Paradise Lost Book 1- By John Milton| Bangla lecture| lines (84-187)

 

If thou beest he; But oh how fallen! how changed From him, who in the happy realms of light Clothed with transcendent brightness didst outshine Myriads though bright: If he whom mutual league, United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise, Joined with me once, now misery hath joined In equal ruin: into what pit thou seest From what heighth fallen, so much the stronger proved He with his thunder: and till then who knew The force of those dire arms? yet not for those, Nor what the Potent Victor in his rage Can else inflict, do I repent or change, Though changed in outward luster; that fixed mind And high disdain, from sense of injured merit, That with the mightiest raised me to contend, And to the fierce contention brought along Innumerable force of spirits armed That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring, His utmost power with adverse power opposed In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, And shook his throne. What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome? That glory never shall his wrath or might Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power, Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire, that were low indeed, That were an ignominy and shame beneath This downfall; since by fate the strength of gods And this empyreal substance cannot fail, Since through experience of this great event In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced, We may with more successful hope resolve To wage by force or guile eternal war Irreconcilable, to our grand Foe, Who now triumphs, and in the excess of joy Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven. So spake the apostate angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair: And him thus answered soon his bold Compeer. Oh Prince, Oh chief of many throned powers, That led the embattled seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds Fearless, endangered Heaven’s perpetual King; And put to proof his high supremacy, Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate, Too well I see and rue the dire event, That with sad overthrow and foul defeat Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host In horrible destruction laid thus low, As far as gods and heavenly essences Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains Invincible, and vigor soon returns, Though all our glory extinct, and happy state Here swallowed up in endless misery. But what if he our Conqueror, (whom I now Of force believe Almighty, since no less Then such could have overpowered such force as ours) Have left us this our spirit and strength entire Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, Or do him mightier service as his thralls By right of war, what e're his business be Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire, Or do his errands in the gloomy deep; What can it then avail though yet we feel Strength undiminished, or eternal being To undergo eternal punishment? Whereto with speedy words the arch-fiend replied. Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable Doing or suffering: but of this be sure, To do ought good never will be our task, But ever to do ill our sole delight, As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labor must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil; Which oft times may succeed, so as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmost counsels from their destined aim. But see the angry Victor hath recalled His ministers of vengeance and pursuit Back to the gates of Heaven: The sulfurous hail Shot after us in storm, overblown hath laid The fiery Surge, that from the precipice Of Heaven received us falling, and the thunder, Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn, Or satiate fury yield it from our foe. Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, The seat of desolation, void of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves, There rest, if any rest can harbor there, And reassembling our afflicted powers,