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When from the temple's lofty summit prone,
Satan o'ercome, fell down; and 'throned there,
Swift as the glancing sunbeam cuts the air,
Fled the stern king of Hell--and with the glare Of gliding mietears, ominous and red, Shot athwart the clouds that gathered round bis head."
Right o'er the Euxine, and that gulph which late
The rude Massagetæ ador'd-he bent His northering course,---while round, in dusky state,
The assembling tiends their summon'd troops augment;
Cloth'd in dark mists, upon their way they went, While as they pass’d to regions more severe,
The Lapland sorcerer swell’d, with loud lament, The solitary gale, and, fill'd with fear, The howling dogs bespoke unholy spirits near.
Where the North Pole, in moody solitude,
Spreads her huge tracks and frozen wastes around; There ice-rocks pil'd aloft, in order rude,
Form a gigantic hall; where never sound
Startled dull Silence' ear, save when profound, The smoak-frost mutter'd: there drear Cold for aye
"Thrones him,--and fix'd on his primæval mound, Ruin, the giant, sits; while stern Dismay Stalks like some woe-struck man along the desert way.
In that drear spot, grim Desolation's lair,
No sweel remain of life encheers the sight; The dancing heart's blood in an instant there
Would freeze to marble.—Mingling day and night,
(Sweet interchange which makes our labours light) Are there unknown; while in the summer skies
The sun rolls ceaseless round his heavenly height, Nor ever sets till from the scene he flies, And leaves the long bleak night of half the year to rise.
'Twas there yet shuddering from the burning lake,
Satan had fix'd their next consistory;
Messiah's constancy,—And thus to free
of darkness from the dread decree Of bondage, brought by him, and circumvent
The unerring ways of him whose eye can see The womb of Time, and in its embryo pent, Discern the colours clear of every dark event.
Here the stern monarch stay'd his rapid flight,
And his thick hosts, as with a jetty pall, Hovering obscur'd the north star's peaceful light,
Waiting on wing their haughty chieftain's call.
He, meanwhile, downward, with a sullen fall, Dropt on the echoing ice. Instant the sound
Of their broad vans was hush’d, and o'er the ball, Vast and obscure, the gloomy cohorts bound, Till, wedy'd in ranks, the seat of Satan they surround.
High on a solium of the solid wave,
Prankt with rude shapes by the fantastic frost, He stood in silence;—now keen thoughts engrave
Dark figures on his front; and tempest-tost,
He fears to say that every hope is lost.
So ere the tempest on Malacca's coast,
At length collected, o'er the dark Divan,
The arch-fiend glanced, as by the Boreal blaze Their downcast brows were seen,--and thus began
His fierce harangue.-“ Spirits! our better days
Are now elaps'd; Moloch and Belial's praise Shall sound no more in groves by myriads trod.
Lo! the light breaks!--The astonished nations gaze! For us is lifted high the avenging rod! For, spirits, this is He--this is the son of God!
What then!—shall Satan's spirit crouch to fear?
Shall he who shook the pillars of God's reign, Drop from his unnerv'd arm the hostile spear?
Madness! The very thought would make me fain
To tear the spanglets from yon gaudy plain, And hurl them at their Maker! Fix'd as fate
I am his Foe!-Yea, though his pride should deign To soothe mine ire with half his regal state, Still would I burn with fixt unalterable hate.
Now hear the issue of my curst emprize,
When from our last sad synod I took flight, Buoy'd with false hopes, in some deep-laid disguise,
To tempt this vaunted Holy One to write
His own self-condemnation;-in the plight Of aged man in the lone wilderness,
Gathering a few stray sticks, I met his sight; And leaning on my staff seem'd much to guess What cause could mortal bring to that forlorn recess.