Classic Poem

LXI.

 The storm stands still! a moment's pause of terror!
 All dungeon-dark!—Again the lightnings yawn,
 Shewing the earth as in a quivering mirror.
 The prostrate Angel felt but that the one,
 Whose love had lost him Paradise, was gone:
 He dared not see her corpse!—he closed his eyes;
 A voice burst o'er him, solemn as the tone
 Of the last trump,—he glanced upon the skies,
He saw, what shook his soul with terror, shame, surprise.

LXII.

 The Minstrel stood before him; two broad plumes
 Spread from her shoulders on the burthen'd air;
 Her face was glorious still, but love's young blooms
 Had vanish'd for the hue of bold despair;
 A fiery circle crown'd her sable hair;
 And, as she look'd upon her prostrate prize,
 Her eyeballs shot around a meteor glare,
 Her form tower'd up at once to giant size;
'Twas E BLIS ! king of Hell's relentless sovereignties.

LXIII.

 The tempter spoke—“Spirit, thou mightst have stood,
 But thou hast fall'n a weak and willing slave.
 Now were thy feeble heart our serpents' food,
 Thy bed our burning ocean's sleepless wave,
 But haughty Heaven controls the power it gave.
 Yet art thou doom'd to wander from thy sphere,
 Till the last trumpet reaches to the grave;
 Till the Sun rolls the grand concluding year;
Till Earth is Paradise; then shall thy crime be clear.”

LXIV.

 The Angel listen'd,—risen upon one knee,
 Resolved to hear the deadliest undismay'd.
 His star-dropt plume hung round him droopingly,
 His brow, like marble, on his hand was staid.
 Still through the auburn locks' o'er hanging shade
 His face shone beautiful; he heard his ban;
 Then came the words of mercy, sternly said;
 He plunged within his hands his visage wan,
And the first wild, sweet tears from his heart-pulses ran.

LXV.

 The Giant grasp'd him as he fell to earth,
 And his black vanes upon the air were flung,
 A tabernacle dark;—and shouts of mirth
 Mingled with shriekings through the tempest swung;
 His arm around the fainting Angel clung.
 Then on the clouds he darted with a groan;
 A moment o'er the mount of ruin hung,
 Then burst through space, like the red comet's cone,
Leaving his track on heaven a burning, endless zone.