And is there a Last Day? and must there come 210 A sure, a fix'd, inexorable doom?
Ambition! swell, and thy proud sails to show,
Take all the winds that Vanity can blow;
Wealth! on a golden mountain blazing stand,
And reach an India forth in either hand;
Spread all thy purple clusters, tempting Vine!
And thou, more dreaded foe, bright Beauty! shine:
Shine all, in all your charms together rise,
That all, in all your charms, I may despise,
While I mount upward on a strong desire,
Borne, like Elijah, in a car of fire.
In hopes of glory to be quite involv'd! To smile at death! to long to be dissolv'd! From our decays a pleasure to receive! And kindle into transport at a grave? What equals thus? And shall the victor now Boast the proud laurels on his loaded brow? Religion! oh thou cherub, heav'nly bright! Oh joys unmix'd, and fathomless delight! Thou, thou art all; nor find I in the whole Creation aught but God and my own soul. For ever, then, my Soul! thy God adore, Nor let the brute-creation praise him more. Shall things inanimate my conduct blame, And flush my conscious cheek with spreading shame? They all for him pursue, or quit, their end;
The mounting flames their burning pow'r suspend; Volume 111.
In solid heaps th' unfrozen billows stand,
To rest and silence aw'd by his command;
Nay, the dire monsters that infest the flood,
By nature dreadful, and athirst for blood,
His will can calm, their savage tempers bind,
And turn to mild protectors of mankind.
Did not the prophet this great truth maintain
In the deep chambers of the gloomy main,
When Darkness round him all her horrors spread,
And the loud ocean bellow'd o'er his head?
When now the thunder roars, the lightning flies,
And all the warring winds tumultuous rise;
When now the foaming surges, toss'd on high,
Disclose the sands beneath, and touch the sky;
When death draws near, the mariners aghast
Look back with terror on their actions past,
Their courage sickens into deep dismay.
Their hearts, thro' fear and anguish, melt away;
Nor tears, nor pray'rs, the tempest can appease:
Now they devote their treasures to the seas;
Unload their shatter'd bark, tho' richly fraught,
And think the hopes of life are cheaply bought
With gems and gold; but, oh, the storm so high! 260
Nor gems and gold the hopes of life can buy.
The trembling prophet then, themselves to save,
They headlong plunge into the briny wave;
Down he descends, and booming o'er his head,
The billows close; he's number'd with the dead.
(Hear, O ye Just! attend ye virtuous few!
And the bright paths of piety pursue)
Lo! the great Ruler of the world, from high,
Looks smiling down with a propitious eye,
Covers his servant with his gracious hand,
And bids tempestuous Nature silent stand;
Commands the peaceful waters to give place,
Or kindly fold him in a soft embrace;
He bridles in the monsters of the deep;
The bridled monsters awful distance keep;
Forget their hunger while they view their prey,
And guiltless gaze, and round the stranger play.
But still arise new wonders; Nature's Lord
Sends forth into the deep his pow'rful word,
And calls the great leviathan: the great
Leviathan attends in all his state,
Exults for joy, and, with a mighty bound,
Makes the sea shake, and heav'n and earth resound,
Blackens the waters with the rising sand,
And drives vast billows to the distant land.
As yawns an earthquake, when imprison'd air
Struggles for vent, and lays the centre bare,
The whale expands his jaws enormous size,
The prophet views the cavern with surprise,
Measures his monstrous teeth, afar descry'd,
And rolls his wond'ring eyes from side to side;
Then takes pussession of the spacious seat,
And sails secure within the dark retreat.
Young.1
Now is he pleas'd the northern blast to hear,
And hangs on liquid mountains void of fear,
Or falls immers'd into the deeps below,
Where the dead silent waters never flow;
To the foundations of the hills convey'd,
Dwells in the shelving mountain's dreadful shade;
Where plummet never reach'd he draws his breath,
And glides serenely thro' the paths of death.
Two wondrous days and nights thro' coral groves; Thro' labyrinths of rocks and sands, he roves; When the third morning, with its level rays, The mountains gilds, and on the billows plays, It sees the king of waters rise, and pour His sacred guest uninjur'd on the shore; A type of that great blessing which the Muse In her next labour ardently pursues.
We hope that the departed will rise again from the dust; after which, like the gods, they will bs mmortal.
Now man awakes, and from his silent bed,
Where he has slept for ages, lifts his head,
Shakes off the slumber of ten thousand years,
And on the borders of new worlds appears.
Whate'er the bold, the rash, adventure cost,
In wide eternity I dare be lost.
The Muse is wont in narrow bounds to sing,
To teach the swain, or celebrate the king.
I grasp the whole; no more to parts confin'd,
I lift my voice, and sing to humankind:
I sing to men and angels; angels join,
While such the theme, their sacred songs with mine.
Again the trumpet's intermitted sound
Rolls the wide circuit of creation round,
An universal concourse to prepare
Of all that ever breath'd the vital air;
In some wide field, which active whirlwinds sweep, Drive cities, forests, mountains, to the deep,
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