The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
490
BOOK III. SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD.
AN EPITAPH ON KING WILLIAM III.
OF GLORIOUS MEMORY, Who died March the 8th, 1701–2.
I
Beneath these honours of a tomb,Greatness in humble ruin lies:
(How earth confines in narrow room
What heroes leave beneath the skies!)
II
Preserve, O venerable pile,Inviolate thy sacred trust;
To thy cold arms the British isle,
Weeping commits her richest dust.
III
Ye gentlest ministers of fate,Attend the monarch as he lies,
And bid the softest slumbers wait
With silken cords to bind his eyes.
IV
Rest his dear sword beneath his head;Round him his faithful arms shall stand:
Fix his bright ensigns on his bed,
The guards and honours of our land.
V
Ye sister-arts of Paint and Verse,Place Albion fainting by his side,
Her groans arising o'er the hearse,
And Belgia sinking when he dy'd.
VI
High o'er the grave Religion setIn solemn gold; pronounce the ground
Sacred, to bar unhallowed feet,
And plant her guardian Virtues round.
VII
Fair Liberty in sables drest,Write his lov'd name upon his urn,
‘William, the scourge of tyrants past,
‘And awe of princes yet unborn.’
VIII
Sweet Peace his sacred relics keep,With olives blooming round her head,
And stretch her wings across the deep
To bless the nations with the shade.
IX
Stand on the pile, immortal Fame,Broad stars adorn thy brightest robe,
Thy thousand voices sound his name
In silver accents round the globe.
X
Flattery shall faint beneath the sound,While hoary truth inspires the song;
Envy grow pale and bite the ground,
And slander gnaw her forky tongue.
XI
Night and the grave remove your gloom;Darkness becomes the vulgar dead;
But glory bids the royal tomb
Disdain the horrors of a shade.
XII
Glory with all her lamps shall burn,And watch the warrior's sleeping clay,
Till the last trumpet rouse his urn
To aid the triumphs of the day.
ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF MRS. MARY PEACOCK.
An Elegiac Song, sent in a Letter of Condolence to Mr. N. P. Merchant, at Amsterdam.
I
Hark! She bids all her friends adieu;Some angel calls her to the spheres;
Our eyes the radiant saint pursue
Thro' liquid telescopes of tears.
II
Farewell, bright soul, a short farewell,Till we shall meet again above
In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell,
And trees of life bear fruits of love:
491
III
There glory sits on every face,There friendship smiles in every eye,
There shall our tongues relate the grace
That led us homeward to the sky.
IV
O'er all the names of Christ our KingShall our harmonious voices rove,
Our harps shall sound from ev'ry string
The wonders of his bleeding love.
V
Come, sov'reign Lord, dear Saviour, come,Remove these separating days,
Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home;
That golden hour, how long it stays!
VI
How long must we lie ling'ring here,While saints around us take their flight?
Smiling, they quit this dusky sphere,
And mount the hills of heav'nly light.
VII
Sweet soul, we leave thee to thy rest,Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God,
Till we, from bands of clay releast,
Spring out and climb the shining road.
VIII
While the dear dust she leaves behindSleeps in thy bosom, sacred tomb!
Soft be her bed, her slumbers kind,
And all her dreams of joy to come.
492
AN ELEGIAC THOUGHT ON MRS. ANNE WARNER,
Who died of the Small-pox, Dec. 18, 1707, at one o'Clock in the Morning, a few Days after the Birth and Death of her first Child.
Awake, my muse, range the wide world of souls,
And seek Vernera fled; with upward aim
Direct thy wing; for she was born from heaven,
Fulfill'd her visit, and return'd on high.
And seek Vernera fled; with upward aim
Direct thy wing; for she was born from heaven,
Fulfill'd her visit, and return'd on high.
The midnight watch of angels that patrole
The British sky, have notic'd her ascent
Near the meridian star; pursue the track
To the bright confines of immortal day
And Paradise, her home. Say, my Urania,
(For nothing 'scapes thy search, nor can'st thou miss
So fair a spirit) say, beneath what shade
Of amarant, or cheerful ever-green
She sits, recounting to her kindred minds
Angelic or humane, her mortal toil
And travels thro' this howling wilderness;
By what divine protections she escap'd
Those deadly snares when youth and Satan leagu'd
In combination to assail her virtue;
(Snares set to murder souls) but heav'n secur'd
The favourite nymph, and taught her victory.
The British sky, have notic'd her ascent
Near the meridian star; pursue the track
To the bright confines of immortal day
And Paradise, her home. Say, my Urania,
(For nothing 'scapes thy search, nor can'st thou miss
So fair a spirit) say, beneath what shade
Of amarant, or cheerful ever-green
She sits, recounting to her kindred minds
Angelic or humane, her mortal toil
And travels thro' this howling wilderness;
By what divine protections she escap'd
Those deadly snares when youth and Satan leagu'd
In combination to assail her virtue;
(Snares set to murder souls) but heav'n secur'd
The favourite nymph, and taught her victory.
Or does she seek, or has she found her babe
Amongst the infant nation of the blest,
And clasp'd it to her soul, to satiate there
The young maternal passion, and absolve
The unfulfill'd embrace? Thrice happy child!
That saw the light, and turn'd its eyes aside
From our dim regions to th'eternal sun,
And led the parent's way to glory! There
Thou art for ever hers, with powers enlarg'd
For love reciprocal and sweet converse.
Amongst the infant nation of the blest,
And clasp'd it to her soul, to satiate there
The young maternal passion, and absolve
The unfulfill'd embrace? Thrice happy child!
That saw the light, and turn'd its eyes aside
From our dim regions to th'eternal sun,
And led the parent's way to glory! There
Thou art for ever hers, with powers enlarg'd
For love reciprocal and sweet converse.
Behold her ancestors (a pious race)
Rang'd in fair order, at her sight rejoice
And sing her welcome. She along their seats
Gliding salutes them all with honours due
Such as are paid in heav'n: And last she finds
A mansion fashion'd of distinguish'd light,
But vacant: ‘This,’ with sure presage she cries,
‘Awaits my father; when will he arrive?
‘How long, alas, how long! (Then calls her mate)
‘Die, thou dear partner of my mortal cares,
‘Die, and partake my bliss; we are for ever one.’
Rang'd in fair order, at her sight rejoice
And sing her welcome. She along their seats
Gliding salutes them all with honours due
Such as are paid in heav'n: And last she finds
A mansion fashion'd of distinguish'd light,
But vacant: ‘This,’ with sure presage she cries,
‘Awaits my father; when will he arrive?
‘How long, alas, how long! (Then calls her mate)
493
‘Die, and partake my bliss; we are for ever one.’
Ah me! where roves my fancy! What kind dreams
Crowd with sweet violence on my waking mind!
Perhaps illusions all! Inform me, muse,
Chooses she rather to retire apart
To recollect her dissipated pow'rs,
And call her thoughts her own: So lately freed
From earth's vain scenes, gay visits, gratulations,
From Hymen's hurrying and tumultuous joys,
And fears and pangs, fierce pangs that wrought her death.
Tell me on what sublimer theme she dwells
In contemplation, with unerring clue
Infinite truth pursuing. (When, my soul,
O when shall thy release from cumb'rous flesh
Pass the great seal of heav'n? What happy hour
Shall give thy thoughts a loose to soar and trace
The intellectual world? Divine delight!
Vernera's lov'd employ!) Perhaps she sings
To some new golden harp th'almighty deeds,
The names, the honours of her Saviour-God,
His cross, his grave, his victory, and his crown:
Oh could I imitate th'exalted notes,
And mortal ears could bear them!—
Crowd with sweet violence on my waking mind!
Perhaps illusions all! Inform me, muse,
Chooses she rather to retire apart
To recollect her dissipated pow'rs,
And call her thoughts her own: So lately freed
From earth's vain scenes, gay visits, gratulations,
From Hymen's hurrying and tumultuous joys,
And fears and pangs, fierce pangs that wrought her death.
Tell me on what sublimer theme she dwells
In contemplation, with unerring clue
Infinite truth pursuing. (When, my soul,
O when shall thy release from cumb'rous flesh
Pass the great seal of heav'n? What happy hour
Shall give thy thoughts a loose to soar and trace
The intellectual world? Divine delight!
Vernera's lov'd employ!) Perhaps she sings
To some new golden harp th'almighty deeds,
The names, the honours of her Saviour-God,
His cross, his grave, his victory, and his crown:
Oh could I imitate th'exalted notes,
And mortal ears could bear them!—
Or lies she now before th'eternal throne
Prostrate in humble form, with deep devotion
O'erwhelm'd, and self-abasement at the sight
Of the uncover'd godhead face to face?
Seraphic crowns pay homage at his feet,
And hers amongst them, not of dimmer ore,
Nor set with meaner gems: But vain ambition,
And emulation vain, and fond conceit,
And pride for ever banish'd flies the place,
Curst pride, the dress of hell. Tell me, Urania,
How her joys heighten, and her golden hours
Circle in love. O stamp upon my soul
Some blissful image of the fair deceas'd
To call my passions and my eyes aside
From the dear breathless clay, distressing sight!
I look and mourn and gaze with greedy view
Of melancholy fondness: Tears bedewing
That form so late desir'd, so late belov'd,
Now loathsome and unlovely. Base disease,
That leagu'd with nature's sharpest pains, and spoil'd
So sweet a structure! The impoisoning taint
O'erspreads the building wrought with skill divine,
And ruins the rich temple to the dust!
Prostrate in humble form, with deep devotion
O'erwhelm'd, and self-abasement at the sight
Of the uncover'd godhead face to face?
Seraphic crowns pay homage at his feet,
And hers amongst them, not of dimmer ore,
Nor set with meaner gems: But vain ambition,
And emulation vain, and fond conceit,
And pride for ever banish'd flies the place,
Curst pride, the dress of hell. Tell me, Urania,
How her joys heighten, and her golden hours
Circle in love. O stamp upon my soul
Some blissful image of the fair deceas'd
To call my passions and my eyes aside
From the dear breathless clay, distressing sight!
I look and mourn and gaze with greedy view
Of melancholy fondness: Tears bedewing
That form so late desir'd, so late belov'd,
Now loathsome and unlovely. Base disease,
That leagu'd with nature's sharpest pains, and spoil'd
So sweet a structure! The impoisoning taint
O'erspreads the building wrought with skill divine,
And ruins the rich temple to the dust!
Was this the countenance, where the world admir'd
Features of wit and virtue? This the face
Where love triumph'd? and beauty on these cheeks,
As on a throne, beneath her radiant eyes
Was seated to advantage; mild, serene,
Reflecting rosy light? So sits the sun
(Fair eye of heaven!) upon a crimson cloud
Near the horizon, and with gentle ray
Smiles lovely round the sky, till rising fogs,
Portending night, with foul and heavy wing
Involve the golden star, and sink him down
Opprest with darkness.—
Features of wit and virtue? This the face
Where love triumph'd? and beauty on these cheeks,
As on a throne, beneath her radiant eyes
Was seated to advantage; mild, serene,
Reflecting rosy light? So sits the sun
(Fair eye of heaven!) upon a crimson cloud
Near the horizon, and with gentle ray
Smiles lovely round the sky, till rising fogs,
Portending night, with foul and heavy wing
Involve the golden star, and sink him down
Opprest with darkness.—
On the Death of an aged and honoured Relative, Mrs. M. W. July 13, 1693.
I.
I know the kindred mind. 'Tis she, 'tis she;Among the heav'nly forms I see
The kindred mind from fleshly bondage free;
O how unlike the thing was lately seen
Groaning and panting on the bed,
With ghastly air, and languish'd head,
Life on this side, there the dead,
While the delaying flesh lay shivering between!
II.
Long did the earthy house restrainIn toilsome slavery that ethereal guest;
Prison'd her round in walls of pain,
And twisted cramps and aches with her chain;
Till by the weight of num'rous days opprest
The earthy house began to reel,
The pillars trembled, and the building fell;
The captive soul became her own again:
Tir'd with the sorrows and the cares,
A tedious train of fourscore years,
The pris'ner smil'd to be releast,
She felt her fetters loose, and mounted to her rest.
III.
Gaze on, my soul, and let a perfect viewPaint her idea all anew;
Rase out those melancholy shapes of woe
That hang around thy memory, and becloud it so.
Come, Fancy, come, with essences refin'd,
With youthful green, and spotless white;
Deep be the tincture, and the colours bright
T'express the beauties of a naked mind.
Provide no glooms to form a shade;
All things above of vary'd light are made,
Nor can the heav'nly piece require a mortal aid.
But if the features too divine
Beyond the power of fancy shine,
Conceal th'inimitable strokes behind a graceful shrine.
IV.
Describe the saint from head to feet,Make all the lines in just proportion meet;
But let her posture be
Filling a chair of high degree;
Observe how near it stands to the almighty seat.
Paint the new graces of her eyes;
Fresh in her looks let sprightly youth arise,
And joys unknown below the skies.
494
And to the breast confin'd,
Sits here triumphant on the brow,
And breaks with radiant glories through
The features of the mind.
Express her passion still the same,
But more divinely sweet;
Love has an everlasting flame,
And makes the work complete.
V.
The painter-muse with glancing eyeObserv'd a manly spirit nigh ,
That death had long disjoin'd:
‘In the fair tablet they shall stand
‘United by a happier band:’
She said, and fix'd her sight, and drew the manly mind,
Recount the years, my song, (a mournful round!)
Since he was seen on earth no more:
He fought in lower seas and drown'd;
But victory and peace he found
On the superior shore.
There now his tuneful breath in sacred songs
Employs the European and the Eastern tongues.
Let th'awful truncheon and the flute,
The pencil and the well-known lute,
Powerful numbers, charming wit
And every art and science meet,
And bring their laurels to his hand, or lay them at his feet.
VI.
'Tis done. What beams of glory fall(Rich varnish of immortal art)
To gild the bright Original!
'Tis done. The muse has now perform'd her part.
Bring down the piece, Urania, from above,
And let my honour and my love
Dress it with chains of gold to hang upon my heart.
My grandfather Mr. Thomas Watts had such acquaintance with the mathematics, painting, music, and poesy, &c. as gave him considerable esteem among his contemporaries. He was commander of a ship of war 1656, and by blowing up of the ship in the Dutch war he was drowned in his youth.
495
To the dear Memory of my honoured Friend, Thomas Gunston, Esq. who died November 11, 1700, when he had just finished his Seat at Newington.
Of blasted hopes, and of short withering joys,
Sing, heav'nly muse. Try thine ethereal voice
In funeral numbers and a doleful song;
Gunston the just, the generous and the young,
Gunston the friend is dead. O empty name
Of earthly bliss! 'Tis all an airy dream,
All a vain thought! Our soaring fancies rise
On treacherous wings! And hopes that touch the skies
Drag but a longer ruin thro' the downward air,
And plunge the falling joy still deeper in despair.
Sing, heav'nly muse. Try thine ethereal voice
In funeral numbers and a doleful song;
Gunston the just, the generous and the young,
Gunston the friend is dead. O empty name
Of earthly bliss! 'Tis all an airy dream,
All a vain thought! Our soaring fancies rise
On treacherous wings! And hopes that touch the skies
Drag but a longer ruin thro' the downward air,
And plunge the falling joy still deeper in despair.
How did our souls stand flatter'd and prepar'd
To shout him welcome to the seat he rear'd!
There the dear man should see his hopes complete,
Smiling, and tasting ev'ry lawful sweet
That peace and plenty brings, while num'rous years
Circling delightful play'd around the spheres:
Revolving suns should still renew his strength,
And draw th'uncommon thread to an unusual length,
But hasty fate thrusts her dread shears between,
Cuts the young life off, and shuts up the scene.
Thus airy pleasure dances in our eyes,
And spreads false images in fair disguise,
T'allure our souls, till just within our arms
The vision dies, and all the painted charms
Flee quick away from the pursuing sight,
Till they are lost in shades, and mingle with the night.
To shout him welcome to the seat he rear'd!
There the dear man should see his hopes complete,
Smiling, and tasting ev'ry lawful sweet
That peace and plenty brings, while num'rous years
Circling delightful play'd around the spheres:
Revolving suns should still renew his strength,
And draw th'uncommon thread to an unusual length,
But hasty fate thrusts her dread shears between,
Cuts the young life off, and shuts up the scene.
Thus airy pleasure dances in our eyes,
And spreads false images in fair disguise,
T'allure our souls, till just within our arms
The vision dies, and all the painted charms
Flee quick away from the pursuing sight,
Till they are lost in shades, and mingle with the night.
Muse, stretch thy wings, and thy sad journey bend
To the fair Fabric that thy dying friend
Built nameless: 'Twill suggest a thousand things
Mournful and soft as my Urania sings.
To the fair Fabric that thy dying friend
Built nameless: 'Twill suggest a thousand things
Mournful and soft as my Urania sings.
496
How did he lay the deep foundations strong,
Marking the bounds, and rear the walls along
Solid and lasting; there a numerous train
Of happy Gunstons might in pleasure reign,
While nations perish, and long ages run,
Nations unborn, and ages unbegun:
Not time itself should waste the blest estate,
Nor the tenth race rebuild the ancient seat.
How fond our fancies are! The founder dies
Childless; his sisters weep and close his eyes,
And wait upon his hearse with never-ceasing cries.
Lofty and slow it moves to meet the tomb,
While weighty sorrow nods on ev'ry plume;
A thousand groans his dear remains convey,
To his cold lodging in a bed of clay,
His country's sacred tears well-watering all the way.
See the dull wheels roll on the sable load;
But no dear son to tread the mournful road,
And fondly kind drop his young sorrows there,
The father's urn bedewing with a filial tear.
O had he left us one behind, to play
Wanton about the painted hall, and say,
‘This was my father's,’ with impatient joy
In my fond arms I'd clasp the smiling boy,
And call him my young friend: But awful fate
Design'd the mighty stroke as lasting as 'twas great.
Marking the bounds, and rear the walls along
Solid and lasting; there a numerous train
Of happy Gunstons might in pleasure reign,
While nations perish, and long ages run,
Nations unborn, and ages unbegun:
Not time itself should waste the blest estate,
Nor the tenth race rebuild the ancient seat.
How fond our fancies are! The founder dies
Childless; his sisters weep and close his eyes,
And wait upon his hearse with never-ceasing cries.
Lofty and slow it moves to meet the tomb,
While weighty sorrow nods on ev'ry plume;
A thousand groans his dear remains convey,
To his cold lodging in a bed of clay,
His country's sacred tears well-watering all the way.
See the dull wheels roll on the sable load;
But no dear son to tread the mournful road,
And fondly kind drop his young sorrows there,
The father's urn bedewing with a filial tear.
O had he left us one behind, to play
Wanton about the painted hall, and say,
‘This was my father's,’ with impatient joy
In my fond arms I'd clasp the smiling boy,
And call him my young friend: But awful fate
Design'd the mighty stroke as lasting as 'twas great.
And must this building then, this costly frame
Stand here for strangers? Must some unknown name
Possess these rooms, the labours of my friend?
Why were these walls rais'd for this hapless end?
Why these apartments all adorn'd so gay?
Why his rich fancy lavish'd thus away?
Muse, view the paintings, how the hov'ring light
Plays o'er the colours in a wanton flight,
And mingled shades wrought in by soft degrees,
Give a sweet foil to all the charming piece;
But night, eternal night, hangs black around
The dismal chambers of the hollow ground,
And solid shades unmingled round his bed
Stand hideous: Earthy fogs embrace his head,
And noisome vapours glide along his face
Rising perpetual. Muse, forsake the place,
Flee the raw damps of the unwholesome clay,
Look to his airy spacious hall, and say,
‘How has he chang'd it for a lonesome cave,
‘Confin'd and crowded in a narrow grave!’
Stand here for strangers? Must some unknown name
Possess these rooms, the labours of my friend?
Why were these walls rais'd for this hapless end?
Why these apartments all adorn'd so gay?
Why his rich fancy lavish'd thus away?
Muse, view the paintings, how the hov'ring light
Plays o'er the colours in a wanton flight,
And mingled shades wrought in by soft degrees,
Give a sweet foil to all the charming piece;
But night, eternal night, hangs black around
The dismal chambers of the hollow ground,
And solid shades unmingled round his bed
Stand hideous: Earthy fogs embrace his head,
And noisome vapours glide along his face
Rising perpetual. Muse, forsake the place,
Flee the raw damps of the unwholesome clay,
Look to his airy spacious hall, and say,
‘How has he chang'd it for a lonesome cave,
‘Confin'd and crowded in a narrow grave!’
Th'unhappy house looks desolate and mourns,
And every door groans doleful as it turns;
The pillars languish; and each lofty wall
Stately in grief, laments the master's fall,
In drops of briny dew; the fabric bears
His faint resemblance, and renews my tears.
Solid and square it rises from below:
A noble air without a gaudy show
Reigns thro' the model, and adorns the whole,
Manly and plain. Such was the builder's soul.
And every door groans doleful as it turns;
The pillars languish; and each lofty wall
Stately in grief, laments the master's fall,
In drops of briny dew; the fabric bears
His faint resemblance, and renews my tears.
Solid and square it rises from below:
A noble air without a gaudy show
Reigns thro' the model, and adorns the whole,
Manly and plain. Such was the builder's soul.
O how I love to view the stately frame,
That dear memorial of the best-lov'd name!
Then could I wish for some prodigious cave
Vast as his seat, and silent as his grave,
Where the tall shades stretch to the hideous roof,
Forbid the day, and guard the sun-beams off;
Thither, my willing feet, should ye be drawn
At the grey twilight, and the early dawn.
There sweetly sad should my soft minutes roll,
Numb'ring the sorrows of my drooping soul.
But these are airy thoughts! Substantial grief
Grows by those objects that should yield relief;
Fond of my woes I heave my eyes around,
My grief from ev'ry prospect courts a wound;
Views the green gardens, views the smiling skies,
Still my heart sinks, and still my cares arise;
My wand'ring feet round the fair mansion rove,
And there to sooth my sorrows I indulge my love.
That dear memorial of the best-lov'd name!
Then could I wish for some prodigious cave
Vast as his seat, and silent as his grave,
Where the tall shades stretch to the hideous roof,
Forbid the day, and guard the sun-beams off;
Thither, my willing feet, should ye be drawn
At the grey twilight, and the early dawn.
There sweetly sad should my soft minutes roll,
Numb'ring the sorrows of my drooping soul.
But these are airy thoughts! Substantial grief
Grows by those objects that should yield relief;
Fond of my woes I heave my eyes around,
My grief from ev'ry prospect courts a wound;
Views the green gardens, views the smiling skies,
Still my heart sinks, and still my cares arise;
My wand'ring feet round the fair mansion rove,
And there to sooth my sorrows I indulge my love.
Oft have I laid the awful Calvin by,
And the sweet Cowley, with impatient eye
To see those walls, pay the sad visit there,
And drop the tribute of an hourly tear:
Still I behold some melancholy scene,
With many a pensive thought, and many a sigh between.
Two days ago we took the evening air,
I, and my grief, and my Urania there;
Say, my Urania, how the western sun
Broke from black clouds, and in full glory shone
Gilding the roof, then dropt into the sea,
And sudden night devour'd the sweet remains of day;
Thus the bright youth just rear'd his shining head
From obscure shades of life, and sunk among the dead.
The rising sun adorn'd with all his light
Smiles on these walls again: But endless night
Reigns uncontrol'd where the dear Gunston lies,
He's set for ever, and must never rise.
Then why these beams, unseasonable star,
These lightsome smiles descending from afar,
To greet a mourning house? In vain the day
Breaks thro' the windows with a joyful ray,
And marks a shining path along the floors
Bounding the evening and the morning hours;
In vain it bounds 'em: While vast emptiness
And hollow silence reigns thro' all the place,
Nor heeds the cheerful change of nature's face.
Yet nature's wheels will on without control,
The sun will rise, the tuneful spheres will roll,
And the two nightly bears walk round and watch the pole.
And the sweet Cowley, with impatient eye
To see those walls, pay the sad visit there,
And drop the tribute of an hourly tear:
Still I behold some melancholy scene,
With many a pensive thought, and many a sigh between.
Two days ago we took the evening air,
I, and my grief, and my Urania there;
Say, my Urania, how the western sun
Broke from black clouds, and in full glory shone
Gilding the roof, then dropt into the sea,
And sudden night devour'd the sweet remains of day;
Thus the bright youth just rear'd his shining head
From obscure shades of life, and sunk among the dead.
The rising sun adorn'd with all his light
Smiles on these walls again: But endless night
Reigns uncontrol'd where the dear Gunston lies,
He's set for ever, and must never rise.
Then why these beams, unseasonable star,
These lightsome smiles descending from afar,
To greet a mourning house? In vain the day
Breaks thro' the windows with a joyful ray,
And marks a shining path along the floors
Bounding the evening and the morning hours;
In vain it bounds 'em: While vast emptiness
And hollow silence reigns thro' all the place,
Nor heeds the cheerful change of nature's face.
Yet nature's wheels will on without control,
The sun will rise, the tuneful spheres will roll,
And the two nightly bears walk round and watch the pole.
See while I speak, high on her sable wheel
Old Night advancing climbs the eastern hill:
Troops of dark clouds prepare her way; behold,
How their brown pinions edg'd with evening gold
Spread shadowing o'er the house, and glide away
Slowly pursuing the declining day;
O'er the broad roof they fly their circuit still,
Thus days before they did, and days to come they will;
But the black cloud that shadows o'er his eyes,
Hangs there unmoveable, and never flies:
Fain would I bid the envious gloom be gone;
Ah fruitless wish! How are his curtains drawn
For a long evening that despairs the dawn!
Old Night advancing climbs the eastern hill:
497
How their brown pinions edg'd with evening gold
Spread shadowing o'er the house, and glide away
Slowly pursuing the declining day;
O'er the broad roof they fly their circuit still,
Thus days before they did, and days to come they will;
But the black cloud that shadows o'er his eyes,
Hangs there unmoveable, and never flies:
Fain would I bid the envious gloom be gone;
Ah fruitless wish! How are his curtains drawn
For a long evening that despairs the dawn!
Muse, view the turret: Just beneath the skies
Lonesome it stands, and fixes my sad eyes,
As it would ask a tear. O sacred seat
Sacred to friendship! O divine retreat!
Here did I hope my happy hours t'employ,
And fed before-hand on the promis'd joy,
When weary of the noisy town, my friend
From mortal cares retiring, should ascend
And lead me thither. We alone wou'd sit
Free and secure of all intruding feet:
Our thoughts should stretch their longest wings, and rise,
Nor bound their soarings by the lower skies:
Our tongues should aim at everlasting themes,
And speak what mortals dare, of all the names
Of boundless joys and glories, thrones and seats,
Built high in heaven for souls: We'd trace the streets
Of golden pavement, walk each blissful field,
And climb and taste the fruits the spicy mountains yield:
Then would we swear to keep the sacred road,
And walk right upwards to that blest abode;
We'd charge our parting spirits there to meet,
There hand in hand approach th'almighty seat,
And bend our heads adoring at our Maker's feet.
Thus should we mount on bold advent'rous wings
In high discourse, and dwell on heavenly things,
While the pleas'd hours in sweet succession move,
And minutes measur'd, as they are above,
By ever-circling joys, and ever-shining love.
Lonesome it stands, and fixes my sad eyes,
As it would ask a tear. O sacred seat
Sacred to friendship! O divine retreat!
Here did I hope my happy hours t'employ,
And fed before-hand on the promis'd joy,
When weary of the noisy town, my friend
From mortal cares retiring, should ascend
And lead me thither. We alone wou'd sit
Free and secure of all intruding feet:
Our thoughts should stretch their longest wings, and rise,
Nor bound their soarings by the lower skies:
Our tongues should aim at everlasting themes,
And speak what mortals dare, of all the names
Of boundless joys and glories, thrones and seats,
Built high in heaven for souls: We'd trace the streets
Of golden pavement, walk each blissful field,
And climb and taste the fruits the spicy mountains yield:
Then would we swear to keep the sacred road,
And walk right upwards to that blest abode;
We'd charge our parting spirits there to meet,
There hand in hand approach th'almighty seat,
And bend our heads adoring at our Maker's feet.
Thus should we mount on bold advent'rous wings
In high discourse, and dwell on heavenly things,
While the pleas'd hours in sweet succession move,
And minutes measur'd, as they are above,
By ever-circling joys, and ever-shining love.
Anon our thoughts shou'd lower their lofty flight,
Sink by degrees, and take a pleasing sight,
A large round prospect of the spreading plain,
The wealthy river, and his winding train,
The smoky city, and the busy men.
How we should smile to see degenerate worms
Lavish their lives, and fight for airy forms
Of painted honour, dreams of empty sound
Till envy rise, and shoot a secret wound
At swelling glory, straight the bubble breaks,
And the scenes vanish, as the man awakes;
Then the tall titles insolent and proud
Sink to the dust, and mingle with the crowd.
Sink by degrees, and take a pleasing sight,
A large round prospect of the spreading plain,
The wealthy river, and his winding train,
The smoky city, and the busy men.
How we should smile to see degenerate worms
Lavish their lives, and fight for airy forms
Of painted honour, dreams of empty sound
Till envy rise, and shoot a secret wound
At swelling glory, straight the bubble breaks,
And the scenes vanish, as the man awakes;
Then the tall titles insolent and proud
Sink to the dust, and mingle with the crowd.
Man is a restless thing: Still vain and wild,
Lives beyond sixty, nor outgrows the child:
His hurrying lusts still break the sacred bound
To seek new pleasures on forbidden ground,
And buy them all too dear. Unthinking fool,
For a short dying joy to sell a deathless soul!
'Tis but a grain of sweetness they can sow,
And reap the long sad harvest of immortal woe.
Lives beyond sixty, nor outgrows the child:
His hurrying lusts still break the sacred bound
To seek new pleasures on forbidden ground,
And buy them all too dear. Unthinking fool,
For a short dying joy to sell a deathless soul!
'Tis but a grain of sweetness they can sow,
And reap the long sad harvest of immortal woe.
Another tribe toil in a different strife,
And banish all the lawful sweets of life,
To sweat and dig for gold, to hoard the ore,
Hide the dear dust yet darker than before,
And never dare to use a grain of all the store.
And banish all the lawful sweets of life,
To sweat and dig for gold, to hoard the ore,
Hide the dear dust yet darker than before,
And never dare to use a grain of all the store.
Happy the man that knows the value just
Of earthly things, nor is enslav'd to dust.
'Tis a rich gift the skies but rarely send
To fav'rite souls. Then happy thou, my friend,
For thou hadst learnt to manage and command
The wealth that heav'n bestow'd with liberal hand:
Hence this fair structure rose; and hence this seat
Made to invite my not unwilling feet:
In vain 'twas made! For we shall never meet,
And smile, and love, and bless each other here,
The envious tomb forbids thy face t'appear,
Detains thee, Gunston, from my longing eyes,
And all my hopes lie bury'd, where my Gunston lies.
Of earthly things, nor is enslav'd to dust.
'Tis a rich gift the skies but rarely send
To fav'rite souls. Then happy thou, my friend,
For thou hadst learnt to manage and command
The wealth that heav'n bestow'd with liberal hand:
Hence this fair structure rose; and hence this seat
Made to invite my not unwilling feet:
In vain 'twas made! For we shall never meet,
And smile, and love, and bless each other here,
The envious tomb forbids thy face t'appear,
Detains thee, Gunston, from my longing eyes,
And all my hopes lie bury'd, where my Gunston lies.
Come hither, all ye tenderest souls, that know
The heights of fondness, and the depths of woe,
Young mothers, who your darling babes have found
Untimely murder'd with a ghastly wound;
Ye frighted nymphs, who on the bridal bed
Clasp'd in your arms your lovers cold and dead,
Come; in the pomp of all your wild despair,
With flowing eye-lids, and disorder'd hair,
Death in your looks; come, mingle grief with me,
And drown your little streams in my unbounded sea.
The heights of fondness, and the depths of woe,
Young mothers, who your darling babes have found
Untimely murder'd with a ghastly wound;
Ye frighted nymphs, who on the bridal bed
Clasp'd in your arms your lovers cold and dead,
Come; in the pomp of all your wild despair,
With flowing eye-lids, and disorder'd hair,
Death in your looks; come, mingle grief with me,
And drown your little streams in my unbounded sea.
You sacred mourners of a nobler mould,
Born for a friend, whose dear embraces hold
Beyond all nature's ties; you that have known
Two happy souls made intimately one,
And felt a parting stroke: 'Tis you must tell
The smart, the twinges, and the racks I feel:
This soul of mine that dreadful wound has borne,
Off from its side its dearest half is torn,
The rest lies bleeding, and but lives to mourn.
O infinite distress! Such raging grief
Should command pity, and despair relief.
Passion, methinks, should rise from all my groans,
Give sense to rocks, and sympathy to stones.
Born for a friend, whose dear embraces hold
Beyond all nature's ties; you that have known
Two happy souls made intimately one,
And felt a parting stroke: 'Tis you must tell
The smart, the twinges, and the racks I feel:
This soul of mine that dreadful wound has borne,
Off from its side its dearest half is torn,
The rest lies bleeding, and but lives to mourn.
O infinite distress! Such raging grief
Should command pity, and despair relief.
Passion, methinks, should rise from all my groans,
Give sense to rocks, and sympathy to stones.
Ye dusky woods and echoing hills around,
Repeat my cries with a perpetual sound:
Be all ye flow'ry vales with thorns o'ergrown,
Assist my sorrows, and declare your own;
Alas! your lord is dead. The humble plain
Must ne'er receive his courteous feet again;
Mourn, ye gay smiling meadows, and be seen
In wintry robes, instead of youthful green;
And bid the brook, that still runs warbling by,
Move silent on, and weep his useless channel dry.
Hither methinks the lowing herd should come,
And moaning turtles murmur o'er his tomb:
The oak shall wither, and the curling vine
Weep his young life out, while his arms untwine
Their amorous folds, and mix his bleeding soul with mine.
Ye stately elms, in your long order mourn,
Strip off your pride to dress your master's urn:
Here gently drop your leaves, instead of tears:
Ye elms, the reverend growth of ancient years,
Stand tall and naked to the blustering rage
Of the mad winds: Thus it becomes your age
To show your sorrows. Often ye have seen
Our heads reclin'd upon the rising green;
Beneath your sacred shade diffus'd we lay,
Here Friendship reign'd with an unbounded sway:
Hither our souls the constant off'rings brought,
The burdens of the breast, and labours of the thought;
Our opening bosoms on the conscious ground
Spread all the sorrows and the joys we found,
And mingled ev'ry care; nor was it known
Which of the pains and pleasures were our own;
Then with an equal hand and honest soul
We share the heap, yet both possess the whole,
And all the passions there thro' both our bosoms roll.
By turns we comfort, and by turns complain,
And bear and ease by turns the sympathy of pain.
Repeat my cries with a perpetual sound:
Be all ye flow'ry vales with thorns o'ergrown,
Assist my sorrows, and declare your own;
498
Must ne'er receive his courteous feet again;
Mourn, ye gay smiling meadows, and be seen
In wintry robes, instead of youthful green;
And bid the brook, that still runs warbling by,
Move silent on, and weep his useless channel dry.
Hither methinks the lowing herd should come,
And moaning turtles murmur o'er his tomb:
The oak shall wither, and the curling vine
Weep his young life out, while his arms untwine
Their amorous folds, and mix his bleeding soul with mine.
Ye stately elms, in your long order mourn,
Strip off your pride to dress your master's urn:
Here gently drop your leaves, instead of tears:
Ye elms, the reverend growth of ancient years,
Stand tall and naked to the blustering rage
Of the mad winds: Thus it becomes your age
To show your sorrows. Often ye have seen
Our heads reclin'd upon the rising green;
Beneath your sacred shade diffus'd we lay,
Here Friendship reign'd with an unbounded sway:
Hither our souls the constant off'rings brought,
The burdens of the breast, and labours of the thought;
Our opening bosoms on the conscious ground
Spread all the sorrows and the joys we found,
And mingled ev'ry care; nor was it known
Which of the pains and pleasures were our own;
Then with an equal hand and honest soul
We share the heap, yet both possess the whole,
And all the passions there thro' both our bosoms roll.
By turns we comfort, and by turns complain,
And bear and ease by turns the sympathy of pain.
Friendship! mysterious thing, what magic pow'rs
Support thy sway, and charm these minds of ours?
Bound to thy foot we boast our birthright still,
And dream of freedom, when we've lost our will,
And chang'd away our souls: At thy command
We snatch new miseries from a foreign hand,
To call them ours; and, thoughtless of our ease,
Plague the dear self that we were born to please.
Thou tyranness of minds, whose cruel throne
Heaps on poor mortals sorrows not their own;
As though our mother nature could no more
Find woes sufficient for each son she bore,
Friendship divides the shares, and lengthens out the store.
Yet are we fond of thine imperious reign,
Proud of thy slavery, wanton in our pain,
And chide the courteous hand when death dissolves the chain.
Support thy sway, and charm these minds of ours?
Bound to thy foot we boast our birthright still,
And dream of freedom, when we've lost our will,
And chang'd away our souls: At thy command
We snatch new miseries from a foreign hand,
To call them ours; and, thoughtless of our ease,
Plague the dear self that we were born to please.
Thou tyranness of minds, whose cruel throne
Heaps on poor mortals sorrows not their own;
As though our mother nature could no more
Find woes sufficient for each son she bore,
Friendship divides the shares, and lengthens out the store.
Yet are we fond of thine imperious reign,
Proud of thy slavery, wanton in our pain,
And chide the courteous hand when death dissolves the chain.
Virtue, forgive the thought! The raving muse
Wild and despairing knows not what she does,
Grows mad in grief, and in her savage hours
Affronts the name she loves and she adores.
She is thy vot'ress too; and at thy shrine,
O sacred Friendship, offer'd songs divine,
While Gunston liv'd, and both our souls were thine.
Here to these shades at solemn hours we came,
To pay devotion with a mutual flame,
Partners in bliss. Sweet luxury of the mind!
And sweet the aids of sense! Each ruder wind
Slept in its caverns, while an evening breeze
Fann'd the leaves gently, sporting thro' the trees;
The linnet and the lark their vespers sung
And clouds of crimson o'er th'horizon hung;
The slow-declining sun with sloping wheels
Sunk down the golden day behind the western hills.
Wild and despairing knows not what she does,
Grows mad in grief, and in her savage hours
Affronts the name she loves and she adores.
She is thy vot'ress too; and at thy shrine,
O sacred Friendship, offer'd songs divine,
While Gunston liv'd, and both our souls were thine.
Here to these shades at solemn hours we came,
To pay devotion with a mutual flame,
Partners in bliss. Sweet luxury of the mind!
And sweet the aids of sense! Each ruder wind
Slept in its caverns, while an evening breeze
Fann'd the leaves gently, sporting thro' the trees;
The linnet and the lark their vespers sung
And clouds of crimson o'er th'horizon hung;
The slow-declining sun with sloping wheels
Sunk down the golden day behind the western hills.
Mourn, ye young gardens, ye unfinish'd gates,
Ye green inclosures, and ye growing sweets
Lament, for ye our midnight hours have known,
And watch'd us walking by the silent moon
In conference divine, while heav'nly fire
Kindling our breasts did all our thoughts inspire
With joys almost immortal; then our zeal
Blaz'd and burnt high to reach th'ethereal hill,
And love refin'd, like that above the poles,
Threw both our arms round one another's souls
In rapture and embraces. Oh forbear,
Forbear, my song! This is too much to hear,
Too dreadful to repeat; such joys as these
Fled from the earth for ever!—
Ye green inclosures, and ye growing sweets
Lament, for ye our midnight hours have known,
And watch'd us walking by the silent moon
In conference divine, while heav'nly fire
Kindling our breasts did all our thoughts inspire
With joys almost immortal; then our zeal
Blaz'd and burnt high to reach th'ethereal hill,
And love refin'd, like that above the poles,
Threw both our arms round one another's souls
In rapture and embraces. Oh forbear,
Forbear, my song! This is too much to hear,
Too dreadful to repeat; such joys as these
Fled from the earth for ever!—
Oh for a general grief! Let all things share
Our woes, that knew our loves: The neighbouring air
Let it be laden with immortal sighs,
And tell the gales, that ev'ry breath that flies
Over these fields should murmur and complain,
And kiss the fading grass, and propagate the pain.
Weep all ye buildings, and the groves around
For ever weep: This is an endless wound,
Vast and incurable. Ye buildings knew
His silver tongue, ye groves have heard it too:
At that dear sound no more shall ye rejoice,
And I no more must hear the charming voice:
Woe to my drooping soul! that heav'nly breath
That could speak life lies now congeal'd in death;
While on his folded lips all cold and pale
Eternal chains and heavy silence dwell.
Our woes, that knew our loves: The neighbouring air
Let it be laden with immortal sighs,
And tell the gales, that ev'ry breath that flies
Over these fields should murmur and complain,
And kiss the fading grass, and propagate the pain.
Weep all ye buildings, and the groves around
For ever weep: This is an endless wound,
Vast and incurable. Ye buildings knew
His silver tongue, ye groves have heard it too:
At that dear sound no more shall ye rejoice,
And I no more must hear the charming voice:
Woe to my drooping soul! that heav'nly breath
That could speak life lies now congeal'd in death;
While on his folded lips all cold and pale
Eternal chains and heavy silence dwell.
Yet my fond hope would hear him speak again,
Once more at least, one gentle word, and then
Gunston aloud I call: In vain I cry
Gunston aloud; for he must ne'er reply.
In vain I mourn, and drop these funeral tears,
Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears:
Wand'ring I tune my sorrows to the groves,
And vent my swelling griefs, and tell the winds our loves;
While the dear youth sleeps fast, and hears them not:
He hath forgot me: In the lonesome vault
Mindless of Watts and friendship, cold he lies,
Deaf and unthinking clay.—
Once more at least, one gentle word, and then
Gunston aloud I call: In vain I cry
Gunston aloud; for he must ne'er reply.
In vain I mourn, and drop these funeral tears,
Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears:
Wand'ring I tune my sorrows to the groves,
And vent my swelling griefs, and tell the winds our loves;
499
He hath forgot me: In the lonesome vault
Mindless of Watts and friendship, cold he lies,
Deaf and unthinking clay.—
But whither am I led? This artless grief
Hurries the muse on, obstinate and deaf
To all the nicer rules, and bears her down
From the tall fabric to the neighbouring ground:
The pleasing hours, the happy moments past
In these sweet fields reviving on my taste
Snatch me away resistless with impetuous haste.
Spread thy strong pinions once again, my song,
And reach the turret thou hast left so long:
O'er the wide roofs its lofty head it rears,
Long waiting our converse; but only hears
The noisy tumults of the realms on high;
The winds salute it whistling as they fly,
Or jarring round the windows: Rattling showers
Lash the fair sides; above loud thunder roars;
But still the master sleeps; nor hears the voice
Of sacred friendship, nor the tempest's noise:
An iron slumber sits on every sense,
In vain the heav'nly thunders strive to rouse it thence.
Hurries the muse on, obstinate and deaf
To all the nicer rules, and bears her down
From the tall fabric to the neighbouring ground:
The pleasing hours, the happy moments past
In these sweet fields reviving on my taste
Snatch me away resistless with impetuous haste.
Spread thy strong pinions once again, my song,
And reach the turret thou hast left so long:
O'er the wide roofs its lofty head it rears,
Long waiting our converse; but only hears
The noisy tumults of the realms on high;
The winds salute it whistling as they fly,
Or jarring round the windows: Rattling showers
Lash the fair sides; above loud thunder roars;
But still the master sleeps; nor hears the voice
Of sacred friendship, nor the tempest's noise:
An iron slumber sits on every sense,
In vain the heav'nly thunders strive to rouse it thence.
One labour more, my muse, the golden sphere
Seems to demand: See thro' the dusky air
Downward it shines upon the rising moon;
And, as she labours up to reach her noon,
Pursues her orb with repercussive light,
And streaming gold repays the paler beams of night:
But not one ray can reach the darksome grave,
Or pierce the solid gloom that fills the cave
Where Gunston dwells in death. Behold it flames
Like some new meteor with diffusive beams
Thro' the mid-heaven, and overcomes the stars;
‘So shines thy Gunston's soul above the spheres,’
Raphael replies, and wipes away my tears.
‘We saw the flesh sink down with closing eyes,
‘We heard thy grief shriek out, He dies, He dies!
‘Mistaken grief! to call the flesh the friend!
‘On our fair wings did the bright youth ascend,
‘All heav'n embrac'd him with immortal love,
‘And sung his welcome to the courts above.
‘Gentle Ithuriel led him round the skies,
‘The buildings struck him with immense surprise;
‘The spires all radiant, and the mansions bright,
‘The roof high vaulted with ethereal light:
‘Beauty and strength on the tall bulwarks sat
‘In heav'nly diamond; and for every gate
‘On golden hinges a broad ruby turns,
‘Guards off the foe, and as it moves it burns;
‘Millions of glories reign thro' every part;
‘Infinite power, and uncreated art
‘Stand here display'd, and to the stranger show
‘How it outshines the noblest seats below.
‘The stranger fed his gazing pow'rs awhile
‘Transported: Then, with a regardless smile,
‘Glanc'd his eyes downward thro' the crystal floor,
‘And took eternal leave of what he built before.’
Seems to demand: See thro' the dusky air
Downward it shines upon the rising moon;
And, as she labours up to reach her noon,
Pursues her orb with repercussive light,
And streaming gold repays the paler beams of night:
But not one ray can reach the darksome grave,
Or pierce the solid gloom that fills the cave
Where Gunston dwells in death. Behold it flames
Like some new meteor with diffusive beams
Thro' the mid-heaven, and overcomes the stars;
‘So shines thy Gunston's soul above the spheres,’
Raphael replies, and wipes away my tears.
‘We saw the flesh sink down with closing eyes,
‘We heard thy grief shriek out, He dies, He dies!
‘Mistaken grief! to call the flesh the friend!
‘On our fair wings did the bright youth ascend,
‘All heav'n embrac'd him with immortal love,
‘And sung his welcome to the courts above.
‘Gentle Ithuriel led him round the skies,
‘The buildings struck him with immense surprise;
‘The spires all radiant, and the mansions bright,
‘The roof high vaulted with ethereal light:
‘Beauty and strength on the tall bulwarks sat
‘In heav'nly diamond; and for every gate
‘On golden hinges a broad ruby turns,
‘Guards off the foe, and as it moves it burns;
‘Millions of glories reign thro' every part;
‘Infinite power, and uncreated art
‘Stand here display'd, and to the stranger show
‘How it outshines the noblest seats below.
‘The stranger fed his gazing pow'rs awhile
‘Transported: Then, with a regardless smile,
‘Glanc'd his eyes downward thro' the crystal floor,
‘And took eternal leave of what he built before.’
Now, fair Urania, leave the doleful strain;
Raphael commands: Assume thy joys again.
In everlasting numbers sing, and say,
‘Gunston has mov'd his dwelling to the realms of day;
‘Gunston the friend lives still:’ And give thy groans away.
Raphael commands: Assume thy joys again.
In everlasting numbers sing, and say,
‘Gunston has mov'd his dwelling to the realms of day;
‘Gunston the friend lives still:’ And give thy groans away.
500
TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. MR. THOMAS GOUGE,
WHO DIED JANUARY THE 8TH, 1699–700.
I.
Ye virgin souls, whose sweet complaintCould teach Euphrates not to flow,
Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint,
Array'd in beauty and in woe:
Awake, ye virgin-souls, to mourn,
And with your tuneful sorrows dress a prophet's urn.
O could my lips or flowing eyes
But imitate such charming grief,
I'd teach the seas, and teach the skies
Wailings, and sobs, and sympathies;
Nor should the stones or rocks be deaf;
Rocks shall have eyes, and stones have ears,
While Gouge's death is mourn'd in melody and tears.
II.
Heav'n was impatient of our crimes,And sent his minister of death
To scourge the bold rebellion of the times,
And to demand our prophet's breath;
He came commission'd for the fates
Of awful Mead, and charming Bates;
There he essay'd the vengeance first,
Then took a dismal aim, and brought great Gouge to dust.
III.
Great Gouge to dust! How doleful is the sound!How vast the stroke is! and how wide the wound!
Oh painful stroke! distressing death
A wound unmeasurably wide!
No vulgar mortal dy'd
When he resign'd his breath.
The muse that mourns a nation's fall,
Should wait at Gouge's funeral,
Should mingle majesty and groans,
Such as she sings to sinking thrones,
And in deep-sounding numbers tell,
How Sion trembled, when this pillar fell.
Sion grows weak, and England poor,
Nature herself, with all her store,
Can furnish such a pomp for death no more.
IV.
The reverend man let all things mourn;Sure he was some æthereal mind,
Fated in flesh to be confin'd,
And order'd to be born.
His soul was of th'angelic frame,
The same ingredients, and the mould the same,
When the Creator makes a minister of flame.
He was all form'd of heav'nly things.
Mortals, believe what my Urania sings,
For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings.
V.
How would he mount, how would he flyUp thro' the ocean of the sky,
Tow'rd the celestial coast!
With what amazing swiftness soar,
Till earth's dark ball was seen no more,
And all its mountains lost!
Scarce could the muse pursue him with her sight:
But, angels, you can tell,
For oft you meet his wondrous flight,
And knew the stranger well;
Say, how he past the radiant spheres
And visited your happy seats,
And trac'd the well-known turnings of the golden streets,
And walk'd among the stars.
VI.
Tell how he climb'd the everlasting hills,Surveying all the realms above,
Borne on a strong-wing'd faith, and on the fiery wheels
Of an immortal love.
'Twas there he took a glorious sight
Of the inheritance of saints in light,
And read their title in their Saviour's right.
How oft the humble scholar came,
And to your songs he rais'd his ears
To learn th'unutterable name,
To view th'eternal base that bears
The new creation's frame.
The countenance of God he saw,
Full of mercy, full of awe,
The glories of his power, and glories of his grace:
There he beheld the wondrous springs
Of those celestial sacred things,
The peaceful gospel and the fiery law,
In that majestic face.
That face did all his gazing powers employ,
With most profound abasement and exalted joy.
The rolls of fate were half unseal'd,
He stood adoring by;
The volumes open'd to his eye,
And sweet intelligence he held
With all his shining kindred of the sky.
VII.
Ye seraphs that surround the throne,Tell how his name was thro' the palace known,
How warm his zeal was, and how like your own;
Speak it aloud, let half the nation hear,
And bold blasphemers shrink and fear:
501
The poison sure was fetch'd from hell,
Where the old blasphemers dwell,
To taint the purest dust, and blot the whitest fame!
Impudent tongues! You should be darted thro',
Nail'd to your own black mouths, and lie
Useless and dead till slander die,
Till slander die with you.
VIII.
‘We saw him,’ say th'ethereal throng,‘We saw his warm devotions rise,
‘We heard the fervour of his cries,
‘And mix'd his praises with our song:
‘We knew the secret flights of his retiring hours:
‘Nightly he wak'd his inward powers;
‘Young Israel rose to wrestle with his God,
‘And with unconquer'd force scal'd the celestial towers,
‘To reach the blessing down for those that sought his blood.
‘Oft we beheld the thunderer's hand
‘Rais'd high to crush the factious foe;
‘As oft we saw the rolling vengeance stand
‘Doubtful t'obey the dread command,
‘While his ascending pray'r upheld the falling blow.’
IX.
Draw the past scenes of thy delight,My muse, and bring the wondrous man to sight.
Place him surrounded as he stood
With pious crowds, while from his tongue
A stream of harmony ran soft along,
And every ear drank in the flowing good:
Softly it ran its silver way,
Till warm devotion rais'd the current strong:
Then fervid zeal on the sweet deluge rode,
Life, love and glory, grace and joy,
Divinely roll'd promiscuous on the torrent flood,
And bore our raptur'd sense away, and thoughts and souls to God.
O might we dwell for ever there!
No more return to breathe this grosser air,
This atmosphere of sin, calamity and care.
X.
But heav'nly scenes soon leave the sightWhile we belong to clay,
Passions of terror and delight,
Demand alternate sway.
Behold the man, whose awful voice
Could well proclaim the fiery law,
Kindle the flames that Moses saw,
And swell the trumpet's warlike noise.
He stands the herald of the threat'ning skies,
Lo, on his reverend brow the frowns divinely rise,
All Sinai's thunder on his tongue, and lightning in his eyes.
Round the high roof the curses flew
Distinguishing each guilty head,
Far from th'unequal war the atheist fled,
His kindled arrows still pursue,
His arrows strike the atheist thro',
And o'er his inmost powers a shudd'ring horror spread.
The marble heart groans with an inward wound:
Blaspheming souls of harden'd steel
Shriek out amaz'd at the new pangs they feel,
And dread the echoes of the sound.
The lofty wretch arm'd and array'd
In gaudy pride sinks down his impious head,
Plunges in dark despair, and mingles with the dead.
XI.
Now, muse, assume a softer strain,Now sooth the sinner's raging smart,
Borrow of Gouge the wondrous art
To calm the surging conscience, and assuage the pain;
He from a bleeding God derives
Life for the souls that guilt had slain,
And straight the dying rebel lives,
The dead arise again;
The opening skies almosto bey
His powerful song; a heav'nly ray
Awakes despair to light, and sheds a cheerful day.
His wond'rous voice rolls back the spheres,
Recals the scenes of ancient years,
To make the Saviour known;
Sweetly the flying charmer roves
Thro' all his labours and his loves,
The anguish of his cross, and triumphs of his throne.
XII.
Come, he invites our feet to tryThe steep ascent of Calvary,
And sets the fatal tree before our eye:
See here celestial sorrow reigns;
Rude nails and ragged thorns lay by,
Ting'd with the crimson of redeeming veins.
In wondrous words he sung the vital flood
Where all our sins were drown'd,
Words fit to heal and fit to wound,
Sharp as the spear, and balmy as the blood.
In his discourse divine
Afresh the purple fountain flow'd;
Our falling tears kept sympathetic time,
And trickled to the ground,
While ev'ry accent gave a doleful sound,
Sad as the breaking heart-strings of th'expiring God.
XIII.
Down to the mansions of the dead,With trembling joy our souls are led,
The captives of his tongue;
There the dear Prince of light reclines his head
Darkness and shades among.
502
The caverns of the tomb,
Where the belov'd Redeemer lay,
And shed a sweet perfume.
Hark! the old earthquake roars again
In Gouge's voice, and breaks the chain
Of heavy death, and rends the tombs:
The rising God! he comes, he comes,
With throngs of waking saints, a long triumphing train.
XIV.
See the bright squadrons of the sky.Downward on wings of joy and haste they fly,
Meet their returning Sovereign, and attend him high.
A shining car the Conqueror fills,
Form'd of a golden cloud;
Slowly the pomp moves up the azure hills,
Old Satan foams and yells aloud,
And gnaws th'eternal brass that binds him to the wheels.
The opening gates of bliss receive their King,
The Father-God smiles on his Son,
Pays him the honours he has won,
The lofty thrones adore, and little cherubs sing.
Behold him on his native throne,
Glory sits fast upon his head;
Dress'd in new light, and beamy robes,
His hand rolls on the seasons, and the shining globes,
And sways the living worlds, and regions of the dead.
XV.
Gouge was his envoy to the realm below,Vast was his trust, and great his skill,
Bright the credentials he could show,
And thousands own'd the seal.
His hallowed lips could well impart
The grace, the promise, and command:
He knew the pity of Immanuel's heart,
And terrors of Jehovah's hand.
How did our souls start out to hear
The embassies of love he bare,
While every ear in rapture hung
Upon the charming wonders of his tongue.
Life's busy cares a sacred silence bound,
Attention stood with all her powers,
With fixed eyes and awe profound,
Chain'd to the pleasure of the sound,
Nor knew the flying hours.
XVI.
But, O my everlasting grief!Heav'n has recall'd his envoy from our eyes,
Hence deluges of sorrow rise,
Nor hope th'impossible relief.
Ye remnants of the sacred tribe
Who feel the loss, come share the smart,
And mix your groans with mine:
Where is the tongue that can describe
Infinite things with equal art,
Or language so divine?
Our passions want the heav'nly flame,
Almighty love breathes faintly in our songs,
And awful threat'nings languish on our tongues;
Howe is a great but single name:
Amidst the crowd he stands alone;
Stands yet, but with his starry pinions on,
Drest for the flight, and ready to be gone;
Eternal God, command his stay,
Stretch the dear months of his delay;
O we could wish his age were one immortal day!
But when the flaming chariots come,
And shining guards, t'attend thy prophet home,
Amidst a thousand weeping eyes,
Send an Elisha down, a soul of equal size,
Or burn this worthless globe, and take us to the skies.
END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |