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Among the sons of morn, what multitudes Were banded to oppose his high decree; And, smiling, to his only Son thus said:

Son, thou in whom my glory I behold

In full resplendence, heir of all my might,

Nearly it now concerns us to be sure

Of our omnipotence, and with what arms

We mean to hold what anciently we claim

Of deity or empire. Such a foe

Is rising, who intends to erect his throne

Equal to ours, throughout the spacious North;

Nor so content, hath in his thought to try

In battle, what our power is, or our right.

Let us advise, and to this hazard draw

With speed what force is left, and all employ

In our defence; lest unawares we lose

This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill.

To whom the Son, with calm aspect and clear,

Lightning divine, ineffable, serene,

Made answer: Mighty Father, thou thy foes

Justly hast in derision, and, secure,

Laugh'st at their vain designs and tumults vain,

Matter to me of glory, whom their hate

Illustrates, when they see all regal power

Given me to quell their pride, and in event

Know whether I be dextrous to subdue

Thy rebels, or be found the worst in heaven.

So spake the Son: but Satan, with his powers,

Far was advanced on winged speed; a host

Innumerable as the stars of night,

Or stars of morning dewdrops which the sun

Impearls on every leaf and every flower.

Regions they passed, the mighty Regencies

Of Seraphim, and Potentates, and Thrones,

In their triple degrees—regions, to which

All thy dominion, Adam, is no more