Romola by George Eliot

George Eliot (1819-1880) biography :

was the pen name of Mary Ann Evans, a novelist who produced some of the major classic novels of the Victorian era, including The Mill on the Floss, Adam Bede, Silas Marner, Romola, Felix Holt, Daniel Deronda and her masterpiece, Middlemarch.

It is impossible to overestimate the significance of Eliot’s novels in the English culture: they went right to the heart of the small-town politics that made up the fabric of English society. Her novels were essentially political: Middlemarch is set in a small town just as the Reform Bill of 1832 was about to be introduced. She goes right into the minutia of the town’s people’s several concerns, creating numerous immortal characters whose interactions reveal Eliot’s deep insight into human psychology.
During the twentieth century there were numerous films and television plays and serials of her novels, placing her in a category with Shakespeare and Dickens. The distinguished literary critic, Harold Bloom, wrote that she was one of the greatest Western writers of all time.
George Eliot lived with her father until his death in 1849. He was something of a bully and while in his house she lived a life of conformity, even regularly attending church. She was thirty when he died and it was at that point that her life took off. She travelled in Europe and on her return, with the intention of writing, she was offered the editorship of the journal, The Westminster Review. She met many influential men and began an affair with the married George Lewes. They lived together openly, something that wasn’t done at the time, and, when she became famous after the publication of her first novel, Adam Bede, when she was forty, using the name George Eliot, their domestic arrangements scandalised Victorian society.
Lewes’ health failed and after his death she married John Cross, a literary agent twenty years her junior. After Adam Bede more novels followed swiftly on its heels.
She died in 1880, aged sixty-one, and is buried in Highgate Cemetery beside George Lewes.

Romola by George Eliot:

Romola is a historical novel by George Eliot set in the fifteenth century, and is "a deep study of life in the city of Florence from an intellectual, artistic, religious, and social point of view". It first appeared in fourteen parts published in Cornhill Magazine . The story takes place amidst actual historical events during the Italian Renaissance, and includes in its plot several notable figures from Florentine history.

Summary :

Florence, 1492: Christopher Columbus has sailed towards the New World, and Florence has just mourned the death of its legendary leader, Lorenzo de' Medici. In this setting, a Florentine trader meets a shipwrecked stranger, who introduces himself as Tito Melema, a young Italianate-Greek scholar. Tito becomes acquainted with several other Florentines, including Nello the barber and a young girl named Tessa. He is also introduced to a blind scholar named Bardo de' Bardi, and his daughter Romola. As Tito becomes settled in Florence, assisting Bardo with classical studies, he falls in love with Romola. However, Tessa falls in love with Tito, and the two are "married" in a mock ceremony.
Tito learns from Fra Luca, a Dominican monk, that his adoptive father has been forced into slavery and is asking for assistance. Tito introspects, comparing filial duty to his new ambitions in Florence, and decides that it would be futile to attempt to rescue his adoptive father. This paves the way for Romola and Tito to marry. Fra Luca shortly thereafter falls ill and before his death he speaks to his estranged sister, Romola. Ignorant of Romola's plans, Fra Luca warns her of a vision foretelling a marriage between her and a mysterious stranger who will bring pain to her and her father. After Fra Luca's death, Tito dismisses the warning and advises Romola to trust him. Tito and Romola become betrothed at the end of Carnival, to be married at Easter after Tito returns from a visit to Rome.
The novel then skips ahead to November 1494, more than eighteen months after the marriage. In that time, the French-Italian Wars have seen Florence enter uneasy times. Girolamo Savonarola preaches to Florentines about ridding the Church and the city of scourge and corruption, and drums up support for the new republican government. Piero de' Medici, Lorenzo de' Medici's son and successor to the lordship of Florence, has been driven from the city for his ignominious surrender to the invading French king, Charles VIII. The Medici palace is looted and the Medici family formally exiled from the city. In this setting, Tito, now a valued member of Florentine society, participates in the reception for the French invaders. Tito encounters an escaped prisoner, who turns out to be his adopted father, Baldassarre. Panicked and somewhat ashamed of his earlier inaction, Tito denies knowing the escaped prisoner and calls him a madman. Baldassarre escapes into the Duomo, where he swears revenge on his unfilial adoptive son. Growing ever more fearful, Tito plans to leave Florence. To do this, he betrays his late father-in-law, Bardo, who died some months earlier, by selling the late scholar's library. This reveals to Romola the true nature of her husband's character. She secretly leaves Tito and Florence, but is persuaded by Savonarola to return to fulfil her obligations to her marriage and her fellow Florentines. Nevertheless, the love between Romola and Tito has gone.
Again the action of the novel moves forward, from Christmas 1494 to October 1496. In that time, Florence has endured political upheaval, warfare and famine. Religious fervour has swept through Florence under the leadership of Savonarola, culminating in the Bonfire of the Vanities. The League of Venice has declared war on the French king and his Italian ally, Florence. Starvation and disease run rampant through the city. Romola, now a supporter of Savonarola, helps the poor and sick where she can. Meanwhile, Tito is embroiled in a complex game of political manoeuvring and duplicitous allegiances in the new Florentine government. Mirroring this, he has escaped attempts by Baldassarre to both kill and expose him, and maintains a secret marriage to Tessa, with whom he has fathered two children. Romola becomes defiant of Tito, and the two manoeuvre to thwart each other's plans. Romola meets an enfeebled Baldassarre, who reveals Tito's past and leads her to Tessa.
Political turmoil erupts in Florence. Five supporters of the Medici family are sentenced to death, including Romola's godfather, Bernardo del Nero. She learns that Tito has played a role in their arrest. Romola pleads with Savonarola to intervene, but he refuses. Romola's faith in Savonarola and Florence is shaken, and once again she leaves the city. Meanwhile, Florence is under papal pressure to expel Savonarola. His arrest is effected by rioters, who then turn their attention to several of the city's political elite. Tito becomes a target of the rioters, but he escapes the mob by diving into the Arno River. However, upon leaving the river, Tito is killed by Baldassarre.
Romola makes her way to the coast. Emulating Gostanza in Boccaccio's The Decameron (V, 2), she drifts out to sea in a small boat to die. However, the boat takes her to a small village affected by the Plague, and she helps the survivors. Romola's experience gives her a new purpose in life and she returns to Florence. Savonarola is tried for heresy and burned at the stake, but for Romola his influence remains inspiring. Romola takes care of Tessa and her two children, with the help of her older cousin. The story ends with Romola imparting advice to Tessa's son, based on her own experiences and the influences in her life.

Paradise Lost by John Milton

Paradise Lost by John Milton : Book 01

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 

Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 

Brought death into the World, and all our woe, 

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 

Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 

Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top 

Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 

That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed 

In the beginning how the heavens and earth 

Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill 

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed 

Fast by the oracle of God, I thence 

Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, 

That with no middle flight intends to soar 

Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues 

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 

And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 

Before all temples th' upright heart and pure, 

Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first 

Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, 

Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss, 

And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark 

Illumine, what is low raise and support; 

That, to the height of this great argument, 

I may assert Eternal Providence, 

And justify the ways of God to men. 

Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view, 

Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause 

Moved our grand parents, in that happy state, 

Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off 

From their Creator, and transgress his will 

For one restraint, lords of the World besides. 

Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? 

Th' infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile, 

Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived 

The mother of mankind, what time his pride 

Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host 

Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring 

To set himself in glory above his peers, 

He trusted to have equalled the Most High, 

If he opposed, and with ambitious aim 

Against the throne and monarchy of God, 

Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud, 

With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power 

Hurled headlong flaming from th' ethereal sky, 

With hideous ruin and combustion, down 

To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 

In adamantine chains and penal fire, 

Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms. 

Nine times the space that measures day and night 

To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew, 

Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, 

Confounded, though immortal. But his doom 

Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought 

Both of lost happiness and lasting pain 

Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes, 

That witnessed huge affliction and dismay, 

Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate. 

At once, as far as Angels ken, he views 

The dismal situation waste and wild. 

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, 

As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames 

No light; but rather darkness visible 

Served only to discover sights of woe, 

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace 

And rest can never dwell, hope never comes 

That comes to all, but torture without end 

Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 

With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed. 

Such place Eternal Justice has prepared 

For those rebellious; here their prison ordained 

In utter darkness, and their portion set, 

As far removed from God and light of Heaven 

As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole. 

Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell! 

There the companions of his fall, o'erwhelmed 

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, 

He soon discerns; and, weltering by his side, 

One next himself in power, and next in crime, 

Long after known in Palestine, and named 

Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy, 

And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words 

Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:-- 

"If thou beest he--but O how fallen! how changed 

From him who, in the happy realms of light 

Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine

Myriads, though bright!--if he whom mutual league, 

United thoughts and counsels, equal hope 

And hazard in the glorious enterprise 

Joined with me once, now misery hath joined 

In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest 

From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved 

He with his thunder; and till then who knew 

The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those, 

Nor what the potent Victor in his rage 

Can else inflict, do I repent, or change, 

Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind, 

And high disdain from sense of injured merit, 

That with the Mightiest raised me to contend, 

And to the fierce contentions brought along 

Innumerable force of Spirits armed, 

That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring, 

His utmost power with adverse power opposed 

In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, 

And shook his throne. What though the field be lost? 

All is not lost--the unconquerable will, 

And study of revenge, immortal hate, 

And courage never to submit or yield: 

And what is else not to be overcome? 

That glory never shall his wrath or might 

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 sybstance, 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 th' excess of joy 

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven." 

So spake th' 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 th' embattled 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 vigour 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 the avail though yet we feel 

Strength undiminished, or eternal being 

To undergo eternal punishment?" 

Whereto with speedy words th' 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 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 th' 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, re-assembling 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." 

Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate, 

With head uplift above the wave, and eyes 

That sparkling blazed; 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 warred on Jove, 

Briareos or Typhon, whom the den 

By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast 

Leviathan, which God of all his works 

Created hugest that swim th' ocean-stream. 

Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam, 

The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff, 

Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, 

With fixed anchor in his scaly rind, 

Moors by his side under the lee, while night 

Invests the sea, and wished morn delays. 

So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay, 

Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence 

Had risen, or heaved 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 enraged might see 

How all his malice served but to bring forth 

Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn 

On Man by him seduced, but on himself 

Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured. 

Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool 

His mighty stature; on each hand the flames 

Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and,rolled 

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 burned 

With solid, as the lake with liquid fire, 

And such appeared in hue as when the force 

Of subterranean wind transprots a hill 

Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side 

Of thundering Etna, whose combustible 

And fuelled 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 followed his next mate; 

Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood 

As gods, and by their own recovered strength, 

Not by the sufferance of supernal Power. 

"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? Be it so, since he 

Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid 

What shall be right: farthest from him is best 

Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme 

Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, 

Where joy for ever 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; th' Almighty hath not built 

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: 

Here we may reigh 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, 

Th' associates and co-partners of our loss, 

Lie thus astonished on th' 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 

Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?" 

So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub 

Thus answered:--"Leader of those armies bright 

Which, but th' Omnipotent, none could have foiled! 

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 raged, 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 amazed; 

No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!" 

He scare had ceased when the superior 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 optic glass the Tuscan artist views 

At evening, from the top of Fesole, 

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 walked with, to support uneasy steps 

Over the burning marl, not like those steps 

On Heaven's azure; and the torrid clime 

Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. 

Nathless he so endured, till on the beach 

Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called 

His legions--Angel Forms, who lay entranced 

Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks 

In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades 

High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge 

Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed 

Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew 

Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, 

While with perfidious hatred they pursued 

The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld 

From the safe shore their floating carcases 

And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown, 

Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, 

Under amazement of their hideous change. 

He called so loud that all the hollow deep 

Of Hell resounded:--"Princes, Potentates, 

Warriors, the Flower of Heaven--once yours; now lost,

If such astonishment as this can seize 

Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place 

After the toil of battle to repose 

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 

To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven? 

Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 

To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds 

Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood 

With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon 

His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern 

Th' advantage, and, descending, tread us down 

Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 

Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf? 

Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!" 

They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung 

Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch 

On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread, 

Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake. 

Nor did they not perceive the evil plight 

In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel; 

Yet to their General's voice they soon obeyed 

Innumerable. As when the potent rod 

Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day, 

Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud 

Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, 

That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung 

Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile; 

So numberless were those bad Angels seen 

Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell, 

'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires; 

Till, as a signal given, th' uplifted spear 

Of their great Sultan waving to direct 

Their course, in even balance down they light 

On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain: 

A multitude like which the populous North 

Poured never from her frozen loins to pass 

Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons 

Came like a deluge on the South, and spread 

Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands. 

Forthwith, form every squadron and each band, 

The heads and leaders thither haste where stood 

Their great Commander--godlike Shapes, and Forms 

Excelling human; princely Dignities; 

And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones, 

Though on their names in Heavenly records now 

Be no memorial, blotted out and rased 

By their rebellion from the Books of Life. 

Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve 

Got them new names, till, wandering o'er the earth, 

Through God's high sufferance for the trial of man, 

By falsities and lies the greatest part 

Of mankind they corrupted to forsake 

God their Creator, and th' invisible 

Glory of him that made them to transform 

Oft to the image of a brute, adorned 

With gay religions full of pomp and gold, 

And devils to adore for deities: 

Then were they known to men by various names, 

And various idols through the heathen world. 

Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last, 

Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch, 

At their great Emperor's call, as next in worth 

Came singly where he stood on the bare strand, 

While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof? 

The chief were those who, from the pit of Hell 

Roaming to seek their prey on Earth, durst fix 

Their seats, long after, next the seat of God, 

Their altars by his altar, gods adored 

Among the nations round, and durst abide 

Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned 

Between the Cherubim; yea, often placed 

Within his sanctuary itself their shrines, 

Abominations; and with cursed things 

His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned, 

And with their darkness durst affront his light. 

First, Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with blood 

Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears; 

Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, 

Their children's cries unheard that passed through fire 

To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite 

Worshiped in Rabba and her watery plain, 

In Argob and in Basan, to the stream 

Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such 

Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart 

Of Solomon he led by fraoud to build 

His temple right against the temple of God 

On that opprobrious hill, and made his grove 

The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence 

And black Gehenna called, the type of Hell. 

Next Chemos, th' obscene dread of Moab's sons, 

From Aroar to Nebo and the wild 

Of southmost Abarim; in Hesebon 

And Horonaim, Seon's real, beyond 

The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, 

And Eleale to th' Asphaltic Pool: 

Peor his other name, when he enticed 

Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, 

To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe. 

Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged 

Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove 

Of Moloch homicide, lust hard by hate, 

Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell. 

With these came they who, from the bordering flood 

Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts 

Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names 

Of Baalim and Ashtaroth--those male, 

These feminine. For Spirits, when they please, 

Can either sex assume, or both; so soft 

And uncompounded is their essence pure, 

Not tried or manacled with joint or limb, 

Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones, 

Like cumbrous flesh; but, in what shape they choose, 

Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure, 

Can execute their airy purposes, 

And works of love or enmity fulfil. 

For those the race of Israel oft forsook 

Their Living Strength, and unfrequented left 

His righteous altar, bowing lowly down 

To bestial gods; for which their heads as low 

Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear 

Of despicable foes. With these in troop 

Came Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians called 

Astarte, queen of heaven, with crescent horns; 

To whose bright image nigntly by the moon 

Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs; 

In Sion also not unsung, where stood 

Her temple on th' offensive mountain, built 

By that uxorious king whose heart, though large, 

Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell 

To idols foul. Thammuz came next behind, 

Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured 

The Syrian damsels to lament his fate 

In amorous ditties all a summer's day, 

While smooth Adonis from his native rock 

Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood 

Of Thammuz yearly wounded: the love-tale 

Infected Sion's daughters with like heat, 

Whose wanton passions in the sacred proch 

Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led, 

His eye surveyed the dark idolatries 

Of alienated Judah. Next came one 

Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark 

Maimed his brute image, head and hands lopt off, 

In his own temple, on the grunsel-edge, 

Where he fell flat and shamed his worshippers: 

Dagon his name, sea-monster,upward man 

And downward fish; yet had his temple high 

Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast 

Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, 

And Accaron and Gaza's frontier bounds. 

Him followed Rimmon, whose delightful seat 

Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks 

Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. 

He also against the house of God was bold: 

A leper once he lost, and gained a king-- 

Ahaz, his sottish conqueror, whom he drew 

God's altar to disparage and displace 

For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn 

His odious offerings, and adore the gods 

Whom he had vanquished. After these appeared 

A crew who, under names of old renown-- 

Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train-- 

With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused 

Fanatic Egypt and her priests to seek 

Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms 

Rather than human. Nor did Israel scape 

Th' infection, when their borrowed gold composed 

The calf in Oreb; and the rebel king 

Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan, 

Likening his Maker to the grazed ox-- 

Jehovah, who, in one night, when he passed 

From Egypt marching, equalled with one stroke 

Both her first-born and all her bleating gods. 

Belial came last; than whom a Spirit more lewd 

Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love 

Vice for itself. To him no temple stood 

Or altar smoked; yet who more oft than he 

In temples and at altars, when the priest 

Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled 

With lust and violence the house of God? 

In courts and palaces he also reigns, 

And in luxurious cities, where the noise 

Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, 

And injury and outrage; and, when night 

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons 

Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. 

Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night 

In Gibeah, when the hospitable door 

Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape. 

These were the prime in order and in might: 

The rest were long to tell; though far renowned 

Th' Ionian gods--of Javan's issue held 

Gods, yet confessed later than Heaven and Earth, 

Their boasted parents;--Titan, Heaven's first-born, 

With his enormous brood, and birthright seized 

By younger Saturn: he from mightier Jove, 

His own and Rhea's son, like measure found; 

So Jove usurping reigned. These, first in Crete 

And Ida known, thence on the snowy top 

Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air, 

Their highest heaven; or on the Delphian cliff, 

Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds 

Of Doric land; or who with Saturn old 

Fled over Adria to th' Hesperian fields, 

And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost Isles. 

All these and more came flocking; but with looks 

Downcast and damp; yet such wherein appeared 

Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief 

Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost 

In loss itself; which on his countenance cast 

Like doubtful hue. But he, his wonted pride 

Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore 

Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised 

Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears. 

Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound 

Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared 

His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed 

Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall: 

Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled 

Th' imperial ensign; which, full high advanced, 

Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, 

With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed, 

Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while 

Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: 

At which the universal host up-sent 

A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond 

Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 

All in a moment through the gloom were seen 

Ten thousand banners rise into the air, 

With orient colours waving: with them rose 

A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms 

Appeared, and serried shields in thick array 

Of depth immeasurable. Anon they move 

In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 

Of flutes and soft recorders--such as raised 

To height of noblest temper heroes old 

Arming to battle, and instead of rage 

Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved 

With dread of death to flight or foul retreat; 

Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage 

With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase 

Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain 

From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they, 

Breathing united force with fixed thought, 

Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed 

Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil. And now 

Advanced in view they stand--a horrid front 

Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise 

Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield, 

Awaiting what command their mighty Chief 

Had to impose. He through the armed files 

Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 

The whole battalion views--their order due, 

Their visages and stature as of gods; 

Their number last he sums. And now his heart 

Distends with pride, and, hardening in his strength, 

Glories: for never, since created Man, 

Met such embodied force as, named with these, 

Could merit more than that small infantry 

Warred on by cranes--though all the giant brood 

Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were joined 

That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side 

Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what resounds 

In fable or romance of Uther's son, 

Begirt with British and Armoric knights; 

And all who since, baptized or infidel, 

Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, 

Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, 

Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore 

When Charlemain with all his peerage fell 

By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond 

Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed 

Their dread Commander. He, above the rest 

In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 

Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost 

All her original brightness, nor appeared 

Less than Archangel ruined, and th' excess 

Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen 

Looks through the horizontal misty air 

Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon, 

In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 

On half the nations, and with fear of change 

Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone 

Above them all th' Archangel: but his face 

Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care 

Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows 

Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride 

Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast 

Signs of remorse and passion, to behold 

The fellows of his crime, the followers rather 

(Far other once beheld in bliss), condemned 

For ever now to have their lot in pain-- 

Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced 

Of Heaven, and from eteranl splendours flung 

For his revolt--yet faithful how they stood, 

Their glory withered; as, when heaven's fire 

Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines, 

With singed top their stately growth, though bare, 

Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared 

To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 

From wing to wing, and half enclose him round 

With all his peers: attention held them mute. 

Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn, 

Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last 

Words interwove with sighs found out their way:-- 

"O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers 

Matchless, but with th' Almighth!--and that strife 

Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire, 

As this place testifies, and this dire change, 

Hateful to utter. But what power of mind, 

Forseeing or presaging, from the depth 

Of knowledge past or present, could have feared 

How such united force of gods, how such 

As stood like these, could ever know repulse? 

For who can yet believe, though after loss, 

That all these puissant legions, whose exile 

Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re-ascend, 

Self-raised, and repossess their native seat? 

For me, be witness all the host of Heaven, 

If counsels different, or danger shunned 

By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns 

Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure 

Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute, 

Consent or custom, and his regal state 

Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed-- 

Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. 

Henceforth his might we know, and know our own, 

So as not either to provoke, or dread 

New war provoked: our better part remains 

To work in close design, by fraud or guile, 

What force effected not; that he no less 

At length from us may find, who overcomes 

By force hath overcome but half his foe. 

Space may produce new Worlds; whereof so rife 

There went a fame in Heaven that he ere long 

Intended to create, and therein plant 

A generation whom his choice regard 

Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven. 

Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps 

Our first eruption--thither, or elsewhere; 

For this infernal pit shall never hold 

Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor th' Abyss 

Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts 

Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired; 

For who can think submission? War, then, war 

Open or understood, must be resolved." 

He spake; and, to confirm his words, outflew 

Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 

Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze 

Far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged 

Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms 

Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, 

Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven. 

There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top 

Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire 

Shone with a glossy scurf--undoubted sign 

That in his womb was hid metallic ore, 

The work of sulphur. Thither, winged with speed, 

A numerous brigade hastened: as when bands 

Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed, 

Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, 

Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on-- 

Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell 

From Heaven; for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts 

Were always downward bent, admiring more 

The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, 

Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed 

In vision beatific. By him first 

Men also, and by his suggestion taught, 

Ransacked the centre, and with impious hands 

Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth 

For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew 

Opened into the hill a spacious wound, 

And digged out ribs of gold. Let none admire 

That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best 

Deserve the precious bane. And here let those 

Who boast in mortal things, and wondering tell 

Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings, 

Learn how their greatest monuments of fame 

And strength, and art, are easily outdone 

By Spirits reprobate, and in an hour 

What in an age they, with incessant toil 

And hands innumerable, scarce perform. 

Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, 

That underneath had veins of liquid fire 

Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude 

With wondrous art founded the massy ore, 

Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion-dross. 

A third as soon had formed within the ground 

A various mould, and from the boiling cells 

By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook; 

As in an organ, from one blast of wind, 

To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes. 

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge 

Rose like an exhalation, with the sound 

Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet-- 

Built like a temple, where pilasters round 

Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid 

With golden architrave; nor did there want 

Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven; 

The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon 

Nor great Alcairo such magnificence 

Equalled in all their glories, to enshrine 

Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat 

Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove 

In wealth and luxury. Th' ascending pile 

Stood fixed her stately height, and straight the doors,

Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide 

Within, her ample spaces o'er the smooth 

And level pavement: from the arched roof, 

Pendent by subtle magic, many a row 

Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 

With naptha and asphaltus, yielded light 

As from a sky. The hasty multitude 

Admiring entered; and the work some praise, 

And some the architect. His hand was known 

In Heaven by many a towered structure high, 

Where sceptred Angels held their residence, 

And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King 

Exalted to such power, and gave to rule, 

Each in his Hierarchy, the Orders bright. 

Nor was his name unheard or unadored 

In ancient Greece; and in Ausonian land 

Men called him Mulciber; and how he fell 

From Heaven they fabled, thrown by angry Jove 

Sheer o'er the crystal battlements: from morn 

To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, 

A summer's day, and with the setting sun 

Dropt from the zenith, like a falling star, 

On Lemnos, th' Aegaean isle. Thus they relate, 

Erring; for he with this rebellious rout 

Fell long before; nor aught aviled him now 

To have built in Heaven high towers; nor did he scape

By all his engines, but was headlong sent, 

With his industrious crew, to build in Hell. 

Meanwhile the winged Heralds, by command 

Of sovereign power, with awful ceremony 

And trumpet's sound, throughout the host proclaim 

A solemn council forthwith to be held 

At Pandemonium, the high capital 

Of Satan and his peers. Their summons called 

From every band and squared regiment 

By place or choice the worthiest: they anon 

With hundreds and with thousands trooping came 

Attended. All access was thronged; the gates 

And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall 

(Though like a covered field, where champions bold 

Wont ride in armed, and at the Soldan's chair 

Defied the best of Paynim chivalry 

To mortal combat, or career with lance), 

Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the air, 

Brushed with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees 

In spring-time, when the Sun with Taurus rides. 

Pour forth their populous youth about the hive 

In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers 

Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, 

The suburb of their straw-built citadel, 

New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and confer 

Their state-affairs: so thick the airy crowd 

Swarmed and were straitened; till, the signal given, 

Behold a wonder! They but now who seemed 

In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons, 

Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room 

Throng numberless--like that pygmean race 

Beyond the Indian mount; or faery elves, 

Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side 

Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, 

Or dreams he sees, while overhead the Moon 

Sits arbitress, and nearer to the Earth 

Wheels her pale course: they, on their mirth and dance 

Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; 

At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. 

Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms 

Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large, 

Though without number still, amidst the hall 

Of that infernal court. But far within, 

And in their own dimensions like themselves, 

The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim 

In close recess and secret conclave sat, 

A thousand demi-gods on golden seats, 

Frequent and full. After short silence then, 

And summons read, the great consult began.

Paradise Lost by John Milton : Book 02

High on a throne of royal state, which far 

Outshone the wealth or Ormus and of Ind, 

Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand 

Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 

Satan exalted sat, by merit raised 

To that bad eminence; and, from despair 

Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires 

Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue 

Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught, 

His proud imaginations thus displayed:-- 

"Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven!-- 

For, since no deep within her gulf can hold 

Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen, 

I give not Heaven for lost: from this descent 

Celestial Virtues rising will appear 

More glorious and more dread than from no fall, 

And trust themselves to fear no second fate!-- 

Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven, 

Did first create your leader--next, free choice 

With what besides in council or in fight 

Hath been achieved of merit--yet this loss, 

Thus far at least recovered, hath much more 

Established in a safe, unenvied throne, 

Yielded with full consent. The happier state 

In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw 

Envy from each inferior; but who here 

Will envy whom the highest place exposes 

Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim 

Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share 

Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good 

For which to strive, no strife can grow up there 

From faction: for none sure will claim in Hell 

Precedence; none whose portion is so small 

Of present pain that with ambitious mind 

Will covet more! With this advantage, then, 

To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, 

More than can be in Heaven, we now return 

To claim our just inheritance of old, 

Surer to prosper than prosperity 

Could have assured us; and by what best way, 

Whether of open war or covert guile, 

We now debate. Who can advise may speak." 

He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptred king, 

Stood up--the strongest and the fiercest Spirit 

That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair. 

His trust was with th' Eternal to be deemed 

Equal in strength, and rather than be less 

Cared not to be at all; with that care lost 

Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse, 

He recked not, and these words thereafter spake:-- 

"My sentence is for open war. Of wiles, 

More unexpert, I boast not: them let those 

Contrive who need, or when they need; not now. 

For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest-- 

Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait 

The signal to ascend--sit lingering here, 

Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place 

Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, 

The prison of his ryranny who reigns 

By our delay? No! let us rather choose, 

Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once 

O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way, 

Turning our tortures into horrid arms 

Against the Torturer; when, to meet the noise 

Of his almighty engine, he shall hear 

Infernal thunder, and, for lightning, see 

Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 

Among his Angels, and his throne itself 

Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire, 

His own invented torments. But perhaps 

The way seems difficult, and steep to scale 

With upright wing against a higher foe! 

Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 

Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, 

That in our porper motion we ascend 

Up to our native seat; descent and fall 

To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, 

When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear 

Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep, 

With what compulsion and laborious flight 

We sunk thus low? Th' ascent is easy, then; 

Th' event is feared! Should we again provoke 

Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find 

To our destruction, if there be in Hell 

Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse 

Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned

In this abhorred deep to utter woe! 

Where pain of unextinguishable fire 

Must exercise us without hope of end 

The vassals of his anger, when the scourge 

Inexorably, and the torturing hour, 

Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus, 

We should be quite abolished, and expire. 

What fear we then? what doubt we to incense 

His utmost ire? which, to the height enraged, 

Will either quite consume us, and reduce 

To nothing this essential--happier far 

Than miserable to have eternal being!-- 

Or, if our substance be indeed divine, 

And cannot cease to be, we are at worst 

On this side nothing; and by proof we feel 

Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven, 

And with perpetual inroads to alarm, 

Though inaccessible, his fatal throne: 

Which, if not victory, is yet revenge." 

He ended frowning, and his look denounced 

Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous 

To less than gods. On th' other side up rose 

Belial, in act more graceful and humane. 

A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed 

For dignity composed, and high exploit. 

But all was false and hollow; though his tongue 

Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear 

The better reason, to perplex and dash 

Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low-- 

To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 

Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear, 

And with persuasive accent thus began:-- 

"I should be much for open war, O Peers, 

As not behind in hate, if what was urged 

Main reason to persuade immediate war 

Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast 

Ominous conjecture on the whole success; 

When he who most excels in fact of arms, 

In what he counsels and in what excels 

Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair 

And utter dissolution, as the scope 

Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 

First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled 

With armed watch, that render all access 

Impregnable: oft on the bodering Deep 

Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing 

Scout far and wide into the realm of Night, 

Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way 

By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise 

With blackest insurrection to confound 

Heaven's purest light, yet our great Enemy, 

All incorruptible, would on his throne 

Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mould, 

Incapable of stain, would soon expel 

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 

Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 

Is flat despair: we must exasperate 

Th' Almighty Victor to spend all his rage; 

And that must end us; that must be our cure-- 

To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose, 

Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 

Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 

To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 

In the wide womb of uncreated Night, 

Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, 

Let this be good, whether our angry Foe 

Can give it, or will ever? How he can 

Is doubtful; that he never will is sure. 

Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, 

Belike through impotence or unaware, 

To give his enemies their wish, and end 

Them in his anger whom his anger saves 

To punish endless? 'Wherefore cease we, then?' 

Say they who counsel war; 'we are decreed, 

Reserved, and destined to eternal woe; 

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, 

What can we suffer worse?' Is this, then, worst-- 

Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? 

What when we fled amain, pursued and struck 

With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 

The Deep to shelter us? This Hell then seemed 

A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay 

Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse. 

What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 

Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, 

And plunge us in the flames; or from above 

Should intermitted vengeance arm again 

His red right hand to plague us? What if all 

Her stores were opened, and this firmament 

Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire, 

Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall 

One day upon our heads; while we perhaps, 

Designing or exhorting glorious war, 

Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 

Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 

Or racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk 

Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains, 

There to converse with everlasting groans, 

Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, 

Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse. 

War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 

My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile 

With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye 

Views all things at one view? He from Heaven's height 

All these our motions vain sees and derides, 

Not more almighty to resist our might 

Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. 

Shall we, then, live thus vile--the race of Heaven 

Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here 

Chains and these torments? Better these than worse,

By my advice; since fate inevitable 

Subdues us, and omnipotent decree, 

The Victor's will. To suffer, as to do, 

Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust 

That so ordains. This was at first resolved, 

If we were wise, against so great a foe 

Contending, and so doubtful what might fall. 

I laugh when those who at the spear are bold 

And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear 

What yet they know must follow--to endure 

Exile, or igominy, or bonds, or pain, 

The sentence of their Conqueror. This is now 

Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, 

Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit 

His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed, 

Not mind us not offending, satisfied 

With what is punished; whence these raging fires 

Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. 

Our purer essence then will overcome 

Their noxious vapour; or, inured, not feel; 

Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed 

In temper and in nature, will receive 

Familiar the fierce heat; and, void of pain, 

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light; 

Besides what hope the never-ending flight 

Of future days may bring, what chance, what change 

Worth waiting--since our present lot appears 

For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, 

If we procure not to ourselves more woe." 

Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, 

Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth, 

Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake:-- 

"Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven 

We war, if war be best, or to regain 

Our own right lost. Him to unthrone we then 

May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield 

To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife. 

The former, vain to hope, argues as vain 

The latter; for what place can be for us 

Within Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's Lord supreme 

We overpower? Suppose he should relent 

And publish grace to all, on promise made 

Of new subjection; with what eyes could we 

Stand in his presence humble, and receive 

Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne 

With warbled hyms, and to his Godhead sing 

Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits 

Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes 

Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers, 

Our servile offerings? This must be our task 

In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome 

Eternity so spent in worship paid 

To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue, 

By force impossible, by leave obtained 

Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state 

Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek 

Our own good from ourselves, and from our own 

Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess, 

Free and to none accountable, preferring 

Hard liberty before the easy yoke 

Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear 

Then most conspicuous when great things of small, 

Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse, 

We can create, and in what place soe'er 

Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain 

Through labour and endurance. This deep world 

Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst 

Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-ruling Sire 

Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, 

And with the majesty of darkness round 

Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar. 

Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell! 

As he our darkness, cannot we his light 

Imitate when we please? This desert soil 

Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold; 

Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise 

Magnificence; and what can Heaven show more? 

Our torments also may, in length of time, 

Become our elements, these piercing fires 

As soft as now severe, our temper changed 

Into their temper; which must needs remove 

The sensible of pain. All things invite 

To peaceful counsels, and the settled state 

Of order, how in safety best we may 

Compose our present evils, with regard 

Of what we are and where, dismissing quite 

All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise." 

He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled 

Th' assembly as when hollow rocks retain 

The sound of blustering winds, which all night long 

Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull 

Seafaring men o'erwatched, whose bark by chance 

Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay 

After the tempest. Such applause was heard 

As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased, 

Advising peace: for such another field 

They dreaded worse than Hell; so much the fear 

Of thunder and the sword of Michael 

Wrought still within them; and no less desire 

To found this nether empire, which might rise, 

By policy and long process of time, 

In emulation opposite to Heaven. 

Which when Beelzebub perceived--than whom, 

Satan except, none higher sat--with grave 

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed 

A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven 

Deliberation sat, and public care; 

And princely counsel in his face yet shone, 

Majestic, though in ruin. Sage he stood 

With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear 

The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look 

Drew audience and attention still as night 

Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake:-- 

"Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven, 

Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now 

Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called 

Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote 

Inclines--here to continue, and build up here 

A growing empire; doubtless! while we dream, 

And know not that the King of Heaven hath doomed 

This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat 

Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt 

From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league 

Banded against his throne, but to remain 

In strictest bondage, though thus far removed, 

Under th' inevitable curb, reserved 

His captive multitude. For he, to be sure, 

In height or depth, still first and last will reign 

Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part 

By our revolt, but over Hell extend 

His empire, and with iron sceptre rule 

Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven. 

What sit we then projecting peace and war? 

War hath determined us and foiled with loss 

Irreparable; terms of peace yet none 

Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given 

To us enslaved, but custody severe, 

And stripes and arbitrary punishment 

Inflicted? and what peace can we return, 

But, to our power, hostility and hate, 

Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow, 

Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least 

May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice 

In doing what we most in suffering feel? 

Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need 

With dangerous expedition to invade 

Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege, 

Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find 

Some easier enterprise? There is a place 

(If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven 

Err not)--another World, the happy seat 

Of some new race, called Man, about this time 

To be created like to us, though less 

In power and excellence, but favoured more 

Of him who rules above; so was his will 

Pronounced among the Gods, and by an oath 

That shook Heaven's whole circumference confirmed. 

Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn 

What creatures there inhabit, of what mould 

Or substance, how endued, and what their power 

And where their weakness: how attempted best, 

By force of subtlety. Though Heaven be shut, 

And Heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure 

In his own strength, this place may lie exposed, 

The utmost border of his kingdom, left 

To their defence who hold it: here, perhaps, 

Some advantageous act may be achieved 

By sudden onset--either with Hell-fire 

To waste his whole creation, or possess 

All as our own, and drive, as we were driven, 

The puny habitants; or, if not drive, 

Seduce them to our party, that their God 

May prove their foe, and with repenting hand 

Abolish his own works. This would surpass 

Common revenge, and interrupt his joy 

In our confusion, and our joy upraise 

In his disturbance; when his darling sons, 

Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse 

Their frail original, and faded bliss-- 

Faded so soon! Advise if this be worth 

Attempting, or to sit in darkness here 

Hatching vain empires." Thus beelzebub 

Pleaded his devilish counsel--first devised 

By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence, 

But from the author of all ill, could spring 

So deep a malice, to confound the race 

Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell 

To mingle and involve, done all to spite 

The great Creator? But their spite still serves 

His glory to augment. The bold design 

Pleased highly those infernal States, and joy 

Sparkled in all their eyes: with full assent 

They vote: whereat his speech he thus renews:-- 

"Well have ye judged, well ended long debate, 

Synod of Gods, and, like to what ye are, 

Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep 

Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate, 

Nearer our ancient seat--perhaps in view 

Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbouring arms, 

And opportune excursion, we may chance 

Re-enter Heaven; or else in some mild zone 

Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven's fair light, 

Secure, and at the brightening orient beam 

Purge off this gloom: the soft delicious air, 

To heal the scar of these corrosive fires, 

Shall breathe her balm. But, first, whom shall we send 

In search of this new World? whom shall we find 

Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandering feet 

The dark, unbottomed, infinite Abyss, 

And through the palpable obscure find out 

His uncouth way, or spread his airy flight, 

Upborne with indefatigable wings 

Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive 

The happy Isle? What strength, what art, can then 

Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe, 

Through the strict senteries and stations thick 

Of Angels watching round? Here he had need 

All circumspection: and we now no less 

Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send 

The weight of all, and our last hope, relies." 

This said, he sat; and expectation held 

His look suspense, awaiting who appeared 

To second, or oppose, or undertake 

The perilous attempt. But all sat mute, 

Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each 

In other's countenance read his own dismay, 

Astonished. None among the choice and prime 

Of those Heaven-warring champions could be found 

So hardy as to proffer or accept, 

Alone, the dreadful voyage; till, at last, 

Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised 

Above his fellows, with monarchal pride 

Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus spake:-- 

"O Progeny of Heaven! Empyreal Thrones! 

With reason hath deep silence and demur 

Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the way 

And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light. 

Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire, 

Outrageous to devour, immures us round 

Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant, 

Barred over us, prohibit all egress. 

These passed, if any pass, the void profound 

Of unessential Night receives him next, 

Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being 

Threatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf. 

If thence he scape, into whatever world, 

Or unknown region, what remains him less 

Than unknown dangers, and as hard escape? 

But I should ill become this throne, O Peers, 

And this imperial sovereignty, adorned 

With splendour, armed with power, if aught proposed

And judged of public moment in the shape 

Of difficulty or danger, could deter 

Me from attempting. Wherefore do I assume 

These royalties, and not refuse to reign, 

Refusing to accept as great a share 

Of hazard as of honour, due alike 

To him who reigns, and so much to him due 

Of hazard more as he above the rest 

High honoured sits? Go, therefore, mighty Powers, 

Terror of Heaven, though fallen; intend at home, 

While here shall be our home, what best may ease 

The present misery, and render Hell 

More tolerable; if there be cure or charm 

To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain 

Of this ill mansion: intermit no watch 

Against a wakeful foe, while I abroad 

Through all the coasts of dark destruction seek 

Deliverance for us all. This enterprise 

None shall partake with me." Thus saying, rose 

The Monarch, and prevented all reply; 

Prudent lest, from his resolution raised, 

Others among the chief might offer now, 

Certain to be refused, what erst they feared, 

And, so refused, might in opinion stand 

His rivals, winning cheap the high repute 

Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they 

Dreaded not more th' adventure than his voice 

Forbidding; and at once with him they rose. 

Their rising all at once was as the sound 

Of thunder heard remote. Towards him they bend 

With awful reverence prone, and as a God 

Extol him equal to the Highest in Heaven. 

Nor failed they to express how much they praised 

That for the general safety he despised 

His own: for neither do the Spirits damned 

Lose all their virtue; lest bad men should boast 

Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites, 

Or close ambition varnished o'er with zeal. 

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark 

Ended, rejoicing in their matchless Chief: 

As, when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds 

Ascending, while the north wind sleeps, o'erspread 

Heaven's cheerful face, the louring element 

Scowls o'er the darkened landscape snow or shower,

If chance the radiant sun, with farewell sweet, 

Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, 

The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 

Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. 

O shame to men! Devil with devil damned 

Firm concord holds; men only disagree 

Of creatures rational, though under hope 

Of heavenly grace, and, God proclaiming peace, 

Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife 

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars 

Wasting the earth, each other to destroy: 

As if (which might induce us to accord) 

Man had not hellish foes enow besides, 

That day and night for his destruction wait! 

The Stygian council thus dissolved; and forth 

In order came the grand infernal Peers: 

Midst came their mighty Paramount, and seemed 

Alone th' antagonist of Heaven, nor less 

Than Hell's dread Emperor, with pomp supreme, 

And god-like imitated state: him round 

A globe of fiery Seraphim enclosed 

With bright emblazonry, and horrent arms. 

Then of their session ended they bid cry 

With trumpet's regal sound the great result: 

Toward the four winds four speedy Cherubim 

Put to their mouths the sounding alchemy, 

By herald's voice explained; the hollow Abyss 

Heard far adn wide, and all the host of Hell 

With deafening shout returned them loud acclaim. 

Thence more at ease their minds, and somewhat raised 

By false presumptuous hope, the ranged Powers 

Disband; and, wandering, each his several way 

Pursues, as inclination or sad choice 

Leads him perplexed, where he may likeliest find 

Truce to his restless thoughts, and entertain 

The irksome hours, till his great Chief return. 

Part on the plain, or in the air sublime, 

Upon the wing or in swift race contend, 

As at th' Olympian games or Pythian fields; 

Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 

With rapid wheels, or fronted brigades form: 

As when, to warn proud cities, war appears 

Waged in the troubled sky, and armies rush 

To battle in the clouds; before each van 

Prick forth the airy knights, and couch their spears, 

Till thickest legions close; with feats of arms 

From either end of heaven the welkin burns. 

Others, with vast Typhoean rage, more fell, 

Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air 

In whirlwind; Hell scarce holds the wild uproar:-- 

As when Alcides, from Oechalia crowned 

With conquest, felt th' envenomed robe, and tore 

Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines, 

And Lichas from the top of Oeta threw 

Into th' Euboic sea. Others, more mild, 

Retreated in a silent valley, sing 

With notes angelical to many a harp 

Their own heroic deeds, and hapless fall 

By doom of battle, and complain that Fate 

Free Virtue should enthrall to Force or Chance. 

Their song was partial; but the harmony 

(What could it less when Spirits immortal sing?) 

Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment 

The thronging audience. In discourse more sweet 

(For Eloquence the Soul, Song charms the Sense) 

Others apart sat on a hill retired, 

In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high 

Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate-- 

Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, 

And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. 

Of good and evil much they argued then, 

Of happiness and final misery, 

Passion and apathy, and glory and shame: 

Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy!-- 

Yet, with a pleasing sorcery, could charm 

Pain for a while or anguish, and excite 

Fallacious hope, or arm th' obdured breast 

With stubborn patience as with triple steel. 

Another part, in squadrons and gross bands, 

On bold adventure to discover wide 

That dismal world, if any clime perhaps 

Might yield them easier habitation, bend 

Four ways their flying march, along the banks 

Of four infernal rivers, that disgorge 

Into the burning lake their baleful streams-- 

Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate; 

Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep; 

Cocytus, named of lamentation loud 

Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegeton, 

Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. 

Far off from these, a slow and silent stream, 

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls 

Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks 

Forthwith his former state and being forgets-- 

Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. 

Beyond this flood a frozen continent 

Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms 

Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land 

Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems 

Of ancient pile; all else deep snow and ice, 

A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog 

Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, 

Where armies whole have sunk: the parching air 

Burns frore, and cold performs th' effect of fire. 

Thither, by harpy-footed Furies haled, 

At certain revolutions all the damned 

Are brought; and feel by turns the bitter change 

Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce, 

From beds of raging fire to starve in ice 

Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine 

Immovable, infixed, and frozen round 

Periods of time,--thence hurried back to fire. 

They ferry over this Lethean sound 

Both to and fro, their sorrow to augment, 

And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach 

The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose 

In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe, 

All in one moment, and so near the brink; 

But Fate withstands, and, to oppose th' attempt, 

Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards 

The ford, and of itself the water flies 

All taste of living wight, as once it fled 

The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on 

In confused march forlorn, th' adventurous bands, 

With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast, 

Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found 

No rest. Through many a dark and dreary vale 

They passed, and many a region dolorous, 

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery alp, 

Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death-- 

A universe of death, which God by curse 

Created evil, for evil only good; 

Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds, 

Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, 

Obominable, inutterable, and worse 

Than fables yet have feigned or fear conceived, 

Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire. 

Meanwhile the Adversary of God and Man, 

Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design, 

Puts on swift wings, and toward the gates of Hell 

Explores his solitary flight: sometimes 

He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left; 

Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 

Up to the fiery concave towering high. 

As when far off at sea a fleet descried 

Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds 

Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 

Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 

Their spicy drugs; they on the trading flood, 

Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, 

Ply stemming nightly toward the pole: so seemed 

Far off the flying Fiend. At last appear 

Hell-bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, 

And thrice threefold the gates; three folds were brass, 

Three iron, three of adamantine rock, 

Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, 

Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat 

On either side a formidable Shape. 

The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, 

But ended foul in many a scaly fold, 

Voluminous and vast--a serpent armed 

With mortal sting. About her middle round 

A cry of Hell-hounds never-ceasing barked 

With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung 

A hideous peal; yet, when they list, would creep, 

If aught disturbed their noise, into her womb, 

And kennel there; yet there still barked and howled 

Within unseen. Far less abhorred than these 

Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts 

Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore; 

Nor uglier follow the night-hag, when, called 

In secret, riding through the air she comes, 

Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance 

With Lapland witches, while the labouring moon 

Eclipses at their charms. The other Shape-- 

If shape it might be called that shape had none 

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb; 

Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, 

For each seemed either--black it stood as Night, 

Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, 

And shook a dreadful dart: what seemed his head 

The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 

Satan was now at hand, and from his seat 

The monster moving onward came as fast 

With horrid strides; Hell trembled as he strode. 

Th' undaunted Fiend what this might be admired-- 

Admired, not feared (God and his Son except, 

Created thing naught valued he nor shunned), 

And with disdainful look thus first began:-- 

"Whence and what art thou, execrable Shape, 

That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 

Thy miscreated front athwart my way 

To yonder gates? Through them I mean to pass, 

That be assured, without leave asked of thee. 

Retire; or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, 

Hell-born, not to contend with Spirits of Heaven." 

To whom the Goblin, full of wrath, replied:-- 

"Art thou that traitor Angel? art thou he, 

Who first broke peace in Heaven and faith, till then 

Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 

Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons, 

Conjured against the Highest--for which both thou 

And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 

To waste eternal days in woe and pain? 

And reckon'st thou thyself with Spirits of Heaven 

Hell-doomed, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, 

Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 

Thy king and lord? Back to thy punishment, 

False fugitive; and to thy speed add wings, 

Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 

Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 

Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 

So spake the grisly Terror, and in shape, 

So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold, 

More dreadful and deform. On th' other side, 

Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 

Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 

That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 

In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 

Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 

Levelled his deadly aim; their fatal hands 

No second stroke intend; and such a frown 

Each cast at th' other as when two black clouds, 

With heaven's artillery fraught, came rattling on 

Over the Caspian,--then stand front to front 

Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 

To join their dark encounter in mid-air. 

So frowned the mighty combatants that Hell 

Grew darker at their frown; so matched they stood; 

For never but once more was wither like 

To meet so great a foe. And now great deeds 

Had been achieved, whereof all Hell had rung, 

Had not the snaky Sorceress, that sat 

Fast by Hell-gate and kept the fatal key, 

Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 

"O father, what intends thy hand," she cried, 

"Against thy only son? What fury, O son, 

Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart 

Against thy father's head? And know'st for whom? 

For him who sits above, and laughs the while 

At thee, ordained his drudge to execute 

Whate'er his wrath, which he calls justice, bids-- 

His wrath, which one day will destroy ye both!" 

She spake, and at her words the hellish Pest 

Forbore: then these to her Satan returned:-- 

"So strange thy outcry, and thy words so strange 

Thou interposest, that my sudden hand, 

Prevented, spares to tell thee yet by deeds 

What it intends, till first I know of thee 

What thing thou art, thus double-formed, and why, 

In this infernal vale first met, thou call'st 

Me father, and that phantasm call'st my son. 

I know thee not, nor ever saw till now 

Sight more detestable than him and thee." 

T' whom thus the Portress of Hell-gate replied:-- 

"Hast thou forgot me, then; and do I seem 

Now in thine eye so foul?--once deemed so fair 

In Heaven, when at th' assembly, and in sight 

Of all the Seraphim with thee combined 

In bold conspiracy against Heaven's King, 

All on a sudden miserable pain 

Surprised thee, dim thine eyes and dizzy swum 

In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast 

Threw forth, till on the left side opening wide, 

Likest to thee in shape and countenance bright, 

Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess armed, 

Out of thy head I sprung. Amazement seized 

All th' host of Heaven; back they recoiled afraid 

At first, and called me Sin, and for a sign 

Portentous held me; but, familiar grown, 

I pleased, and with attractive graces won 

The most averse--thee chiefly, who, full oft 

Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing, 

Becam'st enamoured; and such joy thou took'st 

With me in secret that my womb conceived 

A growing burden. Meanwhile war arose, 

And fields were fought in Heaven: wherein remained 

(For what could else?) to our Almighty Foe 

Clear victory; to our part loss and rout 

Through all the Empyrean. Down they fell, 

Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down 

Into this Deep; and in the general fall 

I also: at which time this powerful key 

Into my hands was given, with charge to keep 

These gates for ever shut, which none can pass 

Without my opening. Pensive here I sat 

Alone; but long I sat not, till my womb, 

Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown, 

Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. 

At last this odious offspring whom thou seest, 

Thine own begotten, breaking violent way, 

Tore through my entrails, that, with fear and pain 

Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew 

Transformed: but he my inbred enemy 

Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart, 

Made to destroy. I fled, and cried out Death! 

Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed 

From all her caves, and back resounded Death! 

I fled; but he pursued (though more, it seems, 

Inflamed with lust than rage), and, swifter far, 

Me overtook, his mother, all dismayed, 

And, in embraces forcible and foul 

Engendering with me, of that rape begot 

These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry 

Surround me, as thou saw'st--hourly conceived 

And hourly born, with sorrow infinite 

To me; for, when they list, into the womb 

That bred them they return, and howl, and gnaw 

My bowels, their repast; then, bursting forth 

Afresh, with conscious terrors vex me round, 

That rest or intermission none I find. 

Before mine eyes in opposition sits 

Grim Death, my son and foe, who set them on, 

And me, his parent, would full soon devour 

For want of other prey, but that he knows 

His end with mine involved, and knows that I 

Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane, 

Whenever that shall be: so Fate pronounced. 

But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun 

His deadly arrow; neither vainly hope 

To be invulnerable in those bright arms, 

Through tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint, 

Save he who reigns above, none can resist." 

She finished; and the subtle Fiend his lore 

Soon learned, now milder, and thus answered smooth:-- 

"Dear daughter--since thou claim'st me for thy sire, 

And my fair son here show'st me, the dear pledge 

Of dalliance had with thee in Heaven, and joys 

Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change 

Befallen us unforeseen, unthought-of--know, 

I come no enemy, but to set free 

From out this dark and dismal house of pain 

Both him and thee, and all the heavenly host 

Of Spirits that, in our just pretences armed, 

Fell with us from on high. From them I go 

This uncouth errand sole, and one for all 

Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread 

Th' unfounded Deep, and through the void immense 

To search, with wandering quest, a place foretold 

Should be--and, by concurring signs, ere now 

Created vast and round--a place of bliss 

In the purlieus of Heaven; and therein placed 

A race of upstart creatures, to supply 

Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed, 

Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude, 

Might hap to move new broils. Be this, or aught 

Than this more secret, now designed, I haste 

To know; and, this once known, shall soon return, 

And bring ye to the place where thou and Death 

Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen 

Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed 

With odours. There ye shall be fed and filled 

Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey." 

He ceased; for both seemed highly pleased, and Death 

Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear 

His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw 

Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced 

His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire:-- 

"The key of this infernal Pit, by due 

And by command of Heaven's all-powerful King, 

I keep, by him forbidden to unlock 

These adamantine gates; against all force 

Death ready stands to interpose his dart, 

Fearless to be o'ermatched by living might. 

But what owe I to his commands above, 

Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down 

Into this gloom of Tartarus profound, 

To sit in hateful office here confined, 

Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly born-- 

Here in perpetual agony and pain, 

With terrors and with clamours compassed round 

Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed? 

Thou art my father, thou my author, thou 

My being gav'st me; whom should I obey 

But thee? whom follow? Thou wilt bring me soon 

To that new world of light and bliss, among 

The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign 

At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems 

Thy daughter and thy darling, without end." 

Thus saying, from her side the fatal key, 

Sad instrument of all our woe, she took; 

And, towards the gate rolling her bestial train, 

Forthwith the huge portcullis high up-drew, 

Which, but herself, not all the Stygian Powers 

Could once have moved; then in the key-hole turns 

Th' intricate wards, and every bolt and bar 

Of massy iron or solid rock with ease 

Unfastens. On a sudden open fly, 

With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 

Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 

Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook 

Of Erebus. She opened; but to shut 

Excelled her power: the gates wide open stood, 

That with extended wings a bannered host, 

Under spread ensigns marching, mibht pass through 

With horse and chariots ranked in loose array; 

So wide they stood, and like a furnace-mouth 

Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame. 

Before their eyes in sudden view appear 

The secrets of the hoary Deep--a dark 

Illimitable ocean, without bound, 

Without dimension; where length, breadth, and height, 

And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night 

And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold 

Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise 

Of endless wars, and by confusion stand. 

For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce, 

Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring 

Their embryon atoms: they around the flag 

Of each his faction, in their several clans, 

Light-armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow, 

Swarm populous, unnumbered as the sands 

Of Barca or Cyrene's torrid soil, 

Levied to side with warring winds, and poise 

Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere 

He rules a moment: Chaos umpire sits, 

And by decision more embroils the fray 

By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter, 

Chance governs all. Into this wild Abyss, 

The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave, 

Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire, 

But all these in their pregnant causes mixed 

Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight, 

Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain 

His dark materials to create more worlds-- 

Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend 

Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while, 

Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith 

He had to cross. Nor was his ear less pealed 

With noises loud and ruinous (to compare 

Great things with small) than when Bellona storms 

With all her battering engines, bent to rase 

Some capital city; or less than if this frame 

Of Heaven were falling, and these elements 

In mutiny had from her axle torn 

The steadfast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans 

He spread for flight, and, in the surging smoke 

Uplifted, spurns the ground; thence many a league, 

As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides 

Audacious; but, that seat soon failing, meets 

A vast vacuity. All unawares, 

Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb-down he drops 

Ten thousand fathom deep, and to this hour 

Down had been falling, had not, by ill chance, 

The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud, 

Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him 

As many miles aloft. That fury stayed-- 

Quenched in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea, 

Nor good dry land--nigh foundered, on he fares, 

Treading the crude consistence, half on foot, 

Half flying; behoves him now both oar and sail. 

As when a gryphon through the wilderness 

With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale, 

Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth 

Had from his wakeful custody purloined 

The guarded gold; so eagerly the Fiend 

O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, 

With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, 

And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies. 

At length a universal hubbub wild 

Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused, 

Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear 

With loudest vehemence. Thither he plies 

Undaunted, to meet there whatever Power 

Or Spirit of the nethermost Abyss 

Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask 

Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies 

Bordering on light; when straight behold the throne 

Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 

Wide on the wasteful Deep! With him enthroned 

Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things, 

The consort of his reign; and by them stood 

Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name 

Of Demogorgon; Rumour next, and Chance, 

And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled, 

And Discord with a thousand various mouths. 

T' whom Satan, turning boldly, thus:--"Ye Powers 

And Spirtis of this nethermost Abyss, 

Chaos and ancient Night, I come no spy 

With purpose to explore or to disturb 

The secrets of your realm; but, by constraint 

Wandering this darksome desert, as my way 

Lies through your spacious empire up to light, 

Alone and without guide, half lost, I seek, 

What readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds 

Confine with Heaven; or, if some other place, 

From your dominion won, th' Ethereal King 

Possesses lately, thither to arrive 

I travel this profound. Direct my course: 

Directed, no mean recompense it brings 

To your behoof, if I that region lost, 

All usurpation thence expelled, reduce 

To her original darkness and your sway 

(Which is my present journey), and once more 

Erect the standard there of ancient Night. 

Yours be th' advantage all, mine the revenge!" 

Thus Satan; and him thus the Anarch old, 

With faltering speech and visage incomposed, 

Answered: "I know thee, stranger, who thou art-- *** 

That mighty leading Angel, who of late 

Made head against Heaven's King, though overthrown. 

I saw and heard; for such a numerous host 

Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep, 

With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, 

Confusion worse confounded; and Heaven-gates 

Poured out by millions her victorious bands, 

Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here 

Keep residence; if all I can will serve 

That little which is left so to defend, 

Encroached on still through our intestine broils 

Weakening the sceptre of old Night: first, Hell, 

Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath; 

Now lately Heaven and Earth, another world 

Hung o'er my realm, linked in a golden chain 

To that side Heaven from whence your legions fell! 

If that way be your walk, you have not far; 

So much the nearer danger. Go, and speed; 

Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain." 

He ceased; and Satan stayed not to reply, 

But, glad that now his sea should find a shore, 

With fresh alacrity and force renewed 

Springs upward, like a pyramid of fire, 

Into the wild expanse, and through the shock 

Of fighting elements, on all sides round 

Environed, wins his way; harder beset 

And more endangered than when Argo passed 

Through Bosporus betwixt the justling rocks, 

Or when Ulysses on the larboard shunned 

Charybdis, and by th' other whirlpool steered. 

So he with difficulty and labour hard 

Moved on, with difficulty and labour he; 

But, he once passed, soon after, when Man fell, 

Strange alteration! Sin and Death amain, 

Following his track (such was the will of Heaven) 

Paved after him a broad and beaten way 

Over the dark Abyss, whose boiling gulf 

Tamely endured a bridge of wondrous length, 

From Hell continued, reaching th' utmost orb 

Of this frail World; by which the Spirits perverse 

With easy intercourse pass to and fro 

To tempt or punish mortals, except whom 

God and good Angels guard by special grace. 

But now at last the sacred influence 

Of light appears, and from the walls of Heaven 

Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night 

A glimmering dawn. Here Nature first begins 

Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire, 

As from her outmost works, a broken foe, 

With tumult less and with less hostile din; 

That Satan with less toil, and now with ease, 

Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light, 

And, like a weather-beaten vessel, holds 

Gladly the port, though shrouds and tackle torn; 

Or in the emptier waste, resembling air, 

Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold 

Far off th' empyreal Heaven, extended wide 

In circuit, undetermined square or round, 

With opal towers and battlements adorned 

Of living sapphire, once his native seat; 

And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain, 

This pendent World, in bigness as a star 

Of smallest magnitude close by the moon. 

Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 

Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he hies.