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النشر الإلكتروني

With innocence to live with patience wait

The appointed hour: too soon that hour will come,
Tho' Nature run her course. But Nature's God,
If need require, by thousand various ways,
Without thy aid, can shorten that short span,
And quench the lamp of life. O when he comes,
Roused by the cry of wickedness extreme,
To Heaven ascending from some guilty land,
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes array'd
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath,

Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm,
And on the miscreants pours destruction down;
Who can abide his coming? Who can bear,
His whole displeasure? In no common form
Death then appears, but starting into size
Enormous, measures with gigantic stride

The astonish'd earth, and from his looks throws round
Unutterable horror and dismay.

All Nature lends her aid: each element

Arms in his cause. Ope fly the doors of Heaven;
The fountains of the deep their barriers break;
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,

And drown Creation; or in floods of fire
Descends a livid cataract, and consumes

An impious race. Sometimes, when all seems peace,
Wakes the grim whirlwind, and with rude embrace
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; full many a youth
Floats on his watery bier, or lies unwept
On some sad desert shore! At dead of night,
In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence:
Contagion close behind taints all her steps
With poisonous dew; no smiting hand is seen,
No sound is heard; but soon her secret path
Is mark'd with desolation; heaps on heaps

Promiscuous drop. No friend, no refuge near;
All, all is false and treacherous around;

All that they touch, or taste, or breathe, is death.

But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why fail
These tottering feet? Earth to its centre feels
The Godhead's power, and trembling at his touch
Through all its pillars, and in every pore,

Hurls to the ground, with one convulsive heave,
Precipitating domes, and towns, and towers,
The work of ages. Crush'd beneath the weight
Of general devastation, millions find

One common grave; not ev'n a widow left
To wail her sons: the house, that should protect,
Entombs its master; and the faithless plain,
If there he flies for help, with sudden yawn
Starts from beneath him. Shield me, gracious Heaven,
O snatch me from destruction! If this globe,
This solid globe, which thine own hand hath made
So firm and sure, if this my steps betray;

If my own mother Earth, from whence I sprung,
Rise up with rage unnatural to devour

Her wretched offspring, whither shall I fly?
Where look for succour? Where, but up to thee,
Almighty Father? Save, O save thy suppliant
From horrors such as these! At thy good time
Let Death approach; I reck not-let him but come
In genuine form, not with thy vengeance arm'd,
Too much for man to bear. O rather lend
Thy kindly aid to mitigate his stroke;
And at that hour when all aghast I stand
(A trembling candidate for thy compassion)
On this world's brink, and look into the next;
When my soul, starting from the dark unknown,
Casts back a wishful look, and fondly clings

To her frail prop, unwilling to be wrench'd
From this fair scene, from all her custom'd joys,
And all the lovely relatives of life,

Then shed thy comforts o'er me, then put on
The gentlest of thy looks. Let no dark crimes,
In all their hideous forms then starting up,
Plant themselves round my couch in grim array,
And stab my bleeding heart with two-edged torture,
Sense of past guilt, and dread of future woe.
Far be the ghastly crew! And in their stead
Let cheerful Memory from her purest cells
Lead forth a goodly train of Virtues fair,
Cherish'd in earliest youth, now paying back
With tenfold usury the pious care,

And pouring o'er my wounds the heavenly balm
Of conscious innocence. But chiefly, Thou,
Whom soft-eyed Pity ouce led down from heaven,
To bleed for man, to teach him how to live,
And, O! still harder lesson! how to die;
Disdain not thou to smoothe the restless bed
Of sickness and of pain. Forgive the tear
That feeble Nature drops; calm all her fears,
Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith;
Till my rapt soul, anticipating heaven,
Bursts from the thraldom of encumbering clay,
And on the wing of Ecstasy uphorne,
Springs into liberty, and light, and life.

SHENSTONE.

THE SCHOOLMISTRESS;

AND

OTHER POEMS.

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