Some men before, and yet, behind, a horse;

Some swan on one side, on the other kite;

Some love, some hate, some half-hope and half-fear,
Some heav'n, some hell, some both; most monsters were.

Indeed a few, who slighted all the rest,

Were limb'd and form'd by due proportion's art;

With sober gravity, their looks were drest;

Deep wonderous thoughts were hatching in their heart.
Sharp was their sight, and further could descry

Than any eagle's sun-affronting eye."

We must extract the description of Eve, when newly created.

"Her spacious polish'd forehead was the fair
And lovely plain where gentle majesty
Walk'd in delicious state: her temples clear
Pomegranate fragments, which rejoic'd to lie.

In dainty ambush, and peep through their cover
Of amber-locks whose volumes curled over.

The fuller stream of her luxuriant hair
Pour'd down itself upon her ivory back;
In which soft flood ten thousand graces were
Sporting and dallying with every lock;

The rival winds for kisses fell to fight,
And rais'd a ruffling tempest of delight.

Two princely arches of most equal measures
Held
above her eyes,
the
up canopy
And open'd to the heav'ns far richer treasures,
Than with their stars or sun e'er learn'd to rise:

Those beams can ravish but the body's sight,
These dazzle stoutest souls with mystic light.

Two garrisons were these of conqu❜ring love;
Two founts of life, of spirit, of joy, of grace;
Two easts in one fair heaven, no more above,
But in the hemisphere of her own face;

Two thrones of gallantry; two shops of miracles;
Two shrines of deities; two silent oracles.

For silence here could eloquently plead;
Here might the unseen soul be clearly read:
Though gentle humours their mild mixture made,
They prov❜d a double burning-glass, which shed

Those living flames which, with enliv'ning darts, Shoot deaths of love into spectators' hearts.

"Twixt these, an alabaster promontory

Slop'd gently down to part each cheek from other;
Where white and red strove for the fairer glory,
Blending in sweet confusion together.
The rose and lily never joined were
In so divine a marriage as there.

Couchant upon these precious cushionets
Were thousand Beauties and as many Smiles,
Chaste Blandishments, and modest cooling Heats,
Harmless Temptations, and honest Guiles.

For heav'n, though up betimes the maid to deck,
Ne'er made Aurora's cheeks so fair and sleek.

Enamouring Neatness, Softness, Pleasure, at
Her gracious mouth in full retinue stood :
For, next the eyes' bright glass, the soul at that
Takes most delight to look and walk abroad.
But at her lips two threads of scarlet lay,
Or two warm corals, to adorn the way;

The precious way, where by her breath and tongue
Her odours and her honey travelled,

Which nicest critics would have judg❜d among
Arabian or Hyblæan mountains bred.

Indeed the richer Araby in her

Dear mouth, and sweeter Hybla dwelling were.

More gracefully its golden chapiter

No column of white marble e'er sustain'd
Than her round polish'd neck supported her
Illustrious head, which there in triumph reign'd.
Yet, neither would this pillar hardness know,
Nor suffer cold to dwell amongst its snow.

Her blessed bosom moderately rose
With two soft mounts of lilies, whose fair top
A pair of pretty sister cherries chose,

And there their living crimson lifted up.

The milky count'nance of the hills confest

What kind of springs within had made their nest.

So leggiadrous were her snowy hands

That Pleasure mov'd as any finger stirr'd:

Her virgin waxen arms were precious bands
And chains of love: her waste itself did gird
With its own graceful slenderness, and tie
Up Delicacy's best epitomy.

Fair Politure walk'd all her body over,
And Symmetry rejoic'd in every part;

Soft and white Sweetness was her native cover,
From every member Beauty shot a dart:

From heav'n to earth, from head to foot I mean,
No blemish could by Envy's self be seen.

This was the first-born Queen of Gallantry,
All gems compounded into one rich stone,
All sweets knit into one conspiracy,
A constellation of all stars in one,

Who, when she was presented to their view,
Both paradise and nature dazzled grew.

Phoebus, who rode in glorious scorn's career
About the world, no sooner spy'd her face,
But fain he would have linger'd, from his sphere
On this, though less, yet sweeter, heav'n, to gaze
Till shame inforc'd him to lash on again,
And clearer wash him in the western main.

The smiling Air was tickled with his high
Prerogative of uncontrouled bliss,
Embracing with entirest liberty

A body soft, and sweet, and chaste as his.

All odorous gales that had but strength to stir
Came flocking in to beg perfumes of her.

The marygold her garish love forgot,
And turn'd her homage to these fairer eyes;
All flowers look'd up, and dutifully shot
Their wonder hither, whence they saw arise
Unparching courteous lustre, which instead
Of fire, soft joy's irradiations spread.

The sturdiest trees affected by her dear
Delightful presence could not choose but melt
At their hard pith; whilst all the birds whose clear
Pipes toss'd mirth about the branches, felt

The influence of her looks; for having let

Their song fall down, their eyes on her they set."

Canto VIII. opens thus.

"Sage Nature, how profound is thy discretion, Enamelling thy sober courtesies

By seasonable useful intermission!

Thou lett'st us feel the want, to learn the price;
Thou check'rest every thing with such wise art,
That ease proves constant successor to smart.

When night's blind foot hath smeared heav'ns face, the day
With lovely beauty all the welkin gilds ;

When winter's churlish months are thawn away,

The lively spring with youth cheers up the fields;
When clouds have wept their bottles out, 'tis fair;
When winds are out of breath, thou still'st the air:

When æstuating in her mighty toil

The sea has wrought up to her highest shore,
Her weary floods thou teachest to recoil

Back to that rest wherein they swum before.
And to all great and swelling labours thou
As sure an ebb dost constantly allow.

Yet sleep the gentlest of thy blessings is,
With which thou sweaty pains dost gratify:
When Phoebus through all heaven has speeded his
Long smoaking course, thou giv'st him leave to lie
Down on the pillows of the wat❜ry main,
Till brisk Aurora wakens him again.

When trees all summer have been labouring hard
Their blossoms, leaves, and fruit in bringing forth,
The night of winter thou dost them afford,
And bidd'st their vigor go to bed in earth;

Down to the root straight sinks the tired sap,
And sleeps close and secure in Tellus' lap.

When rivers many tedious months have run
Through cragged rocks, and crooked peevish ways;
Thou mak'st stern Boreas pitiful, who on

Their necks a friendly-rigid bridle lays :

This locks them up in glass, and makes them rest
Till they are wak'd by summer's southern blast.

Yet other creatures little find in sleep
But that dull pleasure of a gloomy rest,

Which they themselves perceive not when they reap :
Man by this fuller privilege is blest,

That sleep itself can be awake to him,

And entertain him with some courteous dream.

O sweet prerogative! by which we may
Upon our pillows travel round about
The universe, and turn our work to play;
Whilst every journey is no more but thought,
And every thought flies with as quick a pace
Quite through its longest, as its shortest race.

No outward object's importuning rout
Intrudes on sprightful fancies operations,
Who, queen in her own orb, achieves with stout
Freedom her strange extemporal creations;

And scorning Contradiction's laws, at ease

Of nothing makes what worlds herself doth please.

Nor is the body more befriended than

The soul, in sound digestion's work, by sleep:

This is the undisturbed season when

The mind has leisure to concoct that heap.
Of crude unsettled notions, which fill
The troubled brain's surcharged ventricle.

In this soft calm, when, all alone, the heart
Walks through the shades of its own silent breast,
Heav'n takes delight to meet it, and impart

Those blessed visions which pose the best

Of waking eyes, whose day is quench'd with night
At all spiritual apparitions' sight."

Our readers will agree with us that there is much valuable poetical matter here; and since the work is of so truly a Retrospective cast, since it contains so much of what is good, buried among so much that is obsolete, we propose to deviate from our ordinary plan, and to carry on our extracts in a future Number. Forty thousand lines are a large field for a botanist of any taste or industry-Our collection of flowers has far exceeded the compass of any reasonable anthological bouquet.