Calvary. Book IV. the Agony in the Garden

O MOUNT of Agony! water'd with tears From my Redeemer's eyes, and by his knees, Pressing thy turf, made sacred as the ground, Where ev'n the Chosen Shepherd might not stand But with unsandal'd feet, Ah! where is now That purifying Angel me to cleanse From this vile world, that so I may approach, Though but in thought, with a right spi'rit renew'd, Thy hallow'd solitude? Lo! where the Lord Sorrowing retires apart: Where are the Three Station'd to guard his sacred privacy? Stand they aloof, as their forefathers stood, When from the midst of darkness, cloud and fire, JEHOVAH thunder'd out of Sinai's mount? Ah, no! within that olive grove they lie Stretch'd on the ground, a drowsy slumb'ring guard. And could ye not, ye sleepers, watch one hour For such a Master? Oh! what heart could taste Of rest or peace, whilst his was rack'd with pain? Was it the sighs his suffering virtue breath'd Into the air of sad Gethsemane, That so entranc'd your senses? Or was he, The strength'ning Angel, sent from Heav'n to shield The Savior's anguish from all human eyes, And veil the mystery of that awful hour? Then was that angry cup, full mix'd and red From God's right hand, presented to his lips: The bitter essence of origi'nal sin, With every life-destroying extract, drawn From man's corruption since, were there infus'd, Compounded and resolved into that draught, Mix'd by the hand of Death and drugg'd in hell. The coward, shrinking under fortune's blows, With desperate lip hath oft-times drank and died; 'Tis refuge, 'tis desertion from a post He dare defend no longer, 'tis the hope, False fruitless hope, of a perpetual sleep, When he hath bottom'd that Lethaean cup: But our Redeemer's potion was not such; Horrors and heart-dissolving woes and pangs, That mock imagination's scope, and stretch The heart's strong cordage, till it bursts asunder And leaves the mind a wreck, these were the drugs, That brew'd that cup of agony, which God Now tender'd as the wrath-atoning draught For a revolted world! Mysterious act! The Father sacrifice the Son belov'd! The just to spare the unjust lay the rod Upon the guiltless head! Shall all offend, And One atone for all? One Victim bear The accumulated load of punishment, The mass of vengeance, that amazing whole, Which each particu'lar sin had pil'd in store, And that devoted sacrifice a Lamb Pure, without spot or blemish? O my soul! Beware, nor to that tabernacle press, Where clouds and darkness canopy thy God. Lo! where the Savior kneels; he looks around For some to succour, to support, some friend, Whose sympathising eye might beam upon him, And with a moment's glance of pity chear His desolated spirit. All around Is vacant horror, solitary, dark; The partners of his heart, the chosen few, The friends, who should have watch'd, are wrapt in sleep, Insensible, supine, oblivious sleep; Woes multiplied by woe, and that the worst, Ingratitude, the sharpest fang that gnaws Man's bleeding bosom. In this sad extreme, His soul revolting from the noisome draught, With eyes to Heav'n uplifted, and a sigh, Which shew'd that human weakness then o'erpower'd His soul's diviner part—Abba! he cries, Father, all things are possible to Thee, Remove this cup!—Then bows his patient head And qualifies the pray'r—Yet not my will, But Thine be done!—No voice from Heav'n replies: All Nature sleeps in silence still as death, As if the planets in their spheres had paus'd To watch the trembling balance, on whose point The fortunes of this globe suspended hung, It's ruin or redemption, death or life. 'Twas then the strength'ning Angel dealt the blow, That put the hovering spy of hell to flight, Seen of our Lord in ambush where he lay. And now the Mourner rises from the earth, On which he knelt, and a few paces moves Pensive and slow to find his station'd friends: He finds them not as friends upon the watch, Not as God's faithful soldiers should be found, But at their length stretch'd out in lazy sleep With folded arms supine. Rous'd by his voice They stare, they start confounded and amaz'd. Could ye not watch one hour? the Sufferer cries: Watch, for the foe of man is near at hand; Pray, lest ye fall into the Tempter's snare: The spi'rit is ready, but the flesh is weak. So warn'd, he leaves them with this mild rebuke: A second time he seeks the dismal dell, Again he prays remission of his woe, And deprecates the agonizing cup: Meanwhile his drowsy centinels perceive A languor, which their senses must obey, And down they sink, their leaden eye-balls clos'd As in a death-like trance. Again he comes, Again he calls, a second warning gives, And so departs.—Now SATAN on the wing Swift as a fiery meteor rides the air, With shield and spear arm'd at all points for war: Then down at once with huge Titanian bulk, Plumb down he lights upon the solid soil, Hard by th' angelic post: Earth felt the shock, And trembling to her center inly groan'd. Nor did his haughty courage deign to crouch, Or lurk with lion watch, but firm of foot Erect and confident in arms he stood, As one, whose prowess all advantage scorn'd. And mean surprize of an unguarded foe: Such arts to weaker spirits he resign'd; He of his former self felt no decay, Or feeling scorn'd confession, for his pride Still deem'd that heav'n, though lost, contain'd no peer To mate with him in hardihood and proof, Save only the Almighty; to such heighth Of arrogance had pow'r long time usurp'd Over the Gentile nations, and the sight Of God's own Son, now, as he falsely deem'd, Vanquish'd and prostrate, swell'd his impious heart. Our blessed Lord meanwhile having preferr'd For the last time his interceding prayer, Summon'd his strength, and conscious that the hour Was come, which finish'd or revok'd the task Of man's redemption from the powers of hell, Whose representative hard by at hand Stood eager to arrest the forfeit prize, Put forth his hand, and as he took the cup, SATAN, who stood spectator of the deed, Started aghast; cold tremor shook his joints, His threat'ning spear now droop'd, and his broad shield, So proudly borne aloft, weigh'd down his arm Slack and unnerv'd; confusion seiz'd his heart, And his high courage quail'd. This GABRIEL saw, Yet left he not his post till CHRIST had drain'd The cup mysterious; to its lowest dregs He drank it; now convulsion shook the fiend, Death shriek'd amain and through his hollow ribs Drove his own ebon dart with desp'rate rage. Bitter the draught and hateful to the taste, But Immortality had crown'd the cup, And Light and Life on phoenix wings sprung forth From the foul dregs in new-born glories bright. GABRIEL, who knew that by this solemn act Thus happily perform'd his charge expir'd, Now turn'd away in search of that fierce spi'rit, Whom thro' the darkling covert he had seen, Whilst by the side of God's afflicted Son Minist'ring he stood: Right well he knew the form And towering port of hell's terrific King; Nor had the dire confusion and dismay Of that fell daemon scap'd th' angelic glance. Him now within a gloomy dell retir'd To further distance, wrapt as it should seem In pensive thought, the Guardian Seraph spied. In the same moment SATAN's ghastly eye Glanc'd on his foe: bright in caerulean arms Heav'n's champion shone, high o'er his crested helm The arch-angelic plume triformed wav'd, Ensign of throned state and high command. The grifly monarch gnash'd his teeth with spite To find himself encounter'd at such odds; His foe fresh blooming in immortal youth, Vigorous, in heav'nly-temper'd armor brac'd; Himself at this ill hour surpriz'd, his strength As by enchantment blasted, and that voice, Which in the ears of all hell's princes vouch'd Such bold achievements, shrunk from it's high pitch To feeble murmurs and weak whining sighs. So when on Zama's plain the rival chiefs, Rome's consul and the Punic captain, met To parley in mid-way 'twixt either camp, The war-worn veteran, blighted and defac'd By wint'ry marches over noisome fens And snows on mountains pil'd, with envious eye, Sole relick of his toil, survey'd the form And blooming features of his youthful foe; Then to his mind recalling glories past, When his proud menace aw'd immortal Rome, Sigh'd to reflect how far in the decline From that bright morn his evening sun had sunk; Then ey'd the youth again, and in his face, Shadow'd by fate, saw Carthage doom'd to fall, And his own glories to a foe transferr'd Less than his equal once, his conqu'ror now. But 'twas not long that SATAN so endur'd, For now the conscious sense of former deeds Bold, though unblest, and high innate disdain Of mean capitulation and demur Rous'd his proud heart, like a hot courser spurr'd, To chase and lash his languid courage up: Red'ning he swell'd, and gnaw'd his nether lip For vengeance that it would not give him words To hurl defiance on th' advancing foe: When GABRIEL, noting his disorder'd mien And haggard aspect, strait bespoke the fiend. Thus ever may the foe of CHRIST be found Speechless, abash'd, struck down of Heav'n and quell'd! How long, malicious Spi'rit, wilt thou persist To trouble this vex'd earth? How long to haunt This righteous person, whole strong virtue mocks Thy faint attempts? Warn'd by this shame, avaunt! Hence, baffled Tempter! roaming thus at large, Thou dost but shew by melancholy proof, That a tormented conscience never rests. As the fierce panther, through the ribs transfix'd, Writhes round the bloody weapon in his side, And tugs it to and fro with foamy teeth, Mad'ning with pain and gnashing at his wound; So 'gainst himself and foe alike enrag'd, Hell's gloomy Lord, by this deserved taunt Cut to the heart, with many a hard essay Struggled for voice; at length collecting breath, These words disdainful, though of their full tone And energy abated, found their way. GABRIEL, the brave in danger earn renown; True valor spares the weak, but thou, more wise Than valiant, studiest well the safer hour, When to come forth and wage inglorious war 'Gainst unprovided foes; if CHEMOS then, Or some slight Cherub, cross thy wary path, Woe to the straggler! if thy barbed spear Can make safe tilt at his unweapon'd side. But I, who day and night have pac'd this globe, Found in all quarters, I, who never shun'd, Rather have sought, thy walk, am left to roam Free and of thee unquestion'd from the hour, When on the confines of this new-made world We parlied under Eden's shady fence, To th' instant now, when faint and ill at ease, Unwarlike Angel, thou hast found me here Nerveless, and little more than match for thee. To whom th' indignant Virtue thus reply'd: If SATAN here is found in evil plight, He's found of me unsought. Thine own dark wiles, Degen'rate Spi'rit, and Heav'n's all-ruling hand Have cast thee in my way. Must I turn off From duty's road direct because forsooth A wounded adder hisses in my path? Why didst thou press into this place of prayer, This hallow'd solitude, where CHRIST hath breath'd A charm, that withers up thy blasted strength? Could'st thou not learn, by late experience taught, There is a sphere about the Son of God, In which no spi'rit like thee accurst can draw His breath blaspheming? At a word begone! Though with my foot I could have spurn'd thee hence, I tread not on the fall'n; nor do I vaunt Conquest of thee; that to a mightier arm, Rebel to God, to God's own Son thou ow'st, To CHRIST, not GABRIEL: Nor shalt thou alone Stoop to his name, but every idol God, And ev'ry pow'r of darkness with their prince, And Sin hell-born, and thy soul offspring Death. Whereto, by these prophetic words appall'd, SATAN with taunting argument replied. Since this angelic form, from death exempt, Sometimes shall yield to aches and transient pains And natural ailments for awhile endur'd, What wonder, if etherial spi'rit like me, Pent in this atmosphere and fain to breathe The lazy fogs of this unwholesome earth, Pine for his native clime? What, if he droop, Worn out with care and toil! Wert thou as I Driv'n to and fro, and by God's thunder hurl'd From Heav'n's high ramparts, would that silken form Abide the tossing on hell's fiery lake? Hadst thou like me travers'd the vast profound Of antient Night, and beat the weary wing Through stormy Chaos, voyage rude as this Wou'd ruffle those fine plumes. I've kept my course Through hurricanes, the least of which let loose On this firm globe would winnow it to dust, Snap like a weaver's thread the mighty chain, That links it to heav'n's adamantine floor, And whirl it through the Infinite of Space. And what hast thou, soft Cherub, done the whilst? What are thy labors? What hast thou atchiev'd? Heav'n knows no winter, there no tempests howl; To breathe perpetual spring, to sleep supine On flowery beds of amaranth and rose, Voluptuous slavery, was GABRIEL's choice: His bosom never drew th' indignant sigh, That rent my heart, when call'd to morning hymn I paid compulsive homage at God's throne, Warbling feign'd hallelujahs to his praise. Spirits of abject mould, and such art thou, May call this easy service, for they love Ignoble ease; to me the fulsome task Was bitterest slavery, and though I fell, I fell opposing; exil'd both from heav'n Freedom and I shar'd the same glorious fall. Go back then to thy drudgery of praise, Practise new canticles and tune thy throat To flattery's fawning pitch; leave me my groans, Leave me to teach these echoes how to curse; Here let me lie and make this rugged stone My couch, my canopy this stormy cloud, That rolls stern winter o'er my fenceless head; 'Tis freedom's privilege, nor tribute owes, Nor tribute pays to Heav'n's despotic King. Thus whilst he spake, the Savior of mankind, New ris'n from pray'r, drew nigh; whereat the fiend, Or e'er the awful presence met his eye, Shivering, as one by sudden fever seiz'd, Turn'd deadly pale; then fell to earth convuls'd. Dire were the yells he vented, fierce the throes That writh'd his toitur'd frame, whilst through the seams And chinks, that in his jointed armour gap'd, Blue sulph'rous flames in livid flashes burst, So hot the hell within his fuel'd heart, Which like a furnace sev'n times heated rag'd. Meanwhile the winged Messenger of Heaven, GABRIEL, with horror and amazement fix'd, Stood motionless behind his orbed shield: Not so the Savior; he with look compos'd And stedfast noting the disastrous plight Of that tormented fiend, these words address'd. SATAN, thou see'st the serpent's primal curse At length falls heavy on thy bruised head; When man lost Paradise, by thee betray'd, This was thy doom, Deceiver; and although Ages have roll'd on ages since, yet God, Who from eternal to eternal lives Blessed for evermore, computes not time As thou, whose mis'ry makes short years seem long. Yet was the interim thine, and thou, who first Brought'st sin into the world, hast reign'd in sin: Thou hadst the power of death, but I through death Am destin'd to destroy that power and thee. And now my hour is come, I go to death, That all through me may live; therefore begone! Get thee behind me! Thou hast now no part On earth, thy dwelling is prepar'd in hell: There when we meet, expect to meet thy doom. This said, the fiend replied not but with groans, Nor staid the Angel longer than to turn One last sad look upon his prostrate foe, Then flew to heav'n. The Savior bent his steps In search of his disciples; them he found Wrapt as before in sleep.—Sleep on, he cried, And henceforth take your rest: It is enough: The hour is come. Behold! the Son of man Into the hands of sinners is betray'd: Rise, let us go! The traitor is at hand. And lo! while yet he spake a mingled crew Arm'd and unarm'd approach; before them all JUDAS advancing thus bespeaks the throng: Whom I shall kiss is He, the CHRIST; Him seize And in safe keeping hold.—Upon the word He gives the trait'rous greeting, and exclaims, Hail, Master!—When at once the swarming crowd Rush in a space, then stand in circle round, Like blood-hounds held at bay, their eager eyes Fix'd on his face, which to behold they rear Their flaming torches, whilst the prospect round Glares with the ruddy blaze; a ghastly troop, Like that dread chorus, which the tragic bard Pour'd on the scene, when the Athenian wives Dropt their abortive burthens with affright, To see their snaky locks and fiery brands Kindled in Phlegethon's sulphureous waves: So glares that haggard crew; in front they see JESUS in conscious majesty unmov'd, Behind him to some little space withdrawn PETER and JAMES and JOHN, the chosen Three, Small band, but in their Leader's power a host Invincible, 'gainst whom whole armies leagu'd Were but as chaff before the whirlwind's blast, Had he so will'd; but now with accent firm, Whom seek ye? he demands: They answer make, JESUS of Nazareth.—I am the man, JESUS replies; He, whom ye seek, is found. His air, his utterance and that voice divine, Which could have arm'd Heav'n's legions in his cause, Or gulph'd them to the center at a word, Swift as the vollied thunder smote their hearts, And hurl'd them to the ground: Headlong they fell With hideous crash, nor ever thence had ris'n, Had not his gracious purpose so decreed For man's redemption: Up they rise from earth, And in like manner to the same demand A second time make answer; he repeats— I told you, and ye heard, that I am He: If therefore me ye seek, let these depart. Then burst the chidden zeal of PETER forth, Arm'd with a sword he rush'd upon the throng And at the foremost aim'd a random blow, That gash'd the caitiff's head, but miss'd the life. Put up thy sword, rash man! the Savior cries, Did I want rescue, would I ask of thee, With all my Father's Angels at command? No! let me do His will and drink His cup: And you, that here encompass me about, As 'twere a felon ye came out to take, With swords and staves, suffer thus far, behold! The wound his weapon makes my touch shall heal: 'Tis done! Know all, that they, who take the sword, Shall perish by the sword. What needs this stir, This midnight plotting and this traitor's kiss, These staves, these torches and this arm'd array To make one harmless peaceful man your prize? You saw me daily in my public walks, Freely we commun'd, for you harm'd me not; You heard me in the Temple; for I taught In very zeal the simple way of truth, Lab'ring full hard to turn your hearts to God: If this were my offence, why not arrest Your Preacher in the act, and drag to death Him, who would fain have train'd you in the road To life eternal? Never on the poor Turn'd I my back; I courted not the rich; Were this my fault, in the broad face of day Ye might have smitten me and earn'd the praise Of the proud Pharisee and braggart Scribe: I fed the hungry and I heal'd your sick, I succour'd the tormented and possest; Are these the heinous acts for which I die? In field, in city, in frequented ways The wretched flock'd around, if these be crimes, Why is their punishment so long reserv'd To this dark hour of night? The sun himself Witness'd my doings, so might he my death. But see! my followers are dispers'd and fled, And I stand in your peril here alone: No need to fear him, who makes no defence; Conduct me to my doom: God's will be done! This said, their sacrilegious hands they laid Upon his sacred person: He in' the midst With meek composure and submitted look March'd slowly onward, as they led the way To the proud dome of CAIAPHAS, high-priest Of MOLOCH than of God more fitly call'd. Oh! ye hard hearts, was this the Paschal Lamb, Ye worse than pagan butchers, whom ye cull'd Pure and unspotted for your bloody feast? Well did your lawgiver decree this day A record and memorial to be kept Throughout your generations to all time; A memorable day, a noted feast Your stubborn incredulity hath made it. To you a day of darkness and disgrace; To us Salvation's glorious dawn, to us By our great Captain led, the Lord of Life, Who through the darksome avenue of death And depths mysterious of the mazy grave, Holding the clue of prophecy in hand, Unravell'd all the ways of Providence And to our view set ope the golden gates Of Paradise regain'd, whence light and life And bliss eternal beam on all mankind; For all, who with their lips confess the Lord, And in their hearts believe that from the dead God in his pow'r hath rais'd him, shall be sav'd. Meanwhile the prince of hell, whom CHRIST had left Rolling in torments on the stony rock, Mad as leviathan, when tempest-wreck'd Flound'ring he lies upon the shoaly beach, Now to one last and desperate effort driv'n, Straining each nerve with many a dolorous groan Half his huge length had rear'd. His right hand grasp'd His spear, the other on his buckler propp'd Pillow'd his head, raging with pain and thoughts Black as the night around him: To arise And stand surpass'd his power; in vain he spread His feathery vans to raise him in the air; About him all the ground with azure plumes Beat from his shatter'd pinions was bestrewn: Despair now seiz'd him, now too late he rued His blasphemies and bold rebellious taunts 'Gainst Heav'n's Omnipotent, his Judge incens'd: Hopeless of mercy now he curs'd his doom Of immortality, and as he roll'd His haggard eyes in night, hell's flaming gulph, Terrific vision, seem'd to burst upon him With treble horrors charg'd; then with a sigh, That strain'd his heaving cors'let, he breath'd forth In murmuring lamentations these sad words. Ah! who will lift me from this iron bed, On which Prometheus-like for ever link'd And rivetted by dire necessity I'm doom'd to lie, and wail the cruel boon Of immortality, my baneful fate? O earth, earth, earth! Cannot my groans pervade Thy stony heart to' embowel me alive Under this rock, before to-morrow's sun Find me here weltering in the sordid dust, A spectacle of scorn to all my host, Wont to behold in me their kingly chief? Will not some pitying earthquake gulph me down To where the everlasting fountains sleep, That in those wat'ry caverns I might slake These fires, that shrivel my parch'd sinews up? Ah! whither shall I turn? who will unbrace This scalding mail, that burns my tortur'd breast Worse than the shirt of Nessus? Oh! for pity, Grant me a moment's interval of ease, Avenging, angry Deity! Draw back Thy red right hand, that with the light'ning arm'd Thrust to my heart makes all my boiling blood Hiss in my veins; or if thou wilt destroy Whom thou hast vanquish'd, terminate these feuds 'Twixt good and evil, thee and me, reduce This incorruptible to mould'ring dust, Make Death a parricide, and so conclude Me and my sufferings and my sins at once. But 'twill not be. Happy I might have been, Immortal I must be: God can create Nothing but bliss; I made the pains I feel: Sorrow had no existence, Death no name 'Till I lost heav'n; to be was to be blest, And beings blest could never cease to be. This earth and man its habitant were good, Till envy, pride, rebellion, in my heart Engend'ring, marr'd God's perfect work with sin; And but for sin the universe were heav'n: So am I author of the hell within me, And these tormenting fires God cannot quench; For that would be to turn from what he is, Parent of good, and to become like me Patron and friend of evil. Reas'ning thus I must renounce all hope of future peace, And wage eternal enmity with God, Whom longer to oppose I now despair, And under whose strong hand weigh'd down to earth Prostrate, confounded, I can rise no more. Must I be ever thus? Must these fierce pangs, Or worse, if worse can be, torment me ever? Are there no means to make a truce with Heav'n? Submission, penitence, atonement, pray'rs And intercessions—Oh! fallacious, vain, Impracticable terms! Can pride shed tears, Falsehood keep faith, or perjury pass it's oath Upon that Judge, to whom all hearts are known? It cannot be. Ages of sin have roll'd 'Twixt me and pardon, gulph impassable. Man's loss of Paradise, a delug'd world, Sin paramount on earth, the nations turn'd From God to idols, scarce a remnant left Of this his chosen race, corruption spread Ev'n to' the heart of Judah', and from this Mount, Sad witness of my overthrow and shame, Scene of my triumphs once, his standard torn And hell's proud banners flanting in it's place; These and a countless multitude of wrongs Cry in the catalogue so loud against me, That should the thunder of God's vengeance sleep, Mercy herself would seize th' uplifted bolt And speed the ling'ring blow. What is my hope, If such the task to purchase peace for man, Man so subordinate in sin to me, The spring and fountain-head of that soul stream, Which he at distance drank? If CHRIST must die For man, if nothing less than God's own Son Can stand betwixt the Father's wrath and man, What mediator can be found for me? None, and no wonder if his wrath, withdrawn From man now pardon'd, fall with worse recoil On my devoted head: Ev'n now it falls. Me like an eagle in my tow'ring flight, From the proud zenith of the sun's bright sphere Headlong he hurls to earth with shatter'd wing And plumes dishevell'd grov'ling in the dust: Me, the sole mover of man's foul revolt, He marks for tenfold vengeance; for if CHRIST, The patient meek Redeemer, groans in pain, What shall the Tempter feel? If on the rack Of agony his guiltless brow sweats blood, Well may this body' of sin burst out in flames, A conflagration horrible to sight, And blazing beacon to th' astonish'd world. And what is this vile JUDAS, who seduc'd By wily MAMMON sells his Master's life? What PETER's self, whom, had not JESUS pray'd, I'd sifted into chaff? These purblind priests, Who with their half-shut eyes askance behold Their own Messias in his wond'rous acts, Yet give those wonders to the powers of hell, And trembling for their craft complot his death, What are they? Whence but from myself their lyes? 'Tis I in them, and not they of themselves, That kill the Prince of Peace; his guiltless blood Sprinkles their hands, but in a flood-gate tide Redder than scarlet whelms my sinking soul. He ceas'd, and in his mantle hid his face For shame and sorrow to be thus surpriz'd; For MAMMON, ever on the foot by night, Had spied him through the gloom, and thus began. What ails thee, Prince of air, that here thou liest On the dull earth, not resting it should seem From victory, but vanquish'd and o'erthrown? Vanquish'd, alas! and in the dust o'erthrown By God's all-pow'rful Son, SATAN replied, Too sure I am; and how it wrings this heart So to be found of thee words cannot speak. Yet thou of all the spirits heav'n hath lost Art he, of whom my pride hath least to fear; For thou wilt not as others gall my spleen With scorn and taunting: Thou, a friendly chief, Hast pity for the sorrows of a friend; To thee my valor and deserts are known, For thou wert ever nearest where I fought In front of danger on the battle's edge; Thou know'st the hazard and the chance of war, And with what malice fortune thwarts our best, Our bravest efforts: Scarr'd thyself with wounds, Thou from the wounded wilt not turn aside; Therefore, O MAMMON, as my hand to thee Were present, didst thou need it, so to me, Thy sovereign in distress, reach forth thine hand, And, if thou canst, upraise me from this fall; If thou canst not, let not my armies know Their leader's fate, be mindful of my fame, And bury this sad secret in thy breast. He said, nor need had he of further suit, For MAMMON now had put forth all his strength To raise him from the ground; in his strong grasp He seiz'd his giant limbs in armour clad Of adamant and gold, a ponderous wreck: Earth trembled with the shock; dire were the groans Hell's Monarch vented, horrible the pains, That rack'd his stiffen'd joints; yet on he toil'd Till by Heav'n's sufferance rather than by aid Of arm angelic once again he rear'd His huge Titanian stature to the skies, And stood; yet not as late with look erect And lofty mien: Ruin was in his face; Sordid and soil'd with ignominious dust His robe imperial, and his azure wings And glossy locks, that o'er his shoulders curl'd, Dishevell'd now, and in like tatter'd trim With vessel tempest-torn or by the force Of engines weigh'd from bottom of the deep, Founder'd in creek or harbor, where she lay Gulph'd in the slimy ooze; when MAMMON thus. Joy to our gallant Leader! Once again With firm foot planted on the subject earth We stand as spi'rits by our own strength redeem'd Erect and dauntless. Wherefore droops that eye, As it would root itself into the soil, From which with vigor new restor'd you rise Antaeus-like indignant of defeat? Oft, when in search of gold or silver ore In earth's metallic veins, I've labor'd long And hard, in damp and darksome caverns pent, Mining the solid rock, at length to light And the free air emerg'd, I've found my limbs Stiffen'd with cramps, or with cold ague numb'd: Yet never did my patient courage droop Or slack it's gainful toil. I am not apt, When wealth or glory can be bought with pain, To stagger at the terms; and if it please Heav'n's Monarch in his vengeance to attach To this eternal be'ing eternal pain, Good hope, as poisons may be sheath'd by use, So long familiarity with pain May draw it's sting, and habitude convert It's hostile property to friendly ease. But thy great heart perhaps is rent with grief, Of pain disdainful as of lesser ill: And wherefore grieve? Our joys were lost with heaven, Our passions all revers'd, our natures chang'd, Virtues to vices, amity to hate; Deeds, that in heav'n had been our shame, in hell Become our glory'; and whilst the world endures, Whilst evil is to good oppos'd, we keep The fight at doubtful issue, oft-times win The glorious field and triumph over God. Why did I tempt ISCARIOT to betray His guiltless Master? 'Twas not that I lov'd The traitor, no, the treason was my joy; I laugh at fools in their own folly caught: The wretch I tempted, him I shall destroy, And like a worn-out weapon cast him by; He shall not live to see his Master's fall, And for the sorry purchase of his sin He shall but touch the adder's sting and die: So much for JUDAS! Thus at once I slay Two victims and refine upon revenge. To whom with clouded brow and nothing cheer'd By this discourse hell's gloomy Power replied. MAMMON, you well describe the rueful change Wrought in us by our overthrow from heav'n, And for such solace as in thought you find Pondering the sad eternity of pain, My argument shall never be employ'd To make that little less; but when you vaunt ISCARIOT's treason and th' impending fall Of that just Person, now before the bar Of envious judges, who shall doom his death, You vaunt a deed, which, though the' elect of hell Jointly with me advis'd, brings on us all Ruin with loss of empire, and all hope So quenches, nought can stand us now in stead But patience and your reconciling rules To wont our natures to eternal pain. My potency you know, and can you think Less than the hand of God could hurl me down To misery like this? It must be God, Who speaks in CHRIST, the Father in the Son: Though meek, Almighty he controuls the world And me the world's late master; he destroys Sin my begotten and Sin's offspring Death. Oh! that I never had approach'd him more, Foil'd in my first temptation. Now, ev'n now, I feel a nature in me, not mine own, That is my master and against my will Enforces truths prophetic from my tongue, Making me rev'rence whom in heart I hate: I feel that now, though lifted from the ground, I stand or move or speak but as he wills, By influence not by freedom: I perceive These exhalations, that the night breathes on me, Are loaded with the vaporous steams of hell; I scent them in the air, and well I know The angel of destruction is abroad. I cannot fly from fate; the man foredoom'd To bruise my head is CHRIST, the time is come, The prophecy is full; exil'd from hence, As first from heav'n, my reign on earth is o'er, And my last care is for those hapless friends, The partners of my fall, when I am gone Left like a headless trunk. Warn them to fly Impending ruin; sure I am, when CHRIST Breathes forth his sacred spi'rit into the air, His dying gasp shall blow them like a spell To the four winds of heav'n: Let them be gone In time and ply the wing; there's shelter yet In this wide world for them: Though I must hence, They may abide, and though their names be lost, Their altars levell'd and their idols maim'd, Yet shall their arts and offices endure, Their influences still shall draw the hearts Of many; sin shall not at once secede From earth, nor darkness wholly yield to light. To thee, auspicious spi'rit, whose potent arm Hath rais'd me from the ground, I can assure A longer term of residence and power: Thy empire in earth's inmost centre roots, Thy influence circulates through all her veins; Nor earth alone, but ocean wafts to thee Continual tribute; commerce hails thy name; In thee war triumphs, thee fair peace adores And gilds the feathers of her dove with gold To dedicate to thee her worldly god, Thee, the last foe whom CHRIST shall chase from earth. So spake the parting fiend in his last hour Prophetic, father though he were of lyes: To him the inferior daemon answer none Attempted, but in ghastly silence stood Gazing with horror on his chieftain's face, That chang'd all hues by fits, as when the north, With nitrous vapors charg'd, convulsive shoots It's fiery darts athwart the trembling pole, Making heav'n's vault a canopy of blood; So o'er the visage of the exorcis'd fiend Alternate gleams like meteors came and went; And ever and anon he beat his breast, That quick and short with lab'ring pulses heav'd. One piteous look he upward turn'd, one sigh From his sad heart he fain had sent to heav'n, But ere the hopeless messenger could leave His quiv'ring lips, by sudden impulse seiz'd He finds himself uplifted from the earth; His azure wings, to sooty black now chang'd, In wide expanse from either shoulder stretch For flight involuntary: Up he springs Whirl'd in a fiery vortex round and round; As when the Lybian wilderness caught up In sandy pillar by the eddying winds Moves horrible, the grave of man and beast; Him thus ascending the fork'd light'ning smites With sidelong volley, whilst loud thunders rock Heav'n's echoing vault, when all at once, behold! Caught in the stream of an impetuous gust High in mid-air, swift on the level wing Northward he shoots and like a comet leaves Long fiery track behind, speeding his course Strait to the realms of Chaos and old Night, Hell-bound and to Tartarean darkness doom'd. His sad associate, left on earth, look'd up And with like conscious terror ey'd his flight, As when the merchant trembling for his freight Looks seaward from some promontory's top, And thence descries his gallant bark a wreck Driving at mercy of the winds and waves Full on the rocky shoal, her certain grave; Then having bid farewell to all his hope In this one bottom stor'd, now lost to sight, Turns with a sigh aside, and o'er the strand With heavy heart takes homeward his slow way. So sigh'd the fiend, and for his own sad fate Trembling yet fearful to attempt the wing, Slunk cow'ring off veil'd in the shades of night.