How impotent they are! and yet on earth
They have repute for wondrous power and skill;
And books describe, how that the very face
Of th' evil one, if seen, would have a force
To freeze the very blood, and choke the life
Of him who saw it.
ANGEL.
In thy trial state
Thou hadst a traitor nestling close at home,
Connatural, who with the powers of hell
Was leagued, and of thy senses kept the keys,
And to that deadliest foe unlocked thy heart.
And therefore is it, in respect of man,
Those fallen ones show so majestical.
But, when some child of grace, angel or saint,
Pure and upright in his integrity
Of nature, meets the demons on their raid,
They scud away as cowards from the fight.
Nay, oft hath holy hermit in his cell,
Not yet disburdened of mortality,
Mocked at their threats and warlike overtures;
Or, dying, when they swarmed like flies, around,
Defied them, and departed to his judge.
DEMONS.
|
Virtue and vice, 'Tis all the same; Of the venomous flame, Give him his price, With sordid aim, |
A knave's pretence. Ha! ha! A coward's plea. Saint though he be, From shrewd good sense Ha! ha! To the heaven above Not from love. |
Dread of hell-fire, Ha! ha! He'll slave for hire; And does but aspire Ha! ha! |
SOUL.
I see not those false spirits; shall I see
My dearest Master, when I reach his throne?
Or hear, at least, his awful judgment-word
With personal intonation, as I now
Hear thee, not see thee, angel? Hitherto
All has been darkness since I left the earth;
Shall I remain thus sight-bereft all through
My penance-time? if so, how comes it then
That I have hearing still, and taste, and touch,
Yet not a glimmer of that princely sense
Which binds ideas in one, and makes them live?
ANGEL.