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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 ma'de us, to beho'ld and lo've
(What he 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 Nature's works can cha'rm) with God himself
Holds con'verse ; grows famil'iar, 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.

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The^se/ are thỹ glorious works (Parent of go'od ;)
A'lmi'ghty! 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 woʻrks ; yet the“se/ declare
Thy go'odness/ beyond thoʻught, and po'wer div'ine.
Speak ! ye,

who be'st can t'ell, ye sons of li'ght,
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 eaʻrth, join all ye cre’atures/ 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 da'y ari'ses, that sweet hoʻur of pri'me.

* England's "prophet-bard”.

'- as some one has designated himJohn 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.

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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.
Mo'on, that now meet'st the orient S'un, now fliest
With the fixed star's, fixe'd 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 el’ements, (the eldest birth
Of Nature's wom'b, th'at/ in qu'aternion/ run
Perpetual cir'cle, mu'ltiform, and mi'x,
And nou'rish all th’ings :) let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Ma'ker/ still new prai'se.
Ye m'ists, and exhalations, that now rise
From hi'll or streaming la'ke, 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 showers,
Risi'ng, or falli'ng, still advance his pra'ise.
Hîs* praise, ye wi'nds, that/ from four quarters blow,
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

flow,
Melodious m'urmurs, warbling tune his pra'ise.
Join voi'ces, all ye living sou'ls; 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 lowly creep;
Wi’tness/ if I' be s'ilent, moʻrn or e'ven,
To hi'll or vall'ey, foun'tain 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.

EVENING IN PARADISE DESCRIBED. ADAM AND EVE'S CONVERSATION AND EVENING WORSHIP.

MILTON.
Now came still evening o'n, and twilight gra'y
Ha'd/ in her sober livery/ all things cla'd.
S'ilence accompanied ; for/ bea'st and bi'rd,
The'y to their grassy couc'h, the’se to their neîsts,
Were slun'k ; ăll/ bu'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 le'd
The starry hos't) rode bri'ghtest; till the mooon,
(Rising in clouded ma’jesty,) at len'gth,
Apparent que en, unveiled her peerless ligʻht,
And o'er the dark/ her silver mantle thre'w;

When Ad'am/ th'us to Ev'e: “ Fair con'sort, the hour
Of night, 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 slesep
(Now falling/ with soft/ slumbrous wei'ght) inclines
Our eye'lids. O'ther creatures/ all day long
Rove i'dle, unemployed, and less need re'st ;
Maon/ hath his da'ily work of boʻdy or mi`nd
Appoi'nted, whi'ch declares his dignity,
And the regard of hea'ven/ to all his wa’ys ;
While other a'nimals/ una'ctive range,
And/ of their do'ings/ Go'd takes no acco'unt.
To-m'orrow, (ere fresh morning streak the East
With first approach of li'ght,) 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 overgrown,
That mo'ck our scant man'uring, and require
Mo're hands/ than ou’rs/ to loʻp/ 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 rest.”

To whom thus E've, (with perfect beauty adoʻrned): My aut’hor and disp'oser ! what thou bi’ddest Unar'gued/ I obey; so God, ordains : Go'd 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; aoll/ 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 mil'd ; then silent n'ight, With th'is/ her solemn bi'rd, and this fair mo'on, And the se, the ge'ms of he’aven, (her starry trʻain :) B'ut, neither breath of m'orn, when she ascends, With cha'rm of earliest birds; 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 passed/ 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 w'e (in our appo'inted work employed,) Have fini'shed; happy in our mutual he'lp And mutual loove, (the croîwn of all our bl’iss,) Orda'ined by thee; and this delicious pla'ce, (For u's too la’rge :) where thy abu'ndance/ wants Parta'kers, and/ uncro'pped, falls to the gro'und, But/ thou hast pro'mised/ from us two/ a rac'e/ To fill 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 gi'ft of sleep.

Lower

and slower.

EVE'S RELATION OF HER DREAM.

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'ng. Of 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. He (on his side 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 Zephyrus/ on Flora bre'athes,) Her hand soft to'uching, wh'ispered th'us —“Awa'ke, “My fai'rest, my esp'oused, my la test-found, “ Heaven's la'st, best gift', (my ever-new deli'ght !) “ Awa'ke: the morning shi’nes, and the fresh field “ Ca'lls us.

We lose the pri'me, to mark how spring/ “Our tended pla'nts, how blows the citron gro've, “ What drops the myʻrrh, and whoat/ the balmy re'ed; How nature paints her colours, how the be'e/ “Sits on the blo'om, extracting li'quids sweet.'

Such whispering wa'ked-her, but/ with startled ey'e On A'dam : (whom embracing) th’us she spokeO S'ole (in whom my thoughts find all rep'ose,) My glory, my perfection ; glad I see Thy fa'ce, and moʻrn retu’rned : for I' this ni'ght (Such nigʻht/ ti'll this, I never pa’ssed !) have dre'amed, I'f dreaʼmed, no't, as I oft am wo'nt, of the e, Worʻks of day pa'st, or moʻrrow's next de'sign ; But of offe'nce and trou'ble, which

my

mind Knew n'ever/ till this i'rksome nig'ht. Metho'ught (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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