The Complete Poetry of John Milton (58 page)

   20        
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread

               
Dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss
¹⁴

               
And mad’st it pregnant:
¹⁵
What in me is dark

               
Illumin, what is low raise and support;

               
That to the highth of this great Argument

   25        
I may assert Eternal Providence,

               
And justifie the wayes of God to men.

    
             Say first, for Heav’n hides nothing from thy view

               
Nor the deep Tract of Hell, say first what cause

               
Mov’d our Grand Parents in that happy State,

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Favour’d of Heav’n so highly, to fall off

               
From thir Creator, and transgress his Will

               
For one restraint, Lords of the World besides?

               
Who first seduc’d them to that foul revolt?

               
Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile

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Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv’d

               
The Mother of Mankind, what time his Pride

               
Had cast him out from Heav’n, with all his Host

               
Of Rebel Angels, by whose aid aspiring

               
To set himself in Glory above his Peers,

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He trusted to have equal’d the most High,

               
If he oppos’d; and with ambitious aim

               
Against the Throne and Monarchy of God

               
Rais’d impious War in Heav’n and Battel proud

               
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power

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Hurld headlong flaming from th’ Ethereal Skie

               
With hideous ruin and combustion down

               
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell

               
In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire,

               
Who durst defie th’ Omnipotent to Arms.

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Nine times the Space that measures Day and Night
¹⁶

               
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew

               
Lay vanquisht, rowling in the fiery Gulf

               
Confounded though immortal: But his doom

               
Reserv’d him to more wrath; for now the thought

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Both of lost happiness and lasting pain

               
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes

               
That witness’d huge affliction and dismay

               
Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:

               
At once as far as Angels kenn
¹⁷
he views

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The dismal Situation waste and wild,

               
A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round

               
As one great Furnace flam’d, yet from those flames

               
No light, but rather darkness visible

               
Serv’d only to discover sights of woe,

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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 unconsum’d:

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Such place Eternal Justice had prepar’d

               
For those rebellious, here thir Prison ordain’d

               
In utter darkness, and thir portion set

               
As far remov’d from God and light of Heav’n

               
As from the Center thrice to th’ utmost Pole.
¹⁸

   75        
O how unlike the place from whence they fell!

               
There the companions of his fall, o’rewhelm’d

               
With Floods and Whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,

               
He soon discerns, and weltring by his side

               
One next himself in power, and next in crime,

   80        
Long after known in
Palestine
, and nam’d

               
Beëlzebub.
To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,

               
And thence in Heav’n call’d Satan,
¹⁹
with bold words

               
Breaking the horrid silence thus began.

    
             If thou beest he; but O how fall’n! how chang’d
²⁰

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From him, who in the happy Realms of Light

               
Cloth’d with transcendent brightness didst outshine

               
Myriads though bright: If he whom mutual league,

               
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope

               
And hazard in the Glorious Enterprize,

   90        
Joynd with me once, now misery hath joynd

               
In equal ruin: into what Pit thou seest

               
From what highth fall’n, so much the stronger prov’d

               
He with his Thunder: and till then who knew

               
The force of those dire Arms? yet not for those,

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Nor what the Potent Victor in his rage

               
Can else inflict, do I repent or change,

               
Though chang’d in outward lustre; that fixt mind

               
And high disdain, from sence of injur’d merit,

               
That with the mightiest rais’d me to contend,

   100     
And to the fierce contention brought along

               
Innumerable force to Spirits arm’d

               
That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring,

               
His utmost power with adverse power oppos’d

               
In dubious
²¹
Battel on the Plains of Heav’n,

   105     
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?

               
All is not lost; th’ unconquerable Will,

               
And study of revenge, immortal hate,

               
And courage never to submit or yield:

               
And what is else not to be overcome?

   110     
That Glory never shall his wrath or might

               
Extort
²²
from me. To bow and sue for grace

               
With suppliant knee, and deifie his power,

               
Who from the terrour of this Arm so late

               
Doubted
²³
his Empire, that were low indeed,

   115     
That were an ignominy and shame beneath

               
This downfall; since by Fate the strength of Gods

               
And this Empyreal substance cannot fail,

               
Since through experience of this great event

               
In Arms not worse, in foresight much advanc’t,

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We may with more successful hope resolve

               
To wage by force or guile eternal Warr

               
Irreconcileable, to our grand Foe,

               
Who now triumphs, and in th’ excess of joy

               
Sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Heav’n.

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       So spake th’ Apostate Angel, though in pain,

               
Vaunting aloud, but wrackt with deep despair:

               
And him thus answer’d soon his bold Compeer.

           
      
       O Prince, O Chief of many Throned Powers,
²⁴

               
That led th’ imbattell’d Seraphim to Warr

   130     
Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds

               
Fearless, endanger’d Heav’ns 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,

   135     
That with sad overthrow and foul defeat

               
Hath lost us Heav’n, and all this mighty Host

               
In horrible destruction laid thus low,

               
As far as Gods and Heav’nly Essences

               
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains

   140     
Invincible, and vigour soon returns,

               
Though all our Glory extinct, and happy state

               
Here swallow’d up in endless misery.

               
But what if he our Conquerour (whom I now

               
Of force believe Almighty, since no less

   145     
Then such could have orepow’rd such force as ours),

               
Have left us this our spirit and strength intire

               
Strongly to suffer and support our pains,

               
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire,

               
Or do him mightier service as his thralls

   150     
By right of Warr, what e’re 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 undiminisht, or eternal being

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To undergo eternal punishment?

               
Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-fiend reply’d.

           
      
       Fall’n Cherub, to be weak is miserable

               
Doing or Suffering: but of this be sure,

               
To do aught good never will be our task,

   160     
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,

   165     
And out of good still to find means of evil;

               
Which oft times may succeed, so as perhaps

               
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb

               
His inmost counsels from thir destind aim.

               
But see the angry Victor hath recall’d

   170     
His Ministers of vengeance and pursuit

               
Back to the Gates of Heav’n: the Sulphurous Hail

               
Shot after us in storm, oreblown hath laid

               
The fiery Surge, that from the Precipice

               
Of Heav’n receiv’d us falling, and the Thunder,

   175     
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 slip th’ occasion, whether scorn,

               
Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe.