Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds; At which the universal host upsent
A shout, that tore hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air
With orient colours waving: with them rose A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array, Of depth immeasurable; anon they move In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood Of flutes, and soft recorders; such as rais'd To heighth of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle; and instead of rage, Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmoy'd With dread of death to flight or foul retreat; Nor wanting pow'r to mitigate and 'swage,
With solemn touches, troubled thoughts, and chase Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and pain, From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they Breathing united force, with fixed thought Mov'd on in silence to soft pipes, that charm'd Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil: and now, Advanc'd in view, they stand, a horrid front Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise Of warriors old with order'd spear and shield, Awaiting what command their mighty chief Had to impose. He through the armed files Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse The whole battalion views, their order due, Their visages and stature as of Gods; Their number last he sums. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hard’ning in his strength Glories: for never since created man,
Met such imbodied force, as nama'd with these Could merit more than that small infantry Warr❜d on by cranes, though all the giant brood Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were join'd
That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mix'd with auxiliar gods; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son, Begirt with British and Armoric knights; And all who since, baptiz'd or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban, Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond; Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemain with all his peerage fell By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd Their dread commander: he, above the rest, In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tow'r; his form had not yet lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than arch-angel ruin'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd: as when the sun new risen Looks through th' horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone Above them all th' arch-angel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had entrench'd, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge: cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather, (Far other once beheld in bliss,) condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain; Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd Of heav'n, and from eternal splendors flung For his revolt; yet faithful how they stood, Their glory wither'd: as when heaven's fire Hath scath'd the forest-oaks, or mountain-pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepar'd To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend B
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From wing to wing, and half inclose him round With all his peers: attention held them mute. Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth, at last Words interwove with sighs found out their way: O myriads of immortal spirits, O powers Matchless, but with th' Almighty; and that strife Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change Hateful to utter: but what pow'r of mind, Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge past or present, could have fear'd, How such united force of gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know repulse ? For who can yet believe, though after loss, That all these puissant legions, whose exile Hath emptied heav'n, shall fail to re-ascend, Self-rais'd, and repossess their native seat? For me be witness all the host of heav'n, If counsels different, or danger shun'd By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns Monarch in heav'n, till then as one secure Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute, Consent or custom, and his regal state
Put forth at full, but still his strength conceal'd, Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. Henceforth his might we know, and know our own; So as not either to provoke, or dread
New war, provok'd; our better part remains, To work in close design, by fraud or guile, What force effected not: that he no less At length from us may find, who overcomes By force, hath overcome but half his foe. Space may produce new worlds; whereof so rife There went a fame in heav'n, that he ere long Intended to create, and therein plant A generation, whom his choice regard Should favour equal to the sons of heaven: Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps
Our first erruption, thither or elsewhere: For this infernal pit shall never hold Celestial spirits in bondage, nor th' abyss Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts Full counsel must mature: peace is despair'd, For who can think submission? War then, war Open or understood, must be resolv'd.
He spake: and to confirm his words, out flew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze
Far round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'd Against the High'st, and fierce with grasped arms Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance tow'rd the vault of heav'n.
There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top Belch'd fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic ore,
The work of sulphur. Thither wing'd with speed A numerous brigade hasten'd: as when bands Of pioneers with spade and pick-axe arm'd Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on; Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From heav'n; for e'en in heav'n his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heav'n's pavement, trodden gold, Then ought divine or holy else enjoy'd
In vision beatific: by him first
Men also, and by his suggestion taught,
Ransack'd the centre, and with impious hands Rifled the bowels of their mother earth For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew Open'd into the hill a spacious wound,
And digg'd out ribs of gold. Let none admire That riches grow in hell; that soil may best Deserve the precious bane. And here let those Who boast in mortal things, and wond'ring tell Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings,
Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, And strength and art easily outdone By spirits reprobate, and in an hour What in an age they with incessant toil And hands innumerable scarce perform. Nigh on the plain in many cells prepar'd, That underneath had veins of liquid fire Sluc'd from the lake, a second multitude With wondrous art founded the massy ore, Severing each kind, and scumm'd the bullion dross: A third as soon had form'd within the ground A various mould, and from the boiling cells By strange conveyance fill'd each hollow nook, As in an organ, from one blast of wind,
To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes. Anon out of the earth a fabric huge
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, Built like a temple, where pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid With golden architrave; nor did there want Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven; The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, Nor great Alcairo such magnificence Equall'd in all their glories, to inshrine Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat
Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove In wealth and luxury. Th' ascending pile Stood fix'd her stately height; and strait the doors Opening their brazen folds, discover wide Within her ample spaces, o'er smooth And level pavement: from the arched roof, Pendent by subtle magic, many a row Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed With Naphtha and Asphaltus, yielded light As from a sky. The hasty multitude Admiring enter'd; and the work some praise, And some the architect; his hand was known In heav'n by many a tow'red structure high,
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