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XII.- Jupiter to the inferior Deities, forbidding them to take any
Part in the Contention between the Greeks and
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn;
And such are men and gods, compar'd to Jove."
Saek of Troy --VIRGIL.
LL were attentive to the godlike man,
Nor stern Ulyeses tell without a tear.
'Twas now the dead of night, when sleep repairs Our bodies worre with toils, our mitids with cares, When Hector's ghost before my sight appears : Shrouded in blood he stood, and bath'd in tears : Such as when, by the fierce Pelides slain, Thessalian coursers dragg'd him o`er the plain. Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust Throogh the pierc'd limbs; his body black with dust. Unlike that Hector, who, return'd from toils of war, triumphant, in Aacian spoils ; Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire, Hurling amidst their fleets the Phrygian fire. His hair and beard were clotted stiff with gore : The ghastly wounds he for his country bore, Now streamid afresh. I wept to see the visionary man ; And, whilst my trance continued, thus began :
“O light of i'rojans, and support of Troy, Thy father's champion, and thy country's joy! O long expected by thy friends! From whence Art thou so late returnid to our defence ? Alas! what wounds are these? What new disgrace Deformas the manly honors of thy face?"
The spectre groaning from his inmost breast, This warning in these mournful words exprest.
" Haste, goddess born! Escape by timely flight,
Now peals of shouts came thund'ring from afar,
And Grecian fraud in open light appear'd.
and shine with sparkling light.
Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a gacred name,
" What hope, O Pantheus? Whither can we run?
Who fights meets death, and death finds him who flies."
inciting them to renew the War.--Milton.
open war. Of wiles
Among his angels
and his throne itself, Mix'd with Tartarian sulphur and strange fire, His own invented torments. But, perhaps, The way seems difficult and steep to scale, With upright wing, against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat; descent and fal To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight, We sunk thus low? Th? ascent is easy then. Th’event is fear'd. Should we again provoke Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find, To our destruction ; if there be in hell, Fear to be worse destroy'd : What can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemn'a In this abhorred deep to utter woe; Where pain of unextinguishable fire, Must exercise us without hope of end, The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorable, and the tort'ring hour Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus We sbould be quite abolish'd and expire. What fear we then? What douòt we to incense His utmost ire? Which to the height enrag'da, Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential, (happier far Than miserable, to have eternal being) Or if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing; and by proof we feel Our power sufficient to disturb this heaven, And with perpetual inroads to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne; Which, if not victory, is yet revenge."
XV.Speech of Belial, advising Peace.--Is. T
SHOULD be much for open war, O peers,
Ag not behind in hate, if what was urg'd
First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are fill'd With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable ; oft on the bordering deep Incamp their legions ; or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide, into the realm of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confuund Heaven's purest liglit-yet our great enemy, All incorruptible, would, on his throne, Sit unpolluted ; and th' etherial mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mişchief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope ls flat despair. We must exasperate Th'almighty victor to spend all his rage, And that must end us ; that must be our cure, To be no more. Sad fate! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallow'd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion ? And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry toe Can give it, or will ever ? How he can, Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then ? Say they who counsel war, we are decreed, Reserv'd and destin'd to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can suffer more, What can we suffer worse? Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in armos? What when we fled amain, purslied and struck With heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us? This hell then seem'd A refuge from those wounds; or when we lay Chain'd on the burning lake? That sure was worse, What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, Awak'd, should blow them into seven-fold rage, And plunge us in the flames? or from above Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us ? What if all Her stores were opend and this firmament Of bell should spout her cataracts of fire. Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall