The poetical works of Samuel Rogers with a memoir by Edward Bell |
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 | The poetical works of Samuel Rogers |  |
II. 1.
Thou spak'st, and lo! a new creation glowed.Each unhewn mass of living stone
Was clad in horrors not its own,
And at its base the trembling nations bowed.
Giant Error, darkly grand,
Grasped the globe with iron hand.
Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light
Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height.
The statue, waking with immortal powers
Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres;
The indignant pyramid sublimely towers,
And braves the efforts of a host of years.
Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind;
And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of the mind.
II. 2.
Round the rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise!A timbrelled anthem swells the gale,
And bids the God of Thunders hail;
With lowings loud the captive God replies.
Clouds of incense woo thy smile,
Scaly monarch of the Nile!
But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee!
Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea.
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Locked up in characters as dark as night?
What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore,
To which the parted soul oft wings her flight;
Again to visit her cold cell of clay,
Charmed with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay?
II. 3.
On yon hoar summit, mildly brightWith purple ether's liquid light,
High o'er the world, the white-robed Magi gaze
On dazzling bursts of heavenly fire;
Start at each blue, portentous blaze,
Each flame that flits with adverse spire.
But say, what sounds my ear invade
From Delphi's venerable shade?
The temple rocks, the laurel waves!
“The God! the God!” the Sibyl cries.
Her figure swells! she foams, she raves!
Her figure swells to more than mortal size!
Streams of rapture roll along,
Silver notes ascend the skies:
Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song,
Oh catch it, ere it dies!
The Sibyl speaks, the dream is o'er,
The holy harpings charm no more.
In vain she checks the God's control;
His madding spirit fills her frame,
And moulds the features of her soul,
Breathing a prophetic flame.
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And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows!
| The poetical works of Samuel Rogers | |