Eve's Lament, from “Paradise Lost,” Book XI.
O UNEXPECTED stroke, worse than of death!
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave
Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of gods; where I had hope to spend,
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both? O flowers,
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation, and my last
At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names!
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?
Thee, lastly, nuptial bower! by me adorned
With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure
And wild? how shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?
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The Sanctifier and bright Lord who is glorious in operation, the dispositioner, the effector of all trans-substantiations, who sets the traverse wall according to the measure of the angel with the reed, who knows best how to gather his epiklesis from that open plain, who transmutes their cheerless blasphemy into a lover's word, who spoke by Balaam and by Balaam's ass, who spoke also by Sgt. Bullcock.
Followers
About Me
- Священник села
- All I have ever wanted is the quiet of a private life. But my mother is determined to see me distinguished. Orator. Politician. Even a barrister would do, if I drove a barouche. What do you wish for? I prefer the church, but that is not smart enough for my mother. She prefers the army, but that is too smart for me. - Would you stay in London? - I hate London. Country living is my ideal. A small parish where I might do some good. Keep chickens ... Give very short sermons. - Edward Ferrars in Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility (1995)
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