Classic Poem

Thou Imp of Horror!—by what Name,
Shall Virtue vaunt thy recreant Fame?—
Pale Demon of the murky Cloud,
Clad in stern Winter's gloomy Shroud;
Now o'er the bleak infected Air,
Thou weav'st the sable Loom—D ESPAIR —
?Curst by N OVEMBER'S venom'd Breath,
Thou shed'st the baleful Dews of Death;
Those Dews the haggard Fiends produce,
From potent Hemlock's riven Juice;
I trace thy vap'ry Mists afar,
Obscure the sinking Ev'ning Star;
O'er the gay planetary Train,
Wide horror now delights to reign:—
On thy revengeful morbid Brows,
Deckt with mad Lover's bleeding Vows,
The scaly Serpents of the Deep,
In hideous Enchantment creep;
While in thy hot Heart's murd'rous Cell,
The Fiends of Pandemonium dwell;
And see the Terrors round Thee cling,
To hail their PESTILENTIAL King .
?Dread S UICIDE —and canst thou bid,
The woe-worn Wretch from Life be rid;
Say canst Thou ease the rankling Pain,
That riots in Distraction's Vein:
Canst Thou subdue the Pang severe,
That glistens in Affliction's Tear;
Or, does the Coward's palsied Mind,
A Requiem in thy Bosom find?—
Ah no!—severer Tortures wait,
The Wretch who madly spurns at Fate;
Ten Thousand Scorpions, Adders, rise,
To sting th' Apostate as he dies!—
And there are Those, who dare to say,
?When Mis'ry taunts their feeble Breath;
“Come, thou last Friend, and lead the Way.
?“To the oblivious Plains of D EATH :—
“Come pond'rous Sleep and veil my Sight
“In the dark Vacuum of eternal Night;
“'Tis thou alone canst give me Rest,
“'Tis thou canst soothe my troubled Breast:
“No Pow'r but thine can cure my Woes, Then let me take the Draught, and sicken to Repose!
Alas—what lethean Spell can save,
Beyond the melancholy Grave?
The Soul thence flies the narrow Tomb,
And from stern J USTICE waits her Doom:—
S ELF MURDER there must stand confest,
In all his guilty Terrors drest;
No Ray of H OPE shall sparkle there ,
To cheer him from supreme Despair;
But in an A GONY of W OE
The everlasting Years shall round him flow?—