Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/122

122 —Water, whose limpid tide his health sustains, And sends new vigor through his wasted veins, Raised to wild wrath, a sudden deluge pours, To waste his crops, and desolate his shores, His tall domes sink,—his baseless fabrics float, Where bloom'd his gardens, frowns a stagnant moat, Mephitic vapours from the bound arise, And pestilential fogs obscure the skies.— —Fire, whose bright glance his torpid bosom warms, Roused to quick vengeance, like a fury storms, Amid wild shouts of fear, and terror's cry Winds its red volumes round the midnight sky, Consumes the fabric that his labour rear'd, Destroys the form by ties of love endear'd, Blackens his beauty, lays his glory low, Feeds on his wealth, and riots in his wo.— See, where its pride, by rocky chains comprest In earth's dark caverns, rends her tortured breast, Bursts from its vault, the groaning mountain rends, In streams of red, sulphureous wrath descends, Blasts the tall forests, ravages the plains,— Destroys the vineyards, cottages and swains,— O'er mighty cities rolls with whelming tide, O'er temples, palaces, and towers of pride,— Their sculptured grandeur feeds the transient blaze, And o'er their head the burning billow plays. —Say then, is man with heaven-deputed sway, At once the sport, the victim, and the prey?— Have all the elements combined as foes His harm to compass, and his good oppose?— No,—one alone, the hapless being spares, Wages no war, and no resistance dares.—