Chapter VII

O,--light of day, whose now averted face,
As ne'er before, withholds thy cheer from man!--
O,--quaking earth, whose bed of solid rock,
Is shivered by some pang of awful ill!--
O,--graves, once sealed o'er loved ones, laid aside,
To answer only at Archangels' call!--
What tragedy of creation's Master;--
What spell upon creation's normal peace;--
What overturn of laws immutable;--
What contradictions in the mind Supreme;
Have wrought this pregnant ruin,--earth throughout!