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Jennifer Degani's avatar

The parallels between the Romantic poets and their misreading of Milton are enlightening. I have a complicated view of Prometheus. I have found him to be pitiable while still acknowledging his hubris in going around the gods. As with so many “gifts” it harms as well as helps. It puts me in mind of the origins of the Nobel Peace prize. Someone intended only good and was horrified by the results.

Joel Gunderson's avatar

Poetically speaking, Blake is correct, in that Milton does give Satan both the lion's share of the lines and arguably the best poetry in the poem. In a way, it acts somewhat opposite to the book of Job in which those brilliant ancient poets build the poetic structure in a way that gives God the most surprising and brilliant lines, with Job being a runner up, and his accusers's speeches riddled with stilted language and cliches except perhaps the ever controversial Elihu. Of course, Macbeth also gets brilliant lines too, and Shakespeare clearly didn't mean that even as the protagonist, that Macbeth should be held up as a model of heroism but rather like Macbeth reveals the logic of despair:

Me miserable! which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?

Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep

Still threatening to devour me opens wide,

To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.

O, then, at last relent: Is there no place

Left for repentance, none for pardon left?

None left but by submission; and that word

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame

Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced

With other promises and other vaunts

Than to submit, boasting I could subdue

The Omnipotent. Ay me! they little know

How dearly I abide that boast so vain,

Under what torments inwardly I groan,

While they adore me on the throne of Hell.

With diadem and scepter high advanced, 90

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery: Such joy ambition finds.

But say I could repent, and could obtain,

By act of grace, my former state; how soon

Would highth recall high thoughts, how soon unsay

What feigned submission swore? Ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void.

For never can true reconcilement grow,

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse

And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear

Short intermission bought with double smart.

This knows my Punisher; therefore as far

From granting he, as I from begging, peace;

All hope excluded thus, behold, in stead

Of us out-cast, exil'd, his new delight,

Mankind created, and for him this world.

So farewell, hope; and with hope farewell, fear;

Farewell, remorse! all good to me is lost;

Evil, be thou my good; by thee at least 110

Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold,

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign;

As Man ere long, and this new world, shall know.

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