Up to the wall of Heaven a structure high ; At top whereof, but far more rich, appear'd The work as of a kingly palace-gate, With frontispiece of diamond and gold Embellish'd; thick with sparkling orient gems The portal shone, inimitable on earth By model, or by shading pencil, drawn. The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw Angels ascending and descending, bands Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz Dreaming by night under the open sky, And waking cried, This is the gate of heaven. Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes Viewless; and underneath a bright sea flow'd Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon Who after came from earth, sailing arriv'd Wafted by Angels, or flew o'er the lake Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds. The stairs were then let down, whether to dare The Fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss: Direct against which open'd from beneath, Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise, A passage down to the Earth, a passage wide, Wider by far than that of after-times Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large, Over the Promis'd Land to God so dear; By which, to visit oft those happy tribes,
On high behests, his Angels to and fro
Pass'd frequent, and his eye with choice regard From Paneas,1 the fount of Jordan's flood,
Paneas a city at the foot of Lebanon.
To Beërsaba, where the Holy Land
Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore;
So wide the opening seem'd, where bounds were set To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave. Satan from hence, now on the lower stair, That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven gate, Looks down with wonder at the sudden view Of all this world at once. As when a scout, Through dark and desert ways with peril gone All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill, Which to his eye discovers unaware The goodly prospect of some foreign land First seen, or some renown'd metropolis With glistering spires and pinnacles adorn'd, Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams: Such wonder seiz'd, though after Heaven seen, The Spirit malign, but much more envy seiz'd, At sight of all this world beheld so fair. Round he surveys (and well might where he stood So high above the circling canopy
Of night's extended shade), from eastern point Of Libra1 to the fleecy star that bears Andromeda far off Atlantic seas
Beyond the horizon; then from pole to pole He views in breadth, and, without longer pause Downright into the world's first region throws His flight precipitant, and winds with ease Through the pure marble air his oblique way Amongst innumerable stars, that shone Stars distant, but nigh hand seem'd other worlds ; Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy isles, Like those Hesperian gardens fam'd of old,
Fortunate fields, and groves, and flow'ry vales, Thrice happy isles; but who dwelt happy there He stay❜d not to enquire: Above them all The golden sun, in splendour likest Heaven, Allur'd his eye; thither his course he bends Through the calm firmament (but up or down, By centre or eccentric, hard to tell,
Or longitude), where the great luminary Aloof the vulgar constellations thick, That from his lordly eye keep distance due, Dispenses light from far; they, as they move Their starry dance in numbers that compute Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp Turn swift their various motions, or are turn'd By his magnetick beam, that gently warms The universe, and to each inward part With gentle penetration, though unseen, Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep; So wonderously was set his station bright. There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb
Through his glazed optic tube yet never saw. The place he found beyond expression bright, Compar'd with aught on earth, metal or stone; Not all parts like, but all alike inform'd With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire; If metal, part seem'd gold, part silver clear; If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite, Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone In Aaron's breast-plate, and a stone besides Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen, That stone, or like to that, which here below Philosophers in vain so long have sought, In vain, though by their powerful art they bind
Volatile Hermes,1 and call up unbound, In various shapes old Proteus from the sea, Drain'd through a limbeck to his native form. What wonder, then, if fields and regions here Breathe forth Elixir pure, and rivers run Potable gold, when with one virtuous touch The arch-chemick sun, so far from us remote, Produces, with terrestrial humour mix'd, Here in the dark so many precious things Of colour glorious and effect so rare? Here matter new to gaze the Devil met Undazzled; far and wide his eye commands; For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade, But all sunshine, as when his beams at noon Culminate from the equator, as they now Shot upward still direct, whence no way round Shadow from body opaque can fall; and the air, Nowhere so clear, sharpen'd his visual ray To objects distant far, whereby he soon Saw within ken a glorious Angel stand, The same whom John saw also in the sun : His back was turn'd, but not his brightness hid: Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar
Circled his head, nor less his locks behind Illustrious on his shoulders, fledge with wings, Lay waving round: on some great charge employ'd He seem'd, or fixed in cogitation deep.
Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope To find who might direct his wandering flight
To Paradise, the happy seat of Man, His journey's end, and our beginning woe. But first he casts to change his proper shape,
'Hermes,'' Proteus:' alluding to the pursuit and escape of Matter through its thousand forms, in the researches of Alchemy.
Which else might work him danger or delay; And now a stripling Cherub he appears, Not of the prime, yet such as in his face Youth smil'd celestial, and to every limb Suitable grace diffus'd, so well he feign'd: Under a coronet his flowing hair
In curls on either cheek play'd; wings he wore, Of many a colour'd plume, sprinkled with gold; His habit fit for speed succinct, and held Before his decent steps a silver wand.
He drew not nigh unheard; the Angel bright, Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turn'd, Admonish'd by his ear, and straight was known The Arch-Angel Uriel,1 one of the seven Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, Stand ready at command, and are his eyes That run through all the Heavens, or down to the Earth Bear his swift errands over moist and dry,
O'er sea and land: him Satan thus accosts.
Uriel, for thou of those seven Spirits that stand In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, The first art wont his great authentick will Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring, Where all his sons thy embassy attend; And here art likeliest by supreme decree Like honour to obtain, and as his eye To visit oft this new creation round; Unspeakable desire to see and know
All these his wonderous works, but chiefly Man, His chief delight and favour, him for whom All these his works so wonderous he ordain'd, Hath brought me from the choirs of Cherubim Alone thus wandering. Brightest Seraph, tell 'Uriel: the Angel of Light.
« PreviousContinue » |