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For such I reign unbounded and above :
XIII.—Mncas to Queen Dido, giving an Account of the
Sack of Troy.—Virgil.
ALL were attentive to the godlike man,
'Twas now the dead of night, when sleep repairs
"O light of Trojans, and support of Troy,
The spectre groaning from his inmost breast,
“ Haste, goddess born! Escape by timely flight.
If by a mortal arm my father's throne
Now peals of shouts came thund'ring from afar,
Louder and louder still I hear th' alarms
Fear broke my slumbers.
New clamors and new clangors now arise,
Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a sacred name,
“ What hope, O Pantheus > Whither can we run? Where make a stand ? Or, What can yet be done !:' Scarce had I spoke, when Pantheus, with a groan,
Troy is no more! Her glories now are gone. The fatal day, th' appointed hour is come, When wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands : Our city's wrapt in flames; the foe commands. To several posts their parties they divide ; Some block the narrow streets ; some scour the wide. The bold they kill; th' unwary they surpise ; Who fights meets death, and death' finds hiin who flies."
XIV.—Moloch, the fallen Angel, to the infernal powers,
inciting tfam to renew the War - MILTON. MY sentence is for open war.
Of wiles More unexpert, I boast not ; then let those Contrive who need : or when they need, not now. For while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit ling'ring here, Heav'ns fugitives, and for their dwelling place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny, who reigns By our delay ? No ; let us rather choose, Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once, O'er heaven's high towers to force resistless way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms, Against the tort'rer ; when, to meet the noise Of his almighty engine, he shall hear Infernal thunder ; and for lightning, see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his angels--and his throne itself, Mix'd with Tartarean 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 fall 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'ascentis 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'd! In this abhorred rieep 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 should be quite abolish'd and expire. What fear we then ? What doubt we to incense His utmost ire ? Which to the height enrag'd, Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential, (happier far,
XV.—SpeecA of Belial^ advising Peace.—Js,
I SHOULD be much for open war, O peers, As not behind in hate, if what was urg'd Main reason to persuade immediate war. Did not dissuade the most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; When he who most excels in feats of arms, In what he counsels, and in what excels, Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are fillM Vith armed watch, that render all access Impregnable ; oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions ; or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide, into the realm of night, Scorning surprize. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light—yet our great enemy, All incorruptible, would on his throne, Sit unpolluted ; and th' etherial mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope Is 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 foe 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