Could have assur'd us; and, by what best way, Whether of open war, or covert guile,
We now debate: who can advise, may speak."
He ceas'd; and next him Moloch, sceptred king, Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair : His trust was, with the Eternal to be deem'd Equal in strength; and rather than be less Car'd not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear: of God, or hell, or worse, He reck'd not; and these words thereafter spake : "My sentence is for open war! of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not; them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit lingering here Heaven's fugitives; and for their dwelling-place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns. By our delay? No, let us rather choose, Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once, O'er heaven's high towers to force resistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the torturer; when, to meet the noise Of his almighty engine, he shall hear Infernal thunder; and, for lightning, see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his angels; and his throne itself Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fireHis own invented torments! But perhaps The way seems difficult and steep-to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat: descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy then.
The event is fear'd-Should we again provoke Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may To our destruction !-if there be in hell
Fear to be worse destroy'd! What can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemn'd In this abhorred deep to utter wo;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end, The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorably, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus, We should be quite abolish'd, and expire! What fear we then? what doubt we to incense His utmost ire? which to the height enrag'd Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential-happier far Than miserable to have eternal being!— Or, if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing; and by proof we feel Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven, And with perpetual inroads to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne; Which, if not victory, is yet revenge!"
He ended frowning, and his look denounc'd Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than gods. On the other side up-rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane. A fairer person lost not heaven! he seem'd For dignity compos'd, and high exploit: But all was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropp'd manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low; To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous and slothful: yet he pleas'd the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began:
"I should be much for open war, O peers! As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd.. Main reason to persuade immediate war, ›› Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjectures on the whole success;
When he who most excels in act of arms- In what he counsels, and in what excels, Mistrustful-grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge!
First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are fill'd With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable: oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions; or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide into the realms of night, Scorning surprise! Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light!-yet our great enemy, All incorruptible, would on his throne. Sit unpolluted; and the ethereal mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious! Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is flat despair! we must exasperate
The almighty Victor to spend all his rage- And that must end us! that must be our cure, To be no more! Sad cure! for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being- Those thoughts that wander through eternity- To perish rather!-swallow'd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever? how he can, Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless ?-Wherefore cease we then? Say they who counsel war, we are decreed, Reserv'd, and destin'd, to eternal wo'; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse? Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? What, when we fled amain, pursued, and struck
With heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us? this hell then seem'd A refuge from those wounds! or when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake? that sure was worse! What if the breath, that kindled those grim fires, Awak'd, should blow them into sevenfold rage, And plunge us in the flames? or, from above, Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us? What if all Her stores were open'd, and this firmament Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire- Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall!- One day upon our heads; while we perhaps Designing or extorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurl'd Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey Of wrecking whirlwinds!—or for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapp'd in chains There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited! unpitied! unrepriev❜d! Ages of hopeless end?
This would be worse.
War therefore, open or conceal'd, alike My voice dissuades."
THE lovely young Lavinia once had friends; And fortune smil'd deceitful on her birth; For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all- Of every stay-save innocence and Heaven, She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, And poor, lived in a cottage, far retir'd Among the windings of a woody vale: By solitude and deep surrounding shades, But more by bashful modesty conceal'd. Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet From giddy passion, and low-minded pride; Almost on Nature's common bounty fed;
Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. Her form was fresher than the morning rose, When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure, As is the lily, or the mountain snow: The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, Still, on the ground dejected, darting all Their humid beams into the blooming flowers: Or, when the mournful tale her mother told, Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once, Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs, Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness. Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self, Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. As in the hollow breast of Appenine, Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, A myrtle rises, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild; So flourish'd, blooming, and unseen by all, The sweet Lavinia; till at length compell'd By strong Necessity's supreme command, With smiling patience in her looks, she went To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains Palemon was, the generous and the rich; Who led the rural life in all its joy And elegance, such as Arcadian song Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times; When tyrant custom had not shackled man, But free to follow Nature was the mode. He then his fancy with autumnal scenes Amusing, chanc'd beside his reaper-train To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye; Unconscious of her power, and turning quick With unaffected blushes from his gaze: He saw her charming, but he saw not half The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd. That very moment love and chaste desire
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