Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening from the top Fesole
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks:
Of Amram's son, in
Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud
Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind.
Hovering on wing under the cope of Hell.
Poured never from her frozen loins to pass
Rhene or the Danaw when her barbarous sons
Came like a deluge on the South and spread
Beneath Gibraltor the Lybian sands.
Outshone the wealth of Onnus and of Ind,
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand
Showers on her kings barbatic pearl and gold
Satan exalted sat.
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs
Of mighty Cherubim; the sudden blaze
Far round illumined Hell.
with scattered arms and ensigns.
They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss,
Outrageous as a sea, dark wasteful wild
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains to assault
Heaven's height, and with the centre mix the pole.
Met such embodied force, as named with these
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff.