歌词
Luciferians:
How oft belief proves but delusive hope!
Alas! how things have changed.
We deemed no rank than ours more happy in this rising Realm,
Yea, thought our state even like unto God's own,
More blessed than Earth and e'er unchangeable.
Till Gabriel met us with his trumpet bold,
And from the golden port the hosts astounded
With this new-made decree,
that shall deprive the Angels of the good, the highest good,
First from the Godhead's breast to them outpoured.
How is our glory dimmed!
O unexpected blow and change of lot!
Ah! comrades in one grief.
Ah! come and gather round in groups and sigh
And weep with us together here.
Tis time to rend this shining raiment, meet for feasts,
To voice our plaints; for none can this forbid.
Our gladness fades and our first sorrow dawns.
Alas! alas! ye choristers of Heaven,
O brothers, tear those garlands from your brows
And change the blithesome livery of joy
For sorrow's gruesome garb.
Oh! droop your eyes.
Seek shadows even as we; for sorrow shuns the light.
Let each one raise his voice to ours and utter fearful plaints.
Drown in your grief; sink down in mournful thought.
To voice your woe, the burdened heart relieves.
Now joy to groan: For groaning heals the smart.
Now shout aloud, As with one voice,
and follow these our woes:
Alas! where is our bliss departed?
Alas! where is our bliss departed?
where is our bliss?
Alas! where is our bliss departed?
Alas! alas! where is our bliss departed?
where is our bliss, Alas!
Chorus of Angels.
What plaint arises here, unpleasant sound?
The Heavens shrink back in fright.
This air on high hath not been wont to hear the wail of woe
On sad notes sobbing through these joyful vaults.
Nay, wreaths and palms and loud triumphal song
And tuneful harps are far more meet for us.
What can this be?
Who crouches here with head Down-hanging,
sad, forlorn, and needlessly oppressed?
Who gave them food for grief?
Who can the reason guess?
O fellow choristers, come then,
'tis needful that we ask the cause
Of their lament and this dark cloud of woe,
That robs our splendor of its radiance
And dims and dulls the bright translucent glow of the eternal feast.
Heaven is a court where joy and peace and all delights abound.
Grief never nestled 'neath these lucid eaves,
Nor woeful pain. Ah! fellow choristers.
Oh! come, console them in their heaviness.
Luciferians:
O brothers, can ye ask with earnestness
Why we thus grieve?
Did ye also not hear what Gabriel's trump revealed:
how we through this new-given command,
down from our state are thrust into a slavery of Earth
and of as many souls as from a little blood
And seed may haply spring?
What have we done amiss?
how erred, that God a water-bubble,
Blown full of vapid air, exalts.
His sons,The Angels, to abase
a bastardy exalts, formed out of clay and dust?
Chorus:
Companions dear in our high happiness.
Oh! brothers, why? Oh! sons of the glad Light,
Why thus depressed at heart?
Ye had begun to lift your heads aloft to Heaven,
To bloom amid the day,
whose lustre streams from God's deep glow.
The Heavens brought you forth
To mount in rapid flight from firmament
To firmament beyond, from court to court;
To flit amid the shadeless light content,
In one delightful life, an endless feast;
Luciferians:
Alas! where is our bliss departed?
Alas! where is our bliss departed?
where is our bliss?
Alas! where is our bliss departed?
Alas! Alas! where is our bliss departed?
where is our bliss, alas?
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