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Poetry-Foundation-Poems

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[lady in red] "at 4:30 AM"

at 4:30 AM she rose movin the arms & legs that trapped her she sighed affirmin the sculptured man & made herself a bath of dark musk oil egyptian crystals & florida water to remove his smell to wash away the glitter to watch the butterflies melt into suds & the rhinestones fall beneath her buttocks like smooth pebbles in a missouri creek layin in water she became herself ordinary brown braided woman with big legs & full lips reglar seriously intendin to finish her night’s work she quickly walked to her guest straddled on her pillows & began ‘you’ll have to go now/ i’ve a lot of work to do/ & i cant with a man around/ here are yr pants/ there’s coffee on the stove/ its been very nice/ but i cant see you again/ you got what you came for/ didnt you’ & she smiled he wd either mumble curses bout crazy bitches or sit dumbfounded while she repeated ‘i cdnt possibly wake up/ with a strange man in my bed/ why dont you go home’ she cda been slapped upside the head or verbally challenged but she never waz & the ones who fell prey to the dazzle of hips painted with orange blossoms & magnolia scented wrists had wanted no more than to lay between her sparklin thighs & had planned on leavin before dawn & she had been so divine devastatingly bizarre the way her mouth fit round & now she stood a reglar colored girl fulla the same malice livid indifference as a sistah worn from supportin a wd be hornplayer or waitin by the window & they knew & left in a hurry she wd gather her tinsel & jewels from the tub & laugh gayly or vengeful she stored her silk roses by her bed & when she finished writin the account of her exploit in a diary embroidered with lilies & moonstones she placed the rose behind her ear & cried herself to sleep.

Ntozake Shange

Love,Desire,Realistic & Complicated,Social Commentaries,Gender & Sexuality,Race & Ethnicity

[lady in red] “there was no air / the sheets made ripples under his”

there was no air/ the sheets made ripples under his body like crumpled paper napkins in a summer park/ & lil specks of somethin from tween his toes or the biscuits from the day before ran in the sweat that tucked the sheet into his limbs like he was an ol frozen bundle of chicken/ & he’d get up to make coffee, drink wine, drink water/ he wished one of his friends who knew where he waz wd come by with some blow or some shit/ anything/ there was no air/ he’d see the spotlights in the alleyways downstairs movin in the air/ cross his wall over his face/ & get under the covers & wait for an all clear or till he cd hear traffic again/ there waznt nothing wrong with him/ there waznt nothing wrong with him/ he kept tellin crystal/ any niggah wanna kill vietnamese children more n stay home & raise his own is sicker than a rabid dog/ that’s how their thing had been goin since he got back/ crystal just got inta sayin whatta fool niggah beau was & always had been/ didnt he go all over uptown sayin the child waznt his/ waz some no counts bastard/ & any ol city police cd come & get him if they wanted/ cuz as soon as the blood type & shit waz together/ everybody wd know that crystal waz a no good lyin whore/ and this after she’d been his girl since she waz thirteen/ when he caught her on the stairway/ he came home crazy as hell/ he tried to get veterans benefits to go to school & they kept right on puttin him in remedial classes/ he cdnt read wortha damn/ so beau cused the teachers of holdin him back & got himself a gypsy cab to drive/ but his cab kept breakin down/ & the cops was always messin wit him/ plus not getting much bread/ & crystal went & got pregnant again/ beau most beat her to death when she tol him/ she still gotta scar under her right tit where he cut her up/ still crystal went right on & had the baby/ so now beau willie had two children / a little girl/ naomi kenya & a boy/ kwame beau willie brown/ & there waz no air/ how in the hell did he get in this mess anyway/ somebody went & tol crystal that beau was spendin alla his money on the bartendin bitch down at the merry-go-round cafe/ beau sat straight up in the bed/ wrapped up in the sheets lookin like john the baptist or a huge baby wit stubble & nuts/ now he hadta get alla that shit outta crystal’s mind/ so she wd let him come home/ crystal had gone & got a court order saying beau willie brown had no access to his children/ if he showed his face he waz subject to arrest/ shit/ she’d been in his ass to marry her since she was 14 years old & here when she was 22/ she wanna throw him out cuz he say he’ll marry her/ she burst out laughin/ hollerin whatchu wanna marry me for now/ so i can support yr ass/ or come sit wit ya when they lock yr behind up/ cause they gonna come for ya/ ya goddamn lunatic/ they gonna come/ & i’m not gonna have a thing to do wit it/ o no i wdnt marry yr pitiful black ass for nothing & she went on to bed/ the next day beau willie came in blasted & got ta swingin chairs at crystal/ who cdnt figure out what the hell he waz doin/ til he got ta shoutin bout how she waz gonna marry him/ & get some more veterans benefits/ & he cd stop drivin them crazy spics round/ while they tryin to kill him for $15/ beau was sweatin terrible/ beatin on crystal/ & he cdnt do no more with the table n chairs/ so he went to get the high chair/ & lil kwame waz in it/ & beau was beatin crystal with the high chair & her son/ & some notion got inta him to stop/ an he run out/ crystal most died/ that’s why the police wdnt low beau near where she lived/ & she’d been tellin the kids their daddy tried to kill her & kwame/ & he just wanted to marry her/ that’s what/ he wanted to marry her/ & have a family/ but the bitch waz crazy/ beau willie waz sittin in this hotel in his drawers drinkin coffee & wine in the heat of the day spillin shit all over hisself/ laughin/ bout how we waz gonna get crystal to take him back/ & let him be a man in the house/ & she wdnt even have to go to work no more/ he got dressed all up in his ivory shirt & checkered pants to go see crystal & get this mess all cleared up/ he knocked on the door to crystal’s rooms/ & she didnt answer/ he beat on the door & crystal & naomi started cryin/ beau gotta shoutin again how he wanted to marry her/ & waz she always gonna be a whore/ or did she wanna husband/ & crystal just kept on screamin for him to leave us alone/ just leave us alone/ so beau broke the door down/ crystal held the children in fronta her/ she picked kwame off the floor/ in her arms/ & she held naomi by her shoulders/ & kept on sayin/ beau willie brown/ get outta here/ the police is gonna come for ya/ ya fool/ get outta here/ do you want the children to see you act the fool again you want kwame to brain damage from you throwin him round/ niggah/ get outta here/ get out & don’t show yr ass again or i’ll kill ya/ i swear i’ll kill ya/ he reached for naomi/ crystal grabbed the lil girl & stared at beau willie like he waz a leper or somethin/ dont you touch my children/ mothafucker/ or i’ll kill you/ beau willie jumped back all humble & apologetic/ i’m sorry/ i dont wanna hurt em/ i just wanna hold em & get on my way/ i dont wanna cuz you no more trouble/ i wanted to marry you & give ya things what you gonna give/ a broken jaw/ niggah get outta here/ he ignored crystal’s outburst & sat down motionin for naomi to come to him/ she smiled back at her daddy/ crystal felt naomi givin in & held her tighter/ naomi/ pushed away & ran to her daddy/ crying/ daddy, daddy come back daddy/ come back/ but be nice to mommy/ cause mommy loves you/ and ya gotta be nice/ he sat on his knee/ & played with her ribbons & they counted fingers & toes/ every so often he looked over to crystal holdin kwame/ like a statue/ & he’d say/ see crystal/ i can be a good father/ now let me see my son/ & she didn’t move/ & he coaxed her & he coaxed her/ tol her she waz still a hot lil ol thing & pretty & strong/ didnt she get right up after that lil ol fight they had & go back to work/ beau willie oozed kindness & crystal who had known so lil/ let beau hold kwame/ as soon as crystal let the baby outta her arms/ beau jumped up a laughin & a gigglin/ a hootin & a hollerin/ awright bitch/ awright bitch/ you gonna marry me/ you gonna marry me . . . i aint gonna marry ya/ i aint ever gonna marry ya/ for nothin/ you gonna be in the jail/ you gonna be under the jail for this/ now gimme my kids/ ya give me back my kids/ he kicked the screen outta the window/ & held the kids offa the sill/ you gonna marry me/ yeh, i’ll marry ya/ anything/ but bring the children back in the house/ he looked from where the kids were hangin from the fifth story/ at alla the people screamin at him/ & he started sweatin again/ say to alla the neighbors/ you gonna marry me/ i stood by beau in the window/ with naomi reachin for me/ kwame screamin mommy mommy from the fifth story/ but i cd only whisper/ & he dropped em

Ntozake Shange

Living,Marriage & Companionship,Relationships,Men & Women,Social Commentaries,Crime & Punishment,Gender & Sexuality,Race & Ethnicity

"Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?"

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave your house or apartment. Go out into the world. It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap one is best, with pages the color of weak tea and on the front a kitten or a space ship. Avoid any enclosed space where more than three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks across the muffled tennis courts. Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write. And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle where a child a year or two old is playing as his mother browses the ranks of the dead. Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf. The title, the author's name, the brooding photo on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher it gets, the wider he grins. You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh." Then start again.

Ron Koertge

Arts & Sciences,Poetry & Poets

Sanctuary Stairs

I gather her head up in my sweater and we crouch here some dried ketchup where her lip turns down a light crust of dirt on one eyebrow the concrete stained and worn surprise rain splattered in the gap between here and the parking lot our socks are wet our feet itch then her cough started it’s going to be ok we can hide her for a minute her damp head soaks the wool the corners reek of urine we do a sober trick my body now a cradle her hair touches my wrist she trembles down to her cavity a cough we love the careless future emerges from it shaking like a star bracelet with elastic in this other country the contradictory music of our tears what do wandering souls find to live in here what warm skin in this stairwell the air is cold the earth moves one bug survives beyond their law three of us hunched up like a heaps of wet wool in the leaky crook of a stair you heard about us somewhere

Jared Stanley

Living,Parenthood,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Nature,Weather

Time Traveler’s Haibun: 1989

In the grassy space between the wings of the elementary school and the trailers housing the fifth grade’s overflow classrooms, girls flip their hair in imitation of Cindy Crawford, sing Iko Iko. None of you know what it means or where the song comes from. It’s honor-roll season, a time of outings to TCBY and Outback Steakhouse. Your mother warns you against filling up on bread, but it’s hard to resist the little brown loaves brought warm to the table with soft butter – a luxury that cannot be imagined at home, with its always-refrigerated margarine and Pepperidge Farm sandwich loaves. Everyone knows what’s popular but nobody knows how to act. At ten, you lack any context. The world swims before you, and it constantly stings. Its favorite barb: “everybody knows that.” Beyond the grassy space of girls is more grass, a quarter-mile loop of track, a church with a painfully white spire, a fence, and a neighborhood maybe a little less nice than yours, crammed between the school and busy Great Neck Road. The fence is of chain link, instead of wooden slats. That’s how you know about the niceness – that and the something hard, like a grain of sand, you feel in your mother’s voice, when she takes you to the school’s Spring Fling, where you win another goldfish. They always die, but you’re getting better. Now, it takes a while.Loblollies shiverIn May heat. The world’s ending.The world’s a mirage.

Maureen Thorson

Living,Youth,Activities,School & Learning,Social Commentaries,Class,Gender & Sexuality

A Palestinian Might Say

What? You don’t feel at home in your country, almost overnight? All the simple things you cared about, maybe took for granted. . . you feel insulted, invisible? Almost as if you’re not there? But you’re there. Where before you mingled freely. . . appreciated people who weren’t just like you. . . divisions grow stronger. That’s what “chosen” and “unchosen” will do. (Just keep your eyes on your houses and gardens. Keep your eyes on that tree in bloom.) Yes, a wall. Ours came later but. . . who talks about how sad the land looks, marked by a massive wall? That’s not a normal shadow. It’s something else looming over your lives.

Naomi Shihab Nye

Nature,Landscapes & Pastorals,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,Race & Ethnicity,War & Conflict

Elementary

At the 100-year-old National Elk Refuge near Jackson Hole, we might ask,How long does an elk live?Who’s an old elk here? We’d like to spend time with an elder elk please. Tell us how to balance our lives on this hard edge of human mean, mean temperatures, what we do and don’t want to mean. Closing the door to the news will only make you stupid, snapped my friend who wanted everyone to know as much as she did. I’m hiding in old school books with information we never used yet. Before I drove, before I flew, before the principal went to jail. Sinking my eyes into tall wooden window sashes, dreaming of light arriving from far reaches, our teacher as shepherds, school a vessel of golden hope, you could lift your daily lesson in front of your eyes, stare hard and think, this will take me somewhere. O histories of India, geological formations of Australia, ancient poetries of China, Japan, someday we will be aligned in a place of wisdom, together. Red deer, wapiti, running elk rising above yellow meadows at sundown. An elk bows her head. In the company of other elk, she feels at home. And we are lost on the horizon now, clumsy humanity, deeper into the next century than we can even believe, and they will not speak to us.

Naomi Shihab Nye

Living,Time & Brevity,Activities,School & Learning,Nature,Animals

Morning Song

For Janna The tiny journalist will tell us what she sees. Document the moves, the dust, soldiers blocking the road. Yes, she knows how to take a picture with her phone. Holds it high like a balloon. Yes, she would prefer to dance and play, would prefer the world to be pink. It is her job to say what she sees, what is happening. From her vantage point everything is huge—but don’t look down on her. She’s bigger than you are. If you stomp her garden each leaf expands its view. Don’t hide what you do. She sees you at 2 a.m. adjusting your impenetrable vest. What could she have that you want? Her treasures, thing shiny buttons her grandmother loved. Her cousin, her uncle.There might have been a shirt. . . The tiny journalist notices action on far away roads farther even than the next village. She takes counsel from bugs so puffs of dust find her first.Could that be a friend? They pretended not to see us.They came at night with weapons. What was our crime? That we likedrespect as they do? That we have pride? She stares through a hole in the fence, barricade of words and wire, feels the rising fire before anyone strikes a match. She has a better idea.

Naomi Shihab Nye

Living,Youth,Activities,Jobs & Working,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

My Wisdom

When people have a lot they want more When people have nothing they will happily share it * Some people say never getting your way builds character By now our character must be deep and wide as a continent Africa, Australia giant cascade of stars spilling over our huge night * Where did the power go? Did it enjoy its break? Is power exhausted? What is real power? Who really has power? Did the generator break? Do we imagine silence more powerful because it might contain everything? Quiet always lives inside noise. But does it get much done? * Silence waits for truth to break it * Calendars can weep too They want us to have better days * Welcome to every minute Feel lucky you’re still in it * No bird builds a wall * Sky purse jingling change * Won’t give up our hopes for anything! * Not your fault You didn’t make the world * How dare this go on and on? cried the person who believed in praying God willing God willing God willing There were others who prayed to ruins & stumps * Open palms hold more * Refuse to give mistakes too much power * Annoying person? Person who told me to stay home and do what other girls do? If you disappeared I still might miss you * Babies want to help us They laugh for no reason * Pay close attention to a drop of water on the kitchen table * You cannot say one word about religion and exclude Ahmad

Naomi Shihab Nye

Living,The Mind,Religion,Arts & Sciences,Language & Linguistics,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

You Are Your Own State Department

Each day I miss Japanese precision. Trying to arrange things the way they would. I miss the call to prayer at Sharjah, the large collective pause. Or the shy strawberry vendor with rickety wooden cart, single small lightbulb pointed at a mound of berries. In one of China’s great cities, before dawn. Forever I miss my Arab father’s way with mint leaves floating in a cup of sugared tea—his delicate hands arranging rinsed figs on a plate. What have we here? said the wolf in the children’s story stumbling upon people doing kind, small things. Is this small monster one of us? When your country does not feel cozy, what do you do? Teresa walks more now, to feel closer to her ground. If destination within two miles, she must hike or take the bus. Carries apples, extra bottles of chilled water to give away. Kim makes one positive move a day for someone else. I’m reading letters the ancestors wrote after arriving in the land of freedom, words in perfect English script. . . describing gifts they gave one another for Christmas. Even the listing seems oddly civilized, these 1906 Germans. . . hand-stitched embroideries for dressertops. Bow ties. Slippers, parlor croquet, gold ring, “pretty inkwell.” How they comforted themselves! A giant roast made them feel more at home. Posthumous medals of honor for coming, continuing––could we do that? And where would we go? My father’s hope for Palestine stitching my bones, “no one wakes up and dreams of fighting around the house”— somebody soon the steady eyes of children in Gaza, yearning for a little extra electricity to cool their lemons and cantaloupes, will be known. Yes? We talked for two hours via Google Chat, they did not complain once. Discussing stories, books, families, a character who does what you might do. Meanwhile secret diplomats are what we must be, as a girl in Qatar once assured me, each day slipping its blank visa into our hands.

Naomi Shihab Nye

Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

All Thirst Quenched

for my granddaughter, Wahcawin I didn’t want to scold the sky that year, but Grandma’s words taunted my senses. If there is a thirst, then you need to pity the flowers in a loud voice. Ask the frogs why they are being punished, stomp on the ground and talk to the dried clay about cracking open the earth. I know challenging the storm is risky. “Last but not least, burn cedar and pray the lightning doesn’t strike your town.” That night, the stars disappeared, so did the birds. Perhaps it was the season for rain or the dance. In the western distance, we thought we heard cannon blasts, looking over we watched the horizon fill with lightning strikes. Rain couldn’t pour hard enough over the thirsty plain. Accompanying clouds, called to thunder’s voice in extreme decimals requesting all the water heaven could send forth, to come. Rain and more rain filled empty stream bottoms. Rivers who had pulled their dry banks farther and farther from their center begged for a drink to startle dusty beds with a flooding roar. Lives in dormant places begin to stir and awaken. The lives of water beings, those that swim, the ones that hop, and the ones that fly, begin to stir. That year all thirst was quenched.

Lois Red Elk

Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Nature,Weather

Game

Tracks are all that define these voices, hungry lives pulsing sacred ground. We are a journey of distressed shapes, red essence on parchment, occupying a life. We look for the fated four-legged that paced this way, a tested and well-worn path among storms, mud, into this shared hidden brush. Coyote, slipping by through old winter grass, warns in a pagan tongue, licking after our scent. We pick up pace, tighten our careless reins, snap back at the yellow-eyed clown with throat hunger, that gnawing bone that drives us on. Quieted, we hear the heart beating. A desperate breath crashes through dry branches, a silhouette give away. In an instant we let go of weapons and invite a quick death. We watch our knives glistening. Obsidian works for us. What image of blood on flesh, odor of iron. A vermilion sun heavy with spring looks upon reflections of death in hard visions, our favorable hunt— whitetail not quick enough for downwind lessons. Our horses burdened, deer shadows left on landscape, we push forward. These tracks ours now. Game will heal all. Our offspring dance, Grandmother prepares a fire and sharpens another knife. During the feast we thank any god absent from our table.

Lois Red Elk

Activities,Eating & Drinking,Sports & Outdoor Activities,Nature,Animals,Religion,God & the Divine

The Knife Wearer

This morning we found ourselves skinning a deer, cutting meat, hanging some to dry and packaging some for the freezer. It was the dogs late last night that set off a howling, the unexpected smell of fresh blood floating down the block, then a familiar car horn honking in the driveway. My nephew and his friends were hunting and brought us a deer. Mother always said, “Cut up the meat right away, don’t let it sit.” I look at a front quarter, a hole filled with coagulated blood. Grandma says not to eat the part next to the wound, “Cut it out; offer it to the earth for healing, a sacrifice to remember the hungering spirits.” Auntie says to save the muscle along the back strap, “It makes good thread.” I carefully learned the exact place to cut the joints so the bones separate easily. Mother said that is important—“It means you are a thoughtful person.” Auntie is at the door waiting for a roast. “An elder takes the first piece,” she reminded. Mom tells me to save the hooves for her. She wants to make a bone game for the new grandchild, wants him to be patient and skillful. I boil the hoofs with sage, find the little toe-bones for her. My hands begin to ache from the work, I soak them in warm water and start again. I admire the placement of tendons on the deer shoulders, no joints, just the crisscrossing of muscle. Grandma says, “That’s why your dad called them jumpers, they bounce off the strength of their flexing muscles.” Late at night Mom helps me stake out the hide. My back hurts; my feet feel like I’ve been walking on rocks all day. I want to complain, but Mom catches the look in my eyes. She says to me, “When you get dressed for the dance this weekend, you will proudly wear your beautiful beaded dress, your beaded leggings and moccasins, and last, but not least, you will put on your beaded belt, and attached you will wear your sharp knife and quilled knife sheath because of what you have done this day.”

Lois Red Elk

Activities,Jobs & Working,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Nature,Animals

How to Triumph Like a Girl

I like the lady horses best, how they make it all look easy, like running 40 miles per hour is as fun as taking a nap, or grass. I like their lady horse swagger, after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up! But mainly, let’s be honest, I like that they’re ladies. As if this big dangerous animal is also a part of me, that somewhere inside the delicate skin of my body, there pumps an 8-pound female horse heart, giant with power, heavy with blood. Don’t you want to believe it? Don’t you want to lift my shirt and see the huge beating genius machine that thinks, no, it knows, it’s going to come in first.

Ada Limón

Living,The Body,Nature,Animals,Social Commentaries,Gender & Sexuality

Occidentalism

A man celebrates erstwhile conquests, his book locked in a silo, still in print. I scribble, make Sharpie lines, deface its text like it defaces me. Outside, grain fields whisper. Marble lions are silent yet silver-tongued, with excellent teeth. In this life I have worshipped so many lies. Then I workshop them, make them better. An East India Company, an opium trade, a war, a treaty, a concession, an occupation, a man parting the veil covering a woman’s face, his nails prying her lips open. I love the fragility of a porcelain bowl. How easy it is, to shatter chinoiserie, like the Han dynasty urn Ai Weiwei dropped in 1995. If only recovering the silenced history is as simple as smashing its container: book, bowl, celadon spoon. Such objects cross borders the way our bodies never could. Instead, we’re left with history, its blonde dust. That bowl is unbreakable. All its ghosts still shudder through us like small breaths. The tome of hegemony lives on, circulates in our libraries, in our bloodstreams. One day, a girl like me may come across it on a shelf, pick it up, read about all the ways her body is a thing. And I won’t be there to protect her, to cross the text out and say: go ahead—rewrite this.

Sally Wen Mao

Arts & Sciences,Reading & Books,Social Commentaries,Gender & Sexuality,History & Politics,Race & Ethnicity

Anna May Wong Stars as Cyborg #86

The future is as sterile as a robot’s loincloth. I drown my hands in sanitizer until they pucker. Where this soapbox tree germinates, I collect my germs and make a fountain of them. Because yellow is yarrow and soot, and the future, I’ve learned, is no suture. Because where I’m from, these kisses are infections. Because dirt’s ammunition against discipline, the blood fills my clean mouth with dismay. Am I surprised— Hollywood still assumes we are all the bastard children of the same evil dictator? That phosgene and mustard will rack our titanium Maoist husks until some white man with slanty eyes rescues us from our mealy, pliant selves? Am I to wear Dior, wrap my mouth in bloody tulle, before kneeling, bending to kiss a mouth dirtied by Pantone 136? No fucking thanks. Because where I’m from, these kisses are infractions. Darlings, let’s rewrite the script. Let’s hijack the narrative, steer the story ourselves. There’d be a heist, a battle. Audre Lorde would write the script. My leading man would be Bruce. We’d earn our happy ending. Instead, they give me 1981. 2012. Quantum quasars, new dystopia—plutonium wars. We’re not in Polanski’s Chinatown anymore. Yet we still have the same bowl haircuts. Bangs, big bang, a city of fetid promise, new minor galaxy where we cannot touch. Instead our skin is rust and metal. It gratifies the technophile in all of us.

Sally Wen Mao

Living,The Body,Arts & Sciences,Photography & Film,Social Commentaries,Gender & Sexuality,History & Politics,Race & Ethnicity

Resurrection

In the autumn I moved to New York, I recognized her face all over the subway stations—pearls around her throat, she poses for her immigration papers. In 1924, the only Americans required to carry identity cards were ethnically Chinese—the first photo IDs, red targets on the head of every man, woman, child, infant, movie star. Like pallbearers, they lined up to get their pictures taken: full-face view, direct camera gaze, no smiles, ears showing, in silver gelatin. A rogue’s gallery of Chinese exclusion. The subway poster doesn’t name her—though it does mention her ethnicity, and the name of the New-York Historical Society exhibition: Exclusion/Inclusion. Soon, when I felt alone in this city, her face would peer at me from behind seats, turnstiles, heads, and headphones, and I swear she wore a smile only I could see. Sometimes my face aligned with hers, and we would rush past the bewildered lives before us—hers, gone the year my mother was born, and mine, a belt of ghosts trailing after my scent. In the same aboveground train, in the same city where slain umbrellas travel across the Hudson River, we live and live. I’ve left my landline so ghosts can’t dial me at midnight with the hunger of hunters anymore. I’m so hungry I gnaw at light. It tunnels from the shadows, an exhausting hope. I know this hunger tormented her too. It haunted her through her years in L.A., Paris, and New York, the parties she went to, people she met—Paul Robeson, Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Gertrude Stein. It haunts her expression still, on the 6 train, Grand Central station, an echo chamber behind her eyes. But dear universe: if I can recognize her face under this tunnel of endless shadows against the luminance of all that is extinct and oncoming, then I am not a stranger here.

Sally Wen Mao

Activities,Travels & Journeys,Social Commentaries,Cities & Urban Life,History & Politics,Race & Ethnicity

Searching for Satellites

the news is released for the secret of worlds, I reach the end of my laughter and breathe to the night sky a periodically interrupted song to reach the forest of my refuge, here where the lights are where one dissolves and appears. to see the hidden files of your mind and listen listen as I cross the road to find the fox of the funeral home’s bewildering delight where there is laughter marked by a mysterious blinking light that the occluded erase the sun with, and I’ve lost my heart for the present moment, as I fear it is one more day to see others walk in the dark morning of imposters and timeless life. I say farewell to you, my love as I enter the darkness to be with you in our morning kisses, and see that we shall never part your heart as the Sea was parted as the world collapses and we say ‘yes’ to the fearsome light

Roberto Harrison

Living,The Mind,Love

Bridge of the World

this morning I went to the doctor and talked to him about this move on New Year’s Eve I had trouble connecting my thoughts on Sade and reason we rang in the New Year with Miriam Makeba’s Africa I’d noticed that my inner life had expanded, and that I was having trouble thinking through it. The doctor said that Geodon would loosen my thinking—I noticed that I’d been moving through life for 10 years in a Zyprexa mold. thought control, at its best, like a sonnet. I do not feel invaded by the television that I never see. Brenda made me feel more loved than ever this morning, as my thoughts expanded. Last night, in the slow cooker, I made Lamb and Goat curry—amazingly good. I’d thought to send Joel, and Peter, and Michael an email letting them know of my transition, but did not. The consequences of this transition could be catastrophic. I feel more loving toward Brenda than ever. I could die, or worse. As I meditated today my books to the left of me seemed packed and dense against the wall. Soon, Chuck will be here to play chess upstairs. I told the doctor this morning that the philosophy and religion of the cyborg have not yet been written. My poetry has just begun. I am a Fourth Form, though not as Dodie saw it. Together, we can belong in this world. Artaud arrived at the double as I have. We share more in common than I’d known before last night. I need less sleep than before, and I sleep better and am more rested. I feel sad and cheated that I need to rely on drugs so completely. I wonder about Paul Bowles’ stories. I need to reach out to others through this. The doctor, this morning, said that I was enlightened, but not quite there—somehow—I can’t remember how. I doubt he knows what he means by “enlightenment.” I felt far away from my sister yesterday, when she called. Michael talked to me of Christ’s tenderness. I feel tender in this moment. Over and over I feel that words do not represent me. I am not sure what that implies of my intentions in using them. Yesterday, Brenda and I saw the Warhol show of the last ten years of his life. There seemed to have been hope to live meaningfully in capitalism then. ~~~~~~~ The waves of this beginning, the new life of my mind is settling. It’s been a while since I’ve written. I’ve decided to mark my continuing with the seven tildes above. And I added a title tonight, Muerto Vecino, after Zizek’s dubious interpretation of Kierkegaard’s neighbor, and because of the funeral home across the street. My thinking has changed, my being has changed, I am more alert and more engaged in thinking through the world. And I am able to speak better. I don’t know what this means about who I am. I try not to feel let down that for so much of my life I’ve been restrained by psychotropic drugs. Before Zyprexa it was even worse, with up to 6 meds, as I’ve said over and over to friends. I feel the need to make clear what my obstacles have been. Not for pity, a little for pride, but also for hope. If I can do that, then maybe I can help someone not suffer so much, like Brenda. I replaced the kitchen faucet this past weekend. It makes me very happy that I was able to do it successfully, without ever having been handy before in my life, and after spending most of my life disdainful of being practical in that way. What a joy to make Brenda so happy. I don’t know how much longer I will live, and have often thought, recently, that it would be tragic if I died anytime soon, but that it’s imperative that I accept death when it arrives, after affirming life as fully as I can. It’s too easy, and stupid, to be simplistically oppositional. And to not know that people can ruin anything, but that the substantial things have value of themselves, is foolish. I don’t want to stop at my own ignorance and lack of forbearance. I don’t believe in the West on its own. As Michael says, the only thing that makes sense here is love. I have everything I could possibly ever want or need for now. More books will come, more music too. And love is immeasurable when it’s real. I am so grateful to have more waking time on the weekends. I plan on making breakfast for Brenda every Saturday and Sunday that I can from now on. Early. I see gardens in the future of our household. And I wonder about a Great Spirit. What does the name matter? I see the stones that live without water. I see the smoke that cleanses my vision, and a network of consciousness, with each node another, on and on that way to the depths. My thinking will never grasp it all because of that recursively created network of interior life. My thinking stops then, barely able to contain the spherical and vast darkness from which all light arises. That’s why what I see is dark. It is brilliant in its darkness. Like onyx and flint. I can only talk around what I’ve seen the past couple of weeks. It reframes, completely, the rest of my creative life and the rest of my days. All I aim to do now is to focus my attention, so that I can see it all again in retrospect. So that I can read and gather more tools for understanding it. So that I understand myself, and something of the world, and love, and so that I help others. Geodon will not erase it. I’ve seen it already, many times. It is my natural state. I no longer see it as only hallucination. It is a way of being. A way that I can flesh out, here. Slowly. Carefully. And as I do, its destructive powers, which are massive and righteous, will subside. As it will know that it is being given to the world. Because it belongs to all. And all will be there soon. There are signs already. Because to see it is to break, unless one knows something of love. It makes LSD small. It is God and the Universe as One. I am not the first to see it. But I am a person given a chance to write it, letter by letter, slowly, in terms of the light of my ignorance to see more fully what I do not know. I do not offer anything but poems. But it breaks through my mouth to arrive at the hearts of the world, at the hearts of the horses of the world, to allow us all to speak in silence. It is not God or the Universe. It is One as All in you. Because I cannot see through myself without it. I see clearly that the sun will not arrive in this new weather. But that the moon will take its place. I see clearly that the sun is there to bring meaning to the sky, and that the earth is more full with the light of the world extinguished for a brilliant view of wilderness. This is a view that extends through opposites and arrives at a single body to witness this song. And this song is not the answer that you believe in, because one day I will speak to you again in the rain and show you that I do not know. Because knowledge belongs to the earth. And the earth makes everything I know. And now that there is less and less freedom from coercion in a moneyed world, and now that Claire, a friend, is moving on to be Christ in her own way, now that Guénon continues to call me to understand my ignorance, to depart again from the friends at Kuna Yala, where I helped with the water, with Brenda watching over me from a hammock between palms, now that Panamá calls again to give me a union of the world, in more than two ways, and to distinguish from the surface of these times, I receive a call to awaken in the snow. I receive a call to acknowledge that Geodon has planted itself with capital in my consciousness, but that the world is stronger than to balance itself from the ozone and people alone. We are not erased, and we do not control the earth. Geodon is an act of kindness, an agreement to live this life in a way that arrives with the weather. It may continue for the rest of my life, or it may not. I will not be afraid again to see things as I do, and I will not seek out the truth, intentionally, without some kind of agreement with this custom. Because that is a way, for now, that I speak. And it is useful, though better left invisible. And the name, Geodon, brings trouble, I can see through it enough, with enough love in my life, to believe in the end of the reign of the Anti-Christ (not Obama). I need to learn again to be and to write. But to deliver what I saw I must return to the explosion of my inner life. To start with, otherwise and generally, I see only outlines. Creation manifests from every direction, in an infinity of dimensions. Most of us spend most of our energy conscious of a very few of these dimensions. Imagine more than the greatest works of art manifesting endlessly from more directions than one can possibly count every micro second, timelessly. It’s glorious. And the only way to see it with any balance is impeccably, ethically, compassionately, and with at least an aim toward the Divine. It IS the Divine. God and the Universe spoke to me. It is all, always, speaking to us. And what it says is endless it brings wholeness to the precious moment. It goes away when one tries to pin it down, as I do. I say less and less as I try to describe it. It is endlessly generative. It is good but pitiless and merciful. It demands of us that we arrive. And now that the thinking manifests in a way that allows for union and a bridge, in a way that avoids easy condemnation, a thinking that reveals the links toward light in motion, a primordial form of being in a new world that needs no one to believe in it, a vast chasm in what a bureaucracy of thought tries to pin us down with, the hole in time that allows us to be free is here, we know it. All of us can see through delusion. There is no road in the aftermath of earthquakes, no need for the time to extinguish the elements, no person locked to your heart in the morning, no water to drink without thirst, no air is necessary to breathe under the water of seeing, no need for the earth to do anything other than revolve, in this new light. Space undoes our links to the immovable. We deliver the undone to the plains and see what the harvest will fill with seed. The whole does not exist within outlines. All we can do is move to it. The music is unheard of in this world. It exists without origin. It is otherworldly, primordial, and gentle. It vibrates, equally, in the Lamb, in the Lotus, in the stones—there is no place unknown to it. It is music, and nothing more, and nothing less. It is that everywhere possible. It is harmonious infinitely, and allows for any sound. To some it might seem like noise, but that is only the part. To achieve it one need only listen. I cannot always hear it, but I have heard it. And now in my new mind, I listen for it undaunted and silent. I feel it filling my body with love. Sometimes I have horrific thoughts. But I am learning that these are but strong notes in the fullness of the music of my new mind. I can’t always hear the song, but I feel it now. It makes all context vast. I will receive it as long as it is here. I will not push one way or the other with it. It is a fullness and does not want to be made into a force. It is a force without me, and only to the degree to which this is true. No longer being able to receive it will imply a failure of my imagination, of my ethics, and my spirit. There is no way to hold on to it. It serves no one. And it includes us all. To continue to receive it more fully I grow. This implies the world. It implies clarity. It implies motion. But it rests motionlessly. If I have a softness in my voice it is caused by this music. When I don’t I feel less. My voice can be loud to receive it, but this loudness cannot be yoked in outlines. There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to expect. I can only let it go. And I can only be afraid of the horror of my thoughts without this music. But now that I know a taste of it, I have hope. Good people feed it. I haven’t always known what to do with it and others. But now I am a little less confused about this. This is due to Buddhism, the little that I know of its practice. And to love. But it does not stop at my experience. I am ignorant and cannot offer knowledge. Except this music does not require knowledge. I’m not sure what it requires. It requires to be received, but does not need us. Is there a pact between humanity and God? I don’t know. Is there a God? I don’t know. I’m not sure the question is enough on its own. Or maybe it is, if God is not limited by concept. And concept seems to be only a note in this song. Problems feed it. “Love is the absence of fear.” And “love believes all things, yet is never deceived.” I aim to see through my delusions. I aim to be one of many, a small voice in the song of the world. I rest in silence as I always have. “To have a view as vast as the sky and as fine as a grain of sand.” All beings want to be loved and to be free from suffering. We strive diligently to learn the vast expanse and the laser pointed focus of this gift. Remember that light makes us. And that in this new world, more and more is made of light. And if that is the case, we move to move the light of the world. Someday, perhaps, we will move the light of the computer world. Only the compassionate and true will be able to do so. Because only they can be selfless enough to let it move through them. I am not there to move it but I saw this. Long ago. Briefly. I was offered a glimpse. It is utterly simple and beyond thought. There is hope. Intention is a thought. So one sees. I cannot tangle myself in the line. But only to bridge. That is part of why it will all move. But I cannot wait until that is possible to become. I can wait eternally and actively in the world to remain still. With the calm and expansive link that allows us to live, so preciously together, I see through the trouble that startles me, every moment and allow the seeing of my inner eye to burn through it. I do not remember what Zyprexa was like any longer. Except that it seems I have more to work with now, with my mind. And these words are plain, so as to be careful in this new place. I see that they do not break open my heart, as I read. And for that I relinquish this poem, and allow it to be only a mark on the road to further inquiry. I allow it to see as I have made a vow to bridge, that my life aims to be whole, even in the face of potential catastrophes, I grow more and more to accept death as it arrives, to allow it to soften me, and to transform me as I have been transformed through Geodon, only to know that there is an isthmus, and that it is eternal. Only that there is one heart to allow myself to speak in the storms of tribulation, as one speaks to allow the teamwork of the fabric of need of the bird malingerer to see this in the aftermath of one who has died. Like a bicycle never once together enough to ride, I see this word here, again, to the removal of a people, to the homeland of union and pace, to the isthmus of a double link, one ocean to another, one continent to another, to the only union (even as it may be erased in my history), the place of one heart to allow the song to continue through conflict as she saw it then, one time, far away, when I hadn’t known yet, that this would be timeless. And there is one to it there to see it there, to allow it there to become and to see there as one is there to see and to allow one to arrive with it there and to see, and to be one with it there as one is there to be with it. And to see there as one is there to believe as it is one to believe it there and to see it there as one with the soil and the air and the light and rain and to be there with one to be there one with it there once again, and to see it there and to believe as there is one there to believe it there again and to see. And to see there as one is there to believe as it is there again and to see there as one is there to arrive and to be with it there and to see it there once again and to see it there again and to believe as there is one to it again and to see and to hold and to see it there and to hold being that nothing holds dissolving written in transition from Zyprexa 10 mg/night to Geodon 160 mg/night—December 23, 2009 (transition started), January 2, 2010 (poem started)

Roberto Harrison

Living,Death,The Mind,Love,Romantic Love,Arts & Sciences,Language & Linguistics,Music,Social Commentaries,Money & Economics

PATH Song

waking to the news of an eventual collapse, those ejected minds of the walking thing of the speech of birds, they announce their own development from ashes to make a song and deliver the hunted landscape to its stars, those of us who knew something of the engine would remove the approach to animals as a second wind, the coming of pages of light and nectar, but once the arrival of her tent would move the inhabitants of the Sea, and the consciousness of the Ocean to pursue the network that sparks their shining single dream to the pavement, the oceanic feet that would not muse its face or deter those breaks from the second light of the morning, or one would say the easy atonements that their push from the animal would enlarge so that they would speak and we would understand, these assembly code calypsos deter the kindly face that hates and pummels as these will undo their coloring and the fur of the path. do not stop until you know it well with both feet.

Roberto Harrison

Activities,Travels & Journeys,Nature,Animals,Seas, Rivers, & Streams,Social Commentaries,Cities & Urban Life

absorbent heart

your values aren’t right for this age or memory color line. globes of the Sea survive revelation as the Moon reflects its own interior revolver. I live as a condemned callused body under salt water sand, far from your destructions. where are the people of the lost (shut out the hate) arc, in a service (love so remote) to more water? worn eclipse of a human emergence, foils of the barricade a face speaks from isomorphic ferns lines of sacrifice burn the god of a naked mammal I am the Loon “the silence of our beautiful consciousness” “in love with everything you make it impossible to be myself in this place. where can I go?” – Baraka attentive score for the core of death: black, red, and white as I wake an expansive heart absorbs all the evil a veil of the world and cancels the Loon’s empty submergence for more of the deep currents of the light’s darkest refuge. I am the Loon I hunt with blood in my eyes I wander in the morning and float above the wound fish of the spirits

Roberto Harrison

Living,The Body,Nature,Animals,Seas, Rivers, & Streams,Stars, Planets, Heavens

(First Trimester)

[we] are watching a documentary about home birth when [you] first feel [neni] kick // embryo of hope // they say plastic is the perfect creation because it never dies // litters the beaches of o‘ahu, this “gathering place” // the doctor recommends a c-section // in the sea, plastic multiplies into smaller pieces, leaches estrogenic and toxic chemicals // if [we] cut open the bellies of whales and large fish, what fragments will [we] find, derived from oil, absorbed into tissue // because plastic never dissolves, every product ever made still exists, somewhere, today // i wish my daughter was made of plastic so that she will survive [our] wasteful hands // so that she, too, will have a great future

Craig Santos Perez

Living,Parenthood,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Nature,Seas, Rivers, & Streams

I Keep Getting Things Wrong

After Mark Levine 1 My father, just out of his teens, stands on the rooftop of the embassy in Saigon, his birthplace. He gives his hand to his mother, and all around them, a thousand hands reach up not to wave. None of his siblings died. Their bodies like a fine chain balled tight in a fist. They made it out alive. Why is he looking at me like this? 2 This is the idea of a house my father built in Southern California. These two circle windows and bamboo on all sides. He brought a jungle here, complete with French doors. These are the tiles from his mother’s house, cool against my cheek. I talk to him in one tongue, he answers from the morgue. 3 Let’s get on with it. When I return to that house, I eat the food left out for my dead brother. I don’t waste much. I slide open and close his closet, untangle the window blinds. The bees are quiet in the walls, now, their colonies dying off. His shoes on my father’s feet are the only moving thing in sight. 4 On their flight to America, the choice for lunch was rice or pasta, but when the meal cart reached them, there was only pasta. My father smiled at the flight attendant and asked, Why didn’t you reap enough rice? 5 The certificates we use to be certain of each other: ID cards, contracts, permits, deeds, fishing licenses, driving licenses, car titles, carry permits, registrations, income statements, IOUs, testimonials, certificates of birth, custody, and death, letters of consent. Do I have permission to approach a drowning man from behind? 6 I dreamed last night, my mother says, that you were in danger and your brother was young still, though you were the same as you are now. He was looking for me and I was looking for you. 7 I sit at my desk, typing and deleting words. Twice I dreamed I fucked my brother. I keep trying to wake up. I keep getting things wrong. I’m ready to feel better.

Diana Khoi Nguyen

Living,Death,Sorrow & Grieving,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

Family Ties

Gradually a girl’s innocence itself becomes her major crime A doe and her two fawns bent low in the sumac along the bank of a highway, the pinched peach of their ears twitching in the heat Into the disordered evening my brother cut out only his face from every photograph in the hall, carefully slipping each frame back into position What good does it do? Decades of no faces other than our own chipping faces What good does it do, this resemblance to nothing we know of the dollhouse New parents watch their newborn resting in a sunny patch of an empty room, the newborn making sense of its container— And from the road a deer ripened in death and a tuft of fur—or dandelion— tumbled along, gently circled, driftwood, shaking loose, gathered, dissolving into the mouths of jewelweed nearby Earth is rife with iron and blood is rich in stardust Immediately I spotted one hoof print, then nothing, as if this was where she dragged herself out of the body Strips of tire torn from their orbitIs it right then, that we are left to hurtle alone

Diana Khoi Nguyen

Living,Sorrow & Grieving,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Nature,Animals,Social Commentaries,Gender & Sexuality

An Empty House Is a Debt

1 There is a house in me. It is empty. I empty it. Negative space: the only native emptiness there is. There is 2 An alarm goes off. It goes on and on. When the alarm drifts to different parts of the room, I realize, that alarm is the sun. 3 And there is no one who does not need, never an empty seat. And the blind one, he does not find a place. There is a god in him helping him to need himself. 4 A mother sticks a spoon into my chest, which is an empty bowl, actually, so the spoon lands quickly and loudly. Heartbreak in the heart! she says. When you love someone more than you’ve ever known you could, it is a good thing, except for the terrifying realization that one day there comes a parting.

Diana Khoi Nguyen

Living,Sorrow & Grieving,Love,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Home Life

Love Poem with Dark Face

J'aurais dans mes mains ton visage obscur —Yves Bonnefoy [1] what should i call this poem i’ll call it a rush of chambers a racket of foliage i’ll call it love poem with dark face pretty title someone i don’t know who tells me watch out for words with meaning don’t look for truth in beauty learn to breathe with your gaze in an art gallery a woman with sad eyes devours rats devours picassos sleeps in hospital rooms listen to this story once upon a time a princess bah death will not be long in coming death with its blue eyes on my empty plate [2] she’ll never know who i am she’s blind and hates when people look at her i offer her a bonfire a fistful of snow offer her a freshly cut rose what should we talk about now? let’s talk about the sky let’s talk about fear there’s going to be a storm tonight a person would do better to drop and never get up how’s that i ask but she disappears i don’t know if she’ll ever return still i wait with my milk tooth with my old stamp collection with my razor blade and a mirror at night she comes whispers in my ear there’s no one but you in a million years i’ll learn her real name know her dark face flush with sky flush with fear [3] why am i writing this? you incandescent pupil i’m a swan that dreams of dying in your dream inside a box where hell burns where everything is blinding the storm doesn’t say a word stays mute you should have seen me that time the vineyards were in bloom the cows were grazing i was happy you were happy the enigma’s transparence cooled our coffee the myth’s dissection the death of any and all theories i’m a swan my dream is to die in your dream why didn’t you look at me? [4] my students asked me what is the meaning of pain so i sliced a doll’s finger with a razor blade there was no blood no batting of lashes this i told them is pain [5] i read and write at the same time it’s only proper the mountains overwhelmingly approve the night shuts one eye and looks at me with the other there is nothing around but plastic flowers purgatories on the brink of closure doors and windows the light grows impatient time destroys clocks may i speak? there’s no need to the pages are on fire your lamp is burning i take off my clothes and let the cold ignite my penis [6] now i come to the hardest part of the story the part where i talk about porpoises and dolphins the woman with the sad eyes vomits rats into the toilet i speak of my desire i don’t want her to know about it i’ll just say a word brush my hand against her hair and if she runs ah the lost words the dark rooms each with its death rattle of birds all soaring skyward the woman closes her eyes go in me she says i’ve forgotten your name i don’t have a name from high above the bed a god observes us his wounded body conveying how much she wants me [7] sorrowful boy come whenever you like i’ll burn in your memory sear your tongue all kinds of confusion will find a place in your senses any expression will be allegory in our hands i have a notebook for you a glass of water some dead fish i said to her sorrowful girl i love notebooks await every night a glass of water on my tongue dead fish are a delirium my students ask what’s delirium i unbutton my shirt and show them your breasts this is delirium [8] a rush of overflowing chambers it’s playtime now you’re the shadow and i’m the light you lick my wounds while i sink into the lightning flash into both sets of darkness where you sleep and i await the word smoke is the word tomorrow your body and mine will sing and there will again be woods unfurling before my eyes open venetian blinds a fount of angels atop the dirty laundry tell me a story anything what’s important is that we awaken and not give in to sleep happy loves rot as surely as blighted ones do bye bye she says bye bye flowers in her wounded hands [9] to let the body not love drift through other bodies that’s how banishment how violent expulsion begins quite a lovely light is dying amid the debris no one can see it ice is deceptive when it shines bright the sky an irrevocable past a voice inspiring pity a voice that never reaches us [10] disturbing the marble slab’s geometry beneath her feet the sought-after metaphor is a blue cyclone the dark alley the grave of all projects though nothing stands in our way we can be happy but there’s no one here only me besides the words the untimely trips and scarlet buses i remember her light which made the pain grow dark and still she went away i followed until i lost her trace no one ever taught me to lose a desire a purple cloud envelopes my body the students ask me what is a body i draw a word in the air the word bursts and drops to the ground this i tell them is a body

Eduardo Chirinos

Living,Love,Desire,Heartache & Loss,Nature,Animals,Weather

The Smoke of Distant Fires

[1] i wonder where the title the smoke of distant fires comes from i heard it in a park once at the back of my creeping devoted ear the moon was red the forest as always abloom with heliotropes and blue begonias yes i heard it in a park once a dog was barking the moon was red the sun had already set [2] eyeing my steps she’d say good but with less emphasis the words stank to high heaven the serpent was singing sweetly careful she told me it’s a monstrosity a misshapen beast years ago i placed a leaf from a linden tree on his back which left only a scratch a mere flesh wound where time records its march where the mangled falcon sleeps the blood on kriemhild’s breasts recalling the blood on kriemhild’s breasts her death at the hands of some hunter of wild boars the serpent was dancing the moon was red the hero didn’t seem to notice i have lost the pot of gold he said i don’t know who could have stolen it from me [3] the trees let go of their branches allowing them to fall it was spring and they couldn’t bear the weight of the snow the sun shone darkly deer came down from the hills rats fled the swamp and everything before me was allegory yet i didn’t write a word [4] who is eyeing my steps? who is dictating me words? who is telling me now is the time? i don’t know who is eyeing my steps who is dictating me words who is telling me now is the time [5] i’m with my parents in melbourne this has to be a dream i’ve never been to melbourne my parents look at a plate of food with no interest one way or the other i feel uncomfortable at times that’s how i remember you i can never get past your eyes i don’t have any eyes ask siegfried ask the serpent ask him what’s become of your words of the papers you tossed in the wastebasket of the much hoped-for rain in the linden tree forest i’m talking about hell about charon’s coins about the barking dog the one that won’t let us sleep [6] we’re not in melbourne and this is no dream truth to tell i don’t know where we are i see a park nearby hear some music the rustling of leaves we’re alone tonight you’re like a tiger i love your fear the streak of light rending your shadow the solar mantle where beauty burns forget the flesh for a moment forget about beauty for now you’re with me tonight why is the moon so red she asks [7] it isn’t night and we aren’t in park we’re in thebais at either the beginning or the end of a storm it’s like a line you know by heart memory can be so cruel preserving a marble column a red desert and nothing else around them but rocks spiders scorpions a pious crowd and a rabbit why a pious crowd she asks why a rabbit i must have read about them in a poem seen them in a medieval painting or some movie short perhaps praying high in the air i grasped the serpent and if a cloud brushed my ears i gave god thanks for it was his hand he ordered me to read but no one had ever taught me how [8] you must be simeon then she said pointing out my sandals my lack of social graces my eyes brimming over with desert [9] she listens to the rustling of the leaves to the whistling of the wind tell me we’ve always been here tell me you never went away read me the part about the hero’s betrayal the dream of the eagle devouring the falcon tell me it’s nighttime our neighbors wave at us with no interest one way or the other the birds pick apart their nests on the riverbank a dog barks a dog that won’t let us sleep [10] water and mud common ground sketch their alphabet the metaphor is burning i see it shrivel to nothing amid the rubble we don’t need to write don’t need to read tonight the serpent is very excited for it’s celebrating a birth as the words rot and the moon shines a charon’s palm what should i do? hold on to it she says write the smoke of distant fires

Eduardo Chirinos

Living,Death,Nature,Animals,Trees & Flowers,Arts & Sciences,Language & Linguistics,Mythology & Folklore,Greek & Roman Mythology

The Unaccompanied

Wandering slowly back after dark one night above a river, toward a suspension bridge, a sound concerns him that might be a tune or might not: noise drifting in, trailing off. Then concerns him again, now clearly a song pulsing out from the opposite bank, being sung by chorusing men, all pewter-haired or bald, in the function suite of a shabby hotel. Above their heads a conductor’s hand draws and casts the notes with a white wand. Songs about mills and mines and a great war, about mermaid brides and solid gold hills, songs from broken hymnbooks and cheesy films. Then his father’s voice rising out of that choir, and his father’s father’s voice, and voices of fathers before, concerning him only, arcing through charged air and spanning the gorge. He steps over the cliff edge and walks across.

Simon Armitage

Activities,Travels & Journeys,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Arts & Sciences,Music

Homework

It’s evening again, late.I go out into the laneand doodle a beard and mustacheon the face of the moonwith a red pen. Over the next hillan old teacher of minetakes off her glassesand wipes the lenses with a soft cloth.She can’t believewhat she’s just seen.

Simon Armitage

Activities,School & Learning,Nature,Stars, Planets, Heavens

Look at Us

Look at us We are of earth and water Look at them It is the same Look at us We are suffering all these years Look at them They are connected Look at us We are in pain Look at them Surprised at our anger Look at us We are struggling to survive Look at them Expecting sorrow be benign Look at us We are the ones called pagan Look at them On their arrival Look at us We are called subversive Look at them Descending from name callers Look at us We wept sadly in the long dark Look at them Hiding in technologic light Look at us We buried the generations Look at them Inventing the body count Look at us We are older than America Look at them Chasing a fountain of youth Look at us we are embracing earth Look at them Clutching today Look at us We are living in the generations Look at them Existing in jobs and debt Look at us We have escaped many times Look at them They cannot remember Look at us We are healing Look at them Their medicine is patented Look at us We are trying Look at them What are they doing Look at us We are children of earth Look at them Who are they

John Trudell

Relationships,Friends & Enemies,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,Race & Ethnicity,War & Conflict

Cry Your Tears

Now you want us To cry your tears for you After we’ve already bled for you Already been dead to you Now you want us To cry your tears for you Chapters of a democracy story Descendants of genocide Twelve score and more years ago We went from being the majority To being the smallest minority Now you want us To cry your tears for you We saw that emptying Early morning skyline Back through that horizon Duck Valley 1979, Wounded Knee Sand Creek, that Trail of Tears Exactly how did our land Become your country Now you want us To cry your tears for you While we’re still crying tears of our own With your past as your future That industrial ruling class Using religion as a weapon Distilling love into hate Pointing fingers and name calling evil Sacrificing lives and blood Making the innocent the new virgins Offering to the gods of profit Now you want us To cry your tears for you In the homeland security Pretending corporate corruption Isn’t economic terrorism Money talks while the government listens Compiling files on ones who think different Conditioning an acceptance of debt And not to expect the truth So get used to hearing the lie Now you want us To cry your tears for you Misusing the beauty Turning freedom into a killing machine Mass murdering the environment Weaponizing the psychology of fear And pushing material addiction with A substitution of rules faking the law The bill of rights becomes collateral damage Making the constitution another broken treaty Now you want us To cry your tears for you Way this story is unfolding We may end up crying together As in crying at the same time But we’re short on tears to cry for you With all these tears to cry of our own Now you want us To cry your tears for you

John Trudell

Living,Sorrow & Grieving,Relationships,Friends & Enemies,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,Money & Economics,War & Conflict

Baby Boom Che

You wanna know what happened to Elvis I’ll tell you what happened I oughta know man I was one of his army I mean man I was on his side He made us feel all right We were the first wave in the Postwar baby boom The generation before had just come Out of the Great Depression and World War II You know heavy vibes for people to wear So much heaviness like some kind of Voiding of the emotions Their music you know the songs Life always carries You know every culture has songs Well anyway their music was Restrained emotion You know like you didn’t wanna dance If you didn’t know how Which says something strange Well anyway Elvis came along About ten years after the nuke When the only generals America had in The only army she had were Ike and Mac And stupor hung over the land A plague where everyone tried to Materially free themselves Still too shell-shocked to understand To feel what was happening Everything was getting hopeless Then when Elvis started to rock The roll just picked up I mean drabness the beaver showed us Could only be a foretold future Who wanted to be Ward and June and I mean father never did know best He was still crazy from surviving the war Like there was this psychotic pall So widespread as to be assumed normal Heavy man you know really Anyway Elvis showed us an out You know he showed everyboyman and Everygirlwoman there’s something good In feeling good Like a prophet for everyboy everygirl When someones mom and dad lied Something about him told us To be sensual is really okay Someones mom and dad waltzed us around Everygirl wasn’t supposed to enjoy it If she did she was bad and everyboy Well boys will be boys don’t feel anything Take what you can Marry a decent girl when the fun’s done Like no matter what we did we all were guilty Maybe someones mom and dad resented What they missed and while They were trying to pass it on us We heard Elvis’s song and For the first time we made up our own mind The first wave rebelled I mean we danced even if we didn’t know how I mean Elvis made us move Instead of standing mute he raised our voice And when we heard ourselves something Was changing you know like for the first time We made a collective decision about choices America hurriedly made Pat Boone A general in the army they wanted us to join But most of us held fast to Elvis And the commandants around him Chuck Berry Buddy Holly Little Richard Bo Diddley Gene Vincent you know Like a different civil war all over again I mean you take don’t be cruel I want you I need you I love you And jailhouse rock Or you take Pat and his white bucks Singing love letters in the sand Hell man what’s real here I mean Pat at the beach in his white bucks His ears getting sunburned told us Something about old wave delusion I mean wanting and needing and imprisonment We all been to those places but what did White bucks at the beach understand Other than more straight line dancing You know what I mean Anyway man for a while we had a breather Fresh energy to keep us from falling into the big sleep Then before long Elvis got assassinated in all the fame Taking a long time to die others seized Control while Elvis rode the needle out Never understanding what he’d done It’s like we were the baby boom because Life needed a fresher start I mean two world wars in a row is Really crazy man And Elvis even though he didn’t know he said it He showed it to us anyway and even though We didn’t know we heard it we heard it anyway Man like he woke us up And now they’re trying to put us Back to sleep so we’ll see how it goes Anyway look at the record man Rock ’n’ roll is based on revolution Going way past 33 1/3 You gotta understand man he was America’s baby boom Che I oughta know man I was in his army

John Trudell

Arts & Sciences,Music,Social Commentaries,Gender & Sexuality,History & Politics,War & Conflict

But This Isn't El Salvador

Reading poetry from Central America After talking with my brother Suddenly remembering how they kill Couldn’t really say it straight before They told me you were dead I died They told me your mother was dead I died again They told me the kids were dead I died with each name Fire The government said accident They lied Duck Valley my El Salvador Our last kiss was our last good-bye They came for you in winter’s night Winter’s wind wailed in mourning Government people searched for days Scene of crime digging through ashes Looking for body parts and disturbing evidence We buried you all in a large grave While a blizzard covered us in a blanket of snow How it stormed terrible pain in the land of the free Some ones should have noticed Fewer women laughing Some ones should have noticed Fewer children growing up But this isn’t El Salvador Warm strong willed woman I still have memories you gave me Maybe if we recognized peasant eyes Maybe if we recognized plantation lies Archbishop Romero would have nothing On you Trying not to cry how will I ever stop Ever see a wounded lion try hiding pain Watch out it doesn’t work But this isn’t El Salvador At times I feel every embrace we shared At times every tender moment still lives Met Sandinista who touched my cheek Kind of like you used to Said to me you are one of us But this isn’t El Salvador Gentle woman natural mother natural world Some people won’t comprehend what happens Who wants realities cluttered by acts of war Have to keep a lot inside at times Not offending people with words They don’t want to see pictures of But this isn’t El Salvador Some people told me I’m strong to survive I’m not strong I’m not weak no morality No right no wrong one tear at a time I fall I rise But this isn’t El Salvador You loved your people In the face of the American dream Fry bread and tortillas some wars are the same Who thinks Wounded Knee and Sand Creek Happen only in history books is this not history We live we die but this isn’t El Salvador The first look you gave me Your eyes spoke your spirit your heart My heart our heart there was no other way Some ones say we’re with you brother We understand what’s been done Some ones say but this isn’t El Salvador This is America yes I know Almost two thousand seasons We fall we rise we fall we rise

John Trudell

Living,Death,Sorrow & Grieving,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

from Lisiensan Ga’lago

“goaam” ~ “goam” ~ “islas de las velas latinas” (of lateen sails ~ “guan” “guana” ~ “islas de los ladrones” (of the thieves ~ “guåhan” “guajan” ~ “islas marianas” (after the spanish queen ~ “bahan” “guhan” ~ “guacan” “isla de san juan” ~ “guaon” “y guan” “omiya jima” (great shrine island) “guam” “the first province of the great ocean” ~ geographic absence ~ “the old census records show” because who can stand on the reef and name that below water and sky imagined territory ~ “a spanish baptismal name and” burnt villages archipelago of “chamoru last names drawn from the lexicon of everyday language” bone carved word ~ “it is possible they changed their last names throughout their lives” remade : sovereign

Craig Santos Perez

Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Arts & Sciences,Language & Linguistics,Social Commentaries,History & Politics

A Word on Statistics

Out of every hundred people those who always know better: fifty-two. Unsure of every step: almost all the rest. Ready to help, if it doesn't take long: forty-nine. Always good, because they cannot be otherwise: four—well, maybe five. Able to admire without envy: eighteen. Led to error by youth (which passes): sixty, plus or minus. Those not to be messed with: forty and four. Living in constant fear of someone or something: seventy-seven. Capable of happiness: twenty-some-odd at most. Harmless alone, turning savage in crowds: more than half, for sure. Cruel when forced by circumstances: it's better not to know, not even approximately. Wise in hindsight: not many more than wise in foresight. Getting nothing out of life except things: thirty (though I would like to be wrong). Doubled over in pain and without a flashlight in the dark: eighty-three, sooner or later. Those who are just: quite a few at thirty-five. But if it takes effort to understand: three. Worthy of empathy: ninety-nine. Mortal: one hundred out of one hundred— a figure that has never varied yet.

Wisława Szymborska

Living,Death,Life Choices,Arts & Sciences,Sciences

Cold Valley

The fog shades a smooth stone bust then slips into rain my mind is well suited onyx shining edges the reflection itself * Traces of mist on an old window * The best part is grinding the ink down endlessly, filling my brush grey morning I first feel the mind as reflex * Bright and clear The end of Evergreen road is closed and crumbling away Bill McNeil’s red poppy resolves to be eaten alive exposed to a shaft of air between the flower and its flat glass- masterful * The black bleeds out from his beak in long tears, ink onto sopping head feathers slicked back black stiches on yellow powdered eyes aglow white speckles thrown onto autumn breast feathers a white field below

Cedar Sigo

Living,The Mind,Nature,Landscapes & Pastorals,Weather,Arts & Sciences,Painting & Sculpture

His New Twin Daughters

Even now, after all these years, my father, 89, still uncertain when I call whose voice it is—Ann's or mine— saying Hi, Dad, and from where, the next town or a different state, still pausing in that powdered air, this little silence as he waits at the nursery door, discerning tone and pitch, listening hard to know which way to bend, which crib, the one against the wall or by the window, still concentrating, trying to keep us separate, our needs, do whatshe would, letting my mother sleep, this moment's blank as he's about to choose between us, make some shift in the soft-lit dark, decide whose cry it is tonight, which girl to lift, to whisper or hum, which lullaby.

Elise Hempel

Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław Miłosz

You whom I could not save,Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar backpacks shouldn’t be needed for children walking to school? Those same children also shouldn’t require a suit of armor when standing on their front lawns, or snipers to watch their backs as they eat at McDonalds. They shouldn’t have to stop to consider the speed of a bullet or how it might reshape their bodies. But one winter, back in Detroit, I had one student who opened a door and died. It was the front door of his house, but it could have been any door, and the bullet could have written any name. The shooter was thirteen years old and was aiming at someone else. But a bullet doesn’t care about “aim,” it doesn’t distinguish between the innocent and the innocent, and how was the bullet supposed to know this child would open the door at the exact wrong moment because his friend was outside and screaming for help. Did I say I had “one” student who opened a door and died? That’s wrong. There were many. The classroom of grief had far more seats than the classroom for math though every student in the classroom for math could count the names of the dead. A kid opens a door. The bullet couldn’t possibly know, nor could the gun, because “guns don’t kill people,” they don’t have minds to decide such things, they don’t choose or have a conscience, and when a man doesn’t have a conscience, we call him a psychopath. This is how we know what type of assault rifle a man can be, and how we discover the hell that thrums inside each of them. Today, there’s another shooting with dead kids everywhere. It was a school, a movie theater, a parking lot. The world is full of doors. And you, whom I cannot save, you may open a door and enter a meadow or a eulogy. And if the latter, you will be mourned, then buried in rhetoric. There will be monuments of legislation, little flowers made from red tape. What should we do? we’ll ask again. The earth will close like a door above you.What should we do? And that click you hear? That’s just our voices, the deadbolt of discourse sliding into place.

Matthew Olzmann

Living,Youth,Activities,School & Learning,Social Commentaries,Crime & Punishment,History & Politics

Emotional Intelligence

My grammar, ‘tis of thee. Sweet simultaneity when water came down the hillside in a pipe and a local Cineplex of Oedipus armegeddoned us into a past no future could agree on. Nation was another thing to notice, how shirts and skins, ironies and their opposite eyed each other before the big game. Sneak up, affections. Be covert in the open. If I sing, I believe in wire taps bootless on be- citizened faces, that phat, that sick: help. We’ve given up the romance of weather, although I once felt so much for a man who wore oven mitts in the snow. Land where my fathers pilgrimmed all we can depend on, this freedom majestic in the jest that will what—blah, op-ed and blather us over, excelsis deo zapping rust from our names. The word “to” is understood. And it’s thy placey memories I love, darling tongue of my tongue, unique as any finger print in groove and grubbiness. Always someone becomes the subject re-collecting these minutes meandering like so many sheep that run before our steps, and the red or blue X’s on their hinds say who owns them as they go upslope, in rain, over the stubby grass.

Pimone Triplett

Living,The Body,Arts & Sciences,Language & Linguistics,Social Commentaries,History & Politics

Closet Vision

Holed up behind the whitewashed wooden slats slung like ribs above the greed-begotten candy plaster- papered noworlaters, holed up and far from witches in the woods’ evergreen fringe, horse chestnut brews, parents’ crow commotion or robin squabble haranguing the fat wide open always out there, I read for hours on the red shag rug hearing market cry and grave slope, catching the men through ages of flint and full haggle in my 2 by 6 chamber, heart bent on Blue Beard, the dead wives’ skeletons cantilevered to a door hook. Later, hunkering down with amputee hangers, catalogs, the bottle stash and jug wines, Jim Beams too hiding with air, no air, plus a stolen Joy of Sex circa 1974, its pell mell positions and crouching women, with the POV going scrap and rattle, some theater of being a little less bright. Thought I saw one night the million paired eyes swinging upward, the hand me down generations spelunking in holes, fine lineaments braved by way of cream curd and lust and dictatorial DNA, felt through overhead squib and carpet warp, some full squat before the slate rock hearths, more buried in strata of granites, igneous, limestone, ash, the mind’s eye leveled to one rectangle of light around the animal who wants to know that it knows and say so, lumbering down the long path, vanishing.

Pimone Triplett

Living,The Body,The Mind,Love,Desire,Arts & Sciences,Reading & Books

Supply Chain

Drippingly by grips, this humus and perlite nearly sings through my fingers circling the ditch lily’s heat-sunk side, anthers frayed, fallen. Sift. Learn your footprint. If occasion, rise to. Another bloom, opposite, grows blood orange its splayed open hand, in shade, still opulent, curls tender, having the time of its life. Let’s get the basics, the survey says. Sight says, turning, the cat’s sprawled besides the baby rat it found and above the scalp thin lawn through the window the children are watching. Where do you live? What’s under your roof? What brushes up, by now, is summer burnt grass in scorch and stubble with the rat who will not move. Lent pallor. Light gray lumpen weight. How many rooms do you own? Keep digging, mom, get to china, they call out, when I work the plant free, its dirt tumbling thick with rooted tendrils reaching. Are you a gadget geek, a regular joe, or technophone? Plus crumbs, wedged in pine cones, tunnels, earthworm ruts. There’s nothing I can’t touch here if I want to or disturb, teeming sum of what we’re built on, soil damps beside dry pockets, clay at the spade end gone that unctuous apricot yellow. Refine your results. The cat’s long patient, knows what her hurt can do. She waits, ginger lines of her fur circling. What’s on your plate/ in your medicine cabinet/jewelry box/garage? I look closer. The infant rodent is trembling. Another child, not mine, labors deep to find the shine, sorting pebbles through her fingers. Make progress. Take action. Witness not permitted distance. When the prey finally moves, jumps a few inches, the cat closes in, takes the injured flaccid thing into his jaws for the kill and carries it almost like a kitten across the lawn. My hand crushes the dark stamens and the littlest child upstairs at the rat’s last squeal, begins to scream best, best, thisis the best day of my life, and I have to walk back inside.

Pimone Triplett

Nature,Animals,Landscapes & Pastorals,Summer,Social Commentaries,Money & Economics

Obligations 2

As we embrace resist the future the present the past we work we struggle we begin we fail ​ to understand to find to unbraid to accept to question the grief the grief the grief the grief we shift we wield we bury​ into light as ash across our faces

Layli Long Soldier

Living,Sorrow & Grieving,Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

Lines of Life

Orphan in my first years, I early learnt To make my heart suffice itself, and seek Support and sympathy in its own depths. Well, read my cheek, and watch my eye, — Too strictly school'd are they One secret of my soul to show, One hidden thought betray. I never knew the time my heart Look'd freely from my brow; It once was check'd by timidness, 'Tis taught by caution now. I live among the cold, the false, And I must seem like them; And such I am, for I am false As those I most condemn. I teach my lip its sweetest smile, My tongue its softest tone; I borrow others' likeness, till Almost I lose my own. I pass through flattery's gilded sieve, Whatever I would say; In social life, all, like the blind, Must learn to feel their way. I check my thoughts like curbed steeds That struggle with the rein; I bid my feelings sleep, like wrecks In the unfathom'd main. I hear them speak of love, the deep. The true, and mock the name; Mock at all high and early truth, And I too do the same. I hear them tell some touching tale, I swallow down the tear; I hear them name some generous deed, And I have learnt to sneer. I hear the spiritual, the kind, The pure, but named in mirth; Till all of good, ay, even hope, Seems exiled from our earth. And one fear, withering ridicule, Is all that I can dread; A sword hung by a single hair For ever o'er the head. We bow to a most servile faith, In a most servile fear; While none among us dares to say What none will choose to hear. And if we dream of loftier thoughts, In weakness they are gone; And indolence and vanity Rivet our fetters on. Surely I was not born for this! I feel a loftier mood Of generous impulse, high resolve, Steal o'er my solitude! I gaze upon the thousand stars That fill the midnight sky; And wish, so passionately wish, A light like theirs on high. I have such eagerness of hope To benefit my kind; And feel as if immortal power Were given to my mind. I think on that eternal fame, The sun of earthly gloom. Which makes the gloriousness of death, The future of the tomb — That earthly future, the faint sign Of a more heavenly one; — A step, a word, a voice, a look, — Alas! my dream is done! And earth, and earth's debasing stain, Again is on my soul; And I am but a nameless part Of a most worthless whole. Why write I this? because my heart Towards the future springs, That future where it loves to soar On more than eagle wings. The present, it is but a speck In that eternal time, In which my lost hopes find a home, My spirit knows its clime. Oh! not myself, — for what am I? — The worthless and the weak, Whose every thought of self should raise A blush to burn my cheek. But song has touch’d my lips with fire. And made my heart a shrine; For what, although alloy'd, debased, Is in itself divine. I am myself but a vile link Amid life's weary chain; But I have spoken hallow'd words, O do not say in vain! My first, my last, my only wish, Say will my charmed chords Wake to the morning light of fame, And breathe again my words? Will the young maiden, when her tears Alone in moonlight shine — Tears for the absent and the loved — Murmur some song of mine? Will the pale youth by his dim lamp, Himself a dying flame, From many an antique scroll beside, Choose that which bears my name? Let music make less terrible The silence of the dead; I care not, so my spirit last Long after life has fled.

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Relationships,Friends & Enemies,Arts & Sciences,Poetry & Poets

Six Songs of Love, Constancy, Romance, Inconstancy, Truth, and Marriage

Oh! yet one smile, tho' dark may lower Around thee clouds of woe and ill, Let me yet feel that I have power, Mid Fate's bleak storms, to soothe thee still. Tho' sadness be upon thy brow, Yet let it turn, dear love, to me, I cannot bear that thou should'st know Sorrow I do not share with thee. True love's wreath is of mountain flowers, They stand the storm and brave the blast, And blossom on, so love like ours Is sweetest when all else is past. Too well I know what storms have frowned, And now frown on life's troubled tide; Still darker let them gather round, They have no power on hearts so tried. Then say not that you may not bear, To shadow spirit light as mine; I shall not shrink, or fear to share The darkest fate if it be thine! Oh! say not love was never made For heart so light as mine; Must love then seek the cypress shade, Rear but a gloomy shrine. Oh! say not, that for me more meet The revelry of youth; Or that my wild heart cannot beat With deep devoted truth. Tho' mirth may many changes ring, 'Tis but an outward show, Even upon the fond dove's wing Will varying colours glow. Light smiles upon my lip may gleam And sparkle o'er my brow, 'Tis but the glisten of the stream That hides the gold below. 'Tis love that gilds the mirthful hour, That lights the smile for me, Those smiles would instant lose their power, Did they not glance on thee! Oh! come to my slumber Sweet dreams of my love, I have hung the charmed wreath My soft pillow above. The roses are linked In a chain pure and white; And the rose-leaves are wet With the dew drops of night. The moon was on high As I gather'd each flower; The dew that then falls Has a magical power. The Spirit of slumber Those roses has blest; And sweet are the visions They'll bring to my rest. Be their spell on my soul, So they let me but see His dark eyes flash in love And his smile glance on me. Let sleep bring the image Of him far away; 'Tis worth all the tears I shed for him by day. I have hung the charmed wreath My soft pillow above; Then come to my slumber, Sweet dreams of my love! How vain to cast my love away On bosom false as thine; The floweret's bloom, that springs in May, Would be a safer shrine To build my fondest hopes upon, Tho' fragile it may be. That flower's smile is not sooner gone Than love that trusts to thee. Love asks a calm, a gentle home, Or else its life is o'er; If once you let its pinions roam, Oh! then 'tis love no more. The aspin's changefuI shade can be No shelter for the dove; And hearts as varying as that tree, Are sure no place for love. Hope linger'd long and anxiously, O'er failing faith, but now I give thee back each heartless sigh, Give back each broken vow. I'll trust the stay of tulip dyes, The calm of yon wild sea, The sunshine of the April skies, But never more to thee! Oh! would that love had power to raise A little isle for us alone, With fairy flowers, and sunny rays, The blue sea wave its guardian zone. No other step should ever press This hidden Eden of the heart, And we would share its loveliness, From every other thing apart. The rose and violet should weep, Whene'er our leafy couch was laid, The lark should wake our morning sleep, The bulbul sing our serenade. And we would watch the starry hours, And call the moon to hear our vows, And we would cull the sweetest flowers, And twine fresh chaplets for our brows. I thought thus of the flowers, the moon, This fairy isle for you and me; And then I thought how very soon How very tired we should be. Matrimonial Creed. HE must be rich whom I could love, His fortune clear must be, Whether in land or in the funds, 'Tis all the same to me. He must be old whom I could love, Then he'll not plague me long; In sooth 'twill he a pleasant sight, To see him borne along To where the croaking ravens lurk, And where the earth worms dwell: A widow's hood will suit my face, And black becomes me well. And he must make a settlement, I'll have no man without; And when he writes his testament, He must not leave me out. Oh! such a man as this would suit Each wish I here express; If he should say, — Will you have me? I'll very soon say — Yes! ⁠

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Living,Marriage & Companionship,Love,Desire,Romantic Love,Relationships,Men & Women,Social Commentaries,Money & Economics

Erinna

Was she of spirit race, or was she one Of earth's least earthly daughters, one to whom A gift of loveliness and soul is given, Only to make them wretched? There is an antique gem, on which her brow Retains its graven beauty even now. Her hair is braided, but one curl behind Floats as enamour'd of the summer wind; The rest is simple. Is she not too fair Even to think of maiden's sweetest care? The mouth and brow are contrasts. One so fraught With pride, the melancholy pride of thought Conscious of power, and yet forced to know How little way such power as that can go; Regretting, while too proud of the fine mind, Which raises but to part it from its kind: But the sweet mouth had nothing of all this; It was a mouth the rose had lean'd to kiss For her young sister, telling, now though mute, How soft an echo it was to the lute. The one spoke genius, in its high revealing; The other smiled a woman's gentle feeling. It was a lovely face: the Greek outline Flowing, yet delicate and feminine; The glorious lightning of the kindled eye, Raised, as it communed with its native sky. A lovely face the spirit's fitting shrine; The one almost, the other quite divine. My hand is on the lyre which never more With its sweet commerce, like a bosom friend, Will share the deeper thoughts which I could trust Only to music and to solitude. It is the very grove, the olive grove, Where first I laid my laurel crown aside, And bathed my fever'd brow in the cold stream; As if that I could wash away the fire Which from that moment kindled in my heart. I well remember how I flung myself, Like a young goddess, on a purple cloud Of light and odour — the rich violets Were so ethereal in bloom and breath: And I — I felt immortal, for my brain Was drunk and mad with its first draught of fame. 'Tis strange there was one only cypress tree, And then, as now, I lay beneath its shade. The night had seen me pace my lonely room, Clasping the lyre I had no heart to wake, Impatient for the day: yet its first dawn Came cold as death; for every pulse sank down, Until the very presence of my hope Became to me a fear. The sun rose up; I stood alone 'mid thousands: but I felt Mine inspiration; and, as the last sweep Of my song died away amid the hills, My heart reverb'rated the shout which bore To the blue mountains and the distant heavenErinna's name, and on my bended knee, Olympus, I received thy laurel crown. And twice new birth of violets have sprung, Since they were first my pillow, since I sought In the deep silence of the olive grove The dreamy happiness which solitude Brings to the soul o'erfill'd with its delight: For I was like some young and sudden heir Of a rich palace heap'd with gems and gold, Whose pleasure doubles as he sums his wealth And forms a thousand plans of festival; Such were my myriad visions of delight. The lute, which hitherto in Delphian shades Had been my twilight's solitary joy, Would henceforth be a sweet and breathing bond Between me and my kind. Orphan unloved, I had been lonely from my childhood's hour, Childhood whose very happiness is love: But that was over now; my lyre would be My own heart's true interpreter, and those To whom my song was dear, would they not bless The hand that waken'd it? I should be loved For the so gentle sake of those soft chords Which mingled others' feelings with mine own. Vow'd I that song to meek and gentle thoughts, To tales that told of sorrow and of love, To all our nature's finest touches, all That wakens sympathy: and I should be Alone no longer; every wind that bore, And every lip that breathed one strain of mine, Henceforth partake in all my joy and grief. Oh! glorious is the gifted poet's lot, And touching more than glorious: 'tis to be Companion of the heart's least earthly hour; The voice of love and sadness, calling forth Tears from their silent fountain: 'tis to have Share in all nature's loveliness; giving flowers A life as sweet, more lasting than their own; And catching from green wood and lofty pine Language mysterious as musical; Making the thoughts, which else had only been Like colours on the morning's earliest hour, Immortal, and worth immortality; Yielding the hero that eternal name For which he fought; making the patriot's deed A stirring record for long after-time; Cherishing tender thoughts, which else had pass'd Away like tears; and saving the loved dead From death's worst part — its deep forgetfulness. From the first moment when a falling leaf, Or opening bud, or streak of rose-touch'd sky, Waken'd in me the flush and flow of song, I gave my soul entire unto the gift I deem'd mine own, direct from heaven; it was The hope, the bliss, the energy of life; I had no hope that dwelt not with my lyre, No bliss whose being grew not from my lyre, No energy undevoted to my lyre. It was my other self that had a power; Mine, but o'er which I had not a control. At times it was not with me, and I felt A wonder how it ever had been mine: And then a word, a look of loveliness, A tone of music, call'd it into life; A song came gushing, like the natural tears, To check whose current does not rest with us. Had I lived ever in the savage woods, Or in some distant island, which the sea With wind and wave guards in deep loneliness; Had my eye never on the beauty dwelt Of human face, and my ear never drank The music of a human voice; I feel My spirit would have pour'd itself in song, Have learn'd a language from the rustling leaves, The singing of the birds, and of the tide. Perchance, then, happy had I never known Another thought could be attach'd to song Than of its own delight. Oh! let me pause Over this earlier period, when my heart Mingled its being with its pleasures, fill'd With rich enthusiasm, which once flung Its purple colouring o'er all things of earth, And without which our utmost power of thought But sharpens arrows that will drink our blood. Like woman's soothing influence o'er man Enthusiasm is upon the mind; Softening and beautifying that which is Too harsh and sullen in itself. How much I loved the painter's glorious art, which forms A world like, but more beautiful than, this; Just catching nature in her happiest mood! How drank I in fine poetry, which makes The hearing passionate, fill'd with memories Which steal from out the past like rays from clouds! And then the sweet songs of my native vale, Whose sweetness and whose softness call'd to mind The perfume of the flowers, the purity Of the blue sky; oh, how they stirr'd my soul! — Amid the many golden gifts which heaven Has left, like portions of its light, on earth None hath such influence as music hath. The painter's hues stand visible before us In power and beauty; we can trace the thoughts Which are the workings of the poet's mind: But music is a mystery, and viewless Even when present, and is less man's act, And less within his order; for the hand That can call forth the tones, yet cannot tell Whither they go, or if they live or die, When floated once beyond his feeble ear; And then, as if it were an unreal thing, The wind will sweep from the neglected strings As rich a swell as ever minstrel drew. A poet's word, a painter's touch, will reach The innermost recesses of the heart, Making the pulses throb in unison With joy or grief, which we can analyse; There is the cause for pleasure and for pain: But music moves us, and we know not why; We feel the tears, but cannot trace their source. Is it the language of some other state, Born of its memory? For what can wake The soul's strong instinct of another world, Like music? Well with sadness doth it suit To hear the melancholy sounds decay, And think (for thoughts are life's great human links, And mingle with our feelings) even so Will the heart's wildest pulses sink to rest. How have I loved, when the red evening fill'd Our temple with its glory, first, to gaze On the strange contrast of the crimson air, Lighted as if with passion, and flung back, From silver vase and tripod rich with gems, To the pale statues round, where human life Was not, but beauty was, which seem'd to have Apart existence from humanity: Then, to go forth where the tall waving pines Seem'd as behind them roll'd a golden sea Immortal and eternal; and the boughs, That darkly swept between me and its light, Were fitting emblems of the worldly cares That are the boundary between us and heaven; Meanwhile, the wind, a wilful messenger Lingering amid the flowers on his way, At intervals swept past in melody, The lutes and voices of the choral hymn Contending with the rose-breath on his wing! Perhaps it is these pleasures' chiefest charm, They are so indefinable, so vague. From earliest childhood all too well aware Of the uncertain nature of our joys, It is delicious to enjoy, yet know No after-consequence will be to weep. Pride misers with enjoyment, when we have Delight in things that are but of the mind: But half humility when we partake Pleasures that are half wants, the spirit pines And struggles in its fetters, and disdains The low base clay to which it is allied. But here our rapture raises us: we feel What glorious power is given to man, and find Our nature's nobleness and attributes, Whose heaven is intellect; and we are proud To think how we can love those things of earth Which are least earthly; and the soul grows pure In this high communing, and more divine. This time of dreaming happiness pass'd by, Another spirit was within my heart; I drank the maddening cup of praise, which grew Henceforth the fountain of my life; I lived Only in others' breath; a word, a look, Were of all influence on my destiny: If praise they spoke, 'twas sunlight to my soul; Or censure, it was like the scorpion's sting. And yet a darker lesson was to learn — The hollowness of each: that praise, which is But base exchange of flattery; that blame, Given by cautious coldness, which still deems 'Tis safest to depress; that mockery, Flinging shafts but to show its own keen aim; That carelessness, whose very censure's chance; And, worst of all, the earthly judgment pass'd By minds whose native clay is unredeem'd By aught of heaven, whose every thought falls foul Plague-spot on beauty which they cannot feel, Tainting all that it touches with itself. O dream of fame, what hast thou been to me But the destroyer of life's calm content! I feel so more than ever, that thy sway Is weaken'd over me. Once I could find A deep and dangerous delight in thee; But that is gone. I am too much awake. Light has burst o'er me, but not morning's light; 'Tis such light as will burst upon the tomb, When all but judgment's over. Can it be, That these fine impulses, these lofty thoughts, Burning with their own beauty, are but given To make me the low slave of vanity, Heartless and humbled? O my own sweet power, Surely thy songs are made for more than this! What a worst waste of feeling and of life Have been the imprints of my roll of time, Too much, too long! To what use have I turn'd The golden gifts in which I pride myself? They are profaned; with their pure ore I made A temple resting only on the breath Of heedless worshippers. Alas! that ever Praise should have been what it has been to me — The opiate of my heart. Yet I have dream'd Of things which cannot be; the bright, the pure, That all of which the heart may only dream; And I have mused upon my gift of song, And deeply felt its beauty, and disdain'd The pettiness of praise to which at times My soul has bow'd; and I have scorn'd myself For that my cheek could burn, my pulses beat At idle words. And yet it is in vain For the full heart to press back every throb Wholly upon itself. Ay, fair as are The visions of a poet's solitude, There must be something more for happiness; They seek communion. It had seem'd to me A miser's selfishness, had I not sought To share with others those impassion'd thoughts, Like light, or hope, or love, in their effects. When I have watch'd the stars write on the sky In characters of light, have seen the moon Come like veiled priestess from the east, While, like a hymn, the wind swell'd on mine ear, Telling soft tidings of eve's thousand flowers, Has it not been the transport of my lute To find its best delight in sympathy? Alas! the idols which our hopes set up, They are Chaldean ones, half gold, half clay; We trust we are deceived, we hope, we fear, Alike without foundation; day by day Some new illusion is destroyed, and life Gets cold and colder on towards its close. Just like the years which make it, some are check'd By sudden blights in spring; some are dried up By fiery summers; others waste away In calm monotony of quiet skies, And peradventure these may be the best: They know no hurricanes, no floods that sweep As a God's vengeance were upon each wave; But then they have no ruby fruits, no flowers Shining in purple, and no lighted mines Of gold and diamond. Which is the best, — Beauty and glory, in a southern clime, Mingled with thunder, tempest; or the calm Of skies that scarcely change, which, at the least, If much of shine they have not, have no storms? I know not: but I know fair earth or sky Are self-consuming in their loveliness, And the too radiant sun and fertile soil In their luxuriance run themselves to waste, And the green valley and the silver stream Become a sandy desert. O! the mind, Too vivid in its lighted energies, May read its fate in sunny Araby. How lives its beauty in each Eastern tale, Its growth of spices, and its groves of balm! They are exhausted; and what is it now? A wild and burning wilderness. Alas! For such similitude. Too much this is The fate of this world's loveliest and best. Is there not a far people, who possess Mysterious oracles of olden time, Who say that this earth labours with a curse, That it is fallen from its first estate, And is now but the shade of what it was? I do believe the tale. I feel its truth In my vain aspirations, in the dreams That are revealings of another world, More pure, more perfect than our weary one, Where day is darkness to the starry soul. O heart of mine! my once sweet paradise Of love and hope! how changed thou art to me! I cannot count thy changes: thou hast lost Interest in the once idols of thy being; They have departed, even as if wings Had borne away their morning; they have left Weariness, turning pleasure into pain, And too sure knowledge of their hollowness. And that too is gone from me; that which was My solitude's delight! I can no more Make real existence of a shadowy world. Time was, the poet's song, the ancient tale, Were to me fountains of deep happiness, For they grew visible in my lonely hours, As things in which I had a deed and part; Their actual presence had not been more true: But these are bubbling sparkles, that are found But at the spring's first source. Ah! years may bring The mind to its perfection, but no more Will those young visions live in their own light; Life's troubles stir life's waters all too much, Passions chase fancies, and though still we dream, The colouring is from reality. Farewell, my lyre! thou hast not been to me All I once hoped. What is the gift of mind, But as a barrier to so much that makes Our life endurable, — companionship, Mingling affection, calm and gentle peace, Till the vex'd spirit seals with discontent A league of sorrow and of vanity, Built on a future which will never be! And yet I would resign the praise that now Makes my cheek crimson, and my pulses beat, Could I but deem that when my hand is cold, And my lip passionless, my songs would be Number'd mid the young poet's first delights; Read by the dark-eyed maiden in an hour Of moonlight, till her cheek shone with its tears; And murmur'd by the lover when his suit Calls upon poetry to breathe of love. I do not hope a sunshine burst of fame, My lyre asks but a wreath of fragile flowers. I have told passionate tales of breaking hearts, Of young cheeks fading even before the rose; My songs have been the mournful history Of woman's tenderness and woman's tears; I have touch'd but the spirit's gentlest chords, — Surely the fittest for my maiden hand; — And in their truth my immortality. Thou lovely and lone star, whose silver light, Like music o'er the waters, steals along The soften'd atmosphere; pale star, to thee I dedicate the lyre, whose influence I would have sink upon the heart like thine. In such an hour as this, the bosom turns Back to its early feelings; man forgets His stern ambition and his worldly cares, And woman loathes the petty vanities That mar her nature's beauty; like the dew, Shedding its sweetness o'er the sleeping flowers Till all their morning freshness is revived, Kindly affections, sad but yet sweet thoughts, Melt the cold eyes, long, long unused to weep. O lute of mine, that I shall wake no more! Such tearful music, linger on thy strings, Consecrate unto sorrow and to love; Thy truth, thy tenderness, be all thy fame!

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Living,Life Choices,Relationships,Friends & Enemies,Arts & Sciences,Poetry & Poets,Mythology & Folklore,Greek & Roman Mythology

immediately motionless likeness

by going you have to be and seek it out said the starlet in the shared volitional language of space and time explanation thrashes round the thing but doesn’t touch it the thing we know then as /style of thrashing/ or ripples in the pond sufficient in itself, she licks her tongue, it could be desired as a figure— faithless as a class of examples i found new objects swimming blankly in a common sense, by going alone to listen to them in the night light of their pool— to begin with life or stars the spring as source or season when to start—i love what you said about the birds as distance is required for attraction & force keeps its distinctions in a tall hull called law— clever in the style of depth in a painting sumptuous for use, and briefly this of fancy, pity, and devising, wherefore as it is at the right door make it language or rejoice this is how you touch me in my other ghosts & short of the occasion just a frequent mist of atoms all touching in the arms like an error in the wish

Kirsten Ihns

Living,The Mind,Love,Desire,Arts & Sciences,Language & Linguistics

I Ask My Grandmother What Trinidad Was Like in 1960

Paradise with a thousand stings, she replies. Deep blue and blazing sky. Incessant cicadas, scuttle of bug and roach. Fleas, mosquitos, the threat of scorpions. Men leaning on doorposts, crowding the bar. Smoking, drinking, laughing descendants of slaves. Fire coral burns, reef-edge barracudas. Truly lovely. Matriarchal, she says, women with eight children by many different men. The men would leave as the spirit took them. I want to know all the forces one can call spirit. Tall, swaying fronds of the sugar cane fields. Distant roar heralding a downpour. Snapping turtles. Nearby shanty town, she says, streets full of rubbish, rats in the gutter. I admired the colonial-style homes, she says. Colonial, I say. Separate servant quarters and grounds filled with samaan trees, the balconies overflowing with hot-colored orchids and the locusts drawn close by the palatial lights, colorful and clawing, their hooks sunk deep into the bare skin of a sweating back.

Megan Arlett

Sailing to Byzantium

I That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees, —Those dying generations—at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. II An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. III O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. IV Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

William Butler Yeats

Living,Growing Old,Activities,Travels & Journeys,Religion

Among School Children

I I walk through the long schoolroom questioning; A kind old nun in a white hood replies; The children learn to cipher and to sing, To study reading-books and history, To cut and sew, be neat in everything In the best modern way—the children's eyes In momentary wonder stare upon A sixty-year-old smiling public man. II I dream of a Ledaean body, bent Above a sinking fire, a tale that she Told of a harsh reproof, or trivial event That changed some childish day to tragedy— Told, and it seemed that our two natures blent Into a sphere from youthful sympathy, Or else, to alter Plato's parable, Into the yolk and white of the one shell. III And thinking of that fit of grief or rage I look upon one child or t'other there And wonder if she stood so at that age— For even daughters of the swan can share Something of every paddler's heritage— And had that colour upon cheek or hair, And thereupon my heart is driven wild: She stands before me as a living child. IV Her present image floats into the mind— Did Quattrocento finger fashion it Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind And took a mess of shadows for its meat? And I though never of Ledaean kind Had pretty plumage once—enough of that, Better to smile on all that smile, and show There is a comfortable kind of old scarecrow. V What youthful mother, a shape upon her lap Honey of generation had betrayed, And that must sleep, shriek, struggle to escape As recollection or the drug decide, Would think her son, did she but see that shape With sixty or more winters on its head, A compensation for the pang of his birth, Or the uncertainty of his setting forth? VI Plato thought nature but a spume that plays Upon a ghostly paradigm of things; Solider Aristotle played the taws Upon the bottom of a king of kings; World-famous golden-thighed Pythagoras Fingered upon a fiddle-stick or strings What a star sang and careless Muses heard: Old clothes upon old sticks to scare a bird. VII Both nuns and mothers worship images, But those the candles light are not as those That animate a mother's reveries, But keep a marble or a bronze repose. And yet they too break hearts—O Presences That passion, piety or affection knows, And that all heavenly glory symbolise— O self-born mockers of man's enterprise; VIII Labour is blossoming or dancing where The body is not bruised to pleasure soul, Nor beauty born out of its own despair, Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil. O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance?

William Butler Yeats

Living,Growing Old,Time & Brevity,Activities,School & Learning,Philosophy

A Dialogue of Self and Soul

IMy Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair; Set all your mind upon the steep ascent, Upon the broken, crumbling battlement, Upon the breathless starlit air, Upon the star that marks the hidden pole; Fix every wandering thought upon That quarter where all thought is done: Who can distinguish darkness from the soul?My Self. The consecrated blade upon my knees Is Sato's ancient blade, still as it was, Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass Unspotted by the centuries; That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn From some court-lady's dress and round The wooden scabbard bound and wound, Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn.My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man Long past his prime remember things that are Emblematical of love and war? Think of ancestral night that can, If but imagination scorn the earth And intellect its wandering To this and that and t'other thing, Deliver from the crime of death and birth.My Self. Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned it Five hundred years ago, about it lie Flowers from I know not what embroidery— Heart's purple—and all these I set For emblems of the day against the tower Emblematical of the night, And claim as by a soldier's right A charter to commit the crime once more.My Soul. Such fullness in that quarter overflows And falls into the basin of the mind That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind, For intellect no longer knows Is from the Ought, or Knower from the Known— That is to say, ascends to Heaven; Only the dead can be forgiven; But when I think of that my tongue's a stone. IIMy Self. A living man is blind and drinks his drop. What matter if the ditches are impure? What matter if I live it all once more? Endure that toil of growing up; The ignominy of boyhood; the distress Of boyhood changing into man; The unfinished man and his pain Brought face to face with his own clumsiness; The finished man among his enemies?— How in the name of Heaven can he escape That defiling and disfigured shape The mirror of malicious eyes Casts upon his eyes until at last He thinks that shape must be his shape? And what's the good of an escape If honour find him in the wintry blast? I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch, A blind man battering blind men; Or into that most fecund ditch of all, The folly that man does Or must suffer, if he woos A proud woman not kindred of his soul. I am content to follow to its source Every event in action or in thought; Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot! When such as I cast out remorse So great a sweetness flows into the breast We must laugh and we must sing, We are blest by everything, Everything we look upon is blest.

William Butler Yeats

The Body,Nature,Religion

Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop

I met the Bishop on the road And much said he and I. `Those breasts are flat and fallen now Those veins must soon be dry; Live in a heavenly mansion, Not in some foul sty.' `Fair and foul are near of kin, And fair needs foul,' I cried. 'My friends are gone, but that's a truth Nor grave nor bed denied, Learned in bodily lowliness And in the heart's pride. `A woman can be proud and stiff When on love intent; But Love has pitched his mansion in The place of excrement; For nothing can be sole or whole That has not been rent.'

William Butler Yeats

Living,Growing Old

Byzantium

The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong; A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities, The fury and the mire of human veins. Before me floats an image, man or shade, Shade more than man, more image than a shade; For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth May unwind the winding path; A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and life-in-death. Miracle, bird or golden handiwork, More miracle than bird or handiwork, Planted on the starlit golden bough, Can like the cocks of Hades crow, Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud In glory of changeless metal Common bird or petal And all complexities of mire or blood. At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve. Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood, Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood, The golden smithies of the Emperor! Marbles of the dancing floor Break bitter furies of complexity, Those images that yet Fresh images beget, That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

William Butler Yeats

Living,The Mind,Time & Brevity,Nature,Seas, Rivers, & Streams

Lapis Lazuli

(for Harry Clifton) I have heard that hysterical women say They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow, Of poets that are always gay, For everybody knows or else should know That if nothing drastic is done Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out, Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in Until the town lie beaten flat. All perform their tragic play, There struts Hamlet, there is Lear, That's Ophelia, that Cordelia; Yet they, should the last scene be there, The great stage curtain about to drop, If worthy their prominent part in the play, Do not break up their lines to weep. They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay; Gaiety transfiguring all that dread. All men have aimed at, found and lost; Black out; Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages, And all the drop scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages, It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce. On their own feet they came, or on shipboard, Camel-back, horse-back, ass-back, mule-back, Old civilisations put to the sword. Then they and their wisdom went to rack: No handiwork of Callimachus Who handled marble as if it were bronze, Made draperies that seemed to rise When sea-wind swept the corner, stands; His long lamp chimney shaped like the stem Of a slender palm, stood but a day; All things fall and are built again And those that build them again are gay. Two Chinamen, behind them a third, Are carved in Lapis Lazuli, Over them flies a long-legged bird A symbol of longevity; The third, doubtless a serving-man, Carries a musical instrument. Every discolouration of the stone, Every accidental crack or dent Seems a water-course or an avalanche, Or lofty slope where it still snows Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch Sweetens the little half-way house Those Chinamen climb towards, and I Delight to imagine them seated there; There, on the mountain and the sky, On all the tragic scene they stare. One asks for mournful melodies; Accomplished fingers begin to play. Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes, Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.

William Butler Yeats

Arts & Sciences,Poetry & Poets,Mythology & Folklore

Under Ben Bulben

I Swear by what the Sages spoke Round the Mareotic Lake That the Witch of Atlas knew, Spoke and set the cocks a-crow. Swear by those horsemen, by those women, Complexion and form prove superhuman, That pale, long visaged company That airs an immortality Completeness of their passions won; Now they ride the wintry dawn Where Ben Bulben sets the scene. Here's the gist of what they mean. II Many times man lives and dies Between his two eternities, That of race and that of soul, And ancient Ireland knew it all. Whether man dies in his bed Or the rifle knocks him dead, A brief parting from those dear Is the worst man has to fear. Though grave-diggers' toil is long, Sharp their spades, their muscle strong, They but thrust their buried men Back in the human mind again. III You that Mitchel's prayer have heard `Send war in our time, O Lord!' Know that when all words are said And a man is fighting mad, Something drops from eyes long blind He completes his partial mind, For an instant stands at ease, Laughs aloud, his heart at peace, Even the wisest man grows tense With some sort of violence Before he can accomplish fate Know his work or choose his mate. IV Poet and sculptor do the work Nor let the modish painter shirk What his great forefathers did, Bring the soul of man to God, Make him fill the cradles right. Measurement began our might: Forms a stark Egyptian thought, Forms that gentler Phidias wrought. Michael Angelo left a proof On the Sistine Chapel roof, Where but half-awakened Adam Can disturb globe-trotting Madam Till her bowels are in heat, Proof that there's a purpose set Before the secret working mind: Profane perfection of mankind. Quattrocento put in paint, On backgrounds for a God or Saint, Gardens where a soul's at ease; Where everything that meets the eye Flowers and grass and cloudless sky Resemble forms that are, or seem When sleepers wake and yet still dream, And when it's vanished still declare, With only bed and bedstead there, That Heavens had opened. Gyres run on; When that greater dream had gone Calvert and Wilson, Blake and Claude Prepared a rest for the people of God, Palmer's phrase, but after that Confusion fell upon our thought. V Irish poets learn your trade Sing whatever is well made, Scorn the sort now growing up All out of shape from toe to top, Their unremembering hearts and heads Base-born products of base beds. Sing the peasantry, and then Hard-riding country gentlemen, The holiness of monks, and after Porter-drinkers' randy laughter; Sing the lords and ladies gay That were beaten into the clay Through seven heroic centuries; Cast your mind on other days That we in coming days may be Still the indomitable Irishry. VI Under bare Ben Bulben's head In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid, An ancestor was rector there Long years ago; a church stands near, By the road an ancient Cross. No marble, no conventional phrase, On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman, pass by!

William Butler Yeats

Living,The Mind,Relationships,Family & Ancestors,Arts & Sciences,Poetry & Poets

The Circus Animals’ Desertion

I I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, I sought it daily for six weeks or so. Maybe at last being but a broken man I must be satisfied with my heart, although Winter and summer till old age began My circus animals were all on show, Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot, Lion and woman and the Lord knows what. II What can I but enumerate old themes, First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams, Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose, Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems, That might adorn old songs or courtly shows; But what cared I that set him on to ride, I, starved for the bosom of his fairy bride. And then a counter-truth filled out its play, `The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it, She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it. I thought my dear must her own soul destroy So did fanaticism and hate enslave it, And this brought forth a dream and soon enough This dream itself had all my thought and love. And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea; Heart mysteries there, and yet when all is said It was the dream itself enchanted me: Character isolated by a deed To engross the present and dominate memory. Players and painted stage took all my love And not those things that they were emblems of. III Those masterful images because complete Grew in pure mind but out of what began? A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street, Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can, Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone I must lie down where all the ladders start In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

William Butler Yeats

Living,Growing Old,The Body,Love,Romantic Love

Truth

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastnesse, Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal; For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelnesse, Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal. Savour no more thanne the byhove schal; Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reede; And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede. Tempest the nought al croked to redresse, In trust of hire that tourneth as a bal. Myche wele stant in litel besynesse; Bywar therfore to spurne ayeyns an al; Stryve not as doth the crokke with the wal. Daunte thiself, that dauntest otheres dede; And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede. That the is sent, receyve in buxumnesse; The wrestlyng for the worlde axeth a fal. Here is non home, here nys but wyldernesse. Forth, pylgryme, forth! forth, beste, out of thi stal! Know thi contré! loke up! thonk God of al! Hold the heye weye, and lat thi gost the lede; And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede. Therfore, thou Vache, leve thine olde wrechednesse; Unto the world leve now to be thral. Crie hym mercy, that of hys hie godnesse Made the of nought, and in espec{.i}al Draw unto hym, and pray in general For the, and eke for other, hevenelyche mede; And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.

Geoffrey Chaucer

Living,Marriage & Companionship,The Body,Time & Brevity,Love,Activities,Jobs & Working,Relationships,Men & Women,Nature,Religion,Christianity,Faith & Doubt,God & the Divine,Arts & Sciences,Philosophy,Social Commentaries,Money & Economics

Delia 6: Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair

Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair:Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are sunny,Her smiles are lightning though her pride despair,And her disdains are gall, her favours honey;A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour,Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love,The wonder of all eyes that look upon her:Sacred on earth, design'd a saint above.Chastity and beauty, which were deadly foes,Live reconciled friends within her brow;And had she pity to conjoin with those,Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?For had she not been fair and thus unkind,My muse had slept, and none had known my mind.

Samuel Daniel

Delia 31: Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose (1592 version)

Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,The image of thy blush and summer's honour,Whilst in her tender green she doth encloseThat pure sweet beauty time bestows upon her.No sooner spreads her glory in the airBut straight her full-blown pride is in declining;She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair:So clouds thy beauty after fairest shining.No April can revive thy wither'd flowers,Whose blooming grace adorns thy beauty now;Swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours,Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.O let not then such riches waste in vain,But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again.

Samuel Daniel

Delia 31: Look, Delia, how w' esteem the half-blown rose (1623 version)

Look, Delia, how w' esteem the half-blown rose,The image of thy blush and summer's honour,Whilst yet her tender bud doth undiscloseThat full of beauty Time bestows upon her.No sooner spreads her glory in the airBut straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline;She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair;So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine.No April can revive thy wither'd flowersWhose springing grace adorns thy glory now;Swift speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours,Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain,But love now, whilst thou mayst be lov'd again.

Samuel Daniel

Delia 33: When men shall find thy flower, thy glory, pass

When men shall find thy flower, thy glory, pass,And thou with careful brow sitting aloneReceived hast this message from thy glass,That tells thee truth and says that all is gone:Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest,Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining;I that have lov'd thee thus before thou fadest,My faith shall wax when thou art in thy waning.The world shall find this miracle in me,That fire can burn when all the matter's spent;Then what my faith hath been thyself shall see,And that thou wast unkind thou mayst repent.Thou mayst repent that thou hast scorn'd my tears,When winter snows upon thy golden hairs.

Samuel Daniel

Delia 45: Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: Relieve my languish, and restore the light, With dark forgetting of my cares, return; And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease dreams, th' imagery of our day-desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain; And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

Samuel Daniel

Delia 46: Let others sing of knights and paladins

Let others sing of knights and paladinsIn aged accents and untimely words;Paint shadows in imaginary linesWhich well the reach of their high wits records:But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyesAuthentic shall my verse in time to come,When yet th' unborn shall say, “Lo where she liesWhose beauty made him speak that else was dumb.”These are the arks, the trophies I erect,That fortify thy name against old age;And these thy sacred virtues must protectAgainst the dark, and time's consuming rage.Though th' error of my youth they shall discover,Suffice they show I liv'd and was thy lover.

Samuel Daniel

Idea 51: Calling to mind since first my love begun

Calling to mind since first my love begun,Th' incertain times oft varying in their course,How things still unexpectedly have run,As t' please the fates by their resistless force:Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seenEssex' great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain,The quiet end of that long-living Queen,This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever:Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel.Yet to my goddess am I constant ever,Howe'er blind fortune turn her giddy wheel:Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue,Yet am I still inviolate to you.

Michael Drayton

Idea 53: Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore

Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shoreMy soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea lies,O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adoreThy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the springGently distils his nectar-dropping showers,Where nightingales in Arden sit and singAmongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen:Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years,And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears.Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,And thou, sweet Ancor, art my Helicon.

Michael Drayton

Idea: To the Reader of these Sonnets

Into these loves, who but for passion looks,At this first sight here let him lay them byAnd seek elsewhere in turning other books,Which better may his labour satisfy.No far-fetch'd sigh shall ever wound my breast;Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring;Nor in "Ah me's!" my whining sonnets drest:A libertine, fantasticly I sing.My verse is the true image of my mind,Ever in motion, still desiring change;And as thus to variety inclin'd,So in all humours sportively I range:My Muse is rightly of the English strain,That cannot long one fashion entertain.

Michael Drayton

Idea  6: How many paltry, foolish, painted things

How many paltry, foolish, painted things,That now in coaches trouble every street,Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings,Ere they be well wrapp'd in their winding-sheet?Where I to thee eternity shall give,When nothing else remaineth of these days,And queens hereafter shall be glad to liveUpon the alms of thy superfluous praise.Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymesShall be so much delighted with thy story,That they shall grieve they liv'd not in these timesTo have seen thee, their sex's only glory.So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng,Still to survive in my immortal song.

Michael Drayton

Idea 20: An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still

An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still,Wherewith, alas, I have been long possess'd,Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill,Nor gives me once but one poor minute's rest.In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake;And when by means to drive it out I try,With greater torments then it me doth take,And tortures me in most extremity.Before my face it lays down my despairs,And hastes me on unto a sudden death;Now tempting me to drown myself in tears,And then in sighing to give up my breath.Thus am I still provok'd to every evilBy this good-wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil.

Michael Drayton

Idea 31: Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer

Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeerAnd tax my muse with this fantastic grace,Turning my papers, asks "what have we here?"Making withall some filthy antic face.I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say,Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose.Think'st thou my wit shall keep the pack-horse wayThat ev'ry dudgeon low invention goes?Since sonnets thus in bundles are impress'd,And ev'ry drudge doth dull our satiate ear,Think'st thou my love shall in those rags be dress'dThat ev'ry dowdy, ev'ry trull doth wear?Up to my pitch no common judgment flies:I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies.

Michael Drayton

Idea 37: Dear, why should you command me to my rest

Dear, why should you command me to my restWhen now the night doth summon all to sleep?Methinks this time becometh lovers best;Night was ordain'd together friends to keep.How happy are all other living thingsWhich, though the day disjoin by sev'ral flight,The quiet ev'ning yet together brings,And each returns unto his love at night!O thou that art so courteous else to all,Why should'st thou, Night, abuse me only thus,That ev'ry creature to his kind dost call,And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?Well could I wish it would be ever day,If when night comes you bid me go away.

Michael Drayton

Lament For The Makers

I that in heill wes and gladnes, Am trublit now with gret seiknes, And feblit with infermite; Timor mortis conturbat me. Our plesance heir is all vane glory, This fals warld is bot transitory, The flesche is brukle, the Fend is sle; Timor mortis conturbat me. The stait of man dois change and vary, Now sound, now seik, now blith, now sary, Now dansand mery, now like to dee; Timor mortis conturbat me. No stait in erd heir standis sickir; As with the wynd wavis the wickir, Wavis this warldis vanite. Timor mortis conturbat me. On to the ded gois all estatis, Princis, prelotis, and potestatis, Baith riche and pur of al degre; Timor mortis conturbat me. He takis the knychtis in to feild, Anarmit under helme and scheild; Victour he is at all mellie; Timor mortis conturbat me. That strang unmercifull tyrand Takis, on the moderis breist sowkand, The bab full of benignite; Timor mortis conturbat me. He takis the campion in the stour, The capitane closit in the tour, The lady in bour full of bewte; Timor mortis conturbat me. He sparis no lord for his piscence, Na clerk for his intelligence; His awfull strak may no man fle; Timor mortis conturbat me. Art-magicianis, and astrologgis, Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis, Thame helpis no conclusionis sle; Timor mortis conturbat me. In medicyne the most practicianis, Lechis, surrigianis, and phisicianis, Thame self fra ded may not supple; Timor mortis conturbat me. I se that makaris amang the laif Playis heir ther pageant, syne gois to graif; Sparit is nocht ther faculte; Timor mortis conturbat me. He hes done petuously devour, The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour, The Monk of Bery, and Gower, all thre; Timor mortis conturbat me. The gude Syr Hew of Eglintoun, And eik Heryot, and Wyntoun, He hes tane out of this cuntre; Timor mortis conturbat me. That scorpion fell hes done infek Maister Johne Clerk, and Jame Afflek, Fra balat making and tragidie; Timor mortis conturbat me. Holland and Barbour he hes berevit; Allace! that he nocht with us levit Schir Mungo Lokert of the Le; Timor mortis conturbat me. Clerk of Tranent eik he has tane, That maid the Anteris of Gawane; Schir Gilbert Hay endit hes he; Timor mortis conturbat me. He hes Blind Hary and Sandy Traill Slaine with his schour of mortall haill, Quhilk Patrik Johnestoun myght nocht fle; Timor mortis conturbat me. He hes reft Merseir his endite, That did in luf so lifly write, So schort, so quyk, of sentence hie; Timor mortis conturbat me. He hes tane Roull of Aberdene, And gentill Roull of Corstorphin; Two bettir fallowis did no man se; Timor mortis conturbat me. In Dumfermelyne he hes done roune With Maister Robert Henrisoun; Schir Johne the Ros enbrast hes he; Timor mortis conturbat me. And he hes now tane, last of aw, Gud gentill Stobo and Quintyne Schaw, Of quham all wichtis hes pete: Timor mortis conturbat me. Gud Maister Walter Kennedy In poynt of dede lyis veraly, Gret reuth it wer that so suld be; Timor mortis conturbat me. Sen he hes all my brether tane, He will nocht lat me lif alane, On forse I man his nyxt pray be; Timor mortis conturbat me. Sen for the deid remeid is none, Best is that we for dede dispone, Eftir our deid that lif may we; Timor mortis conturbat me.

William Dunbar

A Shropshire Lad 19: The time you won your town the race

The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel up The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl's.

A. E. Housman

The Pilgrims

An uphill path, sun-gleams between the showers, Where every beam that broke the leaden skyLit other hills with fairer ways than ours; Some clustered graves where half our memories lie;And one grim Shadow creeping ever nigh: And this was Life.Wherein we did another's burden seek, The tired feet we helped upon the road,The hand we gave the weary and the weak, The miles we lightened one another's load,When, faint to falling, onward yet we strode: This too was Life.Till, at the upland, as we turned to go Amid fair meadows, dusky in the night,The mists fell back upon the road below; Broke on our tired eyes the western light;The very graves were for a moment bright: And this was Death.

John McCrae

from At a Vacation Exercise

Hail native language, that by sinews weak Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak, And mad'st imperfect words with childish trips, Half unpronounc'd, slide through my infant lips, Driving dumb Silence from the portal door, Where he had mutely sate two years before: Here I salute thee and thy pardon ask, That now I use thee in my latter task: Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee, I know my tongue but little grace can do thee: Thou needst not be ambitious to be first, Believe me I have thither pack'd the worst: And, if it happen as I did forecast, The daintest dishes shall be serv'd up last. I pray thee then deny me not thy aid For this same small neglect that I have made: But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure, And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure; Not those new-fangled toys, and trimming slight Which takes our late fantastics with delight, But cull those richest robes, and gay'st attire Which deepest spirits, and choicest wits desire. I have some naked thoughts that rove about And loudly knock to have their passage out; And weary of their place do only stay Till thou hast deck'd them in thy best array; That so they may without suspect or fears Fly swiftly to this fair assembly's ears. Yet I had rather, if I were to choose, Thy service in some graver subject use, Such as may make thee search thy coffers round, Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound: Such where the deep transported mind may soar Above the wheeling poles, and at heav'n's door Look in, and see each blissful deity How he before the thunderous throne doth lie, Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings To th'touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings Immortal nectar to her kingly sire; Then passing through the spheres of watchful fire, And misty regions of wide air next under, And hills of snow and lofts of piled thunder, May tell at length how green-ey'd Neptune raves, In heav'n's defiance mustering all his waves; Then sing of secret things that came to pass When beldam Nature in her cradle was; And last of kings and queens and heroes old, Such as the wise Demodocus once told In solemn songs at king Alcinous' feast, While sad Ulysses' soul and all the rest Are held with his melodious harmony In willing chains and sweet captivity.

John Milton

Arts & Sciences,Poetry & Poets

I Dug, Beneath the Cypress Shade

I dug, beneath the cypress shade, What well might seem an elfin's grave;And every pledge in earth I laid, That erst thy false affection gave.I pressed them down the sod beneath; I placed one mossy stone above;And twined the rose's fading wreath Around the sepulchre of love.Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead, Ere yet the evening sun was set:But years shall see the cypress spread, Immutable as my regret.

Thomas Love Peacock

Seamen Three

Seamen three! What men be ye?Gotham's three wise men we be.Whither in your bowl so free?To rake the moon from out the sea.The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.And our ballast is old wine;And your ballast is old wine.Who art thou, so fast adrift?I am he they call Old Care.Here on board we will thee lift.No: I may not enter there.Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,In a bowl Care may not be;In a bowl Care may not be.Fear ye not the waves that roll?No: in charmed bowl we swim.What the charm that floats the bowl?Water may not pass the brim.The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.And our ballast is old wine;And your ballast is old wine.

Thomas Love Peacock

The War-song of Dinas Vawr

The mountain sheep are sweeter,But the valley sheep are fatter;We therefore deemed it meeterTo carry off the latter.We made an expedition;We met a host, and quelled it;We forced a strong position,And killed the men who held it.On Dyfed's richest valley,Where herds of kine were browsing,We made a mighty sally,To furnish our carousing.Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;We met them, and o'erthrew them:They struggled hard to beat us;But we conquered them, and slew them.As we drove our prize at leisure,The king marched forth to catch us:His rage surpassed all measure,But his people could not match us.He fled to his hall-pillars;And, ere our force we led off,Some sacked his house and cellars,While others cut his head off.We there, in strife bewild'ring,Spilt blood enough to swim in:We orphaned many children,And widowed many women.The eagles and the ravensWe glutted with our foemen;The heroes and the cravens,The spearmen and the bowmen.We brought away from battle,And much their land bemoaned them,Two thousand head of cattle,And the head of him who owned them:Ednyfed, king of Dyfed,His head was borne before us;His wine and beasts supplied our feasts,And his overthrow, our chorus.

Thomas Love Peacock

I Have a Rendezvous with Death

I have a rendezvous with DeathAt some disputed barricade,When Spring comes back with rustling shadeAnd apple-blossoms fill the air—I have a rendezvous with DeathWhen Spring brings back blue days and fair.It may be he shall take my handAnd lead me into his dark landAnd close my eyes and quench my breath—It may be I shall pass him still.I have a rendezvous with DeathOn some scarred slope of battered hill,When Spring comes round again this yearAnd the first meadow-flowers appear.God knows 'twere better to be deepPillowed in silk and scented down,Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,Where hushed awakenings are dear ...But I've a rendezvous with DeathAt midnight in some flaming town,When Spring trips north again this year,And I to my pledged word am true,I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Alan Seeger

Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict,Mythology & Folklore,Heroes & Patriotism

Sonnet 16: Who shall invoke her, who shall be her priest

Who shall invoke her, who shall be her priest,With single rites the common debt to pay?On some green headland fronting to the EastOur fairest boy shall kneel at break of day.Naked, uplifting in a laden trayNew milk and honey and sweet-tinctured wine,Not without twigs of clustering apple-sprayTo wreath a garland for Our Lady's shrine.The morning planet poised above the seaShall drop sweet influence through her drowsing lid;Dew-drenched, his delicate virginityShall scarce disturb the flowers he kneels amid,That, waked so lightly, shall lift up their eyes,Cushion his knees, and nod between his thighs.

Alan Seeger

The Hosts

Purged, with the life they left, of allThat makes life paltry and mean and small,In their new dedication chargedWith something heightened, enriched, enlarged,That lends a light to their lusty browsAnd a song to the rhythm of their trampling feet,These are the men that have taken vows,These are the hardy, the flower, the élite,—These are the men that are moved no moreBy the will to traffic and grasp and storeAnd ring with pleasure and wealth and loveThe circles that self is the centre of;But they are moved by the powers that forceThe sea for ever to ebb and rise,That hold Arcturus in his course,And marshal at noon in tropic skiesThe clouds that tower on some snow-capped chairAnd drift out over the peopled plain.They are big with the beauty of cosmic things.Mark how their columns surge! They seemTo follow the goddess with outspread wingsThat points toward Glory, the soldier's dream.With bayonets bare and flags unfurled,They scale the summits of the worldAnd fade on the farthest golden heightIn fair horizons full of light.Comrades in arms there—friend or foe—That trod the perilous, toilsome trailThrough a world of ruin and blood and woeIn the years of great decision—hail!Friend or foe, it shall matter nought;This only matters, in fine: we fought.For we were young and in love or strifeSought exultation and craved excess:To sound the wildest debauch in lifeWe staked our youth and its loveliness.Let idlers argue the right and wrongAnd weigh what merit our causes had.Putting our faith in being strong—Above the level of good and bad—For us, we battled and burned and killedBecause evolving Nature willed,And it was our pride and boast to beThe instruments of Destiny.There was a stately drama writBy the hand that peopled the earth and airAnd set the stars in the infiniteAnd made night gorgeous and morning fair,And all that had sense to reason knewThat bloody drama must be gone through.Some sat and watched how the action veered—Waited, profited, trembled, cheered—We saw not clearly nor understood,But yielding ourselves to the master hand,Each in his part as best he could,We played it through as the author planned.

Alan Seeger

Social Commentaries,War & Conflict

Ode in Memory of the American Volunteers Fallen for France

(To have been read before the statue of Lafayette and Washington in Paris, on Decoration Day, May 30, 1916) IAy, it is fitting on this holiday,Commemorative of our soldier dead,When—with sweet flowers of our New England MayHiding the lichened stones by fifty years made gray—Their graves in every town are garlanded,That pious tribute should be given tooTo our intrepid fewObscurely fallen here beyond their seas.Those to preserve their country's greatness died;But by the death of theseSomething that we can look upon with prideHas been achieved, nor wholly unrepliedCan sneerers triumph in the charge they makeThat from a war where Freedom was at stakeAmerica withheld and, daunted, stood aside. IIBe they remembered here with each reviving spring,Not only that in May, when life is loveliest,Around Neuville-Saint-Vaast and the disputed crestOf Vimy, they, superb, unfaltering,In that fine onslaught that no fire could halt,Parted impetuous to their first assault;But that they brought fresh hearts and springlike tooTo that high mission, and 'tis meet to strewWith twigs of lilac and spring's earliest roseThe cenotaph of thoseWho in the cause that history most endearsFell in the sunny morn and flower of their young years. IIIYet sought they neither recompense nor praise,Nor to be mentioned in another breathThan their blue-coated comrades whose great daysIt was their pride to share—ay, share even to the death!Nay, rather, France, to you they rendered thanks(Seeing they came for honour, not for gain),Who, opening to them your glorious ranks,Gave them that grand occasion to excel,That chance to live the life most free from stainAnd that rare privilege of dying well. IVO friends! I know not since that war beganFrom which no people nobly stands aloofIf in all moments we have given proofOf virtues that were thought American.I know not if in all things done and saidAll has been well and good,Or of each one of us can hold his headAs proudly as he should,Or, from the pattern of those mighty deadWhose shades our country venerates to-day,If we 've not somewhat fallen and somewhat gone astray,But you to whom our land's good name is dear,If there be any hereWho wonder if her manhood be decreased,Relaxed its sinews and its blood less redThan that at Shiloh and Antietam shed,Be proud of these, have joy in this at least,And cry: Now heaven be praisedThat in that hour that most imperilled her,Menaced her liberty who foremost raisedEurope's bright flag of freedom, some there wereWho, not unmindful of the antique debt,Came back the generous path of Lafayette;And when of a most formidable foeShe checked each onset, arduous to stem—Foiled and frustrated them—On those red fields where blow with furious blowWas countered, whether the gigantic frayRolled by the Meuse or at the Bois Sabot,Accents of ours were in the fierce mêlée;And on those furthest rims of hallowed groundWhere the forlorn, the gallant charge expires,When the slain bugler has long ceased to sound,And on the tangled wiresThe last wild rally staggers, crumbles, stops,Withered beneath the shrapnel's iron showers:—Now heaven be thanked, we gave a few brave drops;Now heaven be thanked, a few brave drops were ours.' VThere, holding still, in frozen steadfastness,Their bayonets toward the beckoning frontiers,They lie—our comrades—lie among their peers,Clad in the glory of fallen warriors,Grim clustered under thorny trellises,Dry, furthest foam upon disastrous shores,Leaves that made last year beautiful, still strewnEven as they fell, unchanged, beneath the changing moon;And earth in her divine indifferenceRolls on, and many paltry things and meanPrate to be heard and caper to be seen.But they are silent, clam; their eloquenceIs that incomparable attitude;No human presences their witness are,But summer clouds and sunset crimson-hued,And showers and night winds and the northern starNay, even our salutations seem profane,Opposed to their Elysian quietude;Our salutations calling from afar,From our ignobler planeAnd undistinction of our lesser parts:Hail, brothers, and farewell; you are twice blest, brave hearts.Double your glory is who perished thus,For you have died for France and vindicated us.

Alan Seeger

Social Commentaries,History & Politics,War & Conflict

The Phoenix and the Turtle

Let the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precurrer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing, Save the eagle, feather'd king; Keep the obsequy so strict. Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right. And thou treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak'st With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. Here the anthem doth commence: Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix and the Turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence. So they lov'd, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none: Number there in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance and no space was seen 'Twixt this Turtle and his queen: But in them it were a wonder. So between them love did shine That the Turtle saw his right Flaming in the Phoenix' sight: Either was the other's mine. Property was thus appalled That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was called. Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together, To themselves yet either neither, Simple were so well compounded; That it cried, "How true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love has reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain." Whereupon it made this threne To the Phoenix and the Dove, Co-supremes and stars of love, As chorus to their tragic scene: threnosBeauty, truth, and rarity, Grace in all simplicity, Here enclos'd, in cinders lie. Death is now the Phoenix' nest, And the Turtle's loyal breast To eternity doth rest, Leaving no posterity: 'Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity. Truth may seem but cannot be; Beauty brag but 'tis not she; Truth and beauty buried be. To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

William Shakespeare

Living,Time & Brevity,Love,Relationships,Pets,Mythology & Folklore

The Tunning of Elenor Rumming

Tell you I chyll, If that ye wyll A whyle be styll, Of a comely gyll That dwelt on a hyll: But she is not gryll, For she is somwhat sage And well worne in age; For her vysage It would aswage A mannes courage. Her lothely lere Is nothynge clere, But ugly of chere, Droupy and drowsy, Scurvy and lowsy; Her face all bowsy, Comely crynkled, Woundersly wrynkled, Lyke a rost pygges eare, Brystled wyth here. Her lewde lyppes twayne, They slaver, men sayne, Lyke a ropy rayne, A gummy glayre: She is ugly fayre; Her nose somdele hoked, And camously croked, Never stoppynge, But ever droppynge; Her skynne lose and slacke, Grained lyke a sacke; With a croked backe. Her eyen gowndy Are full unsowndy, For they are blered; And she gray hered; Jawed lyke a jetty; A man would have pytty To se how she is gumbed, Fyngered and thumbed, Gently joynted, Gresed and annoynted Up to the knockles; The bones of her huckels Lyke as they were with buckels Togyther made fast: Her youth is farre past: Foted lyke a plane, Legged lyke a crane; And yet she wyll jet, Lyke a jollyvet, In her furred flocket, And gray russet rocket, With symper the cocket. Her huke of Lyncole grene, It had ben hers, I wene, More then fourty yere; And so doth it apere, For the grene bare thredes Loke lyke sere wedes, Wyddered lyke hay, The woll worne away; And yet I dare saye She thynketh herselfe gaye Upon the holy daye, Whan she doth her aray, And gyrdeth in her gytes Stytched and pranked with pletes; Her kyrtel Brystow red, With clothes upon her hed That wey a sowe of led, Wrythen in wonder wyse, After the Sarasyns gyse With a whym wham, Knyt with a trym tram, Upon her brayne pan, Lyke an Egyptian, Capped about: When she goeth out Herselfe for to shewe, She dryveth downe the dewe Wyth a payre of heles As brode as two wheles; She hobles as a gose With her blanket hose Over the falowe; Her shone smered wyth talowe, Gresed upon dyrt That baudeth her skyrt. And this comely dame, I understande, her name Is Elynour Rummynge, At home in her wonnynge; And as men say She dwelt in Sothray, In a certayne stede Bysyde Lederhede. She is a tonnysh gyb; The devyll and she be syb. But to make up my tale, She breweth noppy ale, And maketh therof port sale To travellars, to tynkers, To sweters, to swynkers, And all good ale drynkers, That wyll nothynge spare, But drynke tyll they stare And brynge themselfe bare, With, "Now away the mare, And let us sley care, As wyse as an hare!" Come who so wyll To Elynour on the hyll, Wyth, "Fyll the cup, fyll," And syt there by styll, Erly and late: Thyther cometh Kate, Cysly, and Sare, With theyr legges bare, And also theyr fete, Hardely, full unswete; Wyth theyr heles dagged, Theyr kyrtelles all to-jagged, Theyr smockes all to-ragged, Wyth titters and tatters, Brynge dysshes and platters, Wyth all theyr myght runnynge To Elynour Rummynge, To have of her tunnynge: She leneth them on the same. And thus begynneth the game. Instede of coyne and monny, Some brynge her a conny, And some a pot with honny, Some a salt, and some a spone, Some theyr hose, some theyr shone; Some ran a good trot With a skellet or a pot; Some fyll theyr pot full Of good Lemster woll: An huswyfe of trust, Whan she is athrust, Suche a webbe can spyn, Her thryft is full thyn. Some go streyght thyder, Be it slaty or slyder; They holde the hye waye, They care not what men say, Be that as be maye; Some, lothe to be espyde, Start in at the backe syde, Over the hedge and pale, And all for the good ale. Some renne tyll they swete, Brynge wyth them malte or whete, And dame Elynour entrete To byrle them of the best. Than cometh an other gest; She swered by the rode of rest, Her lyppes are so drye, Without drynke she must dye; Therefore fyll it by and by, And have here a pecke of ry. Anone cometh another, As drye as the other, And wyth her doth brynge Mele, salte, or other thynge, Her harvest gyrdle, her weddyng rynge, To pay for her scot As cometh to her lot. Som bryngeth her husbandes hood, Because the ale is good; Another brought her his cap To offer to the ale-tap, Wyth flaxe and wyth towe; And some brought sowre dowe; Wyth, "Hey, and wyth, Howe, Syt we downe a-rowe, And drynke tyll we blowe, And pype tyrly tyrlowe!" Some layde to pledge Theyr hatchet and theyr wedge, Theyr hekell and theyr rele, Theyr rocke, theyr spynnyng whele; And some went so narrowe, They layde to pledge theyr wharrowe, Theyr rybskyn and theyr spyndell, Theyr nedell and theyr thymbell: Here was scant thryft Whan they made suche shyft Theyr thrust was so great, They asked never for mete, But drynke, styll drynke, "And let the cat wynke, Let us washe our gommes From the drye crommes!" But some than sat ryght sad That nothynge had There of theyre awne, Neyther gelt nor pawne; Suche were there menny That had not a penny, But, whan they should walke, Were fayne wyth a chalke To score on the balke, Or score on the tayle: God gyve it yll hayle! For my fyngers ytche; I have wrytten to mytche Of this mad mummynge Of Elynour Rummynge: Thus endeth the gest Of this worthy fest!Quod Skelton, Laureat.

John Skelton

Activities,Eating & Drinking

The Song of the Ungirt Runners

We swing ungirded hips,And lightened are our eyes,The rain is on our lips,We do not run for prize.We know not whom we trustNor whitherward we fare,But we run because we must Through the great wide air.The waters of the seasAre troubled as by storm.The tempest strips the treesAnd does not leave them warm.Does the tearing tempest pause?Do the tree-tops ask it why?So we run without a cause 'Neath the big bare sky.The rain is on our lips,We do not run for prize.But the storm the water whipsAnd the wave howls to the skies.The winds arise and strike itAnd scatter it like sand,And we run because we like it Through the broad bright land.

Charles Hamilton Sorley

The Battle of Blenheim

It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done,And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun,And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine.She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round,Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found;He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round.Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by;And then the old man shook his head, And, with a natural sigh,"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory."I find them in the garden, For there's many here about;And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out!For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory.""Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin, he cries;And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes;"Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for.""It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout;But what they fought each other for, I could not well make out;But everybody said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory."My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by;They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly;So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head."With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide,And many a childing mother then, And new-born baby died;But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory."They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won;For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun;But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory."Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.""Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine."Nay... nay... my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory."And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.""But what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin."Why that I cannot tell," said he, "But 'twas a famous victory."

Robert Southey

Social Commentaries,War & Conflict

God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop

The summer and autumn had been so wet,That in winter the corn was growing yet,'Twas a piteous sight to see all aroundThe grain lie rotting on the ground.Every day the starving poorCrowded around Bishop Hatto's door,For he had a plentiful last-year's store,And all the neighbourhood could tellHis granaries were furnish'd well.At last Bishop Hatto appointed a dayTo quiet the poor without delay;He bade them to his great Barn repair,And they should have food for the winter there.Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,The poor folk flock'd from far and near;The great barn was full as it could holdOf women and children, and young and old.Then when he saw it could hold no more,Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;And while for mercy on Christ they call,He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all."I'faith 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he,"And the country is greatly obliged to me,For ridding it in these times forlornOf Rats that only consume the corn."So then to his palace returned he,And he sat down to supper merrily,And he slept that night like an innocent man;But Bishop Hatto never slept again.In the morning as he enter'd the hallWhere his picture hung against the wall,A sweat like death all over him came,For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.As he look'd there came a man from his farm—He had a countenance white with alarm;"My Lord, I open'd your granaries this morn,And the Rats had eaten all your corn."Another came running presently,And he was pale as pale could be,"Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly," quoth he,"Ten thousand Rats are coming this way,...The Lord forgive you for yesterday!""I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," replied he,"'Tis the safest place in Germany;The walls are high and the shores are steep,And the stream is strong and the water deep."Bishop Hatto fearfully hasten'd away,And he crost the Rhine without delay,And reach'd his tower, and barr'd with careAll the windows, doors, and loop-holes there.He laid him down and closed his eyes;...But soon a scream made him arise,He started and saw two eyes of flameOn his pillow from whence the screaming came.He listen'd and look'd;... it was only the Cat;And the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,For she sat screaming, mad with fearAt the Army of Rats that were drawing near.For they have swum over the river so deep,And they have climb'd the shores so steep,And up the Tower their way is bent,To do the work for which they were sent.They are not to be told by the dozen or score,By thousands they come, and by myriads and more,Such numbers had never been heard of before,Such a judgment had never been witness'd of yore.Down on his knees the Bishop fell,And faster and faster his beads did he tell,As louder and louder drawing nearThe gnawing of their teeth he could hear.And in at the windows and in at the door,And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,From the right and the left, from behind and before,From within and without, from above and below,And all at once to the Bishop they go.They have whetted their teeth against the stones,And now they pick the Bishop's bones:They gnaw'd the flesh from every limb,For they were sent to do judgment on him!

Robert Southey

My Days among the Dead are Past

My days among the Dead are past; Around me I behold,Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old;My never-failing friends are they,With whom I converse day by day.With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe;And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe,My cheeks have often been bedew'dWith tears of thoughtful gratitude.My thoughts are with the Dead, with them I live in long-past years,Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears,And from their lessons seek and findInstruction with an humble mind.My hopes are with the Dead, anon My place with them will be,And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity;Yet leaving here a name, I trust,That will not perish in the dust.

Robert Southey

Living,Death,Growing Old

The Old Man's Complaints. And how he gained them

You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are grey;You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray.In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember'd that youth would fly fast,And abused not my health and my vigour at first That I never might need them at last.You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away,And yet you lament not the days that are gone, Now tell me the reason I pray.In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remember'd that youth could not last;I thought of the future whatever I did, That I never might grieve for the past.You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away;You are chearful, and love to converse upon death! Now tell me the reason I pray.I am chearful, young man, Father William replied, Let the cause thy attention engage;In the days of my youth I remember'd my God! And He hath not forgotten my age.

Robert Southey

Living,Growing Old,Philosophy

The Well of St. Keyne

A Well there is in the west country, And a clearer one never was seen;There is not a wife in the west country But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.An oak and an elm-tree stand beside, And behind doth an ash-tree grow,And a willow from the bank above Droops to the water below.A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne; Joyfully he drew nigh,For from the cock-crow he had been travelling, And there was not a cloud in the sky.He drank of the water so cool and clear, For thirsty and hot was he,And he sat down upon the bank Under the willow-tree.There came a man from the house hard by At the Well to fill his pail;On the Well-side he rested it, And he bade the Stranger hail."Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife,The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life."Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?For an if she have, I'll venture my life She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne.""I have left a good woman who never was here." The Stranger he made reply,"But that my draught should be the better for that, I pray you answer me why?""St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time Drank of this crystal Well,And before the Angel summon'd her, She laid on the water a spell."If the Husband of this gifted Well Shall drink before his Wife,A happy man thenceforth is he, For he shall be Master for life."But if the Wife should drink of it first,— God help the Husband then!"The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne, And drank of the water again."You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?" He to the Cornish-man said:But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head."I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my Wife in the porch;But i' faith she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to Church."

Robert Southey

Activities,Eating & Drinking,Relationships,Men & Women

Of the Death of Sir T. W. The Elder

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest; Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain, And virtue sank the deeper in his breast; Such profit he by envy could obtain. A head where wisdom mysteries did frame, Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain As on a stithy where that some work of fame Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain. A visage stern and mild, where both did grow, Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice; Amid great storms, whom grace assured so To live upright and smile at fortune's choice. A hand that taught what might be said in rhyme; That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit: A mark, the which (unparfited, for time) Some may approach, but never none shall hit. A tongue that served in foreign realms his king; Whose courteous talk to virtue did enflame Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring Our English youth by travail unto fame. An eye whose judgment none affect could blind, Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile; Whose piercing look did represent a mind With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile. A heart where dread was never so impress'd, To hide the thought that might the truth advance; In neither fortune loft, nor yet repress'd, To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance. A valiant corps, where force and beauty met; Happy, alas, too happy, but for foes! Lived, and ran the race, that Nature set: Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose. But to the heavens that simple soul is fled, Which left with such as covet Christ to know Witness of faith that never shall be dead, Sent for our health, but not received so. Thus, for our guilt, this jewel have we lost; The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

The Things That Cause a Quiet Life

(Written by Martial) My friend, the things that do attain The happy life be these, I find: The riches left, not got with pain, The fruitful ground; the quiet mind; The equal friend; no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule nor governance; Without disease the healthy life; The household of continuance; The mean diet, no dainty fare; True wisdom joined with simpleness; The night discharged of all care, Where wine the wit may not oppress; The faithful wife, without debate; Such sleeps as may beguile the night: Content thyself with thine estate, Neither wish death, nor fear his might.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

The City of Dreadful Night

As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: All was black,In heaven no single star, on earth no track;A brooding hush without a stir or note,The air so thick it clotted in my throat;And thus for hours; then some enormous thingsSwooped past with savage cries and clanking wings: But I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: Eyes of fireGlared at me throbbing with a starved desire;The hoarse and heavy and carnivorous breathWas hot upon me from deep jaws of death;Sharp claws, swift talons, fleshless fingers coldPlucked at me from the bushes, tried to hold: But I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: Lo you, there,That hillock burning with a brazen glare;Those myriad dusky flames with points a-glowWhich writhed and hissed and darted to and fro;A Sabbath of the Serpents, heaped pell-mellFor Devil's roll-call and some fête of Hell: Yet I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: Meteors ranAnd crossed their javelins on the black sky-span;The zenith opened to a gulf of flame,The dreadful thunderbolts jarred earth's fixed frame:The ground all heaved in waves of fire that surgedAnd weltered round me sole there unsubmerged: Yet I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: Air once more,And I was close upon a wild sea-shore;Enormous cliffs arose on either hand,The deep tide thundered up a league-broad strand;White foambelts seethed there, wan spray swept and flew;The sky broke, moon and stars and clouds and blue: And I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: On the leftThe sun arose and crowned a broad crag-cleft;There stopped and burned out black, except a rim,A bleeding eyeless socket, red and dim;Whereon the moon fell suddenly south-west,And stood above the right-hand cliffs at rest: Still I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: From the rightA shape came slowly with a ruddy light;A woman with a red lamp in her hand,Bareheaded and barefooted on that strand;O desolation moving with such grace!O anguish with such beauty in thy face. I fell as on my bier, Hope travailed with such fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: I was twain,Two selves distinct that cannot join again;One stood apart and knew but could not stir,And watched the other stark in swoon and her;And she came on, and never turned aside,Between such sun and moon and roaring tide: And as she came more near My soul grew mad with fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: Hell is mildAnd piteous matched with that accursèd wild;A large black sign was on her breast that bowed,A broad black band ran down her snow-white shroud;That lamp she held was her own burning heart,Whose blood-drops trickled step by step apart; The mystery was clear; Mad rage had swallowed fear.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: By the seaShe knelt and bent above that senseless me;Those lamp-drops fell upon my white brow there,She tried to cleanse them with her tears and hair;She murmured words of pity, love, and woe,She heeded not the level rushing flow: And mad with rage and fear, I stood stonebound so near.As I came through the desert thus it was,As I came through the desert: When the tideSwept up to her there kneeling by my side,She clasped that corpse-like me, and they were borneAway, and this vile me was left forlorn;I know the whole sea cannot quench that heart,Or cleanse that brow, or wash those two apart: They love; their doom is drear, Yet they nor hope nor fear;But I, what do I here?

James Thomson (Bysshe Vanolis)

Paradise Lost: Book  2 (1674 version)

HIgh on a Throne of Royal State, which far Outshon the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showrs on her Kings Barbaric Pearl and Gold, Satan exalted sat, by merit rais'd To that bad eminence; and from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue Vain Warr with Heav'n, and by success untaught His proud imaginations thus displaid. Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heav'n, For since no deep within her gulf can hold Immortal vigor, though opprest and fall'n, I give not Heav'n for lost. From this descent Celestial vertues rising, will appear More glorious and more dread then from no fall, And trust themselves to fear no second fate: Mee though just right, and the fixt Laws of Heav'n Did first create your Leader, next free choice, With what besides, in Counsel or in Fight, Hath bin achievd of merit, yet this loss Thus farr at least recover'd, hath much more Establisht in a safe unenvied Throne Yielded with full consent. The happier state In Heav'n, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferior; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Formost to stand against the Thunderers aim Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share Of endless pain? where there is then no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From Faction; for none sure will claim in Hell Precedence, none, whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more. With this advantage then To union, and firm Faith, and firm accord, More then can be in Heav'n, we now return To claim our just inheritance of old, Surer to prosper then prosperity Could have assur'd us; and by what best way, Whether of open Warr or covert guile, We now debate; who can advise, may speak. He ceas'd, and next him Moloc, Scepter'd King Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest Spirit That fought in Heav'n; now fiercer by despair: His trust was with th' Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength, and rather then be less Car'd not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse He reck'd not, and these words thereafter spake. My sentence is for open Warr: Of Wiles, More unexpert, I boast not: them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. For while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in Arms, and longing wait The Signal to ascend, sit lingring here Heav'ns fugitives, and for thir dwelling place Accept this dark opprobrious Den of shame, The Prison of his Tyranny who Reigns By our delay? no, let us rather choose Arm'd with Hell flames and fury all at once O're Heav'ns high Towrs to force resistless way, Turning our Tortures into horrid Arms Against the Torturer; when to meet the noise Of his Almighty Engin he shall hear Infernal Thunder, and for Lightning see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his Angels; and his Throne it self Mixt with Tartarean Sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented Torments. But perhaps The way seems difficult and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful Lake benumm not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat: descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late When the fierce Foe hung on our brok'n Rear Insulting, and pursu'd us through the Deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low? Th' ascent is easie then; Th' event is fear'd; should we again provoke Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find To our destruction: if there be in Hell Fear to be worse destroy'd: what can be worse Then to dwell here, driv'n out from bliss, condemn'd In this abhorred deep to utter woe; Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end The Vassals of his anger, when the Scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour Calls us to Penance? More destroy'd then thus We should be quite abolisht and expire. What fear we then? what doubt we to incense His utmost ire? which to the highth enrag'd, Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential, happier farr Then miserable to have eternal being: Or if our substance be indeed Divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing; and by proof we feel Our power sufficient to disturb his Heav'n, And with perpetual inrodes to Allarme, Though inaccessible, his fatal Throne: Which if not Victory is yet Revenge. He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Desperate revenge, and Battel dangerous To less then Gods. On th' other side up rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane; A fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seemd For dignity compos'd and high exploit: But all was false and hollow; though his Tongue Dropt Manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest Counsels: for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious, but to Nobler deeds Timorous and slothful: yet he pleas'd the ear, And with perswasive accent thus began. I should be much for open Warr, O Peers, As not behind in hate; if what was urg'd Main reason to perswade immediate Warr, Did not disswade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success: When he who most excels in fact of Arms, In what he counsels and in what excels Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what Revenge? the Towrs of Heav'n are fill'd With Armed watch, that render all access Impregnable; oft on the bordering Deep Encamp thir Legions, or with obscure wing Scout farr and wide into the Realm of night, Scorning surprize. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise With blackest Insurrection, to confound Heav'ns purest Light, yet our great Enemy All incorruptible would on his Throne Sit unpolluted, and th' Ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate Th' Almighty Victor to spend all his rage, And that must end us, that must be our cure, To be no more; sad cure; for who would loose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through Eternity, To perish rather, swallowd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? and who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry Foe Can give it, or will ever? how he can Is doubtful; that he never will is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his Enemies thir wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless? wherefore cease we then? Say they who counsel Warr, we are decreed, Reserv'd and destin'd to Eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse? is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in Arms? What when we fled amain, pursu'd and strook With Heav'ns afflicting Thunder, and besought The Deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem'd A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay Chain'd on the burning Lake? that sure was worse. What if the breath that kindl'd those grim fires Awak'd should blow them into sevenfold rage And plunge us in the flames? or from above Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us? what if all Her stores were open'd, and this Firmament Of Hell should spout her Cataracts of Fire Impendent horrors, threatning hideous fall One day upon our heads; while we perhaps Designing or exhorting glorious warr, Caught in a fierie Tempest shall be hurl'd Each on his rock transfixt, the sport and prey Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk Under yon boyling Ocean, wrapt in Chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unrepreevd, Ages of hopeless end; this would be worse. Warr therefore, open or conceal'd, alike My voice disswades; for what can force or guile With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view? he from heav'ns highth All these our motions vain, sees and derides; Not more Almighty to resist our might Then wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. Shall we then live thus vile, the Race of Heav'n Thus trampl'd, thus expell'd to suffer here Chains and these Torments? better these then worse By my advice; since fate inevitable Subdues us, and Omnipotent Decree, The Victors will. To suffer, as to doe, Our strength is equal, nor the Law unjust That so ordains: this was at first resolv'd, If we were wise, against so great a foe Contending, and so doubtful what might fall. I laugh, when those who at the Spear are bold And vent'rous, if that fail them, shrink and fear What yet they know must follow, to endure Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain, The sentence of thir Conquerour: This is now Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, Our Supream Foe in time may much remit His anger, and perhaps thus farr remov'd Not mind us not offending, satisfi'd With what is punish't; whence these raging fires Will slack'n, if his breath stir not thir flames. Our purer essence then will overcome Thir noxious vapour, or enur'd not feel, Or chang'd at length, and to the place conformd In temper and in nature, will receive Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain; This horror will grow milde, this darkness light, Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future dayes may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting, since our present lot appeers For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to our selves more woe. Thus Belial with words cloath'd in reasons garb Counsel'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloath, Not peace: and after him thus Mammon spake. Either to disinthrone the King of Heav'n We warr, if warr be best, or to regain Our own right lost: him to unthrone we then May hope when everlasting Fathe shall yeild To fickle Chance and Chaos judge the strife: The former vain to hope argues as vain The latter: for what place can be for us Within Heav'ns bound, unless Heav'ns Lord supream We overpower? Suppose he should relent And publish Grace to all, on promise made Of new Subjection; with what eyes could we Stand in his presence humble, and receive Strict Laws impos'd, to celebrate his Throne With warbl'd Hymns, and to his God head sing Forc't Halleluia's; while he Lordly sits Our envied Sovran, and his Altar breathes Ambrosial Odours and Ambrosial Flowers, Our servile offerings. This must be our task In Heav'n this our delight; how wearisom Eternity so spent in worship paid To whom we hate. Let us not then pursue By force impossible, by leave obtain'd Unacceptable, though in Heav'n, our state Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek Our own good from our selves, and from our own Live to our selves, though in this vast recess, Free, and to none accountable, preferring Hard liberty before the easie yoke Of servile Pomp. Our greatness will appeer Then most conspicuous, when great things of small, Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse We can create, and in what place so e're Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain Through labour and indurance. This deep world Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst Thick clouds and dark doth Heav'ns all-ruling Sire Choose to reside, his Glory unobscur'd, And with the Majesty of darkness round Covers his Throne; from whence deep thunders roar Must'ring thir rage, and Heav'n resembles Hell? As he our darkness, cannot we his Light Imitate when we please? This Desart soile Wants not her hidden lustre, Gemms and Gold; Nor want we skill or Art, from whence to raise Magnificence; and what can Heav'n shew more? Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements, these piercing Fires As soft as now severe, our temper chang'd Into their temper; which must needs remove The sensible of pain. All things invite To peaceful Counsels, and the settl'd State Of order, how in safety best we may Compose our present evils, with regard Of what we are and were, dismissing quite All thoughts of warr: ye have what I advise. He scarce had finisht, when such murmur filld Th' Assembly, as when hollow Rocks retain The sound of blustring winds, which all night long Had rous'd the Sea, now with hoarse cadence lull Sea-faring men orewatcht, whose Bark by chance Or Pinnace anchors in a craggy Bay After the Tempest: Such applause was heard As Mammon ended, and his Sentence pleas'd, Advising peace: for such another Field They dreaded worse then Hell: so much the fear Of Thunder and the Sword of Michael Wrought still within them; and no less desire To found this nether Empire, which might rise By pollicy, and long process of time, In emulation opposite to Heav'n. Which when Beelzebub perceiv'd, then whom, Satan except, none higher sat, with grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd A Pillar of State; deep on his Front engraven Deliberation sat and public care; And Princely counsel in his face yet shon, Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear The weight of mightiest Monarchies; his look Drew audience and attention still as Night Or Summers Noon-tide air, while thus he spake. Thrones and Imperial Powers, off-spring of heav'n Ethereal Vertues; or these Titles now Must we renounce, and changing stile be call'd Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote Inclines, here to continue, and build up here A growing Empire; doubtless; while we dream, And know not that the King of Heav'n hath doom'd This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat Beyond his Potent arm, to live exempt From Heav'ns high jurisdiction, in new League Banded against his Throne, but to remaine In strictest bondage, though thus far remov'd, Under th' inevitable curb, reserv'd His captive multitude: For he, be sure In heighth or depth, still first and last will Reign Sole King, and of his Kingdom loose no part By our revolt, but over Hell extend His Empire, and with Iron Scepter rule Us here, as with his Golden those in Heav'n. What sit we then projecting peace and Warr? Warr hath determin'd us, and foild with loss Irreparable; tearms of peace yet none Voutsaf't or sought; for what peace will be giv'n To us enslav'd, but custody severe, And stripes, and arbitrary punishment Inflicted? and what peace can we return, But to our power hostility and hate, Untam'd reluctance, and revenge though slow, Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least rejoyce In doing what we most in suffering feel? Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need With dangerous expedition to invade Heav'n, whose high walls fear no assault or Siege, Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find Some easier enterprize? There is a place (If ancient and prophetic fame in Heav'n Err not) another World, the happy seat Of some new Race call'd Man, about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, but favour'd more Of him who rules above; so was his will Pronounc'd among the Gods, and by an Oath, That shook Heav'ns whol circumference, confirm'd. Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn What creatures there inhabit, of what mould, Or substance, how endu'd, and what thir Power, And where thir weakness, how attempted best, By force or suttlety: Though Heav'n be shut, And Heav'ns high Arbitrator sit secure In his own strength, this place may lye expos'd The utmost border of his Kingdom, left To their defence who hold it: here perhaps Som advantagious act may be achiev'd By sudden onset, either with Hell fire To waste his whole Creation, or possess All as our own, and drive as we were driven, The punie habitants, or if not drive, Seduce them to our Party, that thir God May prove thir foe, and with repenting hand Abolish his own works. This would surpass Common revenge, and interrupt his joy In our Confusion, and our joy upraise In his disturbance; when his darling Sons HurI'd headlong to partake with us, shall curse Thir frail Original, and faded bliss, Faded so soon. Advise if this be worth Attempting, or to sit in darkness here Hatching vain Empires. Thus Beelzebub Pleaded his devilish Counsel, first devis'd By Satan, and in part propos'd: for whence, But from the Author of all ill could Spring So deep a malice, to confound the race Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell To mingle and involve, done all to spite The great Creatour? But thir spite still serves His glory to augment. The bold design Pleas'd highly those infernal States, and joy Sparkl'd in all thir eyes; with full assent They vote: whereat his speech he thus renews. Well have ye judg'd, well ended long debate, Synod of Gods, and like to what ye are, Great things resolv'd; which from the lowest deep Will once more lift us up, in spight of Fate, Neerer our ancient Seat; perhaps in view Of those bright confines, whence with neighbouring Arms And opportune excursion we may chance Re-enter Heav'n; or else in some milde Zone Dwell not unvisited of Heav'ns fair Light Secure, and at the brightning Orient beam Purge off this gloom; the soft delicious Air, To heal the scarr of these corrosive Fires Shall breathe her balme. But first whom shall we send In search of this new world, whom shall we find Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandring feet The dark unbottom'd infinite Abyss And through the palpable obscure find out His uncouth way, or spread his aerie flight Upborn with indefatigable wings Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive The happy Ile; what strength, what art can then Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe Through the strict Senteries and Stations thick Of Angels watching round? Here he had need All circumspection, and we now no less Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send, The weight of all and our last hope relies. This said, he sat; and expectation held His look suspence, awaiting who appeer'd To second, or oppose, or undertake The perilous attempt: but all sat mute, Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each In others count'nance read his own dismay Astonisht: none among the choice and prime Of those Heav'n-warring Champions could be found So hardie as to proffer or accept Alone the dreadful voyage; till at last Satan, whom now transcendent glory rais'd Above his fellows, with Monarchal pride Conscious of highest worth, unmov'd thus spake. O Progeny of Heav'n, Empyreal Thrones, With reason hath deep silence and demurr Seis'd us, though undismaid: long is the way And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light; Our prison strong, this huge convex of Fire, Outrageous to devour, immures us round Ninefold, and gates of burning Adamant Barr'd over us prohibit all egress. These past, if any pass, the void profound Of unessential Night receives him next Wide gaping, and with utter loss of being Threatens him, plung'd in that abortive gulf. If thence he scape into whatever world, Or unknown Region, what remains him less Then unknown dangers and as hard escape. But I should ill become this Throne, O Peers, And this Imperial Sov'ranty, adorn'd With splendor, arm'd with power, if aught propos'd And judg'd of public moment, in the shape Of difficulty or danger could deterr Mee from attempting. Wherefore do I assume These Royalties, and not refuse to Reign, Refusing to accept as great a share Of hazard as of honour, due alike To him who Reigns, and so much to him due Of hazard more, as he above the rest High honourd sits? Go therfore mighty Powers, Terror of Heav'n, though fall'n; intend at home, While here shall be our home, what best may ease The present misery, and render Hell More tollerable; if there be cure or charm To respite or deceive, or slack the pain Of this ill Mansion: intermit no watch Against a wakeful Foe, while I abroad Through all the Coasts of dark destruction seek Deliverance for us all: this enterprize None shall partake with me. Thus saying rose The Monarch, and prevented all reply, Prudent, least from his resolution rais'd Others among the chief might offer now (Certain to be refus'd) what erst they feard; And so refus'd might in opinion stand His Rivals, winning cheap the high repute Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they Dreaded not more th' adventure then his voice Forbidding; and at once with him they rose; Thir rising all at once was as the sound Of Thunder heard remote. Towards him they bend With awful reverence prone; and as a God Extoll him equal to the highest in Heav'n: Nor fail'd they to express how much they prais'd, That for the general safety he despis'd His own: for neither do the Spirits damn'd Loose all thir virtue; least bad men should boast Thir specious deeds on earth, which glory excites, Or clos ambition varnisht o're with zeal. Thus they thir doubtful consultations dark Ended rejoycing in thir matchless Chief: As when from mountain tops the dusky clouds Ascending, while the North wind sleeps, o'respread Heav'ns chearful face, the lowring Element Scowls ore the dark'nd lantskip Snow, or showre; If chance the radiant Sun with farewell sweet Extend his ev'ning beam, the fields revive, The birds thir notes renew, and bleating herds Attest thir joy, that hill and valley rings. O shame to men! Devil with Devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men onely disagree Of Creatures rational, though under hope Of heavenly Grace: and God proclaiming peace, Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife Among themselves, and levie cruel warres, Wasting the Earth, each other to destroy: As if (which might induce us to accord) Man had not hellish foes anow besides, That day and night for his destruction waite. The Stygian Counsel thus dissolv'd; and forth In order came the grand infernal Peers, Midst came thir mighty Paramount, and seemd Alone th' Antagonist of Heav'n, nor less Than Hells dread Emperour with pomp Supream, And God-like imitated State; him round A Globe of fierie Seraphim inclos'd With bright imblazonrie, and horrent Arms. Then of thir Session ended they bid cry With Trumpets regal sound the great result: Toward the four winds four speedy Cherubim Put to thir mouths the sounding Alchymie By Haralds voice explain'd: the hollow Abyss Heard farr and wide, and all the host of Hell With deafning shout, return'd them loud acclaim. Thence more at ease thir minds and somwhat rais'd By false presumptuous hope, the ranged powers Disband, and wandring, each his several way Pursues, as inclination or sad choice Leads him perplext, where he may likeliest find Truce to his restless thoughts, and entertain The irksom hours, till this great Chief return. Part on the Plain, or in the Air sublime Upon the wing, or in swift Race contend, As at th' Olympian Games or Pythian fields; Part curb thir fierie Steeds, or shun the Goal With rapid wheels, or fronted Brigads form. As when to warn proud Cities warr appears Wag'd in the troubl'd Skie, and Armies rush To Battel in the Clouds, before each Van Prick forth the Aerie Knights, and couch thir Spears Till thickest Legions close; with feats of Arms From either end of Heav'n the welkin burns. Others with vast Typhoean rage more fell Rend up both Rocks and Hills, and ride the Air In whirlwind; Hell scarce holds the wilde uproar. As when Alcides from Oechalia Crown'd With conquest, felt th' envenom'd robe, and tore Through pain up by the roots Thessalian Pines, And Lichas from the top of Oeta threw Into th' Euboic Sea. Others more milde, Retreated in a silent valley, sing With notes Angelical to many a Harp Thir own Heroic deeds and hapless fall By doom of Battel; and complain that Fate Free Vertue should enthrall to Force or Chance. Thir Song was partial, but the harmony (What could it less when Spirits immortal sing?) Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment The thronging audience. In discourse more sweet (For Eloquence the Soul, Song charms the Sense,) Others apart sat on a Hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will and Fate, Fixt Fate, free will, foreknowledg absolute, And found no end, in wandring mazes lost. Of good and evil much they argu'd then, Of happiness and final misery, Passion and Apathie, and glory and shame, Vain wisdom all, and false Philosophie: Yet with a pleasing sorcerie could charm Pain for a while or anguish, and excite Fallacious hope, or arm th' obdured brest With stubborn patience as with triple steel. Another part in Squadrons and gross Bands, On bold adventure to discover wide That dismal world, if any Clime perhaps Might yield them easier habitation, bend Four ways thir flying March, along the Banks Of four infernal Rivers that disgorge Into the burning Lake thir baleful streams; Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate, Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep; Cocytus, nam'd of lamentation loud Heard on the ruful stream; fierce Phlegeton Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. Farr off from these a slow and silent stream, Lethe the River of Oblivion roules Her watrie Labyrinth, whereof who drinks, Forthwith his former state and being forgets, Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. Beyond this flood a frozen Continent Lies dark and wilde, beat with perpetual storms Of Whirlwind and dire Hail, which on firm land Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems Of ancient pile; all else deep snow and ice, A gulf profound as that Serbonian Bog Betwixt Damiata and mount Casius old, Where Armies whole have sunk: the parching Air Burns frore, and cold performs th' effect of Fire. Thither by harpy-footed Furies hail'd, At certain revolutions all the damn'd Are brought: and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extreams, extreams by change more fierce, From Beds of raging Fire to starve in Ice Thir soft Ethereal warmth, and there to pine Immovable, infixt, and frozen round, Periods of time, thence hurried back to fire. They ferry over this Lethean Sound Both to and fro, thir sorrow to augment, And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach The tempting stream, with one small drop to loose In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe, All in one moment, and so neer the brink; But Fate withstands, and to oppose th' attempt Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards The Ford, and of it self the water flies All taste of living wight, as once it fled The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on In confus'd march forlorn, th' adventrous Bands With shuddring horror pale, and eyes agast View'd first thir lamentable lot, and found No rest: through many a dark and drearie Vaile They pass'd, and many a Region dolorous, O're many a Frozen, many a fierie Alpe, Rocks, Caves, Lakes, Fens, Bogs, Dens, and shades of death, A Universe of death, which God by curse Created evil, for evil only good, Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds, Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, Abominable, inutterable, and worse Than Fables yet have feign'd, or fear conceiv'd, Gorgons and Hydra's, and Chimera's dire. Mean while the Adversary of God and Man, Satan with thoughts inflam'd of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and towards the Gates of Hell Explores his solitary flight; som times He scours the right hand coast, som times the left, Now shaves with level wing the Deep, then soares Up to the fiery Concave touring high. As when farr off at Sea a Fleet descri'd Hangs in the Clouds, by Aequinoctial Winds Close sailing from Bengala, or the Iles Of Ternate and Tidore, whence Merchants bring Thir spicie Drugs: they on the Trading Flood Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape Ply stemming nightly toward the Pole. So seem'd Farr off the flying Fiend: at last appeer Hell bounds high reaching to the horrid Roof, And thrice threefold the Gates; three folds were Brass, Three Iron, three of Adamantine Rock, Impenetrable, impal'd with circling fire, Yet unconsum'd. Before the Gates there sat On either side a formidable shape; The one seem'd Woman to the waste, and fair, But ended foul in many a scaly fould Voluminous and vast, a Serpent arm'd With mortal sting: about her middle round A cry of Hell Hounds never ceasing bark'd With wide Cerberian mouths full loud, and rung A hideous Peal: yet, when they list, would creep, If aught disturb'd thir noyse, into her woomb, And kennel there, yet there still bark'd and howl'd, Within unseen. Farr less abhorrd than these Vex'd Scylla bathing in the Sea that parts Calabria from the hoarce Trinacrian shore: Nor uglier follow the Night-Hag, when call'd In secret, riding through the Air she comes Lur'd with the smell of infant blood, to dance With Lapland Witches, while the labouring Moon Eclipses at thir charms. The other shape, If shape it might be call'd that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joynt, or limb, Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, For each seem'd either; black it stood as Night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful Dart; what seem'd his head The likeness of a Kingly Crown had on. Satan was now at hand, and from his seat The Monster moving onward came as fast With horrid strides, Hell trembled as he strode. Th' undaunted Fiend what this might be admir'd, Admir'd, not fear'd; God and his Son except, Created thing naught valu'd he nor shun'd; And with disdainful look thus first began. Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated Front athwart my way To yonder Gates? through them I mean to pass, That be assur'd, without leave askt of thee: Retire, or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, Hell-born, not to contend with Spirits of Heav'n. To whom the Goblin full of wrauth reply'd, Art thou that Traitor Angel, art thou hee, Who first broke peace in Heav'n and Faith, till then Unbrok'n, and in proud rebellious Arms Drew after him the third part of Heav'ns Sons Conjur'd against the highest, for which both Thou And they outcast from God, are here condemn'd To waste Eternal dayes in woe and pain? And reck'n'st thou thy self with Spirits of Heav'n, Hell-doom'd, and breath'st defiance here and scorn Where I reign King, and to enrage thee more, Thy King and Lord? Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, Least with a whip of Scorpions I pursue Thy lingring, or with one stroke of this Dart Strange horror seise thee, and pangs unfelt before. So spake the grieslie terrour, and in shape, So speaking and so threatning, grew tenfold More dreadful and deform: on th' other side Incenst with indignation Satan stood Unterrifi'd, and like a Comet burn'd, That fires the length of Ophiucus huge In th' Artick Sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes Pestilence and Warr. Each at the Head Level'd his deadly aime; thir fatall hands No second stroke intend, and such a frown Each cast at th' other, as when two black Clouds With Heav'ns Artillery fraught, come rattling on Over the Caspian, then stand front to front Hov'ring a space, till Winds the signal blow To joyn thir dark Encounter in mid air: So frownd the mighty Combatants, that Hell Grew darker at thir frown, so matcht they stood; For never but once more was either like To meet so great a foe: and now great deeds Had been achiev'd, whereof all Hell had rung, Had not the Snakie Sorceress that sat Fast by Hell Gate, and kept the fatal Key, Ris'n, and with hideous outcry rush'd between. O Father, what intends thy hand, she cry'd, Against thy only Son? What fury O Son, Possesses thee to bend that mortal Dart Against thy Fathers head? and know'st for whom; For him who sits above and laughs the while At thee ordain'd his drudge, to execute What e're his wrath, which he calls justice, bids, His wrath which one day will destroy ye both. She spake, and at her words the hellish Pest Forbore, then these to her Satan return'd: So strange thy outcry, and thy words so strange Thou interposest, that my sudden hand Prevented spares to tell thee yet by deeds What it intends; till first I know of thee, What thing thou art, thus double-form'd, and why In this infernal Vaile first met thou call'st Me Father, and that Fantasm ca11'st my Son? I know thee not, nor ever saw till now Sight more detestable then him and thee. T' whom thus the Portress of Hell Gate reply'd; Hast thou forgot me then, and do I seem Now in thine eyes so foul, once deemd so fair In Heav'n, when at th' Assembly, and in sight Of all the Seraphim with thee combin'd In bold conspiracy against Heav'ns King, All on a sudden miserable pain Surpris'd thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzie swumm In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast Threw forth, till on the left side op'ning wide, Likest to thee in shape and count'nance bright, Then shining heav'nly fair, a Goddess arm'd Out of thy head I sprung: amazement seis'd All th' Host of Heav'n; back they recoild affraid At first, and call'd me Sin, and for a Sign Portentous held me; but familiar grown, I pleas'd, and with attractive graces won The most averse, thee chiefly, who full oft Thy self in me thy perfect image viewing Becam'st enamour'd, and such joy thou took'st With me in secret, that my womb conceiv'd A growing burden. Mean while Warr arose, And fields were fought in Heav'n; wherein remaind (For what could else) to our Almighty Foe Cleer Victory, to our part loss and rout Through all the Empyrean: down they fell Driv'n headlong from the Pitch of Heaven, down Into this Deep, and in the general fall I also; at which time this powerful Key Into my hand was giv'n, with charge to keep These Gates for ever shut, which none can pass Without my op'ning. Pensive here I sat Alone, but long I sat not, till my womb Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. At last this odious offspring whom thou seest Thine own begotten, breaking violent way Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew Transform'd: but he my inbred enemie Forth issu'd, brandishing his fatal Dart Made to destroy: I fled, and cry'd out Death; Hell trembl'd at the hideous Name, and sigh'd From all her Caves, and back resounded Death. I fled, but he pursu'd (though more, it seems, Inflam'd with lust then rage) and swifter far, Mee overtook his mother all dismaid, And in embraces forcible and foule Ingendring with me, of that rape begot These yelling Monsters that with ceasless cry Surround me, as thou sawst, hourly conceiv'd And hourly born, with sorrow infinite To me, for when they list into the womb That bred them they return, and howle and gnaw My Bowels, thir repast; then bursting forth A fresh with conscious terrours vex me round, That rest or intermission none I find. Before mine eyes in opposition sits Grim Death my Son and foe, who sets them on, And me his Parent would full soon devour For want of other prey, but that he knows His end with mine involvd; and knows that I Should prove a bitter Morsel, and his bane, When ever that shall be; so Fate pronounc'd. But thou O Father, I forewarn thee, shun His deadly arrow; neither vainly hope To be invulnerable in those bright Arms, Though temper'd heav'nly, for that mortal dint, Save he who reigns above, none can resist. She finish'd, and the suttle Fiend his lore Soon learnd, now milder, and thus answerd smooth. Dear Daughter, since thou claim'st me for thy Sire, And my fair Son here showst me, the dear pledge Of dalliance had with thee in Heav'n, and joys Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change Befalln us unforeseen, unthought of, know I come no enemie, but to set free From out this dark and dismal house of pain, Both him and thee, and all the heav'nly Host Of Spirits that in our just pretenses arm'd Fell with us from on high: from them I go This uncouth errand sole, and one for all My self expose, with lonely steps to tread Th' unfounded deep, and through the void immense To search with wandring quest a place foretold Should be, and, by concurring signs, ere now Created vast and round, a place of bliss In the Pourlieues of Heav'n, and therein plac't A race of upstart Creatures, to supply Perhaps our vacant room, though more remov'd, Least Heav'n surcharg'd with potent multitude Might hap to move new broiles: Be this or aught Then this more secret now design'd, I haste To know, and this once known, shall soon return, And bring ye to the place where Thou and Death Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen Wing silently the buxom Air, imbalm'd With odours; there ye shall be fed and fill'd Immeasurably, all things shall be your prey. He ceas'd, for both seemd highly pleasd, and Death Grinnd horrible a gastly smile, to hear His famine should be fill'd, and blest his mawe Destin'd to that good hour: no less rejoyc'd His mother bad, and thus bespake her Sire. The key of this infernal Pit by due, And by command of Heav'ns all-powerful King I keep, by him forbidden to unlock These Adamantine Gates; against all force Death ready stands to interpose his dart, Fearless to be o'rmatcht by living might. But what ow I to his commands above Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down Into this gloom of Tartarus profound, To sit in hateful Office here confin'd, Inhabitant of Heav'n, and heav'nlie-born, Here in perpetual agonie and pain, With terrors and with clamors compasst round Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed: Thou art my Father, thou my Author, thou My being gav'st me; whom should I obey But thee, whom follow? thou wilt bring me soon To that new world of light and bliss, among The Gods who live at ease, where I shall Reign At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems Thy daughter and thy darling, without end. Thus saying, from her side the fatal Key, Sad instrument of all our woe, she took; And towards the Gate rouling her bestial train, Forthwith the huge Porcullis high up drew, Which but her self not all the Stygian powers Could once have mov'd; then in the key-hole turns Th' intricate wards, and every Bolt and Bar Of massie Iron or sollid Rock with ease Unfast'ns: on a sudden op'n flie With impetuous recoile and jarring sound Th' infernal dores, and on thir hinges grate Harsh Thunder, that the lowest bottom shook Of Erebus. She op'nd, but to shut Excel'd her power; the Gates wide op'n stood, That with extended wings a Bannerd Host Under spread Ensigns marching might pass through With Horse and Chariots rankt in loose array; So wide they stood, and like a Furnace mouth Cast forth redounding smoak and ruddy flame. Before thir eyes in sudden view appear The secrets of the hoarie deep, a dark Illimitable Ocean without bound, Without dimension, where length, breadth, & highth, And time and place are lost; where eldest Night And Chaos. Ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal Anarchie, amidst the noise Of endless Warrs, and by confusion stand. For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four Champions fierce Strive here for Maistrie, and to Battel bring Thir embryon Atoms; they around the flag Of each his Faction, in thir several Clanns, Light-arm'd or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift or slow, Swarm populous, unnumber'd as the Sands Of Barca or Cyrene's torrid soil, Levied to side with warring Winds, and poise Thir lighter wings. To whom these most adhere, Hee rules a moment; Chaos Umpire sits, And by decision more imbroiles the fray By which he Reigns: next him high Arbiter Chance governs all. Into this wilde Abyss, The Womb of nature and perhaps her Grave, Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire, But all these in thir pregnant causes mixt Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight, Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain His dark materials to create more Worlds, Into this wild Abyss the warie fiend Stood on the brink of Hell and look'd a while, Pondering his Voyage; for no narrow frith He had to cross. Nor was his eare less peal'd With noises loud and ruinous (to compare Great things with small) then when Bellona storms, With all her battering Engines bent to rase Som Capital City; or less then if this frame Of Heav'n were falling, and these Elements In mutinie had from her Axle torn The stedfast Earth. At last his Sail-broad Vannes He spreads for flight, and in the surging smoak Uplifted spurns the ground, thence many a League As in a cloudy Chair ascending rides Audacious, but that seat soon failing, meets A vast vacuitie: all unawares Fluttring his pennons vain plumb down he drops Ten thousand fadom deep, and to this hour Down had been falling, had not by ill chance The strong rebuff of som tumultuous cloud Instinct with Fire and Nitre hurried him As many miles aloft: that furie stay'd, Quencht in a Boggie Syrtis, neither Sea, Nor good dry Land: nigh founderd on he fares, Treading the crude consistence, half on foot, Half flying; behoves him now both Oare and Saile. As when a Gryfon through the Wilderness With winged course ore Hill or moarie Dale, Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stelth Had from his wakeful custody purloind The guarded Gold: So eagerly the fiend Ore bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings or feet pursues his way, And swims or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flyes: At length a universal hubbub wilde Of stunning sounds and voices all confus'd Born through the hollow dark assaults his eare With loudest vehemence: thither he plyes, Undaunted to meet there what ever power Or Spirit of the nethermost Abyss Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask Which way the neerest coast of darkness lyes Bordering on light; when strait behold the Throne Of Chaos, and his dark Pavilion spread Wide on the wasteful Deep; with him Enthron'd Sat Sable-vested Night, eldest of things, The Consort of his Reign; and by them stood Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name Of Demogorgon; Rumor next and Chance, And Tumult and Confusion all imbroild, And Discord with a thousand various mouths. T' whom Satan turning boldly, thus. Ye Powers And Spirits of this nethermost Abyss, Chaos and ancient Night, I come no Spy, With purpose to explore or to disturb The secrets of your Realm, but by constraint Wandring this darksome Desart, as my way, Lies through your spacious Empire up to light, Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek What readiest path leads where your gloomie bounds Confine with Heav'n; or if som other place From your Dominion won, th' Ethereal King Possesses lately, thither to arrive I travel this profound, direct my course; Directed no mean recompence it brings To your behoof, if I that Region lost, All usurpation thence expell'd, reduce To her original darkness and your sway (Which is my present journey) and once more Erect the Standard there of ancient Night; Yours be th' advantage all, mine the revenge. Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old With faultring speech and visage incompos'd Answer'd. I know thee, stranger, who thou art, That mighty leading Angel, who of late Made head against Heav'ns King, though overthrown. I saw and heard, for such a numerous Host Fled not in silence through the frighted deep With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded; and Heav'n Gates Pourd out by millions her victorious Bands Pursuing. I upon my Frontieres here Keep residence; if all I can will serve, That little which is left so to defend, Encroacht on still through our intestine broiles Weakning the Scepter of old Night: first Hell Your dungeon stretching far and wide beneath; Now lately Heaven and Earth, another World Hung ore my Realm, link'd in a golden Chain To that side Heav'n from whence your Legions fell: If that way be your walk, you have not farr; So much the neerer danger; go and speed; Havock and spoil and ruin are my gain. He ceas'd; and Satan staid not to reply, But glad that now his Sea should find a shore, With fresh alacritie and force renew'd Springs upward like a Pyramid of fire Into the wilde expanse, and through the shock Of fighting Elements, on all sides round Environ'd wins his way; harder beset And more endanger'd, then when Argo pass'd Through Bosporus betwixt the justling Rocks: Or when Ulysses on the Larbord shunnd Charybdis, and by th' other whirlpool steard. So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour hee; But hee once past, soon after when man fell, Strange alteration! Sin and Death amain Following his track, such was the will of Heav'n, Pav'd after him a broad and beat'n way Over the dark Abyss, whose boiling Gulf Tamely endur'd a Bridge of wondrous length From Hell continu'd reaching th' utmost Orbe Of this frail World; by which the Spirits perverse With easie intercourse pass to and fro To tempt or punish mortals, except whom God and good Angels guard by special grace. But now at last the sacred influence Of light appears, and from the walls of Heav'n Shoots farr into the bosom of dim Night A glimmering dawn; here Nature first begins Her fardest verge, and Chaos to retire As from her outmost works a brok'd foe With tumult less and with less hostile din, That Satan with less toil, and now with ease Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light And like a weather-beaten Vessel holds Gladly the Port, though Shrouds and Tackle torn; Or in the emptier waste, resembling Air, Weighs his spread wings, at leasure to behold Farr off th' Empyreal Heav'n, extended wide In circuit, undetermind square or round, With Opal Towrs and Battlements adorn'd Of living Saphire, once his native Seat; And fast by hanging in a golden Chain This pendant world, in bigness as a Starr Of smallest Magnitude close by the Moon. Thither full fraught with mischievous revenge, Accurst, and in a cursed hour he hies.

John Milton

Religion,Christianity,God & the Divine

Paradise Lost: Book  3 (1674 version)

HAil holy Light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born, Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream, Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun, Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing, Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night, Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs, Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill, Smit with the love of sacred Song; but chief Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit: nor somtimes forget Those other two equal'd with me in Fate, So were I equal'd with them in renown, Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old. Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of Ev'n or Morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose, Or flocks, or heards, or human face divine; But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the chearful wayes of men Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair Presented with a Universal blanc Of Natures works to mee expung'd and ras'd, And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou Celestial light Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight. Now had the Almighty Father from above, From the pure Empyrean where he sits High Thron'd above all highth, bent down his eye, His own works and their works at once to view: About him all the Sanctities of Heaven Stood thick as Starrs, and from his sight receiv'd Beatitude past utterance; on his right The radiant image of his Glory sat, His onely Son; On Earth he first beheld Our two first Parents, yet the onely two Of mankind, in the happie Garden plac't, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrivald love In blissful solitude; he then survey'd Hell and the Gulf between, and Satan there Coasting the wall of Heav'n on this side Night In the dun Air sublime, and ready now To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet On the bare outside of this World, that seem'd Firm land imbosom'd without Firmament, Uncertain which, in Ocean or in Air. Him God beholding from his prospect high, Wherein past, present, future he beholds, Thus to his onely Son foreseeing spake. Onely begotten Son, seest thou what rage Transports our adversarie, whom no bounds Prescrib'd, no barrs of Hell, nor all the chains Heapt on him there, nor yet the main Abyss Wide interrupt can hold; so bent he seems On desparate reveng, that shall redound Upon his own rebellious head. And now Through all restraint broke loose he wings his way Not farr off Heav'n, in the Precincts of light, Directly towards the new created World, And Man there plac't, with purpose to assay If him by force he can destroy, or worse, By some false guile pervert; and shall pervert For man will hark'n to his glozing lyes, And easily transgress the sole Command, Sole pledge of his obedience: So will fall, Hee and his faithless Progenie: whose fault? Whose but his own? ingrate, he had of mee All he could have; I made him just and right, Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. Such I created all th' Ethereal Powers And Spirits, both them who stood and them who faild; Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. Not free, what proof could they have givn sincere Of true allegiance, constant Faith or Love, Where onely what they needs must do, appeard, Not what they would? what praise could they receive? What pleasure I from such obedience paid, When Will and Reason (Reason also is choice) Useless and vain, of freedom both despoild, Made passive both, had servd necessitie, Not mee. They therefore as to right belongd, So were created, nor can justly accuse Thir maker, or thir making, or thir Fate, As if predestination over-rul'd Thir will, dispos'd by absolute Decree Or high foreknowledge; they themselves decreed Thir own revolt, not I: if I foreknew, Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, Which had no less prov'd certain unforeknown. So without least impulse or shadow of Fate, Or aught by me immutablie foreseen, They trespass, Authors to themselves in all Both what they judge and what they choose; for so I formd them free, and free they must remain, Till they enthrall themselves: I else must change Thir nature, and revoke the high Decree Unchangeable, Eternal, which ordain'd Thir freedom, they themselves ordain'd thir fall. The first sort by thir own suggestion fell, Self-tempted, self-deprav'd: Man falls deceiv'd By the other first: Man therefore shall find grace, The other none: in Mercy and Justice both, Through Heav'n and Earth, so shall my glorie excel, But Mercy first and last shall brightest shine. Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill'd All Heav'n, and in the blessed Spirits elect Sense of new joy ineffable diffus'd: Beyond compare the Son of God was seen Most glorious, in him all his Father shon Substantially express'd, and in his face Divine compassion visibly appeerd, Love without end, and without measure Grace, Which uttering thus he to his Father spake. O Father, gracious was that word which clos'd Thy sovran sentence, that Man should find grace; For which both Heav'n and Earth shall high extoll Thy praises, with th' innumerable sound Of Hymns and sacred Songs, wherewith thy Throne Encompass'd shall resound thee ever blest. For should Man finally be lost, should Man Thy creature late so lov'd, thy youngest Son Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though joynd With his own folly? that be from thee farr, That farr be from thee, Father, who art Judg Of all things made, and judgest onely right. Or shall the Adversarie thus obtain His end, and frustrate thine, shall he fulfill His malice, and thy goodness bring to naught, Or proud return though to his heavier doom, Yet with revenge accomplish't and to Hell Draw after him the whole Race of mankind, By him corrupted? or wilt thou thy self Abolish thy Creation, and unmake, For him, what for thy glorie thou hast made? So should thy goodness and thy greatness both Be questiond and blaspheam'd without defence. To whom the great Creatour thus reply'd. O Son, in whom my Soul hath chief delight, Son of my bosom, Son who art alone My word, my wisdom, and effectual might, All hast thou spok'n as my thoughts are, all As my Eternal purpose hath decreed: Man shall not quite be lost, but sav'd who will, Yet not of will in him, but grace in me Freely voutsaft; once more I will renew His lapsed powers, though forfeit and enthrall'd By sin to foul exorbitant desires; Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand On even ground against his mortal foe, By me upheld, that he may know how frail His fall'n condition is, and to me ow All his deliv'rance, and to none but me. Some I have chosen of peculiar grace Elect above the rest; so is my will: The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warnd Thir sinful state, and to appease betimes Th' incensed Deitie, while offerd grace Invites; for I will cleer thir senses dark, What may sufflce, and soft'n stonie hearts To pray, repent, and bring obedience due. To Prayer, repentance, and obedience due, Though but endevord with sincere intent, Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut. And I will place within them as a guide My Umpire Conscience, whom if they will hear, Light after light well us'd they shall attain, And to the end persisting, safe arrive. This my long sufferance and my day of grace They who neglect and scorn, shall never taste; But hard be hard'nd, blind be blinded more, That they may stumble on, and deeper fall; And none but such from mercy I exclude. But yet all is not don; Man disobeying, Disloyal breaks his fealtie, and sinns Against the high Supremacie of Heav'n, Affecting God-head, and so loosing all, To expiate his Treason hath naught left, But to destruction sacred and devote, He with his whole posteritie must dye, Dye hee or Justice must; unless for him Som other able, and as willing, pay The rigid satisfaction, death for death. Say Heav'nly powers, where shall we find such love, Which of ye will be mortal to redeem Mans mortal crime, and just th' unjust to save, Dwels in all Heaven charitie so deare? He ask'd, but all the Heav'nly Quire stood mute, And silence was in Heav'n: on mans behalf Patron or Intercessor none appeerd, Much less that durst upon his own head draw The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. And now without redemption all mankind Must have bin lost, adjudg'd to Death and Hell By doom severe, had not the Son of God, In whom the fulness dwels of love divine, His dearest mediation thus renewd. Father, thy word is past, man shall find grace; And shall grace not find means, that finds her way, The speediest of thy winged messengers, To visit all thy creatures, and to all Comes unprevented, unimplor'd, unsought, Happie for man, so coming; he her aide Can never seek, once dead in sins and lost; Attonement for himself or offering meet, Indebted and undon, hath none to bring: Behold mee then, mee for him, life for life I offer, on mee let thine anger fall; Account mee man; I for his sake will leave Thy bosom, and this glorie next to thee Freely put off, and for him lastly dye Well pleas'd, on me let Death wreck all his rage; Under his gloomie power I shall not long Lie vanquisht; thou hast givn me to possess Life in my self for ever, by thee I live, Though now to Death I yield, and am his due All that of me can die, yet that debt paid, Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsom grave His prey, nor suffer my unspotted Soule For ever with corruption there to dwell; But I shall rise Victorious, and subdue My vanquisher, spoild of his vanted spoile; Death his deaths wound shall then receive, and stoop Inglorious, of his mortall sting disarm'd. I through the ample Air in Triumph high Shall lead Hell Captive maugre Hell, and show The powers of darkness bound. Thou at the sight Pleas'd, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile, While by thee rais'd I ruin all my Foes, Death last, and with his Carcass glut the Grave: Then with the multitude of my redeemd Shall enter Heaven long absent, and returne, Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud Of anger shall remain, but peace assur'd, And reconcilement; wrauth shall be no more Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire. His words here ended, but his meek aspect Silent yet spake, and breath'd immortal love To mortal men, above which only shon Filial obedience: as a sacrifice Glad to be offer'd, he attends the will Of his great Father. Admiration seis'd All Heav'n, what this might mean, and whither tend Wondring; but soon th' Almighty thus reply'd: O thou in Heav'n and Earth the only peace Found out for mankind under wrauth, O thou My sole complacence! well thou know'st how dear, To me are all my works, nor Man the least Though last created, that for him I spare Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save, By loosing thee a while, the whole Race lost. Thou therefore whom thou only canst redeem, Thir Nature also to thy Nature joyn; And be thy self Man among men on Earth, Made flesh, when time shall be, of Virgin seed, By wondrous birth: Be thou in Adams room The Head of all mankind, though Adams Son. As in him perish all men, so in thee As from a second root shall be restor'd, As many as are restor'd, without thee none. His crime makes guiltie all his Sons, thy merit Imputed shall absolve them who renounce Thir own both righteous and unrighteous deeds, And live in thee transplanted, and from thee Receive new life. So Man, as is most just, Shall satisfie for Man, be judg'd and die, And dying rise, and rising with him raise His Brethren, ransomd with his own dear life. So Heav'nly love shall outdoo Hellish hate Giving to death, and dying to redeeme, So dearly to redeem what Hellish hate So easily destroy'd, and still destroyes In those who, when they may, accept not grace. Nor shalt thou by descending to assume Mans Nature, less'n or degrade thine owne. Because thou hast, though Thron'd in highest bliss Equal to God, and equally enjoying God-like fruition, quitted all to save A World from utter loss, and hast been found By Merit more then Birthright Son of God, Found worthiest to be so by being Good, Farr more then Great or High; because in thee Love hath abounded more then Glory abounds, Therefore thy Humiliation shall exalt With thee thy Manhood also to this Throne; Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt Reign Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man, Anointed universal King, all Power I give thee, reign for ever, and assume Thy Merits; under thee as Head Supream Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions I reduce: All knees to thee shall bow, of them that bide In Heaven, or Earth, or under Earth in Hell; When thou attended gloriously from Heav'n Shalt in the Sky appeer, and from thee send The summoning Arch-Angels to proclaime Thy dread Tribunal: forthwith from all Windes The living, and forthwith the cited dead Of all past Ages to the general Doom Shall hast'n, such a peal shall rouse thir sleep. Then all thy Saints assembl'd, thou shalt judge Bad men and Angels, they arraignd shall sink Beneath thy Sentence; Hell, her numbers full, Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Mean while The World shall burn, and from her ashes spring New Heav'n and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell, And after all thir tribulations long See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With Joy and Love triumphing, and fair Truth. Then thou thy regal Scepter shalt lay by, For regal Scepter then no more shall need, God shall be All in All. But all ye Gods, Adore him, who to compass all this dies, Adore the Son, and honour him as mee. No sooner had th' Almighty ceas't, but all The multitude of Angels with a shout Loud as from numbers without number, sweet As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heav'n rung With Jubilee, and loud Hosanna's filld Th' eternal Regions: lowly reverent Towards either Throne they bow, and to the ground With solemn adoration down they cast Thir Crowns inwove with Amarant and Gold, Immortal Amarant, a Flour which once In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life Began to bloom, but soon for mans offence To Heav'n remov'd where first it grew, there grows, And flours aloft shading the Fount of Life, And where the river of Bliss through midst of Heavn Rowls o're Elisian Flours her Amber stream; With these that never fade the Spirits elect Bind thir resplendent locks inwreath'd with beams, Now in loose Garlands thick thrown off, the bright Pavement that like a Sea of Jasper shon Impurpl'd with Celestial Roses smil'd. Then Crown'd again thir gold'n Harps they took, Harps ever tun'd, that glittering by thir side Like Quivers hung, and with Praeamble sweet Of charming symphonie they introduce Thir sacred Song, and waken raptures high; No voice exempt, no voice but well could joine Melodious part, such concord is in Heav'n. Thee Father first they sung Omnipotent, Immutable, Immortal, Infinite, Eternal King; thee Author of all being, Fountain of Light, thy self invisible Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit'st Thron'd inaccessible, but when thou shad'st The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud Drawn round about thee like a radiant Shrine, Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appeer, Yet dazle Heav'n, that brightest Seraphim Approach not, but with both wings veil thir eyes. Thee next they sang of all Creation first, Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, In whose conspicuous count'nance, without cloud Made visible, th' Almighty Father shines, Whom else no Creature can behold; on thee Impresst the effulgence of his Glorie abides, Transfus'd on thee his ample Spirit rests. Hee Heav'n of Heavens and all the Powers therein By thee created, and by thee threw down Th' aspiring Dominations: thou that day Thy Fathers dreadful Thunder didst not spare, Nor stop thy flaming Chariot wheels, that shook Heav'ns everlasting Frame, while o're the necks Thou drov'st of warring Angels disarraid. Back from pursuit thy Powers with loud acclaime Thee only extoll'd, Son of thy Fathers might, To execute fierce vengeance on his foes, Not so on Man; him through their malice fall'n, Father of Mercie and Grace, thou didst not doome So strictly, but much more to pitie encline: No sooner did thy dear and onely Son Perceive thee purpos'd not to doom frail Man So strictly, but much more to pitie enclin'd, He to appease thy wrauth, and end the strife Of Mercy and justice in thy face discern'd, Regardless of the Bliss wherein hee sat Second to thee, offerd himself to die For mans offence. O unexampl'd love, Love no where to be found less then Divine! Hail Son of God, Saviour of Men, thy Name Shall be the copious matter of my Song Henceforth, and never shall my Harp thy praise Forget, nor from thy Fathers praise disjoine. Thus they in Heav'n, above the starry Sphear, Thir happie hours in joy and hymning spent. Mean while upon the firm opacous Globe Of this round World, whose first convex divides The luminous inferior Orbs, enclos'd From Chaos and th' inroad of Darkness old, Satan alighted walks: a Globe farr off It seem'd, now seems a boundless Continent Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night Starless expos'd, and ever-threatning storms Of Chaos blustring round, inclement skie; Save on that side which from the wall of Heav'n Though distant farr som small reflection gaines Of glimmering air less vext with tempest loud: Here walk'd the Fiend at large in spacious field. As when a Vultur on Imaus bred, Whose snowie ridge the roving Tartar bounds, Dislodging from a Region scarce of prey To gorge the flesh of Lambs or yeanling Kids On Hills where Flocks are fed, flies toward the Springs Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams; But in his way lights on the barren Plaines Of Sericana, where Chineses drive With Sails and Wind thir canie Waggons light: So on this windie Sea of Land, the Fiend Walk'd up and down alone bent on his prey, Alone, for other Creature in this place Living or liveless to be found was none, None yet, but store hereafter from the earth Up hither like Aereal vapours flew Of all things transitorie and vain, when Sin With vanity had filld the works of men: Both all things vain, and all who in vain things Built thir fond hopes of Glorie or lasting fame, Or happiness in this or th' other life; All who have thir reward on Earth, the fruits Of painful Superstition and blind Zeal, Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find Fit retribution, emptie as thir deeds; All th, unaccomplisht works of Natures hand, Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixt, Dissolvd on Earth, fleet hither, and in vain, Till final dissolution, wander here, Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamd; Those argent Fields more likely habitants, Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold Betwixt th' Angelical and Human kinde: Hither of ill-joynd Sons and Daughters born First from the ancient World those Giants came With many a vain exploit, though then renownd: The builders next of Babel on the Plain Of Sennaar, and still with vain designe New Babels, had they wherewithall, would build: Others came single; he who to be deemd A God, leap'd fondly into Aetna flames, Empedocles, and hee who to enjoy Plato's Elysium, leap'd into the Sea, Cleombrotus, and many more too long, Embryo's and Idiots, Eremits and Friers White, Black and Grey, with all thir trumperie. Here Pilgrims roam, that stray'd so farr to seek In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heav'n; And they who to be sure of Paradise Dying put on the weeds of Dominic, Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis'd; They pass the Planets seven, and pass the fixt, And that Crystalline Sphear whose ballance weighs The Trepidation talkt, and that first mov'd; And now Saint Peter at Heav'ns Wicket seems To wait them with his Keys, and now at foot Of Heav'ns ascent they lift thir Feet, when loe A violent cross wind from either Coast Blows them transverse ten thousand Leagues awry Into the devious Air; then might ye see Cowles, Hoods and Habits with thir wearers tost And flutterd into Raggs, then Reliques, Beads, Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls, The sport of Winds: all these upwhirld aloft Fly o're the backside of the World farr off Into a Limbo large and broad, since calld The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown Long after, now unpeopl'd, and untrod; All this dark Globe the Fiend found as he pass'd, And long he wanderd, till at last a gleame Of dawning light turnd thither-ward in haste His travell'd steps; farr distant he descries Ascending by degrees magnificent Up to the wall of Heaven a Structure high, At top whereof, but farr more rich appeerd The work as of a Kingly Palace Gate With Frontispice of Diamond and Gold Imbellisht, thick with sparkling orient Gemmes The Portal shon, inimitable on Earth By Model, or by shading Pencil drawn. The Stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw Angels ascending and descending, bands Of Guardians bright, when he from Esau fled To Padan-Aram in the field of Luz, Dreaming by night under the open Skie, And waking cri'd, This is the Gate of Heav'n. Each Stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood There alwayes, but drawn up to Heav'n somtimes Viewless, and underneath a bright Sea flow'd Of Jasper, or of liquid Pearle, whereon Who after came from Earth, sayling arriv'd, Wafted by Angels, or flew o're the Lake Rapt in a Chariot drawn by fiery Steeds. The Stairs were then let down, whether to dare The Fiend by easie ascent, or aggravate His sad exclusion from the dores of Bliss. Direct against which op'nd from beneath, Just o're the blissful seat of Paradise, A passage down to th' Earth, a passage wide, Wider by farr then that of after-times Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large, Over the Promis'd Land to God so dear, By which, to visit oft those happy Tribes, On high behests his Angels to and fro Pass'd frequent, and his eye with choice regard From Paneas the fount of Jordans flood To Beersaba, where the Holy Land Borders on Aegypt and the Arabian shoare; So wide the op'ning seemd, where bounds were set To darkness, such as bound the Ocean wave. Satan from hence now on the lower stair That scal'd by steps of Gold to Heav'n Gate Looks down with wonder at the sudden view Of all this World at once. As when a Scout Through dark and desart wayes with peril gone All night; at last by break of chearful dawne Obtains the brow of some high-climbing Hill, Which to his eye discovers unaware The goodly prospect of some forein land First-seen, or some renown'd Metropolis With glistering Spires and Pinnacles adornd, Which now the Rising Sun guilds with his beams. Such wonder seis'd, though after Heaven seen, The Spirit maligne, but much more envy seis'd At sight of all this World beheld so faire. Round he surveys, and well might, where he stood So high above the circling Canopie Of Nights extended shade; from Eastern Point Of Libra to the fleecie Starr that bears Andromeda farr off Atlantic Seas Beyond th' Horizon; then from Pole to Pole He views in bredth, and without longer pause Down right into the Worlds first Region throws His flight precipitant, and windes with ease Through the pure marble Air his oblique way Amongst innumerable Starrs, that shon Stars distant, but nigh hand seemd other Worlds, Or other Worlds they seemd, or happy Iles, Like those Hesperian Gardens fam'd of old, Fortunate Fields, and Groves and flourie Vales, Thrice happy Iles, but who dwelt happy there He stayd not to enquire: above them all The golden Sun in splendor likest Heaven Allur'd his eye: Thither his course he bends Through the calm Firmament; but up or downe By center, or eccentric, hard to tell, Or Longitude, where the great Luminarie Alooff the vulgar Constellations thick, That from his Lordly eye keep distance due, Dispenses Light from farr; they as they move Thir Starry dance in numbers that compute Days, months, & years, towards his all-chearing Lamp Turn swift thir various motions, or are turnd By his Magnetic beam, that gently warms The Univers, and to each inward part With gentle penetration, though unseen, Shoots invisible vertue even to the deep: So wondrously was set his Station bright. There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps Astronomer in the Sun's lucent Orbe Through his glaz'd Optic Tube yet never saw. The place he found beyond expression bright, Compar'd with aught on Earth, Medal or Stone; Not all parts like, but all alike informd With radiant light, as glowing Iron with fire; If mettal, part seemd Gold, part Silver cleer; If stone, Carbuncle most or Chrysolite, Rubie or Topaz, to the Twelve that shon In Aarons Brest-plate, and a stone besides Imagind rather oft then elsewhere seen, That stone, or like to that which here below Philosophers in vain so long have sought, In vain, though by thir powerful Art they binde Volatil Hermes, and call up unbound In various shapes old Proteus from the Sea, Draind through a Limbec to his Native forme. What wonder then if fields and regions here Breathe forth Elixir pure, and Rivers run Potable Gold, when with one vertuous touch Th' Arch-chimic Sun so farr from us remote Produces with Terrestrial Humor mixt Here in the dark so many precious things Of colour glorious and effect so rare? Here matter new to gaze the Devil met Undazl'd, farr and wide his eye commands, For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade, But all Sun-shine, as when his Beams at Noon Culminate from th' Aequator, as they now Shot upward still direct, whence no way round Shadow from body opaque can fall, and the Aire, No where so cleer, sharp'nd his visual ray To objects distant farr, whereby he soon Saw within kenn a glorious Angel stand, The same whom John saw also in the Sun: His back was turnd, but not his brightness hid; Of beaming sunnie Raies, a golden tiar Circl'd his Head, nor less his Locks behind Illustrious on his Shoulders fledge with wings Lay waving round; on som great charge imploy'd He seemd, or fixt in cogitation deep. Glad was the Spirit impure as now in hope To find who might direct his wandring flight To Paradise the happie seat of Man, His journies end and our beginning woe. But first he casts to change his proper shape, Which else might work him danger or delay: And now a stripling Cherube he appeers, Not of the prime, yet such as in his face Youth smil'd Celestial, and to every Limb Sutable grace diffus'd, so well he feignd; Under a Coronet his flowing haire In curles on either cheek plaid, wings he wore Of many a colourd plume sprinkl'd with Gold, His habit fit for speed succinct, and held Before his decent steps a Silver wand. He drew not nigh unheard, the Angel bright, Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turnd, Admonisht by his ear, and strait was known Th' Arch-Angel Uriel, one of the seav'n Who in Gods presence, neerest to his Throne Stand ready at command, and are his Eyes That run through all the Heav'ns, or down to th' Earth Bear his swift errands over moist and dry, O're Sea and Land: him Satan thus accostes; Uriel, for thou of those seav'n Spirits that stand In sight of God's high Throne, gloriously bright, The first art wont his great authentic will Interpreter through highest Heav'n to bring, Where all his Sons thy Embassie attend; And here art likeliest by supream decree Like honour to obtain, and as his Eye To visit oft this new Creation round; Unspeakable desire to see, and know All these his wondrous works, but chiefly Man, His chief delight and favour, him for whom All these his works so wondrous he ordaind, Hath brought me from the Quires of Cherubim Alone thus wandring. Brightest Seraph tell In which of all these shining Orbes hath Man His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none, But all these shining Orbes his choice to dwell; That I may find him, and with secret gaze, Or open admiration him behold On whom the great Creator hath bestowd Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces powrd; That both in him and all things, as is meet, The Universal Maker we may praise; Who justly hath drivn out his Rebell Foes To deepest Hell, and to repair that loss Created this new happie Race of Men To serve him better: wise are all his wayes. So spake the false dissembler unperceivd; For neither Man nor Angel can discern Hypocrisie, the onely evil that walks Invisible, except to God alone, By his permissive will, through Heav'n and Earth: And oft though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps At wisdoms Gate, and to simplicitie Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill Where no ill seems: Which now for once beguil'd Uriel, though Regent of the Sun, and held The sharpest sighted Spirit of all in Heav'n; Who to the fraudulent Impostor foule In his uprightness answer thus returnd. Fair Angel, thy desire which tends to know The works of God, thereby to glorifie The great Work-Maister, leads to no excess That reaches blame, but rather merits praise The more it seems excess, that led thee hither From thy Empyreal Mansion thus alone, To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps Contented with report hear onely in heav'n: For wonderful indeed are all his works, Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all Had in remembrance alwayes with delight; But what created mind can comprehend Thir number, or the wisdom infinite That brought them forth, but hid thir causes deep. I saw when at his Word the formless Mass, This worlds material mould, came to a heap: Confusion heard his voice, and wilde uproar Stood rul'd, stood vast infinitude confin'd; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shon, and order from disorder sprung: Swift to thir several Quarters hasted then The cumbrous Elements, Earth, Flood, Aire, Fire, And this Ethereal quintessence of Heav'n Flew upward, spirited with various forms, That rowld orbicular, and turnd to Starrs Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move; Each had his place appointed, each his course, The rest in circuit walles this Universe. Look downward on that Globe whose hither side With light from hence, though but reflected, shines; That place is Earth the seat of Man, that light His day, which else as th' other Hemisphere Night would invade, but there the neighbouring Moon (So call that opposite fair Starr) her aide Timely interposes, and her monthly round Still ending, still renewing, through mid Heav'n; With borrowd light her countenance triform Hence fills and empties to enlighten th' Earth, And in her pale dominion checks the night. That spot to which I point is Paradise, Adams abode, those loftie shades his Bowre. Thy way thou canst not miss, me mine requires. Thus said, he turnd, and Satan bowing low, As to superior Spirits is wont in Heaven, Where honour due and reverence none neglects, Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath, Down from th' Ecliptic, sped with hop'd success, Throws his steep flight in many an Aerie wheele, Nor staid, till on Niphates top he lights.

John Milton

Religion,Christianity,God & the Divine

Paradise Lost: Book  4 (1674 version)

O For that warning voice, which he who saw Th' Apocalyps, heard cry in Heaven aloud, Then when the Dragon, put to second rout, Came furious down to be reveng'd on men, Wo to the inhabitants on Earth! that now, While time was, our first-Parents had bin warnd The coming of thir secret foe, and scap'd Haply so scap'd his mortal snare; for now Satan, now first inflam'd with rage, came down, The Tempter ere th' Accuser of man-kind, To wreck on innocent frail man his loss Of that first Battel, and his flight to Hell: Yet not rejoycing in his speed, though bold, Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast, Begins his dire attempt, which nigh the birth Now rowling, boiles in his tumultuous brest, And like a devillish Engine back recoiles Upon himself; horror and doubt distract His troubl'd thoughts, and from the bottom stirr The Hell within him, for within him Hell He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell One step no more then from himself can fly By change of place: Now conscience wakes despair That slumberd, wakes the bitter memorie Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue. Sometimes towards Eden which now in his view Lay pleasant, his grievd look he fixes sad, Sometimes towards Heav'n and the full-blazing Sun, Which now sat high in his Meridian Towre: Then much revolving, thus in sighs began. O thou that with surpassing Glory crownd, Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God Of this new World; at whose sight all the Starrs Hide thir diminisht heads; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy Spheare; Till Pride and worse Ambition threw me down Warring in Heav'n against Heav'ns matchless King: Ah wherefore! he deservd no such return From me, whom he created what I was In that bright eminence, and with his good Upbraided none; nor was his service hard. What could be less then to afford him praise, The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks, How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me, And wrought but malice; lifted up so high I sdeind subjection, and thought one step higher Would set me highest, and in a moment quit The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome still paying, still to ow; Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd; what burden then? O had his powerful Destiny ordaind Me some inferiour Angel, I had stood Then happie; no unbounded hope had rais'd Ambition. Yet why not? som other Power As great might have aspir'd, and me though mean Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great Fell not, but stand unshak'n, from within Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. Hadst thou the same free Will and Power to stand? Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse, But Heav'ns free Love dealt equally to all? Be then his Love accurst, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay curs'd be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues. Me miserable! which way shall I flie Infinite wrauth, and infinite despaire? Which way I flie is Hell; my self am Hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threatning to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n. O then at last relent: is there no place Left for Repentance, none for Pardon left? None left but by submission; and that word Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd With other promises and other vaunts Then to submit, boasting I could subdue Th' Omnipotent. Ay me, they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vaine, Under what torments inwardly I groane; While they adore me on the Throne of Hell, With Diadem and Scepter high advanc'd The lower still I fall, onely Supream In miserie; such joy Ambition findes. But say I could repent and could obtaine By Act of Grace my former state; how soon Would higth recal high thoughts, how soon unsay What feign'd submission swore: ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void. For never can true reconcilement grow Where wounds of deadly hate have peirc'd so deep: Which would but lead me to a worse relapse And heavier fall: so should I purchase deare Short intermission bought with double smart. This knows my punisher; therefore as farr From granting hee, as I from begging peace: All hope excluded thus, behold in stead Of us out-cast, exil'd, his new delight, Mankind created, and for him this World. So farwel Hope, and with Hope farwel Fear, Farwel Remorse: all Good to me is lost; Evil be thou my Good; by thee at least Divided Empire with Heav'ns King I hold By thee, and more then half perhaps will reigne; As Man ere long, and this new World shall know. Thus while he spake, each passion dimm'd his face Thrice chang'd with pale, ire, envie and despair, Which marrd his borrow'd visage, and betraid Him counterfet, if any eye beheld. For heav'nly mindes from such distempers foule Are ever cleer. Whereof hee soon aware, Each perturbation smooth'd with outward calme, Artificer of fraud; and was the first That practisd falshood under saintly shew, Deep malice to conceale, couch't with revenge: Yet not anough had practisd to deceive Uriel once warnd; whose eye pursu'd him down The way he went, and on th' Assyrian mount Saw him disfigur'd, more then could befall Spirit of happie sort: his gestures fierce He markd and mad demeanour, then alone, As he suppos'd, all unobserv'd, unseen. So on he fares, and to the border comes, Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, Now nearer, Crowns with her enclosure green, As with a rural mound the champain head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairie sides With thicket overgrown, grottesque and wilde, Access deni'd; and over head up grew Insuperable highth of loftiest shade, Cedar, and Pine, and Firr, and branching Palm, A Silvan Scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woodie Theatre Of stateliest view. Yet higher then thir tops The verdurous wall of paradise up sprung: Which to our general Sire gave prospect large Into his neather Empire neighbouring round. And higher then that Wall a circling row Of goodliest Trees loaden with fairest Fruit, Blossoms and Fruits at once of golden hue Appeerd, with gay enameld colours mixt: On which the Sun more glad impress'd his beams Then in fair Evening Cloud, or humid Bow, When God hath showrd the earth; so lovely seemd That Lantskip: And of pure now purer aire Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair: now gentle gales Fanning thir odoriferous wings dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmie spoiles. As when to them who saile Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at Sea North-East windes blow Sabean Odours from the spicie shoare Of Arabie the blest, with such delay Well pleas'd they slack thir course, and many a League Chear'd with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles. So entertaind those odorous sweets the Fiend Who came thir bane, though with them better pleas'd Then Asmodeus with the fishie fume, That drove him, though enamourd, from the Spouse Of Tobits Son, and with a vengeance sent From Media post to Aegypt, there fast bound. Now to th' ascent of that steep savage Hill Satan had journied on, pensive and slow; But further way found none, so thick entwin'd, As one continu'd brake, the undergrowth Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplext All path of Man or Beast that past that way: One Gate there only was, and that look'd East On th' other side: which when th' arch-fellon saw Due entrance he disdaind, and in contempt, At one slight bound high over leap'd all bound Of Hill or highest Wall, and sheer within Lights on his feet. As when a prowling Wolfe, Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, Watching where Shepherds pen thir Flocks at eeve In hurdl'd Cotes amid the field secure, Leaps o're the fence with ease into the Fould:. Or as a Thief bent to unhoord the cash Of some rich Burgher, whose substantial dores, Cross-barrd and bolted fast, fear no assault, In at the window climbs, or o're the tiles; So clomb this first grand Thief into Gods Fould: So since into his Church lewd Hirelings climbe. Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life, The middle Tree and highest there that grew, Sat like a Cormorant; yet not true Life Thereby regaind, but sat devising Death To them who liv'd; nor on the vertue thought Of that life-giving Plant, but only us'd For prospect, what well us'd had bin the pledge Of immortality. So little knows Any, but God alone, to value right The good before him, but perverts best things To worst abuse, or to thir meanest use. Beneath him with new wonder now he views To all delight of human sense expos'd In narrow room Natures whole wealth, yea more, A Heav'n on Earth, for blissful Paradise Of God the Garden was, by him in the East Of Eden planted; Eden stretchd her Line From Auran Eastward to the Royal Towrs Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian Kings, Or where the Sons of Eden long before Dwelt in Telassar: in this pleasant soile His farr more pleasant Garden God ordaind; Out of the fertil ground he caus'd to grow All Trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; And all amid them stood the Tree of Life, High eminent, blooming Ambrosial Fruit Of vegetable Gold; and next to Life Our Death the Tree of knowledge grew fast by, Knowledge of Good bought dear by knowing ill. Southward through Eden went a River large, Nor chang'd his course, but through the shaggie hill Pass'd underneath ingulft, for God had thrown That Mountain as his Garden mould high rais'd Upon the rapid current, which through veins Of porous Earth with kindly thirst up drawn, Rose a fresh Fountain, and with many a rill Waterd the Garden; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the neather Flood, Which from his darksom passage now appeers, And now divided into four main Streams, Runs divers, wandring many a famous Realme And Country whereof here needs no account, But rather to tell how, if Art could tell, How from that Saphire Fount the crisped Brooks, Rowling on Orient Pearl and sands of Gold, With mazie error under pendant shades Ran Nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flours worthy of Paradise which not nice Art In Beds and curious Knots, but Nature boon Powrd forth profuse on Hill and Dale and Plaine, Both where the morning Sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierc't shade lmbround the noontide Bowrs: Thus was this place, A happy rural seat of various view; Groves whose rich Trees wept odorous Gumms and Balme, Others whose fruit burnisht with Golden Rinde Hung amiable, Hesperian Fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste: Betwixt them Lawns, or level Downs, and Flocks Grasing the tender herb, were interpos'd, Or palmie hilloc, or the flourie lap Of som irriguous Valley spred her store, Flours of all hue, and without Thorn the Rose: Another side, umbrageous Grots and Caves Of coole recess, o're which the mantling vine Layes forth her purple Grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; mean while murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, disperst, or in a Lake, That to the fringed Bank with Myrtle crownd, Her chrystal mirror holds, unite thir streams. The Birds thir quire apply; aires, vernal aires, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while Universal Pan Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance Led on th' Eternal Spring. Not that faire field Of Enna, where Proserpin gathering flours Her self a fairer Floure by gloomie Dis Was gatherd, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world; nor that sweet Grove Of Daphne by Orontes, and th' inspir'd Castalian Spring, might with this Paradise Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseian Ile Girt with the River Triton, where old Cham, Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Lybian Jove, Hid Amalthea and her Florid Son Young Bacchus from his Stepdame Rhea's eye; Nor where Abassin Kings thir issue Guard, Mount Amara, though this by som suppos'd True Paradise under the Ethiop Line By Nilus head, enclosd with shining Rock, A whole days journy high, but wide remote From this Assyrian Garden, where the Fiend Saw undelighted all delight, all kind Of living Creatures new to sight and strange: Two of far nobler shape erect and tall, Godlike erect, with native Honour clad In naked Majestie seemd Lords of all, And worthie seemd, for in thir looks Divine The image of thir glorious Maker shon, Truth, wisdome, Sanctitude severe and pure, Severe but in true filial freedom plac't; Whence true autoritie in men; though both Not equal, as thir sex not equal seemd; For contemplation hee and valour formd, For softness shee and sweet attractive Grace, Hee for God only, shee for God in him: His fair large Front and Eye sublime declar'd Absolute rule; and Hyacinthin Locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung Clustring, but not beneath his shoulders broad: Shee as a vail down to the slender waste Her unadorned golden tresses wore Dissheveld, but in wanton ringlets wav'd As the Vine curles her tendrils, which impli'd Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receivd, Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet reluctant amorous delay. Nor those mysterious parts were then conceald, Then was not guiltie shame, dishonest shame Of natures works, honor dishonorable, Sin-bred, how have ye troubl'd all mankind With shews instead, meer shews of seeming pure, And banisht from mans life his happiest life, Simplicitie and spotless innocence. So passd they naked on, nor shund the sight Of God or Angel, for they thought no ill: So hand in hand they passd, the lovliest pair That ever since in loves imbraces met, Adam the goodliest man of men since borne His Sons, the fairest of her Daughters Eve. Under a tuft of shade that on a green Stood whispering soft, by a fresh Fountain side They sat them down, and after no more toil Of thir sweet Gardning labour then suffic'd To recommend coole Zephyr, and made ease More easie, wholsom thirst and appetite More grateful, to thir Supper Fruits they fell, Nectarine Fruits which the compliant boughes Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline On the soft downie Bank damaskt with flours: The savourie pulp they chew, and in the rinde Still as they thirsted scoop the brimming stream; Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles Wanted, nor youthful dalliance as beseems Fair couple, linkt in happie nuptial League, Alone as they. About them frisking playd All Beasts of th' Earth, since wilde, and of all chase In Wood or Wilderness, Forrest or Den; Sporting the Lion rampd, and in his paw Dandl'd the Kid; Bears, Tygers, Ounces, Pards, Gambold before them, th' unwieldy Elephant To make them mirth us'd all his might, and wreathd His Lithe Proboscis; close the Serpent sly Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine His breaded train, and of his fatal guile Gave proof unheeded; others on the grass Coucht, and now fild with pasture gazing sat, Or Bedward ruminating: for the Sun Declin'd was hasting now with prone carreer To th' Ocean Iles, and in th' ascending Scale Of Heav'n the Starrs that usher Evening rose: When Satan still in gaze, as first he stood, Scarce thus at length faild speech recoverd sad. O Hell! what doe mine eyes with grief behold, Into our room of bliss thus high advanc't Creatures of other mould, earth-born perhaps, Not Spirits, yet to heav'nly Spirits bright Little inferior; whom my thoughts pursue With wonder, and could love, so lively shines In them Divine resemblance, and such grace The hand that formd them on thir shape hath pourd. Ah gentle pair, yee little think how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish and deliver ye to woe, More woe, the more your taste is now of joy; Happie, but for so happie ill secur'd Long to continue, and this high seat your Heav'n Ill fenc't for Heav'n to keep out such a foe As now is enterd; yet no purpos'd foe To you whom I could pittie thus forlorne Though I unpittied: League with you I seek, And mutual amitie so streight, so close, That I with you must dwell, or you with me Henceforth; my dwelling haply may not please Like this fair Paradise, your sense, yet such Accept your Makers work; he gave it me, Which I as freely give; Hell shall unfold, To entertain you two, her widest Gates, And send forth all her Kings; there will be room, Not like these narrow limits, to receive ass Your numerous ofspring; if no better place, Thank him who puts me loath to this revenge On you who wrong me not for him who wrongd. And should I at your harmless innocence Melt, as I doe, yet public reason just, Honour and Empire with revenge enlarg'd, By conquering this new World, compels me now To do what else though damnd I should abhorre. So spake the Fiend, and with necessitie, The Tyrants plea, excus'd his devilish deeds. Then from his loftie stand on that high Tree Down he alights among the sportful Herd Of those fourfooted kindes, himself now one, Now other, as thir shape servd best his end Neerer to view his prey, and unespi'd To mark what of thir state he more might learn By word or action markt: about them round A Lion now he stalkes with fierie glare, Then as a Tyger, who by chance hath spi'd In some Purlieu two gentle Fawnes at play, Strait couches close, then rising changes oft His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground Whence rushing he might surest seize them both Grip't in each paw: When Adam first of men To first of women Eve thus moving speech, Turnd him all eare to hear new utterance flow. Sole partner and sole part of all these joyes, Dearer thy self then all; needs must the power That made us, and for us this ample World Be infinitly good, and of his good As liberal and free as infinite, That rais'd us from the dust and plac't us here In all this happiness, who at his hand Have nothing merited, nor can performe Aught whereof hee hath need, hee who requires From us no other service then to keep This one, this easie charge, of all the Trees In Paradise that bear delicious fruit So various, not to taste that onely Tree Of knowledge, planted by the Tree of Life, So neer grows Death to Life, what ere Death is, Som dreadful thing no doubt; for well thou knowst God hath pronounc't it death to taste that Tree, The only sign of our obedience left Among so many signes of power and rule Conferrd upon us, and Dominion giv'n Over all other Creatures that possess Earth, Aire, and Sea. Then let us not think hard One easie prohibition, who enjoy Free leave so large to all things else, and choice Unlimited of manifold delights: But let us ever praise him, and extoll His bountie, following our delightful task To prune these growing Plants, and tend these Flours, Which were it toilsom, yet with thee were sweet. To whom thus Eve repli'd. O thou for whom And from whom I was formd flesh of thy flesh, And without whom am to no end, my Guide And Head, what thou hast said is just and right. For wee to him indeed all praises owe, And daily thanks, I chiefly who enjoy So farr the happier Lot, enjoying thee Praeeminent by so much odds, while thou Like consort to thy self canst no where find. That day I oft remember, when from sleep I first awak't, and found my self repos'd Under a shade of flours, much wondring where And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound Of waters issu'd from a Cave and spread Into a liquid Plain, then stood unmov'd Pure as th' expanse of Heav'n; I thither went With unexperienc't thought, and laid me downe On the green bank, to look into the cleer Smooth Lake, that to me seemd another Skie. As I bent down to look, just opposite, A Shape within the watry gleam appeerd Bending to look on me, I started back, It started back, but pleas'd I soon returnd, Pleas'd it returnd as soon with answering looks Of sympathie and love; there I had fixt Mine eyes till now, and pin'd with vain desire, Had not a voice thus warnd me, What thou seest, What there thou seest fair Creature is thy self, With thee it came and goes: but follow me, And I will bring thee where no shadow staies Thy coming, and thy soft imbraces, hee Whose image thou art, him thou shall enjoy Inseparablie thine, to him shalt beare Multitudes like thy self, and thence be call'd Mother of human Race: what could I doe, But follow strait, invisibly thus led? Till I espi'd thee, fair indeed and tall, Under a Platan, yet methought less faire, Less winning soft, less amiablie milde, Then that smooth watry image; back I turnd, Thou following cryd'st aloud, Return faire Eve, Whom fli'st thou? whom thou fli'st, of him thou art, His flesh, his bone; to give thee being I lent Out of my side to thee, neerest my heart Substantial Life, to have thee by my side Henceforth an individual solace dear; Part of my Soul I seek thee, and thee claim My other half: with that thy gentle hand Seisd mine, I yielded, and from that time see How beauty is excelld by manly grace And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. So spake our general Mother, and with eyes Of conjugal attraction unreprov'd, And meek surrender, half imbracing leand On our first Father, half her swelling Breast Naked met his under the flowing Gold Of her loose tresses hid: he in delight Both of her Beauty and submissive Charms Smil'd with superior Love, as Jupiter On Juno smiles, when he impregns the Clouds That shed May Flowers; and press'd her Matron lip With kisses pure: aside the Devil turnd For envie, yet with jealous leer maligne Ey'd them askance, and to himself thus plaind. Sight hateful, sight tormenting! thus these two Imparadis't in one anothers arms The happier Eden, shall enjoy thir fill Of bliss on bliss, while I to Hell am thrust, Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, Among our other torments not the least, Still unfulfill'd with pain of longing pines; Yet let me not forget what I have gain'd From thir own mouths; all is not theirs it seems: One fatal Tree there stands of Knowledge call'd, Forbidden them to taste: Knowledge forbidd'n? Suspicious, reasonless. Why should thir Lord Envie them that? can it be sin to know, Can it be death? and do they onely stand By Ignorance, is that thir happie state, The proof of thir obedience and thir faith? O fair foundation laid whereon to build Thir ruine! Hence I will excite thir minds With more desire to know, and to reject Envious commands, invented with designe To keep them low whom knowledge might exalt Equal with Gods; aspiring to be such, They taste and die: what likelier can ensue? But first with narrow search I must walk round This Garden, and no corner leave unspi'd; A chance but chance may lead where I may meet Some wandring Spirit of Heav'n, by Fountain side, Or in thick shade retir'd, from him to draw What further would be learnt. Live while ye may, Yet happie pair; enjoy, till I return, Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed. So saying, his proud step he scornful turn'd, But with sly circumspection, and began Through wood, through waste, o're hill, o're dale his roam. Mean while in utmost Longitude, where Heav'n With Earth and Ocean meets, the setting Sun Slowly descended, and with right aspect Against the eastern Gate of Paradise Leveld his eevning Rayes: it was a Rock Of Alablaster, pil'd up to the Clouds, Conspicuous farr, winding with one ascent Accessible from Earth, one entrance high; The rest was craggie cliff, that overhung Still as it rose, impossible to climbe. Betwixt these rockie Pillars Gabriel sat Chief of th' Angelic Guards, awaiting night; About him exercis'd Heroic Games Th' unarmed Youth of Heav'n, but nigh at hand Celestial Armourie, Shields, Helmes, and Speares, Hung high with Diamond flaming, and with Gold. Thither came Uriel, gliding through the Eeven On a Sun beam, swift as a shooting Starr In Autumn thwarts the night, when vapors fir'd Impress the Air, and shews the Mariner From what point of his Compass to beware Impetuous winds: he thus began in haste. Gabriel, to thee thy course by Lot hath giv'n Charge and strict watch that to this happie Place No evil thing approach or enter in; This day at highth of Noon came to my Spheare A Spirit, zealous, as he seem'd, to know More of th' Almighties works, and chiefly Man Gods latest Image: I describ'd his way Bent all on speed, and markt his Aerie Gate; But in the Mount that lies from Eden North, Where he first lighted, soon discernd his looks Alien from Heav'n, with passions foul obscur'd: Mine eye pursu'd him still, but under shade Lost sight of him; one of the banisht crew I fear, hath ventur'd from the deep, to raise New troubles; him thy care must be to find. To whom the winged Warriour thus returnd: Uriel, no wonder if thy perfet sight, Amid the Suns bright circle where thou sitst, See farr and wide: in at this Gate none pass The vigilance here plac't, but such as come Well known from Heav'n; and since Meridian hour No Creature thence: if Spirit of other sort, So minded, have oreleapt these earthie bounds On purpose, hard thou knowst it to exclude Spiritual substance with corporeal barr. But if within the circuit of these walks, In whatsoever shape he lurk, of whom Thou tellst, by morrow dawning I shall know. So promis'd hee, and Uriel to his charge Returnd on that bright beam, whose point now raisd Bore him slope downward to the Sun now fall'n Beneath th' Azores; whither the prime Orb, Incredible how swift, had thither rowl'd Diurnal, or this less volubil Earth By shorter flight to th' East, had left him there Arraying with reflected Purple and Gold The Clouds that on his Western Throne attend: Now came still Eevning on, and Twilight gray Had in her sober Liverie all things clad; Silence accompanied, for Beast and Bird, They to thir grassie Couch, these to thir Nests Were slunk, all but the wakeful Nightingale; She all night long her amorous descant sung; Silence was pleas'd: now glow'd the Firmament With living Saphirs: Hesperus that led The starrie Host, rode brightest, till the Moon Rising in clouded Majestie, at length Apparent Queen unvaild her peerless light, And o're the dark her Silver Mantle threw. When Adam thus to Eve: Fair Consort, th' hour Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest Mind us of like repose, since God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night to men Successive, and the timely dew of sleep Now falling with soft slumbrous weight inclines Our eye-lids; other Creatures all day long Rove idle unimploid, and less need rest; Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed, which declares his Dignitie, And the regard of Heav'n on all his waies; While other Animals unactive range, And of thir doings God takes no account. To morrow ere fresh Morning streak the East With first approach of light, we must be ris'n, And at our pleasant labour, to reform Yon flourie Arbors, yonder Allies green, Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, That mock our scant manuring, and require More hands then ours to lop thir wanton growth: Those Blossoms also, and those dropping Gumms, That lie bestrowne unsightly and unsmooth, Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease; Mean while, as Nature wills, Night bids us rest. To whom thus Eve with perfet beauty adornd. My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst Unargu'd I obey; so God ordains, God is thy Law, thou mine: to know no more Is womans happiest knowledge and her praise. With thee conversing I forget all time, All seasons and thir change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest Birds; pleasant the Sun When first on this delightful Land he spreads His orient Beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flour, Glistring with dew; fragrant the fertil earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful Eevning milde, then silent Night With this her solemn Bird and this fair Moon, And these the Gemms of Heav'n, her starrie train: But neither breath of Morn when she ascends With charm of earliest Birds, nor rising Sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, floure, Glistring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful Eevning mild, nor silent Night With this her solemn Bird, nor walk by Moon, Or glittering Starr-light without thee is sweet. But wherfore all night long shine these, for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes? To whom our general Ancestor repli'd. Daughter of God and Man, accomplisht Eve, Those have thir course to finish, round the Earth, By morrow Eevning, and from Land to Land In order, though to Nations yet unborn, Ministring light prepar'd, they set and rise; Least total darkness should by Night regaine Her old possession, and extinguish life In Nature and all things, which these soft fires Not only enlighten, but with kindly heate Of various influence foment and warme, Temper or nourish, or in part shed down Thir stellar vertue on all kinds that grow On Earth, made hereby apter to receive Perfection from the Suns more potent Ray. These then, though unbeheld in deep of night, Shine not in vain, nor think, though men were none, That heav'n would want spectators, God want praise; Millions of spiritual Creatures walk the Earth Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep:. All these with ceasless praise his works behold Both day and night: how often from the steep Of echoing Hill or Thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to others note Singing thir great Creator: oft in bands While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk With Heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic number joind, thir songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven. Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd On to thir blissful Bower; it was a place Chos'n by the sovran Planter, when he fram'd All things to mans delightful use; the roofe Of thickest covert was inwoven shade Laurel and Mirtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side Acanthus, and each odorous bushie shrub Fenc'd up the verdant wall; each beauteous flour, Iris all hues, Roses, and Gessamin Rear'd high thir flourisht heads between, and wrought Mosaic; underfoot the Violet, Crocus, and Hyacinth with rich inlay Broiderd the ground, more colour'd then with stone Of costliest Emblem: other Creature here Beast, Bird, Insect, or Worm durst enter none; Such was thir awe of Man. In shadie Bower More sacred and sequesterd, though but feignd, Pan or Silvanus never slept, nor Nymph, Nor Faunus haunted. Here in close recess With Flowers, Garlands, and sweet-smelling Herbs Espoused Eve deckt first her nuptial Bed, And heav'nly Quires the Hymenaean sung, What day the genial Angel to our Sire Brought her in naked beauty more adorn'd, More lovely then Pandora, whom the Gods Endowd with all thir gifts, and O too like In sad event, when to the unwiser Son Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnar'd Mankind with her faire looks, to be aveng'd On him who had stole Joves authentic fire. Thus at thir shadie Lodge arriv'd, both stood Both turnd, and under op'n Skie ador'd The God that made both Skie, Air, Earth and Heav'n Which they beheld, the Moons resplendent Globe And starrie Pole: Thou also mad'st the Night, Maker Omnipotent, and thou the Day, Which we in our appointed work imployd Have finisht happie in our mutual help And mutual love, the Crown of all our bliss Ordaind by thee, and this delicious place For us too large, where thy abundance wants Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. But thou hast promis'd from us two a Race To fill the Earth, who shall with us extoll Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep. This said unanimous, and other Rites Observing none, but adoration pure Which God likes best, into thir inmost bowre Handed they went; and eas'd the putting off These troublesom disguises which wee wear, Strait side by side were laid, nor turnd I weene Adam from his fair Spouse, nor Eve the Rites Mysterious of connubial Love refus'd: Whatever Hypocrites austerely talk Of puritie and place and innocence, Defaming as impure what God declares Pure, and commands to som, leaves free to all. Our Maker bids increase, who bids abstain But our destroyer, foe to God and Man? Haile wedded Love, mysterious Law, true source Of human ofspring, sole proprietie, In Paradise of all things common else. By thee adulterous lust was driv'n from men Among the bestial herds to raunge, by thee Founded in Reason, Loyal, just, and Pure, Relations dear, and all the Charities Of Father, Son, and Brother first were known. Farr be it, that I should write thee sin or blame, Or think thee unbefitting holiest place, Perpetual Fountain of Domestic sweets, Whose bed is undefil'd and chaste pronounc't, Present, or past, as Saints and Patriarchs us'd. Here Love his golden shafts imploies, here lights His constant Lamp, and waves his purple wings, Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile Of Harlots, loveless, joyless, unindeard, Casual fruition, nor in Court Amours Mixt Dance, or wanton Mask, or Midnight Bal, Or Serenate, which the starv'd Lover sings To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. These lulld by Nightingales imbraceing slept, And on thir naked limbs the flourie roof Showrd Roses, which the Morn repair'd. Sleep on Blest pair; and O yet happiest if ye seek No happier state, and know to know no more. Now had night measur'd with her shaddowie Cone Half way up Hill this vast Sublunar Vault, And from thir Ivorie Port the Cherubim Forth issuing at th' accustomd hour stood armd To thir night watches in warlike Parade, When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake. Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the South With strictest watch; these other wheel the North, Our circuit meets full West. As flame they part Half wheeling to the Shield, half to the Spear. From these, two strong and suttle Spirits he calld That neer him stood, and gave them thus in charge. Ithuriel and Zephon, with wingd speed Search through this Garden, leave unsearcht no nook, But chiefly where those two fair Creatures Lodge, Now laid perhaps asleep secure of harme. This Eevning from the Sun's decline arriv'd Who tells of som infernal Spirit seen Hitherward bent (who could have thought?) escap'd The barrs of Hell, on errand bad no doubt: Such where ye find, seise fast, and hither bring. So saying, on he led his radiant Files, Daz'ling the Moon; these to the Bower direct In search of whom they sought: him there they found Squat like a Toad, close at the eare of Eve; Assaying by his Devilish art to reach The Organs of her Fancie, and with them forge Illusions as he list, Phantasms and Dreams, Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint Th' animal Spirits that from pure blood arise Like gentle breaths from Rivers pure, thence raise At least distemperd, discontented thoughts, Vaine hopes, vaine aimes, inordinate desires Blown up with high conceits ingendring pride. Him thus intent Ithuriel with his Spear Touch'd lightly; for no falshood can endure Touch of Celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness: up he starts Discoverd and surpriz'd. As when a spark Lights on a heap of nitrous Powder, laid Fit for the Tun som Magazin to store Against a rumord Warr, the Smuttie graine With sudden blaze diffus'd, inflames the Aire: So started up in his own shape the Fiend. Back stept those two faire Angels half amaz'd So sudden to behold the grieslie King; Yet thus, unmovd with fear, accost him soon. Which of those rebell Spirits adjudg'd to Hell Com'st thou, escap'd thy prison, and transform'd, Why satst thou like an enemie in waite Here watching at the head of these that sleep? Know ye not then said Satan, fill'd with scorn, Know ye not mee? ye knew me once no mate For you, there sitting where ye durst not soare; Not to know mee argues your selves unknown, The lowest of your throng; or if ye know, Why ask ye, and superfluous begin Your message, like to end as much in vain? To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn. Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same, Or undiminisht brightness, to be known As when thou stoodst in Heav'n upright and pure; That Glorie then, when thou no more wast good, Departed from thee, and thou resembl'st now Thy sin and place of doom obscure and foule. But come, for thou, be sure, shalt give account To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep This place inviolable, and these from harm. So spake the Cherube, and his grave rebuke Severe in youthful beautie, added grace Invincible: abasht the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Vertue in her shape how lovly, saw, and pin'd His loss; but chiefly to find here observd His lustre visibly impar'd; yet seemd Undaunted. If I must contend, said he, Best with the best, the Sender not the sent, Or all at once; more glorie will be wonn, Or less be lost. Thy fear, said Zephon bold, Will save us trial what the least can doe Single against thee wicked, and thence weak. The Fiend repli'd not, overcome with rage; But like a proud Steed reind, went hautie on, Chaumping his iron curb: to strive or flie He held it vain; awe from above had quelld His heart, not else dismai'd. Now drew they nigh The western Point, where those half-rounding guard just met, and closing stood in squadron joind Awaiting next command. To whom thir Chief Gabriel from the Front thus calld aloud. O friends, I hear the tread of nimble feet Hasting this way, and now by glimps discerne Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade, And with them comes a third of Regal port, But faded splendor wan; who by his gate And fierce demeanour seems the Prince of Hell, Not likely to part hence without contest; Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours. He scarce had ended, when those two approachd And brief related whom they brought, where found, How busied, in what form and posture coucht. To whom with stern regard thus Gabriel spake. Why hast thou, Satan broke the bounds prescrib'd To thy transgressions, and disturbd the charge Of others, who approve not to transgress By thy example, but have power and right To question thy bold entrance on this place; Imploi'd it seems to violate sleep, and those Whose dwelling God hath planted here in bliss? To whom thus Satan, with contemptuous brow. Gabriel, thou hadst in Heav'n th' esteem of wise, And such I held thee; but this question askt Puts me in doubt. Lives ther who loves his pain? Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell, Though thither doomd? Thou wouldst thy self, no doubt, And boldly venture to whatever place Farthest from pain, where thou mightest hope to change Torment with ease, and soonest recompence Dole with delight, which in this place I sought; To thee no reason; who knowst only good, But evil hast not tri'd: and wilt object His will who bound us? let him surer barr His Iron Gates, if he intends our stay In that dark durance: thus much what was askt. The rest is true, they found me where they say; But that implies not violence or harme. Thus he in scorn.The warlike Angel mov'd, Disdainfully half smiling thus repli'd. O loss of one in Heav'n to judge of wise, Since Satan fell, whom follie overthrew, And now returns him from his prison scap't, Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise Or not, who ask what boldness brought him hither Unlicenc't from his bounds in Hell prescrib'd; So wise he judges it to fly from pain However, and to scape his punishment. So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrauth, Which thou incurr'st by flying, meet thy flight Seavenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell, Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain Can equal anger infinite provok't. But wherefore thou alone? wherefore with thee Came not all Hell broke loose? is pain to them Less pain, less to be fled, or thou then they Less hardie to endure? courageous Chief, The first in flight from pain, had'st thou alledg'd To thy deserted host this cause of flight, Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive. To which the Fiend thus answerd frowning stern. Not that I less endure, or shrink from pain, Insulting Angel, well thou knowst I stood Thy fiercest, when in Battel to thy aide Thy blasting volied Thunder made all speed And seconded thy else not dreaded Spear. But still thy words at random, as before, Argue thy inexperience what behooves From hard assaies and ill successes past A faithful Leader, not to hazard all Through wayes of danger by himself untri'd. I therefore, I alone first undertook To wing the desolate Abyss, and spie This new created World, whereof in Hell Fame is not silent, here in hope to find Better abode, and my afflicted Powers To settle here on Earth, or in mid Aire; Though for possession put to try once more What thou and thy gay Legions dare against; Whose easier business were to serve thir Lord High up in Heav'n, with songs to hymne his Throne, And practis'd distances to cringe, not fight. To whom the warriour Angel, soon repli'd. To say and strait unsay, pretending first Wise to flie pain, professing next the Spie, Argues no Leader but a lyar trac't, Satan, and couldst thou faithful add? O name, O sacred name of faithfulness profan'd! Faithful to whom? to thy rebellious crew? Armie of Fiends, fit body to fit head; Was this your discipline and faith ingag'd, Your military obedience, to dissolve Allegeance to th' acknowldg'd Power supream? And thou sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem Patron of liberty, who more then thou Once fawn'd, and cring'd, and servilly ador'd Heav'ns awful Monarch? wherefore but in hope To dispossess him, and thy self to reigne? But mark what I arreede thee now, avant; Flie thither whence thou fledst: if from this houre Within these hallowd limits thou appeer, Back to th' infernal pit I drag thee chaind, And Seale thee so, as henceforth not to scorne The facil gates of hell too slightly barrd. So threatn'd hee, but Satan to no threats Gave heed, but waxing more in rage repli'd. Then when I am thy captive talk of chaines, Proud limitarie Cherube, but ere then Farr heavier load thy self expect to feel From my prevailing arme, though Heavens King Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy Compeers, Us'd to the yoak, draw'st his triumphant wheels In progress through the rode of Heav'n Star-pav'd. While thus he spake, th' Angelic Squadron bright Turnd fierie red, sharpning in mooned hornes Thir Phalanx, and began to hemm him round With ported Spears, as thick as when a field Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends Her bearded Grove of ears, which way the wind Swayes them; the careful Plowman doubting stands Least on the threshing floore his hopeful sheaves Prove chaff. On th' other side Satan allarm'd Collecting all his might dilated stood, Like Teneriff or Atlas unremov'd: His stature reacht the Skie, and on his Crest Sat horror Plum'd; nor wanted in his graspe What seemd both Spear and Shield: now dreadful deeds Might have ensu'd, nor onely Paradise In this commotion, but the Starrie Cope Of Heav'n perhaps, or all the Elements At least had gon to rack, disturbd and torne With violence of this conflict, had not soon Th' Eternal to prevent such horrid fray Hung forth in Heav'n his golden Scales, yet seen Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion signe, Wherein all things created first he weighd, The pendulous round Earth with ballanc't Aire In counterpoise, now ponders all events, Battels and Realms: in these he put two weights The sequel each of parting and of fight; The latter quick up flew, and kickt the beam; Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the Fiend. Satan, I know thy strength, and thou knowst mine, Neither our own but giv'n; what follie then To boast what Arms can doe, since thine no more Then Heav'n permits, nor mine, though doubld now To trample thee as mire: for proof look up, And read thy Lot in yon celestial Sign Where thou art weigh'd, and shown how light, how weak, If thou resist. The Fiend lookt up and knew His mounted scale aloft: nor more; but fled Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night.

John Milton

Religion,Christianity,God & the Divine

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

John Milton

Paradise Lost: Book  6 (1674 version)

ALL night the dreadless Angel unpursu'd Through Heav'ns wide Champain held his way, till Morn, Wak't by the circling Hours, with rosie hand Unbarr'd the gates of Light. There is a Cave Within the Mount of God, fast by his Throne, Where light and darkness in perpetual round Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through Heav'n Grateful vicissitude, like Day and Night; Light issues forth, and at the other dore Obsequious darkness enters, till her houre To veile the Heav'n, though darkness there might well Seem twilight here; and now went forth the Morn Such as in highest Heav'n, arrayd in Gold Empyreal, from before her vanisht Night, Shot through with orient Beams: when all the Plain Coverd with thick embatteld Squadrons bright, Chariots and flaming Armes, and fierie Steeds Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view: Warr he perceav'd, warr in procinct, and found Already known what he for news had thought To have reported: gladly then he mixt Among those friendly Powers who him receav'd With joy and acclamations loud, that one That of so many Myriads fall'n, yet one Returnd not lost: On to the sacred hill They led him high applauded, and present Before the seat supream; from whence a voice From midst a Golden Cloud thus milde was heard. Servant of God, well done, well hast thou fought The better fight, who single hast maintaind Against revolted multitudes the Cause Of Truth, in word mightier then they in Armes; And for the testimonie of Truth hast born Universal reproach, far worse to beare Then violence: for this was all thy care To stand approv'd in sight of God, though Worlds Judg'd thee perverse: the easier conquest now Remains thee, aided by this host of friends, Back on thy foes more glorious to return Then scornd thou didst depart, and to subdue By force, who reason for thir Law refuse, Right reason for thir Law, and for thir King Messiah, who by right of merit Reigns. Go Michael of Celestial Armies Prince, And thou in Military prowess next Gabriel, lead forth to Battel these my Sons Invincible, lead forth my armed Saints By Thousands and by Millions rang'd for fight; Equal in number to that Godless crew Rebellious, them with Fire and hostile Arms Fearless assault, and to the brow of Heav'n Pursuing drive them out from God and bliss, Into thir place of punishment, the Gulf Of Tartarus, which ready opens wide His fiery Chaos to receave thir fall. So spake the Sovran voice, and Clouds began To darken all the Hill, and smoak to rowl In duskie wreathes, reluctant flames, the signe Of wrauth awak't: nor with less dread the loud Ethereal Trumpet from on high gan blow: At which command the Powers Militant, That stood for Heav'n, in mighty Quadrate joyn"d Of Union irresistible, mov'd on In silence thir bright Legions, to the sound Of instrumental Harmonie that breath'd Heroic Ardor to advent'rous deeds Under thir God-like Leaders, in the Cause Of God and his Messiah. On they move Indissolubly firm; nor obvious Hill, Nor streit'ning Vale, nor Wood, nor Stream divides Thir perfet ranks; for high above the ground Thir march was, and the passive Air upbore Thir nimble tread, as when the total kind Of Birds in orderly array on wing Came summond over Eden to receive Thir names of thee; so over many a tract Of Heav'n they march'd, and many a Province wide Tenfold the length of this terrene: at last Farr in th' Horizon to the North appeer'd From skirt to skirt a fierie Region, stretcht In battailous aspect, and neerer view Bristl'd with upright beams innumerable Of rigid Spears, and Helmets throng'd, and Shields Various, with boastful Argument portraid, The banded Powers of Satan hasting on With furious expedition; for they weend That self same day by fight, or by surprize To win the Mount of God, and on his Throne To set the envier of his State, the proud Aspirer, but thir thoughts prov'd fond and vain In the mid way: though strange to us it seemd At first, that Angel should with Angel warr, And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet So oft in Festivals of joy and love Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire Hymning th' Eternal Father: but the shout Of Battel now began, and rushing sound Of onset ended soon each milder thought. High in the midst exalted as a God Th' Apostat in his Sun-bright Chariot sate Idol of Majestie Divine, enclos'd With Flaming Cherubim, and golden Shields; Then lighted from his gorgeous Throne, for now 'Twixt Host and Host but narrow space was left, A dreadful intervall, and Front to Front Presented stood in terrible array Of hideous length: before the cloudie Van, On the rough edge of battel ere it joyn,d, Satan with vast and haughtie strides advanc't, Came towring, armd in Adamant and Gold; Abdiel that sight endur'd not, where he stood Among the mightiest, bent on highest deeds, And thus his own undaunted heart explores. O Heav'n! that such resemblance of the Highest Should yet remain, where faith and realtie Remain not; wherfore should not strength and might There fail where Vertue fails, or weakest prove Where boldest; though to sight unconquerable? His puissance, trusting in th' Almightie's aide, I mean to try, whose Reason I have tri'd Unsound and false; nor is it aught but just, That he who in debate of Truth hath won, Should win in Arms, in both disputes alike Victor; though brutish that contest and foule, When Reason hath to deal with force, yet so Most reason is that Reason overcome. So pondering, and from his armed Peers Forth stepping opposite, half way he met His daring foe, at this prevention more Incens't, and thus securely him defi'd. Proud, art thou met? thy hope was to have reacht The highth of thy aspiring unoppos'd, The Throne of God unguarded, and his side Abandond at the terror of thy Power Or potent tongue; fool, not to think how vain Against th' Omnipotent to rise in Arms; Who out of smallest things could without end Have rais'd incessant Armies to defeat Thy folly; or with solitarie hand Reaching beyond all limit at one blow Unaided could have finisht thee, and whelmd Thy Legions under darkness; but thou seest All are not of thy Train; there be who Faith Prefer, and Pietie to God, though then To thee not visible, when I alone Seemd in thy World erroneous to dissent From all: my Sect thou seest, now learn too late How few somtimes may know, when thousands err. Whom the grand foe with scornful eye askance Thus answerd. Ill for thee, but in wisht houre Of my revenge, first sought for thou returnst From flight, seditious Angel, to receave Thy merited reward, the first assay Of this right hand provok't, since first that tongue Inspir'd with contradiction durst oppose A third part of the Gods, in Synod met Thir Deities to assert, who while they feel Vigour Divine within them, can allow Omnipotence to none. But well thou comst Before thy fellows, ambitious to win From me som Plume, that thy success may show Destruction to the rest: this pause between (Unanswerd least thou boast) to let thee know; At first I thought that Libertie and Heav'n To heav'nly Soules had bin all one; but now I see that most through sloth had rather serve, Ministring Spirits, traind up in Feast and Song; Such hast thou arm'd, the Ministrelsie of Heav'n, Servilitie with freedom to contend, As both thir deeds compar'd this day shall prove. To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern repli'd. Apostat, still thou errst, nor end wilt find Of erring, from the path of truth remote: Unjustly thou deprav'st it with the name Of Servitude to serve whom God ordains, Or Nature; God and Nature bid the same, When he who rules is worthiest, and excells Them whom he governs. This is servitude, To serve th' unwise, or him who hath rebelld Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, Thy self not free, but to thy self enthrall'd; Yet leudly dar'st our ministring upbraid. Reign thou in Hell thy Kingdom, let mee serve In Heav'n God ever blest, and his Divine Behests obey, worthiest to be obey'd, Yet Chains in Hell, not Realms expect: mean while From mee returnd, as erst thou saidst, from flight, This greeting on thy impious Crest receive. So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell On the proud Crest of Satan, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his Shield Such ruin intercept: ten paces huge He back recoild; the tenth on bended knee His massie Spear upstaid; as if on Earth Winds under ground or waters forcing way Sidelong, had push't a Mountain from his seat Half sunk with all his Pines. Amazement seis'd The Rebel Thrones, but greater rage to see Thus foil'd thir mightiest, ours joy filld, and shout, Presage of Victorie and fierce desire Of Battel: whereat Michael bid sound Th' Arch-Angel trumpet; through the vast of Heaven It sounded, and the faithful Armies rung Hosanna to the Highest: nor stood at gaze The adverse Legions, nor less hideous joyn'd The horrid shock: now storming furie rose, And clamour such as heard in Heav'n till now Was never, Arms on Armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord, and the madding Wheeles Of brazen Chariots rag'd; dire was the noise Of conflict; over head the dismal hiss Of fiery Darts in flaming volies flew, And flying vaulted either Host with fire. So under fierie Cope together rush'd Both Battels maine, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage; all Heav'n Resounded, and had Earth bin then, all Earth Had to her Center shook. What wonder? when Millions of fierce encountring Angels fought On either side, the least of whom could weild These Elements, and arm him with the force Of all thir Regions: how much more of Power Armie against Armie numberless to raise Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb, Though not destroy, thir happie Native seat; Had not th' Eternal King Omnipotent From his strong hold of Heav'n high over-rul'd And limited thir might; though numberd such As each divided Legion might have seemd A numerous Host, in strength each armed hand A Legion; led in fight, yet Leader seemd Each Warriour single as in Chief, expert When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway Of Battel, open when, and when to close The ridges of grim Warr; no thought of flight, None of retreat, no unbecoming deed That argu'd fear; each on himself reli'd, As onely in his arm the moment lay Of victorie; deeds of eternal fame Were don, but infinite: for wide was spred That Warr and various; somtimes on firm ground A standing fight, then soaring on main wing Tormented all the Air; all Air seemd then Conflicting Fire: long time in eeven scale The Battel hung; till Satan, who that day Prodigious power had shewn, and met in Armes No equal, raunging through the dire attack Of fighting Seraphim confus'd, at length Saw where the Sword of Michael smote, and fell'd Squadrons at once, with huge two-handed sway Brandisht aloft the horrid edge came down Wide wasting; such destruction to withstand He hasted, and oppos'd the rockie Orb Of tenfold Adamant, his ample Shield A vast circumference: At his approach The great Arch-Angel from his warlike toile Surceas'd, and glad as hoping here to end Intestine War in Heav'n, the arch foe subdu'd Or Captive drag'd in Chains, with hostile frown And visage all enflam'd first thus began. Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, Unnam'd in Heav'n, now plenteous, as thou seest These Acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, Though heaviest by just measure on thy self And thy adherents: how hast thou disturb d Heav'ns blessed peace, and into Nature brought Miserie, uncreated till the crime Of thy Rebellion? how hast thou instill'd Thy malice into thousands, once upright And faithful, now prov'd false. But think not here To trouble Holy Rest; Heav'n casts thee out From all her Confines. Heav'n the seat of bliss Brooks not the works of violence and Warr. Hence then, and evil go with thee along Thy ofspring, to the place of evil, Hell, Thou and thy wicked crew; there mingle broiles, Ere this avenging Sword begin thy doome, Or som more sudden vengeance wing'd from God Precipitate thee with augmented paine. So spake the Prince of Angels; to whom thus The Adversarie. Nor think thou with wind Of airie threats to aw whom yet with deeds Thou canst not. Hast thou turnd the least of these To flight, or if to fall, but that they rise Unvanquisht, easier to transact with mee That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats To chase me hence? erre not that so shall end The strife which thou call'st evil, but wee style The strife of Glorie: which we mean to win, Or turn this Heav'n it self into the Hell Thou fablest, here however to dwell free, If not to reign: mean while thy utmost force, And join him nam'd Almighty to thy aid, I flie not, but have sought thee farr and nigh. They ended parle, and both addrest for fight Unspeakable; for who, though with the tongue Of Angels, can relate, or to what things Liken on Earth conspicuous, that may lift Human imagination to such highth Of Godlike Power: for likest Gods they seemd, Stood they or mov'd, in stature, motion, arms Fit to decide the Empire of great Heav'n. Now wav'd thir fierie Swords, and in the Aire Made horrid Circles; two broad Suns thir Shields Blaz'd opposite, while expectation stood In horror; from each hand with speed retir'd Where erst was thickest fight, th' Angelic throng, And left large field, unsafe within the wind Of such commotion, such as to set forth Great things by small, If Natures concord broke, Among the Constellations warr were sprung, Two Planets rushing from aspect maligne Of fiercest opposition in mid Skie, Should combat, and thir jarring Sphears confound. Together both with next to Almightie Arme, Uplifted imminent one stroke they aim'd That might determine, and not need repeate, As not of power, at once; nor odds appeerd In might or swift prevention; but the sword Of Michael from the Armorie of God Was giv'n him temperd so, that neither keen Nor solid might resist that edge: it met The sword of Satan with steep force to smite Descending, and in half cut sheere, nor staid, But with swift wheele reverse, deep entring shar'd All his right side; then Satan first knew pain, And writh'd him to and fro convolv'd; so sore The griding sword with discontinuous wound Pass'd through him, but th' Ethereal substance clos'd Not long divisible, and from the gash A stream of Nectarous humor issuing flow'd Sanguin, such as Celestial Spirits may bleed, And all his Armour staind ere while so bright. Forthwith on all sides to his aide was run By Angels many and strong, who interpos'd Defence, while others bore him on thir Shields Back to his Chariot; where it stood retir'd From off the files of warr; there they him laid Gnashing for anguish and despite and shame To find himself not matchless, and his pride Humbl'd by such rebuke, so farr beneath His confidence to equal God in power. Yet soon he heal'd; for Spirits that live throughout Vital in every part, not as frail man In Entrailes, Heart or Head, Liver or Reines; Cannot but by annihilating die; Nor in thir liquid texture mortal wound Receive, no more then can the fluid Aire: All Heart they live, all Head, all Eye, all Eare, All Intellect, all Sense, and as they please, They Limb themselves, and colour, shape or size Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare. Mean while in other parts like deeds deservd Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought, And with fierce Ensignes pierc'd the deep array Of Moloc furious King, who him defi'd, And at his Chariot wheeles to drag him bound Threatn'd, nor from the Holie One of Heav'n Refrein'd his tongue blasphemous; but anon Down clov'n to the waste, with shatterd Armes And uncouth paine fled bellowing. On each wing Uriel and Raphael his vaunting foe, Though huge, and in a Rock of Diamond Armd, Vanquish'd Adramelec, and Asmadai, Two potent Thrones, that to be less then Gods Disdain'd, but meaner thoughts learnd in thir flight, Mangl'd with gastly wounds through Plate and Maile, Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy The Atheist crew, but with redoubl'd blow Ariel and Arioc, and the violence Of Ramiel scorcht and blasted overthrew. I might relate of thousands, and thir names Eternize here on Earth; but those elect Angels contented with thir fame in Heav'n Seek not the praise of men: the other sort In might though wondrous and in Acts of Warr, Nor of Renown less eager, yet by doome Canceld from Heav'n and sacred memorie, Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell. For strength from Truth divided and from Just, Illaudable, naught merits but dispraise And ignominie, yet to glorie aspires Vain glorious, and through infamie seeks fame: Therfore Eternal silence be thir doome. And now thir Mightiest quelld, the battel swerv'd, With many an inrode gor'd; deformed rout Enter'd, and foul disorder; all the ground With shiverd armour strow'n, and on a heap Chariot and Charioter lay overturnd And fierie foaming Steeds; what stood, recoyld Orewearied, through the faint Satanic Host Defensive scarse, or with pale fear surpris'd, Then first with fear surpris'd and sense of paine Fled ignominious, to such evil brought By sin of disobedience, till that hour Not liable to fear or flight or paine. Far otherwise th' inviolable Saints In Cubic Phalanx firm advanc't entire, Invulnerable, impenitrably arm'd: Such high advantages thir innocence Gave them above thir foes, not to have sinnd, Not to have disobei'd; in fight they stood Unwearied, unobnoxious to be pain'd By wound, though from thir place by violence mov'd. Now Night her course began, and over Heav'n Inducing darkness, grateful truce impos'd, And silence on the odious dinn of Warr: Under her Cloudie covert both retir'd, Victor and Vanquisht: on the foughten field Michael and his Angels prevalent Encamping, plac'd in Guard thir Watches round, Cherubic waving fires: on th' other part Satan with his rebellious disappeerd, Far in the dark dislodg'd, and void of rest, His Potentates to Councel call'd by night; And in the midst thus undismai'd began. O now in danger tri'd, now known in Armes Not to be overpowerd, Companions deare, Found worthy not of Libertie alone, Too mean pretense, but what we more affect, Honour, Dominion, Glorie, and renowne, Who have sustaind one day in doubtful fight (And if one day, why not Eternal dayes?) What Heavens Lord had powerfullest to send Against us from about his Throne, and judg'd Sufficient to subdue us to his will, But proves not so: then fallible, it seems, Of future we may deem him, though till now Omniscient thought. True is, less firmly arm'd, Some disadvantage we endur'd and paine, Till now not known, but known as soon contemnd, Since now we find this our Empyreal form Incapable of mortal injurie Imperishable, and though peirc'd with wound, Soon closing, and by native vigour heal'd. Of evil then so small as easie think The remedie; perhaps more valid Armes, Weapons more violent, when next we meet, May serve to better us, and worse our foes, Or equal what between us made the odds, In Nature none: if other hidden cause Left them Superiour, while we can preserve Unhurt our mindes, and understanding sound, Due search and consultation will disclose. He sat; and in th' assembly next upstood Nisroc of Principalities the prime; As one he stood escap't from cruel fight, Sore toild, his riv'n Armes to havoc hewn, And cIoudie in aspect thus answering spake. Deliverer from new Lords, leader to free Enjoyment of our right as Gods; yet hard For Gods, and too unequal work we find Against unequal armes to fight in paine, Against unpaind, impassive; from which evil Ruin must needs ensue; for what availes Valour or strength, though matchless, quelld with pain Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands Of Mightiest. Sense of pleasure we may well Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, But live content, which is the calmest life: But pain is perfet miserie, the worst Of evils, and excessive, overturnes All patience. He who therefore can invent With what more forcible we may offend Our yet unwounded Enemies, or arme Our selves with like defence, to me deserves No less then for deliverance what we owe. Whereto with look compos'd Satan repli'd. Not uninvented that, which thou aright Believst so main to our success, I bring; Which of us who beholds the bright surface Of this Ethereous mould whereon we stand, This continent of spacious Heav'n, adornd With Plant, Fruit, Flour Ambrosial, Gemms & Gold, Whose Eye so superficially surveyes These things, as not to mind from whence they grow Deep under ground, materials dark and crude, Of spiritous and fierie spume, till toucht With Heav'ns ray, and temperd they shoot forth So beauteous, op'ning to the ambient light. These in thir dark Nativitie the Deep Shall yield us pregnant with infernal flame, Which into hallow Engins long and round Thick-rammd, at th' other bore with touch of fire Dilated and infuriate shall send forth From far with thundring noise among our foes Such implements of mischief as shall dash To pieces, and orewhelm whatever stands Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmd The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt. Nor long shall be our labour, yet ere dawne, Effect shall end our wish. Mean while revive; Abandon fear; to strength and counsel joind Think nothing hard, much less to be despaird. He ended, and his words thir drooping chere Enlightn'd, and thir languisht hope reviv'd. Th' invention all admir'd, and each, how hee To be th' inventer miss'd, so easie it seemd Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought Impossible: yet haply of thy Race In future dayes, if Malice should aboun, Some one intent on mischief, or inspir'd With dev'lish machination might devise Like instrument to plague the Sons of men For sin, on warr and mutual slaughter bent. Forthwith from Councel to the work they flew, None arguing stood, innumerable hands Were ready, in a moment up they turnd Wide the Celestial soile, and saw beneath Th' originals of Nature in thir crude Conception; Sulphurous and Nitrous Foame They found, they mingl'd, and with suttle Art, Concocted and adusted they reduc'd To blackest grain, and into store convey'd: Part hidd'n veins diggd up (nor hath this Earth Entrails unlike) of Mineral and Stone, Whereof to found thir Engins and thir Balls Of missive ruin; part incentive reed Provide, pernicious with one touch to fire. So all ere day-spring, under conscious Night Secret they finish'd, and in order set, With silent circumspection unespi'd. Now when fair Morn Orient in Heav'n appeerd Up rose the Victor Angels, and to Arms The matin Trumpet Sung: in Arms they stood Of Golden Panoplie, refulgent Host, Soon banded; others from the dawning Hills Lookd round, and Scouts each Coast light-armed scoure, Each quarter, to descrie the distant foe, Where lodg'd, or whither fled, or if for fight, In motion or in alt: him soon they met Under spred Ensignes moving nigh, in slow But firm Battalion; back with speediest Sail Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing, Came flying, and in mid Aire aloud thus cri'd. Arme, Warriours, Arme for fight, the foe at hand, Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit This day, fear not his flight; so thick a Cloud He comes, and settl'd in his face I see Sad resolution and secure: let each His Adamantine coat gird well, and each Fit well his Helme, gripe fast his orbed Shield, Born eevn or high, for this day will pour down, If I conjecture aught, no drizling showr, But ratling storm of Arrows barbd with fire. So warnd he them aware themselves, and soon In order, quit of all impediment; Instant without disturb they took Allarm, And onward move Embattelld; when behold Not distant far with heavie pace the Foe Approaching gross and huge; in hollow Cube Training his devilish Enginrie, impal'd On every side with shaddowing Squadrons Deep, To hide the fraud. At interview both stood A while, but suddenly at head appeerd Satan: And thus was heard Commanding loud. Vanguard, to Right and Left the Front unfould; That all may see who hate us, how we seek Peace and composure, and with open brest Stand readie to receive them, if they like Our overture, and turn not back perverse; But that I doubt, however witness Heaven, Heav'n witness thou anon, while we discharge Freely our part; yee who appointed stand Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch What we propound, and loud that all may hear. So scoffing in ambiguous words, he scarce Had ended; when to Right and Left the Front Divided, and to either Flank retir'd. Which to our eyes discoverd new and strange, A triple mounted row of Pillars laid On Wheels (for like to Pillars most they seem'd Or hollow'd bodies made of Oak or Firr With branches lopt, in Wood or Mountain fell'd) Brass, Iron, Stonie mould, had not thir mouthes With hideous orifice gap't on us wide, Portending hollow truce; at each behind A Seraph stood, and in his hand a Reed Stood waving tipt with fire; while we suspense, Collected stood within our thoughts amus'd, Not long, for sudden all at once thir Reeds Put forth, and to a narrow vent appli'd With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame, But soon obscur'd with smoak, all Heav'n appeerd, From those deep throated Engins belcht, whose roar Emboweld with outragious noise the Air, And all her entrails tore, disgorging foule Thir devilish glut, chaind Thunderbolts and Hail Of Iron Globes, which on the Victor Host Level'd, with such impetuous furie smote, That whom they hit, none on thir feet might stand, Though standing else as Rocks, but down they fell By thousands, Angel on Arch-Angel rowl'd; The sooner for thir Arms, unarm'd they might Have easily as Spirits evaded swift By quick contraction or remove; but now Foule dissipation follow'd and forc't rout; Nor serv'd it to relax thir serried files. What should they do? if on they rusht, repulse Repeated, and indecent overthrow Doubl'd, would render them yet more despis'd, And to thir foes a laughter; for in view Stood rankt of Seraphim another row In posture to displode thir second tire Of Thunder: back defeated to return They worse abhorr'd. Satan beheld thir plight, And to his Mates thus in derision call'd. O Friends, why come not on these Victors proud? Ere while they fierce were coming, and when wee, To entertain them fair with open Front And Brest, (what could we more?) propounded terms Of composition, strait they chang'd thir minds, Flew off, and into strange vagaries fell, As they would dance, yet for a dance they seemd Somwhat extravagant and wilde, perhaps For joy of offerd peace: but I suppose If our proposals once again were heard We should compel them to a quick result. To whom thus Belial in like gamesom mood, Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight, Of hard contents, and full of force urg'd home, Such as we might perceive amus'd them all, And stumbl'd many, who receives them right, Had need from head to foot well understand; Not understood, this gift they have besides, They shew us when our foes walk not upright. So they among themselves in pleasant veine Stood scoffing, highthn'd in thir thoughts beyond All doubt of Victorie, eternal might To match with thir inventions they presum'd So easie, and of his Thunder made a scorn, And all his Host derided, while they stood A while in trouble; but they stood not long, Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose. Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power Which God hath in his mighty Angels plac'd) Thir Arms away they threw, and to the Hills (For Earth hath this variety from Heav'n Of pleasure situate in Hill and Dale) Light as the Lightning glimps they ran, they flew, From thir foundations loosning to and fro They pluckt the seated Hills with all thir load, Rocks, Waters, Woods, and by the shaggie tops Up lifting bore them in thir hands: Amaze, Be sure, and terrour seis'd the rebel Host, When coming towards them so dread they saw The bottom of the Mountains upward turn'd, Till on those cursed Engins triple-row They saw them whelm'd, and all thir confidence Under the weight of Mountains buried deep, Themselves invaded next, and on thir heads Main Promontories flung, which in the Air Came shadowing, and opprest whole Legions arm'd, Thir armor help'd thir harm, crush't in and bruis'd Into thir substance pent, which wrought them pain Implacable, and many a dolorous groan, Long strugling underneath, ere they could wind Out of such prison, though Spirits of purest light, Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown. The rest in imitation to like Armes Betook them, and the neighbouring Hills uptore; So Hills amid the Air encounterd Hills Hurl'd to and fro with jaculation dire That under ground, they fought in dismal shade; Infernal noise; Warr seem'd a civil Game To this uproar; horrid confusion heapt Upon confusion rose: and now all Heav'n Had gon to wrack, with ruin overspred, Had not th' Almightie Father where he sits Shrin'd in his Sanctuarie of Heav'n secure, Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen This tumult, and permitted all, advis'd: That his great purpose he might so fulfill, To honour his Anointed Son aveng'd Upon his enemies, and to declare All power on him transferr'd: whence to his Son Th' Assessor of his Throne he thus began. Effulgence of my Glorie, Son belov'd, Son in whose face invisible is beheld Visibly, what by Deitie I am, And in whose hand what by Decree I doe, Second Omnipotence, two dayes are past, Two dayes, as we compute the dayes of Heav'n, Since Michael and his Powers went forth to tame These disobedient; sore hath been thir fight, As likeliest was, when two such Foes met arm'd; For to themselves I left them, and thou knowst, Equal in their Creation they were form'd, Save what sin hath impaird, which yet hath wrought Insensibly, for I suspend thir doom; Whence in perpetual fight they needs must last Endless, and no solution will be found: Warr wearied hath perform'd what Warr can do, And to disorder'd rage let loose the reines, With Mountains as with Weapons arm'd, which makes Wild work in Heav'n, and dangerous to the maine. Two dayes are therefore past, the third is thine; For thee I have ordain'd it, and thus farr Have sufferd, that the Glorie may be thine Of ending this great Warr, since none but Thou Can end it. Into thee such Vertue and Grace Immense I have transfus'd, that all may know In Heav'n and Hell thy Power above compare, And this perverse Commotion governd thus, To manifest thee worthiest to be Heir Of all things, to be Heir and to be King By Sacred Unction, thy deserved right. Go then thou Mightiest in thy Fathers might, Ascend my Chariot, guide the rapid Wheeles That shake Heav'ns basis, bring forth all my Warr, My Bow and Thunder, my Almightie Arms Gird on, and Sword upon thy puissant Thigh; Pursue these sons of Darkness, drive them out From all Heav'ns bounds into the utter Deep: There let them learn, as likes them, to despise God and Messiah his anointed King. He said, and on his Son with Rayes direct Shon full, he all his Father full expresst Ineffably into his face receiv'd, And thus the filial Godhead answering spake. O Father, O Supream of heav'nly Thrones, First, Highest, Holiest, Best, thou alwayes seekst To glorifie thy Son, I alwayes thee, As is most just; this I my Glorie account, My exaltation, and my whole delight, That thou in me well pleas'd, declarst thy will Fulfill'd, which to fulfil is all my bliss. Scepter and Power, thy giving, I assume, And gladlier shall resign, when in the end Thou shalt be All in All, and I in thee For ever, and in mee all whom thou lov'st: But whom thou hat'st, I hate, and can put on Thy terrors, as I put thy mildness on, Image of thee in all things; and shall soon, Armd with thy might, rid heav'n of these rebell'd, To thir prepar'd ill Mansion driven down To chains of darkness, and th' undying Worm, That from thy just obedience could revolt, Whom to obey is happiness entire. Then shall thy Saints unmixt, and from th' impure Farr separate, circling thy holy Mount Unfained Halleluiahs to thee sing, Hymns of high praise, and I among them chief. So said, he o're his Scepter bowing, rose From the right hand of Glorie where he sate, And the third sacred Morn began to shine Dawning through Heav'n: forth rush'd with whirlwind sound The Chariot of Paternal Deitie, Flashing thick flames, Wheele within Wheele undrawn, It self instinct with Spirit, but convoyd By four Cherubic shapes, four Faces each Had wondrous, as with Starrs thir bodies all And Wings were set with Eyes, with Eyes the wheels Of Beril, and careering Fires between; Over thir heads a chrystal Firmament, Whereon a Saphir Throne, inlaid with pure Amber, and colours of the showrie Arch. Hee in Celestial Panoplie all armd Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought, Ascended, at his right hand Victorie Sate Eagle-wing'd, beside him hung his Bow And Quiver with three-bolted Thunder stor'd, And from about him fierce Effusion rowld Of smoak and bickering flame, and sparkles dire; Attended with ten thousand thousand Saints, He onward came, farr off his coming shon, And twentie thousand (I thir number heard) Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen: Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime On the Chrystallin Skie, in Saphir Thron'd. Illustrious farr and wide, but by his own First seen, them unexpected joy surpriz'd, When the great Ensign of Messiah blaz'd Aloft by Angels born, his Sign in Heav'n: Under whose conduct Michael soon reduc'd His Armie, circumfus'd on either Wing, Under thir Head imbodied all in one. Before him Power Divine his way prepar'd; At his command the uprooted Hills retir'd Each to his place, they heard his voice and went Obsequious, Heav'n his wonted face renewd, And with fresh Flourets Hill and Valley smil'd. This saw his hapless Foes but stood obdur'd, And to rebellious fight rallied thir Powers Insensate, hope conceiving from despair. In heav'nly Spirits could such perverseness dwell? But to convince the proud what Signs availe, Or Wonders move th' obdurate to relent? They hard'nd more by what might most reclame, Grieving to see his Glorie, at the sight Took envie, and aspiring to his highth, Stood reimbattell'd fierce, by force or fraud Weening to prosper, and at length prevaile Against God and Messiah, or to fall In universal ruin last, and now To final Battel drew, disdaining flight, Or faint retreat; when the great Son of God To all his Host on either hand thus spake. Stand still in bright array ye Saints, here stand Ye Angels arm'd, this day from Battel rest; Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God Accepted, fearless in his righteous Cause, And as ye have receivd, so have ye don Invincibly; but of this cursed crew The punishment to other hand belongs, Vengeance is his, or whose he sole appoints; Number to this dayes work is not ordain'd Nor multitude, stand onely and behold Gods indignation on these Godless pourd By mee, not you but mee they have despis'd, Yet envied; against mee is all thir rage, Because the Father, t' whom in Heav'n supream Kingdom and Power and Glorie appertains, Hath honourd me according to his will. Therefore to mee thir doom he hath assig'n'd; That they may have thir wish, to trie with mee In Battel which the stronger proves, they all, Or I alone against them, since by strength They measure all, of other excellence Not emulous, nor care who them excells; Nor other strife with them do I voutsafe. So spake the Son, and into terrour chang'd His count'nance too severe to be beheld And full of wrauth bent on his Enemies. At once the Four spred out thir Starrie wings With dreadful shade contiguous, and the Orbes Of his fierce Chariot rowld, as with the sound Of torrent Floods, or of a numerous Host. Hee on his impious Foes right onward drove, Gloomie as Night; under his burning Wheeles The stedfast Empyrean shook throughout, All but the Throne it self of God. Full soon Among them he arriv'd; in his right hand Grasping ten thousand Thunders, which he sent Before him, such as in thir Soules infix'd Plagues; they astonisht all resistance lost, All courage; down thir idle weapons drop'd; O're Shields and Helmes, and helmed heads he rode Of Thrones and mighty Seraphim prostrate, That wisht the Mountains now might be again Thrown on them as a shelter from his ire. Nor less on either side tempestuous fell His arrows, from the fourfold-visag'd Foure, Distinct with eyes, and from the living Wheels Distinct alike with multitude of eyes, One Spirit in them rul'd, and every eye Glar'd lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire Among th' accurst, that witherd all thir strength, And of thir wonted vigour left them draind, Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fall'n. Yet half his strength he put not forth, but check'd His Thunder in mid Volie, for he meant Not to destroy, but root them out of Heav'n: The overthrown he rais'd, and as a Heard Of Goats or timerous flock together throngd Drove them before him Thunder-struck, pursu'd With terrors and with furies to the bounds And Chrystal wall of Heav'n, which op'ning wide, Rowld inward, and a spacious Gap disclos'd Into the wastful Deep; the monstrous sight Strook them with horror backward, but far worse Urg'd them behind; headlong themselves they threw Down from the verge of Heav'n, Eternal wrauth Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. Hell heard th' unsufferable noise, Hell saw Heav'n ruining from Heav'n and would have fled Affrighted; but strict Fate had cast too deep Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. Nine dayes they fell; confounded Chaos roard, And felt tenfold confusion in thir fall Through his wilde Anarchie, so huge a rout Incumberd him with ruin: Hell at last Yawning receavd them whole, and on them clos'd, Hell thir fit habitation fraught with fire Unquenchable, the house of woe and paine. Disburd'nd Heav'n rejoic'd, and soon repaird Her mural breach, returning whence it rowld. Sole Victor from th' expulsion of his Foes Messiah his triumphal Chariot turnd: To meet him all his Saints, who silent stood Eye witnesses of his Almightie Acts, With Jubilie advanc'd; and as they went, Shaded with branching Palme, each order bright, Sung Triumph, and him sung Victorious King, Son, Heir, and Lord, to him Dominion giv'n, Worthiest to Reign: he celebrated rode Triumphant through mid Heav'n, into the Courts And Temple of his migihtie Father Thron'd On high: who into Glorie him receav'd, Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. Thus measuring things in Heav'n by things on Earth At thy request, and that thou maist beware By what is past, to thee I have reveal'd What might have else to human Race bin hid; The discord which befel, and Warr in Heav'n Among th' Angelic Powers, and the deep fall Of those too high aspiring, who rebelld With Satan, hee who envies now thy state, Who now is plotting how he may seduce Thee also from obedience, that with him Bereavd of happiness thou maist partake His punishment, Eternal miserie; Which would be all his solace and revenge, As a despite don against the most High, Thee once to gaine Companion of his woe. But list'n not to his Temptations, warne Thy weaker; let it profit thee to have heard By terrible Example the reward Of disobedience; firm they might have stood, Yet fell; remember, and fear to transgress.

John Milton

Religion,Christianity,God & the Divine

Paradise Lost: Book  8 (1674 version)

THE Angel ended, and in Adams Eare So Charming left his voice, that he a while Thought him still speaking, still stood fixt to hear; Then as new wak't thus gratefully repli'd. What thanks sufficient, or what recompence Equal have I to render thee, Divine Hystorian, who thus largely hast allayd The thirst I had of knowledge, and voutsaf't This friendly condescention to relate Things else by me unsearchable, now heard With wonder, but delight, and, as is due, With glorie attributed to the high Creator; something yet of doubt remaines, Which onely thy solution can resolve. When I behold this goodly Frame, this World Of Heav'n and Earth consisting, and compute, Thir magnitudes, this Earth a spot, a graine, An Atom, with the Firmament compar'd And all her numberd Starrs, that seem to rowle Spaces incomprehensible (for such Thir distance argues and thir swift return Diurnal) meerly to officiate light Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot, One day and night; in all thir vast survey Useless besides, reasoning I oft admire, 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 appeers, and on thir Orbs impose Such restless revolution day by day Repeated, while the sedentarie Earth, That better might with farr less compass move, Serv'd by more noble then her self, attaines Her end without least motion, and receaves, As Tribute such a sumless journey brought Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light; Speed, to describe whose swiftness Number failes. So spake our Sire, and by his count'nance seemd Entring on studious thoughts abstruse, which Eve Perceaving where she sat retir'd 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 Flours, To visit how they prosper'd, bud and bloom, Her Nurserie; they at her coming sprung And toucht by her fair tendance gladlier grew. Yet went she not, as not with such discourse Delighted, or not capable her eare Of what was high: such pleasure she reserv'd, Adam relating, she sole Auditress; Her Husband the Relater she preferr'd Before the Angel, and of him to ask Chose rather; hee, she knew would intermix Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute With conjugal Caresses, from his Lip Not Words alone pleas'd her. O when meet now Such pairs, in Love and mutual Honour joyn'd? With Goddess-like demeanour forth she went; Not unattended, for on her as Queen 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 propos'd Benevolent and facil thus repli'd. To ask or search I blame thee not, for Heav'n Is as the Book of God before thee set, Wherein to read his wondrous Works, and learne His Seasons, Hours, or Dayes, or Months, or Yeares: This to attain, whether Heav'n move or Earth, Imports not, if thou reck'n right, the rest From Man or Angel the great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge His secrets to be scann'd by them who ought Rather admire; or if they list to try Conjecture, he his Fabric of the Heav'ns Hath left to thir disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at thir quaint Opinions wide Hereafter, when they come to model Heav'n And calculate the Starrs, how they will weild The mightie frame, how build, unbuild, contrive To save appeerances, how gird the Sphear With Centric and Eccentric scribl'd o're, Cycle and Epicycle, Orb in Orb: Alreadie by thy reasoning this I guess, Who art to lead thy ofspring, and supposest That bodies bright and greater should not serve The less not bright, nor Heav'n such journies run, Earth sitting still, when she alone receaves The benefit: consider first, that Great Or Bright inferrs not Excellence: the Earth Though, in comparison of Heav'n, so small, Nor glistering, may of solid good containe More plenty then the Sun that barren shines Whose vertue on it self workes no effect, But in the fruitful Earth; there first receavd His beams, unactive else, thir vigour find. Yet not to Earth are those bright Luminaries Officious, but to thee Earths habitant. And for the Heav'ns wide Circuit, let it speak The Makers high magnificence, who built So spacious, and his Line stretcht out so farr; That Man may know he dwells not in his own; An Edifice too large for him to fill, Lodg'd in a small partition, and the rest Ordain'd for uses to his Lord best known. The swiftness of those Circles attribute Though numberless, to his Omnipotence, That to corporeal substances could adde Speed almost Spiritual; mee thou thinkst not slow, Who since the Morning hour set out from Heav'n Where God resides, and ere mid-day arriv'd In Eden, distance inexpressible By Numbers that have name. But this I urge, Admitting Motion in the Heav'ns, to shew Invalid that which thee to doubt it mov'd; Not that I so affirm, though so it seem To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth. God to remove his wayes from human sense, Plac'd Heav'n from Earth so farr, that earthly sight, If it presume, might erre in things too high, And no advantage gaine. What if the Sun Be Center to the World, and other Starrs By his attractive vertue and thir own Incited, dance about him various rounds? Thir wandring course now high, now low, then hid, Progressive, retrograde, or standing still, In six thou seest, and what if sev'nth to these The Planet Earth, so stedfast though she seem, Insensibly three different Motions move? Which else to several Sphears thou must ascribe, Mov'd contrarie with thwart obliquities, Or save the Sun his labour, and that swift Nocturnal and Diurnal rhomb suppos'd, Invisible else above all Starrs, the Wheele Of Day and Night; which needs not thy beleefe, If Earth industrious of her self fetch Day Travelling East, and with her part averse From the Suns beam meet Night, her other part Still luminous by his ray. What if that light Sent from her through the wide transpicuous aire, To the terrestrial Moon be as a Starr Enlightning her by Day, as she by Night This Earth? reciprocal, if Land be there, Feilds and Inhabitants: Her spots thou seest As Clouds, and Clouds may rain, and Rain produce Fruits in her soft'nd Soile, for some to eate Allotted there; and other Suns perhaps With thir attendant Moons thou wilt descrie Communicating Male and Femal Light, Which two great Sexes animate the World, Stor'd in each Orb perhaps with some that live. For such vast room in Nature unpossest By living Soule, desert and desolate, Onely to shine, yet scarce to contribute Each Orb a glimps of Light, conveyd so farr Down to this habitable, which returnes Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. But whether thus these things, or whether not, Whether the Sun predominant in Heav'n Rise on the Earth, or Earth rise on the Sun Hee from the East his flaming rode begin, Or Shee from West her silent course advance With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps On her soft Axle, while she paces Eev'n, And beares thee soft with the smooth Air along, Sollicit not thy thoughts with matters hid, Leave them to God above, him serve and feare; Of other Creatures, as him pleases best, Wherever plac't, let him dispose: joy thou In what he gives to thee, this Paradise And thy faire Eve; Heav'n is for thee too high To know what passes there; be lowlie wise:. Think onely what concernes thee and thy being; Dream not of other Worlds, what Creatures there Live, in what state, condition or degree, Contented that thus farr hath been reveal'd Not of Earth onely but of highest Heav'n. To whom thus Adam cleerd of doubt, repli'd. How fully hast thou satisfi'd mee, pure Intelligence of Heav'n, 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 farr off all anxious cares, And not molest us, unless we our selves Seek them with wandring thoughts, and notions vain. But apt the Mind or Fancie is to roave Uncheckt, and of her roaving is no end; Till warn'd, or by experience taught, she learne, That not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and suttle, 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, And renders us in things that most concerne Unpractis'd, unprepar'd, 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 Of somthing not unseasonable to ask By sufferance, and thy wonted favour deign'd. Thee I have heard relating what was don Ere my remembrance: now hear mee relate My Storie, which perhaps thou hast not heard; And Day is yet not spent; till then thou seest How suttly to detaine 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 Heav'n, And sweeter thy discourse is to my eare Then Fruits of Palm-tree pleasantest to thirst And hunger both, from labour, at the houre Of sweet repast; they satiate, and soon fill, Though pleasant, but thy words with Grace Divine Imbu'd, bring to thir sweetness no satietie. To whom thus Raphael answer'd heav'nly meek. Nor are thy lips ungraceful, Sire of men, Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee Abundantly his gifts hath also pour'd Inward and outward both, his image faire: Speaking or mute all comliness and grace Attends thee, and each word, each motion formes, Nor less think wee in Heav'n of thee on Earth Then of our fellow servant, and inquire Gladly into the wayes of God with Man: For God we see hath honour'd 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, Farr on excursion toward the Gates of Hell; Squar'd in full Legion (such command we had) To see that none thence issu'd forth a spie, Or enemie, while God was in his work, Least hee incenst at such eruption bold, Destruction with Creation might have mixt. Not that they durst without his leave attempt, But us he sends upon his high behests For state, as Sovran King, and to enure Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut The dismal Gates, and barricado'd strong; But long ere our approaching heard within Noise, other then the sound of Dance or Song, Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage. Glad we return'd up to the coasts of Light Ere Sabbath Eev'ning: so we had in charge. But thy relation now; for I attend, Pleas'd with thy words no less then thou with mine. So spake the Godlike Power, and thus our Sire. For Man to tell how human Life began Is hard; for who himself beginning knew? Desire with thee still longer to converse Induc'd me. As new wak't from soundest sleep Soft on the flourie herb I found me laid In Balmie Sweat, which with his Beames the Sun Soon dri'd, and on the reaking moisture fed. Strait toward Heav'n my wondring Eyes I turnd, And gaz'd a while the ample Skie, till rais'd By quick instinctive motion up I sprung, As thitherward endevoring, and upright Stood on my feet; about me round I saw Hill, Dale, and shadie Woods, and sunnie Plaines, And liquid Lapse of murmuring Streams; by these, Creatures that livd, and movd, and walk'd, or flew, Birds on the branches warbling; all things smil'd, With fragrance and with joy my heart oreflow'd. My self I then perus'd, and Limb by Limb Survey'd, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran With supple joints, and lively vigour led: But who I was, or where, or from what cause, Knew not; to speak I tri'd, and forthwith spake My Tongue obey'd and readily could name What e're I saw. Thou Sun, said I, faire Light, And thou enlight'nd Earth, so fresh and gay, Ye Hills and Dales, ye Rivers, Woods, and Plaines, And ye that live and move, fair Creatures, tell, Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here? Not of my self; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in power praeeminent; Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, From whom I have that thus I move and live, And feel that I am happier then I know. While thus I call'd, and stray'd I knew not whither, From where I first drew Aire, and first beheld This happie Light, when answer none return'd, On a green shadie Bank profuse of Flours Pensive I sate me down; there gentle sleep First found me, and with soft oppression seis'd My droused sense, untroubl'd, though I thought I then was passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve: When suddenly stood at my Head a dream, Whose inward apparition gently mov'd My fancy to believe I yet had being, And livd: One came, methought, of shape Divine, And said, thy Mansion wants thee, Adam, rise, First Man, of Men innumerable ordain'd First Father, call'd by thee I come thy Guide To the Garden of bliss, thy seat prepar'd. So saying, by the hand he took me rais'd, And over Fields and Waters, as in Aire Smooth sliding without step, last led me up A woodie Mountain; whose high top was plaine, A Circuit wide, enclos'd, with goodliest Trees Planted, with Walks, and Bowers, that what I saw Of Earth before scarce pleasant seemd. Each Tree Load'n with fairest Fruit that hung to the Eye Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite To pluck and eate; whereat I wak'd, and found Before mine Eyes all real, as the dream Had lively shadowd: Here had new begun My wandring, had not hee who was my Guide Up hither, from among the Trees appeer'd Presence Divine. Rejoycing, but with aw In adoration at his feet I fell Submiss: he rear'd me, and Whom thou soughtst I am, Said mildely, 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 eate: Of every Tree that in the Garden growes Eate freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth: But of the Tree whose operation brings Knowledg of good and ill, which I have set The Pledge of thy Obedience and thy Faith Amid the Garden by the Tree of Life Remember what I warne thee, shun to taste, And shun the bitter consequence: for know, The day thou eat'st thereof, my sole command Transgrest, inevitably thou shalt dye; From that day mortal, and this happie State Shalt loose, expell'd from hence into a World Of woe and sorrow. Sternly he pronounc'd The rigid interdiction, which resounds Yet dreadful in mine eare, though in my choice Not to incur; but soon his cleer aspect Return'd and gracious purpose thus renew'd. Not onely 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, Or live in Sea, or Aire, Beast, Fish, and Fowle. In signe whereof each Bird and Beast behold After thir kindes; I bring them to receave From thee thir Names, and pay thee fealtie With low subjection; understand the same Of Fish within thir watry residence, Not hither summond, since they cannot change Thir Element to draw the thinner Aire. As thus he spake, each Bird and Beast behold Approaching two and two, These cowring low With blandishment, each Bird stoop'd on his wing. I nam'd them, as they pass'd, and understood Thir Nature, with such knowledg God endu'd My sudden apprehension: but in these I found not what me thought I wanted still; And to the Heav'nly vision thus presum'd. O by what Name, for thou above all these, Above mankinde, or aught then mankinde higher, Surpassest farr my naming, how may I Adore thee, Author of this Universe, And all this good to man, for whose well being So amply, and with hands so liberal Thou hast provided all things: but with mee I see not who partakes. In solitude What happiness, who can enjoy alone, Or all enjoying, what contentment find? Thus I presumptuous; and the vision bright, As with a smile more bright'nd, thus repli'd. What call'st thou solitude, is not the Earth With various living creatures, and the Aire Replenisht, and all these at thy command To come and play before thee, know'st thou not Thir language and thir wayes, they also know, And reason not contemptibly; with these Find pastime, and beare rule; thy Realm is large. So spake the Universal Lord, and seem'd So ordering. I with leave of speech implor'd, And humble deprecation thus repli'd. Let not my words offend thee, Heav'nly Power, My Maker, be propitious while I speak. Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, And these inferiour farr beneath me set? Among unequals what societie Can sort, what harmonie or true delight? Which must be mutual, in proportion due Giv'n and receiv'd; but in disparitie The one intense, the other still remiss Cannot well suite with either, but soon prove Tedious alike: Of fellowship I speak Such as I seek, fit to participate All rational delight, wherein the brute Cannot be human consort; they rejoyce Each with thir kinde, Lion with Lioness; So fitly them in pairs thou hast combin'd; Much less can Bird with Beast, or Fish with Fowle So well converse, nor with the Ox the Ape; Wors then can Man with Beast, and least of all. Whereto th' Almighty answer'd, not displeas'd. A nice and suttle happiness I see Thou to thy self proposest, in the choice Of thy Associates, Adam, and wilt taste No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitarie. What thinkst thou then of mee, and this my State, Seem I to thee sufficiently possest Of happiness, or not? who am alone From all Eternitie, 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 inferiour, infinite descents Beneath what other Creatures are to thee? He ceas'd, I lowly answer'd. To attaine The highth and depth of thy Eternal wayes All human thoughts come short, Supream of things; Thou in thy self art perfet, and in thee 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 Shouldst propagat, already infinite; 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 multipli'd, In unitie defective, which requires Collateral love, and deerest amitie. Thou in thy secresie although alone, Best with thy self accompanied, seek'st not Social communication, yet so pleas'd, Canst raise thy Creature to what highth thou wilt Of Union or Communion, deifi'd; I by conversing cannot these erect From prone, nor in thir wayes complacence find. Thus I embold'nd spake, and freedom us'd Permissive, and acceptance found, which gain'd This answer from the gratious voice Divine. Thus farr to try thee, Adam, I was pleas'd, And finde thee knowing not of Beasts alone, Which thou hast rightly nam'd, but of thy self, Expressing well the spirit within thee free, 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, And no such companie as then thou saw'st Intended thee, for trial onely brought, To see how thou could'st judge of fit and meet: What next I bring shall please thee, be assur'd, Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self, Thy wish exactly to thy hearts desire. Hee ended, or I heard no more, for now My earthly by his Heav'nly overpowerd, Which it had long stood under, streind to the highth In that celestial Colloquie sublime, As with an object that excels the sense, Dazl d and spent, sunk down, and sought repair Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, call'd By Nature as in aide, and clos'd mine eyes. Mine eyes he clos'd, but op'n left the Cell Of Fancie my internal sight, by which Abstract as in a transe methought I saw, Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape Still glorious before whom awake I stood; Who stooping op'nd my left side, and took From thence a Rib, with cordial spirits warme, And Life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the wound, But suddenly with flesh fill'd up and heal'd: The Rib he formd and fashond with his hands; Under his forming hands a Creature grew, Manlike, but different Sex, so lovly faire, That what seemd fair in all the World, seemd now Mean, or in her summd up, in her containd And in her looks, which from that time infus'd Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before, And into all things from her Aire inspir'd The spirit of love and amorous delight. Shee disappeerd, and left me dark, I wak'd To find her, or for ever to deplore Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure: When out of hope, behold her, not farr off, Such as I saw her in my dream, adornd With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow To make her amiable: On she came, Led by her Heav'nly Maker, though unseen, And guided by his voice, nor uninformd Of nuptial Sanctitie and marriage Rites: Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her Eye, In every gesture dignitie and love. I overjoyd could not forbear aloud. This turn hath made amends; thou hast fulfill'd Thy words, Creator bounteous and benigne, Giver of all things faire, but fairest this Of all thy gifts, nor enviest. I now see Bone of my Bone, Flesh of my Flesh, my Self Before me; Woman is her Name, of Man Extracted; for this cause he shall forgoe Father and Mother, and to his Wife adhere; And they shall be one Flesh, one Heart, one Soule. She heard me thus, and though divinely brought, Yet Innocence and Virgin Modestie, Her vertue and the conscience of her worth, That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won, Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retir'd, The more desirable, or to say all, Nature her self, though pure of sinful thought, Wrought in her so, that seeing me, she turn'd; I follow'd her, she what was Honour knew, And with obsequious Majestie approv'd My pleaded reason. To the Nuptial Bowre I led her blushing like the Morn: all Heav'n, And happie Constellations on that houre Shed thir selectest influence; the Earth Gave sign of gratulation, and each Hill; Joyous the Birds; fresh Gales and gentle Aires Whisper'd it to the Woods, and from thir wings Flung Rose, flung Odours from the spicie Shrub, Disporting, till the amorous Bird of Night Sung Spousal, and bid haste the Eevning Starr On his Hill top, to light the bridal Lamp. Thus I have told thee all my State, and brought My Storie to the sum of earthly bliss Which I enjoy, and must confess to find In all things else delight indeed, but such As us'd or not, works in the mind no change, Nor vehement desire, these delicacies I mean of Taste, Sight, Smell, Herbs, Fruits, and Flours, Walks, and the melodie of Birds; but here Farr otherwise, transported I behold, Transported touch; here passion first I felt, Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else Superiour and unmov'd, here onely weake Against the charm of Beauties powerful glance. Or Nature faild in mee, and left some part Not proof enough such Object to sustain, Or from my side subducting, took perhaps More then enough; at least on her bestow'd Too much of Ornament, in outward shew Elaborate, of inward less exact. For well I understand in the prime end Of Nature her th' inferiour, in the mind And inward Faculties, which most excell, In outward also her resembling less His Image who made both, and less expressing The character of that Dominion giv'n O're other Creatures; yet when I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems And in her self compleat, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say, Seems wisest, vertuousest, discreetest, best; All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded, Wisdom in discourse with her Looses discount'nanc't, and like folly shewes; Authority and Reason on her waite, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally; and to consummate all, Greatness of mind and nobleness thir seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard Angelic plac't. To whom the Angel with contracted brow. Accuse not Nature, she hath don her part; Do thou but thine, and be not diffident Of Wisdom, she deserts thee not, if thou Dismiss not her, when most thou needst her nigh, By attributing overmuch to things Less excellent, as thou thy self perceav'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 thy self; Then value: Oft times nothing profits more Then self esteem, grounded on just and right Well manag'd; of that skill the more thou know'st, The more she will acknowledge thee her Head, And to realities yield all her shows: Made so adorn for thy delight the more, So awful, that with honour thou maist 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 Beyond all other, think the same voutsaf't To Cattel and each Beast; which would not be To them made common and divulg'd, if aught Therein enjoy'd were worthy to subdue The Soule of Man, or passion in him move. What higher in her societie thou findst 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 In Reason, and is judicious, is the scale By which to heav'nly Love thou maist ascend, Not sunk in carnal pleasure, for which cause Among the Beasts no Mate for thee was found. To whom thus half abash't Adam repli'd. Neither her out-side formd so fair, nor aught In procreation common to all kindes (Though higher of the genial Bed by far, And with mysterious reverence I deem) So much delights me as those graceful acts, Those thousand decencies that daily flow From all her words and actions mixt with Love And sweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd Union of Mind, or in us both one Soule; Harmonie to behold in wedded pair More grateful then harmonious sound to the eare. Yet these subject not; I to thee disclose What inward thence I feel, not therefore foild, Who meet with various objects, from the sense Variously representing; yet still free Approve the best, and follow what I approve. To love thou blam'st me not, for love thou saist Leads up to Heav'n, is both the way and guide; Bear with me then, if lawful what I ask; Love not the heav'nly Spirits, and how thir Love Express they, by looks onely, or do they mix Irradiance, virtual or immediate touch? To whom the Angel with a smile that glow'd Celestial rosie red, Loves proper hue, Answer'd. Let it suffice thee that thou know'st Us happie, 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, joynt, or limb, exclusive barrs: Easier then Air with Air; if Spirits embrace, Total they mix, Union of Pure with Pure Desiring; nor restrain'd conveyance need As Flesh to mix with Flesh, or Soul with Soul. But I can now no more; the parting Sun Beyond the Earths green Cape and verdant Isles Hesperean sets, my Signal to depart. Be strong, live happie, and love, but first of all Him whom to love is to obey, and keep His great command; take heed least Passion sway Thy judgement to do aught, which else free Will Would not admit; thine and of all thy Sons The weal or woe in thee is plac't; beware. I in thy persevering shall rejoyce, And all the Blest: stand fast; to stand or fall 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 Follow'd with benediction. Since to part, Go heavenly Guest, Ethereal Messenger, Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore. Gentle to me and affable hath been Thy condescension, and shall be honour'd ever With grateful Memorie: thou to mankind Be good and friendly still, and oft return. So parted they, the Angel up to Heav'n From the thick shade, and Adam to his Bowre.

John Milton

Religion,Christianity,God & the Divine

Paradise Lost: Book 10 (1674 version)

MEanwhile the hainous and despightfull act Of Satan done in Paradise, and how Hee in the Serpent, had perverted Eve, Her Husband shee, to taste the fatall fruit, Was known in Heav'n; for what can scape the Eye Of God All-seeing, or deceave his Heart Omniscient, who in all things wise and just, Hinder'd not Satan to attempt the minde Of Man, with strength entire, and free will arm'd, Complete to have discover'd and repulst Whatever wiles of Foe or seeming Friend. For still they knew, and ought to have still remember'd The high Injunction not to taste that Fruit, Whoever tempted; which they not obeying, Incurr'd, what could they less, the penaltie, And manifold in sin, deserv'd to fall. Up into Heav'n from Paradise in haste Th' Angelic Guards ascended, mute and sad For Man, for of his state by this they knew, Much wondring how the suttle Fiend had stoln Entrance unseen. Soon as th' unwelcome news From Earth arriv'd at Heaven Gate, displeas'd All were who heard, dim sadness did not spare That time Celestial visages, yet mixt With pitie, violated not thir bliss. About the new-arriv'd, in multitudes Th' ethereal People ran, to hear and know How all befell: they towards the Throne Supream Accountable made haste to make appear With righteous plea, thir utmost vigilance, And easily approv'd; when the most High Eternal Father from his secret Cloud, Amidst in Thunder utter'd thus his voice. Assembl'd Angels, and ye Powers return'd From unsuccessful charge, be not dismaid, Nor troubl'd at these tidings from the Earth, Which your sincerest care could not prevent, Foretold so lately what would come to pass, When first this Tempter cross'd the Gulf from Hell. I told ye then he should prevail and speed On his bad Errand, Man should be seduc't And flatter'd out of all, believing lies Against his Maker; no Decree of mine Concurring to necessitate his Fall, Or touch with lightest moment of impulse His free Will, to her own inclining left In eevn scale. But fall'n he is, and now What rests but that the mortal Sentence pass On his transgression, Death denounc't that day, Which he presumes already vain and void, Because not yet inflicted, as he fear'd, By some immediate stroak; but soon shall find Forbearance no acquittance ere day end. Justice shall not return as bountie scorn'd. But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee Vicegerent Son, to thee I have transferr'd All Judgement, whether in Heav'n, or Earth, or Hell. Easie it might be seen that I intend Mercie collegue with Justice, sending thee Mans Friend, his Mediator, his design'd Both Ransom and Redeemer voluntarie, And destin'd Man himself to judge Man fall'n. So spake the Father, and unfoulding bright Toward the right hand his Glorie, on the Son Blaz'd forth unclouded Deitie; he full Resplendent all his Father manifest Express'd, and thus divinely answer'd milde. Father Eternal, thine is to decree, Mine both in Heav'n and Earth to do thy will Supream, that thou in mee thy Son belov'd Mayst ever rest well pleas'd. I go to judge On Earth these thy transgressors, but thou knowst, Whoever judg'd, the worst on mee must light, When time shall be, for so I undertook Before thee; and not repenting, this obtaine Of right, that I may mitigate thir doom On me deriv'd, yet I shall temper so Justice with Mercie, as may illustrate most Them fully satisfied, and thee appease. Attendance none shall need, nor Train, where none Are to behold the Judgment, but the judg'd, Those two; the third best absent is condemn'd, Convict by flight, and Rebel to all Law Conviction to the Serpent none belongs. Thus saying, from his radiant Seat he rose Of high collateral glorie: him Thrones and Powers, Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant Accompanied to Heaven Gate, from whence Eden and all the Coast in prospect lay. Down he descended strait; the speed of Gods Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes wing'd. Now was the Sun in Western cadence low From Noon, and gentle Aires due at thir hour To fan the Earth now wak'd, and usher in The Eevning coole when he from wrauth more coole Came the mild Judge and Intercessor both To sentence Man: the voice of God they heard Now walking in the Garden, by soft windes Brought to thir Ears, while day declin'd, they heard, And from his presence hid themselves among The thickest Trees, both Man and Wife, till God Approaching, thus to Adam call'd aloud. Where art thou Adam, wont with joy to meet My coming seen far off? I miss thee here, Not pleas'd, thus entertaind with solitude, Where obvious dutie erewhile appear'd unsaught: Or come I less conspicuous, or what change Absents thee, or what chance detains? Come forth. He came, and with him Eve, more loth, though first To offend, discount'nanc't both, and discompos'd; Love was not in thir looks, either to God Or to each other, but apparent guilt, And shame, and perturbation, and despaire, Anger, and obstinacie, and hate, and guile. Whence Adam faultring long, thus answer'd brief. I heard thee in the Garden, and of thy voice Affraid, being naked, hid my self. To whom The gracious judge without revile repli'd. My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not fear'd, But still rejoyc't, how is it now become So dreadful to thee? that thou art naked, who Hath told thee? hast thou eaten of the Tree Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat? To whom thus Adam sore beset repli'd. O Heav'n! in evil strait this day I stand Before my judge, either to undergoe My self the total Crime, or to accuse My other self, the partner of my life; Whose failing, while her Faith to me remaines, I should conceal, and not expose to blame By my complaint; but strict necessitie Subdues me, and calamitous constraint Least on my head both sin and punishment, However insupportable, be all Devolv'd; though should I hold my peace, yet thou Wouldst easily detect what I conceale. This Woman whom thou mad'st to be my help, And gav'st me as thy perfet gift, so good, So fit, so acceptable, so Divine, That from her hand I could suspect no ill, And what she did, whatever in it self, Her doing seem'd to justifie the deed; Shee gave me of the Tree, and I did eate. To whom the sovran Presence thus repli'd. Was shee thy God, that her thou didst obey Before his voice, or was shee made thy guide, Superior, or but equal, that to her Thou did'st resigne thy Manhood, and the Place Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, And for thee, whose perfection farr excell'd Hers in all real dignitie: Adornd Shee was indeed, and lovely to attract Thy Love, not thy Subjection, and her Gifts Were such as under Government well seem'd, Unseemly to beare rule, which was thy part And person, had'st thou known thy self aright. So having said, he thus to Eve in few: Say Woman, what is this which thou hast done? To whom sad Eve with shame nigh overwhelm'd, Confessing soon, yet not before her judge Bold or loquacious, thus abasht repli'd. The Serpent me beguil'd and I did eate. Which when the Lord God heard, without delay To Judgement he proceeded on th' accus'd Serpent though brute, unable to transferre The Guilt on him who made him instrument Of mischief, and polluted from the end Of his Creation; justly then accurst, As vitiated in Nature: more to know Concern'd not Man (since he no further knew) Nor alter'd his offence; yet God at last To Satan first in sin his doom apply'd, Though in mysterious terms, judg'd as then best: And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall. Because thou hast done this, thou art accurst Above all Cattle, each Beast of the Field; Upon thy Belly groveling thou shalt goe, And dust shalt eat all the dayes of thy Life. Between Thee and the Woman I will put Enmitie, and between thine and her Seed; Her Seed shall bruse thy head, thou bruise his heel. So spake this Oracle, then verifi'd When Jesus son of Mary second Eve, Saw Satan fall like Lightning down from Heav'n, Prince of the Aire; then rising from his Grave Spoild Principalities and Powers, triumpht In open shew, and with ascention bright Captivity led captive through the Aire, The Realm it self of Satan long usurpt, Whom he shall tread at last under our feet; Eeven hee who now foretold his fatal bruise, And to the Woman thus his Sentence turn'd. Thy sorrow I will greatly multiplie By thy Conception; Children thou shalt bring In sorrow forth, and to thy Husbands will Thine shall submit, hee over thee shall rule. On Adam last thus judgement he pronounc'd. Because thou hast heark'nd to the voice of thy Wife, And eaten of the Tree concerning which I charg'd thee, saying: Thou shalt not eate thereof, Curs'd is the ground for thy sake, thou in sorrow Shalt eate thereof all the days of thy Life; Thorns also and Thistles it shall bring thee forth Unbid, and thou shalt eate th' Herb of th' Field, In the sweat of thy Face shalt thou eat Bread, Till thou return unto the ground, for thou Out of the ground wast taken, know thy Birth, For dust thou art, and shalt to dust returne. So judg'd he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent, And th' instant stroke of Death denounc't that day Remov'd farr off; then pittying how they stood Before him naked to the aire, that now Must suffer change, disdain'd not to begin Thenceforth the form of servant to assume, As when he wash'd his servants feet so now As Father of his Familie he clad Thir nakedness with Skins of Beasts, or slain, Or as the Snake with youthful Coate repaid; And thought not much to cloath his Enemies: Nor hee thir outward onely with the Skins Of Beasts, but inward nakedness, much more Opprobrious, with his Robe of righteousness, Araying cover'd from his Fathers sight. To him with swift ascent he up returnd, Into his blissful bosom reassum'd In glory as of old, to him appeas'd All, though all-knowing, what had past with Man Recounted, mixing intercession sweet. Meanwhile ere thus was sin'd and judg'd on Earth, Within the Gates of Hell sate Sin and Death, In counterview within the Gates, that now Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame Farr into Chaos, since the Fiend pass'd through, Sin opening, who thus now to Death began. O Son, why sit we here each other viewing Idlely, while Satan our great Author thrives In other Worlds, and happier Seat provides For us his ofspring deare; It cannot be But that success attends him; if mishap, Ere this he had return'd, with fury driv'n By his Avenger, since no place like this Can fit his punishment, or their revenge. Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, Wings growing, and Dominion giv'n me large Beyond this Deep; whatever drawes me on, Or sympathie, or som connatural force Powerful at greatest distance to unite With secret amity things of like kinde By secretest conveyance. Thou my Shade Inseparable must with mee along: For Death from Sin no power can separate. But least the difficultie of passing back Stay his return perhaps over this Gulfe Impassable, Impervious, let us try Adventrous work, yet to thy power and mine Not unagreeable, to found a path Over this Maine from Hell to that new World Where Satan now prevailes, a Monument Of merit high to all th' infernal Host, Easing thir passage hence, for intercourse, Or transmigration, as thir lot shall lead. Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn By this new felt attraction and instinct. Whom thus the meager Shadow answerd soon. Goe whither Fate and inclination strong Leads thee, I shall not lag behinde, nor erre The way, thou leading, such a sent I draw Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste The savour of Death from all things there that live: Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid. So saying, with delight he snuff'd the smell Of mortal change on Earth. As when a flock Of ravenous Fowl, though many a League remote, Against the day of Battel, to a Field, Where Armies lie encampt, come flying, lur'd With sent of living Carcasses design'd For death, the following day, in bloodie fight. So sented the grim Feature, and upturn'd His Nostril wide into the murkie Air, Sagacious of his Quarry from so farr. Then Both from out Hell Gates into the waste Wide Anarchie of Chaos damp and dark Flew divers, and with Power (thir Power was great) Hovering upon the Waters; what they met Solid or slimie, as in raging Sea Tost up and down, together crowded drove From each side shoaling towards the mouth of Hell. As when two Polar Winds blowing adverse Upon the Cronian Sea, together drive Mountains of Ice, that stop th' imagin'd way Beyond Petsora Eastward, to the rich Cathaian Coast. The aggregated Soyle Death with his Mace petrific, cold and dry, As with a Trident smote, and fix't as firm As Delos floating once; the rest his look Bound with Gorgonian rigor not to move, And with Asphaltic slime; broad as the Gate, Deep to the Roots of Hell the gather'd beach They fasten'd, and the Mole immense wraught on Over the foaming deep high Archt, a Bridge Of length prodigious joyning to the Wall Immovable of this now fenceless world Forfeit to Death; from hence a passage broad, Smooth, easie, inoffensive down to Hell. So, if great things to small may be compar'd, Xerxes, the Libertie of Greece to yoke, From Susa his Memnonian Palace high Came to the Sea, and over Hellespont Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joyn'd, And scourg'd with many a stroak th' indignant waves. Now had they brought the work by wondrous Art Pontifical, a ridge of pendent Rock Over the vext Abyss, following the track Of Satan, to the self same place where hee First lighted from his Wing, and landed safe From out of Chaos to the out side bare Of this round World: with Pinns of Adamant And Chains they made all fast, too fast they made And durable; and now in little space The confines met of Empyrean Heav'n And of this World, and on the left hand Hell With long reach interpos'd; three sev'ral wayes In sight, to each of these three places led. And now thir way to Earth they had descri'd, To Paradise first tending, when behold Satan in likeness of an Angel bright Betwixt the Centaure and the Scorpion stearing His Zenith, while the Sun in Aries rose: Disguis'd he came, but those his Children dear Thir Parent soon discern'd, though in disguise. Hee after Eve seduc't, unminded slunk Into the Wood fast by, and changing shape To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded Upon her Husband, saw thir shame that sought Vain covertures; but when he saw descend The Son of God to judge them terrifi'd Hee fled, not hoping to escape, but shun The present, fearing guiltie what his wrauth Might suddenly inflict; that past, return'd By Night, and listening where the hapless Paire Sate in thir sad discourse, and various plaint, Thence gatherd his own doom, which understood Not instant, but of future time. With joy And tidings fraught, to Hell he now return'd, And at the brink of Chaos, neer the foot Of this new wondrous Pontifice, unhop't Met who to meet him came, his Ofspring dear. Great joy was at thir meeting, and at sight Of that stupendious Bridge his joy encreas'd. Long hee admiring stood, till Sin, his faire Inchanting Daughter, thus the silence broke. O Parent, these are thy magnific deeds, Thy Trophies, which thou view'st as not thine own, Thou art thir Author and prime Architect: For I no sooner in my Heart divin'd, My Heart, which by a secret harmonie Still moves with thine, join'd in connexion sweet, That thou on Earth hadst prosper'd, which thy looks Now also evidence, but straight I felt Though distant from thee Worlds between, yet felt That I must after thee with this thy Son; Such fatal consequence unites us three: Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds, Nor this unvoyageable Gulf obscure Detain from following thy illustrious track. Thou hast atchiev'd our libertie, confin'd Within Hell Gates till, now, thou us impow'rd To fortifie thus farr, and overlay With this portentous Bridge the dark Abyss. Thine now is all this World, thy vertue hath won What thy hands builded not, thy Wisdom gain'd With odds what Warr hath lost, and fully aveng'd Our foile in Heav'n; here thou shalt Monarch reign, There didst not; there let him still Victor sway, As Battel hath adjudg'd, from this new World Retiring, by his own doom alienated, And henceforth Monarchie with thee divide Of all things parted by th' Empyreal bounds, His Quadrature, from thy Orbicular World, Or trie thee now more dang'rous to his Throne. Whom thus the Prince of Darkness answerd glad. Fair Daughter, and thou Son and Grandchild both, High proof ye now have giv'n to be the Race Of Satan (for I glorie in the name, Antagonist of Heav'ns Almightie King) Amply have merited of me, of all Th' infernal Empire, that so neer Heav'ns dore Triumphal with triumphal act have met, Mine with this glorious Work, and made one Realm Hell and this World, one Realm, one Continent Of easie thorough-fare. Therefore while I Descend through Darkness, on your Rode with ease To my associate Powers, them to acquaint With these successes, and with them rejoyce, You two this way, among these numerous Orbs All yours, right down to Paradise descend; There dwell and Reign in bliss, thence on the Earth Dominion exercise and in the Aire, Chiefly on Man, sole Lord of all declar'd, Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill. My Substitutes I send ye, and Create Plenipotent on Earth, of matchless might Issuing from mee: on your joynt vigor now My hold of this new Kingdom all depends, Through Sin to Death expos'd by my exploit. If your joynt power prevailes, th' affaires of Hell No detriment need feare, goe and be strong. So saying he dismiss'd them, they with speed Thir course through thickest Constellations held Spreading thir bane; the blasted Starrs lookt wan, And Planets, Planet-strook, real Eclips Then sufferd. Th' other way Satan went down The Causey to Hell Gate; on either side Disparted Chaos over built exclaimd, And with rebounding surge the barrs assaild, That scorn'd his indignation: through the Gate, Wide open and unguarded, Satan pass'd, And all about found desolate; for those Appointed to sit there, had left thir charge, Flown to the upper World; the rest were all Farr to the inland retir'd, about the walls Of Pandaemonium, Citie and proud seate Of Lucifer, so by allusion calld, Of that bright Starr to Satan paragond. There kept thir Watch the Legions, while the Grand In Council sate, sollicitous what chance Might intercept thir Emperour sent, so hee Departing gave command, and they observ'd. As when the Tartar from his Russian Foe By Astracan over the Snowie Plaines Retires, or Bactrian Sophi from the hornes Of Turkish Crescent, leaves all waste beyond The Realm of Aladule, in his retreate To Tauris or Casbeen. So these the late Heav'n-banisht Host, left desert utmost Hell Many a dark League, reduc't in careful Watch Round thir Metropolis, and now expecting Each hour their great adventurer from the search Of Forrein Worlds: he through the midst unmarkt, In shew Plebeian Angel militant Of lowest order, past; and from the dore Of that Plutonian Hall, invisible Ascended his high Throne, which under state Of richest texture spred, at th' upper end Was plac't in regal lustre. Down a while He sate, and round about him saw unseen: At last as from a Cloud his fulgent head And shape Starr bright appeer'd, or brighter, clad With what permissive glory since his fall Was left him, or false glitter: All amaz'd At that so sudden blaze the Stygian throng Bent thir aspect, and whom they wish'd beheld, Thir mighty Chief returnd: loud was th' acclaime: Forth rush'd in haste the great consulting Peers, Rais'd from thir Dark Divan, and with like joy Congratulant approach'd him, who with hand Silence, and with these words attention won. Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Vertues, Powers, For in possession such, not onely of right, I call ye and declare ye now, returnd Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forth Triumphant out of this infernal Pit Abominable, accurst, the house of woe, And Dungeon of our Tyrant: Now possess, As Lords, a spacious World, to our native Heaven Little inferiour, by my adventure hard With peril great atchiev'd. Long were to tell What I have don, what sufferd, with what paine Voyag'd th' unreal, vast, unbounded deep Of horrible confusion, over which By Sin and Death a broad way now is pav'd To expedite your glorious march; but I Toild out my uncouth passage, forc't to ride Th' untractable Abysse, plung'd in the womb Of unoriginal Night and Chaos wilde, That jealous of thir secrets fiercely oppos'd My journey strange, with clamorous uproare Protesting Fate supreame; thence how I found The new created World, which fame in Heav'n Long had foretold, a Fabrick wonderful Of absolute perfection, therein Man Plac't in a Paradise, by our exile Made happie; Him by fraud I have seduc'd From his Creator, and the more to increase Your wonder, with an Apple; he thereat Offended, worth your laughter, hath giv'n up Both his beloved Man and all his World, To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us, Without our hazard, labour, or allarme, To range in, and to dwell, and over Man To rule, as over all he should have rul'd. True is, mee also he hath judg'd, or rather Mee not, but the brute Serpent in whose shape Man I deceav'd: that which to mee belongs, Is enmity, which he will put between Mee and Mankinde; I am to bruise his heel; His Seed, when is not set, shall bruise my head: A World who would not purchase with a bruise, Or much more grievous pain? Ye have th' account Of my performance: What remains, ye Gods, But up and enter now into full bliss. So having said, a while he stood, expecting Thir universal shout and high applause To fill his eare, when contrary he hears On all sides, from innumerable tongues A dismal universal hiss, the sound Of public scorn; he wonderd, but not long Had leasure, wondring at himself now more; His Visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare, His Armes clung to his Ribs, his Leggs entwining Each other, till supplanted down he fell A monstrous Serpent on his Belly prone, Reluctant, but in vaine, a greater power Now rul'd him, punisht in the shape he sin'd, According to his doom: he would have spoke, But hiss for hiss returnd with forked tongue To forked tongue, for now were all transform'd Alike, to Serpents all as accessories To his bold Riot: dreadful was the din Of hissing through the Hall, thick swarming now With complicated monsters head and taile, Scorpion and Asp, and Amphisbaena dire, Cerastes hornd, Hydrus, and Ellops drear, And Dipsas (not so thick swarm'd once the Soil Bedropt with blood of Gorgon, or the Isle Ophiusa) but still greatest hee the midst, Now Dragon grown, larger then whom the Sun Ingenderd in the Pythian Vale on slime, Huge Python, and his Power no less he seem'd Above the rest still to retain; they all Him follow'd issuing forth to th' open Field, Where all yet left of that revolted Rout Heav'n-fall'n, in station stood or just array, Sublime with expectation when to see ln Triumph issuing forth thir glorious Chief; They saw, but other sight instead, a crowd Of ugly Serpents; horror on them fell, And horrid sympathie; for what they saw, They felt themselvs now changing; down thir arms, Down fell both Spear and Shield, down they as fast, And the dire hiss renew'd, and the dire form Catcht by Contagion, like in punishment, As in thir crime. Thus was th' applause they meant, Turnd to exploding hiss, triumph to shame Cast on themselves from thir own mouths. There stood A Grove hard by, sprung up with this thir change, His will who reigns above, to aggravate Thir penance, laden with Fruit like that Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve Us'd by the Tempter: on that prospect strange Thir earnest eyes they fix'd, imagining For one forbidden Tree a multitude Now ris'n, to work them furder woe or shame; Yet parcht with scalding thurst and hunger fierce, Though to delude them sent, could not abstain, But on they rould in heaps, and up the Trees Climbing, sat thicker then the snakie locks That curld Megaera: greedily they pluck'd The Frutage fair to sight, like that which grew Neer that bituminous Lake where Sodom flam'd; This more delusive, not the touch, but taste Deceav'd; they fondly thinking to allay Thir appetite with gust, instead of Fruit Chewd bitter Ashes, which th' offended taste With spattering noise rejected: oft they assayd, Hunger and thirst constraining, drugd as oft, With hatefullest disrelish writh'd thir jaws With soot and cinders fill'd; so oft they fell Into the same illusion, not as Man Whom they triumph'd once lapst. Thus were they plagu'd And worn with Famin, long and ceasless hiss, Till thir lost shape, permitted, they resum'd, Yearly enjoynd, some say, to undergo This annual humbling certain number'd days, To dash thir pride, and joy for Man seduc't. However some tradition they dispers'd Among the Heathen of thir purchase got, And Fabl'd how the Serpent, whom they calld Ophion with Eurynome, the wide- Encroaching Eve perhaps, had first the rule Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driv'n And Ops, ere yet Dictaean Jove was born. Mean while in Paradise the hellish pair Too soon arriv'd, Sin there in power before, Once actual, now in body, and to dwell Habitual habitant; behind her Death Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet On his pale Horse: to whom Sin thus began. Second of Satan sprung, all conquering Death, What thinkst thou of our Empire now, though earnd With travail difficult, not better farr Then stil at Hels dark threshold to have sate watch, Unnam'd, undreaded, and thy self half starv'd? Whom thus the Sin-born Monster answerd soon. To mee, who with eternal Famin pine, Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven, There best, where most with ravin I may meet; Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems To stuff this Maw, this vast unhide-bound Corps. To whom th' incestuous Mother thus repli'd. Thou therefore on these Herbs, and Fruits, and Flours Feed first, on each Beast next, and Fish, and Fowle, No homely morsels, and whatever thing The Sithe of Time mowes down, devour unspar'd, Till I in Man residing through the Race, His thoughts, his looks, words, actions all infect, And season him thy last and sweetest prey. This said, they both betook them several wayes, Both to destroy, or unimmortal make All kinds, and for destruction to mature Sooner or later; which th' Almightie seeing, From his transcendent Seat the Saints among, To those bright Orders utterd thus his voice. See with what heat these Dogs of Hell advance To waste and havoc yonder World, which I So fair and good created, and had still Kept in that State, had not the folly of Man Let in these wastful Furies, who impute Folly to mee, so doth the Prince of Hell And his Adherents, that with so much ease I suffer them to enter and possess A place so heav'nly, and conniving-seem To gratifie my scornful Enemies, That laugh, as if transported with some fit Of Passion, I to them had quitted all, At random yielded up to their misrule; And know not that I call'd and drew them thither My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filth Which mans polluting Sin with taint hath shed On what was pure, till cramm'd and gorg'd, nigh burst With suckt and glutted offal, at one sling Of thy victorious Arm, well-pleasing Son, Both Sin, and Death, and yawning Grave at last Through Chaos hurld, obstruct the mouth of Hell For ever, and seal up his ravenous Jawes. Then Heav'n and Earth renewd shall be made pure To sanctitie that shall receive no staine: Till then the Curse pronounc't on both precedes. He ended, and the heav'nly Audience loud Sung Halleluia, as the sound of Seas, Through multitude that sung: Just are thy ways, Righteous are thy Decrees on all thy Works; Who can extenuate thee? Next, to the Son, Destin'd restorer of Mankind, by whom New Heav'n and Earth shall to the Ages rise, Or down from Heav'n descend. Such was thir song, While the Creator calling forth by name His mightie Angels gave them several charge, As sorted best with present things. The Sun Had first his precept so to move, so shine, As might affect the Earth with cold and heat Scarce tollerable, and from the North to call Decrepit Winter, from the South to bring Solstitial summers heat. To the blanc Moone Her office they prescrib'd, to th' other five Thir planetarie motions and aspects In Sextile, Square, and Trine, and Opposite, Of noxious efficacie, and when to joyne In Synod unbenigne, and taught the fixt Thir influence malignant when to showre, Which of them rising with the Sun, or falling, Should prove tempestuous: To the Winds they set Thir corners, when with bluster to confound Sea, Aire, and Shoar, the Thunder when to rowle With terror through the dark Aereal Hall. Some say he bid his Angels turne ascanse The Poles of Earth twice ten degrees and more From the Suns Axle; they with labour push'd Oblique the Centric Globe: Som say the Sun Was bid turn Reines from th' Equinoctial Rode Like distant breadth to Taurus with the Seav'n Atlantick Sisters, and the Spartan Twins Up to the Tropic Crab; thence down amaine By Leo and the Virgin and the Scales, As deep as Capricorne, to bring in change Of Seasons to each Clime; else had the Spring Perpetual smil'd on Earth with vernant Flours, Equal in Days and Nights, except to those Beyond the Polar Circles; to them Day Had unbenighted shon, while the low Sun To recompence his distance, in thir sight Had rounded still th' Horizon, and not known Or East or West, which had forbid the Snow From cold Estotiland, and South as farr Beneath Magellan. At that tasted Fruit The Sun, as from Thyestean Banquet, turn'd His course intended; else how had the World Inhabited, though sinless, more then now, Avoided pinching cold and scorching heate? These changes in the Heav'ns, though slow, produc'd Like change on Sea and Land, sideral blast, Vapour, and Mist, and Exhalation hot, Corrupt and Pestilent: Now from the North Of Norumbega, and the Samoed shoar Bursting thir brazen Dungeon, armd with ice And snow and haile and stormie gust and flaw, Boreas and Caecias and Argestes loud And Thrascias rend the Woods and Seas upturn; With adverse blast upturns them from the South Notus and Afer black with thundrous Clouds From Serraliona; thwart of these as fierce Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent Windes Eurus and Zephir with thir lateral noise, Sirocco, and Libecchio, Thus began Outrage from liveless things; but Discord first Daughter of Sin, among th' irrational, Death introduc'd through fierce antipathie: Beast now with Beast gan war, and Fowle with Fowle, And Fish with Fish; to graze the Herb all leaving, Devourd each other; nor stood much in awe Of Man, but fled him, or with count'nance grim Glar'd on him passing: these were from without The growing miseries, which Adam saw Alreadie in part, though hid in gloomiest shade, To sorrow abandond, but worse felt within, And in a troubl'd Sea of passion tost, Thus to disburd'n sought with sad complaint. O miserable of happie! is this the end Of this new glorious World, and mee so late The Glory of that Glory, who now becom Accurst of blessed, hide me from the face Of God, whom to behold was then my highth Of happiness: yet well, if here would end The miserie, I deserv'd it, and would beare My own deservings; but this will not serve; All that I eat or drink, or shall beget, Is propagated curse. O voice once heard Delightfully, Encrease and multiply, Now death to heare! for what can I encrease Or multiplie, but curses on my head? Who of all Ages to succeed, but feeling The evil on him brought by me, will curse My Head, Ill fare our Ancestor impure, For this we may thank Adam; but his thanks Shall be the execration; so besides Mine own that bide upon me, all from mee Shall with a fierce reflux on mee redound, On mee as on thir natural center light Heavie, though in thir place. O fleeting joyes Of Paradise, deare bought with lasting woes! Did I request thee, Maker, from my Clay To mould me Man, did I sollicite thee From darkness to promote me, or here place In this delicious Garden? as my Will Concurd not to my being, it were but right And equal to reduce me to my dust, Desirous to resigne, and render back All I receav'd, unable to performe Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold The good I sought not. To the loss of that, Sufficient penaltie, why hast thou added The sense of endless woes? inexplicable Thy justice seems; yet to say truth, too late, I thus contest; then should have been refusd Those terms whatever, when they were propos'd: Thou didst accept them; wilt thou enjoy the good, Then cavil the conditions? and though God Made thee without thy leave, what if thy Son Prove disobedient, and reprov'd, retort, Wherefore didst thou beget me? I sought it not: Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee That proud excuse? yet him not thy election, But Natural necessity begot. God made thee of choice his own, and of his own To serve him, thy reward was of his grace, Thy punishment then justly is at his Will. Be it so, for I submit, his doom is fair, That dust I am, and shall to dust returne: O welcom hour whenever! why delayes His hand to execute what his Decree Fixd on this day? why do I overlive, Why am I mockt with death, and length'nd out To deathless pain? how gladly would I meet Mortalitie my sentence, and be Earth Insensible, how glad would lay me down As in my Mothers lap? there I should rest And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more Would Thunder in my ears, no fear of worse To mee and to my ofspring would torment me With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt Pursues me still, least all I cannot die, Least that pure breath of Life, the Spirit of Man Which God inspir'd, cannot together perish With this corporeal Clod; then in the Grave, Or in some other dismal place who knows But I shall die a living Death? O thought Horrid, if true! yet why? it was but breath Of Life that sinn'd; what dies but what had life And sin? the Bodie properly hath neither. All of me then shall die: let this appease The doubt, since humane reach no further knows. For though the Lord of all be infinite, Is his wrauth also? be it, man is not so, But mortal doom'd. How can he exercise Wrath without end on Man whom Death must end? Can he make deathless Death? that were to make Strange contradiction, which to God himself Impossible is held, as Argument Of weakness, not of Power. Will he, draw out, For angers sake, finite to infinite In punisht man, to satisfie his rigour Satisfi'd never; that were to extend His Sentence beyond dust and Natures Law, By which all Causes else according still To the reception of thir matter act, Not to th' extent of thir own Spheare. But say That Death be not one stroak, as I suppos'd, Bereaving sense, but endless miserie From this day onward, which 1 feel begun Both in me, and without me, and so last To perpetuitie; Ay me, that fear Comes thundring back with dreadful revolution On my defensless head; both Death and I Am found Eternal, and incorporate both, Nor I on my part single, in mee all Posteritie stands curst: Fair Patrimonie That I must leave ye, Sons; O were I able To waste it all my self, and leave ye none! So disinherited how would ye bless Me now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind For one mans fault thus guiltless be condemn'd, If guiltless? But from me what can proceed, But all corrupt, both Mind and Will deprav'd, Not to do onely, but to will the same With me? how can they then acquitted stand In sight of God? Him after all Disputes Forc't I absolve: all my evasions vain, And reasonings, though through Mazes, lead me still But to my own conviction: first and last On mee, mee onely, as the sourse and spring Of all corruption, all the blame lights due; So might the wrauth. Fond wish! couldst thou support That burden heavier then the Earth to bear Then all the World much heavier, though divided With that bad Woman? Thus what thou desir'st And what thou fearst, alike destroyes all hope Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable Beyond all past example and future, To Satan only like both crime and doom. O Conscience, into what Abyss of fears And horrors hast thou driv'n me; out of which I find no way, from deep to deeper plung'd! Thus Adam to himself lamented loud Through the still Night, not now, as ere man fell, Wholsom and cool, and mild, but with black Air Accompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom, Which to his evil Conscience represented All things with double terror: On the Ground Outstretcht he lay, on the cold ground, and oft Curs'd his Creation, Death as oft accus'd Of tardie execution, since denounc't The day of his offence. Why comes not Death, Said hee, with one thrice acceptable stroke To end me? Shall Truth fail to keep her word, Justice Divine not hast'n to be just? But Death comes not at call, Justice Divine Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries. O Woods, O Fountains, Hillocks, Dales and Bowrs, With other echo late I taught your Shades To answer, and resound farr other Song. Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve bebeld, Desolate where she sate, approaching nigh, Soft words to his fierce passion she assay'd: But her with stern regard he thus repell'd. Out of my sight, thou Serpent, that name best Befits thee with him leagu'd, thy self as false And hateful; nothing wants, but that thy shape, Like his, and colour Serpentine may shew Thy inward fraud, to warn all Creatures from thee Henceforth; least that too heav'nly form, pretended To hellish falshood, snare them. But for thee I had persisted happie, had not thy pride And wandring vanitie, when lest was safe, Rejected my forewarning, and disdain'd Not to be trusted, longing to be seen Though by the Devil himself, him overweening To over-reach, but with the Serpent meeting Fool'd and beguil'd, by him thou, I by thee, To trust thee from my side, imagin'd wise, Constant, mature, proof against all assaults, And understood not all was but a shew Rather then solid vertu, all but a Rib Crooked by nature, bent, as now appears, More to the part sinister from me drawn, Well if thrown out, as supernumerarie To my just number found. O why did God, Creator wise, that peopl'd highest Heav'n With Spirits Masculine, create at last This noveltie on Earth, this fair defect Of Nature, and not fill the World at once With Men as Angels without Feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind? this mischief had not then befall'n, And more that shall befall, innumerable Disturbances on Earth through Femal snares, And straight conjunction with this Sex: for either He never shall find out fit Mate, but such As some misfortune brings him, or mistake, Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain Through her perversness, but shall see her gaind By a farr worse, or if she love, withheld By Parents, or his happiest choice too late Shall meet, alreadie linkt and Wedlock-bound To a fell Adversarie, his hate or shame: Which infinite calamitie shall cause To Humane life, and houshold peace confound. He added not, and from her turn'd, but Eve Not so repulst, with Tears that ceas'd not flowing, And tresses all disorderd, at his feet Fell humble, and imbracing them, besaught His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint. Forsake me not thus, Adam, witness Heav'n What love sincere, and reverence in my heart I beare thee, and unweeting have offended, Unhappilie deceav'd; thy suppliant I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not, Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid, Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, My onely strength and stay: forlorn of thee, Whither shall I betake me, where subsist? While yet we live, scarse one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace, both joyning, As joyn'd in injuries, one enmitie Against a Foe by doom express assign'd us, That cruel Serpent: On me exercise not Thy hatred for this miserie befall'n, On me alreadie lost, mee then thy self More miserable; both have sin'd, but thou Against God onely, I against God and thee, And to the place of judgment will return, There with my cries importune Heaven, that all The sentence from thy head remov'd may light On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe, Mee mee onely just object of his ire. She ended weeping, and her lowlie plight, Immoveable till peace obtain'd from fault Acknowledg'd and deplor'd, in Adam wraught Commiseration; soon his heart relented Towards her, his life so late and sole delight, Now at his feet submissive in distress, Creature so faire his reconcilement seeking, His counsel whom she had displeas'd, his aide; As one disarm'd, his anger all he lost, And thus with peaceful words uprais'd her soon. Unwarie, and too desirous, as before, So now of what thou knowst not, who desir'st The punishment all on thy self; alas, Beare thine own first, ill able to sustaine His full wrauth whose thou feelst as yet lest part, And my displeasure bearst so ill. If Prayers Could alter high Decrees, I to that place Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, That on my head all might be visited, Thy frailtie and infirmer Sex forgiv'n, To me committed and by me expos'd. But rise, let us no more contend, nor blame Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but strive In offices of Love, how we may light'n Each others burden in our share of woe; Since this days Death denounc't, if ought I see, Will prove no sudden, but a slow-pac't evill, A long days dying to augment our paine, And to our Seed (O hapless Seed!) deriv'd. To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, repli'd. Adam, by sad experiment I know How little weight my words with thee can finde, Found so erroneous, thence by just event Found so unfortunate; nevertheless, Restor'd by thee, vile as I am, to place Of new acceptance, hopeful to regaine Thy Love, the sole contentment of my heart Living or dying, from thee I will not hide What thoughts in my unquiet brest are ris'n, Tending to some relief of our extremes, Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, As in our evils, and of easier choice. If care of our descent perplex us most, Which must be born to certain woe, devourd By Death at last, and miserable it is To be to others cause of misery, Our own begotten, and of our Loines to bring Into this cursed World a woful Race, That after wretched Life must be at last Food for so foule a Monster, in thy power It lies, yet ere Conception to prevent The Race unblest, to being yet unbegot. Childless thou art, Childless remaine: so Death Shall be deceav'd his glut, and with us two Be forc'd to satisfie his Rav'nous Maw. But if thou judge it hard and difficult, Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain From Loves due Rites, Nuptial imbraces sweet, And with desire to languish without hope, Before the present object languishing With like desire, which would be meserie And torment less then none of what we dread, Then both our selves and Seed at once to free From what we fear for both, let us make short, Let us seek Death, or he not found, supply With our own hands his Office on our selves; Why stand we longer shivering under feares, That shew no end but Death, and have the power, Of many ways to die the shortest choosing, Destruction with destruction to destroy. She ended heer, or vehement despaire Broke off the rest; so much of Death her thoughts Had entertaind, as di'd her Cheeks with pale. But Adam with such counsel nothing sway'd, To better hopes his more attentive minde Labouring had rais'd, and thus to Eve repli'd. Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems To argue in thee somthing more sublime And excellent then what thy minde contemnes; But self-destruction therefore saught, refutes That excellence thought in thee, and implies, Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret For loss of life and pleasure overlov'd. Or if thou covet death, as utmost end Of miserie, so thinking to evade The penaltie pronounc't, doubt not but God Hath wiselier arm'd his vengeful ire then so To be forestall'd; much more I fear least Death So snatcht will not exempt us from the paine We are by doom to pay; rather such acts Of contumacie will provoke the highest To make death in us live: Then let us seek Some safer resolution, which methinks I have in view, calling to minde with heed Part of our Sentence, that thy Seed shall bruise The Serpents head; piteous amends, unless Be meant, whom I conjecture, our grand Foe Satan, who in the Serpent hath contriv'd Against us this deceit: to crush his head Would be revenge indeed; which will be lost By death brought on our selves, or childless days Resolv'd, as thou proposest; so our Foe Shall scape his punishment ordain'd, and wee Instead shall double ours upon our heads. No more be mention'd then of violence Against our selves, and wilful barrenness, That cuts us off from hope, and savours onely Rancor and pride, impatience and despite, Reluctance against God and his just yoke Laid on our Necks. Remember with what mild And gracious temper he both heard and judg'd Without wrauth or reviling; wee expected Immediate dissolution, which we thought Was meant by Death that day, when lo, to thee Pains onely in Child-bearing were foretold, And bringing forth, soon recompenc't with joy, Fruit of thy Womb: On mee the Curse aslope Glanc'd on the ground, with labour I must earne My bread; what harm? Idleness had bin worse; My labour will sustain me; and least Cold Or Heat should injure us, his timely care Hath unbesaught provided, and his hands Cloath'd us unworthie, pitying while he judg'd; How much more, if we pray him, will his ear Be open, and his heart to pitie incline, And teach us further by what means to shun Th' inclement Seasons, Rain, Ice, Hail and Snow, Which now the Skie with various Face begins To shew us in this Mountain, while the Winds Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks Of these fair spreading Trees; which bids us seek Som better shroud, som better warmth to cherish Our Limbs benumm'd, ere this diurnal Starr Leave cold the Night, how we his gather'd beams Reflected, may with matter sere foment, Or by collision of two bodies grinde The Air attrite to Fire, as late the Clouds Justling or pusht with Winds rude in thir shock Tine the slant Lightning, whose thwart flame driv'n down Kindles the gummie bark of Firr or Pine, And sends a comfortable heat from farr, Which might supplie the Sun: such Fire to use, And what may else be remedie or cure To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, Hee will instruct us praying, and of Grace Beseeching him, so as we need not fear To pass commodiously this life, sustain'd By him with many comforts, till we end In dust, our final rest and native home. What better can we do, then to the place Repairing where he judg'd us, prostrate fall Before him reverent, and there confess Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the Air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek. Undoubtedly he will relent and turn From his displeasure; in whose look serene, When angry most he seem'd and most severe, What else but favor, grace, and mercie shon? So spake our Father penitent, nor Eve Felt less remorse: they forthwith to the place Repairing where he judg'd them prostrate fell Before him reverent, and both confess'd Humbly thir faults, and pardon beg'd, with tears Watering the ground, and with thir sighs the Air Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek.

John Milton

Religion,Christianity,God & the Divine

The Pied Piper of Hamelin

Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity. Rats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And eat the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats. At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: 'Tis clear, cried they, our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation — shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's like to rid us of our vermin! Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing! At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation. An hour they sate in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain — I'm sure my poor head aches again I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap! Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap? Bless us, cried the Mayor, what's that? (With the Corporation as he sate, Looking little though wondrous fat); Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat! Come in! — the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red; And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in — There was no guessing his kith and kin! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire: Quoth one: It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone! He advanced to the council-table: And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper. (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same cheque; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) Yet, said he, poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats: And, as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders? One? fifty thousand! — was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished — Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was, At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! 'So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, 'Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! And just as one bulky sugar-puncheon, Ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, Come, bore me! — I found the Weser rolling o'er me. You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple; Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats! — when suddenly up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, First, if you please, my thousand guilders! A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havock With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! Beside, quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But, as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty; A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty! The Piper's face fell, and he cried, No trifling! I can't wait, beside! I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor — With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion. How? cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst! Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave th'enraptured air) There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by — Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West, And to Coppelburg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop! When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children follow'd, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, — It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And every thing was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I felt assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more! Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that Heaven's Gate Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here "On the Twenty-second of July, "Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six:" And the better in memory to fix The place of the Children's last retreat, They called it, The Pied Piper's Street — Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labour. Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the Great Church Window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away; And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbours lay such stress To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand. So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men — especially pipers: And, whether they pipe us from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

Robert Browning

Arts & Sciences,Music,Social Commentaries,Mythology & Folklore

Will and Testament

The time is come I must departe from thee, ah, famous Citie:I never yet, to rue my smart, did finde that thou hadst pitie,Wherefore small cause ther is, that I should greeve from thee to go:But many Women foolyshly, lyke me, and other moe.Doe such a fyxed fancy set, on those which least desarve,That long it is ere wit we get, away from them to swarve,But tyme with pittie oft wyl tel to those that wil her try:Whether it best be more to mell, or vtterly defye.And now hath time me put in mind, of thy great cruelnes:That never once a help wold finde, to ease me in distres.Thou never yet woldst credit geve to boord me for a yeare:Nor with Apparell me releve except thou payed weare.No, no, thou never didst me good, nor ever wilt, I know:Yet am I in no angry moode, but wyll, or ere I goe,In perfect love and charytie my Testament here write:And leave to thee such Treasurye, as I in it recyte.Now stand a side and geve me leave to write my latest Wyll:And see that none you do deceave, of that I leave them tyl.I whole in body, and in minde, but very weake in Purse:Doo make, and write my Testament for feare it wyll be wurse.And fyrst I wholy doo commend, my Soule and Body eke:To God the Father and the Son, so long as I can speake.And after speach: my Soule to hym, and Body to the Grave:Tyll time that all shall rise agayne, their Judgement for to have.And then I hope they both shal meete. to dwell for aye in ioye:Whereas I trust to see my Friends releast, from all annoy.Thus have you heard touching my soule, and body what I meane:I trust you all wyll witnes beare, I have a stedfast brayne.And now let mee dispose such things, as I shal leave behinde:That those which shall receave the same, may know my wylling minde.I firste of all to London leave because I there was bred:Braue buildyngs rare, of Churches store, and Pauls to the head.Betweene the same: fayre streats there bee, and people goodly store:Because their keeping craveth cost, I yet wil leave him more.First for their foode, I Butchers leave, that every day shall kyll:By Thames you shal have Brewers store, and Bakers at your wyll.And such as orders doo obserue, and eat fish thrice a weeke:I leave two Streets, full fraught therwith, they neede not farre to seeke.Watlyng Streete, and Canwyck streete, I full of Wollen leave:And Linnen store in Friday streete, if they mee not deceave.And those which are of callyng such, that costlier they require:I Mercers leave, with silke so rich, as any would desyre.In Cheape of them, they store shal finde and likewise in that streete:I Goldsmithes leave, with Iuels such, as are for Ladies meete.And Plate to furnysh Cubbards with, full braue there shall you finde:With Purle of Siluer and of Golde, to satisfye your minde.With Hoods, Bungraces, Hats or Caps, such store are in that streete:As if on ton side you should misse the tother serues you feete.For Nets of every kynd of sort, I leave within the pawne:French Ruffes, high Purles, Gorgets and Sleeves of any kind of Lawne.For Purse or Kniues, for Combe or Glasse, or any needeful knackeI by the Stoks have left a Boy, wil aske you what you lack.I Hose doo leave in Birchin Lane, of any kynd of syse:For Women stitchte, for men both Trunks and those of Gascoyne gise.Bootes, Shoes or Pantables good store, Saint Martins hath for you:In Cornwall, there I leave you Beds, and all that longs thereto.For Women shall you Taylors have, by Bow, the chiefest dwel:In every Lane you some shall finde, can doo indifferent well.And for the men, few Streetes or Lanes, but Bodymakers bee:And such as make the sweeping Cloakes, with Gardes beneth the Knee.Artyllery at Temple Bar, and Dagges at Tower hyll:Swords and Bucklers of the best, are nye the Fleete vntyll.Now when thy Folke are fed and clad with such as I have namde:For daynty mouthes, and stomacks weake some Iunckets must be framde.Wherfore I Poticaries leave, with Banquets in their Shop:Phisicians also for the sicke, Diseases for to stop.Some Roysters styll, must bide in thee, and such as cut it out:That with the guiltlesse quarel wyl, to let their blood about.For them I cunning Surgions leave, some Playsters to apply.That Ruffians may not styll be hangde, nor quiet persons dye.For Salt, Otemeale, Candles, Sope, or what you els doo want:In many places, Shops are full, I left you nothing scant.Yf they that keepe what I you leave, aske Mony: when they sell it:At Mint, there is such store, it is vnpossible to tell it.At Stiliarde store of Wines there bee, your dulled mindes to glad:And handsome men, that must not wed except they leave their trade.They oft shal seeke for proper Gyrles, and some perhaps shall fynde:(That neede compels, or lucre lures to satisfye their mind.)And neare the same, I houses leave, for people to repayre:To bathe themselues, so to preuent infection of the ayre.On Saturdayes I wish that those, which all the weeke doo drug:Shall thyther trudge, to trim them vp on Sondayes to looke smug.Yf any other thing be lackt in thee, I wysh them looke:For there it is: I little brought but nothyng from thee tooke.Now for the people in thee left, I have done as I may:And that the poore, when I am gone, have cause for me to pray.I wyll to prisons portions leave, what though but very small:Yet that they may remember me, occasion be it shall:And fyrst the Counter they shal have, least they should go to wrack:Some Coggers, and some honest men, that Sergantes draw a back.And such as Friends wyl not them bayle, whose coyne is very thin:For them I leave a certayne hole, and little ease within.The Newgate once a Monthe shal have a sessions for his share:Least being heapt, Infection might procure a further care.And at those sessions some shal skape, with burning nere the Thumb:And afterward to beg their fees, tyll they have got the some.And such whose deedes deserueth death, and twelue have found the same:They shall be drawne vp Holborne hill, to come to further shame:Well, yet to such I leave a Nag shal soone their sorowes cease:For he shal either breake their necks or gallop from the preace.The Fleete, not in their circuit is, yet if I geve him nought:It might procure his curse, ere I unto the ground be brought.Wherfore I leave some Papist olde to vnder prop his roofe:And to the poore within the same, a Boxe for their behoofe.What makes you standers by to smile. and laugh so in your sleeve:I thinke it is, because that I to Ludgate nothing geve.I am not now in case to lye, here is no place of iest:I dyd reserve, that for my selfe, yf I my health possest.And ever came in credit so a debtor for to bee.When dayes of paiment did approch, I thither ment to flee.To shroude my selfe amongst the rest, that chuse to dye in debt:Rather then any Creditor, should money from them get.Yet cause I feele my selfe so weake that none mee credit dare:I heere reuoke: and doo it leave, some Banckrupts to his share.To all the Bookebinders by Paulles because I lyke their Arte:They e'ry weeke shal mony have, when they from Bookes departe.Amongst them all, my Printer must, have somwhat to his share:I wyll my Friends these Bookes to bye of him, with other ware.For Maydens poore, I Widdoers ritch, do leave, that oft shall dote:And by that meanes shal mary them, to set the Girles aflote.And wealthy Widdowes wil I leave, to help yong Gentylmen:Which when you have, in any case be courteous to them then:And see their Plate and Iewells eake may not be mard with rust.Nor let their Bags too long be full, for feare that they doo burst.To e'ry Gate vnder the walles, that compas thee about:I Fruit wives leave to entertayne such as come in and out.To Smithfeelde I must something leave my Parents there did dwell:So carelesse for to be of it, none wolde accompt it well.Wherfore it thrice a weeke shall have, of Horse and neat good store,And in his Spitle, blynd and lame, to dwell for evermore.And Bedlem must not be forgot, for that was oft my walke:I people there too many leave, that out of tune doo talke.At Bridewel there shal Bedelles be, and Matrones that shal styllSee Chalke wel chopt, and spinning plyde, and turning of the Mill.For such as cannot quiet bee, but striue for House or Land:At Th' innes of Court, I Lawyers leave to take their cause in hand.And also leave I at ech Inne of Court, or Chauncerye:Of Gentylmen, a youthfull roote, full of Actiuytie:For whom I store of Bookes have left, at each Bookebinders stall:And parte of all that London hath to furnish them withall.And when they are with study cloyd: to recreate theyr minde:Of Tennis Courts, of dauncing Scooles, and fence they store shal finde.And every Sonday at the least, I leave to make them sport.In diuers places Players, that of wonders shall reporte.Now London have I (for thy sake) within thee, and without:As coms into my memory, dispearsed round aboutSuch needfull thinges, as they should have heere left now unto thee:When I am gon, with consience, let them dispearced bee.And though I nothing named have, to bury mee withall:Consider that aboue the ground, annoyance bee I shall.And let me have a shrowding Sheete to couer mee from shame:And in obliuyon bury mee and never more mee name.Ringings nor other Ceremonies, vse you not for cost:Nor at my buriall, make no feast, your mony were but lost.Reioyce in God that I am gon, out of this vale so vile.And that of ech thing, left such store, as may your wants exile.I make thee sole executor, because I lou'de thee best.And thee I put in trust, to geve the goodes unto the rest.Because thou shalt a helper neede, In this so great a chardge,I wysh good Fortune, be thy guide, least thou shouldst run at lardge.The happy dayes and quiet times, they both her Seruants bee.Which well wyll serue to fetch and bring, such things as neede to thee.Wherfore (good London) not refuse, for helper her to take:Thus being weake and wery both an end heere wyll I make.To all that aske what end I made, and how I went away:Thou answer maist like those which heere, no longer tary may.And unto all that wysh mee well, or rue that I am gon:Doo me comend, and bid them cease my absence for to mone.And tell them further, if they wolde, my presence styll have had:They should have sought to mend my luck; which ever was too bad.So fare thou well a thousand times, God sheelde thee from thy foe:And styll make thee victorious, of those that seeke thy woe.And (though I am perswade) that I shall never more thee see:Yet to the last, I shal not cease to wish much good to thee.This, xx. of October I, in ANNO DOMINI:A Thousand: v. hundred seuenty three as Alminacks descry.Did write this Wyll with mine owne hand and it to London gaue:In witnes of the standers by, whose names yf you wyll have.Paper, Pen and Standish were: at that same present by:With Time, who promised to reveale, so fast as she could hyeThe same: least of my nearer kyn, for any thing should vary:So finally I make an end no longer can I tary.

Isabella Whitney