Confounded, though immortal: But his doom Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought Both of lost happiness, and lasting pain, 55 Torments him: round he throws his baleful eyes, Mix'd with obdurate pride and steadfast hate At once, as far as Angels ken, he views 60 65 70 20 A dungeon horrible on all sides round As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace With ever burning sulphur unconsumed 75 Long after known in Palestine, and named 80 And thence in Heaven call'd Satan, with bold words Breaking the horrid silence, thus began. If thou be 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, Join'd with me once, now misery hath join'd 85 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, Though changed in outward lustre, that fix'd mind, 95 100 That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring, His utmost power with adverse power opposed And shook his throne. What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, 106 And study of revenge, immortal hate, 110 Doubted his empire; that were low indeed, That were an ignominy, and shame beneath 115 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 advanced, 120 We may with more successful bone resolve So spake the apostate Angel, though in pain, O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers, 125 That led the embattled Seraphim to war 130 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, 135 Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host In horrible destruction laid thus low, Can perish for the mind and spirit remains 140 Though all our glory extinct, and happy state 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 146 Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, 150 What can it then avail, though yet we feel Strength undiminish'd, or eternal being, To undergo eternal punishment? 155 Whereto with speedy words the Archfiend 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, 160 As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence 165 Shull grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmost counsels from their destined aim. But see! the angry victor hath recall'd His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 170 Of Heaven received us falling; and the thunder, 175 Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 180 Save what the glimmering of these livid flames There rest, if any rest can harbour there; 185 And, reassembling our afflicted Powers, Consult how we may henceforth most offend What reinforcement we may gain from hope, 190 If not, what resolution from despair. Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate 195 201 Decming some island, oft, as seamen tell, With fixed anchor in his scaly rind, Moors by his side under the lee, while night 205 So stretch'd our huge in length the Archfiend 'ay,, Chain'd on the burning lake: nor ever thence 210 Had risen, or heaved his head; but that the will And high permission of all-ruling Heaven 215 Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance, pour'd. 220 Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and roll'd In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight 225 Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air, That felt unusual weight; till on dry land He lights, if it were land that ever burn'd With solid, as the lake with liquid fire: 230 And fuel'd entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds, 235 With stench and smoke: such resting found the sole Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, 240 |