Who from the terror of this arm fo late

Doubted his empire; that were low indeed,
That were an ignominy' and shame beneath
This downfall; fince by fate the strength of Gods
And this empyreal substance cannot fail,
Since through experience of this great event
In arms not worse, in forefight much advanc'd,
We may with more fuccessful hope refolve
To wage by force or guile eternal war,
Irreconcileable to our grand foe,

Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.

So fpake th' apoftate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep defpair:
And him thus answer'd foon his bold compeer.
O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers,
That led th' imbattel'd Seraphim to war
Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds
Fearless, indanger'd Heav'n's perpetual king,
And put to proof his high supremacy,

Whether upheld by ftrength, or chance, or fate
Too well I fee and rue the dire event,

That with fad overthrow and foul defeat
Hath loft us Heav'n, and all this mighty host
In horrible deftruction laid thus low,
As far as Gods and heav'nly effences
Can perish for the mind and spi'rit remains
Invincible, and vigor foon returns,
Though all our glory' extinct, and happy ftate
Here swallow'd up in endless mifery.

But

But what if he our conqu'ror (whom I now
Of force believe almighty, fince no less

Than fuch could have o'er-pow'r'd fuch force as
Have left us this our spi'rit and strength entire
Strongly to fuffer and support our pains,
That we may fo fuffice his vengeful ire,
Or do him mightier service as his thralls
By right of war, whate'er his business be,
Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire,
Or do his errands in the gloomy deep;
What can it then avail, though yet we feel
Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being
To undergo eternal punishment?

Whereto with speedy words th' Arch-Fiend reply
Fall'n Cherub, to be weak is miferable

Doing or fuffering: but of this be sure,
To do ought good never will be our task,
But ever to do ill our fole delight,
As be'ing the contrary to his high will
Whom we refift. If then his providence
Out of our evil feek to bring forth good,
Our labor must be to pervert that end,
And out of good still to find means of evil;
Which oft-times may fucceed, fo as perhaps
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb
His inmoft counfels from their deftin'd aim.
But fee the angry victor hath recall'd
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit
Back to the gates of Heav'n: the fulphurous hail
Shot after us in ftorm, o'erblown hath laid

The fiery furge, that from the precipice
Of Heav'n receiv'd us falling; and the thunder,
Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage,
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now
To bellow through the vast and boundless deep.
Let us not flip th' occafion, whether scorn,
Or fatiate fury yield it from our foe.

Seeft thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild,
The feat of defolation, void of light,

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames
Cafts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend
From off the toffing of these fiery waves,
There reft, if any rest can harbour there,
And re-affembling our afflicted Powers,
Confult how we may henceforth most offend
Our enemy, our own lofs how repair,
How overcome this dire calamity,
What reinforcement we may gain from hope,
If not what refolution from despair.

Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate
With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes
That sparkling blaz'd, his other parts besides
Prone on the flood, extended long and large
Lay floting many a rood, in bulk as huge
As whom the fables name of monstrous size,
Titanian, or Earth-born, that warr'd on Jove,
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den

By ancient Tarfus held, or that sea-beast
Leviathan, which God of all his works
Created hugest that swim th' ocean stream:

Him haply flumb'ring on the Norway foam
The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff
Deeming fome iland, oft, as fea-men tell,
With fixed anchor in his skaly rind

Moors by his fide under the lee, while night
Invests the fea, and wished morn delays:

So ftretch'd out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay
Chain'd on the burning lake, nor ever thence
Had ris'n or heav'd his head, but that the will
And high permiffion of all-ruling Heaven
Left him at large to his own dark defigns,
That with reiterated crimes he might
Heap on himself damnation, while he fought
Evil to others, and enrag'd might fee
How all his malice ferv'd but to bring forth
Infinite goodness, grace and mercy shown
On Man by him feduc'd, but on himself
Treble confufion, wrath and vengeance pour'd.
Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool
His mighty ftature; on each hand the flames
Driv'n backward flope their pointing spires, and roll'd
In billows, leave i'th' midst a horrid vale.
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air

That felt unusual weight, till on dry land
He lights, if it were land that ever burn'd
With folid, as the lake with liquid fire;
And fuch appear'd in hue, as when the force
Of fubterranean wind transports a hill

Torn from Pelorus, or the fhatter'd fide

Of

Of thund'ring Ætna, whose combustible
And fuel'd entrails thence conceiving fire,
Sublim'd with mineral fury, aid the winds,
And leave a finged bottom all involv'd

With stench and smoke: Such refting found the fole
Of unbleft feet. Him follow'd his next mate,
Both glorying to have 'fcap'd the Stygian flood
As Gods, and by their own recover'd strength,
Not by the fufferance of fupernal Power.

Is this the region, this the foil, the clime,
Said then the loft Arch-Angel, this the feat
That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light? Be' it so, fince he
Who now is Sovran can difpofe and bid

What shall be right: farthest from him is best,
Whom reas'on hath equal'd, force hath made fupreme
Above his equals. Farewell happy fields,

Where joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new poffeffor; one who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the fame,
And what I should be, all but lefs than he
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell;

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