Ill-fated Man, for whom such various forms
Of Misery 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 given him absolute
O'er all thy creatures, only that he might reign
Supreme in woe? From the blest source of Good
Could Pain and Death proceed? Could such foul Ills
Fall from fair Mercy's hands? Far be the thought,
The impious thought! God never made a Creature
But what was good. He made a living Man:
The Man of Death was made by Man himself.
Forth from his Maker's hands he sprung to life,
Fresh with immortal bloom; No pain he knew,
No fear of death, no check to his desires
Save one command. That one command (which stood
'Twixt him and ruin, the test of his obedience,)
Urg'd on by wanton curiosity
He broke. — There in one moment was undone
The fairest of God's works. The same rash hand
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
To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature saw
The monstrous crew, and shook thro' all her frame.
Then fled her new-born lustre, then begar.
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 croud 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 chear and warm
Th' offender's sinking soul. Hope sent from Heaven
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 dank grave
Made pervious to the realms of endless day,
No more the limit but the gate of life.