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The chariot of paternal Deity,

Flashing thick flames; wheel within wheel undrawn,
Itfelf inftinct with fpirit, but convoy'd

By four cherubic fhapes: four faces each
Had wond'rous; as with ftars, their bodies all,
And wings, were fet with eyes; with eyes the wheels
Of beril; and careering fires between :
Over their heads a cryftal firmament,
Whereon a fapphire throne, inlaid with pure
Amber, and colours of the fhow'ry arch.

HE, in celeftial panoply all arm'd
Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought,
Afcended. At his right hand, victory
Sat eagle-winged: befide him, hung his bow
And quiver, with three-bolted thunder stor❜d:
And, from about him, fierce effufion roll'd
Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkles dire...
Attended with ten thousand thoufand faints,
He onward came; far off, his coming fhone:
And twenty thousand (I their number heard)
Chariots of God, half on each hand were feen.
He, on the wings of cherub, rode fublime
On the cryftalline fky, in fapphire thron'd;
Illuftrious far and wide, but by his own
First feen. Them unexpected joy furpris'd,
When the great enfign of Meffiah blaz'd,
Aloft by angels borne, his fign in heaven:
Under whofe conduct, Michael foon reduc'd
His army, circumfus'd on either wing,
Under their head embodied all in one.
Before him, pow'r divine his way prepar'd.
At his command, th' uprooted hills retir'd
Each to his place: they heard his voice, and went
Obfequious. Heav'n his wonted face renew'd

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And, with fresh flow'rets, hill and valley finil'd.—
This faw his hapless foes, but food obdur'd;
And, now, to battle drew, difdaining flight,
Or faint retreat when the great Son of God,
To all his hoft, on either hand, thus fpoke.

STAND ftill in bright array, ye faints; here stand,
Ye angels arm'd: this day, from battle rest.
Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God
Accepted, fearless in his righteous caufe:
And, as ye have receiv'd, fo have ye done,
Invincibly. But, of this curfed crew,
The punishment to other hand belongs.
Vengeance is his, or whofe he fole appoints.
Number to this day's work is not ordain'd,
Nor multitude. Stand only, and behold
God's indignation on these godless pour'd
By me. Not you, but me, they have despis'd;
Yet envied. Against me, is all their rage;
Because the Father, t' whom, in heav'n fupreme,
Kingdom, and pow'r, and glory, appertains,
Hath honour'd me according to his will.
Therefore, to me, their doom he hath affign'd;
That they may have their wish, to try, with me,
In battle, which the ftronger proves; they all,
Or I alone against them; fince by ftrength
They measure all, of other excellence
Not emulous, nor care who them excels:
Nor other strife with them do I vouchsafe.


So fpoke the Son and into terror chang'd
His count'nance, too fevere to be beheld,
And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
At once, the four spread out their starry wings,
With dreadful fhade contiguous, and the orbs
Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the found


Of torrent floods, or of a numerous hoft.
He, on his impious foes, right onward drove,
Gloomy as night. Under his burning wheels
The ftedfaft empyrean fhook throughout,
All but the throne itself of God. Full foon
Among them he arriv'd; in his right hand
Grafping ten thoufand thunders, which he fent
Before him, fuch as in their fouls infix'd
Plagues. They aftonish'd all refiftance loft,
All courage: down their idle weapons dropt :
O'er fhields, and helms, and helmed heads, he rode,
Of thrones and mighty feraphim proftrate,
That wish'd the mountains, now, 'might be again
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire.
Nor lefs, on either fide, tempeftuous fell
His arrows, from the fourfold-vifag'd four
Diftinct with eyes, and from the living wheels
Diftinct alike with multitude of eyes:

One fpirit in them rul'd; and every eye
́Glar'd lightning, and fhot forth pernicious fire
Among the accurs'd, that wither'd all their ftrength,
And of their wonted vigour, left them drain'd,
Exhaufted, fpiritlefs, afflicted, fall'n.

Yet half his ftrength he put not forth; but check'd
His thunder in mid volley: for he meant,

Not to destroy, but root them out of heaven.
The overthrown he rais'd: and, as a herd
Of goats, or timorous flock, together throng'd,
Drove them before him, thunder-ftruck, pursued
With terrors, and with furies, to the bounds
And cryftal wall of heav'n; which opening wide,
Roll'd inward, and a fpacious gap disclos'd
Into the wafteful deep. The monftrous fight

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Struck them, with horror, backward; but far worse
Urg'd them behind. Headlong themselves they threw
Down from the verge of heav'n: eternal wrath
Burnt after them to the bottomlefs pit.

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EAR yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where, once, the fign-poft caught the paffing eye;
Low lies that houfe, where nut-brown draughts infpir'd;
Where grey-beard mirth, and fmiling toil retir'd;
Where village-ftatesmen, talk'd with looks profound;
And news, much older than their ale, went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace

The parlour-fplendours of that feftive place :
The white-wash'd wall; the nicely fanded floor;
The varnish'd clock, that click'd behind the door;
The cheft, contriv'd a double debt to pay,

A bed by night, a cheft of drawers by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The heart, except when winter chill'd the day,
With afpen boughs, and flowers, and fennel, gay;
While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for fhow,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, gliften'd in a row.

VAIN tranfitory splendours! could not all
Reprieve the tottering manfion from its fall.
Obfcure it finks; nor fhall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart:


Thither, no more, the peasant shall repair
To fweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more, the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No mere, the woodman's ballad, fhall prevail;
No more, the fmith, his dufky brow fhall clear,
Relax his ponderous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The host himself, no longer, fhall be found
Careful to fee the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prefs'd,
Shall kifs the cup, to pafs it to the rest.

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When Hector's ghoft before my fight appears :
Shrouded in blood he flood, and bath'd in tears,
Such as, when, by the fierce Pelides flain,
Theffalian courfers dragg'd him o'er the plain.
Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust
Thro' the pierc'd limbs: his body black with duft.
Unlike that Hector, who return'd from toils
Of war, triumphant in acian spoils;

Or him, who made the fainting Greeks retire,
Hurling amidst their fleets the Phrygian fire.
His hair and beard were clotted stiff with gore,
'The gaftly wounds, he for his country bore,
Now ftream'd afresh.

WAS, now, the dead of night; when fleep repairs toils, our minds with cares


I wept,

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