The Judgement of the Flood :: :: University of Virginia Library

‘O Lord, my God: now, hear,
And answer; for the press of thoughts, and things,
And men perplexes, now, thy servant sore.
Hast thou determined to destroy, indeed,
Earth, with her offspring? Should I then assume
Patriarch authority, paternal rule,
Over the people? And wherefore? seeing now,
In name, and not in substance, of long time,
And powerless, the station hath been held;
An ordinance obsolete, that hath lost its hold
On popular opinion, and repute?
Or, if I take on me the robe of power,
Oh, wilt thou pardon, thou Almighty God,
And rescue the doomed world, redeem, and save?
Rescue, redeem, and save, Omnipotent:
In mercy save, even for thy servant's sake,
If once I favour found, and still retain.’

Then spake Jehovah. ‘Thou hast favour found;
Nor mayst thou rightful Ordinance resign.
If they accept thee, well; if not, retire,
And make thee ready; for the Judgement sits.’

Such was God's answer unto Noah's prayer.
So he arose; and, on the morrow, called
The people to the Sacrifice. But not
For worship, but debate, they came: the wise,
And ignorant; the cunning, and unapt;

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Claiming alike free speech; philosophists,
And oratours; Palal, and Rumel: For
These twain had forces joined; and in the minds
Of men had made them empire; and, with power,
The democratic temper could persuade,
Combine, and wield its elements at will:
And Hherem who, with secret influence,
Directed all to slavery, while they
Of Freedom talked, and Rights unreasoning,
That owned no Duty, or to God, or man:
And wild Azaziel who, in nature's wrath,
Saw Liberty—the licence to destroy,
Which pleased him best; and Satan, who would rear,
On ruins of creation, a high throne,
That o'er against the visionary Mount
Might tower, audacious, opposite to God's.

Now, on the Altar-tomb had Noah placed
The sacred Book, to Seth by Enoch given;
And, kneeling, would have prayed; but Palal then
Began the wordy war.

‘Pardon,’ said he,
‘Intrusion out of course; but time has changed
Old channels, and the spirit of the age,
Would it be heard, must violate, where needs,
Old forms, and institutions, and make new,
That Law grow not save of the will of all,
Hold of existing circumstance, and fit
Accumulated knowledge widely spread.
Men know their rights, and to assert them now—
To will, and think, and speak as of themselves,
And to appoint what rules they will obey,
If any, and how. Well was it in old times,
The sire should teach the son, and children learn
From their forefathers, and believe: but now,
Change has accrued; and sons are who might lord

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O'er parents, if in wisdom be the right,
More capable to teach than they to learn.
Then, why should they be subject, and succumb
To authority inferiour, knowledge less?
Herein deem not, I Noah's wisdom doubt,
Knowing his worth, and eloquence; but this
I well may question, when he credit claims
For inspiration, whereof know I nought,
Nor may. For whence is knowledge? From the sense.
What we perceive by eye, and ear, taste, touch,
And smell, become ideas, and compose
Reason, and understanding; nor are they
Of other objects sentient. What is deemed
Of infinite, and eternal is made up
Of times, and spaces added without end;
And so some notion formed, how vague at best.
But Noah would of other knowledge vaunt,
Caught from some other state, or world, or age,
Discerned but by the Spirit, and on faith,
The credit of his word, to be believed—
Or haply of power miraculous, whereof
Was told me yesterday, and partly felt
And seen, though but in part, because afar
I stood, and saw, and felt imperfectly,
At distance. Earthquake—Gulph—and Fire!
Why, what's in these that Nature tells not of?
These rumblings of the earth are ordinary;
And, without wrath, may swallow whom they please:
Why not Methuselah?—And for the flame,
'Twas the volcanic blaze that ever tends
On Earthquake, and announces, and succeeds,
Cherubic guardians deemed of Eden lost.
Vain terrours; which the light of science, seen
In the horizon only, soon will chase—
Like shades before the sun at morning-rise.
Thus futile these pretensions; others may

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Be proved, perchance, as fond. Behoves it, then,
His claims be tested; and to all be given
Free opportunity merit to sift,
And chuse the wisest, and the best to rule.’

He ended, and was followed with applause
Unanimous.—Straight, from amidst the throng,
Rose, unexpected, Samiasa then;
And awe imposed, and silence.

‘Friends;’ he cried:
‘Patient I've heard, like patience shew to me.
'Tis said, no inner vision hath the soul,
But all its knowledge is derived from earth;
Yet 'tis confessed there is a power within,
Which from the finite argues infinite—
What is that power? O surely not of earth,
For earthly things fail it to satisfy,
And cannot shew the Object that it wants.
Is then that Object nothing? Nay, the soul
Perceives of it impression, with that eye,
Which, being spiritual, spiritually beholds;
As with a fleshly orb it apprehends
Material forms, intelligently seen.
And this Idea, or creative Word,
Reports of Law; of which the shadows be,
By symbols, shewn in nature, and the rule
Of government. But its high fountain is
Thy bosom, God! whose Being is the Law
Unto thy working; authour to itself;
Beginning all things for a worthy end,
And operation limiting thereby,
In measure, number, weight, according to
The counsel of thy Will; that Wisdom old,
More antient than the hills, co-mate with thee,
Eternal: Order, hence, appoints to all
His creatures, and creation, duties fit:
Celestial, natural; human, or divine;

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Fatal, or voluntary. Nature thus,
To Law obedient, Being to produce,
Generates forms, to be the souls of things.
Thus Angels love, adore, and imitate
The purity, the glory, and the beauty
Of him who placed their armies, and their hosts
In order, and degree, the ministers
Of virtue unto men. Thus men themselves,
Aiming at goodness, covet to be like
God in continuance, and creation both;
And seek to propagate, and to their works
Give constancy, and excellence like his;
And rise, by reason, to the knowledge pure
Of things, not sensible; and, by the power
Of will, the spirit of the mind,—of heaven.
Knowledge, and Will; whence Choice. Of these discoursed
Palal even now, and argued Noah false:
His premises proved false, prove Noah true.
Chuse ye the good, avoid the evil now;
And to the Laws by Reason given to Man,
For social rule, and peaceful fellowship,
And to old ordinance, old authority,
Bow as of right, that Order be not broke;
Knowing that intellect may not usurp
On moral power, and either damage 'scape.’

Thus ended he; and thought profound held mute
The assembly—soon by Rumel called to hear.
—‘Freemen;’ exclaimed the Oratour: ‘men free
By Nature; wherefore should ye to old saws
Yield, whom new prospects to new fields invite
Of great endeavour? At whose voice? At his,
Who by inheritance possessed a throne,
And was a king, and straight must ape the god,
And rather than in city, dwelt in wild?
Now, from his sway released, in the same line
Resides authority: how graced with virtue,

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Both in Azaradel, and Amazarah;
With what allegiance unto antient law,
Or modern, well appears to all, and each:
Yet little need be cared for, if it brought
Oppression not on subjects, scourging oft
The sins of other men, and taxing them
For maintenance of their own. The hour is come,
When Earth must throw off rule: and lawless Man
Be as at first; self-governed, or quite free;
Each waging his own right, or his own wrong
Avenging; following his own desires;
Self-arbiter of evil, and of good.’

At this was uproar, scarce by Noah stilled,
Who hardly audience found, though speaking there
The words of the Most High.

‘That man is free,
Who is not held in bondage of his lusts,
No servant to corruption; only he.
And all must be such slaves whom law rules not,
For those of Nature are, law of the Mind:
Hence parents check their children, and forbid
Indulgence, ruinous to health, or heart;
Thus God, the Father of the Universe,
Gave Law to Adam; and, above the flesh,
Enthroned in state the spirit; nor repealed,
Nor a jot bated its validity,
For his transgression. Adam to his Sons
Such government extended; how to live
In fellowship, though violated oft,
Yet ne'er annulled. And so, from race to race,
Each father was a king to his own house;
And, o'er the numerous households, one was set,
In right of Adam's rule, hereditary
Dominion to exhibit, and enforce.
Yet Life was before Law: the Maker, hence,

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For Adam made provision, ere he tasked
Obedience. And when Cain sought Naid afar,
Natural impediment, and penury
Were first assuaged, and many arts discerned,
Though but mechanical, ere he might rear
A city, and a state. Valour, and wit,
With conjoint effort, then relation fixed
Of Right, and Duty; but had to contend
With envy, strife, contention, violence—
Used both for good, and evil. Heed ye now.
The days are evil, justice is dethroned;
Fathers are scorned, and order set at nought,
Private, or social: all it doth behove
To take away all mutual grievances,
All injuries, and wrongs; and to appoint
Public agreement, social government—
Whereto yield ye submissive; and to whom
Ye grant authority, may peace, and bliss,
And to the rest, by them be still procured.—
Peace to the righteous: to the oppressor, woe.
Nor has the bounteous Maker left ye void
Of supernatural aid; but in his law,
The Testament of Enoch, taught to Man
The way of duty, and the gate of bliss.’

Thus Noah. But loud clamour rose, and scorn,
And laughter, and opprobrium, and the cries
Of insolent rejection; tumult soon,
And strife, and bloodshed. Veiled within a cloud,
God rescued from the outrageous multitude
His Prophet; and rage died, its victim gone.
—Died with the Rephaim, those giant twins,
Who sometime smote, by Adam's sepulchre,
Noah while preaching . . whereof hath been told.
And now, again, the demon Brethren sought
To smite him as he spake: but either deemed

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It honour to strike first; and, for the fame,
One with the other strove, until escaped
Their victim.—Then, upon his Brother each
His anger turned; wrath deadly—murtherous—
Wrestling in contest, gladiatorial strife:
Emulous of victory, seeking it as balm
To disappointment; neither wishing yet
To live thereafter, fired by frenzy so,
As if such loss bore no surviving, or,
After such gain, life worthless were, and stale.
High skill they shewed in combat; to assault
Or to defend, both equal; both unmatched
By any else; right artists in their kind,
Of all acknowledged, theme of saw, and song.
Long time, was either by the other held
At bay: their weapons clashed, but to protect,
And not to wound; until at length—at length—
Dagger of each was close at heart of each,
Mutually crossed; then, each in other's face
Looked, and laughed loud—and, as they laughed, they plunged
The poniards in; laughed, as they plunged them in—
And, laughing, drew them out; and, as they fell
Backward, laughed dying: laughing, so they died
In ecstasy, both victors, both death-crowned.
—Thus died the Born of Spirit, and of Flesh;
Apostate Spirit; (not apostate, guilt
Had then been none;) and thus on earth were they
Demons as giants, evil energies
In strength incarnate; errours masculine
Enshrined in clouds, yet not of Glory named,
But Hades—dark, oppressive, and corrupt,
Louring o'er earth, in battailous array,
Contending, bursting, falling but to bruise.

Thus died they, and more terrible the laugh,
That, from the hell-mouth of their gushing heart,

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In that death-transport brake, than were the fiends
To mock a mourner from some cave's deep rift—
Soft-hearted mourner for a doomèd world,
With exultation of the coming wreck;
Greedy of ruin, angels of mischance:
More terrible, and more oracular.

II. The Angels

That eve, in pensive contemplation, stood
The Angel of Repentance, Phanuel;
And, through the tear-drop in his quiet eye,
Watched westering Earth, with Uriel, in the Sun:
Beside him Archangelic Michael towered.

In the sun-world they stood, an orb of fire,
To heavenly seraphs only genial place;
To frames less ardent mortal element.
Burning both day, and night; a flashing mount
Was Uriel's throne: and, round about it set,
Seven other hills—compiled of fiery stones,
Brilliant, and beautiful, and living flames—
Supported on their slopes, and on their brows,
Unwithering trees, with odorous fruitage hung,
In clusters, breathing fragrance where he sate.
Hence, Uriel swayed the multitude of Stars;
Appointing them, in measure, and in weight,
Light; as they came, attracted; and, repelled,
Went thence to do his bidding. The Moon, too,
Waxing, or waning, was his servitress,
Handmaid of Uriel. Glorious was the throne;
And, at its footstool, flowed a river pure;
River of light, and life; billows of life,
And waves of light, which spake even as they flowed:
Tongues of quick fire, and cloven in the midst,
Singing immortal anthems, hymns divine;
Voices of music, harmonies of heaven:

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Angels, the guardians of the fount of fire,
Innumerable. Glorious were the Three,
Watchers of Heaven, clad in celestial white,
Of countenance transparent—clear aspect,
That as of crystal shewed the mind within,
Not hid deceptive: holy they, and true,
Bright Uriel, Michael strong, and Phanuel meek.
And, at the back of Uriel's throne, were hung
A bow of fire, and arrows fiery
Within their quiver, and a sword of fire,
Lightning, and radiance, splendours without end.

Now, the great Mother, active for her sons,
Came to the palace of the Lord of Day:
The rosy Hours about her coming throng.
They, from her dusky chariot, loose awhile
Her wearied steeds; and, out of golden urns,
Refresh them with the living streams of light.
Mournful in her maternal majesty,
Straight she descended from her lofty seat:
And, like the queen of sorrow, proud, and pale,
Entered the gorgeous dwelling of the Sun;
Whose glory dazed her elevated brow,
To treble wanness, and intenser grief.
The radiant angel, affable as bright,
His yellow tressèd head in homage veiled,
And gave her welcome from his shining state.
But, from her blanchèd forehead, she undid
Her oaken coronet, and cast it down
Upon the heavenly pavement, chrysolite;
The solemn foldings of her regal robe
Unclasped; and, on the footsteps of his throne,
Sank down, in woe, and agony extreme.

‘Me miserable:’ with a heavy groan,
Began the mighty Mother, mighty now
Only in sorrow. ‘Miserable me;
Whose children have been murtherers from the womb.

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Far other hope was mine, whom angel harps,
Emerging from the waste of Chaos old,
Hailed, on my natal, and my nuptial day,
Sister, and bride of the perpetual heaven.
How gladly, with diurnal industry,
I journeyed toward thy orient Capitol,
To alternate warmth, radiance, and delight,
To either hemisphere of my round orb,
Together with the sweet vicissitude
Of grateful shadow, and refreshing sleep;
And still, with indefatigable love,
Controled the seasons to the weal of Man.
I nourished him with milk from out my breasts;
Naked, I clothèd him; to him I gave
Country, and home, and heritage, and tomb:
But he, ingrate, my brow defiled with blood;
With armèd heel he smote my matron face,
With bloody hand he stabbed my pregnant womb;
And violence and lust possess the lands,
With palaces, and temples unto gods,
That are no gods, sore-burthened, and distrest.
My heart is broken, sick, and sorrowful.
Ay me, I fear that the Long-suffering yet
Will rise in wrath; and, in one common wreck,
Me, for my children's sins, with them confound.’

To whom thus Uriel: ‘O majestic queen,
O melancholy mother, beautiful
In sorrow, and sublime in misery:
Thou well hast done the work thou hadst to do.
This, as the Eye of the all-seeing God,
I witness; this broad heaven doth avouch.
Thee, hence, he circles still, as in the day
Of your espousals, with intense embrace.
And he hath heard thee groan, hath heard thy cry,
From midst the floods, whereon thy throne is set;
And soon the Avenger over thee shall pass,

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And thou shalt be avengèd; thou, and Heaven,
On your lewd daughters, and intemperate sons.’

Whereto the Mother: ‘Let me be overwhelmed,
Within the abrupt abyss; so but the doom
My children may escape.’

‘It may not be,’
Interposed Michael. ‘I, in my place in heaven,
Have testified to their iniquities.
The dreamers that defile the flesh, despise
Dominion, and speak ill of dignities,
Of things they know not, and beyond their sense,
Themselves corrupting in the things they know;
Spots in the festivals of charity,
Feasting in fearlessness, and thanklessness;
Clouds without water, borne about of winds;
Trees, whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead,
Uprooted; raging billows of the sea,
Out-foaming their own shame; and wandering stars,
To whom the blackness of deep darkness is
Reserved for ever: mockers walking still
After their own ungodly lusts, and who
Divide themselves, the moieties of men,
Sensual, of spirit emptied utterly.
And every Star that watcheth in the sky,
Hath, to his jealous God, his record borne
Of adoration strange; and, from her sphere,
The Moon hath also lifted up her voice,
And the bright Sun, abashed, doth veil his beams.’

Hereat, the heart of Earth sobbed forth aloud:
Then Phanuel sought with these to solace her.

‘Sorrowful mother of a sinful race,
Whose hearts I fain would turn to holiness;
Hear what my anxious care has learned for thee.
In Heaven there have been goings to and fro;
And, from among the Myrtle-trees, the Angel
Called to the Riders on the blood-red Horses,

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Who are ye? and they answered: We are they
Whom he hath sent to travel, up and down,
Thorough the earth. Well, asked the questioner:
Is earth at peace? As yet, the Courier said,
She sitteth still . . she is at rest as yet.’

Then thus the Mother. ‘'Tis the deepest calm,
Heralds the wildest tempest evermore.’

‘Trust in the Father; he is merciful.’
Thus Uriel comforted her misery.

So she departed; having, from his fount
Of light her horn replenished: her aspect
Glowed in his glory, radiant as the eve;
And the tall turrets of her diadem,
Fused by his eye, shone like a molten sea.

Who then had gazed into the billowy west,
Had deemed that Uriel on his orb declined.—
How beautiful his glory: how intense
The beauty: how poetical in dew:
How bright the crown of beams around his brows,
Imparadising, with their burning hues,
The clouds voluminous; that, in their joy,
Change to a myriad tints ineffable,
Gorgeously circling his refulgent throne,
And it, in undulating majesty,
Pageant to ocean, a glad company.

III. Phanuel, and Samiasa

And Michael soared into the Heaven of heaven:
But Phanuel sought the earth; such charge he had,
For Samiasa doomed to deepest grave
Of stern humility, that he might rise
To more salvation, cleansed of fatal pride.
Deep in Dudael, voluntary now,
Had he retired to brood upon the state
Of the rebellious world, and on the sin

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Unspeakable, yet in mysterious sleep
By Amazarah uttered. And he cast,
How he the horrid purpose, she had sworn
To the infernal Powers, might best impede.

Wrath in his soul was kindled: ‘Rule hath gone,’
Said he, ‘from man; dominion is no more.
All Ordinance hath vanished from all lands,
Because my sceptre ceased to sway the earth,
That I, her victor, had commanded once.
I will resume authority, and make
Due compensation for whatever wrong
Was then by me committed; will restore
The worship of the One, the Only-True;
And win obedience to the ancient ways.’

Then Phanuel stood before him—clad in light,
More pure than of the Sun—a frowning god.

‘Thou?’ said the Angel: ‘thou hast even prepared
The heavens, and set thy compass on the deep;
Their clouds established, and her fountains filled;
Secured the earth's foundations, and thereof
The measures hast appointed. Thereon thou
Hast stretched the line, and laid its corner stone.
Ocean flows in the hollow of thy hand,
And the proud isles thou liftest easily.
For is not Samiasa more than dust,
And his right arm can save him?’

Inly groaned
The fallen King. ‘Then verily am I
A Shadow on the earth, and better 'tis
That I should die than live.’

‘All men are such,’
Replied the Angel; ‘all such doom awaits;
And who art thou that thou shouldst save the earth,
And at the Judgements of thy God repine?’

Then Samiasa murmured:
‘Better 'twere,

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No pardon were vouchsafed unto my sins,
If no atonement may be wrought by me.
'Tis well that I be wroth, even unto death.’

Hereat wept Phanuel. With his flowing tears,
The heart of Samiasa melted too;
And his majestic mien all tenderness
Became; and, like a child, he listened now
The gracious Angel's words.

‘Thou knowest not
The heart of man; what wickedness is there;
And deemest of the race, and, in thy kind,
Even of thyself, more highly than should be.
Hence rightly thou hast said, atonement ought
By thee be rendered; but thou errest still.
Thou canst do nothing—but thou mayst endure.
Hence needs it thou be taught, what is in man,
What rank corruption; and, by knowing this,
Humility know too. I grieve for thee
To think of thine extreme, and more should grieve
But that the end is motive to the means.
Care not for thy great Mother's Oath infern;
Impediment awaits it from above.
And loth am I to say that chief by her,
In what thou now art ignorant, will come
To thee the penal cleansing of thy soul,
So that no pride rise in thy heart again.’

Silent the monarch heard admonishment;
And, with a troubled brow, the Genius kind
Bade him farewell awhile.

Soon o'er his mind
The gathering darkness Samiasa felt;
And passively submitted, while on him
Came the once dreaded Change. The demon spell
Was in his soul again; and prostrate he,
A creature prone, sank down into the sands.

Phanuel meantime sought Hherem; and him found

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Within that Cainite Capitol, even in
The Temple of great Mammon, brooding ill—
Glad by his mean Azaradel withdrawn
From Amazarah—with his absence pleased—
As fitting opportunity to put
That Oath in act, he had himself imposed
On the lost Queen in Hades. Glad his heart,
Her rival progeny should be to Hell
In sacrifice presented; and, at once,
Her jealousy, and his, in blood assuaged.

But otherwise 'twas ordered—for on him
Now Phanuel with celestial vigour seized,
And bare into Dudael. For the rest,
The Angel knew, that midst of her attempt
On wicked Amazarah flood would fall,
And stop her further crime. Need therefore none,
For Samiasa's aid: nor had availed,
Even if wanting, for mistaken he
In the doomed Objects of the unnatural pact,
As yet aware not of his Mother's guilt,
Nor of the Offspring of the Incestuous Queen;
But deemed her Victim-Children were none else
Than his bad Brother, and unwelcome Self.

And Phanuel brought the Fiend, where lay the King
Upon Dudael's sands; and there imposed
On Hherem his old doom; that he might teach
To Samiasa, 'twas of privilege,
Freely bestowed by God, he had been Man.

Such office was the demon's, self abased,
Man's nature to the bestial to subdue,
And, by unutterable sympathy,
Partake humiliation so profound;
A penal task. Albeit he had forgone
His own prerogatives, and was content
To bow his functions to the creeping thing,
That feeds on carrion, and on carcases:

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From such abasement as the monarch's soul
Was doomed to, yet, repugnant, he recoiled,
Astonished, and abhorrent. But the Power
Impelled him from above; and he fell down,
And ate the dust: so deep his misery,
He might not even in anguish gnash his teeth;
Much less give sorrow words. And so his soul
Consumed in silence; punishment most meet,
For him, degraded willingly. How keen,
Shrunk from his pride, and lapsed from such estate,
Were the affliction, and the agony
That seared the monarch's heart. How hot the fire
In which his will was tried, and purified.
—But patient he endured, and murmured not.

Dudael round them in a circle spread,
And them enclasped within his mighty arms,
Who recked not of his doings. The Simoom,
That parches the red air with arid heat,
And poisons nature with his sulphurous breath,
Swept over them unheeded—though the blast
Did, like the wrath of the tornado, whirl,
Did, like the water-spout of ocean, whelm,
The pensive pilgrim, lonely amid the wild,
Or merchant, and his numerous company;
A thousand corses withered by the storm,
Putrid, and swoln, and scorching on the sands.
—Surged to the clouds, they darkle, like a wood,
Within the heavy sky, the violet sun;
And, flecked by his bright rays, seem shafts of fire,
Pillars of flame, and columns all a-blaze,
Or moving fortress armed with demon bands.
Three days the tempest glowed, the vision glared:
Them, prostrate, the hot gale might visit not;
Nor the dread pageant awe. The Sarsar sped
His ice bolts through the wide waste wilderness;
And, from his black surchargèd cloud aloft,

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Made desolation yet more desolate
With cold: whereto the cold within the land
Of Hades, or the frozen tracts of Hell,
Were comparable only; so intense,
Extreme, and bitter: and it smote all things,
And in the heart of all things mortal burned;
Tree, bole, and branches, with the writhen bolt
Of winter blasted, leafless, barkless, sapless,
Bare, and of life devoid. And herb, and weed
Withered; and, in their headlong torrent, floods
Congealed, and stiffened to a stony sheet.
The wild steed stood aghast, whom rein had ne'er
Checked; now, by more than human vigour curbed.
And, in the human veins, the vigourous blood
Was shackled; and the rivers of the heart
Were as a sealèd fountain; and the veins,
Parched, became brittle, like to glass, and brake;
Or hardened into marble. Over them
The ice-wind wrought its work: but, on the ground,
They clasped the bosom of maternal earth,
Unconscious; and the spirit's misery
Had made the flesh insensible to change.

IV. Satan, and Azaziel

Who walked upon the whirlwind that o'erwhelmed?
Who sped the unerring arrows that destroyed?
Satan rode on the whirlwind that o'erwhelmed;
Azaziel sped the arrows that destroyed.
They came in their pavilions, tended thus
With their selected ministers: their tramp
Rang as of armies on a rocky pass,
Reverberate by the surrounding cliffs;
Their voices, as the roar of cataracts,
Hurled from a thousand hills enskied in heaven,
Resounded, and astounded, with the noise

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And repercussion, all that neighbourhood
Of nature's desolation, and of man's.

Descending from his secret place of storms,
Issued to sight the Majesty of Hell.
His foot clanged resonant on the trembling ground,
And his dilating presence royally
Spread o'er the wilds, and stretched into the clouds.
Gloomed o'er his brow the infernal diadem,
Like a black crag projected o'er a cliff,
White as the surge, the barrier of the main;
And, like a blasted orb once over-bright,
His eye, a ruin, burned; and on his cheek,
Immortal Beauty hideously shone:
A wreck as of a noble Ship long tost,
Stanced, where it rived, amid the calmèd sea,
Sublime though desolate, and beautiful
Though loveless; for her sails the winds about
Woo idly, and play round her keel the waves,
Recoiling, as in wonder, evermore.
Of her the mariner shall fable, how,
When withered by the seasons utterly,
She yet at night walks o'er the waters wide,
With all her bravery flaunting to the stars,
Weft of the wave, the Spectre of a ship,
And on her deck the Spirits of the crew;
While haunted ocean, in the shadowy gleams
Of the pale moon, looks ghostly, and aghast.
—Nor seemed less dreamy now the desart drear,
Than that old forest of the after-world,
Wherein the goblin guard, with impious pomp,
Held festival, whence awed fled all, save one:
He, through the fiery city high as heaven,
Passed bravely, unhurt; anon, by pity stayed, . .
For lo, each tree possessing sense, and speech,
The wounded rind forth gushed with human blood;
But, from the pleasant isle redeemed at length,

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Unmoved by sound, or sight, or amorous wile
Of her, love-lorn, whose palace had been erst
His o'er-sweet prison, thence the Appointed chased
Phantasm, and shape, and unessential flame.

But now no mortal virtue might dissolve
The terrours here: not visionary these;
But real, and substantial as the being
Of the immortal spirit, in the mind
Of unobscurable humanity.
Yet less to them they hover round about,
Than is a dream, forgotten ere the dawn,
To him whose quiet conscience sleeps serene.

Then Satan, with a mighty voice, which shook
The wilderness, to Hherem cried aloud:
‘Sleeper, what dreamst, in sleep profound as death,
Albeit not death—for spirit cannot die?
Of universal scorn, that, from the courts
Of hell, thee followed with disdainful hiss,
O'er Chaos, on thy way abrupt, and wild,
Precipitate, confounded, and debased;
From the dimensions of spiritual life
Dwarfed wilfully, the demon of the brute?
The brute hath sense, and oft, half reasoning,
Is of much understanding capable;
The worm owns feeling, and the insect worlds,
That are as of the dust with which they blend,
And seem but as its atoms most minute,
Have motion, life, are sensible to pain
And pleasure animal, though lowest kind,
And least degree. But thou art less than these:
A grain of sand is as a god to thee.
And thou to be the god unto the man
Who late was as a god unto mankind?
Astonishment invests me like a robe
Of poison, shrivels my angelic veins,
Consumes my blood, and licks it up like fire.

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Awake, thou sleeper of the sleep of death,
All but annihilation. Wilt not wake?
Then slumber on eternally—sleep on;
Inanimate of bestial, as befits.’

Thus, half in ire, and half in bitter scorn,
The Archfiend raged; and felt, in sooth, his blood,
Lapped in his veins as with a fiery tongue,
Celestial ichor with infernal flame.
For him within the consubstantial hell
Burned; and, perchance, to desperate act had wrought,
Pain unendurable to mitigate,
But that Azaziel, the destroying One,
Swept by, borne in his icy chariot; whence
Alighted now, he rested on his scythe
Magnificent, wherewith he moweth down
Whole armies, front to front, in radiant rank
Opposed . . proud, brave, and ardent; prodigal
Of active energy, and breathing life,
Seeking for fame in gore-accursèd deeds,
In death, and dust for immortality.

Of old, on plains celestial, he was bred
To sports heroic, and in valourous play
Had joyaunce, and delight. He loved to list
The trump of battle braze the ardent air,
And gird him with divinest panoply,
On mountain, or in mead. And, in the vale
Of slumber, he had visions of bright fame,
And glory without end; and held it eath,
To soar above the Heavens infinite,
Or into central Hades, and beneath
The unfathomable to descend, so he
Might lead bright Honour captive, or redeem
From durance far remote, obscure, and old.
And, haunted by the shadow of such dreams,
He ranged heaven's champain, a chivalric youth,

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In quest ambitious of great enterprise,
To tourney with his equals, and prevailed.
They wrestled in the strife of sacred love,
And where their weapons wounded there they healed,
For sin was not, and pain no spirit knew,
Till Lucifer aspired, ere long o'erthrown.
Exiled from heaven, he made wild work in hell,
And desolation marked his whereabout,
And aught of Order his transmuting spear
To chaos turned, to dissolution waste.
His front was scarred with thunder; and, above,
His battered helmet loured with lurid gleam,
As in the pregnant bosom of a cloud
Broods lightning, ripe for birth. His bloodshot eye
Gleamed mockery; his features were enlarged,
As if a rock could smile that had no heart,
With unangelic fulgour; and his words
Smote keenly cold the spirit they discoursed.

‘Prince of dark Powers, proud Autocrat of Air;
O let there not be told, within the realms
Of ether, or the gates of the abyss,
Of strange amazement thus disparaging
The majesty of unadoring hell.
Say, why is not thy bosom mailed as mine,
Thy soul as stern, thy heart as pitiless?
Think on the day when thy bold voice declared
The race of angels free. Did I not go
To that great battle, as a festival,
For which I was athirst? Drunk with delight,
I swept destroying on. This lance erewhile
That quickened where it vanquished, now dissolved
Each substance to its elements, approved
How mutable, and chased from form to form.
Annihilate I could not, though I would,
But I might change, and dissipate, and scathe.
Earth feels my tread, and quakes. Fear, and Decay,

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Famine, and Death, Storm, War, and Pestilence,
Confess my presence, as of him they serve,
Obey my mastery, worship me as god,
And do my bidding whatsoe'er I will.
Change daunts not me, nor ruin makes afraid.’

To whom thus Satan, gradually awaked,
Sadly replied. ‘Change I can contemplate,
O Angel, unamazed; such change as thou
Canst pleased behold, or gloriously produce.
Can Spirit be less privileged than that,
Which, in despite of efforts such as thine,
Subsists, in every change, and is in all,
By its own properties, identified?
Here lost I seem in wonder, like a man
Gazing upon a corse amazedly,—
He sees the attributes of body there,
But all the appertenance of spirit gone;
Yet, by the strange exception unconvinced,
That what has been can ever cease to be.
Of what once reasoned—willed—what here remains?
Insensible, inert, inanimate,
Of what had motion, and was sensitive,
Perplexes reason; wisdom fails me here.
Can He, who claims Creatour to have been,
Deprive the rational of faculty?
Why not of being? and annihilate
Essence spiritual, as it seems he can,
That by which only it may be discerned?
This, Angel, is a work thou canst not do,
Nor canst reverse. Thou canst not waken him.’

‘Let Him who lulled him to so sound a sleep,
Do that:’ replied the War-Fiend truculent;
‘If that He did the work, or can undo.
I rather argue for His impotence,
Than His omnipotence, which not consists
With liberty. Yon spirit had his will,

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Which him disposing to the lowest life,
He gravitated even unto this;
The Tyrant him restrained not, if he could.
All things are free, as in the reälties
Of Spirit, so in Nature; who, to change
So prone, so free, is ever born anew,
And propagated, and for ever teems
Herself with births; torn with perpetual throes,
Big with mischance, and procreant of caprice.
What power restrains the Avalanche? He sweeps
Terribly from the hills; and, with his foot,
Slays, and entombs, a snowy monument.
The Glacier, on his unobstructed way,
Goeth precipitate, an icy scythe,
And moweth more than armies in his march.
Who lets the Earthquake, when she minds to heave
Cities from their foundations? On the shore,
The Whirlwind, and Tornado have their will;
And, on the sea, the Tempests do their work;
And poor Humanity endures the wreck.
The Waves sport freely in the eye of Heaven;
Who checks the Winds? they blow even as they list.
For Liberty is the sole law that moves
The indefatigable Universe.
Lo, we are free; and may be what we will:
We will be gods, and shall be; nay, we are;
Or if not yet, and we have much to win,
'Tis but because 'tis easier far to fall
Than to ascend, as once we proved too well.
We are conquered, but our wills remain as free;
And Patience, well opposed, may outwear Power.
Meantime, we hurl defiance at His throne,
And thrive on hate.—My charmèd spear could once
Revive what seemed as dead: that spell has now
Departed, nor would I desire it back;
It went even with my wish, and at my will.

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But it may operate mutation yet,
Or in that corse, or spirit like a corse,
And re-establish in thy heart contempt
Of Power defied, and, not Almighty, scorned.’

He, thus blaspheming, smote them with his lance,
That straight returned effectless to his hand,
Whereat enraged, he but the more blasphemed.
But Satan from that unapparent thing,
(As hard for mind angelic to conceive,
As matter void of form, unqualified,
For human intellect, however wise,)
Averted his sad eye, and thus his mate
Admonished. ‘Fury of infirmity
Reports; Leader of Hosts, and Lord of War.
Beseems it us, whether He be, or not
Omnipotent, and may annihilate
Substance with attribute, yet to retain
Consistency, Eternity's sole law;
And change not in our hate, though he destroy.
And I have practised with the minds of power,
Whence strife shall grow, that shall repair defeat,
Lately experienced from the sacred hill,
Of Paradise, and, with more sure result,
Make earth our own, and give thy hands to do
What fits them most, and best thy heart affects.’

END OF ELEVENTH BOOK.