Group 14 Experiment 19
Word Count: 3000

Type: Poetry
No more of talk where God or Angel guestWith Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,To sit indulgent, and with him partakeRural repast; permitting him the whileVenial discourse unblam'd. I now must changeThose notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breachDisloyal on the part of Man, revolt,And disobedience: on the part of HeavenNow alienated, distance and distaste,Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,That brought into this world a world of woe,Sin and her shadow Death, and MiseryDeath's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argumentNot less but more heroick than the wrathOf stern Achilles on his foe pursuedThrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rageOf Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd;Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so longPerplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:If answerable style I can obtainOf my celestial patroness, who deignsHer nightly visitation unimplor'd,And dictates to me slumbering; or inspiresEasy my unpremeditated verse:Since first this subject for heroick songPleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late;Not sedulous by nature to inditeWars, hitherto the only argumentHeroick deem'd chief mastery to dissectWith long and tedious havock fabled knightsIn battles feign'd; the better fortitudeOf patience and heroick martyrdomUnsung; or to describe races and games,Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields,Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knightsAt joust and tournament; then marshall'd feastServ'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals;The skill of artifice or office mean,Not that which justly gives heroick nameTo person, or to poem.Me, of theseNor skill'd nor studious, higher argumentRemains; sufficient of itself to raiseThat name, unless an age too late, or coldClimate, or years, damp my intended wingDepress'd; and much they may, if all be mine,Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.The sun was sunk, and after him the starOf Hesperus, whose office is to bringTwilight upon the earth, short arbiter"twixt day and night, and now from end to endNight's hemisphere had veil'd the horizon round:When satan, who late fled before the threatsOf Gabriel out of Eden, now improv'dIn meditated fraud and malice, bentOn Man's destruction, maugre what might hapOf heavier on himself, fearless returnedFrom compassing the earth; cautious of day,Since Uriel, regent of the sun, descriedHis entrance, and foreworned the CherubimThat kept their watch; thence full of anguish driven,The space of seven continued nights he rodeWith darkness; thrice the equinoctial lineHe circled; four times crossed the car of nightFrom pole to pole, traversing each colure;On the eighth returned; and, on the coast averseFrom entrance or Cherubick watch, by stealthFound unsuspected way.There was a place,Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change,Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise,Into a gulf shot under ground, till partRose up a fountain by the tree of life:In with the river sunk, and with it roseSatan, involved in rising mist; then soughtWhere to lie hid; sea he had searched, and land,From Eden over Pontus and the poolMaeotis, up beyond the river Ob;Downward as far antarctick; and in length,West from Orontes to the ocean barredAt Darien ; thence to the land where flowsGanges and Indus: Thus the orb he roamedWith narrow search; and with inspection deepConsidered every creature, which of allMost opportune might serve his wiles; and foundThe Serpent subtlest beast of all the field.Him after long debate, irresoluteOf thoughts revolved, his final sentence choseFit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whomTo enter, and his dark suggestions hideFrom sharpest sight: for, in the wily snakeWhatever sleights, none would suspicious mark,As from his wit and native subtletyProceeding; which, in other beasts observed,Doubt might beget of diabolick powerActive within, beyond the sense of brute.Thus he resolved, but first from inward griefHis bursting passion into plaints thus poured.More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as builtWith second thoughts, reforming what was old!O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferredFor what God, after better, worse would build?Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other HeavensThat shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps,Light above light, for thee alone, as seems,In thee concentring all their precious beamsOf sacred influence!As God in HeavenIs center, yet extends to all; so thou,Centring, receivest from all those orbs: in thee,Not in themselves, all their known virtue appearsProductive in herb, plant, and nobler birthOf creatures animate with gradual lifeOf growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man.With what delight could I have walked thee round,If I could joy in aught, sweet interchangeOf hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains,Now land, now sea and shores with forest crowned,Rocks, dens, and caves!But I in none of theseFind place or refuge; and the more I seePleasures about me, so much more I feelTorment within me, as from the hateful siegeOf contraries: all good to me becomesBane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.But neither here seek I, no nor in HeavenTo dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme;Nor hope to be myself less miserableBy what I seek, but others to make suchAs I, though thereby worse to me redound:For only in destroying I find easeTo my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed,Or won to what may work his utter loss,For whom all this was made, all this will soonFollow, as to him linked in weal or woe;In woe then; that destruction wide may range:To me shall be the glory sole amongThe infernal Powers, in one day to have marredWhat he, Almighty styled, six nights and daysContinued making; and who knows how longBefore had been contriving? though perhapsNot longer than since I, in one night, freedFrom servitude inglorious well nigh halfThe angelick name, and thinner left the throngOf his adorers: He, to be avenged,And to repair his numbers thus impaired,Whether such virtue spent of old now failedMore Angels to create, if they at leastAre his created, or, to spite us more,Determined to advance into our roomA creature formed of earth, and him endow,Exalted from so base original,With heavenly spoils, our spoils: What he decreed,He effected; Man he made, and for him builtMagnificent this world, and earth his seat,Him lord pronounced; and, O indignity!Subjected to his service angel-wings,And flaming ministers to watch and tendTheir earthly charge: Of these the vigilanceI dread; and, to elude, thus wrapt in mistOf midnight vapour glide obscure, and pryIn every bush and brake, where hap may findThe serpent sleeping; in whose mazy foldsTo hide me, and the dark intent I bring.O foul descent! that I, who erst contendedWith Gods to sit the highest, am now constrainedInto a beast; and, mixed with bestial slime,This essence to incarnate and imbrute,That to the highth of Deity aspired!But what will not ambition and revengeDescend to?Who aspires, must down as lowAs high he soared; obnoxious, first or last,To basest things.Revenge, at first though sweet,Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils:Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed,Since higher I fall short, on him who nextProvokes my envy, this new favouriteOf Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite,Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raisedFrom dust: Spite then with spite is best repaid.So saying, through each thicket dank or dry,Like a black mist low-creeping, he held onHis midnight-search, where soonest he might findThe serpent; him fast-sleeping soon he foundIn labyrinth of many a round self-rolled,His head the midst, well stored with subtile wiles:Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den,Nor nocent yet; but, on the grassy herb,Fearless unfeared he slept: in at his mouthThe Devil entered; and his brutal sense,In heart or head, possessing, soon inspiredWith act intelligential; but his sleepDisturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn.Now, when as sacred light began to dawnIn Eden on the humid flowers, that breathedTheir morning incense, when all things, that breathe,From the Earth's great altar send up silent praiseTo the Creator, and his nostrils fillWith grateful smell, forth came the human pair,And joined their vocal worship to the quireOf creatures wanting voice; that done, partakeThe season prime for sweetest scents and airs:Then commune, how that day they best may plyTheir growing work: for much their work out-grewThe hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide,And Eve first to her husband thus began.Adam, well may we labour still to dressThis garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower,Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more handsAid us, the work under our labour grows,Luxurious by restraint; what we by dayLop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind,One night or two with wanton growth deridesTending to wild.Thou therefore now advise,Or bear what to my mind first thoughts present:Let us divide our labours; thou, where choiceLeads thee, or where most needs, whether to windThe woodbine round this arbour, or directThe clasping ivy where to climb; while I,In yonder spring of roses intermixedWith myrtle, find what to redress till noon:For, while so near each other thus all dayOur task we choose, what wonder if so nearLooks intervene and smiles, or object newCasual discourse draw on; which intermitsOur day's work, brought to little, though begunEarly, and the hour of supper comes unearned?To whom mild answer Adam thus returned.Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyondCompare above all living creatures dear!Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed,How we might best fulfil the work which hereGod hath assigned us; nor of me shalt passUnpraised: for nothing lovelier can be foundIn woman, than to study houshold good,And good works in her husband to promote.Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposedLabour, as to debar us when we needRefreshment, whether food, or talk between,Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourseOf looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow,To brute denied, and are of love the food;Love, not the lowest end of human life.For not to irksome toil, but to delight,He made us, and delight to reason joined.These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint handsWill keep from wilderness with ease, as wideAs we need walk, till younger hands ere longAssist us; But, if much converse perhapsThee satiate, to short absence I could yield:For solitude sometimes is best society,And short retirement urges sweet return.But other doubt possesses me, lest harmBefall thee severed from me; for thou knowestWhat hath been warned us, what malicious foeEnvying our happiness, and of his ownDespairing, seeks to work us woe and shameBy sly assault; and somewhere nigh at handWatches, no doubt, with greedy hope to findHis wish and best advantage, us asunder;Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where eachTo other speedy aid might lend at need:Whether his first design be to withdrawOur fealty from God, or to disturbConjugal love, than which perhaps no blissEnjoyed by us excites his envy more;Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful sideThat gave thee being, still shades thee, and protects.The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,Safest and seemliest by her husband stays,Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.To whom the virgin majesty of Eve,As one who loves, and some unkindness meets,With sweet austere composure thus replied.Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth's Lord!That such an enemy we have, who seeksOur ruin, both by thee informed I learn,And from the parting Angel over-heard,As in a shady nook I stood behind,Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.But, that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubtTo God or thee, because we have a foeMay tempt it, I expected not to hear.His violence thou fearest not, being suchAs we, not capable of death or pain,Can either not receive, or can repel.His fraud is then thy fear; which plain infersThy equal fear, that my firm faith and loveCan by his fraud be shaken or seduced;Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast,Adam, mis-thought of her to thee so dear?To whom with healing words Adam replied.Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve!For such thou art; from sin and blame entire:Not diffident of thee do I dissuadeThy absence from my sight, but to avoidThe attempt itself, intended by our foe.For he who tempts, though in vain, at least aspersesThe tempted with dishonour foul; supposedNot incorruptible of faith, not proofAgainst temptation: Thou thyself with scornAnd anger wouldst resent the offered wrong,Though ineffectual found: misdeem not then,If such affront I labour to avertFrom thee alone, which on us both at onceThe enemy, though bold, will hardly dare;Or daring, first on me the assault shall light.Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn;Subtle he needs must be, who could seduceAngels; nor think superfluous other's aid.I, from the influence of thy looks, receiveAccess in every virtue; in thy sightMore wise, more watchful, stronger, if need wereOf outward strength; while shame, thou looking on,Shame to be overcome or over-reached,Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite.Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feelWhen I am present, and thy trial chooseWith me, best witness of thy virtue tried?So spake domestick Adam in his careAnd matrimonial love; but Eve, who thoughtLess attributed to her faith sincere,Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed.If this be our condition, thus to dwellIn narrow circuit straitened by a foe,Subtle or violent, we not enduedSingle with like defence, wherever met;How are we happy, still in fear of harm?But harm precedes not sin: only our foe,Tempting, affronts us with his foul esteemOf our integrity: his foul esteemSticks no dishonour on our front, but turnsFoul on himself; then wherefore shunned or fearedBy us? who rather double honour gainFrom his surmise proved false; find peace within,Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event.And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayedAlone, without exteriour help sustained?Let us not then suspect our happy stateLeft so imperfect by the Maker wise,As not secure to single or combined.Frail is our happiness, if this be so,And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.To whom thus Adam fervently replied.O Woman, best are all things as the willOf God ordained them: His creating handNothing imperfect or deficient leftOf all that he created, much less Man,Or aught that might his happy state secure,Secure from outward force; within himselfThe danger lies, yet lies within his power:Against his will he can receive no harm.But God left free the will; for what obeysReason, is free; and Reason he made right,But bid her well be ware, and still erect;Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised,She dictate false; and mis-inform the willTo do what God expressly hath forbid.Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins,That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me.Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve;Since Reason not impossibly may meetSome specious object by the foe suborned,And fall into deception unaware,Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.Seek not temptation then, which to avoidWere better, and most likely if from meThou sever not: Trial will come unsought.Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approveFirst thy obedience; the other who can know,Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?But, if thou think, trial unsought may findUs both securer than thus warned thou seemest,Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more;Go in thy native innocence, relyOn what thou hast of virtue; summon all!For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.So spake the patriarch of mankind; but EvePersisted; yet submiss, though last, replied.With thy permission then, and thus forewarnedChiefly by what thy own last reasoning wordsTouched only; that our trial, when least sought,May find us both perhaps far less prepared,The willinger I go, nor much expectA foe so proud will first the weaker seek;So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse.Thus saying, from her husband's hand her handSoft she withdrew; and, like a Wood-Nymph light,Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train,Betook her to the groves; but Delia's selfIn gait surpassed, and Goddess-like deport,Though not as she with bow and quiver armed,But with such gardening tools as Art yet rude,Guiltless of fire, had formed, or Angels brought.To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned,Likest she seemed, Pomona when she fledVertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime,Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove.Her long with ardent look his eye pursuedDelighted, but desiring more her stay.Oft he to her his charge of quick returnRepeated; she to him as oft engagedTo be returned by noon amid the bower,And all things in best order to inviteNoontide repast, or afternoon's repose.O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve,Of thy presumed return! event perverse!Thou never from that hour in ParadiseFoundst either sweet repast, or sound repose;Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades,Waited with hellish rancour imminentTo intercept thy way, or send thee backDespoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss!For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend,Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come;And on his quest, where likeliest he might findThe only two of mankind, but in themThe whole included race, his purposed prey.In bower and field he sought, where any tuftOf grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay,Their tendance, or plantation for delight;By fountain or by shady rivuletHe sought them both, but wished his hap might findEve separate; he wished, but not with hopeOf what so seldom chanced; when to his wish,Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies,Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood,Half spied, so thick the roses blushing roundAbout her glowed, oft stooping to supportEach flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gayCarnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold,Hung drooping unsustained; them she upstaysGently with myrtle band, mindless the whileHerself, though fairest unsupported flower,From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversedOf stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm;Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen,Among thick-woven arborets, and flowersImbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve:Spot more delicious than those gardens feignedOr of revived Adonis, or renownedAlcinous, host of old Laertes' son;Or that, not mystick, where the sapient kingHeld dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse.Much he the place admired, the person more.As one who long in populous city pent,Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air,Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breatheAmong the pleasant villages and farmsAdjoined, from each thing met conceives delight;The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound;If chance, with nymph-like step, fair virgin pass,What pleasing seemed, for her now pleases more;She most, and in her look sums all delight:Such pleasure took the Serpent to beholdThis flowery plat, the sweet recess of EveThus early, thus alone: Her heavenly formAngelick, but more soft, and feminine,Her graceful innocence, her every airOf gesture, or least action, overawedHis malice, and with rapine sweet bereavedHis fierceness of the fierce intent it brought:That space the Evil-one abstracted stoodFrom his own evil, and for the time remainedStupidly good; of enmity disarmed,Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge:But the hot Hell that always in him burns,Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight,And tortures him now more, the more he seesOf pleasure, not for him ordained: then soonFierce hate he

This is part of the "I like tacos project".