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U I tegis Amiffam Paradisum, grandia magni

Carmina Miltoni, quid nisi cuncta legis ? Res cunctas, & cunctarum primórdia rerum,

Et fata, & fines continet ifte liber. Intima panduntur magni penetralia mundi;

Scribitur & toto quicquid in orbe latet : Terræque, tractusque maris, cælumque profundum,

Sulphureumque Erebi, flammivomumque fpecus : Quæque colunt terras, pontumque, & Tartara cæca,

Quæque colunt fummi lucida regna poli :
Et quodcunque ullis conclufum eft finibus usquamy

Et sine fine Chaos, & fine fine Deus :
Et fine fine magis, fi quid magis est fine fine,

In Christo erga homines conciliatus amor.
Hæc qui fperaret quis crederet esse futura ?

Et tamen hæc hodie terra Britanna legit.
O quantos in bella duces ! quæ protulit arma!

Quæ canit, & quanta prælia dira tuba!
Coelestes acies! atque in certamine cælum!

Et quæ cælestes pugna deceret agros ! Quantus in æthereis tollit fe Lucifer armist!

Atque ipfo graditur vix Michaële minot! Quantis, &

quam

funeftis concurritur iris, Dum ferus hic ftellas protegit, ille rapit ! VOL. I.

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Dum vulsos montes ceu tela reciproca torquent,

Et non mortali desuper igne pluunt :
Stat dubius cui se parti concedat Olympus,

Et, metuit pugnæ non fupereffe fuæ.
At fimul in cælis Melliæ insignia fulgent,

Et currus animes, armaque digna Deo,
Horrendumque rotæ ftrident, et säva rotarum

Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus,
Et flaminæ vibrant, & vera tonitrua 'rauco

Admistis flammis infonuere polo :
Excidit attonitis mens omnis, & impetus omnis,

Et cassis dextris irrita tela cadunt;
Ad pænas fugiunt, & ceu foret Orcus asyluin,

Infernis certant condere fe tenebris.
Cedite Romani Scriptores, cedite Graii,

Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus. Hæc quicunque leget tantùm ceciniffe putabit Mæonidem ranas, Virgilium culices.

SAMUEL BARROW, M. D.

ON PARADISE LOST.
WHEN I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,

In fender book his vast design unfold,
Messiah crown'd, God's reconcil'd decree,
Rebelling Angels, the forbidden tree,
Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, all ;

the argument
Held me a while misdoubting his intent,
That he would ruin (for I saw him strong)
The sacred truths to fable and old fong,
(So Sampson grop'd the temple's posts in spite)
The world o’erwhelming to revenge his sight.

Yet

Yet as I read, still growing lefs severe,
I lik'd his project, the success did fear ;
Through that wide field how he his way should find,
O'er which lame faith leads understanding blind;
Left he perplex'd the things he would explain,
And what was eafy he should render vain.

Or if a work so infinite he spann'd,
Jealous I was that some less skilful hand
(Such as disquiet always what is well,
And by ill imitating would excel)
Might hence presume the whole creation's day
To change in scenes, and show it in a play.

Pardon me, mighty Poet; nor despise
My causeless, yet not impious, surmise.
But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare
Within thy labours to pretend a share.
Thou hast not miss’d one thought that could be fit,
And all that was improper doft omit:
So that no room is here for writers left,
But to detect their ignorance or theft.

That majesty which through thy work doth reign,
Draws the devout, deterring the profane.
And things divine thou treat'it of in such state
As them preserves, and thee, inviolate.
At once delight and horror on us seize,
Thou fing'st with so much gravity and ease;
And above human flight dost foar aloft
With plume so strong, fo equal, and so foft.
The bird nam'd from that Paradise you sing
So tiver flags, but always keeps on wing.

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