76
THE TRIUMPHS
Each, who on earth, behind her artful fan,
Feign'd coarse aversion to the creature man,
Is doom'd, in this dark region to abide
Some transient pains for hypocritic pride.
Here ever-during chains those scoffers bind,
Whose writings deaden and debase the mind;
Who mock creation with injurious scorn,
And feel a fancied void in plenty's horn.
In his right hand, an emblem of his cares,
A branch of aconite the monarch bears;
And those four phantoms, who this region haunt,
He feeds with berries from this deadly plant;
For, strange to tell! tho' sever'd from its root,
The bough still blackens with successive fruit.
The tribes, who taste it, burst into a fit
Of raving mockery and rancorous wit;
And pleas'd their tyrant's ghastly smile to court,
By vile distortions make him various sport.
The frantic rabble, who his sway confess,
Before his throne an hideous puppet dress;
Feign'd coarse aversion to the creature man,
Is doom'd, in this dark region to abide
Some transient pains for hypocritic pride.
Here ever-during chains those scoffers bind,
Whose writings deaden and debase the mind;
Who mock creation with injurious scorn,
And feel a fancied void in plenty's horn.
In his right hand, an emblem of his cares,
A branch of aconite the monarch bears;
And those four phantoms, who this region haunt,
He feeds with berries from this deadly plant;
For, strange to tell! tho' sever'd from its root,
The bough still blackens with successive fruit.
The tribes, who taste it, burst into a fit
Of raving mockery and rancorous wit;
And pleas'd their tyrant's ghastly smile to court,
By vile distortions make him various sport.
The frantic rabble, who his sway confess,
Before his throne an hideous puppet dress;
