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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 height 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;

       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 fixed 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

       Had to impose. He through the armed 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 th' 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,

       Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost

       All her original brightness, nor appeared

       Less than Archangel ruined, and th' excess

       Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen

       Looks through the horizontal misty air

       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 th' 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

       For ever now to have their lot in pain—

       Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced

       Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung

       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 way:—

       "O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers

       Matchless, but with th' Almighty!—and that strife

       Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire,

       As this place testifies, and this dire change,

       Hateful to utter. But what power of mind,

       Forseeing 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,

       That all these puissant legions, whose exile

       Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re-ascend,

       Self-raised, and repossess their native seat?

       For me, be witness all the host of Heaven,

       If counsels different, or danger 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,

       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 ere long

       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 th' Abyss

       Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts

       Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired;

       For who can think submission? War, then, war

       Open or understood,

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