"Is this the love, is this the recompenseOf mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, expressedImmutable when thou wert lost, not I—Who might have lived, and joyed immortal bliss,Yet willingly chose rather death with thee?And am 1 now upbraided as the causeOf thy transgressing? not enough severe,It seems, in thy restraint! What could I more?I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretoldThe danger, and the lurking EnemyThat lay in wait; beyond this had been force,And force upon free will hath here no place.But confidence then bore thee on, secureEither to meet no danger, or to findMatter of glorious trial; and perhapsI also erred in overmuch admiringWhat seemed in thee so perfet that I thoughtNo evil durst attempt thee. But I rueThat error now, which is become my crime,And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befallHim who, to worth in women overtrusting,Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook;And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue,She first his weak indulgence will accuse."Thus they in mutual accusation spentThe fruidess hours, but neither self-condemning;And of their vain contest' appeared no end.The Tenth Book
¶THE ARGUMENT . — Man ' s transgression known , the guardian Angels forsake Paradise, and return up to Heaven to approve their vigilance, and are approved; God declaring that the entrance of Satan could not be by them prevented. He sends his Son to judge the Transgressors; who descends, and gives sentence accordingly; then, in pity, clothes them both, and reascends. Sin and Death, sitting till then at the gates of Hell, by wondrous sympathy feeling the success of Satan in this new World, and the sin by Man there committed, resolve to sit no longer confined in Hell, but to follow Satan, their sire, up to the place of Man : to make the way easier from Hell to this World to and fro, they pave a broad highway or bridge over Chaos, according to the track that Satan first made ; then, preparing for Earth, they meet him, proud of his success, returning to Hell; their mutual gratulation. Satan arrives at Pandemon i u m ; in full assembly relates, with boasting, his success against Man; instead of applause is entertained with a general hiss by all his audience, transformed, with himself also, suddenly into Serpents, according to his doom given in Paradise; [291]then, deluded with a shew of the Forbidden Tree springing up before them, they, greedily reaching to take of the Fruit, chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death: God foretells the final victory of his Son over them, and the renewing of all things; but, for the present, commands his Angels to make several alterations in the Heavens and Elements. Adam , more and more perceiving his fallen condition, heavily bewails, rejects the condolcmcnt of Eve ; she persists, and at length appeases him: then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their offspring, proposes to Adam violent ways; which he approves not, but, conceiving better hope, puts her in mind of the late promise made them, that her seed should be revenged on the Serpent, and exhorts her, with him, to seek peace of the offended Deity by repentance and supplication.
¶MEANWHILE the hainous and despiteful act
¶Of Satan done in Paradise, and howHe, in the Serpent, had perverted Eve,Her husband she, to taste the fatal Fruit,Was known in Heaven; for what can scape the eyeOf God all-seeing, or deceive his heartOmniscient? who, in all things wise and just,Hindered not Satan to attempt the mindOf Man, with strength entire and free will armedComplete to have discovered and repulsedWhatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,The high injunction not to taste that Fruit,Whoever tempted; which they not obeyingIncurred (what could they less?) the penalty,And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.Up into Heaven from Paradise in hasteThe Angelic Guards ascended, mute and sadFor Man; for of his state by this they knew,Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolenEntrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome newsFrom Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeasedAll were who heard; dim sadness did not spareThat time celestial visages, yet, mixedWith pity, violated not their bliss.About the new-arrived in multitudes,The Ethereal People ran, to hear and knowHow all befell. They towards the Throne supreme,Accountable, made haste, to make appear,With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance,And easily approved; when the Most High,[292]Eternal Father, from his secret CloudAmidst, in thunder uttered thus his voice:—"Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returnedFrom unsuccessful charge, be not dismayedNor troubled at these tidings from the Earth,Which your sincerest care could not prevent,Foretold so lately what would come to pass,When first this Tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.I told ye then he should prevail, and speedOn his bad errand—Man should be seduced,And flattered out of all, believing liesAgainst his Maker; no decree of mine,Concurring to necessitate his fall,Or touch with lightest moment of impulseHis free will, to her own inclining leftIn even scale. But fallen he is; and nowWhat rests, but that the mortal sentence passOn his transgression, Death denounced that dayWhich he presumes already vain and void,Because not yet inflicted, as he feared,By some immediate stroke, but soon shall findForbearance no acquittance ere day end.Justice shall not return, as bounty, scorned.But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee,Vicegerent Son? To thee I have transferredAll judgment, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell.Easy it may be seen that I intendMercy colleague with justice, sending thee,Man's Friend, his Mediator, his designedBoth Ransom and Redeemer voluntary,And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen."
¶So spake the Father; and, unfolding brightToward the right hand his glory, on the SonBlazed forth unclouded deity. He fullResplendent all his Father manifestExpressed, and thus divinely answered mild:—"Father Eternal, thine is to decree;Mine both in Heaven and Earth to do thy willSupreme, that thou in me, thy Son beloved,May'st ever rest well pleased. I go to judge[293]On Earth these thy transgressors; but thou know'st,Whoever judged, the worst on me must light,When time shall be; for so I undertookBefore thee, and, not repenting, this obtainOf right, that I may mitigate their doomOn me derived. Yet I shall temper soJustice with mercy as may illustrate mostThem fully satisfied, and thee appease.Attendance none shall need, nor train, where noneAre to behold the judgment but the judged,Those two; the third best absent is condemned,Convict by flight, and rebel to all law;Conviction to the Serpent none belongs."Thus saying, from his radiant Seat he roseOf high collateral glory. Him Thrones and Powers,Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant,Accompanied to Heaven-gate, from whenceEden and all the coast in prospect lay.Down he descended straight; the speed of GodsTime counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged.Now was the Sun in western cadence lowFrom noon, and gentle airs due at their hourTo fan the Earth now waked, and usher inThe evening cool, when he, from wrauth more cool,Came, the mild Judge and Intercessor both,To sentence Man. The voice of God they heardNow walking in the Garden, by soft windsBrought to their ears, while day declined; they heard,And from his presence hid themselves amongThe thickest trees, both man and wife, till God,Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud:—"Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meetMy coming, seen far off? I miss thee here,Not pleased thus entertained, with solitude,Where obvious duty erewhile appeared unsought.Or come I less conspicuous, or what changeAbsents thee, or what chance detains? Come forth!"He came, and with him Eve, more loth, though firstTo offend, discountenanced both, and discomposed.Love was not in their looks, either to God[294]Or to each other, but apparent guilt,And shame, and perturbation, and despair,Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief:—"I heard thee in the Garden, and, of thy voiceAfraid, being naked, hid myself." To whomThe gracious Judge, without revile, replied:—"My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared,But still rejoiced; how is it now becomeSo dreadful to thee? That thou art naked whoHath told thee? Hast thou eaten of the TreeWhereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?"To whom thus Adam, sore beset, replied:—"O Heaven! in evil strait this day I standBefore my Judge—either to undergoMyself the total crime, or to accuseMy other self, the partner of my life,Whose failing, while her faith to me remains,T should conceal, and not expose to blameBy my complaint. But strict necessitySubdues me, and calamitous constraint,Lest on my head both sin and punishment,However insupportable, be allDevolved; though, should I hold my peace, yet thouWouldst easily detect what I conceal.This Woman, whom thou mad'st to be my help,And gav'st me as thy perfet gift, so good,So fit, so acceptable, so divine,That from her hand I could suspect no ill,And what she did, whatever in itself,Her doing seemed to justify the deed—She gave me of the Tree, and I did eat."To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied:—"Was she thy God, that her thou didst obeyBefore his voice? or was she made thy guide,Superior, or but equal, that to herThou didst resign thy manhood, and the placeWherein God set thee above her, made of theeAnd for thee, whose perfection far excelledHers in all real dignity? Adorned[295]She was indeed, and lovely, to attractThy love, not thy subjection; and her giftsWere such as under government well seemed—Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy partAnd person, hadst thou known thyself aright."So having said, he thus to Eve in few:—"Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done?"To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed,Confessing soon, yet not before her JudgeBold or loquacious, thus abashed replied:—"The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat."Which when the Lord God heard, without delayTo judgment he proceeded on the accusedSerpent, though brute, unable to transferThe guilt on him who made him instrumentOf mischief, and polluted from the endOf his creation—justly then accursed,As vitiated in nature. More to knowConcerned not Man (since he no further knew),Nor altered his offence; yet God at lastTo Satan, first in sin, his doom applied,Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best;And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall:—"Because thou hast done this, thou art accursedAbove all cattle, each beast of the field;Upon thy belly grovelling thou shalt go,And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life.Between thee and the Woman I will putEnmity, and between thine and her seed;Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel."So spake this oracle—then verifiedWhen Jesus, son of Mary, second Eve,Saw Satan fall like lightning down from Heaven,Prince of the Air; then, rising from his grave,Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphedIn open shew, and, with ascension bright,Captivity led captive through the Air,The realm itself of Satan, long usurped,Whom He shall tread at last under our feet,Even He who now foretold his fatal bruise,[296]And to the Woman thus his sentence turned:—"Thy sorrow I will greatly multiplyBy thy conception; children thou shalt bringIn sorrow forth, and to thy husband's willThine shall submit; he over thee shall rule."On Adam last thus judgment he pronounced:—"Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife,And eaten of the Tree concerning whichI charged thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat thereof,Curs'd is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrowShalt eat thereof all the days of thy life;Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forthUnbid; and thou shalt eat the herb of the held;In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread,Till thou return unto the ground; for thouOut of the ground wast taken: know thy birth,For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return."So judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent,And the instant stroke of death, denounced that day,Removed far off; then, pitying how they stoodBefore him naked to the air, that nowMust suffer change, disdained not to beginThenceforth the form of servant to assume.As when he washed his servants' feet, so now,As Father of his family, he cladTheir nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain,Or, as the snake, with youthful coat repaid;And thought not much to clothe his enemies.Nor he their outward only with the skinsOf beasts, but inward nakedness, much moreOpprobrious, with his robe of righteousnessArraying, covered from his Father's sight.To him with swift ascent he up returned,Into his blissful bosom reassumedIn glory as of old; to him, appeased,All, though all-knowing, what had passed with ManRecounted, mixing intercession sweet.Meanwhile, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth,Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death,In counterview within the gates, that now[297]Stood open wide, belching outrageous flameFar into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through,Sin opening; who thus now to Death began:—"O Son, why sit we here, each other viewingIdly, while Satan, our great author, thrivesIn other worlds, and happier seat providesFor us, his offspring dear? It cannot beBut that success attends him; if mishapEre this he had returned, with fury drivenBy his Avengers, since no place like thisCan fit his punishment, or their revenge.Methinks I feel new strength within me rise,Wings growing, and dominion given me largeBeyond this Deep—whatever draws me on,Or sympathy, or some connatural force,Powerful at greatest distance to uniteWith secret amity things of like kindBy secretest conveyance. Thou, my shadeInseparable, must with me along;For Death from Sin no power can separate.But, lest the difficulty of passing backStay his return perhaps over this gulfImpassable, impervious, let us try(Adventrous work, yet to thy power and mineNot unagreeable!) to found a pathOver this Main from Hell to that new WorldWhere Satan now prevails—a monumentOf merit high to all the infernal Host,Easing their passage hence, for intercourseOr transmigration, as their lot shall lead.Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawnBy this new-felt attraction and instinct."
¶Whom thus the meagre Shadow answered soon:—"Go whither fate and inclination strongLeads thee; I shall not lag behind, nor errThe way, thou leading: such a scent I drawOf carnage, prey innumerable, and tasteThe savour of death from all things there that live.Nor shall I do the work thou enterprisestBe wanting, but afford thee equal aid."[298]So saying, with delight he snuffed the smellOf mortal change on Earth. As when a flockOf ravenous fowl, though many a league remote,Against the day of battle, to a fieldWhere armies lie encamped come flying, luredWith scent of living carcases designedFor death the following day in bloody fight;So scented the grim Feature, and upturnedHis nostril wide into the murky air,Sagacious of his quarry from so far.Then both, from out Hell-gates, into the wasteWide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark,Flew diverse, and, with power (their power was great)Hovering upon the waters, what they metSolid or slimy, as in raging seaTossed up and down, together crowded drove,From each side shoaling, towards the mouth of Hell;As when two polar winds, blowing adverseUpon the Cronian sea, together driveMountains of ice, that stop the imagined wayBeyond Petsora eastward to the richCathaian coast. The aggregated soilDeath with his mace petrific, cold and dry,As with a trident smote, and fixed as firmAs Delos, floating once; the rest his lookBound with Gorgonian rigour not to move,And with asphaltic slime; broad as the gate,Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beachThey fastened, and the mole immense wraught onOver the foaming Deep high-arched, a bridgeOf length prodigious, joining to the wallImmovable of this now fenceless World,Forfeit to Death—from hence a passage broad,Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell.So, if great things to small may be compared,Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke,From Susa, his Memnonian palace high,Came to the sea, and, over HellespontBridging his way, Europe with Asia joined,And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves.[299]Now had they brought the work by wondrous artPontifical—a ridge of pendent rockOver the vexed Abyss, following the trackOf Satan, to the self-same place where heFirst lighted from his wing and landed safeFrom out of Chaos—to the outside bareOf this round World. With pins of adamantAnd chains they made all fast, too fast they madeAnd durable; and now in little spaceThe confines met of empyrean HeavenAnd of this World, and on the left hand Hell,With long reach interposed; three several waysIn sight of each of these three places led.And now their way to Earth they had descried,To Paradise first tending, when, beholdSatan, in likeness of an Angel bright,Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steeringHis zenith, while the Sun in Aries rose!Disguised he came; but those his children dearTheir parent soon discerned, though in disguise.He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunkInto the wood fast by, and, changing shapeTo observe the sequel, saw his guileful actBy Eve, though all unweeting, secondedUpon her husband—saw their shame that soughtVain covertures; but, when he saw descendThe Son of God to judge them, terrifiedHe fled, not hoping to escape, but shunThe present—fearing, guilty, what his wrauthMight suddenly inflict; that past, returnedBy night, and, listening where the hapless pairSat in their sad discourse and various plaint,Thence gathered his own doom; which understoodNot instant, but of future time, with joyAnd tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned,And at the brink of Chaos, near the footOf this new wondrous pontifice, unhopedMet who to meet him came, his offspring dear.Great joy was at their meeting, and at sightOf that stupendious bridge his joy increased.[300]Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fairInchanting daughter, thus the silence broke:—"O Parent, these are thy magnific deeds,Thy trophies! which thou view'st as not thine own;Thou art their Author and prime Architect.For I no sooner in my heart divined(My heart, which by a secret harmonyStill moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet)That thou on Earth hadst prospered, which thy looksNow also evidence, but straight I felt—Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt—That I must after thee with this thy son;Such fatal consequence unites us three.Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds,Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscureDetain from following thy illustrious track.Thou hast achieved our liberty, confinedWithin Hell-gates till now; thou us impoweredTo fortify thus far, and overlayWith this portentous bridge the dark Abyss.Thine now is all this World; thy virtue hath wonWhat thy hands builded not; thy wisdom gained,With odds, what war hath lost, and fully avengedOur foil in Heaven. Here thou shalt Monarch reign,There didst not; there let him still victor sway,As battle hath adjudged, from this new WorldRetiring, by his own doom alienated,And henceforth monarchy with thee divideOf all things, parted by the empyreal bounds,His quadrature, from thy orbicular World,Or try thee now more dangerous to his Throne."
¶Whom thus the Prince of Darkness answered glad:—"Fair daughter, and thou, son and grandchild both,High proof ye now have given to be the raceOf Satan (for I glory in the name,Antagonist of Heaven's Almighty King),Amply have merited of me, of allThe Infernal Empire, that so near Heaven's doorTriumphal with triumphal act have met,Mine with this glorious work, and made one realm[301]Hell and this World—one realm, one continentOf easy thoroughfare. Therefore, while IDescend through Darkness, on your road with ease,To my associate Powers, them to acquaintWith these successes, and with them rejoiceYou two this way, among these numerous orbs,All yours, right down to Paradise descend;There dwell and reign in bliss; thence on the EarthDominion exercise and in the air,Chiefly on Man, sole lord of all declared;Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill.My substitutes I send ye, and createPlenipotent on Earth, of matchless mightIssuing from me. On your joint vigour nowMy hold of this new kingdom all depends,Through Sin to Death exposed by my exploit.If your joint power prevail, the affairs of HellNo detriment need fear; go, and be strong."So saying, he dismissed them; they with speedTheir course through thickest constellations held,Spreading their bane; the blasted stars looked wan,And planets, planet-strook, real eclipseThen suffered. The other way Satan went downThe causey to Hell-gate; on either sideDisparted Chaos overbuilt exclaimed,And with rebounding surge the bars assailed,That scorned his indignation. Through the gate,Wide open and unguarded, Satan passed,And all about found desolate; for thoseAppointed to sit there had left their charge,Flown to the upper World; the rest were allFar to the inland retired, about the wallsOf Pandemonium, city and proud seatOf Lucifer, so by allusion calledOf that bright star to Satan paragoned.There kept their watch the legions, while the GrandIn council sat, solicitous what chanceMight intercept their Emperor sent; so heDeparting gave command, and they observed.As when the Tartar from his Russian foe,[302]By Astracan, over the snowy plains,Retires, or Bactrian Sophi, from the hornsOf Turkish crescent, leaves all waste beyondThe realm of Aladule, in his retreatTo Tauris or Casbeen; so these, the lateHeaven-banished host, left desert utmost HellMany a dark league, reduced in careful watchRound their Metropolis, and now expectingEach hour their great Adventurer from the searchOf foreign worlds. He through the midst unmarked,In shew plebeian Angel militantOf lowest order, passed, and, from the doorOf that Plutonian hall, invisibleAscended his high Throne, which, under stateOf richest texture spread, at the upper endWas placed in regal lustre. Down a whileHe sat, and round about him saw, unseen.At last, as from a cloud, his fulgent headAnd shape star-bright appeared, or brighter, cladWith what permissive glory since his fallWas left him, or false glitter. All amazedAt that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throngBent their aspect, and whom they wished beheld,Their mighty Chief returned: loud was the acclaim.Forth rushed in haste the great consulting Peers,Raised from their dark Divan, and with like joyCongratulant approached him, who with handSilence, and with these words attention, won:—"Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues,Powers!—For in possession such, not only of right,I call ye, and declare ye now, returned,Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forthTriumphant out of this infernal PitAbominable, accursed, the house of woe,And dungeon of our tyrant! Now possess,As lords, a spacious World, to our native HeavenLittle inferior, by my adventure hardWith peril great achieved. Long were to tellWhat I have done, what suffered, with what pain[303]Voyaged the unreal, vast, unbounded DeepOf horrible confusion—over whichBy Sin and Death a broad way now is paved,To expedite your glorious march; but IToiled out my uncouth passage, forced to rideThe untractable Abyss, plunged in the wombOf unoriginal Night and Chaos wild,That, jealous of their secrets, fiercely opposedMy journey strange, with clamorous uproarProtesting Fate supreme; thence how I foundThe new-created World, which fame in HeavenLong had foretold, a fabric wonderful,Of absolute perfection; therein ManPlaced in a Paradise, by our exileMade happy. Him by fraud I have seducedFrom his Creator, and, the more to increaseYour wonder, with an apple! He, thereatOffended—worth your laughter!—hath given upBoth his beloved Man and all his WorldTo Sin and Death a prey, and so to us,Without our hazard, labour, or alarm,To range in, and to dwell, and over ManTo rule, as over all he should have ruled.True is, me also he hath judged; or ratherMe not, but the brute Serpent, in whose shapeMan I deceived. That which to me belongsIs enmity, which he will put betweenMe and Mankind: I am to bruise his heel;His seed—when is not set—shall bruise my head!A world who would not purchase with a bruise,Or much more grievous pain? Ye have the accountOf my performance; what remains, ye Gods,But up and enter now into full bliss?"So having said, a while he stood, expectingTheir universal shout and high applauseTo fill his ear; when, contrary, he hears,On all sides, from innumerable tonguesA dismal universal hiss, the soundOf public scorn. He wondered, but not long
¶u i i_: 1 : . u: if[304]His visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare,His arms clung to his ribs, his legs entwiningEach other, till, supplanted, down he fell,A monstrous serpent on his belly prone,Reluctant, but in vain; a greater powerNow ruled him, punished in the shape he sinned,According to his doom. He would have spoke,But hiss for hiss returned with forked tongueTo forked tongue; for now were all transformedAlike, to serpents all, as accessoriesTo his bold riot. Dreadful was the dinOf hissing through the hall, thick-swarming nowWith complicated monsters, head and tail—Scorpion, and Asp, and Amphisbxna dire,Cerastes horned, Hydrus, and Ellops drear,And Dipsas (not so thick swarmed once the soilBcdropt with blood of Gordon, or the isleOphiusa); but still greatest the midst,Now Dragon grown, larger than whom the SunIngendered in the Pythian vale on slime,Huge Python; and his power no less he seemedAbove the rest still to retain. They allHim followed, issuing forth to the open field,Where all yet left of that revolted rout,Heaven-fallen, in station stood or just array,Sublime with expectation when to seeIn triumph issuing forth their glorious Chief.They saw, but other sight instead—a crowdOf ugly serpents! Horror on them fell,And horrid sympathy; for what they sawThey felt themselves now changing. Down their arms,Down fell both spear and shield; down they as fast,And the dire hiss renewed, and the dire formCatched by contagion, like in punishmentAs in their crime. Thus was the applause they meantTurned to exploding hiss, triumph to shameCast on themselves from their own mouths. Therestood
¶A grove hard by, sprung up with this their change,His will who reigns above, to aggravate[305]Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like thatWhich grew in Paradise, the bait of EveUsed by the Tempter. On that prospect strangeTheir earnest eyes they fixed, imaginingFor one forbidden tree a multitudeNow risen, to work them furder woe or shame;Yet, parched with scalding thirst and hunger fierceThough to delude them sent, could not abstain,But on they rowled in heaps, and, up the treesClimbing, sat thicker than the snaky locksThat curled Megaera. Greedily they pluckedThe fruitage fair to sight, like that which grewNear that bituminous lake where Sodom flamed;This, more delusive, not the touch, but tasteDeceived; they fondly thinking to allayTheir appetite with gust, instead of fruitChewed bitter ashes, which the offended tasteWith spattering noise rejected. Oft they assayed,Hunger and thirst constraining; drugged as oft,With hatefulest disrelish writhed their jawsWith soot and cinder filled; so oft they fellInto the same illusion, not as ManWhom they triumphed' once lapsed. Thus were theyplagued,And, worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss,Till their lost shape, permitted, they resumed—Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergoThis annual humbling certain numbered days,To dash their pride, and joy for Man seduced.However, some tradition they dispersedAmong the Heathen of their purchase got,And fabled how the Serpent, whom they calledOphion, with Eurynome (the wide-Encroaching Eve perhaps), had first the ruleOf high Olympus, thence by Saturn drivenAnd Ops, ere yet Dictaean Jove was born.Meanwhile in Paradise the Hellish pairToo soon arrived—Sin, there in power beforeOnce actual, now in body, and to dwellHabitual habitant; behind her Death,[306]Close following pace for pace, not mounted yetOn his pale horse; to whom Sin thus began:—"Second of Satan sprung, all-conquering Death!What think'st thou of our empire now? though earnedWith travail difficult, not better farThan still at Hell's dark threshold to have sat watch,Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half-starved?"Whom thus the Sin-born Monster answered soon:—"To me, who with eternal famine pine,Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven—There best where most with ravin I may meet:Which here, though plenteous, all too little seemsTo stuff this maw, this vast unhide-bound corpse."To whom the incestuous Mother thus replied:—"Thou, therefore, on these herbs, and fruits, and flowers,Feed first; on each beast next, and fish, and fowl—No homely morsels; and whatever thingThe scythe of Time mows down devour unspared;Till I, in Man residing through the race,His thoughts, his looks, words, actions, all infect,And season him thy last and sweetest prey."This said, they both betook them several ways,Both to destroy, or unimmortal makeAll kinds, and for destruction to matureSooner or later; which the Almighty seeing,From his transcendent Seat the Saints among,To those bright Orders uttered thus his voice:—"See with what heat these dogs of Hell advanceTo waste and havoc yonder World, which ISo fair and good created, and had stillKept in that state, had not the folly of ManLet in these wasteful furies, who imputeFolly to me (so doth the Prince of HellAnd his adherents), that with so much easeI suffer them to enter and possessA place so heavenly, and, conniving, seemTo gratify my scornful enemies,That laugh, as if, transported with some fitOf passion, I to them had quitted all,At random yielded up to their misrule;[307]And know not that I called and drew them thither,My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filthWhich Man's polluting sin with taint hath shedOn what was pure; till, crammed and gorged, nigh burstWith sucked and glutted offal, at one slingOf thy victorious arm, well-pleasing Son,Both Sin and Death, and yawning Grave, at lastThrough Chaos hurled, obstruct the mouth of HellFor ever, and seal up his ravenous jaws.Then Heaven and Earth, renewed, shall be made pureTo sanctity that shall receive no stain:Till then the curse pronounced on both precedes."He ended, and the Heavenly Audience loudSung Halleluiah, as the sound of seas,Through multitude that sung:—"Just are thy ways,Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works;Who can extenuate thee? Next, to the Son,Destined restorer of Mankind, by whomNew Heaven and Earth shall to the ages rise,Or down from Heaven descend." Such was their song,While the Creator, calling forth by nameHis mighty Angels, gave them several charge,As sorted best with present things. The SunHad first his precept so to move, so shine,As might affect the Earth with cold and heatScarce tolerable, and from the north to callDecrepit winter, from the south to bringSolstitial summer's heat. To the blanc MoonHer office they prescribed; to the other fiveTheir planetary motions and aspects',In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite,Of noxious efficacy, and when to joinIn synod unbenign; and taught the fixedTheir influence malignant when to shower—Which of them, rising with the Sun or falling,Should prove tempestuous. To the winds they setTheir corners, when with bluster to confoundSea, air, and shore; the thunder when to rollWith terror through the dark aerial hall.Some say he bid his Angels turn askance[308]The poles of Earth twice ten degrees and moreFrom the Sun's axle; they with labour pushedOblique the centric Globe: some say the SunWas bid turn reins from the equinoctial roadLike distant breadth—to Taurus with the sevenAtlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins,Up to the Tropic Crab; thence down amainBy Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales,As deep as Capricorn; to bring in changeOf seasons to each clime. Else had the springPerpetual smiles on Earth with vernant flowers,Equal in days and nights, except to thoseBeyond the polar circles; to them dayHad unbenighted shon, while the low Sun,To recompense his distance, in their sightHad rounded still the horizon, and not knownOr east or west—which had forbid the snowFrom cold Estotiland, and south as farBeneath Magellan. At that tasted Fruit,The Sun, as from Thyestean banquet, turnedHis course intended; else how had the worldInhabited, though sinless, more than nowAvoided pinching cold and scorching heat?These changes in the heavens, though slow, producedLike change on sea and land—sidereal blast,Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot,Corrupt and pestilent. Now from the northOf Norumbega, and the Samoed shore,Bursting their brazen dungeon, armed with ice,And snow, and hail, and stormy gust and Haw,Boreas and Cxcias and Argestes loudAnd Thrascias rend the woods, and seas upturn;With adverse blasts upturns them from the southNotus and Afer, black with thundrous cloudsFrom Serraliona; thwart of these, as fierceForth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds,Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise,Sirocco and Libecchio. Thus beganOutrage from lifeless things; but Discord first,Daughter of Sin, among the irrational[309]Death introduced through fierce antipathy.Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with fowl,And fish with fish. To graze the herb all leavingDevoured each other; nor stood much in aweOf Man, but fled him, or with countenance grimGlared on him passing. These were from withoutThe growing miseries; which Adam sawAlready in part, though hid in gloomiest shade,To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within,And, in a troubled sea of passion tost,Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint:—"O miserable of happy! Is this the endOf this new glorious World, and me so lateThe glory of that glory? who now, becomeAccursed of blessed, hide me from the faceOf God, whom to behold was then my highthOf happiness! Yet well, if here would endThe misery! I deserved it, and would bearMy own deservings. But this will not serve:All that I eat or drink, or shall beget,Is propagated curse. O voice, once heardDelightfully, 'Encrease and multiply'Now death to hear! for what can I encreaseOr multiply but curses on my head?Who, of all ages to succeed, but, feelingThe evil on him brought by me, will curseMy head? 'Ill fare our Ancestor impure!For this we may thank Adam!' but his thanksShall be the execration. So, besidesMine own that bide upon me, all from meShall with a fierce reflux on me redound—On me, as on their natural centre, light;Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joysOf Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!Did I request thee, Maker, from my clayTo mould me Man? Did I solicit theeFrom darkness to promote me, or here placeIn this delicious Garden? As my willConcurred not to my being, it were but rightAnd equal to reduce me to my dust,[310]Desirous to resign and render backAll I received, unable to performThy terms too hard, by which I was to holdThe good I sought not. To the loss of that,Sufficient penalty, why hast thou addedThe sense of endless woes? InexplicableThy justice seems. Yet, to say truth, too lateI thus contest; then should have been refusedThose terms, whatever, when they were proposed.Thou didst accept them: wilt thou enjoy the good,Then cavil the conditions? And, though GodMade thee without thy leave, what if thy sonProve disobedient, and, reproved, retort,'Wherefore didst thou beget me? I sought it not!'Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of theeThat proud excuse? yet him not thy election,But natural necessity, begot.God made thee of choice his own, and of his ownTo serve him; thy reward was of his grace;Thy punishment, then, justly is at his will.Be it so, for I submit; his doom is fair,That dust f am, and shall to dust return.O welcome hour whenever! Why delaysHis hand to execute what his decreeFixed on this day? Why do I overlive?Why am I mocked with death, and lengthened outTo deathless pain? How gladly would I meetMortality, my sentence, and be earthInsensible! how glad would lay me downAs in my mother's lap! There I should rest,And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no moreWould thunder in my ears; no fear of worseTo me and to my offspring would torment meWith cruel expectation. Yet one doubtPursues me still—lest all I cannot die;Lest that pure breath of life, the Spirit of ManWhich God inspired, cannot together perishWith this corporeal clod. Then, in the grave,Or in some other dismal place, who knowsBut I shall die a living death? O thought[311]Horrid, if true! Yet why? It was but breathOf life that sinned: what dies but what had lifeAnd sin? The body properly hath neither.All of me, then, shall die: let this appeaseThe doubt, since human reach no further knows.For, though the Lord of all be infinite,Is his wrauth also? Be it, Man is not so,But mortal doomed. But can he exerciseWrauth without end on Man, whom death must end?Can he make deathless death ? That were to makeStrange contradiction; which to God himselfImpossible is held, as argumentOf weakness, not of power. Will he draw out,For anger's sake, finite to infiniteIn punished Man, to satisfy his rigourSatisfied never? That were to extendHis sentence beyond dust and Nature's law;By which all causes else according stillTo the reception of their matter act,Not to the extent of their own sphere. But sayThat death be not one stroke, as I supposed,Bereaving sense, but endless miseryFrom this day onward, which I feel begunBoth in me and without me, and so lastTo perpetuity Ay me! that fearComes thundering back with dreadful revolutionOn my defenceless head! Both Death and IAm found eternal, and incorporate both:Nor I on my part single; in me allPosterity stands cursed. Fair patrimonyThat I must leave ye, sons! Oh, were I ableTo waste it all myself, and leave ye none!So disinherited, how would ye blessMe, now your curse! Ah, why should all Mankind,For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemned?If guiltless! But from me what can proceedBut all corrupt—both mind and will depravedNot to do only, but to will the sameWith me? How can they, then, acquitted standIn sight of God ? Him, after all disputes,[312]Forced I absolve. All my evasions vainAnd reasonings, though through mazes, lead me stillBut to my own conviction: first and lastOn me, me only, as the source and springOf all corruption, all the blame lights due.So might the wrauth! Fond wish! could'st thousupportThat burden, heavier than the Earth to bear—Than all the world much heavier, though dividedWith diat bad Woman? Thus, what thou desir'st,And what thou fear'st, alike destroys all hopeOf refuge, and concludes thee miserableBeyond all past example and future'—To Satan only like, both crime and doom.0 Conscience! into what abyss of fearsAnd horrors hast thou driven me; out of whichI find no way, from deeper to deeper plunged!"Thus Adam to himself lamented loudThrough the still night—not now, as ere Man fell,Wholesome and cool and mild, but with black airAccompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom;Which to his evil conscience representedAll things with double terror. On the groundOutstretched he lay, on the cold ground, and oftCursed his creation; Death as oft accusedOf tardy execution, since denouncedThe day of his offence. "Why comes not Death,"Said he, "with one thrice-acceptable strokeTo end me? Shall Truth fail to keep her word,Justice divine not hasten to be just?But Death comes not at call; Justice divineMends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries.O woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers!With other echo late I taught your shadesTo answer, and resound far other song."Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld,Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh,Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed;But her, with stern regard, he thus repelled:—"Out of my sight, thou Serpent! That name best[313]Befits thee, with him leagued, thyself as falseAnd hateful: nothing wants, but that thy shapeLike his, and colour serpentine, may shewThy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from theeHenceforth, lest that too heavenly form, pretendedTo hellish falsehood, snare them. But for theeI had persisted happy, had not thy prideAnd wandering vanity, when least was safe,Rejected my forewarning, and disdainedNot to be trusted—longing to be seen,Though by the Devil himself; him overweeningTo overreach; but, with the Serpent meeting,Fooled and beguiled; by him thou, 1 by thee,To trust thee from my side, imagined wise,Constant, mature, proof against all assaults,And understood not all was but a shew,Rather than solid virtue, all but a ribCrooked by nature—bent, as now appears,More to the part sinister—from me drawn;Well if thrown out, as supernumeraryTo my just number found! O, why did GodCreator wise, that peopled highest HeavenWith Spirits masculine, create at lastThis novelty on Earth, this fair defectOf Nature, and not fill the World at onceWith men as Angels, without feminine;Or find some other way to generateMankind? This mischief had not then befallen,And more that shall befall—innumerableDisturbances on Earth through female snares,And strait conjunction with this sex. For eitherHe never shall find out fit mate, but suchAs some misfortune brings him, or mistake;Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain,Through her perverseness, but shall see her gainedBy a far worse, or, if she love, withheldBy parents; or his happiest choice too lateShall meet, already linked and wedlock-boundTo a fell adversary, his hate or shame:Which infinite calamity shall cause[314]To human life, and household peace confound."He added not, and from her turned; but Eve,Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing,And tresses all disordered, at his feetFell humble, and, imbracing them, besoughtHis peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint:—"Forsake me not thus, Adam! witness HeavenWhat love sincere and reverence in my heartI bear thee, and unweeting have offended,Unhappily deceived! Thy suppliantI beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me notWhereon I live, thy gende looks, thy aid,Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee,Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,Between us two let there be peace; both joining,As joined in injuries, one enmityAgainst a Foe by doom express assigned us.That cruel Serpent. On me exercise notThy hatred for this misery befallen—On me already lost, me than thyselfMore miserable. Both have sinned; but thouAgainst God only; I against God and thee,And to the place of judgment will return,There with my cries impor'tune Heaven, that allThe sentence, from thy head removed, may lightOn me, sole cause to thee of all this woe,Me, me only, just object of His ire."She ended, weeping; and her lowly plight,Immovable till peace obtained from faultAcknowledged and deplored, in Adam wraughtCommiseration. Soon his heart relentedTowards her, his life so late, and sole delight,Now at his feet submissive in distress—Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking,His counsel whom she had displeased, his aid.As one disarmed, his anger all he lost,And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon:—"Unwary, and too desirous, as before[315]So now, of what thou know'st not, who desir'stThe punishment all on thyself! Alas!Bear thine own first, ill able to sustainHis full wrauth whose thou feel'st as yet least part,And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayersCould alter high decrees, I to that placeWould speed before thee, and be louder heard,That on my head all might be visited,Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven,To me committed, and by me exposed.But rise; let us no more contend, nor blameEach other, blamed enough elsewhere, but striveIn offices of love how we may lightenEach other's burden in our share of woe;Since this day's death denounced, if aught I see,Will prove no sudden, but a slow-paced evil,A long day's dying, to augment our pain.And to our seed (O hapless seed!) derived."To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied:—"Adam, by sad experiment I knowHow little weight my words with thee can find,Found so erroneous, thence by just eventFound so unfortunate. Nevertheless,Restored by thee, vile as I am, to placeOf new acceptance, hopeful to regainThy love, the sole contentment of my heart,Living or dying from thee I will not hideWhat thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen,Tending to some relief of our extremes,Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable,As in our evils, and of easier choice.If care of our descent perplex us most,Which must be born to certain woe, devouredBy Death at last (and miserable it isTo be to others cause of misery,Our own begotten, and of our loins to bringInto this cursed world a woeful race,That, after wretched life, must be at lastFood for so foul a Monster), in thy powerIt lies, yet ere conception, to prevent[316]The race unblest, to being yet unbegot.Childless thou art; childless remain. So DeathShall be deceived his glut, and with us twoBe forced to satisfy his ravenous maw.But, if thou judge it hard and difficult,Conversing, looking, loving, to abstainFrom love's due rites, nuptial imbraces sweet,And with desire to languish without hopeBefore the present object languishingWith like desire—which would be miseryAnd torment less than none of what we dread—Then, both our selves and seed at once to freeFrom what we fear for both, let us make short;Let us seek Death, or, he not found, supplyWith our own hands his office on ourselves.Why stand we longer shivering under fearsThat shew no end but death, and have the power,Of many ways to die the shortest choosing,Destruction with destruction to destroy?"She ended here, or vehement despairBroke off the rest; so much of death her thoughtsHad entertained as dyed her cheeks with pale.But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed,To better hopes his more attentive mindLabouring had raised, and thus to Eve replied:—"Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seemsTo argue in thee something more sublimeAnd excellent than what thy mind contemns:But self-destruction therefore sought refutesThat excellence thought in thee, and impliesNot thy contempt, but anguish and regretFor loss of life and pleasure overloved.Or, if thou covet death, as utmost endOf misery, so thinking to evadeThe penalty pronounced, doubt not but GodHath wiselier armed his vengeful ire than soTo be forestalled. Much more I fear lest deathSo snatched will not exempt us from the painWe are by doom to pay; rather such actsOf contumacy will provoke the Highest[317]To make death in us live. Then let us seekSome safer resolution—which methinksI have in view, calling to mind with heedPart of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruiseThe Serpent's head. Piteous amends! unlessBe meant whom I conjecture, our grand foe,Satan, who in the Serpent hath contrivedAgainst us this deceit. To crush his headWould be revenge indeed—which will be lostBy death brought on ourselves, or childless daysResolved as thou proposest; so our foeShall scape his punishment ordained, and weInstead shall double ours upon our heads.No more be mentioned, then, of violenceAgainst ourselves, and wilful barrennessThat cuts us off from hope, and savours onlyRancour and pride, impatience and despite,Reluctance against God and his just yokeLaid on our necks. Remember with what mildAnd gracious temper he both heard and judged,Without wrauth or reviling. We expectedImmediate dissolution, which we thoughtWas meant by death that day; when, lo! to theePains only in child-bearing were foretold.And bringing forth, soon recompensed with joy,Fruit of thy womb. On me the curse aslopeGlanced on the ground. With labour I must earnMy bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse;My labour will sustain me; and, lest coldOr heat should injure us, his timely careHath, unbesought, provided, and his handsClothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged.How much more, if we pray him, will his earBe open, and his heart to pity incline,And teach us further by what means to shunThe inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow!Which now the sky, with various face, beginsTo shew us in this mountain, while the windsBlow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locksOf these fair spreading trees; which bids us seek[318]Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherishOur limbs benumbed—ere this diurnal starLeave cold the night, how we his gathered beamsReflected may with matter sere foment,Or by collision of two bodies grindThe air attrite to fire, as late the clouds,Jusding, or pushed with winds, rude in their shock,Tine the slant lightning, whose thwart flame, drivendown,Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine,And sends a comfortable heat from far,Which might supply the Sun. Such fire to use,And what may else be remedy or cureTo evils which our own misdeeds have wrought,He will instruct us praying, and of graceBeseeching him; so as we need not fearTo pass commodiously this life, sustainedBy him with many comforts, till we endIn dust, our final rest and native home.What better can we do than, to the placeRepairing where he judged us, prostrate fallBefore him reverent, and there confessHumbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tearsWatering the ground, and with our sighs the airFrequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in signOf sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek?Undoubtedly he will relent, and turnFrom his displeasure, in whose look serene,When angry most he seemed and most severe,What else but favour, grace, and mercy shon?"So spake our Father penitent; nor EveFelt less remorse. They, forthwith to the placeRepairing where he judged them, prostrate fellBefore him reverent, and both confessedHumbly their faults, and pardon begged, with tearsWatering the ground, and with their sighs the airFrequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in signOf sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek.
The Eleventh Book
¶THE ARC U MEN T . — The Son of God presents to his Father the prayers of our first parents now repenting, and intercedes for them. God accepts them, but declares that they must no longer abide in Paradise; sends Michael with a band of Cherubim to dispossess them, but first to reveal to Adam future things: Michael's coming down . Adam shews to F.ve certain ominous signs: he discerns Michael's approach; goes out to meet him: the Angel denounces their departure. Eve's lamentation. Adam pleads, but submits: the Angel leads him up to a high hill; sets before him in vision what shall happen till the Flood.
¶THUS they, in lowliest plight, repentant stoodPraying; for from the Mercy-seat abovePrevenient grace descending had removedThe stony from their hearts, and made new fleshRegenerate grow instead, that sighs now breathedUnutterable, which the Spirit of prayerInspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flightThan loudest oratory. Yet their portNot of mean suitors; nor important lessSeemed their petition than when the ancient PairIn fables old, less ancient yet than these,Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restoreThe race of mankind drowned, before the shrineOf Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayersFlew up, nor missed the way, by envious windsBlown vagabond or frustrate: in they passedDimensionless through heavenly doors; then, cladWith incense, where the Golden Altar fumed,By their great Intercessor, came in sightBefore the Father's Throne. Them the glad SonPresenting thus to intercede began:—"See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth arc sprungFrom thy implanted grace in Man—these sighsAnd prayers, which in this golden censer, mixedWith incense, I, thy priest, before thee bring;Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seedSown with contrition in his heart, than thoseWhich, his own hand manuring, all the treesOf Paradise could have produced, ere fallenFrom innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine earTo supplication; hear his sighs, though mute;[320]Unskilful with what words to pray, let meInterpret for him, me his AdvocateAnd propitiation; all his works on me,Good or not good, ingraft; my merit thoseShall perfet, and for these my death shall pay.Accept me, and in me from these receiveThe smell of peace toward Mankind; let him live,Before thee reconciled, at least his daysNumbered, though sad, till death, his doom (which ITo mitigate thus plead, not to reverse),To better life shall yield him, where with meAll my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss,Made one with me, as I with thee am one."To whom the Father, without cloud, serene:—"All thy request for Man, accepted Son,Obtain; all thy request was my decree.But longer in that Paradise to dwellThe law 1 gave to Nature him forbids;Those pure immortal elements, that knowNo gross, no unharmonious mixture foul.Eject him, tainted now, and purge him off,As a distemper, gross, to air as gross,And mortal food, as may dispose him bestFor dissolution wrought by sin, that firstDistempered all things, and of incorruptCorrupted. I, at first, with two fair giftsCreated him endowed—with HappinessAnd Immortality; that fondly lost,This other served but to eternize woe,Till I provided Death: so Death becomesHis final remedy, and, after lifeTried in sharp tribulation, and refinedBy faith and faithful works, to second life,Waked in the renovation of the just,Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed.But let us call to synod all the BlestThrough Heaven's wide bounds; from them I will nothideMy judgments—how with Mankind I proceed,As how with peccant Angels late they saw,[321]And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed."He ended, and the Son gave signal highTo the bright Minister that watched. He blewHis trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhapsWhen God descended, and perhaps once moreTo sound at general doom. The angelic blastFilled all the regions: from their blissful bowersOf amarantin shade, fountain or spring,By the waters of life, where'er they sateIn fellowships of joy, the Sons of LightHasted, resorting to the summons high,And took their seats, till from his Throne supremeThe Almighty thus pronounced his sovran will:—"O Sons, like one of us Man is becomeTo know both Good and Evil, since his tasteOf that defended Fruit; but let him boastHis knowledge of good lost and evil got,Happier had it sufficed him to have knownGood by itself and evil not at all.He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite—My motions in him; longer than they move,His heart I know how variable and vain,Self-left. Lest, therefore, his now bolder handReach also of the Tree of Life, and eat,And live for ever, dream at least to liveFor ever, to remove him I decree,And send him from the Garden forth, to tillThe ground whence he was taken, fitter soil.Michael, this my behest have thou in charge:Take to thee from among the CherubimThy choice of flaming warriors, lest the Fiend,Or in behalf of Man, or to invadeVacant possessions, some new trouble raise;Haste thee, and from the Paradise of GodWithout remorse drive out the sinful pair,From hallowed ground the unholy, and denounceTo them, and to their progeny, from thencePerpetual banishment. Yet, lest they faintAt the sad sentence rigorously urged(For I behold them softened, and with tears[322]Bewailing their excess), all terror hide.If patiently thy bidding they obey,Dismiss them not disconsolate; revealTo Adam what shall come in future days,As I shall thee enlighten; intermixMy covenant in the Woman's seed renewed.So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace;And on the east side of the Garden place,Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs,Cherubic watch, and of a Sword the flameWide-waving, all approach far off to fright,And guard all passage to the Tree of Life;Lest Paradise a receptacle proveTo Spirits foul, and all my trees their prey,With whose stolen fruit Man once more to delude."He ceased, and the Archangelic Power preparedFor swift descent; with him the cohort brightOf watchful Cherubim. Four faces eachHad, like a double Janus; all their shapeSpangled with eyes more numerous than thoseOf Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse,Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reedOf Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile,To resalute the World with sacred light,Leucothea waked, and with fresh dews imbalmedThe Earth, when Adam and first matron EveHad ended now their orisons, and foundStrength added from above, new hope to springOut of despair, joy, but with fear yet linked;Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed:—"Eve, easily may faith admit that allThe good which we enjoy from Heaven descends;But that from us aught should ascend to HeavenSo prevalent as to concern the mindOf God high-blest, or to incline his will,Hard to belief may seem. Yet this will prayer,Or one short sigh of human breath, upborneEven to the seat of God. For, since I soughtBy prayer the offended Deity to appease,Kneeled and before him humbled all my heart,[323]Methought I saw him placable and mild,Bending his ear; persuasion in me grewThat I was heard with favour; peace returnedHome to my breast, and to my memoryHis promise that thy seed shall bruise our Foe;Which, then not minded in dismay, yet nowAssures me that the bitterness of deathIs past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee!Eve rightly called, Mother of all Mankind,Mother of all things living, since by theeMan is to live, and all things live for Man."To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek:—"Ill-worthy I such title should belongTo me transgressor, who, for thee ordainedA help, became thy snare; to me reproachRather belongs, distrust and all dispraise.But infinite in pardon was my Judge,That I, who first brought death on all, am gracedThe source of life; next favourable thou,Who highly thus to entitle me voutsaf'st,Far other name deserving. But the fieldTo labour calls us, now with sweat imposed,Though after sleepless night; for see! the Morn,All unconcerned with our unrest, beginsHer rosy progress smiling. Let us forth,I never from thy side henceforth to stray,Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoinedLaborious, till day droop. While here we dwell,What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks?Here let us live, though in fallen state, content."So spake, so wished, much-humbled Eve; but FateSubscribed not. Nature first gave signs, impressedOn bird, beast, air—air suddenly eclipsed,After short blush of morn. Nigh in her sightThe bird of Jove, stooped from his aerie tour,Two birds of gayest plume before him drove;Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods,First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace,Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind;Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight.[324]Adam observed, and, with his eye the chasePursuing, not unmoved to Eve thus spake:—"O Eve, some furder change awaits us nigh,Which Heaven by these mute signs in Nature shews,Forerunners of his purpose, or to warnUs, haply too secure of our dischargeFrom penalty because from death releasedSome days: how long, and what till then our life,Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust,And thither must return, and be no more?Why else this double object in our sight,Of flight pursued in the air and o'er the groundOne way the self-same hour? Why in the eastDarkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-lightMore orient in yon western cloud, that drawsO'er the blue firmament a radiant white,And slow descends, with something Heavenly fraught?"He erred not; for, by this, the Heavenly bandsDown from a sky of jasper lighted nowIn Paradise, and on a hill made halt—A glorious Apparition, had not doubtAnd carnal fear that day dimmed Adam's eye.Not that more glorious, when the Angels metJacob in Mahanaim, where he sawThe field pavilioned with his guardians bright;Nor that which on the flaming Mount appearedIn Dothan, covered with a camp of fire,Against the Syrian king, who, to surpriseOne man, assassin-like, had levied war,War unproclaimed. The princely HierarchIn their bright stand there left his Powers to seizePossession of the Garden; he alone,To find where Adam sheltered, took his way,Not unperceived of Adam; who to Eve,While the great Visitant approached, thus spake:—"Eve, now expect great tidings, which, perhaps,Of us will soon determine, or imposeNew laws to be observed; for I descry,From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,One of the Heavenly host, and, by his gait,[325]None of the meanest—some great PotentateOr of the Thrones above, such majestyInvests him coming; yet not terrible,That I should fear, nor sociably mild,As Raphael, that I should much confide,But solemn and sublime; whom, not to offend.With reverence I must meet, and thou retire."He ended; and the Archangel soon drew nigh,Not in his shape celestial, but as manClad to meet man. Over his lucid armsA military vest of purple flowed,Livelier than Meliboean, or the grainOf Sarra, worn by kings and heroes oldIn time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof.His starry helm unbuckled shewed him primeIn manhood where youth ended; by his side,As in a glistering zodiac, hung the sword,Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear.Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his stateInclined not, but his coming thus declared:—"Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs.Sufficient that thy prayers are heard, and Death,Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress,Defeated of his seizure many days,Given thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent,And one bad act with many deeds well doneMay'st cover. Well may then thy Lord, appeased,Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim;But longer in this Paradise to dwellPermits not. To remove thee I am come,And send thee from the Garden forth, to tillThe ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil."He added not; for Adam, at the newsHeart-strook, with chilling gripe of sorrow stood,That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseenYet all had heard, with audible lamentDiscovered soon the place of her retire:—"O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leaveThee, native soil? these happy walks and shades,[326]Fit haunt of Gods, where I had hope to spend,Quiet, though sad, the respite of that dayThat must be mortal to us both? O flowers,That never will in other climate grow,My early visitation, and my lastAt even, which I bred up with tender handFrom the first opening bud, and gave ye names,Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rankYour tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adornedWith what to sight or smell was sweet, from theeHow shall I part, and whither wander downInto a lower world, to this obscureAnd wild? How shall we breathe in other airLess pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?"Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild:"Lament not, Eve, but patiendy resignWhat justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart,Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine.Thy going is not lonely; with thee goesThy husband; him to follow thou art bound;Where he abides, think there thy native soil."Adam, by this from the cold sudden dampRecovering, and his scattered spirits returned,To Michael thus his humble words addressed:—"Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or namedOf them the highest—for such of shape may seemPrince above princes—gently hast thou toldThy message, which might else in telling wound,And in performing end us. What besidesOf sorrow, and dejection, and despair,Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring—Departure from this happy place, our sweetRecess, and only consolation leftFamiliar to our eyes; all places elseInhospitable appear, and desolate,Nor knowing us, nor known. And, if by prayerIncessant I could hope to change the willOf Him who all things can, I would not ceaseTo weary him with my assiduous cries;[327]But prayer against his absolute decreeNo more avails than breath against the wind,Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth:Therefore to his great bidding I submit.This most afflicts me—that, departing hence,As from his face I shall be hid, deprivedHis blessed countenance. Here I could frequent,With worship, place by place where he voutsafedPresence Divine, and to my sons relate,'On this mount He appeared; under this treeStood visible; among these pines his voiceI heard; here with him at this fountain talked.'So many grateful altars I would rearOf grassy turf, and pile up every stoneOf lustre from the brook, in memoryOr monument to ages, and thereonOffer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers.In yonder nether world where shall I seekHis bright appearances, or footstep trace?For, though I fled him angry, yet, recalledTo life prolonged and promised race, I nowGladly behold though but his utmost skirtsOf glory, and far off his steps adore."To whom thus Michael, with regard benign:—"Adam, thou know'st Heaven his, and all the Earth,Not this rock only; his omnipresence fillsLand, sea, and air, and every kind that lives,Fomented by his virtual power and warmed.All the Earth he gave thee to possess and rule,No despicable gift; surmise not, then,His presence to these narrow bounds confinedOf Paradise or Eden. This had beenPerhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spreadAll generations, and had hither come,From all the ends of the Earth, to celebrateAnd reverence thee their great progenitor.But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought downTo dwell on even ground now with thy sons-Yet doubt not but in valley and in plainGod is, as here, and will be found alike[328]Present, and of his presence many a signStill following thee, still compassing thee roundWith goodness and paternal love, his faceExpress, and of his steps the track divine.Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirmedEre thou from hence depart, know I am sentTo shew thee what shall come in future daysTo thee and to thy offspring. Good with badExpect to hear, supernal grace contendingWith sinfulness of men—thereby to learnTrue patience, and to temper joy with fearAnd pious sorrow, equally inuredBy moderation either state to bear,Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou leadSafest thy life, and best prepared endureThy mortal passage when it comes. AscendThis hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes)Here sleep below while thou to foresight wak'st,As once thou slept'st while she to life was formed."To whom thus Adam gratefully replied:—"Ascend; I follow thee, safe Guide, the pathThou lead'st me, and to the hand of Heaven submit,However chastening—to the evil turnMy obvious breast, arming to overcomeBy suffering, and earn rest from labour won,If so I may attain." So both ascendIn the Visions of God. It was a hill,Of Paradise the highest, from whose topThe hemisphere of Earth is clearest kenStretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay.Not higher that hill, nor wider looking ground,Whereon for different cause the Tempter setOur second Adam, in the wilderness,To shew him all Earth's kingdoms and their glory.His eye might there command wherever stoodCity of old or modern fame, the seatOf mightiest empire, from the destined wallsOf Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can,And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne,To Paquin, of Sinzan kings, and thence[329]To Agra and Lahor of Great Mogul,Down to the golden Chersonese, or whereThe Persian in Ecbatan sat, or sinceIn Hispahan, or where the Russian KsarIn Mosco, or the Sultan in Bizance,Turchestan-born; nor could his eye not kenThe empire of Negus to his utmost portErcoco, and the less maritime kings,Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind,And Sofala (thought Ophir), to the realmOf Congo, and Angola fardest south,Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount,The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus,Marocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen;On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway,The world: in spirit perhaps he also sawRich Mexico, the seat of Montezume,And Cusco in Peru, the richer seatOf Atabalipa, and yet unspoiledGuiana, whose great city Geryon's sonsCall El Dorado. But to nobler sightsMichael from Adam's eyes the film removedWhich that false fruit that promised clearer sightHad bred; then purged with euphrasy and rueThe visual nerve, for he had much to see,And from the well of life three drops instilled.So deep the power of these ingredients pierced,Even to the inmost seat of mental sight,That Adam, now enforced to close his eyes,Sunk down, and all his spirits became intranced.But him the gentle Angel by the handSoon raised, and his attention thus recalled:—"Adam, now ope thine eyes, and first beholdThe effects which thy original crime hath wroughtIn some to spring from thee, who never touchedThe excepted Tree, nor with the Snake conspired,Nor sinned thy sin, yet from that sin deriveCorruption to bring forth more violent deeds."His eyes he opened, and beheld a field,Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves[330]New-reaped, the other part sheep-walks and folds;I' the midst an altar as the landmark stood,Rustic, of grassy sord. Thither anonA sweaty reaper from his tillage broughtFirst-fruits, the green ear and the yellow sheaf,Unculled, as came to hand. A shepherd next,More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock,Choicest and best; then, sacrificing, laidThe inwards and their fat, with incense strewed,On the cleft wood, and all due rites performed.His offering soon propitious fire from heavenConsumed, with nimble glance and grateful steam;The other's not, for his was not sincere:Whereat he inly raged, and, as they talked,Smote him into the midriff with a stoneThat beat out life; he fell, and, deadly pale,Groaned out his soul, with gushing blood effused.Much at that sight was Adam in his heartDismayed, and thus in haste to the Angel cried:—"O Teacher, some great mischief hath befallenTo that meek man, who well had sacrificed:Is piety thus and pure devotion paid?"To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied:—"These two are brethren, Adam, and to comeOut of thy loins. The unjust the just hath slain,For envy that his brother's offering foundFrom Heaven acceptance; but the bloody factWill be avenged, and the other's faith approvedLose no reward, though here thou see him die,Rowling in dust and gore." To which our Sire:—"Alas, both for the deed and for the cause!But have I now seen Death? Is this the wayI must return to native dust? O sightOf terror, foul and ugly to behold!Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!"To whom thus Michael:—"Death thou hast seenIn his first shape on Man; but many shapesOf Death, and many are the ways that leadTo his grim cave—all dismal, yet to senseMore terrible at the entrance than within.[331]Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die,By fire, flood, famine; by intemperance moreIn meats and drinks, which on the Earth shall brirDiseases dire, of which a monstrous crewBefore thee shall appear, that thou may'st knowWhat misery the inabstinence of EveShall bring on men." Immediately a placeBefore his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark;A lazar-house it seemed, wherein were laidNumbers of all diseased—all maladiesOf ghastly spasm, of racking torture, qualmsOf heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds,Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs,Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs,Dacmoniac phrenzy, moping melancholy,And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence,Dropsies and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums.Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; DespairTended the sick, busiest from couch to couch;And over them triumphant Death his dartShook, but delayed to strike, though oft invokedWith vows, as their chief good and final hope.Sight so deform what heart of rock could longDry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept,Though not of woman born: compassion quelledHis best of man, and gave him up to tearsA space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess,And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed:-
¶"O miserable Mankind, to what fallDegraded, to what wretched state reserved!Better end here unborn. Why is life givenTo be thus wrested from us? rather whyObtruded on us thus? who, if we knewWhat we receive would either not acceptLife offered, or soon beg to lay it down,Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thusThe image of God in Man, created onceSo goodly and erect, though faulty since,To such unsightly sufferings be debased[332]Under inhuman pains? Why should not Man,Retaining still divine similitudeIn part, from such deformities be free,And for his Maker's image'sake exempt?""Their Maker's image," answered Michael, "thenForsook them, when themselves they vilifiedTo serve ungoverned Appetite, and tookHis image whom they served—a brutish vice,Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve.Therefore so abject is their punishment,Disfiguring not God's likeness,but their own;Or, if his likeness, by themselves defacedWhile they pervert pure Nature's healthful rulesTo loathsome sickness—worthily, since theyGod's image did not reverence in themselves.""I yield it just," said Adam, "and submit.But is there yet no other way, besidesThese painful passages, how we may comeTo death, and mix with our connatural dust?""There is," said Michael, "if thou well observeThe rule of Not too much, by temperance taughtIn what thou eat'st and drink'st, seeking from thenceDue nourishment, not gluttonous delight,Till many years over thy head return.So may'st thou live, till, like ripe fruit, thou dropInto thy mother's lap, or be with easeGathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature.This is old age; but then thou must outliveThy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will changeTo withered, weak, and grey; thy senses then,Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgoTo what thou hast; and, for the air of youth,Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reignA melancholy damp of cold and dry,To weigh thy spirits down, and last consumeThe balm of life." To whom our Ancestor:—"Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolongLife much—bent rather how I may be quit,Fairest and easiest, of this cumbrous charge,Which I must keep till my appointed day[333]Of rendering up, and patiently attendMy dissolution." Michael replied:—"Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv'stLive well, how long or short permit to Heaven.And now prepare thee for another sight."He looked, and saw a spacious plain, whereonWere tents of various hue: by some were herdsOf cattle grazing: others whence the soundOf instruments that made melodious chimeWas heard, of harp and organ, and who movedTheir stops and chords was seen: his volant touchInstinct through all proportions low and highFled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue.In other part stood one who, at the forgeLabouring, two massy clods of iron and brassHad melted (whether found where casual fireHad wasted woods, on mountain or in vale,Down to the veins of earth, thence gliding hotTo some cave's mouth, or whether washed by streamFrom underground); the liquid ore he drainedInto fit moulds prepared; from which he formedFirst his own tools, then what might else be wroughtFusil or graven in metal. After these,But on the hither side, a different sortFrom the high neighbouring hills, which was their seat,Down to the plain descended: by their guiseJust men they seemed, and all their study bentTo worship God aright, and know his worksNot hid; nor those things last which might preserveFreedom and peace to men. They on the plainLong had not walked when from the tents beholdA bevy of fair women, richly gayIn gems and wanton dress! to the harp they sungSoft amorous ditties, and in dance came on.The men, though grave, eyed them, and let their eyesRove without rein, till, in the amorous netFast caught, they liked, and each his liking chose.And now of love they treat, till the evening-star,Love's harbinger, appeared; then, all in heat,They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke[334]Hymen, then first to marriage rites invoked:With feast and music all the tents resound.Such happy interview, and fair eventOf love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers,And charming symphonies, attached the heartOf Adam, soon inclined to admit delight,The bent of Nature; which he thus expressed:—"True opener of mine eyes, prime Angel blest,Much better seems this vision, and more hopeOf peaceful days portends, than those two past:Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse;Here Nature seems fulfilled in all her ends."To whom thus Michael:—"Judge not what is bestBy pleasure, though to Nature seeming meet,Created, as thou art, to nobler end,Holy and pure, conformity divine.Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant were the tentsOf wickedness, wherein shall dwell his raceWho slew his brother: studious they appearOf arts that polish life, inventors rare;Unmindful of their Maker, though his SpiritTaught them; but they his gifts acknowledged none.Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget;For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seemedOf goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay,Yet empty of all good wherein consistsWoman's domestic honour and chief praise;Bred only and completed to the tasteOf lustful appetence, to sing, to dance,To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye;—To these that sober race of men, whose livesReligious tided them the Sons of God,Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame,Ignobly, to the trains and to the smilesOf these fair atheists, and now swim in joy(Erelong to swim at large) and laugh; for whichThe world erelong a world of tears must weep."To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft:—"O pity and shame, that they who to live wellEntered so fair should turn aside to tread[335]Paths indirect, or in the midway faint!But still I see the tenor of Man's woeHolds on the same, from Woman to begin.""From Man's effeminate slackness it begins,"Said the Angel, "who should better hold his placeBy wisdom, and superior gifts received.But now prepare thee for another scene."He looked, and saw wide territory spreadBefore him—towns, and rural works between,Cities of men with lofty gates and towers,Concourse in arms, fierce faces threatening war,Giants of mighty bone and bold emprise.Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed,Single or in array of battle rangedBoth horse and foot, nor idly mustering stood.One way a band select from forage drivesA herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine,From a fat meadow-ground, or fleecy flock,Ewes and their bleating lambs, over the plain,Their booty; scarce with life the shepherds fly,But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray:With cruel tournament the squadrons join;Where cattle pastured late, now scattered liesWith carcasses and arms the ensanguined fieldDeserted. Others to a city strongLay siege, encamped, by battery, scale, and mine,Assaulting; others from the wall defendWith dart and javelin, stones and sulphurous fire;On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds.In other parts the sceptred haralds callTo council in the city-gates: anonGrey-headed men and grave, with warriors mixed,Assemble, and harangues are heard; but soonIn factious opposition, till at lastOf middle age one rising, eminentIn wise deport, spake much of right and wrong,Of justice, of religion, truth, and peace,And judgment from above: him old and youngExploded, and had seized with violent hands,Had not a cloud descending snatched him thence,[336]Unseen amid the throng. So violenceProceeded, and oppression, and sword-law,Through all the plain, and refuge none was found.Adam was all in tears, and to his guideLamenting turned full sad:—"Oh, what are these?Death's ministers, not men! who thus deal deathInhumanly to men, and multiplyTen thousandfold the sin of him who slewHis brother; for of whom such massacreMake they but of their brethren, men of men?But who was that just man, whom had not HeavenRescued, had in his righteousness been lost?"To whom thus Michael:—"These are the product'Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st,Where good with bad were matched; who of themselvesAbhor to join, and, by imprudence mixed,Produce prodigious births of body or mind.Such were these Giants, men of high renown;For in those days might only shall be admired,And valour and heroic virtue called.To overcome in battle, and subdueNations, and bring home spoils with infiniteManslaughter, shall be held the highest pitchOf human glory, and, for glory done,Of triumph to be styled great conquerors,Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods—Destroyers rightlier called, and Plagues of men.Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth,And what most merits fame in silence hid.But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou beheld'stThe only righteous in a world perverse,And therefore hated, therefore so besetWith foes, for daring single to be just,And utter odious truth, that God would comeTo judge them with his Saints—him the Most High,Rapt in a balmy cloud, with winged steeds,Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with GodHigh in salvation and the climes of bliss,Exempt from death, to show thee what rewardAwaits the good, the rest what punishment;[337]Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold."He looked, and saw the face of things quite changed.The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar;All now was turned to jollity and game,To luxury and riot, feast and dance,Marrying or prostituting, as befell,Rape or adultery, where passing fairAllured them; thence from cups to civil broils.At length a reverend Sire among them came,And of their doings great dislike declared,And testified against their ways. He oftFrequented their assemblies, whereso met,Triumphs or festivals, and to them preachedConversion and repentance, as to soulsIn prison, under judgments imminent;But all in vain. Which when he saw, he ceasedContending, and removed his tents far off;Then, from the mountain hewing timber tall,Began to build a Vessel of huge bulk,Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and highth,Smeared round with pitch, and in the side a doorContrived, and of provisions laid in largeFor man and beast: when lo! a wonder strange!Of every beast, and bird, and insect smallCame sevens and pairs, and entered in, as taughtTheir order; last, the Sire and his three sons,With their four wives; and God made fast the door.Meanwhile the South-wind rose, and, with black wingsWide-hovering, all the clouds together droveFrom under heaven; the hills to their supplyVapour, and exhalation dusk and moist,Sent up amain; and now the thickened skyLike a dark ceiling stood: down rushed the rainImpetuous, and continued till the earthNo more was seen. The floating Vessel swumUplifted, and secure with beaked prowRode tilting o'er the waves; all dwellings elseFlood overwhelmed, and them with all their pompDeep under water rowled; sea covered sea,Sea without shore: and in their palaces,[338]Where luxury late reigned, sea-monsters whelpedAnd stabled: of mankind, so numerous late,All left in one small bottom swum imbarked.How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to beholdThe end of all thy offspring, end so sad,Depopulation! Thee another flood,Of tears and sorrow a flood thee also drowned,And sunk thee as thy sons; till, gently rearedBy the Angel, on thy feet thou stood'st at last,Though comfortless, as when a father mournsHis children, all in view destroyed at once.And scarce to the Angel utter'dst thus thy plaint:—"O Visions ill foreseen! Better had ILived ignorant of future—so had borneMy part of evil only, each day's lotEnough to bear. Those now that were dispensedThe burden of many ages on me lightAt once, by my foreknowledge gaining birthAbortive, to torment me, ere their being,With thought that they must be. Let no man seekHenceforth to be foretold what shall befallHim or his children—evil, he may be sure,Which neither his foreknowing can prevent,And he the future evil shall no lessIn apprehension than in substance feelGrievous to bear. But that care now is past;Man is not whom to warn; those few escapedFamine and anguish will at last consume,Wandering that watery desert. I had hope,When violence was ceased and war on Earth,All would have then gone well, peace would havecrownedWith length of happy days the race of Man;But I was far deceived, for now I seePeace to corrupt no less than war to waste.How comes it thus? Unfold, Celestial Guide,And whether here the race of Man will end."To whom thus Michael:—"Those whom last thousaw'stIn triumph and luxurious wealth are they[339]First seen in acts of powers eminentAnd great exploits, but of true virtue void;Who, having spilt much blood, and done much waste,Subduing nations, and achieved therebyFame in the world, high tides, and rich prey,Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth,Surfeit, and lust, till wantonness and prideRaise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace.The conquered, also, and enslaved by war,Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose,And fear of God—from whom their piety feignedIn sharp contest of battle found no aidAgainst invaders; therefore, cooled in zeal,Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure,Worldly, or dissolute, on what their lordsShall leave them to enjoy; for the Earth shall bearMore than enough, that temperance may be tried.So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved.Justice and temperance, truth and faith, forgot;One man except, the only son of lightIn a dark age, against example good,Against allurement, custom, and a worldOffended. Fearless of reproach and scorn,Or violence, he of their wicked waysShall them admonish, and before them setThe paths of righteousness, how much more safeAnd full of peace, denouncing wrauth to comeOn their impenitence, and shall returnOf them derided, but of God observedThe one just man alive: by his commandShall build a wondrous Ark, as thou beheld'st,To save himself and household from amidstA world devote to universal wrack.No sooner he, with them of man and beastSelect for life, shall in the ark be lodgedAnd sheltered round, but all the cataractsOf Heaven set open on the Earth shall pourRain day and night; all fountains of the deep,Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurpBeyond all bounds, till inundation rise[340]Above the highest hills. Then shall this MountOf Paradise by might of waves be movedOut of his place, pushed by the horned flood,With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift,Down the great River to the opening Gulf,And there take root, an island salt and bare,The haunt of seals, and ores, and sea-mews' clang—To teach thee that God at'tributes to placeNo sanctity, if none be thither broughtBy men who there frequent or therein dwell.And now what furder shall ensue behold."He looked, and saw the Ark hull on the flood,Which now abated; for the clouds were fled,Driven by a keen North-wind, that, blowing dry,Wrinkled the face of Deluge, as decayed;And the clear sun on his wide watery glassGazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew,As after thirst; which made their flowing shrinkFrom standing lake to tripping ebb, that stoleWith soft foot towards the deep, who now had stoptHis sluices, as the heaven his windows shut. .The Ark no more now floats, but seems on ground,Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed.And now the tops of hills as rocks appear;With clamour thence the rapid currents driveTowards the retreating sea their furious tide.Forthwith from out the ark a Raven flies,And, after him, the surer messenger,A Dove, sent forth once and again to spyGreen tree or ground whereon his foot may light;The second time returning, in his billAn olive-leaf he brings, pacific sign.Anon dry ground appears, and from his arkThe ancient sire descends, with all his train;Then, with uplifted hands and eyes devout,Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholdsA dewy cloud, and in the cloud a BowConspicuous with three listed colours gay,Betokening peace from God, and covenant new.Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad,[341]Greatly rejoiced; and thus his joy broke forth:—"O thou, who future things canst representAs present, Heavenly Instructor, I reviveAt this last sight, assured that Man shall live,With all the creatures, and their seed preserve.Far less I now lament for one whole worldOf wicked sons destroyed than I rejoiceFor one man found so perfet and so justThat God voutsafes to raise another worldFrom him, and all his anger to forget.But say what mean those coloured streaks in Heaven:Distended as the brow of God appeased?Or serve they as a flowery verge to bindThe fluid skirts of that same watery cloud,Lest it again dissolve and shower the Earth?"To whom the Archangel:—"Dextrously thou aim'st.So willingly doth God remit his ire:Though late repenting him of Man depraved,Grieved at his heart, when, looking down, he sawThe whole Earth filled with violence, and all fleshCorrupting each their way; yet, those removed,Such grace shall one just man find in his sightThat he relents, not to blot out mankind,And makes a covenant never to destroyThe Earth again by flood, nor let the seaSurpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the worldWith man therein or beast; but, when he bringsOver the Earth a cloud, will therein setHis triple-coloured bow, whereon to lookAnd call to mind his Covenant. Day and night,Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost,Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things newBoth Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell."