See, where he comes, the darling of the war! See millions crowding round the gilded car! In the vast joys of this ecstatic hour, And full fruition of successful pow'r,
One moment and one thought might let him scan
The various turns of life, and fickle state of man.
Are the dire images of sad distrust,
And popular change, obscur'd amid the dust
That rises from the victor's rapid wheel?
Can the loud clarion or shrill fife repel
The inward cries of care? can Nature's voice,
Plaintive, be drown'd, or lessen'd in the noise,
Though shouts as thunder loud afflict the air,
Stun the birds, now releas'd, and shake the ivory chair?
Yon crowd (he might reflect) yon joyful crowd, Pleas'd with my honours, in my praises loud, (Should fleeting Victory to the vanquish'd go, Should she depress my arms and raise the foe) Would for that foe with equal ardour wait At the high palace, or the crowded gate; With restless rage would pull my statues down, And cast the brass a-new to his renown. O impotent desire of worldly sway! That I, who make the triumph of to-day, May of to-morrow's pomp one part appear, Ghastly with wounds, and lifeless on the bier! Then (vileness of mankind!) then of all these Whom my dilated eye with labour sees, Would one, alas! repeat me good or great, Wash my pale body, or bewail my fate? Or, march'd I chain'd behind the hostile car, The victor's pastime, and the sport of war,
Would one, would one, his pitying sorrow lend,
Or be so poor to own he was my friend?
Avails it then, O reason, to be wise?
To see this cruel scene with quicker eyes?
To know with more distinction to complain,
And have superior sense in feeling pain?
Let us revolve that roll with strictest eye,
Where safe from time distinguish'd actions lie,
And judge if greatness be exempt from pain,
Or pleasure ever may with power remain.
Adam, great type, for whom the world was made,
The fairest blessing to his arms convey'd,
A charming wife; and air, and sea, and land,
And all that move therein, to his command
Render'd obedient: say, my pensive Muse,
What did these golden promises produce?—
Scarce tasting life, he was of joy bereav'd;
One day, I think, in Paradise he liv'd,
Destin'd the next his journey to pursue
Where wounding thorns and cursed thistles grew.
Ere yet he earns his bread, a-down his brow,
Inclin❜d to earth, his labouring sweat must flow;
His limbs must ache, with daily toils oppress'd,
Ere long-wish'd night brings necessary rest:
Still viewing with regret his darling Eve,
He for her follies and his own must grieve.
Bewailing still afresh their hapless choice,
His ear oft frighted with the imag'd voice
Of Heaven when first it thunder'd, oft his view,
Aghast, as when the infant lightning flew,
And the stern cherub stop'd the fatal road,
Arm'd with the flames of an avenging God;
His younger son, on the polluted ground,
First fruit of death, lies plaintive of a wound
Given by a brother's hand; his eldest birth
Flies, mark'd by Heaven, a fugitive o'er earth :
Yet why these sorrows heap'd upon the sire,
Becomes nor man nor angel to inquire.
Each age sin'd on, and guilt advanc'd with time; The son still added to the father's crime;
Till GoD arose, and, great in anger,
'Lo! it repenteth me that man was made. Withdraw thy light, thou Sun! be dark, ye Skies! And from your deep abyss, ye Waters, rise!'
The frighted angels heard the' Almighty Lord, And o'er the earth, from wrathful vials, pour'd Tempests and storm, obedient to his word. Meantime his providence to Noah gave The guard of all that he design'd to save: Exempt from general doom the patriarch stood, Contemn'd the waves, and triumph'd o'er the flood. The winds fall silent, and the waves decrease; The dove brings quiet, and the olive peace; Yet still his heart does inward sorrow feel, Which faith alone forbids him to reveal. If on the backward world his views are cast, 'Tis death diffus'd, and universal waste. Present (sad prospect!) can he ought descry But (what afflicts his melancholy eye)
The beauties of the ancient fabric lost,
In chains of craggy hill, or lengths of dreary coast? While to high Heaven his pious breathings turn'd; Weeping, he hop'd; and sacrificing, mourn'd; When of God's image only eight he found Snatch'd from the watery grave, and sav'd from nations drown'd;
And of three sons, the future hopes of earth,
The seed whence empires must receive their birth,
One he foresees excluded heavenly grace,
And mark'd with curses, fatal to his race.
Abraham, potent prince, the friend of God,
Of human ills must bear the destin❜d load,
By blood and battles must his power maintain,
And slay the monarchs ere he rules the plain;
Must deal just portions of a servile life
To a proud handmaid, and a peevish wife;
Must with the mother leave the weeping son,
In want to wander, and in wilds to groan;
Must take his other child, his age's hope,
To trembling Moriah's melancholy top,
Order'd to drench his knife in filial blood,
Destroy his heir, or disobey his God.
Moses beheld that God; but how beheld
The Deity, in radiant beams conceal'd,
And clouded in a deep abyss of light?
While present, too severe for human sight,
Nor staying longer than one swift-wing'd night:
The following days, and months, and years, de-
creed
To fierce encounter, and to toilsome deed:
His youth with wants and hardships must engage,
Plots and rebellions must disturb his age:
Some Corah still arose, some rebel slave,
Prompter to sink the state than he to save,
And Israel did his rage so far provoke,
That what the Godhead wrote the prophet broke.
His voice scarce heard, his dictates scarce believ'd,
In camps, in arms, in pilgrimage, he liv'd,
And died obedient to severest law,
Forbid to tread the Promis'd-land he saw.
My father's life was one long line of care,
A scene of danger and a state of war:
Alarm'd, expos'd, his childhood must engage
The bear's rough gripe and foaming lion's rage.
By various turns his threaten'd youth must fear
Goliah's lifted sword, and Saul's emitted spear.
Forlorn he must, and persecuted, fly,
Climb the steep mountain, in the cavern lie,
And often ask, and be refus'd to die.
For ever from his manly toils are known
The weight of power and anguish of a crown.
What tongue can speak the restless monarch's woes,
When God and Nathan were declar'd his foes?
When every object his offence revil'd,
The husband murder'd, and the wife defil'd,
The parent's sins impress'd upon the dying child?.
What heart can think the grief which he sustain❜d,
When the King's crime brought vengeance on the
And the inexorable prophet's voice
[land, Gave famine, plague, or war, and bid him fix his choice?
He died; and, oh! may no reflection shed
Its poisonous venom on the royal dead:
Yet the unwilling truth must be express'd
Which long has labour'd in this pensive breast;
Dying, he added to my weight of care;
He made me to his crimes undoubted heir;
Left his unfinish'd murder to his son,
And Joab's blood entail'd on Judah's crown.
Young as I was, I hasted to fulfil
The cruel dictates of my parent's will:
Of his fair deeds a distant view I took,
But turn'd the tube upon his faults to look;
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