What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, How nature paints her colours, how the bee Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye On Adam; whom embracing, thus she spake: O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, My glory, my perfection; glad I see
Thy 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 past, or morrow's next design; But of offence and trouble, which my mind Knew never till this irksome night. Methought Close at mine ear one call'd me forth to walk With gentle voice; I thought it thine: it said, Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time, The cool, the silent, save where silence yields To the night-warbling bird, that now awake Tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song; now reigns Full-orb'd the moon, and with more pleasing light Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain, If none regard; heaven wakes with all his eyes, Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire? In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment Attracted 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 ways That brought me on a sudden to the tree Of interdicted knowledge: fair it seem'd, Much fairer to my fancy than by day: And, as I wondering look'd, beside it stood
One shaped and wing'd like one of those from heaven By us oft seen; his dewy locks distill'd Ambrosia; on that tree he also gazed:
And, O, fair plant, said he, with fruit surcharged, Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet, Nor God, nor man? is knowledge so despised? Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste? Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold Longer thy offer'd good; why else set here? This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm He pluck'd, he tasted; me damp horrour chill'd At such bold words vouch'd with a deed so bold:
But he thus, overjoy'd: O fruit divine, Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt. Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit For gods, yet able to make gods of men:
And why not gods of men, since good, the more
30. The breaks in Eve's narration are extremely beautiful, and adapted to the circumstances of one just awakened, be
fore the thoughts were well re-collected. 60. Nor God. Milton often attributes the name of God to angels: see 117.
Communicated, more abundant grows, The authour not impair'd, but honour'd more? Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve, Partake thou also; happy though thou art, Happier thou mayst be, worthier canst not be: Taste this, and be henceforth among the gods Thyself a goddess; not to earth confined, But sometimes in the air, as we, sometimes Ascend to heaven, by merit thine, and see What life the gods live there, and such live thou. So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, Ev'n to my mouth of that same fruit held part Which he had pluck'd: the pleasant savoury smell So quicken'd appetite, that I, methought,
Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds With him I flew; and underneath beheld The earth outstretch'd immense, a prospect wide And various: wondering at my flight and change To this high exaltation, suddenly
My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down, And fell asleep: but, O, how glad I waked
To find this but a dream! Thus Eve her night Related, and thus Adam answer'd sad:
Best image of myself, and dearer half, The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep Affects me equally; nor can I like
This uncouth dream, of evil sprung I fear: Yet evil whence? in thee can harbour none, Created pure. But know, that in the soul Are many lesser faculties that serve Reason as chief; among these Fancy next Her office holds; of all external things, Which the five watchful senses represent, She forms imaginations, aery shapes Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames All what we affirm or what deny, and call Our knowledge or opinion; then retires Into her private cell, when nature rests. Oft in her absence mimic fancy wakes
To imitate ber; but, misjoining shapes, Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams; Ill matching words and deeds long past or late. Some such resemblances, methinks, I find
Of our last evening's talk in this thy dream, But with addition strange; yet be not sad: Evil into the mind of God or man
May come and go, so unapproved; and leave
No spot or blame behind: which gives me hope That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream,
110. mimic fancy. This account of and philosophical as it is beautiful and dreams, Mr. Dunster remarks, is as just poetical. 117. See note on 1. 60.
Waking thou never wilt consent to do.
Be not dishearten'd then; nor cloud those looks, That wont to be more cheerful and serene Than when fair morning first smiles on the world: And let us to our fresh employments rise Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers, That open now their choicest bosom'd smells, Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store.
So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd; But silently a gentle tear let fall
From either eye, and wiped them with her hair: Two other precious drops, that ready stood, Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse, And pious awe that fear'd to have offended.
So all was clear'd, and to the field they haste. But first, from under shady arborous roof Soon as they forth were come to open sight Of day-spring and the sun, who, scarce uprisen, With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean-brim, Shot parallel to the earth his dewy ray, Discovering in wide landskip all the east Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains, Lowly they bow'd adoring, and began Their orisons, each morning duly paid In various style; for neither various style Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise
Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced, or sung Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence
Flow'd from their lips, in prose or numerous verse, More tuneable than needed lute or harp
To add more sweetness; and they thus began: These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing: ye in heaven; On earth join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet; praise him in thy sphere
153. These are, &c. I need not remark the beautiful spirit of poetry which runs through this whole hymn, nor the holi
ness of that resolution with which it concludes.
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, And when high noon hast gain'd and when thou fall'st. Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st, With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies; And ye five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's great Authour rise; Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty 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 ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls: ye birds, That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still To give us only good; and if the night Have gather'd aught of evil or conceal'd, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
So pray'd they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recover'd soon, and wonted calm. On to their morning's rural work they haste, Among sweet dews and flowers, where any row Of fruit-trees over-woody reach'd too far Their pamper'd boughs, and needed hands to check Fruitless embraces: or they led the vine
To wed her elm; she, spoused, about him twines Her marriageable arms, and with her brings
181. That in quaternion run. That is, that in a fourfold mixture and combination run a perpetual circle, one element continually changing into another.
198. We find a like hyperbole in Shakspeare, Cymbeline, ii.: "Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings."
Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn His barren leaves. Them thus employ'd beheld With pity heaven's high King, and to him call'd Raphael, the sociable spirit, that deign'd To travel with Tobias, and secured His marriage with the seven-times-wedded maid. Raphael, said he, thou hear'st what stir on earth Satan, from hell 'scaped through the darksome gulf, Hath raised in Paradise; and how disturb'd This night the human pair; how he designs In them at once to ruin all mankind:
Go therefore, half this day as friend with friend Converse with Adam; in what bower or shade Thou find'st him from the heat of noon retired, To respite his day-labour with repast, Or with repose; and such discourse bring on, As may advise him of his happy state; Happiness in his power left free to will, Left to his own free will, his will though free, Yet mutable; whence warn him to beware He swerve not, too secure: tell him withal His danger, and from whom; what enemy, Late fallen himself from heaven, is plotting now The 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, Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend Surprisal, unadmonish'd, unforewarn'd
So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfill'd All justice: nor delay'd the winged saint After his charge received; but from among Thousand celestial ardours, where he stood Veil'd with his gorgeous wings, up springing light, Flew through the midst of heaven: the angelic quires, On each hand parting, to his speed gave way Through all the empyreal road; till, at the gate
Of heaven arrived, the gate self-open'd wide
On golden hinges turning, as by work
Divine the sovran Architect had framed.
From hence no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight,
Star interposed, however small, he sees,
Not unconform to other shining globes,
Earth and the garden of God, with cedars crown'd Above all hills: as when by night the glass
Of Galileo, less assured, observes Imagined lands and regions in the moon:
222. In the Book of Tobit, the angel Raphael travels with Tobias into Media and back again, and instructs him how to marry Sarah, and how to drive away the wicked spirit. See Look iv. 168,
Milton here means only Seraphim, which signifies just the same in Hebrew (being derived from Zaroph, "to burn") as Ardours in English.-THYER.
257. No cloud or star being interposed. 249. Ardours. By the word Ardours | Not unconform: that is, not unlike.
« AnteriorContinuar » |