The Seventh Book
¶THE ARGUMENT.—Raphael, at the request of Adam , relates how and wherefore this World was first created:—that God , 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 celebrate with hymns the performance thereof, and his reascension into Heaven.
¶DESCEND from Heaven, Urania, by that nameIf rightly thou art called, whose voice divineFollowing, above the Olympian hill I soar,Above the flight of Pegasean wing!The meaning, not the name, I call; for thouNor of the Muses nine, nor on the topOf old Olympus dwell'st; but, heavenly-born,Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed,Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse,Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst playIn presence of the Almighty Father, pleasedWith 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 onceBellerophon, though from a lower clime)Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,Erroneous there to wander and forlorn.Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound[228]Within the visible Diurnal Sphere.Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole,More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchangedTo hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues,In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,And solitude; yet not alone, while thouVisit'st my slumbers nightly, or when MornPurples the East. Still govern thou my song,Urania, and fit audience find, though few.But drive far off the barbarous dissonanceOf Bacchus and his revellers, the raceOf that wild rout that tore the Thracian BardIn Rhodope, where woods and rocks had earsTo rapture, till the savage clamour drownedBoth harp and voice; nor could the Muse defendHer son. So fail not thou who thee implores;For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael,The affable Archangel, had forewarnedAdam, by dire example, to bewareApostasy, by what befell in HeavenTo those apostates, lest the like befallIn 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 choiceOf all tastes else to please their appetite,Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve,The story heard attentive, and was filledWith admiration and deep muse, to hearOf things so high and strange—things to their thoughtSo unimaginable as hate in Heaven,And war so near the peace of God in bliss,With such confusion; but the evil, soonDriven back, redounded as a flood on thoseFrom whom it sprung, impossible to mixWith blessedness. Whence Adam soon repealedThe doubts that in his heart arose; and, nowLed on, yet sinless, with desire to know[229]What nearer might concern him—how this WorldOf heaven and earth conspicuous first began;When, and whereof, created; for what cause;What within Eden, or without, was doneBefore his memory—as one 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,Far differing from this World, thou hast revealed,Divine Interpreter! by favour sentDown from the Empyrean to forewarnUs timely of what might else have been our loss,Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach;For which to the infinitely Good we oweImmortal thanks, and his admonishmentReceive with solemn purpose to observeImmutably his sovran will, the endOf what we are. But, since thou hast voutsafedGendy, for our instruction, to impartThings above Earthly thought, which yet concernedOur knowing, as to highest Wisdom seemed,Deign to descend now lower, and relateWhat may no less perhaps avail us known—How first began this Heaven which we beholdDistant so high, with moving fires adornedInnumerable; and this which yields or fillsAll space, the ambient Air, wide interfused,Imbracing round this florid Earth; what causeMoved the Creator, in his holy restThrough all eternity, so late to buildIn Chaos; and, the work begun, how soonAbsolved: if unforbid thou may'st unfoldWhat we not to explore the secrets askOf his eternal empire, but the moreTo magnify his works the more we know.And the great Light of Day yet wants to runMuch of his race, though steep. Suspense in heavenHeld by thy voice, thy potent voice he hearsAnd longer will delay, to hear thee tell[230]His generation, and the rising birthOf Nature from the unapparent Deep:Or, if the Star of Evening and the MoonHaste to thy audience, Night with her will bringSilence, and Sleep listening to thee will watch;Or we can bid his absence till thy songEnd, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine."Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought;And thus the godlike Angel answered mild:—" This also thy request, with caution asked,Obtain; though to recount Almighty worksWhat words or tongue of Seraph can suffice,Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serveTo glorify the Maker, and inferThee also happier, shall not be withheldThy hearing. Such commission from aboveI have received, to answer thy desireOf knowledge within bounds; beyond abstainTo ask, nor let thine own inventions hopeThings 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 lessHer temperance over appetite, to knowIn measure what the mind may well contain;Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turnsWisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind."Know then that, after Lucifer from Heaven(So call him, brighter once amidst the hostOf Angels than that star the stars among)Fell with his flaming Legions through the DeepInto his place, and the great Son returnedVictorious with his Saints, the OmnipotentEternal Father from his Throne beheldTheir multitude, and to his Son thus spake:—" 'At least our envious foe hath failed, who thoughtAll like himself rebellious; by whose aidThis inaccessible high strength, the seat[231]Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed,He trusted to have seized, and into fraudDrew many whom their place knows here no more.Yet far the greater part have kept, I see,Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retainsNumber sufficient to possess her realms,Though wide, and this high temple to frequentWith ministeries due and solemn rites.But, lest his heart exalt him in the harmAlready done, to have dispeopled Heaven—My damage fondly deemed—I can repairThat detriment, if such it be to loseSelf-lost, and in a moment will createAnother world; out of one man a raceOf men innumerable, there to dwell,Not here, till, by degrees of merit raised,They open to themselves at length the wayUp hither, under long obedience tried,And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,One kingdom, joy and union without end.Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven;And thou, my Word, begotten Son, by theeThis I perform; speak thou, and be it donelMy overshadowing Spirit and might with theeI send along; ride forth, and bid the DeepWithin appointed bounds be heaven and earth.Boundless the Deep, because I am who fillInfinitude; nor vacuous the space,Though I, uncircumscribed, myself retire,And put not forth my goodness, which is freeTo act or not. Necessity and ChanceApproach not me, and what I will is Fate.'"So spake the Almighty; and to what he spakeHis Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect.Immediate are the acts of God, more swiftThan time or motion, but to human earsCannot without process' of speech be told,So told as earthly notion can receive.Great triumph and rejoicing was in HeavenWhen such was heard declared the Almighty's will.[232]Glory they sung to the Most High, goodwillTo future men, and in their dwellings peace—Glory to Him whose just avenging ireHad driven out the ungodly from his sightAnd the habitations of the just; to HimGlory and praise whose wisdom had ordainedGood out of evil to create—insteadOf Spirits malign, a better Race to bringInto their vacant room, and thence diffuseHis good to worlds and ages infinite."So sang the Hierarchies. Meanwhile the SonOn his great expedition now appeared,Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crownedOf majesty divine, sapience and loveImmense; and all his Father in him shon.About his chariot numberless were pouredCherub and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones,And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots wingedFrom the armoury of God, where stand of oldMyriads, between two brazen mountains lodgedAgainst a solemn day, harnessed at hand,Celestial equipage; and now came forthSpontaneous, for within them Spirit lived,Attendant on their Lord. Heaven opened wideHer ever-during gates, harmonious soundOn golden hinges moving, to let forthThe King of Glory, in his powerful WordAnd Spirit coming to create new worlds.On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shoreThey viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss,Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,Up from the bottom turned by furious windsAnd surging waves, as mountains to assaultHeaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole." 'Silence, ye troubled waves, and, thou Deep, peace!'Said then the omnific Word: 'your discord end!'Nor stayed; but, on the wings of CherubimUplifted, in paternal glory rodeFar into Chaos and the World unborn;For Chaos heard his voice. Him all his train[233]Followed in bright procession, to beholdCreation, and the wonders of his might.Then stayed the fervid wheels, and in his handHe took the golden compasses, preparedIn God's eternal store, to circumscribeThis Universe, and all created things.One foot he centred, and the other turnedRound through the vast profundity obscure,And said, 'Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds;This be thy just circumference, O World!'Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth,Matter unformed and void. Darkness profoundCovered the Abyss; but on the watery calmHis brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread,And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth,Throughout the fluid mass, but downward purgedThe black, tartareous, cold, infernal dregs,Adverse to life; then founded, then conglobed,Like things to like, the rest to several placeDisparted, and between spun out the Air,And Earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung." 'Let there be Light!' said God; and forthwith LightEthereal, first of things, quintessence pure,Sprung from the Deep, and from her native EastTo journey through the aery gloom began,Sphered in a radiant cloud—for yet the SunWas not; she in a cloudy tabernacleSojourned the while. God saw the Light was good;And light from darkness by the hemisphereDivided: Light the Day, and Darkness Night,He named. Thus was the first Day even and morn;Nor passed uncelebrated, nor unsungBy the celestial quires, when orient lightExhaling first from darkness they beheld,Birth-day of Heaven and Earth. With joy and shoutThe hollow universal orb they filled,And touched their golden harps, and hymning praisedGod and his works; Creator him they sung,Both when first evening was, and when first morn."Again God said, 'Let there be firmament[234]Amid the waters, and let it divideThe waters from the waters!' And God madeThe firmament, expanse of liquid, pure,Transparent, elemental air, diffusedIn circuit to the uttermost convexOf this great round—partition firm and sure,The waters underneath from those aboveDividing; for as Earth, so he the WorldBuilt on circumfluous waters calm, in wideCrystallin ocean, and the loud misruleOf Chaos far removed, lest fierce extremesContiguous might distemper the whole frame:And Heaven he named the Firmament. So evenAnd morning chorus sung the second Day."The Earth was formed, but, in the womb as yetOf waters, embryon immature, involved,Appeared not; over all the face of EarthMain ocean flowed, not idle, but, with warmProlific humour softening all her globe,Fermented the great Mother to conceive,Satiate with genial moisture; when God said,'Be gathered now, ye waters under heaven,Into one place, and let dry land appear!'Immediately the mountains huge appearEmergent, and their broad bare backs upheaveInto the clouds; their tops ascend the sky.So high as heaved the tumid hills, so lowDown sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,Capacious bed of waters. Thither theyHasted with glad precipitance, uprowled,As drops on dust conglobing, from the dry:Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct,For haste; such flight the great command impressedOn the swift floods. As armies at the callOf trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard)Troop to their standard, so the watery throng,Wave rowling after wave, where way they found—If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain,Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill;But they, or underground, or circuit wide[235]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 nowStream, and perpetual draw their humid train.The dry land Earth, and the great receptacleOf congregated waters he called Seas;And saw that it was good, and said, 'Let the EarthPut forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed,And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind,Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth!'He scarce had said when the bare Earth, till thenDesert and bare, unsightly, unadorned,Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure cladHer universal face with pleasant green;Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered,Opening their various colours, and made gayHer bosom, smelling sweet; and, these scarce blown,Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth creptThe smelling gourd, up stood the corny reedImbatded in her field: add the humble shrub,And bush with frizzled hair implicit: lastRose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spreadTheir branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmedTheir blossoms. With high woods the hills were crowned.With tufts the valleys and each fountain-side,With borders long the rivers, that Earth nowSeemed like to Heaven, a seat where gods might dwell,Or wander with delight, and love to hauntHer sacred shades; though God had yet not rainedUpon the Earth, and man to till the groundNone was, but from the Earth a dewy mistWent up and watered all the ground, and eachPlant of the field, which ere it was in the EarthGod made, and every herb before it grewOn the green stem. God saw that it was good;So even and morn recorded the third Day."Again the Almighty spake, 'Let there be LightsHigh in the expanse of Heaven, to divideThe Day from Night; and let them be for signs,[236]For seasons, and for days, and circling years;And let them be for lights, as I ordainTheir 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 useTo Man, the greater to have rule by day,The less by night, alternor; and made the Stars,And set them in the firmament of heavenTo illuminate the Earth, and rule the dayIn their vicissitude, and rule the night,And light from darkness to divide. God saw,Surveying his great work, that it was good:For, of celestial bodies, first the SunA mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first,Though of ethereal mould; then formed the MoonGlobose, and every magnitude of Stars,And sowed with stars the heaven thick as a field.Of light by far the greater part he took,Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placedIn the Sun's orb, made porous to receiveAnd drink the liquid light, firm to retainHer gathered beams, great palace now of Light.Hither, as to their fountain, other starsRepairing, in their golden urns draw light,And hence the morning planet gilds her horns;By tincture or reflection they augmentTheir small peculiar, though, from human sightSo far remote, with diminution seen.First in his east the glorious lamp was seen,Regent of day, and all the horizon roundInvested with bright rays, jocond to runHis longitude through heaven's high-road; the greyDawn, and the Pleiades, before him danced,Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the Moon,But opposite in levelled west, was set,His mirror, with full face borrowing her lightFrom him; for other light she needed noneIn that aspect, and still that distance keepsTill night; then in the east her turn she shines,Revolved on heaven's great axle, and her reign[237]With thousand lesser lights dividual holds,With thousand thousand stars, that then appearedSpangling the hemisphere. Then first adornedWith her bright luminaries, that set and rose,Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth Day."And God said, 'Let the waters generateReptile with spawn abundant, living soul;And let Fowl fly above the earth, with wingsDisplayed on the open firmament of Heaven!'And God created the great Whales, and eachSoul living, each that crept, which plenteouslyThe waters generated by their kinds,And every bird of wing after his kind,And saw that it was good, and blessed them, saying,'Be fruitful, multiply, and, in the seas,And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill;And let the fowl be multiplied on the earth!'Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay,With fry innumerable swarm, and shoalsOf fish that, with their fins and shining scales,Glide under the green wave in sculls that oftBank the mid-sea. Part, single or with mate,Graze the sea-weed, their pasture, and through grovesOf coral stray, or, sporting with quick glance,Shew to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold,Or, in their pearly shells at ease, attendMoist nutriment, or under rocks their foodIn jointed armour watch; on smooth the sealAnd bended dolphins play; part, huge of bulk,Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait,Tempest the ocean. There Leviathan,Hugest of living creatures, on the deepStretched like a promontory, sleeps or swims,And seems a moving land, and at his gillsDraws in, and at his trunk spouts out, a sea.Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores,Their brood as numerous hatch from the egg, that soon,Bursting with kindly rupture, forth disclosedTheir callow young; but feathered soon and fledgeThey summed their pens, and, soaring the air sublime,[238]With clang despised the ground, under a cloudIn prospect. There the eagle and the storkOn cliffs 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 forthTheir aerie caravan, high over seasFlying, and over lands, with mutual wingEasing their flight: so steers the prudent craneHer annual voyage, borne on winds: the airFloats as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes.From branch to branch the smaller birds with songSolaced the woods, and spread their painted wings,Till even; nor then the solemn nightingalCeased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays.Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bathedTheir downy breast; the swan, with arched neckBetween her white wings mantling proudly, rowsHer state with oary feet; yet oft they quitThe dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, towerThe mid aerial sky. Others on groundWalked firm—the crested cock, whose clarion soundsThe silent hours, and the other, whose gay trainAdorns him, coloured with the florid hueOf rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thusWith Fish replenished, and the air with Fowl,Evening and morn solemnized the fifth Day."The sixth, and of Creation last, aroseWith evening harps and matin; when God said,'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, straightOpening her fertil womb, teemed at a birthInnumerous living creatures, perfet forms,Limbed and full-grown. Out of the ground up rose,As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wonsIn forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den—Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked;The cattle in the fields and meadows green:Those rare and solitary, these in flocks[239]Pasturing at once and in broad herds, upsprung.The grassy clods now calved; now half appearedThe tawny Lion, pawing to get freeHis hinder parts—then springs, as broke from bonds,And rampant shakes his brinded mane; the Ounce,The Libbard, and the Tiger, as the MoleRising, the crumbled earth above them threwIn hillocks; the swift Stag from undergroundBore up his branching head; scarce from his mouldBehemoth, biggest born of earth, upheavedHis 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 limber fansFor wings, and smallest lineaments exactIn 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,Streaking the ground with sinuous trace: not allMinims of nature; some of serpent kind,Wondrous in length and corpulence, involvedTheir snaky folds, and added wings. First creptThe parsimonious Emmet, providentOf future, in small room large heart enclosed—Pattern of just equality perhapsHereafter—joined in her popular tribesOf commonalty. Swarming next appearedThe female Bee, that feeds her husband droneDeliciously, and builds her waxen cellsWith honey stored. The rest are numberless,And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st them namesNeedless to thee repeated; nor unknownThe Serpent, subdest beast of all the field,Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyesAnd hairy mane terrific, though to theeNot noxious, but obedient at thy call."Now Heaven in all her glory shon, and rowledHer motions, as the great First Mover's handFirst wheeled their course; Earth, in her rich attire[240]Consummate, lovely smiled; Air, Water, Earth,By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was walkedFrequent; and of the sixth Day yet remained.There wanted yet the master-work, the endOf all yet done—a creature who, not proneAnd brute as other creatures, but enduedWith sanctity of reason, might erectHis stature, and, upright with front sereneGovern the rest, self-knowing, and from thenceMagnanimous to correspond with Heaven,But grateful to acknowledge whence his goodDescends; thither with heart, and voice, and eyesDirected in devotion, to adoreAnd worship God Supreme, who made him chiefOf all his works. Therefore the OmnipotentEternal Father (for where is not HePresent?) thus to his Son audibly spake:—'Let us make now Man in our image, ManIn our similitude, and let them ruleOver 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 breathedThe breath of life; in his own image heCreated thee, in the image of GodExpress, and thou becam'st a living Soul.Male he created thee, but thy consort'Female, for race; then blessed mankind, and said,'Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth;Subdue it, and throughout dominion holdOver fish of the sea and fowl of the air,And every living thing that moves on the Earth!'Wherever thus created—for no placeIs yet distinct by name—thence, as thou know'ft,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 foodGave thee. All sorts are here that all the earth yields,[241]Variety without end; but of the treeWhich tasted works knowledge of good and evilThou may'st not; in the day thou eat'st, thou diest.Death is the penalty imposed; beware,And govern well thy appetite, lest SinSurprise thee, and her black attendant, Death."Here finished He, and all that he had madeViewed, and behold! all was entirely good.So even and morn accomplished the sixth Day;Yet not till the Creator, from his workDesisting, 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 shewedIn prospect from his Throne, how good, how fair,Answering his great Idea. Up he rode,Followed with acclamation, and the soundSymphonious of ten thousand harps, that tunedAngelic harmonies. The Earth, the AirResounded (thou remembcr'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 inThe great Creator, from his work returnedMagnificent, his six days' work, a World!Open, and henceforth oft; for God will deignTo visit oft the dwellings of just menDelighted, and with frequent intercourseThither will send his winged messengersOn errands of supernal grace.' So sungThe glorious train ascending. He through Heaven,That opened wide her blazing portals, ledTo God's eternal house direct the way—A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold,And pavement stars, as stars to thee appearSeen in the Galaxy, that milky wayWhich nighdy as a circling zone thou seestPowdered with stars. And now on Earth the seventh[242]Evening arose in Eden—for the sunWas set, and twilight from the east came on,Forerunning night—when at the holy mountOf Heaven's high-seated top, the imperial throneOf Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure,The Filial Power arrived, and sat him downWith his great Father; for He also wentInvisible, yet stayed (such privilegeHath Omnipresence) and the work ordained,Author and end of all things, and from workNow resting, blessed and hallowed the seventh Day,As resting on that day from all his work;But not in silence holy kept: the harpHad work, and rested not; the solemn pipeAnd dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop,All sounds on fret by string or golden wire,Tempered soft tunings, intermixed with voiceChoral or unison; of incense clouds,Fuming from golden censers, hid the Mount.Creation and the Six Days' acts they sung:—'Great are thy works, Jehovah! infiniteThy power! what thought can measure thee, or tongueRelate thee—greater now in thy returnThan from the Giant-angels? Thee that dayThy thunders magnified; but to createIs greater than created to destroy.Who can impair thee, mighty King, or boundThy empire? Easily the proud attemptOf Spirits apostat, and their counsels vain,Thou hast repelled, while impiously they thoughtThee to diminish, and from thee withdrawThe number of thy worshipers. Who seeksTo lessen thee, against his purpose, servesTo manifest the more thy might; his evilThou usest, and from thence creat'st more good.Witness this new-made World, another HeavenFrom Heaven-gate not far, founded in viewOn the clear hyalin, the glassy sea;Of amplitude almost immense, with starsNumerous, and every star perhaps a world[243]Of destined habitation—but thou know'stTheir 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 dwellAnd worship him, and in reward to ruleOver his works, on earth, in sea, or air,And multiply a race of worshipersHoly and just! thrice happy, if they knowTheir happiness, and persevere upright!'"So sung they, and the Empyrean rungWith halleluiahs. Thus was Sabbath kept.And thy request think now fulfilled that askedHow first this World and face of things began,And what before thy memory was doneFrom the beginning, that posterity,Informed by thee, might know. If else thou seek'stAught, not surpassing human measure, say."
The Eighth Book
¶THE ARGUMENT . — Adam inquires concerning celestial motions; is doubtfully answered, and exhorted to search rather things more worthy of knowledge. Adam assents, and, still desirous to detain Raphael, relates to him what he remembered since his own creation—his placing in Paradise; 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, departs.
¶THE Angel ended, and in Adam's earSo charming left his voice that he a whileThought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear;Then, as new-waked, thus gratefully replied:—"What thanks sufficient, or what recompenseEqual, have I to render thee, divineHistorian, who thus largely hast allayedThe thirst I had of knowledge, and voutsafedThis friendly condescension to relateThings else by me unsearchable—now heardWith wonder, but delight, and, as is due,With glory attributed to the highCreator? Something yet of doubt remains,[244]Which only thy solution can resolve.When I behold this goodly frame, this World,Of Heaven and Earth consisting, and computeTheir magnitudes—this Earth, a spot, a grain,An atom, with the Firmament comparedAnd all her numbered stars, that seem to rowlSpaces incomprehensible (for suchTheir distance argues, and their swift returnDiurnal) merely to officiate lightRound this opacous Earth, this punctual spot,One day and night, in all their vast surveyUseless besides—reasoning, I oft admireHow Nature, wise and frugal, could commitSuch disproportions, with superfluous handSo many nobler bodies to create,Greater so manifold, to this one use,For aught appears, and on their Orbs imposeSuch resdess revolution day by dayRepeated, while the sedentary Earth,That better might with far less compass move,Served by more noble than herself, attainsHer end without least motion, and receives,As tribute, such a sumless journey broughtOf incorporeal speed her warmth and light:Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails."So spake our Sire, and by his countenance seemedEntering on studious thoughts abstruse; which EvePerceiving, where, she sat retired in sight,With lowliness majestic from her seat,And grace that won who saw to wish her stay,Rose, and went 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 not with such discourseDelighted, or not capable her earOf what was high. Such pleasure she reserved,Adam relating, she sole auditress;Her husband the relater she preferredBefore the Angel, and of him to ask[245]Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermixGrateful digressions, and solve high disputeWith conjugal caresses: from his lipNot words alone pleased her. Oh, when meet nowSuch pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?With goddess-like demeanour forth she went,Not unattended; for on her as QueenA pomp of winning Graces waited still,And from about her shot darts of desireInto all eyes, to wish her still in sight.And Raphael now to Adam's doubt proposedBenevolent and facile thus replied:—"To ask or search I blame thee not; for HeavenIs as the Book of God before thee set,Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learnHis seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years.This to attain, whether Heaven move or EarthImports not, if thou reckon right; the restFrom Man or Angel the great ArchitectDid wisely to conceal, and not divulgeHis secrets, to be scanned by them who oughtRather admire. Or, if they list to tryConjecture, he his fabric of the HeavensHath left to their disputes—perhaps to moveHis laughter at their quaint opinions wideHereafter, when they come to model Heaven,And calculate the stars; how they will wieldThe mighty frame; how build, unbuild, contriveTo save appearances; how gird the SphereWith Centric and Eccentric scribbled o'er,Cycle and Epicycle, orb in orb.Already by thy reasoning this I guess,Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposestThat bodies bright and greater should not serveThe less not bright, nor Heaven such journeys run,Earth sitting still, when she alone receivesThe benefit. Consider, first, that greatOr bright infers not excellence. The Earth,Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small,Nor glistering, may of solid good contain[246]More plenty than the Sun that barren shines,Whose virtue on itself works no effect,But in the fruitful Earth; there first received,His beams, unactive else, their vigour find.Yet not to Earth are those bright luminariesOfficious, but to thee, Earth's habitant.And, for the Heaven's wide circuit, let it speakThe Maker's high magnificence, who builtSo spacious, and his line stretched out so far,That Man may know he dwells not in his own—An edifice too large for him to fill,Lodged in a small partition, and the restOrdained for uses to his Lord best known.The swiftness of those Circles at'tribute,Though numberless, to his Omnipotence,That to corporeal substances could addSpeed almost spiritual. Me thou think'st not slow,Who since the morning-hour set out from HeavenWhere God resides, and ere mid-day arrivedIn Eden—distance inexpressibleBy numbers that have name. But this I urge,Admitting motion in the Heavens, to shewInvalid that which thee to doubt it moved;Not that I so affirm, though so it seemTo thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth.God, to remove his ways from human sense,Placed Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sight,If it presume, might err in things too high,And no advantage gain. What if the SunBe centre to the World, and other Stars,By his attractive virtue and their ownIncited, dance about him various rounds?Their wandering course, now high, now low, thenhid,
¶Progressive, retrograde, or standing still,In six thou seest; and what if, seventh to theseThe planet Earth, so steadfast though she seem,Insensibly three different motions move?Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe,Moved contrary with thwart obliquities,[247]Or save the Sun his labour, and that swiftNocturnal and diurnal rhomb supposed,Invisible else above all stars, the wheelOf Day and Night; which needs not thy belief,If Earth, industrious of herself, fetch Day,Travelling east, and with her part averseFrom the Sun's beam meet Night, her other partStill luminous by his ray. What if that light,Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air,To the terrestrial Moon to be as a star,Enlightening her by day, as she by nightThis Earth—reciprocal, if land be there,Fields and inhabitants? Her spots thou seestAs clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produceFruits in her softened soil, for some to eatAllotted there; and other Suns, perhaps,With their attendant Moons, thou wilt descry,Communicating male and female light—Which two great sexes animate the World,Stored in each Orb perhaps with some that live.For such vast room in Nature unpossessedBy living soul, desert and desolate,Only to shine, yet scarce to con'tributeEach Orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so farDown to this habitable, which returnsLight back to them, is obvious to dispute.But whether thus these things, or whether not—Whether the Sun, predominant in heaven,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 advanceWith inoffensive pace that spinning sleepsOn her soft axle, while she paces even,And bears thee soft with the smooth air along—Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid:Leave them to God above; him serve and fear.Of other creatures as him pleases best,Wherever placed, let him dispose; joy thouIn what he gives to thee, this ParadiseAnd thy fair Eve; Heaven is for thee too high[248]To know what passes there. Be lowly wise;Think only what concerns thee and thy being;Dream not of other worlds, what creatures thereLive, in what state, condition, or degree—Contented that thus far hath been revealedNot of Earth only, but of highest Heaven."To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied:—"How fully hast thou satisfied me, pureIntelligence of Heaven, Angel serene,And, freed from intricacies, taught to liveThe easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughtsTo interrupt the sweet of life, from whichGod hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares,And not molest us, unless we ourselvesSeek them with wandering thoughts, and notionsvain!But apt the mind or fancy is to roveUnchecked; and of her roving is no end,Till, warned, or by experience taught, she learnThat not to know at large of things remoteFrom use, obscure and subtle, but to knowThat 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 concernUnpractised, unprepared, and still to seek.Therefore from this high pitch let us descendA lower flight, and speak of things at handUseful; whence, haply, mention may ariseOf something not unseasonable to ask,By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deigned.Thee I have heard relating what was doneEre my remembrance; now hear me relateMy story, which, perhaps, thou hast not heard.And day is yet not spent; till then thou seestHow 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;And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear[249]Than fruits of palm-tree, pleasantest to thirstAnd hunger both, from labour, at the hourOf sweet repast. They satiate, and soon fill,Though pleasant; but thy words, with grace divineImbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety."To whom thus Raphael answered, heavenlymeek:—"Nor are thy lips ungrateful, Sire of Men,Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on theeAbundantly his gifts hath also poured,Inward and outward both, his image fair:Speaking, or mute, all comeliness and graceAttends thee, and each word, each motion, forms.Nor less think we in Heaven of thee on EarthThan of our fellow-servant, and inquireGladly into the ways of God with Man;For God, we see, hath honoured thee, and setOn Man his equal love. Say therefore on;For I that day was absent, as befell,Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure,Far on excursion toward the gates of Hell,Squared in full legion (such command we had),To see that none thence issued forth a spyOr enemy, while God was in his work,Lest he, incensed at such eruption bold,Destruction with Creation might have mixed.Not that they durst without his leave attempt;But us he sends upon his high behestsFor state, as sovran King, and to inureOur prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut,The dismal gates, and barricadoed strong,But, long ere our approaching, heard withinNoise, other than the sound of dance or song—Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage.Glad we returned up to the coasts of LightEre Sabbath-evening; so we had in charge.But thy relation now; for I attend,Pleased with thy words no less than thou withmine."
¶So spake the godlike Power, and thus our Sire:—[250]"For Man to tell how human life beganIs hard; for who himself beginning knew?Desire with thee still longer to converseInduced me. As new-waked from soundest sleep,Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid,In balmy sweat, which with his beams the SunSoon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed.Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I turned,And gazed a while the ample sky, till, raisedBy quick instinctive motion, up I sprung,As thitherward endeavoring, and uprightStood on my feet. About me round I sawHill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny 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 limbSurveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ranWith supple joints, as lively vigour led;But who I was, or where, or from what cause,Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake;My tongue obeyed, and readily could nameWhate'er 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 herelNot of myself; by some great Maker then,In goodness and in power prx-eminent.Tell me, how may I know him, how adore,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 beheldThis happy light, when answer none returned,On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers,Pensive I sat me down. There gentle sleepFirst found me, and with soft oppression seizedMy drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought[251]I then was passing to my former stateInsensible, and forthwith to dissolve:When suddenly stood at my head a Dream,Whose inward apparition gendy movedMy fancy to believe I yet had being,And lived. One came, methought, of shape divine,And said, 'Thy mansion wants thee, Adam; rise,First Man, of men innumerable ordainedFirst father! called by thee, I come thy guideTo the Garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.'So saying, by the hand he took me, raised,And over fields and waters, as in airSmooth sliding without step, last led me upA woody mountain, whose high top was plain,A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest treesPlanted, with walks and bowers, that what I sawOf Earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each treeLoaden with fairest fruit, that hung to the eyeTempting, stirred in me sudden appetiteTo pluck and eat; whereat I waked, and foundBefore mine eyes all real, as the dreamHad lively shadowed. Here had new begunMy wandering, had not He who was my guideUp hither from among the trees appeared,Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe,In adoration at his feet I fellSubmiss. He reared me, and, 'Whom thou sought'stI am,'Said mildly, 'Author of all this thou seestAbove, or round about thee, or beneath.This Paradise I give thee; count it thineTo till and keep, and of the fruit to eat.Of every tree that in the Garden growsEat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth.But of the tree whose operation bringsKnowledge of Good and 111, 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,[252]The day thou eat'st thereof, my sole commandTransgressed, inevitably thou shalt die,From that day mortal, and this happy stateShalt lose, expelled from hence into a worldOf woe and sorrow.' Sternly he pronouncedThe rigid interdiction, which resoundsYet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choiceNot to incur; but soon his clear aspect'Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewed:—"Not only these fair bounds, but all the EarthTo thee and to thy race I give; as lordsPossess it, and all things that therein live,Or live in sea or air, beast, fish, and fowl.In sign whereof, each bird and beast beholdAfter their kinds; I bring them to receiveFrom thee their names, and pay thee fealtyWith low subjection. Understand the sameOf fish within their watery residence,Not hither summoned, since they cannot changeTheir element to draw the thinner air.'As thus he spake, each bird and beast beholdApproaching two and two—these cowering lowWith blandishment; each bird stooped on his wingI named them as they passed, and understoodTheir nature; with such knowledge God enduedMy sudden apprehension. But in theseI found not what methought I wanted still,And to the Heavenly Vision thus presumed:—" 'O, by what name—for Thou above all these,Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher,Surpassest far my naming—how may IAdore thee, Author of this Universe,And all this good to Man, for whose well-beingSo amply, and with hands so liberal,Thou hast provided all things? But with mcI see not who partakes. In solitudeWhat 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:—[253]" 'What call'st thou solitude? Is not the EarthWith various living creatures, and the Air,Replenished, and all these at thy commandTo come and play before thee? Know'st thou notTheir language and their ways? They also know,And reason not contemptibly, with theseFind pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.'So spake the Universal Lord and seemedSo ordering. I, with leave of speech implored,And humble deprecation, thus replied:—" 'Let not my words offend thee, Heavenly Power;My Maker, be propitious while I speak.Hast thou not made me here thy substitute,And these inferior far beneath me set?Among unequals what societyCan sort, what harmony or true delight?Which must be mutual, in proportion dueGiven and received; but, in disparity,The one intense, the other still remiss,Cannot well suit with either, but soon proveTedious alike. Of fellowship I speakSuch as I seek, fit to participateAll rational delight, wherein the bruteCannot be human consort. They rejoiceEach with their kind, lion with lioness;So fidy 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 choiceOf thy associates, Adam, and wilt tasteNo pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary.What think'st thou, then, of Me, and this my state?Seem I to thee sufficiently possessedOf happiness, or not, who am aloneFrom all eternity? for none I knowSecond to me or like, equal much less.How have I, then, with whom to hold converse,[254]Save with the creatures which I made, and thoseTo me inferior infinite descentsBeneath what other creatures are to thee?'"He ceased. I lowly answered:—'To attainThe highth and depth of thy eternal waysAll human thoughts come short, Supreme of Things!Thou in thyself art perfet, and in TheeIs no deficience found. Not so is Man,But in degree—the cause of his desireBy conversation with his like to helpOr solace his defects. No need that thouShould'st propagate, already infinite,And through all numbers absolute, though One;But Man by number is to manifestHis single imperfection, and begetLike of his like, his image multiplied,In unity defective; which requiresCollateral love, and dearest amity.Thou, in thy secrecy although alone,Best with thyself accompanied, seek'st notSocial communication—yet, so pleased,Canst raise thy creature to what highth thou wiltOf union or communion, deified;I, by conversing, cannot these erectFrom prone, nor in their ways complacence find.Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom usedPermissive, and acceptance found; which gainedThis answer from the gratious 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,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'stIntended thee—for trial only brought,To see how thou couldst judge of fit and meet.[255]What next I bring shall please thee, be assured,Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self,Thy wish exactly to thy heart's desire.'"He ended, or I heard no more; for nowMy earthly, by his heavenly overpowered,Which it had long stood under, strained to the highthIn that celestial colloquy sublime,As with an object that excels the sense,Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repairOf sleep, which instantly fell on me, calledBy Nature as in aid, and closed mine eyes.Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cellOf fancy, my internal sight; by which.Abstract as in a trance, methought I saw,Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the ShapeStill glorious before whom awake I stood;Who, stooping, opened my left side, and tookFrom thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm,And life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the wound,But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed.The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands;Under his forming hands a creature grew,Man-like, but different sex, so lovely fairThat what seemed fair in all the world seemed nowMean, or in her summed up, in her containedAnd in her looks, which from that time infusedSweetness into my heart unfelt before,And into all things from her air inspiredThe spirit of love and amorous delight.She disappeared, and left me dark; I wakedTo find her, or for ever to deploreHer loss, and other pleasures all abjure:When, out of hope, behold her not far off,Such as I saw her in my dream, adornedWith what all Earth or Heaven could bestowTo make her amiable. On she came,Led by her Heavenly Maker, though unseenAnd guided by his voice, nor uninformedOf nuptial sanctity and marriage rites.Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,[256]In every gesture dignity and love.I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud:—" 'This turn hath made amends; thou hast fulfilledThy words, Creator bounteous and benign,Giver of all things fair—but fairest thisOf all thy gifts!—nor enviest. I now seeBone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my SelfBefore me. Woman is her name, of ManExtracted; for this cause he shall forgoFather and mother, and to his wife adhere,And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.'"She heard me thus; and, though divinely brought,Yet innocence and virgin modesty,Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth,That would be wooed, and not unsought be won,Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired,The most 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 approvedMy pleaded reason. To the nuptial bowerI led her blushing like the Morn; all Heaven,And happy constellations, on that hourShed their selectest influence; the EarthGave sign of gratulation, and each hill;Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airsWhispered it to the woods, and from their wingsFlung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub,Disporting, till the amorous bird of nightSung spousal, and bid haste the Evening-starOn his hill-top to light the bridal lamp."Thus have I told thee all my state, and broughtMy story to the sum of earthly blissWhich I enjoy, and must confess to findIn all things else delight indeed, but suchAs, used or not, works in the mind no change,Nor vehement desire—these delicaciesI mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers,Walks, and the melody of birds: but here,[257]Far otherwise, transported I behold,Transported touch; here passion first I felt,Commotion strange, in all enjoyments elseSuperior and unmoved, here only weakAgainst the charm of beauty's powerful glance.Or Nature failed in me, and left some partNot proof enough such object to sustain,Or, from my side subducting, took perhapsMore than enough—at least on her bestowedToo much of ornament, in outward showElaborate, of inward less exact.For well I understand in the prime endOf Nature her the inferior, in the mindAnd inward faculties, which most excel;In outward also her resembling lessHis image who made both, and less expressingThe character of that dominion givenO'er other creatures. Yet when I approachHer loveliness, so absolute she seemsAnd in herself complete, so well to knowHer own, that what she wills to do or saySeems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.All higher Knowledge in her presence fallsDegraded; Wisdom in discourse with herLoses, discountenanced, and like Folly shews;Authority and Reason on her wait,As one intended first, not after madeOccasionally; and, to consum'mate all,Greatness of mind and nobleness their seatBuild in her loveliest, and create an aweAbout her, as a guard angelic placed."
¶To whom the Angel, with contracted brow:—"Accuse not Nature! she hath done her part;Do thou but thine! and be not diffidentOf Wisdom; she deserts thee not, if thouDismiss not her, when most thou need'st her nigh,By attribu'ting overmuch to thingsLess excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st.For, what admir'st thou, what transports thee so?An outside—fair, no doubt, and worthy well[258]Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love;Not thy subjecdon. Weigh with her thyself;Then value. Oft-times nothing profits moreThan self-esteem, grounded on just and rightWell managed. Of that skill the more thou know'st,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 loveThy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise.But, if the sense of touch, whereby mankindIs propagated, seem such dear delightBeyond all other, think the same voutsafedTo cattle and each beast; which would not beTo them made common and divulged, if aughtTherein enjoyed were worthy to subdueThe soul of Man, or passion in him move.What higher in her society thou find'stAttractive, human, rational, love still;In loving thou dost well; in passion not,Wherein true Love consists not. Love refinesThe thoughts, and heart enlarges—hath his seatIn Reason, and is judicious, is the scaleBy which to Heavenly Love thou may'st ascend,Not sunk in carnal pleasure; for which causeAmong the beasts no mate for thee was found."To whom thus, half abashed, Adam replied :--"Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aughtIn procreation, common to all kinds(Though higher of the genial bed by far ,And with mysterious reverence, I deem),So much delights me as those graceful acts,Those thousand decencies, that daily flowFrom all her words and actions, mixed with loveAnd sweet compliance, which declare unfeignedUnion of mind, or in us both one soul—Harmony to behold in wedded pairMore grateful than harmonious sound to the ear.Yet these subject not; I to thee discloseWhat inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled,[259]Who meet with various objects, from the senseVariously representing, yet, still free,Approve the best, and follow what I 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 lawful what I ask.Love not the Heavenly Spirits, and how their loveExpress they—by looks only, or do they mixIrradiance, virtual or immediate touch?"To whom the Angel, with a smile that glowedCelestial rosy-red, Love's proper hue,Answered:—"Let it suffice thee that thou know'stUs happy, and without Love no happiness.Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st(And pure thou wert created) we enjoyIn eminence, and obstacle find noneOf membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars.Easier than air with air, if Spirits embrace,Total they mix, union of pure with pureDesiring, nor restrained conveyance needAs flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul.But I can now no more: the parting SunBeyond the Earth's green Cape and verdant IslesHespcrean sets, my signal to depart.Be strong, live happy, and love! but first of allHim whom to love is to obey, and keepHis great command; take heed lest passion swayThy judgment to do aught which else free-willWould not admit; thine and of all thy sonsThe weal or woe in thee is placed; beware!I in thy persevering shall rejoice,And all the Blest. Stand fast; to stand or fallFree in thine own arbitrement it lies.Perfet within, no outward aid require;And all temptation to transgress repel."So saying, he arose; whom Adam thusFollowed with benediction:—"Since to part,Go, Heavenly Guest, Ethereal Messenger,Sent from whose sovran goodness I adorelGende to me and affable hath been
Thy condescension, and shall be honoured everWith grateful memory. Thou to MankindBe good and friendly still, and oft return!"So parted they, the Angel up to HeavenFrom the thick shade, and Adam to his bower.The Ninth Book
¶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 Serpent finds her 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 length 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, extenuating the trespass, eats also of the fruit. The effects thereof in them both; they seek to cover their nakedness; then fall to variance and accusation of one another.
No MORE of talk where God or Angel GuestWith Man, as with his friend, familiar usedTo sit indulgent, and with him partakeRural repast, permitting him the whileVenial discourse unblamed. I now must changeThose notes to tragic—foul distrust, and breachDisloyal, on the part of man, revoltAnd disobedience; on the part of Heaven,Now alienated, distance and distaste,Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given,That brought into this World a world of woe,Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery,Death's harbinger. Sad task! yet argumentNot less but more heroic than the wrauthOf stern Achilles on his foe pursuedThrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rageOf Turnus for Lavinia disespoused;
p. 261¶Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's that so longPerplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:If answerable style I can obtainOf my celestial Patroness, who deignsHer nighdy visitation unimplored,And dictates to me slumbering, or inspiresEasy my unpremeditated verse,Since first this subject for heroic songPleased me, long choosing and beginning late,Not sedulous by nature to inditeWars, hitherto the only argumentHeroic deemed, chief maistrie to dissectWith long and tedious havoc fabled knightsIn battles feigned (the better fortitudeOf patience and heroic martyrdomUnsung), or to describe races and games,Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields,Impreses quaint, caparisons and steeds,Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knightsAt joust and tournament; then marshalled feastServed up in hall with sewers and seneshals:The skill of artifice or office mean;Not that which justly gives heroic nameTo person or to poem! Me, of theseNor skilled nor studious, higher argumentRemains, sufficient of itself to raiseThat name, unless an age too late, or coldClimat, or years, damp my intended wingDepressed; and much they may if all be mine,Not Hers who brings it nightly to my ear.The Sun was sunk, and after him the StarOf Hesperus, whose office is to bringTwilight upon the Earth, short arbiterTwixt day and night, and now from end to endNight's hemisphere had veiled the horizon round,When Satan, who late fled before the threatsOf Gabriel out of Eden, now improvedIn meditated fraud and malice, bentOn Man's destruction, maugre what might hapOf heavier on himself, fearless returned.[262]By night he fled, and at midnight returnedFrom compassing the Earth—cautious of daySince Uriel, Regent of the Sun, descriedHis entrance, and forwarned the CherubimThat kept their watch. Thence, full of anguish,driven,The space of seven continued nights he rodeWith darkness—thrice the equinoctial lineHe circled, four times crossed the car of NightFrom pole to pole, traversing each colure—On the eighth returned, and on the coast averseFrom entrance or cherubic watch by stealthFound unsuspected way. There was a place(Now not, though Sin, not Time, first wraught thechange)Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise,Into a gulf shot under ground, till partRose up a fountain by the Tree of Life.In with the river sunk, and with it rose,Satan, involved in rising mist; then soughtWhere to lie hid. Sea he had searched and landFrom Eden over Pontus, and the PoolMxotis, up beyond the river Ob;Downward as far Antartic; and, in length,West from Orontes to the ocean barredAt Darien, thence to the land where flowsGanges and Indus. Thus the orb he roamedWith narrow search, and with inspection deepConsidered every creature, which of allMost opportune might serve his wiles, and foundThe Serpent subdest beast of all the field.Him, after long debate, irresoluteOf thoughts revolved, his final sentence choseFit vessel, fittest Imp of fraud, in whomTo enter, and his dark suggestions hideFrom sharpest sight; for in the wily snakeWhatever sleights none would suspicious markAs from his wit and native subdetyProceeding, which, in other beasts observed,Doubt might beget of diabolic power[263]Active within beyond the sense of brute.Thus he resolved, but first from inward griefHis bursting passion into plaints thus poured:—"O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferredMore justly, seat worthier of Gods, as builtWith second thoughts, reforming what was old!For what God, after better, worse would build ?Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens,That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps,Light above light, for thee alone, as seems,In thee concentring all their precious beamsOf sacred influence! As God in HeavenIs centre, yet extends to all, so thouCentring receiv'st from all those orbs; in thee,Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears,Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birthOf creatures animate with gradual lifeOf growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man.With what delight could I have walked thee round,If I could joy in aught—sweet interchangeOf hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned,Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of theseFind place or refuge; and the more I seePleasures about me, so much more I feelTorment within me, as from the hateful siegeOf contraries; all good to me becomesBane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.But neither here seek I, nor in Heaven,To dwell, unless by maistring Heaven's Supreme;Nor hope to be myself less miserableBy what I seek, but others to make suchAs I, though thereby worse to me redound.For only in destroying I find easeTo my relendess thoughts; and him destroyed,Or won to what may work his utter loss,For whom all this was made, all this will soonFollow, as to him linked in weal or woe:In woe then, that destruction wide may range!To me shall be the glory sole among[264]The Infernal Powers, in one day to have marredWhat he, Almighty styled, six nights and daysContinued making, and who knows how longBefore had been contriving? though perhapsNot longer than since I in one night freedFrom servitude inglorious well nigh halfThe Angelic Name, and thinner left the throngOf his adorers. He, to be avenged,And to repair his numbers thus impaired—Whether such virtue, spent of old, now failedMore Angels to create (if they at leastAre his created), or to spite us more—Determined to advance into our roomA creature formed of earth, and him endow,Exalted from so base original,With heavenly spoils, our spoils. What he decreedHe effected; Man he made, and for him builtMagnificent this World, and Earth his seat,Him Lord pronounced, and, O indignity!Subjected to his service Angel-wingsAnd flaming ministers, to watch and tendTheir earthly charge. Of these the vigilanceI dread, and to elude, thus wrapt in mistOf midnight vapour, glide obscure, and pryIn every bush and brake, where hap may findThe Serpent sleeping, in whose mazy foldsTo hide me, and the dark intent I bring.O foul descent! that I, who erst contendedWith Gods to sit the highest, am now constrainedInto 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 revengeDescend to? Who aspires must down as lowAs high he soared, obnoxious, first or last,To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet,Bitter ere long back on itself recoils.Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed,Since higher I fall short, on him who nextProvokes my envy, this new favourite[265]Of Heaven, this Man of Clay, son of despite,Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raisedFrom dust: spite then with spite is best repaid."So saying, through each thicket, dank or dry,Like a black mist low-creeping, he held onHis midnight search, where soonest he might findThe Serpent. Him fast sleeping soon he found,In labyrinth of many a round self-rowled,His head the midst, well stored with subtle wiles:Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den:Nor nocent yet, but on the grassy herb,Fearless, unfeared, he slept. In at his mouthThe Devil entered, and his brutal sense.In heart or head, possessing soon inspiredWith act intelligential; but his sleepDisturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn.Now, whenas sacred light began to dawnIn Eden on the humid flowers, that breathedTheir morning incense, when all things that breatheFrom the Earth's great altar send up silent praiseTo the Creator, and his nostrils fillWith grateful smell, forth came the human pair,And joined their vocal worship to the quireOf creatures wanting voice; that done, partakeThe season, prime for sweetest scents and airs;Then corn'mune how that day they best may plyTheir growing work—for much their work outgrewThe hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide:And Eve first to her husband thus began:—"Adam, well may we labour still to dressThis Garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower,Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more handsAid us, the work under our labour grows,Luxurious by restraint: what we by dayLop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind,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 choiceLeads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind[266]The woodbine round this arbour, or directThe clasping ivy where to climb; while IIn yonder spring of roses intermixedWith myrtle find what to redress till noon.For, while so near each other thus all dayOur task we choose, what wonder if so nearLooks intervene and smiles, or objects newCasual discourse draw on, which intermitsOur day's work, brought to little, though begunEarly, and the hour of supper comes unearned!"To whom mild answer Adam thus returned:—"Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyondCompare above all living creatures dear!Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughtsimployedHow we might best fulfil the work which hereGod hath assigned us, nor of me shalt passUnpraised; for nothing lovelier can be foundIn woman than to study household good,And good works in her husband to promote.Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposedLabour as to debar us when we needRefreshment, whether food, or talk between,Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourseOf looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flowTo brute denied, and are of love the food—Love, not the lowest end of human life.For not to irksome toil, but to delight,He made us, and delight to reason joined.These paths and bowers doubt not but our jointhandsWill keep from wilderness with ease, as wideAs we need walk, till younger hands ere longAssist us. But, if much converse perhapsThee satiate, to short absence I could yield;For solitude sometimes is best society,And short retirement urges sweet return.But other doubt possesses me, lest harmBefall thee, severed from me; for thou know'stWhat hath been warned us—what malicious foe,[267]Envying our happiness, and of his ownDespairing, seeks to work us woe and shameBy sly assault and somewhere nigh at handWatches, no doubt, with greedy hope to findHis wish and best advantage, us asunder,Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where eachTo other speedy aid might lend at need.Whether his first design be to withdrawOur fealty from God, or to disturbConjugal love—than which perhaps no blissEnjoyed by us excites his envy more—Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful sideThat 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,As one who loves, and some unkindness meets,With sweet austere composure thus replied:—"Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth'slord!That such an Enemy we have, who seeksOur 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 doubtTo God or thee, because we have a foeMay tempt it, I expected not to hear.His violence thou fear'st not, being suchAs we, not capable of death or pain,Can either not receive, or can repel.His fraud is, then, thy fear; which plain infersThy equal fear that my firm faith and loveCan by his fraud be shaken or seduced:Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thybreast,Adam! misthought of her to thee so dear?"To whom, with healing words, Adam replied:—"Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve!—[268]For such thou art, from sin and blame entire—Not diffident of thee do I dissuadeThy absence from my sight, but to avoidThe attempt itself, intended by our Foe.For he who tempts, though in vain, at least aspersesThe tempted with dishonour foul, supposedNot incorruptible of faith, not proofAgainst temptation. Thou thyself with scornAnd anger wouldst resent the offered wrong,Though ineffectual found; misdeem not, then,If such affront I labour to avertFrom thee alone, which on us both at onceThe 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 seduceAngels—nor think superfluous others' aid.I from the influence of thy looks receiveAccess in every virtue—in thy sightMore wise, more watchful, stronger, if need wereOf outward strength; while 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 feelWhen I am present, and thy trial chooseWith me, best witness of thy virtue tried?"So spake domestic Adam in his careAnd matrimonial love; but Eve, who thoughtLess attributed to her faith sincere,Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed:—"If this be our condition, thus to dwellIn narrow circuit straitened by a Foe,Subtle or violent, we not enduedSingle with like defence wherever met,How are we happy, still in fear of harm?But harm precedes not sin: only our FoeTempting affronts us with his foul esteemOf our integrity: his foul esteemSticks no dishonour on our front, but turnsFoul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared[269]By us, who rather double honour gainFrom his surmise proved false, find peace within,Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event?And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayedAlone, without exterior help sustained?Let us not then suspect our happy stateLeft so imperfet by the Maker wiseAs not secure to single or combined.Frail is our happiness, if this be so;And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed."To whom thus Adam fervently replied:—"O Woman, best are all things as the willOf God ordained them; his creating handNothing imperfet or deficient leftOf all that he created—much less Man,Or aught that might his happy state secure,Secure from outward force. Within himselfThe danger lies, yet lies within his power;Against his will he can receive no harm.But God left free the Will; for what obeysReason is free; and Reason he made right,But bid her well beware, and still erect,Lest, by some fair appearing good surprised,She dictate false, and misinform the WillTo do what God expressly hath forbid.Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoinsThat I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me,Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve,Since Reason not impossibly may meetSome 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 avoidWere better, and most likely if from meThou sever not: trial will come unsought.Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approveFirst thy obedience; the other who can know,Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?But, if thou think trial unsought may findUs both securer than thus warned thou seem'st,[270]Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more.Go in thy native innocence; relyOn what thou hast of virtue; summon all;For God towards thee hath done his part: do thine."So spake the Patriarch of Mankind; but EvePersisted; yet submiss, though last, replied:—"With thy permission, then, and thus forewarned,Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning wordsTouched only, that our trial, when least sought,May find us both perhaps far less prepared,The willinger I go, nor much expectA 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 handSoft she withdrew, and, like a wood-nymph light,Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train,Betook her to the groves, but Delia's selfIn gait surpassed and goddess-like deport,Though not as she with bow and quiver armed,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 fledVertumnus—or to Ceres in her prime,Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove.Her long with ardent look his eye pursuedDelighted, but desiring more her stay.Oft he to her his charge of quick returnRepeated; she to him as oft engagedTo be returned by noon amid the bower,And all things in best order to inviteNoontide repast, or afternoon's repose.O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve,Of thy presumed return! event perverse!Thou never from that hour in ParadiseFound'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 backDespoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss.[271]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 findThe only two of mankind, but in themThe whole included race, his purposed prey.In bower and field he sought, where any tuftOf grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay,Their tendance or plantation for delight;By fountain or by shady rivuletHe sought them both, but wished his hap might findEve separate; he wished, but not with hopeOf what so seldom chanced, when to his wish,Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies,Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood,Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing roundAbout her glowed, oft stooping to supportEach flower of tender stalk, whose head, though gayCarnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold,Hung drooping unsustained. Them she upstaysGently with myrde band, mindless the whileHerself, though fairest unsupported flower,From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversedOf stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm;Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seenAmong thick-woven arborets, and flowersImbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve:Spot more delicious than those gardens feignedOr of revived Adonis, or renownedAlcinoiis, host of old Laertes' son,Or that, not mystic, where the sapient kingHeld dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse.Much he the place admired, the person more.As one who, long in populous city pent,Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breatheAmong the pleasant villages and farmsAdjoined, from each thing met conceives delight—The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound—[272]If chance with nymph-like step fair virgin pass,What pleasing seemed for her now pleases more,She most, and in her look sums all delight:Such pleasure took the Serpent to beholdThis flowery plat, the sweet recess of EveThus early, thus alone. Her heavenly formAngelic, but more soft and feminine,Her graceful innocence, her every airOf gesture or least action, overawedHis malice, and with rapine sweet bereavedHis fierceness of the fierce intent it brought.That space the Evil One abstracted stoodFrom his own evil, and for the time remainedStupidly good, of enmity disarmed,Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge.But the hot hell that always in him burns,Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight,And tortures him now more, the more he seesOf pleasure not for him ordained. Then soonFierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughtsOf mischief, gratulating, thus excites:—"Thoughts, whither have ye led me? with whatsweetCompulsion thus transported to forgetWhat hither brought us? hate, not love, nor hopeOf Paradise for Hell, here to tasteOf pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy,Save what is in destroying; other joyTo me is lost. Then let me not let passOccasion which now smiles. Behold aloneThe 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 limbHeroic built, though of terrestrial mould;Foe not informidable, exempt from wound—I not; so much hath Hell debased, and painInfeebled me, to what I was in Heaven.She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods,Not terrible, though terror be in love,[273]And beauty, not approached by stronger hate,Hate stronger under show of love well feigned—The way which to her ruin now I tend."So spake the Enemy of Mankind, enclosedIn serpent, inmate bad, and toward EveAddressed his way—not with indented wave,Prone on the ground, as since, but on his rear,Circular base of rising folds, that toweredFold above fold, a surging maze; his headCrested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes;With burnished neck of verdant gold, erectAmidst his circling spires, that on the grassFloated redundant. Pleasing was his shapeAnd lovely; never since the serpent kindLovelier—not those that in Illyria changedHermione and Cadmus, or the GodIn Epidaurus; nor to which transformedAmmonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen,He with Olympias, this with her who boreScipio, the highth of Rome. With tract obliqueAt first, as one who sought access but fearedTo interrupt, sidelong he works his way.As when a ship, by skilful steersman wroughtNigh river's mouth or foreland, where the windVeers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail,So varied he, and of his tortuous trainCurled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve,To lure her eye. She, busied, heard the soundOf rustling leaves, but minded not, as usedTo such disport before her through the fieldFrom every beast, more duteous at her callThan at Circean call the herd disguised.He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood,But as in gaze admiring. Oft he bowedHis turret crest and sleek enamelled neck,Fawning, and licked the ground whereon she trod.His gentle dumb expression turned at lengthThe eye of Eve to mark his play; he, gladOf her attention gained, with serpent-tongueOrganic, or impulse of vocal air,[274]His fraudulent temptation thus began:—"Wonder not, sovran mistress (if perhapsThou canst who art sole wonder), much less armThy looks, the heaven of mildness, with disdain,Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gazeInsatiate, I thus single, nor have fearedThy awful brow, more awful thus retired.Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair,Thee all things living gaze on, all things thineBy gift, and thy celestial beauty adore,With ravishment beheld—there best beheldWhere universally admired. But here,In this enclosure wild, these beasts among,Beholders rude, and shallow to discernHalf what in thee is fair, one man except,Who sees thee (and what is one?) who shouldstbe seenA Goddess among Gods, adored and servedBy Angels numberless, thy daily train?"So glozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned.Into the heart of Eve his words made way,Though at the voice much marvelling; at length,Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake:—"What may this mean? Language of Man pronouncedBy tongue of brute, and human sense expressed!The first at least of these I thought deniedTo beasts, whom God on their creation-dayCreated mute to all articulate sound;The latter I demur, for in their looksMuch reason, and in their actions, oft appears.Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the fieldI knew, but not with human voice endued;Redouble, then, this miracle, and say,How cam'st thou speakable of mute, and howTo me so friendly grown above the restOf brutal kind that daily are in sight:Say, for such wonder claims attention due."To whom the guileful Tempter thus replied:—"Empress of this fair World, resplendent Eve![275]Easy to me it is to tell thee allWhat thou command'st, and right thou shouldstbe obeyed.I was at first as other beasts that grazeThe trodden herb, of abject thoughts and lew,As was my food, nor aught but food discernedOr sex, and apprehended nothing high:Till on a day, roving the field, I chancedA goodly tree far distant to behold,Loaden 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 senseThan smell of sweetest fennel, or the teatsOf ewe or goat dropping with milk at even,Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play.To satisfy the sharp desire I hadOf tasting those fair Apples, I resolvedNot to defer; hunger and thirst at once,Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scentOf that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.About the mossy trunk I wound me soon;For, high from ground, the branches wouldrequireThy utmost reach, or Adam's; round the TreeAll other beasts that saw, with like desireLonging and envying stood, but could not reach.Amid the tree now got, where plenty hungTempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fillI spared not; for such pleasure till that hourAt feed or fountain never had I found.Sated at length, ere long I might perceiveStrange alteration in me, to degreeOf Reason in my inward powers, and SpeechWanted not long, though to this shape retained.Thenceforth to speculations high or deepI turned my thoughts, and with capacious mindConsidered all things visible in Heaven,Or Earth, or Middle, all things fair and good.But all that fair and good in thy Divine[276]Semblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray,United I beheld—no fair to thineEquivalent or second; which compelledMe thus, though importune perhaps, to comeAnd gaze, and worship thee of right declaredSovran of creatures, universal Dame!"So talked the spirited sly Snake; and Eve,Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied:—"Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubtThe virtue of that Fruit, in thee first proved.But say, where grows the Tree? from hence howfar?For many are the trees of God that growIn Paradise, and various, yet unknownTo us; in such abundance lies our choiceAs leaves a greater store of fruit untouched,Still hanging incorruptible, till menGrow up to their provision, and more handsHelp to disburden Nature of her bearth."To whom the wily Adder, blithe and glad;—"Empress, the way is ready, and not long—Beyond a row of myrdes, on a flat,Fast by a fountain, one small thicket pastOf blowing myrrh and balm. If thou acceptMy conduct, I can bring thee thither soon.""Lead, then," said Eve. He, leading, swiftly rowledIn tangles, and made intricate seem straight,To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joyBrightens his crest. As when a wandering fire,Compact of unctuous vapour, which the nightCondenses, and the cold invirons round,Kindled through agitation to a flame(Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends),Hovering and blazing with delusive light,Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his wayTo bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool,There swallowed up and lost, from succour far:So glistered the dire Snake, and into fraudLed Eve, our credulous mother, to the TreeOf Prohibition, root of all our woe;[277]Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake:—"Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither,Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess,The credit of whose virtue rest with thee—Wondrous, indeed, if cause of such effects!But of this tree we may not taste nor touch;God so commanded, and left that commandSole daughter of his voice: the rest, we liveLaw to ourselves; our Reason is our Law."To whom the Tempter guilefully replied:—"Indeed! Hath God then said that of the fruitOf all these garden-trees ye shall not eat,Yet lords declared of all in Earth or Air?"To whom thus Eve, yet sinless:—"Of the fruitOf each tree in the garden we may eat;But of the fruit of this fair Tree, amidstThe Garden, God hath said, 'Ye shall not eatThereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.'"She scarce had said, though brief, when now moreboldThe Tempter, but, with shew of zeal and loveTo Man, and indignation at his wrong,New part puts on, and, as to passion moved,Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely, and in actRaised, as of some great matter to begin.As when of old some orator renownedIn Athens or free Rome, where eloquenceFlourished, since mute, to some great cause addressed,Stood in himself collected, while each part,Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongueSometimes in highth began, as no delayOf preface brooking through his zeal of right:So standing, moving, or to highth upgrown,The Tempter, all impassioned, thus began:—"O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant,Mother of science! now I feel thy powerWithin me clear, not only to discernThings in their causes, but to trace the waysOf highest agents, deemed however wise.Queen of this Universe! do not believe[278]Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die.How should ye? By the Fruit? it gives you lifeTo knowledge. By the Threatener? look on me,Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live,And life more perfet have attained than FateMeant me, by venturing higher than my lot.Shall that be shut to Man which to the BeastIs open? or will God incense his ireFor such a petty trespass, and not praiseRather your dauntless virtue, whom the painOf death denounced, whatever thing Death be,Deterred not from achieving what might leadTo happier life, knowledge of Good and Evil ?Of good, how just! of evil—if what is evilBe real, why not known, since easier shunned?God, therefore, cannot hurt ye and be just;Not just, not God; not feared then, nor obeyed:Your fear itself of death removes the fear.Why, then, was this forbid ? Why but to awe,Why but to keep ye low and ignorant,His worshipers? He knows that in the dayYe eat thereof your eyes, that seem so clear,Yet are but dim, shall perfedy be thenOpened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods,Knowing both good and evil, as they know.That ye should be as Gods, since I as Man,Internal Man, is but proportion meet—I, of brute, human; ye, of human, Gods.So ye shall die perhaps, by putting offHuman, to put on Gods—death to be wished,Though threatened, which no worse than this canbring!
¶And what are Gods, that Man may not becomeAs they, participating godlike food?The Gods are first, and that advantage useOn our belief, that all from them proceeds.I question it; for this fair Earth I see,Warmed by the Sun, producing every kind;Them nothing. If they all things, who enclosedKnowledge of Good and Evil in this Tree,[279]That whoso eats thereof forthwith attainsWisdom without their leave? and wherein liesThe offence, that Man should thus attain to know?What can your knowledge hurt him, or this TreeImpart against his will, if all be his?Or is it envy? and can envy dwellIn Heavenly breasts? These, these and many moreCauses 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 beholdMight tempt alone; and in her ears the soundYet rung of his persuasive words, impregnedWith reason, to her seeming, and with truth.Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and wakedAn eager appetite, raised by the smellSo 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 assayGave elocution to the mute, and taughtThe tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise.Thy praise he also who forbids thy useConceals not from us, naming thee the TreeOf Knowledge, knowledge both of Good and Evil;Forbids us then to taste. But his forbiddingCommends thee more, while it infers the goodBy thee communicated, and our want;For good unknown sure is not bad, or, hadAnd 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 DeathBind us with after-bands, what profits thenOur inward freedom? In the day we eatOf this fair Fruit, our doom is we shall die![280]How dies the Serpent? He hath eaten, and lives,And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,Irrational till then. For us aloneWas death invented? or to us deniedThis intellectual food, for beasts reserved?For beasts it seems; yet that one beast which firstHath tasted envies not, but brings with joyThe good befallen him, author unsuspect,Friendly to Man, far from deceit or guile.What fear I, then? rather, what know to fearUnder this ignorance of Good and Evil,Of God or Death, of law or penalty?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 hourForth-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 woeThat all was lost. Back to the thicket slunkThe guilty Serpent, and well might, for Eve,Intent now only on her taste, naught elseRegarded; such delight till then, as seemed,In fruit she never tasted, whether true,Or fancied so through expectation highOf knowledge; nor was Godhead from her thought.Greedily she ingorged without restraint,And knew not eating death. Satiate at length,And hightened as with wine, jocond and boon,Thus to herself she pleasingly began:—"O sovran, virtuous, precious of all treesIn Paradise! of operation blestTo sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed,And thy fair Fruit let hang, as to no endCreated! but henceforth my early care,Not without song, each morning, and due praise,Shall tend thee, and the fertil burden easeOf thy full branches, offered free to all;Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature[281]In knowledge, as the Gods who all things know,Though others envy what they cannot give—For, had the gift been theirs, it had not hereThus grown! Experience, next to thee I owe,Best guide: not following thee, I had remainedIn ignorance; thou open'st Wisdom's way,And giv'st access, though secret she retire.And I perhaps am secret: Heaven is high—High, and remote to see from thence distinctEach thing on Earth; and other care perhapsMay have diverted from continual watchOur great Forbidder, safe with all his SpiesAbout him. But to Adam in what sortShall I appear? Shall I to him make knownAs yet my change, and give him to partakeFull happiness with me, or rather not,But keep the odds of knowledge in my powerWithout copartner? so to add what wantsIn female sex, the more to draw his love,And render me more equal, and perhaps—A thing not undesirable—sometimeSuperior; 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! Confirmed, then, I resolveAdam shall share with me in bliss or woe.So dear I love him that with him all deathsI could endure, without him live no life."
¶So saying, from the Tree her step she turned,But first low reverence done, as to the PowerThat dwelt within, whose presence had infusedInto the plant sciential sap, derivedFrom nectar, drink of Gods. Adam the while,Waiting desirous her return, had woveOf choicest flowers a garland, to adornHer tresses, and her rural labours crown,As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen.Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new[282]Solace in her return, so long delayed;Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill,Misgave him. He the faltering measure felt,And forth to meet her went, the way she tookThat morn when first they parted. By the TreeOf Knowledge he must pass; there he her met,Scarce from the Tree returning; in her handA bough of fairest fruit, that downy smiled,New gathered, and ambrosial smell diffused.To him she hasted; in her face excuseCame prologue, and apology to prompt,Which, with bland words at will, she thus addressed"Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay?Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprivedThy presence—agony of love till nowNot felt, nor shall be twice; for never moreMean I to try, what rash untried I sought,The pain of absence from thy sight. But strangeHath been the cause, and wonderful to hear.This Tree is not, as we are told, a TreeOf danger tasted, nor to evil unknownOpening the way, but of divine effectTo open eyes, and make them Gods who taste;And hath been tasted such. The Serpent wise,Or not restrained as we, or not obeying,Hath eaten of the Fruit, and is becomeNot dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforthEndued with human voice and human sense,Reasoning to admiration, and with mePersuasively hath so prevailed that IHave also tasted, and have also foundThe effects to correspond—opener mine eyes,Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart,And growing up to Godhead; which for theeChiefly I sought, without thee can despise.For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss;Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon.Thou, therefore, also taste, that equal lotMay join us, equal joy, as equal love;Lest, thou not tasting, different degree[283]Disjoin us, and I then too late renounceDeity for thee, when fate will not permit."Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told;But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed.On the other side, Adam, soon as he heardThe fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed,Astonied stood and blank, while horror chillRan through his veins, and all his joints relaxed.From his slack hand the garland wreathed for EveDown dropt, and all the faded roses shed.Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at lengthFirst to himself he inward silence broke:—"O fairest of Creation, last and bestOf all God's works, creature in whom excelledWhatever can to sight or thought be formed,Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost,Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote!Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgressThe strict forbiddance, how to violateThe sacred Fruit forbidden? Some cursed fraudOf enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,And me with thee hath ruined; for with theeCertain my resolution is to die.How can I live without thee? how forgoThy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,To live again in these wild woods forlorn?Should God create another Eve, and IAnother rib afford, yet loss of theeWould never from my heart. No, no! I feelThe link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy stateMine never shall be parted, bliss or woe."So having said, as one from sad dismayRecomforted, and, after thoughts disturbed,Submitting to what seemed remediless,Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned:—"Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventrous Eve,And peril great provoked, who thus hast daredHad it been only coveting to eye[284]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 Fate! Yet soPerhaps thou shalt not die; perhaps the factIs not so hainous now—foretasted Fruit,Profaned first by the Serpent, by him firstMade 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 strongTo us, as likely, tasting, to attainProportional ascent; which cannot beBut to be Gods, or Angels, Demi-gods.Nor can I think that God, Creator wise,Though threatening, will in earnest so destroyUs, his prime creatures, dignified so high,Set over all his works; which, in our fall,For us created, needs 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 powerCreation could repeat, yet would be lothUs to abolish, lest the AdversaryTriumph and say: 'Fickle their state whom GodMost favours; who can please him long? Me firstHe ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next?'—Matter of scorn not to be given the Foe.However, I with thee have fixed my lot,Certain to undergo like doom. If deathConsort with thee, death is to me as life;So forcible within my heart I feelThe bond of Nature draw me to my own—My own is thee; for what thou art is mine.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:—"O glorious trial of exceeding love,Illustrious evidence, example high!Ingaging me to emulate; but, short[285]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 proofThis day affords, declaring thee resolved,Rather than death, or aught than death more dread,Shall separate us, linked in love so dear,To undergo with me one guilt, one crime,If any be, of tasting this fair Fruit;Whose virtue (for of good still good proceeds,Direct, or by occasion) hath presentedThis happy trial of thy love, which elseSo eminently never had been known.Were it I thought death menaced would ensueThis my attempt, I would sustain aloneThe worst, and not persuade thee—rather dieDeserted than oblige thee with a factPernicious to thy peace, chiefly assuredRemarkably so late of thy so true,So faithful love unequalled. But I feelFar otherwise the event—not death, but lifeAugmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys,Taste so divine that what of sweet beforeHath 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 joyTenderly wept, much won that he his loveHad so ennobled as of choice to incurDivine displeasure for her sake, or death.In recompense (for such compliance badSuch recompense best merits), from the boughShe gave him of that fair enticing FruitWith liberal hand. He scrupled not to eat,Against his better knowledge, not deceived,But fondly overcome with female charm.Earth trembled from her entrails, as againIn pangs, and Nature gave a second groan;Sky loured, and, muttering thunder, some sad dropsWept at completing of the mortal Sin[286]Original; while Adam took no thought,Eating his fill, nor Eve to iterateHer former trespass feared, the more to sootheHim with her loved society; that now,As with new wine intoxicated both,They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feelDivinity within them breeding wingsWherewith to scorn the Earth. But that false FruitFar other operation first displayed,Carnal desire inflaming. He on EveBegan to cast lascivious eyes; she himAs wantonly repaid; in lust they burn,Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move:—"Eve, now I see thou art exact of tasteAnd elegant—of sapience no small part;Since to each meaning savour we apply,And palate call judicious. I the praiseYield thee; so well this day thou hast purveyed.Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstainedFrom this delightful Fruit, nor known till nowTrue relish, tasting. If such pleasure beIn things to us forbidden, it might be wishedFor 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 dayI saw thee first and wedded thee, adornedWith all perfections, so enflame my senseWith ardour to enjoy thee, fairer nowThan ever—bounty of this virtuous Tree!"So said he, and forbore not glance or toyOf amorous intent, well understoodOf Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire.Her hand he seized, and to a shady bank,Thick overhead with verdant roof imbowered,He led her, nothing loth; flowers were the couch,Pansies, and violets, and asphodel,And hyacinth—Earth's freshest, softest lap.There they their fill of love and love's disportTook largely, of their mutual gilt the seal,[287]The solace of their sin, till dewy sleepOppressed them, wearied with their amorous play.Soon as the force of that fallacious Fruit,That with exhilarating vapour blandAbout their spirits had played, and inmost powersMade err, was now exhaled, and grosser sleep,Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreamsIncumbered, now had left them, up they roseAs from unrest, and, each the other viewing,Soon found their eyes how opened, and their mindsHow darkened. Innocence, that as a veilHad shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone;Just confidence, and native righteousness,And honour, from about them, naked leftTo guilty Shame: he covered, but his robeUncovered more. So rose the Danite strong,Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lapOf Philistean Dalilah, and wakedShorn of his strength; they destitute and bareOf all their virtue. Silent, and in faceConfounded, long they sat, as strucken mute;Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed,At length gave utterance to these words constrained:—"O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give earTo that false Worm, of whomsoever taughtTo counterfeit Man's voice—true in our fall,False in our promised rising; since our eyesOpened we find indeed, and find we knowBoth good and evil, good lost and evil got:Bad Fruit of Knowledge, if this be to know,Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void,Of innocence, of faith, of purity,Our wonted ornaments now soiled and stained,And in our faces evident the signsOf foul concupiscence; whence evil store,Even shame, the last of evils; of the firstBe sure then. How shall I behold the faceHenceforth of God or Angel, erst with joyAnd rapture so oft beheld? Those Heavenly ShapesWill dazzle now this earthly with their blaze[288]Insufferably bright. Oh, might I hereIn solitude live savage, in some gladeObscured, where highest woods, impenetrableTo star or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad,And brown as evening. Cover me, ye pines!Ye cedars, with innumerable boughsHide me, where I may never see them more!But let us now, as in bad plight, deviseWhat best may, for the present, serve to hideThe parts of each other that seem mostTo shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen—Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves, together sewed,And girded on our loins, may cover roundThose middle parts, that this new comer, Shame,There sit not, and reproach us as unclean."So counselled he, and both together wentInto the thickest wood. There soon they chooseThe fig tree—not that kind for fruit renowned,But such as, at this day, to Indians known.In Malabar or Decan spreads her armsBraunching so broad and long that in the groundThe bended twigs take root, and daughters growAbout the mother tree, a pillared shadeHigh overarched, and echoing walks between:There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat,Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herdsAt loop-holes cut through thickest shade. Those leavesThey gathered, broad as Amazonian targe,And with what skill they had together sewed,To gird their waist—vain covering, if to hideTheir guilt and dreaded shame! O how unlikeTo that first naked glory! Such of lateColumbus found the American, so girtWith feathered cincture, naked else and wild,Among the trees on isles and woody shores.Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in partCovered, but not at rest or ease of mind,They sat them down to weep. Nor only tearsRained at their eyes, but high winds worse withinBegan to rise, high passions—anger, hate,[289]Mistrust, suspicion, discord—and shook soreTheir inward state of mind, calm region onceAnd full of peace, now tost and turbulent:For Understanding ruled not, and the WillHeard not her lore, both in subjection nowTo sensual Appetite, who, from beneathUsurping over sovran Reason, claimedSuperior sway. From thus distempered breastAdam, estranged in look and altered style,Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed:—"Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayedWith me, as I besought thee, when that strangeDesire of wandering, this unhappy morn,I know not whence possessed thee! We had thenRemained still happy—not, as now, despoiledOf all our good, shamed, naked, miserable!Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approveThe faith they owe; when earnestly they seekSuch proof, conclude they then begin to fail."To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thusEve:—"What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe?Imput'st thou that to my default, or willOf wandering, as thou call'st it, which who knowsBut might as ill have happened thou being by,Or to thyself perhaps? Hadst thou been there,Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discernedFraud in the Serpent, speaking as he spake;No ground of enmity between us knownWhy 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.Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me."