 | The Works of Mr. Henry Needler |  |
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POEMS ON Several Occasions.
Horace. Book I. Ode VIII.
To LYDIA.
Say, Lydia, by the Gods I beg you, Say,Why you by Love's bewitching Arts betray
Young Sybaris? Why seek you to destroy
His Virtue by the soft Unmanly Joy?
Why does he now the dusty Circus shun,
No longer patient of the scorching Sun?
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To curb the Gallic Steed with foamy Rein?
To swim in Tyber's yellow Flood forbear,
And more than Vipers Blood, the Wrestler's Ointment fear?
Why, from the Quoit or Dart's successful Fling,
Wins he no Praises from the shouting Ring?
Why, like Achilles, when the Grecian Band
Prepar'd to sail for Troy's unhappy Strand,
Skulks he at home, neglectful of his Fame,
Dissolv'd in Sloth and Love's inglorious Flame?
HORACE. Book I. Ode XXVI. Imitated.
The Poet's Brow, that sacred Laurel wears,Shou'd always be serene, and free from Cares;
Jocund and chearful, each revolving Day;
Smooth as his Verse, and as his Fancy gay!
Say, how can it affect my Muse and Me,
Whether the Turk and Muscovite agree;
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And who the Vict'ry got, the Swede or Dane?
Or why shou'd I, with anxious Thoughts and Cares
Perplex my Mind, for other Mens Affairs?
Give Me of gen'rous Wine a copious Bowl,
To drown my Sorrows, and exalt my Soul:
Then, by th' Assistance of th' inspiring Juice,
My Muse may hope her Numbers to produce,
In such an easy unaffected Strain,
As may from skilful Strephon Pardon gain.
HORACE. Book I. Ode XXXI.
To APOLLO.
What does the Poet of his God desire?What Boon at great Apollo's Shrine require,
Whilst with new Wine a brimming Bowl he fills,
And on the Floor the grateful Off'ring spills?
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Whose bounteous Glebe scarce needs the Tiller's Toil;
Nor Herds, which warm Calabria's Meadows feed;
Nor Coursers, which her fertile Pastures breed:
Not that far India may his Pride supply
With burnish'd Gold, and polish'd Ebony;
Nor lands, where Liris' silent Waters stray,
And gliding steal insensibly away.
Let those, whom Fortune's kinder Favours bless,
From the ripe Grape the racy Liquor press;
Let the rich Merchant, (who has plow'd the Main,
And Danger in all Shapes survey'd for Gain;
Whom the propitious Gods indulgent Aid
Has safely to Saturnia's Ports convey'd,)
Drink with his jovial Friends ambrosial Wine,
In Goblets that with golden Lustre shine;
Whilst Me, who these vain Luxuries despise,
Olives and Herbs, plain homely Fare, suffice.
Grant Me, O Phœbus! but this One Request,
(For, this obtaining, I'm of All possest)
That I may, sound in Body and in Mind,
Whilst Age allows these Blessings to Mankind,
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And my low Fate contentedly enjoy.
HORACE. Book IV. Ode III.
To MELPOMENE.
The Man whom at his Birth the smiling Muse
Does with a true Poetic Vein infuse,
O'er whose Nativity such Planets burn,
As give his Soul a soft and tuneful Turn,
Shall never by Success at th' Isthmian Game
Be made the Subject of loquacious Fame;
Him no fleet Coursers with impetuous Pace
Shall ever draw Victorious in the Race;
Success in War o'er Rome's imperious Foes
With sacred Laurel ne'er shall crown his Brows.
Does with a true Poetic Vein infuse,
O'er whose Nativity such Planets burn,
As give his Soul a soft and tuneful Turn,
Shall never by Success at th' Isthmian Game
Be made the Subject of loquacious Fame;
Him no fleet Coursers with impetuous Pace
Shall ever draw Victorious in the Race;
Success in War o'er Rome's imperious Foes
With sacred Laurel ne'er shall crown his Brows.
But lofty Shades, and Tyber's fertile Stream,
Sung in sweet Lyrics, gentle as his Theme,
Immortal Lays and Poesy Divine,
To deathless Glory shall his Name consign.
Sung in sweet Lyrics, gentle as his Theme,
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To deathless Glory shall his Name consign.
Rome's polish'd Sons vouchsafe my Songs to praise,
And grace my Temples with applauding Bays:
Vain Envy now begins to quit the Field,
And to the common Vote Unwilling yield.
And grace my Temples with applauding Bays:
Vain Envy now begins to quit the Field,
And to the common Vote Unwilling yield.
O skilful Muse! who tun'st the warbling Lyre,
And cou'dst the silent Tribe of Fish inspire,
With Notes as sweet, as from the parting Breath
Of dying Swans salute approaching Death;
To Thee I owe this Honour, from the Throng
That all observe me as I pass along,
That each his Friend with pointed Finger shows,
And crys, There Horace the fam'd Poet goes:
My very Life preserv'd by Thee I own,
And whate'er Praise I share, is Thine alone.
And cou'dst the silent Tribe of Fish inspire,
With Notes as sweet, as from the parting Breath
Of dying Swans salute approaching Death;
To Thee I owe this Honour, from the Throng
That all observe me as I pass along,
That each his Friend with pointed Finger shows,
And crys, There Horace the fam'd Poet goes:
My very Life preserv'd by Thee I own,
And whate'er Praise I share, is Thine alone.
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HORACE. Book IV. Ode VII. Paraphras'd.
See! Spring's return'd; the budding Leaves appear,
And blooming Flow'rs adorn the new-born Year;
The Hills their hoary Robes of fleecy Snow.
Throw off, and clad in chearful Verdure show:
The Silver Floods contract their ebbing Tide,
And with abated Streams in narrower Channels glide.
Now gentle Gales invite the Nymphs and Swains,
To trip in rustic Dances o'er the Plains;
The joyous Birds their tuneful Ditties sing,
And with glad Notes salute the smiling Spring.
And blooming Flow'rs adorn the new-born Year;
The Hills their hoary Robes of fleecy Snow.
Throw off, and clad in chearful Verdure show:
The Silver Floods contract their ebbing Tide,
And with abated Streams in narrower Channels glide.
Now gentle Gales invite the Nymphs and Swains,
To trip in rustic Dances o'er the Plains;
The joyous Birds their tuneful Ditties sing,
And with glad Notes salute the smiling Spring.
The winged Hours, that measure out the Day,
Admonish us of mould'ring Life's Decay,
And prompt us to enjoy it while we may.
Admonish us of mould'ring Life's Decay,
And prompt us to enjoy it while we may.
Soft Vernal Warmth the Winter's Cold succeeds;
Then Summer's scorching Heat deforms the Meads;
Next Autumn crowns with golden Sheaves the Fields,
'Till to fierce Winter's Rage his Empire yields.
Then Summer's scorching Heat deforms the Meads;
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'Till to fierce Winter's Rage his Empire yields.
Thus all things change in a successive Round,
And nothing long in the same State is found.
The Seasons pass away, but come again;
Nor Spring, nor Winter holds Eternal Reign:
But we, when once dispatch'd to Shades below,
For Ever no Return to Light must know.
The Gates of Death do freely all receive,
But no Regress, to those that enter, give.
How soon our Lot may fall, there's none can say,
Perhaps our last, may be this present Day.
And nothing long in the same State is found.
The Seasons pass away, but come again;
Nor Spring, nor Winter holds Eternal Reign:
But we, when once dispatch'd to Shades below,
For Ever no Return to Light must know.
The Gates of Death do freely all receive,
But no Regress, to those that enter, give.
How soon our Lot may fall, there's none can say,
Perhaps our last, may be this present Day.
Whatever with penurious Mind you spare,
Will only serve t'enrich a greedy Heir.
When once th' inevitable Hour is come,
At which thou must receive thy final Doom;
Thy Noble Birth, thy Eloquence Divine,
And shining Piety shall nought encline
The stubborn Will of unrelenting Fate,
To give thy fleeting Life a longer Date:
Thy weak Attempts will all be found in vain,
To change the fixt Decree, or a Reprieve to gain.
Will only serve t'enrich a greedy Heir.
When once th' inevitable Hour is come,
At which thou must receive thy final Doom;
Thy Noble Birth, thy Eloquence Divine,
And shining Piety shall nought encline
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To give thy fleeting Life a longer Date:
Thy weak Attempts will all be found in vain,
To change the fixt Decree, or a Reprieve to gain.
The Golden Age.
Translated from the First Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses.
The happy Times, that first on Mortals smil'dIn the World's Infant Age, were Golden stil'd;
Unaw'd by Rulers, nor by Laws restrain'd,
They then from Ill spontaneously refrain'd,
And Nature's sacred Rights invi'lably maintain'd:
No threat'ning Words, on brazen Tables read,
Denounc'd just Vengeance on the guilty Head.
The Pine, as yet for lofty Masts unhew'd,
Secure upon its Native Mountain stood,
Nor e'er had floated on the briny Flood.
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And their own Shores, Earth's utmost Limits thought.
No circling Motes th' unguarded Towns surround,
Nor yet was heard the Trumpet's Martial Sound.
In War not practis'd, nor with Arms prepar'd,
No hostile Wrongs the peaceful Nations fear'd.
The bounteous Glebe, unwounded with the Plough,
Did of its own accord its Gifts allow.
The frugal Race, content with what the Earth
Gave of her self by a spontaneous Birth,
Wild Cherries and wild Apples of the Field,
With fragrant Strawberries the Mountains yield,
And Acrons, that the Oak's broad Branches bear,
Gather'd for Food, and thought no homely Fare.
Th' unlabour'd Land with bending Ears was crown'd;
And smiling Plenty grace'd the fertile Ground.
Spring Ever reign'd; and balmy Breezes fann'd
Delightful Flow'rs, thick-strew'd by Nature's Hand.
Rivers of Milk and Nectar then did flow,
And yellow Honey drop'd from every Bough.
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MARTIAL. Book I. Epigram LVI. Paraphras'd.
To FRONTO.
Since, Noble Fronto, you to know desire,
How high the Wishes of your Friend aspire,
The Sum of all his Pray'rs and Wishes, He
Will give you here in short; for few they be.
This first he asks, that He, secure from Harm,
May own and cultivate some little Farm,
Where, in soft Quiet and inglorious Rest,
He with an humble Fortune may be blest.
Can any one prefer a slavish State,
And daily tend the Levees of the Great,
Who with his Dog and Gun may freely rove
About his fertile Fields and happy Grove;
And there the little feather'd Thieves destroy,
That cull his Cherries, and his Corn annoy;
And, Home return'd, appease with Game he brings
The wholesome Hunger that from Labour springs:
Or, when the tepid Vernal Gales invite
The finny Tenants of the Brook to bite,
In noted Haunts his baited Fish-hooks lay,
And with his trembling Rod pull out the skipping Prey:
Or with delicious Honey Mead prepare
The Gods to their own Nectar might prefer;
Feed on such Cates, as his own Fields afford,
And with fresh unbought Dainties crown his Board?
How high the Wishes of your Friend aspire,
The Sum of all his Pray'rs and Wishes, He
Will give you here in short; for few they be.
This first he asks, that He, secure from Harm,
May own and cultivate some little Farm,
Where, in soft Quiet and inglorious Rest,
He with an humble Fortune may be blest.
Can any one prefer a slavish State,
And daily tend the Levees of the Great,
Who with his Dog and Gun may freely rove
About his fertile Fields and happy Grove;
And there the little feather'd Thieves destroy,
That cull his Cherries, and his Corn annoy;
And, Home return'd, appease with Game he brings
The wholesome Hunger that from Labour springs:
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The finny Tenants of the Brook to bite,
In noted Haunts his baited Fish-hooks lay,
And with his trembling Rod pull out the skipping Prey:
Or with delicious Honey Mead prepare
The Gods to their own Nectar might prefer;
Feed on such Cates, as his own Fields afford,
And with fresh unbought Dainties crown his Board?
The Man, who hates me most, ye Gods! I swear,
I wish, no greater Curse than this to bear,
That he may likewise hate this kind of Life,
And spend his Days, in Hurry, Noise and Strife.
I wish, no greater Curse than this to bear,
That he may likewise hate this kind of Life,
And spend his Days, in Hurry, Noise and Strife.
MARTIAL. Book X. Epigram XLVII. Paraphras'd.
To Julius Martial.
Since, Dearest Martial, you of Me inquire,What things we ought to seek, and what desire,
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Of those which Life compleatly happy make.
An unincumber'd Income, which shou'd be
Not owing to our own, but Parents Industry:
A little Farm, yet of a fertile Soil,
And not ungrateful to the Tiller's Toil:
A cleanly Hearth; a Fire which never dies,
Recruited by a neighb'ring Wood's Supplies:
A Soul Serene, with no Contentions vex'd,
And with few busy burd'ning Cares perplex'd:
A Body blest with Health, with Strength endu'd;
A Temper plain and open, but not rude:
An honest Heart, Unknowing to deceive,
Yet circumspect, nor easie to believe:
A Friendship built (as if by Heav'n design'd)
On Likeness both of Fortune and of Mind:
A Table spread with such cheap homely Fare,
As our own cultivated Gardens bear:
At Night, a mod'rate Bowl, with Nectar fraught,
T' exhilerate, not drown, the pensive Thought:
A chaste, yet chearful Wife, in whom shou'd meet
Unsulli'd Virtue with a Humour sweet:
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The Shades of Ev'ning to the Morning-Light:
Peace and Contentment with our present State;
To relish Life, tho' not afraid of Fate.
From SENECA.
All must submit to Time's despotic Pow'r;All, first or last, his Glutton-Jaws devour.
Nought a secure and settled Basis knows,
But all, at length, his mighty Hand o'erthrows.
Rivers forget to flow: the growing Shore
Now naked lies, where Ocean reign'd before:
High Mountains sink, and ancient Hills subside,
Or whelm the Vallies with their ruin'd Pride.
Why do I name these lesser things below?
Yon' Orbs, that with unnumber'd Splendors glow,
Not long shall on their steady Axes turn,
Ere, seiz'd by their own Native Fires, they burn.
No partial Wrong we undergo by Death;
'Tis Nature's Law, we shou'd resign our Breath.
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When Chaos shall his ancient Reign resume.
EPITAPH. From CLAUDIAN.
To great and beauteous things, a transient DateAnd sudden Downfal is decreed by Fate:
Witness the Fair, that Here in Silence lies,
Whom Venus might have view'd with envious Eyes.
Learned Ignorance. Translated from GROTIUS.
Nature ordains, whilst here we dwell below,That much we should admire, and little know;
In secret Labyrinths her self she hides,
And our defeated Cares and fruitless Search derides.
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Would All within his narrow Mind contain;
Who, with a greedy lust of Knowledge fraught,
Disdains of his own Ignorance the Thought,
Beyond the Lot of Human-Kind aspires,
And fondly things Impossible desires.
Where this first Error can Admission gain,
It draws of worse Mistakes a fatal Train;
For He, who rashly will of All decide,
Must oft' with Falshood sooth his learned Pride,
Ixion-like thin Clouds of Error chace,
And Shadows clasp in his deceiv'd Embrace.
Far more secure and peaceful is the Mind,
Whose Search, to plain and useful Truths confin'd,
Does dark uncertain Subtilties despise,
Nor cares to follow what the Seeker flies.
The Wilful Ignorance of trivial things
From Wisdom oft', and well-poiz'd Judgment springs.
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To SLEEP.
Propitious Pow'r! to wretched Mortals kind,
Who, not content to sooth the pensive Mind
With soft Repose, do'st splendidly delight,
With rich Ideal Scenes, our Intellectual Sight.
Oft', while within thy downy Arms caress'd
The lumpish Body takes refreshing Rest,
Free'd from its earthly Charge, the wakeful Soul
Visits the Stars, and ranges o'er the Pole,
To distant Worlds with nimble Pinions flies,
And climbs with easie Steps the steepy Skies.
Who, not content to sooth the pensive Mind
With soft Repose, do'st splendidly delight,
With rich Ideal Scenes, our Intellectual Sight.
Oft', while within thy downy Arms caress'd
The lumpish Body takes refreshing Rest,
Free'd from its earthly Charge, the wakeful Soul
Visits the Stars, and ranges o'er the Pole,
To distant Worlds with nimble Pinions flies,
And climbs with easie Steps the steepy Skies.
While blust'ring Winds around my Chamber blow,
And all the neighb'ring Fields lie hid in Snow,
Whilst uncontroll'd, tempestuous Winter reigns,
And strips of all their bloomy Pride the Plains;
Wafted by Thee, to happier Climes I stray,
With purple Spring and verd'rous Beauty, gay;
Where lightly skimming thro' mild Air, I rove
O'er the green Meadows and enchanted Grove.
And all the neighb'ring Fields lie hid in Snow,
Whilst uncontroll'd, tempestuous Winter reigns,
And strips of all their bloomy Pride the Plains;
Wafted by Thee, to happier Climes I stray,
With purple Spring and verd'rous Beauty, gay;
Where lightly skimming thro' mild Air, I rove
O'er the green Meadows and enchanted Grove.
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OF THE CAUSES of DREAMS.
Drreams
, which in Sleep their various Scenes display,
And mimick the Transactions of the Day,
Nor from th' Omniscient Pow'rs above descend,
Nor future Good presage, nor Ill portend,
Nor the conceal'd Decrees of Fate foreshow,
But from our waking Thoughts mechanically flow.
And mimick the Transactions of the Day,
Nor from th' Omniscient Pow'rs above descend,
Nor future Good presage, nor Ill portend,
Nor the conceal'd Decrees of Fate foreshow,
But from our waking Thoughts mechanically flow.
For Nature by fix'd Laws has wisely join'd
The bright Ideas of the conscious Mind
To Motions of the liquid spirit'ous Train,
Thro' previous Traces of the humid Brain;
These, when the Soul by drowsy Sleep oppress'd
Into her private Cell retires to Rest,
Thro' beaten Paths their wand'ring Courses take,
And Images confus'd of things awake.
The bright Ideas of the conscious Mind
To Motions of the liquid spirit'ous Train,
Thro' previous Traces of the humid Brain;
These, when the Soul by drowsy Sleep oppress'd
Into her private Cell retires to Rest,
Thro' beaten Paths their wand'ring Courses take,
And Images confus'd of things awake.
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AN ELEGY ON THE Death of a Tabby-Cat.
Alas! poor Tabby's dead! who can denyOn Tabby's Death to write an Elegy?
Whose useful Merit in such various Ways
Deserves the just Remembrance of our Lays;
Who by her watchful Care, while others slept,
Secure from thievish Mice the Pantry kept;
And by her purring Song and wanton Play,
Solac'd the Winter-Nights, and drove sad Thoughts away.
But what, alas! can Songs or Wiles avail,
When Death does with his mortal Dart assail?
What Musick can his sullen Ear delight?
What Swiftness can preserve by nimble Flight?
Now on the Hearth, methinks, I see her sit,
With Mein Majestick and with solemn State;
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And spotted Ermin on her Bosom bears,
While in the Mint of her projecting Mind,
Against the Mice, deep Stratagems are coin'd.
Her Death let all the purring Race attend,
And mourn in Mews and Catterwauls her End;
With solemn Rites, each Night, surround her Grave,
And her lov'd Mem'ry from Oblivion save.
On the DEATH of LESBIA's Green-Bird.
Ah hapless Bird! has then untimely DeathSilenc'd thy Throat, and stopp'd thy tuneful Breath?
No more thy Plumes their faded Verdure boast,
Dim are thy little Eyes, and all their Lustre lost!
No longer must thy chearful Notes delight
Fair Lesbia's Ear; thy beauteous Form, her Sight;
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Fresh Food for Thee, and fragrant Greens prepare,
Whilst flutt'ring Wings and brisker Chirps confess
Thy rising Joy, and grateful Thanks express.
Proud to be tended by a Hand so fair,
Well-pleas'd Thou Loss of Liberty cou'd'st bear,
Nor envy'd'st other Birds, that range in open Air.
Thee, chief Musician of her feather'd Quire,
Fair Lesbia held, Thee most she did admire:
Oft' wou'd she praise thy sweet harmonious Lay,
And listen to thy Song the live-long Day.
Moan all ye Birds of Lesbia's Consort, moan
In doleful Notes your warbling Partner gone:
Let Wreaths of Night-shade and of baleful Yeugh
Each Cage adorn, or Sprigs of Cypress strew.
This Theme let every tender Poet chuse;
Let Lesbia's Loss employ each gentle Muse;
Henceforth let None Corinna's Parrot name,
But Lesbia's Green-Bird fill the Trump of Fame.
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A SEA-PIECE. Sent in a Letter from Portsmouth, in October, 1711.
When stormy Winds in Northern Caverns sleep,
Nor with tempestuous Blasts disturb the Deep,
A smooth unwrinkled Plain accosts the Eye,
Which seems to meet and reach the bending Sky;
One Even, Uniform, Unvari'd Scene
On ev'ry Side extends its wat'ry Green,
A spacious Field, which leaves the Sight behind
By Nature to a nearer Bound confin'd.
But Here no Rocks the foaming Billows lave;
No craggy Cliffs impend the breaking Wave;
The winding Shore a level Prospect yields
Of verdant Meadows and of fruitful Fields.
Nor with tempestuous Blasts disturb the Deep,
A smooth unwrinkled Plain accosts the Eye,
Which seems to meet and reach the bending Sky;
One Even, Uniform, Unvari'd Scene
On ev'ry Side extends its wat'ry Green,
A spacious Field, which leaves the Sight behind
By Nature to a nearer Bound confin'd.
But Here no Rocks the foaming Billows lave;
No craggy Cliffs impend the breaking Wave;
The winding Shore a level Prospect yields
Of verdant Meadows and of fruitful Fields.
When first a Ship, that Monster of the Flood,
(By simple Indians thought some thund'ring God)
Within the narrow Verge of Sight appears,
Her tall strait Mast above the Sea she rears,
Whilst yet her turgid Hull the Waters hide
And convex Surface of the swelling Tide.
The whole Machine a nearer Distance shows,
And all the Parts, which her fair Frame compose;
Proudly she rides in Triumph o'er the Main,
Whose briny Waves her stately Load sustain;
Her gaudy Streamers flow with wanton Gales,
And prosp'rous Winds distend her spreading Sails:
With gladden'd Heart the chearful Sailor spies
The smiling Aspect of the Seas and Skies;
No Rocks nor Shelves the skilful Pilot fears,
But sitting at the Helm securely steers.
(By simple Indians thought some thund'ring God)
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Her tall strait Mast above the Sea she rears,
Whilst yet her turgid Hull the Waters hide
And convex Surface of the swelling Tide.
The whole Machine a nearer Distance shows,
And all the Parts, which her fair Frame compose;
Proudly she rides in Triumph o'er the Main,
Whose briny Waves her stately Load sustain;
Her gaudy Streamers flow with wanton Gales,
And prosp'rous Winds distend her spreading Sails:
With gladden'd Heart the chearful Sailor spies
The smiling Aspect of the Seas and Skies;
No Rocks nor Shelves the skilful Pilot fears,
But sitting at the Helm securely steers.
When if a sudden Storm the Ocean sweep
With furious Blast, and lash the frothy Deep,
By Tempests vext the raging Billows roar,
And dash their foamy Heads against the Shore;
Night all around her sable Wings extends,
Save where more horrid Day the Lightning lends:
Here rolling Waves in wat'ry Mountains rise,
And there a dreadful gaping Valley lies.
The trembling Sailor now of Life despairs,
And flies to his last Refuge, Vows and Pray'rs,
On bended Knees of angry Heav'n implores
To land him safely on the Neighb'ring Shores;
In rattling Thunder, Heav'n his Pray'r returns,
And with red Lightning all the Welkin burns;
Each glaring Flash the Wretch with Horror views,
And with repeated Cries for Mercy sues.
From Wave to Wave the bandy'd Vessel's tost;
Torn are her Sails, and all her Rigging lost:
Now 'mongst the starry Heights she mounting rides,
Down to the lowest Deep she now subsides.
In vain the Men their Strength and Skill employ,
The boist'rous Winds their weak Attempts defy;
Unguided, by the driving Storm at last
She on some Rock or Bank of Sand is cast:
Th' impetuous Shock her Hull in Pieces breaks,
And fills her hollow Womb with doleful Shrieks;
Now Dread and Horror of impending Fate
Do blackest Thoughts in ev'ry Breast create;
Some from the Deck forsake the bulging Ship,
And 'midst the raging Sea for Safety leap.
A few, a very few of these, the Beach,
Drove by the Waves on floating Timbers, reach;
The rest, by the contending Billows tost,
At length are in the swelling Ocean lost.
With furious Blast, and lash the frothy Deep,
By Tempests vext the raging Billows roar,
And dash their foamy Heads against the Shore;
Night all around her sable Wings extends,
Save where more horrid Day the Lightning lends:
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And there a dreadful gaping Valley lies.
The trembling Sailor now of Life despairs,
And flies to his last Refuge, Vows and Pray'rs,
On bended Knees of angry Heav'n implores
To land him safely on the Neighb'ring Shores;
In rattling Thunder, Heav'n his Pray'r returns,
And with red Lightning all the Welkin burns;
Each glaring Flash the Wretch with Horror views,
And with repeated Cries for Mercy sues.
From Wave to Wave the bandy'd Vessel's tost;
Torn are her Sails, and all her Rigging lost:
Now 'mongst the starry Heights she mounting rides,
Down to the lowest Deep she now subsides.
In vain the Men their Strength and Skill employ,
The boist'rous Winds their weak Attempts defy;
Unguided, by the driving Storm at last
She on some Rock or Bank of Sand is cast:
Th' impetuous Shock her Hull in Pieces breaks,
And fills her hollow Womb with doleful Shrieks;
Now Dread and Horror of impending Fate
Do blackest Thoughts in ev'ry Breast create;
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And 'midst the raging Sea for Safety leap.
A few, a very few of these, the Beach,
Drove by the Waves on floating Timbers, reach;
The rest, by the contending Billows tost,
At length are in the swelling Ocean lost.
Bold was his Soul who made the first Essay
Upon the Main, and shew'd Mankind the Way
To pass the Limits of their native Shore,
To visit distant Lands, and unknown Worlds explore:
By Him, we our domestic Poverty
Were taught by Foreign Traffick to supply;
To ev'ry Part of the whole Globe we roam,
And bring the Riches of each Climate home;
With Northern Furrs we're clad and Eastern Gold,
Yet know nor India's Heat, nor Russia's Cold;
We taste the Wines, that sultry Soils produce,
Free from the scorching Beams, which raise the noble Juice;
Knowledge and Plenty fetch from ev'ry Shore,
With Arts our Minds, with Wealth our Coffers store.
Upon the Main, and shew'd Mankind the Way
To pass the Limits of their native Shore,
To visit distant Lands, and unknown Worlds explore:
By Him, we our domestic Poverty
Were taught by Foreign Traffick to supply;
To ev'ry Part of the whole Globe we roam,
And bring the Riches of each Climate home;
With Northern Furrs we're clad and Eastern Gold,
Yet know nor India's Heat, nor Russia's Cold;
We taste the Wines, that sultry Soils produce,
Free from the scorching Beams, which raise the noble Juice;
Knowledge and Plenty fetch from ev'ry Shore,
With Arts our Minds, with Wealth our Coffers store.
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The British Race, 'till by the Romans led
They first the flutt'ring Canvas learn'd to spread,
Savage and wild, by Commerce unrefin'd,
Differ'd but little from the Brutal Kind;
Uncultivated, ignorant and rude,
A painted Herd, they rang'd the Plains and Wood,
And prey'd upon their Fellow Brutes for Food:
With Terror often from the neighb'ring Shore
They view'd the stormy Waves, and heard them roar,
But never durst a Thought to entertain,
Of vent'ring on the Surface of the Main:
Beyond the Sea they sought no Lands unknown,
Nor dream'd of other Climes besides their own.
They first the flutt'ring Canvas learn'd to spread,
Savage and wild, by Commerce unrefin'd,
Differ'd but little from the Brutal Kind;
Uncultivated, ignorant and rude,
A painted Herd, they rang'd the Plains and Wood,
And prey'd upon their Fellow Brutes for Food:
With Terror often from the neighb'ring Shore
They view'd the stormy Waves, and heard them roar,
But never durst a Thought to entertain,
Of vent'ring on the Surface of the Main:
Beyond the Sea they sought no Lands unknown,
Nor dream'd of other Climes besides their own.
A PASTORAL. CORYDON and THYRSIS.
CORYDON.Heard'st thou the Song which youthful Damon play'd
On Yester-Morn, beneath yon' Poplar Shade?
27
I did,—and still methinks his Voice I hear
With pleasing Accent sounding in mine Ear;
In what soft Notes, in what a moving Strain,
Sung he Philesia's Charms, and coy Disdain!
O cruel Nymph! O hard obdurate Breast!
That cou'd the Youth's enchanting Lays resist.
Thou'rt Fair, indeed, as the pure Scythian Snow,
But then as cold and unrelenting too.
CORYDON.
The sympathizing Swains stood list'ning round,
And catch'd with greedy Ears each falling Sound:
All, but the beauteous Maid, his Verse attend,
Pity his Passion, and his Song commend.
Thus, when the Nightingale with warbling Throat
Trills in the shady Bow'rs her mournful Note,
Each meaner Voice thro' the whole Grove is still,
And owns sweet Philomel's superior Skill.
THYRSIS.
Less pleas'd I hear the rustling Vernal Breeze
Fly whisp'ring thro' the Branches of the Trees;
28
Than to his Vocal Pipe young Damon sing.
Collin, for Song renown'd o'er all the Plain,
Sung not in softer Notes his am'rous Pain;
Sure he, when Death untun'd his artful Breath,
To Damon did his Pipe and Skill bequeath.
CORYDON.
O that th' indulgent God of Verse wou'd grant
This Boon to Me, his earnest Supplicant,
That my low Soul he wou'd vouchsafe t'inspire
With Damon's Portion of celestial Fire;
Then shou'd my bolder Muse no longer brook
The flow'ry Meads, and humble Shepherd's Crook;
A loftier Flight her daring Wing shou'd try,
And with the Eagle mount the vaulted Sky;
Then, Orpheus-like, so sweetly wou'd I mourn
By cruel Fate Favonia from us torn,
(Favonia! lov'd by all, by all deplor'd,
With ev'ry Grace adorn'd, and Virtue stor'd,)
That ev'n th' infernal sullen Pow'rs, who wield
Death's rigid Scepter, to my Plaints shou'd yield;
29
Unmov'd, and deaf to ev'ry Vulgar Pray'r,
The melting Force of my persuasive Lays
Such Pity in their flinty Breasts shou'd raise,
That they their Captive shou'd again restore,
And waft her back to the forsaken Shore;
My lasting Numbers shou'd from Death retrieve
The Nymph; in them she shou'd for ever live.
PROLOGUE TO JULIUS CÆSAR.
Spoken at St. Paul's School, Jan. 27, 1712.
Shou'd
Shakespear's Ghost return again to Light,
And see us play his Cæsar here To-night,
How wou'd He smile to view our mimick Rage,
And little Heroes strut along the Stage?
To see in Miniature his lofty Scenes
Acted by beardless Statesmen in their Teens?
And see us play his Cæsar here To-night,
How wou'd He smile to view our mimick Rage,
And little Heroes strut along the Stage?
To see in Miniature his lofty Scenes
Acted by beardless Statesmen in their Teens?
30
Yet our green Age may justly plead our Cause,
Procure our Pardon, if not gain Applause.
In Great and Worthy Things, th' Attempt alone
May claim some Portion of deserv'd Renown.
The Thirst of Fame, the very Love of Praise,
A Noble Generous Turn of Soul betrays:
'Tis this the panting Hero's Mind excites
To Tasks of Glory, and his Toil requites.
'Twas Love of Fame, that Cæsar's Bosom fir'd
With active Valour, and his Breast inspir'd
O'er the whole Globe t'extend the Roman Sway,
And make the distant Poles their Laws obey.
Procure our Pardon, if not gain Applause.
In Great and Worthy Things, th' Attempt alone
May claim some Portion of deserv'd Renown.
The Thirst of Fame, the very Love of Praise,
A Noble Generous Turn of Soul betrays:
'Tis this the panting Hero's Mind excites
To Tasks of Glory, and his Toil requites.
'Twas Love of Fame, that Cæsar's Bosom fir'd
With active Valour, and his Breast inspir'd
O'er the whole Globe t'extend the Roman Sway,
And make the distant Poles their Laws obey.
Impell'd by This, what dauntless Souls can dare,
Let matchless Marlb'rough's mighty Deeds declare;
Great Marlborough! in whose accomplish'd Mind
All Cæsar, but his Vices, we may find;
Who, in a juster Cause, and not his Own,
Has Cæsar's Conduct and his Courage shown.
Let matchless Marlb'rough's mighty Deeds declare;
Great Marlborough! in whose accomplish'd Mind
All Cæsar, but his Vices, we may find;
Who, in a juster Cause, and not his Own,
Has Cæsar's Conduct and his Courage shown.
Yet not to Thirst of Fame alone we owe
Heroic Actions, but to Beauty too:
Oft' your Resistless Charms, ye shining Fair,
In worthy Deeds may justly claim a Share;
Love oft' the noble Martial Flame inspires,
And at your Eyes the Hero's Bosom fires,
Who for your Smiles does Honour's Paths pursue,
And conquers Nations, but to conquer you.
Heroic Actions, but to Beauty too:
31
In worthy Deeds may justly claim a Share;
Love oft' the noble Martial Flame inspires,
And at your Eyes the Hero's Bosom fires,
Who for your Smiles does Honour's Paths pursue,
And conquers Nations, but to conquer you.
EPIGRAM.
Deliver'd in a dull and lifeless Strain,The best Discourses no Attention gain;
For if the Orator seems half asleep,
He'll scarce his Auditors from Snoring keep.
To a Lady, offering to tell the Author his Fortune.
Cloe , You well my future Fate may show,Which, whether good or bad, from you must flow.
With needless Care you search the Stars and Skies;
No Stars can influence Me, but those bright Eyes.
32
In their own Minds may all Events foresee.
On Arithmetic and Geometry.
Hail heav'nly Pair! by whose conspiring AidThe beauteous Fabrick of the World was made!
Led on by You, audacious Men forget
The narrow Bounds by envious Nature set;
To yon' bright Mansions soar with happy Flight,
Survey the Starry Realms, and range thro' Worlds of Light!
EPIGRAM.
Occasion'd by reading an insipid Satyr against Sir Richard Steele, Intitled, Instructions to a Painter. Written ex tempore, in the Year, 1713.
Painter, one Figure more, at My Request,Let on the living Canvas be exprest;
33
Conspicuous by uncommon Length of Ear,
Whilst on the Ground a feeble Lion feels
The Coward Fury of his spurning Heels.
Written under an OAK.
Hail, friendly Plant! beneath the ShadeBy whose wide-spreading Branches made,
Extended on the Grass along,
I meditate my careless Song,
Provok'd by Birds that tune their Lays,
And Winds that whisper in thy Sprays.
When I survey thy stately Head,
And aged Trunk with Moss o'erspread,
Diviner Thoughts enrich my Brain,
And lift me to a loftier Strain;
Thus Mona's Bards receiv'd of old
The Secrets they the People told,
Whilst whisp'ring Genii of the Air
Inspir'd the Truths, they did declare.
34
Like Thee Majestic, Lofty, Strong;
To Thee my grateful Muse shou'd raise
Some Trophy worthy of thy Praise;
With fadeless Leaves thy Head shou'd crown,
And make thee Equal in Renown,
To Royal Charles's Starry Tree,
That twinkles o'er the Southern Sea.
I'd tell how Jove's Imperial Mind
Was pleas'd with thy Majestic Kind;
(Who from the Thunder's blasting Stroke
Does still exempt his favour'd Oak;)
And Oaken Wreaths the Brows did grace
Of Victors in the dusty Race:
But this my Verse in vain wou'd strive;
My Verse, which cannot Thee survive.
Dr. Halley has distinguish'd one of the Southern Constellations by the Name of the Robur Carolinum, or Charles's Oak.
35
TO THE Earl of Roscommon;
Occasion'd by his Essay on Translated Verse. From the Latin of Mr. Charles Dryden.
That happy Britain boasts her tuneful Race,
And Laurel Wreaths her peaceful Temples grace,
The Honour and the Praise is justly due,
To You alone, Illustrious Earl! to You.
For soon as Horace with his artful Page,
By Thee explain'd, had taught the list'ning Age;
Of brightest Bards arose a skilful Train,
Who sweetly sung in their Immortal Strain.
No more content great Maro's Steps to trace,
New Paths we search, and tread unbeaten Ways.
Ye Britons then triumphantly rejoice;
And with loud Peals and one consenting Voice,
Applaud the Man, who does unrivall'd sit,
The Sov'reign-Judge and Arbiter of Wit!
And Laurel Wreaths her peaceful Temples grace,
The Honour and the Praise is justly due,
To You alone, Illustrious Earl! to You.
For soon as Horace with his artful Page,
By Thee explain'd, had taught the list'ning Age;
Of brightest Bards arose a skilful Train,
Who sweetly sung in their Immortal Strain.
No more content great Maro's Steps to trace,
New Paths we search, and tread unbeaten Ways.
Ye Britons then triumphantly rejoice;
And with loud Peals and one consenting Voice,
Applaud the Man, who does unrivall'd sit,
The Sov'reign-Judge and Arbiter of Wit!
36
For, led by Thee, an endless Train shall rise
Of Poets who shall climb Superior Skies;
Heroes and Gods in Worthy Verse shall sing,
And tune to Homer's Lay the lofty String.
Of Poets who shall climb Superior Skies;
Heroes and Gods in Worthy Verse shall sing,
And tune to Homer's Lay the lofty String.
Thy Works too,
Sov'reign Bard! if right I see,
They shall translate with Equal Majesty;
While with new Joy, thy happy Shade shall rove
Thro' the blest Mazes of th' Elysian Grove,
And wond'ring, in Britannia's rougher Tongue
To find thy Heroes and thy Shepherds sung,
Shall break forth in these Words: “Thy favour'd Name,
“Great Heir and Guardian of the Mantuan Fame!
“How shall my willing Gratitude pursue
“With Praises large as to thy Worth are due?
“Tho' tastless Bards, by Nature never taught,
“In wretched Rhymes disguise my genuine Thought;
“Tho' Homer now the Wars of Godlike Kings,
“In Ovid's soft enervate Numbers sings;
“Tuneful Silenus, and the Matchless Verse
“That does the Birth of Infant Worlds rehearse,
“Atones for All: By that, my rescu'd Fame
“Shall vie in Age with Nature's deathless Frame;
“By Thee the learned Song shall nobly live,
“And Praise from ev'ry British Tongue receive.
They shall translate with Equal Majesty;
While with new Joy, thy happy Shade shall rove
Thro' the blest Mazes of th' Elysian Grove,
And wond'ring, in Britannia's rougher Tongue
To find thy Heroes and thy Shepherds sung,
Shall break forth in these Words: “Thy favour'd Name,
“Great Heir and Guardian of the Mantuan Fame!
“How shall my willing Gratitude pursue
“With Praises large as to thy Worth are due?
“Tho' tastless Bards, by Nature never taught,
“In wretched Rhymes disguise my genuine Thought;
“Tho' Homer now the Wars of Godlike Kings,
“In Ovid's soft enervate Numbers sings;
37
“That does the Birth of Infant Worlds rehearse,
“Atones for All: By that, my rescu'd Fame
“Shall vie in Age with Nature's deathless Frame;
“By Thee the learned Song shall nobly live,
“And Praise from ev'ry British Tongue receive.
“Give to thy daring Genius then the Rein,
“And freely launch into a bolder Strain,
“Nor with these Words my happy Spirit grieve;
“ The last good Office of thy Friend receive.
“And freely launch into a bolder Strain,
“Nor with these Words my happy Spirit grieve;
“ The last good Office of thy Friend receive.
“On the firm Base of thine Immortal Lays,
“A nobler Pile to thy lov'd Maro raise;
“My Glory by thy Skill shall brighter shine,
“With Native Charms and Energy Divine!
“Britain with just Applause the Work shall read,
“And crown with fadeless Bays thy Sacred Head.
“Nor shall thy Muse the Graver's Pencil need,
“To draw the Heroe on his prancing Steed;
“Thy living Verse shall paint th' imbattled Hoast,
“In bolder Figures than his Art can boast.
“While the low Tribe of Vulgar Writers strive,
“By mean false Arts to make their Versions live,
“Forsake the Text, and blend each Sterling Line,
“With Comments foreign to my true Design;
“My latent Sense thy happier Thought explores,
“And Injur'd Maro to himself restores.
“A nobler Pile to thy lov'd Maro raise;
“My Glory by thy Skill shall brighter shine,
“With Native Charms and Energy Divine!
“Britain with just Applause the Work shall read,
“And crown with fadeless Bays thy Sacred Head.
“Nor shall thy Muse the Graver's Pencil need,
“To draw the Heroe on his prancing Steed;
38
“In bolder Figures than his Art can boast.
“While the low Tribe of Vulgar Writers strive,
“By mean false Arts to make their Versions live,
“Forsake the Text, and blend each Sterling Line,
“With Comments foreign to my true Design;
“My latent Sense thy happier Thought explores,
“And Injur'd Maro to himself restores.
OF THE Seasons proper for Angling.
The Months, o'er which the nearer Sun displays
His warmer Influence and directer Rays,
Are most Propitious to the Angler's Toil,
And crown his Labours with the largest Spoil.
His warmer Influence and directer Rays,
Are most Propitious to the Angler's Toil,
And crown his Labours with the largest Spoil.
When Birds begin in brisker Voice to sing,
And hail with chearful Notes returning Spring;
When Western Winds in tepid Breezes fly,
And brush with downy Wing the brighten'd Sky;
When teeming Buds their verd'rous Issue yield,
And with their tender Offspring grace the Field;
Then let the Angler, with industrious Care,
His guileful Arms and Implements prepare,
Break Winter's Truce, and wage the watry War.
And hail with chearful Notes returning Spring;
39
And brush with downy Wing the brighten'd Sky;
When teeming Buds their verd'rous Issue yield,
And with their tender Offspring grace the Field;
Then let the Angler, with industrious Care,
His guileful Arms and Implements prepare,
Break Winter's Truce, and wage the watry War.
But, when Autumnal Blasts have strip'd the Wood,
And o'er the Ground its yellow Honours strew'd;
When stormy Boreas reassumes his Reign,
And with malignant Breath deforms the Plain,
Let him a while his Snary Wiles forbear;
'Till, by the Course of the revolving Year,
The fairer Order of the Months returns,
And Nature with fresh Bloom her Face adorns.
Then, soon as Morn has chas'd the Shades of Night,
And streak'd the purple East with rosie Light;
Soon as the Lark displays her early Wings,
And to the fragrant Air her Matins sings,
The Angler, chearful with the Hopes of Prey,
Takes to the reeking Brook his dewy Way.
And o'er the Ground its yellow Honours strew'd;
When stormy Boreas reassumes his Reign,
And with malignant Breath deforms the Plain,
Let him a while his Snary Wiles forbear;
'Till, by the Course of the revolving Year,
The fairer Order of the Months returns,
And Nature with fresh Bloom her Face adorns.
Then, soon as Morn has chas'd the Shades of Night,
And streak'd the purple East with rosie Light;
Soon as the Lark displays her early Wings,
And to the fragrant Air her Matins sings,
The Angler, chearful with the Hopes of Prey,
Takes to the reeking Brook his dewy Way.
40
Psalm XCII. Paraphras'd.
Great Sov'reign of the World, thy glorious NameI ever will extol, and Praise proclaim.
Whether the Morn with rising Light invest,
Or gloomy Night o'erspread the darken'd East;
The smiling Morn thy bounteous Love shall hear,
And list'ning Night thy constant Truth revere:
The Lute and Harp shall join my willing Voice,
And the loud Cymbal add its tuneful Noise.
Whilst in my Mind thy matchless Deeds I weigh,
And all thy Works in silent Thought survey,
The pleasing Theme my ravish'd Bosom fires,
And sacred Hymns spontaneously inspires!
Thy Greatness who can tell! or who can trace
The Wisdom of thy providential Ways!
Yet will audacious Man presume to blame
Thy Conduct, and asperse thine awful Name.
Like some green Herb, which on the springing Mead,
By Genial Show'rs refresh'd, uprears its Head,
41
Soon quells their Pride, and blasts the guilty Crew.
But Thou art still the same: Thou ne'er canst know
The Changes that affect this World below.
Thine Enemies, O God! an Impious Band,
Shall perish soon by thy destroying Hand.
Mean while the Righteous, like the goodly Height
Of the fair Palm, shall flourish to the Sight;
Or like a Cedar, that Majestic grows
On Lebanon, and wide extends its Boughs.
The Tree, that in thy Temple's Courts shall shoot
Deep in the hallow'd Ground its spreading Root,
Loaded with Fruits, with fadeless Blossoms gay,
Shall flourish still, nor ever know Decay.
With such abundant Favour Thou wilt bless
Those who thy venerable Name confess;
That all the Nations shall be forc'd to own
Thy perfect Laws, and worship at thy Throne.
42
Psalm CXLVI. Paraphras'd.
I
In pious Hymns and consecrated Lays,Whilst vital Streams my beating Veins shall swell,
Great Author of the World! thy deathless Praise,
And glorious Deeds, my joyful Tongue shall tell.
II
Let not thy Heart a fond Assurance placeIn any Earthly Monarch's fav'ring Smile;
Nor from the Mortal Aid of Human Race
With Hopes of Lasting Bliss thy Soul beguile.
III
Soon to their Native Dust return againThe Sons of Men, at Death's Impartial Call;
Then vanish into Air their Counsels vain,
And to the Ground their Empty Projects fall.
IV
Thrice happy He, that on th' Eternal KingFor Succour and Defence alone relies,
And Safe beneath the Shadow of his Wing
Serenely sits, and threatning Ills defies.
43
V
Him all Things both in Heav'n and Earth obey,Their Great Creator and Almighty Lord;
Sooner the Sun from his fixt Course may stray,
Than Israel's God forget his Sacred Word.
VI
The Lord Asserts the poor Man's rightful Cause,And frees from tort'ring Bonds the Pris'ner's Feet,
Rescues the Helpless from th' Oppressor's Jaws,
And satisfies the hungry Soul with Meat.
VII
The Blind, in Mercy He restores to Sight,New Health and Vigour on the Sick bestows;
But in the Righteous is his Chief Delight;
On them his ever-streaming Favour flows.
VIII
He to the Stranger, Widow, Orphan, provesA faithful Friend, a Husband, Father kind;
And far from each the Mischiefs He removes,
And guileful Wrongs by Impious Men design'd.
44
IX
Thy King, O Sion! shall for Ever reign;No End shall his Eternal Empire know,
Long as their Place the Stars of Heav'n maintain,
And Rivers to the thirsty Ocean flow.
A Description of a Summer-Night in the Country.
Stretch'd on his homely Bed, the weary'd HindNow sleeps secure; no Cares disturb his Mind:
No Use of Down or Opiate Drugs he knows;
His wholesom Labour gives a sweet Repose.
The Beasts and Birds are now retir'd to Rest,
Those to their grassy Couch, These to their Nest.
The Winds too are asleep, and scarcely move
Thro' the still Horrour of the gloomy Grove.
Now pearly Dews refresh the gelid Air,
And kindly Nature's vital Juice repair.
All's hush'd; and universal Silence reigns,
Save where the mournful Nightingale complains,
45
At the shrill Screeking of foreboding Owls.
Deckt with unrivall'd Beams, the silver Moon
Has wheel'd her rolling Orb to Night's pale Noon,
Temp'ring the Darkness with so bright a Ray,
As might almost compare with that of Day;
Whilst thousand lesser Lights with Her combine,
And All in one united Splendour shine.
Nor Heav'n alone those radiant Beauties knows;
Each Bush with num'rous living Spangles glows,
Diffusing all around a Lustre far,
Such as might guide the wand'ring Traveller.
As if a Show'r of Stars from yonder Sky
Had fall'n, and Earth design'd with Heav'n to vie.
A Paraphrase on Prov. VIII. Beginning at Ver. 10.
Whate'er of Good or Excellent is found
Within the Compass of this spacious Round,
Compar'd with Wisdom, no Regard can claim;
With Her compar'd, can scarce deserve a Name.
Not half so Beauteous is the dawning Light;
Not half so Fair the Stars that gild the Night.
In vain the Gems of Ophir's favour'd Coast
Their dazled Lustre in her Presence boast:
Gay Orient Pearls and Gold in vain display
Their vanquish'd Glories in her brighter Day.
Before Her, brilliant Di'monds dimly shine,
And blushing Rubies own her Worth divine.
Richer and Happier He, whose hallow'd Breast
Of Wisdom's sacred Treasures is possess'd,
Than if he Monarch reign'd, of all the wealthy East.
The Just, by Wisdom's righteous Precepts led,
The peaceful Paths of Life securely tread,
The dang'rous Rocks of Vice with Safety shun,
And Virtue's pleasant Course serenely run.
Within the Compass of this spacious Round,
46
With Her compar'd, can scarce deserve a Name.
Not half so Beauteous is the dawning Light;
Not half so Fair the Stars that gild the Night.
In vain the Gems of Ophir's favour'd Coast
Their dazled Lustre in her Presence boast:
Gay Orient Pearls and Gold in vain display
Their vanquish'd Glories in her brighter Day.
Before Her, brilliant Di'monds dimly shine,
And blushing Rubies own her Worth divine.
Richer and Happier He, whose hallow'd Breast
Of Wisdom's sacred Treasures is possess'd,
Than if he Monarch reign'd, of all the wealthy East.
The Just, by Wisdom's righteous Precepts led,
The peaceful Paths of Life securely tread,
The dang'rous Rocks of Vice with Safety shun,
And Virtue's pleasant Course serenely run.
Artists by Her their subtle Works devise:
'Tis She, with Counsel Sage instructs the Wise:
'Tis She, who teaches Princes to command
By wholesome Laws, and guides the Scepter'd Hand.
'Tis She, with Counsel Sage instructs the Wise:
'Tis She, who teaches Princes to command
By wholesome Laws, and guides the Scepter'd Hand.
47
Before th' Eternal Mind, who dwells on high,
Hung up the spangled Curtains of the Sky,
With wond'rous Skill Earth's firm Foundations laid,
Or scoop'd the watry Deep's capacious Bed;
Before their tow'ring Heads the Mountains rear'd,
Or shady Woods and open Lawns appear'd;
Ere bubling Springs and Fountains had begun
Thro' painted Meads in Chrystal Streams to run;
Ere chearful Verdure cloath'd the Naked Field,
Or flow'ry Vales did blooming Odors yield,
Wisdom with uncreated Splendor shone,
And spread her Beams around th' Almighty's Throne,
Joyous, before the Sov'reign Presence play'd,
Who with Delight Immense her heav'nly Form survey'd!
Hung up the spangled Curtains of the Sky,
With wond'rous Skill Earth's firm Foundations laid,
Or scoop'd the watry Deep's capacious Bed;
Before their tow'ring Heads the Mountains rear'd,
Or shady Woods and open Lawns appear'd;
Ere bubling Springs and Fountains had begun
Thro' painted Meads in Chrystal Streams to run;
Ere chearful Verdure cloath'd the Naked Field,
Or flow'ry Vales did blooming Odors yield,
Wisdom with uncreated Splendor shone,
And spread her Beams around th' Almighty's Throne,
Joyous, before the Sov'reign Presence play'd,
Who with Delight Immense her heav'nly Form survey'd!
And when this Universe with perfect Art
He rais'd, and cast in Order ev'ry Part;
The Spheres, that roll their steady Course above,
Prepar'd, and taught the Planets where to move;
When Laws He to the swelling Ocean gave,
And bound in Ropes of Sand the raging Wave;
To wand'ring Clouds their airy Flight assign'd,
And, whence to blow, inform'd the sweepy Wind,
Wisdom Supreme did o'er the Whole preside,
And in his awful Work the sacred Founder guide.
He rais'd, and cast in Order ev'ry Part;
The Spheres, that roll their steady Course above,
Prepar'd, and taught the Planets where to move;
When Laws He to the swelling Ocean gave,
And bound in Ropes of Sand the raging Wave;
48
And, whence to blow, inform'd the sweepy Wind,
Wisdom Supreme did o'er the Whole preside,
And in his awful Work the sacred Founder guide.
TO Sir Richard Blackmore, ON HIS Poem, entitled, CREATION.
Hic canit errantem Lunam Solisque labores,
Vnde hominum genus, & pecudes, unde imber, & ignes,
Arcturum, pluviasque Hyadas, geminosque Triones:
Quid tantum Oceano properent se tingere Soles
Hyberni, velquæ tardis Mora Noctibus obstet.
Virg.
Vnde hominum genus, & pecudes, unde imber, & ignes,
Arcturum, pluviasque Hyadas, geminosque Triones:
Quid tantum Oceano properent se tingere Soles
Hyberni, velquæ tardis Mora Noctibus obstet.
Virg.
Drress'd in the Charms of Wit and Fancy, long
The Muse has pleas'd us with her Syren Song;
But weak of Reason, and deprav'd of Mind,
Too oft on vile, ignoble Themes we find
The wanton Muse her Sacred Art debase,
Forgetful of her Birth and heav'nly Race;
Too oft her flatt'ring Songs to Sin entice,
And in false Colours deck delusive Vice;
Too oft She condescends, in Servile Lays,
The undeserving Rich and Great to praise.
These beaten Paths thy Loftier Strains refuse
With just Disdain, and Nobler Subjects chuse:
Fir'd with Sublimer Thoughts, thy daring Soul
Wings her aspiring Flight from Pole to Pole,
Observes the Footsteps of a Pow'r Divine,
Which in each Part of Nature's System shine,
Surveys the Wonders of this Beauteous Frame,
And sings the Sacred Source, whence all Things came.
The Muse has pleas'd us with her Syren Song;
49
Too oft on vile, ignoble Themes we find
The wanton Muse her Sacred Art debase,
Forgetful of her Birth and heav'nly Race;
Too oft her flatt'ring Songs to Sin entice,
And in false Colours deck delusive Vice;
Too oft She condescends, in Servile Lays,
The undeserving Rich and Great to praise.
These beaten Paths thy Loftier Strains refuse
With just Disdain, and Nobler Subjects chuse:
Fir'd with Sublimer Thoughts, thy daring Soul
Wings her aspiring Flight from Pole to Pole,
Observes the Footsteps of a Pow'r Divine,
Which in each Part of Nature's System shine,
Surveys the Wonders of this Beauteous Frame,
And sings the Sacred Source, whence all Things came.
But O! what Numbers shall I find, to tell
The mighty Transports which my Bosom swell,
Whilst, guided by thy tuneful Voice, I stray
Thro' Radiant Worlds, and Fields of Native Day,
Wasted from Orb to Orb, unweary'd fly
Thro' the blue Regions of the yielding Sky,
See how the Spheres in Stated Courses roll,
And view the just Composure of the Whole!
The mighty Transports which my Bosom swell,
Whilst, guided by thy tuneful Voice, I stray
Thro' Radiant Worlds, and Fields of Native Day,
50
Thro' the blue Regions of the yielding Sky,
See how the Spheres in Stated Courses roll,
And view the just Composure of the Whole!
Such were the Strains by ancient Orpheus sung,
To such, Musæus' heav'nly Lyre was strung:
Exalted Truths in Learned Verse they told,
And Nature's deepest Secrets did unfold.
How at th' Eternal Mind's Omnific Call,
Yon' Starry Arch, and this Terrestrial Ball,
The briny Wave, the blazing Source of Light,
And the wan Empress of the silent Night,
Each in its Order rose, and took its Place,
And fill'd with recent Forms the vacant Space;
How rolling Planets trace their destin'd Way,
Nor in the Wastes of pathless Æther stray;
How the Pale Moon with Silver Beams adorns
Her changeful Orb, and gilds her sharpen'd Horns;
How the Vast Ocean's swelling Tides obey
Her distant Reign, and own her watry Sway;
How erring Floods their circling Course maintain,
Supply'd by constant Succours from the Main;
Whilst to the Sea the refluent Streams restore
The Liquid Treasures, which She lent before;
What dreadful Veil obscures the Solar Light,
And Phœbe's darken'd Face conceals from mortal Sight.
To such, Musæus' heav'nly Lyre was strung:
Exalted Truths in Learned Verse they told,
And Nature's deepest Secrets did unfold.
How at th' Eternal Mind's Omnific Call,
Yon' Starry Arch, and this Terrestrial Ball,
The briny Wave, the blazing Source of Light,
And the wan Empress of the silent Night,
Each in its Order rose, and took its Place,
And fill'd with recent Forms the vacant Space;
How rolling Planets trace their destin'd Way,
Nor in the Wastes of pathless Æther stray;
How the Pale Moon with Silver Beams adorns
Her changeful Orb, and gilds her sharpen'd Horns;
How the Vast Ocean's swelling Tides obey
Her distant Reign, and own her watry Sway;
How erring Floods their circling Course maintain,
Supply'd by constant Succours from the Main;
51
The Liquid Treasures, which She lent before;
What dreadful Veil obscures the Solar Light,
And Phœbe's darken'd Face conceals from mortal Sight.
Thy Learned Muse I with like Pleasure hear
The Wonders of the Lesser World declare,
Point out the various Marks of Skill Divine,
Which thro' its complicated Structure shine,
In tuneful Verse the Vital Current trace
Thro' all the Windings of its mazy Race,
And tell how the rich purple Tide bestows
Vigour and kindly Warmth, where-e'er it flows;
By what Contrivance of Mechanic Art
The Muscles Motion to the Limbs impart;
How, at th' Imperial Mind's impulsive Nod,
Th' obedient Spirits thro' the Nervous Road
Find to their Fibrous Cells their ready way,
And the high Dictates of the Will obey;
From how Exact and Delicate a Frame
The channell'd Bones their nimble Action claim;
With how much Depth and Subtilty of Thought
The curious Organ of the Eye is wrought;
How from the Brain their Root the Nerves derive,
And Sense to ev'ry distant Member give.
The Wonders of the Lesser World declare,
Point out the various Marks of Skill Divine,
Which thro' its complicated Structure shine,
In tuneful Verse the Vital Current trace
Thro' all the Windings of its mazy Race,
And tell how the rich purple Tide bestows
Vigour and kindly Warmth, where-e'er it flows;
By what Contrivance of Mechanic Art
The Muscles Motion to the Limbs impart;
How, at th' Imperial Mind's impulsive Nod,
Th' obedient Spirits thro' the Nervous Road
Find to their Fibrous Cells their ready way,
And the high Dictates of the Will obey;
From how Exact and Delicate a Frame
The channell'd Bones their nimble Action claim;
52
The curious Organ of the Eye is wrought;
How from the Brain their Root the Nerves derive,
And Sense to ev'ry distant Member give.
Th' extensive Knowledge You of Man enjoy,
You to a double Use of Man employ;
Nor to the Body is your Skill confin'd,
Of Error's worse Disease You heal the Mind.
No longer shall the hardy Atheist praise
Lucretius' piercing Wit and Philosophic Lays;
But, by Your Lines convinc'd and charm'd at once,
His impious Tenets shall at length renounce,
At length to Truth and Eloquence shall yield,
Confess himself subdu'd, and wisely quit the Field.
You to a double Use of Man employ;
Nor to the Body is your Skill confin'd,
Of Error's worse Disease You heal the Mind.
No longer shall the hardy Atheist praise
Lucretius' piercing Wit and Philosophic Lays;
But, by Your Lines convinc'd and charm'd at once,
His impious Tenets shall at length renounce,
At length to Truth and Eloquence shall yield,
Confess himself subdu'd, and wisely quit the Field.
53
The Fifth Ode of the Fourth Book of Horace: Imitated, and Humbly Inscrib'd To the KING. Printed in the Year 1714.
Aspice venturo lætentur ut omnia Sæclo.
Virgil.
Virgil.
Too long, Illustrious PRINCE, does Britain moan
Her absent Monarch and her Widow'd Throne;
From our expecting Shores no longer stay,
But to thy People come with promis'd Speed away.
On Albion rise with thine auspicious Light,
And with Thy Presence bless our longing Sight:
54
New Life and Joy will to thy Subjects bring.
When Thou art here the jocund Hours will run
On smoother Feet, and brighter shine the Sun.
With such Impatience, and such strong Desires,
Britain her Royal Hanover requires,
As the fond Mother on the winding Shores
Th' Arrival of her Darling Son explores,
Whom adverse Winds, in some far distant Clime,
Detain from her Embrace beyond th' appointed Time.
Protected by Thy Tutelary Care,
Virtue and Plenty shall their Heads uprear:
Each useful Art beneath Thy Guardian Hand
Shall flourish, and adorn our happy Land.
The chearful Swain shall till his fertile Farm,
And tend his Flocks, secure from Martial Harm.
55
And bring the Wealth of distant India home.
Returning Faith and Truth again shall smile,
(Virtues late banish'd from our wretched Isle,)
Whilst Civil Discord, Strife and Party-Hate,
No longer shall distract the jarring State;
But, urg'd by Thee, shall wing their hasty Flight,
And seek the Shelter of their Native Night.
GEORGE on the Throne Establish'd, who will fear
Th' Iberian Sword, or dread the Gallic Spear?
Th' Iberian, and the suppliant Gaul unite
To court his Friendship, and confess his Right.
Where fragrant Jes'min, or the spreading Vine,
Their tender Boughs in verdant Arches twine;
Each faithful Briton shall securely sit,
And GEORGE's Praise with grateful Tongue repeat,
56
With fervent Vows for GEORGE's Welfare crown'd.
Each o'er the chearful Glass his Name shall blend
With his Lov'd Mistress, or his Bosom Friend,
Whilst thus he prays, “Long, Long, may Britain know
“The Blessings which from GEORGE's Sceptre flow:
“Her vain Attempts may busie Faction cease,
“Nor offer to molest our Sov'reign's Sacred Peace.
On the Prodigies, which attended our Blessed Saviour's Crucifixion.
Aspice convexo nutantem pondere mundum,
Terrasque, tractusque maris, cœlumque profundum.
Virg.
Terrasque, tractusque maris, cœlumque profundum.
Virg.
See! how the Globe heaves with convulsive Throes,
Whilst gaping Sepulchres their Wombs disclose.
From their sound Sleep the Rising Dead awake,
And the dark Mansions of the Grave forsake;
Gaz'd at, in Publick Streets they walk along,
And mix promiscuous with th' astonish'd Throng.
Whilst gaping Sepulchres their Wombs disclose.
57
And the dark Mansions of the Grave forsake;
Gaz'd at, in Publick Streets they walk along,
And mix promiscuous with th' astonish'd Throng.
Well may'st Thou quake, O Earth! and Agonize,
And with thy Dying Maker Sympathize;
For Never, since his first Omnific Call
Produce'd from Nothing thy Capacious Ball;
Since Rolling Time began his Infant Age,
So dire a Scene was acted on thy Stage!
Well may'st Thou tremble, and thy Ruin fear,
When Him, whose Pow'r upholds thy pond'rous Sphere,
(Horrid, Amazing View!) Thou see'st expire,
Beneath the Weightier Load of his Great Father's Ire!
And with thy Dying Maker Sympathize;
For Never, since his first Omnific Call
Produce'd from Nothing thy Capacious Ball;
Since Rolling Time began his Infant Age,
So dire a Scene was acted on thy Stage!
Well may'st Thou tremble, and thy Ruin fear,
When Him, whose Pow'r upholds thy pond'rous Sphere,
(Horrid, Amazing View!) Thou see'st expire,
Beneath the Weightier Load of his Great Father's Ire!
The sickly Sun, grown Dim with pale Affright,
Refuses to dispense his wonted Light,
And threatens to the World an Everlasting Night!
No Beam of Glory now his Head adorns,
In sable Shades his Maker's Death he mourns;
To such a Deed, he dares not lend a Ray,
But turns, Aghast, his lucid Eye away.
This strange Eclipse, against Heav'n's sacred Laws,
Astronomers admire, but little dream the Cause.
Refuses to dispense his wonted Light,
And threatens to the World an Everlasting Night!
No Beam of Glory now his Head adorns,
In sable Shades his Maker's Death he mourns;
58
But turns, Aghast, his lucid Eye away.
This strange Eclipse, against Heav'n's sacred Laws,
Astronomers admire, but little dream the Cause.
Nature in gloomy Weeds her self arrays,
And Homage due, to her Great Author pays.
His Fall, she fears, portends her Obsequies,
And shudders with Chill Horror, when he dies.
O Nature! Lay thy Causeless Fears aside;
To Save, and not Destroy the World, He di'd!
And Homage due, to her Great Author pays.
His Fall, she fears, portends her Obsequies,
And shudders with Chill Horror, when he dies.
O Nature! Lay thy Causeless Fears aside;
To Save, and not Destroy the World, He di'd!
And when the Hour, prefix'd by Fate, shall come,
At which Thou must receive thy Final Doom;
When wasteful Flames thy Massy Spheres shall burn,
And to rude Chaos All again return;
As Chymists purge by Fire the Bullion Oar,
He'll raise thy ruin'd Frame, more Beauteous than before.
At which Thou must receive thy Final Doom;
When wasteful Flames thy Massy Spheres shall burn,
And to rude Chaos All again return;
As Chymists purge by Fire the Bullion Oar,
He'll raise thy ruin'd Frame, more Beauteous than before.
59
An Ejaculation.
O God! What Eloquence of Mortal SoundCan paint the Glories, that in Thee are found?
Who can in Worthy Strains proclaim Thy Praise,
Or sing of Thee in Undegrading Lays?
Whilst I behold the Splendors of thy Face,
And the Perfections of thy Nature trace,
Fir'd with Delight, my panting Bosom glows,
My bounding Blood with brisker Motion flows,
Dissolv'd in Raptures of Immortal Love,
I seem to antedate the Joys above!
To Mr. Jabez Hughes, On his Translation of Claudian's Rape of Proserpine, and the Episode of Sextus and Erictho from Lucan's Pharsalia.
Written in the Year 1714.
Long did the finish'd Works of Rome and Greece
The Learned with their hidden Treasure please,
Ere any Writer, of a later Date,
The Matchless Pieces ventur'd to Translate.
The drudging Pedants, that at first arose,
Constru'd the Ancients into chiming Prose;
Guiltless of Genius and Poetick Heat,
Founder'd in Verse and crept with hobbling Feet;
A faint Resemblance heavily design'd,
But all the Life and Beauty left behind.
The Learned with their hidden Treasure please,
60
The Matchless Pieces ventur'd to Translate.
The drudging Pedants, that at first arose,
Constru'd the Ancients into chiming Prose;
Guiltless of Genius and Poetick Heat,
Founder'd in Verse and crept with hobbling Feet;
A faint Resemblance heavily design'd,
But all the Life and Beauty left behind.
He, that an Author can interpret well,
Must in his Breast th' infectious Rapture feel;
His Fancy warm'd with the same heav'nly Fire,
That did his great Original inspire.
Must in his Breast th' infectious Rapture feel;
His Fancy warm'd with the same heav'nly Fire,
That did his great Original inspire.
These needful Talents were in Dryden found,
Dryden! with ever-living Laurels crown'd;
In his Translation, like Himself appears
The Mantuan Bard, unhurt by rowling Years;
Still in their native Charms his Numbers shine,
Harmonious still, Majestick and Divine!
When Dryden's Strains employ our ravish'd Ear,
We seem the Language of the Gods to hear!
Such Musick warbles in his tuneful Song,
So sweet his Verse, so delicate and strong!
Dryden! with ever-living Laurels crown'd;
In his Translation, like Himself appears
The Mantuan Bard, unhurt by rowling Years;
Still in their native Charms his Numbers shine,
Harmonious still, Majestick and Divine!
When Dryden's Strains employ our ravish'd Ear,
We seem the Language of the Gods to hear!
61
So sweet his Verse, so delicate and strong!
With rival Art, my Much-lov'd Friend, You tread
In the bright Footsteps of th' Illustrious Dead.
If Claudian in the British Tongue had wrote,
He cou'd not better have express'd his Thought,
Nor in more happy Diction have display'd
Th' Infernal Rape of the Celestial Maid.
Thus finely told, the well-wrought Fable charms
Each list'ning Ear, and ev'ry Fancy warms.
A thousand Beauteous Images arise,
And fill the Soul with ever-new Surprize.
In the bright Footsteps of th' Illustrious Dead.
If Claudian in the British Tongue had wrote,
He cou'd not better have express'd his Thought,
Nor in more happy Diction have display'd
Th' Infernal Rape of the Celestial Maid.
Thus finely told, the well-wrought Fable charms
Each list'ning Ear, and ev'ry Fancy warms.
A thousand Beauteous Images arise,
And fill the Soul with ever-new Surprize.
Now rais'd aloft to Ætna's flaming Crown,
We look on the contiguous Valleys down;
The pleasing Scene a lovely Prospect yields
Of blooming Meadows and enamell'd Fields.
Here Proserpine, amid the Nymphly Train,
Moves with superior Grace upon the Plain;
Thoughtless of Venus and her crafty Wiles,
Gaily She trips along, and Innocently smiles.
We look on the contiguous Valleys down;
The pleasing Scene a lovely Prospect yields
Of blooming Meadows and enamell'd Fields.
Here Proserpine, amid the Nymphly Train,
Moves with superior Grace upon the Plain;
Thoughtless of Venus and her crafty Wiles,
Gaily She trips along, and Innocently smiles.
62
Now to the Regions of the silent Dead,
And grizly Pluto's darksom Realms convey'd,
Astonish'd we survey the dreary Coasts
Of empty Shadows and of gliding Ghosts;
Where Phlegethon his fi'ry Torrent rowls,
And with a tripple Yell fierce Gerb'rus howls.
And grizly Pluto's darksom Realms convey'd,
Astonish'd we survey the dreary Coasts
Of empty Shadows and of gliding Ghosts;
Where Phlegethon his fi'ry Torrent rowls,
And with a tripple Yell fierce Gerb'rus howls.
Erictho's hellish Charms and Magick Skill
Our Fancies next with trembling Horror fill.
The just Description of a Form so foul
Startles our Thoughts, and shocks our inmost Soul.
Amaz'd we listen, while the Poet tells
The mighty Force of Herbs and mutter'd Spells;
How from her Orb they make the Moon descend,
And in Mid-Heav'n th' enchanted Sun suspend;
Cause sudden Storms and Whirlwinds to arise,
And bid the Thunder roar, along the cloudless Skies.
Our Fancies next with trembling Horror fill.
The just Description of a Form so foul
Startles our Thoughts, and shocks our inmost Soul.
Amaz'd we listen, while the Poet tells
The mighty Force of Herbs and mutter'd Spells;
How from her Orb they make the Moon descend,
And in Mid-Heav'n th' enchanted Sun suspend;
Cause sudden Storms and Whirlwinds to arise,
And bid the Thunder roar, along the cloudless Skies.
We Here behold, how well the British Tongue
Suits with the lofty Style of Epick Song.
Perhaps no living Language can be found,
Where so much Force and Harmony abound.
In vain the French their feeble Voice wou'd raise
To Nervous Numbers and Majestick Lays:
From France we have a double Laurel won,
By Us in Writing, as in Arms outdone:
Brom Britain's Isle the greatest Heroes spring;
Heroick Acts the Britons best can sing:
None but an Addison's Immortal Strain
Can worthily record a Marlborough's Campaign.
Suits with the lofty Style of Epick Song.
Perhaps no living Language can be found,
Where so much Force and Harmony abound.
63
To Nervous Numbers and Majestick Lays:
From France we have a double Laurel won,
By Us in Writing, as in Arms outdone:
Brom Britain's Isle the greatest Heroes spring;
Heroick Acts the Britons best can sing:
None but an Addison's Immortal Strain
Can worthily record a Marlborough's Campaign.
A VERNAL HYMN, In PRAISE of the CREATOR.
Arise, my Muse: Awake thy Sleeping Lyre,
And fan with tuneful Airs thy languid Fire.
On daring Pinions rais'd, low Themes despise;
But stretch thy Wings in yon' bright azure Skies.
Let not this chearful Prime, these Genial Days,
In Silence pass, so friendly to thy Lays.
And fan with tuneful Airs thy languid Fire.
On daring Pinions rais'd, low Themes despise;
But stretch thy Wings in yon' bright azure Skies.
Let not this chearful Prime, these Genial Days,
In Silence pass, so friendly to thy Lays.
64
Hark! how the Birds, on ev'ry blooming Spray,
With spritely Notes accuse thy dull Delay:
See how the Spring, adorn'd with gaudy Pride
And youthful Beauty, smiles on ev'ry Side!
Here painted Flow'rs in gay Confusion grow;
There chrystal Streams in wild Meanders flow:
The sprouting Trees their leafy Honours wear,
And Zephyrs whisper thro' the balmy Air.
All things to Verse invite. But, O! my Muse,
What lofty Theme, what Subject wilt thou chuse?
The Praise of Wine let Vulgar Bards indite,
And Love's soft Joys in wanton Strains recite;
With Nobler Thoughts do Thou my Soul inspire,
And with Diviner Warmth my Bosom fire.
With spritely Notes accuse thy dull Delay:
See how the Spring, adorn'd with gaudy Pride
And youthful Beauty, smiles on ev'ry Side!
Here painted Flow'rs in gay Confusion grow;
There chrystal Streams in wild Meanders flow:
The sprouting Trees their leafy Honours wear,
And Zephyrs whisper thro' the balmy Air.
All things to Verse invite. But, O! my Muse,
What lofty Theme, what Subject wilt thou chuse?
The Praise of Wine let Vulgar Bards indite,
And Love's soft Joys in wanton Strains recite;
With Nobler Thoughts do Thou my Soul inspire,
And with Diviner Warmth my Bosom fire.
Thee, BEST and GREATEST! let my grateful Lays,
Parent of Universal Nature, praise!
All things are full of Thee! Where-e'er mine Eye
Is turn'd, I still thy present Godhead spy!
Each Herb the Footsteps of thy Wisdom bears,
And ev'ry Blade of Grass thy Pow'r declares!
As yon' clear Lake the pendent Image shows
Of ev'ry Flow'r that on its Border grows;
So, in the fair Creation's Glass, we find
A faint Reflection of th' Eternal Mind.
Parent of Universal Nature, praise!
All things are full of Thee! Where-e'er mine Eye
Is turn'd, I still thy present Godhead spy!
Each Herb the Footsteps of thy Wisdom bears,
And ev'ry Blade of Grass thy Pow'r declares!
As yon' clear Lake the pendent Image shows
Of ev'ry Flow'r that on its Border grows;
65
A faint Reflection of th' Eternal Mind.
Whate'er of Goodness and of Excellence
In Nature's various Scene accost the Sense,
To Thee alone their whole Perfection owe,
From Thee, as from their proper Fountain, flow.
In Nature's various Scene accost the Sense,
To Thee alone their whole Perfection owe,
From Thee, as from their proper Fountain, flow.
Fair are the Stars, that grace the sable Night,
And Beauteous is the Dawn of Rosie Light;
Lovely the Prospect, that each flow'ry Field,
These limpid Streams and shady Forests yield:
To Thee compar'd, nor Fair the Stars of Night,
Nor Beauteous is the Dawn of Rosie Light;
Nor Lovely is the Scene, each flow'ry Field,
The limpid Streams and shady Forests yield.
And Beauteous is the Dawn of Rosie Light;
Lovely the Prospect, that each flow'ry Field,
These limpid Streams and shady Forests yield:
To Thee compar'd, nor Fair the Stars of Night,
Nor Beauteous is the Dawn of Rosie Light;
Nor Lovely is the Scene, each flow'ry Field,
The limpid Streams and shady Forests yield.
Incapable of Bounds, above all Height,
Thou art invisible to Mortal Sight;
Thy-self thy Palace! And, sustain'd by Thee,
All live and move in thy Immensity.
Thy Voice Omnipotent did Infant-Day
Thro' the dark Realms of empty Space display,
This glorious Arch of heav'nly Sapphire rear,
And spread this Canopy of liquid Air.
Thou art invisible to Mortal Sight;
Thy-self thy Palace! And, sustain'd by Thee,
All live and move in thy Immensity.
66
Thro' the dark Realms of empty Space display,
This glorious Arch of heav'nly Sapphire rear,
And spread this Canopy of liquid Air.
At Thy Command, the Starry Host, the Sun,
And Moon, unerringly their Courses run;
Ceaseless they move, Obsequious to fullfil
The Task assign'd by Thy Almighty Will.
Thy Vital Pow'r, diffus'd from Pole to Pole,
Inspires and animates this ample Whole.
And Moon, unerringly their Courses run;
Ceaseless they move, Obsequious to fullfil
The Task assign'd by Thy Almighty Will.
Thy Vital Pow'r, diffus'd from Pole to Pole,
Inspires and animates this ample Whole.
If Thou wert Absent, the Material Mass
Wou'd without Motion lie in boundless Space.
The Sun, arrested in his Spiral Way,
No longer wou'd dispense alternate Day;
A breathless Calm wou'd hush the stormy Wind,
And a new Frost the flowing Rivers bind.
Wou'd without Motion lie in boundless Space.
The Sun, arrested in his Spiral Way,
No longer wou'd dispense alternate Day;
A breathless Calm wou'd hush the stormy Wind,
And a new Frost the flowing Rivers bind.
Whate'er, thro' false Philosophy, is thought
To be by Chance or Parent-Nature wrought,
From Thee alone proceeds. With timely Rain
Thou sate'st the thirsty Field and springing Grain.
Inspir'd by Thee, the Northern Tempests sweep
The bending Corn, and toss the foamy Deep:
Inspir'd by Thee, the softer Southern Breeze
Wafts fragrant Odours thro' the trembling Trees.
By Thee conducted thro' the darksom Caves
And Veins of hollow Earth, the briny Waves
In bubling Springs and fruitful Fountains rise,
And spout their sweeten'd Streams against the Skies.
To be by Chance or Parent-Nature wrought,
67
Thou sate'st the thirsty Field and springing Grain.
Inspir'd by Thee, the Northern Tempests sweep
The bending Corn, and toss the foamy Deep:
Inspir'd by Thee, the softer Southern Breeze
Wafts fragrant Odours thro' the trembling Trees.
By Thee conducted thro' the darksom Caves
And Veins of hollow Earth, the briny Waves
In bubling Springs and fruitful Fountains rise,
And spout their sweeten'd Streams against the Skies.
By Thee, the Brutal Kind are taught to chuse
Their proper Good, and Noxious things refuse;
Hence each conforms his Actions to his Place,
Knows to preserve his Life, and propagate his Race.
Hence the wise Conduct of the painful Bee;
Who future Want does constantly foresee,
Contrive her waxen Cells with curious Skill,
And with rich Stores of gather'd Honey fill.
Hence the gay Birds, that sport in fluid Air,
Soft Nests, to lodge their callow Young, prepare,
Rear with unweari'd Toil the tender Brood,
From Harms protect, and furnish 'em with Food.
Their proper Good, and Noxious things refuse;
Hence each conforms his Actions to his Place,
Knows to preserve his Life, and propagate his Race.
Hence the wise Conduct of the painful Bee;
Who future Want does constantly foresee,
Contrive her waxen Cells with curious Skill,
And with rich Stores of gather'd Honey fill.
Hence the gay Birds, that sport in fluid Air,
Soft Nests, to lodge their callow Young, prepare,
68
From Harms protect, and furnish 'em with Food.
But Man, whom thy peculiar Grace design'd
The Image of thine own Eternal Mind,
Man thy chief Favourite, Thou did'st inspire
With a bright Spark of thy Celestial Fire.
Rich with a Thinking Soul, with piercing Eye
He views the spacious Earth and distant Sky;
And sees the various Marks of Skill Divine,
That in each Part of Nature's System shine.
Him therefore it becomes, in grateful Lays,
To sing his bounteous Maker's solemn Praise.
The Image of thine own Eternal Mind,
Man thy chief Favourite, Thou did'st inspire
With a bright Spark of thy Celestial Fire.
Rich with a Thinking Soul, with piercing Eye
He views the spacious Earth and distant Sky;
And sees the various Marks of Skill Divine,
That in each Part of Nature's System shine.
Him therefore it becomes, in grateful Lays,
To sing his bounteous Maker's solemn Praise.
| The Works of Mr. Henry Needler | |