraint

Wandering this darksome desert, as my way

Lies through your spacious empire up to light,

Alone and without guide, half lost, I seek.

What readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds ^

Confine with Heaven ; or, if some other place,

From your dominion won, the Ethereal King '

Possesses lately, thither to arrive ■

I travel this profound. Direct my course : 980

Directed, no mean recompense it brings

To your behoof, if I that region lost.

All usurpation thence expelled, reduce

To her original darkness and your sway

(Which is my present journey), and once more

Erect the standard there of ancient Night.

Yours be the advantage all, mine the revenge!"

Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old,
With ficdtering speech and visage incomposed.
Answered: — "I know thee, stranger, who thou art— 990

That mighty leading Angel, who of late
Made head against Heaven's King, though overthrown
I saw and heard; for such a numerous host
Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep,
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout.
Confusion worse confounded; and Heaven-gates
Poured out by millions her victorious bands.
Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here
Keep residence ; if all I can will serve

That little which is left so to defend. 1 000

Encroached on still through our intestine broils
Weakening the sceptre of old Night : first, Hell,
Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath;
Now lately Heaven and Earth, another world .
Hunff o'er my realm, linked in a golden chain
To that side Heaven from whence your legions fell!
If that way be your waUc, you have not iax ;
So much the nearer danger. Go, and speed;
Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain."

He ceased; and Satan staid not to reply, 1 010

But, glad that now his sea should find a shore,
With fresh alacrity and force renewed
Springs upward, like a pyramid of fire.
Into the wild expanse, and through the shock
Of fighting elements, on all sides round
Environed, wins his way; harder beset
And more endangered than when Argo passed

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Book n.] PARADISE LOST. 83

Through Bosporus betwixt the justling rocks.
Or when Ulysses on the larboard shunned

Charybdis, and by the other Whirlpool steered. 1020

So he with difficulty and labour hard
Moved on. With difficulty and labour he;
But, he once passed, soon after, when .Man fell,
Strange alteration! Sin and Death amain,
Following his track (such was the will pf Heaven)
Paved after him a broad and beaten way ■
Over the dark Abyss, whose boiling gulf
Tamely endured a bridge of wondrous length,
From Hell continued, reaching the ubnost Orb
' Of this frail World ; by which the Spirits perverse 1030

With easy intercourse pass to and fro
To tempt or punish mortals, except whom
God and good Angels guard by special grace.

But rtow at last the sacred influence
Of light appears, and from the walls of Heaven
Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night
A glimmering dawn Here Nature fiSt begins
Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire.
As from her outmost works, a broken foe.

With tumult less and with less hostile din: 1 040

That Satan with less toil, and now with ease,
Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light,
And, like a weather-beaten vessel, holds
Gladly the port, though shrouds and tackle torn;
Or in the emptier waste, resembling air,
Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold
Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wide
In circuit, undetermined square of round.
With opal towers and battlements adorned

Of living sapphire, once his native seat, I050

And, £ast by, haneing in a golden chain.
This pendent Wond, in bigness as a star
Of smallest magnitude dose by the moon.

Thither, full ftaught with mischievous revenge, ^

Accurst, and in a cursed hour, he hies.

THB END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK 111.

THE ARGUMENT.

God, sitting on his throne, sees Satan flying towaras this World, then newly created;
shows him to the Son, who sat at his ri^ht hand ; foretells the success of Satan in perverting
mankind; clears his own justice and wisdom from aill imputation, having created Man^ free,
and able enough to have withstood his Tempter; yet declares his purpose of grace towards
him, in regard he fell not of his own malice, as did Satan, but by him seducedT The S<vi of
■God renders praises to his Father for the tnanifestation of his gracious purpose towards Man:
but God asain declares that grace cannot be extended towards Man without the. satisfaction
of Divine Justice; Man hath offended the majesty of God by aspiring to Godhead, and there-
fore, with all his pro^^eny, devoted to death, must die, unless some one can be found Suffi-
cient to answer for his offence, and undergo his punishment. The Son of God freely offers
himself a ransom for Man: the Fiither accepts him, ordains his incarnation, pronounces
his exaltation above all names in Heaven and Earth; commands all the Angels to adore
him. They obey, and, hymning to their harps in full quire, celebrate the Father and the Son.
Meanwhile Satan alights upon the bare convex of this World's outermost orb; where wander-
ing he first fii\ds a pTac^ since x:alloi the Limbo of Vanity: what persons and thin^ fly up
thither; thence comes to the gate of Heaven, described ascending by stairs, arid the waters
above the firmament that flow about it. His passage thence to* the orb of the Sun! he finds
there Uriel, the regent of that orb, but first changes ^imself into the shape of a meaner
Angel, and, pretending a zealous desire to behold the new Creation, and Man whom God
had placed here, inquires of him the place of his habitation, and is directed: Alights first on
Mount Niphates.

HAIL, holy Light,, offspring ol Heaven first-born!,
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed? since God i& light,
And never but in unapproach^d light
Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee, i

Bright effluence of bright essence increate!
Orliear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream.
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun,
Before the Heavens, thou wert. and at the voice
Of God, as, with a mantle, didst invest lo

The rising World of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless Infinite!
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing.
Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight,

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BOOK III.] PARADISE LOST. 85

Through utter and through middle Darkness borne,

With other notes than to the Orphean lyre

I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,

Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down

The dark descent, ^d up to re-ascend, 20

Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe.

And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou

Re visit 'st not these eyes, that roll in vain

To find thy piei'dng ray, and find no dawn;

So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs.

Or dim suffusion Veiled. Yet not the more

Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt

Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,

Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief

Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 30

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,

Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget

Those other two equalled with me in fate.

So were I equalled with them in renown.

Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides,

And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old:

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move

Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird

Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid.

Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 40

Seasons return; but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet approach of even or mom

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rdse^

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;

But cloud instead and everKiuring dark

Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men

Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair.

Presented with a universal blank

Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased.

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 50

So much the rather thou. Celestial Light,

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers

Irradiate; there plant eyes; all mist from thence

Purge aiid disperse, that I may see and tell

Of things invisible to mortal sight.

Now had the Almighty Father from above.
From the pure Empyrean where He sits '

High throned above all highth, bent down his eye,
His own works and their works at once to view :
About him all the Sanctities of Heaven 60

Stood thick as stars, and from his sight received
Beatitude past utterance ; on his right

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86 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi.

The radiant image of his glory sat,

His only Son. On Earth he first beheld

Our two first parents, yet the only two

Of mankind, in the Happy Garden placed,

Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, ,

Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love.

In blissful solitude. He then surveyed

Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there 70

Coasting the wall of Heaven on this side Night,

In the dun air sublime, and ready now

To stoop, with wearied wings and willing feet,

, On the Dare outside of this World, that seemed

Firm land imbosomed without firmament.

Uncertain which, in ocean or in air.

Him God beholding from his prospect high,

Wherein past, present, future, he beholds,

Thus to His only Son foreseeing spake: —
** Only-begotten Son, seest thou what rage 80

Transports our Adversary? whom no bounds

Prescribed, no bars of Hell, nor all the chains

Heaped on him there, lior yet the main Abyss

Wide interrupt, can hold; so bent he seems

On desperate revenge, that shall redound

Upon his own rebellious head. And now,
. Through all restraint broke loose, he wings his way

Not far off Heaven, in the precincts of light,

Directly towards the new-created World,

And Man there placed, with purpose to assay 90

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

By some false guile pervert: And shall pervert;

For Man will hearken to his glozing lies.

And easily transgress the sole command.

Sole pledge of his obedience : so will fall

He and his faithless progeny. Whose fault?
' .Whose but his own? Ingrate, he had of me

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

Sufficient to have stood, though free to fjEdl.

Such I created all the Ethereal Powers 100

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

Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell.

Not free, what proof could they have given sincere

Of true allegiance, constant faiith, or love.

Where only what they needs must do appeared.

Not what they would? What praise could they receive,
' What pleasure I, from such obedience paid.

When Will and Reason f Reason also is Choice),

Useless and vain, of freeaom both despoiled,

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Book III.] PARADISE LOST. 87

Made passive both, had served Necessity, ,110

Not Me? They, therefore, as to right belonged

So were created, nor can justly accuse

Their Maker, or their making, or their fete.

As if Predestination overruled

Their will, disposed by absolute decree

Or high foreknowledge. They themselves decreed

Their own revolt, not I. If I foreknew, .

Foreknowledge had no influence on their feult.

Which had no less proved certain unforeknown.

So without least impulse or shadow of fate, 120

Or aught by me immutably foreseen, ^

They trespass, authors to themselves in all,

Both what they judge and what they choose ; for so

I formed them free, and free they must remain

Till they enthrall themselves: I else must change

Their nature, and revoke the high decree

Unchangeable, eternal, which ordained

Their freedom ; they themselves ordained their fell.

The first sort by their own suggestion fell.

Self-tempted, self-depraved; Man falls, deceived 130

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

The other, none. In mercy and justice both,

Through Heaven and Earth, so shall my glory excel;

But mercy, first and l^st, shall brightest shine.''

Thus while God spake ambrosial fragrance filled
All Heaven, and in the blessed Spirits elect
Sense of new joy ineffable diflRised.
Beyond compare the Son of God was seen
Most glorious; in him all his Father shone

Substantially expressed; and in his face • I40

Divine compassion visibly appeared.
Love without end, and without measure grace;
Which uttering, thus He to his Father spake: —

**0 Father, gracious was that word which closed
Thy sovran sentence, that Man should find grace:
For which both Heaven and Earth shall high extol
Thy praises, with the innumerable sound
Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne
Encompassed shall resound thee ever blest.

For, should Man finally be lost — should Man, 150

Thy creature late so loved, thy youngest son.
Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though joined

With his own folly ! That be from thee fer,

That far be from thee. Father, who art judge
Of all things made, and judgest only right!
Or shall the Adversary thus obtain

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88 PARADISE LOST, [Book la

. His end, and frustrate thine ? shall he fulfil

His malice, and thy goodness bring to naught

Or proud return, though to his heavier doom.

Yet with revenge accomplished, and to Hell i6o

Draw after him the whole race of mankind.

By him corrupted? Or wilt thou thyself

Abolish thy creation, and unmake.

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

So should thy goodness and thy greatness both

Be questioned and blasphemed without defence."
To whom the great -Creator thus replied: —

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

Son of my bosom. Son who art alone

My word, my wisdom, and effectual might, 170

AU hast thou spoken as mv thoughts are, all

As my eternal purpose hatn decreed.

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

Yet not of will in him, but grace in me

Freely vouchsafed. Once more I will renew

His lapsed powers, though forfeit, and enthralled

By sin to foul exorbitant desires:

Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand

On even ground against his mortal foe —

By me upheld, that he may know how frail 180

His fallen condition is, and to me owe

All his deliverance, and to none but me.

Some I have chosen of peculiar grace.

Elect above the rest; so is my will:

The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warned

Their sinful state, and to appease betimes
, The incensM Deity, whUe offered grace

Invites; for I will clear their senses dark

What may suffice, and soften stony hearts

To pray, repent, and bring obedience due. 190

To prayer, repentance, and obedience due,

Though but endeavoured with sincere intent.

Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut.

And I will place within them as a guide

My umpire Conscience ; whom if they will hear,

Light after light well used they shall attain.

And to the end persisting safe arrive.

This my long suffrance, and my day of grace.

They who neglect and scorn shall never taste;

But hard be hardened, blind be blinded more, ^00

That they may stumble on, and deeper fall;

And none but such from mercy I exclude.

But yet all is not done. ' Man disobeying,

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Book hi.] /W^AZ>/S£: WST* 89

Disloyal, breaks his fealty, ai>d sing

A^inst the high supremacy pf Heaven,

ASectinjg Godhead, and, so losing all,

To expiate his treason hath naught left.

But, to destruction sacred and devote,

He with his whole posterity must die; —

Die he or Justice must; unless for him 210

Some other, able, and as willing, pay

The rigid satisfaction, death for death.

Say, Heavenly Powers, where shall we find suqh love?

Wnic*h of ye will b^ mortal, to redeem

Man's mortal crime, and just, the unjust to save?

Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear?"

He asked, but all the Heavenly Quire stood mute,
And silence was in Heayen: on Man's behalf
Patron or intercessor none appeared —

Much less that durst upon his own head draw 2(io

The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set.
And now without redemption all mankind
Must have been lost, adjudged to Death and Hell
By doom severe, had not the Son of God,
In whom the fulness dwells of love diviAe,
His dearest mediation thus renewed: —

** Father, thy word is passed, Man shall find grace;
And shall Grace not find means, that finds her way,
The speediest of : thy winged messengers.

To visit all thy creajtures, and tp all 230

Comes unprevented, unimploi:e4, unsought?
Happy for Man, so comine! He her aid
Gan never seek, once dead in sins and lost rr
Atonement for himself, .or offering meet.
Indebted and imdone, hath Ojone to bring.
Behold me^ then: me for him, life for life,,.
I offer; on me let thine anger fall;
Account me Man: I for his sake will leave .

Thy bosom, and this glory pext to thee

Freely put off, and for him lastly die 240

Well pleased ; on me let Death wresdc all his rage.
Under his gloomy power I shall not long,
lie vanquished. Thou hast given me to possess
Life in myself for ever; by thee I liye;
Though now to Death I yield, and am his due, , ,
All that of me can die, yet, that debt paid,
Thou wilt not leave me in thp loathsome grave
His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul

For ever with corruption there to, dwell ; : ,

But I shall rise victorious, and subdue ^50

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o PARADISE LOST. [Book hi.

My vaiKjuisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil.

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

Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed ;

I through the ample air in tnumph high

Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show

The powers of Darkness bound. Thou, at the sight

Pleased, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile,

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

Death last, and with his carcase glut the grave;

Then, with the multitude of my redeemed, 260

Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return,

Father, to see thy iface, wherein no cloud

Of anger shall remain, but peace assured

And reconcilement: wrath shall be no more

Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire."

His words here ended; but his meek aspect
Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love
To mortal men, above which only shone
Filial obedience: as a sacrifice

Glad to be offered, he attends the will 270

Of his great Father. Admiration seized
All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend,
Wondering; but soon the Almighty thus replied:—^

**0 thou in Heaven and Earth the only peace
Found out for mankind under wrath, O thou
My sole complacence! well thou know'st how dear
To me are all my works; nor Man the least,
Though last created, that for him I spare
Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save,
By losing thee a while, the whole race lost! 280

Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem.
Their nature also to thy nature join;
And be thyself Man among men on Earth,
Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed.
By wondrous birth ; be thou in Adam's room
The head of all mankind, though Adam's son.
As in him perish all men, so in thee.
As from a second root, shall be restored
As many as are restored; without thee, none.
His crime makes guilty all his sons; thy merit, 290

Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce
Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds,
And live in thee transplanted, and from thee
Receive new life. So Man, as is most just.
Shall satisfy for Man, be judged and die.
And dying rise, and, rising, with him raise
His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life.

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So Heavenly love shall outdo Hellish hate,
Giving to death, and dying to redeem.

So dearly to redeem what Hellish hate 300

So easily destroyed, and still destroys
In those who, when they may, accept not grace.
Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume
Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own.
Because thou hast, though throned in highest bliss
Equal to God, and equdly enjoying
God-like fruition, quitted all to save
A world from utter loss, and hast been found
By merit more than birthright Son of God, —
Found worthiest to be so by being good, 310

Far more than great or high; because in thee
Love hath abounded more than glory abounds;
Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt
With thee thy manhood also to this throne:
Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reign
Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man,
Anointed universal King. All power
I give thee; reien for ever, and assume
Thy merits; under thee, as Head Supreme,

Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions, I reduce: 320

All knees to thee shall bow of them that bide
In Heaven, or Earth, or, under Earth, in Hell.
When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven,
Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send
The summoning Archangels to proclaim
Thy dread tribunal, forthwith from all winds
The living, and forthwith the cited dead
Of all past ages, to the general doom
Shall hasten ; such a pe^ shall rouse their sleep.
Then, all thy Saints assembled, thou shalt judge 330

Bad men and Angels; they arraigned shall sink
Beneath thy sentence; Hell, her numbers full,
Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Meanwhile
The World shall burn, and from her ashes spring
New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell,
And, after all their tribulations long,
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds.
With Joy and Love triumphmfi;, and fair Truth.
Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by;

For regal sceptre then no more shall need ; 340

God shall be all in all. But all ye Gods,
Adore him who, to compass all this, dies ;
Adore the Son, and honour him as me.''
No sooner had the Almighty ceased but — all

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The multitude of Angels, with a shout '
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet ,
' As from blest voices, uttering joy — ^Heaven ruhg '
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled •
The eternal regions. Lowly reverent

Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground 350

With solemn adoration down they cast
Their crowns, inwove with amarant and gold, —
Immortal amarant, a flower which once
In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life,
Began to bloom, but, soon for Man's offence
To Heaven removed where first it grew, there grows
And flowers aloft, shading the Fount of Life,
And where the River of Bliss through midst of Heaven
Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream!
With these, that never fade, the Spirits elect 360

Bind their resplendent locks, in wreathed with beams.
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright • '

Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone,
Impurpled with celestial roses smiled.
Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took —
Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side
Like quivers hung ; and with preamble sweet :

Of charming symphony they introduce
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high r
No voice exempt, no voice but well cbuld join 370

Melodious part; such concord is in Heaven.
Thee, Father, first they sung, Omnipotent,
Immutable, Immortal, Infinite,
Eternal King ; thee, Author of all being.
Fountain of light, thyself invisible
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sitt'st
■ Throned inaccessible, but when thou shad'st •

The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud
Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine
Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, ^80

Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest Seraphim • "

Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes.
Thee next they sang, of all creation first,
Begotten Son, Divine Similitude,
In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud
Made visible, the Almighty Father shines.
Whom else no creature can behold: on thee
Impressed the effulgence of his glory abides;
Transfused on thee his ample Spirit rests.

He Heaven of Heavens^ and all the Powers therein, 390

By thee created; and by thee threw dt)wn

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Book hi.] PARADISE LOST, 93

The aspiring Dominations ; Thou that day
• Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare.

Nor stop thy flartiihg thariot-wheels, that shook

Heaven's everlasting frame, while oPer the necks

Thou drov'st of warring Angels disarrayed.

Back from pursuit,' thy Powers with loud acclaim

Thee only extolled. Son of thy Father's might.

To execute fierce vengeance on his foes.

Not so on Man: him, thtough their malice fallen, 400

Father of mercy and grice, thou didst not doom

So strictly, but much xatst^ to pity incline.

No sooner did thy dear and only Son

Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail Man

So strictly, but much more to pity inclined.

He, to appease thy wrath, and end the strife

Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned.

Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat

Second to thee, offered himself to die

For Man's offence. O unexampled love! 4.1 o

Love nowhere to be found less than Divine!

Hail, Son of God, Saviour of men! Thy name

Shall be the copious matter of my song

Henceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise *

Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin!
Thus they in Heaven, above the Starry Sphere,

Their happy hours In joy and hymning spent.

Meanwhile, upon the fitin ppacous globe '.

Of this round World, whose first convex divides .

The luminous inferior Orbs, encloised 420

From Chaos and thfe inroad of Darkness old, *

Satan alighted walks » A globe f^r off

It seemed; now seems a boUiidless continent, '

Dark, waste, and wild, under the fi*6wn of Night

Starless exposed, and ever-threateMng storms

Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky, : •

Save on that side which fi*6m the wall of Heaven,

Though distant far, some sn*all reflection gainfe '

Of glimmering air less vexed with temp6st loud. '

Here walked the Fiend at large in spacious field. 430

As when a vulture, on Imaus bred,

Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds,
' iDislodging from a region scarce of prey.

To gorge the flesh of ' lambs or yeanling kids

On hills where^ flocks are fed, fiieS toward the springs

Of Ganges or Hydaipes, Indian streams.

But in his way lights on the barren plains

Of Sericana, where Chineses drive

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94 PARADISE LOST. [Book in.

With sails and wind their cany waggons Hght;
So, on this windy sea of land, the Fiend 440

Walked up and down alone, bent on his prey:
- Alone, for other creature in this place,
Living or lifeless, to be found was nonejv —
None yet ; but store hereafter from the Earth
Up hither like aerial vapours flew
Of all things transitory and vain, when sin
With vanity had filled the works of men —
Both all things vain, and all who in vain things
Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame.
Or happiness in this or the other life. 450

All who have their reward on earth, the fruits
Of painful superstition and blind zeal,
Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find
Fit retribution, empty as their deeds;
All the unaccomplished works of Nature's hand,
Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixed.
Dissolved on Earth, fleet hither, and in vain.
Till final dissolution, wander here —
Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamed:
Those argent fields more likely habitants, 460

Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold,
Betwixt the angelical and human kind.
Hither, of ill-joined sons and daughters born.
First from the ancient world those Giants came.
With many a vain exploit, though then renowned:
The builders next of Babel on the plain
Of Sennaar, and still with vain design
* New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build:
Others came single; he who, to be deemed

A god, leaped fondly into iEtna flames, . 470

Empedocles; and he who, to enjoy
Plato's Elysium, leaped into the sea,
Cleombrotus; and many more, too long,
Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars.
White, black, and grev, with all their trumpery.
Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek
In Golgotha him dead who lives in Heaven;
And they who, to be sure of Paradise,
Dying put on the weeds of Dominic,

Or in Franciscan think to pass disguised. 480

They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed,
And that crystsdline sphere whose balance weig^
The trepidation talked, and that first moved;
And now Saint Peter at Heaven's wicket seems
To wait them with his keys, and now at foot

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Book hi.] PARADISE LOST, 9S

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

A violent cross wind from either coast

Blows them transverse, ten thousand leagues awry.

Into the devious air. Then might ye see

Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost 490

And fluttered into rags; then reliques, beads,

Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls.

The sport of winds : all these, upwhirled aloft,

Fly o'er the backside of the World far off

Into a Limbo large and broad, since called

The Paradise of Fools ; to few unknown

Long after, now unpeopled and untrod.

AU this dark globe the Fiend found as he passed;
And lon^; he wandered, till at last a gleam

Of dawning light turned thitherward in haste 500

His travelled steps. Far distant he descries.
Ascending by degrees magnificent
Up to the wall of Heaven, a structure high;
At top whereof, but feir more rich, appeared
The work as of a kingly palace-gate.
With frontispiece of diamond and gold
Embellished; thick with sparkling orient gems
The portal shone, inimitable on Earth
By model, or by shading pencil drawn.

The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw 510

Angels ascending and descending, bands
Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled
To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz
Dreaming by night under the open sky.
And waung cried, This is the gate of Heaven.
Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood
There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes
Viewless; and underneath a bright sea flowed
Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon

Who after came from Earth sailing arrived 520

Wafted by Angels, or flew o'er the lake
Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds.
The stairs were then let down, whether to dare
The Fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate
His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss:
Directagainst which opened from beneath.
Just o'er the blissftil seat of Paradise,
A passage down to the Earth' — a passage wide;
Wider by far than that of after-times

Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large, 53^

Over the Promised Land to God so dear.
By which, to visit oft those happy tribes.

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96 PARADISE LOST. [Book in.

On high behests his Angels to and fro ■
Passed frequent, and his eve with choice regard
From Paneas, the fount of Jordan's flood.
To Beersaba, where the Holy Land . .

Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore.
So wide the opening seemed, where bounds were set
To darkness, such as bound the ocean waye.
Satan from hence, now on the lower stair^ 540

That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven-gate^
Looks down with wonder at the sudden view
Of all this World at once. As when a scout, . .

Through dark and desert ways with peril gone
All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn , ,

Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill.
Which to his e^e discovers unaware
The goodly prospect of some foreign land
First seen, or some renowned metropolis

With glistering spires and pinnacles adorned^ 550

Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams ;
Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen.
The Spirit malign, but much more envy seized.
At sight of all this World beheld so fair-
Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood s
So high above the cfrcling canopy
Of Night's extended shade) from eastern point
Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears
Andromeda far off" Atlantic seas

Beyond the horizon; then from pole to pole , 560

He views in breadth, — and, without longer pause,
Down right into the World's first region throws
His flight precipitant, and winds with ease
Through the pure marble air his oblique way
Amongst innumerable stars, that shone ,

Stars distant, but nigh-hand seemed other worlds.
Or other worlds they seemed, or happy isles, , , ,

Like those Hesperian Gardens famed of old.
Fortunate fields, and groves, and ftowery vales; 1

Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy there 570

He staid not to inquire: above them all 1

The golden Sun, in splendour likest Heaven,
Allured his eye. Thither his course he bends, ■ . . ^

Through the calm firmament ; (but up or down, ;

By centre or eccentric, hard to tell,
Or longitude) where the ^eat luminary,
Aloof the vulgar constellations thick, ^

That from his lordly eye keep distance due.
Dispenses light from far. They, as they move

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Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 97

Their starry dance in numbers that compute 580

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

Turn swift their vanous motions, or are turned

By his magnetic beam, that gently warms

The Universe, and to each inward part

With gentle penetration, though unseen.

Shoots invisible virtue even to the Deep;

So wondrously was set his station bright.

There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perh^tps

Astronomer in the Sun's lucent orb

Through his glazed optic tube yet never saw. 590

The place he found beyond expression bright.

Compared with aught on Earth, metal or stone —

Not all parts like, but all alike informed

With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire.

If metal, part seemed gold, part silver ^lear ;

If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite.

Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone

In Aaron's breast-f)late, and a stone besides,

Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen —

That stone, or like to that, which here below 5oo

Philosophers in vain so long have sought;

In vain, though by their powerful art they bind

Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound

In various shapes old Proteus from the sea, . ,

Drained through a limbec to his native form.

What wonder then if fields and regions here

Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run

Potable gold, when, with one virtuous touch.

The arch-chemic Sun, so far from us remote.

Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed, 610

Here in the dark so many precious things

Of colour glorious and enect so rare ?

Here matter new to gaze the Devil met

Undazzled. Far and wide his ey^ commands;

For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade.

But all sunshine, as when his beams at noon

Culminate from the equator, as they now

Shot upward still direct, whence no way round

Shadow from body opaque can fall; and the air,

Nowhere so clear, sharpened hb visual ray 620

To objects distant far, whereby he soon

Saw within ken a glorious Angel stand, ,

The same whom John saw also in the Sun.

His back was turned, but not his brightness hid ;

Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar

Circled his head, nor less his locks behind

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98 PARADISE LOST. [Book in.

Illustrious on his shoulders fledge with wings

Lay waving round: on some great charge employed

He seemed, or fixed in cogitation deep.

Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope 630

To find who might direct his wandering flight

To Paradise, the happy seat of Man,

His journey's end, and our beginning woe.

But first he casts to change his proper shape,

Which else might work him danger or delay:

And now a stnpling Cherub he appears,

Not of the prime, yet such as in his fece

Youth smiled celestial, and to every limb

Suitable grace diffused ; so well he feigned.

Under a coronet his flowing hair 640

In curls on either cheek played ; wings he wore

Of many a coloured plume sprinkled with gold,

His habit fit for speed succinct, and held

Before his decent steps a silver wand.

He drew not nigh unheard; the Angel bright,

Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turned,

.^idmonished by his ear, and straight was known

The Archangel Uriel — one of the seven

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

Stand ready at command, and are his eyes 650

That run through all the Heavens, or down to the Earth

Bear his swift errands over moist and dry,

O'er sea and land. Him Satan thus accosts : —

** Uriel! for thou of those seven Spirits that stand
In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright.
The Srst art wont his great authentic will
Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring.
Where all his Sons thy embassy attend.
And here art likeliest by supreme decree

Like honour to obtain, and as his eye 660

To visit oft this new Creation round —
Unspeakable desire to see and know
All these his wondrous works, but chiefly Man,
His chief delight and favour, him for whom
All these his works so wondrous he ordained.
Hath brought me from the quires of Cherubim
Alone thus wandering. Brightest Seraph, tell
In which of all these shining orbs hath Man
His fixM seat — or fix^d seat hath none.

But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell — 670

That I may find him, and with secret gaze
Or open admiration him behold
On whom the great Creator hath bestowed

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Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 99

Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces poured;

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

The Universal Maker we may praise ;

Who justly hath driven out his rebel foes

To deepest Hell, and, to repair that loss.

Created this new happy race of Men

To serve him better: Wise are all his ways!" 680

So spake the false dissembler unperceived;
For neither man nor aneel can discern
Hypocrisy — the only evil that walks
Invisible, except to God alone.
By his permissive will, through Heaven and Earth;
And oft, though Wisdom wake. Suspicion sleeps
At Wisdom's gate, and to Simplicity
Resigns her charge, while Goodness thinks no ill
Where no ill seems: which now for once beguiled
Uriel, though Regent of the Sun, and held 690

The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven ;
Who to the fiaudulent impostor foul.
In his uprightness, answer thus returned : —

**Fair Angel, thy desire, which tends to know
The works of God, thereby to glorify
The great Work-master, leads to no excess
That reaches blame, but rather merits praise
The more it seems excess, that led thee hither
From thy empyreal mansion thus alone.

To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps, 700

Contented with report, hear only in Heaven:
For wonderful indeed are all his works.
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all
Had in remembrance always with delight!
But what created mind can comprehend
Their number, or the wisdom infinite
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep?
I saw when, at his word, the formless mass.
This World's material mould, came to a heap:
Confusion heard his voice, and wild Uproar 710

Stood ruled, stood vast Infinitude confined;
Till, at his second bidding. Darkness fled.
Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.
Swift to their several quarters hasted then
The cumbrous elements — Earth, Flood, Air, Fire;
And this ethereal quintessence of Heaven
Flew upward, spirited with various forms.
That rolled orbicular, and turned to stars
Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move:
Each had his place appointed, each his course; 720

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The rest in circuit walls this Universe.

Look downward on that globe, whose hither side

With light from hence, though but reflected, shines:

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

His day, which else, as the other hemisphere,

J^ight would invade; but there the neighbouring Moon

(So call that opposite fair star) her aid

Timely interposes, and, her monthly round

Still ending, still renewing, through mid-heaven.

With borrowed light her countenance triform 730

Hence fills and empties, to enlighten the Earth,

And in her pale dominion checks the night.

That spot to which I point is Paradise,

Adam's abode; those lofty shades his bower.

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

Thus said, he turned; and Satan, bowing low,
As to superior Spirits is wont in Heaven, '

Where honour due and reverence none neglects, .

Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath,
Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success, 740

Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel.
Nor staid till on Niphates' top he lights.

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK IV.

THE ARGUMENT.

Satan, now in prospect of Eden, and nigh the place where he must now attempt the bold
enterprise which he undertook alone against God and Man, falls into many doubts with
himself, and many passions — fear, envy, and despair; but at length confirms himself in evil;
journeys on to Paradise, whose outwaid prospect and situation is described; overleaps the
bounds; sits, in the shape of a cormorant, on the Tree of Life, as highest in the Gatlden,
to look about him. The Garden described; Satan's first sight of Adam and Eve; his wonder
at their excellent form and happy state, but with resolution to work their fall; overhears their
discourse; thence gathers that tlie Tree of Knowledge was forbidden them to eat of under
penalty of death, and thereon intends to found his temptation by seducing them to tran^r^ss ;
then leaves them a while, to know further of their state by some other means. Meanwhile
Uriel, descending on a sunbeam, warns Gabriel, who had in charge the gate of Paradise, that
some evil Spirit had escaped the Deep, and passed at noon by his Sphere, in the shape of a
good Angel, down to Paradise, discovered after by his furious gestures in the mount. Gabriel
promises to find him ere morning. Night coming on, Adam and Eve discourse of going to
their rest: their bower described ; their evening worship. Gabriel, drawing forth his bands
of nieht-watch to walk the rounds of Paradise, appoints two strong Angels to ^darn's bower,
lest we evil Spirit should be there doing some harm to Adam or Eve sleeping: there they find
him at the ear of Eve, tempting her in a dream, and bring him, though unwilling, to Gabriel;
by whom questioned, he scornfully answers; prepares, resistance; but, hindered by a sign
from Heaven, flies out of Paradise. '

OFOR that warning voice, which he who saw
The Apocalypse heard cry in Hjeaven aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to second rout.
Came ftirious down to be revenged on men,
Woe to the inhabitants on Earth! that now.
While time was, our first parents had been warned
The coming of their secret foe, and scaped.
Haply so scaped, his mortal snare! For now
Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came dowi^,
The tempter, ere the accuser, of mankind, lo

To wreak on innocent frail Man his loss
Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell.
Yet not rejoicing in hLs speed, though bold
Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast.
Begins his dire attempt; which, nigh the birth
Now rolling, boils in his tumultuous breast,

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I02 PARADISE LOST, [Book iv.

And like a devilish engine back recoils

Upon himself. Horror and doubt distract

His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir

The hell within him; for within him Hell 20

He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell

One step, no more than from himself, can fly

By change of place. Now conscience wakes despair

That slumbered ; wakes the bitter memory

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

Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue!

Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view

Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad;

Sometimes towards Heaven and the frill-blazing Sun,

Which now sat high in his meridian tower: 30

Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began: —

**0 thou that, with surpassing glory crowned,
Look'st from thy sole dominion like tne god
Of this new World — at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads — to thee I call.
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,

0 Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere,

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 40

Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King!

Ah, wherefore? He deserved no such return

From me, whom he created what I was

In that bright eminence, and with his good

Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.

What could be less than to afford him praise,

The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks.

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

And wrought but malice. Lifted up so high,

I sdained subjection, and thought one step higher 50

Would set me highest, and in a moment quit

The debt immense of endless gratitude,

So burdensome, still papng, still to owe;

Forgetfril what from him I still received;

And understood not that a grateful mind

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once

Indebted and discharged — what burden then?

Oh, had his powerful destiny ordained

Me some inferior Angel-, I had stood

Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised 60

Ambition. Yet why not? Some other Power

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

Drawn to his part. But other Powers as great

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Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 1^3

Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within

Or from without to all temptations armed!

Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?

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

But Heaven's free love 'dealt equally to all?

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

To me alike it deals eternal woe. 70

Nay, cursed be thou; since aj3;ainst his thy will

Chose freely what it now so justly rues.

Me miserable! which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath and infinite despair?

Which way I fly is Hell ; myself am Hell ; ^

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide.

To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.

O, then, at last relent! Is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left? 80

None left but by submission; and that word

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame

Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced

With other promises and other vaunts

Than to submit, boasting I could subdue

The Omnipotent. Ay me ! they little know

How dearly I abide that boast so vain.

Under what torments inwardly I groan.

While they adore me on the throne of Hell,

With diadem and sceptre high advanced, 90

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery: such joy ambition finds!

But say I could repent, and could obtain,

By act of grace- my former state ; how soon

Would highth recal high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore ! Ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void

(For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep) ;

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse 100

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission, bought with double smart.

This knows my Punisher; therefore as far

From granting he, as I from begging, peace.

All hope excluded thus, behold, instead

Of us, outcast, exiled, his new delight,

Mankind, created, and for him this World !

So fiarewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear,

Farewell remorse! All good to me is lost; -

Evil, be thou my Good: by thee at least no

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I04 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv.

Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold,

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ;

As Man. ere long, and this Aew World, shall know."

Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his fece,
Thrice changed with pale — ire, envy, and despair;
Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed
Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld :
For Heavenly minds from such distempers foul
Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware

Each perturbation smoothed with outward (aim, 120

Artificer of fraud ; and was the first
That practised falsehood under saintly show, ^

Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge:
Yet not enough had practised to deceive
Uriel, once warned; whose eye pursued him down
The way he went, and on the Assyrian mount
Saw him disfigured, more than could befall
Spirit of happy sort : his gestures fierce
He marked and mad demeanour, then alone,
As he supposed, all unobserved, unseen. 130

So on he fares, and to the border comes
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champain head^
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild.
Access denied; and overhead up-grew
Insuperable highth of loftiest shade.
Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,
A sylvan scene, and, as the ranks ascend 140

Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops
The verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung ;
Which to our general sire gave prospect large
Into his nether empire neighbouring round.
And higher than that wall a circling row
Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit.
Blossoms and fi-uits at once of golden hue,
Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed;
On which the sun more glad impressed his beams .150

Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow,
When God hath showered the earth : so lovely seemed
That landskip. And of pure now purer air
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
All sadness but despair. Now gentle gales.
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense

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Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 105

Native perfumes, attd whisper whence they stole

Those balmy spoils. As, when to them who sail

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 160

Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow

Sabean odours from the spicy shore
' Of Araby the Blest, with such delay

Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league

Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles;

So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend

Who came their bane, though with them better pleased

Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume

That drove him, though enamoured, from the spouse

Of Tobit's son, and 'with a vengeance sent 170

From Media post to Egypt, there fast bound.
Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill
- Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow ;

But further way found none; so thick entwined,

As one^ continued brake, the undergrowth

Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed

All path of man or beast that passed that way.

One gate there only was, and that looked east

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

Due entrance he disdained, and, in contempt, 180

At one slight bound high overleaped all bound

Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within

Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf.

Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey.

Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve,

In hurdled cotes amid the field secure.

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

Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash

Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors.

Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault, 190

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

So clomb this first grand Thief into God's fold :

So since into his Church lewd hirelings climb.

Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life,

The middle tree and highest there that grew,

Sat like a cormorant; yet not true life

Thereby regained, but sat devising death

To them who lived; nor on the virtue thought

Of that life-giving plant, but only used

For prospect what, well used, had been the pledge 200

Of immortality. So little knows

Any, but God alone, to value right

The good before him, but perverts best things

To worst abuse, or to their meanest use.

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io6 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv.

Beneath him, with new wonder, now he views.
To all delight of human sense exposed.
In narrow room Nature's whole wealth; yea, more! —
A Heaven on Earth: for blissful Paradise
Of God the garden was, by him in the east
Of Eden planted. Eden stretched her line 2lo

From Auran eastward to the ro3^al towers
Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings.
Or where the sons of Eden long before
Dwelt in Telassar. In this pleasant soil
His hx more pleasant garden God ordained.
Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow
All trees of noblest kind for sight, smeU, taste ;
And all amid them stood the Tree of Life,
High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit

Of vegetable gold ; and next to life, 220

Our death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast bv —
Knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill.
Southward through Eden went a river large.
Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill
Passed underneath ingulfed; for God had thrown
That mountain, as his garden-mould, high raised
Upon the rapid current, which, through veins
Of porous ea^th with kindly thirst up^rawh,
. Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill
Watered the garden; thence united tell 230

Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood.
Which from his darksome passage now appears.
And now, divided into four main streams.
Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm
And country whereof here needs no account ;
But rather to tell how, if Art could tell
How, from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks.
Rolling on orient pearl and sands of g6ld,
With mazy error under pendent shades

Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed 240

Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art
In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon
Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain.
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote
The open field, and where the unpierced shade
Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was this place,
A happy rural seat of various view :
Groves whose rich trees wept odorous eums and balm;
Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind,
Hung amiable — Hesperian fables true, 250

If true, here only — and of delicious taste*

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Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 107

Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks '

Grazing the tender herb, were interposed.

Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap

Of some irriffuous vallev spread her store.

Flowers of ml hue, and without thorn the rose.

Another side, umbrageous grots and caves

Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine

Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps

Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall 260

Down the slope hills dispersed, or in a lake,

That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned

Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.

The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs,

Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune

The trembling leaves, while universal Pan,

Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,

Led on the eternal Spring. Not that feiir field

Of Enna, where Proserpin gathering flowers,

Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis 270

Was gathered — which cost Ceres all that pain

To seek her through the world — nor that sweet grove

Of Daphne, by Orontes and the inspired

Castalian spring, might with this Paradise

Of Eden strive ; nor that Nyseian isle,

Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham,

Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Libyan Jove,

Hid Amalthea, and her florid son,

Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye;

Nor, where Abassin kings their issue guard, 280

Mount Amara (though this by some supposed

True Paradise) under the Ethiop line

By Nilus' head, enclosed with shining rock,

A whole day's journey high, but wide remote

From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend

Saw undelighted all delight, all kind

Of living creatures, new to sight and strange.

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,

God-like erect, with native honour clad

In naked majesty, seemed lords of all, 290

And worthy seemed ; for in their looks divine

The ima^e of their glorious Maker shone.

Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure —

Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,

Whence true authority in men : though both

Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed;

For contemplation he and valour formed,

For softness she and sweet attractive grace;

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lo8 PARADISE LOST. [Boo^t iv.

He for God only, she for God ia him. ' i

His fair large front and ey€ sublime declared , 300

Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks

Round from his parted forelock manly hung .

Clustering, but not beneatii, his shoulders broad: . , \

She, as a veil down to the slender waist, . /

Her unadorned golden tresses wore

Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved ,

As the vine curls her. tendrils — which implied.

Subjection, but required with gentle sway, ; > i

And by her yielded, by him best received. , .

Yielded, with coy submission, modest pride,, ^310

And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.

Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed;

Then was not guilty shame. Dishonest shame .

Of Nature's works, honour dishonourable.

Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind ;

With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure,.

And banished from man's life his happiest life,

Simplicity and spotless innocence !

So passed .they naked on, nor shunned the sight

Of God or Angel ; for they thought no ill : . .320

So hand in hand they passied, the loveliest pair

That ever since in love's embraces met —

Adam the goodliest man of men since born

His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve.

Under a tuft of shade that on 51 green

Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain-side,

They sat them down; and, after no more toil

Of their sweet gardening labour than suffice

To recommend cool Zephyr, and make ease , ;

More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite ■ 330

More grateful, to their supper-fruits they fell — ; y

Nectanne fruits, which the compliant boughs

Yielded them, sidelong as they sat recline 1

On the soft downy bank daniasked with flowers. , ^

The savoury pulp they chew* and in the rind, , ,

Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming stream; , . 1 .

Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles .. . :

Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as. beseems

Fair couple linked in happy nuptial league.

Alone as they. About them frisking played 340

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

In wood or wilderness, forest or den. . . i .'

Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw .

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

Gambolled before them; the unwieldy elephant, i

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Book rv.] PARADISE LOST. 109

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

His lithe proboscis; close the serpent sly,

Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine

His braided train, and of his fetal euile

Gave proof unheeded. Others on the grass 350

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

Or bedward ruminating; for the sun.

Declined, was hastening now with prone career

To the Ocean Isles, and in the ascending scale

Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose:

When Satan, still in gaze as first he stood.

Scarce thus at length failed speech recovered sad: —

**0 Hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold?
Into our room of bliss thus nigh advanced

Creatures of other mould — Earth-bOrn perhaps, 360

Not Spirits, yet to Heavenly Spirits bright
Little inferior — whom my thoughts pursue
With wonder, and could love; so lively shines
In them divine resemblance, and such grace
The hand that formed them on their shape hath poured.
Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh
Your change approaches, when all these delights
Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe —
More woe, the more your taste is now of joy :
Happy, but for so happy ill secured 370

Long to continue, and this high seat, your Heaven,
111 fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe
As now is entered; yet no purposed foe
To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn,
Though I unpitied. League with vou I seek.
And mutual amity, so strait, so close.
That I with you miist dwell, or you with me,
Henceforth. My dwelling, haply, may not ple^e.
Like this fair Paradise, your sense; yet siich
Accept your Maker's work; he gave it me, 380

Which I as freely give. Hell shall unfold.
To entertain you two, her widest gates.
And send forth all her kings; there will be room.
Not like these narrow limits, to receive
Your numerous offspring; if no better place.
Thank him who puts me, loath, to this revenge
On you, who wrong me not, for him who wronged.
And, should I at your harmless innocence
Melt, as I do, yet public reason just —

Honour and empire with revenge enlarged 390

By conquering this new World — compels me now
To do what else, though damned, I should abhor."

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PARADISE LOST. [Book iv.

So spake the Fiend, and with necessity,
The tryant's plea, excused his devilish deeds.
Then from his lofty stand on that high tree
Down he alights among the sportful herd
Of those four-footed kinds, himself now one,
Now other, as their shape served best his end
Nearer to view his prey, and, unespied,

To mark what of their state he more might learn • 400

By word or action marked. About them round
A lion now he stalks with fiery glare;
Then as a tiger, who by chance hath spied
In some purlieu two gentle fawns at play,
Straight crouches close; then, rising, changes oft
His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground.
Whence rushing he might surest seize them both
Griped in each paw: when Adam» first of men.
To first of women. Eve, thus moving speech,
Turned him all ear to hear new utterance flow: — 410

** Sole partner and sole part of all these joys,
Dearer thyself than all, needs must the Power
That made us, and for us this ample World,
Be infinitely good, and of his good ,
As liberal and free as infinite;
That raised us from the dust, and placed us here
7n all this happiness, who at his hand
Have nothing merited, nor can perform
Aught whereof he hath need ; he who requires
From us no other service than to keep 420

This one, this easy charge-^ of all the trees
In Paradise that bear deUcious fruit
So various, not to taste that only Tree
Of Knowledge, planted by the Tree of Life ; ,
So near grows Death to Life, whatever Death is —
Some dreadftil thing no doubt; for well thou know'st
God hath pronounced it Death to taste that Tree:
The only sign of our obedience left
Among so many signs of power and rule

Conferred upon us, and dominion given 430

Over all other creatures that possess
Earth, Air, and Sea. Then let us not think hard
One easy prohibition, who enjoy
Free leave so large to all things else, and choice
Unlimited of manifold delights ;
But let us ever praise him, and extol
His bounty, following our delightful task,
To prune these growmg plants, and tend these flowers;
Which, were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet."

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Book IV.] PARADISE LOST, ni

To whom thus Eve replied: — **0 thou foi" whom 440

And from whom I was formed flesh of thy flesh,
And without whom am to no end, my guide
And head! what thou hast said is just and right.
For we to him, indeed, all praises owe,
.And daily thanks — I chiefly, who enjoy
So far the happier lot, enjoying thee
Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou
Like consort to thyself canst nowhere find.
That day I oft remember, when from sleep

I first awaked, and found myself reposed, 450

Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain; then stood unmoved,
Pure as the expanse of Heaven. I thither went
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite • 460

A shape within the watery gleam appeared,
Bending to look on me. I started back,
It started back; but pleased I soon returned.
Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love. There J had fixed
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire,
Had not a voice thus warned me : * What thou seest,
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself;
With thee it came and goes: but follow me,
And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 470

Thy coming, and thy soft embraces — he
Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy
Inseparably thine; to him shalt bear
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be* called
Mother of human race.' What could I do,
But follow straight, invisibly thus led?
Till I espied thee, fair, indeed, and tall,
Under a platane; yet methought less fair,
Less winning soft, less amiably mild.

Than that smooth watery image^ Back I turned; 480

Thou, following, cried'st aloud, * Return, fair Eve ;
Whom fliest thou? Whom thou fliest, of him thou art,
His flesh, his bone ; to give thee being I lent
but of my side to thee, nearest my heart, -
Substantial life, to have thee by my side
Henceforth an individual solace dear:

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PARADISE LOST. [Book iy.

Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim

My other half.' With that thy gentle hand

Seized mine: I yielded, and from that time, see

How beauty is excelled by manly grace 490

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair."

So spake our general mother, aud, with eyes
Of conjugal attraction unreproved.
And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned
On our first father; half her swelling breast
Naked met his, under the flowing gold
Of her loose tresses hid. He, in delight
Both of her beauty and submissive charms,
Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter

On Juno smiles when he impregns the clouds coo

That shed May flowers, and pressed her matron lip
With kisses pure. Aside the Devil turned
For envy; yet with jealous leer malign
Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained : ^—

** Sight hateful, sight tormenting! Thus these two,
Imparadised in one another's arms,
The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill
Of bliss on bliss; while I to. Hell am thrust, :
Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire,
Among our other torments not the least, 510

Still unfulfilled, with pain of longing pines!
Yet let me not forget what I h^ve gained
From their own mouths. All is not theirs, it seems;
One fatal tree there stands, of Knowledge called.
Forbidden them to taste. Knowledge forbidden?
Suspicious, reasonless! Why should their Lord
Envy them that.? Can it be sin to know?
Can it be death? And do they only stand
By ignorance? Is that their happy state,

The proof of their obedience and their faith ? 520

O fair foundation laid wherieon to build
Their ruin! Hence I will excite their minds
With more desire to know, and fo reject
Envious commands, invented with design
To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt
Equal with gods. Aspiring to be such,
They taste and die: what likelier can ensue?
But first with narrow search I must walk round
This garden, and no corner leave unspied;

A chance but chance may lead where I may meet 530

Some wandering Spirit of Heaven, by fountain-side.
Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw
What further would be learned. Live while ye may,

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Book IV.] PARADISE LOST, 113

Yet happy pair; enjoy, till I return.

Short pleasures; for long woes are to succeed!"

So saying, his proud step he scornful turned,
But with sly circumspection, arid began

Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam.
Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heaven
With Earth and Ocean meets, the setting Sun 540

Slowly descended, and with right aspect
Against the eastern gate of Paradise
Levelled his evening rays. It was a rock
Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds.
Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent
Accessible from Earth, one entrance high ;
The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung
Still as it rose, impossible to climb.
Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat.

Chief of the angelic guards, awaiting night ; 550

About him exercised heroic games
The unarmed youth of Heaven; but nigh at hand
Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears.
Hung high, with diamond flaming and with gold.
Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even
On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star
In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired
Impress the air, and shows the mariner
From what point of his compass to beware
Impetuous winds. He thus began in haste: — 560

** Gabriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given
Charge and strict watch thai to this happy place
No evil thing approach or enter in.
This day at highth of noon came to my sphere
A Spirit, zealous, as he seemed, to know
More of the Almighty's works, and chiefly Man,
God's latest image. I described his way
Bent all on speed, and marked his aery gait.
But in the mount that lies from Eden north,
Where he first lighted, soon discerned his looks 570

Alien from Heaven, with passions foul obscured.
Mine eye pursued him still, but under shade
Lost sight of him. One of the banished crew,
I fear, hath ventured from the Deep, to raise
New troubles ; him thy care must be to find.'*

To whom the winged Warrior thus returned:—*
** Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight,
Amid the Sun's bright circle where thou sitfst,
See far and wide. In at this gate none pass
The vigilance here placed, but such as come 5^°

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r 14 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv.

Well known from Heaven ; and since maidian hour

No creature thence. If Spirit of other sort,

So minded, have o'erleaped these earthy bounds

On purpose, hard thou know'st it to exclude

Spiritual substance with corporeal bar.

But, if within the circuit of these walks.

In whatsoever shape, he lurk of whom

Thou tell'st, by morrow dawning I shall know."

So promised he; and Uriel to his charge
Returned on that bright beam, whose point now raised 590

Bore him slope downward to the Sun, now fallen
Beneath the Azores ; whether the Prime Orb,
Incredible how swift, had thither rolled
Diurnal, or this less voMbil Earth,
By shorter flight to the east, had left him there
Arraying with reflected purple and gold
The clouds that on his western throne attend.

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad ;

Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, 600

They to their grassy couch, these to their nests
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale.
She all night long her amorous descant sung:
Silence was pleased. Now gldwed the firmament
With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light.
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw;

When Adam thus to Eve : — ** Fair consort, the hour 610

Of night, and all things now retired to rest,
Mind us of like repose ; since God hath set
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men
Successive, and the timely dew of sleep.
Now falling with soft slumberous weight, inclines
Our eye-lids. Other creatures all day long
Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest ;
Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed, which declares his dignity.

And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; 620

While other animals unactive range,
And of their doings God takes no account.
To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be risen.
And at our pleasant labour, to reform
Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green.
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown.

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Book IV.] PARADISE LOST. 115

That mock our scant manuring, and require
More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth.
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, 630

That lie bestrewn, unsightly and unsmooth^
V Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease.
Meanwhile, as Nature wills. Night bids us rest."

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned: —
** My author and disposer, what thou bidd'st
Unarmed I obey. So God ordains:
God IS thy law, thou mine: to kiiow no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise.
With thee conversing, I forget all time.

All seasons, and their change; all please alike. 640

Sweet is the breath of Mom, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the Sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile Earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming-on
Of grateful Evening mild ; then silent Night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon,
And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train:
But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends 650

With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising Sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower.
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon.
Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet.
But wherefore all night long shine these? for whom
This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?'*

To whom our general ancestor replied: —
** Daughter of God and Man, accomplished Eve, 660

Those have their course to finish round the Earth
By morrow evening, and from land to land
In order, though to nations yet unborn.
Ministering light prepared, they set and rise;
Lest total Darkness should by night regain
Her old possession, and extinguish life
In nature and all things; which these soft fires
Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat
Of various influence foment and warm.

Temper or nourish, or in part shed down 670

Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow
On Earth, made hereby apter to receive
Perfection from the Sun's more potent ray.
These, then, though unbeheld in deep of^ night,

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ti6 PARADISE LOST, [Book iv.

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

That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise.

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth

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

All these with ceaseless praise his works behold

Both day and night. How often, from the steep 680

Of echoing hill or thicket, have we heard

Celestial voices to the midnight air.

Sole, or responsive each to other's note,

Singing their great Creator! Oft in bands

While they keep watch; or nightly rounding walk,

With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds

In full harmonic number joined, their songs

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

Thus talking, hand in hand alone they passed
On to their blissful bower. It was a place 690

Chosen by the sovran Planter, when he framed
All things to Man's delightful use. The roof
Of thickest covert was inwoven shade.
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher ^ew
Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub.
Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower.
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine.

Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought
Mosaic; under foot the violet, 700

Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay
Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone
Of costliest emblem. Other creature here.
Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none;
Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bower
More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned.
Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph
Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess,
With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs,
Espoused Eve decked first her nuptial bed, 710

And heavenly choirs the hymenaean sung.
What day the genial Angel to our sire
brought her, in naked beauty more adorned.
More lovely, than Pandora, whom the gods
Endowed with all their gifts; and, O! too like
In sad event, when, to the unwiser son
Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnared
Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged
On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire.

Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood, 720

Both turned, and under open sky adored

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Book iy.] PARADISE LOST^ 117

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

Which they beheld, the Moon's resplendent globe.

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

Maker Omnipotent; and thou the Day,

Which we, in our appointed work employed,

Have finished, happy in our mutual help

And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss

Ordained by thee; and this delicious place.

For us too large, where thy abundance wants 730

Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.

But thou hast promised from us two a race

To fill the Earth, who shall with us extol

Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,

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

This said unanimous, and other rites
Observing none, but adoration pure,
Which God likes best, into their inmost bower
Handed they went; and, eased the putting-off
These troublesome disguises which we wear, 740

Straight side by side were laid; nor turned, I ween,
Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites
Mysterious of connubial love refused ;
Whatever hypocrites austerely talk
Of purity, and place, and innocence.
Defaming as impure what God declares
Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all.
Our Maker bids increase ; who bids abstain
But our destroyer, foe to God and Man?

Hail, wedded Love, mysterious law, true source 750

Of human offspring, sole propriety
In Paradise of all things common else!
By thee adulterous lust was driven from men
Among the bestial herds to range; by thee.
Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure.
Relations dear, and all the charities
Of father, son, and brother, first were known.
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame.
Or think thee unbefitting holiest place.

Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, 7^

Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced.
Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used.
Here Love his golden shafts employe, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings.
Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile
Of harlots — loveless, joyless, unendeared,
Casual fruition; nor in court amours.
Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball,

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ii8 PARADISE LOST, [Book iv.

Or serenate, which the starved lover sings

To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. 770

These, lulled by nightingales, embracing slept,

And on their naked limbs the flowery roof

Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on.

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

No happier state, and know to know no more!

Now had Night measured with her shadowy cone
Half-way up-hifl this vast sublunar vault,
And from their ivory port the Cherubim
Forth issuing, at the accustomed hour, stood armed
To their ni^t-watches in warlike parade; 780

When Gabnel to his next in power thus spake: —

** Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the south
With strictest watch; these other wheel the north:
Our circuit meets full west." As flame they part.
Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear.
From these, two strong and subtle Spirits he called
That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge: —

** Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed
Search through this Garden; leave unsearched no nook;
But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge, 790

Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm.
This evening from the Sun's decline arrived
Who tells of some infernal Spirit seen
Hitherward bent (who could have thought?), escaped
The bars of Hell, on errand bad, no. doubt :
Such, where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring."

So saying, on he led his radiant files.
Dazzling the moon; these to the bower direct
In search of whom they sought. Him there they found
Squat like a toad, close at tne ear of Eve, 800

Assaying by his devilish art to reach
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams;
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint
The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise,
At least distempered, discontented thoughts.
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires.
Blown up with high conceits engendering pride.
Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear 810

Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to its own likeness. Up he starts,
Discovered and surprised. As, when a spark
Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid

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Book IV.] PARADISE LOST. 119

Fit for the tun, some magazine to store

Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain.

With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air;

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

Back stept those two fair Angels, half amazed 820

So sudden to behold the grisly King;

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

** Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell
Com'st thou, escaped thy prison? and, transformed.
Why satt'st thou like an enemy in wait.
Here watching at the head of these that sleep?"

** Know ye not, then," said Satan, filled with scorn,
"Know ye not me? Ye knew me once no mate
For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar I
Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, 830

The lowest of your throng ; or, if ye know.
Why ask ye, and superfluous begin
Your message, like to end as much in vain?"

To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn: —
"Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same,
Or. undiminished brightness, to.be known
As when thou stood'st in Heaven upright and pure.
That glory then, when thou no more wast good,
Departed from thee; and thou resemblest now
Thy sin and place of doom obscure, and foul. 840

But come; for thou, be sure, shalt ^ve account
To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep
This place inviolable, and these from harm."

So spake the Cherub; and his grave rebuke,
Severe in youthful beauty, added grace
Invincible. Abashed the Devil stw)d.
And felt how awful goodness is,' and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely — saw, and pined
His loss ; but chiefly to find here observed

His lustre visibly impaired; yet seemed 850

Undaunted. ** If I must contend," said he,
"Best with the best — the sender, not the sent;
Or all at once: more glory will be won.
Or less be lost." "Thy fear," said Zephon bold,
"Will save us trial what the least can do
Single against thee wicked, and thence weak."

The Fiend replied not, overcome with rage;
But, like a proud steed reined, went haughty on.
Champing his iron curb. To strive or fly

He held it vain; awe from above had quelled 860

His heart, not else dismayed. Now drew they nigh
The western point, where those half-rounding guards

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120 PARADISE LOST, [Book iv.

Just met, and, closing, stood in squadron joined,
Awaiting next command. To whom their chief,
Gabriel, from the front thus called aloud: —

**0 friends, I hear the tread of nimble. feet
Hasting this way, and now by glimpse discern
Ithurieland Zephon through the shade;.
And with them comes a third, of regal port.
But faded splendour wan, who by his gait 870

And fierce demeanour seems the Prince of Hell —
Not likely to part hence without contest.
Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours."

He scarce had ended, when those two approached.
And brief related whom they brought, where found.
How busied, in what form and posture couched.
To whom, with stern regard, thus Gabriel spake: —
** Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds prescribed
To thy transgressions, and disturbed the charge
Of others, who approve not to transgress 880

By thy example, but have power and right
To question* thy bold entrance on this place;
Employed, it seems, to violate sleep, and those
Whose dwelling God hath planted here in bliss?"

To whom thus Satan, with contemptuous brow : ^
** Gabriel, thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of wise;
And such I held thee; but this question asked
Puts me in doubt. Lives there who loves his pain?
Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell,
Though thither doomed? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt, 890
And boldly venture to whatever place
Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change
Torment with ease, and soonest recompense
Dole with delight; which in this place I sought:
To thee no reason, who know'st only good.
But evil hast not tried. And wilt object
His will who bound us? Let "him surer bar
His iron gates, if he intends our stay
In that dark durance. Thus much what was asked:
The rest is true; they found me where they say; 900

But that implies not violence or harm."

Thus he in scorn. The warlike Angel moved.
Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied : —
** O loss of one in Heaven to judge of wise,
Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew.
And now returns him from his prison scaped.
Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise
Or not who ask what boldness brought him hither
Unlicensed from his bounds in Hell prescribed!

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Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 121

^^^^ , . . — __ — __^

So wise he judges it to fly from pain 910

However, and to scape his punishment!

So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrath,

Which thou inqurr'st by flying, meet thy flight.

Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell,

Which taught thee vet no better that no pain

Can equal anger infinite provoked.

But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with thee

Came not all Hell broke loose? Is pain to them

Less pain, less to be fled? or thou than they

Less hardy to endure? Courageous chief, 920

The first m flight from pain, hadst thou alleged

To thy deserted host this cause of flight.

Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive."

To which the Fiend thus answered, frowning stem: —
**Not that I less endure, or shrink from pain,
Insulting Angel! well thou know'st I stood
Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid
The blasting volleyed thunder made all speed
And seconded thy else not dreaded spear.

But still thjr words at random, as bewre, 930

Argue thy inexperience what behoves,
From hard assays and ill successes past,
A faithful leader — not to hazard all
Through ways of danger by himself untried.
I, therefore, I alone, first undertook
To wing the desolate Abyss, and spy
This new-created World, whereof in Hell
Fame is not silent, here in hdpe to find
Better abode, and my afflicted Powers

To settle here on Earth, or in mid Air; 940

Though for possession put to try once more
What thou and thy gay legions dare against;
Whose easier business were to serve their Lord
High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne,
And practised distances to cringe, not fight."

To whom the Warrior- Angel soon repfied: —
** To say and straight unsay, pretending first
Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy,
Argues no leader, but a liar traced,'

Satan; and couldst thou * faithful' add? O name, 950

O sacred name of faithfulness profaned!
Faithful to whom? to thy rebdlious crew?
Army of fiends, fit body to fit head!
Was this your discipline and fadth engaged,
Your military obedience, to dissolve
Allegiance to the acknowledged Power Supreme:

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1 22 PARADISE LOST, [Book iv.

And thou, sly hypocrite, wha now wouldst seem

Patron of liberty, who more than thou

Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored

Heaven's awftil Monarch? wherefore, but in hope 960

To dispossess him, and thyself to reign?

But mark what I areed thee now: Avauntl

Fly thither whence thou fledd'st. * If from this hour

Within these hallowed limits thou appear.

Back to the Infernal Pit I drag thee chained,

And seal thee so as henceforth not to scorn

The facile gates of Hell too slightly barred."

So threatened he; but Satan to no threats
Gave heed, but waxing more in rage, replied: —

"Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains, 97c

Proud limitary Cherub! but ere then
Far heavier load thyself expect to feel
From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King
Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers.
Used to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels
In progress tnrough the road of Heaven star-paved."
• While thus he spake, the angelic squadron bright
Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns
Their phalanx, and began to hem him round
With ported spears, as thick as when a field 980

Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends
Her bearded grove of ears w'hich way the wind
Sways them; the carefiil ploughman doubting stands
Lest on the threshing-floor his hopefiil sheaves
Prove chaff. On the other side, Satan, alarmed.
Collecting all his might, dilated stood.
Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremoved :
His stature reached the sky, and on his crest
Sat Horror plumed; nor wanted in his grasp
What seemed both spear and shield. Now dreadful deeds 990
Might have ^ensued ; nor. only Paradise,
In this commotion, but the starry cope
Of Heaven perhaps, or all the Elements
At least, had gone to wrack, disturbed and torn
With violence of this conflict* had not soon
The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray.
Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen
Betwixt Astraea and the Scorpion sign,
Wherein all things created first he weighed,
The pendulous round Earth with balanced air J.ooo

In counterpoise, now ponders all events,
Battles and realms. In these he put two weights,
The sequel each of parting and of fight :

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Book IV.] PARADISE LOST, 123

The latter quick up flew, and kicked the beam;
Which Gabriel spyii^ thus bespake the Fiend: —

** Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine,
Neither our own, but given; what folly then
To boast what arms can do! since thine no more
Than Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now
To trample thee as mire. For proof look up, loio

And read thy lot in yon celestial sign.
Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak
If thou resist." The Fiend looked up, and knew
His mounted scale aloft: nor more; but fled
Murmuring; and with him fled the shades of Night.

7SHE MND OF THE FOURTH BOGK^

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK V.

THE ARGUMENT.

Moraine approached, Eve relates to Adam her troublesome dream; he likes it not, yet
comforts her: they come forth to their day labours: their morning hymn at the door of
their bower. God, to render Man inexcusable, sends Raphael to admonish him of his obedi-
ence, of his free estate, of his enemy near at hand, who he is, and why his enemy, and
whatever else may avail Adam to know. Raphael comes down to Paradise; his appearance
described; his coming discerned by Adam afar off, sitting at the door of his bower; he goes
out to meet him, brings him to his lodge, entertains him with the choicest fruits of Paradise,
got together by Eve; their discourse at table. Raphael performs his message, minds Adam
of his state and of his enemy; relates, at Adam's request, who that enemy is, and how he
came to be so, beginning from his first revolt in Heaven, and the occasion thereof; how he
drew his legions after him to the parts of the North, and there incited them to rebel with
him, persuading all but only Abdiel, a seraph, who in argument dissuades and opposes him,
then forsakes him.

NOW Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for, his sleep
Was aery light, from pure digestion brea.
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, lo

As through uncjuiet 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 20

Calls us; we lose the prime to mark how spring

124

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST, 125

Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed.
How Nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet."

Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye
On Adam ; whom embracing, thus she spake : —
**0 sole in whom my thoughts find all repose.
My glory, my perfection! glad I see

Thy face, and n>orn returned; for I this night 30

(Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed,
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee,
Works of day past, or morrow's next design ;
But of offence and trouble, which my mind
Knew never till this irksome night. Methought
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk
With gentle, voice ; I thought it thine. It said,
*Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time,
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake 40

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 pehold but thee. Nature's desire.
In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment
Attracted by thy Leauty 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 50

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? 60

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 horror chilled
At such bold words vouched with a deed so bold;
But he thus, overjoyed : * O fruit divine.
Sweet of thyself, but much more swe^t thus cropt.

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f?6 PARADISE LOST. [Book v.

Forbidden here, it sterns, as only fit

For gods, yet able to make gods of men! '70

>Vnd why not gods of men, since good, the more
Communicated, more abundant grows,
The author not impaired, but honoured more?
Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve!
' Partake thou also: happy though thou art.
Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be.
Taste this, and be henceforth among the gods
Thyself a goddess ; not to Earth confined, '
But sometimes in the Air, as we; sometimes
Ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see 80

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 90

My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down,
And fell asleep; but, O, how glad 1 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 100

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 disjoimng, frames
All what we affirm or what deny, and call
Our knowledge or opinion; then retires
Into her private cell when Nature rests.

Oft, in her absence, mimic Fancy wakes 1 10

To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes.
Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams,
111 matching words and deeds long past or late.
Some such resemblances, methinks, I find
Of our last evening's talk in this thy dream.

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 127

But with addition strange. Yet be not sad:

Evil into the mind of God or Man

May come and go, so unapproved, and leave

No spot or blame behind; which gives me hope

That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream 1 20

Waking thou never wilt consent to do.

Be not disheartened, then,, nor cloud those looks,

That wont to be more cheerful and serene

Than when fair Morning first smiles on the world;

And let us to our fresh employments rise

Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers.

That open now their choicest bosomed smells.

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

So cheered he his £aiir spouse ; and she was cheered,
But silently a gentle tear let fidl 130

From either eye, and wiped them with her hair:
Two other precious drops that ready stood.
Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell.
Kissed as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that feared to have offended «

So all was cleared, and to the field they haste.
But first, from under shady arborous roof
Soon as they forth were come to open sight
Of day-spring, and the Sun — who, scarce uprisen.
With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean-brim, 140

. 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 raptvu-e 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, 150

More tuneable than needed lute or harp
To add more sweetness : And they thus began : —

"These are thy glorious worics, Parent of good.
Almighty! thine this universal frame.
Thus wondrous fair: Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimlv 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, 160

Angels — for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night.

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128 PARADISE LOST, [Book v.

Circle his throne rejoicing — ye in Heaven;
On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him tirst, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night,
If better thou belong not to the Dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling mom
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 170

Thou Sun, of this great World both eve and soul.
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st.
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fliest.
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise who out of Darkness Slled up Light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth 180

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 felling showers, 190

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 200

The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep,
Witness if / 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 . / •

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST, 129

Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm. 210

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 her 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 220

Raphael, the sociable Spirit, that deigned

To travel with Tobias, and secured

His marriage with the seven-times-wedded maid.

** Raphael," said he, ** thou hear'st what stir on Earth
Satan, from Hell scaped through the darksome Gulf,
Hath raised in Paradise,' and how disturbed
This night the human pair; 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 230

Thou find'st him from the heat of noon retired
To respite his day-labouf 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 warm 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 240

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 trans^essing, he pretend
Surprisal, unadmonished, unfore warned."

So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfilled
All justice. Nor delayed the winged Saint
After his charge received; but from among
Thousand celestial Ardours, where he stood

Veiled with his gorgeous wings, upspringing light, 250

Flew through the midst of Heaven. The angelic quires.
On each hand parting, to his speed gave way
Through all the empyreal road, till, at the gate
Of Heaven arrived, the gate self-opened wide.
On golden hinges turning, as by work
Divine the sovran Architect had framed.

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130 PARADISE LOST, [Book v.

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

Star interposed, however small — he sees,

Not unconform to other shining globes,

Earth, and the Garden of God, with cedars crowned 260

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 270

Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems

A phoenix, gazed by all, as that sole bird.

When, to enshrine his relics 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 280

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. 290

Their glittering tents he passed, and now is come

Into the blissml 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 300

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

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST, 131

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 310

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 fbrth, 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 disburdening grows
More fruitful; which instructs us not to spare." 320

To whom thus Eve: — ** Adam, Earth's hallowed mould.
Of God inspired, small store will serve where store,
All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk;
Save what, by frugal storing, firmness gains
To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes.
But I will haste, and from each bough and brake.
Each plant and juiciest gourd, will pluck such choice
To entertain our Angel-guest as he.
Beholding, shall confess that here on Earth
God hath dispensed his bounties as in Heaven. 330

So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent
What choice to choose for delicacy best.
What order so contrived as not to mix
Tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but bring
Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change:
Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk
Whatever Earth, all-bearing mother, yields
In India East or West, or middle shore

In Pontus or the Punic coast, or where 340

Alcinous reigned, fruit of all kinds, in coat
Rough or smooth rined, or bearded husk, or shell,
She gathers, tribute large, and on the board
Heaps with unsparing hand. For drink the grape
She crushes, inoffensive must, and meaths
From many a berry, and from sweet kernels pressed
She tempers dulcet creams — nor these to hold
Wants her fit vessels pure; then strews the ground
With rose and odours from the shrub unfumed.

Meanwhile our primitive great Sire, to meet 350

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132 PARADISE LOST. [Book v.

His godlike guest, waiks 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 crowd and sets them all agape.

Nearer his presence, Adam, though not awed,

Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek,

As to a superior nature, bowing low, 360

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." 370

Whom thus the angelic Virtue answered mild: —
**Adam, I therefore came; nor art thou such
Created, or such place hast here to dwell,
As may not oft invite, though Spirits of Heaven,
To visit thee. Lead on, then, where thy bower
O'ershades ; for these mid-hours, till evening rise,
I have at will." So to the sylvan lodge
They came, that like Pomona's arbour smiled.
With flowerets decked and fragrant smells. But Eve,
Undecked, save with hetself, more lovely fair 380

Than wood-nymph, or the fairest goddess feigned
Of three that in Mount Ida naked strove,
Stood to entertain her euest 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 390

Have heaped this table I " Raised of grassy turf
Their table was, and mossy seats had round.
And on her ample square, from side to side,
All Autumn piled, though Spring and Autumn here
Danced hand-in-hand. A while discourse they hold —
No fear lest dinner cool — ^ when thus began
Our Author: — ** Heavenly Stranger, please to taste

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Book v.] ^ PARADISE LOST. 133

These bounties, which our Nourishejr, from whom

All perfect good, unmeasured-out, descends,

To us for food and for delight hath caused 400

The Earth to yield: unsavoury food, perhaps.

To Spiritual Natures; only this I know.

That one Celestial Father gives to all."

To whom the Angel: — ** Therefore, what he gives
(Whose praise be ever sung) to Man, in part
Spiritual, may of purest Spirits be found
No ingrateful food: and food alike those pure
Intelligential substances require
As doth your Rational ; and both contain

Within them every lower faculty 410

Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste,
Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate.
And corporeal to incorporeal turn.
For know, whatever was created needs
To be sustained and fed. Of Elements
The grosser feeds the purer: Earth the Sea;
Earth and the Sea feed Air; the Air those Fires
Ethereal, and, as lowest, first the Moon;
Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurged
Vapours not yet into her substance turned. 420

Nor doth the Moon no nourishment exhale
From her moist continent to higher Orbs.
The Sun, that light imparts to all, receives
From all his alimental recompense
In humid exhalations, and at even
Sups with the Ocean. Though in Heaven the trees
Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines
Yield nectar — though from off the boughs each mom
We brush mellifluous dews and find the ground
Covered with pearly grain — yet God hath here 430

Varied his bounty so with new delights
As may compare with Heaven; and to taste
Think not I shall be nice." So down they sat,
And to their viands fell; nor seemingly
The Angel, nor in mist — the common gloss
Of theologians — but with keen dispatch
Of real hunger, and concoctive heat
To transubstantiate: what redounds transpires
Through Spirits with ease ; nor wonder, if by fire
Of sooty coal the empiric alchemist 440

Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,
Metals of drossiest ore t(f perfect gold.
As from the mine. Meanwhile at table Eve
Ministered naked, and their flowing cups

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134 .PARADISE LOST, [Book v.

With pleasant liquors crowned. O innocence

Deserving Paradise! If ever, then,

Then had the Sons of God excuse to have been

Enamoured at that sight* But in those hearts

Love unlibidinous reigned, nor jealous^

Was understood, the injured lover's hell. 450

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: — 460

** Inhabitant with God, now know I well
Thy favour, in this honour done to Man;
Under whose lowly roof thou hast vouchsafed
1^0 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 wiiigM Hierarch replied: —
** O Adam, one Almighty is, from whom

All things proceed, and up to him return, v 470

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 480

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. 490

Wonder not, then, what God for you saw good

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST, 135

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 wing'd ascend

Ethereal, as we, or may at choice

Here or in heavenly paradises dwell, 50

If ye be found obedient, and retain

Unalterably firm his love entire

Whose progeny you are. Meanwhile enjoy.

Your fill, what happiness this happy state

Can comprehend, incapable of more."

To whom the Patriarch of Mankind replied: —
** O favourable Spirit, propitious guest.
Well hast thou taught the way that might direct
Our knowledge, and the scale of Nature set

From centre to circumference, whereon, 5^^

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 ; 520

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 530

Finds no acceptance, nor can find; for how
Can hearts not free be tried whether they serve
Willing or no, who will but what they must
By destiny, and can no other choose?
Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand
In sight of God enthroned, our happy state
Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds.
On other surety none : freely we serve,

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136 PARADISE LOST. [Book v.

Because we freely love, as in our will

To love or not ; in, this we stand or fall. 540

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 instructor, I have heard, than when
Cherubic songs by night from neighbouring hills
Aerial music send. Nor knew I not
To be, both will and deed, created free.

Yet that we never shall forget to love 550

Our Maker, and obey him whose command
Single is yet so just, my constant thoughts
Assured me, and still assure; though what thou tell'st
Hath passed in Heaven some doubt within me move,
But more desire to hear, if thou consent.
The full relation, which must needs be strange.
Worthy of sacred silence to be heard.
And we have yet large day, for scarce the Sun
Hath finished half his journey, and scarce begins
His other half in the great zone of heaven." $60

Thus Adam made request; and Raphael,
After short pause assenting, thus began : —

** High matter thou enjoin'st me, O prime of Men —
Sad task and hard; for how shall I relate
To human sense the invisible exploits
Of warring Spirits ? how, without remorse,
The ruin of so many, glorious once
And perfect while they stood? how, last, unfold
The secrets of another world, perhaps

Not lawful to reveal? Yet for thy good 570

This is dispensed ; and what surmounts the reach
Of human sense I shall delineate so.
By likening spiritual to corporal forms.
As may express them best — though what if Earth
Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein
Each to other like more than on Earth is thought !

** As yet this World was not, and Chaos wild
Reigned where these heavens now roll> where Earth now rests
Upon her centre poised, when on a day

(For Time, though in Eternity, applied 580

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

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST, 137

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 590

Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees ;

Or in their glittering tissues bear emblazed

Holy memonals, 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 embosomed sat the Son, * '

Amidst, as from a flaming mount, whose top

Brightness had made invisible, thus spake: —

** * Hear, all ye Angels, Progeny of Light, 600

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers,
Hear nly 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 m Heaven, and shall confess him Lord.
Under his great vicegerent reign abide.

United as one individual soul, 610

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 engulfed, 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 —

MysticS dance, which yonder starry sphere 620

Of planets and of fixed in all her whieels
Resembles nearest; mazes intricate.
Eccentric, intervolved, yet regular
Then most when most irregular they seem;
And in their motions harmony divine
So smooths her charming tones that God's own ear
Listens delighted. Evenmg 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 630

Desirous: all in circles as they stood.
Tables are set, and on a sudden piled

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138 PARADISE LOST, [Book V.

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 coftimunion sweet

Quaff* immortality and joy, secure

Of .surfeit where full measure only bounds *

Excess, before the all-bounteous King, who showered 640

With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy.

Now when ambrosial Night, with clouds exhaled

From that high mount of God whence light and shade

Spring both, the face of brightest Heaven had changed

To grateful twilight (for Night comes not there

In darker veil), and roseate dews disposed

All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest,

Wide over all the plain, and wider far

Than all this globous Earth in plain outspread

(Such are the courts of God), the Angelic throng, 650

Dispersed in bands and files, their camp extend

By living streams among the trees of life —

Pavilions numberless and sudden reared,

Celestial tabernacles, where they slept.

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

Melodious hymns about the sovran throne

Alternate all night long. But not so waked

Satan — so call him now; his former name

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

If not the first Archangel, great in power, 660

In favour, and pre-eminence, yet fraueht

With envy against the Son of God, that day

Honoured by his great Father, and proclaimed

Messiah, King Anointed, could not bear.

Through pride, that sight, and thought himself impaired*

Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain,

Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour

Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolved

With all his legions to dislodge, and leave

Unworshiped, unobeyed, the Throne supreme, 670

Contemptuous, and, his next subordinate

Awakemng, thus to him in secret spake: —

***Sieep'st thou, companion dear? what sleep can close
Thy eyelids? and rememberest what decree,
Of yesterday, so late hath passed the Kps
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 cBssent? New laws thou seest imposed;

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Book vJ PARADISE LOST. 139

New laws from him who reigns new minds may raise 680

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, 690

The great Messiah, and his new commands.

Who speedily through all the Hierarchies

Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws.'

** So spake the false Archangel, and infused
Bad influence into the unwary breast
Of his associate. He together calls.
Of 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 disencumbered Heaven, 700

The great hierarchal standard was to move;
Tells the suggested cause, and caats between
Ambiguous words and jealousies, to sound
Or taint integrity. But all obeyed
The wonted signal, and superior voice
Of their great Potentate; for great indeed
His name, and high was his degree in Heaven:
His countenance, as the morning-star that guides
The starry flock, allured them, and with lies
Drew after him the third part of Heaven's host. 710

Meanwhile, the Eternal Eye, whose sight discerns
Abstrusest thoughts, from forth his holy m6unt.
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 Mom, what multitudes
Were banded to oppose his high decree ;
And, smiling, to his onjy Son thus said: —

** * Son, thou in whom my glory I behold
In foil resplendence. Heir of Si my might, 720

Nearly it now concerns us to be. sure
Of our omnipotence, and with what arms
jWe mean to hold what anciently we daim
Of deity or empire : such a foe
Is rising, who intends to erect his throne
Equal to ours, throughout the spadous North ;

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I40 PARADISE LOST, [BooKV.

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 730

In our defence, lest unawares we lose

This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill.'

** To whom the Son, with calm aspect and clear
Lightening divine, ineffable, serene.
Made answer : — * Mighty Father, thou thy foes
Justly hast in derision, and secure
Laugh'st at their vain designs and tumults vain —
Matter to me of glory, whom they hate
Illustrates, when they see all regal power

Given me to quell their pride, and in event 740

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 750

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 760

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 770

Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears : —

** 'Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers-^
If these magnific titles yet remain

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 141

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 ail 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, .780

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 teacji us to ca^t 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 790

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

Equally free; for orders and degrees

Jar not with liberty, but well consist. .

Who can in reason, then, or right, assume

Monarchy over such as live by right

His equals — if in power and splendour less,

In freedom equal? or can introduce

Law and edict on us, who without law

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

And look for adoration, to Uie abuse 800

Of those imperial titles which assert

Our being ordained to govern, not to serve ! '

**Thus far his bold (Bscourise without control
Had audience, when, among the Seraphim,
Abdiel, than whom none with more zeal- adored
The Deity, and divine commands obeyed.
Stood up, and in a flame of zeal severe
The current of his fey thus opposed : —

** * O argument blasphemous, false, and proud—
Words which no ear ever to hear in heaven 810

Expected ; least of all from thee, ingrate,
In place thyself so high above thy peers!
Canst thpu with impious obloquy condemn
The just decree of God, pronounced and swom^
That to his only Son, by right endued
With regal sceptre, every soul in Heaven -
Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due
Confess him rightful King? Unjust,' thou say'st.
Flatly ninjust, to bind wim laws the free,
And equal over equals to let reign, '820

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14^ PARADISE LOST. [Book v.

One over all with unsucceeded power!
Shalt thou give law to God? shalt thou dispute
With Him the points of liberty, who made
Thee what thou art, and formed the Powers of Heaven
Such as he pleased, and circumscribed their being?
Yet, by experience taught, we know how good,
And oi our good and of our dignity
How provident, he is — how far from thought
To make us less ; bent rather to exalt

Our happy state, under one head more near 830

United. But — to grant it thee unjust
That equal over equals monarch reign —
Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count,
Or all aneelic nature joined in one,
Equal to nim, begotten Son, by whom.
As by his Word, the mighty Father made
All things, even thee, and all the Spirits of Heaven
. By him created in their bright degrees.
Crowned them with glory, and to their glory named
Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers? — 840

Essential Powers; nor by his reign obscured.
But more illustrious made; since he, the head,
One of our number thus reduced becomes;
His laws our laws; all honour to him done
Returns our own. Cease, then, this impious rage,
And tempt not these; but hasten to appease
The incensM Father and the incensM Son
While pardon may be found, in time besought.'

** So spake the fervent Angel ; but his zeal
None seconded, as out of season judged, 850

Or singular and rash. Whereat rejoiced
The Apostate, and, more haughty, thus replied: —

***That we were formed, then, say'st thou? and the work
Of secondary hands, by task transferred
From Father to his Son ? Strange point and new !
Doctrine which we would know whence learned 1 Who saw
When this creation was? Remember'st thou
Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being?
We know no time when we were not as now ;
Know none before us, self-begot, sel^raised 860

By our own quickening power when fatal course
Had cirded his full ort), the birth mature
Of this our native Heaven, Ethereal Sons.
Our puissance is our own; our own right hand
Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try
Who is our equal. Then thou shalt behold
Whether by supplication we intend

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Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 143

Address, and to begirt the Almighty Throne

Beseeching or besieging. This report,

These tidings, carry to the Anointed King; 870

And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight.'

** He said; and, as the sound of waters deep.
Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause
Through the infinite host. Nor less for that
The flaming Seraph, fearless,, though alon^, >
Encompassed round with foes, thus knswered bo*d: —

** * O alienate from God, O Spirit accursed,
Forsaken of all good! I see thy fall
Determined, and thy hapless crew involved

In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread 880

Both of thy crime and punishment. Henceforth
No more be troubled how to quit the yoke
Of God's Messiah. Those indulgent laws
Will not be now vouchsafed; other decrees
Against thee are gone forth without recall;
That golden sceptre which thou didst reject
Is now an iron rod to bruise and break
Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise;
Yet not for thy advice or threats I fly

These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrath 890

Impendent, raging into sudden flame.
Distinguish not: for soon expect to feel
His thunder on thy head, devouring fire.
Then who created thee lamenting learn
When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know.'

**So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found;
Among the faithless faithful only he;
Among innumerable false unmoved,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified.

His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal; 900

Nor number nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant thind.
Though single. From amidst them forth he passed.
Long way tnrough hostile scorn which he sustained
Superior, nor of violence feared aught ;
And with retorted scorn his back he turned
On those proud towers, to swift destruction doomed."

THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK VI.

THE ARGUMENT.

Raphael continues to relate how Michael and Gabriel were sent forth to battle against
Satan and his Angels. The first fight described: Satan and his Powers retire under night.
He calls a coimcil; invents devilish engines, which, in the second day's fight, put Michael
and his Angels to some disorder; but they at length, pulling up mountains, overwhelmed
both the force and machines of Satan. Yet, the tumult not so encfing, God, on the. third day,
sends Messiah his Son, for whom he had reserved the glory of that victory. He, in the
power of his Father, coming to the place, and causing all his legions to stand still on either
side, with his chariot and thunder dnving into the midst of his enemies, pursues them, unable
to resist, towards the wall of Heaven ; which opening, they leap down with horror and con-
fusion into the place of punishment prepared for them in the Deep. Messiah returns with
triumph to his Father.

** A LL night the dreadless Angel, unpursued,

l\ Through Heaven's wide champaign held his way, till. Morn,
Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand
Unbarred the gates of Light. There is a cave
Within the Mount of God, fast by his throne,
Where Light and Darkness in perpetual rpund
Lodge and dislodge bv turns — which makes through Heaven
Grateful vicissitude, lilce day and night ;
Light issues forth, and at the other- door

Obsequious Darkness enters, till her hour . lo

To veil the heaven, though darkness there might well
Seem twilight here. And now went forth the Morn
Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold
Empyreal; from before her vanished Night, ,

Shot through with orient beams; when all the, plain
Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright,
Chariots, and flaming arms, and fiery steeds,
Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view.
War he perceived, war in procinct, and found

Already known what he for news had thought 20

To have reported. Gladly then he mixed
Among those friendly Powers, who him received
144

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Book vi,] PARADISE LOST. i4S

With joy and acclamations loud, that one,
That of so many myriads fallen yet one.
Returned not lost. On to the sacred hill
They led him, high, applauded, and present
Before the seat supreme; from whence a voice.
From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard: —

** * Servant of God, well done! Well hast thou fought
The better fight, who single hast maintained 30

Against revolted multitudes the cause
Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms.
And for the testimony of truth hast borne
Universal reproach, far worse to bear
Than violence; for this was all thy care —
To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds
Judged thee perverse. The easier cdnquest now
Remains thee — aided by this host of friends,
Back on thy foes more glorious to return

Than scorned thou didst depart; and to subdue 40

By force who reason for their law refose —
Right reason for their law, and for their King
Messiah, who by right of merit reigns.
Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince,
And thou, in military prowess next,
Gabriel; lead forth to battle these my sons
Invincible; lead forth my armed Saints,
By thousands and by millions ranged for fight,
Equal in number to that godless crew

Rebellious. Them with fire and hostile arms 50

Fearless assault; and, to the brow of Heaven
Pursuing, drive them out from God and bliss
Into their place of punishment, the gulf
Of Tartarus, which ready opens wide
His fiery chaos to receive their fall.'

" So spake the Sovran Voice ; and clouds began
To darken all the hill, and smoke to foil
In dusky wreaths reluctant flames, the sign
Of wrath awaked ; nor with less dread the loud .
Ethereal trumpet from on high gan blo\V. 60

At which command the Powers Militant
That stood for Heaven, in mighty quadrate joined
Of union irresistible, moved on
In silence their bright legions to the sound
Of instrumental harmony, that breathed
Heroic ardour to adventurous deeds
Under their godlike leaders, in the cause
Of God and his Messiah. On they move,
Indissolubly firm;, nor obvious hill.

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146 PARADISE LOST. [B00K.VI.

Nor straitening vale, nor wood, nor stream, divides . 70

Their perfect ranks; for high above the ground

Their march was, and the passive air upbore

Their nimble tread. As when the total kind

Of birds, in orderly array on wing,

Came summoned over Eden to receive

Their names of thee ; so over many a tract

Of Heaven they marched, and many a province wide,

Tenfold the length of this terrene. At last,

Far in the horizon, to the north, appeared

From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretched 80

In battailous aspect; and, nearer view.

Bristled with upright beams innumerable

Of rigid spears» and helmets thronged, and shields

Various, with boastful argument portrayed.

The banded Powers of Satan hasting on

With furious expedition: for they weened

That self-same day, by fight or by surprise.

To win the Mount of God, and on his throne

To set the envier of his state, the proud

Aspirer. But their thoughts proved fond and vain 90

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

At first that Angel should with Angel war,

And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet

So oft in festivals of joy and love

Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire,

Hymning the Eternal Father. But the shout

Df battle now began, and rushmg sound

Of onset ended soon each milder thougdt.

High in the midst," exalted as a God,

The Apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat, ' lOO

Idol of^ majesty divine, enclosed

With flaming Cherubim and golden shields;

Then lighted from his gorgeous throne — for now

'Twixt host and host but narrow space was left,

A dreadful interval, and front to front

Presented stood, in terrible array

Of hideous length. Before the cloudy van,

On the rough edge of battle ere it joined,

Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced.

Came towering, armed in adamant and gold. 1 10

Abdiel that sight endured not, where he stood

Among the mightiest, bent on highest deeds,

And thus his own undaunted heart explores:-^

** * O Heaven ! that such resemWance of the Highest
Should yet remain, where faith and realty
Remain not ! Wherefore should not strength and might

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Bopfe VI.] PARADISE LOST, I47

There fail where vutue foils, or weakest prove

Where boldest, though to sight uncx)nquerable ?

His puissance, trusting in the Almighty's aid»

I mean to try, whose reason I have tried 120

Unsound and false ; nor is it aught but just

That he who in debate of truth hath won

Should win in arms, in both disputes alike

Victor. Though brutish that contest and foul.

When reason hath to deal with force, yet so

Most reason is that reason overcome.'

** So pondering, and from his armed peers
Forth-stepping opposite, half-way he met
His daring foe, at this prevention more
Incensed, and thus securely him defied: — 130

** * Proud, art thou met ? Thy hope was to have reached
The highth of thy aspiring unopposed —
The throne of God unguarded, and his side
" Abandoned at the terror of thy power

Or potent tongue. Fool ! not to think how vain

Against the Omnipotent to rise in arms;

Who, out of smallest things, could without end

Have raised incessant armies to defeat

Thy folly; or with solitary hand.

Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow, 140

Unaided could have finished thee, and whelmed

Thy legions under darkness ! But thou seest

All are not of thy train ; there be who feith

Prefer, and piety to God, though then

To thee not visible when I alone

Seemed in thy world erroneous to dissent

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

How few sometimes may know when thousands err.'

"Whom the grand Foe, with scornful eye askance.
Thus answered : — * lU for thee, but in wished hour 15c

Of my revenge, first sought for, thou retum'st
From flight, seditious Angel, to receive
Thy mented reward, the first assay
Of this right hand provoked, since first that tongue,
Inspired with contradiction, durst oppose
A third part of the Gods, in synod met
Their deities to assert: who, while they feel
Vigour divine within them, can allow
Omnipotence to none. But well thou com'st
Before thy fellows, ambitious to win 160

From me some plume, that thy success may show
Destruction to the rest. This pause between
(Unanswered lest thou boast) to let thee know.—*

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148 PARADISE LOST. [BoOKVi,

At first I thought that Liberty and Heaven

To heavenly souls had been all one; but now

I see that most through sloth had rather serve,

Ministering Spirits, trained up in feast and song;

Such hast thou armed, the minstrelsy of heaven —

Servility with freedom to contend.

As both their deeds compared this day shall prove/ 1 70

** To whom, in brief, thus Abdiel stern replied : —
* Apostate ! still thou err'st, nor end wilt find
Of erring, from the path of truth remote.
Unjustly thou deprav^st it with the name
Of servitude, to serve whom God ordains,
Or Nature: God and Nature bid the same,
When he who rules is worthiest, and excels
Them whom he governs. . This is servitude —
To serve the unwise, or him who hath rebelled
Against his worthier, ias thine now serve thee, 1 80

Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled; ^

Yet lewdly dar'st our ministering upbraid.
Reign thou in Hell, thy kingdom ; let me serve
In Heaven God ever bkst, and his divine
Behests obej^, worthiest to be obeyed..
Yet chains m Hell, not realms, expect: meanwhile,
From me returned, as erst thou saidst,' from flight,
This greeting on thy impious crest receive.'

** So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high.
Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell 190

On the proud crest of Satan that no sight.
Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield.
Such ruin intercept. Ten paces huge
He back recoiled ; the tenth on bended knee
His massy spear upstayed : as if, on earth.
Winds under ground, or waters forcing way.
Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat.
Half-sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized
The rebel Thrones, but greater rage, to see
Thus foiled their mightiest; ours joy filled, and shout, 200

Presage of victory, and fierce desire
Of battle: whereat Michael bid sound
The Archangel trumpet. Through the vast of Heaven
It sounded, and the faithful atmies rung
Hosannah to the Highest; nor stood at gaze
The adverse legions, nor jess hideous joined.
The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose.
And clamour such as heard in Heaven till now
Was never; arms on armour clashiiig brayed •

Horrible discord^ and the madding wheels 210

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in\

Book VI.] PARADISE LOST, 149

Of brazen chariots raged j dire was the noise

Of conflict ; overhead the dismal hiss

Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew,

And, flying, vaulted either host with fire.

So under fiery cope together rushed

Both battles main with ruinous assault ;

And inextinguishable rage. All Heaven

Resounded; and, had Earth been then, all Earth

Had to her centre shook. What wonder, when

Millions of fierce encountering Angels fought 220

On either side, the least of whom could wield

These elements, and arm him with the force

Of all their regions ? How much more of power

Army against army numberless to raise

Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb.

Though not destroy, their happy native seat;

Had not the Eternal King Omnipotent

From his strong hold of Heaven high overruled

And limited their might, though numbered such

As each divided legion might have seemed ' 230 ,

A numerous host, m strength each armed hand /

A legion! Led in fight, yet leader seemed

Each warrior single as in chief; expert

When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway

Of battle, open when, and when to close

The ridees of grim war. No thought of flight,

None of retreat, no unbecoming deed

That argued fear ; each on himself relied

As only in his arm the moment lay

Of victory. Deeds of eternal fame 240

Were done, but infinite; for wide was spread

That war, and various : sometimes on firm ground

A standing fight ; then, soaring on main wing.

Tormented all the air ; all air seemed then

Conflicting fire. Long time in even scale

The battle hung; till Satan, who that day

Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms

No equal, ranging through the dire attack

Of fighting Seraphim confused, at length

Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled 250

Squadrons at once : with huge two-handed sway

Brandished aloft, the horrid edge came down

Wide-wasting. Such destruction to withstand

He hasted, and opposed the rocky orb

Of tenfold adamanty his ample shield,

A vast circumference. At his approach

The great Archangel from his warlike toil

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ISO PARADISE LOST. [BooKVi.

Surceased, and, glad, as hoping here to end

Intestine war in Heaven, the Arch-foe subdued,

Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown 260

And visage all inflamed, first thus began: —

" * Author of Evil, unknown till thy revolt.
Unnamed in Hea^^en, now plenteous as thou seest
These acts of hateful strife — hateful to all,
Though heaviest, by just measure, on thyself
And thy adherents — how hast thou disturbed
Heaven's blessed peace, and into Nature brought
Misery, uncreated till the crime
Of thy rebellion! how hast thou instilled

Thy malice into thousands, once upright 270

And faithful, now proved false! But think not here
To trouble holy rest; Heaven casts thee out
From all her confines ; Heaven, the seat of bliss,
Brooks not the works of violence and war.
Hence, then, and Evil go with thee along.
Thy offspring, to the place of Evil, Hell —
ThoU and thy wicked crew ! there mingle broils!
Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom.
Or some more sudden vengeance, winged from God,
Precipitate thee with augmented pain.' 280

" So spake the Prince of Angels ; to whom thus
The Adversary: — * Nor think thou with wind
Of airy threats to awe whom yet with deeds
Thou canst not. Hast thou turned the least of these
To flight — or, if to fall, but that they rise
Unvanquished — easier to transact with me
That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats
To chase me hence? Err not that so shall end
The strife which thou calPst evil, but we style
The strife of glory ; which we mean to win, 290

Or turn this Heaven itself into the Hell
Thou fablest; here, however, to dwell free.
If not to reign. Meanwhile, thy utmost force —
And join him named Almighty to thy aid —
- I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh.'

" They ended parle, and both addressed for fight
Unspeakable; for who, though with the tongue
Of Angels, can relate, or to what things
Liken on Earth conspicuous, that may lift

Human imagination to such highth 300

Of godlike power? for likest gods thejr seemed,
Stood they or moved, in stature, motion, arms, ,

Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven.
J^Jpw waved their fiery swords, and in the air

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Book vi.] PARADISE LOST. 1 5 1

Made horrid circles; two broad suns their shields

Blazed opposite, while Expectation stood

In horror; from each hand with speed retired,

Where erst was thickest fight, the Angelic throng,

And left large field, unsafe within the wind

Of such commotion : such as (to set forth 310

Great things by small) if, Nature's concord broke,

Among the constellations war were sprung.

Two planets, rushing from aspect malign

Of fiercest opposition, in mid sky

Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound

Together both, with next to almighty arm

Uplifted imminent, one stroke they aimed

That might determine, and not heed repeat

As not of power, at once; nor odds appeared

In mij^ht or swift prevention. But the sword 320

Of Michael from the armoury of God

Was given him tempered so that neither keen

Nor solid might resist that edge: it met

The sword of Satan, with steep force to smite

Descending, and in half cut sheer ; nor stayed.

But, with swift wheel reverse, deep entering, shared

All his right side. Then Satan first knew pain,

Ai^d writhed him to and fro convolved; so sore

The griding sword with discontinuous wound

Passed through him. But the ethereal substance closed, 330

Not long divisible; and from the gash

A stream of nectarous humour issuing flowed

Sanguine, such as celestial Spirits may bleed,

And all his armour stained, erewhile so bright,

Forthwith, on all sides, to his aid was run

By Angels many and strong, who interposed *

Defence, while others bore him on their shields

Back to his chariot where it stood retired

From off the files of war : there they him laid

Gnashing for anguish, and despite, and shame 340

To find liimself not matchless, and his pride

Humbled by such rebuke, so far beneath

His confidence to equal God in power.

Yet soon he healed; for Spirits, that live throughout

Vital in every part — not, as frail Man,

In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins —

Cannot but by annihilating die;

Nor in their Uquid texture mortal wound

Receive, no more than can the fluid air:

All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, 350

All intellect, all sense; and as they please

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152 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi.

They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size
Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare.

** Meanwhile, in other parts, like deeds deserved
Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought,
And with fierce ensigns pierced the deep array
Of Moloch, furious king, who him defied.
And at his chariot-wheels to drag him bound
Threatened, nor from the Holy One of Heaven
Refrained his tongue blasphemous, but anon, 360

Down cloven to the waist, with sliattered arms
And uncouth pain fled bellowing. On each wing
Uriel and Raphael his vaunting foe,
Though huge and in a rock of diamond armed.
Vanquished — Adramelech and Asmadai,
Two potent Thrones, that to be less than Gods
Disdained, but meaner thoughts learned in their flight,
Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate and maiL
Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy

The atheist crew, but with redoubled blow 370

Ariel, and Arioch, and the violence
Of Ramiel, scorched and blasted, overthrew.
I might relate of thousands, and their names
Eternize here on Earth; but those elect
Angels, contented with their, fame in Heaven,
Seek not the praise of men : the other sort.
In might though wondrous and in acts of war,
Nor of renown less eager, yet by doom
Cancelled from Heaven and sacred memory,.

Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell 380

For strength from truth divided, and from just,
Illaudable, naught merits but dispraise
And ignominy, yet to glory aspires,
Vain-glorious, and through infamy seeks fame:
Therefore eternal silence be their doom !

"And now, their mightiest quelled, the battle swerved^
With many an inroad gored ; deformed rout
Entered, and foul disorder ; all the ground
With shivered armour strown, and on a heap
Chariot and charioteer lay overturned, 390

And fiery foaming steeds ; what stood recoiled,
O'er- wearied, through the faint Satanic host.
Defensive scarce, or with pale fear surprised —
Then first with fear surprised and sense of pain —
Fled ignominious, to such evil brought
By sin of disobedience, till that hour
Not liable to fear, or flight, or pain.
Far otherwise the inviolable Saints

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Book VI.] PARADISE LOST, 153

In cubic phalanx firm advanced entire,

Invulnerable, impenetrably armed; 400

Such high advantages their innocence

Gave them above their foes — not to have sinned,

Not to have disobeyed; in fight they stood

Unwearied, unobnoxious to be pained

By wound, though from their place by violence moved.

** Now Night her course began, and, over Heaven
Inducing darkness, grateful truce imposed,
And silence on the odious din of war.
Under her cloudy covert both retired,

Victor and vanquished. On the foughten field 410

Michael and his Angels, prevalent
Encamping, placed in guard their watches round,
Cherubic waving fires: on the other part,
Satan with his rebellious disappeared.
Far in the dark dislodged, and, void of rest,
His potentates to council called by night,
And in the midst thus undismayed began: —

"*0 now in danger tried, now known in arms
Not to be overpowered, companions dear,

Found worthy not of liberty alone— 420

Too mean pretence — but, what we more affect,
Honour, dominion, glory, and renown;
Who have sustained one day in doubtful fight
(And, if one day, why not eternal days?) ,
What Heaven's Lord had powerfuUest to send
Against us from about his throne, and judged
SuflScient to subdue us to his will,
But proves not so: then fallible, it seems.
Of fiiture we may deem him, though till now
Omniscient thought ! True is, less firmly armed, . 430

Some disadvantage we endured, and pain —
Till now not known, but, known, as soon contemned;
Since now we find this our empyreal form
Incapable of mortal injury.
Imperishable, and, though pierced with wound,
Soon closing, and by native vigour healed.
Of evil, then, so small as easy think
The remedy: perhaps more valid arms.
Weapons more violent, when next we meet.

May serve to better us and worse our foes, 440

Or equal what between us made the odds,
In nature none. If other hidden cause
Left them superior, while we can preserve
Unhurt our minds, and understanding sound,
Due search and consultation will disclose.'

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1 54 PARADISE Lost, [fiooK vi.

"He sat; and in the assembly next upstood
Nisroch, of Principalities the prime.
As one he stood escaped from cruel fight
Sore toiled, his riven arms to havoc hewn,
And, cloudy in aspect, thus answering spake: — 450

"* Deliverer from new Lords, leader to free
Enjoyment of our right as Gods ! yet hard
, For Gods, and too unequal work, we find
Against unequal arms to fight in pain,
Against unpained, impassive; from which evil
Ruin must needs ensue. For what avails
Valour or strength, though matchless, quelled with pain,
Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands
Of mightiest? Sense of pleasure we may well
Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, 460

But live content — which is the calmest life;
But pain is perfect misery, the worst
Of evils, and, excessive, overturns
All patience. He who, therefore, can invent
With what more forcible we may offend
Our yet unwouhded enemies, or arm
Ourselves with like defence, to me deserves
No less than for deliverance what we owe.'

" Whereto, with look composed, Satan replied : —
* Not uninvented that, which thou aright 470

Believ'st so main to our success, I bring.
Which of us who beholds the bright surface
Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand —
This continent of spacious Heaven, adorned
With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems and gold —
Whose eye so superficially surveys
These things' as not to mind from whence they grow
Deep under ground: materials dark and crude.
Of spiritous and fiery spume, till, touched

With Heaven's ray, and tempered, they shoot forth 480

So beauteous, opening to the ambient light?
These in their dark nativity the Deep
Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal flame;
Which, into hollow engines long and round
Thick-rammed, at the other bore with touch of fire
Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth
From far, with thundering noise, among our foes
Such Implements of miscnief as shall dash
To pieces and overwhelm whatever stands

Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmed 490

The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt.
Nor long shall be our labour; yet ere dawn

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Book vi.J PARADISE LOST. 155

Effect shall end our wish 4 Meanwhile revive;
Abandon fear; to strength and counsel joined
Think nothing hard, much less to be despaired.'

"He ended; and his words their drooping cheer
Enlightened, and their languished hope revived.
The invention all admired, and each how he
To be the inventor missed; so easy it seemed
Once found, which yet unfbund most would have thought 500
Impossible ! Yet, haply, of thy race.
In future days, if malice should abound.
Some one, intent on mischief, or inspired
With devUish machination, might devise
Like instrument to plague the sons of men
For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent.
Forthwith from council to the work they flew;
None arguing stood; innumerable h^nds
Were ready; in a moment up they turned

Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath 510

The ori^nals of Nature in their crude
Conception; sulphurous and nitrous foam
They found, they mingled, and, with subtle art
Concocted and adusted, they reduced
To blackest grain, and into store conveyed.
Part hidden veins digged up (nor hath this Earth
Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone.
Whereof to found their engines and their balls
Of missive ruin ; part incentive reed

Provide, pernicious with one touch to fire. 520

So all ere day-spring, under conscious Night,
Secret they finished, and in order set.
With silent circumspection, unespied. <

"Now, when fair Mom orient in Heaven appeared,
Up rose the victor Angels, and to arms
The matin trumpet sune;. In arms they stood
Of golden panoply, refulgent host.
Soon banded; others from the dawning hills
Looked round!, and scouts each coast light-arm^d scour,
Each quarter, to descry the distant foe, 530

Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight.
In motion or in halt. Him soon they met
Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow
But firm battalion : back with speediest sail
Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing.
Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried : —

"*Arm, Warriors, arm for fight ! The foe at hand,
Whom fled we thous^ht, will save us long pursuit
This day ; fear not bis flight ; so thick a doud

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156 PARADISE LOST, [Book vi.

He comes, and settled in his fece I see 540

Sad resolution and secure. Let each

His adamantine coat gird well, and each

Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield.

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

If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower,

But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire.'

"So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon
In order, quit of all impediment.
Instant, without disturb, they took alarm,

And onward move embattled: when, behold, 550

Not distant far, with heavy pace the foe
Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube
Training his devilish enginery, impaled
On every side with shadowing squadrons, deep,
To hide the fraud. At interview both stood
A while; but suddenly at head appeared
Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud : —

" < Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold,
That all may see who hate us how we seek
^eace and composure, and with open breast 560

^tand ready to receive them, if they like
Our overture, and turn not back perverse:
But that I doubt. However, witness Heaven!
Heaven, witness thou anon! while we discharge
Freely our part. Ye, who aj^ointed stand,
Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch
. What we propound, and loud that all may hear.'

"So scoflSng in ambiguous words, he scarce
Had ended, when to right and left the front
Divided, and to either (lank retired; 570

Which to our eyes discovered, new and strange,
A triple mounted row of pillars laid
On wheels (for like to pillars most. they seemed.
Or hollowed bodies made of oak or fir,
With branches lopt, in wood or mountain felled).
Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths.
With hideous orifice gaped on us wide.
Portending hollow truce. At each, behind,
A Seraph stood, and in his hand a reed

Stood waving tipt with fire; while we, suspense,. 580

Collected stood within our thoughts amused. .
Not long! for sudden all at once their reeds
Put forth, and to a narrow vent applied i

With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame.
But soon obscured with smoke, all Heaven appeared,
From those deep-throated engines beldhed, whose roar -

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Book vi.] PARADISE LOST. 157

Embowelled with outrageous noise the ait,

And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul

Their devilish glut, chained thunderbolts and hail

Of iron globes ; which, on the victor host 590

Levelled, with such impetuous fury smote.

That whom they hit none on their feet might stand,

Though standing else as rocks, but down they fell

By thousands. Angel on Archangel rolled,

The sooner for their arms. Unarmed, they might

Have easily, as Spirits, evaded swift

By quick contraction or remove; but now

Foul dissipation followed, and forced rout;

Nor served it to relax their serried files.

What should they do? If on they rushed, repulse 600

Repeated, and indecent overthrow

Doubled, would render them yet more despised,

And to their foes a laughter — for in view .

Stood ranked of Seraphim another row.

In posture to displode their second tire

Of thunder; back defeated to return,,

They worse abhorred. Satan beheld their plight.

And to his mates thus in derision called : —

"*0 friends, why come not on these victors proud?
Erewhile they fierce were coming; and, when we, 610

To entertain them fair with open. front ' .

And breast (what could we more?), propounded terms
Of composition,, straight they changed their minds,
Flew on, and into strange vagaries fell.
As they would dance. Yet for a dance they seemed
Somewhat extravagant and wild; perhaps
For joy of offered peace. But I suppose,,
If our proposals once again were heard.
We should compel them to a quick result.'

"To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood:— ' <S2o

^ Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight,
Of hard contents, and fuU; of force urged home.
Such as we might perceive amused them all,
And stumbled many^ Who receives them right
Had need from head to foot well understand ; .
Not understood, this gift they have besides : —
They show us when our foes walk not upright.'

"So they among themselves in pleasant vein ' . •
Stood scoffing, highthened in their thoughts beyond
All doiibt of victory ; Eternal Might 630

To match with their inventions they presumed
So easy, and of his thunder made a. scorn, ''

{And all his host derided, while they stood*

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158 PARADISE LOST, [Book vi.

A while in trouble. But they stood not long; •

Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms
Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose.
Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power,
Which God hath in his mighty Angels placed!)
Their arms away they threw, and to the hills
(For Earth hath this variety from Heaven 640

Of pleasure situate in hill and dale)
Light as the lightning-glimpse they ran, they flew;
From their foundations, loosening to and fro,
They plucked the seated hills, with all their load,
Rocks, waters, woods, and, by the shaggy tops
Uplifting, bore them in their hands. Amaze,
Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel host.
When coming towards them so dread they saw
The bottom of the mountains upward turned,

.Till on those cursed engines' triple row 650

They saw them whelmed, and all their confidence
Under the weight of mountains buried deep;
Themselves ipvaded next, and on their heads
Main promontories flung,* which in the air
Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions armed.
Their armour helped their harm, crushed in and bruised,
Into their substance pent — which wrought them pain
Implacable, and many a dolorous groan,
Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind
Out of such prison, though Spirits of purest light, 660

Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown.
The rest, in imitation, to like arms
Betook them, and the neighbouring hills uptore;
So hills amid the air encountered hills.
Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire,
That underground they fought in dismal shade:
Infernal noise! war seemed a civil game
To this uproar; horrid confiision heaped
Upon confusion rose. And now all Heaven
Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread, 670

Had not the Almighty Father, where he sits
Shrined in his sanctuary of Heaven secure.
Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen
This tumult, and permitted all, advised,
That his great purpose he might so frilfil,
To honour his Anointed Son, avenged
Upon his enemies, and to declare
All power on him transferred. Whence to his Son,
The assessor of his throne, he thus began : —
<< * Effulgence of my glory, Son beloved, 680

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Book vi.] PARADISE LOST. 1 59

Son in whose face invisible is beheld

Visibly, what by Deity I am,

And in whose hand what by decree I do.

Second Omnipotence ! two days are passed,

Two days, as we compute the days of Heaven,

Since Michael and his Powers went forth to tame

These disobedient. Sore hath been their fight,

As likeliest was when two such foes met armed:

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

Equal in their creation they were formed, 690

Save what sin hath impaired — which yet hath wrought

Insensibly, for I suspend their doom :

Whence in perpetual fight they needs must last

Endless, and no solution will be found.

War wearied hath performed what war can do,

And to disordered rage let loose the reins.

With mountains, as with weapons, armed; which makes

Wild work in Heaven, and dangerous to the main.

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

For thee I have ordained it, and thus far 700

Have suffered, that the glory may be thine

Of ending this great war, since none but thou

Can end it. Into thee such virtue and grace

Immense I have transfused, that all may know

In Heaven and Hell thy power above cotnpare.

And this perverse commotion governed thus.

To manifest thee worthiest to be Heir

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

By sacred unction, thv deserved right.

Go, then, thou Mightiest, in thy Father's might; 710

Ascend my chariot; guide the rapid wheels

That shake Heaven's basis; bring forth all my war;

My bow and thunder, my almighty arms,

Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh ;

Pursue these Sons of Darkness, drive them out

From all Heaven's bounds into the utter Deep;

There let them learn, as likes them, to despise

God, and Messiah his anointed King.'

"He said, and on his Son with rays direct
Shone full. He all his Father full expressed ,720

Ineffably into his face received;
And thus the Filial Godhead answering spake: —

" * O Father, O Supreme of Heavenly Thrones,
First, Highest, Holiest, Best, thou always seek'st
To glorify thy Son ; I always thee,
As is most just. This I my glory account,
My exaltation, and my whole delight,

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i6o PARADISE LOST. [Book vr.

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

Fulfilled, which to fulfil is all my bliss. ,,^

Sceptre and power, thy giving, I assume, 730

And gladlier shall resign when in the end

Thou shalt be all in all, and \ in thee

For ever, and in me all whom thou lov^st.

But whom thou haf st I hate, and can put on

Thy terrors, as I put thy mildness on.

Image of thee in all things: and shall soon,

Armed with thy mieht, rid Heaven of these Rebelled,

To their prepared iU mansion driven down,

To chains of darkness and the undying worm.

That from thy just obedience could revolt, 740

Whom to obey is happiness entire.

Then shall thy Saints, unmixed, and from th^ impure

Far separate, circling thy holy Mount,

Unfeigned halleluiahs to thee sing.

Hymns of high praise, and I among them chief.'

"So said, he, o'er his sceptre bowing, rose
From the right hand of Glory where he sat ;
And the third sacred morn began to shine.
Dawning through Heaven. Forth rushed with whirlwind

sound
The chariot of Paternal Deity, 750

Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel; undrawn,
Itself instinct with spirit, but convoyed
By four cherubic Shapes. Four faces each
Had wondrous; as with stars, their bodies all
And wings were set with, eyes ; with eyes the wheels
Of beryl, and careering fires between ;
Over their heads a crystal firmament.
Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure
Amber and colours of the showery arch.

He, in celestial panoply all armed ' 760

Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought.
Ascended; at his right hand Victory
Sat eagle-winged ; beside him hung his bow.
And quiver, with three-bolted thunder stored;
And from about him fierce effusion rolled
Of smoke and bickering flame and sparkles dire.
Attended with ten thousand thousand Saints,
He onward came ; far off his coming shone ;
And twenty thousand (I their number heard)
Chariots of God, half on each hand, were seen. 770

He on the wings of Cherub rode sublime
On the crystalline sky, in sapphire throned —
Illustrious far and wide, but by his own

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Book vi.] PARADISE LOST. i6i

First seen. Them unexpected joy surprised

When the great ensign of Messiah blazed

Aloft, by Angels borne, his sign in Heaven;

Under whose conduct Michael soon reduced

His army, circumfiised on either wing,

Under their Head embodied all in one.

Before him Power Divine his way prepared; * 780

At his command the uprooted hills retired

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

Obsequious; Heaven his wonted face renewed,

And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled.

"This saw his hapless foes, but stood obdured,
And to rebellious fight rallied their Powers,
Insensate, hope conceiving from despair.
In Heavenly Spirits could such perverseiiess dwell?
But to convince the proud what signs avail,

Or wonders move the obdurate to relent? 790

They, hardened more by what might most reclaim.
Grieving to see his glory, at the sight
Took envy, and, aspiring to his highth,
Stood re-embattled fierce, by force or fraud
Weening to prosper, and at length prevail
Against God and Messiah, or to fall
In universal ruin last; and now ;
To final battle drew, disdaining flight,
Or faint retreat : when the great Son of God
To all his host on either hand thus spake: — 800

"* Stand still in bright array, ye Saints; here stand,
Ye Angels armed; this day from battle rest.
Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God
Accepted, fearless in his righteous cause;
And, as ye have received, so have ye done.
Invincibly. But of this cursed crew
The pumshment to other hand belongs;
Vengeance is his, or whose he sole appoints.
Number to this day's work is not ordained.

Nor multitude; stand only and behold 810

God's indignation on these godless poured
By me. Not you, but me, they have despised,
Yet envied; against me is all their rage,
Because the Father, to whom in Heaven supreme
Kingdom and power and gjory appertains.
Hath honourea me, according to his will.
Therefore to me their doom he hath assigned.
That they may have their wish, to try with me
In battle which the stronger proves^ they all,
Ox I alone against them ; since by strength 82c

They measure all, of.o^her excellence

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i62 PARADISE LOST, [Book vi.

Not emulous, nor care who them excels ;
Nor other strife with them do I vouchsafe.'

" So spake the Son, and into terror changed
His countenance, too severe to be beheld.
And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
At once the Four spread out their starry wings
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs
Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 830

He on his impious foes right onward drove.
Gloomy as Night. Under his burning wheels
The steadfast Empyrean shook throughout,
All but the throne itself of God. Full soon
Among them he arrived, in his right hand
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent
Before him, such as in their souls infixed
Plagues. They, astonished, all resistance lost.
All courage; down their idle weapons dropt;
O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he rode 840

Of Thrones and mighty Seraphim prostrate.
That wished the mountains now might be again
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire.
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell
His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four,
Distinct with eyes, an4 from the Bving wheels,
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes;
One spirit in them ruled, and every eye
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire
Among the accursed, that withered all their strength, 850

And of their wonted vigour* left them drained,
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen.
Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked
His thunder in mid-voUey; for he meant
Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven.
The overthrown he raised, and, as a herd
Of goats or timorous flock together thronged.
Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued
With terrors and with furies to the bounds

And crystal wall of Heaven ; which, opening wide, 860

Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed
Into the wasteful Deep. The monstrous sight
Strook them with horror backward; but far worse
Urged them behind: headlong themselves they thre\if
Down from the verge of Heaven : eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.

"Hell heard the unsuflferable noise; Hell saw
Heaven ruining from Heaven, and would have fled
Affrighted; but strict Fate had cast too deep

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Book VI.] PARADISE LOST, 163

Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. 870

Nine days they fell; confounded Chaos roared,
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall
Through his wild Anarchy; so huge a rout
Encumbered him with ruin. Hell at last,
Yawning, received them whole, and on them dosed —
Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.
Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired
Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled.
Sole victor, from the expulsion of his foes 880

Messiah his triumphal chariot turned.
To meet him all his Saints, who silent stood
Eye-witnesses of his almighty acts,
With jubilee advanced; and, as they went.
Shaded with branching palm, each order bright
Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King,
Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given.
Worthiest to reign. He celebrated rode,
' Triumphant through mid Heaven, into the courts

And temple of his mighty Father throned 890

On high; who into glory him received.
Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss.

"Thus, measuring things in Heaven by things on Earth,'
At thy request, and that thou may'st beware
By what is past, to thee I have revealed
What might have else to human race been hid —
The discord which befell, and war in Heaven
Among the Angelic Powers, and the deep fall
Of those too high aspiring who rebelled

With Satan: he who etivies now thy state, 900

Who now is plotting how he may seduce
Thee also from obedience, that, with him
Bereaved of happiness, thou may'st partake
His punishment, eternal misery;
Which would be all his solace and revenge.
As a despite done against the Most High,
Thee once to gain companion of his woe.
But listen not to his temptations; warn
Thy weaker; let it profit thee to have heard.
By terrible example, the reward 910

Of disobedience. Firm they might have stood.
Yet fell. Remember, and fear to transgress."

THB BHD OF THE SIXTH BOOK,

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK VII.

THE ARGUMENT.

Raphael, at the request of Adam, relates how an4 wherefore this Worid was first breated:
— that Crod, after the expelling of Satan and his Angels out of Heaven, declared his pleasure
to create another World, and other creatures to dwell therein; sends his Son with glory, and
attendance of Angels, to perform the work of creation in six days: the Angels cetebrate with
hymns the performance thereof, aiid bis roascension into Heaven.

DESCEND from Heaven, Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar.
Above the flight of Pe^sean wing !
The meaning, not the name, I call ; for thou ,

Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwell'st ; but, heavenly-bom,
Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed,
^ Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse.

Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play lo

In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased

With thy celestial song. Up led by thee,

Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed, : ;

An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air.

Thy tempering. With like safety guided down.

Return me to my native element;

Lest, from this flying steed unreined (as once

Bellerophon, thoueh from a lower dime)

Dismounted, on the Aleian field I £all, ; . .

Erroneous there to wander and forlorn. lo

Half yet remains uhsung, but narrower bound

Within the visible Diurnal Sphere.

Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole.

More safe I sing with mortal voipe, unchanged

To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,

164

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Book vn,] PARADISE LOST. 165

On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues,

In darkness, and with dangers compassed round.

And solitude ; ^ yet not alone, while thou

Visifst my slumbers nightly, or when Morn

Purples the East. Still govern thou my song, 30

Urania, and fit audience find, though few.

But drive far off the barbarous dissonance

Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race .

Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard

In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears

To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned

Both harp and voice; nor could the Miise defend

Her son. So fail not thou who thee implores;

For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.

Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael, 40

The affable Archangel, had forewarned

Adam, by dire example, to beware
. JVpostasy, by what befell in Heaven

To those apostates, lest the like befall

In Paradise to Adam or his race.

Charged not to touch the interdicted Tree,

If they transgress, and slight that sole command,

So easily obeyed amid the choice

Of all tastes else to please their appetite.

Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve, ^o

The story heard attentive, and was filled

With admiration and deep muse, to hear

Of things so high and strange — things to their thought

So unimaginable as hate in Heaven,

And war so near the peace of God in bliss, ,

With such confiision; but the evil, soon

Driven back, redounded as a flood on those

From whom it sprung, impossible to mix

With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repealed

The doubts that in his heart arose; and, now 60

Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know

What nearer might concern him — how this World
, Of heaven and earth conspicuous first began;

When, and whereof, created; for wl^at cause;

What within Eden, or without, was done

Before his memory — as oqe whose drouth,

Yet scarce allayed, still eyes the current stream.

Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites.

Proceeded thus to ask his Heavenly Guest : —
"Great things, and full of wonder in our ears,, 70

Far differing from this WorJd, thou hast revealed,

Divine Interpreter! by favour sent

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i66 PARADISE LOST. [Book vn.

Down from the Empyrean to forewarn

Us timely of what might else have been our loss,

Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach ;

For which to the infinitely Good we owe

Immortal thanks, and his admonishment

Receive with solemn purpose to observe

Immutably his sovran will, the end

Of what we are. But, since thou hast vouchsafed 86

Gently, for our instruction, to impart

Things above Earthly thought, which yet concerned

Our knowing, as to highest Wisdom seemed.

Deign to descend now lower, and relate

What may no less perhaps avail us known —

How first began this Heaven which we behold .

Distant so high, with moving fires adorned

Innumerable; and this which yields or fills

All space, the ambient Air, wide interfiised,

Embracing round this florid Earth; what cause 90

Moved the Creator, in his holy rest

Through all eternity, so late to build

In Chaos; and, the work begun, how soon

Absolved : if unforbid thou may'st unfold

What we not to explore the secrets ask

Of his eternal empire, but the more

Xo magnify his works the more we know.

And the great Light of Day yet wants to run

Much of his race, though steep. Suspense in heaven

Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he hears, loo

And longer will delays to hear thee tell

His generation, and the rising birth

Of Nature from the unapparent Deep :

Or, if the Star of Evening and the Moon

Haste to thv audience, Night with her will bring

Silence, and Sleep listening to thee will watch;

Or we can bid his absence till thy song

End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine."

Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought;
And thus the godlike Angel answered mild:^- 1 10

" This also thy request, with caution asked.
Obtain; though to recount almighty works
What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice,
• Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?
Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve
To glorify the Maker, and infer
Thee also happier, shall not be withheld
Thy hearing. Such commission from above
I have received, to answer thy desire

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Book vn.] PARADISE LOST, 167

Of knowledge within bounds ; beyond abstain 120

To ask, nor let thine own inventions hope

Things not revealed, which the invisible King,

Only omniscient, hath suppressed in night.

To none communicable in Earth or Heaven.

Enough is left besides to search and know;

But Knowledge is as food, and needs no less

Her temperance over appetite, to know

In measure what the mind may well contain;

Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns

Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. 130

" Know then that, after Lucifer from Heaven
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host
Of Angels than that star the stars among)
Fell with his flaming legions through the Deep
Into his place, and the great Son returned
Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent
Eternal Father from his throne beheld
Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake : -^

"*At least our envious foe hath failed, who thought
All like himself rebellious ; by whose aid 140

This inaccessible high strength, the seat
Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed^
He trusted to have seized, and into fraud
Drew many whom their place knows here no more.
Yet far the greater part have kept, I see.
Their station ; Heaven, yet popiilous, retains
Number sufficient to possess her realms,
Though wide, and this high temple to frequent
With ministeries due and solemn rites.

But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm 1 50

Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven —
My damage fondly deemed — I can repair
That detriment, ii such it be to lose
Self-lost, and in a moment will create
Another world ; out of one man a race
Of men innumerable, there to dwell,
Not here, till, by degrees of merit raised.
They open to themselves at length the way
Up hither, under long obedience tried.

And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth, 160
One kingdom, joy and unbn without end.
Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven ;
And thou, my Word, begotten Son, by thee
This I perform; speak thou, and be it done!
My overshadowing Spirit and might with thee
I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep

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i68 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii.

Within appointed bounds be heaven and eatth.

Boundless the Deep, because I anl who fill

Infinitude; nor vacuous the space,

Though I, uncircumscribed, myself retire, iyo

And put not forth my goodness, which is ffee

To act or not. Necessity and Chance

Approach not me, and what I will is Fate.'

• " So spake the Almighty ; and to what he spake

His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave eflPect.

Immediate are the acts of God, more swift

Than time or motion, but to human ears

Cannot without process of speech be told,

So told as earthly notion can receive.

Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven 1 80

When such was heard declared the Almighty's wilL

Glory they sung to the Most High, good-will

To future men, and in their dwellings peace —

Glory to Him whose just avenging ire

Had driven out the ungodly from his sight

And the habitations of the just ; to Him

Glory and praise whose wisdom had ordained

Good out of evil to create — instead

Of Spirits malign, a better race to bring

Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse ^90

His good to worlds and ages infinite.

" So sang the Hierarchies. Meanwhile the Son
On his great expedition now appeared.
Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crowned
Of majesty divine, sapience and love
Immense; and all his Father in him shone.
About his chariot numberless were poured
Cherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged
From the armoury of God, where stand of old 200

Myriads^ between two brazen mountains lodged
Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand,
Celestial equipage ; and now catne forth
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived.
Attendant on their Lord. Heaven opened wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound
On golden hinges moving, to let forth
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word
And Spirit coming to create new worlds.

On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shore 210

They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss,
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild.
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds

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Book vn.] PARADISE LOST. 169

And surging waves, as mountains to assault
Heaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole.

** • Silence, ye troubled waves, and, thou Deep, peace I '
Said then the omnific Word : * your discord end ! '■
Nor stayed; but, on the wings of Cherubim
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode

Far into Chaos and the World unborn-, 220

For Chaos heard his voice. Him all his train
Followed in bright procession, to behold
Creation, and the wonders of his might.
Then stayed the fervid wheels, and m his hand
He took the golden compasses, prepared
In God's eternal store, to circumscribe
This Universe, and all created things.
One foot he centred, and the other turned
Round through the vast profundity obscure.

And said, * Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds T 230

This be thy just circumference, O World ! '
Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth,
Matter unformed and void. Darkness profound
Covered the Abyss ; but on the watery calm
His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread.
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth,
Throughout the fluid massv but downward purged
The bkck, tartareous, cold, infernal dregs.
Adverse to life; then founded, then conglobed.
Like things to like, the rest to several place 240

Disparted, and between spun out the Air,
And Earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung.

** ' Let there be Light ! ' said God; and forthwith Light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,
Sprung from the Deep, and from her native East
To journey through the aery gloom began.
Sphered in a radiant cloud -^ for yet the Sun
Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle
Sojourned the while. God saw the Light was good;
And light from darkness by the hemisphere 250

Divided: Light the Day, and Darkness Night,
He named. Thus was the first Day even and morn;
Nor passed uncelebrated, Uor unsung
By the celestial quires, when orient light
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld,
Birth-day of Heaven and Earth. With joy and shout
The hollow universal orb they filled.
And touched their golden harps, and hjrmning praised
God and his works; Creator him they sung.
Both when first evening was, and when first morn* 260

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170 PARADISE LOST, [Book vn.

**Aga«in God said, * Let there be finnament
Amid the waters, and let it divide
The waters from the waters ! ' And God made
The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure.
Transparent, elemental air, diffused
In circuit to the uttermost convex
Of this great round — partition firm and sure,
The waters underneath from those above
Dividing; for as Earth, so he the World

Built on circumfluous waters calm, in Wide 270

Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule
Of Chaos far removed, lest fierce extremes
Contiguous might distemper the whole frame:
And Heaven he named the Firmament. So even
And morning chorus sung the second Day.

"The Earth was formed, but, in the womb as yet
Of waters, embryon immature, involved.
Appeared not ; over all the face of Earth
Main ocean flowed, not idle, but, with warm
Prolific humour softening all her globe, 280

Fermented the great mother to conceive,
Satiate with gemal moisture; when God said,
* Be gathered now, ye waters under heaven.
Into one place, and let dry land appear!'
Immediately the mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave
Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky.
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep.
Capacious bed of waters. Thither they 290

Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled.
As drops on dust conglobing, from the dry:
Part rise in cryst^ wsQl, or ridge direct,
For haste; such flight the great command impressed
On the swift floods. As armies at the call
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard)
Troop to the standard, so the watery throng,
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found —
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain.
Soft-ebbing ; nor withstood them rock or hill ; 300

But they, or underground, or circuit wide
With serpent error wandering, found their way,
And on the washy ooze deep channels wore:
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry.
All but within those banks where rivers now
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train.
The dry land Earth, and the great receptacle

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Book vii.] PARADISE LOST, 171

Of congregated waters he called Seas ;

And saw that it was good, and said, * Let the Earth

Put forth the verdant grass, herb^ yielding seed, 310

And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind,

Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth ! '

He scarce had said when the bare Earth, fill then

Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned,

Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure dad

Her universal face with pleasant green;

Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered,

Opening their various colours, and made gay

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

Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept 320

The smelling gourd, up stood the corny reed

Embattled in her field: add the humble shrub.

And bush with frizzled hair implicit: last

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

Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed

Their blossoms. With high woods the hills were crowned,

With tufts the valleys and each fountain-side.

With borders long the rivers, that Earth now

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

Or wander with delight, and love to haunt 330

Her sacred shades; though God had yet not rained

Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground

None was, but from the Earth a dewy mist

Went up and watered all the ^ound, and each

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

God made, and every herb before it grew

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

So even and mom recorded the third Day.

"Again the Almighty spake, *Let there be Lights
High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide 340

The Day from Night; and let them be for signs,
For seasons, and for days, and circling years ;
And let them be for lights, as I ordam
Their office in the firmament of heaven,
To give light on the Earth!' and it was so.
And God made two great Lights, great for their use
To Man, the greater to have rule by day,
The less by mght, altem; and made the Stars,
And set them m the firmament of heaven

To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day 350

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 celestid bodies, first the Sun

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172 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii.

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 fi^ld.

Of light by far the greater part he took,

Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed ,360

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, thpugh, from human sight

So far remote, with diminution seen.

First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, 370

Regent of day, and all the horizon round

Invested with bright rays, jocund to run

His longitude through heaven's high road; the grey

Dawn, and the Pl^ades, before him danced.

Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the Mo^n,

But opposite in levelled west, was set.

His mirror, with full face borrowing her light

From him ; for other light she needed none

In that aspect, and still that di;stance keeps

Till night; then in the easit her turn she shines, 380

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. Th^n first adorned

With her bright luminaries, that set and rose.

Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth Day.

" And God said, * Let the waters generate
Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul ;
And let Fowl fly above the earth, with wings
Displayed on the open firmament of heavten!' 390

And God created the gre?at whales, and each
Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously
The waters ^en0rated. by their kinds,
And every bird of wing after his kind.
And saw that it was good, and blessed them, saying,.
' Be fruitfiil, 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 400

Of fish that, with their fins ^nd shilling scales,

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Book VII. J PARADISE LOST. ^ 173

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 strays or, sporting with quick glance,
Show to the sun their waved coat^ dropt with gold,
Or, in their pearly shells at ease, attend
Moist nutriment, or under rocks their food
In jointed armour watch; on smooth the seal
And bended dolphins play: part, huge of bulk, ,410

Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait,
Tempest the ocean. There leviathan,
Hugest of living creatures, on the deep
Stretched like a promontory, sleeps or swims.
And seems a moving land, and at his gills
Draws in, and at hi^ trunk spouts out, a sea.
Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores.
Their brood as numerous hatch from the ^ggy that soon.
Bursting with kindly rupture, forth disclosed

Their c^ow young; but feathered soon and fledge 420

They summed their pens, and, soaring the air sublime.
With clang despised the groimd, under a cloud
; In prospect.' There the eag;le and the stork
On clifte and cedar-tops their eyries build.
Part loosely wing the region; part, more wise,
In common, ranged in figure, wedge their way.
Intelligent of seasons, and set tbrth
Their aery caravan^ high over seas
Flying, and over lands, with mutualr wing

Easing their flight: so steers the prudent crane 430

Her annual voyage, borne on winds : the air
Floats as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes.
iFrom branch to branch the smaller birds with song
Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings,
Till even ; nor then the solemn nightingale
Ceased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays.
Others, on sil^^er lakes and rivers, bathed
Their downy bfeast; the swan, with arched neck
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows
Her state with oary feet; yet oft they quit 440

The dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, tower
The mid aerial sky. Others on ground
' iWcdked firm — the crested cock, whose clarion sounds
The silent hours, and the other, whose gay train
Adorns him, coloured with the florid hue
Of rainbotts 'and starry eyes. The waters thi^
With Fish replenished, and the air with Fowl,
Kvening and morn solemnized the fifth Day.

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174 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii.

" The sixth, and of Creation last, arose
With evening harps and matin; when God said, .450

*Let the Earth bring forth soul living in her kind^
Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the earth.
Each in their kind ! ' The Earth obeyed, and, straight
Opening her fertile womb, teemed at a birth . »;

Innumerous living creatures, perfect iorms,
Limbed and full-grown. Out of the ground up rose,
As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wons
In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den —
Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked;
The cattle in the fields and meadows green: 460

Those rare and solitary, these in flocks
Pasturing at once and in broad herds, upsprung.
The grassy clods now calved; now half appeared
The tawny lion, pawing to get free
His hinder parts — then spnnes, as broke from bonds.
And rampant shakes his brinded mane; the ounce,
The libbard, and the tiger, as the mole
Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw
In hiSocks; the swift stag from underground
Bore up his branching head; scarce from his mould 470

Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheaved
His vastness; fleeced the flocks and bleating rose,
As plants; ambiguous between sea and land.
The river-horse and scaly crocodile.
At once came forth whatever creeps the ground.
Insect or worm. Those waved their liml^r fans
For wings, and smallest lineaments exact
In all the liveries decked of summer's pride,
With spots of gold and purple, azure and green;
These as a line their long dimension drew, 480

Streaking the ground with sinuous trace: not all
Minims of nature ; some of serpent kind,
Wondrous in length and corpulence, involved
Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept
The parsimonious emmet, provident
Of friture, in small room large heart enclosed —
Pattern of just equality perhaps
Hereafter — joined in her popular tribes
Of commonalty. Swarming next appeared

The female bee, that feeds her husband drone 490

Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells
With honey stored. The rest are nuirtberless,
And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st themnames^
Needless to thee repeated ; nor unknown .

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BOOKVU.] PARADISE LOST. 175

The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field,
Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes
And hairy mane terrific, though to thee
Not noxious, but obedient at thy call.

"Now Heaven in all her ^loiy shone, and rolled
Her motions, as the great First Mover's hand 500

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 510

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 520

Over the fish and fowl of sea and air.
Beast of the field, and over all the earth.
And every creeping thing that creeps the ground!^
This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee, O Man,
Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed
The breath of life ; in his own image he
Created thee, in the image of God
Express, and thou becam'st a living soul.
Male he created thee, but thy consort

Female, for race; then blessed mankind, and said, 530

*Be fruitfiil, multiply, and fill the Earth;
Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold
Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air.
And every living thine that moves on the Earth ! '
Wherever thus created — for no place
Is yet distinct by name — thence, as thou know'st,
He brought thee into this delicious grove.
This Garden, planted with the trees of God,
Delectable both to behold and taste,
And freely all their pleasant fruit for food 540

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176 PARADISE LOST, [Book vii.

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

Variety without end ; but of the tree

Which tasted works knowledge of good and evil

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

Death is the penalty imposed; beware,

And govern well thy appetite, 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 mom accomplished the sixth Day ; - 550

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
Angelic harmonies. The Earth, the Air 560

Resounded (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st),
The heavens and all the constellations rung,
The planets in their stations listening stood,
While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.

* Open, ye everlasting gates ! ' they sung ;

* Open, ye Heavens, your living doors ! let in
The ereat 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 570

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 580

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>

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Book vit.] PARADISE LOST, 177

The Filial Power arrived, and sat him down
With his great Father; for he also went
Invisible, yet stayed (such privilege

Hath Omnipresence) and the woi^ ordained, 590

Author and end of all things, and, from work ' \

Now resting, blessed and hallowed the seventh Diiy, '
As resting orf 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. 6oc

Creation and the Six Days' acts they sung: —
* Great are thy works, Jenovah! infinite
Thv powei"! 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, 610

Thou hast repelled^ while impiously they though^
Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw
The number of thy worshipers. Who seeks
To lessen thee, against his purpose, serves
To manifest the more thy might ; his evil
Thou usest, and from thence creafst 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 620

Numerous, and every star perhaps a world
Of destined habitation — but thou know'st
Their seasons ; among these the seat of men,
Earth, with her nether ocean circumfused.
Their pleasant dwelling-place. Thrice happy men,
And sons of men, whom God hath thus advanced,
Created in his image, there to dwell
And worship him, and in reward to rule
Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air.

And multiply a race of worshipers 630

Holy and just! thrice happy, if they know
Their happiness, and persevere upright ! '

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178 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii.

"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 begai..
And what before thy memory was donie
From the beginning, that posterity.
Informed by thee, might know. If else thou see)*'st
Aught, not surpassing human measure, say/* 640

THE END OF THE SEVENTH BOOK

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK VIII.

THE ARGUMENT.

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

THE Angel ended, and in Adam^s ear
So charming left his voice that he a while
Thought him stiff speaking; still stood fixed to heal^;
Then, as new-waked, thus gratefully replied: —
"What thanks sufficient, or what recompense
Equal, have I to render thee, divine
Historian, who thus largely hast allayed
The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsafed
This friendly condescension to relate

Things else by me unsearchable — now heard ' lo

With wonder, but delight, and, as is due,
With glory attributed to the high
Creator? Something ^et of doubt remains,
Which only thy solution can resolve.
When I behold this goodly frame, this World,
Of Heaven and Earth cc>nsisting, and compute
Their magnitudes — this Earth, a spot, a grain.
An atom, with the Firmament compared
And all her numbered stars, that seem to roll
Spaces incomprehensible (for such 20

Their distance argues, and their swift return
Diurnal) merely to officiate light
Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot,
One day and night, in all their vast survey
Useless besides — reasoning, I oft admire
How Nature, wise and frugal, could commit

179

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i8o PARADISE LOST. [Book vm.

Such disproportions, with superfluous hand

So many nobler bodies to create,

Greater so manifold, to this one use,

For aught appears, and on their Orbs impose 30

Such restless revolution day by day

Repeated, while the sedentary Earth,

That better might with far less compass move,

Served by more noble than herself, attains

Her end without least , motionj and receives, . j.

As tribute, such'a^imileis journey bi^otight' ' '

Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light :

Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails."

So spake our Sire, and by liis' countenance seemed
Entering on studious thougnts abstruse; which Eve 40

Perceiving, where she sat retired in sjght.
With lowliness majestic from her seat,
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay.
Rose, and w^nt forth among her fruits and flowers.
To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom,
Her nursery ; they at her coming sprung,
And, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew.
Yet went she not as pot with, such discourse ;

Delighted, or not capable her ear j

Of what Wfis :hjgh; , Such pleasure she reserved, 50

Adam relating, she sole, auditress ;
Her husband thej.rel^ter she preferred
Before the Angel, and of him to ask
Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermix
Grateful digressions, ^nd solve high dispute .
With conjugal caresses : from his lip
I Not words alone pleased her. Oh, when meet now
Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
With goddess-like demeanour forth she w^nt,
Not unattended; for , on her as Queen 60

A pomp of winning Graces waited still, . ,

And from about heP shot darts of desire
Into all eyes, tp, wish her still in sight.
And Raphael now to Adam's doubt proposed
Benevolent and facile thus replied; — . ,,

"To ask or seaj^ch I blame thee not; for Heaven
, Is as the Book of God before thee set, .
Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn
His seasons, hours, or days, pr months, or years. . .
This to attain, whether Heaven move or Eairth , 70

Imports not, iif thou reckon right; the jest
From Man or Angel the great Architect '
Did wiseFy to conceal, and not divulge . ,

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Bdbk^Tlti.] PARADISE LOST^ i«i

His secrets, to be scainned by them who ought :

Rather admire. Or, if they list to tiy <

Conjecture, he his febric of the Heavens

Hath left to their disputes — perhalps to move

His laughter at their quaint opinions ivide. . ;

Hereafter, irh^tt they Come to model Heaven,

And calculate the stars ; how. they "will wield )8o

The mighty frame; how build, unbuild, contrive ;

To save appearetttces ; how gird the Sphere

With Centnc and Eccentric scribbled o'er, . t

Cycle and Epicycle, Orb in Orb.

Already by thy reasoning this I guess.

Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest

That bodies bright and greater should not serve ;

The less not bneht, nor Heaven such journeys nin> . . {

Earth sitting stiff, 'when she alone receives

The benefit. Consider, first, that great : 90

Or bright infers not excellence. The Earth,

Though, in corftparison of Heaven, so small,
• Nor glistering, may: of solid good contain

More plenty than ^ the Siin that barren shinesy ,

Whose virtue on itself works no eflfect;

But in the fruitftil Earth ; there first received, '

His beams, unactive else, their vigour find. . !

Yet not to Earth are those bright iuniinaries > .

Officious, but t€( thee. Earth's habitant.

And, for the Heaven^ wide circuit, let it ^peak . foo

The Maker's high magnificence, who built

So spacious, and his fine stretched out so far.

That Man may know he dwells hot in his own— r

An edifice too large for him to fill.

Lodged in a smalr partition, and the rest

Ordained for uses to his Lord best known.

The swiftness of those Circles attribute.

Though numberless, to his omnipotence.

That to corporeal substances could add

Speed almost spiritual. Me thou think'st not slow, iio

Who since the morning-hour set out from Heaven

Where God residfes, and ere midrday arrived
^^In Eden — distance inexpressible

By numbers that have name. But this I urgCv

Admitting motion in the Heavens, to show • j

Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved ; t ^

Not that I so affirm, though so it seem /

To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth. .

God, to remove his ways from human sense.

Placed Heaven from Earth so iiar, that eanhly sight, 120

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i82 PARADISE LOST. [BpoK vni.

If it presume, might err in thin^ too high,
And no advantage gain. What if the Sun
Be centre to the World, and other Stars,
By his attractive virtue and their own
Incited, dance about him various rounds?
Their wandering course, now high, now low, then hid,
Progressive, retrograde, or standing still,
In six thou seest ; and what if, seventh to these,
The planet Earth, so steadfast though she seem,
Insensibly three different motions move? 130

Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe,
Moved contrary with-thw^t obliquities,
Or save the Sun his labour, and that swift
Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb supposed,
Invisible else above all stars, the wheel
Of Day and Night ; which needs not thy belief
If Earth, industrious of herself, f^tch Day,
Travelling east, and with hei* part averse
From the Sun's beam meet Night, her other part
Still luminous by his ray. What if that light* 140

Sent from her tnrough the wide transpicuous air,
To the terrestrial Moon be as a star.
Enlightening her by day, as she by night
This Earth — reciprocal, if land be there.
Fields and inhabitants? Her spots thou seest
As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce
Fruits in her softened soil, for some to eat
Allotted there; and other Suns, perhaps.
With their attendant Moons, thou wilt descry,
Communicating male and female light — 150

Which two great sexes animate the World,
Stored in each Orb perhaps with some that live.
For such vast room in Nature unpossessed
By living soul, desert and desolate,
Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute
Eacn Orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so fax
Down to this habitable, which returns
Light back to them, is obvious to dispute.
But whether thus these things, or whether not—
Whether the Sun, predominant in heaven, 160

Rise on the Earth, or Earth rise on the Sun;
He from the east his flaming road begin.
Or she from west her silent course advance
With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps
On her soft axle, while she paces even,
And bears thee soft with the smooth air along -^
^ Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid;

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Book vin.] PARADISE LOST. i»3

Leave them to God above; him serve and fear.

Of other creatures as him pleases best,

Wherever placed, let him dispose; joy thou • 170

In what he gives to thee, this Paradise

And thy fair Eve; Heaven is for thee too high

To know what passes there. Be lowly wise;

Think only what concerns thee and thy being;

Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there

Live, in what state, condition, or degree —

Contented that thus far hath been revealed

Not of Earth only, but of highest Heaven."

To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied : —
"How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure 180

Intelligence of Heaven, Angel serene,
And, freed from intricacies, taught to live
The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts
To interrupt the sweet of life, from which
God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares.
And not molest us, unless we ourselves
Seek them with wandering thoughts, and notions vain!
But apt the mind or fancy is to rove
Unchecked ; and of her roving is no end.

Till, warned, or by experience taught, she learn 190

That not to know at large of things remote
From use, obscure and subtle, but to know
That which before us lies in daily life.
Is the prime wisdom: what is more is fume,
Or emptiness, or fond impertinence.
And renders us in things that most toncem
Unpractised, unprepared, and still to seek.
Therefore from this high pitch let us descend
A lower flight, and speak of things at hand
Useful; whence, haply, mention may arise 200

Of something not unseasonable to ask.
By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deigned.
Tnee I have heard relating wh^t was done
Ere my remembrance ; now hear me relate
My story, which, perhaps, thou hast not heard.
And day is yet hot spent ; till then thou seest
How subtly to detain thee I devise,
Inviting thee to hear while I relate —
Fond, were it not in hope of thy reply.

For, while I sit with thee, I seem in Heaven; 210

And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear
Than fruits of palm-tree, pleasantest to thirst
And hunger both, from labour, at the hour
Of sweet repast. They satiate, and soon fill.

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i84 PARADISE LQST^ [3QQK,vm.

Though pleasant; but thy words,. with, gr^ce divine
Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety,"

To whom thus Raphael answered, heavenly meek;^ ., .,
"Nor are thy lips ungraceful,. Sire of Men, . j

Nor tongue in^ioquent ; for God on thee

Abundantly his gifts hath also poured, , / 220

Inward and outward , both, his image fair; . , . . ^ , .

Speaking, or mu|te, all comeliness and grace , , t

Attends thee, and each word,, each motion,, forms. , , ,;
Nor less think we in Heaven of thee, on, Earth , ,, ,

Than of our fellow-servant,, and inquire , ., ,

Gladly intothft^^ay* of God , with Man; .;
For God, we see, hath honouned thee, and set .. , . !

On Man his equal love. 3ay therefore on; ,,

For I that day was absent, as. befell, -:

Bound on a voyage luncputh and, obscure, . , 230

Far on excursion toward jthe gates of Hell, . . j

Squared in fiill legion (such cpmipaand we hiad),, .
To see that none thence i^^uenj forth a spy
Or enen|ywi>yhile,Qod was in his work^ ;^ ,i
Lest he, incensed at such eruption bold, ,

Destruction with Creation might have mixed^
Not that they di^rst without his leave attempt; . ' .; \ •;. j

But us he sends uppp his high bejiests y

For state, as sovran King, and to inur^ . ,

Our prompt obedience. Fa$t we; found, fast shut„. . ; , J240
The dismal gates, and barricadoed; strong, • > ,

But, long ere our approaching, heard within , . .

Noise, other than tlje sound jof fiance or ?ong — , , ,. ,

Torment, and loud lament ^nd furious rage.
Glad we returned :up to the co^ts of Light ' : !

Ere Sabbath-evening; so we ha^ in charge. , , . //

. But thy relation now;, for I attend, • ,, j

Pleased with thy words no less than thou with mine." f

So spake the godlike Power, and thus g\x\ Sire: —
" For Man to tell how human Ijfe began ' * . , ; P50

Is hard; for who hiipself beginning Knew? .

Desire with thee still longer to converse , . ^

Induced me. As new->^aked fromi roundest sleep, , , ,, ;
Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, : -7 ,.

In balmy sweat, which with ^lis beams tlie , Sun ... ^ , |
Soon dried, and on the f^eking; moisture , fe(J. ^ ,. ' .;

.Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I turned, i , I

And gazed a while the ^ple.sky, till, raised , ,,,,--
By quick instinctive motion, up I spi;ung,,. >; . :

As thitherward endeavouring^ and upright . , i26o

Stood on my feet. About me round I saw ,

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Book viii.] PARADISE LOST. i«5

Hill, dale, and shady woods, and ainny plains.
And liquid lapse of murmuring streams ; by these,
Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew,
Birds on the branches warbling : all things smiled ;
With fragrance and with joy my heart o'erflowed.
Myself I then perused, and limb, by limb
Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran
With supple joints, as lively vigour led ;

But who I was, or where, or from what cause, 270

Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake;
My tongue obeyed, and readily could name
Whatever I saw. *Thou Sun,' said I, *fair light.
And thou enlightened Earth, so fresh and gay.
Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains,
And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell,
Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here!
Not of myself; by some great Maker then,
Jn goodness and in power pre-eminent.

Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, 280

From whom I have that thus I move and live.
And feel that I am happier than I know!'
While thus I called, and strayed I knew not whither,
From where I first drew air, and first beheld
This haf)py light, when answer none returned.
On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers,
Pensive I sat me down. There gentle sleep
First found me, and with soft oppression seized
My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought
I then was passing to my former state £90

Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve:
When suddenly stood at my head a dream,
.Whose inward apparition gently moved
My fancy to believe I yet had being.
And lived. One caane^ methought, of shape divine.
And said, ^Thy mansion wants thee, Adam; rise.
First Man, of men innumerable ordained
First father! called by thee, I come thy guide
To the Garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.'

So saying, by t^e hand he took me, raised, 300

And over fields and waters, as in air
Smooth sliding without step, last led me up
. A woody mountain, whose high top was plain,
A circuit wide> enclosed, with goodliest trees
Planted, with walks and bowers, that what I saw
Of Earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each tree
Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to the eye
Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite

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i86 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii.

To pluck and eat; whereat I waked, and found

Before mine eyes all real, as the dream 310

Had lively shadowed. Here had new begun

My wandering, had not He who was my guide

Up hither from among the trees appeared,

Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe,

In adoration at his feet I fell

Submiss. He reared me, and, ^Whom thou soughfst I am,'

Said mildly, ^ Author of all this thou seest

Above, or round about thee, or beneath.

This Paradise I give thee; count it thine

To till and keep, and of the fruit to eat. 320

Of ev€ry tree that in the Garden grows

Eat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth.

But of the tree whose operation brings

Knowledge of good and ill, which I have set,

The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith.

Amid the garden by the Tree of Life —

Remember what I warn thee — shun to taste,

And shun the bitter consequence : for know,

The day thou eafst thereof, my sole command

Transgressed, inevitably thou shalt die, 330

From that day mortal, and this happy state

Shalt lose, expelled from hence into a world

Of woe and sorrow.' Sternly he pronounced

The rigid interdiction^ which resounds

Yet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choice

Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect

Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewed: —

* Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth

To thee and to thy race I give; as lords

Possess it, and all things that therein live, 340

Or live in sea or air, beast, fish, and fowl.

In sign whereof, each bird and beast behold

After their kinds; I bring them to receive

From thee their names, and pay thee fealty

With low subjection. Understand the same

Of fish within their watery residence.

Not hither summoned, since they cannot change

Their element to draw the thinner air.'

As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold

Approaching two and two — these cowering low 350

With blandishment; each bird stooped on his wing.

I named them as they passed, and understood

Their nature ; with such knowledge God endued

My sudden apprehension. But in these

I found not what methought I wanted still,

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BooKvni.] PARADISE LOST, 187

And to the Hes^venly Vision thus presumed: —

"*0, by what name — for Thou above all these^
Above mankind, or ^u^ht than nmnkind higher, *

Surpassest far my nammg — how may I

Adore thee,f Author of this Universe, 360

And all this good to Man, for whose well-being *
So amply, and with hands so liberal,
Thou hast provided all things? But with me
I see not who partakes. In solitude
What happiness? who can enjoy alone,
Or, all enjoying, what contentment find?'
Thus I, presumptuous; and the Vision bright,
As with a smile more brightened, thus replied: —

«<What cairst thou solitude? Is not the Earth
With ^various living creatures, and the Air, 370

Replenished, and 3l these at thy command
To come and play before thee? Know'st thou not
Their language and their ways? They also know.
And reason not contemptibly; with these
Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.*
So spake the Universal Lord, and seemed
So ordering. I, with leave of speech implored.
And humble deprecation, thus replied: —

"^Let not my words oiFend thee. Heavenly Power;
My Maker, be propitious while I speak. 380

Hast thou not made me here thy substitute,
And these inferior far beneath me set?
Aniong unequals what society
Can sort, what harmony or true delight?
Which must be mutual, in proportion due
Given and received; but, in disparity.
The one intense, the other still remiss.
Cannot well suit with either, but soon prove
Tedious alike. Of fellowship I speak

Such as I seek, fit to participate 390

All rational delight, wherein the brute
Cannot be human consort. They rejoice
Each with their kind, lion with lioness;
So fitly them in pairs thou hast combined:
Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl,
So well converse, nor with the ox the ape;
Worse, then, can man with beast, and least of all.'

"Whereto the Almighty answered, not displeased: —
* A nice and subtle happiness, I see,

Thou to thyself proposest, in the choice 400

Of thv associate?, Adam, and wilt taste
No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary.

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1 88 TARADiSE LOST. [Book viii.

What think'st thou, then, of me, and this my state?

Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed

Of happiness, or not, who am alone ^

From all eternity? for none I know

Second to me or like, equal much less, »

How have I, then, with whom to hold convei'se.

Save with the creatures which I made, and those

To me inferior infinite descents 410

Beneath what other creatures are to thee?^

"He ceased. I lowly answered: — * To attain
The highth and depth of thy eternal ways
All human thoughts come short. Supreme of Things f
Thou in thyself art perfect, and in thee
Is no deficience found. Not so is Man,
But in degree — the cause of his desire
By conversation with his like to help
Or solace his defects. No need that thou

Should'st propagate, already infinite, 420

And through all numbers absolute, though One }
But Man by munber is to manifest
His single imperfection, and beget
Like of his like, his image multiplied.
In unity defective; which requires
Collateral love, and dearest amity.
Thou, in thy secrecy although alone.
Best with thyself accompanied, seek^st- not
Social communication — yet, so pleased, :

Canst raise thy creature to what highth thou wilt 430

Of union or communion, deified ;
I, by conversing, cannot these erect
From prone, nor in their ways complacence find.'
Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used
Permissive, and acceptance found; which gained
This answer from the gracious Voice Divine : —

"^Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleased, ' '

And find thee knowing not of beasts alone, <

Which thou hast rightly named, but of thyself —
Expressing well the spirit within thee free, 440

My image, not imparted to the brute;
Whose fellowship, therefore, unmeet for thee,
Good reason was thou freely shouldst dislike.
And be so minded still. I, ere thou spak'st,
Knew it not good for Man to be alone.
And no such company as then thou saw'st
Intended thee — for trial only brought.
To see how thou couldst judge of fit and meet.
What next I bring shall please thee, be assured,

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BooK*vill.]I PAR AnrSE LOST. 189

Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy oUier sel^ ' ; 450

Thy wish exactly to thy heart's desire.'
"He endedyior. I heard no more; for now : :

o' ,My eartyy^-by his ' heavfenly ovfcrpowered> . . :

Which it had long stood under, strained to the highth
In that celestial colloquy sublime, ; * ■'

As with an object that excels the .sense, ■

Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair
Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, cafied '
By Nature as in aid,: and closed mine eyes,- .
Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell .460

Of fancy, my internal sight; by which, , . !

Abstract as in a trance, methought I saw,

o^iThough sleeping, where I; lay, and saw the Shape
Still glorious before whom awake I stood;
Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took
From thence a rib, with cotdial spirits warm,
And life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the wjjund,
But suddenly with . fliesh filled up and healed.
The rib he formed and; fashioned with his hands; '

Under his forming hinds a creature grew, ,: 470

Man-like, but different sex, so lovely fair
That what seemed ffeir in all the world seerii6d noW

' Mean, or in her summed upi, m her contained
And in heittlpoksi,' which from that time infused
Sweetness into my heart imfelt before, - '

And into all things frdm her air inspired ;

The spirit of love and amorous delight.
She disappeared^ amdi left me dark; I waked- . ^ ^
To find her, or for ever to deplore

Her lossy'-and other pleasures all abjure: 480

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

Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned -

^;^ith what all Earth' or > Heaven could besftow . - .

To make her amiable^ On she came;
Led by her Heavenly Maker, though unseen
And guided by his. voice, nor uninformed > /

Of nuptial sanctity ahd marriage rites. . :
Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, > '•

In every gesture dignity and love ► ''

I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud : -^ • 49°

"<This turn hath made amends; thou host fulfilled . t

Thy words. Creator bounteous and benign,, i •; •. ' \

' •.;Giver of all things fair — but fairest this . " ]

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

Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my Sell < ' ' /

Before me. Woman is her namcv bf.Man \ : ^^ f

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190 PARADISE LOST, [BoOKViH.

Extracted; for this cause he shall forgo , . '

Father and mother, and to his wife sphere,

And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one ;soul.' • '

"She heard me thus; and, though divinely brought^ 500

Yet innocence and virgin modesty, i

Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth.
That would be wooed, and not unsought be won,
Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired,
The more desirable — or, to say all.
Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought — ►
Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned.
I followed her; she what was honour knew,
And with obsequious majesty approved •

My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower 510

I led her blushing like the Morn ; all Heaven,
And happy constellations, on that hour
Shed their selectest influence; the Earth
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ;
Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs
Whispered it to the woods, and from theic wings
Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub, '

Disporting, till the amorous bird of night ;

Sung spousal, and bid haste the Evening-star
On his hill-top to light the bridal lamp. 520

"Thus have I told thee all my state> and brought
My story to the sum of earthly bliss
Which I enjoy, and must confess to find
In all things else delight indeed, but such
As, used or not, worlS in the mind no change,
Nor vehement desire — these delicacies >:

I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers, i ;
Walks, and the melody of birds : but here,
Far otherwise, transported I behold.

Transported touch; here passion first I felt, 530

Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else
Superior and unmoved, here only weak
Against the charm of beauty's powerful glance.
Or Nature foiled in me, and len some part
Not proof enough auch object to sustain,
Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps
More than enough — at least on her bestowed
Too much of ornament, in outward show
Elaborate, of inward less exact.

For well I understand in the prime end ^ 540

Qf Nature her the inferior, in the mind
And inward faculties, which most excel;
In outward also her resembling less

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Book vhi.] PARADISE LOST, 191

His image who made both, and less e^qiressing

The character of that dominion given

O'er other creatures. Yet when I a]q>roach

Her loveliness, so absolute she seems

And in herself complete, so well to know

Her own, that what she wills to do or say

Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. 550

All higher Knowledge in her presence £dls

Degraded; Wisdom in discourse with her

Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shows;

Authority and Reason on her wait,

As one intended first, not after made

Occasionally; and, to consimimate all,

Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat

Build in her loveliest, and create an awe

About her, as a guard angelic placed."

Tp whom the Angel, with contracted brow: — 560

"Accuse not Nature i she hath done her part;
Do thou but thine! and be not diffident
Of Wisdom ; she deserts thee not, if thou
Dismiss not her, when most thou need'st her nigh,
By attributing overmuch to things
Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st.
For, what admir'st thou, what transports thee so?
An outside — feir, no doubt, and worthy well
Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love;
Not thy subjection. Weigh with her thyself; 570

Then value. Oft-times nothing profits more
Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right ,

Well managed. Of that skill the more thou know^t,
The more she will acknowledge thee her head,
And to realities yield all her shows —
Made so adorn for thy delight the more.
So awful, that with honour thou may'st love
Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise.
But, if the sense of touch, whereby mankind
Is propagated, seem such dear delight 580

Beyond all other, think the same vouchsafed
To cattle and each beast ; which would not be
Tb them made common and divulged, if aught
Therein enjoyed were worthy to si^ue
The soul of Man, or passion in him move.
What higher in her society thou find'st
Attractive, human, rational, love still:
In loving thou dost well; i^ passion not,
Wherein true Love consists not. Love refines
The thoughts, and heart enlarges — hath his seat 590

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19? PARADISE LOST. [Book viii.

In Reason, and i§ judicipus, is the scale
By which to Heavenly Love thou may'st ascend,
Not sunk in carnal pleasure; for which cfause ,
Among the beasts no mate for thee was found."

To whom thus, half abashed, Adam replied: —
" Neither her outside formed go fair,' nor- aught . -

Jn procreation, commoii to all kinds
(Though higher of the;. genial bed by far,
And with mysterious reverence, I deem).

So much delights pae.as those graceful acts, . . 600

Those thousand decencies, that daily flow
« From all her words and actions, mixed with love

And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned < . •

Union of mind, or in us- both one soul—

Harmony to behold in wedded pair

More gKiteful than harmonious sound to: the ear^

lYet these subject not; I to thee disclose

What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled,

Who meet with various objects, from the sense . v

Variously representing, , yet, still free, . 6I0

Approve the best, and follow what L approve. ^'•

To love thou blam'st me not ^ for Love, thou say'st,

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

Bear with me, then, if lawfiil what I ask. ■

Love not the Heavenly Spirits, and how their love

Express they — by looks only, or do they mix i

Ij^diance, virtual or immediate touch?"

To whom the Angel, with a smile that glowed
Celestial rosy-red. Love's proper hue,

Answered : —^M>et it. suffice thee that thou know'st .620

Us happy, and without Love no happiness.
Whatever pure thou in the body enjo/st
(And pure thou wert created) we enjoy
In eminence, and obstacle find none
Of membrane, joints or limb, exclusive bars.
Easier than air with air, if Spirits embrace,
Total they mix, union of pure with pure -:

Desiring, nor restrained conveyance need
As flesh to mix with .flesh, or soul with soul.
But I can now no: more: the parting Sun . 630

Beyond the Earth's greea Cape and verdant Isles
Hesperean sets, my signal to depart. . ' '

Be strong, live happy, and love!. but first of all
Him whom to love is to obey, and keep-
His great command; take heed leet ipassion sway
Thy judgment to do aUght which else free*will ; ..;!.'

Would not admit; thiiie and of<^all ithy sonsi

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Book viii.] PARADISE LOST. 193

The weal or woe in thee is placed; beware !

I in thy persevering shall rejoice,

And all the Blest. Stand fast; to stand or fall 640

Free in thine own arbitrement it lies.

Perfect within, no outward aid require;

And all temptation to transgress repel."

So saying, he arose; whom Adam thus
Followed with benediction : — ** Since to part, .
Go, Heavenly Gudsl;, Ethereal Messetiger,
Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore !
Gentle to me and affable hath been
Thy condescension, and shall be honoured ever
With grateful memory. Thou to Mankind 650

Be good and friendly still, and oft return ! "

So parted they, the Angel up to Heaven
From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower.

'sHJi iiltD OP THE EIGHTH BOOK*

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PARADISE LOST.

BCX3K IX.

THE ARGUMENT.

Satan, having compassed the Earth, with meditated guile returns as a mist by night into
Paradise; enters into the Serpent sleeping. Adam and Eve in the morning go forth to their
labours, which Eve proposes to divide in several places, each labouring apart : Adam consents
not, alleging the danger lest that enemy of whom they were forewarned should attempt her
found alone. Eve, loth to be thought not circumspect or firm enough, urges her going apart,
the rather desirous to make trial of her strength; Adam at last yields. The ^rpent finds
h<er alone: his subtle approach, first gazing, then speaking, with much flattery extolling Eve
above all other creatures. Eve, wondering to hear the Serpent speak, asks how he attained
to human speech and such understanding not till now; the Serpent answers that by tasting
of a certain tree in the Garden he attained both to speech and reason, till then void of both.
Eve requires him to bring her to that tree, and finds it to be the Tree of Knowledge forbidden:
the Serpent, now grown bolder, with many wiles and arguments induces her at fength to eat.
She, pleased with the taste, deliberates a while whether to impart thereof to Adam or not; at
last brings him of the fruit; relates what persuaded her to eat thereof. Adam, at first amazed,
but perceiving her lost, resolves, through vehemence of love, to perish with her, and, exten-
uating the trespass, eats also of the fruit. The effects thereof m them both; they seek to
cover their nakedness; then fall to variance and accusation of one another.

NO more of talk where God or Aiigel Guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar used
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast, permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblamed. I now must change
Those notes to tragic — foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal, on the part of man, revolt
And disobedience ; on the part of Heaven,
Now alienated, distance and distaste,

Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given, lo

That brougnt into this World a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery,
Death's harbinger. Sad task ! yet argument
Not less but more heroic than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused ;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long

194

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Book ix.] PARADiSM LOST. 195

Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:^

If answerable style I can obtain 20

Of my celestial Patroness, who deigns

Her nightly visitation unimplored,

And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires

Easy my unpremeditated verse.

Since first this subject for heroic song

Pleased me, long choosing and beginning late,

Not sedulous by nature to indite

Wars, hitherto the only argument

Heroic deemed, chief mastery to dissect

With long and tedious havoc febled knights 30

In batdes feigned (the better fortitude

Of patience and heroic martyrdom

Unsung), or to describe races and games,

Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields.

Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,

Bases and tinsel trappings, eorgeous knights

At joust and tournament ; then marshalled feast

Served up in hall with sewers and seneshals:

The skill of artifice or office, mean ;

Not that which justly gives heroic name 40

To person or to poemf Me, of these

Nor skilled nor studious, higher argument

Remains, sufficient of itself to raise

That name, unless an age too late, or cold

Climate, or years, damp my intended wing

Depressed ; and much they may if ^ be mine,

Not hers who brings it nightly to my ear.

The Sun was sunk, and after him the Star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring

Twilight upon the Earth, short arbiter 50

Twixt day and night, and now from end to end
Night's hembphere had veiled the horizon round,
When Satan, who late fled before the threats
Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improved
In meditated fraud and malice, bent
On Man's destruction, maugre what might hap
Of heavier on himself, fearless returned.
By night he fled, and at midnight returned
From compassing the Earth — cautious of day
Since Uriel, Regent of the Sun, descried 60

His entrance, and forewarned the Cherubim
That kept their watch. Thence, full of anguish, driven,
The space of seven continued nights he rode
With darkness — thrice the equinoctial line
He circled, four times crossed the car of Night

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J96 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix.

From pole to pole, traversing each colure —
, rOn the eighth returned, and on the coast averse

From entrance or cherubic watch by stealth

Found unsuspected way. There was a place

(Now not, though Sin, not Time, first wrought the change) 70

Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise,

Into a gulf shot under ground, till part :

Rose up a fountain by the Tree of Life.

In with the river sunk, and with it rose,

Satan, involved in rising mist; then sought

Where to lie hid. Sea he had searched and land
;From Eden over Pontus, and the Pool

Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob ;

Downward as far antarctic; and, in length.

West from Orontes to the ocean barred 80

At Darien, thence to the land where flows

Ganges and Indus. Thus the orb he roamed

With narrow search, and with inspection deep

Considered every creature, which of ,all -

Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found

The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field.

Him, after long debate, irresolute

Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose

Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in Whom

To enter, and his dark suggestions hide ^90

From sharpest sight; for in the wily snake

Whatever sleights none would suspicious mark,

As from his wit and native subtlety

Proceeding, which, in other beasts observed,

Doubt might beget of diabolic power 1 •

Active within beyond the sense of brute. ' :

Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief

His bursting passion into plaints thus poured:—: »

"OiEarth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred . •. - '

More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built 100

With second thoughts, reforming what was old! *

For what God, after better, worse would build?

Terrestrial Heaven, daipiced round by other Heavens,

That shine, yet bear their bright olficious lamp%

Light above light, for thee alorte, ^ secmi,

In the concentring all their precious beams
.Of sacred influence! As God in Heaven

Is centre, yet extends to all, so thou

Centring receiv'st from all those orb^;- in thee, *

Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears, lie

Productive in herb, plant, ahd nobler birth.

Of creatures animate with gradU^: life

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Book ix:] PARADISE LOST, 197

Of erowth, sense, reason^ all summed up ia Man.

With what delight could. I have walked thee round.

If I could joy in aught — sweet interchange

Of hill alnd valley, rivers, woods, and plain;,

Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned,

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

Find place or refuge ; and the more I see

Pleasures about me, so mudh more I feel . 120

Torment within me, as from, the hateful si^^e

Of contraries ; all 'good to . me becomes

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

But neither heve seek I> no, nor in Heaven,

To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme y

Nor hope to be myself less, miserable .

By what I seek, but others to make such

As I, though thereby worse to me redound.

For only in destroying I find ease

To my relentless thoughts ; and him destroyed, 1 30

Or won to what may work his utter loss, , , .

For whom all this was made, all this will soon

Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe:

In woe then, ;that destruction wide may range I

To me shall be the gloty sole among

The Infernal Powers, in one day to have marred

What he. Almighty styled, six nights and days

Continued making, and who knows how long

Before had been contriving? though perhaps

Not longer than sitice I id. one night freed 140

From servitude inglorious well nigh half

The Angelic Name, and thinner left the throng ,

Of his adorers. He, to be avenged, . f

And to repair- his, numbers thus impaired — .

Whether such virtue, spent of old, now failed

More Angels to create (if they at least

Are his created), or to spite us more —

Determined to. advance into our room

A creature formed of earth, and hnn endow,

Exalted from sp base original, 150

With heavenly spoils, our spoils. What he decreed

He effected ; Man lie made, and for him built

Magnificent this World, and Earth his seat^

Him Lord pronounced, and, O indignity]

Subjected to his service Angel- wings

And flaming ministers, to watch and tend

Their earthy charge. Of these the vigilance

I dread, and to elude, thus wrapt in mist

Of midnight vapour, glide obScure> and pry

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i9« PARADISE LOST. [Book ix.

In every bush and brake^ where hap mav find 1 60

The Serpent sleeping, in whose mazy folds

To hide me, and the dark intent I bring.

O foul descent! that I, who erst contended

With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained

Into a beast, and, mixed with bestial slime,

This essence to incarnate and imbrute,

That to the highth of deity aspired!

But what will not ambition and revenge

Descend to? Who aspires must down as low

As high he soared, obnoxious, first or last, 170

To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet.

Bitter ere long back on itself recoUs.

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

Since higher I fall short, on him who next

Provokes my envy, this new favourite

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

Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised

From dust; spite then with spite is best repaid."

So saying, through each thicket, dank or dry,
Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on iSo

His midnight search, where soonest he might find
The Serpent. Him fast sleeping soon he found,
In labynnth of many a round self-rolled,
His head the midst, well stored with subtle wiles:
Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den.
Nor nocent vet, but on the grass)) herb,
Fearless, unteared, he slept. In at his mouth
The Devil entered, and his brutal sense,
In heart or head, possessing soon inspired

With act intelligential ; but his sleep 190

Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of mom.

Now, whenas sacred light began to dawn
In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed
Their morning incense, when all things that breathe
From the Earth's great altar send up silent praise
To the Creator, and his nostrils fill
With gratefiil smell, forth cam^ the human pair,
And joined their vocal worship to the quire
Of creatures wanting; voice ; that done, partake
The season, prime tor sweetest scents and airs; 200

Then commune how that day thev best may ply
Their growing work — for much tneir work outgrew
The hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide :
And Eve first to her husband thus l^gan: —

"Adam, well may wfe labour still to dress
This Garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower,

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Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 199

Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more hands
Aid us, the work under our labour grows,
Luxurious by restraint: what we by day

Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, 210

One night or two with wanton /growth derides,
Tending to wild. Thou, therefore, now advise^
Or hear what to my mind first thoughts present.
Let us divide our labours — thou where cnoice
Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind
The woodbine round this arbour, or direct
The clasping ivy where to climb; while I
In yonder spring of roses intermixed
With myrtle find what to redress till noon.

For, while so near each other thus all day 320

Our task we choose, what wonder if so near
Looks intervene and smiles, or objects new
Casual discourse draw on, which intermits
Our day's work, brought to little, though begun
Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned ! "
To whom mild answer Adam thus returned : — ^
"Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond
Compare above all living creatures dear !
Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employe^
How we might best fulfil the work which here 230

God hath assigned us, nor of me shalt pass
Unpraised; for nothing lovelier can be found
In woman than to study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote.
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed
Labour as to debar us when we need
Refi'eshment, whether food, or talk between,
Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse
Of looks and smiles ; for smiles from reason flow
To brute denied, ana are of love the food — , 240

Love, not the lowest end of human life.
For not to irksome toil, but to delight.
He made us, and delight to reason loined.
These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands
Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long
Assist us. But, if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield;
For solitude sometimes is best society.

And short retirement urges sweet return. 250

But other doubt possesses me, lest harm
Befall thee, severed from me; for thou know'st
What hath been warned us — what malicious foe>

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200 PArADTSE: LOST. [Book IX.'

Envying our happiness, and of his own

Despainng, seeks to work us woe and shame

By sly assault, and somewhere nigh at hand

Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find

His wish and best advantage, us asunder,

Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each '

To other speedy aid might lend at need. 2j6o

Whether his first design be to withdraw

Our fealty froitt God, or to disturb ,'

Conjugal love — than whi<l:h perhaps no bliss

Enjoyed by us excites his envy more —

Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side

That gave thee being, still shades thee and protects. . ^

The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks.

Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,

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

To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, 270

As one who loves, and some unkindness meets.
With sweet austere composure thus replied : —

" Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth's lord !
That such an enemy we have, who seeks
Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn,
And from the parting angel overheard,
As in a shady nook I stood behind;
Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.
But that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt
To God or thee, because we have a foe ^ 2^0

May tempt it, I expected not to hear.

His violence thou fear'st not, being such '

As we, not capable of death or pain, '

Can either not receive, or can repel. '

His fraud is, then^ thy fear; which plain infers
Thy equal fear that mv firm faith and Iovq^
Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced:

Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast, '

Adam ! misthought of her to thee so dear ? "

To whom, with healing words, Adam replied : — 290

" Daughter' of God and Man, immortal Eve ! -^
For such thou art, from sin and blame entire —
Not diffident of thee do I dissuade
Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid
The attempt itself, intended by our foe.
For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses
The tempted with dishonour foul, supposed
Not incorruptible of faith, not proof
Against temptation. Thou thyself with scorn
And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong, ' 300

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Book IX.] PARADISE LOST, to\

Though ineffectual found; mi&deetn not, then,
If such affront I labour to avert
; From thee alone, which on us both at once
The enemy, though- bold, will hardly dare;
Or, daring, first on. me the assault shall light.
Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn — ^
Subtle he needs must be who could seduce
Angels — nor think superfluous others' aid.
I from the influence of thy looks receive

Access in every virtue**- in thy sight 310

More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were
Of outward strength ; whUe shame, thou looking on,
^ -Shame to be overcome or overreached, '

Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite ^.
Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel
When I am prebent, and thy trial choose
With me, best witness: of thy virtue tried?"

So spake domestic Adam m his care '

And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought
Less attributed to her feith sincere, 320

Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed :^-

" If this be our condition, thus to dw^ll
In narrow circuit strattejied by a foe.
Subtle or violent^ we not endued
Single with like defence wherever met.
How are we happy, still in fear of harm?
But harm precedes not sin: only our foe
Tempting affronts us with his foul' esteem !

Of our inte^ty: his foul esteem

Sticks no dishonour on our front, but tum^ ' 330

Foul on himself^ ' then wherefore shunned or feared
By us, who rather double honour gain •
From his surmise proved false, find peace within,
Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event?
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed
Alone, without exterior help sustained ?
Let us not then suspect otir happy state
Left so imperfect by the Maker wise
As not secure to single or combined.

Frail is our happiness, if this be sd ; 340

And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed."

To whom thus Adam fervently replied :^^
;.:«0 Woman, best are all things as the will
Of God ordained' them ; hi^ creating haiwl
Nothing imperfect or deficient left
Of all that he created — much less Man, ■

Or aught that might his happy «tate Sfeolre,

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PARADISE LOST. [Book ix.

Secure from outward force. Within himself

The danger lies, yet lies within his power;

Against his will he can receive no harm. 350

But God left free the Will ; for what obeys

Reason is free ; and Heason be made right,

But bid her well be ware, and still erect,

Lest, by some fair appearing good surprised,

She dictate false, and misinform the Will

To do what God expressly hath forbid.

Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins

That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me.

Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve, "^

Since Reason not impossibly may meet 360

Some specious object by the foe suborned,

And fall into deception unaware, .-

Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.

Seek not temptation, then, which to avoid

Were better, and most likely if from me

Thou sever not: trial will come unsought.

Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve

First thy obedience; the other who can know^

Not seeing the attempted, who attest?

But, if thou think trial unsought may find 370

Us both securer than thus warned thou seem'st,

Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more.

Go in thy native innocence; rely

On what thou hast of virtue ; summon all ;

Fpr God toward thee hath done his part: do thine.^

So spake the Patriarch of Mankind ; but Eve
Persisted ; yet submiss, though last, replied : —

"With thy permission, then, and thus forewarned,
Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words
Touched only, that our trial, when least sought^ 380

May find us both perhaps far less prepared.
The willinger I go, nor much expect
A foe so proud will first the weaker seek;
So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse."

Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand
Soft she withdrew, and, like a wood-nymph light.
Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train.
Betook her to the groves, but Delia^s self
In gait surpassed and eoddess-like deport.

Though not as she with bow and quiver armed, . 390

But with such gardening tools as Art, yet rude.
Guiltless of fire had formed, or Angels brought.
To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned^
Likest she seemed — Pomona when she fled

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Book dc.] PARADISE LOST. 203

Vertumnus — or to Ceres in her prime,
Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove.
' Her long with ardent look his eye pursued
Delighted, but desiring more her stay.
Oft he to her his charge of quick return

Repeated; she to him as oft engaged 400

To be returned by noon amid the bower,
And all things in best order to invite
Noontide repast, or aftemoou^s repose.
O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve,
Of thy presumed return ! event perverse !
Thou never from that hour in Paradise
Found'st either sweet repast or sound repose;
Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades.
Waited, with hellish rancour imminent,

To intercept thy way, or send thee back 410

Despoiled , of innocence, of faith, of bliss.
For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend,
Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come.
And on his quest where likeliest he might find
The only two of mankind, but in them
The whole included race, his purposed prey.
In bower and field he sought, where wiy tuft
Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay.
Their tendance or plantation for delight;

By fountain or by shady rivulet 420

He sought them both, but wished his hap might find
Eve separate ; he wished, but not with hope
Of what so seldom chanced, when to his wish.
Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies.
Veiled in a doud of fragrance, where she stood,
Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing round
About her glowed, oft stoopine to supp(»rt
Each flower of tender stalk, whose head, though gay
Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold,
Hung drooping unsustained. Them she upstays 430

Genuy with myrtle band, mindless the while
Herself, though fairest imsupported flower.
From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.
Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed
Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm ;
Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen
Amone thick-woven arborets, and flowers
Imbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve :
Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned
Or of revived Adonis, or renowned 440

Aldnous, host of old Laertes* son^

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2D4 PARADISE LOST,. [Book ix.;

Or that, not mystic, where the saptent ki^g ; . . ,

Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian .spouse. *

Much he the place admjorad, the.persojn moj;e.

As one who, long in populous city pent, ;

Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,
^5orth issuing on a summer's inorn, to breathe

Among the pleasant villages and farms

Adjoined, from each thing met conceiv'es delight-—

The smell of grain, 6r tedded grass, or khie, . 450

Or dairy, each rursil -.sight, each rural sound — - < -

If chance with nymph-like step fair virgin pass, ;

What pleasing seemed for her now. pl^es; more,.

She most, and in her look sums all delight: j

Such pleasure took the. Serpent to behold .

This flowery plat, the sweet recess ; of Eve
V rrhus early, thus alone. Her heavenly form

Angelic, but more soft and feminine, 1

Her graceful innocaence, her .every air .

Of gesture or least action, overawed 460

His malice, and with rapine sweet- bereaved '

His fierceness of the fierce intent it broughtx

That space the Evil. One abstracted stood

From his own evil, and for the time remained

Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed,

Of guile, of hate, of envy^ ,of .reveAge.

'But the hot hell that always in him burns> . .

Though in I mid. Heaven, isoon ended his delight,

And tortures him now more^the more he sees

Of pleasure not foi* him ordained. Then soon ' 470

Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts ^

Of mischief, gratiilating^tthus excites:-^ ,

" Thoughts, whither have ye led me ? with what sweet 1

Compulsion thus transported to forget . v

What hither, brought Us ? hate, not love, nor hope

Of Paradise for Hell, hope here: to taste
t (pf pleasure, but -all pleasure to destroy,

Save what is in destro5dng; other joy

To me is lost. Then let me not let pass

Occasion which now smiles. Behold alone 480

The Woman, opportune to all attempts-^

Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh^

Whose higher intellectual more I shun.

And strength, of courage haughty, and of limb

Heroic built, though of: terrestrial mould; - . .i

Foe not informidabie^ Exempt fh)m wound —
: ;4 not; so much hath Hell debased, and pain .

Enfeebled me, to what I was in H^ven^ . . ..."

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Book i«.] IFARADISE XOST. ^

She fair, divinely fair, fit lov^fe for Gods, -;

Not terrible, though terror be in love, ■ . . H90

And beauty, not approached? by stronger hate, . .- • :>'-i

Hate stronger under show of love well feigned-* ' > '

J- The way which to her mini now I tend." - > . -^

So spake the Enemy of Mankind, enclosed " . //

In serpent, inmate bad, and^toWard Eve : •/

Addressed his way — not • with indented wave, •

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

Circular base of rising folds, that towered .. ; ; ;

Fold above fold^ a surging maze; his* head '*

Crested aloft, and darbunck his eyes; '500

With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect
Amidst his circling' spires, that on the grass , .^

Floated redundant. Pleasing" was his shape ■• '

And lovely; never since of serpent kind / '

Lovelier — not those that in I Uyria changed
Hermione' and Gadmlus, or the god
In Epidaurus; nor to which transformed '
Ammonian Jove, or Capitollne, wais 'seen/ • '

He with Olympias, this with her who bore ' < ■' ■'

Scipio, the highth of Rome. 'With tract oblique 510

At first, as one who sought access but feared ' ' '

To interrupt, sidelong he works his way. '-

' 'As when a ship, by iskilfiil steersman wrought
Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind
Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail, : • '

So varied he, and of his tortuous train '

Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, ^

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

Of rustling leaves, but minded not, as used

To such disport before * her through the field , * •' j20

From every beast, mbre duteous at her call . ' "

Than at Circean call the herd disguised.

He, bolder now, uncalled befdre her stood, v ,: //

But as in gaze admiring. Off he bowed * : : ;

His turret crest and sleek Enamelled neck, '

Fawning, and licked the ground whereon she trod. ■'

His gentle dumb expression turned at length ' ;

The eye of Eve to mark his play ; he, glad
Of her attention gained, with- serpent-tongue , ' \

Organic, or impulse of vocal air, f 530

His fraudulent temptation thus began: — . ;,

" Wonder not, sovran mistress (if perhaps ^ '!

Thou canst who art sole wonder), much less arm ' • ' ' '

Thy looks, the heaven of mildness^ with disdain, ' - - ^

Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze

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2o6 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix.

Insatiate, I thus single, nor have feared

Thy awful brow, more ftwfiil thus retired.

Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair,

Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine

By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore, 540

With ravishment beheld — there best beheld

Where universally admired. But here,

In this enclosure wild, these beasts among.

Beholders rude, and shallow to discern

Half what in thee is feir, one man except,

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

A Goddess among Gods, adored and served

By Angels numberless, thy daily train?"

So dozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned.
Into the heart of Eve his words made way, 550

Though at the voice much marvelling; at length, »
Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake: —

" What may this mean ? Language of Man pronounced
By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed !
The first at least of these I thought denied
To beasts, whom God on their creation-day
Created mute to all articulate sound;
The latter I demur, for in their looks
Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears.
Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field 560

I knew, but not with human voice endued;
Redouble, then, this miracle, and say.
How cam'st thou speakable of mute, and how
To me so fiiendly grown above the rest
Of brutal kind that daily are in sight :
Say, for such wonder claims attention due."

To whom the guilefiil Tempter thus replied : —
'* Empress of this fair World, resplendent Eve !
Easy to me it is to tell thee all

What thou command^st, and rieht thou shouldst be obeyed. 570
I was at first as other beasts that graze
The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low,
As was my food, nor aught but food discerned
Or sex, and apprehended nothing high:
Till on a day, roving the field, I chanced
A goodly tree far distant to behold,
Lo^en with fruit of fairest colours mixed,
Ruddy and gold. I nearer drew to gaze;
When from the boughs a savoury odour blown.
Grateful to appetite, more pleased my sense 5^

Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats

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Book ix.] PARADISE LOST, wj

Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at even,

Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play.

To satisfy the shaip desire I had

Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved

Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once,

Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent

Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.

About the mossy trunk I wound me soon;

For, high from ground, the branches would require 590

Thy utmost reach, or Adam^s : round the tree

All other beasts that saw, with like desire

Longing and envying stood, but could not reach.

Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung

Tempting so ni^h, to pluck and eat my fiS

I spared not; for such pleasiu'e till that hour

At feed or fountain never had I found.

Sated at length, ere long I might perceive

Strange alteration in me, to degree

Of Reason in my mward powers, and Speech 600

Wanted not long, though to this shape retained.

Thenceforth to speculations high or deep

I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind

Considered all things visible in Heaven,

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

But all that fair and good in thy divine

Semblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray,

United I beheld — no fair to thine

Equivalent or second ;. which compelled

Me thus, though importune perhaps, to come 610

And gaze, and worship thee of right declared

Sovran of creatures, universal Dame ! "

So talked the spirited $ly Snake; and Eve>
Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied: —

"Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt
The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved.
But say, where grows the tree? from hence how fer?
For many are the trees of God that grow
In Paradise, and various^ yet unknown

To us; in such abundance lies our choice 620

As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched,
Still hanging incorruptible, till men
Grow up to their provision, and more hands
Help to disburden Nature of her b6arth."

To whom the wiljr Adder, blithe and glad: —
"Empress, the way is ready, and not long—
Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat.
Fast by a fountain, one ismall thicket past

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v2©8 PARADTSE LOST. [BobK ik.

Of blowing myrrh and biilm. If thou accept ' ' '

My conduct, I can bring* thefe thither soon." ' '630

" Lead, then," said Eye. lie, leading, swiftly rolled
In tangles, and made intricate seem sitralght.
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy ^
Brightens his crest. As when a wandering fire, ' • :

Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night -
Condenses, and the cold environs round,

»": (Kindled through agitation to a flame '

(Which oft, theysaiy, some evil spirit attends), ' •

Hovering and blazing wit^ decisive light, • /

Misleads the atkiazed night^wanderer from his way ,640

To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or poolj ' ' ' '

There swallowed up and lost, from succour far:

So glistered the dhie -Siiake, and into fraud ' '

Led Eve, our credulous ttiother, to the Tree

Of Prohibition, root ^ all our woe;

Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake :-^

f d "Serpent, we might have spared our coming hithet*, '.'

Fruitless to mei though fruit be here to excess.
The credit of whose virtue rest with thee*^ ' '

Wondrous, indeted; if cause of such effects! ' ' • 1650

But of this tree we may not taste nof touch; ' '. ' " ' ^

God so commanded, = :and left that command '^ ,*

Sole daughter of his voice : the rest, we live
Law to ourselves; our- Reason is our Law." '

To whom the Tempter guilefully replied:—
"Indeed! Hath God then said that of the fruit ;

• J !jOf all these garden^trees ye shall not eat, • • / '

Yet lords declared of all in Earth or Air?"

To whom thus Eve, yet sinless i^ — "Of the fruit •
Of each tree in the garden we may eat ; : < . i . 550

But of the fruit of this fkir tree, amidst -' '

The Garden, God hath said, ' Ye shall not eat '
Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.'" . -

She scaite )had feaid, though brief, when now more bold^ '
The Tempter, but, with show of zeal and love" ' |

To Man, and indignation at his wi-ong, ■ ' .'

I -New part puts on, and^ as to passion tftoved, - " ' ■ '• '

Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely, and in act ' '

Raised, as of some great matter to begin.

As when of old some of^tor- renowned ^ ' 670

In Athens or free Rome^ where eloquence
Flourished, since- mute, to some great cafuse addressed, ^ '
Stood in himself collected, while each part, '
Motion, each act, won audiencie ere tlie- tongue >.

Sometimes in highth began, ias no: delay *' - : ... . t

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Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. ' ^2d^

Of preface brooking through his zeal of right : • *

So standing, moving, or to highth'upgt-pwn, ■ T

The Tempter, all impassionedj thus began :^—
•• O sacred, wis^, and wisdom-giving Plant,
Mother of science ! nbw I feel thy power 680

Within me clear, not only to discern '
Things in their causes, but to trace the ways
Of highest agents, deemed however wise.
Queen of this Universe ! do not believe
Ihose rigid threats of death. Ye shMl not die.
How should ye? By the fruit? it gives y6u liffe
To knowledge. By the Threatcner? look on me,
Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live,
And life more perfect have attained than Fate
Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot. 690

Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast
Is open ? or will God incense his ire
For such a petty trespass, and not praise
Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain
Of death denounced, whatever thing Death be^
Deterred not from achieving what might lead
To happier life, knowledge of Good and Evil? .

Of good, how just \ of evil — if what is evil
Be real, why not known, since easiier shunned?
God, therefore, cannot hurt ye, and be just ; 700

Not just, not God ; not feared then, nor obeyed :
Your fear itsetf of death removes the fear. /
Why, then, was this forbid? Why but to awe,
Why but to keep ye l6w and ignorant, ■

His worshipers? He knows that in the day
Ye eat thereof your eyes, that seem so clear,
Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then
Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods^ •

Knowing both good aiid evil, as they know.
That ye should be as Gods, since I as Man, ^10

Internal Man, is but proportion meet — >

I, of brute, human ; ye, of human, Gods.
So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off
Human, to put on Gods — death to be wished.
Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring!
And what are Gods, that Man may not become
As they, participating godlike food?
The Gods are lirst, and that' advantage use
On our belief, that all from them proceeds. '

I question it; for this fair Earth I see, ' 720

Warmed by the Sun, producing every kind;
Them nothir'^. If they all things, who enclosed

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2IO • PARADISE LOST. [Book ix-

Knowledge of good and evil in this tree,

That whoso eats thereof forthwith attains

Wisdom without their leave? and wherein lies

The offence, that Man should thus attain to know?

What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree

Impart agamst his will, if all be his?

Or is it envy? and can envy dwell

In Heavenly breasts? These, these and many more 730

Causes import your need of this fair fruit.

Goddess humane, reach, then, and freely taste !"

He ended; and his words, replete with guile,
Into her heart too easy entrance won.
Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold
Might tempt alone; and in her ears the sound
Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned
With reason, to her seeming, and with truth.
Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and waked
An eager appetite, raised by the smell 740

So savoury of that fruit, which with desire.
Inclinable now grown to touch or taste.
Solicited her longing eye; yet first,
Pausing a while, thus to herself she mused : —

" Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits,
Though kept from Man, and worthy to be admired,
. Whose taste, too long forborne, at first assay
Gave elocution to the mute, and taught
The ton^e not made for speech to speak thy praise.
Thy praise he also who forbids thy use 750

Conceals not from us, naming thee the Tree
Of Knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil;
Forbids us then to taste. But his forbidding
Commends thee more, while it infers the good
By thee communicated, and our want;
For good unknown sure is not had, or, had
And yet unknown, is as not had at all.
In plain, then, what forbids he but to know?
Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise!

Such prohibitions bind not. But, if Death 760

Bind us with after-bands, what profits then
Our inward freedom! In the day we eat
Of this fair fruit, our doom is we shall die!
How dies the Serpent? He hath eaten, and lives,
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns.
Irrational till then. For us alone
Was death invented? or to us denied
This intellectual food, for beasts reserved?
For beasts it seems; yet that one beast whicli first

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BobKix.] PARADISE LOST. 211

Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy 770

The good befallen him, author unsuspect,

Friendly to Man, for from deceit or guile.

What tear I, then ? rather, what know to fear

Under this ignorance of good and evil,

Of God or Death, of law or penalt}^?

Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine^

Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste,

Of virtue to make wise- What hinders, then,

To reach, and feed at once both body and mind ? "

So saying, her rash hand In evil hour 780

Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat.
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat.
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe
That all was Tost. Back to the thicket slunk .
The guilty Serpent, and well might, for Eve,
Intent now only on her taste, naught else
Regarded; such <ielight till then, as seemed,
In fruit she never tasted, whether true.
Or fancied so through expectation high

Of knowledge; nor was Godhead frcnn her thought. 790

Greedily she ingorged without restraint.
And knew not eating death. Satiate at length,
And hightened as with wine, jocund and boon.
Thus to herself she pleasingly began: —

" O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees
In Paradise ! of operation blest
To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed,
And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end
Created ! but henceforth my early care,

Not without song, each morning, and due {Praise, 800

Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease
Of thy full branches, offered ffee to all;
Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature
In knowledge, as the Gods who aU things know*
Though others envy what thejr cannot give —
For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here
Thus grown ! Experience, next to thee I owe.
Best guide: not following thee, I had remained
In ignorance ; thou open's t Wisdom's way.

And giv'st access, though secret she retire 810

And I perhaps am secret : Heaven is high —
High, and remote to see from thence distintt
Each thing on Earth; and oth'er care perhaps
May have diverted from continual watch
Our great Forbidder, safe' with ' all his spies
About him. But to Adam in what sort

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212 PARADISE LOST. . [Book W;

Shall I appear ? Shall I to himnrtake known

As yet my changfe, and give him to partake

Full happiness with me, or rather not, < .

But keep the odds of knowledge in- my power , fee

Without copartner ? so to add what wants .

In femafe sex, the more to draw his love, . .

And render me more equal^ and perhaps —

A thing not undesirable — sometime

Superior ; for, inferior, who . is free ? .

This may be well; but what if God have seen,

And death ensue ? Then I shall be no more;

And Adam, wedded to another Eve, .

Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct !

A death to think \ Coniirmed, then, I resojve 830

Adam shall share with nje in bliss or woe.

So dear I love him that with him all deaths

I could endure, without him live no life."

So saying, from the tree her step she turned,
But first low reverence done, as to the Power
That dwelt within, whose presence, had infused
Into the plant sciential sap,, derived , .
From nectar, drink of Gods*, Adam the while, . ^

Waiting desirous, her return, had wove

Of choicest flowers a garland, to. adorn 840

Her tresses, and her rural labours crown,
^As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen.
Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new
Solace in her return, so. long delayed ;
Yet oft his heart, divide of something ill,
Misgave him. He the faltering measure felt, .
.And forth to ipe^t her. went, the way she took
That mom when first they parted. By the Tiee
Of Knowledge he must pass ;, there he her met,
Scarce from the tree returning; in her hapd 850

A bough of fairest fniit, that downy smiled,.
New gathered, and ambrosial smell diffused.
To him she hasted ; in her face excuse
Came prologue, and . apology to prompt, . , ,

Which, with bland words, at. will^ she thils addressed: —

"Hast thou not wonderedj^ Adam, at my stay?
- Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprived,
Thy presence — agony of lovje till now
Not felt, nor shall, be twice; for never more
Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought, 860

The pain of absence from thy sight, But strange, ;
Hath been the cause, and wond^ful to hear.
This tree is not, as we are told, a tree ,

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BOOK IX.]

PARADISE LOST,

213

Of danger tasted, nor to eVil tinkn6wn .1?.

Opening the way, but of divine effect

To open eyes, and ihake them Gods who taste ; • *

And hath been tasted such. The Serpent wise^' ' '^' :\. C

Or not restrained- as' we, or not obe)d!ng, ; . • I

Hath eaten of the fruit, and is bfecome* ' 1 ■ > r .

Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth . ,. . . -. 870

Endued with human t voice and human sen^ s . , [

Reasoning to admiration, and with me .

Persuasively h^th SO' prevailed that I • < .

Have also taisted, and have also found ^ < , : ■

The effects to cOi*esi)ond — opener mine eyes,

Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart, - ,

And growing up to Godhead; ^hich for thee 1

Chiefly I sought, withbut thee can despise-

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

Tedious, unshared with thee, and 'odious soon. • . ' i . ^80

Thou, therefore, alk^ taste, that equal lot : f

May join us, equal joy, as equal love;

Lest, thou not tasting, different degree ' i ;

Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce

Deity for thee, wheti' ^te will not permit J"

Thus Eve with* countenance blithe Her story told;'! V

But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed.
On the other side, Adam, soon aS' he' heard <

The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed,
Astonied stood and blank, while horror chill
Ran through his veins, anid all his joints relaxed. '
From his slack hand the gartand wreathed for; Eve '
Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed.
Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length
First to himself he inwaind silence broke : — <

"O fairest of Creation, last aiid best -
Of sdl God's works, creature in whom excelled
Whatever din -to' sight or thought be formed.
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!
How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost, 900

Defaced, deflowereid^ and nbw to death devote! /

Rather, how-*'hast thou yielded to traiisgress
;^he strict forbiddknce, how to violate i

The sacred fruit forbidden? Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee^ yet unknown.
And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee
Certain my resolution: is to die. > . >

How can I live without thee ? how forgo
Thy sweet converse, aAd love so dearly joined,
To live again in theSfe wild Woo^' fdrlbrn? . . i> v '^10

890

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214 PARADISE LOST. , [Book DC.

Should God create another Eve, and I
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee
Would never from my heart. No, no ! I feel
The link of nature draw me : fle^h of flesh.
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.*^

So having said, as one from sad dismay
Recomforted, and, after thoughts disturbed,
Submitting to what seemed remediless,
Thus in oilm mood his words to Eve he turned: — 920

<<Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventurous Eve,
And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared
Had It been only coveting to eye
That sacred food, sacred to abstinence;
Much more to taste it, under ban to touch.
But past who can recall, or done undo?
Not God Omnipotent, nor Fatel Yet so
Perhaps thou shalt not die; perhaps the £fict
Is not so heinous now — foretasted fruit, ■

Profaned first by the Serpent, by him first 930

Made common and unhallowed ere our taste^
Nor yet on him found deadly. He yet lives —
Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as Man,
Higher degree of life : inducement strong
To us, as likely, tasting, to attain
Proportional ascent; which cannot be
But to be Gods, or Angels, demi-gods.
Nor can I think that God, Creator wise,
Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy
Us, his prime creatures, dignified so high, 940

Set over all his woiks; which, in our mil,
For us created, aeeds with us must fail.
Dependent made. So God shall uncreate.
Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose —
Not well conceived of God ; who, though his power
Creation could repeat, yet would be, loth
Us to abolish, lest the Adversary
Triumph and say; 'Fickle their state whom God
Most favours; who can please him long? Me first
He ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next?' — 950

Matter of scorn not to be given the Foe.
However, I with, thee have fixed my lot,
Certain to undergo like doom. If death
Consort with thee, death is to me as life;
So forcible within my heart I feel
The bond of Nature draw me to my own
My own in thee;^ for what thou art is mine.

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Book dc.] PARADISE LOST. iij

Our state cannot be severed; we are one,
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.'*

So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied:— 960

" O glorious trial of exceeding love,
Illustrious evidence, example high!
Engaging me to emulate; but, short
Of thy perfection, how shall I attain,
Adam? from whose dear side I boast me sprung,
And gladly of our union hear thee speak,
One heart, one soul in both ; whereof good proof
This day affords, declaring thee resolved.
Rather than death, or au^ht than death more dread,
Shall separate us, linked m love so dear, 970

To undergo with me one guilt, one crime,
If any be, of tasting this &r fruit ;
Whose virtue (for of eood still good proceeds,
Direct, or by occasion) hath presented
This happy trial of thy love, which else
So eminently never had been known.
Were it I thought death menaced would ensue
This my attempt, I would sustain alone
The worst, and not persuade thee — ^rather die
Deserted than oblige thee with a fiatct 980

Pernicious to thv peace, chiefly assured
Remarkably so late of thy so true.
So faithful, love unequalled. But I feel
Far otherwise the event — not death, but life
Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys,
Taste so divine that what of. sweet before
Hath touched my sense flat seems to this and harsh.
On my experience, Adam, freely taste,
And fear of death deliver to the winds.''

So saying, she embraced him, and for joy 990

Tenderly wept, much won that he his love
Had so ennobled as of choice to incur
Divine displeasure for her sake, or death.
In recompense (for such compliance bad
Such recompense best merits), from the bough
She gave him of that fair enticing fruit
With liberal hand. He scrupled not to eat.
Against his better knowledge, not deceived.
But fondly overcome with female charm.

Elarth trembled from her entrails, as again looo

In pangs, and Nature gave a second groan;
Sky loured, and, muttering thunder, some sad drops
Wept at completing of the mortal Sin
Ori^nal; while A&m took no thought.
Elating his fill, nor Eve to iterate

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2i6 P4RADISE LOST.^ [Book ix.

Her former trespass feared, the more to soothe . .

Him with her loved society; that now,
i ,^As with new wine intoxicated both,

t'hey swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel ;

Divinity within them breeding wings loio

Wherewith to scorn the Earth. But that false fruit

Far other operation first displayed,, ' .

Carnal desire inflaming. He on JEve /

Began to cast lascivious eyes; she him , ,. .: .

As wantonly repaid ; in lust they burn.

Till Adam thus 'gan Eye to dalliance move : ^- ^ i

"Eve, now J. see. thpu art e^act of taste
. And elegant — of sapience no , small part ;

Since to each meaning s^vQur we apply.

And palate call judicious. I the praise id2o

Yield thee; so well this day thou hast purveyed.

Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained

From this delightful fruit, nor known till now

True relish, tasting. If such pleasure be

In things to us forbidden, it n^ight be wished

For this one tree had been forbidden ten.

But come; so well refreshed, now let us play,
; As meet is, after such delicious fare;

For never did thy beauty, ,since the day

I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned 1030

With all perfections, so inflame my sense

With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now
'Than ever— bounty of this virtuous tree!"
So said he, and forbore not glance or toy

Of amorous, intent, well understood

Of Eve,, whose eye darted contagious fire.

Her hand he seized, and tp a. shady bank,
: Thick overhead with yerdant roof embowered,

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

Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, IJ040

And hyacinth — Earth's fre^hept, softest lap..

There they their fill of love and love's disport

Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal, .

The solace of their sin, till dewy sleep ,

Oppressed them, wearied with; their amorous play.
Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit.

That with exhilarating vapour bland
.About their spirits had played, and' inmost powers ,

Made err, was now exhaled, and grosser sleep,

Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams IP50

Encumbered, now had left, them, up they rose

As from unrest, and, each the other yiewin^ ,

Soon found their eyes how opened, and their min4$ ; •

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Book, IX..] PARADISE LOST. 217.

How darkened. Innoc^ncej that a^ a veil

Had shadowed them from Jc^owing ill, was gone,; , . '

Just confidence, and native rightepusn^s, 5

And honour, from about them, naked, left , ;

To guilty Shame: he covered, but his robe

Uncovered more. Sp , rose, the Danite strong,

Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap , , • ,1060

Of Philistean Dalilah^ . and; waked

Shorn of his strength ; they .destitute and bare

Of all their virtue. Silent, and. in face

Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute; ,

Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed,

At length gave ^itterance to t^hese words constrained : -r-

** O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear .
To that false Worm, of whomsoever taught
To counterfe' *' * ' -true in our fall,
False in our ; since our eyes . ! i'q70

Opened we 1 find we know

Both good a st and evil got :

Bad fruit of is be to know.

Which leaves of honour void,

Of innocence rity,

Our wonted ornaments now soiled and stainec^ /
And in our faces evident , the, signs
Of foul concupiscence; whence evil store.
Even shame, the last; of evils; of the first

Be sure then. How shall I behold the face ' 1080

Henceforth of God or AngeJ, erst with joy , ,

, A^d rapture so oft beheld: Those Heavenly Shapes
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaz^
Insufferably bright. Oh, might I here
In solitude hve savage, in some glade .
Obscure4> where highest woods, impenetrable
To star of sunlight, spread; their umbrage broad,
And brown as evening! Cpver me, ye pines!, , ',

Ye cedars, with innumeral;)le boughs

Hide me, where I may never see them more! ippo

But let us now, as in bad plight, devise

What best may, for the present, serve to hide ,, .

The parts of each from, pthe;; that seem most
To shame obnoxious,, and unseemliest seen —
Some tree, whose birpad smooth leaves, together sewed, ,
And girded on pur loins, may cover round
Those middle parts, that this new comer, 'Shayie>.
There sit not, and reproach us as unclean." ,

So counselled he, and. both, together went
Into the thickest wood. There sopn t,hey chpse iioo

The fig-tree. — not that kind for fruit renpwned,

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2i8 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix.

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

In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms

Branching so broad and long that in the ground

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow

About the mother tree, a pillared shade

High overarched, and echoing walks between:

There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat.

Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds

At loop-holes cut through thickest shade. Those leaves mo

They ^thered, broad as Amazonian targe,

And with what skill they had together sewed.

To gird their waist — vain covering, if to hide

Their guilt and dreaded shame! 6 how unlike

To that first naked glory! Such of late

Columbus found the American, so girt

With feathered cincture, naked else and wild.

Among the trees on isles and woody shores.

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

Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, 1 120

They sat them down to weep. Nor only tears

Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within

Began to rise, high passions — anger, hate,

Mistrust, suspicion, discord — and shook sore

Their inward state of mind, calm region once

And full of peace, now tost and turbulent :

For Understanding ruled not, and the Will

Heard not her lore, both in subjection now

To sensual Appetite, who, from beneath

Usurping over sovran Reason, claimed 11 30

Superior sway. From thus distempered breast

Adam, estranged in look and altered style,

Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed: —

" Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange
Desire of wandering, this unhappy mom,
I know not whence possessed tfiee! We had then
Remained still happy — not, as now, despoiled
Of all our good, shamed, naked, miserable!

Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve 1140

The feith they owe; when earnestly they seek
Such proof, conclude they then begin to fail."

To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus Eve: —
"What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe?
Imput^st thou that to my default, or will
Of wandering, as thou call'st it, which who knows
But might as ill have happened thou being by.
Or to thyself perhaps ? Hadst thou been there.
Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discerned

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Book ix.] PARADISE LOST, 219

Fraud in the Serpent, speaking as he spake; 1 150

No ground of enmity between us known

Why he should mean me ill or seek to harm.

Was I to have never parted from thy side?

As good have grown there still, a lifeless rib.

Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head,

Command me absolutely not to go,

Going into such danger, as thou saidst?

Too facile then, thou didst not much gainsay.

Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss.

Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent, 1 160

Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me."

To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied: —
" Is this the love, is this the recompense
Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, expressed
Immutable when thou wert lost, not I —
Who might have lived, and joyed immortal bliss.
Yet willingly chose rather death with thee?
And am I now upbraided as the cause
Of thy transgressmg? not enough severe.

It seems, in thy restraint! What could I more? H70

I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold
The danger, and the lurking enemy
That lay in wait; beyond this had been force,
And force upon free will hath here no place.
But confidence then bore thee on, secure
Either to meet no danger, or to find ,

Matter of glorious trial ; and perhaps *

I also erred in overmuch admiring
What seemed in thee so perfect that I thought
No evil durst attempt thee. But I rue 1 1 80

That error now, which is become my crime,
And thou the accuser. Thus it shall be£all
Him who, to worth in woman overtrusting.
Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook;
And) left to herself, if evil thence ensue.
She first his weak indulgence will accuse."

Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning;
And of their vain contest appeared no end.

THE END OF THE NINTH BOOK

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK X.

THE ARGUMENT. /]

Man's transgression known, the gi:

. H^^ven to approve their vigilance, an
Saftdn could not be by theto prevented,
descends, and gives sentence accor-din
Sin and Death, sitting till then at thi
success of Satan in this new World, ai
longer confined in Hell, but to follow Ss
way easier from Hell to this World pi
Chaos, according to the track that Sat
him, proud of his success, returning i
Pandemonium; in full assembly relates
applause is entertained with a general h
suddenly into Serpents, according to his

of the Forbidden Tree springing up befc- — ,— , ,, g,.^-^.., .,^v— ^.^ »„ »««.^ «. «-^ *.u»i,

chew dust and bitter a^s. The proceedings of Sin and Death: God foretells the final
victpry of his Son over them, and the renewing of all things; but, for the present, commands

' hii Angels to make several alterations in the Heavens and Elements. Adam,- more and more
perceiving his fallen condition,. heavily bewails, rejects the condolement of Eve; she persists,
and at length appeases him: then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their oifspriiig, pro-
poses to Adam violent ways; which he approves not, but, conceiving better hope, puts her
in mind of the late promise madethem, that her seed should be revenged on the Serpeiit) and
exhorts her, with him, tojseek peace of the offended Deity by repentajice apd supplication.

MEANWHILE the heinous and despiteful act ,
Of Satan done in Paradise, and how , .

He, in the Serpent, had perverted Eve, ' .

Her husband she, to t;aste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just.
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed
Complete to have discovered and repulsed lo

Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,

220

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Bo6K x.] PARADISi: LOST,

■'The high injunction not to ta^te that fruit, .' ,

Whoever tempted; which they not obeying •

Incurred (what <iould the^ less?) the penalty,
And, manifold in sin^ deserved to fell.

Up into Heaven froifi Paradise in haste '

The Angelic guards ascended, mute and sad
For Man; for of his state by this they knew, '

Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen ; ' 20

Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwdcome news ■
From Earth arrivefd at Heaven-gate; disj^eascd '

All were who heard 5 dim sadness did not spare 1 . ^

That time celestial visages, y^t, mixed
With pity, violated not thfeir Ijliss. , , .

About the new-arrived, in multitudes; , : '

The Ethereal people ran,* to hear and know ' '
How all befell. Theiy toward the throne supreme, '

Accountable, made haste, to make appear,

With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance, ' ' ' '3^

And easily approved; when the Most High, ' . '

Eternal Father, from his secret cloud ' '

••Amidst, in thunder Uttered thus his voice :-^ ■ '
"Assembled Angds, and ye P<:)wers returned '

From unsuccessfol charge, be not dismayed ' , ■ '
Nor troubled at these tidings froih' the Earth, ^

Which your sincerest care could not prevent, ' ' .
Foretold so lately what would come to pass.
When first this Tempter crossed the gulf froni Helli
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed • • , 40

On his bad errand — Man should be seducedj ' ', , , . -^
And flattered out of all, believing lies ' ' ' '

• Against his Maker; no decree ctf hiine, '.

Concurring to ftecessitatfe his faH, ' j . :: ' t

Or touch with lightest moment of impulse
His free will, to ner- own inclining left > ; >• f ' "
In even scale. But fallen he is*; and Aow ■ • • .1 J

What rests, bbt that the mortal sentence pass '

On his transgression, Death denounced that day ^*"' ' . ?
Which he pre^uwies already vain and void, '50

Because not yet inflicted, as he feared, ' ^

By some t immediate stroke, but soon shall fliid ' ,

^Forbearance no acquittance ere day end. ' .

Justice shall not return, as bounty, scorned.
But whom send I to judge them? whom but the^.
Vicegerent S6n? To thee I have transfetred
All judgment, whether in Heaven, 6r Earth, or Hell. '

Easy it may be seen that I intend
Mercy colleague' with justice, seading theej ^

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^22 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

Man^s friend, his Mediator, his designed 60

Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary,

And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen/^

So spake the Father; and, unfolding bright
Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son
Blazed forth unclouded deity. He full
Resplendent all his Father manifest
Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild; —

"Father Eternal, thine is to decree;
Mine both in Heaven and Earth to do thy will
Supreme, that thou in me, thy Son Beloved, 70

May'st ever rest well pleased. I go to judge
On Earth these thy transgressors; but thou know^st,
Whoever judged, the worst on me must light,
When time snail be; for so I undertook
Before thee, and, not repenting, this obtain
Of right, that I may mitigate their doom
On me derived. Yet I shall temper so
Justice with mercy as may illustrate most
Them fully satisfied, and thee appease.

Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none 80

Are to behold the Judgment but the judged,
Those two; the third best absent is condemned,
Convict thy flight, and rebel to all law;
Conviction to the Serpent none belongs."

Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose
Of high collateral gloiy. Him Thrones and Powers,
Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant.
Accompanied to Heaven-gate, from whence
Eden and all the coast in prospect lay.

Down he descended straight ; the speed of Gods 90

Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged.

Now was the §un in western cadence low
From noon, and gentle airs due at their hour
To fan the Earth now waked, and usher in
The evening cool, when he, from wrath more cool,
Came, the mild judge and intercessor both.
To sentence Man. The voice of God they heard
Now walking in the Garden, by soft winds
Brought to their ears, while day declined; they heard,
And from his presence hid themselves among 100

The thickest trees, both man and wife, till God,
Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud: —

** Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet
My coming, seen far off? I miss thee here,
Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude.
Where obvious duty erewhile appeared uI^01]ght•

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Book x.] PARADISE LOST, 223

Or come I less conspicuous, or what change
Absents thee, or what chance detains? Come forth!"

He came, and with him Eve, more loth, though first
To offend, discountenanced both, and discomposed. 110

Love was npt in their looks, either to God
Or to each other, but apparent guilt.
And shame, and perturbation, and despair,
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.
Whence Adam, £^tering long, thus answered brief: —

" I heard thee in the Garden, and, of thy voice
Afraid, being naked, hid myself." To whom
The gracious Judge, without revile, replied: —

"My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared,
But still rejoiced; how is it now become 120

So dreadful to thee? That thou art naked who
Hath told thee? Hast thou eaten of the tree
Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?"
To whom thus Adam, sore beset, replied:-^

" O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand
Before my Judge — either to undergo
Myself the tot^ crime, or to accuse
My other self, the partner of my life.
Whose failing, while her faith to me remains,
> I should conceal, and not expose to blame V30

By my complaint. But strict necessity
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint.
Lest on my head both sin and punishment.
However insupportable, be all

Devolved; though, should I hold my peace, yet thou
Wouldst easily detect what I concei.
This Woman, whom thou mad^st to be my help.
And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good, •
So fit, so acceptable, so divine.

That from her hand I could suspect no ill, 140

And what she did, whatever in itself.
Her doing seemed to justify the deed —
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat."
To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied: —

"Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey
Before his voice? or was she made thy guide,
Superior, or but equal, that to her
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place
Wherein God set thee above her, made of thee
And for thee, whose perfection far excelled 150

Hers in all real dignity? Adorned
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts

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234 PARADISE f^OST.^ [Book .x

Were such as under goyeirpm^t well seiemed, rr— , ( : • , •■ •
Unseemly to tear rule;, which was thy, part ■ , . .

And person> hadst thou known thyself aright."

= So having said, he thos to Eve in few : —
"Say, Woman, what is thi§ which thou hast doi^je?"

To whom sad Eve, with sh9.me nigh oyerwhelip^d, . ,
Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge . ,, , . \6o

Bold or loquacious, thus ab^hed replied: —
"The Serpent ;m^ beguiled, and I did eat." .

Which when the Lord God heard,, without del^y/ , ,

To judgment he proceeded <!m the accused ,: .
Serpent, though brutes unable to transfer t

The guilt o^ him who made him. instrument
Of mischief, and polluted from the end
Of his creation — justly then accursed,

As vitiated in nature. More to know ,, . '.

Concerned not M^n (since he np further knew), . ; l^jo

Nor altered his offence; yiet God at last ., ,., ,, .;

To Satan, first in sin, his doom applied, . , i » •

Though in mysterious terms, judged 4s then best ;
And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall : — .

" Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed ;
Above all cattle, each beast pf Jhe field; ; ., , , . , /
ypon thy belly groveljing thou shalt go, , , .

And dust shalt eat all the day^ pf thy life. , ..

Between thee and the Woman I will put ,

Enmity, and between thine; and her seed ; ijBo

Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel." , , ;

So spake, thjs oracle — then, verified
When Jesus, son of Mary, second Eve,

Saw Satan fall like lightning dowu from Heaven, .^ ;

Prince of the Air^ then, rising from his grave, , ,
Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed
, In open show, and, with, ascension brigh,t,
Captivity led captive through the Air,,

The realm itself of Satan, long usurped, ^ , .

Whom he shall tread at last under our feet, , , . 190

Even he who now foretold his ; fatal, l^ruise, , .^ . ,;

And to the Wonjan, thus -his. sentence turned:, ;. , , ,.

" Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply > ; •

By thy conception; children thou shalt bring
In sorrow forth, and' to thy husband's will .^ . > . <

Thine shall Submit; he over thee, shall rule,."; ^ i. ^ .. ,•;

On Adam last thus judgment he pronounced : — ;. .

"Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of tl^y >vifi^, ,:
And eaten of the tree concerning which ; . ,, , , ...

1 charged thee, saying, Thou sk^lt f^ot eat thereof, ^^ 2J00

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BooKX.] PARADISE LOST, 225

Curs'd is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow
Shalt eat thereof all the days of thy life ;
,'5horns also and thistles it shall bnng thee forth
\Jnbid ; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field ;;
In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread,
Till thou return unto the ground; for thou
^ Out of the ground wast taken : know thy birth,,
For dust thou arty and shalt to dust return." >/

So judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour : seni^
And the instant stroke, of death, denounced, that di^y* gio

Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood
Before him naked to the air, that now . . ; ; . «

'Must suffer change, disdained not to begi^
Thenceforth the form of servant to assume.
As when he washed his servants' feet, so now, . j ...

As father of his family, he clad

Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain, , ,

Or, as the snake, with youthful coat repaid;
And thought not much to clothe his enemies.
Nor he their outward only with the skins 3^20

Of beasts, but inward nakedness,, much more
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness ,1

Arraying, covered from his Father's sight.
To him with swift ascent he up returned,
Into his blissful bosom reassumed *
In glory as of old; to him appeased.
All, though all-knowing, what had passed with Man
Recounted, mixing intercession sweet.

Meanwhile, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth,
Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death, , ^530

In counterview within the gates, that now
Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame
Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through.
Sin opening; who thus now to Death be^an: —

"O Son, why sit we here, each oth^ viewing
Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives
In other wprlds, and happier seat provides .
For us, his offspring dear ? It cannot be
But that success attends him ; if, mishap.

Ere this he had returned, . with fury driven ^40

By his avengers, since no place like this
Can fit his punishment, or their revenge. .

Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, ,. ,
Wings growing, and dominion given me large
Beyond this Deep — whatever draws m^ on,
Or sympathy, or some conna,tural force.
Powerful at greatest distance to unite . .,

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226 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

With secret amity things of like kind

By secretest conveyance. Thou, my shade

Inseparable, must with me along; ' 250

For Death from Sin no power can separate.

But, lest the difficulty of passing back

Stay his return perhaps over this gulf

Impassable, impervious, let us try

(Adventiu*ous work, yet to thy power and mine

Not unagreeable!) tb found a path

Over this main from Hell to that new World

Where Satan now prevails — a monument

Of merit high to all the infernal host,

Easing their passage hence, for intercourse 260

Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead.

Nor can I miss the wajr, so strongly drawn

By this new-felt attraction and instinct."

Whom thus the meagre Shadow answered soon: —
"Go whither fate and mclination strong
Leads thee; I shall not lag behind, nor err
The way, thou leading: such a scent I draw
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste
The savour of death from all things there that live.
Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest 270

Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid."

So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell
Of mortal change on Earth. As when a flock
Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote,
Against the day of battle, to a field
Where armies lie encamped come flying, lured
With scent of living carcases designed
For death the following day in bloody fight;
So scented the grim Feature, and upturned

His nostril wide into the murky air, 280

Sagacious of his quarry from so far.
Then both, from out Hell-gates, into the waste
Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark.
Flew diverse, and, with power (their power was great)
Hovering upon the waters, what they met
Solid or slimy, as in raging sea
Tossed up and down, together crowded drove.
From each side shoaling, toward the mouth of Hell ;
As when two polar winds, blowing adverse

Upon the Cronian sea, together drive ^90

Mountains of ice, that stop the imagined way
Beyond Petsora eastward to the rich
Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil
Death with his mace petrific, cold and dry.

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Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 227

As with a trident smoke, and fixed as firm

As Delos, floating once; the rest his look

Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move,

And with asphaitic slime; broad as the gate,

Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach

They fastened, and the mole immense wrought on 300

Over the foaming Deep high-arched, a bridge

Of length prodigious, joining to the wall

Immovable of this now fenceless World,

Forfeit to Death — from hence a passage broad,

Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell.

So, if great things to small may be compared,

Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke,

From Susa, his Memnonian palace high.

Came to the sea, and, over Hellespont

Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined, 310

And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves*

Now had they brought the work by wondrous art

Pontifical — a ridge of pendent rock

Over the vexed Abyss, following the track

Of Satan, to the self-same place where he

First lighted from his wing and landed safe

From out of Chaos — to the outside bare

Of this round World. With pins of adamant

And chains they made all fast, too f2^t they made

And durable; and now in little space 320

The confines met of empyrean Heaven

And of this World, and on the left hand Hell>

With long reach interposed; three several ways

In sight to each of these three places led.

And now their way to Earth they had descried.

To Paradise first tending, when, behold

Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright,

Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering

His zenith, while the Sun in Aries rose!

Dis^ised he came; but those his children dear ' 330

Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise.

He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk

Into the wood fast by, and, changing shape

To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act

By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded

Upon her husband — saw their shame that sought

Vain covertures; but, when he saw descend

The Son of God to judge them, terrified

He fled, not hoping to escape, but shun

The present — fearing, guilty, what his wrath 340

Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned

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228 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

By night, and, listening where the hapless pair

Sat in their sad discourse and various plaint.

Thence gathered his own doom; which understood

Not instant, but of future time, with joy

And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned,

And at the ferink of Chaos, near the foot

Of this new wondrous pontifice, unhoped ■ '

Met who to meet him came, his oflfepring dear.

Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight * 350

Of that stupendious bridge his joy increased. * :

Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair

Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke :-^
"O Parent, these are thy magnific deeds.

Thy trophies ! which thou view'st as not thine own ;

Thou art their author and prime architect.

For I no sooner in my heart divined

(My hearty which by a secret harmony

Still moves With thine, joined in connexion sweet)

That thou on Earth hadst prospered, which thy looks 360

Now also evidence, but straight I felt-^ . >

Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt-^

That I must after thee with this thy son;

Such fetal consequence unites us three.

Hell could no longer hold us in her bbunds, •

Nor this unvoyageablfe gulf obscure

(Detain from following thy illustrious track.

Thou hast achieved our libertyj confined

Within Hell-gates till now ; thou us empowered

To fortify thus fer, and overlay .370

With this portentous bridge the dark Abyss. •

Thine now is all this World ; thy virtue hath won

What thy hands builded not ; thy wisdom gained,

With odds, what war hath lost, and fiilly avenged

Our foil in Heaven. Here thou shalt monarch reign,

There didst not ; there let him still victor sway,
' As battle hath adjudged, from this new World

Retiring, by his own doom alienated.

And henceforth monarchy with thee divide

Of all things, parted by the empyreal bounds, 380

His quadrature, from thy orbicular World,

Or try thee now more dangerous to his throne."
Whom thus the Prince <rf Darkness answered glad:-^

" Fair daughter, and thou, son and grandchild both,

High proof ye now have given to be the race

Of Satan (for I glory in the name, . ;

'^ ;' Antagonist of Heaven's Almighty King), )

Amply have merited of m6, of all ' v

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Boor X.] PARADISE LOST, 229

The Infernal Empire, that s6 near Heaven's door
Triumphal with tritimphal act have met, . ;J9C

Mine with this glorious work, and made one realm
Hell and this World — one realm, one continent
Qf easy thoroughfare. Therefore, while I ; : •

Descend through Darkness, on jowc road with ease, . ' : •
To my associate Powers, them to acquaint : i

With these successes^ and with them rejoice, ^

You two this way, among these numerous orbsj »

All yours, right down to Paradise descend; -

There dwell, and reign in bliss; thence on the Earth
Dominion exercise and in the air, . 400

Chiefly on Man, sole, lord of all declared ;
Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill,
f :My substitutes Isend ye, and create
Plenipotent on Earth, of matchless might

Issuing from me. On yoxnr joiht vigour now . /

My hold of this newkmgdom all depends.
Through Sin to Death exposed by my exploit.
If your joint' power prevail, the affairs of Hell • '
No detriment need fear; go, and be strong."

So saying, he dismissed them; they with speed * 410

Their course through thickest constellations held, ^

Spreading their bane; the blasted stars look wan,
And plahetsj planet-strook, real eclipse

Then suffered. The other way Satan went down . : i

The causey to Hell-gate; on either side '

Disparted Chaos overbuilt e:<olaimed.

And with rebounding surge the bars assailed, . ,

That scorned his indignation i Through the gate,
Wide open and unguarded, Satan passed.

And all about found desolate; for those 420

Appointed to sit there had leift their charge, • <

Flown to the upper World; the rest were all
Far to the inland retired, about the walls
Of Pandemonium, city and prOud seat

Of Lucifer, so by allusion called ...,.'

Of that bright staf to Satan paragoned* < > .

There kept their watch the legions, while the Grand
In council sat, solicitous what chance ; - ■ *

Might intercept their Emperor sent; so he ; : >

Departing gave command, and they observedv .* '430

As when the Tartar from his Russian foe, ? ^ • ■ ;

By Astracan, over the snowy plains.
Retires, or Bactrian Sophi, from the horns
Of Turkish crescent, leaves all Waste beyohd
The realm of Aladule, in his retreat

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230 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

To Tauris or Casbeea; so these, the late
. Heaven-banished host, left desert utmost Hell
Many a dark league, reduced in careful watch
Round their metropolis, and now expecting

Each hour their great Adventurer from the search 440

Of foreign worlds. He through the midst unmarked^
In show plebeian Angel militant
Of lowest order, passed, and, from the door
Of that Plutonian hall, invisible
Ascended his high throne, which, under state
Of richest texture spread, at the upper end
Was placed in regal lustre. Down a while
He sat, and round about him saw, unseen.
At last, as from a cloud, his fulgent head

And shape star-bright appeared, or brighter, clad 450

With what permissive glory since his fall .
Was left him, or false glitter. All amazed
At that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throng
Bent their aspect, and whom they wished beheld,
Their mighty Chief returned : loud was the acclaim.
Forth rushed in haste the great consulting Peers,
Raised from their dark Divan, and with like joy
Congratulant approached him, who with hand.
Silence, and with these words attention, won: —

"Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers!— 460
For in possession such, not only of right,
I call ye, and declare ye now, returned.
Successful beyond hope; to lead )^e^ forth
Triumphant out of this infernal pit
Abominable, accursed, the house of woe,
And dungeon of our tyrant! Now possess,
As lords, a spacious World, to our native Heaven
Little inferior, by my adventure hard
With peril great achieved. Long were to tell
What I have done, what suffered with what pain 470

Voyaged the unreal, vast, unbounded Deep
Of horrible confusion — over which
By Sin and Death a broad way now is paved,
To expedite your glorious march ; but I
Toiled out my uncouth passj^e, forced to ride
The untractable Abyss, plunged in the womb
Of unoriginal Night and Chaos wild,
That, jedous of their secrets, fiercely opposed ♦

My journey strange, with clamorous uproar

Protesting Fate supreme; thence how 1 found 480

The new-created World, which feme in Heaven
Long had foretold, a fabric wonderful,

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Book X.] PARADISE LOST. 231

Of absolute perfection ; therein Man
Placed in a paradise, by our exile
Made happy. Him by fraud I have seduced
From his Creator, and, the more to increase
Your wonder, with an apple! He, thereat
Offended — worth your laughter! — hath 0iven i^
Both his beloved Man and all hb World

To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us, 490

Without our hazard, labour, or alarm,
To range in, and to dwell, and over Man
To rule, as over all he should have ruled.
True is, me also he hath judged; or rather
Me not, but the brute Serpent, in whose shape
Man I deceived. JThat which to me belongs
Is enmity, which he will put between
i Me and Mankind: I am to bniise his heel;

His seed — when is not set — shall bruise my head!

A world who would not purchase with a bruise, 500

Or much more grievous pain? Ye have the account

Of my performance ; what remains, ye Gods,

But up and enter now into full bliss?"

So having said, a while he stood, expecting
Their universal shout and high applaicse
To fill his ear ; when, contr^, he hears,
On all sides, from innumerable tongues
A dismal universal hiss, the sound
Of public scorn. He wondered, but not long
Had leisure, wondering at himself now more. 510

His visage drawn he telt to sharp and spare,
His arms clung to his ribs, his legs ent;winiilg
Each other, till, supplanted, down he fell,
A monstrous serpent on his belly prone,
Reluctant, but in vain ; a greater power
Now ruled him, punished in the shape he sinned,
According to his doom. He would have spoke.
But hiss for hiss returned with forked tongue
To forked tongue; fol* now were all trans^rmed
Alike, to serpents all, as accessories 520

• To his bold riot. Dreadful was the din
Of hissing through the hall, thick-swarming now
With complicated monsters, head and tail —
Scorpion, and Asp, and Amphisbaena dire,
Cerastes horned, Hydrus, and Ellops drear,
And Dipsas (not so thick swarmed once the soil
Bedropt with blood of Gorgon, or the isle
Ophiusa) ; but still greatest he the midst.
Now Dragon grown, larger than whom the Sun

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li^a *>ARA3^E LOST, [Book x.

Engendered in the Pythian vale on slime, 530

Huge Python; and his power no less he seemed '

Above the rest still to retain. They all

Him followed, issuing forth to the open field.

Where all yet left of that revolted rout.

Heaven-fallen, in station stood or just array,

Sublime with expectation when to see

'iln triumph issuing forth their glorious Chief.
They saw, but other sight instead — a crowd
pf ugly serpents ! Horror on them fell, '

And horrid sympathy; for what they saw 540

They felt themselves now changing. Down their arms, "

Down fell both spear and shield; 'down they as fast.
And the dire hiss renewed, and the dire forii
Catched by contagion, like in punishment
As in their crime. Thus was thre applause they m'eant
Turned to exploding hiss, triumph to shame
Cast on themselves from their own mouths 1 There stood
A grove hsird by, sprung up with this their change;
His will who reigns above, to aggravate

Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like that 5 50

Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve
Used by the Tempter. On that prospect strange
Their earnest eyes they fixed, imagining

For one forbidden tree a multitude r . i • '

Now risen, to work them further woe or shame; '

Yet, parched with scalding thirst and hunger fierce, '

^Though to delude them sent, could not abstain.
But on they rolled in heaps, and, up the trees
Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky locks

That curled Megaera. Greedily they plucked 560

The fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew
Near that bituminous lake where Sodom flamed ;
This, more d^kisive, not the touch, but taste
Deceived; they, fondly thinking to allay
Their appetite with gust, ' instead of fruit
Chewed bitter fashes, which the offended taste
With spattering noise rejected. Oft they assayed.
Hunger and thirst constraining; drugged ais oft.
With hatefulest dttsrelish vrrithed their jaw^ '

With soot and cinders filled^ so oft they fell 570

Into the same illusion, no4 as Man <

Whom they triumphed" *once' lapsed. Thus were they plagued,'
And, worn with famine,' long and ceaseless hiss, '

Till their lost shape, permitted, -they resumed — »
Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergo '

This annual humbling certain numbered days, -■ . ■ ■ y

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.BooKJt.] PARADISE LOST, 1^233

To dash their pride, and joy for Man seduced^
However, some tradition they dispersed . . ' ' »

Among the Heathen of their purchase got,

And fabled how the Serpfent, whom they called 1 » ^580

Ophion, with Eurynonie (the wide- , z . ; ,

Encroaching Et^' perhaps), had first' the rule < • . .'

^f high Olympus, thence by Saturn driven .' i

And Ops, ere yet Dictaeanjove was bomr

Meanwhile in Paradise ■ the Hellish pair
Too soon arrived — Sin, there in power before
Once actual, now in body, and to dwell : • ' .

Habitual habitant; behind her Death; ;l ; ; • .

Close following pace for pace, not mounted ydt » . . 1

On his pale horse; to whom Sin thus began: — ;. ^590

" Second of Satan sprung, all-conquering Death I ; i

What think'st thou of our empire now? thought earned- '

t ; With travail difficult, not better far , . '

Than still at Hell's dark threshold to have sat swatch,

Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half-starVed?" ^-

Whom thus the Sin-born Monster answered soon:*- ;.
"To me, who with eternal famine pine, .

Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven — , ,j , .

There best where most with ravin I may meet; '

Which here, though plejiteous, all* too little seems ' i 600

To stuff ..this maw, this vast unhide-bound corpse*" . > '

To whom the incestuous Mother thjas; replied:-^ ..•■.;<
r^^^Thou, therefore, on these herbs, and fruits, and fiowera,! )\
Feed first; on each beast next, and fish, and fowl«-^'
No homely morsels; and whatever thing l 1^'

The scythe of Time niows down devour unspared ; ,

Till I, in Man residing through the race,
His thoughts, his looks, words, actions, all infect^ ( >

And reason him thy .last and sweetiest prey."

This said, they both betook them, several ways, < -610

Both to destroy, or unimmortal make . ,

All kinds, and for destruction to mature .m

• .Sooner or later; which the Almighty seeing,
From his transcendent seat the Saints . among^ •
To those bright Orders uttered thus his voice: —
* "See with what heat these dogs of Hell advance •
' To waste and havoc yonder ;Wcdd, which I .:
So fair and good created, and had ^till , ,.'■<
Kept in that stati, had not the folly, of .Man- -
Let in these wastefiil furies, who impute.. .'y620

Folly to me (so doth the Prince; of Hell
And his adherents;), that with so .much. ease
I sufier them to; enter j and. possiesa .:.*..„.- »

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234 PARADISE LOST, [BoOKX.

A place so heavenly, and, conniving^ seem

To gratify my scornful enemies,

That laugh, as if, transported with some fit

Of passion, I to them had quitted all,

At random yielded up to their misrule;

And know not that I called and drew them thither,

My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filth 630

Which Man's polluting sin with taint hath shed

On what was pure; tfll, crammed and gorged, nigh burst

With sucked and glutted offal, at one sling

Of thy victorious arm, well-pleasing Son,

Both Sin and Death, and yawning Grave, at last

Through Chaos hurled, obstruct the mouth of Hell

For ever, and seal up his ravenous jaws.

Then Heaven and Earth, renewed, shall be made pure

To sanctity that shall receive no stain:

Till then the curse pronounced on both precedes." 640

He ended, and the Heavenly audience loud
Sung Halleluiah, as the sound of seas.
Through multitude that sung: — "Just are thy ways,
Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works;
Wh6 can extenuate thee? Next, to the Son,
Destined restorer of Mankind, by whom
New Heaven and Earth shall to the ages rise,
Or down from Heaven descend." Such was their song,
While the Creator, calling forth by name

His mighty Angels, gave them several charge, 650

As sorted best with present things. The Sun
Had first his precept so to move, so shine.
As might affect th^ Earth with cold and heat
Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call
Decrepit winter, from the south to bring
Solstitial summer's heat. To the blanc Moon
Her office they prescribed; to the other five
Their planetary motions and aspects.
In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite.

Of noxious efficacy, and when to join 660

In s^nod unbenign ; and taught the fixed
Their influence malignant when to shower —
Which of them, rising with the Sun or falling.
Should prove tempestuous. To the winds they set
Their comers, when with bluster to confound
Sea, air, and shore; the thunder when to roll
With terror through the dark aerial hall.
Some say he bid his Angels turn askance
The poles of Earth twice ten degrees and more
From the Sun's axle ; they with labour pushed

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Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 235

Oblique the centric Globe: some say the Sun

Was bid turn reins from the equinoctial road

Like distant breadth — to Taurus with the seven

Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins,

Up o the Tropic Crab; thence down amain

By Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales,

As deep as Capricorn; to bring in change

Of seasons to each clime. Else had the spring

Perpetual smiled on Earth with vernant flowers,

Equal in days and nights, except to those 68c

Beyond the polar circles; to them day

Had unbenighted shone, while the low Sun,

To recompense his distance, in their sight

Had rounded still the horizon, and not known

Or east or west — which had forbid the snow

From cold Estotiland, and south as fiu*

Beneath Magellan. At that tasted fruit.

The Sun, as from Thyestean banquet, turned

His course intended; else how had the world

Inhabited, though sinless, more than now 690

Avoided pinching cold and scorching heat?*

These changes in the heavens, though slow, produced

Like change on sea and land — sideral blast,

Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot.

Corrupt and pestilent. Now from the north

Of Norumbee^a, and the Samoed shore.

Bursting their brazen dimgeon, armed with ice,

And snow, and hail, and stormy gust and flaw,

Boreas and Csecias and Argestes loud

And Thrascias rend the woods, and seas upturn; 700

With adverse blasts upturns them from the south

Notus and Afer, black with thundrous clouds

From Serraliona ; thwart of these, as fierce

Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds,

Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise.

Sirocco and Libecchio. Thus began

Outrage from lifeless things; but Discord first,

Daughter of Sin, among the irrational

Death hitroduced through fierce antipathy.

Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with fowl, 710

And fish with fish. To graze the herb all leaving

Devoured each other; nor stood much in awe

Of Man, but fled him, or with countenance ^m

Glared on him passing. These were from without

The growing miseries; which Adam saw

Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade.

To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within,

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:236 .PARADISE LOSX, [Book X.

,^_ — _ — , — , , —

And, in a troubled '^iea of passion tost^ ' ■ ' • ' '

Thus to disburdeil .sought with sad complaint: — ^ ' - ' '■

"O miserable, of happy r Is this the end • "^'20

Of this new glorious World, and' me so late
The glory of that glory? who now, become
Accursed of blessed, hide me from the fa,ce / '

Of God, whom to behold was then my hightH • > - > >
Of happiness ! Yet well, if here would end ■ '

The misery! I deserved it, and would bear ' ■ '^

.My own deservings. But this will not serve i ' '

All that I eat or drink, or shall beget, < ;

Is propagated curse. O voice, once heard •>

Delightfully, ' Ittcrease and multiply ;'' ' ^30

Now death to hear! for what can I increase ; ;!

Or multiply but curses on my head? ■ • . , m 1

Who, of all ages to succeed* but, feeliiag . . • > •

The evil on him brought by me, will curse - ■ '- '
My head? * 111 fare our Ancestor impure! - >'''-

For this we may thank Adam!' but his thanks > t'

Shall be the execration. So, besides

Mine own that bind upon me, all from me ... /

Shall withj a; fierce reflux on me redound — '

On me, as on their natural centre, light; < • 740

Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joys
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes! •

Did I request thee. Maker, feom my day ; . . - /. • '

To mould me Man? Did I solicit thee ■. >. .

From darkness to promote me, or here: place ' ■ ■-■ '

In this delicious Garden! As my will • ■!

K^Qoncurred not to my being, it were but right /v

And equal to irtduce nie to my dust, . . • //

Desirous to resign and render back '

All I received,, unable to perform 7150

Thy terms too hardj by wiiich I was to hold : •
The good I sought not. To the. loss of that^
Sufficient penalty, why hast thou added . : .

The sense of endlessi woes? • Inexplicable
Thy justice seems. Yet, to say truth., too late .
I thus contest; then should, have been refused ■ .. • f 1

T^hose terms,! .whatever, when. they were proposed.
Thou didst accept, them iivilt thou enjoy the good.
Then cavil the conditions? And,.. though God
Made thee without thy leave,; what if thy son . ; 1 - i- :76o

Prove disobedient, and, reproved, retort, . ; •

* Wherefore didst thou beget me?; I sought it. not ! . ./

Wouldst thou admit. for his contempt of thee ^ . /

That proud excuse? yet him not thy election,.. ,,. ., .1

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BooKx.] PARADISE LOST, 237

But natural necessity, begot.

God made thee of choice his* own, and of his owa

To serve him ; thy reward was of his grace ;

Thy punishment, then, justly is at his will.

Be it so*, for I submit ; his doom is fair.

That dust I am, and shall to dust return. 770

O welcome hour whenever ! Why delays

His hand to execute what his decree

Fixed on this day? Why do I overlive?

Why am I mocked with death, and lengthened out

To deathless pain? How gladly would I meet

Mortality, my sentence, and be earth

Insensible ! how glad would lay mc down

As in my mother's lap ! There I should rest.

And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more

Would thunder in my ears ; no fear of worse 780

To me and to my offspring would torment me

With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt

Pursues me still — lest all I cannot die;

Lest that pure breath of life, the Spirit of Man

Which God inspired, cannot together perish

With this corporeal clod. Then, in the grave,

Or in some other dismal place, who knows

But I shall die a living death? O thought

Horrid, if true! Yet why? It was but breath

Of life that sinned : what dies but what had life 790

And sin? The body properly hath neither.

All of me, then, shall die : let this appease

The doubt, since human reach no further knows.

For, though the Lord of all be infinite.

Is his wrath also? Be it, Man is not so.

But mortal doomed. How can he exercise

Wrath without end on Man, whom death must end?

Can he make deathless death? That were to make

Strange contradiction; which to God himself

Impossible is held, as argument 800

Of weakness, not of power. Will he draw out,

For anger's sake, finite to infinite

In punished Man, to satisfy his rigour

Satisfied never? That were to extend

His sentence beyond dust and Nature's law;

By which all causes else according still

To the reception of their matter act.

Not to the extent of their own sphere. But say

That death be not one stroke, as I supposed,

Bereaving sense, but endless misery 810

From this day onward, which I feel begun

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238 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

Both in me and without me, and so last

To perpetuity Ay me ! that fear

Comes thundering back with dreadful revolution

On my defenceless head ! Both Death and I

Am found eternal, and incorporate both: •

Nor I on my part single; in me all

Posterity stands cursed. Fair patrimony

That I must leave ye, sons ! Oh, were I able

To waste it all myselif, and leave ye none I 820

So disinherited, how would ye bless

Me, now your curse ! Ah, why should all Mankind,

For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemned?

If guiltless! But from me what can proceed

But all corrupt — both mind and will depraved

Not to do only, but to will the same

With me! How can they, then, acquitted stand

In sight of God? Him, after all disputes.

Forced I absolve. JVU my evasions vain

And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me still 830

But to my own conviction: first and last

On me, me only, as the source and spring

Of all corruption, all the blame lights due.

So might the wrath! Fond wish! couldst thou support

That burden, heavier than the Earth to bear —

Than all the world much heavier, though divided

With that bad Woman? Thus, what thou desir'st,

And what thou fear'st, alike destroys all hope

Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable

Beyond all past example and future — 840

To Satan only like, both crime and doom.

0 Conscience ! into what abyss of fears

And horrors hast thou driven me ; out of which

1 find no way, from deep to deeper plunged ! "
Thus Adam to himself lamented loud

Through the still nieht — not now, as ere Man fell,

Wholesome and cool and mild, but with black air

Accompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom;

Which to his evil conscience represented

All things with double terror. On the ground 850

Outstretched he lay, on the cold ground, and oft

Cursed his creation; Death as oft accused

Of tardy execution, since denounced

The day of his offence. "Why comes not Death,"

Said he, "with one thrice-acceptable stroke

To end me? Shall Truth fail to keep her word,

Justice divine not hasten to be just?

But Death comes not at call; Justice divine

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Book x.] PARADISE LOSJ\ 239

Mends not her slowest pace for. prayers or cries.

0 woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers! 860
With other echo late I taught your shades

To answer, and resound far other song."
Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld,
Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh.
Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed;
But her, with stern regard, he thus repelled: —

**Out of my sight, thou serpent! That name best
Befits thee, with him leagued, thyself as false
And hateful : nothing wants, but that thy shape
Like his, and colour serpentine, may show 870

Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee
Henceforth, lest that too heavenly form, pretended
To hellish falsehood, snare them. But for thee

1 had persisted happy, had not thy pride
And wandering vanity, when least was safe.
Rejected my forewarning, and disdained
Not to be trusted — longing to be seen.
Though by the Devil himsdf; him overweening
To overreach ; but, with the Serpent meeting.

Fooled and. beguiled ; by him thou, I by thee, 880

To trust thee from my side, imagined wise,

Constant, mature, proof against ^1 assaults,

And understood not all was but a show.

Rather than solid virtue, all but a rib

Crooked by nature — bent, as now appears,

More to the part sinister — from me drawn;

Well if thrown out, as supernumerary

To my just number found ! Oh, why did God,

Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven

With Spirits masculine, create at last 890

This novelty on Earth, this fair defect

Of Nature, and not fill the World at once

With men as Angels, without feminine;

Or find some other way to generate

Mankind? This mischief h^ not then befallen,

And more that shall befall — innumerable

Disturbances on Earth through female snares,

And straight conjunction with this sex. For either

He never shall find out fit mate, but such

As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; 900

Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain,

Through her perverseness, but shall see tier gained

By a far worse, or, if she love, withheld

By parents; or his happiest choice too late

Shall meet, already linked and wedlock-bound

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240 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

To a fell adversary, his hate or shame:

Which infinite calamity~shall cause

To human life, and household peace confound."

He added not, and from her turned ; but Eve,
Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing, 910

And tresses all disordered, at his feet
Fell humble, and, embracing them, besought
His peace,* and thus proceeded in her plaint : -t-

" Forsake me not thus, Adam! witness Heaven
What love sincere and reverence in my heart
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended.
Unhappily deceived ! Thy suppliant
I beg, and clasp thy knees ; bereave me not
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid,

Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, , 920

My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee.
Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?
While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us two let there be peace; both joining,
As joined in injuries, one enmity
Against a foe by doom express assigned us.
That cruer Serpent. On me exercise not
Thy hatred for this misery befallen —
On me alreadv lost, me than thyself

More miserable. Both have sinned; but thou 930

Against God only; I against God and thee.
And to the place of judgment will return.
There with my cries importune Heaven, that all
The sentence, from thy head removed, may light
On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe.
Me, me only, just object of His ire." j

She ended, weeping; and her lowly plight.
Immovable till peace obtained from fault
Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought
Commiseration. Soon his heart relented 940

Towards her, his life so late, and sole delight,
Now at his feet submissive in distress —
Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking,
His counsel whom she had displeased, his aid.
As one disarmed, his anger all he lost.
And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon:

"Unwary, and too desirous, as before
So now, of what thou know'st not, who desir'st
The punishment all on thvself ! Alas !

Bear thine own first, ill aole to sustain 950

His full wrath whose thou feel'st as yet least part.
And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayers

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BooKX.j PARADISE LOST, 241

Could alter high decrees, I to that place

Would speed before thee, and be louder heard^

That on my head all might be visited,

Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven.

To me committed, and by me exposed.

But rise; let us no more contend, nor blame

Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive

In offices of love how we may lighten 960

Each other's burden in our share of woe ;

Since this day's death denounced, if aught I see,

Will prove no sudden, but a slow-paced evil,

A long day's dying, to augment our pain,

And to our seed (O hapless seed!) derived."

To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied: —
"Adam, by sad experiment I know
HowJittle weight my words with thee can find
Found so erroneous, thence by just event

Found so unfortunate. Nevertheless, 970

Restored by thee, vile as I am, to place
Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain
Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart,
Living or dying from thee I will not hide
What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen,
Tending to some relief of our extremes.
Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable.
As in our evils, and of easier choice.
If care of our descent perplex us most,

Which must be born to certain woe, devoured 980

By Death at last (and miserable it is
To be to others cause of misery,
Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring
Into this cursed world a woeful race.
That, after wretched life, must be at last
Food for so foul a monster), in thy power
It lies, yet ere conception, to prevent
The race unblest, to being yet unbegot.
Childless thou art; childless remain. So Death
Shall be deceived his glut, and with us two 990

Be forced to satisfy his ravenous maw.
But, if thou judge it- hard and difficult,
Conversing, loolcing, loving, to abstain
From love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet,
And with desire to languish without hope
Before the present object languishing
With like desire — whicji would be misery
And torment less than none of what we dread —
Th«n, both our selves and seed at once to free

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242 * PARADISE LOST, [Book x.

From what we fear for both, let us make short; ^ looo

Let us seek Death, or, he not found, supply

With our own hands his office on ourselves.

Why stand we longer shivering under fears

That show no end but death, and have the power,

Of many ways to die the shortest choosing,

Destruction with destruction to destroy?"

She ended here, or vehement despair
Broke off the rest ; so much of death her thoughts
Had entertained as dyed her cheek with pale.
But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed, loio

To better hopes his more attentive mind
Labouring had raised, and thus to Eve replied: —

"Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems
To argue in thee something more sublime
And excellent than what thy mind contemns:
But self-destruction therefore sought refutes
That excellence thought in thee, and implies
Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret
For loss of life and pleasure overloved.

Or, if thou covet death, as utmost end 1020

Of misery, so thinking to evade
The penalty pronounced, doubt not but God
Hath wiselier armed his vengeful ire than so
To be forestalled. Much more I fear lest death
So snatched will not exempt us from the pain
We are by doom to pay; rather such acts
Of contumacy will provoke the Highest
To make death in us live. Then let us seek
Some safer resolution — which methinks

I have in view, calling to mind with heed 1030

Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise
The Serpent's head. Piteous amends! unless.
Be meant whom I conjecture, our grand foe,
Satan, who in the Serpent hath contrived
Against us this deceit. To crush his head
Would be revenge indeed — which will be lost
By death brought on ourselves, or childless days
Resolved as thou proposest; so our foe
Shall scape his punishment ordained, and we
Instead shall double ours upon our heads. 1040

No more be mentioned, then, of violence
Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness
That cuts us from all hope, and savours only
Rancour and pride, impatience and despite,
Reluctance against God and his just yoke
Laid on our necks. Remember with what mild

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BOOKX.] PARADISE LOST. 243

And gracious temper he both heard and judged.

Without wrath or reviling. We expected

Immediate dissolution, which we thought

Was meant by death that day ; when, lo ! to thee 1050

Pains only in child-bearing were foretold,

And bringing forth, soon recompensed with joy.

Fruit of thy womb. On me the curse aslope

Glanced on the ground. With labour I must earn

My bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse;

My labour will sustain me; and, lest cold .

Or heat should injure us, his timely care

Hath, unbesought, provided, and his hands

Clothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged.

How much more, if we pray him, will his ear 1060

Be open, and his heart to pity incline.

And teach us further by what means to shun

The inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow !

Which now the sky, with various face, begins

To show us in this mountain, while the winds

Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks

Of these fair spreading trees ; which bids us seek

Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherish

Our limbs benumbed — ere this diurnal star

Leave cold the night, how we his gathered beams 1070

Reflected may with matter sere foment.

Or by collision of two bodies grind

The air attrite to fire ; as late the clouds,

Justling, or pushed with winds, rude in their shock,

Tine the slant lightning, whose thwart flame, driven down,

Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine,

And sends a comfortable heat from far,

Which might supply the Sun. Such fire to use.

And what may else be remedy or cure

To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, 1080

He will instruct us praying, and of grace

Beseeching him; so as we need not fear

To pas§ commodiously this life, sustained

By him with many comforts, till we end

In dust, our final rest and native home.

What better can we do than, to the place

Repairing where lie judged us, prostrate fall

Before him feverent, and there confess

Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears

Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air ' 1090

Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign

Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek?

Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn

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244 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.

From his displeasure, in whose look serene,
When angry most he seemed and most severe,
What else but favour, grace, and mercy shone?"

So spake our Father penitent; nor Eve
Felt less remorse. They, forthwith to the place
Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell
Before him reverent, and both confessed iioo

Humbly their feults, and pardon begged, with tears
Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek.

THE END OF THE TENTH BOOK,

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK XI.

THE ARGUMENT.

The Son of God presents to his Father the prayers of our first parents now repenting, and
intercedes for them. God accepts them, but dedares that they must no longer abide in
Paradise; sends Michael with a oand of Cherubim to dispossess them, but first to reveal to
Adam future things: Michael's coming down. Adam shows to Eve certain ominous signs: he
discerns Michael^ approach; goes out to meet him: the Angel denounces their departure.
Eve's lamentation. Adam pleads, but submits: the Angel leads him up to a high hill; sets
before him in vision what shall happen till the Flood.

THUS they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood
Praying; for from the mercy-seat above
Prevenient grace descending had removed #

The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerate grow instead, that sighs now breathed
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight
Than loudest oratory. Yet their port
Not of mean suitors ; nor important less

Seemed their petition than when the ancient pair - lo

In fables old, less ancient yet than these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore
The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds
Blown vagabond or frustrate : in they passed
Dimensionless through heavenly doors; then, clad
With incense, where the golden altar fumed,
By their great Intercessor, came in sight

Before the Father's throne. Them the glad Son 20

Presenting thus to intercede began: —

"See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted grace in Man — these sighs
( And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed

245

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246 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi.

With incense, I, thy priest, before thee bring;

Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed

Sown with contrition in his heart, than those

Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees

Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen

From innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine ear 30

To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute;

Unskilful with what words to pray, let me.

Interpret for him, me his advocate

And j)ropitiation ; all his works on me.

Good *or not good, ingraft; my merit those

Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay.

Accept me, and in me from these receive

The smell of peace toward Mankind; let him live,

Before thee reconciled, at least his days

Numbered, though sad, till death, his doom (which I 40

To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse).

To better life shall yield him, where with me

All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss,

Made one with me, as I with thee am one."

To whom the Father, without cloud, serene : —
*'A11 thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain; all thy request was my decree.
But longer in that Paradise to dwell
The law%I gave to Nature him forbids;

Those pure immortal elements, that know 50

No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul.
Eject him, tainted now, and purge him off,
As a distemper, gross, to air as gross.
And mortal food, as may dispose him best
For dissolution wrought by sin, that first
Distempered all things, and of incorrupt
Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts
Created him endowed -^ with Happiness
And Immortality; that fondly lost.

This other served but to eternize woe, 60

Till I provided Death : so Death becomes
His final remedy, and, s^er life
Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined
By faith and faithful works, to second life,
Waked in the renovation of the just.
Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed.
But let us call to synod all the Blest

Through Heaven's wide bounds ; from them I will not hide
My judgments — how with Mankind I proceed.
As how with peccant Angels late they saw, 70

And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed,"

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Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 247

He ended, and the Son gave signal high
To the bright Minister that watched. He blew
His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps
When God descended, and perhaps once more
To sound at general doom. The angelic blast
Filled all the regions: from their blissful bowers
Of amarantine shade, fountain or spring,
. By the waters of life, where'er they sat
In fellowships of joy, the Sons of Light 80

Hasted, resorting to the summons high.
And took their seats, till from his throne supreme
The Almighty thus pronounced his sovran will : —

"O Sons, like one of us Man is become
To know both good and evil, since his taste
Of that defended fruit ; but let him boast
. His knowledge of good lost and evil got,
Happier had it sufficed him to have known
Good by itself and evil not at all.

He sorrows now, repents, and prays Contrite — ^ 90

My motions in him; longer than they move,
His heart I know how variable and vain,
Self-left. Lest, therefore, his now bolder hand
Reach also of the Tree of Life, and eat.
And live for ever, dream at least to live
For ever, to remove him I decree.
And send him from the -Garden forth, to till
The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil.
Michael, this my behest have thou in charge:
Take to thee from among the Cherubim 100

Thy choice of flaming warriors, lest the Fiend,
Or in behalf of Man, or to invade
Vacant possession, some new trouble raise;
Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God
Without remorse drive out the sinful pair,
From hallowed ground the unholy, and denounce
To them, and to their progeny, from thence
Perpetual banishment. Yet, lest they faint
At the sad sentence rigorously urged

(For I behold them softened, and with tears 110

Bewailing their excess), all terror hide.
If patiently thy bidding they obey,
Dismiss them not disconsolate; reveal
To Adam what shall come in future days.
As I shall thee enlighten; intermix '

My covenant in the Woman's seed renewed.
So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace;
And on the east side of the Garden place.

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248 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi.

Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs,

Cherubic watch, and of a sword the flame 120

Wide-waving, all approach fiar off to fright,

And guard all passage to the Tree of Life ;

Lest Paradise a receptacle prove

To Spirits foul, and all my trees their prey,

With whose stolen fruit Man once more to, delude.''

He ceased, and the Archangelic Power prepared
For swift descent; with him the cohort bright
Of watchful Cherubim. Four faces each
Had, like a double Janus; all their shape

Spangled with eyes more numerous than those 130

Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse.
Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed
Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile,
To resalute the World with sacred light,
Leucothea waked, and with fresh dews embalmed
The Earth, when Adam and first matron Eve
Had ended now their orisons, and found
Strength added from above, new hope to spring
Out of despair, joy, but with fear yet linked ;
Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed: — 140

"Eve, easily may faith admit that all
The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends;
But that from us aught should ascend to Heaven
So prevalent as to concern the mind ,
Of God high-blest, or to incline his will,
Hard to belief may seem. Yet this will prayer.
Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne
Even to the seat of God. For, since 1 sought
By prayer the offended Deity to appease.

Kneeled and before him humbled all my heart, 150

Methought I saw him placable and mild.
Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew
That I was heard with favour; peace returned
Home to my breast, and to my memory
His promise that thy seed shall bruise our Foe;
Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now
Assures me that the bitterness of death
Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee !
Eve rightly called. Mother of all Mankind,

Mother of all things living, since by thee 160

Man is to live, and all thmgs live for Man."

To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek: —
" 1 11- worthy I such title should belong
To me transgressor, who, for thee ordained
A help, became thy snare; to me reproach

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Rather belongs, distrust and all dispraise.-

But infinite in pardon was my Judge,

That I, who first brought death on all, am graced

The source of life ; next favourable thou,

Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsafst, 170

Far other name deserving. But the field

To labour calls us, now with sweat imposed,

Though after sleepless nights ; for see ! the Mom,

All unconcerned with our unrest, begins

Her rosy progress smUing. Let us forth,

I never from thy side henceforth to stray,

Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoined

Laborious, till day droop. While here we dwell,

What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks?

Here let us live, though in fallen state, content." 180

So spake, so wished, much-humbled Eve; but Fate
Subscribed not. Nature first gave signs, impressed
On bird, beast, air — air suddenly eclipsed.
After short blush of mom. Nigh in her sight
The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour.
Two birds of gayest plume before him drove ;
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods.
First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace,
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind ;

Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. 190

Adam observed, and, with his eye the chase
Pursuing, not unmoved to Eve thus spake: —

*• O Eve, some fiirther change awaits us nigh,
Which Heaven by these mute signs in Nature shows,
Foi^erunners of his purpose, or to warn
Us, haply too secure of our discharge
From penalty because from death released
Some days: how long, and what till then our life.
Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust.
And thither must retum, and be no more? 200

Why else this double object in our sight.
Of flight pursued in the air and o'er the ground
One way the self-same hour? Why in the east
Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light
More orient in yon western cloud, that draws
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white.
And slow descends, with something Heavenly fraught?"

He erred not; for, by this, the Heavenly bands
Down from a sky of jasper lighted now

In Paradise, and on a hill made halt — 2|o

A glorious apparition, had not doubt
And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam's eye.

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250 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi.

Not that more glorious, when the Angels met

Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw

The field pavilioned with his guardians bright;

Nor that which on the .flaming mount appeared

In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire,

Against the Syrian king, who, to surprise

One man, assassin-like, had levied war,

War unproclaimed. The princely Hierarch 220

In their bright stand there left his Powers to seize

Possession of the Garden ; he alone,

To find where Adam sheltered, took his way.

Not unperceived of Adam ; who to Eve,

While the great visitant approached, thus spake : —

"Eve, now expect great tidings, which, perhaps,
Of us will soon determine, or impose
New laws to be observed; for I descry,
Frorti yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,
One of the Heavenly host, and, by his gait, 230

None of the meanest — some great Potentate
Or of the Thrones above, such naajesty
Invests him coming; yet not terrible.
That I should fear, nor sociably mild,
As Raphael, that I should much confide,
But solemn and sublime; whom, not to offend,
With reverence I must meet, and thou retire."

He ended; and the Archangel soon drew nigh,
Not in his sh^pe celestial, but as man

Clad to meet man. Over his lucid arms 240

A military vest of purple flowed.
Livelier than Meliboean, or the grain
Of Sana, worn by kings and heroes old
In time of truce ; Iris had dipt the woof.
His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime
In manhood where youth ended; by his side,
As in a glistering zodiac, hung the sword,
Satan^s dire dread, and in his hand the spear.
Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his state
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared : — ^ 250

"Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs.
Sufficient that thy prayers are heard, and Death,
Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress,
Defeated of his seizure many days,
Given thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent,
And one bad act with many deeds well done
May'st cover. Well may then thy Lord, appeased,
Redeem thee quite from Death's y2^zc\oms claim;
But longer in this Paradise to dwell

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Permits not. To remove thee I am come, 260

And send thee from the Garden forth, to till

The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.**

He added not; for Adam, at the news

Hefut-strook, with chilling gripe of sorrow stood,

That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen

Yet all had heard, with audible lament

Discovered soon the place of her retire : —

" O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death !
Must I thus leave thee. Paradise? thus leave
Thee, native soil? these happy walks and shades, 270

Fit haunt of Gods, where I had hope to spend,
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both? O flowers.
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation, and my last
At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names.
Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?
Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorned 280

With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure
And wild? How shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?"

Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild: —
" Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost ; nor set thy heart,
Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine.

Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes 290

Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native soil."

Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp
Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned,
To Michael thus his humble words addressed: —

"Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named
Of them the highest — for such of shape may seem
Prince above princes — gently hast thou told
Thy message, which might else in telling wound,
And in performing; end us. What besides 300

Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair,
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring —
Departure from this happy place, our sweet
Recess, and only consolation left
Familiar to our eyes; all places else
Inhospitable appear, and desolate,

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Nor knowing us, nor known. And, if by prayer
Incessant I could hope to change the wUl
Of him who all things can, I would not cease ^
To weary him with my assiduous cries ; 310

But prayer against his absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth :
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
This most afflicts me — that, departing hence.
As from his face I shall be hid^ deprived
His blessed countenance. Here I could frequent.
With worship, place by place where he vouchsafed
Presence Divine, and to my sons relate,

*On this mount He appeared; under this tree 320

Stood visible; among these pines his voice
I heard; here with him at this fountain talked.'
So many grateful altars I would rear
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memory
Or monument to ages, and thereon
' Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers.
In yonder nether world where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or footstep trace?

For, though I fled him angry, yet, recalled 330

To life prolonged and promised race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory, and far on his steps adore."

To whom thus Micjiael, with regard benign : —
"Adam, thou know'st Heaven his, and all me Earth,
Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills
Land, sea, and air, and eyery kind that lives.
Fomented by his virtual power and warmed.
All the Earth he gave thee to possess and rule.
No despicable gift; surmise not, then, 340

His presence to these narrow bounds confined
Of Paradise or Eden. This had been
Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread
All generations, and had hither come.
From all the ends of the Earth, to celebrate
And reverence V thee their great progenitor,
gut this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons :
Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain

God is, as here, and will be found alike 350

Present, and of his presence many a sign
Still following thee, still compassmg thee round
With goodness and paternal love, fis face

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Express, and of his steps the track divine.

Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirmed

Ere thou from hence depart, know I am sent

To show thee what shall come in future days

To thee and to thy offspring. Good with bad

Expect to hear, supernal grace contending

With sinfulness of men — thereby to learn 360

True patience, and to temper joy with fear

A.nd pious sorrow, equally inured

By moderation either state to bear,

Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead

Safest thy life, and best prepared endure

Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend

This hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes)

Here sleep below while thou to foresight wak'st,

As once thou slept'st while she to life was formed."

To whom thus Adam gratefully replied: — 370

"Ascend; I follow thee, safe guide, the path
Thou lead'st me, and to the hand of Heaven submit,
However chastening — to the evil turn
My obvious breast, arming to overcome
' By suffering, and earn rest from labour won,
If so I may attain." So both ascend
In the visions of God. It was a hill,
Of Paradise the highest, from whose top
The hemisphere of Earth in clearest ken

Stretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay. 380

Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round.
Whereon for different cause the Tempter set
Our second Adam, in the wilderness.
To show him all Earth's kingdoms and their glory.
His eye might there command wherever stood
City of old or modern fame, the seat
Of 'mightiest empire, from the destined walls
Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can,
And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne,

To Paquin, of Sinaean kings, and thence 390

To Agra and Lahor of Great Mogul,
Down to the golden Chersonese, or where
The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since
In Hispahan, or where the Russian Ksar
In Mosco, or the Sultan in Bizance,
Turchestan-bom ; nor could his eye not ken
The empire of Negus to his utmost port
Ercoco, and the less maritime kings,
Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind,
And Sofela (thought Ophir), to the realm 400

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254 PARADISE LOSTr [Book xi.

Of Congo, and Angola farthest south,

Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount,

The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus,

Marocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen;

On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway

The world: in spirit perhaps he also saw

Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume,

And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat

Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoiled

Guiana, whose great city Geryon's «ons 410

Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights

Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed

Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight

Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue

The visual nerve, for he had much to see,

And from the well of life three drops instilled.

So deep the power of these ingredients pierced,

Even to the inmost seat of mental sight.

That Adam, now enforced to close his eyes.

Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranced. 420

But him the gentle Angel by the hand

Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled: —

"Adam, now ope thine eyes, and first behold
The effects which thy original crime hath wrought
In vsome to spring from thee, who never touched
The excepted tree, nor with the Snake conspired.
Nor sinned thy sin, yet from that sin derive
Corruption to bring forth more violent deeds."

His eyes he opened, and beheld a field,
Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves 430

New-reaped, the other part sheep-walks and folds;
r the midst an altar as the landmark stood.
Rustic, of grassy sord. Thither anon
A sweatjr reaper from his tillage brought
First-fruits, the green ear and the yellow sheaf,
Unculled, as came to hand. A shepherd next.
More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock.
Choicest and best; then, sacrificing, laid
The inwards and their fet, with incense strewed.
On the cleft wood, and all due rites performed. 440

His offering soon propitious fire from heaven
Consumed, with nimble glance and gratefiil steam ;
The other's not, for his was not sincere :
Whereat he inly raged, and, as they talked.
Smote him into the midriff with a stone
That beat out life; he fell, and, deadly pale,
Groaned out his soul, with gushing blood effused.

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Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 255

Mucli at that sight was Adam in his heart
Dismayed, and thus in haste to the Angel cried : —

"O Teacher, some great mischief hath befallen 450

To that meek man, who well had sacrificed:
Is piety thus and pure devotion paid?'^

To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied :-
"These two are brethren, Adam, and to come
Out of thy loins. The unjust the just hath slain.
For envy that his brother's offering found
From Heaven acceptance; but the bloody fact
Will be avenged, and the other's faith approved
Lose.no reward, though here thou see him die,
Rolling in dust and gore." To which our Sire: — 460

"Alas, both for the <ieed and for the cause!
But have I now seen Death? Is this the way
I must return to native dust? O sight
Of terror, foul and ugly to behold!
Horrid to think, how horrible to feel ! "

To whom thus Michael : — " Death thou hast seen
In his. first shape on Man ; but many shapes
Of Death, and many are the ways that lead
To his grim cave — all dismal, yet to sense

More terrible at the entrance than within. 470

Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die.
By fire, flood, famine; by intemperance more
In meats and drinks, which on the Earth shall bring
Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew
Before thee shall appear, that thou may'st know
What misery the inabstinence of Eve \

Shall bring on men." Immediately a place
Before his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark;
A lazar-house it seemed, wherein were laid

Numbers of all diseased — all maladies 480

Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
Of heart-sick a^ony, all feverous kinds,
Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs.
Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs.
Demoniac phrenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence.
Dropsies and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums.
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; Despair
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch; 49°

And over them triumphant Death his dart
Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.
Sight so deform what heart ^ rock could long

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256 PARADISE LOST, [Book xi.

Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept,
Though not of woman born : compassion quelled
His best of man, and gave him up to tears
A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess,
And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed:—

"O miserable Mankind, to what fall 500

Degraded, to what wretched state reserved !
Better end here unborn. Why is life eiven
To be thus wrested from us? rather why
Obtruded on us thus? who, if we knew
What we receive, would either not accept
Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down,
Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thus
The image of God in Man, created once
So goodly and erect, though faulty since.

To such unsightly suflferings be debased 510

Under inhuman pains? Why should not Man,
Retaining still divine similitude
In part, from such deformities be free.
And for his Maker's image' sake exempt?"

"Their Maker's image," answered Michael, "then
Forsook them, when themselves they vilified
To serve ungoverned Appetite, and took
His image whom they served — a brutish vice,
Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve.

Therefore so abject is their punishment, 520

Disfigjiring not God's likeness, but their own;
Or, if his likeness, by themselves defaced
While they pervert pure Nature's healthful rules
To loathsome sickness — worthily, since they
God's image did not reverence in themselves."

"I yield it just," said Adam, "and submit.
But is there yet no other way, besides
These painful passages, how we may come
To death, and mix with our connatural dust?"

"There is," said Michael, "if thou well observe 530

The rule of Not too much, by temperance taught
In what thou eat'st and drink'st, seeking from thence
Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight.
Till many years over thy head return.
So may'st thou live, till, like ripe fruit, thou drop
Into thy mother's lap, or be with eas«
Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature.
This is old age ; but then thou must outlive
Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change
To withered, weak, and grey; thy senses then, 540

Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgo

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Book XI.] PARADISE LOST. 257

To what thou hast ; and, for the air of youth,
Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign
A melancholy damp of cold and dry,
To weigh thv spirits down, and last consume
The balm of'^life." To whom our Ancestor: —

"Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong
Life much — bent rather how I may be quit,
Fairest and easiest, of this cumbrous charge.
Which I must keep till my appointed day 550

Of rendering up, and patiently attend
My dissolution." Michael replied : —

"Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv'st
Live well; how long or short permit to Heaven.
And now prepare thee for another sight."

He looked, and saw a spacious plam, whereon ^

Were tents of various hue : by some were herds
Of cattle grazing : others whence the sound
Of instruments that made melodious chime

Was heard, of harp and organ, and who moved 560

Their stops and chords was seen : his volant touch
Instinct through all proportions low and high
Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue.
In other part stood one who, at the forge
Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass
Had melted (whether found where casual fire
Had wasted woods, on mountain or in vale,
Down to the veins ^of earth, thence gliding hot
To some cave's mouth, or whether washed by stream
From underground); the liquid ore he drained 570

Into fit moidds prepared^ from which he formed
First his own tools, then what might else be wrought
Fusil or graven in metal. After these.
But on the hither side, a different sort
From the high neighbouring hills, which \yas their seat,
Down to the plain descended: by their guise
Just men they seemed, and all their study bent
To worship God aright, and know his works
Not hid; nor those things last which might preserve
Freedom and peace to men. They on the plain 580

Long had not walked when from the tents behold
A bevy of fair women, richly gay
In gems and wanton dress ! to the harp they sung
Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on.
The men, though grave, eyed them, and let their eyes
Rove without rein, till, in the amorolis net
Fast caught, they liked, and each his liking chose.
And now of love they treat, till the evening-star,

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25S PARADISE LOST, [Book xi.

Love's harbinger, appeared ; then, all in heat,

They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke 590

Hymen, then first to marriage rites invoked :

With feast and music all the tents resound.

Such happy interview, and fair event '

Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers.

And charming symphonies, attached the heart

Of Adam, soon inclined to admit delight.

The bent of Nature ; which he thus expressed : —

"True opener of mine eyes, prime Angel blest,
Much better seems this vision, and more hope
Of peaceful days portends, than those two past : 600

Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse ;
Here Nature seems fulfilled in all her ends."

To whom thus Michael: — "Judge not what is best
By pleasure, though to Nature seeming meet.
Created, as thou art, to nobler end.
Holy and pure, conformity divine.
Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant were the tent3
Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race
Who slew his brother: studious they appear
Of arts that polish life, inventors rare ; 610

Unmindful of their Maker, though his Spirit
Taught them; but they his gifts acknowledged none.
Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget;
For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seemed
Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay, •
Yet empty of all good wherein consists
Woman's domestic honour and chief pj^^ise ;
Bred only and completed to the taste
Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance,

To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye ; — 620

To these that sober race of men, whose lives
Religious titled them the Sons of God,
Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame.
Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles *

Of these fair atheists, and now swim in joy
(Erelong to swim at large) and laugh ; for which
The world erelong a world of tears must weep."

To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft : —
"O pity and shame, that they who to live well
Entered so fair should turn aside to tread 630

Paths indirect, or in the midway faint !
But still I see the tenor of Man's woe
Holds on the same, from Woman to begin."

"From Man's effeminate slackness it begins,"
Said the Angel, ^* who should better hold his plaicfe

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Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 259

By wisdom, and superior gifts received.
But now prepare thee for another scene."

He looked, and saw wide territory spread
Before him — towns, and rural works between,
Cities of men with lofty gates and towers, 640

Concourse in arms,, fierce faces threatening war,
Giants of mighty bone and bold emprise.
Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed,
Single or in array of battle ranged
Both horse and loot, nor idly mustering stood.
One way a band select from forage drives
A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine.
From a fat meadow-ground, or fleecy flock.
Ewes and their bleating lambs, over the plain.
Their booty; scarce with life the shepherds fly, 650

But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray:
With cruel tournament the squadrons join;
Where cattle pastured late, now scattered lies
With carcasses and arms the ensanguined field
Deserted. Others to a city strong
Lay siege, encamped, by battery, scale, and mine,
Assaulting; others from the wall defend
With dart and javelin, stones and sulphurous fire;
On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds.

In other part the sceptred haralds call * 660

To council in the city-gates: anon
Grey-headed men and grave, with warriors mixed,
Assemble, and harangues are heard ; but soon
In factious opposition, *ill at last
Of middle age one rising, eminent
In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong.
Of justice, of religion, truth, and peace.
And judgment from above : him old and young
Exploded, and had seized with violent hands;
Had not a cloud descending snatched him thence, 670

Unseen amid'^he throng. So violence
Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law,
Through all the plain, and refuge none was found.
• Adam was all in tears, and to his guide

Lamenting turned full sad: — "Oh, what are these?

Death's ministers, not men! who thus deal death

Inhumanly to men, and multiply

Ten thousandfold the sin o^ him who slew

His brother ; for of whom such massacre

Make they but of their brethren, men of men? 680

But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven

Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?"

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i6o PARADISE LOST, [Book xi.

To whom thus Michael: — "These are the product
Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st,
Where good with bad were matched ; who of themselves
Abhor to join, and, by imprudence mixed,
Produce prodigious births of body or mind.
Such were these Giants, men of high renow.n ;
For in those days might only shall be admired,
And valour and heroic virtue called. 690

To overcome in battle, and subdue
Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite
Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch
Of human glory, and, for glory done,

Of triumph to be styled great conquerors, ^

Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods —
Destroyers rightlier called, and plagues of men.
Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth.
And what most merits fame in silence hid.

But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou beheld'st 700

The only righteous in a world perverse,
And therefore hated, therefore so beset
With foes, for daring single to be just,
And utter odious truth, that God would come
To judge them with his Saints — him the Most High,
Rapt in a balmy cloud, with winged steeds,
Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with God
High in salvation and the climes of bliss,
Exempt from death, to show thee what reward
Awaits the good, the rest what punishment; 710

Which now direct thine eyes and soon 4)ehold."

He looked, and saw the face of things quite changed.
The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar;
All now was turned to jollity and game.
To luxury and riot, feast and dance.
Marrying or prostituting, as befell.
Rape or adultery, where passing fair
Allured them; thence from cups to civil broils.
At length a reverend sire among them came,
And of their doings great dislike declared, 720

And testified against their ways. He oft
Frequented their assemblies, whereso met.
Triumphs or festivals, and to them preached
Conversion and repentance, as to souls
In prison, under judgments imminent;
But all in vain. Which when he saw, he ceased
Contending, and removed his tents far off;
Then, from the mountain hewing timber tall,
Began to build a vessel of huge bulk,

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Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and highth, 730

Smeared round with pitch, and in the side a door

Contrived, and of provisions laid in large

For man and beast: when lo! a wonder strange!

Of every beast, and bird, and insect small,

Came sevens and pairs, and entered in, as taught

Their order; last, the sire and his three sons,

With their four wives; and God made fast the door.

Meanwhile the South-wind rose, and, with black wings

Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove

From under heaven ; the hills to their supply 740

Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist.

Sent up amain ; and now the thickened sky

Like a dark ceiling stood: down rushed the rain

Impetuous, and continued till the earth

No more was seen. The floating vessel swum

Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow

Rode tilting o'er the waves; all dwellings else

Flood overwhelmed, and them with all their pomp

Deep under water rolled; sea covered sea.

Sea without shore: and in their palaces, 750

Where luxury late reigned, sea-monsters whelped

And stabled : of mankind, so numerous^ late,

All left in one small bottom swum embarked.

How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold

The end of all thy oflfspring, end so sad,

Depopulation! Thee another flood,

Of tears and sorrow a flpod thee also drowned.

And sunk thee as thy sons ; till, gently reared

By the Angel, on thy feet thou stood'st at last,

Though comfortless, as when a father mourns 760

His cnildren, all in view destroyed at once,

And scarce to the Angel utter'dst thus thy plaint: —

"O visions ill foreseen! Better had I
Lived ignorant of future — so had borne
My part of evil only, each day's lot
Enough to bear. Those now that were dispensed
The burden of many ages on me light
At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth
Abortive, to torment me, ere their being,

With thought that they must be. Let no man seek 770

Henceforth to be foretold what shall befall
Him or his children — evil, he may be sure.
Which neither his foreknowing can prevent.
And he the future evil shall no less
In apprehension than in substance feel
Grievous to bear. But that care now is past;

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Man is not whom to warn ; those few escaped

Famine and anguish will at last consume,

Wanderine that watery desert. I had hope,

When violence was ceased and war on Earth, 780

All would have then gone well, peace would have crowned

With length of happy days the race of Man ;

But I was far deceived, for now I see

Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

How comes it thus? Unfold, Celestial Guide,

And whether here the race of Man will end."

To whom thus Michael: — "Those whom last thou saw'st
In triumph and luxurious wealth are they
First seen in acts of prowess eminent

And great exploits, but of true virtue void ; 790

Who, having spilt much blood, and done much waste,
Subduing nations, and achieved thereby
Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey,
Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth,
Surfeit, and lust, till wantonness and pride
Raise out of friendship hostilef deeds in peace.
The conquered, also, and enslaved by war.
Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
And fear of God — from whom their piety feigned
In sharp contest of batfle found no aid 800

Against invaders ; therefore, cooled in zeal.
Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure,
Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords
Shall leave them to enjoy; for the Earth shall bear
More than enough, that temperance may be tried.
So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved,
Justice and temperance, truth and faith, forgot;
One man except, the only son of light
In a dark age, against example good,

Against allurement, custom, and a world 810

Offended. Fearless of reproach and scorn.
Or violence, he of their wicked ways
Shall them admonish, and before them set
The paths of righteousness, how much more safe
And full of peace, denouncing wrath to come
On their impenitence, and shall return
Of them derided, but of God observed
The one just man alive: by his command
Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheld'st,
To save himself and household from amidst 820

A world devote to universal wrack.
No sooner he, with them of man and beast
Select for life, shall in the ark be lodged

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Book: XI.] PARADISE LOST. 263

And sheltered round, but all the cataracts

Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour

Rain day and night ; all fountains of the deep,

Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp

Beyond aJl bounds, till inundation rise

Above the highest hills. Then shall this Mount

Of Paradise by might of waves be moved 830

Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood.

With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift,

Down the great river to the opening Gulf,

And there take root, an island salt and bare,

The haunt of seals, and ores, and sea-mews' clang —

To teach thee that God attributes to place

No sanctity, if none be thither brought

By men who there frequent or therem dwell.

And now what further shall ensue behold."

He looked, and saw the ark hull on the flood, 840

Which now abated; for the clouds were fled,
Driven by a keen North-wind, that, blowing dry,
Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decayed ;
And the clear sun on his wide watery glass
Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew.
As after thirst; which made their flowing shrink
From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole
With soft foot towards the deep, who now had stopt
His sluices, as the heaven his windows shut.
The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground, 850

Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed.
And now the tops of hills as rocks appear;
With clamour thence the rapid currents drive
Toward the retreating -sea their furious tide.
Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies.
And, after him, the surer messenger,
A dove, sent forth once and again to spy
Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light ;
The second time returning, in his bill

An olive-leaf he brings, pacific sign. 860

Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark
The ancient sire descends, with all his train;
Then, with uplifted hands and eyes devout,
Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholds
A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow
Conspicuous with three listed colours gay.
Betokening peace from God, and covenant new.
Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad,
Greatly rejoiced ; and thus iiis joy broke forth : —

" O thou, who fiiture things canst represent 870

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264 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi.

As present, Heavenly Instructor, I revive

At this last sight, assured that Man shall live,

With all the creatures, and their seed preserve.

Far less I now lament for one whole world

Of wicked sons destroyed than I rejoice

For one man found so perfect and so just

That God vouchsafes to raise another world

From him, and all his anger to forget.

But say what mean those coloured streaks in Heaven:

Distended as the brow of God appeased? 880

Or serve they as a flowery verge to bind

The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud.

Lest it again dissolve and shower the Earth?"

To whom the Archangel: — "Dextrously thou aim'st.
So willingly doth God remit his ire:
Though late repenting him of Man depraved.
Grieved at his heart, when, looking down, he saw
The whole Earth filled with violence, and all flesh
Corrupting each their way; yet, those removed.
Such grace shall one just man find in his sight 890

That he relents, not to blot out mankind.
And makes a covenant never to destroy
The Earth again by flood, nor let the sea
Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world
With man therein or beast; but, when he brings
Ov^r the Earth a cloud, will therein set
His triple-coloured bow, whereon to look
And call to mind his covenant. Day and night.
Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost.

Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new, 900

Both Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell."

THE END OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK.

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PARADISE LOST.

BOOK XII.

THE ARGUMENT.

The Angel Michael continues, from the Flood, to relate what shall succeed; then, in
the mention of Abraham, comes by degrees to explain who that Seed of the Woman shall be
which was promised Adam and Eve in the Fall: his incarnation, death, resurrection, and
ascension; tne state of the Church till his second coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and re-
comforted by these relations and promises, descends the hill with Michael; wakens Eve,
who all this while bad slept, but with gentle dreams composed to quietness of mind and
submission. Michael in either hand leads them out of Paradise, the fiery sword waving
behind them, and the Cherubim taking their stations to guard the place.

A S one who, in his. journey, bates at noon,
r\ Though bent on speed, so here the Archangel paused
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored.
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose ;
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes: —

"Thus thou hast seen one world begin and end.
And Man as from a second stock proceed.
Much thou hast yet to see; but I perceive
Thy mortal sight to fail; objects divine

Must needs impair and weary human sense. lo

Henceforth what is to come I will relate;
Thou, therefore, give due audience, and attend.

"This second source of men, while yet but few,
And while the dread of judgment past remains
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity,
With some regard to what is just and right
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace.
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop.
Com, wine, and oil; and, from the herd or flock
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid, 20

With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast.
Shall spend their days In joy unblamed, and dwell
Long time in peace, by families and tribes,
Under paternal rule, till one shall rise,

265

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266 PARADISE LOST, . [Book xii.

Of proud, ambitious heart, who, not content

With fair equality, fraternal state.

Will arroffate dominion undeserved

Over his brethren, and quite dispossess

Concord and law of Nature from the Earth —

Hunting (and men, not beasts, shall be his game) 30

With war and hostile snare such as refuse

Subjection to his empire tyrannous.

A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled

Before the Lord, as in despite of Heaven,

Or from Heaven claiming second sovranty,

And from rebellion shall derive his name.

Though of rebellion others he accuse.

He, with a crew, whom like ambition joins

With him or under him to tyrannize.

Marching from Eden toward the west, shall find 40

The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge

Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell.

Of brick, and of that stuff, they cast to build

A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven;

And get themselves a name, lest, far dispersed

In foreign lands, .their memory be lost —

Regardless whether good or evil fame.

But God, who oft descends to visit men

Unseen, and through their habitations walks.

To mark their doings, them beholding soon, 50

Comes down to see their city, ere the tower

Obstruct Heaven-towers, anci in derision sets

Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase

Quite out their native language, and, instead,

To sow a jangling noise of words unknown.

Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud

Among the builders; each to other calls,

Not understood — till, hoarse and all in rage.

As mocked they storm. Great laughter was in Heaven,

And looking down to see the hubbub strange 60

And hear the din. Thus was the building left

Ridiculous, and the work Confusion named."

Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased : —
"O execrable son, so to aspire
Above his brethren, to himself assuming
Authority usurped, from God not given!
He ^ave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation : but man over men

He made not lord — such title to himself 70

Reserving, human left from human free.

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BooKxn.] PARADISE LOST. 267

But this usurper his encroachment proud
Stays not on Man; to God his tower intends
Siege and defiance. Wretched man! what food
Will he convey up thither, to sustain
Himself and his rash army, where thin air
Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross,
And famish him of breath, if not of bread?"

To whom thus Michael : — " Justly thou abhorr'st
That son, who on the quiet state of men 80

Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue
Rational liberty; yet know withal,

Since thy original lapse, true liberty •

Is lost, which always with right reason dwells
Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being.
Reason in Man obscured, or not obeyed.
Immediately inordinate desires
And upstart passions catch the government
From Reason, and to servitude reduce

Man, till then free. Therefore, since he permits 90

Within himself unworthy powers to reign
Over free reason, God, in judgment just.
Subjects him from without to violent lords.
Who oft as undeservedly enthral
His outward freedom. Tyranny must be,
Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse.
Yet sometimes nations will decline so low
From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong,
But justice and some fatal curse annexed.

Deprives them of their outward liberty, 100

Their inward lost: witness the irreverent son
Of him who built the ark, who, for the shame
Done to his father, heard this heavy curse,
Servant of servants ^ on his vicious race.
Thus will this latter, as the former world,
Still tend from bad to worse, till God at last,
Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw
His presence from among them^ and avert
His holy eyes, resolving from thenceforth

To leave them to their own polluted ways, no

And one peculiar nation to select
From all the rest, of whom to be invoked —
A nation from one faithful man to spring.
Him on this side Euphrates yet residing,
Bred up in idol-worship — Oh, that men
(Canst thou believe?) should be so stupid grown.
While yet the patriarch lived who scaped the Flood,
As to forsake the living God, and fall

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268 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii.

To worship their own work in woiDd and stone
For gods! — yet him God the Most High vouchsafes 120

To call by vision from his father's house,
His kindred, and false ggds, into a land
Which he will show him, and from him will raise
A mighty nation, and upon him shower
His benediction so that in his seed
All nations shall be blest. He straight obeys;
Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes.
I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith
He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil,
Ur ctf Chaldaea, passing now the ford 130

To Haran — after him a cumbrous train
Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude —
Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth
With God, who called him, in a land unknown.
Canaan he now attains ; I see his tents
Pitched about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain
Of Moreh. There, by promise, he receives
Gift to his progeny of all that land.
From Hamath northward to the Desert south
(Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed), 140

From Hermon east to the great western sea;
Mount Hermon, yonder sea, each place behold
\ In prospect, as I point them: on the shore.
Mount Carmel; here, the double-founted stream,
Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons
Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills.
This ponder, that all nations of the Earth '

Shall in his seed be blessed. By that seed
Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise
The Serpent's head; whereof to thee anon 150

Plainlier shall be revealed. This patriarch blest,
Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call,
A son, and of his son a grandchild, leaves.
Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown.
The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, departs
From Canaan to a land hereafter called
Egypt, divided by the river Nile;^
See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths
Into the sea. To sojourn in that land

He comes, invited by a younger son ' 160

In time of dearth — a son whose worthy deeds
Raise him to be the second in that realm
Of Pharaoh. There he dies, and leaves his race
Growing into a nation, and now grown
Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks

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Book xii.] PARADISE LOST, 269

To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests
Too numerous ; whence of guests he makes them slaves
Inhospitably, and kills their infant males:
Till, by two brethren (those two brethren call
Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim 170

His people from enthralment, they return.
With glory and spoil, back to their promised land.
But first the lawless tyrant, who denies
To know their God, or message to regard,
Must be compelled by signs and judgments dire:
To blood unshed the rivers must be turned;
Frogs, lice, and flies must all his palace fill
With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land;
His cattle must of rot and murrain die;

Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss, 180

And all his people ; thunder mixed with hail.
Hail mixed with fire, must rend the Egyptian sky.
And wheel on the earth, devouring where it rolls;
What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain,
A darksome cloud of locusts swarming .down
Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green;
Darkness must overshadow all his bounds.
Palpable darkness, and blot out three days ;
Last, with one midnight-stroke, all the first-born
,Of Egypt must lie dead. Thus with ten wounds 190

The river-dragon tamed at length submits
. To let his sojourners depart, and oft
Humbles his stubborn heart, but still as ice
More hardened after thaw; till, in his rage
Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea
Swallows him with his host, but them lets pass,
As on dry land, between two crystal walls.
Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand
Divided till his rescued gain their shore:

Such wondrous power God to his Saint will lend, 200

Though present in his Angel, who shall go
Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire —
By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire —
To guide them in their journey, and remove
Behind them, while the obdurate king pursues.
All night he will pursue, but his approach
Darkness defends between till morning-watch;
Then through the fiery pillar and the cloud
God looking forth will trouble all his host.

And craze their chariot-wheels : when, by command, 210

Moses once more his potent rod extends
Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys;

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270 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii.

On their embattled ranks the waves return,

And overwhelm their war. The raqp elect

Safe towards Canaan, from the shore, advance

Through the wild Desert — not the readiest way,

Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed,

War terrify them inexpert, and fear

Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather

Inglorious life with servitude; for life 220

To noble and ignoble is more sweet

Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on.

This also shall they gain by their delay

In the wide wilderness : there they shall found

Their government, and their great Senate choose

Through the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordained.

God, from the Mount of Sinai, whose grey top

Shall tremble, he descending, will himself.

In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpet's sound,

Ordain them &ws — part, such as appertain 230

To civil justice; part, religious rites

Of sacrifice, informing them, by types

And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise

The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve

Mankind's deliverance. But the voice of God

To mortal ear is dreadful: they beseech

That Moses might report to them his will.

And terror cease ; he grants what they besought,

Instructed that to God is no access

Without Mediator, whose high office now 240

Moses in figure bears, to introduce

One greater, of whose day he shall foretell.

And all the Prophets, in their age, the times

Of great Messiah shall sing. Thus laws and rites

Established, such delight hath God in men

Obedient to his will that he vouchsafes

Among them to set up his tabernacle —

The Holy One with mortal men to dwell.

By his prescript a sanctuary is framed

Of cedar, overlaid with eold ; therein 250

An ark, and in the ark nis testimony,

The records of his covenant; over these

A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings

Of two bright Cherubim ; before him bum

Seven lamps, as in a zodiac representing

The heavenly fires. Over the tent a cloud

Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night,

Save when they journey ; and at length they come^

Conducted by his Angel, to the land

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Book xii.] PARADISE LOST. . 271

Promised to Abraham and his seed. The rest 260

Were long to tell how many battles fought;

How many kings destroyed, and kingdoms won;

Or how the sun shall in mid-heaven stand still

A day entire, and night's due course adjourn,

Man's voice commanding, * Sun, in Gibeon stand,

And thou. Moon, in the vale of Aialon, /

'Yi^ Israel overcome!' — so call the third

From Abraham, son of Isaac, and from him

His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win."

Here Adam interposed : — " O sent from Heaven, \ 270

Enlightener of my darkness, gracious things
Thou hast revealed, those chiefly which concern
Just Abraham and his seed. Now first I find
Mine eyes true opening, and my heart much eased,
Erewhile perplexed with thoughts what would become
Of me and all mankind ; but now I see
His day, in whom all nations shall be blest —
Favour unmerited by me, who sought
Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means.

This yet I apprehend not — why to those 280

Among whom ,God will deign to dwell on Earth
So many and so various laws are given.
So many laws argue so many sins
Among them; how can God with such reside?"

To whom thus Michael : — " Doubt not but that sin
Will reign among them, as of thee begot;
And therefore was law given them, to evince
Their natural pravity, by stirring up i

Sin against Law to fight, that, when they see
Law can discover sin, but not remove, 290

Save by those shadowy expiations weak.
The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude
Some blood more precious must be paid for Man,
Just for unjust, that in such righteousness.
To them by faith imputed, they may find
Justification towards God, and peace
Of conscience, which the law by ceremonies
Cannot appease, nor man the moral part
Perform, and not performing cannot live.

So Law appears imperfect, and but given 300

With purpose to resign them, in full time.
Up to a better covenant, disciplined
From shadowy types to truth, from flesh to spirit.
From imposition of strict laws to free
Acceptance of large grace, from servile fear
To filial, works 01 law to works of faith.

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272 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii.

And therefore shall not Moses, though of God

Highly beloved, being but the minister

Of Law, his people into Canaan lead ;

But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call, 310

His name and office bearing who shall quell

The adversary Serpent, and bring back

Through the world's wilderness long-wandered Man

Safe to eternal Paradise of rest.

Meanwhile they, in their earthly Canaan placed.

Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins

National interrupt their public peace.

Provoking God to raise them enemies —

From whom as oft he saves them penitent.

By Judges first, then under Kings ; of whom 320

The second, both for piety renowned

And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive

Irrevocable, that his regal throne

For ever shall endure. The like shall sing

All Prophecy — that of the royal stock

Of David (so I name this king) shall rise

A son, the Woman's Seed to thee foretold.

Foretold to Abraham as in whom shall trust

All nations, and to kings foretold of kings

The last, for of his reign shall be no end. 330

But first a long succession must ensue ;

And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed.

The clouded ark of God, till then in tents

Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine.

Such follow him as sh3l be registered

Part good, part bad ; of bad the longer scroll :

Whose foul idolatries and other faults,

Heaped to the popular sum, will so incense

God, as to leave them, and expose their land.

Their city, his temple, and his holy ark, 340

With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey

To that proud city whose high walls thou saw'st

Left in confiision, Babylon thence called.

There in captivity he lets th^m dwell

The space of seventy years ; then brings them back,

Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn

To David, stablished as the days of Heaven.

Returned from Babylon by leave of kings,

Their lords, whom God disposed, the house of God

They first re-edify, and for a while 350

In mean estate live moderate, till, grown

In wealth and multitude, factious they grow.

But first among the priests dissension springs —

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Book xti.] PARADISE LOST, 273

Men who attend the altar, and should most

Endeavour peace: their strife pollution brings

Upon the temple itself; at last they seize

The sceptre, and regard not David's sons;

Then lose it to a stranger, that the true

Anointed King Messiah might be born

Barred of his right. Yet at his birth a star, 360

Unseen before in heaven, proclaims him come.

And euides the eastern sages, who inquire

His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold:

His place of birth a solemn Angel tells

To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night;

They gladly thither haste, and by a quire

Of squadroned Angels hear his carol sung.

A Virgin is his mother, but his sire

The Power of the Most High. He shall ascend

The throne hereditary, and bound his reign 370

With Earth's wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens."

He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy
Surcharged as had, like grief, been dewed in tears,
Without the vent of words ; which these he breathed : —

" O prophet of glad tidings, finisher
Of utmost hope! now clear I understand
What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain —
Why our great Expectation should be called
The Seed of Woman. Virgin Mother, hail!

High in the love of Heaven, yet from my loins 380

Thou shalt proceed, and from thy womb the Son
Of God Most High ; so God with Man unites.
Needs must the Serpent now his capital bruise
Expect with mortal pain. Say where and when
Their fight, what stroke shall bruise the Victor's heel."

To whom thus Michael : — " Dream not of their fight
As of a duel, or the local wounds
Of head or heel. Not therefore joins the Son
Manhood to Godhead, with more strength to foil
Thy enemy; nor so is overcome 390

Satan, whose fall from Heaven, a deadlier bruise.
Disabled not to give thee thy death's wound;
Which he who comes thy Saviour shall recure.
Not by destroying Satan, but his works
In thee and in thy seed. Nor can this be,
But by fulfilling that which thou didst want,
Obedience to the law of God, imposed
On penalty of death, and suffering death.
The penalty to thy transgression due.
And due to theirs which out of thine will grow : 400

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274 PARADISE LOST. [BooX xii.

So only can high justice rest appaid.
The Law of God exact he shall fulfil
Both by obedience and by love, though love
Alone fulfil the Law; thy punishment
He shall endure, by coming in the flesh
To a reproachful life and cursed death.
Proclaiming life to all who shall believe
In his redemption, and that his obedience
Imputed becomes theirs by faith — his merits
To save them, not their own, though legal) works. 410

For this he shall live hated, be blasphemed, <
Seized on by force, judged, and to death condemned
A shameful and accursed, nailed to the cross
By his own nation, slain for bringing life;
But to the cross he nails thy enemies —
The Law that is against thee, and the sins
Of all mankind, with him there crucified.
Never to hurt them more who rightly trust
In this his satisfaction. So he dies,

But soon revives; Death over him no power 420

Shall long usurp. Ere the third dawning light
Return, the stars of morn shall see him rise
Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light.
Thy ransom paid, which Man from Death redeems —
His death for Man, as many as offered life
Neglect not, and the benefit embrace
By feith not void of work?. This godlike act
Annuls thy doom, the death thou ihouldst have died.
In sin for ever lost from life; this act

Shall bruise the head of Satan, crush his strength, 43^

Defeating Sin and Death, his two main arms.
And fix far deeper in his head their stings
Than temporal death shall bruise the Victor's heel.
Or theirs whom he redeems — a death like sleep,
A gentle wafting to immortal life.
Nor after resurrection shall he stay
Longer on Earth than certain times to appear
To his disciples— t men who in his life
Still followed him; to them shall leave in charge
To teach all nations what of him they learned 44°

And his salvation, them who shall believe
Baptizing in the profluent stream — the sign
Of washing them from guilt of sin to life
Pure, and m mind prepared, if so befall.
For death like that which the Redeemer died.
* All nations they shall teach ; for from that day
Not only to the sons pf Abraham's loins

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Book xii.] PARADISE LOST. 375

Salvation shall be preached, but to the sous

Of Abraham's faith wherever through the world ;

So in his seed all nations shall be blest. 450

Then to the Heaven of Heavens he shall ascend

With victory, triumphing through the .air

Over his foes andthin^; there shall surprise

The Serpent, Prince of Ajr, and drag in chains

Through all his realm, and there confounded lea

Then enter into glory, and resume

His seat at God's right hand, exalted high

Above all names in Heaven; and thence shall come,

When this World's dissolution shall be lipe.

With glory and power, to judge both quick and dead 460

To judge the unfaithful dead, but to reward

His faithful, and receive them into bliss,

Whether in Heaven or Earth ; for then the Earth

Shall be all Paradise, far happier place

Than this of Eden, and far happier days."

So spake the Archangel Michael ; then paused,
As at the World's great period ; and our Sire^
Replete with joy and wonder, thus replied : -^

"O Goodness infinite. Goodness immense.
That all this good of evil shall produce, ^o

And evil turn to good — more wonderful
Than that which by creation first brought forth
Light out of darkness ! Full of doubt I stand,
Whether I should repent me now of sin
By me done and occasioned, or rejoice
Much more that much more good thereof shall spring —
To God more glory, more good- will to men.
From God — and over wrath grace shall abound.
But say, if our Deliverer up to Heaven

Must reascend, what will betide the few, 480

His faithful, left among the unfaithful herd.
The enemies of truth. Who then shall. guide
His people, who defend? Will they not deal
Worse with his followers than with him they dealt?"

"Be sure they will," said the Angel; "but from Heaven
He to his own a Comforter will send.
The promise of the Father, who shall dwell.
His Spirit, within them, and the law of faith
Working through love upon their hearts shall write,
To guide them in all truth, and also arm 490

With spiritual armour, able to resist
Satan's assaults, and quench his fiery darts —
What man can do against them not afraid.
Though to the death ;' agajnst such cruelties

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27& PARADISE LOST. [Book xn.

With inward consolations recompensed,

And oft supported so as shall amaze

Their proudest persecutors. For the Spirit,

Poured first on his AposUes, whom he sends

To evangelize the nations, then on all

Baptized, shall them with wondrous gifts endu 500

To speak all tongues, and do all miracles,

As did their Lord before them. Thus they win

Great numbers of each nation to receive

With joy the tidings brought from Heaven: at length.

Their ministry performed, and race well run.

Their doctrine and their story written left.

They die; but in their room, as they forewarn,

Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves.

Who all the sacred mysteries of Heaven

To their own vile advantages shall turn 510

Of lucre and ambition, and the truth

With superstitions and traditions taint,

Left only in those written records pure.

Though not but by the Spirit understood.

Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names,

PJaces, and titles, and with these to join

Secular power, though feigning still to act

By spiritual; to themselves appropriating

The Spirit of God, promised alike and given

To all believers; and, from that pretence, 520

Spiritual laws hy carnal power shall force

On every conscience — laws which none shall find

Left them enrolled, or what the Spirit within

Shall on the heart engrave. What will they then

But force the Spirit of Grace itself, and bind

His consort. Liberty? what but unbuild

His living temples, built by faith to stand —

Their own faith, not another's? for, on Earth,

Who gainst faith and conscience can be heard

Infallible? Yet many will presume: 530

Whence heavy persecution shall arise

On all who in the worship persevere

Of Spirit and Truth ; the rest, far greater part.

Will deem in outward rites and specious forms

Religion satisfied; Truth shall retire

Bestuck with slanderous darts, and works of Faith

Rarely be found. So shall the World go on,

To good malignant, to bad men benign,

Under her own weight groaning, till the day

Appear of respiration to the just ^ 540

And vengeance to the wicked, at return

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BooKxti.] PARADISE LOST, 277

Of Him so lately promised to thy aid,

The Woman's Seed — obscurely then foretold,.

Now amplier known thy Saviour and thy Lord;

Last in the clouds from Heaven to be revealed

In glory of the Father, to dissolve

Satan with his perverted World; then raise

From the conflagrant mass, purged and refined.

New Heavens, new Earth, Ages of endless date

Founded in righteousness and peace and love, 550

To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss."

He ended ;^ and thus Adam last replied: —
"How soon hath thy prediction. Seer blest.
Measured this transient World, the race of Time,
Till Time stand fixed! Beyond is all abyss —
Eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
Greatly instructed I shall hence depart, w

Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill .
Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain ;
Beyond which was my folly to aspire. 560

Henceforth I learn that to obey is best.
And love with fear the only God, to walk
As in his presence, ever to observe
His providence, and on him sole depend,
Merciful over aJl his works, with good
Still overcoming evil, and by small

Accomplishing great things — by things deemed weak i
Subverting worldly-strong, and worldly-wise
By simply meek; that suffering for Truth's sake
Is fortitude to highest victory, 570

And to the faithfil death the gate of life —
Taught this by his example whom I now
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest."

To whom thus also the Angel last replied : —
** This having learned, thou hast attained the sum
Of wisdom ; hope no higher, though all the stars
Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal powers,
All secrets of the Deep, all Nature's works.
Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, or sea,
And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, 580

And all the rule, one empire. Only add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable; add faith;
Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love,
By name to come called Charity, the soul
Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loth
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess
A Paradise within thee, happier far.
Let us descend now, therefore, froit this top

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278 PARADISE LOST. [Book xn.

Of speculation ; for the hour precise

Exacts our parting hence; and, seel the guards, 590

By me encamped on yonder hill, expect

Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword,

In signal of remove, waves fiercely round.

We may no longer stay. Go, wakea Eve;

Her also I with gentle dreams have calmed.

Portending good, and all her spirits composed

To meek submission: thou, at season fit,

Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard —

Chiefly what may concern her faith to know.

The great deliverance by her seed to come 600

(For by the Woman's Seed) on all mankind —

That ye may live, which will be many days,

Both m one faith unanimous; though sad

With cause for evils past, yet much more cheered

With meditation on the happy end."

He ended, and they both descend the hill.
Descended, Adam to the bower where Eve
Lay sleeping ran before, but found her waked;
And thus with words not sad she him received : —

"Whence thou return'st and whither went'st I know; 610

For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise.
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good
Presa^ng, since, with sorrow and heart's distress
Weaned, I fell asleep. But now lead on;
In me is no delay; with thee to go
Is to stay here; withput thee here to stay
Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me
Art all things under Heaven, all places thou,
Who for my wilful crime art banished hence.
This further consolation yet secure 620

I carry hence: though all by me is lost,
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed.
By me the Promised Seed shall all restore."

So spake our mother Eve; and Adam heard
Well pleased, but answered not; for now too nigh
The Archangel stood, and from the other hill
To their fixed station, all in bright array,
The Cherubim descended, on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist

Risen from a river o'er the marish glides, 630

And gathers ground fast at the labourer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanced,
The brandished sword of God before them blazed,
Fierce as a comet; which wjth torrid heat.
And vapour as the Libyan air adust.

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Book XII.] PARADISE LOST. 279

Began to parch that temperate clime; whereat

In either hand the hastening Angel caught

Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate

Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast

To the subjected plain — then disappeared. 640

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld

Of Paradise, so late their happy seat.

Waved over by that flaming brand; the gate '

With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms.

Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon:

The world was all before them, where to choose

Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.

They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow..

Through Eden took their solitary way.

THE END,

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INTRODUCTION

PARADISE REGAINED.

Paradise Regained seems to have been complete in manuscript before the
publication of Paradise Lost. This we infer from an interesting passage in
the Autobiography of the Quaker, Thomas Ellwood, in which he gives an
account of the origin of Paradise Regained^ and claims the credit of having
suggested the subject to Milton. We have already seen (Introduction to
Paradise Lost, p. 15) how young Ellwood, visiting Milton, in 1665, at the cot-
tage in Chalfont St. Giles, Buckinghamshire, where he was then residing to
avoid the Great Plague in London, had a manuscript given him by the poet,
with a request to read it at his leisure, and return it with his judgment thereon.
On taking this manuscript home with him, Ellwood tells us, he found it to be
Paradise Lost. He then proceeds as follows : — " After I had, with the best
" attention, read it through, I made him another visit, and returned him his
" book, with due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me in communi-
"eating it to me. He asked how I liked it, and what I thought of it; which
" I modestly, but freely, told him : and, after some further discourse about it,
"I pleasantly said to him, *Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost; but
"what hast thou to say oi Paradise Found ?^ He made me no answer, but
" sate some time in a muse, then brake off that discourse and fell upon another
" subject. After the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed and become
" safely habitable again, he returned thither. And when, afterwards, I went
** to wait on him there (which I seldom failed of doing, whenever my occa-
" sions drew me to London), he showed me his second poem, called Paradise
" Regained J and in a pleasant tone said to me, *This is owing to you; for you
" put it into my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before
" I had not thought oV " * The inference from this passage may certainly be
that the poem was at least begun in the cottage at Chalfont St. Giles (say in
the winter of 1665-6), and that, if not finished there, it was finished in Milton's
house in Artillery Walk, shortly after his return to town in 1666. When Para-
dise Lost, therefore, was published in the autumn of 1667, its sequel, though
kept back, was ready.

* The History of the Life of Thomas Ellwood, Second Edition (1714), pp. 246, 347.

281

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282 INTRODUCTION TO

According to this calculation, the poem remained in manuscript for about
four years. It was not published till 1671, when Paradise Lost had been in
circulation for four years, and when the first edition of that poem must have
been nearly, if not quite, exhausted — for that edition was restricted to 1,500
copies at -the utmost, and Milton's receipt for the second five pounds, due, by
agreement, on the sale of 1,300 of these copies, bears date April 26, 1669.
But, for some reason or other, Simmons, the publisher of Paradise Lost, was
delaying a second edition of that poem — which did not appear till 1674. It
may have been owing to dissatisfaction with this delay on Milton's part that
Milton did not put Paradise Pegairud mio Simmons's bands, but had it printed
(as appears) on his own account. Conjoining with it Samson Agonistes^ which
he also had for some time by him, or had just composed, he issued the two poems
in a small octavo volume of 220 pages, with this general title-page — " Paradise
" Regained. A Poem. In IV. Books. To which is added Samson Agonisies.
" The Author John Milton. London, Printed by 7. M. for John Starkey at
''the Mitre in Fleets treet, ntar Temple Bar. MDCLXXr* There is no
separate title-page to Paradise Regained; which commences on the next leaf
after this general title, and extends to p. 112 of the volume. Then there is a
separate title-leaf to Samson Agonistes ; which poem, occupying the rest of
the volume, is separately paged. On the last leaf of the whole volume are
two sets of Errata, entided " Errata in the former Poem " and " Errata in the
latter Poem."

Not Samuel Simmons of the Golden Lion in Aldersgate Street, the pub-
lisher of Paradise Lost, it will be seen, but John Starkey, oif the Mitre in Fleet
Street, was the publisher of tlie new volume. He was, however, the publisher
only, or agent for the printer "J. M." Such, at all events, is the inference of
so good an authority in such matters as the late Mr% Leigh Sotheby, who,
after quoting the title of the volume, as above, adds : " It is interesting here to
" notice that the initials of Milton occur in the imprint as the printer of the
"volume. Such was frequently the case when a work was printed solely at
" the expense of the author." * In connexion with which observation we may
here note the entry of the volume in the books of the Stationers' Company :

Septemb. 10, 1670: Mr. John Starkey entered for his copie, under the hands of Mr. Tho.
Tomkvns and Mr. Warden Roper, a copie or Booke Intituled Paradise regain'd, A Poem in
4 Bookes. The Author John Milton. To which is added Samson Agonistes, a drammadic
\9ie\ Poem, by the same Author.

The volume itself furnishes an additional item of information. On the page
opposite the general title-page at the beginning is this brief imprint, " Licensed,
July 2, 1670" — from which it appears that the necessary licence had been
obtained by Milton from the censor Tomkyns. Apparently Tomkyns gave this
licence more easily than he had given that for Paradise Lost.

The volume containing the first editions of Paradise Regained and Samson
Agonistes is handsome enough in appearance — the paper thicker than that of
the first edition of Paradise Lost, and the type more distinct and more widely
spaced. But the printing, especially the pointing, is not nearly so accurate.
Within the first few pages one finds commas where there should be full stops
or colons, and vice versd, and becomes aware that the person or persons who
assisted Milton in seeing the volume through the press cannot have been so

* Rambliags in the Elucidation oi the Autograph of Milton, x86i, p. 83.

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PARADISE REGAINED. 283

careful as those who performed the like duty for the former poem — where,
though the pointing is not our modern pointing, it rarely conflicts with the
sense.

Whatever was the number of copiejs printed, it sufficed the demand during
the rest of Milton's life, and for six years beyond. When he died in 1674,
there was a second edition of the Paradise Last, to be followed by a third in
1678; but it was not till 1680 that there was a second edition of the Paradise
Regained and Samson. It was brought out by the same publisher, Starkey,
and is of inferior appearance and getting-up to the first — the size still small
octavo, but the type closer, so as to reduce the number of pages to 1 32. The
title-pages remain the same; but the two poems are now paged continuously,
and not separately. There seems to have been no particular care in revising
for the press, for errors noted in the list of errata in the former edition remain
uncorrected in the text of this.

Third editions, both of the Paradise Regained and of the Samson^ appeared
in folio in 1688, sold, either together or separately, by a new publisher —
Randal Taylor; and these are commonly found bound up with the fourth or
folio edition of Paradise Lost, published by another bookseller in the same year.
From this time forward, in fact, the connexion between Paradise Regained and
Sampson, originally accidental, is not kept up, save for mere convenience in
publication. The tendency was to editions of all Milton's poetical works collec-
tively — in which editions it was natural to put Paradise Lost first, then Paradise
Regained, then Samson Agonistes, and after these the Minor Poems, The
, greater demand for Paradise Lost^ however, making it convenient to divide the
Poetical Works in publication, two methods of doing so presented themselves.
On the one hand, there was an obvious propriety, if the Poems were to be divided
at all, in detaching Paradise Regained from Samson and the rest, and attaching
it to Paradise Lost; and, accordingly, there are instances of such conjoint edi-
tions of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained, apart from the other poems, in
1692, 1775, and 1776. But a more convenient plan, mechanically, inasmuch
as it divided the Poems collectively into two portions of nearly equal bulk, was
to let Paradise Lost stand by itself in one or more volumes, and throw Paradise
Regained, Samson, and the Minor Poems together into a separate issue in one
or more volumes — the two sets combinable or not into a collective edition.
This plan, first adopted by Tonson, in 1695, has prevailed since.

There is not the least reason for doubting EUwood's statement as to the way
in which the subject of Paradise Regained was suggested to Milton. There is
no such evidence as in the case of Paradise Lost of long meditation of the
subject previous to the actual composition of the poem. Among Milton's
jottings, in 1 640-1, of subjects for dramas, or other poems (see Introduction to
Paradise Lost, p. 1 1), there are indeed several from the New Testament History.
There is a somewhat detailed scheme of a drama, to be called Baptistes, on the
subject of the death of John the Baptist at the hands of Herod. There are
also seven notes of subjects from the Life of Christ — the first entitled Christus
PatienSf accompanied by a few words which show that, under that title, Milton
had an idea of a drama on the scene of the Agony in the Garden; the others
1 entered simply as follows: "Christ Born" "Herod Massacring, or Rachel
Weeping (Matt, ii.)," ''Christ Bound," "Christ Crucified," "Christ Risen,"
Mid "Lazarus (John xi.)." But not one of those eight subjects, thought of in

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284 INTRODUCTION TO

Milton's early manliood, it will be seen, corresponds with the precise subject of
Paradise Regained^ executed when he was verging on sixty. The subject of
that poem is expressly and exclusively the Temptation of Christ by the Devil
in the Wilderness, after his baptism by John, as related in Matt. iv. i-ii,
Mark i. 12, 13, and Luke iv. 1-13. Commentators on the Poem, indeed,
have remarked it as somewhat strange that Milton should have given so
general a title as " Paradise Regained " to a poem representing only this
particular passage of the Gospel History. For the subject of the Poem is thus
announced in the opening lines —

" I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind.
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Tnrough all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness."

On which passage, and on the Poem generally, a commentator (Thyer), repre-
senting a general feeling, makes this remark : " It may seem a little odd that
" Milton should impute the recovery of Paradise to this short scene of our
** Saviour's life upon earth, and not rather extend it to His Agony, Crucifixion,
" &c. But the reason, no doubt, was that Paradise regained by our Saviour's
** resisting the temptation of Satan might be a better contrast to Paradise lost
""by our first parents too easily yielding to the same seducing Spirit." This
remark is perfectly just; but it receives elucidation and point from Ellwood's
story of the way in which the poem came into existence.

Only by firmly remembering that it was as a sequel to Paradise Lost that
Paradise Regained grew into shape in Milton's mind, will the second poem
be rightly understood. The commentators, indeed, as they have sought the
" origin of Paradise Lost," or hints for its origin, in all sorts of previous poems,
Italian, Latin, and Dutch, on the same subject (see our Introduction to the
Poem), have, though less laboriously, searched for previous poems from which
Milton may have taken hints for his Paradise Regained, Todd, in his pre-
liminary observations entitled ** Origin of Paradise Regained," refers to the fol-
lowing pieces as possibly in Milton's recollection while he was writing the Poem,
— Bale's Brefe Comedy or Enter lude concernynge the Temptacyon of our Lorde
and Saver Jesus Christ by Sathan in the Desari (1538) ; Giles Fletcher's Chrisfs
Victorie and Triumph ( 1 61 1 ), a poem in four parts, the second of which, entitled
"Christ's Triumph on Eiarth," describes the Temptation; also La Humanith
del Figlivolo di DiOy a poem in ten books, by Theofilo Folengo of Mantua
( ^533) ; ^ ^^^ ^l Passione di Christo^ a poem by Antonio Comozano (1518) ;
and one or two other Italian poems cited at random for their titles and not
from knowledge. The only one of these references worth much is that to Giles
Fletcher's religious poem. Giles Fletcher (died 1623), and his brother Phineas
Fletcher, who outlived him more than twenty-five years, were among the truest
poets in the interval between Spenser and Milton, and the highest in that ideal
or Spenserian faculty which Milton possessed and admired. He must have
known the works of both brothers well, and not least the really fine poem of
Giles Fletcher to which Todd refers. But recollection of it can have had no
effect on the scheme of his own Paradise Regained. That was determined
simply by the poet's own meditations on those passages of the Evangelists

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PARADISE REGAINED. 285

which narrate the Temptation in the Wilderness, — especially the eleven verses
in Matt. iv. and the thirteen in Luke iv. — with a view to construct therefrom an
imagination of the whole scene, which, while it should be true to the scrip-
tural text, should fit as a sequel to Paradise Lost. The result was the poem
as we now have it — a poem in which the brief scriptural narrative of the Temp-
tation is expanded into four books, and yet the additions and fiUing-in are
consistent with the texts which have suggested them.

So distinctly is Paradise Regained 2l sequel to Paradise Lost that acquaintance
with Paradise Lost is all but presupposed in the reader ere he begins the shorter
poem. Such acquaintance, indeed, is not absolutely necessary; but it con-
duces to a more exact understanding of the total meaning of the poem, and of
not a few individual passages in it. Indeed, even that diagram of Universal
Space or physical Infinitude which was before the poet's mind, as we have
seen, throughout Paradise Lost (see our Introduction to that Poem), is still
present to his mind, though more dimly, in Paradise Regained.

The result of Satan's triumph in Paradise Lost, it is to be remembered, was
that he and his crew of Fallen Angels had succeeded in adding the " orbicular
World" of Man, i.e. the whole Starry Universe with the Earth at its centre,
to thatjnfernal jmpire of Hell to which they had been driven down_on their
expulsion Irom Heaven or the Empyrean. At the close of the real action of
the great epic this is wFarwp"finH Mafran apj ■'^1'" ^f>"fjr|-jit;ulating themselves
upon (Book X. 350 — 409) — that Man's World has now been wrested trom'
the Etftpire of Heaven above, and annexed to that of Hell beneath. An inter-
communication has been established between Hell and Man's World, and it
is hinted that thenceforward the Fallen Angels will not dwell so much in their
main dark dominion of Hell as in the more lightsome World overhea4,_,to-
which access is now easy. Distributing themselves through this World, they
will rule Us bpheiey and iLs elements; but more especially will they congregate
in the Air round the central Earth, so as to intermingle with human afeirs
continually and exercise their diabolic functions on the successive generations
of men. They — originally Angels in the Empyreal Heaven, then doomed
spirits in Hell — will now be the " Powers of the Air," round about the Earth,
and the Gods of Man's World. So they anticipate, and, over and over again
throughout the poem, we are reminded that their anticipation has been ful-
filled. What is the theory throughout Paradise Lost but that the gods of all
the heathen mythologies, worshipped by all the nations, are the Fallen Angels
who, in their new condition as Demons of Man's World and Powers of the Air,
have so blinded and drugged the perceptions and imaginations of men as to be
accepted as divinities?

Well, in Paradise Regained all this is assumed. It is assumed that for some
thousands of years these " Powers of the Air," alias Devils, alias gods of the
Polytheistic Mythologies, have been in possession of Man's World, distributed
some here, some there, according to their characters and faculties of mischief,
but occasionally meeting in council somewhere in the element of Air or Mist.
Satan is still their chief — the greatest in power and in ability, the leader in their
councils, their governor, and the director of their common enterprises. He is
no longer quite the same sublime spirit as in the Paradise Lost, in whom were
to be discerned the majestic lineaments of the Archangel just ruined. The
thousands of years he has spent since then in his self-selected function as the
devil of our Earth, -^ no longer flying from star to star and through the grander

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286 INTRODUCTION- TO

regions of Universal Space, but winging about constantly close to our Earth,
and meddling incessantly with all that is worst in merely terrestrial, affairs, —
have told upon his nature, and even upon his mien and bearing. He is a
meaner, shrewder spirit, both morally and physically less impressive. But he
has not yet degenerated into the mere scoffing Mephistopheles of Goethe's
great poem. Wf rptains Rmnpf-hi|7pr pf his f'^riTlcr ""^f(naT1''"'ty, or at least of
hisr^W^'^^^ 'indgrirj'^"^''^g and appealing to the highejLjjaiOtives of thought
^licCaciioa^ Whatever ttfTcally greatifiventiQri oFwisdom remains among the
diabolic host in their diffusion through Man's World and its elements is still
chiefly lodged in him. He it is, accordingly, who, in his vigilance as to what
goes on on Earth, is the first to become aware of the advent of one who may
possibly be that prophesied ** greater Man " who is to retrieve the conse-
quences of Adam's fall, end the diabolic influence in Man's World, and recon-
nect that World with Heaven. He it is who, as soon as he has made this
discovery, summons the diabolic crew to consultation; and the farther trial of
Christ's virtue likewise devolves on him.

The greater portion of the first book of the Poem isgreliminar^Jo^JJie-real
action. It describes the baptism of ^"^Mfiti ^^h^" QKr.ii» \\\\r\y y^ara^^^f age,
and. as yet obscure ^n^ nnknnvyyn, hy John at l^pfhahflra on the Jordan, the
recognition ot^ him by John, the proclamation from Heaven of his Messiahship,
the presence of Satan among those who hear this proclamation, and his alarm
thereupon. A few days are then supposed to elapse, during which Christ
remains in his lodging in Bethabara, the object now of much public regard,
and with his first disciples gathering round him; after which he is led by the
Spirit into the wilderness, there to revolve his past life, and meditate on
the ministry he is about to begin. It is after he has been already forty days in
the Desert, and has begun to feel hunger, that the special action of the Poem
opens (I. 303). It extends over three days. On the first day (the fortieth, it
is to be supposed, of Christ's stay in the Wilderness,) we have Satan's presen-
tation of himself to Christ in the guise of an old peasant, their first discourse,
and the commencement of the Temptation in the manner in which '^\ is re\^\(>'A
both in Matthe\v and_ in L^ukje j^tiLJUl^ by the^ suggestion to Christ that he
sTiould prove his divinityTy^urning the stones around him into bread. This
part of the relation occupies the remainder of Book I., which ends with a de-
scription of the coming on of night in the Desert. In Book II. the relation is
resumed — about half the Book being occupied with an episodic account of the
perplexity of Mary and the disciples by reason of Christ's mysterious absence,
and an account also of a second council of the Evil Spirits to advise with
Satan on his farther proceedings; but the remainder of the Book bringing us
back to the Desert, where Satan, early in the second day, renews the tempta-
tion. This second day's temptation is the most protracted and laborious, and
the account of it extends from Book II. through the whole of Book III. and
over two-thirds of Book IV. It is here that Milton has allowed his imagi-
nation the largest liberty in expanding the brief hints of the scriptural texts.
Both in Matthew and in Luke the acts of the Temptation are represented as
three. There is the Temptation of the Bread. or_ih£-appeal to Christ's hun-
ger, which is put first by botliEyangeTists : there is the Temptation of the
Vision of theTCingdoms of the Itarth ?fom a mountain-top, or the appeaHo
Christ's ambition — which Tuke puts secona~tri' order, but MsrttheW~15||]_and
ther« vs the Temptation on the pinnacle of the Temple, W, afe' it may be called,

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PARADISE REGAINED, 287

the appeal to vanity — which Matthew puts second, but Luke last. Milton,
assigning a s^i!)ai'aie day lu each acT ot the Temp!a!lion, follows Luke's order
rather than Matthew's in the last two agts, and devotes the second day to the
appeal to Christ's ambition. But he adds a variety of circumstances. He begins
the day, for example, with a repetition of the hunger-temptation of the previous
day, and then passes on to subtle appeals to the higher appetites of wealth and
power, so as to prepare the way for the vision of the Kingdoms of the Earth
from the mountain-top. Milton's management of this vision (which begins at '
line 251 of Book IIL and extends to line 393 of Book IV.) has hardly met
with sufficient admiration. He contrives to make it not only a splendid, but
also a most accurate, general view of the political condition of the earth at the
time referred to, when the Parthians in the East and the Romans in the West
were the great rival powers that had swamped all others ; and by thus suppos-
ing Satan to have based his temptation on the actual state of the world, and a
calculation of what might be done by the genius of a bold adventurer striking
in, at that particular juncture, between the Romans and the Parthians, he
imparts to it a character of high Machiavellian ability. But the Temptation
passes into still a new vein at the close, where, the direct appeal to political
ambition having failed, Satan, with Athens in view instead of Rome, tries to
work on the passion for purely intellectual distinction. This too failing, the
second day's temptation is at an end, and there is the return from the mountain-
top to the wilderness, where Christ is left alone during a night of storm and
ghastliness. There remains then only the final act of the Temptation, resterved
for the third day — the temptation on the pinnacle of the Temple. Although
Milton has also put his own interpretation on this portion of the Temptation,
working up to the actual transportation of Christ to the pinnacle, and the chal-
lenge of his power there, by previous questionings of Satan whether, after all, he
is the " Son of God " in any very extraordinary sense, yet a comparatively brief
space suffices both for the discourse leading up to the incident and for the
incident itself. The third day's temptation, indeed, encroaching only a little
on that day, and not protracted over the whole of it, occupies only about the
last third of Book IV. One sees, at the close of the poem, why Milton pre-
ferred Luke's arrangement of the three acts of the Temptation to Matthew's.
The reservation of the incident on the pinnacle of the Temple to the last enables
the poet to close with that fine visual effect of Christ standing alone on the
pinnacle, after Satan's inglorious fall, till the fiery globe of ministering Angels
surround him, and bear him in safety to Earth on their wings as 6n a floating
couch. Down they bear him to a flowery valley, and to the celestial food spread
out for him there; he refreshes himself therewith while the Angels above sing
a hymn of his victory and its consequences; then, rising, he finds his way
unobserved to his mother's house.

Speaking of Paradise Regained, Milton's nephew, Phillips, says (Life of
Milton, 1694) : " It is generally censured to be much inferior to the other {i.e.
"to Paradise Lost), though he (Milton) could not hear with patience any such
"thing when related to him." Tradition, as usual, has exaggerated this state-
ment, until now the current assertion is that Milton preferred Paradise Regained
to Paradise Lost. We may safely say that he knew better than to do any such
thing. But, probably, in that "general censure" of the inferiority of the
smaller poem, which had begun, according to Phillips, even during the three
years thiat were spared Milton to note its reception, he discovered critical

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288 INTRODUCTION.

misconceptions which have transmitted themselves to our time. " Is Paradise
Regained complete or not ? " is a question on which a good deal has been
written by Peck, Warburton, Newton, and others. The sole reason for think-
ing that it is incomplete, and that possibly the four books of the Poem as it
now stands were originally intended only as part of a much larger poem, is
founded on the smallness of that portion of Christ's life which is embraced in
the poem, and on the stopping short of that consummation which woidd have
completed the antithesis to Paradise Lost — i.e. the expulsion of Satan and his
crew out of the human World altogether back to Hell. This objection has
already been discussed, and found invalid. By no protraction of the poem
over the rest of Christ's life, we may also remark, could Milton have brought
the story to the consummation thought desirable. The virtual deUverance of
the World from the power of Satan and his crew may be represented as achieved
in Christ's life on earth, and Milton represents it as achieved in Christ's first
encounter with Satan at the outset of his ministry; but the actual or physical
expulsion of the Evil Spirits out of their usurped world into their own nether
realm was left a matter of prophecy or promise, and was certainly not re-
garded by Milton as having been accomplished even \X :ht time when he
wrote. Such completion of the poem, therefore, as could be given to it by
working it on to this historical consummation, was impossible. But, in short,
by publishing the poem as it stands, Milton certified its completeness according

to his own idea of the theme. " Well, then," some of the critics continue,

raising a second question, " can the poem properly be called an epic ? " They
have in view the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the ^neid, as the types of epics;
and, allowing that Paradise Lost may rank as also an epic, they think Para-
dise Regained X.oo short and too simple for such a name. But Milton had
anticipated the objection as early as 1641, when, in his Reason of Church-
Government^ speaking of his literary schemes, he had discriminated two kinds
of epics, of which he might have the option, if he should ultimately determine
on the epic form of composition as the best for his genius. " That epick
" form," he had said, " whereof the two poems of Homer, and those other two
" of Virgil and Tasso are a diffuse, and the Book of Job a ^rj^ model." May
we not say that, whereas in Paradise Lost he had adopted the larger or more
diffuse of the two models of epic here described, so in Paradise Regained he
had in view rather the smaller or briefer model? This would put the matter
on its right footing. Paradise Regained is a different poem from Paradise
Lost — not so great, because not admitting of being so great; but it is as good
in its different kind. The difference of kinds between the two poems is even
signalized in certain differences in the language and versification. Paradise
Regained seems written more hurriedly than Paradise Lost, and, though with
passages of great beauty, with less avoidance of plain historical phrases, and
less care to give to all the effect of continued song.

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PARADISE REGAINED

A POEM IN FOUR BOOKS.

THE AUTHOR

JOHN MILTON.

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PARADISE REGAINED.

THE FIRST BOOK.

i T WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung

IL By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
^'Itecovered Paradise^to all mankind,

By one man's firm obedience fully tried

Tnrough all temptation, and the Tempter foiled

In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,

And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite

Into the desert, his victorious field

Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence lo

By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire.

As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,

And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,

With prosperous wing fiiU summed, to tell of deeds

Above heroic, though in secret done.

And unrecorded len through many an age:
- Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
^5i^V^VC\Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
O More awfiil than the sound of trumpet, cried

Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20

To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked

With awe the regions round, and with them came

From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed

To the flood Jordan — came as then obscure,

Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon

Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore

As to his worthier, and would have resigned

To him his heavenly office. Nor was long

His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized

Heaven opened, and in likeness of a dove 30

291

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292 (7 ^^ . '^<^^ PARADISE REGAINED, [Book i.

r 4l# ^^ — rv6l di.^u i":rt\j^ .

Al'^Njr The Spirit descended, while the Father^s voice V

** From Heaven pronounced hin^ his beloved Son.

That Jieard the Adversary^who, roving still 1

About tne worm, at tnat assembly famed /lUf^ rVC

Would not be last, and, with the voice^dmne ,_:::) T^ vA^

Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to wh^m f./V^

Such high attest was given a while surveyed \ LJP^ \i/ •''

With wonder ; then, with tva^^ fraug^ht and jage, Xv^^^

Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air l^

To council summons all his mighty peers, 40

Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,

A gloomy consistory ; and then amidst,

With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake: —

"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,

T^* This Universe we have possessed, and ruled

In manner at our will the affairs of Earth, 50

\ \'y Since Adam and his facile consort Eve

,^^ Lost P^adise, deceived by me, though since

^ With dread attending when that fat^ wound

Shall be inflicted by^the seed of Eve ^

Upon my head. Long the decrees of Heaven ^J^

Delay, for longest time to Hjm is short; >>

And nowpE(5o suoir lor us, the circling hour&

This dreaded time have compassed, wherein we •

Must bide the stroke of that long-threatened wound

(At least, if so we can, and by the head 60

Broken be not intended all our power

^ To be infringed, our freedom and our being

^ In this fair empire won of Earth and Air) —

^: For this ill news I bring: The Woman's Seed,

.''^ Destined to this, is late of .woman bom.

'*^- 'His birth to our just fear gave no small cause ;

>^ But his growth now to youth's full flower, displaying
*^ All virtue, grace and wisdom to achieve
: Things highest, greatest, multiplies my fear.

<.. ' Before him a great Prophet, to proclaim 70

^- His coming, is sent harbinger, who all
-. Invites, and in the consecrated stream
Pretends to wash off" sin, and fit them so
Puritied to receive him pure, or rather
To do him honour as their King. All come,
And he himself among them was baptized —
Not thence to be more pure, but to receive

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Book iJ PARADISE REGAINED. ' 293

The testimony of Heaven, that who he is
Thenceforth the nations may not doubt. I saw
The Prophet do him reverence ; on him, rising 80

Out of the water, Heaven above the clouds ^^Zln

Unfold her crystal doors; thence on \\\^ hf>aH -r) ' ^ 04

A perfect dnve dpsg^^H rwhate^er it meant) : ^ ^/i^, ^
Ana out ot Heaven the sovran voice 1 heard, ^V^ ^

* This is my Son beloved, — in him am pleased.' h/^^/ ^^ ^z"

His mother, then, is mortal, but his Sire ' '^/ ^ •>

He who obtains the monarchy of Heaven; ^^^^j/Pf

And what will He not do to advance his Son? *^^

His first-begot we know, and sore have felt.

When his fierce thunder drove us to the Deep; ^v9^

Who this is we must learn, fpr Maj^ ^'^ *>^i>m<; j^"'^

Jn all his lineaments, though in his face ' ^ ^

The glimpses ot his father's glory shine. \§^ ^

Ye see our danger on the utmost edge >^

Of hazard, which admits no long debate, .^ ^ r^

But must with something sudden be opposed C. ^J^ ^ -

(Not forc^T ])\\^ wf^11-f^(;>nrhpH f^?iH, wfijj-'^oven snares), ^> ^
Ere in the head of nations he appear, * ^ ^^*^ _^-^

Their king, their leader, and supreme on Earth. V^ < <

I, when no other durst, sole undertook \ ^^ i<^

The dismal expedition to find out « v^^

And ruin Adam, and the exploit performed ^

Successfully: a calmer voyage now

Will waft me; and the way found prosperous once

Induces best to hope of like success."

He ended, and his words impression left
Of much amazement to the infernal crew.
Distracted and surprised with deep dismay
At these sad tidings. But no time was then
For long indulgence to their fears or grief: no

Unanimous they all commit the care
And management of this main enterprise
To him, their great Dictator, whose attempt
At first against mankind so well had thrived
In Adam's overthrow, and led their march --^

From Helps deep-vaulted den to dwell in light, ^
Regents, and potentates, and kings, yea gods, *t *
Of manv a pleasant realm and province wide.""
So to the coast of Jordan he--du:ects ,_.^

His easy steps, girded withN^aky wiles, ^^ - ^ 120

Where ne might likeliest find fRls ne^-declared,
This man of men, attested Son of God,
Temptation and all^uile on him to try —
So to subvert whonnie~5ii§pecied raised

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,^ 294 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i.

o ^ — —

,^-^\,; To end his reign on Earth so long enjoyed:
"^ ^ But, contrary, unweeting he fiilfilled
"^ X The purposed counsel, pre-ordained and fixed,
-^ ^ Of the Most High, who, in full frequence bright
^ ^ Of Angels, thus to Gabriel smiling spake : —
-^^ ** Gabriel, this day, by proof, thou shalt behold, 130

^ \3i Thou and all Angels conversant on Earth
^ S? With Man or men's affairs, how I begin
^^-^ ^ To verify that solemn message late,
iL. On which I sent thee to the Virgin pure
,^^ In Galilee, that she should bear a son,
>^ Great in renown, and called the Son of God.
-Tv Then told'st her, doubting how these things could be
^ ,^^ To her a virgin, that on Tier should come
V SL The Holy Ghost, and the power of the Highest
— mI> Overshadow her. This Man, born and now upgrown, 140

\c To show him worthy of his birth divine
:^ .And high prediction, henceforth I expose
/To Satan ; let him tempt, and now assay
V His utmost subtlety, because he boasts
^And vaunts of his great cunning to the throng
Of his apostasy. He might have learnt
Less overweenmg, since he failed in Job,
Whose constant perseverance overcame
Whatever his cruel malice could invent.

He now shall know I can produce a man, 150

Of female seed, far abler to resist
All hUsnlirjt^tinpSy anH at length
All Tiis~vast force, and drive hini bagk %c} Hell —
Winning by conquest i^^^j f^^ fii^t man ]r>cf
^ i5y fallacy surprise?! But first I mean
r To"^'exSrct§e' mm in the Wilderness;
^ There he shall first lay down the rudiments

Of his great warfare, ere I send him forth
"^ To conquer Sin and Death, the two grand foes.
.^ By humiliation and strong sufferance 160

His weakness shall o'ercom** *^at?"^^ ctranfffh^
AncTall the world, and mass ^of^inful flesh ;
, 'That all the Angels and ethereal Powe'rs —
'- They now, and men hereafter — may discern
From what consummate virtue I have chose
This perfect man, by merit called my Son,
To earn salvation for the sons of men."

So spake the Eternal Father, and all Heaven
Admiring stood a space; then into hymns
Burst forth, and in celestial measures moved, 170

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Book i.] PARADISE REGAINED . 295

Circling the throne and singing, while the hand

ginnpf wifK tV|f> vmrA, and tWs the argument: — ,>p

ictory and tnumph to the Son of God, - r ^ MJ • V^
Now entering his great duel, not of arms, vvN^ ^ \V

But to ^vanquish b,y wisHnm hrllif h ^Irn ' t^^^ ^"^ ocf

llie Father knows the Son ; therefore secure \r ;,^ ^;$*' A^
Ventures his filial virtue, though untried, Vj^ <s4^ V^

Against whatever may tempt, whatever seduce, ^""^^^^

AUure, or terrify, or undermine. ^ ^r

Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell^ 180

And, devilish machinations, come to naught!"

So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tun^d.
Meanwhile the Son of God, who yet some days
Lodged in Bethabara, where John baptized,
Musmg and much revolving in his breast
How best the mighty work he might begin
Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first
Publish his godlike office now mature,
One day forth walked alone, the Spirit leading
And his deep thoughts, the better to converse 190

With solitude, till, far from track of men.
Thought following thought, and step by step led on.
He entered now the bordering Desert wild,
And, with dark shades and rocks environed roimd.
His holy meditations thus pursued : — y

" O what a multitude of thoughts at once \ ?^

Awakened in me swarm, while I consider Av k

What from within I feel myself, and hear \K)v aVJ^

What from without comes often to my ears, \^ (\>

111 sorting with my present state compared! \J^5\ C^^ 200
When I was yet a child, no childish play ^ A^ ^

To me was pleasing; all my mind was set ^ .< .\

Serious to learn and know, and thence to do, 'v/V

What might be public good; myself I thought ^V^

Bom to that end, bom to promote all truth, ^ ^"^ \j

All righteous things. Therefore, above my years, -^

The Law of God I read, and found it sweet ;
Made it my whole delight, and in it grew
To such perfection that, ere yet my age

Had measured twice six years, at our great Feast 210

I went into the Temple, there to hear
The teachers of our Law, and to propose
What might improve my knowledge or their own,
And was admired by all. Yet this not all
To which my spirit aspired. Victorious deeds
Flamed in my heart, heroic acts — one while

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296 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book i.

To rescue Israel from the Roman yoke;
Then to subdue and quell, o'er all the earth,
. Bnite violence and proud tyrannic power,
Till truth were freed, and equity restored: ; ^ 220

Yet held it m"*"" ^"""^"", tv>^vp |^^o-.7^|^]y^ fi»».^^
By winning^words to ct>inqufr willing hftnrtSj
And mate persuasion, do f|v^. worif 0^ fear ;
Aneasi ttrliyv "and^leacK "the erring soul,
Not wilfully misdoing, but unware
Misled; the stubborn only to subdue.
These growing thoughts my mother soon perceiving,
By words at times cast forth, inly rejoiced.
And said to me apart, *High are thy thoughts,
O Son! but nourish them, and let them soar 230

To what highth sacred virtue and true worth q

Can raise them, though above example high; \\i\C\HV^
By matchless deeds express thy matchless Sire . m \f '
t or know, thoii art no son ot mortal man ; \ J

Though men esteem thee low of parentage,
Thy Father is the Eternal King who rules
All Heaven and Earth, Angels and sons of men.
A messenger from God foretold thy birth
Conceived in me a virgin; he foretold

Thou shouldst be great, and sit on David's throne 240

And of thy kingdom there should be no end.
At thy nativity a glorious quire
Of Angels, in the fields of Bethlehem, sung
To shepherds, watching at their folds by night
And told them the Messiah now was born.
Where they might see him; and to thee they came,
Directed to the manger where thou lay'st;
For in the inn was left no better room.
A star, not seen before, in heaven appearing,
Guided the wise men thither from the East, 250

To honour thee with incense, myrrh, and gold ;
By whose bright course led on they found the place
Affirming it thy star, new-graven in heaven,
By which they knew thee King of Israel bom.
Just Simeon and prophetic Anna, warned
By vision, found thee in the Temple, and spake.
Before the altar and the vested priest.
Like things of thee to all that present stood.'
This having heard, straight I again revolved
The Law and Prophets, searching what was writ 260

Concerning the Messiah, to our scribes
Known p^y, and soon found of whom they spake

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Book i.] PARADISE REGAINED, 297

I am — this chiefly, that my way must lie

Through* many a hard assay, even to the death,

Ere I the promised kingdom can attain,

Or work redemption for mankind, whose sins'

Full weight must be transferred upon my head.

Yet, neither thus disheartened or dismayed,

The time prefixed I waited ; when behold

The Baptist (of whose birth I oft had heard, 270

Not knew by sight) now come, who was to come

Before Messiah, and his way prepare!

I, as all others, to his baptism came.

Which I believed was from above; but he

Straight knew me, and with loudest voice proclaimed

Me him (for it was shown him so from Heaven) —

Me him whose harbinger he was; and first

Refused on me his baptism to confer,

As much his greater, and was hardly won.

But, as I rose out of the laving stream, 280

Heaven opened her eternal doors, from whence

The Spirit descended on me like a dove;

And last, the sum of all, my Father's voice.

Audibly heard from Heaven, pronounced me his,

Me his beloved Son, in whom alone

He was well pleased : by which I knew the time

Now fiill, that I no more should live obscure, '

But openly begin, as best becomes i;f

The authority which I derived from Heaven. v-

And no\v by some strong motion I am led o 290

Into this wilderness; to what intent "^

I learn not yet. Perhaps I need not know; y

For what concerns my knowledge God reveals." —

So spake our Morning Star, then in his rise, .^
And, looking round, on every side beheld ^

A pathless desert, dusk with horrid shades. ■ — ^
THg way he came, not having marked return.
Was dimcult, by human" stepg'untrod^
And he sitll uir^as fed, Lut witE'^such thoughts
Accompanied of things past and to come ' 300

Lodged in his breast as well might recommend
Such solitude before choicest society.

Full forty days he passed' — whether on hill
Sometimes, anon in shady vale, each night
Under the covert of some ancient oak 'H ^ M 1 /i 2
Or cedar to defend him from the dew, 4^1
Or harboured in one cave, is not revealed;
Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt.

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298 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i.

Till those days ended ; hungered then at last

Among wild beasts. They at his sight grew mild,

Nor sleeping him nor waking harmed; his walk

The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm;

The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof. /" Z^ ^V^ '

Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray ewe,

Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve

Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen,-

To warm him wet returned from field at eve,

He saw approach; who first. with curious eye

Perused him, then with words thus uttered spake: — 320

" Sir, what ill chance hath brought thee to this place,
So far from path or road of men, who pass
In troop or caravan? for single none
Durst ever, who returned, and dropt not here
His carcass, pined with hunger and with droughth.
I ask the rather, and the more admire,
For that to me thou seem'st the man whom late
Our new baptizing Prophet at the ford
Of Jordan honoured so, and called thee Son
Of God. I saw and heard, for we sometimes 330

Who dwell this wild, constrained by want, come forth
To town or village nigh (nighest is far).
Where aught we hear, and. curious are to hear,
What happens new; fame also finds us out."

To whom the Son of God : — " Who brought me hither
Will bring me hence; no other guide I seek.V

"By miracle he may," replied the swain;
"What other way I see not; for we here
Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inured
More than the camel, and to drink go far — 340

Men to much misery and hardship born.
But, if thou be the Son of God, command
That out^ of^these hard stones be made thee bread ;
So^sTiaTt thou ~save Ihyseit, and us^ relieve
With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste."

He ended, and the Son of God replied: —
"Think'st thou such force in bread? Is it not written
(For I discern thee other than thou seem'st),
Man lives not by bread only, but each word
Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed 350

Our fathers here with manna? In the Mount
Moses was forty days, nor eat nor drank;
And forty days Eliah without food
Wandered this barren waste; the same I now.

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Book i.] PARADISE REGAINED, 299

Why dost thou, then, suggest to me distrust,
Knowing who I am, as^J,.^now who thou artj^^

Whom thus answered the^rch-l« lend, now^ undisguised : — *
"'Tis true, I am that Spirit unfortunate
Who, leagued with millions more in rash revolt.
Kept not my happy station, but was driven 360

With them from bliss to the bottomless Deep —
Yet to that hideous place not so confined
By rigour unconniving but that oft.
Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy
Large liberty to round this globe of Earth,
Or range m tne Air ; nor irom the neaven of Heavens
H^lh lie eJi^LlUiled my resort sometimes.
I came, among the Sons of God, when he
Gave up. into my hands Uzzean Job,

To prove him, and illustrate his high worth; 370

And, when to all his Angels he proposed
- To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud.

That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring, .

I undertook that office, and the tongues q

Of all his flattering prophets glibbed with lies '^ \K^'i.

To his destruction, as I had m charge: y\^ \^

For what he bids I do. Though I have lost >(s(V

Much lustre 01 my native bng^nfigs. lost (N^- \j^

To" b6 beloved ot Gudr 1 have not lost \V/ C ^ » I^

'Yo love, at least contemplate ana admire, vT, xf^^ , ^ 380

what r see excellent in good, or fair, \ - -'

Or virtuous; I should so have lost all sense. Vv

What can be tnen less in me tnan aesire

To see thee and approach thee, whom I know

Declared the Son 01 God, to hear attent

Thy wisdom, and behold thy godlike deeds?

Men generally think me much a foe

To all mankind. Why should I ? they to me

Never did wrong or violence. By them

I lost not what I lost; rather by them 390

I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell

Copartner:^ thcoc it|;iuiii> uf llic W4jrld,

{\ not disposer — lend them oft my aid,

Oft my advice by presages and signs,

And answers, oracles, portents, and dreams.

Whereby they may direct their future life.

Envy, they say, excites mp^ thus to g^ain

Companions o^ my miservapd woe !

Artist it' I'liAy be , ■■buL,'Tong since with woe

Nearer acquainted, now I feel by proof 400

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y-^^^l^'"^.

^ 3^(i^ PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i.

That fellowship in pain divides not smart,

Nor lightens aught each man's peculiar load;

Small consolation, then, were Man adjoined.

This wounds me most (what can it less?) that Man,

Man fallen, shallhg^ r^g^^orpfji ^ -»*-^wM*.>pr|Q|-P ^^

To whom our Saviour sternly thus replied: —
"Deservedly thou griev'st, composed of lies
From the beginning, and in lies wilt end,
WlTo~boaiit'sl release i'rom Hell, and ledve to come
Into the Heaven of Heavens. Thou com'st, indeed, 410

As a poor miserable captive thrall
Comes to the place where he before had sat
Among the prime in splendour, now deposed,
Ejected, emptied, gazed, unpitied, shunned,
A spectacle of ruin, or of scorn.
To all the host of Heaven. The happy place
Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy —
Rather inflames thy torment, representing
Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable ;

So never more in Hell than when in Heaven. 42a

But thou art serviceableti>-fck^en's King!
Wilt thou impute to^^i^oieiice^ltoat thy fear
Extorts, or pleasure nrthJ'm excites?
What but thy malice moved thee to misdeem
Of righteous Job, then cruelly to afflict him
With all inflictions? but his patience won.
The other service was thy chosen task.
To be a liar in four hundred mouths;
For lying is thy sustenance, thy food.

Yet thou pretend'st to truth! all oracles 431.

By thee are given, and what confessed more true
Among Ihe nations? That hath been thy craft,
By mixing somewhat true to vent more lies.
But what have been thy answers? what but dark,
Ambiguous, atid with double sense deluding,
Which they who asked have seldom understood,
And, not well understood, as good not known?
Who ever, by consulting at thy shrine.
Returned the wiser, or the more instruct

To fly or follow what concerned him most, 440

And run not sooner to his fatal snare?
For God hath justly given the nations up
To thy delusions ; justly, since they fell
Idolatrous. But, when his purpose is
Among them to declare his providence.
To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy truth.

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Book l.] PARADISE REGAINED. 30J

^^r^.

But from him, or his Angels president ^ TT [k

In every province, who, themselves disdaining U C j^C^v*^

To approach thy temples, give thee in command ^

What, to the smallest tittle, thou shalt say . 450

To thy adorers? Thou, with trgmbling fear,

Or like a fawning parasite, obey'st ;

Then to thyself ascrib'st the truth foretold.

But this thy glory shall be soon retrenched;

No more shalt thou by oracling abuse •

The Gentiles ; henceforth oracles are ceased,

And thou no more with pomp and sacrifice

Shalt be inquired at Delphos or elsewhere —

At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute.

God hath now sent his living Oracle 460

Into the world to teach his final will,

And sends his Spirit of Truth henceforth to dwell

In pious hearts, an inward oracle

To all truth requisite for men to know."

So spake our Saviour ; but the subtle Fiend,
Though inly stung with anger and disdain.
Dissembled, and this answer smooth returned : — ^ ^^r< <^/^<v^ -f-

"Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke, ^^^ -/o^ ^/^

And urged me hard with doings which not will, t ^. . , '^'
But misery, hath wrested from me. Where ' 470

Easily canst thou find one miserable, h \ j ^,

And not enforced oft-times to part from truth, " " C

If it may stand him more in stead to lie.
Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure?
But thou art placed above me; thou art Lord; (^^/ 4^
From thee~t'"Canr-aiid ratrst, submiss, endure G J

Check or reproof, and glad to scape so quit.
Hard are the ways of mith, and rough \c\ walk.
Smooth on the tonyue clis<^6tirsed. nlpasingr to the ear.
And tunable as sylvan pipe or song; 480

What wonder, then, if I delight to hear
Her dictates from thy mouth? most men admire
Virtue who follow not her lore. Permit me
To hear thee when I come (since no man comes),
And talk at least, though I despair to attain.
Thy Father, who is holy, wise, and pure,
Suffers the hypocrite or atheous priest
To tread his sacred courts, and minister
About his altar, handling holy things,

Praying or vowing, and vouchsafed his voice 400

To Balaam reprobate, a prophet yet
Inspired : disdain not such access to me."

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502 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i.

To whom our Saviour, with unaltered brow:-—
" Thy coming hither, though I know thy scope,
I bid not, or forbid. Do as thou find'st
Permission from above; thou canst not more."

He added not; and Satan, bowing low
His gray dissimulation, disappeared.
Into thin air diffused : for now be^an

Night with her sullen wing to double-shade 500

The desert; fowls in their clay nests were couched;
And now wild beasts came forth the woods to roam.

THS END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

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PARADISE REGAINED.

THE SECOND BOOK.

MEANWHILE the new-baptized who yet remained
At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen
Him whom they heard. so late expressly called .
Jesus Messiah, Son of God, declared
And on that high authority had believed,
And with him talked, and with him lodged — I mean
Andrew and Simon, famous after knowh,
With others, though in Holy Writ not named -^
Now missing him, their joy so lately found.

So lately found and so abruptly gone, * lo

Began to doubt, and doubted many days, ^' ^ '

And, as the days increased, increased their doubt> ^ ' /l^-P,
SometimeTlhey iJioughthe might be orily Shbwn^ /^^ ^
AnSHoTTlImr^^ #r i^ ^ ^ ^Je ^f

Mos5r"wasln" the Mountan(3Tnis^ngT3Tlg, ^^'^"^ ^

And the great Thisbite, who on fiery wheels
Rode up to Heaven, yet oiice again to come.
Therefore, as' those young prophets then with care
Sought lost Eliah, so in each place these

Nigh to Bethabara — in Jericho f 20

The city of palms, y^bon, and Salem old,
Machserus, and each town or city walled
On this side the broad lake Genezaret, , • .

Or in Peraea — but returned in vain.
Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek.
Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play,
Plain fishermen (no greater men them call).
Close in a cottage low tpgether got.
Their unexpected loss aria plaints ontbreathed : —
" Alas, from what high hope to what relapse 30

303

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304 * PARADISE REGAINED, [Book ii.

Unlooked for are we fallen! Our eyes beheld

Messiah certainly now come, so long

Expected of our fathers ; we have heard

His words, his wisdom full of grace and truth.

*Now, now, for sure, deliverance is at hand;

The kingdom shall to Israel be restored:'

Thus we rejoiced, but soon our joy is turned

Into perplexity and new amaze.

For whither is he gone? what accident

Hath rapt him from us? will he now retire 40

After appearance^ anid again prolong ■

Our expectation? God of Israel,

Send thy Messiah forth; the time is come.

Behold the kings of the earth, how they oppress

Thy Chosen, to what highth their power unjust

They have exalted, and behind them cast

All fear of Thee ; arise, and vindicate

Thy glory; free thy people from their yoke!

But let us wait; thus far He hath performed —

Sent his Anointed, and to us revealed him, 50

By his great Prophet pointed at and shown

In public, and with him we have conversed.

Let us be ghd of this, and all our fears

Lay on his providence; He will not fail.

Nor will withdraw him now, nor will recall —

Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him hence:

Soon we shall see our hope, our joy, return."

Thus they out of their plaints new hope resume
To find whom at the first they found unsought.
But to his mother Mary^ when she saw 60

Others returned from baptism, not her Son,
Nor left at Jordan tidings of him none,
Within her breast though calm, her breast though piire,
Motherly cares and fears got head, and raised
Some troubled thoughts, which she in sighs thus claH: —

" Oh, what avails me now that honour high,
To have conceived of God, or that salute,
<Hail, highly favoured, among women blest!'
.While I to sorrows am no less advanced.

And fears as eminent above the lot 70

Of other women, by the birth I bore :
In such a season born, when scarce a shed
Could be obtained to shelter him or me
From the bleak air? A stable was our warmth,
A manger his; yet soon enforced to fly
Thence into Egypt, till the murderous king
Were dead, who sought his life, and, missmg, filled

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Book ii.] PARADISE REGAINED. r^|V 305

rnh^

With infant blood the street^ of Bethlehem. ^^

From Egypt home returned, in Nazareth

Hath been our dwelling many years; his life 80

Private, unactive, calm, contemplative,

Little suspicious to any king. But now.

Full grown to man, acknowledged, as I hear,

By John the Baptist, and in public shown.

Son owned from Heaven by his Father's voice,

I looked for some great change. To honour? no;

But trouble, as old Simeon plain foretold,

That to the fall and rising he should be

Of many in Israel, and to a sign .

Spoken against — that through my very soul 90

A sword shall pierce. This is my favoured lot.

My exaltation to afflictions high !

Afflicted I may be, it seems, and blest !

I will not argue that, nor will repine.

But where delays he now? Some great intent

Conceals him. When twelve years he scarce had seen,

I lost him, but so found as well I saw

He could not lose himself, but went about

His Father's business. What he meant I mused —

Since understand ; much more- his absence now ^ 100

My heart hath been a storehouse long of things
And sayings laid up, portending strange events."

Thus Mary, pondering oft, and oft to mind
Recalling what remarkably had passed
Since first her salutation heard, with thoughts
Meekly composed awaited the fulfilling:
The while her Son, tracing the desert wild,

Sole, but with holiest meditations fed, no

Into himself descended, and at once
All his great work to come before him set —
How to begin, how to accomplish best
His end of being on Earth, and mission high.
For Satan, with sly preface to return,
Had left him vacant, and with speed was gone
Up to the middle region of thick air.
Where all his Potentates in council sat.
There, without sign of boast, or sign of joy.
Solicitous and blank, he thus began: — 120

" Princes, Heaven's ancient Sons, Ethereal Thrones —
Demonian Spirits now, from the element
Each of his reign allotted, rightlier called
Powers of Fire, Air, Water, and Earth beneath

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3o6 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book n.

(So may we hold our place and these mild seats
^Without new trouble !) — such anVnemy
j>Cis risen to invade us, who no less

Threatens than our expulsion down to Hell.

J, as I undertook, and with the vote

Cgnsenting in fiilj^ fr^g^enf!^ was empnw^i;ed. ?30

Have^ound htitlpviewed him, tasted him; but find

Far other labour to be undergone

Than when I dealt with Adam, first of men,

Though Adam by his wife's allurement fell,

However to *his Man inferior far —

If he be Man by mother's side, at least

With more than human gifts from Heaven adorned,

Perfections absolute, graces divine.

And amplitude of mind to greatest deeds.

Therefore I am returned, lest confidence 140

Of my success with Eve in Paradise

Deceive ye to persuasion over-sure

Of like succeeding here. I summon all

Rather to be in readiness with hand

Or counsel to assist, lest I, who erst 7~^ l 1

Thought none my equal, now be overmatfih^dt^^ — -\^OU. fc>^

So spake the old Serpent, dgijblJngr and from all ii'ip^V\u
With clamour was assured their utmost aid >3z>\

At his command; when from amidst them rose T^^v

Belial, the dissolutest Spirit that fell, 150

The sensualest, and, after Asmodai,
The fleshliest Incubus, and thus advised: —

"Set women in his eye and in his walk.
Among daughters of men the fairest found.
Many are in each region passing fah*
As the noon sky, more like to goddesses
Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet.
Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues
Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild

And sweet allayed, yet terrible to approach, 1 60

Skilled to retire, and in retiring draw
Hearts after them tangled in amorous nets.
Such object hath the power to soften and tame
Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow,
Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve.
Draw out with credulous desire, and lead.
At will the manliest, resolutest breast,
As the magnetic hardest iron draws.
Women, when nothing else, beguiled the heart
Of wisest Solomon, and made him build, 170

And made him bow, to the gods of his wives,''

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Book ii.] PARADISE REGAIJ^ED, 307

To whom quick answer Satan thus returned : —
<* Belial, in much uneven stale thou weigh^st
All others by thyself. Because of old
Thou thyself doat'st on womankind^ admiring
Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace,
None are, thou think'st, but taken with such toys.
Before the Flood, thou, with thy lusty crew,
False titled Sons of God, roaming the Earth,
Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men, 180

And coupled with them, and begot a race.
Have we not seen, or by relation heard,
In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st,
In wood or grove, by mossy fountain-side.
In valley or green meadow, to waylay
Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene,
Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa, •

Or Amymone, Syrinx^ many more
Too long — then lay'st thy scapes on names adored,
Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan, 190

Satyr, or Faun, or Silvan ? But these haunts
Delight not all. Among the sons of men
How many have with a smile made small account
Of beauty and her lures, easily scorned
All her assaults, on worthier things intent !
Remember that Pellean conqueror,
A youth, how all the beauties of the East
He slightly viewed, and slightly overpassed ;
How he surnamed of Africa dismissed.

In his prime youth, the fair Iberian maid. 200

For Solomon, he lived at ease, and, full
Of honoiur, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond
Higher design than to enjoy hfe state;
Thence to tne bait of women lay exposed.
But he whom we attempt is wiser for
Than Solomon, of more exalted mind,
Made and set wholly on the accomplishment
Of greatest things. What woman will you find,
I Though of this age the wonder and the fame.
On whom his leisure will vouchsafed an eye 210

Of fond desire? Or should she, confident.
As sitting queen adored on Beauty^s throne.
Descend with all her winning charms begirt
To enamour, as the zone of Venus once
Wrought that effect on Jove (so fables tell).
How would one look from his majestic brow,
Seated as on the top of Virtue's hill.
Discountenance her despbed, and put to rout

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3o8 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book ii.

All her array, her female pride deject,

Or turn to reverent awe ! For Beauty stands 220

In the admiration only of weak minds
Led captive; cease to admire, and all her plumes
. Fall flat, and shrink into a trivial toy,
At every sudden slighting quite abashed.
Therefore with manlier objects we must try
His constancy — with such as have more show
Of worth, of honour, glorv. and pnpul^f pr^isp
(Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wrecked) ;
Or that which only seems to satisfy

Lawful desires of nature, not beyond. 230

And now I know he hungers, where no food
Is to be found, in the wild Wilderness :
The rest commit to me; I shall let pass
No advantage, and* his strength as oft assay."

He ceased, and heard their grant in loud acclaim;
Then forthwith to him takes a chosen band
Of Spirits likest to himself in guile.
To be at hand and at his beck appear.
If cause were to unfold some active scene

Of various persons, each to know his part ; 240

Then to the desert takes with these his flight,
Where still, from shade to shade, the Son of God,
After forty days' fasting, had remained,
Now hungering first, and to himself thus said : —

** Where will this end? Four times ten days I have passed
Wandering this woody maze, and human food
Nor tasted, nor had appetite. That fast
To virtue I impute not, or count part
Of what I suffer here. If nature need not.

Or God support nature without repast, 250

Though needing, what praise is it to endure?
But now I feel I hunger; which declares
Nature hath need of what she asks. Yet God
Can satisfy that need some other way.
Though hunger still remain. So it remain

Without this body's wasting, I content me, ^

And from the sting of famine leaF noJiarm ;
Nor mind it, fed with "better thoughts, that ifeed
Me hungering more to do my Father's will."

It was the hour of night, when thus the Son 260

Communed in silent walk, then laid him down
Under the hospitable covert nigh
Of trees thick interwoven. There he slept.
And dreamed, as appetite is wont to dream,
Of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet.

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Book ii.] PARADISE REGAINED. 309

Him thought he by the brook of Cherith stood,

And saw the ravens with their horny beaks

Food to Elijah bringing even and morn —

Though ravenous, taught to abstain from what they brought;

He saw the Prophet dso, how he fled 270

Into the desert, and how there he slept

Under a juniper — then how, awaked,

He found his supper on the coals prepared,

And by the Angel was bid rise and eat,

And eat the second time after repose.

The strength whereof sufficed him forty days :

Sometimes that with Elijah he partook.

Or as a guest with Darnel at his pulse.

Thus wore out night; and now the herald lark

Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry 280

The Morn's approach, and greet her with his song.

As lightly from his grassy couch up rose

Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream;

Fasting he went to sleep, and fasting waked.

Up to a hill anon his steps he reared,

From whose high top to ken the prospect round.

If cottage were in view, sheep-cote, or herd ;

But cottage, herd, or sheep-cote, none he saw —

Only ia a bottom saw a pleasant grove.

With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud. 290

Thither he bent his way, determined there ,

To rest at noon, and entered soon the shade

High-roofed, and walks beneath, and alleys brown,

That opened in the midst a woody scene;

Nature's own work it seemed (Nature taught Art),

And, to a superstitious eye, the haunt

Of wood-gods and wood-nymphs. He viewed it round ;

When suddenly a man before him stood.

Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad.

As one in city or court or palace bred, 300

And with fair speech these words to him addressed:

"With granted leave officious I return,
But much more wonder that the Son of God
In this wild solitude so long should bide,
Of all things destitute, and, well I know,
Not without hunger. Others of some note,
As story tells, have trod this wilderness:
The fugitive bond-wonian, with her son.
Outcast Nebaioth, yet found here relief

By a providing Angel; all the race 310

Of Israel here had famished, had not God
Rained from heaven manna; and that Prophet bold^

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310 PARADISE REGAINED. [Bookii.

« — — .

Native of Thebez, wandering here, wais fed
Twice by a voice inviting him to cat.
Of thee these forty days none hath regard, .
Forty and more deserted here indeed."

To wh6m thus Jesus: — "What concludVc thou hence?
They all had need; I, as thou seest, have none."

"How hast thou hunger then?" Satan replied. :;

" Tell me, if food- were now before thee set, 320

Wouldst thou not eat?" "Thereafter as I like
The^ giver," answered Jesus. "Why should that
Cause thy refusal?" said the subtle Fiend.
"Hast thou not right to all created things?
Owe not all creatures, by just right, to diee
Duty and service, nor to stay tiff bid.

But tender all their power? Nor mention I JL

Meatsby th^ law imrlgg.n^^r''^^'^^**^ ^^^^ ^ (f K

To idols ^ — those young Daniel could refuse; V^^\ Y 1

red by an enemy — though who \r A .^30

Would scruple that, with want oppressed ? Behold, ( ."^ yA v
Nature ashamed, or, better to express, \j f^ L

Troubled, that thou shouldst hunger, hath purveyed v\ v\r'
From all the elements her choicest store, ^ (^

To treat thee as beseems, and as her Lord \ \

With honour. Only deign to sit and eat." . '^

He spake no dream ; for, as his words had end,
Our Saviour, lifting up his eyes, beheld,
In ample space under the broadest shade,

A table richly spread in regal mode, 340

With dishes piled and meat? of noblest sort
And savour — beasts of chase, or fowl of game,
In pastry built, or from the spit, or boiled,
Grisamber-steamed ^ all fish, from sea or shore,
Freshet or purling brook, of shell or fih.
And exquisitest name, for which was drained
Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast.
Alas ! how simple, to^ these cates_xQmpared,
Was that rniflff app1<^ that diverted Eve!

And at a stately sideboard, by fhe^ne, 350

That fragrant smell diffused, in order stood
Tall stripling youths rich-clad, of fairer hue
Than fenymed^ or Hylas; distant more,
Under tHe^ees now tripped, now solemn* stood,
Nymphs of Diana's train, and Naiades
With fruits and flowers from Amalthea's horiu
And ladies of the Hesperides, that seemed
Fairer than feigned of old, or fiabled since
Of faery damsds met in forest wide

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BOOK II.] PARADISE REGAINED. 311

By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, 360

Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore.

And all the while harmonious airs were heard

Of chiming strings or charming pipes ; and winds

Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fanned

From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells.

Such was the splendour; and the Tempter now

His invitation earnestly renewed: —

**What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat?
These are not fruits forbidden; no interdict

Defends the touching of these viands pure ; 370

Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil.
But life preserves, destroys life's enemy,
Hunger, with swc^t restorative delight.

All these are Spirits, of air, and woods, and springs, iaia (X

Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay \/Jr' ^ ^

Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their Lord. - - 4^)

What doubfst thou, Son of God? Sit down and ^at." Q\\f^^

To whom thus Jesus temperately replied:— OeK^

"Said'st thou not that to all things I had right? ^

And who withholds my power that right to use? 380

Shall I receive by gift whnt nf my own;
When and where likes me best, I can command?
I can at will, doubt not, as soon as thou.
Command a table in this^ wilderness.
And call swift flights of Angels ministrant.
Arrayed in glory, oil my alp to attend:
Why shouldst thou, then, obtrude this diligence
In vain, where no acceptance it can find?
And with my hunger what hast thou to do?

Thy pompous delicacies I contemn, 390

And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles."

To whom thus answered Satan, malecontent : —
"That I have also power to give thou seest;
If of that power I bring thee voluntary
What I might have bestowed on whom I pleased,
And rather opportunely in this place
Chose to impart to thy apparent need,
Why shouldst thou^ot accept it? But I see
What I can do or offer is suspect.

Of these things others quickly will dispose, 400

Whose pains have earned the far-fet spoil." With that
Both table and provision vanished quite,
With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard ;
Q^lythe importune Tempter still remained,
Anawith these words" his te^mptation pursued : —

"By hunger, that each other creature tames,

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312 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book ii.

Thou art not to be harmed, therefore not moved;
Thy temperance, invincible besides,
For no aJlurement ^elds to appetite ;

And all thy heart is set on high designs, 410

High actions. But wherewith to be achieved?
Great acts require great means of enterprise ;
Thou art unknown, unfriended, low of birth,
A carpenter thy father known, thyself
Bred up in poverty and straits at home.
Lost in a desert here and hunger-bit.
Which way, or from what hope, dost thou aspire
To greatness? whence authority deriv'st?
What followers, what retinue canst thou gain,
Or at thy heels the dizzy multitude, 420

Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost?
Money brines honour, friends, conquest, and realms.
What raised Antipater the Edomite,
And his son Herod placed on Judah's throne,
Thy throne, but gold, that got him puissant friends?
Therefore, if at great things thou wouldst arrive.
Get riches first, get wealth, and treasui;e heap —
Not difficult, if thou hearken to me.
Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand;

They whom I favour thrive in wealth amain, 430

While virtue, valour, wisdom, sit in want."
To whom thus Jesus patiently replied: —
" Yet wealth without these three is impotent
To gain dominion, or to keep it gained —
Witness those ancient empires of the earth.
In highth of all their flowing wealth dissolved ;
But men endued with these have oft attained,
In lowest poverty, to highest deeds —
Gideon, and Jephtha, and the shepherd lad

Whose offspring on the throne of Judah sat (^^ <K / f ^^

So many ages, and shall yet regain -_^ /! ^

T}]^t sQ^tj^^d reign in Israel without end.TJI I l\jf C u L. 1

AmongthrHeathen (for throoghout thc-world ^ ^ ^J ^ ct

To me is not unknown what hath been done L^ i^

Worthy of memorial) canst thou not remember ^ ^'^0^^

Quintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regulua?

For I esteem those names of men so poor.

Who could do mighty things, and could contemn

Riches, though offered from the hand of kings.

And what in me seems wanting but that I 450

May also in this poverty as soon

Accomplish what they did, perhaps and more?

Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools.

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Book ii.] PARADISE REGAINED, 313

The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare; more apt

To slacken virtue and abate her edge

Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.

What if with like aversion I reject

Riches and realms ! Yet not for that a crown,

Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns,

Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights, 460

To him who wears the regal diadem.

When on his shoulders each man's burden lies ;

For therein stands the office of a king.

His honour, virtue, merit, and, chief pifai^e,' ' ; / f

That for the public all this weight he bears.

Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules

Passi(tns, desires, and fears, is more a king —

Which every wise and virtuous maft attains;

And who attains not ill aspires to rule

Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes, 470

Subject himself to anarchy within, > . ' .

Or lawless passions in him, which he serves.

But to guide nations in the way of truth

By saving doctrine, and from error lead •

To know, and, knowing, worship God aright.

Is yet more kingly. This attracts the soul.

Governs the inner man, the nobler part ;

That other o'er the body only reigns.

And oft by force — which to a generous mind

So reigning can be no sincere delight; 480

Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought

Greater and nobler done, and to lay down

Far more magnanimous, than to assume.

Riches are needless, then, both for themselves.

And for thy reason why they should be sought —

To gain a sceptre, oftest better missed*"

THE END OF THE SECOND BO^iC,

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PARADISE REGAINED.

THE THIRD BOOK.

His i^^l4 P^W(fkfi:< 1

SO spake theS^n^of God ; and Satan stood
A while fs mute,j confounded what to say,
What lo reply; Cohfunil and convinced
Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift ;
At length, collecting all his serpent wiles.
With soothing words renewed, him thus accosts: —

" I see thou know'st what is of use to know.
What best to say canst say, to do canst do;
Thy actions to thy words accord ; thy words
To thy large heart ^ve utterance due; thy heart lo

Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect^ shape.
Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult,
Thy counsel would be as the oracle
Urim and Thummim, those oraculous gems
On Aaron's breast, or tongue of Seers old
Infallible ; or, wert thou sought to deeds
That might require the array of war, thy skill
Of conduct would be such that all the world
Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist

In battle, though against thy few in arms. 20

These godlike virtues wherefore dost thou hide?
Affecting private life, or more obscure
In savage wilderness, wherefore deprive ,
All Earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself
The feme and glory — glory, the reward
That sole excites to high attempts the flame
Of most erected spirits, most tempered pure
Ethereal, who all pleasures eke despise.
All treasures and all gain esteem as dross.
And dignities and powers, all but the highest? 30

314

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Book iit.] PARADISE' REGAINEtX 3 1 j

Thy years are ripe, and aver-ripe. The son 1 '

Of Macedonian Philip had ere these

Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held

At his dispose ; young Sdpio had brought down

The Carthaginian pride ; young Pompey quelled

The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode^

Yet years, arid to ripe years judgment mature, f

Quench not the thirst of glory, but augment.

Great Julius, whom now s3l tne world admires,

The more he grew in years, the more inflamed /'

With glory, wept that he had lived so long

Inglonous. But thou yet art not too late."

To whom our Saviour calmly thus replied i-rr-
"Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth
For empire's sake, nor empire to affect
For glory's sake, by all thy argument.
For what is glory but the blaze of fkme.
The people's praise, if always praise unmixed?
And what the people but a herd confused,

A miscellaneous rabble, who extol 50

Things vulgar, and, well weighed, scarce worth this praise?
They praise and they admire they know not what, . .

And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what deliffht to be by such extolled.
To live upon their tongues, and be their talk?
Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise -*
His lot who dares be singularly good.
The intelligent among them and the wise
Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised.

This is true glory and renown — when God, /60

Looking on the Elarth, with approbation marks
The just man, and divulges him through Heaven
To all his Angels, who with true applause ^

Recount his praises. Thus he did to Job,
When, to extend his fame through Heaven: and Earth, •
As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember,
He asked thee, *Hast thou seen .ny servant Job?'
Famous he was in Heaven ; on Earth less known,
Where glory is false glory, attributed

To things not glorious, men not worthy of feme. 70

They err who count it glorious tb subdue^
By cnnqii^<;t far and wide, to overrun
' Large countries, arid in field great battles win/
Great cities by assault. What do these worthies
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more

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3i6 PARADISB . REGAINED. [Book in.

Than those their conquerbr^, who leave behind

Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove,

And all the flourishing works of peace destroy ; 80

Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods,

Great Benefactors of mankind, Deliverers,

Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice? .

Onef is the son of Jove, of Mars the other ;

Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, — S/<i ^ r^

Kolling m brutish vices, ana aeiormed, j- , . ^J

Violent or shameful death their due reward. f^H^ Iv^ky

But, if there be in glory aught of good, ^i^e* Qj t ,

It may by means far different be. attained, -*^tr^^

Without ambition, war, or violence — ^ ii t'^ ^

By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, «7 r^ • ' r/ -fi^

By patience, temperance. I mention still jL {I I ()/■

Him whom thy wrongs, with saintly patience bonie> /iy^^- ^^

Made famous m a land and times obscure; ir^^

Who names not now with honour patient Job? l^fCSM^ ^

Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable?) , J,i A^

By what he taught and suffered for so doing, ^^V//^

For truth's sake suffering death unjust, lives now

Equal in fame to proudest conquerors.

Yet, if for fame and glory aught be done, loo

Aught suffered — if young African for fame

His wasted country freed from Punic rage —

The deed becomes impraised, the man at least.

And loses, though but verbal, his reward.

Shall I seek glory, then, as vain men seek.

Oft not deserved? I. seek not mine, but His

Who sent me, and thereby witness whence I am."

To whom the Tempter, murmuring, thus replied:—^
" Think not so slight ' of glory, thei^ein least

Resembling thy great Father. He seeks glory, lio

And for his glory all things made, all things
Orders andi governs; nor content in Heaven,
By all his Angels, glorified, requires
Glory from men, fi"om all men, good or bad,
Wise or unwise, no difference, no exemption.
Above' all sacrifice, or hallowed gift,
Glory he requires, and glory he receives.
Promiscuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek,
Or Barbarous, nor exception hath declared;
From us, his foes pronounced, glory he exacts.". 120

To whom our Saviour ferventlv replied: —
" And reason ; since his Word all things produced,
Though chiefly not for glory as prime end,
Bnt to show forth his goodness, and impart

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Book hi.] PARADISE REGAINED, 317

His good communicable to every soul

Freely ; of whom what could he less expect

Than glory and benediction — that is, thanks —

The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense

From them who could return him nothing else,

And, not returning that, would likeliest render 130

Contempt instead, dishonour, obloquy?

Hard recompense, unsuitable return

For so much good, so much beneficence!

But why should man seek glory, who of his own

Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs

But condemnation, ignominy, and shame —

Who, for so many benefits received.

Turned recreant to God, ingrate and false,

And so of all true good himself despoiled ;

Yet, sacrilegious, to himself would take 140

That which to God alone of right belongs?

Yet so much bounty is in God, such grace,

That who advance his glory, not their own,

Them he himself to gloty will advance."

So spake the Son of God ; and here again
Satan had not to answer, but stood struck
Wilh. yuilt of hjsjr^wnsin —Tor lie MlfiSelf,
Insatiable of glory^Tiad lost all ;
Yet of another plea bethought him soon : —

" Of glory, as thou wilt," said he, " so deem ; 150

Worth or not worth the seeking, let it pass.
But to a Kingdom thou art born — ordained
To sit upon tliy father David's throne,
By mother's side thy father, though thy right
Be now in powerful hands, that will not part
Easily from possession won with arms.
Judaea now and all the Promised Land,
Reduced a province under Roman yoke,
Obeys Tiberius, nor is always ruled

With temperate sway : oft have they violated 160

The Temple, oft the Law, with foul affronts.
Abominations rather, as did once
Antiochus. And think'st thou to regain
Thy right in sitting still, or thus retiring?
So did not Machabeus. He indeed
Retired unto the Desert, but with arms ;
And o'er a mighty king so oft prevailed
That by strong hand his family obtained.
Though priests, the crown, and David^'s throne usurped,
With Modin and her suburbs once content. 170

If kingdom move thee not, let move thee zeal

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318 PARADISE REGAINED. [Boojc i\\\

S And duty — zeal and duty are not slow.
^ tTirt nn Orra.si9i;>'s lorelpck watchful wait :

They themselves rather are occasion best —

Zeal of thy Father's house, duty to free

Thy country from her heathen servitude.

So shalt thou best fulfil, best verify.

The Prophets old, who sung thy endless rei^n^^ . j^

The happier reign the sooner^it begins. }Af{\^

Reign then; what canst thou better do the_while?^V 1 ' ti'f^^^j
To whom our Saviour answer thus returned:— (^V .,, ^

*< All things are best fulfilled in their due .time ; \{ K^"^^ ^

And time there is tor ail things. Truth hath said. K> ,:ivt

irof my reign Prophetic Writ hath told ' * 14" ■

That it shal) never end, so, when begin JN^ -4 ^ ,

The Father in his purpose hath decreed— . . , '>A (ZV

He in whose hand all times and seasons roll. , \v V* «/i/f^

What if he hath decreed that I shall first ^mAK * \\

Be tried in humble state, and things adverse, li i<g

By tribulations, injuries, insults, , \ ,^1^^190

Contempts, and scorns, and snares, and violence^

Suffering, abstaining, quietly expecting

Without distrust or doubt, that He may know

What I can suffer, how obey ? Who best , '

Can suffer best can do, best reign who first .

Well hath obeyed — just trial ere I merit
• My exaltation without change or end.

But what concerns it thee when I begin

My everlasting Kingdom? Why art thou ;

Solicitous? What moves thy inquisition? ; 201

Know'st thou not that my rising is thy fall.

And my promotion will be thy destruction?''
To whom the Tempter, inly racked, replied ;-r

"Let that come when it comes. All hope is lost

Of my reception into grace; what worse?

For where no hope is left is left no fear.

If there be worse, the expectation more

Of worse torments me than the feeling can. 1

I would be at the worst ; worst is my port,

My harbour, and my ultimate repose, .210

The end I would attain, my final ^ood.

My error was my error, and my crime

My crime ; whatever, for itself condemned,

And will alike be punished, whether thou

Reign or reign not — though to that gjentle brow

Willingly I could fly, andTiope thy reign.

From that placid aspect and meek regard,

Rather than aggravate my evil state,

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Book m.] PARADISE REGAINED. 319

Would stand between me and thy Father's ire
(Whose ire I dread more than the fire of Hell) v 220

A shelter and a kind of shading cool
Interposition, as a summer's cloud.
If I, then, to the worst that can be haste,
Why move thy feet so slow to what is best ?
Happiest, both to thyself and all the world.
That thou, who worthiest art, shouldst be their king!
• Perhaps thou linger'st in deep thoughts detained
Of the enterprise so hazardous and high !
No wonder; for, though in thee be united •

What of perfection can in Man be found, 230

Or human nature can receive, consider
Thy life hath yet been private, most part spent
At home, scarce viewed the Galilean towns.
And once a year Jerusalem few days'
Short sojourn ; and what thence couldst thou observe ?
The world thou hast not seen, much less her glory.
Empires, and monarchs, and their radiant courts —
Best school of best experience, quickest in sight
In all things that to greatest actions lead.

The wisest, unexperienced, will be ever 240

Timorous, and loth, with novice modesty
(As he who, seeking asses, found a kingdom)
' Irresolute, unhardy, unadventurous.
But I will bring thee where thou soon shalt quit
Those rudiments, and see before thine eyes
The monarchies of the Earth, their pomp and state —
Sufficient introduction to inform
Thee, of thyself so apt, in regal arts,
And regal mysteries; that thou may'st know
How best their opposition to withstand." 250

With that (such power was given him then), he took
The Son of God up to a mountain high.
It was a mountain at whose verdant feet
A spacious plain outstretched in circuit wide
Lay pleasant; from his side two rivers flowed,
The one winding, the other straight, and left between
Fair champaign, with less rivers mterveined,
Then meeting joined their tribute to the sea.
Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine;

With herds the pasture thronged, with flocks the hills; 260

Huge cities and high-towered, that well might seem
The seats of mightiest monarchs ; and so large
The prospect was that here and there was room
For barren desert, fountainless and dry.
To this high mountain-top the Tempter brought

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320 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book iii.

Our Saviour, and new train of words began : —

"Well have we speeded, and o'er hill and dale,
Forest, and field, and flood, temples and towers,
Cut shorter many a league. Here thou behold'si-
Assyria, and her empire's ancient bounds, 270

Araxes and the Caspian lake; thence on
As far as Indus east, Euphrates west.
And oft beyond; to south the Persian bay,
And, inaccessible, the Arabian drouth:
Here, Nineveh, of length within her wall
Several days' jcmirney, built by Ninus old,
Of that first golden monarchy the seat,
And seat of Salmanassar, whose success
Israel in long captivity still mourns;

There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues, 280

As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice
Judah and all thy father David's house

Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste, ^^^

Till Cyrus set them free; Persepolis, ' ^!!5r

His city, there thou seest, and Bactra there; x.

Ecbatana her structure vast there shows, -^.^

And Hecatompylos her hundred gates; ^

There Susa by Choaspes, amber stream, *^

The drink of none but kings ; of later fame, '^ s^^

Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands, ^J;^90

The great Seleucia, Nisibis, and there "^ ^

Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon, S"!!!)^

Turning with easy eye, thou may'st behold. ^ ."I*

All these the Parthian (now some ages past C!^

By great Arsaces led, who founded first v^ ^

That empire) under his dominion holds, -v 3^ ; ^^

From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. -*— ^ ^*- "^
And^just in time thou com'st to have a^iew—^v / v:^
Of his great j)ower; for now the Parthian king T "*

In Ctesiphon nath gathered all his host 300

Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild
Have wasted Sogdiana; to her aid
He marches now in haste. See, though from for.
His thousands, in what martial equipage
They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms.
Of equal dread in flight or in pursuit —
All horsemen, in which fight they most excel;
See how in warlike muster they appear.
In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and wings."

He looked, and saw what numbers numberless 310

The city gates outpoured, light-armed troops .
In coats of mail and military pride.

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Book III.] PARADISE REGAINED. 321

In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong,

Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice

Of many provinces from bound to bound —

From Arachosia, from Candaor east,

And Margiana, to the Hyrcanian cliff's

Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian ^ales ;

From Atropatia, and the neighbouring plains

Of Adiabene, Media, and the south 320

Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven.

He saw them in their forms of battle ranged.

How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them shot

Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face

Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight ;

The field all iron cast a gleaming brown.

Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor, on each horn,

Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight.

Chariots, or elephants indorsed with towers

Of arches ; nor of labouring pioneers 330

A multitude, with spades and axes armed.

To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill,

Or where plain was raise hill, or overlay

With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke:

Mules after these, camels and dromedaries.

And waggons fraught with utensils of war.

Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp.

When Agrican, with all his northern powers,

Besieged Albracca, as romances tell.

The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win 340

The fairest of her sex, Angelica,

His daughter, sought by many prowest knights,

Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemain.

Such and so numerous was their chivalry;

At sight whereof the Fiend yet more presumed,

And to our Saviour thus his words renewed: —

"That thou may'st know I seek not to engage
Thy virtue, and not every way secure
On no slight grounds thy safety, hear and mark
To what end I have brought thee hither, and show 350

All this fair sight. Thy kingdom, though foretold
By Prophet or by Angel, unless thou
Endeavour, as thy father David did,
Thou never shalt obtain: prediction still
In all things, and all men, supposes means;
Without means used, what it predicts revokes.
But say thou wert possessed of David's throne
By free consent of » all, none opposite,
Samaritan or Jew; how couldst thou hope

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322 PARADISE REGAINED, f Book hi.

Long to enjoy it quiet and secure 360

Between two such enclosing enemies,

Roman and Parthian? Therefore one of these

Thou must make sure thy own: the Parthian first,

By my advice, as nearer, and of, late

Found able by invasion to annoy

Thy country, and captive lead away her kings,

Antigonus and old Hyrcanus, bound,

Maugre the Roman. It shall be my task

To render thee the Parthian at dispose,

Choose which thou wilt, by conquest or by league. 370

By him thou shalt regain, without him not,

That which alone can truly reinstall thee

In David's royal seat, his true successor —

Deliverance of thy brethren, those Ten Tribfes

Whose offspring m his territory yet serve

In Habor, and among the Medes dispersed:

Ten sons of Jacob, two of Joseph, lost

Thus long from Israel, serving, as of old

Their fathers in the land of Eg)rpt served.

This offer sets before thee to deliver. 380

These if from servitude thou shalt restore

To their inheritance, then, nor till then, X

Thou on the throne of David in full glory, i}*

From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond, .^ ^-^

Shalt reign, and Rome or Caesar not need fear." ^ ^

To whom our Saviour answered thus, unmoved: — ^^^
" Much ostentation vain of fleshly arm . ^V

-^nd fragile arms, much instrument of war, ^ ^ J^

iLpng in prAparin^ <annn \p, nntVimpr V.iTn»i|Tiif^ \ ^

Before mine eves thon ha*^ aet, and in my ear "^ 390

Vented much policv, and projects deep ^'

Of enemies, of aids, battles, and leagues.

Plausible to the world, to me worth naught.

Means I must use, thou say'st; prediction else

Will unpredict, and fail me of the throne !

_ slack

OiT my part augTit endeavouring, or to need

Thy politic maxims, or that cumbersome 400

Luggage of war there shown me — argument
Of human weakness rather than of strength.
My brethren, as thou call'st them, those Ten Tribes,
I must deliver, if I mean to reign
David's true heir, and his full sceptre sway
To just extent over all Israel's sons !

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Book hi.] PARADISE REGAINED. 32^

But whence to thee this zeal? Where was it then

For Israel, or for David, or his throne.

When thou stood'st up his tempter to the pride

Of numbering Israel — which cost the lives 410

Of threescore and ten thousand Israelites

By three days' pestilence? Such was thy zeal

To Israel then, the same that now to me.

As for those captive tribes, themselves were they

Who wrought their own captivity, fell off

From God to worship calves, the deities

Of Egypt, BaaJ next and Ashtaroth,

And all the idolatries of heathen round.

Besides their other worse than heathenish crimes;

Nor in the land of their captivity 420

Humbled themselves, or penitent besought

The God of their forefathers, but so died

Impenitent, and left a race behind

Like to themselves, distinguishable scarce

From Gentiles, but by circumcision vain, ^

And God with idols in their worship joined.

Should I of these the liberty regard, ,

Who, freed, as to their ancient patrimony,

Unhumbled, unrepentant, unreformed,

Headlong would follow, and to their gods perhaps ^^ 430

Of Bethel and of Dan? No ; let them serve ' t^ ^

Their enemies who servQ idols with God. ^'^V^'^'^^^ CC^

Ygt^e at length, time to himself best knowny/ ^ \q h^

Remenibeiliig Abiailam, by some wondrous call 0^ /kC

May bring them back, repentant and sincere, ^ v\

And at their passing cleave the Assyrian flood,

While to their native land with joy they haste.

As the Red Sea and Jordan once he deft, ! \ '

When to the Promised Land their fathers passed.

To his due time and providence I leave them." 440

So spake Israel's true King, and to the Fiend
Made answer meet, that made void all his wiles.
So fares it when with truth falsehood contends.

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

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PARADISE REGAINED

THE FOURTH BOOK.

PERPLEXED and troubled at his bad success
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope
So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric
That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve,
So little here, nay lost. But Eve was Eve;
This far his over-match, who, self-deceived
And rash, beforehand had no better weighed
The strength lie was to cope with, or his own.
But — as a man who had been matchless held lo

In cunning, over-reached where least he thought,
To salve his credit, and for very spite.
Still will be tempting him who foils him still.
And never cease, though to his shame the more;
Or as a swarm of flies in vintage-time,
About the wine-press where sweet must is poured,
Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;
Or surging waves against a solid rock,
Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew,
(Vain battery !) and in froth or bubbles end — 20

So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse
Met ever, and to shameful silence brought,
Yet gives not o'er, though desperate of success.
And his vain importunity pursues.
He brought our Saviour to the western side
Of that nigh mountain, whence he might behold
Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide.
Washed by the southern sea, and on the north
To equal length backed with a ridge of hills
That screened the fruits of the earth and Seats of men 30

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Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 325

From cold Septentrion blasts; thence in the midst

Divided by a river, off whose banks

On each side an imperial city stood,

With towers and temples proudly elevate

On seven small hills, with palaces adorned,

Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts.

Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs.

Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes

Above the highth of mountains interposed —

By what strange parallax, or optic skill 40

Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass

Of telescope, were curious to inquire.

And now the Tempter thus his silence broke; —

"The city which thou seest no other deem
Than great and glorious Rome, Queen of the Earth
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched
Of nations. There the Capitol thou seest.
Above the rest lifting his stately head
On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel

Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine, 50

The imperial palace, compass huge, and high
The structure, skill of noblest architects.
With gilded battlements, conspicuous far.
Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires.
Many a fair edifice besides, more like
Houses of gods — so well I have disposed
My aery microscope — thou may'st behold,
Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs
Carved work, the hand of famed artificers

In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. 60

Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see
What conflux issuing forth, or entering in :
Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces
Hasting, or on return, in robes of state ;
Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power ;
.Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings;
Or embassies from regions far remote,
In various habits, on the Appian road,
Or on the iEmilian — some from farthest south,
' Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, 70

Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west,
The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea;
From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these),
From India and the Golden Chersoness,
And utmost Indian isle Taprobane,
Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed;
From Gallia, Gades, and the British west;

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326 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book iv*

Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north

Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.

All nations now to Rome obedience pay — 80

To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain,

In ample territory, wealth and power,

Civility of manners, arts and arms,

And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer

Before the Parthian. These two thrones except,

The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight,

Shared among petty kings too far removed 5

These having shown thee, I have shown thee all

The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory.

This Emperor hath no son, and now is old, 90

Old and lascivious, and from Rome retired

To Capreae, an island small but strong

On the Campanian shore, with purpose there

His horrid lusts in private to enjoy ;

Committing to a wicked favourite

All public cares, and yet of him suspicious;

Hated of all, and hating. With what ease,

Endued with regal virtues as thou art.

Appearing, and beginning noble deeds,

Might'st thou expel this monster from his throne, ioo

Now made a sty, and, in his place ascending,

A victor-people free from servile yoke !

And with my help thou may'st; to me the power

Is given, and by that right I give it thee.

Aim, therefore, at no less than all the world;

Aim at the highest; without the highest attained,

Will be for thee no sitting, or not long.

On David's throne, be prophesied what will."

To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied : —
"Nor doth this grandeur and majestic show no

Of luxury, thougn called magnificence,
More than of arms before, allure mine eye,
Much less my mind; though thou should'st add to tell
Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts
On citron tables or Atlantic stone
(For I have also heard, perhaps have read).
Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne,
Chios and Crete, and how they quaff in gold,
Crystal, and myrrhine cups, embossed with gems
And studs of pearl — to me should'st tell, who thirst 120

And hunger still. Then embassies thou shctw'st ^^vn

From nations far and nigh! What_honQm:-.tha.t, \C ^ v \ (y v'

But tedious. jvaste of time, to sit and hear \'^yb ' » ( \c\ i S

So many hollow compliments and lies, \ v* , C , "^ v V ,\>

"ft'^^

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Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED, 327

Outlandish flatteries? Then proceed'st to talk

Of the Emperor, how easily subdued,

How gloriously. I shall, tnou say'st, expel

A brutish monster : what if I withal

Expel a Devil who first made him such?

Let his tormentor. Conscience, find him out; 130

For him I was not sent, nor yet to free

That people, victor once, now vile and base,

Deservedly made vassal — who, once just.

Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquered well,

But govern ill the nations under yok^.

Peeling their provinces, exhausted all

By lust and rapine; first ambitious grown

Of triumph, that insulting vanity ;.

Then cruel, by their sports to blood inured

Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts exposed ; 140

Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier still,

And from the dailjr scei^e effeminate.

What wise and valiant man would seek to free

These, thus degenerate, by themselves enslaved.

Or could of inward slaves make outward free?

Know, therefore, when my season comes to sit

On David's throne, it shall be like a tree

Spreading and overshadowing all the earth,

Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash

All monarchies besides throughout the world; 150

And of my kingdom there shall be no end.

Means there shall be to this; but what the means

Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell."

To whom the Tempter, impudent, replied : —
" I see all offers made by me how slight
Thou valuest, because offered, and reject'st.
Nothing will please the difficult and nice.
Or nothing more than still to contradict.
On the other side know also thou that I

On what I offer set as high esteem, 160

Nor what I part with mean to give for naught.
All these, which in a moment thou behold'st,
The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give
(For, given to me, I give to whom I please) ,^
No trifle ; yet with this reserve, not else —
Qn this condition, if thou wilt fajl down,
And worship me as thv superior lord
(Easily done), and hold them all of me;
For what can less so great a gift deserve?"

Whom thus our Saviour answered with disdain:^— 170

" I never liked thy talk, thy offers less ;

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328 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book iv.

Now both abhor, since thou hast dared to utter

The abominable terms, impious condition.

But I endure the time, till wl\ich__ex2ired

rhou~lYg5t~pCTinit5SlOh on me. It is written.

The first of all commandments, *Thou shalt worship

The Lord thy God, and only Him shalt serve;'

And dar'st thou to the Son of God propound

To worship thee, accursed? now more accursed

For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve, 180

And more blasphemous; which expect to rue.

The kingdoms of the world to thee were given!

Permitted rather, and by thee usurped;

Other donation none thou canst produce.

If given, by whom but by the King of kings,

God over all supreme? If given to thee.

By thee how fairly is the Giver now

Repaid ! But gratitude in thee is lost

Long since. Wert thou so void of fear or shame

As offer them to me, the Son of God — 190

To me my own, on such abhorred pact.

That I fall down and worship thee as God?

Get thee behind me \ Plain thou now appear'st

That Evil One, Satan for ever damned."

To whom the Fiend, with fear abashed, replied : —
"Be not so sore offended. Son of God —
Though Sons of God both Angels are and Men^
If I, to try whether in higher sort
Than these thou bar'st that title, have proposed
What both from Men and Angels I receive, 200

Tetrarchs of Fire, Air, Flood, and on the Earth
Nations besides from all the quartered winds —
God of this World invoked, and World beneath.
Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold
To me most fatal, me it most concerns.
The trial hath indamaged thee no way.
Rather more honour left and more esteem;
Me naught advantaged, missing what I aimed.
Therefore let pass, as they are transitory.

The kingdoms of this world; I shall no more 210

Advise thee; gain them as thou canst, or not.
And thou thyself seem'st otherwise inclined
Than to a worldly crown, addicted more
To contemplation and profound dispute;
As by that early action may be judged.
When, slipping from thy mother's eye, thou wenfst
Alone into the Temple, there wast found
Among the gravest Rabbles, disputant

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Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 329

On points and questions fitting Moses' chair,

Teaching, not taught. The childhood shows the man, 220

As morning shows the day. Be famous, then,

By wisdom ; as thy empire must extend,

So let extend thy mind o'er all the world

In knowledge ; il things in it comprehend.

All knowledge is not couched in Moses' law.

The Pentateuch, or what the Prophets wrote;

The Gentiles also know, and write, and teach

To admiration, led by Nature's light;

And with the Gentiles much thou must converse.

Ruling them by persuasion, as thou mean'st. 230

Without their learning, how wilt thou with them,

Or they with thee, hold conversation meet?

How wilt thou reason with them, how refute

Their idolisms, traditions, paradoxes?

Error by his own arms is best evinced.

Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount,

Westward, much nearer by south-west; behold

Where on the ^Cgean shore a city stands.

Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil —

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts 240

And eloquence,u native to famous wits

Or hospitable, in her sweet recess.

City or suburban, studious walks and shades.

See there the olive-grove of Academe,

Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long;

There, flowery hill, Hymettus, with the sound

Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites

To studious musing; there Ilissus rolls

His whispering stream. Within the walls then view 250

The schools of ancient sages — his who bred

Great Alexander to subdue the world,

Lyceum there; and painted Stoa next.

There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power

Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit

By voice or hand, and various-measured verse,

iColian charms and Dorian lyric odes,

And his who gave them breath, but higher sung.

Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called,

Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own. 260

Thence what the lofty grave Tragedians taught

In chorus or iambic, teachers best

Of moral prudence, with delight received

In brief sententious precepts, while they treat

Of fate, and chance, and change in human life,

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330 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv.

High actions and high passions best describing.
Thence to the fcimous Orators repair,
Those ancient whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democraty,

Shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece 270

To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne.
To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear.
From heaven descended to the low-roofed house
Of Socrates — see there his tenement —
Whom, well inspired, the oracle pronounced
Wisest of men \ from whose mouth issued forth . ,
Mellifluous streams, that watered all the schools
Of Academics old and new, with those

Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect <

Epicurean, and the Stoic severe . . , 280

These here revolve, or, as thou likest, at home,
Till time mature thee to a kingdom^s weight;
Th^«^p""nTies will render ihee a kln^"^omprete ,
Within thyself, much more with empire joined."
To whom our Saviour sagely thus replied : —
"Think not 1 but that I know these things; or, think
I know them not, not therefore am I short
Of knowing what I ought. He who receives
Light from above, from the Fountain of Light,
No other doctrine needs, though granted true; 290

But these are false, or little else but dreams,
Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.
The first and wisest of them all professed
To know this only, that he nothing knew;
The next to fabling fell and smootn conceits;
A third sort doubted all things, though plain sense:
Others in virtue placed felicity.
But virtue joined with riches and long life;
In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease;

The Stoic last in philosophic pride, , 300

By him called virtue, and his virtuous man,
Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessing.
Equal to God, oft shames not to prefer.
As fearing God nor man, contemning all
Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life^-
Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can; '
For all his tedious t^lk is but vain boast,
Or subtle shifts conviction to evade.
Alas! what can they teach, and not mislead.
Ignorant of themselves, of God much more, 310

And how the World began, and how Man fell.
Degraded by himself, on grace depenrjiu^?

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BOOKIV.] PARADISE HEGAmED. 331

Much of the Soul they talk, but all awry;
And in themselves seek virtue ; and to themselves
AH glory arrogate, to God give none";
Rather accuse him under usual names,
Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite
Of mortal things. Who, therefore, seeks in these
True wisdom finds her not, or, by delusion

Far worse, her false resemblance only meets, 320

An empty cloud. However, many books.
Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading brings not
A spirit and judgment equal or superior,
(And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?)
Uncertain and unsettled still remains.
Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself,
Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys
And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge,
As children gathering pebbles on the shore. 330

Or, if I would delight my private hours
With music or with poem, where so soon
As in our native language can I find
That solace? All our Law and Story strewed
With hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscribed.
Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon
That pleased so well our victor's ear, declare
That rather Greece from us these arts derived —
ill imitated while they loudest sing

The vices of their deities, and their own, 340

In fable, hymn, or song, so personating
Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame.
Remove their swelling epithets, thick-laid
. As varnish on a harlot's cheek, the rest,
Thin-sown with aught of profit or delight.
Will far be found unworthy to compare
With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling.
Where God is praised aright and godlike men,
The Holiest of Holies and his Saints

(Such are from God inspired, not such from thee) ; 350

Unless where mm^ virtue is expressed
By light of Nature, not in all quite lost.
Their orators thou then extolPst as those
The top of eloquence — statists indeed.
And lovers of their country, as may seem;
But herein to our Prophets far beneath, >

As men divinely taught, and better teaching
The solid rules of civil government.
In their majestic, unafiected style,

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332 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv.

Jhan all the oratory of Greece and Rome. 360

In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt,
What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so,
What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat;
These only, with our Law, best form a king."

So spake the Son of God; but Satan, now
Quite at a loss ^for all his darts were spent),
Thus to our Saviour, with stem brow, replied: —

"Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts.
Kingdom nor empire, pleases thee, nor aught
By me proposed in life contemplative 370

Or active, tended on by glory or fame.
What dost thou in this world? The Wilderness
For thee is fittest place: I found thee there,
And thither will return thee. Yet remember
What I foretell thee; soon thou shalt have cause
To wish thou never hadst rejected, thus
Nicely or cautiously, my offered aid,
Which would have set thee in short time with ease
On David's throne, or throne of all the world.
Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season, 380

When prophecies of thee are best tulfiUed.
Now, contrary — if I read aught in heaven.
Or •heaven write aught of* fate — by what the stars
Voluminous, or single characters
In their conjunction met, give me to spell.
Sorrows and labours, opposition, hate.
Attends thee; scorns, reproaches, injuries,
Violence and stripes, and, lastly, cruel death.
A kingdom they portend thee, but what kingdom,
Real or allegoric, I discern not; 390

Nor when: eternal sure — as without end.
Without be^nning; for no date prefixed
Directs me m the starry rubric set."

So saying, he took (for still he knew his power
Not yet expired^, and to the Wilderness
Brought back, tne Son of God, and left him there,
Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose,
As daylight sunk, and brought in louring Night,
Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both,'

Privation mere of light and absent day. 400

Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind
After his aery jaunt, though hurried sore.
Hungry and cold, betook nim to his rest.
Wherever, under some concourse of shades,
Whose branching arms thick intertwined might shield
From dews and damps of night his sheltered head ;

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BooKivJ PARADISE REGAINED. 333

Buty sheltered^ slept in vaili; for at lus head

The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly dreams

Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic now

'Gan thunder, and both ends of heaven ; . the clouds ' 410

From many a horrid rift abortive poured

Fierce rain with lightning mixed, water with fire

In ruin reconciled ; nor Sept the winds

Within their stony caves, but rushed abroad

From the four hinges of the world, and fell

On the vexed wilderness, whose tallest pines,

Though rooted deep as high, ^nd sturdiest oaks, .

Bowed their stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts.

Or torn up sheer. Ill wast thou shrouded then, ■

O patient Son of God, yet only stood'st 420

Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror there:

Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round

Environed thee ; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked,

Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou :

Safst unappalled in calm and sinless peace.

Thus passed the night so foul, till Morning £ur

Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice gray,

Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar

Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds.

And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had raised 430

To tempt the Son of God; with terrors dire.

And now the sun with more effectual beams

Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet

From drooping plant, or dropping tree ; the birds^

Who all things now behold more fresh and green,

After a night of storm so ruinous,

Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray^

To gratulate the sweet return of morn.

Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn.

Was absent, after all his mischief done, 440

The Prince of Darkness ; glad would also seem ,

Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came ;

Yet with no new device (they all were spent),

Rather by this his last affront resolved,

Desperate of better course, to vent his rage

And mad despite to be 60 oft repelled.

Him walking on a sunny hill he found.

Backed on the. north and west by a thick. wood;

Out of the wood he starts in, wonted shape.

And in a careless mood thus to him said : —^ . 450

** Fair morning yet betides thee. Son of God,
After a dismal night. I heard the wrack,
. As earth and sky would mingle ; but myself; . .

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334 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book iv.

Was distant; and thesJe flaws, though mortals fear th^tn,

As dangerous to the pillared frame of Heaven,

Or to the Earth's dark basis underneath,

Are to the main as inconsiderable

And harmless, if not wholesome, as a sneeze

To man's less universe, and soon are gone.

Yet, as being ofttimes noxious where they light 460

On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbulent.

Like turbulencies in the affairs of men.

Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point,

They oft fore-signify and threaten ill. ■

This tempest at this desert most was bent;

Of men ^t thee, for only thou here dwell'st*

Did I not tell thee, if thou didst reject

The perfect season offered with my aid

To win thy destined seat, but wilt prolong

All to the push of fate, pursue thy way t 470

Of gaining David's throne no man knows -when

(For both the when and how is nowhere told),

Thou shalt be what thou art ordained, no doubt ;

For Angels have proclaimed it^ but concealing

The time and means? l!:ach act is nghtliest done

Not when it must, out when it may be best.

If thou observe not this, be sure to find

What I foretold thee — many a hard assay

Of dangers, and adversities, and pains.

Ere thou of Israel's sceptre get fast hold ; 480

Whereof this ominous night that closed thee round,

So many terrors, voices, prodigies,

May warn thee, as a sure foregoing sign."

So talked he, while the Son of God went on.
And staid not, but in brief him answered thus : —

" Me worse than wet thou find'st not ; other harm
Those terrors which thou speak'st of did me none.
I never feared they could, though noising loud
And threatening nigh : what they can do as signs
Betokening or ill-boding I contemn 490

As false portents, not sent from God, but thee;
Who, knowing I shall reign past thy preventing,
Obtrud'st thy offered aid, that I, accepting,
At least might seem to hold all polver 01 thee.
Ambitious Spirit! and would'st be thought my God;
And storm'st, refused, thinking to terrify
Me to thy will ! Desist (thou art discerned,
And toil'st in vain), nor me in vain molest."

To whom the Fiend, now swoln with rage, replied: —
" Then hear, O Son of DaVid, virgin-born \ 500

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aooK IV.] PARADISE REGAINED. 335

For Son of God to me is yet in doilibt..

Of the Messiah I have heard foretold

By all the Prophets ; of thy birth, at length i

Announced by Gabriel, with the first I knew, ?

And of the angelic song in Bethlehem field, : '

On thy birth-mght, that sung thee Saviour bora.

From that time seldom, have I ceased to eye

Thy in&ncy, thy ctiudnooo, and thy. youth, .

Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred;

Till, at the ford of Jordan, whither all jio

Flocked to the Baptist, I among the rest

(Though not to be baptized), hy voice from Heaven

Heard thee pronounced the Son of God beloved. - ' v 1

Thenceforth I thought thee .worth my nearer view

And narrower scrutmy, that I might learn

In what degree or meaning thou art called

The Son of God, which bears no single sense.

The Son of God I also am, or was ; ^

And, if I was, I am; relation stands:

All men are Sons of God ; yet, thee I thought 520

In some respect £ar higher so declared.

Therefore I watched thy footsteps fiiom that hour,

And followed thee still on to this waste wild,

Where, by all best conjectures, I collect

Thou art to be my fatal enemv. 1

Good reason, then, if I beforenand seek • '

To understand my adversary*, who

And what he is ; his wisdom, power, intent ;

By parle or composition, truce or league,

To win him, or win from him what I can. 530

And opportunity I here have had

To try thee, silt thee, and confess have found thee

Proof against all temptation, as a rock

Of adamant and as a centre, firm

To the utmost of mere man both wise knd good.

Not more; for honours, riches, kingdoms, dory,

Have been before contemned, and may again.

Therefore, to know what more thou art than man, '

Worth naming Son of God by voice from Heaven,

Another method I must now begin." J40

So saying, he caught him up, and, >yithout wing
Of hippogrif, bore through the air Subiiriie,
Over the wilderness and o'er the plain.
Till underneath them fair Jerusalem,
The Holy City, lifted high her towers^
And higher yet the glonoiis Temple reared
Her pile, far off appearing like a m<Hint

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336 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book m

Of alabaster, topt with ^<^den spires:

There, on the highest pinnacle, he set

The Son of God, and added thus in scorn: — 5 So

" There stand, if thou wilt stand ; to stand upright
Will ask thee skill. I to thv Father^s house
Have brought thee, and highest placed: highest is best.
Now show thy progeny; if not to stand.
Cast thyself down. Safely, if Son of God; .

For it is written, *Hfe will give command
Concerning thee to his Angels; in their hands
They shaU uplift thee, lest at any time;
Thou chance to dash thy foot a|;ainst a stone.'"

To whom thus Jesus: "Also it is written, 560

* Tempt not the Lord thy God.'" He said, and stood;
But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell. .
As when Earth's son, Antaeus (to compare
Small things with greatest), in Irassa strove
With Jove's Alcides, and, oft foiled,, still rose,
Receiving from his mother Earth new strength, .
Fresh from his fall, and fiiercer grapple joined.
Throttled at length in the air expired- and fell,
So, after many a foil, the Tempter proud,

Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride 570

Fell whence he stood to see his victor &11 ;
And, as that Theban monster that proposed
Her riddle, and him who solved it not devoured,
That once found out and solved, for grief and spite
Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep.
So, strodk with dread and anguish, fell the Fiend,
And to his crew, that sat conslultiog, brought
Joyless triumphals of his hoped success.
Ruin, and desperation, and dismay.

Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God* 580

So Satan fell; and straight a fiery globe
Of Angels on full sail of wing flew nigh.
Who on their plumy vans received Him. soft
From his uneasy station, and upbore.
As on a floating couch, through the blithe air;
Then, in a flowery valley, set him down
On a green bank, and set before him spread
A table of celestial food, divine
Ambrosial fruits fetched from the Tree of Life,
And from the Fount of Life ambrosial drink, 590

That soon refreshed him wearied, and repaired
What hunger, if aught hunger., had impaired,
Or thirst; and, as he fed, Angelic quires
Sung heavenly anthems oi his victory

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Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. -^yj

Over temptation and the Tempter proud: —

" True Image of the Father, whether throned
In the bosom of bliss, and light of light
Conceiving, or, remote from Heaven, enshrined
In fleshly tabernacle and human form.

Wandering the wilderness — whatever place, 600

Habit, or state, or motion, still expressing
The Son of God, with Godlike force endued
Against the attempter of thy Father's throne ^
And thief of Paradise ! Him long of old
Thou didst debel, and down from Heaven cast
With all his army; now thou hast avenged
Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing
Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise,
And frustrated the conquest fi-audulent.

He never more henceforth will dare set foot 610

In Paradise to tempt; his scares are broke.
For, though that seat of earthly bliss be failed,
A fairer Paradise is founded now
For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou,
A Saviour, art come down to reinstall;
Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall he,
Of tempter and temptation without fear.
But thou. Infernal Serpent! shalt not long
Rule in the clouds. Like an autumnal star,

Or lightning, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod down 620

Under his feet. For proof, ere this thou feePst
Thy wound (yet not thv last and deadliest wound)
By this repulse received, and hold'st in Hell
No triumph ; in all her gates Abaddon rues
Thy bold attempt. ' Hereafter learn with awe
To dread the Son of God. He, all unarmed.
Shall chase thee, with the terror of his voice,
From thy demoniac holds, possession foul —
Thee and thy legions; yelhng they shall fly.
And beg to hide them in a herd of swine, 630

Lest he command them down into the Deep,
Bound, jigd to torment sent before their ^^"^**
Hail, Son of theTtf^st High/heir of both Worlds,
Queller of Satan ! On thy glorious work
Now enter, and begin to save Mankind."

Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meek,
Sung victor, and, from heavenly feast refreshed,
Brought on his way with joy. He, unobserved.
Home to his mother's house private returned.

THE END,

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INTRODUCTION

SAMSON AGONISTES.

Milton is remembered mainly as an epic poet. But his final choice of the
epic form for his greatest poem and its companion was the result of delibera-
tion. Apparently it was even a departure from his original inclination, when
in his earfy manhood he had debated with himself in what form of poetry his
genius would have fullest scope. Two of his early English poems had not
only been dramatic, but had actually been performed. The Arcades was
" part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess-Dowager of Derby at
Harefield by some noble persons of her family," probably in the year 1633;
and Comus, the Bnest and most extensive of all Milton's minor poems, was
nothing else than an elaborate "masque," performed, in the year 1634, at
Ludlow Castle, in Shropshire, before the Earl of Bridgewater, Lord President
of Wales, by way of an entertainment to the gentry of the neighbourhood.
(See Introductions to these two Poems.) Whether Milton was present at the
performance of either the Arcades or the Comus is not known; but the fact
of his writing two such dramatic pieces for actual performance by the mem-
bers of a feimily with which he had relations of acquaintance shows that at
that time — %,e, when he was twenty^six years of age — he had no objection to
this kind 6f entertainment, then so fashionable at Court and among noble
families of literary tastes. That he had seen masques performed — masques of
Ben Jonson, Carew, or Shirley — may be taken for granted; and we have his
own assurance that, when at Cambridge, he attended dramatic representations
there, got up in the colleges, and that, when in London, during his vacations
from Cambridge, he used to go to the theatres {^Eleg. i. 29-46). To the same
effect we have his lines in DAllegrOy where he includes the theatre among the
natural pleasures of the mind in its cheerful mood —

" Then to the wdl-trod stage anon,
If Jonson'ft learned sock M on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancjr's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild '.' —

words which, so far as Milton's appreciation of Shakespeare is concerned,
would seem poor, if we did not recollect the splendid Hnes which he had pre-

339

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340 INTRODUCTION TO

viously written (1630), and which were prefixed to the second folio edition of
Shakespeare's plays in 1632 —

'* What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones
The labour of an age in pil^ stones,
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
Dear Son of Memory, great heir of Fame,
yhat need'st thou such weak witness," &c.

Still the unlawfulness of dramatic entertainments bad always been a tenet of
those stricter English Puritans with whom Milton even then felt a political
sympathy; and Prynne's famous Histriomastix, in which he denounced stage-
plays and all connected with them through a thousand quarto pages (1632),
had helped to confirm Puritanism in this tenet. As Prynne's treatise had been
out more than a year before the Arcades and Comus were written, it is clear
that he had not converted Milton tq his opinion* While the more rig^id and
less educated of the Puritans undoubtedly went with Prynne in condemning the
stage altogether, Milton, 1 should say, before the time of his journey to Italy
(1638-39), was one of those who retained a pride in the drama as the form of
literature in which^ for two generatioi^s, English genius had been mo^ produc
tive. X^mentingy with others, the corrupt condition into which the national
drama had fallen in baser hands, and the immoral accompaniments' of the
degraded stage, he had seen no reason to recant his enthusiastic tribute. to
the memory of Shakespeare, or to be ashamed of his own contribution to the
dramatic literature of England in his two model masques.

Gradually,, however, with Milton's growing seriousness amid the events and
duties that awaited him after his return from his Italian journey, and especially
after the meeting of the Long Parliament (Nov. 3, 1640), there came a change
in his notions of the drama. . From this period there is evidence that his
sympathy with the Prynne view of things, at least as far as regarded the Eng-
lish stage, was more considerable than it had been — that, while he regarded
all literature as recently infected with baseness and corruption, and requiring
to be taught again its true relation to the spiritual needs and uses of a great
n^^tion, he felt an especial dislike to the popular literature of stage-plays, as^
then written and acted. From this period, if I mistake not, he was praotically
against theatre-going, as unworthy of a serious man, considering the pontrast
between what was to be seen within the theatres and what was in course of
transaction without them; nor, if his two masques and his eulogy on Shake-
speare had remained to be written now, do 1 think he would have judged it
opportune to write them. Certainly he would not now have written the
masques for actual performance, public or private. And yet he had not aban-
doned his admiration of the drama as a form of literature. On the cpntrary,
he was still convinced that no form of literature was nobler, more capable of
conveying the highest and most salutary conceptions of the mind of a great
poet. When, immediately after his return from Italy, he was preparing him-
self for that great EngHsh poem upon which he proposed to bestow his full
strength, and debating with himself what should be its subject and what its
form, what do we find? We find him, for a while {The Reason of Church
Government, Introd. to Book II.), balancing the claims of the epic, the
dramatic, and the lyric, and qoncluding that in any one of th€;se a great Chris-
tian poet might have congenial scope, and the benefit of gra^d precedents and

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SAMSON AGON-fSTES, 341

models. He discusses the claims of the Ei!>ic first, and thinks highly of them,
but proceeds immediately to inquire "whether those dramatic constitutions in
" which Sophocles and Euripides reign shall be found more doctrinal and
" exemplary to a nation," adding, " The Scripture also affords us a divine Pas-
" toral Drama in the Song of Solomon, consisting of two persons and a double
"chorus, as Origen rightly judges; and the Apocalypse of St. John is the
•• majestic image of a high and stately Tragedy, shutting up and intermingling
" her solemn scenes and acts with a sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harp-
**ing symphonies; and this my opinion the grave authority of Paraeus, com-
** menting that book, is sufficient to confirm." Here we have certainly a proof
that no amount of sympathy which Milton may have felt with the Puritan
dislike of stage-plays had affected his admiration of the dramatic form of poesy
as practised by the ancient Greek tragedians and others. Accordingly, it was
to the dramatic form, rather than to either the epic or the lyric, that Milton
then inclined in his meditations of some -great English poem to be written by
himself. As we have already seen (Introduction to Paradise Lost, pp. 11,12),
he threw aside his first notion of an epic on King Arthur, and began to collect
possible subjects for dramas from Scriptural History, and from the early history
of Britain. He collected and jotted down the titles of no fewer than sixty
possible tragedies on subjects from the Old and New Testaments, and thirty-
eight possible tragedies on subjects of English and Scottish History — among
which latter, curiously enough, was one on the subject of Macbeth. From this
extraordinary collection of possible subjects Paradise Lost already stood out as
that which most' fascinated him; but even that subject was to be treated
dramatically.

All this was before the year 1642. On the 2d of September in that year —
the King having a few days before raised, his standard at Nottingham, and
given the signal for the Civil War — there was passed the famous ordinance
of Pai^liament suppressing stage^plays "while the public troubles last," and
shutting up the London theatres. From that date onwards to the Restoration,
or for nearly eighteen years, the Drama, in the sense of the Acted Drama, was
in abeyance in England. This fact may have co-operated with other reasons
in determining Milton — when he did at length find leisure for returning to his
scheme of a great English poem — to abandon the dramatic form he had formerly
favoured. True, the mere discontinuance of stage-plays in England, as an
amusement inconsistent with Puritan ideas, and intolerable in the state of the
times, cannot, even though Milton approved of such discontinuance (as he
doubtless did), have altered his former convictions in favour of the dramatic
form of poetry, according to its noblest kncient models — especially as he cpuld
have had no thought, when meditating his Scriptural Tragedies, of adapting
them for actual performance. Siich a tragedy as he had meant to write would
not have been the least in conflict with the real operative element in the con-
temporary Puritan antipathy to the Drama. Still the Dramatic form itself had
fallen into discredit; and there were weaker brethren with whom it would
have been useless to reason on the distinction between the written Drama apd
the acted Drama, between the noblest, tragedy on the ancient Greek model
and the worst of those English stage-plays, of the reign of Charles, from which
the nation had been cbmpell6d to desist. Milton does nbt seem to have been
indifferent to this feeling. The tone of his reference tb Shakespearie in his
iB//towicXo<rTi;s, published in 1649, suggests that, if he had not then really

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3^ INTRODUCTION TO

abated his allegiance to Shakespeare, he at least agreed so far with the ordinairy
Puritanism around him as not to think Shakespeare- worship the particular
doctrine then required by the English mind.

For some such reason, among others, Milton, when he set himself at length
(in 1658) to redeem his long-given pledge of a great English poem, and chose
for his subject Paradise Lost, deliberately gave up his first intention of treating
that subject in the dramatic form. When that poem was given to the world
(1667) it was as an epic. Its companion, Paradise Regained^ published in
1 67 1, was also an epic.

But, though it was thus as an epic poet that Milton chose mainly and finally to
appear before the world, he was so far faithful to his old affection for the Drama
as to leave to the world one experiment of his mature art in that form. Samson
Agonistes was an attestation that the poet who in his earlier years had written
the beautiful pastoral drama of Comtis had never ceased to like that form of
poesy, but to the last believed it suitable, with modifications, for his severer
and sterner purposes. At what time Samson was written is not definitely
ascertained; but it was certainly after the Restoration, and probably after 1667.
It was published in 1 671, in the same volume with Paradise Regained (see title
of the volume, &c. in Introd. to Paradise Regained^ p. 284) . For a time the
connexion thus established between Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes
was kept up in subsequent editions; but since 1688 I know of no publication
of these two poems together by themselves. There have been one or two
editions of the Samson by itself; but it has generally appeared either in col-
lective editions of all the poems, or in editions of the minor poems apart from
Paradise Lost,

How came Milton to select such a subject as that of Samson Agonistes for
one of his latest poems, if not the very latest?

To this question it is partly an answer to say that the exploits of the Hebrew
Samson had long before struck him as capable of treatment in an English
tragedy. Among his jottings, in 1640-41^ of subjects for possible Scripture
Tragedies, we find these two, occurring as the 19th and 20th in the total list —
" Samson Pursophorus or HybristeSy or Samson Marrying^ or Ramath-Lechi^^
Judges XV.; 2iiid " Dagonaliat^ Judges xvi.. That is to say, Milton, in 1640-41,
thought there might be two sacred dramas founded on the accounts of Sam-
son's life in the Book '' '^^—- "^- — - ^ '" Irst marriage with a

Philistian woma^* an ng out oT Uiat inci-

dent, when he was / ;r) or Hybristes {i.e.

Violent) ; the other < n he took his final

vengeance on the PI 'hese subjects, how-

ever, do not seem th< ilton as some of the

others in the list; foi e, whereas to some

of the others, such ' and ** Sodom,'* are

appended sketches < it. Why, then, did

Milton, in his later li which he had kept

his early notes, and c npson ?

The reason is not i the fact that he had

seen Italian, Latin, and even English, poems on the story of Samson, whic^
ma;r have reminded hi^ of the/th.enve, . T^dd.arwjl other coinmcntators have

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SAMSON AGON/STES. 343

dag up the titles of some such old poems, without being able to prove that
they si^gested anything to Milton. The truth is that the capabilities of the
theme, perceived by him through mere poetic tact as early as 1 64041, had
been brought home to him, with singular force and intimacy, by the experience
of his own subsequent life. |The story of Samson must have seemed to Milton
al metaphor or allegory of much of his own life in its later stages./ He also, in
his veteran days, after the Restoration, was a champion at bay, a prophet-
warrior left alone among men of a different faith and different manners — Phil-
istines, who exulted in the ruin of his cause, and wreaked their wrath upon
him for his past services to that cause by insults, calumnies^ and jeers at his
misfortunes and the cause itself. He also was blind, as Samson had been —
groping about among the malignant c<i>aditions that had befallen himj helplessly
dependent on the guiding of others, and bereft of the external consolations
and means of resistance to his scorners that might hav^ come to him through
sight. He also had to live mlairily in the imagery of the past. In that past,
too, there were similarities in his case to that of Vinson. Like Samson, sub-
stantially, he had been a Nazarite ■ — no drinker of wine or strong drink, but one
who had always been an ascetic in his dedicated service to great designs; And
the chief blunder in his life, that which had gone nearest to wreck it, and had
left the most marring consequences and the most painful reflections, was the
very blunder of which, twice-repieated, Samson had to accuse himself. Like
Sajnson, he had married a Philistine woman — one not of- his own tribe, and
having no thoughts or interests in common with his own; and, like Samson, he
had suffered indignities from this wife and her relations, till he had learnt to
rue the match. The consequences of Milton's unhappy first marriage (1643) in
his temper and opinions form a marked train in his biography, extending far
beyond their apparent end in the publication of his Divorce Pamphlets, fol-
lowed by his hasty reconciliation with his wife after her two years' desertion
of him (1645). Although, from that time, he lived with his first wife, without
further audible complaint, till her death about 1652, and although his two sub-
sequent marriages were happier^ the recollection of his first marriage (and it
was only the wife of this first marriage that he had ever seen) seems always to
have been a sore in Milton's mind, and to have affected his thoughts of the
marriage-institution itself, and of the ways and character of women. In this
respect also he could find coincidences between his own life and that of Sam-
son, which recommended the story of Samson with far more poignancy to him
in his later life than when he first looked at it in the inexperience of his early
manhood. In short, there must have rushed upon Miltoti, contemplating in
his later life the story of the blind Samson among the Philistines, so many
similarities with his own case, that there is little wonder' that he then selected
this subject for poetic treatment. While writing Samson Agmiistes (i.e. Sam-
son the Agonist, Athlete, or Wrestler) he must have been secretly conscious
throughout that he was representing much of his own feelings and experience;
and the reader of the poem that knows anything of Miltotl's life has this pressed
upon him' at every turn. Probably the best introduction to the poem would
be to read the Biblical history of Samson (Judges xiii.— xvi) with the facts of
Milton's life in one's mind*

The poem was put forth, -however, with no intimation to this effect. That,
indeed, might have been an obstacle to its passing the censorship. Readers
were left to gather the fact f6r themselves,^ according, to the degree of theit

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344 INTRODUCTION TO

information, and their quickness in interpreting. In the prose preface which
.Milton thought fit to prefix to the poem^^ entitled ** Of that sort of Dramatic
Poem which is called Tragedy " — -he concerns himself not at all with the mat-
ter of the poem, or his own meaning in it, but only with its literary form. He
explains why, towards the grave close of his life, he has not thought it incon-
sistent to write what might be called a Tragedy, and what particular kind of
Tragedy he has taken care to write. The preface ought to be carefuUy read,
in connexion with the remarks already made on Milton's early taste for the
dramatic form of poesy, and the variations to which that taste had been sub-
jected by circumstances. It will be noted that a large portion of the preface
is apologetic. Although, after the Restoration, the drama had revived \sl
Elogland, and men were once more familiar with stage-plays, Milton evidently
felt that many of his countrymen still retained their Puritanic horror of the
Drama, and of all related to it — nay, that this horror might well be increased
by the spectacle of the sort of plays supplied to the re-opened theatres by
Dryden, Wycherley, and the other caterers for the amusement of Charles II.
smd his Court. An explanation might be demanded why, when the Drama
was thus becoming a greater abomination than ever, a man like Milton should
give his countenance in any way to the dramatic form of poetry. Accordingly,
Milton does explain, and in such a way as to distinguish as widely as possible
between the Tragedy he has written and the stage-dramas then popular*
** Tragedy, as it was anciently composed," he says, *♦ hath been ever held the
"gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other poems." In order to
fortify this statement he repeats Aristotle's definition of Tragedy, and reminds
his readers that " philosophers and other gravest writers " frequently cite from
the old tragic poets — nay, that St. Paul himself had quoted a verse of Eurip-
ides, and that, according to the judgment of a Protestant commentator on
the Apocalypse, that book might be viewed as a tragedy of peculiar structure,
with choruses between the acts, Some, of the most eminent and active men
in history, he adds, including one of the Fathers of the Christian Church, had
written or attempted Tragedies. All this, he says, is " mentioned to vindicate
*' Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which in the account of
"many it undergoes at this day, with other common interludes; happening
" through the poet's error of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and
" gravity, or introducing trivial and vulgar persons; which by all judicious hath
** been counted absurd, and brought in without discretion, corruptly to gratify
" the people." It is impossible not to see, in the carefulness of this apology,
that Milton, felt that he was treading on perilous ground, and might give offence
to the weaker brethren by his use of the dramatic form at all, especially for a
sacred subject. It is hardly possible either to avoid seeing, in the reference to
the. "error of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity," an
allusion to Shakespeare, as well as to Dryden and the post- Restoration
dramatists.

Samson Agonistes^ therefore, was offered to the world as a tragedy avowedly
of a different order from that which had been established in England. It was
a tragedy of the severe classic order, according to that noble Greek model
which had been kept up by none of the modern nations, unless it might be
the Italians. In reading it, not Shakespeare, nor Ben Jonson, nor Massinger,
must be thought of, but ^Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Claiming this
in general terms, the poet calls especial attention to his fidelity to ancient

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SAMSON AGOmSTES. 345

Greek precedents in two particulars — his use of the chorus, and his observa-
tion of the rule of unity in time. The tragedy, he says, never having been
intended for the stage, but only to be read, the division into acts and scenes is
omitted. He does not say, however (and this is worth noting), that, had it
been possible to produce the tragedy on Ihe stage in a becoming manner, he
would have objected to its being done. It is said that Bishop Atterbury, about
1722, had a scheme for bringing it on the stage at Westminster, the division
into acts and names to be arranged by Pope. It was a fitter compliment when
Handel, in 1742, made Samson the subject of an Oratorio, and married his
great music to Milton's as great words.

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SAMSON AGONISTES.

A DRAMATIC POEM.
THE AUTHOR

JOHN MILTON.

Aristot Poet. cap. 6. Tpaytfdla fd/iriffu wfid^ios awovSalas, &c, — Tragcsdia
est imitatio actionis sense, &c., per misericordiam et metum perficiens talium
affectuum lustrationem.

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'v: . ' .'-r.^i:.. ,\

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OF THAT SORT OF DRAMATIC POEM CALLED

TRAGEDY.

Tragedy, as it was anciently composed, hath been ever held the gravest,
moralest, and most profitable of all other poems; therefore said by Aristotle
to be of power, by raising pity and fear, or terror, to purge the mind of those
and such-like passions — that is, to temper and reduce them to just measure
with a kind of delight, stirred up by reading or seeing those passions well
imitated. Nor is Nature wanting in her own effects to make good his asser-
tion; for so, in physic, things of melancholic hue and quality are used against
melancholy, sour against sour, salt to remove salt humours. Hence philoso-
phers and other gravest writers, as Cicero, Plutarch, and others, frequently
cite out of tragic poets, both to adorn and illustrate their discourse. The
Apostle Paul himself thought it not unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides
into the text of Holy Scripture, i Cor. xv. 33; and Parseus, commenting on
the Revelation, divides the whole book, as a tragedy, into acts, distinguished
each by a Chorus of heavenly harpings and song between. Heretofore men
in highest dignity have laboured not a little to be thought able to compose
a tragedy. Of tliat honour Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious than
before of his attaining to the tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his
Ajax, but, unable to please his own judgment with what he had begun, left
it unfinished. Seneca, the philosopher, is by some thought the author of those
tragedies (at least the best of them) that go under that name. Gregory
Nazianzen, a Father of the Church, thought it not unbeseeming the sanctity
of his person to write a tragedy, which he entitled Christ i^vffering. This is
mentioned to vindicate Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy,
which in the account of many it undergoes at this day, with other common
interludes; happening through the poet's error of intermixing comic stuff with
tragic sadness and gravity, or introducing trivial and vulgar persons : which
by all judicious hath been counted absurd, and brought in without discretion,
corruptly to gratify the people. And, though ancient Tragedy use no Pro-
logue, yet using sometimes, in case of self-defence or explanation, that which
Martial calls an Epistle, in behalf of this tragedy, coming forth after the
ancient manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus
much beforehand may be epistled — that Chorus is here introduced after
the Greek manner, not ancient only, but modern, and still in use among
the Italians. In the modelling therefore of this poem, with good reason, the
Ancients and Italians are rather followed, as of much more authority and
fame. The measure of verse used in the Chorus is of all sorts, called by the
Greeks Monostrophic^ or rather Apolefymenon, without regard had to Strophe,

349

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350 Of that sort of Dramatic Poem called Tragedy,

Antistrophe, or Epode, — which were a kind of stanzas framed only for the
music, then used with the Chorus that sung; not essential to the poem, and
therefore not material; or, being divided into stanzas or pauses, they may be
called AUaostropha. Division into act and scene, referring chiefly to the stage
(to which this work never was intended), is here omitted.

It suffices if the whole drama be found not produced beyond the fifth act.
Of the style and uniformity, and that commonly called the plot, whether
intricate or explicit-^ which is nothing imleed but such economy, or disposition
of the fable, as may stand best with verisimilitude and decorum — they only will
best judge who are not unacquainted with iflschylos, Sophocles, and Euripides^
the tiiree tragic poets unequalled yet by any, and the best rule to all who
endeavour to write Tragedy. The circumscription of time, wherein the whole
drama begins and ends, is, according to ancient rule and best example, within
the space of twenty-four hours*

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THE ARGUMENT.

Samson made captive, blind, and now in the prison at Gaza, there to labour as iu a
common workhouse, on a festival day, in the general cessation from labour, comes forth
into the open air, to a place nigh, somewhat retired, there to sit a while and bemoan his
condition. Where he happens at length to be visited by certain friends and equals of his
tribe, which make the Chorus, who seek to comfort him what they can; then by his old
father, Manoa, who endeavours the like, and withal tells him his purpose to procure his
liberty by ransom; lastly, that this feast was proclaimed by the Philistines as a day of
thanksgiving for their deliverance from the hands of Samson — which yet more troubles him
Manoa then departs to prosecute his endeavour with the Philistian lords for Samson's
redemption; who, in the meanwhile, is visited by other persons, and, lastly, by a public
officer to require his coming to the feast before the lords a::d people, to play or show his
strength in their presence. He at first refuses, dismissing the public ofHcer with absolute
denial to come; at length, persuaded inwardly that this was from Cod, he yields to go
along with him, who came now the second time with great threatenings to fetch him.
The Chorus yet remaining on the place, Manoa returns full of joyful hope to procure ere
long his son's deliverance; in the midst of which discourse an Ebrew comes in haste, con-
fusedly at first, and afterwards more distinctly, relating the catastrophe — what Samson
had done to the Philistines, and by accident to himself; wherewith the Tragedy ends

THE PERSONS.

Samson.

Manoa, the father of Samson.
Daula, his wife.
Harapha of Gath

Public Officer
Messenger-
Chorus of Danit^s.

The Scene, before the Prison in Gaza.

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SAMSON AGONISTES.

5AMS, A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on ;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade.
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoined' me,
Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw
The air, imprisoned aJso, dose and damp.
Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends —
The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet, lo

With day-spring bom; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works. Unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence, with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease —
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm
Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone 20

But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
Ob, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an Angel, who at last, in sight
Of both my parents, all in flames ascended
.From off the altar where an offering burned.
As in a fiery column charioting
His godlike presence, and from some great act
Or benefit revealed to Abraham's racer

Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed 30

As of a person separate to God,
Designed for great .exploits, if I must die
Betrayed, captived, and both my eyes put out,

353

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354 SAMSON AGOmSTES,

Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze,

To grind in brazen fetters under task

With this heaven-gifted Strength? O glorious strength.

Put to the labour of a beast, debased

Lower than bond-slave! Promise was that I ,

Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver! •

Ask for this great deliverer now, and find hini ' 40

Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves.

Himself in boncjis under Philistian yoke, / •

Yet stay; let mfe not rashly dSdl In doubt < ^. . *^
^ V Divine prediction. What if all foretold
\ Had been fulfilled but through mine own default?
I Whom have I to complain of but myself,

Who this high gift of strength committed to. me,,..- . .» . . .

In what part lodged, how easily bereft me, , . ' ' r, ,. •'

Under the seal of silence could not keep, ! '| ' .! ' ',

But weakly to a woman mvist reveal it, . , 59

Overcome with importunity and tears? ....

O impotence of mind in body strong! .^ ,

But what is strength without a double share ^

Of wisdom? Vast, unwieldy, burdensome, , 1 '"

Proudly secure, yet liable to fall

By weakest subtleties ; not made to rule, ' : j .

But to subserve where wisdom bears command.

God, when he gave me strength, to^how withal ' ,

How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair.

But 4)eace ! I must" not quarrel with the will 60

Of highest dispensation, which herein

Haply had ends above my reach to know. ', ;

Suffices that to me strength is my bane,

And proves the source of all my miseries- —

So many, and so huge, thi^t each apart. ' •

Would ask a life to wail. But, chief of all, ' , . /

D loss of sight, of thee I most complain!^ * , ,'

Blind among enemies! O worse than ch^ns,

Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! ... /

Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinc^ ' ^ \ , 7q

And all her various objects of delight / .

Annulled, which might in part my grief have ease(l.

Inferior to the vilest now become /

Of man or worm, the vilest here excel mie: '

They creep, yet see ; I, dark in light, exposed

To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong,

Within doors, or without, still as a fool, '

In power of others, never in my own — . ' /

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than. half. /, . ,

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, • .* g^.

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Irrecoverably dslrk, total eclipse • v

Without all hope of day J . . » • ■

O first-created beam, and thou great Word,

"Let there be light, and light was over all,", »

Why am 1 thus Tjereaved thy prime, decree?

The Sun to me is dark •

And silent- as the Moon,

When she deserts the night,

Hid in her vacant in teriunar cave. •

Since light so necessary is to life, 90

And almost life itself, ft it be true ,

That light is in the soul,

She all in every part, why was the sight

To such a tended ball as the eye confined, .

So obvious and so easy to be quepchedj

And not, as feeling, through all parts diffused, -

That she might look at will through every pore?

Then had I not been thus exiled from light.

As in the land of darkness, yet ii> light,

To live a life half dead, a living death, > 1 100

And buried; but, O yet more miserable I : '

My§elf my sepulchre, a moving grave;

Buried, yet not exempt, , • ..

By privilege of death and burial, . . ^ : . •

From worst of other evils, pains, and wrt>ngs;

But made herieby obnoxious more

To all the miseries of life,

Life in captivity ' ,

Among inhuman foes. i . « >

But whb are these? for with Joint pace I hear . ' 110

The tread of many feet steenng this way-; •

Perhaps m^ enemies, who cdme to stare

At my affliction, and perhaps to insult —

Their daily practice to afflict; me more* <

Chor, This, this is he; softly a while;
Let us not break in upon him.
•0 change beyond report, thought, or belief I
See how he lies at random, cafeleSsly diffused,
With languished head unpropt,

As one past hope^ abandooed, .» 120

And by himself given over.
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
O'er-wom and soiled.

Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,
That heroic, that renowned.
Irresistible Samson 2 whom, unarmed,
No strength of man, or fiercest ,wild beast, could withstands #:

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Who tore the lion as the lion tears the kid;

Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,

And, weaponless himself, 130

Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass,

Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail

Adamantean proof:

But safest he who stood aloof,

When insupportably his foot advanced.

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools.

Spumed them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite

Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned

Their plated backs under his heel, 140

Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust.

Then with what trivial weapon came to hand,

The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone,

A thousand foreskins fell, the flower of Palestine,

In Ramath-lechi, famous to this day:

Then by main force pulled up, and on his shoulders bore,

The gates of Azza, post and massy bar.

Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old —

No journey of a sabbath-day, and loaded so —

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven. 150

Which shall I first bewail —

Thy bondage or lost sight,

Prison within prison

Inseparablv dark?

Thou art oecome (O worst imprisonment!)

The dungeon of thyself; thy soul

(Which men enjoying sight oft without cause complain)

Imprisoned now indeed.

In real darkness of the body dwells,

Shut up from outward light 160

To incorporate with gloomy night;

For inwa^ light, alas !

Puts forth no visual beam.

O mirror of our fickle state.

Since man on earth, ui^aralleled,

The rarer thy example stands.

By how much frofti the top of wondrous glory.

Strongest of mortal men.

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art faillen.

For him I reckon not in high estate 170

Whom long descent of birth.

Or the sphere of fortune, raises ;

But thee, whose strenefth, while virtue was her mate,

Might have subdued Uie Earth,

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, SAMSON AGOmSTES. S57

Universally crowned with highest praises.

Sams. I hear the sound of words ; their sense the air
Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear.

Chor, He speaks : let us draw nigh. Matchless^ in might,
The glory late of Israel, now the grief!

We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown, - i8o

From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale,
To visit or bewail thee; or, if better.
Counsel or consolation we may bring.
Salve to thy sores: apt words have power to swage
The tumours of a troubled mind,
And are as balm to festered wounds.

Sams. Your coming, friends, revives me; for I learn
Now of my own experience, not by talkj
How counterfeit a coin they are who ^friends'
Bear in their superscription (of the most 190

I would be understood V In prosperous days
They swarm, but in aaverse withdraw their head.
Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O friends,
How many evils have enclosed me round;
Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me,\
Blindness ; for, had I' sight, confused with shame^
How could I once look up, or heave the head#^^
Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwracked.
My vessel trusted to me from above,

Gloriously rieged, and for a word, a tear, 20(

Fool! have divulged the secret gift of God
To a deceitful woman ? Tell me, friends,
Am I not sung and proverbed for a fool
In every street ? Do they not say, * How well
Are come upon him his deserts'? Yet why?
Immeasurable strength they might behold
In me ; of wisdom nothing more than mean.
This with the other should at least have paired;
These two, proportioned ill, drove me transverse^

Chor. Tax not divine disposal. Wisest men 210

Have erred, and by bad women been deceived;
And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise.
L)eiect not, then, so overmuch thyself,
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides.
Yet, truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder
Why thou should'st wed Philistian women rather
Than of thine own tribe fairer, or as fair.
At least of thy own nation, and as noble.

Sams. The f^rst I saw at Timna, and she pleased
Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed 220

The daughter of an infidel. They knew not

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358 SAMSON AGOmSTES.

That what I motioned was of God; I knew

From intimate impulse, and therefore urged • '

The marriage on, that, by occasion hence,

I might begin Israel's deliverance —

The work to which I was divinely called.

She proving false, the next I took to wife

(O that I never had ! fond wish too late!)

Was in the vale of Sorec, Dalila,

That specious monster, my accomplished snare. 230

I thought it lawful from my former act.

And the same end, still watching to oppress

Israel's oppressors. Of what now I suffer

She was not the prime cause, but I myself,

Who, vanquished with a peal of words, (O weakness I)

Gave up my fort of silence to a woman.

Chor, In seeking just occasion to provoke
The Philistine, thy country's enemy,
Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness;
Yet Israel still serves with all his sons. 240

Sams, That fault I take not oh me, but transfer
On Israel's governors and heads of tribes,
Who, seeing those great acts which God Rad done
Singly by me against their conquerors,
Acknowledged not, or not at all considered,
Deliverance offered. I, on the other side,
Used no ambition to commend my deeds;
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
But they persisted deaf^ ana would not seem
To count them things worth notice, till at length 250

Their lords, the Philistines, with gathered powers,
Entered Judea, seeking me, who then
Safe to the rock of Etham was retired —
Not flying, but forecasting in what place
To set upon them, what advantaged best.
Meanwhile the men of Judah, to prevent
Tlie harass of their land, beset me round ;
I willingly on some conditions came
Into their hands, and they as gladly yield me
To the Uncircumcised a welcome prey, »• 260

Bound with two cords. But cords to me were threads
Touched with the flame: on their whole host I flew
Unarmed, and with a trivial weapon felled
Their choicest youth; they only lived who fled.
Had Judah that day joined, or one whole tribe,
They had by this possessed the towers of Gath,
And lorded over them whom now they serve.
But what more oft, in nations grown corrupt,

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And by their vices brought to servitude,

Than to love bondage more than liberty— 270

Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty—^

And to despise, or envy, or. suspect,

Whom God hath of his special &vour raised

As their deliverer? If he aught begin.

How frequei^t to desert him, and at last

To heap ingratitude on worthiest deeds!

Chor, Thy words to my remembrance bring
How Succoth and the fort of Penuel
Their great deliverer contemned.

The matchless Gideon, in pursuit 280

Of Madian, and her vanquished kings;
And how ingrateful Ephraim
Had dealt with Jephtha, who by argument,
Not worse than by. his shield and spear,
Defended Israel from the Ammonite,
Had not his prowess quellied their pride
In that sore battje when so many died
Without reprieve, adjudged to death
For want of. well pronouncing Shibboleth,

Sams, Oi such examples add me to the roll, 290

Me easily indeed mine may neglect.
But God's proposed deliverance not so.

Chor, Just are the ways of God, l
And justifiable to men, j

Unless there be who think not God at all.

If any be, they walk. obscure;

For of such doctrine never was their school,

But the heart of the fool,

And no man therein doctor but himself.

Yet more there be who doubt his ways not ju3t, 300

As to his own edicts found contradicting ;
Then give the reins to wandering thought,^
RegarcSess of his glory's diminution,
Til^ by their own perplexities involved,
They ravel more, still less resolved,
But never find self-satisfying solution.

As if they would confine the Interminable,
And tie him to his own prescript,
Who made our laws to bind us, not himself, ,
And hath full right to exempt 310

Whomso it pleases him by choice
From national obstriction, without taint
Pf sin, or legal debt ;
For with his own laws he can best dispense.

He would not else, who never wanted means,

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36o SAMSON AGONISTES,

Nor in respect of the enemy just cause,

To set his people free,

Have prompted this heroic Nazarite,

Against his vow of strictest purity,

To seek in marriage that £dlacious bride, 320

Unclean, unchaste.

Down, Reason, then; at least, vain reasonings down;
Though Reason here aver
That moral verdit quits her of unclean :
Unchaste was subsequent; her stain, not his

But see! here comes thy reverend sire,
With careful step, locks white as down.
Old Manoa: advise
Forthwith how thou ought'st to receive him.

Sams, Ay me ! another inward grief, awaked 330

With mention of that name, renews the assault.

Man, Brethren and men of Dan (for such ye se^m
Though in this uncouth place), if old respect,
As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend.
My son, now captive, hither hath informed
Your younger feet, while mine, cast back with age.
Came lagging afterj^ say if he be here.

Chor, As signal now in low dejected state
As erst in highest, behold him where he lies.

Man, O miserable change ! Is this the man, 340

That invincible Samson, far renowned.
The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength
Equivalent to Angels' walked their streets.
None offering fight; who, single combatant.
Duelled their armies ranked in proud array.
Himself an army — now unequal match
To save himseli against a coward armed
At one spear's length? O ever-failing trust
In mortal strength ! and^ oh, what not in man
Deceivable and \^n? Nay, what thing good 350

Prayed for, but often proves our woe, our bane?
I prayed for children, and thought barrenness
In wedlock a reproach ; I gained a son.
And such a son as all men hailed me happy:
Who would be now a father in my stead?
Oh, wherefore did God grant me my request.
And as a blessing with such pomp adorned?
Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt
Our earnest prayers, then, given with solemn hand
As graces, draw a scorpion's tail behind ? 360

For this did the Angel twice descend? for this
Ordained thy nurture holy, as of a plant

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SAMSOJ\r AGOmSTES. 361

Select and sacred? glorious for a while^

The miracle of men ; then in an hour

Ensnared, assaulted, overcome, led bound,

Thy foes' derision, captive, poor and blind.

Into a dungeon thrust, to work with Slaves!

Alas! methinks whom God hath chosen once

To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err.

He shovdd not so overwhelm, and- as a thrall 370

Subject him to so foul indignities,

Be it but for honour's sake of former deeds^

Sams, Appoint not heavenly disposition, father.
Nothing of all these evils hath be&llen me
But justly ; I mysdf have brought them on ;
Sole author I, sole cause. If aught seem vile,
As vile hath been my folly, who have profcined
The mystery of God, given me under pledge
Of vow, and have betrayed it to aVoman,

A Canaanite, my £eiithles& enemy. 380

This well I knew, nor was at all surprised.
But warned by oft experience. Did not she
Of Timna first betray me, and reveal
The secret wrested from me in her highth
Of nuptial love professed, carrying it straight
To them who had corrupted her, my spies
And rivals? In this other was there found
More fciith, who, also in her prime of love.
Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold.

Though offered only, by the scent conceived, 390

Her spurious first-bom, Treason against me?
Thrice she assayed, with flattering prayers and sighs.
And amorous reproaches, to win from me
My capital secret, in what part my strength
Lay stored, in what part summed, that she might know;
Thrice I deluded her, and turned to sport
Her importunity, each time perceiving

How openly and with what impudence ♦

She purposed to betray me, and (which was worse
Than undissembled hate) with what contempt 400

She sought to make me traitor to myself.
Yet, the fourth time, when, mustering all her wiles.
With blandished parleys, feminine assaults.
Tongue-batteries, she surceased not day nor night
To storm me, over-watched and wearied out.
At times when men seek most repose and rest,
I yielded, and unlocked her all my heart,
Who, with a grain of manhood well resolved,
Might easily have shook off all her snares ;

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But foul effeminacy held me yoked 410

Her bond-slave. O indignity, O blot

To honour and religion ! servile mind

Rewarded well with seridle punishment !

The base degree to which I now am fellen,

These rags, this grinding, is not yet so base

As was my former servitude, ignoble,

{Unmanly, ignominious^ infamous,

True slavery; and that blindness worse than this^

That saw not how, degenerately I served.

Man, I cannot praise thy marriage-choices, son-*^ 420

Rather approve them not ; but tiiou didst pl^id
Divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st
Find some occasion ta infest our foes.
I state not that; this I am sure — our foes
Found soon occasion thereby to make thee
Their captive, and their triumph; thou the sooner
Temptation found'st, or over-potent charms.
To violate the sacred trust ot silence
Deposited within thee — which to have kept

Tacit was in thy power. True ; and thou bear'st 430

Enough, and more, the biu"den of that fault;
Bitteny hast thouj>aid, and still art paying,
That rigid score. Fa worse thing yet remains:
This day the Philistines a popular feast
Here celebrate in Gaza, and proclaim
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud.
To Dagon, as their god who hath delivered
Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands ^«
Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain.
So Dagon shall be magnified, and God, 440

Besides whom is no god, compared with idols,
Disglorified, blasphemed, and had in scorn
By the idolatrous rout amidst their winey
Which to have conie to pass by means of thee,
Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest.
Of all reproach the most with shame that ever
Could have befallen thee and thy father's house.

Sams, Father, I do acknowledge and confess •
That I this honour, I this pomp, Tiave brought
To Dagon, and advanced his praises high 450

Among the Heathen round — to God have brought
Dishonour, obloquy, and oped the mouths
Of idolists and atheists ; have brought scandal
To Israel, diffidence of God, and doubt '.

In feeble hearts, propense enough before
To waver, or fall off and join with idols :

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Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow,

The anguish of my soul, that suffers not

Mine eye to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest.

This only hope relieves me, that the strife 460

With me hath end. All the contest is now

'Twixt God and Dagon. Dagon hath presumed,

Me overthrown, to enter lists with God,

His deity comparing and preferring

Before tne God of Abraham. He, be sure.

Will, not connive, or linger, thus provoked.

But will arise, and his great name assert.

Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive

Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him

Of all these boasted trophies won on me, 4^0

And with confusion blank his worshipers.

Man, With cause this hope relieves thee; and these words
I as a prophecy receive; for God
(Nothing more certain) will hot long defer
To vindicate the glory of his name
Against all competition, nor will long
Endure it doubtful whether God be Lprd
Or Dagon/ But for thee what shall be done? ■'
Thou must not in the meanwhile, here forgot,
Lie in this miserable loathsome plight 480

Neglected. I already have made way
To some Philistian lords, with whom to treat
About thy ransom. Well they may by this
Have satisfied their utmost of revenge.
By pains and slaveries, worse than death, inflicted
On thee, who now no more canst do the^ harm:

Sams. Spare that proposal, father ; spare the trouble
Of that solicitation. Let me here^
As I deserve, pay on my punishment,

And expiate, if po-ssible, my crime, 490

Shameful garrulity. To have revealed
Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend.
How heinous had the fact been, how deserving
Contempt and scorn of all — to be excluded
All friendship, and avoided as a blab,
The mark of fool set on his front ! ;
But I God''s counsel have not kept, his holy secret
Presumptuously have published, impiously,
Weakly at least and shamefully — a sin

That Gentiles in their parables condemn 500

To their Abyss and horrid pains confined.

Man. Be penitent, and for thy fault * contrite ;
But act not in thy own affliction, son.

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364 SAMSON- AGON/STES,,

Repent the sin ; but, if the punishment

Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids ; .

Or the execution leave to high disposal,

And let another hand, not thine, exact

Thy penal forfeit from thyself. Perhaps

God will relent, and quit thee all his debt ;

Who ever more approves and more accepts ^10

(Best pleased vtrith humble and filial submission)

Him who, imploring mercy, sues for life.

Than who, self-rigorous, chooses death as due;

Which argues over-just, and self-displeased

For self-offence more than for God offended. .

Reject not, then, what offered means who knows .

But God hath set before us to return thee

Home to thy country and his sacred houste.

Where thou may'st bring thy offerings, to avert

His further ire, with prayers and vows renewed. 520

Sams, His pardon 1 implore ; but, as for life.
To what end should I seek it? When in strength
All mortals I excelled, and great in hopes.
With youthful couiage, and magnanimous thoughts
Of birth from Heaven foretold and high exploits,
Full of divine instinct, after some proof
Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond
The sons of Anak, famous now and blazed.
Fearless of danger, like a petty god

I walked about, admired of all, and dreaded 530

On hostile ground, none daring my affront —
Then, swollen with pride, into the snare I fell
Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains.
Softened with pleasure and voluptuous life,
At length to lay my head and hallowed pledge
Of all my strength in the lascivious lap
Of a deceitful concubine, who shore me,
Like a tame wether, all my precious fleece.
Then turned me out ridiculous, despoiled,
Shaven, and disarmed among my enemies. 540

Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks,
Which many a famous warrior overtiu-ns.
Thou could'st repress; nor did the dancing ruby,
Sparkling out-poured, the flavour or the smell.
Or taste, that cheers the heart of gods and men.
Allure thee from the cool crystalline stream.

Sams, Wherever fountain or fresh current flowed
Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure
With touch ethereal of Heaveir's fiery rod,
I drank, from the clear milky juice allaying 550

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Thirst, and refreshed; nor envied them the gn^pe ^

Whose heads that turbulent liquor fills with fumes.

Chor, O madness ! to think use of strongest wines
And strongest drinks our chief support of health,
When God with these forbidden made choice to rear
His mighty champion, strong above compare,
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook !

Sams, But what availed this temperance, not complete
Against another object more enticing?

What boots it at one gate to make defence, 56c

And at another to let m the foe,
Effeminately vanquished? by which means,
Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonoured, quelled.
To what can I be useful ? wherein serve
My nation, and the work. from Heaven imposed?
But to sit idle on the household hearth,
A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze,
Or pitied object ; these redundant locks,
Robustious to no purpose, clustering down.

Vain monument of strength ; till length of years 57c

And sedentary numbness craze my limbs
To a contemptible old age obscure.
Here rather let me drudge, and earn my bread,
Till vermin, or the draff of servile food.
Consume me, and oft-invocated death
' Hasten the welcome end of all my pains.

Man, Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift
Which was expressly given thee to annoy them?
Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle.

Inglorious, unemployed, with age outworn. 58c

But God, who caused a fountam at thy prayer
From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst to allay
After the brunt of battle, can as easy
Cause light again within thy eyes to spring,
Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast.
And I persuade me so. Why else this strength
Miraculous yet remaining in those locks?
His might continues* in thee not for naught,
Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus.

Sams, All otherwise to me my thoughts portend — 59c

That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light,
Nor the other light of life continue long,
But yield to double darkness nigh at hand;
So much I feel my genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat: Nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself;
My race of glory run, and race of shame,

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366 SAMSOAT AGONISTES,

And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
, Man, Believe not these suggestions, which proceed

From anguish of the mind, and humours black 600

That mingle with thy fancy. I, however,

Must not omit a father's timely care

To prosecute the means of thy deliverance

By ransom or how else: meanwhile be calm,

And healing words from these thy friends admit.
Sams, Oh, that torment should not be confined

To the body's wounds and sores.

With maladies innumerable

In heart, head, breast, and reins,

But must secret passage find 610

To the inmost mind,

There exercise all his fierce accidents,

And on her purest spirits prey.

As on entrails, joints, and limbs.

With answerable pains, but more intense,

Though void of corporal sense !
My griefs not only pain me
^ As a hn^ering disease,
\ But, findmg no redress, ferment and rage;

Nor less than wounds immedicable 620

Rankle, and fester, and gangrene.

To black mortification.

Thoughts, my tormentors, armed with deadly stings,

Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts.

Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise

Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb

Or medicinal liquor can assuage.

Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp.

Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er

To death's benumbing opium as my only cure; 630

Thence faintings, swoonings of despair,

And sense of Heaven's desertion.

I was his nursling once and choice delight.

His destined from the womb.

Promised by heavenly message twice descending.

Under his special eye
^Abstemious I grew up and thrived amain;

He led me on to mightiest deeds,

Above the nerve of mortal arm.

Against the Uncircumcised, our enemies: 640

But now hath cast me off as never known,

And to those cruel enemies.

Whom I by his appointment had provoked.

Left me all helpless, with the irreparable loss

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Of sight, reserved alive to be repeated

The subject of their cruelty or scorn.

Nor am I in the list of them that hope ;

Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless.

This one pra)^er yet remains, might I be heard,

No long petition — speedy death, 650

The close of all my miseries and the balm.

Chor, Many are the sayings of the wise,
In ancient and in modern books enrolled,
Extolling- patience as the truest fortitude,
And to the bearing well of all calamities,
All chances incident to man's frail life,
Consolatories writ '

With studied argument, and much persuasion sought,
Lenient of grief and anxious thought.

But with the afflicted in his pangs their sound 660

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint,
Unless he feel within
Some source of consolation from above.
Secret refreshings that repair his strength
And fainting spirits uphold.

God of our fathers ! what is Man,
That thou towards him with hand sq various—
Or might I say contrarious? —

Temper'st thy providence through his short course: 670

Not evenly, as thou ruPst

The angelic orders, and inferior creatures mute,
Irrational and brute?

Nor do I name of men the common rout,
That, wandering loose abouty
Grow up and perish as the summer fly.
Heads without name, no more remembered ;
But such as thou hast solemnly elected.
With gifts and graces eminently adorned.

To some great work, thjr glory, 680

And people's safety, which in part they eflfect.
Yet toward these, thus dignified, thou oft,
Amidst their highth of noon,

Changest thy countenance and thy hand, with no regard
Of highest favours past
From thee on them, or them to thee of service.

Nor only dost degrade them, or remit
To life obscured, which were a fair dismission,
®it throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them high—
unseemly £alls in human eye, 690

Too grievous for the trespass or omission;

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368 SAMSOIsr AGON/STES,

Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword

Of heathen and profane, their carcasses

To dogs and fowls a prey, or els^ captived,

Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times,

And condemnation of the ungrateful multitude.

If these they scape, perhaps in poverty

With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down,

Painful diseases and deformed.

In crude old age; 700

Though not disordinate, yet causeless suffering

The punishment of dissolute days. In fine,

Just or unjust alike seem miserable.

For oft alike both come to evil end.

So deal not with this once thy glorious champion,
The image of thy strength, and mighty minister.
What do I beg? how hast thou dealt already!
Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn
His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end.

But who is this? what thing of sea or land — 710

Female of sex it seems —
That, so bedecked, ornate, and gay,
Comes this way sailing,
Like a stately ship
Of Tarsus, bound for the isles
Of Javan or Gadire,

'With all her bravery on, and tackle trim.
Sails filled, and streamers waving,
Courted by all the winds that hold them play;
An amber scent of odorous perfume 720

Her harbinger, a damsel train behind?
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem;
And now, at nearer view, no other certain
Than Dalila thy wife.

Sams. My wife ! my traitress ! let her not come near me.

Chor. Yet on she moves; now stands and eyes thee fixed.
About to have spoke; but now, with head declined,
Like a fair flower surcharged with dew, she weeps.
And words addressed seem into tears dissolved.
Wetting the borders of her silken veil. 730

But now again she makes address to speak.

Dal, With doubtful feet and wavering resolution
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson;
Which to have merited, without excuse,
I cannot but acknowledge. Yet, if tears
May expiate (though the fact more evil drew
In the perverse event than I foresaw),
My penance hath not slackened, though my pardon

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SAMSON AGOmSTES, 369

No way assured. But conjugal aflfection,

Prevailing over fear and timorous doubt, 740

Hath led me on, desirous to behold

Once more thy fece, and know of thy estate,

If aught in my ability may- serve ■ . '

To lighten what thou suffer'st, and appease

Thy mind with what amends is in my power —

Though late, yet in some part to recompense

My rash but more utifbrtunate misdeed.

Sams. Out, out, hy^na \ These are thy wonted arts, ' -
And arts of every woman false like thee^^ i

To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray; - ' 750

Then, as repentant, to submit, beseech, '

And reconcilement niove with feigned riemorse,
Confess, and promise wonders in her change ^-^
Not truly penitent, but chief to try

Her husband, how far ureed his patience bears, '

His virtue or weakness which way to assail : j

Then, with more cautious and instructed skill,
Again transgresses, and again submits ;
That wisest and best men, ftiU oft beguiled,

With goodness principled not ta reject r 760

The penitent, but ever to forgive.
Are drawn to wear out miserable days.
Entangled with a poisonous bosom-snake.
If not by quick destruttion soon cut off.
As I by thee, to ages an example.

DaL Yet hear me, Samson; not that I endeavour
To lessen or extenuate my offence.
But that, on the other side, if it be weighed
By itself, with aggravations not surcharged,

Or else with just allowance counterpoised, 770

I may, if possible, thy pardon find
The easier towards me, or thy hatred less. . .
First granting, as I do, it was a weakness
In me, but incident to all our sex.
Curiosity, inquisitive; importune
Of secrets, then with like infirmity
To publish them — both common female faults —
Was it not weakness also' to make known '
For importunity, that is for naught,

Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety? 780

To what I did thou> show'dst me first the way. •

But I to enemies revealed, and should not !
Nor should'st thou have trusted that to woman's frailty:
Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel.
Let weakness, then, with ■ weakness cotoe to parle,

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37P SAMSON- AGOmSTES.

So near related, or the same of kind ;

Thine forgive mine, that men may censure thine

The gentler, if severely thou exact not

More strength from me than in thyself was found.

And what if love, which thou inteipret'st hate, 790

The jealousy of love, powerful of sway

In human hearts, nor less in mine towards thee,

Caused what I did? I saw thee mutable

Of fancy ; feared lest one day thou would^st leave me

As her at Timna; sought by all means, therefore,

How to endear, and hold thee to me firmest:

No better way I saw than by importuning

To learn thy secrets, get into my power

Thy key of strength and safety. Thou wilt say,

*Why, then, revealed?' I was assured by those 800

Who tempted me that nothing was designed

Against thee but safe custody and hold.

That made for me; I knew that liberty

Wovdd draw thee forth to perilous enterprises,

While I at home sat full of cares and fears,

Wailing thy absence in my widowed bed;

Here I should still enjoy thee, day and night,

Mine and love's prisoner, not the Philistines',

Whole to myself, unhazarded abroad.

Fearless at home of partners in my love. 810

These reasons in Love's law have passed -for good,

Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps;

And love hath oft, well meaning, wrought much woe,

Yet always pity or pardon hath obtain^.

Be not unlike all others, not austei'e

As thou art strong, inflexible as steel.

If thou in strength all mortals dost exceed.

In uncompassionate anger do not so.

Sams, How cunningly the sorceress displays
Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine f 820

That malice, not repentance, brought thee hither
By this appears. I gave, thou say'st, the example,
I led the way — bitter reproach, but true;
I to myself was false ere thou to me.
Such pardon, therefore, as I give mv folly
Take to thy wicked deed; wnich wnen tnou seest
Impartial, self-severe, inexorable,
Thou wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather
Confess it feigned. Weakness is thy excuse,
And I believe it — weakness to resist 830

Philistian gold. If weakness may excuse.
What murtherer, what traitor, parricide,

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SAMSOJV AGONISTES. 37i

Incestuous, sacrilegious, but niay plead it?

All wickedness is weakness; that plea, therefore^

With God or man will gain thee no remission.

But love constrained thee ! Call it furious rage

To satisfy thy lust. Love seeks to have love;

My love how could'st thou hope, who took'st the way

To raise in me inexpiable hate,

Knowing, as needs I must, by thee betrayed? 840

In vain thou striv'st to cover shame with shame.

Or by evasions thy crime uncover'st more.

DaL Since thou determin'st weakness for no plea
In man or woman, though to thy own condemning, J
Hear what assaults I had, what snares besides, "

What sieves girt me round, ere I consented;
Which might have awed the best-resolved of men.
The constantest, to have yielded without blame.
It was not gold; as to my charge thou lay'st.
That wrought with me. Thou know'st the magistrates 850

And princes of my country came in person,
Solicited, commanded, threatened, urged,
Adjured by all the bonds of civil duty
And of religioiv — pressed how just it was,
How honourable, how glorious, to entrap
A common enemy, who had destroyed
Such numbers of our nation : and the priest
Was not behind, but ever at my ear.
Preaching how meritorious with the gods

It would be to ensnare an irreligious 860

Dishonourer of Dagon. What had I
To oppose against such powerful arguments?
Only my love of thee held long debate,
And combated in silence all these reasons
With hard contest. At length, that grounded maxim.
So rife and celebrated in the mouths
Of wisest men, that to the public good
Private respects must yield, with grave authority
Took full possession of me, and prevailed ;
Virtue, as I thought, truth, duty, so enjoining. 870

Sams, I thought where sdl thy circhng wiles would end —
In feigned religion, smooth hypocrisy !
But, had thy love, still odiously pretended.
Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught thee
Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds.
I, before all the daughters of my tribe
And of my nation, chose thee from among
My enemies, loved -thee, as too well thou knew'st ;
Too well; unbosomed all my secrets to thee,

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Not out of levity, but overpowered 880

By thy request, who could deny thee nothing;

Yet now am judged an enemy. Why, then,

Didst thou at first receive ine for thy husband —

Then, as since then, thy coimtry's foe professed?

Being once a wife, for me thou wast to leave

Parents and country; nor was I their siibject,

Nor under their protection, but my own;

Thou mine, not theirs. If aught against my life

Thy country sought of thee, it sought unjustly,

Against the law of nature, law of nations ; C90

No more thy couatry^ but an impious crew

Of men conspiring to uphold their state

By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends

For which our country is a name so dear;

Not therefore to be obeyed. But zeal moved thee ;

To please thy gods . thou didst it I Gods unable

To acquit themselves and prosecute their foes

But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction

Of their own deity, Gods cannot be — ' .

Less therefore to be pleased, obeyed, or feared. -500

These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,

Bare in thy guilt, how foul must thou appear! ;

Dal. In argument with men. a womin ever * i-
Goes by the worse, wha|;ever be, her cause. . • -

Sams. For want of words, no doubt, or lack of breath !
Witness when I was worried with thy peals.

Dal. I was a fool, too rash, and quite mistaken
In what I thought would have succeeded best.
Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson;

Afford me place to show what recompense 910

Towards thee I intend for what I have raisdone,
Misguided.. Only what remains past cure
Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist '
To afflict thyself in vain. Though, sight be lost,
Life yet hath many solaces, enjoyed
Where other senses want not their delights — .
At home, in leisure and domestic ease.
Exempt from . many a care and chance to which
Eyesight exposes, daily, men abroad.

I to tne lords will intercede, not doubting 920

Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee
From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide
With me, where my redoubled love and care,
With nursing diligence^ to me glad office,
May ever tend about thee to old age, .

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With all things grateful cheered, and so supplied
That what by me thou hast lost thou least shalt miss.

Sams. No, no ; of my condition take no care ;
It fits not; thou and I long since are twain; -
Nor think me so unwary or accursed 930

To bring my feet agaiii into the snare
Where once I have been. caught. I know thy trains,
Though dearly to myjcost, thy gins, and toils. ,
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms, :, . .
No more on me have power; their force is nulled;
So much of adder's wisdom I have learned, :.
To fence my ear against thy sorceries. -

If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men
Loved, honoured, feared me, thou alone could hate me,
Thy husband, slight nie, sell me, and forgo me, . 940

How would'st thou use me now, blind, andtheoreby
Deceivable, in most things as a. child . , ,

Helpless, theriW easily contemned and scorned,
And last neglected ! How would'st thou insult, , .
When I must live uxorious to thy will .

In perfect thraldom ! how again betray me.
Bearing my words and doings to the lords
To gloss upon, and, censuring, frown or smile!
This jail I count the house of li-bcrty ,.

To thine,: whose doors my feet shall never enter. 950

Dal. Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand. ; .

Sams, Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrlancfe wake
My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint.
At distance I forgive thee ; go with that ; . . :

Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works
It hath brought 'forth to make thee memorable
Among illustrious women, faithful wives ;
Cherish thy hastened widowhood with the gold
Of matrimonial treason: so farewell.

Dal. I see thou art implacable, more deaf . 960

To prayers than winds and seas. Yet winds to seas
Are reconciled at length, and sea to shore :
Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages.
Eternal tempest never to be calmed.
Why do I humble thus myself, and, suing
For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate,
Bid go with evil omen, and the brand
Of infamy upon my name denounced?
To mix with thy concernments ' I desist

Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. 970

Fame, if not double*facedi is dciible-mouthed, ,
And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds ;

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374 SAMSON AGONTSTES.

On both his wings, one black, the other white^

Bears greatest names in his wild aery flight.

My name, perhaps, among the Circumcised

In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes.

To all posterity may stand defamed,

With malediction mentioned, and the blot

Of falsehood most unconjugal traduced.

But in my country, where I most desire, 980

In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Qath,

I sludl be named among the famousest

Of women, sung at solemn festivals.

Living and dead recorded, whoy to save

Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose

Above the feith of wedlock bands ; my tomb

With odours visited and annual flowers;

Not less renowned than in Mount Ephraim

Jael, who, with inhospitable guile,

Smote Sisera sleeping, through the temples nailed. 990

Nor shall I count it neinous to enjoy

The public marks of honour and reward

Conferred upon me for the piety

Which to my country I was judged to have shown.

At this whoever envies or repines,

I leave him to his lot, and like my own.

Chor, She's gone — a manifest serpent by her sting
Discovered in the end, till now concealed.

Sams, So let her go. God sent her to debase me,
And aggravate my folly, who committed loco

To such a viper his most sacred trust
Of secrecy, my safety, and my life.

Chor, Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power,
After offence returning, to regain
Love once possessed, nor can be easily
Repulsed, without much inward passion felt,
And secret sting of amorous remorse.

Sams, Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end;
Not wedlock-treachery endangering life.

Chor, It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, loio

Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit.
That woman's love can win, or long inherit;
But what it is, hard is to say.
Harder to hit,

Which way soever men refer it,
(Much like thy riddle, Samson) in one day
Or seven though one should musing sit.

If any of these, or all, the Timnian bride
Had not so sooa preferred

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SAMSON AGOmSTES. yji

Thy paranjonph, worthless to thee compared, 1020

Successor m thy bed,

Nor both so loosely disallied ^

Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherously '^

Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head.

Is it for that such outward ornament

Was lavished on their sex, that inward gifts

Were left for haste unfinished, judgment scanty

Capacity not raised to apprehend

Or value what is best.

In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong? 1030

Or was too much of self-love mixed,

Of constancy no root infixed,

That either they love nothing, or not long?

Whatever it be, to wisest men and best.
Seeming at first all heavenly under virgin veil,
Soft, modest, meek, demure.
Once joined, the contrary she proves-^ a thorn
Intestine, far within defensive arms
A cleaving mischief, in his way to virtue

Adverse and turbulent; or by her charms 1040

Draws him awry, enslaved
With dotage, and his sense depraved
To folly and shameful deeds, which ruin ends.
What pilot so expert but needs must wreck.
Embarked with such a steers-mate at the helm?

Favoured of Heaven who finds
C)ne virtuous, rarely found.
That in domestic good combines !
Happy that house! his way to peace is smooth:
But virtue which breaks through all opposition, • 1050

And all temptation can remove.
Most shines and most is acceptable above.

Therefore God's universal law
Gave to the man despotic power
Over his female in due awe,
Nor from that right to part an hour,
Smile she or lour:
So shall he least confusion draw
On his whole life, not swayed
By female usurpation, nor dismayed. 1060

But had we best retire? I see a storm.

Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain*

Chor, But this another kind of tempest brings.

Sams. Be less abstruse; my riddling days are past.

Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear
The bait of honeyed words ; a rougher tongue

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376 SAMSON AGONISTE^.

Draws hitherward ; I know him by his stride,

The giant Harapha of Gath, his look

Haughty, as is his pile high-built and proud.

Comes he in peace? What wind hath blown him hither 1070

I less conjecture than when first I saw

The sumptuous Dalila floating this way: ;

His habit carries peace, his brow defiance.

Sams. Or peace; or not, alike to me he comes.

Chor. His fraught we soon shall know: he now arrives.

Har. I come not, Samson, to condole thy chance.
As these perhaps, yet wish it had not been.
Though for no friendly intent. I am of Gath ;
Men call me Harapha, of stock renowned

As Og, or Anak, and the Emims old lo8o

That Kiriathaim held. Thou know'st me now>
If thou at all art known. Much I have heard
Of thy prodigious might and feats performed,
Incredible to me^ in this displeased.
That I was never present on the place
Of those encounters, where we might have., tried
Each other's force in camp or listed field ;
And now am come to see of whom such noise
Hath walked about, and each limb to survey,
If thy appearance answer loud report. . . 1 090

Sams. The way to know were not to see, but . taste.

Har. Dost thou already single me? I thought
Gyves and the mill had tamed thee. O that fortune
Had brought me to the field where thou art famed
To have wrought such wonders with an ass's jaw I
I should have forced thee soon wish other arms.
Or left thy carcass where the ass lay. throwriv;
So had the glory of prowess been recovered
To Palestine, won by a Philistine

From the unforeskinned race, df whom thou bear'st iioo

The highest name for valiant acts. That honour,
Certain to have won by mortal duel from thee,
I lose, prevented by thy eyes put out.

Sams. Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do
What then thou would'st; thou seest it in thj- hand.

Har. To combat with a blind man I disdain, ' <

And thou hast need much washing to be touched.

Sams. Such usage as your honourable lords
Afford me, assassinated and betrayed;

Who durst not with their whol6 united powers I no

In fight withstand me single and unarmed,
Nor m the house with chamber-ambushes
Close-banded durst attack me, no, not sleeping,

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Till they had hired a woman with- their gold,

Breaking her marriage-faith, to circumvent me.

Therefore, without feign'd shifts, let be assigned

Some narrow place enclosed, where sight may give thee,

Or rather flight, no great advantage on me;

Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet

And brigandine of brass, thy broad habergeon, 1 1 20

Vant-brace and greaves and gauntlet ; add thy spear,

A weaver's beam, and seven-times-folded shield:

I only with an oalcen staff will meet thee,

And raise such outcries on thy clattered iron.

Which long shall not withhold me from thy head.

That in a little time, while breath remains thee,

Thou oft shalt wish thyself at Gath, to boast

Again in safety what thou would'st have done

To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more.

Har. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms 1130

Which greatest heroes have in battle worn,
Their ornament and safety, had not spells
Abd black enchantments, some magician's art,
Armed thee or charmed thee strong, which thou from Heaven
Feign'dst at thy birth was given thee in thy hair,
Where strength can least abide, though all thy hairs
Were bristles ranged like those that ridge the back
Of chafed wild boars or ruffled porcupines.

Sams, I know no spells, use no forbidden arts;
My trust is in the Living God, who gave me, 1 140

At my nativity, this strength, diffused
No less through all my sinews, joints, and bones,
Than thine, while I preserved these locks unshorn,
The pledge of my unviolated vow.
For proof hereof, if Dagon be thy god.
Go to his temple, invocate his aid
With solemnest devotion, spread before him
How highly it concerns his glory now
To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells,
Which I to be the power of Israel's God 1150

Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test.
Offering to combat thee, his champion bold.
With "the utmost of his godhead seconded :
Then thou shalt see, or rather to thy sorrow
Soon feel, whose God is strongest, thine or mine.

Har, Presume not on thy God. Whatever he be,
Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off
Quite from his people, and delivered up
Into thy enemies' hand; permitted them
To put out both thine eyes, and fettered send thee 11 60

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378 / SAMSON AGONISTES,

Into the common prison, there to grind

Among the slaves and asses, thy comrades.

As good for nothing else, no better service

With those thy boisterous locks; no worthy match

For valour to assail, nor by the sword

Of noble warrior, so to stain his honour.

But by the barber's razor best subdued-

Sams. All these indignities, for such they are
From thine, these evils I deserve and more.
Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me 1170

Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon.
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye
Gracious to re-admit the suppliant;
In confidence whereof I once again
Defy thee to the trial of mortal fight.
By combat to decide whose god is Gk)d,
Thine, or whom I with Israel's sons adore.

Har, Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in trusting
He will accept thee to defend his cause,
A murtherer, a revolter, and a robber! 11 80

Sams. Tongue-doughty giant, how dost tho\i prove me these?

Har. Is not thy nation subject to our lords?
Their magistrates confessed it when they took thee
As a league-breaker, and delivered bound
Into our hands; for hadst thou not committed
Notorious murder on those thirty men
At Ascalon, who never did thee harm,
Then, like a robber, stripp'dst them of their robes?
The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league,
Went up with anned powers thee only seeking, 11 96

To others did no violence nor spoil.

Sams. Among the daughters of the Philistines
I chose a wife, which argued me no foe,
And in your city held my nuptial feast;
But your ill-meaning politician lords,
Under pretence of bridal friends and guests,
Appointed to await me thirty spies,
Who, threatening cruel death, constrained the bride
To wring from me, and tell to them, my secret.
That solved the riddle which I had proposed. 1200

When I perceived all set on enmity.
As on my enemies, wherever chanced,
I used hostility, and took their spoil.
To pay my underminers in their coin.
My nation was subjected to your lords !
It was the force of conquest ; force with force
Is well ejected when the conquered can.

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But I, a private person, whom my country

As a leamie-breaker gave up bound, presumed

Single rebellion, and did hostile acts ! 12 10

I was no private, but a person raised,

With strength sufficient, and command from Heaven,

To free my country. If their servile minds

Me, their deliverer sent, would not receive,

But to their masters gave me up for nought.

The unworthier they; whence to this day they serve.

I was to do my part from Heaven assigned,

And had performed it if my known offence

Had not disabled me, not all your force.

These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant, 1220

Though by his blindness maimed for high attempts,

Who now defies thee thrice to single fight.

As a petty enterprise of small enforce.

Har, With thee, a man condemned, a slave enrolled,
Due by the law to capital punishment?
To fight with thee no man of arms will deign.

Sams, Cam'st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me,
To descant on my strength, and give thy verdit?
Come nearer; part not hence so slight informed;
But take good heed my hand survey not thee. 1230

Har, O Baal-zebub !• can my ears unused
Hear these dishonours, and not render death?

Sams, No man withholds thee; nothing from thy hand
Fear I incurable; brin^^ up thy van;
My heels are fettered, but my fist is free.

Har, This insolence other kind of answer fits.

Sams, Go, baffled coward, lest I run upon thee,
Though in these chains, bulk without spint vast.
And with one buffet lay thy structure low.

Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down, 1240

To the hazard of thy brains and shattered sides.

Har, By Astaroth, ere long thoushalt lament
These braveries, in irons loaden on thee.

Chor, His giantship is gone somewhat crest-fiedlen,
Stalking with less unconscionable strides.
And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe.

Safns, I dread him not, nor all his giant brood,
Though feme divulge him father of five sons,
All of gigantic size, Goliah chief.

Chor, He will directly to the lords, I fear, 1250

And with malicious counsel stir them up
Some way or other yet further to afflict thee.

Sams, He must allege some cause, and offered fight
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise

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38o . SAMSON AGONISTES. .

Whether he durst accept the offer or not;

And that he durst not plain enough appeared.

Much more affliction than already felt

They cannot well impose, nor I sustain,

If they intend advantage of my labours,

The work of many hands, which earns my keeping, 1260

With no small profit daily to my owners.

But come what will; my deadliest foe will prove

My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence;

The worst that he can give to me the best.

Yet so it may fall out, because their end

Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine

Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed.

Chor. O, how comely it is, and how reviving
To the spirits of just men long oppressed,.

When God into the hands of their deliverer 1270

Puts invincible might,

To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,
The brute and boisterous force of violent men,
Hardy and industrious to support
Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue
The righteous, and all such as honour truth!
He all their ammunition
And feats of war defeats,
With plain heroic magnitude of mind

And celestial vigour armed; 1280

Their armouries and magazines contemns,
Renders them useless, while
With winged expedition
Swift as the lightning glance he executes
His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,
Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.

But patience is more oft the exercise
Of saints, the trial of their fortitude,
Making them each his own deliverer,

And victor over all 1290

That tyranny or fortune can inflict.
Either of these is in thy lot,
Samson, with might endued
Above the sons of men ; but sight bereaved
May chance to number thee witn those
Whom patience finally must crown.

This IdoPs day hath been to thee no day of rest,
Labouring thy mind
More than the working day thy hands.

And yet, perhaps, more trouble is behind; 1300

For I descry this way

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Some other tending ; in his hand
A sceptre or quaint staff he bears,
Comes on amain, speed in his look.
By his habit I discern him now
A public officer, and now at hand.
His message will be short and voluble.

Off, Ebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek.

Chor. His manacles remark him; there he sits.

Off, Samson, to thee our lords thus bid me say: 1310

This day to Dagon is a solemn feast.
With sacrifices, triumph, pomp, and games;
Thy strength they know surj)assing human rate.
And now some public proof thereof require -
To honour this great feast, and great assembly.
Rise, therefore, with all speed, and come along,
Where I will see thee heartened and fresh clad,
To appear as fits before the illustrious lords.

Sams. Thou know'st I am an Ebrew ; therefore tell then!
Our law forbids at their religious rites 1320

My presence; for that cause I cannot come.

' Off, This answer, be assured^ will not content them.
• Sams. Have they not sword-players, and every sort
Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners.
Jugglers and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics,
But they must pick me out, with shackles tired.
And over-laboured at their public mill.
To make them sport with blind activity?-
Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels.

On my refusal, to distress me more, I330

Or make a game of my calamities?
Return the way thou cam'st; I will not come. - -^

Off. Regard thyself; this will offend them highly.

Sams. Myself ! my conscience, and internal peace.
Can they thmk me so broken, so debased
With corporal servitude, that my mind ever
Will condescend to such absurd commands?
Although their drudge, to be their fool or jester,
And, in my midst of sorrow and heart-griei,

To show them feats, and play before their god— 1340

The worst of all indignities, yet on me
Joined with extreme contempt! I will not come.

Off, My message was imposed on me with speed.
Brooks no delay : is this thy resolution ?

Sams. So take it with what speed thy message needs.

Off. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce-

Sams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed.. .

Chor. Consider, Samsou; matters now ?g:e strained

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382 SAMSON AGOmSTES.

Up to the highth, whether to hold or break.

He's gone, and who knows how he may report '350

Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?

Expect another message, more imperious.

More lordly thundering than thou well wilt bear.

Sams, Shall I abuse this consecrated gift
Of strength, again returning with my hair
After my great transgression — so requite
Favour renewed, and add a greater sm
By prostituting holy things to idols,
A Nazarite, in place abominable.

Vaunting my strength in honour to their Dagon? I360

Besides how vile, contemptible, ridiculous.
What act more execrably unclean, profane?

Chor. Yet with this strength thou serv'st the Philistines^
Idolatrous, uncircumcised, unclean.

Sams, Not in their idol-worship, but by labour
Honest and lawful to deserve my food
Of those who have me in their civil power.

Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not.

Sams, Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds:
But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, 1370

Not dragging? The Philistian lords command:
Commands are no constraints. If I obey them,
I do it freely, venturing to displease
God for the fear of man, and man prefer,
Set God behind ; which, in his jealousy.
Shall never, unrepented, find forgiveness.
Yet that he may dispense with me, or thee,
Present in temples at idolatrous rites
For some important cause, thou need'st not doubt.

Chor, How thou wilt here come off surmounts my reach. 1380

Sams, Be of good courage ; I begin to feel
Some rousing motions in me, which dispose
To something extraordinary my thoughts.
I with this messenger will go along —
Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour
Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.
If there be aught of presage in the mind,
This day will be remarkable in my life
By some great act, or of my days the last.

Chor. In time thou hast resolved: the man returns. 1390

Off. Samson, this second message from our lords
To thee I am bid say: Art thou our slave,
Our captive, at the public mill our drudge,
And dar'st thou, at our sending and command.
Dispute thy coming? Come without delay;

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SAMSON AGONISTES, 383

Or we shall find such engines to assail

And hamper thee, as thou, shalt come of force,

Though tnou wert firmlier fastened than a rode.

Sams. I could be well content to try their art,
Which to no few of them would prove pernicious; 1400

Yet, knowing their advantages too many,
Because they shall not trail me through their streets
. Like a wild beast, I am content to go.
Masters' commands come with a power resistless !
To such as owe them absolute subjection;
And for a life who will not change his purpose?
(So mutable are all the ways of men !)
Yet this be sure, in nothing to comply
Scandalous or forbidden in our Law.

Off. I praise thy resolution. Doff these links: 141 o

By this compliance thou wilt win the lords
To favour, and perhaps to set thee free.

Sams. Brethren, farewell. Your company along
I will not wish, lest it perhaps oiFend them
To see me girt with friends; and how the sight
Of me, as of a common enemy.
So dreaded once, may now exasperate them*
I know not. Lords are lordliest in their wine ;
And the well-feasted priest then soonest fired '

With zeal, if aught religion seem concerned ; j 1420

No less the people, on their holy-days,
Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable.
Happen what may, of me expect to hear ,

Nothing dishonourable, impure, unworthy
Our God^ our Law^ my nation^ or pnysplf ; ,
ine last ot me or no I cannot warrant.

Chor, Go, and the Holy One
Of Israel be thy guide

To what may serve his glory best, and spread his name
Great among the Heathen round; 1430

Send thee the Angel of thy birth, to stand ^
Fast by thy side, who from thy father's field
Rode up in flames after his message told
Of thy conception, and be now a shield
Of fire ; that Spirit that first rushed on thee
In the camp of Dan,
Be efficacious in thee now at need !
For never was from Heaven imparted
Measure of strength so great to mortal seed,
As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen. 1440

But wherefore comes old Manoa in such haste
With youthfrd steps? Much livelier than erewhile

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384 SAMSON AGONISTES.

He seems : supposing here to find/ his son,
Or of him bringing to us some glad news?

Man. Peace with you, brethren ! My inducement hither
Was not at present here to find my son,
By order of the lords new parted hence
To come and play before them at their feas
I heard all as I came ; the city rings,

And numbers thither flock: I had no will, . 1450

Lest I should see him forced to things unseemly.
But that which moved my coming now was chiefly
To give ye part with me what hop^ I have
With good success to work his liberty,.

Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to partake
With thee. Say, reverend sire ; we thirst to hear.

Man. I have, attempted, one by one, the lords,,
Either at home, or through the high street passing.
With supplication prone and father's tears.

To accept of ransom for my son, their prisoner. 1460

Some much averse I found, and wondrous harsh.
Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite ;
That part most reverenced Dagon and his priests:
Others more moderate seeming, but their aim
Private reward, for which both God and State
They easily would set to sale : a third
More generous far and civil, who confessed
They had enough revenged, having reduced
Their foe to misery beneath their fears;

The rest was magnanimity to remit, 1470

, If some convenient ransom were proposed.
\What noise or shout was that? It tore the sky.

Chor. Doubtless tEe people shouting to behold
Their once great dread, captive and blind before them,
Or at some proof of strength before them shown.

Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritance
May compass it, shall willingly be paid
And numbered down. Much rather I shall choose
To live the poorest i];i my tribe, than richest

And he in that calamitous prison left. 1480

No, I am fixed not to part hence without him.
For his redemption all my patrimony, . ,

If need be, I am ready to forgo
And quit. Not wanting him, I shall want nothing.

Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons ;
Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all:
Sons wont to nurse their parents in old age;
Thou in old age car'st how to nurse thy son,
Made older than thy age through eye-sight lost.

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SAMSON- AGOmSTES, 385

Man. It shall be my delight to teild his eyes, 1490

And view him sitting in his house, ennobled
With all those high exploits by him achieved,
And on. his shoulders waving down those locks
That of a nation armed the strength contained*
,And I persuade me God hath not permitted
His strength again to grow up with his hair
Garrisoned round about him like a camp
Of faithful soldiery, were not his purpose
To use him further yet in some great service
Not to sit idle with so great a gift 1500

Useless, and thence ridiculous, about him.
And, since his strength with eye-$i§ht was not lost,
God will restore him eye^-sight to his strength.

Chor. Thy hopes are not ill founded, nor seem vain,
Of his delivery, and thy joy thereon
Conceived, agreeable to a father's love ;
In both which we, as next, participate.

Man, I know your friendly minds, and . .. . O, what noise !
Mercy of Heaven! what hideous noise was that?
Horribly loud, unlike the former shout. 1510

Chor. Noise call you it, or universJll groan.
As if the whole inhabitation perished?
Blood, death, and deathfid deeds, are in that noise,
Ruin, destruction at the utmost point.

Man. Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise.
Oh ! it continues ; they have slain my son.

Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them : that outcry
From slaughter of one foe could not ascend.

Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be.
What shall we do ^- stay here, or run and see? 1520

Chor. Best keep together here, lest, running thither.
We unawares run into danger's mouth.
This evil on the Philistines is feJlen ; .
From whom could else a general, cry be neard?
The sufferers, then, will scarce molest us here;
From other hands we need not mtch to fear.
What if, his eye-sight (for to Israel's God .
Nothing is hard) by miracle restored.
He now be dealing dole among his foes,
And over heaps of slaughtered walk liis way? 1530

Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thought.

Chor. Yet God. hath wrought things as incredible
For his people of old ; what hinders now ?

Man. He can, I know, but doubt to think he will
Vet hope would faiii. subscribe, and tempts belief.
A little stay will bring some notice hither.

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386 SAMSOAT AGONISTES.

Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner ;
For evil news rides post, while good news baits.
And to our wish I see one hither speeding —
An Ebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. , 1540

Messenger. O, whither shall I run, or which way fly
The sight of this so horrid spectacle,
Which erst my eyes beheld, and yet behold?
For dire imagination still pursues me.
But providence or instinct of nature seems,
Or reason, though disturbed and scarce consulted,
To have guided me aright, I know not how.
To thee first, reverend Manoa, and to these
My countrymen, whom here I knew remaining.
As at some distance from the place of horror, 1550

So in the sad event too much concerned.

Man. The accident was loud, and here before thee
With rueful cry; yet what it was we hear not.
No preface needs; thou seest we long to know.

Mess. , It would burst forth ; but I recover breath,
And sense distract, to know well what I utter.

Man, Tell us the sum; the circumstance defer.

Mess. Gaza yet stands ; but all her sons are fallen,
All in a moment overwhelmed and fallen.

Man. Sad i but thou know'st to Israelites not saddest 1560
The desolation of a hostile city.

Mess. Feed on that first ; there may in grief be surfeit.

Man. Relate by whom.

Mess. By Samson.

Man. That still lessens

The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy. %

Mess. Ah ! Manoa, I refrain too suddenly ?

To utter what will come at last too soon.
Lest evil tidings, with too rude irruption
Hitting thy aged ear, should pierce too deep.

Man. Suspense in news is torture; speak them out.

Mess. Then take the worst in brief: Samson is dead. 1570

Man. The worst indeed ! O, all my hope's defeated
To free him hence ! but Death, who sets all free.
Hath paid his ransom now and fiill discharge.
What windy joy this day had I conceived,
Hopefiil of his delivery, which now proves
Abortive as the first-bom bloom of spring
Nipt with the lagging rear of winter's frost !
Yet, ere I give the reins to grief, say first
How died he ; death to life is crown or shame.
All by him fell, thou say'st; by whom fell he? i^8o

What glorious hand gave Samson his death's wound?

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SAMSON AGOmSTES.

38;

m, \ \
led. \

Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he feU.

Man. Wearied with slaughter, then^ or how? explain.

Mess, By his own hands.

Man. Self-violence ! What cause

Brought him so soon at variance with himself
Among his foes?

Mess. Inevitable cause —

At once both to destroy and be destroyed.
The edifice, where all were met to see him,
Upon their heads and on his own he pulled.

Man. O lastly over-strong against thyself! 1590

A dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge.
More than enough we know; but, while things jrtt
Are in confusion, give us, if thou canst,
Eye-witness of what first or last was done.
Relation more particular and distinct.

Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city;
And, as the gates I entered with sun^rise.
The morning trumpets festival proclaimed
Through each high street. Little I had dispatched,
When all abroad was rumoured that this day 1600

Samson should be brought forth, to show the people
Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games.
I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded
Not to be absent at that spectacle.
The building was a spacious theatre,
Half round on two main pillars vaulted hich,
With seats where all the lords, and each degree
Of sort, might sit in order to behold ;
The other side was open, where the throng
On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand: 1 610

I among these aloof obscurely stood.
The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice
Had filled their hearts with mirth, hig^ cheer, and wine,
When to their spcwts they turned. Immediately
Was Samson as a public servant brought.
In their state livery clad: before him pipes
And timbrels; on each side went armed guards;
Both horse and foot before him and behind.
Archers and slingers, cataphracts, and spears.
At sight of him the people with a shout 1620

Rifted the air, clamouring their god with praise,
Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall.
He patient, but undaunted, where they led him.
Came to the place ; and what was set before him,
Which without help of eye might be assayed,
To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still .pwformed

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388 • SAMSON AGONISTES.

All with incredible, stuperidious force,

None daring to appear antagonist.

At length, for intermission sake^ they led him

Between the pillai;s; he his guide requested 1630

(For so from sucH as nearer stood we heard),

As over-tired, to let him lean a while

With both his arms on those two massy pillars,

That to the arched roof gave main support.

He unsuspicious led him; which when Samson

Felt in his arms, with- head 'a while inclined,

Alid eyes fast fixed, he stood, as one who prayed,

Or some great matter .in his mind revolved :

At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud :-^

"Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed 1640

I have performed, as reason was, obeying.

Not without wonder or delight beheld;

Now, of my own accord, such other trial

I mean to show you of my strength yet gredter ,

As with amaze shall strike all who behold," • '

This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed;

As with the force of winds and waters pent

When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars

With horrible convulsion to and fro

He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew 1650

The whole roof after them with burst of thunder

Upon the heads of all who sat beneath.

Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests,-

Their choice nobility and flower, not only

Of this, but each Philistian city round,

Met from all parts to solemnize this feast; >

'Samson, with these immixed, inevitably

Pulled down the same destruction on himself; . .

The vulgar only scaped, who stood without.

Chor. O dearly bought revenge^ yet glorious ! r66o

Living or dying thou hast fulfill^
The work for which thou wast foretdd
To Israel, and now Kest victorious
Among thy slain self-killed ;
Not willingly, but tangled in the fold
Of dire Necessity, whose law in death conjoined
Thee with thy slaughtered foes, in number more -
Than all thy life had slain before.

Semichor, While their hearts were jocund and sublime,
Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wine 1670

And fat regorged of bulls and goats,
Chaunting their idol, and preferring
Before our living Dreamy who dwefia j

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SAMSON AGOmSTES. 3S9

In Silo, his bright sanctuary,

Among them he a fepirit of phrenry sent, v

Who hurt their minds ^

And urged them on' with* mad desire

To call in haste for their destroyer.

They, only set on sport and play,

Unweetingly importuned 1680

Their own destruction to come speedy upon them.

So fond are mortal men,- >■■

Fallen into wrath divine, •

As their own ruin on themselves to invite,

Insensate left, or to sense- reprobate, <

And with bfeidnless' internal struck.

Semichor, But hfe', though blind of sight,
Despised, and thought extinguished quite,
With inward eyes' iBuminated, . /

His fiery virtue roused - 1690

From under ashes into sudden flame, ;

And as an evening dragon came,
Assailant on the pereh^ roosts
And nests in order ranged
Of tame villatic fowl, but as an eag^e
His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads.
So Virtue, given for lost,
Depressed and overthTOwn, ■ as seemed,

Like that self-begotten bird '

In the Arabian woods embost', J700

That no second knows nor third,
And lay erewhile a holocaust,
From out her ashy womb now teemed.
Revives, Teflourishes, theil vigorous most '
When most unactive deemed;
And, though her body die, her fame survives,
A secular bird, ages of lives.

Man. Come, come; no time for lametitation how,
Nor much more cause. Samson hath quit himself
Like Samson, and heroicly lia;th finished , I710

A life heroic, on his enemies

Fully revenged — hath left them years of mourning,
And lamentation to the sons of Caphtor
Through all Philistian bounds; to Israel
Honour hath left and freedom, let but them
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion ;
To himself and father's house eternal fame ;
And, which is best and happiest yet, all this
With God not parted from him, as was feared,
But favouring and assisting to the end. 1720

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390 SAMSON AGONlSTJ::S,

Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail

Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt,

Dispraise, or blame; nothing but well and fair,

And what may quiet us in a death so npble.

Let us go find the body where it lies

Soaked in his enemies^ blood* and from the stream

With lavers pure, and cleansing herbs, wash oflf

The clotted gore: I, with what speed the while

(Gaza is not in plight to say us nay),

Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, 1730

To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend,

With silent obsequy and funeral train,

Home to his father's house. There will I build him

A monument, and plant it round with shade

Of laurel ever green and branching palm,

With all his trophies hung, and acts enrolled

in copious legend, or sweet lyric song.

Thither shall all the valiant youth resort,

And from his memory inflame their breasts

To matchless valour and adventures high; 1740

The virgins also shall, on feastful days,

Visit his tomb with flowers, only bewailing

His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice^

From whence captivity and loss of eyes.

Chor, All is best, though we oft doubt
What thp unsearchable dispose
Of Highest Wisdom brings about,
And ever best found in the close.
Oft He seems to hide his face, ^

But unexpectedly returns, , 1750

And to his faithful champion hath in place ' ,
Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns^
And all that band them to resist
His uncontrollable intent.
His servants He, with new acquist
Of true experience from this great event.
With peace and consolation hath dismissed,
And calm of mind, all passion spent.

THE END,

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INTRODUCTION
)
TO THE MINOR POEMS.

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: ; !

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GENERAL INTRODUCTION.

Under the date Oct. 6, 1645, this entry occurs in the books of the London
Stationers' Company: ** Mr. Moseley entered for kis copie^ under the hand of
Sir Nath, Brent and both the Wardens^ a booke called Poems in English and
Latyn by Mr. John Milton^ 6</." The meaning of the entry is that on that
day Humphrey Moseley, then the most active pubHsher in London of poetry,
old plays, and works of pure fancy, registered the forthcoming volume as his
copyright, showing Brent's licence for its publication, and the signatures of the
Wardens of the Company besides, and paying sixpence for the formality. The
following is the complete title of the volume when it did appear : -^

*' l^oems of Mr. John Milton, both English and Latin, compos'd at several times. Printed
by his true Copies. The Son^s were set in Musick by Mr. Henry Lawes, gentleman of the
lung's Chappel, and one of His Majesties private Musick.

- Baccare frontem

Cingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua futuro.*

Virgil, Eclog. 7.

Printed and publish'd according to Order. London* Printed by Ruth Raworth, for Humphrey
Moseley, and are to be sold at the signe of the Princes Arms in Pauls Churchyard. 1645."

From a copy of this first edition of Milton's Poenas among the King's Pam-
phlets in the British Museum, bearing a note of the precise day of its publica-
tion written oh the title-page, I learn that the day was Jan. 2, 1645-6. Milton
had then been some months in his new dwelling-house in Barbican; where,
besides his pupils, there were now domiciled with him his reconciled wife, his
aged father, and several of his wife's relations.

The volume published by Moseley is a small and rather neat octavo of more
than 200 pages. The English Poems come first and fill 120 pages; after
which, with a separate title-page, and filling 88 pages, separately numbered,
come the Latin Poems. The poems contained in the volume, whether in the
English or the Latin portion, include, with two exceptions, all those which
are now known to have been written by Milton, at different periods, from
his boyhood at St. Paul's School to the year 1645, in which the volume was
published. The exceptions are the little elegy " On the Death of a fair Infant
dying of a Cough" (1626), and the curious little fragment, "At a Vacation
Exercise at College " (1628). Prefixed to the volume as a whole, and doubtless
with Milton's sanction, was a very eulogistic Preface by Moseley, entitled " The
Stationer to the Reader " (see it at the beginning of the Minor Poems). Then,
before Comtis, which begins on p. 67 of the volume, there is a separate title-page,
as if to call attention to its greater length and importance — besides which,

393

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394 GENERAL INTRODUCTION.

Lawes's eulogistic dedication of this poem to Lord Brackley, in his separate
edition of 1637, i* reproduced (see it prefixed to Comus in this ed.), and the
poem is farther introduced by a copy furnished by Milton of Sir Henry Wotton*5
remarkable letter to him in 1638 (also prefixed to Comus in this ed.). Finally,
prefixed to the Latin Poems in the volume, after the separate title-page which
distinguishes them from the English portion, are copies of the commendatory
verses, &c., with which Milton had been favoured when abroad by the distin-
guished foreigners who had seen some of these poems, or otherwise become
acquainted with him. Only in one peculiarity of the volume was there a mis-
carriage. It had been proposed, apparently by Moseley, that there should be
a portrait of Milton prefixed to the volume; and the engraver to whom Moseley
had entrusted the thing was one W. Marshall, who had executed other portraits
of men of the day, and was of some respectability in his profession. But,
whether Marshall worked carelessly from an oil-painting then in Milton's
possession, or only concocted something out of his own head, the print which
he produced bore no earthly resemblance to Milton, or indeed to any possible
human being. Though entitled " Joannis Miltoni Angli Effigies anno eeteUis
viges. primo^^ ("Portrait of John Milton, Englishman, in the 21st year of his
age,") it exhibited a stolid, grim-looking, long-haired gentleoEian, of about
fifty, with a background of trees and a meadow, and shepherds dancing and
piping, seen through a window. What Milton thought when this engraving of
himself was shown him we can only guess. But, instead of having it cancelled,
he let it go forth with the volume — only taking his revenge by a practical joke
at the engraver's expense. He offered him some lines of Greek verse to be
engraved ornamentally under the portrait; and these lines the poor artist did
innocently engrave, little thinking what they meant. An English translation
of them may run thus —

That an unskilful hand had carved this print
You'd say at once, seeing the livine face;
But, finding here no jot of me, my friends.
Laugh at the wretched artist's mis-attempt.

Such was the First Edition of Milton's Miscellaneous Poems, published in
1645, when the author was thirty-seven years of age. The volume seems to
have had no great circulation;' but it sufficed to keep alive, for the next
two-and-twenty years, or till the publication of Paradise Lost in 1667, the
recollection that the man who, through this long period, was becoming more
and more known for his Revolutionary principles and his connexion with the
Commonwealth government, had begun life as a poet.

Paradise Lost having been followed, in 1671, by Paradise Regained and
Samson Agonistes, the popularity of these three great poems of Milton's later
years seems to have re-awakened so much demand for his earlier Poems as
to make a new edition of them desirable. Accordingly, in 1673, or twenty-
eight years after Moseley had published the first edition, a second edition of
the Minor Poems did appear, under Milton's own superintendence. This Second
Edition, which, like the first, was a small octavo, bore the following title : —

"Poems, &c., upon Several Occasions. By Mr. John Milton: both English and Latin,
&c. Composed at several times. With a small Tractate of Education. To Mr. Hartlib.
London, Printed for Tho. Dring, at the White Lion, next Chancery Lane End. in Fleet
Street. 1673." t^o in copies which I have seen; but in a copy now before me, the latter part
of the imprmt runs thus:—" London: Printed for Thos. Dring, at die Ble«r Anchor next
Mitre Court over against Fetter Lane in Fleet Street. 1673."]

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GENERAL INTRODUCflON.

395'

in thi§ second edition, as compared with the first, the following particulars
ai[e to be noted : (i) There were certain additions. The chief of these were,
of course, those English and Latin pieces which had been written by Milton
since the first edition was published. For obvious reasons, indeed, Milton did
not think it advisable, at that date, to publish his sonnets to Fairfax, Vane, and
Cromwell, nor that second one to Cyriack Skinner in which he speaks with
exultation of his own services in the Republican cause. With these exceptions,
however, all the pieces written since 1645 were ^^^w published by Milton
himself in this second edition. But there were also included in this edition
those two English pieces, which, though written long before the publication of
the first edition, had not appeared in it, viz. : the elegy " On the Death of a
fair Infant dying of a Cough," written in 1626, and the fragment, " At a
Vacation Exercise at College," written in 1628. Copies of these two pieces
had apparently been recovered by Milton, and their insertion in the new
edition was certainly a gain to that edition. (2) To some copies of this second
edition of the Ppems there was prefixed a new portrait of Milton, superseding
the caricature by Marshall prefixed to the first edition. But the jocular Greek
lines on Marshall's portrait which had appeared in the first edition were still
preserved. They were printed among the Sylvae in the new edition, with the
title " In Effigiei ejus Sculptorem." (3) From the new edition were omitted
Moseley's Preffice to the first edition, and also the two pieces of English prose
which had been specially inserted in the first as introductions to the Comus —
viz. Lawes's Dedication of the Comus to Lord Brackley in 1637, ^^^ Sir Henry.
Wotton's letter of 1638. Milton probably thought that these laudatory
introductions were no, longer required. He still kept, however, the compli-
mentary verses, &c., of his foreign friends, prefixed to the Latin poems.

To most of the editions of the Minor Poems that have appeared since Milton*s
own second edition of 1673 there have, of course, been suided such scraps of
verse, not inserted in that edition, as Milton would himself have included in any
final edition. Thus the scraps of verse, whether in English or Latin, interspersed
through his prose-writings, are now properly collected and inserted among the
Poems. Those four English Sonnets, also, which Milton had, from prudential
reasons, omitted in the edition of 1673, are now in their places. After the
Revolution of 1688 there was no reason for withholding these interesting
sonnets firom the public; and, accordingly, when Milton's nephew, Edward
Phillips, published, in 1694, an English edition of the "Letters of State"
which had been written by his uncle as Latin Secretary during the Common-
wealth, and prefixed to these Letters his Memoir of his uncle, he very properly
printed the four missing sonnets as an appendix to the Memoir. From that
time they have always been included in editions of the Poems.

Even had Milton not given his Minor Poems to the world in print during
his lifetime, those interesting productions of his genius would not have been
wholly lost. From the time when he had fir^ begun to write poems or other
things, he had carefully kept the MSB.; and it so chances that a larger
quantity of Milton's original MSS. has been preserved than of the original
MSB. of most other English poets of that age. Not a few of Milton's papers,
either loose, or forming a kind of large draft-book, had come into the posses-
sion of Sir Henry Newton Puckering, Bart., a scht)lar and book-collector of
the seventeenth century; and as, on his death in 1700, he left his collection
of books to the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, these papers lay about

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in that. Library till 1736, when they were carefully put together aftd bound in
morocco. Accordingly, this thin morocco-bound volume of Milton MSS. is
to this day one of the most precious curiosities in the Library of Trinity
College. It is shown to visitors in a glass table-case, arranged so as to
gratify them with the sight of a page or two of Milton's autograph. By
permission of the Master and Fellows, but only in the presence of one of the
Fellows, it may be removed from the case for more leisurely examination.
The volume consists of fifty-four pages, all of folio size, except an interpolated
leaf or two of small quarto. Eight of the pages are blank; all the other
forty-six are written on, most of them very closely. The following is a list of
the contents in the order in which they stand : — Arcades (draft in Milton's
own hand); Song, At a solemn Music (Milton's own hand); Sonnet on his
having arrived at the age of twenty- three (in Milton's own hand, as part of
Prose Letter to a Friend, of which- there are two drafts) ; On Time (Milton's
own hand) ; Upon the Circumcision (Milton's own hand) ; Sonnet VIII. (i;i
the hand of an amanuensis); Sonnets IX. and X. (Milton's own hand);
Comus and Lycidas, entire drafts, much corrected (in Milton's own hand) ;
Seven pages of Jottings of Subjects for Tragedies (Milton's own hand : see
Introd. to P. Z., to P. R., and to Sams. Ag.) ; Sonnets XL — XIV, (in Milton's
own hand, but with copies in another hand); Sonnet XV. : To Fairfax (in
Milton's own hand); Sonnet XVI.: To Cromwell (in the hand of some
amanuensis) ; Sonnet XVII. : To Vane (also in another hand) ; Lines on
the Forcers of Conscience (also in another hand); Sonnets XXL — XXIII,
(also in the hands of amanuenses). It thus appears that in this precious
volume at Cambridge there are preserved (mostly in Milton's own hand, but
occasionally in the hands of amanuenses, who either transcribed from his
original drafts before he was blind, or, after he was blind, wrote to his
dictation) actual MS. copies of much the larger part of all Milton's Minor
English Poetry.

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INTRODUCTIONS
TO THE ENGLISH POEMS.

Paraphrases on Psalms CXIV. and CXXXVI.

These were done, as the author himself takes care to tell us, " at fifteen years
old" — i.e. in 1624. They are, in fact, the only specimens now extant of
Milton's muse before he went to Cambridge. They are the relics, doubtless,
of a little collection of boyish performances, now lost, with which he amused
himself, and perhaps pleased his father and his teachers, when he lived in his
father's house in Bread Street, Cheapside, and attended the neighbouring
school of St. Paul's. They prove him to have been even then a careful reader
of contemporary English poetry, and, in particular, of Spenser, and of
Sylvester's quaint and old-fashioned, but richly poetical, translation of the
Divine Weekes and Workes of the French religious poet Du Bartas. This
book, which had been published in 1605 by Humphrey Lownes, a well-known
printer of Bread Street Hill, close to Milton's father's house, was as popular
in England as the original was on the Continent. It went through several
editions while Sylvester lived, and almost every pious English household
literary tastes possessed a copy. ^

On the Death qf a Fair Infant dying of a Cough.

Over this poem Milton has himself placed the words ^^ Anno atatis 17,"
implying that it was written in his 17th year. Now, as Milton entered his
seventeenth year on the 9th of December, 1624, and ended it on the 9th of
December, 1625, this would place the poem between these dates. But, when
Milton placed Arabic figures after the phrase anno aiatis in these headings of
his poems, it was his habit to give himself the benefit of a year by under-
standing the figures as noting cardinal and not ordinal numbers. "Anno
atatis 17" meant, with him, not strictly "in his seventeenth year," but "at
seventeen years of age." The present poem, accordingly, was actually written
in the winter of 1625-6, or during Milton's second academic year at Cambridge.
It is the first of his preserved English pieces of the Cambridge period, but
seems to have been written, toot at Cambridge, but in the course of a brief

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398 T}iE ENGLISH POEMS,

visit made to London between the Michaelmas Tenn and the Lent Term of
the academic year — i.e. between December i6, 1625, and January 13, 1625-6.
The subject of it was the death of an infant niece of the poet, the first child
of his only surviving sister Anne Milton, who was several years older than
himself, and had been recently married to a Mr. Edward Phillips, a native of
Shrewsbury, but resident in London, where he held a situation in the Crown
Office in Chancery. When in town from Cambridge, Milton had seen the
" fair infant," whether in his father's house in Bread Street, or in his sister's
own house, which was " in the Strand, near Charing Cross." But the life of
the little creature was to be short. 'The autumn of 1625 was a particularly
unhealthy one in London — the Plague then raging there with such violence
that as many as 35,000 persons were said to have died of it during that season
within the Bills of Mortality. There is an allusion to this prevsdence of the
Plague in the last stanza but one of the poem. Not to the Plague, however,
but to the general inclemency of the succeeding winter, did the delicate little
blossom fall a victim. She died " of a cough " — i.e, of some affection of the
lungs.

At a Vacation Exerctse in the College.

The heading prefixed to this piece by Milton is, more completely, as
follows: — "Anno atatis 19: At a Vacation Exercise in the College^ part
Latin, part English : the Latin Speeches ended, the English thus began^^ The
piece, in fact, was written in 1628, or during Milton's fourth academic year at
Cambridge, and, as the title implies, was but a fragment of a much longer and
more composite exercise or discourse, part of which was in Latin, written for
some ceremonial at Christ's College in the vacation of that year — i.e. after
the close of the Easter Term on the 4th of July.

Fortunately, the College Exercise to which this piece belonged still exists.
It is the Sixth of those seven juvenile Latin Essays of ^ilton called Prolusiones
Oratorice (now included in his collected prose-works) which were first
published in 1674, the last year of his life, in conjunction with his Epistola
Familiares, or Latin Familiar Epistles. All the seven Prolusiones are
interesting as throwing light on Milton's career at the University, and his
success in th»se public debates and discussions on scholastic and philosophical
topics which formed in those days so important a part of College and
University training. The Sixth, however, is nearly the longest, and is perhaps
the most interesting altogether. It is entitled "In Feriis ^stivis Collegii,
sed concurrente, ut solet, totdfere Academia juventute, Or alio: Exercitationes
nonnunquam ludicras PhilosophuB studiis non obesse ; " which may be translated
thus, " In the Summer Vacation of the College^ but in the presence, as usuaf, of
a concourse of nearly the whole youth of the University, an Oration to this
effect : That occasional sportive exercises are not inconsistent with philosophical
studies^ The Essay, thei^, was an actual speech delivered by Milton in the
hall of Christ's College, Cambridge, on an occasion of periodical revel, when
not only his fellow-collegians, but a crowd of students from other colleges,
were present. Milton had nearly completed his undergraduate course, and
had his degree of B.A. in prospect; and he was probably chosen to lead the
revels on account of his pre-eminent reputation among the undergraduates di
Christ's. "The revels," we say; for, in reading the speech itself, we become

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AT A VACATIOISr EXERCISE. 399

aware that the circumstances were those of some annual academic saturnalia,
when the college hall was a scene of festivity, practical joking, and fun of all
kinds, and when the president — styled, in academic phrase, "the Father" for
the nonce — was expected to enliven the proceedings with a speech full of
jests and personalities, and to submit in turn to interruptions, laughter, and
outcries from his noisy " sons." Milton, though confessing in the course of
his speech that fun was hardly his element, and that his " faculty in festivities
and quips " was very slight, seems to have acquitted himself in his character
of " Father," or elected master of the revels, with unusual distinction. At all
events he took trouble enough. His entire discourse must have taken at least
an hour and a half in the delivery. As originally delivered, it consisted of
three parts — first, a serio-comic discourse, in Latin prose, on the theme ** that
sportive exercises on occasion are not inconsistent with the studies of Philosophy ; "
secondly, a more expressly comic harangue, also in Latin prose, in which he
assumes the character of Father of the meeting, addresses his sons jocularly,
and leads off the orgy; and, thirdly, a conclusion in English, partly verse and
partly prose, consisting of dramatic speeches.

Ii^the middle part, or Latin comic harangue, we have, amid many coarse
jocosities, and personal allusions to individual fellow-students not now intelli-
gible, the following passage explanatory of what is to follow: "I turn me,
" therefore, as Father, to my sons, of whom I behold a goodly number; and
** I see too that the mischievous little rogues acknowledge me to be their
" father by secretly bobbing their heads. Do you ask what are to be their
" names ? I will not, by taking the names of dishes, give my sons to be
" eaten by you, for that would be too much akin to the ferocity of Tantalus
" and Lycaon; nor will I designate them by the names of parts of the body,
" lest you should think that I had begotten so many bits of men instead of
"whole men; nor is it my pleasure to call them after the kinds of wine,
" lest what I should say should be not according to Bacchus. I wish them
" to be named according to the number of the Predicaments, that so I may
** express their distinguished birth and their liberal manner of life." The
meaning of which passage seems to be that it was the custom at such meetings
for the " Father " to confer nicknames for the nonce on such of his fellow-
students as were more particularly associated with him as his " sons," and, as
such, had perhaps to take a prominent part, under him, in the proceedings;
and that Milton, instead of following old practice, and calling his sons by
such rigmarole names as Beef, Mutton, Pork, &c. (names of dishes), or Head,
Ntek, Breast, &c. (names of parts of the body), or Sack, /Rhenish, Sherris, &c.
(names of wines), propbsed to call them after the famous Ten Predicaments
or Categories of Aristotle. These Predicaments or Categories were all
regarded as subdivisions of the one supreme category of Ens or Being. First
Ens was subdivided into the two general categories of Ens per se or Substance,
and Ens per accidens or Accident. By farther divisions and subdivisions,
however. Accident was made to split itself into nine subordinate categories —
Quantity, Quality, Relation, Action, Passion, Place where, Time when. Posture,
and Habit. Prefix to these nine categories, developed out of Accident, the
one unbroken category of Substance, and you have the Ten Aristotelian
Categories or Predicaments, once so famous in the schools. What Milton
said, therefore, was virtually this: — I, as Father, choose to represent myself
as Ens or Being in general, undivided Being; and you, my sons, Messrs. So

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400 THE ENGLISH POEMS,

and So -and So and So (to wit, certain students of Christ's acting along with
Milton in the farce), are to regard yourselves as respectively Substance,
Quantity, Quality, Relation, Action, Passion, Place, Time, Posture, and Habit.
Thus I have assigned you your parts in what is to follow of our proceedings.

We have here then the key to the dramatic speeches in English with which
Milton's address was wound up. After apologizing for having detained the
audience so long with his Latin harangue, he announces that he is about to
break the University statutes (which ordained that all academic discourses,
&c., should be in the learned tongues) by " running across " from Latin to
English. At this point, therefore, he suddenly exclaims —

** Hail! native language, that by sinews weak
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak,
And mad'st," &c.

He continues this episodic address to his native speech through a goodly
number of lines, but then remembers that it is a divergence from the business
in hand, and that his sons are waiting to hear him speak in the character of
Ens. Accordingly, he does speak in this character, calling up the eldest of
his ten sons. Substance^ and addressing him in fit terms. "Whether Substance
made any reply we are not informed; but the next two Predicaments, Quantity
and Quality i did speak in their turn — not in verse, however, but in prose.
It seems most natural to conclude that these speeches were made by the
students of Christ's who represented the Predicaments in question — Milton
himself only speaking in his paramount character as Ens. In this character,
at all events, he finally calls " by name " on the student who represented the
fourth category — i.e. Relation ; and with this speech of Ens to K elation, the
fragment, as we now have it, abruptly ends. ** The rest was prose," we are
informed —r- i.e. whatever was said by Relation, and to or by the six remaining
Predicaments, was said in prose and has not been preserved. Mr. W. G.
Clark, of Cambridge, ascertained that among Milton's fellow-students at
Christ's were two brothers named Rivers. This explains the words ** Rivers,
arise," and the sequel.

On the Morning of Christ's Nativity.

This magnificent ode, called by Hallam " perhaps the finest in the English
language," was composed, as we learn from Milton's own heading of it in the
edition of 1645, ^" ^^ y^*"^ 1629. Milton was then twenty-one years of age,
in his sixth academic year at Cambridge, and a B.A. of a year's standing.
There is an interesting allusion to the ode by Milton himself, when he was in
the act of composing it, in the sixth of his Latin elegies. In that elegy,
addressed to his friend Charles Diodati, residing in the country, in answer to
a friendly epistle which Diodati had sent to him on the 13th of December,
1629, there is a distinct description of the Ode on the Nativity, as then
finished or nearly so, and ready to be shown to Diodati, together with the
express information that it was begun on Christmas-day 1629.

Upon the Circumcision.

Having, in the Ode on the Nativity, celebrated the birth of Christ, Milton
seems to have intended his little piece " Upon the Circumcision " as a sequel.
This appears from the opening lines, in which distinct allusion is made to the

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ON SHAKESPEARE, 401

Nativity. We may therefore, with great probability, suppose the piece to
have been written on or about the Feast of the Circumcision following the
Christmas of the previous ode — i,e, January i, 1629-30.

The Passion.

This piece, also, as the opening stanza implies, grew out of the Ode on the
Nativity, and is a kind of sequel to it. It was probably written for Easter
1 630. It is but the fragment of an intended larger poem, for which, after
he had proceeded so far, he thoiight his powers unequal.

On Time.

In the draft of this little piece, in Milton's own hand, among the Cambridge
MSS., the title is given more at length thus: On Time — To be set on a
Clock-case. The piece is assigned, conjecturally, to the year 1630.

At a Solemn Music.

This piece is also assigned, conjecturally, to the year 1630. The title "At
a Solemn Music" may be translated "At a Concert of Sacred Music."
Milton, we ^now, had been a musician from his childhood, and had had
unusual opportunities of hearing the best music in England. See Introd. to
the Latin Poem Ad Patrem among the Sylva,

Song on May Morning.

This little piece is also assigned, but only conjecturally, to the year 1630.
If this is correct, the exact date is May i, 1630.

On Shakespeare.

This famous little piece is sometimes spoken of as Milton's "Sonnet on
Shakespeare "; but it is not even laxly a Sonnet, as it consists of sixteen lines.
In its anonymous printed form among the commendatory verses prefixed to
the Shakespeare Folio of 1632, it is entitled " An Epitaph on the Admirable
Dramatick Poet, W. Shakespeare." That it was written two years before its
publication in so distinguished a place appears from the date "1630"
appended to its shorter title in the original editions of Milton's Poems. It
seems to me not improbable that Milton originally wrote the lines in a copy
of the First Folio Shakespeare in his possession, and furnished them thence
to the publisher of the Second Folio.

On the University Carrier.

The two pieces on this subject are chiefly curious as specimens of Milton's
muse in that facetious style in which, according to his own statement, he was
hardly at home. They celebrate an incident which must have been of
considerable interest to all Cambridge men of Milton's time — the death of
old Thomas Hobson, the Cambridge University carrier.

Born in 1 544, or twenty years before Shakespeare, Hobson had for more
than sixty years been one of the most noted characters in Cambridge. Every
week during this long 'period he had gone and come between Cambridge and

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402 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

the Bull Inn, Bishopsgate Street, London, driving his own wain and horses,
and carrying letters and parcels, and sometimes stray passengers. All the
Heads and Fellows of Colleges, all the students, and all the townspeople,
knew him. By his business as a carrier, and also by letting out horses, he
had become one of the wealthiest citizens in Cambridge — owner of houses
in the town and of other property. He had also such a reputation for
shrewdness and humour that, rightly or wrongly, all sorts of good sayings
were fathered upon him. Till his eighty-sixth year he Wl persisted in
driving his carrier's waggon himself. But, in AprU or May 1630, a stop had
been put to his journeys. The Plague, after an interval of five years, was
again in England; it was rife in Cambridge this time, so that the colleges had
been prematurely closed and all University exercises brought to an end; and
one of the precautions taken was to interdict the continued passage of Hobson,
with his letters and parcels, between Cambridge and London. Though many
of his neighbours among the townspeople died of the Hague, the tough old
carrier escaped that distemper. But the compulsory idleness of some months
was too much for him. Some time in November or December 1630, just as
the Colleges had re-assembled, and, the Plague having abated, he might have
resumed his journeys, he sickened and took to his bed. On the 1st of
January, 1630-31, he died, aged eighty-sue. Before he died he had
executed a will, in which he left a large family of sons, daughters, and
grandchildren (one of his daughters being the wife of a Warwickshire baronet),
well provided for. Nor had he forgotten the town in which he had made his
fortunes. Besides other legacies for public purposes to the town of Cambridge,
he left money for the perpetual maintenance of the town-conduit; and to
this day the visitor to Csanbridge sees a handsome conduit, called after
Hobson's name, in the centre of the town, and runnels of clear water flowing,
by Hobson*s munificence, along the sides of the footwa3rs in the main streets.
In some respects, Hobson is still the genius loci of Cambridge.

Little wonder that the death of such a worthy as old Hobson made a stir
among the Cambridge dons and undergraduates, and that many copies of
verses were written on the occasion. Several such copies of verses have been
recovered; but none so remarkable as Milton's. Milton seems to have had a
fondness for the old man, whose horses he must have often hired, and by
^om he must often have sent and received parcels. The title of Milton's
two pieces is exact to the circumstances of the case : " On the Universit't
Carrier, who sickened in the time of his vacancy y being forbid to go to London
by reason of the Plague." The gist of the proems themselves, too — in which,
through all their punning facetiousness, there is a vein of kindUness — is that
Hobson died of ennui. Both pieces must have been written in or about
January 1630-31.

An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester.

The date of the composition of this poem is determined by that of the
event to which it refers — the death, in child-birth, of Jane, wife of John
Paulet, fifth Marquis of Winchester. This lady, who was but twenty-three
years of age when she died, and was much spoken of for her beauty and
mental accomplishments, was a daughter of Thomas, Viscount Savage, of
Rock-Savage, Cheshire, by his Mofe, Elizabeth, the eldest daughter and co-heif

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D ALLEGRO AND IL PENSEROSO. 403.

of Thomas Darcy, Earl of Rivers. Her husband, the Marquis of Winchester,
who had succeeded to the title in 1628, was a Roman Citholic; he subse-
quently attained great distinction by his loyalty during the civil wars; and he
did not die till 1674, forty-three years after he had been made a widower by
the death of this, his accomplished (first) wife. That ^vent occurred on the
15th of April, 1 63 1, in circumstances thus conununicated in a contemporary
news-letter, dated the 21st of the same month: — "The Lady Marquis of
" Winchester, daughter to the Lord Viscount Savage, had an imposthune
" upon her cheek lanced; the humour fell down into her throat, and quickly
" despatched her, being big with child : whose death is lamented, as well in
•* respect of other her virtues as that she was inclining to become a Protestant."
An unusual amount of public regret seems to have been caused by the lady's
melancholy death. It was the subject of a long elegy by the poet4aureate,
Ben Jonson, printed in his ** Underwoods " ; and there were verses on the
occasion by Davenant and other poets. How Milton, then in his twenty-
third year, and still at Cambridge, came to be so interested in the event as to
make it the subject of a poem, is not known. Warton had been told that
th^re was a Cambridge collection of verses on the occasion, among which
Milton's elegiac ode first appeared; and some expressions in the ode might
imply that fact; but no such volume has been found.

L' Allegro and 1l Penseroso.

These were written as companion-pieces, and are to be read together.
There is some doubt as to the time of their composition, there being no drafts
of them among the Cambridge MSS. In the edition of 1645 *^®y Mow
iuMnediately after the pieces on Hobson, and precede the Arcades, with the
intervention, however, of the ten Sonnets printed in that edition. With
great probability they are assigned to the period immediately subsequent to
Milton's student-life at Cambridge, i.e, to the time of his studious seclusion
in his father's country house at Horton in Buckinghamshire, near Windsor.
Milton retired thither in 1632, after taking his degree of M.A., and he mainly
resided there till the beginning of 1638. If the pieces were written at
Horton, they were probably written soon after his going there. That they
were written in some peaceful country neighbourhood, imiid the sights and
sounds of quiet English landscape and English rural life, is rendered likely
by their nature. But it is a mistaken notion of the poems, and a somewhat
crude notion, to suppose that they must contain a transcript of the scenery of
any one place, even the place where they were written. That place (and we
incline to think it was Horton) may have shed its influence into the poems;
but the purpose of the poet was not to describe actual scenery, but to
represent two moods, and to do so by making each mood move, as it were,
amid circumstances and adjuncts akin to it and nutritive of it. Hence the
scenery is visionary scenery, made up of eclectic recollections from various
spots blended into one ideal landscape. It is, indeed, the exquisite fitness
with which circumstances are chosen or invented, in true poetic affinity with
the two moods, that makes the poems so beautiful, and secures them, while
the English language lasts, against the possibility of being forgotten.

The poems, we have said, are companion-pieces, and must be read together.
E^ch describes an ideal day — a day of twelve hours. But V Allegro is the

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404 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

ideal day of the mind of an educated youth, like Milton himself, in a mood
of light cheerfulness. And observe at what point that day begins. It begins
at dawn. The first sound heard is the song of the lark ; the first sights seen
round the rustic cottage, or in the walk from it, are those of new-waked
nature, and of labour, fresh afield. Then the light broadens on to mid-day,
and we have the reapers at their dinner, or the haymakers busy in the sun.
And so, through the afternoon merry-makings, we are led to the eveijing
sports and junkets and nut-brown ale round the cottage bench; after which,
when the country folks, old and young, have retired to rest, the imaginary
youth of the poem, still in his mood of cheerfulness, may pi^otract his more
educated day by fit reading indoors, varied by sweet Lydian music. Contrast
with all this the day of // Penseroso. It is the same youth, but in a mood
more serious, thoughtful, and melancholy. The season of the year, too, may
be later. At all events, the ideal day now begins with the evening. It is the
song of the nightingale that is first heard; lured by which the youth walks
for& in moonlight, seeing all objects in their silver aspect, and listening to
the sounds of nightfall. Such evening or nocturnal sights and sounds it is
that befit the mood of melancholy. And then, indoors again we follow the
thoughtful youth, to see him, in his chamber, where the embers glow on the
hearth, sitting meditatively, disturbed by no sound, sisive (for it may be a town
that he is now in) the drowsy voice of the passing bellman. Later still, or
after midnight, we may fancy him in some high watch-tower, communing,
over his books, with old philosophers, or with poets, of grave and tragic
themes. In such solemn and weirdly phantasies let the whole night pass, and
let the morning come, not gay, but sombre and cloudy, the winds rocking the
trees, and the rain-drops falling heavily from the eaves. At last, when the
sun is up, the watcher, who has not slept, may sally forth; but it is to lose
himself in some forest of monumental oaks or pines, where sleep may overtake
him recumbent by some waterfall. And always, ere he rejoins the mixed
society of men, let him pay his due visit of worship to the Gothic cathedral
near, and have his mind raised to its highest by the music of the pealing
organ.

The studied antithesis of the two pieces has to be kept in mind in reading
them. It needs only be added that the commentators have supposed that
Milton may have b-ien aided in his conception of the two poems by some
passages in Burton's Atiatomy of- Melancholy^ by a song in Beaumont and
Fletcher's drama of Nice Valor, and by recollections of other pieces of a
pensive kind, in octosyllabic measure, including Marlowe's pretty poem, the
Passionate Shepherd to his Love, and Sir Walter Raleigh's answer to the same,
called The Nymph's Reply. The help from any such quarters, however, must
have been very small, the mere suggestion of a cadence here and there.

Arcades.

" Part of an Entef'tainment presented to the Countess- Dowager of Derby at
Harefield by some noble persons of her Family^"* are the words added by
Milton himself to the title of the poem, to explain its nature. In other
words, it is part, and onlv part, of a masque presented before a venerable lady
at her country-seat by some members of her family who had chosen this way
of showing their affection and respect for her. The rest of the masque has

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perished; only this fragment of it, supplied by Miltpn, remains. The date is
a little uncertain. Historically, the Arcades is connected so closely with
Comtis that any Introduction to the one must serve also as partly an Intro-
duction to the other; and the manner of the connexion is such that we must
assume that the Arcades preceded Comns, Now, as the date of Comus is
1634, the immediately preceding year, 1633, has been taken as the probable
year for the Arcades ; but , there are arguments which might push it as far
back as 1631, or even 1630, It i§ chieily necessary to bear in mind that the
Arcades did precede ComuSt and that the lady in whose honour it was com-
posed was one of the same noble family for whom Comus was subsequently
written.

That lady was Alice, Countess-Dowager of Derby, who, in 1631, was about
seventy years of age. The life of this lady had been one that would have
made her venerable in the social and literary history of England even had
there not been this association of her later years with the youth of Milton.
Born, about the year 1560^ one of the daughters of Sir John Spencer of
Althorpe, Northamptonshire — from whom are descended the Earls Spencer and
their branches — she Jiad been married in early life to Ferdinando Stanley,
Lord Strange, eldest son of the fourth Earl of Derby. One of her sisters,
Elizabeth Spencer, was then, by marriage, Lady Carey, and another, Anne
Spencer, was Lady Compton. The three sisters seem to have at that time
been especially well known to the poet Spenser, who, indeed, claimed to be
related to the Spencers of Althorpe. Spenser's earliest known publication,
Muiopotmos (1590), was dedicated to Lady Carey; h\s Mother ffubberd^s Tale
(1591) was dedicated to Lady Compton; and to the youngest of the three
sisters — the one with whom we are at present concerned — was dedicated in the
same year (1591) his l^ears of the Muses. In paying this honour to Alice,
Lady Strange, Spenser had regard not only to her own accomplishments
and his connexion with her family, but also to the -reputation of her husband.
Lord Strange. No nobleman of the day was of greater note in the world
of letters than Lord Strange. He was himself a poet; among the dramatic
companies of the time was one retained by him and known as ** Lord Strange's
Players;" and among his clients and panegyrists were Nash, Greene, and others
of Shakespeare's seniors in the English drama. All this is recognised in Spenser'^s
dedication of the Tears of the Muses to Lady Strange. " Most brave and noble
" Lady," he- says, " the things that make ye so much honoured of the world
**as ye be are such as, U'ithout my simple lines' testimony, are throughly
" known to all men : namely, your excellent beauty, your virtuous behaviour,
" and your noble match with that most honourable Lord, the very pattern of
" right nobility. But the causes for which ye have thus deserved of me to be
"honoured (if honour it be at all) are both your particular bounties and also
"some private bonds of affinity which it hath pleased your Ladyship to
" acknowledge. . . . Vouchsafe, noble Lady, to accept this simple remem-
"brance, though not worthy of yourself, yet such as perhaps, by good
" acceptance thereof, you may hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable
" evidence of your own excellent deserts." Some time after this dedication —
to wit, in September 1593 — the lady so addressed rose still higher in the
peerage by the accession of her husband to the earldom of Derby on his father's
death. Ferdinando, fifth Earl of Derby, however, enjoyed his new dignity
but a few months. He died on the i&th of April, 1594, in his thirty-sixth

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year, much regretted. From that day his widow was known as Alice,
Countess-Dowager of Derby. The earldom of Derby went to the next male
heir; and the Countess-Dowager, with her three young daughters by her
deceased husband — Lady Anne Stanley, Lady Frances Stanley, and Lady
Elizabeth Stanley — lived on to form new alliances. Spenser, who had honoured
her during her husband's life, continued to honour her in her widowhood. In
his pastoral of Colin Cloufs come Home again (completed in 1595), the poet,
having enumerated the chief " shepherds " or poets of the British isle, and having
proceeded thence to a , mention of some of the chief " shepherdesses " or
'* nymphs," introduces three of these ladies thus :

" Ne less praiseworthie aie the sisters three.
The honour of the noble familie
Of which I meanest boast myself to be,
And most that unto them I am so nie,
Phyllis, CharilUs, and sweet Amaryllis.
Phyllis the fair is eldest of the three ;
The next to her is beautiful Charillis;
But the youngest is the highest in degree."

These three ladies were the three married daughters of Sir John Spencer of
Althorpe, honoured some years before by dedications of Spenser's earliest
poems to them respectively; and Amaryllis, the youngest of them, and "the
highest in degree," was the one to whom he had dedicated his Tears of the
Muses — then Lady Strange, but now Countess- Dowager of Derby. Indeed,
there are special allusions in Colin Clouts come Home a^in to the widowed •
condition of this lady :

" But Amaryllis whether fortunate
Or else unfortunate may I aiead,
That freed is from Cupid's yoke by fate.
Since which she doth new bands' adventure dread?
Shepherd, whatever thou hast heard to be
In this or that praised diversely apart.
In her thou mayst them all assembled see.
And sealed up in the treasure of her heart."

The lady, however, did marry again. In 1600, when Spenser was no longer
alive to approve or to regret, she contracted a second marriage with Lord Keeper
Egerton — then only Sir Thomas Egerton and Lord Keeper of the Great Seal to
Queen Elizabeth, but afterwards (1603) Baron EUesmere and Lord Chancellor
to King James, and finally (161 6) Viscount Brackley. This eminent lawyer
and statesman had already been twice married, and was a man of about sixty
years of age, with grown-up children, when he made his splendid match with
the Countess-Dowager of Derby. The Countess — who, of course, retained that
title in her new condition as the Lord Keeper's wife — was brought once again
conspicuously into society by her husband's connexion with public affairs. In
1 601 she and her husband jointly purchased the estate of Harefield in Middlesex
— a charming property, with a fine mansion upon it, on a spot of well-wooded
hill and meadow, on the river Colne, about four miles from Uxbridge. Here,
or in London, the Lord Keeper and his wife mainly resided, doing the honours
6f ^heir position, and receiving in return the recognitions due to persons of
their rank. One very memorable incident in their life at Harefield was a visit
Of four days paid them there by Queen Elizabeth (July 31 — August 3, 1602),
when all sorts of pageants were held for ber Majesty's recreation. The story

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that these included the first known perfonnance of Shakespeare's Othello by
'* Burbidge's players" is now universally rejected; but a long "avenue of
elms," leading to . the house, was the scene of a kind of masque of welcome
at the Queen's reception, and of another of leave-taking on her depai^ture, and
was ever afterwards known as " the Queen's Walk." Throughout the reign of
James I. there were similar recognitions of the high social rank of the Chan-
cellor and his noble wife, besides not a few of a, literary character, in the shape
of poems, or dedications of poems, to them. It was not only their own marriage,
however — a marriage that'proved childless — that now connected the pair. Not
long after that marriage had taken place, the ties of family between the two had
been drawn closer by the marriage of the Lord Keeper's son — • then Sir John
Egerton — with Lady Frances Stanley, the Countess's second daughter by her
former husband the Earl of Derby. Thus, while the Countess-Dowager was
the wife of the father, one of her daughters was the wife of the son. Her
other two daughters made marriages of even higher promise at the time. The
eldest. Lady Anne Stanley, had married Grey Bridges, fifth Lord Chandos;
and the youngest. Lady Elizabeth Stanley, had married, at a very early age
(1603), Henry, Lx>rd Hastings, who, in 1605, succeeded his grandfather as
Earl of Huntingdon, and possessor of the fine estate of Ashby-de-la-Zouch in
Leicestershire.

On the 15th of March, 1616-17, the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, then just
created Viscount Brackley, died, and the Countess-Dowager of Derby com-
menced her second widowhood. She was then probably over five-and-fifty
years of age, and she survived for twenty years more. These twenty years
she spent chiefly in retirement at Harefield, where she endowed almshouses
for poor widows, and did other acts of charity, but was surrounded all the
while, or occasionally visited, by those numerous descendants and other rela-
tives who had grown up, or were growing up, to venerate her, and whose joys
and sorrows constituted the chief interest of her declining years. By the year
1630, when she was about seventy years of age, she had at least twenty
of her own direct descendants alive, besides collateral relatives in the families
of her sisters, Phyllis and Charillis, (i.) One group of the venerable lady's
direct descendants consisted of her eldest daughter. Lady Chandos, and that
daughter's surviving children by her first husband Lord Chandos, the eldest
of whom was George Bridges, now Lord Chandos, a boy of about twelve years
of age. Both mother and children, we chance to know, lived at Harefield,
with the grandmother, in 1631; and the estate of Harefield itself, we also
learn, was to descend, after the Countess-Dowager's death, to Lady Chandos,
otherwise left " destitute," and so to her son, young Lord Chandos. (2.) An
additional group Of relatives, also sharing the affections of the venerable Lady
of Harefield, consisted of the children of her yoimgest daughter, the Countess
of Huntingdon, viz.: Ferdinando, Lord Hastings, twenty-two years of age,
and heir-apparent to the earldom of Huntingdon; his younger brother Henry,
afterwards Lord Loughborough; a daughter, Alice, married to Sir Gervase
Clifton; and another daughter, Elizabeth. These four grandchildren would
sometimes be on visits to their grandmother at Harefield from their own homes
in London, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, and elsewhere. (3.) There was still a third
group of relatives around the venerable ladyi At or near the time when she
herself had married the Lord Keeper Egerton, as we have seen, her second
daughter by her former husband, Lady Frances Stanley, had married the Lord

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Keeper's son, Sir John Egerton. When his father was raised to' the peerage as
Baron Ellesmere (1603), this Sir John Egerton had become " barpn-expectant,"
— a designation which rose to the higher one of " Lord Egerton " when his
father was made Viscount Brackley (1616). On his father's death, a few months
afterwards (March 1616-17), he succeeded him as Viscount. But his dignities
did not stop at that point. In May 161 7, an earldom which had been intended
for the father, in recognition of his long services as Lord Chandellor, was
bestowed on the son; and he became Earl of Bridge water. Thus, the Countess-
Dowager of Derby saw her second daughter, a!s well as her youngest, take rank
as a Countess. A far larger family of children had been bora to this daughter
than to either of her sisters. Out of fifteen childrei), bom in all, at least ten
were alive in 1630, in order of age as follows: the Lady Frances Egerton,
married to Sir John Hobart, of Blickling, Norfolk ; the Lady Arabella, married
to Lord St. John, of Bletso, son and heir of the Earl of Bolingbroke; the
Ladies Elizabeth, Mary, Penelope, Catharine, Magdalen, and Alfce, yet un-
married— the last. Lady Alice, being in her tenth or eleventh year; John,
Viscount Brackley, the son and heir, in his ninth year; and his brother, Mr.
Thomas Egerton, about a year younger. The head-quarters of this numerous
family, or of such of them as were unmarried, were — in London, the Earl
of Bridgewater's town-house in the*Barbican, Aldersgate Street; in the country,
the Earl's mansion of Ashridge, Hertfordshire, about sixteen miles from
Harefield.

We are now prepared to understand the exact circumstances of the Arcades.
Sometime in 1630 or 1 631, we are to suppose, some of the younger members
of the different groups of the relatives of the Dowager-Countess of Derby
determined to get up an entertainment in her honour, at her house at Harefield.
The occasion may have been the aged lady's birthday, or it may have been
some incidental gathering at Harefield for a family purpose. Whatever it
was, the young people had resolved to amuse themselves by some kind of
festivity in compliment to the venerable lady of whom they were all so
proud. What could it be but a masque? Harefield, with its avenue of
elms called " the Queen's Walk " in memory of Queen Elizabeth's visit, and
with its fine park of grassy slopes and well-wooded knolls, was exactly the
place for a masque; besides which, was not the Countess accustomed to this
kind of entertainment? Would it not be in good taste to remind her qf tiie
m£isques and similar poetical and musical entertainments that had pleased her
in her youth, when she had been the theme of Spenser's muse, atid had sat
by the side of her first husband. Lord Strange, beholding plays brought out
under his patronage? Masques, indeed, were even more in fashion now, in
the reign of Charles I., than they had been in the reigns of Elizabeth and
James, and a masque in a noble family on any occasion of family-rejoicing
was the most natural thing in the world.

There was, then, to be a masque, or at least a bit of a masque, at Harefield;
and the actors were already provided. But for a good masque, or even a good
bit of a masque, more is required than willing actors. Who was to write the
words for the little masque, and. who was to set the songs in it to music?

The latter question may be answered first. There can be little doubt, I think,
that the person to whom the young people of the family of the Countess-
Dowager of Derby trusted for all the musical requisites of the masque, if

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not the person who suggested it originally and entirely superintended it, was
Henry Lawes, gentleman of the Chapel Royal, and one of his Majesty's
private musicians. Farther particulars respecting this interesting man, one of
the most celebrated musical composers of his day, will be given in the
Introduction to that one of Milton's Sonnets which is addressed to him
(Sonnet XIII.)- What we have to attend to here is that, though Lawes had
professional connexions with not a few aristocratic families, by far the most
lasting and intimate of these was with the Bridgewater branch of the Countess-
Dowager of Derby's family. As early as 1630-31, the proof tends to show,
Lawes, then about thirty years of age, and already of distinction in the
English musical world, though with much of his reputation still to make,
reckoned among his chief patrons and employers the Earl and Countess of
Bridgewater ; and among his most hopeful pupils at that time were several
of the children of the Earl and Countess. Others of the Countess of Derby's
grandchildren may have been pupils of Lawes; but those of the Bridgewater
branch were the most musical in their tastes, and it was to them, in their, town-
house in the Barbican, or in their country-seat at Ashridge, that Lawes's visits
were most frequent. Quite possibly, therefore, it was they that originated
the notion of a masque in honour of the Countess. But, even if some of her
relatives of the other groups were concerned in the plan, or admitted into it,
the singing parts would fall to the Bridgewaters, and the arrangement of the
music, and the general management, to their instructor, Lawes. Business
of this kind was part of the profession of musical composers in those days,
and Lawes, as we shall find (Introd. to Comtis), was an expert in it.

An additional argument in favour of the idea that Lawes was the manager
of the entertainment and arranged its music is found in the fact that the
poetry for it was furnished by Milton. For Milton's intimacy with Lawes is
a known fact. The friendship between the two, of which many interest-
ing proofs remain, may have begun even in Milton's boyhood. Noted as a
musician as wa^ Milton's own father, there can have been few musical artists
in London that were not occasional visitors in his house in Bread Street; and
there were many things in Lawes, when once he and the younger Milton .were
brought together, to rivet an attachment to him. On the other hand, Milton's
poetical powers must have been well known to Lawes. Accordingly, when
the notion of the Entertainment at Harefield had been started, and Lawes
and his Bridgewater pupils, if our idea is correct, were busy over the project,
it was to Milton that Lawes applied for the necessary words or libretto. If, as
has been argued, the date was 1630 or 1 631, Milton may have been up in
London on one ^f his vacation visits. Perhaps, however, his father was
already in possession of his country-place at Horton, and in that case Milton
may have been there, and so actually within about ten miles, cross-country,
from Harefield. Wherever it was that the two met to consult, Lawes about
thirty years of age and Milton eight years younger, we can see what hap-
pened. Lawes explained to Milton the circumstances of the proposed Enter-
tainment and the kind of thing that was >yanted; and Milton, meditating the
affair for a few days, produced Arcades or The Arcadians.

Let the reader now go back in imagination to Harefield, on a spring or
summer evening two hundred and forty years ago. Certain revels or pageants
in the ground have perhaps preceded, and the time, we say, seems now to
be evening. Harefield House is lit up; and in front of it, on a throne of

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state arranged so as to glitter in the light, is seated the aged Countess, with
the seniors of the assembled party around her as spectators. Suddenly
torches are seen flickering among the trees in the park, and out from among
those trees, towards where the Countess is sitting, there bursts a band of
nymphs and shepherds. They are, in fact, *^ some noble persons of her family
who appear on the scene in pastoral habit^ moving toward the seat of state."
When they have approached near enough, they pause, as if overcome by the
splendour of the vision before them; and then one voice breaks out from the
rest in recognition of the Countess. This is the first Song : —

** I^ook, Nymphs and Shepherds, look !
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that," &c.

This song ended, the nymphs and shepherds renew their approach to the
object of their wonder; but, " as they come forward, the Genius of the Wood
[Lawes?] appearsy and turning toward them speaks.''^ The speech of this
Genius of the Wood is in eighty-three lines of blank verse. In it the Genius
first addresses the shepherds, or male performers in the masque, and tells
them he recognises them, through their disguise, as noble Arcadians; then he
addresses the nymphs in a similar strain ; then, after introducing himself as
the Genius of the Wood, describing his occupations in that capacity, and des-
canting on his particular affection f6r music and his desire to do his best in
that art in praise of her whom he had often admired in secret as the Queen
of the place, and whom his auditory have come to gaze upon, he offers to
lead them to her. Accordingly, lute or other instrument in hand, he advances,
with this song, sung probably in solo : —

" 0*er the smooth enamelled green
Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me," &c.

Following him, accordingly, the masquers do obeisance to the Lady, and range
themselves round her ; whereupon there is a third and concluding song, sung
probably by many voices, madrigal-wise, and ending with a repetition of the
final words of the previous song ; —

** Such a rural queen
All Arcadia hath not seen."

The entertainment was probably not yet over : but whatever more of it there
was, out-of-doors or indoors, was not of Milton's composition.

The Countess-Dowager of Derby survived the Entertainment only a few
years. She died at Harefield, January 26, 1636-7. Her ^tate of Harefield
descended to Lady Chandos, then her only remaining daughter, and so came
to her grandson Lord Chandos, and his heirs ; but in 1675 it was purchased
back by Sir Richard Newdegate, Bart., of Arbury, Warwickshire, whose fam-
ily had been the original possessors of the property, but had parted with it
in 1585. Accordingly, Harefield is now in possession of the Newdegates.
The place is worth visiting, not only as the scene of the Arcades, but for other
reasons. Harefield House indeed has disappeared. It was burnt down by
accident in 1660. But the pedestrian on the road from Uxbridge to Rick-
~xnansworth may still identify the site of the House by one or two mounds and
hollows, and a large cedar of Lebanon, on the quiet slopes behind Harefield
Church ; and in the church itself he may see, besides other antiquities of

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interest, the tomb of the heroine of the Arcades. It is a richly*sculptured
and heraldically emblazoned marble monument, exhibiting the effigy of the
Countess in a crimson robe and gilt coronet recumbent under a canopy of pale
green and gold, and, on the side, effigies of her three daughters in relief and
also painted. The Countess is represented as in her youth, beautiful, and with
long fair hair. The three daughters have the same long fair hair and like
features.

COMUS :

** A Masque^ presented at Ltidlow Castle ^ 1634, before the Earl of Bridgewater^
Lord President of Wales:'

The history of this, the most important of all the minor poems of Milton, is
closely connected with that of tiie Arcades, and our introduction to the
Arcades is partly also an introduction to the Comus. What of more specific
introduction is necessary remains to be given here.

/ One branch of the relatives of the venerable Countess-Dowager of Derby,
the heroine of the Arcades, consisted, as we have seen, of the members of the
noble family of Bridgewater: — to wit, John, ist Earl of Bridgewater, the
Countess's stepson, being the son of her second husband, Lord ChanceUor
£llesmere; this nobleman's wife, the Countess's second daughter. Lady
Frances Stanley, by her first husband, Ferdinando, 5th Earl of Derby; and
the numerous children bom to this pair, — two of them daughters already
married and with houses of their own, but other daughters still unmarried,
and residing, together with their two boy-brothers. Viscount Brackley and
Mr. Thomas Egerton, sometimes at their father's town-house in the Barbican,
and sometimes at his country-seat of Ashridge in Hertfordshire. It is with
these members of the Bridgewater family that we have chiefiy to do in the
Comus.

The Earl of Bridgewater, now about fifty-four years of age (he had been
born in 1579), had a place among the nobility of the Court of Charles I. for
which he was probably indebted to the fame and long services of his father,
the Lord Chancellor. Already a Privy Councillor, &c., he had, on the 26th of
June, 1 63 1, been nominated by Charles to the high office of the Viceroyalty of
Wales, or, as it was more formally called, the Office of " Lord President of the
Council in the Principality of Wales and the Marches of the same." This
office — including military command and civil jurisdiction, not only over the
Welsh principality itself, but also over the four contiguous English counties of
Gloucester, Worcester, Hereford, and Shropshire — had been filled, in
Elizabeth's reign, by Sir Hpnry Sidney, the father of Sir Philip Sidney, and
after him by Henry, 2nd Earl of Pembroke; and men of scarcely inferior
note had held it since. The official seat of the Lord President was the town
and castle of Ludlow in Shropshire, about twenty miles south from Shrews-
bury, and beautifully situated in one of those tracts of green hilly country
which mark the transition from Englaiid proper into Wales. The town,
which was formerly walled, is mainly on an eminence near the junction of two
streams, the Teme and the Corve, whose united waters flow on to meet, the
Severn in Worcestershire. On the highest ground of the town, and con-
spicuous to a great distance over the surrounding country, is Ludlow Church,
a large building of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Near it, at a point
.where the ascending dope on which the town is built ends in a precipitous

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rock overhanging a steep valley through which the river runs, is Ludlow
Castle, now a romantic ruin, but once a garrisoned place of strength,
separately walled in from the town, and approached by a gateway from a kind
of esplanade at the top of the main street. It was this Castle, with its outer
court, inner court, keep, barracks, drawbridge, &c.,- that was more immediately
the residence of the Presidents of Wales. The older portions of the Castle
dated from the Conquest, when they had been built by the Conqueror's
kinsman, Roger de Montgomery ; and there was hardly a part of the edifice
but had its interesting legends and associations «— legends and associations
connected with the old wars of race between the Welsh and the Norman-
English, or with those subsequent Wars of the Roses in which the Welsh had
taken so active a share. Thus there were shown in the Castle certain rooms
called " the Princes' Apartments," where Edward, Prince of Wales, and his
young brother, the sons of Edward IV., had lived from 1472 to 1483, when
they left Ludlow on that fatal journey which ended in their murder in the
Tower. \

Although appointed Lord President of Wales in June 1631, the Earl of
Bridgewater does not seem to have assumed his functions actively, or to have
g9ne near Ludlow, till some time afterwards. On the 12th of May, 1633, ^is
powers in his office were defined afresh by a Royal Letter of Instructions,
which was also to regulate the future proceedings, judicial and administrative,
of the Council over which he presided. This Council wds ostensibly to consist
of upwards of eighty persons named in the Letter, among whom were many
bishops and the chief state-officers of England, besides a number of knights
and gentlemen of the Welsh border.

In October 1633 the Earl sent his new Letter of Instructions to his Council
at Ludlow, to be read and registered before his own arrival. At what time
he followed in person we do not accurately know; but, when he did follow,
the Ceremonial of his inauguration was unusually splendid. He was attended
" by a large concourse of the neighbouring nobility and gentry " — i.e.^ we
may suppose, by all of his Council then in those parts, and by other persons
of local consequence. He had brought his Countess with him, and probably
his whole family, from London or Ashridge — including, as we certainly
know, his youngest daughter, the Lady Alice Egerton, a beautiful young girl,
fourteen or fifteen years old, and her two younger brothers, Viscount Brackley
and Mr. Thomas Egerton. The festivities and hospitalities proper to such an
occasion as the Earl's inauguration would naturally protract themselves over a
considerable time. They did protract themselves, at all events, to Michaelmas-
night, the 29th of September, 1634, when all .Ludlow was astir with an
unusual thing in those parts — nothing less than a complete masque, or
poetical and musical entertainment, performed in the great hall of Ludlow
Castle, by members of the Earl's family, before the Earl and an audience of
assembled guests.

At this particular time, the English Court and aristocracy may be said to
have been masque-mad. Nothing so magnificent, for example, in the shape
of 9 pageant had ever been seen in England as that got up by the lawyers of
the Four Inns of Court in February 1633-4, "as an expression of their love
and duty to their Majesties," i.e. to King Charles and Queen Henrietta Maria.
Months were spent in the preparation. Shirley was engaged to write the
poetry; Mr. Simon Ivy and Mr. Henry Lawes to cpmpose the music; Inigo

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Jones to construct the machinery : while some of the ablest and most eminent
lawyers of the time, such as Selden, Attorney-General Noy, Bulstrode
Whitelocke, and Mr. Hyde, acted zealously on the Committee of General
Management. When the day came — Feb. 3 — there was a gorgeous after-
noon and evening procession of the ma^quers, with painted chariots, flaming
torches, music, and wondrous grotesque accompaniments, from Holborn down
Chancery Lane to Whitehall, the whole population of London having gathered
along the route to see and to cheer; and, afterwards, in the Banqueting-house
at Whitehall, the main masque itself, Shirley's Triumph of- Peace^ was
performed before their Majesties vtdth every possible magnificence. The
whole affair cost the Four Inns of Court 21,000/.; whereof 1,000/. were spent
on the music — Lawes and his fellow-composer receiving 100/. apiece for their
share. The actors in this masque were chiefly handsome lawyers of the Four
Inns, whose names are now unknown. But, a fortnight later, in the same
Banqueting-house at Whitehall, there was another masque, of scarcely inferior
magnificence, given by their Majesties themselves, and in whidh the actors
were the King, fourteen of the chief nobles, and ten young sons of noble-
men. This was Carew's Calum Britannictim^ performed on Shrove-Tuesday
night, February 18, 1633-4. The music to this masque was by Henry Lawes;
the machinery by Inigo Jones; and among the young noblemen who took
juvenile parts in it were the Earl of Bridgewater's two sons. Viscount Brackley
and Mr. Thomas Egerton, and their cousin Lord Chandos.

With a recollection of the Arcades^ and probably of many other such private
theatrical delights, traditional in the Bridgewater family; with the two young
boys fresh from the glory of their small parts in the recent royal masque of
Ccelum Britannicum; above all, with Lawes, *he musical tutor of the family,
radiant from his musical success in that masque and in 'its more gorgeous
predecessor, the masque of The Triumph of Peace by the Four Inns of Court;-
— what more natural than that it should be resolved to seize the opportunity
of the Earl's entry on his Welsh Presidency for a masque on a great scale that
should astonish the Welsh and all the West of England ? The youngsters
and Lawes probably devised the thing ; and, the Earl having given his consent,
all was arranged. The preparations must have been begun months before the
masque actually came off — probably while the family were yet in London.
Lawes, of course, was to take care oS. the music and was to be general man-
ager; and the other actors and singers were to be the young people of the
family. But who should write the poetry? Who but Lawes's friend, Mr.
Milton, who had already in the Arcades given such satisfactory proofs of his
fitness for the kind of composition that was wanted? In fact, whether to
please himself or to oblige Lawes, or to oblige the Earl of Bridgewater and\
his family on account of some bond of acquaintance with the family now not
recoverable, Milton did undertake to write the masque. The composition of
it, we must suppose, occupied him at Horton for several weeks, or even a
month or two, during the early part of 1634.

On undertaking to write the masque, Milton would think of some appro-
priate story, to be shaped into a dramatic pastoral of the required kind, for
representation on a stage in the hall of a great Castle by young lords and
ladies, and with songs interspersed, to be sung by some of these performers
to airs by his friend Lawes. The nature and circumstances of the occasion
VOuld be vividly present to his imagination — the Earl enterii^ on his ofiSce

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as President of the ancient Principality; his retinue, with Welsh and West-of-
England gentry among them; the town and castle of Ludlow, and their neigh-
bourhood, as conceived by him from descriptions, or perhaps seen by him
(who knows?) in some tour of his own into those parts; the proximity of the
place to Welsh scenery, and the connexion of the occasion with ancient British
memories and legends. He would, doubtless, co-operate with Lawes, and
would give or receive hints. But how the actual story of Comus occurred to
Milton — the story of the young lady parted from her two brothers at night in
the depths of a wUd wood, found there by Comus and his crew of evil revellers,
and lured and detained by their enchantments, until the Brothers, instructed
by a good Attendant Spirit in the shape of their father's faith^ shepherd,
Tliyrsis, rush in and rescue her — how this story occurred to Milton we can
but vaguely surmise. He may have derived the conception of such a plot
from some of his readings, and may have seen its fitness for his purpose. A
somewhat different theory is that he only dramatised a real incident. The
popular tradition round about Ludlow still is that the Lady Alice Egerton and
her two young brothers. Viscount Brackley and Mr. Thomas Egerton, were
actually benighted in Haywood Forest, near Ludlow, as they were on their
way to Ludlow from a visit to the house of their relatives, the Egertons, in
Herefordshire, and that the Lady Alice was for some time lost by her brothers
in the forest. Milton, the tradition adds, had heard of this incident, and con-
structed his Comus upon it. To us, however, it appears more likely that the
story of the loss of Lady Alice and her brothers in Haywood Forest grew out
of the Comus than that the Comus grew out of the story. The story was cur-
rent more than a hundred years ago; but it consists with our knowledge of the
way in which such legends arise to suppose that by that time the parting of
the kdy and her brothers in the masque had been translated, by prosaic
gossip on the spot, into a literal incident in the lives of those for whom the
masque was written.

In whatever way suggested, the masque Was written with most definite
attention to the purpose for which it was required. The characters to be
represented were as follows : —

The Attendant Sniux; Jirst appearing as suck, Imt a/Urwards in the dress qf the
shepherd Thyrsis.
Comus, with his crew,
Thb Lady.
First Brother.
Second Brother.
SABRtNA, the Nymph of the Severn river y with attendant Water-nymphs,

Here, if we omit the " crew of Comus " and Sabrina's " attendant water-
nymphs" — parts of mere dumb show, which may have been assigned to
supernumeraries — there were six speaking and singing parts to be fiUed up.
How were these parts cast? As to four of the parts we have definite informa-
tion from Lawes. The part of The Lady, which is the central part in the
masque, was given to the Lady Alice Egerton; and the parts of the First
Brother and the Second Brother fell to Lady Alice's two boy-brothers,
Viscount Brackley and Mr. Thomas Egerton. The important part of The
Attendant Spirit, afterwards Thyrsis, was taken by Lawes himself. This
leaves but two parts unassigned — those of Comus and Sabrina. The part of
Comus is important, and a good actor was needed for it; that of Sabrina is

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less important, and required chiefly a good singer. There "was, we may assume,
among the connexions of the BridgeWater faijSly, some handsome gentlemen
who did not object to act as the disreputable Riot-god, son of Bacchus and
Circe, for the opportunity of luring away the sweet Lady Alice even for a little
while; and among Lady Alice's sisters there were more' than one fit for the
part of the River-nymph.

Suppose Milton's MS. of the masque finished (the draft, in his own hand,
now among the Cambridge MSS.); suppose that Lawes has copies for his
own use and that of his pupils (one of those copies, perhaps that now in the
Bridgewater Library, which Todd believed to be in Lawes's hand) ; sup|x>se the
rehearsals over; and suppose the memorable Michaelmas-night, Sept. 29, 1634,
arrived. The great Hail of Ludlow Castle is filled with guests. It is a noble
apartment, sixty feet long and thirty wide, in which, according to tradition, the
elder of the two Princes murdered in the Tower had been proclaimed King,
with the title of Eldward V., before commencing his fatal journey to London.
It is the place of all great state-meetings of the Council of the Presidency.
But on this evening it is converted into a theatre and brilliantly lighted.
While the Earl and Countess and the rest of the seated audience occupy the
main portion of the hall, one end of it is fitted up as a stage, with curtains,
&c. Here the perform$ince begins. "The first scene discovers a wild wood :
The Attendant Spirit descends or enters.^^ Such is the stage-direction; the
meaning of which is that, the stage having been darkened to signify that it is
night, and there being paintings or other contrivances in the back-ground to
represent a wood, Lawes " descends or enters." In the printed copies, and
also in the Cambridge MS., he begins with a speech; but in the Bridgewater
MS. this speech is preceded by a song of twenty lines, the opening tines of

which |ure —

" From the heavens now I fly.
And those happy climes that lie
Where day never shuts his eye
Up in the broad fields of the sky."

There is no doubt that the Bridgewater MS., being the stage copy, here
represents what did actually happen. Milton had intended the masque to
begin with a speech; but Lawes, thinking it better for stage-purposes to
begin with a song, had taken the liberty of transferring to this point a portion
of that which now stands, and which Milton intended to stand, as i\iQ final
song or epilogtu of the Attendant Spirit at the end of the masque. In that
£nal song or epilogue as we now have it, the Attendant Spirit, announcing
his departure^ when the play is over, says —

" To the ocean now I fly,

■ And those happy climes that lie

Where day never shuts his eye

Up in the broad fields of the sky," —

which lines, with a part of their sequel, Lawes, it will be seen, converted
cleverly into a prologue, or song of arrival^ by the change of " To the ocean "
into "From the heavens^ He doubtless thought it more effective to
"descend" on the stage, singing this prologue; after which, when on the
stage, he made the speech announcing the purpose for which he had
descended. In that speech, after introducing himself in his character as an

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4i6 THE ENGLISH POEMS,

.Attendant Spirit of Good, sent down to Earth from Jove's realms on a special
errand, he thus informs the audience at the outset as to the general drift of
the play they are about to witness, and connects it gracefully with the actual
circimistances of the Earl of Bridgewater's presence among them, and his
entering on so high U British office as the Welsh Presidency —

** Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,
Took in, by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove,
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadomM bosom of the deep ; ^

Which he, to grace his tributary gods.
By course commits to several government.
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns,
And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main.
He quarters "to his blue-haired deities;
And all this tract that fronts the f ailing sun
A noble Peer of ntickle trust and power
Has in his charge ^ with tempered awe to guide
An old and haughty nation proud in arms :
Where his fair offsprings nursed in princely lore^
Are coming to attend their father' s state
And new-entrusted sceptre. But their way
Lies through the perplexed paths of this^drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger ;
And here their tender age might sufler peril.
But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,
I was despatched for their defence and guard."

Prepared by these words, and by the further explanation of the Attendant
Spirit that the wood is haunted by the god Comus and his crew of revellers,
who waylay travellers and tempt them with an enchanted liquor which
changes the countenances of those who partake into the faces of beasts, the
audience see the story developed in action before them. They see Comus
and his crew appear in the wood with torches, making a riotous and unruly
noise — Comus, with a charming-rod in one hand and a glass in the other;
and his crew, a set of monsters, with bodies of men and women in glistering
apparel, but headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts. They see the crew knit
hands and dance, and the dance broken off, by the orders of Comus, at the
sound of a light footstep approaching. They see the crew then disappear
among the trees, leaving their master alone, who knows that the footstep is
that of some benighted virgin, and who, after throwing his "dazzling spells'*
{query, some blaze of blue light?) in the direction in which she is coming,
also steps aside to watch. Then they see " the Lady " enter — the sweet
Lady Alice, received, of course, with rapturous applause. They hear her
explain how she has lost her brothers since sunset, how it is now midnight,
how the rude sounds of revelry have attracted her to the spot, and how the
darkness and the silence ^ould alarm her were it not for her trust in a higher
Power, guarding virtuous minds. As she speaks there comes a gleam through
the grove; and, thinking her brothers may be near, she will guide them to
her by a song. Accordingly, she sings the song beginning " Sweet Echo " —
the first song in the masque, according to Milton's arrangement of it, but the
second in Lawes's stage-arrangement. It is not her brothers that the song

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brings to her, but Comus, who has been listening in admiration. Appearing
before her in the guise of a shepherd, he tells her he has seen her brothers,
and offers to lead her to them, or to lodge her in his humble cottage till they
can be found in the morning. Scarcely has she accepted the offer and left
the scene with Comus, when her two brothers — the boys. Viscount Brackley
and Mr. Thomas Egerton, also greatly cheered, of course — appear. They
discuss with great anxiety the situation of their sister, the elder comforting the
younger, till their conversation is interrupted by a far-off holloa. Lest it
should be a robber, they draw their swordp. But it is their father's faithful
shepherd, Thyrsis; or rather they think it is he — for, in reality, it is the good
Attendant Spirit, who has been taking note of all that has befallen the Lady,
and who, in meeting the brothers, has assumed the disguise of one well known
to them. He explains the state of affairs, and greatly alarms the younger
brother by his •account of Comus and his crew. The elder, though more
steady, is for rushing at once to the haunt of the magician and dragging him
to death. But the Attendant Spirit, as Thyrsis, explaining that such violence
will be vain against the craft of a Sorcerer, proposes rather that they should
avail themselves of the power of a certain precious plant, called Hcemony, of
which a portion had once been given him by a certain skilful shepherd-lad of
his acquaintance. He had tested the virtue of this plant to ward off enchant-
ments, for he had already approached Comus safely by means of it; and he
now proposes that they should all three confront Comus with its aid. The
Brothers agree, and they and the supposed Thyrsis go off. Then the scene
changes before the eyes of the audience, representing " a stately palace, set
out with all manner of deliciousness; soft music; tables spread with
dainties; " the Lady in an enchanted chair, with Comus pressing her to
drink out of a glass, while his rabble stand around. There is a matchless
dialogue between the Lady and Comus — an argument of Purity or Abstinence
against Sensuality, in which Purity overcomes and defies its enemy. The
Sorcerer, awed, but still persevering, prays the Lady only to taste, when her
Brothers rush in with drawn swords, wrest the glass from his hand, and dash
it to pieces. Comus and his crew resist slightly, but are driven away and
dispersed. Thyrsis then, coming in after the Brothers, finds that unfortunately
they have not attended to his instruction to seize the enchanter's wand. The
Lady is still marble-bound to her chair, from which the motion of the wand
might have freed her. To effect this Thyrsis proposes a new device. It is to
invoke Sabrina, the njrmph of the adjacent and far-famed Severn river. Who
so likely to succour distressed maidenhood as she, that daughter of Locrine
the son of Brutus, who, as ancient British legends told, had flung herself, to
preserve her honour, into the stream which had since borne her name? By
way of invocation of Sabrina, Thyrsis {i.e. Lawes) sings what is now the
second song in the masque, but is the third in Lawes's arrangement — the
exquisite song beginning ** Sabrina fair J'^' Obeying the invocation, Sabrina
rises, attended by water-nymphs, and sings the song " By the rushy-fringid
bank "' — the third song in Milton*s arrangement, the fourth in Lawes's. She
then performs the expected office of releasing the Lady by sprinkling drops of
pure water Upon her, and touching thrice her lips and finger-tips. Sabrina
descends, and the Lady rises from her seat. But, though she is now free
from the spell of Comus in his enchanted wood, it remains to convey her and
her brothers safely to their father's residence, where their arrival is waited for.

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4i8 THE ENGLISH POEMS,

Accordingly, after an ode of thanks to Sabrina for her good service, with
blessings on the stream that bears her name, the supposed Thyrsis continiies : —

** Come, Ladv; while Heaven lends us grace.
Let us fly this cursed place,
Lest the Sorcerer us entice
With some other new device.
Not a waste or needless sound
Till we come to holier ground.

I shall be your faithful guide
— "ithe •

yTurlones
your Father's residence,

Through the ^oomy covert wide;
And not inany' furlongs thence

Is your
Where t

: this night axe met in state
Many a friend to gratulate
His wished presence, and beside
All the swains that there abide
With jigs and rural dance resort. *

, We shsdl catch them at their sport;

And our sudden coming there
Will double all their mirth and cheer.
Come, let us haste ! the stars grow high,
But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky."

Thyrsis, the Lady, and the two Brothers, here leave the stage, and are supposed
to be gradually wending their way, through the wood, while it is still night, or
very early morning, towards Ludlow Castle, While the spectators are imagining
this, the journey of some furlongs is actually achieved; for straightway "/4/
scene changes^ presenting Ludlow Town and the President^ s Castle : then come
in country-dancers ; after them the Attendant Spirit^ with the tivo Brothers and
the Lady.^^ In this stage-direction it seems to be implied that the spectators
now looked on some canvas at the back of the stage, representing Ludlow Town,
and the exterior of the very Castle they were sitting in, all bright on a sunshiny
morning, and that, as they looked, there came in first a bevy of rustic lads and
lasses, or representatives of such, dancing and making merry, till their clodhop-
ping rounds were interrupted by the appearance among them of the guardian
Thyrsis and the three graceful young ones. This is confirmed by what Thyrsis
says to the dancers in the song which stands fourth in the printed masque, but
must have been the fifth in the actual performance : —

" Back, shepherds, back ! Enough your play
Till next sunshine holiday."

So dismissed, the clodhoppers vanish ; and there remain on the stage, facing
the Earl and Countess and the audience, only (we may drop the disguise now,
as doubtless the audience did in their cheering) the musician Lawes, the Lady
Alice, and her brothers Viscount Brackley and Master Thomas Egerton. Advanc-
ing towards the E^rl and Countess, Lawes presents to them his charge with
this continuation of his last song : —

" Noble Lord and Lady bright,
defig'

I have brought ye new delight.

Here behold so goodly grown

Three fair branches of your own," &c.

There seems still to have been a dance at this pK>int, to show off the courtly
grace of the young people after the thumping energy of the clodhoppers; for
at the end of Lawes's song there comes this last stage-direction, " The dances
endedy the SpirU epiloguites.^^ That is to say, Lawef, relapsing into his character

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pf the Attendant Spirit who had descended from Heaven, at the beginning of
the piece, and had acted so beneficially through it in the guise of the shepherd
Thyrsis, winds up the whole by a final speecii or song as he slowly recedes or
reascends. In our printed copies the Epilogue is a longish speech; but part
of that speech, as we have seen, had been transferred, in the actual performance,
to the beginning of the masque, as the Spirit's opening song. Therefore in the
actual performance the closing lines of the Epilogue as we now have it served
as the Spirit's song of reascent or departure, in two stanzas : —

** Now my task is smoothly done :
I can fly, or I can run,
Quickly to the green Earth's end,
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the comers of the moon.

" Mortals that would follow me.
Love Virtue! She alone is free:
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or, if Virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her."

And so, " with these sounds left on the ear, and a final glow of angelic light
** on the eye, the performance ends, and the audience rises and disperses through
" the Castle. The Castle is now a crumbling ruin, along the ivy-clad walls
" and through the dark passages of which the visitor clambers or gropes his
" way, disturbing the crows and the martlets in their recesses : but one can
"stand yet in the doorway through which the parting guests of that night
"descended into the inner court; and one can see where the stage was, on
" which the sister was lost by her brothers, and Comus revelled with his crew,
** and the lady was fixed as marble by enchantment, and the swains danced in
" welcome of the Earl, and the Spirit ascended gloriously to his native heaven^
" More mystic still it is to leave the ruins, and, descending one of the winding
** streets of Ludlow that lead from the Castle to the valley of the Teme, to look
" upwards to Castle and Town seen as one picture, and, marking more expressly
" the three long pointed windows that gracefully slit the chief face of the wall
" towards the north, to realize that it was from that ruin and from those windows
" in the ruin that the verse of Comus was first shook into the air of England."

So I wrote a good few years ago, when the impressions of a visit I had made

to Ludlow were fresh and vivid; and, as I copy the words now, they bring
back, as it were in a dream, the pleasant memory of one bygone day. I re-
member my first sight of the hilly town as I walked into it early on a summer's
morning, when not a soul was astir, and the clean streets were all silent
•and shuttered; then my ramble at my own will for an hour or so over the
Castle ruins and the green knoll they crown, undisturbed by guide or any figure
of fellow-tourist; then my descent again, past and round the great church and
its tombs, into the steep town streets, now beginning their bustle for a market-
day; and, finally, the lazy circuit I made round the green outskirts, of the
town, through I know not what glens and up their sloping sides, the ruined
Castle always finely distinct close at hand, and in the distance, wherever the
eye xould range unopposed, a fairy horizon of dim blue mountains.
, There is no evidence that Milton himself had taken the journey of 1 50 miles
fcqim London or Horton in order to be present at the performance. It is post

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420 THE ENGLISH POEMS, ,

sible that he had do^e so; but it is just as possible that he had not, and even
that the authorship of the masque was kept a secret at the time of its perform-
ance, known only to Lawes, or to Lawes and the Earl's family. But the Earl
of Bridgewater's masque began to be talked of beyond Ludlow; as time passed,
and the rumour of it spread, and perhaps the songs in it were carried vocally
into London society by Lawes and his pupils of the Bridgewater family, it was
still more talked of; and there came to be inquiries respecting its authorship,
and requests for copies of it, and especially of the songs. All this we learn
from Lawes. His loyalty to his friend Milton in the whole affair was admirable;
and he appears to have been more proud, in his own heart, of his concern with
the comparatively quiet Bridgewater masque than with his more blazoned and
well-paid co-operation in the London masques of the same year. There were
many friends of his, it appears, who were not satisfied with copies of the songs
and their music only, but wanted complete copies of the masque. To relieve
himself from the trouble so occasioned, Lawes resolved at length to print the
masque. He did so in 1637 in a small, and now very rare, quarto of 40 pages,
with this title-page : —

" A Maske presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634, on Michaelmasse Night, before the Right
Honourable John, Earle of Bridgewater, Viscount Brackley, Lord President of Wales, and
one of his Majesties' most honourable Privy Counsell.

* EAeu quid volui misero mihi t floribus Austrum
Perditus — '

London : Printed for Humphrey Robinson, at the signe of the Three Pidgeons in Paul's
Churchyard, 1637."

The volume was dedicated by Lawes to the Earl's son and heir, young Viscount
Brackley, who had acted the part of Elder Brother in the masque. The
Dedication complete will be found prefixed to Comus in the present edition.
We learn from it that the proposal of publication was Lawes's own, and that
Milton still preferred the shelter of the anonymous. That Lawes had Milton's
consent, however, is proved by the motto on the title-page. It is from Virgil's
Second Eclogue, and must certainly have been supplied by Milton. " Alas !
** what have I chosen for my wretched self; thus on my flowers, infatuated that
** I am, letting in the rude wind ! " So says the shepherd in Virgil's Eclogue;
and Milton, in borrowing the words, hints his fear that he may have done ill
in letting his Comus be published. Though he was now twenty-eight years of
age, it was actually, with hardly an exception, his first public venture in print.
He had no reason to regret the venture. " Comus^'' says Hallam, ** was
"sufficient to convince any one of taste and feeling that a great poet had
"arisen in England, and "one partly formed in a different school from his
" contemporaries.'* Such a strong judgment is easily formed now; but there
may have been some in England capable of forming it when it was a merit to-
form it, i.e. in 1637 (the year of Ben Jonson's death), when modest copies 0/
Lawes's edition, without the author's name, were "first in circulation. We know
of one Englishman, at all events, who did form it and express it. This was
Milton's near neighbour at Horton, Sir Henry Wotton, Provost of Eton College.
Born in 1568, mixed up with political affairs in Elizabeth's reign, and in the
height of his active career through that of James — when he had been English
Ambassador to various foreign Courts, but had resided, in that capacity, most
continuously at Venice — Sir Henry, sipce Charles came to the throne, had been
in veteran retirement in the quiet post of the Eton provostship, respected by all

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England for his past diplomatic services, but living chiefly on his memories
of those services, his Italian experiences in particular, and in the delights of
pictures, books, and scholarly society. Some chance introduction had brought
Milton and the aged Knight together for the«first time early in 1638, when
Milton was preparing for his journey to Italy; and on the 6th of April in that
year Milton, by way of parting acknowledgment of Sir Henry's courtesy, sent
him a letter with a copy of Lawes's edition of his Comus. Sir Henry, it appears,
had read the poem in a previous copy, without knowing who was the author;
and, writing in reply to Milton on the 13th of April, just in time to overtake
him before he left England, he mentioned this fact, and expressed his pleasure
at finding that a poem that he had liked so singularly was by his neighbour
and new acquaintance. "A dainty piece of entertainment," he calls it,
" wherein I should much commend the tragical part [i.e. the dialogue] if the
** lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Doric delicacy in your songs and
" odes; whereunto I must plainly confess to have seen yet nothing parallel in
" our language." Here was praise worth having, and which did, as we know,
gratify Milton. He was actually on the rtiove towards Italy when he read Sir
Henry Wotton's letter.

When, in 1645, six years after his return from Italy, Milton, then in the very
midst of his pamphleteering activity, and of the ill-will which it had brought
him, consented to the publication by Moseley of the first collective edition of
his Poems, Covins was still, in respect of length and merit, his chief poetical
achievement. Accordingly, he not only reprinted it in that edition, but gave
it the place of honour there. It came last of the English Poems, with a
separate title-page, thus : — " ^4 Mask of the same Author ^ presented at Ludlow
Castle^ 1634, before the Earl of Bridgewater^ t/ien President of Wales: Anno
Dom, 1645." The title-page of Lawes's edition of 1637 was, of course,
cancelled by this new one; but Lawes's Dedication of that edition to young
Viscount Brackley was retained, and there was inserted also, by way of
pendant to that Dedication, Sir Henry Wotton's courteous letter of Apri> 13,
1638. The courteous old Sir Henry was then dead; but Milton rightly con-
sidered that his word firom the grave might be important in the circumstances.
And so this Second Edition of the ComuSy thus distinguished and set off as
part of the First collective Edition of the Poems, served all the demand till
1673, when the Second collective Edition of the Poems appeared. Comus
was, of course, retained in that edition, as still the largest and chief of Mil-
ton's minor Poems; but it was made less mechanically conspicuous than in the
earlier edition. It did not come last among the English Poems, being followed
by the translations of some Psalms; and it had no separate title-page, but
only the heading, "^ Mask presented at Ludlow Castle^ 1634," &c. Lawes's
Dedication of the edition of 1637 and Sir Henry Wotton's letter were likewise
omitted. .

In none of the three first printed editions, it will be observed (Lawes's of
1637, Milton's of 1645, and Milton's of 1673), is the poem entitled COxMUS.
Nor is there any such title in Milton's original draft among the Cambridge
MSS., nor in that Bridgewater transcript which is supposed to have been the
stage-copy. ** A Mask presented," &c. : Such, with slight variations in the
phrasing, was the somewhat vague name of the piece while Milton lived. It
was really inconvenient, however, that such a poem should be without a briefer

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<?I2 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

and more specific name. Accordingly, that of CoMUS, from one bf the chief
persons of the drama, has been unanimously and very properly adopted.

Although the word comuSy or kw/aos, signifying " revel " or " carousal," or
sometimes "a band of revellers," is an old Greek common noun, with various
cognate terms (such as Kta/jd^Uy " to revel," and KtafupBLa, comedy) , thef* per-
sonification or proper name CoMUS appears to have been an invention of the
later classic mythology. In the E/kJk6s, or "Descriptions of Pictures," by
Philostratus, a Greek author of the third century of our era. Com us is repre-
sented as a winged god, seen in one picture " drunk and languid after a repast,
his head sunk on his breast, slumbering in a standing attitude, and his legs
crossed" (Smithes Diet, of Greek and Roman Biog. and Myth.). But, in
fact, poets were left at liberty to fancy Comus, or the god Revel, very much as
their own notions of what constitutes mirth or revel directed them; .and the
use of this liberty might perhaps be traced in the tradition of Comus, and the
allusions to him in the poetry of different modern nations, down to Milton's
time.

Comus is an occasional personage among the English Elizabethan poets;
and he figures especially in Ben Jonson*s maSque of ** Pleasure Reconciled to
Virtue y presented at Court before King James, 1619." There he appears
riding in triumph, as " the god of Good Cheer or the Belly, his head covered
"with roses and other flowers, his hair curled;" and his attendants, crowned
with ivy, and bearing a large bowl before him, salute him thus : —

" Hail, hail, plump paunch ! O the founder of taste
For fresh meats, or powdered, or pickle, or paste;
Devourerof broiled, baked, roasted, or sod;
An emptier of cups, be they even or odd ;
All which have now made thee so wide in the waist
As scarce with no pudding thou art to be laced;
But, eatine and drinking until thou dost nod.
Thou break'st all thy girdles, and break'st forth a god."

dearly Milton did not take his idea of the character of Comus from Ben
Jonson's masque. A work to which it is more likely that he was in some
small degree indebted is a Latin extravaganza, called ComuSy sive Phagesiposia
Cimmeria : Somnium, by the Dutchman Erycius Puteanus. This writer, whose
real name was Hendrik van der Putten, was born at Venlo in Holland in 1574,
and, after having been for some time in Italy, became Professor of Eloquence
and Classical Literature at Louvain, where he died in 1646. He was " the
author of an infinity of books," says Bayle (Diet. : Art. Puteanus) ; among
which was the one whose title we have given. It was first published in 1608;
but there were subsequent editions, including one brought out at Oxford in
1634, the very year of Milton's masque. The subject of the piece of Erycius
Puteanus, which is written mostly in prose, with a mixture of verse, is the
description of a dream in which the author visits the palace of Comus, the
genius of Love and Cheerfulness, beholds him and his disguised guests at a
banquet and subsequent torch-lit orgies, and listens to various dialogues on
the voluptuous theory of life. In this dream Comus is a decidedly more grace-
ful being than the lumbering god of good cheer in Ben Jonson's masque. He
also, like Ben Jonson's Comus, is represented with curled and rose-crowned
hair, but he is " soft-gestured and youthful," and personates a more subtle
notion of Revel.

After all, however, Milton's Comus is a creation of his own, for which he

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^xmds. 423

was as little indebted intrinsically to Puteanus as to Ben Jonson. For the
purpose of his masque at Ludlow Castle he was bold enough to add a bran-
new god, no less, to the classic Pantheon, and to import him into Britain, and
particularly into Shropshire. Observe his, parentage. Comus, the god of
Sensual Pleasure, is not, with Milton, n^ere Gluttony, as he is in Jonson's
masque; nor is he the mere modification of Feast and the Wine-god pictured
by Philostratus and adopted by Puteanus. He is a son of the Wine-god
certainly, but it is by the sorceress Circe; and, though he has much of his
father's nature, he has more of the thrilling mercilessness and magical subtlety
of his mother's. It is not for nothing that Milton, in his account of him,
almost cites the description of Circe and her enchanted Island in the loth
Book of the Odyssey. There will be found throughout the masque more of
real borrowing from Homer's picture of the experience of Ulysses and his
companions on Circe's Island than from the extravaganza of Puteanus. llius,
to give but one instance^ the magical root Hamony^ by whose j5owers, ex-
plained to the two Brothers by the Attendant Spirit (lines 617-656), they are
enabled to defy the spells of Comus and attempt the rescue of their sister,
is an avowed adaptation of the divine heth Mo/y given by Hermes to Ulysses
(Odyss. X. 286 ^/ se^,) to enable him to withstand those drugs of Circe that
had wrought such woe on his companions. Commentators, however, have
found traces in the masque of Milton's acquaintance also with George Peele's
comedy of The Old Wives' Tale (1595) and Fletcher's pastoral of The Faith-
ful Shepherdess^ originally produced before 1625, and revived as a Court play
and acted in the London theatres in 1633-4. In neither of these pieces is
Comus a character; but in the first there is a story of two brothers wandering
in search of their lost sister and releasing her from the spell of an Enchanter,
and in both there are passages in which one may descry or fancy some slight
resemblance to some in Comus.

Lycidas.

On the 9th of June, 1626, when Milton had been for about sixteen months a
student at Christ's College, Cambridge, there were admitted into that college,
as appears from its records, two brothers, named King, sons of Sir John King,
Knight, then living in Dublin, as Privy Councillor for Ireland and Secretary
to the Irish Government. The family was English; but various members of
it, in addition to Sir John, held offices in Ireland. Edward King, for example.
Sir John's brother, was bishop of the Irish see of Elphin. Both the yqung
men had been bom in Ireland — the elder, named Roger, near Dublin; and
the younger, named Edward after )iis uncle, at Boyle in Connaught. At the
date of their admission into Christ's College, Roger was sixteen years of age,
and Edward fourteen. They had previously been pupils of Mr. Thomas
Famaby, one of the most noted schoolmasters of the time, whose school
then was in Goldsmith's Rents, Cripplegate, London. The tutor under whose
care they werie put at Christ's College was Mr. William Chappell, who was
also Milton's first tutor there, and who became afterwards Provost of Trinity
College, Dublin^^nd Dean of Cashel, and finally a bishop in the Irish Church.

Edward King, the younger of the two brothers, seems to have been one
of the most popular young men in Christ's College during Milton's residence
^ere. He and MUton must have seen much of each other. They must have

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424 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

had frequent meetings in hall, at lecture^ and in each other's rooms, and fre-
quent walks about Cambridge together. Milton, as we know, was indubitably
the chief ornament of the little community, its ablest and noblest youth,
supreme in everything; and, before he left college as M.A. in July 1632, aged
twenty-three, this had come to be recognised. But, among those who had
been his fellow-students in college, and whom he left behind him there, there
were several of whom high things were expected. John Cleveland, afterwards
known as a metrical Satirist, was one; and the future celebrated ** Platonist,"
Henry More, who had joined the college just as Milton was about to leave it,
was another. Probably, however, no one was more liked in the college, both
by dons and by students, than Edward King. Indeed, before Milton left the
college, King, by what looks now like a promotion over Milton's head, had
become himself one of the dons. X)n June 10, 1630, a Fellowship in Christ's
College being then about to fall vacant, a royal mandate was addressed to
the Master and Fellows of the college in behalf of Edward King, B.A.,
willing and requiring them, when the Fellowship should be vacant, to " admit
" the said Edward King into the same, notwithstanding any statute,. ordinance,
" or constitution to the contrary." Had such college honours then gone by
merit, Milton, then a B.A. of two years' standing, would have had a far supe-
rior claim. As it was, however, King, though his junior by three years, and
only just out of his undergraduateship, received the Fellowship, and thus took
nominal precedence of Milton during Milton's last two years at Christ's. The
royal mandate in King's favour was clearly owing to his family connexions and
influence ; but to so popular a young scholar the preferment does not appear
to have been grudged* Not only was he a favourite on account of his amiable
character; he really was, as the royal mandate represented him, a youth of
"hopeful parts." This we learn, however, rather from tradition than from
any specimens of his ability that have come down to us. The earliest of such
specimens that I have found are in a volume put forth by the Cambridge
University press late in 1 63 1 under the title of Genethliacum illustrissimorum
principum, Caroli et Maria ^ a Musis Cantabrigiensibus celebratujn. It con-
sists of complimentary Latin pieces by some scores of Cambridge men, of
different colleges, on the recent birth of the Princess Mary, the third child of
Charles I., but with retrospective reference to the birth in the previous year
(May 29, 1630) of the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles II. Among the
contributors is Edward King, Fellow of Christ's College. He contributes four
short Latin pieces — one in hexameters, one in Horatian verse, and two in
elegiacs. They are not very poetical or elegant, and indeed are rather prosaic.
But in such customary verses of compliment to .Royalty one had not much
scope; and King had probably written better things, in Latin and in English,
known to his fellow-collegians in Christ's, and to Milton among them. When
Milton left the college, there seems to have been no one in it for whom he
had a higher regard, morally at least, than Edward King.

Five years had elapsed since then, during which Milton, living chiefly at
his father's country place, at Horton in Buckinghamshire, some sixty miles
from Cambridge, can have seen King but occasionally. He would still hear,
however, of King's progress and continued popularity in his Fellowship. In
July 1633, we find, King took his full degree of M.A. ; and there are subse-
quent traces of him in the records of the college, while he was qualifying him-
self for the Church — the profession for which Milton also had been originally

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LYC/DAS. 425

destined, but which he had abandoned. He was Tutor in the college, as well
as Fellow; and in 1634-5 ^^ ^^s " prselector," and the admissions into the
college for that year are still to be seen in his handwriting in the college-books.
At least six more specimens of his Latin versification have been discovered,
belonging to this period. There is a copy of Latin Iambics by him in a vol-
ume of Cambridge University verses on the King's recovery from small-pox
(1653); he furnished another copy of Latin Iambics to a similar collection of
academic congratulations on the King's return from his coronation-visit to
Scotland (July 1633); there are some commendatory Latin Iambics of King's
prefixed to Senile Odium, a Latin play by Peter Hausted, M.A. of Queen's
College, acted at Cambridge in 1631, but not published till 1633; he has a set
of Latin elegiacs in a Cambridge collection of verses on the birth of the Duke
of York (Oct. 1633); he has some Horatian stanzas in a similar volume on
the birth of the Princess Elizabeth (December 1635); and the latest thing of
his I have seen is a copy of Latin Iambics in a collection of pieces, by no
fewer than 140 Cambridge scholars, put forth on the birth of the Princess
Anne (March 1636-7). Milton's h'and does not appear in any of these collec-
tions, verses eulogistic of Royalty not being in his way; but he may have seen
some of the collections and read King's contributions to them. He cannot,
I am pretty sure, have thought much of them, any more than of their pred-
ecessors in the volume of 1631. But, as I have said, he liked King personally,
and probably knew him to be capable of better things.

Suddenly, however, this youth of golden opinions from all sorts of people,
this young hope of Christ's College, was cut off. It was the Long Vacation
of 1637, and he had arranged to visit his friends in Ireland. Proceeding by
way of the English midland and western counties, and perhaps seeing friends
in those parts, he took a passage on board a vessel sailing from Chester Bay
for Dublin. The vessel had gone but a little way, was still on the Welsh
coast, and not out into the open channel, when, on the loth 'of August, in
perfectly calm weather, she struck on a rock, not far from land, and foundered.
Some seem to have escaped in a boat; but most went down with the ship,
and among them Edward King. His body was never recovered.

The news caused a profound sensation among all King's friends. As it was
the time of the University vacation, when his college-fellows Were scattered, it
must have reached them separately, arid some of them circuitously. Milton,
we are to fancy, heard it at Horton, late in August 1637, or in the course of
the following month. It had already been a sad year in the Horton house-
hold. The Plague, which had broken out in 1636, and whose ravages in
various parts of England, and especially in London, were very alarming in
1637, had caused an unusual number of deaths in the neighbourhood of
Horton. In the same unhealthy season, though not by the Plague itself,
Milton's mother had died. She was buried, on the 6th of April, in Horton
parish church, where the inscription ^^ Heare lyeth the Body of Sara Milton^
the wife of John Milton, who died the yd of April, 1637," may be read to
this day on a plain blue stone on the floor of the chancel. Milton was still
walking about Horton with this loss in his mind, and the blue stone, with its
inscription, may have just been put down over the grave, when there came
the news of the shipwreck in the Irish Seas and of the drowning of Edward
King with the rest

When the Cambridge colleges reassembled in Oct. 1637 after the Long

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426 THE ENGUSH POEMS.

Vacation, the melancholy death of poor King of Christ's was one of the first
subjects of talk. It was proposed by somebody, or it suggested itself to more
than one at once, that a volume of Memorial Verses should be prepared in his
honour and published from the University press. Among the contributors to
this volume were to be, of course, some of King's more immediate associates
of Christ's College, from whom he had parted so lately on his fatal journey;
but friends of his in. other colleges, an4 relatives and former acquaintances
out of Cambridge, might be expected to co-operate. Either Milton was
thought of and applied to, or he had heard of the project and volunteered his
assistance. In November 1637, as appears from a dating at the head of the
original draft of Lycidas in Milton'sown hand among the Milton MSS. at
Cambridge, he wrote that poem, entitling it simply " Lycidas." This was to
be his contribution to the intended memorial volume.

The volume, probably because other contributors were not so ready as
Milton, did not appear till some time in 1638. It consisted of two collections
of pieces, printed by the University printers^ Thomas Buck and Roger Daniel,
and separately paged, so that they might be bound either separately or
together. The one was a collection of twenty-three Latin and Greek pieces
occupying 35 pages of small quarto, and entitled ** yusta Edovardo King
naufrago ab amicis mcerentibus, amoris et fivetas x^P*-^ " (" Rites to Edward
King, drowned by shipwreck, in love and remembrance by his sorrowing
friends ") ; the other consisted of thirteen pieces of English verse, occupying
25 pages of the same size, and with this title, bordered with black, on the
front page, " Obsequies to the memorie of Mr. Edward King, Anno Dom,
1638." The last piece in the English collection, and much the longest — for
it spreads over six pages (pp. 20-25), while only one of the others extends
over more than two — is Milton's Lycidas. It is signed merely "J. M.," and
has no title, or other formal separation from the pieces that precede it. All
the more striking must it have been for a reader who had toiled through the
trash of the preceding twelve pieces (I have read them one and all, and will
vouch that they are trash) to come at length upon this opening of a true
poem : —

" Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,

I come to pluck your .berries harsh and crude.

And with forced fingers rude

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year:

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear

Compels me to disturb your season due,

For Lycidas is dead."

This poem of Milton's, published half-anonymously in 1638 in the
Cambridge volume of Memorial Verses to Exiward King, was in circulation
just as Milton was going abroad on his Italian journey. It, and his Comus,
printed for him quite anonymously in the previous year by his friend Henry
Lawes the musician, were all but the only poems of Milton in print till 1645,
when the first edition of his collected Poems was given to the world by
Moseley. In that edition, and in the subsequent edition of 1673, Lycidas is
printed with its present complete title, thus : ** Lycidas. In this Monody the
Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from
Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by occasion foretells the ruine of our
corrupted Clergie then in their height,** A portion of this extended title (from

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LYCIDAS. 427

•* In this Monody " to the date " 1637 ") appears in the original MS. draft of
the poem at Caunbridge, inserted, clearly by way of afterthought, in Milton's
own hand under the heading Lycidas; the words "Novemb. 1637," which
had originally accompanied that heading, being then erased as superfluous.

The poem is a PastoraL It is the most pastoral in form of all Milton's
English poems, more so considerably than the Arcades and Comus. It is not
a direct lyric of lamentation by Milton for the death of King; it is a phantasy
of one shepherd mourning, in the time of autumn, the death of a fellow-
shepherd. The mourning shepherd, however, is Milton himself, and the
shepherd mourned for is King; and, through the guise of all the pastoral
circumstance and imagery of the poem, there is a studious representation of
the real facts of King's brief life and his accidental death, and of Milton's
regard for him and academic intimacy with him.

" Together both, ere the hizh lawns appeared
Under the opening eye-lids of the mom,
We drove a-field, and both together heard
What time the gray-fiy winds her sukry horn.
Battening our flocks.

Here is the recollection, pastorally expressed, of their companionship at
Cambridge, their walks and talks together there, and their common exercises.
In the same manner it has already been hinted to us that among those
common exercises was poetry. One reason why Lycidas was now lamented
in song was that he himself had known how *' to sing and build the lofty
rhyme." All the more inexplicable was his loss. Where had the Nymphs
been when this loved votary of theirs was drowned? Not, certainly, anywhere
near the scene of the disaster. Not on the steeps known to the old Bards
and Druids (the mountains of North Wales), nor on the shaggy top of Mona
(the Isle of Anglesey) , nor by the wizard stream of the 'Deva (the river Dee
and Chester Bay). The topographical exactness here, under the poetic
litnguage, is worthy of remark, and is one of Milton's habits. But, had the
Nymp^ been there, what could they have done? Had the Muse herself been
able to save her son Orpheus? Dwelling a little on this thought, of the non-
immunity of even the Bnest intellectual promise from the stroke of death,
Milton works it into one of the most beautiful and most frequently quoted
passages of the poem: "Alas, what boots it," &c. (lines 04-84). That
strain, he says, at the end of the passage, had been " of a higher mood,"
rather beyond the range of the pastoral; but now he will resume his simple
oaten pipe and proceed. There pass then across the visionary stage three
figures in succession. First comes the Herald of the Sea, Triton, who
reports, in mythological terms, which yet veil exact information, that the
cause of King's death was not tempestuous weather, for the sea was as calm
as glass when the ship went down, but either the unseaworthiness of the ship
itself or some inherited curse in her very timbers. Next comes Camus, the
local deity of the Cam, footing slowly like his own sluggish stream, and with
his bonnet of sedge from its banks, staying not long, but uttering one
ejaculation over the loss to Cambridge of one of her darling sons. Lastly,
in still more mystic and awful guise, comes St. Peter, the guardian of that
Church of Christ for the service of which King had been destined — the
apostle to whom the Great Shepherd himself had given it in charge, " Feed

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428 THE ENGLISH POEMS,

my sheep." Not out of place. even his grave figure in this peculiar pastoraL
For has he not lost one of his truest under-shepherds, lost him too at a time
when he could ill be spared, when false shepherds, hireling shepherds,
knowing nothing of the real craft they professed, were more numerous than
ever, and the flocks were perishing for lack of care or by the ravages of the
stealthy wolf ? It is to the singularly bold and stern passage of denunciation
here put into St. Peter's mouth (lines 113-131), and especially to the last
lines of the passage, prophesying speedy vengeance and reform, that Milton
referred, when, in the title prefixed to the poem on its republication in 1645,
he intimated that it contained a description of the state of England at the
time when it was written, and foretold the ruin of the corrupted English
clergy then in their height. In 1638 it had been bold enough to let .the
passage stand in the poem, as published in the Cambridge memorial volume,
without calling attention to it in the title. But, indeed, this passage too had
transcended the ordinary limits of the quiet pastoral. The poet is aware of
this. Accordingly, when ** the dread voice is past " that had so pealfed over
the landscape and caused it to shudder, he calls on Alpheus and the Sicilian
Muse, as the patrons of the pastoral proper, to return, and be with him
through the pensive remainder. Beautifully pensive it is, and yet with a
tendency to soar. First, in strange and evidently studied contrast with the
stern speech of St. Peter which has just preceded, is the exquisitely -worded
passage which follows (lines 143-151). For musical sweetness, and dainty
richness of floral colour, it beats perhaps anything else in all Milton. It is
the call upon all valleys of the landscape, and the banks of all the secret
streamlets, to yield up their choicest flowers, and those dearest to shepherds,
that they may be strewn over the dead body of Lycidas. Ah ! it is but a fond
fancy, a momentary forge tfulness. For where, meanwhile, is that dead body?
Not anjrwhere on laiid at all, to be strewed with flowers and receive a funeral,
but whelmed amid the sounding seas, either sunk deep down near the spot of
the shipwreck, or drifted thence northwards perhaps to the Hebrides, or per-
haps southwiards to Cornwall and St. Michael's Mount. But let the surviving
shepherds cease their mourning. Though that body is never again to be seen
on earth, Lycidas is not lost. A higher world has received him already; and
there, amid other groves and other streams, laving his oozy locks with the
nectar of heaven, and listening to the nuptial song, he has joined the society
of the Saints, and can look down on the world and the friends he has left,

and act as a power promoted for their good. Here the Monody or

Pastoral ends. The last eight lines of the poem do not belong to the
Monody. They are not a part of the song sung by Milton in his imaginary
character as the shepherd who is bewailing the death of Lycidas, but are
distinctly a stanza of Epilogue, in which Milton speaks directly, criticises what
he has just written in his imaginary character, and intimates that he has
stepped out of that character, and is about to turn to other occupations : —

" Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rilb,
While the still Mom went out with sandals grey ;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay ;
And now the Sun had stretched out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay:
At last he rose and twitched his mantle blue ;
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new."

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SONNETS AND KINDRED PIECES, 429

Sonnets and Kindred Pieces.

In one well-known Sonnet Wordsworth has given the very essence of the
history of the Sonnet down to Milton's time : —

" Scorn not the Sonnet: Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours \ With this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief; •
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned
His visionary brow ; a glow-worm lamp,
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land
To struggle through dark ways ; and, when a damp
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The thing became a trumpet, whence he blew
Soul-animating strains, — alas ! too few."

Milton, however, is notable in the succession of chief Sonnet-writers, not
only on account of the intrinsic power of the few Sonnets he did write, but
also because he helped, by means of them, to establish or re-establish in
England that stricter mechanism of the Sonnet which had been in favour with
the Italislns. ^

The Sonnet may be defined, generally, as a little poem of fourteen lines,
complete in itself, and containing a condensed expression of some one thought
or feeling. The Italian poets, however, who had first practised the Sonnet,
and from whom the Spaniards, the French, and the English had taken it, had
practised it in one particular form, or rather in a certain variety of forms.
Not only were the fourteen lines rhyming lines, of the norm of five Iambi
each, but the rhymes interlaced each other in a peculiar manner. On the
whole, the legitimate Italian Sonnet may be said to have contained either
four rhymes or five rhymes altogether, of which two governed the first eight
lines, and the remaining two or three the last six, the linking of the rhymes
within this general provision admitting of variety, though some arrangements
were preferred to others. The least common arrangement in the last six lines
was that which ended the Sonnet in a rhyming couplet, so as to round it off
with a kind of epigrammatic effect.

On account of the paucity of rhymes in English as compared with Italian,
the first English Sonnet-writers had made pretty free with the Italian model.
There was some effort indeed to keep more or less close to that model, and
especially not to go beyond five rhymes in all in the building of the Sonnet.
Instances will be found in Wyatt (1503— 1542), and in Surrey (15 15— 1547).
From the first, however, there was a tendency to the convenience of more
numerous rhymes than the four or five allowed in Italian, and also, with or
without that convenience, to the epigrammatic effect of an ending in a couplet.
Hence, at length, a laxness in the English idea of the Sonnet, which permitted
any little poem of fourteen lines, rhymed anyhow, to be called by that name.
Perhaps, however, two forms emerged from this confusion as normal or cus-
tomary forms of the English Sonnet. One of these forms, largely exemplified
in Spenser (i553-i599)» is a form which finds five rhymes in all still sufficient,
but does so by throwing the first twelve lines into three interlinked stanzas

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43<> * THE EN-GUSH POEMS.

of four lines each, and then adding a couplet. The formula, more expressly,
is A I, 3, -5 2, 4, 5, 7, C 6, 8, 9, 11, Z> 10, 12, ^ 13, 14; where the rhymes
within the three stanzas, it> will be observed, are alternate, but, by the device
of making the last rhyme of the first stanza begin the second, and the last of the
second again begin the third, four rhymes clear all the three stanzas and prepare
for the tifth of the tinal couplet. But a still laxer form than this common
Spenserian one was one to which even Surrey had helped himself, and of which
there are examples in Spenser too, and others in Samuel Daniel (1562 — 1619).
This form dispensed altogether with the interlinking of the three stanzas by
rhymes common to the first and second and the second and third, and was
content that the twelve lines should be three loose stanzas of alternate rhymes,
connected only by a continuous meaning, and preceding the final couplet. Thus
seven rhymes in all were allowed in the Sonnet, the formula being A i, 3, -5
2, 4, C 5, 7, Z> 6, 8, .£ 9, II, F 10, 12, G 13, 14. It was of this free form of
the Sonnet that Shakespeare availed himself; and all his famous Sonnets, with
scarce an exception, are written in it. For example : —

** No longer mourn for me when I am deEul
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give wamine to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with viler worms to dwell;
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot.
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay.

Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

And mock you with me after I am gone."

To all time thistjrpe of Sonnet, though not the strict Italian, will remain, con-
secrated by Shakespeare's great usage, a true and sufficient English type. Even
while Shakespeare was alive, however, there lingered a knowledge of the stricter
Italian type, and a disposition to exhibit it also in English. The Sonnets of
Donne (1573 — 1 631), specimens though they are rather of metrical intellection
than of lyrical effusion, are, most of them, more after the Italian mechanism
than Spenser's, and much more than Shakespeare's. They are of five rhymes,
of which two, by their interlinking, sustain the first eight lines of the Sonnet,
leaving three for the other six lines. On the same principle, and with much
more of softness and music in them, are the Sonnets of Drummond of Haw-
thornden (1585 — 1649), a poet imbued with Italian influences and fond of the
Sonnet Put both in Donne's Sonnets and in Drummond's, no less than in
Spenser's and Shakespeare's, the sounding epigramniatij: couplet at the end is
still a constant feature. The English ear seems to have grown so accustomed
to this ending as to require it, and it was usual to print Sonnets with these
two final lines coupled together for the eye by indentation from the rest.

It was reserved mainly for Milton to emancipate the English Sonnet from
this peculiarity of the final rhyming couplet, by reasserting the Italian rule that
it should be optional and occasional only, while at the same time he reverted
to the Italian construction in other respects. An early student of the Italian
poetSy he had learnt the true music of the Sonnet from Petrarch most of all.

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SONNETS I. AND //. 431

so that, when he first ventured gn trials of the Sonnet-form in English, he
thought of it as the " Petrarchian Stanza." These iirst trials were made while
he was still a Cambridge student, long before that *' damp " fell round his path
of which Wordsworth speaks as being already round it when he seized the
Sonnet, and the thing in his hands became a trumpet. The series of his Sonnets,
however, though beginning about 1630, extends to 1658; and most of them
were thos6 " soul-animating strains " which he blew at intervals from this instru-
ment whep other poetry was in forced abeyance from him, and he was engrossed
in prose polemics. Milton's last sixteen Sonnets, indeed, with a verse or two
besides, are the few occasional strains that connect, as by intermitted trumpet-
blasts through twenty years, the rich minor poetry of his youth and early
manhood with the greater poetry of his declining age in blindness after the
Restoration.

Sonnet I.: To the Nightingale.

There is no means of dating this Sonnet precisely; but it is placed first by
Milton himself, and must be referred either to the close of the Cambridge
period, or to some time in the Horton period. It is the Sonnet of a youth to
whom the return of May brings the thought of his youth passing companionless
and a sense of love-longing. There is a recollection of the superstition that
he who hears the nightingale before he hears the cuckoo will woo fortunately
before the year is over.

Sonnet II. : On His having arrived at the Age of Twenty-three.

Milton wrote this Sonnet at or about the moment when Time had " stolen
on his wing" the " three-and-twentieth year" of his life; and that was on
the 9th of December, 1 631. He was then at Cambridge, a B.A. of three
years' standing, and was looking forward to his degree of M.A., and the close
of his Cambridge career, in a few months. But the occurrence of the draft of
the Sonnet among the Cambridge MSS. adds other illustrative particulars.
It occurs there as an insertion into the first of two drafts, in Milton's hand, of
a prose letter, of some length, which he sent, or meant to send, to a friend.
This friend, whose name we do not know, had remonstrated with Milton on
the aimless course of merely studious life he was then leading, and on the
impropriety of his continuing it instead of dedicating his talents to the Church
or some other active profession. Milton's reply is a courteous acknowledgment
of the interest shown by the friend in his behalf, with a defence of his conduct,
and a statement of his reasons for being in no hurry to enter the Church.
Though all ordinary motives conspired to urge him into that or some other
profession, yet a " sacred reverence and religious advisement," a principle of
" not taking thought of being late, so it gave advantage to be moreyf/," had
hitherto held him back. ** That you may see," he adds, *' that I am something
" suspicious of myself, and do take notice of a certain helatedness in me, I am
"the bolder to send you some of my nightward thoughts some little while
** ago, because they come in not altogether unfitly, made up in a Petrarchian
" stanza, which I told you of." Here, accordingly, follows the Sonnet.

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432 THE ENGLISH POEMS,

Sonnets III. — VII.: Five Italian Sonnets, with an accompanying

Canzone.

These Italian pieces, which precede Sonnet II. in Milton's own editions, form
a little group by themselves. They relate the story of Milton's love for some
Italian lady, beautiful, black-eyed, dark-haired, accomplished, and fascinating
by her grace and her powers of singing. Altogether there is an Italian air
about the Sonnets; they breathe of Italy. They have been referrecf therefore,
by common consent, to the time of Milton's Italian journey (1638-9). Some
time and some where during that journey, it is supposed, he met the foreign
beauty who captivated him. Warton imagines that she may have been the
^ celebrated singer Leonora, whom Milton heard at Rome, and to whom he ad-
dressed three pieces of complimentary Latin verse (see them among the Latin
Poems, and the Introduction to them) . There is no real ground for the fancy.
The lady, whoever she was, is described, in the first Sonnet, as a native of the
Vale of the Reno, in the north of the Papal States, between Bologna and
Ferrara. Now Milton visited this part of Italy in 1639, or towards the end of
his tour, when, after having returned from Naples, and paid second visits, of
two months each, to Rome and Florence, he passed through Bologna and Fer-
rara on his way to Venice and homewards. But the lady, though a Bolognese,
may have been met in Venice, or perhaps even in Florence or Rome, before
Milton had passed through Bologna. Nay, after all, may not the Italian Son-
nets and Canzone have been written in England before the Italian journey, and
even a good while before it ? May not Milton, some time after he had left
Cambridge, have met, in English society, the Bolognese beauty who charmed
him? May not his attempts in Italian have been a tribute to her foreign love-
liness, and to the sweetness of the language as heard from her lips? In the
second of the Sonnets and in the Canzone there are expressions which might
be construed in favour of this hypothesis. On the whole, however, it is not so
likely as the former. Either way, it has to be added, Italian critics do not find
the Italian idiom of the pieces quite perfect.

Sonnet VIII. : " When the Assault was intended to the City."

This Sonnet, the first of those which refer to English public affairs, was written
in November 1642, and probably on Saturday the 12th of that month. The
Civil War had then begun; and Milton, already known as a vehement Anti-
Episcopal pamphleteer and Parliamentarian, was living, with two young neph-
ews whom he was educating, in his house in Aldersgate Street, a suburban
thoroughfare just beyond one of the city gates of London. After some of the
first actions of the war, including the indecisive Battle of Edgehill (Oct. 23),
the King's army, advancing out of the Midlands, with the King and Prince
Rupert present in it, had come as near to London as Hounslow and Brent-
ford, and was threatening a farther march to crush the Londoners and the
Parliament at once. They were at their nearest on Saturday the 12th of
November; and all that day and the next there was immense excitement in
London in expectation of an assault — chains put up across streets, houses
barred, &c. It was not till the evening of the 13th that the citizens were
reassured by the retreat of the King's army, which had been checked from a

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SONNETS IX, AND X, 433

closer advance by a rapid march-out of the Trained Bands under Essex and
Skippon. Milton, we are to fancy, had shared the common alarm. His was
one of the houses which, if the Cavaliers had been let loose, it would have
given them particular pleasure to sack. Knowing this, the only precaution he
takes is, half in jest, and yet perhaps with some anxiety, to write a Sonnet
addressed to the imaginary Royalist Captain, Colonel, or Knight, who may
command the Aldersgate Street sacking- party. " On his dore when ye citty
expected an assault " is the original heading of the Sonnet in the copy of it,
by an amanuensis, among the Cambridge MSS., as if the Sonnet had actually
been pasted or nailed up on the outside of Milton's door. This title was
afterwards deleted by Milton himself, and the other title substituted in his own
hand; but the Sonnet appeared without any title at all in the editions of 1645
and 1673.

Sonnet IX.: To a Lady.

This Sonnet was left untitled by Milton : the title has been supplied by the
editors. The date, almost certainly, was 1644; but who the lady was that is
addressed is unknown.

SONtfET X. : "To THE LADY MARGARET LeY."

This Sonnet must have been written in 1644 or 1645; ^^^ ^^ ^^^X addressed
was Lady Margaret Ley, one of the daughters of James Ley, first Earl of Marl-
borough, a nobleman of whom there still remained a respectful recollection in
England. Born in 1552, he had been eminent as a lawyer before Queen Eliza-
beth's death ; and, after a long career as Knight, Baronet, and Judge, he had
been raised by James to the great office of Lord High Treasurer of England
in 1624, and, at the same time, to a peerage as Baron Ley of Ley in Devon-
shire. The higher dignity of the Earldom of Marlborough was conferred on
him by Charles in 1626-7, when he was seventy-four years of age. In 1628
he had been removed from the High Treasurership to the less laborious office
of President of the Council, ostensibly on account of his old age, but really, it
was thought, because he was not sufficiently compliant with the policy of
Charles and Buckingham. He died in March 1628-9, immediately after the
dissolution of Charles's Third. Parliament; and, as the Sonnet hints, his death
was believed to have been hastened by political anxiety at that crisis. He left
three sons; the eldest of whom, Henry, succeeded him in the Earldom, but,
dying in 1638, transmitted it to his son, James Ley, third Earl of Marlborough,
who attained to unusual distinction by his services to the King in the Civil
War, and by his various abilities., Among the surviving aunts of this young
nobleman, and herself probably somewhat past her youth, was the Lady Mar-
garet of the Sonnet. She had married a Captain Hobson, from the Isle of
Wight; and both she and her husband seem to have taken the Parliamentarian
side. They resided in London, and Milton had become acquainted with them.
His nephew and biographer Phillips expressly says that, after his desertion by
his first wife in 1643, Milton " made it his chief diversion now and then of an
" evening to visit the Lady Margaret Ley," adding, " This lady, being a woman
" of great wit and ingenuity, had a particular honour for him, and took much
" delight in his company, as likewise Captain Hobson, her husband, a very

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434 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

** accomplished gentleman.** Milton's compliment to her in the Sonnet is that
she was a true daughter of her liberal father. Her political and religious opin-
ions probably agreed with Milton's. This is the latest of the Sonnets printed
in the edition of 1645, ^^^ ^^ ^^ there printed without a heading. The heading
is from the Cambridge draft.

Sonnets XI. and XII. : " On the Detraction which followed upon

MY WRITING CERTAIN TREATISES," AND " ON THE SAME."

The Treatises in question were Milton's four Treatises on the subject of Divorce,
written between his desertion by his first wife in 1643 and ^^^ return to him and
reconciliation with him in the autumn of 1645 : viz. his Doctrine and Discipline
of Divorce^ which came first and passed through two editions, and his Juc^ment
of Martin Bucer^ his Tetrachordony and his Colasterion, which followed, at inter-
vals, in defence of the original publication. As the opinion broached by Milton
in these pamphlets was a new and daring one, it shocked people greatly, and
especially the Presbyterians, who were then in the ascendant in Parliament, and
all-powerful in the Westminster Assembly. Milton's strange doctrine of Divorce
was the subject of talk in society; it was attacked through the press; it even
brought him into danger with the public authorities. Milton's two Sonnets are
his comments, one half jocose, the other contemptuous and indignant, on this
execration with which he found himself surrounded. They were written late
in 1645 or early in 1646, when the return of his wife and his reconciliation
with her had abated his practical and personal interest in the success of his doc-
trine. The Scotch names ridiculed in Sonnet XI. are those of the Gordons^
then much heard of as among the followers of the Marquis of Montrose in his
Royalist enterprise in Scotland, and of a certain Highland warrior, who was
Montrose's Lieutenant-General, and called in Gaelic Alexander Macdonnel^
Mac-Colkittochy Mac- Gillespie ^ i.e., Alexander Macdonnel, son of Colkittoch
(the left-handed), son of Gillespie. He was Colkitto^ Macdonnel, and Galasp,
slU in one.

"On the New Forcers of Conscience under the Long
Parliament."

This is, in reality, a continuation or extension of the vein of the two Divorce
Sonnets, and must have been written about the same time, or hardly later
than 1647. Partly on account of the outcry against Milton's Divorce Pam-
phlets among the Presbyterians, partly on more general grounds, he had parted
company with them, and had attached himself rather to the pwirty, or combina-
tion of parties, of which Cromwell was becoming the recognised head, and who
were called by the general name of The Independents. It was the leading
principle of this party, or combination of parties, to oppose the too rigorous
establishment of that system of Presbyterian Church Government and Disci-
pline, after the Scottish model, which had been decreed in England by the Long
Parliament, and in part carried into effect, after the abolition of Episcopacy.
It was their effort, at all events, to secure that, if this system were permanently
established by the majority as the national English system, there should be
room under it for freedom of conscience and worship for the dissenting minority.
Gradually the notion of a Toleration of Independents and other Sects withia

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SONNET XIII.

435

certain limits under the established Presbyterianism was gaining ground iri
Parliament, chiefly in consequence of the power of the Parliamentarian Army,
which was composed largely of Independents, Baptists, and more extreme
Sectaries; but the rigid Presbyterians, and especially the Presbyterian Divines
of the Westminster Assembly, and most especially the small group of Scottish
Divines who sat in that Assembly as assessors to their English brethren, were
loud in their denunciations of the arch-heresy of Toleration, as they called it,
and their calls for a suppression of all Sects and tiie enforcement of an absolute
Presbyterian uniformity by the civil power. It is against these claims of strict
Presbyterian supremacy that Milton speaks out in the present piece of verse.
He intended it to be what may be called an Anti-Presbyterian and Pro-Tolera-
tion Sonnet; but by going beyond fourteen lines converted it into what the
Italians called a " Sonnet with a tail." — Classic Hierarchy means Presbyterian
Hierarchy, the English name for the Church-Court called "a Presbytery" in
Scotland being " a Classis." A.S. stands for a Scottish pamphleteer, named
Adam Steuart, who wrote with his initials; Rutherford is the Scottish divine,
Samuel Rutherford, who was of the Westminster Assembly; Shallow Edwards
is an English Presbyterian preacher, Thomas Edwards, who had written a book
of virulent personalities against Independents and Heretics, Milton included;
Scotch what d'ye call is probably the Rev. Robert Baillie, the historian, then
one of the Westminster Assembly, who had also attacked Milton in print.

Sonnet XIII.: "To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Airs."

One of the Cambridge drafts of this Sonnet fixes its date as Feb. 9, 1645-6.
That draft is headed "To my Friend, Mr. Henry Lawes: Feb. 9, 1645,"
and signed "J. M.; " the other draft, though also in Milton's hand, bears this
heading in another, "To Mr. Hen. Lawes, on the publishing of his Aires."
Actually, the Sonnet first appeared in print, with Milton's name attached,
as one of a few pieces of eulogistic verse prefixed to a volume published by
Moseleyin 1648 and entitled Choice Psalmes^ put into Musickfor three Voices :
composed by Henry and William Lawes, Brothers, and Servants to His
Majestic.

Milton's friendship from his boyhood with the musician Henry Lawes, and
the main facts of that interesting person's life till his co-operation with Milton
in the production of the Arcades at Harefield, and of Comus at Ludlow, have
been recorded in the Introductions to those two poems (see ant^, pp. 414-15,
and 418-19). We have now to add that, in the intervening years, the reputa-
tion of Lawes in his art had been steadily growing, till there was perhaps no
musical composer of his time more generally known and liked. Still retaining,
in association with his brother William, his position as one of the King's
musicians and gentlemen of the Chapel Royal, and still connected by special
professional engagements with the Bridgewater family, he had done much work
in the way of setting to music songs by Carew, Herrick, Waller, Cartwright,
and other popular poets. These songs of Lawes were favourites in English
households, and the poets whose words were thus recommended by his airs
could not thank him enough. There are verses by Herrick and others in
which affectionate mention is made of " Harry " and his musical skill. And
so the publisher Moseley, or perhaps Milton himself, in bringing out the
first edition of Milton's Poems in 1645, did not forget that Lawes's name

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436 THE ENGLISH POEMS,

might be an advantage to the volume. " The Songs were set in Musick by
Mr. Henry Lawes, Gentleman of the King's Chappel, and one of His Majes-
ties private Musick," was the announcement on the title-page, referring to the
songs in Arcades and ComuSy and perhaps to others in the volume; and in
the body of the volume was reprinted Lawes's Dedication of Comus to Lord
Brackley. Clearly, therefore, Milton's intimacy with Lawes had not been
interrupted ^en by the Civil War and the- division of all Englishmen into
Royalists and Parliamentarians. By his position, if not from his artistic tem-
perament, Lawes was a Royalist; and indeed his brother William had been
slain in the King's cause at the siege of Chester (1645), greatly to the King's
grief, who is said to have put on private mourning for him. Not the less had
Henry Lawes, who remained in London, his meetings with his old friend
Milton, when they would lay politics aside and agree in music.

Sonnet XIV. : " On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thom-
son, MY Christian Friend, deceased 16 Decemb. 1646."

The Sonnet itself, with its heading, which does not occur in the printed
volume, but is taken from the Cambridge MS., supplies all the information we
have respecting the person addressed. Phillips, indeed, mentions that, some
time in 1649, Milton "lodged at one Thomson's, next door to the Bull Head
Tavern at Charing Cross, opening into the Spring Garden ; " and it has been
supposed that the Mrs. Catherine Thomson who died in 1646 may have been
one of the Charing Cross family with whom Milton thus afterwards lodged.
This is mere guess. Thomson, then as now, was a very common name in
London.

Sonnet XV. : " On the Lord General Fairfax at the Siege of
Colchester."

The siege of Colchester in Essex lasted from the 15th of June to the 28th
of August, 1648, and was one of the most memorable incidents of what is
called " the Second Civil War," i.e. of that spasmodic new rising of the
English and Scottish Royalists on behalf of Charles I., then a prisoner in the
Isle of Wight, which it required all the energy of Fairfax, the Parliamentarian
commander-in-chief, and of Cromwell, his lieutenant-general, to put down, and
which led very speedily to the King's trial and doom. While Cromwell
managed the Northern department of the war, meeting and beating the Duke
of Hamilton and the Royalist Scots and English at Preston, Fairfax in person
superintended the siege of Colchester; which town had been seized for the
King, and was defended by the Earl of Norwich, Lord Capel, Sir Charles Lucas,
Sir George Lisle, and other Royalist chiefs. As Fairfax offered quarter only to
the soldiers, but required the leaders to surrender at discretion, the defence
was desperate, and both the garrison and the townspeople were reduced to
the last straits of starvation, having to eat grass and the flesh of horses, cats,
and dogs. When the surrender did take place. Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George
Lisle were tried by court-martial, and immediately shot, as released prisoners
of war who had broken their parole to the Parliament in again taking arms
for the King. The Earl of Norwich and Lord Capel were left to the mercy

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SONNET XVr, 437

of Parliament; and Lord Capel was afterwards executed. The taking oi
Colchester was heard of with triumph by the Parliamentarians throughout
England, and went as an addition to the renown of Fairfax acquired by his
many actions since he had been made Parliamentary commander-in-chief in
December 1644. Milton, in this Sonnet, expresses the general feeling of the
hour, not only about the particular victory, but also about the character of
Fairfax, and England's farther hopes from him. Although Fairfax afterwards
retired from his connexion with the Commonwealth, and even co-operated at
last in the Restoration, this Sonnet to him savoured too much of pre-Restora-
tion politics to be allowable in Milton's edition of his Minor Poems in 1673.
It was first published by Phillips in 1694, at the end of his memoir of Milton.

Sonnet XVI.: **To the Lord General Cromwell, May 1652: On the
Proposals of certain Ministers at the Committee for the Prop-
agation OF the Gospel."

Milton's admiration of Cromwell is attested by many proofs, and, amongst
them, by a long and impassioned outburst of Latin eulogium in the Defensio
Secunda. No two men, I believe, were more essentially like-minded, more
one at heart in their thoughts about the great problems of the English nation
at that time, than the two whom fate had drawn together in such different
capacities — Cromwell, the supreme soldier and man of action, raised at length
to be the ruler; Milton, the poet and idealist, brought beside this ruler as a
scholarly official. The Sonnet under notice, however, is not, as the mere title
" To Cromwell " sometimes given to it might lead one to imagine, Milton's
estimate of Cromwell from the whole of his career, or even after Milton's Secre-
taryship to him singly had begim. It is an address by Milton to Cromwell at
a particular moment of Cromwell's career and on a particular occasion. The
date was May 1652. Cromwell was not yet Protector, though he was the first
man in the Republic, and they were proposing to make him its head. Since
the execution of the King, and the establishment of the Commonwealth under
the government of the Parliament with a Council of State, he had been away
in Ireland, as Lord-Lieutenant of that country, trampling down its long Rebel-
lion and reducing it to order (1649-50) ; he had also been in Scotland, and had
fought the Battle of Dunbar (Sept. 3, 1650) there, and taken other measures
which, when followed up by the crowning victory of Worcester (Sept. 3, 1 651),
utterly ruined the cause of Charles II. in Scotland, as well as in England, and
united both parts of the island in one Commonwealth. These were the acts of
Cromwell freshest in men's minds, and he had been again in London through
the winter of 165 1-2, when the Sonnet was written. The Sonnet breathes
the feeling of many at that hour with respect to him. Now that he was at
home again, would not things be better managed than they had been in his
absence by the persistent Rump of the Long Parliament and the Council
of State? Especially in matters of Religion was not fresh zeal necessary?
Throughout England and Wales, or in many parts of them. Church matters
were in chaos — Presbyterian ministers here and Independents there, mixed
with the wrecks of the old parish clergy; no regular arrangement for the pro-
vision of ministers; disputes as to the method of such provision, whether by a
common fund out of the tithes, or by voluntary contribution without tithes
4it all; many districts meanwhile in spiritual destitution for want of fit pastors

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438 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

and preachers. For the consideration of such questions and the remedying of
such evils there had been appointed a Parliamentary "Committee iot the
Propagation of the Gospel; " and this Committee seems to have been in unusual
activity after Cromwell's retiurn. There was then some new form of the con-
troversy respecting a State Church and endowments for the clergy, and the
Presbyterian ministers more especially seemed to their enemies to be trying to
get for themselves all the property that had belonged to the abolished Prelatic
Church. It was expected that Cromwell, whose sympathies had been with the
Independents and Sectaries, would have something to say to this; and Milton's
Sonnet expresses that expectation. Cromwell's Protectorate (Dec. 1653 — Sept.
1658), with Milton's closer connexion with him during that Protectorate, came
later. Yet the Sonnet may well stand as Milton's tribute of respect to Crom-
well on the whole; and little wonder that he did not dare to print it in the
editiofi of his Poems in 1673.

Sonnet XVII.: "To Sir Henry Vane the Younger."

This Sonnet breathes the same spirit as the last, and may have been written
at the same time, or perhaps somewhat earlier. If it was written in 1652,
Vane was in his fortieth year when it was addressed to him, and was one of
the Council of State; but, as his father was still alive, he was always known
as the Younger Vane. It was recollected, moreover, how he had entered the
Long Parliament at the age of twenty-seven, having already distinguished
himself in America, and how all through the Parliament he had acted and
been regarded as one of the subtlest and boldest theorists of the extreme
Revolutionary party. In his style of mind he was what would now be called
a doctrinaire^ or abstract thinker, with perhaps a dash of the fanatic; and, as
Milton hints, he had exercised himself very particularly on the question of the
relations and mutual limits of the Church and State, having had practical
occasion to consider that question as early as 1636, when he was Governor of
Massachusetts. After the Restoration he was brought to the scaffold, June 14,
1662. Milton's Sonnet to him was necessarily omitted in the volume of 1673.

Sonnet XVIII.: "On the late Massacre in Piedmont."

This, the most powerful of Milton's Sonnets, was written in 1655, and
refers to the persecution instituted, in the early part of that year, by Charles
Emmanuel II., Duke of Savoy and Prince of Piedmont, against his Protestant
subjects of the valleys of the Cottian Alps. This Protestant community, half
French and half Italian, and known as the Waldenses or Vaudois, were
believed to have kept up the tradition of a primitive Christianity from the
time of the Apostles. There had been various persecutions of them since the
Reformation; but that of 1655 surpassed all. By an edict of the Duke they
were required to part with their property and leave their habitations within
twenty days, or else to become Roman Catholics. On their resistance, forces
were sent into their valleys, and the most dreadful atrocities followed. Many
were butchered, others were taken away in chains, and hundreds of families
were driven for reAlge to the mountains covered with snow, to live there
miserably, or perish with cold and hunger. Among the Protestant nations of

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SONNETS XIX, AND XX, 439

Europe, and especially in England, the indignation was immediate and
violent. Cromwell, who was then Protector, took up the matter with his
whole strength. He caused Latin letters, couched in the strongest terms, to
be immediately sent, not only to the offending Duke of Savoy, but also to the
chief Princes and Powers of Europe. These Letters were drawn up by
Milton, and may be read among his Letters of State. An Ambassador was
also sent to collect information; a Fast Day was appointed; a subscription of
40,000/. was raised for the sufferers; and altogether Cromwell's remonstrances
were such that, backed as they would have been, if necessary, by armed force,
the cruel edict was withdrawn, and a convention made with the Vaudois,
allowing them the exercise of their worship. Milton's Sonn&t is his private
and more tremendous expression in verse of the feeling he expressed publicly,
in Cromwell's name, in his Latin State Letters.

Sonnet XIX.: On his Bundness.

The last Sonnet, if not also the two preceding it, had been written by
Milton after he had lost his sight. His blindness, which had been coming on
slowly for ten years, and had been hastened by his labour in writing his
Defensio Prima pro Populo Anglicano in answer to Salmasius (1651), was
complete in 1653, when he was only forty-five years of age. We are to imagine
therefore, that, after having been Secretary to the Council of State for a year
or two with his sight failing, he continued to act as Secretary through
Cromwell's Protectorate (1653-58) with his sight totally gone. The fact was
pointed to with coarse exultation by his enemies, at home and abroad, as a
divine judgment on him for his defences of the. execution of Charles I., and
for the part he had otherwise taken in the English Revolution. Again and
again in Milton's later writings, in prose and in verse, there are passages of
the most touching sorrow over his darkened and desolate condition, with yet
a tone of the most pious resignation, and now and then an outbreak of a
proud conviction that God, in blinding his bodily eyes, had meant ^to enlarge
and clear his inner vision, and make him one of the world's truest seers and
prophets. The present Sonnet is one of the first of these confidences of
Milton on the subject of his blindness. It may have been written any time,
between 1652 and 1655; but it follows the Sonnet on the Piedmontese
Massacre in Milton's own volume of 1673.

Sonnet XX.: To Mr. Lawrence.

One naturally refers such a mood of cheerfulness as this Sonnet exhibits td
the time of Milton's life which preceded his blindness. Accordingly it has
been argued by some that the Sonnet must have been written about 1646, and
ought to be placed beside the Sonnet to Henry Lawes. In that case, however,
the person addressed " Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son," cannot have
been, as these words have always suggested, a son of the well-known Henry
Lawrence of St. Ives, who, after having been member for Westmoreland in
the Long Parliament, became a staunch Oliverian, and was made President of
Cromwell's Council (1654) and one of his House of Lords (1657). For there
is a letter of this Henry Lawrence extant which proves that in the year 1646

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440 THE EN-GUSH POEMS.

his eldest son was then exactly thirteen years of age (Wood's Athenae, IV. 64:
Note by Bliss). Milton's invitation to a neat repast and wine cannot have
been to a youngster like that. Hence, still on the supposition that the Sonnet
must have been written about 1646, some commentators have concluded that
the person addressed was no other than Henry Lawrence himself, the future
President, but then no more than M.P. for Westmoreland. But that he was
only " the virtuous father " of the Sonnet, and not its recipient, is settled by
Phillips in his Life of Milton, where, among the " particular friends " of Mil-
ton, who visited him most frequently during the eight years when he lived in
his house in Petty France, Westminster (1652 — 1660), he mentions "Young
Lawrence (the son of him that was President of Oliver's Council), to whom
there is a Sonnet among the rest in his printed Poems." He does not mention
which of the sons of the President was the " Young Lawrence " so often at
Milton's house; but it was probably the second son, Henry Lawrence, who
became heir in 1657, succeeded to the property on his father's death in 1664,
and lived till 1679, or five years beyond Milton. In 1656 this "young Law-
rence " was about two-and- twenty years of age. The Sonnet, then, we should
say, was written about that time, and when Milton was in his condition of
total blindness. And, though this may not at first seem consistent with the
cheerful vein of the Sonnet, the explanation is easy. Phillips's account of his
uncle's life gives us a glimpse of the household in Petty France which is not
altogether one of gloom. Especially after Milton's marriage with his second
wife in Nov. 1656, the house was enlivened by the little hospitalities that had
to be shown to the numerous visitors that came to see him. Some of these
were foreigners of distinction; others were Londoners of rank; but most
assiduous of all were former pupils, and other enthusiastic young men, who
accounted it a privilege to read to him, or act as his amanuenses, and to hear
him talk. There was a group of such young admirers, and "young Law-
rence " was one of them. Sometimes, as we are to fancy, he accompanied
Milton in his walks, yielding him the attendance which a blind man required;
and Milton's Sonnet is to be taken as a kindly message to the youth, in some
season of bed weather, not to stop his visits on that account, but to let him
have his company now and then within doors.

Sonnet XXL: To Cyriax:k Skinner.

This Sonnet also, like the last, might appear, on a first reading, to belong
to a time before Milton's blindness. For it also is in a hospitable vein, and
invites to leisure and mirth. But all that we know of Cyriack Skinner and his
connexion with Milton confirms the notion that the two Sonnets were written
about the same time, i.e. about 1655, *^^^' Milton was blind and when he was
living in his house in Petty France. Phillips, in his list of the friends of Mil-
ton who visited him there, mentions, " above all, Mr. Cyriack Skinner; "
words which imply that Skinner was even a more frequent visitor than young
Lawrence. There is even a probability that he had been one of Milton's
pupils; for Wood describes him (Ath. Oxon. III. 11 19) as "a merchant's son
of London, an ingenious young gentleman and scholar to Jo : Milton," inform-
ing us farther that he became a leading member of Harrington's celebrated
political debating club, called The Rota^ which held its meetings in 1659 at

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SONNETS XXII, /iND XXxiI, 441

• the Turk's Head in the New Palace Yard at Westminster." From the Son-
net itself we learn that, besides being thus interested in poHtical^pficulations,
or before being so interested. Skinner was an eager student ^pf mathematical
and physicaLscifiBce. Wood seems to have been wrong in calling him " a
merchant's son of London; " for he is otherwise known as the third son of
William Skinner, a Lincolnshire squire, who had married Bridget, second
daughter of the famous lawyer and judge Sir Edward Coke. This explains
the compliment of pedigree in the first line of the Sonnet. As this William
Skinner died in 1627, Cyriack, his son, though described as "an ingenious
young gentleman " in 1659, must have been considerably older than young
Lawrence. There is extant a deed of conveyance, of the date May 7, 1660,
by which Milton makes over to '* Cyriack Skinner, of Lincoln's Inn, Gentle-
man," a Bond for 4C)o/. given to Milton by the Conmiissioners of Excise. The
transaction proves how intimate Milton was with Skinner; for it was on the
eve of the Restoration, when property invested in Excise Bonds was not likely
to be worth much to Alilton or his representatives.

Sonnet XXII.: Second Sonnet to Cyriack Skinner.

This touching Sonnet must have been written spme little time after the last;
perhaps in 1655, but certainly not later than 1656. It is a Sonnet on Milton's
blindness, written, as it purports, on the third anniversary of the day from
which he dated the completeness of that calamity. The tenor of the closing
lines prevented its publication in 1673.

Sonnet XXIII.: To the Memory of his Second Wife.

After some years of widowhood, Milton, still residing in Petty France, West-
minster, had married, Nov. 12, 1656, at St. Mary Aldermanbury, London, his
second wife, Catherine Woodcock, daughter of a Captain Woodcock, of Hack-
ney. His wedded life with her, however, was doomed to be brief. She died in
childbirth fifteen months after her marriage, and was buried at St. Margaret's,
Westminster, Feb. 10, 1657-8. The infant daughter she had borne survived
but about a month. Thus, in his fiftieth year, Milton was left in second widow-
hood, with his three young daughters by his first wife, the eldest not twelve
years of age, partly depending on his charge, and partly deputed to take charge
of him. There can be no sadder picture than that of the blind, stern man, in
1658, going about his vacant house, the poof children not understanding him,
and half afraid of him ; and whoever visits the house now may do so with that
picture in his mind. For the house still stands, and may be visited — actually
the " pretty garden-house in Petty France, Westminster, next door to the Lord
Scudamore's, and opening into St. James's Park," which Milton occupied from
1652 to 1660; though now not " pretty," nor a " garden-house " any longer, but
sorely disguised, degraded, and .blocked in, as "No. 19, York Street, Westmin-
ster." Going about in that house, or seated by himself in one of its rooms,
as they may still be seen, Milton thinks much of his dead wife, far more really
a partner of his heart than the first wife had been, but remembers also that first
wife, the mother of his children, and wonders what may become of these chil-
dren, left now with neither mother nor substitute. From his despondency, as

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442 THE ENGLISH POEMS.

we know, he roused himself to resume that poem of Paradise Lost which he had
schemed eighteen years before. But the sense of his lo&s recurs, and intrudes
itself into his dreams. One night his dream is strangely happy. He sees his
lately dead wife, not dead, but alive, and returned to him clad all in white like
one of the Saints, her face veiled, and stooping to embrace kim. He wakes from
his dream to find it but a dream, and his night brought back : but he com-
memorates the dream in a Sonnet. The reader ought to notice the full signifi-
csince of the words of the Sonnet. It seems to be implied that Milton had never
actually beheld his second wife with his bodily eyes, but had married her after he
was blind, and with no acquaintance with her dating from before his blindness.
Hence, though in his dream he sees her, it is as a radiant figure with a veiled
face. He had not carried into sleep the recollection out of which the face
could be formed, and could only know that love, sweetness, and goodness must
have dwelt in one who had tiiat saint-like figure.

•TRANSLATIONS.

"The Fifth Ode of Horace, Z^'^. /., Englished."

The particular Ode of Horace on the translation of which Milton bestowed
so much pains is one on which many translators have since tried their hands;
but it may be doubted whether any of them has beaten Milton. On the whole,
however, the thing is a trifle. It must have been written after 1645, as it does
not appear in the edition of that year.

"Nine of the Psalms done into Metre, wherein all but what is in
A different character are the very Words of the Text, trans-
lated FROM THE Original."

The Psalms grouped together under this heading are Psalms LXXX. —
LXXXVIII.; and the group is ushered in with the dating "April 1648;
y.M»t^ showing at what time they were translated. There can be no doubt,
I think, that Milton was moved to his experiment by the interest which w?s
then felt, both in England and Scotland, and had been felt for some years, in
the project of a complete new Version of the Psalms, which should supersede,
for public worship, the old English Version of Sternhold and Hopkins and
others, first published complete in 1562, and the Version, partly the same,
that had been in use in Scotland since 1565, and was known as Lekprevik's,
from the name of the printer who had published it that year in Edinburgh.
In spite of competing Versions of the Psalms, or of some of them, these had
remained substantially the authorized Psalters in the two countries till the meet-
ing of the Long Parliament. But, after the meeting of that body, and espe-
cially after the Westminster Assembly had been convoked to aid it in religious
matters (July 1643), ^ revision or renovation of the Psalter had been much

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TRANSLATIONS. 443

discussed. It was one of those matters on which the Westminster Assembly
were especially required to deliberate, and report to the Parliament. Hence a
considerable activity in urging the claims of versions already made, either in
print or in manuscript, by persons recently dead or still living. Not to speak
of other Versions, acknowledged or anonymous, there was one by no less public
a person in England than the pious P'rancis Rous, member of the Long Par-
liament for Truro, and himself a lay-member of the Westminster Assembly
(ist edit. 1641, 2nd 1643). On the whole, Rous's Version had many friends;
and a revised edition of it, carefully made, was recommended by the West-
minster Assembly to the Parliament (Nov. 1645). With this Version, by one
of themselves, the Commons were well satisfied; and it was again printed in
its revised form in 1646. But, as the Lords, or some of them, had taken up a
rival Version, " close and proper to the Hebrew," by a Mr. William Barton,
M.A. of Oxford (published in 1644), they were' slow to acquiesce in the pref-
erence for Rous; and, notwithstanding much urging of the subject by the
Commons, and also by the Assembly, it stood over unsettled, so far as England
was concerned. — That Milton, in his experiment in April 1648, had some view
to the controversy then going on as to the national Psalter, and the rivalry
between Rous and Barton, is rendered the likelier by the form his experiment
took. He adopted the ordinary Service metre of eights and sixes, only rhym-
ing the first and third lines as well as the second and fourth ; and he made it
a punctilio to translate direct from the Hebrew, and to indicate every addition
to the original by the use of Italic type. With all his pains, his Version of
these nine Psalms is much inferior to what we should have expected from him.
It is perhaps inferior to Rous's, and it is certainly inferior to the authorized
Scottish. Version of 1650 founded on Rous's.

Psalms I. — VIII. : Done into Verse.

The former experiment of a close translation of Nine of the Psalms into
ordinary Service metre had been made by Milton in April 1648, when he was
living in High Holborn, not yet blind, and (Charles I. being still alive) not yet
Latin Secretary to the Commonwealth, noi with any prospect of being such,
More than five years had elapsed since then, and Milton was living in Petty
France, quite blind, and occupied with the duties of his Secretaryship, when
something led him to recur to Psalm-translation. On a few successive days of
August 1653 he dictated metrical versions of the first Eight of the Psalms.
These versions, however, were done on a new principle. They did not profess
to be close to the original, nor were they in the ordinary Service metre. On the
contrary, very various metres were employed, some of them quite uncommon;
and no two of the Eight Psalms were rendered in the same metre. Perhaps
the main intention was to try the effect of such a freedom of metre.

Scraps of Translated Verse from the Prose Writings.

It was Milton's laudable habit, and one rather unusual in his day, not to
trouble the readers of his English pamphlets and other writings with
quotations in Latin and Greek, but, where he did have occasion to quote a
Latin or Greek author, either to give the English sense of the passage, or to

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^^ THE ENGLISH POEMS,

annex the English sense to the quoted bit of Latin or Greek. So with
Italian. Hence, when he wanted to quote a line or two from a Latin, Greek,
or Italian poet, or a passage of Latin verse occurring in a prose author, he
generally took the trouble to translate it off hand himself at the moment.
In such cases blank verse came easiest, and all the scraps of the kind in his
prose writings are in blank verse. He did not think it worth while to collect
these for either the first or the second edition of his Poems; but they have
very properly been sought out and placed in later editions.

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INTRODUCTIONS TO THE LATIN POEMS.

,The Latin Poems were distinctly divided by Milton himself, in both
editions, into two Books or sets — an "Elegiarum Liber," or "Book of
Elegies;" and a "Sylvarum Liber," or "Book of Sylv^" The word
Sytva (literally " a Wood ") was the name given by the Latin authorcraft of
the Empire, as we learn firom Quintilian, to any rough thing written off at a
beat; and hence the Miscellanies of many poets are printed in their works
under the title of Sylva. The distinction made by Milton between his
ELEGiiB or Elegies and his Sylv^ or Miscellanies seems to have been one
of metrical form merely, and not of matter. Among the Elegies he put all
pieces, of whatever kind, and whether properly " elegiac " or not in the sense
of "pensive" or "mournful," that were written in the elegiac metre, of
alternate Hexameters and Pentameters, so much used by Tibullus, Propertius,
and his favourite Ovid. Among the Sylv.« or Miscellanies, on the other
hand, he put all pieces written in other kinds of verse, whether in Hexameters
only, or in such more complex Horatian measures as Alcaics and varied
Iambics. Later editors, indeed, have taken the liberty of cutting off a few of
the smaller pieces from the end of the Book of Elegies, and combining them
with two or three scraps of Latin verse from the prose-pamphlets, so as to
constitute a third brief Book, called Epigrammatum Liber, or Book of
.Epigrams. But, though the few pieces thus thrown together are of the
nature of Epigrams, and some of them like Martial's Epigrams, the liberty
seems unwarrantable. Milton made the distinction into Elegies and Sylv^b
sufHce, and we must do the same.

elegiarum liber.

Elegia Prima:

Ad Carolum DiodcUum.

The person addressed in this Elegy was Charles Diodati, the dearest and
most intimate friend of Milton in his boyhood, and through his youth and
early manhood, and for whose memory he entertained a singular affection in
still later life, after he had lost him by death. He will be mentioned again
in the course of these Introductions. At present we shall trace what is
known of him as far as to the date of this Elegy, i.e, to the year 1626.

445

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446 THE LATIN POEMS.

The family of Diodati (pronounce it Diodati) was Italian, belonging originally
to Lucca in the Tuscan States, but driven thence, apparently, on account of the
Protestant opinions of its members. Of two brothers of the family, thus exiled
from Italy by their Protestantism, one, named Giovanni Diodati, bom in 1576,
had become very eminent in Geneva, as a scholar and theologian, and was
Professor of Hebrew and ope of the ministers of that city. He was the author
of various Calvinistic writings, much esteemed in their day by foreign Protestants
and by the Puritans of England; he took a leading part in the famous Synod
o?Dort in 1618-19; and he would be yet remembered" if for nothing else, at
all events for his Italian Version of the Scriptures, published in 1607, and
known as " Diodati's Version." An elder brotljer of his, named Theodore
Diodati, born in 1574, and educated for the medical profession, had made Eng-
land his home, and, having married an English lady of some means, acquired
a good practice and some celebrity as. a physician, first at Brentford, and after-
wards in London, where he resided in the parish of Little St. Bartholomew, not
far from St. Paul's and Milton's native Bread Street. Of two sons of this natu-
ralized London physician, by his English wife, one 'was called Charles and the
other John. Milton knew both, but Charles was his especial friend. He
was almost exactly of Milton's own age, or but a little older. He had been sent
at a very early age to St. Paul's School, and it was there that Milton had become
acquainted with him. He was probably somewhat in advance of Milton in the
classes, for he left school for Trinity College, Oxford, in Feb. 1621-2, three years
before Miltpn left the same school for Cambridge. The separation was no
interruption of their friendship. The young Oxonian and the young Cantab
corresponded with each other; and in the University vacations they were much
together in London, or in excursions in its neighbourhood. Probably because
Diodati was destined for his father's profession of medicine, and was preparing
for it, we do not^hear much of his career at Oxford; but he was well liked in
his College there, and there is a copy of Latin Alcaics by him in a volume of
Oxford Verses put forth in 1624 on the death of the great scholar Camden. He
seems, however, to have been fond of writing his letters in Greek; and two
Greek letters of his to Milton have been strangely preserved, and are now in the.
British Museum. In the second of these he writes from some place in the country,
saying he is leading a most pleasant life on the whole, though he rather misses
intellectual companionship, and he advises Milton not to " tie himself night
and day to his books," but to take some relaxation. " I in all things else your
inferior," he concludes, " am superior to you in this, that I know a measure in
my labours."

It seems possible that in this Greek missive, now in the British Museum,
we have that very letter of Diodati to which Milton's Latin Elegy is an avowed
reply. It is, at all events, a reply to some letter of Diodati's sent from near
Chester, and which reached Milton in London. The interest of Milton's Elegy
in reply is, to a large extent, autobiographical; and there is one passage of par-
ticular moment to the commentators. It is that beginning line 9 and ending
line 24. Milton is supposed to refer here (and the supposition seems inevitable)
to a fact in his life of which there is other evidence — viz. a quarrel he had, in
his undergraduateship, with the authorities of Christ's College, Cambridge, and
his temporary retirement or rustication from the College in consequence. It is
positively known that Milton, while he was an undergraduate at Christ's, had
some disagreement with the tutor under whose charge he had been put at the

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ELEGIA TERTIA. 447

time of his first admission : viz. William Chappell, afterwards Provost of Trinity
College, Dublin, and Bishop of Cloyne and Ross; and it is farther known that,
in consequence of this disagreement — in the course of which Dr. Thomas
Bainbrigge, the Master of the College, may have been called in, or may have
interfered — Milton was transferred from the tutorship of Chappell to that of
another of the Fellows of the College : viz. Nathaniel Tovey, afterwards parson
of Lutterworth in Leicestershire. The probable date of this incident was the
Lent or Easter term of Milton's second academic year, i.e, of the year 1625-6.
The present Elegy was probably written during Milton's absence or rustica-
tion from College that summer; and in the passage indicated he speaks of this
absence or rustication {exilium is the word he uses) as not such a bad thing
after all. Nevertheless, as he says in the end of the Elegy, it is arranged that
he shall return to Cambridge. Actually, as we know, he did return, to finish
his undergraduate course, under Tovey's tutorship. His temporary absence,
we also know, counted for nothing against him; for he did not lose a term, but
took his BA. degree at exactly the proper time.

Elegia Secunda.

Anno aetatis 1 7.

In obitum Praconis Academici Cantabrigiensis.

Richard Ridding, M. A. of St. John's College, was Senior Esquire Bedel of the
University when Milton went to Cambridge. Through two University sessions
Milton had been familiar with his venerable figure; but about the beginning of
Milton's third University session (1626-7) Ridding died. I have not ascertained
the exact day, but the probate of his will is dated Nov. 8, 1626. The death of
a University personage so conspicuous naturally gave occasion for versifying;
and Milton's Elegy was one of the results. It ought to be noted that Milton's
own dating of the Elegy **Anno atatis 17 " is either wrong by a year, or must
be translated laxly as meaning ** at seventeen years of age."

Elegia Tbrtia.

Anno aetatis 17.

In obitum Prasulis Wintoniensis,

On the 2 1 St of September 1626, just before the beginning of Milton's third
academic year at Cambridge, there died, at Winchester House, Southwark,
the learned and eloquent Dr. Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester, at the
age of seventy-one. Milton's ecclesiastical opinions in his later life led him to
be rather critical in his estimate of this famous Bishop, and indeed of Bishops
generally; but in his Cambridge undergraduateship his anti-prelatic feelings
were less pronounced, and he willingly joined in the chorus of regret over the
loss of one of the brightest intellects in the English Church. The reader ought
to note the historical allusions which the Elegy contains. The year of Bishop
Andrewes's death had been one of great mortality by the Plague in England
and of the deaths of several men of note abroad.

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448 THE LATIN POEMS.

Elegia Quarta.

Anno setatis i8.

Ad Thomam yunium, prceceptorem suum^ apud mercatores An^icos
Hamburga agentes Pastoris munere fungentem,

Thomas Young, Milton's first preceptor, was a Scotchman. He was bom at
Luncarty in Perthshire in or about 1588, was educated at the University of
St. Andrews, and took his M.A. degree there. Perhaps because the acces-
sion of James to the English throne in 1603 had opened up for many Scots
prospects of a better livelihood in England than their own country afforded.
Young had migrated thither while still a young man; and there are indistinct
traces of him in the capacity of curate or assistant to Puritan parish-ministers
in London and its neighbourhood before 16 18. He seems, however, to have
employed himself chiefly in teaching; and, in the course of that employment,
it was his good fortune to happen upon one pupil who was to be immortal. It
is just possible that Milton had been boarded under Young's charge some-
where near London before he went to St. Paul's School; but.it is more likely
that Young had only been his first domestic preceptor, and continued to be
his private preceptor while he was at St. Paul's School, adding to the educa-
tion which he was receiving publicly from Mr. Alexander Gill, the head-master
of the School, and his son and assistant, Mr. Alexander Gill the younger. In
that case, however. Young's tutorship of Milton did not extend over the whole
period of his training under the two Gills. Milton, so far as is known, went to
St. Paul's School in 1620, when he was eleven years of age, and He remained
there till the winter or spring of 1624-5, when he left for Cambridge at the
age of sixteen. But Young had left England for his chaplaincy to the English
merchants at Hamburg at least as early as 1622. He was then a married man,
with children, and matters had not been so prosperous with him in England
but that a foreign chaplaincy was acceptable.

Milton, it appears, had cherished a warm recollection of Young in his exile,
and occasional communications had passed between them. The first of Mil-
ton's Latin Familiar Epistles is addressed to Young ( Thoma yunio, pra^
ceptori suo). It is dated " London, March 26, 1625," and was written, there-
fore, after Milton had been admitted at Christ's College, Cambridge, but before
his residence at Cambridge had fairly commenced. It is expressed in terms
of the most ardent affection and gratitude, with apologies for having been
remiss in his correspondence, and especially for having allowed three years to
elapse since his last letter; and there is an acknowledgment also of the gift
of a Hebrew Bible which Young had sent to him. Two years more had
passed since that Epistle was written, and Milton had again been remiss. The
present Elegy is his atonement. He has been moved to write it by ominous
news from the Continent. The great Continental war, known afterwards as
The Thirty Years' War^ was then in its second stage, when Christian IV. of
Denmark was the leader of the Protestant Alliance against the Imperialists
under Tilly and Wallenstein. Saxony, to which Hamburg was attached, was
inextricably involved ; and actually, while Milton wrote, the rumour was that
the Imperialist soldiery were all round Hamburg and threatening it with
tiege. What might befall poor Young and his family? On this cause of alarm

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ELEGIA QUARTA, 449

Milton dilates, not without a touch of anger at the stupidity and cold-hearted-
ness of Britain, which had driven such a man as Young abroad for bare sub-
sistence, to live poorly and obscurely amid strangers, when he might have
been a noted minister of the Gospel at home. But he bids Young take
courage. God will protect him through all the dangers of war; nay more
(and with this prediction the Elegy closes), better times are in store for him,
and he will not remain much longer in exile.

Milton's prediction was very speedily fulfilled. Not many months after
Young had received the Elegy, he returned to England; and oh the 27th of
March 1628, being then about forty years of age, he was inducted into the
united Vicarages of St. Peter and St. Mary in Stowmarket, Suffolk. He had
not been four months in his Vicarage at the date of a second letter to him
from Milton, preserved among the Latin Familiar Epistles. It is dated "Cam-
bridge, July 21, 1628," and shows that Milton and he must again have come
together since his return to England. Young had invited Milton to come and
see him at Stowmarket, and Milton accepts the invitation and promises to
come soon. Accordingly, the tradition at Stowmarket is that Milton was a
frequent visitor to Young during his incumbency.

Young's incumbency at Stowmarket lasted all the rest of his life. But he
was destined to a wider celebrity than attached merely to that incumbency.
As he was of strict Puritan principles, it is difficult to imagine how he con-
trived to tide through the time of the I^udian supremacy in the Church and
State (1628 — 1640), during which Laud and his subordinate diocesans were
so zealous in calling to account parish ministers of too Calvinistic doctrine, or
too Puritanical in their dislike of vestments and ceremonies. Luck or pru-
dence did carry him through, however ; so that, at the close of Laud's suprem-
acy, and the beginning of a new era for England with the Long Parliament
(Nov. 1640), he was still Vicar of Stowmarket. During the two- preceding
years he had been sympathising with his fellow-countrymen, the Scots, in their
Covenant, and their struggles against Laud and Charles; and in 1639 he had
published a treatise in Latin entitled Dies Dominica^ and consisting of a
defence of the Puritan idea of the Sabbath-day and its proper observance.
After the meeting of the Long Parliament, he is found coming decidedly to
the front among the advocates of a radical Church Reform. In conjunction
with four other parish ministers of noted Puritan principles — viz. Stephen
Marshal, Edmund Calamy, Matthew Newcomen, and William Spurstow — he
wrote the famous Smectymnuan Pamphlet, or Treatise by Smecfymnuus (a
grotesque fancy-name composed of the initials of the five writers), in reply to
Bishop Joseph Hall's defences of Episcopacy and of the English Liturgy. Of
this Smectymnuan treatise, which was published in 1 641, and was the first loud
manifesto of Anti-Episcopal opinions within the Church itself, Young, it is
now known, was the principal author. As Hall repUed, and the Smectym-
nuans replied again, the controversy prolonged itself through a series of pam-
phlets, all now regarded as belonging to the Smectymnuan set, and two of
which {"Anima^ersions on the Remonstranfs Defence against Smectym-
nuuSf^ and "An Apology against a Pamphlet called a Modest ^Confutation of
the Animadversions''''^ were from Milton's own pen. He had been in Young's
confidence from the beginning of the controversy, and thought it right at last
to plunge in personally to the rescue of Young and his brother Smectymnuans.

It is doubtful whether the cordial intimacy between Milton and Young which

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4SO . THE LATIN POEMS,

this co-operation indicates lasted much beyond those years, 1641-42, when the
Smectymnuan controversy raged. Milton's subsequent Divorce Speculations,
and his rupture with the Presbyterians, may have interfered with their intimacy,
though not with their mutual regard. For Young was one of the divines of
the Westminster Assembly, and went wholly with the great majority of that
body in their aims towards the establishment in England of a strict Presby-
terian system like that of Scotland. By this time he was so conspicuous a
person that the Scots remembered he was their countryman, and would fain
have induced him to return to Scotland by the offer of some suitable post.
But England could outbid Scotland for him, and retained him to the end. In
1644, when the University of Cambridge was visited by Parliamentary authority
and refractory Heads of Houses and Fellows were turned out, and their places
filled with new men. Young was appointed to the Mastership of Jesus College,
in place of the ultra- Royalist and Laudian Dr. Richard Sterne. On the 12th
of April in that year he was incorporated in the University ad eundem^ — i,e.
to the same degree of M.A. which he had taken at St. Andrews nearly forty
years before. On the 28th of February 1644-5 he preached a Fast-day Ser-
mon before the House of Commons, which was published under the title of
Hope^s Encouragement He lived for ten years longer, holding his Mastership
of Jesus College in conjunction with his Vicarship of Stowmarket, and hon-
oured as D.D. and otherwise. He died in 1655 at Stowmarket, at the age of
about sixty-seven, and was there buried. A portrait of him, which was kept
in th^ Vicarage, is still extant; and a print from it, after a photograph, is pre-
fixed to ^^Biographical Notices of Thomas Young, S.T.D., Vicar of Stow-
market, Suffolk^'' privately printed in 1870 by Mr. David Laing, of Edmburgh.
It exhibits, through the blur of age that had come over the original, a really
powerful, calm, and well-featured face.

Elegia Quinta.

Anno aetatis 20.

In Adventum Veris.

This Elegy may be referred to the early part of 1629, when Milton had
just taken his B.A. degree at Cambridge. Bachelor-like, he exults in the
arrival of Spring, hailing the glad season of Nature's renewal in a poem
which may be described as a laborious Latin amplification of the sentiment
of Tennyson's lines : —

" In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the bumish'd dove;
In the Sprii^ a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love."

Elegia Sexta.

Ad Carolum Diodatum, ruri commorantem.

The life of EModati, and the history of Milton's friendship with him, as far
as to the year 1626, have been sketched in the Introduction to the Elegia
Prima. Three years had elapsed since then, and the two friends had been
pursuing their separate courses — Diodati with the medical profession in
prospect, but retaining his connexion with Oxford, where he graduated M.A.

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ELECTA SEPTIMA. 451

in July 1628, and Milton persevering at Cambridge, where he graduated B.A.
in January 1628-9. ^^t their friendship was firm as ever, and they may have
had meetings in the interval. One such meeting, of more than ordinary
interest to both, may have been at Cambridge 'in July 1629; for Diodati,
though then an Oxford M.A. of but one year's standing, was incorporated
ad eundem at Cambridge in the July Commencement of that year. So early
an incorporation in the sister University was unusual, and I seem to see in the
fact an arrangement between the two friends.

The heading of the Elegy tells the rest. The sprightly, quick-witted Italian
had gone again into the country in 1629, either to the neighbourhood of
Chester, as on the occasion of the First Elegy, or to some other part of
England. There, in some pleasant country mansion, and among pleasant and
hospitable friends, he is having a delightful winter holiday. It is but the 13th
of December, but they are making Christmas of it already — good cheer,
blazing fires, wine, music, dancing, games of forfeits, &c. So Diodati informs
Milton, pleading these festivities in excuse for neglect of Poetry. The reply
is very characteristic. After messages of affection, Milton playfully objects to
Diodati's excuse, and maintains that festivity and poetry, Bacchus and Song,
Venus and Song, are naturally kin and always have gone together. Suddenly,
however, in this vein he checks himself. What he has said is true, he
explains, only of certain kinds of poetry and certain orders of poets. For the
greatest poetry there must be a different regimen. For those who would
speak of high matters, the deeds of heroes and the counsels of the gods, for
those whose poetry would rise to the prophetic strain, not wine and con-
viviality were fitted, but spare Pythagorean diet, the beechen bowl of pure
water, a life even ascetic in its abstinence, and scrupulously pure. This is an
eminently Miltonic idea, perhaps /r^-eminently ike Miltonic idea; and it
occurs again and again iii Milton's writings. Nowhere, however, is it more
finely expressed than in the passage in this Elegy beginning *M/ qui bella
re/art" and ending ^* ora Jovem'''* (lines 55 — 78). These twenty-four lines
are about Milton's noblest in Latin, and deserve to be learnt by heart with
reference to himself, or to be written under his portrait. They give a value to
the whole Elegy. The lines that follow them, however (79 — 90), have also
a peculiar interest. They inform us that, at the very time when Milton was
writing this Elegy to Diodati, he was engaged on his English Ode ** On the
Morning of Christ's Nativity." He had begun it, he says, on Christmas-day,
and he promises to show it to Diodati. As the Ode, in its place among the
English Poems in Milton's First Edition, is dated " 1629," this fixes the date
of the Elegy.

Electa Sephma.

Anno setatis undevigesimoi

This Elegy, which is the last of any length in the Book, and the last to
which Milton attached a number, is out of its proper chronological place.
"Anno atoHs undevigesimo'^ ("in his nineteenth year") is the dating; and,
as Milton here uses the numeral adjective, and not, as in other cases, the
Arabic figures for the number, it is perhaps to be imderstood exactly — i.e. as
implying that the Elegy was written between Dec. 9, 1626, and Dec. 9, 1627.
Possibly, however, even with the use of the numeral adjective, Milton gives

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452 THE LATIN POEMS.

himself the benefit of a year, and means "at nineteen years of age," or
between Dec. 9, 1627, and Dec. 9, 1628. In either case, the precise month
is lixed by the Elegy itself as May. The date therefore is either May 1627 or
May 1628.

The Elegy is more decidedly and thoroughly a love-poem than any of the
others. In the First Elegy, Ad Carolum Diodatum^ there is a gallant mention
of the London beauties to be seen in the parks and public gardens; and in a
part of the Fifth, In Adventum VeriSy there is a poetical recognition of Cupid's
activity as one of the phenomena of Spring. But the present Elegy is a love-
confession throughout, and quite precise and personal. It was May time, we
are told, and Cupid had sworn to be revenged on Milton for his contempt of
love and his boasts of being heart-whole. Fifty lines are taken up in telling
this and describing the little love-god and his threats. Then, at line 51, the
real story begins. Forgetting all about the love-god, he takes his walks, as
usual, now in those parts of London where the citizens promenade, and now
in the neighbouring country, with its hamlets and villas. He observes, in the
streets more especially, the crowd of beauties, perfect goddesses, that pass and
repass. He indulges in the sight, as often before, pleased, but Httle thinking
what was to come of it this time. For alas ! one fair one, supereminent among
all, caught his glance, and the wound was fatal. It was but the sight of a
moment, for she was gone, never again to be seen on earth ; but her face and
her form were to remain with him a vision for ever. No longer now is he
heart-whole, for he goes about sweetly miserable. Cupid has had his revenge,
and he acknowledges now that little god's power. Oh, if ever he and such a
fair one should meet again, might one arrow transfix both their hearts !

A peculiar circumstance about this Elegy is that it is followed by a Postscript.
For the ten lines, beginning ^^Hac ego " and ending " ipsa Venus,^^ which I
have caused to be printed in italics in the present edition, are not, as might
be supposed at first sight, and has been generally assumed, an epilogue to the
whole series of Seven Elegies preceding them. If the Epilogue is carefully
read, it will be seen that in no mood of sternness could it be applicable to all
the seven numbered Elegies, or to most of them. There were some of them
of which, juvenile though they were, Milton could still approve in his manhood.
But, in 1645, when he looked over those pieces before giving them to the printer
for Moseley's volume, that love-confession of the Seventh Elegy delayed him.
He thought it maudlin : perhaps he remembered the exact incident and its
circumstantials with half a blush. Ought he to print the thing? His hesitation
to do so accounts perhaps for its coming out of its proper chronological place;
but at last he lets it go, only adding the Postscript of recantation. That
Postscript, therefore, has to be dated 1645, ^^ eighteen years after the Elegy
k) which it is attached.

EPIGRAMS.

"In Proditionem Bombardicam and In Inventorem Bombards." —
The anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot seems to have been a regular occasion
for versifying in English Schools and Colleges in Milton's time. Among the
Syhrse there is a long poem in Hexameters by Milton on this subject, entitled
In Quintum Novembris ; and the four little pieces on the same subject among

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EPIGRAMS. 453

the Elegies may have been Milton's easier tributes to University custom on
some one, or on several, of the Fifths of November of his Cambridge under-
graduateship. They express rather wittily the popular Protestant horror of
Guy Fawkes and his attempt. The fifth piece, not on the Gunpowder Treason,
but on the Inventor of Gunpowder, is but a variation of the general theme :
and the five together may be called the Gunpowder Group.

"Ad Leonoram Rom/E Canentem." — These three pieces of compliment
must have been written at Rome in one or other of Milton's two terms of xe?\-
dence in that city during his memorable Italian tour. His first visit, in October
anci November 1638, is the more likely time. An incident of that visit, recorded
by Milton himself in one of his Familiar Epistles {Lucd Holstenioy Romce^ in
Vaiican6)y was his presence at a magnificent musical entertainment given by
Cardinal Francesco Barberini in his palace. All the elite of Rome were present
at this concert; but the courteous cardinal, receiving the crowding guests at
the doors, had singled out the English stranger, and welcomed him with special
attention. To Milton, with his love of music, this concert may have been an
unusual pleasure, especially if it was there that he heard the singer Leonora to
whom the present pieces are addressed. There or elsewhere in Rome he did
hear that paragon of voices. For, throughout the world, or at all events the
musical and Italian world, there was no singer then so renowned as Leonora
Baroni. There is an article on her in Bayle's Dictionary, the substance of which,
apart from minuter information in the notes, runs thus : " Baroni, Leonora,
" an Italian lady, one of the finest voices of the world, flourished in the seven-
** teenth century. She was the daughter of the beautiful Adriana, a Mantuan,
" and was so admired that an infinity of beaux esprits made verses in her praise.
"There is a volume of excellent pieces, in Latin, Greek, French, Italian, ai \
" Spanish, printed at Rome under the title of * Applatisi Foetid alle glorie delta
" Signora Leonora Baroni.^ " Leonora went about usually with her mother,
the beautiful Adriana Baroni, and a sister called Katarina. Though Bayle
makes the family Mantuan, it was originally Neapolitan, and had migrated
from Naples to Mantua. From 1637 onwards, however, Rome was the head-
quarters of the fascinating three.

"Apologus de Rustico et Hero." — There is nothing to date this Apo-
logue, except that its non-appearance in the edition of 1645 suggests that it
was written after that year.

De Moro. — So we may entitle the lampoon on Milton's antagonist MoruSy
or Alexander More, which appeared in Milton's Defensio Secunda pro Populo
Anglicano (1654), and was reproduced in his Pro se Defensio contra Alexan-
drum Morum (1655). More was a Frenchman, of Scottish parentage, born in
161 6, who, after a varied career of celebrity as a Protestant preacher and Pro-
fessor of Greek and of Theology in various parts of the Continent — at Geneva,
in Holland, and again in France — died in Paris in 1670, four years before
Milton. His collision with Milton dates from the year 1652, when he caused
to be printed, at the Hague, a treatise against the English Commonwealth
entitled ''Regii Sanguinis Clamor ad Caelum adversus Parricidas Anglicanos "
r"Cry of the King's Blood to Heaven against the English Parricides"). In
this treatise Milton was attacked for his Defences of the Regicide; and,
though it was anonymous, and was really not by More, but by Peter du Moulin
the younger, Milton made More responsible. In his Defensio Secunda and in
his Pro se Defensio he dragged More through a perfect ditch of invective,

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454 THE LATIN POEMS,

publishing all sorts of scandals against More*s private character, which had
come to him from correspondents in Geneva and elsewhere. The present
distich, though now printed as Milton's, because used by him twice, was really
by some Dutch wit.

Ad Christinam, Suecorum Reginam, nomine Cromwelli. — The lines
printed with this title in most modern editions of Milton's poems are supposed
to have been written for Cromwell in 1654, the first year of his Protectorate, to
accompany a portrait of himself which he then sent to the eccentric, and then
famous Christina, Queen of Sweden. Being in elegiac verse, they have their
proper place here in the Elegiarum Liber y if they are Milton's. But, almost
certainly, they are Andrew Marvell's. They appeared as his, with only slight
verbal variations, in his Miscellaneom Poems, published by his widow in i68i,
three years after his death.

SYLVARUM LIBER.

In obitum Prcx:ancellarii Medici.

Anno aetatis 17.

In both Milton's editions this piece is dated ** Anno atatis 16." This date is
a blunder. For, even if we allow Milton his ordinary liberty of dating, accord-
ing to which the phrase must be translated " at the age of 16 years " and not
" in the i6th year of his age " (see Introductions to Elegies Second and Third),
the dating will not correspond with the incident of the Poem. That incident
was the death of John Gostlin, M.D., Master of Gonville and Caius College,
Cambridge, from 161 8, and Vice-Chancellor of the University for the second
time in the year 1625-6. His Vice-Chancellorship would have expired
Nov. 3, 1626; but he died some days before that date, and still holding the office :
viz. on^he 2ist of October, 1626. The Michaelmas Term of Milton's third
academic year had just begun, and Milton was full seventeen years of age, and,
in fact, verging on eighteen. This dating " anno atatis 16" was, therefore, a
slip of memory. — The Dr. Gostlin, whose death is lamented in the poem, in
very pretty mythological language and in good Horatian verse, was a Norwich
man by birth, educated at Caius College, admitted M.D. in 1602, and after-
wards Regius Professor of Physic in the University. When his turn came
round to be Vice-Chancellor, it was something of a rarity in the University
to see an M.D. rather than the customary D.D. in that office. " Here comes
our medical Vice-Chancellor," one may fancy the Cantabs of 1625-6 saying
to each other when they saw Gostlin in the streets. His death, just at the close
of his year of office, and when the Colleges had reassembled for a new session,
naturally occasioned versifying.

In Quintum Novembris.

Anno aetatis 17.

This is a Gunpowder Plot poem, written by Milton for Guy Fawkes's Day,
or the Fifth of November, 1626, There are four Latin trifles on the same
subject among the Elegies, but the present piece, in sustained Hexameters, is
a much more elaborate performance. It is, indeed, one of the very best of

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NATURAM NON PAT/ SENIUM. 455

Milton's things in Latin. The spirit, it is true, is that of the common popular
Protestantism of England in Milton's time, which firmly believed in all the
traditional details of the Plot of 1605, and regarded it as a wide-spread conspir-
acy of the Roman Cathohcs, characteristic of their principles and prompted
by the Papacy itself. Naturally, such a poem (and there are minuter ferocities
against the Papacy in the filling-up) will be read in different humours by
different persons. But the execution of the poem, the power of imagination and
of language shown in it, cannot fail to strike even the reader who is least satis-
fied with its spirit I would instance particularly the description of Satan flying
through the air and beholding Britain (lines 7 — 47), that of the den of Murder
and Treason (lines 139 — 156), and that of the Temple of Fame (lines 170—193).
The ending of the poem is rather abrupt.

In obitum Pr^esulis Eliensis.

Anno aetatis 1 7.

On the 5th of October, 1626, or only a fortnight after the death of Dr.
Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester, there died another prelate. Dr.
Nicholas Felton, Bishop of Ely. Like Andrewes, he was a Cambridge man,
of Pembroke Hall, and he had, like Andrewes, been for some time Master of
that Hall before he was made a bishop. Milton, who had just written his
Elegy on Andrewes's death (^Elegia Tertia)^ paid a similar honour to his brother-
bishop, but employed Iambic verse of alternate Trimeters and Dimeters instead
of Elegiacs. Hence this piece on Felton comes among the Sylvce.

NATURAM NON PATI SENIUM.

From one. of Milton's Epistola Eamiliares, dated "Cambridge, July 2,
1628," and addressed to his former master at St. Paul's School, Alexander
Gill the younger, it api>ears that these Latin Hexameters were one of the pieces
of verse printed copies of which were distributed, according to custom, by the
University Bedels at the Cambridge Commencement ceremonial, or annual
meeting for the conferring of degrfees, held in St. Mary's Church on Tuesday,
the 1st of July, 1628.

The ceremonial, though held at the end of the academic year, was called
the " Commencement," because those who graduated in Divinity, Arts, Law,
Physic, and Music were then said to " commence " in their respective faculties,
and were designated Inceptores. Part of the business in the graduation in each
faculty consisted of what was called an Act or Disputation in that faculty,
carried on in Latin between one appointed debater-in-chief called the Respon-
dent (in the Divinity Act there were generally two Respondents) and other
debaters who attacked him successively and were called Opponents. First,
early in the morning, as soon as all had assembled in St. Mary's Church, the
Vice-Chancellor presiding, there began the Divinity Act. or Debate, accompanied
by a distribution of copies of versed, and ending in the ceremonious conferring
of the degree of D.D. on all the candidates of the year for that degree. Next,
and usually about mid-day, came on the Philosophical Act and Graduation in
Arts. This was a richer and more diversified affair than the Divinity Gradua-
tion which had preceded it, not only because the candidates for the M.A. degree

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456 THE LATIN POEMS,

each year were a very numerous body, consisting' of young men from all the
Colleges, but also because custom tolerated a great deal of liberty and even of
fun in the philosophical discussion. Here also, however, the backbone of the
business was the Latin logomachy between the appointed representative of the
Arts faculty, called the Respondent, and the Opponents who successively
attacked him; and here also the logomachy began with the reading of the
Respondent's thesis, and the distribution of his verses, while he was reading
it, by the University Bedels. After the Act was over, there was a specimen
only of the actual graduation in Arts within the church, in the persons of the
ten or twelve Commencers from King's College; and the rest were marched
ofif to receive their M.A. degree in the Public School. For by this time it was
growing late, and the Law Act, the Physic Act, and the Music Act, with their
accompanying graduations, had still to come.

Milton may have been present already at three Commencements; but that
of 1628 had a peculiar interest for him. Bainbrigge, Master of his own College
of Christ's, was Vice-Chancellor of the University for the year 1627-8, and
there was a relish for the undergraduates of Christ's in this fact, and in the
prospect of his presidency in the Comitia of July 1628. Nor was that all. One
of the Se;iior Fellows of Christ's, it appears, had been selected for the impor-
tant post of Respondent in the Philosophical Act for that year; and he had
found the bit of verse expected from him quite out of his habits, or had broken
down over it at the last moment, and had asked Milton to help him out. With
some pains, from the shortness of the time, Milton had furbished up what he
thought would pass; and so the Christ's College people might congratulate
themselves triply on the representation of their College at the Commencement
of 1628. Not only would their Master preside as Vice-Chancellor, and not only
would a Fellow of their College be Respondent in the Philosophical Act, but
the Latin verses which the University Bedels would distribute in connexion
with that Act would be (but perhaps it was a secret) by an undergraduate of
Christ's. Actually the verses were put into print and distributed by the Bedels;
and on the 2nd of July, or the day after the Commencement, Milton was able
to send a copy, or some copies, of them to Gill in London.

One would like now to know which of the thirteen Fellows of Christ's it was
that begged Milton's poetical help, and what was the subject of the thesis which
the verses were to illustrate. We have light only on the last point from
Milton's lines. " 1 hat Nature is not subject to old age " is the proposition they
maintain. They are, in fact, a powerful, and very eloquent and poetical, pro-
test against the notion of a gradual decadence or deterioration of the physical
Universe or visible (rame of things. The verses being in this strain, we are
led to think that the Philosophical Thesis which they were written to
illustrate must have been some form of the same proposition. It is certainly
known, at all events, that a question much debated in the speculative world
of England about 1628 was the question whether there were signs of decay in
Nature, whether the Present were necessarily inferior to the Past, or whether
endurance, or even general progressiveness and improvement, might not be
the rule. Bacon's influence, opposed as it was to that abject reverence for
antiquity which had prevailed since the Revival of Letters, had given an
impulse to what was still perhaps the heterodox sentiment, namely faith in
the present and in the future.

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AD PATREM, 457

De IdeX PlatonicA quemadmodum Aristoteles intellexit.

This is, clearly, also an academic exercise; but in which year of Milton's
residence at Cambridge it was written, and for what occasion, I cannot
determine. It answers exactly to its title, " On the Platonic Idea as under-
stood by AristotleP That is to say, with an evident admiration of Plato, and
an imaginative sympathy with his doctrine of an eternal Idea or Archetype,
one and universal, according to which Man was formed, and which reproduces
itself in men's minds and thoughts, it yet shows how, by a too physical or
too coldly rational construction of this doctrine, it may be turned into
burlesque.

Ad Patrem.

These Hexameters are undated, but their date is hinted by their meaning.
They are an affectionate address to the poet's father, apparently in reply to
some mild remarks of the father on the subject of the son's dedication of
himself to a life of mere Poetry and Literature, and not, as had been hoped,
to one of the professions. They were written, therefore, after, Milton had
left Cambridge, and had begun his secluded life of study at his father's
country-place at Horton in Buckinghamshire. In lines 73 — 76 the reference
to Horton seems to be distinct.

Milton's father was himself an excellent and interesting man. He was
from the neighbourhood of Oxford, where a Roman Catholic family of
Miltons, the poet's ancestors, are found living, in the rank of yeomen, from
about 1550 onwards. One of the family, Richard Milton, of Stanton St.
John's, yeoman, was very resolute in his adherence to the old Religion, and is
mentioned twice in the Recusant Rolls for Oxfordshire as among those who
were heavily fined towards the end of Elizabeth's reign (1601) for obstinate
non-attendance at their parish churches. He was the poet's grandfather, one
of his sons, John Milton, being the poet's fatlTer. This John Milton, who
became a Protestant, and is said to have been cast off by his father on that
account, had settled in London, and was in business there as a scrivener,
before the above-mentioned date of his father's fines for recusancy. The
business of a scrivener in Old London was an important, and sometimes a
lucrative, one. It consisted in the drawing up of wills, marriage settlements,
an. I other deeds, the lending out of money for clients, and much else now
done partly by attorneys and partly by ^aw-stationers. The house of the new
scrivener, John Milton, which was also his place of business, was the Spread
f^gle in Bread Street, Cheapside, in the very heart of London.

There the scrivener married, probably in 1600, and there his children were
born. They were six in all; of whom only three survived to maturity — the
eldest, a daughter Anne, afterwards Mrs. Phillips, and again, by a second
marriage, Mrs. Agar; John Milton, the poet, born Dec. 9, 1608: and
Christopher Milton, afterwards Sir Christopher Milton and a judge, born
Dec. 3, 1615. The household in Bread Street seems to have been a peculiarly
peaceful ancj happy one, with a tone of pious Puritanism prevailing in it, but
with the liberal cheerfulness belonging to prosperous circumstances and to
ingenious and cultivated tastes. For one thing, music was perpetual in it.
The scrivener was not only passionately fond of music, but even of such note
as a composer that, apart altogether from the great fame of his son, some

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458 THE LATIN POEMS,

memory of him might have lingered among us to this day. Madrigals, songs^
and psalm-tunes of his composition are to be seen yet in music -books pub-
lished before his son was born, or while he was but in his boyhood, and not in
mere inferior music-books, but iA collections in which Morley, Wilbye, Bull,
Dowland, Ellis Gibbons, Orlando Gibbons, and others of the best artists of the
day, were his fellow-contributors. There must have been frequent musical
evenings, with one or more musical acquaintances present, in the house in
Bread Street; books of music and musical instruments were parts of its
furniture; and the young poet was taught by his father both to sing and to
play the organ. But the scrivener's designs for his children went beyond their
mere training in his own art. It was his care to give them the best education
possible, and to grudge nothing of his means towards that end. From the
first there is proof that his heart was bound up in his son John, and that he
had conceived the highest expectations of what that son would turn out to be.
A portrait of the poet, as a sweet, serious, round-headed boy, at the age of
ten, still exists, which his father caused to be done by the foreign painter then
most in fashion, and which hung on the wall of one of the rooms in the house
in Bread Street. Both father and mother doted on the boy and were proud
of his promise. And so, after the most careful tuition of the boy at home, by
his Scottish preceptor Yoimg (see ant^y p. 453), and his farther training by
the two Gills at St. Paul's School, close to Bread Street (see aniif p. 453), he
was sent to Christ's College, Cambridge, in 1625, whither his younger brother,
Christopher, followed him in Feb. 1630-31. The expense of maintaining two
sons at Cambridge was considerable, and proves that the scrivener must have
succeeded well in his business.

That the scrivener's business had been a flourishing one is farther proved by
the fact that he was able to retire from it, in whole or in part, in or about 1632,
to the country-house at Horton, which he either took then, or had already been
in possession of for some time. Thither, in that year, his son, having com-
pleted his seven years at the University and taken his M.A. degree, went to
reside with him. So far all his highest hopes of that son had been fulfilled.
He was then twenty-three years of age; and what youth comparable to him
had the University sent out — what youth of such fair grace of form, of such
genius and accomplishments, of character so manly and noble? A second
portrait of Milton, done in the time of his Cambridge studentship, when he
was about twenty-one years of age, attests the continued pride in him of his
father and mother. Only one thing a little troubled the elderly people, and
particularly the father. This son of theirs, whom they had destined for the
Church, had clearly and resolutely abjured that destination of himself as
against his conscience ; the profession of the Law, thought of for a moment,
had also been set aside; and here he was back on their hands, with no clear
line of life before him, such as other young men of his age had, but buried
in books and lost in Poetry. Some remonstrances to this effect may have
been expressed by the father; but, if so, they must have been in the mildest
and most hesitating terms (for Milton, I fancy, had learnt to be master and more
in his father's house). Or, without any such remonstrances, Milton may have
divined what was passing in the minds of his parents and in their colloquies
concerning him. And so, on some occasion when the subject had been
broached, or it was strong in Milton's musings, he writes this grateful and
affectionate poem Ad Patrem,

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GREEK VERSES.

459

. "Well, John, I have faith in you: take your own way, whatever it w,
God has given me enough of means, my son, for all immediate* needs; and,
while I live, what I have is yours." As surely as if we had heard these
words spoken, they were the response of Milton's father to the pleading of
this poem. They were his response not in words only, but in fact. Until
Milton was thirty-two years of age, if even then, he did not earn a penny
for himself.

Greek Verses.

Milton, though an assiduous and enthusiastic reader of the Greek classics,
did not give much time to the practice of Greek composition. He has left
but three pieces of Greek verse; and the verdict upon thetn by the critic of
subsequent times who has published the minutest examination of them (Dr.
Charles Burney, 1757 — 1817), is that they show imperfect Greek scholarship.
He finds lax construction in them, questionable usages of words, and even
false quantities.

Psalm CXIV. — This seems to have been a favourite Psalm with Milton, for
it is one of the two which he had paraphrased in English when he was fifteen
years of age (see anti^ p. 403). The present version of it in Greek Hexame-
ters was done in 1634, as appears by a Latin letter of Milton to Gill the younger,
of date Dec. 4 in that year.

Philosophus ad Regem Quendam, etc. — As these Hexameters appear
in the Edition of 1645, and as their tenor suggests that they were done after
the Civil War had begun, we may date them between 1642 and 1645.

In Effigiei ejus Sculptorem. — These satirical Iambics were engraved
by way of practical joke under Marshall'sportrait of Milton in the 1645 Edition
of his poems (see anti, p. 398) ; in the E!dition of 1673, which did not contain
that portrait, they were put into the text.

Ad SaLSILLUM, PoETAM RoMANUM, iECROTANTEM. — SCAZONTEb.

This was written at Rome, either in 1638 or in 1639, in one of Milton's two
visits to that city. The person addressed is Joannes Salsillus, or Giovanni
Salzilli, a Roman Poet, whose acquaintance Milton had made in these visits.
He must have been of considerable note in Roman society in his day; for I
find him a leading contributor to a volume published at Rome in 1637 ^"^
dedicated to Cardinal Cesarini under the title of "Poesie de* Signori Accademici
FantasHciy'' i.e. Poems by members of the Academy of the Fantastics. Appar-
ently he was a young man and habitually an invalid. He was in bad health,
at all events, when Milton addressed to him these Scazontesy i.e. verses written
in the "limping measure" employed by the Greek poet Hipponax, the
peculiarity of which is that the verse is regular Iambic trimeter until the last
foot, where, by the substitution of a spondee or trochee for the expected
Iambus, an effect is given as of coming to the last step of a stair with the wrong
emphasis. To bring out this effect fully, the fifth or penultimate foot ought
always to be an Iambus; but Milton has not attended strictly to this rule.
In the verses Milton expresses his wishes for Salzilli's recovery, pays him a
compliment on his poetry, and refers to the four lines of Latin elegiac verse
in which Salzilli had, with Italian politeness, so hyperbolically praised Milton,

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46o THE LATIN POEMS,

on slight acquaintance, extolling him above Homer, Virgil, and Tasso. See
the lines among the Testimonies to Milton by Italians, prefixed to the Latin
Poems.

Mansus.

This is a poem of remarkable interest, addressed to the most distinguished,
in some respects, of all the Italians with whom Milton became personally
acquainted during his Italian journey, viz. the Neapolitan, Giovanni Battista
Manso, Marquis of Villa, and Lord of Bisaccio and Panca.

Manso was born in 1561, three years before Shakespeare; and his long life
had been spent chiefly in such occupations as the political condition of Naples
and Southern Italy, then subject to the Spaniards and governed by Viceroys
from Madrid, permitted to a wealthy and high-minded native of those parts.
The cultivation of philosophy, art, and poetry for himself, and the encourage-
ment of these pursuits in others, and of a life of at least pleasant sociability
where political independence was denied, had been his business and delight.
His life had been identified with the history of Italian Literature for half a
century. No Italian of note during that period but Manso had known ; few
but had known and been indebted to Manso. Above all, he had been the
friend, the bosom friend, of the two greatest poets of Italy in his generation,

Tasso and Marini. Tasso, in the strange madness that came over him in

his manhood, clouding his beautiful mind, but leaving it still capable of the
noblest poetry, had been led, in his wanderings over Italy, to Manso's door at
Naples (1588). Manso, then in his twenty-eighth year, while Tasso was in his
forty-fifth, had received the illustrious unfortunate, had kept him in his splendid
villa at Naples and in his country-house at Bisaccio, had tended him in his fits
of gloom, and soothed him in those moments when the frenzy was at its strongest,
and the air around him was full of visions and voices, and he would call on
Manso to look and listen. Thus had grown up a friendship which lasted with
Tasso's life. Twice again he had been Manso's guest ; it was in Manso's house,
in one of these visits, that he completed his Gerusalemme Conquistata^ in one
of the books of which he introduces Manso's name; in his Dialogue on Friend-
ship Manso is one of the speakers, and it is dedicated to Manso and entitled
// Manso,' and there are other recognitions of their intimacy in sonnets of Tasso
addressed to Manso. On Tasso's death- bed in Rome (1595) he spoke of
Manso ; a picture of Tasso which Manso had painted was bequeathed back to
him; and it was Manso that, some years afterwards, caused the well-known
inscription " Torquati Tassi Ossa " to be cut on Tasso's tomb. In 1619 there
had been published at Naples a Life of Tasso, without Manso's name, but knowD
to be his, and containing an affectionate collection of personal details respect-
ing the poet. It was a popular book in Italy, and had been several times

reprinted. Hardly less intimate than Manso's friendship with his illustrious

senior, Tasso, had been his friendship with his junior, Marini (born 1569), Tasso's
most celebrated successor in Poetry, though a corruption of Italian taste in
Poetry is traced now to his sweet and sensuous genius. Marini, a Neapolitan by
birth, but, like Tasso, much of a wanderer, had also been a frequent guest at
Manso's villa, had been protected by him and served in many ways; and, when
Marini died, in 1625, two years after the publication of his Adone^ the charge
of his burial and of erecting his monument was left to Manso. It was under-
stood that Manso was preparing a biography of Marini similar to that he had

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MANSUSi. 461

written of Tasso. And now, with all these recollections of the past circling

round him, the Marquis Manso, verging on eighty years of age, was living on
at Naples, the most venerable man in the city, and indeed the most conspicuous
private patron of Art and Literature in all Italy. In the society of Naples he
was supreme. He had founded there a club or academy, called the Oziosi
(" The Idlers ") of which he was president, and the meetings of which were
held in his house ; and there was another institution of his foundation, called
the College Dei Nobiliy the purpose of which was the education of the young
Neapolitan nobles in manly arts and exercises. In the meetings of these insti-
tutions the old nobleman would be gay as the youngest present, joining even
in their frolics. A certain high moral chivalry, however, for which he had
been known from his youth, regulated his behaviour, and gave a dignity even
to his humours in company. Also he was punctiliously scrupulous in matters
of religion, and a most pious and orthodox son of the Church.

Milton's introduction to Manso, as he tells us himself {DefeHsio Secundd),
was through a certain Eremite Friar, who was his companion in his journey
from Rome to Naples in November 1638. The Marquis appears to have taken
a great liking to the young Englishman, and to have been particularly gracious
to him. ** As long as I staid at Naples," says Milton, ** I found him truly most
" friendly to me, he himself acting as my guide through the different parts
" of the city and the palace of the Viceroy, and coming himself more than once
"to my inn to visit me; and at my going away he seriously excused himself
" to me in that, though he wished extremely to have shown me much greater
" attention, he had not been able to do so in that city, because I would not be
" more close in the matter of Religion." In the two Latin lines of compliment
given by Manso to Milton, and included by Milton among the Testimonies
prefixed to his Latin Poems, there is a hint at this Protestantism of Milton
as the only fault he had in the old man's eyes. ** Were but your creed like
"your mind, form, grace, face, and morals, then you would not be Anglic
" only, but, in faith, Angelic," says the old man, reviving in Milton's favour
the play upon the words Anglus and Angelus attributed in the legend to Pope
Gregory when he beheld the English youths in the Roman slave-market and
grieved that such comely youths should be Pagans. But Milton carried away
.with him another token of Manso's regard. He describes distinctly in his
Epitaphium Damonis (lines 181 — 197) two cups which Manso had given him
as a keepsake, carved round or painted by Manso himself with two designs,
the one of an oriental subject, the other of a subject from classic mythology.

In return for Manso's distich and his cups, or possibly before receiving them,
and in mere acknowledgment of Manso's great courtesy generally, Milton,
before leaving Naples (Jan. 1638-9), sent to Manso the hundred hexameter
lines now under notice. They are a very graceful acknowledgment indeed.
There is one passage, of information and compliment finely blended, which
may have told Manso more about the stranger than he already knew, and
roused his curiosity. It is the passage beginning " O mihi si mea sors " at line
78, and containing the first published hint by Milton of his contemplated
Arthurian Epic, or poem from British legendary History. The passage is
worth reading, not only on this account, but also for its pathos and elocjuence.
Manso must have admired it, and may have thought of the young Englishman
sometimes through the next few years, and wondered what he was doing in his
native land. Much news of Milton, however, in Poetry at least, can hardly

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462 THE LATIN POEMS.

have reached Manso before his death. He died at Naples, at the age of
eighty-four, in 1645, the very year when Milton's first edition of his Poems
was published.

Epitaphium Damonis.

In the Introductions to the Elegia Prima and the Elegia Sexta^ the story of
Milton's friendship with the half-Italian youth Charles Diodati has been brought
down to the end of the year 1629. Since then there had been no interruption
of the friendship, but rather a strengthening of it by new ties as the two friends
grew older. Two Latin letters of Milton to Diodati, both written in September
1637, ^°<i "^^^ printed among Milton's Epistola FamiHares^ are the best infor-
mation we have as to the mutual position of the two friends at that date, when
Milton was in his thirtieth year and Diodati had just passed that age. Diodati,
it appears froni those letters, had finished his medical education, and was in
practice somewhere in the north of England; near Chester, it has been su|>-
posed, but that is only a guess from the fact that he had been in that neigh-
bourhood in 1626, the date of the hhgia Prima, Milton, on the other band,
was mainly at Horton, but sometimes in London; whence, indeed, his two
letters are written. They are full of gossip and affection. " How is it with
you, pray? " asks Milton in the first, dated Sept. 2. " Are you in good health ?
" Are there in those parts any learned folks or so with whom you can willingly
" associate and chat, as we were wont, together? When do you return? How
"long do you intend to dwell among those hyperboreans?" Again, in the
second, dated Sept. 23, Diodati having replied in the meanwhile, and there
having been the usual excuses on both sides for laziiiess in letter-writing:
" Your probity writes with me in your stead and indites true letters on my
" inmost heart; your blamelessness of morals writes to me, and your love of
"the good; your genius also, by no means a common one, writes to me, and
" commends you to me more and more. . . . Know that it is impossible
"for me not to love men like you." There is added some talk about Milton's
doings. He is thinking, he says, of taking chambers in London, in one of the
Inns of Court, having l^gun to find Horton inconvenient He has been en-
gaged in a continuous course of historical reading, and has reached the mediae-
val period. Could Diodati lend him the History of Venice by Justiniani?
And what is Diodati doing? Is he crowing over his medical dignity? Is he
troubling himself too much with family matters? Unless this step-motherly
war is very bad indeed, worse than Dacian or Sarmatian, may not one hope to
see him soon in winter quarters? {NiH bellum hoc novercale vel Da€ito vel
Sarmatico infesHus sity debebis profecto maturare^ ut ad nos saltern in hiberna
cotuedas,) I can only construe this passage as implying that Diodati had
recently received a step- mother, and was not much pleased with the acquisi-
tion.

Seven months after Milton had written these letters to Diodati, he went abroad
on his Italian journey (April 1638). It is very possible that he and Diodati
may have met in the interval, and talked over the intended tour. Diodati, as
half an Italian, and acquainted with the Italian traditions and connexions of
his family, may have had hints to give to Milton for his use abroad, or even
letters of introduction. At all events, we find Milton, while abroad, thinking
much of Diodati. He mentions expressly in his De/ensio Secunda that, in the

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EPITAPHIuk DAMONJS. 463

second two months he spent at Florence (MarSh and April. 1639), he found
time for an excursion of "a few days" to Lucca, about forty miles distant;
and I suspect that his main motive in the excursion was to see the town
whence the Diodati family had derived their origin. Then, again, in one of
the Five Italian Love Sonnets, written, as is generally believed, in the north
of Italy, towards the end of Milton's Italian tour, we find Diodati directly
addressed, and, as it were, taken, though absent, into his friend's confidence
in the sudden love-incident that had befallen him (see Introd. to the Italian
Sonnets). I feel sure that Milton talked of Diodati, his half-Italian friend at
. home, to the various groups of Italian wits and literati in the midst of whom
he found himself in the different Italian cities he visited, and especially to his
acquaintances of the Florentine group, Gdddi, Dati, Frescobaldi* Coltellini,
Chimentelli, Francini, and others. It is not a matter of fancy, but of actual
information by Milton himself, that, as he parted from these groups of new
friends, and took his way at length back from Italy homewards, through
Switzerland and France, it was with a kind of impatience to meet Diodati
again, after so long an absence, so as to pour into his ear, in. long sittings
within-doors, or in walks together through English fields and country lanes,
the connected story of all he had done and seen in the wondrous southern
land of olives and myrtles, blue skies and soft winds, art and antiquities,
poetry and beauty.

All the more terrible was the shock that awaited Milton. His friend Diodati
was no longer alive. He had died soon after Milton had left England. " Mr.
Charles Deodate^, from Mr, Dollam^s^^ is his burial-entry, under date, August
27, 1638, recently discovered by Colonel Chester, in the Registers of the parish
of St. Anne, Blackfriars, London; where also, dated the tenth of the same
noonth, there is this previous burial-entry — ** Mrs, Philadelphia Deodateyfrom
Mr, Dollam'sy The inference is that, in consequence of the second marriage
of old Dr. Theodore Diodati, young Charles and a sister of his had taken
lodgings together at a Mr. DoUam's in Blackfriars, — in which district. Colonel
Chester has found, their brother John was then residing, as a married man, —
and that here, within seventeen days of each other, they had fallen victims to
some epidemic. The rumour may have reached Milton on the Continent, if
only at Geneva in June 1639; but not till he was back in England did he
learn all the particulars. Whatever they were, they impressed him greatly.
For some time he seems to have gone about, between London and Horton,
thinking of Charles Diodati's death. His reminiscences of Italy and all the
delights of his tour were saddened and spoiled to hiiti by this one irremediable
loss. His musings over it take poetic form, and in the late autumn jof 1639,
or in the winter of 1639-40, he writes his Epilaphium Damonis.

The poem is, beyond all question, the finest, the deepest, in feeling, of all
that Milton has left us in Latin, and one of the most interesting of all his
poems, whether Latin or English. It is purely the accident of its being in
Latin that has prevented it from being as well known as Lycidas^ and that
has transferred to the subject of that English pastoral, Edward King of
Christ's College, Cambridge, the honour of being remembered and spoken
of as the pre-eminent friend of Milton's youth and early manhood. Not
Lycidas but Damon^ not the Irish-born Edward King, but the half-Italian
Charles Diodati, was Milton's dearest, most intimate, most peculiar friend.
The records prove this irresistibly, and a careful perusal of the two poems

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464 THE LATIN POEM$,

will add to the impression. Whoever will read the Latin Epitaphium Damonii
will perceive in it a passionateness of personal grief, an evidence of bursts of
tears and sobbings interrupting the act of writing, to which there is nothing
equivalent in the English Lycidas, affectionate and exquisitely beautiful as that
poem is. Yet the two poems are, in a sense, companions, and orught to be
recollected in connexion. Both are pastorals; in both the form is that of a
surviving shepherd bewailing the death of a deiar fellow-shepherd. In the one
case the dead shepherd is named Lycidas, while the surviving shepherd who
mourns him is left unnamed, and only seeA at the end as the ** uncouth swain "
who has been singing; in the other the dead shepherd is named Daimon, and
Milton, under the name of Thyrsis, is avowedly the shepherd who laments him.
The reader may here refer to what has been said, in the Introduction to Lycidas^
concerning the Pastoral form of Poetry and the objections that have been
taken to it. What was said there in defence of the Pastoral form applies
especially to the Epitaphium Damonis; for it is a pastoral of the most arti-
ficial variety. It is in Latin; and this, in itself, removes it into the realm of
the artificial. But, in the Latin, the precedents of the Greek pastoralists,
Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus, as well as of the Latin Virgil, have been
studied, and every device of classic pastoralism has been imitated. There are
the sheep, the kids, the reeden flutes, the pastures, the shepherds and
shepherdesses wondering at the mourner and coming round him to comfort
him. The measure used is the Virgilian Hexameter, and the poem is broken
into musical parts or bursts by a recurring phrase as in some of the Greek
Idylls; the names used for the shepherds and shepherdesses are from the
Greek Idyllists or from Virgil; the very title of the |Joem is an echo of that of
the third Idyll of Moschus, Epitaphium Bionis. All the more strange, to
those whose notion of the Pastoral has not gone beyond Dr. Johnson's in his
criticism of Lycidas^ may seem the assertion that in this Latin pastoral, the
Epitaphium Damonis^ the pastoralism of which is more subtle and artificial
in every point than that of the corresponding English poem, Milton will be
found, undeniably, and with an earnestness which breaks through the assumed
guise and thrills the nerves of the reader, speaking his own heart. For my
own part, I risk the assertion and will leave the verification to the reader.
To the reader also I will leave the pleasure of finding out what is interesting
in this extraordinary poem. Only let him rest a little, for special reasons,
over the memorable passage beginning ^^Ipse etiam^^ (line 155) and extending
to " Orcades undis" (line 178). That passage is an important shred of
Milton's autobiography.' It tells, more minutely, and in a more emphatic
manner, what he had already hinted in his Latin poem to Manso, viz. : that
at this period of his life his thoughts were full of the project of an Epic poem
founded on British legendary History, and especially on the subject of King
Arthur. Combined with this glimpse of what was shaping itself in Milton's
mind at that time (1639-40) is the farther information that he had then also
resolved to give up Latin for the purposes of poetry, and to confine himself to
English.

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AD JOANI^EM ROUSIUM, 465

Ad Joannem Rousium,

OxoNiENsis Academic Bibliothecarium.

January 23, 1646-7.

John Rous, M.A. and Fellow of Oriel College, was elected Chief Librarian
of the Bodleian May 9, 1620, and he- remained in that post till his death in
April 1652. Milton may have become acquainted with him in some visit to
Oxford during the Cambridge period of his life, or, at all events, in 1635,
when, as a Cambridge M.A. of three years' standing, he was incorporated, in
the same degree, at Oxford. It is almost certain that " our common friend
Mr. R." mentioned by Sir Henry Wotton in his letter to Milton of April 13,
1638, as having sent to Wotton a copy of Lawes's anonymous edition of
Comus of the previous year, bound up with a volume of inferior poetry printed
at Oxford, was this John Rous, the Oxford Librarian. In any case, Milton
had come to know Rous. Who in those days could avoid doing so that had
dealings with books, and was drawn to the sight of such a collection of books
as that in the great Bodleian? It may have been a recommendation of Rous
in Milton's eyes that, Oxonian though he was, his sympathies were decidedly
Parliamentarian. Possibly he was a relative of Francis Rous, the Puritan
member of the Long Parliament for Truro.

Milton, at Rous's request, had sent him, for the Bodleian, in 1646, a set of
his published writings complete to that date: to wit, his eleven Prose-
pamphlets of 1641-4 (the five on the Episcopacy question, the four on
Divorce, the Areopagitica^ and the tract on Education); and, separately
bound, the edition of his Poems in English and Latin published by Moseley
in the end of 1645. ^^ these, however, only the Prose-pamphlets had
reached their destination; the Poems had been lost or stolen on their way to
Oxford, or had otherwise gone astray. Rous, accordingly, both in his own
behalf and in the interest of the Library, begs for another copy, to make the
set of Milton's writings complete, as had been intended. Milton complies
with the request, and sends a second copy of the Poems. But, amused by the
incident of the loss of the first, he composes a Latin Ode on the subject; and
a transcript of this Ode, carefully written out on a sheet of paper by himself,
or some one else, in an Italian hand, he causes to be inserted in the second
copy, between the English and the Latin contents of the volume. Accordingly,
there are now in the Bodleian two volumes of Milton's writings, his own gift
to the Library. One is the volume of the eleven collected Prose-pamphlets,
with an inscription in Milton's undoubted autograph; the other is the supple-
mentary volume of bis Poems, sent to Rous, *^utcum aliis nostris reponeret"
(" that he might replace it beside our other things "), and containing the Ode
to Rous in an inserted sheet of MS., generally supposed to be also Milton's
autograph, in an unusual form of laboured elegance, but probably, I think, a
transcript by some calligraphist whom he employed.

The Ode is a curious one, in respect of both its form and its matter^ — The
formy as Milton takes care to explain in a note (appended in his edition,
though now more conveniently prefixed), is peculiarly arbitrary. It is a kind
of experiment in Latin, after few classical precedents in that language, of the
mixed verse, or yetse of various metres, common in the Greek choral odes.

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,4^6 . THE J,ATIN PQEMS. ^

Even within that range Milton has taken liberties at th^ bidding of his own
ear, paying regard, as he says, rather to facility of reading than to ancient
rule. Altogether, the experiment wa6 very daring. — The matter of the Ode is
simple enough. . It is addressed not directly to Kous, but to the little volume
itself. The double contents of the volume, Latin and EngHsh, are spoken of
in modest terms; the loss of the first copy, mysteriously abstracted from the
bundle of its brothers, when . they were on th^ir way irofn London to Oxford,
is playfully mentioned, with wonder* what had become of. it and into what
rough hands it may have fatlein; .Kous's friendly. ii^terest, ; both in, having
repeatedly applied at first for the whole set of writings and jn having applied
again for the missing volume, is acknowledged;: and, there, are the due
applauses of Oxford and her great Library, ^n this last connexion there is an
amplification of what had been hinted in the inscription in the volvMne of the
Prose-pamphlets. The time would come, he hiKi there hoped, when even
his Prose-^pamphlets, now procuring him nothing but iU-wUl and calumny,
might be better appreciated. This hope hje now repeats fliojre strongly with
reference to his Poems. The follovnng is Gowper's translation of the Epodc,
or closing strain : —

" Ye, then, my works, no longer vain
And worthless deemed by me,
. '< Wha^e'er this sterile g«mus has produced.

Expect at last, the rage of envy spent, '

,An unmplested, hapipy home,
' Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend,

; ' Where never flippant tongue profane

Shall entrance find,^ . , ,

And whence the coarse unlettered multitude

Shall babble far remote.
, Perhaps some future distant age.
Less tinged with, prejudice, and better tjaught
Shall furnish minds of power
To judge more equally.
Then, madice silenced in the tomb.
Cooler heads and sounder hearts^
Thanks to Rous, if aught of praise
I merit, shall with candoor weigh the claim."

Epigrams on SalmasiVs.

Salmasius is a great name m the Biography of Mikon.' ' The person called
by it, according to the custom, then common in the sdholaiiy world of Europe,
of Latinizing the names of its impoitant members^ was Claude de Sliumaise,
a Frenchman, born in 1588, and therefore Milton's Senior by about twenty
years. From his earliest youth he had been a prodigious reader; and by a
series of puUications, partly in France and partly in Germany, some against
the Papal power, but others more purely historical and- antiquarian, he had
acquired the fame of being perhaps, the most learned European sc];M>lar of his
generation. Princes and States contended for the honour of possessing and
pensioning him; but, after various travels, he bad taken up his residence
chiefly at Leyden, in Holland.. Thus brought into contact with Charles IL
and the English Royalist exiles after the execution of Charles L, he had been
employed or induced, in an evil hour for himself, to write a defence of the late
King and an attack on the English Comnaonwealth. It appeared in HoUaod

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EPIGRAMS OTV SALMASIUS. 467

in i649, un4er the title of Defensid Re^a pro Cdrqlo I. A book of tjie kind
by a man of hi^ fame was felt in England to be a serious matter; and Milton,
then Latin Secretary to the Council of State, W^ requested to answer it.
He did so in his famous Z^^wji^.//*^ Populo Aftglicano contra Claudii Sal-
fnasii Defehsiohem Regiam^ published in the end of 1650, or beginning of 165 1.
Soon all Europe rang from side to side with the power of this pamphlet j and
the legend is that Salmasius^ ^ho had recently gone to reside at the Court of
Sweden on the pressing invitation of the, eccentric Queen Christina, wa^ st>
chagrined at the applause with which the pamphlet was everywhere received, '
and especially by Christina's consequent ' coldness to himself, that he Soon
afterwards died. He did quit Sweden, and return to Holland, where he died
Sept. 3, 1653, leaving an unfinished reply to Milton, and the task of con-
tinuing the controversy to other persons. Among these was the Gallo-Scot,
Alexander More or Morus, already mentioned in the Introduction to the brief
epigram De Moro among the I^tin Elegies. Milton's Defensio Secunda pro
PoptUo Anglicano, published in 1654, was in reply' to a treatise of the same
year, which More was supposed to have written, but which he had only seen
through the press, entitled Regit Sanguinis Clamor adversus Parricidas
Anglicanos, In this " Second Defence," though More was the person directly
attacked, Milton went back upon his dead opponent Salmasius. Hence, while
the first of the two Epigrams against Salmasius now under notice is from the
original pamphlet against the living Salmasius (called now, generally, the
Defensio Prima) , the second is from the Defensio Secunda^ in which More
receives the direct attack and Salmasius is only recollected for posthumous
chastisement.

In Salmasii Hundredam. — This Epigram occurs in the 8th chapter of
the Defensio Prima^ and is a rough jest against Salmasius for his parade of
his knowledge of a few English law-terms, or terms of public custom, such as
" County Court," and " Hundred " or " Hundreda," in the sense of a division
of a shire or an aggregation of parishes. " Where did Salmasius, that magpie,
get his scraps of bad English, and especially his Hundreda?'*'' asks the
Epigram. " Why, he got a hundred Jacobuses, the last in the pouch of the
** poor exiled King, for writing his. pamphlet ! The prospect of more cash
" would make him write up the very Pope, and sing the Song of the Cardinals,
" though he once demonstrated the Papacy to be Antichrist." Such is the
substance of the Epigram; a poor thing after all, and a mere momentary
parody of the last seven lines of the Prologue to the Satires of Persius.

In Salmasium. — This is from the Defensio Secunda, where it is introduced
in a passage in reply to an immense eulogy on Salmasius occurring in the
Sanguinis Clamor. The writer of that book, assumed by Milton to be Alex-
ander More, had anticipated the tremendous castigation that would be given
to Milton in the forthcoming "impression" of the Answer to the Defensio
Prima that had been written by the divine Salmasius himself, that prodigy
of erudition and of genius. Milton professes to be very easy under the
expectation of this posthumous reply, which he knew Salmasius had been
busy with at the time of his death. People know that he has his own opinion
of the genius and erudition of the famous deceased! "You, therefore, it
" seems," he says, addressing More, " are like the little client-fish in advance
" of Whale Salmasius, who is threatening * impressions ' on these shores : we
" are sharpening our irons so as to be ready to squeeze out whatever may be

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468 THE LATIN POEMS.

" in the * impressions ' and * castigations/ whether of oil or pickle. Meanwhile
** we shall admire the more than Pythagorean goodness of the great man, who,
*' in his pity for the animals, and especially for the fishes, which are not spared
"even in Lent, poor things, has provided so many volumes for decently
" wrapping them up in, and has bequeathed by will, I may say, to so many
** thousands of poor sprats and herrings paper coats individually." After this
ponderous piece of Latin prose-fun comes the Epigram; It simply prolongs
the joke, in verse which is a cross between Catullus and Martial, by calling on
all the herrings and other fishes to rejoice in their prospect of abundant
paper wrappages from the books of Salmasius.

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POEMS:
ENGLISH AND LATIN,

WITH A FEW IN ITALIAN AND GREEK.
COMPOSED AT SEVERAL TIMES.

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POEMS, ENGLISH AND LATIN, etc.

have been given in the General
Had no Preface; but the First had

"The Stationer to the Reader.

"It is not any private respect of gain, Gentle Reader (for the slightest
Pamphlet is nowadays more vendible than the works of learnedest men), but
it is the love I have to our own Language, that hath made me diligent to
collect and set forth such Pieces, bpth in Prpse and Verse, as may renew the
worsted honour and esteem of ouf^EfigJish tongue ; and it's the worth of these
both English and Latin Poems, not the flourish of any prefixed encomions,
that can invite thee to buy them — though these are not without the highest
commendations and . at)ijlause' of i(h/6 I^ariiejde^ J^ckiTeiillLicks, both domestic
and foreign, and, amongst those of our own country, the unparalleled attesta-
tion of that renowned Provost of Eton, Sir Henry Wootton. I know not
thy palate, how it relishes such dainties, noii hdw harmonious ttiy soul is:
perhaps more trivial Airs may please thee better. But, howsoever thy opinion
IS spent upon these, that encouragement I have already received from the
most ingenious men, in their clear ^n4;courtejc>up)'f^^it&inment of Mr.
Waller's late choice Pieces, liath once more made me adventure into the
world, presenting it with these ever-green and not to be blasted laurels. The
Author's more peculiar excellency in these studies was too well known to
conceal his Papers, or to keep me from attempting to solicit them from him.
Let the event guide itself which way it will, I shall deserve cf the age by
bringing into the light as true a birth as the Muses have brought forth since
our famous Spenser wrote; whose Poems in these English ones are as rarely
imitated as sweetly excelled. Reader, if thou art eagle-eyed to censure their
worth, I am not fearful to expose them to thy exactest perusal.

"Thine to command,

"Humph. Moseley."

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. \ . , ; : \ ..V

- ;-. .-. ■ .,■ :i)i

ENGLISW POfiMS; "

A PARAPriRASEi ON PSALM (■ xiv.

TAis and tht following Psalm tiffr4 tUmf hJh Author, ^i/^ftif eft years old.

When the blest seed of Terah's faithiul* son

After long toil their liberty had won,

And passed frqpa Pharian fields to Catnaanl-land/

Led by th^ ;strength of the Almighty's^ teaii i ^

Jehovah's wonders were in Israel .shOU^n, •!

His praise and glory was in Israel known.

That saw the troubled sea, and shivering fle4, ;

And sought to ^hide his froth-becurl^d head

Low in tne earth; Jordan's clear streams recoil,'

As a faint host that hath received the foil. lo

The high huge-bellied mountains skip like rams

Amongst their' ewes, the littte hills like lambs: »

Why fled the ocean? ahd why skipped the moutttains?

Why turned Jordan toward his crystal fountains?

Shake, Earth, and at the presence be aghast

Of Him that ever was and aye. shall last, ,•{

That glassy flopds from rugged rocks can . crush,. .

And make soft rills from fiery flint-stpn^s gush.

- PSALM CXXXVI. , '

Let us with a gladsome mind

Praise the Lord,; for he is kind; < '

For his mer^ieis aye : endUre^ : . r » * >

Ever £iithful, eve: atore.i ^ " I

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472 PSALM CXXXVI, PARAPHRASED.

Let us blaze his name abroad,
For of gods he is the God ;
For his, &c.

O let us his praises tell,

Who doth the wrathful tyrants quell; lo

For his, &c.

Who with his miracles doth make
Amazed heaven and e^M^ to shake;
For his, &c.

Who by his wisdom did create
The painted heavens so full of state ;

For his, &c. 19

Who did the solid earth ordain
To rise above the watery plain;
For his, &c.

Who, by his all^commanding might.
Did fill the new-made world with light;
For his, &c.

And caused the golden-tress&d sun
All the day long his course to run; 30

For his, &c.

The horned moon to shine by nieht
Amongst her spangled sisters bri^t;
For his, &c.

He, with his thunder-clasping hand.
Smote the first-bom of Egypt land ;

For his, &c. 39

And, in despite of Pharao fell.
He brought from thence his Israel;
For his, &c.

The ruddy waves he deft in twain
Of the Erythraean nuun ;

For hisy &c. .

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PSALM CXXXVI, PARAPHRASED. 473

The floods stood still, like walls of glass,
While the Hebrew bands did pass; 50

For his, &c.

But full soon they did devour
The tawny king with all his power;
For his, &c.

His chosen people he did bless
In the wasteful wilderness;

For his, &c. 59

In bloody battle he brought down
Kings of prowess and renown ;
For his, &c.

He foiled bold Seon and his host^
That ruled the Amorrean coast; .
For his, &c.

And large-limbed Og he did subdue,
With all his over-hardy crew ; 70

For his, &c.

And to his servant Israel
He gave their land, therein to dwell;
For his, &c.

He hath, with a piteous eye,
Beheld us in our misery;

For his, &c. 79

And freed us from the slavery
Of the invading enemy ;
For his, &c.

All living creatures he doth feed.
And with full hand supplies their need;
For his, &c.

Let us, therefore, warble forth

His mighty majesty and worth; 90

For his, &c.

That his mansion hath on high.
Above the reach of mortal eye ;

For his mercies aye endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.

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474 ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT DYING OF A
COUGH.

A nno atatts 17,

O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly,
Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst outlasted *

Bleak Wintei^s force that made thy blossom dry; .
por he, being amorous on that lovely dye

That did tny cheek envermeil, thought to kiss,
But killed, alas ! and then bewailed his fcital bliss.

For, since grim Aquilo, his charioteer, •

By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel got,

He thought it touched his deity full near, ic

If likewise he some fair one wedded not.

Thereby to wipe away the infdmous blot

Of long uncoupled bed and childless eld,
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

ni.

So, mounting up in icy-pearled car.
Through middle empire of the freezing air
He wandered long, till thee he spied from far;
There ended was his quest, there ceased his care :
Down he descended from his snow-soft chair.

But, all unwares, with his cold-kind embrace, . ' 20

Unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair biding-place.

IV.

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate ;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand,,
Whilom did slay his dearly-lov^d mate.
Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas* strand.
Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land;

But then transformed him to a purple flower :
Alack, that so to change thee Wintef had.no power!

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ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT. 475

Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead,

Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb, 30

Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed
Hid from the world in a low-delved tomb;
Could Heaven, for pity, thee so strictly doom?
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine.

VI.

Resolve me, then, O Soul most surely blest

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

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

Whether above that high first-moving sphere,

Or in the Elysian fields (if such there were), 40

Oh, say me true if thou wert mortal wight.
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

/ VII.

Wert thou some star, which from the ruined roof
Of shaked Olvmpus by mischance didst fall ;
Which careful Jove in natxire's true behoof
Took up, and in fit place did reinstal?
Or did of late Earth's sons besiege the wall

Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectared head?

vni.

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before 50

Forsook the hated earth, oh ! tell me sooth.

And camest again to visit us once more?

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

Or that crowned Matron, sage white-robed Truth?

Or any other of that heavenly brood
Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good?

IX.

Or wert thou of the golden-wingM host,

Who, having clad thyself in human weed,

To earth from thy prefixed seat didst post,

And after short abode fly back with speed, 60

As if to show what creatures Heaven doth breed ;

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn tlje sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire?

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476 AT A VACATION EXERCISE.

But oh ! why didst thou not stay here below
To bless us with thy heaven-loved innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe,
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence.

To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart?
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. 70

XI.

Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child,
Her false-imagined loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent:
This if thou do, he will an offspring give
That till the world's last end. shall make thy name to live.

AT A VACATION EXERCISE IN THE COLLEGE, PART
LATIN, PART ENGLISH.

Anno tetatts xg.

The Latin Speeches ended, the English thus began : —

Hail, Native Language, that by sinews weak

Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak,

And mad'st imperfect words with childish trips.

Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips.

Driving dumb Silence from the portal door,

Where he had mutely sat two years before:

Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask

That now I use thee in my latter task !

Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee;

I know my tongue but little grace can do thee. 10

Thou need'st not be ambitious to be first;

Believe me, I have thither packed thei worst:

And, if it happen as I did forecast.

The daintiest dishes shall be served up last.

I pray thee then deny me not thy aid,

For this same small neglect that I have made;

But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure,

And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure;

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ATA VACATION EXERCISE, 477

Not those new-fangled toys, and trimming slight

Which takes our late fantastics with delight; 20

But cull those richest robes and gayest attire,

Whicii deepest spirits and choicest wits desire.

I have some naked thoughts that rove about.

And loudly knock to have their passage out.

And, weary of their place, do only stay

Till thou hast decked them in thy best array;

That so they may, without suspect or fears,

Fly swiftly to this feir assembly's ears.

Yet I had rather, if I were to choose.

Thy service in some graver subject use, . 30

Such as may make thee search thy coffers round,

Before thou clothe my fency in fit sound:

Such where the deep transported mind may soar

Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door

Look in, and see each blissful deity

How he before the thunderous throne doth lie.

Listening to what unshorn ApoUo sings

To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings

Immortal nectar to her kingly sire;

Then, passing through the spheres of watchful fire, 40

And misty regions of wide air next under.

And hills of snow and lofts of piled thunder.

May tell at length how green-eyed Neptune raves,

In heaven's defiance mustering all his waves;

Then sine of secret things that came to pass

When beldam Nature in her cradle was;

And last of kings and queens and heroes old,

Such as the wise Demodocus once told

In solemn songs at king Alcinous' feast.

While sad Ulysses' soul and all the rest 50

Are held, with his melodious harmony,

In willing chains and sweet captivity.

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

Expectance calls thee now another way.

Thou know'st it must be now thy only bent

To keep in compass of thy Predicament.

Then quick about thy purposed business come.

That to the next I may resign my room.

Then Ens is represented as Father of the Predicaments y his ten Sons ;
whereof the eldest stood for Substance with his Canons ; which
Ens, thus speakings explains : —

Good luck befriend thee, Son; for at thy birth

The faery ladies danced upon the hearth. 60

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478 AT A VACATION EXLRCIS^,

The drowsy nurse h^h sworn she did them spy

Come tripping to the room where thou didst he,

And, sweetly singing round about thy bed,

Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head.

She heard them give thee this, that thou shouldst still

From eyes of mortals walk invisible.

Yet there is something that doth force my fear;

For once it was my dismal hap to hear

A sibyl old, bow-bent with crooked age,

That far events full wisely could presage, 70

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

Foresaw what future days should brin^ to pass.

"Your son," skid she, "(nor can you it prevent,)

ShaJl subject be to many an Accident,

O'er all his brethren he shall reign as king;

Yet every one shall make him underling,

And those that cannot live from him asunder

Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under.

In worth and excellence he sh^l outgo them;

Yet, being above them, he shall be below them. 80

From others he shall stand in need of nothing.

Yet on his brothers shall depend for clothing.

To find a foe it shall not be his hap,

And peace shall lull him in her flowery lap;

Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door

Devouring war shall never cease to roar;

Yea, it shall be his natural property

To harbour those that are at enmity."

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

Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot? 90

The nexty Quantity and Quality, spake in prose: then Relation
was called by his name.

Rivers, arise: whether thou be the son

Of utmost Tweed, or Ouse; or gulfy Dun,

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

His thirty arms along the indented meads,

Or suUen Mole, that runneth underneath.

Or Severn swift, guilty of maiden's death,

Or rocky Avon, or of sedgy Lea,

Or coaly Tyne, or ancient hallowed Dee,

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

Or Medway smooth, or royal-towered Thame. 100

The rest '0as prose.

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ON THE N-AT/VITV.

479

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY-.

Contused 1629.
I-

This is the months and this the happy mom,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother bom,
Our great redemption from above did bring ;
For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deaSy forfeit should release.
And with his Fa.ther work us a perpetual peace.

That elorious form, that light unsuiFerable,

And that far-beaming blaze of ipajesty.

Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table lo

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,

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

Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
. To welcome him to this his new abode.

Now while the heaven, by the Sun's team untrod,
• Hath took no print of the approaching light,

And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

IV.

See how from far upon the eastern road
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet !
Oh ! mn ; prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ;
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to ^eet.

And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire,
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.

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43p on the nativity.

The Hymn.

It was the winter wild,

While the heaven-born child 30

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;
Nature, in awe to him.
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour.

11.

Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,

And on her naked shame, 40

Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;
Confounded, that her Maker's eves
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

III.

But he, her fears to cease.
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:
She, crowned with olive ^reen, came softly sliding
Down through the tummg sphere,
His ready harbinger.
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; 50-

And, waving wide her myrtle wand.
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.

IV.

No war, or battle's sound.
Was heard the world around;
The idle spear and shield were high uphung;
The hooked chariot stood.
Unstained with hostile blood;
The trumpet spake not to the armM throng;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 60

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ON THE NATIVITY.

But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of Light
His reign of peace upon the earth began.
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kissed,
Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave^

VI.

The stars, with deep amaze.

Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, 7^

Bending one way their precious influence,
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow.
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

vu.

And, though the shady gloom
Had given day her room.
The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed.
And hid his head for shame, 80

As his inferior flame
The new-enlightened world no more should need:
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his, bright throne or burning axletree could bear.

vin.

The shepherds on the lawn.
Or ere the point of dawn.
Sat simply chatt|ing in a rustic row;
Full little thought they than
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to Kve with them below: 90

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep>
Was all. that djid the;ir silly thoughts so busy keep.

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4^2 ^'iV THE NATIVITY,

When such music sweet i :

Their hearts and ears did greet '• .

As never was by mortal finger strook.
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture tbdk: , .

The air, such pleasure loth to Ibse, 99

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly dose.

Nature, that heard such sound *

Beneath the hollow round
Of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done.
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold' ?11 Heaveii arid Earth iti happier Union.

XI.

At last surrounds their sight ' ' • ' . '

A globe of circular light, no

That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed; '
The helmed cherubim
And sworded seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,'
Harping in loud and solemn quire,
With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new^bbm Heir.'

xtt.

Such music (as 'tis said)-
Before was never made,
But when of old the Soils of Morning sung,
While the Creator great I20

His constellations set,
And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep.
And bid the weltering wavfea their oozy channel keep. ''

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ON TH^i NATIVITY. .483

XJH.

Ring out, ye crystal spheres I ' • : V

Once bless our human ears^ /

If ye Jiave power. to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ; 130

And with your ninefold harmony
M5^te;;VP iull consort Ux the angelic symphony.. -a 1

For, if such holy song , ,

Enwrap our fancy long, , , , , ;

Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold;
And speckled Vanity .
Will sicken soon and die, . .

And leprous Sin will imelt from earthly mould ;
And Hell itself will pass, jaway, ,

And leave her dplprous mansions to the peering 4ay. 140

Yea, Truth and Justice then;
Will down return to men,
Orbed fa>:a piinbow; an(J, like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between,
Throned in celestial sheen,
With rs^diai^ feet the tissued clpuds down steering ;
And Heaven, as at some festival, »

Will open \<^i4e the, gates . of her high palaqe-halL, , .

XVI.

But wisest Fate says No, ,

This must not yet be so; 15^

The Babe ^yet lies in smiling infiwicy
That on the bitter cro^s ; .

Must redeem our loss, «

So both himself and us to glorify:
Yet first, to those ychained in sleep,
Tjti^,:v^^^ tr^mp. of.doQpi pciust thui^der through the deep.

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484 ON THE NATIVITY.

XVII.

With such a horrid dang
As on Mount Sinai rang,
While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:

The aged Earth, aghast i6o

With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake,
When, at the world's last session.
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

xvm.

And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is.
But now begins; for from this happy day
The Old Dragon under ground,
Jn straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurpM sway, 170

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail.
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. ' ' '

XDC.

The Oracles are dumb;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine.
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. \
No nightlv trance, or breathed spell.
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the pr6phetic ceH. 180

XX.

The lonely mountains o'er, ,

And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ;
From haunted spring, and dale
Edged with poplar pale,
The parting Genius is with sighing sent;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

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ON THE NATIVITY, 485

XXI.

In consecrated earth,

And on the holy hearth, 190 .

The Lars and, Lemures moan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the flamens at their service quaint;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.

XXII.

Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-battered god of Palestine;
And mooned Ashtaroth, 200

Heaven's queen and mother both.
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine :
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn;
In vain .the Tyrian niaids their wounded Thammuz mourn. .,

xxni.

And sullen Moloch, fled,
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue ;
In vain with cymbals' ring
They call the grisly king.
In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 210

The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.

XXIV.

Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,
Trampling the unshowerea grass with lowings loud;
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest;
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
In vain, with timbreled anthems dark,
The sable-stolid sorcerers bear his worshiped ark. 220

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4^6 UPON THE CIRCC/MCISION,

XXV;

H eels from Juda's land ' '

The dreaded Infant's hand;
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; '
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide,
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twime: ' • -
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, • ■ > ■

Can in his swaddling bands control the damned creW.

xxvl.

So, when the sun in bed, <: - ^ > '.

Curtained with cloudy red, - >: ■ 230

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,* ■ . • ;.

The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the infernar jail.
Each fettered ghost slips to his seversd grave, ^ - /

And the yellow-skirted fays t ; *

Fly after the night-steeds, leaving* their mooH^oved maze^

xkVii.

But see! the Virgin blest '' /.

Hath laid her Babe to rest. : ! ,

Time is our tedious son^ should here have ending c ' 1

Heaven's youngest-teemed star 240

Hath fixed her polished car, •

Her sleeping Lord With handmaid lamp attending;
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order sei*viceable. • ]

UPON THE CIRCUMCISION.

Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriors bright,
That erst with music, and triumphant song^
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear.
So sweetly sung your joy the clouas along,
Through the soft silence of the listening nijg;ht, '
Now mourn; and, if sad share with us to beai*
Your fiery essence can distil no tear,

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^HJE PASSION. 487

Burn in your sighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep sptrow.

He who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere ' 10

Entered the world now bleeds to give us ease.

Alas ! how soon our sin

Sore doth begin '

His infancy to seize!

O more exceeding love, or law more just?
Just law, indeed, but niore exceeding love I
Forjwe, by rightful doom remediless,
Were lost in death, till he, that dwelt above
High-throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied his glory, even to nakedness^ 20

And that great covenant which we still transgress >

Entirely satisfied,
And the full wrath beside
Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,
And seals obedience first with wounding smart
This day 5 hut ohl ere long.
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more near his heart.

THE PASSION.

Erewhile df music, and ethereal mirtli, ,
Wherewith the stage of Air and Earth did ring.
And joyous news of heavenly Infant's birth,
My muse with Angels did divide to sing;
But headlong joy is ever on the wing,

In wintry scistice like the shortened light
Soon swallowed up in dark and long outliving night.

For now to sorrow must I tUne my song.

And set ray harp to notes of saddest woe,

Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 10

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

Which he for us did freely undergo :

Most perfect Hero, triea in heaviest plight
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight!

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488 THE PASSION,

III.

He, sovran Priest, stooping his regal head,

That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, > '

Poor fleshly tabernacle entered,

His starry front low-roofed beneath the skies:

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

Yet more: the stroke of death he must abide;
Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side

IV.

These latest scenes confine my roving verse;
To this horizon is my Phoebus bound.
His godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former sufferings, otherwhere are found;
Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth sound:

Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things.

Befriend me. Night, best patroness of grief !

Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, 30

And work my flattered fancy to belief

That heaven and earth are coloured with my woe;

My sorrows are too dark for day to know:

The leaves should all be black whereon I write.
And letters, where my tears have washed, a wannish white.

VI.

See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels.

That whirled the prophet up at Chebar flood;

My spirit some transporting cherub feels

To bear me where the towers of Salem stood,

Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood. 40

There doth my soul In holy vision sit,
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit.

VII.

Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heaven's richest store,

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ON TIME. 489

And here, though grief my feeble hands up-locky
Yet on the softened quarry would I score
My plaining verse as lively as before;

For sure so well instructed are my tears
That they would fitly fall in ordered characters.

VIII.

Or, should I thence, hurried on viewless wing, 50

Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild;
And I (for grief is easily beguiled)

Might think the infection of my sorrows loud
Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud.

This Suh/ect the Author Ending to be above the years he had when he wrote itt and
nothing satis^ed with what was begun ^ left it unfinished.

ON TIME.

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race:
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours.
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss.
So little is thy gain!

For, whenas each thing bad thou hast entombed,
And, last of all, thy areedy self consumed, 10

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss.
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood;
When every thin^ that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine.

With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine
About the supreme throne
Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone
When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb.
Then, all this earthy grossness quit, 20

Attired with stars we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time !

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490 SONG ON MAY MORNING.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

Blest pair of Sirens, pkdges of Heaven's joj,

Sphere-bom harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,

Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce;

And to our high-raised phantasy present

That undisturbed song of pure concent.

Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne

To Him that sits thereon.

With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ;

Where the bright Seraphim in burning row lo

Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow,

And the Cherubic host in thousand quires

Touch their immortal haips of golden wires,

With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms.

Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

That we on Earth, with undiscording voice,

May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportioned sin

Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsh din 20

Broke the fair music that all creatures made

To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed

In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In tirst obedience, and their state of good. ,

O, may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long

To his celestial consort us unite.

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

SONG ON MAY MbRNING.

Now the bright morning-star, Day's harbinger.
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowsHp and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire !

Woods and groves are of thy dressing;

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 10

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ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER. 49t

ON SHAKESPEARE. 1630.

What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones

The labour of an age in pilM stones?

Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid

Under a star-ypointing pyramid?

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame.

What need'st thou such weak witness of thy 4ame?

Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Hast built thyself a livelong monument.

For whilst, to the shame o? slow-endeavouring art,

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart '^

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took,

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving,.

And so sepiilchred in such pomp dost lie /

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER,

Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy ^ being forbid to go to l^ndon by reetion
qf the Plague,

Here lies old Hobson. Death hath brol^e his girt.

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

Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one

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

'Twas such a shifter that, if truth were known,

Death was half glad when he had got him down;

For he had any time this ten years full j

Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and The BulL

And surely Death could never have prevailed.

Had not his weekly course of carriage failed ;

But lately, finding him so long at home.

And thinking now his journey's end was come.

And that he had ta'en up his latest inn.

In the kind office of a chamberlin

Showed him his room where he must lodge that night.

Pulled off his boots, and took away the light.

If anv ask for him, it shall be saia,

'*HoDson has supped, and's newly gone to bed."

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492 ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

ANOTHER ON THE SAME.

Here lieth one who did most truly prove

That he could never die while he could move;

So hung his destiny, never to rot

While he might still jog on and keep his trot;

Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

Until his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime

'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time;

And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight.

His principles being ceased, he ended straight. lo

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

And too much breathing put him out of breath ;

Nor were it contradiction to affirm

Too long vacation hastened on his term.

Merely to drive the time away he sickened.

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

"Nay," quoth he, On his swooning bed outstretched,

" If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetched,*

But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,

For one carrier put down to make six bearers." 20

Ease was his cliief disease ; and, to judge right.

He died for heaviness that his cart went light.

His leisure told him that his time was come,

And lack of load made his life burdensome.

That even to his last breath (there be that say't).

As he were pressed to death, he dried, "More weight!"

But, had his doings lasted as they were.

He had been an immortal carrier.

Obedient to the moon he spent his date

In course reciprocal, and had his fate 30

Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas ;

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

His letters are delivered all and gone;

Only remains this superscription.

AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

This rich marble doth inter

The honoured wife of Winchester,

A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir,

Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from Earth.

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ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. 495

Summers three times eight save one

She had told; alas! too soon,

After so short time of breithy

To house with darkness and with death! 10

Yet, had the number of her. days

Been as complete as was her praise.

Nature and Fate had had no strife

In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth and her graces sweet

Quickly found a lover meet ;

The virgin quire for her request

The god that sits at marriage-feast;

He at their invoking came,

But with a scarce well-lighted flame; 20

And in his garland, as he stood,

Ye might discern a cypress-bud.

Once had the early matrons run

To greet her of a lovely son,

And now with second hope she goes.

And calls Lucina to her throes;

But, whether by mischance or blame,

Atropos for Lucina came.

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoiled at once both fruit and tree. 30

The hapless babe before his birth

Had burial, not yet laid in earth;

And the languished mother's womb

Was not long a living tomb;

So have I seen some tender slip,

Saved with care fix>m winter's nip,

The pride of her carnation train,

Plucked up by some unheedy swain,

Who only thought to crop the flower

New shot up from vernal shower; 40

But the fair blossom hangs the head

Sideways, as on a dying bed.

And those pearls of dew she wears

Prove to be presaging tears

Which the sad morn had let fall

On her hastening funeral.

Gentle Lady, may thy grave

Peace and quiet ever have!

After this thy travail sore,

Sweet rest seize thee evermore, 50

That, to give the world increase,

Shortened hast thy own life's lease!

Here, besides the sorrowing

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494 DALLEGRO.

That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Weept for thee in Helicon ;
And some flowers and some bays
For thy hearse, to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came-,

Devoted to thy virtuous name; 60

Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt'st in glory,
Next her, much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian shepherdess^
Who, after years of barrenn^s^
• The highly-favoured Joseph bore
To him that served for her before,
And at her next birth, much like thee,
Through pangd fled to felicity.
Far within the bosom bright •

Of blazing Majesty and Light:* 70

There with thee, new-welcome Saint,
Like fortynes may her soul acquMnt,
With thee there dad in radiant sheen.
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.

L'ALLEGRO.

Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bom
In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mqngst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy!
Find out soihe uncouth cell.

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks.

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 10

But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne,
And by men heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
With two sister Graces more.
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:
Or whether (as some sager sine)
The frolic wind that breathes the springs
Zephyr, with Aurora playing.

As he met her once a-Maymg, 20

There, on beds of violets blue,

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DALLEGRO. 495

Aud fresh-blown roses washed in dew.

Filled her with thee, a 'daughter fair,

So buxom, blithe, and debonair. ,

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

Jest, and youthful Jollity,

Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,

Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek.

And love to live in dimple sleek; 30

Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides.

Come, and trip it, as you go.

On the light nmtastic toe ;

And in thy right hand lead with thee.

The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;

And, if I give thee honour due.

Mirth, admit me of thy crew.

To live with her, and live with thee,.

In unreproved pleasures free; 40

To hear the lark begin his flight,

And, singing, startle the dull ni|;ht,

From his watch-tower in the skies,

Till the dappled dawn doth rise;

Then to come, in spite of sorrow,

And at my window bid good-morrpw,

Through the sweet-briar or the, vine,

Or the twisted eglantine;

While the cock, with lively din,

Scatters the rear of darkness thin; 50

And to the stack, or the barn-door,^

Stoutly struts his dames before :

Oft listening how the hounds and horn

Cheerly rouse the slumbering mom,

From the side of some hoar hill.

Through the high wood jechoing shrill:

Sometime walking, not unseen, ,

By hedgerow elms, on hiUodcs green,

Right against the eastern gate

Where the great Sun begins his state, 60

Rolled inflames and amber light.

The clouds in thousand liveries dight;

While the ploughman, near at h^nd.

Whistles o'er the furrowed land,

And the milkmaid singeth blithe.

And the mower whets his scythe,

And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale. .

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496 DALLEGRO,

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasiires,

Whilst the landskip round it measures: ' 70

Russet lawns, and fallows grey^

Where the nibbling flocks do str^y; ' '

Mountains on whose barren breast'

The labouring clouds do often rest;

Meadows trim, with daisies pied;

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;

Towers and battlements it sees

Bosomed high in tufted trees,

Where perhaps some beauty lies,

The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 80

Hard by a cottage chimney smokes

From betwixt two aged oaks,

Where Corydoti and Thyrsis met

Are at their savoury dinner set

Of herbs and other country messes.

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;

And then in haste her bower she leaves,

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;

Or, if the earlier season lead,

To the tanned haycock in the mead. 90

Sometimes, with secure delight,

The upland hamlets will invite.

When the merry bells ring round,

And the jocund rebecks sound

To many a youth and many a maid

Dancing in the chequered shade.

And young and old come forth to play

On a sunshine holiday.

Till the livelong daylight fail: .

Then' to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100

With stories told of many a feat,

Hgw Faery Mab the junkets eat.

She was pinched and pulled, she said ;

And he, by Friar's lantern led,

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat

To earn his creatn-bowl duly set.

When in 6n^ night, ere glimpse of mom,

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn

That ten day-labourers could not end;

Then lies him down, the lubber* fiend, 110

And, stretched out all the chimney's lengtn,

Basks at the fire his hairy strength,

And crop-full out of doors he flings,

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

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/Z PEJVSEROSd: 497

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold.
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 120

With store of ladies^ whose bright eyds
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace Whom all commend. '

There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear, ;

And pomp, and feast, and revelry.
With mask and antique pageantry ; '

Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream. ' 130

Then to the well-trod stage aUon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, '

Warble his native wood-notes wild, ' \

And ever, against eating cares.
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
. Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140

With wanton heed and giddy cunning.
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony ;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have 'won the ear
Of Pluto to have quite set free

His half-regained Eurydice. 150

These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to hve.

IL PENSEROSO.

Hence, vain deluding Joys,

The brood of Folly without father bired*!
How little you bested.

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain.

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498 IL PENSEROSQ.

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess^
As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that people the sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,

Ifhe fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. lo

But, hail ! thou Goddess sage and holy!
H^, divinest Melancholy!
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight.
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem.
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above 20

The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended:
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore ;
His daughter she; in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain.,
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,

Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 30

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain.
Flowing with majestic train.
And s3>le stole of cypress lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come; but keep thy wonted state>
With even step, and musing gait.
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting m thine eyes: 40

There, held in holy passion still,
Foreet thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fest.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing;
And add to these retired Leisure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; ' 50

But, first and chiefest, with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing.

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IL PENSEROSO, 499

Guidine the fiery-wheelM throne, '

The Cherub Contemplation ; '

And the mute Silence hist alottg,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest saddest plight, '

Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er the accustomed oak. .60

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancfioiy!
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among
I woo, to hear thy even-song;
And, missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon.
Riding near her highest noon, ^
Like one that had been led astray

Through the heaven's wide, pathless way, 7c

And oft, as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft, on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound.
Over some wide-watered shore.
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit.
Where glowing embers through the rooni
Teach hght to counterfeit a gloom, • . 80

Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth.
Or the bellman's drowsy charm
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour.
Be seen m some high lonely tower.
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
With thrice great Henries, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold

What worlds or what vast Regions hold 90

'The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
And of those demons that a;re found
In fire, air, flood, or underground.
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet or with element.
Sometime. let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred psul come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,

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Soo IL PENSERQSO.

Or the tale of Troy divine, loo

Or what (though rare) of later age.
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. .
But, O sad Virgin ! that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower;
Or bid the ;S0ul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
• And made Hell grant what love did seek;

Or call up him that left half-told , '
The story of Cainbuscan bold, no

Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife.
That owned the virtuous ring and glass,,
And of the wondrous horse of brass
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear.

Where more is meant than meets the ear. . 120

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, ,
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchieft in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud, .
Or ushered .with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill.
Ending on the rustling leaves.

With minute-drops from off the eaves* 130

And, when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves.
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe with heaved stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt.
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There, in close covert, by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look, 140

Hide me from day's garish eye.
While the bee with honeyed thi^h.
That at her flowery work doth smg,
And the waters murmuring.
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.

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IL PENSEROSO. 501

And let some strange mysterious dream

Wave at his wings, in airy stream

Of lively portraiture displayed,

Softly on my eyelids laid; 150

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath.

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good.

Or the unseen Genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail '

To walk the studious cloister's pale.

And love the high embowfed roof,

With antique piUars massy-proof, ^

And storied windows* richly dight.

Casting a dim religious light. 160

There let the pealmg organ blow.

To the full-voiced quire below,

In service high and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies, . >

And bring all Heaven before mine ^yes.

And may at lafet my weary age

Find out the peacenil hermitage,

The hairy gown and mossy cdl,

Where I may sit and rightly spell 170

Of every star that heaven doth she\

And every herb that sips the dew.

Till old experience do attain

To something like prophetic strain. ;

These pleasures, Melancholy, give;

And I with thee will choose to live.

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S9^ ARCAPES,

ARCADES.

Pari of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby
at rlarefield by some Noble Persons of her Family ; w/w appear on
the Scene in pastoral habit ^ moving toward the seat of state, iviih
this song: .

I, Song.

Look, Nymphs and Shepherds, look !
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry,
Too divine to be mistook?

This, this is she
To whom our vows and wishes bend :
Here our solemn search hath end.
Fame, that her high worth to raise
Seemed erst so lavish and profrise,
We may justly now accuse lo

Of detraction from her praise :

Less than half we find expressed j

Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreads,
In circle round her shining throne ;

Shooting her beams like silver threads:
This, this is she alone,

Sitting like a goddess bright

In the centre of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be, 20

Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred gods?
Juno dares not give her odds:

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparalleled?

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

Gen, Stay, gentle Swains, for, though in this disguise,
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung

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ARCADES. 503

Of that renownM flood, so often sung^,

Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice, ' 30

Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse;

And ye, the breathing roses of the .wdod,

Fair silver-buskined Nymphs, as great and good.

I know this quest of yours and free intent

Was all in honour and devotion meSant

To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,

Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,

And with all helpfiil service wilj comply

To further this night's glad solemnity,

And lead ye where ye may more near behold ' 40

What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold ;

Which I full oft, amicSt these shades alone.

Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon.

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

Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,

To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove

With ringlets quaint and wanton windings wove;

And all my plants I save from nightly iU

Of noisome winds and blasting vapours chill;

And from the boughs brush off the evil dew, 50

And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,

Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,

Or hurtftil worm with cankered venom bites.

When evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round

Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground;

And early, ere the odorous breath of morn

Awakes the slumbering leaves, gr tasselled honr

Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about.

Number my ranksj and visit every sprout .

With puissant words and murmurs made to bless. 60

But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness

Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I

To the celestial* Sirens' harmony.

That sit upon the nine infolded spheres.

And sing to those that hold the vital shears,

And turn the adamantine spindle round

On which the fate of gods and men is wound

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie^ '

To lull the daughters of Necessity,

And keep unsteady Nature to her law, > 70

And the low world in measured motion draw

After the heavenly tune, which none can hear

Of human mould with gross unpurg^d ear.

And yet such music worthiest were to blaze

The peerless height of her immortal praise

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504 ARCADES,

Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
' Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go,
Whate'er the skill of lesser gods can show

I will assay, her worth to celebrate, 80

And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
Where ye may all, that are of noble stem.
Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture's hem.

II. Song,

O'er tb^ smooth enamelled green,
Where no print of step hath been,

Follow me, as I sing

And touch the warbled string:
Under the shady roof
Of branching elin star-proof ^

Follow me. 90

I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in splendour as befits

Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.

III. Song,

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more

By sandy Ladon's lilied banks;
On old Lycaeus, or^Cyllene hoar,

Trip no more in twilight ranks ;
Though Erymanth your loss deplore, loc

A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Maenalus
Bring your flocks, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To serve the Lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were.
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural Queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

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COMUS, 505 .

COMUS.

"A MASQUE PRESENTED AT LUDJX>W CASTLE, 1 634, &C."

(For the ,Tjtle-pages of the Editions of 1637 and 1645 see Introduction at p. 490 and p. 431.^

DEDICATION OF THE ANONYMOUS EDITION OF 1637.
(Reprinted in the Eklition of 1645, but omitted in that of 1673.)

" To the. Right Honourable yohn. Lord Brackley, son and h^ir-apparent to
the Earl of Bridgewater, ^c,^^

" My Lord,

"This Poem, which received its first occasion of birth from
3^urself and others of your noble family, and much honour from your own
person in the performance, now returns again to make a final dedication of
itself to you. Although not openly acknowledged by the Author, yet it is a
legitimate of^ring, so lovely and so much desired that the often copying of it
hath tired my pen to give my several friends satisfaction, and brought me
to a necessity of producing it to the public view, and now to offer it up, in
all rightful devotion, to those fair hopes and rare endowments of your much-
promising youth, which give a full assurance to all that know you of a future
efxcellence. Live, sweet Lord, to be the honour of your name; and receive
this as yoiir own from the hands of him who hath by many favours been long
obliged to your most honoured Parents, and, as in this representation your
attendant Thyrsis^ so noyr in all real expression

" You? faithful and most humble Servant,

«H. Lawes."

** The Copy of a Letter written by Sir Henry Wotton to the Author upon the
. following Foem"

(In the Edition of 1645 : omitted in that of 1673.)

" From the College, this 13 of April, 1638.
'* Sir,

" It .was a. special favour when you lately bestowed upon me here
the first taste of your acquaintance, though no longjer than to make me know
that I wanted more time to value it and to enjoy it rightly; and, in truth, if I
could then have imagined your farther stay in these parts, which I understood
afterwards by Mr. H., I would have been bold, in our vulgar phrase, to mend
my draught (for you left me with an extreme thirst), and to have, begged*

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So6 COMUS,

your conversation again, jointly with your said learned friend, over a poor
meal or two« that we might have banded together some good Authors of the
ancient time; among which I observed you to have been familiar.

^ Since your going, you have charged me with new obligations, both for a
very kind letter from you dated the 6th of this month, and for a dainty piece
of entertainment which came therewith. Wherein I should much conmiend
the tragical part, if the lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Doric delicacy
in your Songs and Odes, whereunto I must plainly confess to have seen yet
nothing par&llel in our language i Ipsa moUities, But I must not omit to tell
you that I now only owe you thanks for intimating unto me (how modestly
soever) the true artificer. For the work itself I had viewed some good while
before with singular delight; having received it from our common friend Mr.
R., in the very close of the late R.'s Poems, printed at Oxford : whereunto it
was added (as I now suppose) that the accessory might help out the principal,
according to the art of Stationers, and to leave the reader con la bocca dolce,

**Now, Sir, concerning your travels; wherein I may challenge a little more
privilege of discourse with you. I suppose you will not blanch Paris in your
way : Sierefore I have been bold to trouble you wiA a few lines to Mr. M. B.,
whom you shall easily find attending Ae young Lord S. as his governor;
and jrou may surely receive from him good directions for the shaping of your
farther journey into Italy where he did reside, by my choice, some time for
the King, after mi;ie own recess from Venide.

" I should think that your best line will be through the whole length of
France to Marseilles, and thence by sea to Genoa; whence the passage into
Tuscany is as diurnal as a Gravesend barge. I hasten, as you do, to Florence
or Siena, the rather to tell you a short story, from the interest you have given
me in your safety.

"At Siena I was tabled in the house of one Alberto Scipioni, an old
Roman courtier in dangerous times; having been steward to the Duca di
Pagliano, who with all his family were strangled, save this only man that
escaped by foresight of the tempest. With him I had often much chat of
those affairs, into which he took pleasure to look back froin his native
harbour; and, at my departure toward Rome (which had been the centre of
his experience), I had won his confidence enough to beg his advice how I
might carry myself there without offence of others or of mine own conscience.
• Signer Arrigo mio^ says he, * I pensieri siretH ed il viso sciolto will go safely
over the whole world.* Of which Delphian oracle (for so I have found it) your
judgment doth need no commentary; and therefore. Sir, I will conmiit you,
with it, to the best of all securities, .God*s dear love, remaining

" Your friend, as much to command as any of longer date,

"Henry Wotton."

Postscript,

**Sir: I have expressly sent this my footboy to prerent your departure
"without some acknowledgment from me of the receipt of your obliging letter;
having myself through some business, I know not how, neglected the ordinary
conveyance. In any part where I shall understand you fixed, I shall be glad
and diligent to entertain you with home-novelties, even for some fomentation
of our finendship, too soon interrupted in the cradle.''

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COMUS. SOT

THE PERSONS.

The Attendant Spirit, afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis.

CoMUS, with his Crew.

The Lady.

First Brother,

Second Brother.

Sabrina, the Nymph.

The Chief Persons which presented were: —

The Lord Brackley ;

Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother;

The Lady Alice Egerton.

(This list of the Persons, &c., appeared in the Edition of 164^, but w^ omitted
m that of X673.]

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Sd8 COMUS,

COMUS.

The first Scene discovers a wild wood.

The Attendant Spirit descends or enters.

Before the starry threshold of Jove's court
My mansion is, where those In^mortal shapes
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered
In regions mild of calm. and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care,
Confined and pestered in this pinfold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives.

After this mortal change, to her true servants ' lo

Amongst the enthroned jgods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key ,
That opes the palace of eternity.
To such my errand is; and, but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.
But to my tSask. Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,
Took in, by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove, 2p

Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep ;
Which he, to grace his tributary gods.
By course commits to several government.
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns
And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main.
He quarters to his blue-haired deities;

And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 30

A noble Peer of mickle trust and power
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms:
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father's state,

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COMUS. 509

And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way

Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,

The nodding horror of whose shady brows

Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;

And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40

But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,

I was* despatched for their defence and guard !

And listen why ; for I will tell you now

What never yet was heard in tale or Song,

From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crushed the sweet poison of misusM wine.
After the Tuscan mariners transformed.
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed.
On Circe's island fell. (Who knows not Circe, 50

The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape.
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?)
This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,
' Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more.
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named :
Who, ripe and frolic of his ftiU-grown age,
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, 60

At last betakes him to this pminoiis wood,
And, in thick shelter of blade shades imbowered,
Excels his mother at her mighty art;
Offering to every weary traveller
His onent liquor in a crystal glass.
To quench the drouth of Phoebus ; which as they taste
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst).
Soon as the potion works, their Tiuman countenance.
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf or bear, 70

Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat.
All other parts remaining as they were.
And they, so perfect is their misery.
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement.
But boast themselves more comely than before,
And all their friends and native home forget, \

To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sj^arkle of a glancing star ^

I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convo"*' .
As now I do. But first I must put ofi* '

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510 COMUS.

These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris' woo^

And take the weeds and likeness of a swain

That to the service of this house belongs,

Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song,

Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar.

And hush the waving woods ; nor of less faith,

And in this office of his mountain watch

Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid 90

Of this occasion. But I hear the tread

Of hateful steps ; I must be viewless now

CoMUS enter* t with a charming-rod in one hand, hi* glass in the other; with him a rvui
of monsters ^ headed lihe sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and
women, their apparel glistering. They come in mahing a riotous and unruly noise,
with torches in their hands.

Comus, The star that bids the shepherd fold
Now the top of heaven doth hold;
And the gilded car of dav
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream:
And the slope sun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole^

Pacing toward the other goal 100

Of his chamber in the east.
Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,
Midnight shout and revelry,
Tipsy dance and jollity. '

Braid jrour locks with rosy twine,
Droppmg odours, dropping wine.
Rigour now is eone to be^;
And Advice with scrupulous head.
Strict Age, and sour Severity,

With their grave saws, in suimber lie. no

We, that are of purer fire,

Imitate the starry quire, . .

Who, in their nightly watchful spheres.
Lead in swift round the months and years.
The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove.
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
And on the tawny sands and shelves
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim.

The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim, 12c

Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:
What hath night to do with sleep?

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COMUS. 511

Night hath better sweets to prove;

Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.

Come, let us our rights begin;

'Tis only daylight that makes sin,

Which these dun shades will ne'er report.

Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport.

Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame

Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame, 130

That ne'er art called but when the dragon womb

Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,

And makes one blot of all the airt

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,

Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend

Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out

Ere the blabbing eastern scout.

The nice Mom on the Indian steeps

From her cabined loop-hole peep, I40

And to the tell-tale Sun descry

Our concealed solemnity.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground

In a light fantastic round.

The Measure,

Break off, break off! I feel the different pace

Of some chaste footing near about this ground.

Run to your shrouds within these brakes and trees;

Our number may affright. Some virgin sure

(For so I can distinguish by mine art)

Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms, 150

And to my wily trains: I shall ere long

Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed

About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl

My dazzling spells into the spongy air,

Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,

And give it false presentments, lest the place

And my quaint habits breed astonishment,

And put the damsel to suspicious flight ;

Which must not be, for that's against my course.

I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 160

And well-placed words of glozing courtesy.

Baited with reasons not unplausible.

Wind me into the easy-hearted man.

And hug him. into snares. When once her eye

Hath met the virtue of this magic dust

I shall appear some harmless villager,

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512 COM(/S.

Whom thrift keeps up about ;his country g^ar.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,
And hearken, if I may her business hear*

The Lady enters.

Lady, This way the noise was, if mine ear be true.
My best guide now. Methought it was the sound 170

Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among Jhe loose unlettered hinds,
When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence
Of such late wassailers ; yet, oh! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted it<^ 180

In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these pines,
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable woods provide.
They left me then when the grey-hooded Evenj
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed,

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. 19a

But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts. 'Tis likeliest
They had engaged their wandering steps top far;
And envious darkness, ere they could return.
Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night,
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars
That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps
With everlasting oil, to give due light

To the misled and lonely traveller? 20P

This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence eyen now the tumult of. loud mirth
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear;
Yet nought but single darkness do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory.
Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire.
And airy tongues that syllable men's names
On sands and shores and desert wilderness^. . r .

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COMUS. 513

These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210

The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended

By a strong siding champion, Conscience.

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

Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings,

And thou unblemished form of Chastity !

I see thee visibly, and now belieVe

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

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,

Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,

To keep my life and honour unassailed. ... 220

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

I did not err : there does a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night.

And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. •

I cannot hallo to my brothers, but

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest

I'll venture; for my new-enlivened spirits

Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far oflf.

Song,

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen 230

Within thy airy shell
By slow Meander's margent green.
And in the violet-embroidered vale

Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song moumeth well:
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?

O, if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where, 240

Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter qf the Sphere!
So may'st thou be translated to the skies^
And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies!

Cotnus* Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast.
And with these raptures moves the vocal air ,
To testify his hidden residence.
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, ihrough the empty-vaulted night, , 25a

At every fall smoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard,

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SH COMUS.

My mother Circe with the Sirens three,

Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,

Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs.

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

And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention,

And fell Charvbdis murmured soft applause.

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, 260

And in sweet madness robbed it of itself;

But such a sacred and home-felt delight.

Such sober certainty of waking bliss,

I never heard till now. Til speak to her.

And she shall be my queen. — Hail, foreign wonder!

Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,

Unless the goddess that in rural shrine

Dwieirst here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song

Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog

To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. 270

Lady, Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise
That is addressed to unattending ears.
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my severed company.
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo
To give me answer from her mossy couch.

Comus, What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus?

Lady. Dim darkness and this leavy labyrinth.

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

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 280

Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?

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

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

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return

Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need?

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

Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?

Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips. 290

Comus. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox
In his loose traces from the furrow came.
And the swinked hedger at his supper sat.
I saw them under a green mantling vine.
That. crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucldng ripe clusters from the tender shoots;
Their port was more than human, as they stood.
I took it for a faery vision
Of some gay creatures of the element.

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COMUS. 515

That in the colours of the rainbow live, 300

And play i' the plighted clouds. I was awe-^trook.
And, as I passed, I worshiped. . If those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to Heaven
To help you find them.

Lady, Gentle viUager,

What readiest way would bring me to that place?

Comus, Due west it rises from this shrubby point.

Lady, To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose,
In such a scant allowance of star-light.
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art,
Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 310

Cotntis, I know each lane, and every alley green,
Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood,
And every bosky bourn from side to side.
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood;
And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged.
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark
From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise,
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low

But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 320

Till further quest.

Lady, Shepherd, I take thy wordy

And trust thy honest-offered courtesy.
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds.
With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls
And courts of princes, where it first was named,
And yet is most pretended. In a place
Less warranted than this, or less secure,
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it.
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial
To my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on. . . . 330

Th€ Two Brothers.

Eld, Bro. Unmuffle, ye faint stars; and thou, fair moon,
That wont'st to love the traveller's benison.
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud,
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here
In double night of darkness and of shades ;
Or, if your influence be quite dammed up
With black iisurpine mists, some gentle taper.
Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole
Of some clay habitation, visit us
With thy long levelled rule of streaming light, 340

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5i6 COMUS.

And thou shalt be our star of Arcady,
Or Tyrian Cynosure.

Sec. Bro, Or, it our eyes

Be barred that happiness, might we but hear
The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes,
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops,
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock
Count the night-watches to his feathery dames,
'Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering,
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs.
But, Oh, that hapless virgin, our lost sister! 350

Where may she wander now, whither betake her
From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles?
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now,
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm
Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears.
What if in wild amazement and affright.
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat!

Eld, Bro. Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite
To cast the foshion of uncertain evils; 360

For, grant they be so, while they riest unknown,
What need a man forestall his date of grief,
And run to meet what he would most avoid?
Or, if they be but false adarms of fear,
How bitter is such self-delusion!
I do not think my sister so to seek,
Or so unprincipled in virtue's book, '

And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever,
As that the single want of light and noise
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 370

Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts,
And put them into misbecoming plight. • ^

Virtue could see to do what Virtue would
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon
Were in the flat sea sunk. And \^isdom's self
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude,
Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,
That, in the various bustle of resort,

Were all to-ruffled, and sometimes ipipaired. 380

He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day: \

But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ;
Himself is his own dungeon.

Sec, Bro, Tis most true

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That musing Meditation most affects

The pensive secrecy of desert cell,

Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds,

And sits as safe as in a senate-house;

or who would rob a hermit of his weeds, 390

His few books, or his beads, or maple dish.
Or do his grey hairs any violence?
But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard
Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit.
From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.
You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps ^

Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den,

And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 400

'Danger will wink on Opportunity,
And let a single helpless maiden pass
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste.
Of night or loneliness it recks me not ;
I fear the dread events that dog them both.
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person
Of our unowned sister.

Eld, Br o. I do not, brother,

Infer as if I thought my sister's state
Secure without all doubt or controversy ;

Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear. 410

Does arbitrate the event, my nature is
That I incline to hope rather than fear.
And gladly banish squint suspicion.
My sister is not so defenceless left
As you imagine; she has a hidden strength.
Which you remember not. , . .

Sec, Bro, What hidden strength.

Unless the strength of Heaven, if you, mean that?

Eld, Br o. I mean that too, but yet a hidden tetrength^
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own.
'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity: 420

She that has that is clad in complete steel,
And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths.
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds;
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity,
No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer,
Will dare to soil her virgin purity.
Yea, there where very desolation dwells,
Bv grots and caverns shagged with horrid shades,
Sne may pass on with unoTenched ma^sty, 430

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5i8 COMU^.

Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.
Some say no evil thing that wsilks by night,
In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen,
Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost,
That breaks his magic chains at curfew tim^
No goblin or swart faery of the mine,
Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call
Antiquity from the old schools of Greece

To testify the arms of chastity? 440

Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow.
Fair silver-shafted queen for ever chaste,
Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness
And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought
The frivolous bolt of Cupid; eods and men
Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o^ the woods.
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield
That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin,
Wherewith she freezed her foes to conge^ed stone,
But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 450

And noble grace that dashed brute violence
With sudden adoration and blank awe?
So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity
That, when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear;
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants

Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, 460

The unpolluted temple of the mind.
And turns it bv degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be maae immortal. But, when lust.
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk.
But most by lewd and lavish act of sin.
Lets in defilement to the inward parts.
The soul grows clotted bjr contagion,
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose
The divine property of her first being.
. Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 470

Oft seen in chamel-vaults and sepulchres,
Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave.
As loth to leave the body that it loved.
And linked itself by carnal sensualty
To a degenerate and degraded state.

Sec, Bro, How charming is divine Philosophy !
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,

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But musical as is Apollo's lute,

And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,

Where no crude surfeit reigns.

Eld. Bro, List ! list ! I hear 480

Some far-off hallo break the silent air.

Sec, Bro, Methought so too; what should it be?

Eld. Bro, For certain,

Either some one, like us, night-foundered here.
Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst.
Some roving robber calling to his fellows.

Sec. Bro. Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near!
Best draw, and stand upon our guard.

Eld. Bro. rU hallo.

If he be friendly, he comes well : if not,
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us I

The Attendant Shrit, habited Itki a shepherd.

That hallo I should know. What are you? speak. 490

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

Spir. What voice is that? my voung lord? speak again..

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

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayed
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale.
How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ram
Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam.
Or straggling wethdr the pent flock forsook?
How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook? 560

Spir. O my loved master's heir, and his next Joy,
I came not here on such a trivial toy
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth
That doth enrich these downs is worth a thought
To this my errand, and the care it brought.
But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she?
How chance she is not in your company?

Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. 510

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

Eld. Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis ? Prithee briefly shew

Spir. I'll tell ye. 'Tis not vain or fabulous
(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance)
What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse,
Storied of old in high immortaJ verse
Of dire Chimeras and enchanted isles.

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520 COMl/S.

And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell;
For such there be, but unbelief is blind.

Within the navel of this hideous wood, 520

Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells,
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus,
Deep skilled in all his mother's witcheries,
And here to every thirsty wanderer
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup.
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison
The visage quite transforms of him that dnnks,
And the inglorious likeness of a beast
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage
Charactered in the face. This have I learnt 530

Tending my flocks hard by T the hilly crofts
That brow this bottom glade; whence night by night
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey.
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate
In their obscurM haunts of inmost bowers.
Yet have they many baits and guileful spells
To inveigle and invite the unwary sense
Of them that pass uiiweeting by the way.
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 540

Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb '
Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold,
I sat me down to watch upon a bank
With ivy canopied, and interwove
With flaunting honeysuckle, and began,
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy,
To meditate my rural minstrelsy.
Till fancy had her fill. But ere a close
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods,
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance; 550

At which I ceased, and listened them a while,
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence
Gave respite t<5 the drowsy-flighted steeds
That draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep.
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound
Rose like a stream of rich distilled perfumes,
And stole upon the air, that even Silence
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might
Deny her nature, and be never more,

Still to be so displaced. I was all ear, 56c

And took in strams that might create a soul
Under the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere long
Too well I did perceive it was the voice
Of my most honoured Lady, your dear sister.

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Amazed I stood, harrotved with grief and fear ;

And * O poor hapless nightingale,' thought I;

* How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare!'

Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste,

Through paths and turnings often trod by day.

Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place 570

Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise

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

Already, ere my best speed <:ould prevent, \

The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey;

Who gently asked if he had seen such two.

Supposing him some neighbour villager.

Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed

Ye were the two she meant; with that I sprung

Into swift flight, till I had found you here;

But further know I not.

Sec» Bro, O night and shades, 580

How are ye joined with hell in triple knot
Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin,
Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence
You gave me, brother?

Eld. Bro, Yes, and keep it still ;

Lean on it safely; not a period
Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm:
Virtue may be assailed, but nevef hurt,

Surprised b); unjust force, but not enthralled; 590

Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.
But evil on itself shall back recoil.
And mix no more with goodness, when at last,
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself.
It shall be in eternal restless change
Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail.
The pillared firmament is rottenness.
And earth's base built on stubble. But come, let's on!
Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven 600

May never this just sword be lifted up;
But, for that damned magician, let him be girt
With all the griesly legions that troop
Under the sooty flag of Acheron,
Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms
'Twixt Africa and Ind, I'll find him out,
And force him to return his purchase back.
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death,
Cursed as his Ufe.

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Spir, Alas! good venturous youth,

I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 6io

But here thy sword can do thee little stead.
Far other arms and other weapons must
Be those that quell the might of hellish charms.
He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,
And crumble all thy sinews.

Eld, Bro, Why, prithee. Shepherd,

How durst thou then thyself approach so near
As to make this relation?

Spir, Care and utmost shifts

How to secure the Lady from surprisal
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad,
Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled 620

In every virtuous plant and healinfi^ herb
That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray.
He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing;
Which when I did, he on the tender grass
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy,
And in requital ope his leathern scrip,
And show me simples of a thousand names.
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties.
Amongst the rest a small unsightly root,

But of divine effect, he culled me out. 630

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it.
But in another country, as he said,
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil:
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon;
And yet more med'cinal is it than that Moly
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave.
He called it Haemony, and gave it me.
And bade me keep it as of sovran use

'Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp^ 640

Or ghastly Furies' apparition.
I pursed it up, but little reckoning made,
Till now that this extremity compelled.
But now I find it true; for by this means
I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised,
Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells.
And yet came off. If you have this about you
(As I will give you when we go) you may
Boldly assault the necromancer's hall;

Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 650

And brandished blade rush on him : break his glass,
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground;
But seize his wand. Though he and his curst crew

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Fierce sign of battle make, and menace highj '
Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke,
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.

Eld, Bro, Thyrsis, lead on apace ; Til follow thee ;
And some good angel bear a shield before us!

The 'Scene changes to a stately ^alace^ set out with all manner of deltciousness: soft
music, tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the
Lady set in an enchanted chair: to whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and
goes about to rise,

Comus, Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand,
Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 660

And you a statue, or as Daphne was,
Root-bound, that fled Apollo.

Lady, Fool, do not boast. -

Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind
With all thy^ charms, although this corporal rind
Thou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good.

Comus, Why are you vexed, Lady? why do you frown?
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates
Sorrow flies fer. See, here be all the pleasures
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts.
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 670

Brisk as the April buds in primrose season.
And first behold this cordial julep here.
That flames and dances in his ciystal bounds.
With spirits of bahn and fragrant syrups mixed.
Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena
Is of such power to stir up joy as this,
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.
Whv should you be so cruel to yourself.

Ana to those dainty Umbs, which Nature lent 680

For gentle usage and soft delicacy?
But you invert the covenants of ner trust.
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower,
.. With that which you received on other terms,
Scorning the unexempt condition
By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,
That have been tired all day without repast,
And timely rest have Wanted. But, fair virgin, .
This will restore all soon.

Lady, 'Twill not, false traitor! 690

Twill not restore the truth and honesty
That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies.
Was this the cottage and the safe abode

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524 COMUS,

Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are these,

These oughly-headed monsters? Mercy guard met

Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul deceiver!

Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence '

With vizored falsehood and base forgery?

And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here '

With liquorish baits, fit to ensnare a brute? • 700

Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets,

I would not taste thy treasonous offer. None

But such as are good men can give good things;

And that which is not good is not delicious

To a well-governed and wise appetite.

Comus. O foolishness of men! that lend their ears
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fiir,
And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub,
Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence!

Wherefore did. Nature pour her bounties forth 710

With such a full and unwithdrawing hand.
Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks.
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, ;
But all to please and sate the curious taste ?
And set to work nfiilUons of spinning worms, ,

That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk,
To deck her sons; and, that no corner might
Be vacant of her plenty^ in her owi^ loins
She hutched the all- worshiped ore and precious gems.
To- store her children with^ If all the. world 720

Should, in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse.
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze.
The All-giver would be unthanked, would be impraised,
Not half his riches known, and ,yet despised;
And we should serve him as a grudging master, ,
As a penurious niggard of his wealth,
And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons.
Who would be quite surcharged with her pwn weight.
And strangled with her waste fertility: ,

The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked with plumes.
The herds would over-multitude their lords; 731

The sea o'erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds
Would so emblaze the forehead of the deep,
And so bestud with stars, that they below
Would grow inured to light, and come at last
To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows.
List, Lady; be not coy, and be not cozened
With that same vaunted name. Virginity.
Beauty is Nature's coin; must not be hoarded,
But must be current ; and the good thereof , 74o

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Consists in mutual and partaken bliss,
Unsavoury in the enjoyment of itself.
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose
It withers on the stalk with languished head.
Beauty is Nature's brag, and must be shown
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities.
Where most may wonder at the workmanship.
It is for homely features to keep home;
They had their name thence: coarse complexions
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 750

The sampler, and to tease the huswife's wool.
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that.
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
There was another meaning in these gifts;
Think what, and be advised; you are but young yet.
Lady, I had not thought to have unlocked my Ups
In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler
Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes,
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason's garb.
I hate when vice can bolt her arguments 760

And virtue has no tongue to check her pride*
Impostor ! do not charge most innocent Nature,
As if she would her childreii should be riotous
With her abundance. She, good cateress,
Means her provision only to the good,
That live according to her sober laws,
And holy dictate of spare. Temperance.
If every just man that now pines with want
Had but a moderate and beseeming share

Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury 770

Now heaps upon some few with vast excess.
Nature's full blessings would be. well-dispensed
In unsuperfluous even proportion,
And she no whit encumbered with her store ;
And then the Giver would be better thanked,
His praise due paid : for swinish gluttony
Ne'er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast.
But with besotted base ingratitude
Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on?
Or have I said enow? To him that dares 780

Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words
Against the sun-clad power of chastity
Fain would I something say ; — yet to what end ?
Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend
The sublime notion and high mystery
That must be uttered to unfold the sage
And serious doctrine of Virginity ;

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526 . COMUS.

And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know

More happiness than this thy present lot.

Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric, 790

That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence ;

Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced.

Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth

Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits

To such a flame of sacred vehemence

That dumb things would be moved to sympathize,

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

Till all thy magic structures, reared so high,

Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head.

Comus. She fables not. I feel that I do fear 800

Her words set off by some superior power;
And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew .
Dips me ^1 o'er, as when the wrath of Jove
Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus
To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble,
And try her yet more strongly. — Come, no morel
This is mere moral babble, and direct
Against the canon laws of our foundation.
I must not suffer this; yet 'tis but the lees
And settlings of a melancholy blood. 3 10

But this will cure all straight ; one sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste . . .

The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his ^lass out of his handt and
break it against the ground : his rout make sign of resistance t but are alldrtzten in.
The Attendant Spirit comes in.

Spir, What! have you let the false enchanter scape?
O ye mistook; ye should have snatched his wand,
And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed.
And backward mutters of dissevering power,
We cannot free the Lady that sits here
In stony fetters fixed and motionless.

Yet stay: be not disturbed; now I bethink me, 820

Some other means I have which may be used,
Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt.
The soothest shepherd that e'er piped on plains.

There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence.
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream:
Sabrina is her name: a vurgin pure;
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,
That had the sceptre from his father Brute.
She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit

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Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 830

Commended her fair innocence to the flood
That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing coturse.
The water-nymphs, that in the bottom pla3red,
Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in,
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall;
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head,
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe
In nectared lavers strewed with asphodil,
And through the porch and inlet of each sense
Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived, 840

And underwent a quick immortal change.
Made Goddess of the river; Still she retains
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve
Visits the herds along the twilight meadoWs,
Helping all urchin blasts, and iU-luck signs
•That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make,
Which she with precious vialed liquors heals:
For which the shepherds, at their festivals,
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays.

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 850

Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock
The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell.
If she be right invoked in warbled song;
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift
To aid a virgin, such as was herself,
In hard-besetting need. This will I try.
And add the power of some adjuring verse.

Song, '

Sabrina fair.

Listen where thou art sitting 860

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, ,

In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;

Listen for dear honour's sake,
• Goddess of the silver lake.
Listen and save!

Listen, and appear to us.

In name of great Oceanus,

By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace.

And Tethys' grave majestic pace; 870

By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,

And the Carpathian wizard's hook;

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528 COMUS,

By scaly Triton's winding shell,

And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell;

By Leucothea's lovely hands,

And her son that rules the strands;

By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet,

And the songs of Sirens sweet;

By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,

And fair Ligea's golden comb, 880

Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks

Sleeking her soft alluring locks;

By all the nymphs that nightly dance

Upon thy streams with wily glance;

Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head

From thy coral-paven bed.

And bridle in thy headlong wave,

Till thou our summons answered have.

Listen and save !

Sabrina rises^ attended by Water-nymphSf and sings.

By the rushy-fringfed bank, 890

Where ^ows the willow and the osier dank,

My sliding chariot stays,
Thick set with agate, and the azum sheen
Of turkis blue, and emerald green,

That in the channel strays :
Whilst from off the waters fleet
Thus I set my printless feet
O'er the cowslip's velvet head.

That bends not as I tread.
Gentle swain, at thy request 900

I am here,!

Spir, Goddess dear,
We implore thy powerful hand
To undo the charmed band
Of true virgin here distressed
Through the force and through the wile
Of unblessed enchanter vile.

Sabr. Shepherd, 'tis my office best
To help ensnared chastity.

Brightest Lady, look on me. 910

Thus I sprinkle on thy breast
Drops that from my fountain pure
I have kept of precious cure ;
Thrice upon thy finger's tip.
Thrice upon thy rubied lip:
Next this marble venomed seat,

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Smeared with ffums of glutinous heat,

I touch with chaste palms moist and cold.

Now the spell hath lost his hold;

And I must haste ere morning hour / 920

To wait in Amphitrite's bower.

Sabrina descends t and the Lady rises out of her seat,

Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine,
Sprung of old Anchises' line.
May thy brimmed waves for this
Their full tribute never miss
From a thousand petty rills,
That tumble down the snowy hills:
Siunmer drouth or singM air
Never scorch thy tresses fair.

Nor wet October's torrent flood 930

Thy molten crystal fill with mud;
May thy billows roll ashore
The beryl and the golden ore;
May thy lofty head be crowned
With many a tower and terrace round,
And here and there thy banks upon
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.

Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace,
Let us fly this cursed place.

Lest the sorcerer us entice 940

With some other new device.
Not a waste or needless sound
Till we come to holier ground.
I shall be your faithfid guide
Through this gloomy covert wide;
And not many furlongs thence
Is your Father's residence.
Where this night are met in state
Many a friend to gratulate

His wished presence, and beside 950

f All the swains that there abide
. With jigs and rural dance resort.
We shsdl catch them at their sport.
And our sudden coming there
Will double all their mirth and cheen
Come, let us haste; the stars grow high.
But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.

The Scene chan^s^ presenting Ludlow Town ^ and the President's Castle: then come
in Country Dancers; after them the Attekdant ShR|T, with the two Brothers
and THB Lady.

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Song.

Spir, Back, shepherds, back ! Enough your play
Till next sun-shine holiday.

Here be, without duck or nod, 9

Other trippings to be trod
Of lighter toes, and such court guise
As Mercury did first devise
With the mincing. Dryades
On the lawns and on th^ leas.

This second Song presents them to their Father ^nd Mother,

Noble Lord and Lady bright,
I have brought ye new delight.
Here behold so goodly grown
Three fair branches of your own.
Heaven hath timely tried their youth, <

Their faith, their patience,, ^p4 their truth,
And sent them here through hard assays ,
With a crown of deathless praise,
To triumph in victorious dance
O'er sensual folly and intemperance. ,

Tht dances endedt the Spirit epitoguixes.

Spir. To the ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes that lie
Where day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky.

There I suck the liquid air, i^i

All amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
That sing about the golden tree.
Along the crispM shades and bowers
Revels the spruce and jocund Spriiig;
The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours
Thither all their bounties bring. ^

There eternal Summer dwells.
And west winds with musky wing

About the cedarn alleys fling ^c^o

Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can shew.
And drenches with Elysian dew

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COMUS, 531

(List, mortals, if your ears be true)

Beds of hyacinth and roses,

Where young Adonis oft reposes,

Waxing well of his deep wound, 1000

In slumbers soft, and on the ground

Sadly sits the Assyrian (jueen.

But far above, in spangled sheen.

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced

Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced

After her wandering labours long.

Till free consent the gods among

Make her his eternal bride.

And from her feir unspotted side

Two blissful twins are to be bom, loio

Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is smoothly done:
I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end.
Where the bowed welkin slow doth behd,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.
Mortals, that would follow me.

Love Virtue ; she alone is free. '

She can teach ye how to cHmb * 1020

Higher than the sphery chime ;
Or, if Virtue feeble were.
Heaven itself would stoop to her.

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S3a LYCIDAS.

LYCIDAS.

In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage
from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637; ^>^d, by occasion, foretells the ruiii of our corrupted
Clergy, then in their height.

' Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and: crude,
And with forced finders rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead,; dead ere his prime.
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.

Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew . 10

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme..
He must not noat upon his watery bier .
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Begin, then. Sisters of the sacred well
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ;
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse:
So may some gentle Muse

With lucky words favour my destined urn, •^

And as he passes turn,
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud !

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill,
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill;
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared •

Under the opening eyelids of the Morn,
We drove a-field, and both together heard
What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night.
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 30

Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel.
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute;
Tempered to the oaten flute

Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long;

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LYCWAS. 533

And old Damoetas loved to hear our song.

But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art goncy '

Now thou art gone and never must return ! '

Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves,
With wild thyme and the gadding vine overgrown, 40

And all their echoes, mourn.
The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze.
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobS wear.
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deej^ 50

Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing cHi the steep
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie.
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, <

Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Ay me ! I fondly dream

"Had ye been there," ... for what could that have done?
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore.
The Muse herself, fof her enchanting son.

Whom universal nature did lament, 60

When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visage down the stream was sent,
Down tne swut Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?

Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade^
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? -
Were it not better done, as others use.
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, '

Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair?

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70

(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious da)rs;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the bliiid Fury with the abhorred shears.
And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise,"
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears:
"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, 80

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove 5

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1514

LYCIDAS,

As he pronounces lastly on each deed.

Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed-" ,

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood.
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reieds,
c . That strain I heard was of a higher mood. . V

But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the Herald of the Sea,

"That came in Neptune's plea. 90

He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?
And questioned every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beaked promontory.
They knew not of his story;
And sage Hippotades their answer brings, .
That not a blast was from. his dungeon strayed:
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played.

It was that fatal and pei^dious bark, - 100

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark^
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,i .
\ His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge.
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe.
} "Ah ! who hath reft," quoth hj^, "my dearest pledge? '*
Last came, and last did go.
The Pilot of the Galilean Lake ;

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain no

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). ,,.
He shook hi^ mitred locks, and stern bespake : -^
"How well could I have spared , for thee, young. sWain,
Enow of such as, for their belliesV sakfe.
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold I
Of other care they little reckoning make
-. Than how-to scramble at the shearers' feast.
And shove away the worthy bidden guest.
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold
A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught ebe the least 120

That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!
What recks it them? What need 'they? ; They are sped;
And, wh^ they, list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ;
The hungry sheep look, up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw,
c3 Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread;
Besides whajt the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apaqe, ai^d nothing said.. : . _. .

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LYCIDAS. 535

But that two-handed engine at the door i 130

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.'**

Return, Alpheus ; the dread voice is past ' '

That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse^
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast . '

Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. <

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, ■
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, - •
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes.
That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, 140

And purple au th6 ground With vernal flowers. ■ ' '. ,
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, ; \\

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, , /!

The white pink, and the pansy freakfed with jet, ,
The glowiAg violet, - , /

The musk-rose, and the welL-attired t^roodbihe, |

With cowslips wan that halig the peiisive head, ! , ;■

And every flower that sad embroidery wears ;
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed.

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 150

To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
For so, to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Ay me ! whilst thee the snores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled;
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Visifst the bottom of the monstrous world ;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, itw

Where the great Vision of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold.
Look homeward. Angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more,
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead.
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor.
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed.
And yet anon repairs his drooping head.

And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky :
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves.
Where, other groves and other streams along.
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves.
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,

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536 LYCWAS.

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and Ibve-

There entertain him all the Saints above,

In solemn troops, and sweet societies,

That sing, and singing in their glory move, 1 80

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.

Now, Lycidas, the sliepherds weep no more ;

Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good

To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals grey:
He touched the tender stops of various quills.
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 190

And now was dropt into the western bay.
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

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SONNETS, S37

SONNETS.

[to the nightingale,]

O Nightingale that on yon bloomy spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the joUy hours lead on propitious May.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay.

Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh ;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late

For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.

Whether the Muse or Love called thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

[on hjs having arrived at the age of twenty-three.]

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year !

My hasting days fly on with full career.

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth
That I to manhood am arrived so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow.
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heiven.
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

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538 SOAWETS.

III.

Donna leggiadra, il cui bel nome onora
L' erbosa val di Reno e il nobil varco,
Bene e colui d' ogni valore scarce
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora,

Che dolcemente mostrasi di fuora,
De' sui atti soayi giammai parco,
E i don', che son d' ainbr saette ed arcQ^
Lk onde P alta tua virtu s' infiora.

Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti,

Che mover possa duro alpestre legno,
Guardi ciascun agli occhi ed agli orecchi

L' entrata chi di te si truova indegno;
Grazia sola di sii gli vagUa, innanti
Che 1 disio amoroso al cuor s' invecchi.

IV.

Qual in coUe aspro, alP imbrunir di sera,
L 'avezza giovinetta pastorella
Va bagnando 1' erbetta strana e bella
Che mal si spande a disusata spera

Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,

Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera.

Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso,
E U bel Tamigi cangio col belP Arno.
Amor lo volse, ed io alP altrui peso

Seppi ch' Amor cosa mai volse indarno.

Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento e '1 duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

CANZONE.

RiDONSi donne e giovani amorosi

M' accostandosi attorno, e ^Perch^ scrivi,

Perchfe tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana

Verseggiando d' amor, e come t' osi?

Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana,

E de' pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi ! '

Cosl mi van burlando: ^altri rivi,

Altri lidi t' aspettan, ed altre onde,

Nelle cui verdi sponde

Spuntati ad or ad or alia tua chioma

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SONNETS. 539

V immortal guiderdon d^ eteme frondi.
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?^

Canzon, dirotti, e tu per me rispondi:
* Dice mia Donna, e 1 suo dir ^ il mio cuore,
" Questa h lingua di cui si vanta Amore." '

DiODATi (e te '1 dir6 con maraviglia),

Quel ritroso io, ch' amor spreggiar solea

E de' suoi lacci spesso mi ridea,

Gik caddi, ov' uom dabben talor s' impiglia.

N^ treccie d' oro n^ guancia vermiglia
M' abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che '1 cuor bea,
Portamenti alti onesti, e nelle ciglia

Quel sereno fulgor d' amabil nero,
Parole adorne di lingua piu d^una,
E 1 cantar che di mezzo V emispero

Traviar ben pu6 la feticosa Luna;

E degli occhi suoi awenta si gran fuoco
Che r incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco.

VI.

Per certo i bei vostr' occhi, Donna mia,

Esser non pu6 che non sian lo mio sole;
SI mi percuoton forte, come ei suole
Per V arene di Libia chi s' invia,

Mentre un caldo vapor (n^, sentl pria)
Da quel lato si spinee ove mi duole,
Che forse amanti neUe lor parole
Chiaman sospir; io non so che si sia.

Parte rinchiusa e turbida si cela

Scossomi il petto, e poi n' uscendo poco
Quivi d' attorno o s' agghiaccia o s * ingiela ;

Ma quanto agli occhi giunge a trovar loco
Tutte le notti a me suoi far piovose,
Finch^ mia alba rivien colma di rose.

vn.

GiOVANE, piano, e semplicetto amante,

Poichfe fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna, a vol del mio cuor T umil done
Far6 divoto. Io certo a prove tante

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540 SON-NETS.

V ebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,

Di pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono.

Quanda rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono/

S' arma di se, e d' intero diamante,
Tanto del forse e d' invidia sicuro,

Di timori, e speranze al popol use,

Quanto d' ingegno e d' alto valor vago,
E di cetra sonora, e delle Muse.

Sol troverete in tal parte men dure

Ove Amor mise 1' insanabil ago.

VIII.
WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY.

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms.

He can requite thee; for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.

Lift not thy spear against the Muses^ bower:
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower

Went to the ground; and the repeated air
Of sad Electra's poet had the power
To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

IX.

[to a virtuous young lady.]

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth

Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen
That labour up the hill of heavenly Truth,

The better part with Mary and with Ruth

Chosen thou hast ; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen.
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.

Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be suKe

Thou, when the Bride^oom with his feastfiil friends
Passes to bliss at the mid-hour of night,
Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

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SONNETS. 541

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY.

Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council and her Treasury,
Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty.
Killed with report that old man eloquent,

Though later bom than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you.
Madam, methinks I see him living yet:

So well your words his noble virtues praise

That all both judge you to relate them true
And to possess them, honoured Margaret.

XI.

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING
CERTAIN TREATISES.

A BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordotij

And woven close, both matter, form, and style;
The subject new: it walked the town a while.
Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored on.

Cries the stall-reader, " Bless us ! what a word on
A title-page is this ! " ; and some in file
Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why, is it harder, sirs, than Gordon ^

Colkitto, or Macdonnet, or Galasp f

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.

Thy age, like ours, O soul o7 Sir John Cheek,
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp,
When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward Greek.

xn.

ON THE SAME.

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty,
When straight a barbarous noise environs me
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs ;

As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs

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542 S0JV2VETS.

Railed at Latona's twin-bom progeny,
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee.
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs,

That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,

And still revolt when Truth would set them free
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty;

For who loves that must first be wise and good :
But from that mark how far they rove we see,
For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood.

ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG
PARLIAMENT.

Because you have thrown off your Prelate Lord,
And with stiff vows renounced his Liturgy,
To seize the widowed whore Plurality
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred,

Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword

To force our consciences that Christ set fi^ee.
And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy,
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford?

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

Would have been held in high esteem with Paul
Must now be named and printed heretics

By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d'ye-call!
But we do hope to fin4 out all your tricks.
Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,
That so the Parliament

May with their wholesome and preventive shears

Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears.
And succour our just fears.

When they shall read this clearly in your charge:

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.

XIII.
TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS.

Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song
First taught our English music how to span
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
With Midas' ears, committing short and long,

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
To after age thou shalt be writ the man
That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue.

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SOI^NETS. 5^

Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing
To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire,
That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or stofry.

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing,
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.

XIV.

ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY
CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. 1 6, 1 646.

When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never.
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.

Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour,
Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, *

Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever.

Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest.

And speak the truth of thee on glorious themes

Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest.
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

XV.
ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise.
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
And rumours loud that daunt remotest kings,

Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Victory honie, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays
Her broken league to imp their serpent wings.

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand

(For what can war Ixit endless war still breed?)
Till truth and right from violence be freed,

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand .
Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed.
While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

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544 SONNETS.

XVI.

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652,

ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT THE COMMITTEE FOR PROP-
AGATION OF THE GOSPEL.

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,

And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,
And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,

And Worcester's laureate wreath : yet much remains
To conquer still ; Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than War: new foes arise,

Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.

XVII.
TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old.

Than whom a better senator ne'er held

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

The fierce Epirot and the African bold.
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;

Then to advise how war may best, upheld,

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold.
In all her equipage; besides, to know

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,

What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done.
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe :

Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans

In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

xvin.

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.>

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains, cold ;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

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SONNETS. 545

fathers wOTshiped stocks

When all our fathers wOTshiped stocks and stones,
Forget not: in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, '
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

XIX.

[on his blindness.]

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my, days in this dark world ai^d wide,
And that pne talent which is death to hide
Lodged wi]th ,me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith pay Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
'* Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, '* God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve nim best. His state

Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er lahd and ocean without rest ;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

XX.

[to MR. LAWRENCE.]

Lawrence, oif virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire.
Where shall we sometirhes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice.
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artfiil voice

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546 SOArj\r£'TS:

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, aind sp^e
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

XXI.

[to cyriack skinner.]

CvRiACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumesi tajight, our ;lawS| .
Which others at their bar so often wrench,

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws ;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause.
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,

And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
' That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

XXII.

[to the same.]

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though dear,

To outward view, of blemish or oi spot.

Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ;

Nor to their, idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not

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

Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied

In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. •

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

Content, though blind, had I no better guide.

XXIII. ,

[on his deceased WIFE.]

METHOtJGpT I saw my late espoused saint ;

Brought to me like Alcestis from the gtkvty ■ ^^

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SONNETS. 547

Whom Jove's great son ta^ier elad husband gave,
Rescued from Death by /otce, though ^e and feint.

Mme, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Pmificatimi in the Old Law did save,
And such as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind.

Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

So clear as in no face with more delight.
But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

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548 TRANSLATIONS,

[TRANSLATIONS.]
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. 1.,

Qms multd gracilis te puer in rosd.

Rendered almost word for word, without rhyme, according to the Latin
measure, as near as the language will permit.

,What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,

Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair.
Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms

Unwonted shall admire.
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold;
Who always vacant, always amiable,

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful! Hapless they
To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my vowed
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung

My dank and dropping weeds

To the stern God of Sea.

[As Milton inserts the original with his translation, as if to challenge
comparison, it is right that we should do so too.]

AD PYRRHAM. ODE V.

Horatius ex Pyrrha illecebris tanquam e naufragio enataverat, cujus amort
irretitos affirmat esse miseros.

Quis muM gracilis te puer in rosi
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

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TRANSLATTOr^S. 549

Cui flavam religas comam
Simplex munditie? Heu, quoties fidem
Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris aequora ventis
Emirabitur insolens,
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureli;
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem,
Sperat, neseius aurae

Fallacis! Miseri quibus
Intentata nites. Me tabula sacer
Votiva paries indicat uvida
Suspendisse potenti

Vestimenta maris Deo.

^/r«7, 1648. — J. M.

Nine of the Psalms done into Metre; wherein all, but what is in a different
character, are the very words of the Text, translated from the original.

PSALM LXXX.

1 Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep,

Give ear in time of need^
V Who leadest like a nock of sheep

Thy loved Joseph's seed,
That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright,

Between their wings outspread;
Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light y

And on our foes thy dread.

2 In Ephraim's view and Benjamin's,

And in Manasseh's sight, 10

Awake ^ thy strength, come, and be seen » Gnorera,

To save us by thy might.

3 Turn us again ; thy grace divine

To us, O God, vouchsafe;
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
And then we shall be safe.

4 Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou,'

How long wilt thou declare
Thy 2 smoking wrath, and angry brow, * Gnashanta.

Against thy people's prayer.? 20

5 Thou feed'st them with the bread of tears;

Their bread with tears they eat;
c: And mak'st them largely^ drink the tears ^ ShdUsh..

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550 TRANSLATIONS.

Wherewith their cheeks are wet,

6 A strife thou mak'st us and a .prey

To every neighbour foe;
Among themselves they* laugh, they* play,

And* flouts at us they throw. ^yugnagu,

7 Return us, and thy grace divine^

O God of Hosts, vouchsafe; 30

Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
And then we shall be safe.

8 A Vine from Egypt thou hast brought^

Thy free love made it thine.
And drov'st out mXions proud and haut.
To plant this lov€ly Vine.

9 Thou didst prepare for it a place,

And root it deep and fast,
That it began to grow apace,

And filled the land at last, 40

10 With her green shade that covered all

The hills were overspread;
Her boughs as high as cedars tall
Advanced their lofty head,

11 Her branches on the western side

Down to the sea she sent,

And upward to that river wide

Her other branches went,

12 Why hast thou laid her hedges low,

And broken down her fence, 50

That all may pluck her, as they go,
With rudest violence f

13 The tusked boar out of the wood

Upturns it by the roots; , .
Wild beasts there browse, and make their food
Her grapes and tender shoots, .

14 Return now, God of Hosts; Idok down

From Heaven, thy seat divine;
Behold us, but without a frown^
And visit this thy Vine. 60

15 Visit this Vine, which thy right hand

Hath set, and planted long.
And the young branch, that for thyself
Thou hast made firm and strong.

16 But now it is consumed with fire,

And cut with axes down;
They perish at thy dreadful ire,
At thy rebuke and 6*0 wn.

17 Upon the Man of thy right hand

Let thy good hand be laid; jO

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TRANSLATIONS, 551

Upon the Son of Man, whom Thou
Strong for thyself hast made.

18 So shall we not go back from thee

To ways of sin and shame :
Quicken us thou ; then gladly we
Shall call upon thy Name.

19 Return us, and thy grace divine^

Lord God of Hosts, vouchsafe:
Cause thou thy face on us to shine,
And then we shall be safe. 80

PSALM LXXXI.

1 To God our strength sing loud and clears

Sing loud to G<k1 our King;
To Jacob's God, that all may hear^
Loud acclamations ring.

2 Prepare a hymn, prepare a song;

The timbrel hither bring;
The cheerful psaltery bring along,
And harp with pleasant string,

3 Blow, as is wonty in the new moon,

With trumpets' lofty sound, 10

The appointed time, the day whereon
Our solemn feast comes round,

4 This was a statute given of old

For Israel to observe,
A law of Jacob's God to hold.
From lihence, they might not swerve.

5 This he a testimony ordained

In Joseph, not to change,
When as he passed through Egypt-land;

The tongue I heard was stranofe. 20

6 From burden, and from slavish toily

I set his shoulder free;
His hands from pots, and miry soil,
Delivered were by me,

7 When trouble did thed sore assail.

On me then didst thou call,
And I to free thee did not fail,

And led thee out of thrall,
I answered thee ini thunder deep, ^BeSetker

With clouds encompassed round: ragnam,

I tried thee at the water steep 31

Of Meriba renowned,

8 Hear, O my people, hearken wells

I testify to thee,

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552 TRANSLATIONS.

Thou ancient stock of Israel,

If thou Wilt list to me:
9 Throughout the land of thy abode

No ^alien God shall be,
Nor shalt thou to a foreign god

In honour bend thy knee. _ 40

10 I am the Lord thy God, which brought

Thee 'out of Egypt-land;
Ask large enough, and I, besought y
Will grant thy full demand.

11 And yet my people would not hear^

Nor hearken to my voice;
And Israel, whom I loved so dear,
Misliked me for his choice.

12 Then did I leave them to their will,

And to their wandering mind ; 50

Their own conceits they followed still,
Their own devices blind.

13 Oh that my people would be wise^

To serve me all their days I

And oh that Israel would advise

To walk my righteous ways!

14 Then would I soon bring down their foes.

That now so proudly rise^
And tuni my hand against all those

That are their enemies. 60

15 Who hate the Lord should then be fain

To bow to him and bend;
^wCthey^ his people^ should remain;
Their time should have no end. ■

16 And he would feed them from the shock

With flour of finest wheat.

And satisfy them from the rock

With honey /^r their meat.

PSALM LXXXII.

^ Bagna- I GoD in the ^ great ^ assembly stands
dath-ei. Qy kings and lordly states ;

* Rtkerev. ^ Among the gods ^ on both his hands
He judges and debates. • '

» Tishphetu 2 How lon^ wiU ye * pervert the right
e*ta'^fi' With 8 judgment false and wrong,

Favouring the wicked by your mighty
Who thence grow bold and strong f^

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TRANSLATIONS.

553

3 * Regard the* weak and fatherless;

* Despatch the* poor man's eause;
And ^ raise the man in deep distress
By^ just and equal laws.

4 Defend the poor and desolate,

And rescue from the hands

Of wicked men the low estate

Of him that help demands,

5 They know not, nor will understand;

In darkness they walk on;
The earth^s foundations all are * moved,
And® out of order gone.

6 I said that ye were gods, yea all

The sons of God Most High ;

7 'But ye shall die like men, and fall

As other princes die,

8 Rise, God; ^ judge thou the earth in might;

This wicked earth "^ redress ;
For thou art he who shalt by right
The nations all possess.

* Shiphtu-
dal.

» Hatzdiku.

• yimmotu.

' Skipkia,

PSALM LXXXIII.

1 Be not thou silent now at length;

O God, hold not thy peace:
Sit thou not still, O God of strength ;
We cry and do not cease.

2 For lo ! thy furious foes now ^ swell,

And^ Storm outrageously;
And they that hate thee, proud and fell,
Exalt their heads ftill high.

3 Against thy people they^ contrive

* Their plots and counsels deep;

*Them to ensnare they chiefly strive

^Whom thou dost hide and keep.

4 " Come, let us cut them off," say they,

"Till they no nation be;
That Israel's name for ever may
Be lost in memory."

5 For they consult® with all their might.

And all as one in mind
Themselves against thee they unite,
And in firm union bind.

6 The tents of Edom, and the brood

Of scornful Ishmael,

* yehemajun.

* yagnari-
ntu.

^ Sod.

* yithjag.
naisu gnal.

^ Tsephu-

• Lev jack-
dau.

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554 TRANSLATIOATS.

Moab, with them of Hagar's blood,
That in the desert dwells

7 Gebal and Ammon there conspire^

And hateful Amalec,
The Philistines, and they of Tyre,
Whose bounds the sea doth check,

8 With them great Ashur also bands,

And doth confirm the knot; 30

All these have lent their armed hands
To aid the sons of Lot.

9 Do to them as to Midian bold^

That wasted all the coast;
To Sisera, and as is told

Thou didst to Jabin's host^
When at the brook of Kishon old

They were repulsed and slain,

10 At Endor quite cut off, and rolled

- As dung upon the plain. 40

11 As Zeb and Oreb evil sped,

So let their princes speed ;
As Zeba and Zalmunna bled^
So let their princes bleed,

12 For they amidst their pride have said,

"By right now shall w6 seize
God's houses, and will now invade
"[NeotkEio- 7 Their stately palaces."

bJS. * 13 My God, oh make them as a wheel;

N'o quiet let them find; 50

Giddy and restless let them reel,
Like stubble from the wind.

14 Asj when an aged wood takes fire'

Which on a sudden strays,
The greedy flame runs higher and higher,
Till all the mountains blaze;

15 So with thy whirlwind them pursue.

And with thy tempest chase;
8 They seek 16 » And till they ^ yield thee honour due,
thy^name: Lord, fill with shame their face. ' 60

17 Ashamed and troubled let them be,

Troubled and shamed for ever,
Ever confounded, and so die
With shame, and scape it neifer.

18 Then shall they know that thou, whose name

Jehovah is, alone
Art the Most High, and thou the same
O'er all the earth art One.

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TRANSLATIONS. 555

PSALM LXXXIV.

1 How lovely are thy dwellings fair!

O Lord of Hosts, how dear
The pleasant tabernacles are
Where thou dost dtuell so near!

2 My soul doth long and almost die

Thy courts, O Lord, to see;
My heart and flesh aloud do cry,
O living God, for thee.

3 There even the s^paoncovf, freed from wrongs

Hath found a house ot rest; lo

The swallow there, to lay her young,

Hath built her brooding nest;
Even by thy altars. Lord of Hosts,

They find their safe abode ;
And home they fly from round the coasts

Toward thee^ my King, my God.

4 Happy who in thy house reside.

Where thee they ever praise ! '

5 Happy whose strength in thee doth bide>

And in their hearts thy ways ! 20

6 They pass through Baca's thirsty vale, *

That dry and barren ground,
As through a fruitful watery dale
Where springs and showers abound.

7 They journey on from strength to strength

IVith joy and gladsome cheer ^
Till all before our God at length
In Sion do appear.

8 Lord God of Hosts, hear now my prayer,

O Jacob's God, give ear: 30

9 Thou, God, our shield, look on the face

Of thy anointed dear,
10 For one day in thy courts to be

Is better and jnore blest
Than in the joys of vanity

A thousand days at best.
I in the temple of my God

Had rather keep a door
Than dwell in tents and rich abode

With sin for evermore, 40

II For God, the Lord, both sun and shield.

Gives grace and glory bright;
No good from them shall be withheld

Whose ways are just and right.

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5S6

TRANSLATIONS.

12 Lord God of Hosts that reigtCst on high.
That man is truly blest
Who only on thee doth rely,
And in thee only rest.

PSALM LXXXV.

^Heb.i The
burning heat of
thy wrath.

*Heb.:TnTn
to quicken us.

1 Thy land to favour graciously

Thou hast not, Lord, been slack;
Thou hast from hard captivity
Returned Jacob back.

2 The iniquity thou didst forgive

That wrought thy people woe,
And all their sin that did thee grieve
Hast hid where none shall know,

3 Thine anger all thou hadst removed,

And calmly didst return
From thyi nerce wrath, which we had proved
Far worse than lire to burn.

4 God of our saving health and peace,

Turn us, and us restore;
Thine indignation cause to cease
^Toward us, and chide no more.

5 Wilt thou be angry without end.

For ever angry thus?
Wilt thou thy frowning ire extend
From age to age on us?

6 Wilt thou not 2 turn and hear our voice.

And thus again ^ revive.
That so thy people may rejoice,
By thee preserved alive?

7 Cause us to see thy goodness, Lord;

To us thy mercy shew;
Thy saving health to us afford,
And life in us renew,

8 And now what God the Lord will speak

I will ^o straight and hear,
For to his people he speaks peace,

And to his saints full dear ;
To his dear saints he will speak peace;

But let them never more
Return to folly, dut surcease

To trespass as before.

9 Surely to such as do him fear

Salvation is at hand,
And glory shall ere long appear

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T^4MSLAT/0A^. 557

To dwell within our land. 4c

10 Mercy and Truth, t^at long wexe missed^

'^o^ j^fulfy are met;
Sweet Peace and Righteousness have ki&cttd,
And hand in hand are set.

1 1 Truth from the earth like to d flower

Shall bud and blossom then ; *

And Justice from her heavenly bower
Look down on mortal men.

12 The Lord will also then bestow

Whatever thing is good; 50

Our land shall forth m plenty throw
Her fruits to be our food.

13 Before him Righteousness shall go,

His royal harbinger : ^ Heb.-. He

Then* ^^iU he come, and not be slow; Jcps'^to^lhc

His footsteps cannot err. way.

PSALM LXXXVL

1 Thy gracious ear, O Lord, incline ;

0 hear me, / thee pray ;

For I am poor, and almost pine
With need and sad tlecay,

2 Preserve my soul; for H have trod ^Heb.-.i^m

Thy ways and love the just; ■ SS?'o&&

Save thou thy servant, O my God, hoiythmgs.

Who still in thee doth trust.

3 Pity me, Lord, for daily thee

1 call; 4 Oh make rejoice 10
Thy servant's soul ! for. Lord, to thee

I lift my soul and voice. •

5 For thou art good; thou. Lord, art prone

To pardon; thom to all
Art full of mercy, thou alone^
To them that on thee call.

6 Unto my supplication,. Lord,

Give ear, and to the cry
Of my incessant prayers afford
Thy hearing graciously. 2e

7 I in the day of my di3tress

Will call on ^^^ for aid i
For thou wilt grant me free access^
And answer whc^ I prayed.

8 Like fhee among the gods is none,

O Lord; nor any works

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5S3 TRAI\rSLAT/aNS.

Of all that other ^ods have done
Like to thy , glorious worics.
9 The nations all whom thou hast made

Shall come, and all shall frame 3(1

To bow them low before thee, Lord,
And glorify thy name.

10 For great thou art^ and wonderfr great

By thy strong hand are done;
Thou in thy everlasting secU
Remainest God alone.

11 Teach me, O Lord, thy way viost Hghii

1 in thy truth Will bide;
To fear thy name my heart unite;
So shall it never slide. 40

12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God,

Thee honour and adore
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
Thy name for evermore.

13 f^or great thy mercy is toward me,

And thou hast freed my soul,

Ev'n from the lowest hell set free,

From deepest darkness foul, .

14 O God, the proud against me rise^

And violent men are met . 50

To seek my life, and in their eyes
No fear of thee have set.

15 But thou, Lordi art the God most mild.

Readiest thy grace to shew,
Slow to be angry, and art styled
Most merciful, most true.

16 Oh turn to me thy facs at lengthy

And me have mercy on;
•Unto thy servant give thy strength,

And save thy handmaid^s son. 6c

17 Some sign of good to me afford,

And let my" foes then see,
And be ashamed, because thou. Lord,
Dost help and comfort me.

PSALM LXXXVIL

1 Among the holy mountains high

Is his foundation fast;
There seated in his sanctuary ^
His temple there is placed.

2 Sion^s fair gates the Lord loves more

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TRAmLATlONS. 5S9

Than all the dwellings yli/r
Of Jacob's land, though there be store^
And all within his care,

3 City of God, most glorious things ,

Of thee abroad are spoke* - ^ lo

I mention Egypt, where proud kings
Did our forefathers yoke ;

4 I mention Babel to my friends, ,

V\\\\v&t\3^ fuU of scorny
And Tyre, with Ethiop's utmost ends:
Lo! this man there was born. , .

5 But twice that praise shall in ot^r ear "■ '

Be said of Sion last:
This and this man was bom in lier;

High God shall fix her fast, 30

6 The Lord shall write it in a scrQU« .

That ne'er shall be outTworn, ; ^j ^

When he (the nations doth enroll,
That this man there was born.

7 Both they who sing and they who dance

With sobered son^s are there; \

In thee fresh brooks and soft streams glance^
And all my fountains clear.

PSALM LXXXVIIL

1 Lord God, that dost me save and keep.

All day to thee I cry, , > , .

And all night long before thee weep^
Before -thee prostrate lie. . /

2 Into thy presence let my prayer,

IVith sighs devout, ascend; r

And to my cries, t\i^i ceaseless are^
Thine ear with favour bend.

3 For, cloyed with woes and trouble store.

Surcharged my soul doth lie; lo

My life, at death's uncheerful door^
Unto the grave draws nigh. , ^ ^ ^

4 Reckoned I am with them that pass

Down to the dismal pit ;

I am a 1 man but weak, alas I , , * Neh.\ A

And for that name unfit, S^"

5 From life discharged and parted quite strength.

Among the dcjad to sleeps
And like the slain in bloody fight
That in the grave lie cUep\ 20

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56o TRANSLATJVNS.

Whom thou'rememberest no more,

Dost never more regard:
Them, from thy hand delivered o'er,

Death'' s hideous house hath barred,

6 Thou, in the lowest pit profound,
' Hast set me ail forlorn^

Where thickest darkness hov^s round^
In hoFrid deeps to mourn.

7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves ^

• F«fl sore doth press on me ;' 30

u * ^^^*' ^ Thou break'st upon me all thy waves,

both. ^And an thy waves break me.

8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange.

And mak'st me odious.
Me to them odious, for they change,
And I here pent up thus.

9 Through sorrow and affliction great

Mine eye grows dim and dead;
Lord, all the day I thee e|ntreat, '
My hands to thee I spread. 40

10 Wilt thou do wohders on the dead?

Shall the deceased arise
And praise thee from their loathsome bed
With pal^ and hollow eyes ?

11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell

On whom the grave hath hold f
Or they who in perdition dwell
Thy faithfulness »«/<?*/?

12 In darkness can thy' mi»ghty'^/7W^

Or wondrous acts be icnown.'* 50

Thy justice in the gloomy land
Of dark oblivion?

13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry

Ere yet my life be spent;
And up to thee my prayer doth hie
Each morn, and thee prevent.

14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake

And hide thy face from me,
* Heb.i Pra 15 That am already bruised, and ^ shake

:oncussum€, ^j^j^ ^^j^j, ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^. ^

Bruised and afflicted, and so low

As ready to expire,
While I thy terrors undergo,

Astonished with thine ire?

16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow ;

Thy threatenings cut me through :

17 All day they round about me ga;

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Tfiky^LAP/oJ^S. 561

Like waves they me pufstie. ■ ' ■ ^

18 Lover and friend thou hast removed, ■ '

Aiid severed from me far: : : i 70

They ^y me now whom I have loved,
'' And' as in darkness are.

PSALM L

Done inio verse i6$s^

Blest is the man who h^th pot walked astray,
In counsel of the wicked, and i' the way
Of sinners liath pot stood, and in the ^eat ,;
Of scomers hath not sat ; but in the great
Jehovah's Law is ever his delight.
And in his law he studies day and night.
He shall be as a tree' wJiich. pfianted grows
By watery streams, and in his season knows
To yield his fruit ; and his leaf shall not fall ;
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all.
Not so the witked j blit, as chaff which fanned
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand ^ ,
In judgment, or abide their trial then, ' j

Nor sinners in the assembly of just men. .' ,
For the Lord knows the upright way of the just, '
And the way of ba,d men to ruin must. , / . ,

PSALM IL ^

Done Augtist ^, 1653. 7- TVr^^///. .

Why do the Gentiles tumult, a!nd the tiatioils '

Muse a vain thing, the kings of the earth upstand
With power, and princes in their cottgregatiOns ' =

Lay deep their plots together thtOuj^h each land
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear? *
"Let us bt^Bak6ff,"^ay they, "by Strength of hand,

Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear,
Their twisted cords."" He who in Hi^aven doth dwell
Shall laugh; the Lord shall scoff thfem, then se^ire

Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fdi • • ' 10

And fierce ire trouble them. "Biitl,'' saithhe,' ^

•'"Alidhted'have my King (thought ye rebel) ' '•

On Sion my holy hill." A' firm d^ctee • '

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562 mAAr^LATIOArS

I will declare: the Lord to me hath said;

"Thou art my Son; I have begpttea thee i
This day ; ask of me^ and the grant is m<^jle :

As thy possession I on thee besto)v

The Heathen, and, as thy conquest to be swayed,
Earth^s utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring mil low

With iron sceptre bruised, and them disperse

Like to a potter's vessel shivered so."
And now be wise at length, ye kings averse ;

Be taught, ye judges of the earth ; with fear

Jehovah serve, and let your joy coriverse
With trembling; kiss the Son, lest he appear

In anger, and ye perish in the way, ' !

If once his wrath take fire, like fuel sere. '

Happy sdl those who have in him their stay.

PSALM in.

Ai^gusi^, 1653.

§Vkm heJUdfnm Absalom.

Lord, how many are my foes !
How many those
That in arms against me rise !

Many are they
That of my life distrustfully thus say,
"No help for him in God there lies."
But thou. Lord, art my shield, my glory;
Thee, through my story,
The exalter of my head I count :

Aloud I cried 10

Unto Jehovah; he full sobn replied, .
And heard me. from his holy mount.
I lay and slept ; I waked again .: . <

For my sustain
Was the Lord. Of many millions

The populous rout
I fear not, though, encamping round about*
They pitch against nie their paviuons..
Rise^ Lord; save m^, my God! for thou ,

Hast smote ere now 20

On the cheek-bone all my. foes.

Of men abhorred
Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the. Xfx^\
Thy blessing on thy people flows. .'

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TRANSLATIONS. 563

PSALM IV.

August 10, 1653.

Answer me when I call,

God of my righteousness ;

In straits and in distress

Thou didst me disenthrall

And set at large: now spare^
Now pity me, and hear my earnest prayer.

Great ones, how long will ye

My glory have in scorn?

How long be thus forborne

Still to love vanity? 10

To love, to seek, to prize
Things false and vain, and nothing else but lies?

Yet know the Lord hath cjiose,

Chose to himself apart,

The good and meek of heart

(For whom to choose he knows) ;

Jehovah from on high
Will hear my voice what time to him I cry*

Be awed, and do not sin ;

Speak to your hearts alone ao

Upon yoiu* beds, each one,

And be at peace within. /

Offer the onerings just
Of righteousness, and in Jehovah trust.

Many there be. that say

"Who yet will show us good?"

Talking like this world's orood ;

But, Lord, thus let me pray:

On us lift up the light.
Lift up the favour, of thy countenance bright. 30

Into my heart more joy

And gladness thou hast put

Than when a year of glut

Their stores doth over-<:loy,

And from their plenteous grounds
With vast increase their cotn and wine abounds.

In peace at once will I

Botn lay me down and sleep; ^- f

For thou alone dost keep

Me safe where'er I lie: ' 40

As in a rodcy cell
Thou, Lord, alone in safety mak'st me dwell.

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564 TRANSLATIONS,

PSALM V.

Augtlst 12, 1653.

Jehovah, to my words give ear, <

My meditation weigh; :

The voice of my complaining hear,
My King aad God, for unto thee I pray.
Jehovah, thou my early voice

Shalt in the morning hear;
r the morning I to thee with choice '
Will rank my prayers, and. watch till thou appear.
For thou art not a God that takes
' In wickedriess delight; 10

Evil with thee no biding makes ;
Fools or mad men stand not within thy sight*
All workers of iniquity

Thou hafst; and them unblest
Thou wilt destroy that speak a lie;
The bloody" and guileful man God doth detest* .
But I will in thy. mercies dear,
Thy numerous mercies, go
Into thy house; I, in thy fear, * »

Will towards thy holy temple worship low. / 20

Lord, lead me in thy righteousness^ j

Lead me, because of those ^

That do observe if I tnmsgress^ •
Set thy ways right before where 'my step gofes.
For in his faltering mouth unstatble »

No word is firm or' sooth; . i / i
Their inside, troubles miserable ;
An opea grave their throat, tiieir, tongue Ithey smooth.
God, find them guiky; let. them fall

By their own counsels quelled; v 30

Push them in their rebellions sdi i

Still on; for against thee they have rebelled^.
Then all who trust in thee shall bring -

Their joy, while thou from blame : .
Defend'st them: they shall. ever sing,
And shall triumph in thee, who love thy name.
For thou, Jehovah, wilt be found '

To bless the just man stiEi
As with a shield thou wilt suri*ound
Him with thy lasting favour and go6d wilL .1 40

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TRANSLATWNS.^ 565

PSALM VI.
Afigusi I3i 1653^

Lord, in thy anger do not reprehend me,

Nor in thy hot displeasure me correct;

Pity me, Lord, for I am much deject,
And very weak and faint; heal and amend hie:
For all my bones, that even Avith anguish atche,

Are troubled ; yea, my soul is trouoled soit ;

And thou, O Lord, how long? Turn^ Lord; restore
My soul ; oh, save me, for thy goodness' sake !
For in death no remembrance is, of thee;

Who in the grave can celel?rate thy, praise? 10

Wearied I am wjth sighing out my. daypr- ,
Nightly my couch I make a kind of sea ; .
My bed I water with my tears; mine eye

Through grief consumes^ is waxei^ old and dark

V the midst of all mine enemies that mark.
Depart, all ye that work iniquity.
Depart from tne ; for the Voice 6f my weepitig

The Lord hath heard ; the Lord hath heaifd my prayer ;

My supplication with acceptance fair
The Lord Will own, and have me in his keeping. 2c

Mine enemies shall all be bjahk, and dashed

With' much cbnfuslbn ; then, grown red with shame,

They shall return in haste the way they came,
And in a m(»^ent shall be quite abashed.

PSALM VIL

4fi:usilAi '653. , .1

Upon ike words of Chu^h the^ Benjamite agaif^t him.

Lord, my God, to thee I fly ; '
Save me, and secure me under
Thy protection while I cry;
Lest, as a lion (and no wonder).
He haste to tear my soul asunddp, • >
Tearing and* no rescue nighl ' /

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,566 TRANSLATIONS.

Lord, my God, if I have thought

Or done this ; if wickedness

Be in my hands ; if I have wrought

111 to him that meant me peace; lo

Or to him have rendered less,

And not freed my foe for naught:

Let the enemy piu*sue .my soul.
And overtake it; let him tread
My life down to the earth, and roll
In the dust my glory dead,
In the dust, and there outspread
Lodge it with dishonour foul.

Rise, Jehovah, in thine ire;

Rouse thyself amidst the rage 20

Of my foes that urge like fire ;

And wake for me, their fury assuage;

Judgment here thou didst engage

And command, which I desire.

So the assemblies of each nation

Will surrpimd thee, seeking rigjht :

Thence to thy glorious habitation

Returp on high, and in their sight.

Jehovah judgeth most upright

All people from the world's foundation. 30

Judge me, Lord ; be judge in this
According to my righteousness.
And the mnocence which is
Upon me: cause at length to cease
Of evil men the wickedness,
And their power that do amiss.

But the just establish feist,

Since thou art the just God that tri^

Hearts and reins. On God is cast

My defence, and in him lies; 40

In him who, both just and wise,*

Saves the upright of heart at last.

God is a just judge and severe.
And God is every dayofftnded;

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TRANSLATIONS, 567

If the unjust will not forbear,

His sword he whets; his bow hath bended

Already, and for him intended

The tools of death that waits him near^

(His arrows purposely made he

For them that persecute. J Behold 50

He travails big with vanity;
Trouble he hath conceived of old
As in a womb, and from that mould
' Hath at length brought forth a lie.

He diggM a pit, and delved it deep.

And fell into the pit he made:

His mischief, that due course doth keep,

Turns on his head : and his ill trade

Of violence will undelayed

Fall on his crown witn ruin steep. 66

Then will I Jehovah's praise
According to his justice raise,
And sing the Name and Deity
Of Jehovah the Most High.

PSALM VIII.
August 14, 1653.

O Jehovah our Lord, how wondrous CTeat

And glorious is thy name through all the earth.
So as above the heavens thy praise to set !

Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,
Out of the mouths of babes and supklings thou

Hast founded strength, because of all thy fods,
To stint the enemy, and slack the avenger's brow, '

That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.

When I behold thy heavens, thy fingers' art.

The moon and stars, which thou so bright hast set 10

In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,

Oh, what is man that thou rememberest yet
And think'st upon him, or of man begot

That him thou visit'st, and of him art found?
Scarce to be less than gods thou mad'st his lot;

With honour and with state thou hast him crowned.

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568 TJ^AJVSLAT/GNS.

O'er the works of thy hand! thou mad'st laim idrd!;

Thou hast put all under his lordly feet^.
All flocks and herds, by thy commanding .word, • . .

All beasts that- in the field or forest meet, ; » 20

Fowl of the heavens, and fish that through the wet

Sea-paths in shoals do siid^ and know np. dpfsir^h.
O Jehovah our Lord, how wondrous great

And glorious is thy name through all the earth !

SCRAPS FROM THE PROSiE WRITINGS,

FROM "OF REFORMATION TOUCHING CHURttH^ DISCIPLINE
IN ENGLAND," 1641.

[Dante, Inferi4o\ ykk. 115.]

Ah, Constantine, of how much ill was cause.

Not thv conversion, but those rich domains

That the first wealthy Pope received of thefc ! - : « «

■ - ' ■ ' ' • .'•.■/

[Petrarch, .$b»»^/,i.97t] . ., , ;/ \,

Founded in.ch^te and h^mbIp,pov^rty^ !• . , -
'Gainst them that raised jthee^ dost thou lift .thy horn,.
Impudent who^e? Where J>ast, thou, placed thy hope?
In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth?
Another Constantine comes not in haste.

[Ariosto, Orh Fur. xxxiy. Stanz. So".]

Then passed he to a flowery mountain ^een^
Which once smfelt swfeet, now stinks as odiously :
This was that gift (if you the tnith will have)
That Constantine to good Sylvestro ' gave.

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TJiANSLATIOJVS. 569

FROM THE APOLOGY FOR SMECTYMNUUS, : 1642.
[Horace, Sat, i. i, 24.]

Laughing to teach the truth
What hinders? as some teachers give to boys
Junkets and knacks, that they may learn apace.

[Horace, Sat. i. 10, 14.3

Joking decides great things
Stronglier and better oft than earnest can.

[Sophocles, Electra, 624.]

'Tis you that say it, not L You do the deeds,
And your ungodly deeds find me the words.

FROM AREOPAGITIGA, 1644.

[Euripides, SttppUcesj 438.]

This is true Liberty, when freebom men,
Having to advise the public, may speak ix^ti
Which he who can and will deserves high praise:
Who neither can nor will may hold his peace.
What can be juster in a state than this?

FROM TETRACHORDON, 1645.
[Horace, Epist. i. 16, 40.]

Whom do we count a good man? Whom but he
Who keeps the laws and statutes of the senate.
Who judges in great suits and controversies,
Whose witness and opinion wins the cause?
But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood,
Sees his foul inside through his whited skin.

FROM "THE TENURE OF KINGS AND MAGISTRATES," 1649
[Seneca, Her. Fur, 922.]

There can be slain
No sacrifice to God more acceptable
Than an unjust and wicked king.

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S70 TRANSLATIONS.

FROM THE HISTORY OF BRITAIN, 1670.

[In Geoflfrey of Monmouth the story is that Brutus the Trojan, wandering through the
Mediterranean, and uncertain whither to go, arrived at a dispeopled island called Leo-
gecia, where he found, in a ruined city, a temple and oracle of Diana. He consulted
the oracle in certain Greek verses, of which Geoffrey give^ a version in Latin elegiacs;
and Milton tninslates these.] ,

Goddess of Shades, and Huntress, who at will
Walk'st on the rolling sphere, and through the deep.
On thy third reign, the Earth, look now, and tell
What land, what seat of rest thou bidd'st me seek,
What certain seat, where I may worship thee
For aye, with temples vowed, and virgin quires.

[Sleeping before the altar of the Goddess, Brutus received from her, in vision, an answer
to the above in Greek. Geoffrey quotes the traditional version of the same in Latin
elegiacs, which Milton thus translates.]

Brutus, far to the west, in the ocean wide.
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies.
Sea-girt it lies, where giants (^elt, of old ;
Now void, it fits thy people. Thither bend
Thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings be bom of thee, whose dreaded might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.

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LATIN POEMS.

Separate Title-page in Edition 0/164$ : — " Jbannis Miltoni jyondinensis Poe-
mata. Quorum pleraque intra annum aetatis vigesimum conscripsit. Nunc
primum edita. Londini, Typis R. R.'Prostant ad Insignia Principis, in
Coemeterio D. Pauli, apud Humphredtim Moseley. 1645."

Separate Title-page in Edition (t/* 1673:^ Same as aboye, word for word,
as far as to *' Londini," inclusively; after which the rest runs thus:
"Excudebat W. R. anno 1673."

[DE AUCTORE TESTIMONIAL

Hac qua sequuntur de Author e testimonial tametsi ipse intelligebat non tarn
de se quam supra se esse dicta ^ eo quod pmclaro ingenio viri, nee non amid,
itafere solent laudare ut omnia suis potius virtutibus qu^tm veritati congruentia
nimis cupide affingant, noluit. tamen horum egregiam in se voluntatem non
esse notam, <um alii prasertith tit id facer et magnopere sua(ferent. Dum enim
nimia laudis invidiam totis ab se viribus amolitur, sibique quod plus cequo est
non attributum esse mavult, judicium interim hominum cordatorum atque
illustrium quin summo sibi konori ducat negare non potest. . .

JOANNES BAPTISTA MANSUS, MARCHK) VTLLENSIS NEAPOLITANUS, AD
JOANNEM MILTONIUM ANGLUM.

Ut mens, forma, decor, fades, tnos, si pietas sic,
Non Anglus, veriitri hfercl^ Angelus ipse, fores.

AD JOANNEM MILTONEM ANGLUM, TRIPLICI POESEOS LAUREA
CORONANDUM, GRiECA NIMIRUM, }:.ATINA, ATQU^ HETRUSCA,
EPIGRAMMA JOANNIS SALSILU ROMANI.

Cede, Meles ; cedat depress^ Mincius urn^ ; r

Sebetus Tassum desinat usque loqui;
At Thamesis victor cunctia ferat altior tmd^;

Nam per te, Milto, par tribus unus erit,

571

Digitized- by VjOOQIC

572 LATIN POEMS.

AD JOANNEM MILTONUM.

Grsecia Maeonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem;
Anglia Miltonum jactat utrique parem.

Selvaggi.

al signor gio. miltoni, nobile inglese.

bDE.

Ergimi all' Etra o Clio,

Perch^ di stelle intreccier6 corona !

Non piu del biondo Dip

La fronde etema in Pindo, e in Elicona;: , ,,

Diensi a merto mag^or maggiori i fregi,

A celeste virtii celesti pregi.

Non pu6 del Tempo edace

Rimaner preda eterno alto valore;

Non pu6 V obblio rapace

Furar dalle memorie eccelso onore. lo

Sull' arco di mia cetra un dardo forte

Virtu m' adatti, e ferir5 la Morte.

Deli' Ocean profondo

Cinta dagli ampi gorghi Anglia risiede

Separata dal mondo,

Per6 che il suo valor V umano eccede:

Questa feconda sa produrre Eroi,

Ch' hanno a ragion del sovruman tra noi.

Alia virtu sbandita v

Danno nei petti lor fido ricetto, * 20

Quella gli h sol gradita,

Percb^ m lei san trovar gicMa e dilettp;

Ridillo tu, Giovanni, e mostra in tanto,

Con tua vera virtu, vero il mio Canto.

Lungi dal patrio lido

Spinse Zeusi 1' industry ardehte brama;

CV'udio d' Elena' il gridb

Con aurea tromba rimbombar la fama,

E per poterla effigiare al paro

Dalle piu bellfe I (fee trasse il piu rarb. 30

Cos^ f ape ingegtiosa

Trke con industria il suo liquor pi'egiato

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DE AUCTORE TESTIMONIA. 573

Dal giglio e dalia rosa,
E quanti vaghi fiori ornano il prato;
Formano un dolce suon diverse corde,
Fan varie voci melodia coneorde.

Di bella gloria amante

Milton, dal Ciel natio, per varie parti

Le peregrine piante

Volgesti a ricercar scienze ed arti; 40

Dell Gallo regnator vedesti i Regni,

E delP Italia ancor gP Eroi piii degni. .

Fabro auasi divino,

Sol virtu rintracciando, il tuo pensiero

Vide in ogni confino

Chi di nobil valor calca il sentiero;

L' ottimo dal miglior dopo scegliea

Per fabbricar d' ogni virtu P Idea.

Quanti nacquero in Flora,

0 in lei del parlar Tosco appreser T arte, 50
La cui memoria onora

II mondo fatta eterna in dotte carte,
Volesti ricericar per tuo tesoro,
E parlasti con lor nell' opre loro.

Neir altera Babelle

Per te il parlar confuse Giove in vano,

Che per varie favelle

Di se stessa trofeo cadde sul piano:

Ch' ode, oltr' air Anglia, il suo piu degno idioma

Spagna, Francia, Toscana, e Crecia, e Roma. 60

1 pidi profondi arcani

Ch' occulta la Natura, e in cielo e in terr^
Ch' a Ingegni sovrumani
Troppo avara talor gli chiude, e serra,
Chiaramente conosci, e giungi al fine
Delia moral virtude al j^n confine.

Non batta il Tempo T ale,

Fermisi immoto, e in un fermihsi gli anni,

Che di virtu immortale

Scorron di troppo ingiuriosi ai danni; 70

Che s' opre degne di poema e storia

Furon gik, P hai presenti alia memoria.

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574

LATIN POEMS.

Dammi tua dolcq Cetra,

Se vuoi ch' io dica del tuo dolce canto,

Ch' inalzandoti all' Etra

Di farti uomo celeste ottiene il vanto;

II Tamigi 11 dii^, ch^ gli h concesso

Per te, suo cigno, pareggiar Permesso.

Io, che in riva dell' Amo

Tento spiegar tuo merto alto e preclaro,

So che fatico indarno,

E ad ammirar, non a lodarlo imparo;

Freno dunque la lingua, e ascolto il core,

Che ti prende a lodar con Io stupore.

Del Sig. Antonio Francini,
Gentihiomo Fiorentino.

JOANNI MILTONI, LONDINENSI,

Juveni patrii, virtutibus, eximio :

Viro qui multa peregrinatione, studio cuncta, orbis terrarum lea
perspexit, ut, novus Ulysses, omnia ubique ab omnibus apprehenderet:

Polyglotto, in cujus ore linguae jam deperditae sic reviviscunt ut
idiomata omnia sint in ejus laudibus infacunda; et jure ea percallet
ut admirationes et plausus populorum ab propni sapientiH excitatos
intelligat :

Illi, cujus animi dotes corporisque sensus ad admirationem com-
movent, et per ipsam motum cuique auferunt ; cujus opera ad plausus
hortantur, sed venustate vocem laudatoribus adimui^:

Cui in Memorii totus orbis; in Intellectu sapientia; in Voluntate
ardor gloriae ; in Ore eloquentia ; harmonicos caelestium sphaeranun
sonitus Astronomic duce audienti; characteres mirabilium Naturae
per quos Dei magnitudo describitur magistri Philosophic legenti;
antiquitatum latebras, vetustatis excidia, eruditionis ambages, comite
assiduC Autorum lectione, ^ exquirenti, restauranti, percurrenti '

(At cur nitor in arduum?) :
Illi in cujus virtutibus evul^ndis ora Famae non sufficiant, nee homi-
num stupor in laudandis satis est, Reverentiae et Amoris ergo hoc ejus
mentis debitum admirationis tributum ofFert

Carolus Datus, Patridus Florentinus,
Tanto homini servus, tantae virtutis amator*

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ELEGJA PRIMA. 575

ELEGIARUM LIBER.

ELEGIA PRIMA.

Ad Carolum Diodatitm.

Tandem, chare, tuae mihi pervenere tabellae,

Pertulit et voces nuncia charta tuas;
Pertnlit occidui Devae Cestrensis ab or^

Vergivium prono quk petit amne salum.
Multum, crede, juvat terras aluisse remotas

Pectus amans nostri, tamque fidele caput,
Qu6dque mihi lepidum tellus longinqua sodalem

Debet, at unde brevi reddere jussa velit.
Me tenet urbs reflui quam Thamesis alluit und^,

Meque nee invitum patria dulcis habet. 10

Jam nee arundiferum mihi cura revisere Camum,

Nee dudum vetiti me laris angit amor.
Nuda nee arva placent, umbrasque negantia moUes;

Qukm male Phoebicolis convenit ille locus !
Nee duri libet usque minas perferre Magistri,

Caeteraque ingenio non subeunda meo.
Si sit hoc exilium, patrios adiisse penates,

Et vacuum curis otia grata sequi,
Non ego vel profugi nomen sortemve recuso,

Laetus et exilii qonditione fruor. 20

O utinam vates nunquam graviora tulisset

Ille Tomitano flebilis exul a^o;
Non tune lonio quiequam cessisset Homero,

Neve foret victo laus tibi prima, Maro.
Tempora nam licet hie plaeidis dare libera Musis,

Et totum rapiunt me, jnea vita, libri.
Excipit hinc fessum sinuosi pompa theatri,

Et vocat ad plausus garrula seena suos.
Seu eatus auditur senior, seu prodigus haeres,

Seu procus, aut positi easside miles adest, 30

Sive decennali foecundus lite patronus

Detonat inculto barbara verba foro;
Saepe vafer gnato succurrit servus amanti,

Et nasum ri^di £allit ubique patris;
Saepe novos iUic virgo mirata calores

Quid sit amor nescit, dum quoque nescit amat:
Sive cruentatum furiosa Tragoedia sceptrum

Quassat, et efFusis crinibus ora rotat;

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576 LATIN POEMS,

Et dolet, et specto, juvat et spectasse dolendo ;

Interdum et lacrymis dylcis amaror iaest; 40

Seu puer infelix indelibata reliquit

Gaudia, et abrupto flendus amore cadit;
Seu ferns e tenebris iterat Styga criminis ultor,

Conscia funereo pectora torrc movens;
Seu moeret Pelopeia domus, seu nobilis Hi,

Aut luit incestos aula Creontis avos.
Sed neque sub tecto semper nee in urbe latemus,

Irrita nee nobis tempora veris eunt.
Nos quoque lucus habet vicini consitus ulmo,

Atque suburbani nobilis umbra loci. 50

Saepius hie, blandas spirantia sidera fiammas,

Virgineos videas prseteriisse chores.
Ah quoties dignae stupui miracula formae

Quae possit senium vel reparare Jovis!
Ah quoties vidi superantia lumina gemmas,

Atque faces quotquot volvit uterque polus ;
Collaque bis vivi Pelopis quae bracnia vincant,

Quaeque fluit puro nectare tincta via,
Et decus eximium frontis, tremulosque capillos,

Aurea quae fallax retia tendit Amor; 60

Pellacesque genas, ad quas hyacinthina sordet

Purpura, et ipse tui floris, Adoni, rubor!
Cedite laudatae toties Heroides olim,

Et quaecunque vagum cepit arnica Jovem;
Cedite Achaemeniae turrit^ fronte puellae,

Et quot Susa colunt, Memnoniamque Ninon;
Vos etiam Danaae fasces submittite Nymphae,

Et vos Iliacae, Romuleaeque nurus;
Nee Pompeianas Tarpeia Musa columnas

Jactet, et Ausoniis plena theatra stolis. 70

Gloria virginibus debetur prima Britannis;

Extera sat tibi sit foemina posse sequi.
Tuque urbs Dardaniis, Londinum, structa colonis,

Turri^erum lat^ conspicienda caput,
Tu nimium felix intra tua moenia claudis

Quicquid formosi pendulus orbis habet.
Non tibi tot caek) scintillant astra sereno,

Endymioneae turba ministra deae,
Quot tibi conspicuae form^que auroque puellae

Per medias radiant turba videnda vias. 80

Creditur hue geminis venis§e invecta columbis

Alma pharetrigero milite cincta Venus,
Huic Cnidon, et riguas Simoentis flumine valles,

Huic Paphon, et roseam posthabitura Cypron.
Ast ego, dum pueri sinit indulgentia caeci,

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ELEGIA TERTIA. ^77.

Moenia qukm subit6 Unquere fausta paro ; , .
Et vitare procul malefidae infamia Circes

Atqa, divini Molyos u§us ope. , i-

Stat quoque juncosas Canu Temeare paludes, ;

Atque iterum raucae , murmur adire Scholae. . . ; 90

Interea fidi parvum cape mun4a§ amici, ; , /

Paucaque ia alternos verba coacta modo^

ELEGIA 5ECUNDA.
Anno cBtatis 17.
In OBITUM PRifiCONIS ACADEMICI CANTABRICrENSlSc ■

Te, qui conspicuus baculo fulgente solebas

Palladium toties ore ciqre gregem,
Ultima praeconum prseconem te quoque saeva .: ;

Mors rapit, officio j^ec favet ipsa sUo. :

Candidiora licet fuerint tibi tempora plumis

Sub quibus accipimua ; delituisse Jovem,
O dignus tamen,Hae«^oii3;io juvenescere sujcco,

Arte Coronides, sfepe rogapte dei. lo

Tu si jussus eras acies accire togatas, .

Et celer a Phcebo nuutius ire tuo,
Talis in Iliacd stabat Cyllenius aula :

Alipes, aetherei missus ab arce Patris ;
Talis et Euryhates ante ora fiirentis Achillei =

Rettulit Atridae jussa severa ducis.
Magna sepulchrorum regina, satelles Averni,

Saeva nimis Musis, P^ladi saeva nimis,
Quin illos rapias qui pondus inutile terrae? /

Turba quidem est telis ista petenda tuis. * 20

Vestibus hunc igitur pullis, Academia, luge» : '

Et madeant lacrymis nigra feretra tuis. . • i

Fundat et ipsa modos querebunda Elegeia tristesy '

Personet et totis naenia* mcesta schoUs.

ELEGIA TERTIA.

Anno.mtaiis 17.

In OBITUM PRiEStJLIS WlNTOmENSlS.

McESTUS eram, et tadtus, nuUo tomitante, sedebam,/
Haerebantque aniaaao tristia plura meo i ; ^ -

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578 LATIN POEMS,

Protinus en subiit fonestae cladis imago

Fecit in Angliaco quam Libitina solo;
Dum procerum ingressa est splendentes marmore turres

Dira sepulchrali Mors metuenda face,
Pulsavitque auro gravidos et jaspide muros^

Nee metuit satrapum sternere falce greges.
Tunc memini clarique ducis, fratrisque verehdi,

Intempestivis ossa cremata rogis; lo

Et memini Heroum quos vidit ad aethera raptos,

Flevit et amissos Belgia tota duces.
At te praecipu^ luxi, dignissime Praesul,

Wintoniaeque olim gloria magna tuae;
Delicui fletu, et tristi sic ore querebari

"Mors fera, Tartareo diva secunda Jovi,
Nonne satis quod sylva tuas persentiat iras,

Et quod in herbosos jus tibi detur agros,
Quodque afHala tuo marcescant lilia tabo,

Et crocus, et pulchrae Cypridi sacra rosa? 20

Nee sinis ut semper fluvio conterinina quercus

Miretur. lapsus praetereuntis aquae;
Et tibi succumbit liquido quae plurima caelb

Evehitur pennis, quamlibet augur, avis,
Et quae mille nigris errant animalia sylvis,

Et quod alunt mutum Proteos antra pecus.
Invida, tanta tibi cum sit concessa potestas,

Quid juvat humani tingere caede manus?
Nobileque in pectus certas acuisse sagittas,

Semideamque animam sede fug^sse sul?'* 30

Talia dum lacrymans alto sub pectore volvo>

Roscidus occiduis Hesperus exit aquis,
Et Tartessiaco submerserat aequore currum

Phoebus, ab E60 littore mensus iter.
Nee mora; membra cavo posui refovenda cubili;

Condiderant oculos noxque soporque meos,
Cum mihi visus eram lato spatiarier agro;

Heu ! nequit ingenium visa referre meum.
lUic punicei radiabant omnia luce,

Ut matutino cum juga sole rubent ; . ^

Ac veluti cum pandit opes Thaumantia proles

Vestitu nituit multicolore solum ;
Non dea tarn variis ornavit floribus hortos

Alcinoi Zephyro Chloris amata levi.
Flumina vernantes lambunt argentea campos;

Ditior Hesperio flavet arena Tago;
Serpit odoriferas per opes levis aura Favoni,

Aura sub innumeris humida nata rosb :
Talis in extremis terrae Gangetidis oris-

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ELEGIA QUARTA. 579

Luciferi regis fingitur esse domus. 50

Ipse racemiferis dum densas vitibus umbras

Et pellucentes miror ubique locos,
£cce mihi subit6 Praesul Wintonius astat !

Sidereum nitido fiilsit in ore jubar;
Vestis ad auratos defluxit Candida talos;

Infiila divinum cinxerat alba caput.
Dumque senex tali incedit venerandus amictu*

Intremuit laeto ilorea terra sono;
Agmina ^emmatis plaudunt caelestia pennis;

Pura tnumphali personat sethra tubd. 60

Quisque novum amplexu comitem cantuque salutat,

Hosque aliquis placido misit ab ore sonos:
" Nate, veni, et patrii felix cape gaudia regni ;

Semper abhinc duro, nate, labore vaca."
Dixit, et aligerae tetigerunt nablia turmae;

At mihi cum tenebris aurea pulsa quies;
Flebam turbatos Cephaleid, peliice somnos.

Talia contingant somnia sa&pe mihi!

ELEGIA QUARTA.

Anno aUUis iS.

Ad THOMAM JUNIUM, Pileceptorem suum, apud Mercatores

AnGLICOS HAMBURGiE AGENTES PASTORIS MUNERE FUNGENTEM.

CuRRE per immensum subit6, mea littera, pontum;

I^ pete Teutonicos laeve per aequor agros ;
Segnes rumpe morasj et nil, precor, obStet eunti,

Et festinantis nil remoretur iter.
Ipse ego Sicanio fraenantem carcere ventos

iEolon, et virides sollicitabo Deos,
Caeruleamque suis comitatam Dorida Nymphis,

Ut tibi dent placidam per sua re^a viam.
At tu, si poteris, celeres tibi sume ju^ales,

Vecta quibus Colchis fugit ab ore rtri; 10

Aut quels Triptolemus Scythicas devenit in oras,

Gratus Eleusini missus ab urbe pner.
Atque, ubi Germanas flavere videbis arenas,

Ditis ad Hamburgae moenia flecte gradum,
Dicitur occiso quae ducere nomen ab Hami,

Cimbrica^uem fertur clava dedisse neci.
Vivit ibi antiquae clarus pietatis honore

Praesul, Christicolas pascere doctus oves;
Ille quidem est animae plusquam pars altera nostras ;

Dimidio vitae vivere' cogor ego, 20

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58o LATIN POEMS.

Hei mihi, quot pelagi, quot montes interjecti, .

Me faciunt ali^ parte carere mei !
Charior ille mihi qukm tu, doctissime Graiiim^

Cliniadi, pronepos qui Telamonis erat;
Qukmque ^Stagirites generoso magnus alumno,

Quem peperit Lybico Chaonis alma Jovi.
Qualis Amyntorides, qualis Philyreius Heros

Myrmidonum regi, talis et ille mihi.
Primes ego Aonios illo praeeunte recessus

Lustrabam, et bifidi sacra vireta jugi, 30

Pieriosque hausi latices, Clioque fiavente

Castalio sparsi laeta ter ora mero.
Flammeus at signum ter viderat arietis i^thon

Induxitque auro lanea terga novo, '

Bisque novo terram sparsisti, Chloric senilem

Gramine, bisque tuas abstulit Auster opes ;
Necdum ejus licuit mihi lumina pascere vultuy

Aut linguae dulces aure bibisse sonos.
Vade igitur, cursuque Eunim praeverte sonorum;

Qukm sit opus monitis res docet, ipsa vides. 40

Invenies dulci cum conjuge fort^ sedentem,

Mulcentem greuiio pignora chara stio ;
Forsitan aut veterum praelarga volumina Patrum

Versantem, aut veri Bibilia s^cra Dei,
Caelestive ^nimas saturantem rore tenellas,

Grande salutiferae religibnis opus, . ,

Utque solet, multam sit dicere cura salutem,

Dioere quam decuit, si modo adeaset^ henun. ■
Haec quoque, paulum oculos in humum defila modestos.

Verba verecundo sis memor ore loqui: 50

"Haec tibi, si teneris vacat inter prseHa Musis,

Mittit ab Angliaco littore iida manus.
Accipe sinceram, quamvis sit sera, salutem;

Fiat et hbc ipso gratior ilia tibi.
Sera quidem,. sed vera fiiit, quam casta recepit

leans a lento Penelopeia viro.
Ast ego quid vc^ui manifestum tollere crimen,

Ipse. quod ex omni parte levare nec^uit? '
Arguitur tardus merits, nojtamque . fetcfcur, •

Et pudet officium deseruisse suum. ' 60

Tu mod6 da veniam fa^o,. veniamque roganti;

Crimina diminiii quae patuere solent. '■ ,

Non ferus in pavidos rictus diducit hiantes,

Vulnifico pronos nee rapit ungue leo.
Saepe sarissiferi crudelia- pcctoira, Thrads

SuppUcis ad moestas delicuere preces; >

Extensaeque manus avertunt lulnunis ictm, t

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ELEGIA QUARTA. 581

Placat et iratos hostia parva Deos.
Jamque diu scripsisse tibi fuit impetus illi.

Neve moras iiltra ducere passus Amor; 70

Nam vaga Fama refert, heu nuntia vera malofum !

In tibi finitimis bella tumere locis^,
Teque tuamque urbem truculento milite cingl,

£t jam Saxonicos arma par^sse duces.
Te circum lat^ campos populatur Enyo,

Et sata came virdm jam cruor arva rigat.
Germanisque suum concessit Thracia Martem ;

lUuc Odrysios Mars pater egit equos;
Perpetu6que comans jam deflorescit oliva;

Fugit et aerisonam Diva perosa tubam, 8q

Fugit, io ! terris, et jam non ultima Virgo

Creditur ad superas justa volisse domos.
Te tamen interea belli circumsonat horror,

Vivis et ignoto solus inopsque solo ;
Et, tibi quam patrii non exhibuere penates,

Sede peregrini quaeris egenus opem.
Patria, dura parens, et saxis saevior albb

Spumea quae pulsat littoris unda tui;
Siccine te decet innocuos exponere foetus,

Siccine in externam ferrea cogis humum, 90

Et sinis ut terris quaerant alimenta remotis

Quos tibi prospiciens miserat ipse' Deus,
Et qui laeta ferunt de caslb nuntia, quique

Quae via post cineres ducat ad astra docent?
Digna quidem Stygiis quae vivas clausa tenebris,

^tem^que animae digna perire fame !
Haud aliter vates terrae Thesbitidis olim '

Pressit inassueto devia tesqua pede, '

Desertasque Arabum salebras, dum regis Achabi

Effugit, atque tuas, Sidoni dira, manus. '100

Talis et, horrisono laceratus membra flagello, ' : '

Paulus ab :/Emathia pellitur urbe Cilix ;
Piscosaeque ipsum Gergessae civis lesum

Finibus ingratus jussit abire suis.
At tu sume animos, nee spes cadat anxia curis,

Nee tua concutiat decolor ossa metus.
Sis etenim quam vis folgentibus obsitus armis,

Intententque tibi millia tela necem,
At nullis vel inerme latus violabitur armis.

Deque tuo cuspis nulla cruore bibet. no

Namque eris ipse Dei radiante sub aegide tutus ;

I lie tibi custos, et pugil ille tibi;
Ille Sionaeae qui tot sub moenibus arcis •

Assyrios fudit nocte silente viros ; '

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582 - LATlIsr POEMS.

Inque fugam vertit quos in Samaritidas oras

Misit ab antiquis prisca Damascus agris;
Terruit et densas pavido cum rege cohortes,

Acre dum vacuo bucciaa clara sonat,
Cornea pulvereum dum verberat ungula campum,

Currus arenosam dum quatit actus humum, 20

Auditurque hinnitus equorum ad bella ruentfim,

Et strepitus ferri, murmuraque alta virtim.
Et tu (quod superest miseris) sperare memento,

Et tua magnanimo pectore vince mala;
Nee dubites quandoque frui melioribus annis,

Atque iterum patrios posse videre lares."

ELEGIA QUINTA.

Anno atatis 20.
In Adventum Veris.

In se perpetuo Tempus revolubile gyro

Jam revocat Zephyros, vere tepente, novos;
Induiturque brevem Tellus reparata juventam,

Jamque soluta gelu dulc^ virescit humus.
Fallor? an et nobis redeunt in carmina vires,

Ingeniumcjue mihi munere veris adest.**
Munere veris adest, iterumque vigescit ab illo

(Quis putet?) atque aliquod jam sibi poscit opus*
Castalis ante oculos, bifidumque cacumen oberrat,

Et mihi Pirenen somnia nocte ferunt; 10

Concitaque arcano fervent mihi pectora motu,

Et furor, et sonitus me sacer intus agit.
Delius ipse venit (Video Peneide jauro

Implicitos crines), Delius ipse venit.
Jam mihi mens Uquidi raptatur in ardua Caeli,

Perque vagas nubes corpore liber eo;
Perque umbras, perque antra feror, penetralia vatum;

Et mihi fana patent interiora Deum;
Intuiturque animus toto quid s^gatur Olympo,

Nee fugiunt oculos Tartara caeca raeos. 20

Quid tam ^nde sonat distento spiritus ore?.

Quid pant haec rabies,^ quid sacer iste furor?
Ver mihi, quod dedit ingenium, cantabitur illo;

Profuerint isto reddita dona modo.
Jam, Philomela, tuos, foliis adpperta novellis,

Instituis modulos, dum silet omne nemus:
Urbe ego, tu sylvi, simul incipiamus utrique.

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KLEGIA QUINTA, 533

Et simul adventum veris uterque c^^naU
Veris, io ! rediere vices ; celebremus honores

Veris, et hoc subeat Mu§a perenais opus. 30

Jam sol, i^thiopas fiigiens Tithoniaque arva,

Flectit ad Arctoas aurea lora plagas.
Est breve noctis iter, brevis est mora noctis opac

Horrida cum tenebris exulat ilia suis.
Jamque Lycaonius plaustrum caeleste Bootes

Non longi sequit'ur fessus ut ante viS, ;
Nunc etiam solitas circum Jovis atria toto

Excubias agitant sidera rara polo.
Nam dolus, et caedes, et vis cum nocte recessit,

Neve Giganteum Dii timuere.scelus.- 40

Fort^ aliquis scopuli recubans in vertice pastor,

Roscida cum primo sole rubescit humus, . .

"Hac," ait, " hac cert^ carui^ti nocte pueU4,

Phoebe, tu4, celeres quae retineret equos.''
Laeta suas repetit sylvas, pharetramque resumit: >

Cynthia, luciferas ut videt alta rotas,
Et, tenues ponens radios, gaudere videtur

Officium fieri tarn breve fratris ope. -

"Desere," Phoebus ait, "thalamos, Aurora* seniles;

Quid juvat effoeto procubuisse toro? i 50

Te manet i^olides viridi yenator in herbi ; :

Surge; tuos ignes altus Hymettus habet.''
Flava verecundo dea crimen in ore fatetur,

Et matutinos ocius ureet equQS.
Exuit invisam Tellus reaiviva seneetam,

Et cupit am plexus, Phoebe, subire tuos. ' :

Et cupit, et digna est; quid enimformosius'iM^

Pandit ujt omniferos lyxuriosa sinus, ^

Atque Arabum spirat messes, etab ore venusto

Mitia cum Paphiis fundit amoma rosis? 60

Ecce, coronatur sacro fronis ardua luco,

Cingit ut Idaeam pinea turris Opim'; . - »

Et vario madidos intexit flore capillos, '

Flpribus et visa est posse placere suis.
Floribus effusos ut erai redimita capillos,

Taenario placuit diva Sicana Deo.
Aspice, Phoebe ; tjbi faciles hortanttir am ores,

Mellitasque movent flamina vema preces;
Cinname^ Zephyms leve plaudit odorifer. ai^;

Blanditiasque tibi ferre videntur aves. - 70

Nee sine dote tuos temeraria qua&rit amores

Terraj nee optatQs ,pos$:it egena toros; : ; '

Alma salutiferum medicos tibi graHnen in usus

Praebet, et hinc titulo$.ad)uyat ipsa tuos.

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584 , LATIN POEMS.

Qu6d si te pi^tram, isl te fulgentia tangunt

Munera- (muneribus saepe coemptus amor).
Ilia tibi ostentat quascunque sub aequore vasto,

Et superinjectis montibus, abdit opes.
Ah ! quoties, cum tu clivoso fessus Olympb

In vespertinas praecipitaris aquas, 80

" Cur te," inquit, " cursu languentehi, Phoebe, diumo

Hesperiis recipit caerula mater aquis?
Quid tibi cum Tethy? quid cum Tartesside lymphs?

Dia quid immundo perluis ora salo?
Frigora, Phoebe, me^ melius captabis in umbr^; '

Hue ^es; ardentes imbue rore comas.
MoUior egelidi veniet tibi somnus in herb^;

Hue ades, et gremio lumiria pone meo.
Qu^que jaces circum mulcebit len^ susuirans

Aura per humentes corpora fusa fosas. 90

Nee me (crede mihi) terrent Semeleia fata,

Nee Phaetonteo fumidus axis equo;
Cum tu, Phoebe, tuo sapientiiis uteris igni,

Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo."
Sic Tellus lasciva suos Suspirat amores;

Matiis in exemplum caetfera turba ruunt.
Nunc etenim toto currit vagus orbe Cupido,

Languentesque fovet solis ab igne faces.
Insonuere novis lethalia cofnua nervis,

Triste micant ferro tela corusca liovo. 100

Jamque vel invictam tentat superasse Dianam,

Quaeque sedet sacro Vesta pudica foeo.
Ipsa senescentem reparat Fenus annua formam,

Atque iterum tepido creditur orta mari.
Marmoreas juvenes clamant Hyhtenae per urbes; *

Littus to Hytfun et cava saxa sonant.
Cultior ille venit, tunic&que deceritior a^tk \

Puniceum reddet vestis odora crbcum.
Egrediturque frequens ad amoeni gaudia veris

Virgineos auro cincta puella simis. no

Votum est cuique suum ; votum est tamen omnibus unum,

Ut sibi quem cupiat det Cytherea virum.
Nunc quoque septen^ modulatur arundine pastor,

Et sua quae jungat carmina Phyllis hab^t. ' '

Navita noctumo placat sua sid^ra cantu,

Delphinasque* levies ad vada summa vocat.
Jupiter ipse alto cum conjuge ludit Olympo,

Convocat «t femulos ad sua festa Deos.
Nunc etiam Satyri, cuwi sera crepuscula ^urgiint,

Pervolitent ccleri florea rura 'choro, 120

Sylvanusque 8ud cyparissi fironde revinttus,

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ELECTA SEXTA. 585

Semicaperque Deus, semideusque caper.
Quaeque sub arboribus Dryades latuere vetustis

Per juga, per solos expatiantur agros.
Per sata. luxuriat fruticetaque Maenalius Pan;

Vix Cybele mater, vix sibi tuta Ceres ;
Atque aHquam cypidus praedatur Oreada Faiinus,

Consulit in trepidos dum sibi nympha pedes,
Jamque latet, latitansque cupit mal^ tecta videri,

Et fugit, et fiigiens pervelit ipsa capi. 130

Dii quoque non dubitant caelo praeponere sylvas,

Et sua quisque sibi numina lucus habet.
Et sua quisque diu sibi numina lucus habeto,

Nee vos arborei, dii, precor, ite domo.
Te referant, miseris te, Jupiter, aurea terris

Saecla ! quid ad nimbos, aspera tela, redis ?
Tu saltern lent^ rapidos age, Phoebe, jugales

Quk potes, et sensim tempora veris eant:
Brumaque productas tard^ ferat hispida noctes,

Ingruat et nostro serior umbra polo ! 140

ELEGIA SEXTA.
AD CAROLUM DIODATUM, RURi commorantem ;

Quit cum IdS>us Decemh. scri^sissft, et sua camtina excusari postuldsset sisoHto minus
essent bona, quod inter lautitias quibus erat ab amicis exceptus haud satis /e lie em.
operam Musis dare se posse affi,rmabat, hoe habuit responsum,

MiTTO tibi sanam non pleno ventre salutem,

Qui tu distento fort^ carere potes.
At tua quid nostram prolectat Musa camoenam,

Nee suiit optatas posse sequi tenebras?
Carmine scire velis qukm te redamemque colamque \

Crede mihi vix hoc carmine scire queas.
Nam neque noster amor modulis includitur arctis,

Nee venit ad claudos integer ipse pedes.
Qukm bene solennes epulas, hilaremque Decembrim,

Festaque caelifugam quae eoluere Deum, 10

Delieiasque refers, hiberni gaudia ruris,

Haustaque per lepidos Gallica musta focos !
Quid quereris refugam vino dapibusque poesin?

Carmen amat Bacchum, earmina Bacchus amat.
Nee pudiiit Phoebum virides gestisse corymbos,

Atque hederam lauro praeposuisse suae.
Saepius Aoniis clamavit collibus Eua

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586 LATIN POEMS.

Mista Thyoneo turba novena chor6.
Naso Corallseis mala cannina misit ab agris;

Non illic epulse, non sata vitis erat. 20

Quid nisi vina, rosasque, racemiferumque Lyaeum,

Cantavit brevibus Teia Musa modis?
Pindaricosque inflat numeros Teumesi^s Euan,

Et redolet sumptum pagina quaeque merum;
Dum gravis everso currus crepat axe supinus,

Et volat Eleo pulvere fuscus eques.
Quadrimoque madens Lyricen Romanus laccho

Dulc^ canit Glyceran, flavicomamque Chloen.
Jam quoque lauta tibi generoso mensa paratu

Mentis alit vires, ingeniumque fovet. 30

Massica foecundam despumant pocula venam,

Fundis et ex ipso condita metra cado.
Addimus his artes, fusumque per inthna Phoebum

Corda; favent uni Bacchus, ApoUo, Ceres.
Scilicet haud minim tam dulcia carmina per te,

Numine composite, tres peperisse Deos.
Nunc quoque Thressa tibi caelato barbitos auro

Insonat argute molliter icta manu;
Auditurque chelys suspensa tapetia circum,

Virgineos tremuli quae regat arte pedes. 40

Ilia tuas saltem teneant spectacula Musas,

Et revocent quantum crapula pellit iners.
Crede mihi, dum psallit ebur, comitataque plectrum

Implet odoratos festa chorea tholos,
Percipies tacitum per pectora serpere Phoebum,

Quale repentinus permeat ossa calor;
Perque puellares oculos digitumque sonantem

Irruet in totos lapsa Thalia sinus.
Namque Elegia levis multorum cura deorum est,

Et vocat ad numeros quemlibet ilia suos; 50

Liber adest elegis, Eratoque, Ceresque, Venusque,

Et cum purpurea matre tenellus Amor.
Talibus inde licent convivia larga poetis,

Saepdus et veteri commaduisse mero.
At qui bella refert, et adulto sub Jove caelum,

Heroasque pios, semideosque duces,
Et nunc sancta canit superfim consulta deorum^

Nunc latrata fero regna profunda cane,
Ille quidem parc^, Samii pro more magistri,

Vivat, et innocuos praebeat herba cibos; * 60

Stet prope fagineo pelhicida l3rmpha catillo,

Sobriaque e puro pocula fonte bibat.
Additur huic scelerisque vacans et casta juventus,

Et rigidi mores, et sine labe manus;

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ELEGIA SEPT/MA. 587

Quails veste nitens sacrd, et lustralibus undis,

Sur^s ad infensos augur* iture Deos.
Hoc ntu vixisse ferunt post rapta sagacem

Lumina Tiresian, Ogygiumque Linon,
Et lare devote profiigum Calchanta, senemque

Orpheon edomith sola per antra feris; 70

Sic dapis exiguus, sic rivi potor Homerus

Dulichium vexit per freta longa virum,
Et per monstrificam Perseiae Phoebados aulam,

Et vada foeminels insidiosa sonis,
Percjue tuas, rex ime? domos, ubi sanguine nigro

Dicitur umbrarum detinuisse greges:
Diis etenim sacer est vates, divumque sacerdos,

Spirat et occultum pectus et ora Jovem.
At tu si quid agam scitabere (si mod6 saltern

Esse putas tanti noscere siquid agam). 80

Paciferum canimus caelesti semine regem,

Faustaque sacratis saecula pacta libris;
V^itumque Dei, et stabulantem paupere tecto

Qui suprema suo cum patre regna colit;
Stelliparumque polum, modulantesque aethere turmas,

Et subit6 elisos ad sua fana Deos.
Dona quidem dedimus Christi natalibus ilia;

Ilia sub auroram lux mihi prima tulit.
Te quoc]ue pressa manent patriis meditata cicutis;

Tu mihi; cui recitem, juaicis ins tar eris. 90

ELEGIA SEPTIMA. •

Anno atatis undevigesimo.

NoNDUM blanda tuas leges, Amathusia, ndram,

Et Paphio vacuum pectus ab igne fuit.
Saepe cupidineas, puenlia tela, sagittas,

Atque tuum sprevi maxime numen, Amor.
" Tu puer imbelles " dixi " transfige columbas ;

Conveniunt tenero mollia bella duci:
Aut de passeribus tumidos age, parve, triumphos;

Haec sunt militias digna trophaea tuae.
In genus humanum quid inania dirigis arma?

Non valet in fortes ista pharetra viros." 10

Non tulit hoc Cyprius (neque enim Deus ullus ad iras

Promptior), et duplici jam ferus igne calet.
Ver erat, et summae radians per culmina villae

Attulerat primam lux tibi, Male, diem;

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58S LATIN f OEMS,

At mihi adhuc refugam quaerebant lumijaa noctem,

Nee matutinum sustinuere jubar.
Astat Amor lecto, pictis Amor impiger alls;

Prodidit astantem mota pharetra Deum;
Prodidit et fades, et dulc^ minantis ocelli,

Et quicquid puero dignum et Amore fiiit.
Talis in aeterno juvenis Sigeius Olympo

Miscet amatori pocula plena Jovi;
Aut, qui formosas pellexit ad oscula nymphas,

Thiodamantaeus Naiade raptus Hylas.
Addideratque iras, sed et has decuisse putares;

Addideratque truces, nee sine felle, mipas.
Et "Miser exemplo sapuisses tutius," inquit;

"Nunc mea quid possit dextera testis eris.
Inter et expertos vires numerabere nostras,

Et feciam vero per tua damna fidem. i

Ipse ego, I si nescis, strato Pythone superbum

Edomui Phcebum, cessit et ille mihi;
Et, quoties meminit Peneidos, ipse fatetur

Certius et gravius tela nocere mea.
Me nequit adductum curvare peritius arcum.

Qui post terga solet vincere, Parthus eques:
Cydpniusque mihi cedit venator, et ille

Inscius uxori qui necis author erat.
Est etiam nobis ingens quoque victus Orion,

Herculeaeque manus, Herculeusque comes. 4<

Jupiter ipse licet sua fulmina torqueat in me,

Haerebunt lateri spicula nostra Jovis.
Caetera quae dubitas melius mea tela docebunt,
* Et tua non leviter corda petenda mihi.
Nee te, stulte, tuae poterunt defendere Musae;

Nee tibi Phoebaeus porriget anguis opem."
Dixit, et, aurato quatiens muerone sagittam,

Evolat in tepidos Cypridos ille sinus.
At mihi risuro tonuit ferns ore minaei,

Et mihi de puero non metus ullus erat. 50

Et mod6 qu^ nostri spatiantur in urbe Quirites,

Et mod6 villarum proxima. rura plaeent.
Turba frequens, facieque simillima turba dearum,

Splendida per medias itque reditque vias ;
Auetaque luce dies gemino fulgore coruscat.

Fallor? an et radios hine quoque Phoebus habet?
Haee ego non fugi spectacula grata severus.

Impetus et qu6 me fert juvenilis agor;
Lumina luminibus mal^ providus obvia misi,

Neve oculos potui eontinuisse meos. 60

Unam fort^ aliis supereminuisse notabani;

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ELEGIA SEFTIMA. 589

Principium nostri lux erat ilia mali.
Sic Venus optaret mortalibus ipsa videri,

Sic regina Defim conspicienda fiiit.
Hanc memor objecit nobis malus ille Cupido,

Solus et hos nobis texuit ant^ dolos.
Nee procul ipse vafer latuit, multaeque sagittae,

. Et facis a tergo grande pependit onus.
Nee mora; nunc cuiis haesit, nunc virginis ori,

Insilit hinc labiis, insidet inde genis; 70

Et quascunque agilLs partes jaculator oberrat,

Hei mihi ! milk locis pectus inerme ferit.
Protinus insoliti subierunt corda furores;

Uror amans intus, flammaque totus eram.
Interea misero quae jam mihi sola placebat

Ablata est, oculis non reditura meis;
Ast ego progredior tacit^ querebundus, et excors,

Et dubius volui saepe referre pedem.
Findor; et haec remanet, sequitur pars altera votum;

Raptaque tam subit6 gaudia flere juvat. 80

Sic dolet amissum proles Junonia caelum,

Inter Lemniacos praecipitata focos;
Talis et abreptum solem respexit ad Orcum

Vectus ab attonitis Amphiaraus equis.
Quid faciam infelix, et luctu victus? Amores

Nee licet incept os ponere, neve sequi.
O utinam spectare semel mihi detur amatos

Vultus, et corkm tristia verba loqui!
Forsitan et duro non est adamante creata,

Fort^ nee ad nostras surdeat ilia preces ! 90

Crede mihi, nullus sic infelieiter arsit;

Ponar in exemplo primus et unus ego.
Parce, precor, teneri cum sis Deus ales amoris;

Pugnent officio nee tua facta tuo.
Jam tuus O cert^ est mihi formidabilis arcus,

Nate dei, jaculis nee minus igne potens:
Et tua fumabunt nostris altaria donis,

Solus et in Superis tu mihi summus eris.
Deme meos tandem, verum nee deme, furores;

Nescio cur, miser est suaviter omnis amans : 100

Tu mod6 da facilis, posthaec mea siqua futura est,

Cuspis amaturos figat ut una duos.

HcBC ego mente olim l(Bvd, studioque supino^
Nequitia posui vana trophaa mea.

Scilicet abreptum sic me malus impulit erroTy
IndociUsque (etas prava magistra fuit ;

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590 LATIN POEMS,

Donee Socraticos umbrosa Aeademia rivos
Prcebuity admissum dedocuitque jugum,

Protint^s, extinctis ex illo tempore flammis^
Cincta rigent muUc pectora nostra gelu;

Unde suis frigus nutuit puer ipse sagittis^
Et Diomedeam vim timet ipsa Ventis,

[EPIGRAMMATA.]

IN PRODITIONEM BOMBARDICAM.

Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos

Ausus es infandum, perfide Fauxe, nefas>
Fallor? an et mitis voluisti ex parte videri,

£t pensare mali cum pietate scelus?
Scilicet hos alti missurus ad atria caeli,

Sulphureo curru flammivolisque rotis ;
Qualiter ille, fens caput inviolabile Parcis,

Liquit lordanios turbine raptus agros.

IN EANDEM.

SicciNE tentdsti caelo donisse lacobum,

Quae septemgemino Bellua monte lates?
Ni meliora tuum potent dare munera numen,

Parce, precor, donis insidiosa tuis.
Ille quidem sine te consortia serus adivit

Astra, nee inferni pulveris usus ope.
Sic potius fcedos in caelum pelle cucullos,

Et quot habet brutos Roma profana Deos;
Namque hac aut alii nisi quemque adjuveris arte,

Crede mlhi, caeli vix bene scandet iter. lo

IN EANDEM.

PuRGATOREM animae derisit lacobus ignem,

Et sine quo superi^m non adeunda domus.
Frenduit hoc trink monstrum Latiale coroni,

Movit et horrificum cornua dena minax.
Et "Nee inultus" ait <<temnes mea sacra, Britanne;

Supplicium spreti religione dabis;
Et, si stelligeras unquam penetraveris arces,

Non nisi per flammas triste patebit iter."
O qukm fimesto cecinisti proxima vero,

Verbaque ponderibus vix caritura suis ! ^ lo

Nam prope Tartareo sublime rotatus ab igni

Ibat ad aethereas, umbra perusta, plagas.

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EPIGRAMMATA, 591

IN EANDEM.

QuEM mod6 Roma suis devoverat impia dins,
Et Styge damn^rat, Taenarioque sinu,

Hunc, vice mutatd, jam toUere gestit ad astra,
Et cupit ad superos evehere usque Deos.

IN INVENTOREM BOMBARDiE.

Iapetionidem laudavit caeca vetustas,
Qui tulit aatheream soils ab axe facem ;

At mihi major erit qui lurida creditur arma
Et trifidum fulmen surriptiisse JovL

AD LEONORAM ROMiE CANENTEM. -

Angelus unicuique suus (sic credite, gentes)

Obtigit aethereis ales ab ordinibus.
Quid mirum, Leonora^ tibi si gloria major?

Nam tua praesentem vox sonat ipsa Deum. ,
Aut Deus, aut vacui cert^ mens tertia caeli,

Per tua secret6 guttura serpit agens;
Serpit agens, fecilisque docet mortalia corda

Sensim immortali assuescere posse sono.
Qu6d, si cuncta quidem Deus est, per cunctaque fiisus.

In te uni loquitur, caetera mutus habet. 10

AD EANDEM.

ALTEitA. Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam,

Cujus ab insano cessit amore furens.
Ah miser ille tuo quanto felicius aevo

Perditus, et propter te, Leonora, foret!
Et te Pierii sensisset voce eanentem

Aurea maternae fila movere lyrae!
Quamvis Dircaeo torsisset lumina Pentheo

Saevior, aut totus desipuisset iners,
Tu tamen errantes caeci vertigine sensus

Voce eadem poteras composuisse tui;
Et poteras, aegro spirans sub corde quietem,

Flexanimo cantu restituisse sibi.

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592 LATIN POEMS,

AD EANDEM.

Credula quid liquidam Sirena, Neapoli, jactas,

Claraque Parthenopes fana Acheloiados,
Littoreamque tui deAinctam Naiada ripi

Corpore Chalcidico sacra dedisse rogo?
Ilia quidem vivitque, et amoeni Tibridis undi

Mutavit rauci murmura Pausilipi.
Illic, Romulidum studiis ornata secundis,

Atque homines cantu detinet atque Deos*

APOLOGUS DE RUSTICO ET HERO.

RusTlcus ex malo sapidissima poma quotannis

Legit, et urbano lecta dedit Domino:
Hie, incredibili fructiis dulcedine captus,

Malum ipsam in proprias transtulit areolas.
Hactenus 'ilia ferax, sed longo debilis aevo,

Mota solo assueto, protinus aret iners.
Quod tandem ut patuit Domino, spe lusus inani,

Damnavit celeres in sua damna manus;
Atque ait, " Heu quanto satius fuit ilia Coloni

(Parva licet) grato dona tulisse animo;
Possem ego avaritiam fraenare, g^lamque voracem:

Nunc periere mihi et foetus et ipse parens."

[de moro.]

Galli ex concubitu gravidam te, Pontia, Mori
Quis bene moratam morigeramque neget?

AD CHRISTINAM, SUECORUM REGINAM, NOMINE CROMWELLI.

Bellipotens Virgo, Septem regina Trionum,

Christina, Arctoi lucida stella poli!
Cemis quas merui duri sub casside rugas,

Utque senex armis impiger ora tero,
In via fatorum dum per vestigia nitor,

Exequor et populi fortia jussa manu.
Ast tibi submittit frontem reverentior umbra;

Nee sunt hi vultus Regibus usque truces.

EUgiarum Finis.

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IN OBITUM PROCANCELLARII MEDICI. 593

SYLVARUM LIBER.

Anno atatis 17.

IN OBITUM PROCANCELLARII MEDICI.

Parere Fati discite legibus,
Manusque Parcae jam date supplices,
Qui pendulum telluris orbem
lapeti colitis nepotes.
Vos si relicto Mors vaga Taenaro
Semel vocirit flebilis, neu! morae
Tentantuf incassum dolique;
Per tenebras Stygis ire certum est.
Si destinatam pellere dextera

Mortem valeret, non ferus Hercules 10

Nessi venenatus. cruore
iCmsithia jacuisset CEti;
Nee fraude turpi palladis invidae
Vidisset occisum Ilion Hectora, aut
Quern larva Pelidis peremit
Ense Locro, Jove lacrj'mante.
Si triste Fatum verba Hecateia
Fugare possint, Telegoni parens
Vixisset infemis, potentique

iEgiali soror usa virg^. 20

Numenque trinum fallere si queant
Artes medentfim, ignotaque gramina,
Non gnarus herbarum Machaon
Eurypyli cecidisset hasti;
Laesisset et nee te, Philyreie,
Sagitta Echidnae perlita sanguine;
Nee tela te fulmenque avitum,
Caese puer genetricis alvo.
Tuque, O alumno major Apolline,
Gentis togatae cui regimen datum, 30

Frondosa qtiem nunc Cirrha luget,
Et mediis Helicon in undis,
Jam praefiiisses Pallidio gregi
Laetus superstes, nee sine glorii;
Nee puppe lustr^sses Charontis
Horribiles barathri recessus.

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594 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^.

At fila rupit Persephone tua,
Irata cum te viderit artibus
Succoque pollenti tot atris
Faucibus eripuisse Mortis* 4c

Colende Praeses, membra precor tua
MoUi quiescant cespite, et ex tuo
Crescant rosae calthaeqiie busto,
Purpureoque hyacinthus ore.
Sit mite de te judicium ^Eaci,
Subrideatque i^tnaea Proserpina,
Interque telices perennis
Elysio spatiere campol

IN QUINTUM NOVEMBRIS.

Anna dtatis 17.

Jam pius extremi veniens lacobus ab arcto

Teucrigenas populos, lat^que patentia regna

Albionum tenuit, jamque invidabile fcedus

Sceptra Caledoniis conjunxerat Anglica Scotis;

Pacificusque novo, felix divesque, sedebat

In solio, occultique doli securus et hostis:

Cum ferus ignifluo regnans Acheronte tyrannus,

Eumenidum pater, aetnereo vagus exul Olympo,

Fort^ per immensum terrarum erraverat orbem,

Dinumerans sceleris socios, vernasque fideles, 10

Participes regni post fiinera mo^sta futuros.

Hie tempestates medio ciet aefe diras;

Illic unanimes odium struit inter amicos:

Armat et invictas in mutua viscera gentes,

Regnaque oliviferi vertit florentia pace;

Et quoscunque videt puree virtutis amantes,

Hos cupit adjicere imperio, fraudumque magister

Tentat inaccessum sceleri comimpere pectus;

Insidiasque locat tacitas, cassesque latentes

Tendit, ut incautos rapiat, ceu Caspia, tigris 26

Insequitur trepidam deserta per avia praedam

Nocte sub illuni, et somno nictantibus astris.

Talibus infestat populos Summanus et urbes,

Cinctus caeruleae fiimanti turbine flammae.

Jamque fluentisonis albentia rupibus arva

Apparent, et terra Deo dilecta marino,

Cui nomen dederat quondam Neptunia proles*

Amphitryoniaden qui non dubitavit atrocem,

^^quore tranato, furiali poscere bello,

Ante expugnatae crudelia saecula Trojae, 30

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IN QLFINTUM NOVEMBRIS, 5^5

At simul hanc, opibusque et festi pace beatam,
Aspicit, et pingues donis Cerealibus agros,
Quodque magis doluit, venerantem numina veil
Sancta Dei populum, tandem suspiria rupit
Tartareos ignes et luridum olentia sulphur;
Qualia Trinacri^ trux ab Jove clausus in MXxA
Efflat tabifico monstrosus ab ore Typhoeus.
Ignescunt oculi, stridetque adamantinus ordo
Dentis, ut armorum fragor, ictaque cuspide cuspis;
Atque "Pererrato solum hoc lacrymabile mundo 40

Inveni " dixit ; " gens haec mihi sola rebellis,
Contemtrixque jugi, nostr^que potentior arte.
Ilia tamen, mea si quicquam tentamina possunt,
Non feret hoc impune diu, non ibit inulta/*
Hactenus ; et piceis liquid© natat aere pennis :
Quk volaty adversi praecursant agmine venti,
Densantur nubes, et crebra tonitnia ftilgent.

Jamque pruinosas velox superaverat Alpes,
Et tenet Ausonise fines. A parte sinistrk
Nimbifer Apenninus erat, priscique Sabini; 50

Dextra veneficiis infamis Hetruna; nee non
Te furtiva, Tibris, Thetidi videt oscula dantem:
Hinc Mavortigenae consistit in arce Quirini.
Reddiderant dubiam jam sera crepuscula lucem,
Cum circumgreditur totam Tricoronifer urbem,
Panificosque Deos portat, scapulisqiie virorum
Evehitur; praeeunt submisso poplite reges,
Et mendicantum series longissima fratrum;
Cereaque in manibus gestant fimalia caeci,
Cimmeriis nati in tenebris vitamque trahentes. 60

Templa dein multis subeunt iucentia taedis
(Vesper erat sacer iste Petro), fremitusque canentDm
Saepe tholos implet vacuos, et inane locorum:
Qualiter exululat Bromius, Bromiique caterva,
Orgia cantantes in Echionio Aracyntho,
Dum tremit attonitus vitreis Asopus in undis,
Et procul ipse cavi responsat rape Cithaeron.

His igitur tandem solenni more peractis,
Nox senis amplexus Erebi tacituma reliquit,
Praecipitesque impellit equos stimulante flagello, 70

Captum oculis Typhlonta, Melanchaetemque ferocem,
Atque Acherontaeo prognatam patre Siopen
Torpidam, et hirsutis horrentem Phrica capillis.

Interea regum domitor, Phlegetontius haeres,
Ingreditur thalamos (neque enim secretus adulter
Producit steriles molli sine pellice noctes) ;
At vix compositos somnus claudebat ocellos

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596 LATIN POEMS: SYLVjE.

Cum niger umbrarum dominus, rectorque sileat^m,

Praedatorque hominum, falsa sub imagine tectus

Astitit. Assumptis micuerunt tempora canis; 80

Barba sinus promissa tegit; cineracea longo . ,

Syrmate verrit humum vestis; pendetque cucuUus

Vertice de raso; et, ne quicquam desit ad artes,

Cannabeo lurobos constrinxit fime salaces,

Tarda fenestratis figens vestigia calceis.

Talis, uti fama est, vasti Franciscus eremo

Tetra vagabatur solus per lustra ferarum,

Sylvestrique tulit genti pia verba salutis

Impius, atque lupos domuit, Libycosque leones.

Subdolus at tali Serpens velatus amictu 90

Solvit in has fallax era execrantia voces :
" Dormis, nate ? Etiamne tuos sopor opprimit artus ?
Immemor O fidei, pecorumque oblite tuonim !
Dum cathedram, venerande, tuam diademaque - triplex
Ridet Hyperboreo gens barbara nata sub axe,
Dumque phare^trati spernunt tua jura Britanni :
Surge, age ! surge piger, Latius quern Caesar adorat,
Cui reserata patet convexi janua caeli;
Tur^entes animos et fastus frange procaces, .
Sacnlegique sciant tua quid maledictio possit, 100

Et quid Apostolicae possit custodia clavis;
Et memor Hesperiae disjectam ulciscere classem,
Mersaque Iberorum lato vexilla profundo,
Sanctorumque cruci tot corpora fixa probrosae,
Thermodoontei nuper regnante puelli.
At tu si tenero mavis torpescere lecto,
Crescentesque negas hosti contundere vires,
Tyrrhenum implebit numeroso milite pontum,
Signaque Aventino ponet fulgentia colle;
Relliquias %^eterum franget, flammisque cremabit, no

Sacraque calcabit pedibus tua coUa profanis,
Cujus gaudebant soleis dare basia reges.
Nee tamen hunc bellis et aperto Marte lacesses;
Irritus ille labor; tu callidus utere fraude:
Quaelibet haereticis disponere retia fas est.
Jamque ad consilium extremis rex magnus ab oris
Patricios vocat, et procerum de stirpe creatos,
Grand^Bvosque patres trabei canisque verendos : .
Hos tu membratim poteris conspergere in auras,
Atque dare in cineres, nitrati pulveris igne 120

-^dibus injecto, quk convenere, sub imis.
Protinus ipse igitur quoscunque habet Anglia fidos
Propositi factique mone; quisquamne tuorum
Audebit sumoii non jussa facessere Papae?

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m QUINTUM NOVEMBRfS. 597

Perculsosque metu subito, casuque stupentes,

Invadat vel Gallus atrox, vel saevus Iberus.

Ssecula sic illic tandem Mariana redibunt,

Tuque in belligeros iterum dominaberis Anglos.

Et, nequid timeas, divos divasque secundas

Accipe, quotque tuis celebrantur numina fastis." 130

Dixit, et adscitos ponens malefidus amictus

Fugit ad infandam, regnum illaetabile, Lethen.

Jam rosea Eoas pandens Tithonia portas
Vestit inauratas redeunti lumine terras;
Moestaque adhuc nigri d^plorans funera n4ti
Irrigat ambrosiis montana cacumina guttis;
Cum somnos pepulit stellatse janitor aulae,
Noctumos visus et somnia grata revolvens.

Est locus setemi sejitus ^i^ne noctis,
Vasta ruinosi quondam fundamina tecti, 140

Nunc torvi spelunca Phoni, Prodotseque bilinguis,
Effera quos uno peperit Discordia partu.
Hie inter caementa jacent praeruptaque saxa
Ossa inhumata virftm, et trajecta cadavera ferro ;
Hie Dolus intortis semper sedet ater ocellis,
Jurgiaque, et stimulis armata Cahimnia fauces;
Et Furor, atque viae moriendi mille, videntur,
Et Timor; exanguisque locum circumvolat Horror;
Perpetu6que leves per muta silentia Manes
Exululant; tellus et sanguine conscia stagnat. 150

Ipse etiam pavidi latitant penetralibus antri
Et Phonos et Prodotes ; nulloque sequente per antrum,
Antrum horrens, scopulosum, atrum feralibus umbris,
Diffugiunt sontes, et retr6 lumina vortunt.
Hos pugiles Romae per saecula longa fideles
Evocat antistes Babylonius, atque ita fetur:
**Finibus occiduis circumfusum incolit aequor
Gens exosa mihi; prudens Natura negavit
Indignam penitiis nostro conjungere mundo.
Illuc, sic jubeo, celeri contendite gressu, 160

Tartareoque leves difflentur pulvere in auras
Et rex et pariter satrapae, scelerata propago;
Et quotquot fidei caluere cupidine verae
Consilii socios adhibete, operisque ministros."
Finierat: rigidi cupid^ paruere gemelli.

Interea longo flectens curvamine caelos
Despicit aetherei Dominus qui fulgurat arce,
Vanaque perversae ridet conamina turbse,
Atque sui causam populi volet ipse tueri.

Esse ferunt spatium, quk distat ab Aside terrA 170

Fertilis Europe, et spectat Mareotidas undas;

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598 LATIN POEMS t SYLVjE.^

Hie turns posita «st Titanidos ardua Famae,
iCrea, lata, sonans, rutilis vicinior astris
Quam superimpositum vel Athos vel Pelion Ossae.
Mille fores aditusque patent, totidemque fenestras,
Amplaque per tenues translucent atria muros.
Excitat hie varies plebs agglomerata susurros;
Qualiter instrepitant circum muletralia bombis
Agmina muscaruni, aut texto per ovilia jurieo,
Dum Canis aestivum caeli petit ardua culmen. i8o

Ipsa quidem summi sedet ultrix matris in aree:
Auribus inQumeris cinetum caput eminet olli,
Queis sonitum exiguum trahit, atque levissima capiat
Murmura, ab extremis patuli eonfinibus orbis;
Nee tot, Aristoride, servator inique juvenqae
Isidos, immiti volvebas lumina vultu,
Lumina non unquam tacito nutantia somno,
Lumina subjectas lat^ spectantia terras.
Istis ilia solet loca luce carentia saepe

Periustrare, etiam radianti impervia soli; 190

Millenisque loquax auditaque visaque Unguis
Cuilibet effundit ternqraria; veraque mendax
Nunc minuit, mod6 confictis sermonibus auget.
Sed tamen a nostro meruisti carmine laudes,
Fama, bonum quo non aliud veraeius uUum,
Nobis digna cani, nee te memorisse pigebit
Carmine tam longo; servati scilicet Angli
Officiis, vaga diva, tuis tibi reddimus sequa.
Te Deus, aeteruQs motu qui temperat ignes,
Fulmine praemisso, alloquitur, terr^que tremeate : 200

"Fama, siles? an te latet impia Papistarum
Conjurata cohors in meque meosque BritannoS,
Et nova sceptrigero caedes meditata lacobo?"
Nee plura: ilia statim sensit mandata Tonantis,
Et, satis ant^ fugax, stridentes induit alas,
Induit et variis exilia corpora plumis ;
. Dextra tubam gestat Temesaeo ex aere sonoram.
Nee mora; jam pennis cedentes remigat auras,
Atque paruni est cursu. celeres praevertere nvibes ; .
Jam ventos, jam solis equos, post terga reliquit: 210

Et prim6 Angliacas, solito de more, per urbes
Ambiguas voces incertaque murmura spargit;
Mox arguta dolos et detestabile vulgat
Proditionis opus, nee non facta horrida dictu,
Authoresque addit scelerjs, nee garrula caeeis
Insidiis loca structa silet. Stupuere relatis, -
Et pariter juvqnes, pariter tremuere puellae,
Jlffoetique senes pariter, tantaeque, ruinae

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IN OBITUM PR^SULIS ELIENSIS. 599

Sensu? ad aetatem subit6 penetraverat omnem.

Attamen interea populi imserescit ab alto 220

iEthereus Pater, et crudelibus obstitit ausis

PapicolClm. Capti poenas raptantur ad acres;

At pia thura Deo et grati solvuntur houores; .

Compita laeta focis' genialibus omnia ^mant; .

Turba choros juvenilis agit; Quintoque Novembris

Nulla dies toto occurrit celebratior anno.

Anno atatis 17.
IN OBITUM PRiESULIS ELIENSIS.

Adhuc madentes rore squalebant genae^

£t sicca nondum lumina
Adhuc liquentis imbre turgebant sails

Quern nuper effudi pius
Dum moesta charo justa persolvi rogo

Wintoniensis Praesulis,
Cum centilinguis Fama (proh ! semper mali

Cladisque vera nuntia) ,
Spargit per urbes divitis Britanniae,

Populosque Neptuno satos, 10

Cessisse Morti et ferreis Sororibus,

Te, generis humani decus,
Qui rex sacrorum illi fuisti in insuli

Quae nomen Anguillae tenet. ,
Tuncinquietum pectus irH protinus

Ebulliebat fervidi,
Tumulis potentem saepe devovens deam:

Nee vota Naso in Ibida
Concepit alto diriora pectore;

Graiusque vates parcius , 20

Turpem Lycambis execratus est dolum^

Sponsamque Neobulen suam.
At ecce ! diras ipse dum fundo graves,

Et imprecj^r Neci necem,
Audtsse tales videor attonitus sonos

Leni, sub aurd, flamine :
"Caecos furores pone; pone vitream

Bilemque et irritas minas.
Quid temer^ violas non nocenda numina,

Subit6que ad iras percita? 3^

Non est, ut arbitraris elusus miser,

Mors atra Noctis filia,

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6oo LATIN POEMS: SYLVjE.

Erebove patre creta, sive Erinnye,

Vastove nata sub Chao:
Ast ilia, cselo missa stellato, Dei

Messes ubique coUigit;
Animasque mole carnea reconditas

In lucem.et auras evocat,
(Ut cum fugaces excitant Horse diem,

Themidos Jovisque filiae,) 40

Et sempiterni ducit ad vultus Patris,

At justa raptat impios
Sub regna furvi luctuosa Tartari

Sedesque subterraneas.
Hanc ut vocantem laetus audivi, cit6

Foedum reliqui carcerem,
Volatilesque faustus inter milites

Ad astra sublimis feror,
Vates ut olim raptus ad caelum senex,

Auriga currus ignei. 50

Non me Bootis terruere lucidi

Sarraca tarda frigore, aut
Formidolosi Scorpionis brachia;

Non ensis, Orion, tuus.
Praetervolavi fulgidi solis globum;

Long^que sub pedibus deam
Vidi triformem, dum coercebat suos

Fraenis dracones aureis.
Erraticorum siderum per ordines.

Per lacteas vehor plagas, 60

Velocitatem saepe miratus novam,

Donee nitentes ad fores
Ventum est Olympi, et regiam crystallinam, et

Stratum smaragdis atrium.
Sed hie tacebo, nam quis effari queat

Oriundus humano patre
Amoenitates illius loci? Mihi

Sat est in aeternum frui/'

NATURAM NON PATI SE;fJIUM.

Heu ! qukm perpetuis erroribus acta fatiscit

Avia mens hominum, tenebrisque immersa profundis

CEdipodioniam volvit sub pectore noctem!

Quae vesana suis metiri facta deorunr

Audet, et incisas leges adamante perenni

Assimilare suis, nulTo^ue solubile saeclo

Consilium Fati perituns alligat horis.

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NATURAM NON PATJ SIlNIUM. 6oi

Ergoiie marcescet sulcantibus obsita rugis
Naturae facies, el rerum publica Mater,

Omniparum contracta uterum, sterilescet ab aevo? lo

Et, se fassa senem, mal^ certis passibus ibit
Sidereum tremebunda caput? Num tetra vetustas
Annorumque aeterna fames, squalorque situsque,
Sidera vexabunt? An et insatiabile Tempus
Esuriet Caelum, rapietque in viscera pat'rem?
Heu ! potuitne suas imprudens Jupiter arces
Hoc contra munisse nefas, et Temporis isto
Exemisse malo, gyrosque dedisse perennes?
Ergo erit ut quandoque, sono dilapsa tremendo,
Convexi tabulata ruant, atque obvius ictu 20

Stridat uterque polus, superaque ut Olyfnpius auli
Decidat, horribilisque retecti Gorgane Pallas;
Qualis in ^gaeam proles Junpnia Lemnon
Deturbata sacro cecidit de limine caeli.
Tu qupque, Phoebe, tui casus imitabere nati
Praecipiti curru, subitaque ferere ruina
Pronus, et extincta fumabit lampade Nereus,
Et dabit attonito feralia sibila ponto.
Tunc etiam aerei divulsis sedibus Haemi

Dissultabit apex,' imoque allisa barathro 30

Terrebunt Stygium dejecta Ceraunia Ditem,
In superos quibus usus erat, fraternaque bella.

At pater Omnipotens, flindatis fortius astris,
Consuluit rerum summae, certoque peregit
Pondere Fatorum lances, atque ordine summo
Singula perpetuum jussit servare tenorem.
Volvitur hinc lapsu Mundi rota prima diurno,
Raptat et ambitos socid vertigine caelos.
Tardior baud solito Saturnus, et acer ut olim
Fulmineum rutilat cristate casside Mavors. 40

Floridus aeternum Phoebus juvenile coruscat.
Nee fovet effoetas loca per declivia terras
Devexo temone Deus; sed semper, amici
Luce potens, eadem currit per signa rotarum.
Surgit odoratis pariter formosus ab Indis
^thereum pecus albenti qui cogit Olympo,
Man^ vocans, et serus agens in pascua caeli;
Temporis et gemino dispertit regna colore.
Fulget, obitque vices alterno Delia cornu,
Caeruleumque ignem paribus complectitur ulnis. 50

Nee variant elementa fidem, solitoque fragore
Lurida perculsas jaculantur fulmina rupes.
Nee per inane furit leviori murmure Corns;
Stringit et armiferos aequali horrore Gelonos

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6o2 LATIN POEMS: SVLVAl.

Trux Aquilo, spiratque hiemem, nimbosque volutat.

Utque solet, Siculi diverberat ima Pelori

Rex maris, et rauci circumstrepit aequora conchi

Oceani Tubicen, nee vastH mole minorem

iCgaeona ferunt dorso Balearica cete.

Sed neque, Terra, tibi saecli vigor ille vetusti 60

Priscus abest; servatque suum Narcissus odorem;

Et puer ille suum tenet, et puer ille, decorem,

Phoebe, tuusque, et, Cypri, tuus ; nee ditior olim

Terra datum sceleri celavit montibus aurum

Conscia, vel sub aquis gemmas. Sic denique in aevum

Ibit cunctarum series justissima rerum;

Donee flamma orbem populabitur ultima, lat^

Circumplexa polos et vasti culmina caeli,

Ingentique rogo flagrabit machina Mundi.

DE IDEA PLATONICA QUEMADMODUM ARISTOTELES INTELLEXIT.

DlciTE, sacrorum praesides nemorum deae,
Tuque O noveni perbeata numinis
Memoria mater, quaeque in immenso procul
Antro recumbis otiosa ^temitas,
Monumenta seryans, et ratas leges Jovis,
. Caslique fastos atque ephemeridas Deum,
Quis ille primus cujus ex imagine
Natura solers finxit humanum genus,
iEternus, incorruptus, aequaevus polo,
Unusque et uni versus, exemplar Dei? 10

Haud ille, Palladis gemellus innubae,
Interna proles insidet menti Jovis;
Sed, quamlibet natura sit communior,
Tamen seorsus extat ad morem unius,
Et, mira! certo stringitur spatio loci:
Seu sempiternus ille siderum comes
Caeli pererrat ordines decemplicis,
Citimumve terris incolit Lunae globum;
Sive, inter animas corpus adituras sedens,
Obliviosas torpet ad Lethes aquas ; 20

Sive in remota fort^ terrarum plagi
Incedit ingens hominis archetypus giga^,
Et diis tremendus erigit celsum caput,
Atlante major portitore siderum.
Non, cui profundum caecitas lumen dedit,
Dircaeus augur vidit hunc alto sinu;

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AD PATREM. 603

Non hunc silenti nocte Pleiones nepos

Vatum sagad praepes ostendit choro;

Noh hunc sacerdos novit Assyrius, licet

Longos vetusti commemoret atavos Nini, 30

Priscumque Belon, inclytumque Osiridem;

Non ille trino gloriosus nomine

Ter magnus Hermes (ut sit arcani sciens)

Talem reliquit Isidis cultoribus.

At tu, perenne ruris Academi decus,

(Haec monstra si tu primus induxti scholis)

Jam jam poetas, urbis exules tuae,

Revocabis, ipse fabulator maximus;

Aut institutor ipse migrabis foras

AD PATREM.

NiTNC mea Pierios cupiam per pectora fontes

Irriguas torquere vias, totumque per ora

Volvere laxatum gemino de vertice rivum;

Ut, tenues oblita ^onos, audacibus alis

Surgat in officium venerandi- Musa parentis.

Hoc utcunque tibi gratum, pater optime, carmen

Exiguum meditatur opus; nee novimus ipsi

Aptius a nobis quae possint munera donis

Respondere tuis, quamvis nee maxima possint

Respondere tuis, nedum ut par gratia donis 10

Esse queat vacuis quae redditur arida verbis.

Sed tamen haec nostros ostendit pagina census,

Et quod habemus opum charta numeravimus isti>

Quae mihi sunt nullae, nisi quas dedit aurea Clio,

Quas mihi semoto somni peperere sub antro,

Et nemoris laureta sacri, Parnassides umbrae.

Nee tu, vatis opus, divinum despice carmen.
Quo nihil aethereos ortus et semina caeli.
Nil magis humanam commendat origin e mentem,
Sancta Prometheae retinens vestigia flammae. 20

Carmen amant Superi, tremebundaque Tartara carmen
Ima ciere valet, divosque ligare profundos,
Et triplici duros Manes ademante coercet.
Carmine sepositi retegunt arcana futuri
Phoebades, et tremulae pallentes ora SibyllaB-;
Carmina sacriiicus soUennes pangit ad aras,
Aurea seu sternit motantem cornua taurum,
Seu cum fata sagax fumantibus abdita fibrls
Consulit, et tepidis Parcam scrutatur in extis^

Digitized by VjjOOQIC

6o4 LATIN- POEMS: SVLP'^E.

Nos etiam, patrium tunc cum repetemus Olympum, 30

yEtemaeque morae stabunt immobilis aevi,

Jbimus auratis per caeli templa coronis,

Dulcia suaviloquo sociantes carmina plectro,

Astra quibus geminique poli convexa sonabunt.

Spiritus et rapidos qui circinat igneus orbes

Nunc quoque sidereis intercinit ipse choreis

Immortale melos et inenarrabile carmen,

Torrida dum rutilus compescit sibila Serpens,

Demissoque ferox gladio mansuescit Orion,

Stellarum nee sentit onus Maurusius Atlas. 40

Carmina regales epulas omare solebant.

Cum nondum luxus, va&taeque immensa vorago

Nota gulae, et modico spumabat coena Lyaeo.

Turn de more sedens festa ad convivia vates,

iEsculei intonsos redimitus ab arbore crines,

Heroumque actus imitandaque gesta canebat,

Et Chaos, et positi lat^ fundamina Mundi,

Reptantesque deos, et alentes numina clandes,

Et nondum ^tnaeo quaesitum fulmen & antro.

Denique quid vocis modulamen inane juvabit, 50

Verborum sensusque vacans, numerique loquacis?

Silvestres decet iste chores, non Orphea, cantus.

Qui tenuit fluvios, et quercubus addidit aures,

Carmine, non cithara, simulacraque functa canendo

Compulit in lacrymas : habet has a carmine laudes.

Nee tu perge, precor, sacras contemnere Musas,
Nee vanas inopesque puta, quarum ipse peritus
Munere mille sonos numeros componis ad aptos,
Millibus et vocem modulis variare canoram
Doctos Arionii merit6 sis nominis haeres. 60

Nunc tibi quid minim si me genuisse poetam
Contigerit, charo si tarn prop^ sanguine juncti
Cognatas artes studiumque affine sequamur?
Ipse volens Phoebus se dispertire duobus,
Altera dona mihi, dedit altera dona parenti;
Dividuumque Deum, genitorque puerque, tenemus*

Tu tamen ut simules teneras odisse Camoenas,
Non odisse reor. Neque enim, pater, ire jubebas
Quk via lata patet, quk pronior area lucri,
Certaque- condendi fulget spes aurea nummi ; 70

Nee rapis ad leges, mal^ eustoditaque gentis
Jura, nee ijisulsis damnas clamoribus aures.
Sed, magis excultam eupiens ditescere mentem,
Me, proeul urbano strepitu, secessibus altis
Abductum, Aoniac jueunda per otia ripae,
Phoebaeo iateri comitem sinis ire beatum.

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AD PATREM. 605

Officium chari taceo commune parentis;

Me poscunt majora. Tuo, pater optime, sumptu

Cum mihi Romuleae patuit facundia linguae,

Et Latii veneres, et quae'Jovis ora decebant 80

Grandia magniloquis elata vocabula Graiis,

Addere suasisti quos jactat Gallia flores,

Et quam degeneri novus I talus ore loquelam

Fun^it, barbaricos testatus voce tumultus,

Quaeque Palaestinus loquitur mysteria vates.

Denique quicquid habet caelum, subjectaque caelo

Terra parens, terraeque et caelo interfluus aer,

Quicquid et unda tegit, pontique agitabik marmor,

Per te ndsse licet, per te, si n6sse libebit;

Dimotaque venit spectanda Scientia nube, 90

Nudaque conspicuos inclinat ad oscula vultus,

Ni fugisse velim, ni sit libasse molestum.

I nunc, confer opes, quisquis malesanus avitas
Austriaci gazas Perlianaque regna praeoptas.
Quae potuit majora pater tribuisse, vel ipse
Jupiter, excepto, donasset ut omnia, caelo?
Non potiora dedit, quamvis et tuta fiiissent,
Publica qui juveni commisit lumina nato,
Atque Hyperionios currus, et fraena diei,
Et circum undantem radiate luce tiaram. 100

Ergo ego, jam doctae pars quamlibet ima catervae,
Victrices hederas inter laurosque sedebo ; ,
Jamque nee obscurus populo miscebor inerti,
Vitabuntque oculos vestigia nostra profanos.
Este procul vigil es Curas, procul este Querelae,
Invidiaeque acies transverso tortilis hirquo;
Saeva nee anguiferos extende, Calumnia, rictus;
In me triste nihil, foedissima turba, potestis.
Nee vestri sum juris ego; securaque tutus
Pectora vipereo gradiar sublimis ab ictu. no

At tibi, chare pater, postquam non aequa merenti
Posse referre datur, nee dona rependere factis,
Sit memorSsse satis, repetitaque munera grato
Percensere animo, fidaeque reponere menti.

Et vos, O nostri, juvenilia carmina, lusus,
Si mod6 perpetuos sperare audebitis annos,
Et domini superesse rogo, lucemque tueri,
Nee spisso rapient oblivia nigra sub Oreo,
Forsitan has laudes, decantatumque parentis
Nomen, ad exemplum, sero servabitis asvo. 120

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6o6 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^.

PSALM CXIV.

*I<r/>a^X 6re iratJcj, tr d7Xad 0OX* 'laKibfiov

AlyvTTTiov \iire Srjfiov, dxex^Ai, ^ap^ap6<f>u)ifov,

A^ rire fioOvov l^rjv 6<riov yivos vies 'Iou5a*

'Ev <$^ Oe6s Xaotott /u^a Kpeluv fia<rl\€V€v.

El5e ical ipTpoTrdStiv <l>\iya^ i^j^(bnff€ d(iXa<r<ra,

Kv/tart el\vfiiv7j fto6L<fiy 6 $* d/o* i'<rTv4>€\lx^V

'Ip6s *IopSdirtf5 irorl dpryvpoeiSia miyj^v

*Ejc 5* o/9ca <rKap6fJMt<rip direipiffia k\ov4ovto^

*0s /cptoi <rff>piy6(avT€s ivTpa<^€p(fi iv dXwJ*

Bai^repai 8* A/ta vd<rai dva<rKipT7i<rav iplTvai,

Ota Trapal ffvptyyi. (piXxi ^"""^ fitiTipi. dppes.

Tlirre ffvy\ alvd 0d\a(T<ra, Tr4\top <f>^a^ ifij^d>ri<ras

KvfMTi €l\viJ,4v7] j>odl(fi; tL 5* dp iffTVipeXlx&V^

*Ip6s *Iopddvr] vorl dpyvpoeidia irrjy^v ;

TliTT opea ffKapdjjLoiffiv direip^ffia KKovieade,

*0s Kpiol <r<f>piy6(ayT€S ivTpa</>€pf h dXwJ ;

Bat^repat ri d' dp' vfifjuei dvaffKipriiaar iplT vai,

Ola irapal cvpiyyi ^plXji inrb fn/jripi, dpves;

^eieo yaia Tp4ov<ra Qebv yutydX iKTviriovra^

VaXa Quehv rpelovff xnrarov <r^/3as 'IcffaKidaOj

"Os T€ Kal Ik avikdBiav T^ra/juaifs x^ t^PI^'^P^^^h

Kp'^vrjv r divaov ir&rprfs dirb SaKpvo4ir<rrfs,

Philosophus ad Regent quendam^ qui eum ignotum et insontem
inter reos forte ca'ptum inscius damnaverat^ ri\v ivl Qavdr^
iropcvdp^yos hcBC subito ntisit.

*0 Ava, c/ 6X^<r|7s px. rhv twopjov^ oiS4 tip dvSpQv
Aciv6p SXqjs fipdaapra^ (ro^xbrarop taOi Kdprjpop
*T7)idl(i)i d<f>i\oio^ rb 5' iKrrepop ad6i wjjo'cts,
Mayl/idlcas 5' dp' ^Teira rebp Tpbs dvfib.p 6Svpy,
Toi6p^ ix TrbXioi w€pi,<t>pvfiOP d\Kap dXiffffas.

In effigiei efus sculptor em,

'A/jLaOeT y€ypd<p0ai x^V^ Ti/ip$e fikp cUdpa
^alrfs rdx dp, irpbs eUos a&ro<f>vh pXiirup.
Ibv 5* iKTVTTtarhp odx hriypbyrei, <fti\oi,
FcXdre <^av\ov dvirfUfivifia ^(aypd(^v.

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AD SAlSILLU.h. 607

AD SALSILLUM, POETAM ROMANUM, iEGROTANTEM. SCAZONTES.

O MusA gressum quae volens trahis claudum,

Vulcanioque tarda gaudes incessu,

Nee sentis illud in loco minus gratum

Quam cum decentes flava Deioi>e suras

Altemat aureum ante Junonis lectum,

Adesdum, et haec s'is verba pauca Salsillo

Refer, Camoena nostra cui tantum est cordi,

Quamque ille fnagnis praetulit immerit6 divis.

Haec ergo alumnus ille Londini Milto,

Diebus nisce qui suum linquens nidum 10

Polique tractum (pessimus ubi ventorum,

Insanientis impotensque pulmonis, '

Pernix anhela sub Jove exercet flabra)

Venit feraces Itali soli ad glebas,

Visimi superbd cognitas urbes fam§,,

Virosque, doctaeque ihdolem juventutis,

Tibi optat idem hie fausta multa, Salr>ille,

Habitumque fesso corpori penitiis sauum;

Cui nunc profunda bilis infestat rencs,

Praeeordiisque fixa damnosum spiral ; 20

Nee id pepercit impia qu6d tu Romano

Tam cultus or^ Lesbium eondis melos.

O dulee diviim munus, O Salus, Hebcs

Germana! Tuque, Phoebe! morborum terror,

Pythone caeso, sive tu magis Paean

Libenter audis, hie tuus saeerdos est.

Querceta Fauni, vosque rore vinoso

Colles benigni, mitis Evandri sedes,

Siquid salubre vallibus frondet vestris,

Levamen aegro ferte eertatim vati. 30

Sic ille charis redditus rursiim Musis

Vicina dulci prata mulcebit eantu.

Ipse inter atros emirabitur lucos

Numa, ubi beatum degit otium aeternum,

Suam reelivis semper ^geriam spectans ;

Tumidusque et ipse Tibris, hinc delinitus,

Spei favebit annuae colonorum;

Nee in sepulchris ibit obsessum reges,

Nimium sinistro laxus irruens loro;

Sed fraena melius temperabit undarum, 40

Adusque curvi salsa regna Portumni.

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6o8 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^.

. MANSUS.

Joannes Bapdsta Mansus, Marchio Villensis» vir ingenii laude, turn literarum studio, ncc non
et bellied viitute, apud Italos clarus in primis est. Ad quern Torquati Tassi Dialogus
extat de Amiciti& scriptus ; erat enim Tassi amicissimus : ab quo etiam inter Campaniz
principes celebratur, in illo poemate cui titulus Gerusalemmb Conquistata, lib. 20.

Fra cavalier magnanimi e cortesi
Risplende il Manso ....

Is authorem, Neai>oli commorantem, summft benevolentift prosecutus est, multaque ei detulit
humanit-^.tis officia. Ad hunc itaque hospes ille, antequam ab e& urbe dis<^eret, ui ne
ingratum se ostenderet, hoc carmen misit.

HiEC quoque, Manse, tuae meditantur carmina laudi
Pierides; tibi, Manse, choro notissime Phoebi,
Quandoquidem ille alium haud aequo est dignatus honore.
Post Galli cineres, et Mecaenatis Hetrusci.
Tu quoque, si nostrae tantum valet aura Camoenae,
Victrices hederas inter laurosque sedebis.

Te pridem magno felix concordia Tasso
Junxit, et aeternis inscripsit nomina chartis.
Mox tibi dulciloquum non inscia Musa Marinum
Tradidit; ille tuum did se gaudet alumnum, 10

Dum canit Assyrios divum prolixus amores,
Mollis et Ausonias stupefecit carmine nymphas.
Ille itidem moriens tibi soli debita vates
Ossa, tibi soli, supremaque vota reliquit:
Nee Manes pietas tua chara fefellit amid;
Vidimus arridentem operoso ex aere poetam.
Nee satis hoc visum est in utrumque, et nee pia cessant
Officia in tumulo; cupis integros rapere Oreo,
Quk potes, atque avidas Parcarum eludere leges:
Amborum genus, et varia sub sorte peractam 20

Describis vitam, moresque, et dona Minervae;
iCmulus illius Mycalen qui natus ad altam
Rettulit -^olii vitam facundus Homeri.
Ergo ego te, Cliiis et magni nomine Phoebi,
Manse pater, iubeo longum salvere per aevum,
Missus Hyperboreo juvenis peregrinus ab axe.
Nee tu longinquam bonus aspernabere Musam,
Quae nuper, gelidi vix enutrita sub Arcto,
Imprudens Italas ausa est volitare per urbes.
Nos etiam in nostro modulantes flumine cygnos 30

Credimus obscuras noctis sensisse per umbras,
Quk Thamesis lat^ puris argenteus urnis
Oceani glaucos perfundit gurgite crines;
Quin et in has quondam pervenit Tityrus oras.

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MANSUS. 609

Sed neque nos genus incultum, nee inutile Phcebo,
Quk plaga septeno mundi sulcata Trione
Brumalem patitur longi sub nocte Booten.
Nos etiam colimus Phoebum, nos munera Phcebo,
Flaventes spicas, et lutea mala canistris,

Halantemque crocum (perliibet nisi vana vetustas) 40

Misimus, et lectas Druidum de gente choreas.
(Gens Druides antiqua, sacris operata deorum,
Heroum laudes imitandaque gesta canebant.)
Hinc quoties festo cingunt altaria cantu
Delo in herbosi Graiae de more puellae,
Carminibus laetis memorant Corineida Loxo,
Fatidicamque Upin, cum flavicomi Hecaerge,
Nuda Caledonio variatas pectora fuco.

Fortunate senex ! ergo quacunque per orbem
Torquati decus et nomen celebrabitur ingens, 50

Claraque perpetui succrescet fama Marini,
Tu quogue in ora frequens venies plausumque virorum,
Et parili . carpes iter immortale volatu.
Dicetur tum sponte tuos habitisse penates
Cynthius, et famulas venisse ad limina Musas.
At non sponte domum tamen idem et regis adivit
Rura Pheretiadae caelo fugitivus Apollo,
Ille licet magnum Alciden susceperat hospes;
Tantum, ubi clamosos placuit vitare bubulcos,
Nobile mansueti cessit Chironis in antrum, 60

Irriguos inter saltus frondosaque tecta,
Peneium prope rivum: ibi saepe sub ilice nigr^,
Ad citharae strepitum, blanda prece victus amici,
Exilii duros lenibat voce labores.
Tum neque ripa suo, barathro nee fixa sub imo
Saxa stetere loco; nutet Trachinia rupes,
Nee sentit solitas, immania pondera, silvas ;
Emotaeque suis properant de collibus orni,
Muleenturque novo maculosi carmine lynces.

Diis dilecte senex! te Jupiter aequus oportet 70

Nascentem et miti lustririt lumine Phoebus,
Atlantisque nepos; neque enim nisi charus ab ortu
Diis superis poterit magno favisse poetae.
Hinc longaeva tibi lento sub flore senectus
Vernat, et -^sonios lucratur vivida fusos,
Nondum deciduos servans tibi frontis honores,
Ingeniumcjue vigens, et adultum mentis acumen.
O mihi si mea sors talem concedat amicum,
Phoebaeos decorisse viros qui tam bene n6rit,
Siquando indi^enas revocabo in carmina reges, 80

Arturumque etiam sub terris bella moventem,

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6io LATIN POEMS: SYLV^E,

Aut dicam invictae sociali foedere mensae

Magnanimos Heroas, et (O mqdb spiritus adsit)

Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges !

Tandem, ubi, non tacitae • permensus tempora vitae,

Annonimque satur, cineri sua jura relinquam,

Ille mihi lecto madidis astaret ocellis ;

Astanti sat erit si dicam, *Sim tibi curae';

Ille meos artus, liventi raorte solutos,

Curaret parvi componi molliter urni : 90

Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus,

Nectens aut Paphid myrti aut Parnasside lauri

Fronde comas ; et ego secure pace quiescam.

Turn quoque, si qua fides, si praemia' certa bonorum,

Ipse ego, caelicolum semotus in aethera divOm,

Qu6 labor et mens pura vehunt atque ignea virtus',

Secreti haec aliqui mundi de parte videbo

(Quantum fata sinunt), et toti mente serenum

Ridens piirpureo suffundar lumihe vultus,

Et simul aethereo plaudam mihi laetus Olynipo. 100

EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS.

ARGUMENTUM.

Thyrsis et Damon, e^usdem victniae pastores, eadem studia sequuti, a pueritift amici erant,
ut qui plurimum. Thyrsis, animi causll profectus> peregr^ de obitu Damokis nuncium
accepit. Domum postea reversus, et rem ita esse comperto, S|6 suamque solitudinem hoc
carmine deplorat. Damonis autem subpersonft hie intelligttur Carolus Deodatus, ex
urbe Hetruriae Luca paterno genere oriundus, caetera Anglus; ingenio, dottrin&, clarissi-
misque caeteris virtutibus, dum viveret, juvebis egregius.

HiMERiDES Nymphae (nam vos et Daphnin et Hylan,

Et plorata diu meministis fata Bionis),

Dicite Sicelicum Thamesina per oppida carmeil:

Quas miser eflfiidit voces, quae murmura Thyrsis,

Et quibus assiduis exercuit antra querelis,

Fluminaque, fontesque vagos, nemorumque recessus,

Dum sibi praereptum queritur Damona, neque altam

Luctibus exemit noctem, loca sola pererrans.

Et jam bis viridl surgebat culmus arista,

Et totidem flavas numerabant horrea messes, 10

Ex quo summa dies tulerat Damona sub umbras,

Nee dum aderat Thyrsis ; pastorem scilicet ilium

Dulcis amor Musae Thusc^ retinebat in urbe.

Ast ubi mens expleta domum pecoiisque relicti

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EPITAPH lUM DAMOmS. 6ii

Cura vocat, simul assueti sedique sub ulmo.
Turn ver6 amissum, turn denique, sentit amicum,
Coepit et immensum sic exonerare dolorem: —

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Hei jnihi ! quae terris, quae dicam numina caelo,
Postquam te immiti rapuerunt fimere, Damon? 20

Siccine nos linquis? tua sic sine nomine virtus
Ibit, et obscuris numero sociabitur umbris?
At non ille animas virgH qui dividit aurei
Ista velit, dignumque tui te ducat in agmen,
Ignavumque procul pecus arceat omne silentum.

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Quicquid erit, cert^, nisi me lupus ant^ videbit,
Indeplorato non comminuere sepulchro,
Constabitque tuus tibi honos, longumque vigebit
Inter pastores. Illi tibi vota secundo 30

Solvere post Daphnin, post Daphnin dicere laudes,
Gaudebunt, dum rura Pales, dum Faunus amabit;
Si quid id est, priscamque fidem coluisse, piumque,
Palladiasque artes, sociumque habuisse canorum.

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni,
Haec tibi certa manent, tibi erunt haec praemia, Damon.
At mihi quid tandem fiet mod6? quis mihi fidus
Haerebit lateri comes, ut tu saepe solebas,,
Frigoribus duris, et per loca foeta pruinis,
Aut rapido sub sole, siti morientibus herbis, 40

Sive opus in magnos fuit eminus ire leones, .
Aut avidos terrere lupos praesepibus altis?
Quis fando sopire diem cantuque solebit?

^^ Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Pectora cui credam? quis me lenure docebit
Mordaces curas^ quis longam fallere noctem
Dulcibus alloquiis, grato cum sibilat igni
Molle pirum, et nucibus strepitat focus, at malus Auster
Miscet cuncta foris, et desuper intonat ulmo?

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 50

Aut aestate, dies medio dum vertitur axe.
Cum Pan aesculei somnum capit abditus umbri,
Et repetunt sub aquis sibj nota sedilia Nymphae,
Pastoresque latent, stertit sub sepe colonus,
Quis mihi blanditiasque tuas, quis turn mihi risus,
Cecropiosque sales referet, cultosque lepores?

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
At jam solus agros, jam pascua solus oberro,
Sicubi ramosae densantur vallibus umbrae;
Hie serum expecto; supra caput imber et Eurus 60

Triste sonant, fractaeque agitat<^ crepviscula sUvae,

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6i2 LATIN POEMS: SVLK^.

" Ite domum impasti ; dcmiino jam non vacat, agni.
Heu ! quam culta mihi prius arva procacibus herbis
Involvuntur, et ipsa situ seges alta fatiscit !
Innuba neglecto marcescit et uva racemo,
Nee myrteta juvant ; ovium quoque taedet, at illae
Moerent, inque suum convertunt ora magistrum.

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Tityrus ad corylos vocat, Alphesiboeus ad oraos,
Ad salices ^gon, ad flumina pulcher Amyntas: 70

*Hic gelidi fontes, hie illita gramina musco,
Hie Zephyri, hie plaeidas interstrepit arbutus undas.'
Ista eanunt surdo; frutiees ego naetus abibam.

" Ite domum impasti ; dommo jam non vacat, agni.
Mopsus ad haec, nam me redeuntem fort^ notirat
(Et callebat avium Jinguas et sidera Mopsus),
* Thyrsi, quid hoc?' dixit; 'quae te coquit improbabilis?
Aut te perdit amor, aut te mal^ fascinat astrum;
Saturni grave saepe fuit pastoribus astrum,
Intimaque obliquo figit praecordia plumbo.' 80

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Mirantur nymphae, et *Quid te, Thyrsi, futurum est?
Quid tibi vis?' aiunt: ^non haec solet esse juventae
Nubila frons, oculique truces, vultusque seven:
Ilia choros, lususque leves, et semper amorem
Jure petit; bis ille miser qui serus amavit.'

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Venit Hyas, Dryopeque, et filia Baucidis Mgle,
Docta modos, citharaeque sciens, sed perdita fastu ;
Venit Idumanii Chloris vicina fluenti: 90

Nil me blanditiae, nil me solantia verba,
Nil me si quid adest movet, aut spes ulla fiituri.

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Hei mihi ! quam similes ludunt per prata juvenci,
Omnes unanimi secum sibi lege sodales !
Ncc magis hunc alio quisquam secemit amicum
De grege; sic densi veniunt ad pabula thoes,
Inque vicem hirsuti paribus junguntur onagri :
Lex eadem pelagi; deserto m iTttore Proteus
Agmina phocarum numerat: vilisque volucrum 100

Passer habet semper quicum sit, et omnia circum
Farra libens volitet, ser6 sua tecta revisens;
Quem si sors letho objecit, seu milvus adunco
Fata tulit rostro, seu stravit arundine fossor,
Protinus ille alium socio petit inde volatu.
Nos durum genus, et diris exercita fatis
Gens, homines, aliena animis, et pectore discors;
Vix sibi quisque parem de milibus in venit unum;

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EPITAPHTUM DAMOmS. 613

Aut, si sors dederit tandem non aspera votis,

Ilium inopina dies, qu^ non speraveris hori, no

Surripit, aeternum linquens in saecula damnum.

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Heu ! quis me ignotas traxit vagus error in oras
Ire per aereas rupes, Alpemque nivosam?
Ecquid erat tanti Romam vidisse sepultam
(Quamvis ilia foret, qualem dum viseret olim
Tjtyrus ipse suas et oves et rura reliquit),
Ut te tam dulci possem caruiss^ sodale,
Possem tot maria alta, tot interponere montes,
Tot silvas, tot saxa tibi, fluviosque sonantes? 12c

Ah ! cert^ extremum licuisset tangere dextram,
Et bene compositos placid^ moriefitis ocellos,
Et dixisse *Vale ! nostri memor ibis ad astra.'

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Quamquam etiam vestri nunquam meminisse pigebit,
Pastores Thusci, Musis operata juventus,
Hie Charis, atque Lepos; et Thuscus tu quoque Damon,
Antiqui genus unde petis Lucumonis ab urbe.
O ego quantus eram, gelidi cum stratus ad Arni
Murmura, populeumque nemus, quk mollior herba, 130

Carpere nunc violas, nunc summas carpere myrtos,
Et potui Lycidae certantem audire Menalcam !
Ipse etiam ten tare ausus sum; nee puto multum
Displicui; nam sunt et apud me munera vestra,
Fiscellae, calathique, et cerea vincla cicutae:
Quin et nostra suas docuerunt nomina fagos
Et Datis et Francinus; erant et vocibus ambo
Et studiis noti, Lydorum sanguinis ambo.

"Ite domum impasti; dommo jam non vacat, agni.
Haec mihi tum laeto dictabat roscida luna, 140

Dum solus teneros claudebam cratibus hoedos.
Ah ! quoties dixi, cum te cinis ater habebat,
*Nunc canit, aut lepori nunc tendit retia Damon;
Vimina nunc texit varios sibi quod sit in usus;'
Et quae tum facili sperabam mente futura
Arripui voto levis, et praesentia finxi.
* Heus bone ! numquid agis ? nisi te quid fort^ retardat,
Imus, et arguti paulum recubamus in umbri.
Aut ad aquas Colni, aut ubi jugera Cassibelauni?
Tu mihi percurres medicos, tua gramina, succos, " 150

Helleborumque, humilesque cjrocos, foliumque hyacinthi,
Quasque habet ista palus herbas, artesque medentiim.'
Ah ! pereant herbae, pereant artesque medentum,
Gramina, postquam ipsi nil profecere magistro !
Ipse etiam — nam nescio quid mihi grande sonabat

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6i4 LATIiY POEMS: SYLVjE,

Fistula — ab undecimi jam lux est altera nocte —

Et turn fort^ novis adm6ram labra cicutis:

Dissiluere tamen, rupti compage, nee ultra

Ferre graves potuere sonos : dubito quoque ne sim

Turgidulus; tamen et referam; vos cedite, sylvse. i6o

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Ipse ego Dardanias Rutupina per aequora puppes
Dicam, et Pandrasidos regnum vetus Inogeniae,
Brennumque Arviragumque duces, priscumque Belinum^ \

Et tandem Armoricos Britbnum sub lege colonos;
Tum gravidam Arturo fatali fraude logemen;
Mendaces vultus, assumptaque Gorlois arma,
Merlini dolus. O, mihi tum si vita supersit,
Tu procul annos^ pendebis, •fistula, pinu

Multum oblita mihi, aut patriis mutata Camoenis 170

Brittonicum strides \ Quid enim? omnia non licet uni,
Non sperisse uni licet omnia; rat satis ampla
Merces, et mihi grande decus (sim ignotus in aevum
Tum licet, externo penitusque inglonus orbi),
Si me flava comas legat Usa, et potor Alauni,
Vorticibusque frequens Abra, et nemus omne Treantae,
Et Thamesis mens ante omnes, et fusca metalUs
Tamara, et extremis me discant Orcades undis.

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni.
Haec tibi servabam lent^ sub cortice lauri, 180

Haec, et plura simul; tum qu3e mihi pocula Mansus,
Mansus, Chalcidicae non ultima gloria ripae,
Bina dedit, minim artis opus, mirandus et ipse,
Et circum gemino caelaverat argumento.
In medio Rubri Maris unda, et odiriferum ver,
Littora longa Arabum, et sudantes balsama sj^vae;
Has inter Phoenix, divina avis, unica terns,
Caeruleum fulgens diversicoloribus alls,
Auroram vitreis surgentem respicit undis;
Parte alii polus omnipatens, et magnus Olympus: 190

Quis putet? hie quoque Amor, pictaeque in nube pharetrae,
Arma corusca, faces, et spicula tincta pyropo;
Nee tenues animas, pectusque ignobile vulgi,
Hinc ferit; at, circum flammantia lumina torquens,
Semper in erectum spargit sua tela per orbes
Impiger, et pronos nunquam collimat ad ictus:
Hinc mentes ardere sacrae, formaeque deorum.

"Tu quocjue in his — nee me fallit spes lubrica, Damon —
Tu quoque m his cert^ es ; nam qu6 tua dulcis abiret
Sanctaque simplicitas? nam qu6 tua Candida virtus? 200

Nee te Lethaeo fas quaesivisse sub Oreo ;
Nee tibi conveniunt lacrimae, nee flebimus ultra.

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AD JOANNEM ROUSTUM. 615

Ite procul, lacrymae; purum colit sethera Damon,

^thera purus habet, pluvium pede reppulit arcum.;

Heroumque animas inter, divosque perennes,

^thereos haurit latices et gaudia. potat

Ore sacro. Quin tu, caeli post jura recepta.

Dexter ades, placidusque fave, quicunque vocaris;

Seu tu noster eris Damon, sive aeqpior audis

DiODOTUS, quo te divino nomine cuncti 210

Caelicolae n6rint, sylvisque vocabere Damon.

Qu6d tibi purpureus pudor, et sine labe juventus

Grata fuit, qu6d nulla tori libata voluptas,

En! etiam tibi virginei servantur honores!

Ipse, caput nitidum cinctus rutilante coron^,

Laetaque frondentis gestans umbracula palmae,

yEternum perages immortales hymenaeos,

Cantus ubi, choreisque furit lyra. mista beatis

Festa Sionaeo bacchantur et Orgia thyrso."

yan. 23, 1646.

AD JOANNEM ROUSIUM,

OXONIENSIS ACADEMIiE BIBLIOTHECARIUM.

Dt libra Poematum antissot quern tile sibi denub mitii postulabaty ui cum aliis nostris
in Bibliothecd Public d reponeret^ Ode.

Ode tribus constat Strophis, totidemque Antistrophis, unS deinum Epodo clausis; quas,
tametsi omnes nee versuum numero nee eertis ubique eolis exacts respondeant, ita tatnen
secuimus, commode legend! potius quam ad antiques concinendi modos rationem spect^ntes.
Alioquin hoc genus rectius fortasse A\c\ monostrophicum debuerat. Metra partim sunt /cara
vxeviVf partim aitoKeKvtiiva. Phaleucia quae sunt spondaeum tertio loco bis admittunt, quod
idem in secundo loco Catullus ad libitum fecit.

STROPHE I.

Gemelle cultu simplici gaudens liber,
Fronde licet gemina,
Munditieque nitens nori operosa,
Quam manus attulit
Juvenilis olim

Sedula, tamen baud nimii poetae;
Dum va^s Ausonias nunc per umbras,
Nunc Britannica per vireta lusit.

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6i6 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^,

Insbns populi, barbitoque devius
Indulsit patrio, mox itidem pectine Daunio
Longinquum intonuit melos
Vicinis, et humum vix tetigit pede:

ANTISTROPHE.

Quis te, parve liber, quis te fratribus
Subdnxit reliquis dolo,
Cum tu missus ab urbe,
Docto jugiter obsecrante amico,
lUustre tendebas iter
Thamesis ad incunabula
Caerulei patris,
Fontes ubi limpidi
Aonidum, thyasusque sacer,
Orbi notus per immensos
Temporum lapsus redeunte caelo,
Celeberque futurus in aevum?

STROPHE 2.

Mod6 quis deus, aut editus deo,

Pristinam gentis miseratus indolem,

(Si satis noxas luimus priores,

Mollique luxu degener otium)

Tollat nefandos civium tumultus,

Almaque revocet studia sanctus, 30

Et relegatas sine sede Musas

Jam pen6 totis finibus Angligenftm,

Immundasque volucres

Unguibus imminentes

Figat Apolline^ pharetr^,

Phineamque abigat pestem procul amne Pegaseo?

ANTISTROPHE.

Quin tu, libelle, nuntii licet mal4

Fide, vel oscitantii,

Semel erraveris agmine fratrum,

Seu quis te teneat specus, 40

Seu qua te latebra, forsan unde vili

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AD JOANNEM ROUSIUM. 617

Callo tereris institoris insulsi,
Laetare felix ; en ! iterum tibi
Spes nova fulget posse profundam
Fugere Lethen, vehique superam
In Jovis aulam remige penni:

STROPHE 3.

Nam te RoUshis sui

Optat peculi, numeroque justo

Sibi pollicitum queritur abesse,

Rogatque venias ille, cujus inclyta 50

Sunt data virum monumenta curae;

Teque ad)rtis etiam sacris

Voluit reponi, quibus et ipse praesidet

iEternorum operum custos fidelis,

Quaestorque gazae nobilioris

Quam cui praefuit ion,

Clarus Erechtheides,

Opulenta dei per templa parentis,

Fulvosque tripodas, donaque Delphica,

Ion Actaei genitus Creus^. 60

ANTISTROPHE.

Ergo tu visere lucos

Musarum ibis amoenos;

Diamque Phoebi rursus ibis in domum

Oxonii quam valle colit,

Delo posthabita,

Biiidoque Parnassi jugo ;

Ibis honestus,

Postquam egregiam tu quoque sortem

Nactus abis, dextri prece sollicitatus amici

Illic legeris inter alta nomina 70

Authorum, Graiae simul et Latinae

Antiqua gentis lumina et verum decus.

EPODOS.

Vos tandem haud vacui mei labores,
Quicquid hoc sterile fudit ingenium,
Jam ser6 placidam sperare jubeo
Perfunctam invidii requiem, sedesque beatas

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6i8 LATIN POEMS; SYLVjE.

Quas bonus Hennes

Et tutela dabit solers Roust,

Qu6 neque lingua procax vulgi penetrabit, atque long^

Turba legentQm prava facesset; 8c

At ultimi nepotes

Et cordatior aetas

Judicia rebus aequiora forsitan

Adhibebit integro sinu.

Turn, livore sepulto,

Si quid meremur sana posteritas sciet,

RoUsio favente.

IN SALMASII HUNDREDAM.

Quis expedivit Salmasio suam Hundredamj
Picamque docuit verba nostra conari?
Magister artis venter, et Jacobaei
Centum, exulantis viscera marsupii regis.
Qu6d, si dolosi spes refulserit nummi,
Ipse Antichristi qui mod6 primatum Papae
Minatus uno est dissipare sufflatu,
Cantabit ultr6 Cardinalitium melos.

IN SALMASIUM.

Gaudete, scombri, et quicquid est piscium salo^

Qui frigid^ hieme incolitis algentes freta!

Vestrum misertus ille Salmasius Eques

Bonus amicire nuditatem cogitat;

Chartaeque largus apparat papyrinos

Vobis cuctillos, praeferentes Claudii

Insignia, nomenque et decus, Salmasii;

Gestetis ut per omne cetarium forum

Equitis clientes, scriniis mungentium

Cubito virorum, et capsulis, gratissimos.

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INDEX TO POEMS, FIRST LINES
AND FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS

PAGB

Abashed the Devil stood 119

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot 508

Accuse not Nature! she hath done her part » . 191

Ad Carolum Diodatum 575

Ad Carolum Diodatum, ruri commorantem 585

Ad Joamiem Rousium 615

Ad Leonoram Romae canetitem . . . . , 591

Ad patrem 603

Ad Pyrrham * 548

Ad Salsillum, poetam Romantun, iCgrotantem 607

Ad Thomam Junium 579

Adam the goodliest man of men since born ^ 108

Adhuc madentes rore squalebant gence 599

Ah, Constantine, of how much ill zvas cause ,..*. 568

All night the dreadless angel, unpursued : . 144

Allegro, U 494

Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam 591

Among the holy mountains high 558

Among unequals what society 187

And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain 83

And oft, though Wisdom wake. Suspicion sleeps 99

And out of good still to find means of evil 47

And storied windows richly dight 501

Angel ended, and in Adam's ear, The * u 179

Angelus unicuique suus {sic credite, gentes) 591

Anon they move in perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 55

Answer me when I call 563

Arcades 502

Arm the obdurid breast 73

Arms on armour clashing brayed * 148

As far as angels ken 44

As one who, in his journey, bates at noon 265

At a solemn music .... 490

At a vacation exercise in the college 476

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts 329

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 544

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape 509

Back to thy punishment • . 76

619

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620 INDEX TO POEMS, FIRST LINES

PAGE

Be lowly wise ^ 183

Be not thou silent now at length 553

Beauty stands in the admiration only of weak minds 308

Because you have thrown off your Prelate Lord 542

Before the starry threshold of Jove's court 508

Bellipotens Virgo, Sept em regina Trionum 592

Bevy of fair women, richly gay, A 257

Blest is the man who hath not walked astray 561

Blest pair of sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 490

Book was writ of late called Tetrachordon, A ■. . . 541

Brazen throat of war had ceased to roar. The 260

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies 535

Broad and ample road, whose dust is gold, A 176

But all was false and hollow; though his tongue 63

But who is this, what thing of sea or land 368

Canzone 538

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in arms 540

Cede, Meles; cedat depressd Mincius uma 571

Childhood shows the man. The 329

Commendatory verges Z7

Comus 508

Credula quid liquidam Sirena, Neapoli, jactas 592

Cromwell, our chief of men, who throiigh a cloud 544

Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos . . . ^ 590

Curre per immensum subito mea littera, pontum 579

Cyriak, this year's day these eyes, though clear 546

Cyriak, whose grandsire on the royal bench 546

Daughter to that good Earl, once President 541

De auctore testimonia 571

De idea Platonica quemadmodem Aristoteles intellexit 602

De Moro 592

Death grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile, to hear 79

Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself 331

Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name 164

Dicite, sacrorum preesides nemorum dece 602

Diodati (et te 'I diro con maraviglia 539

Donna leggiadra, il cui bel nome onora 538

Dusk faces with white silken turbans wreath'd 325

Eas'd the putting off these troublesome disguises which we wear. 116

Earth felt the wound and Nature from her seat 211

Elegiarum 575

Elephants endors'd with towers 321

Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars 94

Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester, An 492

Epitaphium Damonis 610

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AND FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS 621

, PAGE

Erewhile of music and ethereal mirth 487

Ergimi alV Etra o Clio 572

Ethereal mould, Th' 64

Fairy elves, whose midnight revels by a forest side ... * 60

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings 543

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 533

Far from all resort of mirth 499

Farewell, happy fidds 48

Fifth ode of Horace, lib. I. 548

Filled the air with barbarous dissonance 520

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race 489

For contemplation he and valour form'd 107

For evil news rides post, while good news baits 386

Founded in chaste and humble poverty 568

From morn to noon' he fell, from noon to dewy eve 59

From the History of Britain, 1670 570

Gain ex concubitu gravidam te, Pontia, Mori 570

Gaudete, scombi, et quicquid est piscium salo 618

Gay motes that people the sunbeams. The . . . . / 498

Gemelle cultu simplici gaudens liber 615

Giovane, piano, e semplicetto amante 539

God in the great assembly stands 552

Goddess of Shades and Huntress who at will 570

Good, the more communicated, more abundant grows 126

Gorgons and Hydras and Chimaras dire 74

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye 189

Gulf profound as that Serbonian bog, A 74

Gr(Bcia Mceonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem 572

Hcec quoque. Manse, tuee mediantur carmina laudi 608

Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born! 84

Hail, Native language, that by sinews weak ^ . . . 476

Hail, wedded love, mysterious law, true source 117

Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song 542

He for God only, she for God in him 108

Heard so oft in worst extremes .* 49

Heaven open'd wide 168

Hell grew darker at their frown 76

Hence, loathed Melancholy 494

Hence, vain deluding joys 497

Her silent course advance 182

Her virtue and the conscience of her worth 192

• Here lies old Hobson, Death hath broke his girt 491

Here lieth one who did most truly prove ..-, 492

Heu ! quam perpetuis erroribus acta fatiscit 600

\Hide their diminish'd head^ 102

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622 INDEX TO POEMS, FIRST LINES

PAGE

High on a throne of royal state, which far 61

Himerides Nymphce {nam vos et Daphnin et Hylan 610

His form had yet not lost 56

His red right hand 65

His spear, to equal which the tallest pine 49

How charming is divine philosophy 518

How gladly would I meet 2il

How lovely are thy dwellings fair 555

How soon has Time, the subtle thief of youth 537

How sweetly did they float upon the wings 513

/ did but prompt the age to quit their clogs 541

/ walk unseen 499

/ was all ear 520

/, who erewhile the happy garden sung 291

lapetionidem laudavit cceca vetustas '. 591

Imperial ensign, which full high advanced, Th' 55

In adventum veris 582

In dim eclipse, disastrous tzvilight sheds 56

In discourse more sweet 73

In inventorem bombardae 591

In naked beauty more adorn'd 116

In obitum praeconis academici Cantabrigiensis 577

In obitum praesulis eliensis 599

In obitum prsesulis Wintoniensis 577

In obitum procancellarii medici 593

In Paradisum Amissam summi poetae Johannis Miltoni SI

In proditionem bombardicam 590

In quintum Novembris 594

In Salmasium 618

In Salmassii Hundredam .' . 610

In se perpetuo Tempus, revolubile gyro 582

Incensed with indignation Satan stood 76

IndWd with sanctity of reason 175

Infinite wrath and infinite despair 103

Innumerable as the stars of night 140

'fopa-oX ore iralBsi;, ot' drfXaa ^uX' 'Ia>ui6cw 606

It was the winter wild 480

Jam pius extremd veniens Idcobus ab arcto 594

Jehovah, to my words give ear 564

Joking decides great things 569

Just are the ways of God . . . .^ 359

Juveni patria, virtutibus, eximio 574

Ladies, whose bright eyes 497

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth 540

Laughing to teach the truth 569

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AND FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS 623

PAGE

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son , 545

Let none admire 58

Let us with a gladsome mind 471

License they mean when they cry. Liberty 542

Liquid lapse of murmuring streams 184

Little onward lend thy guiding hand, A ; 353

Long is the way 70

Look, Nymphs and Shepherds, look 502

Lord God that dost me save and keep 559

Lord, how many are my foes 562

Lord, in thy anger do not reprehend me 565

Lord, my God, to thee I fly 565

Lycidas , 532

Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 58

Mansus 608

Married to immortal verse 497

Meadows trim with daisies pied 496

Meanwhile the heinous and despiteful act 220

Meanwhile the new-baptised who yet remained 303

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 546

Midnight brought on the dusky hour 138

Midnight shout and revelry 510

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 116

Mind not to be chang'd by place or time, A 49

Mitto tibi sanam non pleno ventre salutem 585

Mcestus eram, et tacitus, nullo comitante, sedebam 577

Moping melancholy and moon-struck madness 255

Morn, wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand 144

Mountain nymph, sweet Liberty, The 495

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? — thus leave 251

Naturam non pati senium 600

Necessity, the tyrant's plea 110

Never-ending flight of future days. The 66

No more of talk where God or Angel Guest 194

Nodding horror of whose shady brows, The 509

Nondum blanda tuas leges, Amathusia, noram 587

Nor jealousy 449

Not to know me argues yourselves unknown 119

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 114

Now conscience wakes despair 102

,Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime 124

Now the bripht morning-star. Day's harbinger 490

Nunc mea Pierios cupiam per pectora f antes 603

0 dark, dark, dark, amid the blase of noon 354

0 fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted 474

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624 WDEX TO POEMS, PikST LINES

PAGE

O for that warning voice, which ht who saw 101

O Jehovah our Lord, how wondrous great. 567

0 Musa gressum quce volens trahis elaudum 607

O nig^fttingale, that on yon bloomy spray 537

O'er bog or steepy through strait, rough, dense, or rare 81

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp 74

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit. 43

Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd 72

Olive grove of Academe, The 329

On his blindness 545

On his deceased wife _546

On his having arrived at the age of twenty- three . . ; 537

On Shakespeare 491

On the death of a fair infant dying of a cough 474

On the detraction which followed upon my writing certain

treatises K 541

On the late massacre in Piedmont 544

On the Lord General Fairfax, at the siege of Colchester 543

On the morning of Christ's nativity 479

On the new forces of conscience under the long Parliament 542

On the religious memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson 543

On the university carrier 491

On the university carrier ' 492

On time . ; 489

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 500

Or if Sion hill . 43

Our torments also may in length of time 67

Palpable obscure, The ; • 70

Paradise lost . .-. 3S

Paradise regained 291

Paraphrase on Psalm CXIV 471

Par ere Fati discite legibus 593

Passion, The 487

Peace hath her victories 544

Penseroso, II 497

Per certo i bei vostr' occhi. Donna mia 539

Perplexed and troubled at his bad success 324

Pillar'd shade, A , 218

Prosperpine gathering flowers 107

Psalm I 561

Psalm II 561

Psalm III 562

Psalm IV 563

Psalm V V 564

Psalm VI 565

Psalm VII 565

Psalm VIII 567

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AND FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS 625

Psalm LXXX 549

Psalm LXXXI 551

Psalm LXXXII 552

Psalm LXXXIII 553,

P^alm LXXXIV , 555

Psalm LXXXV 556

Psalm LXXXVL 557

Psalm LXXXVII 558

Psalm LXXXVIII 559

Psalm CXIV ., 606

Psalm CXIV 471

Psalm CXXXVI 471

Purgatorem aninuB derisit Idcobus ignem 590

Qual in colle aspro, all* imbrunir di sera 538

Quern modo Roma suis devoverat impia dirts 591

Qui legis Amissam Paradisum, grandia magni 37

Quis expedivit Salmasio suam Hundredam , . . 618

Quis multd gracilis ie puer in rosd 548

Rather than be less 62

Revenge, at first though sweet 198

Ridonsi donne e giovani antorosi 538

Rocks whereon greatest men have of test wreck'd 308

Rusticus ex malo sapidissima poma quotannis 592

Sabean odours from the spicy shore. 105

Sabrina fair, listen where thou art sitting 527

Samson Agonistes 353

Satan; so call him now, his former name.. 138

She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent 131

She what was honour knew , 190

Siccine tentdsti ccelo dondsse IHcobum 590

Smiles from reason flow 199

So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear 103

So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop 256

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed , 535

So spake the Son of God; and Satwi stood 314

Socrates . . . whom well inspired the oracle pronounced 330

Solitude sometimes is best society 199

Some say no evil thing that walks by night 51S

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 499

Song on May morning 490

Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds 55

Spirits that live throughout 151

Spirits when they please 52

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides 495

Star that bids the shepherd fold. The 510

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626 INDEX TO POEMS, FIRST LINES

PAGE

Still govern thou my song . . , , 165

Such joy ambition finds ..,,.., -; 103

Such sober certainty of waking bliss 514

^uch sweet compulsion doth in music lie 503

Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall 85

Sum of earthly bliss, The 190

Sun to me is dark, The 355

Surer to prosper than prosperity 62

Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly 499

Swinish gluttony 525

Syene, and where the shadow both way falls 325

Sylvarum liber 593

Tandem, chare, tuce mihi pervenere tabellce 575

Te, qui conspicuus baculo fulgente solebas 577

Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth 56

That golden key that opes the palace of eternity 508

That power which erring men call Chance 521

Their fatal hands no second stroke intend 76

Their rising all at once was as the sound 71

Then passed he to a flowery mountain green 568

Then purg'd with euphrasy and rue 254

There can be slain 569

They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet 138

Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks 50

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme 43

This is the month and this the happy morn 479

This is true Liberty, when freeborn men 569

This rich marble doth inter 492

Those graceful acts •. 192

Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep 549

Thousand fantasies, A 512

Thousands at his bidding speed 545

Thrice he assayed, and thricee in spite of scorn 56

Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood 245

Thus with the year seasons return 85

Thy gracious ear, O Lord, incline S^7

Thy land to favour graciously , 556

Time will run back and fetch the age of gold ^ 483

Timely dew of sleep. The 114

'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity 517

*Tis you that say it, not I, You do the deeds 569

To a virtuous young lady 540

To be weak is miserable 46

To Cyriak Skinner 546

To God our strength sing loud and clear 551

To know that which before us lies in daily life 183

To Mr. H. Lawes on his airs 542

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AND FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS 627

PAGE

To Mr. Lawrence 545

To Sir Henry Vane the Younger 544

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade 533

To the Lady Margaret Ley 541

To the Lord General Cromwell, May, 1652 544

To the nightingale 537

Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new 536

Tower'd cities please us then 497

Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd 65

Unsunn'd heaps of miser's treasure. The 517

Untwisting all the chains that tie ^ . 497

Upon the circumcision 486

Ut mens, forma, decor, fades, mos, si pietas sic 571

Vain wisdom all and false philosophy 73

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old 544

Virtue could see to do what virtue would 516

What hoots it at one gate to make defence 365

What in me is dark 44

What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured hones 491

, What slender youth bedewed with liquid odours 548

What though the field he lost? 45

When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never 543

When I consider how my light is spent 545

When night darkens the streets 54

When the assault was intended to the city 540

When the hlest seed of Terah*s faithful son 471

When the gray-hooded Even 512

Whence and what art thou, execrable shape 75

Where eldest Night 80

Where peace and rest can never dwell, hope never comes 45

Who overcomes by force, hath overcome hut half his foe 57

Whom do we count a good man? Whom hut he 569

Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the nations 561

With centric and eccentric scrihhled 181

With thee conversing I forget all time 115

Work under our lahor grows, The 199

Ye flaming powers, and winged -warriors bright 486

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 532

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Full text of "The complete poetical works of John Milton"

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