Specimens of American poetry :: :: University of Virginia Library

To Thee, great GOD! I lift my humble strains,
My verse inspire; let judgment hold the reins,
And curb my fancy's fierce unruly fire,
Which else would, wild, to boundless flights aspire.
May I not write too little, or too much,
But paint with care, not with a hasty touch.
May all my thoughts be rather just than high,
And never let me rave when I should fly.
But yet secure me from the low extreme,
Of writing meaner than becomes my theme.
Through all my works, let order clearly shine,
And let me know the reason of each line.
Give me to trace out nature in each thought,
And let each piece be to perfection brought;
A subject for my genius fit to choose,
Not vainly light, nor yet profanely loose,
But innocent, at least, if not sublime,
And let my numbers smoothly flow in rhyme.
May each production, writ with strength and ease,
The ear, the judgment, and the fancy please.
But if my soul, by a superior flame,
Was never fir'd to merit lasting fame,
Awaken'd, let me see my fond mistake,
And with just anger from my folly break.
Nor let me in the poet lose the priest,
But know both what and when to write is best;
From wasting, to redeem my vacant hours,
And to refine the roughness of my powers.
The brightest ancients let me read and know,
And let their spirit in my numbers flow;
And all the moderns, who, by thee inspired,
Will be, as long as nature lasts, admired:
By nobler patterns so to form my lays,
As from the thinking few to merit praise.

But most, dear God, assist my towering lyre,
To sound thy name upon its trembling wire;
Be thou the subject of my lofty verse,
And, thine unbounded work, the universe:
The streaming purple, gushing from his heart,
Which made the Saviour's suffering soul depart.
Doubly immortal, then, shall be my fame,
Heaven shall contain my soul, and earth my name.

[Version of the Apocalypse]

The Sardian angel, Jesus bids attend,
Before whose throne the radiant spirits stand
And seven celestial lights adorn his hand.
“Through the thin veil of thine hypocrisy
I cast the flames of mine omniscient eye;
The form that lives, and dazzles all around,
Conceals a heart corrupt, a bleeding wound;
Through which your dying grace shall soon be spent,
Unless your care and penitence prevent.
Few are your deeds, nor will those pious acts
Atone the greater sum of your neglects.
Past admonitions present to your fear,
The lightnings seem to see, the thunders hear;
Nor let the less'ning sounds die on your ear.
Retain your former faith and former life,
Or else expect my judgments like a thief,
Shall steal in wrath on your unguarded hours,
The bolts descending while the tempest pours:
Too much like Sodom, Sardis has her lots,
Whose shining garments are distain'd with spots.
Their fairer vesture, whiten'd into snow,
Shall o'er the flowery walks of Eden flow.
The worthy victor shall be cloth'd in white;
At once the garb of innocence and light;
In heaven's fair books, in golden figures wrote,
His name shall shine, nor endless ages blot.
When heaven shall pour its angels all around,
And all the dead shall live before the sound,

And tribes unnumber'd circle round the king,
His name shall glitter in the shining ring:
The godlike man my Father, too, shall own,
My lips acquit him, and my hand shall crown:
Th' applauded saint, proclaim'd by every tongue,
The saints shall shout, while angels give their song.
Whose ears these counsels in attention bind,
The same or greater happiness shall find.

The Saviour holy, and the witness true,
O Philadelphia's Guardian, writes to you.
The scenes of joy and wo are in his hand
Who doth the keys of life and death command;
The gates of heaven, and hell's tremendous flame,
These none can open, nor can shut but him.
Thy power, in fiery persecutions show'd,
Though small thy strength, the rage of hell withstood:
Since in the storm thy growing courage rose,
The opening hours shall smiling scenes disclose;
Nor more shall shut by clouds of rising foes.
The boasted Jews, who Satan's army meet,
Shall own my love, and own it at your feet.
On nations round, discharg'd from throne to throne,
The storm shall fall, but fly from thee alone.
When all the driving tempest roars around,
The heavens serene and spotless will be found.

Behold I come, with speedy vengeance come,
Big with the joys of nations, or their doom:
Then let thy faith and constancy prepare
The golden crown and regal robes to wear.
A victor then, the palm shall grace thy hand,
And thou a pillar in the temple stand;
Secure, sublime, and beauteous thou shalt rise
To prop and grace the church within the skies.
Thy vesture, too, the name of God shall wear,
And that fair city, pendent in the air;
The offspring of the skies, and modell'd there;
And thy new title glitt'ring on thy vest,
Shall join a dazzling lustre to the rest.

Ye churches hear, and ponder what is said,
For depths are here, and boundless fields are spread
Laodicea, hear the great amen,
For ever true his witness will remain;
And rising at his word the world began:

I know your works; in vain you would conceal
Your dull indifference, and your languid zeal;
Or throw aside the form, and show the cheat,
Or let devotion raise a vital heat.
As water which is free from each excess
Breaks from the bosom which it did oppress;
My vengeance shall your lifeless forms explore,
And from my mouth the nauseous draught shall pour.
As, when distraction seizes on the brain,
The beggar with imagin'd wealth is vain;
His treasures flow, and plenty crowns his board,
He sees his servants, and he seems a lord;
Naked, the purple vestments seem to wear,
And every want is fled, and every fear;
So, in the garments of affected pride,
The poor and naked hypocrite is hid:
Blind to himself, his fancy gilds the stains
Which strike with horror, when his reason reigns.

To me thy poverty and wants impart,
My golden furniture shall grace thy heart:
Nor snow can rival the celestial vest
In which thy naked spirit shall be dress'd;
Where every virtue shall attract the eye,
And all the sister graces of the sky.
Blind as thou art, my salve can give thee light,
And pour the heavenly object on thy sight.
Repent, and kindle up a vigorous zeal,
Believe my mercy when my rod you feel.

See where I stand, and wait your open breast,
Not once invited, but a pleading guest!
Happy the man who hears the welcome sound,
The king shall enter; and, the table crown'd,
Celestial dainties shall regale his mind;
The food ambrosia, and the wine refin'd.
Though vile the man, with freedom I will sup,
The broken bread bestow, and purple cup.
Soft on his ear my milky speech shall flow,
As gentle showers, or drops of heavenly dew.
Who gives his lord a kind reception here
Shall, rapt to paradise, the bridal supper share.
The christian hero, seated on a throne,
Shall reign with me, and triumph in a crown.
My sufferings gave the empire of the skies,

And such as die like me, like me shall rise:
Happy, whose pensive mind shall make him wise.”
[OMITTED]
Now kindled, on the vacant fields of space,
New shining worlds, and heaven renew'd its face;
Earth, circling smooth, without an ocean rose,
With hills unwrinkled and unclouded brows.
The sacred city, modell'd in the sky,
Shot in a trail of glory from on high;
Till resting on the floating fields of air,
Dress'd like a bride, it shone divinely fair.
Then a loud voice a sacred seraph sent,
Which rang through all th' extended firmament.
“A God, a God! to dwell with men descends,
See where his sparkling tent sublimely stands!
His nation shall th' imperial city hold,
And God shall lead them through the streets of gold;
Wipe every tear from every flowing eye,
And death shall from his courts for ever fly:
And pensive moans, and silent grief and pain,
And toilsome labor, sin's detested train;
For every former shady scene is fled,
And light, eternal, lifts its cheerful head.”

Then spoke th' almighty Sire of endless days,
Who sits enthron'd in light's severest blaze;
“My forming word shall every thing renew,
And let thy pen proclaim my sayings true.
All things to a conclusion swiftly tend,
But ne'er begun, my years can never end;
The Alpha I, who spoke the birth of things,
And the Omega who their period brings.”

[Translation of an Ode of Horace]

Mæcenas, whose ennobled veins
The blood of ancient monarchs stains;
My safeguard, beauty and delight.
Some love the chariot's rapid flight,
To whirl along the dusty ground,
Till with Olympic honors crown'd:
And if their fiery coursers tend
Beyond the goal, they shall ascend
In merit, equal to the gods,

Who people the sublime abodes;
Others, if mingled shouts proclaim
Of jarring citizens their name,
Exalted to some higher post,
Are in the clouds of rapture lost.
This, if his granary contain
In crowded heaps the ripen'd grain,
Rejoicing his paternal field
To plough, a future crop to yield;
In vain his timorous soul you'd move
Though endless sums his choice should prove,
To leave the safety of the land,
And trust him to the wind's command.
The trembling sailor, when the blue
And boisterous deep his thoughts pursue,
Fearful of tempests, dreads his gain
To venture o'er the threatening main:
But loves the shades and peaceful town
Where joy and quiet dwell alone.
But when impatient to be poor,
His flying vessels leave the shore.
Others the present hour will seize,
And less for business are than ease;
But flowing cups of wine desire,
Which scatter grief, and joy inspire;
Joyful they quaff, and spread their limbs
Along the banks of murm'ring streams,
While trees which shoot their tow'ring heads,
Protect them with their cooling shades.
Some love the camp and furious war,
Where nations, met with nations, jar;
The noise of victors, and the cries
Of vanquish'd, which assault the skies,
While at the trumpet's piercing ring
Their mounting spirits vigorous spring;
When fainting matrons in a swound,
Receive the martial music's sound.
The morning hunter seeks his prey,
Though chill'd by heaven's inclemency
Forgets his house: with dogs pursues
The flying stag in her purlieus.
Or his entangling net contains
The foaming boar in ropy chains.
But me the ivy wreaths which spread
Their blooming honors round the head
Of learned bards, in raptures raise,

And with the gods unite in praise.
The coolness of the rural scenes,
The smiling flowers and evergreens,
And sportful dances, all inspire
My soul with more than vulgar fire.
If sweet Euterpe give her flute,
And Polyhymnia lend her lute—
If you the deathless bays bestow,
And by applauses make them grow,
Toward the stars my winged fame
Shall fly, and strike the heavenly frame.