A sombre fiend, a spirit banished, Was flying o’er this world of sin; While thoughts of better days, now vanished, Upon his brain were crowding in-- Those days, when in the home of light Midst cherubim he too was bright. The time was when the comet fleeting, Its soft caressing smile of greeting To interchange with him was proud; When, through the never-ending cloud, He followed curiously the trace Of where the caravans had moved Of stars, whose paths were lost in space,-- When he believed and when he loved. A happy first-born of creation, He knew no thought of fear or doubt: Existence then was his, without The weight of ages of damnation---- And much and much,--but no, not all, Had he the strength that dared recall.