Page:Aratus The Phenomena and Diosemeia.pdf/45

Rh Or art thou, Goddess, she of heavenly birth, Who condescended once to dwell on earth, Astræa call'd, in fabled days of old— Alas! for ever gone—the Poet's age of gold? Then Justice rul'd supreme, man's only guide: No fraud—no violence—no strife—no pride. No sailor ventur'd then to distant clime, And brought back foreign wealth and foreign crime. All tended then the flock, or till'd the soil, And milk and fruit repaid their easy toil. All happy—equal, as the Poets sing, No fierce seditious mob—no tyrant king— But soon these days of innocence were gone: In his sire's place arose a viler son Of silver race. Then to the mountain's glen Scar'd and offended from the haunts of men Fair Justice fled. Yet still at times were seen Her angel figure, and her godlike mien. But when she view'd the crowded city's throng— "The proud man's contumely—the poor man's wrong—" Vex’d was her righteous soul. "Mortals, farewell, "Farewell," she said, "no more with man I dwell. "Ye of your sires a vile degenerate race, "Your offspring you their fathers will disgrace. "War soon will desolate these fruitful lands— "A brother's blood will stain a brother's hands. "Rising to view I see a ghastly train— "Revenge—Oppression—Woe—Despair—and Pain."