With conjugal caresses: from his lip
Not words alone pleas'd her. O! when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour join'd? With goddess-like demeanour forth she went, Not unattended; for on her, as Queen,
pomp of winning Graces waited still, And from about her shot darts of desire
Into all eyes, to wish her still in sight. And Raphael now, to Adam's doubt propos'd, Benevolent and facile thus replied.
To ask or search, I blame thee not; for Heaven Is as the book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read his wonderous works, and learn His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years: This to attain, whether Heaven move or Earth, Imports not, if thou reckon right; the rest From Man or Angel the Great Architect Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge His secrets to be scann'd by them who ought Rather admire; or, if they list to try Conjecture, he his fabrick of the Heavens Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move His laughter at their quaint opinions wide Hereafter; when they come to model Heaven And calculate the stars, how they will wield The mighty frame; how build, unbuild, contrive To save appearances; how gird the sphere With centrick and eccentrick scribbled o'er, Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb:
Already by thy reasoning this I guess, Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest That bodies bright and greater should not serve The less not bright, nor Heaven such journeys run, Earth sitting still, when she alone receives
The benefit: Consider first that great Or bright infers not excellence: the Earth, Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small, Nor glistering, may of solid good contain More plenty than the sun that barren shines; Whose virtue on itself works no effect, But in the fruitful Earth; there first receiv'd, His beams, unactive else, their vigour find. Yet not to Earth are those bright luminaries Officious; but to thee, Earth's habitant. And for the Heaven's wide circuit, let it speak The Maker's high magnificence, who built So spacious, and his line stretch'd out so far; That man may know he dwells not in his own; An edifice too large for him to fill, Lodg'd in a small partition; and the rest Ordain'd for uses to his Lord best known. The swiftness of those circles áttribute, Though numberless, to his Omnipotence, That to corporeal substances could add
Speed almost spiritual: Me thou think'st not slow, Who since the morning hour set out from Heaven
Where God resides, and ere mid-day arrived
In Eden; distance inexpressible
By numbers that have name. But this I urge, Admitting motion in the Heavens, to show Invalid that which thee to doubt it mov'd; Not that I so affirm, though so it seem
To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth. God, to remove his ways from human sense, Plac'd Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sight, If it presume, might err in things too high, And no advantage gain. What if the sun Be center to the world; and other stars,
By his attractive virtue and their own
Incited, dance about him various rounds?
Their wandering course, now high, now low, then hid, Progressive, retrograde, or standing still,
In six thou seest; and what if seventh to these The planet earth, so steadfast though she seem, Insensibly three different motions move? Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe, Moved contrary with thwart obliquities; Or save the sun his labour, and that swift Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb1 supposed, Invisible else above all stars, the wheel Of day and night; which needs not thy belief, If earth, industrious of herself, fetch day Travelling east, and with her part averse From the sun's beam meet night, her other part Still luminous by his ray. What if that light, Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air, To the terrestrial moon be as a star,
Enlightening her by day, as she by night
This earth; reciprocal if land be there,
Fields and inhabitants? Her spots thou seest As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce Fruits in her soften'd soil, for some to eat Allotted there; and other suns perhaps, With their attendant moons, thou wilt descry, Communicating male and female light; Which two great sexes animate the world, Stor❜d in each orb perhaps with some that live. For such vast room in Nature unpossess'd
By living soul, desart, and desolate,
Only to shine, yet scarce to cóntribute
1 'Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb:' the primum mobile—an imaginary sphere above that of the sun and the fixed stars.
Each orb a glimpse of light, convey'd so far Down to this habitable, which returns Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. But whether thus these things, or whether not; Whether the sun, predominant in heaven, Rise on the earth; or earth rise on the sun; He from the east his flaming road begin; Or she from west her silent course advance, With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps On her soft axle, while she paces even,
And bears thee soft with the smooth air along; Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid; Leave them to God above; him serve and fear! Of other creatures, as him pleases best, Wherever plac'd, let him dispose; joy thou In what he gives to thee, this Paradise, And thy fair Eve; Heaven is for thee too high To know what passes there; be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee, and thy being; Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there Live, in what state, condition, or degree; Contented that thus far hath been reveal'd Not of Earth only, but of highest Heaven. To whom thus Adam, clear'd of doubt, replied. How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure Intelligence of heaven, Angel serene! And, freed from intricacies, taught to live The easiest way; nor with perplexing thoughts To interrupt the sweet of life, from which God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares,
And not molest us; unless we ourselves
Seek them with wandering thoughts, and notions vain.
But apt the mind or fancy is to rove
Uncheck'd, and of her roving is no end;
Till warn'd, or by experience taught, she learn, That, not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and subtle; but to know That which before us lies in daily life,
Is the prime wisdom: What is more, is fume, Or emptiness, or fond impertinence;
And renders us, in things that most concern, Unpractis'd, unprepar'd, and still to seek. Therefore from this high pitch let us descend A lower flight, and speak of things at hand Useful; whence, haply, mention may arise Of something not unseasonable to ask, By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deign'd. Thee I have heard relating what was done Ere my remembrance: now here me relate My story, which perhaps thou hast not heard; And day is not yet spent: till then thou seest How subtly to detain thee I devise; Inviting thee to hear while I relate; Fond! were it not in hope of thy reply: For, while I sit with thee, I seem in Heaven; And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear Than fruits of palm-tree pleasantest to thirst And hunger both, from labour, at the hour Of sweet repast: they satiate, and soon fill, Though pleasant; but thy words, with grace Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety. To whom thus Raphael answer'd heavenly meek. Nor are thy lips ungraceful, Sire of men, Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee Abundantly his gifts hath also pour'd; Inward and outward both, his image fair: Speaking; or mute, all comeliness and grace
Attends thee, and each word, each motion forms;
« السابقةمتابعة » |