To resalute the world with sacred light,

Leucothea waked; and with fresh dews embalm'd 135 The earth; when Adam and first matron Eve

Had ended now their orisons, and found
Strength added from above; new hope to spring
Out of despair; joy, but with fear yet link'd;
Which thus to Eve his welcome words renew'd:
Eve, easily may faith admit, that all

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The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends;

But, that from us aught should ascend to Heaven
So prevalent as to concern the mind

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Of God high-bless'd, or to incline his will,
Hard to belief may seem; yet this will prayer
Or one short sight of human breath, upborne
Even to the seat of God. For since I sought
By prayer the offended Deity to appease ;
Kneel'd, and before him humbled all my heart;
Methought I saw him placable and mild,
Bending his ear; persuasion in me grew

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That I was heard with favour; peace return'd
Home to my breast, and to my memory

His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe;
Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now
Assures me that the bitterness of death

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Is pass'd, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee,
Eve rightly call'd, mother of all mankind,
Mother of all things living, since by thee

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Man is to live; and all things live for Man.

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

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Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise;

But infinite in pardon was my Judge,

That I, who first brought death on all, am graced

'The source of life; next favourable thou,

Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsafest,

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Far other name deserving. But the field

To labour calls us, now with sweat imposed,
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 fallen state, content.

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So spake, so wish'd much humbled Eve; but Fate Subscribed not: Nature first gave signs, impress'd On bird, beast, air; air suddenly eclipsed, 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, pursued a gentle brace, Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind; Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. Adam observed, and with his eye the chase Pursuing, not unmoved, to Eve thus spake :

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O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh,

Which Heaven, by these mute signs in Nature, shows Forerunners of his purpose; or to warn

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Us, haply too secure of our discharge

From penalty, because from death released

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?

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Why else this double object in our sight

Of flight pursued in the air, and o'er the ground,

One way the selfsame hour? why in the east

Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light

More orient in yon western cloud, that draws

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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;

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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,

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War unproclaim'd. The princely Hierarch

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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 unperceived of Adam: who to Eve,

While the great visitant approach'd, thus spake : 225

Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps

Of us will soon determine, or impose
New laws to be observed; for I descry,

From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill,

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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;

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But solemn and sublime; whom not to offend,

With reverence I must meet, and thou retire.

He ended and the Archangel soon drew nigh,

Not in his shape celestial, but as man

Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms

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A military vest of purple flow'd,
Livelier than Meliboan, or the grain
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old
In time of truce; Iris had dipp'd 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,

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Satan's dire dread; and in his hand the spear.
Adam bow'd low; he, kingly, from his state
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared:

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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 mayst repent, 255
And one bad act with many deeds well done
Mayst cover well may then thy Lord, appeased,
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

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Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades, 270 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

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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

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Into a lower world; to this obscure

And wild? how shall we breathe in other air

Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?

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Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild :
Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost, nor set thy heart,
Thus overfond, 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:

B. XI.

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Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named 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

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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

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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:

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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,

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As from his face I shall be hid, deprived

His blessed countenance: here I could frequent

With worship place by place where he vouchsafed
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

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