The English Dance of Death from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson, with metrical illustrations, by the author of "Doctor Syntax" [i.e. William Combe] |
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 | The English Dance of Death |  |
AMONG the Perils that attend
Our life, and oft produce its end,
The Elements, each passing hour,
Display their all-alarming power.
—Fate waves his spear, th'infected air
Fills wide-spread regions with despair;
And Pestilence, with deadly breath,
Makes them one dismal scene of death.
—He strikes his foot, the groaning ground
Strait trembles in the deep profound;
Opes wide its vast and horrid womb,
And to whole cities yields a tomb.
—The Ocean to his will conforms,
And rolls beneath the angry storms;
In vain the Steersman rules the Helm,
And waves the crouded Ship o'erwhelm.
—He lights his torch, the fatal fire
Spreads far and near with ruin dire;
And Palaces and Temples lie
A scene of splendid Misery.
Our life, and oft produce its end,
The Elements, each passing hour,
Display their all-alarming power.
—Fate waves his spear, th'infected air
Fills wide-spread regions with despair;
And Pestilence, with deadly breath,
Makes them one dismal scene of death.
—He strikes his foot, the groaning ground
Strait trembles in the deep profound;
Opes wide its vast and horrid womb,
And to whole cities yields a tomb.
—The Ocean to his will conforms,
And rolls beneath the angry storms;
In vain the Steersman rules the Helm,
And waves the crouded Ship o'erwhelm.
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Spreads far and near with ruin dire;
And Palaces and Temples lie
A scene of splendid Misery.
| The English Dance of Death | |