Paradise Lost. Джон Мильтон

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       Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse,

       We can create, and in what place soe'er

       Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain

       Through labour and endurance. This deep world

       Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst

       Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-ruling Sire

       Choose to reside, his glory unobscured,

       And with the majesty of darkness round

       Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar.

       Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell!

       As he our darkness, cannot we his light

       Imitate when we please? This desert soil

       Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold;

       Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise

       Magnificence; and what can Heaven show more?

       Our torments also may, in length of time,

       Become our elements, these piercing fires

       As soft as now severe, our temper changed

       Into their temper; which must needs remove

       The sensible of pain. All things invite

       To peaceful counsels, and the settled state

       Of order, how in safety best we may

       Compose our present evils, with regard

       Of what we are and where, dismissing quite

       All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise."

       He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled

       Th' assembly as when hollow rocks retain

       The sound of blustering winds, which all night long

       Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull

       Seafaring men o'erwatched, whose bark by chance

       Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay

       After the tempest. Such applause was heard

       As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased,

       Advising peace: for such another field

       They dreaded worse than Hell; so much the fear

       Of thunder and the sword of Michael

       Wrought still within them; and no less desire

       To found this nether empire, which might rise,

       By policy and long process of time,

       In emulation opposite to Heaven.

       Which when Beelzebub perceived—than whom,

       Satan except, none higher sat—with grave

       Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed

       A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven

       Deliberation sat, and public care;

       And princely counsel in his face yet shone,

       Majestic, though in ruin. Sage he stood

       With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear

       The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look

       Drew audience and attention still as night

       Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake:—

       "Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven,

       Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now

       Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called

       Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote

       Inclines—here to continue, and build up here

       A growing empire; doubtless! while we dream,

       And know not that the King of Heaven hath doomed

       This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat

       Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt

       From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league

       Banded against his throne, but to remain

       In strictest bondage, though thus far removed,

       Under th' inevitable curb, reserved

       His captive multitude. For he, to be sure,

       In height or depth, still first and last will reign

       Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part

       By our revolt, but over Hell extend

       His empire, and with iron sceptre rule

       Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven.

       What sit we then projecting peace and war?

       War hath determined us and foiled with loss

       Irreparable; terms of peace yet none

       Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given

       To us enslaved, but custody severe,

       And stripes and arbitrary punishment

       Inflicted? and what peace can we return,

       But, to our power, hostility and hate,

       Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow,

       Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least

       May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice

       In doing what we most in suffering feel?

       Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need

       With dangerous expedition to invade

       Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege,

       Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find

       Some easier enterprise? There is a place

       (If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven

       Err not)—another World, the happy seat

       Of some new race, called Man, about this time

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