HERE reading how fond Adam was betrayed, And how by sin Eve's blasted charms decayed; Our common loss unjustly you complain; So small that part of it, which you sustain. You still, fair mother, in your offspring trace The stock of beauty destined for the race: Kind nature, forming them, the pattern took For Heaven's first work, and Eve's original look. You, happy saint, the serpent's power control: Scarce any actual guilt defiles your soul; And hell does o'er that mind vain triumph boast, Which gains a Heaven, for earthly Eden lost. With virtue strong as yours had Eve been armed, In vain the fruit had blushed, or serpent charmed: Nor had our bliss by penitence been bought; Nor had frail Adam fallen, nor Milton wrote. |