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She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb
Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps
And fiery caverns roar beneath his foot.
The hills move lightly and the mountains smoke,
For he has touch'd them. From th' extremest

Of elevation down into th' abyss
His wrath is busy and his frown is felt.
The rocks fall headlong and the vallies rise,
The rivers die into offensive pools,
And charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross
And mortal nuisance into all the air.
What folid was, by transformation strange
Grows fluid, and the fixt and rooted earth
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
Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry fide,
And fugitive in vain. The fylvan scene
Migrates uplifted, and with all its foil
Alighting in far distant fields, finds out
A new poffeffor, and survives the change.
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


Refiftless. Never such a sudden flood,
Upridged so hig, and sent on such a charge,
Poffefs'd an inland scene. Where now the throng
That prefs'd the beach, and hasty to depart
Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone,
Gone with the refluent wave into the deep,
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 terrors of the day that sets them free.
Who then that has thee, would not hold thee

Freedom ! whom they that lose thee, fo regret,
That ev'n 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 inquest that it makes On God's behalf, lays waste 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


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 aflistance of the storm,
Shall roll themselves, alhore, and reach him

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 gulphs.
What then-were they the wicked above all,
And we the righteous, whose faft-anchor'd isle
Moved not, while their's was rock'd like a light

The sport of ev'ry 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 chufe his mark.
May punish, if he please, the less, to warn
The more malignant. If he spar'd not them,
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape
Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee.

Happy the man who sees a God employed
In all the good and ill that chequer 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 (fince from the least
The greatest oft originate) could chance
Find place in his dominion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plan,
Then God might be surprized, 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 instrument, forgets
Or disregards, or more presumptuous still
Denies the pow'r that wields it. God proclaims
His hot displeasure against foolish men
That live an atheist-life : involves the heav'n
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 shrivelld 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
And principles ; of causes how they work
By necessary laws their sure effects,


Of action and re-action. He has found
The source of the disease that nature feels,
And bids the world take heart and banish fear.
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

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-falve, ask of him,
Or ask of whomsoever he has taught,
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of

all. England, with all thy faults, I love thee ftill 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, 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 sublime Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire


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