Then on the Father dead the dying Son 360 Implor'd Heavn's Vengence. Execration shrill Shot from the lurid Flame, and to the Skies Sail'd with the Speed of Light. The Virgin's Eye Met the grey Ruffian's, speaking Nature's Fear Of Death and Pain: the Bigot's stern Reply, Forbidding Hope, on the affrightned Soul Flung Terror; till, in pity to the World, Came Wisdom, whispering to the Ear of power, And peace arose; and then the Brother wept A Brother's Death, for distant seem'd his own. 370 And now the Spirit of uneasy Man, That weds Extreme, and, ever on the Wing For Wonder, baffles peace, high o'er the Cells Of monkish Zeal, built with the base remains The tow'ring Palace of Impiety. There Jest profane, and Quibbling Mockery Of all divine grew fast, as from the Earth Enrich'd Ill-Weeds first spring; and here the Fools, Of Laughter vain, [despis'd] the Voice of Truth, And labour'd in the ludicrous obscene. 380 To these succeed, and ah! with sad Success, A Sceptic herd more cool, and fair of form, And smoothe of Tongue and apt to gloss a Lye With Semblance strong of Nature and the Truth; They shine as Serpents, and as Serpents bite, With poison'd Tooth. Alas! the State of Man, Or doom'd the Victim of ungovern'd Zeal, Or led the Captive of unquiet Doubt!-- And now, Eugenio, turn thine Eye, and view Yon Sire bare-headed to the ruthless Wind, 390 And heedless of its Force. Upon the Brow Of yon huge shapeless Ruin, see, he kneels, And urges the departed Saints who sleep, To lend a Prayer; Repentance sent him forth, Her Son, but late th' adopted of her dark And gloomy Train. Ah! heavy weighs the Crime Of Murder on his Soul, and haunts his Bed! And, shrieking by, unseals the Eye of Sleep, Or scatters on the dark and restless Mind A thousand sooty Images of Death, 400 All horrible, and making Guilt's repose Like to the fearfull rest the Vessel feels In the dread Chasm of the tempestuous Sea, Arch'd by the Wave that pauses o'er the Gulph, While Sea-men urge their momentary prayer, And with Heart-shrinking Horror view their Grave. But hark, he speaks--attend the Wretches Tale-- Spreading his Soul upon the Wings of Night, And seeking peace by giving Themes of pain To the rude Air: