Above them all th' Archangel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, 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) condemn'd
For ever now to have their lot in pain,
Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd
Of heav'n, and from eternal splendours flung
For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood,
Their glory wither'd: as when heaven's fire
Hath scath'd the forest oaks, or mountain
pines,
[bare,
With singed top, their stately growth, though
Stand on the blasted heath. He now prepar'd
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 assay'd, and thrice in spite of scorn,
Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth at
[way.
Words, interwove with sighs, found out their
O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers
Matchless! but with th' Almighty, and that

last

strife

Was not inglorious, though the event was dire,
As this place testifies, and this dire change
Hateful to utter; but what pow'r of mind
Foresecing or presaging, from the depth
Ofknowledge past or present, could have fear'd,
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 heav'n, shall fail to re-ascend,
Self-rais'd, and re possess their native seat?
For ne be witness, all the host of heav'u,
If counsels different, or dauger shunn'd
By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns
Monarch in heav'n, 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 con-
eeal'd,
(fall.
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our
Henceforth his might we know, and know our

OWB,

So as not eitber to provoke, or dread
New war, provok'd; 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 heav'n, that he ere long

There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top
Belch'd 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 wing'd with
speed

A numerous brigade hastened: as when bands
Of pioneers, with spade and pick-axe arm'd,
Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,
Or cast a rampart. Mamanon led them on,
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell
From heav'n, for ev'n in heav'n his looks and
thoughts

Were always downward bent, admiring more
The riches of heav'u's pavement, trodden gold,
Than ought divme or holy else enjoy'd
In visions beatific: by his first
Men also, and by his suggestion taught,
Rausack'd the centre, and with impious hands
Rifled the bowels of their mother earth
For treasures better bid. Soon had his crew
Open'd into the hill a spacious wound,
And digg'd out ribs of gold. Let noue admire
That riches grow in hell; that soil may best
Deserve the precious bane. And here let those
Who boast in mortal things, and wond'ring

teli

Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings,
Learn how their greatest monuments of fame,
And strength, and art, are easily out-done
By spirits reprobate, and in an hour
What in an age they with incessant toil,
And hands innumerable, scarce perform.
High on the piain in many cells prepar'd,
That underneath had veins of liquid fire
Sluic'd from the lake, a second multitude
With wondrous art founded the massy ore,

dross:

A third as soon had form'd within the ground A various mould, and from the boiling cells, By strange conveyance, filld 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 they want
Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven;
The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon,
Nor great Alcairo such magnificence
Equall'd in all their glories, to insuine
Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat
Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove
In wealth and luxury. Th'ascending pile

At Pandemonium, the high capital

Of Satan and his peers: their summons call'd
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 throng'd, the gates, And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall

(Though like a cover'd field, where champions bold

Wont ride in arm'd, and at the Soldan's chair Defy'd the best of Panim chivalry To mortal combat, or career with lance) Thick swarm'd, both on the ground and in the air [bees Brush'd with the hiss of rustling wings. As In spring-time, when the sun with Taurus rides,

Pour forth their populous youth about the hive

Opening their brazen folds, discover wide-
Within her ample spaces o'er the smooth
And level pavement: from the arched roof
Pendant by subtle magic, many a row
Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed
With Naptha and Asphaltus, yielding light
As from a sky. The hasty multitude
Admiring enter'd, and the work some praise
And some the architect: his hand was known
In heav'n by many a towered structure high,
Where scepter'd 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 unador'd
In ancient Greece; and in Ausonian land
Men call'd him Mulciber; and how he fell
From heav'n 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 form the zenith, like a falling star,
Ou Leninos th Egean isle thus they relate,
Erring; for he with his rebellious rout
Fell long before; nor ought avail'd him now
To' have built in heav'n high towrs; nor did
he 'scape

By all his engines, but was headlong sent,
With his industrious crew, to build in hell,
Mean while the winged heralds by command
Of sov'reign pow'r, with awful ceremony
Aud trumpet's sound, throughout the host
proclaim

flowers

Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank,
The suburb of their straw-built citadel,
New rubb'd with balm, expatiate and confer
Their state affairs. So thick the airy crowd
Swarm'd and were straiten'd; till the signal
given,

Behold a wonder! they but now who seem'd
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 fairy elves,
Whose midnight revels by a forest side
Or fountain some belated peasant sees,
Or dreams he sees, while over-head the Moon
Set arbitress, and nearer to 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 rebouuds.

Thus incorporated spirits to smallest forms Reduc'd their shape immense, and were at large,

Though without number still amidst the hall
Of the 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 begau.

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

In this abhorr'd deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end
The vassals of bis anger, when the scourge
Inexorably, and the torturing hour

Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus

We should be quite abolish'd and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmostire? which to the height enrag'd,
Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential, happier far
Than miserable to have eternal being:
Or ifour substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne:
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd
Desp'rate revenge, and battle dangerous
To less than Gods. On th' other side up rose
Belial, in act more graceful and humane;
A fairer person lost not Heav'n; he seem'd
For dignity compos'd and high exploit :
But all was false and hollow; though his
tongue
[pear
Dropt manna, and could make the worse ap-
The better reason, to perplex and dash
Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low;
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds
Timmorous and slothful: yet he pleas'd the ear,
And with persuasive accent thus began.

I should be much for open war, O Peers! As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success: When he who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels and in what excels Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge? the tow'rs of Hear'n are all'd

With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable; oft on the bord'ring deep Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing Scout far and wide into the realm of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our

way

By force, and at our heels all Hell shou'd rise
With blackest insurrection, to confound
Heav'n's purest light, yet our great enemy
All incorruptible would on his throne
Sit unpolluted, and th' ethereal mould
Incapable of stain would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair: we must exasperate
Th' Almighty Victor to spend all his rage,
And that must end us, that must be our cure,
To be no more; sad cure; for who would
lose,

Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion and who knows,
Let this be good, whether our angry foe
Can give it, or will ever? how he can
Is doubtful; that he never will is sure.
Wih he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,
Belike through impotence, or unaware,
To give his enemies their wislı, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger saves
To panish endless? Wherefore cease we then
Say they who counsel war, we are decreed,
Reserv'd, and destin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we sufier more,
What can we suffer worse? Is this then worst,
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What when we fled amain, pursued and struck
With Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and be
sought

The deep to shelter us? this Hell then seem'd
A refuge from those wounds: or when we lay
Chain'd on the burning lake? that sure was

worse.

What if the breath that kindled those grim fires,

Awak'd should blow them into sev'nfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames? or from above
Should intermitted vengeance arm again
His red right hand to plague us? what if all
Her stores were open'd, and this firmament
Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire,
Impendent horrors, threat'ning hideous fall
One day upon our heads; while we perhaps
Designing or exkorting glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurl'd
Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and
prey

Of wracking whirlwinds, and for ever suak

Under you boiling ocean, wrapt in chains;
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev'd,
Ages of hopeless end! this would be worse.
War therefore, open or conceal'd, alike
My voice dissuades; for what can force or
guile

With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view? he from Heav'n's height

All these our motions vain sees and derides; Not more almighty to resist our might,

Thau wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heaven Thus trampled, thus expell'd to suffer here Chains and these torments? better these than

In temper and in nature, will receive
Familiar the tierce heat, and void of pain;
This horror will grow mild, this darkness light,
Besides what hope the never ending flight

Of future days may bring, what chance, what change

Worth waiting, since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe.

Thus Belial with words cloth'd in reason's garb

Counse'd ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, For peace: and after him thus Maınmon spake. Either to disinthrone the King of Heaven

The former vain to hope argues as vain
The latter: for what place can be for us
Within Heav'n's bound, unless Heav'u's Lord

supreme

We overpow'r? Suppose he should relent,
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in his presence humble, and receive
Strict laws impos'd, to celebrate his throne
With warbld hymus, and to his Godhead sing
Forc'd Hallelujahs; while he lordly sits
Our envied sov'reign, and bis altar breathes
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers,
Our servile offerings? This must be our task,
In Heav'n, this our delight; how wearisome
Eternity so spent in worship paid

To whoin we hate! Let us not then pursue
By force impossible, by leave obtaiu'd
Unacceptable, though in Heav'n, our state
Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek [own
Our own good front ourselves, and from our
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess,
Free, and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easy yoke
Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear
Then most conspicuous, when great things of
small,

Useful of hurtful, prosp'rous of adverse
We can create, and in what place soe'er
Thrive under ev'l, and work ease out of pain
Through labour and endurance. This deep

world

Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst [Sire
Thick clouds and dark doth Heav'n's all-ruling
Choose to reside, his glory unobscur'd,

And with the majesty of darkness round [roar
Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders
Must'ring their rage, and Heav'n resembles Hell?
As he our darkness, cannot we his light
Imitate when we please? This desert soil
Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;
Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise
Magnificence; and what can Heav'n show more?
Our torments also may in length of time
Become our elements, these piercing fires
As soft as now severe, our temper chang'd
Into their temper; which must needs remove
The sensible of pain. All things invite
To peaceful counsels, and the settled state
Of order, how in safety best we may
Compose our present evils, with regard
Of what we are and where, dismissing quite
All thoughts of war: ye have what I advise.

He scarce had finish'd, when such murmur

fill'd

[tull

long

Had rous'd the sea, now with Loarse cadence

C2