Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, Unnam’d in heaven, now plenteous, as thou seest, These acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, Though heaviest by just measure on thyself And thy adherents: how hast thou disturb’d Heaven’s blessed peace, and into nature brought Misery, uncreated till the crime Of thy rebellion? (VI, 262–269)
Which of us who beholds the bright surface Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand, This continent of spacious heaven, adorn’d With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems, and gold; Whose eye so superficially surveys These things, as not to mind from whence they grow Deep under ground, materials dark and crude, Of spiritous and fiery spume, till touch’d With heaven’s ray, and temper’d, they shoot forth So beauteous, opening to the ambient light? These in their dark nativity the deep Shall yield us pregnant with internal flame[.] (VI, 472–483)
[T]wo days are past, Two days, as we compute the days of heaven, Since Michael and his powers went forth to tame These disobedient: sore hath been their fight, As likeliest was, when two such foes met arm’d; For to themselves I left them, and thou know’st, Equal in their creation they were form’d, Save what sin hath impair’d[.] (VI, 684–691)
Previous section Book V Next section Book VII

Popular pages: Paradise Lost

Take a Study Break