THE CONQUEST OF CANAAN
Now near the stream approach'd the sounding war,
When fierce to combat roll'd a splendid car:
There giant Zedeck rose in dreadful view;
Two furious steeds the mighty monarch drew;
With wild impetuous rage they foam'd along,
And pale before them fled the parting throng.
From Joshua's course he saw his bands retire;
His reddening aspect flash'd a gloomy fire;
With huge hoarse voice the furious hero cried,
While the plains murmur'd and the groves replied:
"Whatever wretch from this bright combat flies,
By the just gods, the impious dastard dies!
Nor hope to 'scape the keen avenging blade
In the still cot or in the lonely shade:
Soon shall this sword with victory crown'd return,
And wrath and vengeance all your dwellings burn;
Your bodies limb from limb this arm shall tear,
Nor sons nor wives nor sires nor infants spare,
But bid the hungry hawks your race devour
And call grim wolves to feast in floods of gore!"
He spoke: astonish'd, some more nimbly flew,
And some to conflict with fresh ardour drew;
Despair once more the growing flight repell'd,
And gave new horrors to the gloomy field.
Meantime on Joshua drove the sounding car,
And burst impetuous through the thickest war.
Rough, heavy, dreadful, by the giant thrown,
Flew the vast fragment of a craggy stone;
Scarce 'scap'd the wary Chief, with sudden bound,
While the broad ruin plow'd the crumbling ground.
A javelin then the monarch's hand impell'd
That sung and trembled 'gainst the Hero's shield;
Swift o'er his head a second hissing flies,
And a pierc'd warrior groans and falls and dies.
At once great Joshua rais'd his reeking sword,
And with deep wounds the maddening coursers gor'd:
Through cleaving ranks the coursers backward flew,
And swift from sight the helpless monarch drew.
To the high shore impendent o'er the flood
They rush'd as whirlwinds sweep the rending wood;
To turn they tried, with short and sudden wheel,
But tried in vain-the sounding chariot fell.
Prone down the lofty bank the steeds pursued,
Where sharp and ragged rocks beneath were strew'd;
All shrill the giant's striking mail resounds;
With clattering crash the cracking car rebounds;
White o'er his lifeless head the waters roar,
Lost in the stream and doom'd to rise no more.
As when the south's fierce blasts the main deform
And roll the pealful onset of the storm;
Hung are the heavens with night; the world around
Deep-murmuring trembles to the solemn sound;
Full on dread Longa's wild-resounding shore
Hills, wav'd o'er hills, ascend and burst and roar;
Safe in his cot the hoary sailor hears,
Or drops for fancied wrecks unbidden tears:
A boundless shout from Israel's raptur'd train
Rent the broad skies and shook the dreadful plain;
For now, their champion, trust, and glory lost,
From Joshua's vengeance flew sad Salem's host;
Before him nought avail'd the shields and spears,
But chiefs and foaming steeds and rattling cars,
Ranks urging ranks, squadrons o'er squadrons borne,
Down the bank plung'd, the bank behind them torne,
Sunk with a rushing sound; great Joshua's arm,
Uplifted, imminent impell'd the storm.
Alert he bounded on the yielding sand,
And scatter'd ruin from his red right hand.
The white waves foam'd around his midway side
As fierce he thunder'd thro' the rushing tide.
Two blooming youths he dash'd against the rock
Where Zedeck's chariot felt the fatal shock;
Their gushing blood ran purple thro' the wave,
And thousands with them found a watery grave.
1771-74.
Fair Verna, loveliest village of the west,
Of every joy and every charm possess'd,
How pleas'd amid thy varied walks I rove,
Sweet, cheerful walks of innocence and love,
And o'er thy smiling prospects cast my eyes
And see the seats of peace and pleasure rise,
And hear the voice of Industry resound,
And mark the smile of Competence around.
Hail, happy village! O'er thy cheerful lawns,
With earliest beauty, spring delighted dawns:
The northward sun begins his vernal smile,
The spring-bird carols o'er the cressy rill;
All these, with mingled music, from below
Deceive intruding sorrow as I go.
How pleas'd fond Recollection, with a smile,
Surveys the varied round of wintery toil;
How pleas'd, amid the flowers that scent the plain,
Recalls the vanish'd frost and sleeted rain,
The chilling damp, the ice-endangering street,
And treacherous earth that slump'd beneath the feet.
Yet even stern winter's glooms could joy inspire: Then social circles grac'd the nutwood fire;
The axe resounded at the sunny door;
The swain, industrious, trimm'd his flaxen store,
Or thresh'd, with vigorous flail, the bounding wheat,
His poultry round him pilfering for their meat,
Or slid his firewood on the creaking snow,
Or bore his produce to the main below,
Or o'er his rich returns exulting laugh'd,
Or pledg'd the healthful orchard's sparkling draught;
While, on his board for friends and neighbours spread,
The turkey smoak'd his busy housewife fed,
And Hospitality look'd smiling round,
And Leisure told his tale with gleeful sound. . . .
But now the wintery glooms are vanish'd all:
The lingering drift behind the shady wall,
The dark-brown spots that patch'd the snowy field,
The surly frost that every bud conceal'd,
The russet veil, the way with slime o'erspread,
And all the saddening scenes of March are fled.
Sweet-smiling village, loveliest of the hills,
How green thy groves, how pure thy glassy rills!
With what new joy I walk thy verdant streets,
How often pause to breathe thy gale of sweets,
To mark thy well-built walls, thy budding fields,
And every charm that rural nature yields,
And every joy to Competence allied,
And every good that Virtue gains from Pride.
No griping landlord here alarms the door,
To halve for rent the poor man's little store.
No haughty owner drives the humble swain
To some far refuge from his dread domain,
Nor wastes upon his robe of useless pride
The wealth which shivering thousands want beside,
Nor in one palace sinks a hundred cots,
Nor in one manor drowns a thousand lots,
Nor on one table, spread for death and pain,
Devours what would a village well sustain. . .
Beside yon church that beams a modest ray,
With tidy neatness reputably gay,
When, mild and fair as Eden's seventh-day light,
In silver silence shines the Sabbath bright,
In neat attire the village housholds come
And learn the path-way to the eternal home.
Hail, solemn ordinance worthy of the SKIES,
Whence thousand richest blessings daily rise:
Peace, order, cleanliness, and manners sweet,
A sober mind, to rule submission meet,
Enlarging knowledge, life from guilt refin'd,
And love to God, and friendship to mankind.
In the clear splendour of thy vernal morn,
New-quicken'd man to light and life is born:
The desert of the mind with virtue blooms,
It's flowers unfold, it's fruits exhale perfumes;
Proud guilt dissolves beneath the searching ray,
And low debasement trembling creeps away;
Vice bites the dust, foul Error seeks her den,
And God descending dwells anew with men.
Where yonder humbler spire salutes the eye,
It's vane slow turning in the liquid sky,
Where in light gambols healthy striplings sport,
Ambitious learning builds her outer court.
A grave preceptor there her usher stands,
And rules without a rod her little bands.
Some half-grown sprigs of learning grac'd his brow:
Little he knew, though much he wish'd to know;
Inchanted hung o'er Virgil's honey'd lay,
And smil'd to see desipient Horace play;
Glean'd scraps of Greek, and, curious, trac'd afar
Through Pope's clear glass the bright Mæonian star.
Yet oft his students at his wisdom star'd,
For many a student to his side repair'd;
Surpriz'd they heard him Dilworth's knots untie,
And tell what lands beyond the Altantic lie.
Many his faults, his virtues small and few;
Some little good he did or strove to do:
Laborious still, he taught the early mind,
And urg'd to manners meek and thoughts refin'd;
Truth he impress'd, and every virtue prais'd,
While infant eyes in wondering silence gaz'd;
The worth of time would day by day unfold,
And tell them every hour was made of gold;
Brown Industry he lov'd, and oft declar'd
How hardy Sloth in life's sad evening far'd.
Ah me, while up the long, long vale of time
Reflection wanders towards th' eternal vast,
How starts the eye at many a change sublime,
Unbosom'd dimly by the ages pass'd.
What Mausoleums crowd the mournful waste,
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