Nine times the space that measures day and night

To mortal men, he with his horrid crew

Lay vanquish'd, rolling in the fiery gulf,
Confounded, though immortal: But his doom
Reserv'd him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness, and lasting pain,

Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witness'd huge affliction and dismay
Mix'd 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 flam'd; yet from those flames No light; but rather darkness visible

Serv'd 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 unconsum'd:
Such place Eternal Justice had prepar'd
For those rebellious; here their prison ordain'd
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far remov'd from God and light of Heav'n,
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'erwhelm'd
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 nam'd
Beëlzebub. To whom the Arch-Enemy,

And thence in Heaven call'd Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence, thus began.

If thou beest he; but O, how fallen! how chang'd 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, Join'd with me once, now misery hath join'd

In equal ruin! Into what pit thou seest,

From what highth fallen; 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,

Nor what the potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent or change,

Though chang'd in outward lustre, that fix'd mind,
And high disdain from sense of injur'd merit,
That with the Mightiest rais'd me to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits arm'd,

That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power oppos'd

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 advanc'd,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage, by force or guile, eternal war,
Irreconcileable 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 rack'd with deep despair:
And him thus answer'd 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, endanger'd 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