XXXIV.

Or, it may be, with Demons,[414] who impair The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey In melancholy bosoms--such as were Of moody texture from their earliest day, And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay Deeming themselves predestined to a doom Which is not of the pangs that pass away;[mg] Making the Sun like blood, the Earth a tomb, The tomb a hell--and Hell itself a murkier gloom.[mh]