Thro' sable clouds, far from the solar ray;

Dark as black spots in midnight clouds they fly,
Swift, and more swift, till they relieve the sky;
Precipitate the fiends rush from the day,
Point out the long uncomfortable way;

The shudd'ring ghost and demons plaintive vent,
Thin hollow screams, along the deep descent.
As in the caverns of some rifted den,

Where flock nocturnal bats, and birds obscene,
Cluster'd they hang, till at some sudden shock,
They move, and murmurs run thro' all the rock :
So wailing fled the sad tormented ghost,

And such a scream fill'd all the dismal coast,
As they glide panting thro' the horrid plains,
Where night in everlasting silence reigns,.
They now approach hell's gates where flames expire,
That unconsum'd, are wrapt in smoke and fire.
Scar'd at the sight, the spirit backward drew,
As the tremendous portals rose to view.

A lash each fury in a moment shakes,

The ghost they scourge, with fi'ry hissing snakes,
At hell's dread mouth ten thousand monsters wait,
Grief weeps, and veng'ance bellows in the gate;
Loud howl the damn'd in everlasting pains,
And loud as thunder shake their pond'rous chains;
The sound re-echoes thro' the dismal plains,
Strikes the scar'd spirit with the frightful sound,
The melancholy den that thunders round;
Loud and more loud the dreadful shrieks they hear,
As to th' infernal regions they draw near;

The jarring portals on their hinges flew,
Then lo! the direful scene appear'd in view.
A furnace, formidable, deep and wide,

}

O'er-boiling with a blue sulphureous tide,
Expands its jaws most dreadful to survey,
And roars incessant for the destin'd prey;
The first born sons of light appall'd look down,
And nearer press God's everlasting throne.
Hell's gates spontaneous open'd to the chief,
Hell's blazing gates, kept by dire unbelief;
With dread recoil, and with a jarring sound,
That shook the deep abyss and dark profound,
The dreadful doors thus on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder, as spontaneous op'd each gate.
The gates were full ten thousand miles in height,
And thrice ten thousand thousand miles in breadth;
And floods of sable smoke and ruddy flame,
Burst out in volumes o'er the dismal plain.

On mighty columns rais'd sublime, were hung

The flaming gates, impenetrably strong;

And thrice three fold they were, three fold were rock, Their brass their iron, adamant the lock;

In vain would all the sons of light essay

To force the lock of adamant away.

Ten thousand thousand thousand devils wait,
Tremendous forms! to guard each gloomy gate;
A robe of living flame each fury wore,
With all the pomp of horror, dy'd in gore.
Here weeping, wailing, howling, dreadful pain,
And groans re-echo with the rattling chain;
Here while proud WILLMORE deprecates his woe.
They plunge him flaming in the realms below;
As far beneath th' infernal centre hurl'd

As from that centre to the ætherial world;
And there he groans, with pains that ne'er expire,
Chain'd down forever in a chain of fire;

Th' atheist now feels everlasting woe,

And roars incessant thro' the shades below.

In these, or words like these, the soul complains,
With all the eloquence of hellish pains :
"Ah! mercy, mercy, art thou dead above,
Is love extinguish'd in the source of love?

Has heav'n, and earth, and hell, then join'd the foe,
Sense reason, memory, increas'd my woe?
Down, down, I still am falling, horrid pain,
And yet ten thousand thousand miles remain !
Wretch that I am, did heav'n stoop down to hell,
Th' expiring Lord of life my ransom seal?
Have I not been industrious to provoke,
From my Redeemer's kind embraces broke,
Blasphem'd and panted for his mortal hate,
Earn'd my damnation, labour'd out my fate,
Annull'd his groans, as far as in me lay,
And flung his agonies and death away?

My voice, which was ordain'd on hymns to dwell,
Once curs❜d my God, now blows the flames of hell.

Just is my lot; but, oh! must it transcend

The reach of time, despair a distant end?

With dreadful growth shoot forward and arise,
Where thought can't follow, and bold fancy dies?
And must my punishment be ever strong,

My constitution too, forever young
?

Curs'd with returns of vigor still the same,
Pow'rful to bear and satisfy the flame;
Still to be caught, and still to be pursu❜d,
To perish still and still to be renew'd ?
Wretch that I was to doubt heav'ns word divine,
Nor think if truth depicted ev'ry line,
What woe and endless miseries were mine!

Stop the descending showers of thy rage,
Oh, God! nor with a grain of dust engage;
In pity send some holy saint along,

With one cold drop to cool my parching tongue,

}

Or grant, oh, grant, in mortal God at least,
This one, this slender, almost no request,
When I have wept ten thousand lives away,
When devils are grown weary of their prey,
When I have rav'd ten million years in fire,
Ten million million, let me then expire."

Unhappy soul, just judge, hard sentence too,
What infidel would vaunt that thinks on you ..?
Enclos'd with horrors and transfix'd with pain,
Rolling in veng'ance, struggling with his chain :
Tho' loth, he ever loud blaspheming owns,
He's justly doom'd to pour eternal groans.
Here crowds of wretches, prodigal of breath,
Themselves anticipate the doom of death;
Oppress'd with guilt, they cast their lives away,
And sad and sullen, hate the golden day.
Oh! with what joy the wretches now would bear
Pain, toil, and woe, to breathe the vital air!
In vain by fate for ever are they bound,
Midst fire and brimstone, in the dark profound,
Forever damn'd, they now with hideous yell,
And long loud bellowing, shake the realms of hell.
Here tyrants who had base pursuits in view,
Enslav'd their brethren, and their neighbours slew;
But still more num'rous they who swell'd their store,
But ne'er reliev'd the fatherless and poor;
Here proud professors and the devotee,
Who never felt their neighbour's misery,
Thick as the leaves come flutt'ring from above,
When cooler autumn strips the blasted grove;
Thick as the feather'd flock in close array,
O'er the wide fields of ocean wing their way;
When from the rage of winter they repair,
To warmer suns, and more indulgent air :

These wretches who profess'd to love the Lord,
Yet to his poor no succour would afford,

Who sent the hungry orphan from their door,
And never thought to bless the housless poor;
The helpless stranger sent with tears away,
Yet spent their wealth t' indulge their vanity.
And still forsooth, could sing and preach and pray.
These wretches now eternally implore

Relief, but get such as they gave before.

The Levite and the Priest here horrors know,
No mercy find, as they'd no mercy show;
And those who in a cause unrighteous bled,
Or perish'd in the foul adult'rous bed,
Or ruin'd female virtue thro' deceit,

Now here their everlasting torments wait.
In swarms these spectres plunge in deepest hell,
With bloodless visage, and with hideous yell.
With scorpions arm'd, and curls of hissing snakes.
Their slaves now lash them, thro' the burning lake.
These who were led astray by subtle foes,

}

Scourge their seducers, and enhance their woes; { They scream, they howl, their groans, and dismal sounds Echo shrill thunder thro' hell's utmost bounds.

His lash Apollyon ev'ry moment shakes,

Each ghost he scourges with a thousand snakes.
The fool that sold his heav'n for gilded clay,
Now howls, no spirit feels more dire dismay,

}

More fierce, more damn'd, and more a fiend than he,
When from afar to aggravate his doom,
He sees a wretched prodigal consume.
Transfix'd with living flames, involv'd in fire,
They curse with spite heav'n's everlasting Sire:
Here Robespierre who his own country sold,
And barter'd glorious liberty for gold; (