With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere, 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 wand'ring 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 grey, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's Great Author rise, Whether to deck with clouds th? 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,

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 than I know. While thus I calld, and stray'd I knew not whither, From where I first drew air, and first beheld This happy light, when answer none return’d, On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers, Pensive I sat me down; there gentle sleep First found me; and with soft oppression sciz'd My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought I then was passing to my

former state, Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve: When suddenly stood at my head a drcam, Whose inward apparition gently mov’d My fancy to believe I yet had being, And liv'd: 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 air, Smooth sliding without step, last led me up A woody mountain, whose high top was plain; A circuit wide, inclos’d, with goodliest trees Planted, with walks and bowers, that what I saw Of earth before scarce pleasant seem'd. Each tree

Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to th’eye
Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite
To pluck and eat: whereat, I wak’d, and found
Before mine

eyes all real, as the dream
Had lively shadow'd: here had new begun
My wand'ring, had not He who was my guide
Up hither, from among the trees appear'd,
Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe,
In adoration at His feet I fell
Submiss; He rear'd me, and, Whom thou sought'st,

I AM,
Said mildly, Author of all this thou seest
Above, or round about thee, or beneath;
This paradise I give thee, count it thine.

ADAM's

PENITENTIAL REFLECTIONS AFTER

HIS FALL.

MILTON.

O MISERABLE of happy! is this the end
Of this new glorious world, and me so late
The glory of that glory, who now become
Accurs'd of blessed? Hide me from the face

Of God, Whom to behold was then my height
Of happiness! yet well, if here would end
The misery; I deserv'd it, and would bear
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, Increase and multiply,
Now death to hear! for what can I increase
Or multiply, 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 me
Shall with a fierce reflux on me redound,
On me, as on their natural centre, light
Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joys-
Of paradise, dear bought with lasting woes!
Did I request Thee, Maker, from my clay
To mould me man? Did I solicit Thee
From darkness to promote me, or here place
In this delicious garden? As my will
Concurr'd not to my being, it were but right
And equal to reduce me to my dust,
Desirous to resign and render back
All I receiv'd, unable to perform

Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold The good I sought not. To the loss of that, Sufficient penalty, 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 refus'd Those terms whatever, when they were propos’d: Thou didst accept them; wilt thou enjoy the good, Then cayil 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 return: () welcome hour whenever! why delays His hand to execute what his decree Fix'd on this day? why do I overlive, Why am I mock'd with death, and lengthen'd out To deathless pain? how gladly would I meet Mortality my sentence, and be earth Insensible! how glad would lay me down

B