When roll'd the awful darkness round, When fiery fplendors lick'd the ground, The world's high Ruler fpake, display'd To man the eternal mandate of his hand, [mand. And bade the thunder's voice confirm the dread com II. But, while on Jordan's marge I ftray, Attemper'd beams illume the way. As drops the rain on thirsty plains, As breathes the gale to languid swains, In ftill, small founds the tongue of Peace Cleans'd is the fin-polluted foul; The paffions hear his mild controul. The world's great Teacher walks with men below, And points to future blifs, beyond this vale of woe. III. 'Tis past-and Mercy speaks no more, But Juftice bares the arm of pow'r. Forth from the brooding glooms of night In uproar wild the loud winds rife, With banded force they sweep the skies, Difpart old Ocean's swelling waves, And ope the proud rock's flinty caves: While pealing thunders hail the Judge fupreme, Angelic forms defcend, and join the grand acclaim. And all unfurl'd, of glowing hue, The red cross meets th' astonish'd view; And lo! terrific in attire, Th' archangel waves his fword of fire, And blows the facred trump, whofe quick'ning founds Spread their tremendous call to Nature's fartheft bounds. V. Inftant, promifcuous millions pour, Of ev'ry age, from ev'ry shore ; Fear-ftruck, and confcious of their doom, The guilty wish the cov❜ring tomb; But Heav'n's dread wrath, with clouded brow, Condemns to lakes of gnashing woe: While on the fons of virtue fhine Th' enliv'ning beams of love divine; Enthron'd in blifs, they join the radiant train, And tune the choral lyre, and swell the rapt'rous ftrain. ON ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN COOKE. Sunt hîc etiam fua præmia laudi, Sunt lachrymæ rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt, His fate Taheite's chiefs deplore; Nor hope they now to view his whit'ning fail, And from their coral cliffs the friendly ftranger hail. II. " 'Tis ours no more, his steps to lead Taheite's golden groves along, No more beneath the bread-tree's fhade To court his stay with dance and song: Some adverse pow'r has call'd him o'er the main, To fall on ruder fhores, by favage fury flain. III. Ah! had we feen his fad Morai, And watch'd in penfive filence round His corfe, as paly cold it lay, How then had bled the willing wound? Yet ftill our crimson tears for him fhall flow, As faithful mem'ry points the pang of inward woe. IV. But haply o'er the watry waste, Where once his tall bark ftem'd the tide, His gentle fhade may hither haste, And near the Shed in fecret glide; If ought of ditty'd moan, or fun'ral pray'r, In fadly-pleafing founds, thrill through the conscious air. V. Then Friendship, raise the piteous yell, And stalk thy rounds in grim array; Taheite |