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The elements and se'asons : all'/ decla're
For what the eternal Masker/ has ordained
The po'wers-of ma'n: we fee'l within ours'elves
His e'nergy divi'ne; he tells the he’art,
He/ m'eant, he made us, to beho'ld and lo've
(What hạe beholds and lo'ves,) the general orb
Of life and be`ing ; to be great like hi'm,
Ben'eficent and active. Thus, the man'
(Whom Na'ture's works can chaʻrm) with God himself
Holds con'verse ; grows familiar, da'y by day',
With his conce'ptions; ac'ts upon his plan;
And for'ms to HIS'—the r'elish of his so'ul.

Pronounced lower and slower.



These are thỹ glorious works (Parent of go'od ;)
A'lmighty! thi'ne this universal fra'me,
Thus wondrous fa'ir ! thyself/ how won'drous the'n !
Unspeakable ! who/ sittest above these He'avens,
To u's invis'ible, or dimly s'een
In the'se/ thy low'est works ; yet theʻse/ declare
Thy go'odness/ beyond tho'ught, and po'wer div'ine.
Spe’ak ! ye, who best can t'ell, ye sons of light,
An'gels ; for/ y'e beh'old-him, and with so'ngs
And choral sym'phonies (day without ni'ght,)
Circle his thro'ne rejoi'cing ; ye in He'aven,
On earth, join all ye creatures/ to extol
Hi'm firs't, hi'm las't, him midst, and w'ithout e'nd.
Fairest of sta’rs, (las't in the train of night',)
If better thou belong not to the da'wn,
Sure pledge of da'y, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright cir'clet, pra'ise him in thy sph'ere,
While day ari'ses, that sweet hoʻur of prime.

* 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,)
Acknowledge hi'm thy greater ; sound his pra'ise
In thy eternal cou'rse, b’oth/ when thou clim'best,
And when high no'on hast gain'ed, and wh’en thou fall'est.
Moʻon, that now meet'st the orient S'un, now fliest
With the fixed star's, fixed in their oʻrb/ that flie's ;
And ye five/ o'ther wandering fir'es (that move
In mystic dan'ce, not without s'ong,) resound
Hi^s* pr'aise, wh'o, o'ut of darkness, called up lig'ht. ,
Ai'r, and

ye elements, (the eldest birth
Of Nature's wom'h, th'at/ in qu'aternion/ run
Perpetual cir'cle, mu'ltiform, and mi'x,
And nou'rish all th’ings :) let


ceaseless change
Var'y to our great Masker/ still new prai'se.
Ye m'ists, and exhalations, that now rise
From hi'll or streaming lake, dus'ky or gra'y,
(Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,)
În ho'nour to the world's great Au'thor/ rise';
Whether/ to deck with clouds the uncoloured sk'y,
Or/ wet the thirsty ea'rth/ with falling sh'owers,
Risi'ng, or falli'ng, still advance his pra'ise.
His* praise, ye wi'nds, that/ from four quarters bl’ow,
Breathe s'oft or lo'ud; and wave your toʻps, ye pi’nes,
With every plaînt, in sign of wor'ship wa've.
Fou'ntains, and ye that war'ble, as ye

Melodious m'urmurs, warbling tune his pra'ise.
Join voi'ces, all ye living souls ; ye bi’rds,
(That singing up to Heaven-gate asc'end,)
Bea'r on your wi'ngs, and/ in your no’tes/his pra'ise.
Ye that in wa'ters gli'de, and ye

that walk
The ea'rth, and sta’tely trea'd, or low'ly cre’ep ;
Wi'tness/ if I' be s’ilent, moʻrn or e'ven,
To hi'll or vall'ey, fountain or fresh sha'de,
Made vo'cal by my so'ng, and tau'ght his pra'ise.
Ha'il, universalt Loʻrd ! be bounteous st’ill/
To give us on'ly good : and, if the night
Have gathered aught of e'vil, or conce'aled,
Dispers'e it, (as now ligh't/ dispels the da'rk.)

* 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.


Now came still evening o'n, and twilight gra'y
Ha'd/ in her sober li'very/ all things cla'd.
S'ilence accompanied ; for/ bea'st and bi'rd,
They to their grassy couc'h, the'se to their neîsts,
Were slun'k ; áll/ bù't the wakeful nigh'tingale ;
She“) all night lon'g/ her amorous d'escant sun'g.
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the fi'rmament
With living sapphires : He'sperus (that led
The starry hos't) rode bri'ghtest ; till the moon,
(Rising in clouded ma'jesty,) at len'gth,
Apparent que en, unveiled her peerless lig'ht,
And o'er the dark/ her silver mantle thre'w;

When Adam/ th’us to Eve: “ Fair con'sort, the hour
Of ni'ght, and all things now retired to re'st,
Mind u's of lik'e repo'se ; since God hath se't
Lab'our and re'st (as day and night to man
Succ'essive ;) and the time`ly dew of sle’ep
(Now falling/ with soft/ slumbrous wei'ght) inclines
Our eye'lids. Other creatures/ all day long
Rove i'dle, unemployed, and less need re'st ;
Maon/ hath his da'ily work of boʻdy or miînd
Appoi'nted, whi'ch declares his dignity,
And the regard of hea'ven to all his wa'ys;
While other a'nimals/ una'ctive ra'nge,
And/ of their do'ings/ Go'd takes no acco'unt.
To-m'orrow, (ere fresh morning streak the East
With first approach of light,) we must be ri'sen,
And at our pleasant la'bour/ to ref'orm
Yon flowery ar' bours, yonder a'lleys gree'n,
Our w'alk at noon, with branches overgr'own,
That mo'ck our scant man'uring, and require
Moʻre hands/ than ou’rs/ to lo'p/ their wanton gro'wth:
Those blôssoms also, and those dropping gu'ms,
(That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsm'ooth,)
Ask rid'dance, if we mean to tread with ea'se :
Meanwhil'e, as Nature wi'lls, nigʻht bids us re'st.”

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.


and slower.


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

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