While real transports thus his friends employ, And foes are loud in their dissembled joy, 830 His triumphs, so resounded far and near, Miss'd not his young ambitious rival's ear; And as when joyful hunters' clamorous train, Some slumbering lion wakes in Moab's plain, Who oft had forced the bold assailants yield, And scatter'd his pursuers through the field, Disdaining, furls his mane and tears the ground, His eyes inflaming all the desert round, With roar of seas directs his chasers' way, Provokes from far, and dares them to the fray: 840 Such rage storm'd now in Absalom's fierce breast, Such indignation his fired eyes confess'd. Where now was the instructor of his pride? Slept the old pilot in so rough a tide, Whose wiles had from the happy shore betray'd, And thus on shelves the credulous youth convey'd? In deep revolving thoughts he weighs his state, Secure of craft, nor doubts to baffle fate; At least, if his storm'd bark must go adrift, To balk his charge, and for himself to shift, 850 In which his dexterous wit had oft been shown, And in the wreck of kingdoms saved his own. But now, with more than common danger press'd, Of various resolutions stands possess'd, Perceives the crowd's unstable zeal decay Lest their recanting chief the cause betray, Who on a father's grace his hopes may ground, And for his pardon with their heads compound. Him therefore, e'er his fortune slip her time. The statesman plots to engage in some bold crime 860 Past pardon--whether to attempt his bed, Or threat with open arms the royal head, Or other daring method, and unjust, That may confirm him in the people's trust. But failing thus to ensnare him, nor secure How long his foil'd ambition may endure, Plots next to lay him by as past his date, And try some new pretender's luckier fate; Whose hopes with equal toil he would pursue, Nor care what claimer's crown'd, except the true. 870 Wake, Absalom! approaching ruin shun, And see, O see, for whom thou art undone! How are thy honours and thy fame betray'd, The property of desperate villains made! Lost power and conscious fears their crimes create, And guilt in them was little less than fate; But why shouldst thou, from every grievance free, Forsake thy vineyards for their stormy sea? For thee did Canaan's milk and honey flow, Love dress'd thy bowers, and laurels sought thy brow; 880 Preferment, wealth, and power thy vassals were, And of a monarch all things but the care. Oh! should our crimes again that curse draw down, And rebel-arms once more attempt the crown, Sure ruin waits unhappy Absalom, Alike by conquest or defeat undone. Who could relentless see such youth and charms Expire with wretched fate in impious arms? A prince so form'd, with earth's and Heaven's applause,