But once that thou desired to know
      The ways of sin, seductive,
   The hellish tempter, to our woe,
      Became a power destructive;
He cursed our earth and ruin brought on all,
   Yea, very nature felt the bane —
Its blighted walls now totter to their fall,
   And soon disorder rules again. 
      This earthly palace then at last,
   Unroofed, dismantled and decayed,
   A hideous, barren waste is laid
      By desolation’s blast.

   Behold oh, man! this glorious place
      In the empyrean hovering
   While all is but a treach’rous face
      Foul swamps and quagmires covering. 
Thy sin, that whelmed this earth in days of yore,
   Shall draw upon it quenchless fire
With flaming torrents wildly rushing o’er —
   A prey to conflagration dire;
      If thou wouldst ’scape this dreadful fate,
   I pray thee counsel take from me,
   To Mercy’s city straightway flee
      For life within its gate.

   Behold that city’s peerless might
      Withstanding all oppression —
   Then flee thereto in thy sad plight,
      Be free from sin’s possession. 
Behold thy refuge in this dreary land
   Where all may find true, peaceful rest,
A rock, impregnable on every hand,
   Where perfect love reigns ever blest;
      We sinful men, the way must search,
   And there in faith for pardon pray,
   And live a blissful, tranquil day
      Within the Holy Church.

II.—­THE VISION OF DEATH IN HIS NETHERMOST COURT

One long, cold, and dark winter’s night, when one-eye’d Phoebus well nigh had reached his utmost limit in the south and, from afar, lowered upon Great Britain and all the Northern land, and when it was much warmer in the kitchen of Glyn Cywarch {43a} than at the top of Cader Idris, and better in a cosy room with a warm bedfellow than in a shroud in the lychgate, I was meditating upon a talk I had had by the fireside with a neighbour concerning the brevity of human life, and how certain it was that death would come to all, and yet how uncertain its coming.  Thus engaged, I had just lain down, and was half-asleep, when I felt a heavy weight stealthily creeping over me, from head to heel, so that I could not move a finger—­my tongue only was unbound.  I perceived, methought, a man upon my chest, and above him, a woman.  After eyeing him carefully I recognised by his strong odours, dewy locks and blear eyes, that the man was no other than my good Master Sleep.  “I pray you, sir,” cried I, squeaking, “what have I done to you that you bring that witch here to torment me?” “Hush,” said he, “it is only my sister Nightmare; we twain are going to pay our brother Death {43b} a visit, and want a third to accompany us, and lest thou shouldst resist we came upon thee, just as he does, unawares.  Consequently come thou must, willy-nilly.”  “Alas,”