Joanna's Prophecy

Woe, Albion, to thy cities proud!Death hovers o'er the fated crowd,Fly to some wood-embosom'd home,Far from the city's splendid dome,Fly, fly, whilst yet you may!Woe to the day of fear and dread,The day the blest Redeemer bled!E'en in the consecrated hour,Again shall midnight darkness lour,And cloud the noon-tide ray.Then shall the volleying thunder roarFrom Cambria's hills to Devon's shore;Red flashes light the darken'd Heav'n,Trees, mountains, rocks, in twain be riven,Whilst earth shall ope her womb.Then tremble, sinners! for in vainYe fly, ye death-devoted train!Vainly the screams of terror rise!While shrieks of madness rend the skies,Closes your living tomb.Bristol, no more to Afric's strand,Thy ships shall part from Freedom's land,Thy deeds are past. Th' o'erwhelming tideShall sweep away thy wealth, thy pride,Destroy thy very name.Bath, fair abode of vanity,Oh, where is now thy revelry?O'erthrown thy domes, thy storied walls,Gay nobles perish in thy halls,With many a beauteous dame.Still, still I see that horrid wild!Where lovely cities gaily smil'd,Rocks, ruins, pillars, mountains frown,And echo to the dismal groanOf sorrow and of pain.Vainly yon buried wretches strive,Ne'er shall they leave those walls alive.You frantic mother, to her breastHer lifeless child has fondly prest,Nor knows her cares are vain.There dead and dying men I see,In every form of misery;Those sounds of woe, those sights of fear,I still must see, I still must hear,With brain to madness driv'n.But what is yonder blazing light,That glares upon my aching sight.Now soars in dazzling columns high,Now casts red radiance on the sky,And lights the eastern Heav'n?'Tis London!—God of mercy saveHer millions from their fiery grave!Oh! grant the sons of wealth and crime,Some short reprieve, some little timeFor penitence and pray'r!It may not be—the blaze is o'er;The smould'ring ruins glare no more,But long shall England's sorrows rise,Widows and orphans pour the cries,Of anguish and despair!