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    Paradise Lost
    Paradise Lost
    Paradise Lost
    Ebook393 pages5 hours

    Paradise Lost

    By John Milton

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    “The greatest epic poem in the English language . . . A work of unparalleled imaginative genius that shapes English literature even now.” —Benjamin Ramm, BBC.com
     
    Written in blank verse by the seventeenth-century English poet John Milton, this “epic of over 10,000 lines is a dramatic, imaginative version of Satan’s rebellion against God and of Adam and Eve’s eviction from Eden. Set at the beginnings of human history, it shifts us across an expansive universe: Heaven at the top—Earth dangling from it—and Hell at the bottom, a dark gloomy Chaos in between. It tells the story of divine creation, human ambition and hopeless rebellion, but is perhaps most famous for its presentation of Satan, an intensely deep character” (New Statesman).
     
    “Milton’s cosmos is a visionary unfolding and enfolding of the biblical map with others from his vast mental bookstore. Paradise Lost itself is a densely intertextual amalgam of fictional worlds, made newly brilliant by the imagination behind the poet’s now sightless eyes, embodied in blank verse at its most vigorously muscled. . . . That verse flows, twists, ripples and thunders like a team of miraculously tireless and synchronised horses. It’s the perfect body-mind work-out.” —The Guardian
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateApr 7, 2020
    ISBN9781504062107
    Author

    John Milton

    John Milton was a seventeenth-century English poet, polemicist, and civil servant in the government of Oliver Cromwell. Among Milton’s best-known works are the classic epic Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, considered one of the greatest accomplishments in English blank verse, and Samson Agonistes. Writing during a period of tremendous religious and political change, Milton’s theology and politics were considered radical under King Charles I, found acceptance during the Commonwealth period, and were again out of fashion after the Restoration, when his literary reputation became a subject for debate due to his unrepentant republicanism. T.S. Eliot remarked that Milton’s poetry was the hardest to reflect upon without one’s own political and theological beliefs intruding.

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    Reviews for Paradise Lost

    4/5

    1,779 ratings38 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Formidabel kosmisch epos, met vooral in de eerste helft grote scheppende kracht, maar daarna “verworden” tot een uitgebreide navertelling van Genesis. Nochtans zijn de delen over het scheppingverhaal en de menselijke zondeval (vooral de interactie tussen Adam en Eva is meest poëtisch). Weinig actie, behalve in de strijdtaferelen, de tweede helft is vooral verhalend
    • 5/5
      This epic poem is stunning; a magnificent read all the way. I loved it.
    • 4/5
      We had read selections of this book in my AP Lit class in high school, but as always, selections don't tell the whole story. I love reading religious literature, and this being one of the most famous epic poems in that genre, I quite enjoyed it. As an interesting aside, I did, however, find Lucifer/Satan to be far more sympathetic than he comes across in the Bible. I don't know if this was intentional on Milton's part, or simply something that was a result of describing his motivations.
    • 4/5
       This was somewhat slow going, but worth the effort to persevere with it. I had the oxford Classics verison, which phas an essay at the beginning to put the poem into context, which was helpful. it also had footnotes for references in the text to classical legends and diffiocult worrds or phrasings, which was very useful!

      The text concerns the biblical acocunt of creaction and the expulsion of Adam & Eve from paradise - hence the title. Regardless of if you believe, it makes for a really good read, but takes a little effort to get into it each time. The text has a hypnotic flow and rhythm to it. Tthe language is sometimes a little obscure, but not excessively so, it isn't like every line requires serious explanation. There are also a large number of legends worked into the text, all building this into a complex mass of intertwined threads, rather than a straightforward retelling of the same story. It is also one of those works that you realise has been referenced in other books you've read - the number of times I found myself thinking "I've read something like that before" and realising that it was a reference to Milton that I'd not known at the time. It was excellent, but I'm going for something a little lighter next time!
    • 5/5
      Milton cria um diabo carismático e persuasivo, que clama: "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven".
    • 5/5
      A grand sprawling epic. I can't possibly say anything good about it that has not already been repeated.

      I am fortunate enough to have a brand new edition with lots of annotations and references. Layers upon layers of allegory and myth and history and religion and fable. Deserves infinite rereadings.
    • 5/5
      Quite a read for a poet! My first journey with an epic poem in its entirety, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Too many lines of good verses to name--phrases that inspired me for their deft command of language--and a great amount of passages that left me feeling triumphant. One of the simplest lines I liked the most, spoken to the Son: "Two days are therefore pass'd, the third is thine"; and a favorite passage, sung to the Creator: "Who seeks To lessen thee, against his purpose serves To manifest the more thy might: his evil Thou usest, and from thence creat'st more good."I was impressed with what creativity the characters' experiences and emotions were developed. Story-wise, my favorite character is the Son, the unmatched warrior amid all the hosts of heaven who compassionately serves as intercessor for fallen humankind. This classic presents a challenge to me, both as a poet and as a novelist.
    • 5/5
      This one definitely makes the short list of must reads. It's great poetry and I enjoyed the effect of its having originally been in English. It's also a great interpretation of the creation story; I observed a number of new ideas as well as some that I myself have posited and refuted. More than anything else I've read, Milton does a superb job of bringing out the essence of the situation, the passions that were felt, and the reason for each event.
    • 5/5
      I originally read this in response to finishing The Golden Compass series. Pullman spoke about Paradise Lost as one of the main inspirations for some of his thinking. Though I did study literature, I never had any intention of reading this work. I am so glad that I did. There are lines in there that move the heart and mind of course, the imagery gave me bad dreams, and it the experience is something that I will keep forever.Talk about closure, the last lines gave me so much hope and made me feel electric.
    • 5/5
      I read this many years ago and thought that it was actually a very fascinating read compared to other literature of its day. I loved the style and language in which it was written, and I think that makes me enjoy it all the more. I am sure that I will read it again very soon.
    • 4/5
      The parts I understood were lovely, lol.
    • 4/5
      Milton wrote a great poem but it's also a byproduct of its day - 1667 - and he views events and characters very much through the male gaze; as do all organized religions and which the poem references. Thus, the apple on the tree of knowledge was (imo) something a religious-minded white Portuguese male would regard as sinful. As it stands, the sin no longer applies. It is 2005, eating the apple amounts to doing just that; eating an apple. Unless you have the apple representing something else, i.e., update the sin attached to it. What if it the apple was meant to test the consequence of giving Adam and Eve free will? See what they'd do with it? It's almost as if Satan was allowed to escape hell because it was part of God's bigger plan. Of course - so that man could LOVE God of his own free will. Even the simple act of eating does of course symbolise our interactivity, our symbiosis, with nature - that in itself bears a responsibility. So, the apple was an interface in a way between mankind abnegating responsibility to God's will and being participatory in it instead. That's Evolution! Moral certainty of sin/grace evolved too - quite rightly into today's concept of contingency and context.In my book Milton is the main man, the Yeats of his day, but with a much less comedic outcome and overall strike rate of gags. Cromwell’s PR man and a life spiralling out of control, the linguistic mouthpiece for himself first and discovered deeper than anyone sane person would hope to emulate or seriously hope to outlive as a narrative of reality the fates allotted exquisitely and which has long been understood in the brythonic tradition, that each life is unique and a poem in itself. Milton went blind, the cruelest fate but one which propelled him to the highest ridge of poetic attainment, forged in the turbulent bloodletting in which his first robust roar for himself first as the poet of a revolution; like Mayakovsky, fate put him in a certain space and time and he surrendered to the powerful spiritual combination of his intellect and passion, and it is befitting, though entirely tragic, that the first seriously poetic cornerstone figure whose gravitas came from the real life antics his person was part and often a central linguistic force affecting not to mirror as the Luna light of William Shakespeare did in far less personally turbulent times when he struck the primary metrical coinage of modern English bardic lore; but acting as the show and pazzaz, the me, me, me of being needy, very clever, broke the mould and everyone since conspires to make the best of a poor do with this chap, who let's face it, we read far less of than beyond a few verses before switching off, knowing we are being offered caviar, but preferring instead the real staple of British poetic. Rustics we are, as well as morons clotted whimsies, we indulge in because intellectually, we are all “me arse”, and as Graves said, admitting Milton is the British genius, should not blind us to the basic error which is the very grain, grease and premise of poetry, the binary opposite set of circumstance and premise which create the journey and object of linguistic artifice we call poetry.And Milton discovered it at a terrible cost of a new national poetic born in less than charitable times, a most intellectually fascinating, but less natural than Shakespeare; he’s a great source of refuge for the fire and brimstone mobs; one can imagine his frenzies fed to direct action, like Cromwell, possessed by a warp spasm of uncontrollable madness when the Muse was in full flight, inventing the terrors only too, too real, and so Milton is extremely strong proof, best for whipping one's rabble into shape with him and Cromwell, two very divisive national martyrs who have a high regard domestically but globally are seen as fundamentally flawed perhaps; life's too short for taking on Milton in one mad binge, and really one needs next to none of him, as he cannot be cooked up to offer us anything other than mad loathing and foaming, a terrible wisdom bought at horrific cost, and after him the artificial decorum of the new bores in the coffee shops which exploded in 18th Century London, where Horribles got together and bitched, the blind leading the suicidal bad vibe, which I think it is fair to say, is essentially, supremely competitive.Please adopt me as your protégé Milton; I want to carry the rumens' flame to the next generation of young poets seeking to set out into the treacherous straits of amateur verse, just how to set about switching over to be a pro, to attain that gravitas only our most ennobling examples of savvy exotica we concoct in the thoroughly unpleasant and incredibly jealous septic tank heritage Milton and various other chaps had no fun inventing.NB: My wife and I once saw a dramatisation of “Paradise Lost”. In the first, before the Fall scenes, Adam and Eve were completely naked in the Garden of Eden and, no doubt as a result of their cuddling, Adam soon got rather a splendid but no doubt unwanted, erection. This distraction was, as I pointed out to my wife, sadly appropriate since the early Christian church maintained that before the Fall, Adam was able to control his penis at will. This postlapsarian actor, of course, could not.
    • 5/5
      Certainly one of the best poems ever written in English!
    • 4/5
      Milton gets extra points for scope and ambition, but I have to admit that he tends toward the preachy (rather than allowing his characters to illustrate their own morals), plus some of his theology struck me as a bit simple-minded. That said, the descriptions of hell remain both beautiful and terrible -- unparalleled in the English language.
    • 4/5
      Seeing as I took a class - an entire class, an entire semester dedicated to the reading of this single novel, I was praying I was going to enjoy it. And what heavy metal fan couldn't enjoy the battle of God vs. Satan? The fall of Satan from heaven is a brilliantly written tale and there is so much meaning within every stanza of this epic book. There has to be, I spent 3 months reading it and I think I even got a B in this class.
    • 5/5
      How can I even write a review of John Milton and perhaps one of the ultimate works in the English language? You don’t. I’ll only say that after completing “Paradise Lost,” I wrote a huge amount of discordant information in my personal journal and reread enormous sections of the book. The introduction and notation provided in the Barnes & Noble edition of “Paradise Lost” by David Hawkes was invaluable to my enjoyment and understanding. And the ending comments provided in this edition from such noted authors as Thomas Gray, William Blake and Wordsworth brought about a level of appreciation and understanding I did not anticipate.
    • 4/5
      Although this is not a light read and will require thought and maybe some research (on my part at least) to fully understand milton's meanings, this book is at very least profound. Milton's writing style has yet to be matched by any I've seen.
    • 5/5
      As this was my first epic read, I cannot profess to be well-trained as to the vastness of other works, but the beauty of this work lies in its broad overview of Scripture, character, and life. Not merely striking the main points of Eden, as I was expecting, but surveying large portions of history. It felt huge without being overly laborious to read.The wording was not nearly as stilted as I was lead to believe it would be, though at times the footnotes were indispensable--I am still rather ignorant of many of his references.A wonderful work that I hope to reread in time.
    • 4/5
      Another one of those freshman English assigments I cribbed my way through. When I reread it finally as an adult I was astonished. I returned to it because of Mike Carey's Lucifer and Steven Brust's To Reign in Hell, contemporary fantasy on the same themes. And I was surprised and delighted to find depth of character and excitement in a Stuffy Old Classic.
    • 4/5
      I have been wanting/intending to read this for a long time. I don't think I was ever required to read it in school other than maybe some small excerpts. I've always enjoyed epic poetry like this and found Milton's imagery and language exceptional. On the down side, I was struck by his negative portrayal of Eve (Adam, of course, was pure as the driven snow until he ate the apple just to please her) and her exclusion from many of the scenes highlighted Milton's patriarchal bias.Aesthetically, this edition by the Folio Society is awesome. Blake's illustrations are magnificent and the layout and design of the edition is impressive. The choice of font and it's size makes it much easier for me to read then when I attempt to read a long poem like this stuffed into small print.
    • 4/5
      We had read selections of this book in my AP Lit class in high school, but as always, selections don't tell the whole story. I love reading religious literature, and this being one of the most famous epic poems in that genre, I quite enjoyed it. As an interesting aside, I did, however, find Lucifer/Satan to be far more sympathetic than he comes across in the Bible. I don't know if this was intentional on Milton's part, or simply something that was a result of describing his motivations.
    • 5/5
      This book was fantastic, but wasn't quite as good as Dante's work. Still, one of my favorites.
    • 3/5
      A 17th century epic of the Genesis account with references to classical mythology throughout. From the beginning formations of the earth to the design of paradise to the creation of Adam and Eve to the Fall. The idea behind the verse is that paradise is lost but hope still remains through Christ who will save the offspring of our first parents who sinned. Adam is shown a vision when his hope is diminished that encompasses all of humanity from Noah to Abraham to Joseph of Egypt to David and up through Christ’s birth and death. The world is corrupt but there is hope for all in the end. Very difficult but interesting to read; there are notes to help through all the references to the mythology and other passages that we today are unfamiliar with.
    • 5/5
      Read many years ago, but still amazes at every re-perusal. Shows that even for a person of Milton's erudition, devotion and great idealism Adam, Eve, and Satan are easier to portray than God. But his ardent and humble invocations of the divine Spirit did not , in my opinion, go completely unanswered!
    • 4/5
      861 Paradise Lost, by John Milton (read 24 Jul 1966) I read this in full and felt it was good to have read it. From it I extracted one of my favorite sayings: "The mind is its own place, and in itselfCan make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n." This is in Book I, line 253.
    • 4/5
      I don't think anyone would say that Milton is an easy read, but it is worthwhile. The prose of Paradise Lost is some of the most beautiful in the English language.
    • 4/5
      Okay, I only read part of it, and it was for college. It was incredibly well written and entertaining. My only issue is the complete lack of biblical credibility. It's LOOSELY based on the three little chapters that it covers in the Bible and takes A LOT of artistic license. In doing so, it tells a few outright lies.

      I take comfort in that I doubt anyone takes their biblical knowledge from it.
    • 4/5
      Quite a powerful read, although not the easiest, what with all the classical illusions. But Milton's ability to conjure images with words just blows my mind. e.g. "From those flames, no light, but darkness visible" Has there ever been a better description of the pain of hopelessness?
    • 5/5
      Printed from the original text of a edition from the library of some Mr. Keightley who, apparently, kindly agreed to read each page one by one as they were printed.It´s a great edition, pity it was not accompanied with some illustrations as it was the norm at the time with some publications of Milton´s poetical works.
    • 2/5
      I read this in college and really enjoyed it. But, I think that was because I had a wonderful professor who loved Milton and her energy was infectious. Reading it now, I found it very misogynistic. The poetry was beautiful and I enjoyed the metaphors, but I couldn't take Milton's contempt against women very easily. Oh well, I guess I won't be continuing on with Paradise Regained.

    Book preview

    Paradise Lost - John Milton

    Book I

    The Argument

    This first book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject, man’s disobedience, and the loss thereupon of Paradise wherein he was placed: then touches the prime cause of his fall, the serpent, or rather Satan in the serpent; who revolting from God, and drawing to his side many legions of angels, was by the command of God driven out of Heaven with all his crew into the great deep. Which action passed over, the poem hastes into the midst of things, presenting Satan with his angels now fallen into Hell, described here, not in the centre (for heaven and earth may be supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet accursed) but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos: here Satan with his angels lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and astonished, after a certain space recovers, as from confusion, calls up him who next in order and dignity lay by him; they confer of their miserable fall, Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same manner confounded; they rise, their numbers, array of battle, their chief leaders named, according to the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan directs his speech, comforts them with hope yet of regaining Heaven, but tells them lastly of a new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy or report in Heaven; for that angels were long before this visible Creation, was the opinion of many ancient Fathers. To find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine thereon he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandaemonium the palace of Satan rises, suddenly built out of the deep: the infernal Peers there sit in council.

    Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit

    Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste

    Brought death into the world, and all our woe,

    With loss of Eden, till one greater man

    Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,

    Sing Heav’nly Muse, that on the secret top

    Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire

    That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,

    In the beginning how the heav’ns and earth

    Rose out of Chaos: or if Sion hill

    Delight thee more, and Siloa’s brook that flowed

    Fast by the oracle of God; I thence

    Invoke thy aid to my advent’rous song,

    That with no middle flight intends to soar

    Above th’ Aonian mount, while it pursues

    Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

    And chiefly thou O Spirit, that dost prefer

    Before all temples th’ upright heart and pure,

    Instruct me, for thou know’st; thou from the first

    Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread

    Dove-like sat’st brooding on the vast abyss

    And mad’st it pregnant: what in me is dark

    Illumine, what is low raise and support;

    That to the heighth of this great argument

    I may assert Eternal Providence,

    And justify the ways of God to men.

    Say first, for Heav’n hides nothing from thy view

    Nor the deep tract of Hell, say first what cause

    Moved our grand parents in that happy state,

    Favoured of Heav’n so highly, to fall off

    From their Creator and transgress his will

    For one restraint, lords of the world besides?

    Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?

    Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile

    Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived

    The mother of mankind, what time his pride

    Had cast him out from Heav’n, with all his host

    Of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring

    To set himself in glory above his peers,

    He trusted to have equalled the Most High,

    If he opposed; and with ambitious aim

    Against the throne and monarchy of God

    Raised impious war in Heav’n and battle proud

    With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power

    Hurled headlong flaming from th’ ethereal sky

    With hideous ruin and combustion down

    To bottomless perdition, there to dwell

    In adamantine chains and penal fire,

    Who durst defy th’ Omnipotent to arms.

    Nine times the space that measures day and night

    To mortal men, he with his horrid crew

    Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf

    Confounded though immortal: but his doom

    Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought

    Both of lost happiness and lasting pain

    Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes

    That witnessed huge affliction and dismay

    Mixed with obdúrate pride and steadfast hate:

    At once as far as angels’ ken he views

    The dismal situation waste and wild,

    A dungeon horrible, on all sides round

    As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames

    No light, but rather darkness visible

    Served only to discover sights of woe,

    Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace

    And rest can never dwell, hope never comes

    That comes to all; but torture without end

    Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed

    With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed:

    Such place Eternal Justice had prepared

    For those rebellious, here their prison ordained

    In utter darkness, and their portion set

    As far removed from God and light of Heav’n

    As from the centre thrice to th’ utmost pole.

    O how unlike the place from whence they fell!

    There the companions of his fall, o’erwhelmed

    With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,

    He soon discerns, and welt’ring by his side

    One next himself in power, and next in crime,

    Long after known in Palestine, and named

    Beëlzebub. To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,

    And thence in Heav’n called Satan, with bold words

    Breaking the horrid silence thus began.

    If thou beest he; but O how fall’n! 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,

    Joined with me once, now misery hath joined

    In equal ruin: into what pit thou seest

    From what heighth fall’n, so much the stronger proved

    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 changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind

    And high disdain, from sense of injured merit,

    That with the mightiest raised me to contend,

    And to the fierce contention brought along

    Innumerable force of Spirits armed

    That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring,

    His utmost power with adverse power opposed

    In dubious battle on the plains of Heav’n,

    And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?

    All is not lost; the 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 downfall; 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,

    We may with more successful hope resolve

    To wage by force or guile eternal war

    Irreconcilable, to our grand Foe,

    Who now triúmphs, 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 racked with deep despair:

    And him thus answered soon his bold compeer.

    O Prince, O chief of many thronèd Powers

    That led th’ embatded Seraphim to war

    Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds

    Fearless, endangered 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 Heav’nly essences

    Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains

    Invincible, and vigour soon returns,

    Though all our glory extinct, and happy state

    Here swallowed 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’erpow’red 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 undiminished, or eternal being

    To undergo eternal punishment?

    Whereto with speedy words th’ Arch-Fiend replied.

    Fall’n 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,

    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 destined aim.

    But see the angry Victor hath recalled

    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 received us falling, and the thunder

    Winged 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 fight,

    Save what the glimmering of these livid flames

    Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend

    From off the tossing of these fiery waves,

    There rest, if any rest can harbour there,

    And reassembling our afflicted powers,

    Consult how we may henceforth most offend

    Our Enemy, our own loss how repair,

    How overcome this dire calamity,

    What reinforcement we may gain from hope,

    If not what resolution from despair.

    Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate

    With head uplift above the wave, and eyes

    That sparkling blazed; his other parts besides

    Prone on the flood, extended long and large

    Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge

    As whom the fables name of monstrous size,

    Titanian, or Earth-born, that warred on Jove,

    Briareos or Typhon, whom the den

    By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast

    Leviathan, which God of all his works

    Created hugest that swim th’ Océan stream:

    Him haply slumb’ring on the Norway foam

    The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,

    Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell,

    With fixèd anchor in his scaly rind

    Moors by his side under the lee, while night

    Invests the sea, and wishèd morn delays:

    So stretched out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay

    Chained on the burning lake, nor ever thence

    Had ris’n or heaved his head, but that the will

    And high permission of all-ruling Heaven

    Left him at large to his own dark designs,

    That with reiterated crimes he might

    Heap on himself damnation, while he sought

    Evil to others, and enraged might see

    How all his malice served but to bring forth

    Infinite goodness, grace and mercy shown

    On man by him seduced, but on himself

    Treble confusion, wrath and vengeance poured.

    Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool

    His mighty stature; on each hand the flames

    Driv’n backward slope their pointing spires, and rolled

    In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale.

    Then with expanded wings he steers his flight

    Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air

    That felt unusual weight, till on dry land

    He lights, if it were land that ever burned

    With solid, as the lake with liquid fire,

    And such appeared in hue; as when the force

    Of subterranean wind transports a hill

    Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side

    Of thund’ring Etna, whose combustible

    And fuelled entrails thence conceiving fire,

    Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,

    And leave a singèd bottom all involved

    With stench and smoke: such resting found the sole

    Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate,

    Both glorying to have’scaped the Stygian flood

    As gods, and by their own recovered strength,

    Not by the sufferance of supernal power.

    Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,

    Said then the lost Archangel, this the seat

    That we must change for Heav’n, this mournful gloom

    For that celestial light? Be it so, since he

    Who now is sov’reign can dispose and bid

    What shall be right: farthest from him is best

    Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme

    Above his equals. Farewell happy fields

    Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

    Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell

    Receive thy new possessor: one who brings

    A mind not to be changed by place or time.

    The mind is its own place, and in itself

    Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.

    What matter where, if I be still the same,

    And what I should be, all but less than he

    Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least

    We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built

    Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

    Here we may reign secure, and in my choice

    To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

    Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n.

    But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,

    Th’ associates and copartners of our loss

    Lie thus astonished on th’ oblivious pool,

    And call them not to share with us their part

    In this unhappy mansion; or once more

    With rallied arms to try what may be yet

    Regained in Heav’n, or what more lost in Hell?

    So Satan spake, and him Beëlzebub

    Thus answered. Leader of those armies bright,

    Which but th’ Omnipotent none could have foiled,

    If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge

    Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft

    In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge

    Of battle when it raged, in all assaults

    Their surest signal, they will soon resume

    New courage and revive, though now they lie

    Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,

    As we erewhile, astounded and amazed,

    No wonder, fall’n such a pernicious heighth.

    He scarce had ceased when the superior fiend

    Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield

    Ethereal temper, massy, large and round,

    Behind him cast; the broad circumference

    Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb

    Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views

    At evening from the top of Fesole,

    Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,

    Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe.

    His spear, to equal which the tallest pine

    Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast

    Of some great ammiral, were but a wand,

    He walked with to support uneasy steps

    Over the burning marl, not like those steps

    On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime

    Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire;

    Nathless he so endured, till on the beach

    Of that inflamèd sea, he stood and called

    His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced

    Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks

    In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades

    High overarched embow’r; or scattered sedge

    Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed

    Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrew

    Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,

    While with perfidious hatred they pursued

    The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld

    From the safe shore their floating carcasses

    And broken chariot wheels. So thick bestrown

    Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood,

    Under amazement of their hideous change.

    He called 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 battle 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 scattered arms and ensigns, till anon

    His swift pursuers from Heav’n gates discern

    Th’ advantage, and descending tread us down

    Thus drooping, or with linkèd thunderbolts

    Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf.

    Awake, arise, or be for ever fall’n.

    They heard, and were abashed, 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 obeyed

    Innumerable. As when the potent rod

    Of Amram’s son in Egypt’s evil day

    Waved round the coast, up called a pitchy cloud

    Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind,

    That o’er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung

    Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile:

    So numberless were those bad angels seen

    Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell

    ’Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires;

    Till, as a signal giv’n, th’ uplifted spear

    Of their great Sultan waving to direct

    Their course, in even balance down they light

    On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain;

    A multitude, like which the populous North

    Poured never from her frozen loins, to pass

    Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons

    Came like a deluge on the South, and spread

    Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands.

    Forthwith from every squadron and each band

    The heads and leaders thither haste where stood

    Their great Commander; godlike shapes and forms

    Excelling human, Princely dignities,

    And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones;

    Though of their names in Heav’nly records now

    Be no memorial, blotted out and razed

    By their rebellion, from the Books of Life.

    Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve

    Got them new names, till wand’ring o’er the earth,

    Through God’s high sufferance for the trial of man,

    By falsities and lies the greatest part

    Of mankind they corrupted to forsake

    God their Creator, and th’ invisible

    Glory of him that made them to transform

    Oft to the image of a brute, adorned

    With gay religions full of pomp and gold,

    And devils to adore for deities:

    Then were they known to men by various names,

    And various idols through the heathen world.

    Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last,

    Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch,

    At their great Emperor’s call, as next in worth

    Came singly where he stood on the bare strand,

    While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof?

    The chief were those who from the pit of Hell

    Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst fix

    Their seats, long after, next the seat of God,

    Their altars by his altar, gods adored

    Among the nations round, and durst abide

    Jehovah thund’ring out of Sion, throned

    Between the Cherubim; yea, often placed

    Within his sanctuary itself their shrines,

    Abominations; and with cursèd things

    His holy rites, and solemn feasts profaned,

    And with their darkness durst affront his light.

    First Moloch, horrid king besmeared with blood

    Of human sacrifice, and parents’ tears,

    Though for the noise of drums and timbrels loud

    Their children’s cries unheard, that passed through fire

    To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite

    Worshipped in Rabba and her wat’ry plain,

    In Argob and in Basan, to the stream Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such

    Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart

    Of Solomon he led by fraud to build

    His temple right against the temple of God

    On that opprobrious hill, and made his grove

    The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence,

    And black Gehenna called, the type of Hell.

    Next Chemos, th’ óbscene dread of Moab’s sons,

    From Aroer to Nebo, and the wild

    Of southmost Abarim; in Hesebon

    And Horonaim, Seon’s realm, beyond

    The flow’ry dale of Sibma clad with vines,

    And Elealè to th’ Asphaltic pool.

    Peor his other name, when he enticed

    Israel in Sittim on their march from Nile

    To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe.

    Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged

    Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove

    Of Moloch homicide, lust hard by hate;

    Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell.

    With these came they, who from the bord’ring flood

    Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts

    Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names

    Of Baälim and Ashtaroth, those male,

    These feminine. For Spirits when they please

    Can either sex assume, or both; so soft

    And uncompounded is their essence pure;

    Not tied or manacled with joint or limb,

    Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,

    Like cumbrous flesh; but in what shape they choose

    Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure,

    Can execute their airy purposes,

    And works of love or enmity fulfil.

    For these the race of Israel oft forsook

    Their Living Strength, and unfrequented left

    His righteous altar, bowing lowly down

    To bestial gods; for which their heads as low

    Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear

    Of déspicable foes. With these in troop

    Came Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians called

    Astarte, queen of Heav’n, with crescent horns;

    To whose bright image nightly by the moon

    Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs,

    In Sion also not unsung, where stood

    Her temple on th’ offensive mountain, built

    By that uxorious king whose heart though large,

    Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell

    To idols foul. Thammuz came next behind,

    Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured

    The Syrian damsels to lament his fate

    In amorous ditties all a summer’s day,

    While smooth Adonis from his native rock

    Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood

    Of Thammuz yearly wounded: the love-tale

    Infected Sion’s daughters with like heat,

    Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch

    Ezekiel saw, when by the vision led

    His eye surveyed the dark idolatries

    Of alienated Judah. Next came one

    Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark

    Maimed his brute image, head and hands lopped off

    In his own temple, on the grunsel edge,

    Where he fell fiat, and shamed his worshippers:

    Dagon his name, sea-mónster, upward man

    And downward fish: yet had his temple high

    Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast

    Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon

    And Accaron and Gaza’s frontier bounds.

    Him followed Rimmon, whose delightful seat

    Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks

    Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams.

    He also against the house of God was bold:

    A leper once he lost and gained a king,

    Ahaz his sottish conqueror, whom he drew

    God’s altar to disparage and displace

    For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn

    His odious off’rings, and adore the gods

    Whom he had vanquished. After these appeared

    A crew who under names of old renown,

    Osiris, Isis, Orus and their train

    With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused

    Fanatic Egypt and her priests, to seek

    Their wand’ring gods disguised in brutish forms

    Rather than human. Nor did Israel’scape

    Th’ infection when their borrowed gold composed

    The calf in Oreb: and the rebel king

    Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan,

    Lik’ning his Maker to the grazèd ox,

    Jehovah, who in one night when he passed

    From Egypt marching, equalled with one stroke

    Both her first-born and all her bleating gods.

    Belial came last, than whom a Spirit more lewd

    Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love

    Vice for itself: to him no temple stood

    Or altar smoked; yet who more oft than he

    In temples and at altars, when the priest

    Turns atheist, as did Eli’s sons, who filled

    With lust and violence the house of God.

    In courts and palaces he also reigns

    And in luxurious cities, where the noise

    Of riot ascends above their loftiest tow’rs,

    And injury and outrage: and when night

    Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons

    Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

    Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night

    In Gibeah, when the hospitable door

    Exposed a matron to avoid worse rape.

    These were the prime in order and in might;

    The rest were long to tell, though far renowned,

    Th’ Ionian gods, of Javan’s issue held

    Gods, yet confessed later than Heav’n and Earth

    Their boasted parents; Titan Heav’n’s first-born

    With his enormous brood, and birthright seized

    By younger Saturn, he from mightier Jove

    His own and Rhea’s son like measure found;

    So Jove usurping reigned: these first in Crete

    And Ida known, thence on the snowy top

    Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air

    Their highest heav’n; or on the Delphian cliff,

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