The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ An Heroic Poem: Dedicated to Her Most Sacred Majesty. In Ten Books. Attempted by Samuel Wesley ... Each Book illustrated by necessary Notes, explaining all the more difficult Matters in the whole History: Also a Prefatory Discourse concerning Heroic Poetry. With Sixty Copper-Plates |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ |  |
Thus sung the Holy Sire entranc'd, and we
Who heard, were little less in Extasie:
These triumphs finish'd, back we hast'ning come
To pleasant Nazareth, well weary'd home:
There fixing our abode, till now the Sun
Thro' three bright Signs his glorious Race had run,
Since we Judea left, and all our care,
Apply'd our homely Cottage to prepare
For the great Prince, and Heav'ns Almighty Heir;
Whose Birth approach'd, which now we knew so near,
Each Hour his Virgin Mothers Hope and Fear:
Enough we had for Need, though not for Pride,
Yet ev'n that small convenience soon deny'd;
The Roman Edict would not let us stay,
But to our Birth-place, Bethlehem call'd away;
The antient Seat of David's Royal Line,
Whence the bright Maids Original and mine:
And when for our new Journy we prepare,
Husht were the churlish Winds, serene the Air;
Departing Winters self grew calm and mild,
And as it went, put on smooth Looks and smil'd:
Whilst in our way officious Nature strows
The blew-ey'd Violet, and the blushing Rose:
Does, to oblige us, all her Glories bring,
And all the pretty Flow'rs that dress the Spring;
Narcissus, who too well himself did please,
The Iris proud, and rich Anemone's:
From Naz'reth's odoriferous Fields got free,
Hermon and beauteous Tabor soon we see:
Then o'r Kedummim's Streams our passage take,
Which lose themselves in the Tiberian Lake;
And thro' the well-known Road came joyful down:
On the third Night to Salem's sacred Town:
And our Devotions at the Temple pay'd
The next glad Morn, when there a while we stay'd,
We leave our Friends in the declining day,
And with discourse beguil'd the tedious Way:
Till when sweet Bethlem at a distance spy'd,
A secret Joy thro' all my Soul did glide;
Encreasing still, as still we came more near,
And Rachel's Tomb toth' right began t'appear:
Each noted place around, the Maid I show'd,
What e'r our Eyes could reach on either side the Road:
Tis there, said I, still flows that precious Spring,
Which his three Heroes did to David bring!
T'was there a Youth, he kept his Flock; and there
Met the curl'd Lyon and the rugged Bear.
Who heard, were little less in Extasie:
These triumphs finish'd, back we hast'ning come
To pleasant Nazareth, well weary'd home:
There fixing our abode, till now the Sun
Thro' three bright Signs his glorious Race had run,
Since we Judea left, and all our care,
Apply'd our homely Cottage to prepare
For the great Prince, and Heav'ns Almighty Heir;
Whose Birth approach'd, which now we knew so near,
Each Hour his Virgin Mothers Hope and Fear:
Enough we had for Need, though not for Pride,
Yet ev'n that small convenience soon deny'd;
The Roman Edict would not let us stay,
But to our Birth-place, Bethlehem call'd away;
The antient Seat of David's Royal Line,
Whence the bright Maids Original and mine:
And when for our new Journy we prepare,
Husht were the churlish Winds, serene the Air;
Departing Winters self grew calm and mild,
And as it went, put on smooth Looks and smil'd:
48
The blew-ey'd Violet, and the blushing Rose:
Does, to oblige us, all her Glories bring,
And all the pretty Flow'rs that dress the Spring;
Narcissus, who too well himself did please,
The Iris proud, and rich Anemone's:
From Naz'reth's odoriferous Fields got free,
Hermon and beauteous Tabor soon we see:
Then o'r Kedummim's Streams our passage take,
Which lose themselves in the Tiberian Lake;
And thro' the well-known Road came joyful down:
On the third Night to Salem's sacred Town:
And our Devotions at the Temple pay'd
The next glad Morn, when there a while we stay'd,
We leave our Friends in the declining day,
And with discourse beguil'd the tedious Way:
Till when sweet Bethlem at a distance spy'd,
A secret Joy thro' all my Soul did glide;
Encreasing still, as still we came more near,
And Rachel's Tomb toth' right began t'appear:
Each noted place around, the Maid I show'd,
What e'r our Eyes could reach on either side the Road:
Tis there, said I, still flows that precious Spring,
Which his three Heroes did to David bring!
T'was there a Youth, he kept his Flock; and there
Met the curl'd Lyon and the rugged Bear.
She shreekt and claspt me to her trembling Breast,
Then begg'd me that I would not tell the rest!
Then begg'd me that I would not tell the rest!
And now the Night her sable Veil had spread,
Each little Bird coucht in its mossy Bed,
And Fowls of stronger Wing to distant Regions fled;
As we to Bethlem's Walls well weary'd come,
And hear the busie Towns tumultuous Hum;
Whole Droves like us we see, who came too late,
Crowding to enter e'r they shut the Gate:
And there so long we for admittance wait,
Till we i'th' Windows glim'ring Lights descry,
Extinct in some, discovering Midnight nigh:
With Fears o'th' Night, and Toyls o'th' Day opprest,
Long did we seek a Place for welcom Rest.
The Streets and Suburbs sought, but sought in vain,
New disappointments still increase our Pain.
Each little Bird coucht in its mossy Bed,
And Fowls of stronger Wing to distant Regions fled;
As we to Bethlem's Walls well weary'd come,
And hear the busie Towns tumultuous Hum;
Whole Droves like us we see, who came too late,
Crowding to enter e'r they shut the Gate:
And there so long we for admittance wait,
Till we i'th' Windows glim'ring Lights descry,
Extinct in some, discovering Midnight nigh:
With Fears o'th' Night, and Toyls o'th' Day opprest,
Long did we seek a Place for welcom Rest.
49
New disappointments still increase our Pain.
And now new Griefs my much lov'd charge o'erpow'r,
Who fast approaching found that fatal hour
Of which her Sex so justly is affraid,
No more than that of Death to be delay'd:
“O my distracted Heart! forlorn and poor,
“Repell'd at each unhospitable Door,
“Strangers, benighted, tired, and yet far more
“Still more than all, and what I could not bear,
“What more than Life I lov'd must feel the largest share.
“How false th' opinion that it gives relief
“To have a sad Companion in our Grief?
“Afflictions stroaks more thick and heavy fall
“When both each others feel, and both bear all.
“Yet quiet still her Breast; to Heaven resign'd;
“In an uneasie Body calm her mind;
“Not one impatient sigh or word let go,
“These only from her Lips divinely flow
“It must be best for Heav'n will have it so.
“We may not murmur, tho' we justly give,
“And spite of clam'rous sence let's still believe!
Sham'd with the kind reproof I soon represt
My wayward Thoughts, and calm'd my murm'ring Breast;
This done, I to a well known Cave repair
Which her might shield, for whom my chiefest care
From the moist Heav'ns, and Nights unwholsom Air.
In storms a refuge to the panting Swains
When sudden Sleet came driving cross the Plains.
Whether by Art hew'd in the living Stone
Or Mother Natures antient work, unknown:
Short stubble and light reed, which our low state
Did best become, I gather'd at the Gate;
These to the Virgin for her Couch I gave,
Plac'd in the inmost Corner of the Cave:
Such pomp did David's Royal Heir assume,
Such was the Furniture, and such the Room:
The rest a Choire of modest Angels brings,
But veil their Faces with their purple Wings.
Who fast approaching found that fatal hour
Of which her Sex so justly is affraid,
No more than that of Death to be delay'd:
“O my distracted Heart! forlorn and poor,
“Repell'd at each unhospitable Door,
“Strangers, benighted, tired, and yet far more
“Still more than all, and what I could not bear,
“What more than Life I lov'd must feel the largest share.
“How false th' opinion that it gives relief
“To have a sad Companion in our Grief?
“Afflictions stroaks more thick and heavy fall
“When both each others feel, and both bear all.
“Yet quiet still her Breast; to Heaven resign'd;
“In an uneasie Body calm her mind;
“Not one impatient sigh or word let go,
“These only from her Lips divinely flow
“It must be best for Heav'n will have it so.
“We may not murmur, tho' we justly give,
“And spite of clam'rous sence let's still believe!
Sham'd with the kind reproof I soon represt
My wayward Thoughts, and calm'd my murm'ring Breast;
This done, I to a well known Cave repair
Which her might shield, for whom my chiefest care
From the moist Heav'ns, and Nights unwholsom Air.
In storms a refuge to the panting Swains
When sudden Sleet came driving cross the Plains.
Whether by Art hew'd in the living Stone
Or Mother Natures antient work, unknown:
Short stubble and light reed, which our low state
Did best become, I gather'd at the Gate;
These to the Virgin for her Couch I gave,
Plac'd in the inmost Corner of the Cave:
Such pomp did David's Royal Heir assume,
Such was the Furniture, and such the Room:
The rest a Choire of modest Angels brings,
But veil their Faces with their purple Wings.
And now thro' liquid Air the silent Moon
In silver Chariot mounts to her pale Noon:
Still was the Night as Innocence or Fear,
Nor humane Sounds, nor grazing Beasts we hear;
Faint did the Lamp on neighb'ring Edar burn,
By snatches shin'd awhile, then sunk into its Urn.
The very Stars with drowsie motions roll,
The Bear walks heavily around the Pole:
When spite of all my Cares I slumb'ring lay
Tir'd with the Toils and sorrows of the day.
Till a strong light thro' my clos'd Eye-lids shin'd,
As the Sun's mid-day glories chear the blind:
Wond'ring I wake, and strait surpriz'd behold
The Cave all delug'd with etherial Gold:
Glories almost too fine for grosser sence,
And num'rous shining Forms departing thence:
The Virgin too I saw, so brightly drest
I hardly cou'd discern her from the rest.
“In her chast Arms the eternal Infant lies:
What an illustrious goodness in his Eyes?
Which soon alike both Lights and Shades o'erpow'rs,
And all the modest Beams around devours:
I kneell'd adoring, and my Eyes imploy
T'assist my fault'ring Tongue, and speak my joy:
Tho' from my pleasing Trance soon rais'd by Fear,
For nigh the Cave I humane Footsteps hear
And rustic sounds confus'd, which as they grew
More loud, before the Gate my self I threw,
With feeble force my precious charge to shield
From the rude Swains returning from the field;
For such I thought 'em, till at length I spy,
As the fair morn began to gild the Sky
A Troop of harmless Shepherds mild and good,
Who near me on their sheephooks leaning stood,
And bowing low, for the bright Babe inquire,
The hope of Israel and the worlds desire:
Wond'ring from whence so soon they heard the news
I askt, nor they to clear my doubts refuse.
Two sprightly Lads, who could relate it best,
With Chaplets crown'd leapt forth from all the rest;
Claius, who lately the leud Town had left
Of all his long his foolish Hopes bereft,
Tho' bounteous Heav'n whate'er he now thought dear
Indulg'd, in Peace and his Urania here:
Strephon, a jolly youth, who did pretend
To be, and was, e'er Love bred Hate, his Friend:
Tho since too oft, on many a vain pretence
He left the Plains and left his Innocence.
His Soul no track of Modesty or Grace
Retains, as steel'd and harden'd as his Face:
Foul as those loathsom Brands his Body bears,
And black as that dissembled Robe he wears:
For now he do's in other Garments shrowd
His ugly Vice. I saw him late, too proud
Claius his Friend, or ev'n himself to own,
In Town by Malchi's nobler Title known;
Where with those Priests he bands, whose daily Theme
Is their still patient Saviour to blaspheme:
Not so ere while when innocent and young
With Claius thus his Birth he sweetly sung.
50
Still was the Night as Innocence or Fear,
Nor humane Sounds, nor grazing Beasts we hear;
Faint did the Lamp on neighb'ring Edar burn,
By snatches shin'd awhile, then sunk into its Urn.
The very Stars with drowsie motions roll,
The Bear walks heavily around the Pole:
When spite of all my Cares I slumb'ring lay
Tir'd with the Toils and sorrows of the day.
Till a strong light thro' my clos'd Eye-lids shin'd,
As the Sun's mid-day glories chear the blind:
Wond'ring I wake, and strait surpriz'd behold
The Cave all delug'd with etherial Gold:
Glories almost too fine for grosser sence,
And num'rous shining Forms departing thence:
The Virgin too I saw, so brightly drest
I hardly cou'd discern her from the rest.
“In her chast Arms the eternal Infant lies:
What an illustrious goodness in his Eyes?
Which soon alike both Lights and Shades o'erpow'rs,
And all the modest Beams around devours:
I kneell'd adoring, and my Eyes imploy
T'assist my fault'ring Tongue, and speak my joy:
Tho' from my pleasing Trance soon rais'd by Fear,
For nigh the Cave I humane Footsteps hear
And rustic sounds confus'd, which as they grew
More loud, before the Gate my self I threw,
With feeble force my precious charge to shield
From the rude Swains returning from the field;
For such I thought 'em, till at length I spy,
As the fair morn began to gild the Sky
A Troop of harmless Shepherds mild and good,
Who near me on their sheephooks leaning stood,
And bowing low, for the bright Babe inquire,
The hope of Israel and the worlds desire:
Wond'ring from whence so soon they heard the news
I askt, nor they to clear my doubts refuse.
Two sprightly Lads, who could relate it best,
With Chaplets crown'd leapt forth from all the rest;
Claius, who lately the leud Town had left
51
Tho' bounteous Heav'n whate'er he now thought dear
Indulg'd, in Peace and his Urania here:
Strephon, a jolly youth, who did pretend
To be, and was, e'er Love bred Hate, his Friend:
Tho since too oft, on many a vain pretence
He left the Plains and left his Innocence.
His Soul no track of Modesty or Grace
Retains, as steel'd and harden'd as his Face:
Foul as those loathsom Brands his Body bears,
And black as that dissembled Robe he wears:
For now he do's in other Garments shrowd
His ugly Vice. I saw him late, too proud
Claius his Friend, or ev'n himself to own,
In Town by Malchi's nobler Title known;
Where with those Priests he bands, whose daily Theme
Is their still patient Saviour to blaspheme:
Not so ere while when innocent and young
With Claius thus his Birth he sweetly sung.
| The Life of Our Blessed Lord & Saviour Jesus Christ | |