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:
The Ionian Gods, of Javan's issue, held
Gods, yet confess'd later than Heaven and Earth,
Their boasted parents: Titan, Heaven's first-born,
With his enormous brood, and birth-right 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 Heaven; 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 the 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 countenance 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
The imperial ensign; which, full high advanced,
Shone, like a meteor, streaming to the wind,
With gems and golden lustre rich imblazed,
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 highth of noblest temper, heroes old,
Arming to battle; and, instead of rage,
Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved
With dread of death, to flight or foul retreat;
Nor wanting power 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,
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 imbodied 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 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 son,
Begirt with British, and Armoric knights;
And all, who since, baptized or infidel,
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban,
Damasco, or Morocco, or Trebisond;
Or, whom Biserta sent from Afric shore,
When Charlemain, 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 yet not lost
All her original brightness; nor appear'd
Less than Arch-angel 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
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 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 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 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-raised, and re-possess 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 be, 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, provoked 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
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 resolved."
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 illumined Hell: highly they raged
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-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 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 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 digged 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 prepared,
That underneath had veins of liquid fire
Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude
With wondrous art, founded the massy ore,
Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion dross
A third as soon had form'd, within the ground
A various mold, 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 enshrine.
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 straight the doors,
Opening their brazen folds, discover wide
Within, her ample spaces, o'er the smooth
And level pavement. From the arched roof,
Pendant 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 Heaven, by many a tower'd structure high,
Where scepter'd angels held their residence,
And sat as princes; whom the Supreme King
Exalted to such power, and gave to rule,
Each in his hierarchy, the orders bright.
Nor was his name unheard, or unadored
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