Poems on Several Occasions

Byles, Mather (1707-1788)

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The Almighty Conqueror.

The GOD of Tempest.

The Complaint and the Consolation.

The Altogether Lovely.

The Comparison, the Choice, and the Enjoyment.

On a very profane Compliment in a noble and devout Poem.

HYMN to CHRIST for our Regeneration and Resurrection.

GOLIAH'S Defeat. In the Manner of Lucan.

ODE, for Palatine Tune.

Written in Milton's PARADISE LOST.

To the Memory of a young Commander slain in a Battle with the Indians, 1724.

Written in Dr. Watt's Poems; given to a young Lady.

An Elegy address'd to His Excellency Governour BELCHER: On the Death of his Brother-in-Law, the Honourable Daniel Oliver, Esq;

To a Friend, on the Death of a Relative.

Hymn at Sea.

To an ingenious young Gentleman, on his dedicating a Poem to the Author.

The Bloom of Life, fading in a happy Death.

A Poem on the Death of King George I. And Accession of King George II.

To His Excellency Governour Burnet, on his Arrival at Boston.

To His Excellency the GOVERNOUR.

To His Excellency Governour BELCHER, on the Death of His LADY.

To Pollio, on his preparing for the Press a Treatise against the Romish Church.

On the Death of the Queen.

To the Reverend Dr. WATTS, on his Divine POEMS.

To Pictorio, on the Sight of his Pictures.

EPITAPH.

The following Epigram was written upon a Pile of Building, erected in Paris by Louis XIVth after the Peace with Queen Anne.

The Conflagration.

ETERNITY.

Added by a Friend, upon reading the foregoing.

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The Almighty Conqueror.

I.

Awake my Heart, awake my Tongue,
Sound each melodious String;
In num'rous Verse and lofty Song,
To thee, my GOD, I sing.

II.

Omnipotent Redeemer-Lord,
What Wonders hast thou done!
My flowing Numbers shall record,
The Vict'ries thou hast won.

III.

I glow in Raptures all divine,
As with the Theme I rise,
Your tuneful Aids, fictitious Nine,
No more shall tempt my Eyes.

IV.

Lo! rob'd with Light, Jesus descends
The Graves tremendous Gloom;
Day blushes round him where he tends,
And dawns amid the Tomb.

V.

Sudden from off that dismal Bed,
The scatt'ring Shadows fly;
The dark Dominions of the Dead
Confess the Stranger, Joy.

VI.

Hark! how in hideous Howls complains
The conquer'd Tyrant Death;
He roars aloud, and shakes his Chains,
And grinds his Iron Teeth.

VII.

Immortal Vigour fill'd the Man,
Almighty Pow'r the GOD,
When, arm'd with Thunders, down he ran
To Satan's dire Abode.

VIII.

Then Hell's grim Monarch saw, and fear'd,
And felt his tott'ring Throne;
He rag'd, and foam'd, and wildly star'd,
And seiz'd his nodding Crown.

IX.

In vain he rav'd, and roll'd his Eyes,
And held his Crown in vain:
Swift on his Head the Lightning flies,
With everlasting Pain.

X.

At once th' old Serpent's Craft was crush'd,
Beneath thy fiery Frown,
When Thou, great GOD, resistless rush'd,
And hurl'd the Monster down.

XI.

Thy Fetters, in the deep Abyss,
His tort'red Members wring:
There let him writhe, and coyl, and hiss,
And dart his pointless Sting.

XII.

These were the Victims of thy Hate,
When Fury flush'd thy Face;
But who, dear Saviour, can relate
The Conquests of thy Grace!

XIII.

Cease, cease my Tongue, be still, my Lyre,
Be silent every String:
This is a Theme, O heav'nly Choir,
Too great for you to sing.

The GOD of Tempest.

I.

Thy dreadful Pow'r, Almighty GOD,
Thy Works to speak conspire;
This Earth declares thy Fame abroad,
With Water, Air, and Fire.

II.

At thy Command, in glaring Streaks,
The ruddy Light'ning flies;
Loud Thunder the Creation shakes,
And rapid Tempests rise.

III.

Now gathering Glooms obscure the Day,
And shed a solemn Night;
And now the heav'nly Engines play,
And shoot devouring Light.

IV.

Th' attending Sea thy Will performs,
Waves tumble to the Shore,
And toss, and foam amidst the Storms,
And dash, and rage, and roar.

V.

The Earth, and all her trembling Hills,
Thy marching Footsteps own;
A shudd'ring Fear her Entrails fills,
Her hideous Caverns groan.

VI.

My GOD, when Terrors thickest Throng
Thro' all the mighty Space,
And ratt'ling Thunders roar along,
And bloody Lightnings blaze:

VII.

When wild Confusion wrecks the Air,
And Tempests rend the Skies,
Whilst blended Ruin, Clouds and Fire
In harsh Disorder rise:

VII.

Amid the Hurricane I'll stand,
And strike a tuneful Song;
My Harp all-trembling in my Hand,
And all inspir'd my Tongue.

VIII.

I'll shout aloud, “Ye Thunders! roll,
“And shake the sullen Sky;
“Your sounding Voice from Pole to Pole
“In angry Murmurs try.

IX.

“Thou Sun! retire, refuse thy Light,
“And let thy Beams decay;
“Ye Lightnings, flash along the Night,
“And dart a dreadful Day.

X.

“Let the Earth totter on her Base,
“Clouds Heav'ns wide Arch deform:
“Blow, all ye Winds, from ev'ry Place,
“And breath the final Storm.

XI.

“O Jesus, haste the glorious Day,
“When thou shalt come in Flame,
“And burn the Earth, and waste the Sea,
“And break all Nature's Frame.

XII.

“Come quickly, Blessed Hope! appear,
“Bid thy swift Chariot fly:
“Let Angels tell thy coming near,
“And snatch me to the Sky.

XIII.

“Around thy Wheels, in the glad Throng
“I'd bear a joyful Part;
“All Hallelujah on my Tongue,
“All Rapture in my Heart.

The Complaint and the Consolation.

I.

Where shall I find my Lord, my Love,
The Sov'reign of my Soul?
Pensive from East to West I rove,
And range from Pole to Pole.

II.

I search the shady Bow'rs, and trace
The Mazes of the Grove,
Dear Lord, to see thy beauteous Face,
And tell thee how I love.

III.

For Him, about the flow'ry Fields
My wand'ring Footsteps stray,
When dewy Morn each Mountain guilds,
And purples o'er the Sea;

IV.

Till Ev'ning bids the Western Clouds
With glittering Edges flame,
To the soft Winds, and murm'ring Floods,
I still repeat his Name.

V.

Ev'n in the silent Shades of Night
My Song the Forest fills;
When the fair Moon with solemn Light
Has silver'd o'er the Hills.

VI.

Jesus my Fair! aloud I cry,
For thee, for thee I burn;
Jesus, the echoing Vales reply,
Jesus, the Rocks return.

VII.

Ah thou my Life, when shall I taste
That Heav'n of endless Charms?
When shall I pant upon thy Breast;
And languish in thy Arms?

VIII.

Oh! how I long to clasp thee close,
Close in a strong Caress!
Joyful my latest Breath I'd loose
For so divine a Bliss.

IX.

Ye ling'ring Minutes, swiftly roll,
And rise, the happy Day,
When on his Bosom, thou my Soul,
Shalt all dissolve away.

X.

Then shall my flutt'ring Heart be fixt,
The Muse no more complain,
But with the Choirs immortal mixt,
Resound a heav'nly Strain.

The Altogether Lovely.

I.

Oft has thy Name employ'd my Muse,
Thou Lord of all above:
Oft has my Song to thee arose,
My Song, inspir'd by Love.

II.

My Heart has oft confess'd in Flame,
And melted all away:
Thou art by Night my hourly Dream,
My hourly Thought by Day.

III.

Each Feature o'er thee is a Charm,
And ev'ry Limb a Grace;
Divinely beauteous all thy Form,
Divinely fair thy Face.

IV.

Thy Love to me how large! how full!
How kind are thy Commands!
Take, O my Love, take all my Soul
For ever in thy Hands.

V.

Those bleeding Hands, which on the Cross
Were stretch'd for my Caress:
In the dear Thought my Life I loose—
Was ever Love like this!

VI.

Weep, weep my Eyes, let gushing Tears
Stream in an endless flow:
Love on his dying Lips he wears,
His Wounds Compassion show.

VII.

Now he remembers me, and speaks,
I hear his Voice; Forgive:
In the dead Pale that spreads his Cheeks;
Ten thousand Beauties live.

VIII.

Lord, my Affections all are thine,
Warm'd with a grateful Fire;
And thou, O best Belov'd, art mine,
My Hope, and my Desire.

IX.

Conspiring Love, conspiring Charms,
Confess thee all my Joy:
Come, heav'nly Fair, come to my Arms
And all my Pow'rs employ.

The Comparison, the Choice, and the Enjoyment.

I.

Who on the Earth, or in the Skies,
Thy Beauties can declare?
Jesus, dear Object of my Eyes,
My Everlasting Fair.

II.

Mortals, for you this is too great,
Too bright, and too sublime:
This, Angels labour to repeat;
And sink beneath the Theme.

III.

Behold, ye Beauties here below,
And clasp him in your Arms;
Can ye such heav'nly Graces show,
Or rival him in Charms?

IV.

Though now, delighted, we can trace
Your Colours as they lye,
When he appears, from off your Face
The fading Colours fly.

V.

When all your Charms in vain we seek,
And all your Joys are fled,
Beauty blooms rosey on his Cheek,
And dances round his Head.

VI.

In vain your softest Smiles appear,
Or lovely Blushes rise:
Eternal Transports center here,
Heav'n brightens in these Eyes.

VII.

Unveil, almighty Love, thy Face,
Thy Features let me see;
At once I'll rush to thy Embrace,
I'll spring at once to thee.

VIII.

With infinite Delight, I'll lay
My Head soft on thy Breast:
My Eyes shall o'er thy Beauties stray;
My Arms surround thy Waist.

IX.

Thus fix'd for ever—O the Joys!
Th' unutterable Bliss!
Now where's your Pleasure, earthly Toys?
Can ye compare with This!

X.

No more from thy Embrace I'll roam,
My Lord, my Life, my Love,
I see the Scenes of Joys to come
In long Procession move.

XI.

Now, vast Eternity, roll on,
O fathomless Profound!
Ye endless Ages, swiftly run,
Your never-ceasing Round.

On a very profane Compliment in a noble and devout Poem.

Ah! Cease, vain Muse, forbear thy hardy Lays,
Nor urge the Thunder on thy guilty Bays,

How durst thou thus debase the Saviour's Blood,
And raise a Mortal o'er the Throne of GOD:
Melodiously-Profane, prefer his Name,
And, gay in Eloquence, thy Judge blaspheme?
O'er the black Lines remain perpetual Gloom,
And Flames, and deep Oblivion be the Doom.
Round the dire Rant shall sudden Lightnings rage,
And kindling Vengeance blast the impious Page.
So when th' Arch-Angel left his heav'nly Song,
And mock'd his Maker with a Seraph's Tongue,
Messiah, terrible in Wrath! arose,
And hurl'd him down to Hell's tremendous Woes,
Where Seas of fire with roaring Storms refound,
And endless Darkness spreads its brooding Horrors round.

HYMN to CHRIST for our Regeneration and Resurrection.

I.

To Thee, my Lord, I lift the Song,
Awake, my tuneful Pow'rs:
In constant Praise my grateful Tongue
Shall fill my foll'wing Hours.

II.

Guilty, condemn'd, undone I stood:
I bid my GOD depart:
He took my Sins, and paid his Blood,
And turn'd this wand'ring Heart.

III.

Death, the grim Tyrant, seiz'd my Frame,
Vile, loathsome and accurst:
His Breath renews the vital Flame,
And Glories change the Dust.

IV.

Now, Saviour, shall thy Praise commence;
My Soul by Thee brought Home,
And ev'ry Member, ev'ry Sense,
Recover'd from the Tomb.

V.

To Thee my Reason I submit,
My Love, my Mem'ry, Lord,
My Eyes to read, my Hands to write,
My Lips to preach thy Word.

GOLIAH'S Defeat. In the Manner of Lucan.

When the proud Philistines for War declar'd,
And Israel's Sons for Battle had prepar'd,
Before the Heathen Camp a Monster stalk'd,
And awful frowning, in the Valley walk'd.
With hideous Strides he travers'd all the Ground,
And o'er the Hills the Country view'd around
His brawny Flesh, and his prodigious Bones,
Bespoke him one of Anak's mighty Sons.
Death and Defiance sat upon his Brow,
Revenge and Hell his glaring Eye-balls show.

Then his dire Hand uplifted to the Skies,
Thunder his Voice, and Lightning in his Eyes,
He cry'd aloud with such a dreadful Sound,
As shook the Heav'ns, and rent the trembling Ground
“Attend, ye Armies; Israel, hear; 'tis I
“Despise your Pow'r, and all your Hosts defy
“What! not a Man among you dares attempt
“The glorious Fight, or urge the known Event?
“His despicable Flesh shall make a Feast,
“For rav'nous Fowl, and each voracious Beast.

Behold, Concern and dire Amaze appear
Thro' all the Host, when they his Accents hear,
Shudd'ring Anxiety, and black Despair.
Pale are their Faces, in their Hearts is dread,
And panick Terror o'er the Field is spread.
Ghastly Confusion reigns, and not a Knight
Dares undertake to think upon the Fight.

Now a young Shepherd, David was his Name,
To see his Brethren in the Army, came:
But when Goliah's threatning Words he heard,
A gen'rous Anger in his Looks appear'd.
To Saul the King, his hasty Footsteps go,
And loud he claims for Combat with the Foe.
Th' astonish'd Chiefs, the daring Challenge hear,
And give Consent with Wonder and with Fear.
Instant the blooming Youth descends a Brook,
And in his Shepherd's Bag five Pebbles took;
He waits impatient, till his longing Eyes,
The gloomy Giant issuing forth descries,
With his tall Plume high-nodding in the Skies.
He roar'd loud Curses as he onward went,
Tortur'd the Air, and shook the Firmament.
David undaunted heard the Voice with Smiles,
And ran triumphant to the mighty Spoils.
Downward Goliah cast a careless Glance,
And saw the Stripling on the Ground advance.
As from some lofty Tow'r, tall Men below
Across the Streets like little Puppets go:

So look'd young David to Goliah's size,
And, deep beneath, scarce reach'd his lofty Eyes.
Sublime, the Monster saw him with disdain,
Like a small Insect run along the Plain.
At first, collected in himself he stood,
‘Himself, an Army! and his Spear, a Wood!’
His Helmet like a fiery Meteor shone,
Blaz'd high amidst the Heav'ns; another Sun.
His flaming Buckler with his Arm did rise,
Streak'd Rainbows on the Clouds, and flash'd about the Skies.
Then, with uplifted Roar, aloud he howls,
And shakes all Nature to the distant Poles.
“What daring Mortal this who treads the Field,
“And thinks himself so small to be conceal'd?
“Hence, fly my Rage, young Stripling quickly fly,
“Or, by the Gods! by Dagon! Thou shalt die.
“This Hand, rash Youth, thy mangled Carcase tares,
“And hurls thy scatter'd Limbs above the Stars.

“For Birds and Beasts, thy Entrails spread the Plains,
“And on the Pavement smoke thy batter'd Brains!
“Not all the Pow'rs above my Wrath shall brave;
“Thy God may pity, but he cannot save.

Fearless, the Hero heard the thundring Peals
Drive thro' the Rocks, and rattling round the Hills.
Disdain flash'd dreadful from his martial Eyes,
And thus aloud his dauntless Tongue replies.
“Cease, empty Vaunter, cease thy impious Breath,
“This Stone shall fly commission'd with thy Death:
“Your's is the Sword and Spear you vainly boast,
“The Vict'ry's mine, for mine's the Lord of Host!
He said; then whirl'd his Sling, the Pebble flung,
It flew impetuous, and triumphant sung;

On his broad Front it strook the Wariour full,
And Death drove furious thro' his crashing Scull.
Down fell the mighty Bulk; Hills, Fields and all,
Shook when he fell, and echo'd to the Fall.
In Dust and Blood awhile his Members roll,
Then Night eternal rush'd upon his Soul.
A Length enormous in the plain he show'd.
‘Like a vast Island in a Sea of Blood.

ODE, for Palatine Tune.

I.

Heav'nly Love, our Bosoms seize!
Ye soft seraphick Pow'rs,
Come, join your Songs with ours:
Gently as the dying Breeze
Whispers o'er the Midnight-Seas,
Or breathes along the Shores.

II.

Let the tender Echoes round
The sacred Song improve,
And sweetly onward move:
Lost in Extasy of Sound,
Let the feather'd Choirs resound
Thro' all the tuneful Grove.

III.

Jesus, 'tis to Thee we sing,
Thou, the celestial Fair,
Soft to our Breasts repair;
Else we break each joyful String,
With sad Notes the Vales shall ring
Abandon'd to Despair.

IV.

Oh! thy Love our Passion warms!
Come bless our longing Sight.
Come, over-pow'r us quite:
Put on all thy wondrous Charms,
Come and fill our ravish'd Arms,
And Heav'n is less Delight.

Written in Milton's PARADISE LOST.

Had I, O had I all the tuneful Arts
Of lofty Verse; did ev'ry Muse inspire
My flowing Numbers, and adorn my Song!
Did Milton's Fire flash furious in my Soul;
Could I command the Harmony, the Force,
The glitt'ring Language, and the true Sublime
Whose mingled Beauties grace his glowing Lays,
Then should my Lines glide languishingly slow,
Or thundring roar, and rattle as they fleet,
Or, lovely-smiling, bud immortal Bloom,
As various as the Subjects they describe,
And imitate the Beauties which they mark.
Thus with ambitious Hand, I'd boldly snatch
A spreading Branch from his immortal Laurels.

But, O my Muse, where shall thy Song begin?
Or where conclude? ten thousand Glories charm
My ravish'd Heart, and dance before my Sight.
O Milton! I'm transported at thy Name!
My Soul takes Wing at once; or shoots away,
Born eager by a Tyde of Thought along.

Sometimes big Fury swells thy awful Verse,
And rolling Thunder bursts along thy Lines.
Now Hell is open'd, and I see the Flames
Wide-waving, blazing high, and flutt'ring dance:
Now clanking Chains amaze my list'ning Ears,
And hideous Spectres skim before my Sight,
Or in my wild Imagination stare.

Here Satan rears his mighty Bulk on high,
And tow'rs amid th' infernal Legions; fill'd
With Pride, and dire Revenge; daring his Looks;
Rage heaves his lab'ring Breast, and all around
His fiery Eye-balls formidably roll,
And dart destructive Flames; with dreadful Blaze
The ruddy Lightning rapid runs along,
And guilds the gloomy Regions of Despair,
With Streaks tremendous. Here assaults my Sight
The gressly Monster Death, He onward stalks
With horrid Strides, Hell trembles as he treads;

On his fierce Front a bold defiance low'rs;
Bent is his Brow, in his right Hand he shakes
His quiv'ring Lance. How fell the Fiend appears
In ev'ry Prospect, wrathful or serene?
Pleas'd, horrible he grins a gastly Smile;
And Erebus grows blacker as he Frowns.

But tell, immortal Muse, O Goddess! tell
The joyful Dread, the terrible Delight,
Which fill my Mind, when I behold the Ranks,
Th' embatt'led Ranks of mighty Cherubim,
In dreadful Quadrate croud the Plains of Heav'n.
I hear, I hear the Trumpets loud Alarms;
The keen Vibration cuts the yielding Air,
And the shril Clangors ring around the Sky.
I see the bold intrepid Cohorts move;
From ev'ry Scabbard flies a flaming Sword,
Wav'd by the mighty Combatants on high,
So flashing radiant from a gloomy Cloud,
Long Lightnings flourish with a livid Glare.
Now on at once th' immortal Hero's rush,

And with a sudden Onset shake the Field.
Hark! how confus'd Sounds thicken in the Air,
Mingling, tumultous, and perplex'd, and rough,
Of Shouts, and Groans, and grating Clang of Arms,
The twanging Bow, the Jav'lins deadly Hiss,
Loud-clashing Swords, and Spears encountring Spears.
Helms sound on Helms, on Bucklers Bucklers ring,
Vast waving Wings high in the Air are heard,
Whilst loud-resounding Feet beat thick the Ground,
And all the jarring Sounds of War unite,
In direful Discord, and outragious Roar.

Behold, my Muse, where Michael bends his Course,
Starts his swift Car, and bounds impetuous on,
With rapid Rage it rattles thro' the Ranks,
Smokes o'er the Field, and drives the War along.

But who can tell the Raptures which I feel,
When fix'd in deep Astonishment, my Eyes
Behold Messiah, dread Messiah! arm'd
With all the dire Artillery of God?
Unnumber'd Seraphim around him throng,
Clap their expanded Wings, and shout aloud;
Heav'ns mighty Concave echo's to their Voice,
The everlasting Hills return the Sound.
Oh! how I feel the noble Ardor warm
My beating Breast, and thrill along my Veins!
My charging Spirits pour around my Heart;
My Eyes bright-sparkling with immortal Fires.
His flying Chariot shakes the tott'ring Sky,
Swift all the vast Expanse behind him rolls,
Resistless Thunders rattle from his Hand,
Devouring Lightnings shoot beneath his Feet,
Ten thousand Terrors thicken where he bends.
What Havock! What Confusion spreads the Plain!
What Myriads fall by his descending Bolts,
Dash'd to the Ground, and crush'd beneath his Wheels?

Tumult and Ruin, Horror, Rage and Death,
Play round his Sword, and shake their shaggy Wings:
Hell flames before him, wild Despair stalks on,
And purple Vict'ry hovers o'er his Head.
Great GOD! what Vengeance kindled in thy Eyes!
What Thunders bellow'd! and what Lightnings blaz'd!
When Satan, daring Chief of all thy Foes!
Was seiz'd, as trembling and agast he stood,
Seiz'd by thy mighty Hand, and rais'd aloft,
Then headlong hurl'd down the high Steep of Heav'n?
At the dire Sight his bold compeers amaz'd,
Confounded, shiver ev'n amidst the Flames,
Forget to Fight, drop all their idle Arms,
Swift from thy Fury fly away, and down
Down from the tow'ring Battlements they rush
Precipitant, into the Dark profound,
Whilst Chaos loud rebellows to the Fall.

No more—my fainting Muse folds up her Wings,
Unable to sustain so strong a Flight—

The Battle only Raphael should relate,
Or Milton in such Strains as Raphael sings.

Let softer Subjects now command my Muse,
Let softer Numbers smoothly flow along,
And bloom, and blossom as the Ever-greens,
That deck the flow'ry Face of Paradise.
O Milton, Eden opens by thy Art,
And with redoubl'd Beauty wanton smiles.
I'm charm'd, I'm ravish'd, all my Soul dissolves,
I loose my Life amid the heav'nly Scenes;
That in gay Order from thy Pencil flow.
O beauteous Garden! O delightful Walks!
In you forever, ever will I stray,
Glide o'er thy flow'ry Vales, climb thy fair Hills,
And thro' thy fragrant Lawns transported tread.
I'd trace the mazy Windings of thy Bow'rs,
And in the Gloom of thy surrounding Groves
Ask the cool Shadow, and the fanning Breeze.
Here rising Perfume should regale my Smell,
And heav'nly Harmony transport my Ears;

While all the Trees around, to court a look,
Flourish luxuriant with unfading Charms.
Roses, and Violets, and Daffodils,
And gaudy Tulips of a thousand Dyes,
Shall spring profusely round; the Lilly too,
Ambitious, offer its unsullied White,
To grace a Garland for fair Innocence.
Ye feather'd Songsters of the Spring, arise,
Display your spangled Plumes, where twinkling Gems,
With blended Beauties, cast a doubtful Blaze,
And, keenly-flashing, strike the Gazer's Sight.
Let your sweet Voices warble thro' the Grove,
While in concording Harmony I hear
The purling Murmurs of the bubbling Brooks.
Mean time the embroider'd Banks on either Hand
Shall open all their everlasting Sweets,
Their verdant Honours, and their flow'ry Pride,
As the pure floating Volumes wind along.
Here the first Pair, divinely reign'd supream,
And sunk reclining on the flow'ry Turff.

Hail, happy Adam, Heav'n adorns thy Soul,
Full bless'd. And thou, immortal Mother, Hail!
O heav'nly-fair, divinely-beauteous Eve!
Thee to adorn what endless Charms conspire?
Cælestial Coral blushes on thy Lips,
No op'ning Rose glows with so bright a Bloom.
Thy Breath abroad diffusive Odor spreads,
A gay Carnation purples o'er thy Cheeks,
While thy fair Eyes roll round their radiant Orbs,
With winning Majesty, and nat'ral Art.
Thy waving Tresses on thy Shoulders play,
Flow loosely down, and wanton in the Wind.
You, am'rous Zephires, kiss her snowy Breast,
Flit softly by, and gently lift her Locks.
Forgive, fair Mother, O forgive thy Son,
Forgive his vain Redundance of Expression,
Fir'd by thy Beauty, and by Milton's Song.
Here could the ravish'd Fancy rove perpetual,
Amid the Raptures, the transporting Bliss,
That in soft Measures move for ever round.—

But, O my Muse, shake off these idle Dreams,
Imaginary Trances! vain Illusions!
Count the gay Stars, and number all the Sands,
And ev'ry Drop that in the Ocean floats:
But never hope to sum th' unnumber'd Charms,
That swim before thy ever-ravish'd Eyes,
When they on thee, O Milton, give a glance.
In vain thou striv'st to lisp his lofty Praise;
Imperfect Accents flutter round thy Tongue,
And on thy Lips unfinish'd, Milton dies.
His mighty Numbers tow'r above thy Sight,
Mock thy low Musick, and elude thy Strains.

To the Memory of a young Commander slain in a Battle with the Indians, 1724.

Descend, immortal Muse, inspire my Song,
Let mournful Numbers gently flow along:
And thou, my Lyre, in solemn Notes complain,
And in sad Accents softly speak thy Pain;
Let melting Musick tremble on thy Strings,
While in concording Sounds the Goddess sings;

Sings hapless Alpeus in the gloomy Grave,
Alpeus the Gay, the Beauteous and the Brave;
Alpeus, who with the Thirst of Glory fir'd,
Couragious in his Country's Cause expir'd.

At the dear Name a sorrowful Delight,
Recalls the Youth back to my longing Sight.
Ah, lovely Youth! once flush'd with ev'ry Grace,
A thousand Charms adorn'd thy smiling Face;
A lilly White was on thy Forehead spread,
And in thy Cheeks cælestial rosey Red;
O'er all thy Features no Defect was found,
But blooming Beauty ever hover'd round;
And, whilst without, unnumber'd Charms combin'd,
Unnumber'd Graces deck'd thy manly Mind.

Thus Alpeus, wert thou once by all beheld,
Like some fair Flow'r, the Glory of the Field:
But now, alas! stop'd is thy scatter'd Breath,
Thy Beauties rifled in the Arms of Death;
From thy pale Cheeks the fading Colour flies,
And leaden Slumbers seal thy heavy Eyes.

So some bright Bird repeats his Lays of Love,
And sings melodious in a golden Grove;
When strait a Bullet, with a thund'ring Sound,
Bursts thro' the Air, and gives the deadly Wound;
Then, instant from the blooming Bough impell'd.
He falls, and feebly flutters on the Field.

But, O my Muse, forbear these Strains, and tell
How great he fought, and how divine he fell.
Say, how intrepid he maintain'd his Ground,
And with what Vigour scatter'd Deaths around.
Now on the Waves in the small Bark he stood,
And ting'd the Billows with th'Opposers Blood;
Now, daring, on the thickest War he bore,
Broke thro' the Ranks, and gain'd the distant Shore.
His Sword, like Light'ning, glitter'd from above,
When dreadful on, th' undaunted Hero drove,
And with such Sounds destructive Thunder roars,
As his swift Lead impetuous onward pours.
Now on the Left he bent, now to the Right
The youthful Warriour led along the Fight.

You Pagan Troops, could scarce his Rage sustain,
Tho' your dire Numbers blacken'd all the Plain.
Till feeling in his Breast the fiery Wound,
The sinking Youth drop'd fainting to the Ground;
In quick short pants ebb'd out his quiv'ring Breath,
While o'er his Eye-lids hung the Shades of Death.

Thrice happy Youth, sleep in thy silent Bed,
While blissful Visions dance around thy Head;
Let living Verdure flourish o'er thy Tomb,
And let unfading Flow'rs for ever bloom.
Mean time the Muse thy Story shall relate,
And snatch thy Actions from the Jaws of Fate,
Declare th' unrival'd Wonders of thy Youth,
Nor cloud with Fable the refulgent Truth;
So coming Ages shall thy Deeds admire,
And late Posterity thy Praise conspire.
Long as the Morning paints the blushing Skies,
Or Nature in the Spring renew'd shall rise;

Whilst the gay Sun pours down in radiant Streams,
The golden Glory of his blazing Beams;
So long, O Alpeus, shall thy envy'd Name
Glow in the Records of immortal Fame:
There stand confess'd among the meaner Fires,
As Syrius shines amid the lesser Stars.

Written in Dr. Watt's Poems; given to a young Lady.

I.

While rosey Cheeks their Bloom confess,
And Youth thy Bosom warms,
Let Vertue, and let Knowledge dress,
Thy Mind in brighter Charms.

II.

Daily on some fine Page to look
Lay meaner Sports aside;
And let the Needle, and the Book,
Thy useful Hours divide.

III.

Let Heav'nly Love from Watts's Lays,
Inspire thy youthful Blood;
Nor let a mortal Rival seize
That Heart ordain'd for God.

An Elegy address'd to His Excellency Governour BELCHER: On the Death of his Brother-in-Law, the Honourable Daniel Oliver, Esq;

Pensive, o'ercome, the Muse hung down her Head,
And heard the fatal News,—“The Friend is dead.
Dumb, fixt in Sorrow, she forgot her Song,
The Tune forsook her Lyre, the Voice her Tongue,
'Till, Belcher, You command her Strains to rise,
You ask, she sings; You dictate, she replies;
That well-known Voice awakes her dying Fires,
And instant, at your Call, the Pow'r inspires.

Then let our Griefs in mingling Streams descend,
You mourn the Brother, and I weep the Friend
He's dead—O vast unutterable Woe!
Gone, gone for ever from these Seats below:
No more his gracious Lips our Souls shall move,
And lift us to the holy Joys above;
No more the Church his sacred Transports feel,
His strong Devotion, and his fervent Zeal;
No more his Face shines with the conscious Calms,
Of Faith, and Pray'rs, and gen'rous Deeds, and Alms:
Ah! fainting, pale, ebbs out his quiv'ring Breath,
And Oliver the good descends to Death.

Thus while the Friends their private Loss deplore,
Lament unpity'd, unreliev'd, ye Poor.
Who, round his Gates, your daily Blessings paid,
Warm by his Cloaths, or from his Table fed.
Profuse, his lib'ral Hand their Pray'r prevents,
(So shower'd the ancient Manna round the Tents)

Witness, ye conscious Nights, whose Shades he chose,
Unknown, to see, and succour Humane Woes:
Invisible, he trod the homely Cott,
The Hungry eat, th' Oppress'd to groan forgot,
The Sick perceiv'd the sudden Cordial save,
All bless'd the Gift, nor saw the Hand that gave.
From Men, with Art and sacred Caution hid,
The Muse, from Heav'n inspir'd, reveals the Deed.

You painted Roofs, and pompous Rooms of State,
Where, in the Senate, the grave Patriot sate,
Say, how his steady Conduct grac'd your Board;
Just were his Thoughts, and prudent ev'ry Word;
Serene, delib'rate, undisguis'd by Art,
His Tongue was faithful, and sincere his Heart.
Statesmen, th' unblemish'd Counsellor bemoan,
And from his fair Example form your own.
So must your Greatness sink, your Glories fade,
And, blended, in the common Dust be laid.
Nor Wealth, nor Titles, nor Fame's gentle Charms,
Can bribe your Life from Fate's relentless Arms:

VIRTUE, fair Goddess! only can allow
Conquests o'er Death, and crown the Victor's Brow.

Mindless of Grandieur, from the Crowd he fled,
Sought green Retirements, and the silent Shade.
Ye bow'ry Trees, which round his Mansion bloom,
Oft ye conceal'd him in your hallow'd Gloom:
Oft he enjoy'd, in your sublime Abode,
His Books, his Innocence, his Friend, his GOD.
Now, sad, I wander o'er the lofty Seat,
And trace the Mazes of the soft Retreat.
View the fair Prospects, round the Gardens rove,
Bend up the Hill, and search the lonely Grove;
But ah! no more his Voice salutes my Ear,
Nor in his Hands the blushing Fruits appear:
Yet is his Image in each Scene convey'd,
And busy Fancy forms his gliding Shade,
I seem to meet him in the flow'ry Walks,
And, thro' the Boughs, his whispering Spirit talks.
Eager I call, the dear Delusion flies,
Grief seals my Lips, and Tears suffuse my Eyes.

O far, far off, above the Ken of these,
The rising Mountain, and th' aspiring Trees,
In the gay Bow'rs that crown th' Eternal Hills,
His spotless Soul, in deathless Pleasure, dwells;
Tuneful replies, while Choral Seraphs play,
And in bright Visions smiles the Hours away.
He visits now no more this dull Abode,
But talks with Angels, and beholds his GOD.

Now cease, the flowing Tears, the Fun'ral Strains.
Let joyful Sounds revive the vocal Plains.
What tho' the Body in the Tomb be laid,
Ghastly and breathless, in the awful Shade?
Tho' by our Eyes, his Form no more confess'd,
Pleas'd by the Friend, and by the Christian bless'd?
We view the bright Reversion in the Skies,
When the dead Saint, wak'd to new Life, shall rise.
Mean time, the heav'nly Muse embalms his Name,
And gives him up consign'd to endless Fame:
These faithful Lines thy Absence still bemoan,
And this Inscription grace thy mould'ring Stone.

“Here, Passenger, confin'd, reduc'd to Dust,
“Lies what was once, religious, wise, and just.
“Steady and warm in Liberty's Defence,
“True to his Country, loyal to his Prince:
“In Friendship faithful, gen'rous to Desert,
“A Head enlightn'd, and a glowing Heart.

To a Friend, on the Death of a Relative.

While Death his awful Triumphs spreads around,
And crowded Nations fill the vaulted Ground;
While ev'ry Rank, and State, and Sex, and Age,
Feel his keen Shafts, and sink beneath his Rage.
Mortals, prepare to try the doubtful State,
To yield the Battle, and resign to Fate.

Late has the Monarch, with despotick sway,
Resistless snatch'd thy favourite Fair away.
Gone, gone for ever from thy fond Caress,
No more her much-lov'd Form thy Eyes shall bless,

Her Absence still thy rising Sighs deplore,
And in her Converse you delight no more;
Touch'd by your Woe, the Muse her Tribute brings
And with grave Airs, in soothing Numbers, sings.

But sacred is the Muse; by Heav'n she's led
T' instruct the Living, not to blanch the Dead.
Ye Living, hear her tuneful Lips rehearse
No trifling Themes, nor in ignoble Verse.

And chief, be wise, ye blooming Young and Fair,
See your sad Picture, and your Period here.
How soon the Beauties vanish from your Forms,
Fall into Dust, and mingle with the Worms!
Beneath the Honours of a lonely Tomb,
In pensive Silence and a solemn Gloom,
Sleeps that fair Form in Death's relentless Arms,
Whose living Face once blush'd with endless Charms.
But, Ah! No more her Cheeks the Roses wear,
Nor on her lovely Lips the Smiles appear;
Fix'd are those Eyes which once divinely roll'd,
The Limbs all stiffen'd, and the Veins all cold;

That Voice is fled which charm'd Mankind before,
And that soft snowy Breast must pant no more,
So from your Lips the transient Breath shall fly,
Pale the fresh Cheek, and fix'd the rolling Eye;
The charming Face and beauteous Shape be laid,
All Pale and Breathless in the awful Shade.
To deck your Grave the Turff shall bloom around,
And the green Grass enamel all the Ground:
And still the flow'ry Emblem shall display,
The youthful Flourish and the swift Decay.
Ah, trust no more, ye Fair, your fading Face,
Let bright Religion court your warm Embrace,
To her soft Beauties be your Love inclin'd,
The deathless Beauties of th' immortal Mind.
So to new Charms your waking Dust shall rise,
And gay in Glory glitter up the Skies,
In heav'nly Tunes, with fresh Delights, shall sing,
And bloom and blossom in eternal Spring.

But thou, fond Mourner, give thy Tears away,
See the Gloom end in everlasting Day;

See the fair Soul on Wings of Angels rise,
Above the starry Concave of the Skies:
Now here, now there she rolls her dazz'led Sight;
Struck at the Prospect with immense Delight.
Her down-cast Eyes the fulged Streets behold.
And view a Pavement rich with gleemy Gold:
Aloft, the Roof, fram'd by th' almighty Hands,
Glorious, on Adamantine Pillars stands.
Here splendid Thrones confound the aching Sight,
And pour abroad unsufferable Light;
There in high Crowns a beamy Lustre plays,
And twinkling Jewels shoot a trembling Blaze,
The flowing Robes wave on like lambent Flames,
And flash and sparkle with celestial Gems.
Abroad, the Fields display their flow'ry Pride,
In whose fair Bosoms living Waters glide.
Here the glad Saint in mazy Rapture roves
Through Bow'rs of Bliss, and gay immortal Groves.

Here Jesus shines unutterably bright,
And Storms of Glory beat upon the Sight;
To these high Scenes thy ravish'd Views be giv'n
And bow consenting to the Will of Heav'n.

Hymn at Sea.

I.

Great GOD, thy Works our Wonder raise,
To thee our swelling Notes belong;
While Skies, and Winds, and Rocks, and Seas,
Around shall echo to our Song.

II.

Thy Pow'r produc'd this mighty Frame,
Aloud to thee the Tempests rore,
Or softer Breezes tune thy Name
Gently along the shelly Shore.

III.

Round thee the scaly Nation roves,
Thy op'ning Hands their Joys bestow,
Thro' all the blushing coral Groves,
These silent, gay Retreats below.

IV.

See the broad Sun forsake the Skies,
Glow on the Waves, and downward slide!
Anon, Heav'n opens all its Eyes,
And Star-Beams tremble o'er the Tyde:

V.

Each various Scene, or Day or Night,
Lord, points to thee our ravish'd Soul;
Thy Glories fix our whole Delight:
So the touch'd Needle courts the Pole.

To an ingenious young Gentleman, on his dedicating a Poem to the Author.

To you, dear Youth, whom all the Muses own,
And great Apollo speaks his darling Son,
To you the Muse directs her grateful Lays,
And brings the Tribute which you merit, Praise.

What various Vertues in your Person join,
Tho' great yet humble, modest tho' divine;
Tho' num'rous Graces glitter thro' your Song,
And heav'nly Accents dance around your Tongue;

Strong in your Mind while big Ideas roll,
And your vast Subject fills your lab'ring Soul.
Yet, from your Heights, how kind you condescend,
Forget your Greatness, and assume the Friend?
Your Friend, you fond approve, commend, admire,
Bless with the Criticks Light, and Poets Fire,
To crown your Friend, your gen'rous Hand allows
A Branch of Bays from your o'ershaded Brows;
Unfading Wreaths, around my Temples spread,
By you unmiss'd, adorn my joyful Head.
So your bright Father Phœbus, o'er the Skies
Profusely scatters Light's eternal Dyes,
Unnumber'd Worlds from him receive their Days,
Yet still he shines with undiminish'd Rays.

Each Time I view this Product of your Art
Two diff'rent Passions struggle in my Heart,
Which, like the ebbing, or the flowing Tyde,
Contracts with Envy, or dilates with Pride;

Now shrunk with Spight, now with Ambition swell'd,
Proud at your Praise, env'ous to be excell'd:
And as I meditate the doubtful Theme,
My clashing Passions strike a sudden Flame;
The Muse takes Fire—Thoughts thick upon her throng,
Start the quick Words, and rapid run along.
So when in wat'ry Clouds hot Sulphur pent,
Runs here and there, and labours for a Vent.
Till kindling to a Blaze at the rough Jars,
Water with Fire, and Fire with Waters wars;
Then bursting forth, thick-flashing Lightning flies,
And ready Thunder rolls along the Skies.

Ah! how can I the happy Title claim,
And of your Tutor boast th' immortal Name,
When in your Breast ten Thousand Raptures live,
And glow superiour to the Sparks I give?
In vain you say I form'd your Infant Strains,
Taught you on stubborn Thoughts to fling your Chains,

Smooth'd your harsh Voice, & bid your Numbers glide
Like gentle Rills a-down a Mountains Side;
Prun'd your young Wings, instructed you to skim
The level Lawn, or daring Soar sublime;
In vain all these, when ev'ry Judge will find
You fly aloft, unfetter'd, unconfin'd,
And see my distant Muse, short-panting, lag behind.
So the low Hen the Eagles Egg may hatch,
And feed the callow Care, and o'er him watch,
But when thick Feathers on his Back unite,
He spreads his Plumes, & takes a tow'ring Flight,
Neglects his Nurse, & claims his heav'nly Birth,
While she, with flutt'ring Wings, hovers,—and drops to Earth.

But Oh! forbear, thy lavish Tongue be tame,
Nor slush my Features with a conscious Flame,
Justice demands that I th' Applause refuse:
Not I, but mighty Pope inspir'd thy Muse.

He, wondrous Bard! whose Numbers reach our Shore,
Tho' Oceans roll between, and Tempests roar:
Hush'd are the Storms, & smooth the Waters lie,
As his sweet Musick glides harmonious by;
Ravish'd, my Ear receives the heav'nly Guest,
My Heart high-leaping, beats my panting Breast:
Thro' all my Mind incessant Rapture reigns,
And Joys immortal revel in my Veins.
So the soft SYRENS warbled o'er the Main,
And so ULISSES' Soul took Wing to meet the Strain.
O Pope! thy Fame is spread around the Sky,
Far as the Waves can flow, far as the Winds can fly!
Hail! Bard triumphant, fill'd with hallow'd Rage,
Sent from high Heav'n to grace the happy Age
For thee a thousand Garlands shall be wove,
And ev'ry Clime project a laurel Grove;
Thy Name be heard in ev'ry artful Song,
And thy loud Praise employ each tuneful Tongue.

Ev'n my young Muse the noble Theme would take,
And lisp imperfect what she cannot speak.
'Tis Pope, my Friend, that guilds our gloomy Night,
And if I shine 'tis his reflected Light:
So the pale Moon, bright with her borrow'd Beams,
Thro' the dark Horrors shoots her silver Gleams.
Pope's are the Rules which you, my Friend, receive,
From him I gather what to you I give.
When I attend to his immortal Lyre,
I kindle instant with a sacred Fire;
Now here, now there, my Soul pursues his Song,
Hurried impetuous by his Pow'r along:
My Pulse beats thick, urg'd by my driving Blood,
And on my Breast I feel the rushing GOD.
But when to you I would the Flames convey,
In my cold Hands the holy Fires decay.
As when your Hand the Convex-Glass displays,
It close collects some scatter'd solar Rays;

Tho' cold the Glass, where'er its Focus aims,
The Object smokes, it reddens, and it flames:
So Pope, thro' me, shines full upon your Muse;
So cold my Breast; and so your Bosom glows.

Go on, sweet Poet, charm our list'ning Ears,
Infuse new Joy, and scatter all our Cares.
O let no Trifle tempt your noble Rage,
No mortal Theme your mighty Muse engage;
But when harmonious to her Lyre she sings,
And with swift Fingers strikes the trembling Strings.
Let sacred Subjects fill the Air around,
And Angels waft to Heav'n the Extacy of Sound.
Write for ETERNITY!—what Pleasures thrill
Thro' all my Veins and urge my flying Quill
As that I name? what Transports fire my Mind,
When I behold its wond'rous Scenes combin'd?
Here, the last Trumpet shakes the sounding Air,
There, gloomy glow the Regions of Despair:
Now, on this Earth devouring Flames increase,
And bellowing Burnings boyl the hissing Seas:

Then, melting Joys my swiming Eyes confess,
And Saints dissolve away in endless Bliss:
While hymning Cherubs try their tuneful Strains,
And charm, with Notes like yours, the heav'nly Plains;
Exalted high, the Saviour-God is known,
And dazling Glory blazes round his Throne;
Around his Head a beamy Lustre plays,
Where glittering Jewels blend their trembling Rays;
Eternal Day breaks from his radient Eyes,
And flames divinely o'er the shining Skies:
Thus sits the GOD, with awful Honours crown'd
While everlasting Ages wheel their mighty Round!—

But, pause my Muse; cease my unartful Song:
The Beauties which I strive to praise I wrong.
The Scenes so fast upon my Fancy flow,
Convinc'd, I own Eternity a NOW.

Thus let your pious Muse employ her Flame,
Then, lasting as your Theme, shall be your Fame:

Thus let your Poesy refine, improve,
And match the Musick of the Choirs above;
Still from your Lips let such soft Notes arise,
And Songs of Seraphs sound beneath the Skies;
Till, as your Muse, your Soul expands her Wings,
And to their bright Abodes, exulting, springs:
There, there your Voice shall deathless Strains resound,
And be amid th' immortal Chorus drown'd.
So some full Spring a trickling Rill bestows,
That makes melodious Murmur as it flows;
It widens as it wanders on its Course,
And as it glides it gathers greater Force;
Still on it runs, and nought its Stream controuls,
It now a Riv'let, now a River rolls.
Now its strong Tyde, with unresisted Sway
Rushes impetuous down and foams away;
It pours along, and all its Banks out-braves
Till the vast Sea absorbs its undistinguish'd Waves.

The Bloom of Life, fading in a happy Death.

I.

Great GOD, how frail a Thing is Man!
How swift his Minutes pass!
His Age contracts within a Span;
He blooms and dies like Grass.

II.

Now in his Breast fresh Spirits dart,
And vital Vigour reigns:
His Blood pours rapid from his Heart,
And leaps along his Veins.

III.

His Eyes their sparkling Pleasure speak,
Joy flutters round his Head;
While Health still blossoms on his Cheek,
And adds the rosey Red.

IV.

Thus the fond Youth securely stands,
Nor dreams of a Decay—
At once he feels Death's Iron Hands,
His Soul is snatch'd away.

V.

Down to the Earth the Body drops,
Whence it was fram'd at first,
Forgets its former flatt'ring Hopes
And hastens to its Dust.

VI.

No more we view the wonted Grace;
The Eye-Balls roll no more:
A livid Horror spreads the Face
Where Beauty blaz'd before.

VII.

So the young Spring, with annual Green,
Renews the waving Grove;
And Riv'lets thro' the flow'ry Scene
In Silver Mazes rove.

VIII.

By tuneful Birds of ev'ry Wing,
Melodious Strains are play'd;
From Tree to Tree their Accents ring,
Soft-warbling thro' the Shade.

IX.

The painted Meads, and fragrant Fields,
A sudden Smile bestow:
A golden Gleam each Valley guilds,
Where numerous Beauties blow.

X.

A Thousand gaudy Colours flush
Each od'rous Mountain's Side:
Lillies turn fair, and Roses blush,
And Tulips spread their Pride.

XI.

Thus flourishes the wanton Year,
In rich Confusion gay,
Till Autumn bids the Bloom retire,
The Verdure fade away.

XII.

Succeeding Cold withers the Woods,
While hoary Winter reigns,
In Fetters binds the frozen Floods,
And shivers o'er the Plains.

XIII.

And must my Moments thus decline?
And must I sink to Death?
To Thee my Spirit I resign,
Thou Sov'reign of my Breath.

XIV.

JESUS my Life has dy'd, has rose:
I burn to meet his Charms!
Welcome the Pangs, the dying Throes,
That give me to his Arms.

A Poem on the Death of King George I. And Accession of King George II.

Say, mournful Muse, declare thy rising Woe,
What heaves thy Heart; and whence thy Sorrows flow?
Why in thy Face such anxious Grief appears;
And o'er thy Eye-balls swim the speaking Tears:
O George, thy Death my flowing Numbers mourn,
Thy sacred Ashes, and distinguish'd Urn:

Thee, ev'ry Muse, and every Grace deplores,
From Thames's Banks, to these Atlantick Shores,
Each Bard his Grief in gliding Accents shews,
And fairest Eyes distill their crystal Dews.

O! were my Breast flush'd with an equal Fire,
Vast as my Theme, and strong as my Desire!
Then, mighty GEORGE, then should my Notes arise,
And spreading Musick echo round the Skies;
Thy Name, in tuneful Measures led along,
Should dance, harmonious, through my flowing Song;
The raptur'd Muse thy awful Form reveal,
Describe thy Counsels, and thy Actions tell;
Bid dying Sounds thy ravish'd Life bemoan,
Or shouting Nations hail thee to thy Throne;
Each various Scene, with varying Numbers crown'd,
Should Earth, and Sea, and Air, and Heav'n resound.

Long ere his Albion triumph'd in his Reign
His Sword glar'd dreadful o'er th' Hungarian Plain,
Witness, ye Troops, thro' whose wide Ranks he ran,
Rowz'd the fierce War, and call the Tumult on:
Say, how divinely then his Aspect show'd,
What Conduct shone! what dauntless Courage glow'd!
When Man to Man, and Smoke oppos'd to Smoke,
Flames flash'd at Flames, at Thunder Thunder broke,
When Death indignant, drove his Iron Car,
Thro' the dire Havock of the raging War;
Say, Goddess, how th' intrepid Hero flies,
To meet the Monster with undaunted Eyes;
'Till smiling Vict'ry, and immortal Peace,
Hung o'er his Head, and bid the Battel cease!

Record, O heavenly Muse, the illustrious Day,
When joyful Britain own'd his sov'reign Sway.

Conceal'd for ever, lie the Acts which stain
The last black Months, the Shades of ANNA's Reign;
When secret Treason work'd, when Justice fled,
And loud Destruction threatned o'er our Head,
'Twas then, by Heav'n ordain'd, his happy Hand
From Ruin rescu'd the devoted Land,
The Storm was hush, the clam'rous Factions laid,
And peaceful Olive spread its wealthy Shade.
So when dark Clouds hang heavy o'er the Main,
And bellying down, distend with Floods of Rain,
To push them on, the Winds their Forces try,
While they, slow-sailing, labour up the Sky;
The thickning Volumes spread the heavenly Dome,
And as they pass, project a solemn Gloom:
Dissolving now, a drifting Dew distills,
Dampens the Vales, and sprinkles round the Hills;
Still gathering Strength, the airy Sluces low'r,
And on the Fields descends a copious Show'r,
Last, furious grown, down rush the rapid Rains,
And pour impetuous, spatt'ring on the Plains.

If then the Sun breaks out, the Shadows fly,
And the gay Rainbow arches o'er the Sky.

Hail! happy Albion, Heav'ns peculiar Care,
See thy Deliv'rer to thy Shores repair!
Flourish, ye Fields; ye Groves, exalt your Heads,
Where Thame's Currant murmurs o'er the Meads!
And thou, Augusta, sparkling in my Eyes,
Let thy tall Tow'rs, and shining Turrets rise,
Where Riches glitter, Mirth for ever sings,
And smiling Plenty spreads her golden Wings:
For thee, Peru her beamy Face displays,
For thee the orient Stores of Ganges blaze;
A thousand Pleasures crown thy flow'ry Plains,
While GEORGE divinely o'er thy Kingdom reigns.

But, Oh! at once the heav'nly Scenes decay,
And all the gaudy Vision fades away.
He dies—my Muse, the dismal Sound forbear:
In ev'ry Eye debates the falling Tear;
A thousand Passions o'er my Bosom roll,
Swell in my Heart, and shock my inmost Soul.

He dies—Let Nature own the direful Blow,
Sigh, all ye Winds; with Tears, ye Rivers, flow;
Let the hoarse Ocean, loud in Anguish rore;
And Tides of Grief pour plenteous on the Shore:
No more the Spring shall bloom, or Morning rise,
But Night eternal wrap the sable Skies.

Enough, my Muse, give all thy Tears away,
Break, ye dull Shades; and rise, the rosey Day.
Quicken, O Sun, thy Chariot dazling-bright,
And o'er thy flaming Empire pour the Light.
O Spring, along thy laughing Lawns be seen
Fields always fresh, and Groves for ever green:
Let Britain's Sorrows cease, her Joys enlarge,
The first revives in thee the second GEORGE.
Hail! mighty Prince, O shining Sov'reign, hail!
Fain would the Muse lisp her prophetick Tale,
In mystic Lays thy future Years relate,
And sing the Records of unripen'd Fate;
Bid thee in Fame's triumphant Chariot ride,
And CAROLINA glitter by thy Side:

Fair Princess, thou, in whose majestick Eyes,
Dawn heav'nly Beauties, and immortal Joys:
By thee, shall Albion future Triumphs own,
And a long Race of Hero's grace her Throne;
Here FREDERICK in Bloom of Years shall stand,
Here youthful WILLIAM blossom o'er the Land;
Thou ANNA, here, with Charms celestial crown'd,
And all thy heav'nly Sisters flame around.

Ev'n our far Shores confess the big Delight,
Where the faint Sun rolls down his golden Light;
The dancing Billows leap along the Main,
Proud of th'Extent of GEORGE's happy Reign;
Applauding Thunders shake the Air around,
Waves shout to Waves, and Rocks to Rocks resound;
Each humane Breast glows with resistless Fire,
And ev'ry Angel strikes his sounding Lyre.

O live, auspicious Prince; live, radiant Queen,
Long let your Influence guild the glorious Scene:
And you, fair Offspring, form'd for high Command,
Flourish, ye blooming Honours of the Land:
So when from the dim Courts below you fly
To the bright Regions of the upper Sky;
Where Trees of Life by living Riv'lets team,
Wave their tall Heads, and paint the running Stream,
May round your Heads Crowns flash, celestial-bright,
And regal Purple change for Robes of Light;
Taste Charms still new, and Joys without Decay,
While endless Years in Raptures roll away.

To His Excellency Governour Burnet, on his Arrival at Boston.

While rising Shouts a gen'ral Joy proclaim,
And ev'ry Tongue, O Burnet, lisps thy Name;

To view thy Face, while crowding Armies run,
Whose waving Banners blaze against the Sun,
And deep-mouth'd Cannon, with a thund'ring Roar,
Sound thy Commission stretch'd from Shore to Shore;
Accept the tuneful Labours of the Muse,
To bend fresh Laurels round your shaded Brows,
With your Deserts, to raise the sacred Fire,
And in your Praises string her joyful Lyre.

Long have we wish'd the golden Hours to rise,
And with distinguish'd Purple paint the Skies,
When, thro' our wondring Towns, in Raptures gay,
The pompous March should shape it's shining Way;
While breathing Trumpets try their silver Strains,
And whirling Chariots scour along the Plains;
When the glad City should unfold it's Gates,
And the long Triumph grace the glowing Streets,
O Burnet! how we bad the Minutes run,
Urg'd the slow Hours, and chid the ling'ring Sun!

Impatient, met each Post, and call'd aloud,
“When will his Wheels smoke rattling o'er the Road?
“When shall we say, HE'S COME! with big Delight,
“And with his Aspect feast our longing Sight?

Welcome, great Man, to our desiring Eyes,
Thou Earth! proclaim it; and resound, ye Skies!
Voice answ'ring Voice, in joyful Consort meet,
The Hills all echo, and the Rocks repeat:
And thou, Bostonia, Mistress of the Towns,
Whom the pleas'd Bay, with am'rous Arms, surrounds,
Let thy warm Transports blaze in num'rous Fires,
And beamy Glories glitter on thy Spires;
Let Rockets, streaming, up the Ether glare,
And flaming Serpents hiss along the Air;
Sublime, thy Joys thro' the high Heav'ns be shown,
In foreign Lights, and Stars before unknown:
While rival Splendors deck the Earth below,
And o'er the Streets the daz'ling Windows glow.

But You, O Cambridge, how can you forbear
In gliding Lays to charm each listning Ear?
You, where the Youth pursue th' illustrious Toil,
Where the Arts flourish, and the Graces smile,
Make Burnet's Name in lasting Numbers shine,
Ye soft Recesses of the tuneful Nine!
Speak the glad Day, with ev'ry warbling String,
When first you bless'd th' Indulgence of his Wing;
Say, how prophetick Rapture seiz'd your Tongue,
When you, on Fire, your future Glories sung.
“By him protected, by his Pattern led,
“Each smiling Art shall lift her beautious Head.
“Divinity, in op'ning Volumes, lies,
“O Wigglesworth, to thy enlightned Eyes;
“And Newton's Hand with wond'rous Skill displays
“Nature unveil'd, and shews her lovely Face:
“Long shall the noble Sciences declare
“Thy Bounties, Hollis: and a BURNET's Care.

In Burnet's Face our future Fame appears,
And Arts and Graces lead his flowing Years.
For him, ye Muses, tune immortal Verse,
And mighty Themes, in lofty Lays, rehearse,
Proud in his Praises, wind your golden Strings,
And in high Raptures clap your waving Wings.
Thou Sun, for him, shalt each fair Year adorn,
Bid the Spring blossom, and the Summer burn,
Teach rip'ning Fruits to paint autumnal Scenes,
And smile and blush amidst the living Greens.
Ev'n the rough Winter feigns a youthful Tread;
And, in low Homage, bows his rev'rend Head;
The Northern Tempests shall forget to roar,
And gentle Waves, soft-murmuring, kiss the Shore.

Now Astronomic Tubes aloft shall rise,
Shake off their Dust, and level at the Skies,
Descry new Glories in the shining Spheres,
And Burnet's Name be read on future Stars.
The Pencil now, in wondrous Lines shall flow,
And, warm with Life, bid the touch'd Canvas, glow,

Musick, sweet Daughter of the Choirs above,
Shall, soft-descending, down the Ether move;
With heavenly Airs the breathing Flute inspire,
The Viol string, and bend the warbling Wyre.

But chief, Ye Pages, open to the Light,
Where wond'ring Angels roll their ravish'd Sight;
Ye sacred Pages, easy to his Soul,
Spread the dark Mazes of your mystic Roll.
No more You sleep, hid in an awful Gloom,
Your Shades all scatter, and your Beauties bloom;
Years yet unborn, your op'ning Scenes unfold,
And all your dawning Clouds are edg'd with Gold.
So when the Shekinah, mysterious stood
High o'er Arabia's divided Flood,
(When down the Sands below the Prophet led,
And the Waves foam'd sublime above his Head)
Whilst Clouds and Darkness Egypt's Host amaz'd,
Thro' Israel's Ranks immortal Glory blaz'd.

And Thou, my Muse, assume a joyful Air,
Recall his Candor, and forbid thy Fear;
Tell him You come before the Fount of Day,
And from the Pow'r of Light, demand a Ray:
Gracious, He'll grant the Favour thou hast pray'd,
And fling the Blaze of Glories from his Head.
As on the fragrant Windings of the Shore
Where Persia glitters with her golden Ore,
Up the high Hills the early People rise,
And to the East turn their desiring Eyes,
Till beamy Phœbus guilds the rosey Skies,
Then, all at once, their sounding Shouts unite,
Hail the bright Car, and bless the lovely Light:
Pleas'd with their Prayer, he passes o'er the Land,
And scatters Blessings with a lavish Hand;
The Fields all brighten, as he onward moves,
And his fair Glories flush the gladden'd Groves;
O'er all the Earth the flaming Splendor flows,
And, like a Ruby, all the Ocean glows:
To Burnet thus I sue, He thus complies,
And thus his soft Indulgence sooths my Eyes.

To His Excellency the GOVERNOUR.

Sir,

As Your Excellency has long honoured me with a particular Friendship, Gratitude demands that I attempt your Service: And as you are now in Mourning from the Stroke of Heaven, the greatest Respect I can pay you, is, to assist your Improvement under the Hand of GOD.

In order to this, the Muse has once more resumed her Lyre: And her Aversion to Flattery you will receive as her best Complement. Instead of copious Panegyrick upon the Dead, I have chosen rather, in solemn Language, to admonish the Living; And when others, perhaps, would have embraced so fair an Opportunity for an Encomium on your Excellency, I have only taken the Freedom of an Exhortation. I know you will be pleased to observe, that while I employ the Numbers of the Poet, I never forget the Character of the Divine.

I am, May it please your Excellency, Your Excellency's affectionate Nephew, and most humble Servant, M. BYLES. Boston, October 13. 1736.

His Essay on the Prophesies.

To His Excellency Governour BELCHER, on the Death of His LADY.

Belcher, once more permit the Muse you lov'd,
By honour, and by sacred Friendship mov'd,
Wak'd by your woe, her numbers to prolong,
And pay her tribute in a Funeral song.

From you, great Heav'n with undisputed voice,
Has snatch'd the Partner of your youthful joys.
Her beauties, ere slow Hectick fires consum'd,
Her eyes shone chearful, and her roses bloom'd:
Long ling'ring sickness, broke the lovely form,
Shock after shock, and storm succeeding storm,
Till Death, relentless, siez'd the wasting clay,
Stopt the faint voice, and catch'd the Soul away.

No more in Converse sprightly, she appears,
With nice decorum, and obliging airs:
Ye Poor, no more expecting round her stand,
Where soft compassion stretch'd her bounteous hand:

Her House her happy skill no more shall boast;
“Be all things plentiful, but nothing lost.
Cold to the tomb see the pale corpse convey'd,
Wrapt up in silence, and the dismal shade.

Ah! what avail the sable velvet spread,
And golden ornaments amidst the dead?
No beam smiles there, no eye can there discern
The vulgar coffin from the marble urn:
The costly honours, preaching, seem to say,
“Magnificence must mingle with the clay.

Learn here, ye Fair, the frailty of your face,
Ravish'd by death, or nature's slow decays:
Ye Great, must so resign your transient pow'r,
Heroes of dust, and monarchs of an hour!
So must each pleasing air, each gentle fire,
And all that's soft, and all that's sweet expire.

But you O Belcher, mourn the absent Fair,
Feel the keen pang, and drop the tender tear:
The GOD approves that nature do her part,
A panting bosom, and a bleeding heart.

Ye baser arts of flattery, away!
The Virtuous Muse shall moralize her lay.
To you, o Fav'rite Man, the Pow'r supream
Gives wealth, and titles, and extent of fame;
Joys from beneath, and blessings from above;
Thy Monarch's plaudit; and thy people's love:
The same high Pow'r, unbounded, and alone,
Resumes his gifts, and puts your mourning on.
His Edict issues, and his Vassal, Death,
Requires your Consort's,—or Your flying breath.
Still be your glory at his feet to bend,
Kiss thou the SON, and own his Sov'reign hand;
For his high honours all thy pow'rs exert,
The gifts of Nature, and the charms of Art:
So over Death the conquest shall be giv'n,
Your Name shall live on earth, your Soul in heav'n.

Mean time my Name to thine ally'd shall stand,
Still our warm Friendship, mutual flames extend;
The Muse shall so survive from age to age,
And Belcher's name protect his Byles's page.

To Pollio, on his preparing for the Press a Treatise against the Romish Church.

Long had the Romish Darkness mock'd the Eyes,
And Smoke and Locusts hover'd round the Skies;
Like some dire Plague th' infectious Errors run,
They stalk'd thro' Midnight, and devour'd at Noon.
Confederate Schools secur'd the dark Retreats,
With sacred Lies, and consecrated Cheats;
Amazing Change! Obedient to the Priest,
Bread leaps to Flesh and omnipresent Paste!
To fill their Coffers all their Fancies team;
Ev'n Purgatory proves a golden Dream;

All Merchandise thro' their wide Market rolls,
From rotten Carcasses, to humane Souls.

'Tis thine, O Pollio, in just Rage to rise,
And from the Monster snatch the thin Disguise,
With skilful Hand the fraudful Schemes display,
And all the bold Imposture open lay.
How strong thy Pages are in massy Sense,
Vast Hoards of Thought, and manly Eloquence!
Extensive Learning, and in Reas'ning cool,
And, like thy Conversation, rich and full!

Thy Conversation!—here the Muse could stay,
And in big Pleasures smile the Hours away.
The Muse familiar, shall the State forget.
The Schools, the Court, and secret Cabinet,
But milder Numbers shall in Thee commend
The gentle, and the condescending Friend.
If, in grave Words, you sacred Thoughts bestow,
A deep Attention sets on ev'ry Brow;
If thro' the Sciences your Fancy strays,
With Joy we follow thro' the flow'ry Maze;

Or if you Mirth, and hum'rous Airs assume,
An universal Laughter shakes the Room.
Each comes with Pleasure; while he stays admires;
Goes with Regret, nor unimprov'd retires.

Forgive me, Pollio, if the forward Muse,
Forgets her Rank, and too familiar grows:
Forgive, if she ambitious should relate,
How free you talk, how intimate I set;
O let my Name with thine together stand,
And let me boast the Honours of thy Friend,
My Name, by Thee shall last to future Days,
And Pollio's Page protect his Byles's Lays.

On the Death of the Queen.

To His Excellency Governour Belcher.

While from each Soul the Sorrows copious flow,
And weeping Nations heave with mighty Woe;

Whilst ev'ry Lyre to mournful Notes is strung,
And Carolina flutters on each Tongue:
The mourning Muse, to Consolation deaf,
Swells the sad Consort with melodious Grief.
Ten flow'ry Springs on golden Plumes have flown,
Since she, triumphant, hail'd thee on thy Throne.
Oh Caroline! Oh Princess now no more!
Each Heart bleeds inward, and all Eyes deplore.
Stretch'd pale in Death thy lovely Limbs are laid,
Thy Beauty, Albion, and thy Joys are fled!
To Thee, our Tears their filial Torrents bring,
And ev'ry Passion opens ev'ry Spring:
Lost to Despair, in wild Laments we moan,
And distant Regions echo Groan for Groan.

'Twas she, adorn'd by Virtue's heav'nly Charms,
In rosey Beauty bless'd her Prince's Arms;
Her Lover with a pious Eye she view'd,
And Cæsar at her Feet successless su'd:

Imperial Purple her calm Eyes disdain,
And Roman Eagles wav'd their Wings in vain;
Inspir'd, Religion's Dictates to discharge,
She gave her self to Britain, and to George.

Say, rais'd Britannia, how her gentle Air
Adorn'd the Palace, and improv'd the Fair.
Discord, and Party-Rage grew tame, to gaze,
And noisy Factions clamour'd in her Praise.
Domestick Life th' illustrious Pattern grac'd;
On royal Milk the royal Infants feast:
Form'd by her Hands the Monarch-Race were seen,
The rip'ning Hero, and the future Queen.
Far from vain Courts her silent Footsteps roam,
Where chosen Volumes deck'd the sacred Dome:
Still loud Applauses of the joyful Age,
Pursu'd her thro' the lonely Hermitage.
Here, in high Raptures, her immortal Mind,
O'er Newton's Orbs expatiates, unconfin'd;
Familiar Guest! she visits all the Skies,
From World to World, from Sun to Sun she flies!

Thence smiles at mimick Crowns which Sultans wear
In the mock Empires of this little Star.

Such was the Queen! she was—but is no more!—
Wide wounds the Woe, and spreads from Shore to Shore;
Groans the hoarse Ocean as the Tydings fly,
Wave roars to Wave, and Rocks to Rocks reply,
She was, but is no more—lost all Relief!
Now all her Graces greaten all our Grief.
Ev'n our far Land it's Anguish loud proclaims,
We felt her Influence, and we bless'd her Beams.

But, BELCHER, first in Grief as in Command;
With early Zeal you kiss'd her beauteous land;
Your Honours to the destin'd Queen you paid,
Ere the Crown flash'd, far-beaming, on her Head.
The Muse reluctant, by your Order sings,
Else had she silent wept, and broke her Strings.
What Fame to us reports, by you were seen,
The Glance attractive, the majestick Mein,

The Angel-Form each milder Feature wears,
That Look obliging, those descending Airs.
Collected in her Innocence she stood,
Devout to Heav'n, to Men divinely Good,
You saw—now see the fated End of all:
How the Fair fades, and how the Mighty fall.

See the Pale Cheek its faded Blush resign,
The dying Eyes with transient Lustre shine;
Hoarse the sunk Voice, the Breast no longer warm,
And Death gains fast o'er ev'ry mortal Charm.
O Virtue! now thy Joys are all sincere!
Th' exulting Queen demands the final Pray'r,
(Eternal Glories op'ning to her View,)
Waves her gay Hand, and bids the Globe adieu.

See, in the regal Vaults, the shatter'd Lead,
Whose gaping Seams disclose the royal Dead.
Were these, O Muse, triumphant Sov'reigns once!
This Skin all shrivel'd! and these naked Bones!
No more resentful, great Eliza, rest,
Support in Peace the Scottish Mary's Chest!

Whilst fast by William's and Maria's Shrine,
We place the Dust of heav'nly Caroline.
Ye living, hear what mould'ring Monarchs say!
“For endless Joys give mortal Dreams away.

To the Reverend Dr. WATTS, on his Divine POEMS.

I.

Say, smiling Muse, what heav'nly Strain
Forbids the Waves to roar;
Comes gently gliding o'er the Main,
And charms our list'ning Shore!

II.

What Angel strikes the trembling Strings;
And whence the golden Sound!
Or is it Watts—or Gabriel sings
From yon celestial Ground?

III.

'Tis Thou, Seraphick Watts, thy Lyre
Plays soft along the Floods;
Thy Notes, the ans'wring Hills inspire,
And bend the waving Woods.

IV.

The Meads, with dying Musick fill'd,
Their smiling Honours show,
While, whisp'ring o'er each fragrant Field,
The tuneful Breezes blow.

V.

The Rapture sounds in ev'ry Trace,
Ev'n the rough Rocks regale,
Fresh flow'ry Joys flame o'er the Face
Of ev'ry laughing Vale.

VI.

And Thou, my Soul, the Transport own,
Fir'd with immortal Heat;
While dancing Pulses driving on,
About thy Body beat.

VII.

Long as the Sun shall rear his Head,
And chase the flying Glooms,
As blushing from his nuptial Bed
The gallant Bridegroom comes:

VIII.

Long as the dusky Ev'ning flies
And sheds a doubtful Light,
While sudden rush along the Skies
The sable Shades of Night:

IX.

O Watts, thy sacred Lays so long
Shall ev'ry Bosom fire;
And ev'ry Muse, and ev'ry Tongue
To speak thy Praise conspire.

X.

When thy fair Soul shall on the Wings
Of shouting Seraphs rise,
And with superior Sweetness sings
Amid thy native Skies;

XI.

Still shall thy lofty Numbers flow,
Melodious and divine;
And Choirs above, and Saints below,
A deathless Chorus! join.

To our far Shores the Sound shall roll,
(So Philomela sung)
And East to West, and Pole to Pole
Th' eternal Tune prolong.

To Pictorio, on the Sight of his Pictures.

Ages our Land a barbarous Desart stood,
And savage Nations howl'd in ev'ry Wood;
No laurel'd Art o'er the rude Region smil'd,
Nor bless'd Religion dawn'd amidst the Wild;
Dulness and Tyranny confederate reign'd,
And Ignorance her gloomy State maintain'd.

An hundred Journies now the Earth has run,
In annual Circles, round the central Sun,
Since the first Ship the unpolish'd Letters bore
Thro' the wide Ocean to the barb'rous Shore.
Then Infant-Science made it's early Proof,
Honest, sincere, tho' unadorn'd, and rough;
Still thro' a Cloud the rugged Stranger shone,
Politeness, and the softer Arts unknown:

No heavenly Pencil the free Stroke could give,
Nor the warm Canvass felt its Colours live.
No moving Rhet'rick rais'd the ravish'd Soul,
Flourish'd in Flames, or heard it's Thunder roll;
Rough horrid Verse, harsh, grated thro' the Ear,
And jarring Discords tore the tortur'd Air;
Solid, and grave, and plain the Country stood,
Inelegant, and rigorously good.

Each Year, succeeding, the rude Rust devours,
And softer Arts lead on the following Hours;
The tuneful Nine begin to touch the Lyre,
And flowing Pencils light the living Fire;
In the fair Page new Beauties learn to shine,
The Thoughts to brighten, and the Style refine,
Till the great Year the finish'd Period brought;
Pictorio painted, and Mæcenas wrote.

Thy Fame, Pictorio, shall the Muse rehearse,
And sing her Sister-Art in softer Verse:
'Tis your's, great Master, in just Lines to trace
The rising Prospect, or the lovely Face.

In the fair Round to swell the glowing Cheek,
Give Thought to Shades, and teach the Paints to speak.
Touch'd by thy Hand, how Sylvia's Charms engage!
And Flavia's Features smile thro' ev'ry Age.
In Clio's Face, th' attentive Gazer spies
Minerva's reasoning Brow, and azure Eyes,
Thy Blush, Belinda, future Hearts shall warm,
And Celia shine in Citherea's Form.
In hoary Majesty, see Cato here;
Fix'd strong in Thought, there Newton's Lines appear;
Here in full Beauty blooms the charming Maid;
Here Roman Ruins nod their awful Head;
Here gloting Monks their am'rous Rights debate,
The Italian Master sits in easy State,
Vandike and Rubens show their rival Forms,
And Cæsar flashes in the Blaze of Arms.

But cease, fond Muse, nor the rude Lays prolong,
A thousand Wonders must remain unsung;

Crowds of new Beings lift their wond'ring Heads,
In conscious Forms, and animated Shades.
What Sounds can speak, to ev'ry Figure just,
The breathing Statue, and the living Bust?
Landskips how gay! arise in ev'ry Light,
And fresh Creations rush upon the Sight;
Thro' fairy Scenes the roving Fancy strays,
Lost in the endless, visionary Maze.

Still, wondrous Artist, let thy Pencil flow,
Still, warm with Life, thy blended Colours glow,
Raise the ripe Blush, bid the quick Eye-balls roll
And call forth every Passion of the Soul.
Let thy soft Shades in mimick Figures play,
Steal on the Heart, and catch the Mind away.
Yet Painter, on the kindred Muse attend,
The Poet ever proves the Painter's Friend.
In the same Studies Nature we pursue,
I the Description touch, the Picture you;
The same gay Scenes our beauteous Works adorn,
The purple Ev'ning, or the flamy Morn:

Now, with bold Hand, we strike the strong Design;
Mature in Thought, now soften every Line;
Now, unrestrain'd, in freer Airs surprize,
And sudden, at our Word, new World's arise.
In gen'rous Passion let our Breasts conspire,
As is the Fancy's, be the Friendship's Fire;
Alike our Labour, and alike our Flame:
'Tis thine to raise the Shape; 'tis mine to fix the Name.

EPITAPH.

Beneath, the Prophet lays his rev'rend Head,
Amid, these awful Mansions of the Dead.
No more the Patriot shall assert the Laws,
Nor in the Senate plead his Country's Cause:
Around the Church, no more the list'ning Throng,
Gaze on his Eyes, and hang upon his Tongue:
No more his healing Hand shall Health restore,
Elude the Grave, and baffle Death no more.

In Eden's flow'ry Vales the Spirit roves,
Where Streams of Life roll thro' immortal Groves:
Fix'd in deep Slumbers, here the Dust is giv'n,
'Till the last Trumpet shake the Frame of Heav'n:
Then fresh to Life the waking Saint shall rise,
And in new Triumphs glitter up the Skies;
With smiling Joys, and heav'nly Honours crown'd,
Bid endless Ages wheel their mighty Round.

EPITAPH.

So fades the Fair, the transient Roses fled,
(No Charms but Virtue bloom around the Dead)
The Patriot so forgets his Land's Defence,
His fine Address, and flowing Eloquence:
“Ye Living, learn; Your Graces so consume,
“Beauty and Genius mingle in the Tomb.

EPITAPH.

Reader, such as Thou art, such once She stood,
As soft, ingenious, beautiful and good;
Such as She is Thou quickly must become,
Stiff, senseless, loathsome, mould'ring in a Tomb:
Yet shall These Limbs with Charms renew'd ascend,
Bright from the Dust, and by the Grave refin'd;
“Like Her be Virtuous, You like Her shall shine
“Young, fair, gay, active, deathless and divine.

EPITAPH.

Probus beneath in peaceful Slumber lies;
Probus, the just, the active, and the wise.
His manly Frame contain'd an equal Mind,
Faithful to GOD, and gen'rous to Mankind.
High in his Country's Honours long he stood,
Succour'd Distress, and gave the Hungry Food.

Written in the Blank Leaf of a POEM intitled Ætna.

That first of Beauties in your Numbershines,
You suit your Theme with correspondent Lines.
As sounding Etna thunders from below,
And Smoke, majestick, hovers round its Brow,
While its tall Head shines with eternal Snow:

Each various Scene your answ'ring Lines unfold,
So rough you write, so cloudy, and so cold.

The following Epigram was written upon a Pile of Building, erected in Paris by Louis XIVth after the Peace with Queen Anne.

Par domus hæc Urbi est, Urbs orbi: neutra triumphis
Et belli et pacis, par, Ludovice, tuis.

Answer'd.

Vates est Mendax, Versus mentitur uterque,
Nam minor urbs orbe est et minor urbe domus.

Verbera tot Verax habeat, quot præmia Mendax,
Sic quæ non meruit præmia uterque feret.
Utraque si injusta est Merces, erit utraque juri
Et belli et pacis, par, Ludovice, tuo.

Translated.

This Palace like a City lifts its Heads,
And like a World the ample City spreads.
O Louis how thy Monuments increase?
Alike thy Trophies both of War and Peace!

The Answer.

How far from Truth the shameless Bard declines!
And like Him lie his ignominious Lines.
In the wide World the lesser City stands,
And less than That the boasted Pile ascends.

Now, for these Truths, had I as many Stripes,
As for his Lies the flatt'ring Poet bribes,
O Louis, 'twould to future Times declare
Alike thy Justice both of Peace and War.

100

The Conflagration.

In some calm Midnight, when no whisp'ring Breeze
Waves the tall Woods, or curls th' undimpled Seas,
Lull'd on their oazy Beds, the Rivers seem
Softly to murmur in a pleasing Dream;
The shaded Fields confess a still Repose,
And on each Hand the dewy Mountains drowse:
Mean time the Moon, fair Empress of the Night!
In solemn Silence sheds her silver Light,
While twinkling Stars their glimm'ring Beauties shew,
And wink perpetual o'er the heav'nly blue:
Sleep nodding, consecrates the Deep serene,
And spreads her brooding Wings o'er all the dusky Scene:
Thro' the fine Æther moves no single Breath;
But all is hush as in the Arms of Death.

At once, Great GOD! thy dire Command is giv'n,
That the last Tempest shake the Frame of Heav'n.

101

Strait thick'ning Clouds in gloomy Volumes rise,
Gather on Heaps, and blacken in the Skies;
Sublime through Heav'n, redoubling Thunders roll,
And gleamy Lightnings flash from Pole to Pole.
Old Ocean with presaging Horror rores,
And rousing Earthquakes rumble round the Shores;
Ten thousand Terrors o'er the Globe are hurl'd,
And gen'ral Dread alarms a guilty World.

But Oh! what Glory breaks the scatt'ring Glooms?
Lo! down the op'ning Skies, he comes! he comes!
The Judge descending Flames along the Air;
And shouting Myriads pour around his Car:
Each ravish'd Seraph labours in his Praise,
And Saints, alternate, catch th' immortal Lays;
Here in melodious Strains blest Voices sing,
Here warbling Tubes, and here the vocal String,
Here from sweet Trumpets silver Accents rise
And the shril Clangour echo's round the Skies.

102

And now, O Earth! thy final Doom attend,
In awful Silence meet thy fiery End.
Lo! rising radiant from his burning Throne,
The God-Head, thund'ring, calls the Ruins on.
“Curst Earth polluted with the Prophets Blood,
“Thou, the vile Murd'rer of the Son of GOD,
“Full ripe for Vengeance, Vengeance be thy due,
“Perish in Flames, refine, and rise anew.
Thus as he speaks, all Nature owns the GOD,
Quiver the Plains, the lofty Mountains nod,
The hollow winding Caverns echo round,
And Earth, and Sea, and Air, and Heav'n resound.

Now ratt'ling on, tremendous Thunder rolls,
And loudly crashing, shakes the distant Poles.
O'er the thick Clouds, amazing Lightnings glare,
Flames flash at Flames, and vibrate through the Air.
Roaring Vulcanoes murmur for their Prey,
And from their Mouth curls the black Smoke away.

103

Deep groans the Earth, at its approaching Doom,
While in slow Pomp the mighty Burnings come.
As when dark Clouds rise slowly from the Main,
Then, in swift Sluices, deluge all the Plain,
Descending headlong down the Mountains sides,
A thousand Torrents roll their foamy Tides,
The rushing Rivers rapid roar around,
And all the Shores return the dashing sound:
Thus awful, slow, the fiery Deluge low'rs,
Thus rushes down, and thus resounding rores.

But O! what Sounds are able to convey
The wild Confusions of the dreadful Day!
Eternal Mountains totter on their Base,
And strong Convulsions work the Valley's Face.
Fierce Hurricanes on sounding Pinions soar,
Rush o'er the Land, on the toss'd Billows rore,
And dreadful in resistless Eddies driv'n,
Shake all the Crystal Battlements of Heav'n.
See the wild Winds, big blust'ring in the Air,
Drive thro' the Forests, down the Mountains tare,
Sweep o'er the Vallies in their rapid Course,
And Nature bends beneath th' impetuous Force.

104

Storms rush at Storms, at Tempests Tempests rore,
Dash Waves on Waves, and thunder to the Shore.
Columns of Smoke on heavy Wings ascend,
And dancing Sparkles fly before the Wind.
Devouring Flames, wide-waving, rore aloud,
And melted Mountains form a fiery Flood:
Then, all at once, immense, the Fires arise,
A bright Destruction wraps the crackling Skies:
While all the Elements to melt conspire,
And the World blazes in the final Fire.

Yet shall ye, Flames, the wasting Globe refine,
And bid the Skies with purer Splendour shine;
The Earth, which the prolifick Fires consume,
To Beauty burns, and withers into Bloom;
Improving in the fertile Flame it lies,
Fades into Form, and into Vigour dies:
Fresh-dawning Glories blush amidst the Blaze,
And Nature all renews her flow'ry Face.
With endless Charms the everlasting Year
Rolls round the Seasons in a full Career;
Spring, ever blooming, bids the Fields rejoyce,
And warbling Birds try their melodious Voice;

105

Where-e'er she treads, Lillies unbidden blow,
Quick Tulips rise, and sudden Roses glow:
Her Pencil paints a thousand beauteous Scenes,
Where Blossoms bud amid immortal Greens,
Each Stream, in Mazes, murmurs as it flows,
And floating Forests gently bend their Boughs.
Thou, Autumn, too, sitt'st in the fragrant Shade,
While the ripe Fruits blush all around thy Head:
And lavish Nature, with luxuriant Hands,
All the soft Months, in gay Confusion, blends.

The holy Nation here transported roves
Beneath the spreading Honours of the Groves,
And pleas'd, attend, descending down the Hills,
The murm'ring Musick of the running Rills.
Anthems divine by ev'ry Harp are play'd,
And the soft Musick warbles thro' the Shade.

Hither, my Lyre, thy soft Assistance bring,
And let sweet Accents leap from String to String;
Join the bright Chorus of the future Skies,
While all around loud Hallelujah's rise,
And to the tuneful Lays the echoing Vault replies.

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This blessed Hope, my ravish'd Mind inspires,
And through my Bosom flash the sacred Fires:
No more my Heart it's growing Joy contains,
But driving Transports rush along my Veins;
I feel a Paradise within my Breast,
And seem already of a Heav'n possess'd.

ETERNITY.

No more of murm'ring Streams, or shady Groves,
Of fleecy Flocks, or of their Shepherds Loves;
No more fair Myra, on thy Name I'll dwell,
Nor in soft Notes to you my Passion tell:
These trifling Themes, no more shall tempt my Tongue,
A nobler Subject asks th' advent'rous Song;
Scenes of eternal Wonders court my Eyes,
And bid the Muse on soaring Pinions rise.

As in the Stars their lanquid Lights decay,
When the full Sun bursts forth and pours the Day,
So from my Mind the meaner Topicks run,
When vast Eternity comes rolling on.

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Eternity, O thou unfathom'd Deep,
In thy dark Womb, what hidden Wonders sleep?
How am I lost in thee! who can explain
The past Revolvings of thy mazy Reign?
Or who his Mind is able to dilate
To the long Periods of thy future Date?
Strange Labyrinths my puz'led Soul confound,
And winde mysterious in an endless Round.

Before this System own'd the central Sun;
Or Earth its Race about its Orbit run,
When Light ne'er dawn'd, nor Form display'd its Face,
But shapeless Matter fill'd th' unmeasur'd Space;
E'er Chaos self with jarring Discords rung
Or the rude Elements were together flung;
Then, then, Eternity, thy Pow'r was known,
Then did'st thou sit on thy unshaken Throne,
Thy Scepter flourish'd, never to decay;
Immensity the Kingdom of thy Sway.

Anon, Creation rose in infant Bloom,
And smiling Light dispel'd the horrid Gloom.

108

Heav'ns mighty Vault was like a Curtain thrown,
Where the Stars twinkled, and the Ether shone.
Time leap'd to Life, and sped his March from far,
Seated on Motion, his triumphal Car;
Through all the Worlds of Light his Axil rung,
And rolling Wheels resistless smok'd along—
Yet, O Eternity, all Time to Thee,
Is a small Bark that floats in an unbounded Sea.

But, O my Muse, with wondring Eyes, behold
Scenes that remain, and Ages yet untold.
Look! where Duration yet unborn appears,
In the long Train of still succeeding Years!
The vast Extension stretches unconfin'd,
My Thoughts perplexes, and o'erpow'rs my Mind.

The Day shall come when this stupendous Ball
Shall haste to Ruins, and to nothing fall.
When Thou, Great GOD, shalt in the Clouds descend,
Lift up thy Hand, and swear that Time shall end.

109

Hark! the dread Trumpet breathes the mighty Sound,
The swelling Accents through the Air rebound;
See! the Graves teem; the waking Saints arise;
And the new Bodies glitter up the Skies;
Then the last Flames, commission'd, downward pour,
Melt the rough Rocks, consume the burning Shore,
While the Sea bubbles in its final Roar.
All Nature sinks, and every World destroy'd,
Leaves a waste Darkness, and a tractless Void.
Now fainting Time, in one vast Wreck o'erthrown,
Sinks dying down, and gives its latest Groan;
Eternity who first its Being gave,
Its fruitful Mother once, becomes its Grave:
So Streams which from the Sea their Birth obtain,
Flow swift along, there to be lost again.

But, Oh! what Prospects open to my View!
What distant Scenes, my wond'ring Eyes pursue!
I see the gloomy, ever burning Caves,
Where, in eternal Storms, the melted Brimstone raves;

110

Loud roar the Flames, while rising Cries resound,
And endless Shreeks, and Blasphemies go round:
There Sinners waken from their idle Dreams,
And raging Devils curse the glowing Flames.
There coyls th' Old Serpent, strugling with his Chain,
Still hisses dire, and bites the Brass in vain.
Eternity, thy Breath the Flame inspires,
And adds new Torment to th' incessant Fires.

Far other Scenes my joyful Lays invite,
And heav'nly Visions swim before my Sight,
I hear soft Musick glide along the Air,
And Songs of Seraphs echo in my Ear.
I see the pious Souls with Pleasure crown'd,
And o'er the holy Hills Delights abound.
But Oh! the Raptures which my Pow'rs confess
When Jesus shines in his refulgent Dress!
From his wide Wounds perpetual Streams of Light,
For ever rush, and strike the dazled Sight:
Eternity, here thy high Joys are known,
The top most Gem in the Redeemer's Crown,

111

Ten thousand Raptures by thy Hands are giv'n;
Eternity, Thou art the Heav'n of Heav'n!

Added by a Friend, upon reading the foregoing.

There thou, O Friend, shall join th' Angelick Throng,
(The only Rivals of thy heav'nly Song)
Our Friendship there shall in Perfection shine,
And there, as here, thy Flames shall kindle mine.
There Jesus still shall animate thy Lays,
And thy sweet Tongue still celebrate his Praise.
His Praise, which here so oft thy Muse has sung,
While on thy Lips thy Friends transported hung;
Still ask'd the lofty Musick of thy Lyre,
And from thy Bosom catch'd the deathless Fire;
For, from thy Hand, they own the borrow'd Bays,
And, like my Muse, confess thy gen'rous Rays.
In those bless'd Realms thy heav'n-born Soul shall stand;
And sing superiour in the radiant Band;

112

And while thy Hands the Palm cælestial claim,
Eternity shall consecrate thy Fame.

While this great Thought employs my infant Muse,
And she with flutt'ring Wings the Task pursues,
On you, dear Sir, she casts her anxious Sight,
Indulge, propitious, and assist her Flight;
To you the grateful Offering she would bring,
You claim her Song who form'd her Voice to sing.
Taught by your Rules, by your Example fir'd;
She heard, she learnt, and Instant was inspir'd:
Still by your Influence she exerts her Pow'rs,
And ev'ry varying Note she strikes is yours.
O cou'd I think in such a lofty Vein,
And in just Numbers emulate your Strain,
Had I your Muse which ev'ry Hearer warms,
For ever raises and for ever charms,
Transports your Friends, who urge its heav'nly Airs,
And drink the Harmony with ravish'd Ears,
Then, all melodious should my Accents flow,
Worthy Eternity—and worthy You.

THE END.

University of Virginia Library

The Almighty Conqueror.

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The GOD of Tempest.

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The Complaint and the Consolation.

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The Altogether Lovely.

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The Comparison, the Choice, and the Enjoyment.

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On a very profane Compliment in a noble and devout Poem.

HYMN to CHRIST for our Regeneration and Resurrection.

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GOLIAH'S Defeat. In the Manner of Lucan.

ODE, for Palatine Tune.

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Written in Milton's PARADISE LOST.

To the Memory of a young Commander slain in a Battle with the Indians, 1724.

Written in Dr. Watt's Poems; given to a young Lady.

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