Come, Thou Eternal Spirit, who on the face
Of the abysmal waters, when the earth
Was without form and void, brooding didst move,
Silent Omnipotence, unseen but felt,
The while beneath Thy penetrating power
Light as the voice of God brake forth, a faint
Far tremor in the sunless starless gloom,
Creation's twilight, nor didst cease Thy work,
Till looking forth upon the vast expanse,
By mountains, rivers, lakes, and placid seas
Diversified, on that first sabbath's eve,
Infinite Goodness said that all was good:
Come Thou, and brood over the deep unknown
Which bounds the known in me, nor suffer clouds,
Born of unfathomable mysteries,
To cast their shade athwart heaven's blessed light,
While, led by Thee, I speak of other worlds
Than those fair fields I lately walk'd, and tell
What from the' utmost precincts of Paradise
I and my angel guardian saw and heard
Of outer darkness and Tartarean night.
Come; for Thou dwellest in the highest heavens,
Thyself inhabiting eternity,
Alone, Supreme, beyond all time and space,
Yet deignest in the contrite heart to' abide
As in Thy chosen temple; Spirit of Truth,
Who, in Thy Pentecostal might, from heaven
Descending as a mighty rushing wind,
Didst rest upon Thy suppliant saints of old
In likeness as of cloven tongues of fire,
A crown of lambent and innocuous flame;
Purge Thou mine eyes from film, my heart from fear;
Inspire, illumine, fortify my soul;
Breathe, O Thou Breath Divine, on my emprise;
Touch my fain lips, strengthen my feeble hands;
Nor let my footstep unawares intrude
On counsels Thou art pleased to veil from man,
Nor where Thy lamp shines dimly press too far
Adventurous, nor in coward disbelief
Shrink back appall'd where Thou dost lead the way.

As sweeps a breeze from off the spicy plains
Of Florence to the lonely Apennines,
Its passage only mark'd by rustling leaves
In the thick olive-groves, and stronger waves
Of light upon the mountain rivulets,
So from that peopled glen, where last we saw
The parents of mankind, Oriel and I
Along those plains and smiling valleys pass'd,
And up a forest-clad ravine that scarr'd
The bastions of those everlasting hills
Heaven's boundary, and, emerging, found ourselves
On a vast table-land, leagues upon leagues
In breadth, which traversed, led our rapid course
To other hills hidden before from view:
These scaled, we landed on a second plain
Sublime, engirdled by yet distant peaks,
The triple wall and battlements of heaven.
Harder than adamant these rocks, yet seem'd
Of such original substance, as those beds
Of ice which with the flow of centuries
Creep along Alpine glens: rocks, half opaque,
Half lucid, where the piercing light was lost
In depths impervious of intensest green:
Ramparts far loftier than those giant hills,
With rhododendrons clad, and crown'd with snows,
The ancient Himalays. But, light as air,
We clomb that uttermost of Paradise;
A path no vulture's eye hath ever seen,
A height no eagle's wing hath ever soar'd,
And standing on its extreme ridge, look'd down,
Lone sentinels. Strange promontory ours:
Behind us lay the radiant fields of bliss;
But who, unblanch'd with terror, may describe
The scene before us? Not in terraces
Or tiers of hills, mountains on mountains built,
Yielding access, though arduous, but a sheer
Precipitate descent, a horrid chasm,
Few paces off from where we stood, there yawn'd
Right at our feet: down, ever down, a depth
Equal the height of those eternal hills,
And how much lower no created eye
Might fathom: for a sea of clouds midway
Surged up and sank, and sinking, surged again,
Not vaporous mists alone, but sulphur smoke,
Mingled with sparkles, and with lurid flames,
Earth, air, fire, water, formless, shapeless, waste,
A chaos of all elements disturb'd,
Fused and confused, which seem'd a billowing tide,
Hither and thither sway'd, storm-tost, suspense,
Betwixt that awful cliff of Paradise
Rolling, and the far distant shore beyond.

Was it a shore beyond? At first it seem'd
Darkness alone, the absence of all light,
Blackness of darkness. But the while I gazed
Astonied, and mine eye more used became
To bear the dazzling terror of that gloom,
Dim lineaments before me slowly stretch'd,
And distances receding without end
Into the utter void; the realm of night,
A land of darkness and of gloominess,
Dark mountains, and yet darker vales between,
And waveless depths profound, darkest of all;
A world o'ershadow'd with the pall of death,
The sepulchre of life. But whence it came
Those outlines were not wholly' invisible,
I knew not. Loom'd there such a sullen glow
As fire suppress'd not quench'd, emits: or such
Faint earthlight as our planet casts reflex
On the dull surface of the crescent moon;
Or likest that sad mockery of day
He sees who, standing near as dread permits,
Beside a stream of burning lava, views
The blasted landscape in the dead of night.

Awe-struck I gazed; but for relief ere long
Turn'd to the happy fields of light, which lay
Behind us, nurturing my soul awhile
With their pure joys. Then first ask'd myself
What made that heavenly Eden luminous
With glory, and look'd up instinctively
On the blue crystal of the firmament,
Blue only from intensity of clear,
As if expecting there some orb of light;
But there no lamp appear'd, no sun, no moon,
No star far glimmering in the azure vault;
And yet the islands in the southern seas,
Basking in light when rains have clear'd the sky,
Were never bathed in radiance pure as this:
And Oriel saw my wonder and replied:

'Brother, remember Paradise is heaven,
Heaven's portal, and the portal of God's house
Needs not the shining of created light;
For He, the Light of Light, is ever there,
And, where He is, darkness can ne'er exist;
Such virtue His eternal Presence sheds
Throughout the courts where He abides well pleased,
Rejoicing in the beauty' of holiness.
Far otherwise those realms of utter night,
Which lie beyond the mighty gulf thou seest,
Are darken'd with the shadow of His wrath.
That which is glory here is darkness there;
As when the fiery cloudy pillar stood,
A shield betwixt the hosts of Israel
And baffled Egypt's chariots Nor can those
Who fain would pass from us to yonder world
On thoughts of pity' intent, or hence to us,
Traverse with foot or wing yon chasm profound:
Not for the interval, - for as thou seest
The landscapes of those desolate regions lie
Within our range, and listening we might catch
(So subtle here the waves of light and sound)
Far off its cries and voices; and as spirits
Ourselves, with speed of lightnings, to and fro
Go and return; but that a spiritual law,
Akin to that magnetic force which binds
The mortal habitants of earth to earth,
Has laid its viewless interdict between,
And bound the sons of darkness and of light
Each to their proper home. There is no path
From hell to heaven, from heaven to hell direct.
But haply thou remember'st, ere we touch'd
The outer confines of this world of spirits,
A roadway wrapt in clouds and gloom which stretch'd
Far to the left of our celestial course,
A roadway with funereal blackness hung
As ours with bridal light, and resonant
With sighings of despair, as ours with songs
Of triumph. To the gates of hell it leads,
Meet across for meet bourn, and down its track
The angels, the executors of wrath,
Bear in their hands lost men and rebel spirits,
Consigning them to their awarded prison
Of darkness, till the judgement trumpet sounds.'

'And hast thou ever trodden that dread path,
And enter'd those eternal gates, and seen
The secrets of that penal world?' I ask'd,
And my voice falter'd as I spake.

'Yes, thrice,'
Oriel replied with calm unfaltering lip,
And with his words his countenance benign
Grew more and more severely beautiful,
The beauty of triumphant holiness,
The calm severity of burning love:
'Thrice in my ministry of saints hath God
Ordain'd me to fulfil His missions there;
And, brother, His behests are always good;
Pure goodness without stain of evil, light
Without the shadow of a shade of dark.
The earliest that I trod that awful road,
It was my charge, with other spirits elect,
A legion arm'd of warrior seraphim,
To bear in chains to their dark prison-house
Those angels who forsook their high estate
Through alien and unnatural lust. Of this
Thou shalt learn more hereafter. But the first
Of disembodied human souls I bore
To his own place in yonder realms of wrath
Was one I fondly loved, of noble birth,
Of high and generous bearing, who, alas,
Like some brave vessel cast on shifting sands,
Made shipwreck of his faith and sank to ruin.

'In brief, the story of his life was this: -
Three centuries and more had pass'd away
Since Jesus' birth in Bethlehem; and he,
Of whom I tell thee, was a chieftain, born
Of Christian mother, but of heathen sire.
This was the bitter fountain of a stream
Of bitterness. For when in evil hour
His mother gave her heart to one who loved
The gods she loathed, and loathed the cross she loved -
She married immortality to death,
Faith to distrust, and hope to dark despair:
Discordant wedlock, whence discordant fruit.
Fondly she dream'd by ceaseless prayers to win
Her spouse to Christ. Vain hope! her broken troth
Hung like a leaden weight on every prayer:
And he, a haughty consular of Rome,
Scorn'd her low creed, himself incredulous,
Yet loved the lovely votary. And when
The sweet pledge of their bridal joy was given,
And she would dedicate their child to God
With equal scorn he yielded to her tears
A thing indifferent. In a lonely cave
Amid a group of trembling fugitives, -
For hatred then pursued the Christian name, -
An aged priest baptized him Theodore.

God's gift,
his mother whisper'd. And thenceforth
She pour'd upon him, him her only child,
The priceless treasures of a mother's heart.
I was his chosen guardian. No light watch,
No easy vigil; for his home, unlike
The moated fortress of a faithful house,
Was ever open to the spirits malign.
But not an arrow reach'd him. From himself,
And not from hellish fraud or violence,
His ruin. O mysterious web of life;
Its warp of faith, its woof of unbelief;
The mother teaching prayers the father mock'd!
And yet her spell was earliest on her child,
And strongest. And the fearless Theodore,
Was call'd by other men, and call'd himself,
A Christian. Love, emotion, gratitude,
All that was tenderest in a tender heart,
All most heroic in a hero's soul,
Pleaded on Christ's behalf. And oft I hoped,
Hoped against hope, that his was real faith,
A graft, a germ, a blossom - hoped till I
Could hope no longer, for I never saw
That warrior (he was train'd to arms) prostrate
A broken suppliant at the throne of love.

'The hour drew on that tried him. Constantine,
The first of Christian emperors, was now
Marching with lion springs from land to land
Triumphant. Him to meet in mortal fight
Maxentius hurried, vowing to his gods
That, if they crown'd his eagles, he would crush
The cross throughout the universe of Rome.
And Theodore, won by his mother's prayers,
Was with the faithful army; when it chanced,
In sack of a beleaguer'd city, he saved
A Grecian maiden and her sire from death:
Her name Irene, his Iconocles:
Among the princes he a prince, of all
Fair women she the fairest of her race,
Not only for her symmetry of form,
But for the music and the love which breathed
In every motion and in every word.
Yet both were worshippers at Phoebus' shrine,
Fast-bound in midnight-dark idolatry.
And, when the enamour'd Theodore besought
His daughter of her sire, Iconocles
Made answer, 'Never shall my child be his
Who kneels before a malefactor's cross.
Thy choice Irene, or the Crucified.'
And she by oath affirm'd her father's word.

'Then was there tempest in the swelling heart
Of Theodore: truth struggled and untruth
In terrible collision. For an hour
He paced before his tent irresolute;
Now cleaving to his mother's faith, alas,
More hers than his; and now by passionate gusts
Driven from his anchorage, a helmless bark.
Conscience was quick; and God's Spirit strove with him.
'Twas mine to ward the powers of darkness off;
And singly with himself the awful fight
Was foughten, and, oh woe! for ever woe!
Was lost. And he said, 'Adam chose to die,
Not circumvented, not deceived like Eve,
But braving death itself for her dear sake.
So will I die. I cannot leave that spirit
Angelic in a human form enshrined.
She must be mine for ever. Life were death
Without her.' And straight entering, where she lean'd
Upon her father, as white jasmine leans
On a dark pine, slowly, resolvedly,
As measuring every word with fate, he said,
'Irene, if the choice be endless woe,
For thy sake I renounce my mother's faith:
I cannot, will not leave thee. I am thine.'

'And through the dusky twilight that same eve
The three forsook the tents of Constantine
And join'd Maxentius' host. And without pause,
Amid his early friends, Iconocles
Unto the marriage altar proudly led
The offering who had won so great a foe:
Small space was there for hymeneal pomp:
A soldier's spousal 'mid the clash of arms.

'That very night Great Constantine beheld
The fiery cross upon the sky, and read
The signal, In Hoc Vinces. And the morn,
Strange portent, saw far floating o'er his ranks
The labarum emblazon'd with the cross.
The armies rush'd to battle. Theodore
Rose from his nuptial couch, a desperate man;
No thought of penitence, none of retreat;
But in his eye a wild disastrous fire,
Sign of the fiercer flame he nursed within.
Lost, ruin'd, hopeless, and as glad to' escape
The tempest raging in his heart, he strode
Impetuously into the thickest flight,
And prodigies of valor wrought that day,
Felling beneath his fratricidal blade
Whole ranks, his comrades and his brethren late,
Brethren in faith and arms. But as he stamp'd
Upon the fallen in defiant pride,
And now as madden'd or inspired by hell
Pour'd blasphemies upon the Holy Name
His mother taught his infant lip to lisp
In blessings, even as he spake the words,
An unknown arrow, not unfledged with prayer,
Transpierced his eye and brain. Sudden he fell:
One short sharp cry; one strong convulsive throe;
And in a moment his unhappy spirit
Was from its quivering tabernacle loosed.

'Oh awful passage! from the din and roar
Of battle, from the trampling of horse-hoofs,
The roll of chariots, and the measured tread
Of thousands, from the brazen trumpet's blare
Drowning the shouts of victors, and the cries
Of wounded, agonizing, dying men,
From the worst dissonance of earth and time, -
The soul, in an eye's twinkling, brought to face
The calm deep silence of eternity.

'As stunn'd, the disembodied spirit awhile
Fix'd upon things unseen a vacant gaze:
But quickly' awaking from that dreadful swoon
To worse reality, he cried, the first
If not the strongest passion of his life
Surviving all the earthquake shock of death,
'Mother, where art thou, mother? where am I?'
And not till then emerging on his view
I spake and said, 'Lost spirit, it is not mine
To aggravate thy utter wretchedness
By words of idle grief or vain rebuke,
But to convey thee to that viewless world
Where thou must wait thy sentence from the lips
Of infinite, supreme, eternal Truth.
But thus far only, to anticipate
Resistance; - to resist were futile here:
Almighty Power hath given thee to my charge,
And thou wert strengthless in my grasp. Our road
Lies yonder. Lost one, rise and come with me.'
So saying I laid my hand upon his hand,
And through his nerveless spirit he felt the touch
Of might superior to his own, and shrank
Appall'd, but soon remembering my words,
Yielded, and went with me the way I trod,
In tearless silence and in mute despair.

'It is not thus with all when first they wake
To consciousness of ruin. Some straightway
Will wring their hands in agony, and weep,
And pour their lamentations forth in words,
And wail for bitter anguish. Others strive
With proud reluctancies and vain despite
Against their dark inevitable doom.
Others, palsied with terror, shivering stand.
Others curse their creation. Theodore
Was diverse from such men on earth, and now
Was diverse. As I spake, at one fell glance
He seem'd to measure the abyss profound
Before him, and by terrible resolve,
Alas, too late submissive, to accept
The everlasting punishment of sin.

'At first pathway was the same as that
Which led thee homeward, brother. Through the heaven
Which wraps the earth in its cerulean robe,
And through the starry firmament, until
The sun which lightens the terrestrial globe
Paled like a distant lamp, slowly we pass'd;
Slowly, - I had no heart for speed, nor was
The King's commission urgent. He delights
In mercy, and His embassies of grace
Have never found seraphic wings too swift:
But judgement is His strange and dreadful work.
And, as with measured step we trod adown
That highway through the heavens precipitate,
My hopeless captive gazed a long last gaze
Upon the fading sun and passing stars
As signs which he should never more behold:
And drawn from out his bosom's depths at last
A groan brake from him, and he sobb'd aloud -
'My mother, oh my mother, from thy love
I learn'd to love those silent orbs of light,
God's watchers thou didst call them, as they peer'd
Evening by evening on my infant sleep,
And mingled with my every boyish dream:
Are they now shining on thy misery?
Who, now that I am gone, will wipe thine eyes?
Who, mother, bind thy bruised and broken heart?
Broken, by whom? by me, thy nestling babe,
Thy darling child, thy pride in arms; by me,
Thy wretched, renegade, apostate son.'

'So mourn'd he, and I answer'd. 'Theodore,
Thou hast enough to bear of things that are,
Without this load of unsubstantial grief.
Thy mother knew not thine apostacy,
Nor otherwise will deem of thee than slain
One of the Christian host, the little while
Weeping she sojourns in the vale of tears.
Such fear she never habour'd, and the cloud
Of mercy veils thy ruin from her eye,
Until the awful shades of time are seen
In the clear noon-day of eternity.
Thus far it is permitted thee to know.'

'My words were only the bare utterance
Of truth, but never will this heart forget
The impress of the look he cast on me.
He had not wept before; but now a tear
Hung on his trembling lids, through which he look'd
Such gratitude as utter hopelessness
May render, like the Grecian fire that burns
Far under the deep waves, a look which said,
I thank thee as the damn'd alone can thank:
Lost as I am, hell will not be such hell,
The while my mother thinks of me in heaven.'

'Again in speechless silence we moved on,
Until that billowy sea of mists and clouds
Which wraps the world of spirits appear'd in sight;
And to our nearer step the avenue
Celestial open'd its translucent road,
Emitting floods of glory; and there distinct,
Hovering upon its golden skirts, we saw
A group of angels waiting to receive
An aged pilgrim home, and heard far off
Their jubilant acclamations. Ours, alas!
Another path. And as we turn'd aside
From those fair portals, piteously I mark'd
The longing, lingering, almost loving look
Which my unhappy captive cast behind,
As if heaven's sights and sounds, once seen and heard,
Might haply prove a gracious memory
Amid the cries of everlasting woe
And discords without end.

'But now the light
Was fading: shadows into shadows gloom'd
More awful; and obscurity itself
Became more inexpressibly obscure,
More solid, as the interposing clouds
High overhead, beneath us, and beyond,
Built up impervious ramparts every way
Except the desolate ravine we trod.
Night reign'd sole monarch here, and spread around
Palpable darkness, darkness unrelieved
Save by the radiance of my form, a faint
And feeble torch in that ungenial air,
But yet enough to show the massive sides
Of fogs impenetrable. Never yet
Saw I such darkness: for, when I last march'd
This dreadful road, I came accompanied
By a whole legion arm'd of spirits elect,
Whose light, each on the other, blaze on blaze,
Reflected, and turn'd midnight into noon.
But now I was alone - the Lord of Hosts
Makes all His servants lean on His sole arm -
Alone, my clinging captive and myself:
Though in the distance more than once methought
I heard the rushing of cherubic wings,
And, like a glimmering meteor, caught the flash
Of some good angel's transitory flight.
Haply the whole ravine equals in length,
Nor more than equals, that resplendent track
By which my courier angels bore thee on
To sound of lyres, and lutes, and welcome songs,
Up to the pearly gates of Paradise;
But here our flight was difficult and slow,
And seven times seven appear'd the weary length
Of that interminable road. At last
A dull and ruddy glow tinctured the gloom:
Not light, but something which made black itself
Not viewless. As to one standing aloof,
When Etna or Vesuvius pour their wrath
In giant folds of smoke voluminous,
A gloaming, from the fiery crater cast,
Paints from below the dark impending mass;
So to our eyes the steep descent became
Not all invisible, its cloudy walls
And wide abysses cavernous betwixt
Of horrid emptiness. But on we moved,
And swerved not to the right hand or the left,
For now, far off, fronting our path profound,
Before us rose the iron gates of hell.

'We pausd; for lo, before these dreadful doors
Waved what appear'd a fiery sword, or swords
Innumerable, haply not unlike
That flaming falchion, which at Eden's gate
Revolving every way, flame within flame,
Guarded the tree of life. Only these blades
Were vast as are the rays a setting sun,
Hidden itself, will sometimes proudly cast
Up to heaven's vault athwart a thunder cloud.
But straight, as if they knew my mission, these
Parted to right and left, and oped a way
High overarch'd with fire, through which we pass'd
Unscathed: and of themselves, dreadful to see,
The adamantine doors of hell recoil'd
Back, slowly back, with ponderous noise, - as when
An Alpine avalanche moves from its ridge
And with one crash of ruin overwhelms
A valley's life, - and with their harsh recoil
Disclosed the secrets of that world of woe.

'Brother, come stand with me upon the edge
Of this far-looking cliff, which overhangs
The gulf betwixt that cursed land and ours
Impassable. Not otherwise that day,
Nor seen in other than yon dusky glow,
The infernal realms, when we had pass'd the gates,
Beneath us lay outstretch'd. Hills, valleys, plains,
All mantled in disastrous twilight, couch'd
Under our feet. But then it was no hour
For marvel or for mute astonishment.
Straight from the threshold of those gates sublime
Through the oppressive sultry atmosphere
I guided our slant flight, until midway
Upon a barren mountain's steep ascent,
(Yonder it rises girt with lesser hills,)
Where a vast glen was ramparted with rocks,
Alighting I relax'd my captive's hand.

'And then and there upon that guilty man
The Eye of everlasting righteousness
Open'd. God look'd upon him. Through and through
His naked spirit, searching its darken'd depths,
Pass'd like a flame of fire, that Dreadful Eye,
Pass'd and repass'd, and passing still abode
Upon him; till the very air he breathed
Seem'd to his sense one universal flame
Of wrath, eternal wrath, the wrath to come.
And yet the glory of that majesty,
That burning brightness, shone not then full orb'd,
But veil'd in part; for disembodied souls
Dismantled of their proper robe of flesh,
Could neither suffer nor sustain the weight
Of that unclouded Holiness Divine,
Which in the age of ages will subdue
All foes beneath the footstool of His throne.
So half eclipsed it shone: and a low wail
Ere long brake from those miserable lips -
'O God, and is this hell? and must this last
For ever? would I never had been born!
Why was I born? I did not choose my birth.
O Thou, who didst create me, uncreate,
I pray thee. By Thine own omnipotence
Quence Thou this feeble spark of life in me.
Why should I longer live? I never more
Can serve Thee: that Thy justice interdicts.
I am no adversary worthy Thee.
Can power be magnified on strengthlessness?
Put forth Thy might but once, and crush a worm,
For love, for hate unequal both. O Christ,
I kneel, I fall suppliant at Thy throne.
I ask not pardon. Grace, I know, is past:
Redemption cannot cross those iron gates.
But art not Thou the Son of God? Thyself
God over all, supreme for evermore?
And are not all things possible with God?
O God, destroy me. Grant this latest boon
Thy wretched ruin'd child will ever ask,
And suffer me to be no more at all.'

'And then at last I spoke, 'Is this thy hope,
Unhappy one, this aimless bootless prayer?
Thou cravest what Omnipotence can do:
Know that Omnipotence can but perform
The counsels which Omniscient Love decrees.
And therefore vainly dost thou now invoke
Almighty power to thwart All-seeing Love.
I cannot be. Discord can never dwell
Within the bosom of eternal Peace,
Nor darkness stain that uncreated Light.
What then remains for thee? To flee were vain,
And would but bring adamantine bonds;
And fresh rebellion here at once incur
Immediate instantaneous punishment.
Free service, which is heaven's perennial joy,
Guilt, said'st thou truly, interdicts. What then?
Passive submission is the only way
Left thee to serve thy Maker. Hades knows
No other law. The judgement is beyond.
Meanwhile this valley is thy prison assign'd;
And not in utter solitariness,
For other souls, who like thyself have sinn'd,
Some known to thee on earth and some unknown,
Here wait their sentence, whose companionship
Will mitigate or aggravate thy woe,
As thou submittest to the flame that burns
The sin in thee with fire unquenchable,
Or vainly chafest against its scorching ray:
This yet is in thy choice. Haply at times
This valley will be trodden by the feet
Of angels on the embassies of God:
But at rare intervals, for many and vast
The ministrations of the sons of light
In this the land of overshadowing death.
And here there is no sentinel but God;
His Eye alone is jailer; and His Hand
The only executioner of wrath.
And now I leave thee: let my words abide
With thee, lest added torment scourge thy soul:
Passive submission is the law of hell.'

'But, even as I turn'd to leave him, slowly
He raised his eyes, bow'd hitherto beneath
The intolerable Eye of Holiness,
Which rested on him evermore. And lo!
Far off, beyond this intervening chasm,
Through an embrasure in heaven's triple wall,
Where mountains distant mountains intersect,
He caught a glimpse, permitted him by God,
Of some sequester'd spot in Paradise.
It riveted his gaze: it fill'd his soul
With longing: and unconsciously he cried,
'Am I asleep? there is no slumber here.
Is it a dream? there are no dreams in hell.
I see, I see far off the fields of bliss;
And there by them the liquid fountains walking,
And resting underneath the trees of life.
There I may never walk, there never rest:
But oh, for one small ministry of love!
Oh, for one leaf of those delicious groves
To soothe the scars of my eternal pain!
Oh, for one drop of those pure rivulets
To cool, not slake, my agonizing thirst!'

'I could not leave him thus, vainly consumed
By idle phantasies of hope, to which
The fabled pangs of Tantalus were ease,
And in mere pity answer'd, 'Theodore,
Those whom thou seest are reaping now the seed
They sow'd on earth, and thou must do the same.
Time is the seed-plot for eternity;
Eternity the harvest-field of time.
Thy lot is fixed, and theirs. Nor can the foot
Of disembodied spirit, nor angel wing,
Transgress the deep inexorable gulf
Betwixt the worlds of darkness and of light.'

'Still gazed he on, and gazing still replied,
'There is no hope for me; but art not thou
Returning to thy ministry on earth?
Would it were not so! would that thou couldst stay
For ever here, whose light ethereal form
And heavenly essence suffer no eclipse
From hell's dark murky atmosphere! At first
Sorely I fear'd thy dreadful touch of power,
Before I knew thee good; but now I see
That in the hands of goodness power is love,
And crave thy longer presence. That is vain:
I know that thou must leave me. Thou canst do
No more for me. But is there not a hope
For one I briefly passionately loved -
Irene? surely she is mine, for whom,
Fool, fool, I barter'd immortality.
Angel, I would not she should perish too.
Go to her straight, I pray thee. Lay thy hand
Upon her, as on him who linger'd once
When wrath o'ershadow'd Sodom. Force belief.
Tell her, in mercy tell her, where I am -
What suffering - what must suffer evermore:
It may be, she will turn and live. And if,
Whene'er my mother's pilgrimage is pass'd,
And she, entering the gates of bliss, shall search
Through every field of yonder Paradise
To find her only son, and search in vain,
If then thou wilt but try and comfort her -
What way I know not, but thou know'st - and should
Her restless eye intuitively glance
Towards this valley, instantly divert
Its gaze else whither, thou wilt have done all
I ask for, and far more than I deserve.'

'I answer'd, 'Theodore, thy widow'd spouse,
Listening the story of the cross, has more
Than angel importunity to urge
Submission. Who resist the blood-stain'd cross
Resist the uttermost that Heaven can do.
Faith must be free, not forced. Nor deem that she
If counted worthy of the gates of bliss,
Will need the ministry of angel hands
To stanch her wounds, or wipe her tears away:
Love, tenderer than the tenderest mother's, there
Comforts the weary heart and weeping eye.
Thy prayers to thy own bosom must return.
And yet, unhappy spirit, the Eye, which lights
Thy darkness with intolerable flame,
Doth not consume in thee the secret spring
Of pity whence those supplications flow'd.
For pity is of God, a fragment left
Even here of thy Divine original,
Not wholly crush'd. Nor can there be in God
Wrath against any Godlike lineament,
Wherever found, or howsoever dimm'd.
Not for thy pity art thou where thou art:
Nor for thy pity rests the wrath to come
For ever on thy soul, but for thy sin
Indulged, embraced, enjoy'd, till sin and thou
No longer separable things became
Incorporate in one, one sinful life,
One ever-living sinner. But the Day
Is coming, which will all to all declare.
And now, my mission done, my time elapsed,
I leave thee in thy Just Creator's hands.'

'So saying, through that lurid atmosphere
I rose, and through the flaming vault of hell,
And through the iron portals pass'd, which oped
And closed behind me of their own accord,
And through that dark ravine of midnight gloom,
And up that mighty highway of the heavens,
And by the passing stars and brightening sun;
Nor stay'd upon the battle-field of earth,
But upwards soaring with unwearied flight
Swift as the lightning toward the heaven of heavens
I bent my eager course, nor paused until
Kneeling before the everlasting throne,
And gazing on the emerald arch of love,
I soothed my bosom's agitated depths
In the calm presence of the light of God.'

Then Oriel's voice was hush'd; and for a space
He seem'd as one communing with himself,
And nurturing his strength with memories
Of things that lived for ever in his soul,
The record of his ministry approved,
The beatific smile, the gracious words
Of benediction, and the choral songs
Of those who magnified his God in him:
But soon, mindful of my solicitude,
His awful story he resumed once more.

'Not then return'd I straight to earth; for then
Throughout the lower provinces of heaven
Was warfare. Michael and his angels fought,
Satan and his: no visionary strife;
But battle such as earth has never seen,
Seraph with seraph warring. And my lot
Was with Messiah's armies militant
To drive the rebel hosts from those fair realms
Their presence had too long defiled. Of this
I will relate hereafter. But, expell'd
From heaven, our foes and thine with doubled rage
Possess'd the lower firmament of earth.
And from that hour for fifteen centuries,
Not seldom with a band of spirits elect
Encamping, but more oft alone with God,
My charge was ministering to heirs of life.
Blest heirs, twice blessed minister! Nor came
My summons the third time to tread the shores
Of darkness, till the decade which forewent
My latest guardianship of saints - thyself.

'Already had the seven last angels, seen
By John in Patmos, from heaven's sanctuary
Come forth array'd in priestly robes of white,
Girdled with gold, and bearing in their hands
The mystic vials of the wrath of God.
Already had they pour'd those censers forth
Upon the earth, the sea, the river springs,
The sun's orb, and the great usurper's throne.
Two only' of seven remain'd. It was the year
When the last throes of laboring France were still'd,
And her proud despot, he for whom the world
Once seem'd too insignificant a throne,
Was banish'd to his narrow sea-girt isle
To chafe against the idle winds and waves;
Then first I heard a chosen embassy
Of the angelic sanctities and powers
(Myself the twelfth) was order'd to descend
And traverse hell in all its length and breadth,
Announcing to the prisoners of wrath
The nearer advent of the day of doom.
Immediately, for angels never pause
To ask the wherefore of Divine behests,
Nor question their own aptitude whom God
Has summon'd as His aptest messengers,
We, on the wings of morning light, obey'd
And went. Swiftly, harmoniously we flew,
And each the other cheer'd with sweet converse
Of the Lamb's Bridal now at hand; but soon,
At hell's inexorable gates arrived,
Our several and predestined pathways took
Through diverse fields of gloom and fiery woe,
Ordaining, when our dark sojourn was o'er,
To meet at last in that profoundest depth
Where rebel angels are immured in walls
Of darkness nearest to Gehenna's lake.

'First to that mountain valley, where I left
Lost Theodore, I bent my course. O God!
The solemn change which fifteen centuries
In hell had written on his fearful brow.
Unchanged in form, unchanged in hopelessness,
The same immortal heir of endless wrath,
But now the restlessness of agony,
The writhing of the miserable spirit
Under the first experience of despair,
Was scarcely visible. Subdued he sate
Apart, crush'd, conscience-stricken, almost calm:
Oft gazing on that distant Paradise,
Which still appear'd within his vision's ken
And cast its reflex light upon his ruin,
But waken'd now no hope. He mark'd my flight;
He heard my footstep in the vale; he rose
In reverence: and, when he knew me, spake
In accents so chastised, they touch'd me more
Than loudest wailings or incessant tears

''O holy angel, is it thou? What brings
Thee to this dreadful prison-house again?
I had not thought to see thee till I stood
Before the judgement-throne. But I have learn'd
Much since I saw thee last. My little span
Of mortal life, inured and stereotyped,
Is branded on the tablet of my soul
Each year, each month, each week, each day, each hour.
As drowning men have lived their bygone life
Again in one brief minute, so to me,
Each minute of these ages without end,
My past is always present. Now I see
Myself. 'Twas not apostasy alone
Damn'd me: this seal'd my ruin: but my life
Was one rebellion, one ingratitude.
God would, but could not save me 'gainst my will,
Moved, drawn, besought, persuaded, striven with,
But yet inviolate, or else no will,
And I no man - for man by birth is free.
Angel, He would, I would not. Further space
Would but have loaded me with deeper guilt.
Yea, now I fear that if the Eye of flame
Which rests upon me everlastingly
Soften'd its terrors, sin would yet revive
In me and bear again disastrous fruit,
And this entail more torturing remorse.
Better enforced subjection. I have ceased
Or almost ceased to struggle' against the Hand
That made me. For I madly chose to die:
I sold my immortality for death:
And death, eternal distance from His love,
Eternal nearness to His righteous wrath,
Death now is my immortal recompense.
I know it, I confess it, I submit.
But oh! the boding dread that I ere long
Must re-assume the flesh in which I sinn'd,
And naked stand before the judgement-throne.'

'He ceased, and I replied: 'My mission is
To tell thee that the time is short
Before the dawning of that day of God,
Its Advent sunrise, its millennial sphere,
Its evening-tide of heaven and earth's assize.
I may not linger; for my journey tends
Throughout these desolate confines of woe
To hell's remotest verge; but first to thee
(Thee only of the lost, my ward) I come
Permitted to advise thee this. If here
The Uncreated Light, part seen, part veil'd,
Hath wrung this last confession from thy lips
That thy subordination, though compell'd,
Is better in its everlasting chains
Than dissolute freedom and unbridled guilt,
Will not its veilless and meridian blaze
(However terrible the fire that burns
The ineradicable germs of sin
For ever and for ever in thy soul,
Repressing their fertility with flame)
Be good, not evil? yea, the highest good
Thy guilt has render'd possible? It will:
For God Himself has sworn that every knee,
Not only of the things in heaven and earth
But of the regions under earth in hell,
Shall bow beneath the sceptre of His Son,
And, willing or constrain'd, confess Him Lord.'

'Nor paused I for an answer, but pursued
My way along that valley of the dead,
Only one valley of a myriad like,
But yet so vast, that, though its habitants
Were more than many a throng'd metropolis,
Scatter'd throughout its solitudes they seem'd,
Where'er I trod, but few and far betwixt
And seldom group'd in converse. Every one
Had his own chastisement to bear; on each
And every one the Eye of God was fix'd;
On every one the Hand of God was press'd.
And for the most part silence reign'd: few sighs
Were heard, or groans, or mutterings of remorse,
And chiefly these among the last arrived,
Who, when they knew themselves for ever lost ,
Wept and bewail'd their ruin, till, their tears
And bitter outcries bringing no relief,
They, like their fellows, sank upon the ground,
Or wander'd to and fro in mute despair.
Most, peradventure, chose to be alone
From that sheer misery, which could not brook
Another convict's eye to read their woe.
But yet it was not always thus: at times
They met, and fearfully exchanged their pangs
And drear forebodings, which, from words I caught,
Centred on judgement and eternity.

'Lost souls of every type were there: and yet
The hell of one was not another's hell.
Nor needed separate prisons to adjust
The righteous meed of punishment to each.
As they had sinn'd, they suffer'd; for the flame
Of perfect righteousness abode on them,
God's righteousness on their unrighteousness.
Distinct, discriminate, distributive,
More tolerant of guilty ignorance
Than of intolerable guilty pride,
Restraining that which chafed against restraint,
Abhorring most the most abhorrent intense;
Severest on the guiltiest, but to all
An earnest of the final lake of fire.

'Some I beheld, who from the gayest haunts
Of fashion's revelries and pageantries
Were summon'd by the icy hand of death,
Blithe men, fair women, and, most piteous sight,
Children in years but not in wickedness:
And some, who fell asleep in sinks of vice,
Amid the orgies of their drunkenness
Breathing out curses in a harlot's ear,
And waken'd, unawares, amazed, to find
Damnation, oft invoked, at last their own.

'I pass'd where two were standing side by side,
A princess, who had floated on through life
Wrapt in the perfumed incense-cloud of praise,
And a poor beggar's fallen child. They both
Had lived the living death of godless mirth;
Though variously in marble palaces
And wretched hovels matter'd little here:
One hour had made them comrades; one despair
Was written on their face; one sympathy
Drew them together; while in speechless woe
Each wrung convulsively her sister's hand.

'But heavier far their chastisement who drew
Their fellows to perdition from their greed
Of mammon, or from fleshly appetite.
In them the horrible antagonism
Betwixt the pure of God and their impure, -
His good, their ill, - His ruth, their cruelty, -
His heavenly love, and their most hellish lust, -
Bred an insufferable anguish words
May never picture, nor the heart of saint
Or any sainty' intelligence conceive.

'And there were hypocrites unmask'd and stripp'd;
And haughty Pharisaic dignities
Low in the dust; and liars taught too late
To utter agonizing words of truth;
And gamblers, who had staked their soul and lost;
And perjurers compell'd at last to dread
God's oath; manslayers, convict or escaped,
Confessing Hades had no shade secure
From blood's avenging cry; and not a few
Diviners, necromancers, sorcerers,
Who once sought lawless commerce with the dead,
Now number'd with the damned dead themselves;
And learned infidels, who proved a God
At least among improbabilities,
Aghast for ever underneath His frown.

'All these, and many more in that vast glen,
As I pursued my embassage, I saw,
And could narrate their names; but better far
Buried in silence and oblivion's grave
Until the day of doom. They heard my voice;
And countless as they were, so manifold
The tokens of their anguish or dismay,
When I proclaimed the nearer dawn at hand:
Tears, tremblings, pallor which became more pale,
Moans, or more terrible than moans, the gaze
Of agony suppress'd, heart-rending sighs,
Or wailings or remorseless memory,
Or darker lourings of malign despite
Crush'd in a moment by the penal fire,
But each in his own way betokening
His terror of the unknown wrath to come.

'They miss the truth who meditate that death,
Or that which follows after death, can change
The native idealities of men.
These in the saved and lost alike remain
Immutable for ever. There is nought
In the unloosening of the mortal tent
To alter or transform immortal minds.
The gentle still are gentle, and the strong
Are ever strong. Innumerable traits
Each from the rest distinguish. It is true
There lies a gulf impassable betwixt
Salvation and perdition, heaven and hell;
But oh! the almost infinite degrees
Betwixt the lost and lost.

'All this I saw
In that one desolate valley of the dead,
And then to other hills and rocks and plains
Of that dark world I pass'd. Nor boots it now
That I to thee, unwilling both, relate
The progress of my terrible sojourn
In those drear regions. God was with me there,
Or my celestial pinions would have droop'd
Unequal by my side. But in His strength
I traversed all the provinces assign'd
To my celestial mission, nor surceased
My flight till every habitant therein
Heard from my lips (and none who heard gainsay'd)
Messiah's nearer Advent, and that soon
They might expect to see the Arch-fiend led
In chains to his millennial prison-house,
A presage of his everlasting doom.

'Vast were the realms I trod, and to my eye
No bound apparent: but from clime to clime
Not many hours, as men count hours, elapsed
Without some ruin'd soul arriving thither
And swelling the dark aggregate of woe.
And then perchance there was a transient pause,
A momentary break: but soon the rest,
Their own cup full of misery, sank back
In personal despair. It was but once,
And then for a brief space, I saw the dead
Stirr'd with profounder feeling. I was there
What time a mighty conqueror came down
To limitless captivity. He came,
Aforetime wont to lead his armies forth,
The god of pride, incarnate selfishness,
The nations trembling at his iron rod,
And tributary monarchs in his suite,
Now guided only by a stripling cherub,
Yet in whose hand that vanquish'd victor's might
Were less than nothing. For a little while
His fall was theme of converse with the dead,
But soon the voices sank; and hell resumed
Its dread monotony of crushing calm.

'Terrestrial years pass'd by, as thus I trod
These regions, but my Captain's charge fulfill'd,
I came at last to that profound abyss
Wrapt in a tenfold gloom of darkening wrath,
Nearest Gehenna's lake, which first I saw
When with a band of seraphim in arms,
I bore the captive angels, Samchasai
And Uziel, fallen potentates of heaven,
In chains, themselves and their rebellious hosts,
Four great millennial days had come and gone,
But there they lay immured in darkness, link'd
With adamantine manacles to rocks
Of adamant: and with them other spirits
Who, having fill'd their cup of wickedness
Before the time, before the time were hurl'd
To this dark dungeon. Such were those who sought
With suicidal prayer, Legion their name,
Driven from the human heart, their chosen seat,
To herd with swine; and, their demand vouchsafed,
Rush'd headlong, they and all their bestial throng -
These into ocean depths and those to hell.
Nor were they solitary in their doom:
For think not He whose vengeance flashes forth
Upon the sons of men, and unawares
Strikes down the sinner in his hour of pride, -
Think not He leaves the fallen hosts unwarn'd
By dread ensamples of His wrath, though such
No warning moves and no ensample' avails
To turn from final death. Yet once they stood
Pure spirits before the sapphire throne in heaven,
And many I knew in that their first estate,
And with them I had walk'd the golden streets,
And pluck'd the vintage of celestial grapes,
And tuned my harp in unison with theirs.
But now, behold them - every lineament
Dimm'd with despair and utter agony.
For, as their guilt was deeper, fiercer wrath
Alone their unrepentant nature curb'd
From words and deeds of devilish violence.
That wrath was there. And of despite was heard
No whisper, nor a thought of open war
Express'd, nor breathed a breath of blasphemy.

'But them already advertised I found
By heaven's angelic principalities
Of our great errand. So, our mission o'er,
Back from that bottomless abyss we turn'd,
And through hell's desolate champaigns arose,
Its iron portals, and its dark access;
And when, with footsteps nothing loath, we trod
The confines of most blessed light again,
Our Captain, as Melchisedec of old
Met Abraham with mystic bread and wine,
Himself came forth to meet us bearing fruit
Himself had pluck'd from heaven's ambrosial trees,
And with His benediction wrote on all
The large experience of those years of gloom
The rainbow of His clear approving smile.'

So Oriel spake, and ceased: and as he ceased
I felt his tears were falling on my hand.