And left poor Lucy, first to taste his terrors.
* * * * *
O thou bright charmer of the inmost spark!
Why revell’d thou so soon in death’s grim holiday—
Ere time had run its ’lotted space?
In peace thy work began was finished well.
Like as the stars which shine throughout the dreary dark
Thy feather’d instruments made letters and words say
That thou didst live—didst live to chase
Gods to their heav’n; and devils to their hell.