to the modern prometheus

The Fall of man shall e’er decree my fate,
For evil dwells in aspirations ill.
To know thy place beneath His Heav’nly gate
Is well believed to be our Master’s will.
Though I am Creature, Adam I am not,
No grace from you, nor fellowship received.
Forsaken, Fallen Angel soon forgot,
In graves of pain and death was I conceived.
From dust we art to dust we must return,
So I from wicked origin am bound –
Returning harm whilst e’er my soul must yearn
For Eden’s wealth, inheritance profound.
     So mark this promise made on Montavert,
     'Tis you, Sir Victor, e’er I thirst to hurt.