Thomson and Pollok: containing The seasons, by James Thomson, and The course of time, by Robert Pollok, A. M.

Boox VI. 313
Conversing of the awful state of things.
Some curious explanations gave, unlearned;
Some tried affectedly to laugh, and some
Gazed stupidly; but all were sad and pale,
And wished the comment of the wise. Nor less
These prodigies, occurring night and day,
Perplexed philosophy. The magi tried,Magi, a name not seldom given to fools,
In the vocabulary of earthly speech,They tried to trace them still to second cause,
But scarcely satisfied themselves; though round
Their deep deliberations, crowding came,
And, wondering at their wisdom, went away,
Much quieted and very much deceived,
The people, always glad to be deceived.
These warnings passed, they, unregarded, passed,
And all in wonted order calmly moved.
The pulse of Nature regularly beat,
And on her cheek the bloom of perfect health
Again appeared. Deceitful pulse! and bloom
Deceitful! and deceitful calm! The Earth
Was old, and -worn within; but, like the man
Who noticed not his mid-day strength decline,
Sliding so gently round the curvature
Of life, from youth to age,-she knew it not.
The calm was like the calm, which oft the man,
Dying, experienced before his death;
The bloom was but a hectic flush, before
The eternal paleness. But all these were taken,
By this last race of men, for tokens of good;
And blustering public News aloud proclaimedNews always gabbling ere they well had thoughtProsperity, and joy, and peace; and mocked
The man who, kneeling, prayed, and trembled still;
And all in earnest to their sins returned.
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