The sidelong volley met my swift career,

And smote me earthward.-Jove himself might quake

At such a fall; my sinews crack'd, and near, Obscure and dizzy sounds seem'd ringing in mine ear.

XXII.

Senseless and stunn'd I lay; till, casting round My half unconscious gaze, I saw the foe Borne on a car of roses to the ground, By volant angels; and as sailing slow He sunk, the hoary battlement below, While on the tall spire slept the slant sunbeam, Sweet on the enamour'd zephyr was the flow Of heavenly instruments. Such strains oft seem, On star-light hill to sooth the Syrian shepherd's dream.

XXIII.

I saw blaspheming. Hate renew'd my strength;
I smote the ether with my iron wing,
And left the accursed scene.-Arrived at length
In these drear halls, to ye, my peers! I bring
The tiding of defeat. Hell's haughty king
Thrice vanquish'd, baffled, smitten, and dismay'd!
O shame! Is this the hero who could fling
Defiance at his Maker, while array'd,

High o'er the walls of light rebellion's banners play'd!

XXIV.

Yet shall not Heaven's bland minions triumph

long; Hell yet shall have revenge.-O glorious sight, Prophetic visions on my fancy throng,

I see wild Agony's lean finger write

Sad figures on his forehead!-Keenly bright Revenge's flambeau burns! Now in his eyes Stand the hot tears,-immantled in the night, Lo! he retires to mourn!-I hear his cries! He faints he falls and lo!-'tis true, ye powers, be

dies.

XXV.

Thus spake the chieftain,-and as if he view d
The scene he pictured, with his foot advanced
And chest inflated, motionless he stood,

While under his uplifted shield he glanced, With straining eye-ball fix'd, like one entranced, On viewless air;-thither the dark platoon

Gazed wondering, nothing seen, save when there danced

The northern flash, or fiend late fled from noon, Darken'd the disk of the descending moon.

XXVI.

Silence crept stilly through the ranks-The breeze
Spake most distinctly. As the sailor stands,.)
When all the midnight gasping from the seas
Break boding sobs, and to his sight expands
High on the shrouds the spirit that commands
The ocean-farer's life! so stiff--so sear

Stood each dark power;-while through their nu-
merous bands

In A Beat not one heart, and mingling hope and fear Now told them all was lost, now bade revenge appear.

XXVII.

8 ®aa { One there was there, whose loud defying tongue Nor hope nor fear had silenced, but the swell Of over-boiling malice. Utterance long

His passion mock'd, and long he strove to tell His labouring ire; still syllable none fell From his pale quivering lip, but died away For very fury; from each hollow cell Half sprang his eyes, that cast a flamy ray,

And

XXVIII.

"This comes,' at length burst from the furious chief,

This comes of distant counsels! here behold

The fruits of wily cunning! the relief
***Which coward policy would fain unfold,

To sooth the powers that warr'd with Heaven of old!

O wise! O potent! O sagacious snare!

And lo! our prince the mighty and the bold, There stands he, spell-struck, gaping at the air, While Heaven subverts his reign, and plants her standard there.'

XXIX.

Here, as recovered, Satan fix'd his eye

Full on the speaker; dark it was and stern; He wrapp'd his black vest round him gloomily, And stood like one whom weightiest thoughts

concern.

Him Moloch mark'd, and strove again to turn His soul to rage. Behold, behold,' he cried,

The lord of Hell, who bade these legions spurn Almighty rule-behold he lays aside

The spear of just revenge, and shrinks, by man defied.'

XXX.

Thus ended Moloch, and his [burning] tongue Hung quivering, as if [mad] to quench its heat In slaughter. So, his native wilds among,

The famish'd tiger pants, when, near his seat, Press'd on the sands, he marks the traveller's feet. Instant low murmurs rose, and many a sword

Had from its scabbard sprung; but toward the

seat

Of the arch-fiend all turn'd with one accord, As loud he thus harangued the sanguinary horde.

:

Ye powers of Hell, I am no coward. I proved this of old who led your forces against the armies of Jehovah? Who coped with Ithuriel and the thunders of the Almighty? Who, when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first awoke, and collected your scattered powers? Lastly, who led you across the unfathomable abyss to this delightful world, and established that reign here which now totters to its

base? How, therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's bravery? he who preys only on the defenceless-who sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of ignoble cruelty and unequal contention. Away with the boaster who never joins in action, but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field, to feed upon the wounded, and overwhelm the dying. True bravery is as remote from rashness as from hesitation; let us counsel coolly, but let us execute our counselled purposes determinately. In power we have learned by that experiment which lost us heaven, that we are inferior to the Thunder-bearer : --In subtlety-in subtlety alone we are his equals. Open war is impossible.

Thus we shall pierce our Conqueror, through the

race

Which as himself he loves; thus if we fall, We fall not with the anguish, the disgrace Of falling unrevenged. The stirring call Of vengeance wrings within me! Warriors all The word is vengeance, and the spur despair. Away with coward wiles! Death's coal-black pall

Be now our standard!-Be our torch the glare
Of cities fired our fifes, the shrieks that fill the air!
Him answering rose Mecashphim, who of old,
Far in the silence of Chaldea's groves,
Was worshipp'd, god of Fire, with charms untold
And mystery. His wandering spirit roves,
Now vainly searching for the flame it loves,
And sits and mourns like some white robed sire,
Where stood his temple, and where fragrant
cloves

And cinnamon unheap'd the sacred pyre,
And nightly magi watch'd the everlasting fire.
He waved his robe of flame, he cross'd his breast
And sighing-his papyrus scarf survey'd

Woven with dark characters: then thus address'd
The troubled council.

I.

Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme
With self-rewarding toil, thus far have sung
Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem

The lyre which I in early days have strung;
And now my spirits faint, and I have hung
The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour,

On the dark cypress! and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o'er, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard

no more.

And must the harp of Judah sleep again?
Shall I no more re-animate the lay?
Oh! thou who visitest the sons of men,

Thou who dost listen when the humble pray,
One little space prolong my mournful day!
One little lapse suspend thy last decree!
I am a youthful traveller in the way,

And this slight boon would consecrate to thee,
Ere I with Death shake hands, and smile that I am

free.