Danger will wink on opportunity.

Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand; For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.

Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?-thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?

To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

Calm of mind, all passion spent.

But oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd, I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Morn, Wak'd by the circling hours, with rosy hand Unbarr'd the gates of light.