At which the universal host up sent
A shout that tore hell's concave, and beyond
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night.
Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 540.
[[225]]
![[225]](#2001010581228339517_225.png.id-3052705750374945493.wrap-0.html.html){kind=link}
Anon they move
In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood
Of flutes and soft recorders.
Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 549.
His form had yet not lost