| |
| THE ANGEL ended, and in Adam’s ear | |
| So charming left his voice that he a while | |
| Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear; | |
| Then, as new-waked, thus gratefully replied:— | |
| “What thanks sufficient, or what recompense | 5 |
| Equal, have I to render thee, divine | |
| Historian, who thus largely hast allayed | |
| The thirst I had of knowledge, and voutsafed | |
| This friendly condescension to relate | |
| Things else by me unsearchable—now heard | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| Of Heaven and Earth consisting, and compute | |
| Their magnitudes—this Earth, a spot, a grain, | |
| An atom, with the Firmament compared | |
| And all her numbered stars, that seem to rowl | |
| Spaces incomprehensible (for such | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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 aught appears, and on their Orbs impose | 30 |
| Such restless revolution day by day | |
| Repeated, while the sedentary Earth, | |
| That better might with far less compass move, | |
| Served by more noble than herself, attains | |
| Her end without least motion, and receives, | 35 |
| As tribute, such a sumless journey brought | |
| Of incorporeal speed her warmth and light: | |
| Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails.” | |
| So spake our Sire, and by his countenance seemed | |
| Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve | 40 |
| Perceiving, where, she sat retired in sight, | |
| With lowliness majestic from her seat, | |
| And grace that won who saw to wish her stay, | |
| Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers, | |
| To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom, | 45 |
| Her nursery; they at her coming sprung, | |
| And, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew. | |
| Yet went she not as not with such discourse | |
| Delighted, or not capable her ear | |
| Of what was high. Such pleasure she reserved, | 50 |
| Adam relating, she sole auditress; | |
| Her husband the relater she preferred | |
| Before the Angel, and of him to ask | |
| Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermix | |
| Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute | 55 |
| With conjugal caresses: from his lip | |
| Not words alone pleased her. Oh, when meet now | |
| Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined? | |
| With goddess-like demeanour forth she went, | |
| Not unattended; for on her as Queen | 60 |
| 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 proposed | |
| Benevolent and facile thus replied:— | 65 |
| “To ask or search I blame thee not; for Heaven | |
| Is as the Book of God before thee set, | |
| Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn | |
| His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years. | |
| This to attain, whether Heaven move or Earth | 70 |
| Imports not, if thou reckon right; the rest | |
| From Man or Angel the great Architect | |
| Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge | |
| His secrets, to be scanned by them who ought | |
| Rather admire. Or, if they list to try | 75 |
| Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens | |
| Hath left to their disputes—perhaps to move | |
| His laughter at their quaint opinions wide | |
| Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven, | |
| And calculate the stars; how they will wield | 80 |
| The mighty frame; how build, unbuild, contrive | |
| To save appearances; how gird the Sphere | |
| With Centric and Eccentric scribbled o’er, | |
| Cycle and Epicycle, orb in orb. | |
| Already by thy reasoning this I guess, | 85 |
| Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest | |
| That bodies bright and greater should not serve | |
| The less not bright, nor Heaven such journeys run, | |
| Earth sitting still, when she alone receives | |
| The benefit. Consider, first, that great | 90 |
| Or bright infers not excellence. The Earth, | |
| Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small, | |
| Nor glistering, may of solid good contain | |
| More plenty than the Sun that barren shines, | |
| Whose virtue on itself works no effect, | 95 |
| But in the fruitful Earth; there first received, | |
| 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 Heaven’s wide circuit, let it speak | 100 |
| The Maker’s high magnificence, who built | |
| So spacious, and his line stretched out so far, | |
| That Man may know he dwells not in his own— | |
| An edifice too large for him to fill, | |
| Lodged in a small partition, and the rest | 105 |
| Ordained for uses to his Lord best known. | |
| The swiftness of those Circles at’tribute, | |
| Though numberless, to his Omnipotence, | |
| That to corporeal substances could add | |
| Speed almost spiritual. Me thou think’st not slow, | 110 |
| Who since the morning-hour set out from Heaven | |
| Where God resides, and ere mid-day arrived | |
| In Eden—distance inexpressible | |
| By numbers that have name. But this I urge, | |
| Admitting motion in the Heavens, to shew | 115 |
| Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved; | |
| 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, | |
| Placed Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sight, | 120 |
| 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? | 125 |
| Their wandering course, now high, now low, then hid, | |
| Progressive, retrograde, or standing still, | |
| In six thou seest; and what if, seventh to these | |
| The planet Earth, so steadfast though she seem, | |
| Insensibly three different motions move? | 130 |
| Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe, | |
| Moved contrary with thwart obliquities, | |
| Or save the Sun his labour, and that swift | |
| Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb supposed, | |
| Invisible else above all stars, the wheel | 135 |
| Of Day and Night; which needs not they 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, | 140 |
| Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air, | |
| To the terrestrial Moon to be as a star, | |
| Enlightening her by day, as she by night | |
| This Earth—reciprocal, if land be there, | |
| Fields and inhabitants? Her spots thou seest | 145 |
| As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce | |
| Fruits in her softened soil, for some to eat | |
| Allotted there; and other Suns, perhaps, | |
| With their attendant Moons, thou wilt descry, | |
| Communicating male and female light— | 150 |
| Which to great sexes animate the World, | |
| Stored in each Orb perhaps with some that live. | |
| For such vast room in Nature unpossessed | |
| By living soul, desert and desolate, | |
| Only to shine, yet scarce to con’tribute | 155 |
| Each Orb a glimpse of light, conveyed 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, | 160 |
| 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 | |
| On her soft axle, while she paces even, | 165 |
| And bears thee soft with the smooth air along— | |
| Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid: | |
| Leave them to God above; him serve and fear. | |
| Of other creatures as him pleases best, | |
| Wherever placed, let him dispose; joy thou | 170 |
| In what he gives to thee, this Paradise | |
| And thy fair Eve; Heaven is for thee too high | |
| To know what passes there. Be lowly wise; | |
| Think only what concerns thee and thy being; | |
| Dream not to other worlds, what creatures there | 175 |
| Live, in what state, condition, or degreed- | |
| Contented that thus far hath been revealed | |
| Not of Earth only, but of highest Heaven.” | |
| To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied:— | |
| “How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure | 180 |
| Intelligence of Heaven, Angel serene, | |
| And, freed from intricacies, taught to live | |
| The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts | |
| To interrupt the sweet of life, from which | |
| God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares, | 185 |
| And not molest us, unless we ourselves | |
| Seek them with wandering thoughts, and notions vain! | |
| But apt the mind or fancy is to rove | |
| Unchecked; and of her roving is no end, | |
| Till, warned, or by experience taught, she learn | 190 |
| 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: what is more is fume, | |
| Or emptiness, or fond impertinence, | 195 |
| And renders us in things that most concern | |
| Unpractised, unprepared, 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 | 200 |
| Of something not unreasonable to ask, | |
| By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deigned. | |
| Thee I have heard relating what was done | |
| Ere my remembrance; now hear me relate | |
| My story, which perhaps, thou hast not heard. | 205 |
| And day is yet not 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; | 210 |
| 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 divine | 215 |
| Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety.” | |
| To whom thus Raphael answered, heavenly meek:— | |
| “Nor are thy lips ungrateful, Sire of Men, | |
| Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee | |
| Abundantly his gifts hath also poured, | 220 |
| 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 Heaven of thee on Earth | |
| Than of our fellow-servant, and inquire | 225 |
| Gladly into the ways of God with Man; | |
| For God, we see, hath honoured thee, and set | |
| On Man his equal love. Say therefore on; | |
| For I that day was absent, as befell, | |
| Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure, | 230 |
| Far on excursion toward the gates of Hell, | |
| Squared 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, incensed at such eruption bold, | 235 |
| Destruction with Creation might have mixed. | |
| Not that they durst without his leave attempt; | |
| But us he sends upon his high behests | |
| For state, as sovran King, and to inure | |
| Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut, | 240 |
| The dismal gates, and barricaded strong, | |
| But, long ere our approaching, heard within | |
| Noise, other than the sound of dance or song— | |
| Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage. | |
| Glad we returned up to the coasts of Light | 245 |
| Ere Sabbath-evening; so we had in charge. | |
| But thy relation now: for I attend, | |
| Pleased with thy words no less than thou with mine.” | |
| So spake the godlike Power, and thus our Sire:— | |
| “For Man to tell how human life began | 250 |
| Is hard; for who himself beginning knew? | |
| Desire with thee still longer to converse | |
| Induced me. As new-waked from soundest sleep, | |
| Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, | |
| In balmy sweat, which with his beams the Sun | 255 |
| Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. | |
| Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I turned, | |
| And gazed a while the ample sky, till, raised | |
| By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung, | |
| As thitherward endeavoring, and upright | 260 |
| Stood on my feet. About me round I saw | |
| Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, | |
| And liquid lapse of murmuring streams; by these, | |
| Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew, | |
| Birds on the branches warbling: all things smiled; | 265 |
| With fragrance and with joy my heart o’erflowed. | |
| Myself I then perused, and limb by limb | |
| Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran | |
| With supple joints, as lively vigour led; | |
| But who I was, or where, or from what cause, | 270 |
| Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake; | |
| My tongue obeyed, and readily could name | |
| Whate’er I saw. ‘Thou Sun,’ said I, ‘fair light, | |
| And thou enlightened Earth, so fresh and gay, | |
| Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, | 275 |
| 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, | |
| tin goodness and in power præ-eminent. | |
| Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, | 280 |
| From whom I have that thus I move and live, | |
| And feel that I am happier than I know!’ | |
| While thus I called, and strayed I knew not whither, | |
| From where I first drew air, and first beheld | |
| This happy light, when answer none returned, | 285 |
| On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, | |
| Pensive I sat me down. There gentle sleep | |
| First found me, and with soft oppression seized | |
| My drowsèd sense, untroubled, though I thought | |
| I then was passing to my former state | 290 |
| Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve: | |
| When suddenly stood at my head a Dream, | |
| Whose inward apparition gently moved | |
| My fancy to believe I yet had being, | |
| And lived. One came, methought, of shape divine, | 295 |
| And said, ‘Thy mansion wants thee, Adam; rise, | |
| First Man, of men innumerable ordained | |
| First father! called by thee, I come thy guide | |
| To the Garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.’ | |
| So saying, by the hand he took me, raised, | 300 |
| And over fields and waters, as in air | |
| Smooth sliding without step, last led me up | |
| A woody mountain, whose high top was plain, | |
| A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest trees | |
| Planted, with walks and bowers, that what I saw | 305 |
| Of Earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each tree | |
| Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to the eye | |
| Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite | |
| To pluck and eat; whereat I waked, and found | |
| Before mine eyes all real, as the dream | 310 |
| Had lively shadowed. Here had new begun | |
| My wandering, had not He who was my guide | |
| Up hither from among the trees appeared, | |
| Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe, | |
| In adoration at his feet I fell | 315 |
| Submiss. He reared me, and, ‘Whom thou sought’st I am,’ | |
| Said mildly, ‘Author of all this thou seest | |
| Above, or round about thee, or beneath. | |
| This Paradise I give thee; count it thine | |
| To till and keep, and of the fruit to eat. | 320 |
| Of every tree that in the Garden grows | |
| Eat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth. | |
| But of the tree whose operation brings | |
| Knowledge of Good and Ill, which I have set, | |
| The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith, | 325 |
| Amid the garden by the Tree of Life— | |
| Remember what I warn thee—shun to taste, | |
| And shun the bitter consequence: for know, | |
| The day thou eat’st thereof, my sole command | |
| Transgressed, inevitably thou shalt die, | 330 |
| From that day mortal, and this happy state | |
| Shalt lose, expelled from hence into a world | |
| Of woe and sorrow.’ Sternly he pronounced | |
| The rigid interdiction, which resounds | |
| Yet dreadful in mine ear, though in my choice | 335 |
| Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect’ | |
| Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewed:— | |
| ‘Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth | |
| To thee and to thy race I give; as lords | |
| Possess it, and all things that therein live, | 340 |
| Or live in sea or air, beast, fish, and fowl. | |
| In sign whereof, each bird and beast behold | |
| After their kinds; I bring them to receive | |
| From thee their names, and pay thee fealty | |
| With low subjection. Understand the same | 345 |
| Of fish within their watery residence, | |
| Not hither summoned, since they cannot change | |
| Their element to draw the thinner air.’ | |
| As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold | |
| Approaching two and two—these cowering low | 350 |
| With blandishment; each bird stooped on his wing. | |
| I named them as they passed, and understood | |
| Their nature; with such knowledge God endued | |
| My sudden apprehension. But in these | |
| I found not what methought I wanted still, | 355 |
| And to the Heavenly Vision thus presumed:— | |
| “‘O, by what name—or Thou above all these, | |
| Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher, | |
| Surpassest far my naming—how may I | |
| Adore thee, Author of this Universe, | 360 |
| And all this good to Man, for whose well-being | |
| So amply, and with hands so liberal, | |
| Thou hast provided all things? But with me | |
| I see not who partakes. In solitude | |
| What happiness? who can enjoy alone, | 365 |
| Or, all enjoying, what contentment find?’ | |
| Thus I, presumptuous; and the Vision bright, | |
| As with a smile more brightened, thus replied:— | |
| “‘What call’st thou solitude? Is not the Earth | |
| With various living creatures, and the Air, | 370 |
| Replenished, and all these at thy command | |
| To come and play before thee? Know’st thou not | |
| Their language and their ways? They also know, | |
| And reason not contemptibly; with these | |
| Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.’ | 375 |
| So spake the Universal Lord and seemed | |
| So ordering. I, with leave of speech implored, | |
| And humble deprecation, thus replied:— | |
| “‘Let not my words offend thee, Heavenly Power; | |
| My Maker, be propitious while I speak. | 380 |
| Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, | |
| And these inferior far beneath me set? | |
| Among unequals what society | |
| Can sort, what harmony or true delight? | |
| Which must be mutual, in proportion due | 385 |
| Given and received; but, in disparity, | |
| The one intense, the other still remiss, | |
| Cannot well suit with either, but soon prove | |
| Tedious alike. Of fellowship I speak | |
| Such as I seek, fit to participate | 390 |
| All rational delight, wherein the brute | |
| Cannot be human consort. They rejoice | |
| Each with their kind, lion with lioness; | |
| So fitly them in pairs thou hast combined: | |
| Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl, | 395 |
| So well converse, nor with the ox the ape; | |
| Worse, then, can man with beast, and least of all.’ | |
| “Whereto the Almighty answered, not displeased:— | |
| ‘A nice and subtle happiness, I see, | |
| Thou to thyself proposest, in the choice | 400 |
| Of thy associates, Adam, and wilt taste | |
| No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary. | |
| What think’st thou, then, of Me, and this my state? | |
| Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed | |
| Of happiness, or not, who am alone | 405 |
| From all eternity? for none I know | |
| Second to me or like, equal much less. | |
| How have I, then, with whom to hold converse, | |
| Save with the creatures which I made, and those | |
| To me inferior infinite descents | 410 |
| Beneath what other creatures are to thee?’ | |
| “He ceased. I lowly answered:—’To attain | |
| The highth and depth of thy eternal ways | |
| All human thoughts come short, Supreme of Things! | |
| Thou in thyself art perfect, and in Thee | 415 |
| Is no deficience found. Not so is Man, | |
| But in degree—the cause of his desire | |
| By conversation with his like to help | |
| Or solace his defects. No need that thou | |
| Should’st propagate, already infinite, | 420 |
| And through all numbers absolute, though One; | |
| But Man by number is to manifest | |
| His single imperfection, and beget | |
| Like of his like, his image multiplied, | |
| In unity defective; which requires | 425 |
| Collateral love, and dearest amity. | |
| Thou, in thy secrecy although alone, | |
| Best with thyself accompanied, seek’st not | |
| Social communication—yet, so pleased, | |
| Canst raise thy creature to what highth thou wilt | 430 |
| Of union or communion, deified; | |
| I, by conversing, cannot these erect | |
| From prone, nor in their ways complacence find. | |
| Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used | |
| Permissive, and acceptance found; which gained | 435 |
| This answer from the gratious Voice Divine:— | |
| “‘Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleased, | |
| And find thee knowing not of beasts alone, | |
| Which thou hast rightly named, but of thyself— | |
| Expressing well the spirit within thee free, | 440 |
| My image, not imparted to the brute; | |
| Whose fellowship, therefore, unmeet for thee, | |
| Good Reason was thou freely shouldst dislike. | |
| And be so minded still. I, ere thou spak’st, | |
| Knew it not good for Man to be alone, | 445 |
| And no such company as then thou saw’st | |
| Intended thee—for trial only brought, | |
| To see how thou couldst judge of fit and meet. | |
| What next I bring shall please thee, be assured, | |
| Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self, | 450 |
| Thy wish exactly to thy heart’s desire.’ | |
| “He ended, or I heard no more; for now | |
| My earthly, by his heavenly overpowered, | |
| Which it had long stood under, strained to the highth | |
| In that celestial colloquy sublime, | 455 |
| As with an object that excels the sense, | |
| Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair | |
| Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, called | |
| By Nature as in aid, and closed mine eyes. | |
| Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell | 460 |
| Of fancy, my internal sight; by which, | |
| Abstract as in a trance, methought I saw, | |
| Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the Shape | |
| Still glorious before whom awake I stood; | |
| Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took | 465 |
| From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, | |
| And life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the wound, | |
| But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed. | |
| The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands; | |
| Under his forming hands a creature grew, | 470 |
| Man-like, but different sex, so lovely fair | |
| That what seemed fair in all the world seemed now | |
| Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained | |
| And in her looks, which from that time infused | |
| Sweetness into my heart unfelt before, | 475 |
| And into all things from her air inspired | |
| The spirit of love and amorous delight. | |
| She disappeared, and left me dark; I waked | |
| To find her, or for ever to deplore | |
| Her loss, and other pleasures all adjure: | 480 |
| When, out of hope, behold her not far off, | |
| Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned | |
| With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow | |
| To make her amiable. On she came, | |
| Led by her Heavenly Maker, though unseen | 485 |
| And guided by his voice, nor uninformed | |
| Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites. | |
| Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, | |
| In every gesture dignity and love. | |
| I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud:— | 490 |
| “‘This turn hath made amends; thou hast fulfilled | |
| Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, | |
| Giver of all things fair—but fairest this | |
| Of all thy gifts!—nor enviest. I now see | |
| Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my Self | 495 |
| Before me. Woman is her name, of Man | |
| Extracted; for this cause he shall forgo | |
| Father and mother, and to his wife adhere, | |
| And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.’ | |
| “She heard me thus; and, though divinely brought, | 500 |
| Yet innocence and virgin modesty, | |
| Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth, | |
| That would be wooed, and not unsought be won, | |
| Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired, | |
| The most desirable—or, to say all, | 505 |
| Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought— | |
| Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned. | |
| I followed her; she what was honour knew, | |
| And with obsequious majesty approved | |
| My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower | 510 |
| I led her blushing like the Morn; all Heaven, | |
| And happy constellations, on that hour | |
| Shed their selectest influence; the Earth | |
| Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill; | |
| Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs | 515 |
| Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings | |
| Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub, | |
| Disporting, till the amorous bird of night | |
| Sung spousal, and bid haste the Evening-star | |
| On his hill-top to light the bridal lamp. | 520 |
| “Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought | |
| My story to the sum of earthly bliss | |
| Which I enjoy, and must confess to find | |
| In all things else delight indeed, but such | |
| As, use or not, works in the mind no change, | 525 |
| Nor vehement desire—these delicacies | |
| I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers, | |
| Walks, and the melody of birds: but here, | |
| Far otherwise, transported I behold, | |
| Transported touch; here passion first I felt, | 530 |
| Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else | |
| Superior and unmoved, here only weak | |
| Against the charm of beauty’s powerful glance. | |
| Or Nature failed in me, and left some part | |
| Not proof enough such object to sustain, | 535 |
| Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps | |
| More than enough—at least on her bestowed | |
| Too much of ornament, in outward show | |
| Elaborate, of inward less exact. | |
| For well I understand in the prime end | 540 |
| Of Nature her the inferior, in the mind | |
| And inward faculties, which most excel; | |
| In outward also her resembling less | |
| His image who made both, and less expressing | |
| The character of that dominion given | 545 |
| O’er other creatures. Yet when I approach | |
| Her loveliness, so absolute she seems | |
| And in herself complete, so well to know | |
| Her own, that what she wills to do or say | |
| Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. | 550 |
| All higher Knowledge in her presence falls | |
| Degraded; Wisdom in discourse with her | |
| Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shews; | |
| Authority and Reason on her wait, | |
| As one intended first, not after made | 555 |
| Occasionally; and, to consum’mate all, | |
| Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat | |
| Build in her loveliest, and create an awe | |
| About her, as a guard angelic placed.” | |
| To whom the Angel, with contracted brow:— | 560 |
| “Accuse not Nature! she hath done her part; | |
| Do thou but thine! and be not diffident | |
| Of Wisdom; she deserts thee not, if thou | |
| Dismiss not her, when most thou need’st her nigh, | |
| By attribu’ting overmuch to things | 565 |
| Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv’st. | |
| For, what admir’st thou, what transports thee so? | |
| An outside—fair, no doubt, and worthy well | |
| Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love; | |
| Not thy subjection. Weigh with her thyself; | 570 |
| Then value. Oft-times nothing profits more | |
| Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right | |
| Well managed. Of that skill the more thou know’st, | |
| The more she will acknowledge thee her head, | |
| And to realities yield all her shows— | 575 |
| Made so adorn for thy delight the more, | |
| So awful, that with honour thou may’st love | |
| Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise | |
| But, if the sense of touch, whereby mankind | |
| Is propagated, seem such dear delight | 580 |
| Beyond all other, think the same voutsafed | |
| To cattle and each beast; which would not be | |
| To them made common and divulged, if aught | |
| Therein enjoyed were worthy to subdue | |
| The soul of Man, or passion in him move. | 585 |
| What higher in her society thou find’st | |
| Attractive, human, rational, love still; | |
| In loving thou dost well; in passion not, | |
| Wherein true Love consists not. Love refines | |
| The thoughts, and heart enlarges—hath his seat | 590 |
| In Reason, and is judicious, is the scale | |
| By which to Heavenly Love thou may’st ascend, | |
| Not sunk in carnal pleasure; for which cause | |
| Among the beasts no mate for thee was found.” | |
| To whom thus, half abashed, Adam replied:— | 595 |
| “Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aught | |
| In procreation, common to all kinds | |
| (Though higher of the genial bed by far, | |
| And with mysterious reverence, I deem), | |
| So much delights me as those graceful acts, | 600 |
| Those thousand decencies, that daily flow | |
| From all her words and actions, mixed with love | |
| And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned | |
| Union of mind, or in us both one soul— | |
| Harmony to behold in wedded pair | 605 |
| More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear. | |
| Yet these subject not; I to thee disclose | |
| What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled, | |
| Who meet with various objects, from the sense | |
| Variously representing, yet, still free, | 610 |
| Approve the best, and follow what I approve. | |
| To love thou blam’st me not—for Love, thou say’st, | |
| Leads up to Heaven, is both the way and guide; | |
| Bear with me, then, if lawful what I ask. | |
| Love not the Heavenly Spirits, and how their love | 615 |
| Express they—by looks only, or do they mix | |
| Irradiance, virtual or immediate touch?” | |
| To whom the Angel, with a smile that glowed | |
| Celestial rosy-red, Love’s proper hue, | |
| Answered:—“Let it suffice thee that thou know’st | 620 |
| Us happy, and without Love no happiness. | |
| Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy’st | |
| (And pure thou wert created) we enjoy | |
| In eminence, and obstacle find none | |
| Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars. | 625 |
| Easier than air with air, if Spirits embrace, | |
| Total they mix, union of pure with pure | |
| Desiring, nor restrained conveyance need | |
| As flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul. | |
| But I can now no more: the parting Sun | 630 |
| Beyond the Earth’s green Cape and verdant Isles | |
| Hesperean sets, my signal to depart. | |
| Be strong, live happy, and love! but first of all | |
| Him whom to love is to obey, and keep | |
| His great command; take heed lest passion sway | 635 |
| Thy judgment to do aught which else free—will | |
| Would not admit; thine and of all thy sons | |
| The weal or woe in thee is placed; beware! | |
| I in thy persevering shall rejoice, | |
| And all the Blest. Stand fast; to stand or fall | 640 |
| Free in thine own arbitrement it lies. | |
| Perfet within, no outward aid require; | |
| And all temptation to transgress repel.” | |
| So saying, he arose; whom Adam thus | |
| Followed with benediction:—“Since to part, | 645 |
| Go, Heavenly Guest, Ethereal Messenger, | |
| Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore! | |
| Gentle to me and affable hath been | |
| Thy condescension, and shall be honoured ever | |
| With grateful memory. Thou to Mankind | 650 |
| Be good and friendly still, and oft return!” | |
| So parted they, the Angel up to Heaven | |
| From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower. | |
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