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The elements and se'asons : all'/ decla're
Pronounced lower and slower.
These are thỹ glorious works (Parent of go'od ;)
* England's “prophet-bard”. as some one has designated him John 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 elements, (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.
When Adam/ th’us to Eve: “ Fair con'sort, the hour
To whom thus E've, (with perfect beauty ado'rned): My author and disp'oser ! what thou bi’ddest Unar gued/ I obey; so God/ ord'ains : God 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; all/ 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 mild ; then silent night, With th'is/ her solemn bi'rd, and this fair mo'on, And the’se the ge’ms of he'aven, (her starry tr’ain :) B’ut, neither breath of m'orn, when she ascends, With cha'rm of earliest bir'ds; 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 p'assed/ 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 we in our appo'inted work employed,) Have finished; happy in our mutual help And mutual loove, (the croîwn of all our bl'iss,) Orda’ined by thee; and this delicious pla'ce, (For us too la’rge :) where thy abu'ndance/ w'ants Parta'kers, and/ uncro'pped, fa'lls to the gro’und, But/ thou hast pro'mised/ from us two/ a rac'e/ To fi'll 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 gift 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'ngOf 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. H'e (on his si'de 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 Zep'hyrus/ on Flora bre'athes, Her hand soft touching, wh'ispered th'us -“Awake, “My fai'rest, my esp'oused, my la test-found, “ Heaven's laʼst/ best gift', (my ever-new deli'ght !) “Awa'ke: the morning shi’nes, and the fresh field “ Ca'lls us.
We lose the prime, to mark how spring/ “Our tended pla'nts, how blows the citron gro've, “What drops the my'rrh, and whựat/ the balmy reed; “How nature paints her co'lours, how the be'el “Sits on the bloom, extracting li'quids swe'et."
Such whispering wa'ked-her, but/ with startled ey'e On A'dam : (whom embracing) th'us she spoke O Sole (in whom my thoughts find all rep'ose,) My glory, my perfection ; glad I see Thy fa'ce, and morn retu’rned : for I' this ni'ght (Such night/ ti'll this/ I never pa'ssed !) have dre'amed, I'f dreaʼmed, no't, as I oft am wo'nt, of the e, Works of day pa'st, or moʻrrow's next deʼsign ; But of offe'nce and trou'ble, which my
mind Knew n'ever/ till this i'rksome nig'ht. Methoʻught (Close at mine e’ar) one called me forth to w'alk/ With gentle voi ce ; I thought it thin'e: it said