Why juftice kindles dire avenging flames,
What endless power the lifted arm proclaims ;
Why mercy fhines again with chearful ray,
And glory double-gilds the lightfome day.
Though nations change, and Ifrael's empire dies,
Yet ftill the cafe on earth again may rise;
Eternal Providence its rule retains,
And ftill preferves, and ftill applies the strains.
'Twas fuch a gift, the Prophet's facred pen,
On his departure, left the fons of men ;
Thus he, and thus the swan her breath refigns,
(Within the beauty of poetic lines,)
He white with innocence, his figure she,
And both harmonious, but the sweetër he.
Death learns to charm, and, while it leads to blifs,
Has found a lovely circumftance in this,
To fuit the meekest turn of easy mind,
And actions chearful in an air refign'd.
Thou flock whom Mofes to thy freedom led,
How wilt thou lay the venerable dead?
Go (if thy fathers taught a work they knew)
Go build a pyramid to Glory due,
Square the broad bafe, with floping fides arife,
And let the point diminish in the fkies.
There leave the corpfe, impending o'er his head
The wand whofe motion winds and waves obey'd,
On fable banners to the fight defcribe
The painted arms of every mourning tribe.
And thus may public grief adorn the tomb,
Deep-streaming downwards through the vaulted room.
On the black ftone a fair infcription raise,
That fums his government to speak his praise,
And may the stile as brightly worth proclaim
As if affection, with a pointed beam,
Engrav'd or fir'd the words, or honour due
Had with itself inlaid the tablet through.
But ftop the pomp that is not man's to pay,
For God will grace him in a nobler way.
Mine eyes perceive an orb of heavenly state,
With fplendid forms and light ferene replete ;
I hear the found of fluttering wings in air,
I hear the tuneful tongues of angels there :
They fly, they bear, they reft on Nebo's head,
And in thick glory wrap the reverend dead;
This errand crowns his fongs, and tends to prove
His near communion with the Quire above.
Now swiftly down the steepy mount they go,
Now swiftly glides their fhining orb below,
And now moves off, where rifing grounds deny
To spread their valley to the distant eye.
Ye blefs'd inhabitants of glittering air,
You've borne the Prophet, but we know not where.
Perhaps, left Ifrael, over-fondly led,
In rating worth when envy leaves the dead,
Might plant a grove, invent new rites divine,
Make him their idol, and his grave the shrine.
But what disorder? what repels the light?
And ere its season forces on the night?
Why fweep the spectres o'er the blasted ground?
What shakes the mount with hollow-roaring found?
Hell rolls beneath it, terror stalks before
With fhrieks and groans, and horror bursts a door;
And Satan rifes in infernal ftate,
Drawn up by malice, envy, rage, and hate,
A darkening vapour with fulphureous fteam,
In pitchy curlings edg'd by fullen flame,
And fram'd a chariot for the dreadful form,
Drives whirling up on mad Confusion's storm.
Then fiercely burning where the Prophet dy'd,
Nor fhall thy nation 'fcape my wrath, he cry'd;
This corpfe I'll enter and thy flock mislead,
And all thy miracles my lies fhall aid.
But where? He's gone, and, by the scented sky,
The favourite courtiers have been lately nigh;
Oh, flow to bufinefs, curs'd in mischief's hour,
Trace on their odours, and if hell has power-
This faid, with spite and with a bent for ill,
He shot with fury from the trembling hill.
In vain, proud fiend, thy threats are half expreft,
And half lie choaking in thy scornful breast,
His fhining bearers have perform'd their rite,
And laid him foftly down in fhades of night,
A warriour heads the band, great Michael he,
Renown'd for victories in wars with thee,
A fword of flame to stop thy course he bears,
Nor has thy rage avail'd, nor can thy fnares;
The Lord rebuke thy pride! he meekly cries:
The Lord has heard him, and thy project dies.
Here Mofes leaves my fong, the tribes retire, The defert flies, and forty years. expire;
And now, my fancy, for a while be still,
And think of coming down from Nebo's hill.
Go fearch among thy forms, and thence prepare
A cloud in folds of foft furrounding air!
Go find a breeze to lift thy cloud on high,
To waft thee gently-rock'd in open sky,
Then ftealing back to leave a filent calm,
And thee repofing in a grove of palm,
The place will fuit my next fucceeding strain,
And I'll awake thee foon to fing again.
TIME, fire of years, unfold thy leaf anew,
And still the past recall to prefent view,
Spread forth thy circles, fwiftly gaze them o'er,
But where an action's nobly fung before,
There ftop and stay for me, whofe thoughts defign
To make another's fong refound in mine.
Pass where the priest's proceffion bore the law,
When Jordan's parted waters fix'd with awe,
While Ifrael march'd upon the naked fand,
Admir'd the wonder, and obtain'd the land;
Slide through the numerous fates of Canaan's kings,
While conquefts rode on Expedition's wings,
Glance over Ifrael at a fingle view,
In bondage oft and oft unbound anew,
Till Jabin rife, and Deborah ftand enroll'd,
Upon the gilded leaf's revolving fold.
Oh, king fubdued! Oh, woman born to fame! Oh, wake my fancy for the glorious theme;
Oh, wake my fancy with the fenfe of praise,
Oh, wake with warblings of triumphant lays.
The land you rife-in fultry funs invade ;
But, when you rife to fing, you'll find a shade.
Those trees in order, and with verdure crown'd,
The facred prophetefs's tent furround,
And that fair palm a front exactly plac'd,
That overtops and overspreads the rest,
Near the firm root a moffy bank supports,
Where Juftice opens unexpenfive courts:
There Deborah fits, the willing tribes repair,
Refer their causes, and the judges there;
Nor needs a guard to bring her subjects in,
Each Grace, each Virtue, proves a guard unfeen;
Nor wants the penalties enforcing law,
While great Opinion gives effectual awe.
Now twenty years, that roll'd in heavy pain, Saw Jabin gall them with Oppreffion's chain, When she, submissive to Divine Command, Proclaims a war for Freedom o'er the land, And bids young Barack with thofe men defcend, Whom in the mountains he for battle train'd. Go, fays the Prophetess, thy foes affail, Go make ten thousand over all prevail : Make Jabin's captains feel thine edged sword, Make all his army, God has spoke the word. He, fit for war, and Ifrael's hope in fight, Yet doubts the numbers, and by that the fight; Then thus replies with wish to stand fecure, Or eager thought to know the conqueft fure;
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