Paradise Lost. Джон Мильтон

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Afresh, with conscious terrors vex me round,

       That rest or intermission none I find.

       Before mine eyes in opposition sits

       Grim Death, my son and foe, who set them on,

       And me, his parent, would full soon devour

       For want of other prey, but that he knows

       His end with mine involved, and knows that I

       Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane,

       Whenever that shall be: so Fate pronounced.

       But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun

       His deadly arrow; neither vainly hope

       To be invulnerable in those bright arms,

       Through tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint,

       Save he who reigns above, none can resist."

       She finished; and the subtle Fiend his lore

       Soon learned, now milder, and thus answered smooth:—

       "Dear daughter—since thou claim'st me for thy sire,

       And my fair son here show'st me, the dear pledge

       Of dalliance had with thee in Heaven, and joys

       Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change

       Befallen us unforeseen, unthought-of—know,

       I come no enemy, but to set free

       From out this dark and dismal house of pain

       Both him and thee, and all the heavenly host

       Of Spirits that, in our just pretences armed,

       Fell with us from on high. From them I go

       This uncouth errand sole, and one for all

       Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread

       Th' unfounded Deep, and through the void immense

       To search, with wandering quest, a place foretold

       Should be—and, by concurring signs, ere now

       Created vast and round—a place of bliss

       In the purlieus of Heaven; and therein placed

       A race of upstart creatures, to supply

       Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed,

       Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude,

       Might hap to move new broils. Be this, or aught

       Than this more secret, now designed, I haste

       To know; and, this once known, shall soon return,

       And bring ye to the place where thou and Death

       Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen

       Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed

       With odours. There ye shall be fed and filled

       Immeasurably; all things shall be your prey."

       He ceased; for both seemed highly pleased, and Death

       Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear

       His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw

       Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced

       His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire:—

       "The key of this infernal Pit, by due

       And by command of Heaven's all-powerful King,

       I keep, by him forbidden to unlock

       These adamantine gates; against all force

       Death ready stands to interpose his dart,

       Fearless to be o'ermatched by living might.

       But what owe I to his commands above,

       Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down

       Into this gloom of Tartarus profound,

       To sit in hateful office here confined,

       Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly born—

       Here in perpetual agony and pain,

       With terrors and with clamours compassed round

       Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed?

       Thou art my father, thou my author, thou

       My being gav'st me; whom should I obey

       But thee? whom follow? Thou wilt bring me soon

       To that new world of light and bliss, among

       The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign

       At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems

       Thy daughter and thy darling, without end."

       Thus saying, from her side the fatal key,

       Sad instrument of all our woe, she took;

       And, towards the gate rolling her bestial train,

       Forthwith the huge portcullis high up-drew,

       Which, but herself, not all the Stygian Powers

       Could once have moved; then in the key-hole turns

       Th' intricate wards, and every bolt and bar

       Of massy iron or solid rock with ease

       Unfastens. On a sudden open fly,

       With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,

       Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate

       Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook

       Of Erebus. She opened; but to shut

       Excelled her power: the gates wide open stood,

       That with extended wings a bannered host,

       Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through

       With horse and chariots ranked in loose array;

       So wide they stood, and like a furnace-mouth

       Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame.

       Before their eyes in sudden view appear

      

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