Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve, So little here, nay lost. But Eve was Eve;
This far his over-match, who, self-deceived And rash, beforehand had no better weighed The strength he was to cope with, or his own.
But--as a man who had been matchless held In cunning, over-reached where least he thought, To salve his credit, and for very spite, Still will be tempting him who foils him still, And never cease, though to his shame the more;
Or as a swarm of flies in vintage-time, About the wine-press where sweet must is poured, Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;
Or surging waves against a solid rock, Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew, (Vain battery!) and in froth or bubbles end--
So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse Met ever, and to shameful silence brought, Yet gives not o'er, though desperate of success, And his vain importunity pursues.
He brought our Saviour to the western side Of that high mountain, whence he might behold Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide, Washed by the southern sea, and on the north To equal length backed with a ridge of hills That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men From cold Septentrion blasts; thence in the midst Divided by a river, off whose banks On each side an Imperial City stood, With towers and temples proudly elevate On seven small hills, with palaces adorned, Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes Above the highth of mountains interposed--
By what strange parallax, or optic skill Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass Of telescope, were curious to enquire.
And now the Tempter thus his silence broke:--
"The city which thou seest no other deem Than great and glorious Rome, Queen of the Earth So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched Of nations. There the Capitol thou seest, Above the rest lifting his stately head On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine, The imperial palace, compass huge, and high The structure, skill of noblest architects, With gilded battlements, conspicuous far, Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires.
Many a fair edifice besides, more like Houses of gods--so well I have disposed My aerie microscope--thou may'st behold, Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs Carved work, the hand of famed artificers In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold.
Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see What conflux issuing forth, or entering in:
Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces Hasting, or on return, in robes of state;
Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power;
Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings;
Or embassies from regions far remote, In various habits, on the Appian road, Or on the AEmilian--some from farthest south, Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west, The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea;
From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these), From India and the Golden Chersoness, And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed;
From Gallia, Gades, and the British west;
Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.
All nations now to Rome obedience pay--
To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain, In ample territory, wealth and power, Civility of manners, arts and arms, And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer Before the Parthian. These two thrones except, The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight, Shared among petty kings too far removed;
These having shewn thee, I have shewn thee all The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory.
This Emperor hath no son, and now is old, Old and lascivious, and from Rome retired To Capreae, an island small but strong On the Campanian shore, with purpose there His horrid lusts in private to enjoy;
Committing to a wicked favourite All public cares, and yet of him suspicious;
Hated of all, and hating. With what ease, Endued with regal virtues as thou art, Appearing, and beginning noble deeds, Might'st thou expel this monster from his throne, Now made a sty, and, in his place ascending, A victor-people free from servile yoke!
And with my help thou may'st; to me the power Is given, and by that right I give it thee.
Aim, therefore, at no less than all the world;
Aim at the highest; without the highest attained, Will be for thee no sitting, or not long, On David's throne, be prophesied what will."
To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied:--
"Nor doth this grandeur and majestic shew Of luxury, though called magnificence, More than of arms before, allure mine eye, Much less my mind; though thou should'st add to tell Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts On citron tables or Atlantic stone (For I have also heard, perhaps have read), Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne, Chios and Crete, and how they quaff in gold, Crystal, and myrrhine cups, imbossed with gems And studs of pearl--to me should'st tell, who thirst And hunger still. Then embassies thou shew'st From nations far and nigh! What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies, Outlandish flatteries? Then proceed'st to talk Of the Emperor, how easily subdued, How gloriously. I shall, thou say'st, expel A brutish monster: what if I withal Expel a Devil who first made him such?
Let his tormentor, Conscience, find him out;
For him I was not sent, nor yet to free That people, victor once, now vile and base, Deservedly made vassal--who, once just, Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquered well, But govern ill the nations under yoke, Peeling their provinces, exhausted all By lust and rapine; first ambitious grown Of triumph, that insulting vanity;
Then cruel, by their sports to blood inured Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts exposed;
