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af better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'd the smiling mora
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's*
Moon that now meets the orient sun, now fly'st.
With the fix'd stars fiv'd in their orb that flies ;
And ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness, callid up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternlon 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 streaming 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 th’uncolourd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quartere blow,
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye tbat 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
Have gather'd aught of evil, or concealid,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON.

PA40000

CHAP. VI.

SATAN'S SOLILOQUY.

O THOU that, with surpassing glory crown'd,
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O sun to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere;
"Till pride, and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless King,
Ah wherefore ? he deserv'd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided nune: oor was bis service hard.
What could be less, than to offord him praise,
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good prov'd ill-in me,
And wrought but malice ; lifted up so high
I 'sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher
Would set me high’st, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burdensome, still paying, still to owe;
Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd;

And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays at once
Indebted and discharged; what burthen then ?
O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd
Me some inferior angel, I had stood
Then happy ; no unbounded hope had rais'd
Ambition. Yet why not? some other power
As great might have aspir'd, and me though mean
Drawn to his part ; but other pow'rs as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd
Hadst thou the same free will and pow'r to stand ?
Thou hadst. Whom hast thou then, or what t'accuse
But Heav'n's free love, dealt equally to all ?
Be then his love accurs 'd, since love or hate,
To nse alike, it deals eternal woe.
Nay, curs'd be thou; since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ?
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell ;
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
O then at last relent; is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission ; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I' seduc'd
With other promises, and other vaunts,
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th’ omnipotent. Ah me! they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan.
While they adore me on the throne of hell :
With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd
The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery : such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,
By act of grace, my former state; how soon
Would height recall high thoughts, how.soon unsay
What feign'd submission swore! ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void :
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep:
Which would but lead us to a worse relapse,
And beavier fall: so should I purchase dear
Short intermission, bought with double smart,
This knows my punisher : therefore as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace :
All hope excluded thus, behold instead
Of an outcast, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewel hope, and with hope farewel fear,
Farewel remorse ; all good to me is lost;
Evil be thou my good : by thee at least
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,
By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ;
As man ere long, and this new world, shall know,

MILTON

ODOCCOD

CHAP. VII.

JUBA AND SYPHAX.

JUB. SYPHAX, I joy to meet thee thus alone. I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall’n, O'ercast with gloomy cares and discontent; Then tell me, Syphax, 1 conjure thee tell me, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns, And turn thine eyes thus coldly on thy prince?

SYPH. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts,
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent sits heavy at my heart:
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

JUB. Wl y dost thou cast out such upgen'rous terms
Against the lords and sov'reigns of the world?
Dost thou not see, mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their superior virtue?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidst our barren rocks, and burning sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name?

Syph. Gods! where's the worth that sets this people up Above your own Numidia's tawny sons ? Do they with tougher sinews bend the bow? Or flies the jav’lin swifter to its mark, Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm? Who like our active African instructs The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand? Or guides in troops th'embattled elephant, Loaden with war? These, these are arts, my prince, In which your Zama does not stoop to Rome.

JCB. These all are virtues of a meaner rank,
Perfections that are plac'd in bones and nerves,
A Roman soul is bent on higher views;
To civilize the rude unpolish'd world;
To lay it under the restraint of laws;
To make man mild, and sociable to man;
To cultivate the wild licentious savage
Withi wisdom, discipline, and lib’ral arts;
Th' embellishments of life : virtues like these,
Make human nature shine, reform the soul,
And break our fierce barbarians into men.
SYPH. Patience, just Heav'ns Excuse an old man's

warmth.
What are these wondrous civilizing arts,
This Roman polish, and this smooth behaviour,
That render man thus tractable and tame ?

ر

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