Familiar letters and poems on several occasions By Mary Masters |
POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. |
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Familiar letters and poems on several occasions | ||
POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
A Morning ODE.
Has chac'd the gloomy Shades away
Of melancholy Night;
The Sun, with peerless Lustre crown'd,
Now spreads the shining Blessing round,
And charms my ravish'd Sight.
Whose gracious Influence we adore,
How glorious are thy Beams!
Thy Beams the solemn Woods pervade,
They gild the gay enamell'd Mead,
And glitter in the Streams!
All that is great and good below,
Or elegant, or fair;
And, but for thy resplendent Light,
A long uncomfortable Night
Wou'd Human Life appear.
From thee derives its pleasing Hue,
And shews its comely Form:
For without thy disclosing Rays,
Beauty would lose its lovely Blaze,
And want the Pow'r to charm.
The Pleasures of the visual Sense,
Our principal Delight;
Thy kind propitious Rays reveal,
And glad th'admiring Sight.
Who felt the warm enliv'ning Flame,
And saw it's dazling Ray,
If he, with Reverence Divine,
To Orosmades rais'd the Shrine,
And hymn'd the God of Day?
Who never knew a higher Theme,
Than what blind Nature taught;
For Reason, unassisted, might,
Surpriz'd by such an Orb of Light,
Gaze with adoring Thought.
By his prophetic Seers was shown,
The Wise in Darkness trod!
'Till Revelation Reason join'd,
And lighted up the Human Mind,
To know th'Eternal God.
On the Nativity of our BLESSED SAVIOUR.
In yearly Strains our laurell'd Poets sing,And celebrate the Birth-days of the King,
The crowding Peers their constant Homage pay,
And hail the Monarch on his natal Day.
When George was born is told his Realms around,
Men, Bells and Guns proclaim the joyful Sound;
But nobler far should wait the Lord of Heav'n,
Not a few scanty Realms should sing his Praise,
But the whole World one sacred Anthem raise,
Let Seraphs come to swell the Concert higher,
And add to ours their own celestial Choir,
Let all unite on this auspicious Morn
And carol loud—the Great Messiah's born.
On Friendship.
Friendship is Love from all its Dross refin'dThe chaste Enjoyment of th'immortal Mind:
'Tis such as Angels do to Angels bear.
Unmix'd with wanton Thoughts and loose Desires,
The purer Flame to nobler Heights aspires;
To ease the Bosom that is deep distress'd,
And raise the Transport of the joyful Breast;
This Gift Divine the Pow'r supreme bestows,
To aid our joys and dissipate our Woes:
To make the chearful Hours of Life more gay,
And drive the melancholy Shades away.
To Miss H--- on her Marriage with Captain J---.
And make new Visits on your alter'd State;
Has wish'd to pay this tributary Song:
Congratulating, let me thus appear,
Big with kind wishes, and a Joy sincere.
Black Envy now her venom'd Tongue will cease
The Rival Beauties, sure, will sleep in Peace;
Secur'd this Day from all the keen Alarms,
Which once they felt from your superior Charms:
A sacred Bar, the hymeneal Chain,
Cuts off the Hope of each desiring Swain;
All, all, but one, must at a distance gaze,
In Silence wonder, or with Caution praise:
Whom beauteous Alithea deigns to bless!
Happy the Man, and much indulg'd by Heav'n,
To whose fair Lot so rich a Prize is given;
A Bride whom smiling Nature form'd to please,
Whose Looks are Grandeur, and whose Motion Ease;
When Eloquence adorns the graceful Maid,
And rapid Wit by steady Judgment sway'd,
When ev'n her shining Form we see outshin'd,
By the Superior Lustre of her mind!
'Tis then that Love triumphant points his Dart,
And plants it deeper in the wounded Heart;
Then shall the Lover boast his Hopes compleat,
And find his Joys as durable as great.
Propitious to this happy Union prove:
May Youth roll on with Health and Pleasure gay,
And Peace and Honour bless your latter Day.
PSALM XXV.
I lift my rising Soul, in thee I trust.
Oh let not shame, my humbled Head depress,
Nor my pleas'd Foes rejoice at my Distress;
Unblemish'd Honour free from all Disgrace,
Is the fair Portion of thy faithful Race;
That Wretch who dares presumptuously offend.
Point out the Path in which 'tis peace to go;
On thee, my God, my Saviour, and my Friend,
On thee undoubting shall my Soul attend;
Oh! think on all thy tender Mercies past,
(From ancient Times thy tender Mercies last)
And let thy Favour my Transgressions blot,
Be all my frail, my erring Youth forgot;
To this blest Hour let thy remitting Grace,
Indulgent flow, and ev'ry Sin efface,
The Righteous Lord most merciful and kind,
Will teach his holy Laws to weak Mankind;
Un-erring Judgment to the Meek impart,
And plant true Wisdom in the lowly Heart:
Thy ways are Peace, and Pleasantness, and Love.
Oft have my wandrings urg'd thy Wrath to flame,
Yet let me hope the Love I dare not claim:
The pious Man who shall thy Name revere,
May chuse his Path, and thou wilt lead him there.
His Life in calm Tranquillity shall pass,
And large Possessions bless his lasting Race;
From him the Lord no knowledge will conceal,
But all his sacred Purposes reveal.
That he may free me from the treach'rous Snare:
To me distress'd, and overcome with Grief:
See my Affliction, my sad Weight of Woe!
And to my lab'ring Soul compassion show:
Think what proud Numbers for my Ruin wait,
How vast their Pow'r, and how intense their Hate!
Do thou my Soul from all their Rage protect,
Give me a stedfast Eye and Look erect:
Be my firm Heart from ev'ry Terror free,
For I have plac'd my only Hope in thee.
Then let Integrity my Counsels guide,
Since I in thee, in thee alone, confide:
And see, with Pity see, sad Israel's Tears,
Relieve his Sorrows, and remove his Fears.
An Answer to an Epistle sent me by a Gentleman on the Death of his Father.
Thou whose sad Lines a Father's Death bewail,Who call'st on me to aid the tragic Tale;
Thy moving Sorrows are not ill address'd,
Since native Pity melts the Female Breast;
With just Regard I read thy mournful Strains,
And sympathizing, feel the Mourner's Pains:
'Tis sacred Grief, 'tis beautiful Distress,
Yet think, my Friend, there's Error, in Excess;
When Death at first in all his dread Array,
Divides the conscious Soul from lifeless Clay,
When a lov'd Parent feels the parting Blow,
'Tis Height of Anguish all, and Rage of Woe!
Not all the Force of Language unconfin'd,
Can then appease the deep-afflicted Mind.
The Interval when Reason quits her Sway;
She, mild, returning wisely will impart,
Serener Dictates to the tortur'd Heart,
And kindly would afford a calm Relief,
Did we not shun her, and caress our Grief;
This thou hast done devoted to Despair,
Forsook Society, and nourished Care,
Try'd ev'ry Way thy Sorrows to improve,
Wander'd alone, and sought the gloomy Grove,
Where Sighs may breathe, and Tears may freely flow,
For Solitude, is still the Nurse of Woe;
In silent Shades sad Melancholy reigns,
But too indulgent to the Mourner's Pains;
Reflection there supplies the parted View,
And keeps the fatal Vision ever new:
And social Converse shall divert thy Care:
But if this moving Image of Distress,
A Father's Death thy rising Soul depress,
Revolve the Virtues which he once possess'd,
And think those Virtues now have made him blest.
But chiefly let my Friendship here perswade,
Which bids thee call Religion to thy Aid,
Her Dictates shall thy ev'ry Loss repair,
The friendly Counsel, and paternal Care,
For ever station'd in the pious Breast,
Wisdom shall reign, and true Contentment rest.
On hearing a Sermon preached by the Reverend Mr ---.
Could all like him the sacred Gospel preach,And heav'nly Truths in heav'nly Language teach,
Display the Scriptures in so clear a View,
And urge the Precept by Example too,
No more the slighted Clergy wou'd complain,
They labour for the good of Souls in vain:
Religion would in native Lustre shine,
The Priest and Office both esteem'd Divine:
For when by Him the Christian Duty's taught,
There is no Leisure for a wand'ring Thought,
As from his Tongue the sweet Instruction flows,
Each ardent Mind in ev'ry Virtue grows.
PSALM XLII.
So pants my longing Soul for thee, my God.
I pant, I languish, and I thirst for thee;
Oh, when shall I thy living Lustre see!
When will thy Presence wonted Joy impart,
Fill my desiring Soul, and cheer my Heart?
In vain the Sun displays his radiant Light,
In vain to Day succeeds the Starry Night;
For each to me alike one Gloom appears,
And both are witness to my falling Tears;
Careless of Ease, and negligent of Rest,
Devouring Grief has my whole Soul possess'd;
While, to encrease my Pain, th'insulting Foe,
With Joy malignant, mocks my rising Woe;
And with incessant Anguish inly mourn,
Whilst thus the Scoffers tauntingly upbraid;
Where is thy God? Where now, his promis'd Aid?
For I had gone with the devoted Throng,
And in his Temple join'd the sacred Song,
With those who joyful tune the sprightly Lay,
And to his Honour dedicate the Day.
Why, O my Soul! art thou so much distress'd?
Oh! why with such a Weight of Sorrow press'd?
In the Most High thy Confidence repose,
Almighty Pow'r shall crush thy fiercest Foes;
Heed not the Fools who scoffingly upbraid,
I yet shall thank him for his promis'd Aid;
Look down, my God, behold my wasting Grief,
From thee my suff'ring Soul implores Relief.
From Hermon's Mount, by Jordan's limpid Stream:
Oh, with one gracious Smile my Grief asswage,
Who long have borne the cruel Tyrant's Rage,
While the loud Torrents rushing force their Way,
Wave after Wave in terrible Array!
Yet sure my God will give his kind Command,
And drive far hence the vile insulting Band;
Then shall his Praises dwell upon my Tongue,
And ev'ry Night shall hear the grateful Song:
To him each Day shall rise the constant Pray'r,
And constant Praise implore perpetual Care.
Why left to gloomy Care and pensive Thought?
Th'insulting Enemies repeated Scorn.
Can, like thy Absence, penetrate my Heart:
While I am doom'd to feel the Scorner's Rod,
Who flouting cry, where now thy boasted God?
No hostile Weapon can so deeply wound,
As this afflicting Thought, this piercing Sound:
But why, my Soul, art thou so much distress'd?
Oh! why with such a Weight of Sorrow press'd?
Still in thy God full Confidence repose,
Almighty Pow'r shall crush thy strongest Foes,
His Favour yet thou shalt with Joy proclaim,
And all thy Pow'rs uniting, praise his Name.
My Love describ'd to CAMILLA.
A bright Angelic Flame,
That makes a Paradise on Earth,
And Friendship is its Name.
And lessens ev'ry Care,
That gives to Joy a sweeter smile,
And Comfort to Despair.
Can countless Pleasures give;
When social Souls are kindly mix'd,
And in each other live.
Glows warm in either Breast;
Stronger by far than Tyes of Blood,
More lastingly impress'd.
Afford extreme Delight,
To those exalted happy Pairs,
Whom Friendship's Joys unite.
This heav'nly Bliss below;
Resembling Minds alone can tell
From whence such Pleasures flow.
To the same on her telling me a very acceptable piece of News.
Will the anxious Bosom ease,
But when Friends the Tidings bear,
Then 'tis sure to doubly please;
Thou wert a chosen Messenger to me,
As if all Good must be convey'd by thee.
Informs my op'ning Mind;
In ev'ry Soul delighting Thought,
I sweet Instruction find:
Thy Presence does sublimest Joy dispense,
While Female Sweetness softens Manly Sense.
To my attentive Ear;
Thy well-penn'd Letters please my Sight;
Thy Counsels ease my Care:
Heav'n surely more than common Blessing sends,
Whenever it bestows religious Friends.
An EPISTLE to ---
For ever busy, plow the Indian Seas;
While artful Statesmen court coy Fortune's Smiles,
And plod in Politic's laborious Toils:
And follow Nature through her various Ways;
Consider Man in all his Scenes of Care,
His useless Grief, his ignorant Despair.
Man, who inconstant through each Stage of Life,
Sinks into Woes, or plunges into Strife:
Subject to Fortune's Frowns, who still disdains
To bear Controul, but breaks Distinction's Reins:
Or by the headstrong Passions hurry'd on,
Grasps at a Shade, and seeks to be undone;
Various Resolves now shake his lab'ring Mind:
He stumbles next on what he ne'er design'd;
How can his diff'rent Humours be express'd?
Or who can paint the Chaos in his Breast?
Pursues false Notions, or neglects the true;
Stubborn he roams, and heedless scorns his Guide,
And plunges deep in Falsehood's muddy Tide;
Tugs through the Sea of Life his leaky Bark,
And proud, and stubborn wanders in the Dark.
Presumptuous dares high Heav'ns eternal Pow'r;
Blinded by Pride, does boundless Heights explore,
And leaves those easy Paths he trod before.
A Slave to error, soars above his Sphere,
And smiles with impious Mirth at pious Fear;
With evangelic Verity finds fault,
And boldly mends what Inspiration taught.
And call in question ev'ry Attribute;
Darts at Futurity the senseless Joke!
And laughs at Truths which Reverend Prophets spoke,
Asserts that Man, when Death has fix'd his Doom,
Lies like the Brutes forgotten in the Tomb.
Nor what thou can'st not comprehend explore!
Why wou'dst thou know what Nature has forbid?
Why seek those Depths, which lye in Darkness hid?
And rashly pry into mysterious Things?
Impartial Heav'n, if Heav'n had thought it right!
Had laid all Nature open to thy Sight:
Had stamp'd Omniscience on thy weaker Soul,
And thou hadst known the Fabric of the whole.
Breath of an Hour and verdure of a Day:
Boldly asserts (so boundless is his Pride,)
Reason alone, an all-sufficient Guide.
She soon will lead thee thro' a smoother Way:
Will mildly place thy Follies to thy view,
And teach those Virtues which thou shou'dst pursue,
Will bid thee open thy mistaken Eyes,
And kindly shew thee where thy Error lies:
Read with Attention, and consider well,
What Scriptures promise, and what Gospels tell;
View how each Law in Reason takes its Root,
And then those Laws, if possible, dispute.
First rush from Rocks, then run thro' Vales below,
Rapid their Stream, and fertile is their Tide;
Charm'd with the Blessings of their healthful Course,
Who'd vainly seek to trace the hidden Source.
If God ne'er acts without immediate Cause,
Why all his Precepts, and for what his Laws?
Reason had taught us, if our only Guide,
To fly the Robber, and the Homicide,
And moral, and religious Want supply'd.
No Precepts govern, and no Rules exist!
Where strong Oppression bears despotic Sway,
And force their Subjects, trembling, to obey!
Where Ostentation leads the Way to Fame,
And Virtue's made a Tool to raise a Name!
The sudden Wonder of one awful Night!
Where Friendship, Falsehood, Pity, lawless Force,
Take from one Bosom a resistless Course?
Inconstant Heroes, warring in their Will,
Now fond of Virtue, and now prone to Ill!
By her assisted, Fame's Ascent they climb,
Or lost to Glory, triumph in a Crime.
Has pointed out the Road to Happiness,
Has blacken'd Vice with all her gloomy Train,
And bid fair Virtue spotless White remain:
“Be yours the Choice, pursue or that or this,
“Your certain Ruin, or your certain Bliss;
“Virtue has artless Charms, court those or be undone.
Obey thy God, and prize Eternity:
Virtue with pious Steps pursue in Time,
Mount by Degrees, nor tumble as you climb;
Soon shall the uncouth Passage disappear,
Thy Eyes will open, and the Prospect clear.
Who calmly bears the Burden of his Woes;
Who smiles at Perils, and encompass'd round
With Troubles, bravely still maintains his Ground.
Vexation, Sorrow, Anguish, Grief and Pain,
Will form the Hero, and compleat the Man.
A Second Epistle to the Same.
And Life's most secret deep Recesses scan;
Be pow'rful Reason thy unerring Guide,
Reason will safe conduct thee thro' the Tide
Of wild Ambition, and insulting Pride:
Think what thou art, a Piece of mould'ring Clay,
Wrought into Form, the Play-thing of a Day,
Then swell with Pomp, with Riches or with Sway;
They're but the pleasing Shadows of an Hour,
A passing Pageant, and a pleasing Flow'r;
He that would Bliss in Pomp and Titles find,
But courts a Shadow and embraces Wind.
How many Vot'ries at her Feet expir'd!
Nature to her Ten-thousand Graces gave,
Eyes to ensnare, and Beauty to enslave;
But what is Beauty, what the sparkling Eye,
Where Pride and Vanity the rest supply?
False Jewels thus a glaring Lustre give,
And at a Distance ev'ry Eye deceive;
But when we view the polish'd Pebbles near,
The fair Delusions, as they should, appear.
Proudly triumphant, and too vainly gay,
Acts the Coquet, while all her Swains despair,
The willing Coxcombs of a trifling Fair;
A thousand pretty awkward Tricks she plays,
A thousand tender airy Things she says:
Now smiles, now frowns, now pleasant, now demure
She looks—but is not the same thing an Hour;
Too soon you will repent, affected Maid!
Those Charms will languish, and those Beauties fade,
Those sparkling Eyes, which at a Glance cou'd slay,
Shall lose their Lustre, languish and decay;
Your Rage but idle, and Complainings vain.
And thus the low ambitious Statesman grew;
Grasping at Pow'r, each diff'rent Part he play'd,
His Foes protected, or his Friends betray'd:
Well taught in all the wily Games of State,
He would, no matter by what means, be Great.
False as the Syren when she sweetly Sings;
Be cautious Statesmen, shun the poison'd Bait,
Nor basely wait their Favour to be Great;
But grown, one Tempest tears you from the Root.
An upstart Courtier, and a pension'd Lord!
But once depriv'd of Glory and of Pow'r,
Who then will flatter—and who then adore?
So the proud Jay in Peacock's Feathers dress'd,
By all the Birds was flatter'd and caress'd:
In borrow'd Grandeur stately walk'd along,
The Praise and Darling of the feather'd Throng;
But when of ev'ry gaudy Plume bereft,
Nothing of all her former State was left;
A public Object of their daily Sneer.
Heaps of uncounted Treasure hid from Day;
Thither Avarus ev'ry Moment flies,
And feeds his Fancy, and delights his Eyes;
In Gold he places ev'ry Human Pleasure,
And counts Felicity by Land and Treasure.
And, tho' he wallows to the Ears in Pence,
He dares not take one single Shilling thence:
“Why midst such Plenty, woud'st thou Niggard spare?
“Sir, to enrich my only Son and Heir.
Avarus spares that Prodigus may rake!
Thou couldst not err, for she wou'd be obey'd;
By her deep Wisdom influenc'd thou wou'dst see,
Superfluous Riches are but Vanity.
Frequents Assemblies, Operas, and Balls;
Behind six powder'd lazy Valets grin,
True Emblems of th'embroider'd Thing within.
Nymphs he'll support, and Horses too maintain,
And thoughtless risk his Thousands at a Main;
Thus from Extremes we fall into a worse,
Too base Profuseness, or a greater Curse.
Empty are Titles that are proudly bought;
Rewards for honest Deeds, they grace a Name,
Receiv'd for Money—Fool and Lord's the same:
Virtue shall live whole Ages after Death,
Titles are Air, and Lordships but a Breath.
The Rose and other Flowers, a Tale; inscribed to a young Lady.
Convers'd like us, and utter'd Words:
When Things inanimate could Chatter,
And moralize on ev'ry Matter.
Amidst the flow'ry Belles arose,
That paint the Gardens gay Parterre,
Herself she thought the Fairest there,
And thus she spoke with flaunting Air.
I like the Colours of your Dress;
That pretty Lilly here so white,
That Hyacinth enchants my Sight.
And sweetly, Zephyr, scents thy Breezes;
That Jonquil too, or let me die,
Is most delighting to the Eye—
The Jessamin's delicious smell,
I vow I relish very well—
But which of you with me compares?
How well my Red and White bespeak
The Charms that dwell on Delia's Cheek:
And then again the Lover sips
My Sweets from Delia's modest Lips:
By me young Poets are supply'd,
Her Blush I give the bashful Bride;
And but for me how wond'rous faint,
Would be the Artist's mimic Paint.
Me, when enliv'ning Phœbus greets,
How tasteless are Arabian sweets:
Behold, with fine expanded Wings,
Yon flutt'ring Beaux, those busy Things
With wanton Buz around me play,
And court me all the live long Day.
Yours center all in me alone,—
Where'er I dwell, in Gardens Bowers,
Confess me still the Queen of Flowers.
The humble Cowslip thus reply'd,
Insulting Minx we scorn your Pride;
Your Merit claims a Place 'tis true,
Among the first for Smell and Hue,
But then remember, tho' so gay,
Your Reign is but a single Day—
Consider too Nature bestows,
Not all her Favours on the Rose;
In all she does there's great Design,
You have your Use, and I have mine.
To guess the Moral of my Fable;—
Are but the Trifles of an Hour—
Pride ill becomes the noblest Breast;
Still the most Modest are the Best.
The ATOM and WASP; or Pride mortified.
And on with slow majestic Paces trod;
My Pride broke out; “Of what Importance I,
“For whom Earth rose, and this unbounded sky.
“And pays her annual Debt in Herbs and Flow'rs;
“And Moon and Stars were made to gild my Night.
“Are all dependent on my awful Will;
“Pierc'd with my Shaft, the Lion roars and dies,
“And Whales stretch breathless, if my Jav'lin flies.”
Swell'd with the lordly Character of Man;
A Wasp dash'd on me with audacious Wing,
And on my Lip infix'd its venom'd Sting.
Whirl'd in the Wind upon my Eye-Ball blew;
Gush'd from my Eyes, and stung me to the Heart.
Child of the Dust, and bounded to a Span,
Array himself in Pride's imperial Robe,
And boast a Sov'reign Empire o'er the Globe.
And dar'st audacious snatch the Reign of God;
Atoms shall, unreveng'd, insult their King,
And Insects wound thee with tyrannick Sting.
On a FOUNTAIN.
Casim. Lib. Epod. Od. 2.
That quivers in the Noon-day Beam;
Thy Face an equal Lustre shows,
To the Sun's glance on Scythian Snows.
With thy pure Wave his Thirst he slakes;
Translucent Orb! that cheer'st the Ground,
Diffus'd in rich Embroid'ry round.
O'er the dim Taper's midnight Oil,
To rural Pleasures I resign,
And on thy flow'ry Bank recline.
My Lips in thy full brimming Wave;
Or from my Palm thy Chrystal sup,
Or through the Reed imbibe it up.
Dash the loose Earth, and as they drink
With miry Hoofs thy Course restrain,
And mar thy Beauties with a Stain.
That sucks its verdant Life from thee;
So may no Bough presume to glide,
Along thine ever-honour'd Tide.
Thy silver, waves and winds along;
Pour'st from thine Urn a living Rill;
And Zephyrs check their wanton Wing,
To catch thy Gurgles as they rise,
Mix'd with the Strains the Lyre supplies.
Should join the warbling Harmony;
For W*** approves my early Flame,
And W***'s Vote is endless Fame.
Casim. Lib. i. Ode 2.
Nor let thy Bosom heave the Sigh,
If Phœbus' Rays should be restrain'd,
And Fortune from her fickle Hand,
Some luckless Die should throw.
And rouse to Wrath the boiling Deep,
And warring Billows roar:
But ere th'approaching Morning comes,
Zephyr shall play his silken Plumes,
And general Peace restore.
To-morrow rising in the East;
In his full Flame shall glow,
Grief and gay Smiles alternate rise:
Joy wipes the Dew-drop from our Eyes,
And Transport treads on Woe.
And ev'ry Joy that springs from Sense;
O'er Rocks of Danger roll:
Thus Heav'n decrees till that great Day,
That sweeps these changing Scenes away,
And rests the tossing Soul.
To Day to Rome makes his remove;
An Orb supreme to fill,
The Yoke his Oxen wore he throws,
Resistless on his Country's Foes:
The Vassels of his Will.
An humble Tiller of the Field;
But when the Morning came,
In highest Rank of Glory blaz'd;
And Realms rever'd his Name.
A Sable with a silver Line;
But take a diff'rent Thread;
He a poor Swain hiss'd by the Throng,
That with his Triumph swell'd his Song,
Must seek his humble Shed.
Once struck a trembling Terror round;
His stubborn Billets rend,
His Rods which once the World controll'd,
To mend his Fire and chace the Cold,
Their last Assistance lend.
To SILVIO.
On his Marriage.
For Man by Heav'n design'd;
And hope that in a pleasing Form,
A pleasing Soul you'll find.
Of Bliss unmix'd below,
But when the blooming Rose you pluck,
Expect a Thorn of Woe.
A moderate Joy refuse;
So the proud Sight disdains a Flow'r,
Amidst unbounded Views.
Thine Imperfections learn;
So shall an ever-candid Eye,
Thy Partner's Faults discern.
Discreetly fix your Sway;
By strict, but gentlest Methods rule,
And joyful she'll obey.
Without a ruffling Strife,
While you adorn the Husband's Sphere,
And she the Sphere of Wife.
Be deaf to her Advice,
Enjoy the Counsels of her Heart,
And Wisdom of her Eyes.
A wise unfeign'd Respect;
Nor let them from your Pattern dare
To treat her with Neglect.
Affect no ruling Part;
Let her be Mistress of your House,
That's Mistress of your Heart.
Your pure Affection prove,
That he who join'd your Hands below,
May join your Souls above.
The various Pursuits of Mankind.
Hor. B. i. Ode I.
To MÆCÆNAS.
My Patron and my Ornament!
One feels a Fervor in his Soul,
Swift o'er Olympian Plains to roll;
And if, as wild the Chariot runs,
The Goal with dext'rous Glance he shuns,
And wins the Palm's ennobling Prize,
Mortal no more, he gains the Skies.
Admire, and shouts his Praise aloud:
Another, if he hoards the Stores,
Collected from the Lybian Floors;
Pleas'd with his brighten'd Shares to wound,
And labour his paternal Ground;
Not both the Indies could invite,
His parting with his dear Delight;
In a small Bark, in wild Dismay
O'er the rough Seas to plough his Way.
When Whirlwinds mix in furious Fight,
With the chaf'd Deep, the safe Retreat
And Pleasures of a Country Seat
Applauds; but soon refits again
His shatter'd Bark, and dares the Main:
Such his insatiate Thirst of Gain!
With good old Wines regales his Taste;
Careless tho' he should drink away,
The choicest Hours that crown the Day,
Wrapt in some Arbor's verdant Shade,
Or by a tinkling Fountain laid.
That rouse the Soldier into Arms;
Fill all their Souls with fierce Delight,
While Nations tremble at the Sight.
Will in the frosty Air abide;
With Hounds to hunt the flying Roe,
Or Boar that snapt his Net in two.
Majestic on your Brows are worn;
Hence you the mortal Race despise,
And claim a Kindred with the Skies.
Where Nymphs and Satyrs love to meet;
My Pleasures find, ev'n there preferr'd,
Sublimely o'er the vulgar Herd:
Should the kind Muses sacred Choir,
Breathe on my Lute, or tune my Lyre.
My Fame shall spread from Pole to Pole.
SPRING.
A Pastoral.
Thick gloom'd his Car, by Tempests roll'd away;
And Spring, her Chariot, drawn by rosy Hours,
Went forth to deck the Earth with rising Flow'rs;
To breathe the sportful Zephyr and to trace,
For the high-rolling Sun a larger Space:
When Colin and Myrtillo, first of Swains,
For sacred Knowledge, and melodious Strains,
To catch the springing Gale and shun the Heat,
Sat down beneath a spreading Oak's Retreat;
Express'd the secret Musings of his Mind.
Myrtillo, dearest Friend, and chiefly known,
For Sense and Piety thro' all our Town;
How gracious is the God whose Providence,
From fiery Beams has spread this green Defence,
And gives us this refreshing Breeze to play,
Along the curling Grass, and cool the Day!
Myrtillo.
Colin where'er we turn our wand'ring Eyes,
The Proofs of an Almighty Ruler rise,
To the least Fly that almost scapes the Sight:
The Foot-steps of his Skill and Pow'r appear,
Thro' all the Seasons of the changing Year;
But Spring with a peculiar Glory shows,
Our God, and with his boundless Image glows.
Colin.
Then let us since the Sun now fires the Noon,
And the Flocks browze along the flow'ry Down;
Take each an Oaten Reed, and try to sing,
The great Creator, and Almighty King;
So shall our Hours past-by look back again,
With Smiles of Pleasure, nor of Guilt complain.
Well I approve the Thought, rejoic'd to find,
That so much Piety inspires your Mind:
How fit and sweet a Work is heav'nly Praise,
That from itself its own Devotion pays?
But as you first propos'd 'tis yours to lead,
Begin, and I in Turns will touch my Reed.
Colin.
Begin my Pipe, begin the lofty Verse,
And the Almighty's wond'rous Works rehearse.
The Maker's Word produc'd the Firmament,
Stain'd it with Blue, and stretch'd its vast extent;
There the Moon fills her Silver Horns by Night;
And round their Queen in silent Order move
Unnumber'd Stars, and fire the Vault above.
Myrtillo.
Renew my Pipe, renew the lofty Verse,
And the Almighty's wond'rous Works rehearse.
What Wonders in the Air may we survey?
There Thunders roll, and rapid Light'nings play;
There Whirlwinds roar, and with resistless Force,
Tear down the Harvests in their furious Course:
Hence Rain in over-whelming Torrents pours,
And hence the Hail descends in stony Show'rs;
With hoary Spangles cloaths the Trees and Plain.
Colin.
Begin my Pipe, begin the lofty Verse,
And the Almighty's wond'rous Works rehearse.
From Air the Dews in hazy Fogs distil,
Which lightly touches on the thirsty Hill;
And thence in dusky Eddies wheel'd around,
Weeps o'er the Grove, and glides along the Ground.
Hence the Carnation takes its lovely Red;
Hence the tall Lilly lifts its snowy Head;
Hence Purple Bloom the Violets unfold;
Hence Cowslips wash their op'ning Buds in Gold;
Fresh from the Bosom of the Virgin Rose;
And hence the precious Sweets the Bees derive,
From springing Flow'rs, t'enrich their common Hive.
Myrtillo.
Renew my Pipe, renew the lofty Verse,
And the Almighty's wond'rous Works rehearse.
And as in Heav'n, so through the Earth below,
The narrow Scenes their Maker's Glories show;
Here the broad River rolls its sounding Course,
Its Depths how dang'rous, and how wild its Force!
And here the Fountain's scanty Waters glide,
And as they run the jarring Pebbles chide;
Now shine and quiver in the Blaze of Day.
Colin.
Begin my Pipe, begin the lofty Verse,
And the Almighty's wond'rous Works rehearse.
There Mountains of un-measur'd Bulk arise,
And with their awful Tops support the Skies;
Humbly behind their wide-extended Gloom,
The Hills appear content with narrow Room;
The Hills that Crops of various Plenty bear,
And here with Grass, and here with Corn appear;
And from whose sloping Side I oft have seen,
My Sheep depending, crop the living Green.
And the Almighty's wond'rous Works rehearse.
Nor less along the Level of the Plains,
And wat'ry Vales the kind Creator reigns;
Here from her Lap the Earth abundant pours,
Herbage and Fruits, and all the Tribes of Flow'rs.
Hence at the dropping Udders thrive my Lambs,
And hence with woolly Burdens sweat my Dams;
Hence I each Year a drugget Coat obtain,
To screen from piercing Cold and drenching Rain.
And hence the fattest Firstlings of my Fold,
At yon great Market Town I oft have sold;
And part is spent, and part reserv'd at Home.
And Silvan Mirth and Innocence enjoy'd:
The Larks a while forgot to tune their Throats,
Hush'd were the Finches and the Linnets Notes;
The Herds and Flocks to hear their tuneful Lays,
Stood round with Ears erect, and ceas'd to graze;
Echo alone within her rocky Cave,
Was known to speak, and Sound for Sound she gave:
Had nigh approach'd, and with her brought their Meal.
Young Lettices with clust'ring Foliage crown'd,
Cresses that in the Silver Brooks abound;
With Leeks, in Pride by antient Britons worn,
And Butter recent from the foaming Churn;
Thankful they eat, and scoop'd the brimming Spring,
And each smil'd happier than the happiest King.
CATULLUS to LESBIA.
My Lesbia swears she would Catullus wed,Tho' Jove himself should come and ask her Bed:
True, this she swears by all the Pow'rs above,
But she's a Woman talking to her Love;
That single Thought my growing Faith defeats,
'Tis necessary for them to be Cheats:
They must be false, they must their Oaths forget,
So pleasing is the Lechery of Deceit:
What Women tell their Servants fade like Dreams,
And should be Wrote in Air, or running Streams.
An Imitation of the foregoing Verses, by way of Reply.
My Strephon swears to me eternal Truth,Though Beauty's tempting Queen should court the Youth;
By ev'ry Pow'r he swears to be my Spouse,
But he's a Man, and these are am'rous Vows;
That one Reflection must my Hopes deface,
'Tis dear Variety that charms the Race.
They will be false, alas they love to range,
So great's the Joy, so sweet it is to change;
What Men protest in heat of Love we find,
Like fleeting Tides, or like the veering Wind.
Wrote immediately upon seeing the Behaviour of a Jealous Husband.
Of all the Plagues with which poor Wives are curst,The Dæmon Jealousy is far the worst;
When once this Fury haunts a Husband's Brain,
He grows enrag'd, and Virtue pleads in vain,
Although by Nature gentle, kind, and good,
He strait turns Savage, insolent and rude;
Not all the Charms of Innocence and Truth,
Not Beauty blooming in the Pride of Youth;
Combin'd with Affluence and sincerest Love,
His stubborn Heart to due Returns can move:
Of these enchanting Treasures full possest,
The thankless Owner yet remains unblest;
For self-deceiv'd he thinks he meets Deceit,
Ev'n Demonstration seems to him a Cheat.
An EPIGRAM on a Person who constantly drinks a Dram when he goes to Prayers.
In all religious Duties we want Aid,And for our help religious Books were made;
Whose sacred Leaves with useful Precepts fraught,
Were once, by all, the best Assistants thought:
But be it spoke to Tom's immortal Praise,
Tom without Books his Piety can raise;
He gravely thinks 'tis much a better Way,
To take a hearty Dram before we pray.
If his Addresses he in Public makes,
A glowing Dose he, never-failing takes;
If to his private Closet he retires,
The friendly Juice his fervent Zeal inspires;
'Tis wisely done, for who dare be so bold,
To say that Tom is in Devotion cold.
Verses sent by a Gentleman to the Author, desiring an Answer.
Wise Heav'n, in Pity to the Sex, design'dFools, for the last Relief of Womankind;
Two marry'd Wits no quiet can enjoy,
Two Fools together would the House destroy:
But Providence, to level Human Life,
Made the fool Husband for the witty Wife.
To the Gentleman who sent the above Verses.
Fools are so plenty in your Sex we find,They often prove the Lot of Womankind;
Too often plague the Witty and the Wise,
For those who are not Fools, will Fools despise:
The Yoke is easy, and the Bondage sweet;
Each has a Charm which shines to either bright,
And Wit to Wit gives, mutually, Delight.
An EXTEMPORE THOUGHT.
What's a dull insipid Life,Or one perplex'd with Care and Strife?
Always blithe, serene and gay,
Wou'd I wear my Hours away:
Never stormy, never sad,
Easy, innocent and glad;
Pleas'd with what the Heav'ns ordain,
Free from Sickness, Care, and Pain:
Careless to Day what haps To-morrow.
Return'd in Answer to a poetical Compliment from Miss ---
From the poetic Hill or Shade,Or where you please, dear tuneful Maid;
These Lines to thee Maria sends,
To thee, her best of earthly Friends:
Pleas'd with your Love, proud of your Praise,
And grac'd by your harmonious Lays;
She wears upon her honour'd Brow,
The darling Glories you bestow:
And since you've made her so divine,
An early Visit shall be thine;
She'll come in all her Radiance dress'd;
Prepare for your celestial Guest,
Fit for the Muses, or for Me:
This Day, the same that gave her Birth,
She means to pass with thee in Mirth:
To Chat and Laugh, and be as free,
As any mortal Maid can be.
Wrote some Months after the Prince of Wales's Death.
For Frederick's Loss we will no longer mourn,The dear departed Prince can ne'er return;
His single form the silent Grave receives,
But in his lovely Offspring yet he lives:
Of these the loyal Muse transported Sings,
And sees, in Thought, a future Race of Kings;
And fill the British Throne till Time shall end:
Oh! may this Thought prophetic Truth contain,
And Brunswick's Race to endless Ages reign.
Four Speeches for four Boys, &c.
The Four following Pieces were written for Four Boys of the Free Grammar School at Norwich, to be spoken before the Mayor in Public, as is usual on the Day of his being sworn into his Office, the Mayor and Aldermen being Trustees for the School; the Boys richly dress'd, attend the Mayor in his grand Procession, and two or three Days after repeat their Speeches in the Guildhall before the Ladies.
HOPE.
The first Speech.
Amidst the various Scenes of anxious Life,Of Sickness, Sorrow, Poverty and Strife:
From whose kind Hints we secret Comfort find:
Fair-speaking Hope, that ever-welcome Guest,
The gentlest Inmate of the human Breast;
With future Bliss our present Care beguiles,
And cheats and chears us with her pleasing Smiles:
Nor transient are her Smiles, for to her Praise,
While Life remains the dear Deluder stays;
When most we languish, sunk in deep Distress,
When sharp Afflictions most the Soul depress;
Depriv'd of all, of ev'ry Good bereft,
When not one Pleasure nor one Friend is left;
The kind Indulger Hope alone remains,
Hushes our Griefs and moderates our Pains;
Bids us prepare a milder Fate to meet,
Smooths the rough Paths, and makes our Bitters sweet;
This subtil Flatterer is ready still:
As Rich and Poor are equally her Friends,
Her Favors she impartially extends;
Confirms the Happy in their happy State,
And adds new Honours to th'ambitious Great;
Raises the Humble from their low Degree,
Combats Despair, and sets the Captive free;
Stands by the Miser while he counts his Store,
Laughs o'er the glitt'ring Heaps, and gives him more.
By her assisted, nothing seems too hard,
Go on she cries, and take a full Reward;
Prompted by Her, ev'n I can banish Fear,
And boldly hope to meet with Favor here.
DESPAIR.
The second Speech.
In vain you talk of Hope's endearing Wiles,Her ample Blessings, and her lasting Smiles;
That she to ev'ry Breast can Joy impart,
And sweetly solace the afflicted Heart:
All this I know th'Enchantress will pretend,
And flatters high and imitates the Friend;
But few that trust her find the Dame sincere,
Her Gifts are Shadows, and her promise Air:
That her Dominion's large must be confest,
Yet let her not lay Claim to ev'ry Breast;
For some there are who scorn her gentle Sway,
Court black Despair, and his stern Laws obey.
A Tyrant he, but more rever'd by far;
Such true Obedience do his Slaves afford,
They'll pour their Blood to please their cruel Lord.
Reverse of Hope that softly-soothing Dame,
By diff'rent Methods he aspires to Fame;
He robs the Rich, and does the Poor oppress,
Sows Discontent, adds Terror to Distress;
Confirms the Wretched, makes all Comfort fade,
And throws Dishonour on th'ambitious Head:
Plunders the Miser of his ill-got Pelf,
Who oft, to save his Money, starves himself;
His gloomy Subjects no soft Pleasures know,
Strangers to Ease, and Devotees to Woe:
In painful Anguish tedious Days are past,
And Sighs and Tears, Night's ling'ring Moments waste.
Does all the blissful Hours of Life destroy;
Blasts our best Wishes in their rising Bloom,
And shocks the tim'rous Mind with Ills to come.
To you, great Sirs, with low Respect I bend,
And ardent wish in each to find a Friend;
Long have I sigh'd your Favour to obtain,
But cold Despair assures me 'tis in vain.
LOVE.
The third Speech, by a little Boy, address'd to the Ladies.
Attend ye Fair, while I attempt to prove,The Pains, the Pleasures, and the Pow'r of Love:
Love the great King whom other Kings obey,
Imperious rules with universal Sway;
His Vassals are in equal Servitude.
The Great, the Wise, the Coward and the Brave,
All sink alike in Love, and in the Grave:
Nor think ye fair ones in the peaceful Hour,
To live exempt from his all-ruling Pow'r;
In vain with Frowns you Arm the beauteous Brow,
Sooner or later, you, yourselves, must bow:
Like Death impartial, he presents his Dart,
And sure to conquer, aims at ev'ry Heart:
The Heart once touch'd by Love no longer knows,
An ever Tenor and a calm Repose;
But ever in extremes, freezes or burns,
And Joy, and Grief, and Rage succeed by turns.
The strong Delight which favour'd Lovers feel;
When fancy'd Joys their ravish'd Thoughts inspire,
Elate with Hope, and fed with fond Desire!
Now pleasing Transports fill the youthful Breast,
The Charmer smiles, and we are more than blest!
But should she frown, that Frown our Bliss destroys,
Dashes our Hopes and dissipates our Joys:
Or to another should the heedless Dame,
Give one kind Glance,—our Souls are all in Flame;
Then Doubts and Fears the tortur'd Bosom move,
With Jealousy! the stretching Rack of Love.
Which sad despairing Lovers undergo;
What vast Distress, what strange distracting Pains,
Are caus'd by faithless Nymphs and perjur'd Swains!
But Man the cruel Shock can better bear,
Bus'ness, or Wine, or Sports, divert his Care;
Whilst the forsaken melancholy Maid,
Seeks out the Covert of a secret Shade;
And in the close Recesses of the Grove,
With Sighs and Tears, bewails her injur'd Love.
My little Heart melts at the sad Review,
And can no more the piteous Tale persue;
Hard-hearted Men!—too much to change inclin'd,
That can to faithful Beauty prove unkind!
When I'm a Man, I vow I'll be sincere.
'Till then let your sweet Smiles reward my Song,
For you may safely smile on one so young.
CONTENT.
The fourth Speech.
Since Love's short Joys soon yield to lasting Woe,Since more of Pain than Pleasure Lovers know;
Since forward Hope deludes us to believe,
And then, like other Beauties, will deceive;
Since dark Despair rules yet with sterner Sway,
And leaves us not one comfortable Ray:
Grant me some better Aid, immortal Pow'rs,
To regulate my Life and cheer my Hours:
And what can do it like divine Content;
Content alone can harmonize the Soul,
Can rash Attempts and vain Desires controul;
Curb the loose Sallies of unbounded Will,
And keep the wild impetuous Passions still.
She checks our eager Hopes, dispels our Fears,
And gives a Truce to Love's perplexing Cares;
Brightens the Mind and beautifies the Mien,
While all is easy, placid and serene;
Content can solid Happiness impart,
And form a little Heav'n in ev'ry Heart;
In ev'ry Heart that is so highly blest,
To entertain the fair celestial Guest.
Happy the Man that can this Treasure find,
This calm Companion of the humble Mind,
Her Smiles transport not, or her Frowns depress;
Blest with Content, how smoothly runs his Glass,
How soft and sweet the chearful Minutes pass!
Such be the Lives of all our Patrons here,
Those worthy Patrons we so much revere;
Health, Wealth, and Honour, may they all possess,
And true Content their ev'ry Moment bless.
On the PEACE.
Stern War is past, the Soldier now no more,Dis-tains the Hostile Field with human Gore;
And he no longer dreads the sudden Death:
Loud Cannons now with harmless Thunder roar,
And Peals of Joy salute the neighb'ring Shore;
No murd'ring Foes molest the trading Main,
But friendly are the Coasts of France and Spain.
Merchants, look round, the joyful Prospect see,
Send out your Ships, for ev'ry Port is free;
Peace comes with gracious look and bounteous Hand,
That promise Blessings to a happy Land:
May Britain long the promis'd Blessings share,
Un-vex'd with foreign or domestic War.
To the Ladies at ---, having pass'd one Day with them.
Inclos'd in a Letter of Invitation.
He who from Birth has liv'd in endless Night,And never known the Blessings of the Light;
May, un-repining, pass his darksome Hours,
A Stranger to the Sun's refulgent Pow'rs:
But he who once has seen his golden Ray,
And known the gaudy Beams that make the Day;
Hath seen the lovely Prospect Nature yields,
The flow'ry Gardens, and the fertile Fields;
The Earth, the Sea, the wide expanded Skies,
In which ten Thousand shining Wonders rise;
And, after this, his precious Sight must lose,
Must be depriv'd of these enchanting Views!
In sad Reflection will his Thoughts employ,
And languish for the dear departed Joy.
Whose Sense and Beauty so distinguish'd reign;
Whose well-bred Converse, easy, quick, refin'd,
Sweetly engages the fond hearer's Mind;
In fruitless Wishes tedious Moments waste,
And gladly would repeat the Pleasure past:
But had I never seen fair L---'s Shades,
Where I beheld the Joy-dispensing Maids;
Content, and undesiring I had been,
A Stranger to the much-delighting Scene.
To a Friend who tax'd me with too much Zeal in blaming her Fondness to an unworthy Lover.
For her unbounded Love;
Oh! think to what that Zeal does tend,
And what that Zeal does move.
But Passion's fond excess;
It is your Wrongs my Zeal inflame,
Those Wrongs I would redress.
That first your Heart betray'd:
I'm not displeas'd that Love began,
But blame it ill repay'd.
Who cast on Love a Blot;
But had he match'd thy spotless Truth,
I then had blam'd him not.
To Miss ---, on her Birth-Day, at a Time when she was much distress'd.
Let these soft Lines my ready Thoughts convey,And hail the Daughter of this pleasing Day;
This Day revolving with the circling Year,
To Friendship sacred, to Maria dear;
Free from all Care, and dedicate to Mirth,
Shall be distinguish'd by one fav'rite Birth:
Look bright, ye Stars, shine each celestial Pow'r,
That first presided at her natal Hour.
Let this kind Year exclude each Scene of Woe,
May she, from hence, no adverse Fortune know;
But Happiness sincere, that long may last,
Compensate for her many Suff'rings past;
Be each propitious Influence display'd,
And cheer with endless Joy the mourning Maid.
Sent to a young Lady in Town, who had vow'd to die a Maid, in Answer to a Letter, where, in a Copy of Verses, she signify'd her Resolution, and desired an Account of the House and its Situation, in which a new married Lady of her acquaintance was settled.
Wrote suddenly at the Request of her Correspondent in a very sultry Day.
A handsome Mansion, new, and fair,And situate in a healthful Air;
A rural Garden to it join'd,
With Flow'rs and Fruits of various kind;
Where gravell'd Walks and Beds of green,
Diversify the Sylvan Scene.
In silver Streams the finny Fry,
Here gaily sporting glad the Eye;
At either End a grateful Shade,
By twisting Greens, embow'ring, made:
Where guarded from the hot Extremes
Of Sol's insufferable Beams;
Or listen to their warbling Lay;
Bright Prospects glitter all around,
On rising, or on sinking Ground.
While the fair Meads in fertile Pride,
Embroider'd smile on either Side.
Come then and see this lovely Seat,
So healthful, happy, and compleat:
Or tell me, from Description now,
Would you not break an idle Vow,
For such a Seat, in such a Shade,
And own the Vow was rashly made?
An Answer to a poetical Letter from Miss ---, in which she informs me of a warm Debate, in a Senate of Ladies, upon the Question, Whether I had ever been in Love?
And not being able to decide it by a Volume of POEMS I formerly publish'd, she appeals to me for a Determination.
I think it my Duty
To answer with Speed your last Letter;
Tho' if longer delay'd,
And for Study I'd stay'd,
Perhaps I had wrote something better.
Are kindled with Ire,
And their lovely bright Eyes are in Danger;
Perhaps you'll excuse,
My not waiting for Muse,
And they'll wink at the Faults of a Stranger.
And thick muddy Skull,
May puzzle a much wiser Head;
By Experience you,
Found it certainly true,
When my blund'ring Verses you read.
I find it is fit,
I shou'd my own meaning explain;
And tell you in Truth,
If e'er in my Youth,
I felt a fond Lover's mix'd Pain.
I'll be very sincere,
And make you an honest Reply;
I ne'er knew the Man,
For whom I cou'd languish and die.
Gave me Pleasure or Pain,
By Love I was never distrest;
No am'rous Cares,
Warm Hopes, or cold Fears,
E'er robb'd me of one Moment's Rest.
But I knew little Cupid
Was an Archer of wonderful Might;
Tho' stone-blind he be,
I could very well see,
His Arrows were all levell'd right.
Ne'er did so much Mischief among my good Friends,
As he with his Bow and his Darts;
Alas! what Distress, what Rage have I seen!
What Sighs, and what Tears! what Fits of the Spleen!
What Anguish and Torture of Hearts!
I'll take Care of myself,
(If these be your Pranks) I declare,
I'll guard my fond Heart,
So I play'd a safe Part,
And kept myself out of the Snare.
The Gentleman's Answer to a Song call'd the Lady's Reply.
A SONG.
Your Form all enchanting, most lovely to view;
Each Feature is charming, your Voice is most sweet,
All the Graces combining to make you compleat;
This may have been told you by Thousands before,
But none of the Number like me can adore.
Your Wit, and good Humour, fresh Transports supply;
Bright Wit, solid Sense, and a Judgment most rare,
Together uniting, have finish'd my Fair;
The last is the Charm that first made me adore,
And fixt me for Life, nay I'll love you for more.
Tho' her Voice was Seraphic, her Face all divine;
'Tis Virtue alone that has Beauty for me;
Then kindly encourage a Passion so true,
And learn to love him who will always love you.
Sent to Mrs ---, upon the Epiphany.
When the Messiah first appear'd on Earth,A glorious Star remark'd the wond'rous Birth;
With tenfold Light, the splendid Herald shone,
To shew the Star of Judah was come down:
Its Radiance so superior to the rest,
Struck with Amaze, the Learned of the East;
Three sapient Kings their ancient Homes forsake,
And to a Land unknown their Journey take;
Gold, Myrrh, and Frankincense, they then provide,
Their Faith, their Science, and the Star their guide.
To that blest Spot where the Great Infant lay;
The Heav'n-born Child in simplest guise was dress'd,
And in a lowly Cottage took his Rest;
Yet all his Looks the Deity confess'd;
A God-like Beauty over-spread his Face,
And more than Angel-brightness fill'd the Place!
Low on their Knees the wond'ring Sages fell,
Offer'd their Gold and Gifts of fragrant Smell.
We Christians still commemorate the Day,
And oft to those we love a Gift convey;
The customary Rite my Heart approves,
And thus applies to thee, whom much it loves.
To Day this Paper present comes to shew,
The just Distinction to your Merit due;
A well-meant Verse with honest Zeal I give,
May you my Off'ring candidly receive.
Upon the first Day of the Year.
The old ones still submitting to the New;
For Days to Days, and Months to Months succeed,
And Time rolls on with never-ceasing Speed.
Sun, Moon, and Stars, perform their destin'd Round,
Nature in all Things is obedient found;
Let us, admiring, mark the wond'rous Cause,
And learn from hence to keep our maker's Laws;
Frail Mortals only thwart the Will of Heav'n,
And deviate from the Rules their God has giv'n.
And Man grows old in numb'ring up the Years:
Just Emblems of himself, he sees them pass,
Beginning Spring shews what the Infant was;
Describes the blooming Boy, sweet, fresh and gay;
Maturer Summer paints him in his Prime,
And sickly Autumn his declining Time;
Bleak hoary Winter chill'd with Frosts and Snows,
In his last Stage the trembling Mortal shews.
PSALM CXLVI.
Be this, my Soul, thy dearest best Delight;
While Life remains, the grateful Hymn I'll raise,
And my last Breath shall sound th'Almighty's Praise.
My Confidence in him will I repose,
Who all my Wants, and all my Dangers knows.
To hope in Man were foolish, weak, and vain,
Ev'n Kings themselves but as Dependents reign;
And all his vast Designs are sunk in Death.
The fav'rite Scheme his lab'ring Brain had wrought,
And, in his Thoughts, to near Perfection brought;
Is now dissolv'd—with him it disappears,
One fatal Moment blasts the Plan of Years:
Senseless he lies, careless of ev'ry Trust,
A Prey to Worms, Inheritor of Dust.
He cannot help—then let thy searching Mind,
A surer Hope, and safer Refuge find:
Blest is the Man who on the Lord depends,
O greatly blest! whom Jacob's God defends;
Un-chang'd for ever, God's all-hallowed Name,
His Wisdom, Power, and Essence still the same.
The wide-stretch'd Heav'ns were made at his command,
He laid the firm Foundations of the Land;
In lasting Monuments, his potent Word;
Th'angelic Choirs that his bright Throne surround,
With never-fading Youth and Beauty crown'd;
The tuneful Birds that melodize the Grove,
The noblest Beasts that in the Forest move;
The smallest Reptiles which un-notic'd creep,
The pond'rous Whales that play within the Deep:
Whate'er in Heav'n or Earth, or Seas appear,
By his almighty Pow'r created were,
And still preserv'd by his paternal Care;
His Judgment's right, his promises are sure,
And shall through all Eternity endure.
For God will surely visit the Distress'd;
The treach'rous Heart, and the defaming Tongue,
He sees, and hears, and will revenge the Wrong.
And all their Wants indulgently supplies;
For Bread, he richly stores the Field with Grain,
And for their Vesture sends a fleecy Train.
O praise the Lord, his awful Name adore,
Who has done all Things by his boundless Pow'r!
'Tis he that breaks the Captive's galling Chain,
And brings him back to Liberty again;
Dispenses to the Blind revealing Sight,
Who, raptur'd, see the new amazing Light!
Those who are most depress'd with Pain and Grief,
May call on him, and meet a kind Relief;
Tho' prone on Earth, the abject Mourner lies,
Aided by him he soon shall joyful rise.
He loves the Good, the Pious, and the Just,
Who fear his Pow'r, and in his Mercy trust;
Respect of Persons is to him unknown,
His Bounty is to ev'ry Nation shown.
She shall be safe beneath his Guardian Care;
Her helpless Babes in him a Father find,
The tender Parent of all Human-kind.
Be this my Soul, thy dearest best Delight;
While Life remains the grateful Song I'll raise,
And my last Breath shall be Jehovah's Praise.
SHORT EJACULATIONS.
['Tis Religion that can give]
'Tis Religion that can give,Sweetest Pleasures while we live;
'Tis Religion must supply,
Solid Comforts when we die,
After Death its Joys will be,
Lasting as Eternity.
[By Meditation, and by Pray'r]
By Meditation, and by Pray'r,Let me to Heav'n ascend;
Secure a future Mansion there,
And make my God my Friend.
[Whene'er I touch the sounding Lyre]
Whene'er I touch the sounding Lyre,Oh let thy Praise my Soul inspire;
My Saviour, King, and God!
Oh let me keep thee full in View,
And still with eager Steps persue
That Path thy Saints have trod.
At the ALTAR.
O my ador'd Redeemer! deign to be,Now, present with the mystic Bread to me;
May I the Blessings of thy Blood partake,
Who drink the sacred Wine for thy dear sake.
A THOUGHT at first waking.
Be Honour, Love and Praise;
To God that sheds the Morning Light,
And gives me length of Days!
Inspir'd the vital Flame;
And with amazing Wisdom wrought,
The whole material Frame.
He by his Word divine;
Prepar'd the fit-enclosing Earth,
And bade them both combine.
A bright celestial Ray;
Should be with frailest Nature join'd,
And mix'd with common Clay!
That none can understand;
'Tis such as evidently shews,
Th'Almighty Maker's Hand.
To a Lady on the New Year; by a Gentleman.
My Muse her annual Tribute brings;
An homely Verse devoid of Art,
Not courtly, but sincere she Sings.
Slow turning from his southern Bound;
With more direct and copious Ray,
To scatter lengthen'd Day around.
As the advancing Hours improve;
May each to you luxuriant bear,
Increase of Health, and Joy, and Love.
With canker'd Jealousy's annoy;
Let no presumptuous Care come near,
That Breast, the Treasury of Joy.
Might they this useful Truth display;
Time will the brightest Form deface,
And Youth and Beauty meet Decay.
Then lusty Summer cloath'd in Green;
Next Autumn with his ripen'd Ears,
Last hoary Winter shuts the Scene.
The faithful Muse records it true;
The Lillies on those Cheeks must fade,
The Roses there must change their Hue.
Will the Usurper Time disarm;
By him subdu'd, that Form no more
Will please, that Voice no more will charm.
Superior to the Tyrant's Sway;
Confest in native Majesty,
And Charms un-knowing to decay.
Amidst the Flux of rolling Years;
The Goddess firms her stedfast Seat,
Remov'd from Dangers as from Fears.
Shines to dispel the Lover's Care;
Sheds purer Graces on the Young,
And brighter Radiance on the Fair.
To the Rt Hon. Lady Viscountess IRWIN, on her Poem call'd Castle Howard.
The Bard his Lyre had strung,
And giv'n great Carlisle's Seat in Rhymes,
And Troy had left un-sung.
To Sing in mighty Strains,
Of Castle Howard, for his Muse,
Had scorn'd the Elysian Plains.
(To see himself outdone;)
He had describ'd by Howard's Plan,
The Palace of the Sun.
Preferr'd the softer Strain;
The glorious Task great Irwin's thine,
For they had wrote in vain.
(Soft Notes to him belong)
While Virgil's Fancy, Homer's Fire,
Illustrate Howard's Song.
How Verse may yet improve;
Thy ev'ry Line harmonious flows,
And those who read must love.
CYDIPPE to LEONZO.
Leonzo by strong Pretensions of Love, but full of Deceit, robb'd the chast Cydippe of her Honour; this Misfortune hung so heavy upon her, that it brought on her Death; while in her Sickness, to reform Leonzo, and set his Crime before his View, she wrote the following Epistle.
Er'e this thou read'st Cydippe is no more;
For thee alone, ungrateful as thou art,
To purge thy Passions, and amend thy Heart.
For thee alone, the trembling Pen I take,
Willing my Woe, thy Happiness to make.
How warm my Love, how virtuous, and how true;
Thy tender Sighs my Heart's fond Pity mov'd,
And I at first through mere Compassion lov'd;
But as I found thy Fondness still the same,
Still kind thy Treatment, and still pure thy Flame;
No more I wish'd, or study'd to be free,
But frankly all my Heart resign'd to thee:
So true my Love, of change I nothing guest,
Nor dreaded ought, with thy Protection blest;
Shield me just Heav'n, Leonzo's self betrays,
And my bright Flame with Perfidy repays!
Ev'n he, my Guide, my Guardian and my Friend,
Lov'd to assist, and chosen to defend:
Ev'n he becomes the Viper in my Breast,
Despoils my Love, and lays my Comfort waste!
And well, well, weigh the Triumph thou hast won.
Lo, 'tis o'er me whose Heart was all thy own,
Who lov'd thee well, and lov'd but thee alone;
Who for thy sake each Hardship would have try'd,
Who glad to make thee happy would have dy'd.
And her, for one short Interval of Blame,
A transient Joy that thou shouldst blush to name,
Her hast thou robb'd of ev'ry Human Bliss,
Fair Virtue, soft Content, and smiling Peace;
And no return; condemn'd to drag the Chain
Of Shame, Remorse, and self-consuming Pain.
Hadst thou some Mean, some unknown Maid abus'd,
Nought could a Deed so black have e'er excus'd:
When such the base return of virtuous Love;
When unsuspected on th'unguarded Maid,
Her own Protector steals, and all her Soul's betray'd.
Beware ye Virgins of the Lover's Lure,
Ye cannot be too wary, too secure;
The faithless Wantons Triumph to deceive,
Laugh at our Tears, and Joy to see us Grieve.
Yet sure Leonzo, sure it cannot be,
That all are cruel, all unjust as thee!
There are, kind Heav'n augment the happy Few,
Who scorn those Paths that Libertines persue;
In whose pure Love the Virgin may confide,
But ah, how rare!-and what to chuse the Guide?
By what strange Art shall we discern the True,
From Lovers, oh Leonzo, false as you!
Wild roves the Rake thro' Pleasures flow'ry Way;
The Virgin's Anguish, and the Parent's Tear,
Mirth to his View, and Music to his Ear!
Ah me, 'tis vain, still many a hapless Fair,
Henceforth, like poor Cydippe, must despair;
More false Leonzo's to their Ruin haste,
And fly to lay each little Eden waste.
Think of the Crime, and View with conscious Thought,
My sad Distress, by thy unkindness wrought;
Reflect how much I lov'd, and to thy Eyes,
Let the dread Guilt in all its Horrors rise;
Let keen remorse afflict thy tortur'd Breast,
And make thee wretched—long to make thee blest.
May'st thou at last the fatal Fault erase,
Disarm Heav'n's Vengeance and resign in Peace.
How much for thee she suffer'd, and be mov'd;
Farewell—remember me, nor hope to find,
Repose from ought, but Virtue in thy Mind.
PSALM CI.
To thee, the High, the everlasting King!
Mercy thy darling Attribute is known,
And righteous Judgment issues from thy Throne.
To me, great God, thy sacred Truths impart,
And print thy Precepts deeply in my Heart.
When will thy Presence make thy Servant blest?
I grow impatient for the heav'nly Guest;
Where'er I am, I will most careful be,
As far as Mortals can, to copy thee;
Where good Men only shall free Entrance find.
My Soul abhors, I will not deal therein;
Firm to the Truth, I ne'er will turn aside,
For thy un-erring Rules shall be my Guide.
The Man of bitter Words and froward Heart:
Or who, malicious, takes a fatal Aim,
Or with keen Slander wounds his neighbour's Fame:
Whose whisper'd Tales like latent Poisons kill—
Such I'll cut off from Pow'r of future Ill;
For social Converse daily will I seek,
The pure in Heart, the Humble and the Meek.
They who in righteousness do most excel,
Shall eat my Bread, and in my House shall dwell;
And my Domesticks all shall serve the Lord.
Whose Lips are stain'd with Vanity and Lyes:
All that in bold Iniquity delight,
I'll banish far from my offended Sight.
Thus shall I soon destroy the wicked Race,
Whose impious Deeds fair Sion's Walls disgrace;
Thus, from Pollution once again set free,
The City of the Lord shall hallow'd be.
Written in a blank Leaf of Mrs Row's Works.
Raptur'd I read these soft inspiring Lines,Where Rowe's fair Mind in sacred Lustre shines;
Love, Friendship, Virtue, with full force appear,
They're all display'd in living Colours here;
And Grace divine, breathe warm in ev'ry Part;
With her my yielding Heart consenting goes,
Feels the soft Flame, and sympathizing glows.
On a Lady who refused the Address of four Gentlemen eminent in their Profession, and died a Maid.
Courted and lov'd at once by Four?
Distinguish'd each in his Profession,
Her Charms were sure beyond expression.
All Pangs but those of fever'd Love,
And knows to soften ev'ry Pain,
Sues Celia to comply in vain.
Lays now his Gravity aside;
Surpris'd by Celia's Wit and Air,
Yet fruitless are his Vows and Pray'r.
And Celia, heav'nly fair, admires;
He meets not with a kind Return,
But must in secret Anguish burn.
But sings in vain, his love-sick Tale;
The Poet's Verse and Laurel dies,
Touch'd by the Fire of Celia's Eyes.—
She sprung from Race divine,
Nor would she deign to mix with Earth,
And with a Mortal join.
With heav'nly Forms to pair;
And roves through endless Scenes of Light,
Herself an Angel there.
Presented to a Gentleman in danger of being in Love with a Woman of bad Conduct.
Given him when he was earnestly looking at her.
Beauty! thou bright Seducer of Mankind,Who oft in thee their certain Ruin find;
Remove thy tempting Colours of Delight,
Those gaudy Shadows that delude our Sight:
Far from my Eyes thy killing Charms remove,
For who can see thee and forbear to love?
Yet turn again—I've found a Nostrum sure,
Thy Mind is tainted, and my Heart's secure;
The Night of Vice, thy dazling Day invades,
And more, and more the tarnish'd Lustre fades.
On a female Cat, named Selima, who fell into a China Cistern with Gold Fishes in it, and was drown'd.
Where China's gayest Art had dy'd
The Azure Flowers that blow,
Demurest of the Tabby Kind,
The pensive Selima reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the Lake below.
Her fair round Face, her snowy Beard,
The Velvet of her Paws;
Her Coat that with the Tortoise vies,
Her Ears of Jet, her Em'rald Eyes,
She saw, and purr'd Applause.
Two Angel Forms were seen to glide,
Their scaly Armour's tyrian Hue,
Thro' richest Purple, to the View,
Betray'd a golden Gleam.
A Whisker first, and then a Claw,
With many an ardent Wish;
She stretch'd in vain to reach the Prize,
What female Heart can Gold despise?
What Cat's averse to Fish?
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor saw the Gulph between;
Malignant Fates sate by and smil'd,
The slipp'ry Verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in!
She call'd on ev'ry wat'ry God,
Some speedy Aid to send;
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd,
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard:
A Fav'rite has no Friend.
Know one false Step is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with Caution bold;
Not all that strike the wand'ring Eyes,
And heedless Heart, is lawful Prize,
Not all that glisters Gold.
The following upon the same Occasion, was wrote by a Lady, probably to Selima's Mistress, to comfort her for the Loss of her Favourite.
Of Selima distrest;
Nor with unaiding Pity vex,
Thy tender Virgin Breast.
Where Death in Ambush lay,
And with rich golden Baits allur'd,
Th'unwary heedless Prey.
To her each piteous Mew,
Yet Phœbus heard from Parnass' Top,
And to her Succour flew.
Her tabby Coat he dry'd;
The fading Lustre of her Eyes,
His own bright Beams supply'd.
Of Pindus sacred Shade;
And to their Arms, with silent Steps,
The beauteous Cat convey'd.
And nurs'd with duteous Care;
The only worthy of her Kind,
To breathe poetic Air.
On Clio's Lap Divine;
And with her Purring swells the Notes,
Of Phœbus and the Nine.
A Gentleman having read the foregoing Verses, ask'd what Reason could be given for Phœbus interesting himself in the Affair? This Question occasion'd the following Lines.
With purring Note and pleasing Mien,
Fair Selima, alone,
Shall by the Bards recorded stand,
And roving o'er Parnassian Land;
To future Times be known.
On whom the Muses daily wait;
With kindest, tend'rest Care,
Fond Clio, while with her she plays,
Will wond'ring on her Beauty gaze,
A Beauty there most rare.
To live retir'd, and there repose,
Of all the Tabby Race,
No gentle Foot was ever seen,
To press the sweet refreshing Green,
Of that delicious Place;
Above her Kind supremely blest,
If Phœbus Beams too fierce are play'd,
May bask within a Laurel Shade,
And sleep on sacred Ground.
May sport amidst the fairest Flow'rs,
And range their gaudy Ways,
Or sink her soft reclining Head,
Upon the bloomy, fragrant Bed,
And purr her grateful Lays.
And kind Thalia stop a while;
Her Beauties to admire,
Calliope, with Pleasure too,
Her curious painted Robe shall view,
And thank th'indulgent Sire,
And the half-dying Darling gave,
To faithful Clio's Care;
Who with his Beams, her Eyes new set,
And dry'd her Coat, all dropping wet,
Nor stopp'd his kindness there.
Press'd by a Muse's lilly Hand,
Pour forth a silver Stream;
Nectareous Milk of Taste and Hue,
The nicest Mortals never knew,
And she has all the Cream.
But I shall soon the Reason give,
And, plain beyond Objection, prove,
'Twas gen'rous, undecaying Love,
Made Selima so dear.
Ne'er heard her Pity-moving Mew,
Nor Dolphins came at Need;
Yet she her Pedigree could trace,
Sprung from an ancient honour'd Race
Of Daphne's fav'rite Breed.
So readily forsake his Throne,
To snatch her from Distress.
Tell me ye mortal Lovers all,
In such a Case, at such a Call,
Could the bright Beau do less?
From his own Son her Fate conceal'd,
But told a kindred Dame.
Yet Gray to gain his Father's Praise,
Sung all her Charms in pleasing Lays,
And won a Poet's Fame.
Wit rewarded, or the Double Triumph.
A Tale founded in Truth.
Whose Wealth was small, whose Life was free from Blame,
It chanc'd, in riding thro' a Village-Road,
Calmly content, and ruminating Good,
Fearing no Guile, for he no Guile design'd;
Was overtook by Morio brisk and gay,
Directed by some Scheme the self-same Way:
Morio, a Youth, who two vain Years had spent
At London, and from thence to Paris went;
Proficient he, alike, at either School,
Here he commenc'd, and there completed Fool.
He learn'd to hammer Monsieur, voulez-vous,
And dangle at his Back the Monkey Queue.
He learn'd each Folly Men of Sense despise,
To triumph in himself, and scorn the Wise;
He knew the Priest, and form'd the deep Design,
To play a Prank, and bite the grave Divine:
Well, hard his Fate! alas, poor honest Man;
Believe me, Sir, at length good Pio's dead,
The very best of Levi's Sons is fled.
Amaz'd the Vicar heard, and doubting stands,
Till Morio's Oath a full Belief commands;
No more he doubts, but thinks the Tale sincere,
Nor dream'd that Moderns would to Falsehood swear.
Quoth Morio, “Doctor, his Preferment's good;
“That Living well would suit—'Sdeath, haste, begone,
“The Bishop can't deny you; 'tis your own.”
Thoughtful the Vicar sate—at length reply'd,
“Good is my Aim, and Charity my Guide;
“With lib'ral Hand to ease the Widow's Toil,
“Relieve the Poor, and bid the Wretched smile:
“For these I'll ask, to these the Boon be giv'n,
“This all my Wish, then grant it bounteous Heav'n.”
The common Failings of an honest Head,
With Diligence, though not with Haste, proceeds,
Half loth to plead his Worth, or own his Needs:
The Bishop never made his Clergy wait;
He enters, grave, and at the plenteous Board
Sees the dead Rector dining with my Lord:
Amaz'd, asham'd, tho' conscious of no Wrong,
He blushes, bows, and dines and holds his Tongue;
Pours out a sober Cup to Church and King,
Nor wastes one Thought upon the trifling Thing;
A chearful Hour he spends, serenely gay,
Then pays his Compliments, and comes away.
The Beau thank'd Nature for an able Head;
The quaint Deceit with Transport fill'd his Soul;
And pleas'd, he triumph'd o'er the musty Fool;
O'er him and all, who sway'd by Truth and Sense,
Scorn such low Arts, and hate to give Offence;
“This Head was never known to think in vain;”
He could no more, for Words are not design'd
To paint the Raptures of th'unthinking Mind.
Heated with Wit's warm Blood and Victory.
So when a Fox, with too much Cunning wise,
Scorns the foul Trap wherein his Ruin lies;
By one Attempt made bold, he quits his Fear,
Nor dreads the Loss of Tail, or Foot, or Ear.
Dangling his Cane he rode, then rais'd it high,
Switch'd his gay Prancer, and prepar'd to fly:
To fly, directed by his foolish Brain,
Mad as his Horse, and spungy as his Cane;
Triumphant with his Embryo Scheme he glow'd,
While Idiot Laughter eccho'd as he rode.
The Mock of Sense, but Terror of the Fool;
His silken Stockings luckless Dirt besmear'd,
And cross the Road the hated Hare appear'd;
A boding Raven on his golden Hat
Discharg'd his Load, and croak'd the Threats of Fate;
Yet not dismay'd, he keeps his Purpose still,
For present Joys conceal a future Ill.
Now to the Vicar's Villa was he come,
A small, tho' neat, and well contented Home;
Thither he flew, as one that flies for Life,
And calls, with earnest Voice the Vicar's Wife.
Vicaria soon appear'd; Haste, haste, he cries,
In yonder Road your helpless Husband lies;
His Leg, alas! thrown by the found'ring Jade;
I saw him fall; oh! hasten to his Aid!—
And urg'd the nimble Beast with utmost Speed.
She heard, astonish'd, the ambiguous Tale,
The Blood forsook her Cheeks, her Spirits fail;
Convulsive Conflicts tear her tender Breast,
She sinks, she swoons, with thousand Fears opprest;
Her Maid, her Neighbours fly to give her Ease,
Try ev'ry Art her Sorrows to appease.
We know not where the sad Effects will end;
A serious Liar is a dang'rous Thing,
Sharp is his Poison, tho' conceal'd his Sting.
Ah fatal Tale, sad, unexpected Blow!
My Husband lies—Oh, agonizing Grief!—
In yonder Road—Haste, haste, to his Relief.—
All mourn the living Vicar as the dead:
In Crowds they run to give him instant Aid.
The Loss was common, for in ev'ry Plain,
A general Blessing is an honest Man.
When Waves on Waves in circling Eddies play;
Sweet as the Air, when Flora spreads around
Her balmy Odours on the painted Ground;
When teeming Nature fires her genial Pow'r,
Smells in the Rose, or blossoms in the Flow'r;
So, peaceful Life has ev'ry Charm to please,
Soft Hours of Bliss, and genuine Sweets of Ease;
New Beauties blossom as the old decay,
No Pleasure's miss'd, altho' no Pleasures stay:
Can Morio smile to pain an honest Heart,
And cloud the Calms which Truth and Worth impart!
And Shouts of Joy o'ercome their Floods of Tears:
The happy Wife, with Pleasure-melted Eye,
Drew near, and kindly testify'd her Joy.
The Tale was told; well pleas'd, the Priest reply'd,
“I envy not the Victor's Scheme, or Pride;
“In thy Concern a greater Bliss I know,
“Than all his boasted Cunning can bestow.”
At Morio's bold Affront with Anger glow'd;
And with Revenge inspir'd the ardent Train,
But Morio gone, their Zeal was now in vain:
Yet still the Heroine kept the num'rous Band
With Instruments of Discipline in Hand:
So on the Seas, no Gallic Foe in view,
Rides Britain's Fleet; thus burns the British Crew,
Such as by Anson, Warren, Hawke inspir'd:
Seven Days were past, when rose the eighth great Light,
Big with the Fate of Morio, and of Wit.
Vicaria now the Morn with Pleasure view'd,
Her Omens happy, and her Dreams were good:
But now th'auspicious Day was almost spent,
Ordain'd to perfect the renown'd Event,
When Morio, by his evil Genius led,
Genteely cant'ring towards the Village sped;
With Transport she beheld, and out she flies,
While her shrill Voice re-echoes to the Skies;
Quick at her Call the Villagers appear,
Morio rode on, nor knew the Danger near;
Amaz'd he saw unnumber'd Plowmen stand:
With long thong'd Whips accouter'd were the Band:
And Wit, Revenge, and Morio echo round:
But what are Sight of Whips, and Noise of Tongues,
Much more amaz'd he felt the winding Thongs.
Flight was his only Hope, he spurr'd his Horse,
The Victors, thronging round, oppose his Course;
Pastorio, give him to the Trump of Fame,
While stand the Village, live the Hero's Name;
Pastorio first, disdaining distant War,
Rush'd to his Side, and with a manly Air,
Seiz'd his neat Leg, and dragg'd him to the Ground,
Fix'd on Revenge the Women throng around;
What Tongue can e'er recount, what Numbers tell,
The thousand Blows that on the Witling fell;
The laughing Clowns to all his Cries were deaf;
No Pity had for Coat all silver'd o'er,
Alas, what Muse th'Affliction can deplore!
Strange that for Lace no Pity they express,
No kind Regard for such a shining Dress!
Such was his Fate, when now Revenge's Fire
Began to languish, and their Rage to tire:
When thus Vicaria, with contented Look,
And Heart benevolent, the Crowd bespoke:
(The Crowd all listen'd, while two sturdy Swains
Held fast poor Morio, trembling with his Pains)
“Friends, Neighbours, all, with Pleasure I survey
“The great Event of this auspicious Day;
“My Hopes are gain'd, and all my Wishes crown'd,
“Folly's vain Son a due Reward has found.
“To cheat the Honest, and to bite the Wise;
“Wit's Reign shall cease, for all her Sons shall know,
“Sense, soon or late, retorts a vengeful Blow;
“Sense, soon or late, shall o'er these Follies soar,
“And Morio's Fate be sung till Wit shall be no more.”
She ceas'd—A jolly Farmer's Wife reply'd,
Laughing, her Hands held either shaking Side;
Attention listen'd to the merry Dame,
While thus, with rosy Looks, she spoke her Scheme:
Poor Youth, I know not but this cruel Strife
May cost him dear, may rob him of his Life,
Let us have Pity—to yon Well attend him;
There wash him clean—this Kindness will repay
His former Ills, and wipe his Rage away:
She laugh'd aloud; they heard the Scheme well pleas'd,
And from his dirty Bed the Youth was rais'd:
All pale he stood, (he knew not what they meant)
Vainly entreating, trembling for th'Event;
Sad Sight, behold the Queue behind undone,
His Hair dishevell'd, and his Beaver gone:
His Shirt all black, the Dirt conceal'd the Lace,
And help'd to shew the Whiteness of his Face;
Deiphobus surpriz'd the Trojan's Sight;
With Wounds all cover'd o'er the Hero stood,
While pale Æneas trembled as he view'd.
But now, my Muse, contract thy tedious Song,
Patience must tire whene'er a Tale's too long;
Suffice it in the Bucket he was laid,
Thrice duck'd, and thrice uprear'd his weeping Head.
The Vicar, with his Pipe stood looking on,
And soberly advis'd them to have done;
They all obey'd, the Witling was releas'd
Vicaria now, and all the Village pleas'd.
The Learned are much divided about the Orthography of this Word, some saying it takes its Original from the Letter Q, because the round, hollow Head of it well represents that of the People that wear it. Some would have it from the French Word Quoi. What, and trace its Original thus: A Countryman seeing a Gentleman with one of these, cried out, in a most surprising Astonishment to see a Man witth a Tail, Quoi, Quoi! What can that be; and thence too, it is said, they had the Name of Pig-tail.
A Biter is one who tells you a thing you have “no Reason to disbelieve in itself, and perhaps has given you, before he bit you, no Reason to disbelieve it for his saying it; and if you give him Credit he laughs in your Face, and triumphs that he has deceiv'd you: In a Word, a Biter is one who thinks you a Fool, because you don't think him a Knave, &c.” Thus far the Spectator, No. 504, where this kind of mungrel Wit is sufficiently exploded. But some there are of the Race of Biters (though I confess they deserve a severer Name) who carry their Wit much farther, and have no Regard what Consequences may ensue, admitting that by a merry, ridiculous Lie they can please their own stupid Inclinations. Honest, undesigning People most frequently are their Prey; and, in short, they little regard who, if a proper Opportunity presents itself. If, as the Spectator elsewhere observes, this Disposition is accompanied with Vice, there is not so pernicious a Pest to Society. The following Tale is founded upon Truth, I was an Eye-witness to the Affliction of the Lady, and can assure the Reader, very dreadful Consequences threaten'd her, she being then big with Child.
What the Witlings term'd Bite in the Spectator's Time is now call'd Humbug; a Word which carries a more vulgar, shocking Sound, and therefore more adequate to the Crime.
Virg. Just. Atq. his Priamiden, &c.
Whose Face and Limbs were one continu'd Wound:
Dishonest, with lopp'd Arms, the Youth appears,
Spoil'd of his Nose, and shorten'd of his Ears;
He scarcely knew him, striving to disown,
His blotted Form, and blushing to be known.
An ODE on MUSICK.
The Bard invokes the Lay;
Aonian Sisters join the Band,
With all your dulcet Songs attend.
And thou Soul-soothing Melody inspire,
The martial Trumpet's hollow Throat;
The deep-mouth'd Organ's solemn Note;
The slow majestic Swell,
The Power of Harmony shall tell,
And the loud Chorus fill the sacred Choir.
Air.
Musick charms the Lover's Breast;Musick lulls our Cares to Rest;
Now she's sweetly gay and jolly;
Now she sinks in Melancholy.
Recitative.
Harmonious Orpheus strikes his Shell,Oh! listen to the trembling Note;
See, see! he moves the King of Hell,
And hoary Charon quits his Boat.
Air.
The naked Souls that hover round,In Pleasure lose their Pain;
Such is the mighty Power of Sound,
Prometheus drops his Chain.
Recitative.
The Lion's Fury now he tames,And now again his Rage inflames;
Huge Rocks, un-hing'd, around him stood,
And Trees, un-rooted, quit the Wood;
Obedient Rivers as they glide,
His wond'rous Harmony obey'd;
Now gently flow'd with easy Tide,
Or furious trembled in a loud Cascade;
Chorus.
Creation listens all around,Such is the mighty Power of Sound.
Air.
Amphion next began to play,And gently stole the Heart away
Charming Pleasure,
Sweetest Measure;
Love alarming
Souls disarming,
Gently stole the Heart away.
Recitative.
The Coward Chiefs who sunk with Fear,To find the hostile Troops were near;
The sprightly Trumpet's Sound inspires.
Air.
With noble Ardor now they burn,Quick to the Charge they now return;
Behold the frighted Foe retires.
Act II.
That haunt Britania's verdant Plains;
As sprightly May advances,
Air.
Anon the cheary Lass,Trips it briskly o'er the Grass,
And gaily throws around her Glances—
Here the blithsome Shepherds wooing,
There the enamour'd Couple cooing;
Hail her with her rural Dances.
Recitative.
The spreading Oak reclin'd beneath,The gentle Noon-tide Air they breathe;
'Till Phœbus westward drives his Steeds,
And laughing Mirth, and rosy Wine succeed.
Air.
Soft Violins to jocund Dances call,And as the various Measures sound,
The merry Dancers strike the Ground;
Recitative.
Listen, ah listen to the warbling Flute,Ye feather'd Choir a while be mute;
Hither oh Goddess of the Paphian Grove,
And all ye little Cupids move.
Air.
Venus, Queen of soft Desire,Melt, oh! melt my Charmer's Breast;
Must a faithful Swain expire,
While a faithless Nymph's at rest?
Recitative.
His Vows are heard—no more he pines—The Nymph again to Love inclines—
Duet.
While my Charmer thus caressing,Monarch's, I your Power disdain;
Here's the Darling worth possessing,
Sweet Reward for all my Pain.
Recitative.
Be calm as Midnight—fair Cecilia sings,And Musick rises on her softest Wings;
Diffusive Sweetness on her Warble floats,
And the Heart springs dilated with her Notes.
Attention listens, as the thirsty Ear,
Imbibes each Thrill, and yet thirsts on to hear;
See the charm'd Angels by her Accents bound,
Feed on her Notes, and drink the lenient Sound.
Air.
Oh! how sweetly soft her Measure!Full of Harmony and Pleasure;
Her rosy Fingers move;
Now rising from the Notes below,
She strikes the Chords above.
Grand Chorus.
Attentive Woods round Orpheus throng,But Angels listen to her Song.
Address'd to a Lady (whom I had not then seen) on the Day of her Marriage with a Gentleman of my Acquaintance.
Deign gen'rous Fair, with Candor, to excuse,The bold Intrusion of a Stranger's Muse;
Who joyous comes with forward Zeal to pay
Her due Address, on this auspicious Day.
What tho' your Form as yet, is un-reveal'd,
Such Merit is too bright to be conceal'd;
To Margarita's Fame I'll tune my Lays;
To her I dedicate these artless Lines,
In whose fair Mind her Father's Virtue shines;
Like his, her Soul in Virtue shines array'd,
“And God and Man approves the perfect Maid.”
This I have often heard, with high Delight,
This warm'd my Bosom, taught me thus to Write;
While he, who happy in your kind Regard,
Exults, and Triumphs in the rich Reward.
His filial Letters often spoke your Praise,
And told your various Charms in various Ways;
But much too short, as these Expressions prove,
“All is too little for the Maid I love.”
Such Words, the Pen, by him directed, drew,
Such clos'd the Periods, when he talk'd of you;
Whose Soul is fraught with Tenderness and Truth;
Whose Heart is honest, gen'rous and sincere,
Kind to the poor, to all his Neighbours dear.
Blest be this Day which join'd your meeting Hands,
With holy Vows in Wedlock's sacred Bands;
Pregnant with Blessings, may it oft appear,
The Source of Joy for many a rolling Year;
And when the sublunary Date is past,
(For what is Mortal cannot always last)
May your blest Souls eternally unite,
In Mansions of more permanent Delight.
To the Author of the EPISTLE. To Mrs MASTERS and her Readers.
Whoe'er thou art, my nameless angry Foe,That hop'st unseen, to strike an envious Blow;
In vain thou striv'st with base dissembling Art,
To hide the secret Rancour of thy Heart.
In vain would'st black infernal Hate conceal,
Beneath the Brightness of Religion's Veil;
What did thy Line of Blasphemy intend!
Can Rage like this promote a virtuous End!
In thy invidious Charge is plainly seen,
A lurking Enemy that vents his Spleen;
Wresting my Words, to Sense they ne'er design'd,
And foreign to each candid Reader's Mind.
My honest Meaning wrong'd, in Zeal can burn,
And present Fervor serves a present Turn;
Thou persecut'st the Errors of thy Brain;
But if thou need'st must ape the Critic's Skill,
For once take Counsel from a Woman's Quill;
And when thou next attempt'st the Censor's Page,
Resume thy Judgment, and renounce thy Rage;
Friendly Reproof my Soul, with Joy, receives,
But I despise the Blow that Malice gives;
Faults I allow in ev'ry Piece I've writ,
The Want of Spirit, Elegance and Wit.
The pointed Beauties, and the polish'd Art,
To raise my Verse, and charm the Reader's Heart;
Yet need not call Myrtillo's manly Muse,
To aid my Pen, and combat thy Abuse.
My Themes themselves, shall for their Author plead,
And justify me from an impious Deed;
Awfully reverent of the Deity;
'Tis true, with warmth, I celebrate a Friend,
And am delighted when I can commend:
While each impartial Judge to me will grant,
What thou, my Monitor, seem'st much to want;
O, let me here the gen'rous Talent boast,
I most am pleas'd, when I can praise the most.
Take not a Line or two to feed thy Spite,
But read the whole, and understand it right;
Go search, un-prejudic'd, and joy to find,
Marks of good Nature with a Christian Mind.
What tho' I fondly sung Clemene's Name,
And was transported with the darling Theme;
No Adoration, no false Worship's there,
No solemn Invocation made by Pray'r:
Nor ought implor'd that I should ask of Heav'n.
I ever thought it was high Merit's due,
To be admir'd, belov'd, applauded too;
I lov'd, admir'd, and prais'd my virtuous Friend;
Yet knew each Grace did from her God descend;
I own'd the Spring whence all her Beauties flow'd,
And lowly bow'd me to the sov'reign Good.
PSALM CXXXVIII.
And with glad Heart thy endless Mercy sing;
No other Pow'r will I invoke but thee,
To thee alone I'll bend the suppliant Knee.
In solemn Concert, at thy sacred Shrine;
Thy everlasting Love, thy Pow'r supreme,
And thy eternal Truth shall be my Theme;
For thou wast pleas'd to lend a gracious Ear,
When prest with Woes I pour'd the fervent Pray'r:
Sure I had died, but for thy kind Relief,
Who gav'st me Strength to overcome my Grief.
And all its Princes bow before thy Throne;
The mightiest Monarchs own thy mightier Name,
Who all with one Consent thy Praise proclaim.
Resplendent in thy own amazing Light!
Thou view'st the Humble with a gracious Eye;
In vain the proud Oppressers would be heard,
The poor Oppress'd shall have their Pray'rs prefer'd.
Mark'd by my Foes to fall their certain Prey;
I see them swift to my Destruction run,
Un-knowing how the destin'd Ill to shun;
Fainting and fearful, I the Mischief see,
Void of all Hope, my God, but hope in thee!
In vain, alas, with mild persuasive Arts,
I strove to melt their unrelenting Hearts;
'Tis thou alone their Fury must oppose,
Whose Wisdom, ev'ry Spring of Passion knows.
Thou, only, knowst the Stubborn Heart to bend,
And only thou canst sure deliv'rance send;
And guard me from the near impending Harm!
Once, in Distress, thy friendly Aid I sought,
And in Distress thy friendly Aid was brought;
Assist me now, as thou hast done before,
And peace, and perfect Happiness restore;
My Being I receiv'd at thy Command,
O save the Creature of thy forming Hand;
Then shall my Soul thy endless Mercy sing,
To thee, my God, my choicest Lays I'll bring.
An Epitaph found at Soulac, the Ancient Noviomagus, a Town in Guienne, a Province of France.
It is inscribed in Latin, that carries the Marks of Roman Antiquity; it is to be met with in M. de Lourbe's Chronique de Bourdelouse, p. 5. from thence it was translated into English by the Rev. Mr T---n, and versify'd at his Request as follows. D. M.
The most amazing Height of Human Woe!
Who lie enclos'd within this Marble Tomb;
Here Marcus Lucius rests, and by his Side,
I Sardica am plac'd, ill-fated Bride!
Since this, my Love, will not our Griefs relate,
Oh, take from me the Story of our Fate.
His vital Breath he first receiv'd at Rome,
And sultry Africk was my native Home;
The Youth with Love, my blooming Form inspir'd,
And my fond Heart with mutual Love was fir'd.
Oh that I ne'er the tender Tye had known,
Or he not left fair Africk's Coast so soon;
For having bravely overcome his Foes,
He with the conq'ring Army homeward goes;
And I, that neither might be doom'd to grieve,
With dearer Lucius, my dear country leave;
But when embark'd, what dreadful Storms arise,
Darken the Day, and ruffle all the Skies!
We both are sold: But oh! a diff'rent Way;
To Noviomagus, now, a Slave I'm brought,
But Lucius by another Master bought:
Divided in our Lots; unequal Chance!
To Lusitania He, and I to France;
In various Seas, and to a distant Shore,
Eleven long Years he tugs the lab'ring Oar:
O vile employ!—My Love, approach more near,
While I thy hard, thy cruel Fate declare.
But, still a Slave, his wretched Bondage mourns.
One fav'ring Night he broke his Chains at last,
And to the Ocean's Side in secret past.
In Woods and Wilds at Liberty he roves,
And treads at large the unfrequented Groves;
Till, carelessly secure, too far he stray'd,
And by a Band of Thieves was Captive made.
And forc'd to execute their base Commands:
By them he's Sold, after he'd borne a while,
Their harsh Injunctions, and their lawless Toil:
Sold to my Master's Son, whose Vessel near
To the Dalmatian Coast, then chanc'd to Steer;
To this lov'd Son my Master, ever kind,
Me for a Wife, at his return design'd.
He comes, I run, as Custom bids, to meet,
And with a Kiss th'intended Husband greet:
But his new Servant, following, near I view,
And stop, surpriz'd, as if the Man I knew;
Tho' pale and wasted, yet the much lov'd Face,
Through all the languid Lineaments I trace!
Tumultuous Joy, my flutt'ring Spirits press,
I faint, I almost die, with its Excess!
To my Support the ravish'd Lucius flies,
And dost thou live!—My long lost Dear he cries;
On him, on me, and on each other gaz'd;
Till by my Master's Order I relate,
The Story of our Love's disast'rous Fate:
The sad Narration, soft Compassion moves,
He hears, he pities, and will bless our Loves;
He kindly says that Lucius shall be mine,
And Marriage Rites our faithful Hands shall join;
O give me Joy! the happy Day is set,
'Tis come, the Feast prepar'd, our Friends are met;
At Dinner plac'd, and full of sweet Content;
But now attend the wonderful Event!
A youth in our adjoining Orchard sees
A perching Bird, among the neighb'ring Trees:
In the next House he stood,—his Bow he drew,
The fatal Arrow through the Casement flew;
Tears drown my Words!—Ah, Lucius, draw more near.
He shoots, and kills us in each other's Sight.
We both are struck with one relentless Dart,
Which pierc'd with deadly Point thro' either Heart;
To us at last this dreadful Chance befel,
And is, I think, what Sardica would tell.
The Expostulation and Resolution.
With ready Tears, my over-flowing Eyes?
What Cares are these my sinking Spirits press?
Why melts my Bosom with a soft Distress
As if it dreaded some impending Fate!
Can such Uneasiness from Friendship flow?
Can that pure Spring send forth a Stream of Woe!
That healing Pow'r, that smiling heav'nly Guest,
Which brings new Pleasures to the joyful Breast;
That Ease of Ills, Affliction's best Relief,
Which casts a Brightness o'er the Gloom of Grief.
Yet sure from hence my present Pains arise,
No perfect Bliss is found beneath the Skies;
No Happiness un-mixt, 'tis all allay'd,
As fairest Days are overcast with Shade.
Nor is it strange we here some Sorrow prove,
Since Friendship is the near Ally of Love;
Deceit in this will pierce the Heart that's kind,
And Separation wound the tender Mind.
Who mourn the Death, or Treach'ry of a Friend?
Oh, why on fading Objects fix my Love?
Tho' stain'd with Falsehood, One, ungrateful, fled,
Tho' good Clemene tho' Camilla's dead;
Yet some remain, with Truth and Virtue grac'd,
In whose Esteem I still am highly plac'd;
But had they all, alike, unfaithful prov'd;
Or all had dy'd, yet why so much be mov'd?
Why for the Loss of earthly Friends repine,
So much befriended by the Pow'r Divine?
Does not my God, with kind paternal Eye,
And bounteous Hand, my ev'ry Want supply!
My Guardian, he in deepest Shades of Night,
My safe Protector in the Day's broad Light;
And ev'ry perfect Gift from him descends.
Then far above all Creatures will I rise,
And to the great Creator lift my Eyes;
My fervent Praise shall reach his radiant Throne,
And all my Joys be fixt in him alone.
My Soul sublimer Pleasures shall receive,
Than this low World with all its Charms can give;
In calm Content Life's peaceful Hours I'll waste,
And chearfully prepare to meet the last.
An Hymn intended to be sung on Easter-Day.
Recitative.
Ah! whence these dreadful Peals of Thunder,That seem to shake the World asunder;
The darted Lightnings fly;
And show beneath a horrid Gloom;
'Tis Earth and Heav'n laments our Loss,
In Jesus bleeding on the Cross;
Now laid quite low within his Tomb.
Chorus.
How great, how wond'rous great and good,To spill for us his precious Blood.
Recitative.
But see the Sun darts forth his Rays,And shines again with stronger Blaze;
Bright Angels joyful throng around,
And all their Harps celestial Sound!
Blest Jesus quits his mortal Shrowds,
And rides triumphant on the Clouds.
Chorus.
Only Darling Son of God,Welcome to this blest Abode.
PSALM CIV.
Awake my Soul, with all thy Pow'rs record,In lofty Strains, the Praises of the Lord;
To him be everlasting Honour giv'n,
Who shines in all the Majesty of Heav'n.
Eternal! with essential Splendor bright,
En-rob'd in Veils of un-approached Light;
Who can endure the strong effulgent Rays,
That ceaseless from the glorious Godhead blaze!
From him the Skies their first Existence found,
Which, Curtain-like expand their Folds around;
Descending now he rests upon the Deeps,
And now the Clouds with passing Glory sweeps:
Submissive Winds receive him on their Wings,
And fly triumphant with the King of Kings.
Active as Light they run, at thy Command;
Each ready Minister obedient flies,
Bright as the Flames that from thy Altars rise:
Loud, at thy Call, they bid the Whirl-wind blow,
And blazing with destructive Lightnings go;
To execute thy Will, their sole employ,
The Good to save, the Wicked to destroy.
The Earth by thee was fixt with wond'rous Art,
From its firm Basis never to depart;
A liquid covering hides the solid Ground,
Like flowing Robes that ev'ry Part surround;
From Dale to Dale the gath'ring Waters glide,
Climb o'er the Hills, and swell on ev'ry Side;
Thou speak'st in Thunder, and they frighted fly;
Some down the Hills with rapid Torrent flow,
Some slumber peaceful in the Vales below.
Call'd by their Lord, the scatter'd Floods obey,
And to the future Ocean take their Way;
There fixt as with an Adamantine Chain,
Th'impatient Billows toss and rave in vain;
Check'd by thy Nod, restrain'd by thy Command,
With empty Menaces they threat the Land.
Whose copious Streamings, plenteous Rivers make;
Among the Hills the murm'ring Waters stray,
Meand'ring glide, and wind a devious Way;
Impell'd by Thirst, seek out the quenching Flood;
Their Thirst allay'd, lift up their grateful Eyes,
As conscious who dispens'd the kind Supplies.
Nurst by the gliding Stream, th'aspiring Trees
Of ev'ry vary'd Verdure, catch the Breeze;
The chearful Birds amidst the Branches play,
There Chaunt their Morning, and their Ev'ning Lay.
Drink the mild Dews, and soft-descending Rains;
The World is fill'd with thy unbounded Store,
And universal Nature feels thy Pow'r!
But cultivated Nature teems for Man;
Then reaps the sweet Supports his Labours yield;
The curling Vines, the clust'ring Grapes produce,
And glads his Heart with their inspiring Juice;
While the green Olive, to reward his Toil,
And smooth his Brow, affords the fat'ning Oil;
Bread to his Heart new Strength and Vigour gives,
And all from thee he thankfully receives.
On Lebanon, with vital Moisture fed,
Their mighty Boughs, the tow'ring Cedars spread;
Luxuriant in eternal Verdure grow,
And stretch their Shadows to the Vale below;
There Birds of various Plumage take their Rest,
In lofty Firs the Stork erects her Nest;
Upon the Hills the wanton Goats are spread,
And smaller Beasts among the Rocks are fed.
And by thy Rules the changing Seasons make;
Then all the Dwellers of the Forest rise.
The hungry Lions, roaring, hunt their Prey,
'Till the bright Sun brings back revolving Day;
From his detecting Beams each prowling Beast,
Runs to his Den, and takes the needed Rest.
But Man for nobler Purposes was born,
He wakes, and rises, with the op'ning Morn;
Forth to his useful Labour then he goes,
'Till Ev'ning Shades recall him to repose.
In all appear a Plenitude Divine!
The fruitful Earth is richly stor'd by thee,
And thou hast made the Wonders of the Sea;
Where bulky Ships to distant Ports consign'd,
Float on the Waves, and fly before the Wind.
And huge Leviathans are sporting there;
All these from thee their daily Succours crave,
All these from thee their daily Succours have.
Millions of Creatures, both by Sea and Land,
Take in their Food from thy sufficing Hand;
Thy Hand with-drawn, astonish'd Millions lie
Prostrate on Earth, pine, sicken, faint, and die;
Thy Frown Dis-peoples Ocean, Earth and Air,
And blasted Systems wither in Despair;
But absent thou, if thou couldst absent be,
What dreadful Desolation should we see!
Thy animating Breath sustains the whole,
Its Life, its Spirit, its informing Soul;
When smiling Grace speaks out th'omnific Word,
Nature, enraptur'd, springs to meet her Lord.
Beyond whate'er can be by Language taught,
Beyond the utmost Flight of Human Thought;
Blest in thy self, eternally the same;
Pleas'd with thy perfect Work thou reign'st alone,
And subject Seraphs bow before thy Throne.
Aw'd by a Look, the trembling Earth retires,
And touch'd, the Mountains groan, and burst in Fires;
So great is God! so strikes the sinking Sense,
With the full Blaze of dread Omnipotence;
But Mercy's milder Glories fix their Rays,
And lift the Worshippers from Fear to Praise.
When e'er I sing, as long as Life remains,
His mighty Name shall dignify my Strains;
In him alone shall terminate my Joys,
Far off, henceforth, be Vanity and Toys.
Delight and Peace attend on Virtue's Ways,
His Bliss is most sublime, who best obeys;
Despis'd shall live, and un-lamented die;
A while they shine, but soon shall set in Shame,
Nor leave a Race behind, nor leave a Name.
Awake my Soul, wake ev'ry tuneful String,
And to thy God with holy Rapture sing;
Let all his Works one solemn Concert raise,
And loudly sing their great Creator's Praise.
O praise the Lord, as long as Life remains,
His mighty Name shall dignify my Strains;
His Praise shall quiver on my fault'ring Breath,
And form my first sweet Anthem after Death.
Familiar letters and poems on several occasions | ||