Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. Джон Мильтон

      His end with mine involved, and knows that I

      Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane,

      Whenever that shall be: so Fate pronounced.

      But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun

      His deadly arrow; neither vainly hope

      To be invulnerable in those bright arms,

      Through tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint,

      Save he who reigns above, none can resist.”

      She finished; and the subtle Fiend his lore

      Soon learned, now milder, and thus answered smooth:—

      “Dear daughter—since thou claim’st me for thy sire,

      And my fair son here show’st me, the dear pledge

      Of dalliance had with thee in Heaven, and joys

      Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change

      Befallen us unforeseen, unthought of, know

      I come no enemy, but to set free

      From out this dark and dismal house of pain

      Both him and thee, and all the heavenly host

      Of Spirits that, in our just pretences armed,

      Fell with us from on high. From them I go

      This uncouth errand sole, and one for all

      Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread

      Th’ unfounded Deep, and through the void immense

      To search, with wandering quest, a place foretold

      Should be—and, by concurring signs, ere now

      Created vast and round—a place of bliss

      In the purlieus of Heaven; and therein placed

      A race of upstart creatures, to supply

      Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed,

      Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude,

      Might hap to move new broils. Be this, or aught

      Than this more secret, now designed, I haste

      To know; and, this once known, shall soon return,

      And bring ye to the place where thou and Death

      Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen

      Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed

      With odours. There ye shall be fed and filled

      Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey.”

      He ceased; for both seemed highly pleased, and Death

      Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear

      His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw

      Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced

      His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire:—

      “The key of this infernal Pit, by due

      And by command of Heaven’s all-powerful King,

      I keep, by him forbidden to unlock

      These adamantine gates; against all force

      Death ready stands to interpose his dart,

      Fearless to be o’ermatched by living might.

      But what owe I to his commands above,

      Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down

      Into this gloom of Tartarus profound,

      To sit in hateful office here confined,

      Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly born—

      Here in perpetual agony and pain,

      With terrors and with clamours compassed round

      Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed?

      Thou art my father, thou my author, thou

      My being gav’st me; whom should I obey

      But thee? whom follow? Thou wilt bring me soon

      To that new world of light and bliss, among

      The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign

      At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems

      Thy daughter and thy darling, without end.”

      Thus saying, from her side the fatal key,

      Sad instrument of all our woe, she took;

      And, towards the gate rolling her bestial train,

      Forthwith the huge portcullis high up-drew,

      Which, but herself, not all the Stygian Powers

      Could once have moved; then in the key-hole turns

      Th’ intricate wards, and every bolt and bar

      Of massy iron or solid rock with ease

      Unfastens. On a sudden open fly,

      With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,

      Th’ infernal doors, and on their hinges grate

      Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook

      Of Erebus. She opened; but to shut

      Excelled her power: the gates wide open stood,

      That with extended wings a bannered host,

      Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through

      With horse and chariots ranked in loose array;

      So wide they stood, and like a furnace-mouth

      Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame.

      Before their eyes in sudden view appear

      The secrets of the hoary Deep—a dark

      Illimitable ocean, without bound,

      Without dimension; where length, breadth, and height,

      And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night

      And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold

      Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise

      Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.

      For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce,

      Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring

      Their embryon atoms: they around the flag

      Of each his faction, in their several clans,

      Light-armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow,

      Swarm populous, unnumbered as the sands

      Of Barca or Cyrene’s torrid soil,

      Levied to side with warring winds, and poise

      Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere

      He rules a moment: Chaos umpire sits,

      And by decision more embroils the fray

      By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter,

      Chance governs all. Into this wild Abyss,

      The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave,

      Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,

      But all these in their pregnant causes mixed

      Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,

      Unless th’ Almighty Maker them ordain

      His