His form had yet not lost All his original brightness, not appear'd Less than arch-angel ruined, and th' excess Of glory obscured.

From morn To moon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropt from the zenith like a falling star.

Black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on. Satan was now at hand.

The infernal serpent; he it was whose guile, Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, deceived The mother of mankind.

Satan; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.

Abashed the Devil stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her own shape how lovely; saw And pined his loss.