Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.

Him that yon soars on golden wing, guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne, the Cherub Contemplation.

Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.

Evil, be thou my good.

Into this wild Abyss/ The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave--/ Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,/ But all these in their pregnant causes mixed/ Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,/ Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain/ His dark materials to create more worlds,--/ Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend/ Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,/ Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith/ He had to cross.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.

Satan; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.