A meagre monster, who with withering touch Makes barren all the better part of man, Mother of Miseries. Then the goodly earth Which God had fram’d for happiness, became One theatre of woe, and all that God Had given to bless free men, these tyrant fiends His bitterest curses made. Yet for the best Hath he ordained all things, the ALL-WISE! For by experience rous’d shall man at length Dash down his Moloch-Idols, Samson-like And burst his fetters, only strong whilst strong Believed. Then in the bottomless abyss Oppression shall be chain’d, and Poverty Die, and with her, her brood of Miseries; And Virtue and Equality preserve The reign of Love, and Earth shall once again Be Paradise, whilst Wisdom shall secure The state of bliss which Ignorance betrayed.” “Oh age of happiness!” the Maid exclaim’d, Roll fast thy current, Time till that blest age Arrive! and happy thou my Theodore, Permitted thus to see the sacred depths Of wisdom!” “Such,” the blessed Spirit replied, Beloved! such our lot; allowed to range The vast infinity, progressive still In knowledge and encreasing blessedness, This our united portion. Thou hast yet A little while to sojourn amongst men: I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze Wanton around thy temples, on whose wing I will not hover near! and at that hour When from its fleshly sepulchre let loose, Thy phoenix soul shall soar, O best-beloved! I will be with thee in thine agonies, And welcome thee to life and happiness, Eternal infinite beatitude!” He spake, and led her near a straw-roof’d cot, Love’s Palace. By the Virtues circled there, The cherub listen’d to such melodies, As aye, when one good deed is register’d Above, re-echo in the halls of Heaven. Labour was there, his crisp locks floating loose, Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye, And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph Health Still follow’d on his path, and where he trod Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was Hope, The general friend; and Pity, whose mild eye Wept o’er the widowed dove; and, loveliest form, Majestic Chastity, whose sober smile Delights and awes the soul; a laurel wreath Restrain’d her tresses, and upon her breast The snow-drop hung its head,[9] that seem’d to grow Spontaneous, cold and fair: still by the maid Love went submiss, wilh eye more dangerous Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe’er Too bold approached; yet anxious would he read Her every rising wish, then only pleased When pleasing. Hymning him the song was rais’d.