Paradise Lost: Book  5 (1674 version)

NOw Morn her rosie steps in th' Eastern ClimeAdvancing, sow'd the earth with Orient Pearle,When Adam wak't, so customd, for his sleepWas Aerie light from pure digestion bred,And temperat vapors bland, which th' only soundOf leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill Matin SongOf Birds on every bough; so much the moreHis wonder was to find unwak'nd EveWith Tresses discompos'd, and glowing Cheek,As through unquiet rest: he on his sideLeaning half-rais'd, with looks of cordial LoveHung over her enamour'd, and beheldBeautie, which whether waking or asleep,Shot forth peculiar Graces; then with voiceMilde, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,Her hand soft touching, whisperd thus. AwakeMy fairest, my espous'd, my latest found,Heav'ns last best gift, my ever new delight,Awake, the morning shines, and the fresh fieldCalls us, we lose the prime, to mark how springOur tended Plants, how blows the Citron Grove,What drops the Myrrhe, and what the balmie Reed,How Nature paints her colours, how the BeeSits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.Such whispering wak'd her, but with startl'd eyeOn Adam, whom imbracing, thus she spake.O Sole in whom my thoughts find all repose,My Glorie, my Perfection, glad I seeThy 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 pass't, or morrows next designe,But of offence and trouble, which my mindKnew never till this irksom night; methoughtClose at mine ear one call'd me forth to walkWith gentle voice, I though it thine; it said,Why sleepst thou Eve? now is the pleasant time,The cool, the silent, save where silence yieldsTo the night-warbling Bird, that now awakeTunes sweetest his love-labor'd song; now reignesFull Orb'd the Moon, and with more pleasing lightShadowie sets off the face of things; in vain,If none regard; Heav'n wakes with all his eyes,Whom to behold but thee, Natures desire,In whose sight all things joy, with ravishmentAttracted 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 waysThat brought me on a sudden to the TreeOf interdicted Knowledge: fair it seem'd,Much fairer to my Fancie then by day:And as I wondring lookt, beside it stoodOne shap'd and wing'd like one of those from Heav'nBy us oft seen; his dewie locks distill'dAmbrosia; 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 envie, or what reserve forbids to taste?Forbid who will, none shall from me withholdLonger thy offerd good, why else set here?This said he paus'd not, but with ventrous ArmeHe pluckt, he tasted; mee damp horror chil'dAt such bold words voucht with a deed so bold:But he thus overjoy'd, O Fruit Divine,Sweet of thy self, but much more sweet thus cropt,Forbidd'n here, it seems, as onely fitFor God's, yet able to make Gods of Men:And why not Gods of Men, since good, the moreCommunicated, more abundant growes,The Author not impair'd, but honourd more?Here, happie Creature, fair Angelic Eve,Partake thou also; happie though thou art,Happier thou mayst be, worthier canst not be:Taste this, and be henceforth among the GodsThy self a Goddess, not to Earth confind,But somtimes in the Air, as wee, somtimesAscend to Heav'n, by merit thine, and seeWhat 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 partWhich he had pluckt; the pleasant savourie smellSo quick'nd appetite, that I, methought,Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the CloudsWith him I flew, and underneath beheldThe Earth outstretcht immense, a prospect wideAnd various: wondring at my flight and changeTo this high exaltation; suddenlyMy Guide was gon, and I, me thought, sunk down,And fell asleep; but O how glad I wak'dTo find this but a dream! Thus Eve her NightRelated, and thus Adam answerd sad.Best image of my self and dearer half,The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleepAffects me equally; nor can I likeThis uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear;Yet evil whence? in thee can harbour none,Created pure. But know that in the SouleAre many lesser Faculties that serveReason as chief; among these Fansie nextHer office holds; of all external things,Which the five watchful Senses represent,She forms Imaginations, Aerie shapes,Which Reason joyning or disjoyning, framesAll what we affirm or what deny, and callOur knowledge or opinion; then retiresInto her private Cell when Nature rests,Oft in her absence mimic Fansie wakesTo imitate her; but misjoyning shapes,Wilde work produces oft, and most in dreams,Ill matching words and deeds long past or late.Som such resemblances methinks I findOf our last Eevnings talk, in this thy dream,But with addition strange; yet be not sad.Evil into the mind of God or ManMay come or go, so unapprov'd, and leaveNo spot or blame behind: Which gives me hopeThat what in sleep thou didst abhorr to dream,Waking thou never wilt consent to do.Be not disheart'nd then, nor cloud those looksThat wont to be more chearful and sereneThen when fair Morning first smiles on the World,And let us to our fresh imployments riseAmong the Groves, the Fountains, and the FloursThat open now thir choicest bosom'd smellsReservd from night, and kept for thee in store.So cheard he his fair Spouse, and she was cheard,But silently a gentle tear let fallFrom either eye, and wip'd them with her haire;Two other precious drops that ready stood,Each in thir Chrystal sluce, hee ere they fellKiss'd as the gracious signs of sweet remorseAnd pious awe, that feard to have offended.So all was cleard, and to the Field they haste.But first from under shadie arborous roof,Soon as they forth were come to open sightOf day-spring, and the Sun, who scarce up risenWith wheels yet hov'ring o're the Ocean brim,Shot paralel to the earth his dewie ray,Discovering in wide Lantskip all the EastOf Paradise and Edens happie Plains,Lowly they bow'd adoring, and beganThir Orisons, each Morning duly paidIn various style, for neither various styleNor holy rapture wanted they to praiseThir Maker, in fit strains pronounc't or sungUnmeditated, such prompt eloquenceFlowd from thir lips, in Prose or numerous Verse,More tuneable then needed Lute or HarpTo add more sweetness, and they thus began.These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,Almightie, thine this universal Frame,Thus wondrous fair; thy self how wondrous then!Unspeakable, who first above these HeavensTo us invisible or dimly seenIn these thy lowest works, yet these declareThy goodness beyond thought, and Power Divine:Speak yee who best can tell, ye Sons of light,Angels, for yee behold him, and with songsAnd choral symphonies, Day without Night,Circle his Throne rejoycing, yee in Heav'n,On Earth joyn all ye Creatures to extollHim first, him last, him midst, and without end.Fairest of Starrs, last in the train of Night,If better thou belong not to the dawn,Sure pledge of day, that crownst the smiling MornWith thy bright Circlet, praise him in thy SpheareWhile day arises, that sweet hour of Prime.Thou Sun, of this great World both Eye and Soule,Acknowledge him thy Greater, sound his praiseIn thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,And when high Noon hast gaind, and when thou fallst.Moon, that now meetst the orient Sun, now fli'stWith the fixt Starrs, fixt in thir Orb that flies,And yee five other wandring Fires that moveIn mystic Dance not without Song, resoundHis praise, who out of Darkness call'd up Light,Aire, and ye Elements the eldest birthOf Natures Womb, that in quaternion runPerpetual Circle, multiform; and mixAnd nourish all things, let your ceasless changeVarie to our great Maker still new praise.Ye Mists and Exhalations that now riseFrom Hill or steaming Lake, duskie or grey,Till the Sun paint your fleecie skirts with Gold,In honour to the Worlds great Author rise;Whether to deck with Clouds the uncolourd skie,Or wet the thirstie Earth with falling showers,Rising or falling still advance his praise.His praise ye Winds, that from four Quarters blow,Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,With every Plant, in sign of Worship wave.Fountains and yee, that warble, as ye flow,Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.Joyn voices all ye living Souls, ye Birds,That singing up to Heaven gate ascend,Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise;Yee that in Waters glide, and yee that walkThe Earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;Witness if I be silent, Morn or Eeven,To Hill, or Valley, Fountain, or fresh shadeMade vocal by my Song, and taught his praise.Hail universal Lord, be bounteous stillTo give us onely good; and if the nightHave gathered aught of evil or conceald,Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.So pray'd they innocent, and to thir thoughtsFirm peace recoverd soon and wonted calm.On to thir mornings rural work they hasteAmong sweet dewes and flours; where any rowOf Fruit-trees overwoodie reachd too farrThir pamperd boughes, and needed hands to checkFruitless imbraces: or they led the VineTo wed her Elm; she spous'd about him twinesHer mariageable arms, and with her bringsHer dowr th' adopted Clusters, to adornHis barren leaves. Them thus imploid beheldWith pittie Heav'ns high King, and to him call'dRaphael, the sociable Spirit, that deign'dTo travel with Tobias, and secur'dHis marriage with the seaventimes-wedded Maid.Raphael, said hee, thou hear'st what stir on EarthSatan from Hell scap't through the darksom GulfHath raisd in Paradise, and how disturbdThis night the human pair, how he designesIn them at once to ruin all mankind.Go therefore, half this day as friend with friendConverse with Adam, in what Bowre or shadeThou find'st him from the heat of Noon retir'd,To respit his day-labour with repast,Or with repose; and such discourse bring on,As may advise him of his happie state,Happiness in his power left free to will,Left to his own free Will, his Will though free,Yet mutable; whence warne him to bewareHe swerve not too secure: tell him withallHis danger, and from whom, what enemieLate falln himself from Heav'n, is plotting nowThe fall of others from like state of bliss;By violence, no, for that shall be withstood,But by deceit and lies; this let him know,Least wilfully transgressing he pretendSurprisal, unadmonisht, unforewarnd.So spake th' Eternal Father, and fulfilldAll Justice: nor delaid the winged SaintAfter his charge receivd, but from amongThousand Celestial Ardors, where he stoodVaild with his gorgeous wings, up springing lightFlew through the midst of Heav'n; th' angelic QuiresOn each hand parting, to his speed gave wayThrough all th' Empyreal road; till at the GateOf Heav'n arriv'd, the gate self-opend wideOn golden Hinges turning, as by workDivine the sov'ran Architect had fram'd.From hence, no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight,Starr interpos'd, however small he sees,Not unconform to the other shining Globes,Earth and the Gard'n of God, with Cedars crowndAbove all Hills. As when by night the GlassOf Galileo, less assur'd, observesImagind Lands and Regions in the Moon:Or Pilot from amidst the CycladesDelos or Samos first appeering kennsA cloudy spot. Down thither prone in flightHe speeds, and through the vast Ethereal SkieSailes between worlds and worlds, with steddie wingNow on the polar windes, then with quick FannWinnows the buxom Air; till within soareOf Towring Eagles, to all the Fowles he seemsA Phoenix, gaz'd by all, as that sole BiradWhen to enshrine his reliques in the Sun'sBright Temple, to Aegyptian Theb's he flies.At once on th' Eastern cliff of ParadiseHe lights, and to his proper shape returnsA Seraph wingd; six wings he wore, to shadeHis lineaments Divine; the pair that cladEach shoulder broad, came mantling o're his brestWith regal Ornament; the middle pairGirt like a Starrie Zone his waste, and roundSkirted his loines and thighes with downie GoldAnd colours dipt in Heav'n; the third his feetShaddowd from either heele with featherd maileSkie-tinctur'd grain. Like Maia's son he stood,And shook his Plumes, that Heav'nly fragrance filldThe circuit wide. Strait knew him all the BandsOf Angels under watch; and to his state,And to his message high in honour rise;For on som message high they guessd him bound.The glittering Tents he passd, and now is comeInto the blissful field, through Groves of Myrrhe,And flouring Odours, Cassia, Nard, and Balme;A Wilderness of sweets; for Nature hereWantond as in her prime, and plaid at willHer Virgin Fancies, pouring forth more sweet,Wilde above Rule or Art; enormous bliss.Him through the spicie Forrest onward comAdam discernd, as in the dore he satOf his coole Bowre, while now the mounted SunShot down direct his fervid Raies to warmeEarths inmost womb, more warmth then Adam needs;And Eve within, due at her hour prepar'dFor dinner savourie fruits, of taste to pleaseTrue appetite, and not disrelish thirstOf nectarous draughts between, from milkie stream,Berrie or Grape: to whom thus Adam call'd.Haste hither Eve, and worth thy sight beholdEastward among those Trees, what glorious shapeComes this way moving; seems another MornRis'n on mid-noon; some great behest from Heav'nTo us perhaps he brings, and will voutsafeThis day to be our Guest. But goe with speed,And what thy stores contain, bring forth and poureAbundance, fit to honour and receiveOur Heav'nly stranger; well we may affordOur givers thir own gifts, and large bestowFrom large bestowd, where Nature multipliesHer fertil growth, and by disburd'ning growsMore fruitful, which instructs us not to spare.To whom thus Eve. Adam, earths hallowd mouldOf God inspir'd, small store will serve, where store,All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk;Save what by frugal storing firmness gainsTo nourish, and superfluous moist consumes:But I will haste and from each bough and break,Each Plant and juciest Gourd will pluck such choiceTo entertain our Angel guest, as heeBeholding shall confess that here on EarthGod hath dispenst his bounties as in Heav'n.So saying, with dispatchful looks in hasteShe turns, on hospitable thoughts intentWhat choice to chuse for delicacie best,What order, so contriv'd as not to mixTastes, not well joynd, inelegant, but bringTaste after taste upheld with kindliest change,Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalkWhatever Earth all-bearing Mother yieldsIn India East or West, or middle shoareIn Pontus or the Punic Coast, or whereAlcinous reign'd, fruit of all kindes, in coate,Rough, or smooth rin'd, or bearded husk, or shellShe gathers, Tribute large, and on the boardHeaps with unsparing hand; for drink the GrapeShe crushes, inoffensive moust, and meathesFrom many a berrie, and from sweet kernels prestShe tempers dulcet creams, nor these to holdWants her fit vessels pure, then strews the groundWith Rose and Odours from the shrub unfum'd.Mean while our Primitive great Sire, to meetHis god-like Guest, walks forth, without more trainAccompani'd then with his own compleatPerfections, in himself was all his state,More solemn then the tedious pomp that waitsOn Princes, when thir rich Retinue longOf Horses led, and Grooms besmeard with GoldDazles the croud, and sets them all agape.Neerer his presence Adam though not awd,Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek,As to a superior Nature, bowing low,Thus said. Native of Heav'n, for other placeNone can then Heav'n such glorious shape contain;Since by descending from the Thrones above,Those happie places thou hast deignd a whileTo want, and honour these, voutsafe with usTwo onely, who yet by sov'ran gift possessThis spacious ground, in yonder shadie BowreTo rest, and what the Garden choicest bearsTo sit and taste, till this meridian heatBe over, and the Sun more coole decline.Whom thus the Angelic Vertue answerd milde.Adam, I therefore came, nor art thou suchCreated, or such place hast here to dwell,As may not oft invite, though Spirits of Heav'nTo visit thee; lead on then where thy BowreOreshades; for these mid-hours, till Eevning riseI have at will. So to the Silvan LodgeThey came, that like Pomona's Arbour smil'dWith flourets deck't and fragrant smells; but EveUndeckt, save with her self more lovely fairThen Wood-Nymph, or the fairest Goddess feign'dOf three that in Mount Ida naked strove,Stood to entertain her guest from Heav'n; no vaileShee needed, Vertue-proof, no thought infirmeAlterd her cheek. On whom the Angel HaileBestowd, the holy salutation us'dLong after to blest Marie, second Eve.Haile Mother of Mankind, whose fruitful WombShall fill the World more numerous with thy SonsThen with these various fruits the Trees of GodHave heap'd this Table. Rais'd of grassie terfThir Table was, and mossie seats had round,And on her ample Square from side to sideAll Autumn pil'd, though Spring and Autumn hereDanc'd hand in hand. A while discourse they hold;No fear lest Dinner coole; when thus beganOur Authour. Heav'nly stranger, please to tasteThese bounties which our Nourisher, from whomAll perfet good unmeasur'd out, descends,To us for food and for delight hath caus'dThe Earth to yield; unsavourie food perhapsTo spiritual Natures; only this I know,That one Celestial Father gives to all.To whom the Angel. Therefore what he gives(Whose praise be ever sung) to man in partSpiritual, may of purest Spirits be foundNo ingrateful food; and food alike those pureIntelligential substances requireAs doth your Rational; and both containWithin them every lower facultieOf sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste,Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate,And corporeal to incorporeal turn.For know, whatever was created, needsTo be sustaind and fed; of ElementsThe grosser feeds the purer, Earth the Sea,Earth and the Sea feed Air, the Air those FiresEthereal, and as lowest first the Moon;Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurg'dVapours not yet into her substance turnd.Nor doth the Moon no nourishment exhaleFrom her moist Continent to higher Orbes.The Sun that light imparts to all, receivesFrom all his alimental recompenceIn humid exhalations, and at EvenSups with the Ocean: though in Heav'n the TreesOf life ambrosial frutage bear, and vinesYield Nectar, though from off the boughs each MornWe brush mellifluous Dewes, and find the groundCover'd with pearly grain: yet God hath hereVaried his bounty so with new delights,As may compare with Heaven; and to tasteThink not I shall be nice. So down they sat,And to thir viands fell, nor seeminglyThe Angel, nor in mist, the common glossOf Theologians, but with keen dispatchOf real hunger, and concoctive heate.To transubstantiate; what redounds, transpiresThrough Spirits with ease; nor wonder; if by fireOf sooty coal the Empiric AlchimistCan turn, or holds it possible to turnMetals of drossiest Ore to perfet GoldAs from the Mine. Mean while at Table EveMinisterd naked, and thir flowing cupsWith pleasant liquors crown'd: O innocenceDeserving Paradise! if ever, then,Then had the Sons of God excuse to have binEnamour'd at that sight; but in those heartsLove unlibidinous reign'd, nor jealousieWas understood, the injur'd Lovers Hell.Thus when with meats and drinks they had suffic'd,Not burd'nd Nature, sudden mind aroseIn Adam, not to let th' occasion passGiven him by this great Conference to knowOf things above his World, and of thir beingWho dwell in Heav'n, whose excellence he sawTranscend his own so farr, whose radiant formsDivine effulgence, whose high Power so farExceeded human, and his wary speechThus to th' Empyreal Minister he fram'd.Inhabitant with God, now know I wellThy favour, in this honour done to man,Under whose lowly roof thou hast voutsaf'tTo enter, and these earthly fruits to taste,Food not of Angels, yet accepted so,As that more willingly thou couldst not seemAs Heav'ns high feasts to have fed: yet what compare?To whom the winged Hierarch repli'd.O Adam, one Almightie is, from whomAll things proceed, and up to him return,If not deprav'd from good, created allSuch to perfection, one first matter all,Indu'd with various forms various degreesOf substance, and in things that live, of life;But more refin'd, more spiritous, and pure,As neerer to him plac't or neerer tendingEach in thir several active Sphears assignd,Till body up to spirit work, in boundsProportiond to each kind. So from the rootSprings lighter the green stalk, from thence the leavesMore aerie, last the bright consummate floureSpirits odorous breathes: flours and thir fruitMans nourishment, by gradual scale sublim'dTo vital Spirits aspire, to animal,To intellectual, give both life and sense,Fansie and understanding, whence the SouleReason receives, and reason is her being,Discursive, or Intuitive; discourseIs oftest yours, the latter most is ours,Differing but in degree, of kind the same.Wonder not then, what God for you saw goodIf I refuse not, but convert, as you,To proper substance; time may come when menWith Angels may participate, and findNo inconvenient Diet, nor too light Fare:And from these corporal nutriments perhapsYour bodies may at last turn all to Spirit,Improv'd by tract of time, and wingd ascendEthereal, as wee, or may at choiceHere or in Heav'nly Paradises dwell;If ye be found obedient, and retainUnalterably firm his love entireWhose progenie you are. Mean while enjoyYour fill what happiness this happie stateCan comprehend, incapable of more.To whom the Patriarch of mankind repli'd,O favourable spirit, propitious guest,Well hast thou taught the way that might directOur knowledge, and the scale of Nature setFrom center to circumference, whereonIn contemplation of created thingsBy steps we may ascend to God. But say,What meant that caution joind, if ye be foundObedient