“The Rev. J. Brown”
The Morning Post (January 23, 1810)
Despoil'd of verdure, and their fragrance lost;
The groves display the virulence of frost;
Streams cease to flow, and Nature's wither'd bloom
Thro' all her works proclaims approaching doom.
But when Sol's beams with plastic radiance play,
And sterile Earth receives the vivid ray,
Fresh flow'rets spring, the groves green liv'ries wear,
And Winter flies before the blooming year.
So pale Europa, war and ravage past,
Will rise more potent from the furious blast;
Flush'd with fresh grace, display a brighter bloom,
Which time defies and cankers that consume.
A Goddess bright in native charms confest,
And fairer still from scars that mark her breast;
Inflicted by a ruthless tyrant's steel,
Whose fatal stab himself is doom'd to feel,
Will from her fun'ral fires a Phoenix spring,
In fairer form will clap her vig'rous wing;
Will peace diffuse, and all the arts expand,
Which bless and beautify a smiling land.
Such Heav'n's decree—the ills we bear will bless,
Pain has its solace, grievance its regress;
So Nature, by an elemental strife,
Refines that air which vigour gives and life.
Then light'nings flash, and harmless thunders roll,
Lest stagnant ether vitiate either pole;
From death new life; from discord order springs,
Such Nature's laws, such her harmonious strings.
For when this planet in the fields of space,
Shall, with the rest, quit its allotted place,
The blazing comet, sever'd from its sun,
A glorious course is destin'd still to run;
Form'd by its Maker into bright abodes,
The seat of Angels, and the haunt of Gods.