Paradise Lost. Джон Мильтон

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Said then the lost Archangel, "this the seat

       That we must change for Heaven?—this mournful gloom

       For that celestial light? Be it so, since he

       Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid

       What shall be right: farthest from him is best

       Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme

       Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,

       Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,

       Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,

       Receive thy new possessor—one who brings

       A mind not to be changed by place or time.

       The mind is its own place, and in itself

       Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

       What matter where, if I be still the same,

       And what I should be, all but less than he

       Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least

       We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built

       Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:

       Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,

       To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:

       Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

       But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,

       Th' associates and co-partners of our loss,

       Lie thus astonished on th' oblivious pool,

       And call them not to share with us their part

       In this unhappy mansion, or once more

       With rallied arms to try what may be yet

       Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?"

       So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub

       Thus answered:—"Leader of those armies bright

       Which, but th' Omnipotent, none could have foiled!

       If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge

       Of hope in fears and dangers—heard so oft

       In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge

       Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults

       Their surest signal—they will soon resume

       New courage and revive, though now they lie

       Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,

       As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;

       No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height!"

       He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend

       Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,

       Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,

       Behind him cast. The broad circumference

       Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb

       Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views

       At evening, from the top of Fesole,

       Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,

       Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.

       His spear—to equal which the tallest pine

       Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast

       Of some great ammiral, were but a wand—

       He walked with, to support uneasy steps

       Over the burning marl, not like those steps

       On Heaven's azure; and the torrid clime

       Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.

       Nathless he so endured, till on the beach

       Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called

       His legions—Angel Forms, who lay entranced

       Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks

       In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades

       High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge

       Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed

       Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew

       Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,

       While with perfidious hatred they pursued

       The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld

       From the safe shore their floating carcases

       And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown,

       Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,

       Under amazement of their hideous change.

       He called so loud that all the hollow deep

       Of Hell resounded:—"Princes, Potentates,

       Warriors, the Flower of Heaven—once yours; now lost,

       If such astonishment as this can seize

       Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place

       After the toil of battle to repose

       Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find

       To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?

       Or in this abject posture have ye sworn

       To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds

       Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood

       With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon

       His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern

       Th' advantage, and, descending, tread us down

       Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts

       Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?

       Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!"

       They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung

       Upon the wing, as when men СКАЧАТЬ