« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
COURSE OF TIME.
RESUME thy tone of wo, immortal harp!
Put on your armour now, ye righteous ! put
The helmet of salvation on, and gird
Mercy that pleaded long, she pleads no more.
Whence comes that darkness ? whence those
yells of wo? What thunderings are these, that shake the
Why fall the lamps from heaven as blasted figs? Why tremble righteous men ? why angels pale? Why is all fear? what has become of hope ? God comes! God in his car of vengeance comes ! Hark! louder on the blast, come hollow shrieks
Of dissolution ; in the fitful scowl
Of night, near and more near, angels of death
Incessant flap their deadly wings, and roar Thro' all the fevered air: the mountains rock;
The moon is sick; and all the stars of heaven
Burn feebly; oft and sudden gleams the fire,
man hath seen a night like this ! Heaven's trampled justice girds itself for fight; Earth to thy knees, and cry for mercy! cry
! With earnest heart; for thou art growing old And hoary, unrepented, unforgiven: And all thy glory mourns: the vintage mourns; Bashan and Carmel mourn and
and mourn Thou Lebanon ! with all thy cedars mourn. Sun! glorying in thy strength from age to age, So long observant of thy hour, put on
Thy weeds of wo, and tell the moon to weep; Utter thy grief at mid-day, morn, and even ;
Tell all the nations, tell the clouds that sit
About the portals of the east and west,
Thee not to-morrow; for no morrow comes ;
Tell men and women, tell the new-born child,
And every eye
sees, to come, and see
Thee set behind Eternity ; for thou
Your graves are dug among the dismal clouds ; And angels are assembling round your bier. Orion, mourn I and Mazzaroth, and thou, Arcturus, mourn, with all thy northern sons. Daughters of Pleiades ! that nightly shed Sweet influence: and thou, fairest of stars !
Eye of the morning, weep—and weep at eve;
Weep setting, now to rise no more, 6 and flame
Minstrel of sorrow! native of the dark !
Shrub-loving Philomel ! that wooed the Dews
Ye holy bards ! if yet a holy bard Remain, what chord' shall serve you now? what
What harp shall sing the dying sun asleep,
And mourn behind the funeral of the moon !