Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/352

318 Hell sees the victor come at last, She feels that now her reign is past, She quakes and fears to meet His sight; She knows His thunders' terrors dread, In vain she seeks to hide her head, Attempts to fly, but vain is flight; Vainly she hastes to 'scape pursuit And to avoid her Judge's eye; The Lord's fierce wrath restrains her foot Like brazen chains,—she cannot fly.

Here hes the Dragon, trampled down, He lies, and feels God's angry frown, He feels, and grinneth hideously; He feels Hell's speechless agonies, A thousand times he howls and sighs: "Oh, burning flames! quick, swallow me! There lies he in the fiery waves, By torments racked and pangs infernal, Instant annihilation craves, And hears, those pangs will be eternal.

Those mighty squadrons, too, are here, The partners of his cursed career, Yet far less bad than he were they. Here lies the countless throng combined, In black and fearful crowds entwined, While round him fiery tempests play; He sees how they the Judge avoid, He sees the storm upon them feed, Yet is not at the sight o'er joyed, Because his pangs e'en theirs exceed.

The Son of Man in triumph passes Down to Hell's wild and black morasses, And there unfolds His majesty. Hell cannot bear the bright array,