The Poetical Works of Edward Young Part 20

No sense of fear his dauntless soul allays; 'Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze; To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, And triumphs in the fulness of his might; High rais'd he snuffs the battle from afar, And burns to plunge amid the raging war; And mocks at death, and throws his foam around, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground.

How does his firm, his rising heart, advance Full on the brandish'd sword, and shaken lance; While his fix'd eyeb.a.l.l.s meet the dazzling s.h.i.+eld, Gaze, and return the lightning of the field!

He sinks the sense of pain in gen'rous pride, Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side; But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful blast Till death; and when he groans, he groans his last.

But, fiercer still, the lordly lion stalks, Grimly majestic in his lonely walks; When round he glares, all living creatures fly; He clears the desart with his rolling eye.

Say, mortal, does he rouse at thy command, And roar to thee, and live upon thy hand?

Dost thou for him in forests bend thy bow, And to his gloomy den the morsel throw, Where bent on death lie hid his tawny brood, And, couch'd in dreadful ambush, pant for blood; Or, stretch'd on broken limbs, consume the day, In darkness wrapt, and slumber o'er their prey?

(37)By the pale moon they take their destin'd round, And lash their sides, and furious tear the ground.

Now shrieks, and dying groans, the desart fill; They rage, they rend; their rav'nous jaws distill With crimson foam; and, when the banquet's o'er, They stride away, and paint their steps with gore; In flight alone the shepherd puts his trust, And shudders at the talon in the dust.

Mild is my behemoth, though large his frame; Smooth is his temper, and represt his flame, While unprovok'd. This native of the flood Lifts his broad foot, and puts ash.o.r.e for food; Earth sinks beneath him, as he moves along To seek the herbs, and mingle with the throng.

See with what strength his harden'd loins are bound, All over proof and shut against a wound.

How like a mountain cedar moves his tail!

Nor can his complicated sinews fail.

Built high and wide, his solid bones surpa.s.s The bars of steel; his ribs are ribs of bra.s.s; His port majestic, and his armed jaw, Give the wide forest, and the mountain, law.

The mountains feed him; there the beasts admire The mighty stranger, and in dread retire: At length his greatness nearer they survey, Graze in his shadow, and his eye obey.

The fens and marshes are his cool retreat, His noontide shelter from the burning heat; Their sedgy bosoms his wide couch are made, And groves of willows give him all their shade.

His eye drinks Jordan up, when, fir'd with drought, He trusts to turn its current down his throat; In lessen'd waves it creeps along the plain: (38)He sinks a river, and he thirsts again.

(39)Go to the Nile, and, from its fruitful side, Cast forth thy line into the swelling tide: With slender hair leviathan command, And stretch his vastness on the loaded strand.

Will he become thy servant? Will he own Thy lordly nod, and tremble at thy frown?

Or with his sport amuse thy leisure day, And, bound in silk, with thy soft maidens play?

Shall pompous banquets swell with such a prize?

And the bowl journey round his ample size?

Or the debating merchants share the prey, And various limbs to various marts convey?

Thro' his firm skull what steel its way can win?

What forceful engine can subdue his skin?

Fly far, and live; tempt not his matchless might: The bravest shrink to cowards in his sight; (40)The rashest dare not rouse him up: Who then Shall turn on me, among the sons of men?

Am I a debtor? Hast thou ever heard Whence come the gifts that are on me conferr'd?

My lavish fruit a thousand valleys fills, And mine the herds, that graze a thousand hills: Earth, sea, and air, all nature is my own; And stars and sun are dust beneath my throne.

And dar'st thou with the world's great Father vie, Thou, who dost tremble at my creature's eye?

At full my huge leviathan shall rise, Boast all his strength, and spread his wondrous size.

Who, great in arms, e'er stripp'd his s.h.i.+ning mail, Or crown'd his triumph with a single scale?

Whose heart sustains him to draw near? (41)Behold, Destruction yawns; his s.p.a.cious jaws unfold, And, marshall'd round the wide expanse, disclose Teeth edg'd with death, and crowding rows on rows: What hideous fangs on either side arise!

And what a deep abyss between them lies!

Mete with thy lance, and with thy plummet sound, The one how long, the other how profound.

His bulk is charg'd with such a furious soul, That clouds of smoke from his spread nostrils roll, As from a furnace; and, when rous'd his ire, (42)Fate issues from his jaws in streams of fire.

The rage of tempests, and the roar of seas, Thy terror, this thy great superior please; Strength on his ample shoulder sits in state; His well-join'd limbs are dreadfully complete; His flakes of solid flesh are slow to part; As steel his nerves, as adamant his heart.

When, late awak'd, he rears him from the floods, And, stretching forth his stature to the clouds, Writhes in the sun aloft his scaly height, And strikes the distant hills with transient light, Far round are fatal damps of terror spread, The mighty fear, nor blush to own their dread.

(43)Large is his front; and, when his burnish'd eyes Lift their broad lids, the morning seems to rise.

In vain may death in various shapes invade, The swift-wing'd arrow, the descending blade; His naked breast their impotence defies; The dart rebounds, the brittle fauchion flies.

Shut in himself, the war without he hears, Safe in the tempest of their rattling spears; The c.u.mber'd strand their wasted volleys strow; His sport, the rage and labour of the foe.

His pastimes like a cauldron boil the flood, And blacken ocean with the rising mud; The billows feel him, as he works his way; His h.o.a.ry footsteps s.h.i.+ne along the sea; The foam high-wrought, with white divides the green, And distant sailors point where death has been.

His like earth bears not on her s.p.a.cious face: Alone in nature stands his dauntless race, For utter ignorance of fear renown'd, In wrath he rolls his baleful eye around: Makes every swoln, disdainful heart, subside, And holds dominion o'er the sons of pride.

Then the Chaldaean eas'd his lab'ring breast, With full conviction of his crime opprest.

"Thou canst accomplish all things, Lord of might: And every thought is naked to thy sight.

But, oh! thy ways are wonderful, and lie Beyond the deepest reach of mortal eye.

Oft have I heard of thine Almighty power; But never saw thee till this dreadful hour.

O'erwhelm'd with shame, the Lord of life I see, Abhor myself, and give my soul to thee.

Nor shall my weakness tempt thine anger more: Man is not made to question, but adore."

ON MICHAEL ANGELO'S FAMOUS PIECE OF THE CRUCIFIXION;

Who Is Said To Have Stabbed a Person That He Might Draw It More Naturally.(44)

Whilst his Redeemer on his canva.s.s dies, Stabb'd at his feet his brother weltering lies: The daring artist, cruelly serene, Views the pale cheek and the distorted mien; He drains off life by drops, and, deaf to cries, Examines every spirit as it flies: He studies torment, dives in mortal woe, To rouse up every pang repeats his blow; Each rising agony, each dreadful grace, Yet warm transplanting to his Saviour's face.

Oh glorious theft! oh n.o.bly wicked draught!

With its full charge of death each feature fraught, Such wondrous force the magic colours boast, From his own skill he starts in horror lost.

TO MR. ADDISON,

On the Tragedy of Cato.

What do we see? Is Cato then become A greater name in Britain than in Rome?

Does mankind now admire his virtues more, Though Lucan, Horace, Virgil, wrote before?

How will posterity this truth explain?

"Cato begins to live in Anna's reign."

The world's great chiefs, in council or in arms, Rise in your lines with more exalted charms; Ill.u.s.trious deeds in distant nations wrought, And virtues by departed heroes taught, Raise in your soul a pure immortal flame, Adorn your life, and consecrate your fame; To your renown all ages you subdue, And Caesar fought, and Cato bled for you.

All Souls Coll. Oxon.

HISTORICAL EPILOGUE TO THE BROTHERS.

A Tragedy.

An Epilogue, through custom, is your right, But ne'er perhaps was needful till this night: To-night the virtuous falls, the guilty flies, Guilt's dreadful close our narrow scene denies.

In history's authentic record read What ample vengeance gluts Demetrius' shade; Vengeance so great, that, when his tale is told, With pity some e'en Perseus may behold.

Perseus surviv'd, indeed, and fill'd the throne, But ceaseless cares in conquest made him groan: Nor reign'd he long; from Rome swift thunder flew, And headlong from his throne the tyrant threw: Thrown headlong down, by Rome in triumph led, For this night's deed his perjur'd bosom bled: His brother's ghost each moment made him start, And all his father's anguish rent his heart.

When, rob'd in black, his children round him hung, And their rais'd arms in early sorrow wrung; The younger smil'd, unconscious of their woe; At which thy tears, O Rome! began to flow; So sad the scene! What then must Perseus feel, To see Jove's race attend the victor's wheel: To see the slaves of his worst foes increase, From such a source!-An emperor's embrace!

He sicken'd soon to death; and, what is worse, He well deserv'd, and felt, the coward's curse; Unpitied, scorn'd, insulted his last hour, Far, far from home, and in a va.s.sal's power: His pale cheek rested on his shameful chain, No friend to mourn, no flatterer to feign; No suit r.e.t.a.r.ds, no comfort soothes his doom, And not one tear bedews a monarch's tomb.

Nor ends it thus-dire vengeance to complete, His ancient empire falling shares his fate: His throne forgot! his weeping country chain'd!

And nations ask-where Alexander reign'd.

As public woes a prince's crime pursue, So public blessings are his virtue's due.

Shout, Britons, shout-auspicious fortune bless!

And cry, Long live-Our t.i.tle to success!