"'Behold,' I cried, 'these glories! scenes divine! Thou whose sad prime in pining want decays; And these, O rapture! these shall all be thine, If thou wilt give to me, not God, the praise. Hath he not given to indigence thy days? Is not thy portion peril here and pain? Oh! leave his temples, shun his wounding ways! Seize the tiara! these mean weeds disdain, Kneel, kneel, thou man of woe, and peace and splendour gain.' XXI. "'Is it not written,' sternly he replied, 'Tempt not the Lord thy God!' Frowning he spake, And instant sounds, as of the ocean tide, Rose, and the whirlwind from its prison brake, And caught me up aloft, till in one flake The sidelong volley met my swift career, And smote me earthward.--Jove himself might quake At such a fall; my sinews crack'd, and near, Obscure and dizzy sounds seem'd ringing in mine ear. XXII. "Senseless and stunn'd I lay; till casting round My half unconscious gaze, I saw the foe Borne on a car of roses to the ground, By volant angels; and as sailing slow He sunk the hoary battlement below, While on the tall spire slept the slant sunbeam, Sweet on the enamour'd zephyr was the flow Of heavenly instruments. Such strains oft seem, On star-light hill, to soothe the Syrian shepherd's dream. XXIII. "I saw blaspheming. Hate renew'd my strength; I smote the ether with my iron wing, And left the accursed scene.--Arrived at length In these drear halls, to ye, my peers! I bring The tidings of defeat. Hell's haughty king Thrice vanquished, baffled, smitten, and dismay'd! O shame! Is this the hero who could fling Defiance at his Maker, while array'd, High o'er the walls of light, rebellion's banners play'd! XXIV. "Yet shall not Heaven's bland minions triumph long; Hell yet shall have revenge. O glorious sight, Prophetic visions on my fancy throng, I see wild Agony's lean finger write Sad figures on his forehead!--Keenly bright Revenge's flambeau burns! Now in his eyes Stand the hot tears,--immantled in the night, Lo! he retires to mourn!--I hear his cries! He faints--he falls--and lo!--'t is true, ye powers, he dies." XXV. Thus spake the chieftain,--and as if he view'd The scene he pictured, with his foot advanced And chest inflated, motionless he stood, While under his uplifted shield he glanced, With straining eyeball fix'd, like one entranced, On viewless air;--thither the dark platoon Gazed wondering, nothing seen, save when there danced The northern flash, or fiend late fled from noon, Darken'd the disk of the descending moon. XXVI.