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