And half a clay-cold lump; joint-tort'ring Gout, 30
And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulsion wild!
Swoln Dropsy; panting Asthma; Apoplex
Full-gorg'd. There too the Pestilence that walks
In darkness, and the Sickness that destroys
At broad noon-day*. These, and a thousand more, 35
Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
By Heaven's command Death waves his ebon wand,
Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose,
And scatter desolation o'er the earth.
Ill-fated man, for whom such various forms
Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey!
Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didst thou make
This creature, Man? why wake th' unconscious dust
To life and wretchedness? O better far
Still had he slept in uncreated night,
If this the lot of Being! Was it for this
Thy Breath divine kindled within his breast
The vital flame? For this was thy fair image
Stampt on his soul in godlike lineaments †?
For this dominion giv'n him absolute
O'er all thy works, only that he might reign
Supreme in woe? From the blest source of good
Could Pain and Death proceed? Could such foul il
Fall from fair Mercy's hands? Far be the thought
The impious thought! God never made a creature a
But what was good. He made a living Soul;
The wretched Mortal was the work of Man.
Forth from his Maker's hands he sprung to life,
Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew,
No fear of change, no check to his desires,
Save one command. That one command, which stoo "Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience, Urg'd on by wanton curiosity,
There in one moment was undone
The fairest of God's works. The same rash hand, 6
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin
And Death, and all the family of Pain,
Mankind. Young Nature saw
The monstrous crew, and shook thro' all her frame. 7
Then fled her new-born lustre, then began
Heaven's chearful face to low'r, then vapours choak'd The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds
To hide the willing Sun*. The earth, convuls'd
With painful throes, threw forth a bristly crop
Of thorns and briars! and Insect, Bird, and Beast,
That wont before with admiration fond
To
gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around him,
Now fled before his face, shunning in haste
Th' infection of his misery. He alone,
Who justly might, th' offended Lord of Man,
Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity,
Forsook not in this uttermost distress
His best lov'd work. That comfort still remain'd
(That best, that greatest comfort in affliction)
The countenance of God; and thro' the gloom
Shot forth some kindly gleams, to cheer and warm
Th' offender's sinking soul. Hope sent from Heav'n,
Uprais'd his drooping head, and shew'd afar
A happier scene of things; the promis'd Seed
Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled crest † ;
Death of his sting disarm'd; and the dark grave
Milton's Paradise Lost, B. IX, 1000. + Gen. iii. 15.
Made pervious to the realms of endless day,
No more the limit but the gate of life *.
Cheer'd with the view, Man went to till the ground, g
From whence he rose; sentenc'd indeed to toil
As to a punishment, yet (ev'n in wrath,
So merciful is Heav'n†) this toil became
The solace of his woes, the sweet employ
Of many a live-long hour, and surest guard
Against Disease and Death. Death, tho' denounc'd, Was yet a distant ill, by feeble arm
Of Age, his sole support, led slowly on.
Not then, as since, the short-liv'd sons of men
Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes;
Scarce in the course of twice five hundred years
One solitary ghost went shiv'ring down
To his unpeopled shore. In sober state,
Through the sequester'd vale of rural life,
The venerable Patriarch guileless held
The tenour of his way; Labour prepar'd
His simple fare, and Temp'rance rul'd his board.
Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve
He sunk to sudden rest; gentle and
As breath of evening Zephyr, and as sweet,
Were all his slumbers; with the Sun he rose,
Alert and vigorous as He, to run
His destin'd course*. Thus nerv'd with giant strength,
He stemm'd the tide of time, and stood the shock
Of ages rolling harmless o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd he stood,
And looking round, saw all the vallies fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-well content
To leave his race thus scatter'd o'er the earth,
Along the gentle slope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till full of years
He dropp'd like mellow fruit into his grave t.
Such in the infancy of Time was Man :
So calm was life, so impotent was Death!
O had he but preserv'd these few remains,
The shatter'd fragments of lost happiness,
Snatch'd by the hand of Heav'n from the sad wreck
Of innocence primæval; still had he liv'd
In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn;
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