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

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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 over Adria to th' Hesperian fields,

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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 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;

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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

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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,

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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 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 fixed 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,
Awaiting what command their mighty chief
Had to impose: he through the armed files
Darts his experienc'd eye, and soon traverse
The whole battalion views, their order due,

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Their visages and statures as of Gods,

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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 embodied force as, nam'd with these,
Could merit more than that small infantry
Warr'd on by cranes; tho' all the giant brood
Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were join'd,
That fought at Thebes and Hlium, on each side
Mix'd with auxiliar Gods; and what resounds

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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 Charlemain 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

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Stood like a tow'r; his form had not yet 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

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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

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Of dauntless courage and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge: cruel his eye, but cast
Signs of remorse and passion to behold

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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 splendors 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, 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 essay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn, -

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Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last
Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way.
"O Myriads of immortal Spiʼrits, O powers
Matchless, but with th' 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 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 re-ascend,
Self-rais'd, and re-possess their native seat?
For me be witness all the host of Heav'n,
If counsels different, or danger shunn'd

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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

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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

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At length from us may find, who overcomes

By force hath overcome but half his foe.

Space may produce new worlds; whereof so rife

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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;

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For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial Spi'rits 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 High'est, 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

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Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign it Suspe

That in his womb was hid metallic ore,

The work of sulphur. Thither, wing'd with speed,

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A numerous brigade hasten'd; as when bands

Of pioneers, with spade and pickax arm'd,
Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field,

Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on;

Mammon, the least erected Spi'rit that fell

From Heav'n; for e'en in Heav'n his looks and thoughts

Were always downward bent, admiring more

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The riches of Heav'n'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
ifled 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, wond'ring, tell

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