How beat those beams on Jonah's fainting head! How oft he wish'd a place among the dead! All he could do, was now to grieve and sigh, His life detest, and beg of God to die. Again, Jehovah to his prophet said, "Art thou so angry for thy vanish'd shade-- "For a mere shadow dost thou well to grieve, "For this poor loss would'st thou thy being leave?"-- "My rage is just, (the frantic prophet cry'd), "My last, my only comfort is deny'd-- "The spreading vine that form'd my leafy bower; "Behold it vanish'd in the needful hour! "To beating winds and sultry suns a prey, "My fainting spirit droops and dies away-- "Give me a mansion in my native dust, "For though I die with rage, my rage is just." Once more the Almighty deign'd to make reply-- "Does this lost _gourd_ thy sorrow swell so high, "_Whose_ friendly shade not to thy toil was due, "Alone it sprouted and alone it grew; "A night beheld its branches waving high, "And the next sun beheld those branches die; "And should not pity move the Lord of all "To spare the vast Assyrian capital, "Within whose walls uncounted myriads stray, "Their Father I, my sinful offspring they?-- "Should they not move the creating mind "With six score thousand of the infant kind, "And herds untold that graze the spacious field, "For whom yon' meads their stores of fragrance yield; "Should I this royal city wrap in flame, "And slaughter millions to support thy fame, "When now repentant to their God they turn, "And their past follies, low in ashes, mourn?-- "Vain, thoughtless wretch, recall thy weak request, "Death never came to man a welcome guest;-- "Why wish to die--what madness prompts thy mind? "Too long the days of darkness thou shalt find; "Life was a blessing by thy Maker meant, "Dost thou despise the blessings he has lent-- "Enjoy my gifts while yet the seasons run "True to their months, and social with the sun; "When to the dust my mandate bids thee fall, "All these are lost, for death conceals them all-- "No more the sun illumes the sprightly day, "The seasons vanish, and the stars decay: "The trees, the flowers, no more thy sense delight, "Death shades them all in ever-during night. "Then think not long the little space I lent-- "Of thy own sins, like Nineveh, repent; "Rejoice at last the mighty change to see, "And bear with them as I have borne with thee." [29] Found only in the 1786, 1795, and 1809 editions of the poet. The 1786 edition has the note: "This is rather to be considered as a paraphrase upon than a mere versification of the story of the Bible. Done in the year 1768." THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON SWAUGUM, A VILLAGE MERCHANT[30] Written in 1768. PRELIMINARY PARTICULARS