What tho’ dull seers have sung, in dreams sublime,
Thy ruin floats along the verge of time,
Tho’ without hands the stone from mountains riven,
Alarms my throne, and hastes the ire of heaven;
Tho’ bliss’ dread heralds earth’s far limits round
Pardon, and peace, and joy, ere long shall sound;
How beauteous are their feet! all regions cry,
And one great, natal song salute the sky:
Still, should I sink, a glorious fate I’ll find,
And sink amid the ruins of mankind.
But what blest onset shall I now begin,
To plunge the New World in the gulph of sin?
With sweet declension, down perdition’s steep,
How, in one host, her cheated millions sweep?
I hail the glorious project, first, and best,
That ever Satan’s bright invention blest;
That on this world my kingdom first began,
And lost my rival paradise, and man.
Twice fifteen suns are past, since C * * * * * *’s mind,
Thro’ doctrines deep, from common sense resin’d,
I led, a nice, mysterious work to frame,
With love of system, and with lust of same.
Fair in his hand the pleasing wonder grew,
Wrought with deep art, and stor’d with treasures new:
There the sweet sophism led the soul astray;
There round to heaven soft bent the crooked way:
Saints, he confess’d, the shortest rout pursue;
But, scarce behind, my children follow too.
Even Satan’s self ere long shall thither hie;
On cap, huzza! and thro’ the door go I!
Now palsied age has dimm’d his mental sight,
I’ll rouse the sage his master’s laws to fight,
The injuries, long he render’d, to repair
And wipe from heaven’s fair book his faith and prayer.