Ye fair, retreat! Your drooping flowers need
Wholesome refreshment. Down the hedge-row path
We hasten home, and only slack our speed
To gaze a moment at th' accustom'd gap,
That all so unexpectedly presents

The clear cerulean prospect down the vale.
1 'spers'd along the bottom flocks and herds,
Hay-ricks and cottages, beside a stream,
That silverly meanders here and there;
And higher up corn-fields, and pastures, hops,
And waving woods, and tufts, and lonely oaks,
Thick interspers'd as Nature best was pleas'd.

Happy the man, who truly loves his home,
And never wanders farther from his door
Than we have gone to day; who feels his heart
Still drawing homeward, and delights, like us,
Once more to rest his foot on his own threshold.

HURDIS.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE GARDEN OF EDEN.

BENEATH him, with new wonder, now he views,
To all delight of human sense exposed,

In narrow room Nature's whole wealth, yea more,
A heaven on earth: for blissful paradise
Of God the garden was, by him in the east
Of Eden planted; Eden stretch'd her line
From Arnon eastward to the royal tow'rs
Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings,
Or where the sons of Eden long before
Dwelt in Telassar. In this pleasant soil,
His far more pleasant garden God ordain'd;
Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow
All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste:
And all amid them stood the tree of life,
Our death the tree of knowledge, grew fast by,
Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ill.
Southward through Eden went a river large,
Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill

Pass'd underneath engulf'd; for God had thrown
That mountain as his garden mould high rais'd
Upon the rapid current, which through veins
Of porous earth, with kindly thirst up drawn,
Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill
Water'd the garden: thence united fell
Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood,
Which from his darksome passage now appears,
And now divided into four main streams,
Runs diverse, wand'ring many a famous realm
And country, whereof here needs no account;
But rather to tell how-if Art could tell-
How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks,
Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold,
With mazy error under pendant shades

Ran nectar, worthy of paradise, which not vile art
In beds and envious knots, but Nature boon,
Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain,
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote
The open field, and where the unpierced shade
Imbrown'd the noontide bow'rs. Thus was this place

A happy rural seat of various view;

Groves where rich trees wept od'rous gums and balm,
Others whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind,
Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,

If true, here only, and of delicious taste :
Betwixt them lawns or level downs, and flocks
Grazing the tender herb, were interposed,
On palmy hillock; or the flow'ry lap
Of some irriguous valley spread her store,
Flow'rs of all hue, and without thorn the rose:
Another side, umbrageous grots and caves,
Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine
Lays forth her purple grape and gently weeps
Luxuriant meanwhile murmuring waters fall
Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake,
That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown'd
The crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.
The birds their choir apply; airs, vernal airs
Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune
The trembling leaves; while Universal Pan,
Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,

Led on th' eternal spring. Not that fair field
Of Enna, where Proserpine gath'ring flow'rs,
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis

Was gather'd, which cost Ceres all that pain
To seek her through the world; nor that sweet grove
Of Daphne by Orontes, and the inspir'd
Castalian spring, might with this paradise

Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseian isle
Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham,
Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove,
Hid Amalthea and her florid son,

Young Bacchus, from his step-dame Rhea's eye;
Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard,
Mount Amara, though this by some supposed
True paradise under the Ethiop line
By Nilus' head, inclosed with shining rock
A whole day's journey high, but wide remote
From this Assyrian garden.

MILTON.

CHAPTER XL.

THE SPANISH ARMADA.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, There came a gallant merchant ship full sail to Plymouth

Bay,

Her crew had seen Castille's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace, But the tall Pinta, till the noon had held her close in chase; Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall, The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcomb's lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast, And with loose rein and bloody spur, rode inland many a post.

*

*

*

*

*

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old Sheriff

comes,

And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.

Look, how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down; So stalk'd he when he turn'd to flight on that famed Picard field,

Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield !

So glared he when at Agincourt, in wrath he turned at bay,

And crush'd and torn, beneath his paws, the princely hunters lay.

Ilo! strike the flag staff deep, Sir Knight! ho! scatter flowers, fair maids.

Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute! ho! gallants, draw your blades !

Thou sun shine on joyously-ye breezes waft her wide-
Our glorious semper eadem-the banner of our pride.
The freshening breeze of air unfurl'd that banner's massy

fold,

The parting gleam of sunshine kiss'd that haughty scroll of gold;

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again

shall be ;

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lyme to Mil

ford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance

spread,

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beechy

Head;

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern

shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire;

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering

waves,

The rugged miners pour'd to war from Mendip's sunless

caves;

O'er Longleat's tow'rs, o'er Cranbourn's oaks, the fiery

herald flew,

And roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu ;

Right quick and sharp the bells, all night, rang out from

Bristol town,

And ere the day, three thousand horse had met on Clifton Down.

The sentinel on Whitehall Gate look'd forth unto the night,

And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of bloodred light;

The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the death-like silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke;

At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires

At once the wild alarum clash'd from all her reeling spires; From all the batteries of the Tower peel'd loud the voice

of fear,

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder

cheer;

And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurry

ing feet,

And the broad streams of flags and pikes flash'd down each waving street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast, from every village round, the horse came spurring in

;

And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errand bent,

And raised in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright courses forth,

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started for the North;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still,

All night from tower to tower they sprang-they sprang from hill to hill,

Till the proud Peak unfurl'd the flag o'er Darwin's rocky

dales;

Till like volcanoes, flared and heaved the stormy hills of

Wales;