Th' ethereal armies; walk'd thee, like a god,
Through splendours of first magnitude, arrang'd
On either hand; clouds thrown beneath thy feet;
Close-cruis'd on the bright Paradise of God;
And almost introduc'd thee to the throne!
And art thou still carousing, for delight,
Rank poison; first fermenting to mere froth,
And then subsiding into final gall?
To beings of sublime, immortal make,
How shocking is all joy, whose end is sure!
Such joy, more shocking still, the more it charms!
And dost thou choose what ends ere well-begun ;
And infamous, as short? And dost thou choose
(Thou, to whose palate glory is so sweet)
To wade into perdition, through contempt,
Not of poor bigots only, but thy own?
For I have peep'd into thy cover'd heart,
And seen it blush beneth a boastful brow;
For, by strong guilt's most violent assault,
Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd.

O thou most aweful being! and most vain!
Thy will, how frail! how glorious is thy power!
Though dread eternity has sown her seeds
Of bliss, and woe, in thy despotic breast;
Though Heaven and Hell depend upon thy choice;
A butterfly comes 'cross, and both are fled.
Is this the picture of a rational?

This horrid image, shall it be most just?
Lorenzo! No: it cannot.-shall not, be,
If there is force in reason; or, in sounds
Chanted beneath the glimpses of the moon,
A magic, at this planetary hour,

When slumber locks the general lip, and dreams
Through senseless mazes hunt souls un-inspir'd.
Attend-The sacred mysteries begin-
My solemn night-born adjuration hear;
Hear, and I'll raise thy spirit from the dust;
While the stars gaze on this enchantment new,
Enchantment, not infernal, but divine!

"By silence, Death's peculiar attribute;
By darkness, guilt's inevitable doom;
By darkness, and by silence, sisters dread!'
That draw the curtain round Night's ebon throne,
And raise ideas, solemn as the scene!
By Night, and all of aweful, Night presents
To thought or sense (of awful much, to both,
The goddess brings!) By these her trembling fires,
Like Vesta's, ever-burning; and like hers,
Sacred to thoughts immaculate, and pure!
By these bright orators, that prove, and praise,
And press thee to revere the Deity;
Perhaps, too, aid thee, when rever'd awhile,
To reach his throne; as stages of the soul,
Through which, at different periods, she shall pass,
Refining gradual, for her final height,
And purging off some dross at every sphere!
By this dark pall thrown o'er the silent world.
By the world's kings, and kingdoms, most renown'd,
From short ambition's zenith set for ever,
Sad presage to vain boasters, now in bloom!
By the long list of swift mortality,
From Adam downward to this evening knell,
Which midnight waves in fancy's startled eye,
And shocks her with an hundred centuries;
Round Death's black banner throng'd, in human
thought!

By thousands, now, resigning their last breath,
And calling thee-wert thou so wise to hear!
By tombs o'er tombs arising; human earth
Ejected, to make room for-human earth;
The monarch's terrour! and the sexton's trade!
By pompous obsequies that shun the day,
The torch funereal, and the nodding plume,

Which makes poor man's humiliation proud;
Boast of our ruin! triumph of our dust!
By the damp vault that weeps o'er royal bones;
And the pale lamp that shows the ghastly dead,
More ghastly through the thick incumbent gloom!
By visits (if there are) from darker scenes,
The gliding spectre ! and the groaning grave!
By groans, and graves, and miseries that groan.
For the grave's shelter! By desponding men,
Senseless to pains of death, from pangs of guilt!
By guilt's last audit! By yon Moon in blood,
The rocking firmament, the falling stars,
And thunder's last discharge, great Nature's knell!
By second chaos and eternal night.”—
Be wise-Nor let Philander blame my charm;
But own not ill-discharg'd my double debt,
Love to the living; duty to the dead!

For know I'm but executor; he left
This moral legacy; I make it o'er
By his command; Philander hear in me ;
And Heaven in

Florello's tend deaf to these, O! hear

his weal depends

On thy resolve; it trembles at thy choice;
For his sake-love thyself: example strikes
All human hearts; a bad example more;
More still a father's; that ensures his ruin.
As parent of his being, wouldst thou prove
Th' unnatural parent of his miseries,

And make him curse the being which thou gavest?
Is this the blessing of so fond a father?
If careless of Lorenzo! spare, Oh! spare
Florello's father, and Philander's friend!
Florello's father ruin'd, ruins him;

And from Philander's friend the world expects
A conduct, no dishonour to the dead.
Let passion do, what nobler motive should;
Let love, and emulation, rise in aid
To reason and persuade thee to be blest.
This seems not a request to be denied ;
Yet (such the infatuation of mankind!)
'T is the most hopeless man can make to man.
Shall I then rise in argument, and warmth ?
And urge Philander's posthumous advice,
From topics yet unbroach'd ?————

But Oh! I faint! My spirits fail!-Nor strange!
So long on wing, and in no middle clime!
To which my great Creator's glory call'd:

And calls-but, now, in vain. Sleep's dewy wand
Has strok'd my drooping lids, and promises
My long arrear of rest; the downy god
(Wont to return with our returning peace)
Will pay, ere long, and bless me with repose.
Haste, haste, sweet stranger! from the peasant's cot
The ship-boy's hammock, or the soldier's straw,
Whence sorrow never chas'd thee; with thee bring,
Not hideous visions, as of late; but draughts
Delicious of well-tasted cordial rest;
Man's rich restorative; his balmy bath,
That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play
The various movements of this nice machine,
Which asks such frequent periods of repair,
When tir'd with vain rotations of the day,
Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn;
Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels,
Or Death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends.
When will it end with me?

Their common source. Thou fountain, running o'er
In rivers of communicated joy!

Who gav'st us speech for far, far humbler themes!
Say, by what name shall I presume to call
Him I see burning in these countless suns,
As Moses in the bush? Illustrious Mind !
The whole creation, less, far less, to thee,
Than that to the creation's ample round.
How shall I name thee?-How my labouring soul
Heaves underneath the thought, too big for birth!
"Great system of perfections! mighty cause
Of causes mighty! cause uncaus'd! sole root
Of Nature, that luxuriant growth of God!
First Father of effects! that progeny
Of endless series; where the golden chain's
Last link admits a period, who can tell?
Father of all that is or heard, or hears!
Father of all that is or seen, or sees!
Father of all that is, or shall arise!
Father of this immeasurable mass
Of matter multiform; or dense, or rare;
Opaque, or lucid; rapid, or at rest;
Minute, or passing bound! in each extreme
Of like amaze, and mystery, to man.
Father of these bright millions of the night!
Of which the least full godhead had proclaim'd,
And thrown the gazer on his knee-Or, say,
Is appellation higher still, thy choice?
Father of matter's temporary lord!
Father of spirits! nobler offspring! sparks
Of high paternal glory; rich endow'd
With various measures, and with various modes
Of instinct, reason, intuition; beams

More pale, or bright from day divine, to break
The darker matter organiz'd (the ware
Of all created spirit); beams, that rise
Each over other in superior light,
Till the last ripens into lustre strong,
Of next approach to godhead. Father fond
(Far fonder than e'er bore that name on Earth)
Of intellectual beings! beings blest
With powers to please thee; not of passive ply
To laws they know not; beings lodg'd in seats
Of well-adapted joys, in different domes
Of this imperial palace for thy sons;
Of this proud, populous, well-policy'd,
Though boundless habitation, plann'd by thee:
Whose several clans their several climates suit;
And transposition, doubtless, would destroy.
Or, Oh! indulge, immortal King, indulge
A title less august indeed, but more
Endearing; ah! how sweet in human ears,
Sweet in our ears, and triumph in our hearts!
Father of immortality to man!

A theme that lately set my soul on fire-
And thou the next! yet equal! thou, by whom
That blessing was convey'd; far more! was bought:
Ineffable the price! by whom all worlds

Were made; and one redeem'd! illustrious light
From light illustrious! Thou, whose regal power,
Finite in time, but infinite in space,
On more than adamantine basis fix'd,
O'er more, far more, than diadems and thrones,
Inviolably reigns; the dread of gods!

And Oh! the friend of man! beneath whose foot,

* Nights the Sixth and Seventh.

And by the mandate of whose aweful nod,
All regions, revolution, fortunes, fates,
Of high, of low, of mind, and matter, roll
Through the short channels of expiring time,
Or shoreless ocean of eternity,

Calm, or tempestuous (as thy spirit breathes),
In absolute subjection!-And, O thou
The glorious third! distinct, not separate!
Beaming from both! with both incorporate;
And (strange to tell!) incorporate with dust!
By condescension, as thy glory, great,
Enshrin'd in man! of human hearts, if pure,
Divine inhabitant! the tie divine

Of Heaven with distant Earth! by whom I trust,
(If not inspir'd) uncensur'd this address

To thee, to them-to whom !-Mysterious power!
Reveal'd!-yet unreveal'd! darkness in light!
Number in unity! our joy! our dread!
The triple bolt that lays all wrong in ruin!
That animates all right, the triple sun!
Sun of the soul! her never-setting sun!
Triune, unutterable, unconceiv'd,
Absconding, yet demonstrable, great God!
Greater than greatest! Better than the best!
Kinder than kindest! with soft pity's eye,
Or (stronger still to speak it) with thine own,
From thy bright home, from that high firmament,
Where thou, from all eternity, hast dwelt;
Beyond archangels' unassisted ken;
From far above what mortals highest call;
From elevation's pinnacle; look down,
Through-What? confounding interval! through all
And more than labouring fancy can conceive;
Through radiant ranks of essences unknown;
Through hierarchies from hierarchies detach'd
Round various banners of omnipotence,
With endless change of rapturous duties fir'd;
Through wondrous beings interposing swarms,
All clustering at the call, to dwell in thee;
Through this wide waste of worlds! this vista vast,
All sanded o'er with suns; suns turn'd to night
Before thy feeblest beam-Look down-down-

down,

On a poor breathing particle in dust,
Or, lower, an immortal in his crimes.
His crimes forgive! forgive his virtues, too!
Those smaller faults, half-converts to the right.
Nor let me close these eyes, which never more
May see the sun (though night's descending scale
Now weighs up morn), unpity'd, and unblest!
In thy displeasure dwells eternal pain;
Pain, our aversion; pain, which strikes me now;
And, since all pain is terrible to man,
Though transient, terrible; at thy good hour
Gently, ah gently, lay me in bed.
my
My clay-cold bed! by nature now, so near;
By nature, near; still nearer by disease!
Till then be this an emblem of my grave:
Let it out-preach the preacher; every night
Let it out-cry the boy at Philip's ear;
That tongue of death! that herald of the tomb!
And when (the shelter of thy wing implor'd)
My senses, sooth'd, shall sink in soft repose,
O sink this truth still deeper in my soul,
Suggested by my pillow, sign'd by fate,
First, in fate's volume, at the page of man-
Man's sickly soul, though turn'd and toss'd for

162

For-Love almighty! Love almighty! (sing,

Exult, creation !) Love almighty reigns!

That death of death! that cordial of despair!
And loud eternity's triumphant song!

"Of whom, no more:-For, O thou Patron-God!
Thou God and mortal! Thence more God to man!
Man's theme eternal! man's eternal theme!
Thou canst not 'scape uninjur'd from our praise.
Uninjur❜d from our praise can he escape,
Who, disembosom'd from the Father, bows
The Heaven of Heavens, to kiss the distant Earth!
Breathes out in agonies a sinless soul !
Against the cross, Death's iron sceptre breaks!
From famish'd ruin plucks her human.prey!
Throws wide the gates celestial to his foes!
Their gratitude, for such a boundless debt,
Deputes their suffering brothers to receive!
And, if deep human guilt in payment fails;
As deeper guilt prohibits our despair!
Enjoins it, as our duty, to rejoice!
And (to close all) omnipotently kind,
Takes his delights among the sons of men.”*

What words are these-And did they come from
Heaven?

And were they spoke to man? to guilty man?
What are all mysteries to love like this?

The songs of angels, all the melodies

Of choral gods, are wafted in the sound;

Heal and exhilarate the broken heart;

Though plung'd, before, in horrours dark as night:
Rich prelibation of consummate joy!
Nor wait we dissolution to be blest.

This final effort of the moral Muse,
How justly titled ?† nor for me alone:
For all that read; what spirit of support,
What heights of Consolation, crown my song!
Then, farewell Night! of darkness, now, no more:
Joy breaks; shines; triumphs; 't is eternal day.
Shall that which rises out of nought complain
Of a few evils, paid with endless joys?
My sonl! henceforth, in sweetest union join
The two supports of human happiness,
Which some, erroneous, think can never meet;
True taste of life, and constant thought of death!
The thought of death, sole victor of its dread!
Hope, be thy joy; and probity, thy skill;

Thy patron he, whose diadem has dropp'd
Yon gems of Heaven; eternity, thy prize:
And leave the racers of the world their own,
Their feather, and their froth, for endless toils:
They part with all for that which is not bread;
They mortify, they starve, on wealth, fame, power;
And laugh to scorn the fools that aim at more.
How must a spirit, late escap'd from Earth,
Suppose Philander's, Lucia's, or Narcissa's,
The truth of things new-blazing in its eye,
Look back, astonish'd, on the ways of men,
Whose lives' whole drift is to forget their graves!
And when our present privilege is past,
To scourge us with due sense of its abuse,
The same astonishment will seize us all.
What then must pain us, would preserve us now.
Lorenzo! 't is not yet too late; Lorenzo!
Seize wisdom, ere 't is torment to be wise;
That is, seize wisdom, ere she seizes thee.
For what, my small philosopher, is Hell?
"T is nothing but full knowledge of the truth,
When truth, resisted long, is sworn our foe:
And calls eternity to do her right.

Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light,
And sacred silence whispering truths divine,
And truths divine converting pain to peace,
My song the midnight raven has outwing'd,
And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes,
Beyond the flaming limits of the world,
Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flights
Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?
Virtue abounds in flatteries and foes;

'T is pride to praise her; penance to perform.
To more than words, to more than worth of tongue,
Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious hour;

An hour, when Heaven 's most intimate with man;
When, like a falling star, the ray divine
Glides swift into the bosom of the just;
And just are all, determin'd to reclaim;
Which sets that title high within thy reach.
Awake, then: thy Philander calls: awake!
Thou, who shalt wake, when the creation sleeps ;
When, like a taper, all these suns expire;
When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath,
Plucking the pillars that support the world,
In Nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd;
And midnight, universal midnight! reigns.

THRICE happy Job long liv'd in regal state,
Nor saw the sumptuous East a prince so great;
Whose worldly stores in such abundance flow'd,
Whose heart with such exalted virtue glow'd.
At length misfortunes take their turn to reign,
And ills on ills succeed! a dreadful train!
What now but deaths, and poverty, and wrong,
The sword wide-wasting, the reproachful tongue,
And spotted plagues, that mark'd his limbs all o'er
So thick with pains, they wanted room for more!
A change so sad what mortal heart could bear?
Exhausted woe had left him nought to fear;
But gave him all to grief. Low earth he press'd,
Wept in the dust, and sorely smote his breast.
His friends around the deep affliction mourn'd,
Felt all his pangs, and groan for groan return'd;

In anguish of their hearts their mantles rent,
And seven long days in solemn silence spent!
A debt of reverence to distress so great!
Then JOB contain'd no more; but curs'd his fate.
His day of birth, its inauspicious light,
He wishes sunk in shades of endless night,
And blotted from the year; nor fears to crave
Death, instant death; impatient for the grave,
That seat of peace, that mansion of repose,
Where rest and mortals are no longer foes;
Where counsellors are hush'd, and mighty kings
(Oh happy turn!) no more are wretched things.
His words were daring, and displeas'd his friends ;
His conduct they reprove, and he defends;
And now they kindled into warm debate,
And sentiments oppos'd with equal heat;

Fix'd in opinion, both refuse to yield,

And summon all their reason to the field:

So high at length their arguments were wrought, They reach'd the last extent of human thought:

A

pause ensued-When, lo! Heaven interpos'd, And awefully the long contention clos'd.

Full o'er their heads, with terrible surprise,
A sudden whirlwind blacken'd all the skies:
(They saw, and trembled !) from the darkness broke
A dreadful voice, and thus th' Almighty spoke:
"Who gives his tongue a loose so bold and vain,
Censures my conduct, and reproves my reign;
Lifts up his thought against me from the dust,
And tells the World's Creator what is just?
Of late so brave, now lift a dauntless eye,
Face my demand, and give it a reply :-

Where didst thou dwell at Nature's early birth?
Who laid foundations for the spacious Earth?
Who on its surface did extend the line,
Its form determine, and its bulk confine?
Who fix'd the corner-stone? What hand, declare,
Hung it on nought, and fasten'd it on air;
When the bright morning stars in concert sung,
When Heaven's high arch with loud hosannas rung,
When shouting sons of God the triumph crown'd,
And the wide concave thunder'd with the sound?
Earth's numerous kingdoms, hast thou view'd them

all?

And can thy span of knowledge grasp the ball?
Who heav'd the mountain, which sublimely stands,
And casts its shadow into distant lands?

"Who, stretching forth his sceptre o'er the deep, Can that wide world in due subjection keep? I broke the globe, I scoop'd its hollow side, And did a bason for the floods provide; I chain'd them with my word; the boiling sea, Work'd up in tempests, hears my great decree; 'Thus far, thy floating tide shall be convey'd; And here, O main, be thy proud billows stay'd.' "Hast thou explor'd the secrets of the deep, Where, shut from use, unnumber'd treasures sleep? Where, down a thousand fathoms from the day, Springs the great fountain, mother of the sea? Those gloomy paths did thy bold foot e'er tread, Whole worlds of waters rolling o'er thy head? "Hath the cleft centre open'd wide to thee? Death's inmost chambers didst thou ever see? E'er knock at his tremendous gate, and wade To the black portal through th' incumbent shade? Deep are those shades; but shades still deeper hide My counsels from the ken of human pride. "Where dwells the tight? In what refulgent dome?

And where has darkness made her dismal home? Thou know'st, no doubt, since thy large heart is fraught

With ripen'd wisdom, through long ages brought;
Since Nature was call'd forth when thou wast by,
And into being rose beneath thine eye!

"Are mists begotten? Who their father knew?
From whom descend the pearly drops of dew?
To bind the stream by night, what hand can boast,
Or whiten morning with the hoary frost?
Whose powerful breath, from northern regions blown,
Touches the sea, and turns it into stone:
A sudden desert spreads o'er realms defac❜d,
And lays one half of the creation waste?

"Thou know'st me not; thy blindness cannot see How vast a distance parts thy God from thee.

"Who launch'd the clouds in air, and bid them roll
Suspended seas aloft, from pole to pole?
Who can refresh the burning sandy plain,
And quench the summer with a waste of rain?

Who, in rough deserts far from human toil,
Made rocks bring forth, and desolation smile?
There blooms the rose, where human face ne'er shone,
And spreads its beauties to the sun alone.

"To check the shower, who lifts his hand on high,
And shuts the sluices of th' exhausted sky,
When earth no longer mourns her gaping veins,
Her naked mountains, and her russet plains;
But, new in life, a cheerful prospect yields
Of shining rivers, and of verdant fields;
When groves and forests lavish all their bloom,
And Earth and Heaven are fill'd with rich perfume?
"Hast thou e'er scal'd my wintry skies, and seen
Of hail and snows my northern magazine?
These the dread treasures of mine anger are,
My funds of vengeance for the day of war,

When clouds rain death, and storms at my command
Rage through the world, or waste a guilty land.
"Who taught the rapid winds to fly so fast,
Or shakes the centre with his eastern blast?
Who from the skies can a whole deluge pour?
Who strikes through Nature with the solemn roar
Of dreadful thunder, points it where to fall,
And in fierce lightning wraps the flying ball?
Not he who trembles at the darted fires,
Falls at the sound, and in the flash expires.

"Who drew the comet out to such a size,
And pour'd his flaming train o'er half the skies?
Did thy resentment hang him out? Does he
Glare on the nations, and denounce, from thee?
"Who on low earth can moderate the rein,
That guides the stars along th' ethereal plain?
Appoint their seasons, and direct their course,
Their lustre brighten, and supply their force?
Canst thou the skies' benevolence restrain,
And cause the Pleiades to shine in vain ?
Or, when Orion sparkles from his sphere,
Thaw the cold season, and unbind the year?
Bid Mazzaroth his destin'd station know,
And teach the bright Arcturus where to glow?
Mine is the night, with all her stars; I pour
Myriads, and myriads I reserve in store.

"Dost thou pronounce where day-light shall be born,
And draw the purple curtain of the morn;
Awake the sun, and bid him come away,
And glad thy world with his obsequious ray?
Hast thou, enthron'd in flaming glory, driven
Triumphant round the spacious ring of Heaven?
That pomp of light, what hand so far displays,
That distant earth lies basking in the blaze?

"Who did the soul with her rich powers invest, And light up reason in the human breast? To shine, with fresh increase of lustre bright, When stars and sun are set in endless night? To these my various questions make reply.” Th' Almighty spoke; and, speaking, shook the sky. What then, Chaldæan sire, was thy surprise! Thus thou, with trembling heart and down-cast eyes: "Once and again, which I in groans deplore, My tongue has err'd; but shall presume no more. My voice is in eternal silence bound,

And all my soul falls prostrate to the ground."

He ceas'd: when, lo, again th' Almighty spoke; The same dread voice from the black whirlwind broke.

"Can that arm measure with an arm divine? And canst thou thunder with a voice like mine? Or in the hollow of thy hand contain

1

164

When, mad with tempests, all the billows rise
In all their rage, and dash the distant skies?

"Come forth, in beauty's excellence array'd;
And be the grandeur of thy power display'd;
Put on omnipotence, and, frowning, make
The spacious round of the creation shake;
Despatch thy vengeance, bid it overthrow
Triumphant vice, lay lofty tyrants low,
And crumble them to dust. When this is done,
I grant thy safety lodg'd in thee alone;
Of thee thou art, and mayst undaunted stand
Behind the buckler of thine own right hand.
"Fond man! the vision of a moment made!
Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
What worlds hast thou produc'd, what creatures
fram'd;

What insects cherish'd, that thy God is blam'd?
When pain❜d with hunger, the wild raven's brood
Loud calls on God, importunate for food:

Who hears their cry, who grants their hoarse request,

And stills the clamour of the craving nest?

"Who in the stupid ostrich has subdued

A parent's care, and fond inquietude?

While far she flies, her scatter'd eggs are found,
Without an owner, on the sandy ground;
Cast out on fortune, they at mercy lie,
And borrow life from an indulgent sky:
Adopted by the sun, in blaze of day,
They ripen under his prolific ray.
Unmindful she, that some unhappy tread,
May crush her young in their neglected bed.
What time she skims along the field with speed,
She scorns the rider, and pursuing steed.

"How rich the peacock! what bright glories run
From plume to plume, and vary in the sun!
He proudly spreads them to the golden ray,
Gives all his colours, and adorns the day;
With conscious state the spacious round displays,
And slowly moves amid the waving blaze.

"Who taught the hawk to find, in seasons wise, Perpetual summer, and a change of skies? When clouds deform the year, she mounts the wind, Shoots to the south, nor fears the storms behind; The sun returning, she returns again,

Lives in his beams, and leaves ill days to men.
"Though strong the hawk, though practis'd well to
fly,

An eagle drops her in a lower sky;
An eagle, when, deserting human sight,
She seeks the sun in her unwearied flight:
Did thy command her yellow pinion lift
So high in air, and set her on the clift,
Where far above thy world she dwells alone,
And proudly makes the strength of rocks her own:
Thence wide o'er Nature takes her dread survey,
And with a glance predestinates her prey?
She feasts her young with blood; and, hovering o'er
Th' unslaughter'd host, enjoys the promis'd gore.

"Know'st thou how many moons, by me assign'd,
Roll o'er the mountain goat, and forest hind,
While pregnant they a mother's load sustain?
They bend in anguish, and cast forth their pain.
Hale are their young, from human frailties freed;
Walk unsustain'd, and unassisted feed;
They live at once; forsake the dam's warm side!
Take the wide world, with Nature for their guide;
Bound o'er the lawn, or seek the distant glade;
And find a home in each delightful shade.
"Will the tall reem, which knows no Lord but me,
Low at the crib, and ask an alms of thee?
Submit his unworn shoulder to the yoke,
Break the stiff clod, and o'er thy furrow smoke?

Since great his strength, go trust him, void of care;

Lay on his neck the toil of all the year;
Bid him bring home the seasons to thy doors,
And cast his load among thy gather'd stores.

"Didst thou from service the wild ass discharge, And break his bonds, and bid him live at large, Through the wide waste, his ample mansion, roam, And lose himself in his unbounded home?

By Nature's hand magnificently fed,

His meal is on the range of mountains spread;
As in pure air aloft he bounds along,

He sees in distant smoke the city throng;
Conscious of freedom, scorns the smother'd train,
The threatening driver, and the servile rein.

"Survey the warlike horse! didst thou invest
With thunder his robust distended chest?
No sense of fear his dauntless soul allays;
'T is dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze;
To paw the vale he proudly takes delight,
And triumphs in the fullness of his might;
High rais'd he snuffs the battle from afar,
And burns to plunge amid the raging war;
And mocks at death, and throws his foam around,
And in a storm of fury shakes the ground.
How does his firm, his rising heart advance
Full on the brandish'd sword, and shaken lance,
While his fix'd eye-balls meet the dazzling shield,
Gaze, and return the lightping of the field!
He sinks the sense of pain in generous pride,
Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side;
But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful blast

Till death; and when he groans, he groans his last.
But, fiercer still, the lordly lion stalks,
Grimly majestic in his lonely walks;
When round he glares, all living creatures fly;
He clears the desert with his rolling eye.
Say, mortal, does he rouse at thy command,
And roar to thee, and live upon thy hand?
Dost thou for him in forests bend thy bow,
And to his gloomy den the morsel throw,
Where bent on death lie hid his tawny brood,
And, couch'd in dreadful ambush, pant for blood;
Or, stretch'd on broken limbs, consume the day,
In darkness wrapt, and slumber o'er their prey?
By the pale Moon they take their destin'd round,
And lash their sides, and furious tear the ground.
Now shrieks and dying groans the desert fill;
They rage, they rend; their ravenous jaws distil
With crimson foam; and, when the banquet's o'er,
They stride away, and paint their steps with gore;
In flight alone the shepherd puts his trust,
And shudders at the talon in the dust.

"Mild is my behemoth, though large his frame;
Smooth is his temper, and represt his flame,
While unprovok'd. This native of the flood
Lifts his broad foot, and puts ashore for food;
Earth sinks beneath him, as he moves along
To seek the herbs, and mingle with the throng.
See

with what strength his harden'd loins are
bound,

All over proof and shut against a wound.
How like a mountain cedar moves his 'tail!
Nor can his complicated sinews fail.
Built high and wide, his solid bones surpass
The bars of steel; his ribs are ribs of brass;
His port majestic and his armed jaw

Give the wide forest and the mountain law.
The mountains feed him; there the beasts admire
The mighty stranger, and in dread retire;
At length his greatness nearer they survey,
Graze in his shadow, and his eye obey.
The fens and marshes are his cool retreat,
His noontide shelter from the burning heat: