The Adamus exul of Grotius; or The Prototype of Paradise Lost — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A TRAGEDY.-—ACT I. 1] Coevals of the beavens, the fabricators And charioteers of stars and satellites, Unscathed by bickering tongues of fire; unchilled By icy shudderings of remorse ; uncased In foul and dissoluble elements Of rank materialism. We angels, then Were gods, and mates for gods. But now we live, If death and life be one, and coexist, We live alone to torture. Weare free Only to drag the galling cankering chains Of desperation tighter—to augment Ruin by ruin, and for ever heap Damnation on damnation. O that death Were still discoverable—the dreamless sleep Unknown as yet to human fear—to me Is fancy’s chiefest bliss ; and hopelessly I hope to find perdition swallowed up By blest annihilation, and all hell Self-burned into oblivion, self-consumed. That triple hell, in ether, ocean, earth, Grows worse in every stage, even to the last. There in the flaming centre of the globe, That last worst mansion is, which to its maw Insatiable all spirits lapsed, and robed In matter doth impel. The cave of night, The abyss of shadows, the unfathomed pit, Yawns for its prey ; and down its grim descent A vortex of unutterable woe For ever boils. Wild Horror’s self grows dumb While the voraginous whirl of agonies Rebellows thro’ the vaults of blank despair. Hither heaven-blasting Lucifer was hurled : Here Satan reigns oer all his giant hosts Of angel warriors, heroes but in vain ; For now the awakened and unquenchable wrath Of the stern Thunderer wastes us, and becomes Our omnipresent torture, which still goads And galls and blisters. Conscience ever hurls | The metaphysical lightnings of remorse Thro’ the vexed heart, the heart that inly bleeds With anguish, yet repents not. Sometimes grief And passionate rage by turns usurp the sway. The criminal o’erwrought, and rung with pain, Dares his great foe to battle, and defies His worst of torments; for all change relieves The sad monotony of woes eterne As hell wherein we writhe. But most of all Good company shall cheer us, and wild wail Shall wear the charm of sympathy, at least If craft can win what courage can but lose ; For this I stand in Eden. Adami lives, COL @ DOO <S (c@