HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence: and, from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires Beyond thus high; insatiate to pursue Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught, His proud imaginations thus display'd:
"Powers and dominions, deities of heaven! For since no deep within her gulf can hold Immortal vigour, though oppress'd and fall'n, I give not heaven for lost: from this descent Celestial virtues rising, will appear More glorious and more dread than from no fall, And trust themselves to fear no second fate.
Me, though just right, and the fix'd laws of heaven, Did first create your leader; next, free choice; With what besides, in council or in fight, Hath been achieved of merit; yet this loss,
Thus far, at least, recover'd, hath much more
Establish'd in a safe, unenvied throne,
Yielded with full consent. The happier state In heaven, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferior; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim, Your bulwark; and condemns to greatest share Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction; for none sure will claim in hell Precédence; none whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more! With this advantage, then To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, More than can be in heaven, we now return To claim our just inheritance of old,
Surer to prosper than prosperity
Could have assured us; and by what best way, Whether of open war, or covert guile, We now debate: who can advise, may speak." He ceased; and next him, Moloch, sceptred king,
Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair: His trust was with the Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength; and, rather than be less, Cared not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear: of God, or hell, or worse, He reck'd not; and these words thereafter spake : "My sentence is for open war: of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not; them let those
Contrive who need; or when they need, not now : For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit lingering here, Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place Accept this dark, opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns
By our delay? No!-let us rather choose, Arm'd with hell-flames and fury, all at once, O'er heaven's high towers to force resistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the torturer; when, to meet the noise Of his almighty engine, he shall hear Infernal thunder; and, for lightning, see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his angels; and his throne itself Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments. But, perhaps, The way seems difficult and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat; descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sank thus low? The event is fear'd.
The ascent is easy then: Should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find
« ՆախորդըՇարունակել » |