Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart
Strange horrors seize thee, and pangs unfelt before.

_Milton._


7.

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good!
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair!--Thyself how wondrous, then!
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
Midst these, thy lowest works!
Yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought,
And power divine!

8.

An hour passed on:--the Turk awoke:--
That bright dream was his last;--
He woke--to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms!--they come!--the Greek, the Greek!"
He woke--to die, 'midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,
And death-shots felling thick and fast.

Like forest-pines before the blast,
Or lightnings from the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,