276
��PARADISE REGAINED
��After his aerie jauut, though hurried sore, Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest, Wherever, under some concourse of shades, Whose branching arms thick intertwined
might shield
From dews and damps of night his shel- tered head; But, sheltered, slept in vain; for at his
head The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly
dreams Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic
now 'Gan thunder, and both ends of heaven;
the clouds 410
From many a horrid rift abortive poured Fierce rain with lightning mixed, water
with fire
In ruin reconciled; nor slept the winds Within their stony caves, but rushed abroad From the four hinges of the world, and fell On the vexed wilderness, whose tallest
pines, Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest
oaks, Bowed their stiff necks, loaden with stormy
blasts, Or torn up sheer. Ill wast thou shrouded
then,
O patient Son of God, yet only stood'st 420 Unshaken ! Nor yet staid the terror there : Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round Environed thee ; some howled, some yelled,
some shrieked, Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while
thou
Sat'st uuappalled in calm and sinless peace. Thus passed the night so foul, till Morning
fair Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice
grey, Who with her radiant finger stilled the
roar Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the
winds, And griesly spectres, which the Fiend had
raised 43 o
To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire. And now the sun with more effectual beams Had cheered the face of earth, and dried
the wet From drooping plant, or dropping tree ; the
birds, Who all things now behold more fresh and
green,
��After a night of storm so ruinous, Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and
spray,
To gratulate the sweet return of morn. Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest
morn,
Was absent, after all his mischief done, 44* The Prince of Darkness; glad would also
seem Of this fair change, and to our Saviour
came; Yet with no new device (they all were
spent),
Rather by this his last affront resolved, Desperate of better course, to vent his rage And mad despite to be so oft repelled. Him walking on a sunny hill he found, Backed on the north and west by a thick
wood;
Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape, And in a careless mood thus to him said: " Fair morning yet betides thee, Son of God, 451
After a dismal night. I heard the wrack, As earth and sky would mingle; but my- self
Was distant; and these flaws, though mor- tals fear them,
As dangerous to the pillared frame of Hea- ven,
Or to the Earth's dark basis underneath, Are to the main as inconsiderable And harmless, if not wholesome, as a
sneeze
To man's less universe, and soon are gone. Yet, as being ofttimes noxious where they light 460
On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbu- lent,
Like turbulencies in the affairs of men, Over whose heads they roar, and seem to
point,
They oft fore-signify and threaten ill. This tempest at this desert most was bent; Of men at thee, for only thou here dwell'st. Did I not tell thee, if thou didst reject The perfect season offered with my aid To win thy destined seat, but wilt prolong All to the push of fate, pursue thy way 470 Of gaining David's throne no man knows
when (For both the when and how is nowhere
told),
Thou shalt be what thou art ordained, no doubt;
�� �
