From “Paradise Lost,” Book I. OF man’s first disobedience and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning how the heavens and earth Rose out of Chaos; or if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed Fast by the oracle of God; I thence Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark Illumine, what is low raise and support; That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men.
The Poet’s Theme
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Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud, Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crownèd fortune proud Hast reared God’s trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with...
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From “Paradise Lost,” Book VI. THE ARRAY NOW went forth the morn, Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold Empyreal; from before her vanished night, Shot through with orient beams; when all the plain Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright, Chariots, and flaming arms...
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From “Paradise Lost,” Book IV. TWO of far nobler shape, erect and tall, Godlike erect, with native honor clad In naked majesty, seemed lords of all: And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine The image of their glorious Maker shone, Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, (Severe, but in...
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What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones, The labor of an age in pilèd stones? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built...
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Hence, vain deluding joys, The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bestead, Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams,— Or likest hovering...