dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone Above them all the Archangel; but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemned For ever now to have their lot in pain; Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung For his revolt; yet faithful how they stood, Their glory withered: as, when Heaven’s fire Hath scathed the forest oaks, or mountain pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: attention held them mute. Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last Words interwove with sighs found out their way:
“O Myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers Matchless, but with the Almighty!—and that strife Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change, Hateful to utter. But what power of mind Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge past or present, could have feared How such united force of gods, how such