And charged with putrid verdure, breathe a grofs
And mortal nuifance into all the air.
What folid was, by transformation ftrange,
Grows fluid, and the fixt and rooted earth,
Tormented into billows, heaves and wells,
Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl

Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immenfe
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 furvives 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 fhore
Refiftlefs, Never fuch a fudden flood,

Upridged fo high, and fent on fuch a charge,
- Poffefs'd an inland fcene. Where now the throng
That prefs'd the beach, and hafty to depart,
-Look'd to the fea for fafety? 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 confume
Life in the unproductive fhades of death,
Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth,
And happy in their unforeseen release
F

*From

From all the rigors of restraint, enjoy
The terrors of the day that sets them free.
Who then that has thee, would not hold thee faft
Freedom! whom they that lose thee, so 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 fuch a flame
Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth,
And in the furious inqueft that it makes
On God's behalf, lays wafte his fairest works.
The very elements, though each be meant
The minifter of man, to serve his wants,
Confpire against him. With his breath, he draws
A plague into his blood. And cannot use
Life's neceffary means, but he must die.

Storms rife t' o'erwhelm him: or if stormy winds
Rise not, the waters of the deep fhall rise,
And needing none affistance of the storm,

Shall roll themselves afhore, and reach him there.
The earth fhall fhake him out of all his holds,
Or make his house his grave. Nor fo content,
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood,
And drown him in her dry and dufty gulphs.
What then---were they the wicked above all,
And we the righteous, whofe faft anchor'd ifle
Moved not, while their's was rock'd like a light skiff,
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 fhafts.

Of

Of wrath obnoxious, God may chufe his mark,.
May punish, if he please, the lefs, to warn
The more malignant. If he fpar'd not them,
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape
Far guiltier England, left he fpare not thee.

Happy the man who fees a God employed
In all the good and ill that checquer life!
Refolving all events, with their effects
And manifold results, into the will
And arbitration wife of the Supreme.

Did not his eye rule all things, and intend
The least of our concerns (fince from the leaft
The greatest oft originate) could chance
Find place in his dominion, or difpofe
One lawless particle to thwart his plan,
Then God might be furpriz'd, and unforeseen
Contingence might alarm him, and difturb
The fmooth and equal course of his affairs.
This truth, philofophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks,
And having found his inftrument, forgets
Or difregards, or more presumptuous still,
Denies the power that weilds it. God proclaims
His hot difpleasure against foolish men
That live an atheift life. Involves the heav'n
In tempefts, quits his grafp 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.
F 2..

He

2

He calls for famine, and the meagre fiend

Blows mildew from between his fhrivel'd lips,-
And taints the golden ear.

He fprings his mines,

And defolates a nation at a blast.

Forth fteps the fpruce philofopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and discordant springs
And principles; of caufes how they work..
By neceffary laws, their fure effects,

Of action and re-action. He has found
The fource of the disease that nature feels,
And bids the world take heart and banish fear.
Thou fool! will thy discov'ry of the cause
Sufpend th' effect or heal it? Has not God
Still wrought by means fince first he made the world,
And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation lefs
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 afk of whomfoever 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 conftrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year, moft part, deform'd With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, I would not yet exchange thy fullen fkies, And fields without a flower, for warmer France,

With all her vines; ner for Aufonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowr's.
To shake thy fenate, and from heights fublime,
Of patriot eloquence, to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task;
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and forrows, with as true a heart
any
thund'rer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too, and with a just disdain,
Frown at effeminates, whofe very looks...
Reflect dishonor on the land I love.
How, in the name of foldiership and fenfe,
Should England profper, when such things, as smooth
And tender as a girl, all effenced o'er

As

With odors, and as profligate as sweet,..

Who fell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,

And love when they should fight; when such as these Prefume to lay their hand upon the ark

Of her magnificent and awful cause ?

Time was when it was praise and boast enough
In ev'ry clime, and travel where we might,..
That we were born her children. Praise enough
To fill th' ambition of a private man,
That Chatham's language was his mother tongue,
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own,
Farewell thofe honors, and farewell with them
The hope of fuch hereafter. They have fall'n
Each in his field of glory: One in arms,
And one in council. Wolfe upon the lap
Of fmiling victory that moment won,.

And