The Adamus exul of Grotius; or The Prototype of Paradise Lost — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

ADAMUS EXUL. Chorus of Angels. The sun looks dim and desolate ; Its light is dark—its heat is fled, And all the stars bewail the fate Of man, whose glory all is dead. And the great ocean echoes back The dirge-note of the murmuring spheres, And mourns the omen, dire and black, Which wraps in shade all future years. O hapless! O insensate man ! The deed is done, the doom is sealed, And Heaven’s eternal curse and ban Is frowning o’er thee, half revealed, Half hid in horrors. Now fair fame Is gone for ever, and you stand All naked to the blast of shame ; An impious, perjured, exiled band. Now immortality of life Is gone, with all its boundless charms ; And you are stung with the harsh strife Of envy, hatred, and the alarms That wait on mischief, and your heart Lies crushed beneath the o ‘erwhelming sense Of death, that never shall depart Till the last spark of sin’s offence Is quenched in gushing penitence. Alas, alas! we dare not tell The vision of the bleeding woes Which on the opening future swell, And to the astonished sight disclose The mystery of guilt and grief, And pain and terror, and mad crime— Dark tortures which have no relief, Unless by grace and love sublime, Nor end with finished life or time. But ah! if He, unnamed above, Who comes to blast and to destroy, Should triumph over faith and love And blight the flowers of human joy, Will not our God, who did create, Redeem the erring sons of men, And make all creatures, small and great, All holy, pure, and blest again. (C@ inn @ DOO <S (c@ — eee ee =