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And fiery caverns roars beneath his foot
The hills move lightly, and the mountains sr.oke,
For he has touch'd them. From th' extremest

Of elevation down into the abyss
His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt.
The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise,
The rivers die into offensive pools,
And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross
And mortal nuisance into all the air.
What solid was, by transformation strange,
Grows fluid ; and the fix'd and rooted earth,
Tormented into billows, heaves and swells,
Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl
Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense
The tumult and the overthrow, the pange
And agonies of human and of brute
Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry side,
And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene
Migrates uplifted : and, with all its soil
Alighting in far distant fields, finds out
A new possessor, and survives the change.
Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought
To an enormous and o'erbearing height,
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice
Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore
Resistless. Never such a sudden flood,
Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge,
Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the

throng That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone,

Gone with the refluer.t wave into the deep--
A prince with half his people! Ancient tow're
And rooss embattled high, the gloomy scenes
Where beauty ost and letter'd worth consume
Life in the unproductive shades of death,
Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth,
And, happy in their unforeseen release
From all the rigours of restraint, enioy
The terrours of the day that sets the a free.
Who, then, that has thee, would not hold thee

Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret,
That e'en a judgment, making way for thee,
Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake?
Such evil Sin hath wrought; and such a flame
Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth:
And in the furious inquest that it makes
On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works.
The very elements, though each be meant
The minister of man, to serve his wants,
Conspire against him. With his breath he draws
A plague into his blood; and cannot use
Life's necessary means, but he must die.
Storms rise t'o'erwhelm him; or if stormy winde
Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise,
And, needing none assistance of the storm,
Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him thera
The carth shall shake him out of all his holds,
Or make his house his grave: nor so content,
Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood,
And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs.
Vhat then!-were they the wicked above all,

And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle Mov'd not, while theirs was rock,d, like a light

skiff, The sport of every wave ? No; none are clear, And none than we more guilty. But, where all Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark: May punish, if he please, the less, to warn The more malignant. If he spar'd not them, Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape, Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee!

Happy the man, who sees a God employ'd In all the good and ill that checker life! Resolving all events, with their effects And manifold results, into the will And arbitration wise of the Supreme. Did not his eye rule all things, and intend The least of our concerns; (since from the least The greatest oft originate ;) could chance Find place in his dominion, or dispose One lawless particle to thwart his plan; Then God might be surpris’d, and unforeseen Contingence might alarm him, and disturb The smooth and equal course of his affairs. This true Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; And, having found his instrument, forgets, Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims His hot displeasure against foolish men, That live an atheist life ; involves the Heavens In tempests quits his grasp upon the winds,

And gives them all their fury; sids a plague
Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin,
And putrefy the breath of blooming Health.
He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend
Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lipa
And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines,
And desolates a nation at a blast.
Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and discordant springs,
And principles; of causes how they work
By necessary laws their sure effects
Of action and reaction: he has found
The source of the disease that nature feels,
And bids the world take heart and banish fear
Thou fool ? will thy discov'ry of the cause
Suspend th' effect, or heal it ? Has not God
Still wrought by means since first he made the

And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation less,
Than a capacious reservoir of means,
Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ?
Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; ask of Him
Or ask of whomesoever he has taught;
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all.

England, with all thy faults, I love thee stillMy country! and while yet a nook is left, Where English minds and manners may be

found, Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Thongh thy

clime Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd

With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost,
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France
With all her vines : nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs.
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart
As any thund'rer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too; and with a just disdain
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks
Reflect dishonour on the land I love.
How in the name of soldiership and sense,
Should England prosper, when such things, as

And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er
With odours, and as profligate as sweet;
Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,
And love when they should fight: when suci

as these

Presume to lay their hand upon the ark
Of her magnificent and awful cause ;
Tiine was when it was praise and boast enough
In every clime, and travel where we might,
That we were born her children. Praise enough
Th fill th' ambition of a private man
ThatChatham's language was his mothertongue,
And Wolf's great name compatriot with his own.
Farewell those honours, and farewell with them
The hope of such hereafter! They have fal'n

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