“So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell On the proud crest of Satan that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield, Such ruin intercept. Ten paces huge He back recoiled; the tenth on bended knee His massy spear upstayed: as if, on Earth, Winds under ground, or waters forcing way, Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat, Half-sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized The rebel Thrones, but greater rage, to see Thus foiled their mightiest; ours joy filled, and shout, Presage of victory, and fierce desire Of battle: whereat Michael bid sound The Archangel trumpet; through the vast of Heaven It sounded, and the faithful armies rung Hosannah to the Highest; nor stood at gaze The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose, And clamour such as heard in Heaven till now Was never; arms on armour clashing brayed Horrible discord, and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots raged; dire was the noise