Direct, or by occasion) hath presented
This happy trial of thy love, which else
So eminently never had been known.
Were it I thought death menac'd would ensue
This my attempt, I would sustain alone.
The worst, and not persuade thee; rather die
Deserted, than oblige thee with a fact
Pernicious to thy peace; chiefly assur'd
Remarkably so late of thy so true,
So faithful love unequall'd; but I feel
Far otherwise th' event, not death, but life
Augmented, open'd eyes, new hopes, new joys,
Taste so divine, that what of sweet before
Hath touch'd my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh.
On my experience, Adam, freely taste,
And fear of death deliver to the winds.
So saying, she embrac'd him, and for joy Tenderly wept; much won, that he his love Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. In recompense (for such compliance bad Such recompense best merits) for the bough She gave him of that fair enticing fruit With liberal hand: he scrupled not to eat, Against his better knowledge; not deceiv'd, But fondly overcome with female charm. Earth trembled from her entrails, as again In pangs; and Nature gave a second groan; Sky lour'd, and muttering thunder, some sad drops Wept at completing of the mortal sin
Original; while Adam took no thought,
Eating his fill; nor Eve to iterate
Her former trespass fear'd, the more to soothe
Him with her lov'd society; that now,
As with new wine intoxicated both,
They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel
Divinity within them breeding wings
Wherewith to scorn the earth. But that false fruit
Far other operation first display'd,
Carnal desire inflaming; he on Eve
Began to cast lascivious eyes, she him
As wantonly repaid; in lust they burnt,
Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move:
Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste,
And elegant, of sapience no small part,
Since to each meaning savour we apply,
And palate call judicious: I the praise
Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purvey'd.
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstain'd
From this delightful fruit, nor known till now
True relish, tasting; if such pleasure be
*In things to us forbidd'n, it might be wish'd,
For this one tree had been forbidden ten.
But come, so well refresh'd, now let us play,
As meet is, after such delicious fare;
For never did thy beauty since the day
I saw thee first, and wedded thee, adorn'd
With all perfections, so inflame my sense
With ardour to enjoy thee; fairer now
Than ever, bounty of this virtuous tree.
So said he, and forebore not glance or toy Of amorous intent: well understood Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire: Her hand he seiz'd, and to a shady bank, Thick overhead with verdant roof imbower'd, He led her nothing loath; flow'rs were the couch, Pansies, and violets, and asphodel,
And hyacinth, earth's freshest softest lap,
There they their fill of love, and love's disport
Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal,
The solace of their sin; till dewy sleep
>ppress'd them, wearied with their amorous play.
Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit,
hat with exhilarating vapour bland
bout their spirits had play'd, and inmost pow'rs lade err, was now exhal'd; and grosser sleep red of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams cumber'd, now had left them; up they rose
As from unrest, and each the other viewing,
Soon found their eyes how open'd, and their minds
How darken'd; innocence, that as a veil
Had shadow'd them from knowing ill, was gone,
Just confidence, and native righteousness,
And honour from about them, naked left
To guilty shame; he cover'd, but his robe
Uncover'd more. So rose the Danite strong,
Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap
Of Philistean Dalilah, and wak'd
Shorn of his strength: they destitute and bare
Of all their virtue, silent, and in face
Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute:
Till Adam, though not less than Eve abash'd,
At length gave utterance to these words constrain'd:
O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear
To that false worm, of whomsoever taught
To counterfeit man's voice; true in our fall,
False in our promis'd rising: since our eyes
Open'd we find indeed, and find we know
Both good and evil, good lost, and evil got,
Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know,
Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void,
Of innocence, of faith, of purity,
Our wonted ornaments now soil'd and stain'd,
And in our faces evident the signs
of foul concupiscence; whence evil store;
Ev'n shame, the last of evils; of the first
Be sure then. How shall 1 behold the face
Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy
And rapture so oft beheld; those heav'nly shapes
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze
Insufferably bright. O might I here
In solitude live savage, in some glade
Obscur'd, where highest woods, impenetrable
To star or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad
And brown as evening: cover me, ye pines,
Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs
Hide me, where I may never see them more.
But let us now, as in bad plight, deyise
What best may for the present serve to hide
The parts of each from other, that seem most
To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen;
Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves together sow'd
And girded on our loins, may cover round
Those middle parts, that this new comer, shame,
There sit not, and reproach us as unclean,
So counsel'd he, and both together went
Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose
The fig-tree; not that kind for fruit renown'd;
But such as at this day to Indians known
In Malabar or Decan, spreads her arms,
Branching so broad and long, that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About their mother-tree, a pillar'd shade
High overarch'd, and echoing walks between;
There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat,
Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds
At loop-holes cut through thickest shade: those leaves
They gather'd, broad as Amazonian targe;
And with what skill they had, together sow'd,
To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide
Their guilt and dreaded shame: O how unlike
To that first naked glory! Such of late
Columbus found the American, so girt
With feather'd cincture, naked else and wild
Among the trees on isles and woody shores.
Thus fenc'd, and as they thought, their shame in part
Cover'd, but not at rest or ease of mind,
They sat them down to weep; nor only tears
Rain'd at their eyes, but high winds worse within
Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate,
Mistrust, suspicion, discord, and shook sore
Their inward state of mind; calm region once,
And full of peace, now tost and turbulent:
For understanding rul'd not, and the will
Heard not her lore, both in subjection now.
To sensual appetite, who from beneath,
Usurping, over sov'reign reason claim'd
Superior sway from his distemper'd breast,
Adam, estrang'd in look and alter'd stile,
Speech intermitted, thus to Eve renew'd:
Would thou hadst hearken'd to my words, and stay'd With me, as I besought thee, when that strange Desire of wand'ring this unhappy morn,
I know not whence possess'd thee; we had then
Remain'd still happy, not as now, despoil'd
Of all our good, sham'd, naked, miserable.
Let none henceforth seek needless cause t' approve
The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek
Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
To whom soon mov'd with touch of blame thus
What words have pass'd thy lips, Adam, severe!
Imput'st thou that to my default, or will
Of wandring, as thou call'st it, which who knowst
But might as ill have happen'd thou being by,
Or to thyself perhaps, hadst thou been there?
Or here th' attempt, thou could'st not have discern'd
Fraud in the serpent, speaking as he spake;
No ground of enmity between us known,
Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm.
Was I to have never parted from thy side?
As good have grown there still a lifeless rib.
Being as I am, why didst not thou the head
Command me absolutely not to go,
Going into such danger as thou saidst!
Too facile then thou didst not much gainsay,
Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss.
Hadst thou been firm and fix'd in thy dissent
Neither had I transgress'd, nor thou with me.
To whom, then first incens'd, Adam reply'd:
Is this the love, is this the recompense
Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, express'd
Immutable, when thou were lost, not 1;
Who might have liv'd, and joy'd immortal bliss,
Yet willingly chose rather death with thee?
|