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The elements and se'asons : all'/ decla're
Pronounced lower and slower.
The^se/ are thỹ glorious works (Parent of go'od ;)
who be'st can t'ell, ye sons of li'ght,
* England's "prophet-bard”.
'- as some one has designated himJohn Milton—the glorious, the all-but-inspired John Milton (whom Dryden preferred to HOMER,) died in London (where he was born) in 1674, aged 66.
Thou Su'n, (of this great world both e'ye and s'oul,)
ye el’ements, (the eldest birth
* Pronouns, whether personal or adjective, when antecedents, it will be observed, require accentual force.
+ The adjective“ universal” should be pronounced slowly, and as reverentially as possible.
Lower and slower.
EVENING IN PARADISE DESCRIBED. ADAM AND EVE'S CONVERSATION AND EVENING WORSHIP.
When Ad'am/ th'us to Ev'e: “ Fair con'sort, the hour
To whom thus E've, (with perfect beauty adoʻrned): My aut’hor and disp'oser ! what thou bi’ddest Unar'gued/ I obey; so God, ordains : Go'd is thoy la w, thoịu mi`ne; to know no mo're Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her pra'ise. With thee conver'sing, I forget all ti'me : All seasons, and their ch'ange; aoll/ please ali^ke. Sweet is the breath of mo'rn, her ri^sing sweet, With cha'rms of earli'est bi’rds ; pleasant the su'n, When fir'st/ on this delightful la'nd/ he spreads His orient bea'ms/ on herb', tree', fruit, and flo'wer, Gli'stering with de'w; fragrant the fertile earth After soft show'ers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful e'vening mil'd ; then silent n'ight, With th'is/ her solemn bi'rd, and this fair mo'on, And the se, the ge'ms of he’aven, (her starry trʻain :) B'ut, neither breath of m'orn, when she ascends, With cha'rm of earliest birds; nor rising su'n On this delightful land ; nor fragʻrance/ after sho'wers ; Nor grateful e'vening mi'ld; nor silent ni'ght, With th'is/ her solemn bir'd; nor walk by moʻon Or glittering sta'r-light, — without the'e is sw'eet.”
Thus ta'lking (ha'nd in ha'nd,) alone they passed/ O'n to their blissful bo'wer:- There arri'ved, both st'ood, Both turn ed, an'd (under open sk'y) adored The G'od/ that made both sk'y, air', eart'h, and hea'ven, (Which they beh'eld ;) the moʻon's resplendent globe, And starry po'le : Thoou also madest the ni'ght, (Maker omn'ipotent!) and thou the da’y, Which w'e (in our appo'inted work employed,) Have fini'shed; happy in our mutual he'lp And mutual loove, (the croîwn of all our bl’iss,) Orda'ined by thee; and this delicious pla'ce, (For u's too la’rge :) where thy abu'ndance/ wants Parta'kers, and/ uncro'pped, falls to the gro'und, But/ thou hast pro'mised/ from us two/ a rac'e/ To fill the earth, who sha'll/ with u's/ extol Thy goodness in'finite, both when we wake, And when we s'eek (as n'ow) thy gi'ft of sleep.
EVE'S RELATION OF HER DREAM.
MILTON. Now Mor'n, her rosy steps in the eastern clim'e Adv'ancing, sowed the earth/ with orient pearl, When A'dam wa'ked: so 'cu'stomed, for his sleep Was airy lig'ht, from pure digestion br'ed, And temperate va'pours bla'nd, which the only sound Of lea’ves and fuming ri'lls, Aurora's fan, (Lightly disp'ersed) and the shrill matin so'ng. Of bir'ds/ on every bo'ugh. So much the more His wonder was to fi'nd/ unwa'kened E've, With tresses discompo'sed, and glowing ch’eek, As thro'ugh unqui'et-rest. He (on his side Leaning half-raised, with looks of cordial l'ove,) Hung over her ena'moured, and beh'eld Bea'uty, wh'ich (whether wa king or asle'ep,) Shot forth pecu^liar-graces : then, with voi'ce (Mild as when Zephyrus/ on Flora bre'athes,) Her hand soft to'uching, wh'ispered th'us —“Awa'ke, “My fai'rest, my esp'oused, my la test-found, “ Heaven's la'st, best gift', (my ever-new deli'ght !) “ Awa'ke: the morning shi’nes, and the fresh field “ Ca'lls us.
We lose the pri'me, to mark how spring/ “Our tended pla'nts, how blows the citron gro've, “ What drops the myʻrrh, and whoat/ the balmy re'ed; “How nature paints her colours, how the be'e/ “Sits on the blo'om, extracting li'quids sweet.'
Such whispering wa'ked-her, but/ with startled ey'e On A'dam : (whom embracing) th’us she spokeO S'ole (in whom my thoughts find all rep'ose,) My glory, my perfection ; glad I see Thy fa'ce, and moʻrn retu’rned : for I' this ni'ght (Such nigʻht/ ti'll this, I never pa’ssed !) have dre'amed, I'f dreaʼmed, no't, as I oft am wo'nt, of the e, Worʻks of day pa'st, or moʻrrow's next de'sign ; But of offe'nce and trou'ble, which
mind Knew n'ever/ till this i'rksome nig'ht. Metho'ught (Close at mine e'ar) one called me forth to w'alk/ With gentle voi'ce; I thought it thin'e: it said