Now the sad purchase—Heav'ns! my pow'rs refuse,
Tho' truth illumines, and tho' fires the muse.
Nature recoils, and in her depths profound,
Receives, heart-struck, the parricidal wound!
As the wan traders pay the price of blood,
O'er the black prospect gathering terrors brood:
The guardian spirits look with horror down,
And change their song of peace to joyless groan.
E'en the bright angel, to enrol the deed
Sent by thron'd Justice,—shrouds the inverted head;