Still shall they gladden hist'ry's page,
And rise above their threaten'd doom;
Still shall they stand the wonder of their age,
The boast and pride of cent'ries yet to come.
What hideous crash salutes my wounded ears,
Startling my soul with wild and panic fears?
Nor headlong avalanche, nor fallen tower,
Nor pond'rous walls crushed by the cannon's
Nor mighty cat'ract from the mountain's brow,
Rushing with clamour to the gulf below;
Nor thunder rolling with appalling voice;
E'er issued forth a deeper, louder noise.
Where shall I look? my eye which quarter turn?
Where point my steps the awful cause to learn?
Suspense was short indeed-on looking round,
The mighty cause lay stretch'd upon the ground.
The massy Oak, whose hundred arms on high,
Briareus like, seem'd Heaven to defy,
Now lay, with lower'd looks and humbl'd mien,
A fractur'd heap upon the burthen'd plain.
Here for a century twice told had stood,
In tow'ring strength, the monarch of the wood.
Here had he claim'd the wonder-stricken eye,
Of classic taste afar, of rustic nigh.
Coeval with his Lord's departed race, [grace;
Whose honor'd names the sculptur'd marble
His lofty boughs still flourish to ensure
The memory of greatness gone before.
With grand majestic mien he sternly frown'd,
And aw'd to littleness his subjects round.
'Gainst man himself he seem'd to rear his head,
His lengthen'd arms in threat'ning posture
spread.
Full many a midnight blast has rock'd the world,
While nature seem'd almost to atoms hurl'd;
Peal upon peal, while awful thunder roll'd,
And light'nings ripp'd the beast beneath that
stroll'd;
Still he undaunted brav'd the tempest's ire, The thunder's howling and the light'ning's fire; And rising day restor'd him to the sight, Uninjur'd by the terrors of the night.
Alas! alas! his day of glory's flown,
His stately bearing ceas'd, his beauty gone.
The fatal woodman mark'd him for his own,
Soon seal'd his doom, and pull'd his honours
down :
Earth trembled at his fall, and far around,
Th' astonished rustics startled at the sound.
E'en thus proud monarchies in splendour rise, And with aspiring brows o'ertop the skies: E'en thus obedient to their destin'd call, Nations and empires into ruin fall.
The pride of conquest and the pomp of pow'r, Bend to their doom and wait th' appointed
Till, ripe for fate, they totter and decay,
And sink in turn beneath the conq'ror's sway.
Lo! where the lofty tow'rs of Belus lie,
Belus, the tyrant of the eastern sky.
Once in proud majesty she rear'd her head,
The nation's envy and the nation's dread.
Here in the pride of pow'r she held her sway,
And tributary kings around her lay.
Here heroes chain'd, and captive monarchs knelt,
The galling yoke here conquer'd millions felt;
Here Sion's sons consum'd the mournful day,
And Judah's daughters ceas'd th' accustomed lay.
These scenes of former glory long have fled,
And Babylon is number'd with the dead:
The spot now water'd by the liquid flood,
Where once her hundred tow'rs terrific stood;
Destruction fell in one tremendous show'r,
And on her ruins rose the Persian pow'r.
For Cyrus now had drawn his flaming sword;
Cyrus predicted by the prophet's word.
Then impious Babel to the centre shook,
Assyria bow'd, and fell beneath his stroke:
The sceptred Lydian here a conq'ror found,
And Croesus' walls were levell'd with the ground:
Surrounding nations trembled at his nod,
And sunk beneath the instrument of God.
Once more the captive breath'd his native air,
Once more repair'd the ravages of war;
Mercy and peace sustain'd the Persian throne,
She reign'd the empress of the world alone;
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