" The brazen arms were working more quickly. They paused no longer.
Every time that a child was placed in them the priests of Moloch spread out their hands upon him to burden him with the crimes of the people,
vociferating: "They are not men but oxen!" and the multitude round about repeated: "Oxen! oxen!"
The devout exclaimed: "Lord! eat!"
and the priests of Proserpine, complying through terror with the needs of Carthage, muttered the Eleusinian formula: "Pour out rain! bring forth!"
The victims, when scarcely at the edge of the opening, disappeared like a drop of water on a red-hot plate, and white smoke rose amid the great scarlet colour.
Nevertheless, the appetite of the god was not appeased. He ever wished for more. In order to furnish him with a larger supply,
the victims were piled up on his hands with a big chain above them which kept them in their place.
Some devout persons had at the beginning wished to count them, to see whether their number corresponded with the days of the solar year;
but others were brought, and it was impossible to distinguish them in the giddy motion of the horrible arms.
This lasted for a long, indefinite time until the evening. Then the partitions inside assumed a darker glow, and burning flesh could be seen.
Some even believed that they could descry hair, limbs, and whole bodies. Night fell; clouds accumulated above the Baal.
The funeral-pile, which was flameless now, formed a pyramid of coals up to his knees; completely red like a giant covered with blood,
he looked, with his head thrown back, as though he were staggering beneath the weight of his intoxication. "
- Gustav Flaubert
"First, Moloch, horrid King, besmeared with blood
Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears;
Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud,
Their children's cries unheard that passed through fire
To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite
Worshiped in Rabba and her watery plain,
In Argob and in Basan, to the stream
Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such
Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart
Of Solomon he led by fraud to build
His temple right against the temple of God
On that opprobrious hill, and made his grove
The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence
And black Gehenna called, the type of Hell."
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
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