Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. Джон Мильтон

vegetable gold; and next to life,

      Our death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by,

      Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ill.

      Southward through Eden went a river large,

      Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill

      Passed underneath engulfed; for God had thrown

      That mountain as his garden-mould high raised

      Upon the rapid current, which, through veins

      Of porous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn,

      Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill

      Watered the garden; thence united fell

      Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood,

      Which from his darksome passage now appears,

      And now, divided into four main streams,

      Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm

      And country, whereof here needs no account;

      But rather to tell how, if Art could tell,

      How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks,

      Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold,

      With mazy error under pendant shades

      Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed

      Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art

      In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon

      Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain,

      Both where the morning sun first warmly smote

      The open field, and where the unpierced shade

      Embrowned the noontide bowers: Thus was this place

      A happy rural seat of various view;

      Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm,

      Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind,

      Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,

      If true, here only, and of delicious taste:

      Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks

      Grazing the tender herb, were interposed,

      Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap

      Of some irriguous valley spread her store,

      Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose:

      Another side, umbrageous grots and caves

      Of cool recess, o’er which the mantling vine

      Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps

      Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall

      Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake,

      That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned

      Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams.

      The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs,

      Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune

      The trembling leaves, while universal Pan,

      Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance,

      Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field

      Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers,

      Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis

      Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain

      To seek her through the world; nor that sweet grove

      Of Daphne by Orontes, and the inspired

      Castalian spring, might with this Paradise

      Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseian isle

      Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham,

      Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Libyan Jove,

      Hid Amalthea, and her florid son

      Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea’s eye;

      Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard,

      Mount Amara, though this by some supposed

      True Paradise under the Ethiop line

      By Nilus’ head, enclosed with shining rock,

      A whole day’s journey high, but wide remote

      From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend

      Saw, undelighted, all delight, all kind

      Of living creatures, new to sight, and strange

      Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall,

      Godlike erect, with native honour 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 true filial freedom placed,)

      Whence true authority in men; though both

      Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed;

      For contemplation he and valour formed;

      For softness she and sweet attractive grace;

      He for God only, she for God in him:

      His fair large front and eye sublime declared

      Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks

      Round from his parted forelock manly hung

      Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad:

      She, as a veil, down to the slender waist

      Her unadorned golden tresses wore

      Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved

      As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied

      Subjection, but required with gentle sway,

      And by her yielded, by him best received,

      Yielded with coy submission, modest pride,

      And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.

      Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed;

      Then was not guilty shame, dishonest shame

      Of nature’s works, honour dishonourable,

      Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind

      With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure,

      And banished from man’s life his happiest life,

      Simplicity and spotless innocence!

      So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight

      Of God or Angel; for they thought no ill:

      So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair,

      That ever since in love’s embraces met;

      Adam the goodliest man of men since born

      His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve.

      Under a tuft of shade that on a green

      Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain side

      They sat them down; and, after no more toil

      Of their sweet gardening labour than sufficed

      To recommend cool Zephyr, and made ease

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