'Lead then,' said Eve.
He, leading swiftly rowld in tangles,
And made intricate seem strait,
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy bright'ns his
Crest, as when a wandring fire
Compact of unctuous vapor, which the Night
Condenses, and the cold invirons round,
Kindl'd through agitation to a Flame,
Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends
Hovering and blazing with delusive Light,
Misleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his way
To Boggs and Mires, and oft through Pond or Poole,
There swallow'd up and lost, from succour farr.
So glister'd the dire Snake, and into fraud
Led Eve our credulous Mother, to the Tree
Of prohibition, root of all our woe..."
John Milton, Paradise Lost book IX
No comments:
Post a Comment