Wearied I fell asleep: but now lead on;
In me is no delay; with thee to go,
Is to stay here; without 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 banish'd hence.
This further consolation yet secure
I carry hence; though all by me is lost,
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsat'd,
By me the promised seed shall all restore."

So spake our mother Eve; and Adam heard
Well pleas'd, but answer'd not: for now too nigh
The archangel stood; and from the other hill
To their fix'd station, all in bright array,
The Cherubim descended; on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening-mist
Risen from a river o'er the marish glides,
And gathers ground fast at the labourer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanc'd,
The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd,
Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat,
And vapour as the Libyan air adust,

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.

They, looking back, all the' eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Wav'd over by that flaming brand; the gate
With dreadful faces throng'd, and fiery arms.
Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon:
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide!
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.

SCENE FROM COMUS.

A wild wood. The Lady enters.

Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, My best guide now. Methought it was the sound Of riot and ill manag'd merriment,

Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe,

Stirs up among the loose, unletter'd hinds;

When from 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 swill'd insolence
Of such late wassailers; yet O! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet,
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,
Stept, 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 gray-hooded even,
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed,

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain:
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts; 'tis likeliest
They had engag'd their wandering steps too far;
And envious darkness, ere they could return,
Had stole them from me: else, O thievish night,
Why should'st thou, but for some felonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars,
That nature hung in heaven, and fill'd their lamps
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely traveller?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence even 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 aery tongues, that syllable men's names
On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound,
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, Conscience.

O welcome, pure ey'd Faith, white handed Hope,
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,
And thou, unblemish'd form of Chastity!

I see ye 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 kept my life and honor unassail'd.
Was I deceiv'd, 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-enliven'd spirits

Prompt me; and they, perhaps, are not far off.

SONG.

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st, unseen,
Within thy aery shell,

By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroider'd vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale

Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth 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,

Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere!
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,

And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies.
Enter COMUS.

Comus. 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, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven-down
Of darkness, till it smil'd! I have oft heard
My mother Circe, with the Syrens three,
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs;
Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul,
And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause :
Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense,
And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself:
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I neve heard till now. I'll 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,

Dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan; by bless'd song
Forbidding every bleak, unkindly fog

To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood.
Lad. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise,
That is address'd to unattending ears;

Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my sever'd company,
Compell'd me to awake the courteous Echo,

To give me answer from her mossy couch.

Com. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus?
Lad. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth.

Com. Could that divide you from near ushering guides?
Lad. They left me weary on a grassy turf.
Com. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?

Lad. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly spring.
Com. And left your fair side all unguarded, lady?
Lad. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick return.
Com. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them.
Lad. How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Com. Imports their loss, besides the present need?
Lad. No less than if I should my brothers lose.
Com. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom ?
Lad. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips.
Com. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd ox
In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swink'd hedger at his supper sat.
I saw them under a green mantling vine,
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking 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,

That in the colors of the rainbow live,

And play i' the plighted clouds. I was awe-struck,
And, as I pass'd, I worship'd: if those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to heaver,

To help you find them.

Lad. Gentle villager,

What readiest way would bring me to that place?
Com. Due west it rises from this shrubby point.
Lad. 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-practis'd feet.

Com. I know cach 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 lodg'd,
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark
From her thatch'd pallet rouse; if otherwise,
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe
Till further quest.

Lad. Shepherd I take thy word,
And trust thy honest offer'd courtesy,
Which oft is sooner found in lowly shed,
With smoky rafters, than in tap'stry halls
In courts of princes, where it first was nam'd,
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, bless'd Providence, and square my trial
Το
my proportion'd strength.-Shepherd, lead on.

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 sleep;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free:
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull night,
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-morrow,
Through the sweet briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,

* L'Allegro is the cheerful, merry man.