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 Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, While with perfidious hatred they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcases And broken chariot wheels: so thick bestrown, Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He called so loud, that all the hollow deep Of Hell resounded: “Princes, Potentates, Warriors, the flower of Heaven, once yours, now lost, If such astonishment as this can seize Eternal spirits: or have ye chosen this place After the toil of battle to repose Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven? Or in this abject posture have ye sworn To adore the conqueror, who now beholds Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern The advantage, and descending tread us down Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf? Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!”
They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread, Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake. Nor did they not perceive the evil plight In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel; Yet to their General’s voice they soon obeyed Innumerable. As when the potent rod Of Amram’s son in Egypt’s evil day, Waved round the coast, up called a pitchy cloud Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o’er the realm of impious Pharoah hung Like night, and darkened all the land of