poem; but there is much repose, and more enjoyment. There are none of
the every-day occurrences, contentions, disputes, wars, fightings,
feuds, jealousies, trades, professions, liveries, and common handicrafts
of life; "no kind of traffic; letters are not known; no use of service,
of riches, poverty, contract, succession, bourne, bound of land, tilth,
vineyard none; no occupation, no treason, felony, sword, pike, knife,
gun, nor need of any engine." So much the better; thank Heaven, all
these were yet to come. But still the die was cast, and in them our doom
was sealed. In them

"The generations were prepared; the pangs,
The internal pangs, were ready, the dread strife
Of poor humanity's afflicted will,
Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny."

In their first false step we trace all our future woe, with loss of
Eden. But there was a short and precious interval between, like the
first blush of morning before the day is overcast with tempest, the dawn
of the world, the birth of nature from "the unapparent deep," with its
first dews and freshness on its cheek, breathing odours. Theirs was the
first delicious taste of life, and on them depended all that was to come
of it. In them hung trembling all our hopes and fears. They were as yet
alone in the world, in the eye of nature, wondering at their new being,
full of enjoyment and enraptured with one another, with the voice of
their Maker walking in the garden, and ministering angels attendant on
their steps, winged messengers from heaven like rosy clouds descending
in their sight. Nature played around them her virgin fancies wild; and
spread for them a repast where no crude surfeit reigned. Was there
nothing in this scene, which God and nature alone witnessed, to interest
a modern critic? What need was there of action, where the heart was full