Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
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| IV. |
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| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 2. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
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| VI. |
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 3. | ECSTACIES OF THE ENAMOUR'D SOUL.
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
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| VIII. |
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| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
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 | Pia Desideria |  |
157
ECSTACIES OF THE ENAMOUR'D SOUL.
BOOK the Third.
I.
I charge you, O Daughters of Jerusalem, if you
find my Beloved, that you tell him that I am sick of Love,
Cant. v. 8.
Blest Residents in those bright Courts above
Those Starry Temples where you Sing and Love:
By sacred Verse I you adjure and bind,
If by a happy Chance my Love you find;
To him my strong, my restless Passion bear,
And gently whisper't in his sacred Ear;
How I each Moment in soft Sighs Expire,
And Languish in the Flames of my Desire.
How I am scorch'd in Love's fierce torrid Zone,
As withering Flow'rs before the raging Sun.
158
He shot himself into my Love-sick Breast;
Thro'Blood and Bones the Shaft like Lightning stole,
And with strange Infl'ence seiz'd my melting Soul:
Now in a Flame unquenchable I burn,
And feel my Breast t'another Ætna turn.
If a more full Account he wou'd receive,
(For Lovers always are inquisitive:)
Tell him how Pale, how Lanquishing I look,
And how I fainted when I wou'd have spoke.
If he enquires what pace my Fever moves,
O! tell him, I no Fever feel, but Love's:
Or if he asks what danger of my Death,
Tell him—I cou'd not tell, for want of Breath.
Tell him no Message you from me Relate,
But gasping Sounds, that spoke approaching Fate
Yet, if he questions how in Death I look,
Say how my Beauty has my Face forsook.
Say how I'm strangely all Transform'd with Woe
That he my Suff'rings and their Cause may know.
Tell him I lie seiz'd with a deadly Swound,
A Bloodless Corps stretch'd on the naked Ground.
Tell him my Eyes swim round my dizzy Head,
And on my Breast my feeble Hands are spread,
The Coral of my Lips grow sickly pale,
And on my Cheeks the withering Roses fail;
159
And their Decay shews Nature failing too:
Nor any Signs express remaining Life,
But the worst Symptoms, Sighs that vent my Grief.
And yet I cannot any Reason feign,
Why, tho' unhurt, so often I complain;
Unless some treach'rous Sigh unruly prove,
Betray my blushing Soul, and own 'tis Love.
This, this was sure my Sorrows only cause;
I lov'd, yet knew not what a Lover was.
This from my Breast extorted frequent Sighs,
And prest the Tears from my o'erflowing Eyes.
This was the cause, that when I strove to frame
Remote Discourse, it ended with his Name.
Oh! then —
Tell the lov'd Object of my Thought and Eye,
How I his Martyr and his Victim die.
Distill'd in Love's Alembick, I Expire,
Parch'd up, like Roses, by too warm a Fire;
Or dry'd, like Lilies, which have long in vain
Begg'd the refreshment of a gentle Rain.
Tell him, the cause of all my Grief will prove,
Without his help, my Death; for, oh! 'tis Love.
Tell him, That I am sick of Love, through the great Desire I have of seeing his Face: I endure the weariness of Life, and I can hardly bear the Delay of my present Exile.
Rupert in Cant.
161
II.
Stay me with Flagons, comfort me with Apples, for I am sick of Love,
Cant. ii. 5.
How strangely, Love, dost thou my Will controul?
Thou pleasing Tyrant of my captiv'd Soul!
Oh! wou'dst thou have thy welcom Torments last,
Slacken their Heat, for I consume too fast.
On other Hearts thy fiery Arrows show'r,
For mine (alas!) has now no room for more.
O spare thy own Artill'ry, and my Breath!
For the next Shaft comes wing'd with certain Death:
Oh! I am lost, and from my self estrang'd,
To Love, my Voice; to Love, my Blood is chang'd:
From part to part insensibly he stole,
Till the sly Conqu'ror had subdu'd the whole.
Thou pleasing Tyrant of my captiv'd Soul!
Oh! wou'dst thou have thy welcom Torments last,
Slacken their Heat, for I consume too fast.
On other Hearts thy fiery Arrows show'r,
For mine (alas!) has now no room for more.
O spare thy own Artill'ry, and my Breath!
For the next Shaft comes wing'd with certain Death:
Oh! I am lost, and from my self estrang'd,
To Love, my Voice; to Love, my Blood is chang'd:
From part to part insensibly he stole,
Till the sly Conqu'ror had subdu'd the whole.
Alas! will no one pity my Distress?
Will neither Earth nor Heav'n afford Redress?
Canst Thou, the Author of my Miseries,
Canst Thou behold me with relentless Eyes?
Oh! haste, you bright Inhabitants above,
My Fellow Patients in this Charming Love;
Rifle the Gardens, and disrobe the Fields,
Bring all the Treasure Natures Store-house yields;
Bind fragrant Rose-buds to my Temples first,
Then with cool Apples quench my fiery Thirst.
These may allay the Fever of my Blood.
Oh no! there's nothing, nothing does me good.
Against Loves force what Salve can Roses make,
Since ev'n themselves may hide the pois'nous Snake?
And Apples sure can small assistance give,
In one of them th'Old Serpent did deceive.
O then! to slacken this tormenting Fire,
The Rose of Sharon only I desire:
And for an Apple to asswage my Grief,
Give it, oh! give it from the Tree of Life!
Then strow them gently on my Virgin-Bed!
And as the withering Rose declines it Head,
Compos'd to Death's long Sleep my Rest I'll take,
Dream of my Love, and in his Arms awake.
Will neither Earth nor Heav'n afford Redress?
Canst Thou, the Author of my Miseries,
Canst Thou behold me with relentless Eyes?
162
My Fellow Patients in this Charming Love;
Rifle the Gardens, and disrobe the Fields,
Bring all the Treasure Natures Store-house yields;
Bind fragrant Rose-buds to my Temples first,
Then with cool Apples quench my fiery Thirst.
These may allay the Fever of my Blood.
Oh no! there's nothing, nothing does me good.
Against Loves force what Salve can Roses make,
Since ev'n themselves may hide the pois'nous Snake?
And Apples sure can small assistance give,
In one of them th'Old Serpent did deceive.
O then! to slacken this tormenting Fire,
The Rose of Sharon only I desire:
And for an Apple to asswage my Grief,
Give it, oh! give it from the Tree of Life!
Then strow them gently on my Virgin-Bed!
And as the withering Rose declines it Head,
Compos'd to Death's long Sleep my Rest I'll take,
Dream of my Love, and in his Arms awake.
163
It is certainly a good Languishment, when the Disease is not to Death, but Life, that God may be glorified by it: When that Heat and Fever does not proceed from a consuming, but rather from an improving Fire.
Gislen in Cant. cap. 2.
165
III.
My Beloved is mine, and I am his; he feedeth among the Lilies
Cant. ii. 16.
Blest Souls, whose Hearts burn with such equal Fire,
As never, but together, will Expire!
To your Content I wou'd not Crowns prefer,
For all Heav'ns Blessings are dilated there:
And when with equal Flames two Souls engage,
That happy Minute is Love's golden Age.
Such Bliss I wish'd, when Love at first possest,
And spread his Ensigns o'er my trembling Breast:
How oft I pray'd, whene'er in Love I burn,
Grant me, great Pow'r, to find a just return!
The God return'd this Answer to my Pray'r,
Love first, and never then of Love Despair!
The sudden Sound invades my frightned Ear,
I trembled when I knew the God was near.
Is it thy Will, Almighty Love (I cry'd)
To list a Soldier, in thy Wars untry'd?
'Tis true, my Fellow-Maids have told me long
The promis'd Joys of thy adoring throng:
But oft my Nurse, acquainted with the Cheat,
Told me, 'twas all Delusion and Deceit;
And that the Oracle too true wou'd prove,
Which thus declar'd the ill effects of Love:
“Num'rous as Atho's Hares, or Hybla's Swarms,
“Or as the Shells, or Sands, or Loves Allarms,
“Or Olive-berries on the loaden Tree,
“Abounding still with Fear and Misery.
For still this Fear the Wretches entertain,
Lest all their Love shou'd meet unjust Disdain.
Of happy Lovers no Records can boast;
Their Bliss was Counterfeit, or short at most:
The airy God's unsettled Motion shews
That Love's a Tide that always Ebbs and Flows.
As never, but together, will Expire!
To your Content I wou'd not Crowns prefer,
For all Heav'ns Blessings are dilated there:
And when with equal Flames two Souls engage,
That happy Minute is Love's golden Age.
Such Bliss I wish'd, when Love at first possest,
And spread his Ensigns o'er my trembling Breast:
How oft I pray'd, whene'er in Love I burn,
Grant me, great Pow'r, to find a just return!
The God return'd this Answer to my Pray'r,
Love first, and never then of Love Despair!
The sudden Sound invades my frightned Ear,
I trembled when I knew the God was near.
Is it thy Will, Almighty Love (I cry'd)
To list a Soldier, in thy Wars untry'd?
'Tis true, my Fellow-Maids have told me long
The promis'd Joys of thy adoring throng:
166
Told me, 'twas all Delusion and Deceit;
And that the Oracle too true wou'd prove,
Which thus declar'd the ill effects of Love:
“Num'rous as Atho's Hares, or Hybla's Swarms,
“Or as the Shells, or Sands, or Loves Allarms,
“Or Olive-berries on the loaden Tree,
“Abounding still with Fear and Misery.
For still this Fear the Wretches entertain,
Lest all their Love shou'd meet unjust Disdain.
Of happy Lovers no Records can boast;
Their Bliss was Counterfeit, or short at most:
The airy God's unsettled Motion shews
That Love's a Tide that always Ebbs and Flows.
Go then and trust those dying Flames that will,
Since Love's a wand'rer and uncertain still.
“Than his own Feathers is he lighter far,
“And all his promis'd Faith but empty Air.
By Oaths and Vows let no one be betray'd,
Which vanish in the Breath with which th'are made,
His Cheeks are with unusual Blushes drest,
And his quick Flight, this mighty Truth confest:
And now his Fraud, and Treachery I knew,
To all his Pow'r I bid a last Adieu.
Since Love's a wand'rer and uncertain still.
“Than his own Feathers is he lighter far,
“And all his promis'd Faith but empty Air.
By Oaths and Vows let no one be betray'd,
Which vanish in the Breath with which th'are made,
His Cheeks are with unusual Blushes drest,
And his quick Flight, this mighty Truth confest:
And now his Fraud, and Treachery I knew,
To all his Pow'r I bid a last Adieu.
To Thee, thou Heav'n-born Love, my Soul I'll join,
Be thou my Flame, Dear Lord! and I'll be thine!
While Day and Night successively return,
Our mutual Fires shall never cease to burn,
O the sweet Balm distilling from each Kiss!
How vast the Pleasure, how divine the Bliss!
What new Delights from Heav'nly Love still flow,
They only, who enjoy the Blessing, know.
But, oh! to Love, or be Belov'd of Thee,
Is the great Myst'ry of Felicity:
And, more t'inhance and recommend the Joy,
'Tis such as Time does Heighten, not Destroy.
My Love, my Life in Thee all Hybla's Sweets,
In Thee all Ophir's richest Treasure meets.
With what repeated Exstacies possest,
We vent our Passions in each others Breast!
O how unspeakable's the Bliss to me,
To lose my Self in thoughts of its Eternity!
This Love is subject to no anxious Cares,
Too Blest for Troubles, too secure for Fears.
In Paradises of Delight it feeds,
Where whitest Lilies deck th'enamell'd Meads:
Among which Emblems of our pure Desires,
We in chast Pleasures quench our mutual Fires.
Be thou my Flame, Dear Lord! and I'll be thine!
167
Our mutual Fires shall never cease to burn,
O the sweet Balm distilling from each Kiss!
How vast the Pleasure, how divine the Bliss!
What new Delights from Heav'nly Love still flow,
They only, who enjoy the Blessing, know.
But, oh! to Love, or be Belov'd of Thee,
Is the great Myst'ry of Felicity:
And, more t'inhance and recommend the Joy,
'Tis such as Time does Heighten, not Destroy.
My Love, my Life in Thee all Hybla's Sweets,
In Thee all Ophir's richest Treasure meets.
With what repeated Exstacies possest,
We vent our Passions in each others Breast!
O how unspeakable's the Bliss to me,
To lose my Self in thoughts of its Eternity!
This Love is subject to no anxious Cares,
Too Blest for Troubles, too secure for Fears.
In Paradises of Delight it feeds,
Where whitest Lilies deck th'enamell'd Meads:
Among which Emblems of our pure Desires,
We in chast Pleasures quench our mutual Fires.
Thou who hearest, or readest this, take care to have the Lilies in thee, if thou wouldst have this dweller among the Lilies visit thee.
Bernard. in Cant. Serm. 71.
169
IV.
I am my Beloved's, and his Desire is towards me,
Cant. vii. 10.
Thro' the thick shades of a cool Cypress Grove,
Weeping I wander'd to bewail my Love;
A briny Torrent rowl'd adown my Breast,
And weighty Grief my sinking Soul Opprest.
In my sad Arms an Ivory Lute I bore,
My Sorrows sure Physician heretofore.
Tir'd with my Grief, on a soft Turf I Rest,
And thus unload my over-burthen'd Breast.
Weeping I wander'd to bewail my Love;
A briny Torrent rowl'd adown my Breast,
And weighty Grief my sinking Soul Opprest.
In my sad Arms an Ivory Lute I bore,
My Sorrows sure Physician heretofore.
Tir'd with my Grief, on a soft Turf I Rest,
And thus unload my over-burthen'd Breast.
Must I my Days consume in lonesom Grief,
And cruel Love deny me all Relief?
O let that Curse attend my Enemies,
Be they still Strangers to Love's envy'd Bliss!
“For not to Love, is surely not to Live,
“Since Life's chief Blessings we in Love receive:
“The whole design of Living is to Love,
“And who Loves most, does best his Life improve.
Bodies of Earth down to their Centre tend
And Seeds of Fire to theirs above ascend.
So our soft Hearts to Love are still inclin'd,
Urg'd by a vi'lent impulse of the Mind.
Ev'n mine too, kindled by an innate Flame,
Is eager to deserve a Lover's Name.
But where shall I my kindling Flames impart,
Where yield the Virgin-fortress of my Heart?
Shall I descend to a low mortal Love,
I, the Companion of blest Minds above?
Or shall I with inferiour Creatures Sport,
Whom their Creator not disdains to Court?
No, no my Soul, fix thou thy Thoughts on high?
Thou hast no equal Match beneath the Sky.
My Hymen shall no other Torches bear,
Than what have each been lighted at a Star.
Angels shall my Epithalamium Sing,
Conducting me in Triumph to their King.
Him, Him alone of all I can approve
The noblest Object of the purest Love.
His dear-lov'd Image still salutes my Eye,
Nor can his Absence this Delight deny.
No envious Distance can prevail to part
His dear resembling Impress from my Heart.
With him, methinks, in sweet Discourse I walk,
Pleas'd with the Sound of his imagin'd Talk.
So, by strange sympathy, the faithful Steel
Does the lov'd Pole's magnetick infl'ence feel,
By whose kind Conduct the safe Pilot steers
A steddy Course, till the wish'd Port appears.
So the fond Hyacinth pursues the Sun,
Pleas'd at his Rise, griev'd when his Race is done:
So is He waited on by the pale Moon,
Who from his Beams Reflections guilds her own.
Like these, Almighty Love to Thee I flie;
If thou withdraw'st thy Face, I Pine, I Die.
O then, since all my Joys on that depend,
Let the blest Vision never never end!
And cruel Love deny me all Relief?
O let that Curse attend my Enemies,
Be they still Strangers to Love's envy'd Bliss!
“For not to Love, is surely not to Live,
“Since Life's chief Blessings we in Love receive:
“The whole design of Living is to Love,
“And who Loves most, does best his Life improve.
170
And Seeds of Fire to theirs above ascend.
So our soft Hearts to Love are still inclin'd,
Urg'd by a vi'lent impulse of the Mind.
Ev'n mine too, kindled by an innate Flame,
Is eager to deserve a Lover's Name.
But where shall I my kindling Flames impart,
Where yield the Virgin-fortress of my Heart?
Shall I descend to a low mortal Love,
I, the Companion of blest Minds above?
Or shall I with inferiour Creatures Sport,
Whom their Creator not disdains to Court?
No, no my Soul, fix thou thy Thoughts on high?
Thou hast no equal Match beneath the Sky.
My Hymen shall no other Torches bear,
Than what have each been lighted at a Star.
Angels shall my Epithalamium Sing,
Conducting me in Triumph to their King.
Him, Him alone of all I can approve
The noblest Object of the purest Love.
His dear-lov'd Image still salutes my Eye,
Nor can his Absence this Delight deny.
No envious Distance can prevail to part
His dear resembling Impress from my Heart.
With him, methinks, in sweet Discourse I walk,
Pleas'd with the Sound of his imagin'd Talk.
171
Does the lov'd Pole's magnetick infl'ence feel,
By whose kind Conduct the safe Pilot steers
A steddy Course, till the wish'd Port appears.
So the fond Hyacinth pursues the Sun,
Pleas'd at his Rise, griev'd when his Race is done:
So is He waited on by the pale Moon,
Who from his Beams Reflections guilds her own.
Like these, Almighty Love to Thee I flie;
If thou withdraw'st thy Face, I Pine, I Die.
O then, since all my Joys on that depend,
Let the blest Vision never never end!
172
The same, by another Hand.
A Cypress Grove (whose melancholy shadeTo sute the Temper of the sad was made.)
I chose for my Retreat, there laid me down,
Hoping my Sorrows in my Tears to drown:
They vainly flow'd; and now o'rewhelm'd with Grief,
From Musicks charming Sounds I sought Relief.
This Song Compos'd, I strike my Lyre, and Sing,
Soft Notes rebounding from each Silver String.
Ah! shall my wasted days no Passion Crown;
And must my empty years roul useless on!
So hard a fate I'd wish my greatest Foes!
He lives not, who the flames of Love ne'er knows:
Stupid his Soul lies hid in darkest Night,
Who is not chear'd with Love's transpiercing Light:
He bears no Image of the God above,
Whose icy Breast's insensible to Love.
The pond'rous Earth, by'ts proper weight deprest,
Beneath all other Elements doth rest;
While pointed Flames do thro' the solid Mass
Force their bright way, and unresisted pass:
So thro' the solid lump of Man, the Soul
Sends forth those Fires that all the Frame controul;
173
Where-e're those Flames direct th'obedient Clay.
And now I feel an unknown warmth all o'er;
I burn, I melt, but know not from what Pow'r:
These sharp quick Fires are urg'd thro' ev'ry Vein,
Mingling at once such Pleasure and such Pain.
Ah! whither will this furious Passion drive?
(In vain against Love's raging force we strive.)
Shall my aspiring Soul, like vulgar Hearts,
Complain of shameful Wounds from Cupid's Darts?
If I shou'd be embrac'd by mortal Arms,
They'd fade my Beauties, fully all my Charms:
My rising Mind soars vast Degrees above
Terrestrial Charms, they're much beneath my Love:
These gross Desires my purer Soul disdains;
She'll be His Spouse who ev'ry Being frames.
Agnes, of Rome the Wonder and the Pride,
Her Charms to an Ausonian Youth deny'd,
And in these Terms refus'd to be his Bride:
“If I have kindled Fires within your Breast,
“I cannot Grant, but Pity your Request:
“Nor can you justly my Refusal blame,
“Since I burn with a much Diviner Flame;
“For my Creator hath engag'd my Heart,
“My Soul from such a Spouse can ne'er depart:
174
“And at this Distance He's my sole Delight:
“In Absence we Converse; I speak in Pray'rs,
“And he in Absence Charms my listning Ears.
So by the Loadstones unseen wondrous force
The faithful Needle steers the Seaman's Course:
Tow'rds its lov'd North it constantly doth rise,
Guiding their secret Course where-e'er it lies.
So does the Flow'r of Phœbus twice a Day
Turn tow'rds her Sun, and her glad Leaves Display.
Fair Cynthia thus regards her Brother's Beams,
Renews her Beauty from his borrow'd Flames.
I am thy Clytie (Spouse) thou art my Sun,
I Cynthia, always tow'rds thy Light must run.
My Spouse, my Helice, with longing I
(Where-e're thou draw'st) tow'rds thee in Raptures flie.
What wonder if in mutual Love We burn,
Since Steel can tow'rds the senseless Loadstone turn?
175
My Heart passes through many Things, seeking about where it may take its Rest; but finds nothing that pleases it, till it returns to God.
Bernard. Medit. cap. 9.
177
V.
My Soul melted as my Beloved spoke,
Cant. v. 6.
What Hills, what Rocks, what Deserts have I trod,
Only for one short view of Thee, my God?
How for one Word from those dear Lips of Thine,
My Feet a tiresom Pilgrimage injoin!
O'er craggy Rocks of such stupendious height,
Th'ascent does ev'n the climbing Deer afright:
Yet cannot my unwearied Haste delay,
For mighty Love conducts me all the way.
Tho' from these heights I all Things else descry.
The dear-lov'd Object shuns my longing Eye.
Distracted then, thro' ev'ry Den I rave,
Search each Recess, and visit ev'ry Cave.
In vain those unfrequented Paths I wear,
I only find thou art a Stranger there.
Sometimes into the open Plain I rove,
But there am lost in Error as in Love.
To Heav'n I look, and thro' the Fields complain,
But both unkindly answer not again.
178
There on my Love (but still in vain) I call.
Not far from hence a close thick Covert grows,
Where panting Beasts fly for a cool Repose:
Here, here, said I, perhaps He's laid to rest;
But, oh! no sign of Thee was here imprest.
Then, stung with Passion and o'erwhelm'd with Grief,
I coast the Shoar, and thence expect Relief.
Here a high Tow'r exalts its lofty Head,
By whose kind Light the wandring Sailor's led:
Here I ascend, and view the Ocean round,
While my Complaints o'er all the Shoar resound:
Tell me, you Shoars, you Seas, and tell me true,
Is not my Love conceal'd in some of You?
As to each other you wou'd constant be,
Discover, and be just to Love and Me!
Scarce had the Shoar receiv'd the mournful Noise
When it return'd a loud redoubled Voice:
But that some sporting Eccho I believe,
That fools the Wretch'd, and dallies with their Grief.
Again the Shoar I rend; the Shoar does hear,
And the kind Voice again salutes my Ear;
A Voice, a well-known Voice! 'twas Thine, my Life,
Whose pleasing Accents soon dispell'd my Grief.
Now I reviv'd: One such immortal Breath
Had pow'r enough to rescue me from Death.
179
By a strange infl'ence thro' the Soul can melt.
So thy Disciples Hearts were fir'd within,
When on the way thou didst Discourse begin;
The secret Charms of Thy prevailing Voice
Caus'd unaccountable, yet mighty Joys.
'Twas the same Heav'nly Sound that answer'd me,
And all dissolv'd me into Exstacy,
That kindled such a Fire within my Soul,
Whose ardent Heat an Ocean cannot cool.
See how my melting Passions hast and run,
Like Virgin-wax before the scorching Sun!
O might I be so Blest to mix with Thee,
Our Life the same, the same our Love shou'd be.
What is this that I feel? What Fire is it that warms my Heart? What Light is it that enlightens it? O thou Fire which always burnest, and art never extinguished! do thou inflame me!
Aug. Soliloq. cap. 34.
181
VI.
Whom have I in Heaven but thee? And there is none upon Earth that I desire in comparison of thee,
Psal. lxxiii. 24.
What shall I seek, great God, in Heav'n above,
Or Earth, or Sea, whereon to fix my Love?
Tho' I shou'd ransack Heav'n, and Earth, and Sea,
All they can boast, is nothing without Thee.
Or Earth, or Sea, whereon to fix my Love?
Tho' I shou'd ransack Heav'n, and Earth, and Sea,
All they can boast, is nothing without Thee.
I know what mighty Joys in Heav'n abound,
What Treasures in the Earth and Sea are found;
Yet without Thee, my Love! t'enrich their Store,
All, all their Glories are but Mean and Poor.
O Heav'n! O Earth! O vast capacious Main!
Three famous Realms where Wealth and Plenty reign!
Tho' in one heap your triple Pleasures lay,
They were no Pleasures, were my Lord away.
My Thoughts, I own, have often rang'd the Deep,
Search'd Earth and Heav'n, and in no Bounds wou'd keep;
But when they wandred the Creation round,
No equal Object in the Whole they found.
Sometimes I thought to rip the pregnant Earth,
And give its rich and long-born Burthen Birth;
Gold, Silver, Brass, Seeds of the shining Vein,
And each bright Product of the fertile Mine:
For these we dig and tear our Mother's Womb,
Till for our boundless Treasures we want room:
To what advantage? Tho', o'ercharg'd with Gold,
Your bursting Coffers can't their Burthen hold;
Yet this can ne'er your troubled Mind appease,
Nor buy your Sorrows ev'n a Minutes ease.
What Treasures in the Earth and Sea are found;
Yet without Thee, my Love! t'enrich their Store,
All, all their Glories are but Mean and Poor.
O Heav'n! O Earth! O vast capacious Main!
Three famous Realms where Wealth and Plenty reign!
Tho' in one heap your triple Pleasures lay,
They were no Pleasures, were my Lord away.
My Thoughts, I own, have often rang'd the Deep,
Search'd Earth and Heav'n, and in no Bounds wou'd keep;
But when they wandred the Creation round,
No equal Object in the Whole they found.
182
And give its rich and long-born Burthen Birth;
Gold, Silver, Brass, Seeds of the shining Vein,
And each bright Product of the fertile Mine:
For these we dig and tear our Mother's Womb,
Till for our boundless Treasures we want room:
To what advantage? Tho', o'ercharg'd with Gold,
Your bursting Coffers can't their Burthen hold;
Yet this can ne'er your troubled Mind appease,
Nor buy your Sorrows ev'n a Minutes ease.
Here disappointed, to the Deep I go,
Whose secret Chambers dusky Indians know.
Pleas'd with its Gemmy store my Self to load,
I dive, and visit its conceal'd abode:
Then the scarce Burret seek, whose Bloods rich dye
Is the great Ornament of Majesty.
Then scatter'd Pearls I gather on the Shoar
Where rich Hydaspes casts his shining Oar.
Whose secret Chambers dusky Indians know.
Pleas'd with its Gemmy store my Self to load,
I dive, and visit its conceal'd abode:
Then the scarce Burret seek, whose Bloods rich dye
Is the great Ornament of Majesty.
Then scatter'd Pearls I gather on the Shoar
Where rich Hydaspes casts his shining Oar.
Alas! these Jewels brought from several Coasts
All that each River, or the Ocean boasts;
The Saphyr, Jasper, and the Chrysolite,
Can't quench my Thirst, or stay my Appetite.
Then, since the Earth and Sea content deny,
Heav'ns lofty Fabrick I resolve to try.
With wonder I the vast Machine survey,
With glorious Stars all studded, bright and gay:
Amaz'd their still unalter'd Course I view,
And how their daily Motions they renew.
But among all the Pensile-fires above,
None warm'd my Breast, none rais'd my Soul to Love:
But I beheld at distance from below;
Then farewel Earth, up to their Orbs I go.
Now less'ning Cities leave my distant Sight,
And now the Earths whole Globe is vanish'd quite;
Above the Sun and Planets I am born,
And their inferior Influences scorn.
Now the bright pavement of the Stars I tread,
Once the high cov'ring of my humble Head.
Now o'er the lofty flaming Wall I flie,
And Heav'ns bright Court lies open to my Eye.
Now curious Crowds of the Wing'd Quire above
Tow'rds the new Guest with dazling Splendor move:
Hymns well compos'd to Ayres Divine they Sing,
New tune their Harps, and scrue up ev'ry String;
Then in brisk Notes triumphant Anthems play,
While Heav'n resounds, as if 'twere Holy-day.
All that each River, or the Ocean boasts;
The Saphyr, Jasper, and the Chrysolite,
Can't quench my Thirst, or stay my Appetite.
Then, since the Earth and Sea content deny,
Heav'ns lofty Fabrick I resolve to try.
183
With glorious Stars all studded, bright and gay:
Amaz'd their still unalter'd Course I view,
And how their daily Motions they renew.
But among all the Pensile-fires above,
None warm'd my Breast, none rais'd my Soul to Love:
But I beheld at distance from below;
Then farewel Earth, up to their Orbs I go.
Now less'ning Cities leave my distant Sight,
And now the Earths whole Globe is vanish'd quite;
Above the Sun and Planets I am born,
And their inferior Influences scorn.
Now the bright pavement of the Stars I tread,
Once the high cov'ring of my humble Head.
Now o'er the lofty flaming Wall I flie,
And Heav'ns bright Court lies open to my Eye.
Now curious Crowds of the Wing'd Quire above
Tow'rds the new Guest with dazling Splendor move:
Hymns well compos'd to Ayres Divine they Sing,
New tune their Harps, and scrue up ev'ry String;
Then in brisk Notes triumphant Anthems play,
While Heav'n resounds, as if 'twere Holy-day.
O glorious Mansions fill'd with shining Fires!
O Courts fit only for your Starry Quires!
My ravish'd Soul's in strange Amazement lost;
Sure no Delight is wanting on this Coast.
Ah!—Said I no Delight was wanting here?
Yes, you want All; alas! you want my Dear.
Farewel you Stars, and you bright Forms adieu;
My Bus'ness here was with my Love, not You.
There's nothing good below without my Love,
Nor any thing worth a faint Wish above.
O Courts fit only for your Starry Quires!
184
Sure no Delight is wanting on this Coast.
Ah!—Said I no Delight was wanting here?
Yes, you want All; alas! you want my Dear.
Farewel you Stars, and you bright Forms adieu;
My Bus'ness here was with my Love, not You.
There's nothing good below without my Love,
Nor any thing worth a faint Wish above.
One World subdu'd, the Conqu'ror did deplore
That Niggard Fate had not allow'd him more:
My vaster Thoughts a thousand Worlds despise,
Nor lose one Wish on such a worthless Prize.
Not all the Universe from Pole to Pole,
Heav'n, Earth, and Sea, can fill my boundless Soul.
What neither Earth's wide Limits can contain,
Nor the large Empire of the spreading Main;
Nor Heav'n, whose vaster Globe does both inclose;
That's the sole Object my Ambition knows.
Till now, alas! my Soul at Shadows caught,
And always was deceiv'd in what it sought:
Thou, Lord, alone art Heav'n, Earth, Sea, to me:
Thou, Lord, art All, all nothing without Thee.
That Niggard Fate had not allow'd him more:
My vaster Thoughts a thousand Worlds despise,
Nor lose one Wish on such a worthless Prize.
Not all the Universe from Pole to Pole,
Heav'n, Earth, and Sea, can fill my boundless Soul.
What neither Earth's wide Limits can contain,
Nor the large Empire of the spreading Main;
Nor Heav'n, whose vaster Globe does both inclose;
That's the sole Object my Ambition knows.
Till now, alas! my Soul at Shadows caught,
And always was deceiv'd in what it sought:
Thou, Lord, alone art Heav'n, Earth, Sea, to me:
Thou, Lord, art All, all nothing without Thee.
185
Whatever is contained within the compass of Heaven, is beneath the Soul of Man, which was made to enjoy the chiefest Good above, in whose Possession alone it can be Happy.
Aug. Soliloq. cap. 20.
187
VII.
Wo is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech, and to have my Habitation among the Tents of Kedar!
Psal. cxx. 4.
Still does the Sun with usual Motion steer
The Revolutions of the circling Year?
Or Gibeon's wondrous Solstice is renew'd,
When at the mighty Joshua's Beck he stood?
Or is his Motion now grown Retrograde,
As when he turn'd the Hebrew Dial's shade?
Why else shou'd I, who now am past the Age
Allow'd to tread this World's unhappy Stage?
Why shou'd I be deny'd an Exit, now
I've play'd my part, and have no more to do?
Is there on Earth a Blessing to repair
Th'injurious force of my Detainer there?
How wou'd I welcom any fav'ring Death,
To ease me of the burthen of my Breath?
By one sure stroke, kind Fate, my Soul reprieve!
For 'tis continual Dying here to Live.
Here our chief Bliss is an uncertain Joy,
Which swift vicissitudes of Ill destroy:
Just as the Sun, who rising bright and gay,
In Clouds and Show'rs concludes the weeping Day.
So boist'rous Gusts oft tender Flow'rs invade,
By tempting Winds too soon abroad betray'd.
The Revolutions of the circling Year?
Or Gibeon's wondrous Solstice is renew'd,
When at the mighty Joshua's Beck he stood?
Or is his Motion now grown Retrograde,
As when he turn'd the Hebrew Dial's shade?
Why else shou'd I, who now am past the Age
Allow'd to tread this World's unhappy Stage?
Why shou'd I be deny'd an Exit, now
I've play'd my part, and have no more to do?
Is there on Earth a Blessing to repair
Th'injurious force of my Detainer there?
How wou'd I welcom any fav'ring Death,
To ease me of the burthen of my Breath?
By one sure stroke, kind Fate, my Soul reprieve!
For 'tis continual Dying here to Live.
188
Which swift vicissitudes of Ill destroy:
Just as the Sun, who rising bright and gay,
In Clouds and Show'rs concludes the weeping Day.
So boist'rous Gusts oft tender Flow'rs invade,
By tempting Winds too soon abroad betray'd.
Here, envious of each others Settlement,
All Things contend each other to Supplant:
The second Minute drives the first away,
And Night's impatient to succeed the Day:
The eager Summer thinks the Spring too long,
And Autumn frets that Summer is not gone:
But Autumn's self to Winter must give way,
Lest its cold Frosts o'ertake and punish his delay.
All Things contend each other to Supplant:
The second Minute drives the first away,
And Night's impatient to succeed the Day:
The eager Summer thinks the Spring too long,
And Autumn frets that Summer is not gone:
But Autumn's self to Winter must give way,
Lest its cold Frosts o'ertake and punish his delay.
Behold you Sea, how smooth, without a frown?
See, while I speak, how curl'd, how rough 'tis grown?
Look, how serene's the Sky, how calm the Air?
Now, hark, it thunders round the Hemisphere!
This great unconstancy of humane State
Corrupts each Minute of our happy Fate.
But, oh! the worst of Ills is still behind,
The rav'nous Converse with our Beastly kind.
Sure Nature first in Anger did intend
A plague of Monsters o'er the World to send;
Then brought forth her most brutish Off-spring Men,
And turn'd each House into a savage Den.
In this rapacious Species we may find
All that's destructive in the preying kind;
Lion, Woolf, Tyger, Bear, and Crocodile,
Strong to devour, and cunning to beguile:
These Beasts are led to Prey by appetite,
And that once pleas'd, no more in Blood delight;
But Man, like Hell, has an insatiate Thirst,
And still is keenest when so full to burst.
This raises Fraud, makes Treach'ry fine and gay,
While banish'd Justice flies disrob'd away:
This fills the World with loud Allarms of War,
And turns the peaceful Plow-share to a hostile Spear.
Who wou'd be Slave to such a tyrant Life,
That still engages him in Noise and Strife?
Long since, alas! I did my Years compleat,
And serv'd for Freedom, still deny'd by Fate.
When I compute to what a Price amount
My mispent Days, I'm Bankrupt in th'Account.
Oh! what strange Frenzy does those Men possess,
Who rashly deem long Life a Happiness?
They sure are Strangers to the Joys above,
Who more than Home a wretched Exile love.
But Heav'n's remote, and its far-distant Bliss
Appears Minute to our mistaken Eyes.
Ah! why, my Country, art thou plac'd so far,
That I am still a tedious Wanderer?
See, while I speak, how curl'd, how rough 'tis grown?
Look, how serene's the Sky, how calm the Air?
Now, hark, it thunders round the Hemisphere!
This great unconstancy of humane State
Corrupts each Minute of our happy Fate.
But, oh! the worst of Ills is still behind,
The rav'nous Converse with our Beastly kind.
Sure Nature first in Anger did intend
A plague of Monsters o'er the World to send;
189
And turn'd each House into a savage Den.
In this rapacious Species we may find
All that's destructive in the preying kind;
Lion, Woolf, Tyger, Bear, and Crocodile,
Strong to devour, and cunning to beguile:
These Beasts are led to Prey by appetite,
And that once pleas'd, no more in Blood delight;
But Man, like Hell, has an insatiate Thirst,
And still is keenest when so full to burst.
This raises Fraud, makes Treach'ry fine and gay,
While banish'd Justice flies disrob'd away:
This fills the World with loud Allarms of War,
And turns the peaceful Plow-share to a hostile Spear.
Who wou'd be Slave to such a tyrant Life,
That still engages him in Noise and Strife?
Long since, alas! I did my Years compleat,
And serv'd for Freedom, still deny'd by Fate.
When I compute to what a Price amount
My mispent Days, I'm Bankrupt in th'Account.
Oh! what strange Frenzy does those Men possess,
Who rashly deem long Life a Happiness?
They sure are Strangers to the Joys above,
Who more than Home a wretched Exile love.
But Heav'n's remote, and its far-distant Bliss
Appears Minute to our mistaken Eyes.
190
That I am still a tedious Wanderer?
Happier the Exiles of old Heathen Rome,
Whom only Tiber did divide from Home!
While to remoter Banishment design'd,
A vast Abyss 'twixt Heav'n and Me I find.
The Hebrew Slaves were freed i'th' Jubilee;
Unhappier Vassal! I shall ne'er be free.
The swift fore runner of the welcom Spring
Finds after Winter's cold a time to Sing:
She who did long in dark Recesses lie,
Now flies abroad, and re-salutes the Sky.
But still I live excluded from above,
Deny'd the Object of my Bliss and Love.
Haste, haste my God, and take me up to Thee;
There let me live, where I was made to be:
Or if my Body's freedom's not design'd,
So soon, at least, I will be there in Mind.
Whom only Tiber did divide from Home!
While to remoter Banishment design'd,
A vast Abyss 'twixt Heav'n and Me I find.
The Hebrew Slaves were freed i'th' Jubilee;
Unhappier Vassal! I shall ne'er be free.
The swift fore runner of the welcom Spring
Finds after Winter's cold a time to Sing:
She who did long in dark Recesses lie,
Now flies abroad, and re-salutes the Sky.
But still I live excluded from above,
Deny'd the Object of my Bliss and Love.
Haste, haste my God, and take me up to Thee;
There let me live, where I was made to be:
Or if my Body's freedom's not design'd,
So soon, at least, I will be there in Mind.
191
There are two Tormentors of the Soul, which do not torture it together, but by turns; their names are Fear and Grief: When it is well with you, you fear; when ill, you grieve.
Aug. Serm. 43.
193
VIII.
O wretched Man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this Death?
Rom. vii. 24.
Where are the lost Delights for which I grieve,
But which my Sorrows never can retrieve?
Such vast Delights—but mention not the Loss,
Whose sad Remembrance is thy greatest Cross:
And Fate is kindest when it robs us so,
To take away our Sense of suffering too.
On our first Parents Folly we exclaim,
As if They only were, as first, to blame:
On Eve and Adam we discharge our Rage,
And thus expose our naked Parentage.
Tho' thou who thy First Parents dost condemn,
Thou ought'st to blame thy Self as well as Them.
When Life at one rash Cast was thrown away,
Thou didst, as well as thy Forefather, play.
But I (alas!) condemn not Them alone,
Nor while I mind their Fall, forget my Own.
With Eve I was consenting to the Cheat,
Impos'd on Adam, and helpt him to Eat.
Hence I my Nakedness and Shame deriv'd,
And Skins of Beasts to cover Both receiv'd:
Was from my forfeit Eden justly driv'n,
The Curse of Earth, and the Contempt of Heav'n.
Nor do I now the general Loss bemoan;
My Grief's too little to bewail my Own.
The tragick Story from my Birth I'll take,
For early Grief did my first Silence break.
'Twas July's Month, the loveliest of the Year,
(Tho' all my Life December did appear:)
The Twenty-seventh; Oh! had it been my last,
I had not Mourn'd, nor that made too much haste.
That was the fatal Day that gave me Breath,
Which prov'd almost my teeming Parent's Death.
And still, as then, to her (alas!) I've been
A true Benoni, not a Benjamin.
No sooner was I for the Cradle drest,
But a strange Horror all around possest;
Who with one dire prophetick Voice presage
Th'attending Mis'ries of my growing Age.
Why did'st thou give me Life, more fatal Day
Than that which took th'Ægyptian Males away?
No more be numbred in the Calendar,
But in thy Place let a large Blot appear!
Or if thou must thy annual Station keep,
Let each Hour Thunder, and each Minute Weep:
Let, as on Cain, some Mark be fix'd on Thee,
That giving Life, didst worse than Murder Me.
Now, Friends, I find your fatal Aug'ry true;
My Woes each other, like my Hours pursue.
Hence the large Sources of my Tears arise,
And no dry Minute wipes my flowing Eyes.
No sooner had I left my childish Plays,
The harmless Pastimes of my happiest Days:
Now past a Child, yet still in Judgment so,
I study'd first what I was not to know.
And my first Grief was to lament my Fate,
And yet 'twas seldom I had time for that.
My stubborn Soul a long Resistance made,
Impatient thus by Nature to be sway'd:
Oft strove to Heav'n to raise its lofty Flight,
As oft supprest by its gross Body's Weight:
But what it cou'd not reach, its Eyes pursue;
Then cry'd, Ah God! and shed a briny Dew.
Twice more it wou'd repeat the pleasing Noise,
But struggling Sighs restrain'd th'imprison'd Voice.
Such sure were felt in Babels Monarchs Breast,
When of his Throne and Nature dispossest:
But conquer'd Patience yields at last to Grief,
And thus I vent my Woe, and beg Relief.
But which my Sorrows never can retrieve?
Such vast Delights—but mention not the Loss,
Whose sad Remembrance is thy greatest Cross:
And Fate is kindest when it robs us so,
To take away our Sense of suffering too.
On our first Parents Folly we exclaim,
As if They only were, as first, to blame:
On Eve and Adam we discharge our Rage,
And thus expose our naked Parentage.
Tho' thou who thy First Parents dost condemn,
Thou ought'st to blame thy Self as well as Them.
When Life at one rash Cast was thrown away,
Thou didst, as well as thy Forefather, play.
But I (alas!) condemn not Them alone,
Nor while I mind their Fall, forget my Own.
With Eve I was consenting to the Cheat,
Impos'd on Adam, and helpt him to Eat.
194
And Skins of Beasts to cover Both receiv'd:
Was from my forfeit Eden justly driv'n,
The Curse of Earth, and the Contempt of Heav'n.
Nor do I now the general Loss bemoan;
My Grief's too little to bewail my Own.
The tragick Story from my Birth I'll take,
For early Grief did my first Silence break.
'Twas July's Month, the loveliest of the Year,
(Tho' all my Life December did appear:)
The Twenty-seventh; Oh! had it been my last,
I had not Mourn'd, nor that made too much haste.
That was the fatal Day that gave me Breath,
Which prov'd almost my teeming Parent's Death.
And still, as then, to her (alas!) I've been
A true Benoni, not a Benjamin.
No sooner was I for the Cradle drest,
But a strange Horror all around possest;
Who with one dire prophetick Voice presage
Th'attending Mis'ries of my growing Age.
Why did'st thou give me Life, more fatal Day
Than that which took th'Ægyptian Males away?
No more be numbred in the Calendar,
But in thy Place let a large Blot appear!
Or if thou must thy annual Station keep,
Let each Hour Thunder, and each Minute Weep:
195
That giving Life, didst worse than Murder Me.
Now, Friends, I find your fatal Aug'ry true;
My Woes each other, like my Hours pursue.
Hence the large Sources of my Tears arise,
And no dry Minute wipes my flowing Eyes.
No sooner had I left my childish Plays,
The harmless Pastimes of my happiest Days:
Now past a Child, yet still in Judgment so,
I study'd first what I was not to know.
And my first Grief was to lament my Fate,
And yet 'twas seldom I had time for that.
My stubborn Soul a long Resistance made,
Impatient thus by Nature to be sway'd:
Oft strove to Heav'n to raise its lofty Flight,
As oft supprest by its gross Body's Weight:
But what it cou'd not reach, its Eyes pursue;
Then cry'd, Ah God! and shed a briny Dew.
Twice more it wou'd repeat the pleasing Noise,
But struggling Sighs restrain'd th'imprison'd Voice.
Such sure were felt in Babels Monarchs Breast,
When of his Throne and Nature dispossest:
But conquer'd Patience yields at last to Grief,
And thus I vent my Woe, and beg Relief.
196
Blest Author of my Life, hear my Complaint,
And free this Captive from its loath'd Restraint!
Speak but the Word, thy Servant shall be free!
Thou mad'st me thus, O thus unbody me!
Or if thou wilt not this Relief afford,
Grant some kind Poison, or some friendly Sword!
Dying I'd hug the Author of my Death,
And beg his Pardon with my latest Breath.
But to save Man the Guilt, send some Disease!
Death in the most affrighting shape will please.
Were I to act Perillu's scorching Scene,
I shou'd rejoyce to hear my Self complain.
Oh Heav'n! my Patience is o'ercome by Grief!
Is there above no Succour, no Relief?
The mercy Death is all I thee implore;
Lord! grant it soon, lest I Blaspheme thy Pow'r.
When for dispatch tormented Wretches pray,
No Cruelty's so barb'rous as Delay.
Why am I to this noisom Carcass ty'd,
Whose stench is Death in all its ghastly Pride?
Then speak the Word, and I shall soon be free;
Thou form'st me thus, O thus unbody Me!
And free this Captive from its loath'd Restraint!
Speak but the Word, thy Servant shall be free!
Thou mad'st me thus, O thus unbody me!
Or if thou wilt not this Relief afford,
Grant some kind Poison, or some friendly Sword!
Dying I'd hug the Author of my Death,
And beg his Pardon with my latest Breath.
But to save Man the Guilt, send some Disease!
Death in the most affrighting shape will please.
Were I to act Perillu's scorching Scene,
I shou'd rejoyce to hear my Self complain.
Oh Heav'n! my Patience is o'ercome by Grief!
Is there above no Succour, no Relief?
The mercy Death is all I thee implore;
Lord! grant it soon, lest I Blaspheme thy Pow'r.
When for dispatch tormented Wretches pray,
No Cruelty's so barb'rous as Delay.
Why am I to this noisom Carcass ty'd,
Whose stench is Death in all its ghastly Pride?
Then speak the Word, and I shall soon be free;
Thou form'st me thus, O thus unbody Me!
197
How does that Soul Live, that is inclosed in a covering of Death?
Amb. in Psal. cxviii.
199
IX.
I am in a Straight between Two, having a desire to be Dissolved, and to be with Christ,
Philip. i. 23.
How shall I do to fix my doubtful Love?
Shall I remain below, or soar above?
Here Earth detains me, and retards my Flight;
There Heav'n invites me to sublime Delight:
Heav'n calls aloud, and bids me haste away;
While Earth allures, and gently whispers, stay!
But hence thou sly Inchantress of my Heart!
I'll break thy Fetters, and despise thy Art.
Haste, haste, kind Fate, unlock my Prison Door!
Were I releas'd, how I aloft wou'd Soar?
See, Lord! my struggling Arms tow'rds Thee are sent,
And strive to grasp thee in their wide Extent.
Oh! had I pow'r to mount above the Pole,
And touch the Center of my longing Soul!
Tho' torn in sunder by the Flight I be,
I'd lose one half, might t'other reach but Thee.
But thou above derid'st my weak Designs,
And still opposest what thy Word injoins.
Vainly I beg what thou dost still deny,
And stretch my Hands to reach what's plac'd too high.
Oft to my Self false Hopes of Thee I feign,
And think thou kindly com'st to break my Chain.
Now, now, I cry, my Soul shall soar above!
But this (alas!) was all dissembled Love.
Sure this Belief some Pity might obtain;
Thou shou'dst at least for this have broke my Chain.
But if I'm still confin'd, my Wings I'll try;
And if I fail, in great Attempts I die.
Shall I remain below, or soar above?
Here Earth detains me, and retards my Flight;
There Heav'n invites me to sublime Delight:
Heav'n calls aloud, and bids me haste away;
While Earth allures, and gently whispers, stay!
But hence thou sly Inchantress of my Heart!
I'll break thy Fetters, and despise thy Art.
Haste, haste, kind Fate, unlock my Prison Door!
Were I releas'd, how I aloft wou'd Soar?
See, Lord! my struggling Arms tow'rds Thee are sent,
And strive to grasp thee in their wide Extent.
Oh! had I pow'r to mount above the Pole,
And touch the Center of my longing Soul!
Tho' torn in sunder by the Flight I be,
I'd lose one half, might t'other reach but Thee.
200
And still opposest what thy Word injoins.
Vainly I beg what thou dost still deny,
And stretch my Hands to reach what's plac'd too high.
Oft to my Self false Hopes of Thee I feign,
And think thou kindly com'st to break my Chain.
Now, now, I cry, my Soul shall soar above!
But this (alas!) was all dissembled Love.
Sure this Belief some Pity might obtain;
Thou shou'dst at least for this have broke my Chain.
But if I'm still confin'd, my Wings I'll try;
And if I fail, in great Attempts I die.
But see! He comes, and as he glides along,
He beckons me, and seems to say, Come on.
I'll rise, and flie into his lov'd Embrace,
And snatch a Kiss, a thousand, from his Face.
Now, now he's near, his sacred Robe I touch,
And I shall grasp him at the next approach:
But he (alas!) has mock'd my vain Design,
And fled these Arms, these slighted Arms of mine:
For tho' the Distance ne'er so little be,
It seems th'Extremes of the vast Globe to me.
Thus does my Love my Longing tantalize,
And bids me follow, while too fast he flies.
Thus sportive Love delights in little Cheats,
Which oft are punish'd with severe Deceits.
He beckons me, and seems to say, Come on.
I'll rise, and flie into his lov'd Embrace,
And snatch a Kiss, a thousand, from his Face.
Now, now he's near, his sacred Robe I touch,
And I shall grasp him at the next approach:
But he (alas!) has mock'd my vain Design,
And fled these Arms, these slighted Arms of mine:
For tho' the Distance ne'er so little be,
It seems th'Extremes of the vast Globe to me.
Thus does my Love my Longing tantalize,
And bids me follow, while too fast he flies.
201
Which oft are punish'd with severe Deceits.
The World has an Original in Me,
To paint deluded Lovers Misery:
And he who has his easie Fair betray'd,
Finds all his Falshood with large Int'rest paid.
I ne'er suspected thou cou'dst Faithless be,
But sad Experience has instructed me.
To paint deluded Lovers Misery:
And he who has his easie Fair betray'd,
Finds all his Falshood with large Int'rest paid.
I ne'er suspected thou cou'dst Faithless be,
But sad Experience has instructed me.
As a chain'd Mastiff, begging to be loose,
With restless Clamours fills the deafned House;
But if deny'd, his Teeth the Chain engage,
And vent on that their inoffensive Rage:
So I Complain, Petition to be freed,
And humbly Prostrate beg the Help I need.
But when you Frown, and my Request deny,
Deaf as the Rocks to my repeated Cry;
Then I against my hated Clog exclaim,
And on my Chain lay all the guilty Blame.
Thus Grief pretends, by giving Passion vent,
To ease the pain of my Imprisonment.
But I unjustly blame the Chain alone,
And spare the cruel Hand that ty'd it on.
Well might the barb'rous load of Chains I bear
Become a Renegado Slave to wear;
But why this harsh ill Usage, Love, to Me,
Whose whole endeavour is to come to Thee?
But when my Soul attempts that lofty Flight,
'Tis still supprest by a gross Bodies Weight.
So fare young Birds, by Nature wing'd in vain,
Whom sportful Boys with scanty Threads restrain;
When eager to retrieve their Native Air,
They rise a little height, and flutter there:
But having to their utmost Limits flown,
The more they strive to mount, they fall the faster down.
Each, tho' it sleeps in its young Tyrants Breast,
And is with Banquets from his Lips Carest;
Yet prizes more the freedom of the Wood,
Than all the Dainties of its dear bought Food.
Could Tears dissolve my Chains, O with what ease
I'd weep a Deluge for a quick release?
But Tears are vain, reach, Lord! thy Hands to me,
And in return I'll stretch my Chains to thee.
Thou, only thou canst loose my Bands; for none
Can take them off, but he that put them on.
With restless Clamours fills the deafned House;
But if deny'd, his Teeth the Chain engage,
And vent on that their inoffensive Rage:
So I Complain, Petition to be freed,
And humbly Prostrate beg the Help I need.
But when you Frown, and my Request deny,
Deaf as the Rocks to my repeated Cry;
Then I against my hated Clog exclaim,
And on my Chain lay all the guilty Blame.
Thus Grief pretends, by giving Passion vent,
To ease the pain of my Imprisonment.
But I unjustly blame the Chain alone,
And spare the cruel Hand that ty'd it on.
Well might the barb'rous load of Chains I bear
Become a Renegado Slave to wear;
202
Whose whole endeavour is to come to Thee?
But when my Soul attempts that lofty Flight,
'Tis still supprest by a gross Bodies Weight.
So fare young Birds, by Nature wing'd in vain,
Whom sportful Boys with scanty Threads restrain;
When eager to retrieve their Native Air,
They rise a little height, and flutter there:
But having to their utmost Limits flown,
The more they strive to mount, they fall the faster down.
Each, tho' it sleeps in its young Tyrants Breast,
And is with Banquets from his Lips Carest;
Yet prizes more the freedom of the Wood,
Than all the Dainties of its dear bought Food.
Could Tears dissolve my Chains, O with what ease
I'd weep a Deluge for a quick release?
But Tears are vain, reach, Lord! thy Hands to me,
And in return I'll stretch my Chains to thee.
Thou, only thou canst loose my Bands; for none
Can take them off, but he that put them on.
203
How long shall we be fastned here? We stick to the Earth, and as if we should always live there, we wallow in the Mire. God gave us Bodies of Earth, that we should carry them to Heaven, not that we should by them debase our Souls to the Earth.
Chrysost. hom. 55. ad pop. Antioch.
205
X.
Bring my Soul out of Prison, that I may praise thy Name,
Psal. cxlii. 9
I who did once thro' Heav'ns wide Regions rove,
Free Denizen of those vast Realms above;
Now to a narrow Dungeon am confin'd,
A Cave that darkens and restrains my Mind.
When first my Soul put on its fleshly Load,
It was Imprison'd in the dark Abode;
My Feet were Fetters, my Hands Manacles,
My Sinews Chains, and all Confinement else;
My Bones the Bars of my loath'd Prison grate;
My Tongue the Turn-key, and my Mouth the Gate.
Free Denizen of those vast Realms above;
Now to a narrow Dungeon am confin'd,
A Cave that darkens and restrains my Mind.
When first my Soul put on its fleshly Load,
It was Imprison'd in the dark Abode;
My Feet were Fetters, my Hands Manacles,
My Sinews Chains, and all Confinement else;
My Bones the Bars of my loath'd Prison grate;
My Tongue the Turn-key, and my Mouth the Gate.
Why from my Native Station am I sent
A Captive to this narrow Tenement?
How oft wou'd I attempt a shameful Flight,
In Fire or Water bid the World good Night?
How oft have I their happy Fate admir'd,
Who by the Sword or Poison have expir'd?
But to gain Heav'n, we must Heav'ns leisure stay,
Such rash Attempters have mistook the way.
As only Heav'n our Beings did bestow,
'Tis Heav'ns sole right to countermand them too:
And when to take what That first gave we strive,
We impiously encroach on God's Prerogative;
And on our Souls by this unlawful Act,
In breaking Pris'n we a new Guilt contract:
While th'impious Course we take to set us free,
Betrays us to a greater Slavery.
Had I some winding Lab'rinth for my Jail,
I then might hope for Freedom to prevail:
But while imbody'd in this Flesh I lie,
Heav'n must be the Deliverer, not I.
Let the mistaken Wretch his Pris'n accuse,
Which for his Flight did no kind Means refuse.
Wou'd some kind Chink one heavenly Ray admit
To bless my Eyes, how wou'd I honour it?
But while confin'd to this dark Cell I lie,
My captive Soul can't reach its native Sky,
Here, even my Will's a slave to Passions made,
Passions which have its Liberty betray'd.
When piously it is inclin'd to good,
'Tis by repugnant Passions still withstood.
Thus Israel in th'Ægyptian Bondage far'd,
While from the Service of their God debarr'd;
When to his Worship they desir'd to go,
The Tyrant Phar'oh always answer'd, No.
Oh my dear God! visit this humble Cell,
And see within what narrow Walls I dwell.
But if the Locks, and Bars, and Grates afright,
Command them all to open at thy sight.
Command them, Lord, to set thy Servant free;
Nor will this Deed without Example be:
Angels have left their Thrones and Bliss above,
To ransom those whom thou art pleas'd to Love:
Thus Peter did his op'ning Prison view,
Yet scarce believ'd the Miracle was true.
But no such Favour is indulg'd to me,
I want (alas!) such happy Liberty.
Come, my dear Lord! unlock my Prison Gate,
And let my Soul tow'rd Heav'n expatiate:
In triumph tho' thy Slave conducted be,
I'll bless the Chains that bind me close to Thee.
To Thee my Hands are thro' the Gates addrest;
O that I cou'd but follow with the rest!
The captive Bird about its Cage will fly,
And the least way for its Escape espy,
And with its Bill gnaws thro' the Twiggy Grate
A secret Passage to its first free State.
Can'st thou, my God! be deaf to all my Cries,
And more obdurate than my Prison is?
Nor for my Self, but Thee do I complain,
Thy sacred Praise, which I wou'd Sing, in vain;
For here (alas!) I cannot once rejoyce,
Nor touch my Strings, nor raise my tuneful Voice.
For Birds confin'd, to rage convert their Notes,
Or sullen grown, lock up their silent Throats.
Come then, my God, unlock my Prison-gate,
And let my Soul tow'rds Heaven Expatiate!
There my loud Voice in joyful Notes I'll raise,
And sing Eternal Anthems to thy Praise.
But if thou wilt not this Request allow,
At thy own Glory thou must envious grow.
A Captive to this narrow Tenement?
How oft wou'd I attempt a shameful Flight,
In Fire or Water bid the World good Night?
How oft have I their happy Fate admir'd,
Who by the Sword or Poison have expir'd?
206
Such rash Attempters have mistook the way.
As only Heav'n our Beings did bestow,
'Tis Heav'ns sole right to countermand them too:
And when to take what That first gave we strive,
We impiously encroach on God's Prerogative;
And on our Souls by this unlawful Act,
In breaking Pris'n we a new Guilt contract:
While th'impious Course we take to set us free,
Betrays us to a greater Slavery.
Had I some winding Lab'rinth for my Jail,
I then might hope for Freedom to prevail:
But while imbody'd in this Flesh I lie,
Heav'n must be the Deliverer, not I.
Let the mistaken Wretch his Pris'n accuse,
Which for his Flight did no kind Means refuse.
Wou'd some kind Chink one heavenly Ray admit
To bless my Eyes, how wou'd I honour it?
But while confin'd to this dark Cell I lie,
My captive Soul can't reach its native Sky,
Here, even my Will's a slave to Passions made,
Passions which have its Liberty betray'd.
When piously it is inclin'd to good,
'Tis by repugnant Passions still withstood.
Thus Israel in th'Ægyptian Bondage far'd,
While from the Service of their God debarr'd;
207
The Tyrant Phar'oh always answer'd, No.
Oh my dear God! visit this humble Cell,
And see within what narrow Walls I dwell.
But if the Locks, and Bars, and Grates afright,
Command them all to open at thy sight.
Command them, Lord, to set thy Servant free;
Nor will this Deed without Example be:
Angels have left their Thrones and Bliss above,
To ransom those whom thou art pleas'd to Love:
Thus Peter did his op'ning Prison view,
Yet scarce believ'd the Miracle was true.
But no such Favour is indulg'd to me,
I want (alas!) such happy Liberty.
Come, my dear Lord! unlock my Prison Gate,
And let my Soul tow'rd Heav'n expatiate:
In triumph tho' thy Slave conducted be,
I'll bless the Chains that bind me close to Thee.
To Thee my Hands are thro' the Gates addrest;
O that I cou'd but follow with the rest!
The captive Bird about its Cage will fly,
And the least way for its Escape espy,
And with its Bill gnaws thro' the Twiggy Grate
A secret Passage to its first free State.
Can'st thou, my God! be deaf to all my Cries,
And more obdurate than my Prison is?
208
Thy sacred Praise, which I wou'd Sing, in vain;
For here (alas!) I cannot once rejoyce,
Nor touch my Strings, nor raise my tuneful Voice.
For Birds confin'd, to rage convert their Notes,
Or sullen grown, lock up their silent Throats.
Come then, my God, unlock my Prison-gate,
And let my Soul tow'rds Heaven Expatiate!
There my loud Voice in joyful Notes I'll raise,
And sing Eternal Anthems to thy Praise.
But if thou wilt not this Request allow,
At thy own Glory thou must envious grow.
209
Man is imprisoned, because by proficiency in Virtue he often strives to rise on high, but is kept down by the Corruption of his Flesh.
Greg. in cap. 7. Job.
211
XI.
Like as the Hart desireth the Water-Brooks, so longeth my Soul after thee, O God!
Psal. xlii. 1.
Lord! wou'dst thou know my Breasts consuming Fire,
And how I pine and languish in Desire?
The withering Vi'lets no resemblance yield,
Nor can I take it from the Sun-burnt Field;
Nor by that Heat can I express my Pain,
That melts us in the fiery Dog-star's Reign.
The Lybian Sands, where the Sun's warm salute
With barren Drouth destroys all hope of Fruit,
Ev'n they, compar'd with me, are moist and cool;
Such raging Flames have seiz'd my hectick Soul.
But wou'dst thou have an Emblem of my Pains,
Regard then how the wounded Hart Complains,
While in his Side th'envenom'd Arrow lies,
His Blood boils over, and his Marrow fries:
Thus thro' the Woods he takes a nimble Flight,
Till some cool Stream salutes this distant Sight:
Then with redoubled Speed he Pants and Brays,
Till there his Thirst and Fever he allays.
Thus, thus transfix'd with an Infernal Dart,
I feel the Poison raging in my Heart.
Th'envenom'd Blood with vi'lent Fury burns,
And to a Thousand diff'rent Tortures turns.
The Tyrant Lust now thro' my Body reigns,
And now Intemp'rance bursts my glutted Veins.
Now Pride's rank Poison swells my heaving Breast,
And curs'd Ambition robs me of my Rest.
Oh! from what Stream shall I a Med'cine find
To ease these restless Torments of my Mind?
Thou, thou, my God! alone canst ease my Grief,
From the pure Waters of the Well of Life.
My panting Soul laments and pines for them,
As the chas'd Hart for the refreshing Sream.
And how I pine and languish in Desire?
The withering Vi'lets no resemblance yield,
Nor can I take it from the Sun-burnt Field;
Nor by that Heat can I express my Pain,
That melts us in the fiery Dog-star's Reign.
The Lybian Sands, where the Sun's warm salute
With barren Drouth destroys all hope of Fruit,
Ev'n they, compar'd with me, are moist and cool;
Such raging Flames have seiz'd my hectick Soul.
But wou'dst thou have an Emblem of my Pains,
Regard then how the wounded Hart Complains,
While in his Side th'envenom'd Arrow lies,
His Blood boils over, and his Marrow fries:
Thus thro' the Woods he takes a nimble Flight,
Till some cool Stream salutes this distant Sight:
212
Till there his Thirst and Fever he allays.
Thus, thus transfix'd with an Infernal Dart,
I feel the Poison raging in my Heart.
Th'envenom'd Blood with vi'lent Fury burns,
And to a Thousand diff'rent Tortures turns.
The Tyrant Lust now thro' my Body reigns,
And now Intemp'rance bursts my glutted Veins.
Now Pride's rank Poison swells my heaving Breast,
And curs'd Ambition robs me of my Rest.
Oh! from what Stream shall I a Med'cine find
To ease these restless Torments of my Mind?
Thou, thou, my God! alone canst ease my Grief,
From the pure Waters of the Well of Life.
My panting Soul laments and pines for them,
As the chas'd Hart for the refreshing Sream.
Shunning the quick-nos'd Hounds afrighting cries
With timorous haste oft to the Toils he flies:
And when he finds himself too close beset,
With active Speed o'er-leaps th'extended Net:
But hotly by his num'rous Foes pursu'd,
He seeks the Succour of some sheltring Wood;
And on his Neck, lest it retard his Speed,
Casts back the useless Armour of his Head:
Which, since he has not Courage to employ,
Assists his Foes its Owner to destroy.
Sometimes he thinks the deep-mouth'd Foe is near
From strong impressions of remaining Fear:
Again he stands and listens for their Cries,
Then, almost spent, thro' the close Thickets flies
To the clear Springs: And as he pants for them,
So pines my Soul for the Cœlestial stream;
There he renews his Strength, and lays his Heat,
And rowls and wantons in the cool Retreat.
With timorous haste oft to the Toils he flies:
And when he finds himself too close beset,
With active Speed o'er-leaps th'extended Net:
But hotly by his num'rous Foes pursu'd,
He seeks the Succour of some sheltring Wood;
And on his Neck, lest it retard his Speed,
Casts back the useless Armour of his Head:
213
Assists his Foes its Owner to destroy.
Sometimes he thinks the deep-mouth'd Foe is near
From strong impressions of remaining Fear:
Again he stands and listens for their Cries,
Then, almost spent, thro' the close Thickets flies
To the clear Springs: And as he pants for them,
So pines my Soul for the Cœlestial stream;
There he renews his Strength, and lays his Heat,
And rowls and wantons in the cool Retreat.
Lord! Hell's great Nimrod holds my Soul in chase,
To shun whose Hounds I fly from place to place;
But closely they my weary Steps pursue,
No means of Succour or Escape I view.
Tir'd with my Flight, and faint with constant Sweat,
I wish to Rest, I wish to lay my Heat:
But where, O where can this Refreshment be?
'Tis no where, Lord! 'tis no where but with Thee.
With Thee an ever-bubbling Fountain flows,
The remedy of all thy Servants Woes:
Pleasing its Taste, its Vertue Sanative;
Nor Health alone, but endless Life 'twill give.
Then tell not me of Tagus Golden Flood,
Whose rowling Sands raise a perpetual Mud:
There shou'd I drink insatiate till I Burst,
Each greedy Draught wou'd re-inflame my Thirst.
No, to the pleasing Springs above I'll go,
The Springs that in the heavenly Canaan flow.
My panting Soul laments and pines for them,
As the chas'd Hart for the refreshing Stream.
To shun whose Hounds I fly from place to place;
But closely they my weary Steps pursue,
No means of Succour or Escape I view.
Tir'd with my Flight, and faint with constant Sweat,
I wish to Rest, I wish to lay my Heat:
But where, O where can this Refreshment be?
'Tis no where, Lord! 'tis no where but with Thee.
With Thee an ever-bubbling Fountain flows,
The remedy of all thy Servants Woes:
Pleasing its Taste, its Vertue Sanative;
Nor Health alone, but endless Life 'twill give.
Then tell not me of Tagus Golden Flood,
Whose rowling Sands raise a perpetual Mud:
214
Each greedy Draught wou'd re-inflame my Thirst.
No, to the pleasing Springs above I'll go,
The Springs that in the heavenly Canaan flow.
My panting Soul laments and pines for them,
As the chas'd Hart for the refreshing Stream.
215
It is an excellent Water that allays the pernicious thirst of this World, and the heat of Vice; that washes off all the stains of Sin; that waters and improves the Earth in which our Souls inhabit; and restores the mind of Man, that thirsts with an earnest desire after its God.
Cyril. in Joan. lib. 3. cap. 10.
217
XII.
When shall I come and appear before the presence of God?
Psal. lxii. 2.
With
promis'd Joys my Ears thou oft did'st fill,
But they are only Joys of Promise still.
Did'st thou not say thou soon wou'dst call me home?
Be just, my Love, and kindly bid me come!
“Expecting Lovers count each Hour a Day,
“And Death to them's less dreadful than Delay.
A tedious train of Months and Years is gone,
Since first you bid me hope, yet gave me none.
Why with delays dost thou abuse my Love,
And fail my vain Expectancies above?
While thus th'insulting Crowd derides my Woe,
Where's now your Love? how well he keeps his Vow?
But they are only Joys of Promise still.
Did'st thou not say thou soon wou'dst call me home?
Be just, my Love, and kindly bid me come!
“Expecting Lovers count each Hour a Day,
“And Death to them's less dreadful than Delay.
A tedious train of Months and Years is gone,
Since first you bid me hope, yet gave me none.
Why with delays dost thou abuse my Love,
And fail my vain Expectancies above?
While thus th'insulting Crowd derides my Woe,
Where's now your Love? how well he keeps his Vow?
Haste then, and home thy longing Lover take;
If not for mine, yet for thy Promise sake.
If not for mine, yet for thy Promise sake.
218
When shall I come before thy Throne, and see
Thy glorious Scepter kindly stretch'd to me?
For Thee I pine, for Thee I am undone,
As drooping Flow'rs that want their Parent Sun.
O cruel Tort'rer of my wounded Soul,
Grant me thy Presence, and I shall be Whole!
O when, thou Joy of all admiring Eyes,
When shall I see thee on thy Throne of Bliss?
Thy glorious Scepter kindly stretch'd to me?
For Thee I pine, for Thee I am undone,
As drooping Flow'rs that want their Parent Sun.
O cruel Tort'rer of my wounded Soul,
Grant me thy Presence, and I shall be Whole!
O when, thou Joy of all admiring Eyes,
When shall I see thee on thy Throne of Bliss?
As when unwelcom Night begins its sway,
And throws its sable Mantle o'er the Day;
The withering Glories of the Garden fade,
And weeping Groves bewail their lonely shade;
To melancholy Silence Men retire,
And no sweet Note sounds from the feather'd Quire:
But hardly can the rising Morn display
The purple Ensigns of approaching Day;
But the glad Gardens deck themselves anew,
And the cheer'd Groves shake off their heavy Dew:
To daily Labour Man himself devotes,
And Birds in Anthems strain their tuneful Throats.
So without Thee, I Grieve, I Pine, I Mourn;
So Triumph, so Revive at Thy Return.
But Thou, unkind, bid'st me delight my Eyes
With other Beauties, other Rarities.
Sometimes thou bid'st me mark the flow'ry Field;
What various scent and shews the Meadows yield;
Then to the Stars thou dost direct my Sight,
For they from Thine derive their borrow'd Light.
Then sayst, Contemplate Man! in Him thou'lt see
The great Resemblance of thy Love and Me.
Why wou'dst thou thus deceive me with a Shade,
A trifling Image, that will quickly fade?
My Fancy stoops not to a mortal Aim,
Thou, thou hast kindled, and must quench my Flame.
And throws its sable Mantle o'er the Day;
The withering Glories of the Garden fade,
And weeping Groves bewail their lonely shade;
To melancholy Silence Men retire,
And no sweet Note sounds from the feather'd Quire:
But hardly can the rising Morn display
The purple Ensigns of approaching Day;
But the glad Gardens deck themselves anew,
And the cheer'd Groves shake off their heavy Dew:
To daily Labour Man himself devotes,
And Birds in Anthems strain their tuneful Throats.
So without Thee, I Grieve, I Pine, I Mourn;
So Triumph, so Revive at Thy Return.
But Thou, unkind, bid'st me delight my Eyes
With other Beauties, other Rarities.
219
What various scent and shews the Meadows yield;
Then to the Stars thou dost direct my Sight,
For they from Thine derive their borrow'd Light.
Then sayst, Contemplate Man! in Him thou'lt see
The great Resemblance of thy Love and Me.
Why wou'dst thou thus deceive me with a Shade,
A trifling Image, that will quickly fade?
My Fancy stoops not to a mortal Aim,
Thou, thou hast kindled, and must quench my Flame.
O glorious Face, worthy a Pow'r Divine,
Where Love and Awe with equal Mixture shine!
Triumphant Majesty of that bright Ray
Where blushing Angels prostrate Homage pay!
We in thy Works thy fix'd Impressions trace,
Yet still but faint Reflections of thy Face.
When this inchanted World's compar'd with Thee,
Its boasted Beauty's all Deformity:
Thy Stars no such transcending Glories own
As Thine, whose Light exceeds all theirs in one.
This Truth some one of them can best declare,
Who on the Mount thy blest Spectators were:
Who on Thy Glories were allow'd to gaze,
And saw Heav'n open'd in Thy wondrous Face.
Thy shining Visage all the God confest,
In beauteous Lambent Flames were thy bright Temples drest.
Where Love and Awe with equal Mixture shine!
Triumphant Majesty of that bright Ray
Where blushing Angels prostrate Homage pay!
We in thy Works thy fix'd Impressions trace,
Yet still but faint Reflections of thy Face.
When this inchanted World's compar'd with Thee,
Its boasted Beauty's all Deformity:
Thy Stars no such transcending Glories own
As Thine, whose Light exceeds all theirs in one.
This Truth some one of them can best declare,
Who on the Mount thy blest Spectators were:
Who on Thy Glories were allow'd to gaze,
And saw Heav'n open'd in Thy wondrous Face.
220
In beauteous Lambent Flames were thy bright Temples drest.
Nor can we blame thy great Apostle's Zeal,
To whom thou did'st that happy Sight reveal;
That slighting all before accounted dear,
He was for building Tabernacles here.
Yet he beheld Thee then within a Veil,
The killing Rays thou kindly did'st conceal:
He saw a milder Flame thy Face surround,
Thy Temples with rebated Glories Crown'd:
As when the Silver Moon's reflected Beams,
In some clear Evening gild the smiling Streams:
Or cloud-born Lightning in its nimble Race
Paints on a trembling Wave Heav'ns blushing Face.
How had he wondred at the nobler Light,
Whose bare Reflection was so Heav'nly bright?
But, oh! That's inaccessible to humane Sight!
Then me, oh! me to that blest State receive,
Where I may see thee all, and seeing live!
When will that happy Day of Vision be,
When I shall make a near approach to Thee,
Be wrapt in Clouds, and lost in Mystery?
To whom thou did'st that happy Sight reveal;
That slighting all before accounted dear,
He was for building Tabernacles here.
Yet he beheld Thee then within a Veil,
The killing Rays thou kindly did'st conceal:
He saw a milder Flame thy Face surround,
Thy Temples with rebated Glories Crown'd:
As when the Silver Moon's reflected Beams,
In some clear Evening gild the smiling Streams:
Or cloud-born Lightning in its nimble Race
Paints on a trembling Wave Heav'ns blushing Face.
How had he wondred at the nobler Light,
Whose bare Reflection was so Heav'nly bright?
But, oh! That's inaccessible to humane Sight!
Then me, oh! me to that blest State receive,
Where I may see thee all, and seeing live!
When will that happy Day of Vision be,
When I shall make a near approach to Thee,
Be wrapt in Clouds, and lost in Mystery?
'Tis true, the Sacred Elements impart
Thy virtual Presence to my faithful Heart;
But to my Sense still unreveal'd thou art.
This, tho' a great, is an imperfect Bliss,
T'embrace a Cloud for the bright God I wish;
My Soul a more exalted Pitch wou'd fly,
And view Thee in the heights of Majesty.
Thy virtual Presence to my faithful Heart;
But to my Sense still unreveal'd thou art.
221
T'embrace a Cloud for the bright God I wish;
My Soul a more exalted Pitch wou'd fly,
And view Thee in the heights of Majesty.
Oh! when shall I behold Thee all serene,
Without one envious Cloud, or Veil between?
When distant Faith shall in near Vision cease,
And still my Love shall with my Sight increase?
That happy Day dear as these Eyes shall be,
And more than all the dearest Things, but Thee.
Without one envious Cloud, or Veil between?
When distant Faith shall in near Vision cease,
And still my Love shall with my Sight increase?
That happy Day dear as these Eyes shall be,
And more than all the dearest Things, but Thee.
If thou findest any thing better than to behold the Face of God, haste thee thither. Wo be to that Love of thine, if thou dost but imagine any thing more beautiful than He, from whom all Beauty that delights thee is derived.
Aug. in Psal. 42.
223
XIII.
O that I had the wings of a Dove! for then I would fly away, and be at rest,
Psal. lv. 6.
Tho'
Great Creator! I receive from Thee
All that I am, and all I hope to be;
Yet might thy humble Clay Expostulate,
I wou'd complain of my defective State.
All that I am, and all I hope to be;
Yet might thy humble Clay Expostulate,
I wou'd complain of my defective State.
To Man th'ast given the boundless Regency
Of three vast Realms, the Ocean, Earth, and Sky:
But, oh; how shall this ample Pow'r be try'd,
When still the means to use it are deny'd?
Of three vast Realms, the Ocean, Earth, and Sky:
But, oh; how shall this ample Pow'r be try'd,
When still the means to use it are deny'd?
Pardon my hasty Censure of thy Skill,
Who think thy mighty Work defective still!
Nor am I forward to Correct thy Art,
By wishing Man a Casement in his Heart,
Whose dark Recesses all the World might see;
That prospect justly is reserv'd for Thee:
But the defect I Mourn is greater far;
Of Fins to cut the Waves, and Wings the Air.
Inferior Creatures no Perfection want,
To hinder their Enjoyment of Thy Grant:
The scaly Race have nimble Fins allow'd,
With which they range about their native Flood:
And all the feather'd Tenants of the Air,
Born up on tow'ring Wings, expatiate there.
Thus ev'ry Creature finds a blest Content
Adapted to its proper Element:
But Man, for the Command of all design'd,
Is still to One injuriously confin'd;
While Nature often is extravagant,
And gives his Subjects more than what they want.
Some of the watry kind, we know, can fly,
And visit, when they please, the lofty Sky;
And, in exchange, some of the aery Brood,
Descend, and turn bold Pirates in the Flood:
While still to Man Heav'n does all Means deny
To exercise his vain Authority.
Ev'n buzzing Insects with light Wings are blest,
In whose small frame Heav'n has much Art exprest:
But Man, the great, the noble Master piece,
Wants a Perfection that abounds in these.
Nay some, the meanest of the Feather'd kind,
For neither Profit nor Delight design'd,
Stretch their Dominions to a vast Extent,
Nor pleas'd with Two, range a third Element;
Sometimes on Earth they walk with stately Pace,
And sport and revel on the tender Grass;
Then for the liquid Stream exchange the Shoar,
And dally there as wanton as before:
But wearied, thence their moistned Wings they rear,
To take their wild Diversion in the Air.
Sure these to rule the triple World were sent,
And denizon'd of every Element:
But Man, excluded both the Sea and Air,
Can make small use of his Dominion there.
Nor yet repine I that the Earth's alone
Man's Element, since I desire but One;
My whole Ambition's to exchange my Place,
Tho' with the meanest of the feather'd Race.
Grant me but Wings that I may upwards soar,
I'll forfeit them if e'er I covet more.
Nor canst thou, Lord! my just Petition blame,
When thou regard'st the end of all my aim:
The Miseries below, and Joys above,
Recal from hence, and thither point my Love.
The Earth (alas!) no settled Station knows,
So fast the Deluge of its Ruin flows:
Numberless Troubles and Calamities
Increase the Flood, too apt it self to rise.
Tir'd with long Flight, my weary Soul can meet
No friendly Bough to entertain her Feet.
Here no blest sign of Peace or Plenty is;
All lie o'erwhelm'd in the profound Abyss.
O whither then shall I for safety go?
I must not hope so great a Good below.
Vainly to Honour or to Wealth I fly,
These cannot be their own Security;
My sole dependance is the Sacred Ark,
There, there my Soul in safety may embarque:
Thou send'st her thence, Lord, call her home again,
And stretch thy favouring Hand to take her in!
But she's (alas!) too weak for such a Flight,
Her flagging Wings are baffled by its height.
Wou'dst thou vouchsafe to imp them, she wou'd fly,
And brave the tow'ring Monarch of the Sky;
Then she wou'd haste to her eternal Rest,
And build above the Clouds her lofty Nest;
There basking in the splendor of thy Beams,
Be all imploy'd on bright Angelick Themes;
In which th'adulterate World shall have no part,
That sly Debaucher of my wandring Heart:
But in seraphick Flames for Thee I'll burn,
And never, never think of a Return.
Who think thy mighty Work defective still!
Nor am I forward to Correct thy Art,
By wishing Man a Casement in his Heart,
Whose dark Recesses all the World might see;
That prospect justly is reserv'd for Thee:
But the defect I Mourn is greater far;
Of Fins to cut the Waves, and Wings the Air.
224
To hinder their Enjoyment of Thy Grant:
The scaly Race have nimble Fins allow'd,
With which they range about their native Flood:
And all the feather'd Tenants of the Air,
Born up on tow'ring Wings, expatiate there.
Thus ev'ry Creature finds a blest Content
Adapted to its proper Element:
But Man, for the Command of all design'd,
Is still to One injuriously confin'd;
While Nature often is extravagant,
And gives his Subjects more than what they want.
Some of the watry kind, we know, can fly,
And visit, when they please, the lofty Sky;
And, in exchange, some of the aery Brood,
Descend, and turn bold Pirates in the Flood:
While still to Man Heav'n does all Means deny
To exercise his vain Authority.
Ev'n buzzing Insects with light Wings are blest,
In whose small frame Heav'n has much Art exprest:
But Man, the great, the noble Master piece,
Wants a Perfection that abounds in these.
Nay some, the meanest of the Feather'd kind,
For neither Profit nor Delight design'd,
Stretch their Dominions to a vast Extent,
Nor pleas'd with Two, range a third Element;
225
And sport and revel on the tender Grass;
Then for the liquid Stream exchange the Shoar,
And dally there as wanton as before:
But wearied, thence their moistned Wings they rear,
To take their wild Diversion in the Air.
Sure these to rule the triple World were sent,
And denizon'd of every Element:
But Man, excluded both the Sea and Air,
Can make small use of his Dominion there.
Nor yet repine I that the Earth's alone
Man's Element, since I desire but One;
My whole Ambition's to exchange my Place,
Tho' with the meanest of the feather'd Race.
Grant me but Wings that I may upwards soar,
I'll forfeit them if e'er I covet more.
Nor canst thou, Lord! my just Petition blame,
When thou regard'st the end of all my aim:
The Miseries below, and Joys above,
Recal from hence, and thither point my Love.
The Earth (alas!) no settled Station knows,
So fast the Deluge of its Ruin flows:
Numberless Troubles and Calamities
Increase the Flood, too apt it self to rise.
Tir'd with long Flight, my weary Soul can meet
No friendly Bough to entertain her Feet.
226
All lie o'erwhelm'd in the profound Abyss.
O whither then shall I for safety go?
I must not hope so great a Good below.
Vainly to Honour or to Wealth I fly,
These cannot be their own Security;
My sole dependance is the Sacred Ark,
There, there my Soul in safety may embarque:
Thou send'st her thence, Lord, call her home again,
And stretch thy favouring Hand to take her in!
But she's (alas!) too weak for such a Flight,
Her flagging Wings are baffled by its height.
Wou'dst thou vouchsafe to imp them, she wou'd fly,
And brave the tow'ring Monarch of the Sky;
Then she wou'd haste to her eternal Rest,
And build above the Clouds her lofty Nest;
There basking in the splendor of thy Beams,
Be all imploy'd on bright Angelick Themes;
In which th'adulterate World shall have no part,
That sly Debaucher of my wandring Heart:
But in seraphick Flames for Thee I'll burn,
And never, never think of a Return.
227
Nothing can fly but what is Pure, Light, and Subtile, and whose Purity is not corrupted by Intemperance, nor its Cheerfulness or Swiftness retarded by any Weight.
Amb. Hom. 7.
229
XIV.
O how amiable are thy Tabernacles: Thou Lord of Hosts!
Psal. lxxxiv. 1.
Great
Leader of the Starry Hosts that stand
In shining order on thy either Hand!
Such bright Magnificence adorns Thy Throne,
That hence my ravish'd Soul wou'd fain be gone,
To offer there her low Devotion.
Hail glorious Palace, which a lofty Mound
Of shining Jasper closely does surround!
Where the blew Saphyre and clear Chrysolite
At once astonish and affect the Sight!
Where sparkling Topas-thresholds kiss the Feet
Of all who come towards the Almighty's Seat!
By doors of dazling Adamant let in,
Where Golden Roofs on Emerald Pillars shine!
This lofty Structure, this divine Abode,
Becomes the Presence of its Founder, God.
Here purest Ayrs, fann'd in by Angels Wings,
Breathe all the Odours of ten thousand Springs.
Here no benumming Frosts dare once be rude,
Nor piercing Snows within these Courts intrude.
The torrid Zone is far remote from hence,
This Climate feels a gentler influence.
This true Elizium's Pleasures ne'er decay,
Whose time is all but One eternal Day.
In shining order on thy either Hand!
Such bright Magnificence adorns Thy Throne,
That hence my ravish'd Soul wou'd fain be gone,
To offer there her low Devotion.
Hail glorious Palace, which a lofty Mound
Of shining Jasper closely does surround!
Where the blew Saphyre and clear Chrysolite
At once astonish and affect the Sight!
Where sparkling Topas-thresholds kiss the Feet
Of all who come towards the Almighty's Seat!
By doors of dazling Adamant let in,
Where Golden Roofs on Emerald Pillars shine!
This lofty Structure, this divine Abode,
Becomes the Presence of its Founder, God.
230
Breathe all the Odours of ten thousand Springs.
Here no benumming Frosts dare once be rude,
Nor piercing Snows within these Courts intrude.
The torrid Zone is far remote from hence,
This Climate feels a gentler influence.
This true Elizium's Pleasures ne'er decay,
Whose time is all but One eternal Day.
Bright Resident of the Cœlestial Spheres!
How despicable's Earth, when Heav'n appears?
The very name of Grief's a Stranger here,
And nothing can beget a thought of Fear.
Here undisturb'd Tranquillity presides,
And entrance to all jarring Foes forbids.
Hence every Passion, Frailty, and Disease,
All that may injure, trouble, or displease,
All that may discompose th'exalted Mind,
Are to eternal Banishment confin'd.
How despicable's Earth, when Heav'n appears?
The very name of Grief's a Stranger here,
And nothing can beget a thought of Fear.
Here undisturb'd Tranquillity presides,
And entrance to all jarring Foes forbids.
Hence every Passion, Frailty, and Disease,
All that may injure, trouble, or displease,
All that may discompose th'exalted Mind,
Are to eternal Banishment confin'd.
Bright Resident of the Cœlestial Spheres!
How despicable's Earth, when Heav'n appears?
Here feasting Souls perpetual Revels keep,
And never are concern'd for Food or Sleep;
With indefatigable Zeal they move,
Born on the wings of Duty and of Love.
Dissolv'd in Hymns, here Quires of Angels lie,
And with loud Halelujah's fill the Sky.
Here new-come Saints with wreaths of Light are crown'd,
While Iv'ry Harps and Silver Trumpets sound.
Here ruddy Cherubs sacred Hymns begin,
And smiling Seraphs loud Responses sing;
While echoing Angels the blests Ayrs retort,
Follow'd by a loud Chorus of the Universal Court:
While, to compleat the Musick of the Quire
The Royal Psalmist tunes his Sacred Lyre.
How despicable's Earth, when Heav'n appears?
Here feasting Souls perpetual Revels keep,
And never are concern'd for Food or Sleep;
With indefatigable Zeal they move,
Born on the wings of Duty and of Love.
231
And with loud Halelujah's fill the Sky.
Here new-come Saints with wreaths of Light are crown'd,
While Iv'ry Harps and Silver Trumpets sound.
Here ruddy Cherubs sacred Hymns begin,
And smiling Seraphs loud Responses sing;
While echoing Angels the blests Ayrs retort,
Follow'd by a loud Chorus of the Universal Court:
While, to compleat the Musick of the Quire
The Royal Psalmist tunes his Sacred Lyre.
Such was the mighty Joy, when they caress'd
The Royal CHARLES, their welcom martyr'd Guest.
Such Songs of Triumph fill'd Heav'ns space around,
When in his room his God-like Son was crown'd:
Him, for whose safety they were oft employ'd,
And blest the grateful Orders they obey'd:
Him, for whose sake they did loud Storms asswage,
And still'd the more tumultuous Peoples rage;
Knowing His Reign such Blessings wou'd dispence,
To make their Pains a glorious Recompence:
So mild, so good—such Woes his Exit brings,
When they look on, they sigh, and flag their Wings.
O that my ravish'd Soul could mount the Skyes,
To hear the Musick of their Psalmodies!
The meanest Seat in this bright Court I'd chuse,
Before the best Preferment Earth bestows;
For one short Days sublime Enjoyment here
Exceeds an Age of the chief Pleasure there.
Haste then, my Soul! to those blest Mansions fly,
With those bright Objects please thy wondring Eye!
With their sweet Ayrs fill thy attentive Ear,
Till thou hast learnt to chant glad Anthems there!
Till thou, instructed in the Heav'nly Art,
May'st in their Consort bear an humble Part!
Blest Resident of the Cœlestial Spheres!
How despicable's Earth, when Heav'n appears?
What pure Delights that happy Place allows?
How many Mansions in my Father's House?
My flaming Soul can thence no longer stay;
If none goes there and lives, I'll die to find the way.
The Royal CHARLES, their welcom martyr'd Guest.
Such Songs of Triumph fill'd Heav'ns space around,
When in his room his God-like Son was crown'd:
Him, for whose safety they were oft employ'd,
And blest the grateful Orders they obey'd:
Him, for whose sake they did loud Storms asswage,
And still'd the more tumultuous Peoples rage;
Knowing His Reign such Blessings wou'd dispence,
To make their Pains a glorious Recompence:
So mild, so good—such Woes his Exit brings,
When they look on, they sigh, and flag their Wings.
O that my ravish'd Soul could mount the Skyes,
To hear the Musick of their Psalmodies!
232
Before the best Preferment Earth bestows;
For one short Days sublime Enjoyment here
Exceeds an Age of the chief Pleasure there.
Haste then, my Soul! to those blest Mansions fly,
With those bright Objects please thy wondring Eye!
With their sweet Ayrs fill thy attentive Ear,
Till thou hast learnt to chant glad Anthems there!
Till thou, instructed in the Heav'nly Art,
May'st in their Consort bear an humble Part!
Blest Resident of the Cœlestial Spheres!
How despicable's Earth, when Heav'n appears?
What pure Delights that happy Place allows?
How many Mansions in my Father's House?
My flaming Soul can thence no longer stay;
If none goes there and lives, I'll die to find the way.
233
O my Soul! what can I say when I behold the Joy to come? I am lost in Admiration, because the Joy will be within and without, above and below, about and beside us.
Bonavent. Soliloq. cap. 4.
235
XV.
Make haste, my Beloved, and be like the Roe or the young Hart upon the Mountains of Spices,
Cant. viii. 14.
Haste, my bright Sun! hast from my dazzel'd Sight,
Too tender to endure thy streaming Light:
How does my Tongue my Love-sick Soul betray?
This bids him fly, whom that wou'd beg to stay.
For why shou'd I his Absence thus engage,
Which Grant will make one tedious Hour an Age?
Yet his too beauteous Beams forbid his stay;
Fly then, my Love, or lay those Beams away!
Hadst thou on me this harsh Injunction laid,
The killing sound at once had struck me Dead:
But thy own Flame, not I, wou'd have it so,
I shou'd be Ages in pronuncing Go!
I wou'd not wish what now I do intreat;
Then stay, and let me not perswade Thee yet!
Stay, stay my Life, and turn the deafned Ear!
Sure what I wou'd not Speak, you shou'd not Hear.
Hence let the Wind my feign'd Petition bear!
'Twas Fear, not I, that form'd the hasty Pray'r.
Yet (oh!) this melting Heat forbids your stay;
Fly, fly, my Love, I burn if you delay.
Oh! let your Haste outstrip the hunted Hind;
But that's too slow; fly like the nimble Wind!
Fly till thou leav'st ev'n flagging thought behind!
Yet in thy Flight a longing Look bestow,
A speaking Glance, to shew thee loath to go.
But that once cast, renew your Speed away:
Fly, fly, my Love, there's Death in your delay!
Behold those lofty Sky-saluting Hills,
Where rich Perfume from weeping Trees distills!
Where Lawrels, Cedars, and soft Myrtles grow,
And all the Spice Arabia can bestow:
To their high tops direct thy nimble Flight,
Till thou, like them, art vanish'd from my Sight!
Fly to the heights where the gay Seraphs Sing,
And the young Cherubs exercise their Wing!
Fly till the Stars appear as much below
Thy Station, as they are above it now!
Those places are inur'd to Heat and Fire,
And what I dread, is what they most desire.
One Spark's sufficient to inflame my Soul;
Oh! do not then consume me with the whole!
Then let thy haste the hunted Hind out-go!
And yet, methinks, thou shoud'st not leave me so!
Fly where thou often may'st with ease look back,
Nor from my Sight too far a Journey take:
But keep such distance as the glorious Sun,
When with most Light he gilds the pale-fac'd Moon!
Ah! this discov'ry of my Soul forgive!
I cannot with thee, nor without thee, live.
If thou art near, I burn; remote, I freeze;
And either distance does alike displease.
Then so approach me, Lord, I thee desire,
That I may feel thy Warmth, but not thy Fire.
Fly, then, my Life! fast as the hunted Deer;
But go no more too far, than stay too near!
And when th'art gone, on reedy Pipes I'll play,
And sing thy Praises in an amourous Lay;
And when I've wearied out the tedious Night,
With a new Task I will my Self Delight.
I'll carve at large on ev'ry spreading Tree
Our Loves Original and History.
What Time remains I'll dedicate to Sleep,
Yet still my waking Thoughts lov'd Object keep.
Too tender to endure thy streaming Light:
How does my Tongue my Love-sick Soul betray?
This bids him fly, whom that wou'd beg to stay.
For why shou'd I his Absence thus engage,
Which Grant will make one tedious Hour an Age?
Yet his too beauteous Beams forbid his stay;
Fly then, my Love, or lay those Beams away!
Hadst thou on me this harsh Injunction laid,
The killing sound at once had struck me Dead:
But thy own Flame, not I, wou'd have it so,
I shou'd be Ages in pronuncing Go!
I wou'd not wish what now I do intreat;
Then stay, and let me not perswade Thee yet!
Stay, stay my Life, and turn the deafned Ear!
Sure what I wou'd not Speak, you shou'd not Hear.
236
'Twas Fear, not I, that form'd the hasty Pray'r.
Yet (oh!) this melting Heat forbids your stay;
Fly, fly, my Love, I burn if you delay.
Oh! let your Haste outstrip the hunted Hind;
But that's too slow; fly like the nimble Wind!
Fly till thou leav'st ev'n flagging thought behind!
Yet in thy Flight a longing Look bestow,
A speaking Glance, to shew thee loath to go.
But that once cast, renew your Speed away:
Fly, fly, my Love, there's Death in your delay!
Behold those lofty Sky-saluting Hills,
Where rich Perfume from weeping Trees distills!
Where Lawrels, Cedars, and soft Myrtles grow,
And all the Spice Arabia can bestow:
To their high tops direct thy nimble Flight,
Till thou, like them, art vanish'd from my Sight!
Fly to the heights where the gay Seraphs Sing,
And the young Cherubs exercise their Wing!
Fly till the Stars appear as much below
Thy Station, as they are above it now!
Those places are inur'd to Heat and Fire,
And what I dread, is what they most desire.
One Spark's sufficient to inflame my Soul;
Oh! do not then consume me with the whole!
237
And yet, methinks, thou shoud'st not leave me so!
Fly where thou often may'st with ease look back,
Nor from my Sight too far a Journey take:
But keep such distance as the glorious Sun,
When with most Light he gilds the pale-fac'd Moon!
Ah! this discov'ry of my Soul forgive!
I cannot with thee, nor without thee, live.
If thou art near, I burn; remote, I freeze;
And either distance does alike displease.
Then so approach me, Lord, I thee desire,
That I may feel thy Warmth, but not thy Fire.
Fly, then, my Life! fast as the hunted Deer;
But go no more too far, than stay too near!
And when th'art gone, on reedy Pipes I'll play,
And sing thy Praises in an amourous Lay;
And when I've wearied out the tedious Night,
With a new Task I will my Self Delight.
I'll carve at large on ev'ry spreading Tree
Our Loves Original and History.
What Time remains I'll dedicate to Sleep,
Yet still my waking Thoughts lov'd Object keep.
But see how while I speak I melt away!
Haste your ungrateful Flight without delay!
Yet go as tho' you this Departure mourn,
And all your haste were for a quick Return.
Haste your ungrateful Flight without delay!
Yet go as tho' you this Departure mourn,
And all your haste were for a quick Return.
268
The Soul desires that her Beloved would be gone, because now she is able to follow him in his Flight.
Amb. de bono Mortis, cap. 5.
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