Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense
The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs
And agonies of human and of brute
Multitudes, fugitive on every fide,
And fugitive in vain. The fylvan scene
Migrates uplifted; and, with all its foil
Alighting in far diftant fields, finds out
A new poffeffor, and furvives the change.
Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought
To an enormous and overbearing height,
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice,
Which winds and waves obey, invades the fhore
Refiftlefs. Never fuch a fudden flood,
Upridged fo high, and fent on fuch a charge,
Poffeffed an inland fcene. Where now the throng,
That preffed the beach, and, hafty to depart,
Looked to the fea for safety? They are gone,
Gone with the refluent wave into the deep-
A prince with half his people! Ancient towers,
And roofs embattled high, the gloomy fcenes,
Where beauty oft and lettered worth confume
Life in the unproductive fhades of death,
Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth,
And, happy in their unforeseen release
From all the rigours of reftraint, enjoy
The terrors of the day, that sets them free.
Who then that has thee, would not hold thee faft, Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, That even a judgment, making way for thee, Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy fake.
Such evil fin hath wrought; and such a flame Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth, And in the furious inqueft, that it makes On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. The very elements, though each be meant The minifter of man, to serve his wants, Conspire against him. With his breath he draws A plague into his blood; and cannot use Life's neceffary means, but he must die. Storms rife to overwhelm him: or,
Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise,
And, needing none affiftance of the storm,
Shall roll themselves afhore, and reach him there.
The earth fhall fhake him out of all his holds,
Or make his houfe his grave: nor fo content,
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood,
And drown him in her dry and dusty gulphs.
What then!-were they the wicked above all,
And we the righteous, whofe fast anchored ifle
Moved not, while their's was rocked, like a light fkiff,
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
Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark:
May punish, if he please, the less, to warn
The more malignant. If he spared not them,
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape,
Far guiltier England, left he spare not thee!
Happy the man, who fees a God employed
In all the good and ill, that chequer life!
Refolving all events, with their effects
And manifold results, into the will
And arbitration wife of the Supreme.
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend
The least of our concerns (fince from the leaft
The greatest oft originate); could chance
Find place in his dominion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plan;
Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb
The smooth and equal course of his affairs.
This truth philosophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;
And, having found his inftrument, forgets,
Or difregards, or, more presumptuous ftill,
Denies the power, that wields it. God proclaims
His hot displeasure against foolish men,
That live an atheift life: involves the heaven
In tempefts: quits his grasp upon the winds,
And gives them all their fury; bids a plague
Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,
And putrify the breath of blooming health.
He calls for famine, and the meagre fiend
Blows mildew from between his shrivelled lips,
And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines,
And defolates a nation at a blast.
Forth fteps the spruce philosopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and difcordant springs
And principles; of causes, how they work
By neceffary laws their sure effects;
Of action and re-action.
The fource of the disease, that nature feels,
And bids the world take heart and banish fear.
Thou fool! will thy discovery of the cause
Sufpend the effect, or heal it? Has not God
Still wrought by means fince firft he made the world?
And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation lefs
Than a capacious reservoir of means
Formed for his use, and ready at his will?
Go, dress thine eyes with eye-falve; afk of him,
Or afk of whomsoever he has taught;
And learn, though late, the genuine caufe of all.
England, with all thy faults, I love thee stillMy country! and, while yet a nook is left, Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed With dripping rains, or withered by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy fullen skies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France With all her vines; nor for Aufonia's groves Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. To shake thy fenate, and from heights fublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
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