James Thomson (1)

At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of Heaven,
The Tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,
read more

At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of Heaven,
The Tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burden on the wind,
The Lightnings flash a larger curve, and more
The Noise astounds; till overhead a sheet
Of livid flame discloses wide, then shuts,
And opens wider; shuts and opens still
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze.
Follows the loosen'd aggravated Roar,
Enlarging, deepening, mingling, peal on peal,
Crush'd, horrible, convulsing Heaven and Earth.

The glad circle round them yield their souls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.

The glad circle round them yield their souls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.

At the throng'd levee bends the venal tribe:
With fair but faithless smiles each varnish'd o'er,
Each read more

At the throng'd levee bends the venal tribe:
With fair but faithless smiles each varnish'd o'er,
Each smooth as those that mutually deceive,
And for their falsehood each despising each.

If the husband once give way
To his wife's capricious sway,
For his breeches he next day
read more

If the husband once give way
To his wife's capricious sway,
For his breeches he next day
May go to whoop and holloa.

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
read more

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.