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 lopt off In his own temple, on the grunsel edge,* Where he fell flat, and sham'd 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 off'rings, and adore the gods Whom he had vanquish'd. After these, appear'd A crew, who, under names of old renown, Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train,
With monstrous shapes and sorceries, abus'd Fanatic Egypt and her priests, to seek
Their wand'ring gods, disguis'd in brutish forms Rather than human. Nor did Israel 'scape Th' infection, when their borrow'd gold compos d 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.
* "Grunsel, or groundsil edge:" the threshold of the temple-gate.
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! 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 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: Titan, heav'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 old 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 chief 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'd 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 Perplexes 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 shann'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 conceal'd, Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. Henceforth his might we know, and know our own,
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