Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. Джон Мильтон

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      Their sacred song, and waken raptures high;

      No voice exempt, no voice but well could join

      Melodious part, such concord is in Heaven.

      Thee, Father, first they sung Omnipotent,

      Immutable, Immortal, Infinite,

      Eternal King; the Author of all being,

      Fountain of light, thyself invisible

      Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit’st

      Throned inaccessible, but when thou shadest

      The full blaze of thy beams, and, through a cloud

      Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine,

      Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear,

      Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest Seraphim

      Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes.

      Thee next they sang of all creation first,

      Begotten Son, Divine Similitude,

      In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud

      Made visible, the Almighty Father shines,

      Whom else no creature can behold; on thee

      Impressed the effulgence of his glory abides,

      Transfused on thee his ample Spirit rests.

      He Heaven of Heavens and all the Powers therein

      By thee created; and by thee threw down

      The aspiring Dominations: Thou that day

      Thy Father’s dreadful thunder didst not spare,

      Nor stop thy flaming chariot-wheels, that shook

      Heaven’s everlasting frame, while o’er the necks

      Thou drovest of warring Angels disarrayed.

      Back from pursuit thy Powers with loud acclaim

      Thee only extolled, Son of thy Father’s might,

      To execute fierce vengeance on his foes,

      Not so on Man: Him through their malice fallen,

      Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom

      So strictly, but much more to pity incline:

      No sooner did thy dear and only Son

      Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail Man

      So strictly, but much more to pity inclined,

      He to appease thy wrath, and end the strife

      Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned,

      Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat

      Second to thee, offered himself to die

      For Man’s offence. O unexampled love,

      Love nowhere 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 heart thy praise

      Forget, nor from thy Father’s praise disjoin.

      Thus they in Heaven, 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, enclosed

      From Chaos, and the inroad of Darkness old,

      Satan alighted walks: A globe far off

      It seemed, now seems a boundless continent

      Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night

      Starless exposed, and ever-threatening storms

      Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky;

      Save on that side which from the wall of Heaven,

      Though distant far, some small reflection gains

      Of glimmering air less vexed with tempest loud:

      Here walked the Fiend at large in spacious field.

      As when a vulture on Imaus 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 toward 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 wagons light:

      So, on this windy sea of land, the Fiend

      Walked 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 aerial vapours flew

      Of all things transitory and vain, when sin

      With vanity had filled the works of men:

      Both all things vain, and all who in vain things

      Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame,

      Or happiness in this or the other life;

      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 СКАЧАТЬ