Take, take full vengeance, rouse the slack'ning flame;
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?
"Never! where falls the soul at that dread sound?
Down an abyss how dark, and how profound?
Down, down, (I still am falling, horrid pain!)
Ten thousand thousand fathoms still remain;
My plunge but still begun—And this for sin?