So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
How loy'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot ;
A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

Poets themselves muft fall, like those they sung,
Deaf the prais’d ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whose foul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the gen’rous tear he pays;
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part,
And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart;
Life’s idle business at one gasp be o'er,
The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

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THESE are thy glorious work, Parent of good!

1 Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair! thyself how wond'rous then !
Unspeakable ! who fittft above these heav'ns,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowliest works; yet these declare

Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye who belt can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heav'n,
On earth join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him laft, him midst, and without end.


Fairest of ftare, lat in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'd the fmiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thờu sun, of this great world both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater ; found his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high noon 'haft gain'd, and when thou fail't.
Moon that now meets the orient fun, now fly't
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
In mystic dance not without fong, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,
And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rife
From hill or streaming lake, dulky or grey,
Till the fun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rife,
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd-fky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe foft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye, that warble, as ye flow,
Melcdious murmurs, warbling tune his praife.
Join voices all ye living fouls ; ye birds,


That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notés his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and Stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or yalley, fountain or fresh fhade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise,
Hail, universal Lord; be bounteous still
To give us only good ; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.


Ç H A P. VI.

THOU that, with furpaffing glory crown'd,

Look'st from thy fole dominion like the god
Of this new world ; at whofe fight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ;
Till pride, and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless King,
Ah, wherefore ? he deserv'd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less, than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,


How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice: lifted up so high
L’sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher
Would set me high'ft, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burdensome, still paying, ftill to owe ;
Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd ;
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharged; what burthen then?
O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd
Me fome inferior angel, I had stood
Then happy; no unbounded hope had rais'd
Ambition. Yet why not? some other power
As great might have aspir’d, and me though mean
Drawn to his part; but other pow'rs as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within:
Or from without, to all temptations arm’d,
Hadst thou the same free will and pow'r to stand ?
Thou hadst. Whom haft thou then, or what t'accuse,
But Heav'n's free love, dealt equally to all? "
Be then his love accurs’d, since love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal woe.
Nay, curs'd be thou;, fince against his thy will
Chofe freely what it now fo justly rues.
Me miserable ! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ? :
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
O then at last relent: is there no place


Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd
With other promises, and other vaunts,
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th’Omnipotent. Ah me, they little know-
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell:
With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd,
The lower still I fall, only supreme
In misery : such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,
By act of grace, my former state ; how soon
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feign'd submission swore ! ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void :
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep:
Which would but lead us to a worse relapse,
And heavier fall : so should I purchase dear
Short intermission, bought with double smart.
This knows my punisher : therefore as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace :
All hope excluded thus, behold instead
Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for him this world.
So farewel hope, and with hope farewel fear,
Farewel remorse ; all good to me is loft ;
Evil be thou my good : by thee at least
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,

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