Extort from me. 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 This downfall; since by fate the strength of gods And this empyreal substance cannot fail; Since, through experience of this great event, In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced, We may with more successful hope resolve To wage by force or guile eternal war, Irreconcilable to our grand foe,
Who now triumphs, and in the excess of joy Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven."
So spake the apostate angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair; And him thus answered soon his bold compeer: "O Prince, O Chief of many throned powers, That led the imbattled seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds Fearless, endangered Heaven's perpetual King, And put to proof his high supremacy, Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate! Too well I see and rue the dire event
That with sad overthrow and foul defeat Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host
In horrible destruction laid thus low,
As far as gods and heavenly essences Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains Invincible, and vigor soon returns,
Though all our glory extinct, and happy state, Here swallowed up in endless misery.
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, since no less
Than such could have o'erpowered 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 undiminished, 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 labor must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil; Which ofttimes 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 recalled 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 received us falling; and the thunder, Winged 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 those livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves; There rest, if any rest can harbor 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 reinforcement we may gain from hope, If not, what resolution from despair."
Satan and Beelzebub rise from the lake and fly to the land.
"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,"
Said then the lost archangel, "this the seat
That we must change for Heaven? this mournful gloom
For that celestial light?
Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equaled, force hath made supreme
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor, 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."
[AIL, holy Light, offspring of Heaven, first-born, Or of the Eternal coeternal beam
May I express thee unblamed? since God is light, And never but in unapproachèd light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight, Through utter and through middle darkness borne, With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, I sung of Chaos and eternal night; Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend,
1 The beginning of the third book of Paradise Lost. The action of the poem, which in the preceding books has chiefly taken place in Hell, "the Stygian pool," with its "darkness visible," and in the black abyss between Hell and Heaven, is now transferred to regions of light. theme leads the poet to reflect upon his blindness.
Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
Those other two equaled with me in fate,— So were I equaled with them in renown!- Blind Thamyris, and blind Mæonides, And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old: 1 Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark. Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature's works to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
1 Mæonides is Homer. Thamyris, a Thracian poet, and also Tiresias and Phineus, both blind soothsayers or "prophets," belong to the mythical history of Greece.
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