Blefs'd as the pleafing dreams of holy men,
But fugitive, like thofe, and quickly gone*.

O flipp'ry ftate of things! What fuåden turns,
What ftrange viciffitudes, in the first leaf
Of man's fad hiftory! to-day moft happy,
And ere to-morrow's fun has fet, most abject!
How fcant the space between these vast extremes!
Thus far'd it with our Sire: not long he enjoy'd
His paradife! fcaree had the happy tenant
Of the fair fpot due time to prove its fweets,
Or fum them up, when strait he must be gone,
Ne'er to return again.—And must he go?
Can nought compound for the firft dire offence
Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd,
Fain would he trifle time with idle talk,
And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain.
Not all the lavish'd odours of the place,
Offer'd in incenfe, can procure his pardon,
Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel
With flaming fword forbids his longer stay +;
And drives the loit'rer forth; nor muft he take

Like early clouds or as the morning dew.

+ Genefis iii. 24.

Ope

One laft and farewel round. At once he loft His Glory and his God. If mortal now, And forely maim'd, no wonder! Man has finn'd; Sick of his blifs, and bent on new adventures, Evil he needs would try; nor tried in vain. (Dreadful experiment! deftructive measure! Where the worst thing could happen, is success.) Alas! too well be fped: the good he scorn'd Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill ufed gueft, Not to return; or if it did, its vifits

Like thofe of angels, fhort and far between;

Whilft the black dæmon, with his hell-fcamp'd train,

Admitted once into its better room,

Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone;

Lording it o'er the man, who now too late
Saw the rafh error which he could not mend;
An error fatal not to him alone,

But to his future fons, his fortune's heirs *.
Inglorious bondage! human nature groans
Beneath a vaffalage fo vile and cruel;
And its vaft body bleeds through ev'ry vein t

* Romans v. 12.

+ See Milton's Paradise Loft, book x. line 151.

What

What havock haft thou made, foul monster, fini Greatest and first of ills! the fruitful parent

Of woes of all dimensions! but for thee,
Sorrow had never been. All noxious things
Of vileft nature, other forts of evils,

Are kindly circumfcrib'd, and have their bounds;
The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails
That belches molten ftone and globes of fire,
Involv'd in pitchy clouds of fmoke and stench,
Mars the adjacent fields, for fome leagues round,
And there it flops. The big fwoln inundation,
Of mischief more diffufive, raving loud,
Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning more;
But that too has its fhore it cannot pass.

More dreadful far than these, fin has laid waste
Not here and there a country, but a world * ;
Difpatching at a wide extended blow
Entire mankind; and for their fakes defacing
A whole creation's beauty with rude hands;
Blafting the foodful grain, the loaded branches,
And marking all along its way with ruin.

*As all mankind have finn'd in Adam their federal

head, fo death is paft on all.

Accurfed

Accurfed thing! O where fhall fancy find
A proper name to call thee by, expreflive
Of all thy horrors? Pregnant womb of ills!
Of temper fo trancendently malign,

That toads and ferpents of moft deadly kind
Compar'd to thee are harmless. Sickneffes
Of every fize and fymptom, racking pains,
And blueft plagues are thine! See how the fiend
Profufely fcatters the contagion round *!
Whilft deep mouth flaughter, bellowing at her heels,
Wades deep in blood new fpilt; yet for to-morrow
Shapes out new work of great uncommon dating,
And inly pines till the dead blow is ftruck.

But hold! I've gone too far; too much discover'd My father's nakednefs and nature's fhame.

Here let me paufe-and drop an honeft tear,
One burst of filial duty, and condolence,
O'er all these ampler defarts Death hath spread
This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater!
Whofe ev'ry day is carnival, not fated yet!
Unheard of epicure, without a fellow!

*There's not a fon or daughter of Adam, but what are liable to (and the generality of them often do experience) the pains and difeafes incident to mortality.

The

The vericft gluttons do not always cram;
Some intervals of abftinence are fought

To edge the appetite; thou seekest none.
Methinks the countlefs fwarms thou haft devour'd,
And thousands at each hour thou gobblest up,
This, lefs than this, might gorge thee to the full,
But ah! rapacious ftill, thou gap'ft for more;
Like one, whole days defrauded of his meals,
On whom lank hunger lays his skinny hand,
And whets to keeneft eagernefs his cravings:
As if Diseases, Maffacres, and Poifon,
Famine and War, were not thy caterers:

But know, that thou muft render up thy dead,
And with high intereft too! They are not thine;
But only in thy keeping for a season,

Till the great promis'd day of reftitution;
When loud diffufive found from brazen trump
Of ftrong-lung'd cherub fhall alarm thy captives,
And roufe the long long fleepers into life,
Day-light and liberty *.-

Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal
The mines that lay long forming under ground,