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When suddenly stood at my head, a dream,
Whose inward apparition gently moved

My fancy to believe I yet had being,

And lived. 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
Loaded with fairest fruit, that hung, to the eye
Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite
To pluck and eat; whereat I wak'd, and found
Before my eyes all real, as the dream
Had lively shadow'd. Here had now begun
My wandering, 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 soughtest,

I am,

Said mildly; Author of all this thou see'st

Above, or round about thee, or beneath.

ADAM AND EVE' IN PARADISE.

Milton,

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,
Godlike erect! with native honour clad,
In naked majesty, seem'd lords of all,
And worthy seem'd; for in their look divine
The image of their glorious Maker shone.
Truth, wisdom, sanctitude, severe and pure ;
Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,
Whence true authority in men: though both
Not equal, as their sex not equal seem'd.
For contemplation he, and valour form'd;
For softness she and sweet attractive grace;
He, for God only; she, for God in him.
His large fair front, and eyes sublime, declar'd
Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks,
Round from his parted forelock manly hung
Clust'ring, but not beneath his shoulders broad.
She, as a veil, down to the slender waist,
Her unadorned golden tresses wore
Dishevel'd; but in wanton ringlets wav'd,
As the vine curls her tendrils; which implied
Subjection, but required with gentle sway,
And by her yielded, by him best received.

MORNING HYMN OF ADAM AND EVE.

Milton.

AND NOW,
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 landscape, 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 stains pronounc'd 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 wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'rous then!
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heav'ns,
To us invisible, or dimly seen,

In these thy lowlier works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought or 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,
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 fliest, With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies; And five other wandering fires, that move

ye

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 the uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs;
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's 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 ought of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

NOON.

Thomson.

Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun
Melts into limpid air the high raised clouds
And morning fogs that hover'd round the hills
In party colour'd bands, till wide unveil'd
The face of nature shines, from where earth seems
Far stretch'd around, to meet the bending sphere.
Half in a blush of clustering roses lost,

Dew dropping coolness to the shade retires;
There, on the verdant turf, or flowery bed,
By gelid founts, and careless rills to muse;
While tyrant heat, dispreading through the sky,
With rapid sway, his burning influence darts
On man, and beast, and herb, and tepid stream.
Who can, unpitying, see the flowery race,
Shed by the morn, their new-flush'd bloom resign
Before the parching beam? So fade the fair,
When fevers revel through their azure veins.
But one, the lofty follower of the sun,

Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves,

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