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 height fall'n, so much the stronger prov 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 battel on the plains of heav'n,
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; 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 downfal; 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 th' excess of joy Sole reigning holds the tyranny of heav'n.
So spake th' 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 th' imbattell'd Seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds Fearless, endanger'd heav'n'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 heav'n, 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 swallow'd 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'erpower'd 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 undiminish'd, or eternal being 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 ought 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 destin'd aim. But see! the angry victor hath recall'd
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit Back to the gates of heav'n: the sulphurous hail, Shot after us in storm, o'erblown hath laid The fiery surge, 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 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
And broken chariot wheels: so thick bestrown Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He call'd so loud, that all the hollow deep Of hell resounded: Princes, Potentates, Warriors, the flow'r of heav'n, once yours, now lost, If such astonishment as this can seize
Eternal spirits; or have ye chos'n this place After the toil of battel to repose
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in the vales of heav'n? Or in this abject posture have ye sworn To adore the conqueror? who now beholds Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon His swift pursuers from heav'n 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 fall'n.
They heard, and were abash'd, 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 obey'd, Innumerable. As when the potent rod Of Amram's Son, in Egypt's evil day, Wav'd round the coast up call'd a pitchy cloud Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung
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