That I was heard with favour; peace return'd Home to my breast, and to my memory His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe; Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now Assures me that the bitterness of death
Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee, Eve rightly call'd, mother of all mankind, Mother of all things living, since by thee Man is to live; and all things live for Man.
To whom thus Eve, with sad demeanour meek. Ill worthy I such title should belong To me transgressour; who, for thee ordain'd A help, became thy snare: to me reproach Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise: But infinite in pardon was my Judge,
That I, who first brought death on all, am grac'd The source of life: next favourable thou, Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf'st, Far other name deserving. But the field To labour calls us now with sweat impos'd, Though after sleepless night; for see! the Morn, All unconcern'd with our unrest, begins Her rosy progress smiling: let us forth; I never from thy side henceforth to stray, Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoin'd Laborious till day droop: while here we dwell, What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks? Here let us live, though in fallen state, content.
So spake, so wish'd much humbled Eve; but Fate Subscrib'd not: Nature first gave signs, impress'd On bird, beast, air; air suddenly eclips'd, After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight The bird of Jove stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove;
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods,1 187
First hunter then, pursu'd a gentle brace,
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind;
Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. Adam observ'd, and with his eye the chase Pursuing, not unmov'd, to Eve thus spake.
O Eve, some farther change awaits us nigh, Which Heaven, by these mute signs in Nature, shows Forerunners of his purpose; or to warn
Us, haply too secure of our discharge
From penalty, because from death releas'd
Some days: how long, and what till then our life, Who knows? or more than this, that we are dust, And thither must return, and be no more? Why else this double object in our sight Of flight pursu'd in the air, and o'er the ground, One way the self-same hour? why in the east Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning light More orient in yon western cloud, that draws O'er the blue firmament a radiant white,
And slow descends with something heavenly fraught? He err'd not; for by this the heavenly bands Down from a sky of jasper lighted now
In Paradise, and on a hill made halt; A glorious apparition, had not doubt
And carnal fear that day dimm'd Adam's eye. Not that more glorious, when the angels met Jacob in Mahanaim,2 where he saw
The field pavilion'd with his guardians bright; Nor that, which on the flaming mount appear'd In Dothan,3 cover'd with a camp of fire,
Against the Syrian king, who, to surprise
'Beast that reigns in woods,' i. e., a lion.-Mahanaim:' see Genesis xxxii. 1, &c.—Dothan:' see 2 Kings vi. 13.
One man, assassin-like, had levied war,
War unproclaim'd. The princely Hierarch
In their bright stand there left his Powers, to seize Possession of the garden: he alone
To find where Adam shelter'd, took his way; Not unperceiv'd of Adam, who to Eve,
While the great visitant approach'd, thus spake. Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps Of us will soon determine, or impose New laws to be observ'd; for I descry From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill, One of the heavenly host, and, by his gait, None of the meanest; some great Potentate, Or of the Thrones above; such majesty Invests him coming! yet not terrible, That I should fear; nor sociably mild, As Raphaël, that I should much confide; But solemn and sublime; whom, not to offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire. He ended and the Arch-Angel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man
Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flow'd, Livelier than Melibean,1 or the grain
Of Sarra,2 worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris3 had dipt the woof; His starry helm unbuckled show'd him prime In manhood where youth ended by his side, As in a glistering zodiack, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread; and in his hand the spear. Adam bow'd low: he, kingly, from his state Inclin'd not, but his coming thus declar'd.
''Melibœan:' from a city in Thessaly, famous for purple.-Grain of Sarra:' from the name of a Tyrian fish which bleeds purple.-Iris: 'the rainbow.
Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy prayers are heard; and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days
Given thee of grace; wherein thou may'st repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done May'st cover: Well may then thy Lord, appeas'd, Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim ; But longer in this Paradise to dwell Permits not to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. He added not; for Adam at the news Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound : Eve, who unseen Yet all had heard, with audible lament Discover'd soon the place of her retire.
O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last
At even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names! Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ? Thee lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorn'd With what to sight or smell was sweet! from thee How shall I part, and whither wander down Into a lower world; to this obscure
And wild? how shall we breathe in other air Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits? Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild. Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost, nor set thy heart, Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine : Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil.
Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scatter'd spirits return'd, To Michael thus his humble words address'd.
Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or nam'd Of them the highest; for such of shape may seem Prince above princes! gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, And in performing end us; what besides Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair, Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring, Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only consolation left
Familiar to our eyes! All places else Inhospitable appear, and desolate;
Nor knowing us, nor known: And, if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will
Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries: But prayer against His absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth : Therefore to His great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that departing hence As from His face, I shall be hid, depriv'd
His blessed countenance: Here I could frequent
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