He Who Destroys A Good Book Kills

She What Was Honour Knew, And With Obsequious Majesty Approv'd My Pleaded Reason. To The Nuptial Bower I Led Her Blushing Like The Morn; All Heaven And Happy Constellations On That Hour Shed Their Selectest Influence; The Earth Gave Sign Of Gratulation, And Each Hill; Joyous The Birds; Fresh Gales And Gentle Airs Whisper'd It To The Woods, And From Their Wings Flung Rose, Flung Odours From The Spicy Shrub.

These Evils I Deserve, And More . . . . Justly, Yet Despair Not Of His Final Pardon, Whose Ear Is Ever Open, And His Eye Gracious To Re-admit The Suppliant.

Yet Hold It More Humane, More Heav'nly, First, By Winning Words To Conquer Willing Hearts, And Make Persuasion Do The Work Of Fear.

A Gulf Profound As That Serbonian Bog Betwixt Damiata And Mount Casius Old, Where Armies Whole Have Sunk: The Parching Air Burns Frore, And Cold Performs Th' Effect Of Fire. Thither By Harpy-footed Furies Hal'd, At Certain Revolutions All The Damn'd Are Brought, And Feel By Turns The Bitter Change Of Fierce Extremes,-extremes By Change More Fierce; From Beds Of Raging Fire To Starve In Ice Their Soft Ethereal Warmth, And There To Pine Immovable, Infix'd, And Frozen Round, Periods Of Time; Thence Hurried Back To Fire.

Let No Man Seek Henceforth To Be Foretold That Shall Befall Him Or His Children.