Here crown thy triumphs:-life or death 'decree, The weakest here disdains thy power and thee."

Thus when the Patriarch ceased, and every

ear

Still listen'd in suspense of hope and fear,
Sublime, ineffable, angelic grace
Beam'd in his meek and venerable face;
And sudden glory, streaming round his head,
O'er all his robes with lambent lustre
spread;

His earthly features grew divinely bright,
His essence seem'd transforming into light.
Brief silence, like the pause between the
flash,

At midnight, and the following thundercrash,

Ensued :—Anon, with universal cry,
The Giants rush'd upon the prophet-Die!
The king leapt foremost from his throne;-
he drew

His battle-sword, as on his mark he flew ;
With aim unerring, and tempestuous sound,
The blade descended deep along the ground;
The foe was fled, and, self-o'erwhelm'd, his
strength

Hurl'd to the earth his Atlantean length; But ere his Chiefs could stretch the helping

And snatch'd his mantle falling from the sky;

O'er him the Spirit of the Prophet came, Like rushing wind awakening hidden flame: Where is the God of Enoch now? he cried; Captives, come forth! Despisers shrink aside. He spake, and bursting through the Giantthrong,

Smote with the mantle as he moved along; A Power invisible their rage controul'd, Hither and thither as he turn'd they roll'd; Unawed, unharm'd the ransom'd Prisoners pass'd

Through ranks of foes astonied and aghast: Close in the youth's conducting steps they trod: -So Israel march'd when Moses raised his rod, And led their host, enfranchised, through the wave, The people's safeguard, the pursuers' grave.

Thus from the wolves this little flock va torn,

And, sheltering in the mountain-caves til

morn,

They join'd to sing, in strains of full delight. Songs of deliverance through the dreary night.

when they lost their prey,

The Giants' frenzy, No tongue of man or angel might portray; First on their Idol - Gods their vengeance turn'd,

Those Gods on their own altar-piles they burn'd;

Then, at their Sovereign's mandate, sallied forth

To rouse their host to combat, from the north;

Eager to risk their uttermost emprize, Perish ere morn, or reign in Paradise. Now the slow tempest, that so long had lower'd,

Keen in their faces sleet and hailstones shower'd ;

The winds blew loud, the waters roar around,

An earthquake rock'd the agonizing ground: Red in the west the burning Mount, array'd With tenfold terror by incumbent shade, (For moon and stars were rapt in dunnest gloom)

Glared like a torch amidst Creation's tomb: So Sinai's rocks were kindled when they felt Their Maker's footstep, and began to melt; Darkness was his pavilion, whence He came, Hid in the brightness of descending flame, While storm, and whirlwind, and the trampet's blast,

Proclaim'd his law in thunder, as he pass'd

The Giants reach'd their camp: - the night's alarms Meanwhile had startled all their slaves to

arms;

They grasp'd their weapons as from sleep they sprang,

From tent to tent the brazen clangor rang; The hail, the earthquake, the mysterious light

Unnerved their strength, o'erwhelm'd them with affright. summon all your powers;

"Warriors! to battle;

Warriors! to conquest;-Paradise is ours:" Exclaim'd their Monarch;-not an arm wa raised,

In vacancy of thought, like men amazed, And lost amidst confounding dreams, they stood,

With palsied eyes, and horror-frozen blood The Giants' rage to instant madness grew; The King and Chiefs on their own legions flew,

THE TIME-PIECE.

WHO is He, so swiftly flying,
His career no eye can see?
Who are They, so early dying,
From their birth they cease to be?
Time:-behold his pictured face!
Moments :- can you count their race?

Though, with aspect deep-dissembling,
Here he feigns unconscious sleep,
Round and round this circle trembling,
Day and night his symbols creep,
While unseen, through earth and sky,
His unwearying pinions ply.

Hark! what petty pulses, beating,
Spring new moments into light;
Every pulse, its stroke repeating,
Sends its moment back to night;
Yet not one of all the train
Comes uncall'd, or flits in vain.

In the highest realms of glory,
Spirits trace, before the throne,
On eternal scrolls, the story
Of each little moment flown;
Every deed, and word, and thought,
Through the whole creation wrought.

Were the volume of a minute
Thus to mortal sight unroll'd,
More of sin and sorrow in it,
More of man, might we behold,
Than on History's broadest page
In the reliques of an age.

Who could bear the revelation?
Who abide the sudden test?
With instinctive consternation,
Hands would cover every breast,
Loudest tongues at once be hush'd,
Pride in all its writhings crush'd.

Who, with leer malign exploring,
On his neighbour's shame durst look?
Would not each, intensely poring
On that record in the book,
Which his inmost soul reveal'd,
Wish its leaves for ever seal'd?

Seal'd they are for years, and ages,
Till, the earth's last circuit run,
Empire changed through all its stages,
Risen and set the latest sun,-
On the sea and on the land,
Shall a midnight-angel stand:—

Stand; and, while the abysses tremble,
Swear that Time shall be no more:
Quick and Dead shall then assemble
Men and Demons range before
That tremendous judgment-seat
Where both worlds at issue meet.

Time himself, with all his legions,
Days, Months, Years, since Nature's birth
Shall revive, and from all regions,
Singling out the sons of earth,
With their glory or disgrace,
Charge their spenders face to face.

Every moment of my being
Then shall pass before mine eyes:
God, all-searching! God, all-seeing!
Oh! appease them, ere they rise;
Warn'd I fly, I fly to Thee:
God, be merciful to me!

INCOGNITA

WRITTEN AT LEAMINGTON, in 1817, ON VIEWING

THE PICTURE OF AN UNKNOWN LADY.

IMAGE of one, who lived of yore!
Hail to that lovely mien,

Once quick and conscious;-now no more
On Land or Ocean seen!

Were all earths breathing forms to pass
Before me in Agrippa's glass,
Many as fair as Thou might be,
But oh, not one, not one like Thee.

Thou art no Child of Fancy; Thou
The very look dost wear,
That gave enchantment to a brow,
Wreathed with luxuriant hair;
Lips of the morn embathed in dew,
And eyes of evening's starry blue;
Of all who ever enjoy'd the sun
Thou art the image of but one.

And who was she, in virgin prime,
And May of Womanhood,
Whose roses here, unpluck'd by time,
In shadowy tints have stood;
While many a winter's withering blast
Hath over the dark cold chamber pass'd.
In which her once resplendent form
Slumber'd to dust beneath the storm?