No factious clamors can control
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow
Can swerve him from his just intent....
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,
Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors then unfurl'd,
He would unmoved, unawed behold:
The flames of an expiring world
Again in crashing chaos roll'd,
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd,