Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and pain, 558
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 warriours 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 hardening in his strength
Glories for never, since created man,

Met such imbodied force, as nam'd with these
Could merit more than that small infantry1
Warr'd on by cranes; though all the giant brood
Of Phlegra with the 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 son2
Begirt with British and Armorick knights;
And all who since, baptiz'd or infidel,
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban,
Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond,
Or whom Biserta sent from Africk shore,
When Charlemain with all his peerage fell
By Fontarabbia.3 Thus far these beyond
Compare of mortal prowess yet observ'd

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1 'Small infantry:'Pygmies.-2 Uther's son:' King Arthur.-8. Aspramont,' 'Montalban,' 'Biserta,' 'Fontarabbia,' &c.; all places famous in romantic history, and chiefly for contests between Saracens and Christians.

Their dread Commander: He, above the rest
In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower: his form had yet not lost
All its original brightness; nor appear'd
Less than Arch-Angel ruin'd, and the 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, the Arch-Angel: 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 Heaven, and from eternal splendours 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
From wing to wing, and half enclose 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

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Matchless but with the 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 power 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 Heaven, shall fail to reascend
Self-raised, and repossess their native seat?
For me, be witness all the host of Heaven,
If counsels different, or dangers shunn'd
By me, have lost our hopes. But he, who reigns
Monarch in Heaven, 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 Heaven that he erelong
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 Spirits in bondage, nor the 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 Highest, 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
That in his womb was hid metallick ore,

The work of sulphur.1 Thither, wing'd with speed,
A numerous brigad hasten'd; as when bands
Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe arm'd,
Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,
Or cast a rampart. Mammon2 led them on;
Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell

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From Heaven; for e'en in Heaven his looks and thoughts
Were always downward bent, admiring more

The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught, divine or holy, else enjoy'd
In vision beatifick by him first
Men also, and by his suggestion taught,
Ransack'd the center, and with impious hands
Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth,

For treasures, better hid. Soon had his crew

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1The work of sulphur:' sulphur in ancient days was thought the genitrix of gold.-Mammon:' the word is Syriac, and signifies riches.

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 wondering tell
Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings,
Learn how their greatest monuments of fame,
And strength, and art, are 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
Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude
With wonderous 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 Dorick pillars overlaid
With golden architrave; nor did there want
Cornice or freeze, with bossy sculptures graven:
The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon,
Nor great Alcairo, such magnificence
Equall'd in all their glories, to enshrine
Belus or Sérapis,1 their gods; or seat
Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove

1 Sérapis:' an Egyptian god.

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