Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild: “Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart, Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine. Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound; Where he abides, think there thy native soil.”
Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned, To Michael thus his humble words addressed:
“Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named Of them the highest—for such of shape may seem Prince above princes—gently hast thou told Thy message, which might else in telling wound, And in performing end us. What besides Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair, Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring; Departure from this happy place, our sweet Recess, and only consolation left Familiar to our eyes; all places else Inhospitable appear, and desolate, Nor knowing us, nor known. And, if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of him who all things can, I would not cease To weary him with my assiduous cries; But prayer against his absolute decree No more avails than breath against the wind, Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth: Therefore to his great bidding I submit. This most afflicts me, that, departing hence, As from his face I shall be hid, deprived His blessed countenance. Here I could frequent, With worship, place by place where he vouchsafed Presence Divine, and to my sons relate, ‘On this mount he appeared; under this tree Stood visible; among these pines his voice I heard; here with him at this fountain talked.’ So many grateful altars I would rear Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone Of lustre from the brook, in memory Or monument to ages, and thereon Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers. In yonder nether world where shall I seek His bright appearances, or footstep trace? For, though I fled him angry, yet, recalled To life prolonged and promised race, I now Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts Of glory, and far off his steps adore.”