Abash'd The Devil Stood, And Felt How

To Be Blind Is Not Miserable; Not To Be Able To Bear Blindness, That Is Miserable.

Earth Felt The Wound; And Nature From Her Seat, Sighing Through All Her Works, Gave Signs Of Woe That All Was Lost.

Death Is The Golden Key That Opens The Palace Of Eternity.

From Restless Thoughts, That, Like A Deadly Swarm Of Hornets Arm'd, No Sooner Found Alone, But Rush Upon Me Thronging.

O Sun, To Tell Thee How I Hate Thy Beams That Bring To My Remembrance From What State I Fell, How Glorious Once Above Thy Sphere.