The world to concord from confusion slips:
The winds that blew the battle up dead slain,
Or with their tatter’d standards swept amain
From heaven; the billows of the erected deep
Roll’d with their crests into the foaming plain;
While the scared earth begins abroad to peep
And smooth her ruffled locks, as from a rent
In the black centre of the firmament,
Revenging his unnatural eclipse,
The Lord of heaven from its ulterior blue