So peaceful refts, without a ftone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of duft alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be l

Poets themselves muft fall, like thofe they fung,
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whose foul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall fhortly want the gen'rous tear he pays;
Then from his clofing eyes thy form fhall part,
And the last pang fhall tear thee from his heart;
Life's idle bufinefs at one gafp be o'er,

The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

T

MORNING

HESE are thy glorious work, Parent of good!
Almighty thine this univerfal frame,

Thus wond'rous fair! thyfelf how wondrous then!
Unfpeakable! who fitt'st above these heav'ns,
To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowlieft works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye fons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with fongs
And choral fymphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heav'n,
On earth join all ye creatures to extol

Him first, him laft, him midft, and without end.

Fairest of stars, laft in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'd the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praife him in thy fphere,
While day arifes, that fweet hour of prime.

Thou fun, of this great world both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; found his praise
In thy eternal courfe, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high noon haft gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon that now meets the orient fun, now fly'ft

With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies
And ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
In myftic dance not without fong, refound
His praife, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth-
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,

;

And nourish all things; let your ceafelefs change
Vary to our great Maker ftill new praise.
Ye mifts and exhalations, that now rife
From hill or ftreaming lake, dufky or grey,
Till the fun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rife,
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirty earth with falling fhowers,
Rifing or falling ftill advance his praife.

His praife, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breath foft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in fign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye, that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praife.
Join voices all ye living fouls; ye birds,

That finging up to heaven-gate afcend,

Bear on your wings and in your notes his praife.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,

To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praise.
Hail, univerfal Lord; be bounteous ftill
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark.

MILTON.

CHA P.

VI.

SATAN's

SOLILOQUY.

THOU that, with furpaffing glory crown'd,
Look'st from thy fole dominion like the god
Of this new world; at whose fight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O fun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere;
Till pride, and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in heav'n againft heav'ns matchless King.
Ah, wherefore ? he deserv'd no fuch return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his fervice hard.
What could be less, than to afford him praise,
The eafieft recompence, and pay him, thanks,

How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice: lifted up fo high
I 'fdain'd fubjection, and thought one step higher
Would fet me high'ft, and in a moment quit
The debt immenfe of endless gratitude,
So burdenfome, ftill paying, ftill to owe;
Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd;
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but ftill pays, at once
Indebted and discharged; what burthen then?
O had his pow'rful deftiny ordain'd
Me fome inferior angel, I had ftood

Then happy; no unbounded hope had rais'd
Ambition. Yet why not? fome other power
As great might have aspir'd, and me though mean
Drawn to his part; but other pow'rs as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.

Hadft thou the fame free will and pow'r to stand?
Thou hadft. Whom haft thou then, or what t' accufe,

But Heav'n's free love, dealt equally to all?

Be then his love accurs'd, fince love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal woe.

Nay curs'd be thou; fince against his thy will
Chofe freely what it now fo justly rues.
Me miferable! which way fhall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite defpair?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And, in the loweft deep, a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the hell I fuffer feems a heaven.
O then at last relent: is there no place

Left

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by fubmiffion; and that word
Difdain forbids me, and my dread of thame
Among the fpirits beneath, whom I feduc'd
With other promises, and other vaunts,
Than to fubmit, boasting I could fubdue
Th' Omnipotent. Ah me, they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under. what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell:
With diadem and fceptre high advanc'd,
The lower ftill I fall, only fupreme
In mifery: fuch joy ambition finds.

But fay I could repent, and could obtain,

By act of grace, my former ftate; how foon.

Would height recall high thoughts, how foon unfay What feign'd fubmiffion fwore ! eafe would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void;

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd fo deep :
Which would but lead us to a worfe relapfe,
And heavier fall: fo fhould I purchase dear
Short intermiffion, bought with double smart.
This knows my punisher: therefore as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace:
All hope excluded thus, behold instead
Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewel hope, and with hope farewel fear,
Farewel remorfe; all good to me is loft;
Evil be thou my good: by thee at least
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,