On Nature's ever-moving throne attend; With mischief arm'd for him whoe'er shall thwart The path of her inexorable wheels, While she pursues the work that must be done Through ocean, earth, and air. Hence, frequent forms 550 Of woe; the merchant, with his wealthy bark, Buried by dashing waves; the traveller, Pierced by the pointed lightning in his haste; And the poor husbandman, with folded arms, Surveying his lost labours, and a heap Of blasted chaff the product of the field Whence he expected bread. But worse than these, I deem far worse, that other race of ills Which human kind rear up among themselves; That horrid offspring which misgovern'd Will 560 Bears to fantastic Error; vices, crimes, Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows, The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand Seem sport: which are indeed but as the care Of a wise parent, who solicits good To all her house, though haply at the price Of tears and froward wailing and reproach From some unthinking child, whom not the less Its mother destines to be happy still. These sources then of pain, this double lot 570 Of evil in the inheritance of man, Required for his protection no slight force, No careless watch; and therefore was his breast Fenced round with passions quick to be alarm'd, Or stubborn to oppose; with Fear, more swift Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill, Where armies land: with Anger, uncontroll'd As the young lion bounding on his prey; With Sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart; And Shame, that overcasts the drooping eye 580 As with a cloud of lightning. These the part Perform of eager monitors, and goad The soul more sharply than with points of steel, Her enemies to shun or to resist. And as those passions, that converse with good, Are good themselves; as Hope and Love and Joy, Among the fairest and the sweetest boons Of life, we rightly count: so these, which guard Against invading evil, still excite Some pain, some tumult; these, within the mind 590 Too oft admitted or too long retain'd, Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb'd rage To savages more fell than Libya breeds Transform themselves, till human thought becomes A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd, Of self-tormenting fiends; Horror, Despair, Hatred, and wicked Envy: foes to all The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven.