All point at earth, and hiss at human pride, 122 The wisdom of the wise, and prancings of the great. But, O Lorenzo! far the rest above, Of ghastly nature, and enormous size, One form assaults my sight, and chills my blood, And shakes my frame. Of one departed world[52] I see the mighty shadow: oozy wreath And dismal seaweed crown her; o'er her urn Reclined, she weeps her desolated realms, 130 And bloated sons; and, weeping, prophesies Another's dissolution, soon, in flames. But, like Cassandra, prophesies in vain; In vain, to many; not, I trust, to thee. For, know'st thou not, or art thou loath to know, The great decree, the counsel of the skies? Deluge and conflagration, dreadful powers! Prime ministers of vengeance! chain'd in caves Distinct, apart the giant furies roar; Apart; or, such their horrid rage for ruin, 140 In mutual conflict would they rise, and wage Eternal war, till one was quite devour'd. But not for this, ordain'd their boundless rage; When Heaven's inferior instruments of wrath, War, famine, pestilence, are found too weak To scourge a world for her enormous crimes, These are let loose, alternate: down they rush, Swift and tempestuous, from th' eternal throne, With irresistible commission arm'd, The world, in vain corrected, to destroy, 150 And ease creation of the shocking scene. Seest thou, Lorenzo! what depends on man? The fate of Nature; as for man, her birth. Earth's actors change earth's transitory scenes, And make creation groan with human guilt. 155 How must it groan, in a new deluge whelm'd, But not of waters! At the destined hour, By the loud trumpet summon'd to the charge, See, all the formidable sons of fire, Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play Their various engines; all at once disgorge Their blazing magazines; and take, by storm, 162 This poor terrestrial citadel of man. Amazing period! when each mountain-height Outburns Vesuvius; rocks eternal pour Their melted mass, as rivers once they pour'd; Stars rush; and final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation!--while aloft, More than astonishment! if more can be! Far other firmament than e'er was seen, 170 Than e'er was thought by man! far other stars! Stars animate, that govern these of fire; Far other sun!--A sun, O how unlike The Babe at Bethlehem! how unlike the Man, That groan'd on Calvary!--Yet He it is; That Man of Sorrows! O how changed! what pomp! In grandeur terrible, all heaven descends! And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train. A swift archangel, with his golden wing, As blots and clouds, that darken and disgrace 180 The scene divine, sweeps stars and suns aside. And now, all dross removed, heaven's own pure day,