Paradise Lost. Джон МильтонЧитать онлайн книгу.

       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

       To be created like to us, though less

       In power and excellence, but favoured more

       Of him who rules above; so was his will

       Pronounced among the Gods, and by an oath

       That shook Heaven's whole circumference confirmed.

       Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn

       What creatures there inhabit, of what mould

       Or substance, how endued, and what their power

       And where their weakness: how attempted best,

       By force of subtlety. Though Heaven be shut,

       And Heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure

       In his own strength, this place may lie exposed,

       The utmost border of his kingdom, left

       To their defence who hold it: here, perhaps,

       Some advantageous act may be achieved

       By sudden onset—either with Hell-fire

       To waste his whole creation, or possess

       All as our own, and drive, as we were driven,

       The puny habitants; or, if not drive,

       Seduce them to our party, that their God

       May prove their foe, and with repenting hand

       Abolish his own works. This would surpass

       Common revenge, and interrupt his joy

       In our confusion, and our joy upraise

       In his disturbance; when his darling sons,

       Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse

       Their frail original, and faded bliss—

       Faded so soon! Advise if this be worth

       Attempting, or to sit in darkness here

       Hatching vain empires." Thus Beelzebub

       Pleaded his devilish counsel—first devised

       By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence,

       But from the author of all ill, could spring

       So deep a malice, to confound the race

       Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell

       To mingle and involve, done all to spite

       The great Creator? But their spite still serves

       His glory to augment. The bold design

       Pleased highly those infernal States, and joy

       Sparkled in all their eyes: with full assent

       They vote: whereat his speech he thus renews:—

       "Well have ye judged, well ended long debate,

       Synod of Gods, and, like to what ye are,

       Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep

       Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate,

       Nearer our ancient seat—perhaps in view

       Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbouring arms,

       And opportune excursion, we may chance

       Re-enter Heaven; or else in some mild zone

       Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven's fair light,

       Secure, and at the brightening orient beam

       Purge off this gloom: the soft delicious air,

       To heal the scar of these corrosive fires,

       Shall breathe her balm. But, first, whom shall we send

       In search of this new World? whom shall we find

       Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandering feet

       The dark, unbottomed, infinite Abyss,

       And through the palpable obscure find out

       His uncouth way, or spread his airy flight,

       Upborne with indefatigable wings

       Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive

       The happy Isle? What strength, what art, can then

       Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe,

       Through the strict senteries and stations thick

       Of Angels watching round? Here he had need

       All circumspection: and we now no less

       Choice in our suffrage; for on whom we send

       The weight of all, and our last hope, relies."

       This said, he sat; and expectation held

       His look suspense, awaiting who appeared

       To second, or oppose, or undertake

       The perilous attempt. But all sat mute,

       Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each

       In other's countenance read his own dismay,

       Astonished. None among the choice and prime

       Of those Heaven-warring champions could be found

       So hardy as to proffer or accept,

       Alone, the dreadful voyage; till, at last,

       Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised

       Above his fellows, with monarchal pride

       Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus spake:—

       "O Progeny of Heaven! Empyreal Thrones!

       With reason hath deep silence and demur

       Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the way

       And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.

       Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire,

       Outrageous to devour, immures us round

       Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant,

       Barred over us, prohibit all egress.

       These passed, if any pass, the void profound

       Of unessential Night receives him next,

       Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being

       Threatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf.