Calvary. Book III. the Treason of Judas

Dark came the ev'ning on, and the pale moon, Now faintly glimm'ring through a wint'ry cloud, Shed her dim horrors o'er the shadowy earth; Whilst through the silent streets with step disturb'd, And heart by hellish meditations rent, The Outcast of the Lord pursued his way, ISCARIOT, name for evermore accurst. Onward he went unquestion'd, unobserv'd, For all upon this solemn night kept house, Nor stopp'd till forth the city gates he came To Cedron's brook, whose bubbling current laves The olive-crowned Mount, favor'd of CHRIST For its umbrageous groves and silent haunts, For pray'r and contemplation fit retreat. Here first, as one awaken'd to new thoughts, Starting he check'd his step, and with a groan, That rent his lab'ring bosom, thus broke forth. Oh, my torn heart! Oh, soul-tormenting scenes! Can I forget the blissful hours I've pass'd Beneath your shades lift'ning the Master's words? When as he spake of heav'n and heav'nly joys, Of righteousness and the blest Spi'rits with God, Such life in his description glow'd, methought All Paradise was present to my view And courted me to enter. Heav'n and earth! Must I remember? Never man like him Could with such magic eloquence entrance The senses of his hearers, lift the soul To heav'nly contemplations and transport To thoughts beyond itself; thence to look down Upon this lower world and all it's cares, It's pains, it's persecutions with contempt: Sometimes envelop'd in mysterious schemes And parables he couch'd the moral truth, Which painted on the memory left it's tints Indelible: But when with tongue inspir'd The fall of nations he foretold, and drew The curtain of futurity aside; When in the pomp of numbers he describ'd Jerusalem beleaguer'd with a host Of Gentile foes and trodden down to dust, Her matrons and her virgins whelm'd in blood, Or dragg'd to violation, shame and bondage By ruffian spoilers; when his soaring flight, Spurning the world's wide compass, scal'd the skies, And there amidst the empyrean fields, As in his proper region, shook the spheres Of sun, moon, stars, as with a master's hand, And shew'd them falling in prophetic awe Of his own glorious coming in a cloud With pow'r and state supernal, then our hearts With sympathetic raptures burnt within us, And we vain mortals saw, or thought we saw, Our own vile bodies glorified to share In his triumphant entry, and ourselves To dignities and thrones and starry spheres Exalted, loftiest in the realms of light. But now these bright illusions are no more; Vanish'd these glitt'ring scenes, my claims on heav'n All cancell'd, and my hopes a bankrupt's dream, Mocking the haunted fancy with a pile Of visionary wealth. Behold me sham'd, Banish'd his board, detected, and my thoughts Turn'd outward to provoke my brethren's scorn, And blazon forth his prescience: Let that pass! Traitor pronounc'd, a traitor I will be; That prophecy at least shall be fulfill'd. Though master of my will I could refute And dash his bold prediction, yet my heart Ponders revenge more suited to it's wrongs, Greater than such slight triumph can bestow, And not less terrible than death itself. This night, the last that he shall walk at large, This night shall be his triumph or his fall. If these grave elders, who conspire his death, These reverend priests revolt not from the deed, That casts on them, their function and their tribe The peril of his blood, why should my heart Shrink from it's purpose? What have I to fear In act subordinate, in cause supreme, Traitor prejudg'd, of uncommitted crimes Arraign'd, and thrown upon the world condemn'd? More he had said, but, like a serpent coil'd, With sudden start he shrunk into himself, And list'ning held his breath to catch the sound. Of steps, that echoing o'er the flinty soil Bespoke a company in near approach: With these the Master's well-known voice he heard; Whereat, like murd'rous Cain when call'd of God, The cow'ring conscious outcast slunk aside, And wrapp'd his russet cloak about his head, Then darkling stood; the holy troop meanwhile Forded the shallow brook and held their way Strait to the Olive Mount, their wonted haunt. Forth sprung the lurking caitiff from his watch: The greedy Mammon rush'd upon his heart, Glorying that now he held them in his net, Darkness conspiring with occasions apt Of hour and place to make his vengeance sure. Remorse was dead within him, every sense Of virtue lost, yet in his coward breast Such languor, dread and cold repugnance dwelt, Scarce could the breath of hell's worst fiend suffice To blow it into flame: Now sudden rage Impell'd him onward, now with palsied fear Struck back, he reel'd and shook in ev'ry joint. This SATAN saw, and evermore at hand To drive the wav'ring sinner to his doom, Breath'd all his spi'rit upon him; direr blast Cocytus never vented, the full tide Of aconite engender'd with his blood, His brain, set ev'ry fev'rish nerve in play, And screw'd his heated fancy to the pitch Of daring and defiance; yet the wretch, Not less a traitor to himself than CHRIST, Or e'er the acting of the dreadful deed Thus strove by sophistry to gloss it o'er. Why do I doubt? What horrors shake my mind? Why should not my affronted honor stir Me to betray, as their insulted law Provokes our elders to destroy their foe? For Moses they, I for myself oppose; And where's the wrong, if he, who knows my heart And all it's meditations, will not deign To turn it from it's purpose, and divert The danger he foreknows; nay rather helps To lure the embryo treason into birth? Either his own free will makes death it's choice, And so becomes accomplice in the deed, Or else, foredoom'd to die, he knows his hour, And thus, not acting of ourselves but rul'd By strong necessity, we stand absolv'd, Mere guiltless tools and instruments of fate. What then? Why let the Scriptures be fulfill'd, Let prophecies, which are the voice of God, Sound out his knell; we fight not against Heav'n. Let CHRIST, if glory waits him in the grave, Descend into the dust and seek it there: If his soul covets to make league with death, And dwell in consort with corruption's worm, What time more apt for death than this dark hour, Image of death itself? And who so fit As God's high-priest, the temple's minister, To put life's intervening veil aside, And usher him to glory? I meanwhile, His humble harbinger, will go before T' announce his coming, and make clear the road That leads to death, the goal of his ambition. Yet how if all this tame indifference Be but a feint to draw the world about him, And then amaze them with some grand display Of wonder-working power? And who can tell How far his hand miraculous may stretch, Who from the tomb pluck'd forth the fest'ring corpse Of shrowded Lazarus, three days in earth, And bade him live again? Stupendous act! This we beheld and hail'd him Lord of Life; But still the unconverted Jews stood off, And deem'd us witnesses of slight account, Weak cred'lous men, first dup'd and thence become Associates in imposture. What remains But instantly to put my thoughts in act, And yield him up to those, who in th' attempt Succeeding vindicate their disbelief, Failing abide the shame of their defeat? In this or that opinion there must be A dangerous error; to persist were fatal: This night dispells all doubt: If he be CHRIST, He lives confest and triumphs over death; If man, he falls unpitied and abjur'd. Thus for foul deeds pretending fair excuse, The caitiff wretch on trait'rous errand bent, Back through the city gates pursu'd his way, And to his nightly assignation hied Perch'd on the summit of the sacred Mount, Should'ring God's temple, a proud palace stood: There dwelt the sovereign pontiff, and this night Held solemn convocation and consult, Not for God's glory, other cares had they, Cares nearer to their selfish hearts, concerns Heav'n had no part in, impious dire cabals How to prevent the day-spring from on high, Now by CHRIST's revelation and his acts Miraculous just dawning on the world, Aforetime wrapt in darkness black as death, Best veil for their hypocrisy and craft. In their great hall of council, there in ranks, Precedencies and dignities dispos'd, Doctors and long-rob'd pharisees and scribes And bearded elders met; senate, to whom For machinations, plots and secret wiles Rome's purple conclave stoops. High over all On throne pontifical in robes of state, With sacred ephod girt of various hues, And breast-plate glitt'ring bright with mystic gems, Mitre-crown'd CAIAPHAS, the temple's chief, Exalted sate: The sanhedrim was full. All came, whom lust of power, or bigot zeal, Or enmity to CHRIST rous'd to the call; Mouth-worshippers of God, agents of hell In heart, and hypocrites abhorr'd of CHRIST, To public scorn held up and pictur'd out As rebel husbandmen, who basely slew Their Lord's commission'd Son. Scarce was there one, Whose galled conscience had not felt the sting Of some keen truth extorted from the lips Of the else-humble JESUS, meek to all But the proud Pharisee or cavi'lling Scribe, To knaves, who thought by cunning to outwit Wisdom itself, and snare him in his talk; To hypocrites, who fasted oft with sad And woe-worn faces to be seen of men, Or such as made long pray'rs for a display Of righteousness, and vaunted their good deeds, Mocking their conscience and insulting Heav'n: To these in all the majesty of truth Frowning he spake, nor spar'd he for rebuke Severe, indignant; many a time and oft To their whole sect he had denounced woe, Woe trebled on their heads: What wonder then, If thus combin'd by interest to oppose His spreading glories, their envenom'd hearts Rankled with envy, hatred and revenge? Nor were there wanting to their great divan Those, who can work unseen within the heart, Dark ministers, who know to touch the springs And cords, whose movements can convulse the soul With furious passions, bursting from their mine, Like sulph'rous fires that tear the quaking earth: SATAN himself was there, for at this hour He and his host had furlough upon earth, Daemons of blood, ambition, envy, strife Rang'd the vex'd world at large: Loud were their tongues, And fiery hot their zeal against the Lord, Whose miracles, resounding through the land, Rung in their ears the downfall of their pow'r, Ill-omen'd knell.—Brethren! 'tis time to rouse, Cried CAIAPHAS, and started from his throne Furious as Korah, when at his tent door With his rebellious company he stood, And waving high his censer call'd aloud To mutiny 'gainst Moses: So now call'd With voice as loud, and deeper plung'd in crime Than these who sunk outright, this second priest, This worse revolter against God himself In his own Son reflected; from his state, High o'er their heads exalted, he look'd down On all beneath; then with uplifted eyes And hands extended, as in act to rend His robes pontifical—Yes, sacred seers, Again he cried, yes, venerable priests, Elders, and reverend sages of our law, 'Tis more than time to call your vengeance up; Awake! ye sleep too long: For me, your slave, Servant of servants, me, by how much more In place exalted so much more in heart Abas'd, as meritless of such high state, I were content to cast these robes aside, Pluck off this beard, and on this mitred head, Unworthy of such honors, scatter dust And ashes, might such penitence avert The shame, that for my sins is falling on you, And quell the mad'ning faction now afloat, Since this bold Bethlemite hath started up To mock the church of God. Shall it be said, That for my punishment these evils light On you the righteous? that in my day rose This innovator to conspire your fall, To broach new doctrines and unhinge the faith Of the still wavering multitude? If I, If I am in the crime, if in your thoughts My negligence hath foster'd this revolt, Make me your sacrifice, thrust me from hence, For this high place unfit; set up your cross, And there exalt me: But if I am clear, And this your looks encourage me to hope, If CHRIST not CAIAPHAS deserves the death, Why do ye pause? What terror holds you back? Time-honor'd rabbi, elders, sages, guides And masters of our Israel! ye, by whom Our synagogues are taught, of God's own law Interpreters ordain'd, which of your grave And reverend council will at once unfold To my yet faithless ears the mighty spell By which this JESUS works? Who will expound This prodigy, that sets the crowd agape, This more than man, of whom the people bruit These more than human doings? You are dumb; None offers a reply; for none will say This wisdom and these mighty works accord With one so mean of birth, with Joseph's son, A base mechanic: Fitter task for him To use his father craft, and humbly ply The workman's tools, than in the temple sit Disputing with our doctors; or withdrawn, As late the Baptist, to some desart mount, There sit in sullen dignity enthron'd, And from his rocky theatre declaim To list'ning thousands. Here be some have heard His doctrines, many have endur'd his taunts, And though in wise and well-pois'd minds like your's Such meteors breed no terror, yet they draw The gazing vulgar, and so rank a taint Runs through th' infected fold, that much I doubt If half the flock of Israel be not touch'd; So diligent is he to spread the plague, So careless we to stem it. If his word Be suffer'd thus to overturn our law, The monument of ages, then alas! We've seen the last of these solemnities: Before this night returns there'll not be found Or lamb to sacrifice, or priest to slay, Or temple to receive our Paschal rites; Rome, whose ambition grasps the conquer'd world, Shall plant her eagles on our holy mount, And Jupiter usurp JEHOVAH's shrine. He paus'd, yet stood as one in act to speak, Struggling for words, which furious passion choak'd And stifled on his tongue; a stormy cloud Hung on his brow, his visage ghastly pale, Mad'ning with rage he stampt and shook his robe: As when the Delphic prophetess, convuls'd And foaming on her tripod, sets aghast The scar"d enthusiasts, who believe her fill'd And fighting with the God oracular; So through the hall of council silence reign'd, Whilst expectation turn'd all eyes and ears On their rapt prophet; till the word being giv'n, That one of CHRIST's disciples stood without And instant audience crav'd, that awful name Their spell-bound faculties at once set free; Instant loud murmurs fill'd the vaulted roof, Like the deep roar of subterranean tides, Whose eddies undermine the cavern'd shores Of sea-girt Mona or Bermuda's isle: This past, the senate's chief resum'd his throne; Whence from his state inclining he gave sign For silence and commanded to admit Their unexpected suitor; at the word Wide flew the doors apart, and there behold With cloak to' the knee tuck'd up and staff in hand ISCARIOT, caitiff viler than the worst That e'er wore pilgrim's sanctimonious garb In after-times, when fierce crusading zeal Sent forth it's wand'ring eremites to put The murd'rous sword in meek Religion's hand, The cross, on which our patient Lord expir'd, Their badge of victory, and signal made For their destroying armies, lur'd to war With pardons earnt in fields of carnage, fought For God's pretended glory', as if, dire hope! Rivers of blood could waft their souls to heav'n. Founder of these, and prototype of all, Who dy'd the cross with blood, ISCARIOT stood Full of the fiend, and cast around on all His haggard eyes, that augur'd vengeful ire And fraud deep brooding in his treach'rous heart: When after pause now summon'd to expound His purpose, whether by his Master sent, Or self-impell'd, thus MAMMON's convert spake. Fathers of Israel, patrons of our law, And chiefly thou, great priest, vicar of God, And faithful shepherd of the remnant sav'd From Abraham's scatter'd flock! I muse not, lords, That you are cast in wonder to behold Me standing in this place, me, to your cause Unfriendly deem'd, and, which to all is known Nor on my part denied, one of the Twelve, And follower of JESUS. But, grave sirs, I do adjure you by your love to truth, No longer wear this jealous eye upon me, Than to your patient ears I shall unfold, Why hither I am come, not as a thief To steal into your councils, spy them out And after blazon them, but in fair faith And plain sincerity with no double heart To make confession sure, and give my life A pledge into your hands. Stand not amaz'd, As if it were a thing impossible That CHRIST's disciple should not be his friend. Mine hath been toilsome husbandry, my lords, And none but bitter fruits have I reap'd from it, Fruits of repentance: Weary days and nights I've minister'd to him without reward, And weary miles full many travel'd o'er, Fainting and pinch'd with hunger; then at night, When the wild creatures of the earth find rest And covert in their holes, houseless have watch'd Amidst the shock of elements, and brav'd Storms, which the mail'd rhinoceros did not dare Unshelter'd to abide: Sometimes on sea Lash'd by the surging waves I've toil'd for life, Whilst he sate sleeping, reckless of the gale: Rescu'd from these, for I of force confess His pow'r is absolute, and safe on shore, My labors ceas'd not with the scene; new toils, New tasks succeeded: Now to rocks and caves, To sandy wilds, or wheresoever else The Spirit led and desolation reign'd, His wand'ring steps I follow'd, yes, his steps, But at what distance from his heart he held me, Bear witness, mem'ry! Others had his heart, Peter and James and John, to them he breath'd The secrets of his soul, on them he shower'd His promises; of these he made no thrift, These he abounded in; to me he gave What he had least in store, a barren purse, And bade me bear it; no hard task I own, For it was light as beggary could make it, But office most ignoble. Here perchance Your wisdom would demand of me a cause, Why I endur'd these slights year after year, And still toil'd on in such a thankless service; What fascination and what spell, you'll ask, Doth this man work with, so to charm the mind And lure it on through mortifying toils, Sorrows and pains, and, worse than these, contempts, Yet hold it still enchain'd slave to his will? Most equal judges, I must here submit My weakness to your censure, and refer My cause to mercy, or in self-defence Conjure you for a moment to descend From your high state, and to my humble place And peasant thoughts accord your own great minds: My lords, I neither mean to varnish o'er My own too feeble nature, nor to smooth The rough sincerity of truth through fear Or flattery of those, 'fore whom I speak: If JESUS works by spells, I know them not; Pray'rs but not incantations I have heard; If these be charms, they are no charms for devils, Yet such he's charg'd withal: Neither by league With Beelzebub, as some have gravely urg'd, Nor art Samaritan, nor else by imp Or genius, as the heathen loudly vouch Of their fam'd Socrates, do I believe His miracles are wrought: Alas, alas! Which of hell's ministers will be suborn'd To work his own confusion? No, they shriek, They tremble, at his bidding they come forth From men possest, they vanish to the winds, They sink into the pit from whence they sprung. I am a man, my lords, not over-prone To rash credulity, nor apt to veer With ev'ry breath of doctrine, and I've heard A voice, that sways the elements, commands The springs of health, making maim'd nature whole, Nay, life itself return into the trunk Which it had left, and give a second pulse To the cold heart of death: This to have seen, And not to stand in reverence of the pow'r That wrought these miracles, were a degree Of apathy above my nature's reach. No more! cried CAIAPHAS, no more of this! You much abuse our patience with this talk. Here is no place to sound CHRIST's praises forth; We are not met to recognize his pow'r And back his daring claims, but to chastise Imposture, to assert our sacred law, And vindicate the majesty of Heav'n. You tell us you are wearied with the tasks Of a hard Master; quit him then and earn A better service, earn a rich reward By yielding him to justice. You well know His haunts, his privacies, his darkling hours, When without hazard of a public brawl We may make lawful seizure for the state Of his attainted person: On this point, So you will order your discourse aright, You may speak freely; of his praise no more. To him th' Apostate: If from my forc'd lips, Unwilling witnesses although they be, Truth wrings this praise, the last which they will utter, Suffer thus far in candor, and let pass These words in justice to a Master's fame, Whom I renounce and with an oath devote To wrath, to punishment, to death itself, If death you doom. But oh! most reverend lords, It is not as a false and juggling cheat, A dealer with familiars I present him To your just judgment: Wretches vile as these Would but disgrace your wrath and my revenge. But take him as a victim from my hands Richer than hecatombs of vulgar blood, A sacrifice for God's high priest to make, Whilst all earth's scepter'd monarchs stood around To gaze upon the work. Be not deceiv'd: I know the jeopardy in which I stand, Yet I will on; in me is no delay: This night, this hour, this instant I am your's To trace him to his haunts, to be your guide And marshal you to vengeance. But beware! Let them be chosen men you send, approv'd And constant, though the heav'ns shall rain down fire, And the earth rock beneath them: He, who call'd The dead anatomy to life, can well Make corpses of the living.—Here the voice Of one, who nearest to the throne had place, Cut short the traitor's speech: Of high renown Was he now rising, NICODEMUS, known To after-ages as the nightly guest Of JESUS, and his converse with our Lord In holy writ recorded: Grave he was, A Pharisee and ruler of the Jews, Yet not of soul vindictive like the rest, Nor aspect arrogant; when thus he spake. I call the time mispent, that is bestow'd On loud-tongu'd orators, whose art it is To launch their hearers upon passion's tide, And drive them on by gusts of windy words A giddy desperate course to rocks and shoals, Which steer'd by sage experience they had shunn'd. Such shipwreck of our wisdom we might make, Should we our better senses now permit To take improv'ident counsel of our ears, By this high-ton'd declaimer thus assail'd. I pray you, therefore, carry back your thoughts To times foregone, when prophets have arose And boasted mighty works, which, being done Of man's device and cunning, came to nought: So will it be with JESUS, if his spirit Be not of God; time will o'ertake deceit, If time be let to run; but cut it short By death's rash stroke, you cover him with glory, And from his ashes raise a mightier name, Than living he had reach'd with all the aids Of artifice to back him. Give me, Heav'n! That tolerating policy, which shews No bitterness in speculative points: Disdaining from my heart what this man says, A traitor says, who comes to sell his Master, My sentence never shall affect the life Of this or any other man accus'd On vague presumptions, nor will I say, Die! Till I have that in proof, which merits death: For if this JESUS vaunts himself to be What he is not, God will confute his pride; But if with pow'r divine he acts and speaks, Commission'd to some awful unseen end, Shall man contend with God? Vain strife! shall we Fall off from our great origin, the faith Of our blest father Abraham? Shall we, Sore smitten for our trespasses, cut short And wasted to a remnant, we, on whom The guiltless blood of all the prophets rests, Send this man up to heav'n to cry against us, And to a burthen heavier than enough Add more and weightier guilt than all the rest? Heav'n's grace forefend! You have my conscience, lords; I leave it to your thoughts: I stand absolv'd. He said, and conscious that his words were lost Upon obdurate hearts, departed thence, So warn'd of God, and from the gulph escap'd Of that night's dire perdition, wherein all Save him alone were lost. So in the wreck Of some great admiral, full fraught for war, When his tall vessel splits, and the bold crew Plunge quick into th' abyss, Heav'n sometimes deigns By wond'rous providence to snatch one life From the devouring waves, and waft him home A solitary relick, there to tell God's mercies and his sad companions' fate. Him thus departing the proud pontiff ey'd With look malign, and to these taunts gave vent. Weak is that cause, whose advocate flies from it: I pause to see if any here will follow. None moves, none speaks, none seconds his appeal: 'Tis well! One only convert to our foe, One patron of his cause this senate held, And holds no longer: Vanish'd, flown, escap'd! One heart, one mind, one voice now rules the whole. For me, I nor opinion shift nor place, Faithful I shrink from neither. You have heard What this wise elder counsels; he hath left His conscience as a legacy behind him: Let him, who loves the giver, take the gift; I, for such part as to my share may fall, Scorn to engraft that scyon on my heart, Which, if admitted, might impart the seeds Of treason and apostacy like his. Till cold and hot agree, till selfish fear And temporising maxims coalesce With patriot zeal for Israel and firm faith In God's reveal'd decrees, his thoughts and mine Will never mix, and the attempt to join Their jarring elements could only serve To make this breast a field of mental war. Mark, brethren, mark how this man contravenes Your antient just retaliating law. Moses said—Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth! So is revenge a virtue: By this rule JESUS must die; for who puts out the law, Puts out the light of Israel, stabs the life, And life for life is justice upon record. This ordinance our absent elder spurns; He holds at nought our antient equity, And sets new doctrines forth; tells us forsooth, That we must wait the time, wait till the light Of Israel be extinct, and leave redress For those, who without eyes can spy it out: Such councils would make cowards of us all, Rebels to God, deserters from the faith, Traitors to Israel. Can I wear these robes, And wear a heart within so vile, so base? Tear them away, uncover me to shame, Make me the scorn of men, if, thus array'd And trickt in outside honors, I am found False to that King, whose standard I support. No, venerable sages, if your rule Were short to teach us what our duty is, The very heathen would inform us of it: The Roman soldier, who deserts his post, Or sleeping suffers a surprize, shall die; But we, with God's own armies in our charge, We, whose commander is the Lord of Hosts, Should we be found thus criminal, what death, What doom, more terrible than death itself, Can recompense such treason? Forth then, lords! Draw out an armed band and send them forth. Behold a ready leader! Time yet serves; This night no stir, no stragglers in our streets To shake the city's peace: JESUS secur'd And hither brought, a largess I decree To all concern'd; to JUDAS a reward Befitting us to give, him to receive. No more; loud acclamations shook the hall: Th' assembly rose, the traitor bow'd assent, A band of ruffians arm'd with swords and staves Forth issued with ISCARIOT at their head, And to the Olive Mountain bent their course. Oh, hour accurst! Oh, all ye stars of heav'n! And thou pale waining moon, etherial lights, First-born of Nature, look not, ye chaste fires, Upon this monster-breeding earth, but quench Your conscious lamps and whelm this murd'rous crew In darkness black as their own damning plot. And thou, conductor of this Stygian band, Vile hypocrite, what fiend inspir'd the thought To hail thy Master with the kiss of peace, And so betray him? Wretch, the time will come, When rack'd with horror, and to all hope lost, Thine agonizing soul shall rue this deed, Curse its birth-hour, and whilst thy Master soars To heav'n, triumphant over death and sin, Thou shalt sink howling to the depths of hell. Now break your synod up, ye envious priests, Elders and scribes! prepare your harden'd hearts To judge the Lord of Life, convene your spies To forge false witness, and make smooth the way To man's redemption by the blood of CHRIST, The very Paschal Lamb, whom by the type Of this night's sacrifice ye shadow'd forth, Blind unbelieving prophets as ye are. Fit hour ye chose, ye murd'rers, to embrue Your cursed hands in that pure Victim's blood, Peace-offering for the sins of lost mankind. Hence to your homes! there meditate new plots; The fiends shall be your helpers, to your thoughts Present, though not to sight, they swarm around, Now here, now there, now hovering over head, Where, as your enmity to CHRIST breaks forth, And your blaspheming voices fill the roof, Like steaming vapors from sulphureous lakes, Joyous they catch the welcome sounds, and fan With clapping wings the pestilential air, Applauding as they soar. Now clear the hall; Yield up your seats, ye substituted fiends; Hence, minor daemons! give your masters place! And hark! the King of Terrors speaks the word, He calls his shadowy princes, they start forth, Expand themselves to sight and throng the hall, A synod of infernals: Forms more dire Imagination shapes not, when the wretch, Whom conscience haunts, in the dead hour of night, Whilst all is dark and silent round his bed, Sees hideous phantoms in his fev'rish dream, That stare him into madness with fix'd eyes And threat'ning faces floating in his brain. The ghostly monarch mounts the vacant throne; Gives sign for order, the superiors sit, Each as his stellar attribute gives rank And place peculiar, the untitled stand Circling their LUCIFER, their fallen sun: He of his state more jealous, as in heart Conscious of faded glory, in the midst Now rising, after many a hard essay To wreathe his war-worn face into a smile, Semblance at least of joy, at length with voice Screw'd to the pitch of triumph vaunting cries. Pow'rs and Dominions, Lords by victory's right Of earth and man, now from his Maker won By overthrow of Heav'n's last champion giv'n In God's own city, battle fairly gain'd On hostile ground, his Sion's sacred mount, Warriors, your king applauds you: Thanks, brave friends; Now shall your temples with loud paeans ring, Your vindicated altars and your groves Exhale rich clouds of incense, steaming forth From od'rous gums; your statues gaily crown'd With garlands, every trophy, that the art Of painting or of sculpture can bestow, Shall be hung round to decorate your shrines; Your oracles henceforth shall find a voice, Which future CHRISTS shall never put to silence, And nations from your lips shall ask their fate: This day to all posterity shall be Sacred to games, processions, triumphs, feasts, And laurel-crowned bards shall hymn your praise. But sure no spirit of etherial mould, For such of right ye are, will so forget His native dignity as to repine, Or gloat with envy, if I now demand Your tribute of especial praise to him, Whom your joint suffrages deputed first To this important embassy; a spirit Our subterranean empire cannot mate For high authority and potent sway O'er man's subjected heart: MAMMON, stand forth! Stand forth, thou prosp'rous, rich, persuasive pow'r, Worshipp'd of all, great idol of the world; May fortune on thy patient labors smile, Thou persevering deity! Pursue Thy darling metal through earth's central veins, Ransack her womb for mines, send forth thy slaves To undiscover'd realms and bid them sap Potosi's glittering mountains for their ore; Pull down her golden temples, strip her kings, Rack them with tortures, wring their secrets out By slow-consuming fires, lay Nature waste, Let nothing mortal breathe upon the soil That covers gold: All hell applauds thy zeal, And all hell's engines shall assist thy search. He said, and lo! from either side the throne Upon the signal a seraphic choir In equal bands came forth; the minstrels strike Their golden harps; swift o'er the sounding strings Their flying fingers sweep, whilst to the strain Melodious voices, though to heav'nly airs Attun'd no longer, still in sweet accord Echo the festive song, now full combin'd Pouring the choral torrent on the ear, In parts responsive now warbling by turns Their sprightly quick divisions, swelling now Through all the compass of their tuneful throats Their varying cadences, as fancy prompts. Whereat the Stygian herd, like them of old Lull'd by the Theban minstrel, stood at gaze Mute and appeas'd, for music hath a voice, Which ev'n the devils obey, and for a while Sweet sounds shall lay their turbid hearts asleep, Charm'd into sweet oblivion and repose. The praise of MAMMON the rapt seraphs sung And Gold's almighty pow'r; free flow'd the verse; No need to call the Muse, for all were there, Apollo and the Heliconian Maids, And all that pagan poet e'er invok'd Were present to the song. Above the flight Of bold Alcaeus, Tisias bard divine, Or Pindar's strain Olympic, high it soar'd In dithyrambic majesty sublime. At the right hand of hell's terrific Lord MAMMON exalted sate, and as the choir Chanted their hymn, his swelling bosom throbb'd In concert with the strain; pride flush'd his cheek Furrow'd with care and toil, his eyes, now rais'd From earth, their proper center, sparkling gleam'd Malicious triumph, whilst ovations loud And thund'ring plaudits shook the trembling roof. The song was clos'd, and, order now resum'd, MAMMON stood forth to speak; when ere the words From his slow lips found way, the infernal King, With eager action starting from his throne, Gave sign for silence and thus interpos'd. Pause, worthy spi'rit, awhile! my mind forebodes Cares more immediate, for amid the throng I spy our faithful CHEMOS; well I know 'Tis not on slight occasion he hath left The post assign'd him; and behold! his looks Augur important tidings. Fall back, friends, And give our gallant centinel access. Obedient to the word the opening files Fell back and let him pass; he to the throne Low rev'rence made, and thus his chief address'd. Imperial Lord of this seraphic host, As I kept station on the faithless Mount, Where once my altar blaz'd, revolted now From it's allegiance and with olive crown'd In token of God's peace, I thence descried By glimpse of the pale moon a vagrant train, With JESUS at their head, fording the brook, As thither bound: I couch'd upon the watch, So bidd'n, and to their talk gave heedful ear. A melancholy theme the Master chose: Sadly he warns them of his own death's hour Now near impending, and how all shall fly, Like scatter'd sheep, and their lone Shepherd leave Forlorn, abandon'd: This the fiery zeal Of PETER, to our chief well known, disclaims, Who boldly vouches, though all else should swerve, His own unshaken constancy; when CHRIST, Severe though not with railing, him reproves, And solemnly denounces triple breach Of this vain boast, and instant, for this night, Or e'er the cock's shrill trumpet twice shall sound, So CHRIST predicts, he shall be thrice denied Of this self-vaunting man: All this I heard, And held it for my duty to report; What more ensu'd imperfectly I learn; For now the Master taketh three apart, And much disturb'd in soul and sore amaz'd Wills them stand off and watch, whilst he retires And vents his grief in pray'r: I saw him fall Prostrate to earth, and vent such heart-felt groans, That were I other than I am, less wrong'd, Less hostile to the tyranny of Heaven, Whence I am exil'd, I had then let fall Weak pity's tear and been my nature's fool. But, lords, I cannot so forget your cause, Or my own wrongs, nor would I wear a heart Made of such melting stuff. With noiseless tread The kneeling Suppliant I approach'd, and mark'd His agony of soul, whilst from his brow I saw large drops and gouttes of bloody sweat Incarnardine the dust, on which they fell. Bear witness, my revenge, 'twas there, ev'n there, The very spot, on which he knelt and pray'd, Where now his blood, wrung out by agony As in atonement, dropt, on which my shrine, Rear'd by the wives of the uxorious king, Deck'd out with blazing tapers proudly shone, And front to front of God's own temple stood, Till Asa's parricidal hand pluck'd up Maacha's groves and burnt my shrine to dust. Now hear the sequel: As I stood at gaze, Noting his pray'r, one of the heav'nly band And of the highest, GABRIEL, with his spear Couch'd as for combat, started forth to view, And frowning bade me take my flight with speed, Nor trouble that just person: Valiant peers! I am not one to back at his proud bidding, Nor ever did I turn my face to flight Save in our army's universal rout, When all from heav'n fell headlong to the gulph: Such weapon as I had, this trenchant sword Of adamantine proof, forthwith I drew; But ere my arm could wield it, swift as thought I felt his spear's sharp point with forceful thrust Deep plung'd into my side: Staggering, amaz'd, I gave back so compell'd; he still advanc'd Arm'd for a second onset, when my strength Foil'd, though immortal, and my sight grown dim, My wound the whilst sore rankling, I took wing And hither came on painful pinions borne, Your faithful servant, whether to attempt Fresh battle, or my present loss repair. This said, he put his azure tunic by, And bar'd his wounded side, where GABRIEL's spear Had lodg'd it's massy fluke, a ghastly-chasm Trench'd by the force of arch-angelic arm, And to aught else than deathless spirit death. Fir'd at the sight with eyes that sparkling blaz'd SATAN uprose, and thus infuriate spake. GABRIEL in arms! Hah! warriors, we are brav'd: CHRIST hath his guard about him and defies us. If this immortal spirit could not stand, What shall ISCARIOT do? Myself will forth; We shall then see who wields the stronger lance, SATAN or GABRIEL: In the fields of heaven, In the mid-air, on earth, in deepest hell He knows my might superior, and shall rue His dastardly assault. Why not with me, The sender rather than the sent, this strife? So might he boast the contest, though subdued. The scars by this sharp sword in battle dealt Are the best honors GABRIEL hath to vaunt; The brightest laurels on his brow are those I planted when in equal fight I deign'd To measure spears with such inferior foe. Doth GABRIEL think God's favour can reverse Immutable pre-eminence, and raise His menial sphere to that, in which I shone Son of the morning? Doth he vainly hope Exil'd from heav'n we left our courage there, Or lost it in our fall, or that hell's fires Have parch'd and wither'd our shrunk sinews up? Delusive hope! the warrior's nerve is strung By exercise, by pain, by glorious toil: The torrid clime of hell, it's burning rock, It's gulph of liquid flames, in which we roll'd, Have calcin'd our strong hearts, breath'd their own fires Into our veins, and forg'd those nerves to steel, Which heav'n's calm aether, her voluptuous skies And frequent adorations well nigh smooth'd To the soft flexibility of slaves, Till bold rebellion shook it's fetters off, And with their clangor rais'd so brave a storm, That God's eternal throne rock'd to it's base. Now break we up this council: Each disperse Or to his post, his pleasure or pursuit; Sufficeth for this task my single arm: CHEMOS shall be reveng'd; the public zeal Of MAMMON still shall be our theme of praise; Nor shall ISCARIOT's nightly plot be foil'd By intervening angels, nor these priests, Whose seats we fill and whose allies we are, Fail of their victim, or find us remiss To second them in this our common league And joint emprize against the pow'rs of Heav'n. 'Twas said, the princes of th' assembly rose In reverence to his will; the legion round Smote on their shields the signal of assent. Tow'ring he stood, the Majesty of Hell, Dark o'er his brows thick clouds of vengeance roll'd, Thunder was in his voice, his eye shot fire, And loud he call'd for buckler and for spear; These bold AZAZEL bore, enormous weight, For Atlantean spirit proper charge: With eager grasp he seiz'd the towering mast, And shook it like a twig; then with a frown, That aw'd the stoutest heart, gave sign for all Strait to disperse, and vanish'd from their sight.