TO DR. WATTS, On his Poems sacred to Devotion.
I
‘To murmuring streams, in tender strains,
‘My pensive muse no more
‘Of love's enchanting force complains,
‘Along the flow'ry shore.
II
‘No more Mirtillo's fatal face
‘My quiet breast alarms;
‘His eyes, his air, and youthful grace,
‘Have lost their usual charms.
III
‘No gay Alexis in the grove
‘Shall be my future theme:
‘I burn with an immortal love,
‘And sing a purer flame.
IV
‘Seraphic heights I seem to gain,
‘And sacred transports feel,
‘While, WATTS, to thy celestial strain,
‘Surpris'd I listen still.
V
‘The gliding streams their course forbear,
‘When I thy lays repeat;
‘The bending forest lends an ear;
‘The birds their notes forget.
VI
‘With such a graceful harmony
‘Thy numbers still prolong;
‘And let remotest lands reply,
‘And echo to thy song;
VII
‘Far as the distant regions, where
‘The beauteous morning springs,
‘And scatters odours through the air,
‘From her resplendent wings;
VIII
‘Unto the new-found realms, which see
‘The latter sun arise,
‘When, with an easy progress, he
‘Rolls down the nether skies.’
PHILOMELA.
July, 1706.