He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield Ethereal temper, massy, large and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers or mountains in her spotty globe. His spear⁠—to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some great ammiral, were but a wand⁠— He walked with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle, not like those steps On Heaven’s azure; and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. Nathless he so endured, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea, he stood, and called His legions, Angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades High overarched embower; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce Winds Orion armed Hath vext the Red-Sea Coast, whose waves o’erthrew