Paradise Lost. John Laws Milton
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triple steel. Another part in Squadrons and gross Bands, On bold adventure to discover wide That dismal world, if any Clime perhaps Might yeild them easier habitation, bend Four ways thir flying March, along the Banks Of four infernal Rivers that disgorge Into the burning Lake thir baleful streams; Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate, Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep; Cocytus, nam’d of lamentation loud Heard on the ruful stream; fierce Phlegeton Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. Farr off from these a slow and silent stream, Lethe the River of Oblivion roules Her watrie Labyrinth, whereof who drinks, Forthwith his former state and being forgets, Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. Beyond this flood a frozen Continent Lies dark and wilde, beat with perpetual storms Of Whirlwind and dire Hail, which on firm land Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems Of ancient pile; all else deep snow and ice, A gulf profound as that Serbonian Bog Betwixt Damiata and mount Casius old, Where Armies whole have sunk: the parching Air Burns frore, and cold performs th’ effect of Fire. Thither by harpy-footed Furies hail’d, At certain revolutions all the damn’d Are brought: and feel by turns the bitter change Of fierce extreams, extreams by change more fierce, From Beds of raging Fire to starve in Ice Thir soft Ethereal warmth, and there to pine Immovable, infixt, and frozen round, Periods of time, thence hurried back to fire. They ferry over this Lethean Sound Both to and fro, thir sorrow to augment, And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach The tempting stream, with one small drop to loose In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe, All in one moment, and so neer the brink; But fate withstands, and to oppose th’ attempt Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards The Ford, and of it self the water flies All taste of living wight, as once it fled The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on In confus’d march forlorn, th’ adventrous Bands With shuddring horror pale, and eyes agast View’d first thir lamentable lot, and found No rest: through many a dark and drearie Vaile They pass’d, and many a Region dolorous, O’re many a Frozen, many a Fierie Alpe, Rocks, Caves, Lakes, Fens, Bogs, Dens, and shades of death, A Universe of death, which God by curse Created evil, for evil only good, Where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds, Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, Abominable, inutterable, and worse Then Fables yet have feign’d, or fear conceiv’d, Gorgons and Hydra’s, and Chimera’s dire.
Mean while the Adversary of God and Man,
Satan with thoughts inflam’d of highest design, Puts on swift wings, and toward the Gates of Hell Explores his solitary flight; som times He scours the right hand coast, som times the left, Now shaves with level wing the Deep, then soares Up to the fiery concave touring high. As when farr off at Sea a Fleet descri’d Hangs in the Clouds, by Aequinoctial Winds Close sailing from Bengala, or the Iles Of Ternate and Tidore, whence Merchants bring Thir spicie Drugs: they on the trading Flood Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape Ply stemming nightly toward the Pole. So seem’d Farr off the flying Fiend: at last appeer Hell bounds high reaching to the horrid Roof, And thrice threefold the Gates; three folds were Brass Three Iron, three of Adamantine Rock, Impenitrable, impal’d with circling fire, Yet unconsum’d. Before the Gates there sat On either side a formidable shape; The one seem’d Woman to the waste, and fair, But ended foul in many a scaly fould Voluminous and vast, a Serpent arm’d With mortal sting: about her middle round A cry of Hell Hounds never ceasing bark’d With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung A hideous Peal: yet, when they list, would creep, If aught disturb’d thir noyse, into her woomb, And kennel there, yet there still bark’d and howl’d Within unseen. Farr less abhorrd then these Vex’d Scylla bathing in the Sea that parts Calabria from the hoarce Trinacrian shore: Nor uglier follow the Night-Hag, when call’d In secret, riding through the Air she comes Lur’d with the smell of infant blood, to dance With Lapland Witches, while the labouring Moon Eclipses at thir charms. The other shape, If shape it might be call’d that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joynt, or limb, Or substance might be call’d that shadow seem’d, For each seem’d either; black it stood as Night, Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, And shook a dreadful Dart; what seem’d his head The likeness of a Kingly Crown had on. Satan was now at hand, and from his seat The Monster moving onward came as fast, With horrid strides, Hell trembled as he strode. Th’ undaunted Fiend what this might be admir’d, Admir’d, not fear’d; God and his Son except, Created thing naught vallu’d he nor shun’d; And with disdainful look thus first began.
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape,
That dar’st, though grim and terrible, advance
Thy miscreated Front athwart my way
To yonder Gates? through them I mean to pass,
That be assur’d, without leave askt of thee:
Retire, or taste thy folly, and learn by proof,
Hell-born, not to contend with Spirits of Heav’n.
To whom the Goblin full of wrauth reply’d,
Art thou that Traitor Angel, art thou hee,
Who first broke peace in Heav’n and Faith, till then
Unbrok’n, and in proud rebellious Arms
Drew after him the third part of Heav’ns Sons
Conjur’d against the highest, for which both Thou
And they outcast from God, are here condemn’d
To waste Eternal daies in woe and pain?
And reck’n’st thou thy self with Spirits of Heav’n,
Hell-doomd, and breath’st defiance here and scorn,
Where I reign King, and to enrage thee more,
Thy King and Lord? Back to thy punishment,
False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings,
Least with a whip of Scorpions I pursue
Thy lingring, or with one stroke of this Dart
Strange horror seise thee, and pangs unfelt before.
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