Upon Losing Milton's Paradise Lost, at Luss Situate Upon Loch-Lomond at the Foot of Ben-Lowman and a Group of Other Vast Mountains: An Ode

FOOL that I was! My M ILTON lost!
Old H OMER'S youngest son!
L USS ! be for ever sunk beneath
B EN'S horrors pil'd around.

Sun's 'livening ray ne'er pierce thy gloom.
Thy hideous deep be drain'd.

Fishes to devilish snakes be turn'd:
Boatman to C ERBERUS .

Mouth of the hellish gulf be thou:
Its mortal damp thy air.

All o'er thy plains Vulcanos thick
Their burning sands disgorge.

Birds never warble chearful note;
Nor roam the humming bee.

Herds never graze, nor sheep, nor goats;
Nor human voice be heard.

Crags other echo ne'er repeat
Than dismal Furies' yell.

Mercury laugh'd; and jeering cried,
I M ILTON from thee filch'd.

So did A POLLO bid; and, see!
For thee a laurel holds.
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