 | Miscellany Poems |  |
On Speech.
I
Thou wondrous Modulation of the Air,The brightest Index of the Heart:
Who all those Lively Signatures dost bear,
By which our thoughts to others We impart!
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To Knowledge by thy help doth creep!
II
There's not a secret passion of the Mind,No Motion in the Soul doth rise;
But it from Speech can fit Expressions find,
And's Judged of more by the Ears, than Eyes.
How do fit Words and Sentences advance,
And on our Tongues in order dance!
III
In various sounds the senceless Creatures play,And welcome the returning Spring:
Their joys i'th' rudest notes the Beasts Essay;
And tunefull Birds their warbling Carols sing,
Distinct their Voices; only Man is found;
That can Articulate the Sound.
IV
Admired Faculty, that stamps the Air,And seals upon't, what We would have,
Which doth a Draught of our Idæas bear,
And keeps the speaking Portraitures, We gave,
Doth the Mysterious tract of Thoughts unfold;
Thô each Tongue hath a different Mold!
V
This Privilege, granted alone to Man,No other Creatures do partake:
Beasts have no Language, 'tis well known; nor can
We prove, what Speech Angels above do speak.
All that belongs to them do Mysteries grow,
Stupendious heights, we never know.
VI
Angelick Motions we can never find,Nor trace the steps, in which they move.
To our Infirmities they'r not confin'd,
Nor Nature's Laws do fetter them above.
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Is, that their State is not like Ours.
VII
They may by Heavenly Hieroglyphicks speak,To which our Souls can never rise:
Draughts of their thoughts by forms or figures make,
Or unintelligible Mysteries.
Their Tongue all apprehension doth excell,
No Ear can hear't, no Voice can tell.
VIII
What empty shrunken things our Minds would be,What Melancholy on them seize;
Were they debarr'd the Joys of Phantasie,
And roving Thoughts, which the tir'd Soul do ease:
Where in unbounded fields the Mind may fly,
And find new blandishments for Joy.
IX
How much more miserable were our State,Were This, our greatest Comfort, fled;
That mollifies the Stings of angry Fate;
Unloads the Sorrows of the anxious Head:
Doth cure the Wounds, that from Fate's Arrows fall,
And in a Friend's Breast buries all?
X
Delight of Life and Mirrour of the Heart,By which our Thoughts, which none can see,
We to our own and others Joys impart;
And bring to View the boundless Treasury.
Thou of our Inward Soul a Scheme should'st give;—
And curs'd be He, that doth Deceive!
XI
Bond of Society and Tie of Love,From whence doth lasting Friendship flow:
Thou our Exalted pleasure dost improve;
And art the Universal Soul below.
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And lull'st up Love in shady Bowers.
XII
Rhetorick, that doth th' unstable People moveAnd raise, or lay, as Storms the Sea,
From well-plac'd Words and Reasons doth improve,
And ows his Energy, bless'd Speech, to Thee.
What was a Chaos, thou a World did'st make:
From thee the Mass did Beauty take.
XIII
The Raptur'd Flights of Poetry do oweTheir Birth and Beauty unto Thee:
From Thee the fam'd Castalian Waters flow,
And in soft Musick's Numbers melted bee.
How low would all their Lofty Flights be laid,
If not in Robes by Thee array'd?
XIV
Reason may in the solid Mind be found,And Judgment in the Soul appear:
But they'r like Treasures buried under ground,
Or secret Mines, that do no Products bear.
Thou deck'st them in Rich Garbs, and mak'st them shine;
Thou stamp'st them, and they'r currant Coin.
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