THE COMET. 91 



Art tliou but a thing of beauty 



In the blue expanse above ? 

 Or, hast thou some sacred duty, 



As of mercy or of love ? 



Or, is vengeance dire thy mission. 



Vengeance on degraded man, 

 Steeped in guilt and in transgression 



"While his earthly course he ran ? 



Art thou some presumptuous spirit. 



For rebellion doomed to roam ? 

 Dost thou some deep curse inherit ? 



Art thou exiled from thy home ? 



Wast thou once the dwelling place 



Of man, though now through ether hurled ? 

 Grave of a disobedient race ? 



Smouldering ruins of a world? 



Lowest hell of those deceivers, 

 Hypocrites who virtue shammed ? 



Sulphurous lake of unbelievers, 

 Blazing prison of the damned ? 



Who, when pleasures were their lot, 

 Beneath religion's gaze had blenched ? 



Now their fell worm dieth not, 

 And the fire is not quenched. 



