| There to dwell
|
| In adamantine chains and penal fire
|
| Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms
|
| Nine times the space that measures day and night
|
| Rolling in the fiery gulf
|
| Confounded, though immortal: But his doom
|
| Reserved him to more wrath; |
| for now the thought
|
| Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
|
| Torments him; |
| round he throws his baleful eyes
|
| That witnessed huge affliction and dismay
|
| Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate:
|
| At once, as far as Angels ken he views
|
| The dismal situation waste and wild
|
| A dungeon horrible, on all sides round
|
| Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
|
| And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
|
| That comes to all: but torture without end
|
| Still urges
|
| As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
|
| No light, but rather darkness visible |