300
��REDEMPTION.
��For sickle ripe ; the bending crop, bruised, cut,
Torn, strews the ground, or, whirl'd in eddies, skims
The tortured plains; so, Satan, bruised, disrupt,
Bends neath that storm of wrath, then whirl'd aloft,
On eddy'ing winds, is helpless dragg'd arrear
The Victor's car, his pride abased, his vaunts
Inane, and prowess humbled in the dust.
Then, as some burly barque on Norway coast,
Encount'ring winds adverse, by Maelstrom caught,
With riven masts, torn shrouds, and bilged hull,
Tugs, groans, heaves, strives, in vain t' escape the pool,
At last engulf 'd, a shatter'd wreck, lies deep
On ocean's bed; so Satan, powerless, toss'd
Within the whirlwind of his car, sev'n times
Around the circling gurge of hell is dragg'd ;
Then spiritless, o'ercome, in lethal flames
Involved, lies prostrate, fathoms deep engulf 'd.
For midway there th' almighty Conqueror
Withheld his power ; who meant not to destroy
Whom he reserved to fill th' appointed times,
And in one universal deluge burn,
Of liquid fire, both th' author of evil,
All his bad works, and fautors of his crimes.
Victor o'er Death, and Conqueror of hell, His chariot wheels staid not in mid career, But hastive sped towards that prison, where, Detain'd long time, some souls his coming wait. Hard by the pit of hell, that planet rolls, Perhaps a sat'lite of th' infernal orb; Hard by, in view, but monstrous gulf between, A fathomless, dark, wild, outrageous sea, Impassable ; so that, who would from thence
�� �
