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Readings in Sri Aurobindo's Savitri: A Legend and a Symbol from Book II, Canto 8 · Sri Aurobindo Studies

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  For terrible agencies the spirit allows, and there are subtle and
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  enormous powers that shield themselves with the covering
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  ignorance, Offspring of the gulfs, agents of the shadowy
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  force, haters of light, intolerant of peace.
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  Aping to the thought, the shining friend and guide,
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  opposing in the heart the eternal will, they veil the
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  occult, uplifting harmonist. His wisdom's oracles are made
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  our bonds the doors of God. They have locked with keys of
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  creed, and shut out by the law his tireless grace.
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  Along all nature's lines they have set their posts and
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  intercept the caravans of light. Wherever the gods act, they
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  intervene. A yoke is laid upon the world's
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  dim heart. Masked are its beats from the
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  supernal bliss, and the closed peripheries of brilliant mind
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  block the fine entries of celestial fire.
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  Always the dark adventurers seem to win nature.
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  They fill with evils. Institutes turn into defeats.
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  The victories of truth proclaim as falsehoods the eternal laws,
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  and load the dice of doom With wizard lies.
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  The world shrines they have occupied usurped its Thrones in
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  scorn of the dwindling chances of the gods.
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  They claim creation as their conquered thief, and crown
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  themselves the iron Lords of time.
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  Adepts of the illusion and the mask.
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  The artificers of nature's fall and pain have built their altars
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  of triumphant night in the clay temple of terrestrial life, in
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  the vacant precincts of the sacred fire in front of the
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  raredos, in the Mystic rite facing the dim villam and nun
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  can Pierce in tones his solemn hymn, the mitred priest,
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  invoking their dreadful presence in his breast, attributing to
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  them the awful name, he chants the syllables of the magic
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  texts, and summons the unseen communions act while twixt the
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  incense and the muttered prayer. All the fierce Bale with which
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  the world is wracked is mixed in the foaming chalice of man's
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  heart, and poured to them like sacramental wine.
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  Assuming names divine, they guide and rule opponents of the
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  highest. They have come out of their
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  world of soulless thought and power to serve by enmity.
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  The cosmic scheme Night is their refuge and strategic base
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  against the Sword of Flame, the Luminous Eye bastions.
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  They live in massive forts of gloom, calm and secure in
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  sunless privacy. No wandering ray of heaven can
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  enter there. Armored, protected by their
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  lethal masks, as in a studio of creative death, the giant sons
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  of darkness sit and plan the drama of the earth, their tragic
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  stage. All who would raise the fallen
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  world must come under the dangerous arches of their power,
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  for even the radiant children of the gods to darken their
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  privileges and dreadful right. None can reach heaven who has
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  not passed through hell.