ALAS, Jerufalem! alas! where's now

Thy priftine glory, thy unmatch'd renown,
To which the heathen monarchies did bow?
Ah, hapless, miferable town!
Where's all thy majefty, thy beauty gone,
Thou once most noble, celebrated place,
The joy and the delight of all the earth;

Who gav't to godlike princes birth,
And bred up heroes, an immortal race?
Where's now the vast magnificence, which made
The fouls of foreigners adore

Thy wondrous brightnefs, which no more
Shall fhine, but lie in an eternal fhade?
Oh mifery where's all her mighty state,

Her fplendid train of numerous kings,
Her noble edifices, noble things,
Which made her feem fo eminently great,
That barbarous princes in her gates appear'd,
And wealthy prefents, as their tribute, brought,
To court her friendship? for her ftrength they
fear'd,

And all her wide protection fought.

But now, ah! now they laugh and cry,
See how her lofty buildings lie!
See how her flaming turrets gild the sky!

Where's all the young, the valiant, and the
gay,

That on her feftivals were us'd to play.
Harmonious tunes, and beautify the day?

The glittering troops, which did from far,
Bring home the trophies and the spoils of war,
Whom all the nations round with terror view'd,
Nor durft their godlike valour try?
Where'er they fought, they certainly fubdued,
And every combat gain'd a victory.
Ah! where's the house of the Eternal King:
The beauteous temple of the Lord of Hofts,
To whofe large treasuries our fleet did bring
The gold and jewels of remoteft coafts?
There had the infinite Creator plac'd

His terrible, amazing name, And with his more peculiar prefence grac'd The heavenly fanctum, where no mortal came, The high-prieft only; he but once a-year In that divine apartment might appear: So full of glory, and fo facred then, But now corrupted with the heaps of flain, Which fcatter'd round with blood, defile the mighty fane.

Alas, Jerufalem! each spacious freet
Was once fo fill'd, the numerous throng
Was forc'd to joftle as they pafs'd-along,

And thousands did with thousands meet; [treat.
The darling then of God, and man's belov'd re-
In thee was the bright throne of justice fix'd,
Juftice impartial, and vain fraud unmix'd!
She fcorn'd the beauties of fallacious gold,
Defpifing the most wealthy bribes;
But did the facred balance hold
With godlike faith to all our happy tribes.
Thy well built freets, and every noble fquare,
Were once with polish'd marble laid,
And all his lofty bulwarks made

With wondrous labour, and with artful care.
Thy ponderous gates, furprising to behold,
Were cover'd o'er with folid gold;
Whofe fplendor did fo glorious appear,

It ravish'd and amaz'd the eye;
And ftrangers paffing, to themselves would cry
How thick the bars of maffy filver lie!

What mighty heaps of wealth are here!
O happy people! and still happy be,
Celeftial city, from deftruction free,
May'it thou enjoy a long, entire prosperity

But now, oh wretched, wretched place!
Thy streets and palaces are spread
With heaps of carcafes, and mountains of the
dead,

The bleeding relics of the Jewish race!
Each corner of the town, no vacant space,
But is with breathlefs bodies fill'd,

Some by the fword, and fome by famine, kill'd,
Natives and ftrangers are together laid:

find:

Death's arrows all at random flew
Amongst the crowd, and no distinction made,
But both the coward and the valiant flew.
All in one difmal ruin join'd,
(For fwords and peftilence are blind
The fair, the good, the brave, no mercy
Thofe that from far, with joyful haste,
Came to attend thy festival,
Of the fame bitter poifon tafte,
And by the black, deftructive poifon fall;
For the avenging fentence pafs'd on all.
Oh! fee how the delight of human eyes
In horrid defolation lies!

See how the burning ruins flame!
Nothing now left, but a fad, empty name!
And the triumphant victor cries,
This was the fam'd Jerufalem!

The most obdurate creature muft
Be griev'd to fee thy palaces in duft,
Thofe ancient habitations of the juft:

And could the marble rocks but know
The miferies of thy fatal overthrow,
They'd strive to find fome fecret way unknown,
Maugre the fenfelefs nature of the stone,

Their pity and concern to fhew;
For now, where lofty buildings stood,
Thy fons corrupted carcafes are laid:
And all by this deftruction made
One common Golgotha, one field of blood!

ftate,

And made thee happy, made thee great;
Who fat upon the awful chair
Of mighty Mofes, in long fcarlet clad,
The good to cherish, and chaftife the bad,
Now fit in the corrupted air,

In filent melancholy, and in fad despair !

See how their murder'd children round them lie!
Ah, difmal fcene! hark how they cry!
Woe woe! one beam of mercy give,
Good Heaven! alas, for we would live!
Be pitiful, and fuffer us to die!

Thus they lament, thus beg for ease;
While in their feeble, aged arms they hold
The bodies of their offspring, ftiff and cold,
'To guard them from the ravenous favages:
Till their increasing forrows death perfuade

(For death must fure with pity fee The horrid defolation he has made) To put a period to all their mifery.

Thy wretched daughters that furvive,
Are by the heathen kept alive,
Only to gratify their luft,

And then be mix'd with common duft.
Oh! infupportable, ftupendous woe!

What fhall we do? ah! whither fhall we go? Down to the grave, down to those happy fhades below,

Where all our brave progenitors are bleft
With endless triumph and eternal reft.

But who, without a flood of tears, can fee
Thy mournful, fad catastrophe?

Who can behold thy glorious temple lie
In afhes, and not be in pain to die?
Unhappy, dear Jerufalem! thy woes
Ilave rais'd my griefs to fuch a vast excess,

Their mighty weight no mortal knows,
Thought cannot comprehend, or words exprefs,
Nor can they poffibly, while I furvive, be lefs.
Good Heaven had been extremely kind,
If it had ftruck me dead, or ftruck me blind,
Before this curfed time, this worst of days.
Is death quite tir'd? are all his arrows spent?
If not, why then fo many dull delays?
Quick, quick, let the obliging dart be fent!
Nay, at me only let ten thousand fly,
Whoe'er fhall wretchedly furvive; that I

May, happily, be sure to die. Yet ftill we live, live in excels of pain! Our friends and relatives are flain! Nothing but ruins round us fee, Nothing but defolation, woe, and misery! Nay, while we thus, with bleeding hearts, complain,

Our enemies without prepare

Their direful engines to purfue the war;
And you may flavishly perceive your breath,
Or feck for freedom in the arms of deatlı.

Thus then refolve; nor tremble at the thought:
Can glory be too dearly bought?

Since the Almighty wifdom has decreed,
That we, and all our progeny, fhould bleed,

Succeeding ages will with wonder view

What brave defpair compell'd us to! No, we will ne'er furvive another day!

Bring then your wives, your children, all
That's valuable, good, or dear,
With ready hands, and place them here;
They fhall unite in one vaft funeral.
I know your courages are truly brave,
And dare do any thing but ill :
Who would an aged father fave,
That he may live in chains and be à slave,
Or for remorfeless enemies to kill?

Let your bold hands then give the fatal blow:
For, what at any other time would be
The dire effect of rage and cruelty,

Is mercy, tenderness, and pity, now!
This then perform'd, we'll to the battle fly,
And there, amidst our flaughter'd foes, expire.
If 'tis revenge and glory you defire,
Now you may have them, if you dare but die!
Nay, more, ev'n freedom and eternity!

SINCE we can die but once, and after death
Our state no alteration knows;
But, when we have refign'd our breath,
Th'immortal fpirit goes

To endless joys, or everlasting woes:
Wife is the man who labours to fecure

That mighty and important stake;
And, by all methods, ftrives to make
His paffage fafe, and his reception fure.
Merely to die, no man of reafon fears;
For certainly we must,

As we are born, return to duft: 'Tis the last point of many lingering years: But whither then we go, Whither, we fain would know; But human understanding cannot shew.

This makes us tremble, and creates Strange apprehenfions in the mind; Fills it with reflefs doubts, and wild debates, Concerning what we, living, cannot find.

None know what death is, but the dead; Therefore we all, by nature, dying dread, As a ftrange, doubtful way, we know not how tread.

When to the margin of the grave we come, And scarce have one black, painful hour to live; No hopes, no profpect, of a kind reprieve, To ftop our speedy paffage to the tomb;'

How moving, and how mournful, is the fight! How wondrous pitiful, how wondrous fad! Where then is refuge, where is comfort, to be had In the dark minutes of the dreadful night,

To chcer our drooping fouls for their amazing

flight?

Feeble and languishing in bed we lie,
Defpairing to recover, void of reft;
Wifhing for death, and yet afraid to die
Terrors and doubts diftract our breast,
With mighty agonies and mighty pains oppreft.
Our face is moisten'd with a clammy sweat;
Faint and irregular the pulfes beat;

The blood unactive grows,
And thickens as it flows,
Depriv'd of all its vigour, all its vital heat.
Our dying eyes roll heavily about,
Their light just going out;
And for fome kind affiflance call:
But pity, ufelefs pity's all

Our weeping friends can give,

Or we receive;

Though their defires are great, their powers are

fmall,

The tongue's unable to declare

The pains and griefs, the miseries we bear;
How infupportable our torments are.

Mufic no more delights our deafening ears,
Reftores our joys, or diffipates our fears;
But all is melancholy, all is fad,
In robes of deepest morning clad;
For, every faculty, and every fenfe,
Partakes the woe of this dire exigence.

Then we are fenfible too late,
"Tis no advantage to be rich or great.
For, all the fulfome pride and pageantry of state
No confolation brings.

Riches and honours then are useless things,
Taftelefs, or bitter, all;

And, like the book which the apostle eat,

To the ill-judging palate fweet, But turn at last to naufeoufnefs and gall. Nothing will then our drooping spirits cheer, But the remembrance of good actions past. Virtue's a joy that will for ever last, And makes pale death lefs terrible appear; Takes out his baneful fting, and palliates our

fear.

In the dark anti-chamber of the grave

What would we give (ev'n all we have, All that our care and industry have gain'd, All that our policy, our fraud, our art, obtain'd) Could we recal those fatal hours again, Which we confum'd in fenfelefs vanities, Ambitious follies, or luxurious eafe!

For then they urge our terrors, and increase our pain.

Our friends and relatives ftand weeping by,
Diffolv'd in tears, to fee us die,

And plunge into the deep abyss of wide eternity.
In vain they mourn, in vain they grieve:
Their forrows cannot ours relieve.

They pity our deplorable eftate:

But what, alas, can pity do

To foften the decrees of fate?

Befides, the fentence is irrevocable too.
VOL. II,

All their endeavours to preserve our breath,

Though they do unsuccessful prove,
Shew us how much, how tenderly, they love,
But cannot cut off the entail of death.
Mournful they look, and crowd about our bed:
One, with officious hafte,

Brings us a cordial we want fense to taste;
Another foftly raises up our head

This wipes away the fweat; that, fighing,

cries

See what convulfions, what ftrong agonies,
Both foul and body undergo!

His pains no intermission know;

For every gafp of air he draws, returns in fighs.
Each would his kind affittance lend,

To fave his dear relation, or his dearer friend;
But still in vain with destiny they all contend.

Our father, pale with grief and watching grown Takes our cold hand in his, and cries, adieu! Adieu, my child! now I must follow you:

Then weeps, and gently lays it down. Our fons, who, in their tender years, Were objects of our cares, and of our fears, Come trembling to our bed, and, kneeling, cry, Blefs us, O father! now before you die;

Blefs

us, and be you blefs'd to all eternity. Our friend, whom equal to ourselves we love, Compaffionate and kind,

Cries, will you leave me here behind? Without me fly to the blefs'd feats above? Without me, did I fay? Ah, no!

Without thy friend thou canst not go: For, though thou leav't me groveling here below, My foul with thee fhall upward fly, And hear thy fpirit company,

Through the bright paffage of the yielding sky. Ev'n death, that parts thee from thyself, shall be Incapable to feparate

(For 'tis not in the power of fate)

My friend, my best, my dearest friend, and me:
But, fince it must be fo, farewell;

For ever! No; for we fhall meet again,
And live like gods, though now we die like

men,

In the eternal regions, where juft fpirits dwell. The foul, unable longer to maintain

The fruitless and unequal ftrife, Finding her weak endeavours vain, To keep the counterfcarp of life, By flow degrees, retires towards the heart, And fortifies that little fort With all its kind artilleries of art; Botanic legions guarding every port. But death, whofe arms no mortal can repel, A formal fiege difdains to lay; Summons his fierce battalions to the fray, And in a minute ftorms the feeble citadel. Sometimes we niay capitulate, and he Pretends to make a folid peace; But 'tis all ham, all artifice, That we may negligent and careiefs be: For, if his armies are withdrawn to-day, And we believe no danger near, But all is peaceable, and all is clear; His troops return fome unfufpected way; Ji

While in the folt embrace of fleep we lie, The fecret murderers ftab us, and we die.

Since our first parents' fall,
Inevitable death defcends on all;

A portion none of human race can miss
But that which makes it fweet or biter, is
The fears of mifery, or certain hopes of blifs.
For, when th' impenitent and wicked die,

Leaded with crimes and infamy;
If any fenfe at that fad time remains,
They feel amazing terrors, mighty pains;
The earnest of that vaft, ftupendous woc,
Which they to all eternity muft undergo,
Confin'd in hell with everlasting chains.

Infernal fpirits hover in the air,
Like ravenous wolves, to fcize upon the prey,
And hurry the departed fouls away
To the dark receptacles of defpair:

Where they mult dwell till that tremendous

day,

When the loud trump fhall call them to appear
Bere a Judge moft terrible, and most severe;
By whole jatt fentence they must go
To everlasting pains, and endleis woc.

Put the good man, whofe foul is pure,
Unfpotted, regular, and free

From all the ugly ftains of luft and villany,

Of mercy and of pardon fure,

Looks through the darkness of the gloomy night:

And fees the dawning of a glorious day;
Sees crowds of angels ready to convey

His foul whene'er fhe takes her flight
To the furprising manfions of immortal light.
Then the celcfial guards around him ftand;
Nor fuffer the black dæmons of the air
T'oppofe his paffage to the promis'd land,
Or terrify his thoughts with wild despair;
But all is calm within, and all without is fair.
His prayers, his charity, his virtues, prefs
To plead for mercy when he wants it moft;
Not one of all the happy number's loft:

And thefe bright advocates ne'er want fuccefs,
But when the foul's releas'd from dull mortality,
She paffes up in triumph through the fky;
Where he's united to a glorious throng
Of angels; who, with a celeftial fong,
Congratulate her conqueft as the flies along.

If, therefore, all muft quit the fiage,
When, or how foon, we cannot know;
But, late or carly, we are fure to go;

In the fresh bloom of youth, or wither'd age;
We cannot take too fedulous a care,

In this important, grand affair:
For as we die, we must remain;
Hereafter all cur hopes are vain,

To make our peace with Heaven, or to return

again.

The heathen, who no better understood

Than what the light of nature taught, declar'd,

No future nifery could be prepar`d

For the Lincere, the merciful, the good;

But, if there was a state of rest,
They fhould with the fame happiness be bleft
As the immortal gods, if gods there were,
poffeft.

We have the promife of th' eternal truth,
Thofe who live well, and pious paths purfue,
To man, and to their Maker, true,
Let them expire in age, or youth,
Can never miss

Their way to everlafling blifs:
But from a world of mifery and care
To manfions of eternal eafe repair;

Where joy in full perfection flows, And in an endless circle moves, Through the vaft round of beatific love, Which no ceffation knows.

ON THE

GENERAL CONFLAGRATION,

AND

ENSUING JUDGMENT.

A PINDARIC ESSAY.

"Effe quoque in fatis, reminifcitur, affore tempus "Quo mare, quo tellus, correptaque regia cœu "Ardeat, et mundi moles operofa laborat.”

OVID MET.

Now the black days of univerfal doom,
Which wondrous prophecies foretold, are come:
What strong convulfions, what ftupendous woe,
Muft finking nature undergo;
Amidit the dreadful wreck, and final overthrow!
Methink I hear her, confcions of her fate,

With fearful groans, and hideous cries,
Fill the prefaging skies;
Unable to fupport the weight
Or of the prefent, or approaching miferies.
Methinks I hear her fummon all
Her guilty offspring raving with defpair,
And trembling, cry aloud, Prepare,
Ye fublunary powers, t' attend my funeral?

See, fee the tragical portents,
Thofe difmal harbingers of dire events!
Loud thunders roar, and darting lightnings f
Through the dark concave of the troubles

fky;

The fiery ravage is begun, the end is nigh.
See how the laring meteors blaze!

Like baleful torches, O they come,
To light diffolving Nature to her tomb!
And, fcattering round their peftilential rays,
Strike the affrighted nations with a wild amaze.
Vaft sheets of flame, and globes of fire,
By an impetuous wind are driven
Through all the regions of the inferior heaven
Till, hid in fulphurous fmoke, they feeming's

expire.

3

Sad and amazing 'tis to fee What mad confufion rages over all

This fcorching ball!

No country is exempt, no nation free, But each partakes the epidemic mifery. What difmal havock of mankind is made By wars, and peftilence, and dearth,

Through the whole mournful earth?
Which with a murdering fury they invade,
Forlock by Providence, and all propitious aid!
Whilft fiends let loofe, their utmoft rage em-
To ruin all things her below;
Their malice and revenge no limits know,
But, in the univerfal tumult, all destroy.

Distracted mortals from their cities fly,
For fafety to their champain ground.
But there no fafety can be found;
The vengeance of an angry Deity,

[ploy,

With unrelenting fury, does inclofe them round:
And whilft for mercy fome aloud implore
The God they ridicul'd before;
And others, raving with their woe,
(For hunger, thirst, despair, they undergo)
- Blafpheme and curfe the Power they fhould
adore :
[tends,

The earth, parch'd up with drought, her jaws ex-
And opening wide a dreadful tomb,
The howling multitude at once descends
Together all into her burning womb.

The larger planets, which once fhone fo bright,
With the reflected rays of borrow'd light,
Shook from their centre, without motion lie,
Unwieldy globes of folid night,

And ruinous lumber of the sky.
Amidft this dreadful hurricane of woes,
(For fire, confufion, horror, and despair,
Fill every region of the tortur'd earth and air)
The great archangel his loud trumpet blows;
At whofe amazing found fresh agonies

Upon expiring nature seize:

For now fhe'll in few minutes know
The ultimate event and fate of all below.
Awake, ye dead, awake, he cries;
(For all must come)

All that had human breath, arife,
To hear your laft, unalterable doom,

At this the ghaftly tyrant, who had sway'd
So many thousand ages uncontroll’'d,

No longer could his fceptre hold;
But gave up all, and was himself a captive made.
The fcatter'd particles of human clay,
Which in the filent grave's dark chambers lay,
Refume their pristine forms again,

And now from mo tal, grow immortal men.
Stupendous energy of facred Power,

Which can collect whatever caft

The smallest atoms, and that shape restore Which they had worn fo many years before, That through frange accidents and numerous changes past!

See how the joyful angels fly
From every quarter of the sky,
To gather and to convoy ali
The pious fons of human race,
To one capacious place,
Above the confines of this flaming ball.

See with what tenderness and love they bear
Thofe righteous fouls through the tumultuous
Whilft the ungodly ftand below,
Raging with fhame, confufion, and defpair,

Amidst the burning overthrow,
Expecting fiercer torment, and acuter woe.

[air;

Round them infernal fpirits howling fly; O horror, curfes, tortures, chains! they cry And roar aloud with execrable blafphemy.

}

Hark how the darling fons of infamy
Who once diffolv'd in pleasure's lap,
And laugh'd at this tremendous day.
To rocks and mountains now to hide them cry,
But rocks and mountains all in afhes lie.
Their shame's fo mighty, and fo ftrong their fear,
That, rather than appear

Before a God incens'd, they would be hurl'd
Amongst the burning ruins of the world,
And lie conceal'd, if poffiole, for ever there.
Time was they would not own a Deity,
Nor after death a future ftate;

But now, by fad experience, find, too late, There is, and terrible to that degree, That rather than behold his face, they'd ceale

to be.