Though all our glory extinct, and happy state Here swallow'd up in endless misery.
But what if He our Conquerour (whom I now Of force believe Almighty, since no less
Than such could have o'erpower'd such force as ours) Have left us this our spirit and strength entire Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, Or do him mightier service, as his thralls By right of war, whate'er his business be, Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire, Or do his errands in the gloomy deep; What can it then avail, though yet we feel Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being To undergo eternal punishment?
Whereto with speedy words the Arch-Fiend replied. Fallen Cherub! to be weak is miserable,
Doing or suffering: but of this be sure, To do aught good never will be our task, But ever to do ill our sole delight, As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labour must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil; Which oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmost counsels from their destined aim. But see! the angry Victor hath recall'd
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heaven: the sulphurous hail, Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid
The fiery surge, that from the precipice
Of Heaven receiv'd us falling; and the thunder,
Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn, Or satiate fury, yield it from our Foe. Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, The seat of Desolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames. Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves; There rest, if any rest can harbour there; And, reassembling our afflicted Powers, Consult how we may henceforth most offend Our Enemy; our own loss how repair; How overcome this dire calamity; What re-enforcement we may gain from hope; If not, what resolution from despair.
Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate With head uplift above the wave, and eyes That sparkling blaz'd; his other parts besides, Prone on the flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood; in bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous size, Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove; Briareos or Typhon,1 whom the den By ancient Tarsus held; or that sea-beast Leviathan,2 which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream: Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway foam The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, With fixed anchor in his scaly rind
Briareos or Typhon:' two mythological monsters commemorated in Ovid. Leviathan:' Milton means evidently the whale.
Moors by his side under the lee, while night Invests the sea, and wished morn delays:
So stretch'd out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay, Chain'd on the burning lake: nor ever thence Had risen, or heav'd his head, but that the will And high permission of all-ruling Heaven Left him at large to his own dark designs; That with reiterated crimes he might Heap on himself damnation, while he sought Evil to others; and, enrag'd, might see How all his malice serv'd but to bring forth Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shown On Man by him seduced; but on himself Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance, pour'd. Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature; on each hand the flames, Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and roll'd In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land He lights, if it were land that ever burn'd With solid, as the lake with liquid fire: And such appear'd in hue, as when the force Of subterranean wind transports a hill Torn from Pelorus,1 or the shatter'd side Of thundering Etna, whose combustible And fuell'd entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds, And leave a singed bottom all involved
With stench and smoke such resting found the sole Of unblest feet. Him follow'd his next mate;
Pelorus: one of the three great promontories of Sicily, now Cape Faro, near Etna.
Both glorying to have 'scaped the Stygian flood As gods, and by their own recover'd strength, Not by the sufferance of supernal Power.
Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, Said then the lost Arch-Angel, this the seat
That we must change for Heaven; this mournful gloom, For that celestial light? Be it so! since he,
Who now is Sovran, can dispose, and bid
What shall be right farthest from Him is best, Whom reason hath equall'd, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrours! hail, Infernal world! And thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessour!-one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time: The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be-all but less than He Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven! But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and copartners of our loss, Lie thus astonish'd on the oblivious pool, And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy mansion; or once more, With rallied arms, to try what may be yet Regain'd in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell? So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub
Thus answer'd. Leader of those armies bright,
Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foil'd! If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge Of battle when it rag'd, in all assaults Their surest signal, they will soon resume New courage and revive; though now they lie Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire, As we erewhile, astounded and amaz'd; No wonder, fallen such a pernicious highth.
He scarce had ceas'd, when the superiour Fiend Was moving toward the shore: his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large and round,
Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optick glass the Tuscan artist1 views At evening from the top of Fesolé, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. His spear, to equal which the tallest pine, Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral, were but a wand, He walk'd with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle, not like those steps On Heaven's azure; and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire: Nathless he so endur'd, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call'd His legions, Angel forms, who lay intranc'd Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa,2 where the Etrurian shades, High over-arch'd, imbower; or scatter'd sedge
Tuscan artist:' Galileo.- -2 Vallombrosa:' a beautiful wooded vale, eighteen miles from Florence.
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