He bids the angel of destruction stay:-- The obedient angel hears the high command, And sheathes the sword, he drew to smite the land. CANTO IV. But anger swell'd the haughty prophet's breast, Rage burn'd within, and robb'd his soul of rest; Such was his pride, he wish'd they all in flame Might rather perish than belie his fame, And God's own bolts the tottering towers assail, And millions perish, than his word should fail. Then to the heavens he sent this peevish prayer-- (Vain, impious man, to send such pinings there): "While yet within my native land, I stay'd, "This would at last reward my toil, I said, "Destruction through the Assyrian streets to cry, "And then the event my mission falsify; "For this I strove to shun thy sight before, "And sought repose upon a foreign shore; "I knew thou wert so gracious and so kind, "Such mercy sways thy all creating mind, "Averse thy bolts of vengeance to employ, "And still relenting when you should'st destroy, "That when I had declar'd thy sacred will, "Thou would'st not what I prophesy'd fulfil, "But leave me thus to scorn, contempt, and shame, "A lying prophet, blasted in my fame-- "And now, I pray thee, grant my last request, "O take my life, so wretched and unblest! "If here I stay, 'tis but to grieve and sigh; "Then take my life--'tis better far to die!" "Is it thy place to swell with rage and pride, "(Thus to his pining prophet, God reply'd) "Say is it just thy heart should burn with ire "Because yon' city is not wrapt in fire? "What if I choose its ruin to delay, "And send destruction on some future day, "Must thou, for that, with wasting anguish sigh, "And, hostile to my pleasure, wish to die?" Then Jonah parted from the mourning town, And near its eastern limits sate him down, A booth he builded with assiduous care, (Form'd of the cypress boughs that flourish'd there) And anxious now beneath their shadow lay, Waiting the issue of the fortieth day-- As yet uncertain if the Power Divine Or would to mercy, or to wrath incline-- Meantime the leaves that roof'd his arbour o'er, Shrunk up and faded, sheltered him no more; But God ordain'd a thrifty gourd to rise, To screen his prophet from the scorching skies; High o'er his head aspired the spreading leaf, Too fondly meant to mitigate his grief. So close a foliage o'er his head was made, That not a beam could pierce the happy shade: The wondering seer perceiv'd the branches grow And bless'd the shadow that reliev'd his woe; But when the next bright morn began to shine (So God ordain'd) a worm attack'd the vine, Beneath his bite its goodly leaves decay, And wasting, withering, die before the day! Then as the lamp of heaven still higher rose From eastern skies a sultry tempest blows, The vertic sun as fiercely pour'd his ray, And beam'd around insufferable day.