Of God high-bless'd, or to incline his will,
Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer,
Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne
Ev'n to the seat of God. For since I sought
By pray'r th' offended Deity to appease,
Kneel'd, and before him humbled all my heart,
Methought I saw him placable and mild,
Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew
That I was heard with favour; peace return'd
Home to my breast, and to my memory

His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe;
Which then not minded in dismay, yet now
Assures me that the bitterness of death

Is past and we shall live. Whence hail to thee,
Eve rightly call'd, mother of all mankind,
Mother of all things living, since by thee
Man is to live, and all things live for Man.

To whom thus Eve, with sad demeanour meek: Ill worthy I such title should belong

To me transgressor, who for thee ordain'd
A help, became thy snare; to me reproach
Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise:
But infinite in pardon was my Judge,

That I who first brought death on all, am grac'd
The source of life; next favourable thou,
Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf'st,
Far other name deserving. But the field
To labour calls us now with sweat impos'd,
Though after sleepless night; for see the morn,
All unconcern'd with our unrest, begins
Her rosy progress smiling: let us forth;
I never from thy side henceforth to stray,
Where'er our day's work fies, though now injoin'd
Laborious, till day droop; while here we dwell,
What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks!
Here let us live, tho' in fall'n state content.

So spake, so wish'd much-humbled Eve; but fate
Subscrib'd not: Nature first gave signs, impress'd
On bird, beast, air, air suddenly celips'd
After short blush of morn; nigh in her sight
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his airy tour,

Two birds of gayest plume before him drove:
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods,
First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace,
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind;
Direct to th' eastern gate was bent their flight.
Adam observed, and with his eye the chase
Pursuing, not unmov❜d to Eve thus spake :

O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Which Heav'n by these mute signs in nature shows, Forerunners of his purpose, or to warn

Us haply too secure of our discharge
From penalty, because from death releas'd

Some days; how long, and what till then our life,
Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust,
And thither must return, and be no more?
Why else this double object in our sight,

Of flight pursu❜d in th' air, and o'er the ground,
One way the self-same hour? why in the east
Darkness ere day's mid course, and morning-light
More orient in yon western cloud, that draws
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white,

And slow descends, with something heav'nly fraught?
He err'd not; for by this the heav'nly bands
Down from a sky of Jasper lighted now

In Paradise, and on a hill made halt;
A glorious apparition, had not doubt

And carnal fear that day dimm'd Adam's eye.
Not that more glorious, when the Angels met
Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw

The field pavillion'd with his guardians bright;
Nor that which on the flaming mount appear'd
In Dothan, cover'd with a camp of fire,
Against the Assyrian king, who to surprise
One man, assassin-like, had levy'd war,
War unproclaim'd. The princely Hierarch
In their bright stand there left his pow'rs to seize
Possession of the garden; he alone,

To find where Adam shelter'd, took his way,
Not unperceiv'd of Adam, who to Eve,

While the great visitant approach'd, thus spake :
Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps

Of us, will soon determine, or impose
New laws to be observ'd; for I descry,
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,
One of the heav'nly host, and by his gait
None of the meanest, some great potentate
Or of the Thrones above, such majesty
Invests him coming; yet not terrible,
That I should fear; nor sociably mild,
As Raphael, that I should much confide;
But solemn and sublime, whom not to offend,
With rev'rence I must meet, and thou retire.

He ended; and th' Archangel soon drew nigh, Not in his shape celestial, but as man Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple flow'd, Livelier than Melibean, or the grain Of Sara, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris had dip'd the woof; His starry helm unbuckled show'd him prime In manhood, where youth ended; by his side As in a glist'ring zodiac, hung the sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. Adam bow'd low; he kingly from his state Inclin'd not, but his coming thus déclar❜d:

Adam, Heav'n's high behest no preface needs, Sufficient that thy pray'rs are heard, and death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days

Giv❜n thee of grace, wherein thou mayst repent,

And one bad act with many deeds well done Mayst cover: well may then thy Lord appeas'd Redeem thee quite from death's rapacious claim; But longer in this Paradise to dwell,

Permits not; to remove thee I am come,

And send thee from the garden forth to till
The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil.
He added not; for Adam at the news
Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood,
That all his senses bound: Eve, who unseen
Yet all had heard, with audible lament
Discover'd soon the place of her retire.

O unexpected stroke, worse than of death I Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, That never will in other climate grow, My early visitation, and my last

At ev❜n, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first op'ning bud, and gave ye names,
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank

Your tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount?
Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd
With what to sight or smell was sweet! from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure

And wild? how shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?

Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild:
Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart
Thus over fond, on that which is not thine.
Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes
Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native soil.,

Adam by this from the cold sudden damp
Recovering, and his scatter'd sp'rits return'd,
To Michael thus his humble words address'd:

Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or nam'd
Of them the high'st, for such of shape may seem
Prince above princes, gently hast thou told
Thy message, which might else in telling wound,
And in performing end us; what besides

Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair,
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring,
Departure from this happy place, our sweet
Recess, and only consolation left

Familiar to our eyes; all places else

Inhospitable appear and desolate,

Nor knowing us nor known: and if by prayer
Incessant I could hope to change the will

Of him who all things can, I would not cease
To weary him with my assiduous cries:
But prayer against his absolute decree

No more avails than breath against the wind,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth:
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
This most afflicts me, that departing hence,
As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd
Ilis blessed count'nance; here I could frequent
With worship place by place where he vouchsaf'd
Presence divine, and to my sons relate,

On this mount he appear'd, under this tree
Stood visible, among these pines his voice
I heard, here with him at this fountain talk'd;
So many grateful altars I would rear

Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memory,
Or monument to ages, and thereon

Offer sweet smelling gums, and fruits, and flow'rs:
In yonder nether world where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or footstep trace?
For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd
To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory, and far off his steps adore.

To whom thus Michael with regard benign:
Adam, thou know'st Heav'n his, and all the earth,
Not this rock only; his omnipresence fills
Land, sea and air, and every kind that lives,
Fomented by his virtual pow'r and warm'd:
All th' earth he gave thee to possess and rule,
No despicable gift; surmise not then
His presence to these narrow bounds confin'd
Of Paradise or Eden: this had been

Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread
All generations, and had hither come

From all the ends of th' earth, to celebrate
And reverence thee their great progenitor.

But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons:
Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain