# Poems (Sigourney, 1827)/The Elements

THE ELEMENTS.
Pliny has remarked that "all the elements are in their turn, hostile to man,—except the earth."
Man, on the genial elements depends
 For food, for warmth, for solace, and for breath,
Yet foes attack him in the guise of friends,
 Destroy his trust, and aid the work of death.
Air, the sweet air, his feeble frame that feeds,
Mounts with the tempest, on the whirlwind speeds,
Breaks the strong trees that o' er his mansion spread,
Strews the loved roof in ruins o' er his head,
Lifts the white surge, the angry ocean sweeps,
And whelms his riches in the foaming deeps.—
—Water, whose limpid tide his health sustains,
And sends new vigor through his wasted veins,
Raised to wild wrath, a sudden deluge pours,
To waste his crops, and desolate his shores,
His tall domes sink,—his baseless fabrics float,
Where bloom'd his gardens, frowns a stagnant moat,
Mephitic vapours from the bound arise,
And pestilential fogs obscure the skies.—
—Fire, whose bright glance his torpid bosom warms,
Roused to quick vengeance, like a fury storms,
Amid wild shouts of fear, and terror's cry
Winds its red volumes round the midnight sky,
Consumes the fabric that his labour rear'd,
Destroys the form by ties of love endear'd,
Blackens his beauty, lays his glory low,
Feeds on his wealth, and riots in his wo.—
See, where its pride, by rocky chains comprest
In earth's dark caverns, rends her tortured breast,
Bursts from its vault, the groaning mountain rends,
In streams of red, sulphureous wrath descends,
Blasts the tall forests, ravages the plains,—
Destroys the vineyards, cottages and swains,—
O'er mighty cities rolls with whelming tide,
O'er temples, palaces, and towers of pride,—
Their sculptured grandeur feeds the transient blaze,
And o'er their head the burning billow plays.
—Say then, is man with heaven-deputed sway, At once the sport, the victim, and the prey?—
Have all the elements combined as foes
His harm to compass, and his good oppose?—
No,—one alone, the hapless being spares,
Wages no war, and no resistance dares.—
—Earth, pitying earth, her new-born son beholds,
Spreads a soft shelter, in her robe enfolds,
Still, like a mother kind, her love retains,
Cheers by her cordials, with her food sustains,
Paints brilliant flowers to wake his infant smile,
Spreads fragrant fruits to cheer his hour of toil,
Renews her prospects versatile and gay,
To charm his eye and cheat his cares away,—
And if her roseate buds a thorn conceal,
If some sharp sting the roving hand should feel,
A medicine kind, the sweet physician sends,
And where her poisons wound, her balm defends.
—But when at last, her drooping charge declines,
When the frail lamp of life no longer shines,
When o'er its broken idol friendship mourns,
And love, in horror, from its object turns, Forsakes the loathsome corse and shuddering, grieves, She, to her arms, her mouldering son receives, Murmurs in requiem o'er her darling birth,
"Return thou loved one, to thy parent earth:"—
Safe in her bosom the deposite keeps, Until the flame that dries the watery deeps,
Spreads o'er the parching skies a quenchless blaze, Her features reddens, on her vitals preys,
Then struggling in her last convulsive throes, She wakes her treasure from his deep repose,
Stays her last groan amid dissolving fires
Resigns him to his Maker, and expires.