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 ministers 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 rife, 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 scourge a world for her enormous crimes,
These 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 eafe 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 destin'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 disgorge
Their blazing magazines; and take, by storm,
This poor terrestrial 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 rush; and final ruin fiercely drives
Her plowshare o'er creation !-while aloft,
More than aftonishment! 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 defcends!
And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train.
A fwift archangel, with his golden wing,
As blots and clouds, that darken and difgrace
The scene divine, fweeps ftars and funs aside.
And now, all drofs remov'd, heaven's own pure day,
Full on the confines of our æther, flames.
While (dreadful contraft!) far, how far beneath!
Hell, bursting, belches forth her blazing feas,
And ftorms fulphureous; her voracious jaws
Expanding wide, and roaring for her prey.
Lorenzo! welcome to this fcene; the last
In nature's course; the first in wisdom's thought.
This frikes, if aught can strike thee; this awakes 190
The most fupine; this fnatches man from death.
Roufe, roufe, Lorenzo, then, and follow me,
Where truth, the most momentous man can hear,
Loud calls my foul, and ardour wings her flight.
I find my inspiration in my theme;
The grandeur of my subject is my Mufe.
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 darkness; fudden as the spark
From fmitten fteel; from nitrous grain, the blaze.
Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more!
The day is broke, which never more fhall close!
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 fupport, or fink for ever!
Where? How? From whence? Vain hope! it is too late!
Where, where, for shelter, shall 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, decifion, and despair!
At thought of thee, each fublunary with
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 conscience scales
The dread tribunal, and foreftalls 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 fentence will fupport,
And God above affert that God in man.
Thrice happy they! that enter now the court
Heaven opens in their bofoms: 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 flightly; asks, but fears to know;
Afks, "What is truth?" with Pilate; and retires; 245
Diffolves the court, and mingles with the throng;
Afylum fad! from reason, 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 leaft,
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,
As in a theatre, furround this fcene,
Intent on man, and anxious for his fate.
Angels look out for thee; for thee, their Lord,
To vindicate his glory; and for thee,
Creation univerfal calls aloud,
To dif-involve the moral world, and give
To nature's renovation brighter charms.
Shall man alone, whofe fate, whofe final fate,
Hangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought?
I think of nothing elfe; I fee! I feel it!
All nature, like an earthquake, trembling round! 265
All Deities, like fummer's fwarms, on wing!
All basking in the full meridian blaze!
I fee the Judge inthron'd! the flaming guard!
The volume open'd! open'd every heart!
A fun-beam pointing out each fecret thought!
No patron! interceffor none! now past
The sweet, the clement, mediatorial hour!
For guilt no plea! to pain, no pause! no bound!
Inexorable, all! and all, extreme!
Nor man alone; the foe of God and man,
From his dark den, blafpheming, drags his chain,
And rears his brazen front, with thunder fcarr'd:
Receives his fentence, and begins his hell.
All vengeance paft, now, feems abundant grace:
Like meteors in a ftormy fky, how roll
His baleful eyes! he curfes whom he dreads;
And deems it the first moment of his fall.
'Tis prefent to my thought!-and yet where is it?
Angels can't tell me; angels cannot guess
|