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Of gratulation aná delight her king ?
Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, 85
Her sweetest flow'rs, her aromatick gums,
Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ?
She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb,
Conceiving thunders, through a thousand dceps
And fiery caverns roars beneath his foot.

The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke,
For he has touch'd them. From th' extremest point
Of elevation down into the abyss
His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt.
The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise,

95 The rivers die into offensive pools, And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross And mortal nuisance into all the air. What solid was, by transformation strange, Grows fluid ; and the fix'd and rooted earth,

100 Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl Sucks down its prey insatiable. · Immense The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs And agonies of human and of brute

105 Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry side, And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene Migrates uplifted : and, with all its soil Alighting in far distant fields, finds out A new possessor, and survives the change. 110 Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought To an enormous and o’erbearing height, Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore Resistless. Never such a sudden flood,

115 Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge, Possess d an inland scene. Where now the throng That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, Look'd to the sea for saiety? They are gone, Gone with the refluent wave into the deep- 120 A prince with half his people! Ancient tow'rs,


And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes
Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume
Life in the unproductive shades of death,
Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth,
And, happy in their unforeseen release
From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy
The terrours of the day that sets them free.
Who, then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast,
Freedom ! whom they that lose thee so regret, 130
That e'en a judgment, making way for thee,
Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake ?
Such evil Sin hath wrought ; and such a flame
Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth,
And in the furious inquest that it makes

On God's behalf, lays was his fairest works.
The very elements, though each be meant
The minister of man, to serve his wants,
Conspire against him. With his breath he draws
A plague into his blood ; and cannot use

140 Life's necessary means, but he must die. Storms rise t' o'erwhelm him ; or if stormy winds Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, And, needing none assistance of the storm, Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 145. The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, Or make his house his grave : nor so content, Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. What then !--were they the wicked above all, 150 And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle Mov'd not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light skiff, The sport of every wave ? No; none are clear, And none than we more guilty. But, where all Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 155 Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark : May punish, if he please, the less, to warn The more malignant. If he spard not them,

Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape,
Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee ! 160

Happy the man, who sees a God employ'd
In all the good and ill that checker life!
Resolving all events, with their effects
And manifold results, into the will
And arbitration wise of the Supreme.

Did not his eye rule all things, and intend
The least of our concerns; (since from the least
The greatest oft originate ;) could chance
Find place in his dominion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plan;

170 Then God might be surpris’d, and unforeseen Contingence might alarm him, and disturb The smooth and equal course of his affairs. This truth Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ;

175 And, having found his instrument, forgets, Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims His hot displeasure against foolish men, That live an atheist life ; involves the Heavens 180 In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds, And gives them all their fury; bids a plague Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin, And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 185 Blows mildew from between his shrivellid lips, And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, And desolates a nation at a blast. Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells Of homogeneal and discordant springs,

190 And principles ; of causes how they work By necessary laws their sure effects Of action and reaction : he has found The source of the disease that nature feels, And bids the world take heart and banish fear. 195

Thou fool ? will thy discov'ry of the cause
Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God
Still wrought by means since first he made the world ?
And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation less,

Than a capacious reservoir of means,
Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ?
Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve ; ask of Him,
Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ;
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 205

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still My country! and, while yet a nook is left, Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrain’d to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform’d

210 With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France With all her vines : nor for Ausonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs.

215 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart

220 As any thund'rer there. And I can feel Thy follies too; and with a just disdain Frown at effeminates, whose very looks Reflect dishonour on the land I love. How in the name of soldiership and sense,

225 Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er With odours, and as profligate as sweet; Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, And love when they should fight : when such as these Presume to lay their hand upon the ark

231 Of her magnificent and awful cause ? Tine was when it was praise and boast enonigh

In every clime, and travel where we might,
That we were born her children. Praise enough 235
To fill th' ambition of a private man
That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue,
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.
Farewell those honours, and farewell with them
The hope of such hereafter ! They have fall’n 240
Each in his field of glory; one in arms,
And one in council-Wolfe upon the lap
Of smiling Victory that moment won,
And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame!
They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still 245
Consulting England's happiness at home,
Secur'd it by an unforgiving frown,
If any wrong’d her. Wolfe, where'er he fought,
Put so much of his heart into his act,
That his example had a magnet's force,

And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd.
Those suns are set. O rise some other such ?
Or all that we have left is empty talk
Of old achievements and despair of new.

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 255 Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, That no rude savour maritime invade The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft, Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye futes;

260 That winds and waters, lull’d by magick sounds, May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. True, we have lost an empire-let it pass. True, we may thank the perfidy of France, That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown,

265 With all the cunning of an envious shrew. And let that pass— 'twas but a trick of stateA brave man knows no malice, but at once Forgets in peace the injuries of war, And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. 270 And sham'd as we have been, to th' very beard

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