Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Quid prius dicam solitis Parentis
Laudibus? ------
Qui mare & terras variisque mundum
Temperat horis?
Unde nil majus generatur ipso,
Nec viget quicquam simile aut secundum.
Horat.

I.

O muse unfeign'd! O true cœlestial Fire,
Brighter than that which rules the Day,
Descend! a mortal Tongue inspire
To sing some great immortal Lay;
Begin, and strike aloud the consecrated Lyre!
Hence ye profane! be far away!
Hence all ye impious Slaves that bow
To Idol Lusts, or Altars raise,
And to false Heroes give fantastick Praise!
And hence ye Gods, who to a Crime your spurious Beings owe!
But hear O Heav'n, and Earth, and Seas profound!
Hear ye unfathom'd Deeps below,

And let your echoing Vaults repeat the Sound;
Let Nature, trembling all around,
Attend her Master's awful Name,
From whom Heav'n, Earth, and Seas, and all the wide Creation came!

II.

He spoke the great Command, and Light,
Heav'n's eldest-born and fairest Child,
Flash'd in the lowring Face of ancient Night,
And, pleas'd with its own Birth, serenely smil'd.
The Sons of Morning, on the Wing,
Hov'ring in Choirs his Praises sing,
When from th'unbounded vacuous Space
A beauteous rising World they saw;
When Nature shew'd her yet unfinish'd Face,
And Motion took th'establish'd Law
To roll the various Globes on high;
When Time was taught his Infant Wings to try,
And from the Barrier sprung to his appointed Race.

III.

Supreme, Almighty, still the Same!
'Tis He, the great inspiring Mind,
That animates and moves this universal Frame,
Present at once in all, and by no Place confin'd.

Not Heav'n it self can bound his Sway,
Beyond th'untravell'd Limits of the Sky,
Invisible to Mortal Eye
He dwells in uncreated Day.
Without Beginning, without End; 'tis He
That fills th'unmeasur'd growing Orb of vast Immensity.

IV.

What Pow'r but His can rule the changeful Main,
And wake the sleeping Storm, or its loud Rage restrain?
When Winds their gather'd Forces try,
And the chas'd Ocean proudly swells in vain,
His Voice reclaims th'impetuous Roar;
In murm'ring Tides th'abated Billows fly,
And the spent Tempest dies upon the Shore.
The Meteor World is his, Heav'n's Wintry Store,
The moulded Hail, the feather'd Snow;
The Summer Breeze, the soft refreshing Show'r,
The loose divided Cloud, and many-colour'd Bow;
The crooked Lightning darts around,
His Sov'reign Orders to fulfill;
The shooting Flame obeys th'Eternal Will,
Lanch'd from his Hand, instructed where to kill,
Or rive the Mountain Oak, or blast th'unshelter'd Ground.

V.

Yet pleas'd to bless, indulgent to supply,
He, with a Father's tender Care,
Supports the num'rous Family
That peoples Earth and Sea and Air.
From Nature's Giant Race, th'enormous Elephant,
Down to the Insect Worm and creeping Ant;
From th'Eagle, Sov'reign of the Sky,
To each inferior Feather'd Brood;
From Crowns and purple Majesty
To humble Shepherds on the Plains,
His Hand unseen divides to All their Food,
And the whole World of Life sustains.

VI.

At one wide View His Eye surveys
His Works, in ev'ry distant Clime;
He shifts the Seasons, Months and Days,
The short-liv'd Offspring of revolving Time;
By turns they die, by turns are born;
Now chearful Spring the Circle leads,
And strows with Flow'rs the smiling Meads;
Gay Summer next, whom Russet Robes adorn,
And waving Fields of yellow Corn;
Then Autumn, who with lavish Stores the Lap of Nature spreads;

Decrepit Winter, laggard in the Dance,
(Like feeble Age opprest with Pain)
A heavy Season does maintain,
With driving Snows and Winds and Rain;
Till Spring, recruited to advance,
The various Year rolls round again.

VII.

But who, Thou great Ador'd! who can withstand
The Terrors of thy lifted Hand,
When long provok'd, thy Wrath awakes,
And conscious Nature to her Center shakes?
Rais'd by thy Voice, the Thunder flies,
Hurling pale Fear and wild Confusion round,
How dreadful is th'inimitable Sound,
The Shock of Earth and Seas, and Labour of the Skies!
Then where's Ambition's haughty Crest?
Where the gay Head of wanton Pride?
See! Tyrants fall, and wish the opening Ground
Wou'd take them quick to Shades of Rest,
And in their common Parent's Breast
From thee their bury'd Forms for ever hide;
In vain—for all the Elements conspire,
The shatter'd Earth, the rushing Sea,
Tempestuous Air, and raging Fire,
To punish vile Mankind and fight for Thee;

Nor Death it self can intercept the Blow,
Eternal is the Guilt, and without End the Woe.

VIII.

O Cyrus! Alexander! Julius! all
Ye mighty Lords that ever rul'd this Ball!
Once Gods of Earth, the living Destinies
That made a hundred Nations bow!
Where's yours Extent of Empire now?
Say where preserv'd your Phantom Glory lies?
Can Brass the fleeting Thing secure?
Enshrin'd in Temples does it stay?
Or in huge Amphitheatres endure
The Rage of rolling Time, and scorn Decay?
Ah no! the mouldring Monuments of Fame
Your vain deluded Hopes betray,
Nor shew th'ambitious Founder's Name,
Mix'd with your selves in the same Mass of Clay.

IX.

Proceed my Muse! Time's wasting Thread pursue,
And see at last th'unravell'd Clue,
When Cities sink, and Kingdoms are no more,
And weary Nature shall her Work give o'er.
Behold th'Almighty Judge on high!
See in his Hand the Book of Fate!
Myriads of Spirits fill the Sky
T'attend, with dread Solemnity,

The World's last Scene, and Time's concluding Date.
The feeble Race of short-liv'd Vanity
And sickly Pomp at once shall die;
Foul Guilt to Midnight Caves will shrink away,
Look back, and tremble in her Flight,
And curse at Heav'n's pursuing Light,
Surrounded with the Vengeance of that Day.
How will you then, ye Impious, 'scape your Doom,
Self-judg'd, abandon'd, overcome?
Your Clouds of painted Bliss shall melt before your Sight,
Yet shall you not the giddy Chace refrain,
Nor hope more solid Bliss t'obtain,
Nor once repeat the Joys you knew before;
But sigh, a long Eternity of Pain,
Tost in an Ocean of Desire, yet never find a Shore.

X.

But see where the mild Sovereign sits prepar'd
His better Subjects to reward!
Where am I now! what Pow'r Divine
Transports me! what immortal Splendors shine!
Torrents of Glory that oppress the Sight!
What Joys, cœlestial King! thy Throne surround!
The Sun, who with thy borrow'd Beams so bright,
Sees not his Peer in all the Starry Round,

Wou'd here diminish'd fade away,
Like his pale Sister of the Night,
When she resigns her delegated Light,
Lost in the Blaze of Day.
Here Wonder only can take Place;—
Then Muse, th'adventrous Flight forbear!
These Mystick Scenes thou canst no farther trace;
Hope may some boundless Future Bliss embrace,
But What, or When, or How, or Where,
Are Mazes all, which Fancy runs in vain;
Nor can the narrow Cells of human Brain
The vast immeasurable Thought contain.