The Poetical Works of Edward Young | Page 2

are chang'd on this revolving earth,?Old empires fall, and give new empires birth;?While other Bourbons rule in other lands,?And (if man's sin forbids not) other Annes;?While the still busy world is treading o'er?The paths they trod five thousand years before,?Thoughtless as those who now life's mazes run,?Of earth dissolv'd, or an extinguish'd sun;?(Ye sublunary worlds, awake, awake!?Ye rulers of the nation, hear, and shake!)?Thick clouds of darkness shall arise on day;?In sudden night all earth's dominions lay;?Impetuous winds the scatter'd forests rend;?Eternal mountains, like their cedars, bend:?The valleys yawn, the troubled ocean roar,?And break the bondage of his wonted shore;?A sanguine stain the silver moon o'erspread;?Darkness the circle of the sun invade;?From inmost heaven incessant thunders roll,?And the strong echo bound from pole to pole.?When, lo, a mighty trump, one half conceal'd?In clouds, one half to mortal eye reveal'd,?Shall pour a dreadful note; the piercing call?Shall rattle in the centre of the ball;?Th' extended circuit of creation shake,?The living die with fear, the dead awake.?Oh powerful blast! to which no equal sound?Did e'er the frighted ear of nature wound,?Tho' rival clarions have been strain'd on high,?And kindled wars immortal thro' the sky,?Tho' God's whole enginery discharg'd, and all?The rebel angels bellow'd in their fall.?Have angels sinn'd? and shall not man beware??How shall a son of earth decline the snare??Not folded arms, and slackness of the mind,?Can promise for the safety of mankind:?None are supinely good: thro' care and pain?And various arts, the steep ascent we gain.?This is the scene of combat, not of rest,?Man's is laborious happiness at best;?On this side death his dangers never cease,?His joys are joys of conquest, not of peace.?If then, obsequious to the will of fate,?And bending to the terms of human state,?When guilty joys invite us to their arms,?When beauty smiles, or grandeur spreads her charms,?The conscious soul would this great scene display,?Call down th' immortal hosts in dread array,?The trumpet sound, the Christian banner spread,?And raise from silent graves the trembling dead;?Such deep impression would the picture make,?No power on earth her firm resolve could shake;?Engag'd with angels she would greatly stand,?And look regardless down on sea and land;?Not proffer'd worlds her ardour could restrain,?And death might shake his threat'ning lance in vain!?Her certain conquest would endear the sight,?And danger serve but to exalt delight.?Instructed thus to shun the fatal spring,?Whence flow the terrors of that day I sing;?More boldly we our labours may pursue,?And all the dreadful image set to view.?The sparkling eye, the sleek and painted breast,?The burnish'd scale, curl'd train, and rising crest,?All that is lovely in the noxious snake,?Provokes our fear, and bids us flee the brake:?The sting once drawn, his guiltless beauties rise?In pleasing lustre, and detain our eyes;?We view with joy, what once did horror move,?And strong aversion softens into love.?Say then, my muse, whom dismal scenes delight,?Frequent at tombs, and in the realms of night;?Say, melancholy maid, if bold to dare?The last extremes of terror and despair;?Oh say, what change on earth, what heart in man,?This blackest moment since the world began.?Ah mournful turn! the blissful earth, who late?At leisure on her axle roll'd in state;?While thousand golden planets knew no rest,?Still onward in their circling journey prest;?A grateful change of seasons some to bring,?And sweet vicissitude of fall and spring:?Some thro' vast oceans to conduct the keel,?And some those watery worlds to sink, or swell:?Around her some their splendours to display,?And gild her globe with tributary day:?This world so great, of joy the bright abode,?Heaven's darling child, and fav'rite of her God,?Now looks an exile from her father's care,?Deliver'd o'er to darkness and despair.?No sun in radiant glory shines on high;?No light, but from the terrors of the sky:?Fall'n are her mountains, her fam'd rivers lost,?And all into a second chaos tost:?One universal ruin spreads abroad;?Nothing is safe beneath the throne of God.?Such, earth, thy fate: what then canst thou afford?To comfort and support thy guilty lord??Man, haughty lord of all beneath the moon,?How must he bend his soul's ambition down?Prostrate, the reptile own, and disavow?His boasted stature, and assuming brow??Claim kindred with the clay, and curse his form,?That speaks distinction from his sister worm??What dreadful pangs the trembling heart invade??Lord, why dost thou forsake whom thou hast made??Who can sustain thy anger? who can stand?Beneath the terrors of thy lifted hand??It flies the reach of thought; oh, save me, Power?Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour!?Thou who beneath the frown of fate hast stood,?And in thy dreadful agony sweat blood;?Thou, who for me, thro' every throbbing vein,?Hast felt the keenest edge of mortal pain;?Whom death led captive thro' the realms below,?And taught those horrid mysteries of woe;?Defend me, O my God! Oh, save me, Power?Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour!?From east to west they fly, from pole to line,?Imploring shelter from the wrath