« PreviousContinue »
He spells them true by intuition's light,
This truth premised was needful as a text,
Awhile they mused ; surveying every face, Thou hadft supposed them of superior race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combined, Stamped on each countenance such marks of mind, That sage they seemed, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, statelier than the reft, A ram, the ewes and wethers fad, addressed.
Friends! we have lived too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be feared. Could I believe that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prison-house below arise, With all these hideous howlings to the skies, I could be much composed, nor should appear For such a cause to feel the slightest fear. Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolled All night, we refting quiet in the fold. Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
could expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
Him answered then his loving mate and true,
How ? leap into the pit our life to save ? To save our life leap all into the grave ? For can we find it less ? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst: Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; . For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons uttered, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear We have at least commodious standing here.
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monfter, blaft
While thus the spake, I fainter heard the peals,
Beware of desperate fteps. The darkest day,
I. When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods,
II. Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief.
III. Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
In the blood that she has fpilt ;
Deep in ruin as in guilt,
V. Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
VI. Other Romans Thall arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.
VII. Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.
VIII. Regions Cæfar never knew
Thy pofterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.
IX. Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celeftial fire, Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.