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Fierce Discord thunders, and the hills reply Hoarse echoing-trembles earth, and shakes the From host to host gigantic Terror strides, [sky. And darts chill horror through the bravest
Grim Death amid the ranks in triumph rides, And calls Hell's hungry bloodhounds to the feast.
Dissolved are Honour's, Friendship's, Nature's ties;
See, by the brother's sword the brother dies!
See, mute with horror, writhed with anguish, there
Bent o'er his murder'd son the gory sire-
Looking some dreadful thought in stern despair;
Then with self vengeance on the corse expire!
Here fell Revenge around
Turns her keen eye to find her hated foe;
Full at his heart she drives the desperate blow,
And turns the' envenom'd weapon in the wound.
Wide Desolation o'er the weeping plains,
Rushing with wasteful sway,
Like a vast torrent swollen with wintry rains,
Sweeps the rich product of the year away.
High o'er the' imperial city's glittering spires
Blaze to the midnight sky the crackling fires.
Sights of horror, sounds of woe,
Mark the dire progress of the victor foe!
The harden'd soldier looks relentless on,
And shouts triumphant o'er the' expiring groan.
There, from his snowy waste and frozen skies, The ravening Russian eagle flies,
And swiftly shooting from his airy way
Pounces on his trembling prey.
The Polish peasant sees the flames invade
His long-loved cot, and blast the blooming grove,
Where whilom to his nut-brown maid
He told his tales of love.
His flocks and herds the soldier's spoil,
He flies exiled his native soil,
Staggering with age and care;
With cold and famine faint, his infant race,
And pining in his fond embrace,
His soul with agonizing tortures tear.
But now the Angel's eye new scenes invite:
He sees a long procession robed in white;
Melodious warblings trill on every tongue;
To God ascend the lays
In sounds of sacred praise,
His love the grateful subject of the song.
To pay the solemn vow,
To yon fair temple's gilded domes they go.
A sudden transport seized the seraph's breast,
As when among his brethren of the bless'd,
In heavenly bowers above,
To rapture's voice he tuned the lyre of love.
Quick through the sounding aisle a glance he darts, Then back with horror starts.
There Superstition sits in idol state,
To kneeling trembling crowds denouncing fate,
Far beaming rays her flaming brows infold;
Her beauteous outside gorgeous all with gold:
Her inward form, by art in vain conceal'd,
To his keen eye the fiend of hell reveal'd.
Now in dread majesty sublime she stands,
And wields the three-fork'd thunder in her hands;
Now to thick shades and cheerless gloom retires,
And through the darkness breathes devouring fires;
At her command the deadly lightning flies;
At her command the' avenging furies rise;
Hark! the harsh jarrings of the clanking chain!
Sighs of sorrow, sullen moans,
Doleful shrieks, and dying groans,
And hell's own horrors fill the' affrighted fane.
Swords, axes, racks bestrew the purpled floor;
The clotted altars blush with human gore;
Grim Terrors, panic Fears surround the shrine;
The wild Enthusiast feels the flame divine;
Sad Melancholy sighs for ever there,
And in her dreary dungeon raves Despair.
A madding rout around
By turns devoutly curse, devoutly pray,
For God they cancel faith, for God betray,
For GOD infuriate deal the deathful wound.
Affection, Pity, Nature plead in vain;
The friend is sacrificed, the brother slain !
While the fond sire, by pious rage possess'd,
Drives the fell dagger to the daughter's breast!
Aghast the seraph turn'd his tearful eye,
Beat his sad breast, and sought again the sky.
"THERE-lie for ever there-' the murderer said;
And press'd his heel contemptuous on the dead—
'No terrors haunt the well concerting mind!
Vengeance my aim, thy gold I leave behind:
Clutch'd in thy grasp be thy own knife survey'd—
Thus so may death self sought thy name degrade!
My steel, that did the deed, this lake shall hide-
Here-rust beneath the all-concealing tide-
The long descent these mounting bubbles tell-
Down; down-still deeper-to the fancied hell.
But why this needless care?-the wretch un-
My garment bloodless-no man heard him groan-
Nor he, the fabled monarch of the skies-
He spoke, and fix'd on heaven his iron eyes.
No terrors haunt the well concerting mind!— Sayst thou, when March unchains the midnight wind?
When the full blast, as Alp-descending Po
Whirls through the rocky straight the liquid snow,
Down the vale driving with resistless course,
Pours on thy walls its congregated force;
When tottering chimneys bellow o'er thy head,
And the floor quakes beneath thy sleepless bed?
No terrors haunt thee!-Sayst thou, when the
Bids all its horrors, each in wildest form,
From adverse winds on wings of thunder haste,
And close around thee on the naked waste;
Bids at each flash untimely night retire,
And opes and shuts the living vault of fire:
When from each bursting cloud the arrowy flame
Seems at thy central breast to point its aim;
While crash on crash redoubles from on high,
As though the shatter'd fabric of the sky
Would rush in hideous ruin through the air,
To whelm the guilty wretch whom lightnings spare?
No terrors haunt thee!-Lo, 'tis Winter's reign:
His broad hand, plunging in the' Atlantic main,
Lifts into mountain piles the boiling deep,
And bounds with vales of death each billowy steep.
Now, when thy bark, the dire ascent surpass'd,
Turns to the black abyss the downward mast;
In that dread pause, while yet the dizzy prow
Poised on the verge o'erhangs the gulf below;
Now press thy conscious bosom, and declare
If guilt has raised no throbs of terror there.
Still art thou proof?-In sleep I see thee laid: Dreams, by the past inspired, thy sleep invade. Houseless and drear a plain expands in view: There travels one like him thy fury slew:
Couch'd in the brake, a ruffian from his den
Starts forth, and acts thy bloody deed again :
Like thine his mien, like thine his iron stare
Fix'd in defiance on the vault of air.
Lo! as secure he quits the' unplunder'd dead,
Wide-weltering seas of fire before him spread;
With frenzied step he hurries to the shore,
Shrieks, plunges headlong, and is seen no more!
Thou wakest, and smilest in scorn!-Has Hea-
ven no dart
Potent to reach that adamantine heart?
Yes. He, whose viewless gales the forest bend, Whose feeblest means attain the mightiest end,