Sword, famine, thirst, and pining sickness there,
Shall people half the realms this monster owns;
He like the cruel foe, accursed he,
Laughs at our pains, rejoices in our groans.
Now wilt you tremble if you hear your fate,
Out of the dread Apocalypse your doom,
That death and hell must perish in the lake
Of fire, dispelling half hell's ancient gloom."
341, "black optics"; 348, "And leave the business to some deputy"; 373, "Now thus the drooping victim gave me charge"; 381, "A quivering light"; 383, "by whose far glimmering beams"; 384, "arrayed with ghosts"; 388, "furies snatch the engraving pen"; 390-392,
"Tir'd of his long continued victory:
What glory can there be to vanquish those
Who all beneath his stroke are sure to die?"
398, "Is borne secure, and rides aloft in state"; 399, "No, the stars"; 410, "Burst from the skies the fury of a blast"; 411, "Round the four eaves"; 414, "Sport with the sands"; 417, "Lights through the air like blazing stars"; 420, "As if afraid the fearful"; 424, "its dreary song"; 441, "Now from within"; 451, "Roar'd like a devil; while the woods around"; 458-460,
"Haste, seize the wretch who my request denies.
Tophet receive him to thy lowest pit,
Chain'd midst eternal oaths and blasphemies."
470, "And found the cœmetery in the gloom"; 471, "a hell-red waving light"; 472, "horrid circles"; 497, 498, "to the grave"; 499, 500, "A sable chariot drove with wild career, And following close a gloomy cavalcade"; 501, "Whose spectre forms"; 502, "by Pluto's consort wove"; 507, "lanthorn's beam"; 517, "Now deep was plac'd"; 520, "The sable steeds went swifter than the wind"; 523, 524, "Blooming the morn arose, and in the east Stalk'd gallantly in her sun-beam parade." The poem closes in the 1779 version with the following stanzas:
"Waking I found my weary night a dream;
Dreams are perhaps forebodings of the soul;
Learn'd sages tell why all these whims arose,
And from what source such mystic visions roll.
Do they portend approaching death, which tells
I soon must hence my darksome journey go?
Sweet Cherub Hope! Dispel the clouded dream
Sweet Cherub Hope, man's guardian god below.
Stranger, who'er thou art, who this shall read,
Say does thy nightly fancy rove like mine;
Transport thee o'er wide lands and wider seas
Now underneath the pole and now the burning line?