Yet, wrought so fine, it hindered not his flight,
But through the key-holes and the chinks of doors,
And through the narrowest walks of crooked pores,
He passed more swift and free

Than in wide air the wanton swallows flee:
He took a pointed pestilence in his hand,
The spirits of thousand mortal poisons made
The strongly-tempered blade,

The sharpest sword that e'er was laid

Up in the magazines of God to scourge a wicked land:
Through Egypt's wicked land his march he took,

And as he marched the sacred first-born struck
Of every womb; none did he spare;

None from the meanest beast to Cenchre's purple heir.

XVI.

The swift approach of endless night

Breaks ope the wounded sleepers' rolling eyes;
They awake the rest with dying cries,
And darkness doubles the affright.

The mixed sounds of scattered deaths they hear,
And lose their parted souls 'twixt grief and fear.
Louder than all, the shrieking women's voice
Pierces this chaos of confused noise;

As brighter lightning cuts a way,
Clear and distinguished through the day:
With less complaints the Zoan temples sound

When the adored heifer's drowned,

And no true marked successor to be found:

While health, and strength, and gladness does possess The festal Hebrew cottages;

The bless'd destroyer comes not there,

To interrupt the sacred cheer,

That new begins their well-reformed year.

Upon their doors he read and understood
God's protection writ in blood;

Well was he skilled i' th' character divine,
And though he passed by it in haste,
He bowed, and worshipped as he passed
The mighty mystery through its humble sign.

XVII.

The sword strikes now too deep and near,
Longer with its edge to play,
No diligence or cost they spare
To haste the Hebrews now away,
Pharaoh himself chides their delay;
So kind and bountiful is fear!

But, oh! the bounty which to fear we owe,
Is but like fire struck out of stone,

So hardly got, and quickly gone,

That it scarce outlives the blow.

Sorrow and fear soon quit the tyrant's breast,

Rage and revenge their place possess'd:
With a vast host of chariots and of horse,
And all his powerful kingdom's ready force,

The travelling nation he pursues,

Ten times o'ercome, he still the unequal war renews.
Filled with proud hopes, 'At least,' said he,
'The Egyptian gods, from Syrian magic free,
Will now revenge themselves and me;
Behold what passless rocks on either hand,
Like prison walls, about them stand!
Whilst the sea bounds their flight before,
And in our injured justice they must find
A far worse stop than rocks and seas behind;
Which shall with crimson gore

New paint the water's name, and double dye the shore.'

XVIII.

He spoke; and all his host

Approved with shouts the unhappy boast;
A bidden wind bore his vain words away,
And drowned them in the neighbouring sea.
No means to escape the faithless travellers spy,
And with degenerous fear to die,

Curse their new-gotten liberty:

But the great Guide well knew he led them right,

And saw a path hid yet from human sight:

He strikes the raging waves; the waves on either side

Unloose their close embraces, and divide,

And backwards press, as in some solemn show

The crowding people do,

(Though just before no space was seen,)

To let the admired triumph pass between.
The wondering army saw, on either hand,

The no less wondering waves like rocks of crystal stand.
They marched betwixt, and boldly trod

The secret paths of God:

And here and there, all scattered in their way,

The sea's old spoils and gaping fishes lay

Deserted on the sandy plain:

The sun did with astonishment behold
The inmost chambers of the opened main,
For whatsoe'er of old

By his own priests, the poets, has been said,
He never sunk till then into the Ocean's bed.

XIX.

Led cheerfully by a bright captain, Flame,

To the other shore at morning-dawn they came,

And saw behind the unguided foe

March disorderly and slow:

The prophet straight from the Idumean strand
Shakes his imperious wand;

The upper waves, that highest crowded lie,

The beckoning wand espy;

Straight their first right-hand files begin to move,

And with a murmuring wind

Give the word march to all behind;

The left-hand squadrons no less ready prove,

But with a joyful, louder noise,

Answer their distant fellows' voice,

And haste to meet them make,

As several troops do all at once a common signal take. What tongue the amazement and the affright can tell, Which on the Chamian army fell,

When on both sides they saw the roaring main

Broke loose from his invisible chain?

They saw the monstrous death and watery war
Come rolling down loud ruin from afar;
In vain some backward and some forwards fly
With helpless haste, in vain they cry

To their celestial beasts for aid;

In vain their guilty king they upbraid,

In vain on Moses he, and Moses' God, does call,
With a repentance true too late:

They're compassed round with a devouring fate

That draws, like a strong net, the mighty sea upon them all.

GEORGE WITHER.

THIS remarkable man was born in Hampshire, at Bentworth, near Alton, in 1588. He was sent to Magdalene College, Oxford, but had hardly been there till his father remanded him home to hold the plough—a reversal of the case of Cincinnatus which did not please the aspiring spirit of our poet. He took an early opportunity of breaking loose from this occupation, and of going to London with the romantic intention of making his fortune at Court. Finding that to rise at Court, flattery was indispensable, and determined not to flatter, he, in 1613, published his 'Abuses Whipt and Stript,' for which he was committed for some months to the Marshalsea. Here he wrote his beautiful poem, 'The Shepherd's Hunting;' and is said to have gained his manumission by a satire to the King, in which he defends his former writings. Soon after his liberation, he published his 'Hymns and Songs of the Church,' a book which embroiled him with the clergy, but procured him the favour of King James, who encouraged him to finish a translation of the Psalms. He travelled to the court of the Queen of Bohemia, (James's daughter,) in fulfilment of a vow, and presented her with a copy of his completed translation.

In 1639, he was a captain of horse in the expedition against the Scotch. When the Civil War broke out, he sold his estate to raise a troop of horse on the Parliamentary side, and soon after was made a major. In 1642, he was appointed captain and commander of Farnham Castle, in Surrey; but owing to some neglect or cowardice on his part, it was ceded the same year to Sir William Waller. He was made prisoner by the Royalists some time after this, and would have been put to death had not Denham interfered, alleging that as long as Wither survived, he (Denham) could not be accounted the worst poet in England. He was afterwards appointed Cromwell's major-general of all the horse and foot in the county of Surrey. He made money at this time by Royalist sequestrations, but lost it all at the Restoration. He had, on the death of Cromwell, hailed Richard with enthusiasm, and predicted him a happy reign; which makes Campbell remark, 'He never but once in his life foreboded good, and in