Excess, before the all-bounteous King, who showered With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy. Now when ambrosial night, with clouds exhaled From that high mount of God whence light and shade Spring both, the face of brightest Heaven had changed To grateful twilight (for night comes not there In darker veil), and roseate dews disposed All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest, Wide over all the plain, and wider far Than all this globous Earth in plain outspread (Such are the courts of God), the angelic throng, Dispersed in bands and files, their camp extend By living streams among the trees of life⁠— Pavilions numberless and sudden reared, Celestial tabernacles, where they slept Fanned with cool winds; save those who, in their course, Melodious hymns about the sovereign throne Alternate all night long. But not so waked Satan⁠—so call him now; his former name Is heard no more in Heaven. He, of the first, If not the first Archangel, great in power, In favour, and pre-eminence, yet fraught With envy against the Son of God, that day