| |
| O FOR that warning voice, which he who saw | |
| The Apocalypse heard cry in Heaven aloud, | |
| Then when the Dragon, put to second rout, | |
| Came furious down to be revenged on men, | |
| Woe to the inhabitants on Earth! that now, | 5 |
| While time was, our first parents had been warned | |
| The coming of their secret Foe, and scaped, | |
| Haply so scaped, his mortal snare! For now | |
| Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came down, | |
| The tempter, ere the accuser, of mankind, | 10 |
| To wreak on innocent frail Man his loss | |
| Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell. | |
| Yet not rejoicing in his speed, though bold | |
| Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast, | |
| Begins his dire attempt; which, nigh the birth | 15 |
| Now rowling, boils in his tumultuous breast, | |
| And like a devilish engine back recoils | |
| Upon himself. Horror and doubt distract | |
| His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir | |
| The hell within him; for within him Hell | 20 |
| He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell | |
| One step, no more than from Himself, can fly | |
| By change of place. Now conscience wakes despair | |
| That slumbered; wakes the bitter memory | |
| Of what he was, what is, and what must be | 25 |
| Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue! | |
| Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view | |
| Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad; | |
| Sometimes towards Heaven and the full-blazing Sun, | |
| Which now sat high in his meridian tower: | 30 |
| Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began:— | |
| “O thou that, with surpassing glory crowned, | |
| Look’st from thy sole dominion like the god | |
| Of this new World—at whose sight all the stars | |
| Hide their diminished heads—to thee I call, | 35 |
| But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, | |
| O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, | |
| That bring to my remembrance from what state | |
| I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere, | |
| Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, | 40 |
| Warring in Heaven against Heaven’s matchless King! | |
| Ah, wherefore? He deserved no such return | |
| From me, whom he created what I was | |
| In that bright eminence, and with his good | |
| Upbraided none; nor was his service hard. | 45 |
| What could be less than to afford him praise, | |
| The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks, | |
| How due? Yet all his good proved ill in me, | |
| And wrought but malice. Lifted up so high, | |
| I ’sdained subjection, and thought one step higher | 50 |
| Would set me highest, and in a moment quit | |
| The debt immense of endless gratitude, | |
| So burthensome, still paying, still to owe; | |
| Forgetful what from him I still received; | |
| And understood not that a grateful mind | 55 |
| By owing owes not, but still pays, at once | |
| Indebted and discharged—what burden then? | |
| Oh, had his powerful destiny ordained | |
| Me some inferior Angel, I had stood | |
| Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised | 60 |
| Ambition. Yet why not? Some other Power | |
| As great might have aspired, and me, though mean, | |
| Drawn to his part. But other Powers as great | |
| Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within | |
| Or from without to all temptations armed! | 65 |
| Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand? | |
| Thou hadst. Whom has thou then, or what, to accuse, | |
| But Heaven’s free love dealt equally to all? | |
| Be then his love accursed, since, love or hate, | |
| To me alike it deals eternal woe. | 70 |
| Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will | |
| Chose freely what it now so justly rues. | |
| Me miserable! which way shall I fly | |
| Infinite wrauth and infinite despair? | |
| Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell; | 75 |
| And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep | |
| Still threatening to devour me opens wide, | |
| To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven. | |
| O, then, at last relent! Is there no place | |
| Left for repentence, none for pardon left? | 80 |
| None left but by submission; and that word | |
| Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame | |
| Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced | |
| With other promises and other vaunts | |
| Than to submit, boasting I could subdue | 85 |
| The Omnipotent. Aye me! they little know | |
| How dearly I abide that boast so vain, | |
| Under what torments inwardly I groan. | |
| While they adore me on the throne of Hell, | |
| With diadem and sceptre high advanced, | 90 |
| The lower still I fall, only supreme | |
| In misery: such joy ambition finds! | |
| But say I could repent, and could obtain, | |
| By act of grace, my former state; how soon | |
| Would highth recal high thoughts, how soon unsay | 95 |
| What feigned submission swore! Ease would recant | |
| Vows made in pain, as violent and void | |
| (For never can true reconcilement grow | |
| Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep) | |
| Which would but lead me to a worse relapse | 100 |
| And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear | |
| Short intermission, bought with double smart. | |
| This knows my Punisher; therefore as far | |
| From granting he, as I from begging, peace. | |
| All hope excluded thus, behold, instead | 105 |
| Of us, outcast, exiled, his new delight, | |
| Mankind, created, and for him this World! | |
| So farewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear, | |
| Farewell remorse! All good to me is lost; | |
| Evil, be thou my Good: by thee at least | 110 |
| Divided empire with Heaven’s King I hold, | |
| By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign; | |
| As Man ere long, and this new World, shall know.” | |
| Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his face, | |
| Thrice changed with pale—ire, envy, and despair; | 115 |
| Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed | |
| Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld: | |
| For Heavenly minds from such distempers foul | |
| Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware | |
| Each perturbation smoothed with outward calm, | 120 |
| Artificer of fraud; and was the first | |
| That practised falsehood under saintly shew, | |
| Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge: | |
| Yet not enough had practised to deceive | |
| Uriel, once warned; whose eye pursued him down | 125 |
| The way he went, and on the Assyrian mount | |
| Saw him disfigured, more than could befall | |
| Spirit of happy sort: his gestures fierce | |
| He marked and mad demeanour, then alone, | |
| As he supposed, all unobserved, unseen. | 130 |
| So on he fares, and to the border comes | |
| Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, | |
| Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, | |
| As with a rural mound, the champain head | |
| Of a steep wilderness whose hairy sides | 135 |
| With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild. | |
| Access denied; and overhead up-grew | |
| Insuperable highth of loftiest shade, | |
| Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, | |
| A sylvan scene, and, as the ranks ascend | 140 |
| Shade above shade, a woody theatre | |
| Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops | |
| The verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung; | |
| Which to our general Sire gave prospect large | |
| Into his nether empire neighbouring round. | 145 |
| And higher than that wall a circling row | |
| Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, | |
| Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, | |
| Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed; | |
| On which the sun more glad impressed his beams | 150 |
| Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, | |
| When God hath showered the earth; so lovely seemed | |
| That lantskip. And of pure now purer air | |
| Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires | |
| Vernal delight and joy, able to drive | 155 |
| All sadness but despair. Now gentle gales, | |
| Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense | |
| Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole | |
| Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail | |
| Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past | 160 |
| Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow | |
| Sabean odours from the spicy shore | |
| Of Araby the Blest, with such delay | |
| Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league | |
| Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles; | 165 |
| So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend | |
| Who came their bane, though with them better pleased | |
| Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume | |
| That drove him, though enamoured, from the spouse | |
| Of Tobit’s son, and with a vengeance sent | 170 |
| From Media post to Ægypt, there fast bound. | |
| Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill | |
| Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow; | |
| But further way found none; so thick entwined, | |
| As one continued brake, the undergrowth | 175 |
| Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed | |
| All path of man or beast that passed that way. | |
| One gate there only was, and that looked east | |
| On the other side. Which when the Arch-Felon saw, | |
| Due entrance he disdained, and, in contempt, | 180 |
| At one slight bound high overleaped all bound | |
| Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within | |
| Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf, | |
| Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, | |
| Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve, | 185 |
| In hurdled cotes amid the field secure, | |
| Leaps o’er the fence with ease into the fold; | |
| Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash | |
| Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors, | |
| Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault, | 190 |
| In at the window climbs, or o’er the tiles; | |
| So climb this first grand Thief into God’s fold: | |
| So since into his Church lewd hirelings climb. | |
| Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life, | |
| The middle tree and highest there that grew, | 195 |
| Sat like a Cormorant; yet not true life | |
| Thereby regained, but sat devising death | |
| To them who lived; nor on the virtue thought | |
| Of that life-giving plant, but only used | |
| For prospect what, well used, had been the pledge | 200 |
| Of immortality. So little knows | |
| Any, but God alone, to value right | |
| The good before him, but perverts best things | |
| To worst abuse, or to their meanest use. | |
| Beneath him, with new wonder, now he views, | 205 |
| To all delight of human sense exposed, | |
| In narrow room Nature’s whole wealth; yea, more— | |
| A Heaven on Earth: for blissful Paradise | |
| Of God the garden was, by him in the east | |
| Of Eden planted. Eden stretched her line | 210 |
| From Auran eastward to the royal towers | |
| Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings, | |
| Or where the sons of Eden long before | |
| Dwelt in Telassar. In this pleasant soil | |
| His far more pleasant garden God ordained. | 215 |
| Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow | |
| All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; | |
| And all amid them stood the Tree of Life, | |
| High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit | |
| Of vegetable gold; and next to life, | 220 |
| Our death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast by— | |
| Knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. | |
| Southward through Eden went a river large, | |
| Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill | |
| Passed underneath ingulfed; for God had thrown | 225 |
| That mountain, as his garden-mould, high raised | |
| Upon the rapid current, which, through veins | |
| Of porous earth with kindly thirst updrawn, | |
| Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill | |
| Watered the garden; thence united fell | 230 |
| Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, | |
| Which from his darksome passage now appears, | |
| And now, divided into four main streams, | |
| Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm | |
| And country whereof here needs no account; | 235 |
| But rather to tell how, if Art could tell | |
| How, from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, | |
| Rowling on orient pearl and sands of gold, | |
| With mazy error under pendant shades | |
| Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed | 240 |
| Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art | |
| In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon | |
| Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, | |
| Both where the morning sun first warmly smote | |
| The open field, and where the unpierced shade | 245 |
| Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was this place, | |
| A happy rural seat of various view: | |
| Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm, | |
| Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, | |
| Hung amiable—Hesperian fables true, | 250 |
| If true, here only—and of delicious taste. | |
| Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks | |
| Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, | |
| Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap | |
| Of some irriguous valley spread her store, | 255 |
| Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. | |
| Another side, umbrageous grots and caves | |
| Of cool recess, o’er which the mantling vine | |
| Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps | |
| Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall | 260 |
| Down the slope hills dispersed, or in a lake, | |
| That to the fringèd bank with myrtle crowned | |
| Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. | |
| The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, | |
| Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune | 265 |
| The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, | |
| Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, | |
| Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field | |
| Of Enna, where Proserpin gathering flowers, | |
| Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis | 270 |
| Was gathered—which cost Ceres all that pain | |
| To seek her through the world—nor that sweet grove | |
| Of Daphne, by Orontes and the inspired | |
| Castalian spring, might with this Paradise | |
| Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseian isle, | 275 |
| Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, | |
| Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Libyan Jove, | |
| Hid Amalthea, and her florid son, | |
| Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea’s eye; | |
| Nor, where Abassin kings their issue guard, | 280 |
| Mount Amara (though this by some supposed | |
| True Paradise) under the Ethiop line | |
| By Nilus’ head, enclosed with shining rock, | |
| A whole day’s journey high, but wide remote | |
| From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend | 285 |
| Saw undelighted all delight, all kind | |
| Of living creatures, new to sight and strange. | |
| Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, | |
| God—like erect, with native honour clad | |
| In naked majesty, seemed lords of all, | 290 |
| And worthy seemed; for in their looks divine | |
| The image of their glorious Maker shon, | |
| Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure— | |
| Severe, but in true filial freedom placed, | |
| Whence true authority in men: though both | 295 |
| Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed; | |
| For contemplation he and valour formed, | |
| For softness she and sweet attractive grace; | |
| He for God only, she for God in him. | |
| His fair large front and eye sublime declared | 300 |
| Absolute rule; and Hyacinthin locks | |
| Round from his parted forelock manly hung | |
| Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad: | |
| She, as a veil down to the slender waist, | |
| Her unadornèd golden tresses wore | 305 |
| Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved | |
| As the vine curls her tendrils—which implied | |
| Subjection, but required with gentle sway, | |
| And by her yielded, by him best received— | |
| Yielded, with coy submission, modest pride, | 310 |
| And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. | |
| Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed: | |
| Then was not guilty shame. Dishonest shame | |
| Of Nature’s works, honour dishonourable, | |
| Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind | 315 |
| With shews instead, mere shews of seeming pure | |
| And banished from man’s life his happiest life, | |
| Simplicity and spotless innocence! | |
| So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight | |
| Of God or Angel; for they thought no ill: | 320 |
| So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair | |
| That ever since in love’s embraces met— | |
| Adam the goodliest man of men since born | |
| His sons; the fairest of her daughters Eve. | |
| Under a tuft of shade that on a green | 325 |
| Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain—side. | |
| They sat them down; and, after no more toil | |
| Of their sweet gardening labour than sufficed | |
| To recommend cool Zephyr, and make ease | |
| More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite | 330 |
| More grateful, to their supper-fruits they fell— | |
| Nectarine fruits, which the complaint boughs | |
| Yielded them, sidelong as they sat recline | |
| On the soft downy bank damasked with flowers. | |
| The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind, | 335 |
| Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming stream | |
| Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles | |
| Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems | |
| Fair couple linked in happy nuptial league, | |
| Alone as they. About them frisking played | 340 |
| All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase | |
| In wood or wilderness, forest or den. | |
| Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw | |
| Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards, | |
| Gambolled before them; the unwieldy elephant, | 345 |
| To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed | |
| His lithe proboscis; close the serpent sly, | |
| Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine | |
| His breaded train, and of his fatal guile | |
| Gave proof unheeded. Others on the grass | 350 |
| Couched, and, now filled with pasture, gazing sat, | |
| Or bedward ruminating; for the sun, | |
| Declined, was hastening now with prone career | |
| To the Ocean Isles, and in the ascending scale | |
| Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose: | 355 |
| When Satan, still in gaze as first he stood, | |
| Scarce thus at length failed speech recovered sad:— | |
| “O Hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold? | |
| Into our room of bliss thus high advanced | |
| Creatures of other mould—Earth-born perhaps, | 360 |
| Not Spirits, yet to Heavenly Spirits bright | |
| Little inferior—whom my thoughts pursue | |
| With wonder, and could love; so lively shines | |
| In them divine resemblance, and such grace | |
| The hand that formed them on their shape hath poured. | 365 |
| Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh | |
| Your change approaches, when all these delights | |
| Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe— | |
| More woe, the more your taste is now of joy: | |
| Happy, but for so happy ill secured | 370 |
| Long to continue, and this high seat, your Heaven, | |
| Ill fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe | |
| As now is entered; yet no purposed foe | |
| To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn, | |
| Though I unpitied. League with you I seek, | 375 |
| And mutual amity, so strait, so close, | |
| That I with you must dwell, or you with me, | |
| Henceforth. My dwelling, haply, may not please, | |
| Like this fair Paradise, your sense; yet such | |
| Accept your Marker’s work; he gave it me, | 380 |
| Which I as freely give. Hell shall unfold, | |
| To entertain you two, her widest gates, | |
| And send forth all her kings; there will be room, | |
| Not like these narrow limits, to receive | |
| Your numerous offspring; if no better place, | 385 |
| Thank him who puts me, loath, to this revenge | |
| On you, who wrong me not, for him who wronged. | |
| And, should I at your harmless innocence | |
| Melt, as I do, yet public reason just— | |
| Honour and empire with revenge enlarged | 390 |
| By conquering this new World—compels me now | |
| To do what else, though damned, I should abhor.” | |
| So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, | |
| The tyrant’s plea, excused his devilish deeds. | |
| Then from his lofty stand on that high tree | 395 |
| Down he alights among the sportful herd | |
| Of those four-footed kinds, himself now one, | |
| Now other, as their shape served best his end | |
| Nearer to view his prey, and, unespied, | |
| To mark what of their state he more might learn | 400 |
| By word or action marked. About them round | |
| A lion now he stalks with fiery glare; | |
| Then as a tiger, who by chance hath spied | |
| In some pourlieu two gentle fawns at play, | |
| Straight crouches close; then rising, changes oft | 405 |
| His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground, | |
| Whence rushing he might surest seize them both | |
| Griped in each paw: when Adam, first of men. | |
| To first of women, Eve, thus moving speech, | |
| Turned him all ear to hear new utterance flow:— | 410 |
| “Sole partner and sole part of all these joys, | |
| Dearer thyself than all, needs must the Power | |
| That made us, and for us this ample World, | |
| Be infinitely good, and of his good | |
| As liberal and free as infinite; | 415 |
| That raised us from the dust, and placed us here | |
| In all this happiness, who at this hand | |
| Have nothing merited, nor can perform | |
| Aught whereof he hath need; he who requires | |
| From us no other service than to keep | 420 |
| This one, this easy charge—of all the trees | |
| In Paradise that bear delicious fruit | |
| So various, not to taste that only Tree | |
| Of Knowledge, planted by the Tree of Life; | |
| So near grows Death to Life, whate’er Death is— | 425 |
| Some dreadful thing no doubt; for well thou know’st | |
| God hath pronounced it Death to taste that Tree: | |
| The only sign of our obedience left | |
| Among so many signs of power and rule | |
| Conferred upon us, and dominion given | 430 |
| Over all other creatures that possess | |
| Earth, Air, and Sea. Then let us not think hard | |
| One easy prohibition, who enjoy | |
| Free leave so large to all things else, and choice | |
| Unlimited of manifold delights; | 435 |
| But let us ever praise him, and extol | |
| His bounty, following our delightful task, | |
| To prune these growing plants, and tend these flowers; | |
| Which, were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet.” | |
| To whom thus Eve replied:—“O thou for whom | 440 |
| And from whom I was formed flesh of thy flesh, | |
| And without whom am to no end, my guide | |
| And head! what thou hast said is just and right. | |
| For we to him, indeed, all praises owe, | |
| And daily thanks—I chiefly, who enjoy | 445 |
| So far the happier lot, enjoying thee | |
| Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou | |
| Like consort to thyself canst nowhere find. | |
| That day I oft remember, when from sleep | |
| I first awaked, and found myself reposed, | 450 |
| Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where | |
| And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. | |
| Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound | |
| Of waters issued from a cave, and spread | |
| Into a liquid plain; then stood unmoved, | 455 |
| Pure as the expanse of Heaven. I thither went | |
| With unexperienced thought, and laid me down | |
| On the green bank, to look into the clear | |
| Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. | |
| As I bent down to look, just opposite | 460 |
| A Shape within the watery gleam appeared, | |
| Bending to look on me. I started back, | |
| It started back; but pleased I soon returned | |
| Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks | |
| Of sympathy and love. There I had fixed | 465 |
| Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, | |
| Had not a voice thus warned me: ‘What thou seest, | |
| What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; | |
| With thee it came and goes: but follow me, | |
| And I will bring thee where no shadow stays | 470 |
| Thy coming, and thy soft imbraces—he | |
| Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy | |
| Inseparably thine; to him shalt bear | |
| Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called | |
| Mother of human race.’ What could I do, | 475 |
| But follow straight, invisibly thus led? | |
| Till I espied thee, fair, indeed, and tall, | |
| Under a platan; yet methought less fair, | |
| Less winning soft, less amiably mild, | |
| That that smooth watery image. Back I turned; | 480 |
| Thou, following, cried’st aloud, ‘Return, fair Eve; | |
| Whom fliest thou? Whom thou fliest, of him thou art, | |
| His flesh, his bone, to give thee being I lent | |
| Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart, | |
| Substantial life, to have thee by my side | 485 |
| Henceforth an individual solace dear: | |
| Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim | |
| My other half.’ With that thy gentle hand | |
| Seized mine: I yielded, and from that time see | |
| How beauty is excelled by manly grace | 490 |
| And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.” | |
| So spake our general mother, and, with eyes | |
| Of conjugal attraction unreproved, | |
| And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned | |
| On our first father; half her swelling breast | 495 |
| Naked met his, under the flowing gold | |
| Of her loose tresses hid. He, in delight | |
| Both of her beauty and submissive charms, | |
| Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter | |
| On Juno smiles when he impregns the clouds | 500 |
| That shed May flowers, and pressed her matron lip | |
| With kisses pure. Aside the Devil turned | |
| For envy; yet with jealous leer malign | |
| Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained:— | |
| “Sight hateful, sight tormenting! Thus these two, | 505 |
| Imparadised in one another’s arms, | |
| The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill | |
| Of bliss on bliss; while I to Hell am thrust, | |
| Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, | |
| Among our other torments not the least, | 510 |
| Still unfulfilled, with pain of longing pines! | |
| Yet let me not forget what I have gained | |
| From their own mouths. All is not theirs, it seems; | |
| One fatal tree there stands, of Knowledge called, | |
| Forbidden them to taste. Knowledge forbidden? | 515 |
| Suspicious, reasonless! Why should their Lord | |
| Envy them that? Can it be sin to know? | |
| Can it be death? And do they only stand | |
| By ignorance? Is that their happy state, | |
| The proof of their obedience and their faith? | 520 |
| O fair foundation laid whereon to build | |
| Their ruin! Hence I will excite their minds | |
| With more desire to know, and to reject | |
| Envious commands, invented with design | |
| To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt | 525 |
| Equal with gods. Aspiring to be such, | |
| They taste and die: what likelier can ensue? | |
| But first with narrow search I must walk round | |
| This garden, and no corner leave unspied; | |
| A chance but chance may lead where I may meet | 530 |
| Some wandering Spirit of Heaven, by fountain-side, | |
| Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw | |
| What further would be learned. Live while ye may, | |
| Yet happy pair; enjoy, till I return, | |
| Short pleasures; for long woes are to succeed!” | 535 |
| So saying, his proud step he scornful turned, | |
| But with sly circumspection, and began | |
| Through wood, through waste, o’er hill, o’er dale, his roam. | |
| Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heaven | |
| With Earth and Ocean meets, the setting Sun | 540 |
| Slowly descended, and with right aspect | |
| Against the eastern gate of Paradise | |
| Levelled his evening rays. It was a rock | |
| Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds, | |
| Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent | 545 |
| Accessible from Earth, one entrance high; | |
| The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung | |
| Still as it rose, impossible to climb. | |
| Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat, | |
| Chief of the angelic guards, awaiting night; | 550 |
| About him exercised heroic games | |
| The unarmed youth of Heaven; but nigh at hand | |
| Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears, | |
| Hung high, with diamond flaming and with gold. | |
| Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even | 555 |
| On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star | |
| In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired | |
| Impress the air, and shews the mariner | |
| From what point of his compass to beware | |
| Impetuous winds, He thus began in haste:— | 560 |
| “Gabriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given | |
| Charge and strict watch that to this happy place | |
| No evil thing approach or enter in. | |
| This day at highth of noon came to my sphere | |
| A Spirit, zealous, as he seemed, to know | 565 |
| More of the Almighty’s works, and chiefly Man, | |
| God’s latest image. I described his way | |
| Bent all on speed, and marked his aerie gait, | |
| But in the mount that lies from Eden north, | |
| Where he first lighted, soon discerned his looks | 570 |
| Alien from Heaven, with passions foul obscured. | |
| Mine eye pursued him still, but under shade | |
| Lost sight of him. One of the banished crew, | |
| I fear, hath ventured from the Deep, to raise | |
| New troubles; him thy care must be to find.” | 575 |
| To whom the wingèd Warrior thus returned:— | |
| “Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight, | |
| Amid the Sun’s bright circle where thou sitt’st, | |
| See far and wide. In at this gate none pass | |
| The vigilance here placed, but such as come | 580 |
| Well known from Heaven; since meridian hour | |
| No creature thence. If Spirit of other sort, | |
| So minded, have o’erleaped these earthly bounds | |
| On purpose, hard thou know’st it to exclude | |
| Spiritual substance with corporeal bar. | 585 |
| But, if within the circuit of these walks, | |
| In whatsoever shape, he lurk of whom | |
| Thou tell’st, by morrow dawning I shall know.” | |
| So promised he; and Uriel to his charge | |
| Returned on that bright beam, whose point now raised | 590 |
| Bore him slope downward to the Sun, now fallen | |
| Beneath the Azores; whether the Prime Orb, | |
| Incredible how swift, had thither rowled | |
| Diurnal, or this less volúbil Earth | |
| By shorter flight to the east, had left him there | 595 |
| Arraying with reflected purple and gold | |
| The clouds that on his western throne attend. | |
| Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray | |
| Had in her sober livery all things clad; | |
| Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, | 600 |
| They to their grassy couch, these to their nests | |
| Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale. | |
| She all night longer her amorous descant sung: | |
| Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament | |
| With living Saphirs; Hesperus, that led | 605 |
| The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, | |
| Rising in clouded majesty, at length | |
| Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, | |
| And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw; | |
| When Adam thus to Eve:—“Fair consort, the hour | 610 |
| Of night, and all things now retired to rest | |
| Mind us of like repose; since God hath set | |
| Labour and rest, as day and night, to men | |
| Successive, and the timely dew of sleep, | |
| Now falling with soft slumberous weight, inclines | 615 |
| Our eye-lids. Other creatures all day long | |
| Rove idle, unimployed, and less need rest; | |
| Man hath his daily work of body or mind | |
| Appointed, which declares his dignity, | |
| And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; | 620 |
| While other animals unactive range, | |
| And of their doings God takes no account. | |
| To—morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east | |
| With first approach of light, we must be risen, | |
| And at our pleasant labour, to reform | 625 |
| Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green, | |
| Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, | |
| That mock our scant manuring, and require | |
| More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth. | |
| Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, | 630 |
| That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, | |
| Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease. | |
| Meanwhile, as Nature wills, Night bids us rest.” | |
| To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned:— | |
| “My author and disposer, what thou bidd’st | 635 |
| Unargued I obey. So God ordains: | |
| God is thy law, thou mine: to know no more | |
| Is woman’s happiest knowledge, and her praise. | |
| With thee conversing, I forget all time, | |
| All seasons, and their change; all please alike. | 640 |
| Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, | |
| With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun, | |
| When first on this delightful land he spreads | |
| His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, | |
| Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertil Earth | 645 |
| After soft showers; and sweet the coming on | |
| Of grateful Evening mild; then silent Night, | |
| With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon, | |
| And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train: | |
| But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends | 650 |
| With charm of earliest birds; nor rising Sun | |
| On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, | |
| Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; | |
| Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night, | |
| With her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, | 655 |
| Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. | |
| But wherefore all night long shine these? for whom | |
| This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?” | |
| To whom our general ancestor replied:— | |
| “Daughter of God and Man, accomplished Eve, | 660 |
| Those have their course to finish round the Earth | |
| By morrow evening, and from land to land | |
| In order, though to nations yet unborn, | |
| Ministering light prepared, they set and rise; | |
| Lest total Darkness should by night regain | 665 |
| Her old possession, and extinguish life | |
| In nature and all things; which these soft fires | |
| Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat | |
| Of various influence foment and warm, | |
| Temper or nourish, or in part shed down | 670 |
| Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow | |
| On Earth, made hereby apter to receive | |
| Perfection from the Sun’s more potent ray. | |
| These then, though unbeheld in deep of night, | |
| Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none, | 675 |
| That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise. | |
| Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth | |
| Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep: | |
| All these with ceaseless praise his works behold | |
| Both day and night. How often, from the steep | 680 |
| Of echoing hill or thicket, have we heard | |
| Celestial voices to the midnight air, | |
| Sole, or responsive each to other’s note, | |
| Singing their great Creator! Oft in bands | |
| While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, | 685 |
| With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds | |
| In full harmonic number joined, their songs | |
| Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven.” | |
| Thus talking, hand in hand along they passed | |
| On to their blissful bower. It was a place | 690 |
| Chosen by the sovran Planter, when he framed | |
| All things to Man’s delightful use. The roof | |
| Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, | |
| Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew | |
| Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side | 695 |
| Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, | |
| Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous flower, | |
| Iris all hues, roses, and gessamin, | |
| Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought | |
| Mosaic; under foot the violet, | 700 |
| Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay | |
| Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone | |
| Of costliest emblem. Other creature here, | |
| Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none; | |
| Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bower | 705 |
| More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned, | |
| Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph | |
| For Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess, | |
| With flowers, garlands, and sweet—smelling hearbs | |
| Espousèd Eve decked first her nuptial bed, | 710 |
| And heavenly choirs the hymenæan sung, | |
| What day the genial Angel to our Sire | |
| Brought her, in naked beauty more adorned, | |
| More lovely, than Pandora, whom the gods | |
| Endowed with all their gifts; and, O! too like | 715 |
| In sad event, when, to the unwiser son | |
| Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnared | |
| Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged | |
| On him who had stole Jove’s authentic fire. | |
| Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood, | 720 |
| Both turned, and under open sky adored | |
| The God that made both Sky, Air, Earth, and Heaven, | |
| Which they beheld, the Moon’s resplendent globe, | |
| And starry Pole:—“Thou also madest the Night, | |
| Maker Omnipotent; and thou the Day, | 725 |
| Which we, in our appointed work imployed, | |
| Have finished, happy in our mutual help | |
| And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss | |
| Ordained by thee; and this delicious place, | |
| For us too large, where thy abundance wants | 730 |
| Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. | |
| But thou hast promised from us two a race | |
| To fill the Earth, who shall with us extol | |
| Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, | |
| And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.” | 735 |
| This said unanimous, and other rites | |
| Observing none, but adoration pure, | |
| Which God likes best, into their inmost bower | |
| Handed they went, and, eased the putting-off | |
| These troublesome disguises which we wear, | 740 |
| Straight side by side were laid; nor turned, I ween, | |
| Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites | |
| Mysterious of connubial love refused: | |
| Whatever hypocrites austerely talk | |
| Of purity, and place, and innocence, | 745 |
| Defaming as impure what God declares | |
| Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all. | |
| Our Maker bids increase; who bids abstain | |
| But our destroyer, foe to God and Man? | |
| Hail, wedded Love, mysterious law, true source | 750 |
| Of human offspring, sole propriety | |
| In Paradise of all things common else! | |
| By thee adulterous lust was driven from men | |
| Among the bestial herds to raunge; by thee, | |
| Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, | 755 |
| Relations dear, and all the charities | |
| Of father, son, and brother, first were known. | |
| Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame, | |
| Or think thee unbefitting holiest place, | |
| Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, | 760 |
| Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced, | |
| Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used. | |
| Here Love his golden shafts imploys, here lights | |
| His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, | |
| Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile | 765 |
| Of harlots—loveless, joyless, unindeared, | |
| Casual fruition; nor in court amours, | |
| Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight bal, | |
| Or serenate, which the starved lover sings | |
| To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. | 770 |
| These, lulled by nightingales, imbracing slept, | |
| And on their naked limbs the flowery roof | |
| Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on, | |
| Blest pair! and, O! yet happiest, if ye seek | |
| No happier state, and know to know no more! | 775 |
| Now had Night measured with her shadowy cone | |
| Half-way up-hill this vast sublunar vault, | |
| And from their ivory port the Cherubim | |
| Forth issuing, at the accustomed hour, stood armed | |
| To their night-watches in warlike parade; | 780 |
| When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake:— | |
| “Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the south | |
| With strictest watch; these other wheel the north: | |
| Our circuit meets full west.” As flame they part, | |
| Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear. | 785 |
| From these, two strong and subtle Spirits he called | |
| That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge:— | |
| “Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed | |
| Search through this Garden; leave unsearched no nook; | |
| But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge, | 790 |
| Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm. | |
| This evening from the Sun’s decline arrived | |
| Who tells of some infernal Spirit seen | |
| Hitherward bent (who could have thought?), escaped | |
| The bars of Hell, on errand bad, no doubt: | 795 |
| Such, where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring.” | |
| So saying, on he led his radiant files, | |
| Dazzling the moon; these to the bower direct | |
| In search of whom they sought. Him there they found | |
| Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, | 800 |
| Assaying by his devilish art to reach | |
| The organs of her fancy, and with them forge | |
| Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams; | |
| Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint | |
| The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise | 805 |
| Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise, | |
| At least distempered, discontented thoughts, | |
| Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, | |
| Blown up with high conceits ingendering pride. | |
| Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear | 810 |
| Touched lightly; for no falsehood can endure | |
| Touch of celestial temper, but returns | |
| Of force to its own likeness. Up he starts, | |
| Discovered and surprised. As, when a spark | |
| Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid | 815 |
| Fit for the tun, some magazine to store | |
| Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain, | |
| With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air; | |
| So started up, in his own shape, the Fiend. | |
| Back stept those two fair Angels, half amazed | 820 |
| So sudden to behold the griesly King; | |
| Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon:— | |
| “Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell | |
| Com’st thou, escaped thy prison? and, transformed, | |
| Why satt’st thou like an enemy in wait, | 825 |
| Here watching at the head of these that sleep?” | |
| “Know ye not, then,” said Satan, filled with scorn, | |
| “Know ye not me? Ye knew me once no mate | |
| For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar! | |
| Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, | 830 |
| The lowest of your throng; or, if ye know, | |
| Why ask ye, and superfluous begin | |
| Your message, like to end as much in vain?” | |
| To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn:— | |
| “Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same, | 835 |
| Or undiminished brightness, to be known | |
| As when thou stood’st in Heaven upright and pure. | |
| That glory then, when thou no more wast good, | |
| Departed from thee; and thou resemblest now | |
| Thy sin and place of doom obscure and foul. | 840 |
| But come; for thou, be sure, shalt give account | |
| To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep | |
| This place inviolable, and these from harm.” | |
| So spake the Cherub; and his grave rebuke, | |
| Severe in youthful beauty, added grace | 845 |
| Invincible. Abashed the Devil stood, | |
| And felt how awful goodness is, and saw | |
| Virtue in her shape how lovely—saw, and pined | |
| His loss; but chiefly to find here observed | |
| His lustre visibly impaired; yet seemed | 850 |
| Undaunted. “If I must contend,” said he, | |
| “Best with the best—the sender, not the sent; | |
| Or all at once: more glory will be won, | |
| Or less be lost.” “Thy fear,” said Zephon bold, | |
| “Will save us trial what the least can do | 855 |
| Single against thee wicked, and thence weak.” | |
| The Fiend replied not, overcome with rage; | |
| But, like a proud steed reined, went haughty on, | |
| Chaumping his iron curb. To strive or fly | |
| He held it vain; awe from above had quelled | 860 |
| His heart, not else dismayed. Now drew they nigh | |
| The western point, where those half—rounding guards | |
| Just met, and, closing, stood in squadron joined, | |
| Awaiting next command. To whom their chief, | |
| Gabriel, from the front thus called aloud:— | 865 |
| “O friends, I hear the tread of nimble feet | |
| Hasting this way, and now by glimpse discern | |
| Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade; | |
| And with them comes a third, of regal port, | |
| But faded splendour wan, who by his gait | 870 |
| And fierce demeanour seems the Prince of Hell— | |
| Not likely to part hence without contest’. | |
| Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours.” | |
| He scarce had ended, when those two approached, | |
| And brief related whom they brought, where found, | 875 |
| How busied, in what form and posture couched. | |
| To whom, with stern regard, thus Gabriel spake:— | |
| “Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds prescribed | |
| To thy transgressions, and disturbed the charge | |
| Of others, who approve not to transgress | 880 |
| By thy example, but have power and right | |
| To question thy bold entrance on this place; | |
| Imployed, it seems to violate sleep, and those | |
| Whose dwelling God hath planted here in bliss?” | |
| To whom thus Satan, with contemptuous brow:— | 885 |
| “Gabriel, thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of wise; | |
| And such I held thee; but this question asked | |
| Puts me in doubt. Lives there who loves his pain? | |
| Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell, | |
| Though thither doomed? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt, | 890 |
| And boldly venture to whatever place | |
| Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change | |
| Torment with ease, and soonest recompense | |
| Dole with delight; which in this place I sought: | |
| To thee no reason, who know’st only good, | 895 |
| But evil hast not tried. And wilt object | |
| His will who bound us? Let him surer bar | |
| His iron gates, if he intends our stay | |
| In that dark durance. Thus much what was asked: | |
| The rest is true; they found me where they say; | 900 |
| But that implies not violence or harm.” | |
| Thus he in scorn. The warlike Angel moved, | |
| Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied:— | |
| “O loss of one in Heaven to judge of wise, | |
| Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew, | 905 |
| And now returns him from his prison scaped, | |
| Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise | |
| Or not who ask what boldness brought him hither | |
| Unlicensed from his bounds in Hell prescribed! | |
| So wise he judges it to fly from pain | 910 |
| However, and to scape his punishment! | |
| So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrauth, | |
| Which thou incurr’st by flying, meet thy flight | |
| Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell, | |
| Which taught thee yet no better that no pain | 915 |
| Can equal anger infinite provoked. | |
| But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with thee | |
| Came not all Hell broke loose? Is pain to them | |
| Less pain, less to be fled? or thou than they | |
| Less hardy to endure? Courageous chief, | 920 |
| The first in flight from pain, hadst thou alleged | |
| To thy deserted host this cause of flight, | |
| Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive.” | |
| To which the Fiend thus answered, frowning stern:— | |
| “Not that I less endure, or shrink from pain, | 925 |
| Insulting Angel! well thou know’st I stood | |
| Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid | |
| The blasting volleyed thunder made all speed | |
| And seconded thy else not dreaded spear. | |
| But still thy words at random, as before, | 930 |
| Argue thy inexperience what behoves, | |
| From hard assays and ill successes past, | |
| A faithful leader—not to hazard all | |
| Through ways of danger by himself untried. | |
| I, therefore, I alone, first undertook | 935 |
| To wing the desolate Abyss, and spy | |
| This new-created World, whereof in Hell | |
| Fame is not silent, here in hope to find | |
| Better abode, and my afflicted Powers | |
| To settle here on Earth, or in mid Air; | 940 |
| Though for possession put to try once more | |
| What thou and thy gay legions dare against; | |
| Whose easier business where to serve their Lord | |
| High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne, | |
| And practiced distances to cringe, not fight.” | 945 |
| To whom the Warrior-Angel soon replied:— | |
| “To say and straight unsay, pretending first | |
| Wise to fly pain, professing next to spy, | |
| Argues no leader, but a liar traced, | |
| Satan; and couldst thou ‘faithful’ add? O name, | 950 |
| O sacred name of faithfulness profaned! | |
| Faithful to whom? to thy rebellious crew? | |
| Army of fiends, fit body to fit head! | |
| Was this your discipline and faith ingaged, | |
| Your military obedience, to dissolve | 955 |
| Allegiance to the acknowledged Power Supreme? | |
| And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem | |
| Patron of liberty, who more than thou | |
| Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored | |
| Heaven’s awful Monarch? wherefore, but in hope | 960 |
| To dispossess him, and thyself to reign? | |
| But mark what I areed thee now: Avaunt! | |
| Fly thither whence thou fledd’st. If from this hour | |
| Within these hallowed limits thou appear, | |
| Back to the Infernal Pit I drag thee chained, | 965 |
| And seal thee so as henceforth not to scorn | |
| The facile gates of Hell too slightly barred.” | |
| So threatened he; but Satan to no threats | |
| Gave heed, but waxing more in rage, replied:— | |
| “Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains, | 970 |
| Proud limitary Cherub! but ere then | |
| Far heavier load thyself expect to feel | |
| From my prevailing arm, though Heaven’s King | |
| Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy Compeers, | |
| Used to the yoke, draw’st his triumphant wheels | 975 |
| In progress through the road of Heaven star—paved.” | |
| While thus he spake, the angelic squadron bright | |
| Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns | |
| Their phalanx and began to hem him round | |
| With ported spears, as thick as when a field | 980 |
| Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends | |
| Her bearded grove of ears which way the wind | |
| Sways them; the careful ploughman doubting stands | |
| Lest on the threshing-floor his hopeful sheaves | |
| Prove chaff. On the other side, Satan, alarmed, | 985 |
| Collecting all his might, dilated stood, | |
| Like Teneriff or Atlas, unremoved: | |
| His stature reached the sky, and on his crest | |
| Sat Horror plumed; nor wanted in his grasp | |
| What seemed both spear and shield. Now dreadful deeds | 990 |
| Might have ensued; nor only Paradise, | |
| In this commotion, but the starry cope | |
| Of Heaven perhaps, or all the Elements | |
| At least, had gone to wrack, disturbed and torn | |
| With violence of this conflict, had not soon | 995 |
| The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray, | |
| Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen | |
| Betwixt Astræa and the Scorpion sign, | |
| Wherein all things created first he weighed, | |
| The pendulous round Earth with balanced air | 1000 |
| In counterpoise, now ponders all events, | |
| Battles and realms. In these he put two weights, | |
| The sequel each of parting and of fight: | |
| The latter quick up flew, and kicked the beam; | |
| Which Gabriel spying thus bespake the Fiend: | 1005 |
| “Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know’st mine, | |
| Neither our own, but given; what folly then | |
| To boast what arms can do! since thine no more | |
| Than Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now | |
| To trample thee as mire. For proof look up, | 1010 |
| And read thy lot in yon celestial sign, | |
| Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak | |
| If thou resist.” The Fiend looked up, and knew | |
| His mounted scale aloft: nor more; but fled | |
| Murmuring; and with him fled the shades of Night. | 1015 |
| |
