The wrecks of nations, and the fpoils of time,
With all the lumber of fix thousand years.
Poor man! how happy once in thy first state l When, yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand, He stamp'd thee with his image, and, well pleas'd, Smil'd on his laft fair work. Then all was well;Sound was the body, and the foul ferene; Like two fweet inftruments ne'er out of tune, That play their several parts. Nor head nor heart Offer'd to ach: nor was there cause they should; For all was pure within: no fell remorfe, Nor anxious caftings up of what might be, Alarm'd his peaceful bofom: fummer feas
Shew not more smooth, when kiss'd by fouthern winds
Juft ready to expire. Scarce importun'd,
The gen'rous foil with a luxuriant hand
Offer'd the various produce of the year,
And ev'ry thing moft perfect in its kind.
Bleffed, thrice bleffed days! But, ah! how fhort!
Blefs'd as the pleafing dreams of holy men;
But fugitive like thofe, and quickly gone.
Oh, flipp'ry state of things! What sudden turns,
What strange viciffitudes, in the first leaf
Of man's fad hiftory! To-day most happy,
And ere to-morrow's fun has fet most abject!
How scant the space between these vast extremes'
Thus far'd it with our fire: nor long he enjoy'd
His paradife. Scarce had the happy tenant
Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets,
Or fum them up; when straight he must be
Ne'er to return again. And must he go?
Can nought compound for the first 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 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 ftay,
And drives the loiterer forth; nor must he take
One laft and farewell round. At once he loft
His glory, and his GOD. If mortal now,
And ferely maim'd, no wonder! Man has finn'd.
Sick of his blifs, and bent on new adventures,
Evil he needs would try: nor try'd in vain.
(Dreadful experiment! deftructive measure!
Where the worst thing could happen was fuccefs)
Alas! too well he sped: the good he scorn'd
Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost,
Not to return; or, if it did, its visits,
Like thofe of angels, fhort, and far between :
Whilft the black dæmon, with his hell-scap'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 the rash 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 at ev'ry pore.
What havoc haft thou made, foul monster, fin!
Greatest and firft of ills! the fruitful parent
Of woes of all dimenfions! But for thee
Sorrow had never been. All noxious things,
Of vileft nature, other forts of ills,
Are kindly circumfcrib'd, and have their bounds.
The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails
That belches molten ftone and glebes of fire,
Involv'd in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench,
Mars the adjacent fields for fome leagues round,
And there it ftops. The big-fwoln inundation,
Of mischief more diffufive, raving loud,
Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ning more;
But that too has a fhore it cannot pass.
More dreadful far than these, fin has laid waste,
Not here and there a country, but a world:
Dispatching 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.
Accurfed thing! oh, where shall fancy find
A proper name to call thee by, expreffive
Of all thy horrors? Pregnant womb of ills!
Of temper fo tranfcendently malign,
That toads and ferpents of the most deadly kind, Compar'd to thee, are harmless. Sickneffes
Of ev'ry fize and symptom, racking pains,
And blueft plagues, are thine. See how the fiend
Profufely scatters the contagion round!
Whilft deep-mouth'd flaughter, bellowing at her
heels,
Wades deep in blood new fpilt; yet for to-morrow
Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring,
And inly pines till the dread blow is struck.
But hold-I've gone too far; too much disclos'd My father's nakedness, and nature's fhame. Here let me pause, and drop an honest tear,
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