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• Rushes the headlong sky; the city rocks;
• The good man throws him on the trembling ground;
• And dies the murderer in his inmost soul.—
• Sullen the West withdraws his eager storms.——
• Will not the tempest now his furies chain? [335]
• As, no! as when in Indian forests, wild,
• Barbaric armies suddenly retire
• After some furious onset, and, behind
• Vast rocks and trees, their horrid forms conceal,
• Brooding on slaughter, not repuls’d; for soon [340]
• Their growing yell the affrighted welkin rends,
• And bloodier carnage mows th’ ensanguin’d plain:
• So the South, sallying from his iron caves
• With mightier force, renews the aerial war;
• Sleep, frighted, flies; and, see! yon lofty palm, [345]
• Fair nature’s triumph, pride of Indian groves,
• Cleft by the sulphurous bolt! See yonder dome,
• Where grandeur with propriety combin’d,
• And Theodorus¹ with devotion dwelt;
• Involv’d in smouldering flames.—From every rock, [350]
• Dashes the turbid torrent; thro’ each street
• A river foams, which sweeps, with untam’d might,
• Men, oxen, Cane-lands to the billowy main.—

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