I. 3.
The shouts redoubling rise
In thunder to the skies.
The Nymphs disorder'd dart along,
Sweet Powers of solitude and song,
Stunn'd with the horrors of discordant sound;
And all is listening trembling round.
Torrents far heard amid the waste of night
That oft have led the wanderer right,
Are silent at the noise.
The mighty ocean's more majestic voice
Drown'd in superior din is heard no more;
The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.
II. 1.
The bloody banner streaming in the air
Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow,
The mingling multitudes, the madding car,
Driven in confusion to the plain below,
War's dreadful lord proclaim.
Bursts out by frequent fits th' expansive flame.
Snatch'd in tempestuous eddies flies
The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies.
The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen,
The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale,
The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green,
And night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail.
II. 2.
Involv'd in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on.
The rushing steeds grim Terror guides.
His forehead writh'd to a relentless frown,
Aloft the angry Power of battles rides:
Grasp'd in his mighty hand
A mace tremendous desolates the land;
The tower rolls headlong down the steep,
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep:
Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades;
Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes,
A deeper gloom invests the howling shades,
Stript is the shatter'd grove, and every verdure dies.
II. 3.
How startled Frenzy stares,
Bristling her ragged hairs!
Revenge the gory fragment gnaws;
See, with her griping vulture claws
Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound!
Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round;
The shrieks of agony, and clang of arms,
Reëcho to the hoarse alarms
Her trump terrific blows.
Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose
Of kingly gesture a gigantic form,
That with his scourge sublime rules the careering storm.
III. 1.
Ambition, outside fair! within as foul
As fiends of fiercest heart below,
Who ride the hurricanes of fire that roll
Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe.
Yon naked waste survey;
Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay;
Where late the rosy-bosom'd hours
In loose array danc'd lightly o'er the flowers;
Where late the shepherd told his tender tale;
And waken'd by the murmuring breeze of morn,
The voice of cheerful Labour fill'd the dale;
And dove-eyed Plenty smil'd, and wav'd her liberal horn.