Paradise Lost. John Milton

the ARIMASPIAN, who by stelth

      Had from his wakeful custody purloind

      The guarded Gold: So eagerly the fiend

      Ore bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,

      With head, hands, wings, or feet pursues his way,

      And swims or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flyes:

      At length a universal hubbub wilde

      Of stunning sounds and voices all confus’d

      Born through the hollow dark assaults his eare

      With loudest vehemence: thither he plyes,

      Undaunted to meet there what ever power

      Or Spirit of the nethermost Abyss

      Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask

      Which way the neerest coast of darkness lyes

      Bordering on light; when strait behold the Throne

      Of CHAOS, and his dark Pavilion spread

      Wide on the wasteful Deep; with him Enthron’d

      Sat Sable-vested Night, eldest of things,

      The consort of his Reign; and by them stood

      ORCUS and ADES, and the dreaded name

      Of DEMOGORGON; Rumor next and Chance,

      And Tumult and Confusion all imbroild,

      And Discord with a thousand various mouths.

      T’ whom SATAN turning boldly, thus. Ye Powers

      And Spirits of this nethermost Abyss,

      CHAOS and ANCIENT NIGHT, I come no Spie,

      With purpose to explore or to disturb

      The secrets of your Realm, but by constraint

      Wandring this darksome desart, as my way

      Lies through your spacious Empire up to light,

      Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek

      What readiest path leads where your gloomie bounds

      Confine with Heav’n; or if som other place

      From your Dominion won, th’ Ethereal King

      Possesses lately, thither to arrive

      I travel this profound, direct my course;

      Directed, no mean recompence it brings

      To your behoof, if I that Region lost,

      All usurpation thence expell’d, reduce

      To her original darkness and your sway

      (Which is my present journey) and once more

      Erect the Standerd there of ANCIENT NIGHT;

      Yours be th’ advantage all, mine the revenge.

      Thus SATAN; and him thus the Anarch old

      With faultring speech and visage incompos’d

      Answer’d. I know thee, stranger, who thou art,

      That mighty leading Angel, who of late

      Made head against Heav’ns King, though overthrown.

      I saw and heard, for such a numerous host

      Fled not in silence through the frighted deep

      With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,

      Confusion worse confounded; and Heav’n Gates

      Pourd out by millions her victorious Bands

      Pursuing. I upon my Frontieres here

      Keep residence; if all I can will serve,

      That little which is left so to defend

      Encroacht on still through our intestine broiles

      Weakning the Scepter of old Night: first Hell

      Your dungeon stretching far and wide beneath;

      Now lately Heaven and Earth, another World

      Hung ore my Realm, link’d in a golden Chain

      To that side Heav’n from whence your Legions fell:

      If that way be your walk, you have not farr;

      So much the neerer danger; goe and speed;

      Havock and spoil and ruin are my gain.

      He ceas’d; and SATAN staid not to reply,

      But glad that now his Sea should find a shore,

      With fresh alacritie and force renew’d

      Springs upward like a Pyramid of fire

      Into the wilde expanse, and through the shock

      Of fighting Elements, on all sides round

      Environ’d wins his way; harder beset

      And more endanger’d, then when ARGO pass’d

      Through BOSPORUS betwixt the justling Rocks:

      Or when ULYSSES on the Larbord shunnd

      CHARYBDIS, and by th’ other whirlpool steard.

      So he with difficulty and labour hard

      Mov’d on, with difficulty and labour hee;

      But hee once past, soon after when man fell,

      Strange alteration! Sin and Death amain

      Following his track, such was the will of Heav’n,

      Pav’d after him a broad and beat’n way

      Over the dark Abyss, whose boiling Gulf

      Tamely endur’d a Bridge of wondrous length

      From Hell continu’d reaching th’ utmost Orbe

      Of this frail World; by which the Spirits perverse

      With easie intercourse pass to and fro

      To tempt or punish mortals, except whom

      God and good Angels guard by special grace.

      But now at last the sacred influence

      Of light appears, and from the walls of Heav’n

      Shoots farr into the bosom of dim Night

      A glimmering dawn; here Nature first begins

      Her fardest verge, and CHAOS to retire

      As from her outmost works a brok’n foe

      With tumult less and with less hostile din,

      That SATAN with less toil, and now with ease

      Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light

      And like a weather-beaten Vessel holds

      Gladly the Port, though Shrouds and Tackle torn;

      Or in the emptier waste, resembling Air,

      Weighs his spread wings, at leasure to behold

      Farr off th’ Empyreal Heav’n, extended wide

      In circuit, undetermind square or round,

      With Opal Towrs and Battlements adorn’d

      Of living Saphire, once his native Seat;

      And fast by hanging in a golden Chain

      This pendant world, in bigness as a Starr

      Of smallest Magnitude close by the Moon.

      Thither