Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/395

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 257 �Their Trumpet ev'ry hollow Tube is made, And, when more solid Bodies they invade �Enrag'd, they can no farther come, The beaten Flatt, whilst it repels the Noise, Resembles but with more outrageous Voice 140 �The Soldier's threatning Drum: And when they compass thus our World around, �When they our Rocks and Mountains rend, When they our Sacred Piles to their Foundations send, No wonder if our ecchoing Caves rebound ; No wonder if our list'ning Sense they wound, When arm'd with so much Force, and usher'd with such Sound. �Nor scarce, amidst the Terrors of that Night, When you, fierce Winds, such Desolations wrought, When you from out his Stores the Great Commander brought, 150 �Cou'd the most Righteous stand upright; Scarcely the Holiest Man performs The Service, that becomes it best, By ardent Vows, or solemn Pray'rs addrest; Nor finds the Calm, so usual to his Breast, �Full Proof against such Storms. How shou'd the Guilty then be found, The Men in Wine, or looser Pleasures drown'd, To fix a stedfast Hope, or to maintain their Ground! �When at his Glass the late Companion feels, 160 �That Giddy, like himself, the tott'ring Mansion reels! The Miser, who with many a Chest His gloomy Tenement opprest, Now fears the over-burthen' d Floor, And trembles for his Life, but for his Treasure more. What shall he do, or to what Pow'rs apply? ��� �