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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, No umperceiv'd of Adam: who to Eve, While the great visitant approach'd, thus spake. “Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps 9f 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.
“Celestia], 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 wak'st;

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 Sinaean kings; and thence
To Agra and Lahor 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

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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 2" 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 1 Better end here unborn. Why is life given To be thus wrested from us? rather, why Cotruded on us thus? who, if we knew What we receive, would either not accept ***eod, or soon beg to lay it down'; **\e so dismiss'd in peace. Can'tbus

The image of God in Man, created once
So goodly and erect, though faulty since,
To such unsightly sufferings be debas'd
Under inhuman pains? Why should not Man,
Retaining still divine similitude
In part, from such deformities be free,
And, for his Maker's image sake, exempt?”
“Their Maker's image,” answer'd Michael,
“ then
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, o, 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. [liv'st,

“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 prepard; from which he form'd First his own tools; then, what might else bo

wrought Fusil or graven in * After these, 3

But on the hither side, a different sort [seat,
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
eyes
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
none.
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 see 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,

Giants of mighty bone, and bold emprise;
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
IIis brother: for of whom such massacre
Make they, but of their brethren; men of men P
But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven
Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?”
To whom thus Michael. “These are the proddict
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 cycs and soon behold.”

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He look'd, and saw the face of things quite

» 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, Bogan to build a vessel of huge bulk; Measur’d by cubit, length, and breadth, and height; Sultar'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, Cane 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

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When violence was ceas'd, and war on Earth,
All would have then gone well; peace would have
crown'd

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,
Surfait, 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 jos ebb, that stole

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