The Poetical Works of Edward Young | Page 3

Edward Young
me, Power
Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour!
From
east to west they fly, from pole to line,
Imploring shelter from the
wrath divine;
Beg flames to wrap, or whelming seas to sweep,
Or
rocks to yawn, compassionately deep;
Seas cast the monster forth to
meet his doom,
And rocks but prison up for wrath to come.
So fares
a traitor to an earthly crown;
While death sits threat'ning in his
prince's frown
His heart's dismay'd; and now his fears command,


To change his native for a distant land:
Swift orders fly, the king's
severe decree
Stands in the channel, and locks up the sea;
The port
he seeks, obedient to her lord,
Hurls back the rebel to his lifted sword.

But why this idle toil to paint that day?
This time elaborately
thrown away?
Words all in vain pant after the distress,
The height
of eloquence would make it less;
Heavens! how the good man
trembles!--
And is there a last day? and must there come
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 this? And shall the victor now
Boast the proud
laurels on his loaded brow?
Religion! Oh, thou cherub, heavenly
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 mountain flames their burning power
suspend;
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, tost 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 prayers, the tempest can appease;
Now they
devote their treasure to the seas;
Unload their shatter'd barque, tho'
richly fraught,
And think the hopes of life are cheaply bought
With
gems and gold; but oh, the storm so high!
Nor gems nor 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
powerful 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 heaven 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 descried,

And rolls his wond'ring eyes from side
to side:
Then takes possession of the spacious seat,
And sails secure
within the dark retreat.
Now is he pleas'd the northern blast to hear,

And hangs on liquid mountains, void of fear;
Or falls immers'd into
the depths below,
Where the dead silent waters never flow;
To the
foundation 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
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