Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. Джон Мильтон

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 rased

      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