His stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest Sar horror plum'd; nor wanted in his grasp What seem'd both spear and shield. Now dreadful
Might have ensu'd; not only Paradise In this commotion, but the starry cope Of heaven perhaps, or all the elements, At least had gone to wrack, disturb'd, and torn With violence of this conflict, had not soon Th' Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, Hung forth in heaven his golden scales, yet seen Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign, Wherein all things created first he weigh'd, The pendulous round earth with balanc'd air In counterpoise, now ponders all events, Battles and realms. In these he put two weights, The sequel each of parting and of fight; The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam; Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend : "Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine,
Neither our own, but given: what folly then To boast what arms can do? since thine no more Than heaven permits, nor mine, tho' doubled now To trample thee as mire: for proof look up, And read thy lot in yon celestial sign, [weak, Where thou art weigh'd, and shown how light, how If thou resist." The fiend look'd up, and knew His mounted scale aloft: nor more; but fled Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night.
Morning approached, Eve relates to Adam her troublesome dream; he likes it not, yet comforts her. They come forth to their day labours: their morning hymn at the door of their bower. God, to render man inexcusable, sends Raphael to admonish him of his obedience; of his free estate; of his enemy near at hand, who he is, and why his enemy; and whatever else may avail Adam to know. Raphael comes down to Paradise; his appearance described; his coming discerned by Adam afar off, sitting at the door of his bower; he goes out to meet him, brings him to his lodge, entertains him with the choicest fruits of Paradise got together by Eve; their discourse at table. Raphael performs his message, minds Adam of his state, and of his enemy; relates, at Adam's request, who that enemy is, and how he came to be so, beginning from his first revolt in heaven, and the occasion thereof; how he drew his legions after him to the parts of the north, and there incited them to rebel with him, persuading all but only Abdiel, a seraph, who in argument dissuades and opposes him, then forsakes him.
Now Morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, When Adam wak'd; so custom'd, for his sleep Was airy-light, from pure digestion bred, And temp'rate vapours bland, which the only sound Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song Of birds on every bough: so much the more His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve With tresses discompos'd, and glowing cheek, As through unquiet rest. He, on his side Leaning half-rais'd, with looks of cordial love, Hung over her enamour'd; and bebeld Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, Shot forth peculiar graces; then, with voice Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus: "Awake, My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight! Awake; the morning shines, and the fresh field Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove, What drops the myrrb, and what the balmy reed, How nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet."
Such whisp'ring wak'd her, but with startled eye On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake.
"O sole, in whom iny thoughts find all repose, My glory, my perfection! glad I see Thy face and morn return'd; for I this night (Such night till this I never pass'd) have dream'd, If dream'd, not, as I oft am wont, of thee, Works of day past, or morrow's next design, But of offence and trouble, which my mind Knew never till this irksome night. Methouglit Close at mine ear one call'd me forth to walk With gentle voice; I thought it thine; it said, Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time, The cool, the silent, save where silence yields To the night-warbling bird, that now awake Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song; now reigns Full-orb'd the moon, and with more pleasing light Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain, If none regard: heaven wakes with all his eyes, Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire! In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze. I rose as at thy can, but found thee not: To find thee I directed then my walk; And on, methought, alone I pass'd through ways That brought me on a sudden to the tree Of interdicted knowledge. Fair it seem'd, Much fairer to my fancy than by day; And, as I wond'ring look'd, beside it stood One shap'd and wing'd like one of those from heaven By us oft seen his dewy locks distill'd Ambrosia; on that tree he also gaz'd:
And O fair plant,' said he, 'with fruit surcharg'd, Deigns none to ease thy load and taste thy sweet?
Nor God, nor man? Is knowledge so despis'd? Or envy', or what reserve, forbids to taste'? Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold Longer thy offer'd good; why else set here?" This said he paus'd not, but with yent'rous arm He pluck'd, he tasted; me damp horror chill'd At such bold words, vouch'd with a deed so bold: But he thus overjoy'd, 'O fruit divine, Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt, Forbidden here, it seems as only fit For gods, yet able to make gods of men: And why not gods of men, since good the more Communicated, more abundant grows, The author not impair'd, but honour'd more? Here happy créature, fair angelic Eve, Partake thou also; happy though thou art, Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be: Taste this and be henceforth among the gods, Thyself a goddess, not to earth confin'd But sometimes in the air, as we; sometimes Ascend to heaven, by merit thine, and see What life the gods live there, and such live thou.' So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part Which he had pluck'd; the pleasant savoury smell So quicken'd appetite, that I, methought, Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds With him I flew, and underneath beheld The earth outstretch'd immense, a prospect wide And various: wond'ring at my flight, and change To this high exaltation; suddenly
My guide was gone, and I, methought sunk down, And fell asleep. But O how glad I wak'd, To find this but a dream! Thus Eve her night Related, and thus Adam answer'd sad.
"Best image of myself and dearer half, The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep Affects me equally; nor can I like This uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear; Yet evil whence? in thee can barbour none, Created pure. But know that in the soul
Are many lesser faculties, that serve Reason as chief; among these Fancy next Her office holds; of all external things, Which the five watchful senses represent, She forms imaginations, airy shapes, Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames All what we affirm or what deny, and call Our knowledge or opinion; then retires Into her private cell. When nature rests, Oft in her absence mimic Fancy wakes To imitate her; but misjoining shapes, Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams, Ill matching words and deeds long past or late. Some such resemblances methinks I find Of our last evening's talk in this thy dream, But with addition strange. Yet be not sad: Evil into the mind of God or man May come and go, so unapprov'd, and leave No spot or blame behind; which gives me hope, That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, Waking thou never wilt consent to do. Be not dishearten'd then, nor cloud those looks, That wont to be more cheerful and serene Than when fair morning first smiles on the world; And let us to our fresh employments rise, Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers, That open now their choicest bosom'd smells, Reserv'd from night, and kept for thee in store."
So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd; But silently a gente tear let fall From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair : Two other precious drops that ready stood, Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.
So all was clear'd, and to the field they haste. But first, from under shady arb'rous roof, Soon as they forth were come to open sight Of day-spring, and the sun, who scarce up-risen, With wheels yet hov'ring o'er the ocean brim, Shot parallel to th' earth his dewy ray,
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