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 Heaven.
So fpake th' apoftate Angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep defpair: And him thus answer'd foon his bold compeer. O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers, That led th' imbattel'd Seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds Fearless, indanger'd Heav'n's perpetual king, And put to proof his high supremacy,
Whether upheld by ftrength, 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 host In horrible deftruction laid thus low, As far as Gods and heav'nly effences Can perish for the mind and spi'rit remains Invincible, and vigor foon returns, Though all our glory' extinct, and happy ftate Here swallow'd up in endless mifery.
But what if he our conqu'ror (whom I now Of force believe almighty, fince no less
Than fuch could have o'er-pow'r'd fuch force as Have left us this our spi'rit and strength entire Strongly to fuffer and support 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 Fall'n Cherub, to be weak is miferable
Doing or fuffering: but of this be sure, 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 labor must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil; Which oft-times may fucceed, fo as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmoft counfels from their deftin'd aim. But fee the angry victor hath recall'd His ministers 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 besides Prone on the flood, extended long and large Lay floting 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, whom the den
By ancient Tarfus held, or that sea-beast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim th' ocean stream:
Him haply flumb'ring on the Norway foam The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff Deeming fome iland, oft, as fea-men tell, With fixed anchor in his skaly 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 defigns, 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 flope their pointing spires, and roll'd In billows, leave i'th' 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 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
Of thund'ring Ætna, whose combustible And fuel'd entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublim'd with mineral fury, aid the winds, And leave a finged bottom all involv'd
With stench and smoke: Such refting found the fole Of unbleft feet. Him follow'd his next mate, Both glorying to have 'fcap'd the Stygian flood As Gods, and by their own recover'd strength, Not by the fufferance of fupernal Power.
Is this the region, this the foil, the clime, Said then the loft Arch-Angel, this the feat That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be' it so, fince he Who now is Sovran can difpofe and bid
What shall be right: farthest from him is best, Whom reas'on hath equal'd, force hath made fupreme Above his equals. Farewell happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell Receive thy new poffeffor; one who brings A mind not to be chang'd by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. What matter where, if I be still the fame, And what I should be, all but lefs than he Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; th' 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;
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