Then on the fatal book his hand he lays,
Which high to view supporting seraphs raise;
In solemn form the rituals are prepar'd,
The seal is broken, and a groan is heard.

And thou, my Soul! (oh, fall to sudden pray'r,

And let the thought sink deep!) shalt thou be there?
See on the left (for by the great command
The throng divided falls on either hand)

How weak, how pale, how haggard, how obscene,
What more than death in every face and mien?
With what distress, and glarings of affright,
They shook the heart, and turn away the sight?
In gloomy orbs their trembling eyeballs roll,
And tell the horrid secrets of the soul:
Each gesture mourns, each look is black with care,
And ev'ry groan is loaden with despair.

Reader! if guilty, spare the Muse, and find

A truer image pictur'd in thy mind.

Shouldst thou behold thy brother, father, wife,

And all the soft companions of thy life,
Whose blended int'rests levell'd at one aim,
Whose mix'd desires sent up one common flame,
Divided far, thy wretched self alone

Cast on the left of all whom thou hast known,
How would it wound? what millions wouldst tho
For one more trial, one day more to live?
Flung back in time an hour, a moment's space,
To grasp with eagerness the means of grace,

30

49

[give

Contend for mercy with a pious rage,

And in that moment to redeem an age?
Drive back the tide, suspend a storm in air,
Arrest the sun, but still of this despair.

Mark, on the right, how amiable a grace!
Their Maker's image fresh in ev'ry face!
What purple bloom my ravish'd soul admires,
And their eyes sparkling with immortal fires!
Triumphant Beauty! charms that rise above
This world, and in bless'd angels kindle love!
To the great Judge with holy pride they turn,
And dare behold th' Almighty's anger burn,
Its flash sustain, against its terror rise,
And on the dread tribunal fix their eyes.
Are these the forms that moulder'd in the dust?
Oh the transcendent glory of the just!

Yet still some thin remains of fear and doubt

Th' infected brightness of their joy pollute.

[high,

71

Thus the chaste bridegroom, when the priest draws Beholds his blessing with a trembling eye, Feels doubtful passions throb in ev'ry vein, And in his cheeks are mingled joy and pain. Lest still some intervening chance should rise, Leap forth at once, and snatch the golden prize, Inflame his woe, by bringing it so late, And stab him in the crisis of his fate. Since Adam's family, from first to last Now into one distinct survey is cast

Look round, vainglorious Muse! and you whoe'er
Devote yourselves to Fame, and think her fair,
Look round, and seek the lights of human race,
Whose shining acts Time's brightest annals grace;
Who founded sects, crowns conquer'd or resign'd;
Gave names to nations, or fam'd empires join'd;
Who rais'd the vale, and laid the mountain low,
And taught obedient rivers where to flow;
Who with vast fleets, as with a mighty chain,
Could bind the madness of the roaring main;
All lost! all undistinguish'd! nowhere found!
How will this truth in Bourbon's palace sound?

80

90 That hour, on which the Almighty King on high, From all eternity, has fix'd his eye,

Whether his right hand favour'd or annoy'd,
Continu'd, alter'd, threaten'd, or destroy'd,
Southern or eastern sceptre downward hurl'd,
Gave north and west dominion o'er the world;
The point of time, for which the world was built,
For which the blood of God himself was spilt,
That dreadful moment is arriv'd.----

100

Aloft, the seats of bliss their pomp display, Brighter than brightness this distinguish'd day; Less glorious when of old th' eternal Son From realms of night return'd with 'trophies won; Thro' heav'n's high gates when he triumphant rode, And shouting angels hail'd the Victor God,

Horrors beneath, darkness in darkness, hell
Of hell, where torments behind torments dwell;
A furnace formidable, deep and wide,
O'erboiling with a mad sulphureous tide,
Expands its jaws, more dreadful to survey,
And roars outrageous for the destin'd prey:
The sons of light scarce unappall'd look down,
And nearer press heav'n's everlasting throne.
Such is the scene, and one short moment's space
Concludes the hopes and fears of human race,
Proceed who dares!---I tremble as I write;
The whole creation swims before my sight;
I see, I see the Judge's frowning brow;
Say not 'tis distant; I behold it now:

I faint, my tardy blood forgets to flow,
My soul recoils at the stupendous woe;

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120

That woe, those pangs, which from the guilty breast In these, or words like these, shall be exprest. "Who burst the barriers of my peaceful grave ? "Ah! cruel Death, that would no longer save, But grudg'd me ev'n that narrow dark abqde, "And cast me out into the wrath of God; "Where shrieks, the roaring flame, the rattling chain; And all the dreadful eloquence of Pain,

130

Our only song; black fire's malignant light, "The sole refreshment of the blasted sight. "Must all those pow'rs Heav'n gave me to supply My soul with pleasure, and bring in my joy,

"Rise up in arms against me, join the foe,

Sense, reason, memory, increase my woe;

"And shall my voice, ordain'd on hymns to dwell,

Corrupt to groans, and blow the fires of hell?

"Oh! must I look with terror on my gain,

"And with existence only measure pain ?

"What! no reprieve, no least indulgence giv'n, 140 "No beam of hope, from any point of heav'n! "Ah Mercy! Mercy! art thou dead above? "Is love extinguish'd in the Source of love? "Bold that I am, did Heav'n stoop down to hell? "Th' expiring Lord of Life my ransom seal? "Have I not been industrious to provoke? "From his embraces obstinately broke? "Pursu'd and panted for his mortal hate "Earn'd my destruction, labour'd out my fate? "And dare I on extinguish'd love exclaim?

150

"Take, take full vengeance, rouse the slack'ning flame; "Just is my lot---but, oh! must it transcend

"The reach of time, despair a distant end? "With dreadful growth shoot forward, and arise, "Where Thought cann't follow, and bold Fancy dies! "Never! where falls the soul at that dread sound? "Down an abyss how dark, and how profound! "6 Down, down, (I still am falling, horrid pain!) "Ten thousand thousand fathoms still remain; "My plunge but still begun---and this for sin? 16ɔ "Could I offend if I had never been,

Volume ill.

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