Shall with their freedom lost, all virtue lose
And fear of God, from whom their piety feign'd
In sharp contest of battle found no aid
Against invaders; therefore cool'd in zeal,
Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure,
Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords
Shall leave them to enjoy; for th' earth shall bear
More than enough, that temp'rance may be try'd;
So all shall turn degenerate, all deprav❜d,
Justice and temp'rance, truth and faith forgot;
One man except, the only son of light
In a dark age, against example good,
Against allurement, custom, and a world
Offended; fearless of reproach and scorn,
Or violence, he of their wicked ways
Shall them admonish, and before them set
The paths of righteousness, how much more safe,
And full of peace, denouncing wrath to come
On their impenitence; and shall return

Of them derided, but of God observ'd
The one just man alive; by his command
Shall build a wond'rous ark, as thou beheld'st,
To save himself and household from amidst
A world devote to universal wrack.

No sooner he with them of man and beast
Select for life shall in the ark be lodg'd,
And shelter'd round, but all the cataracts
Of heav'n set open, on the earth shall pour
Rain day and night; all fountains of the deep
Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp
Beyond all bounds, till mundations rise
Above the highest hills: then shall this mount
Of Paradise by might of waves be mov'd
Out of his place, push'd by the horned flood,
With all his verdure spoil'd, and trees adrift,
Down the great river to the opening gulf,
And there take root an island salt and bare,
The haunt of seals, and orcs, and sea-mews clang;
To teach thee that God attributes to place

No sanctity, if none be thither brought
By men who there frequent, or therein dwell.
And now what further shall ensue, behold!

He look'd, and saw the ark hull on the flood, Which now abated; for the clouds were fled, Driv'n by a keen north wind, that blowing dry Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decay'd; And the clear sun on his wide wat❜ry glass Gaz'd hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew As after thirst, which made their flowing shrink From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole With soft foot towards the deep, who now had stopt His sluices, as the heav'n his windows shut. The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground Fast on the top of some high mountain fix'd. And now the tops of hills as rocks appear: With clamour thence the rapid currents drive Towards the retreating sea their furious tide. Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies, And after him, the surer messenger, A dove sent forth once and again to spy Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light The second time returning, in his bill An olive leaf he brings, pacific sign: Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark The ancient sire descends with all his train; Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout, Grateful to heav'n, over his head beholds A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow Conspicuous with three listed colours gay, Betokening peace from God, and covenant new. Whereat the heart of Adam erst so sad Greatly rejoic'd, and thus his joy broke forth: O thou who future things canst represent As present, heav'nly instructor, I revive At this last sight, assur'd that man shall live With all the creatures, and their seed preserve. Far less I now lament for one whole world Of wicked sons destroy'd, than I rejoice

1

For one man found so perfect and so just,
That God vouchsafes to raise another world
From him, and all his anger to forget.

But say, what mean those colour'd streaks in heav'n
Distended as the brow of God appeas'd?
Or serve they as a flow'ry verge to bind
The fluid skirts of that same wat'ry cloud,
Lest it again dissolve and show'r the earth?

T'whom th' archangel: Dext'rously thou aim'st, So willingly doth God remit his ire,

Though late repenting him of man deprav'd
Griev'd at his heart, when looking down he saw
The whole earth fill'd with violence, and all flesh
Corrupting each their way; yet those remov'd,
Such grace shall one just man find in his sight,
That he relents, not to blot out mankind,
And makes a covenant never to destroy
The earth again by flood, nor let the sea
Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world
With man therein, or beast; but when he brings
Over the earth a cloud, will therein set
His triple-colour'd bow, whereon to look
And call to mind his covenant; day and night,
Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost

Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new,
Both heav'n and earth, wherein the just shall dwell.

END OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK.

THE

TWELFTH BOOK

OF

PARADISE LOST.

THE ARGUMENT.

THE angel Michael continues from the flood to relate what shall succeed; then, in the mention of Abraham, comes by degrees to explain, who that seed of the woman shall be, which was promised Adam and Eve in the fall; his incarnation, death, resurrection and ascension; the state of the church till his second coming. Adam greatly satisfied and recomforted by these relations and promises, descends the hill with Michael; wakens Eve, who all this while had slept, but with gentle dreams composed to quietness of mind, and submission. Michael in either hand leads them out of Paradise, the fiery sword waving behind them, and the cherubim, taking their stations to guard the place.