O’ershades; for these mid-hours, till evening rise,

I have at will.” So to the sylvan lodge

They came, that like Pomona’s arbour smiled,

With flowerets decked, and fragrant smells; but Eve,

Undecked save with herself, more lovely fair

Than Wood-Nymph, or the fairest Goddess feigned

Of three that in mount Ida naked strove,

Stood to entertain her guest from Heaven; no veil

She needed, virtue-proof; no thought infirm

Altered her cheek. On whom the Angel “Hail”

Bestowed, the holy salutation used

Long after to blest Mary, second Eve.

“Hail, Mother of Mankind, whose fruitful womb

Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons,

Than with these various fruits the trees of God

Have heaped this table!” Raised of grassy turf

Their table was, and mossy seats had round,

And on her ample square from side to side

All autumn piled, though spring and autumn here

Danced hand in hand. A while discourse they hold;

No fear lest dinner cool; when thus began

Our author. “Heavenly stranger, please to taste

These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom

All perfect good, unmeasured out, descends,

To us for food and for delight hath caused

The earth to yield; unsavoury food perhaps

To spiritual natures; only this I know,

That one celestial Father gives to all.”

To whom the Angel. “Therefore what he gives

(Whose praise be ever sung) to Man in part

Spiritual, may of purest Spirits be found

No ingrateful food: And food alike those pure

Intelligential substances require,

As doth your rational; and both contain

Within them every lower faculty

Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste,

Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate,

And corporeal to incorporeal turn.

For know, whatever was created, needs

To be sustained and fed: Of elements

The grosser feeds the purer, earth the sea,

Earth and the sea feed air, the air those fires

Ethereal, and as lowest first the moon;

Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurged

Vapours not yet into her substance turned.

Nor doth the moon no nourishment exhale

From her moist continent to higher orbs.

The sun that light imparts to all, receives

From all his alimental recompence

In humid exhalations, and at even

Sups with the ocean. Though in Heaven the trees

Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines

Yield nectar; though from off the boughs each morn

We brush mellifluous dews, and find the ground

Covered with pearly grain: Yet God hath here

Varied his bounty so with new delights,

As may compare with Heaven; and to taste

Think not I shall be nice.” So down they sat,

And to their viands fell; nor seemingly

The Angel, nor in mist, the common gloss

Of Theologians; but with keen dispatch

Of real hunger, and concoctive heat

To transubstantiate: What redounds, transpires

Through Spirits with ease; nor wonder; if by fire

Of sooty coal the empiric alchemist

Can turn, or holds it possible to turn,

Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold,

As from the mine. Meanwhile at table Eve