And you the song of unrejoicing sons, Ye lofty fathers of the human race, Shall celebrate with praise; ye far more dear Unto the eternal Ruler of the stars, And much less sorrowing brought unto the light Sublime than we. Not piety and not The laws of Heaven imposed the unceasing ills That now afflict mankind, for sorrow born, And destined to discover greater joy In the nocturnal shadows of the tomb Than in the radiance of the orb of day. And if an ancient legend still doth tell The story of your ancient error dire That yielded man unto the tyranny Of suffering and grief; the guilt more fell, The more unquiet minds and frenzy fierce Of your descendants made the injured skies And Nature, in return for all her cares Spumed and neglected, feel indignant wrath: From which the fire of life a curse received, And mothers trembled at the load they bore, And Hell itself was imaged on the earth.
Thou first, O father of the human race, Didst see the sparkling of revolving spheres, The new-born generations of the fields, The breezes roving o'er the infant trees, When towering rocks and yet unpeopled vales Heard for the first time Alpine fury sound Of rushing torrents; when unconscious Peace Reigned o'er the destined regions of renowned Nations and cities full of strife and noise; And when upon uncultivated hills Silent and lonely did the radiance shine Of sun and moon. Oh happy then, ignoring Events disastrous and the name of guilt, The vast abode of earth! Oh, how much grief Unto thy race, thou Father full of sorrow! How long a series of most bitter deeds The Fates prepare! The soil, behold! is stained With deepest crimson of a brother's blood, By brother shed, and o'er the sky divine The wings of Death their evil shadow throw. The fratricide with horror taketh flight, Shunning the lonely dimness of the shades And secret wrath of winds in forest deep; He is the first to build proud towns, henceforth Domain and dwelling of Care's pallid form; And first Remorse despairing fixeth man In a pent-up and undelightful home. Then from the plough the guilty hand was ta'en, And scorn was cast on labours of the field, And the evil halls became the home of sloth. All minds lay languid and of strength bereft In weary frames; and as the last and worst Of ills, mankind by slavery was bound.