Belial came last, than whom, a spirit more lewd
Fell not from heav'n, or more gross to love
Vice for itself: to him no temple stood,
Or altar smok'd: 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'
n 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
Expos'd 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 heav'n and earth,
Their boasted parents: Tan, neav'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 oid
Fled o'er 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, t' have found their chiet
Not in despair, t' 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 immeasureable: 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 fix'd 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,

"Serried shield;" locked; from the French Serrer

Awaiting what command their mighty chief
Had to impose: he through the armed files
Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse
The whole battallion, views their order due.
Their visages and stature 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 embodi'd force, as nam'd 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, baptiz' 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 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 tower: his form had yet not 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
erplexes 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 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
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 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 reascend,
Self-rais'd, 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 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 conceald,
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fals
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 spirits 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 Highest, and fierce with grasped arme
Clash'd on their sounding shields the din of war,
Hurling defiance toward the vault of heav'n.

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 num'rous brigade 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. Mammon led them on,
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell

From heav'n; for e'en in heaven his looks and thoughts
Were always downward bent, admiring more
The riches of heaven's pavement. trodden gold,