Boom V. PARADISE LOST. 120 Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix And nourifh all things, let your ceafelefs change Vary to our Great Maker fill new praife. Ye mitts and exhalations that now rife ; iS5 From hill or (teaming lake, dufky or grey, Till the fun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honor to the world's great author rife ; Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolor'd sky, Or wet the thirfty earth with falling fhow'rs, I9 Rifing or falling fill advance his praife. His praife, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe loft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant, in fign of worfhip wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 195 Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praife Join voices all ye living fouls, ye birds, That tinging up to heaven gate afcend, Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praife Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 200 The earth, and timely tread, or lowly creep Witnefs if I be fluent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain, or frefh (bade Made vocal by my long, and taught his praife. Hail Univerfal Lord ! be bounteous fill To give us only good : and if the night Have gather'd ought of evil, or conceal'd, Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark I So pray'd they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recover'd focal, and wonted calm. 210 On to their morning's rural work they bile Among fweet dews and flow'rs ; where any row Of fruit-trees over-woody reach'd too far Their pamper'd boughs, and needed hands to check T Fruitlefs 205 ..._,==ne=1NOPM111141111111:ki:
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