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 adorn'd 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, accustom'd 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 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 scatter'd spirits return'd, To Michael thus his humble words address'd.
"Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or nam'd 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 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,
Nor knowing us nor known: and if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of him who all things can, I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries: But pray'r 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, depriv'd
His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent With worship place by place where he vouchsaf'd
Presence divine, and to my sons relate, 'On this mount he appear'd, under this tree Stood visible, among these pines his voice I heard, here with him at this fountain talk'd: 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 foot-step trace? For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory, and far off his steps adore."
To whom thus Michael with regard benign: "Adam, thou know'st Heav'n's his, and all the earth Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives, Fomented by his virtual pow'r and warm'd; All th' earth he gave thee to possess and rule, No despicable gift; surmise not then
His presence to these narrow bounds confin'd 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 th' earth, to celebrate And reverence thee, their great progenitor.
But this preeminence 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 Present, and of his presence many a sign
Still following thee, still compassing thee round With goodness and paternal love, his face
Express, and of his steps the track divine."
DEPARTURE OF ADAM AND EVE FROM PARADISE.
He ended, and they both descend the hill:
Descended, Adam to the bower, where Eve
Lay sleeping, ran before: but found her wak’d;
And thus with words not sad she him receiv'd :
"Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know : For God is also' in sleep; and dreams advise, Which he hath sent propitious, some great good Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress
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.
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?
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 Circé, 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;
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