Did'st thou for this sustain a mortal wound,
While Heaven, and Earth, and Hell, hung trem
That these vile fetters might my body bind;
And agony like this, distract my mind ›
On thee I call'd with reverential awe,
Adored thy wisdom, and embraced thy law;
Yet mark thy destined convert as he lies,
His groans of anguish, and his livid eyes,
These galling chains, polluted with his blood,
Then bid his tongue proclaim thee just and good!
But if too weak thy vaunted power to spare,
Or sufferings move thee not, O hear despair!
Thy hopes and blessings, I alike resign,
But let revenge, let swift revenge be mine!
Be this proud bark, which now triumphant rides,
Toss'd by the winds, and shatter'd by the tides,
And may these fiends, who now exulting view
The horrours of my fortune, feel them too!
Be theirs the torment of a lingering fate,
Slow as thy justice, dreadful as my hate;
Condemn'd to grasp the riven plank in vain,
And chased by all the monsters of the main ;
And while they spread their sinking arms to thee,
Then let their fainting souls remember me !
-Thanks, righteous God!-Revenge shall yet be
Yon flashing lightning gave the dreadful sign.
I see the flames of heavenly anger hurl'd,
I hear your thunders shake a guilty world.
The time shall come, the fated hour is nigh,
When guiltless blood shall penetrate the sky.
Amid these horrours, and involving night;
Prophetick visions flash before my sight,
Eternal Justice wakes, and in their turn
The vanquish'd triumph, and the victors mourn;
Lo! Discord, fiercest of the infernal band,
Fires all her snakes, and waves her flaming brand; No more proud Commerce courts the western
But marks the lurid skies, and furls her sails;
War mounts his iron car, and at his wheels
In vain soft Pity weeps, and Mercy kneels,
He breathes a savage rage through all the host,
And stains with kindred blood the impious coast;
Then, while with horrour sickening Nature groans,
And earth and heaven the monstrous race dis-
Then the stern genius of my native land,
With delegated vengeance in his hand,
Shall raging cross the troubled seas,
and pour
The plagues of Hell on yon devoted shore.
What tides of ruin mark his ruthless way;
How shriek the fiends exulting o'er their prey!
I see their warriors gasping on the ground,
I hear their flaming cities crash around. —
In vain with trembling heart the coward turns,
In vain with generous rage the valiant burns.--
One common ruin, one promiscuous grave,
O'erwhelms the dastard; and receives the brave-
For Afric triumphs! - his avenging rage
No tears can soften, and no blood assuage.
He smites the trembling waves, and at the shock
Their fleets are dash'd upon the pointed rock.
He waves his flaming dart, and o'er their plains,
In mournful silence, desolation reigns-
Fly swift, ye years! - Arise, thou glorious
Thou great avenger of thy race be born!
The conquerors palm and deathless fame be thine! One gen'rous stroke, and liberty be mine!
-And now, ye Powers to whom the brave are dear,
Receive me falling, and your suppliant hear.
To you this unpolluted blood I pour,
you that spirit which ye gave restore!
I ask no lazy pleasures to possess,
No long eternity of happiness ;-
But if unstain'd by voluntary guilt,
At your great call, this being I have spilt,
For all the wrongs, which, innocent, I share,
For all I've suffer'd, and for all I dare;
O lead me to that spot, that sacred shore, Where souls are free, and men oppress no
Thomas Warton's prose-works are confused and desultory. His poetry is like a new medal, spotted with artificial rust; yet there is no man of his generation to whom our literature is so much indebted, except Percy. He bore a great part in what may be called our Poetical Reformation in recalling us from a blind faith in Idols, to the study of the true books.
It is delightful to hear how all Wykehamists speak of this happy-natured man, who carried with him a boy's heart to the grave. We still want a life of Warton, which should relate all his good-tempered oddities.
THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR:
STATELY the feast and high the cheer;
Girt with many an armed peer,
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