The Storm. An Essay.

by Daniel Defoe

Tho' I have lost Poetick Breath,
I'm not in perfect State of Death:
From whence this Popish Consequence I draw,
I'm in the Limbus of the Law.
Let me be where I will I heard the Storm,
From every Blast it eccho'd thus, REFORM;
I felt the mighty Shock, and saw the Night,
When Guilt look'd pale, and own'd the Fright;
And every Time the raging Element
Shook London's lofty Towers, at every Rent20
The falling Timbers gave, they cry'd, REPENT.

I saw, when all the stormy Crew,
Newly commission'd from on high,
Newly instructed what to do,
In Lowring, Cloudy, Troops drew nigh:

They hover'd o'er the guilty Land,
As if they had been backward to obey;
As if they wondred at the sad Command,
And pity'd those they shou'd destroy.
But Heaven, that long had gentler Methods tried,30
And saw those gentler Methods all defied,
Had now resolv'd to be obey'd.
The Queen, an Emblem of the soft, still, Voice,
Had told the Nation how to make their Choice;
Told them the only Way to Happiness
Was by the Blessed Door of Peace.
But the unhappy Genius of the Land,
Deaf to the Blessing, as to the Command,
Scorn the high Caution, and contemn the News,
And all the blessed Thoughts of Peace refuse.40
Since Storms are then the Nation's Choice,
Be Storms their Portion, said the Heavenly Voice:
He said, and I could hear no more,
So soon th' obedient Troops began to roar:
So soon the blackning Clouds drew near,
And fill'd with loudest Storms the trembling Air:
I thought I felt the World's Foundation shake,
And lookt when all the wondrous Frame would break.
I trembl'd as the Winds grew high,
And so did many a braver Man than I:50
For he whose Valour scorns his Sence,
Has chang'd his Courage into Impudence.
Man may to Man his Valour show,
And 'tis his Vertue to do so.
But if he's of his Maker not afraid,
He's not courageous then, but mad.

Soon as I heard the horrid Blast,
And understood how long 'twould last,
View'd all the Fury of the Element,
Consider'd well by whom 'twas sent,60
And unto whom for Punishment:
It brought my Hero to my Mind,
William, the Glorious, Great, and Good, and Kind.
Short Epithets to his Just Memory;
The first he was to all the World, the last to me.

The mighty Genius to my Thought appear'd,
Just in the same Concern he us'd to show,
When private Tempests us'd to blow,
Storms which the Monarch more than Death or Battel fear'd.
When Party Fury shook his Throne,70
And made their mighty Malice known,
I've heard the sighing Monarch say,
The Publick Peace so near him lay,
It took the Pleasure of his Crown away.
It fill'd with Cares his Royal Breast;
Often he has those Cares Prophetickly exprest,
That when he should the Reins let go,
Heaven would some Token of its Anger show,
To let the thankless Nation see
How they despis'd their own Felicity.80
This robb'd the Hero of his Rest,
Disturb'd the Calm of his serener Breast.

When to the Queen the Scepter he resign'd,
With a resolv'd and steady Mind,
Tho' he rejoic'd to lay the Trifle down,
He pity'd Her to whom he left the Crown:
Foreseeing long and vig'rous Wars,
Foreseeing endless, private, Party Jarrs,
Would always interrupt Her Rest,
And fill with Anxious Cares Her Royal Breast.90
For Storms of Court Ambition rage as high
Almost as Tempests in the Sky.

Could I my hasty Doom retrieve,
And once more in the Land of Poets live,
I'd now the Men of Flags and Fortune greet,
And write an Elegy upon the Fleet.
First, those that on the Shore were idly found,
Whom other Fate protects, while better Men were drown'd,
They may thank God for being Knaves on Shore,
But sure the Q—— will never trust them more.100

They who rid out the Storm, and liv'd,
But saw not whence it was deriv'd,
Sensless of Danger, or the mighty Hand,
That could to cease, as well as blow, command,
Let such unthinking Creatures have a Care,
For some worse End prepare.
Let them look out for some such Day,
When what the Sea would not, the Gallows may.

Those that in former Dangers shunn'd the Fight,
But met their Ends in this Disast'rous Night,110
Have left this Caution, tho' too late,
That all Events are known to Fate.
Cowards avoid no Danger when they run,
And Courage scapes the Death it would not shun;
'Tis Nonsence from our Fate to fly,
All Men must once have Heart enough to die.

Those Sons of Plunder are below my Pen,
Because they are below the Names of Men;
Who from the Shores presenting to their Eyes
The Fatal Goodwin, where the Wreck of Navies Lyes,120
A thousand dying Saylors talking to the Skies.
From the sad Shores they saw the Wretches walk,
By Signals of Distress they talk;
There with one Tide of Life they're vext,
For all were sure to die the next.
The Barbarous Shores with Men and Boats abound,
The Men more Barbarous than the Shores are found;
Off to the shatter'd Ships they go,
And for the Floating Purchase Row.
They spare no Hazard, or no Pain,130
But 'tis to save the Goods, and not the Men.
Within the sinking Supplaints Reach appear,
As if they'd mock their dying Fear.
Then for some Trifle all their Hopes supplant,
With Cruelty would make a Turk relent.