112 REDEMPTION.
All but the grand Disturber, foe to peace,
Some motion gave of wish'd deliv'rance near.
He, since his last repulse, and signal rout,
The remnants of his forces wide dispersed,
Lay impotent and lone on Pauda's cliffs,
Bleak, barren, cold. Not stronger bound that wight,
Whom fable sings, chain'd to Caucasian rocks,
Nor for less cause condemn' d to blank despair.
Revolving his distress and fading hopes,
He, thus deploring, vents with grief his fears :
"Ah, me! so soon o'erthrown, a fugitive Confess'd, chain'd to these heights, without redress, And powerless my ruin to forefend ! What could I more of caution, skill, employ, To stay the progress of this dread inroad, And bate the advent of the Son of God ? Cautious I moved, with care my force disposed, Ready for open war, or what should come. War he declined, withdrew his hosts, and left Me to expatiate the field he fear'd to meet, And try the virtue of this second Eve. Did aught of violence impel me then ? No, gentlest motives pleaded my just aims, And led me rather to persuade than force. That I gave o'er does not implead my skill, Nor yet impeach the virtue of my cause. Did not he charge me so t' his fav'rite Job, When I, from travel sore, once met his sons, Assembled near him on a certain day ? Strict he enjoin'd the self-same trial's force, And after, sharp rebuked him his default. Doubt not the same result had proved me right,
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