In a dark age, against example good,

Against allurement, custom, and a world

Offended: fearless of reproach and scorn,

Or violence, he of their wicked ways

Shall them admonish; and before them set

The paths of righteousness, how much more safe

And full of peace; denouncing wrath to come

On their impenitence; and shall return

Of them derided, but of God observed

The one just man alive; by his command

Shall build a wonderous ark, as thou beheldst,

To save himself, and houshold, from amidst

A world devote to universal wrack.

No sooner he, with them of man and beast

Select for life, shall in the ark be lodged,

And sheltered round; but all the cataracts

Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour

Rain, day and night; all fountains of the deep,

Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp

Beyond all bounds; till inundation rise

Above the highest hills: Then shall this mount

Of Paradise by might of waves be moved

Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood,

With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift,

Down the great river to the opening gulf,

And there take root an island salt and bare,

The haunt of seals, and orcs, and sea-mews’ clang:

To teach thee that God attributes to place

No sanctity, if none be thither brought

By men who there frequent, or therein dwell.

And now, what further shall ensue, behold.”

He looked, and saw the ark hull on the flood,

Which now abated; for the clouds were fled,

Driven by a keen north-wind, that, blowing dry,

Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decayed;

And the clear sun on his wide watery glass

Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew,

As after thirst; which made their flowing shrink

From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole

With soft foot towards the deep; who now had stopt

His sluices, as the Heaven his windows shut.

The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground,

Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed.

And now the tops of hills, as rocks, appear;

With clamour thence the rapid currents drive,

Towards the retreating sea, their furious tide.

Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies,

And after him, the surer messenger,

A dove sent forth once and again to spy

Green tree or ground, whereon his foot may light:

The second time returning, in his bill

An olive-leaf he brings, pacifick sign:

Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark

The ancient sire descends, with all his train;

Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout,

Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholds

A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow

Conspicuous with three lifted colours gay,

Betokening peace from God, and covenant new.

Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad,

Greatly rejoiced; and thus his joy broke forth.

“O thou, who future things canst represent

As present, heavenly Instructor! I revive

At this last sight; assured that Man shall live,