At once, as far as Angels ken, he views
The difmal fituation waste and wild;
A dungeon horrible on all fides round
As one great furnace flam'd, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv'd only to discover fights of woe,
Regions of forrow, doleful shades, where peace
And reft can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning fulphur unconfum'd:
Such place eternal Justice had prepar'd
For those rebellious, here their pris'on ordain'd
In utter darkness, and their portion fet
As far remov'd from God and light of Heav'n,
As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole.
O how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelm'd
With floods and whirlwinds of tempeftuous fire,
He foon difcerns, and welt'ring by his fide,
One next himself in pow'r, and next in crime,
Long after known in Palestine, and nam'd
Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heav'n call'd Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid filence, thus began.
If thou beeft he; but O how fall'n! how chang'd From him, who in the happy realms of light, Cloth'd with transcendent brightness, didst outshine Myriads though bright! If he whom mutual league, United thoughts and counfels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprize,
Join'd with me once, now mifery hath join'd
In equal ruin: into what pit thou seest
From what height fall'n, fo much the stronger prov'd
He with his thunder: and till then who knew
The force of those dire arms? yet not for thofe,
Nor what the potent victor in his rage
Can elfe inflict, do I repent or change,
Though chang'd in outward luftre, that fix'd mind,
And high disdain from sense of injur'd merit,
That with the Mightieft rais'd me to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits arm'd,
That durft diflike his reign, and me preferring,
His utmoft pow'r with adverse pow'r oppos'd
In dubious battle on the plains of Heav'n,
And shook his throne. What though the field be loft? All is not loft; th' unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to fubmit or yield,
And what is elfe not to be overcome;
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and fue for grace
With fuppliant knce, and deify his pow'r,
Who from the terror of this arm fo late
Doubted his empire; that were low indeed,
That were an ignominy' and shame beneath
This downfall; fince by fate the strength of Gods
And this empyreal substance cannot fail,
Since through experience of this great event
In arms not worse, in forefight much advanc'd,
We may with more fuccessful hope refolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcileable to our grand foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.
So fpake th' apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep despair :
And him thus anfwer'd foon his bold compeer.
O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers;
That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds
Fearless, endanger'd Heav'n's perpetual king,
And put to proof his high fupremacy,
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate;
Too well I fee and rue the dire event,
That with fad overthrow and foul defeat
Hath loft us Heav'n, and all this mighty hoft
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heav'nly effences
Can perifh for the mind and spi'rit remains , Invincible, and vigour foon returns,
Though all our glory' extinct, and happy ftate
Here fwallow'd up in endless mifery.
But what if he our conqu'ror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, fince no lefs
Than fuch could have o'er-pow'r'd fuch force as ours)
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire
Strongly to fuffer and fupport our pains,
That we may fo fuffice 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 th' Arch-Fiend reply'd.
Fall'n Cherub, to be weak is miferable
Doing er fuffering: but of this be fure,
To do ought good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our fole delight,
As be'ing the contrary to his high will
Whom we refift. If then his providence
Out of our evil feek 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 fucceed, so as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmost counfels from their destin'd aim.
But fee the angry victor hath recall'd
His minifters of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heav'n: the fulphurous hail
Shot after us in ftorm, o'erblown hath laid
The fiery furge, that from the precipice
Of Heav'n 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 flip th' occafion, whether scorn,
Or fatiate fury yield it from our foe.
Seeft thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The feat of defolation, void of light,
Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Cafts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the toffing of these fiery waves,
There reft, if any rest can harbour there,
And re-affembling our afflicted Powers,
Confult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own lofs how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not what refolution from despair.
Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes That sparkling blaz'd, his other parts befides Prone on the flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous fize,
Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den
By ancient Tarfus held, or that fea-beaft
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugeft that swim th' ocean stream:
Him haply flumb'ring on the Norway foam:
The pilot of fome small night-founder'd skiff
Deeming some island, oft, as feamen tell,
With fixed anchor in his fcaly rind
Moors by his fide under the lee, while night
Invests the fea, and wished morn delays:
So ftretch'd out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay
Chain'd on the burning lake, nor ever thence
Had ris'n or heav'd his head, but that the will
And high permiffion 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 fought
Evil to others, and enrag'd, might fee
How all his malice ferv'd but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace and mercy shown
On Man by him feduc'd, but on himself
Treble confufion, wrath and vengeance pour'd.
Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty ftature; on each hand the flames
Driv'n backward slope their pointing spires, and roll'd
In billows, leave i' th' midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he fteers 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 folid, as the lake with liquid fire;
And fuch appear'd in hue, as when the force
Of fubterranean wind transports a hill
Torn from Pelorus, or the fhatter'd fide
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