As plauts: ambiguous between sea and land The river horse and scaly crocodile.
At once came forth whatever creeps the ground,
Insect or worm: those wav'd their limber fans For wings, and smallest linaments exact In all their liveries deck'd of Summer's pride With spots of gold and purple, azure and green:
These as a line their long dimensions drew, Streaking the ground with sinuous trace; not all
Minims of Nature; some of serpent kind, Wond'rous in length and corpulence, involv'd Their snaky folds, and added wings. First
The parsimonious emmet, provident
Of future, in small room large heart inclos'd, Pattern of just equality perhaps Hereafter, joined in their popular tribes Of commonalty: swarming next appear'd The female bee, that feeds her husband drone Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells With honey stor'd: the rest are numberless, And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st them names,
Needless to thee repeated; nor unknown Of buge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes And hoary mane terrific, though to thee The serpent subtlest beast of all the field, Not noxious, but obedient at thy call.
Now Heav'n in all her glory shone, and roli'd
Her motions, as the great first Mover's hand First wheel'd their course, Earth in her rich | attire
Consummate lovely smil'd; air, water, earth, By fowl, fish,beast, was flown, was swum, was
Over the fish and fowl of sea, and air, Beast of the field, and over all the Earth, And every creeping thing that creeps the ground.
This said, he form'd thee, Adam, thee, O Man, Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breath'd
The breath of life; in his own image he Created thee, in the image of God Express, and thou becam'st a living soul. Male he created thee, but thy consort Female for race; then blest Mankind, and
Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth, Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air, And every living thing that moves on th Earth.
Wherefore thus created, for no place
Is yet distinct by name, thence as thou know'st,
He brought thee into this delicious grove, This garden, planted with the trees of God, Delectable both to behold and taste;
Aud freely all their present fruit for food Gave thee; all sorts are here that all th' Earth yields
Variety without end; but of the tree, Which tasted works knowledge of good and evil,
Thou may'st not; in the day thou cat'st, thou dy'st;
Death is the penalty impos'd, beware, And govern well thy appetite, lest Sin Surprise thee, and her black attendant Death.
Here finish'd he, and all that he had made View'd, and behold all was entirely good; So Bv'n and Moru accomplish'd the sixth day: Yet not till the Creator from his work Desisting though unwearied, up return'd, Up to the Heav'n of Heav'ns his high abode, Thence to behold this new created world Th' addition of his empire, how it show'd In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair,
Answering his great idea. Up he rode Follow'd with acclamation and the sound Symphonious of ten thousand harps that tun'd Angelic harmonies: the earth, the air, Resounded, (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st)
The Heav'ns and all the constellations rung, The planets in their station list'ning stood, While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. Open, ye everlasting Gates, they sung, Open, ye Heav'ns, your living Doors; let in The great Creator from his work return'd Magnificent, his six day's work, a World; Open, and henceforth oft; for God will deiga
To visit oft the dwellings of just Men Delighted, and with frequent intercourse Thither will send his winged messengers On errands of supernal grace. So sung
The glorious train ascending: he through Heav'n,
That open'd wide her blazing portals, led To God's eternal house direct the way, A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold And pavement stars, as stars to thee appear, Seen in the galaxy, that milky way,
Which nightly as a circling zone thou sec'st Powder'd with stars. And now on earth the seventh
Evening rose in Eden, for the sun
Was set, and twilight from the east came ou,
Forerunning Night; when at the holy mount Of Heav'n's high-seated top, th' imperial throne
Of Godhead, fix'd for ever firm and sure, The Filial Power arriv'd, and sat him down With his great Father, for he also went Invisible, yet stay'd, (such privilege Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordain'd, Author and end of all things, and from work Now resting, blest and hallow'd the sev'nth day,
As resting on that day from all his work, But not in silence holy kept; the harp Had work and rested not, the solemn pipe, And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop, All sounds ou fret by string or golden wire Temper'd soft tunings, intermix'd with voice Choral or unison: of incense clouds Fuming from golden censers hid the mount. Creation and the six days' acts they sung, Great are thy works Jehovab, infinite Thy power: what thought can measure thee
Relate thee? greater now in thy return Than from the giant angels; thee that day Thy thunders magnify'd; but to create
Is greater than created to destroy. Who can impair thee, mighty King, or bound Thy empire? casily the proud attempt Of spirits apostate and their councils vain Thou hast repell'd, while impiously they thought
Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw The number of thy worshippers. Who secks To lessen thee against his purpose serves To manifest the more thy might: bis evil Thou usest, and from thence creat'st more good.
Witness this new-made World, another Heav'n From Heav'n gate not far, founded in view On the clear hyaline, the glassy sea; Of amplitude almost immense, with stars Numerous, and every star perhaps a world Of destin'd habitation; but thou know'st Their seasons: among those the seat of
Earth with her nether ocean circumfus'd, Their pleasant dwelling place. Thrice happy
And sons of men, whom God hath thus ad vanc'd,
Created in his image there to dwell And worship him, and in reward to rule Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air, And multiply a race of worshippers Holy and just thrice happy if they know Their happiness, and persevere upright.
So sung they, and the empyrean rung With halleluiahs: thus was sabbath kept. And thy request think now fulfill'd, that ask'd
How first this World and face of things began,
And what before thy memory was done From the beginning, that posterity Inform'd by thee might know if else thon seek'st
Ought, not surpassing human measure, say.
Adam enquires concerning celestial motions, is doubtfully answered, and exhorted to search rather things more worthy of knowledge. Adam assents, and still desirous to retain 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 auptials with Eve, his discourse with the Angel thereupon; who after admonition repeated departs.
THE Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he a while Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to bear;
Then as new wak'd thus gratefully reply'd : What thanks sufficient, or what recompense Equal have I to render to thee, divine Historian, who thus largely hast allay'd The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouch- saf'd
This friendly condescension to relate Thiugs eise by me unsearchable, now heard With wonder, but delight, and, as is due, With glory attributed to the high Creator? Something yet of doubt remains, Which only thy solution can resolve. When I behold this goodly frame, this world Of Heav'n and Earth consisting, aud compute Their magnitutes, this earth a spost, a grain,|| An atom, with the firmament compar'd And all her number'd stars, that seem to roll Spaces incomprehensible (for such Their distance argues and their swift return Diurnal) merely to officiate light
Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot, One day and night, in all their vast survey Useless besides; reasoning I oft admire, How nature wise and frugal could commit Such disproportions, with superfluous hand So many nobler bodies to create, Greater so manifold to this one use, For ought appears, and on their orbs impose Such restless revolution day by day Repeated, while the sedentary earth, That better might with far less compass move, Serv'd by more noble than herself, attains Her end without least motion, and receives, As tribute, such a sumless journey brought Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light;
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and
To visit how they prosper'd, bud and bloom, Her nursery; they at her coming sprung, And touch'd by her fair teudance glad ier grew. Yet went she not, as not with such discourse Delighted, or not capable ber ear
Of what was high: such pleasure she reserv'd, Adam relating, she sole auditress; Her husband the relator she preferr'd Before the Angel, and of him to ask Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermix Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute With conjugal caresses; from his lip Not words alone pleas'd her. O when meet
Such pairs, in love and mutual honour join'd? With Goddess-like demeanour forth she went, Not unattended, for on her as queen A pomp of winning graces waited still, And from about her shot darts of desire Into all eyes to wish her still in sight. And Raphael now to Adam's doubt propos'd Benevolent and facile thus reply'd.
To ask or search I blame thee not, for Heaven
Is as the book of God before thee set, Wherein to read his wond'rous works, and [years;
His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or This to attain, whether Heav'n niove or Earth Imports not, if thou reckon 1ight; the rest From Man or Angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge His secrets to be scann'd by them who ought Rather admire; or if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide
Speed, to describe whose swiftness number || Hereafter, when they come to mode! Heaven
[seem'd So spake our Sire, and by his count'nance Eut'ring on studious thoughts abstruse, which
Perceiving where she sat retir'd in sight, With lowliness majestic from her seat,
And calculate the stars, how they will wield The mighty frame, how build, uubuild, con-
To save appearances, how gird the sphere With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb :
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay, Already by thy reasoning this I guess,
Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest That bodies bright and greater should not [rut, The less not bright, nor Heav'n such journies Earth sitting still when she alone receives The benefit: consider first, that great Or bright infers not excellence: the earth Though, in comparison of Heav'n, so small, Nor glist'ring, may of solid gold contain More plenty than the sun that barren shines, Whose virtue on itself works no effect, But in the fruitfal earth; there first receiv'd His beams unactive else, their vigour find. Yet not to earth are those bright luminaries Officious, but to thee, earth's habitant. And for the Heav'n's wide circuit, let it speak The Maker's high magnificence, who built So spacious, and his line stretch'd out so far; That Man may know he dwells not in his own; An edifice too large for him to fill, Lodg'd in a small partition, and the rest Ordain'd for uses to his Lord best known. The swiftness of those circles attribute, Though numberless, to his omnipoteuce, That to corporeal substances could add Speed almost spiritual: me thou think'st not slow, [Heaven Who since the morning hour set out from Where God resides, and ere mid-day arriv'd In Eden, distance inexpressible
By numbers that have name. But this I urge, Admitting motion in the Heav'ns, to show Invalid that which thee to doubt it mov'd; Not that I so affirm, though so it seem To thee who hast thy dwelling here on earth. God to remove his ways from human sense Plac'd Heav'n from Earth so far, that earthly sight,
If it presume, might err in things too high, And no advantage gain. What if the sun Be centre to the world, and other stars By his attractive virtue and their own Incited, dance about him various rounds? Their wand'ring course now high, now low, then hid,
Progressive, retrograde, or standing still, In six thou seest, and what if sev'nth to these The planet earth, so stedfast though she seem, Insensibly three different motions move? Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe,
Mov'd contrary with thwart obliquities, Or save the sun his labour, and that swift Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb suppos'd, Invisible else above all stars, the wheel Of day and night; which needs not thy belief, If earth industrious of herself fetch day Travelling east, and with her part averse From the sun's beam meet night, her other part
Still luminous by his ray. What if that light Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air,
To the terrestrial moon be as a star Enlight'ning her by day, as she by night This earth? reciprocal, if land be there, Fields and inhabitants: Her spots thou seest As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain pro- duce
Fruits in her soften'd soil for some to cat Allotted there; and other suns perhaps With their attendant moons thou wilt descry Communicating male and female light, Which two great sexes animate the world, Stor'd in each orb perhaps with some that live, For such vast room in nature unpossess'd By living soul, desert and desolate, Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute Each orb a glimpse of light convey'd so far Down to this habitable, which returns Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. But whether thus these things, or whether not, Whether the sun predominant in Heaven Rise on the earth, or earth rise on the sun, He from the east his flaming road begin, Or she from west her silent course advance With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps Ou 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 plac'd, let him dispose: joy thos In what he gives to thee, this Paradise And thy fair Eve; Heav'n is for thee too high To know what passes there; be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee and thy being; Dream not of other worlds, what creatures
Live, in what state, condition or degree, Contented that thus far hath been reveal'd Not of Earth only but of highest Heaven.
To whom thus Adam, clear'd of doubt, reply'd.
How fully hast thou satisfy'd me, pure Intelligence of Heav'n, Angel serene, And freed from intricacies, taught to live, The easiest way, nor with perplexing throught To interrupt the sweet of life, from which God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares, And not molest us, unless we ourselves Seek them with wand'ring thoughts, and no tions vain.
But apt the mind or fancy is to rove Uncheck'd, and of her roving is no end; Till warn'd, or by experience taught, she learn, That not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and subtle, but to know That which before us lies in daily life,
Is the prime wisdom; which is more, is fume, Or emptiness, or food impertinence, And renders us in things that most concern Uupractis'd, unprepar'd, and still to seek. Therefore from this high pitch let us descend A lower flight, and speak of things at hand Useful, whence haply mention may arise Of something not unseasonable to ask By sufference, and thy wonted favour deign'd Thee I have heard relating what was done Ere my remembrance: now hear me relate My story, which perhaps thou hast not heard; And day is not yet spent; till then thou seest How subtly to detain thee I devise, Inviting thee to hear while I relate, Fond, were it not in hope of thy reply: For while I sit with thee, I seem in Heaven, And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear Than fruits of palm tree pleasantest to thirst And hunger both, from labour at the hour Of sweet repast; they satiate, and soon fill Though pleasant, but thy words with grace di-
Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety. To whom thus Raphael answer'd heav'nly
Nor are thy lips ungaceful, Sire of men, Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee Abundantly his gifts hath also pour'd Inward and outward both, his image fair: Speaking or mute all comeliness and grace Attends thee, and each word, each motion forms;
Nor less think we in Heav'n of thee on Earth Than of our fellow-servant, and enquire Gladly into the ways of God with Man : For God we see hath honour'd thee, and set On Man his equal love: say therefore on; For I that day was absent, as befel, Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure, Far on excursion toward the gates of Hell; Squar'd in full legion (such command we had) To see that none thence issued forth a spy, Or enemy, while God was in his work, Lest he incens'd at such eruption bold, Destruction with creation night have mix'd. Not that they durst without his leave attempt, But us he sends upon his high behests For state, as Sov'reign King, and to inure Our prompt obedience. Fast wc found, fast shut The dismal gates, aud barricado'd strong; But long ere our approaching heard within Noise, other than the sound of dance or song, Torment, and loud lament, aud furious rage. Glad we return'd up to the coasts of light Ere sabbath evening: so we had in charge. But thy relation now; for I attend,
Pleas'd with thy words no less than thou with inine.
With supple joints, as lively vigour led:
But who I was, or where, or from what cause, Knew not; to speak I try'd, and forthwith
My tongue obey'd, and readily could name Whate'er I saw. Thou Sun, said I, fair light, And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay, Ye Hills, and Dales, ye Rivers, Woods, aud Plains,
And ye that live and move, fair Creatures tell, Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here? Not of myself; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in pow'r pre-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 call'd, and stray'd I knew not whither,
From where I firt drew air, and first beheld This happy light, when answer none return'd, On a green shady bank profuse of flow'rs Pensive I sat me down; there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seiz'd My droused sense, untroubled, though I thought
I then was passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve: When suddenly stood at my head a dream, Whose inward apparition gently mov'd My fancy to believe I yet had being, And liv'd: One came, methought, of shapé
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