Loud Etnas fulminate in love to man;
Comets good omens are, when duly scann’d; 492
And, in their use, eclipses learn to shine.
Man is responsible for ills received;
Those we call wretched are a chosen band,
Compell’d to refuge in the right, for peace.
Amid my list of blessings infinite,
Stands this the foremost, “That my heart has bled.”
’Tis Heaven’s last effort of good-will to man;
When Pain can’t bless, Heaven quits us in despair. 500