And tower'd amid the gath'ring storm,
Borne on a murky cloud;

Vast horror shook the dome of heav'n,
As 'neath him far with fury driv'n,
The viewless depths of air,

Stern o'er the struggling globe he past,
While pausing Nature shrank aghast,

And thro' the troubled gloom wild yell'd the fiend Despair.

Servant of God! destructive Power!

Whilst due to wrath the direful hour,

Thou warn'st a guilty world,

When bursts to vengeance heav'n's blest Sire,

When lightens fierce the Almighty's ire,

On sin-struck nations hurl'd;

Thy terrors load my trembling shell,

Dread as the madd'ning tones that swell

O'er yonder bleak domain,

Where heaves thy deep, incessant roar,

That shakes the snow-topt mountain hoar, And with resistless ruin strews th' affrighted plain.

Ah! what of hope's delicious ray,
As slow the Pilgrim takes his way,
Shall sooth his sinking soul,

As round him forms infernal rise,

Of ghastly hue, whose hideous cries
Thro' the vext ether roll,

And mingling in each surf-worn cave,
Fell spirits from the murderer's grave,
The deed of horror hail;

Saw ye the redd'ning meteor gleam?
Heard ye, with harsh and hollow scream,

Faro'er the dim cold sea the birds of ocean wail?

Fierce o'er the darkly-heaving waves,
The storm with boundless fury raves,
The Sailor starts aghast,

His helm, to ruthless vengeance giv'n,
O'er the vast surge speeds idly driv'n,
As shrieks the hurrying blast:
Cease, Emma, cease to hope in vain,
Thou e'er wilt view thy Lord again,
He never shall return!

Pale on the desert shore he lies!

No Wife belov'd to close his eyes,

No Friend in pitying tones his wave-drench'd limbs to mourn!

Hark! how the rough winds madd'ning sweep, Bare the broad earth, and drifting deep,

The boreal deluge raise!

Here mountains shoot their wreath-tipt heads,
Here lo! far sunk, the valley spreads
Her drear, her wild'ring maze!

O come, let's brave the northern blast,
Let's mark stupendous nature cast
In many a form sublime,

I care not if, where Hecla towers,

Where wrapt in tempests Winter lowers

Stern on her ice-clad throne, I trace the hoary clime.

Protect me heav'n! 'neath yon huge drift,
Where to the clouds the wild winds lift

The waste in horror pil'd,

See, where yon shiv'ring female lies!
Lo! on her fainting bosom dies
Cold, cold, her infant child!

Daughter of woe! then doubly dear!
O'er thy sad fate how many a tear
The hapless mother shed!

And must we, cried she, must we part?

Then clasp'd thee to her shudd'ring heart, Whilst in convulsive sighs thy little spirit fled.

O thou, who rul'st the fleeting year,
Who giv'st to roll the varied sphere,
Amid the vast of heav'n,

Now Father bend thine awful ear!

O bless me with a parent's care,

To thy protection giv'n;

Whether on ocean's bosom thrown,

Or plung'd where snow-clad mountains frown, If thou my hallow'd guide

I heed not, let the tempest roar,

Let Havoc and wild Winter hoar,

And Terror's giant form the dark-brow'd Whirlwind ride.

NUMBER XXVI.

Tantum parva suo debet Verona Catullo
Quantum magna suo Mantua Virgilio.

This celebrated poet, notwithstanding his licentious freedoms, will ever rank high in the estimation of the elegant scholar. It is indeed to be regretted that among poems which boast the utmost felicity of diction, and breathe the most tender and delicious sentiment, should be intermixed pieces which not only tinge the cheek of modesty, but repel every reader by their gross physical impurities. It were devoutly to be wished that his late ingenious Translator, instead of presenting the public. with the entire works of Catullus, had formed a collection of those productions only which are free from these defects. I will venture to

*

Vide Poems of Caius Valerius Catullus in English Verse, Printed for Johnson, 1795, 2 vol. 8vo.