For What Is Glory But The Blaze

To Many A Youth And Many A Maid, Dancing In The Chequer'd Shade.

The Other Shape, If Shape It Might Be Call'd That Shape Had None Distinguishable In Member, Joint, Or Limb; Or Substance Might Be Call'd That Shadow Seem'd, For Each Seem'd Either,--black It Stood As Night, Fierce As Ten Furies, Terrible As Hell, And Shook A Dreadful Dart; What Seem'd His Head The Likeness Of A Kingly Crown Had On. Satan Was Now At Hand.

So On This Windy Sea Of Land, The Fiend Walked Up And Down Alone Bent On His Prey.

Most Men Admire Virtue Who Follow Not Her Lore.

Innocence, Once Lost, Can Never Be Regained. Darkness, Once Gazed Upon, Can Never Be Lost.