Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale :
She all night long her amorous descant sung:
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw :
When Adam thus to Eve, "Fair consort, the hour
Of night, and all things now retired to rest,
Mind us of like repose; since God hath set
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men
Successive, and the timely dew of sleep,
Now falling with soft cumbrous weight, inclines
Our eyelids. Other creatures, all day long,
Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest :
Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed, which declares his dignity,
And the regard of Heaven on all his ways;
While other animals inactive range,
And of their doings God takes no account."
ADAM'S FIRST SENSATIONS AFTER HIS CREATION.-(B. 8.)
As new waked from soundest sleep,
Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid,
In balmy sweat which with his beams the Sun
Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed.
Straight toward heaven my wondering eyes I turned,
And gazed a while the ample sky; till, raised
By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung,
As thitherward endeavouring, and upright
Stood on my feet. About me round I saw
Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains,
And liquid lapse of murmuring streams; by these,
Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew ;
Birds on the branches warbling. All things smiled;
With fragrance and with joy my heart o'erflowed.
Myself I then perused, and limb by limb
Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran
With supple joints, as lively vigour led:
But who I was, or where, or from what cause,
Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake ;
My tongue obeyed, and readily could name
Whate'er I saw. "Thou Sun," said I,
"fair light,
And thou enlightened Earth, so fresh and gay,
Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains,
And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell,
Tell, if you saw, how I came thus, how here?
Not of myself! By some great Maker, then,
In goodness and in power pre-eminent :
Tell me how may I know him, how adore,
From whom I have that thus I move, and live,
And feel that I am happier than I know."
EVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.—(" Paradise Lost," B. 4.) THAT day I oft remember, when from sleep
I first awaked, and found myself reposed
Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where
And what I was, whence thither brought and how.
Not distant far from thence, a murmuring sound
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved
Pure as the expanse of heaven. I thither went
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down
On the green bank, to look into the clear
Smooth lake, that to me seem'd another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite
A shape within the watery gleam appear'd,
Bending to look on me: I started back,
It started back; but pleased I soon return'd,
Pleased it return'd as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love.
WITH thee conversing I forget all time;
All seasons, and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistering with dew: fragrant the fertile Earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful Evening mild; then silent Night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon,
And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train.
But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising Sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by Moon
Or glittering star-light, without thee, is sweet.
CHRIST IN THE WILDERNESS. A STORM.
("Paradise Regained," B. 4.)
So saying, he took (for still he knew his power
Not yet expired) and to the wilderness
Brought back the Son of God, and left him there,
Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose,
As daylight sunk, and brought in lowering Night,
Her shadowy offspring; unsubstantial both,
Privation mere of light, and absent day.
Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind,
After his aëry jaunt, though hurried sore,
Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest,
Wherever, under some concourse of shades,
Whose branching arms, thick intertwined, might shield
From dews and damps of night his sheltered head :
But, sheltered, slept in vain ; for at his head
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 horrid rift, abortive poured
Fierce rain with lightning mixed, water with fire
In ruin reconciled: nor slept the winds
Within their stony caves, but rushed abroad
From the four hinges of the world, and fell
On the vexed wilderness, whose tallest pines,
Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest oaks,
Bowed their stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts,
Or torn up sheer. Ill wast thou shrouded then,
O patient Son of God, yet only stoodst
Unshaken! Nor yet stay'd the terror there;
Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round
Environed thee; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked ;
Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou
Satst 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 behold 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.
POPE was born in London in 1688, and died in 1744. In him what has been sometimes called the French School of Poetry culminated. The characteristic of this school is, that it is more distinguished by precision and elegance of diction, and smooth melody of versification, than by originality of thought, strength of imagination, or freshness of feeling. In Pope, however, in whom all the excellences of this school met, we find vigorous thought, and shrewd observation of life and character. Some of his poems exhibit a refined fancy and delicacy of feeling, which almost lead the reader to think that he would have been a greater poet had he not subjected his imagination to a
limited theory of the poetic art. The most distinguished poet between Milton and Pope was Dryden.
BLESSING OF A CONCEALED FUTURE.—(" Essay on Man.”)
HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of Fate,
All but the page prescribed, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know :
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Oh, blindness to the future! kindly given,
That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heaven :
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Hope humbly, then; with trembling pinions soar,
Wait the great teacher, Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast :
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy, and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.1
THOMSON was born at Ednam, Roxburghshire, in 1700, and died in 1748. His chief works are The Seasons, and The Castle of Indolence, in which we find genuine poetic feeling and an intense love of external nature.
THE PATRIOT'S PRAYER FOR ENGLAND
ISLAND of bliss! amid the subject seas
That thunder round thy rocky coasts set up,
At once the wonder, terror, and delight
Of distant nations, whose remotest shore
Can soon be shaken by thy naval arms;
1 Pope's poetry generally can be enjoyed only by matured intellects. The compiler has therefore confined himself to a single extract as a specimen of the poet's style.
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