University of Virginia Library

ON THE CHOLERA.

See, how the dreadful desolation comes,
With rapid strides he hastens to our homes.
On one side rages dreadful discontent,
And there, the dreadful scourge which God has sent;
Dark is the pestilence that sweeps away
Its tens of thousands in a night and day!
From east to west an awful gloom is spread,
From Nile's broad river unto Flamborough Head;
The nations tremble, and all mortal skill
Is far too weak to check th'Almighty's will:—
He sends the storm—the vivid lightning sends—
He speaks,—from earth the deadly plague ascends;—
Or when he wills the death of human kind,
He says to Death, “Go, ride upon the wind,
“Breathe upon the clouds, and let the tainted air
“Slay millions, till the sons of men despair;
“Sweep o'er the world, and taint the flying blast,
“Then cross the seas, and Britain reach at last.”
The mandate is obey'd;—the city walls
Are no defence, the dreadful ruin falls;
Then rising, sweeps through many a crowded street,
And thousands fall beneath his awful feet.
Dreadful disease! can nothing stay his pow'r?
And must he slay his thousands in an hour?
Yes,—wrathful at man's sins is he who spoke,
And glorious light from deepest chaos broke.
O that we could the Lord of all obey,
And him entreat to take the scourge away.
Surely the discontented sons of men,
Who burn our cities, will be peaceful when
Death on our shores has rais'd his standard high,
Mark'd with these words—let “man prepare to die.”
Tremble, ye princes, and ye wicked quake,
The dreadful scourges o'er our nation shake.
Ye ministers, be this your only care,
To offer up one true unceasing pray'r.
Let all the nation on some solemn day,
Beg heaven to turn his dreadful wrath away;
Lest through this land the awful plague is spread,
Until the living can't inter the dead.
What we have heard from earth's remotest lands,
The feet go cold, and then the stiffen'd hands
Grow chill as ice, the sable blood congeals,
Then to the heart the fatal freezing steals,
Life soon is gone! and, O, the awful sight,
When eyes that beam'd at morn are dim e'er night!
No child to close the eyelids of its sire,
Husbands forbid to see their wives expire.
Yet with all caution in the East and North,
The scythe and darts of awful death comes forth;
Commerce affrighted, hastens from the strand,
And wretchedness walks shiv'ring through the land.
In cold Archangel, where the Baltic roars,
Down southward to the Medit'ranean shores;
From China's coasts, unto the Torrid line,
Dreadful disease! the spacious realm is thine.
Physicians, trembling, from the plague retire,
Leaving to fate the mother, wife, and sire.
Princes, affrighted, to the vessels fly,
The king of terror finds them, and they die.
The sea no barrier, nor the spacious main,
The cloud-topt mountain, nor the level plain;
The cot nor palace can a refuge lend,
Yet blest are those whose maker is their friend.
The fever comes, the dreadful plague is near,
True hope supports them and dispels all fear.
Dark poverty oppresses all around,
We look for hope, but hope is never found;
Deeper we sink, and heavier grows our care,
Nor tears are lost amid the dark despair.
Let Britain humbled be beneath the rod,
And own the justice of an angry God.
Lament ye aged, and ye infants mourn,
Tremble ye wretches, who the produce burn.
See darkness coming on the wintry blast,
Where can we hide us till the storm be past?—
The world's inhabitants, and all its kings,
Must bow beneath the dark and dreadful wings
Of this dread pestilence, which never spares,
Which brings such terrors that the world despairs.
Let all be prostrate, humbled in the dust,
For He that sends such dreadful plagues is just;
How blest are those that safe at peace remain,
For ever free from agony and pain.
It may be poverty that swiftly brings
The Typhus Fever on her shiv'ring wings;
What means it,—can the smell of new-slack'd lime,
Make deep starvation live beyond its time?
Useful it may be,—but let warmth apply
The wholesome soup for those that deeply cry.
What useless coats, whose fashion long was out,
By true philanthropy might soon be sought;
A thousand means this winter should be tried,
To make the dreadful malady subside,
And blest are those that for th'afflicted care,
That ask their wants, and soothe them in despair.
Deep melancholy from the town would fly,
And fear be banish'd with pure charity;
The dark, dark gloom that o'er the town is spread,
When conquer'd by pure love would soon be fled.
When Cholera assails the poor man's cot,
Throughout our land this should be ne'er forgot,
That physic from the kitchen of the good,
Would warm the heart, and circulate the blood.
Health, on the strength of food must much depend,
What has been known, whatever has been pen'd,
Throughout all countries few have taken harm
Who temperate liv'd, and kept the system warm.
On the philanthropists we now may call,
And charity's blest aid may save us all.