Been an existent instance of her pow’r.
Existent instance!—mount above the pole
Dull Muse, and trace the disembodied soul,
Who, haply now, exulting in its doom,
Views, with a smile, the disappointed tomb.
What tho’ its tent, beneath a fateful sky
Prone in the dust, by death subverted, lie,
Itself, escap’d above the stormy bow,
Securely views the ruin spread below.
So when an earthquake shakes this trembling ball,