Page:The Works of Abraham Cowley - volume 2 (ed. Aikin) (1806).djvu/190

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170
COWLEY'S POEMS.
The wide-stretch'd scroll of heaven, which we
Immortal as the Deity think,
With all the beauteous characters that in it
With such deep sense by God's own hand were writ
(Whose eloquence, though we understand not, we admire)
Shall crackle, and the parts together shrink
Like parchment in a fire:
Th' exhausted sun to th' moon no more shall tend;
But truly then headlong into the sea descend:
The glittering host, now in such fair array,
So proud, so well-appointed, and so gay,
Like fearful troops in some strong ambush ta'en,
Shall some fly routed, and some fall slain,
Thick as ripe fruit, or yellow leaves, in autumn fall,
With such a violent storm as blows down tree and all.

And thou, O cursed land!
Which wilt not see the precipice where thou dost stand
(Though thou stand'st just upon the brink)
Thou of this poison'd bowl the bitter dregs shalt drink.
Thy rivers and thy lakes shall so
With human blood o'erflow,
That they shall fetch the slaughter'd corpse away,
Which in the fields around unburied lay,
And rob the beasts and birds to give the fish their prey: