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 horror 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
Communicated, more abundant grows,

The Author not impair'd, but honour'd more?
Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve!
Partake thou also: happy though thou art,
Happier thou may'st 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,

Even 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 Affect 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, aëry 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 her; 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,
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 up risen,
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 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,
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 mist 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 Author 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