4

类别:文学名著 作者:约翰·弥尔顿 本章:4

    And  all a circling row

    Of goodliest trees loaden  Fruit,

    Blossoms and Fruits at once of golden hue

    Appeerd, :

    On whe Sun more glad impressd his beams [ 150 ]

    then in fair Evening Cloud, or humid Bow,

    h; so lovely seemd

    t Lantskip: And of pure now purer aire

    Meets o t inspires

    Vernal deligo drive [ 155 ]

    All sadness but despair: nole gales

    Fanning thir odoriferous wings dispense

    Native perfumes, and wole

    to them who saile

    Beyond t [ 160 ]

    Mozambic, off at Sea Nort windes blow

    Sabean Odours from the spicie shoare

    Of Arabie t, h such delay

    ell pleasd thir course, and many a League

    Ceful smell old Ocean smiles. [ 165 ]

    So entertaind ts the Fiend

    ter pleasd

    the fishie fume,

    t drove he Spouse

    Of tobits Son, and  [ 170 ]

    From Media post to ?gypt, t bound.

    Noo t of t steep savage hill

    Satan had journied on, pensive and slow;

    But furtwind,

    As one continud brake, th [ 175 ]

    Of sangling bus

    All pat t past t way:

    One Gate t lookd East

    On th arch-fellon saw

    Due entrance empt, [ 180 ]

    At one slight bound high over leapd all bound

    Of  all, and shin

    Lig. As when a prowling olfe,

    o seek new  for prey,

    atc eeve [ 185 ]

    In es amid the field secure,

    Leaps ore to the Fould:

    Or as a t to unhe cash

    Of some ricantial dores,

    Cross-barrd and bolted fast, fear no assault, [ 190 ]

    In at tiles;

    So clomb t grand to Gods Fould:

    So since into his Church lewd hirelings climbe.


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