Fresh from the lone incendiary fire

That rose in terror at his base command,

Now stood a wretch, imperiled as the byre
That tottering fell beneath his vengeful hand.
By deathless furies in contention fanned,
Rivers of liquid torment did he gorge,

And vomit back on the derisive band,

Till fiercely maddened by the damning scourge,

He leaped—but to explore the vast sulphureous forge.

Quailing before the Spectre, as he stole
With soft perfidious aspect into view,
The wily, flattering, and seductive soul
More naked, hapless, and revolting grew.
A host of myrmidons around him drew,
Abetted by his victims' louder wail;

And while they often treacherously threw

Disdain on him, some listened to his tale,

And then with multiplied revenge did on him rail.

Loaded with gross impurity, at which

Earth belched her hidden fires upon the plain,

Arose a miscreant from the secret niche

That veiled no longer his unnatural stain.
On him did molten wrath so thickly rain,
That even Horror looked the more aghast;

And fiends embittered with increasing pain,

Ran howling to escape the furious blast

That God's commands outraged did now unceasing cast.

Unsated with the lure of living death

That mourned in hopelessness the loss of heaven,

The Phantom sighed, and in his poisonous breath

Infused a constantly corroding leaven.
By love of pain and devastation driven,
He turned upon himself in burning rage,
Which neither unrepentant sin, nor even

The fruitless prayers of thousands could assuage,

And feasted on intestine war from age to age.

STANZAS

WRITTEN FOR AN AFFLICTED LITTLE FRIEND.

O THAT I were some heedless thing

That flits before my sight,

Still hurrying on with eager wing

In transports of delight.

Unfettered then with anxious care,

My joy from hour to hour

Should be with lightsome heart to share

The sweets of every flower.

Away would I from passing scenes

Of cheerless aspect fly,

To seek the more inviting means

Of pleasure in the sky.

The dawning of the vernal sun
Should lure me into play;

And exercises thus begun

Grow brighter with the day.

My thirst should often be repaired

With juices of the vine ;

And gifts, by heaven or art prepared,

Be all accounted mine.

The melody of birds should swell

My little joyous store;

And every contribution tell

More sweetly than before.

But destined as I am to live

Through one eternal span,

To others must I also give

The willing aid of man:

And treat whatever God hath made,

Down to the simple fly,

As well becomes the noblest grade,

"A sinner born to die."

A SONG.

WHILE joyous May,

In bright array,

His genial aid imparts,

To swell the love

The Powers above

Confide to kindred hearts,

Will I repair,

Devoid of care,

Where lovers only meet,

With her whose eyes

I dearly prize,

And languish at her feet.