Paradise Lost Book 9
By John Milson translated by Mrs Hunn-Smith
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January 1, 2016
The Tiffin Girls' School
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January 1, 2016
The Tiffin Girls' School


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No more now about when God and the angels used to sit and talk with man like they were friends, chatting about all sorts of things while they were innocent. I now need to change the tone of this to tragedy: distrust, man's disloyalty, rebellion and disobedience. For heaven, now distant from man, anger and justified rebuke and judgement against man that brought all the woe into the world in the forms of sin, death and misery, the bringer of death. It is sad to have to tell this, but it's a more heroic story than the wrath of stern Achilles as he dragged his foe around the walls of Troy, or the rage of Turnus about Lavinia, or Neptune's rage of Juno's anger, which perplexed the Greek for so long.
If I can imitate that style then I can get the story from the celestial patroness who visits me unasked for in my sleep and dictates to me, or inspires the verse into me so it's easy to write it.
Since I first chose this subject for my heroic poem, and I started late since it is not in my nature to write about wars, which until now were the only thing that was deemed heroic, as if the best poetry was writing about made up knights in made up battles, ignoring the better strengths of patience and heroic martyrdom. Or they described races and games or jousting with decorated shields, horses and spangled armour on gorgeous knights followed by feasts with servants. All this is artificial, not the topics that should be given the name Heroic. I am not skilled nor studied in this type of writing, but my higher argument remains, which is good enough to deserve the name ‘heroic', unless I am too old to finish it, or I die early or depressed, which might happen to me, but it won't because of the muse who brings the poem to my ears every night while I sleep.
No more now about when God and the angels used to sit and talk with man like they were friends, chatting about all sorts of things while they were innocent. I now need to change the tone of this to tragedy: distrust, man's disloyalty, rebellion and disobedience. For heaven, now distant from man, anger and justified rebuke and judgement against man that brought all the woe into the world in the forms of sin, death and misery, the bringer of death. It is sad to have to tell this, but it's a more heroic story than the wrath of stern Achilles as he dragged his foe around the walls of Troy, or the rage of Turnus about Lavinia, or Neptune's rage of Juno's anger, which perplexed the Greek for so long.
If I can imitate that style then I can get the story from the celestial patroness who visits me unasked for in my sleep and dictates to me, or inspires the verse into me so it's easy to write it.
Since I first chose this subject for my heroic poem, and I started late since it is not in my nature to write about wars, which until now were the only thing that was deemed heroic, as if the best poetry was writing about made up knights in made up battles, ignoring the better strengths of patience and heroic martyrdom. Or they described races and games or jousting with decorated shields, horses and spangled armour on gorgeous knights followed by feasts with servants. All this is artificial, not the topics that should be given the name Heroic. I am not skilled nor studied in this type of writing, but my higher argument remains, which is good enough to deserve the name ‘heroic', unless I am too old to finish it, or I die early or depressed, which might happen to me, but it won't because of the muse who brings the poem to my ears every night while I sleep. NO more of talk where God or Angel Guest With Man, as with his Friend, familiar