Or righteousness, once talked of much as things
Of great renown, was now but ill-remembered,

In dim and shadowy vision of the past
Seen far remote, as country, which has left
The traveller's speedy step, retiring back
From morn till even; and long, Eternity
Had rolled his mighty years, and with his years
Men had grown old. The saints all home returned
From pilgrimage, and war, and weeping, long
Had rested in the bowers of peace, that skirt
The stream of life; and long-alas, how long
To them it seemed!-the wicked who refused
To be redeemed, had wandered in the dark
Of hell's despair, and drunk the burning cup
Their sins had filled with everlasting wo.

Thus far the years had rolled, which none but God Doth number, when two sons, two youthful sons Of Paradise, in conversation sweet

For thus the heavenly muse instructs me, wooed At midnight hour with offering sincere

Of all the heart, poured out in holy prayer

High on the hills of immortality,

Whence goodliest prospect looks beyond the walls

Of heaven, walked, casting oft their eye far through

The pure serene, observant if returned
From errand duly finished any came;
Or any, first in virtue now complete,
From other worlds arrived, confirmed in good.

Thus viewing, one they saw, on hasty wing Directing towards heaven his course; and now, His flight ascending near the battlements

And lofty hills on which they walked, approached.
For round and round, in spacious circuit wide,
Mountains of tallest stature circumscribe

The plains of Paradise, whose tops, arrayed
In uncreated radiance, seem so pure,

That nought but angel's foot, or saint's, elect
Of God, may venture there to walk. Here oft
The sons of bliss take morn or evening pastime,
Delighted to behold ten thousand worlds
Around their suns revolving in the vast
External space, or listen the harmonies
That each to other in its motion sings;
And hence, in middle heaven remote is seen
The mount of God in awful glory bright.
Within, no orb create of moon, or star,

Or sun, gives light; for God's own countenance,
Beaming eternally, gives light to all.

But farther than these sacred hills, his will
Forbids its flow, too bright for eyes beyond.
This is the last ascent of virtue; here

All trial ends, and hope; here perfect joy,
With perfect righteousness, which to these heights
Alone can rise, begins, above all fall.

And now on wing of holy ardour strong,
Hither ascends the stranger, borne upright-
For stranger he did seem, with curious eye
Of nice inspection round surveying all-
And at the feet alights of those that stood
His coming, who the hand of welcome gave,
And the embrace sincere of holy love;
And thus, with comely greeting kind, began:

Hail, brother! hail, thou son of happiness! Thou son beloved of God! welcome to heaven, To bliss that never fades! thy day is past Of trial, and of fear to fall. Well done, Thou good and faithful servant, enter now Into the joy eternal of thy Lord.

Come with us, and behold far higher sight Than e'er thy heart desired, or hope conceived.

See, yonder is the glorious hill of God,

'Bove angel's gaze in brightness rising high,

Come, join our wing, and we will guide thy flight
To mysteries of everlasting bliss,

The tree and fount of life, the eternal throne
And presence-chamber of the King of kings.
But what concern hangs on thy countenance,
Unwont within this place? Perhaps thou deem'st
Thyself unworthy to be brought before
The always Ancient One? So are we too
Unworthy; but our God is all in all,

And gives us boldness to approach his throne.

Sons of the Highest! citizens of heaven!
Began the new-arrived, right have ye judged:
Unworthy, most unworthy is your servant,
To stand in presence of the King, or hold
Most distant and most humble place in this
Abode of excellent glory unrevealed.
But God Almighty be for ever praised,
Who, of his fulness, fills me with all grace
And ornament, to make me in his sight
Well pleasing, and accepted in his court.
But if your leisure waits, short narrative
Will tell, why strange concern thus overhangs
My face, ill seeming here; and haply, too,

Your elder knowledge can instruct my youth,
Of what seems dark and doubtful, unexplained.

Our leisure waits thee: speak; and what we can, Delighted most to give delight, we will; Though much of mystery yet to us remains.

Virtue, I need not tell, when proved and full
Matured, inclines us up to God and heaven,
By law of sweet compulsion strong and sure;
As gravitation to the larger orb

The less attracts, through matter's whole domain.
Virtue in me was ripe. I speak not this

In boast; for what I am to God I owe,

Entirely owe, and of myself am nought,

Equipped and bent for heaven, I left yon world,
My native seat, which scarce your eye can reach,
Rolling around her central sun, far out,
On utmost verge of light: but first to see
What lay beyond the visible creation,

Strong curiosity my flight impelled.

Long was my way and strange. I passed the bounds Which God doth set to light, and life, and love; Where darkness meets with day, where order meets