A paraphrase upon the canticles and some select hymns of the New and Old Testament, with other occasional compositions in English verse. By Samuel Woodford |
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 | A paraphrase upon the canticles |  |
I.
Heav'ns youngest Son, its Benjamin,Divinities next Brother, Sacred Poesy,
No longer shall a Virgin reck'ned be,
(What e're with others 'tis, how e're call'd so by me)
A Female Muse, as were the Nine,
But full of Vigor Masculine,
An Essence Male, with Angels in shar'd Glories joyn
With Angels first the Heav'nly Child was bred,
And, while a Child, instructed them to Sing
The Praises of th' Immortal King,
Who Lucifer in Triumph led.
For as in Chains the Monster sank to Hell,
And tumbling Headlong down the Precipice fell,
By Him well thew'd and tutor'd well,
“How art Thou fallen, Morning Star, they said!
Too fondly then we 'have fanci'd him a Maid,
We the vain Brethren of the Riming Trade,
A Female Angel less would Rafaels skill upbraid.
II.
Thus 'twas in Heav'n, this Poesies Sex and Age,And when He thence to 'our lower World came down,
He chose a Form most like his own,
And Jesses youngest Son inspir'd with holy Rage;
The sprightly Shepherd felt unusual Fire,
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He took it up and strook 'it, and 'his own soft touches did admire.
Thou Po'esy on Him didst bestow,
An Honour shew'd before to none;
And to prepare his Way to th' Hebrew Throne,
Gave'st him Thy Empire, and Dominion:
The happy Land of Verse, where flow
Rivers of Milk, and Groves of Laurel grow;
Wherewith Thou didst adorn his Brow,
And madst his first most flourishing, & Triumphal Crown.
Assist me Thy great Prophets Praise to Sing;
David the Poets, and blest Israels King,
And with the dancing Eccho let the Mountains ring!
Then on the Wings of some auspicious Wind,
Let His great Name from Earth be rais'd on High,
And in the Starry Volume of the Skie,
A lasting Record find;
Be with His mighty Psaltery joyn'd,
Which taken up long since into the Air,
And call'd the Harp, makes a bright Constellation there!
III.
Worthy it was to be Translated hence,And there in view of all Exalted hang,
To which so oft the Princely Prophet sang,
And sacred Ora'cles did dispence;
Tho had it still remain'd below,
More Wonders of it, we e're now had seen,
How great the mighty Herberts Skill had been:
Herbert, who could so much without it do,
Herbert who perfectly its Chords did know,
More perfectly than any Child of Verse does now.
Ah! had we known him half so well!
But then, my Friend, there had been left for you,
Nothing so fair, and worthy Praise to undergo,
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That, tho we envy not his Bays,
Nor all the Piramids Verse can raise,
Your Hand, and Pen we do, that eternize his Praise.
Herbert, and Donn again are joyn'd,
Here below, as they 'are above;
The Friends are in their old Embraces twin'd:
And since by you that Enterview 's design'd,
Too weak to part them Death does prove,
But in one Book they greet again, as in one Heav'n they love.
| A paraphrase upon the canticles | |