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Here crown thy triumphs:—life or death
'decree, The weakest here disdains thy power and
thee." . v
Thus when the Patriarch ceased, and every
ear Still listcn'd in suspense of hope and fear, Sublime, ineffable, angelic grace Beam'd in his meek and venerable face; And sudden glory, streaming round his head. O'er all his robes with lambent lustre
spread; His earthly features grew divinely bright, His essence seem'd transforming into light. Brief silence, like the pause between the
flash, At midnight, and the following thundercrash, Ensued:—Anon, with universal cry, The Giants rush'd upon the prophet—Die! The king leapt foremost from his throne;—
he drew His battle-sword, as on his mark he flew; With aim unerring, and tempestuous sound, The blade descended deep along the ground; The foe was fled, and, self-o'erwhelm'd, his
strength Hurl'd to the earth his Atlantean length; But ere his Chiefs could stretch the helping
arm, He sprang upon his feet in pale alarm; Headlong and blind with rage he search'd
around, But Enoch ualk'd with God and was not found.
Yet where the Captives stood, in holy awe, Rapt on the wings of Cherubim, they saw Their sainted Sire ascending through the
night; He turn'd his face to bless them in his flight. Then vanish'd:—Javan caught the Prophet's
eye. And snatch'd his mantle falling from the
sky; O'er him the Spirit of the Prophet came, Like rushing wind awakening hidden flame: Where is the God of Enoch now? he cried; Captives, come forth! Despiscrs shrink aside. He spake, and bursting through the Giantthrong, Smote with the mantle as he moved along; A Power invisible their rage cnntrnnl'd. Hither and thither as he turn'd they roll'd; Cnawed, unharm'd the ransom'd Prisoners
pass'd Through ranks of foes'astonied and aghast: Close in the youth's conducting steps they
trod: —So Israel march'd when Moses raised his
rod, And led their host, enfranchised, through
the wave. The people's safeguard, the pursuers' grave.
Thus from the wolves thia little flock n
torn, And, sheltering in the mountain-caves til
morn, Theyjoin'dto sing, in strains of fnll drlirk Songs of deliverance through the dmn
The Giants' frenzy, when they lost tktc
prey, No tongue of man or angel might portr.' First on their Idol-Gods their vengeai
turn'd. Those Gods on their own altar-piles tbr
burn'd; Th%n, at their Sovereign's mandate, salw*
forth To rouse their host to combat, from u«
north; Eager to risk their uttermost emprize, Perish ere morn, or reign in Paradise. Now the slow tempest, that so long kst
lower'd. Keen in their faces sleet and hailstos*
shower'd; The winds blew loud, the waters roar:
around, An earthquake rock'd the agonizing groan! Red in the west the burning Mount, arrsj; With tenfold terror by incumbent shade. (For moon and stars were rapt in duns*-.'
gloom) Glared like a torch amidst Creation's tonV: So Sinai's rocks were kindled when they Mi Their Maker's footstep, and began to rarlt: Darkness was his pavilion, whence He rarer. Hid in the brightness of descending Haw While storm, and whirlwind, and the true
pet's blast. Proclaim'd his law in thunder, as he pais'4
The Giants rcach'd their camp: — tkr
night's alarms Meanwhile had startled all their slaves ti
arms; They grasp'd their weapons as from sires
they sprang. From tent to tent the brazen clangor rant; The hail, the earthquake, the mysteries*
light Unnerved their strength, o'vrwhrlm'd then
with affright. "Warriors! to battle ;.— summon all year
powers; Warriors! to conquest;—Paradise is oar* f Exclaim'd their Monarch;—not an arm » ■
raised, In vacancy of thought, like men n masted. And lost amidst confounding dreams, thrr
stood. With palsied eyes, and horror-frozen bios* The Giants' rage to instant madness grr» The King and Chiefs on their own legion
Denouncing vengeance; — then had all the
plain Been heap'd with myriads by their leaders
slain, But ere a award could fall,—by whirlwinds
driven, In mighty volumes, through the vault of
heaven, From Eden's summit, o'er the camp accurst, The darting fires with noon-day-splendour
burst; And fearful grew the scene above, below, /With sights of mystery, and sounds of
woe. The embattled Cherubim appear'd on high, And coursers, wing'd with lightning, swept
the sky; Chariots, whose wheels with living instinct
roll'd, Spirits of unimaginable mould, Powers, such as dwell in heaven's serenest
light, Too pure, too terrible for mortal sight, From depth of midnight suddenly reveal'd, In arms, against the Giants took the field. On such an host Elisha's Servant gazed, When all the mountain round the Prophet
blazed: With such an host, when war in heaven was
wrought, Michael against the Prince of Darkness
Roused by the trumpet, that shall wake the
dead, The torpid foe in consternation fled; The Giants headlong in the uproar ran, The King himself the foremost of the van, Nor e'er his rushing squadrons led to fight With swifter onset, than he led that flight. Homeward the panic-stricken legions flew; Their arms, their vestments from their limbs
they threw; O'er shields and helms the reinless Camel
strode, And gold and purple strew'd the desert road. When through the Assyrian army, like a
blast, At midnight, the destroying Angel pass'd, The Tyrant that defied the living God, Precipitately thus his steps retrod; Even by the way he came, to his own land, Return'd, to perish by his offspring's hand. So fled the Giant-Monarch;—but unknown The hand that smote his life;—he died alone; Amidst the tumult treacherously slain; At mom his Chieftains sought their Lord in
Who is He, so swiftly flying,
Though, with aspect deep-dissembling,
Hark! what petty pulses, beating,
In the highest realms of glory,
Were the volume of a minute
Who could bear the revelation?
Who, with leer malign exploring,
Seal'd they are for years, and ages,
Stand;—and, while the abysses tremblf,
Time himself, with all his legions.
Every moment of my being
WRITTEN AT LEAMINGTON, IN 1817. ON VOTW THE FICTEBB OF AN UNKNOWN LAM.
Image of one, who lived of yore!
Hail to that lovely mien, Once quick and conscious ;—now no Dmr
On Land or Ocean seen! Were all earths breathing forms to pw Before me in Agrippa's glass, Many as fair as Thou might be. But oh, not one, not one like Thee.
Thou art no Child of Fancy; Thon
The very look dost wear, That gave enchantment to a brow.
Wreathed with luxuriant hair; Lips of the morn embathed in dew, And eyes of evening's starry blue; Of all who ever enjoy'd the sun Thou art the image of but one.
And who was she, in virgin prime.
And May of Womanhood, Whose roses here, unpluck'd by time,
In shadowy tints have stood; While many a winter's withering blast Hath over the dark cold chamber past''. In which her once resplendent form Slumber'd to dust beneath the storm?
OF gentle blond; upon her birth
Consenting 1'lunetB smiled.
That frolic round the child;
How long her date, 'twere Tain to guess!
The pencil's cunning art
One motion of the heart;
Her joys and griefs alike in vain,
Would fancy here recall;
Lull'd in oblivion all;
Where dwelt she ?—Ask yon aged tree,
Whose boughs embower the lawn,
Awoke her here at dawn?
The dead are like the stars by day;
Withdrawn from mortal eye,
In glory through the sky:
Somewhere within created space
Could I explore that round.
Where she might still be found;
An Angel in that glorious realm,
Where God himself is King:
Presumption, check my wing;
Of Her, of whom these pictured lines
A faint resemblance form;
Aloof amid the storm;
Ah! then, perchance, this dreaming strain,
Of all that ever I sung,
When silent lies my tongue;
With One who lived of old my song
In lowly cadence rose; To One who is unborn belong 'The accents of its close: Ages to come, with courteous ear, Some youth my warning voice may hear; And voices from the dead should be The warnings of eternity.
When these weak lines thy presence great,
Render! if I am blest,
In glory and in rest:
Tbbbr is a calm for those who weep,
The storm that wrecks the winter-sky
I long to lay this painful head
For Misery stole me at my birth.
I perish; O my Mother Earth!
Take home thy Child!
On thy dear lap these limbs reclined.
Hark!—a strange sound affrights mine ear, My pulse,—my brain runs wild,—I rave; —Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear ?"I am THE GRAVE!
The GRAVE, .that never spake before,
Art thou a WRETCH of hope forlorn,
Do foul misdeeds of former times
Lash'd by the furies of the mind,
From Wrath and Vengeance wouldst thou
By all the terrors of the tomb,
I charge thee LIVE!—repent and pray;
Art thou a MOURNER?—Hast thou known
And tranquil nights?
O LIVE! and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past:
Art thou a WANDERER?—Hast thou seen
Though long of winds and waves the sport,
To FRIENDSHIP didst thou trust thy fame,
LIVE!—and repine not o'er his loss,
Seek the true treasure, seldom found.
Did WOMAN'S charms thy youth bepak.
LIVE! 'Twas a false bewildering fire:
Thou yet shalt know, how sweet, how dear.
A nobler flame shall warm thy breast,
Whate'er thy lot,—Whoe'er thou be,—
A bruised reed he will not break;
Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Now, Traveller in the vale of tears!
There is a calm for those who weep,
The Soul, of origin divine,
The SUN is but a spark of fire,
SHALL NEVER DIE."