Were I on earth, replied the Shade,
I never had the truth betray'd;
For there (and I suspect like you)
I ne'er had time myself to view.
Yet, knowing that 'bove all creation
I held myself in estimation,
I deem'd that what I _lov'd_ the _best_
Of every virtue was possess'd.
But _here_ in colours black and true,
Men see themselves, who never knew
Their motives in the worldly strife,
Or real characters through life.
And here, alas! I scarce had been
A little day, when every sin
That slumber'd in my living breast,
By Minos rous'd from torpid rest,
Like thousand adders, rushing out,
Entwin'd my shuddering limbs about.--
Oh, strangers, hear!--the truth I tell--
That fearful sight I saw was Hell.
And, oh I with what unmeasur'd wo
Did bitterness upon me flow,
When thund'ring through the hissing air,
I heard the sentence of Despair--
'Now never hope from Hell to flee;
Yourself is all the Hell you see!'--

He ceas'd. But still with stubborn pride
The Rival Shades each other eyed;
When, bursting with terrifick sound,