Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd Of heaven, 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 From wing to wing, and half inclose 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 spirits, O powers 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 re-ascend Self-rais'd, and repossess their native seat? For me be witness all the host of heaven, If counsels different, or danger 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 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 spirits in bondage, nor the abyss But these thoughts
Long under darkness cover.
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 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-ax 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 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 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 wondering tell Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings, Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, And strength, and art, are easily out-done 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 fabrick 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 freeze, 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. The ascending pile
Stood fix'd her stately highth, and strait the doors
« ForrigeFortsæt » |