Poems on Several Occasions To which is added Gondibert and Birtha, A Tragedy. By William Thompson |
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| 2. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | THE PROGRESS OF SICKNESS.
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| IV. |
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
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THE PROGRESS OF SICKNESS.
Book III.
When I waited for Light there came Darkness.
My Skin is black upon me; and my Bones are burnt with Heat.
My Harp also is turned to Mourning.
Job.
My Skin is black upon me; and my Bones are burnt with Heat.
My Harp also is turned to Mourning.
Job.
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Argument of the Third Book.
Reflections . The Progress of the Disease. Blindness. Delirious Dreams. Remedies for the Mind: 1. Patience: 2. Hope. 3. Prayer. Human Aid and Relief in Sickness: 1. Physick; Eulogium on that Science: 2. Friends; Digression on Friendship.
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The Fair, the Bright, the Great, alas! are fall'n,
Nipt in the Bloom of Beauty, Wit, and Youth,
Death's undistinguish'd Prey. Shall I complain
(When such th' establish'd Ordinance of Heav'n)
If Sickness at my Bosom lay the Siege?
A Worm to Them! and to their Light a Shade,
Ungilded with one Beam, which melted down
The Tear fast-trickling o'er their honour'd Tombs:
We all must dye! Our every pulse that beats,
Beats toward Eternity, and tolls our Doom.
Nipt in the Bloom of Beauty, Wit, and Youth,
Death's undistinguish'd Prey. Shall I complain
(When such th' establish'd Ordinance of Heav'n)
If Sickness at my Bosom lay the Siege?
A Worm to Them! and to their Light a Shade,
Ungilded with one Beam, which melted down
The Tear fast-trickling o'er their honour'd Tombs:
We all must dye! Our every pulse that beats,
Beats toward Eternity, and tolls our Doom.
Fate reigns in all the Portions of the Year.
The Fruits of Autumn feed us for Disease;
The Winter's raw Inclemencies bestow
Disease on Death; while Spring, to strew our Herse,
Kindly unbosoms, weeping in their Dews,
Her flow'ry Race! and Summer (kinder still)
With the green Turf and Brambles binds our Graves.
The Fruits of Autumn feed us for Disease;
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Disease on Death; while Spring, to strew our Herse,
Kindly unbosoms, weeping in their Dews,
Her flow'ry Race! and Summer (kinder still)
With the green Turf and Brambles binds our Graves.
But am I wake? or in Ovidian Realms,
And Circè holds the Glass? What odious Change,
What Metamorphose strikes the dubious Eye?
Ah, whither is retir'd the scarlet Wave,
Mantling with Health, which floated through the Cheek,
From the strong Summer-beam imbib'd? And where
The vernal Lilly's foftly-blended Bloom?
The Forehead roughens to the wond'ring Hand.
Wide o'er the Human-field, the Body, spreads
Contagious War, and lays its Beauties waste.
As once thy breathing Harvest, Cadmus, sprung,
Sudden, a Serpent-brood! an armed Crop
Of growing Chiefs, and fought Themselves to Death.
One black-incrusted Bark of gory Boils,
One undistinguish'd Blister, from the Soal
Of the sore Foot, to the Head's sorer Crown.
Job's Punishment! With Patience like his own,
O may I exercise my wounded Soul,
And cast myself upon his healing Hand,
Who bruiseth at his Will, and maketh whole.
And Circè holds the Glass? What odious Change,
What Metamorphose strikes the dubious Eye?
Ah, whither is retir'd the scarlet Wave,
Mantling with Health, which floated through the Cheek,
From the strong Summer-beam imbib'd? And where
The vernal Lilly's foftly-blended Bloom?
The Forehead roughens to the wond'ring Hand.
Wide o'er the Human-field, the Body, spreads
Contagious War, and lays its Beauties waste.
As once thy breathing Harvest, Cadmus, sprung,
Cadmus is reported by the Poets to have slain a monstrous Serpent in Bœotia, at the Command of Minerva; and sowed its Teeth in a Field, which produced an Host of armed Soldiers; who, fighting, slew one other. See Ovid. Met. l. iii. Suidas, Pausanias, &c. 'Tis said, that he sowed Serpents Teeth, and that Soldiers in Armour sprung up from them; because, as Bochart observes, in the Phœnician Language, to express Men armed with brazen Darts and Spears of Brass, they made use of Words, which might be translated “armed with the Teeth of a Serpent.”
Sudden, a Serpent-brood! an armed Crop
Of growing Chiefs, and fought Themselves to Death.
One black-incrusted Bark of gory Boils,
One undistinguish'd Blister, from the Soal
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Job's Punishment! With Patience like his own,
O may I exercise my wounded Soul,
And cast myself upon his healing Hand,
Who bruiseth at his Will, and maketh whole.
Ah, too, the Lustre of the Eyes is fled!
Heavy and dull, their Orbs neglect to roll,
In motionless Distortion stiff and fix'd;
Till by the trembling Hand of watchful Age
(A weeping Matron, timorous to affright,
And piously fallacious in her Care,
Pretending Light offensive, and the Sun)
Clos'd; and, perhaps, for ever! ne'er again
To open on the Sphere, to drink the Day,
Or (worse!) behold Ianthe's Face divine,
And wonder o'er her Charms.—But yet forbear,
O dare not murmur; 'tis Heav'n's high Behest:
Tho' Darkness through the Chambers of the Grave
This Dust pursue, and Death's sad Shade involve,
E'er long, the Filial-light himself shall shine;
(The Stars are Dust to him, the Sun a Shade)
These very Eyes, these Tunicles of Flesh,
Ev'n tho' by Worms destroy'd, shall see my God,
And, seeing, ne'er remember Darkness more,
Environ'd with Eternity of Day.
Heavy and dull, their Orbs neglect to roll,
In motionless Distortion stiff and fix'd;
Till by the trembling Hand of watchful Age
(A weeping Matron, timorous to affright,
And piously fallacious in her Care,
Pretending Light offensive, and the Sun)
Clos'd; and, perhaps, for ever! ne'er again
To open on the Sphere, to drink the Day,
Or (worse!) behold Ianthe's Face divine,
And wonder o'er her Charms.—But yet forbear,
O dare not murmur; 'tis Heav'n's high Behest:
Tho' Darkness through the Chambers of the Grave
This Dust pursue, and Death's sad Shade involve,
E'er long, the Filial-light himself shall shine;
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These very Eyes, these Tunicles of Flesh,
Ev'n tho' by Worms destroy'd, shall see my God,
And, seeing, ne'er remember Darkness more,
Environ'd with Eternity of Day.
Tho', at their visual Entrance, quite shut out
External Forms, forbidden, mount the Winds,
Retire to Chaos, or with Night commix;
Yet, Fancy's mimick Work,
ten thousand Shapes,
Antick and wild, rush sweeping o'er my Dreams,
Irregular and new; as Pain or Ease
The Spirits teach to flow, and in the Brain
Direction diverse hold: Gentle and bright
As Hermits, sleeping in their mossy Cells,
Lull'd by the Fall of Waters! by the Rills
From Heliconian Cliffs devolv'd;
or where,
Thy antient River, Kishon, sacred Stream!
Soft-murmurs on their Slumbers: Peace within,
And Conscience, ev'n to Ecstasy sublim'd
And beatific Vision. Sudden, black,
And horrible as Murderers; or Haggs,
Their Lease of Years spun out, and bloody Bond
Full-flashing on their Eyes; the Gulf, beneath,
Mad'ning with gloomy Fires; and Heav'n, behind,
With all her golden Valves for ever clos'd.
External Forms, forbidden, mount the Winds,
Retire to Chaos, or with Night commix;
Yet, Fancy's mimick Work,
The following Lines upon delirious Dreams may appear very extravagant to a Reader, who never experienc'd the Disorders which Sickness causes in the Brain; but the Author thinks that he has rather softened than exaggerated the real Description, as he found them operate on his own Imagination at that Time.
Antick and wild, rush sweeping o'er my Dreams,
Irregular and new; as Pain or Ease
The Spirits teach to flow, and in the Brain
Direction diverse hold: Gentle and bright
As Hermits, sleeping in their mossy Cells,
Lull'd by the Fall of Waters! by the Rills
From Heliconian Cliffs devolv'd;
Sir G. Wheeler, in his Voyages, has given a very beautiful Description of an Hermitage on the Borders of Mount Helicon, belonging to the Convent of Saint Luke the Hermit, not the Evangelist, called Stiriotes, from his Dwelling in those Deserts. See Wheeler's Journey into Greece, Fol. B. iv. pag. 325.
Thy antient River, Kishon, sacred Stream!
Soft-murmurs on their Slumbers: Peace within,
And Conscience, ev'n to Ecstasy sublim'd
And beatific Vision. Sudden, black,
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Their Lease of Years spun out, and bloody Bond
Full-flashing on their Eyes; the Gulf, beneath,
Mad'ning with gloomy Fires; and Heav'n, behind,
With all her golden Valves for ever clos'd.
Now in Elysium lap'd, and lovely Scenes,
Where Honeysuckles rove, and Eglantines,
Narcissus, Jess'min, Pinks, profusely wild,
In every scented Gale Arabia breathe:
As blissful Eden fair; the Morning-work
Of Heav'n, and Milton's Theme! where Innocence
Smil'd, and improv'd the Prospect.—Now, anon,
By Isis' favourite Flood supinely laid,
In tuneful Indolence, behold the Bards
(Harps in each Hand, and Laurel on each Brow)
A Band of Demy-gods, august to sight,
In venerable Order sweetly rise,
(The Muses sparkling round Them) who have trod
In measur'd Pace its Banks, forever green,
Enamel'd from their Feet! Harmonious Notes,
Warbled to Dorique Reeds,
to Lesbian Lyres,
Or Phrygian Minstrelsie, steal on the Ear
Enamour'd with Variety: and loud
The Trumpets shrilling Clangours fill the Sky
With silver Melody—Now, happier still!
Round thy Italic Cloisters, musing slow,
Or in sweet Converse with thy letter'd Sons,
Philosophers, and Poets, and Divines,
Enjoy the sacred Walk, delighted, Queen's!
Where Addison and Tickell lay inspir'd,
Inebriated from the classic Springs,
And tun'd to various-sounding Harps the Song,
Sublime, or tender, humorous, or grave,
Quaffing the Muses' Nectar to their fill.
Where Smith in hoary Reverence presides,
(Crown'd with the Snow of Virtue for the Skies)
With graceful Gravity, and gentle Sway;
With perfect Peace incircled and Esteem.
Whose mild and bright Benevolence of Soul,
By Reason cool, and by Religion warm,
And generous Passion for the College-Weal,
More than a Muse inspire.—Momental Bliss!
For sudden rapt, the midnight Howl of Wolves,
The Dragon's Yell, the Lion's Roar, astound
My trembling Ear. Ha! down a burning Mount
I plunge deep, deep: sure Vulcan's Shop is here—
Hark, how the Anvils thunder round the Dens
Flammivomous! What? are those Chains to bind
This Skeleton! the Cyclops must be mad:
Those Bolts of Steel, those adamantine Links
Demand Typhæus' Strength to burst.—Away—
Venus and Mars—beware.—In giddy Whirls
I ride the Blast, and tow'ring through the Storm
Enjoy the Palace of the Morn. The Sun
Resigns the Reins of Phlegon to my Hands:
His mane Waves fire: he scorches me to Dust:
Avaunt, thou Fiend!—I'll hurl thee down the Deep
Of Heav'n, with bolted Thunder, and enwrapt
With forky Light'ning.—Now staggering I reel,
By Murderers pursu'd: my faithless Feet
Scarce shift their Pace: or down rushing amain,
I cease to recollect my Steps, and roll
Passive on earth.—Sure, 'twas Astolpho's Horn
Pour'd on my Ear th' annoying Blast: At which,
Rogero trembled, Bradamant grew pale,
And into Air dissolv'd th' Enchanted Dome.
Where Honeysuckles rove, and Eglantines,
Narcissus, Jess'min, Pinks, profusely wild,
In every scented Gale Arabia breathe:
As blissful Eden fair; the Morning-work
Of Heav'n, and Milton's Theme! where Innocence
Smil'd, and improv'd the Prospect.—Now, anon,
By Isis' favourite Flood supinely laid,
In tuneful Indolence, behold the Bards
(Harps in each Hand, and Laurel on each Brow)
A Band of Demy-gods, august to sight,
In venerable Order sweetly rise,
(The Muses sparkling round Them) who have trod
In measur'd Pace its Banks, forever green,
Enamel'd from their Feet! Harmonious Notes,
250
Or Phrygian Minstrelsie, steal on the Ear
Enamour'd with Variety: and loud
The Trumpets shrilling Clangours fill the Sky
With silver Melody—Now, happier still!
Round thy Italic Cloisters, musing slow,
Or in sweet Converse with thy letter'd Sons,
Philosophers, and Poets, and Divines,
Enjoy the sacred Walk, delighted, Queen's!
Where Addison and Tickell lay inspir'd,
Inebriated from the classic Springs,
And tun'd to various-sounding Harps the Song,
Sublime, or tender, humorous, or grave,
Quaffing the Muses' Nectar to their fill.
Where Smith in hoary Reverence presides,
(Crown'd with the Snow of Virtue for the Skies)
With graceful Gravity, and gentle Sway;
With perfect Peace incircled and Esteem.
Whose mild and bright Benevolence of Soul,
By Reason cool, and by Religion warm,
251
More than a Muse inspire.—Momental Bliss!
For sudden rapt, the midnight Howl of Wolves,
The Dragon's Yell, the Lion's Roar, astound
My trembling Ear. Ha! down a burning Mount
I plunge deep, deep: sure Vulcan's Shop is here—
Hark, how the Anvils thunder round the Dens
Flammivomous! What? are those Chains to bind
This Skeleton! the Cyclops must be mad:
Those Bolts of Steel, those adamantine Links
Demand Typhæus' Strength to burst.—Away—
Venus and Mars—beware.—In giddy Whirls
I ride the Blast, and tow'ring through the Storm
Enjoy the Palace of the Morn. The Sun
Resigns the Reins of Phlegon to my Hands:
His mane Waves fire: he scorches me to Dust:
Avaunt, thou Fiend!—I'll hurl thee down the Deep
Of Heav'n, with bolted Thunder, and enwrapt
With forky Light'ning.—Now staggering I reel,
By Murderers pursu'd: my faithless Feet
Scarce shift their Pace: or down rushing amain,
252
Passive on earth.—Sure, 'twas Astolpho's Horn
A Horn, in which if he do once but blow,
The Noise thereof shall trouble Men so sore,
That all both stout and faint shall fly therefro,
So strange a Noise was never heard before.
Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, translated by Sir John Harrington, B. xv. Stanz. 10.
The Noise thereof shall trouble Men so sore,
That all both stout and faint shall fly therefro,
So strange a Noise was never heard before.
With this Horn Astolpho affrighted the Amazons. See Book xx. St. 60, &c. and even Rogero, Bradamant, &c. in dissolving the enchanted Palace, B. xxii. St. 18, &c. Drives away the Harpies from Senapo, B. xxxiii. St. 114, &c.
Pour'd on my Ear th' annoying Blast: At which,
Rogero trembled, Bradamant grew pale,
And into Air dissolv'd th' Enchanted Dome.
Now starting from this Wilderness of Dreams,
I wake from fancy'd into real Woe.
Pain emptys all her Vials on my Head,
And steeps me o'er and o'er. Th' envenom'd Shirt
Of Hercules enwraps my burning Limbs
With Dragon's Blood: I rave and roar like him,
Writhing in Agony. Devouring Fires
Eat up the Marrow, frying in my Bones.
O whither, whither shall I turn for Aid?—
Methinks a Seraph whispers in my Ears,
Pouring Ambrosia on them, “Turn to God;
So Peace shall be thy Pillow, ease thy Bed,
And Night of Sorrow brighten into Noon.
Let the young cherub Patience, bright-ey'd Hope,
And rosy-finger'd Pray'r, combining hold
A sure Dominion in thy purpos'd Mind,
Unconquer'd by Affliction.”—I receive
The Mandate as from Heav'n itself.—Expand
Thyself, my Soul, and let them enter in.
I wake from fancy'd into real Woe.
Pain emptys all her Vials on my Head,
And steeps me o'er and o'er. Th' envenom'd Shirt
Of Hercules enwraps my burning Limbs
With Dragon's Blood: I rave and roar like him,
Writhing in Agony. Devouring Fires
Eat up the Marrow, frying in my Bones.
O whither, whither shall I turn for Aid?—
Methinks a Seraph whispers in my Ears,
Pouring Ambrosia on them, “Turn to God;
So Peace shall be thy Pillow, ease thy Bed,
And Night of Sorrow brighten into Noon.
Let the young cherub Patience, bright-ey'd Hope,
And rosy-finger'd Pray'r, combining hold
253
Unconquer'd by Affliction.”—I receive
The Mandate as from Heav'n itself.—Expand
Thyself, my Soul, and let them enter in.
Come, smiling Angel, Patience, from thy Seat;
Whether the Widow's Cot, or Hermit's Cell,
By Fasting strong, and potent from Distress;
Or Midnight-student's taper-glimmering Roof,
Unwearied with revolving tedious Tomes,
O come, thou Panacæa of the Mind!
The Manna of the Soul! to every Taste
Grateful alike: the universal Balm
To Sickness, Pain, and Misery below.
She comes! she comes! she dissipates the Gloom;
My eyes she opens, and new Scenes unfolds
(Like Moses' Bush, tho' burning, not consum'd)
Scenes full of Splendour, Miracle, and God.
Behold, my Soul, the Martyr-army, Who
With holy Blood the Violence of Fire
Quench'd, and with lingring Constancy fatigu'd
The persecuting Flame: or nobly stop'd
The Lion's Mouth, and triumph'd in his Jaws.
Hark, how the Virgin white-rob'd-tender Train
Chaunt Hallelujahs to the Rack; as dear
And pleasing to the Ear of God, as Hymns
Of Angels on the Resurrection-morn,
When all the Host of Heaven Hosanna sing!
Yet further; lift thy Eyes upon the Cross,
A bleeding Saviour view, a dying God!
Earth trembles, rend the Rocks, Creation groans:
The Sun, asham'd, extinguishes the Day:
All Nature suffers with her suffering Lord.
Amidst this War of Elements, serene,
And as the Sun-shine Brow of Patience, calm,
He dies without a Groan, and smiles in Death.
Shall Martyrs, Virgins, nay, thy Saviour bleed
To teach thee Patience? and yet bleed in vain?
Forbid it, Reason; and forbid it, Heav'n.
No; suffer: and, in Suffering, rejoice.
Patience endureth all, and hopeth all.
Whether the Widow's Cot, or Hermit's Cell,
By Fasting strong, and potent from Distress;
Or Midnight-student's taper-glimmering Roof,
Unwearied with revolving tedious Tomes,
O come, thou Panacæa of the Mind!
The Manna of the Soul! to every Taste
Grateful alike: the universal Balm
To Sickness, Pain, and Misery below.
She comes! she comes! she dissipates the Gloom;
My eyes she opens, and new Scenes unfolds
(Like Moses' Bush, tho' burning, not consum'd)
Scenes full of Splendour, Miracle, and God.
Behold, my Soul, the Martyr-army, Who
With holy Blood the Violence of Fire
Quench'd, and with lingring Constancy fatigu'd
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The Lion's Mouth, and triumph'd in his Jaws.
Hark, how the Virgin white-rob'd-tender Train
Chaunt Hallelujahs to the Rack; as dear
And pleasing to the Ear of God, as Hymns
Of Angels on the Resurrection-morn,
When all the Host of Heaven Hosanna sing!
Yet further; lift thy Eyes upon the Cross,
A bleeding Saviour view, a dying God!
Earth trembles, rend the Rocks, Creation groans:
The Sun, asham'd, extinguishes the Day:
All Nature suffers with her suffering Lord.
Amidst this War of Elements, serene,
And as the Sun-shine Brow of Patience, calm,
He dies without a Groan, and smiles in Death.
Shall Martyrs, Virgins, nay, thy Saviour bleed
To teach thee Patience? and yet bleed in vain?
Forbid it, Reason; and forbid it, Heav'n.
No; suffer: and, in Suffering, rejoice.
Patience endureth all, and hopeth all.
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Hope is her Daughter then. Let Hope distill
Her Cordial-spirit, as Hybla-honey sweet,
And healing as the Drops of Gilead-balm.
Cease to repine, as those who have no Hope;
Nor let Despair approach thy darkest Hour.
Despair! that Triple-Death! th' imperial Plague!
Th' exterminating Angel of th' accurst,
And sole Disease of which the damn'd are sick,
Kindling a Fever hotter than their Hell—
O pluck me from Despair, white-handed Hope!
O interpose thy Spear and silver Shield
Betwixt my Bosom and the Fiend! detrude
This impious Monster to primæval Hell;
To its own dark Domain: But light my Soul,
Imp'd with thy glittering Wings, to Scenes of Joy,
To Health and Life, for Health and Life are thine:
And fire Imagination with the Skies.
Her Cordial-spirit, as Hybla-honey sweet,
And healing as the Drops of Gilead-balm.
Cease to repine, as those who have no Hope;
Nor let Despair approach thy darkest Hour.
Despair! that Triple-Death! th' imperial Plague!
Th' exterminating Angel of th' accurst,
And sole Disease of which the damn'd are sick,
Kindling a Fever hotter than their Hell—
O pluck me from Despair, white-handed Hope!
O interpose thy Spear and silver Shield
Betwixt my Bosom and the Fiend! detrude
This impious Monster to primæval Hell;
To its own dark Domain: But light my Soul,
Imp'd with thy glittering Wings, to Scenes of Joy,
To Health and Life, for Health and Life are thine:
And fire Imagination with the Skies.
But whence this Confidence of Hope? In Thee,
And in thy Blood, my Jesus! (Bow, O Earth!
Heav'n bends beneath the Name, and all its Sons,
The Hierarchy! drop low the prostrate Knee,
And sink, in humble wise, upon the Stars.)
Yes, on Thy Blood and Name my Hope depends.—
My Hope? nay, Worlds on Worlds depend on Thee;
Live in Thy Death, from Thy Sepulchre rise.
Thy influential Vigour reinspires
This feeble Frame; dispells the Shade of Death;
And bids me throw myself on God in Prayer.
And in thy Blood, my Jesus! (Bow, O Earth!
Heav'n bends beneath the Name, and all its Sons,
256
And sink, in humble wise, upon the Stars.)
Yes, on Thy Blood and Name my Hope depends.—
My Hope? nay, Worlds on Worlds depend on Thee;
Live in Thy Death, from Thy Sepulchre rise.
Thy influential Vigour reinspires
This feeble Frame; dispells the Shade of Death;
And bids me throw myself on God in Prayer.
A Christian Soul is God's beloved House;
And Pray'r the Incense which perfumes the Soul:
Let Armies then of Supplications rise,
Besiege the golden Gates of Heav'n, and force,
With holy Violence, a Blessing down
In living Streams. If Hezekiah's Pray'r
The Sun arrested in his prone Career,
And bade the Shadow ten Degrees return
On Ahaz-dial, whirling back the Day:
Pour out thyself, my Soul! with fervent Zeal,
With over-flowing Ardour, and with Faith
Unwav'ring. To assist me, and to swell
My fainting Spirits to sublime Desires,
Wou'd Taylor from his starry Throne descend,
How Fear wou'd brighten! by his sacred Aid,
To live were Happiness, and gain to die.—
No: let him still adorn his starry Throne,
Well-merited by Labours so divine:
For, lo! the Man of God, and Friend of Man,
Theron, the purest Breast, and warmest Heart,
Flys on the Wings of Charity and Love
To join me in the Saving-Task, and raise
My weaker Pow'rs with his abundant Zeal;
Pure, sweet, and glowing as the incens'd Fires,
Of, Solomon, thy Golden-Altar, fann'd
By Wings of Cherubins into a Flame;
Till on the Skies the aromatick Gale
In Pyramids of Fragrance softly stole,
A grateful Offering to the Throne of Grace.
And Pray'r the Incense which perfumes the Soul:
Let Armies then of Supplications rise,
Besiege the golden Gates of Heav'n, and force,
With holy Violence, a Blessing down
In living Streams. If Hezekiah's Pray'r
The Sun arrested in his prone Career,
And bade the Shadow ten Degrees return
On Ahaz-dial, whirling back the Day:
Pour out thyself, my Soul! with fervent Zeal,
With over-flowing Ardour, and with Faith
Unwav'ring. To assist me, and to swell
257
Wou'd Taylor from his starry Throne descend,
How Fear wou'd brighten! by his sacred Aid,
To live were Happiness, and gain to die.—
No: let him still adorn his starry Throne,
Well-merited by Labours so divine:
For, lo! the Man of God, and Friend of Man,
Theron, the purest Breast, and warmest Heart,
Flys on the Wings of Charity and Love
To join me in the Saving-Task, and raise
My weaker Pow'rs with his abundant Zeal;
Pure, sweet, and glowing as the incens'd Fires,
Of, Solomon, thy Golden-Altar, fann'd
By Wings of Cherubins into a Flame;
Till on the Skies the aromatick Gale
In Pyramids of Fragrance softly stole,
A grateful Offering to the Throne of Grace.
Still, tho' I feel these Succours from the Skies,
In Operation mighty! still remain
Inferior Aids behind: terrestrial Stores
Medicinal: the Instruments of God.
For God created the Physician! God
Himself on Earth, our great Physician! spread
O'er Sick and Weak, shadowing, his healing Wings:
Each Miracle a Cure!—Before Disease,
Offspring of Sin, infested Human-kind,
In Paradise, the vegetable Seeds
Sprung from their Maker's Hand, invigorate-strong
With Med'cin. He foresaw our future Ills;
Foreseeing, he provided ample Cure;
Fossils, and Simples: Solomon, thy Theme,
Nature's Historian; wisest of the Wise!
Tho' Paradise be lost, the Tree of Life
In med'cin Blooms; then pluck its healing Fruits,
And with Thansgiving eat; and, Eating, live.
In Operation mighty! still remain
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Medicinal: the Instruments of God.
For God created the Physician! God
Himself on Earth, our great Physician! spread
O'er Sick and Weak, shadowing, his healing Wings:
Each Miracle a Cure!—Before Disease,
Offspring of Sin, infested Human-kind,
In Paradise, the vegetable Seeds
Sprung from their Maker's Hand, invigorate-strong
With Med'cin. He foresaw our future Ills;
Foreseeing, he provided ample Cure;
Fossils, and Simples: Solomon, thy Theme,
Nature's Historian; wisest of the Wise!
Tho' Paradise be lost, the Tree of Life
In med'cin Blooms; then pluck its healing Fruits,
And with Thansgiving eat; and, Eating, live.
Ev'n pagan Wisdom bade her Sons adore,
As one, the God of Physick and the Day,
Fountain of Vegetation and of Life,
Apollo, ever blooming, ever young,
And from his Art immortal! Thus, of yore,
The prime of human Race from Heav'n deduc'd
The bright original of Physick's Pow'r:
And, nor unjustly, deem'd that he who sav'd
Millions from Death, himself shou'd never die.
As one, the God of Physick and the Day,
Fountain of Vegetation and of Life,
Apollo, ever blooming, ever young,
259
The prime of human Race from Heav'n deduc'd
The bright original of Physick's Pow'r:
And, nor unjustly, deem'd that he who sav'd
Millions from Death, himself shou'd never die.
An Instrument of various Pipes and Tubes,
Veins, Arteries, and Sinews, organiz'd,
Man, when in Healthy-tune, harmonious wakes
The Breath of Melody, in Vocal-praise,
Delighting Earth and Heav'n! discordant, oft,
As Accident, or Time, or Fate prevail,
This Human-organ scarce the Bellows heaves
Of Vital-respiration; or in Pain,
With Pauses sad: What Art divine shall tune
To order and refit this shatter'd Frame?
What Fingers touch into a Voice again?
Or Musick re-inspire? Who, but the Race
Of Pæan? who but Physick's saving Sons?
A Ratcliff, Frewin, Metcalf or a Friend?—
But something yet, beyond the kindly Skill
Of Pæan's Sons, Disease, like mine, demands;
Nepenthe to the Soul, as well as Life.
Veins, Arteries, and Sinews, organiz'd,
Man, when in Healthy-tune, harmonious wakes
The Breath of Melody, in Vocal-praise,
Delighting Earth and Heav'n! discordant, oft,
As Accident, or Time, or Fate prevail,
This Human-organ scarce the Bellows heaves
Of Vital-respiration; or in Pain,
With Pauses sad: What Art divine shall tune
To order and refit this shatter'd Frame?
What Fingers touch into a Voice again?
Or Musick re-inspire? Who, but the Race
Of Pæan? who but Physick's saving Sons?
A Ratcliff, Frewin, Metcalf or a Friend?—
But something yet, beyond the kindly Skill
260
Nepenthe to the Soul, as well as Life.
O for a Mother's watchful Tenderness,
And Father's venerable Care!—But They,
In Life immortal, gather endless Joys,
Reward of Charity, of Innocence,
Of pleasing Manners, and a Life unblam'd!
The Tears of Poverty and Friendship oft
Their modest Tombs bedew, where Eden's Flood,
(Ituna 'clep'd by Bards of old Renown,
Purpled with Saxon and with British Blood)
Laves the sweet Vale, that first my pratling Muse
Provok'd to Numbers, broken as the Ruins
Of Roman Towers which deck its lofty Banks,
And shine more beauteous by Decay.—But hark!
What Musick glads my Ear? 'Tis Theron's Voice,
Theron a Father, Mother; both, a Friend!—
Pain flies before his animating Touch:
The gentle Pressure of his cordial Hand,
A burning Mountain from my Bosom heaves!
What Wonders, sacred Friendship, flow from thee!
One Period from a Friend enlivens more,
Than all Hippocrates and Galen's Tomes,
Than all the Med'cines they unfold. I feel
Myself renew'd! not only Health, but Youth,
Rolls the brisk Tide, and sparkles at my Heart.
As the Live-atoms of Campanian Wines
Dance in the Virgin crystal, and o'erlook
With glorifying Foam, the nectar'd Brim;
Smiling, and lending Smiles to social Wit,
The jocund Hearth, and hospitable Board.
And Father's venerable Care!—But They,
In Life immortal, gather endless Joys,
Reward of Charity, of Innocence,
Of pleasing Manners, and a Life unblam'd!
The Tears of Poverty and Friendship oft
Their modest Tombs bedew, where Eden's Flood,
(Ituna 'clep'd by Bards of old Renown,
Purpled with Saxon and with British Blood)
Laves the sweet Vale, that first my pratling Muse
Provok'd to Numbers, broken as the Ruins
Of Roman Towers which deck its lofty Banks,
And shine more beauteous by Decay.—But hark!
What Musick glads my Ear? 'Tis Theron's Voice,
Theron a Father, Mother; both, a Friend!—
Pain flies before his animating Touch:
The gentle Pressure of his cordial Hand,
261
What Wonders, sacred Friendship, flow from thee!
One Period from a Friend enlivens more,
Than all Hippocrates and Galen's Tomes,
Than all the Med'cines they unfold. I feel
Myself renew'd! not only Health, but Youth,
Rolls the brisk Tide, and sparkles at my Heart.
As the Live-atoms of Campanian Wines
Dance in the Virgin crystal, and o'erlook
With glorifying Foam, the nectar'd Brim;
Smiling, and lending Smiles to social Wit,
The jocund Hearth, and hospitable Board.
Friendship is a Religion, from the first
The second-best: it points, like that, to Heav'n,
And almost antidates, on Earth, its Bliss.
But Vice and Folly never Friendship knew;
Whilst Wisdom grows by Friendship still more Wise.
Her Fetters, are a strong Defence; her Chains,
A Robe of Glory; Ophir gold, her Bands;
And he who wears them, wears a Crown of Joy.
The second-best: it points, like that, to Heav'n,
And almost antidates, on Earth, its Bliss.
But Vice and Folly never Friendship knew;
Whilst Wisdom grows by Friendship still more Wise.
Her Fetters, are a strong Defence; her Chains,
A Robe of Glory; Ophir gold, her Bands;
And he who wears them, wears a Crown of Joy.
262
Friendship's the Steel, which struck emits the Sparks
Of Candour, Peace, Benevolence, and Zeal;
Spreading their glowing Seeds—A holy Fire
Where Honour beams on Honour, Truth on Truth;
Bright as the Eyes of Angels and as pure.
An Altar whence two gentle-loving Hearts
Mount to the Skies in one conspiring Blaze
And spotless Union. 'Tis the Nectar-stream
Which feeds and elevates seraphic Love—
Health is Disease, Life Death, without a Friend.
Of Candour, Peace, Benevolence, and Zeal;
Spreading their glowing Seeds—A holy Fire
Where Honour beams on Honour, Truth on Truth;
Bright as the Eyes of Angels and as pure.
An Altar whence two gentle-loving Hearts
Mount to the Skies in one conspiring Blaze
And spotless Union. 'Tis the Nectar-stream
Which feeds and elevates seraphic Love—
Health is Disease, Life Death, without a Friend.
The End of the Third Book.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |