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The Works of the Late Aaron Hill

... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting

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The French Prophets.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The French Prophets.

Prophecy! no—'tis luxury of soul!
No Cataracts, down religion's rivers, roll!
Her streams, tho' deep, are ever, smooth, and clear,
And, from their bottoms, all things plain appear:
On Superstition's sea, these vessels ride,
Foul, with the dashings of her muddy tide.
What marks? what tokens? can they boast, from heav'n?
Knowledge is, still, with inspiration, giv'n!
While these the dusky paths of ignorance tread,
And impudently prophecy, for bread!
With counterfeited shocks of soul, they swell,
And, in forc'd sweats, convulsive falsehoods tell.

340

To heights, like this, religion wou'd not fly;
Ev'n zeal grows madness, when 'tis skrew'd too high.
Now law, methinks, most wholesomely severe,
Might truth's fair garden, from this rubbish, clear,
Which, long despis'd, may strike too vig'rous root,
And, into groves of godly error, shoot!
'Twere easy, now, to sweep loose weeds away,
Which may destroy the flow'rs, by short delay.
So, in the bottom of some goodly plain,
Flows a small rill, encreas'd, by casual rain;
Near which, with careful steps, and sounding hands,
Some cautious clown, with needless terror stands!
Loth to attempt a nimble passage o'er,
While, still, the swelling stream encreases more:
'Till faint essays, protracting time, in vain,
The rising river drowns the cover'd plain;
Then, stagg'ring, with affright, he gazes round,
And, forc'd to pass, at last, mistakes his ground:
'Till, deeply wading, to'ward the wide-miss'd shore,
The current sweeps him, and he's seen no more.