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Their starry dance in numbers that compute 
Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp 
Turn swift their various motions, or are turned 
By his magnetick beam, that gently warms 
The universe, and to each inward part 
With gentle penetration, though unseen, 
Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep; 
So wonderously was set his station bright. 
There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps 
Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb 
Through his glazed optick tube yet never saw. 
The place he found beyond expression bright, 
Compared with aught on earth, metal or stone; 
Not all parts like, but all alike informed 
With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire; 
If metal, part seemed gold, part silver clear; 
If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite, 
Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone 
In Aaron's breast-plate, and a stone besides 
Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen, 
That stone, or like to that which here below 
Philosophers in vain so long have sought, 
In vain, though by their powerful art they bind 
Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound 
In various shapes old Proteus from the sea, 
Drained through a limbeck to his native form. 
What wonder then if fields and regions here 
Breathe forth Elixir pure, and rivers run 
Potable gold, when with one virtuous touch 
The arch-chemick sun, so far from us remote, 
Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed, 
Here in the dark so many precious things 
Of colour glorious, and effect so rare? 
Here matter new to gaze the Devil met 
Undazzled; far and wide his eye commands; 
For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade, 
But all sun-shine, as when his beams at noon 
Culminate from the equator, as they now 
Shot upward still direct, whence no way round 
Shadow from body opaque can fall; and the air, 
No where so clear, sharpened his visual ray 
To objects distant far, whereby he soon 
Saw within ken a glorious Angel stand, 
The same whom John saw also in the sun: 
His back was turned, but not his brightness hid; 
Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar 
Circled his head, nor less his locks behind 
Illustrious on his shoulders fledge with wings 
Lay waving round; on some great charge employed 
He seemed, or fixed in cogitation deep. 
Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope 
To find who might direct his wandering flight 
To Paradise, the happy seat of Man, 
His journey's end and our beginning woe. 
But first he casts to change his proper shape, 
Which else might work him danger or delay: 
And now a stripling Cherub he appears, 
Not of the prime, yet such as in his face 
Youth smiled celestial, and to every limb 
Suitable grace diffused, so well he feigned: 
Under a coronet his flowing hair 
In curls on either cheek played; wings he wore 
Of many a coloured plume, sprinkled with gold; 
His habit fit for speed succinct, and held 
Before his decent steps a silver wand. 
He drew not nigh unheard; the Angel bright, 
Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turned, 
Admonished by his ear, and straight was known 
The Arch-Angel Uriel, one of the seven 
Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, 
Stand ready at command, and are his eyes 
That run through all the Heavens, or down to the Earth 
Bear his swift errands over moist and dry, 
O'er sea and land: him Satan thus accosts. 
Uriel, for thou of those seven Spirits that stand 
In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, 
The first art wont his great authentick will 
Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring, 
Where all his sons thy embassy attend; 
And here art likeliest by supreme decree 
Like honour to obtain, and as his eye 
To visit oft this new creation round; 
Unspeakable desire to see, and know 
All these his wonderous works, but chiefly Man, 
His chief delight and favour, him for whom 
All these his works so wonderous he ordained, 
Hath brought me from the quires of Cherubim 
Alone thus wandering.  Brightest Seraph, tell 
In which of all these shining orbs hath Man 
His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none, 
But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell; 
That I may find him, and with secret gaze 
Or open admiration him behold, 
On whom the great Creator hath bestowed 
Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces poured; 
That both in him and all things, as is meet, 
The universal Maker we may praise; 
Who justly hath driven out his rebel foes 
To deepest Hell, and, to repair that loss, 
Created this new happy race of Men 
To serve him better:  Wise are all his ways. 
So spake the false dissembler unperceived; 
For neither Man nor Angel can discern 
Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks 
Invisible, except to God alone, 
By his permissive will, through Heaven and Earth: 
And oft, though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps 
At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity 
Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill 
Where no ill seems:  Which now for once beguiled 
Uriel, though regent of the sun, and held 
The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven; 
Who to the fraudulent impostor foul, 
In his uprightness, answer thus returned. 
Fair Angel, thy desire, which tends to know 
The works of God, thereby to glorify 
The great Work-master, leads to no excess 
That reaches blame, but rather merits praise 
The more it seems excess, that led thee hither 
From thy empyreal mansion thus alone, 
To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps,