And Rest can never dwell, Hope never comes chang'd prov'd He with his thunder: 'and till then who knew, The force of those dire arms ? yet not for those, 105 To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power, Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed, That were an ignominy' and shame beneath 115 This downfal; since by fate the strength of gode And this empyreal substance cannot fail, Since through experience of this great event In arms not worse, in foresight much advanc'd, We may with more successful hope resolve 120 To wage by force or guile eternal war, Irreconcileable to our grand Foe, Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy So spake th' apostate angel, though in pain, 125 many powers, 140 Though all our glory' extinct, and happy state Here swallow'd up in endless misery. But what if he our Conqu’ror (whom I now Of force believe almighty, since no less 144 Than such could have o'erpow'r’d such force as ours) Have left us this our spi'rit and strength entire Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengetul ire, Or do him mightier service as his thralls By right of war, whate'er his bus'ness be, 130 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 153 Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-fiend reply'd. Fall'n 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, 160 As be’ing the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labor must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil: 165 Which oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmost counsels from their destin'd aim. But see tbe angry Victor hath recall'd His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 170 Back to the gates of Heav'n: the sulph'rous hail Shot after us in storm, o'erblown hath laid The fiery surge, that from the precipice Of Heav’n receiv'd us falling; and the thunder, Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, 175 Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep. Let us not slip th' occasion, whether scorn, Or satiate fury yield it from our foe. Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 180 The seat of Desolation, void of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful ? thither let us tend Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate 200 Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim th’ ocean stream: Him haply slumb'ring on the Norway foam The pilot of some sınall night-founder'd skiff Decming some iland, oft, as sea-men tell, With fixed anchor in his skaly rind 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 210 Had ris'n or heav'd his hcad, but that the will 205 |