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    Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained
    Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained
    Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained
    Ebook449 pages13 hours

    Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained

    By John Milton

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    Contained in this volume are two great works by the English Poet John Milton, "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained". Milton's "Paradise Lost" is considered to be one of the most classic epic poems ever written. It is a retelling of the biblical story of the Genesis of man, of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and of how Eve when tempted by Satan disobeyed God and ate from the tree of knowledge. Written in 1667, "Paradise Lost" is a poetic and intriguing interpretation of ancient biblical legend. Following the fall of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden in Milton's "Paradise Lost", Milton turns his attention to the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness by Satan in "Paradise Regained". In this work, a sequel to "Paradise Lost", Satan tests Jesus in a similar way to Eve in the Garden of Eden. However, Jesus is not seduced by the promises of Satan and passes his test. "Paradise Regained" is a poetic and intriguing tale that follows along in the spirit of Milton's masterpiece "Paradise Lost".
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 1, 2010
    ISBN9781420935493
    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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      Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained - John Milton

      PARADISE LOST

      AND

      PARADISE REGAINED

      BY JOHN MILTON

      A Digireads.com Book

      Digireads.com Publishing

      Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-2701-6

      Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-3549-3

      This edition copyright © 2011

      Please visit www.digireads.com

      CONTENTS

      PARADISE LOST

      BOOK I

      BOOK II

      BOOK III

      BOOK IV

      BOOK V

      BOOK VI

      BOOK VII

      BOOK VIII

      BOOK IX

      BOOK X

      BOOK XI

      BOOK XII

      PARADISE REGAINED

      BOOK I

      BOOK II

      BOOK III

      BOOK IV

      PARADISE LOST

      BOOK I

      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, Heavenly 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 heavens 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 adventurous 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 height of this great argument,

      I may assert Eternal Providence,

      And justify the ways of God to men.

      Say first—for Heaven 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 Heaven 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 Heaven, 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 Heaven 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 obdurate 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 has prepared

      For those rebellious; here their prison ordained

      In utter darkness, and their portion set,

      As far removed from God and light of Heaven

      As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole.

      Oh 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, weltering by his side,

      One next himself in power, and next in crime,

      Long after known in Palestine, and named

      Beelzebub. To whom th' Arch-Enemy,

      And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words

      Breaking the horrid silence, thus began:—

      "If thou beest he—but O how fallen! how changed

      From him who, in the happy realms of light

      Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine

      Myriads, though bright!—if he whom mutual league,

      United thoughts and counsels, equal hope

      And hazard in the glorious enterprise

      Joined with me once, now misery hath joined

      In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest

      From what height fallen: so much the stronger proved

      He with his thunder; and till then who knew

      The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,

      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 contentions 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 Heaven,

      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 triumphs, and in th' excess of joy

      Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven."

      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 throned Powers

      That led th' embattled Seraphim to war

      Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds

      Fearless, endangered Heaven's perpetual King,

      And put to proof his high supremacy,

      Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,

      Too well I see and rue the dire event

      That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat,

      Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host

      In horrible destruction laid thus low,

      As far as Gods and heavenly 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'erpowered 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 the avail though yet we feel

      Strength undiminished, or eternal being

      To undergo eternal punishment?"

      Whereto with speedy words th' Arch-Fiend replied:—

      "Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable,

      Doing or suffering: but of this be sure—

      To do aught good never will be our task,

      But ever to do ill our sole delight,

      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 Heaven: the sulphurous hail,

      Shot after us in storm, o'erblown hath laid

      The fiery surge that from the precipice

      Of Heaven 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 light,

      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, re-assembling 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,

      Briarios 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' ocean-stream.

      Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam,

      The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff,

      Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell,

      With fixed anchor in his scaly rind,

      Moors by his side under the lee, while night

      Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.

      So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay,

      Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence

      Had risen, 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, shewn

      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

      Driven 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 thundering Etna, whose combustible

      And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire,

      Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds,

      And leave a singed 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 Heaven?—this mournful gloom

      For that celestial light? Be it so, since he

      Who now is sovereign 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 Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

      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 Heaven.

      But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,

      Th' associates and co-partners 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 Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?"

      So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub

      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, fallen such a pernicious height!"

      He scare 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 inflamed 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 over-arched embower; 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 carcases

      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 Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,

      If such astonishment as this can seize

      Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen 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 Heaven?

      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 Heaven-gates discern

      Th' advantage, and, descending, tread us down

      Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts

      Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?

      Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!"

      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 given, 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, form 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 on their names in Heavenly records now

      Be no memorial, blotted out and ras'd

      By their rebellion from the Books of Life.

      Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve

      Got them new names, till, wandering 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 thundering out of Sion, throned

      Between the Cherubim; yea, often placed

      Within his sanctuary itself their shrines,

      Abominations; and with cursed 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

      Worshiped in Rabba and her watery 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' obscene dread of Moab's sons,

      From Aroer to Nebo and the wild

      Of southmost Abarim; in Hesebon

      And Horonaim, Seon's real, beyond

      The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines,

      And Eleale 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 bordering flood

      Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts

      Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names

      Of Baalim 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 tried 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 those 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 despicable foes. With these in troop

      Came Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians called

      Astarte, queen of heaven, 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 lopt off,

      In his own temple, on the grunsel-edge,

      Where he fell flat and shamed his worshippers:

      Dagon his name, sea-monster, 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 offerings, 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 wandering 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,

      Likening his Maker to the grazed 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 towers,

      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 Heaven and Earth,

      Their boasted parents;—Titan, Heaven'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 heaven; or on the Delphian cliff,

      Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds

      Of Doric land; or who with Saturn old

      Fled over Adria to th' Hesperian fields,

      And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost Isles.

      All these and more came flocking; but with looks

      Downcast and damp; yet such wherein appeared

      Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief

      Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost

      In loss itself; which on his countenance cast

      Like doubtful hue. But he, his wonted pride

      Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore

      Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised

      Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears.

      Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound

      Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared

      His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed

      Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall:

      Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled

      Th' imperial ensign; which, full high advanced,

      Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind,

      With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed,

      Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while

      Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds:

      At which the universal host up-sent

      A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond

      Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.

      All in a moment through the gloom were seen

      Ten thousand banners rise into the air,

      With orient colours waving: with them rose

      A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms

      Appeared, and serried shields in thick array

      Of depth immeasurable. Anon they move

      In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood

      Of flutes and soft recorders—such as raised

      To height of noblest temper heroes old

      Arming to battle, and instead of rage

      Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved

      With dread of death to flight or foul retreat;

      Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage

      With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase

      Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain

      From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they,

      Breathing united force with fixed thought,

      Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed

      Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil. And now

      Advanced in view they stand—a horrid front

      Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise

      Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield,

      Awaiting what command their mighty Chief

      Had to impose. He through the armed files

      Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse

      The whole battalion views—their order due,

      Their visages and stature as of gods;

      Their number last he sums. And now his heart

      Distends with pride, and, hardening in his strength,

      Glories: for never, since created Man,

      Met such embodied force as, named with these,

      Could merit more than that small infantry

      Warred on by cranes—though all the giant brood

      Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were joined

      That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side

      Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what resounds

      In fable or romance of Uther's son,

      Begirt with British and Armoric knights;

      And all who since, baptized or infidel,

      Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban,

      Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond,

      Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore

      When Charlemain with all his peerage fell

      By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond

      Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed

      Their dread Commander. He, above the rest

      In shape and gesture proudly eminent,

      Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost

      All her original brightness, nor appeared

      Less than Archangel ruined, and th' excess

      Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen

      Looks through the horizontal misty air

      Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon,

      In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds

      On half the nations, and with fear of change

      Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone

      Above them all th' Archangel: but his face

      Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care

      Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows

      Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride

      Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast

      Signs of remorse and passion, to behold

      The fellows of his crime, the followers rather

      (Far other once beheld in bliss), condemned

      For ever now to have their lot in pain—

      Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced

      Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung

      For his revolt—yet faithful how they stood,

      Their glory withered; as, when heaven's fire

      Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines,

      With singed top their stately growth, though bare,

      Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared

      To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend

      From wing to wing, and half enclose him round

      With all his peers: attention held them mute.

      Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn,

      Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last

      Words interwove with sighs found out their way:—

      "O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers

      Matchless, but with th' Almighth!—and that strife

      Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire,

      As this place testifies, and this dire change,

      Hateful to utter. But what power of mind,

      Forseeing or presaging, from the depth

      Of knowledge past or present, could have feared

      How such united force of gods, how such

      As stood like these, could ever know repulse?

      For who can yet believe, though after loss,

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