[deeds

His stature reach'd the sky, and on his crest
Sat horror plum'd; nor wanted in his grasp
What seem'd both spear and shield. Now dreadful
Might have ensu'd; nor 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 mine 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.

PARADISE LOST.

BOOK V.

THE ARGUMENT.

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 disconrse 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 aëry-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 beheld
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 myrrh, 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 my 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,
İf 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. Methought
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 call, 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 vent'rous arm Ile pluck'd, he tasted; me damp horror chill'd At such bold words, vouch'd with a deed so bold Be 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 creature, fair angelic Eve,
Partake thou also; happy though thou art,
Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be:
Take 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 wondering 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 cau I like

This uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear;
Yet evil whence? in thee can harbour 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, aëry 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 where 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 be his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd;
But silently a gentle 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 arborous 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,

K