" The return to Hell is
received
with loud
acclaim, which comes in the form of a hiss, and Satan and all his
hosts are turned into grovelling snakes.
acclaim, which comes in the form of a hiss, and Satan and all his
hosts are turned into grovelling snakes.
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
"
Adam replies:
"These have their course to finish round the Earth,
And they, though unbeheld in deep of night,
Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none,
That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep;
All these with ceaseless praise His works behold
Both day and night. ". . . .
Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed
On to their blissful bower.
Gabriel then sends the Cherubim, "armed to their night watches," and
commands Ithuriel and Zephon to search the Garden, where they find
Satan, "squat like a toad close to the ear of Eve," seeking to taint
her dreams.
Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear
Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to its own likeness.
Satan therefore starts up in his own person, and is conducted to
Gabriel, who sees him coming with them, "a third, of regal port, but
faded splendour wan. " Gabriel and he engage in a heated altercation,
and a fight seems imminent between the Fiend and the angelic squadrons
that "begin to hem him round," when, by a sign in the sky, Satan is
reminded of his powerlessness in open fight, and flees, murmuring;
"and with him fled the shades of Night. "
_V. --The Morning Hymn of Praise_
Adam, waking in the morning, finds Eve flushed and distraught, and she
tells him of her troublous dreams. He cheers her, and they pass out to
the open field, and, adoring, raise their morning hymn of praise.
"These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair--Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! Who sittest above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light,
Angels--for ye behold Him, and with songs
And chloral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing--ye in Heaven;
On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night,
If better than belong not to the Dawn,
Sure pledge of Day, that crown'st the smiling morn
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 gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fliest,
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb, that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise Who out of Darkness called up Light.
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the World's great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling, still advance His praise.
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune His praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye Birds,
That, singing, up to Heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise.
Hail universal Lord! Be bounteous still
To give us only good; and, if the night
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. "
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts
Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm.
The Almighty now sends Raphael, "the sociable Spirit," from Heaven
to warn Adam of his danger, and alighting on the eastern cliff of
Paradise, the Seraph shakes his plumes and diffuses heavenly fragrance
around; then moving through the forest is seen by Adam, who, with
Eve, entertains him, and seizes the occasion to ask him of "their
Being Who dwell in Heaven," and further, what is meant by the angelic
caution--"If ye be found obedient. " Raphael thereupon tells of the
disobedience, in Heaven, of Satan, and his fall, "from that high
state of bliss into what woe. " He tells how the Divine decree of
obedience to the Only Son was received by Satan with envy, because he
felt "himself impaired"; and how, consulting with Beelzebub, he drew
away all the Spirits under their command to the "spacious North,"
and, taunting them with being eclipsed, proposed that they should
rebel. Only Abdiel remained faithful, and urged them to cease their
"impious rage," and seek pardon in time, or they might find that He
Who had created them could uncreate them.
So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found;
Among the faithless faithful only he;
Among innumerable false unmoved,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;
Nor number nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind
Though single.
_VI. --The Story of Satan's Revolt_
Raphael, continuing, tells Adam how Abdiel flew back to Heaven with
the story of the revolt, but found it was known. The Sovran Voice
having welcomed the faithful messenger with "Servant of God, well
done! " orders the Archangels Michael and Gabriel to lead forth the
celestial armies, while the banded powers of Satan are hastening on
to set the Proud Aspirer on the very Mount of God. "Long time in even
scale the battle hung," but with the dawning of the third day, the
Father directed the Messiah to ascend his chariot, and end the strife.
"Far off his coming shone," and at His presence "Heaven his wonted
face renewed, and with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled. " But,
nearing the foe, His countenance changed into a terror "too severe to
be beheld. "
Full soon among them He arrived, in His right hand
Grasping ten thousand thunders. . . .
They, astonished, all resistance lost,
All courage; down their idle weapons dropt. . . .
. . . . Headlong themselves they threw
Down from the verge of Heaven; eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.
A like fate, Raphael warns Adam, may befall mankind if they are guilty
of disobedience.
_VII. --The New Creation_
The "affable Archangel," at Adam's request, continues his talk by
telling how the world began. Lest Lucifer should take a pride in
having "dispeopled Heaven," God announces to the Son that he will
create another world, and a race to dwell in it who may
Open to themselves at length the way
Up hither, under long obedience tried,
And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,
This creation is to be the work of the Son, who, girt with
omnipotence, prepares to go forth.
Heaven opened wide
Her ever-daring gates, harmonious sound
On golden hinges moving, to let forth
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word
And Spirit coming to create new worlds.
On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shore
They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains to assault
Heaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole.
"Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou Deep, peace! "
Said then the omnific Word. "Your discord end! "
Nor stayed; but on the wings of cherubim,
Uplifted in paternal glory rode
Far into Chaos and the World unborn;
For Chaos heard his voice. . . .
And Earth, self-balanced on her centre hung.
The six days' creative work is then described in the order of Genesis.
_VIII. --The Creation of Adam_
Asked by Adam to tell him about the motions of the heavenly bodies,
Raphael adjures him to refrain from thought on "matters hid; to serve
God and fear; and to be lowly wise. " He then asks Adam to tell him of
his creation, he having at the time been absent on "excursion toward
the gates of Hell. " Adam complies, and relates how he appealed to
God for a companion, and was answered in the fairest of God's gifts.
Raphael warns Adam to beware lest passion for Eve sway his judgment,
for on him depends the weal or woe, not only of himself, but of all
his sons.
_IX. --The Temptation and the Fall_
While Raphael was in Paradise, for seven nights, Satan hid himself by
circling round in the shadow of the Earth, then, rising as a mist, he
crept into Eden undetected, and entered the serpent as the "fittest
imp of fraud," but not until once more lamenting that the enjoyment of
the earth was not for him. In the morning, when the human pair came
forth to their pleasant labours, Eve suggested that they should work
apart, for when near each other "looks intervene and smiles," and
casual discourse. Adam replied, defending "this sweet intercourse of
looks and smiles," and saying they had been made not for irksome toil,
but for delight.
"But if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield;
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return.
But other doubt possessed me, lest harm
Befall thee. . . .
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,
Safest and seemliest by her husband stays
Who guards her, or the worst with her endures. "
Eve replies:
"That such an enemy we have, who seeks
Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn,
And from the parting Angel overheard,
As in a shady nook I stood behind,
Just then returned at shut of evening flowers. "
She, however, repels the suggestion that she can be deceived. Adam
replies that he does not wish her to be tempted, and that united they
would be stronger and more watchful. Eve responds that if Eden is so
exposed that they are not secure apart, how can they be happy? Adams
gives way, with the explanation that it is not mistrust but tender
love that enjoins him to watch over her, and, as she leaves him,
Her long with ardent look his eye pursued
Delighted, but desiring more her stay.
Oft he to her his charge of quick return
Repeated; she to him as oft engaged
To be returned by noon amid the bower,
And all things in best order to invite
Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose.
O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve,
Of thy presumed return! Event perverse!
Thou never from that hour in Paradise
Found'st either sweet repast or sound repose.
The Fiend, questing through the garden, finds her
Veiled in a cloud of fragrance where she stood
Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing round
About her glowed. . . . Them she upstays
Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while
Herself, though fairest unsupported flower,
From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.
Seeing her, Satan "much the place admired, the person more. "
As one who, long in populous city pent,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight--
The smell of grain, of tedded grass, of kine,
Of 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 seems all delight.
Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold
This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve
Thus early, thus alone.
The original serpent did not creep on the ground, but was a handsome
creature.
With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect
Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass
Floated redundant. Pleasing was his shape
And lovely.
Appearing before Eve with an air of worshipful admiration, and
speaking in human language, the arch-deceiver gains her ear with
flattery. "Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve. " She asks how
it is that man's language is pronounced by "tongue of brute. " The
reply is that the power came through eating the fruit of a certain
tree, which gave him reason, and also constrained him to worship her
as "sovran of creatures. " Asked to show her the tree, he leads her
swiftly to the Tree of Prohibition, and replying to her scruples and
fears, declares--
"Queen of the Universe! Do not believe
Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die.
How should ye? By the fruit? It gives you life
To knowledge. By the Threatener? Look on me--
Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live
And life more perfect have attained than Fate
Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot.
Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast
Is open? Or will God incense his ire
For such a petty trespass? . . .
God therefore cannot hurt ye and be just.
Goddess humane, reach, then, and freely taste! "
He ended; and his words replete with guile
Into her heart too easy entrance won.
Eve herself then took up the argument and repeated admiringly the
Serpent's persuasions.
"In the day we eat
Of this fair fruit our doom is we shall die!
How dies the Serpent? He hath eaten and lives,
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,
Irrational till then. For us alone
Was death invented? Or to us denied
This intellectual food, for beasts reserved?
Here grows the care of all, this fruit divine,
Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste,
Of virtue to make wise. What hinders then
To reach and feed at once both body and mind? "
So saying, her rash hand in evil hour
Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she ate.
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat,
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe
That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk
The guilty serpent.
At first elated by the fruit, Eve presently began to reflect, excuse
herself, and wonder what the effect would be on Adam.
"And I perhaps am secret. Heaven is high--
High, and remote to see from thence distinct
Each thing on Earth; and other care perhaps
May have diverted from continual watch
Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies
About him. But to Adam in what sort
Shall I appear? Shall I to him make known
As yet my change?
But what if God have seen
And death ensue? Then I shall be no more;
And Adam, wedded to another Eve,
Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct!
A death to think! Confirmed then, I resolve
Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe,
So dear I love him that with him all deaths
I could endure, without him live no life. "
Adam the while
Waiting desirous her return, had wove
Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn
Her tresses. . . . Soon as he heard
The fatal trespass done by Eve amazed,
From his slack hand the garland wreathed for her
Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed.
Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length,
First to himself he inward silence broke:
"O fairest of creation, last and best
Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled
Whatever came to sight or thought be formed,
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet,
How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost!
Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee
Certain my resolution is to die.
How can I live without thee? How forego
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,
To live again in these wild words forlorn? "
Then, turning to Eve, he tries to comfort her.
"Perhaps thou shalt not die . . .
Nor can I think that God, Creator wise,
Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy
Us, His prime creatures, dignified so high,
Set over all his works. . . .
However, I with thee have fixed my lot,
Certain to undergo like doom. If death
Consort with thee, death is to me as life.
Our state cannot be severed; we are one. "
So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied:
"O glorious trial of exceeding love,
Illustrious evidence, example high! "
So saying she embraced him, and for joy
Tenderly wept, much won that he his love
Had so ennobled as of choice to incur
Divine displeasure for her sake, or death.
In recompense . . .
She gave him of that fair enticing fruit
With liberal hand. He scrupled not to eat
Against his better knowledge, not deceived,
But fondly overcome with female charm.
The effect of the fruit on them is first to excite lust with guilty
shame following, and realising this after "the exhilarating vapour
bland" had spent its force, Adam found utterance for his remorse.
"O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear
To that false Worm. . . .
. . . How shall I behold the face
Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy
And rapture so oft beheld? Those Heavenly shapes
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze
Insufferably bright. Oh, might I here
In solitude live savage, in some glade
Obscured, where highest winds, impenetrable
To star or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad,
And brown as evening! Cover me, ye pines!
Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs
Hide me, where I may never see them more! "
Then they cower in the woods, and clothe themselves with leaves.
Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind
They sat them down to weep.
But passion also took possession of them, and they began to taunt each
other with recriminations. Adam, with estranged look, exclaimed:
"Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange
Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn,
I know not whence possessed thee! We had then
Remained still happy! "
Eve retorts:
"Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent,
Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me. "
Then Adam:
"What could I more?
I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold
The danger, and the lurking enemy
That lay in wait; beyond this had been force. "
Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning;
And of their vain contest appeared no end.
_X. --Sin and Death Triumph_
The Angels left on guard now slowly return from Paradise to Heaven
to report their failure, but are reminded by God that it was
ordained; and the Son is sent down to judge the guilty pair, after
hearing their excuses, and to punish them with the curses of toil
and death. Meantime Sin and Death "snuff the smell of mortal change"
on Earth, and leaving Hell-gate "belching outrageous flame," erect
a broad road from Hell to Earth through Chaos, and as they come in
sight of the World meet Satan steering his way back as an angel,
"between the Centaur and the Scorpion. " He makes Sin and Death his
plenipotentiaries on Earth, adjuring them first to make man their
thrall, and lastly kill; and as they pass to the evil work "the
blasted stars look wan.
" The return to Hell is received with loud
acclaim, which comes in the form of a hiss, and Satan and all his
hosts are turned into grovelling snakes. Adam, now in his repentance,
is sternly resentful against Eve, who becomes submissive, and both
pass from remorse to "sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek. "
_XI. --Repentance and the Doom_
The repentance of the pair is accepted by God, who sends down the
Archangel Michael, with a cohort of cherubim, to announce that death
will not come until time has been given for repentance, but Paradise
can no longer be their home. Whereupon Eve laments.
"O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? Thus leave
Thee, native soil? These happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of gods, where I had hoped to spend
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both? O flowers,
That never will in any other climate grow,
My early visitation and my last
At even, which I tied 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?
. . . How shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits? "
The Angel reminds her:
"Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes
Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound.
Where he abides think there thy native soil. "
Michael then ascending a hill with Adam shows him a vision of the
world's history, while Eve sleeps.
_XII. --Paradise Behind, the World Before_
The history is continued, with its promise of redemption, until Adam
exclaims:
"Full of doubt I stand,
Whether I should repent me now of sin
By me done and occasioned, or rejoice
Much more that much more good thereof shall spring--
To God more glory, more good-will to men. "
Eve awakens from propitious dreams, it having been shown to her that--
"Though all by me is lost,
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed.
By me the Promised Seed shall all restore. "
The time, however, has come when they must leave. A flaming sword,
"fierce as a comet," advances towards them before the bright array of
cherubim.
Whereat
In either hand the hastening angel caught
Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff so fast
To the subjected plain--then disappeared.
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful forces thronged and fiery arms.
Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
FOOTNOTES:
[AA] John Milton, the peer of Dante as one of the world's
master-poets, was born in Bread Street, London, on December 9, 1608,
the son of a well-to-do scrivener. Educated at St. Paul's School
and at Cambridge, he devoted himself from the first to poetry. The
"Ode on the Nativity" was written when the poet was twenty-one. His
productions till his thirtieth year were nearly all of a classical
caste--"L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," "Comus," "Lycidas. " Returning from
Continental travels in 1639, Milton became enmeshed in politics, and so
continued for twenty years, during which time he wrote much polemical
prose, including his "Areopagitica" (see Vol. XX, p. 257) and his
"Tractate on Education. " After a spell of teaching and pamphleteering,
he served as Latin secretary to Oliver Cromwell, and was stricken with
blindness at the age of forty-four. Though poor by loss of office after
the Restoration, he was never in poverty. He died on November 8, 1674.
"Paradise Lost," planned in his youth, was actually begun in 1658,
finished in 1665, and published in 1667. The price arranged was ? 5
down and ? 5 more on each of three editions, of which Milton received
? 10, and his widow ? 8, the rest being unpaid. In English literature
"Paradise Lost" stands alone as an effort of sheer imagination, and its
literary genius is as haunting as its conception is stupendous.
Paradise Regained[AB]
_I. --The Forty Days_
I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Having thus introduced his subject, the poet describes, on Scriptural
lines, the baptism of John, seen by Satan, "when roving still about
the world. " The Fiend then "flies to his place" and "summons all his
mighty peers"--a gloomy consistory--warning them that the time seems
approaching when they "must bide the stroke of that long-threatened
wound," when "the woman's Seed shall bruise the serpent's head. " They
agree that Satan shall return to earth and act as Tempter. In Heaven,
meantime, God tells the assembly of angels, addressing Gabriel, that
He will expose His Son to Satan, in order that the Son may "show him
worthy of His birth divine and high prediction. " And the angelic choir
sings "Victory and triumph to the Son of God. "
So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tuned.
Meanwhile the Son of God . . .
Musing and much revolving in his breast
How best the mighty work he might begin
Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first
Publish his God-like office now mature,
One day forth walked alone, the Spirit leading,
And his deep thoughts, the better to converse
With solitude, till, far from track of men,
Thought following thought, and step by step led on,
He entered now the bordering desert wild.
Christ then, in meditation, tells reminiscently the story of His life.
Full forty days He passed . . .
Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt,
Till those days ended; hungered then at last
Among wild beasts. They at His sight grew mild,
Nor sleeping Him nor waking harmed; His walk
The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm;
The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof.
But now an aged man in rural weeds,
Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray ewe,
Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve
Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen,
To warm him wet returned from field at eve,
He saw approach.
This is Satan, and, entering into conversation adjures the Son--
"If thou be the Son of God, command
That out of these hard stones be made Thee bread,
So shalt Thou save Thyself, and us relieve
With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste. "
Christ at once discerns who His tempter is and rebuffs him; and the
Fiend, "now undisguised," goes on to narrate his own history, arguing
that he is not a foe to mankind.
"They to me
Never did wrong or violence. By them
I lost not what I lost; rather by them
I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell
Co-partner in these regions of the world. "
Christ, replying, attributes to Satan the evils of Idolatry and the
crafty oracles of heathendom, which have taken the place of the
"inward oracle in pious hearts," whereupon Satan, "bowing low his gray
dissimulation, disappeared. "
_II. --The Temptation of the Body_
Meanwhile the disciples were gathered "close in a cottage low,"
wondering where Christ could be, and Mary with troubled thoughts,
rehearsed the story of His early life. Satan, returning to the council
of his fellow fiends, in "the middle region of thick air," reports
his failure, and that he has found in the Tempted "amplitude of mind
to greatest deeds. " Belial advises that the temptation should be
continued by women "expert in amorous arts," but Satan rejects the
plan, and reminds Belial--
"Among the sons of men
How many have with a smile made small account
Of beauty and her lures. For beauty stands
In the admiration only of weak minds
Led captive: cease to admire and all her plumes
Fall flat. . . . We must try
His constancy with such as have more show
Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise. "
With this aim Satan again betakes himself to the desert, where Christ,
now hungry, sleeps and dreams of food.
And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry
The morn's approach, and greet her with his song,
As lightly from his grassy couch uprose
Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream;
Fasting he went to sleep and fasting waked.
Up to a hill anon his steps he reared,
And in a bottom saw a pleasant grove,
With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud.
Thither He bent His way . . .
When suddenly a man before Him stood,
Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad,
As one in city or court or palace bred.
Here Satan again tempts Him with a spread of savoury food, which Jesus
dismisses with the words:
"Thy pompous delicacies I contemn,
And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles! "
The book closes with the offer of riches, which are rejected as "the
toil of fools. "
_III. --The Temptation of Glory_
Finding his weak "arguing and fallacious drift" ineffectual, Satan
next appeals to ambition and suggests conquest; but is reminded that
conquerors
"Rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'r they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy;
Then swell with pride and must be titled gods.
But if there be in glory aught of good,
It may by means far different be attained;
Without ambition, war, or violence,
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance. "
But Satan, sardonically, argues that God expects glory, nay, exacts it
from all, good and bad alike. To which Christ replies:
"Not glory as prime end,
But to show forth his goodness, and impart
His good communicable to every soul
Freely; of whom what could He less expect
Than glory and benediction--that is thanks--
The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense
From them who could return him nothing else. "
But, argues Satan, it is the throne of David to which the Messiah is
ordained; why not begin that reign? Hitherto Christ has scarcely seen
the Galilean towns, but He shall "quit these rudiments" and survey
"the monarchies of the earth, their pomp and state. " And thereupon he
carries Him to a mountain whence He can see "Assyria and her empire's
ancient bounds," and there suggests the deliverance of the Ten Tribes.
"Thou on the Throne of David in full glory,
From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond
Shalt reign, and Rome or Caesar not need fear. "
The answer is that these things must be left to God's "due time and
providence. "
_IV. --The Last Temptation_
The Tempter now brings the Saviour round to the western side of the
mountain, and there Rome
An imperial city stood;
With towers and temples proudly elevate
On seven hills, with palaces adorned,
Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts,
Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs,
Gardens and groves. Queen of the Earth,
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched
Of nations.
But this "grandeur and majestic show of luxury" has no effect on
Christ, who says:
"Know, when my season comes to sit
On David's throne, it shall be like a tree
Spreading and overshadowing all the earth;
Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash
All monarchies besides throughout the world,
And of my Kingdom there shall be no end. "
The offer of the kingdoms of the world incurs the stern rebuke:
"Get thee behind me! Plain thou now appear'st
That Evil One, Satan, for ever damned. "
Still the Fiend is not utterly abashed, but, arguing that "the
childhood shows the man as morning shows the day," and that Christ's
empire is one of mind, he, as a last temptation from the "specular
mount," shows Athens.
"There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power
Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit
By voice or hand, and various-measured verse.
To sage philosophy next lend thine ear,
From Heaven descended to the low-roofed house
Of Socrates. "
Christ replies that whoever seeks true wisdom in the philosophies,
moralities and conjectures of men finds her not, and that the poetry
of Greece will not compare with "Hebrew songs and harps. " It is the
prophets who teach most plainly
"What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so;
What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat? "
Finding all these temptations futile, Satan explodes:
"Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts,
Kingdom nor empire pleases thee, nor aught
By me proposed in life contemplative
Or active, tended on by glory or fame;
What dost thou in this world? The wilderness
For thee is fittest place. I found thee there
And thither will return thee. "
So he transports the passive Saviour back to his homeless solitude.
Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind,
Hungry and cold betook himself to rest.
The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly dreams
Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic now
'Gan thunder, and both ends of Heaven; the clouds
From many a rift abortive poured
Fierce rain with lightning mixed; water with fire
In ruin reconciled. Ill wast Thou shrouded then,
O patient Son of God! Yet only stood'st
Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror there.
Infernal ghosts of hellish furies round
Environed thee; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked,
Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou
Sat'st unappalled in calm and sinless peace.
Thus passed the night so foul, till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice grey,
Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar
Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds,
And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had raised
To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.
And now the sun with more effectual beams
Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet
From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds,
Who all things now beheld more fresh and green,
After a night of storm so ruinous,
Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray,
To 'gratulate the sweet return of morn.
Satan, in anger, begins the last temptation.
Feigning to doubt whether the Saviour is the Son of God, he snatches
him up and carries him to where, in
Fair Jerusalem, the Holy City lifted high her towers
And higher yet the glorious Temple reared
Her pile; far off appearing like a mount
Of alabaster, topp'd with golden spires:
There on the highest pinnacle he set
The Son of God, and added thus in scorn:
"There stand if thou wilt stand; to stand upright will task thy skill. "
"Tempt not the Lord thy God," He said, and stood.
But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell,
And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought
Ruin, and desperation, and dismay.
So Satan fell; and straight a fiery globe,
Of angels, on full sail of wing flew nigh,
Who on their plumy vans received Him soft,
From His uneasy station, and upbore
As on a floating couch through the blithe air;
Then in a flowery valley set Him down
On a green bank, and set before Him, spread,
A table of celestial food. . . .
. . . . And as He fed, angelic quires
Sang Heavenly anthems of His victory
Over temptation and the Tempter proud.
"Now Thou hast avenged
Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing
Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise. "
Thus they, the Son of God, our Saviour meek,
Sung victor, and from Heavenly feast refreshed,
Brought on His way with joy. He, unobserved,
Home to His mother's house private returned.
FOOTNOTES:
[AB] The origin of "Paradise Regained" has been told
authentically. It was suggested in 1665 by Ellwood the Quaker, who
sometimes acted as Milton's amanuensis, and it was finished and shown
to Ellwood in 1666, though not published till 1671. Neither in majesty
of conception or in charm of style can it compare with "Paradise
Lost," to which it is, as has been said, a codicil and not a sequel.
The Temptation, the reader feels, was but an incident in the life of
Christ and in the drama of the "ways of God to man," which "Paradise
Lost" introduced with such stupendous imaginative power. Much of the
poem is but a somewhat ambling paraphrase and expansion of Scriptural
narratives; but there are passages where Milton resumes his perfect
mastery of poetic form, under the inspiration that places him among the
selectest band of immortal singers.
Samson Agonistes[AC]
_Persons in the Drama_
SAMSON
MANOA, _the father of Samson_
DALILA, _his wife_
HURAPHA, _of Gath_
PUBLIC OFFICER
MESSENGER
_Chorus of Danites_
_The scene is placed before the prison in Gaza_.
SAMSON: A little onward send thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade.
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil.
Daily in the common prison else enjoined me,
Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw
The air, imprisoned also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends
The breath of Heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works. Hence, with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease--
Oh, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an angel, if I must die
Betrayed, captive, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze?
O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!
Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct,
And all her various objects of delight
Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrevocably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day!
O first created beam, and thou great Word,
"Let there be light, and light was over all,"
Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?
The Sun to me is dark
And silent as the Moon,
When she deserts the night,
Hid in her vacant inter-lunar cave.
CHORUS: This, this is he; softly a while;
Let us not break in upon him.
O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused,
With languished head unpropt,
As one past hope, abandoned.
Which shall I fast bewail--
Thy bondage or lost sight,
Prison within prison
Inseparably dark?
Thou art become (O worst imprisonment! )
The dungeon of thyself;
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou are fallen.
SAMSON: I hear the sound of words; their sense the air
Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear.
CHORUS: He speaks; let us draw nigh. Matchless in might,
The glory late of Israel, now the grief!
We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown,
From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale,
To visit or bewail thee.
SAMSON: Your coming, friends, revives me.
Tell me, friends,
Am I not sung and proverbed for a fool
In every street?
CHORUS: Wisest men
Have erred, and by bad women been deceived;
And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise.
In seeking just occasion to provoke
The Philistine, thy country's enemy,
Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness.
But see! here comes thy reverend sire,
With careful step, locks white as down,
OLD MANOA: advise
Forthwith how thou ought'st to receive him.
MANOA: Brethren and men of Dan, if old respect,
As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend,
My son, now captive, hither hath informed
Your younger feet, while mine, cast back with age,
Came lagging after, say if he be here.
CHORUS: As signal now in low dejected state
As erst in highest, behold him where he lies.
MANOA: O miserable change! Is this the man,
That invincible Samson, far renowned,
The dread of Israel's foes?
SAMSON: Nothing of all these evils hath befallen me
But justly.
MANOA: True; but thou bear'st
Enough, and more, the burden of that fault;
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying,
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains;
This day the Philistines a popular feast
Here celebrate in Gaza, and proclaim
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud,
To Dagon, as their god who hath delivered
Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands.
SAMSON: Father, I do acknowledge and confess
That I this honour, I this pomp, have brought
To Dagon, and advanced his praises high
Among the heathen round. The contest is now
'Twixt God and Dagon. Dagon hath presumed,
Me overthrown, to enter lists with God.
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive
Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him
Of all these boasted trophies won on me,
And with confusion blank his worshippers.
MANOA: But for thee what shall be done?
Thou must not in the meanwhile, here forgot,
Lie in this miserable, loathsome plight,
Neglected. I already have made way
To some Philistine lords, with whom to treat
About thy ransom.
SAMSON: Spare that proposal, father; let me here
As I deserve, pay on my punishment,
And expiate, if possible, my crime.
MANOA: Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite;
But act not in thy own affliction, son.
Repent the sin; but if the punishment
Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids.
SAMSON: Nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself;
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
MANOA: I, however,
Must not omit a father's timely care
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance
By ransom, or how else.
CHORUS: But who is this? what thing of sea or land--
Female of sex it seems--
That, so bedecked, ornate, and gay,
Comes this way sailing?
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem;
And now at nearer view no other certain
Than Dalila, thy wife.
SAMSON: My wife! My traitress! Let her not come near me.
DALILA: With doubtful feet and wavering resolution
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson.
SAMSON: Out, out, hyena! These are thy wonted arts,
And arts of every woman false like thee--
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray;
Then, as repentant, to submit, beseech
A reconcilement, move with feigned remorse.
DALILA: Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson,
I to the lords will intercede, not doubting
Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee
From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide
With me, where my redoubled love and care,
With nursing diligence, to me glad office,
May ever tend about thee to old age.
SAMSON: No, no; of my condition take no care;
It fits not; thou and I long since are twain;
Nor think me so unwary or accursed
To bring my feet again into the snare
Where once I have been caught.
DALILA: Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand.
Adam replies:
"These have their course to finish round the Earth,
And they, though unbeheld in deep of night,
Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none,
That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep;
All these with ceaseless praise His works behold
Both day and night. ". . . .
Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed
On to their blissful bower.
Gabriel then sends the Cherubim, "armed to their night watches," and
commands Ithuriel and Zephon to search the Garden, where they find
Satan, "squat like a toad close to the ear of Eve," seeking to taint
her dreams.
Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear
Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure
Touch of celestial temper, but returns
Of force to its own likeness.
Satan therefore starts up in his own person, and is conducted to
Gabriel, who sees him coming with them, "a third, of regal port, but
faded splendour wan. " Gabriel and he engage in a heated altercation,
and a fight seems imminent between the Fiend and the angelic squadrons
that "begin to hem him round," when, by a sign in the sky, Satan is
reminded of his powerlessness in open fight, and flees, murmuring;
"and with him fled the shades of Night. "
_V. --The Morning Hymn of Praise_
Adam, waking in the morning, finds Eve flushed and distraught, and she
tells him of her troublous dreams. He cheers her, and they pass out to
the open field, and, adoring, raise their morning hymn of praise.
"These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair--Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! Who sittest above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light,
Angels--for ye behold Him, and with songs
And chloral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing--ye in Heaven;
On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night,
If better than belong not to the Dawn,
Sure pledge of Day, that crown'st the smiling morn
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 gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fliest,
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb, that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise Who out of Darkness called up Light.
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the World's great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling, still advance His praise.
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune His praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye Birds,
That, singing, up to Heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise.
Hail universal Lord! Be bounteous still
To give us only good; and, if the night
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. "
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts
Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm.
The Almighty now sends Raphael, "the sociable Spirit," from Heaven
to warn Adam of his danger, and alighting on the eastern cliff of
Paradise, the Seraph shakes his plumes and diffuses heavenly fragrance
around; then moving through the forest is seen by Adam, who, with
Eve, entertains him, and seizes the occasion to ask him of "their
Being Who dwell in Heaven," and further, what is meant by the angelic
caution--"If ye be found obedient. " Raphael thereupon tells of the
disobedience, in Heaven, of Satan, and his fall, "from that high
state of bliss into what woe. " He tells how the Divine decree of
obedience to the Only Son was received by Satan with envy, because he
felt "himself impaired"; and how, consulting with Beelzebub, he drew
away all the Spirits under their command to the "spacious North,"
and, taunting them with being eclipsed, proposed that they should
rebel. Only Abdiel remained faithful, and urged them to cease their
"impious rage," and seek pardon in time, or they might find that He
Who had created them could uncreate them.
So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found;
Among the faithless faithful only he;
Among innumerable false unmoved,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;
Nor number nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind
Though single.
_VI. --The Story of Satan's Revolt_
Raphael, continuing, tells Adam how Abdiel flew back to Heaven with
the story of the revolt, but found it was known. The Sovran Voice
having welcomed the faithful messenger with "Servant of God, well
done! " orders the Archangels Michael and Gabriel to lead forth the
celestial armies, while the banded powers of Satan are hastening on
to set the Proud Aspirer on the very Mount of God. "Long time in even
scale the battle hung," but with the dawning of the third day, the
Father directed the Messiah to ascend his chariot, and end the strife.
"Far off his coming shone," and at His presence "Heaven his wonted
face renewed, and with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled. " But,
nearing the foe, His countenance changed into a terror "too severe to
be beheld. "
Full soon among them He arrived, in His right hand
Grasping ten thousand thunders. . . .
They, astonished, all resistance lost,
All courage; down their idle weapons dropt. . . .
. . . . Headlong themselves they threw
Down from the verge of Heaven; eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit.
A like fate, Raphael warns Adam, may befall mankind if they are guilty
of disobedience.
_VII. --The New Creation_
The "affable Archangel," at Adam's request, continues his talk by
telling how the world began. Lest Lucifer should take a pride in
having "dispeopled Heaven," God announces to the Son that he will
create another world, and a race to dwell in it who may
Open to themselves at length the way
Up hither, under long obedience tried,
And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,
This creation is to be the work of the Son, who, girt with
omnipotence, prepares to go forth.
Heaven opened wide
Her ever-daring gates, harmonious sound
On golden hinges moving, to let forth
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word
And Spirit coming to create new worlds.
On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shore
They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains to assault
Heaven's highth, and with the centre mix the pole.
"Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou Deep, peace! "
Said then the omnific Word. "Your discord end! "
Nor stayed; but on the wings of cherubim,
Uplifted in paternal glory rode
Far into Chaos and the World unborn;
For Chaos heard his voice. . . .
And Earth, self-balanced on her centre hung.
The six days' creative work is then described in the order of Genesis.
_VIII. --The Creation of Adam_
Asked by Adam to tell him about the motions of the heavenly bodies,
Raphael adjures him to refrain from thought on "matters hid; to serve
God and fear; and to be lowly wise. " He then asks Adam to tell him of
his creation, he having at the time been absent on "excursion toward
the gates of Hell. " Adam complies, and relates how he appealed to
God for a companion, and was answered in the fairest of God's gifts.
Raphael warns Adam to beware lest passion for Eve sway his judgment,
for on him depends the weal or woe, not only of himself, but of all
his sons.
_IX. --The Temptation and the Fall_
While Raphael was in Paradise, for seven nights, Satan hid himself by
circling round in the shadow of the Earth, then, rising as a mist, he
crept into Eden undetected, and entered the serpent as the "fittest
imp of fraud," but not until once more lamenting that the enjoyment of
the earth was not for him. In the morning, when the human pair came
forth to their pleasant labours, Eve suggested that they should work
apart, for when near each other "looks intervene and smiles," and
casual discourse. Adam replied, defending "this sweet intercourse of
looks and smiles," and saying they had been made not for irksome toil,
but for delight.
"But if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield;
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return.
But other doubt possessed me, lest harm
Befall thee. . . .
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks,
Safest and seemliest by her husband stays
Who guards her, or the worst with her endures. "
Eve replies:
"That such an enemy we have, who seeks
Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn,
And from the parting Angel overheard,
As in a shady nook I stood behind,
Just then returned at shut of evening flowers. "
She, however, repels the suggestion that she can be deceived. Adam
replies that he does not wish her to be tempted, and that united they
would be stronger and more watchful. Eve responds that if Eden is so
exposed that they are not secure apart, how can they be happy? Adams
gives way, with the explanation that it is not mistrust but tender
love that enjoins him to watch over her, and, as she leaves him,
Her long with ardent look his eye pursued
Delighted, but desiring more her stay.
Oft he to her his charge of quick return
Repeated; she to him as oft engaged
To be returned by noon amid the bower,
And all things in best order to invite
Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose.
O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve,
Of thy presumed return! Event perverse!
Thou never from that hour in Paradise
Found'st either sweet repast or sound repose.
The Fiend, questing through the garden, finds her
Veiled in a cloud of fragrance where she stood
Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing round
About her glowed. . . . Them she upstays
Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while
Herself, though fairest unsupported flower,
From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh.
Seeing her, Satan "much the place admired, the person more. "
As one who, long in populous city pent,
Forth issuing on a summer's morn to breathe
Among the pleasant villages and farms
Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight--
The smell of grain, of tedded grass, of kine,
Of 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 seems all delight.
Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold
This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve
Thus early, thus alone.
The original serpent did not creep on the ground, but was a handsome
creature.
With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect
Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass
Floated redundant. Pleasing was his shape
And lovely.
Appearing before Eve with an air of worshipful admiration, and
speaking in human language, the arch-deceiver gains her ear with
flattery. "Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve. " She asks how
it is that man's language is pronounced by "tongue of brute. " The
reply is that the power came through eating the fruit of a certain
tree, which gave him reason, and also constrained him to worship her
as "sovran of creatures. " Asked to show her the tree, he leads her
swiftly to the Tree of Prohibition, and replying to her scruples and
fears, declares--
"Queen of the Universe! Do not believe
Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die.
How should ye? By the fruit? It gives you life
To knowledge. By the Threatener? Look on me--
Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live
And life more perfect have attained than Fate
Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot.
Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast
Is open? Or will God incense his ire
For such a petty trespass? . . .
God therefore cannot hurt ye and be just.
Goddess humane, reach, then, and freely taste! "
He ended; and his words replete with guile
Into her heart too easy entrance won.
Eve herself then took up the argument and repeated admiringly the
Serpent's persuasions.
"In the day we eat
Of this fair fruit our doom is we shall die!
How dies the Serpent? He hath eaten and lives,
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,
Irrational till then. For us alone
Was death invented? Or to us denied
This intellectual food, for beasts reserved?
Here grows the care of all, this fruit divine,
Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste,
Of virtue to make wise. What hinders then
To reach and feed at once both body and mind? "
So saying, her rash hand in evil hour
Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she ate.
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat,
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe
That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk
The guilty serpent.
At first elated by the fruit, Eve presently began to reflect, excuse
herself, and wonder what the effect would be on Adam.
"And I perhaps am secret. Heaven is high--
High, and remote to see from thence distinct
Each thing on Earth; and other care perhaps
May have diverted from continual watch
Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies
About him. But to Adam in what sort
Shall I appear? Shall I to him make known
As yet my change?
But what if God have seen
And death ensue? Then I shall be no more;
And Adam, wedded to another Eve,
Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct!
A death to think! Confirmed then, I resolve
Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe,
So dear I love him that with him all deaths
I could endure, without him live no life. "
Adam the while
Waiting desirous her return, had wove
Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn
Her tresses. . . . Soon as he heard
The fatal trespass done by Eve amazed,
From his slack hand the garland wreathed for her
Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed.
Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length,
First to himself he inward silence broke:
"O fairest of creation, last and best
Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled
Whatever came to sight or thought be formed,
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet,
How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost!
Some cursed fraud
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,
And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee
Certain my resolution is to die.
How can I live without thee? How forego
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,
To live again in these wild words forlorn? "
Then, turning to Eve, he tries to comfort her.
"Perhaps thou shalt not die . . .
Nor can I think that God, Creator wise,
Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy
Us, His prime creatures, dignified so high,
Set over all his works. . . .
However, I with thee have fixed my lot,
Certain to undergo like doom. If death
Consort with thee, death is to me as life.
Our state cannot be severed; we are one. "
So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied:
"O glorious trial of exceeding love,
Illustrious evidence, example high! "
So saying she embraced him, and for joy
Tenderly wept, much won that he his love
Had so ennobled as of choice to incur
Divine displeasure for her sake, or death.
In recompense . . .
She gave him of that fair enticing fruit
With liberal hand. He scrupled not to eat
Against his better knowledge, not deceived,
But fondly overcome with female charm.
The effect of the fruit on them is first to excite lust with guilty
shame following, and realising this after "the exhilarating vapour
bland" had spent its force, Adam found utterance for his remorse.
"O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear
To that false Worm. . . .
. . . How shall I behold the face
Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy
And rapture so oft beheld? Those Heavenly shapes
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze
Insufferably bright. Oh, might I here
In solitude live savage, in some glade
Obscured, where highest winds, impenetrable
To star or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad,
And brown as evening! Cover me, ye pines!
Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs
Hide me, where I may never see them more! "
Then they cower in the woods, and clothe themselves with leaves.
Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind
They sat them down to weep.
But passion also took possession of them, and they began to taunt each
other with recriminations. Adam, with estranged look, exclaimed:
"Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange
Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn,
I know not whence possessed thee! We had then
Remained still happy! "
Eve retorts:
"Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent,
Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me. "
Then Adam:
"What could I more?
I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold
The danger, and the lurking enemy
That lay in wait; beyond this had been force. "
Thus they in mutual accusation spent
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning;
And of their vain contest appeared no end.
_X. --Sin and Death Triumph_
The Angels left on guard now slowly return from Paradise to Heaven
to report their failure, but are reminded by God that it was
ordained; and the Son is sent down to judge the guilty pair, after
hearing their excuses, and to punish them with the curses of toil
and death. Meantime Sin and Death "snuff the smell of mortal change"
on Earth, and leaving Hell-gate "belching outrageous flame," erect
a broad road from Hell to Earth through Chaos, and as they come in
sight of the World meet Satan steering his way back as an angel,
"between the Centaur and the Scorpion. " He makes Sin and Death his
plenipotentiaries on Earth, adjuring them first to make man their
thrall, and lastly kill; and as they pass to the evil work "the
blasted stars look wan.
" The return to Hell is received with loud
acclaim, which comes in the form of a hiss, and Satan and all his
hosts are turned into grovelling snakes. Adam, now in his repentance,
is sternly resentful against Eve, who becomes submissive, and both
pass from remorse to "sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek. "
_XI. --Repentance and the Doom_
The repentance of the pair is accepted by God, who sends down the
Archangel Michael, with a cohort of cherubim, to announce that death
will not come until time has been given for repentance, but Paradise
can no longer be their home. Whereupon Eve laments.
"O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death!
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? Thus leave
Thee, native soil? These happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of gods, where I had hoped to spend
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both? O flowers,
That never will in any other climate grow,
My early visitation and my last
At even, which I tied 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?
. . . How shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits? "
The Angel reminds her:
"Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes
Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound.
Where he abides think there thy native soil. "
Michael then ascending a hill with Adam shows him a vision of the
world's history, while Eve sleeps.
_XII. --Paradise Behind, the World Before_
The history is continued, with its promise of redemption, until Adam
exclaims:
"Full of doubt I stand,
Whether I should repent me now of sin
By me done and occasioned, or rejoice
Much more that much more good thereof shall spring--
To God more glory, more good-will to men. "
Eve awakens from propitious dreams, it having been shown to her that--
"Though all by me is lost,
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed.
By me the Promised Seed shall all restore. "
The time, however, has come when they must leave. A flaming sword,
"fierce as a comet," advances towards them before the bright array of
cherubim.
Whereat
In either hand the hastening angel caught
Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff so fast
To the subjected plain--then disappeared.
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful forces thronged and fiery arms.
Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
FOOTNOTES:
[AA] John Milton, the peer of Dante as one of the world's
master-poets, was born in Bread Street, London, on December 9, 1608,
the son of a well-to-do scrivener. Educated at St. Paul's School
and at Cambridge, he devoted himself from the first to poetry. The
"Ode on the Nativity" was written when the poet was twenty-one. His
productions till his thirtieth year were nearly all of a classical
caste--"L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," "Comus," "Lycidas. " Returning from
Continental travels in 1639, Milton became enmeshed in politics, and so
continued for twenty years, during which time he wrote much polemical
prose, including his "Areopagitica" (see Vol. XX, p. 257) and his
"Tractate on Education. " After a spell of teaching and pamphleteering,
he served as Latin secretary to Oliver Cromwell, and was stricken with
blindness at the age of forty-four. Though poor by loss of office after
the Restoration, he was never in poverty. He died on November 8, 1674.
"Paradise Lost," planned in his youth, was actually begun in 1658,
finished in 1665, and published in 1667. The price arranged was ? 5
down and ? 5 more on each of three editions, of which Milton received
? 10, and his widow ? 8, the rest being unpaid. In English literature
"Paradise Lost" stands alone as an effort of sheer imagination, and its
literary genius is as haunting as its conception is stupendous.
Paradise Regained[AB]
_I. --The Forty Days_
I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Having thus introduced his subject, the poet describes, on Scriptural
lines, the baptism of John, seen by Satan, "when roving still about
the world. " The Fiend then "flies to his place" and "summons all his
mighty peers"--a gloomy consistory--warning them that the time seems
approaching when they "must bide the stroke of that long-threatened
wound," when "the woman's Seed shall bruise the serpent's head. " They
agree that Satan shall return to earth and act as Tempter. In Heaven,
meantime, God tells the assembly of angels, addressing Gabriel, that
He will expose His Son to Satan, in order that the Son may "show him
worthy of His birth divine and high prediction. " And the angelic choir
sings "Victory and triumph to the Son of God. "
So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tuned.
Meanwhile the Son of God . . .
Musing and much revolving in his breast
How best the mighty work he might begin
Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first
Publish his God-like office now mature,
One day forth walked alone, the Spirit leading,
And his deep thoughts, the better to converse
With solitude, till, far from track of men,
Thought following thought, and step by step led on,
He entered now the bordering desert wild.
Christ then, in meditation, tells reminiscently the story of His life.
Full forty days He passed . . .
Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt,
Till those days ended; hungered then at last
Among wild beasts. They at His sight grew mild,
Nor sleeping Him nor waking harmed; His walk
The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm;
The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof.
But now an aged man in rural weeds,
Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray ewe,
Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve
Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen,
To warm him wet returned from field at eve,
He saw approach.
This is Satan, and, entering into conversation adjures the Son--
"If thou be the Son of God, command
That out of these hard stones be made Thee bread,
So shalt Thou save Thyself, and us relieve
With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste. "
Christ at once discerns who His tempter is and rebuffs him; and the
Fiend, "now undisguised," goes on to narrate his own history, arguing
that he is not a foe to mankind.
"They to me
Never did wrong or violence. By them
I lost not what I lost; rather by them
I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell
Co-partner in these regions of the world. "
Christ, replying, attributes to Satan the evils of Idolatry and the
crafty oracles of heathendom, which have taken the place of the
"inward oracle in pious hearts," whereupon Satan, "bowing low his gray
dissimulation, disappeared. "
_II. --The Temptation of the Body_
Meanwhile the disciples were gathered "close in a cottage low,"
wondering where Christ could be, and Mary with troubled thoughts,
rehearsed the story of His early life. Satan, returning to the council
of his fellow fiends, in "the middle region of thick air," reports
his failure, and that he has found in the Tempted "amplitude of mind
to greatest deeds. " Belial advises that the temptation should be
continued by women "expert in amorous arts," but Satan rejects the
plan, and reminds Belial--
"Among the sons of men
How many have with a smile made small account
Of beauty and her lures. For beauty stands
In the admiration only of weak minds
Led captive: cease to admire and all her plumes
Fall flat. . . . We must try
His constancy with such as have more show
Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise. "
With this aim Satan again betakes himself to the desert, where Christ,
now hungry, sleeps and dreams of food.
And now the herald lark
Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry
The morn's approach, and greet her with his song,
As lightly from his grassy couch uprose
Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream;
Fasting he went to sleep and fasting waked.
Up to a hill anon his steps he reared,
And in a bottom saw a pleasant grove,
With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud.
Thither He bent His way . . .
When suddenly a man before Him stood,
Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad,
As one in city or court or palace bred.
Here Satan again tempts Him with a spread of savoury food, which Jesus
dismisses with the words:
"Thy pompous delicacies I contemn,
And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles! "
The book closes with the offer of riches, which are rejected as "the
toil of fools. "
_III. --The Temptation of Glory_
Finding his weak "arguing and fallacious drift" ineffectual, Satan
next appeals to ambition and suggests conquest; but is reminded that
conquerors
"Rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'r they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy;
Then swell with pride and must be titled gods.
But if there be in glory aught of good,
It may by means far different be attained;
Without ambition, war, or violence,
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance. "
But Satan, sardonically, argues that God expects glory, nay, exacts it
from all, good and bad alike. To which Christ replies:
"Not glory as prime end,
But to show forth his goodness, and impart
His good communicable to every soul
Freely; of whom what could He less expect
Than glory and benediction--that is thanks--
The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense
From them who could return him nothing else. "
But, argues Satan, it is the throne of David to which the Messiah is
ordained; why not begin that reign? Hitherto Christ has scarcely seen
the Galilean towns, but He shall "quit these rudiments" and survey
"the monarchies of the earth, their pomp and state. " And thereupon he
carries Him to a mountain whence He can see "Assyria and her empire's
ancient bounds," and there suggests the deliverance of the Ten Tribes.
"Thou on the Throne of David in full glory,
From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond
Shalt reign, and Rome or Caesar not need fear. "
The answer is that these things must be left to God's "due time and
providence. "
_IV. --The Last Temptation_
The Tempter now brings the Saviour round to the western side of the
mountain, and there Rome
An imperial city stood;
With towers and temples proudly elevate
On seven hills, with palaces adorned,
Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts,
Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs,
Gardens and groves. Queen of the Earth,
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched
Of nations.
But this "grandeur and majestic show of luxury" has no effect on
Christ, who says:
"Know, when my season comes to sit
On David's throne, it shall be like a tree
Spreading and overshadowing all the earth;
Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash
All monarchies besides throughout the world,
And of my Kingdom there shall be no end. "
The offer of the kingdoms of the world incurs the stern rebuke:
"Get thee behind me! Plain thou now appear'st
That Evil One, Satan, for ever damned. "
Still the Fiend is not utterly abashed, but, arguing that "the
childhood shows the man as morning shows the day," and that Christ's
empire is one of mind, he, as a last temptation from the "specular
mount," shows Athens.
"There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power
Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit
By voice or hand, and various-measured verse.
To sage philosophy next lend thine ear,
From Heaven descended to the low-roofed house
Of Socrates. "
Christ replies that whoever seeks true wisdom in the philosophies,
moralities and conjectures of men finds her not, and that the poetry
of Greece will not compare with "Hebrew songs and harps. " It is the
prophets who teach most plainly
"What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so;
What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat? "
Finding all these temptations futile, Satan explodes:
"Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts,
Kingdom nor empire pleases thee, nor aught
By me proposed in life contemplative
Or active, tended on by glory or fame;
What dost thou in this world? The wilderness
For thee is fittest place. I found thee there
And thither will return thee. "
So he transports the passive Saviour back to his homeless solitude.
Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind,
Hungry and cold betook himself to rest.
The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly dreams
Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic now
'Gan thunder, and both ends of Heaven; the clouds
From many a rift abortive poured
Fierce rain with lightning mixed; water with fire
In ruin reconciled. Ill wast Thou shrouded then,
O patient Son of God! Yet only stood'st
Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror there.
Infernal ghosts of hellish furies round
Environed thee; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked,
Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou
Sat'st unappalled in calm and sinless peace.
Thus passed the night so foul, till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice grey,
Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar
Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds,
And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had raised
To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.
And now the sun with more effectual beams
Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet
From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds,
Who all things now beheld more fresh and green,
After a night of storm so ruinous,
Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray,
To 'gratulate the sweet return of morn.
Satan, in anger, begins the last temptation.
Feigning to doubt whether the Saviour is the Son of God, he snatches
him up and carries him to where, in
Fair Jerusalem, the Holy City lifted high her towers
And higher yet the glorious Temple reared
Her pile; far off appearing like a mount
Of alabaster, topp'd with golden spires:
There on the highest pinnacle he set
The Son of God, and added thus in scorn:
"There stand if thou wilt stand; to stand upright will task thy skill. "
"Tempt not the Lord thy God," He said, and stood.
But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell,
And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought
Ruin, and desperation, and dismay.
So Satan fell; and straight a fiery globe,
Of angels, on full sail of wing flew nigh,
Who on their plumy vans received Him soft,
From His uneasy station, and upbore
As on a floating couch through the blithe air;
Then in a flowery valley set Him down
On a green bank, and set before Him, spread,
A table of celestial food. . . .
. . . . And as He fed, angelic quires
Sang Heavenly anthems of His victory
Over temptation and the Tempter proud.
"Now Thou hast avenged
Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing
Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise. "
Thus they, the Son of God, our Saviour meek,
Sung victor, and from Heavenly feast refreshed,
Brought on His way with joy. He, unobserved,
Home to His mother's house private returned.
FOOTNOTES:
[AB] The origin of "Paradise Regained" has been told
authentically. It was suggested in 1665 by Ellwood the Quaker, who
sometimes acted as Milton's amanuensis, and it was finished and shown
to Ellwood in 1666, though not published till 1671. Neither in majesty
of conception or in charm of style can it compare with "Paradise
Lost," to which it is, as has been said, a codicil and not a sequel.
The Temptation, the reader feels, was but an incident in the life of
Christ and in the drama of the "ways of God to man," which "Paradise
Lost" introduced with such stupendous imaginative power. Much of the
poem is but a somewhat ambling paraphrase and expansion of Scriptural
narratives; but there are passages where Milton resumes his perfect
mastery of poetic form, under the inspiration that places him among the
selectest band of immortal singers.
Samson Agonistes[AC]
_Persons in the Drama_
SAMSON
MANOA, _the father of Samson_
DALILA, _his wife_
HURAPHA, _of Gath_
PUBLIC OFFICER
MESSENGER
_Chorus of Danites_
_The scene is placed before the prison in Gaza_.
SAMSON: A little onward send thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade.
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil.
Daily in the common prison else enjoined me,
Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw
The air, imprisoned also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends
The breath of Heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works. Hence, with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease--
Oh, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an angel, if I must die
Betrayed, captive, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze?
O worse than chains,
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age!
Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct,
And all her various objects of delight
Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrevocably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day!
O first created beam, and thou great Word,
"Let there be light, and light was over all,"
Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree?
The Sun to me is dark
And silent as the Moon,
When she deserts the night,
Hid in her vacant inter-lunar cave.
CHORUS: This, this is he; softly a while;
Let us not break in upon him.
O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused,
With languished head unpropt,
As one past hope, abandoned.
Which shall I fast bewail--
Thy bondage or lost sight,
Prison within prison
Inseparably dark?
Thou art become (O worst imprisonment! )
The dungeon of thyself;
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou are fallen.
SAMSON: I hear the sound of words; their sense the air
Dissolves unjointed ere it reach my ear.
CHORUS: He speaks; let us draw nigh. Matchless in might,
The glory late of Israel, now the grief!
We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown,
From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale,
To visit or bewail thee.
SAMSON: Your coming, friends, revives me.
Tell me, friends,
Am I not sung and proverbed for a fool
In every street?
CHORUS: Wisest men
Have erred, and by bad women been deceived;
And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise.
In seeking just occasion to provoke
The Philistine, thy country's enemy,
Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness.
But see! here comes thy reverend sire,
With careful step, locks white as down,
OLD MANOA: advise
Forthwith how thou ought'st to receive him.
MANOA: Brethren and men of Dan, if old respect,
As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend,
My son, now captive, hither hath informed
Your younger feet, while mine, cast back with age,
Came lagging after, say if he be here.
CHORUS: As signal now in low dejected state
As erst in highest, behold him where he lies.
MANOA: O miserable change! Is this the man,
That invincible Samson, far renowned,
The dread of Israel's foes?
SAMSON: Nothing of all these evils hath befallen me
But justly.
MANOA: True; but thou bear'st
Enough, and more, the burden of that fault;
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying,
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains;
This day the Philistines a popular feast
Here celebrate in Gaza, and proclaim
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud,
To Dagon, as their god who hath delivered
Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands.
SAMSON: Father, I do acknowledge and confess
That I this honour, I this pomp, have brought
To Dagon, and advanced his praises high
Among the heathen round. The contest is now
'Twixt God and Dagon. Dagon hath presumed,
Me overthrown, to enter lists with God.
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive
Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him
Of all these boasted trophies won on me,
And with confusion blank his worshippers.
MANOA: But for thee what shall be done?
Thou must not in the meanwhile, here forgot,
Lie in this miserable, loathsome plight,
Neglected. I already have made way
To some Philistine lords, with whom to treat
About thy ransom.
SAMSON: Spare that proposal, father; let me here
As I deserve, pay on my punishment,
And expiate, if possible, my crime.
MANOA: Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite;
But act not in thy own affliction, son.
Repent the sin; but if the punishment
Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids.
SAMSON: Nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself;
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest.
MANOA: I, however,
Must not omit a father's timely care
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance
By ransom, or how else.
CHORUS: But who is this? what thing of sea or land--
Female of sex it seems--
That, so bedecked, ornate, and gay,
Comes this way sailing?
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem;
And now at nearer view no other certain
Than Dalila, thy wife.
SAMSON: My wife! My traitress! Let her not come near me.
DALILA: With doubtful feet and wavering resolution
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson.
SAMSON: Out, out, hyena! These are thy wonted arts,
And arts of every woman false like thee--
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray;
Then, as repentant, to submit, beseech
A reconcilement, move with feigned remorse.
DALILA: Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson,
I to the lords will intercede, not doubting
Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee
From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide
With me, where my redoubled love and care,
With nursing diligence, to me glad office,
May ever tend about thee to old age.
SAMSON: No, no; of my condition take no care;
It fits not; thou and I long since are twain;
Nor think me so unwary or accursed
To bring my feet again into the snare
Where once I have been caught.
DALILA: Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand.
