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Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'd the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy fphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou fun! of this great world both

eye

and soul, 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 fall'ft. Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fly'st 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 song, 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 ftill new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or ftreaming lake, dusky or grey,'
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great' Author rise,
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
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,
Melodious muinzurs, wabling tune his praise.
Join voices all, ye living als; ye birds,
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,

Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, 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 ought of evil, or conceald,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON.

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SATAN's SOLILOQUY.
O THOU that, with furpaffing glory crown’d,
Look'it from thy sole dominion like the god
Of this new world; at whose 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 eafieft recompense, and pay him thanks,

How

How due ! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice : lifted up so high
I 'Idain'd subjection, and thought one ftep higher
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burthensome, ftill paying, still to owe;
Forgetful what from him I fill receiv'd;
And understood not that a grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharged; what a burthen then ?
O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'a
Me some 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.
Hadft thou the same free will and pow'r to stand ?
Thou hadft. Whom haft thou then, or what t'accuse,
But Heav'n's free love, dealt equally to all ?
Be then his love accurs’d, fince love or hate,
To me alike, it deals eternal wo.
Nay, curs'd be thou ! since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so jaftly rues..'
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ?
Which way I Ay 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 feems' a heav'n..
O then last relent: the no place

Left

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submiffion; 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 ftill 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 foon 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 : fo should I purchase dear
Short intermillion, 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 loit;
Evil be thou my good: by thee at least
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign;
As man ere long, and this new world, thall know.

MILTON.

CHAP. VII.

Jur. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone.

JUBA AND SYPH AX

PHAX
I have observ'd of late thy looks are fall’n,
O’ercast with gloomy cares and discontent;
Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee, iell me,
What are the thoughts that knit thy brow in frowns,
And turn thine eyes thus coldly on thy prince ?

Syph. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts
Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face,
When discontent fts heavy at my heart :
I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

JUB. Why dost thou cast out such ungen'rous terms
Against the lords and fov'reigns of the world?
Dost thou not see mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their superior virtue ?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,
Amidst our barren rocks and burning sands,
That does not tremble at the Roman name?

Syph, Gods! where's the worth that sets this people up
Above you own Numidia's tawny fons :
Do they with tougher finews bend the bow?
Or fies the jav'lin swifter to its mark,
Launch'd from the vigour of a Roman arm?
Who like our active African instructs
The fiery steed, and trains him to his hand ?
Or guides in troops th' embattled elephant,

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