Illumin, what is low raise and support;

That to the height of this great argument
I may affert eternal Providence,

And justify the ways of God to Men.

Say first, for Heav'n hides nothing from thy view, Nor the deep tract of Hell, say first what cause Mov'd our grand parents, in that happy state, Favor'd of Heav'n fo highly, to fall off From their Creator, and transgress his will For one restraint, lords of the world befides? Who first feduc'd them to that foul revolt? Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile, Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, deceiv'd The mother of mankind, what time his pride Had caft him out from Heav'n, with all his hoft Of rebel Angels, by whofe aid aspiring To fet himself in glory' above his peers, He trusted to have equal'd the most High, If he oppos'd; and with ambitious aim Against the throne and monarchy of God Rais'd impious war in Heav'n and battel proud With vain attempt. Him the almighty Power Hurl'd headlong flaming from th' ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition, there to dwell In adamantin chains and penal fire, Who durft defy th' Omnipotent to arms. Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquish'd, rolling in the fiery gulf,

Confounded

Confounded though immortal: But his doom
Refery'd him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of loft happiness and lasting pain

Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witness'd huge affliction and dismay
Mix'd with obdurate pride and stedfast hate :
At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The difmal fituation waste and wild;

A dungeon horrible on all fides round

As one great furnace flam'd, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness vifible

Serv'd only to difcover fights of woe,

Regions of forrow, doleful shades, where peace
And reft can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning fulphur unconsum'd:
Such place eternal Juftice had prepar'd
For those rebellious, here their pris'on ordain'd
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far remov'd from God and light of Heav'n,
As from the center thrice to th' utmost pole.
O how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelm'd
With floods and whirlwinds of tempeftuous fire,
He foon difcerns, and welt'ring by his fide
One next himself in pow'r, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and nam'd
Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heav'n call'd Satan, with bold words

Dum vulfos montes ceu tela reciproca torquent,
Et non mortali defuper igne pluunt':..
Stat dubius cui fe parti concedat Olympus,
Et metuit pugnæ non fupereffe fuæ.
At fimul in cœlis Meffiæ infignia fulgent,
Et currus animes, armaque digna Deo,
Horrendumque rotæ ftrident, et fæva rotarum
Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus,
Et flammæ vibrant, & vera tonitrua rauco
Admiftis flammis infonuere polo:

Excidit attonitis mens omnis, & impetus omnis,
Et caffis dextris irrita tela cadunt;
Ad pœnas fugiunt, & ceu foret Orcus asylum,
Infernis certant condere fe tenebris.

Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii,
Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus.
Hæc quicunque leget tantùm ceciniffe putabit
Mæonidem ranas, Virgilium culices.

W

SAMUEL BARROW, M. D.

ON PARADISE

LOST.

WHEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
In flender book his vaft defign unfold,

Meffiah crown'd, God's reconcil'd decree,
Rebelling Angels, the forbidden tree,
Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, all; the argument
Held me a while misdoubting his intent,
That he would ruin (for I faw him ftrong)
The facred truths to fable and old feng,
(So Sampfon grop'd the temple's posts in spite)
The world o'erwhelming to revenge his fight.

Yet

Yet as I read, ftill growing lefs fevere,
I lik'd his project, the fuccefs did fear;

Through that wide field how he his way fhould find,
O'er which lame faith leads understanding blind;
Left he perplex'd the things he would explain,
And what was eafy he should render vain.

Or if a work fo infinite he spann'd,

Jealous I was that fome lefs skilful hand (Such as difquiet always what is well, And by ill imitating would excel)'

་་

Might hence prefume the whole creation's day
To change in scenes, and show it in a play.
Pardon me, mighty Poet; nor despise
My causeless, yet not impious, furmife.
'But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare
Within thy labours to pretend a share.

Thou haft not mifs'd one thought that could be fit,
And all that was improper doft omit:

So that no room is here for writers left,

But to detect their ignorance or theft.

That majesty which through thy work doth reign,* Draws the devout, deterring the profane.

And things divine thou treat'st of in such state
As them preferves, and thee, inviolate.
At once delight and horror on us seize,
Thou fing'ft with fo much gravity and ease;
And above human flight dost soar aloft
With plume fo ftrong, fo equal, and fo foft.
The bird nam'd from that Paradise you fing
So never flags, but always keeps on wing.
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Where

Where couldst thou words of fuch a compass.find? Whence furnish fuch a vast expence of mind? Just Heaven thee, like Tirefias, to requite Rewards with prophecy thy lofs of fight.

Well might'st thou.fcorn.thy.readers to allure With tinkling rhyme, of thy own sense secure; While the town-bays writes all the while and spells, And like a pack-horse tires without his bells: Their fancies like our bushy-points appear, The poets tag them, we for fashion wear. I too, transported by the mode, offend, And while I meant to praise thee must commend. Thy verfe created like thy theme sublime, Number, weight, and measure, needs not rhyme.

ANDREW MARVELL.

To Mr. JOHN MILTON,

On his Poem entitled PARADISE LOST. Thou! the wonder of the present age,

An age

immerft in luxury and vice;

A race of trifiers; who can relish naught

But the gay iffue of an idle brain:

How couldst thou hope to please this tinsel race?
Though blind, yet with the penetrating eye
Of intellectual light thou dost survey

The labyrinth perplex'd of Heaven's decrees;
And with a quill, pluck'd from an angel's wing,
Dipt in the fount that laves th' eternal throne,
Trace the dark, paths of providence divine,
"And justify the ways of God to Man.”

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F. G. 1680.

THE