Paradise Lost. John Milton

      But in his way lights on the barren plaines

      Of SERICANA, where CHINESES drive

      With Sails and Wind thir canie Waggons light:

      So on this windie Sea of Land, the Fiend

      Walk’d up and down alone bent on his prey,

      Alone, for other Creature in this place

      Living or liveless to be found was none,

      None yet, but store hereafter from the earth

      Up hither like Aereal vapours flew

      Of all things transitorie and vain, when Sin

      With vanity had filld the works of men:

      Both all things vain, and all who in vain things

      Built thir fond hopes of Glorie or lasting fame,

      Or happiness in this or th’ other life;

      All who have thir reward on Earth, the fruits

      Of painful Superstition and blind Zeal,

      Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find

      Fit retribution, emptie as thir deeds;

      All th’ unaccomplisht works of Natures hand,

      Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixt,

      Dissolvd on earth, fleet hither, and in vain,

      Till final dissolution, wander here,

      Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamd;

      Those argent Fields more likely habitants,

      Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold

      Betwixt th’ Angelical and Human kinde:

      Hither of ill-joynd Sons and Daughters born

      First from the ancient World those Giants came

      With many a vain exploit, though then renownd:

      The builders next of BABEL on the Plain

      Of SENNAAR, and still with vain designe

      New BABELS, had they wherewithall, would build: