Answer'd. I know thee, stranger, who thou art,That mighty leading Angel, who of lateMade head against Heav'ns King, though overthrown.I saw and heard, for such a numerous hostFled not in silence through the frighted deepWith ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,Confusion worse confounded; and Heav'n GatesPourd out by millions her victorious BandsPursuing. I upon my Frontieres hereKeep residence; if all I can will serve,
[1000]
That little which is left so to defendEncroacht on still through our intestine broilesWeakning the Scepter of old Night: first HellYour dungeon stretching far and wide beneath;Now lately Heaven and Earth, another WorldHung ore my Realm, link'd in a golden ChainTo that side Heav'n from whence your Legions fell:If that way be your walk, you have not farr;So much the neerer danger; goe and speed;Havock and spoil and ruin are my gain.
[1010]
He ceas'd; and Satan staid not to reply,But glad that now his Sea should find a shore,With fresh alacritie and force renew'dSprings upward like a Pyramid of fireInto the wilde expanse, and through the shockOf fighting Elements, on all sides roundEnviron'd wins his way; harder besetAnd more endanger'd, then when Argo pass'dThrough Bosporus betwixt the justling Rocks:Or when Ulysses on the Larbord shunnd
[1020]
Charybdis, and by th' other whirlpool steard.So he with difficulty and labour hardMov'd on, with difficulty and labour hee;But hee once past, soon after when man fell,Strange alteration! Sin and Death amainFollowing his track, such was the will of Heav'n,Pav'd after him a broad and beat'n wayOver the dark Abyss, whose boiling GulfTamely endur'd a Bridge of wondrous lengthFrom Hell continu'd reaching th' utmost Orbe
[1030]
Of this frail World; by which the Spirits perverseWith easie intercourse pass to and froTo tempt or punish mortals, except whomGod and good Angels guard by special grace.But now at last the sacred influenceOf light appears, and from the walls of Heav'nShoots farr into the bosom of dim NightA glimmering dawn; here Nature first beginsHer fardest verge, and Chaos to retireAs from her outmost works a brok'n foe
[1040]
With tumult less and with less hostile din,That Satan with less toil, and now with easeWafts on the calmer wave by dubious lightAnd like a weather-beaten Vessel holdsGladly the Port, though Shrouds and Tackle torn;Or in the emptier waste, resembling Air,Weighs his spread wings, at leasure to beholdFarr off th' Empyreal Heav'n, extended wideIn circuit, undetermind square or round,With Opal Towrs and Battlements adorn'd
[1050]
Of living Saphire, once his native Seat;And fast by hanging in a golden ChainThis pendant world, in bigness as a StarrOf smallest Magnitude close by the Moon.Thither full fraught with mischievous revenge,Accurst, and in a cursed hour he hies.