Meanwhile, upon the firm opacous globe
Of this round World, whose first convex divides
The luminous inferior Orbs, inclosed
From Chaos and the inroad of Darkness old,
Satan alighted walks. A globe far off
It seemed; now seems a boundless continent,
Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night
Starless exposed, and ever-threatening storms
Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky,
Save on that side which from the wall of Heaven,
Though distant far, some small reflection gains
Of glimmering air less vexed with tempest loud.
Here walked the Fiend at large in spacious field.—
And long he wandered, till at last a gleam
Of dawning light turned thitherward in haste
His travelled steps. Far distant he descries,
Ascending by degrees magnificent
Up to the wall of Heaven, a structure high;
At top whereof, but far more rich, appeared
The work as of a kingly palace-gate,
With frontispiece of diamond and gold
Embellished; thick with sparkling orient gems
The portal shone.
Satan from hence, now on the lower stair,
That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven-gate,
Looks down with wonder at the sudden view
Of all this World at once.
He views in breadth,-and, without longer pause, Down right into the World's first region throws
His flight precipitant, and winds with ease
Through the pure marble air his oblique way
Amongst innumerable stars.
But who dwelt happy there
He staid not to inquire: above them all
The golden Sun, in splendour likest Heaven,
Allured his eye. Thither his course he bends,
Through the calm firmament.
Unable, however, to conjecture which of the dazzling planets that are bounding past him, each in his appointed Sphere, is the Paradise of the newlycreated Man, he asks Uriel, Regent of the Sun, one of the seven Archangels, whom he conveniently happens to meet, to guide him, who replies:
"Look downward on that globe whose hither side With light from hence, though but reflected, shines.
That spot to which I point is Paradise,
Adam's abode; those lofty shades his bower.
Thy way thou canst not miss ;"
Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath,
Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success,
Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel,
Nor staid, till on Niphates' top he lights.
The Temptation and Fall of Man.
N especial interest gathers around the climax of the story of the Fall of Man; and the fascination of the narrative naturally deepens as the consummate devil-craft, which characterises severally the Hell's Delegate of Cædmon and the Arch-Fiend of Milton, is gradually unfolded by the poet, until at length, the hellish design of foiling the Almighty is accomplished, and the emissary departs, laughing at the success of his infernal venture.
But more than this. The two versions of the Temptation, the Fall, and the events immediately subsequent to the Fall, present a wide field for comparison and conjecture; and, to the student of comparative literature, furnish ample material for far wider research than can be attempted in the present work.
The hero of the Anglo-Saxon poem, having alighted on the circumference of the tiny Earth,— the fixed centre of the Spheres,-soon discovers the primeval home of Man:
Erelong amid the shade
Of Eden's fair wide-spreading foliage,
He saw the parents of Mankind; the Man
Whose comely form bespoke a wise design;
And, by his side, radiant with guileless youth,
His God-created Spouse. Above them spread
Two Trees rich-laden with immortal fruit,
The Trees of Life and Death implanted there
By Power divine, that Man might freely choose
Unending weal or never ceasing woe.
Far different were their fruits!
And glistening to the sight; to touch most soft
And delicate. Such was the Tree of Life.
And whosoever ate thereof would live
For evermore, neither by Age impaired,
Nor grievous sickness harmed, but live his life
And pass his days in joy; and e'en on Earth
Would dwell beneath the smile of Heaven's high King,
And going hence in peace, would have decreed
Such honours as high Heaven alone can give.
Swarth was the other fruit and dim and dark
That on the Tree of Death hung temptingly,
Full fraught with bitterness. (For mortal man
Must know the Evil and the Good.) And he
Whoe'er should taste the baleful fruit that grew
On this accursèd Tree, his doom assured,
Must ever after live a life of pain
And sweating of the brow and sorrow dire.
Old age would from him take all youthful joys,
Bold deeds and lordly power, and at the last,
E'en Death would be one portion of his doom.
Awhile he might enjoy the carnal bliss
Of mortal life; then seek that darkest land
With lurid flames illumed and be the slave
Of fiends-the direst danger of Mankind
And most enduring.
This the foe well knew,
Satan's dark messenger who warred with God.
Then in the body of a worm he twined
With devil's craft around the Tree of Death,
Took of the fruit and turned his wily form
To where he knew the beauteous handiwork
Of Heaven's eternal King would surely be
So in Paradise Lost, Milton tells us that Satan,
One gate there only was, and that looked East
On the other side. Which when the Arch-Felon saw,
Due entrance he disdained, and, in contempt,
At one slight bound high overleaped all bound
Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within
Lights on his feet.
Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life,
The middle tree and highest there that grew,
Sat like a cormorant; yet not true life
Thereby regained, but sat devising death
To them who lived.
Having been detected by Ithuriel, "squat like a toad," close at Eve's ear, as she lay asleep in the depth of night,
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