Farewell happy fields, Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.

Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.

Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation.

For so I created them free and free they must remain.

First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.

If the will, which in the law of our nature, were withdrawn from our memory, fancy, understanding, and reason, no other hell could equal, for a spiritual being, what we should then feel from the anarchy of our powers. It would be conscious madness,--a horrid thought!

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.