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Poets

OF THE

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

John Milton.

Born 1608. Died 1674.

SOLILOQUY OF SATAN,

n ess this the region, this the soil, the clime, De of Said then the lost archangel, this the seat,

That we must change for heaven? this mournful S3 gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since he, Who now is Sovran, can dispose and bid What shall be right; farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, Where joy for ever dwells ! Hail horrors, hail Infernal world! and thou profoundest hell, Receive thy new possessor, one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And where I should be ; all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in hell, -Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.

But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,
The associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion; or once more,
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regained in heaven, or what more lost in hell?

Paradise Lost, Book I.

SATAN.

H E scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend

I Was moving toward the shore: his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fesolé, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. His spear-to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some huge ammiral, were but a wandHe walked with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle, not like those steps On heaven's azure; and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. Nathless he so endured, till on the beach Of that enflamed sea he stood, and called His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, High over-arched, embower; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed Hath vext the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,

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