Calvary. Book I. the Assembling of the Devils

Hail, awful CALVARY! forsaking now Aonian haunts and the unhallow'd Nine, I visit thy sad mount, and thence invite The mournful echoes to my deep-ton'd harp, Hymning the whilst in solemn numbers praise To God for mercies purchas'd by the death Of that mysterious Being, virgin-born, Savior of lost mankind, who on the cross, Lord though he be of life and one with God, In mortal pangs expir'd; there to atone For a degenerate world, by his pure blood To wash original corruption out, And rising victor from the grave dispel Sin and it's offspring Death, with all the train Of idol gods, usurping earth and heav'n. Now had the wond'rous acts by JESUS wrought Spread wide his fame thro' all Judaea's realm; The leper cleans'd, the blind to sight restor'd, The sick to health and ev'n the dead to life, Tho' warn'd to silence, for his modest ear Sought not the praise of men, so much the more Publish'd his mercies; Daemons at his call With horrid shrieks, that testified his power, Came forth from men possest and fled; his voice Rebuk'd the seas and winds; vast was the throng That follow'd where he led, and thousands found In the waste wilderness mirac'lous food: They saw, they marvel'd, and of force confest Messias in his power, not so in form; For there no comeliness, no outward grace, No princely state appear'd: Slow to renounce Illusions long indulg'd, their wavering minds 'Twixt two opinions halted, while in place Of these bright visions they beheld a man Lowly and meek, a houseless wanderer, That had not where on earth to lay his head:— Such can our Israel's great Restorer be, Such our Messias?—Thus their troubled thoughts Like meeting currents clash'd; when as he spake Truth flow'd resistless from his lips, his eyes Beam'd mercy, and his Father's glory shone Effulgent in his face; then every tongue Was hush'd to silence, every doubt dispell'd, And every heart confess'd him Lord and Christ. 'Twas night, when SATAN, prince of darkness call'd, And fitly call'd, for evil hates the day, Walk'd forth on hellish meditation bent, Prowling the wilderness: Where'er he trode, Earth quak'd beneath his foot; before him roll'd Thick cloud and vapour, making night's dark shade More black and terrible; the beasts of prey, Every wild thing that roams the savage waste And howling to the moon demands it's food, Fled his approach; the lion and the pard Scented the blast and slunk into their dens; For whilst his breast with raging passions boil'd, Hatred, revenge and blasphemous despight, The sighs he vented from the hell within Breath'd death into the air; his haggard eyes, Which still in speechless agonies he roll'd, Out-glar'd the hyaena's; other fires than their's To light his dismal path he needed none. Now, having stretch'd athwart the sandy wild Clear to its rocky verge, the Arch-fiend paus'd And upward cast his eye, if haply there Darkling he might discern what saucy mound Dar'd to arrest his course; for yet there dwelt Such vigor in his wing, nor depth, nor heighth, Mountains nor seas might check his bold career, Were he so purpos'd; neither would he deign To ask one charitable star for light, Thoughtful of former glory, when he soar'd Son of the morning far above their spheres. Whereat he 'gan put forth his plumed vans From either shoulder stretcht for flight, when soon The fuel'd clouds to fierce encounter rush'd, Loud thunders bellow'd, and the lightning's flash Smote on the craggy cliff; at sight whereof Conscious that now he press'd the fatal spot, Where late he commun'd with the Son of God, Who for the space of forty days and nights Foil'd ev'ry vain device, with shame abash'd And pondering in his mind his foul defeat, Down, down at once his flagging pinions fell Close cow'ring to his ribs: As some proud ship Between the tropics o'er th' Atlantic wave Speeding amain to reach her destin'd port, If chance th' experienc'd mariner espies The gathering hurricane, no stay, no stop, Quick to the yard each swelling sail is furl'd, The curl'd waves whitening as the torrent drives, And soon her taunt and lofty topmast lower'd Strikes to the gale; so he his towering heighth, That to angelic stature now had swell'd, Shrunk into human size, nor other seem'd Than pilgrim squalid and with years and toil Bending decrepit, when from his full heart Words intermixt with groans thus forc'd their way. Yes, hateful wilderness, detested rocks, Whom I would curse, had Nature left one blade On your bare ribs, which cursing I might blast, Full well I know you; deep, too deep engrav'd On memory's tablet your rude horrors live. And you, officious lightnings, hide your fires! Come, Night, again; let central darkness shrowd Scenes, whose tormenting recollection stabs My unavenged soul. Can I forget This Son of Joseph? Son of God henceforth Of force I must confess him, for what less Than god-like constancy could have withstood Temptations great and terrible as mine? Something which man is not he needs must be, Virtue, that angels boast not, he must have, Else had my snares enclos'd him, else the world, Which then was mine to give, had been a bribe Too glorious not to dazzle every eye But his, who made those glories what they are. Still I must doubt the Father's love sincere, Tho' loudly vouch'd by his own voice from heav'n: Is this a father's love, is this his care, Here to expose him to this desart wild Forty long sleepless nights and fasting days, No Angel guard about him, lost, forlorn, Abandon'd to the elements, to beasts More fierce than this loud storm; nay, fiercer still, To me than all more terrible, to me, Foe of his life inveterate and avow'd? Rare sample of God's love! If here his CHRIST Encounter'd aught of danger; and if none, What else could prompt him to this vain display Of voluntary penance, but the love Of flattery and a despicable wish To hear himself applauded? In this spot, Beneath the jutting roof of this rude cliff, I first surpriz'd this wand'ring Son of God, This Savior of the world: Fainting he seem'd With thirst and hunger, pale as death his cheek, His hollow eyes deep sunk, and from his brow Big drops of sweat distill'd, as one o'erspent And sinking to the earth there to expire: A ready tale he had for pity's ear, A melancholy list of wants and woes; He had not tasted food, and fairly own'd That Nature's cravings were intense; when I, Glad at the heart to find him thus besieg'd With appetite so eager, stooping down, From the dissever'd fragments, that here lie About the base of this storm-beaten rock, Chose out a few smooth stones, and tempting said, If thou art hungry, eat; convert these stones, If thou art God's own Son, to bread, and eat! But he not so beguil'd spurn'd them away, And silenc'd me with text of holy writ: A nobler appetite I next assail'd, Ambition; to the mountain's top we soar'd; I spread the kingdoms of the earth in sight, Fit sight to whet the hunger of the mind; But mind and body he alike would starve, Nor thank nor homage render back for food Of my providing: One last hope remain'd; Methought there was a godly pride about him, Which with right holy flattery I might win: Upon the temple's topmost pinnacle I plac'd this scorner of an earthly crown, And bade him be a God; Cast thyself down; Behold, quoth I, the Angels are on wing To bear thee up unhurt: With stern rebuke, Get thee behind me SATAN! he replied; Some power unseen control'd me, down I fell, Down from the giddy eminence I plung'd, And left him to his Angels, whilst their hymns And halelujahs echo'd through the air His triumphs and my second fall from heav'n. And now if dark despair shall reach this heart, Which of hell's tetrarchs can arraign their king, Or fix on me his share of public loss And overthrow sustain'd in this attack? None, for none dare. If I, till now supreme, Great idol of the Gentile world, for whom So many groves, so many altars blaze; If I, to whom by various names ador'd Thousands of temples rife, whilst one alone, One solitary pile on Sion's hill Echoes the praise of God, neglected else Of all; if I, if SATAN must submit To CHRIST, revenge to patience, war to peace, And men must learn new maxims of forgiveness, Maxims I neither practise nor instil, Heroes and kings and conquerors, farewell! Greater is he who serves than he who reigns: To suffer, to submit, to turn the cheek To the proud smiter, these are virtues now; Hence with such virtues! If these rules obtain, If this tame doctrine shall unman the world, Altars and groves and temples all must sink; Olympus and its synod, every Grace And every Muse, all that the chissel wrought In Greece or Rome, shall moulder into dust, And CHRIST and Reason shall usurp the world. He ceas'd, and now his swelling bosom heav'd With indignation like the labouring earth, Which subterranean vapors undermine, Pent in it's sulph'rous entrails: Up he sprung To that high mountain top whence he review'd The kingdoms of the earth, whilst at his side CHRIST's humble virtue stood, on other realms, Realms of immortal happiness, intent: Here, as a vulture, on the craggy peak Of Caucasus or Haemus left to watch, Screams out his shrill alarm, at sound whereof The carrion troop, upon the wing for prey, Come flocking to the signal, SATAN thus Stood eminent, and call'd his dark compeers; So loud he call'd, that to the farthest bounds Of Pagan isle or continent was heard His voice re-echoing thro' the vault of heav'n. Heroes and demi-gods, Olympian powers, Infernal princes of hell's dark abyss, Heav'n's exiles, spirits of air, water, fire, Or whatsoever element confines Your incorporeal effences, Oh hear! Hear and assemble! 'tis your leader calls; It is your champion's voice, in happier hours Heard and obey'd, now in extremest need Be present and assist our great divan. No more, for soon was heard the distant sound Of wings that beat the air; from every point Of the four winds the gathering swarm came on; From Grete, from Cyprus and the Ionian coast, From Egypt, Afric and the Ausonian shores, Gods of all names, dimensions and degrees. Great was their sovereign's triumph to behold This prompt obedience to his high command; For now descending on the desart heath To martial music, the infernal host In bands and columns, by their chiefs arrang'd, Stood firm; if ever gleam of joy might reach Heart so accurs'd, the Arch-fiend had felt it here, As with a monarch's eye he now review'd His armies, covering all the swarthy plain. Come, Muse, and to your suppliant's eyes impart One ray of that pure light, which late you pour'd On the dark orbs of your immortal Bard Eclips'd by drop serene: Conduct me now, Me from my better days of bold emprize Far in decline, and with the hoary hand Of Time hard stricken, yet adventuring forth O'er Nature's limits into worlds unseen, Peopled with shadowy forms and phantoms dire: Oh! bear me on your pinions in this void, Where weary foot ne'er rested; and behold! All hell bursts forth: Support me, or I sink. Now glimm'ring twilight streak'd the Eastern sky, For he, that on his forehead brings the morn, Star-crowned PHOSPHORUS had heard the call, And with the foremost stood. Beside him one Of towering stature and majestic port, Himself a host; his black and curling locks Down his herculean shoulders copious flow'd; In glittering brass upon his shield he bore A kingly eagle, ensign of command, BAAL his name, second to none in state Save only his great chieftain; worshipp'd long In Babylon, till Daniel drove him thence With all his gluttonous priests; exalted since High above all the idol gods of Greece, Thron'd on Olympus, and his impious hand Arm'd with the thunder; yet he ru'd the zeal Of furious Jehu, and that mournful day, When he beheld his altars stream with blood, His prophets and his priests by hundreds slain Upon Mount Carmel. MOLOCH in the van, Mail'd at all points for war, with spear and helm And plumed crest and garments roll'd in blood, Flam'd like a meteor: Him with horrid joy SATAN awhile survey'd, then sighing cried, Oh! worthy of command, had all like thee So bravely fought, heav'n never had been lost. Thence as he glanc'd his eye, far other form And much unfit for war he next espied, CHEMOS, the sin of Moab; power obscene, Emasculate and soft, in loose attire A sensual deity; his glory 'twas In arts of base seduction to excel, And leagu'd with harlots to have turn'd the heart Of that wise king, and drawn him from his God To bend his aged knees at idol shrines. Close at his side stood one, in whose soft eyes Ensnaring smiles and beauteous ruin lurk'd; Oh! that such grace should be allied to sin; Zidonian goddess, ASHTORETH her name; Heav'n would not quite destroy so fair a work, But wantonness usurp'd an angel face, And with her innocence had chang'd her sex: Yet let that sex beware, for in their souls, When once she enters, peace no longer dwells; Witness that Magdalen, whose frantic breast, Till by CHRIST's mercy heal'd, sev'n daemons rent, All sin-begotten, all her brood accurst. BUT SATAN, whose stern heart, stranger to love, All weakness tho' in shape of sin disdain'd, And only priz'd spirits more like himself, Indignant turn'd aside, and bent his eye Where DAGON, giant god, amidst the ranks, Like Teneriff or Aetna, proudly tower'd: DAGON of Gath and Askalon the boast In that sad flight, when on Gilboa's mount The shield of Saul was vilely thrown away, And Israel's beauty perish'd: Him awhile With scowling eye the infernal king survey'd, Then taunting cried, O DAGON, vast in size, In soul diminutive, had that huge mass Valour proportionate, heav'n had been our's; But fitter thou, dull spirit, to people hell Than re-assault God's throne: Where was thy pride, When overthrown in Gaza by the strength Of that uxorious Danite? Humbled now I know thy nightly haunts, and how thou driv'st Wretches possest to hide themselves in tombs, Whence I beheld thee 'midst the herd unclean Scour down the steep and plunge into the sea. But now a fairer form arrests the eye Of hell's despotic lord; his radiant vest Of Tyrian purple, studded thick with gems, Flow'd graceful; He for courts was form'd, for feasts, For ladies chambers and for amorous sports; He lov'd not camps nor the rude toils of war; BELIAL his name; around his temples twin'd A wreath of roses, and, where'er he pass'd, His garments fann'd a breeze of rich perfume: No ear had he for the shrill-toned trump, Him the soft warble of the Lydian flute Delighted rather, the love-soothing harp, Sappho's loose song and the Aonian Maids And zoneless Graces floating in the dance; Yet from his lips sweet eloquence distill'd, As honey from the bee, but still his voice Ne'er counsell'd aught but cunning and deceit, Mean truce and base capitulating terms; Therefore by SATAN held in slight account, For devils affect a dignity in sin. Last in the field, and from the rest apart, Was MAMMON; cautious was his step and slow, His eye still watchful to prevent surprize, Squalid his vesture and his locks uncomb'd; For gain and usury engross'd his soul, Nor other care had he but to amass Wealth unenjoy'd, and gloat upon his hoard: Had there been only happiness in heav'n And gold in hell, MAMMON had spurn'd the bliss, And hugg'd the treasure cheaply earn'd with pain. His princes thus review'd, from the hill top SATAN swift-glancing flew, and in the midst Rose like a meteor; whereat all the host Sent up a general shout: he with his hand Gave sign, and wheel'd the Stygian phalanx round, Horrible sight! A theatre of fiends, And each the foe of man; idols and imps, Wizzards, familiars, sprites, phantasmas, dreams, Sorrows and pains and deaths in every shape Cover'd the blasted heath: Th' infernal king, Tho' in his heart, by mutinous passions torn, Thought clash'd with thought, and all was anarchy, Yet with assum'd composure beck'ning forth His princes, whilst th' inferior throng stood off, And mute attention reign'd, in few thus spake: Friends and confederates, welcome! for this proof Of your affiance, thanks! On every call, Whether we need your counsel or your arms, Joyful I see your ready zeal displays Virtues, which hell itself cannot corrupt. I mean not to declame: The occasion told Speaks its own import, and the time's dispatch All waste of words forbids. God's Son on earth, CHRIST, the reveal'd Messias, how to oppose Is now the question; by what force, or power— Temptations have been tried, I name not them— Or dark conspiracy, we may pull down This sun of righteousness from his bright sphere Declare, who can: I pause for a reply. Silence ensu'd, whilst every eye was turn'd Instinctively on BAAL; he of all Hell's magi fill'd the seat of wisdom chief: Experienc'd long in craft, and nothing apt To give strait counsel, slow of speech he was; To hint, propound, dilate, and so entice Other opinions forth, them to refute, And thereon build his own, was all his art. After long pause and hesitation feign'd, Stale trick of orators, he thus began: Why thus on me, as I were worthy, me, Lost being like yourselves, as I alone Cou'd compass this high argument, on me, Least in your sapient conclave, why you point These scrutinizing looks, I muse; and aw'd By this your expectation fain wou'd shrink From the great task to silence, had you not O'er these poor faculties such full controul, As to put by all pleas, and call them forth In heav'n or earth, or hell's profound abyss, Your's in all uses, present at all hours. Our kingly chief hath told us we are met To combat CHRIST on earth: Be't so! We yet May try our fortune in another field; Worse fortune than in heav'n befell our arms, Worse downfall than to hell, we cannot prove. But with the scene our action too must change: How? to what warfare? Circumvention, fraud, Seduction; these are earthly weapons, these As man to man opposes, so must we To CHRIST incarnate. There be some, who cry, Hence with such dastard arts! War, open war! I honor such bold counsellors, and yield All that I can, my praise; till one be found, One that may rival God's own Son in power, And miracle to miracle oppose, More than my praise I cannot, my assent I will not give; 'twere madness: And how war With God? what arms may we employ 'gainst him, Whose very prophets can call down heaven's fires Upon our priests and altars? For myself, What powers I had I shall not soon forget; What I have left I know, and for your use Shall husband as I may, not vainly risque Where they must surely fail. The Jews pretend That CHRIST colludes with Belzebub; the Jews As far mistake my nature as my name: The fallacy, O peers, confutes itself, Forg'd to disparage CHRIST, not honor me: Oh! that I had his wonder-working powers; I'm not that fool to turn them on myself: No, my brave friends, I've yet too much to lose; Though Babylon's proud shrines are laid in dust, Rome's capitol survives, and thro' the world Where'er her eagles fly, upon their wings They bear my thunder and they spread my fame: Therefore no more of Belzebub and CHRIST; No league, no compact can we hold together. What then ensues? Despair? Perish the thought! The brave renounce it, and the wise prevent; You are both wise and brave. Our leader says Temptations have been tried, and tried in vain, Himself the tempter. Who will tread that ground, Where he was foil'd? For Adam a mere toy, An apple serv'd; CHRIST is not brib'd by worlds: So much the second Man exceeds the first In strength and glory. But tho' CHRIST himself Will not be tempted, those who hear him may: Jews may be urg'd to envy, to revenge, To murder; a rebellious race of old, To kill a prophet or betray his God What Jew was ever found to need the spur? Wist ye not what a train this preacher hath, What followers, what disciples? These are men, Mere men, frail sons of Adam, born in sin. Here is our hope. I leave it to your thoughts. He ceas'd, but neither murmur nor applause Follow'd his speech, for MOLOCH, whose fell heart Ill stomach'd this tame counsel, least of all Taunts thinly cover'd under mask of praise, Sprung forth impetuous, and with scowling brow And accent acrimonious thus replied: My thoughts it seems are known before I speak; War, open war is all my note: I rise To thank the prophet, who thus reads my heart, Where honesty shou'd wear it, in my face; That face from danger I did never hide, How then from him? Nor am I by his praise More honor'd than by his dissenting voice: For whilst he counsels circumvention, fraud, Seduction,—if my memory wrongs his words I yield it to correction,—we stand off Wide as the poles apart. Much I had hop'd When the great Tempter fail'd and in your ears Sung his own honor's dirge, we had heard the last Of plots and mean temptations; mean I call them, For great names cannot sanctify mean deeds: SATAN himself knows I oppos'd the attempt, Appeal'd, protested; my thrice-honor'd chief Knows it full well and blushes for th' event. And are we now caballing how to outwit A few poor harmless fishermen, for such Are CHRIST's disciples; how to gull and cheat Their simple hearts of honesty? Oh peers, For shame, if not for pity, leave them that, That beggar's virtue: And is this the theme, The mighty theme, which now employs the thoughts Of your immortal synod? Shame, Oh shame! Princes, Dominions, Arch-angelic Thrones, Imperial Lords! these were your titles once, By these names ye were known above the stars, Shame not your antient dignities, nor sink Beneath the vilest of the sons of men, Whisperers, informers, spies. If CHRIST be God, Fight, as becometh you to fight, with God: If man, and sure his birth bespeaks no more, Why all this preparation, this consult, These mighty machinations and cabals? Off with your foe at once, dismiss him hence Where all his brother prophets have been sent; Where his precursor John is gone before, Whose voice still echoes thro' this wilderness:— "Repent ye, for God's kingdom is at hand! "Prepare ye the Lord's way!"—It is prepar'd; It leads to death, it marshals him the road To that oblivious bourne, whence none return: Herod yet lives; another royal feast, Another wanton dance, and he, for whom So many innocents were slain, shall fall. Once vanquish'd, are we therefore to despair? In heav'n unequal battle we provok'd; Tho' vast our host, the million was with God: On earth enquire of all the nations round Whom they will serve, with one voice they reply, We are their gods; they feed us with their blood, Their sons and daughters they make pass through fire To do us grace; if their own flesh they give, Shall they with-hold to sacrifice a foe? Twelve tribes were all Jehovah had on earth, And ten are lost; of this small remnant few And wretched are the friends that league with Heav'n. And where is now CHRIST's promis'd reign on earth? When God's own servants rise against his Son, And those, to whom the promises were giv'n, Revolt from their Messias, can we wish Greater revenge? What need have we to tempt Them, who have hearts rebellious as our own, As prompt to malice, no less prone to vex God's righteous spirit? And let come what may, It comes not to our loss, rather our gain. Let God arise to vengeance; let him pour Destruction on his temple, whose proud heighth Our chief can witness, measur'd by his fall: Let him not leave one stone upon another, As his rash Son hath menac'd; let his wrath Thro' all the inhospitable earth disperse His scatter'd tribes; such ever be the fate Of all his worshippers! May scorn, contempt, Derision be their lot, and may their God Never recall his curse! Are we, O peers, To mourn for his Jerusalem? Our joy Springs from confusion; enmity 'twixt God And man is our best triumph: For myself, War is my harvest, then my altars blaze Brightest, when human victims feed the flame. Breathless he paus'd, so rapid was the pulse Of his high-beating heart he stood as one Choak'd and convuls'd with rage; when as he ceas'd, He smote his mailed habergeon so loud, Hell's armed legions heard, and shook their spears Betok'ning war: Frowning he look'd around, Whilst from his fiery eyes such terror glanc'd, It seem'd as if his pride meant to abash And silence all opposers: Yet not long His triumph, for now BELIAL from the ranks Graceful advanc'd, and as he put aside His purple robe in act to speak, the throng, Such was the dazzling beauty of his form, Fell back a space; then stood all eyes and ears In expectation mute as death: Though hell Own'd not a spirit more false, sensual and base, Yet ever as he spake such action grac'd His words, so musically soft they flow'd, Who most despis'd the pleader prais'd the speech: When thus with mild insinuating looks, Masking his rancorous heart, the Fiend began. After so many peaceful ages past Since first emerging from hell's dark abyss, Rous'd by our Arch-angelic Chief, we sprung Up to this middle region, and here seiz'd On this terrestrial globe, created first For man, our vassal now, where at full ease, Lords of the elements and gods ador'd, We reign and revel undisturb'd of Heav'n, If God, whose jealousy be sure ill brooks That this fair world should be so long possess'd Of us his exil'd angels, and his name Pent up in Palestine, should now arouse His slumb'ring wrath, and his best strength put forth To wrestle for lost empire, and our earth, As we in evil hour his heav'n, assail, Who of this mighty synod but must own The provocation warrants the retort? If then the Maker of mankind hath cause To meditate their rescue, we no less Have cause to oppose th' attempt, and hold them fast To their allegiance in despite of Heav'n. Much then we owe to our great Leader's care, Which, ever watchful o'er the public weal, Calls us to this full council, here to meet In grave consult how best we may repair Past disappointments, and repel the spite Of this new Champion, levell'd at our shrines. Great is the trouble of my thoughts, O peers, And much perplex'd am I with doubts, what name, Nature and office to ascribe to CHRIST; In form the lowliest of the sons of men, In miracles omnipotent as God; Whose voice controuls the stoutest of our host, Bids the graves open and their dead come forth; Whose very touch is health; who with a glance Pervades each heart, absolves it or condemns; Whose virgin birth credulity scarce owns, And Nature disavows. Prais'd to all time, Immortal as himself be the renown Of that wise spirit, who shall devise the means By force or fraud to overthrow the power Of this mysterious foe, what shall I say?— Priest, Prophet, King, Messias, Son of God. Yet how God's unity, which well we know Endures no second, should adopt a Son And essence indivisible divide, Baffles my weak conjecture: Let that pass! To such hard doctrines I subscribe no faith: I'll call him man inspir'd, and wait till death Gives sentence of mortality upon him. Meanwhile let circumspection on our part Fill all the anxious interim; alarm Rome's jealousy, stir up the captious spleen Of the proud Pharisee, beset him round With snares to catch him, urge the envious priests, For envy still beneath the altar lurks, And note the man he trusts. MAMMON could tell, Though MAMMON boasts not of his own success, How few of human mould have yet withstood His glittering, golden lures. The sword can kill Man's body, gold destroys his very soul: Yet mark me well, I counsel not to tempt The Master; poverty can do no more Than his own mortifying penance does, Hunger and thirst and obstinately starve, When his mere wish could make the rock a spring And its hard fragments bread: Yet sure I am All are not CHRIST's in heart, who with their lips Confess him; these are men, and therefore frail, Frail and corruptible: And let none say, Fear prompts this counsel; I disclaim all fear But for the general cause: In every heart Nature hath built my altar; every sect, Nation and language with one voice confess Pleasure the sovereign good: The Stoic churl, The dogged Cynic snarling in his tub, And all the ragged moralizing crew Are hypocrites; philosophy itself Is but my votary beneath a cloak: It harms not me, though every idol God Were tumbled from his base; alike I scorn Sampson's strong nerve and Daniel's flaming zeal: And let CHRIST preach his mortifying rules, Let him go forth through all the Gentile world, And on the ruin of our fanes erect His church triumphant o'er the gates of hell, Still, still man's heart will draw the secret sigh For pleasures unenjoy'd; the gloomy cell And melancholy fast, the midnight prayer And pale contrition weeping o'er her lamp Are penances, from which the sense revolts, Fines, that compounding superstition pays For pleasures past, or bribes for more to come. Enough of this vain boast, here SATAN cried; More than enough of these voluptuous strains, Which, tho' they lull the ear, disarm the soul Of its best attribute: Not gaudy flowers Are cull'd for med'cine, but the humble weed; True wisdom, ever frugal of her speech, Gives sage advice in plain and homely words. The sum of all our reasoning ends in this, That nothing but the death of CHRIST can solve The mystery of his nature; till he falls Scarce can I say we stand: All voices then, Though varying in the means, conspire his death; Some cautiously as BAAL; some with zeal Precipitate as MOLOCH, whose swift thought Vaults over all impediments to seize The goal of his ambition. But, O peers, Our's is no trivial care; direct your sight Along the ranks of that redeemed host; On us hangs all their safety: Night and day My anxious thoughts are labouring in their cause, And whilst CHRIST walks the earth I take no rest, A watchful spy for ever at his side, Noting each word and deed; sometimes I mix With the selected Twelve that page his steps; Of these, though some have waver'd, none is false Save one alone, ISCARIOT he by name; The taint of avarice hath touch'd his heart; I've mark'd him for my own. Hear, princes, hear! This night the priests and elders will convene Their secret conclave: I am in their hearts; Burning with envy, malice and revenge, Their only thought is how to tangle CHRIST, In whom of force I own no guile is found, But gentleness instead and perfect truth, A lamb in nature without spot and pure, Fit victim therefore for their Paschal rites, Which now are near at hand; apt is the hour, Apt are the instruments. What now remains But to send forth a tempter to persuade ISCARIOT to betray his Master's life, And damn himself for gold? Speak, is there one, One in this patriot circle, whom all eyes Point out for this emprize? Most sure there is; BELIAL hath well predicted of our choice: MAMMON, stand forth! On thee th' election lights. He spake, and all approv'd, for choice so fit None could oppose; when MAMMON thus replied. Prince of this world! To whom these armies owe, Lost but for thee in everlasting night, The glorious prospect of yon rising sun, 'Tis not to evade the labor, but prevent The failure of your hopes, that I beseech Your wisdom to correct it's choice, and lodge This arduous embassy in abler hands: Nathless if such your will, and my compeers Adjudge me to this service, I submit: In me is no repugnance, no delay; For ever what these toiling hands could do, Or patient thoughts devise, that I have done; Whether in heav'n ordain'd to undermine God's adamantine throne, or doom'd to dig The solid sulphur of hell's burning soil, Fearless I wrought, and, were there no tongues else To vouch my services, these scars would speak. How many daintier spirits do I see Fair as in heav'n and in fresh bloom of youth, Whilst I, with shrivel'd sinews cramp'd and scorch'd 'Midst pestilential damps and fiery blasts, Drag as you see a miserable load, Age-struck without the last resource of death: This for myself, no more. You're not to know The snares which I employ are golden snares; These are my arts, and like the crafty slave, Who in Rome's Circus hurls the fatal net Over his fierce pursuer, so oft times Have I entangled the proud hearts of men, And made their courage stoop to shameful bribes, Paid for dishonest deeds, perjuries and plots, That draw them off from God, who else had fill'd His courts ere now with guests and peopled heav'n. These weapons and these hands you still command; So dear I hold the general cause at heart, So disciplin'd am I in duty's school, That reckless of all hazard I present Myself your servant, or, if so fate wills, Your sacrifice; for though from mortal man Discomfiture I dread not, yet if CHRIST, Whom the great Tempter foil'd not, shall stand forth The champion of his follower, witness for me, You my brave peers and this angelic host, I sought not this bold heighth, whence if I fall, I do but fall where SATAN could not stand. Go then, exclaim'd th' Arch-Enemy of man, Go, brave adventurer, go where glory calls: Auspicious thoughts engender in my breast, And now prophetic visions burst upon me: I see the traitor JUDAS with a band Of midnight ruffians seize his peaceful Lord: They drag him to the bar, accuse, condemn; He bleeds, he dies! Darkness involves the rest. Ascend the air, brave spirit, and 'midst the shout. Of grateful myriads wing thy course to fame. He said, and pointing to the sacred towers Of God's high temple, wav'd his sceptred hand, Whereat the infernal armies gave a shout That shook the rocky desart to its base: Meanwhile the fiend, ambassador of hell, Exulting heard his high election crown'd With these applauding voices, and the call Of his great Chieftain echo'd to the skies: Pride swell'd his conscious breast; no longer now Crouching with age and pain, but nerv'd anew, As with a spell transform'd, erect he stood With towering stature tallest of the throng, And looks of high supremacy and state. And now from either shoulder he unfurl'd His wide-stretch'd pinions, and uprising swift Tower'd in mid-air; the host with loud acclaim Hail'd his ascent; he on the well-pois'd wing Hoverd awhile, till from his cloudy heighth Sweeping the wide horizon he descried Far in the west the holy city, of God, His destin'd port, then to the orient sun Turn'd his broad vans, and plied their utmost speed.