O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still. - John Milton

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son

Then lies him down the lubber fiend,
And stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength.

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms:
Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon;
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide;
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.