When, from th' imperial seats on high,
The Lord of Nature turn'd his eye,
To view the state of things below;
Still blest to make his creatures so:
From earth he saw Astraea fly,
And seek her mansions in the sky;
Peace, crown'd with olives, left her throne,
And white rob'd Innocence was gone:
While Vice, reveal'd in open day,
Sole tyrant rul'd with iron sway;
And Virtue veil'd her weeping charms,
And fled for refuge to his arms,
Her altars scorn'd, her shrines defac'd —
Whom thus th' Essential Good address'd.