Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded: the love-tale Infected Sion's daughters with like heat; Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch Ezekiel saw, when by the vision led, His eye survey'd the dark idolatries
Of alienated Judah. Next came one
Who mourn'd in earnest, when the captive ark
Maim'd his brute image, head and hands lopp'd off In his own temple, on the grunsel edge,
Where he fell flat, and shamed his worshippers: Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man And downward fish: yet had his temple high Rear'd in Azotus, dreaded through the coast Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, And Accaron and Gaza's frontier bounds. Him follow'd Rimmon, whose delightful seat Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. He also 'gainst the house of God was bold: A leper once he lost, and gain'd a king; Ahaz his sottish conqu'ror, whom he drew God's altar to disparage and displace For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn
His odious offerings, and adore the gods
Whom he had vanquish'd. After these appear'd
A crew, who, under names of old renown,
The infection, when their borrow'd gold composed The calf in Oreb; and the rebel king
Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan,
Likening his Maker to the grazed ox;
Jehovah, who in one night when he pass'd
From Egypt marching, equall'd with one stroke Both her first-born, and all her bleating gods. Belial came last, than whom a spirit more lewd Fell not from heaven, or more gross to love Vice for itself: to whom no temple stood, Nor altar smoked; yet who more oft than he In temples and at altars, when the priest Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who fill'd With lust and violence the house of God? In courts and palaces he also reigns, And in luxurious cities, where the noise Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, And injury and outrage: and when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.
Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night In Gibeah, when the hospitable door Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape. These were the prime in order and in might: The rest were long to tell, though far renown'd, Th' Ionian gods, of Javan's issue held Gods, yet confess'd later than Heaven and Earth, Their boasted parents: Titan, Heav'n's first-born, With his enormous brood, and birthright seized 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, ruled 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 Downcast 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 raised 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 glittering staff unfurl'd Th' imperial ensign; which, full high advanced, Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed 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 raised To height of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle; and instead of rage
Deliberate valour breath'd, firm and unmoved With dread of death to flight or foul retreat:
Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'suage,
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,
Moved on in silence, to soft pipes, that charm'd
Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil: and now Advanced 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 experienced 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 embodied force, as, named 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, baptized or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemagne with all his peerage fell By Fontarabia. Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed Their dread commander: he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost All her original brightness, nor appear'd Less than archangel ruin'd, and the excess Of glory obscured; 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 Milton's Poetical Works.
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 amerced Of heaven, and from eternal splendours 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 tho' bare Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 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 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 Heav'n, shall fail to re-ascend Self-raised, and repossess their native seat? For me, be witness all the host of Heav'n,
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