Thy strains shall be our slumbering prophets' dream, And when our Zion virgins sing their theme, Our jubilees shall with thy verse be graced; The song of Asaph shall for ever last. How fierce his satire, loosed; restrained, how tame; How tender of the offending young man's fame! How well his worth, and brave adventures stiled; Just to his virtues, to his error mild! No page of thine that fears the strictest view, But teems with just reproof, or praise, as due; Not Eden could a fairer prospect yield, All paradise, without one barren field Whose wit the censure of his foes has past: The song of Asaph shall for ever last. What praise for such rich strains shall we allow? What just rewards the grateful crown bestow? While bees in flowers rejoice, and flowers in dew, While stars and fountains to their course are true, While Judah's throne, and Zion's rock stand fast, The song of Asaph, and the fame shall last. Still Hebron's honoured happy soil retains Our royal hero's beauteous dear remains;[405] Who now sails off, with winds nor wishes slack, To bring his sufferings' bright companion back. But ere such transport can our sense employ, A bitter grief must poison half our joy; Nor can our coasts restored those blessings see Without a bribe to envious destiny! Cursed Sodom's doom forever fix the tide, Where, by inglorious chance, the valiant died. Give not insulting Askalon to know, Nor let Gath's daughters triumph in our woe! No sailor with the news swell Egypt's pride, By what inglorious fate our valiant died! Weep, Arnon! Jordan, weep thy fountains dry, While Zion's rock dissolves for a supply. Calm were the elements, night's silence deep, The waves scarce murmuring, and the winds asleep; Yet fate for ruin takes so still an hour, And treacherous sands the princely bark devour;[406] Then death unworthy seized a generous race, To virtue's scandal, and the stars' disgrace! Oh, had the indulgent powers vouchsafed to yield, Instead of faithless shelves, a listed field; A listed field of heaven's and David's foes, Fierce as the troops that did his youth oppose, Each life had on his slaughtered heap retired, Not tamely and unconquering thus expired. But destiny is now their only foe, And, dying, even o'er that they triumph too; With loud last breaths their masters 'scape applaud, Of whom kind force could scarce the fates defraud; Who, for such followers lost, O, matchless mind! At his own safety now almost repined!-- Say, royal Sir, by all your fame in arms, Your praise in peace, and by Urania's charms, If all your suffering's past so nearly prest, Or pierced with half so painful grief, your breast? Thus some diviner muse her hero forms, Not soothed with soft delights, but tossed in storms;