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Shall breath her balme. But firſt whom ſhall we ſend
In ſearch of this new world, whom ſhall we find
Sufficient? who ſhall tempt with wandring feet
The dark unbottom’d infinite Abyſs
And through the palpable obſcure find out
His uncouth way, or ſpread his aerie flight
Upborne with indefatigable wings
Over the vaſt abrupt, ere he arrive
410The happy Ile; what ſtrength, what art can then
Suffice, or what evaſion bear him ſafe
Through the ſtrict Senteries and Stations thick
Of Angels watching round? Here he had need
All circumſpection, and we now no leſs
Choice in our ſuffrage; for on whom we ſend,
The weight of all, and our laſt hope relies.
  This ſaid, he ſat; and expectation held
His look ſuſpence, awaiting who appeer’d
To ſecond, or oppoſe, or undertake
420The perilous attempt: but all ſat mute,
Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; & each
In others count’nance red his own diſmay
Aſtoniſht: none among the choice and prime
Of thoſe Heav’n-warring Champions could be found
So hardie as to proffer or accept
Alone the dreadful voyage; till at laſt
Satan, whom now tranſcendent glory rais’d
Above his fellows, with Monarchal pride
Conſcious of higheſt worth, unmov’d thus ſpake.
430 O Progeny of Heav’n, Empyreal Thrones,
With reaſon hath deep ſilence and demurr
Seis’d us, though undiſmaid: long is the way
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light;