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Best Famous Retirement Poems

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by Wallace Stevens |

THE COMEDIAN AS THE LETTER C

I 

The World without Imagination 

1 Nota: man is the intelligence of his soil, 
2 The sovereign ghost.
As such, the Socrates 3 Of snails, musician of pears, principium 4 And lex.
Sed quaeritur: is this same wig 5 Of things, this nincompated pedagogue, 6 Preceptor to the sea? Crispin at sea 7 Created, in his day, a touch of doubt.
8 An eye most apt in gelatines and jupes, 9 Berries of villages, a barber's eye, 10 An eye of land, of simple salad-beds, 11 Of honest quilts, the eye of Crispin, hung 12 On porpoises, instead of apricots, 13 And on silentious porpoises, whose snouts 14 Dibbled in waves that were mustachios, 15 Inscrutable hair in an inscrutable world.
16 One eats one pat¨¦, even of salt, quotha.
17 It was not so much the lost terrestrial, 18 The snug hibernal from that sea and salt, 19 That century of wind in a single puff.
20 What counted was mythology of self, 21 Blotched out beyond unblotching.
Crispin, 22 The lutanist of fleas, the knave, the thane, 23 The ribboned stick, the bellowing breeches, cloak 24 Of China, cap of Spain, imperative haw 25 Of hum, inquisitorial botanist, 26 And general lexicographer of mute 27 And maidenly greenhorns, now beheld himself, 28 A skinny sailor peering in the sea-glass.
29 What word split up in clickering syllables 30 And storming under multitudinous tones 31 Was name for this short-shanks in all that brunt? 32 Crispin was washed away by magnitude.
33 The whole of life that still remained in him 34 Dwindled to one sound strumming in his ear, 35 Ubiquitous concussion, slap and sigh, 36 Polyphony beyond his baton's thrust.
37 Could Crispin stem verboseness in the sea, 38 The old age of a watery realist, 39 Triton, dissolved in shifting diaphanes 40 Of blue and green? A wordy, watery age 41 That whispered to the sun's compassion, made 42 A convocation, nightly, of the sea-stars, 43 And on the cropping foot-ways of the moon 44 Lay grovelling.
Triton incomplicate with that 45 Which made him Triton, nothing left of him, 46 Except in faint, memorial gesturings, 47 That were like arms and shoulders in the waves, 48 Here, something in the rise and fall of wind 49 That seemed hallucinating horn, and here, 50 A sunken voice, both of remembering 51 And of forgetfulness, in alternate strain.
52 Just so an ancient Crispin was dissolved.
53 The valet in the tempest was annulled.
54 Bordeaux to Yucatan, Havana next, 55 And then to Carolina.
Simple jaunt.
56 Crispin, merest minuscule in the gates, 57 Dejected his manner to the turbulence.
58 The salt hung on his spirit like a frost, 59 The dead brine melted in him like a dew 60 Of winter, until nothing of himself 61 Remained, except some starker, barer self 62 In a starker, barer world, in which the sun 63 Was not the sun because it never shone 64 With bland complaisance on pale parasols, 65 Beetled, in chapels, on the chaste bouquets.
66 Against his pipping sounds a trumpet cried 67 Celestial sneering boisterously.
Crispin 68 Became an introspective voyager.
69 Here was the veritable ding an sich, at last, 70 Crispin confronting it, a vocable thing, 71 But with a speech belched out of hoary darks 72 Noway resembling his, a visible thing, 73 And excepting negligible Triton, free 74 From the unavoidable shadow of himself 75 That lay elsewhere around him.
Severance 76 Was clear.
The last distortion of romance 77 Forsook the insatiable egotist.
The sea 78 Severs not only lands but also selves.
79 Here was no help before reality.
80 Crispin beheld and Crispin was made new.
81 The imagination, here, could not evade, 82 In poems of plums, the strict austerity 83 Of one vast, subjugating, final tone.
84 The drenching of stale lives no more fell down.
85 What was this gaudy, gusty panoply? 86 Out of what swift destruction did it spring? 87 It was caparison of mind and cloud 88 And something given to make whole among 89 The ruses that were shattered by the large.
II Concerning the Thunderstorms of Yucatan 90 In Yucatan, the Maya sonneteers 91 Of the Caribbean amphitheatre, 92 In spite of hawk and falcon, green toucan 93 And jay, still to the night-bird made their plea, 94 As if raspberry tanagers in palms, 95 High up in orange air, were barbarous.
96 But Crispin was too destitute to find 97 In any commonplace the sought-for aid.
98 He was a man made vivid by the sea, 99 A man come out of luminous traversing, 100 Much trumpeted, made desperately clear, 101 Fresh from discoveries of tidal skies, 102 To whom oracular rockings gave no rest.
103 Into a savage color he went on.
104 How greatly had he grown in his demesne, 105 This auditor of insects! He that saw 106 The stride of vanishing autumn in a park 107 By way of decorous melancholy; he 108 That wrote his couplet yearly to the spring, 109 As dissertation of profound delight, 110 Stopping, on voyage, in a land of snakes, 111 Found his vicissitudes had much enlarged 112 His apprehension, made him intricate 113 In moody rucks, and difficult and strange 114 In all desires, his destitution's mark.
115 He was in this as other freemen are, 116 Sonorous nutshells rattling inwardly.
117 His violence was for aggrandizement 118 And not for stupor, such as music makes 119 For sleepers halfway waking.
He perceived 120 That coolness for his heat came suddenly, 121 And only, in the fables that he scrawled 122 With his own quill, in its indigenous dew, 123 Of an aesthetic tough, diverse, untamed, 124 Incredible to prudes, the mint of dirt, 125 Green barbarism turning paradigm.
126 Crispin foresaw a curious promenade 127 Or, nobler, sensed an elemental fate, 128 And elemental potencies and pangs, 129 And beautiful barenesses as yet unseen, 130 Making the most of savagery of palms, 131 Of moonlight on the thick, cadaverous bloom 132 That yuccas breed, and of the panther's tread.
133 The fabulous and its intrinsic verse 134 Came like two spirits parlaying, adorned 135 In radiance from the Atlantic coign, 136 For Crispin and his quill to catechize.
137 But they came parlaying of such an earth, 138 So thick with sides and jagged lops of green, 139 So intertwined with serpent-kin encoiled 140 Among the purple tufts, the scarlet crowns, 141 Scenting the jungle in their refuges, 142 So streaked with yellow, blue and green and red 143 In beak and bud and fruity gobbet-skins, 144 That earth was like a jostling festival 145 Of seeds grown fat, too juicily opulent, 146 Expanding in the gold's maternal warmth.
147 So much for that.
The affectionate emigrant found 148 A new reality in parrot-squawks.
149 Yet let that trifle pass.
Now, as this odd 150 Discoverer walked through the harbor streets 151 Inspecting the cabildo, the fa?ade 152 Of the cathedral, making notes, he heard 153 A rumbling, west of Mexico, it seemed, 154 Approaching like a gasconade of drums.
155 The white cabildo darkened, the fa?ade, 156 As sullen as the sky, was swallowed up 157 In swift, successive shadows, dolefully.
158 The rumbling broadened as it fell.
The wind, 159 Tempestuous clarion, with heavy cry, 160 Came bluntly thundering, more terrible 161 Than the revenge of music on bassoons.
162 Gesticulating lightning, mystical, 163 Made pallid flitter.
Crispin, here, took flight.
164 An annotator has his scruples, too.
165 He knelt in the cathedral with the rest, 166 This connoisseur of elemental fate, 167 Aware of exquisite thought.
The storm was one 168 Of many proclamations of the kind, 169 Proclaiming something harsher than he learned 170 From hearing signboards whimper in cold nights 171 Or seeing the midsummer artifice 172 Of heat upon his pane.
This was the span 173 Of force, the quintessential fact, the note 174 Of Vulcan, that a valet seeks to own, 175 The thing that makes him envious in phrase.
176 And while the torrent on the roof still droned 177 He felt the Andean breath.
His mind was free 178 And more than free, elate, intent, profound 179 And studious of a self possessing him, 180 That was not in him in the crusty town 181 From which he sailed.
Beyond him, westward, lay 182 The mountainous ridges, purple balustrades, 183 In which the thunder, lapsing in its clap, 184 Let down gigantic quavers of its voice, 185 For Crispin to vociferate again.
III Approaching Carolina 186 The book of moonlight is not written yet 187 Nor half begun, but, when it is, leave room 188 For Crispin, fagot in the lunar fire, 189 Who, in the hubbub of his pilgrimage 190 Through sweating changes, never could forget 191 That wakefulness or meditating sleep, 192 In which the sulky strophes willingly 193 Bore up, in time, the somnolent, deep songs.
194 Leave room, therefore, in that unwritten book 195 For the legendary moonlight that once burned 196 In Crispin's mind above a continent.
197 America was always north to him, 198 A northern west or western north, but north, 199 And thereby polar, polar-purple, chilled 200 And lank, rising and slumping from a sea 201 Of hardy foam, receding flatly, spread 202 In endless ledges, glittering, submerged 203 And cold in a boreal mistiness of the moon.
204 The spring came there in clinking pannicles 205 Of half-dissolving frost, the summer came, 206 If ever, whisked and wet, not ripening, 207 Before the winter's vacancy returned.
208 The myrtle, if the myrtle ever bloomed, 209 Was like a glacial pink upon the air.
210 The green palmettoes in crepuscular ice 211 Clipped frigidly blue-black meridians, 212 Morose chiaroscuro, gauntly drawn.
213 How many poems he denied himself 214 In his observant progress, lesser things 215 Than the relentless contact he desired; 216 How many sea-masks he ignored; what sounds 217 He shut out from his tempering ear; what thoughts, 218 Like jades affecting the sequestered bride; 219 And what descants, he sent to banishment! 220 Perhaps the Arctic moonlight really gave 221 The liaison, the blissful liaison, 222 Between himself and his environment, 223 Which was, and is, chief motive, first delight, 224 For him, and not for him alone.
It seemed 225 Elusive, faint, more mist than moon, perverse, 226 Wrong as a divagation to Peking, 227 To him that postulated as his theme 228 The vulgar, as his theme and hymn and flight, 229 A passionately niggling nightingale.
230 Moonlight was an evasion, or, if not, 231 A minor meeting, facile, delicate.
232 Thus he conceived his voyaging to be 233 An up and down between two elements, 234 A fluctuating between sun and moon, 235 A sally into gold and crimson forms, 236 As on this voyage, out of goblinry, 237 And then retirement like a turning back 238 And sinking down to the indulgences 239 That in the moonlight have their habitude.
240 But let these backward lapses, if they would, 241 Grind their seductions on him, Crispin knew 242 It was a flourishing tropic he required 243 For his refreshment, an abundant zone, 244 Prickly and obdurate, dense, harmonious 245 Yet with a harmony not rarefied 246 Nor fined for the inhibited instruments 247 Of over-civil stops.
And thus he tossed 248 Between a Carolina of old time, 249 A little juvenile, an ancient whim, 250 And the visible, circumspect presentment drawn 251 From what he saw across his vessel's prow.
252 He came.
The poetic hero without palms 253 Or jugglery, without regalia.
254 And as he came he saw that it was spring, 255 A time abhorrent to the nihilist 256 Or searcher for the fecund minimum.
257 The moonlight fiction disappeared.
The spring, 258 Although contending featly in its veils, 259 Irised in dew and early fragrancies, 260 Was gemmy marionette to him that sought 261 A sinewy nakedness.
A river bore 262 The vessel inward.
Tilting up his nose, 263 He inhaled the rancid rosin, burly smells 264 Of dampened lumber, emanations blown 265 From warehouse doors, the gustiness of ropes, 266 Decays of sacks, and all the arrant stinks 267 That helped him round his rude aesthetic out.
268 He savored rankness like a sensualist.
269 He marked the marshy ground around the dock, 270 The crawling railroad spur, the rotten fence, 271 Curriculum for the marvellous sophomore.
272 It purified.
It made him see how much 273 Of what he saw he never saw at all.
274 He gripped more closely the essential prose 275 As being, in a world so falsified, 276 The one integrity for him, the one 277 Discovery still possible to make, 278 To which all poems were incident, unless 279 That prose should wear a poem's guise at last.
IV The Idea of a Colony 280 Nota: his soil is man's intelligence.
281 That's better.
That's worth crossing seas to find.
282 Crispin in one laconic phrase laid bare 283 His cloudy drift and planned a colony.
284 Exit the mental moonlight, exit lex, 285 Rex and principium, exit the whole 286 Shebang.
Exeunt omnes.
Here was prose 287 More exquisite than any tumbling verse: 288 A still new continent in which to dwell.
289 What was the purpose of his pilgrimage, 290 Whatever shape it took in Crispin's mind, 291 If not, when all is said, to drive away 292 The shadow of his fellows from the skies, 293 And, from their stale intelligence released, 294 To make a new intelligence prevail? 295 Hence the reverberations in the words 296 Of his first central hymns, the celebrants 297 Of rankest trivia, tests of the strength 298 Of his aesthetic, his philosophy, 299 The more invidious, the more desired.
300 The florist asking aid from cabbages, 301 The rich man going bare, the paladin 302 Afraid, the blind man as astronomer, 303 The appointed power unwielded from disdain.
304 His western voyage ended and began.
305 The torment of fastidious thought grew slack, 306 Another, still more bellicose, came on.
307 He, therefore, wrote his prolegomena, 308 And, being full of the caprice, inscribed 309 Commingled souvenirs and prophecies.
310 He made a singular collation.
Thus: 311 The natives of the rain are rainy men.
312 Although they paint effulgent, azure lakes, 313 And April hillsides wooded white and pink, 314 Their azure has a cloudy edge, their white 315 And pink, the water bright that dogwood bears.
316 And in their music showering sounds intone.
317 On what strange froth does the gross Indian dote, 318 What Eden sapling gum, what honeyed gore, 319 What pulpy dram distilled of innocence, 320 That streaking gold should speak in him 321 Or bask within his images and words? 322 If these rude instances impeach themselves 323 By force of rudeness, let the principle 324 Be plain.
For application Crispin strove, 325 Abhorring Turk as Esquimau, the lute 326 As the marimba, the magnolia as rose.
327 Upon these premises propounding, he 328 Projected a colony that should extend 329 To the dusk of a whistling south below the south.
330 A comprehensive island hemisphere.
331 The man in Georgia waking among pines 332 Should be pine-spokesman.
The responsive man, 333 Planting his pristine cores in Florida, 334 Should prick thereof, not on the psaltery, 335 But on the banjo's categorical gut, 336 Tuck tuck, while the flamingos flapped his bays.
337 Sepulchral se?ors, bibbing pale mescal, 338 Oblivious to the Aztec almanacs, 339 Should make the intricate Sierra scan.
340 And dark Brazilians in their caf¨¦s, 341 Musing immaculate, pampean dits, 342 Should scrawl a vigilant anthology, 343 To be their latest, lucent paramour.
344 These are the broadest instances.
Crispin, 345 Progenitor of such extensive scope, 346 Was not indifferent to smart detail.
347 The melon should have apposite ritual, 348 Performed in verd apparel, and the peach, 349 When its black branches came to bud, belle day, 350 Should have an incantation.
And again, 351 When piled on salvers its aroma steeped 352 The summer, it should have a sacrament 353 And celebration.
Shrewd novitiates 354 Should be the clerks of our experience.
355 These bland excursions into time to come, 356 Related in romance to backward flights, 357 However prodigal, however proud, 358 Contained in their afflatus the reproach 359 That first drove Crispin to his wandering.
360 He could not be content with counterfeit, 361 With masquerade of thought, with hapless words 362 That must belie the racking masquerade, 363 With fictive flourishes that preordained 364 His passion's permit, hang of coat, degree 365 Of buttons, measure of his salt.
Such trash 366 Might help the blind, not him, serenely sly.
367 It irked beyond his patience.
Hence it was, 368 Preferring text to gloss, he humbly served 369 Grotesque apprenticeship to chance event, 370 A clown, perhaps, but an aspiring clown.
371 There is a monotonous babbling in our dreams 372 That makes them our dependent heirs, the heirs 373 Of dreamers buried in our sleep, and not 374 The oncoming fantasies of better birth.
375 The apprentice knew these dreamers.
If he dreamed 376 Their dreams, he did it in a gingerly way.
377 All dreams are vexing.
Let them be expunged.
378 But let the rabbit run, the cock declaim.
379 Trinket pasticcio, flaunting skyey sheets, 380 With Crispin as the tiptoe cozener? 381 No, no: veracious page on page, exact.
V A Nice Shady Home 382 Crispin as hermit, pure and capable, 383 Dwelt in the land.
Perhaps if discontent 384 Had kept him still the pricking realist, 385 Choosing his element from droll confect 386 Of was and is and shall or ought to be, 387 Beyond Bordeaux, beyond Havana, far 388 Beyond carked Yucatan, he might have come 389 To colonize his polar planterdom 390 And jig his chits upon a cloudy knee.
391 But his emprize to that idea soon sped.
392 Crispin dwelt in the land and dwelling there 393 Slid from his continent by slow recess 394 To things within his actual eye, alert 395 To the difficulty of rebellious thought 396 When the sky is blue.
The blue infected will.
397 It may be that the yarrow in his fields 398 Sealed pensive purple under its concern.
399 But day by day, now this thing and now that 400 Confined him, while it cosseted, condoned, 401 Little by little, as if the suzerain soil 402 Abashed him by carouse to humble yet 403 Attach.
It seemed haphazard denouement.
404 He first, as realist, admitted that 405 Whoever hunts a matinal continent 406 May, after all, stop short before a plum 407 And be content and still be realist.
408 The words of things entangle and confuse.
409 The plum survives its poems.
It may hang 410 In the sunshine placidly, colored by ground 411 Obliquities of those who pass beneath, 412 Harlequined and mazily dewed and mauved 413 In bloom.
Yet it survives in its own form, 414 Beyond these changes, good, fat, guzzly fruit.
415 So Crispin hasped on the surviving form, 416 For him, of shall or ought to be in is.
417 Was he to bray this in profoundest brass 418 Arointing his dreams with fugal requiems? 419 Was he to company vastest things defunct 420 With a blubber of tom-toms harrowing the sky? 421 Scrawl a tragedian's testament? Prolong 422 His active force in an inactive dirge, 423 Which, let the tall musicians call and call, 424 Should merely call him dead? Pronounce amen 425 Through choirs infolded to the outmost clouds? 426 Because he built a cabin who once planned 427 Loquacious columns by the ructive sea? 428 Because he turned to salad-beds again? 429 Jovial Crispin, in calamitous crape? 430 Should he lay by the personal and make 431 Of his own fate an instance of all fate? 432 What is one man among so many men? 433 What are so many men in such a world? 434 Can one man think one thing and think it long? 435 Can one man be one thing and be it long? 436 The very man despising honest quilts 437 Lies quilted to his poll in his despite.
438 For realists, what is is what should be.
439 And so it came, his cabin shuffled up, 440 His trees were planted, his duenna brought 441 Her prismy blonde and clapped her in his hands, 442 The curtains flittered and the door was closed.
443 Crispin, magister of a single room, 444 Latched up the night.
So deep a sound fell down 445 It was as if the solitude concealed 446 And covered him and his congenial sleep.
447 So deep a sound fell down it grew to be 448 A long soothsaying silence down and down.
449 The crickets beat their tambours in the wind, 450 Marching a motionless march, custodians.
451 In the presto of the morning, Crispin trod, 452 Each day, still curious, but in a round 453 Less prickly and much more condign than that 454 He once thought necessary.
Like Candide, 455 Yeoman and grub, but with a fig in sight, 456 And cream for the fig and silver for the cream, 457 A blonde to tip the silver and to taste 458 The rapey gouts.
Good star, how that to be 459 Annealed them in their cabin ribaldries! 460 Yet the quotidian saps philosophers 461 And men like Crispin like them in intent, 462 If not in will, to track the knaves of thought.
463 But the quotidian composed as his, 464 Of breakfast ribands, fruits laid in their leaves, 465 The tomtit and the cassia and the rose, 466 Although the rose was not the noble thorn 467 Of crinoline spread, but of a pining sweet, 468 Composed of evenings like cracked shutters flung 469 Upon the rumpling bottomness, and nights 470 In which those frail custodians watched, 471 Indifferent to the tepid summer cold, 472 While he poured out upon the lips of her 473 That lay beside him, the quotidian 474 Like this, saps like the sun, true fortuner.
475 For all it takes it gives a humped return 476 Exchequering from piebald fiscs unkeyed.
VI And Daughters with Curls 477 Portentous enunciation, syllable 478 To blessed syllable affined, and sound 479 Bubbling felicity in cantilene, 480 Prolific and tormenting tenderness 481 Of music, as it comes to unison, 482 Forgather and bell boldly Crispin's last 483 Deduction.
Thrum, with a proud douceur 484 His grand pronunciamento and devise.
485 The chits came for his jigging, bluet-eyed, 486 Hands without touch yet touching poignantly, 487 Leaving no room upon his cloudy knee, 488 Prophetic joint, for its diviner young.
489 The return to social nature, once begun, 490 Anabasis or slump, ascent or chute, 491 Involved him in midwifery so dense 492 His cabin counted as phylactery, 493 Then place of vexing palankeens, then haunt 494 Of children nibbling at the sugared void, 495 Infants yet eminently old, then dome 496 And halidom for the unbraided femes, 497 Green crammers of the green fruits of the world, 498 Bidders and biders for its ecstasies, 499 True daughters both of Crispin and his clay.
500 All this with many mulctings of the man, 501 Effective colonizer sharply stopped 502 In the door-yard by his own capacious bloom.
503 But that this bloom grown riper, showing nibs 504 Of its eventual roundness, puerile tints 505 Of spiced and weathery rouges, should complex 506 The stopper to indulgent fatalist 507 Was unforeseen.
First Crispin smiled upon 508 His goldenest demoiselle, inhabitant, 509 She seemed, of a country of the capuchins, 510 So delicately blushed, so humbly eyed, 511 Attentive to a coronal of things 512 Secret and singular.
Second, upon 513 A second similar counterpart, a maid 514 Most sisterly to the first, not yet awake 515 Excepting to the motherly footstep, but 516 Marvelling sometimes at the shaken sleep.
517 Then third, a thing still flaxen in the light, 518 A creeper under jaunty leaves.
And fourth, 519 Mere blusteriness that gewgaws jollified, 520 All din and gobble, blasphemously pink.
521 A few years more and the vermeil capuchin 522 Gave to the cabin, lordlier than it was, 523 The dulcet omen fit for such a house.
524 The second sister dallying was shy 525 To fetch the one full-pinioned one himself 526 Out of her botches, hot embosomer.
527 The third one gaping at the orioles 528 Lettered herself demurely as became 529 A pearly poetess, peaked for rhapsody.
530 The fourth, pent now, a digit curious.
531 Four daughters in a world too intricate 532 In the beginning, four blithe instruments 533 Of differing struts, four voices several 534 In couch, four more person?, intimate 535 As buffo, yet divers, four mirrors blue 536 That should be silver, four accustomed seeds 537 Hinting incredible hues, four self-same lights 538 That spread chromatics in hilarious dark, 539 Four questioners and four sure answerers.
540 Crispin concocted doctrine from the rout.
541 The world, a turnip once so readily plucked, 542 Sacked up and carried overseas, daubed out 543 Of its ancient purple, pruned to the fertile main, 544 And sown again by the stiffest realist, 545 Came reproduced in purple, family font, 546 The same insoluble lump.
The fatalist 547 Stepped in and dropped the chuckling down his craw, 548 Without grace or grumble.
Score this anecdote 549 Invented for its pith, not doctrinal 550 In form though in design, as Crispin willed, 551 Disguised pronunciamento, summary, 552 Autumn's compendium, strident in itself 553 But muted, mused, and perfectly revolved 554 In those portentous accents, syllables, 555 And sounds of music coming to accord 556 Upon his law, like their inherent sphere, 557 Seraphic proclamations of the pure 558 Delivered with a deluging onwardness.
559 Or if the music sticks, if the anecdote 560 Is false, if Crispin is a profitless 561 Philosopher, beginning with green brag, 562 Concluding fadedly, if as a man 563 Prone to distemper he abates in taste, 564 Fickle and fumbling, variable, obscure, 565 Glozing his life with after-shining flicks, 566 Illuminating, from a fancy gorged 567 By apparition, plain and common things, 568 Sequestering the fluster from the year, 569 Making gulped potions from obstreperous drops, 570 And so distorting, proving what he proves 571 Is nothing, what can all this matter since 572 The relation comes, benignly, to its end? 573 So may the relation of each man be clipped.


by Wang Wei |

SONG OF AN OLD GENERAL

When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty, 
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him, 
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger, 
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles, With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
.
.
.
Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron, General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn: Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird, Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden, He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove, His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
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.
.
War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range; Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages; In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men -- And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow- Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain -- That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
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.
.
There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away, Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.


by John Milton |

Paradise Regained: The Fourth Book

 Perplexed and troubled at his bad success
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope
So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric
That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve,
So little here, nay lost.
But Eve was Eve; This far his over-match, who, self-deceived And rash, beforehand had no better weighed The strength he was to cope with, or his own.
But—as a man who had been matchless held In cunning, over-reached where least he thought, To salve his credit, and for very spite, Still will be tempting him who foils him still, And never cease, though to his shame the more; Or as a swarm of flies in vintage-time, About the wine-press where sweet must is poured, Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound; Or surging waves against a solid rock, Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew, (Vain battery!) and in froth or bubbles end— So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse Met ever, and to shameful silence brought, Yet gives not o'er, though desperate of success, And his vain importunity pursues.
He brought our Saviour to the western side Of that high mountain, whence he might behold Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide, Washed by the southern sea, and on the north To equal length backed with a ridge of hills That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men From cold Septentrion blasts; thence in the midst Divided by a river, off whose banks On each side an Imperial City stood, With towers and temples proudly elevate On seven small hills, with palaces adorned, Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes Above the highth of mountains interposed— By what strange parallax, or optic skill Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass Of telescope, were curious to enquire.
And now the Tempter thus his silence broke:— "The city which thou seest no other deem Than great and glorious Rome, Queen of the Earth So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched Of nations.
There the Capitol thou seest, Above the rest lifting his stately head On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine, The imperial palace, compass huge, and high The structure, skill of noblest architects, With gilded battlements, conspicuous far, Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires.
Many a fair edifice besides, more like Houses of gods—so well I have disposed My aerie microscope—thou may'st behold, Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs Carved work, the hand of famed artificers In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold.
Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see What conflux issuing forth, or entering in: Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces Hasting, or on return, in robes of state; Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power; Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings; Or embassies from regions far remote, In various habits, on the Appian road, Or on the AEmilian—some from farthest south, Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west, The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea; From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these), From India and the Golden Chersoness, And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed; From Gallia, Gades, and the British west; Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.
All nations now to Rome obedience pay— To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain, In ample territory, wealth and power, Civility of manners, arts and arms, And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer Before the Parthian.
These two thrones except, The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight, Shared among petty kings too far removed; These having shewn thee, I have shewn thee all The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory.
This Emperor hath no son, and now is old, Old and lascivious, and from Rome retired To Capreae, an island small but strong On the Campanian shore, with purpose there His horrid lusts in private to enjoy; Committing to a wicked favourite All public cares, and yet of him suspicious; Hated of all, and hating.
With what ease, Endued with regal virtues as thou art, Appearing, and beginning noble deeds, Might'st thou expel this monster from his throne, Now made a sty, and, in his place ascending, A victor-people free from servile yoke! And with my help thou may'st; to me the power Is given, and by that right I give it thee.
Aim, therefore, at no less than all the world; Aim at the highest; without the highest attained, Will be for thee no sitting, or not long, On David's throne, be prophesied what will.
" To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied:— "Nor doth this grandeur and majestic shew Of luxury, though called magnificence, More than of arms before, allure mine eye, Much less my mind; though thou should'st add to tell Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts On citron tables or Atlantic stone (For I have also heard, perhaps have read), Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne, Chios and Crete, and how they quaff in gold, Crystal, and myrrhine cups, imbossed with gems And studs of pearl—to me should'st tell, who thirst And hunger still.
Then embassies thou shew'st From nations far and nigh! What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies, Outlandish flatteries? Then proceed'st to talk Of the Emperor, how easily subdued, How gloriously.
I shall, thou say'st, expel A brutish monster: what if I withal Expel a Devil who first made him such? Let his tormentor, Conscience, find him out; For him I was not sent, nor yet to free That people, victor once, now vile and base, Deservedly made vassal—who, once just, Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquered well, But govern ill the nations under yoke, Peeling their provinces, exhausted all By lust and rapine; first ambitious grown Of triumph, that insulting vanity; Then cruel, by their sports to blood inured Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts exposed; Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier still, And from the daily Scene effeminate.
What wise and valiant man would seek to free These, thus degenerate, by themselves enslaved, Or could of inward slaves make outward free? Know, therefore, 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.
Means there shall be to this; but what the means Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell.
" To whom the Tempter, impudent, replied:— "I see all offers made by me how slight Thou valuest, because offered, and reject'st.
Nothing will please the difficult and nice, Or nothing more than still to contradict.
On the other side know also thou that I On what I offer set as high esteem, Nor what I part with mean to give for naught, All these, which in a moment thou behold'st, The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give (For, given to me, I give to whom I please), No trifle; yet with this reserve, not else— On this condition, if thou wilt fall down, And worship me as thy superior Lord (Easily done), and hold them all of me; For what can less so great a gift deserve?" Whom thus our Saviour answered with disdain:— "I never liked thy talk, thy offers less; Now both abhor, since thou hast dared to utter The abominable terms, impious condition.
But I endure the time, till which expired Thou hast permission on me.
It is written, The first of all commandments, 'Thou shalt worship The Lord thy God, and only Him shalt serve.
' And dar'st thou to the Son of God propound To worship thee, accursed? now more accursed For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve, And more blasphemous; which expect to rue.
The kingdoms of the world to thee were given! Permitted rather, and by thee usurped; Other donation none thou canst produce.
If given, by whom but by the King of kings, God over all supreme? If given to thee, By thee how fairly is the Giver now Repaid! But gratitude in thee is lost Long since.
Wert thou so void of fear or shame As offer them to me, the Son of God— To me my own, on such abhorred pact, That I fall down and worship thee as God? Get thee behind me! Plain thou now appear'st That Evil One, Satan for ever damned.
" To whom the Fiend, with fear abashed, replied:— "Be not so sore offended, Son of God— Though Sons of God both Angels are and Men— If I, to try whether in higher sort Than these thou bear'st that title, have proposed What both from Men and Angels I receive, Tetrarchs of Fire, Air, Flood, and on the Earth Nations besides from all the quartered winds— God of this World invoked, and World beneath.
Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold To me most fatal, me it most concerns.
The trial hath indamaged thee no way, Rather more honour left and more esteem; Me naught advantaged, missing what I aimed.
Therefore let pass, as they are transitory, The kingdoms of this world; I shall no more Advise thee; gain them as thou canst, or not.
And thou thyself seem'st otherwise inclined Than to a worldly crown, addicted more To contemplation and profound dispute; As by that early action may be judged, When, slipping from thy mother's eye, thou went'st Alone into the Temple, there wast found Among the gravest Rabbies, disputant On points and questions fitting Moses' chair, Teaching, not taught.
The childhood shews the man, As morning shews the day.
Be famous, then, By wisdom; as thy empire must extend, So let extend thy mind o'er all the world In knowledge; all things in it comprehend.
All knowledge is not couched in Moses' law, The Pentateuch, or what the Prophets wrote; The Gentiles also know, and write, and teach To admiration, led by Nature's light; And with the Gentiles much thou must converse, Ruling them by persuasion, as thou mean'st.
Without their learning, how wilt thou with them, Or they with thee, hold conversation meet? How wilt thou reason with them, how refute Their idolisms, traditions, paradoxes? Error by his own arms is best evinced.
Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount, Westward, much nearer by south-west; behold Where on the AEgean shore a city stands, Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil— Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And Eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades.
See there the olive-grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long; There, flowery hill, Hymettus, with the sound Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites To studious musing; there Ilissus rowls His whispering stream.
Within the walls then view The schools of ancient sages—his who bred Great Alexander to subdue the world, Lyceum there; and painted Stoa next.
There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit By voice or hand, and various-measured verse, AEolian charms and Dorian lyric odes, And his who gave them breath, but higher sung, Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called, Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own.
Thence what the lofty grave Tragedians taught In chorus or iambic, teachers best Of moral prudence, with delight received In brief sententious precepts, while they treat Of fate, and chance, and change in human life, High actions and high passions best describing.
Thence to the famous Orators repair, Those ancient whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democraty, Shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne.
To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear, From heaven descended to the low-roofed house Of Socrates—see there his tenement— Whom, well inspired, the Oracle pronounced Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued forth Mellifluous streams, that watered all the schools Of Academics old and new, with those Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect Epicurean, and the Stoic severe.
These here revolve, or, as thou likest, at home, Till time mature thee to a kingdom's weight; These rules will render thee a king complete Within thyself, much more with empire joined.
" To whom our Saviour sagely thus replied:— "Think not but that I know these things; or, think I know them not, not therefore am I short Of knowing what I ought.
He who receives Light from above, from the Fountain of Light, No other doctrine needs, though granted true; But these are false, or little else but dreams, Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.
The first and wisest of them all professed To know this only, that he nothing knew; The next to fabling fell and smooth conceits; A third sort doubted all things, though plain sense; Others in virtue placed felicity, But virtue joined with riches and long life; In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease; The Stoic last in philosophic pride, By him called virtue, and his virtuous man, Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessing, Equal to God, oft shames not to prefer, As fearing God nor man, contemning all Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life— Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can; For all his tedious talk is but vain boast, Or subtle shifts conviction to evade.
Alas! what can they teach, and not mislead, Ignorant of themselves, of God much more, And how the World began, and how Man fell, Degraded by himself, on grace depending? Much of the Soul they talk, but all awry; And in themselves seek virtue; and to themselves All glory arrogate, to God give none; Rather accuse him under usual names, Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite Of mortal things.
Who, therefore, seeks in these True wisdom finds her not, or, by delusion Far worse, her false resemblance only meets, An empty cloud.
However, many books, Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior, (And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?) Uncertain and unsettled still remains, Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge, As children gathering pebbles on the shore.
Or, if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace? All our Law and Story strewed With hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscribed, Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon That pleased so well our victor's ear, declare That rather Greece from us these arts derived— Ill imitated while they loudest sing The vices of their deities, and their own, In fable, hymn, or song, so personating Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame.
Remove their swelling epithetes, thick-laid As varnish on a harlot's cheek, the rest, Thin-sown with aught of profit or delight, Will far be found unworthy to compare With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling, Where God is praised aright and godlike men, The Holiest of Holies and his Saints (Such are from God inspired, not such from thee); Unless where moral virtue is expressed By light of Nature, not in all quite lost.
Their orators thou then extoll'st as those The top of eloquence—statists indeed, And lovers of their country, as may seem; But herein to our Prophets far beneath, As men divinely taught, and better teaching The solid rules of civil government, In their majestic, unaffected style, Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome.
In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt, What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so, What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat; These only, with our Law, best form a king.
" So spake the Son of God; but Satan, now Quite at a loss (for all his darts were spent), Thus to our Saviour, with stern brow, replied:— "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.
Yet remember What I foretell thee; soon thou shalt have cause To wish thou never hadst rejected, thus Nicely or cautiously, my offered aid, Which would have set thee in short time with ease On David's throne, or throne of all the world, Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season, When prophecies of thee are best fulfilled.
Now, contrary—if I read aught in heaven, Or heaven write aught of fate—by what the stars Voluminous, or single characters In their conjunction met, give me to spell, Sorrows and labours, opposition, hate, Attends thee; scorns, reproaches, injuries, Violence and stripes, and, lastly, cruel death.
A kingdom they portend thee, but what kingdom, Real or allegoric, I discern not; Nor when: eternal sure—as without end, Without beginning; for no date prefixed Directs me in the starry rubric set.
" 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 louring Night, Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both, Privation mere of light and absent day.
Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind After hisaerie 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 stood'st Unshaken! Nor yet staid 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 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 griesly 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.
Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn, Was absent, after all his mischief done, The Prince of Darkness; glad would also seem Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came; Yet with no new device (they all were spent), Rather by this his last affront resolved, Desperate of better course, to vent his rage And mad despite to be so oft repelled.
Him walking on a sunny hill he found, Backed on the north and west by a thick wood; Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape, And in a careless mood thus to him said:— "Fair morning yet betides thee, Son of God, After a dismal night.
I heard the wrack, As earth and sky would mingle; but myself Was distant; and these flaws, though mortals fear them, As dangerous to the pillared frame of Heaven, Or to the Earth's dark basis underneath, Are to the main as inconsiderable And harmless, if not wholesome, as a sneeze To man's less universe, and soon are gone.
Yet, as being ofttimes noxious where they light On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbulent, Like turbulencies in the affairs of men, Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point, They oft fore-signify and threaten ill.
This tempest at this desert most was bent; Of men at thee, for only thou here dwell'st.
Did I not tell thee, if thou didst reject The perfect season offered with my aid To win thy destined seat, but wilt prolong All to the push of fate, pursue thy way Of gaining David's throne no man knows when (For both the when and how is nowhere told), Thou shalt be what thou art ordained, no doubt; For Angels have proclaimed it, but concealing The time and means? Each act is rightliest done Not when it must, but when it may be best.
If thou observe not this, be sure to find What I foretold thee—many a hard assay Of dangers, and adversities, and pains, Ere thou of Israel's sceptre get fast hold; Whereof this ominous night that closed thee round, So many terrors, voices, prodigies, May warn thee, as a sure foregoing sign.
" So talked he, while the Son of God went on, And staid not, but in brief him answered thus:— "Me worse than wet thou find'st not; other harm Those terrors which thou speak'st of did me none.
I never feared they could, though noising loud And threatening nigh: what they can do as signs Betokening or ill-boding I contemn As false portents, not sent from God, but thee; Who, knowing I shall reign past thy preventing, Obtrud'st thy offered aid, that I, accepting, At least might seem to hold all power of thee, Ambitious Spirit! and would'st be thought my God; And storm'st, refused, thinking to terrify Me to thy will! Desist (thou art discerned, And toil'st in vain), nor me in vain molest.
" To whom the Fiend, now swoln with rage, replied:— "Then hear, O Son of David, virgin-born! For Son of God to me is yet in doubt.
Of the Messiah I have heard foretold By all the Prophets; of thy birth, at length Announced by Gabriel, with the first I knew, And of the angelic song in Bethlehem field, On thy birth-night, that sung thee Saviour born.
From that time seldom have I ceased to eye Thy infancy, thy childhood, and thy youth, Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred; Till, at the ford of Jordan, whither all Flocked to the Baptist, I among the rest (Though not to be baptized), by voice from Heaven Heard thee pronounced the Son of God beloved.
Thenceforth I thought thee worth my nearer view And narrower scrutiny, that I might learn In what degree or meaning thou art called The Son of God, which bears no single sense.
The Son of God I also am, or was; And, if I was, I am; relation stands: All men are Sons of God; yet thee I thought In some respect far higher so declared.
Therefore I watched thy footsteps from that hour, And followed thee still on to this waste wild, Where, by all best conjectures, I collect Thou art to be my fatal enemy.
Good reason, then, if I beforehand seek To understand my adversary, who And what he is; his wisdom, power, intent; By parle or composition, truce or league, To win him, or win from him what I can.
And opportunity I here have had To try thee, sift thee, and confess have found thee Proof against all temptation, as a rock Of adamant and as a centre, firm To the utmost of mere man both wise and good, Not more; for honours, riches, kingdoms, glory, Have been before contemned, and may again.
Therefore, to know what more thou art than man, Worth naming the Son of God by voice from Heaven, Another method I must now begin.
" So saying, he caught him up, and, without wing Of hippogrif, bore through the air sublime, Over the wilderness and o'er the plain, Till underneath them 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 alablaster, topt 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 ask thee skill.
I to thy Father's house Have brought thee, and highest placed: highest is best.
Now shew thy progeny; if not to stand, Cast thyself down.
Safely, if Son of God; For it is written, 'He will give command Concerning thee to his Angels; in their hands They shall uplift thee, lest at any time Thou chance to dash thy foot against a stone.
'" To whom thus Jesus: "Also it is written, 'Tempt not the Lord thy God.
'" He said, and stood; But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell.
As when Earth's son, Antaeus (to compare Small things with greatest), in Irassa strove With Jove's Alcides, and, oft foiled, still rose, Receiving from his mother Earth new strength, Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple joined, Throttled at length in the air expired and fell, So, after many a foil, the Tempter proud, Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall; And, as that Theban monster that proposed Her riddle, and him who solved it not devoured, That once found out and solved, for grief and spite Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep, So, strook with dread and anguish, fell the Fiend, And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought Joyless triumphals of his hoped success, Ruin, and desperation, and dismay, Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God.
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, divine Ambrosial fruits fetched from the Tree of Life, And from the Fount of Life ambrosial drink, That soon refreshed him wearied, and repaired What hunger, if aught hunger, had impaired, Or thirst; and, as he fed, Angelic quires Sung heavenly anthems of his victory Over temptation and the Tempter proud:— "True Image of the Father, whether throned In the bosom of bliss, and light of light Conceiving, or, remote from Heaven, enshrined In fleshly tabernacle and human form, Wandering the wilderness—whatever place, Habit, or state, or motion, still expressing The Son of God, with Godlike force endued Against the attempter of thy Father's throne And thief of Paradise! Him long of old Thou didst debel, and down from Heaven cast With all his army; now thou hast avenged Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise, And frustrated the conquest fraudulent.
He never more henceforth will dare set foot In paradise to tempt; his snares are broke.
For, though that seat of earthly bliss be failed, A fairer Paradise is founded now For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou, A Saviour, art come down to reinstall; Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall be, Of tempter and temptation without fear.
But thou, Infernal Serpent! shalt not long Rule in the clouds.
Like an autumnal star, Or lightning, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod down Under his feet.
For proof, ere this thou feel'st Thy wound (yet not thy last and deadliest wound) By this repulse received, and hold'st in Hell No triumph; in all her gates Abaddon rues Thy bold attempt.
Hereafter learn with awe To dread the Son of God.
He, all unarmed, Shall chase thee, with the terror of his voice, From thy demoniac holds, possession foul— Thee and thy legions; yelling they shall fly, And beg to hide them in a herd of swine, Lest he command them down into the Deep, Bound, and to torment sent before their time.
Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both Worlds, Queller of Satan! On thy glorious work Now enter, and begin to save Mankind.
" 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.
THE END


by John Milton |

Paradise Lost: Book 09

 No more of talk where God or Angel guest 
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd, 
To sit indulgent, and with him partake 
Rural repast; permitting him the while 
Venial discourse unblam'd.
I now must change Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt, And disobedience: on the part of Heaven Now alienated, distance and distaste, Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given, That brought into this world a world of woe, Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery Death's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument Not less but more heroick than the wrath Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd; Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son: If answerable style I can obtain Of my celestial patroness, who deigns Her nightly visitation unimplor'd, And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires Easy my unpremeditated verse: Since first this subject for heroick song Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late; Not sedulous by nature to indite Wars, hitherto the only argument Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect With long and tedious havock fabled knights In battles feign'd; the better fortitude Of patience and heroick martyrdom Unsung; or to describe races and games, Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields, Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds, Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals; The skill of artifice or office mean, Not that which justly gives heroick name To person, or to poem.
Me, of these Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument Remains; sufficient of itself to raise That name, unless an age too late, or cold Climate, or years, damp my intended wing Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine, Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring Twilight upon the earth, short arbiter "twixt day and night, and now from end to end Night's hemisphere had veil'd the horizon round: When satan, who late fled before the threats Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improv'd In meditated fraud and malice, bent On Man's destruction, maugre what might hap Of heavier on himself, fearless returned From compassing the earth; cautious of day, Since Uriel, regent of the sun, descried His entrance, and foreworned the Cherubim That kept their watch; thence full of anguish driven, The space of seven continued nights he rode With darkness; thrice the equinoctial line He circled; four times crossed the car of night From pole to pole, traversing each colure; On the eighth returned; and, on the coast averse From entrance or Cherubick watch, by stealth Found unsuspected way.
There was a place, Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the change, Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise, Into a gulf shot under ground, till part Rose up a fountain by the tree of life: In with the river sunk, and with it rose Satan, involved in rising mist; then sought Where to lie hid; sea he had searched, and land, From Eden over Pontus and the pool Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob; Downward as far antarctick; and in length, West from Orontes to the ocean barred At Darien ; thence to the land where flows Ganges and Indus: Thus the orb he roamed With narrow search; and with inspection deep Considered every creature, which of all Most opportune might serve his wiles; and found The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field.
Him after long debate, irresolute Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom To enter, and his dark suggestions hide From sharpest sight: for, in the wily snake Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark, As from his wit and native subtlety Proceeding; which, in other beasts observed, Doubt might beget of diabolick power Active within, beyond the sense of brute.
Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief His bursting passion into plaints thus poured.
More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built With second thoughts, reforming what was old! O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred For what God, after better, worse would build? Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, In thee concentring all their precious beams Of sacred influence! As God in Heaven Is center, yet extends to all; so thou, Centring, receivest from all those orbs: in thee, Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth Of creatures animate with gradual life Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man.
With what delight could I have walked thee round, If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, Now land, now sea and shores with forest crowned, Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of these Find place or refuge; and the more I see Pleasures about me, so much more I feel Torment within me, as from the hateful siege Of contraries: all good to me becomes Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state.
But neither here seek I, no nor in Heaven To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme; Nor hope to be myself less miserable By what I seek, but others to make such As I, though thereby worse to me redound: For only in destroying I find ease To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed, Or won to what may work his utter loss, For whom all this was made, all this will soon Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe; In woe then; that destruction wide may range: To me shall be the glory sole among The infernal Powers, in one day to have marred What he, Almighty styled, six nights and days Continued making; and who knows how long Before had been contriving? though perhaps Not longer than since I, in one night, freed From servitude inglorious well nigh half The angelick name, and thinner left the throng Of his adorers: He, to be avenged, And to repair his numbers thus impaired, Whether such virtue spent of old now failed More Angels to create, if they at least Are his created, or, to spite us more, Determined to advance into our room A creature formed of earth, and him endow, Exalted from so base original, With heavenly spoils, our spoils: What he decreed, He effected; Man he made, and for him built Magnificent this world, and earth his seat, Him lord pronounced; and, O indignity! Subjected to his service angel-wings, And flaming ministers to watch and tend Their earthly charge: Of these the vigilance I dread; and, to elude, thus wrapt in mist Of midnight vapour glide obscure, and pry In every bush and brake, where hap may find The serpent sleeping; in whose mazy folds To hide me, and the dark intent I bring.
O foul descent! that I, who erst contended With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained Into a beast; and, mixed with bestial slime, This essence to incarnate and imbrute, That to the highth of Deity aspired! But what will not ambition and revenge Descend to? Who aspires, must down as low As high he soared; obnoxious, first or last, To basest things.
Revenge, at first though sweet, Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils: Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed, Since higher I fall short, on him who next Provokes my envy, this new favourite Of Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite, Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised From dust: Spite then with spite is best repaid.
So saying, through each thicket dank or dry, Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on His midnight-search, where soonest he might find The serpent; him fast-sleeping soon he found In labyrinth of many a round self-rolled, His head the midst, well stored with subtile wiles: Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den, Nor nocent yet; but, on the grassy herb, Fearless unfeared he slept: in at his mouth The Devil entered; and his brutal sense, In heart or head, possessing, soon inspired With act intelligential; but his sleep Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn.
Now, when as sacred light began to dawn In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed Their morning incense, when all things, that breathe, From the Earth's great altar send up silent praise To the Creator, and his nostrils fill With grateful smell, forth came the human pair, And joined their vocal worship to the quire Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake The season prime for sweetest scents and airs: Then commune, how that day they best may ply Their growing work: for much their work out-grew The hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide, And Eve first to her husband thus began.
Adam, well may we labour still to dress This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower, Our pleasant task enjoined; but, till more hands Aid us, the work under our labour grows, Luxurious by restraint; what we by day Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, One night or two with wanton growth derides Tending to wild.
Thou therefore now advise, Or bear what to my mind first thoughts present: Let us divide our labours; thou, where choice Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind The woodbine round this arbour, or direct The clasping ivy where to climb; while I, In yonder spring of roses intermixed With myrtle, find what to redress till noon: For, while so near each other thus all day Our task we choose, what wonder if so near Looks intervene and smiles, or object new Casual discourse draw on; which intermits Our day's work, brought to little, though begun Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned? To whom mild answer Adam thus returned.
Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond Compare above all living creatures dear! Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed, How we might best fulfil the work which here God hath assigned us; nor of me shalt pass Unpraised: for nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study houshold good, And good works in her husband to promote.
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed Labour, as to debar us when we need Refreshment, whether food, or talk between, Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse Of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow, To brute denied, and are of love the food; Love, not the lowest end of human life.
For not to irksome toil, but to delight, He made us, and delight to reason joined.
These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide As we need walk, till younger hands ere long Assist us; 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 possesses me, lest harm Befall thee severed from me; for thou knowest What hath been warned us, what malicious foe Envying our happiness, and of his own Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame By sly assault; and somewhere nigh at hand Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find His wish and best advantage, us asunder; Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each To other speedy aid might lend at need: Whether his first design be to withdraw Our fealty from God, or to disturb Conjugal love, than which perhaps no bliss Enjoyed by us excites his envy more; Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side That gave thee being, still shades thee, and protects.
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, As one who loves, and some unkindness meets, With sweet austere composure thus replied.
Offspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth's Lord! That such an enemy we have, who seeks Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn, And from the parting Angel over-heard, As in a shady nook I stood behind, Just then returned at shut of evening flowers.
But, that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt To God or thee, because we have a foe May tempt it, I expected not to hear.
His violence thou fearest not, being such As we, not capable of death or pain, Can either not receive, or can repel.
His fraud is then thy fear; which plain infers Thy equal fear, that my firm faith and love Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced; Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast, Adam, mis-thought of her to thee so dear? To whom with healing words Adam replied.
Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve! For such thou art; from sin and blame entire: Not diffident of thee do I dissuade Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid The attempt itself, intended by our foe.
For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses The tempted with dishonour foul; supposed Not incorruptible of faith, not proof Against temptation: Thou thyself with scorn And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong, Though ineffectual found: misdeem not then, If such affront I labour to avert From thee alone, which on us both at once The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare; Or daring, first on me the assault shall light.
Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn; Subtle he needs must be, who could seduce Angels; nor think superfluous other's aid.
I, from the influence of thy looks, receive Access in every virtue; in thy sight More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on, Shame to be overcome or over-reached, Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite.
Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel When I am present, and thy trial choose With me, best witness of thy virtue tried? So spake domestick Adam in his care And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought Less attributed to her faith sincere, Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed.
If this be our condition, thus to dwell In narrow circuit straitened by a foe, Subtle or violent, we not endued Single with like defence, wherever met; How are we happy, still in fear of harm? But harm precedes not sin: only our foe, Tempting, affronts us with his foul esteem Of our integrity: his foul esteem Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared By us? who rather double honour gain From his surmise proved false; find peace within, Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event.
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed Alone, without exteriour help sustained? Let us not then suspect our happy state Left so imperfect by the Maker wise, As not secure to single or combined.
Frail is our happiness, if this be so, And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed.
To whom thus Adam fervently replied.
O Woman, best are all things as the will Of God ordained them: His creating hand Nothing imperfect or deficient left Of all that he created, much less Man, Or aught that might his happy state secure, Secure from outward force; within himself The danger lies, yet lies within his power: Against his will he can receive no harm.
But God left free the will; for what obeys Reason, is free; and Reason he made right, But bid her well be ware, and still erect; Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised, She dictate false; and mis-inform the will To do what God expressly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins, That I should mind thee oft; and mind thou me.
Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve; Since Reason not impossibly may meet Some specious object by the foe suborned, And fall into deception unaware, Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned.
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid Were better, and most likely if from me Thou sever not: Trial will come unsought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve First thy obedience; the other who can know, Not seeing thee attempted, who attest? But, if thou think, trial unsought may find Us both securer than thus warned thou seemest, Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more; Go in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue; summon all! For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.
So spake the patriarch of mankind; but Eve Persisted; yet submiss, though last, replied.
With thy permission then, and thus forewarned Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words Touched only; that our trial, when least sought, May find us both perhaps far less prepared, The willinger I go, nor much expect A foe so proud will first the weaker seek; So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse.
Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand Soft she withdrew; and, like a Wood-Nymph light, Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train, Betook her to the groves; but Delia's self In gait surpassed, and Goddess-like deport, Though not as she with bow and quiver armed, But with such gardening tools as Art yet rude, Guiltless of fire, had formed, or Angels brought.
To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned, Likest she seemed, Pomona when she fled Vertumnus, or to Ceres in her prime, Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove.
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 Foundst either sweet repast, or sound repose; Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades, Waited with hellish rancour imminent To intercept thy way, or send thee back Despoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss! For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend, Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come; And on his quest, where likeliest he might find The only two of mankind, but in them The whole included race, his purposed prey.
In bower and field he sought, where any tuft Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay, Their tendance, or plantation for delight; By fountain or by shady rivulet He sought them both, but wished his hap might find Eve separate; he wished, but not with hope Of what so seldom chanced; when to his wish, Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies, Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round About her glowed, oft stooping to support Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold, Hung drooping unsustained; 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.
Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm; Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, Among thick-woven arborets, and flowers Imbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve: Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned Or of revived Adonis, or renowned Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son; Or that, not mystick, where the sapient king Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse.
Much he the place admired, the person more.
As one who long in populous city pent, Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, 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, or tedded grass, or kine, Or 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 sums all delight: Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve Thus early, thus alone: Her heavenly form Angelick, but more soft, and feminine, Her graceful innocence, her every air Of gesture, or least action, overawed His malice, and with rapine sweet bereaved His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought: That space the Evil-one abstracted stood From his own evil, and for the time remained Stupidly good; of enmity disarmed, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge: But the hot Hell that always in him burns, Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight, And tortures him now more, the more he sees Of pleasure, not for him ordained: then soon Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites.
Thoughts, whither have ye led me! with what sweet Compulsion thus transported, to forget What hither brought us! hate, not love;nor hope Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste Of pleasure; but all pleasure to destroy, Save what is in destroying; other joy To me is lost.
Then, let me not let pass Occasion which now smiles; behold alone The woman, opportune to all attempts, Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh, Whose higher intellectual more I shun, And strength, of courage haughty, and of limb Heroick built, though of terrestrial mould; Foe not informidable! exempt from wound, I not; so much hath Hell debased, and pain Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heaven.
She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods! Not terrible, though terrour be in love And beauty, not approached by stronger hate, Hate stronger, under show of love well feigned; The way which to her ruin now I tend.
So spake the enemy of mankind, enclosed In serpent, inmate bad! and toward Eve Addressed his way: not with indented wave, Prone on the ground, as since; but on his rear, Circular base of rising folds, that towered Fold above fold, a surging maze! his head Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes; With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass Floated redundant: pleasing was his shape And lovely; never since of serpent-kind Lovelier, not those that in Illyria changed, Hermione and Cadmus, or the god In Epidaurus; nor to which transformed Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen; He with Olympias; this with her who bore Scipio, the highth of Rome.
With tract oblique At first, as one who sought access, but feared To interrupt, side-long he works his way.
As when a ship, by skilful steersmen wrought Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail: So varied he, and of his tortuous train Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, To lure her eye; she, busied, heard the sound Of rusling leaves, but minded not, as used To such disport before her through the field, From every beast; more duteous at her call, Than at Circean call the herd disguised.
He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood, But as in gaze admiring: oft he bowed His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, Fawning; and licked the ground whereon she trod.
His gentle dumb expression turned at length The eye of Eve to mark his play; he, glad Of her attention gained, with serpent-tongue Organick, or impulse of vocal air, His fraudulent temptation thus began.
Wonder not, sovran Mistress, if perhaps Thou canst, who art sole wonder! much less arm Thy looks, the Heaven of mildness, with disdain, Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze Insatiate; I thus single;nor have feared Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired.
Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore With ravishment beheld! there best beheld, Where universally admired; but here In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, Beholders rude, and shallow to discern Half what in thee is fair, one man except, Who sees thee? and what is one? who should be seen A Goddess among Gods, adored and served By Angels numberless, thy daily train.
So glozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned: Into the heart of Eve his words made way, Though at the voice much marvelling; at length, Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake.
What may this mean? language of man pronounced By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed? The first, at least, of these I thought denied To beasts; whom God, on their creation-day, Created mute to all articulate sound: The latter I demur; for in their looks Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears.
Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field I knew, but not with human voice endued; Redouble then this miracle, and say, How camest thou speakable of mute, and how To me so friendly grown above the rest Of brutal kind, that daily are in sight? Say, for such wonder claims attention due.
To whom the guileful Tempter thus replied.
Empress of this fair world, resplendent Eve! Easy to me it is to tell thee all What thou commandest; and right thou shouldst be obeyed: I was at first as other beasts that graze The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low, As was my food; nor aught but food discerned Or sex, and apprehended nothing high: Till, on a day roving the field, I chanced A goodly tree far distant to behold Loaden with fruit of fairest colours mixed, Ruddy and gold: I nearer drew to gaze; When from the boughs a savoury odour blown, Grateful to appetite, more pleased my sense Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at even, Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play.
To satisfy the sharp desire I had Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved Not to defer; hunger and thirst at once, Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.
About the mossy trunk I wound me soon; For, high from ground, the branches would require Thy utmost reach or Adam's: Round the tree All other beasts that saw, with like desire Longing and envying stood, but could not reach.
Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill I spared not; for, such pleasure till that hour, At feed or fountain, never had I found.
Sated at length, ere long I might perceive Strange alteration in me, to degree Of reason in my inward powers; and speech Wanted not long; though to this shape retained.
Thenceforth to speculations high or deep I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind Considered all things visible in Heaven, Or Earth, or Middle; all things fair and good: But all that fair and good in thy divine Semblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray, United I beheld; no fair to thine Equivalent or second! which compelled Me thus, though importune perhaps, to come And gaze, and worship thee of right declared Sovran of creatures, universal Dame! So talked the spirited sly Snake; and Eve, Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied.
Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved: But say, where grows the tree? from hence how far? For many are the trees of God that grow In Paradise, and various, yet unknown To us; in such abundance lies our choice, As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched, Still hanging incorruptible, till men Grow up to their provision, and more hands Help to disburden Nature of her birth.
To whom the wily Adder, blithe and glad.
Empress, the way is ready, and not long; Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat, Fast by a fountain, one small thicket past Of blowing myrrh and balm: if thou accept My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon Lead then, said Eve.
He, leading, swiftly rolled In tangles, and made intricate seem straight, To mischief swift.
Hope elevates, and joy Brightens his crest; as when a wandering fire, Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night Condenses, and the cold environs round, Kindled through agitation to a flame, Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends, Hovering and blazing with delusive light, Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool; There swallowed up and lost, from succour far.
So glistered the dire Snake, and into fraud Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the tree Of prohibition, root of all our woe; Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake.
Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither, Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess, The credit of whose virtue rest with thee; Wonderous indeed, if cause of such effects.
But of this tree we may not taste nor touch; God so commanded, and left that command Sole daughter of his voice; the rest, we live Law to ourselves; our reason is our law.
To whom the Tempter guilefully replied.
Indeed! hath God then said that of the fruit Of all these garden-trees ye shall not eat, Yet Lords declared of all in earth or air$? To whom thus Eve, yet sinless.
Of the fruit Of each tree in the garden we may eat; But of the fruit of this fair tree amidst The garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.
She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold The Tempter, but with show of zeal and love To Man, and indignation at his wrong, New part puts on; and, as to passion moved, Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely and in act Raised, as of some great matter to begin.
As when of old some orator renowned, In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence Flourished, since mute! to some great cause addressed, Stood in himself collected; while each part, Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue; Sometimes in highth began, as no delay Of preface brooking, through his zeal of right: So standing, moving, or to highth up grown, The Tempter, all impassioned, thus began.
O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant, Mother of science! now I feel thy power Within me clear; not only to discern Things in their causes, but to trace the ways Of highest agents, deemed however wise.
Queen of this universe! do not believe Those rigid threats of death: ye shall not die: How should you? 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? and not praise Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain Of death denounced, whatever thing death be, Deterred not from achieving what might lead To happier life, knowledge of good and evil; Of good, how just? of evil, if what is evil Be real, why not known, since easier shunned? God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just; Not just, not God; not feared then, nor obeyed: Your fear itself of death removes the fear.
Why then was this forbid? Why, but to awe; Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant, His worshippers? He knows that in the day Ye eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear, Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods, Knowing both good and evil, as they know.
That ye shall be as Gods, since I as Man, Internal Man, is but proportion meet; I, of brute, human; ye, of human, Gods.
So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off Human, to put on Gods; death to be wished, Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring.
And what are Gods, that Man may not become As they, participating God-like food? The Gods are first, and that advantage use On our belief, that all from them proceeds: I question it; for this fair earth I see, Warmed by the sun, producing every kind; Them, nothing: if they all things, who enclosed Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, That whoso eats thereof, forthwith attains Wisdom without their leave? and wherein lies The offence, that Man should thus attain to know? What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree Impart against his will, if all be his? Or is it envy? and can envy dwell In heavenly breasts? These, these, and many more Causes import your need of this fair fruit.
Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste! He ended; and his words, replete with guile, Into her heart too easy entrance won: Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold Might tempt alone; and in her ears the sound Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned With reason, to her seeming, and with truth: Mean while the hour of noon drew on, and waked An eager appetite, raised by the smell So savoury of that fruit, which with desire, Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, Solicited her longing eye; yet first Pausing a while, thus to herself she mused.
Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits, Though kept from man, and worthy to be admired; Whose taste, too long forborn, at first assay Gave elocution to the mute, and taught The tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise: Thy praise he also, who forbids thy use, Conceals not from us, naming thee the tree Of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; Forbids us then to taste! but his forbidding Commends thee more, while it infers the good By thee communicated, and our want: For good unknown sure is not had; or, had And yet unknown, is as not had at all.
In plain then, what forbids he but to know, Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise? Such prohibitions bind not.
But, if death Bind us with after-bands, what profits then Our inward freedom? 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? For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy The good befallen him, author unsuspect, Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile.
What fear I then? rather, what know to fear Under this ignorance of good and evil, Of God or death, of law or penalty? Here grows the cure 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 eat! 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; and well might;for Eve, Intent now wholly on her taste, nought else Regarded; such delight till then, as seemed, In fruit she never tasted, whether true Or fancied so, through expectation high Of knowledge; not was Godhead from her thought.
Greedily she ingorged without restraint, And knew not eating death: Satiate at length, And hightened as with wine, jocund and boon, Thus to herself she pleasingly began.
O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees In Paradise! of operation blest To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed.
And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end Created; but henceforth my early care, Not without song, each morning, and due praise, Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease Of thy full branches offered free to all; Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature In knowledge, as the Gods, who all things know; Though others envy what they cannot give: For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here Thus grown.
Experience, next, to thee I owe, Best guide; not following thee, I had remained In ignorance; thou openest wisdom's way, And givest access, though secret she retire.
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, and give him to partake Full happiness with me, or rather not, But keeps the odds of knowledge in my power Without copartner? so to add what wants In female sex, the more to draw his love, And render me more equal; and perhaps, A thing not undesirable, sometime Superiour; for, inferiour, who is free This may be well: 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.
So saying, from the tree her step she turned; But first low reverence done, as to the Power That dwelt within, whose presence had infused Into the plant sciential sap, derived From nectar, drink of Gods.
Adam the while, Waiting desirous her return, had wove Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn Her tresses, and her rural labours crown; As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen.
Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new Solace in her return, so long delayed: Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill, Misgave him; he the faltering measure felt; And forth to meet her went, the way she took That morn when first they parted: by the tree Of knowledge he must pass; there he her met, Scarce from the tree returning; in her hand A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smiled, New gathered, and ambrosial smell diffused.
To him she hasted; in her face excuse Came prologue, and apology too prompt; Which, with bland words at will, she thus addressed.
Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay? Thee I have missed, and thought it long, deprived Thy presence; agony of love till now Not felt, nor shall be twice; for never more Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought, The pain of absence from thy sight.
But strange Hath been the cause, and wonderful to hear: This tree is not, as we are told, a tree Of danger tasted, nor to evil unknown Opening the way, but of divine effect To open eyes, and make them Gods who taste; And hath been tasted such: The serpent wise, Or not restrained as we, or not obeying, Hath eaten of the fruit; and is become, Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth Endued with human voice and human sense, Reasoning to admiration; and with me Persuasively hath so prevailed, that I Have also tasted, and have also found The effects to correspond; opener mine eyes, Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart, And growing up to Godhead; which for thee Chiefly I sought, without thee can despise.
For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss; Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon.
Thou therefore also taste, that equal lot May join us, equal joy, as equal love; Lest, thou not tasting, different degree Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce Deity for thee, when Fate will not permit.
Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told; But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed.
On the other side Adam, soon as he heard The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed, Astonied stood and blank, while horrour chill Ran through his veins, and all his joints relaxed; From his slack hand the garland wreathed for Eve 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 can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress The strict forbiddance, how to violate The sacred fruit forbidden! 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 woods forlorn! Should God create another Eve, and I Another rib afford, yet loss of thee Would never from my heart: no, no!I feel The link of Nature draw me: flesh of flesh, Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
So having said, as one from sad dismay Recomforted, and after thoughts disturbed Submitting to what seemed remediless, Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned.
Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventurous Eve, And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared, Had it been only coveting to eye That sacred fruit, sacred to abstinence, Much more to taste it under ban to touch.
But past who can recall, or done undo? Not God Omnipotent, nor Fate; yet so Perhaps thou shalt not die, perhaps the fact Is not so heinous now, foretasted fruit, Profaned first by the serpent, by him first Made common, and unhallowed, ere our taste; Nor yet on him found deadly; yet he lives; Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as Man, Higher degree of life; inducement strong To us, as likely tasting to attain Proportional ascent; which cannot be But to be Gods, or Angels, demi-Gods.
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; which in our fall, For us created, needs with us must fail, Dependant made; so God shall uncreate, Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose; Not well conceived of God, who, though his power Creation could repeat, yet would be loth Us to abolish, lest the Adversary Triumph, and say; "Fickle their state whom God "Most favours; who can please him long? Me first "He ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next?" Matter of scorn, not to be given the Foe.
However I with thee have fixed my lot, Certain to undergo like doom: If death Consort with thee, death is to me as life; So forcible within my heart I feel The bond of Nature draw me to my own; My own in thee, for what thou art is mine; Our state cannot be severed; we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.
So Adam; and thus Eve to him replied.
O glorious trial of exceeding love, Illustrious evidence, example high! Engaging me to emulate; but, short Of thy perfection, how shall I attain, Adam, from whose dear side I boast me sprung, And gladly of our union hear thee speak, One heart, one soul in both; whereof good proof This day affords, declaring thee resolved, Rather than death, or aught than death more dread, Shall separate us, linked in love so dear, To undergo with me one guilt, one crime, If any be, of tasting this fair fruit; Whose virtue for of good still good proceeds, Direct, or by occasion, hath presented This happy trial of thy love, which else So eminently never had been known? Were it I thought death menaced would ensue This my attempt, I would sustain alone The worst, and not persuade thee, rather die Deserted, than oblige thee with a fact Pernicious to thy peace; chiefly assured Remarkably so late of thy so true, So faithful, love unequalled: but I feel Far otherwise the event; not death, but life Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys, Taste so divine, that what of sweet before Hath touched my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh.
On my experience, Adam, freely taste, And fear of death deliver to the winds.
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 recompence for such compliance bad Such recompence best merits from the bough 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.
Earth trembled from her entrails, as again In pangs; and Nature gave a second groan; Sky loured; and, muttering thunder, some sad drops Wept at completing of the mortal sin Original: while Adam took no thought, Eating his fill; nor Eve to iterate Her former trespass feared, the more to sooth Him with her loved society; that now, As with new wine intoxicated both, They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel Divinity within them breeding wings, Wherewith to scorn the earth: But that false fruit Far other operation first displayed, Carnal desire inflaming; he on Eve Began to cast lascivious eyes; she him As wantonly repaid; in lust they burn: Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move.
Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste, And elegant, of sapience no small part; Since to each meaning savour we apply, And palate call judicious; I the praise Yield thee, so well this day thou hast purveyed.
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained From this delightful fruit, nor known till now True relish, tasting; if such pleasure be In things to us forbidden, it might be wished, For this one tree had been forbidden ten.
But come, so well refreshed, now let us play, As meet is, after such delicious fare; For never did thy beauty, since the day I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned With all perfections, so inflame my sense With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now Than ever; bounty of this virtuous tree! So said he, and forbore not glance or toy Of amorous intent; well understood Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire.
Her hand he seised; and to a shady bank, Thick over-head with verdant roof imbowered, He led her nothing loth; flowers were the couch, Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, And hyacinth; Earth's freshest softest lap.
There they their fill of love and love's disport Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal, The solace of their sin; till dewy sleep Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play, Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit, That with exhilarating vapour bland About their spirits had played, and inmost powers Made err, was now exhaled; and grosser sleep, Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams Incumbered, now had left them; up they rose As from unrest; and, each the other viewing, Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds How darkened; innocence, that as a veil Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone; Just confidence, and native righteousness, And honour, from about them, naked left To guilty Shame; he covered, but his robe Uncovered more.
So rose the Danite strong, Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked Shorn of his strength.
They destitute and bare Of all their virtue: Silent, and in face Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute: Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed, At length gave utterance to these words constrained.
O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear To that false worm, of whomsoever taught To counterfeit Man's voice; true in our fall, False in our promised rising; since our eyes Opened we find indeed, and find we know Both good and evil; good lost, and evil got; Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know; Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void, Of innocence, of faith, of purity, Our wonted ornaments now soiled and stained, And in our faces evident the signs Of foul concupiscence; whence evil store; Even shame, the last of evils; of the first Be sure then.
--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.
O! might I here In solitude live savage; in some glade Obscured, where highest woods, impenetrable To star or sun-light, 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!-- But let us now, as in bad plight, devise What best may for the present serve to hide The parts of each from other, that seem most To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen; Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves together sewed, And girded on our loins, may cover round Those middle parts; that this new comer, Shame, There sit not, and reproach us as unclean.
So counselled he, and both together went Into the thickest wood; there soon they chose The fig-tree; not that kind for fruit renowned, But such as at this day, to Indians known, In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, that in the ground The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow About the mother tree, a pillared shade High over-arched, and echoing walks between: There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds At loop-holes cut through thickest shade: Those leaves They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe; And, with what skill they had, together sewed, To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide Their guilt and dreaded shame! O, how unlike To that first naked glory! Such of late Columbus found the American, so girt With feathered cincture; naked else, and wild Among the trees on isles and woody shores.
Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in part Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, They sat them down to weep; nor only tears Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate, Mistrust, suspicion, discord; and shook sore Their inward state of mind, calm region once And full of peace, now tost and turbulent: For Understanding ruled not, and the Will Heard not her lore; both in subjection now To sensual Appetite, who from beneath Usurping over sovran Reason claimed Superiour sway: From thus distempered breast, Adam, estranged in look and altered style, Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed.
Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and staid 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; not, as now, despoiled Of all our good; shamed, naked, miserable! Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail.
To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus Eve.
What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe! Imputest thou that to my default, or will Of wandering, as thou callest it, which who knows But might as ill have happened thou being by, Or to thyself perhaps? Hadst thou been there, Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discerned Fraud in the Serpent, speaking as he spake; No ground of enmity between us known, Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm.
Was I to have never parted from thy side? As good have grown there still a lifeless rib.
Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head, Command me absolutely not to go, Going into such danger, as thou saidst? Too facile then, thou didst not much gainsay; Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss.
Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent, Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me.
To whom, then first incensed, Adam replied.
Is this the love, is this the recompence Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve! expressed Immutable, when thou wert lost, not I; Who might have lived, and joyed immortal bliss, Yet willingly chose rather death with thee? And am I now upbraided as the cause Of thy transgressing? Not enough severe, It seems, in thy restraint: 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; And force upon free will hath here no place.
But confidence then bore thee on; secure Either to meet no danger, or to find Matter of glorious trial; and perhaps I also erred, in overmuch admiring What seemed in thee so perfect, that I thought No evil durst attempt thee; but I rue The errour now, which is become my crime, And thou the accuser.
Thus it shall befall Him, who, to worth in women overtrusting, Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook; And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue, She first his weak indulgence will accuse.
Thus they in mutual accusation spent The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning; And of their vain contest appeared no end.


by Andrew Marvell |

Upon The Hill And Grove At Bill-borow

 To the Lord Fairfax.
See how the arched Earth does here Rise in a perfect Hemisphere! The stiffest Compass could not strike A line more circular and like; Nor softest Pensel draw a Brow.
So equal as this Hill does bow.
It seems as for a Model laid, And that the World by it was made.
Here learn ye Mountains more unjust, Which to abrupter greatness thrust, That do with your hook-shoulder'd height The Earth deform and Heaven frght.
For whose excrescence ill design'd, Nature must a new Center find, Learn here those humble steps to tread, Which to securer Glory lead.
See what a soft access and wide Lyes open to its grassy side; Nor with the rugged path deterrs The feet of breathless Travellers.
See then how courteous it ascends, And all the way ir rises bends; Nor for it self the height does gain, But only strives to raise the Plain.
Yet thus it all the field commands, And in unenvy'd Greatness stands, Discerning furthe then the Cliff Of Heaven-daring Teneriff.
How glad the weary Seamen hast When they salute it from the Mast! By Night the Northern Star their way Directs, and this no less by Day.
Upon its crest this Mountain grave A Plum of aged Trees does wave.
No hostile hand durst ere invade With impious Steel the sacred Shade.
For something alwaies did appear Of the Great Masters terrour there: And Men could hear his Armour still Ratling through all the Grove and Hill.
Fear of the Master, and respect Of the great Nymph did it protect; Vera the Nymph that him inspir'd, To whom he often here retir'd, And on these Okes ingrav'd her Name; Such Wounds alone these Woods became: But ere he well the Barks could part 'Twas writ already in their Heart.
For they ('tis credible) have sense, As we, of Love and Reverence, And underneath the Courser Rind The Genius of the house do bind.
Hence they successes seem to know, And in their Lord's advancement grow; But in no Memory were seen As under this so streight and green.
Yet now no further strive to shoot, Contented if they fix their Root.
Nor to the winds uncertain gust, Their prudent Heads too far intrust.
Onely sometimes a flutt'ring Breez Discourses with the breathing Trees; Which in their modest Whispers name Those Acts that swell'd the Cheek of Fame.
Much other Groves, say they, then these And other Hills him once did please.
Through Groves of Pikes he thunder'd then, And Mountains rais'd of dying Men.
For all the Civick Garlands due To him our Branches are but few.
Nor are our Trunks enow to bear The Trophees of one fertile Year.
'Tis true, the Trees nor ever spoke More certain Oracles in Oak.
But Peace (if you his favour prize) That Courage its own Praises flies.
Therefore to your obscurer Seats From his own Brightness he retreats: Nor he the Hills without the Groves, Nor Height but with Retirement loves.


by Robert Lowell |

Homecoming

What was is.
.
.
since 1930; The boys in my old gang are senior partners.
They start up bald like baby birds to embrace retirement.
At the altar of surrender I met you in the hour of credulity.
How your misfortune came our clearly to us at twenty.
At the gingerbread casino how innocent the nights we made it.
on our Vesuvio martinis with no vermouth but vodka to sweeten the dry gin- the lash across my face that night we adored.
.
.
soon every night and all when your sweet amorous repetition changed.


by John Lindley |

GRANDAD AND A PRAMLOAD OF CLOCKS

 Wheeling them in,
the yard gate at half-mast 
with its ticking hinge,
the tin bucket with a hairnet of webs,
the privy door ajar,
the path gloved with moss
ploughed by metal 
through a scalped tyre -
in the shadows of the hood,
in the ripped silk
of the rocking, buckled pram,
none of the dead clocks moving.
And carrying them in to a kitchen table, a near-lifetime’s Woodies coating each cough, he will tickle them awake; will hold like primitive headphones the tinkling shells to each ear, select and apply unfailingly the right tool to the right cog and with movements as unpredictable as the pram’s will wind and counter-wind the scrap to metronomic life.
And at the pub, at the Grey Horse or Houldsworth, furtive as unpaid tax, Rolex and Timex and brands beneath naming will change hands for the price of a bevy, a fish supper or a down payment on early retirement on a horse called Clockwork running in the three-thirty at Aintree.
John Lindley


by Oliver Goldsmith |

The Deserted Village

 Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, where every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er your green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made;
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree:
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down!
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong look of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:
These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms—But all these charms are fled.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain: No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But choked with sedges works its weedy way.
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed can never be supplied.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scattered hamlet's rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that asked but little room, Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, Lived in each look, and brightened all the green; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs—and God has given my share— I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations passed, Here to return—and die at home at last.
O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How happy he who crowns in shades like these A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state To spurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels round befriending Virtue's friend; Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, While Resignation gently slopes the way; All, all his prospects brightening to the last, His Heaven commences ere the world be past! Sweet was the sound when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watchdog's voice that bayed the whisp'ring wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, For all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
All but yon widowed, solitary thing, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; She, wretched matron, forced in age for bread To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talked the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood.
At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service passed, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned; Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault.
The village all declared how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And even the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill, For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around, And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame.
The very spot Where many a time he triumphed is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the signpost caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place: The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay,— A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay; While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row.
Vain transitory splendours! Could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall! Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined: But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains.
This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss.
The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies: While thus the land adorned for pleasure, all In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.
As some fair female unadorned and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes; But when those charms are passed, for charms are frail, When time advances and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed, In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed; But verging to decline, its splendours rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land The mournful peasant leads his humble band; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms—a garden, and a grave.
Where then, ah! where, shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits strayed, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped—what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts?—Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.
She once, perhaps, in a village plenty blessed, Has wept at tales of innocence distressed; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! Ah, no!—To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far different there from all that charmed before, The various terrors of that horrid shore; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray And fiercely shed intolerable day; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, And savage men more murderous still than they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love.
Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed that parting day That called them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure passed, Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked their last, And took a long farewell, and wished in vain For seats like these beyond the western main; And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, Returned and wept, and still returned to weep.
The good old sire, the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for a father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose; And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief.
O luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree, How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse thy pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own; At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe; Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread the ruin round.
Even now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land: Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail That idly waiting flaps with every gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And piety with wishes placed above, And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! Farewell, and oh! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime; Aid slighted truth; with thy persuasive strain Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him that states of native strength possessed, Though very poor, may still be very blessed; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky.


by Du Fu | by Du Fu. You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/23251/In_Abbot_Zans_Room_at_Dayun_Temple_Four_Poems_4' st_title='In Abbot Zan's Room at Dayun Temple: Four Poems (4)'>

In Abbot Zan's Room at Dayun Temple: Four Poems (4)

Boy draw water well shining
Agile container rise hand
Wet sprinkle not soak earth
Sweep surpass like without broom
Bright rosy clouds shining again pavilion
Clear mist lift high window
Lean fill cover path flower
Dance end steps willow
Difficulty world affair compel
Hide away right time after
Meet talk agree deep heart
How can all restrain mouth
Offer goodbye return cane riding crop
Temporary part end turn head
Vast expanse mud defile person
Listen country many dogs
Although not free yoke
Sometimes come rest rush about
Near you like white snow
Grasp hot upset how be


The boy draws shining water from the well,
He nimbly lifts the bucket to his hand.
He sprinkles water without soaking the earth,
And sweeps so well as if no broom had passed.
The rosy dawn again lights the pagoda,
The clearing mist lifts from the higher windows.
Leaning blossoms cover over the path,
Dancing willow leaves reach down to the steps.
I'm driven by these troublesome affairs,
Retirement from the world must be put off.
We've met and talked, our deepest hearts agreeing,
How can our mouths be forced completely shut?
I say goodbye and fetch my riding crop,
Parting for now, I turn my head at the last.
There's so much mud that can defile a man,
Just listen to all the dogs throughout the land.
Although I cannot get free from this yoke,
I'll sometimes come to rest from all the bustle.
Your presence, Abbot, acts just like white snow,
How can I be upset to grasp what's hot?


by Marriott Edgar |

Sam Goes To It

 Sam Small had retired from the Army,
In the old Duke of Wellington's time,
So when present unpleasantness started,
He were what you might call.
.
.
past his prime.
He'd lived for some years in retirement, And knew nowt of war, if you please, Till they blasted and bombed his allotment, And shelled the best part of his peas.
'T were as if bugles called Sam to duty, For his musket he started to search, He found it at last in the Hen house, Buff Orpingtons had it for perch.
Straight off to the Fusilliers' depot, He went to rejoin his old troop.
.
.
Where he found as they couldn't recruit Him, Until his age group was called up.
Now Sam wasn't getting no younger, Past the three score and ten years was he, And he reckoned by time they reached his age group, He'd be very near ten score and three.
So he took up the matter with Churchill, Who said, "I don't know what to do, Never was there a time when so many, Came asking so much from so few.
" "I don't want no favours" Sam answered, "Don't think as I'm one of that mob, All I'm asking is give me the tools, lad, And let me help finish the job.
" "I'll fit you in somewhere," said Winnie, "Old soldiers we must not discard.
" Then seeing he'd got his own musket, He sent him to join the Home Guard.
They gave Sam a coat with no stripes on, In spite of the service he'd seen, Which considering he'd been a King's sergeant, Kind of rankled.
.
.
you know what I mean.
He said "I come back to the Army, Expecting my country's thanks, And the first thing I find when I get here, Is that I've been reduced to the ranks.
He found all the lads sympathetic, They agreed that 'twere a disgrace, Except one old chap in the corner, With a nutcracker kind of a face.
Said the old fella, "Who do you think you are? The last to appear on the scene, And you start off by wanting promotion, Last come, last served.
.
.
see what I mean?" Said Sam, "Wasn't I at Corunna, And when company commander got shot, Didn't I lead battalion to victory?" Said the old fella, "No.
.
.
you did not.
" "I didn't?" said Sam quite indignent, "Why, in every fight Wellington fought, Wasn't I at his right hand to guard him?" Said old chap, "You were nowt of the sort.
" "What do you know of Duke and his battles?" Said Sam, with a whithering look, Said the old man, "I ought to know something, Between you and me.
.
.
I'm the Duke.
" And if you should look in any evening, You'll find them both in the canteen, Ex Commander-in-Chief and ex Sergeant, Both just Home Guards.
.
.
you know what I mean?