Gods, yet confess'd later than Heav'n and Earth, Their boasted parents: Titan, Heav'n's first-born, With his enormous brood, and birthright seiz'd By younger Saturn; he from mightier Jove His own and Rhea's son like measure found; So Jove usurping reign'd: these first in Crete And Ida known, thence on the snowy top
Of cold Olympus rul'd the middle air,
Their highest Heav'n; or on the Delphian cliff,
Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds
Of Doric land; or who with Saturn old Fled over Adria to th' Hesperian fields,
And o'er the Celtic roam'd the utmost isles.
All these and more came flocking; but with looks
Down cast and damp, yet such wherein appear'd
Obscure some glimpse of joy, to' have found their chief
Not in despair, to' have found themselves not lost In loss itself; which on his count'nance cast Like doubtful hue: but he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently rais'd Their fainting courage, and dispell'd their fears. Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound Of trumpets loud and clarions, be uprear'd His mighty standard: that proud honour claim'd Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall;
Who forthwith from the glitt'ring staff unfurl'd Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advanc'd, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich emblaz'd, Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: At which the universal host up sent
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 height of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle; and, instead of rage, Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmov'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 statures 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 embodied force as, nam'd with these, Could merit more than that small infantry Warr'd on by cranes; tho' all the giant brood Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were join'd, That fought at Thebes and Hlium, 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 Archangel ruin'd, and th' excess
Of glory' obscur'd; as when the sun, new risen, Looks through the 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' Archangel: but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'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 Heav'n'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 From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: attention held them mute. Thrice he essay'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 Spiʼrits, O powers Matchless, but with th' Almighty; and that strife Was not inglorious, though the 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 re-possess their native seat? For me be witness all the host of Heav'n, If counsels different, or danger shunn'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 eruption, thither or elsewhere;
For this infernal pit shall never hold Celestial Spi'rits 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'est, and fierce with grasped arms Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.
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 it Suspe
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 pickax arm'd, Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,
Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on;
Mammon, the least erected Spi'rit 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,
Than 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 ifled 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.
Who boast in mortal things, and, wond'ring, tell
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