Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Wake, heav'nly Muse, and vindicate thy Rights,
Usurp'd, profan'd, and sacrific'd, by Foes,
Who, or to Pagan Pow'rs ascribe their Flights,
Or, with thy Praises, honour Earth-born Prose.
Heedless of Custom, and the Fool's blind Rage,
Boldly thy Worth and Origin impart,

And teach a loose and undiscerning Age,
To reverence Genius, and be just to Art.
And Thou, of Verse and Man th' almighty Sire,
Who, long ere Heathen Gods were idly known,
Did'st form the Mind, the Mind inspire,
And tune it by thy own,
Aid, and conduct, the Purpose of my Lays;
Thine is the Pow'r, and thine be all the Praise.

II.

By venal Poets misapply'd,
And by the Dull disgrac'd,
Long has the Muse been aiming wide,
In Wit's luxuriant Waste;
Long has she worn the Masks of painted Vice,
And, by the Pow'r of prostituted Rhime,
Made Guilt seem void of Crime,
And Poetry detested by the Wise.

The ravish'd Nymph each stern Beholder scorns,
And terms That Scandal, which Mankind adorns.
Ev'n Bards Themselves, disclaiming due Renown,
Resign their Rights, and Pagan Altars crown;
Meanly, the Muse's Line from Phœbus trace,
And empty Nothings in Dominion place.
Or shou'd one rise, with a diviner Flame,
And boldly deathless Honours claim,
Custom wou'd keep the World averse to yield,
That, from celestial Aid, his Genius came,
And drive him, unrewarded, from the Field,

III.

But if the Muse unveils forgotten Years,
What high majestic Dignity appears!
The spotless Verse, that tun'd the infant Earth,
Was honour'd, as became its Birth.

Then all, that Poets taught, was held divine,
Moral in Sense, and Godlike in Design.
Like Heav'ns high Oracles rever'd,
They, and They only, Heav'ns Decrees made known;
The gathering Crowds, with Awe, their Dictates heard,
And, by their Poets Lives, reform'd their own.
Then sacred Songs cou'd Truths sublime rehearse,
And stern Religion charm'd the Soul, in Verse.
Priests were Themselves the Poets Then,
And felt the Pow'r they preach'd to Men.

III.
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Teach, heav'nly Muse, when raptur'd Moses sung,
What pow'rful Transports arm'd his conquering Tongue!
Moses, who heard and mov'd the Voice of Heav'n,
By whom Religion's first-known Laws were giv'n!

Him a divine Enthusiast's Fury fill'd,
The God within beat strong his widen'd Heart,
Celestial Raptures thro' his Spirits thrill'd,
And his Verse flam'd with Fire, unknown to Art.
Israel, escaping from Ægyptian Sway,
Hung list'ning in the dangerous way;
Urg'd by their Guide's sweet Song, they climb'd the Shore,
Nor weigh'd the Wonder, while his Musick charm'd;
Safe o'er one Sea, they wish'd to plunge in more;
So had the Poet their new Virtue warm'd!

V.

David, a Man allied to God's own Heart,
Ow'd to that favouring God the Poet's Art.
Inspir'd with Force of unresisted Thought,
He wrote as much a Conqueror, as he fought:
Still as his Soldiers listen'd to his Strains,
Their Blood ran rapt'rous thro' their swelling Veins.

With perfect Mastery, he cou'd mould the Mind,
Rais'd it above the Reach of human Fear;
Or made the Warrior soft as Womankind,
When, with more gentle Notes, he struck the Ear.
At Will, he cou'd the Spirit move,
And fill the Heart with Anger, Grief, or Love.
Ev'n yet his Image lives in each warm Line,
Like his great Actions, all divine.
Religion's Self appears with double Grace,
When his sweet Muse describes its beauteous Face.

VI.

O'er the rich Gifts, that fill'd his Son's wise Heart,
High shone this sacred Art.
Mark with what moving Energy of Wit,
Th' imperial Lover writ!
In Nature skill'd, he touch'd the tender Soul,
And cou'd the Springs of Simpathy control.

Wisdom and Poetry, together join'd,
To make him more a King, combin'd.
And sure, this Royal, this distinguish'd, Sage,
Was wiser than those blind, but holy, Drones,
The Stains of our fanatick Age!
Whose reverend Ignorance the Muse disowns;
Who use her ill, and understand her worse,
And 'gainst her Influence hum their drowsy Curse.

VII.

But those were Times of Truth and generous Sense,
When Wit was bright with Innocence;
Things unprofan'd her sacred Care employ'd,
Nor had the Heathen World her Charms enjoy'd.
God's favour'd Sons monopoliz'd the Art,
Nor left to Pagan Bards an envied Part.
Long lost in darkness, and misled,
By hungry Dæmons, whom their Altars fed,

Succeeding Nations, thro' a Depth of Night,
Saw, slow, a glimm'ring Light.
Yet, as they rose to Genius, what they thought,
Their never-dying Verse has taught.
If Greeks and Romans then have thus been fir'd,
How sung the Hebrews, whom their God inspir'd!
At least th' immortal Copy tells,
To what vast Height th' Original excels.

VIII.

But, when, resolv'd in Sin, the Hebrew State
To unbelieving Pow'rs became a Prey,
Their Muse too sunk amidst their common Fate,
And all Heav'ns Gifts, at once, dissolv'd away.
Exil'd, and lost, their captive Spirits fail'd,
And doleful Notes o'er cheerful Airs prevail'd.
Yet long they labour'd up th' o'erpow'ring Stream,
Warm with some remnant Sparks of ancient Flame.

Sacred the Muse in ev'ry Land was held,
And all reap'd Honours, who in Verse excell'd.
Ev'n the Apostle's Eloquence, when sent,
The Fall of faithless Nations to prevent,
While with Athenian Eloquence it strove,
Chose, as the strongest Argument to move,
To quote their own great Poet's Wit:
No human Truth he found so fit
To strengthen and confirm his heav'nly Cause,
And force an unconverted World's Applause!

IX.

But now again, in the clear Gospel's Light,
Eternal Life and endless Joy
The Muses best can teach, redeem'd from Night,
And arm'd with Weapons they too ill employ.
Tastless Pretenders to the Art,
Of Heads unsettled, and of wicked Heart,

Wou'd the pure Current stain,
And back to Idol Ægypt turn again—
Fatal Mistake! but what tho' some run mad,
Must therefore the poetic Air be bad?
If Right grows forfeit, when it meets Abuse,
Reason and Search no longer are of Use.

X.

Wou'd Christian Poets their whole Forces join,
How wou'd the World confess their Muse divine!
What well-bred Reformation wou'd ensue?
What Strength in Fancy, and in Practice, too?
Then might the Theater, and Pulpit, vie,
And each its several Influence try.
Sweetly attracted to the charmful Bait,
Men wou'd no more shun Truth, nor Reason hate.
Like wise Physicians, who their Drugs infold
In Surfaces of tempting Gold,

Poets wou'd, by a Kind of virtuous Stealth,
Cheat their sick Readers into Health.
Prodigious Pow'r of soft, prevailing Art,
That breathes such gentle Fire, to melt th' unwilling Heart!

XI.

What art Thou, that by Passion so refin'd,
Can'st first redeem, then fortify the Mind?
Ev'n against Nature urge our natural Heat,
And force th' unactive Virtue to be great?
O touch my trembling Lips, celestial Muse,
With a live-coal from Heav'ns unfading Fire,
Teach my faint Song thy influence to infuse,
And for immortal Fame my Breast inspire.
While others, Flatterers of an earthly Crown,
Wou'd to some empty Honour owe Renown,
Teach me to build a Pile of sacred Rhime,
That shall defy the Teeth of Time.

And, when forgotten Titles are no more,
And vulgar Hopes have ebb'd their utmost Store,
Let my lov'd Muse known, and remember'd, live,
And endless Joy thro' unborn Ages give.

XII.

Heedless of Custom, and the vulgar Breath,
I toil for Glory, in a Path untrod,
Or where but few have dar'd to combat Death,
And few, unstaggering, carry Virtue's Load.
Thy Muse, O Hill, of living Names,
My first Respect, and chief Attendance claims.
Sublimely fir'd, Thou look'st disdainful down
On trifling Subjects, and a vile Renown.
In every Verse, in ev'ry Thought of thine,
There's heav'nly Rapture and Design.
Who can thy Godlike Gideon view,

And not thy Muse pursue,
Or wish, at least, such Miracles to do?

XIII.

Sure, in thy Breast, the ancient Hebrew Fire
Reviv'd, glows hot, and blazes forth!
How strong, how fierce, the Flames aspire,
Of thy interior Worth,
When burning Worlds thou set'st before our Eyes,
And draw'st tremenduous Judgment from the Skies!
O bear me on thy Seraph Wing,
And teach my weak, obsequious, Muse to sing.
To Thee I owe the little Art I boast;
Thy Heat first melted my co-genial Frost.
Preserve the Sparks thy Breath did fan,
And, by thy Likeness, form me into true poetic Man.

Gideon, an Epic Poem, by A. Hill, Esq;

See the Judgment-Day, a Poem, by A. Hill, Esq;

University of Virginia Library

THE Muse's Original:

AN ODE.

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