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And Bashan, and Carmel, and Lebanon fade,
The depths of the mountains are stirr'd.
When his fury descends like fire?
For the rocks are rent by His ire ?
The Lord is good, and a hiding-place
For those who in trouble seek His face;
Behold, on the mountains are those who tell
and salvation to Israel.
Proud Nineveh ! are thy watchers dumb ?
Huzzab is fallen: void and vast,
Earth waves exultingly its hand
These harpings ceased, and when I look'd again,
Fire, sword, and famine their fell work had done. The city lay in ruin on the plain :
Her shrines, her palaces, her monarch's throne,
One mingled mass of crumbling earth and stone. Time digg’d thy grave, and heap'd the dust on thee;
Soon died the echo of thy dying groan ; And travellers, who came thy wreck to see, Ask’d, and received no answer Where is Nineveh?
It is the evening of the world. The sun
Casts level shadows o’er its restless tide; And though dense clouds, before his race be run,
Betoken coming tempest, in their pride
The nations still all signs of night deride,
By ancient tracks or pathways yet untried
Men throng all paths of knowledge, urging still
Into the vast unknown their perilous way; Wielding all powers of nature to their will,
To-day they spurn the speed of yesterday,
And travel with the storms, nor brook delay. And swifter than the eagle's swiftest wing
They bind their words upon the lightning's ray, And from the elements new virtues wring, To sound the lowest depths of truth's exhaustless spring.
Men throng all paths of knowledge. Science dives
Below the ocean's bed, the mountain's base,
And from the bowels of creation rives
Those monumental stones which dimly trace
Earth’s primal story: then she soars apace Above our little orb, and speeds afar
'Mid distant planets her unwearied chase, Skirting their track as in a seraph's car From luminous world to world, from gorgeous star to star.
Men throng all paths of knowledge. It might seem
Earth was now launch'd upon the early source Of time's illimitably-flowing stream ;
But trace the windings of her backward course,
Her centuries of crime and dark remorse,
The feverish efforts of exhausted force, -
See how upon those ancient haunts she dwells,
Where first her prowess and her power began ; And lingers there instinctively, and tells
Her antique story like an aged man,
Telling what races in his youth he ran, And all the trophies of his early prime;
Too conscious that his brief remaining span Waits only for the solemn passing chime, To warn us he hath done with all the things of time.