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Book IV
Perplexed and troubled at his bad success
The Tempter
stood, nor had what to reply,
Discovered in his
fraud, thrown from his hope
So oft, and the
persuasive rhetoric
That sleeked his tongue, and won
so much on Eve,
So little here, nay lost. But Eve was
Eve;
This far his over-match, who, self-deceived
And rash, beforehand had no better weighed
The
strength he was to cope with, or his own.
But--as a
man who had been matchless held
In cunning,
over-reached where least he thought,
To salve his
credit, and for very spite,
Still will be tempting
him who foils him still,
And never cease, though to
his shame the more;
Or as a swarm of flies in
vintage-time,
About the wine-press where sweet must
is poured,
Beat off, returns as oft with humming
sound;
Or surging waves against a solid rock,
Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew,
(Vain battery!) and in froth or bubbles end--
So
Satan, whom repulse upon repulse
Met ever, and to
shameful silence brought,
Yet gives not o'er, though
desperate of success,
And his vain importunity
pursues.
He brought our Saviour to the western side
Of that high mountain, whence he might behold
Another
plain, long, but in breadth not wide,
Washed by the
southern sea, and on the north
To equal length backed
with a ridge of hills
That screened the fruits of the
earth and seats of men
From cold Septentrion blasts;
thence in the midst
Divided by a river, off whose
banks
On each side an Imperial City stood,
With
towers and temples proudly elevate
On seven small
hills, with palaces adorned,
Porches and theatres,
baths, aqueducts,
Statues and trophies, and triumphal
arcs,
Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes
Above the highth of mountains interposed--
By what
strange parallax, or optic skill
Of vision,
multiplied through air, or glass
Of telescope, were
curious to enquire.
And now the Tempter thus his
silence broke:--
"The city which thou seest no other
deem
Than great and glorious Rome, Queen of the Earth
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched
Of
nations. There the Capitol thou seest,
Above the rest
lifting his stately head
On the Tarpeian rock, her
citadel
Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine,
The
imperial palace, compass huge, and high
The
structure, skill of noblest architects,
With gilded
battlements, conspicuous far,
Turrets, and terraces,
and glittering spires.
Many a fair edifice besides,
more like
Houses of gods--so well I have disposed
My aerie microscope--thou may'st behold,
Outside and
inside both, pillars and roofs
Carved work, the hand
of famed artificers
In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold.
Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see
What conflux issuing forth, or entering in:
Praetors,
proconsuls to their provinces
Hasting, or on return,
in robes of state;
Lictors and rods, the ensigns of
their power;
Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and
wings;
Or embassies from regions far remote,
In
various habits, on the Appian road,
Or on the
AEmilian--some from farthest south,
Syene, and where
the shadow both way falls,
Meroe, Nilotic isle, and,
more to west,
The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor
sea;
From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these),
From India and the Golden Chersoness,
And utmost
Indian isle Taprobane,
Dusk faces with white silken
turbants wreathed;
From Gallia, Gades, and the
British west;
Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians
north
Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.
All
nations now to Rome obedience pay--
To Rome's great
Emperor, whose wide domain,
In ample territory,
wealth and power,
Civility of manners, arts and arms,
And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer
Before the
Parthian. These two thrones except,
The rest are
barbarous, and scarce worth the sight,
Shared among
petty kings too far removed;
These having shewn thee,
I have shewn thee all
The kingdoms of the world, and
all their glory.
This Emperor hath no son, and now is
old,
Old and lascivious, and from Rome retired
To
Capreae, an island small but strong
On the Campanian
shore, with purpose there
His horrid lusts in private
to enjoy;
Committing to a wicked favourite
All
public cares, and yet of him suspicious;
Hated of
all, and hating. With what ease,
Endued with regal
virtues as thou art,
Appearing, and beginning noble
deeds,
Might'st thou expel this monster from his
throne,
Now made a sty, and, in his place ascending,
A victor-people free from servile yoke!
And with my
help thou may'st; to me the power
Is given, and by
that right I give it thee.
Aim, therefore, at no less
than all the world;
Aim at the highest; without the
highest attained,
Will be for thee no sitting, or not
long,
On David's throne, be prophesied what will."
To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied:--
"Nor doth
this grandeur and majestic shew
Of luxury, though
called magnificence,
More than of arms before, allure
mine eye,
Much less my mind; though thou should'st
add to tell
Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous
feasts
On citron tables or Atlantic stone
(For I
have also heard, perhaps have read),
Their wines of
Setia, Cales, and Falerne,
Chios and Crete, and how
they quaff in gold,
Crystal, and myrrhine cups,
imbossed with gems
And studs of pearl--to me
should'st tell, who thirst
And hunger still. Then
embassies thou shew'st
From nations far and nigh!
What honour that,
But tedious waste of time, to sit
and hear
So many hollow compliments and lies,
Outlandish flatteries? Then proceed'st to talk
Of the
Emperor, how easily subdued,
How gloriously. I shall,
thou say'st, expel
A brutish monster: what if I
withal
Expel a Devil who first made him such?
Let
his tormentor, Conscience, find him out;
For him I
was not sent, nor yet to free
That people, victor
once, now vile and base,
Deservedly made vassal--who,
once just,
Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquered
well,
But govern ill the nations under yoke,
Peeling their provinces, exhausted all
By lust and
rapine; first ambitious grown
Of triumph, that
insulting vanity;
Then cruel, by their sports to
blood inured
Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts
exposed;
Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier
still,
And from the daily Scene effeminate.
What
wise and valiant man would seek to free
These, thus
degenerate, by themselves enslaved,
Or could of
inward slaves make outward free?
Know, therefore,
when my season comes to sit
On David's throne, it
shall be like a tree
Spreading and overshadowing all
the earth,
Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash
All monarchies besides throughout the world;
And of
my Kingdom there shall be no end.
Means there shall
be to this; but what the means
Is not for thee to
know, nor me to tell."
To whom the Tempter, impudent,
replied:--
"I see all offers made by me how slight
Thou valuest, because offered, and reject'st.
Nothing
will please the difficult and nice,
Or nothing more
than still to contradict.
On the other side know also
thou that I
On what I offer set as high esteem,
Nor what I part with mean to give for naught,
All
these, which in a moment thou behold'st,
The kingdoms
of the world, to thee I give
(For, given to me, I
give to whom I please),
No trifle; yet with this
reserve, not else--
On this condition, if thou wilt
fall down,
And worship me as thy superior Lord
(Easily done), and hold them all of me;
For what can
less so great a gift deserve?"
Whom thus our Saviour
answered with disdain:--
"I never liked thy talk, thy
offers less;
Now both abhor, since thou hast dared to
utter
The abominable terms, impious condition.
But
I endure the time, till which expired
Thou hast
permission on me. It is written,
The first of all
commandments, 'Thou shalt worship
The Lord thy God,
and only Him shalt serve.'
And dar'st thou to the Son
of God propound
To worship thee, accursed? now more
accursed
For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve,
And more blasphemous; which expect to rue.
The
kingdoms of the world to thee were given!
Permitted
rather, and by thee usurped;
Other donation none thou
canst produce.
If given, by whom but by the King of
kings,
God over all supreme? If given to thee,
By
thee how fairly is the Giver now
Repaid! But
gratitude in thee is lost
Long since. Wert thou so
void of fear or shame
As offer them to me, the Son of
God--
To me my own, on such abhorred pact,
That I
fall down and worship thee as God?
Get thee behind
me! Plain thou now appear'st
That Evil One, Satan for
ever damned."
To whom the Fiend, with fear abashed,
replied:--
"Be not so sore offended, Son of God--
Though Sons of God both Angels are and Men--
If I, to
try whether in higher sort
Than these thou bear'st
that title, have proposed
What both from Men and
Angels I receive,
Tetrarchs of Fire, Air, Flood, and
on the Earth
Nations besides from all the quartered
winds--
God of this World invoked, and World beneath.
Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold
To me
most fatal, me it most concerns.
The trial hath
indamaged thee no way,
Rather more honour left and
more esteem;
Me naught advantaged, missing what I
aimed.
Therefore let pass, as they are transitory,
The kingdoms of this world; I shall no more
Advise
thee; gain them as thou canst, or not.
And thou
thyself seem'st otherwise inclined
Than to a worldly
crown, addicted more
To contemplation and profound
dispute;
As by that early action may be judged,
When, slipping from thy mother's eye, thou went'st
Alone into the Temple, there wast found
Among the
gravest Rabbies, disputant
On points and questions
fitting Moses' chair,
Teaching, not taught. The
childhood shews the man,
As morning shews the day. Be
famous, then,
By wisdom; as thy empire must extend,
So let extend thy mind o'er all the world
In
knowledge; all things in it comprehend.
All knowledge
is not couched in Moses' law,
The Pentateuch, or what
the Prophets wrote;
The Gentiles also know, and
write, and teach
To admiration, led by Nature's
light;
And with the Gentiles much thou must converse,
Ruling them by persuasion, as thou mean'st.
Without
their learning, how wilt thou with them,
Or they with
thee, hold conversation meet?
How wilt thou reason
with them, how refute
Their idolisms, traditions,
paradoxes?
Error by his own arms is best evinced.
Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount,
Westward, much nearer by south-west; behold
Where on
the AEgean shore a city stands,
Built nobly, pure the
air and light the soil--
Athens, the eye of Greece,
mother of arts
And Eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,
City or suburban,
studious walks and shades.
See there the olive-grove
of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long;
There, flowery hill, Hymettus, with the sound
Of
bees' industrious murmur, oft invites
To studious
musing; there Ilissus rowls
His whispering stream.
Within the walls then view
The schools of ancient
sages--his who bred
Great Alexander to subdue the
world,
Lyceum there; and painted Stoa next.
There
thou shalt hear and learn the secret power
Of
harmony, in tones and numbers hit
By voice or hand,
and various-measured verse,
AEolian charms and Dorian
lyric odes,
And his who gave them breath, but higher
sung,
Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called,
Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own.
Thence
what the lofty grave Tragedians taught
In chorus or
iambic, teachers best
Of moral prudence, with delight
received
In brief sententious precepts, while they
treat
Of fate, and chance, and change in human life,
High actions and high passions best describing.
Thence to the famous Orators repair,
Those ancient
whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that
fierce democraty,
Shook the Arsenal, and fulmined
over Greece
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne.
To
sage Philosophy next lend thine ear,
From heaven
descended to the low-roofed house
Of Socrates--see
there his tenement--
Whom, well inspired, the Oracle
pronounced
Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued
forth
Mellifluous streams, that watered all the
schools
Of Academics old and new, with those
Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect
Epicurean, and
the Stoic severe.
These here revolve, or, as thou
likest, at home,
Till time mature thee to a kingdom's
weight;
These rules will render thee a king complete
Within thyself, much more with empire joined."
To
whom our Saviour sagely thus replied:--
"Think not
but that I know these things; or, think
I know them
not, not therefore am I short
Of knowing what I
ought. He who receives
Light from above, from the
Fountain of Light,
No other doctrine needs, though
granted true;
But these are false, or little else but
dreams,
Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm.
The first and wisest of them all professed
To know
this only, that he nothing knew;
The next to fabling
fell and smooth conceits;
A third sort doubted all
things, though plain sense;
Others in virtue placed
felicity,
But virtue joined with riches and long
life;
In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease;
The Stoic last in philosophic pride,
By him called
virtue, and his virtuous man,
Wise, perfect in
himself, and all possessing,
Equal to God, oft shames
not to prefer,
As fearing God nor man, contemning all
Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life--
Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can;
For all his tedious talk is but vain boast,
Or subtle
shifts conviction to evade.
Alas! what can they
teach, and not mislead,
Ignorant of themselves, of
God much more,
And how the World began, and how Man
fell,
Degraded by himself, on grace depending?
Much of the Soul they talk, but all awry;
And in
themselves seek virtue; and to themselves
All glory
arrogate, to God give none;
Rather accuse him under
usual names,
Fortune and Fate, as one regardless
quite
Of mortal things. Who, therefore, seeks in
these
True wisdom finds her not, or, by delusion
Far worse, her false resemblance only meets,
An empty
cloud. However, many books,
Wise men have said, are
wearisome; who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading
brings not
A spirit and judgment equal or superior,
(And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?)
Uncertain and unsettled still remains,
Deep-versed in
books and shallow in himself,
Crude or intoxicate,
collecting toys
And trifles for choice matters, worth
a sponge,
As children gathering pebbles on the shore.
Or, if I would delight my private hours
With music or
with poem, where so soon
As in our native language
can I find
That solace? All our Law and Story strewed
With hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscribed,
Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon
That pleased
so well our victor's ear, declare
That rather Greece
from us these arts derived--
Ill imitated while they
loudest sing
The vices of their deities, and their
own,
In fable, hymn, or song, so personating
Their
gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame.
Remove
their swelling epithetes, thick-laid
As varnish on a
harlot's cheek, the rest,
Thin-sown with aught of
profit or delight,
Will far be found unworthy to
compare
With Sion's songs, to all true tastes
excelling,
Where God is praised aright and godlike
men,
The Holiest of Holies and his Saints
(Such
are from God inspired, not such from thee);
Unless
where moral virtue is expressed
By light of Nature,
not in all quite lost.
Their orators thou then
extoll'st as those
The top of eloquence--statists
indeed,
And lovers of their country, as may seem;
But herein to our Prophets far beneath,
As men
divinely taught, and better teaching
The solid rules
of civil government,
In their majestic, unaffected
style,
Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome.
In
them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt,
What
makes a nation happy, and keeps it so,
What ruins
kingdoms, and lays cities flat;
These only, with our
Law, best form a king."
So spake the Son of God; but
Satan, now
Quite at a loss (for all his darts were
spent),
Thus to our Saviour, with stern brow,
replied:--
"Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor
arts,
Kingdom nor empire, pleases thee, nor aught
By me proposed in life contemplative
Or active,
tended on by glory or fame,
What dost thou in this
world? The Wilderness
For thee is fittest place: I
found thee there,
And thither will return thee. Yet
remember
What I foretell thee; soon thou shalt have
cause
To wish thou never hadst rejected, thus
Nicely or cautiously, my offered aid,
Which would
have set thee in short time with ease
On David's
throne, or throne of all the world,
Now at full age,
fulness of time, thy season,
When prophecies of thee
are best fulfilled.
Now, contrary--if I read aught in
heaven,
Or heaven write aught of fate--by what the
stars
Voluminous, or single characters
In their
conjunction met, give me to spell,
Sorrows and
labours, opposition, hate,
Attends thee; scorns,
reproaches, injuries,
Violence and stripes, and,
lastly, cruel death.
A kingdom they portend thee, but
what kingdom,
Real or allegoric, I discern not;
Nor when: eternal sure--as without end,
Without
beginning; for no date prefixed
Directs me in the
starry rubric set."
So saying, he took (for still he
knew his power
Not yet expired), and to the
Wilderness
Brought back, the Son of God, and left him
there,
Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose,
As daylight sunk, and brought in louring Night,
Her
shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both,
Privation mere
of light and absent day.
Our Saviour, meek, and with
untroubled mind
After hisaerie jaunt, though hurried
sore,
Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest,
Wherever, under some concourse of shades,
Whose
branching arms thick intertwined might shield
From
dews and damps of night his sheltered head;
But,
sheltered, slept in vain; for at his head
The Tempter
watched, and soon with ugly dreams
Disturbed his
sleep. And either tropic now
'Gan thunder, and both
ends of heaven; the clouds
From many a horrid rift
abortive poured
Fierce rain with lightning mixed,
water with fire,
In ruin reconciled; nor slept the
winds
Within their stony caves, but rushed abroad
From the four hinges of the world, and fell
On the
vexed wilderness, whose tallest pines,
Though rooted
deep as high, and sturdiest oaks,
Bowed their stiff
necks, loaden with stormy blasts,
Or torn up sheer.
Ill wast thou shrouded then,
O patient Son of God,
yet only stood'st
Unshaken! Nor yet staid the terror
there:
Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round
Environed thee; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked,
Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou
Sat'st unappalled in calm and sinless peace.
Thus
passed the night so foul, till Morning fair
Came
forth with pilgrim steps, in amice grey,
Who with her
radiant finger stilled the roar
Of thunder, chased
the clouds, and laid the winds,
And griesly spectres,
which the Fiend had raised
To tempt the Son of God
with terrors dire.
And now the sun with more
effectual beams
Had cheered the face of earth, and
dried the wet
From drooping plant, or dropping tree;
the birds,
Who all things now behold more fresh and
green,
After a night of storm so ruinous,
Cleared
up their choicest notes in bush and spray,
To
gratulate the sweet return of morn.
Nor yet, amidst
this joy and brightest morn,
Was absent, after all
his mischief done,
The Prince of Darkness; glad would
also seem
Of this fair change, and to our Saviour
came;
Yet with no new device (they all were spent),
Rather by this his last affront resolved,
Desperate
of better course, to vent his rage
And mad despite to
be so oft repelled.
Him walking on a sunny hill he
found,
Backed on the north and west by a thick wood;
Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape,
And in a
careless mood thus to him said:--
"Fair morning yet
betides thee, Son of God,
After a dismal night. I
heard the wrack,
As earth and sky would mingle; but
myself
Was distant; and these flaws, though mortals
fear them,
As dangerous to the pillared frame of
Heaven,
Or to the Earth's dark basis underneath,
Are to the main as inconsiderable
And harmless, if
not wholesome, as a sneeze
To man's less universe,
and soon are gone.
Yet, as being ofttimes noxious
where they light
On man, beast, plant, wasteful and
turbulent,
Like turbulencies in the affairs of men,
Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point,
They
oft fore-signify and threaten ill.
This tempest at
this desert most was bent;
Of men at thee, for only
thou here dwell'st.
Did I not tell thee, if thou
didst reject
The perfect season offered with my aid
To win thy destined seat, but wilt prolong
All to the
push of fate, pursue thy way
Of gaining David's
throne no man knows when
(For both the when and how
is nowhere told),
Thou shalt be what thou art
ordained, no doubt;
For Angels have proclaimed it,
but concealing
The time and means? Each act is
rightliest done
Not when it must, but when it may be
best.
If thou observe not this, be sure to find
What I foretold thee--many a hard assay
Of dangers,
and adversities, and pains,
Ere thou of Israel's
sceptre get fast hold;
Whereof this ominous night
that closed thee round,
So many terrors, voices,
prodigies,
May warn thee, as a sure foregoing sign."
So talked he, while the Son of God went on,
And staid
not, but in brief him answered thus:--
"Me worse than
wet thou find'st not; other harm
Those terrors which
thou speak'st of did me none.
I never feared they
could, though noising loud
And threatening nigh: what
they can do as signs
Betokening or ill-boding I
contemn
As false portents, not sent from God, but
thee;
Who, knowing I shall reign past thy preventing,
Obtrud'st thy offered aid, that I, accepting,
At
least might seem to hold all power of thee,
Ambitious
Spirit! and would'st be thought my God;
And storm'st,
refused, thinking to terrify
Me to thy will! Desist
(thou art discerned,
And toil'st in vain), nor me in
vain molest."
To whom the Fiend, now swoln with rage,
replied:--
"Then hear, O Son of David, virgin-born!
For Son of God to me is yet in doubt.
Of the Messiah
I have heard foretold
By all the Prophets; of thy
birth, at length
Announced by Gabriel, with the first
I knew,
And of the angelic song in Bethlehem field,
On thy birth-night, that sung thee Saviour born.
From
that time seldom have I ceased to eye
Thy infancy,
thy childhood, and thy youth,
Thy manhood last,
though yet in private bred;
Till, at the ford of
Jordan, whither all
Flocked to the Baptist, I among
the rest
(Though not to be baptized), by voice from
Heaven
Heard thee pronounced the Son of God beloved.
Thenceforth I thought thee worth my nearer view
And
narrower scrutiny, that I might learn
In what degree
or meaning thou art called
The Son of God, which
bears no single sense.
The Son of God I also am, or
was;
And, if I was, I am; relation stands:
All men
are Sons of God; yet thee I thought
In some respect
far higher so declared.
Therefore I watched thy
footsteps from that hour,
And followed thee still on
to this waste wild,
Where, by all best conjectures, I
collect
Thou art to be my fatal enemy.
Good
reason, then, if I beforehand seek
To understand my
adversary, who
And what he is; his wisdom, power,
intent;
By parle or composition, truce or league,
To win him, or win from him what I can.
And
opportunity I here have had
To try thee, sift thee,
and confess have found thee
Proof against all
temptation, as a rock
Of adamant and as a centre,
firm
To the utmost of mere man both wise and good,
Not more; for honours, riches, kingdoms, glory,
Have
been before contemned, and may again.
Therefore, to
know what more thou art than man,
Worth naming the
Son of God by voice from Heaven,
Another method I
must now begin."
So saying, he caught him up, and,
without wing
Of hippogrif, bore through the air
sublime,
Over the wilderness and o'er the plain,
Till underneath them fair Jerusalem,
The Holy City,
lifted high her towers,
And higher yet the glorious
Temple reared
Her pile, far off appearing like a
mount
Of alablaster, topt with golden spires:
There, on the highest pinnacle, he set
The Son of
God, and added thus in scorn:--
"There stand, if thou
wilt stand; to stand upright
Will ask thee skill. I
to thy Father's house
Have brought thee, and highest
placed: highest is best.
Now shew thy progeny; if not
to stand,
Cast thyself down. Safely, if Son of God;
For it is written, 'He will give command
Concerning
thee to his Angels; in their hands
They shall uplift
thee, lest at any time
Thou chance to dash thy foot
against a stone.'"
To whom thus Jesus: "Also it is
written,
'Tempt not the Lord thy God.'" He said, and
stood;
But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell.
As
when Earth's son, Antaeus (to compare
Small things
with greatest), in Irassa strove
With Jove's Alcides,
and, oft foiled, still rose,
Receiving from his
mother Earth new strength,
Fresh from his fall, and
fiercer grapple joined,
Throttled at length in the
air expired and fell,
So, after many a foil, the
Tempter proud,
Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his
pride
Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall;
And, as that Theban monster that proposed
Her riddle,
and him who solved it not devoured,
That once found
out and solved, for grief and spite
Cast herself
headlong from the Ismenian steep,
So, strook with
dread and anguish, fell the Fiend,
And to his crew,
that sat consulting, brought
Joyless triumphals of
his hoped success,
Ruin, and desperation, and dismay,
Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God.
So Satan
fell; and straight a fiery globe
Of Angels on full
sail of wing flew nigh,
Who on their plumy vans
received Him soft
From his uneasy station, and upbore,
As on a floating couch, through the blithe air;
Then,
in a flowery valley, set him down
On a green bank,
and set before him spread
A table of celestial food,
divine
Ambrosial fruits fetched from the Tree of
Life,
And from the Fount of Life ambrosial drink,
That soon refreshed him wearied, and repaired
What
hunger, if aught hunger, had impaired,
Or thirst;
and, as he fed, Angelic quires
Sung heavenly anthems
of his victory
Over temptation and the Tempter
proud:--
"True Image of the Father, whether throned
In the bosom of bliss, and light of light
Conceiving,
or, remote from Heaven, enshrined
In fleshly
tabernacle and human form,
Wandering the
wilderness--whatever place,
Habit, or state, or
motion, still expressing
The Son of God, with Godlike
force endued
Against the attempter of thy Father's
throne
And thief of Paradise! Him long of old
Thou
didst debel, and down from Heaven cast
With all his
army; now thou hast avenged
Supplanted Adam, and, by
vanquishing
Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise,
And frustrated the conquest fraudulent.
He never more
henceforth will dare set foot
In paradise to tempt;
his snares are broke.
For, though that seat of
earthly bliss be failed,
A fairer Paradise is founded
now
For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou,
A
Saviour, art come down to reinstall;
Where they shall
dwell secure, when time shall be,
Of tempter and
temptation without fear.
But thou, Infernal Serpent!
shalt not long
Rule in the clouds. Like an autumnal
star,
Or lightning, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod
down
Under his feet. For proof, ere this thou feel'st
Thy wound (yet not thy last and deadliest wound)
By
this repulse received, and hold'st in Hell
No
triumph; in all her gates Abaddon rues
Thy bold
attempt. Hereafter learn with awe
To dread the Son of
God. He, all unarmed,
Shall chase thee, with the
terror of his voice,
From thy demoniac holds,
possession foul--
Thee and thy legions; yelling they
shall fly,
And beg to hide them in a herd of swine,
Lest he command them down into the Deep,
Bound, and
to torment sent before their time.
Hail, Son of the
Most High, heir of both Worlds,
Queller of Satan! On
thy glorious work
Now enter, and begin to save
Mankind."
Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meek,
Sung victor, and, from heavenly feast refreshed,
Brought on his way with joy. He, unobserved,
Home to
his mother's house private returned.
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