Jesus wakes in the storm which rages round Him. The diabolic hostility
is open and avowed and He hears the howls and shrieks of the infernals.
He cannot banish them though He is so far master of Himself that He is
able to sit "unappall'd in calm and sinless peace." He has to endure
the hellish threats and tumult through the long black hours
"till morning fair
Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray,
Who with her radiant finger still'd the roar
Of thunder, chas'd the clouds, and laid the winds,
And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had rais'd
To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire.
But now the sun with more effectual beams
Had cheer'd the face of earth, and dri'd the wet
From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds,
Who all things now beheld more fresh and green,
After a night of storm so ruinous,
Clear'd up their choicest notes in bush and spray
To gratulate the sweet return of morn."
(P. R. iv. 426-38.)
There is nothing perhaps in Paradise Lost which possesses the peculiar
quality of this passage, nothing which like these verses brings into the
eyes the tears which cannot be repressed when a profound experience is
set to music.
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