|
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| Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven firstborn, |
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| Or of the Eternal coeternal beam |
|
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| May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light, |
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| And never but in unapproached light |
|
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| Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee |
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| Bright effluence of bright essence increate. |
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| Or hear"st thou rather pure ethereal stream, |
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| Whose fountain who shall tell? before the sun, |
|
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| Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice |
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|
| Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest *** |
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| The rising world of waters dark and deep, |
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| Won from the void and formless infinite. |
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| Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing, |
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|
| Escap'd the Stygian pool, though long detain'd |
|
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| In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight |
|
|
| Through utter and through middle darkness borne, |
|
|
| With other notes than to the Orphean lyre |
|
|
| I sung of Chaos and eternal Night; |
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|
| Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down |
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| The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, |
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| Though hard and rare: Thee I revisit safe, |
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| And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou |
|
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| Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain |
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| To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; |
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| So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, |
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| Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more |
|
|
| Cease I to wander, where the Muses haunt, |
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|
| Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, |
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| Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief |
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| Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, |
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| That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow, |
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| Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget |
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| So were I equall'd with them in renown, |
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| Thy sovran command, that Man should find grace; |
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| Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides, |
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| And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old: |
|
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| Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move |
|
|
| Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird |
|
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| Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid |
|
|
| Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year |
|
|
| Seasons return; but not to me returns |
|
|
| Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, |
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| Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, |
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| Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; |
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|
| But cloud instead, and ever-during dark |
|
|
| Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men |
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|
| Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair |
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|
| Presented with a universal blank |
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| Of nature's works to me expung'd and ras'd, |
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| And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. |
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|
| So much the rather thou, celestial Light, |
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|
| Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers |
|
|
| Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence |
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| Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell |
|
|
| Of things invisible to mortal sight. |
|
|
| Now had the Almighty Father from above, |
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|
| From the pure empyrean where he sits |
|
|
| High thron'd above all highth, bent down his eye |
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|
| His own works and their works at once to view: |
|
|
| About him all the Sanctities of Heaven |
|
|
| Stood thick as stars, and from his sight receiv'd |
|
|
| Beatitude past utterance; on his right |
|
|
| The radiant image of his glory sat, |
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|
| His only son; on earth he first beheld |
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|
| Our two first parents, yet the only two |
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|
| Of mankind in the happy garden plac'd |
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| Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, |
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|
| Uninterrupted joy, unrivall'd love, |
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|
| In blissful solitude; he then survey'd |
|
|
| Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there |
|
|
| Coasting the wall of Heaven on this side Night |
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|
| In the dun air sublime, and ready now |
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| To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet, |
|
|
| On the bare outside of this world, that seem'd |
|
|
| Firm land imbosom'd, without firmament, |
|
|
| Uncertain which, in ocean or in air. |
|
|
| Him God beholding from his prospect high, |
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|
| Wherein past, present, future, he beholds, |
|
|
| Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake. |
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|
| Only begotten Son, seest thou what rage |
|
|
| Transports our Adversary? whom no bounds |
|
|
| Prescrib'd no bars of Hell, nor all the chains |
|
|
| Heap'd on him there, nor yet the main abyss |
|
|
| Wide interrupt, can hold; so bent he seems |
|
|
| On desperate revenge, that shall redound |
|
|
| Upon his own rebellious head. And now, |
|
|
| Through all restraint broke loose, he wings his way |
|
|
| Not far off Heaven, in the precincts of light, |
|
|
| Directly towards the new created world, |
|
|
| And man there plac'd, with purpose to assay |
|
|
| If him by force he can destroy, or, worse, |
|
|
| By some false guile pervert; and shall pervert; |
|
|
| For man will hearken to his glozing lies, |
|
|
| And easily transgress the sole command, |
|
|
| Sole pledge of his obedience: So will fall |
|
|
| He and his faithless progeny: Whose fault? |
|
|
| Whose but his own? ingrate, he had of me |
|
|
| All he could have; I made him just and right, |
|
|
| Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. |
|
|
| Such I created all the ethereal Powers |
|
|
| And Spirits, both them who stood, and them who fail'd; |
|
|
| Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. |
|
|
| Not free, what proof could they have given sincere |
|
|
| Of true allegiance, constant faith or love, |
|
|
| Where only what they needs must do appear'd, |
|
|
| Not what they would? what praise could they receive? |
|
|
| What pleasure I from such obedience paid, |
|
|
| When will and reason (reason also is choice) |
|
|
| Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil'd, |
|
|
| Made passive both, had serv'd necessity, |
|
|
| Not me? they therefore, as to right belong$ 'd, |
|
|
| So were created, nor can justly accuse |
|
|
| Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, |
|
|
| As if predestination over-rul'd |
|
|
| Their will dispos'd by absolute decree |
|
|
| Or high foreknowledge they themselves decreed |
|
|
| Their own revolt, not I; if I foreknew, |
|
|
| Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, |
|
|
| Which had no less proved certain unforeknown. |
|
|
| So without least impulse or shadow of fate, |
|
|
| Or aught by me immutably foreseen, |
|
|
| They trespass, authors to themselves in all |
|
|
| Both what they judge, and what they choose; for so |
|
|
| I form'd them free: and free they must remain, |
|
|
| Till they enthrall themselves; I else must change |
|
|
| Their nature, and revoke the high decree |
|
|
| Unchangeable, eternal, which ordain'd |
|
|
| $THeir freedom: they themselves ordain'd their fall. |
|
|
| The first sort by their own suggestion fell, |
|
|
| Self-tempted, self-deprav'd: Man falls, deceiv'd |
|
|
| By the other first: Man therefore shall find grace, |
|
|
| The other none: In mercy and justice both, |
|
|
| Through Heaven and Earth, so shall my glory excel; |
|
|
| But Mercy, first and last, shall brightest shine. |
|
|
| Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance fill'd |
|
|
| All Heaven, and in the blessed Spirits elect |
|
|
| Sense of new joy ineffable diffus'd. |
|
|
| Beyond compare the Son of God was seen |
|
|
| Most glorious; in him all his Father shone |
|
|
| Substantially express'd; and in his face |
|
|
| Divine compassion visibly appear'd, |
|
|
| Love without end, and without measure grace, |
|
|
| Which uttering, thus he to his Father spake. |
|
|
| O Father, gracious was that word which clos'd |
|
|
| Thy sovran command, that Man should find grace; |
|
|
| , that Man should find grace; |
|
|
| For which both Heaven and earth shall high extol |
|
|
| Thy praises, with the innumerable sound |
|
|
| Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne |
|
|
| Encompass'd shall resound thee ever blest. |
|
|
| For should Man finally be lost, should Man, |
|
|
| Thy creature late so lov'd, thy youngest son, |
|
|
| Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though join'd |
|
|
| With his own folly? that be from thee far, |
|
|
| That far be from thee, Father, who art judge |
|
|
| Of all things made, and judgest only right. |
|
|
| Or shall the Adversary thus obtain |
|
|
| His end, and frustrate thine? shall he fulfill |
|
|
| His malice, and thy goodness bring to nought, |
|
|
| Or proud return, though to his heavier doom, |
|
|
| Yet with revenge accomplish'd, and to Hell |
|
|
| Draw after him the whole race of mankind, |
|
|
| By him corrupted? or wilt thou thyself |
|
|
| Abolish thy creation, and unmake |
|
|
| For him, what for thy glory thou hast made? |
|
|
| So should thy goodness and thy greatness both |
|
|
| Be question'd and blasphem'd without defence. |
|
|
| To whom the great Creator thus replied. |
|
|
| O son, in whom my soul hath chief delight, |
|
|
| Son of my bosom, Son who art alone. |
|
|
| My word, my wisdom, and effectual might, |
|
|
| All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all |
|
|
| As my eternal purpose hath decreed; |
|
|
| Man shall not quite be lost, but sav'd who will; |
|
|
| Yet not of will in him, but grace in me |
|
|
| Freely vouchsaf'd; once more I will renew |
|
|
| His lapsed powers, though forfeit; and enthrall'd |
|
|
| By sin to foul exorbitant desires; |
|
|
| Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand |
|
|
| On even ground against his mortal foe; |
|
|
| By me upheld, that he may know how frail |
|
|
| His fallen condition is, and to me owe |
|
|
| All his deliverance, and to none but me. |
|
|
| Some I have chosen of peculiar grace, |
|
|
| Elect above the rest; so is my will: |
|
|
| The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warn'd |
|
|
| Their sinful state, and to appease betimes |
|
|
| The incensed Deity, while offer'd grace |
|
|
| Invites; for I will clear their senses dark, |
|
|
| What may suffice, and soften stony hearts |
|
|
| To pray, repent, and bring obedience due. |
|
|
| To prayer, repentance, and obedience due, |
|
|
| Though but endeavour'd with sincere intent, |
|
|
| Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut. |
|
|
| And I will place within them as a guide, |
|
|
| My umpire Conscience; whom if they will hear, |
|
|
| Light after light, well us'd, they shall attain, |
|
|
| And to the end, persisting, safe arrive. |
|
|
| This my long sufferance, and my day of grace, |
|
|
| They who neglect and scorn, shall never taste; |
|
|
| But hard be harden'd, blind be blinded more, |
|
|
| That they may stumble on, and deeper fall; |
|
|
| And none but such from mercy I exclude. |
|
|
| But yet all is not done; Man disobeying, |
|
|
| Disloyal, breaks his fealty, and sins |
|
|
| Against the high supremacy of Heaven, |
|
|
| Affecting God-head, and, so losing all, |
|
|
| To expiate his treason hath nought left, |
|
|
| But to destruction sacred and devote, |
|
|
| He, with his whole posterity, must die, |
|
|
| Die he or justice must; unless for him |
|
|
| Some other able, and as willing, pay |
|
|
| The rigid satisfaction, death for death. |
|
|
| Say, heavenly Powers, where shall we find such love? |
|
|
| Which of you will be mortal, to redeem |
|
|
| Man's mortal crime, and just the unjust to save? |
|
|
| Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear? |
|
|
| And silence was in Heaven: $ on Man's behalf |
|
|
| He ask'd, but all the heavenly quire stood mute, |
|
|
| Patron or intercessour none appear'd, |
|
|
| Much less that durst upon his own head draw |
|
|
| The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. |
|
|
| And now without redemption all mankind |
|
|
| Must have been lost, adjudg'd to Death and Hell |
|
|
| By doom severe, had not the Son of God, |
|
|
| In whom the fulness dwells of love divine, |
|
|
| His dearest mediation thus renew'd. |
|
|
| Father, thy word is past, Man shall find grace; |
|
|
| And shall grace not find means, that finds her way, |
|
|
| The speediest of thy winged messengers, |
|
|
| To visit all thy creatures, and to all |
|
|
| Comes unprevented, unimplor'd, unsought? |
|
|
| Happy for Man, so coming; he her aid |
|
|
| Can never seek, once dead in sins, and lost; |
|
|
| Atonement for himself, or offering meet, |
|
|
| Indebted and undone, hath none to bring; |
|
|
| Behold me then: me for him, life for life |
|
|
| I offer: on me let thine anger fall; |
|
|
| Account me Man; I for his sake will leave |
|
|
 Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee |
|
|
| Freely put off, and for him lastly die |
|
|
| Well pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage. |
|
|
| Under his gloomy power I shall not long |
|
|
| Lie vanquished. Thou hast given me to possess |
|
|
| Life in myself for ever; by thee I live; |
|
|
| Though now to Death I yield, and am his due, |
|
|
| All that of me can die, yet, that debt paid, |
|
|
| $ thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave |
|
|
| His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul |
|
|
| For ever with corruption there to dwell; |
|
|
| But I shall rise victorious, and subdue |
|
|
| My vanquisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil. |
|
|
| Death his death's wound shall then receive, and stoop |
|
|
| Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed; |
|
|
| I through the ample air in triumph high |
|
|
| Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show |
|
|
| The powers of darkness bound. Thou, at the sight |
|
|
| Pleased, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile, |
|
|
| While, by thee raised, I ruin all my foes; |
|
|
| Death last, and with his carcase glut the grave; |
|
|
| Then, with the multitude of my redeemed, |
|
|
| Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return, |
|
|
| Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud |
|
|
| Of anger shall remain, but peace assured |
|
|
| And reconcilement: wrath shall be no more |
|
|
| Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire. |
|
|
| His words here ended; but his meek aspect |
|
|
| Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love |
|
|
| To mortal men, above which only shone |
|
|
| Filial obedience: as a sacrifice |
|
|
| Glad to be offered, he attends the will |
|
|
| Of his great Father. Admiration seized |
|
|
| All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend, |
|
|
| Wondering; but soon th' Almighty thus replied. |
|
|
| O thou in Heaven and Earth the only peace |
|
|
| Found out for mankind under wrath, O thou |
|
|
| My sole complacence! Well thou know'st how dear |
|
|
| To me are all my works; nor Man the least, |
|
|
| Though last created, that for him I spare |
|
|
| Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save, |
|
|
| By losing thee a while, the whole race lost. |
|
|
|
|
| 00021053 |
|
|
| Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem, |
|
|
| Their nature also to thy nature join; |
|
|
| And be thyself Man among men on Earth, |
|
|
| Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed, |
|
|
| By wondrous birth; be thou in Adam's room |
|
|
| The head of all mankind, though Adam's son. |
|
|
| As in him perish all men, so in thee, |
|
|
| As from a second root, shall be restored |
|
|
| As many as are restored, without thee none. |
|
|
| His crime makes guilty all his sons; thy merit, |
|
|
| Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce |
|
|
| Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds, |
|
|
| And live in thee transplanted, and from thee |
|
|
| Receive new life. So Man, as is most just, |
|
|
| Shall satisfy for Man, be judged and die, |
|
|
| And dying rise, and rising with him raise |
|
|
| His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life. |
|
|
| So heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate, |
|
|
| Giving to death, and dying to redeem, |
|
|
| So dearly to redeem what hellish hate |
|
|
| So easily destroyed, and still destroys |
|
|
| In those who, when they may, accept not grace. |
|
|
| Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume |
|
|
| Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own. |
|
|
| Because thou hast, though throned in highest bliss |
|
|
| Equal to God, and equally enjoying |
|
|
| God-like fruition, quitted all, to save |
|
|
| A world from utter loss, and hast been found |
|
|
| By merit more than birthright Son of God, |
|
|
| Found worthiest to be so by being good, |
|
|
| Far more than great or high; because in thee |
|
|
| Love hath abounded more than glory abounds; |
|
|
| Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt |
|
|
| With thee thy manhood also to this throne: |
|
|
| Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reign |
|
|
| Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man, |
|
|
| Anointed universal King; all power |
|
|
| I give thee; reign for ever, and assume |
|
|
| Thy merits; under thee, as head supreme, |
|
|
| Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions, I reduce: |
|
|
| All knees to thee shall bow, of them that bide |
|
|
| In Heaven, or Earth, or under Earth in Hell. |
|
|
| When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven, |
|
|
| Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send |
|
|
| The summoning Arch-Angels to proclaim |
|
|
| Thy dread tribunal; forthwith from all winds, |
|
|
| The living, and forthwith the cited dead |
|
|
| Of all past ages, to the general doom |
|
|
| Shall hasten; such a peal shall rouse their sleep. |
|
|
| Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge |
|
|
| Bad Men and Angels; they, arraigned, shall sink |
|
|
| Beneath thy sentence; Hell, her numbers full, |
|
|
| Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Mean while |
|
|
| The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring |
|
|
| New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell, |
|
|
| And, after all their tribulations long, |
|
|
| See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, |
|
|
| With joy and peace triumphing, and fair truth. |
|
|
| Then thou thy regal scepter shalt lay by, |
|
|
| For regal scepter then no more shall need, |
|
|
| God shall be all in all. But, all ye Gods, |
|
|
| Adore him, who to compass all this dies; |
|
|
| Adore the Son, and honour him as me. |
|
|
| No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all |
|
|
| The multitude of Angels, with a shout |
|
|
| Loud as from numbers without number, sweet |
|
|
| As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heaven rung |
|
|
| With jubilee, and loud Hosannas filled |
|
|
| The eternal regions: Lowly reverent |
|
|
| Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground |
|
|
| With solemn adoration down they cast |
|
|
| Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold; |
|
|
| Immortal amarant, a flower which once |
|
|
| In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, |
|
|
| Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence |
|
|
| To Heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows, |
|
|
| And flowers aloft shading the fount of life, |
|
|
| And where the river of bliss through midst of Heaven |
|
|
| Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream; |
|
|
| With these that never fade the Spirits elect |
|
|
| Bind their resplendent locks inwreathed with beams; |
|
|
| Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright |
|
|
| Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, |
|
|
| Impurpled with celestial roses smiled. |
|
|
| Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took, |
|
|
| Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side |
|
|
| Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet |
|
|
| Of charming symphony they introduce |
|
|
| Their sacred song, and waken raptures high; |
|
|
| No voice exempt, no voice but well could join |
|
|
| Melodious part, such concord is in Heaven. |
|
|
| Thee, Father, first they sung Omnipotent, |
|
|
| Immutable, Immortal, Infinite, |
|
|
| Eternal King; the Author of all being, |
|
|
| Fonntain of light, thyself invisible |
|
|
| Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit'st |
|
|
| Throned inaccessible, but when thou shadest |
|
|
| The full blaze of thy beams, and, through a cloud |
|
|
| Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine, |
|
|
| Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, |
|
|
| Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest Seraphim |
|
|
| Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes. |
|
|
| Thee next they sang of all creation first, |
|
|
| Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, |
|
|
| In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud |
|
|
| Made visible, the Almighty Father shines, |
|
|
| Whom else no creature can behold; on thee |
|
|
| Impressed the effulgence of his glory abides, |
|
|
| Transfused on thee his ample Spirit rests. |
|
|
| He Heaven of Heavens and all the Powers therein |
|
|
| By thee created; and by thee threw down |
|
|
| The aspiring Dominations: Thou that day |
|
|
| Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare, |
|
|
| Nor stop thy flaming chariot-wheels, that shook |
|
|
| Heaven's everlasting frame, while o'er the necks |
|
|
| Thou drovest of warring Angels disarrayed. |
|
|
| Back from pursuit thy Powers with loud acclaim |
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| Thee only extolled, Son of thy Father's might, |
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| To execute fierce vengeance on his foes, |
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| Not so on Man: Him through their malice fallen, |
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| Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom |
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| So strictly, but much more to pity incline: |
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| No sooner did thy dear and only Son |
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| Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail Man |
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| So strictly, but much more to pity inclined, |
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| He to appease thy wrath, and end the strife |
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| Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned, |
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| Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat |
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| Second to thee, offered himself to die |
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| For Man's offence. O unexampled love, |
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| Love no where to be found less than Divine! |
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| Hail, Son of God, Saviour of Men! Thy name |
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| Shall be the copious matter of my song |
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| Henceforth, and never shall my heart thy praise |
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| Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin. |
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| Thus they in Heaven, above the starry sphere, |
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| Their happy hours in joy and hymning spent. |
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| Mean while upon the firm opacous globe |
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| Of this round world, whose first convex divides |
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| The luminous inferiour orbs, enclosed |
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| From Chaos, and the inroad of Darkness old, |
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| Satan alighted walks: A globe far off |
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| It seemed, now seems a boundless continent |
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| Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night |
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| Starless exposed, and ever-threatening storms |
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| Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky; |
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| Save on that side which from the wall of Heaven, |
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| Though distant far, some small reflection gains |
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| Of glimmering air less vexed with tempest loud: |
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| Here walked the Fiend at large in spacious field. |
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| As when a vultur on Imaus bred, |
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| Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds, |
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| Dislodging from a region scarce of prey |
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| To gorge the flesh of lambs or yeanling kids, |
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| On hills where flocks are fed, flies toward the springs |
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| Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams; |
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| But in his way lights on the barren plains |
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| Of Sericana, where Chineses drive |
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| With sails and wind their cany waggons light: |
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| So, on this windy sea of land, the Fiend |
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| Walked up and down alone, bent on his prey; |
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| Alone, for other creature in this place, |
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| Living or lifeless, to be found was none; |
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| None yet, but store hereafter from the earth |
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| Up hither like aereal vapours flew |
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| Of all things transitory and vain, when sin |
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| With vanity had filled the works of men: |
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| Both all things vain, and all who in vain things |
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| Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame, |
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| Or happiness in this or the other life; |
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| All who have their reward on earth, the fruits |
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| Of painful superstition and blind zeal, |
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| Nought seeking but the praise of men, here find |
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| Fit retribution, empty as their deeds; |
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| All the unaccomplished works of Nature's hand, |
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| Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixed, |
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| Dissolved on earth, fleet hither, and in vain, |
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| Till final dissolution, wander here; |
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| Not in the neighbouring moon as some have dreamed; |
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| Those argent fields more likely habitants, |
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| Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold |
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| Betwixt the angelical and human kind. |
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| Hither of ill-joined sons and daughters born |
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| First from the ancient world those giants came |
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| With many a vain exploit, though then renowned: |
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| The builders next of Babel on the plain |
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| Of Sennaar, and still with vain design, |
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| New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build: |
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| Others came single; he, who, to be deemed |
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| A God, leaped fondly into Aetna flames, |
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| Empedocles; and he, who, to enjoy |
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| Plato's Elysium, leaped into the sea, |
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| Cleombrotus; and many more too long, |
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| Embryos, and idiots, eremites, and friars |
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| White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery. |
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| Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek |
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| In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven; |
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| And they, who to be sure of Paradise, |
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| Dying, put on the weeds of Dominick, |
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| Or in Franciscan think to pass disguised; |
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| They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed, |
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| And that crystalling sphere whose balance weighs |
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| The trepidation talked, and that first moved; |
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| And now Saint Peter at Heaven's wicket seems |
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| To wait them with his keys, and now at foot |
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| Of Heaven's ascent they lift their feet, when lo |
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| A violent cross wind from either coast |
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| Blows them transverse, ten thousand leagues awry |
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| Into the devious air: Then might ye see |
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| Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost |
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| And fluttered into rags; then reliques, beads, |
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| Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls, |
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| The sport of winds: All these, upwhirled aloft, |
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| Fly o'er the backside of the world far off |
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| Into a Limbo large and broad, since called |
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| The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown |
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| Long after; now unpeopled, and untrod. |
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| All this dark globe the Fiend found as he passed, |
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| And long he wandered, till at last a gleam |
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| Of dawning light turned thither-ward in haste |
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| His travelled steps: far distant he descries |
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| Ascending by degrees magnificent |
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| Up to the wall of Heaven a structure high; |
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| At top whereof, but far more rich, appeared |
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| The work as of a kingly palace-gate, |
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| With frontispiece of diamond and gold |
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| Embellished; thick with sparkling orient gems |
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| The portal shone, inimitable on earth |
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| By model, or by shading pencil, drawn. |
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| These stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw |
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| Angels ascending and descending, bands |
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| Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled |
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| To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz |
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|
| Dreaming by night under the open sky |
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|
| And waking cried, This is the gate of Heaven. |
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|
| Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood |
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|
| There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes |
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| Viewless; and underneath a bright sea flowed |
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|
| Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon |
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| Who after came from earth, failing arrived |
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| Wafted by Angels, or flew o'er the lake |
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| Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds. |
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| The stairs were then let down, whether to dare |
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| The Fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate |
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| His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss: |
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| Direct against which opened from beneath, |
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| Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise, |
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| A passage down to the Earth, a passage wide, |
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| Wider by far than that of after-times |
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| Over mount Sion, and, though that were large, |
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|
| Over the Promised Land to God so dear; |
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| By which, to visit oft those happy tribes, |
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| On high behests his angels to and fro |
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|
| Passed frequent, and his eye with choice regard |
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|
| From Paneas, the fount of Jordan's flood, |
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| To Beersaba, where the Holy Land |
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| Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore; |
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|
| So wide the opening seemed, where bounds were set |
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| To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave. |
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|
| Satan from hence, now on the lower stair, |
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|
| That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven-gate, |
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|
| Looks down with wonder at the sudden view |
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| Of all this world at once. As when a scout, |
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| Through dark?;nd desart ways with?oeril gone |
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| All?might,?;t?kast by break of cheerful dawn |
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|
| Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill, |
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| Which to his eye discovers unaware |
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|
| The goodly prospect of some foreign land |
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|
| First seen, or some renowned metropolis |
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| With glistering spires and pinnacles adorned, |
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|
| Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams: |
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|
| Such wonder seised, though after Heaven seen, |
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|
| The Spirit malign, but much more envy seised, |
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|
| At sight of all this world beheld so fair. |
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|
| Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood |
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|
| So high above the circling canopy |
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|
| Of night's extended shade,) from eastern point |
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|
| Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears |
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|
| Andromeda far off Atlantick seas |
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| Beyond the horizon; then from pole to pole |
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|
| He views in breadth, and without longer pause |
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| Down right into the world's first region throws |
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|
| His flight precipitant, and winds with ease |
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|
| Through the pure marble air his oblique way |
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|
| Amongst innumerable stars, that shone |
|
|
| Stars distant, but nigh hand seemed other worlds; |
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|
| Or other worlds they seemed, or happy isles, |
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|
| Like those Hesperian gardens famed of old, |
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| Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales, |
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| Thrice happy isles; but who dwelt happy there |
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| He staid not to inquire: Above them all |
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|
| The golden sun, in splendour likest Heaven, |
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|
| Allured his eye; thither his course he bends |
|
|
| Through the calm firmament, (but up or down, |
|
|
| By center, or eccentrick, hard to tell, |
|
|
| Or longitude,) where the great luminary |
|
|
| Aloof the vulgar constellations thick, |
|
|
| That from his lordly eye keep distance due, |
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|
| Dispenses light from far; they, as they move |
|
|
| Their starry dance in numbers that compute |
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|
| Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp |
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|
| Turn swift their various motions, or are turned |
|
|
| By his magnetick beam, that gently warms |
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|
| The universe, and to each inward part |
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|
| With gentle penetration, though unseen, |
|
|
| Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep; |
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|
| So wonderously was set his station bright. |
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|
| There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps |
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|
| Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb |
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|
| Through his glazed optick tube yet never saw. |
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|
| The place he found beyond expression bright, |
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|
| Compared with aught on earth, metal or stone; |
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|
| Not all parts like, but all alike informed |
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|
| With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire; |
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|
| If metal, part seemed gold, part silver clear; |
|
|
| If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite, |
|
|
| Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone |
|
|
| In Aaron's breast-plate, and a stone besides |
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|
| Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen, |
|
|
| That stone, or like to that which here below |
|
|
| Philosophers in vain so long have sought, |
|
|
| In vain, though by their powerful art they bind |
|
|
| Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound |
|
|
| In various shapes old Proteus from the sea, |
|
|
| Drained through a limbeck to his native form. |
|
|
| What wonder then if fields and regions here |
|
|
| Breathe forth Elixir pure, and rivers run |
|
|
| Potable gold, when with one virtuous touch |
|
|
| The arch-chemick sun, so far from us remote, |
|
|
| Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed, |
|
|
| Here in the dark so many precious things |
|
|
| Of colour glorious, and effect so rare? |
|
|
| Here matter new to gaze the Devil met |
|
|
| Undazzled; far and wide his eye commands; |
|
|
| For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade, |
|
|
| But all sun-shine, as when his beams at noon |
|
|
| Culminate from the equator, as they now |
|
|
| Shot upward still direct, whence no way round |
|
|
| Shadow from body opaque can fall; and the air, |
|
|
| No where so clear, sharpened his visual ray |
|
|
| To objects distant far, whereby he soon |
|
|
| Saw within ken a glorious Angel stand, |
|
|
| The same whom John saw also in the sun: |
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|
| His back was turned, but not his brightness hid; |
|
|
| Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar |
|
|
| Circled his head, nor less his locks behind |
|
|
| Illustrious on his shoulders fledge with wings |
|
|
| Lay waving round; on some great charge employed |
|
|
| He seemed, or fixed in cogitation deep. |
|
|
| Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope |
|
|
| To find who might direct his wandering flight |
|
|
| To Paradise, the happy seat of Man, |
|
|
| His journey's end and our beginning woe. |
|
|
| But first he casts to change his proper shape, |
|
|
| Which else might work him danger or delay: |
|
|
| And now a stripling Cherub he appears, |
|
|
| Not of the prime, yet such as in his face |
|
|
| Youth smiled celestial, and to every limb |
|
|
| Suitable grace diffused, so well he feigned: |
|
|
| Under a coronet his flowing hair |
|
|
| In curls on either cheek played; wings he wore |
|
|
| Of many a coloured plume, sprinkled with gold; |
|
|
| His habit fit for speed succinct, and held |
|
|
| Before his decent steps a silver wand. |
|
|
| He drew not nigh unheard; the Angel bright, |
|
|
| Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turned, |
|
|
| Admonished by his ear, and straight was known |
|
|
| The Arch-Angel Uriel, one of the seven |
|
|
| Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, |
|
|
| Stand ready at command, and are his eyes |
|
|
| That run through all the Heavens, or down to the Earth |
|
|
| Bear his swift errands over moist and dry, |
|
|
| O'er sea and land: him Satan thus accosts. |
|
|
| Uriel, for thou of those seven Spirits that stand |
|
|
| In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, |
|
|
| The first art wont his great authentick will |
|
|
| Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring, |
|
|
| Where all his sons thy embassy attend; |
|
|
| And here art likeliest by supreme decree |
|
|
| Like honour to obtain, and as his eye |
|
|
| To visit oft this new creation round; |
|
|
| Unspeakable desire to see, and know |
|
|
| All these his wonderous works, but chiefly Man, |
|
|
| His chief delight and favour, him for whom |
|
|
| All these his works so wonderous he ordained, |
|
|
| Hath brought me from the quires of Cherubim |
|
|
| Alone thus wandering. Brightest Seraph, tell |
|
|
| In which of all these shining orbs hath Man |
|
|
| His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none, |
|
|
| But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell; |
|
|
| That I may find him, and with secret gaze |
|
|
| Or open admiration him behold, |
|
|
| On whom the great Creator hath bestowed |
|
|
| Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces poured; |
|
|
| That both in him and all things, as is meet, |
|
|
| The universal Maker we may praise; |
|
|
| Who justly hath driven out his rebel foes |
|
|
| To deepest Hell, and, to repair that loss, |
|
|
| Created this new happy race of Men |
|
|
| To serve him better: Wise are all his ways. |
|
|
| So spake the false dissembler unperceived; |
|
|
| For neither Man nor Angel can discern |
|
|
| Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks |
|
|
| Invisible, except to God alone, |
|
|
| By his permissive will, through Heaven and Earth: |
|
|
| And oft, though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps |
|
|
| At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity |
|
|
| Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill |
|
|
| Where no ill seems: Which now for once beguiled |
|
|
| Uriel, though regent of the sun, and held |
|
|
| The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven; |
|
|
| Who to the fraudulent impostor foul, |
|
|
| In his uprightness, answer thus returned. |
|
|
| Fair Angel, thy desire, which tends to know |
|
|
| The works of God, thereby to glorify |
|
|
| The great Work-master, leads to no excess |
|
|
| That reaches blame, but rather merits praise |
|
|
| The more it seems excess, that led thee hither |
|
|
| From thy empyreal mansion thus alone, |
|
|
| To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps, |
|
|
| Contented with report, hear only in Heaven: |
|
|
| For wonderful indeed are all his works, |
|
|
| Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all |
|
|
| Had in remembrance always with delight; |
|
|
| But what created mind can comprehend |
|
|
| Their number, or the wisdom infinite |
|
|
| That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep? |
|
|
| I saw when at his word the formless mass, |
|
|
| This world's material mould, came to a heap: |
|
|
| Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar |
|
|
| Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; |
|
|
| Till at his second bidding Darkness fled, |
|
|
| Light shone, and order from disorder sprung: |
|
|
| Swift to their several quarters hasted then |
|
|
| The cumbrous elements, earth, flood, air, fire; |
|
|
| And this ethereal quintessence of Heaven |
|
|
| Flew upward, spirited with various forms, |
|
|
| That rolled orbicular, and turned to stars |
|
|
| Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move; |
|
|
| Each had his place appointed, each his course; |
|
|
| The rest in circuit walls this universe. |
|
|
| Look downward on that globe, whose hither side |
|
|
| With light from hence, though but reflected, shines; |
|
|
| That place is Earth, the seat of Man; that light |
|
|
| His day, which else, as the other hemisphere, |
|
|
| Night would invade; but there the neighbouring moon |
|
|
| So call that opposite fair star) her aid |
|
|
| Timely interposes, and her monthly round |
|
|
| Still ending, still renewing, through mid Heaven, |
|
|
| With borrowed light her countenance triform |
|
|
| Hence fills and empties to enlighten the Earth, |
|
|
| And in her pale dominion checks the night. |
|
|
| That spot, to which I point, is Paradise, |
|
|
| Adam's abode; those lofty shades, his bower. |
|
|
| Thy way thou canst not miss, me mine requires. |
|
|
| Thus said, he turned; and Satan, bowing low, |
|
|
| As to superiour Spirits is wont in Heaven, |
|
|
| Where honour due and reverence none neglects, |
|
|
| Took leave, and toward the coast of earth beneath, |
|
|
| Down from the ecliptick, sped with hoped success, |
|
|
| Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel; |
|
|
| Nor staid, till on Niphates' top he lights. |
|
|
