Sky-Prospect--From the Plain of France

Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape
Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon,
The Ark, her melancholy voyage done!
Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape;
There, combats a huge crocodile--agape
A golden spear to swallow! and that brown
And massy grove, so near yon blazing town,
Stirs and recedes--destruction to escape!
Yet all is harmless--as the Elysian shades
Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose--
Silently disappears, or quickly fades:
Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows
That for oblivion take their daily birth
From all the fuming vanities of Earth!