 | The miscellaneous works (1739) |  |
A description of HELL.
In imitation of Milton.
Deep, to unfathomable spaces deep,
Descend the dark, detested paths of hell,
The gulphs of execration and despair,
Of pain, and rage, and pure unmingled woe;
The realms of endless death, and seats of night,
Uninterrupted night, which sees no dawn,
Prodigious darkness! which receives no light,
But from the sickly blaze of sulph'rous flames,
That cast a pale and dead reflection round,
Disclosing all the desolate abyss,
Dreadful beyond what human thought can form,
Bounded with circling seas of liquid fire.
Aloft the blazing billows curl their heads,
And form a roar along the direful strand;
While ruddy cat'racts from on high descend,
And urge the fiery ocean's stormy rage.
Impending horrors o'er the region frown,
And weighty ruin threatens from on high;
Inevitable snares, and fatal pits,
And gulphs of deep perdition, wait below;
Whence issue long, remediless complaints,
With endless groans, and everlasting yells.
Legions of ghastly fiends (prodigious sight!)
Fly all confus'd across the sickly air,
And roaring horrid, shake the vast extent.
Pale, meagre spectres wander all around,
And pensive shades, and black deformed ghosts.
With impious fury some aloud blaspheme,
And wildly staring upwards, curse the skies;
While some, with gloomy terror in their looks,
Trembling all over, downward cast their eyes,
And tell, in hollow groans, their deep despair.
Descend the dark, detested paths of hell,
The gulphs of execration and despair,
Of pain, and rage, and pure unmingled woe;
The realms of endless death, and seats of night,
Uninterrupted night, which sees no dawn,
50
But from the sickly blaze of sulph'rous flames,
That cast a pale and dead reflection round,
Disclosing all the desolate abyss,
Dreadful beyond what human thought can form,
Bounded with circling seas of liquid fire.
Aloft the blazing billows curl their heads,
And form a roar along the direful strand;
While ruddy cat'racts from on high descend,
And urge the fiery ocean's stormy rage.
Impending horrors o'er the region frown,
And weighty ruin threatens from on high;
Inevitable snares, and fatal pits,
And gulphs of deep perdition, wait below;
Whence issue long, remediless complaints,
With endless groans, and everlasting yells.
Legions of ghastly fiends (prodigious sight!)
Fly all confus'd across the sickly air,
And roaring horrid, shake the vast extent.
Pale, meagre spectres wander all around,
And pensive shades, and black deformed ghosts.
With impious fury some aloud blaspheme,
And wildly staring upwards, curse the skies;
While some, with gloomy terror in their looks,
Trembling all over, downward cast their eyes,
And tell, in hollow groans, their deep despair.
Convinc'd by fatal proofs, the atheist here
Yields to the sharp tormenting evidence;
And of an infinite eternal mind,
At last the challeng'd demonstration meets.
Yields to the sharp tormenting evidence;
And of an infinite eternal mind,
At last the challeng'd demonstration meets.
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The libertine his folly here laments,
His blind extravagance, that made him sell
Unfading bliss, and everlasting crowns,
Immortal transports, and celestial feasts,
For the short pleasure of a sordid sin,
For one fleet moment's despicable joy.
Too late, all lost, for ever lost! he sees
The envy'd saints triumphing from afar,
And angels basking in the smiles of God.
But oh! that all was for a trifle lost,
Gives to his bleeding soul perpetual wounds.
His blind extravagance, that made him sell
Unfading bliss, and everlasting crowns,
Immortal transports, and celestial feasts,
For the short pleasure of a sordid sin,
For one fleet moment's despicable joy.
Too late, all lost, for ever lost! he sees
The envy'd saints triumphing from afar,
And angels basking in the smiles of God.
But oh! that all was for a trifle lost,
Gives to his bleeding soul perpetual wounds.
The wanton beauty, whose bewitching arts,
Has drawn ten thousand wretched souls to hell,
Depriv'd of ev'ry blandishment and charm,
All black, and horrid, seeks the darkest shades,
To shun the fury of revengeful ghosts,
That with vindictive curses still pursue
The author of their miserable fate,
Who from the paths of life seduc'd their souls,
And led them down to these accurst abodes.
Has drawn ten thousand wretched souls to hell,
Depriv'd of ev'ry blandishment and charm,
All black, and horrid, seeks the darkest shades,
To shun the fury of revengeful ghosts,
That with vindictive curses still pursue
The author of their miserable fate,
Who from the paths of life seduc'd their souls,
And led them down to these accurst abodes.
The fool that sold his heav'n for gilded clay,
The scorn of all the damn'd, ev'n here laments
His sordid heaps; which still to purchase, he
A second time wou'd forfeit all above:
Nor covets fields of light, nor starry wreaths,
Nor angels songs, nor pure unmingled bliss,
But for his darling treasures still repines;
Which from afar, to aggravate his doom,
He sees some thoughtless prodigal consume.
The scorn of all the damn'd, ev'n here laments
His sordid heaps; which still to purchase, he
A second time wou'd forfeit all above:
Nor covets fields of light, nor starry wreaths,
Nor angels songs, nor pure unmingled bliss,
But for his darling treasures still repines;
Which from afar, to aggravate his doom,
He sees some thoughtless prodigal consume.
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Beyond them all a miserable hell
The execrable persecutor finds;
No spirit howls among the shades below
More damn'd, more fierce, nor more a fiend than he.
Aloud he heav'n and holiness blasphemes,
While all his enmity to good appears,
His enmity to good; once falsly call'd
Religious warmth, and charitable zeal.
On high, beyond th' unpassable abyss,
To aggravate his righteous doom, he views
The blissful realms, and there the schismatic,
The visionary, the deluded saint,
By him so often hated, wrong'd, and scorn'd,
So often curs'd, and damn'd, and banish'd thence:
He sees him there possest of all that heav'n,
Those glories, those immortal joys, which he,
The orthodox, unerring catholic,
The mighty fav'rite, and elect of God,
With all his mischievous, converting arts,
His killing charity, and burning zeal,
His pompous creeds, and boasted faith, has lost.
The execrable persecutor finds;
No spirit howls among the shades below
More damn'd, more fierce, nor more a fiend than he.
Aloud he heav'n and holiness blasphemes,
While all his enmity to good appears,
His enmity to good; once falsly call'd
Religious warmth, and charitable zeal.
On high, beyond th' unpassable abyss,
To aggravate his righteous doom, he views
The blissful realms, and there the schismatic,
The visionary, the deluded saint,
By him so often hated, wrong'd, and scorn'd,
So often curs'd, and damn'd, and banish'd thence:
He sees him there possest of all that heav'n,
Those glories, those immortal joys, which he,
The orthodox, unerring catholic,
The mighty fav'rite, and elect of God,
With all his mischievous, converting arts,
His killing charity, and burning zeal,
His pompous creeds, and boasted faith, has lost.
| The miscellaneous works (1739) | |