The imperial ensign, which, full high advanced, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed, 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 Appeared, 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 raised To highth of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle, and instead of rage Deliberate valour breathed, firm and unmoved With dread of death to flight or foul retreat; 555 Nor wanting power 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 fixèd thought, Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil; and now Advanced in view they stand, a horrid front Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield, Awaiting what command their mighty Chief 566 Had to impose. He through the armèd files Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse The whole battalion views their order due, Their visages and stature as of gods; Their number last he sums. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hardening in his strength Glories; for never, since created man,
Met such embodied force as, named with these, Could merit more than that small infantry Warred on by cranes: though all the giant brood Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son, Begirt with British and Armoric knights; And all who since, baptized 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 observed Their dread commander. He, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 590 Stood like a tower; his form had yet not lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared Less than Archangel ruined, and the excess Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen Looks through the horizontal misty air 595 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. Darkened so, yet shone Above them all the Archangel; but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, 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), condemned Forever now to have their lot in pain; Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced Of Heaven, and from eternal splendors flung 610 For his revolt; yet faithful how they stood, Their glory withered: as, when Heaven's fire Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare, Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared 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 assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words interwove with sighs found out their
"O myriads of immortal Spirits! O powers Matchless, but with the Almighty! — and that strife
Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change, 625 Hateful to utter. But what power of mind, Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge past or present, could have feared How such united force of gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know repulse? For who can yet believe, though after loss, 631 That all these puissant legions, whose exile Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to reascend, Self-raised, and repossess their native seat? For me, be witness all the host of Heaven, If counsels different, or dangers shunned By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns Monarch in Heaven, 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 concealed; 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 provoked. Our better part remains
To work in close design, by fraud or guile, 646 What force effected not; that he no less At length from us may find, who overcomes By force hath overcome but half his foe. Space may produce new worlds; whereof so rife There went a fame in Heaven that he erelong 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; For this infernal pit shall never hold
Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss Long under darkness cover.
Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired, For who can think submission?
Open or understood, must be resolved." 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 illumined Hell. Highly they raged Against the Highest, and fierce with graspèd arms Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the vault of Heaven.
There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top 670 Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest entire Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic ore, The work of sulphur. Thither, winged with speed,
A numerous brigade hastened: as when bands 675 Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed, Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on, Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell From Heaven, for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts
And hands innumerable, scarce perform. Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, That underneath had veins of liquid fire Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude With wondrous art founded the massy ore, Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion dross.
A third as soon had formed within the ground A various mould, and from the boiling cells 706 By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook: As in an organ, from one blast of wind,
To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes. Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose like an exhalation, with the sound Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet — Built like a temple, where pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid With golden architrave; nor did there want Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven: The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, Nor great Alcairo, such magnificence Equalled in all their glories, to enshrine Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove In wealth and luxury. The ascending pile Stood fixed her stately highth, and straight the doors,
Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide Within, her ample spaces o'er the smooth And level pavement: from the arched roof, Pendent by subtle magic, many a row Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light As from a sky. The hasty multitude Admiring entered, and the work some praise, And some the architect. His hand was known In Heaven by many a towered structure high, Where sceptred Angels held their residence, And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King 735 Exalted to such power, and gave to rule, Each in his Hierarchy, the Orders bright. Nor was his name unheard or unadored In ancient Greece; and in Ausonian land Men called him Mulciber; and how he fell 740 From Heaven they fabled, thrown by angry
Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, The suburb of their straw-built citadel, New rubbed with balm, expatiate and confer Their state-affairs. So thick the aery crowd 775 Swarmed and were straightened; till, the signal given,
Behold a wonder! they but now who seemed In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons, Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room Throng numberless, like that pygmean race Beyond the Indian mount; or faery elves,
SIR JOHN SUCKLING (1609–1642)
O for some honest lover's ghost, Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below! I strangely long to know Whether the noble chaplets wear Those that their mistress' scorn did bear Or those that were used kindly.
For whatsoe'er they tell us here To make those sufferings dear, "Twill there, I fear, be found That to the being crown'd T' have loved alone will not suffice, Unless we also have been wise
And have our loves enjoy’d.
What posture can we think him in That, here unloved, again
Departs, and 's thither gone Where each sits by his own? Or how can that Elysium be Where I my mistress still must see Circled in other's arms?
For there the judges all are just, And Sophronisba must
Be his whom she held dear, Not his who loved her here. The sweet Philoclea, since she died, Lies by her Pirocles his side, Not by Amphialus.
Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough For difference crowns the brow
Of those kind souls that were The noble martyrs here: And if that be the only odds (As who can tell?), ye kinder gods, Give me the woman here!
Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms
Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large,
Though without number still, amidst the hall Of that infernal court. But far within, And in their own dimensions like themselves, The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim In close recess and secret conclave sat, A thousand demi-gods on golden seats, Frequent and full. After short silence then, And summons read, the great consult began.
'Tis many a pious Christian's case. He was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skill'd in analytic:
He could distinguish, and divide
A hair 'twixt south and south-west side; On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute. He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse; He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a lord may be an owl, A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, And rooks committee-men and trustees. He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination.
All this by syllogism, true
In mood and figure, he would do.
For rhetoric, he could not ope
His mouth, but out there flew a trope; And when he happen'd to break off I' th' middle of his speech, or cough, H' had hard words ready to show why, And tell what rules he did it by; Else, when with greatest art he spoke, You'd think he talk'd like other folk: For all a rhetorician's rules
Teach nothing but to name his tools.
But, when he pleased to show't, his speech
In loftiness of sound was rich;
A Babylonish dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect;
It was a party-colour'd dress
Of patch'd and piebald languages:
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin;
It had an odd promiscuous tone,
As if h' had talk'd three parts in one; Which made some think, when he did gabble, Th' had heard three labourers of Babel,
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A leash of languages at once.
This he as volubly would vent
As if his stock would ne'er be spent; And truly, to support that charge, He had supplies as vast and large; For he could coin or counterfeit New words, with little or no wit; Words so debased and hard, no stone Was hard enough to touch them on; And, when with hasty noise he spoke 'em, The ignorant for current took 'em;
That had the orator, who once
Did fill his mouth with pebble stones
When he harangued, but known his phrase, He would have used no other ways.
In mathematics he was greater
Than Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater; For he, by geometric scale, Could take the size of pots of ale; Resolve by sines and tangents, straight, If bread or butter wanted weight; And wisely tell what hour o' th' day The clock does strike, by algebra.
Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher, And had read every text and gloss over; Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, He understood b' implicit faith; Whatever sceptic could inquire for, For every why he had a wherefore; Knew more than forty of them do, As far as words and terms could go; All which he understood by rote, And, as occasion served, would quote; No matter whether right or wrong, They might be either said or sung, His notions fitted things so well, That which was which he could not tell, But oftentimes mistook the one For th' other, as great clerks have done. He could reduce all things to acts,
And knew their natures by abstracts; Where Entity and Quiddity,
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly;
Where truth in person does appear,
Like words congeal'd in northern air.
He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysic wit can fly:
In school divinity as able
As he that hight Irrefragable; A second Thomas, or at once
To name them all, another Dunce: Profound in all the Nominal And Real ways beyond them all; For he a rope of sand could twist As tough as learnèd Sorbonist; And weave fine cobwebs, fit for skull That's empty when the moon is full; Such as take lodgings in a head That's to be let unfurnished.
He could raise scruples dark and nice, And after solve 'em in a trice; As if Divinity had catch'd
The itch, on purpose to be scratch'd; Or, like a mountebank, did wound And stab herself with doubts profound, Only to show with how small pain The sores of Faith are cured again; Altho' by woful proof we find They always leave a scar behind. He knew the seat of Paradise, Could tell in what degree it lies;
And, as he was disposed, could prove it
Below the moon, or else above it; What Adam dreamt of, when his bride Came from her closet in his side; Whether the devil tempted her By a High Dutch interpreter; If either of them had a navel; Who first made music malleable; Whether the Serpent, at the Fall, Had cloven feet, or none at all: All this, without a gloss or comment, He could unriddle in a moment,
In proper terms, such as men smatter When they throw out, and miss the matter. For his religion, it was fit
To match his learning and his wit: 'Twas Presbyterian true blue; For he was of that stubborn crew Of errant Saints, whom all men grant To be the true Church Militant;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun; Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery;
And prove their doctrine orthodox By apostolic blows and knocks; Call fire, and sword, and desolation, A godly, thorough Reformation, Which always must be carried on, And still be doing, never done; As if Religion were intended
For nothing else but to be mended.
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