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Hail, awful Madness, hail! Thy realm extends, thy powers prevail, Far as the voyager spreads his venturous sail. Nor best nor wisest are exempt from thee; Folly—Folly's only free.
Hark !—To the astonish'd ear The gale conveys a strange tumultuous sound. They now approach, they now appear,—
Phrenzy leads her chorus near
And Demon's dance around.—
Pride—Ambition idly vain,
Revenge, and malice swell her train,—.
Devotion warp'd — Affection crost—
Rough* as the wintry wave, that wars On Thule's desert shores, Wild raving to the unfeeling air, The fetter'd maniac foams along, (Rage the burden of his jarring song) In rage he grinds his teeth, and rends his streaming hair.
No pleasing memory left—forgotten quite All former scenes of dear delight, Connubial love—parental joy— No sympathies like these his soul employ, —But all is dark within, all furious black despair.
Not so the love-lorn maid,
She yet retains her wonted flame,
Dim haggard looks, and clouded o'er with care,
Point out to pity's tears, the poor distracted fair.
Dead to the world—her fondest wishes crost!
Now, sadly gay, of sorrows past she sings,
laughter was there—but mark that groan,
Drawn from his inmost soul! "Give the knife, Demons, or the poison'd bowl, "To finish miseries equal to your own"—
Who's this wretch, with horror wild !—
—'Tis devotion's ruin'd child.—
Sunk in the emphasis of grief,
Nor can'he feel, nor dares he ask relief.—
Thou, fair Religion, wast design'd,"
First shown by thee, thus glow'd the gracious scene,
'Till Superstition, friend of woe, Bade doubts to rise, and tears to flow, And spread deep shades our view and heaven between.
Drawn by her pencil the Creator stands, His beams of mercy thrown aside, With thunder arming his uplifted hands, And hurling vengeance wide. Hope, at the frown aghast, yet lingering, flies, And dash'd on terrour's rocks, Faith's best dependence lies.