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Below the bottom of the great Abyss,

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There where one centre reconciles all things,
The World's profound heart pants; there placed is
Mischief's old master: close about him clings
A curled knot of embracing snakes, that kiss
His correspondent cheeks: these loathsome strings
Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties

Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies.


The judge of torments, and the king of tears,
He fills a burnish'd throne of quenchless fire:
And for his old fair robes of light he wears

A gloomy mantle of dark flames; the tire


That crowns his hated head on high appears ;
Where seven tall horns (his empire's pride) aspire ;
And to make up Hell's Majesty, each horn -
Seven crested Hydras horribly adorn.


His eyes, the sullen dens of Death and Night,
Startle the dull air with a dismal red:

Such his fell glances as the fatal light

Of staring comets, that look kingdoms dead.
From his black nostrils and blue lips, in spite

Of Hell's own stink, a worser stench is spread.
His breath Hell's lightning is: and each deep groan
Disdains to think that Heaven thunders alone.



His flaming eyes' dire exhalation

Unto a dreadful pile gives fiery breath;
Whose unconsumed consumption preys upon
The never-dying life of a long death.
In this sad house of slow destruction

(His shop of flames) he fries himself; beneath
A mass of woes, his teeth for torment gnash,

While his steel sides sound with his tail's strong lash.


Three (rigorous virgins waiting still behind,

Assist the throne of th' iron-sceptred king:

With whips of thorns and knotty vipers twined

They rouse him, when his rank thoughts need a sting [— Their locks are beds of uncombed snakes, that wind About their shady brows in wanton rings.

Thus reigns the wrathful king, and while he reigns,
His sceptre and himself both he disdains.


Disdainful wretch! how hath one bold sin cost
Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes!
How hath one black eclipse cancelled and crost
The glories that did gild thee in thy rise!
Proud morning of a perverse day! how lost
Art thou unto thyself, thou too self-wise

Narcissus foolish Phaeton! who for all

Thy high-aim'd hopes gain'dst but a flaming fall.



From Death's sad shades to the life-breathing air,
This mortal enemy to mankind's good,
Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care,

To become beautiful in human blood.
Where Jordan melts his crystal, to make fair
The fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood,
There does he fix his eyes, and there detect
New matter, to make good his great suspect.


He calls to mind th' old quarrel, and what spark
Set the contending sons of Heaven on fire;
Oft in his deep thought he revolves the dark
Sybil's divining leaves: he does inquire
Into th' old prophecies, trembling to mark
How many present prodigies conspire

To crown their past predictions; both he lays
Together; in his ponderous mind both weighs.


Heaven's golden-winged herald, late he saw

To a poor Galilean virgin sent:

How low the bright youth bowed, and with what awe Immortal flowers to her fair hand present.

He saw th' old Hebrew's womb neglect the law

Of age and barrenness, and her babe prevent
His birth by his devotion, who began

Betimes to be a saint, before a man.


He saw rich nectar-thaws release the rigor

Of th' icy North; from frost-bound Atlas' hands

His adamantine fetters fall: green vigor


Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libyan sands. Cat

He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigure

Winter's sad face, and through the flowery lands
Of fair Engaddi, honey-sweating fountains

With manna, milk, and balm, new-broach the



He saw how, in that blest Day-bearing night,
The Heaven-rebuked shades made haste away;
How bright a dawn of angels with new light

Amazed the midnight world, and made a Day
Of which the Morning knew not; mad with spite
He marked how the poor shepherds ran to pay
Their simple tribute to the Babe, Whose birth
Was the great business both of Heaven and Earth.

He saw a threefold Sun, with rich increase,

Make proud the ruby portals of the East: He saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace, Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her breast: He saw the falling idols all confess

A coming Deity: He saw the nest

Of poisonous and unnatural loves, Earth-nursed,
Touched with the World's true antidote, to burst.


He saw Heaven blossom with a new-born light,
On which, as on a glorious stranger, gazed
The golden eyes of Night: whose beam made bright
The way to Bethlehem, and as boldly blazed,
(Nor asked leave of the sun) by day as night,

By whom (as Heaven's illustrious handmaid) raised,
Three kings (or what is more) three wise men went
Westward to find the World's true Orient.


Struck with these great concurrences of things,
Symptoms so deadly unto Death and him,
Fain would he have forgot what fatal strings

Eternally bind each rebellious limb.

He shook himself, and spread his spacious wings;
Which, like two bosomed sails, embrace the dim

Air with a dismal shade; but all in vain,
Of sturdy adamant is his strong chain.




While thus Heaven's highest counsels by the low
Footsteps of their effects, he traced too well,
He tossed his troubled eyes, embers that glow
Now with new rage, and wax too hot for Hell.
With his foul claws he fenced his furrowed brow,
And gave a ghastly shriek, whose horrid yell
Ran trembling through the hollow vaults of Night,
The while his twisted tail he gnawed for spite.


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