Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: 
At which the universal host up-sent 
A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond 
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 
All in a moment through the gloom were seen 
Ten thousand banners rise into the air, 
With orient colours waving: with them rose 
A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms 
Appeared, and serried shields in thick array 
Of depth immeasurable. Anon they move 
In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 
Of flutes and soft recorders--such as raised 
To height of noblest temper heroes old 
Arming to battle, and instead of rage 
Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved 
With dread of death to flight or foul retreat; 
Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage 
With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase 
Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain 
From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they, 
Breathing united force with fixed thought, 
Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed 
Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil. And now 
Advanced in view they stand--a horrid front 
Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise 
Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield, 
Awaiting what command their mighty Chief 
Had to impose. He through the armed files 
Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 
The whole battalion views--their order due, 
Their visages and stature as of gods; 
Their number last he sums. And now his heart 
Distends with pride, and, hardening in his strength, 
Glories: for never, since created Man, 
Met such embodied force as, named with these, 
Could merit more than that small infantry 
Warred on by cranes--though all the giant brood 
Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were joined 
That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side 
Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what resounds 
In fable or romance of Uther's son, 
Begirt with British and Armoric knights; 
And all who since, baptized or infidel, 
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, 
Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, 
Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore 
When Charlemain with all his peerage fell 
By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond 
Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed 
Their dread Commander. He, above the rest 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost 
All her original brightness, nor appeared 
Less than Archangel ruined, and th' excess 
Of glory obscured: as when the sun new-risen 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 
Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon, 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone 
Above them all th' Archangel: but his face 
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care 
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows 
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride 
Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast 
Signs of remorse and passion, to behold 
The fellows of his crime, the followers rather 
(Far other once beheld in bliss), condemned 
For ever now to have their lot in pain-- 
Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced 
Of Heaven, and from eteranl splendours flung 
For his revolt--yet faithful how they stood, 
Their glory withered; as, when heaven's fire 
Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines, 
With singed top their stately growth, though bare, 
Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared 
To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
From wing to wing, and half enclose him round 
With all his peers: attention held them mute. 
Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn, 
Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth: at last 
Words interwove with sighs found out their way:-- 

  "O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers 
Matchless, but with th' Almighth!--and that strife 
Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire, 
As this place testifies, and this dire change, 
Hateful to utter. But what power of mind, 
Forseeing or presaging, from the depth 
Of knowledge past or present, could have feared 
How such united force of gods, how such 
As stood like these, could ever know repulse? 
For who can yet believe, though after loss, 
That all these puissant legions, whose exile 
Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re-ascend, 
Self-raised, and repossess their native seat? 
For me, be witness all the host of Heaven, 
If counsels different, or danger shunned 
By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns 
Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure