The Low'ring Element Scowls O'er The Darken'd

The Oracles Are Dumb, No Voice Or Hideous Hum Runs Through The Arched Roof In Words Deceiving. Apollo From His Shrine Can No More Divine, With Hollow Shriek The Steep Of Delphos Leaving. No Nightly Trance Or Breathed Spell Inspires The Pale-eyed Priest From The Prophetic Cell.

There Is No Truth Sure Enough To Justify Persecution.

What Call Thou Solitude? Is Not The Earth With Various Living Creatures, And The Air Replenished, And All These At Thy Command To Come And Play Before Thee?

Long Is The Way And Hard, That Out Of Hell Leads Up To Light.

Thus Belial, With Words Clothed In Reason's Garb, Counseled Ignoble Ease, And Peaceful Sloth, Not Peace.