Inhabits all things, but the thought of man.
Nor man alone; his breathing buft expirés, His tomb is mortal; empires, die: where, now, The Roman? Greek? They talk, an empty name! Yet few regard them in this useful light;
Though half our learning is their epitaph.
When down thy vale, unlock'd by midnight thought,
That loves to wander in thy funless realms,
O death! I ftretch my view: what vifions rife!
What triumphs! toils imperial! arts divine!
In wither'd laurels glide before my fight!
What lengths of far-fam'd ages, billow'd high
With human agitation, roll along
In unsubstantial images of air!
The melancholy ghofts of dead renown,
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause,
With penitential aspect, as they pass,
All point at earth, and hifs at human pride,
The wisdom of the wife, and prancings of the great.
But, O Lorenzo! far the rest above,
Of ghaftly nature, and enormous fize,
One form affaults my fight, and chills my blood,
And shakes my frame. Of one departed world
I see the mighty fhadow: oozy wreath
And difmal fea-weed crown her; o'er her urn
Reclin'd, fhe weeps her defolated realms,
And bloated fons; and, weeping, prophefies
Another's diffolution, foon, in flames.
But, like Caffandra, prophefies in vain ;
In vain, to many; not, I trust, to thee.
For, know'st thou not, or art thou loth to know, 135
The great decree, the counfel of the skies?
Deluge and conflagration, dreadful powers!
Prime minifters of vengeance! chain'd in caves
Distinct, apart the giant furies roar;
Apart; or, fuch their horrid rage for ruin,
In mutual conflict would they rise, and wage
Eternal war, till one was quite devour'd.
But not for this, ordain'd their boundless rage;
When heaven's inferior inftruments of wrath,
War, famine, peftilence, are found too weak
To fcourge a world for her enormous crimes,
Thefe are let loofe, alternate: down they rush,
Swift and tempeftuous, from th' eternal throne,
With irresistible commiffion arm'd,
The world, in vain corrected, to destroy,
And cafe creation of the fhocking scene.
Seeft thou, Lorenzo! what depends on man?
The fate of nature; as for man, her birth.
Earth's actors change earth's tranfitory scenes,
And make creation groan with human guilt.
How muft it groan, in a new deluge whelm'd,
But not of waters! at the deftin'd hour,
By the loud trumpet fummon'd to the charge,
See, all the formidable fons of fire,
Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play 160
Their various engines; all at once difgorge
Their blazing magazines; and take, by storm,
This poor terreftrial citadel of man.
Amazing period! when each mountain-height
Out-burns Vefuvius; rocks eternal pour
Their melted mafs, as rivers once they pour'd;
Stars rufh; and final ruin fiercely drives
Her plowshare o'er creation !-while aloft,
More than astonishment! if more can be!
Far other firmament than e'er was seen,
Than e'er was thought by man! far other ftars!
Stars animate, that govern these of fire;
Far other fun !-A fun, O how unlike
The Babe at Bethlem! how unlike the Man,
That groan'd on Calvary!-Yet He it is;
That Man of forrows! O how chang'd! what pomp!
In grandeur terrible, all heaven descends!
And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train.
A fwift archangel, with his golden wing,
As blots and clouds, that darken and disgrace
The scene divine, sweeps ftars and funs afide.
And now,
all drofs remov'd, heaven's own pure day,
Full on the confines of our æther, flames.
While (dreadful contrast!) far, how far beneath!
Hell, bursting, belches forth her blazing seas,
And storms fulphureous; her voracious jaws
Expanding wide, and roaring for her prey.
Lorenzo ! 'welcome to this scene; the last
In nature's courfe; the firft in wifdom's thought.
This strikes, if aught can strike thee; this awakes 190
The most fupine; this fnatches man from death.
Rouse, rouse, Lorenzo, then, and follow me,
Where truth, the most momentous man can hear,
Loud calls my foul, and ardour wings her flight.
B 4
I find my inspiration in my theme;
The grandeur of my subject is my Muse.
At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace,
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams;
To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour,
At midnight, 'tis prefum'd, this pomp
will burst 200
From tenfold darknefs; fudden as the spark
From fmitten steel; from nitrous grain, the blaze.
Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more!
The day is broke, which never more shall clofe !
Above, around, beneath, amazement all!
Terror and glory join'd in their extremes !
Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire !
All nature ftruggling in the pangs of death!
Doft thou not hear her? Doft thou not deplore
Her ftrong convulfions, and her final groan ?
Where are we now? Ah me! the ground is gone,
On which we stood; Lorenzo! while thou may'st,
Provide more firm support, or sink for ever!
Where? How? From whence? Vain hope! it is too late!
Where, where, for fhelter, fhall the guilty fly,
When confternation turns the good man pale ?
Great day! for which all other days were made;
For which earth rofe from chaos, man from earth;
And an eternity, the date of Gods,
Defcended on poor earth-created man !
Great day of dread, decision, and despair!
At thought of thee, each fublunary wish
Lets go its eager grafp, and drops the world;
And catches at each reed of hope in heaven.
At thought of thee !—and art thou absent then?
Lorenzo! no; 'tis here; it is begun ;-
Already is begun the grand affize,
In thee, in all: deputed confcience fcales
The dread tribunal, and forestalls our doom;
Foreftalls; and, by foreftalling, proves it fure.
Why on himself should man void judgment pass?
Is idle nature laughing at her fons ?
Who confcience fent, her sentence will support,
And God above affert that God in man.
Thrice happy they! that enter now the court
Heaven opens in their bosoms: but, how rare,
Ah me! that magnanimity, how rare!
What hero, like the man who stands himself;
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone;
Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings,
Refolv'd to filence future murmurs there?
The coward flies; and, flying, is undone.
(Art thou a coward? No :) The coward flies;
Thinks, but thinks slightly; asks, but fears to know;
Afks, "What is truth?" with Pilate; and retires; 245
Diffolves the court, and mingles with the throng;
Asylum fad! from reafon, hope, and heaven!!
Shall all, but man, look out with ardent eye,
For that great day, which was ordain'd for man ?
O day of confummation! mark supreme
(If men are wife) of human thought! nor least,
Or in the fight of angels, or their King!
Angels, whofe radiant circles, height o'er height,
Order o'er order, rifing, blaze o'er blaze,
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