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 stedfast 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 had 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 the utmost pole. O, 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 the 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 contention 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 substance 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 the excess of joy Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of heaven."
So spake the 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 the 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 then avail, though yet we feel Strength undiminished, or eternal being To undergo eternal punishment?"
Whereto with speedy words the 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 oft-times 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 the 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, reassembling 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 up-lift 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 the 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, shown 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 in the 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 transports a hill Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side Of thundering Etna, whose combustible And fuel'd 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; the 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: Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and copartners of our loss, Lie thus astonished on the 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 the 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
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