Page:Grave, a poem, or, A view of life, death and immortality.pdf/19

 Bleſſed, thrice bleſſed days! ——But ah! how ſhort! Bleſs'd as the pleaſing dreams of holy men; But fugitive, like thoſe, and quickly gone! Oh! ſlippery ſtate of things! ——What ſudden turns What ſtrange viciſſitudes in the firſt leaf Of man's ſad hiſtory! ——To-day moſt happy, And o'er to-morrow's ſun was ſet, moſt abject! How ſcant the ſpace between these vaſt extremes Thus ſar'd it with our Sire. ——Not long h'enjoy'd His Paradiſe. ——Scarce had the happy tennant Of the fair ſpot, due time to prove its ſweets, Or ſum them up; when ſtrait he muſt be gone, 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 the laviſh odours of the place, Offer'd in incenſe, can produce his pardon, Or mitigate his doom. A mighty Angel, With flaming ſword, forbids his longer stay, And drives the loiterer forth ——nor muſt he take One laſt farwel round. At once he loſt His glory and his God! ——If immortal now, And ſorely maim'd, no wonder! ——Man has ſinn'd? Sick of his bliſs, and bent on new adventures, Evil he would needs try ——nor try in vain. Dreadful experiment! ——deſtructive meaſure! (Where the worſt thing could happen, is ſucceſs.) 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 thoſe of Angels, ſhort and far between; Whilſt 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 raſh error, which he could not mend;