Page:Paradise lost by Milton, John.djvu/38

32 Brushed with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees, In spring-time when the sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters; they, among fresh dews and flowers, Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, The suburb of their straw-built citadel, New rubbed with balm, expatiate and confer Their state-affairs: so thick the aery crowd Swarmed and were straitened; till, the signal given, Behold a wonder! They but now who seemed In bigness to surpass earth's giant-sons, Now less than smallest dwarfs in narrow room Throng numberless, like that pygmean race Beyond the Indian mount, or faery elves, Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear: At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large,