Paradise Lost. Джон Мильтон

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       Illimitable ocean, without bound,

       Without dimension; where length, breadth, and height,

       And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night

       And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold

       Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise

       Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.

       For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce,

       Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring

       Their embryon atoms: they around the flag

       Of each his faction, in their several clans,

       Light-armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow,

       Swarm populous, unnumbered as the sands

       Of Barca or Cyrene's torrid soil,

       Levied to side with warring winds, and poise

       Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere

       He rules a moment: Chaos umpire sits,

       And by decision more embroils the fray

       By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter,

       Chance governs all. Into this wild Abyss,

       The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave,

       Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire,

       But all these in their pregnant causes mixed

       Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight,

       Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain

       His dark materials to create more worlds—

       Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend

       Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,

       Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith

       He had to cross. Nor was his ear less pealed

       With noises loud and ruinous (to compare

       Great things with small) than when Bellona storms

       With all her battering engines, bent to rase

       Some capital city; or less than if this frame

       Of Heaven were falling, and these elements

       In mutiny had from her axle torn

       The steadfast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans

       He spread for flight, and, in the surging smoke

       Uplifted, spurns the ground; thence many a league,

       As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides

       Audacious; but, that seat soon failing, meets

       A vast vacuity. All unawares,

       Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb-down he drops

       Ten thousand fathom deep, and to this hour

       Down had been falling, had not, by ill chance,

       The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud,

       Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him

       As many miles aloft. That fury stayed—

       Quenched in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea,

       Nor good dry land—nigh foundered, on he fares,

       Treading the crude consistence, half on foot,

       Half flying; behoves him now both oar and sail.

       As when a gryphon through the wilderness

       With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale,

       Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth

       Had from his wakeful custody purloined

       The guarded gold; so eagerly the Fiend

       O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,

       With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,

       And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies.

       At length a universal hubbub wild

       Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused,

       Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear

       With loudest vehemence. Thither he plies

       Undaunted, to meet there whatever Power

       Or Spirit of the nethermost Abyss

       Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask

       Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies

       Bordering on light; when straight behold the throne

       Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread

       Wide on the wasteful Deep! With him enthroned

       Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things,

       The consort of his reign; and by them stood

       Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name

       Of Demogorgon; Rumour next, and Chance,

       And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled,

       And Discord with a thousand various mouths.

       T' whom Satan, turning boldly, thus:—"Ye Powers

       And Spirits of this nethermost Abyss,

       Chaos and ancient Night, I come no spy

       With purpose to explore or to disturb

       The secrets of your realm; but, by constraint

       Wandering this darksome desert, as my way

       Lies through your spacious empire up to light,

       Alone and without guide, half lost, I seek,

       What readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds

       Confine with Heaven; or, if some other place,

       From your dominion won, th' Ethereal King

       Possesses lately, thither to arrive

       I travel this profound. Direct my course:

       Directed, no mean recompense it brings

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