For man's offence. O unexampl❜d love!
Love no where to be found less than divine!
Hail Son of God, Saviour of men! Thy name
Shall be the copious matter of my song
Henceforth; and never shall my harp thy praise
Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin.
Thus they in Heav'n, above the starry sphere,
Their happy hours in joy and hymning spent.
Meanwhile upon the firm opacous globe
Of this round world, whose first convex divides
The luminous inferior orbs, enclos'd
From Chaos and th' inroad of Darkness old,
Satan alighted walks. A globe far off
It seem'd; now seems a boundless continent,
Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night
Starless expos'd, and ever-threat'ning storms
Of Chaos blust'ring round, inclement sky;
Save on that side which from the wall of Heav'n,
Though distant far, some small reflection gains
Of glimmering air less vext with tempest loud:
Here walk'd the Fiend at large in spacious field.
As when a vulture on Imaüs bred,
Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds,
Dislodging from a region scarce of prey,
To gorge the flesh of lambs or yeanling kids
On hills where flocks are fed, flies towards the springs
Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams,
But in his way lights on the barren plains
Of Sericana, where Chineses drive
With sails and wind their cany waggons light;
So on this windy sea of land the Fiend
Walk'd up and down alone, bent on his prey:
Alone, for other creature in this place,
Living or lifeless, to be found was none,-
None yet; but store hereafter from the Earth
Up hither, like aërial vapours, flew
Of all things transitory and vain, when sin
With vanity had fill'd the works of men:
Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame,
Or happiness in this or th' other life ;-
Both all things vain, and all who on vain things
All who have their reward on Earth, the fruits
Of painful superstition and blind zeal,
Nought seeking but the praise of men, here find
Fit retribution, empty as their deeds ;--
All th' unaccomplisht works of Nature's hand,
Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixt,
Dissolv'd on Earth, fleet hither, and in vain,
Till final dissolution, wander here:
(Not in the neighbouring moon, as some have dream'd;
Those argent fields more likely habitants,
Translated saints, or middle spirits, hold,
Betwixt th' angelical and human kind.)
Hither, of ill-join'd sons and daughters born,
First from the ancient world those giants came
With many a vain exploit, though then renown'd:
The builders next of Babel on the plain
Of Sennaär; and still with vain design
New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build:
Others came single; he who, to be deem'd
A god, leap'd fondly into Etna flames,
Empedocles; and he who, to enjoy
Plato's Elysium, leap'd into the sea,
Cleombrotus; and many more too long,
Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars,
White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery.
Here pilgrims roam, that stray'd so far to seek
In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heav'n;
And they who, to be sure of Paradise,
Dying put on the weeds of Dominic,
Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis'd.
They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixt,
And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs
The trepidation talk'd, and that first mov'd;
And now Saint Peter at Heav'ns wicket seems
To wait them with his keys; and now at foot
Of Heav'ns ascent they lift their feet, when, lo !
A violent cross wind from either coast
Blows them transverse, ten thousand leagues awry,
Into the devious air. Then might ye see
Cowls, hoods, and habits with their wearers, tost
And flutter'd into rags; then reliques, beads,
Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls,
The sport of winds: all these, upwhirl'd aloft,
Fly o'er the backside of the world far off,
Into a limbo large and broad, since call'd
The Paradise of Fools; to few unknown
Long after, now unpeopl'd and untrod.
All this dark globe the Fiend found as he pass'd;
And long he wander'd, till at last a gleam
Of dawning light turn'd thither-ward in haste
His travell'd steps: far distant he descries,
Ascending by degrees magnificent
Up to the wall of Heav'n, a structure high;
At top whereof, but far more rich, appear'd
The work as of a kingly palace-gate.
With frontispiece of diamond and gold
Embellisht, thick with sparkling orient gems
The portal shon; inimitable on Earth
By model, or by shading pencil drawn.
The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw
Angels ascending and descending, bands
Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled
To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz,
Dreaming by night under the open sky,
And waking cri'd, "This is the gate of Heav'n !".
Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood
There always, but drawn up to Heav'n sometimes
Viewless: and underneath a bright sea flow'd
Of jasper, or of liquid pearl; whereon
Who after came from Earth sailing, arriv'd
Wafted by angels, or flew o'er the lake
Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds.
The stairs were then let down, whether to dare
The Fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate
His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss:
Direct against which op'nd from beneath,
Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise,
A passage down to th' Earth,-a passage wide ;-
Wider by far than that of after-times
Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large,
Over the Promis'd Land to God so dear;
By which, to visit oft those happy tribes,
On high behests his angels to and fro
Pass'd frequent, and his eye with choice regard,
From Paneas, the fount of Jordan's flood,
To Beërsaba, where the Holy Land
Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore:
So wide the op'ning seem'd, where bounds were set
To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave.
Satan from hence, now on the lower stair
That scal'd by steps of gold to Heav'n-gate,
Looks down with wonder at the sudden view
Of all this world at once. As when a scout,
Through dark and desert ways with peril gone
All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn
Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill,
Which to his eye discovers, unaware,
The goodly prospect of some foreign land
First seen, or some renown'd metropolis
With glistring spires and pinnacles adorn'd,
Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams :
Such wonder seiz'd, though after Heaven seen,
The Spirit malign; but much more envy seiz'd,
At sight of all this world beheld so fair.
Round he surveys, and well might, where he stood,
So high above the circling canopy
Of night's extended shade,—from eastern point
Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears
Andromeda, far off Atlantic seas,
He views in breadth; and, without longer pause,
Beyond th' horizon: then from pole to pole
Down right into the world's first region throws
His flight precipitant, and winds with ease
Through the pure marble air his oblique way
Amongst innumerable stars,-that shon
Stars distant, but nigh hand seem'd other worlds.
Or other worlds they seem'd, or happy iles,
Like those Hesperian gardens fam'd of old,
Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowry vales,
Thrice happy iles! But who dwelt happy there
He staid not to inquire. Above them all
The golden sun, in splendor likest Heav'n,
Allured his eye: thither his course he bends
Through the calm firmament, (but up or down,
By centre or eccentric, hard to tell,
Or longitude,) where the great luminary,
Aloof the vulgar constellations thick,
That from his lordly eye keep distance due,
Dispenses light from far: they, as they move
Their starry dance in numbers that compute
Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp
Turn swift their various motions; or are turn'd
By his magnetic beam, that gently warms
The universe, and to each inward part,
With gentle penetration, though unseen,
Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep:
So wondrously was set his station bright.
There lands the Fiend; a spot like which, perhaps,
Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb,
Through his glaz'd optic tube, yet never saw.
The place he found beyond expression bright,
Compar'd with aught on Earth, metal or stone:
Not all parts like, but all alike inform'd
With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire;
If metal, part seem'd gold, part silver clear;
If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite,
Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shon
In Aaron's breast-plate ;—and a stone besides,
Imagin'd rather oft than elsewhere seen;
That stone, or like to that, which here below
Philosophers in vain so long have sought,-
In vain, though by their powerful art they bind
Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound,
In various shapes, old Proteus from the sea,
Drain'd through a limbec to his native form.
What wonder, then, if fields and regions here
Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run
Potable gold, when, with one virtuous touch,
Th' arch-chemic sun, so far from us remote,
Produces, with terrestrial humour mixt,
Here, in the dark, so many precious things,
Of colour glorious and effect so rare?
Here matter new to gaze the Devil met,
Undazzl'd far and wide his eye commands;
For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade,
But all sun-shine, as when his beams at noon
Culminate from th' equator, as they now
Shot upward still direct, whence no way round
Shadow from body opaque can fall; and the air,
Nowhere so clear, sharpen'd his visual ray
To objects distant far, whereby he soon
Saw within ken a glorious angel stand,—
The same whom John saw also in the sun :
His back was turn'd, but not his brightness hid ;—
Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar
Circl'd his head; nor less his locks behind
Illustrious on his shoulders fledge with wings
Lay waving round: on some great charge employ'd
He seem'd, or fixt in cogitation deep.
Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope
To find who might direct his wandring flight
To Paradise, the happy seat of Man,-
His journey's end, and our beginning woe.
But first he casts to change his proper shape;
Which else might work him danger or delay:
And now a stripling cherub he appears,
Not of the prime, yet such as in his face
Youth smil❜d celestial, and to every limb
Suitable grace diffus'd,-so well he feign'd;
Under a coronet his flowing hair
In curls on either cheek play'd; wings he wore
Of many a colour'd plume, sprinkl'd with gold,—
His habit fit for speed succinct; and held
Before his decent steps a silver wand.
He drew not nigh unheard: the angel bright,
Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turn'd,
Admonisht by his ear, and straight was known
Th' arch-angel Uriel, one of the sev'n
Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne,
Stand ready at command, and are his eyes
That run through all the Heav'ns, or down to th' Earth
Bear his swift errands, over moist and dry,
O'er sea and land. Him Satan thus accosts:
"Uriel! for thou of those sev'n Spirits that stand
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