The infant corn, which yet did scarce appear, Of every thing that grew, And the well-stor'd Egyptian year Began to clothe her fields and trees anew. When, lo! a scorching wind from the burnt countries blew, And endless legions with it drew Left all the earth depopulate and bare, Gave with large bounty to the thankful soil, Breath'd forth a violent western wind, Which all these living clouds did headlong bear (No stragglers left behind) Into the purple sea, and there bestow On the luxurious fish a feast they ne'er did know. With untaught joy Pharaoh the news does hear, And little thinks their fate attends on him and his so near. What blindness or what darkness did there e'er What, e'er, but that which now does represent From the deep baleful caves of hell below, Through secret conduits monstrous shapes arose, All heaven's eclipsed face did shroud; Seem'd, with large wings spread o'er the sea and earth, To brood up a new Chaos's deformed birth. Did at the dreadful sight wink and expire, The living men were in their standing houses buried; But the long Night no slumber knows, But the short Death finds no repose! Ten thousand terrors through the darkness fled, View'd all the scenes invisible of Night. Of God's dreadful anger these Was mounted softly to her noon, And dewy Sleep, which from Night's secret springs arose, Gently as Nile the land o'erflows. When, lo! from the high countries of refined day, The golden heaven without allay— Whose dross, in the creation purg'd away, Made up the sun's adulterate ray Michael, the warlike prince, does downwards fly, Swift as the journeys of the sight, Swift as the race of light, And with his winged will cuts through the yielding sky. He pass'd through many a star, and, as he pass'd, Shone (like a star in them) more brightly there Than they did in their sphere. On a tall pyramid's pointed head he stopp'd at last, And a mild look of sacred pity cast Down on the sinful land where he was sent, Tinflict the tardy punishment. "Ah! yet," said he, " yet, stubborn king! repent, "Whilst thus unarm'd I stand, "Ere the keen sword of God fill my commanded "hand; "Suffer but yet thyself, and thine to live: "Who would, alas! believe "That it for man," said he, "So hard to be forgiven should be, "And yet for God so easy to forgive!" He spoke, and downwards flew, And o'er his shining form a well-cut cloud he threw, Made of the blackest fleece of Night, And close-wrought to keep in the powerful light, Than in wide air the wanton swallows flee. The sharpest sword that e'er was laid Up in the magazines of God to scourge a wicked land. Through Egypt's wicked land his march he took, And as he march'd the sacred first-born strook [heir. Of every womb; none did he spare, None, from the meanest beast to Cenchre's purple The swift approach of endless night The mixed sounds of scatter'd deaths they hear, As brighter lightning cuts a way And no true mark'd successor to be found. Whilst health and strength, and gladness does pos sess The festal Hebrew cottages; The blest Destroyer comes not there, That new begins their well-reformed year: Well was he skill'd i' th' character Divine; He bow'd, and worship'd, as he pass'd, The mighty mystery through its humble sign. The sword strikes now too deep and near, No diligence or cost they spare To haste the Hebrews now away : But, oh the bounty which to fear we owe, That it scarce out-lives the blow. Ten times o'ercome, he still th' unequal war renews. |