Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd
Of heaven, and from eternal splendors flung
For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood,
Their glory wither'd. As when heaven's fire
Hath scath'd the forest oaks, or mountain pines,
With singed top their stately growth though bare
Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepar'd
To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend
From wing to wing, and half inclose him round
With all his peers: attention held them mute.
Thrice he essay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn,
Tears such as angels weep, burst forth; at last
Words interwove with sighs found out their way.
O myriads of immortal spirits, O powers
Matchless, but with the almighty, and that strife
Was not inglorious, though the event was dire,
As this place testifies, and this dire change
Hateful to utter: but what power of mind,
Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth
Of knowledge past or present, could have fear'd,
How such united force of gods, how such
As stood like these, could ever know repulse?
For who can yet believe, though after loss,

That all these puissant legions, whose exile
Hath emptied heaven, shall fail to re-ascend
Self-rais'd, and repossess their native seat?
For me be witness all the host of heaven,
If counsels different, or danger shunn'd

By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns
Monarch in heaven, till then as one secure.
Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute,
Consent or custom; and his regal state

Put forth at full, but still his strength conceal'd,
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall.
Henceforth his might we know, and know our own
So as not either to provoke, or dread
New war, provok'd; our better part remains
To work in close design, by fraud or guile,
What force effected not: that he no less
At length from us may find, who overcomes
By force, hath overcome but half his foe.
Space may produce new worlds; whereof so rife
There went a fame in heaven that he ere long
Intended to create, and therein plant
A generation, whom his choice regard
Should favour equal to the sons of heaven:

Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps
Our first eruption, thither or elsewhere:
For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial spirits in bondage, nor the abyss
But these thoughts

Long under darkness cover.

Full counsel must mature: peace is despair'd,
For who can think submission? war then, war
Open or understood must be resolv'd.

He spake and to confirm his words, out flew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty cherubim; the sudden blaze

Far round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'd

Against the highest, and fierce with grasped arms
Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven.

There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top
Belch'd fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire
Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign
That in his womb was hid metallic ore,

The work of sulphur. Thither wing'd with speed
A numerous brigade hasten'd. As when bands

Of pioneers, with spade and pick-ax arm'd,
Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,

Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on,
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell

From heaven, for e'en in heaven his looks and thoughts
Were always downward bent, admiring more

The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold,
Than ought divine or holy else enjoy'd
In vision beatific: by him first

Men also, and by his suggestion taught,
Ransack'd the centre, and with impious hands
Rifled the bowels of their mother earth
For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew
Open'd into the hill a spacious wound,
And digg'd out ribs of gold. Let none admire
That riches grow in hell; that soil may best
Deserve the precious bane. And here let those
Who boast in mortal things, and wondering tell
Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings,
Learn how their greatest monuments of fame,
And strength, and art, are easily out-done
By spirits reprobate, and in an hour
What in an age they with incessant toil
And hands innumerable scarce perform.
Nigh on the plain in many cells prepar'd,

That underneath had veins of liquid fire

Sluc'd from the lake, a second multitude

With wondrous art founded the massy ore,

Severing each kind, and scumm'd the bullion dross:

A third as soon had form'd within the ground

A various mould, and from the boiling cells
By strange conveyance fill'd each hollow nook,
As in an organ from one blast of wind

To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes.
Anon out of the earth a fabrick huge

Rose like an exhalation, with the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet,
Built like a temple, where pilasters round
Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid
With golden architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or freeze, with bossy sculptures graven ;
The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon,
Nor great Alcairo such magnificence
Equall'd in all their glories, to inshrine
Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat
Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove

In wealth and luxury. The ascending pile

Stood fix'd her stately highth, and strait the doors