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 lies, though now enjoin'd Laborious till day droop; while here we dwell, What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks? Here let us live, though 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 eclips'd,
After short blush of morn: nigh in her sight The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove; Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, First hunter then, pursu'd a gentle brace Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. Adam observ'd, and with his eye the chase Pursuing, not unmov'd, to Eve thus spake.
"O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, Which Heaven, 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 pursued in the 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 heavenly fraught?"
He err'd not; for by this the heavenly 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 pavilion'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 Syrian king, who to surprise One man, assassin-like, had levied war, War unproclaim'd. The princely hierarch
In their bright stand there left his powers, 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 heavenly 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 Raphaël, that I should much confide; But solemn and sublime; whom not to offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire."
He ended; and the arch-angel 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 Meliboean, or the grain Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce; Iris had dipt the woof; His starry helm unbuckled show'd him prime In manhood where youth ended; by his side, As in a glistering 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 declar'd.
"Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs: Sufficient that thy prayers are heard; and Death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days
Given thee of grace; wherein thou may'st repent, And one bad act with many deeds well done May'st 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: 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 even, which I bred up with tender hand From the first opening bud, and gave ye names! Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rank Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount? Thee lastly, nuptial bower! 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 spirits return'd, To Michael thus his humble words address'd. "Celestial, whether among the thrones, or nam'd Of them the highest; 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 His blessed countenance: 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 flowers: In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or foot-step 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 Heaven 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 power and warm'd: All the 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 the 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, God is, as here; and will be found alike Present; and of his presence many a sign Still following thee, still compassing thee round With goodness and paternal love, his face Express, and of his steps the track divine. Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirm'd Ere thou from hence depart; know, I am sent To show thee what shall come in future days To thee, and to thy offspring: good with bad Expect to hear; supernal grace contending With sinfulness of men; thereby to learn True patience, and to temper joy with fear And pious sorrow; equally inur'd By moderation either state to bear, Prosperous or adverse: so shalt thou lead Safest thy life, and best prepar'd endure Thy mortal passage when it comes. — Ascend This hill; let Eve (for I have drench'd her eyes) Here sleep below; while thou to foresight wakʼst ;
As once thou slept'st, while she to life was form'd."
To whom thus Adam gratefully replied. "Ascend, I follow thee, safe guide, the path Thou lead'st me; and to the hand of Heaven submit, However chastening; to the evil turn
My obvious breast; arming to overcome By suffering, and earn rest from labour won, If so I may attain."— So both ascend In the visions of God. It was a hill, Of Paradise the highest; from whose top The hemisphere of Earth, in clearest ken, Stretch'd out to the amplest reach of prospect lay. Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round, Whereon, for different cause, the Tempter set Our second Adam, in the wilderness;
To show him all Earth's kingdoms, and their glory. His eye might there command wherever stood City of old or modern fame, the seat Of mightiest empire, from the destin❜d walls Of Cainbalu, seat of Cathaian Can, And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne, To Paquin of Sinæan kings; and thence To Agra and Lalior of great Mogul, Down to the golden Chersonese; or where The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since In Hispahan; or where the Russian ksar In Mosco; or the sultan in Bizance, Turchestan-born; nor could his eye not ken The empire of Negus to his utmost port Ercoco, and the less marítim kings Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind, And Sofala, thought Ophir, to the realm Of Congo, and Angola farthest south; Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus, Morocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen ;
On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway The world in spirit perhaps he also saw Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume, And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat Of Atabalipa; and yet unspoil'd Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights Michael from Adam's eyes the film remov'd, Which that false fruit that promis'd clearer sight Had bred; then purg'd with euphrasy and rue The visual nerve, for he had much to see; And from the well of life three drops instill'd. So deep the power of these ingredients pierc'd, Even to the inmost seat of mental sight, That Adam, now enforc'd to close his eyes, Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranc'd ; But him the gentle angel by the hand Soon rais'd, and his attention thus recall'd.
"Adam, now ope thine eyes; and first behold The effects, which thy original crime hath wrought In some to spring from thee; who never touch'd The excepted tree; nor with the snake conspir'd; Nor sinn'd thy sin; yet from that sin derive Corruption, to bring forth more violent deeds.'
His eyes he open'd, and beheld a field, Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves New reap'd; the other part sheep-walks and folds; I' the midst an altar as the land-mark stood Rustic, of grassy sord; thither anon A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought First fruits, the green ear, and the yellow sheaf, Uncull'd, as came to hand; a shepherd next, More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock,
Choicest and best; then, sacrificing, laid The inwards and their fat, with incense strow'd, On the cleft wood, and all due rites perform'd : His offering soon propitious fire from Heaven Consum'd with nimble glance, and grateful steam; The other's not, for his was not sincere ; Whereat he inly rag'd, and, as they talk'd, Smote him into the midriff with a stone That beat out life! he fell; and, deadly pale, Groan'd out his soul with gushing blood effus'd. Much at that sight was Adam in his heart Dismay'd, and thus in haste to the angel cried. "O teacher, some great mischief hath befall'n To that meek man, who well had sacrific'd; Is piety thus and pure devotion paid?"
To whom Michael thus, he also mov'd, replied. "These two are brethren, Adam, and to come Out of thy loins; the unjust the just hath slain, For envy that his brother's offering found From Heaven acceptance; but the bloody fact Will be aveng'd; and the other's faith, approv'd, Lose no reward; though here thou see him die, Rolling in dust and gore." To which our sire. "Alas! both for the deed, and for the cause! But have I now seen Death? Is this the way I must return to native dust? O sight Of terrour, foul and ugly to behold, Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!"
To whom thus Michael. "Death thou hast seen In his first shape on Man; but many shapes Of Death, and many are the ways that lead To his grim cave, all dismal; yet to sense More terrible at the entrance, than within. Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die; By fire, flood, famine, by intemperance more In meats and drinks, which on the Earth shall bring Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew Before thee shall appear; that thou may'st know What misery the inabstinence of Eve Shall bring on men." Immediately a place Before his eyes appear'd, sad, noisome, dark; A lazar-house it seem'd; wherein were laid Numbers of all diseas'd: all maladies Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds, Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs, Intestine stone and ulcer, colic-pangs, Demoniac phrensy, moping melancholy, And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy, Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence, Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums. Dire was the tossing, deep the groans; Despair Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch; And over them triumphant Death his dart Shook, but delay'd to strike, though oft invok'd With vows, as their chief good, and final hope. Sight so deform what heart of rock could long Dry-ey'd behold? Adam could not, but wept, Though not of woman born; compassion quell'd His best of man, and gave him up to tears A space, till firmer thoughts restrain'd excess; And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renew'd. "O miserable mankind, to what fall Degraded, to what wretched state reserv'd! Better end here unborn. Why is life given To be thus wrested from us? rather, why Obtruded on us thus? who, if we knew What we receive, would either not accept Life offer'd, or soon beg to lay it down; Glad to be so dismiss'd in peace. Can tbus
Forsook them, when themselves they vilified To serve ungovern'd Appetite; and took His image whom they serv'd, a brutish vice, Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve. Therefore so abject is their punishment, Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own; Or if his likeness, by themselves defac'd; While they pervert pure Nature's healthful rules To loathsome sickness; worthily, since they God's image did not reverence in themselves."
"I yield it just," said Adam, "and submit. But is there yet no other way, besides These painful passages, how we may come To death, and mix with our connatural dust ?"
"There is," said Michael, "if thou well observe The rule of Not too much; by temperance taught, In what thou eat'st and drink'st; seeking from thence
Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight, Till many years over thy head return: So may'st thou live; till, like ripe fruit, thou drop Into thy mother's lap; or be with ease Gather'd, not harshly pluck'd; for death mature: This is Old Age; but then, thou must outlive Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty; which will change
To wither'd, weak, and gray; thy senses then, Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forego, To what thou hast; and, for the air of youth, Hopeful and cheerful in thy blood will reign A melancholy damp of cold and dry To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume The balm of life." To whom our ancestor. "Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong Life much; bent rather, how I may be quit, Fairest and easiest of this cumbrous charge; Which I must keep till my appointed day Of rendering up, and patiently attend My dissolution." Michael replied.
"Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou Live well; how long, or short, permit to Heaven: And now prepare thee for another sight."
He look'd, and saw a spacious plain, whereon Were tents of various hue; by some, were herds Of cattle grazing; others, whence the sound Of instruments, that made melodious chime, Was heard, of harp and organ; and, who mov'd Their stops and chords, was seen; his volant touch, Instinct through all proportions, low and high, Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue. In other part stood one who, at the forge Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass Had melted, (whether found where casual fire Had wasted woods on mountain or in vale, Down to the veins of Earth; thence gliding hot To some cave's mouth; or whether wash'd by stream From underground ;) the liquid ore he drain'd Into fit moulds prepar'd; from which he form'd First his own tools; then, what might else be wrought Fusil or graven in metal. After these,
But on the hither side, a different sort
[seat, | Giants of mighty bone, and bold emprise ;
From the high neighbouring hills, which was their Down to the plain descended; by their guise Just men they seem'd, and all their study bent To worship God aright, and know his works Not hid; nor those things last, which might preserve Freedom and peace to men: they on the plain Long had not walk'd, when from the tents, behold! A bevy of fair women, richly gay
In gems and wanton dress; to the harp they sung Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on: The men, though grave, ey'd them; and let their
Rove without rein; till, in the amorous net Fast caught, they lik'd; and each his liking chose; And now of love they treat, till the evening-star, Love's harbinger, appear'd; then, all in heat They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke Hymen, then first to marriage rites invok'd: With feast and music all the tents resound. Such happy interview, and fair event Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers, And charming symphonies, attach'd the heart Of Adam, soon inclin'd to admit delight, The bent of nature; which he thus express'd. "True opener of mine eyes, prime angel blest; Much better seems this vision, and more hope Of peaceful days portends, than those two past; Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse; Here Nature seems fulfill'd in all her ends."
To whom thus Michael. "Judge not what is best By pleasure, though to nature seeming meet; Created, as thou art, to nobler end Holy and pure, conformity divine.
Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant, were the tents Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race Who slew his brother; studious they appear Of arts that polish life, inventers rare; Unmindful of their Maker, though his spirit Taught them; but they his gifts acknowledg'd
Yet they a beauteous offspring shall beget;
For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seem'd Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay, Yet empty of all good wherein consists Woman's domestic honour and chief praise; Bred only and completed to the taste Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance,
To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye. To these that sober race of men, whose lives Religious titled them the sons of God, Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles Of these fair atheists; and now swim in joy, Ere long to swim at large; and laugh, for which The world ere long a world of tears must weep." To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft. "O pity and shame, that they, who to live well Enter'd so fair, should turn aside to tread Paths indirect, or in the mid way faint! But still I sce the tenour of man's woe Holds on the same, from woman to begin."
"From man's effeminate slackness it begins," Said the angel, "who should better hold his place By wisdom, and superior gifts receiv'd. But now prepare thee for another scene."
He look'd, and saw wide territory spread Before him, towns, and rural works between ; Cities of men with lofty gates and towers, Concourse in arms, fierce faces threatening war,
Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed, Single or in array of battle rang'd
Both horse and foot, nor idly mustering stood One way a band select from forage drives A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine, From a fat meadow ground; or fleecy flock, Ewes and their bleating lambs over the plain, Their booty; scarce with life the shepherds fly, But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray; With cruel tournament the squadrons join; Where cattle pastur'd late, now scatter'd lies With carcasses and arms the ensanguin'd field, Deserted; others to a city strong
Lay siege, encamp'd; by battery, scale, and mine, Assaulting; others from the wall defend With dart and javelin, stones, and sulphurous fire; On each hand slaughter, and gigantic deeds. In other part the scepter'd heralds call To council, in the city-gates; anon Gray-headed men and grave, with warriours mix'd, Assemble, and harangues are heard; but soon, In factious opposition; till at last, Of middle age one rising, eminent
In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong, Of justice, of religion, truth, and peace, And judgment from above: him old and young Exploded, and had seiz'd with violent hands; Had not a cloud descending snatch'd him thence Unseen amid the throng: so violence Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law, Through all the plain, and refuge none was found. Adam was all in tears, and to his guide Lamenting turn'd full sad: "O! what are these, Death's ministers, not men? who thus deal death Inhumanly to men, and multiply
Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew His brother: for of whom such massacre Make they, but of their brethren; men of men? But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?"
To whom thus Michael. "These are the product Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st; [selves Where good with bad were match'd, who of them- Abhor to join; and, by imprudence mix'd, Produce prodigious births of body or mind. Such were these giants, men of high renown; For in those days might only shall be admir'd, And valour and heroic virtue call'd; To overcome in battle, and subdue Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite Man-slaughter, shall be held the highest pitch Of human glory; and for glory done Of triumph, to be styl'd great conquerors, Patrons of mankind, gods and sons of gods; Destroyers rightlier call'd, and plagues of men. Thus fame shall be achiev'd, renown on Earth; And what most merits fame, in silence hid. But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou beheldst The only righteous in a world perverse, And therefore hated, therefore so beset With foes, for daring single to be just,
And utter odious truth, that God would come
To judge them with his saints: him the Most High Rapt in a balmy cloud with winged steeds Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with God High in salvation and the climes of bliss, Exempt from death; to show thee what reward Awaits the good: the rest what punishment; Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold."
He look'd, and saw the face of things quite | When violence was ceas'd, and war on Earth,
The brazen throat of war had ceas'd to roar All now was turn'd to jollity and game, To luxury and riot, feast and dance; Marrying or prostituting, as befell, Rape or adultery, where passing fair
Allur'd them; thence from cups to civil broils. At length a reverend sire among them came, And of their doings great dislike declar'd And testified against their ways; he oft Frequented their assemblies, whereso met, Triumphs or festivals; and to them preach'd Conversion and repentance, as to souls In prison, under judgments imminent : But all in vain: which when he saw, he ceas'd Contending, and remov'd his tents far off': Then, from the mountain hewing timber tall, Began to build a vessel of huge bulk; Measur'd by cubit, length, and breadth, and height; Smear'd round with pitch; and in the side a door Contriv'd; and of provisions laid in large, For man and beast: when lo, a wonder strange ! Of every beast, and bird, and insect small, Caine sevens and pairs; and enter'd in as taught Their order: last the sire and his three sons, With their four wives; and God made fast the door. Meanwhile the south-wind rose, and, with black wings
Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove From under Heaven; the hills to their supply Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist, Sent up amain; and now the thicken'd sky Like a dark ceiling stood; down rush'd the rain Impetuous; and continued, till the Earth No more was seen the floating vessel swum Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow Rode tilting o'er the waves; all dwellings else Flood overwhelm'd, and them with all their pomp Deep under water roll'd; sea cover'd sea, Sea without shore; and in their palaces, Where luxury late reign'd, sea-monsters whelp'd And stabled; of mankind, so numerous late, All left, in one small bottom swum imbark'd. How didst thou grieve, then, Adam, to behold The end of all thy offspring, end so sad, Depopulation! Thee another flood,
Of tears and sorrow a flood, thee also drown'd, And sunk thee as thy sons; till, gently rear'd By the angel, on thy feet thou stood'st at last; Though comfortless; as when a father mourns His children, all in view destroy'd at once; And scarce to the angel utter'dst thus thy plaint. "O visions ill foreseen! better had I Liv'd ignorant of future! so had borne My part of evil only, each day's lot Enough to bear; those now, that were dispens'd The burden of many ages, on me light At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth Abortive, to torment me ere their being, With thought that they must be. Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold, what shall befall Him or his children; evil he may be sure, Which neither his foreknowing can prevent; And he the future evil shall no less In apprehension than in substance feel, Grievous to bear: but that care now is past, Man is not whom to warn: those few escap'd Famine and anguish will at last consume, Wandering that watery desert: I had hope
All would have then gone well; peace would have
With length of happy days the race of Man ;
But I was far deceived; for now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. How comes it thus? unfold, celestial guide, And whether here the race of Man will end.' To whom thus Michael. "Those, whom last thou saw'st
In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they First seen in acts of prowess eminent And great exploits, but of true virtue void; Who, having spilt much blood, and done much waste Subduing nations, and achiev'd thereby Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey; Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth, Surfeit, and lust; till wantonness and pride Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace. The conquer'd also, and enslav'd by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose And fear of God; from 'whom their piety feign'd In sharp contést of battle found no aid Against invaders; therefore, cool'd in zeal, Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure, Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords
Shall leave them to enjoy ; for the Earth shall bear More than enough, that temperance may be tried : So all shall turn degenerate, all deprav'd; Justice and temperance, truth and faith, forgot; One man except, the only son of light In a dark age, against example good, Against allurement, custom, and a world Offended: fearless of reproach and scorn, Or violence, he of their wicked ways Shall them admonish; and before them set The paths of righteousness, how much more safe And full of peace; denouncing wrath to come On their impenitence; and shall return Of them derided, but of God observ'd The one just man alive; by his command Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheldst, To save himself, and household, from amidst A world devote to universal wrack. No sooner he, with them of man and beast Select for life, shall in the ark be lodg'd, And shelter'd round; but all the cataracts Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour Rain, day and night; all fountains of the deep, Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp Beyond all bounds; till inundation rise Above the highest hills: then shall this mount Of Paradise by might of waves be mov'd Out of his place, push'd by the horned flood, With all his verdure spoil'd, and trees adrift, Down the great river to the opening gulf, And there take root an island salt and bare, The haunt of seals, and orcs, and sea-mews' clang: To teach thee that God attributes to place No sanctity, if none be thither brought By men who there frequent, or therein dwell. And now, what further shall ensue, behold."
He look'd, and saw the ark hull on the flood, Which now abated; for the clouds were fled, Driven by a keen north-wind, that, blowing dry, Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decay'd; And the clear Sun on his wide watery glass Gaz'd hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, As after thirst; which made their flowing shrink From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole
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