BELZEBUB, } BELIAL, } Rebellious Chiefs. APOLLION, } GABRIEL, God's Herald of Mysteries. CHORUS OF ANGELS. LUCIFER, Stadtholder. LUCIFERIANS, Seditious Spirits. MICHAEL, Field-marshal. RAFAEL, Guardian Angel. URIEL, Michael's Armor-bearer.
My Belial hence hath sped on aery wings To see where lingers our Apollion, Whom for such flight most fit Chief Lucifer Hath sent to Earth that he might gain for him A better sense of Adam's bliss, the state, Where placed by Powers Omnipotent he dwells. And lo! the time draws nigh that he return Unto these courts. He cannot now be far. A watchful servant heeds his master's glance And, faithful, stays his throne with neck and shoulder. 10
Lord Belzebub, thou Privy Councillor Of Heaven's Stadtholder, he riseth steep And wheels from sphere to sphere into our view; The wind he passes by and leaves a track Of light and splendor in his wake, where cleave, His speedy wings the clouds; and now our air He scents in other day and brighter sun, Whose glow is mirrored in the crystal blue. The heavenly globes beneath behold his flight, As up he mounts, and each with wonder sees 20 His speed and godlike grace. He seems to them No more an Angel but a flying fire. No star so swiftly shoots. Behold him now, Here upwards soaring, and within his hands He bears a golden bough. The steep incline He hath accomplished happily.
I have, Lord Belzebub, The low terrene observed with keenest eye. And now I offer thee the fruits grown there So far below these heights, 'neath other skies 30 And other sun: now judge thou from the fruit The land and garden which even God Himself Hath blessed and planted for mankind's delight.
I see the golden leaves, all laden with Ethereal pearls, the sparkling silvery dew. What sweet perfume exhale those radiant leaves Of tint unfading! How alluring glows That pleasant fruit with crimson and with gold! 'Twere pity to pollute it with the hands. The eye doth tempt the mouth. Who would not lust 40 For earthly luxury! He loathes our day And food celestial, who the fruit may pluck Of Earth. One would for Adam's garden curse Our Paradise. The bliss of Angels fades In that of man.
Too true. Lord Belzebub, Though high our Heaven may seem, 'tis far too low, For what I saw with mine own eyes deceives Me not. The world's delights, yea, Eden's fields Alone, our Paradise excel.
