The Creation — Six days of making the world
Book 7 of Paradise Lost by John Milton
Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, Above the flight of Pegasean wing! The meaning, not the name, I call; for thou Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top Of old Olympus dwell'st; but Heavenly-born, Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed, Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse, Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased With thy celestial song. Up led by thee, Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed, An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, Thy tempering: with like safety guided down, Return me to my native element; Lest from this flying steed unreined (as once Bellerophon, though from a lower clime) Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall, Erroneous there to wander and forlorn. Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound Within the visible diurnal sphere. Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole, More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues; In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, And solitude; yet not alone, while thou Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when morn Purples the east. Still govern thou my song, Urania, and fit audience find, though few; But drive far off the barbarous dissonance Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend Her son. So fail not thou who thee implores; For thou art Heavenly, she an empty dream.
Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael, The affable Archangel, had forewarned Adam by dire example to beware Apostasy, by what befell in Heaven To those apostates, lest the like befall In Paradise to Adam or his race, Charged not to touch the interdicted Tree, If they transgress, and slight that sole command, So easily obeyed amid the choice Of all tastes else to please their appetite, Though wandering. He with his consorted Eve The story heard attentive, and was filled With admiration and deep muse, to hear Of things so high and strange, things to their thought So unimaginable as hate in Heaven, And war so near the peace of God in bliss, With such confusion; but the evil, soon Driven back, redounded as a flood on those From whom it sprung, impossible to mix With blessedness. Whence Adam soon repealed The doubts that in his heart arose; and now Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know What nearer might concern him, how this World Of Heaven and Earth conspicuous first began; When, and whereof, created; for what cause; What within Eden, or without, was done Before his memory—as one whose drouth Yet scarce allayed still eyes the current stream, Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites— Proceeded thus to ask his Heavenly guest:
"Great things, and full of wonder in our ears, Far differing from this World, thou hast revealed, Divine interpreter! by favour sent Down from the Empyrean to forewarn Us timely of what might else have been our loss, Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach; For which to the infinitely Good we owe Immortal thanks, and his admonishment Receive with solemn purpose to observe Immutably his sovereign will, the end Of what we are. But, since thou hast vouchsafed Gently, for our instruction, to impart Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned Our knowing, as to highest Wisdom seemed, Deign to descend now lower, and relate What may no less perhaps avail us known: How first began this heaven which we behold Distant so high, with moving fires adorned Innumerable; and this which yields or fills All space, the ambient air wide interfused, Embracing round this florid Earth; what cause Moved the Creator, in his holy rest Through all eternity, so late to build In Chaos; and the work begun how soon Absolved; if unforbid thou may'st unfold What we not to explore the secrets ask Of his eternal empire, but the more To magnify his works the more we know. And the great light of day yet wants to run Much of his race, though steep; suspense in heaven, Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears, And longer will delay to hear thee tell His generation, and the rising birth Of Nature from the unapparent Deep; Or if the star of evening and the moon Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring Silence, and Sleep listening to thee will watch; Or we can bid his absence till thy song End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine."