![]() ![]() ![]() O Myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers Matchless, but with the Almighty! and that strife Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change Hateful to utter: but what power of mind, Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth. Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn, Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth at last Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way. He now prepared To speak whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round With all his peers: Attention held them mute. Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather (Far other once beheld in bliss), condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung For his revolt yet faithful how they stood, Their glory wither'd: as when Heaven's fire Hath scathed the forest oaks, or mountain pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare, Stands on the blasted heath. ![]()
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