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Book 3.
Paradiſe loſt.

With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I ſung of Chaos and Eternal Night,
Taught by the heav’nly Muſe to venture down
The dark deſcent, and up to reaſcend, 20
Though hard and rare: thee I reviſit ſafe,
And feel thy ſovran vital Lamp; but thou
Reviſit’ſt not theſe eyes, that rowle in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop ſerene hath quencht thir Orbs,
Or dim ſuffuſion veild. Yet not the more
Ceaſe I to wander where the Muſes haunt
Cleer Spring, or ſhadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,
Smit with the love of ſacred ſong; but chief
Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath, 30
That waſh thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I viſit: nor ſomtimes forget
Thoſe other two equal'd with me in Fate,
So were I equal’d with them in renown,
Blind Thamyris and blind Mæonides,
And Tireſias and Phineus Prophets old.
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in ſhadieſt Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year 40
Seaſons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the ſweet approach of Ev'n or Morn,
Or ſight of vernal bloom, or Summers Roſe,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in ſtead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men
Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair
Preſented with a Universal blanc

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