Trevor Crown's continuation of Paradise Lost through a recounting of Eve's dream.

Book XIII

The Argument

Adam and Eve exit Eden and travel far in search of a suitable dwelling place. During their walk from the Garden, Eve relates to Adam the dream that Michael brought her during sleep in the bower to so inspire her hope and belief; Adam's wrongful assumption. In the dream, Michael reveals that he has been sent to show her the good that shall come of her kind till the Ascension of the resurrected Christ. He leads her through visions of six particular women who shall find favor with God, leaves her to wake afterward.

Soon beyond sight of holy Eden's gate,

Our banishéd begetters carried forth,

And with the afternoon sun at their backs,

Sought land with some resemblance to their home.

But silent hours on foot bore little fruit

And Eve broke quiet, turning to her flesh:

“Mine husband, hath thou no curiosity?

Doth not thou wish to know the sudden hope

That woke my spirit, while its body slept?”

To whom thus spake Adam, with furrowed brow:

“I asked not, for I trusted that thy sleep

was but a mirrored vision of mine own.

Did'st not Archangel Michael show to thee

The good that yet will come from fallen Man?”

To whom thus Eve: “Perhaps by saying Man,

Thou forget'st half mankind, so half of good.

My vision was no reflection of thine,

But beautiful of its own separate ends.”

She then imparted to him that long hour

That had so stoked her once-abandoned hope:

While Mother Eve ashamed in arbor lay,

Now feeling first its shade as utter cold,

From forenoon dark to shiv'ring sleep she fell

And after but a moment blind, therein

Beheld a figure close and gleaming clad,

And recognizing armor not of Earth,

Knew then the nature of her company.

“Alas,” she sighed, “the penance I have earned;

He comes to hurl me downward into flame,

That like the serpent's tongue hath licked mine ear,

Will lick the flesh clean off my borrowed bones.

Heav'n hath ruled to halt the sinful heart

That Earth might never suffer sin again.

But he of Heaven's force need not make chase;

I wholly submit mine unholy self.”

To whom thus spake the angel, without sound,

In tones impressed by rolling waves of heat:

“Come forth but do not fear mine open hand,

For it means not to clench or drag thine own.

Thy seed will blossom yet, and you'll soon see

Thy days lie not downward, but to the East.”

Yet Eve remained a branch's length away,

Rooted in shallow soil of disbelief

And so defied her otherworldly guest

To prove himself of either other world:

“Sweet though thy words savor, I fear their taste

But masks a deadly poison deep beneath.

Already once betrayed by flattery,

I must suspect this mercy counterfeit

Until thou speak'st thy name and prove it of

The Victor's or the vermin's squadron ranks.”

To whom thus spake the angel, stepping close:

“The Victor I have followed into war

And for Him have been pierced by fiery blade

But His rewards eternal all outweigh

The fleeting pain of wounds, and better yet,

No wound exists which He can't deftly mend.

I am not merely one among His host,

For He hath named me, high above the mass,

An Archangel, and sent me to thy rest

That I might show His plan for thy new rank.

And so, though it be wise to test intent,

My name, Michael, ought silence thy shrewd doubt

For only from the Victor could it come.

And thou hast now learned what is sound and sin;

Consider: Have I dared thee to defy

Thy Father's word or rule in any way?”

Eve, deliberating, looked away,

Afraid of falling victim to his gaze,

But weighing all his words on steady scales,

Knew once again his holy origin.

Though silent, she nodded, and stepping forth,

Extended out a fair but sturdy arm

To tightly grip the Archangel's hot hand.

She first felt earth beneath her fall away

And then felt bodiless, an unbound soul,

But knew yet all the while she followed close

Behind the guiding cherub, swift as wind

Toward some unfailing vision of the truth.

Then Michael, visible again, ahead

Motioned toward the ground for her to look,

And there below no longer lay the bow'r

But rather, arid landscape scattered through

With domiciles of canvas. Outside one

Strode she who Eve saw first as of her own,

A woman, although weathered, frail and slow.

Weak though she was, this elder daughter laughed

With young abandon, pausing but to cough,

Though trying all the while to mask her grin

And hilarity with fleeting solemn pouts.

While nearby he who must have been her flesh

Spoke to one of countenance close to Michael's

In incredulous tones of covenants,

The agéd woman futilely fought mirth.

“A nation?” She hysterical asked air.

“Am I to bear but one child in such age,

The pleasure to my doubled frame return?

Can seeds in dry sand spring up to blossom?

Most High, this surely is but holy jest;

A heavenly wager or some such banter.

Still I will trust thine hand to sow my womb

For thou provide'st oases in this land.”

Eve then could not help but to beam herself

In awe of this windswept soul's honest trust,

For she knew she had not such faith within

And hoped that it might come to her with age,

That if she lived to walk a century,

Perhaps she'd gain a trust akin to this.

But without time enough to speak a word,

She felt the tug of Michael at her wrist,

And yellow desert scenery all around

Blurred quickly into bright and shimm'ring gold

For she no longer hovered o'er dry dirt,

But rather o'er majestic royal grounds.

Below her stood a daughter lovely so

That Eve herself envied the maiden's image,

Who spoke in kind but sure tones to her flesh,

Who stood draped neck to shin in glistening scarves.

“My sole petition, Majesty, is this:

That thou would'st end the slaughter of my kin

And void the edicts that hath brought such harm

So that we may live peacefully herein.”

The King, it seemed, surrendered here to her,

Not only to the fairness of her shape,

The silken curl that shadowed her visage,

But further to the strength of her nature,

Her steadfast loyalty in face of law.

He nodded his consent and summoned scrolls

On which he bid she write in her own hand

The sparing of her kin from murder's grip.

Eve, spellbound by this free audacity,

Took note that good would come of will to stand,

That earthly orders need not always rule,

And that, in time, she might even give them.

She then felt Michael pulling forth her arm

And saw at once the all-consuming blur,

A rush for but a minute before night

Fell cold and dark around them on damp ground.

They floated no longer, feet soaked on grass

And there in sight stood shelter built of wood,

Bright yellow light pouring out from within,

Which Michael pointed toward and onward walked.

Eve thought it strange that he of lofty rank

Should waste a moment walking like low Man,

But Michael quiet kept and slowly paced

As though toward some formidable verdict.

And so Eve followed, creeping on bare toe

Toward the slouching hut with bright-lit door

And hearing brays feared some great beast inside

With pow'r enough to threaten cherubim.

But from the entry, she saw no great brute;

Instead a sleeping newborn infant lay

Held by one of Eve's kind, younger yet,

A mother weeping quietly with joy

As not to wake her child from peaceful dreams.

Around the stable, lamb and donkey gaze

With eyes unblinking, fascinated so

By what she held, its unequaled splendor.

Then Eve, mouth wide and eyes blurred wet with awe,

Saw all around her those clad like her guide,

Bowed and stretched before the sleeping babe,

In lamplight and the youthful maiden's arms.

There Eve moved close to see if a mere girl

Could be allowed to hold such precious worth

Wrapped in woolen blankets, wreathed in light.

And yes, the skin she touched was like her own,

Fair and smooth but by no means divine,

Imperfect and human, having given life

To Good itself, by faith visible still

In but a humble trough; no royal bed.

This time, when Eve felt Michael tug her forth,

She wished for nothing more than to remain,

To stand in wonder at Faith cradling Good

As long as her tired legs could bare support.

But Michael, once outside, reminded her

That she alone was mother to this all,

Mother of all mothers, through whom God

Would give rise to mankind and all its hope,

Through whom He'd sew a Savior to atone

For her own fatal bite, and so reverse.

And with these sure-toned comforts, he again

Took gentle hold of her wrist, now grown sore,

And whisked them once again into the winds

Which pulled in all directions rather than

Push as earthly winds do; up they went,

And Eve felt sure that traveling straight upward

They crossed more months than miles, that upward must

Be the direction of time, with man left down

To travel only space, bound to the soil.

But all this thought could scarcely flicker bright,

For without warning, air around her cleared

And now before her stood a ragged man,

Smiling calmly down into a hole;

His beard and blemished garments somehow failed

To betray even slight impurity.

Then hearing thunderous footsteps at her back

Eve turned in air toward the approaching mass:

Perhaps a thousand, pouring from their homes

All hurrying to greet this vagabond,

Led by a woman proudly beckoning,

Lifting in praise her hands, devoid of rings,

Waving wildly, panting to proclaim:

“Hurry all to honorhim who told

Me all my living sin in but a word,

Who streams of living water pour out from

To quench our heat and thirst eternally,

As many men have tried and failed to do.”

Then lifted into orbit yet again,

This time without the warning of a word,

Eve blinked and found around her thickened air,

That of a holy place, as in the Garden.

Below her crept a woman, bent and pale,

Toward a basket filled with golden coins.

She, having arrived at the tow'ring bin,

Reached in her rags, and taking two small rounds

Of matted copper, dropped them on the pile,

Then turned to leave as slowly as she'd come.

But from afar a voice boomed out, and Eve

Made out at once the bearded, blemished man;

He spoke in praise of she with copper gifts,

And all went silent, entranced by his words.

Eve wondered then what merited this owed,

Revere from all around the vagabond,

But yet again the hand of Michael drew

Her up through colored gusts of further time.

They stood before an oddly empty place,

At whose entrance a stone was rolled aside.

There inside wept a woman, bowed alone;

The men she had come with left her behind.

Her tears spilled forth and pooled on rocky ground

For what seemed many hours, yet still she stayed,

And Eve looked unto Michael, poised to ask

Why he would burden her with tragedy

But just as her lips parted to speak doubt

She heard the crying daughter loud addressed;

A deep and gentle voice asked why she wept.

She answered with a question, begging for

The body of a loved one, accusing.

But he who had remained unrecognized

While standing in the dim beneath the stone

Now stepped forward and lit the tomb anew,

His beard and blemished cloths a different shade.

He spoke the woman's name, to which she cried,

From joy that flowed whence grief had once poured out.

Eve, shaking now, felt many things at once:

The presence of a man raised from below,

The founded hope that she might rise as well,

The honor of his blessing her daughter

With first news of his life beyond its end.

Regaining will to speak, she thanked her guide,

For now she understood the purpose of

His hoisting her away from peaceful sleep.

She understood the reason for her breath,

To mother humankind that it someday

Would welcome to its home the Father's own.

And just as she rushed forth to embrace Him

Who looked through her, she felt a slow sinking

And found herself again upon the bow'r.

In moments between sleep and consciousness

Eve, blinking, doubted all she had beheld,

But stretching her fair limbs she realized

She lay no longer under arbor's shade;

For rising from the once-cold sod below

Now clothed in warmth by shining rays of sun

She saw, above her, branches parted so

That light shone through where once there had been none.