REDEMPTION. 233
He Siddim ruled, and cities of the plain, Wrathful consumed, by fire from heav'n rain'd down, Burning bituminous, with sulph'rous stench; Whose desert wastes, the sea of death enlaves With lethal tide, whilst wailful sounds, and moans, From spirits cursed, rise out the gurgling pool. Passion his face dimm'd, glared his bloodshot eye, As thus, with fem'nine voice, his instinct ran :
"Prince of the damn'd, and you, ye pow'rs, hear. What e'er the diff'rence that our views divide, One thing is constant, all our aims unite, And ever to but one point mainly tend, The hurt of Him, our freedom who enthralls. To this, no middle course my feet impel, Who run with wanton haste to lure to ill. But ill to haste, may our own aims defeat. Advising speedy ill, is to advise Rushing headlong, and ours expose to raid, To direful rift, and heaven's senseful scorn ; Or worse, lissom to let our victims slip. Was it not so at Rama? Haste to slay, Whom we have cause to hate, backwards recoil'd, And our side shent: since, whom we sought, escaped, And th' others sent with speedy flight to heav'n; Who, left to rise mature, by our conduct, Might grow as maculate, as bright before, And in themselves, and by their progeny, Innumerous, befoul'd with lust, us serve ; So, far extenuate, who people heav'n, And frequent crowd the luctual plains of hell. Nor are we sure, the death our Chief protends, Will serve us better, or e'en rest secure.
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