Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection. Джон Мильтон

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Innocence Once Lost - Religious Classics Collection - Джон Мильтон

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Love no where to be found less then Divine!

       Hail Son of God, Saviour of Men, thy Name

       Shall be the copious matter of my Song

       Henceforth, and never shall my Harp thy praise

       Forget, nor from thy Fathers praise disjoine.

      Thus they in Heav’n, above the starry Sphear,

       Thir happie hours in joy and hymning spent.

       Mean while upon the firm opacous Globe

       Of this round World, whose first convex divides

       The luminous inferior Orbs, enclos’d

       From Chaos and th’ inroad of Darkness old, Satan alighted walks: a Globe farr off It seem’d, now seems a boundless Continent Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night Starless expos’d, and ever-threatning storms Of Chaos blustring round, inclement skie; Save on that side which from the wall of Heav’n Though distant farr som small reflection gaines Of glimmering air less vext with tempest loud: Here walk’d the Fiend at large in spacious field. As when a Vultur on Imaus bred, Whose snowie ridge the roving Tartar bounds, Dislodging from a Region scarce of prey To gorge the flesh of Lambs or yeanling Kids On Hills where Flocks are fed, flies toward the Springs Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams; But in his way lights on the barren plaines Of Sericana, where Chineses drive With Sails and Wind thir canie Waggons light: So on this windie Sea of Land, the Fiend Walk’d up and down alone bent on his prey, Alone, for other Creature in this place Living or liveless to be found was none, None yet, but store hereafter from the earth Up hither like Aereal vapours flew Of all things transitorie and vain, when Sin With vanity had filld the works of men: Both all things vain, and all who in vain things Built thir fond hopes of Glorie or lasting fame, Or happiness in this or th’ other life; All who have thir reward on Earth, the fruits Of painful Superstition and blind Zeal, Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find Fit retribution, emptie as thir deeds; All th’ unaccomplisht works of Natures hand, Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixt, Dissolvd on earth, fleet hither, and in vain, Till final dissolution, wander here, Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamd; Those argent Fields more likely habitants, Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold Betwixt th’ Angelical and Human kinde: Hither of ill-joynd Sons and Daughters born First from the ancient World those Giants came With many a vain exploit, though then renownd: The builders next of Babel on the Plain Of Sennaar, and still with vain designe New Babels, had they wherewithall, would build: Others came single; hee who to be deemd A God, leap’d fondly into Aetna flames, Empedocles, and hee who to enjoy Plato’s Elysium, leap’d into the Sea, Cleombrotus, and many more too long, Embryo’s and Idiots, Eremits and Friers White, Black and Grey, with all thir trumperie. Here Pilgrims roam, that stray’d so farr to seek In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heav’n; And they who to be sure of Paradise Dying put on the weeds of Dominic, Or in Franciscan think to pass disguis’d; They pass the Planets seven, and pass the fixt, And that Crystalline Sphear whose ballance weighs The Trepidation talkt, and that first mov’d; And now Saint Peter at Heav’ns Wicket seems To wait them with his Keys, and now at foot Of Heav’ns ascent they lift thir Feet, when loe A violent cross wind from either Coast Blows them transverse ten thousand Leagues awry Into the devious Air; then might ye see Cowles, Hoods and Habits with thir wearers tost And flutterd into Raggs, then Reliques, Beads, Indulgences, Dispenses, Pardons, Bulls, The sport of Winds: all these upwhirld aloft Fly o’re the backside of the World farr off Into a Limbo large and broad, since calld The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown Long after, now unpeopl’d, and untrod; All this dark Globe the Fiend found as he pass’d, And long he wanderd, till at last a gleame Of dawning light turnd thither-ward in haste His travell’d steps; farr distant hee descries Ascending by degrees magnificent Up to the wall of Heaven a Structure high, At top whereof, but farr more rich appeerd The work as of a Kingly Palace Gate With Frontispice of Diamond and Gold Imbellisht, thick with sparkling orient Gemmes The Portal shon, inimitable on Earth By Model, or by shading Pencil drawn. The Stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw Angels ascending and descending, bands Of Guardians bright, when he from Esau fled To Padan-Aram in the field of Luz, Dreaming by night under the open Skie, And waking cri’d, This is the Gate of Heav’n. Each Stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood There alwaies, but drawn up to Heav’n somtimes Viewless, and underneath a bright Sea flow’d Of Jasper, or of liquid Pearle, whereon Who after came from Earth, sayling arriv’d, Wafted by Angels, or flew o’re the Lake Rapt in a Chariot drawn by fiery Steeds. The Stairs were then let down, whether to dare The Fiend by easie ascent, or aggravate His sad exclusion from the dores of Bliss. Direct against which op’nd from beneath, Just o’re the blissful seat of Paradise, A passage down to th’ Earth, a passage wide, Wider by farr then that of after-times Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large, Over the Promis’d Land to God so dear, By which, to visit oft those happy Tribes, On high behests his Angels to and fro Pass’d frequent, and his eye with choice regard From Paneas the fount of Jordans flood To Beersaba, where the Holy Land Borders on Aegypt and the Arabian shoare; So wide the op’ning seemd, where bounds were set To darkness, such as bound the Ocean wave. Satan from hence now on the lower stair That scal’d by steps of Gold to Heav’n Gate Looks down with wonder at the sudden view Of all this World at once. As when a Scout Through dark and desart wayes with peril gone All night; at last by break of chearful dawne Obtains the brow of some high-climbing Hill, Which to his eye discovers unaware The goodly prospect of some forein land First-seen, or some renownd Metropolis With glistering Spires and Pinnacles adornd, Which now the Rising Sun guilds with his beams. Such wonder seis’d, though after Heaven seen, The Spirit maligne, but much more envy seis’d At sight of all this World beheld so faire. Round he surveys, and well might, where he stood So high above the circling Canopie Of Nights extended shade; from Eastern Point Of Libra to the fleecie Starr that bears Andromeda farr off Atlantick Seas Beyond th’ Horizon; then from Pole to Pole He views in bredth, and without longer pause Down right into the Worlds first Region throws His flight precipitant, and windes with ease Through the pure marble Air his oblique way Amongst innumerable Starrs, that shon Stars distant, but nigh hand seemd other Worlds, Or other Worlds they seemd, or happy Iles, Like those Hesperian Gardens fam’d of old, Fortunate Fields, and Groves and flourie Vales, Thrice happy Iles, but who dwelt happy there He stayd not to enquire: above them all The golden Sun in splendor likest Heaven Allur’d his eye: Thither his course he bends Through the calm Firmament; but up or downe By center, or eccentric, hard to tell, Or Longitude, where the great Luminarie Alooff the vulgar Constellations thick, That from his Lordly eye keep distance due, Dispenses Light from farr; they as they move Thir Starry dance in numbers that compute Days, months, and years, towards his all-chearing Lamp Turn swift their various motions, or are turnd By his Magnetic beam, that gently warms The Univers, and to each inward part With gentle penetration, though unseen, Shoots invisible vertue even to the deep: So wondrously was set his Station bright. There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps Astronomer in the Sun’s lucent Orbe Through his glaz’d Optic Tube yet never saw. The place he found beyond expression bright, Compar’d with aught on Earth, Medal or Stone; Not all parts like, but all alike informd With radiant light, as glowing Iron with fire; If mettal, part seemd Gold, part Silver cleer; If stone, Carbuncle most or Chrysolite, Rubie or Topaz, to the Twelve that shon In Aarons Brest-plate, and a stone besides Imagind rather oft then elsewhere seen, That stone, or like to that which here below Philosophers in vain so long have sought, In vain, though by thir powerful Art they binde Volatil Hermes, and call up unbound In various shapes old Proteus from the Sea, Draind through a Limbec to his Native forme. What wonder then if fields and regions here Breathe forth Elixir pure, and Rivers run Potable Gold, when with one vertuous touch Th’ Arch-chimic Sun so farr from us remote Produces with Terrestrial Humor mixt Here in the dark so many precious things

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