The last great age, foretold by sacred rhimes,
Renews its finished course; Saturnian times
Roll round again.
Now with a general peace the world was blest,
While ours, a world divided from the rest,
A dreadful quiet fell, and worser far
Than arms, a sullen interval of war.
Thus when black clouds draw down the lab'ring skies,
Ere yet abroad the winged thunder flies,