Seite 166 von 239

204

Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found The serpent subtlest beast of all the field. Him, after long debate, irresolute, Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose, Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom To enter, and his dark suggestions hide From sharpest sight; for, in the wily snake, Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark, As from his wit and native subtlety Proceeding, which, in other beasts observed, Doubt might beget of diabolic power Active within, beyond the sense of brute. Thus he resolved, but first, from inward grief, His bursting passion into plaints thus poured:

O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred More justly, seat worthier of gods, as built With second thoughts, reforming what was old! For what god, after better, worse would build? Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other heavens That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, In thee concentring all their precious beams Of sacred influence! As God in Heaven Is centre, yet extends to all; so thou, Centring, receivest from all those orbs; in thee, Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth Of creatures animate with gradual life Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man. With what delight could I have walked the round, If I could joy in aught! Sweet interchange Of hill, and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned, Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of these Find place or refuge; and the more I see Pleasures about me, so much more I feel

Воок ІХ.—121-156]

Torment within me, as from the hateful siege Of contraries. All good to me becomes Bane, and in heaven much worse would be my state. But neither here seek I, no, nor in Heaven, To dwell, unless by mastering heaven's Supreme. Nor hope to be myself less miserable By what I seek, but others to make such As I, though thereby worse to me redound. For only in destroying I find ease To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed, Or won to what may work his utter loss, For whom all this was made, all this will soon Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe; In woe then; that destruction wide may range. To me shall be the glory sole among The infernal Powers, in one day to have marred What He, Almighty styled, six nights and days Continued making, and who knows how long Before had been contriving, though, perhaps, Not longer than since I, in one night, freed, From servitude inglorious, well-nigh half The angelic name, and thinner left the throng Of his adorers. He, to be avenged, And to repair his numbers thus impaired, Whether such virtue, spent of old, now failed More Angels to create—if they at least Are His created—or, to spite us more, Determined to advance into our room A creature formed of earth, and him endow, Exalted from so base original, With heavenly spoils, our spoils. What he decreed, He effected; man he made, and for him built, Magnificent, this world, and Earth his seat, Him lord pronounced, and, O indignity! Subjected to his service, Angel-wings, And flaming ministers, to watch and tend

PARADISE LOST.