Paradise Lost : Book I.
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.
