Me him whose harbinger he was; and first Refused on me his baptism to confer, As much his greater, and was hardly won.
But, as I rose out of the laving stream, Heaven opened her eternal doors, from whence The Spirit descended on me like a Dove;
And last, the sum of all, my Father's voice, Audibly heard from Heaven, pronounced me his, Me his beloved Son, in whom alone He was well pleased: by which I knew the time Now full, that I no more should live obscure, But openly begin, as best becomes The authority which I derived from Heaven.
And now by some strong motion I am led Into this wilderness; to what intent I learn not yet. Perhaps I need not know;
For what concerns my knowledge God reveals."
So spake our Morning Star, then in his rise, And, looking round, on every side beheld A pathless desert, dusk with horrid shades.
The way he came, not having marked return, Was difficult, by human steps untrod;
And he still on was led, but with such thoughts Accompanied of things past and to come Lodged in his breast as well might recommend Such solitude before choicest society.
Full forty days he passed--whether on hill Sometimes, anon in shady vale, each night Under the covert of some ancient oak Or cedar to defend him from the dew, Or harboured in one cave, is not revealed;
Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt, Till those days ended; hungered then at last Among wild beasts. They at his sight grew mild, Nor sleeping him nor waking harmed; his walk The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm;
The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof.
But now an aged man in rural weeds, Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray eye, Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen, To warm him wet returned from field at eve, He saw approach; who first with curious eye Perused him, then with words thus uttered spake:--
"Sir, what ill chance hath brought thee to this place, So far from path or road of men, who pass In troop or caravan? for single none Durst ever, who returned, and dropt not here His carcass, pined with hunger and with droughth.
I ask the rather, and the more admire, For that to me thou seem'st the man whom late Our new baptizing Prophet at the ford Of Jordan honoured so, and called thee Son Of God. I saw and heard, for we sometimes Who dwell this wild, constrained by want, come forth To town or village nigh (nighest is far), Where aught we hear, and curious are to hear, What happens new; fame also finds us out."
To whom the Son of God:--"Who brought me hither Will bring me hence; no other guide I seek."
"By miracle he may," replied the swain;
"What other way I see not; for we here Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inured More than the camel, and to drink go far--
Men to much misery and hardship born.
But, if thou be the Son of God, command That out of these hard stones be made thee bread;
So shalt thou save thyself, and us relieve With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste."
He ended, and the Son of God replied:--
"Think'st thou such force in bread? Is it not written (For I discern thee other than thou seem'st), Man lives not by bread only, but each word Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed Our fathers here with manna? In the Mount Moses was forty days, nor eat nor drank;
And forty days Eliah without food Wandered this barren waste; the same I now.
Why dost thou, then, suggest to me distrust Knowing who I am, as I know who thou art?"
Whom thus answered the Arch-Fiend, now undisguised:--
"'Tis true, I am that Spirit unfortunate Who, leagued with millions more in rash revolt, Kept not my happy station, but was driven With them from bliss to the bottomless Deep--
Yet to that hideous place not so confined By rigour unconniving but that oft, Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy Large liberty to round this globe of Earth, Or range in the Air; nor from the Heaven of Heavens Hath he excluded my resort sometimes.
I came, among the Sons of God, when he Gave up into my hands Uzzean Job, To prove him, and illustrate his high worth;
And, when to all his Angels he proposed To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud, That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring, I undertook that office, and the tongues Of all his flattering prophets glibbed with lies To his destruction, as I had in charge:
For what he bids I do. Though I have lost Much lustre of my native brightness, lost To be beloved of God, I have not lost To love, at least contemplate and admire, What I see excellent in good, or fair, Or virtuous; I should so have lost all sense.
What can be then less in me than desire To see thee and approach thee, whom I know Declared the Son of God, to hear attent Thy wisdom, and behold thy godlike deeds?
