Such in the infancy of time was Man,
So calm was life, so impotent was Death.
O had he but preserv'd these few remains,
These shatter'd fragments of lost happiness,
Snatch'd by the hand of heaven from the sad wreck
Of innocence primaeval; still had he liv'd
Great ev'n in ruin; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn;
Though mortal, yet not every where beset
With Death in every shape! But He, impatient
To be compleatly wretched, hastes to fill up
The measure of his woes. 'Twas Man himself
Brought Death into the world, And Man himself
Gave keenness to his darts, quicken'd his pace,
And multiplied destruction on mankind.