Look round, my foul, o'er ev'ry scene below,
What millions rife, diftinguifh'd by their woe!
See widows, orphans, mothers, infants flain,
A feeble, harmless, weeping, fainting train !
What crowds, extinct by an untimely doom,
Are torn from life in youth's deluding bloom!
A throng of mourners fighing by their fide,
The hoary fire perhaps, and virgin bride;
The friend whofe eyes with gushing streams o'erflow,
The mother pierc'd with agonizing woe.

See! where the fhade, to ftrike his gasping prey,
Draws the keen dart, that never miss'd its way;
Thron'd on the ruin of terreftrial things,

He fits, and tramples on the duft of kings.

See, his black chariot floats in ftreams of gore,

Pale

rage behind, and terror ftrides before. Not beauty with'ring in the bloom of years, Not dove-ey'd innocence dissolv'd in tears, Not kneeling love that trembles as it prays, Not heart-ftruck anguish fix'd in ftupid gaze! Not all the frantic groans of wild defpair; Not helpless age; that tears its filver hair; Can ftay one moment the fevere command, Or wreft th' avenging dart from that relentless hand. Here pause the crowds extended on the bier Claim from the filial heart a parting tear;

Spend on the tomb where drooping grandeur lies,
One mournful burft of fympathifing fighs.
O death! terrific ere thy dart is try'd !

Whofe hand o'erturns the tow'ring domes of pride;
What wide deftruction marks thy fatal reign!
What numbers bleed thro' all thy vaft domain !
Whether thy arm, its dreadful ftrength to show,
Like Sampfon's, fweeps its thoufands at a blow;
Or gives the cannon's parting ball to fly;

Or wings the lightning glancing thro' the sky;
Or burfts the opening ground (whofe fields deftroy'd)
The city tumbling thro' the dreadful void!
If, in the fever, famine, plague, thou blast
Th' unpeopl'd earth, and lay the nations wafte;
Tho' all her fons, the victims of thy pow'r,
Her fons, that fall by millions in an hour;
Yet know, fhould all thy terrors ftand difplay'd,
"Tis but the meaner foul that fhrinks with dread:
That folemn scene the fuppliant captive mourns;
That fcene, intrepid virtue views, and fcorns.
Thine, virtue! thine is each perfuafive charm,
Thine ev'ry foul with heav'nly raptures warm;
Thine all the blifs that innocence beftows,
And thine the heart that feels another's woes.
What tho' thy train, neglected, or unknown,
Have fought the filent vale, and figh'd alone?

Tho

Tho' torrents ftream'd from every melting eye?
Tho' from each bofom burst th' unpity'd figh?
Tho' oft, with life's diftracting cares oppreft,
They long'd to fleep in everlasting reft?
O envy'd misery !—what foft delight

Breath'd on the mind, and fmooth'd the gloom of night: When nobler prospects, an eternal train,

Made rapture glow in ev'ry beating vein;

When heav'n's bright domes the smiling eye furvey'd,
And joys that bloom'd more sweetly from the shade.
Now all appear'd afcending from the tomb,
Who breath'd the air, or flumber'd in the womb:
The crowds that live in all th' unbounded skies,
Now rais'd the trembling head with wild furprize:
Stars with their num'rous fons augment the throng,
Each world's majeftic offspring towr'd along:
Thick, as the burning fun's meridian rays,

The hov'ring infects basking in the blaze;

The fwarms that flutter, when the day's withdrawn ;
The throng that rifes with the rising dawn;
The world fupported by Jehovah's care,

And all the race that peoples all the air,
Rang'd on a field by labouring angels rear'd,
In dreadful length th' innum'rous throng appear'd:
Earth's nobleft fons, the mighty wretched things,
Call'd heroes, confuls, Cefars, judges, kings,

Now fwell'd the crowd, promifcuous and unknown,
The meanest flave from him who fill'd a throne:
Each tyrant now would blefs the yawning tomb,
And pride ftands fhudd'ring at th' approaching doom.
Think you behold ten thousand armies ftand,

All form'd, and rais'd by fome divine command;
Saw where the giants burst their dark abode,
While the tomb labour'd with th' unusual load.
Let Thefeus, Samfon, tow'r upon the plain,
With ftern Achilles, from a field of flain :

Let Rome's and Greece' triumphant fons appear,
A Cefar there, an Alexander here:

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Her fplendid multitudes let Perfia join,

Thy fwarms Thermopyla, and, Iffus, thine:
See Cannæ tainted with a purple flood,

And great Pharfalia's fields that ftream with blood:
Extend the view:-See god-like Trajan's pow'r :
Th' intrepid chief proceeds from shore to shore,
Flies on the foe, and paints the reeking field with gore!
Lo! next a throng of wild Barbarians come,
The crowds that triumph'd o'er imperial Rome:
See, like a cloud that gathers on the day,

Th' embattled fquadrons shape their dreadful way:
Prodigious hofts! who (all their foes o'erthrown)
Once rul'd fupreme, and made a world their own:

Next Afia's millions fill th' extended space,

Known from the reft, a foft, unmanly race;
While there, (each bofom rough with many a scar)
Stand Afric's troops, the ftormy fons of war.
Columbus' world, a wide innum'rous throng,
Swells on the ftraining fight, and pours along,
Bleft race! ere difcord fnatch'd the gleaming shield,
Ere war tremendous thunder'd o'er the field,

Ere freedom ranging o'er Peruvian plains,

Mark'd their dire wafte, and heard the clanking chains :
At once dim forrow veil'd her fhining eyes,

She spread her dazzling plumes, and ey'd the skies;
Guilt, rage, and death, terrific fhapes! appear,
The diftant tumult murmur'd on her ear:
She figh'd;-and mounting on the glancing ray,
Shot o'er the scene, and fought the climes of day.
Now rouz'd to life th' affembled myriads trod,
No tyrant o'er them shakes th' avenging rod;
'Tis conscience speaks-th' impartial mandate giv'n
Configns to death, or opes the climes of heav'n;
Her looks divine the fever'd thought controul,
Her voice like mufic thrills th' enraptur'd foul.
But fee, where rifing, a refplendent throng,
Thy fons, Europa, claim a nobler fong!
Lo! Britain's heroes burft upon the fight,

Each chief who dar'd th' exulting foe to fight!