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Pensive Numbers.

In those deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heavenly-pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns,

The Rage of Battle.

..............Arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord; and the madding wheels Of brazen fury rag'd.

Sound Imitating Reluctance.

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd:
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind.

Section II.

OTHELLO'S APOLOGY.

That I have taken away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more.. Rude am I in speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace,
For since these arms of mine had seven years pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause,
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver,

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic

(For such proceedings I am charg'd withal) I won his daughter with.

Her father lov'd me, oft invited me,

Still question'd me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.

I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach,
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it, all my travel's history:

Wherein of antres vast, and desarts wild,
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose heads touch
heaven,

It was my bent to speak.-All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline.

But still the house affairs would draw her hence,
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffered. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing

strange;

"Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful

She wish'd she had not heard it-yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man:—she thank'd

me,

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake ;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had past;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.

Section III.

DISCOURSE BETWEEN ADAM AND EVE RETIRING TO REST.

Now came still evening on, and Twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad,
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests
Were slunk; all but the wakeful nightingale.
She all night long her amorous descant sung:
Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

When Adam thus to Eve: "Fair consort, the hour Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest, Mind us of like repose; since God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night, to men Successive and the timely dew of sleep, Now falling with soft slumberous weight, inclines Our eye-lids. Other creatures all day long Rove idle unemploy'd, and less need rest: Man hath his daily work of body and mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; While other animals unactive range, And of their doings God takes no account. To-morrow, ere fresh Morning streak the east With first approach of light, we must be risen, And at our pleasant labour: to reform,

Yon flowery arbors, yonder allies green,
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown,
That mock our scant manuring, and require,
More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth.
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums,
That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth,
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease.
Mean while, as Nature wills, night bids us rest."

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd "My author and disposer, what thou bidst Unargu'd I obey: so God ordains. With thee conversing I forget all time; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of greatful evening mild; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train : But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet, But wherefore all night long shine these? for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?" To whom our general ancestor reply'd : "Daughter of God and man, accomplish'd Eve, These have their course to finish round the earth, By morrow evening; and from land to land In order, though to nations yet unborn, Ministering light prepar'd they set and rise; Lest total darkness should by night regain Her old possession, and extinguish life In nature and all things; which these soft fires

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Not only enlighten, but, with kindly heat
Of various influence, foment and warm,
Temper or nourish; or in part shed down
Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow
On earth, made hereby apter to receive
Perfection from the sun's more potent ray.
These then, though unbeheld in deep of night,
Shine not in vain; nor think though men were none,
That heaven would want spectators, God want praise.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep.
All these with ceaseless praise his works behold,
Both day and night. How often, from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the midnight air,
Sole, or responsive each to others' note,
Singing their great Creator? Oft in bands,
While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk
With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds,
In full harmonic number join'd their songs
Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to heaven."
Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd
On to their blissful bower-

....

......There arriv'd, both stood, Both turn'd: and under open sky ador'd

The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven,
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe,
And starry pole. "Thou also mad'st the night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day,
Which, we in our appointed work employ'd,
Have finish'd happy in our mutual help.
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss,
Ordain'd by thee; and this delicious place
For us too large, where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
But thou hast promis'd from us two a race,
To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep."

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