The miscellaneous works (1739)

Rowe, Elizabeth Singer (1674-1737)

VOL. I.

On the present publication of Mrs. Rowe's Poems after her death.

POEMS ON Several Occasions.

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I. VOL. I.

cxxviii

On the present publication of Mrs. Rowe's Poems after her death.

Thus Philomela sung, on earth detain'd,
While cumb'rous clay the rising soul restrain'd:
Now the freed spirit, with th' angelic choir,
In fields of light attunes th' immortal lyre,
And hymns her God in strains more soft, more strong;
There only could she learn a loftier song.

POEMS ON Several Occasions.

The VISION.

'Twas in the close recesses of a shade,
A shade for sacred contemplation made;
No beauteous branch, no plant, or fragrant flow'r,
But flourish'd near the fair, delicious bow'r;
With charming state its lofty arches rise
Adorn'd with blossoms, as with stars the skies;
All pure and fragrant was the air I drew,
Which winds thro' myrtle groves and orange blew;

Clear waves along with pleasing murmur rush,
And down the artful falls in noble cat'racts gush.

'Twas here, within this happy place retir'd,
Harmonious pleasures all my soul inspir'd;
I take my lyre, and try each tuneful string,
Now war, now love, and beauty's force would sing:
To heav'nly subjects now, in serious lays,
I strive my faint, unskilful voice to raise:
But as I unresolv'd and doubtful lay,
My cares in easy slumbers glide away;
Nor with such grateful sleep, such soothing rest,
And dreams like this I e'er before was bless'd;
No wild, uncouth chimera's intervene,
To break the perfect intellectual scene.

The place was all with heav'nly light o'er-flown,
And glorious with immortal splendor shone;
When! lo a bright ethereal youth drew near,
Ineffable his motions and his air.
A soft, beneficent, expressless grace,
With life's most florid bloom adorn'd his Face;
Wreaths of immortal palm his temples bind,
And long his radiant hair fell down behind,
His azure robes hung free, and waving to the wind.
Angelic his address, his tuneful voice
Inspir'd a thousand elevating joys:
When thus the wond'rous youth his silence broke,
And with an accent all celestial spoke.

To heav'n, nor longer pause, devote thy songs,
To heav'n the muse's sacred art belongs;

Let his unbounded glory be thy theme,
Who fills th' eternal regions with his fame;
And when death's fatal sleep shall close thine eyes,
In triumph we'll attend thee to the skies;
We'll crown thee there with everlasting bays,
And teach thee all our celebrated lays.
This spoke, the shining vision upward flies,
And darts as lightning thro' the cleaving skies.

The beginning of the fourth Book of Tasso's Jerusalem translated.

But while to bring about their great intent,
The Christian army all their vigour bent;
The potent enemy of human kind,
Revolv'd their happy progress in his mind.
His baleful eyes with hellish envy glare,
Half stifled murmurs show his inward care,
And hollow groans betray his deep despair:
With such a heavy, hoarse, and bellowing sound,
Wild bulls, when stung with grief, they trace the ground,
Fill all the groves, and all the valleys round.
Collecting all the rage within his breast,
For means the active Christians to molest.
Fool! to believe with any force or skill,
T'oppose the methods of th' eternal will;
And those avenging thunders to awake,
That plung'd him headlong down the flaming lake,

Regardless of that memorable day,
He summons now the states of hell away.
Thro' all the climes of endless darkness round,
The jarring calls of the hoarse trumpet sound;
Trembled the wide infernal caves again,
And long the murm'ring air retain'd the sullen strain.
Not half so dreadful in a stormy wreck,
From low'ring clouds the noisy thunders break;
Nor vapours close imprison'd in the earth,
With such wild rumour give themselves a birth.
In various troops, the gloomy deities
Together came, that share the vast abyss:
Unnumber'd forms, and monstrous all appear,
And deadly terror in their looks they wear;
With horrid snaky tresses some were crown'd,
Some stamp'd with brutal hoofs the burning ground;
Others more curst a human visage find,
But scaly serpents end below, and wind
In circling folds prodigious lengths behind:
And many a lewd, detested Harpy there,
Centaurs, and Sphinx's hideous forms appear:
Hydra, and Python, hissing thro' the gloom,
With Gorgon here, and barking Scylla, come:
Giants and ghastly shapes that want a name,
And fierce Chimæra spitting angry flame;
And many a fiend and frightful monster more,
With wild confusion crowd the lofty door.
Great Lucifer the regal seat commands,
Shaking a rusty scepter in his hands:
Nor Alpine hill, nor some exalted rock,
That proudly stands the raging ocean's shock,

Nor half so tall th' Atlantic mount appears;
So vast his bulk, so high his tow'ring front he rears.
A horrid majesty surrounds his face,
Its terror, pride and growing rage increase.
His red'ning Eyes like fatal comets glare,
And shoot malignant venom thro' the air:
Beneath his breast descends a loathsome beard,
His mouth a deep polluted gulf appear'd;
Whence issue sulphur, smoke, and pois'nous steams.
With mutt'ring thunder, and destructive flames.
He spake; all hell astonish'd at the noise
Stood mute, grim Cerberus restrains his voice;
Cocytus stops, the snakes to hiss forbear,
While thro' the sounding deep these dreadful words we hear.

Infernal Gods, worthy the thrones of light,
And monarchies of heav'n, your native right,
Whom from the realms of bliss, your ancient lot,
The just, the glorious cause for which we fought,
With me to this opprobrious dungeon brought.
Other success, ev'n he that rules the skies,
Excepted from our noble enterprize:
But unmolested now he reigns above,
And us from thence as conquer'd rebels drove.
From a serene, and everlasting day,
From stars, and from the sun's delightsome ray;
To shades, and endless horrors we retire,
Nor dare again to those gay climes aspire.
But I th' effects of all his wrath disdain,
'Till one curst thought exasperates my pain;
That racking thought I never can sustain

I could with joy in heav'n resign my place,
But rage to see it fill'd with man's degen'rate race:
To see vile dust exalted to supply
Our once illustrious stations in the sky;
And what distracts me more—
As all too little to our mighty foe
Appear'd, that he for worthless man could do;
The ruin'd wretches forfeiture to pay,
He gave to death his darling son a prey;
Victorious o'er the meagre king, in state
He proudly enters the infernal gate;
Within my gloomy confines dar'd to tread,
And here in scorn his shining banners spread.
Millions of captive souls, our destin'd prey,
He led triumphant from the shades away:
And, what my discontent and pain renews,
The ancient enterprize he still pursues;
And while we idly here consume the day,
To him the Asian empire drops away,
And false Judæa shortly owns his sway:
Loud hymns in ev'ry language to his name
They sing, and spread around the world his fame.
Inscrib'd in brass, and lasting marble, they
His glory down to future times convey.
To him alone devoted flames arise,
And vows, and od'rous incense mount the skies.
No blazing fire upon our altar shines,
Neglected stand our temples, and our shrines:
No more with gifts they crowd our rich abodes,
Nor fall before us as assisting Gods.
Empty of human souls our regions grow,
While all the roads of hell unpeopled show:

And can we tamely suffer this? And rests
No spark of ancient vigour in your breasts?
Have you forgot when in bright arms we shone,
Engag'd with heav'n, and shook his lofty throne?
Our native vigour, our immortal flame,
And ardent thirst of glory, is the same.
But why, you dear companions of my woe,
In pleasing mischief are you grown so slow?
Lost here in sloth and darkness we remain,
While new allies the prosp'rous Christians gain:
Haste then, with all the rage of hell assail
Our dreaded foes, by arts or force prevail;
In all their solemn councils raise dissent,
Ungrounded jealousies, and discontent:
Let some the slaves of shameful passions prove,
Plung'd in the soft, licentious joys of love;
And others treach'rously the cause decline,
Confound their army, sink the curst design.

On the Creation.

Nor yet the crude materials of the earth,
Were form'd; nor time, nor motion yet had birth:
Nor yet one solitary spark of light
Glar'd thro' the dusky shades of ancient night;
Nor on the barren wastes of endless space,
As yet were circumscrib'd the bounds of place:
When at th' Almighty's word, from nothing springs
The first confus'd original of things.

Whatever now the heav'ns wide arms embrace,
Together then lay blended in a mass;
The dull, the active, the refin'd, and base,
The cold, the hot, the temp'rate, moist and dry,
All mingled in profound disorder lie;
In one prodigious undistinguish'd heap,
Th' extremest contraries of nature sleep:
Nor yet the sprightly seeds of fire ascend,
Nor downwards yet the pond'rous atoms tend.
A monstrous face the new creation wears,
And void of order, form, and light, appears;
'Till the almighty fiat, once again
Pronounc'd, did motion to each part ordain,
Awoke the tender principles of life,
And urg'd the growing elemental strife.
And now confusions infinite arise,
From nature's most remote antipathies:
But while against their furious opposites,
Each hostile atom all its force unites,
Their own lov'd species, thro' the formless mass,
With am'rous zeal officiously they trace,
And join, and mingle in a strict embrace.
The lively shining particles of light,
On dazzling wings attempt their nimble flight.
The fine transparent air, with mighty force,
Thro' fix'd and fluid, upward takes its course.
The grosser seeds with heavy motion press,
And meeting in the midst, the central parts possess;
While the united waves, without controul,
About the slimy surface proudly roll,
'Till an imperial word their force divides,
And lo! the deep by smooth degrees subsides;

And lo! the rising stately mountains leave
Their ouzy beds; and lo! the valleys cleave,
The congregated waters to receive:
And down the sinking billows calmly go;
Part to the subterranean caves below,
And part around the hills in circling currents flow.
And now the slimy, soft-fermented earth,
Prepar'd to give her various species birth,
Obedient to the voice, produces all
Her boundless stores at her Creator's call.
A sudden spring at his command arose,
And various plants their verdant tops disclose;
The teeming ground to rising groves gives way,
Which leaves and blossoms instantly display,
And ev'ry branch with tempting fruit looks gay.
When he again, whose active word fulfill'd
Exactly all the mighty things he will'd,
Commands, and straight the heav'nly arches rise,
And kindling glories brighten all the skies.
A sudden day with gaudy lustre gilds
Th' expanded air, the new-made streams, and fields;
Ten thousand sprightly dazzling lights advance,
And trembling rays in the wide ether dance:
The sun, beyond them all immense and gay,
Assumes the bright dominion of the day;
And whirling up the skies with rapid force,
Along the radiant zone begins his destin'd course.

And now another efficacious word,
The air and earth, and wat'ry region stor'd:
The num'rous vehicles for breath prepar'd,
The mighty summons of their maker heard;

And from the bosom of their native clay
Sprung into life, and caught the vital ray.
Millions of footed creatures range the woods,
Millions with fins divide the crystal floods;
Millions besides, with wanton liberty,
On painted wings rise singing to the sky.

But last of all, two of a nobler kind,
After the brightest model in his mind,
With care the great artificer design'd:
Beyond his other works, complete and fair,
He form'd with ev'ry grace the lovely pair,
Adorn'd with beauty, crown'd with dignity,
Immortal, god-like, rational, and free:
Serene impressions of a stamp divine,
Upon their matchless faces clearly shine:
In deep suspence, and at themselves amaz'd,
With curious eyes they on each other gaz'd;
Themselves, and all the fair creation round
Survey, and still fresh cause of wonder found.

For now, in their primæval lustre gay,
The earth and heav'ns their utmost pride display.
The blazing sun from his meridian height,
Thro' an unclouded sky darts round his flaming light.
The fields, the floods, and all th' enlighten'd air,
In open day look ravishingly fair.
The bright carnation, and the fragrant rose,
Their beauties fresh with heav'nly dew disclose.
The noble Amaranths show their purple dye,
Splendid, as that which paints the morning sky.

Ten thousand od'rous flow'rs of various hue,
In ev'ry shade and plain spontaneous grew;
And down the smooth descent of verdant hills,
From marble fountains gush a thousand rills;
Thro' many a pleasant shade they murm'ring go,
And mingle with the larger streams below,
Which thro' the flow'ry valleys softly flow;
And all along their lovely spacious banks,
Immortal trees are plac'd in equal ranks,
Whose charming shades might God himself delight,
And angels from their heav'nly bow'rs invite.
Here gentle breezes, from their fragrant wings,
Shed all the odours of a thousand springs:
Harmonious birds among the branches sing,
And all the groves with chearful echoes ring.

Hail mighty Maker of the universe!
My song shall still thy glorious deeds rehearse:
Thy praise, whatever subject others chuse,
Shall be the lofty theme of my aspiring muse.

Love and Friendship:

A PASTORAL.

AMARYLLIS.
While from the skies the ruddy sun descends;
And rising night the ev'ning shade extends:
While pearly dews o'erspread the fruitful field;
And closing flowers reviving odours yield;

Let us, beneath these spreading trees, recite
What from our hearts our muses may indite.
Nor need we, in this close retirement, fear,
Lest any swain our am'rous secrets hear.

SYLVIA.
To ev'ry shepherd I would mine proclaim;
Since fair Aminta is my softest theme:
A stranger to the loose delights of love,
My thoughts the nobler warmth of friendship prove:
And, while its pure and sacred fire I sing,
Chaste goddess of the groves, thy succour bring.

AMARYLLIS.
Propitious god of love, my breast inspire
With all thy charms, with all thy pleasing fire:
Propitious god of love, thy succour bring;
Whilst I thy darling, thy Alexis sing,
Alexis, as the op'ning blossoms fair,
Lovely as light, and soft as yielding air.
For him each virgin sighs, and on the plains
The happy youth above each rival reigns.
Nor to the echoing groves, and whisp'ring spring,
In sweeter strains does artful Conon sing;
When loud applauses fill the crowded groves;
And Phoebus the superior song approves.

SYLVIA.
Beauteous Aminta is as early light,
Breaking the melancholy shades of night.
When she is near, all anxious trouble flies;
And our reviving hearts confess her eyes.

Young love, and blooming joy, and gay desires,
In ev'ry breast the beauteous nymph inspires:
And on the plain when she no more appears,
The plain a dark and gloomy prospect wears.
In vain the streams roll on; the eastern breeze
Dances in vain among the trembling trees.
In vain the birds begin their ev'ning song,
And to the silent night their notes prolong:
Nor groves, nor crystal streams, nor verdant field
Does wonted pleasure in her absence yield.

AMARYLLIS.
And in his absence, all the pensive day,
In some obscure retreat I lonely stray;
All day to the repeating caves complain,
In mournful accents, and a dying strain.
Dear, lovely youth! I cry to all around:
Dear, lovely youth! the flatt'ring vales resound.

SYLVIA.
On flow'ry banks, by ev'ry murm'ring stream,
Aminta is my muse's softest theme:
'Tis she that does my artful notes refine:
With fair Aminta's name my noblest verse shall shine.

AMARYLLIS.
I'll twine fresh garlands for Alexis' brows,
And consecrate to him eternal vows:
The charming youth shall my Apollo prove;
He shall adorn my songs, and tune my voice to love.

To the Author of the foregoing Pastoral.

By Mr. Prior.

By Sylvia, if thy charming self be meant;
If friendship be thy virgin vows extent;
O! let me in Aminta's praises join:
Her's my esteem shall be, my passion thine.
When for thy head the garland I prepare;
A second wreath shall bind Aminta's hair:
And when my choicest songs thy worth proclaim;
Alternate verse shall bless Aminta's name:
My heart shall own the justice of her cause;
And love himself submit to friendship's laws.

But, if beneath thy numbers soft disguise,
Some favour'd swain, some true Alexis lies;
If Amaryllis breathes thy secret pains;
And thy fond heart beats measure to thy strains:
May'st thou, howe'er I grieve, for ever find
The flame propitious, and the lover kind:
May Venus long exert her happy pow'r,
And make thy beauty, like thy verse, endure:
May ev'ry God his friendly aid afford;
Pan guard thy flock, and Ceres bless thy board.

But, if by chance the series of thy joys
Permit one thought less chearful to arise;

Piteous transfer it to the mournful swain,
Who loving much, who not belov'd again,
Feels an ill-fated passion's last excess;
And dies in woe, that thou may'st live in peace.

In praise of Memory. Inscrib'd to the Honourable the Lady Worsely.

Best gift that heav'ns indulgence cou'd bestow!
To thee our surest happiness we owe;
Thou all the flying pleasures dost restore,
Which, but for thee, blest Mem'ry, were no more:
For we no sooner grasp some frail delight,
But ready for its everlasting flight,
E'er we can call the hasty bliss our own,
If not retain'd by thee, it is for ever gone.

Thou to the fond successful lover's heart,
A thousand melting raptures dost impart;
When, yet more lovely than herself, and kind,
Thou bring'st his fancy'd mistress to his mind;
The flatt'ring image wears a livelier grace,
A softer mein, and more inticing face.

Thou from the flying minutes dost retrieve
The joys, Clorinda's wit and humour give;
Those joys that I had once possess'd in vain,
Did not the dear remembrance still remain:

She speaks, methinks, and all my soul inspires,
Brightens each thought, and gives my muse new fires;
'Tis she that lends my daring fancy wings,
Softens my lyre, and tunes its warbling strings.

Thou only to the guilty art severe,
Who the review of their past actions fear;
But to the innocent and virtuous mind,
Art still propitious, smiling still, and kind.
To thee we all those charming pleasures owe,
The pleasures that from gen'rous actions flow,
And they are still the noblest we possess below.

An imitation of a PASTORAL of Mrs. Killegrew's.

MYRTILLA.
Let fragrant eastern breezes round thee play,
And op'ning blossoms still adorn thy way;
Let bubbling fountains murmur to thy sleep,
And Pan himself the while protect thy sheep;
Thy wanton herds thro' verdant pastures stray,
Pastures like thee, all flourishing and gay.
And when with guiltless sports, the rival swains,
For rural glory strive upon the plains,
Still, young Alexis, may the prize be thine,
And on thy brows the fairest garland shine.

ALEXIS.
Unfading wreaths may'st thou, Myrtilla, gain,
And deathless honours by thy verse obtain;
May such smooth numbers warble from thy tongue,
As late the skilful Melibœus sung.

MYRTILLA.
No such ambitious aim my mind pursues;
'Tis love, O charming youth! inspires my muse:
Could I but please thee with my artless lays,
I proudly shou'd neglect all other praise;
Would'st thou be grateful, ev'ry grove, and stream,
And hill, and lawn shou'd echo with thy name;
Each rock, each winding cavern and retreat,
The soft, inchanting accents shou'd repeat:
And if my muse immortal fame cou'd give,
Thy name in deathless numbers shou'd survive.

ALEXIS.
Secure of fame, he needs no further crave,
Who such a lasting monument may have:
But oh! his glory ne'er can be improv'd,
Who by the bright Lycoris has been lov'd.

MYRTILLA.
Fond youth, in yonder solitary shade,
I saw Narcissus with the perjur'd maid;
A thousand tender things she look'd, and said;
Her ravish'd eyes upon his beauty fed;
With flow'rs his graceful flowing hair she drest,
And ev'ry smile her secret flame confest.

ALEXIS.
What pass'd before I saw my lovely fair,
Deserves not now my jealousy or care:
Had I at first the fickle beauty known,
She had been constant then, and all my own.

A description of the enchanted palace and garden of Armida; whither two knights from the Christian camp were come in search of Rinaldo.

[_]

Translated from the beginning of the sixteenth Book of Tasso's Jerusalem.

The palace in a circling figure rose,
Its lofty bounds a sylvan scene inclose;
Expanded there a beauteous garden lay,
Where never-fading flow'rs their pride display,
A thousand dæmons kept their lodgings round,
Whose arts with endless labyrinths confound
Each passage to the fair enchanted ground.
A hundred gates adorn the stately place,
The chief of which the heroes wond'ring pass:
The folding-doors on golden hinges turn,
With polish'd gold the radiant pillars burn;
But all the dazzling precious metal's cost,
Was in the rich, unvalu'd sculpture lost.

The figures which the spacious portals grace,
With human motion seem to leave their place;
In ev'ry visage, an expressive mind
Th' inimitable artist had design'd,
And life in all their looks and gestures shin'd.
Nor speech was wanting, fancy that supplies;
They breathe and speak, while each consults his eyes.

The story first with Hercules begins;
With virgins seated here he tamely spins:
The god-like man, who hell's strong passage gain'd,
And heav'n, and all its rolling orbs sustain'd,
A spindle wields, and with soft tales beguiles
The flying hours; fond Love stands by and smiles;
His useless club the fair Iole holds,
The lion's rugged skin her tender limbs infolds.

Remote from this a sea its surges rears,
Hoary with foam the azure field appears;
Two warlike fleets advance on either side,
And o'er the waves with equal terror ride:
The flashes which from brandish'd weapons came,
With dreadful splendor all the deep inflame.
Conspicuous far the bright Egyptian queen,
Urging the fierce encounter on is seen:
Antonius here conducts the eastern kings,
The mighty Romans there illustrious Cæsar brings.
As when two floating isles amidst the main,
Push'd on by winds, each other's shock sustain,
And mountains clash with mountains on the wat'ry plain:

With such a force the hostile fleets ingage,
Their thund'ring chiefs oppos'd with equal rage;
While javelins, darts, and flaming torches fly,
And foreign spoils above the waters lie.
To Cæsar now the victory inclines,
The beauteous queen the liquid field resigns;
She flies, nor wou'd the fond Antonius stay,
But madly left the scarce-decided day,
And threw the empire of the world away.
Nor touch'd with fear, nor conquer'd by his foes,
Th' unhappy man the doubtful field foregoes,
But by his love betray'd; yet gen'rous shame
And martial honour oft his thoughts reclaim:
And now he wou'd the fainting fight renew,
And now the charming fugitive pursue;
With her inglorious to the shore he flies,
And careless there, and lost in pleasure lies;
Abandon'd loosely to her fatal charms,
Resolves to soften fate in Cleopatra's arms.

The champions all these costly wonders view,
And thro' the palace now their course pursue:
As wild Meander winds along his shores,
Now sinks, and now his silver wave restores;
Now to the ocean runs in various ways,
And backward now in wanton motion plays;
Such crooked paths, such labyrinths they pass,
As they the dubious structure's windings trace;
And thro' th' uncertain maze they still had err'd,
But the wise Magus' scheme their passage clear'd;
Whence disengag'd, before their ravish'd eyes
The beauteous garden's pleasant prospect lies;

The shining lakes, and moving crystal here,
The flow'rs, and various plants at once appear;
At once a shady vale, and sunny hill,
And groves, and mossy caves the landscape fill;
At once its self the charming scene reveals,
And all its wise contriver's art conceals:
Nor art does copying nature here appear,
But sportive nature imitating her.
The air was mild, and calm the morning breeze,
Which breath'd eternal verdure on the trees;
The trees their branches proudly here display,
With full-ripe fruits, and purple blossoms gay;
Beneath one spreading leaf, a bending twig
Presents the immature and rip'ning fig:
Depending on a loaded branch are seen
The gold, the blushing apple, and the green:
The lofty vines their various clusters show;
Ungrateful those, while these with Nectar flow:
The joyful birds beneath the happy shade,
In guided parts a tuneful concert made.
The whisp'ring winds, and waters murm'ring fall,
With trembling cadence softly answer'd all:
Now ceas'd the birds, the winds and waters high,
In warbling sounds return the harmony;
But falling, now the birds resume their part,
Yet scarce this order seems th' effect of art:
But one with gaudy plumes, among the rest,
And purple bill, superior skill exprest;
Now imitating human words begun,
The sweet, the shrill, the melting note her own:
The wing'd musicians all stood mute to hear,
The winds suspend their murmurs in the air,

And list'ning staid while she her song recites,
Which in alluring strains to love invites:
Her part perform'd, the feather'd chorus round,
Thro' all the groves their glad assent resound.
The pensive doves in sighs their pain reveal,
The whisp'ring trees a passion seem to feel:
The floods, the fields, and lightsome air above
Confess the flame, and gently breathe out love.

Unconquer'd yet the stedfast knights remain,
And all the tempting baits of vice disdain;
But now retir'd beneath a pleasant shade,
The lovers at a distance they survey'd:
Armida seated on the flow'rs they find,
And in her lap Rinaldo's head reclin'd;
Inspiring love, and languishing her air,
Unbound and curling to the winds her hair:
Her careless robes flow with an am'rous grace,
And rosy blushes paint her lovely face.
Fix'd on her charms he fed his wanton fires,
And feeding still increas'd his fierce desires;
Plung'd in licentious pleasures thus he lay,
And melts his life ingloriously away.

At certain times Armida to her cells
Retires to practise her mysterious spells:
The hour was come, she sighs a soft adieu,
And from his arms unwillingly withdrew.
In glitt'ring armour rushing from the wood,
Before him strait the pious heroes stood.
As the fierce steed, for justs and battel bred,
Now useless grown, with herds in pastures fed,

Ranges at large, and lives ignobly free
From former toils; if arms he chance to see,
Or hears from far the trumpet's sprightly sounds,
He neighs aloud, and breaks the flow'ry bounds;
Longs on his back to feel the hardy knight,
Measure the lists, and meet the promis'd fight.
Their sight the brave Rinaldo thus alarm'd,
Recall'd his honour, and his courage warm'd;
Its long inglorious sleep his virtue broke,
And martial ardor sparkled in his look.
When with a friendly scorn Ubaldo held
Before the youth his adamantine shield;
Surpriz'd he meets his own reflection there,
His gaudy robes hung loose, his flowing hair,
Clouds with the rich perfume, and sweetens all the air.
A bright, but useless sword adorns his side;
Asham'd he views this nice fantastic pride,
And, like a man that long in idle dreams
Has lain, deluded to himself he seems:
Enrag'd, the hateful object now he flies,
Confus'd and silent downward bends his eyes,
Half wish'd the cleaving ground might open wide,
Or overwhelming seas his shame wou'd hide.
Ubaldo sees the time, and thus begun,

While fame, while so much glory may be won,
While Asia, while all Europe are in arms,
And shake the universe with loud alarms;
Bertoldo's son alone exempt from fear,
Remains a woman's noble champion here.
What lethargy, what fatal spells controul
Thy vig'rous honour, and unman thy soul?

Come on! the camp, and mighty Godfrey send,
Fortune and victory thy sword attend;
The destin'd hero thou the doubtful war to end:
Conclude the conquest o'er thy pagan foes,
What might can thy resistless arm oppose?

Speechless he stood; and now a decent shame,
And now a gen'rous pride his looks inflame:
He rends the badges of his lewd disgrace,
And flies with horror the detested place.

The story of Erminia. Translated from the seventh Book of Tasso's Jerusalem.

Inscrib'd to the Right Honourable the Lady Viscountess Weymouth.

Erminia , by the centinels surpriz'd,
Fled all the night, in burnish'd arms disguis'd;
And all the day thro' pathless woods she stray'd,
Of ev'ry whisp'ring breath of wind afraid:
But now the sun his shining progress ends,
Deserts the skies, and to the sea descends;
The nymph arrives where wealthy Jordan flows,
And on his flow'ry borders seeks repose;
Soft sleep, that wish'd relief to mortals brings,
Spreads o'er the beauteous maid his downy wings;

But restless love his empire still maintains,
And o'er her dreams in airy triumph reigns.
At last the birds salute the rising light,
And wanton winds the rosy morn invite;
They curl the streams, and dance along the waves,
Glide thro' the woods, and whisper in the leaves:
Each painted blossom opens to the day,
With them, Erminia's eyes their charms display:
With pensive looks, the prospect round she view'd,
The shepherds tents, and rural solitude;
Each ruffling noise awakes her former fears,
'Till thro' the boughs a tuneful note she hears:
The fields and floods the chearful sound retain,
And sportive echoes mock the jovial swain;
Who careless near the banks of Jordan sate,
Nor fear'd the stars, nor curs'd relentless fate:
Pleas'd with his honest art, he baskets wove;
Three sprightly boys to imitate him strove.
The princess nearer drew, with wild affright
The children fled the unaccustom'd sight,
'Till the bright helmet from her head she took,
Reveal'd a female face, and modest look;
The golden tresses o'er her shoulders fell,
And all their fears her charming eyes dispel:
Her face no more a martial terror boasts,
When thus the wond'ring shepherd she accosts.

Thrice happy man! the gods peculiar care
Protects thee from the wasteful rage of war:
I come not here to offer hostile wrongs,
To interrupt thy labours, or thy songs;

But by what methods hast thou found defence,
Against the sword's impartial violence;
While clashing arms, and the shrill trumpet's sound,
With endless jars, perplex the regions round?

My humble state, fair maid, the swain replies,
Beneath the turns of changing fortune lies:
While lightning blasts the mountain's lofty brow,
The humble valley smiles secure below.
From all the tumults which distract the great,
We live exempt in this obscure retreat;
The gods themselves the rural life approve,
And kindly guard the innocence they love:
In groves we sleep, from spoil and rapine free,
Content with little, blest in poverty.
This life (which yet ambitious men despise)
Before a court's licentious joys, I prize:
Nor pride, nor sordid avarice, molest
The soft tranquility within my breast.
Unartful meats supply my frugal board,
And drink the pure, untainted springs afford;
No poisons thro' their channels are convey'd,
Nor are we here in golden cups betray'd:
These youths, my sons, to labour us'd, like me,
Attend my flocks with chearful industry.
Nor think these shades can no delights afford;
With various harmless beasts the woods are stor'd,
Among the boughs melodious birds reside,
And scaly fish along the rivers glide.

Yet other motives did my youth engage,
And wild ambition fir'd my blooming age;

I scorn'd the peasant's care and humble toils,
And left my native shores, for foreign soils;
And in th' Egyptian court my suit preferr'd:
My suit the condescending noble heard.
The royal gardens soon were made my care;
I learn'd the fatal snares of greatness there,
Its impious methods, and unconstant state;
But learn'd, alas! the dear mistake too late:
My prime was past, my airy wishes cross'd,
And all my dreams of rising fortune lost,
With weeping eyes, the country scenes I view'd,
And bless'd my once inglorious solitude;
The smooth tranquility, the gay content,
In which my former happy days were spent.
Resolv'd again those pleasures to pursue,
With just remorse, I bid the court adieu.
The day was doubly fortunate for me,
Which set me from its gaudy bondage free.

His wise discourse th' attentive princess pleas'd,
And half the tempest of her soul appeas'd:
She now resolves to try, far from the strife
Of factious courts, an unambitious life.
She paus'd ------ then thus, with gentle words, began
T'address the hoary venerable man.

If, by the disappointments thou hast prov'd,
Thy kind relief, and pity may be mov'd,
Conduct me to some hospitable cell,
And let me in these calm recesses dwell:
There quiet shades, perhaps, will ease my grief,
And give my restless passions some relief.

By thy example taught, I shall grow wise;
With that, a tear grac'd her prevailing eyes:
Some pitying drops the careful shepherd shed,
And to his cottage the fair stranger led.
A father's kind indulgence fills his breast;
His wife, with joy, receives the royal guest;
Who now her nodding helmet lays aside,
Her gilded arms, and ornamental pride;
Then in a sylvan dress, the graceful maid,
All negligent, her decent limbs array'd;
But nothing rustic in her careless mien,
The princess still thro' all disguise was seen:
Majestic beauty lighten'd in her face,
She mov'd, and spoke, with an unvulgar grace;
An air of grandeur, not to be suppress'd,
Her noble mind and high descent confess'd.
Yet to the fold her bleating flocks she drove,
And with her native delicacy strove:
Sometimes along the fresh enamel'd meads,
Her harmless charge, with gentle pace she leads;
And, oft beneath some laurel's shade reclin'd,
With Tancred's name, she wounds the tender rind:
Each tree that flourish'd in the conscious grove,
The records bore of her successless love.
And when the tragic story she review'd,
The sad description all her grief renew'd;
With love and melting sorrow in her eyes,
Ye verdant plants, the pensive charmer cries,
Ye pines, and spreading laurels, as ye grow,
Retain the deep inscriptions of my woe;
Some wretched maid, undone by love, like me,
Shall mourn my injur'd faith, and partial destiny.

But if my charming hero here should stray,
As grant, ye blest propitious powers, he may!
And wand'ring, find in ev'ry shade his name,
My secret care, and undiscover'd flame,
Long after death has clos'd my wretched eyes,
And in the grave this mortal relick lies;
Some tender sigh, some grateful tear may prove
The late success of my unblemish'd love.
My hov'ring ghost, pleas'd with that soft return,
The rigour of my fate no more should mourn.

With these complaints, she sooths her fond desires,
And vainly to the fields and shades retires;
The fields and shades indulge her fatal fires:
While Tancred, yet a stranger to her charms,
Among the toils of war, and fierce alarms,
Pursues a nobler fate in military arms.

Hymn I.

[The glorious armies of the sky]

And art thou mine, my dearest Lord?
Then I have all, nor fly
The boldest wishes I can form
Unto a pitch more high.

II

Yes, thou art mine, the contract's seal'd
With thine own precious blood;
And ev'n almighty power's engag'd
To see it all made good.

III

My fears dissolve: for oh! what more
Cou'd studious bounty do?
What farther mighty proofs are left
Unbounded love to shew?

IV

My faith's confirm'd, nor wou'd I quit
My title to thy love,
For all the valu'd things below,
Or shining things above.

V

Nor at the prosp'rous sinner's state
Do I at all repine;
No, let 'em parcel out the earth,
While heav'n and thou art mine.

A Pastoral on the nativity of our Saviour.

[_]

In Imitation of an Italian Pastoral.

MENALCAS.
Some mighty things these awful signs portend!
Amaz'd we see new stars the skies ascend;
A thousand strange usurping lights appear,
And dart their sudden glories thro' the air;

A dazzling day, without the sun, returns,
And thro' the midnight's dusky horror burns.

PALEMON.
And, in the depth of winter, spring appears,
For lo! the ground a sudden verdure wears;
The op'ning flow'rs display their gaudiest dye,
And seem with all the summer's pride to vie.

URANIO.
Nor without myst'ry are these joys that roll
In torrents thro' my now prophetic soul,
And softly whisper to my ravish'd breast,
That more than all the tribes the race of Judah's blest.

MENALCAS.
But see the eastern skies disclose a light
Beyond the noontide's flaming glories bright;
This way its course the sacred vision bends,
And with much state and solemn pomp descends.
Sonorous voices echo from a-far,
And softly warble thro' the trembling air:
The circling spheres the charming sound prolong,
And answer all the cadence of their song:
And now the sacred harmony draws near,
And now a thousand heav'nly forms appear.

ANGELS.
Immortal glory give to God on high,
Thro' all the lofty stations of the sky;
Let joy on earth, and endless peace ensue,
The great Messiah's born, thrice happy men! to you.

URANIO.
The great Messiah born! transporting sound!
To the wide world spread the blest accents round:
What joy these long-expected tidings bring!
To us is born a Saviour and a King.

ANGELS.
An infant in a virgin's arms he lies,
Who rides the winds, and thunders thro' the skies:
The God to whom the flaming seraphs bow,
Descends to lead the life of mortals now.

MENALCAS.
— Surprizing pow'r of love!
Ev'n God himself thy mighty force does prove;
Thou rul'st the world below, and govern'st all above.

PALEMON.
You shining messengers, be farther kind,
And tell us where the wondrous child to find.

ANGELS.
Your glad conducters to the place we'll be,
Eager as you this mystic thing to see.

URANIO.
Some present to the infant king let's bear,
For zeal shou'd always liberal appear.

ANGELS.
Come on, we'll lead you to the poor abode,
Where in a manger lies th' incarnate God;

Reduc'd to lodge among the sordid beasts,
Who all the spacious realms of light possess'd;
And he whose humble ministers we were,
Becomes a tender virgin's helpless care.
Thro' heav'n, but now, the hasty tidings rung,
And anthems on the wond'rous theme they sung.

PALEMON.
But to what happy maid of human race
Has heav'n allotted this peculiar grace?

ANGELS.
Ye echoing skies, repeat Maria's name;
Maria thro' the starry worlds proclaim:
In her bright face celestial graces shine,
Her mind's enrich'd with treasures all divine,
From David's royal house descends her noble line.
But see the humble seat, the poor abode,
That holds the virgin with the infant God.

MENALCAS.
Thee, virgin-born, thus prostrate, I adore,
And offer here the choice of all my store.
Untill'd the earth shall now vast harvests yield,
And laughing plenty crown the open field.
Clear rivers in the desarts shall be seen,
And barren wastes cloath'd in eternal green.
Instead of thorns the stately fir shall rise,
And wave his lofty head amidst the skies;
Where thistles once, shall fragrant myrtles grow,
The beauteous rose on ev'ry bush shall glow,
And from the purple grape rich wines, unpress'd, shall flow

PALEMON.
Great star of Jacob, that so bright dost rise,
Turn, lovely infant, thy auspicious Eyes;
This soft and spotless wool to thee I bring,
My earliest tribute to the new-born king.
With thee each sacred virtue takes its birth,
And peace and justice now shall rule the earth.
Thou shalt the bliss of paradise restore,
And wars and tumults shall be heard no more.
The wolf and lamb shall now together feed,
And with the ox the lions savage breed.
The child shall with the harmless serpent play,
And lead, unhurt, the gentle beast away.
And where the sun ascends the shining east,
And where he ends his journey in the west,
Thy glorious name shall be ador'd and blest.

URANIO.

The hope of Israel, hail!—with humble zeal
To thee, unquestion'd Son of God, I kneel:
All hail to thee! of whom the prophets old
Such mighty things to our forefathers told.
Thy kingdom shall from sea to sea extend,
And reach the spacious world's remotest end.
The spicy isle, and Saba's wealthy king,
To thee from far shall costly presents bring.
Thy steadfast throne shall stand for ever fast,
And thy dominion time it self out last.

This gentle lamb, the best my flocks afford,
I bring an off'ring to all nature's Lord.

ANGELS.
And we, the regents of the spheres, thus low
Before mankind's illustrious Saviour bow:
Astonish'd, in an infant's form we see
Disguis'd th' ineffable divinity;
Who arm'd with thunder, on the fields of light
O'ercame the potent seraphim in fight.
Thus humbled—O unbounded force of love!
Subdu'd by that, from all the joys above,
Thou cam'st the wretched life of man to prove.
And thus our ruin'd numbers will supply,
And fill the desolations of the sky.

Hymn on Heaven.

I

Hail, sacred Salem, plac'd on high!
Seat of the mighty king,
What thought can grasp thy boundless bliss?
What tongue thy glories sing?

II

Thy crystal tow'rs and palaces
Magnificently rise,
And dart their beauteous lustre round
The empyrean skies.

III

V

Awake, my soft and tuneful lyre!
Awake each charming string!
Before the rosy dawn of day,
To thee, my God, I'll sing.

VI

Thou round the heav'nly arch dost draw
A dark and sable veil,
And all the beauties of the world
From mortal eyes conceal.

VII

Again, the sky with golden beams
Thy skilful hands adorn,
And paint, with chearful splendor gay,
The fair ascending morn.

VIII

And as the gloomy night returns,
Or smiling day renews,
Thy constant goodness still my soul
With benefits pursues.

IX

For this I'll midnight vows to thee,
With early incense bring;
And e'er the rosy dawn of day,
Thy lofty praises sing.

A Dialogue between the Fallen Angels, and a Human Spirit just entred into the other world.

Human SPIRIT.
Long struggling in the agonies of death,
With horror I resign'd my mortal breath:
With horror long the fatal gulph I view'd,
And shiv'ring on its utmost edges stood;
Till forc'd to take th' inevitable leap,
I hurry'd headlong down the gloomy steep:
And here of every hope bereft, I find
My self a naked, an unbody'd mind.
My lov'd, my fond, officious friends in vain,
My fleeting soul endeavour'd to retain;
In vain its blooming mansion did invite;
Grandeur, and wealth, and love, and soft delight,
With tempting calls in vain its flight would stay,
When forc'd by the severe decree away.
'Tis past—and all like a thin vision gone,
For which I have my wretched soul undone;

And wand'ring on this dark, detested shore,
My eyes shall view the upper light no more.

Fallen ANGELS.
Then welcome to the regions of despair!
Thy ruin cost us much design and care,
And thou hadst 'scap'd, but for one happy snare;
And in the blissful skies supply'd the place
Of some fall'n spirit of our nobler race:
Thou could'st the thirst of wine or wealth controul,
And no malicious sin has stain'd thy soul;
But for the Joys of one forbidden love
Hast lost the boundless extasies above.

Human SPIRIT.
And all was freely, freely all was lost;
How dear has one short dream of pleasure cost!
But yet this fatal, this enchanting dream,
I should, perhaps, to heaven itself esteem,
Were it as permanent: but, ah! 'tis gone,
And I a wretch abandon'd and undone;
Of God, of every smiling hope, am left,
And all my dear delights on earth bereft:
While here for gilded roofs, and painted bow'rs,
For pleasant walks, and beds of fragrant flow'rs,
I find polluted dens, and pitchy streams,
And burning paths, with beds of raging flames;
Instead of music's sweet inspiring sound,
Repeated yells, and endless groans go round;
And for the lovely faces of my friends,
I meet the ghastly visages of fiends;

A thousand nameless terrors are behind,
Despair, confusion, fury, seize my mind:
But will my griefs no happy period find?

Fallen ANGELS.
Count all the twinkling glories of the sky,
Count all the drops that in the ocean lie;
Of all the earthly globe the atoms count,
Eternal years thy numbers still surmount.
Millions of tedious ling'ring ages gone,
Thy misery, thy hell, is but begun.
As fix'd, as permanent, thy bliss had been,
But for one darling, one beloved sin;
Cold to the baits of any other vice,
Beauty alone could thy fond thoughts entice;
By this, or all our stratagems had fail'd,
By this we o'er thy temp'rate youth prevail'd.
Poor, sottish soul! below our envy now,
For what a toy didst thou a heaven forego!

Human SPIRIT.
O tell me not from what fair hopes I fell!
Just missing heaven, but aggravates my hell.

Fallen ANGELS.
Thou know'st not what thou'st lost, but we too well
The glories of that happy place can tell.
There endless heights of ecstasy they prove,
There's lasting beauty and immortal love;
There flowing pleasures in full torrents roll,
For pleasures form'd; this loss must rack thy soul.

Human SPIRIT.
With how much cruel art you aggravate
My misery's intolerable weight?

Fallen ANGELS.
Our envy once, thou'rt now become our scorn,
In vain for thee the Son of God was born;
That mighty favour, that peculiar grace,
Too glorious for the fall'n angelic race,
Serves only to exasperate thy doom,
And give th' infernal shades a darker gloom.

Human SPIRIT.
Oh! that's the wounding circumstance of all,
To lower depths of woe I cannot fall:
Ye curst tormentors, now your rage is spent,
Your fury can no further hell invent;
A Saviour's title, a Redeemer's blood,
Their worth, till now, I little understood.

A description of HELL.

In imitation of Milton.

Deep, to unfathomable spaces deep,
Descend the dark, detested paths of hell,
The gulphs of execration and despair,
Of pain, and rage, and pure unmingled woe;
The realms of endless death, and seats of night,
Uninterrupted night, which sees no dawn,

Prodigious darkness! which receives no light,
But from the sickly blaze of sulph'rous flames,
That cast a pale and dead reflection round,
Disclosing all the desolate abyss,
Dreadful beyond what human thought can form,
Bounded with circling seas of liquid fire.
Aloft the blazing billows curl their heads,
And form a roar along the direful strand;
While ruddy cat'racts from on high descend,
And urge the fiery ocean's stormy rage.
Impending horrors o'er the region frown,
And weighty ruin threatens from on high;
Inevitable snares, and fatal pits,
And gulphs of deep perdition, wait below;
Whence issue long, remediless complaints,
With endless groans, and everlasting yells.
Legions of ghastly fiends (prodigious sight!)
Fly all confus'd across the sickly air,
And roaring horrid, shake the vast extent.
Pale, meagre spectres wander all around,
And pensive shades, and black deformed ghosts.
With impious fury some aloud blaspheme,
And wildly staring upwards, curse the skies;
While some, with gloomy terror in their looks,
Trembling all over, downward cast their eyes,
And tell, in hollow groans, their deep despair.

Convinc'd by fatal proofs, the atheist here
Yields to the sharp tormenting evidence;
And of an infinite eternal mind,
At last the challeng'd demonstration meets.

The libertine his folly here laments,
His blind extravagance, that made him sell
Unfading bliss, and everlasting crowns,
Immortal transports, and celestial feasts,
For the short pleasure of a sordid sin,
For one fleet moment's despicable joy.
Too late, all lost, for ever lost! he sees
The envy'd saints triumphing from afar,
And angels basking in the smiles of God.
But oh! that all was for a trifle lost,
Gives to his bleeding soul perpetual wounds.

The wanton beauty, whose bewitching arts,
Has drawn ten thousand wretched souls to hell,
Depriv'd of ev'ry blandishment and charm,
All black, and horrid, seeks the darkest shades,
To shun the fury of revengeful ghosts,
That with vindictive curses still pursue
The author of their miserable fate,
Who from the paths of life seduc'd their souls,
And led them down to these accurst abodes.

The fool that sold his heav'n for gilded clay,
The scorn of all the damn'd, ev'n here laments
His sordid heaps; which still to purchase, he
A second time wou'd forfeit all above:
Nor covets fields of light, nor starry wreaths,
Nor angels songs, nor pure unmingled bliss,
But for his darling treasures still repines;
Which from afar, to aggravate his doom,
He sees some thoughtless prodigal consume.

Beyond them all a miserable hell
The execrable persecutor finds;
No spirit howls among the shades below
More damn'd, more fierce, nor more a fiend than he.
Aloud he heav'n and holiness blasphemes,
While all his enmity to good appears,
His enmity to good; once falsly call'd
Religious warmth, and charitable zeal.
On high, beyond th' unpassable abyss,
To aggravate his righteous doom, he views
The blissful realms, and there the schismatic,
The visionary, the deluded saint,
By him so often hated, wrong'd, and scorn'd,
So often curs'd, and damn'd, and banish'd thence:
He sees him there possest of all that heav'n,
Those glories, those immortal joys, which he,
The orthodox, unerring catholic,
The mighty fav'rite, and elect of God,
With all his mischievous, converting arts,
His killing charity, and burning zeal,
His pompous creeds, and boasted faith, has lost.

On HEAVEN.

What glorious things of thee, O glorious place!
Shall my bold muse in daring numbers speak?
While to immortal strains I tune my lyre,
And warbling imitate angelic airs:
While ecstasy bears up my soul aloft,

And lively faith gives me a distant glimpse
Of glories unreveal'd to human eyes.

Ye starry mansions, hail! my native skies!
Here in my happy, pre-existent state,
(A spotless mind) I led the life of gods.
But passing, I salute you, and advance
To yonder brighter realm's allow'd access.

Hail, splendid city of th' almighty king!
Celestial Salem, situate above;
Magnificent thy prospect, and august,
Thy walls sublime, thy tow'rs and palaces
Illustrious far, with orient gems appear.
There regent angels, crown'd with stars, command,
High in the midst, the awful throne of God
Ascends, the utmost empyrean arch,
The heav'n of heavens; where in conceiveless light,
Such as infinity alone can prove,
He enjoys th' extremest bounds of happiness,
And was in perfect blessedness the same
E'er any thing existed but himself;
E'er time, or place, or motion, had a name;
Before the spheres began their tuneful round;
Or through the air the sun had spread his beams;
E'er at his feet the flaming seraphs bow'd,
And cast their shining crowns before his throne;
E'er smiling angels tun'd their golden harps,
Or sung one hallelujah to his praise.
But mighty love, which mov'd him to create,
Still moves him to communicate his bliss.

O speak! you happy spirits that surround
His dazzling throne, for you alone can tell;
For you alone those raptures can describe,
And stem th' impetuous floods of joy that rise
Within your breasts, when all unveil'd, you view
The wonders of the beatific sight:
When from the bright unclouded face of God
You drink full draughts of bliss and endless love,
And plunge your selves in life's immortal fount;
The spring of joy, which from his darling throne
In endless currents smoothly glides away,
Thro' all the verdant fields of paradise;
Thro' balmy groves, where on their flow'ry banks,
To murm'ring waters, and soft-whisp'ring winds,
Fair spirits in melodious concert join,
And sweetly warble their heroic loves.
For love makes half their heav'n, and kindles here
New flames, and ardent life in ev'ry breast;
While active pleasure lightens in their eyes,
And sparkling beauty shines on every face:
Their spotless minds, all pure and exquisite,
The noblest heights of love prepar'd to act,
In everlasting sympathies unite,
And melt, in flowing joys, eternity away.

To those blest shades, and amarantine bow'rs,
When dazzled with th' unsufferable beams
That issue from the open face of God,
For umbrage many a seraphim resorts:
Nor longer here o'er their bright faces clasp
Their gorgeous wings, which open wide, display
More radiance than adorns the chearful sun,

When first he from the rosy east looks out:
Gentle as love, their looks serene as light,
Blooming and gay as everlasting springs.

But oh! when in the lofty blissful bow'rs,
With heav'nly skill, to the harmonious lyre,
The clear, the sweet, the melting voice they join;
The vales of heav'n rejoice, and echoing loud,
Redouble ev'ry charming close again;
While trembling winds upon their fragrant wings
Bear far the soft, melodious sounds away;
The silver streams their winding journeys stay,
Suspend their murmurs, and attend the song;
The laughing fields new flow'rs and verdure wear,
And all the trees of life bloom out afresh.
The num'rous suns which gild the realms of joy,
Dance in their lightsome spheres, and brighter day
Thro' all th' interminable ether darts,
While to the great unutterable name,
All glory they ascribe in lofty strains,
In strains expressless by a mortal tongue.
O happy regions! O transporting place!
With what regret I turn my loathing eyes
To yonder earthly globe, my dusky seat!
But, ah! I must return; no more allow'd
To breathe the calm, the soft, celestial air,
And view the mystic wonders of the skies.

SERAPHIC LOVE.

I

Thou beauty's vast abyss, abstract of all
My thoughts can lovely, great, or splendid call;
To thee in heav'nly flames, and pure desires,
My ravish'd soul impatiently aspires.

II

With admiration, praise, and endless love,
Thou fill'st the wide resplendent worlds above;
And none can rival, or with thee compare,
Of all the bright intelligences there.

III

What vapours then, what short-liv'd glories be
The fairest idols of our sense to thee?
Before the streaming splendor of thine eye,
The languid beauties fall away, and die.

IV

Farewel then, all you flat delights of sense!
I'm charm'd with a sublimer excellence,
To whom all mortal beauty's but a ray,
A scatter'd drop of his o'erflowing day.

V

How strongly thou, my panting heart, dost move
With all the holy ecstasies of love!
In these sweet flames let me expire, and see
Unveil'd the brightness of thy deity.

VI

Oh! let me die, for there's no earthly bliss
My thoughts can ever relish after this;
No, dearest Lord, there's nothing here below,
Without thy smiles, to please, or satisfy me now.

The translation of Elijah.

His lecture to the sad young prophets done,
And last adieus, the rev'rend seer goes on,
Obedient as the sacred instinct guides,
And now advanc'd to Jordan's verdant sides;
Elijah, with his great successor stood,
And gave a signal to the passing flood;
Th' obsequious waters stay, for well they know
What to his high authority they owe.
While wave on wave, with silent awe, crowds back,
To leave a clean, and spacious sandy track,
Elijah on with his companion goes,
Behind 'em soon the crystal ridges close,
No more revers'd, the troubled current flows.
Then forward still they went, discoursing high
Of heav'nly bliss, and immortality,
When from a cloud breaks, (like the purple dawn)
By fiery steeds a fiery chariot drawn;
A glittering convoy, swift as that descends,
And in an instant parts th' embracing friends;
To the bright car conducts the man of God,
And mounts again the steep ethereal road.

The passing triumph lightens all the air
With ruddy lustre, than high noon more fair,
And paints the clouds, than evening beams more gay,
Thro' which, with wond'rous speed, they cut their way.
Now lofty piles of thunder, hail, and snow,
Th' artillery of heav'n they leave below;
Below the glimm'ring moon's pale regency
They leave, and now more free ascend the sky.
Breathing again immortal air, nor here
Resent the pressure of the atmosphere.
By holy ecstasies, and flames intense,
Here purg'd from all the dregs of mortal sense;
With heav'nly lustre, eminently gay,
Elijah wond'ring, does himself survey;
All o'er surveys himself, and then the skies,
While new stupendous objects meet his eyes.
With his new being pleas'd, thus, the first man
As just to live and reason he began,
On hills, and valleys, groves and fountains, gaz'd;
With skies and light thus ravish'd, thus amaz'd.
But now the utmost firmament they cleave,
And all the starry worlds behind them leave;
Hark, angels sing! of light appear new streaks!
Celestial day, with gaudy splendor breaks!
On heaven's rich solid azure now they tread,
The blissful paths that to God's presence lead;
While to the new inhabitant all the way
Loud welcomes, on their harps, his guardians play:
A thousand joyful spirits crowd to meet
The glorious saint, and his arrival greet.

A DIALOGUE between the Soul, Riches, Fame, and Pleasure.

RICHES.
Deluded mortal, turn and view my store,
While all my glitt'ring treasures I explore.
The gold of both the Indian worlds is mine,
And gems that in the eastern quarries shine.
For me advent'rous men attempt the main,
And all the fury of its waves sustain,
For me all toils and hazards they disdain.
For me their country's sold, their faith betray'd;
The voice of interest ne'er was disobey'd.

SOUL.
Yet I thy tempting offers can despise,
Nor lose a wish on such a worthless prize.
When yonder sparkling stars attract my sight,
Thy gold, thy boasted gems, lose all their light.
My daring thoughts above these trifles rise,
And aim at glorious kingdoms in the skies.
I there expect celestial diadems,
Out-shining all thy counterfeited gems.

FAME.
'Tis nothing strange, that thy ambitious mind,
In sordid wealth should no temptation find:
But I have terms which thy acceptance claim,
Heroic glory, and a mighty name!

To these the greatest souls on earth aspire,
Souls most endow'd with the celestial fire;
Whom neither wealth, nor beauty can enflame,
These hazard all for an illustrious name.

SOUL.
And yet thou art a mere fantastic thing,
Which can no solid satisfaction bring.
Should I in costly monuments survive,
And, after death, in men's applauses live;
What profit were their vain applause to me,
If doom'd below to endless infamy?
Sunk in reproach, and everlasting shame
With God, and angels, where's my promis'd fame?
But if their approbation I obtain,
And deathless wreaths, and heav'nly glories gain,
I may the world's false pageantry disdain.

PLEASURE.
But where the baits of wealth and honour fail,
Th' inchanting voice of pleasure may prevail:
The lewd and virtuous, both my vassals prove;
No breast so guarded but my charms can move.
All that delights mankind, attends on me,
Beauty, and youth, and love, and harmony.
I wing the smiling hours, and gild the day,
My paths are smooth, and flow'ry all my way.

SOUL.
But, ah! these paths to black perdition tend,
There soon thy soft, deluding visions end.

Those smooth, those flow'ry ways, lead down to hell,
Where all thy slaves in endless night must dwell.
The road of virtue far more rugged is,
But, oh! it leads to everlasting bliss.
And all beyond the thorny passage lies
The realm of light, discover'd to mine eyes:
Gay bow'rs, and streams of joy, and lightsome fields,
With happy shades, the beauteous prospect yields;
Those blissful regions I shall shortly gain,
Where peace, and love, and endless pleasures reign.

The xxxviiith chapter of Job translated.

In thunder now the God his silence broke,
And from a cloud this lofty language spoke.

Who, and where art thou, fond, presumptuous man!
That by thy own weak measures mine would'st scan?
Undaunted, as an equal match for me,
Stand forth, and answer my demands to thee.

And first, let thy original be trac'd,
And tell me then what mighty thing thou wast,
When to the world my potent word gave birth,
And fix'd the centre of the floating earth?
Didst thou assist with one designing thought,
Or my idea's rectify in ought,
When from confusion I this order brought?

When like an artist I the line stretch'd out,
And mark'd its wide circumference about,
Didst thou contribute, Job, the needful aid,
When I the deep, and strong foundations laid,
And with my hand the rising pillars stay'd?
When from the perfect model of my mind,
The vast and stately fabric was design'd;
So wond'rous, so complete in ev'ry part,
Adorn'd with such variety of art,
The sons of light the goodly frame survey,
As their own seats magnificent and gay.
Around the shining verge of heav'n they crowd,
And from the crystal confines, shout aloud.
For joy the morning stars together sang,
And heav'n, all o'er, with glad preludiums rang.

Were the tumultuous floods by thee controul'd,
When without bounds the foaming billows roll'd?
Didst thou appoint 'em then their ouzy bed,
And humid clouds o'er all their surface spread,
Affixing limits to th' imperious deep,
The limits it perpetually shall keep;
Tho' mounting high, the angry surges roar,
And dash themselves, with rage, against the shore?

When did'st thou summon up the ling'ring day,
And haste the lovely blushing morn away?
Swift as my flaming messengers above,
Its gaudy wings at my direction move.

Hast thou survey'd the ocean's dark abodes,
The steep descents, the vaults, and craggy roads,
Thro' which hollow rumour rush the nether floods?
Or hast thou measur'd the prodigious store
Of waves, that in those ghastly caverns roar?
Or hast thou, Job, the fatal valley trac'd,
And thro' the realms of death undaunted pass'd;
Where the pale king a rusty scepter weilds,
And reigns a tyrant o'er the dusky fields?
Dost thou the pure immortal fountain know,
From whence those num'rous streams of glory flow,
Which feed the radiant lamps that in the ether glow?
Or from what caves the sullen shadows rise
When, like a deluge, night involves the skies?
How does the sun his morning beams display
Thro' golden clouds, and spread the sudden day;
When breaking from the east, all fresh and fair,
He dances thro' the glitt'ring fields of air?
At his approach all nature looks more gay,
Thro' ev'ry grove refreshing breezes play,
And o'er the streams, and o'er the meadows, stray,

Dost thou the clouds amidst the air sustain,
And melt the floating rivers down in rain;
When over-charg'd, the yielding atmosphere,
No longer now the wat'ry load can bear?
On gloomy wings the sounding tempest flies,
And heavy thunders roll along the skies;
Around the airy vault fierce light'nings play,
And burn themselves, thro' solid clouds, a way:

With water, who the wilderness supplies?
And tell me whence the midnight dews arise?
Or from what cold and petrifying womb
The ice, and nipping hoary frost does come?
What secret pow'rs its fluid parts cement,
Congeal, and harden the soft element?
All stiff, and motionless, the frozen deep,
No curling winds its shining surface sweep.

Canst thou the chearing influences stay
Of those mild stars which deck the spring so gay?
Or loose the sullen planet's icy bands,
Which frosts, and rough tempestuous winds, commands?
Canst thou bring out fair Maz'roth's sultry beam?
Or guide, thro' heav'ns blue tracks, the starry team?
Do all the shining, vast machines above,
By thy contrivance, in such order move?
If so—still thy divinity to prove,
Set open now the flood-gates of the sky,
And call a mighty deluge from on high;
Kindle prodigious light'nings, and command
The burning flashes with a daring hand—
I'll then confess thou hast an arm like me;
And that thy own right-hand can succour thee.

HYMN.

[The calls of glory, beauty's smiles]

Whom have I in heaven but thee, &c.
Psal. lxxiii. 25.

I

The calls of glory, beauty's smiles,
And charms of harmony,
Are all but dull, insipid things,
Compar'd, my God, with thee.

II

Without thy love I nothing crave,
And nothing can enjoy;
The profer'd world I shou'd neglect,
As an unenvied toy.

III

The sun, the num'rous stars, and all
The wonders of the skies,
If to be purchas'd with thy smiles,
Thou know'st I wou'd despise.

IV

What were the earth, the sun, the stars,
Or heav'n it self, to me,
My life, my everlasting bliss!
If not secur'd of thee?

V

Celestial bow'rs, seraphic songs,
And fields of endless light,
Wou'd all unentertaining prove,
Without thy blissful sight.

Thoughts of a dying Christian.

I come, I come! and joyfully obey
The fatal voice that summons me away:
With pleasure I resign this mortal breath,
And fall a willing sacrifice to death.
O welcome stroke, that gives me liberty!
Welcome, as to the slave, a jubilee!
Of the vain world I take my last adieu,
The promis'd land is now within my view;
The clouds dispel, the stormy danger's past,
And I attain the peaceful shores at last.
My hope's dear objects, now are all in sight,
The lands of love, and unexhausted light;
The flowing streams of joy, and endless bliss,
The shining plains, and walks of paradise;
The trees of life, immortal fruits and flow'rs,
The tall celestial groves, and charming bow'rs.
I breathe the balmy empyrean air,
The songs of angels, and their harps I hear;
And scarce the fierce, tyrannic joy can bear.

HYMN.

[Immortal fountain of my life]

I

Immortal fountain of my life,
My last, my noblest end:
Eternal centre of my soul,
Where all its motions tend!

II

Thou object of my dearest love,
My heav'nly paradise,
The spring of all my flowing joys,
My everlasting bliss!

III

My God, my hope, my vast reward,
And all I wou'd possess;
Still more than these pathetic names,
And charming words express!

The APPEAL.

I

To thee, great searcher of the heart,
I solemnly appeal,
Who all the secrets of my soul,
And inmost thoughts can'st tell.

II

VI

With such a grateful harmony
Thy numbers still prolong,
And let remotest lands reply,
And echo to thy song.

VII

Far as the distant regions where
The beauteous morning springs,
And scatters odours thro' the air
From her resplendent wings;

VIII

Unto the new-found realms which see
The latter sun arise,
When with an easy progress he
Rolls down the nether skies.

DESPAIR.

Oh! lead me to some solitary gloom,
Where no enliv'ning beams, nor chearful echoes come;
But silent all, and dusky let it be,
Remote, and unfrequented but by me;
Mysterious, close, and sullen as that grief,
Which leads me to its covert for relief.
Far from the busy world's detested noise,
Its wretched pleasures, and distracted joys;

Far from the jolly fools, who laugh, and play,
And dance, and sing, impertinently gay,
Their short, inestimable hours away;
Far from the studious follies of the great,
The tiresome farce of ceremonious state:
There, in a melting, solemn, dying strain,
Let me, all day, upon my lyre complain,
And wind up all its soft, harmonious strings,
To noble, serious, melancholy things.
And let no human foot, but mine, e'er trace
The close recesses of the sacred place:
Nor let a bird of chearful note come near,
To whisper out his airy raptures here.
Only the pensive songstress of the grove,
Let her, by mine, her mournful notes improve;
While drooping winds among the branches sigh,
And sluggish waters heavily roll by.
Here, to my fatal sorrows let me give
The short remaining hours I have to live.
Then, with a sullen, deep-fetch'd groan expire,
And to the grave's dark solitude retire.

To Cleone.

From the bright realms, and happy fields above.
The seats of pleasure, and immortal love;
Where joys no more on airy chance depend,
All health to thee from those gay climes I send.
For thee my tender passion is the same,
Nor death it self has quench'd the noble flame;

For charms like thine for ever fix the mind,
And with eternal obligations bind.
And when kind fate shall my Cleone free
From the dull fetters of mortality,
I'll meet thy parting soul, and guide my fair
In triumph, thro' the lightsome fields of air;
Till thou shalt gain the blissful seats and bow'rs,
And shining plains, deck'd with unfading flow'rs.
There nobler heights our friendship shall improve,
For flames, like ours, bright spirits feel above,
And tune their golden harps to the soft notes of love.
The sacred subject swells each heav'nly breast,
And in their looks its transports are exprest.

To Clorinda.

Tis not Clorinda's noble air,
Her shape, nor lovely eyes,
(Tho' matchless all, exact and fair)
That thus our hearts surprize.

She, by some mightier pow'r invades,
And triumphs o'er our souls;
At once with softest art persuades,
And with bold force controuls.

'Tis in Clorinda's charming mind,
The sweet attraction lies;
There all that fire and life we find,
Which sparkles in her eyes.

In her a thousand graces shine,
That might our envy move;
Which yet our thoughts alone incline
T'oblige, admire, and love.

PSALM XXIII.

The Lord is my defence and guide,
My wants are by his care supply'd:
He leads me to refreshing shades,
Thro' verdant plains, and flow'ry meads;
And there securely makes me lie,
Near silver currents rolling by.
To guide my erring feet aright,
He gilds my paths with sacred light;
And to his own immortal praise,
Conducts me in his perfect ways.
In death's uncomfortable shade,
No terror can my soul invade:
While he, my strong defence, is near,
His presence scatters all despair.
My spightful foes, with envy, see
His plenteous table spread for me:
My cup o'erflows with sparkling wine,
With fragrant oils my temples shine.
Since God hath wond'rous mercies shew'd,
And crown'd my smiling years with good;

The life he graciously prolongs,
Shall be employ'd in grateful songs;
My voice in lofty hymns I'll raise,
And in his temple spend my days.

On the death of the honourable Henry Thynne, Esq; only son of the right honourable Thomas, Lord Viscount Weymouth.

Ye stately buildings, and ye fair retreats,
That lately seem'd of guiltless joys the seats;
You groves, and beauteous gardens, where we find
Some graceful tracts of Weymouth's active mind;
Put off your chearful looks, and blooming air,
And wear a prospect suited to despair;
Such as the melancholy muse requires,
When fun'ral grief the mournful song inspires.
The muses here Amyntas should deplore,
Who visits these delightful walks no more.
The noble youth, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
The boasted hope and glory of his race,
No more shall these inviting shades frequent;
What merit can the fatal hour prevent?

Lament, ye gloomy grotts, and charming bow'rs,
Pine at your roots, ye various plants and flow'rs;

Decay'd may all your painted blossoms fall,
Nor let the genial ray your life recal;
Nor e'er again your gentle tribute bring,
(Gay nature's pride) to crown the fragrant spring:
Tho' in her prime the lovely season here,
Till now, has triumph'd round the changing year;
And blooming still the wintry turns defy'd,
Nor blasting air, nor nipping frost has try'd;
While the glad sun ev'n linger'd in his race,
And blest with constant smiles the happy place.

Ye tender myrtles mourn, nor let your boughs
Hereafter deck one joyful lover's brows.
Ye folding bays, and laurel's sacred shade,
At once let all your wreathing glories fade.
May raging tempests in the grove contend,
And from the stately firs their branches rend:
Nor let their shade receive the feather'd throng,
Which chear the ev'ning with their tuneful song;
Nor ever here let balmy Zephyrs stray,
And with their fragrant breath perfume the op'ning day.

Ye swelling fountains, be for ever dry,
Or far from these unhappy borders fly;
Nor let the skill of any daring hand,
To grace these walks your dancing spouts command;
Nor sportive Tritons from their native course
Aloft in air, their silver currents force;
While deep cascades the musing thought delight,
And rushing waves to soft repose invite.

Let the proud pedestals no longer prop
Their marble loads, but into ruins drop;
The forms of heroes, and poetic gods,
But ill become these desolate abodes:
Amyntas is no more; who best could trace
Their fine proportions, judge of ev'ry grace,
The speaking gesture, and pathetic face.
Whatever air a noble thought exprest,
An image met in his own gen'rous breast.
Nor sculpture, nor heroic numbers told
A great design, or glorious name enroll'd,
But mov'd in him an emulating flame;
And had occasion try'd, his deeds had been the same.

Accomplish'd youth! why wast thou snatch'd away?
A thousand lives should have redeem'd thy stay.
Must worth, like thine, so short a period find,
And leave so many useless things behind,
Unthinking forms, the burthen of the state;
While a whole nation suffers in thy fate?

On LOVE.

Victorious love, thou sacred mystery!
What muse in mortal strains can speak of thee?
We feel th' effect, and own thy force divine,
But vainly would the glorious cause define.

In part, thy pow'r in these cold realms is known;
But in the blest celestial seats alone,
Thy triumphs in their splendid heights are shown.
Thy gentle torch, with a propitious light,
And spotless flame, burns there for ever bright.
Expressless pleasure, and transporting grace,
With lasting beauty, shine upon thy face.
By ev'ry tongue thy charms are there confest,
And kindle joys in ev'ry heav'nly breast:
For thee they touch the soft, melodious string,
And love in glad triumphant accents sing,
Almighty love, whence all their raptures spring.

REVELATION, Chap. XVI.

Already from before the sacred throne
The sev'n avenging ministers are gone;
Charg'd with the last great plagues behold they stand,
With each his various mischief in his hand:
Sev'n trumpets give the sign, at ev'ry call,
In order they the wrathful dregs let fall.

A prelude sounds: The first his vial pours
Amidst the air, ensu'd by sulph'rous show'rs;
While from their caves portentous tempests rise,
And pitchy clouds obscure the angry skies.

They sound again; the ocean's briny flood
The second vial turns to streaming blood:

Again; and lo! a burning comet takes
Its downward way, and drinks the fresher lakes;
The lakes, the swelling springs, and running streams,
Are all a prey to its malignant beams.

His signal now the fourth great angel takes,
And o'er the sun a livid venom shakes;
The beauteous orb a bloody tincture wears,
And with a fierce malignant horror glares:
The silver moon resigns her trembling ray,
While all the faint nocturnal lights decay.

Another echoing clangor shakes the sky;
And open wide th' infernal portals fly,
Revealing all the dismal realms below,
The dens of night, and seats of endless woe;
Ascending smoke pollutes the sickly air,
While ruddy flames amidst the darkness glare.

Now the sixth trumpet's direful sounds succeed;
And from their adamantine setters freed,
The raging fiends from long confinement come,
With monstrous shapes in open air to roam:
A gloomy host! in terrible array
They march along; pale horror leads the way,
And in its ghastliest form before them walks;
Behind them empty desolation stalks.

The sev'nth shrill trumpet utters now its voice,
Thro' earth and hell resounds the dreadful noise:
‘Arise, ye dead, arise to judgment! come,
‘And take according to your works your doom!’

Th' extended skies are rent from pole to pole,
The light'nings flash, the final thunders roll,
The graves divide, the startled dead awake,
And hov'ring souls their former mansions take.

A PASTORAL.

Inscrib'd to Mrs. Frances Worsley. [Now the right honourable the Lady Carteret.]

Sylvia , the pride of all the rural train,
By Celadon was lov'd, but lov'd in vain.
His graceful form by nature seem'd design'd
To charm the nicest of the beauteous kind.
With vain Narcissus in his blooming pride,
Or Hyacinth, the shepherd might have vy'd.
He danc'd—not Paris with a nobler mien,
On Xanthus' borders trac'd the level green.
Tuneful his voice—but Phoebus lov'd in vain,
Nor met success with his immortal strain:
More wild than Daphne, o'er the flow'ry mead,
Coy Sylvia her entreating lover fled.
Nor could his melting numbers once prevail
To gain attention to his am'rous tale;
Till mov'd with pity for his restless care,
Her fellow nymphs detain the flying fair;

Entreated half, and half compell'd her stay;
Beneath a shade that skreen'd the burning ray
They sit; their bleating flocks around them stray:
While thus th' unhappy youth, in mournful strains,
Of his ungrateful shepherdess complains.

Returning springs the faded year renew,
And summer gales the wintry storms ensue;
But no vicissitude of joy I prove,
No change of season to my hopeless love.
The falling sun in western shades declines,
Refresh'd again the purple morning shines;
But no kind smiles with dawning rays appear
In Sylvia's eyes, my gloomy breast to chear.

The silver moon wheels her pale course above,
And midnight stars in solemn order move,
Envy it self, and faction find repose;
While no relief my wilder passion knows:
Or if disorder'd slumbers close mine eyes,
Coy Sylvia still before my fancy flies;
Thro' dusky groves and vales I seem to trace
Her fleeting form, that mocks my fond embrace;
I wake to new despair, and tell my pain
To whisp'ring winds and sounding rocks in vain:
Yet these, relentless fair, more kind than thee,
In sighing echoes seem to plead for me.
Gay nature now to gentler thoughts invites,
And the fair season calls for soft delights;
The vig'rous sun smiles on the fruitful earth,
And gives a thousand beauteous flow'rs their birth;

The conscious trees their verdant branches spread,
Inviting lovers to their friendly shade:
These scenes were made for love; each whisp'ring stream,
And painted vale require the tender theme.
Love triumphs here, and on the peaceful plains
The gentle god his empire still maintains;
The busy city's restless noise he shuns,
And far from factious courts affrighted runs;
Hither his quiver, and his torch he brings,
And hov'ring round the air with downy wings,
Among the swains his sportive darts he flings.
Th' immortal race oft seek the calm retreats,
And for their pleasures chuse the rural seats.
In the Sabæan groves, and Cyprian bow'rs
The queen of beauty spent her softest hours:
The fair Aurora too, a nymph divine,
With rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes like thine,
But gentler far; on Hœmus' dewy head
Pursu'd a youth, who her embraces fled.
Diana's self, thy boasted goddess, lov'd,
Nor still like thee inflexible has prov'd:
Mæander's winding banks, and Lycus' shore
Have heard her oft her rig'rous fate deplore;
The Carian hills were witness to her grief,
There wand'ring round, she vainly sought relief;
Nor roves a savage huntress as before,
Her hand a pointed jav'lin shakes no more,
While thro' the woods she tracks the foaming boar.
To diff'rent cares her thoughts were now confin'd,
Endymion's image had possest her mind.

On Latmos' top the lovely youth she found,
Gently reclin'd upon the verdant ground,
His senses all in balmy slumbers drown'd.
Not young Adonis ever look'd more fair;
An am'rous breeze plays with his careless hair:
The virgin goddess fix'd her wond'ring sight;
Above her own transparent orb roll'd bright,
And all the stars lent their officious light.
She views his blooming charms with fond surprize,
Unusual transports in her bosom rise;
An unaccustom'd wish her breast inspires,
And now she checks, now sooths her wild desires,
Approaches softly now, and now retires:
At last resolv'd, a modest kiss she steals,
While Venus laughing, all the theft reveals.

Thus gods and men to Love's imperial sway
Submit, and his resistless laws obey:
And trust me, Sylvia, some propitious hour
Shall yet arrive, when thou shalt feel his pow'r.

The shepherd ceas'd, the nymphs his numbers praise;
Ev'n Sylvia, soften'd by his melting lays,
Returns a smile; then with a decent pride
Retires, and strives her alter'd thoughts to hide.

To CHLOE.

An Epistle.

Fair Chloe, leave the noisy town, and try
What artless sweets the country scenes supply:
While the young year in all its pride invites,
And promises a thousand gay delights;
While the glad sun his fairest light displays,
And op'ning blossoms court his chearful rays.
The nymyhs for thee shall deck some rural bow'r
With ev'ry verdant branch and painted flow'r;
To thee the swains full canisters shall bring,
Of all the fragrant treasures of the spring:
While some young shepherd in the sounding grove
Shall tune his reed for thee to strains of love.
Nor from the soft, enchanting accents run,
For who the pleasing charms of love would shun?
Such love as in these guiltless seats is known,
Such as a state of innocence might own.
No frauds, no treach'rous arts are practis'd here,
No perjur'd vows deluded virgins fear.
The gentle god with mild indulgence sways,
And ev'ry willing heart his laws obeys.

All hail, ye fields, and ev'ry happy grove!
How your soft scenes the tender flame improve,
And melt the thoughts, and turn the soul to love!
'Twas here Mirtillo's charms my bosom fir'd,
While all the god the am'rous youth inspir'd;

Divine his art, prevailing was his tongue,
While in the shades the skilful shepherd sung:
On downy wings young Zephyrs took the sound,
And chear'd the plains, and all the valleys round.
The list'ning streams were conscious of his flame,
And ev'ry grove acquainted with my name.
No nymph but envy'd me Mirtillo's praise,
For I had all his vows and tender lays.
Nor could such truth and merit plead in vain,
I heard his sighs, and pity'd all his pain;
While Venus smil'd propitious from above,
And crown'd our vows, and blest our mutual love.
May prosp'rous fates attend the happy day,
And circling joys for ever make it gay!
From thence we date our bliss, and still improve
Our soft delights, as thro' the woods we rove:
In flow'ry meadows, groves, and fragrant bow'rs,
Serene and free, we spend the lightsome hours.

Thus live the Dryads, thus the sacred race
That haunt the valleys, and the fountains grace;
The rural scenes indulge their warm desires,
Heighten their joys, and feed immortal fires.
Diana, who in heav'n could guard her breast,
In Latmos' flow'ry fields the god confest.
No name but his among the swains is known,
Superior love is all the pow'r they own;
Their willing tribute to his shrine they bring,
Turtles, and lambs, and all the blooming spring,
While to their tuneful harps his praise they sing.
Young Zephyrs bear the charming accents round,
And rocks and mossy caves retain the sound;

Tigers and wolves grow wild, the tim'rous fawns,
Undaunted, skip along the open lawns;
Roses and myrtles bloom, the am'rous doves,
And all the warbling chorus own their loves;
The nodding groves, and falling floods reply,
And all confess the pow'rful deity.

The Conflagration.

An ODE.

I.

Supine as men before the deluge lay,
In melting joys and luxury dissolv'd,
Till swift destruction swept them all away,
The stupid world will then be found;
In all licentiousness and sin involv'd,
When loud to judgment the last trumpets sound.
Then time shall be no more,
Nor months and years proportion'd by the sun;
Which ne'er again shall run,
With vig'rous pride, the shining Zodiac o'er.

II.

A sudden change the living shall translate
To an immortal from a mortal state:
While those that slumber in the grave awake
In crowds, their former vehicles to take,
Endu'd with principles that may sustain
Celestial pleasure, or infernal pain.

III.

And now begins the universal wreck;
The wheels of nature stand, or change their course,
And backward hurrying with disorder'd force,
The long establish'd laws of motion break.
The refluent rivers to their fountains run,
Their antient paths and well-known channels shun.
The seas their sandy banks deride,
And know their bounds no more,
Against the rocks, with stormy pride,
The angry billows roar:
Now swelling, like transparent mounts appear,
Which to the clouds their lofty summits rear,
And mingle with the virgin waters there:
Here, like the mouth of hell, vast whirlpools yawn,
And down the rapid gulph whole floods and isles are drawn.

IV.

Prodigious thunders shake the sky,
As from their cells with clam'rous rage they break;
Prodigious lightnings kindle as they fly,
And trace the clouds with many a fiery streak:
While in the darken'd air
With horrid beams malignant comets glare.
Encountring tempests strive,
Which mighty winds across each other drive;
Loos'd from the spacious cavities below,
From all th' adverse points of heav'n they blow,
And murmur from afar with stormy sound;
While burning bolts and hail-stones rake the ground.
Resistless whirlwinds bluster here and there,
Trees from their roots, stones from their rocks they tear.

V.

The central fire within its prison raves,
And all the globe with strong concussions shakes,
As from its urn in sulph'rous waves
The dreadful element breaks;
Thro' all the gloomy vaults around it flows,
Thro' ev'ry cleft and winding fissure glows,
And wild excursions makes.
Its course no subterranean damps oppose,
From vein to vein the active particles take fire,
And towards the surface of the globe aspire;
Whole groves, and hills, and buildings undermine,
Whole groves, and hills, and palaces drop in:
Wide gapes the direful gulph, and where
Tall mountains stood, prodigious chasms appear.
With wilder fury here
The fierce materials outward rush,
And where, ev'n now, a level plain was spread,
Vast rocks and frowning steeps erect their hideous head;
From whose dark entrails livid torrents gush,
And glowing cataracts spout:
Like Ætna now the new Volcano roars,
Unweildy stones, and burning craggs throws out,
With show'rs of sand, and seas of melted ores.

VI.

While louder still on high the trumpets sound,
And reach the dreary kingdoms under ground.
Hell's deep foundations the strange echoes shake,
With terrors fill each raging fiend,
The earth with strong concussions rend,
And wide disclose the vast infernal lake,

With all the execrable dens below,
The dwellings of unutterable woe.
Thick steams from the unbottom'd gulph arise,
And blacken all the skies:
The startled sun winks at the horrid sight,
And robs the moon of all her silver light;
While ev'ry gay, ethereal flame expires,
Or to its first original retires.
Now mightier pangs the whole creation feels;
Each planet from its shatter'd axis reels,
And orbs immense on orbs immense drop down,
Like scatt'ring leaves from off their branches blown.

VII.

Again the great archangel's summons fly
Thro' earth, thro' hell, and all the ample vaults on high.
Wide fly the portals of eternal day,
To give the king of glory way:
And lo! the Son of God descends,
Heav'n's everlasting frame beneath him bends;
On louring clouds he sits enthron'd,
Whence ruddy flames, and pointed lightnings play,
And bellowing thunders with shrill voices sound:
To judge the world he comes with awful state,
Ten thousand times ten thousand on him wait,
Cherub and seraphim,
With mighty chiefs, and splendid dignities,
Dominions, potentates and pow'rs,
Of heav'nly thrones the num'rous regencies.
And (if a muse might dare
Things so extremely distant to compare;)
Like Hesperus leading on the countless stars,
The God before his radiant train appears;

Divine his form, ineffable his air,
At once benignant, solemn, and severe;
Around him dart refulgent beams,
And from his eyes approachless glory streams.

VIII.

The waters see, and downward sink,
The mountains melt like wax before the fire,
The folding heav'ns together shrink,
And with a mighty noise the clashing orbs retire.
Despairing, trembling, mad, the vitious fly,
And to the falling rocks for shelter cry;
To hell's impenetrable shades would run,
The face of their vindictive judge to shun.
The shudd'ring fiends t'avoid his sight,
Beneath the burning deeps would hide;
Unable now to bear celestial light,
Or the resplendence of his looks abide.

IX.

Unmov'd alone the virtuous now appear,
And in their looks a calm assurance wear,
Nor hell, nor all its horrors fear.
From east, from west, from north and south they come,
To take from the most righteous judge their doom;
Who thus, to them, with a serene regard;
(The books of life before him laid,
And all the secret records wide display'd)
‘According to your works be your reward;
‘As my reproach and cross you did not fear,
‘To men and angels I approve you here;
‘Possess immortal kingdoms as your due,
‘Prepar'd from an eternal date for you.’

X.

The glitt'ring legions shout above,
And down ten thousand heav'nly guardians fly,
T'attend their joyful charges to the sky:
And upward now with wond'rous state they move,
Melodious welcomes they receive on high,
With shining robes, victorious palms and crowns,
Celestial dignities, and everlasting thrones;
While beauty, life, and joy, with love divine,
Break from their eyes, and on their faces shine.

XI.

Th' apostate spirits rage, as when they fell
From off th' ethereal battlements to hell,
To see the humble race of man supply
Their once illustrious stations in the sky.
The sinners gnash their teeth for envy too;
To whom thus speaks the wrathful deity.

‘From me, accurst! for ever go,
‘And dwell with endless burnings, endless night and woe.
‘In vain in your adversity you cry,
‘Inexorable to your cries I'll be,
‘As you were once to me.’

XII.

Like stings these fatal accents wound,
And all the wretched sinners pleas confound;
Opprest with shame, confusion, and despair,
They sink, nor can the heavy judgment bear.
Th' unfathom'd deep to swallow them gapes wide;
And now without controul
The fiery surges roll,
And hell extends itself on ev'ry side:

Where, without intermission, without end,
Howling and lamentations loud ascend;
With flames and hellish smother, which appear
To form about the globe a dreadful atmosphere.

XIII.

Why vice was prosp'rous, virtue why distrest,
With all the deep-writ sense,
The dark mysterious ways of providence,
To men and angels now are manifest.

A Laplander's song to his mistress.

I

Shine out, resplendent God of day,
On my fair Orramoor;
Her charms thy most propitious ray,
And kindest looks allure.

II

In mountain, vale, or gloomy grove,
I'd climb the tallest tree,
Could I from thence my absent love,
My charming rover see.

III

I'd venture on a rising cloud,
Aloft in yielding air,
From that exalted station proud,
To view the smiling fair.

IV

Should she in some sequester'd bow'r,
Among the branches hide,
I'd tear off ev'ry leaf and flow'r,
Till she was there descry'd.

V

From ev'ry bird I'd steal a wing
To Orramoor to fly;
And urg'd by love, would swiftly spring
Along the lightsome sky.

VI

Return, and bless me with thy charms,
While yet the sun displays
His fairest beams, and kindly warms
Us with his vital rays.

VII

Return before that light be gone,
In which thou shouldst appear;
Unwelcome night is hast'ning on
To darken half the year.

VIII

In vain, relentless maid, in vain
Thou dost a youth forsake,
Whose love shall quickly o'er the plain,
Thy savage flight o'ertake.

IX

Should bars of steel my passage stay,
They could not thee secure:
I'd thro' enchantments find a way
To seize my Orramoor.

A Hymn of thanks.

On my recovery from the Small-Pox.

I

My God, my great deliv'rer, and my trust,
My life, my love, and ev'ry tender name
That makes my gratitude and homage just;
Let heav'nly ardor all my soul enflame!

II

To thee, my muse, some tuneful gift would bring,
And humbly consecrate her noblest verse;
Fain would she touch, for thee, her sweetest string,
And in immortal strains thy love rehearse.

III

But, oh! what words of men can reach the theme?
What human eloquence express thy praise?
Immense thy pow'r, unspeakable thy name,
Thy throne surrounded with majestic rays.

IV

Yet let my grateful zeal accepted prove,
Since weak mortality can give no more;
I cannot speak, 'tis true, but I can love,
I love, and what I cannot praise, adore.

The Hymn of the three eastern Magi, adoring our Saviour at his nativity.

From those blest regions where the sun displays
His blooming light, and spreads its earliest rays;
Where fragrant groves for sacred incense spring,
To thee, great Son of God, our zealous vows we bring.

Hail, mighty infant, offspring of the skies!
Celestial glory lightens in thy eyes;
Thy smiles presage immeasurable grace,
And scenes of paradise are open'd in thy face.

More than the race of man surprizing fair!
More lovely than thy own propitious star!
When first its chearful lustre blest our sight,
Grac'd with superior beams, and well-distinguish'd light.

The sun its conqu'ring glories met by day,
And fac'd his rival with a fainter ray;
In golden robes, amidst the shades it blaz'd,
While night, with all her eyes, on the fair stranger gaz'd.

To rich Judea still it led the way,
And hov'ring where th' immortal infant lay;
With darting beams it gilds the blest abode,
And to our longing eyes reveal'd th' unquestion'd God.

Whom thus with pure devotion we adore,
And freely offer all our costly store;
Gold, as a tribute to the new-born king,
And incense to the God, with humble zeal we bring.

The spacious East shall soon converted be,
And all her splendid monarchs kneel to thee.
The sun no more, in folding clouds array'd,
Shall mourn the impious honours to his lustre paid.

APIS shall cease to bellow thro' the crowd,
With gilded horns, and flow'ry garlands proud;
Panthea's costly gums shall smoke no more
To gods of monstrous shape, on Nile's polluted shore.

But thou shalt rise in same, illustrious child,
Of all mankind the Great Redeemer stil'd;
A God in ev'ry language known and blest,
By ev'ry bending knee ador'd, and ev'ry tongue confess'd.

Temples to thee with gilded spires shall rise,
And clouds of fragrant incense shade the skies:
In lofty hymns, and consecrated verse,
Succeeding times shall speak thy praise, and thy great name rehearse.

And thee, unblemish'd maid, divinely fair,
Whose tender arms th' eternal monarch bear;
Thrice happy thee posterity shall call,
Pride of thy lovely sex, and grac'd above them all.

A PASTORAL.

In imitation of Drayton's second Nymphal.

Cleon and Lycidas were jolly swains,
Their worth distinguish'd on th' Arcadian plains.
Cleon, a hardy youth, on mountains bred,
O'er craggy rocks his browzing goats he led;
At rural festivals he still appear'd,
A challenger in ev'ry combat fear'd:
For none like him the weighty sledge could throw,
Or manage, with more dextrous art, the bow;
In wrestling skill'd, and foremost in the race,
Advent'rous still, and eager for the chace;
Thro' savage woods, o'er hills with summits hoar,
Arm'd with a spear, he trac'd the tusky boar.

But Lycidas among the nymphs was bred,
The flow'ry vales he sought, and verdant mead,
And there, by curling streams, his flocks were fed.
His goodly stature, and well-featur'd face,
Of ev'ry shepherdess obtain'd the grace.
His flaxen hair, in ringlets from his crown,
Beneath his shoulders carelessly hung down.
Whene'er he danc'd, Apollo's self was seen,
In the proportion'd step, and graceful mien;
He spoke so fine, so artfully he sung,
None but Mirtilla could resist his tongue.
No charms but her's his numbers could inspire:
The nymph was fam'd, a Sylvan god her sire,

Her mother of the Naiad's beauteous race;
From her she took the sweetness of her face.
Not Venus' self could boast a face more fair,
More rosy lips, or more enticing hair.
Her blooming innocence, her lovely eyes,
And perfect shape, did ev'ry heart surprize.
Her voice could ev'n a rising torrent stay,
A hungry lion's fiercest rage allay,
And keep the list'ning savage from his prey.
The maid by gentle Lycidas was lov'd,
Nor wilder Cleon less enamour'd prov'd.
The lovers both attend the usual hour,
That brought Mirtilla from her fragrant bow'r,
To breathe the balmy morning's pleasant air;
When full of warm desires the swains prepare,
With songs and promis'd gifts, to gain the fair.

LYCIDAS.
A snowy lamb I've bred, so full of play,
'Twill entertain my shepherdess all day;
To thee, when hungry, it will bleat, as proud
From thy fair hands alone to take its food;
Then to express its joy, with many a bound
And airy frisk, 'twill seem to scorn the ground:
And this, with all my future vows, are thine,
If thou, for me, my rival wilt decline.

CLEON.
My proffers now, and artless language hear,
And turn from his smooth tales thy list'ning ear.
For I can boast a kid more white than milk,
And softer far than the Siberian silk;

Whene'er you walk, 'twill walk as gently by,
And at your feet, whene'er you sit, will lie;
If o'er the plains you run with nimble pace,
'Twill skip along, and seem to urge the race:
And this, bright maid, I frankly offer thee,
To quit my rival, and to live with me.

MYRTILLA.
Have you, indeed, such valu'd things in store.
And never boasted of your wealth before?
Your offers, gentle youths, I own most fair,
And such a kid and lamb are wond'rous rare.
What virtue so severe, what maid so vain,
Such lovers, and such presents to disdain?
Yet Minx, my dog, I dare a wager lay,
As many tricks as both of them shall play.

LYCIDAS.
But I two sparrows will on thee bestow,
Their plumes unsoil'd, and white as falling snow;
Venus herself had warm'd them in her breast,
Had her unlucky son but found the nest.
The sprightly birds are bred so tame, they'll stand,
And chirp, and sweetly prattle on thy hand;
Wanton, among thy curling locks they'll creep,
And, if permitted, in thy bosom sleep.

CLEON.
Fair nymph, his boasted sparrows do not mind,
As good in ev'ry common bush I'll find.
But I a pair of am'rous doves will bring,
With shining plumes, and nicely-chequer'd wing;

100

Their changing necks more various colours show,
Than Iris paints on the celestial bow;
Should Cytheræa on them cast an eye,
The birds she'd with her golden apple buy.

MYRTILLA.
With such fine doves und sparrows will you part,
Unthinking youths! to gain a trifling heart?
On Venus, who so well their worth must know,
The wond'rous birds you'd better far bestow:
Your costly zeal the goddess may reward,
And your soft vows propitiously regard.

LYCIDAS.
To crown thy temples, garlands I'll compose,
Of full-blown lillies, and the budding rose;
With those the golden hyacinth I'll twine,
And blushing pinks, and purple vi'lets join:
Fresh nosegays from the fields each day I'll bring,
Made up of all the sweetness of the spring.

CLEON.
His wreaths and painted nosegays will decay,
And lose their proudest beauty in a day:
But I've a gift which all his trifles mocks;
As tow'rds the beach I lately drove my flocks,
Three coral-sprigs I found among the rocks:
These nicely plac'd among thy braided hair,
As little ornaments, may serve my fair.

101

MYRTILLA.
With yellow hyacinths, pinks and vi'lets blue,
In garlands wreath'd, and painted nosegays too,
With coral-sprigs so deck'd, and wond'rous fine,
A lady of the May I shall out-shine.
But while I trim my braided locks so gay,
And waste, in dressing, half the fleeting day,
My flocks, I fear, would, thus neglected, stray.

LYCIDAS.
As on Alphæus' banks my sheep were fed,
I form'd a little barge of bending reed;
So closely wrought, and twisted round the sides,
That on the dancing wave secure it rides:
In this, if thou wilt try the silver stream,
Another sea-born goddess thou shalt seem;
While twelve white swans, with wreathing wood-bines ty'd,
And tassell'd flow'rs the floating pomp shall guide.

CLEON.
On yonder hill, with lofty forests crown'd,
A nymph of bright Diana's train I found,
Who from her sisters heedlessly had stray'd;
And by a brutal Satyr seiz'd, the maid
On her chaste goddess call'd aloud for aid:
I to her succour running, nimbly threw
A bearded arrow, which the monster slew.
On me the grateful virgin would bestow
Her painted quiver, and her polish'd bow.
The bow and gilded shafts thou may'st command,
And both are worthy of Diana's hand:

102

Thus arm'd, with me thou thro' the woods shalt rove,
And seem another goddess of the grove.

MYRTILLA.
Thro' savage woods to hunt wild beasts with thee,
To love must needs a mighty motive be;
But I the dang'rous pleasure dare not prove,
Ev'n to be thought a goddess of the grove:
Nor less I fear to try the promis'd boat,
And venture on the dancing waves to float.
I've no ambition o'er the floods to ride,
Tho' drawn by swans, with wreathing wood-bines ty'd:
Rather secure thro' peaceful shades I'd stray,
And watch my flocks in humble shades all day.
But if a tender thought could warm my breast,
In two such worthy lovers I were blest;
Whose merits, with such equal claims, appear,
That 'twere injustice either to prefer:
While both rejected, both must be content;
And treated thus, you've nothing to repent,
But that, like me, an hour you've idly spent.

An ODE on Beauty.

I.

Beauty, my soft transporting theme,
Assist my muse, and all my soul enflame;
With ev'ry grace, and ev'ry tender charm,
Exalt my fancy, and my bosom warm.

103

Thou canst the coldest breast inspire
With sacred rapture, and refin'd desire:
Not glory, friendship, wealth or liberty,
Attract and charm like thee.
The prince, the swain, the tim'rous, and the brave,
Thou, by a sov'reign title, dost enslave:
Thee, ev'n the saint and libertine obey,
And uncontroul'd and boundless is thy sway.

II.

By thee the holy hermit fir'd,
In ecstacies sublime,
Far from the sensual crowd retir'd,
Spends all his happy time;
While smiling forms, and glorious visions roll
Uninterrupted thro' his ravish'd soul.

III.

Nor human minds alone thy pow'r confess,
A kind of homage brutes themselves express;
Vanquish'd by thee, fierce lions quit their prey,
And harmless o'er the Libyan desarts stray.

IV.

With admiration, ecstasy, and love,
Thou fill'st the num'rous, shining worlds above:
There are thy triumphs shown,
For thee each heav'nly lyre is strung;
Thy force to no celestial breast unknown,
Is the perpetual subject of their song.

V.

The mighty Being whom we all adore,
Immortal Beauty, owns thy pow'r:

104

A whole eternity roll'd on,
While with his own supreme perfections he
Solac'd himself, immensely blest in thee.
And pleas'd with the bright images which shone.
In his own beatific mind,
He all things visible by them design'd,
And after those complete ideas wrought;
When from the black abyss of night
He drew the beauteous light,
And comely order from confusion brought.
He rais'd the sparkling arches of the skies,
And bad the sun in golden splendor rise;
He gave the moon her silver blaze,
And lent the glimm'ring stars their rays.
To him the morning owes her crimson vest;
His skill, with flow'rs, the smiling valleys drest,
And cloath'd, with various furs, the beast;
In shining scales he arm'd the finny race,
And gave the painted birds their plumy grace.
Nor here creation ceas'd;
With the great work th' almighty maker pleas'd,
Still from a brighter copy of his mind,
He man with godlike faculties design'd:
Surveying then the universe around,
The universe his approbation found,
In ev'ry part with perfect beauty crown'd.

105

On LOVE.

Venus , the beauteous offspring of the day,
From thy bright orb dart one propitious ray;
Awake the gentlest passions in my breast,
And be thy pow'r thro' all my soul confest.
From faithless waves thou art but feign'd to rise,
Nor gloomy Saturn gave thee to the skies;
No wanton crowds at Cyprus thee invok'd,
Nor impious incense on thy altars smok'd.

Divine thy lineage, thy resplendent star,
With chearful glory glads the fields of air.
From thee the sweet, the fertile spirit flows,
That (source of life) thro' total nature glows,
And bids her jarring parts one beauteous ALL compose.

The poets justly would thy pomp display,
In dazzling triumph rolling o'er the sea;
While all the ranks of life, or sense, that rise
In fields, or floods, or thro' the spacious skies,
Confess the force of thy inspiring flame,
And pay their homage to thy mighty name.

106

To Mrs. Arabella Marrow.

In the Country.

Whate'er delights the verdant field,
The grove, and mossy fountain yield,
Whate'er the gentle, blooming spring,
Or summer in their glory bring;
Let them all conspire to bless
Belinda, in her soft recess.
All ye tuneful feather'd throng,
Salute her in your artless song.
Ye Zephyrs flying thro' the vales,
Meet her with your fragrant gales.
Ye purling brooks, indulge her sleep,
And gently by your borders creep.
Whene'er she wanders o'er the green,
Let all Arcadia there be seen.
May the charming visions rise,
That dance before the poet's eyes,
When the solitary muse
Does rural shades its subject chuse;
While nymphs, like Stairs, adorn the scene,
Graceful, like her's, their looks and mien.

Hence ye gilded toys of state,
Ye formal follies of the great,
Nor e'er disturb this peaceful seat.
No sound of faction hither fly,
Ambition, hate, or jealousy,

107

No envious tattle enter here,
That wrongs the innocent and fair:
But let the graces and the loves,
Wander round these gentle groves,
And banish from Belinda's breast,
Whatever may her joys molest;
While here she finds that soft repose,
Which from virtue only flows.

A PASTORAL.

In vain my muse would imitate the strains
Which charm'd the nymphs on Windsor's verdant plains;
Where Pope, with wond'rous art, in tuneful lays,
Won from Apollo's hand immortal bays.

The morning scarce appear'd, when Phillis rose,
And call'd Aminta from a short repose;
With cautious steps they left the peaceful bow'r,
Both, by appointment, chose the silent hour.
To tell, in rural strains, their mutual care,
And the soft secret of their breasts to share:
Securely seated near a purling stream,
By turns they sing, while love supplies the theme.

PHILLIS.
The starry lights above are scarce expir'd,
And scarce the shades from open plains retir'd;

108

The tuneful lark has hardly stretch'd her wing,
And warbling linnets just begin to sing;
Nor yet industrious bees their hives forsake,
Nor skim the fish the surface of the lake.

AMINTA.
Nor yet the flow'rs disclose their various hue,
But fold their leaves, opprest with hoary dew;
Blue mists around conceal the neighb'ring hills,
And dusky fogs hang o'er the murm'ring rills;
While Zephyr faintly sighs among the trees,
And moves the branches with a lazy breeze:
No jovial pipe resounds along the plains,
Safe in their hamlets sleep the drouzy swains.

PHILLIS.
For me Mirtillo sighs; the charming youth
Persuades with so much eloquence and truth,
Whene'er he talks my flocks unheeded stray;
To hear him I could linger out the day,
Untir'd till night, 'till all the stars were gone,
Till o'er the eastern hills the morn came on.

AMINTA.
For me Silvander pines, as full of truth,
In secret too, perhaps, I love the youth;
Yet treat him ill, while with dissembled pride
I mock his vows, his soft complaints deride;
And fly him swifter than a sportive fawn
Skips thro' the woods, and dances o'er the lawn.

109

PHILLIS.
Unpractis'd in the turns of female art,
My looks declare the meaning of my heart;
To own so just and innocent a flame,
Can fix no blemish on a virgin's name:
When first my lips the tender truth express'd,
A thousand joys Mirtillo's eyes confess'd.

AMINTA.
No boasting swain such truths from me shall hear,
Such words shall never reach Silvander's ear.
With Thisbe once, his favour'd dog, I play'd,
Which from his master thro' the woods had stray'd;
Still on the path my watchful eyes I kept,
When from the thicket the pleas'd owner stept;
His smiling looks an inward joy confess'd
To find, by me, the darling dog caress'd:
Surpriz'd, from off my lap his dog I threw,
And swift as lightning thro' the forest flew.

PHILLIS.
Whene'er Mirtillo's sportive kid I find,
With wreathing flow'rs his twisted horns I bind,
And fondly stroke him in his master's sight,
Nor e'er abuse the harmless thing in spight,
Or think the guiltless favour worth my flight.

AMINTA.
The nymphs and swains Apollo's revels grac'd,
In sprightly dances the smooth green they trac'd;
Silvander begg'd I would his partner stand,
I turn'd, and gave to Corilas my hand.

110

PHILLIS.
I to Mirtillo did my hand refuse;
But after that no other swain would chuse:
At Cynthia's revels Hylas strove in vain,
And Lycidas the favour to obtain.

AMINTA.
A basket of the finest rushes wrought,
With jess'min, pinks, and purple vi'lets fraught,
With modest zeal, to me Silvander brought:
His present I rejected with disdain,
And threw the fragrant treasures on the plain.
Soon as the youth retir'd, with wond'rous care
I search'd them round, nor would one blossom spare;
With some, in wreaths, my curling locks I grac'd,
And others nicely in my bosom plac'd.

PHILLIS.
Fresh sprigs of myrtle oft my breast adorn,
And roses gather'd in a dewy morn:
Of all the garden's flow'ry riches, these
Mirtillo loves, and I his fancy please.

AMINTA.
SILVANDER told a secret in my ear,
Which twice I made pretences not to hear;
He nearer drew, invited to the bliss,
And in the am'rous whisper stole a kiss.
My rising blushes the bold theft reveal'd,
Dorinda scarce from laughing out with-held:
I left the shepherd, feign'd myself enrag'd,
And with his rival in discourse engag'd.

111

PHILLIS.
In yonder bow'r I sate, when tow'rds the place
Mirtillo hasten'd with a lover's pace;
I feign'd myself to careless sleep resign'd,
My head against a mossy bank reclin'd;
Approaching near, sweet may thy slumbers be,
He softly cry'd, and all thy dreams of me!
I laugh'd, nor longer could conceal the cheat,
But told the am'rous youth the fond deceit.

AMINTA.
When in the echoing vale Silvander plays,
And on his reed performs the rural lays,
Behind the shading trees I oft' retire,
And undiscover'd, the sweet notes admire:
But when in public I his numbers heard,
To his unskilful Egon's I prefer'd;
Tho' with the swan's expiring melody,
The cuckow's tiresome note as well may vye.

PHILLIS.
Whate'er Mirtillo dictates meets applause,
His voice attention still as midnight draws;
His voice more gentle than the summer's breeze,
That mildly whispers thro' the trembling trees;
Soft as the nightingale's complaining song,
Or murm'ring currents as they roll along;
Without disguise the skilful youth I praise,
Admire his numbers, and repeat his lays.

112

On the death of Mr. Thomas Rowe.

In what soft language shall my thoughts get free,
My dear Alexis, when I talk of thee?
Ye muses, graces, all ye gentle train
Of weeping loves, assist the pensive strain!
But why should I implore your moving art?
'Tis but to speak the dictates of my heart;
And all that knew the charming youth will join
Their friendly sighs, and pious tears to mine:
For all that knew his merit must confess,
In grief, for him, there can be no excess.

His soul was form'd to act each glorious part
Of life, unstain'd with vanity, or art.
No thought within his gen'rous mind had birth,
But what he might have own'd to heav'n and earth.
Practis'd by him, each virtue grew more bright,
And shone with more than its own native light.
Whatever noble warmth could recommend
The just, the active, and the constant friend,
Was all his own—but, oh! a dearer name,
And softer ties my endless sorrow claim;
Lost in despair, distracted, and forlorn,
The lover I, and tender husband mourn.
Whate'er to such superior worth was due,
Whate'er excess the fondest passion knew,
I felt for thee, dear youth; my joy, my care,
My pray'rs themselves were thine, and only where
Thou wast concern'd, my virtue was sincere.

113

Whene'er I begg'd for blessings on thy head,
Nothing was cold, or formal, that I said;
My warmest vows to heav'n were made for thee,
And love still mingled with my piety.

O thou wast all my glory, all my pride!
Thro' life's uncertain paths, my constant guide:
Regardless of the world, to gain thy praise,
Was all that could my just ambition raise.

Why has my heart this fond engagement known?
Or why has heav'n dissolv'd the tie so soon?
Why was the charming youth so form'd to move?
Or why was all my soul so turn'd for love?
But virtue here a vain defence had made,
Where so much worth and eloquence could plead.
For he could talk—'twas ecstasy to hear,
'Twas joy, 'twas harmony to ev'ry ear!
Eternal music dwelt upon his tongue,
Soft and transporting as the muses song:
List'ning to him, my cares were charm'd to rest,
And love, and silent rapture fill'd my breast;
Unheeded the gay moments took their flight,
And time was only measur'd by delight.
I hear the lov'd the melting accents still,
And still the kind, the tender transport feel:
Again I see the sprightly passions rise,
And life and pleasure sparkle in his eyes.
My fancy paints him now with ev'ry grace,
But, ah! the dear delusion mocks my fond embrace;
The smiling vision takes its hasty flight,
And scenes of horror swim before my sight.

114

Grief, and despair, in all their terrors rise,
A dying lover pale and gasping lies.
Each dismal circumstance appears in view,
The fatal object is for ever new.
His anguish, with the quickest sense I feel,
And hear this sad, this moving language still.

My dearest wife! my last, my fondest care!
Sure heav'n for thee will hear a dying pray'r:
Be thou the charge of sacred providence,
When I am gone, be that thy kind defence;
Ten thousand smiling blessings crown thy head,
When I am cold, and number'd with the dead.
Think on thy vows, be to my mem'ry just,
My future fame and honour are thy trust.
From all engagements here I now am free,
But that which keeps my ling'ring soul with thee.
How much I love, thy bleeding heart can tell,
Which does, like mine, the pangs of parting feel:
But haste to meet me on those happy plains,
Where mighty love in endless triumph reigns.

He ceas'd; then gently yielded up his breath,
And fell a blooming sacrifice to death:
But, oh! what words, what numbers can express,
What thought conceive the height of my distress?
Why did they tear me from thy breathless clay?
I should have staid, and wept my life away.
Yet, gentle shade, whether thou now dost rove
Thro' some blest vale, or ever-verdant grove;
One moment listen to my grief, and take
The softest vows that constant love can make.

115

For thee all thoughts of pleasure I forego,
For thee my tears shall never cease to flow;
For thee at once I from the world retire,
To feed, in silent shades, a hopeless fire.
My bosom all thy image shall retain,
The full impression there shall still remain.
As thou hast taught my constant heart to prove
The noblest height and elegance of love;
That sacred passion I to thee confine,
My spotless faith shall be for ever thine.

On the anniversary return of the day on which Mr. Rowe died.

Unhappy day! with what a dismal light
Dost thou appear to my afflicted sight?
In vain the chearful spring returns with thee,
There is no future chearful spring for me.

While my Alexis withers in the tomb,
Untimely cropt, nor sees a second bloom,
The fairest season of the changing year,
A wild and wintry aspect seems to wear;
The flow'rs no more their former beauty boast,
Their painted hue, and fragrant scents are lost;
The joyous birds their harmony prolong,
But, oh! I find no music in their song.

116

Ye mossy caves, ye groves, and silver streams,
(The muses lov'd retreats, and gentle themes)
Ye verdant fields, no more your landscapes please,
Nor give my soul one interval of ease;
Tranquility and pleasure fly your shades,
And restless care your solitude invades.
Nor the still ev'ning, nor the rosy dawn,
Nor moon-light glimm'ring o'er the dewy lawn,
Nor stars, nor sun, my gloomy fancy chear;
But heav'n and earth a dismal prospect wear:
That hour that snatch'd Alexis from my arms,
Rent from the face of nature all its charms.

Unhappy day! be sacred still to grief,
A grief too obstinate for all relief;
On thee my face shall never wear a smile,
No joy on thee shall e'er my heart beguile.
Why does thy light again my eyes molest?
Why am I not with thee, dear youth, at rest?
When shall I, stretch'd upon my dusty bed,
Forget the toils of life, and mingle with the dead?

To PHILOMELA. Occasioned by her Poem on the death of her Husband.

I

While you in soft harmonious strains bewail
Your dear Alexis, we attend your tale,
And lose our grief, as kinder thoughts prevail.

117

II

Justly you tell what merit in him shone,
Yet, tho' unartfully, you then make known,
In more resplendent characters, your own.

III

'Twas thought unjust by his unspotted mind,
Such matchless worth should be to one confin'd;
So modestly he all his right resign'd.

IV

Since then you must the sacred passion move
In each admiring swain, how can you prove
To him more faithful, than again to love?

To the Author of the foregoing Verses.

Retract thy impious lines, too guilty youth!
Nor wrest the laws of constancy and truth.
Should cruel death, amidst thy softest charms
Of youth and wit, from some fond woman's arms
Tear thy reluctant soul, thus may she prove
For thee, the heights of gratitude and love.
Whate'er such early worth as thine might claim,
Whate'er the public owes thy future fame;
O let the pensive fair thy rules obey,
Be grateful in thy own exalted way,
And by a second choice thy vows repay!

118

Thus let her tender heart thy merit mourn,
And all thy blooming ardor thus return;
With pious care transmit the sacred flame,
And add immortal honours to thy name;
When thou hast modestly thy right resign'd,
And left the gentle charmer unconfin'd,
To shine propitiously on all mankind.

The RESIGNATION.

'Tis done! the darling idol I resign,
Unfit to share a heart so justly thine;
No can the heav'nly call unwelcome be,
That still invites my soul more near to thee;
Thou dost but take the dying lamps away,
To bless me with thy own unmingled day.
Ye shades, ye phantoms, and ye dreams, adieu!
With smiles I now your parting glories view.
I see the hand, I worship, I adore,
And justify the great disposing pow'r.
Divine advantage! O immortal gain!
Why should my fond, ungrateful heart complain?
Whate'er of beauty in his ample round
The sun surveys, in thee is brighter found;
Whate'er the skies, in all their splendid cost,
Their beamy pride, and majesty can boast;
Whate'er the restless mind of man desires;
Whate'er an angel's vaster thought admires;

119

In thee 'tis found in its unchanging height,
Thou first great spring of beauty and delight!
What have I lost of excellent, or fair,
Of kind, or good, that thou can'st not repair?
What have I lost of truth or amity,
But what deriv'd its gentle source from thee?
What is there here of excellence, or grace,
Which one bright smile from thee would not efface?
At one kind look, one sparkling glance of thine,
Created pride must languish and decline.

'Tis done, at last, the great deciding part!
The world's subdu'd, and thou hast all my heart;
It pants for joys which that can ne'er bestow,
And spreads itself too wide for all below;
It leaves the vast creation far behind,
And presses forward, free and unconfin'd.
I see a boundless prospect still before,
And dote upon my former joys no more;
Celestial passions kindle in my soul,
And ev'ry low, inglorious thought controul.
O come! ye sacred gusts, ye pure delights,
Ye heav'nly sounds, ye intellectual sights;
Ye gales of paradise, that lull to rest,
And fill with silent calms the peaceful breast;
With you, transporting hopes, that boldly rise,
And swell, in blissful torrents, to the skies;
That soar with angels on their splendid wings,
And search th' arcana of celestial things.
Here let me dwell, and bid the world adieu,
And still converse, ye glorious scenes, with you.

120

Keep far away, for ever far from hence,
Ye gawdy shews, and flatt'ring snares of sense;
Ye gay varieties on earth, adieu!
However soft, and pleasing to the view.
And all ye dazzling wonders of the skies,
Ev'n you my now aspiring thoughts despise;
No more your blandishments my heart detain,
Beauty and pleasure make their court in vain;
Objects divine, and infinite in view,
Seize all my pow'rs, ye fading toys, from you.

'Tis finish'd now, the great deciding part!
The world's subdu'd, and thou hast all my heart;
It triumphs in the change, it fixes here,
Nor needs another separation fear.
No fatal chance thro' endless years shall rise,
The series of my pleasures to surprise;
No various scenes to come, no change of place
Shall e'er thy image from my soul efface;
Nor life, nor death, nor distant height above,
Nor depths below, shall part me from thy love.

Translated from the Italian of Petrucci.

Contentatevi, o cieli chiarissimi, &c.

Permit me, O ye radiant skies,
On your gay heights to fix mine eyes;
While you the envious curtains prove,
That from my sight conceal my love.

121

I know my guilty eyes unmeet
The splendor of the stars to greet,
And more deserve to view below
The caves where streams of sulphur glow.
These prospects all my soul confound,
My hopes in vast despair are drown'd;
Till I the glorious methods trace,
The triumphs of almighty grace;
When thus my soul transported cries,

Permit me, O ye radiant skies,
On your gay heights to fix mine eyes;
While you the envious curtains prove,
That hide the object of my love.

Ye starry lights, ye gawdy flames,
That deck the spheres with golden beams,
You, that pave the milky way,
You, that constant rules obey,
Or wand'ring thro' the ether, stray;
In your gay courses ye declare
How much more bright those glories are,
By everlasting love prepar'd,
Unshaken virtue to reward.
Thy joys, vain world, no more invite
My flatter'd sense to false delight;
Celestial objects fire my soul,
And ev'ry humbler wish controul.

Permit me then, ye radiant skies,
On your gay heights to fix mine eyes;
For you the envious curtains prove,
That from my sight conceal my love.

122

But while I fondly gaze on you,
And bid all human things adieu,
Your beauties all my pain renew.
Then view the anguish of my breast,
With love, impatient love, distrest;
Those interposing clouds divide,
That all my joys and treasure hide;
But you are deaf—ye sons of light,
That gaze on the transporting sight,
And lose yourselves in vast delight;
That know the boundless heights of love,
Yet nothing but its pleasures prove;
O, tell me where my Lord to find,
For you are still to mortals kind;
Yet now, regardless of my care,
You leave to winds my fruitless pray'r:

Permit me then, ye radiant skies,
On your gay heights to fix mine eyes;
Since you the envious curtains prove,
That from my sight conceal my love.

Thou charming author of my pain,
Let me at last my suit obtain;
Or if deny'd so high a grace,
In the bright skies to view thy face,
Thy paths I'd thro' some desart trace;
Savage as that, where thou the scorn
Of tempting fiends, for me hast born;
Or to the dismal garden's shade,
Where terrors did thy soul invade;
Or let me climb, to follow thee,
The painful steep of Calvary:

123

However gloomy be the place,
May I but there behold thy face;
A paradise to me 'twill prove,
High heav'n, and all the joys above.
But, ah! my pray'rs are still deny'd,
And still thou dost thy beauties hide.

Permit me then, ye radiant skies,
On your gay heights to fix mine eyes;
Since you the envious curtains prove,
That hide the object of my love.

On the Divine Goodness.

Awake, my soul, and to th' almighty king,
In lofty strains, triumphant praises sing;
Let all thy pow'rs their noblest force excite,
And spread his glory with sincere delight;
Extol him with uninterrupted joy,
And let his love thy longest breath employ.
O come, you blest adorers of his name,
And listen while his goodness I proclaim:
But, oh! my trembling tongue attempts in vain
The boundless subject, in a mortal strain;
Some angel lend me his melodious lyre,
And with celestial skill my breast inspire;
On wings of sacred rapture let me rise
And join my hallelujahs with the skies.
But, mighty God, how shall a mortal worm,
A span of earth, the glorious task perform?

124

Swallow'd in pleasure and divine surprize,
I view thy love's unbounded mysteries:
In all thy wond'rous paths I gladly trace
Indulgent goodness, and stupendous grace.
When I the dreadful precipice survey,
Where thoughtless and insensible I lay;
While fiery billows roll'd along below,
And gaping gulphs shew'd scenes of endless woe;
'Twas then, 'twas then, unmeasurable love
Did to my soul its glorious methods prove.

PSALM LXIII.

O God, my first, my last, my stedfast choice,
My boundless bliss, the spring of all my joys!
I'll worship thee before the silver moon,
With silent pace has reach'd her cloudy noon;
Before the stars the midnight skies adorn,
Long, long before the slow approach of morn.
Thee I'll invoke, to thee glad anthems sing,
And with my voice join each harmonious string:
The midnight echoes at thy name shall wake,
And on their wings the joyful burthen take;
While one bright smile from thee, one pleasing ray,
Thro' the still shades shall dart celestial day.

As the scorch'd trav'ller in a desart land,
Tracing, with weary steps, the burning sand;

125

And fainting underneath the fierce extremes
Of raging thirst, longs for refreshing streams;
So pants my soul, with such an eager strife
I follow thee, the sacred spring of life.

Open the boundless treasures of thy grace,
And let me once more see thy lovely face;
As I have seen thee in thy bright abode,
When all my pow'rs confest the present God.

There I could say, and mark the happy place,
'Twas there I did his glorious foot-steps trace;
'Twas there (O let me raise an altar there!)
I saw as much of heav'n as mortal sense could bear;
There from his eyes I met the heav'nly beam
That kindled in my soul this deathless flame.

Life, the most valu'd good that mortals prize,
Compar'd to which, we all things else despise;
Life, in its vig'rous pride, with all that's stor'd
In the extent of that important word;
Ev'n life it self, my God, without thy love,
A tedious round of vanity would prove.
Grant me thy love, be that my glorious lot,
Swallow'd in that, be all things else forgot.
And while those heav'nly flames my breast inspire,
I'll call up all my pow'rs, and touch the tuneful lyre;
With all the eloquence of grateful lays,
I'll sing thy goodness, and recite thy praise.
The charming theme shall still my soul employ,
And give me foretastes of immortal joy;

126

With silent rapture, not to be exprest,
My eager wishes here shall richly feast.
When sullen night its gloomy curtains spreads;
And soothing sleep its drowzy influence sheds;
I'll banish flatt'ring slumbers from my eyes,
And praise thee till the golden morning rise;
Those silent hours shall consecrated be,
And thro' the list'ning shades I'll send my vows to thee.

PSALM LXXII.

Blest prince of righteousness and peace,
The hope of all mankind!
The poor, in thy unblemish'd reign,
Shall free protection find.

Secure of just redress, to thee
Th' oppress'd his cause shall bring;
While with the fruits of sacred peace
The joyful fields shall spring.

Thro' endless years thy glorious name
The righteous shall adore,
When sun and moon have run their course,
And measure time no more.

Thou shalt descend like the soft drops
Of kind celestial dews;
Or as a show'r, whose gentle fall
The joyfull spring renews.

127

The just shall flourish in thy days,
And sacred truth abound,
While in the skies the changing moon
Restores her nightly round.

Peace shall with balmy wings o'ershade
Our favour'd walls around:
With grass the meads, with plenteous corn
The mountains shall be crown'd.

A handful scatter'd on the earth,
Shall rise a wond'rous crop;
The loaded stalks shall bend like trees
On Lebanon's high top.

Thy glory no eclipse shall see,
But shine divinely bright,
While from his orb the radiant sun
Darts undiminish'd light.

Converted nations, blest in thee,
Shall magnify thy grace,
Call thee their glorious ransomer,
And hope of all their race.

With love and sacred rapture fir'd,
Thy lofty name we'll sing:
Thou only wond'rous things hast done,
The everlasting king!

128

From all the corners of the earth
Let grateful praise ascend:
Let loud Amens, and joyful shouts,
The starry convex rend.

PSALM CXLVI.

Prepare the voice, and tune the joyful lyre,
And let the glorious theme my soul inspire:
To thee, my God, I sing; thy mighty name
With heav'nly rapture shall my soul enflame.
My tuneful homage shall like incense rise,
And glad the air, and reach th' approving skies;
While life informs this frame, the sacred song
Shall fill my breast, and dwell upon my tongue.

As some fair structure, whose firm basis lies
On strength of rocks, the threat'ning winds defies;
So stedfastly my hopes on heav'n are plac'd,
Nor earth, nor hell, my confidence can blast.
Let others still for human help attend,
And on the flatt'ries of the great depend;
Relentless death shall mock their airy trust,
And lay their boasted confidence in dust.
As the fantastic visions of the night,
Before the op'ning morning take their flight;
So perish all the boasts of men, their pride,
And vain designs, the laughing skies deride.

129

But he alone securely guarded lives,
To whom the mighty God protection gives;
The mighty God, who made the stedfast earth,
And gave the springs that swell the ocean birth;
Who form'd the stars, and spread the circling skies,
And bade the sun in all his glory rise:
No breach of faithfulness his honour stains,
With day and night his word unchang'd remains:
On human woes he looks with pitying eyes,
To help th' oppress'd, and answer all their cries;
The orphan's soft complaint, and widow's tears,
Obtain redress, and fix his list'ning ears:
His throne from changes stands for ever free,
And his dominion shall no period see.

CANT. VI. v.

O veil thy heav'nly beauties from my sight!
I cannot yet sustain celestial light.
The dazzling lustre of thy eyes controul,
Their pointed glories wound my tender soul;
I cannot yet these sacred transports bear,
Too feeble I, thou too divinely fair.
Return to the gay climes of day again,
Celestial frames thy splendor may sustain;
Acquainted with those bright, those blest extremes,
With stedfast eyes they meet thy glorious beams;

130

Unveil'd they view the radiant deity,
Lost in the heights of blissful ecstasy;
But, oh! these flights are too sublime for me;
These raptures would my brittle frame destroy,
And overcome me with excessive joy:
Then veil thy heav'nly beauties from my sight,
I cannot yet sustain celestial light.

CANT. VIII. vi.

O set me as a signal on thy heart!
And let the deep impression ne'er depart.
O let me ne'er by thee abandon'd prove!
I were undone, if thou shouldst change thy love;
I could no greater mis'ry undergo,
'Twere hell itself, the blackest hell of woe!
My hopes, my joys are plac'd in thee alone,
Robb'd of thy smiles and favour, all were gone.
My life, my happiness depends on thee,
Without thee, what were all the world to me?
I should detest the light and vital air,
And waste my days in sorrow and despair.
Forgive my fears, the sure effect of love,
Its mighty force and violence they prove.
The thoughts of losing thee I cannot bear,
Less cruel death, than that tormenting fear;
It blasts my blooming joys, disturbs my rest,
And fills, with deep anxiety, my breast:
That thou mayst once my wretched soul desert,
This cruel doubt wounds my desponding heart.

131

A HYMN.

In imitation of Cant. V. vi, vii.

Ye pure inhabitants of light,
Ye virgin minds above,
That feel the sacred violence,
And mighty force of love.

By all your boundless joys, by all
Your love to human kind,
I charge you to instruct me where
My absent Lord to find.

I've search'd the pleasant vales and plains,
And climb'd the hills around;
But no glad tidings of my love,
Among the swains have found.

I've oft invok'd him in the shades,
By ev'ry stream and rock;
The rocks, the streams, and echoing shades,
My vain industry mock.

I trac'd the city's noisy streets,
And told my cares aloud;
But no intelligence could meet
Among the thoughtless crowd.

132

I search'd the temple round, for there
He oft' has blest my sight,
And half unveil'd, of his lov'd face
Disclos'd the heav'nly light.

But with these glorious views, no more
I feast my ravish'd eyes,
For veil'd with interposing clouds,
My eager search he flies.

O, could I in some desart land
His sacred foot-steps trace,
I'd with a glad devotion kneel,
And bless the happy place.

I'd follow him o'er burning sands,
Or where perpetual snow,
With horrid aspect cloathes the ground,
To find my Lord, I'd go.

Nor stormy seas should stay my course,
Nor unfrequented shore,
Nor craggy Alps, nor desart wastes
Where hungry lions roar.

Thro' ranks of interposing deaths
To his embrace I'd fly,
And to enjoy his blissful smiles,
Would be content to die.

133

Exodus III. xiv. I am that I am.

Whate'er thou art, to thee, and thee alone,
The first almighty cause of all, is known;
Yet would I strive ambitiously to raise
My voice to the delightful work of praise:
But, oh! what human words those heights can reach?
What bolder thought the flight divine can stretch?
Ev'n angels, in their sweetest ecstasy,
When they behold the smiling deity,
Their want of pow'r and eloquence confess,
When they thy boundless glories would express;
In heav'n they find no metaphors for thee,
And what resemblance then can mortals see?

Yet I must talk, and talk of thee alone,
Be to my tongue all other themes unknown!
In holy songs I would my silence break,
In raptures, everlasting raptures, speak.
O, 'tis the work of heav'n, almighty king!
To love, adore, and thy high praises sing;
And this my everlasting bliss shall be,
My lips shall talk, my heart shall fix on thee.
Thy excellence, and ev'ry glorious name
To angels known, shall feed the holy flame:
I then shall see thee lovely as thou art,
And feel what boundless joys thy smiles impart;
The beatific scene, without controul,
Shall open all its splendor on my soul.

134

A SONG of Praise.

Prepare, my soul, thy noblest lays,
And speak thy great deliv'rer's praise.
Awake, my voice, and gentle lute,
Nor let one grateful string be mute;
And, oh! ye sacred pow'rs of love,
Let me all your influence prove:
Ye heav'nly Virtues, guide my tongue,
Or teach me some celestial song;
Such as your own flame inspires,
When you touch your golden lyres;
And in the fair ethereal bow'rs,
Sing away your happy hours.

Begin, begin the tuneful lays,
While the morning's early rays
All their golden lustre spread
O'er the tow'ring mountain's head;
Nor cease 'till noon, 'till sable night
Conceal the world from mortal sight.

From the lowest depths of care,
To God I sent a doubtful pray'r;
Yet he lent a gracious ear,
And scatter'd all my groundless fear.

While these lips draw vital breath,
'Till I close my eyes in death,

135

I'll ne'er forget thy wond'rous love,
Nor thoughtless of thy favours prove.
Beneath thy shadowing wings defence
I'll place my only confidence;
In ev'ry danger and distress,
To thee I will my pray'r address.
Let all my hopes on earth be lost,
In thee I'll make my constant boast;
I'll spread the glories of thy name,
And thy unbounded love proclaim.

You that sink in dark despair,
To God direct your humble pray'r;
From his lofty seat he hears
Our sad complaints, and drys our tears;
He regards the pensive breast,
And gives the weary pilgrim rest;
On human mis'ries, from his throne,
With soft compassion he looks down;
The weight of all our grief he knows,
And seems to share our secret woes.

Lord, what is man, that he should prove
The object of such boundless love?
Whence can such wond'rous bounty spring,
To such a vain and worthless thing?
Why should he so largely share
Thy favour, and thy tender care?
Why thy sacred thoughts employ,
In the heights of perfect joy?

136

O let ev'ry grateful tongue
Speak thy praise in lofty song;
And thou, my soul, join all thy pow'rs,
In this blest work employ thy hours.

CANT. I. vii.

O tell me thou, for whom I prove
The softest languishments of love,
Thou, dearer than all human things,
From whom my purest pleasure springs,
Thou lovely object of my care,
Whom more than life I prize by far;
O, tell me in what verdant mead,
Or flow'ry vale, thy flocks are fed;
Or by what silver current's side,
Thou gently dost their foot-steps guide?
Instruct me to what shade they run,
The noon-day's scorching heat to shun.
They follow thee, they hear thy voice,
And at the well-known sound rejoice:
O, let me too that music hear,
Let one kind whisper reach mine ear;
My soul shall that soft call obey,
Nor longer from thee wildly stray.

137

CANT. chap. V.

The night had now her gloomy curtains spread,
And ev'ry chearful beam of light was fled;
This dismal night, my Lord, who ne'er before
Had met a cold refusal at my door,
Approach'd, and with a voice divinely sweet;
My ears with these persuading words did greet.
‘My fairest spouse, my sister, and my love!’
(But, ah! no more these charming names could move)
‘Arise, for thro' the midnight shades and dew
‘I thee, the object of my cares, pursue.’

His heav'nly voice, and moving words, I heard,
And knew the blest design my Lord prepar'd;
But long, with poor excuses, I delay'd,
And careless stretch'd on my enticing bed.
Tir'd with my cold delay, ‘Farewel,’ he cries:
These killing words my fainting soul surprize;
With fear distracted to the door I run,
But, oh! the treasure of my life was gone;
Yet, of his recent presence, signs I found,
For heav'nly fragrance fill'd the air around.
I rove wherever love directs my feet,
And call aloud, but no return could meet;
Echoes alone to my complaint reply,
In mournful sounds, as thro' the shades I fly.
I from the watchmen hop'd, in vain, relief,
With cruel scorn they mock'd my pious grief.

138

But you, Jerusalem's fair daughters, you
That know what pity to my cares is due,
O! if you meet the object of my love,
Tell him what torments for his sake I prove;
Tell him how tenderly his loss I moan,
Tell him that all my joys with him are gone,
Tell him his presence makes my heaven; and tell,
O tell him, that his absence is my hell!

What bright perfections does he then possess,
For whom thou dost this tender grief express?

O! he's distinguish'd from all human race,
By such peculiar, such immortal grace,
That you, among ten thousand, may descry
His heav'nly form, and find for whom I die.
There's nothing which on earth we lovely call,
But he surpasses, far surpasses all.
He's fairer than the spotless orbs of light,
Nor falling snow, compar'd to him, is white.
The roses that his lovely face adorn,
Out-blush the purple glories of the morn.
The waving ringlets of his graceful hair,
Black as the shining plumes the ravens wear.
His eyes would win the most obdurate heart,
Victorious love in ev'ry look they dart.
His balmy lips diffuse divine perfumes,
And on his cheek a bed of spices blooms.
His breast, like polish'd iv'ry, smooth and fair,
With veins which with the saphires may compare.
Stately his height, as those fair trees which crown,
With graceful pride, the brow of Lebanon.

139

His voice so sweet, no harmony is found
On earth, to equal the delightful sound.
He's altogether lovely—This is he
So much belov'd, so much ador'd by me.

The SUBMISSION.

However hard, my God, thy terms appear,
Howe'er to sense afflicting and severe,
To any articles I can agree,
Rather than bear the thoughts of losing thee:
Exact whate'er thou wilt, we'll never part,
Nothing shall force thy image from my heart.
Thou still art good, howe'er thou deal with me,
Spotless thy truth, unstain'd thy purity:
Amidst my suff'rings still I'll own thee just,
And in thy wonted mercy firmly trust.
Whate'er becomes of such a wretch as me,
Thy equal ways shall still unblemish'd be;
The sons of men shall still thy grace proclaim,
And place their refuge in thy mighty name;
Thro' all the wide-extended realms above,
Bright angels shall proclaim thy wond'rous love:
Ev'n I shall yet adore thy wonted grace,
Tho' darkness now conceals thy lovely face.
But, oh! how long shall I thy absence mourn?
When, when wilt thou, my sun, my life return?
Thou only can'st my drooping soul sustain,
Of nothing but thy distance I complain.

140

The WISH.

I should renounce this heart from being mine,
If all its love were not entirely thine.
Objects of sense my passions may enflame,
But thou dost still my nobler reason claim.
Could I these stubborn faculties controul,
And manage all the motions of my soul,
My serious grief by pious tears I'd prove,
For each offence against forgiving love.
My breast should ne'er admit a spark of joy,
But when thy favour did my thoughts employ.
With early zeal I would my self present,
When to thy holy dwelling-place I went:
I'd breathe my soul in lofty praise to thee,
And join with angels in their harmony.
My ravish'd heart should at thy table prove
The heights of ecstasy, and sacred love;
Th' immortal food immortal strength should give,
On that alone my active hopes should live.
My hymns should still prevent the rising sun,
Like that, with joy, my vig'rous race I'd run:
When from his height he downward glory streams,
My mounting praise should meet his noon-day beams;
And still untir'd to thee, my God, I'd sing,
While the grey ev'ning stretch'd her shady wing.
Thy name and works should be my daily theme,
And constant subject of my nightly dream:
Celestial visions should employ my sleep,
While angels round my bed their watches keep.

141

My life, by one bright course of piety,
And not by months and years, should measur'd be.
Thy glory all my actions should design,
I'd hear no voice, obey no call but thine.
At thy command I would the world forego,
And no such thing as self, or int'rest know.
For thee I would my dearest friend resign,
And from my heart blot ev'ry name but thine.
Thy love, the fountain of my happiness,
Thy love should all my ravish'd soul possess:
And while I'm thus entirely blest in thee,
No happy monarch should my envy be;
Lost in the high enjoyment of thy love,
What glorious mortal could my wishes move?
I'd view each charming object as the glass,
In which my eyes, with vast delight should trace
The lov'd, tho' faint resemblance of thy face.
I'd nothing lovely call, no beauty see,
But that which led my rising soul to thee:
No harmony should e'er my ears rejoice,
Without the welcome music of thy voice.
Not the bright sun, in dazzling glory gay,
Nor the soft lustre of the lunar ray;
Not all the sweets that give the spring to please,
The morning Zephyr, or the ev'ning breeze;
The murm'ring rill thro' flow'ry borders drawn,
The secret covert, or the open lawn;
The verdant valley, or the fragrant field,
Abstract from thee, should any solace yield:
I'd be insensible of all delight,
But what unstain'd devotion should excite.

142

More I would speak, but all my words are faint,
Celestial love, what eloquence can paint?
Nor more can be by mortal words exprest,
But vast eternity shall tell the rest.

On the works of Creation.

Beauty complete, and majesty divine,
In all thy works, ador'd Creator, shine.
Where'er I cast my wond'ring eyes around,
The God I seek in ev'ry part is found.
Pursuing thee, the flow'ry fields I trace,
And read thy name on ev'ry spire of grass.
I follow thee thro' many a lonely shade,
And find thee in the solitary glade.
I meet thee in the kind, refreshing gale,
That gently passes thro' the dewy vale.
The pink, the jess'min, and the purple rose,
Perfum'd by thee, their fragrant leaves disclose.
The feather'd choir that welcome in the spring,
By thee were taught their various notes to sing.
By thee the morning in her crimson vest,
And ornaments of golden clouds, is drest.
The sun, in all his splendor, wears thy beams,
And drinks in light from thy exhaustless streams.
The moon reveals thee by her glimm'ring ray;
Unnumber'd stars thy glorious paths display.
Amidst the solemn darkness of the night,
The thoughts of God my musing soul delight.

143

Thick shades and night thy dread pavilion form;
In state thou rid'st upon the flying storm;
While thy strong hand its fiercest rage restrains,
And holds the wild, unmanag'd winds in reins.
What sparklings of thy majesty appear,
When thro' the firmament swift lightnings glare?
When peals of thunder fill the skies around,
I hear thy voice in the tremendous sound.
But, oh! how small a part is known of thee,
From all thy works immense variety?
Whatever mortal men perfection name,
Thou, in an infinite degree, dost claim.

And while I here thy faintest shadows trace,
I pine to see the glories of thy face;
Where beauty in its never-changing height,
And uncreated excellence, shines bright.
When shall the heav'nly scene, without controul,
Open in dazzling triumph on my soul?
My pow'rs, with all their ardor, shall adore,
And languish for terrestrial charms no more.

On LOVE.

Ye stars that sparkle in the midnight skies,
Propitious love shines out in all your eyes;
Nor does the moon the glorious truth conceal,
But darts soft glances thro' her gloomy veil.
The sun comes forth in majesty above,
And kindles, as he goes, the flames of love;

144

With gentle beams he warms the teeming earth,
And gives ten thousand various forms their birth.
Whatever shape thou wear'st, thy bright abode
Was from eternity, the mind of God:
There thou hast triumph'd in the splendid height
Of uncreated and essential light;
The spring, the fountain of the life divine,
The constant end of ev'ry great design.

Spirit of nature, its informing soul!
Thou dost the pow'rs of heav'n and earth controul:
All the degrees of life and sense that rise
In fields, or floods, or thro' the spacious skies;
All feel the force of thy inspiring flame,
And joy and triumph in thy mighty name.
O, thou art all in all! the highest end,
That boundless grace and wisdom could intend!
And lengths, and breadths, and depths, and heights above,
Shall finally be swallow'd up of love:
No further changes then; but fully blest
The Maker, and his finish'd works shall rest.

On the picture of King George I.

Such native goodness, such a regal grace
Was never stamp'd on any vulgar face;
The sacred characters so clearly shine,
'Twere impious not to own the right divine,

145

Part of the third Scene of the third Act of PASTOR FIDO, translated.

Mirtillo.

Ungrateful nymph! thy too severe command,
To narrow bounds would limit those desires,
Whose vast extent scarce human thought can grasp.

That I have lov'd, and lov'd thee more than life,
If still thou doubt, the fields, the conscious groves,
The savage race can tell; and these hard rocks,
Soften'd by my complaints, can witness too.

Look on thy self, thy matchless beauty proves
The justice, truth, and grandeur of my flame.
Whate'er the earth, or azure skies can boast
Of excellence, 'tis all summ'd up in thee.
So high the spring of my unbounded passion,
'Tis nature, 'tis necessity—As flame
Ascends, as water sinks, as floats the air,
As rests the earth, as roll the circling spheres;
With such perpetual force, my eager soul,
In all its restless motion, tends to thee,
Is its superior bliss: and who would tear
My constant heart from thee, as well might change
Great nature's long establish'd laws, turn back

146

The shining planets from their ancient course,
And from its stedfast centre shake the world.

But since thy harsh commands enjoin my tongue,
In brief to tell the story of my pain;
If I must speak no more, my parting breath
Shall tell thee that I die a victim to thy scorn.

From the same. Act III. Scene I.

AMARILLIS
alone.

My life, my lov'd Mirtillo! could'st thou view
My secret inclinations, this severe,
This cruel Amarillis, soon would find
From thee that pity, thou dost now implore.
I love, and am belov'd; yet what avails
The soft engagement, but to make us wretched?

O why, ye deaf, inexorable pow'rs,
Will ye for ever part what love unites?
Or rather why, too fond, perfidious love,
Wilt thou unite what sacred rites divide?
Happy the savage race, that thro' the woods
Pursue their pleasures unconfin'd by laws!
Too rigid laws that nature would restrain!
Or too imperfect nature that resists!

147

O sacred virtue! let my tongue recal
These impious accents; thine's a name divine,
And still my soul pays homage to thy pow'r:
To thee I sacrifice these wild desires,
And fall a victim to thy holy rigour.

Part of the thirteenth book of Tasso's Jerusalem translated.

The vast machine was scarce in ashes sunk,
Which from their walls the fearful Pagans drove,
When new designs the curst magician forms:
How to prevent the Gauls from fresh supplies
Of useful timber from the neighb'ring wood,
That might more formidable engines raise,
And Sion's trembling walls again alarm.

At distance from the Christian camp there rose,
Amidst a silent, solitary vale,
A lofty forest thick with ancient trees,
Whose folding branches all beneath diffuse
A dusky horror, and malignant shade.
Nor here the radiant sun at brightest noon
E'er smiles with chearful rays, but feebly casts
A dim, discolour'd, and uncertain light;
Uncertain as the cloudy skies display,
While rising night, and parting day contend.

148

But when the sun the gay horizon leaves,
Blackness and terror all the place possess,
Blackness and terror, imitating hell;
Which mortal eyes with fearful darkness veils,
And fills with deep anxiety the soul.
Nor here for shade the shepherd leads his flock,
Nor here the herdsman drives his grazing charge:
No pilgrim enters here, unless misled;
But hastens far with cautious steps away,
And beckons trav'llers from the dang'rous road.

The goblins here nocturnal revels keep,
A monstrous congress, in the gloom they meet;
With dragons wings some break the tortur'd air,
Others, with cloven hoofs, skip o'er the hills:
A lewd assembly, who with tempting wiles,
And soft, fallacious images, entice
The minds of men from virtue's sacred ways.
With hellish rites, and execrable pomp,
Their impious banquets here they nightly keep.

The Pagans this assert, nor lift an axe
Within the confines of the haunted grove;
Which yet the Christians boldly violate,
And carry thence materials for the war.

Amidst the deepest silence of the night,
Ismenes hither comes to prove his arts;
And uncouth figures on the ground inscribes,
Thrice shakes his wand, and murmurs potent words,
And invocation sinful to recite.

149

The twinkling glories that adorn the sky
Look pale, and sicken at the dreadful sound:
The troubled moon withdraws her feeble beam,
And wraps her silver horn in folding clouds.

Millions of spirits by his charms compell'd,
Astonish'd from their sev'ral quarters come;
By thousands some the realms of air forsake;
While others thro' the cleaving earth ascend,
All black and sullen from the gloomy deep.

Take you, the wizard cries, these trees in charge,
As souls their bodies, animate each trunk,
Secure them from the bold encroaching Gauls,
And force them, terrify'd, from hence to fly.

Displeas'd, the tardy spirits undertake
A task that kept them from the war; and lodge
In ev'ry sprig, and ev'ry leaf possess.

ISMENES joyful to the king returns,
And boasting, all his curst success relates.
He adds, your regal seat is now secure,
Nor can your foes their proud machine repair.
But still their worst misfortunes are behind.
Within the course of some revolving days,
Hot Mars and Phoebus in the Lion meet,
With angry aspects, and malignant rays;
Whence heat so strong and violent ensues,
That nothing shall its fierce extremes allay;
Nor winds, nor clouds, nor dews, nor cooling show'rs:
Not more intemp'rate flames the Indian burns.

150

This all the stars and face of heav'n predict.
To us the disadvantage will be less,
With swelling springs, and grateful shade supply'd,
By heav'n abandon'd, first their camp shall fall
An easy conquest to th' Egyptian troops.
Thus sitting you the victory may gain,
And try no more the doubtful chance of war.
But if the proud Argantes this withstands,
Your conduct must his headlong rage restrain.
Leave all beyond to heav'n, which soon will bring
Triumph to you, confusion to your foes.

These speeches sooth the king, who now commands
The breaches of the wall to be repair'd:
The chearful citizens and slaves assist
To mend the wall, and fortify the town.

An Epistle from Alexias, a noble Roman, to his wife, whom he left on his wedding-day, with a design to visit the eastern churches.

All health to thee, still dearer than my life,
My lovely mistress, and more charming wife!
Warn'd by a heav'nly vision from thy bed,
And tender arms, yet unenjoy'd, I fled.

151

Haste, cries the shining form, without pretence,
Astonish'd man, 'tis heav'n commands thee hence;
The mighty message leaves thee no defence.
Haste, and the rest to providence resign,
This deed shall in immortal legends shine.

Mute with surprize, I took my sudden flight,
Assisted by the covert of the night.
The friendly pow'r conducts me to the shore
Of those lov'd regions I must view no more;
The winds to sea the destin'd vessel bore.
The deep, and all its stormy dangers past,
We reach the happy Asian coasts at last:
To all the Christian churches there as sent,
With pious zeal to visit them I went.

Another heav'nly charge constrains me then
To quit the dear society of men;
In some remote and humble hermitage,
Far from the world to spend my blooming age.
Now thro' uncouth and pathless woods I stray,
Frequented only by the beasts of prey,
Who trembling haste at my approach away.
O'er Libya's scorching sands, or Scythian snows,
Undaunted, innocence and virtue goes.
All night, unguarded, in the woods I lie,
The stars my lamps, the clouds my canopy.
With wholesome fruits my hunger I suffice,
My thirst a bounteous silver spring supplies.
To heav'n alone in this retreat I live,
And all my hours to strict devotion give;

152

Deep contemplation, sacred hymns, and pray'r,
In solemn turns, my constant leisure share.

Sometimes, my sinking forces to renew,
The scenes of everlasting pain I view,
The dreadful fate to curst apostates due:
My shudd'ring fancy seeks the shades below,
The realms of death, and dismal seats of woe;
I trace the burning banks, the sulph'rous streams,
And tremble at the never-dying flames.

A nobler view my virtue now excites,
And pleasure's charming name my soul invites;
The boundless joys, the crown, the vast reward,
In heav'n, for stedfast piety prepar'd.
My tow'ring thoughts in raptur'd sallies rove,
Thro' all the wide resplendent worlds above;
I view the inmost glories of the skies,
And paradise lies open to my eyes;
Whole floods of joy come pouring on my soul,
And high the flowing tides of pleasure roll.

These blissful prospects urge my virtue on,
No toil too great for an immortal crown!
No path that leads to happiness is hard,
Short the fatigue, eternal the reward!
The course of some few fleeting minutes o'er,
And I shall gain the long expected shore;
And from these dark tempestuous coasts remove
To the calm skies, and peaceful climes above.

153

With transport there, with transport all divine,
My lov'd Emilia, shall my soul meet thine:
To endless years our raptures we'll improve,
And spend a whole eternity in love.

To the right honourable the Earl of ---

To thee my muse's softest skill I owe,
For thee, Mirtillo, I indulge it now:
Yet by my praise I would not make thee less,
But something great and worthy thee express;
Yet while I strive the darling thought to paint,
Its beauties in the flat expression faint.

For there's in thee I know not what divine,
Which must the brightest metaphors out-shine.
When angels, cloath'd in human forms, appear,
Such grandeur, such benignity they wear:
If they discourse, like thine must be their sense,
Like thine their accent, and their eloquence.

Not all the gaudy pageantries of state,
But thy own native lustre makes thee great.
In all things modest, fortunate, and brave,
To custom, vice, nor virtue's self a slave;
That's reason, thought, and gen'rous choice in thee,
And not the low effect of dull necessity.
With beauty thou, and blooming life art crown'd,
While flatt'ring pleasures court thee all around;

154

But thou, with an heroical disdain,
Unconquer'd, unseduc'd dost still remain,
And with a philosophic pride engage
The num'rous follies of a vitious age;
Nor breaks the sun less sully'd from a cloud,
Than thou from all the vices of a crowd.

On an unsuccessful attempt to draw the Lord Boyle's picture.

In vain, with mimic skill, my pencil tries
To paint the life that sparkles in those eyes.
What art, what rules of symmetry can trace
That air of wit, that bloom, and modest grace?
What soft degrees of shade or light express
The inward worth those speaking looks confess?
'Tis more than beauty here that charms the sight,
And gives our minds an elegant delight:
Were Virtue seen to mortal eyes, she'd wear
Those peaceful smiles, and that engaging air.

155

Lord Boyle's answer to the foregoing Verses.

No air of wit, no beauteous grace I boast;
My charms are native innocence, at most.
Alike thy pencil, and thy numbers charm,
Glad ev'ry eye, and ev'ry bosom warm.
Mature in years, if e'er I chance to tread,
Where Vice, triumphant, rears aloft her head;
Ev'n there the paths of Virtue I'll pursue,
And own my fair and kind director you.

To Mrs. ROWE.

Occasioned by her verses on Lord Boyle.

By Mr. N. Munckley.

The great, the good, for arms or arts renown'd,
(Their brows with laurel, or with olive crown'd)
May from thy art a double life receive,
And in thy lays, or from thy pencil live.
Yet short the life thy colours can supply,
Raphael's and Kneller's teints, and thine must die:

156

Not so thy lays; more lasting fame they give,
And bid their theme to endless ages live.
Thus Homer's verse remains the muses boast,
While Zeuxes' later labours now are lost.

No more in works like these thy skill display,
Nor give what rolling years shall take away;
To paint Boyle's blooming charms invoke the Nine,
And bid him in immortal numbers shine:
The lovely form posterity shall view,
Each charm uninjur'd, and each feature true.
Thus shall he flourish in unfading bloom,
The joy and wonder of each age to come.

On the death of the honourable Mrs. Thynne.

If virtue can immortal honour give,
Thy worth the muse's boasted theme shall live,
But mine's a private, unambitious part,
Where nature dictates, negligent of art:
In shades retir'd, I breathe my secret grief,
And sooth my sorrows, hopeless of relief.

O sacred shade! the impious wish forgive,
That fain would have thee yet a mortal live;
That fain would bring thee from celestial joys,
To these wild seats of vanity and noise.

157

Could tears prevail, how many weeping eyes
Would join with me to tempt thee from the skies!
A just compassion, sure, would touch that mind,
Which here was gentle, and sincerely kind:
The gen'rous disposition reigns above,
Distinguish'd in the peaceful realms of love.

Would heav'n permit, I could my sorrows paint,
Invoking thee as some protecting saint;
Such warm devotion rises in my breast,
So bright a flame thy virtues have impress'd.
I talk to winds—the happy spirit roves
Thro' lightsome plains, and ever-verdant groves,
Pleas'd with harmonious strains, nor lends an ear
To the ungovern'd language of despair.

Yet let my grief the rites of friendship pay,
And weep my sorrows o'er thy breathless clay,
Visit, with just respect, thy silent tomb,
And sooth my anguish in the mournful gloom.

O could I hear thy gentle voice again,
Or one short moment's sight of thee obtain;
If but to take a last, a sad adieu—
What vain illusions my wild thoughts pursue!
The shades of death are drawn, perpetual night
For ever hides thee from my longing sight;
Fix'd destiny shall ne'er that bliss restore,
Till earth, and sea, and heav'n shall be no more.

But, sacred friendship, thy superior flame
Shall time out-live, and be unchang'd the same.

158

When all the fond relations nature knows,
When all the ties that human laws impose
Are cancell'd; when the mighty league expires,
That holds the universe, when yon gay fires
Have wasted all their glory, thou shalt rise
In triumph o'er the ruins of the skies:
Thy pow'r, immortal friendship, then confest,
Shall fill, with transport, ev'ry heav'nly breast.

To Mrs. ROWE.

On her Elegy on the death of the honourable Mrs. Thynne.

By the right honourable JOHN, Earl of Orrery.

So sweet you sing, so well your Laura paint,
Weep so pathetic a departed saint,
That with fresh rage my sorrows you renew,
And call my Henrietta to my view.
Before my eyes the charmer stands confest,
Again I see her, and again am blest.
Oh, no—the vision's gone—an airy dream,
Rais'd by the magic of your mournful theme:
But since by fate we are alike opprest,
Since ling'ring sorrows both our minds infest,

159

From hence let mutual consolation flow,
And let each breast with new-born friendship glow.
Thus, when the tedious race of life is run,
And all our fleeting earthly joys are gone,
Together to the realms of light we'll fly,
You to meet Laura, Henrietta, I.

Marston, Dec. 17. 1734.

To Mrs. ROWE.

Occasioned by the foregoing Elegy.

By another Hand.

While, Philomel, you breathe your plaintive sighs
O'er Laura's loss, and friendship's broken ties,
To my pain'd thought that fatal hour appears,
When (all the wise, and all the good in tears)
Number'd no more with mortals, thou shalt rise
To meet thy kindred minds in yonder skies.
(Late be that hour, let years on years roll slow,
E'er that sad hour shall plunge a world in woe!
Long, long may worth like thine this earth adorn,
The joy and wonder of a race unborn!)
Ah! how shall then thy wretched friends sustain
The woes of absence, and the parting pain?

160

Yet then, ev'n then, not full despair their doom,
One chearful ray relieves the mournful gloom;
Amid their copious tears, one soothing smile
Thy verse permits, their anguish to beguile.
When ev'ry sick'ning star shall feel decay,
And earth, and sea, and skies shall pass away;
To pay the pangs of parting, fate ordains
A blissful meeting on the heav'nly plains;
To join in friendship, and unite in joy,
Which absence cannot part, nor death destroy.

To the right honourable John Earl of Orrery.

Immortal friendship, thou unblemish'd name
Why should I fear t'admit thy sacred flame?
Why with fantastic rules thy force controul,
And damp the noble ardor in my soul?
When thou art banish'd from the human breast,
Envy and rage the gloomy seat infest.
Thy gentle warmth inspires the worlds above,
Those pure abodes of innocence and love.

Then come, a welcome inmate to my breast,
And be thy pow'r thro' all my soul confest:
When such distinguish'd merit is in view,
The sacred tribute is entirely due.

161

A HYMN.

From Racine's Athalia. Act I. Scene 2.

I.

Th' Almighty's grandeur fills the universe,
E'er time had birth his empire was the same.
Let heav'n and earth his benefits rehearse,
Adore his greatness, and invoke his name.

II.

In vain our impious foes
A rig'rous silence on our tongues impose;
Tho' ev'ry tongue should silent lie,
His glory with th' instructing sun would fly
Around the world, and fill the vaulted sky.

III.

From him the fruits receive their blushing pride;
By him, in all their various hues,
The gaudy flow'rs are dy'd;
His bounty with the ev'ning's gentle dews,
And morning gales, the verdant field renews.

IV.

At his command the sun displays
Is vital warmth, and spreads its golden rays:
Nor chiefly here his goodness stands confest,
Of all his gifts to man his law exceeds the rest.

162

To Mr. THOMSON.

On the Countess of ---'s praising his Poems.

Secure of glory, crown thy head with bays,
Ambition sets its bounds in Delia's praise;
What she approves eternity shall claim,
And give the favour'd muse unrival'd fame:
She well can judge, who knows with tuneful art,
In tender strains to move the coldest heart.

When thro' the flow'ry vale, and dusky groves,
Her muse retir'd, with guiltless freedom roves,
With new delight we seek the calm abodes,
Detest the town, and wander thro' the woods;
The sylvan scene, conscious of joy appears,
And charms like thy own summer ev'ning wears;
No longer the sad nightingales complain,
But learn from her's a more exalted strain:
Her tuneful numbers ev'ry care beguile,
And make the solitary prospect smile.

But when she sets the lyre to themes divine,
An angel speaks in ev'ry flowing line:
She takes from vice its undeserv'd applause,
And dares assert abandon'd virtue's cause.
Exprest in heav'nly eloquence we find
The perfect image of her beauteous mind;

163

Her beauteous mind, that with distinguish'd grace
Shines in her eyes, and sparkles in her face,
Gives ev'ry blandishment, and charming air,
Makes all harmonious, and completely fair.

On the Divine Attributes.

Let those that hate thee tremble at thy name,
Thy being is my confidence and joy.
Abstract from all things else, I find in thee
A secret, an unfailing spring of peace.
Alacrity and pleasure fill my soul,
To think thou art, and that compar'd to thee
Things seen, and things unseen, deserve no name.

Thou only art without variety,
Or shadow of a change, immutable.
Perish this visionary form of things!
In darkness be the gay creation lost!
While thou remain'st unchang'd, with joy these eyes
Could gaze on nature's universal wreck,
See heav'n and earth in one vast ruin sink,
And smile upon the glorious desolation.

Thou hast no attribute but gives me joy.
Be as thou art, severe in holiness!
My highest reason loves thy perfect laws,
Thou righteous king of saints! Pure as thou art,

164

And sinful as I am, I triumph still:
My guilt is all my own, and thou art clear.
From the low depths of misery and dust,
With angels and archangels round thy throne,
To thy dominion and unbounded sway
I join my glad assent.—Be all thy foes
In just derision had, and vile contempt,
While thy bright throne for ever stands secure!

Be absolute! be uncontroul'd and free!
Thou canst not be unjust, howe'er above
The view of man thy ways.—A time will come,
When all shall be explain'd; and conqu'ring love,
The splendor and the beauty of thy face,
Victorious love, shall shine on all thy works.

For, oh! what daring thought shall limit thee,
Thou darling attribute of the Most High,
And greatest of his names?—A heart subdu'd
Like mine, must make its loudest boasts of thee:
My life, my glory and salvation's thine,
And thine shall be my everlasting song.

In these cold regions thou hast warm'd my heart
And gently trac'd some faint resemblance there.
But, oh! thou charming pow'r, that canst efface
All the remains of enmity and pride,
Transform me to thine image, let me wear
No character but thine: Be thou my life,
Its spring, its motion, constant as my breath;
Dwell on my tongue, and govern all my soul,
Till faith and love be swallow'd up of thee.

165

These eyes shall see thee then supremely fair;
Apparent in the heights of excellence,
And perfect beauty thou shalt stand reveal'd.
Blessings and smiles, unmeasurable grace,
Essential glories, ever-blooming life,
Prospects of pleasure, regions of delight,
The heav'n of heav'ns, visions ineffable,
At once shall all their dazzling pomp unfold,
And open in thy fair, unclouded face.

On the name of JESUS.

If love, if joy, if gratitude can speak,
If sacred rapture can its silence break;
Yet once more let me tune my harp for thee,
Thou source of the divine benignity:
On this side heav'n yet once more let me sing,
E'er to thy praise I set th' immortal string;
In mortal strains permit me to rehearse
Thy name, and with it grace my humble verse.

Ye winds, to heav'n the sacred accents bear,
For heav'n delights the glorious sound to hear.
Ye angels, take it on your golden lyres,
Voices like yours the mighty word requires.
Seraph and cherub, speak, is there a sound
More sweet than this in all your language found?

166

Is there within the bounds of paradise,
A note of harmony compar'd to this?

Ye heav'nly pow'rs, your gentle warmth infuse,
And tell me what sweet eloquence you use;
I burn in sacred flames like yours, and fain
Would talk and sing, in your immortal strain;
My voice would mix with the melodious spheres,
And please, with soft attraction, angels ears.

Ye winds, to heav'n the glorious accents bear,
For heav'n delights the charming name to hear:
I'll breathe it with the morning's fragrant air,
Its pleasing echoes shall the ev'ning chear.
The fields, the lawns, and ev'ry shady grove,
The sweet retirements, and delights of love,
Shall learn from me the dear, inspiring name,
And all be witness to my holy flame.

To Mr. PRIOR.

On his SOLOMON.

A muse devoted to celestial things,
Again for thee profanes th' immortal strings;
The stars, the myrtle shade, and rosy bow'r
She quits, to revel in thy iv'ry tow'r;

167

The music of the spheres and heav'nly throngs
She minds no more, to listen to thy songs.
Enchanted with thy lovely Hebrew king,
Gabriel in vain displays his purple wing;
Boasts of his golden zone, and bright attire,
His starry crown, soft voice, and charming lyre;
With all his fine address, and glitt'ring shew,
The muse abandons the celestial beau:
Perverted by the Jewish monarch's eyes,
The fondly turns apostate to the skies,
And envies Abra's beauty, while it shines
With undecaying bloom in Prior's lines.

A SONNET.

Translated from the Italian of Signior Rolli.

Canzonetta 23.

Glide gently on, thou murm'ring brook,
And sooth my tender grief;
'Twas here the fatal wound I took,
'Tis here I seek relief.

With Silvio, on the verdant shore
I fondly sate reclin'd,
Believ'd the charming things he swore,
Too credulous and kind!

168

While thus he said; ‘This purling stream
‘Back to its spring shall flow,
‘O Pastorella! e'er my flame
‘The least decay shall know.

Ye conscious waves, roll back again!
Back to your crystal head!
The false, ungrateful, perjur'd swain
Has broke the vows he made.

And yet he vow'd, 'till the last breath
Of life he should resign,
'Till fate should close his eyes in death,
His stedfast love was mine.

Perhaps some fairer shepherdess
His faithless breast has warm'd
And those kind vows and soft address
Her guiltless heart has charm'd.

But tell the nymph, thou gentle stream,
If e'er she visits thee,
The treach'rous youth has vow'd the same,
Yet broke his faith with me.

169

An Answer to an Italian Song.

[_]

that begins thus:

Venere bella, per une instante,
Deh, mi concede le grazie tutte
Del dio d'amor, &c.

The soft petition soon ascends,
Nor wanders thro' the air,
Smiling the Queen of love attends
To her new vot'ry's pray'r.

Ask any thing, the Goddess cries,
In this propitious hour;
My breast is fill'd with glad surprize,
To hear thee own my pow'r.

To thee my charms and gentle art,
With pleasure I resign:
Cupid presents thee ev'ry dart,
His conqu'ring bow is thine.

Had I describ'd my tender care
In thy harmonious strain,
Adonis had been won to hear
A Goddess tell her pain.

170

The Description of the Drought.

[_]

Translated from the beginning of the xiiith book of Tasso's Jerusalem.

While Godfrey in his active mind revolves
The martial plan, and mighty things resolves,
Now enter'd the celestial Crab, the sun
With beams direct, unusual heat darts down:
The sacred troops, for warlike toil unfit,
Drooping beneath their useless armour sit.
Each gentle star's extinguish'd in the skies,
While in their stead ill-boding planets rise;
Which on the army noxious fervors shed,
And thro' the air a baleful influence spread.
Horrors on horrors rise, a fatal night
Succeeds the fatal day's malignant light;
The fatal day's malignant light reveals
Signs of new terror, and augmented ills.
The sun all dreadful in his rising seems,
With sanguine tresses, and polluted beams;
With blood distain'd his radiant face appears,
And sad presages all his aspect wears:
'Till having gain'd the zenith's lofty height,
He darts a stronger, and more piercing light;
Blasts all the verdant beauty of the meads,
While ev'ry plant and flow'ry blossom fades.

171

Mountains and valleys desolate appear,
The cleaving hills all wither'd, curst and bare,
The dismal marks of heav'n's displeasure wear.
The rivers at their inmost springs decay,
While horrid signs the fiery clouds display
The airy space a smoking furnace seems,
With stifling vapours, and pernicious steams.
To cool the air no gentle gales arise,
Each Zephyr silent in his cavern lies;
Only the south from Afric's burning sands,
With scorching blasts infests the Christian bands:
Nor milder breezes with the ev'ning come,
But sultry still, and all enflam'd the gloom;
While gliding fires, and comets strangely bright,
Glare thro' the sable shadows of the night.
The languid moon sheds from her silent sphere
No cooling dews, the thirsty ground to chear.
The flow'rs decay, each tree and verdant plant
Pine at their roots, and vital moisture want.
From these unquiet nights sleep takes its flight,
In vain the troops the drowzy god invite.
But thirst, of all their ills, the worst remains,
He dies who drinks, he dies whoe'er abstains.
For poisons mingled by the Pagan king,
Infected ev'ry stream, and bubling spring:
Like gloomy Styx, or cursed Acheron,
The black, contagious, troubled waves roll on.
Scarce silver Siloah glides above its sands,
Whose streams before supply'd the Christian bands:
But now the swelling Po, that mighty stream,
To sate their thirst would scarce sufficient seem;

172

Nor Ganges, nor great Nile, when all around
His rising waves o'erflow their loftiest bound.
The tempting thought of cool, unsully'd streams,
And bubling springs, the fierce disease enflames;
And he who had observ'd some crystal pool,
Or down the Alps a living torrent roll;
Recals the flatt'ring images again,
Which still exasperates his fervid pain.
The mightiest chiefs, with noble heat inspir'd,
Whom neither arms, nor toilsome march had tir'd,
Projected now, and gasping on the ground,
Unweildly burthens to themselves are found;
While inward fires, by slow degrees, exhaust
Their vital springs, and manly vigour waste.
The steed, late fierce, now scorns his proffer'd meat,
And faulters in his once imperious gait;
His former victories are all contemn'd,
With martial glory now no more enflam'd,
His rich caparisons no more adorn,
But as a loath'd, inglorious load are worn.

CANT. II. viii, ix.

Is it a dream? or does my ravish'd ear
The charming voice of my beloved hear?
Is it his face? or are my eager eyes
Deluded by some vision's bright disguise?

173

'Tis he himself! I know his lovely face,
It's heav'nly lustre, and peculiar grace.
I know the sound, 'tis his transporting voice,
My heart assures me by its rising joys.
He comes, and wing'd with all the speed of love,
His flying feet along the mountains move;
He comes, and leaves the panting hart behind,
His motion swift, and fleeting as the wind.
O welcome, welcome, never more to part!
I'll lodge thee now for ever in my heart;
My doubtful heart, which trembling scarce believes,
And scarce the mighty ecstasy receives.

The PETITION.

You fairest offspring of immortal love,
That revel in the fragrant bow'rs above,
The brightest products of your Maker's skill,
In visions to the gentle maid reveal
Your glowing beauties, your celestial charms,
And free her breast from all the wild alarms,
The fatal sallies of an earthly flame;
Let heav'n alone the reigning passion claim,
At once unfold the sparkling scenes of joy,
The raptures which your happy hours employ;
While crown'd with mirth, with love and sacred song,
Eternal years unclouded dance along.

174

Describe the glitt'ring natives of the skies,
Their rosy bloom, soft smiles, and radiant eyes;
With all your skill the favour'd nymph allure,
And from the arts of mortal race secure:
Be she your constant, your propitious care!
O grant my wish, and hear the friendly pray'r!

Verses presented to her Royal Highness the Princess Amelia, at Marlborough, June the 18th, 1728.

Ye sylvan shades, ye fair enchanting seats,
Of peace and guiltless love the soft retreats,
Be all your flow'ry elegance display'd,
To charm, with nature's pomp, the royal maid.
Let ev'ry prospect wear a lively grace,
Clear as the blooming beauties of her face.
Ye various plants, your fragrant tribute bring,
The painted product of the lovely spring.
Ye whisp'ring breezes, and refreshing gales,
That fly, with downy wings, along the vales,
Take the soft music of Amelia's name,
Breathe it to ev'ry list'ning grove and stream.
Let nature show a pleasure unconfin'd,
And speak the sense of Hertford's gen'rous mind.

175

Devout Soliloquies.

SOLILOQUY I.

Eternal Maker, hail! hail pow'r divine!
The heav'ns and earth, the day and night are thine.
Matter and form to thee their being owe,
From thee, their great original, they flow:
When yet the mingled mass unactive lay,
Thou gav'st it motion by thy quick'ning ray;
Chaos and night thy pow'rful mandate heard,
And light, and glorious order, soon appear'd.
If thou but hide thy face, the creatures mourn,
But life and pleasure with thy smile return.
Thy gentle smile dependant nature chears,
Revives its hopes, and dissipates its fears.
The earth and skies thro' various changes run;
But thou, whose wond'rous being ne'er begun,
Can'st ne'er thro' all eternity decay,
While time's swift flood bears all things else away.
By thy direction, the fair orbs above,
In perfect order, thro' the ether move;
And all that's lovely, all that's pure below,
Immediately from thy bright essence flow.
Fountain of life! from thy immortal flame
All ranks of intellectual beings came:
Our maker thou, our great original,
We own thy right, and thee our father call.

176

SOLILOQUY II.

Celestial love, my ever-charming theme,
Ten thousand blessings rest upon thy name!
From the divinity thou hast thy source,
And God himself attests thy wond'rous force.

Some angel, speak in your immortal strain,
How love does o'er th' immense creator reign;
But, oh! that glorious truth what angel can explain?
You saw him quit the pleasures of the sky,
And veil the glories of the deity;
You saw him born, and wond'ring heard him weep,
Wond'ring you saw the world's protector sleep;
You saw him wander here despis'd, unknown,
Without a place, to rest his head, his own;
You knew his grief and inward agony;
You saw the heav'nly lover bleed and die.

Victorious love, how infinite thy pow'r!
How great thy triumph on that solemn hour!
The sun, the moon, and sparkling stars on high,
Stood witness to the vanquish'd deity.

Strike up your golden harps, ye sons of light,
Some mighty genius the vast song indite;
And, oh! ye sons of men, unite your voice,
Let all the ransom'd tribes on earth rejoice;
Ye ransom'd tribes, peculiarly from you
Unbounded thanks, and endless praise are due.
Triumph and shout, begin th' eternal strains,
To him that dy'd, but now for ever reigns;

177

To him that lov'd, and wash'd us in his blood,
And made us kings, and chosen priests to God:
For worthy is the lamb, that once was slain,
Of praise and blessing in the highest strain.

SOLILOQUY III.

Whatever various turns my life shall see,
Of downy peace, or hard adversity;
Let smiling suns shine on my prosp'rous ways,
Or low'ring clouds obscure my gloomy days;
The praises of my God shall still employ
My tongue, and yield my thoughts perpetual joy:
For he is all my glory, all my boast,
Be ev'ry name but his for ever lost!
My trust alone is his almighty name,
All other aids my tow'ring thoughts disclaim.
In God, my glorious Saviour, I'll rejoice,
And still exalt him with my grateful voice.
His angels, he himself surrounds the just,
And guards the saints who in his promise trust.
O taste and see, how blest, how highly blest
Are they who on his boundless mercy rest!
He, with indulgent care, their wants supplies,
And guides their steps with ever-watchful eyes;
His gracious ears are open to their pray'r,
And hear, with soft compassion, all their care;
When darkness and despair their steps surround,
Their gentle guide and succour he is found.
Mercy and truth, thro' all his gracious ways
To human race, shine with distinguish'd rays.
O let my tongue on the blest subject dwell,
The wonders of his love to men and angels tell!

178

Angels and men their glad assent shall join,
And mix their loud applauding notes with mine.

SOLILOQUY. IV.

Too low my artless verse, too flat my lays,
To reach thy glory, and express thy praise;
Yet let me on my humble reed complain,
And mourn thy absence in a pensive strain;
My own soft cares permit me to rehearse,
And with thy name adorn my humble verse.
The streams shall learn it, and the gentle breeze
On its glad wings shall waft it thro' the trees.
The list'ning nymphs, instructed by my flame,
Shall teach their hearts to make a nobler claim;
The swains no more for mortal charms shall pine,
But to celestial worth their vows resign.
The fields and woods the chaste retreats shall prove
Of sacred joys, and pure, immortal love;
And angels leave their high abodes again,
To grace the rural seats, and talk with men.

SOLILOQUY V.

By sighs, by gentle vows, and soft complaint,
Deluded lovers all their suff'rings paint;
Their joys in smooth similitudes they dress,
And all their grief in flowing words express?
But what are flowing words? how poor, how vain,
These high celestial ardors to explain!
Can human sounds such wond'rous things unfold,
As angels warble to their harps of gold?
O teach me all your sweet, melodious art,
To breathe the tender dictates of my heart!

179

To talk—of what—for you alone can tell
What minds enflam'd with holy transports feel.
You feel them, when you touch th' immortal strings,
And gaze, and love, and talk immortal things;
When ev'ry blissful shade, and happy grove
Repeat the sound, and softly breathe out love.

SOLILOQUY VI.

O speak! and in the music of thy voice
My soul shall antedate immortal joys;
The tempting calls of sense shall all be drown'd
In the superior sweetness of that sound:
Nature and studious art would strive in vain
To reach the charms of that victorious strain.
O let me hear thee but in whispers break
Thy silence, and in gentle accents speak!
Such accents as ne'er ravish'd mortal ears,
Such as the soul in calm retirement hears;
When from external objects far away,
Her highest pow'rs the call divine obey:
That voice that to ineffable delights,
From mortal things the willing mind invites;
More charming than the notes which angels play,
When they conduct a dying saint away;
While raptur'd he resigns his parting breath,
And smiles on all the solemn pomp of death.

When wilt thou speak, and tell me thou art mine?
O how I long to hear that word divine!
When that transporting sound shall bless my ear,
My sullen grief, and ev'ry mortal care;

180

Fly days, and hours, and measur'd time, with speed,
And let the blest eternity succeed!

'Till then the rolling orbs my love shall hear,
And let the whole creation lend an ear.
Witness, ye crystal streams, that murm'ring flow,
For you the secret of my passion know;
Ye fields, ye glades, and ev'ry shadey grove,
The sweet retirements, and delights of love,
I call you all to witness to my flame,
For you have learnt the dear inspiring name;
In gentle echoes you have oft reply'd,
And in soft breezes thro' the valleys sigh'd;
The valleys, mossy caves, and open lawn,
The silent ev'ning, and the chearful dawn;
Thou moon, and ev'ry fair conspicuous star,
Whose silver rays the midnight horrors chear;
And thou bright lamp of day, shalt witness prove,
To the perpetual fervor of my love.
To heav'n and earth my tongue has oft confest,
And heav'n and earth my ardor can attest.
Angels, for you the solemn truth can tell,
And ev'ry pious midnight sigh reveal;
You feel the warmth of this celestial flame,
And bless, with me, the dear transporting name;
Be witness that my raptur'd vows aspire,
To the high theme of your immortal lyre.

But oh! my life, my hope, to thee alone
I strive to make my ardent wishes known;
To thee alone, to thee I would reveal
My tender cares, to thee I dare appeal.

181

Thou that dost all my secret soul behold,
Peirce all its depths, and ev'ry veil unfold,
Ev'n thou, my glorious judge, thy self shalt prove
Th' eternal witness of my truth and love.

SOLILOQUY VII.

Celestial gift, by heav'n alone inspir'd,
And not by man, in all his pride acquir'd,
What wonders hast thou done? thy sacred force
The skies obey, and nature turns her course.
At thy command the sun has backward fled,
Th' astonish'd moon stood still with silent dread.
If thou but speak, the raging winds obey,
The waves divide, and leave an open way;
Thy potent breath dissolves the rock, and brings
From solid marble, softly-bubling springs;
At thy request mortality is fed
From heav'n's high store-house, with celestial bread;
Thy wide commands no limits can confine,
Whate'er omnipotence can do is thine.

SOLILOQUY VIII.

Why does the sun with constant glory burn?
Why does the day to guilty man return?
To guilty man, whose insolence and pride
The glories of th' eternal sun would hide?
Why do the stars with nightly splendor shine,
While mists from hell obscure the light divine?
Back to your fountain turn your lucid streams,
To holier regions lend your gentle beams.

182

O let me weep in some sequester'd shade,
Whose dark recess no light shall e'er invade;
Where mortal joys shall offer no relief,
To intermit the just, the serious grief.
O could my tears the publick vengeance stay,
And yet suspend the desolating day!
But see it comes! the threat'ning tempests rise,
Presaging darkness gathers in the skies.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]

SOLILOQUY IX.

From thee, my God, my noblest pleasures spring,
The thoughts of thee perpetual solace bring.
How does my soul, from these exalted heights
Contemn the world, and all its poor delights!
And wing'd with sacred rapture, pass the rounds
Of circling skies, and all created bounds!
Celestial prospects, visions all divine,
Unfold their glories, and around me shine.

Thus let me live, nor hear, nor see, nor know
What mortals, in their madness, act below.
Be thy refreshing consolations mine!
And I the world, with all its boasts, resign.
Deluding shews, I give you to the wind,
My soul a nobler happiness must find.

SOLILOQUY X.

If e'er again I find my soul's delight,
With love's soft fetters I'll restrain his flight;

183

And e'er I with the darling treasure part,
The sparks of life shall quit my trembling heart:
That life, which soon would prove a tiresome load,
Without the charming hopes to find my God.
O thou that dost my panting breast inspire
With all the ardor of celestial fire,
Thee I must find, or in the search expire!
In vain the tempting world its glory shows,
All it can give would yield me no repose;
Renounc'd at once let all its proffers be,
My bliss shall be completely full in thee:
Here is my rest, my vain pursuits are o'er;
Here let me fix, and never wander more.

SOLILOQUY XI.

No change of time, nor place, shall change my love,
Nor from my God my stedfast thoughts remove.
The flatt'ring world, with all its tempting art,
Shall never blot his image from my heart.
Should hell, with all its stratagems, combine,
They could not quench an ardor so divine:
Their false allurements, nor their proudest rage,
Shall e'er my resolution disengage.
Pleasure shall court in vain, and beauty smile,
Glory in vain my wishes would beguile.
The persecutor's rage I would not fear;
Let death in all its horrid shapes appear,
And with its keenest darts my breast assail;
When breath, and ev'ry vital spring shall fail,
The sacred flame on brighter wings shall rise,
And unextinguish'd reach its native skies;

184

With an eternal force the heav'nly fire
Shall to its bright original aspire.

SOLILOQUY XII.

Dance on, ye hours, on soft and downy feet!
Roll swift, thou ling'ring sun, and let us meet!
Come, ye blest moments, with a sprightly grace!
Let the gay period shew its smiling face!
What is the day? what is its useless light,
Unless it shews me that transporting sight?
No beauteous object smiles below the skies,
To charm my thought, and fix my longing eyes;
Celestial excellence my eyes inspires,
And kindles in my breast immortal fires.
Thou bright, unrival'd object of my love,
To thee alone my soft affections move;
Thine are my rising hopes, my purest fires,
My noblest wishes, and sublime desires.

SOLILOQUY XIII.

Ye happy minds, that free from mortal chains,
Possess the realms where boundless pleasure reigns,
That feel the force of those immortal fires,
And reach the bliss, to which my soul aspires;
Who meet, unveil'd, that radiant majesty,
Of which, to gain one transient glance, I'd die;
I charge you, by the boundless joys you feel,
My tender cares to my beloved tell;
Make all th' aspiring inclination known,
In such high strains as you describe your own;
In such exalted numbers as explain
The sacred flames which in your bosoms reign;

185

When all the heights of ecstasy you prove,
And breathe the raptures of immortal love.
O tell the glorious object, whom I prize
Beyond the chearful light that meets mine eyes,
Beyond my friend, or any dearer name,
Beyond the breath that feeds this vital frame,
Beyond whate'er is charming here below,
Beyond the brightest joys that mortals know,
Beyond all these, O tell him that I love!
Tell him what anguish for his sake I prove;
Tell him how long the hours of his delay,
And what I suffer by this tedious stay;
Tell him his absence robs my soul of rest,
While cruel jealousy torments my breast.
O let him know that my distracted mind
No real joy, while he withdraws, can find;
That all my hopes are center'd in his love,
How lost without it, how undone I prove!
Tell him that nothing can that loss repair,
Nor help the soul that dismal stroke to bear,
Nothing ensues but grief, and black despair:
Nothing beyond my soul could undergo;
'Tis death! 'tis hell! 'tis all unmingled woe!

SOLILOQUY XIV.

O stay, thou sacred object of my love,
Nor from my longing eyes so soon remove!
Stay yet, nor let me lose thy charming sight!
Stay till the midnight shadows take their flight!
Stay till the morning star's illustrious ray
Awakes the dawn, and leads the blushing day!

186

Stay till the sun unveils his golden light,
And joyful birds their early songs recite;
Return, my life, or let me follow thee!
The world affords no solace now for me.
With thee I ev'ry smiling hope forego,
And in thy absence no delight can know;
Thou, thou art all my happiness below!

SOLILOQUY XV.

Come, gentle death, release my struggling soul
From those dull fetters which her flight controul!
Less eagerly the hireling waits the close
Of the long, tedious day, to find repose.
A pilgrim here in this detested clime,
I rove and sigh away the ling'ring time.
O come, thou wish'd for messenger of peace!
The pris'ner longs not more for a release;
The wretch that under painful bondage groans,
With less concern his misery bemoans.
How shall I bless the hour that sets me free,
And gives my soul her native liberty!
With eager joy I'd bid the world adieu,
And with contempt its parting glories view;
To mortal vanities I'd close mine eyes,
Led on by sacred love I'd upward rise,
And in a moment reach the blissful skies.

SOLILOQUY XVI.

On Libya's burning sands, and trackless waste,
Or Zembla's icy coast let me be cast;
On some bleak shore, or solitary den,
Far from the path, and chearful haunt of men:

187

However sad and gloomy be the place,
Let me but there behold thy smiling face;
The wildest cave a paradise would be,
Celestial plains, and blissful groves to me.
Danger, and solitude, and lonesome night,
At thy propitious presence take their flight.
Beauty, in all its soft variety,
And love, and crowding joys attend on thee.
Immortal life springs up, where-e'er thou art,
And heav'nly day breaks in from ev'ry part.
Thou moon, ye stars, and thou, fair sun, adieu!
I ask no more thy rising beams to view;
For oh! the light himself, with rays divine
Breaks in, and God's eternal day is mine.

SOLILOQUY XVII.

Be hush'd, ye gentle pow'rs, of harmony,
Whatever soothing sounds in nature lie!
Whatever art, thro' all her wide controul
Of changing notes, has found to touch the soul,
Be hush'd for ever! while my thoughts attend
That voice which might ev'n hell itself suspend,
Lull all its anguish, calm its fiercest pains,
Open its gates, and loose th' infernal chains;
That sacred voice, whose efficacious sound
Gave motion to the spheres, and set their tuneful round.
O let those charming accents from above
Breathe down celestial harmony and love!
Eternal joys on the smooth current roll,
And boundless pleasure overwhelms my soul.

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Ye angels, I resign your tuneful choirs,
Nor envy seraphim their golden lyres.

SOLILOQUY XVIII.

The angels call, they call me from above,
And bid me hasten to the realms of love;
My soul with transport hears the happy doom,
I come, ye gentle messengers, I come!

Ye minstrels of the palaces above,
Who consecrate your golden lutes to love;
When I am entring on the dreary plain,
Death's dismal realms, touch the melodious strain;
The charming sound shall ev'ry care beguile,
And make the seats of desolation smile.
My soul prepar'd by holy ecstasy,
Shall learn and join the chorus of the sky.
Tho' yet a stranger to the sacred fire,
The heights of love that your high strains inspire;
Some kindling sparks within my bosom move,
Which shall improve in the gay worlds above.

When these material clouds shall be dispell'd,
And God in perfect excellence reveal'd;
These eyes shall see thee then, and bless the sight,
And in thy presence view immortal light;
See beauty in its heav'nly pride unveil'd,
And wisdom's boundless treasuries unseal'd;
See thee in sparkling majesty ador'd,
Extol'd and own'd the universal Lord.

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SOLILOQUY XIX.

Ye soft complaints, and tender sighs,
That from my anxious bosom rise,
Take wing, and reach the distant skies.
Your gentle eloquence may move
The sacred object of my love
To heal the anguish of my breast,
Of God forlorn, and robb'd of rest.
But oh! what sighs, what soft complaint
My grief and wild distress can paint?
What lover's pains can equal mine,
While at thy absence I repine?
Without thee pleasure is no more,
I die till thou my bliss restore.
At once thy lovely face reveal,
And all these gloomy fears dispel.
My lov'd Redeemer! let that name,
Which does thy tenderness proclaim,
Let that thy soft compassion move,
And waken all thy former love.
Thou taught'st my infant lips thy name,
And didst my first desires enflame:
Recal the kindness of my youth,
When first I gave my plighted truth;
Ev'n then I felt the fire divine,
My young affections all were thine.

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SOLILOQUY XX.

Fair Eden lost, my fancy oft renews,
And still with grief the beauteous scene reviews.
But oh! nor verdant plants, nor painted flow'rs,
Nor crystal rills, sweet shades, nor fragrant bow'rs
Excite my envy; these I could resign,
Nor for the tree of life itself repine:
The nobler bliss, in high converse to rove
With friendly angels, thro' the happy grove,
Content I would forego; but oh! I mourn
Delights that ne'er to guilty man return,
Delights that guilty man could never boast,
Since the blest age of innocence was lost;
Among the trees with God himself to walk,
And in sweet converse to his Maker talk:
The scenes of paradise appear'd more fair,
Nature rejoic'd, and heav'n itself was there.
O highly-favour'd, hail! how blest thy fate!
How much unlike thy future wretched state!
O highly-favour'd, hail! the angels cry'd,
The echoing skies in chearful sounds reply'd.
Roll back, thou sun, and bring those glorious views,
Those envy'd joys! 'tis these my soul pursues.

SOLILOQUY XXI.

To thy high praises be my lips unseal'd,
And in chaste strains celestial love reveal'd.
O thou bright cause of this celestial flame!
In sacred rapture let me speak thy name;
That name which ev'ry sullen care beguiles,
That dear-lov'd name still breath'd with heav'nly smiles;

191

That makes the wildest storms of passion cease,
And fills my breast with unmolested peace.
How much I love thee, thou alone canst tell,
On thee, on thee my thoughts for ever dwell.
To all but thee my joys, my hopes are lost;
How fair thou art to what the world can boast!
When I but meet a smile from thy bright eyes,
Nature in all her blooming glory flies;
And let the whole creation disappear,
I have enough; for God himself is here!

SOLILOQUY XXII.

I'll spend the silent hours in vows to thee,
Nothing shall come betwixt my God and me.
No other image shall my soul employ,
No earthly pleasure, no unholy joy.
From all the charms of sensual objects free,
My spirit disengag'd shall spring to thee.
The whole creation I at once resign,
I ask no more, be thou, great God, but mine.
'Tis thou alone shalt fill my thoughts, to thee
All my desire in its full height shall be.
Be thou my portion, my eternal lot,
And be the world in ev'ry form forgot.
In silence, undisturb'd with pomp and noise,
Let me be swallow'd in immortal joys.
Full in my view place all the bliss above,
The scenes of pleasure and eternal love;
From op'ning heav'ns let streaming glories shine,
And thy sweet whispers tell me thou art mine.

192

Devout Soliloquies. In blank verse.

SOLILOQUY I.

O thou! to whom the fairest angel veils
With folded wings, the beauties of his face,
'Tis thee, 'tis thee alone my wishes seek:
For thee I'd break the fondest ties below,
Forget the names of amity and love,
And ev'ry gentle blandishment of life.

O turn away the veil that hides thy face,
And holds the glorious vision from my view,
Pity the agonies of strong desire,
And stand in open majesty confest!
If when a few short moments are expir'd,
And this frail substance to its dust returns,
If thou wilt then unfold thy lovely face,
And in the heights of excellence appear;
Why wilt thou not indulge a moment's bliss,
Disclose one beam of thy unclouded light,
To chear the joyless gloom of mortal life?

Forgive the fond impatience of my soul,
Which dwells on thee, and has no other joy,
No entertainment in this lonesome world;
'Tis all a dismal solitude to me.

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SOLILOQUY II.

Where am I? surely paradise is round me!
My soul, my sense is full of thy perfection.
Whatever nature boasts in all her pride,
The blooming fragrancy of thousand springs
Are open to my view; and thou art all
The charming, the delicious land of love.

I know not what to speak! for human words
Lose all their pow'r, their emphasis and force;
And grow insipid when I talk of thee,
The excellence supreme, the God of gods.
Whate'er the language of those gods, those pow'rs
In heav'nly places crown'd; however strong,
Or musical, or clear their language be,
Yet all falls short of thee; tho' set to strains
That hell would smile to hear, and wild despair,
Discord, and mad confusion stand compos'd
In fix'd attention to the charming song.

When wilt thou blow away these envious clouds,
And shew me all the dazzling scenes within?
Those heav'ns of beauty and essential glory;
Those sights which eyes of mortals never saw,
Nor ear has heard, nor boldest thought conceiv'd.
What will these wonders prove? how shall my pow'rs
Be to their full capacity employ'd
In ecstacy and love? how shall I rove
For ever thro' those regions of delight,
Those paths where joy ineffable leads on
Her smiling train, and wings the jocund hours.

194

Come, ye triumphant moments! come away
Thou glorious period! where I fix my eyes;
For which I hourly chide the ling'ring course
Of sun, and moon, and ev'ry tardy star.
Thou end of all my grief, the happy date
Of care, and pain, and ev'ry human ill!

SOLILOQUY III.

Absolve the penance of mortality,
And let me now commence the life divine.
I sicken for enlargement—Where's the bar?
Thy spirit is not straitned, thou canst raise
Thy creature to what eminence thou wilt.
Unmerited the brightest ranks above
Receiv'd their flame and purity from thee.

I dare not article with the Most-High,
Nor boast, but of my wants and indigence.
Let me be poor, necessitous and low,
Or any thing that thou mayst be advanc'd!
If I must glory, let me glory here,
That I can make no claim, nor ask reward.
O be thy goodness free! give like thy self,
And be thy own magnificence the rule!
Still undiminish'd from thy endless store,
Eternal bounty cannot lessen thee.

Why shouldst thou bound thy self, and check the course
Of thy own glorious nature; which is all
O'erflowing love, and pure beneficence?

195

'Tis thy delight and glory to dispense
Treasures of wisdom, life, and heav'nly love
To souls that pine and languish after thee.

O thou canst never lavish out thy store!
The sun, that from his radiant exaltation
Looks down, and blesses universal nature,
Nor from the meanest worm keeps back his rays,
That sun is but a feeble type of thee.

Millions of happy spirits draw in life
And pleasure from thy smiles; yet still the springs,
The fresh, the ever-rising springs of joy
Unwasted flow—Thou to thy glorious self
Art all-sufficient, the sum, the plenitude
Of thy own bliss; and canst thou not supply
The utmost wishes of created minds?

SOLILOQUY IV.

Let God himself, to whom I dare appeal,
Let God, my glorious judge, be witness here!
Unfold my inmost soul, for thou shalt find
To rival form, no image but thy own.
So sure I love thee, I would stake my bliss,
My immortality on this high truth.

Is this existence real, or a dream?
Is light, is life, or is the sacred name
Of virtue dear? Do I love happiness?
'Tis sure I do! and oh! 'tis full as sure
I love my God. If this is not a truth,

196

I do not breathe, I have nor hopes, nor fears,
I know not where, I know not what I am,
But wander in uncertainty and doubt.
If this is not a truth, why have I shut
My eyes on all the beauty of the world?
Why have I stopp'd my ears to ev'ry call
Of glory and delight? why do I shun
The paths of pleasure? why despise the joys,
The entertainments of society?
And lost to all in solitary shades
Give up my hours, and ev'ry thought to thee?
My God, I cry, the treasure of my soul,
Give me my God, and let the world forsake me!

My whole enjoyment in thy love consists;
Nor earth, nor heav'n, nor the high heav'n above,
Abstract from thee, can furnish out a bliss,
To entertain these infinite desires:
No, thou art all the solace of my life.
Shouldst thou but say thou hast no pleasure in me,
Lo! here I am—but oh! the most undone
And wretched thing that the creation names.
For I must love thee still; howe'er thou deal'st with me,
Still I must love thee for thy own perfections,
And languish for thee thro' eternal years.

SOLILOQUY V.

Can some fond lover, by the charming force
Of mortal beauty held, invoke the groves,
The fields, the floods, and all the sparkling stars
To witness his unshaken truth and love;

197

While the frail object of his boasted faith
Fades like a painted flow'r, and is no more:
And shall my heart, with heav'nly love inflam'd,
Grow doubtful, while I swear eternal truth
To the prime excellence, beauty divine?
Shall I protest with caution? shall my tongue
Speak with reserve, and yield but half assent?

No; let me find the most pathetic form;
Beyond the obligations men have known,
Beyond all human ties; solemn as when
Some mighty angel lifts his hand on high,
And by the living God attests his oath.

Thus let me bind my soul—and oh! be witness,
Ye shining ministers (for you surround,
And sanctify the place where holy vows
Ascend to heav'n) be witness when we meet
Upon th' immortal shores, as soon we must,
Be witness! for the solemn hour draws near;
That solemn hour, when with triumphant joy
Or exquisite confusion, I shall hear
Your approbation, or your just reproaches:
Your just reproaches if you find me false;
If this fond heart, ensnar'd by earthly charms,
Shall break its faith, and stain the sanctity
Of plighted vows and consecrated flames.

O thou! to whose all-seeing eye my soul
Lies all unveil'd, to thee I dare appeal:
If thou art not my chief, my only joy,

198

Let sacred peace for ever fly my breast,
And rest become an endless stranger there.
Let no harmonious sound delight mine ears
If thy lov'd name is not the sweetest accent,
The most transporting music they convey.
Let beauty ne'er again attract my eyes,
Shut out the sun, and ev'ry pleasant thing
Its rays disclose, if e'er I find a charm
In nature's lovely face, abstract from thee.
Let all my hopes, my gayest expectations
Be blasted, when they are not plac'd on thee.

O! I might speak a bolder language still,
And bid thee cut off all my future hopes
Of heavenly bliss, if thy transporting smiles
Are not the emphasis of all that bliss.

SOLILOQUY VI.

These eyes have never seen thy lovely face,
No accent of thy voice has reach'd my ear,
And yet my heart's acquainted well with thee;
To thee it opens all its secret store
Of joy and grief, and whispers ev'ry care.

I've known the names of father, husband, friend;
But when I think of thee, these tender ties,
These soft engagements vanish into air.

Amidst the gentlest blandishments and charms,
The smiles and flatt'ring boasts of human things,
My soul springs forward, and lays hold on thee;

199

Calls thee her only portion and defence,
Nor knows a thought of diffidence or fear.

Let nature fail, let darkness hide the stars,
And cover with a sable veil the sun;
Unchang'd and fix'd the truth of God remains,
Nor knows the least decay.—Here let me rest,
With full assurance and unshaken faith.

O thou unbounded, self-sufficient being!
How rich am I! how happy! how secure!
How full my portion in possessing thee!
One gentle, one transporting smile of thine,
Thou darling of my soul! contains more wealth
Than this, or thousand brighter worlds can boast.
'Tis thou thy self art my immediate bliss,
My paradise, my everlasting heav'n!

SOLILOQUY VII.

I love thee—Here the pomp of language fails,
And leaves th' unutterable thought behind;
The eloquence of men, the muses art,
Their harmony and tuneful cadence sink.
Whatever names of tenderness and love,
Whatever holy union nature knows,
Are faint descriptions of celestial fires.

But oh! may sinful breathing dust presume
To talk to thee of love and warm desires?
To thee! who sit'st supreme enthron'd on heights
Of glory, which no human thought can reach?

200

Shall wretched man, whose dwelling is with dust,
That calls corruption his original,
And withers like the grass, shall he presume,
With heart and lips unsanctify'd, to speak
On subjects, where the holy seraphim
Would stop their lutes; and with a graceful pause
Confess the glorious theme too great for words,
For eloquence immortal to express.

Yet I must aim at subjects infinite,
For oh! my love-sick heart is full of thee.
In crowds, in solitude, the field, the temple,
All places hold an equal sanctity;
While thy lov'd name in humble invocation
Dwells on my tongue, and ev'ry gentle sigh
Breathes out my life, my very soul to thee.

SOLILOQUY VIII.

Fountain of love, in thy delightful streams
Let me for ever bathe my ravish'd soul,
Inebriated in the vast abyss,
The plenitude of joy; where all these wide,
These infinite desires shall die away
In endless plenty, and complete fruition.

O my dear God! have I a single joy,
A thought of happiness, remote from thee?
Am I at rest? tho' thou has crown'd my years
With smiling plenty, and unmingled peace.
Is not the joy, the solace of my life
Summ'd in thy smiles, and center'd in thy love?

201

What is this vain, this visionary scene
Of mortal things to me? my thoughts aspire
Beyond the narrow bounds of rolling spheres.
The world is crucify'd and dead to me,
And I am dead to all its empty shows;
But oh! for thee unbounded wishes warm
My panting soul, and call forth all her pow'rs.
Whate'er can raise desire, or give delight,
Or with full joys replenish ev'ry wish,
Is found in thee, thou infinite abyss
Of ecstasy and life!—How my free soul
Expatiates in these wide, these boundless joys!
How am I lost to ev'ry thought but thee,
Forgetting ev'n my self, forgetting all
But thee, my glorious, everlasting theme!

Thou wilt, thou must return upon my soul,
'Till death; and after death, while I exist,
Ages, ten thousand ages I will fix
My full attention on thy bright perfections.

SOLILOQUY IX.

O blow these clouds away, and let me see
Those distant glories that attract my love!
I must be satisfy'd, these longings quench'd,
These infinite desires must find an object;
Or thou hast made thy noblest work in vain.

The beasts are happy; they attain the end
Appointed for them by the course of nature,
They reach whate'er their senses can enjoy,

202

Nor seek, nor apprehend superior bliss;
Insensible of thee, whose potent word
Call'd out their various clans from empty nothing;
Yet unacquainted strangers to thy name,
Not knowing higher good, they are at rest.

But man, capacious of immortal bliss,
Pursues, unseen, an object infinite;
And only there can find the rest he seeks.

SOLILOQUY X.

My great Redeemer lives! I know he lives!
I feel the sacred, the transporting truth
Exulting in my soul: He lives to plead
My cause above (unworthy as I am!)
He there appears to intercede for me.

My record is on high, and the blest Spirit
With gentle attestations pleads within;
Divine the voice, 'tis all celestial truth,
I yield my glad assent; triumphant hope,
And heavenly consolations fill my soul.

I must, I will rejoice; 'tis God himself
Is my exceeding joy: he kindly smiles
And heav'n and earth look gay; while all the clouds
That conscious guilt spread o'er my shudd'ring soul
Vanish before those reconciling eyes.

Ye pow'rs of darkness, where are all your threats?
Speak out your charge, the black indictment read?
I own the dreadful, the amazing score;

203

But who condemns, when God does justify?
Who shall accuse, when freely he acquits;
He calls me blest, and what malignant pow'r
Shall call the blessing back? who shall reverse
What the Most-High has said?—Nor life, nor death,
Nor depth below, nor endless height above
Shall part me from his everlasting love.

SOLILOQUY XI.

Where are the boasts of nature? where its pride,
When reason looks within with humble view,
And sanctity of judment measures out
My conduct by the perfect laws of God?

But oh! let not my crimes recorded stand
Before thy sight, nor call me to account,
Thou righteous judge; for who can answer thee?
Can mortal man be just? can he be pure
Whose dwelling is with flesh? If thou shouldst pry
Into my secret guilt, I am undone;
But if thou pardon the unnumber'd score,
The glory will be thine, whose clemency
Can know no bounds; for thou art uncontroul'd,
And absolute in all thy ways: no rule
But thy own perfect nature limits thee.

I sink, this empty shadow pays thee homage,
And vanishes to nothing; thou art all.
I am but vanity; this is my share;
I am content; be thou alone advanc'd!
Thy grace is free, thy favours unconfin'd:

204

Whate'er my pride can boast, my righteousness
Can never profit thee—The saints above,
The highest angels stand not unreproach'd,
Nor spotless in the presence of thy glory.

O do not strictly mark my num'rous crimes,
Nor ask what I deserve, but what becomes
The grandeur of thy name, thy glorious nature,
Thy clemency, and gentle attributes:
Act thou up to th' heights of grace divine,
And be the glory and salvation thine!

SOLILOQUY XII.

When will the journey end? this weary race,
This tedious pilgrimage of life be o'er?
'Tis guilt, 'tis error, shades and darkness all!
Some hellish snare attends on ev'ry step,
And I shall stumble, fall, and be undone;
If thou one moment leave thy trembling charge,
And trust me to my self, my treach'rous heart
Will give up all the boundless joys to come,
The smiles of God, the raptures of his love,
For toys, for trifles, dross and empty dreams.
My foes are watchful; and my foolish heart,
Too credulous, unguarded and secure,
Gives easy entrance to the fatal arts
Of those infernal pow'rs that seek my ruin.

But thou canst break the snare; and hitherto
The Lord has help'd, be thine alone the praise!
O leave me not at last to bring reproach,
Or cast a blemish on thy holy ways.

205

Thou know'st my folly, impotence and guilt,
What darkness, what depravity controuls
My nobler pow'rs; how when my rising thoughts
Would fix on thee, this mortal part withstands.

O bring my soul from this detested prison,
Enlarge it, and my tongue shall speak thy praise!

SOLILOQUY XIII.

Come to my longing soul, that I may know
My union with thee in immortal love:
This is the secret language of my heart.
I dare appeal to thee, my awful judge,
Whose eyes can penetrate my inmost thought;
Thou art my first desire, my warmest wish:
These restless motions, these repeated sighs
Are all addrest to thee; at thee I aim,
In these imperfect flights, these upward views,
These frequent glances at the distant stars;
Fain would they peirce beyond the azure veil,
And gaze at those transporting sights within.

Put out your gaudy lights, ye rolling spheres!
Could I but see the brighter worlds beyond,
I should with joy bid sun and stars adieu,
With all the beauteous scenes their beams display.

I'm tir'd, I'm sick of all these trifling things,
The show, the vain amusements of the world;
Thou art my only joy. Again my soul
Attests its first, its early, glorious choice,

206

Under my hand: behold, my present judge,
For thou art here a witness to my truth;
Under my hand I take thee for my portion,
My present bliss, and all my future hope.

I cast reproach on ev'ry lower good,
And look with scorn on transitory things;
Divide them where thou wilt; 'tis thou thy self
Thy smiles, the full fruition of thy love
My panting soul pursues: not all the pomp
Or pleasure of the skies, abstract from thee,
Could make me blest, or fill these large desires.

SOLILOQUY XIV.

The hour must come, the last important hour,
O let me meet it with expecting joy!
Nor let the king of terrors wear a frown,
Nor bring unwelcome tidings to my soul.

When all the springs of life are running low,
And ebbing fast in death; when nature tir'd,
Trembling and faint, gropes thro' the gloomy vale,
Nor human aid can give the least support;
Then may the cordials of eternal love
Pour in divine refreshments on my soul;
Then let him smile, whose gentle smiles could chear
The shades of hell, and scatter all its gloom.

Forget me not in that important hour;
Recal these earnest sighs, look kindly o'er
The long recorded file of humble pray'r

207

Sent to thy gracious seat. Thou, who at once
Dost past, and present, and the future view,
Give back an answer in that sullen moment,
When all things else shall fail.—No sound of joy,
No sight of beauty, no delightful scene
Shall ought avail; nor sun, nor sparkling stars
Shall yield one gentle, one propitious ray,
To gild the fatal dusk, or chear the soul.

Then let the sun of righteousness arise
With dawning light, and be the prospect clear
Beyond the dismal gulph; let darting beams
Of glory meet my view—Be hell defy'd,
On that triumphant day: O let me give
A parting challenge to infernal rage,
And sing salvation to the Lamb for ever!

SOLILOQUY XV.

Thou lovely object of my utmost hope,
Whate'er my soul stretch'd to its vast extent,
And wide capacity of bliss can grasp!
I would be from this moment free from all
Terrene delight, and joy in God alone.
Here I might still expatiate in the realms
Of boundless bliss, and drink the springs of life
Unsully'd at the native fountain head.

O thou that by a soft, but certain band
Of everlasting love hast drawn my soul;
Continue the attraction, bring me near,
Nor let us part for ever!—What words can paint

208

The horrors of that doom, that should divide
My soul from all its bliss? accurst division!
O be it ne'er my lot! Let dark oblivion
Extinguish this frail spark of entity,
Blot me, in mercy blot me from existence,
Rather than blot me from the book of life!

What pangs, what agonies would shake my soul
To take a last, a sad farewel of thee;
The rage of love, an everlasting fire,
Must prey for ever on the softest sense,
And feeling of the soul—Rather let loose
Thy mighty hand, and crush me into nothing;
At least efface thy image from my heart,
Those traces of an excellence divine.
Tormenting view! if ne'er to be enjoy'd,
Let me forget thee, and forget my self;
Lose all remembrance of thy favours past,
Nor e'er recal to mind those blissful hours,
Spent in a sweet communion with my God.

Should these transporting scenes return in view,
I sure shall curse my self, defy the saints
That in thy temple dwell, and see thy face:
Perhaps, this tongue (O emphasis of woe!
The lowest depth, the horror of damnation!)
Perhaps, this tongue urg'd with infernal rage,
With impious blasphemies may wound thy name;
That dear, adorable, transporting name,
That name imprinted on my inmost soul,
That now is all my joy, my final hope!

209

SOLILOQUY XVI.

Draw me, O draw me! then with eager haste
Unweary'd I shall run the sacred paths
Thy word directs; but if unmov'd by thee,
A lump of dull unanimated clay
As well might rise, and mean the lofty sky;
As well these cold, these senseless stones may wake,
May find a living voice, and call thee father.

I live, I move, but as thy quickning pow'r
Exerts itself, and animates my being;
And longer than thou draw'st, I cannot move.
For I am weak and vain, my nature sunk
From its primæval rectitude and grace,
Helpless and destitute of all that's good:
But thus I humbly cast my self on thee,
Imploring succour at thy gracious hands;
Imploring wisdom, to evade the wiles
Of my infernal foes, that hourly watch
My steps, to tempt them into fatal snares,
And labyrinths of darkness.—Take my hand,
And gently lead me in the dang'rous road
Of mortal life, this gloomy pilgrimage.
My great directing light, if thou withdraw
I wander, and inevitably perish.
And oh! 'tis endless ruin, deep perdition;
A loss (distracting thought!) a loss that ne'er
Thro' everlasting years can be repair'd;
The loss of God, and all the boundless joys,
Th' immortal rapture that his presence gives.

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SOLILOQUY XVII.

Mine eyes have ne'er beheld, nor heart conceiv'd
The wonders of thy face; and yet unseen
Thou dost attract and raise my warmest love.
I live in thee, in thee alone am blest;
Thou art my darling thought; my soul exults,
It boasts in thee, and triumphs all the day.
That thou art happy gives me perfect joy;
I am at rest in thee—Let kingdoms sink,
Thou dost ordain their fall; or let them rise,
Thy pleasure is fulfill'd. Be thou supreme!
Be absolute!—I join my glad assent,
With all the prostrate angels round thy throne,
Unquestion'd be thy will! for thou art just,
And righteous all thy ways. Be thou ador'd
For ever in the heights of majesty!
Thy grandeur fills me with a just contempt
For all the pomp on earth; that thou art fair
(O how divinely fair!) gives fresh delight
And transport to my soul.—How I rejoice
To find thee still beyond similitude,
Still rising in superior excellence
To all the lovely things thy hands have made:
Ev'n seraphim in their immortal bloom
Those morning stars, the first-born smiles of heav'n
If once compar'd with thee, their brightest charms
Would fade away, and wither in thy sight.

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SOLILOQUY XVIII.

I will not leave thee; bid me not be gone,
Repulse me not, for I will take no nay.
As thou dost live, I will pursue thee still,
Nor e'er let go my hold: I'm fix'd on this,
To wrestle with thee till I gain the blessing.
I cannot be deny'd; thy word is past,
'Tis seal'd, 'tis ratify'd; thou art oblig'd,
Engag'd, confin'd by thy own clemency,
And spotless truth, to listen to my call.

I come, I enter by the strength of faith
The holy place; thro' the atoning blood
I kneel, I humbly worship at thy seat:
My great request is to obtain thy grace,
Thro' my Redeemer's merits. Here's the way
By which I would approach thy sacred throne.
O let me never meet with a repulse,
While I invoke thee by that charming name;
That name in which is center'd thy delight,
That name which at thy own command I use;
Nor can it be in vain—Thy word is past;
Nor can'st thou vary, or deny thy self,
And change thy purposes, like fickle man.

The earth shall change her form, the shining skies
Shall lose their light, and vanish into shade;
But not a tittle of thy sacred word
Shall fail the hopes of them that rest on thee.

212

Be gone, ye impious, unbelieving fears!
I am a sinner, freely 'tis confest,
Unmeriting the least regard from thee;
But here the riches of thy grace will shine;
To thee immortal honour will arise,
When such a worthless wretch as I shall stand
Acquitted by an act of sov'reign will
Before thy gracious sight; cleans'd from my guilt
By a Redeemer's blood, that healing balm
For all the wounds within.—In heav'nly strains
My lips shall tell the story of thy grace;
Ages shall in a long succession roll,
While the blest theme employs my joyful tongue:
Unbounded gratitude shall swell my soul,
And all its nobler faculties enlarge.

SOLILOQUY XIX.

Vanish my doubts, and let me give the glory
Due to th' eternal name, by stedfast faith,
Hope against hope, believe above belief!
For he that said, is able to perform:
His word annihilates, his word creates;
And he can open the eternal stores,
And pour ten thousand blessings on my head.

Why should'st thou bound thy self? why should'st thou stay
The sacred byass of thy glorious nature?
For thou art love supreme, essential love.
Ev'n my unworthiness can be no bar.

213

Shall sinful man grow great by his offence,
And check the progress of almighty grace?
Shall dust and vanity obstruct the course
Of thy omnipotence, and spoil the boast
Of free, of absolute benignity?

Love is thy life, in its transcendent height
And full enjoyment; thy eternal thought,
In boundless wisdom, mark'd it as the end
Of all thy glorious works; and it shall rise
Triumphant and victorious over all
The obstacles that seem to check its course.

In this transporting, amiable form,
The mild, the gentle glories of thy nature,
Let me behold and meet thy gracious smiles:
Here I can triumph, here my hopes run high;
They know no bounds, but infinitely free
Grasp all a blest eternity contains.

SOLILOQUY XX.

O God of ages! view my narrow span,
Behold how short a period thou hast set
The limits of my life! how like a shade,
A passing cloud my vain existence flies!
Yet all my boundless hopes, my future views
For endless ages on this narrow span,
This little rivulet of time depend:
And oh! how fast the gliding current flows!
Nothing retards its everlasting course;

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Ev'n now my hasty moments pass away,
For ever, O for ever they are gone!

I die with ev'ry breath; no calling back
The nicest point of all my vain duration,
'Tis past beyond retrieve!—but oh! there rest
Eternal things on this important point.
This span of life, this short allotted span
Is all I have to manage for the stake
Of an immortal soul; the glorious weight
Of heav'nly crowns and kingdoms are suspended,
And oh! if lost, can never be recalled.
This now, this fleeting transitory now,
Contains my all; and yet this awful truth
Sits lightly on my soul, and faintly moves
My drooping pow'rs to action.
Yet there's a strict account that must be made,
When the great day, the day of reck'ning comes.
The solemn hour draws nigh, nor sleeps my doom;
'Twill soon decide my everlasting state,
And no appeal will ever be allow'd.

SOLILOQUY XXI.

O thou! whose glorious, whose all-seeing eye
Marks all the dubious paths that lie before me;
Who from my mother's womb hast been my guide,
And led me thro' the various turns of life;
Conceal not now thy self in darksome shades,
But let me clearly know thy sacred will,
To guide me thro' the wild, uncertain scenes
Of mortal life, and let not hell deceive me:

215

For I am wholly thine; thou know'st I am
Devoted to thy fear. For this my soul,
Whose secrets thou canst tell, appeals to thee.
Oh! thou dost see my thought's most distant aims,
And art my glorious witness, how sincere,
How perfectly my will's resign'd to thine.

Behold me here attending thy commands,
With low submission oh! behold me here,
List'ning to catch the whispers of thy voice;
In humble silence I attend the sound,
And wait thy sacred orders.—O determine,
Determine all my steps, and mark my path!
For I am blind, and bent to vanity.
The pow'rs of hell conspire with my own heart
To lead me on to sin and fatal snares:
But leave me not in the last darksome tracks,
The closing part; let that be all serene;
Let that be spent in works of love and praise,
To fit me for the ecstacies above.

As the ascending sun new glories gains,
Till at bright noon he shines in full perfection;
Thus let me reach the highest point of virtue,
As far as frail mortality can rise:
Then let me set in glory, and in smiles.
Victoria let me sing: Be thine the crown,
Be thine alone, redeeming grace, the praise!

216

SOLILOQUY XXII.

I have thy word, thou canst not call it back,
I have thy oath, by thy own glorious name
Attested and confirm'd—Lord, 'tis enough!
My unbelieving fears are all subdu'd.

God of my pious fathers! who didst set
Thy love on them, and chuse their worthless race;
Ev'n me, of all thy family the least,
To magnify thy own peculiar grace:
For thy prerogative is absolute,
And uncontroul'd thy will; whate'er has pleas'd
Thy own unerring counsel thou hast done.

O think on all thy kind and gracious words;
And what thy mouth hath spoken let thy hand
In ev'ry point fulfil, let nothing fail!
For thou art rich in grace, though I am poor
In merit, and can nothing claim from thee.
I dare not plead a debt; yet thou hast sworn,
Sworn by the glory of thy holiness,
That thou wilt not in any wise deceive me.
Thou all things canst; ev'n my unworthiness
Can be no bar, no obstacle to thee:
It is not what I am, but what thou art,
And what thy gracious influence can effect.

Can dust and ashes plead desert before thee?
The height of holiness and majesty
Can view no merit in the clay he form'd.

217

But oh! what bounds has goodness infinite?
What limits shall almighty love confine?
Who works in all things as his counsel guides,
Mov'd by his own benignity; the spring,
The everlasting spring, from whence arise
All the bright schemes, and well-contriv'd designs
That love in its omnipotence could form.

Ye heights ineffable, ye wond'rous ways,
Ye glorious mysteries, ye trackless paths
Of the great sov'reign of the earth and skies;
Whate'er I am, whate'er I hope, thro' all
Futurity, in ev'ry blissful scene,
The fountain must be free, unbounded grace.

SOLILOQUY XXIII.

Lo here I stand divested of the world!
I give its empty glories to the wind:
Forsaking all that mortals covet here,
I come to thee, attesting thy great name,
That thou art singly in thy self my hope,
Renouncing all things else, my full delight.

Let me be banish'd to some place remote,
Where no created thing could give me joy:
Let me have sweet communion there with thee,
Breathe on me there the fragrance of thy love,
Those ever-blooming sweets, and let me hear
Immortal music, harmony divine
In thy transporting voice: Be this my lot,
And give the laughing world their jovial choice.

218

How poor, how empty all its joys compar'd
To those sublime, to those exalted pleasures
That break upon my soul, when thou dost smile!

A time will come (O haste the blissful day!)
When I shall see thy lovely face unveil'd;
When these blest eyes shall recreate their views
With visions all divine, the dazzling scenes
Of uncreated excellence and light.

But now I love thee distant and unseen.
I feel a flame which these created things
In all their pride and studied elegance
Can never gratify; should they assume
The graces of the skies, the highest bloom
Of charms immortal, and unfading life;
Yet these are not my God.

Should angels open the eternal scenes,
And stand reveal'd before my wond'ring eyes
In all their pomp of splendor and perfection:
Or if beyond them there are fairer forms,
Beauties un-nam'd, and unreveal'd to men;
Where-e'er creation ends, the distance still
Is infinite from that for which I pine.

SOLILOQUY XXIV.

Where fly my wishes? what aspiring views
Are these that animate my tow'ring hopes?
What boundless aims does my ambition take?

219

'Tis God himself, the great eternal God,
That spread the heav'ns, and kindled all the lights
That roll on high, 'tis he is all my bliss!
My soaring thoughts can take no lower aim,
Thither alone my bold desires ascend.

Ye splendors unconceiv'd, ye joys unknown,
Ye sights that mortal ken has ne'er explor'd;
O when in dazzling pomp will you unfold
Your fair transporting prospects to my soul?
This low creation gives me no delight;
The brightest objects sicken on my sense.
The sun and stars emit their chearful rays
In vain: in vain to me the beauteous spring
Her blooming sweets diffuses thro' the air;
In vain her gay variety, her pomp
Of party-colour'd beauties she displays:
Nothing can recreate my drooping thoughts,
Or fill the boundless vacancy within.

When shall I close my eyes on mortal things,
And bid these dark, these guilty seats adieu?
Break from this prison, drop this hated chain,
And spring with full enlargement to my God?

SOLILOQUY XXV.

The solemn hour draws near, when I must stand
Before the holy, the tremendous judge
Of all the earth, whose quick, all-searching eye
Views all the dark recesses of my soul;
Those secret, those impenetrable deeps

220

To mortal search unknown, the close disguise,
The specious flatteries, whose soothing wiles
Impose, with fair delusions, on my thoughts.
I know not what I am; mistaken views
And partial judgment hide me from my self.

O thou that know'st my heart! disclose its depths,
Take off the specious, the deceiving mask,
And shew me to my self. I am undone,
If here mistaken, flatter'd and deluded
With empty hopes, and airy expectations:
An error here will prove eternal ruin,
Remediless despair—O gracious Lord!
Avert the sad presage, the fatal doubt;
Nor leave me in this comfortless suspense,
If I shall see thy glorious face in peace,
If I shall meet the beatific light,
And view that glorious vision all unveil'd,
If those bright hopes are not a vain delusion,
O seal the blissful, the transporting truth
With sacred demonstration to my soul;
Dispel these cruel, these tormenting doubts,
With one propitious ray! for oh! my care
Is of important weight; 'tis vast eternity,
'Tis boundless glory hangs on the event.

O could I know my worthless name is writ
Among the chosen race; that in the book.
Of life (transporting thought!) eternal love,
And sov'reign grace has mark'd my glorious lot!

221

Where-e'er thou giv'st, the blessing must be free
And undeserv'd; for who among the ranks
That shine about thy throne can plead desert?
Who has presented thee with benefits,
That he should proudly claim a recompence?

SOLILOQUY XXVI.

Sweet name of Jesus! in whose syllables
The animating pow'rs of harmony,
The soul of music dwells; thou shalt inspire
My sweetest numbers on the immortal strings,
The golden harps of heav'n—My only hope!
I have no other refuge from the storm,
No rock for shelter, no refreshing shade,
No calm retreat to rest my weary soul.

Thou Saviour of the sinful race of men!
For whom descending from the heights of glory,
From songs, from triumphs, and the loud applause,
The shoutings of ten thousand times ten thousand,
Myriads of shining hosts, thy bright adorers,
Thou deign'st to quit them all, and veil the form
Of radiant god-head in a cloud of flesh.

Yet hast thou seen the travail of thy soul,
The purchase of thy blood? or is that blood,
(Tremendous thought!) or is that blood prophan'd,
Thy grace rejected, and thy love despis'd?

222

Why shines the sun? why are the stars unseal'd?
Why spreads the moon her mild indulgent beams
To chear the midnight shades? Why keeps the spring
Her annual round, and with her vital sweets
Perfumes the seasons for a miscreant race,
Ungrateful and profane! that dares blaspheme
The awful God of nature, and of grace.

SOLILOQUY XXVII.

How slowly moves the sun? how dull the wheels
Of nature? Roll along, ye planets, fly
In shorter rounds, and measure out my day,
This tedious day, this interval of woe!

I wait with longing looks, and mark the skies,
As men impatient for the breaking morn.
This world has nothing worth a careless thought;
I have no treasure here, 'tis all above,
And there my heart in fix'd attention dwells.
With just disdain I cast a languid look
Around the vain creation; then repine
And half pronounce those various products evil,
Which God himself approv'd, and call'd them good:
Yet independent of the sov'reign bliss,
They yield no solace, give me no repose.

What have I here to hold my soul from thee?
To entertain me one short, fleeting hour?
I have no friend on earth, and none would have.
I'm grown a stranger here, my heart disowns

223

Acquaintance here; I'm sick of this vain world,
Its tiresome repetitions load my sense:
The sun's bright eye, in all its circuit, views
No equal entertainment, none to hold
My heart in these inhospitable realms.

Yet if I must a stranger here remain,
O condescend to visit these abodes,
And speak in frequent whispers to my soul!
Let me converse with thee, and hear thy voice;
Retir'd from men in some wild solitude
My hours would sweetly pass, nor seek delight
Beyond that heav'nly bliss; there I could rest
Superior to the turns of human things.

These eyes no more should view the impious ways
Of human race; these ears no longer hear
The daring blasphemies that loudly rage
Against that gracious mediating pow'r,
That keeps avenging thunder from their heads.

O let me die in peace, dismiss me hence!
I'm but a sojourner, a stranger here;
Wand'ring thro' darksome ways and gloomy wilds,
Beset with hellish snares, and oft betray'd
By a deceitful, treach'rous heart within:
Tir'd with perpetual toil I cast my eyes,
To yonder peaceful worlds, and long for rest.

224

SOLILOQUY. XXVIII.

O thou whose wisdom leads the countless stars
In constant order thro' their shining course,
And sets the blazing sun his annual race!
All nature owns thy law; the raging winds,
And foaming billows in their swelling pride
Reluctant sink at thy commanding voice.

But I with prostrate homage at thy feet
Devote my will obsequious to thy sway.
I have no choice, no conduct, no design,
No wav'ring wish that I can call my own;
For I am wholly, absolutely thine:
And as the potter turns the ductile clay
Am I in thy almighty forming hands.
O thou canst mould and fashion ev'ry thought,
My passions turn, and make me what thou wilt:
Thy hand can trace the characters divine,
And stamp celestial beauty on my soul.

Creating Spirit, speak the potent word,
Let there be light! and cloudless day will rise.
Dispel the clouds of ignorance and sin,
Banish whate'er opposes thy designs
Of love and grace, and freely work thy will.

Conform'd to thee, the harmony divine,
My soul would find the most exalted bliss.
Were there no future hell, no penalties
To guard thy righteous laws; were there no heav'n

225

No sparkling crowns to recompence the just;
Yet would my thoughts approve thy pure commands,
And find exalted pleasure in the rules
Thy sacred word enjoins. Could I but reach
The rectitude I wish, in serving thee
I meet a full reward, and gain the first,
The great design for which I had a being:
I breath'd at thy command; and 'tis the boast,
The glory of my life, to live for thee.

SOLILOQUY XXIX.

My God, support me in that gloomy hour,
When nature droops, and death's impending shade
With fatal darkness hovers o'er my head;
When honour, pleasure, wealth, and mortal friends
Shall prove but empty names, unmeaning sounds
And lying succours to my fainting soul;
While hell with all its complicated rage
Shall raise its last effort to break my peace.

Rebuke the tempest then, and let thy voice
In gentle accents bid the storm subside;
And dart a beam of glory on my soul,
When shiv'ring on the darksome verge of life,
She trembles at the first uncertain step,
That sets her on the strange, eternal coast;
Where all is new, amazing and unknown,
Nor ever yet conceiv'd by human thought,
In all its energy and liveliest flights.

226

Then be the shore or gloomy, or serene,
On which the spirit freed from earthly chains
Shall set her dubious foot to meet her judge;
Whose doom will be exact, impartial, just;
And oh! when past, unchangeable and fix'd.

Eternity! amazing dreadful word!
Eternity! in vain I would explore
Thy distant bounds; my wand'ring thoughts are lost,
I know not where to fix, 'tis all confusion.

SOLILOQUY XXX.

Almighty love, thou great mysterious theme,
What eloquence of man can talk of thee?
What thought has fathom'd thy eternal depths,
Or measur'd out thy lengths? What angel's wing
Has reach'd thy heights? What seraph's flowing song,
In all the pow'rs of heav'nly harmony,
Can paint thy charms, and to the ravish'd soul
Unfold thy beauties in their native light?

Thou art the splendor of the face divine,
The bliss of angels, the delight of saints,
The life, the triumph, and the happiness
Of him in whom the springs of joy remain.

O when with smiles ineffable, with looks
That dart eternal ecstasy and life,
And all the peace of paradise unfold,
Wilt thou, my God, shine on my raptur'd soul?

227

When shall I meet their quick'ning influence,
And see that glorious vision all unveil'd?
The fairest copies of creating pow'r,
Where with transcendent art thy skilful hand
Has drawn bright beauty in her heav'nly prime,
Will fade before the splendor of thy face.

SOLILOQUY XXXI.

What shall I speak? how celebrate thy praise!
What language use to paint my gratitude?
The boldest words would poorly speak the sense
Of what my soul experiences within.

O how thou dost attract my warmest thoughts!
How am I lost to all delights, but those
That from thy love proceed! how vain this world,
How empty all its low delights, compar'd
To those divine, those pure, exalted joys,
That sparkle on my soul, when thou dost smile!

And yet I see but darkly thro' the cloud,
And catch a glimm'ring ray with eager eyes;
While thou dost keep the fuller glories back,
And hide the sacred splendor of thy throne.

O turn the veil aside! I can but die:
Shine out, and let the dazzling sight o'ercome
The pow'rs of nature—Thus I would expire,
Thus yield my spirit up in ecstasy.

228

If this must be deny'd; yet come, my Lord,
Let me have such communion with thee here,
As saints in holy raptures have enjoy'd;
Such as may kindle up the life divine,
Imprint the image of thy holiness,
And feed the heav'nly flame; 'till dead to sense,
And all the false attractions of the world,
I live alone completely blest in thee.

SOLILOQUY XXXII.

O let me shrink to nothing in thy sight,
And lay the boasts of nature at thy feet!
Be all my pride abas'd to lowest dust,
There lie whate'er my vanity calls worth.
Corruption, misery and guilt is all
I have to boast; this is indeed my own,
My rightful claim, my just inheritance.

But hence thy praise shall spring, thy glories rise:
My indigence shall raise thy triumphs high.
A wond'rous instance of forgivlng love,
In its divine magnificence display'd,
I shall for ever stand: for ever stand
A monument of free, unbounded grace,
That chose a wretch like me to show its pow'r;
That triumph'd in its own victorious strength,
O'er ev'ry opposition hell could raise.

How wond'rous are thy ways, almighty love!
How much above the narrow thoughts of men!
Lord, whence is this to me? to me, so vile,

229

So guilty, so unworthy of thy grace?
When thousands pass unbridled to perdition,
O why am I thus graciously restrain'd?
'Tis thou hast done it by thy sov'reign right,
And who shall ask thee why?

What can I speak? I must be silent here,
Or lost in wonder, breathe imperfect sounds;
Yet read my thought, the gratitude, the praise
I would return—for human language fails.

SOLILOQUY XXXIII.

Blest Jesus! 'tis thy name to which I trust
My noblest interest, my superior hopes;
Thou covert from the storm, a hiding place
From the black tempest of avenging wrath!
I see my guilt, but this augments the debt
Of gratitude and love; I see my guilt,
But see it cancell'd by redeeming blood.

Transporting thought! how shall I speak my joy?
In what gay figures paint the ecstasy?
O may'st thou reign exalted and ador'd,
Ador'd on earth as in the highest heav'n!
With all the shouting myriads round thy throne
I join my grateful voice—Ye glitt'ring crowds,
Receive a mortal militant below
To your triumphant choir; with you I'll bless
My great Redeemer's name—transporting name!
'Tis graven on my heart, 'tis deep imprest,

230

Immortal is the stamp; nor life, nor death,
Nor hell, with all its pow'rs, shall blot it thence.

Thou joy of angels, the desire of nations,
The hope, the glorious hope of all mankind!
What shall I speak? what gentle language use,
When thou art my transporting tender theme?
The tongues of angels cannot reach a strain
Too solemn, too pathetic to express
The charming sentiments I feel for thee.

How dear thou art, how precious to my soul,
'Tis thou alone can'st tell—O fairer far
Than all thy wond'rous works! what excellence
Bears thy similitude? Thy father's image,
The plenitude, the brightness of his glory.
The eloquence of heav'n is far below
Thy worth; for thou art infinite perfection,
The fulness of the godhead dwells in thee.
Thine is the pow'r, the kingdom, and the glory;
All, all is thine in the high heav'ns above,
On earth, and in the deep.—May ev'ry tongue
In blessing thee be blest; may blessings fall
In torrents on their heads that plead thy cause;
Smile on their active piety and zeal,
Strengthen their hands, and fortify their hearts.
With peace divine and holy consolation.
Let them appear bright as the vig'rous sun,
When tow'ring from his clear, meridian height,
He sills the spacious firmament with glory.

231

So let them prosper, while thy vanquish'd foes
In humble homage bow beneath thy feet.

From sea to sea be thy great empire spread,
And let the utmost isles thy glory see:
The eastern kings their incense then shall bring,
And sweet Sabæa's groves shall bloom for thee.

SOLILOQUY XXXIV.

Look down, with pity, gracious Lord, look down,
From thy unbounded heights of happiness,
On me a wretched, but a suppliant sinner.
Thy times are always; mine will soon be past,
And measur'd out; while thine are still unchang'd:
In boundless life, and undiminish'd bliss
Thou sitt'st secure; while all created things
In a perpetual motion glide along,
And ev'ry instant change their fleeting forms.

O be not slack to hear! my time is wing'd,
See how my sun declines! 'tis sinking fast,
And dying into darkness; the night is near,
The fatal night of death, when I shall sleep
Unactive in the damp and gloomy grave.

This is th' important hour, the hour of grace
And offer'd life; salvation hangs upon it.
Nor let my importunity offend thee,
'Tis now, 'tis now or never I must speed;
This day, this hour, this fleeting moment's more

232

Than I can boast, or truly call my own;
Ev'n now it flies—'tis gone—'tis past for ever!

But oh! the strict account I have to give
Remains uncancel'd; yet my pardon stands
Perhaps unseal'd, or not to me confirm'd.
Regard my anguish while I call aloud
For mercy, and a signal of thy love.
Before I die, O let my longing soul
Receive an earnest of its future bliss!

SOLILOQUY XXXV.

Be thou alone advanc'd!—If there's a thought
Of favour plac'd on me, let it be all
Devoted to the Lord. May'st thou stand high
In ev'ry heart, tho' I am wholly lost
In dark obscurity—Be thou advanc'd!
This is my noblest, my superior end,
My great design, my everlasting view.

O be thy interest safe, thy cause secure!
Whatever clouds hang on my future hours
I pass them all, thy sacred will be done!
I am of no importance to my self,
Be thou alone exalted! All my soul
Bows to thy grandeur, offers ev'ry thought
Of love and honour, friendship and esteem
To thee; whatever kind impression's rais'd
In any heart for me, let it be thine!

233

All glory be to thee! 'tis justly due;
Mine is but borrow'd at thy gracious hands;
My light is but a faint reflected ray,
From thee its sacred source—O may it guide
My soul with constant energy to thee!

Thou art my boast, my treasure, and my joy!
Content with thee, in solitary shades
I am at rest, nor miss the vain delights
This world can give, or with deceiving shews,
And lying visions, promise to my hopes.

Mine eyes have ne'er beheld, nor heart conceiv'd
The wonders of thy face; and yet unseen
Thou dost attract and raise my warmest love:
The cause is all divine, above the reach
Of reason's boldest and most daring flight.

SOLILOQUY XXXVI.

O fairest of ten thousand! whose bright smiles
Enlighten heav'n, and open paradise
In all its blissful and transporting scenes,
Vouchsafe me but a short, a transient glimpse
Of thy fair face, if I can gain no more.

Forgive the fond impatience of my heart,
Which dwells on thee, and has no other joy,
No entertainment in this lonesome world;
'Tis all a dismal emptiness to me.

234

Hence all ye clouds, ye separating shades,
Which hide his charming face! Ye days and hours
Dance on your speedy course, and let us meet!
Rise thou bright morning star, the joy of heav'n,
The beauty and the pride of paradise,
The bliss of angels, their eternal theme,
While in high transports they enjoy thy smiles!

I must talk on, the glorious subject warms
My wid'ning soul; I feel immortal life,
And taste the joys of heav'n—Thou art my heav'n,
The land of light and love, my fullest hope!
I have no other wish in all the round
Of endless years. Thou from the morning's womb
Hast still the dew, the fragrant dew of youth.
Eternal bloom sits smiling in thy looks,
Heav'n opens in the splendor of thine eyes,
And streams in torrents of eternal light.

Thy voice is music, harmony it self
In its transporting charms—Ye golden harps
Which angels tune, for ever silent lie;
Let me but hear my Lord's sweet, gentle voice,
Breathing celestial solace to my soul,
And peace ineffable, the peace of God.

SOLILOQUY XXXVII.

O Jesus! let eternal blessings dwell
On thy transporting name; let ev'ry tongue
In heav'n and earth conspire, above, below,

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Where'er creation stretches out its bounds;
Let them with me unite to praise my King,
My Lord, my Life, my gracious Ransomer!
Who bought my soul from hell at the high price
Of his own sacred blood; amazing love!
Unutterable grace! Here let me fix
My soul in an eternal ecstasy.

Let me be wholly thine from this blest hour.
Let thy lov'd image be for ever present;
Of thee be all my thoughts, and let my tongue
Be sanctify'd with the celestial theme.
Dwell on my lips, thou dearest, sweetest name!
Dwell on my lips, till the last parting breath!
Then let me die, and bear the charming sound
In triumph to the skies.—In other strains,
In language all divine, I'll praise thee then;
While all the Godhead opens in the view
Of a Redeemer's love—Here let me gaze,
For ever gaze; the bright variety
Will endless joy and admiration yield.

Let me be wholly thine from this blest hour.
Fly from my soul all images of sense,
Leave me in silence to possess my Lord.
My life, my pleasures flow from him alone,
My strength, my great salvation, and my hope.
Thy name is all my trust—O name divine!
Be thou engraven on my inmost soul,
And let me own thee with my latest breath,
Confess thee in the face of ev'ry horror

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That threat'ning death or envious hell can raise;
'Till all their strength subdu'd, my parting soul
Shall give a challenge to infernal rage,
And sing salvation to the Lamb for ever.

To him, my glorious Ransomer, I'll sing;
To him my heart shall gratefully ascribe
The crown of conquest, his unquestion'd right:
While list'ning angels pleas'd shall hear me tell
The wonders of his love, the strange event
Of his surprizing grace.—Transporting theme!
Where shall the song begin?—Turn back the rolls
Of vast eternity—still, backward still
The dazzling records turn—Where shall I find
The glorious point? where fix the shining date
When everlasting love design'd my bliss?

SOLILOQUY XXXVIII.

Thou who canst make a passage thro' the sea,
And find a way amidst the rolling waves;
Thou who canst open wide and none can shut,
Unfold the gates of brass! break all the bars
Of opposition! let the mountains sink,
And ev'ry valley rise to level plains!
Be darkness light, and let the smiling sun
Of righteousness, the bright, the morning star
Arise in all the glories of the Godhead!

Shine out, and let the clear distinguish'd rays
Convince thy proudest foes, and chear the hopes
Of those that love thee, love thee, tho' unseen;

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Whose wounded ears now bear the loud reproach
Of thy insulting foes, whose fainting hearts
Bleed in the wide dishonours of thy name.

O rend the skies! divide the firmament!
Break the long standing pillars of the earth!
Let the hills tremble! let the forests flame,
To make thy greatness known! Be thou confest!
Be thou in full Divinity reveal'd!
And let the wreck of nature grace thy triumph!

Set open wide the everlasting gates!
Ye heav'nly arches, lift your heads on high,
And let the king of glory in the pomp
Of majesty ineffable descend!
The nations then shall own thee for their God,
And ev'ry tongue confess th' almighty judge.

When shall these eyes behold that welcome day,
That glorious, happy, long-expected period?
When shall my voice join with the gen'ral shout
Of nations, languages, and tribes redeem'd?
When shall I hail the triumphs of that day,
When thou shalt rise in the full heights of glory,
Darken the sun, confound the brightest star,
Blaze in the splendor of the Deity,
Thy Father's image perfectly exprest?

Then shall the loud, the universal shout,
'Tis finish'd! echo thro' the wide creation;
Loud triumphs sound, and hallelujahs ring,

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The glory, the dominion is the Lord's,
And God omnipotent shall reign for ever.

SOLILOQUY XXXIX.

Thy word is past, look on these sacred lines,
This heav'nly volume; here, great God, is writ
The records of thy truth, thy ancient works
The bright memorials of thy pow'r and love;
To thy immortal honour, to the joy
Of ev'ry saint, they stand collected here.

Confirm thy promis'd grace, which I have made
My boast, my triumph and peculiar aid.
O make me not asham'd! for I have spoke
With confidence undaunted for thy name,
Thy honour and approv'd veracity.
And now I come distrest, and looking round
On human helps in vain; these lying aids
Excite my scorn, I view them with contempt.
Counsel and wisdom, friendship's gentle voice
Is a deceitful sound: I dare not rest
Below the skies for guidance or protection;
On thee alone, and not on erring man
I cast my self: O kindly guide my steps
In all the paths of righteousness and peace!
On thee alone, the everlasting rock,
On thee alone I rest; my father's God,
My mother's early trust, to thee I look,
O let my soul rejoice, rejoice in God,
Boast in his truth, and triumph all the day

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In his almighty name, and gracious aid!
Be his veracity and truth my song!

There is no help, no confidence below:
But who relies on thy almighty arm,
A sure defence shall find; who on thy word
Securely rests, shall never be deceiv'd.

Can the Most-High repent? can he recal
His sacred oath, and make his promise vain?
O that be far from thee, the truth divine,
Th' eternal rectitude, whose plighted word
Stands firmer than the basis of the earth!
And when its mighty pillars to the depth
Of their foundations sink, when yonder skies,
Grown old, shall crack thro' all their crystal orbs;
Thou undecay'd in endless equity,
In glory and unspotted truth shalt shine.

SOLILOQUY XL.

I call not you that on Parnassus sit,
And by the flow'ry banks of Helicon,
Circle your brows with fading coronets;
While some romantic hero you adorn
With lying epithets, and airy praise:
Or some fantastic lover's fate rehearse
In notes that with a soft, enticing art,
A charming, but pernicious magic draw
The chastest minds from virtue's sacred paths.

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Too long inspir'd by these unhappy flames,
In rural shades I sung the boasted pow'r,
And own'd the false divinity of love;
Reclaim'd, no longer I your aid implore,
But you, celestial muses, I invoke.
Ye muses, who above the lofty sky
Sit crown'd with wreaths of never-fading light,
And on your silver lutes immortal songs,
Along the blissful streams that warbling flow,
With soft inimitable skill recite;
Assist me, while with an advent'rous flight
To everlasting glories I aspire;
While He, the first almighty cause with you
In flowing numbers I attempt to sing.
From him, like you, I took the vital ray,
Him, as the spring of my existence, praise;
Tho' not with you, his happier race, allow'd
To view the bright unveil'd divinity.
By no audacious glance from mortal eyes
Those mystic glories are to be profan'd:
Yet safely we may in reflection meet
His scatter'd beams, and find in all his works
The God in shining characters imprest.

I trace him round me now with vast delight,
Among the lavish springs that proudly roll
Their silver riches o'er the painted meads:
Here spreading into broad transparent lakes,
Smooth as the face of heav'n they silent flow;
The sparkling sun the beauteous surface gilds,

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Which double glory to the sky reflects:
Here under close impending shades they creep,
And roll along complaining to their shores.
The verdant meadows, and extended plains,
In all their pride and springing beauties drest,
The winding valleys and ascending hills,
The mossy rocks, the bow'rs and lofty groves,
The ev'ning close, and chaunt of various birds,
The sportive wind, and softly whisp'ring breeze,
Consenting all acknowledge thou art far
More lovely and surpassing fair than they.

Thy glory in her silent course the moon,
And nightly lamps in their obscure sojourn,
The morning star with its bright circlet crown'd,
And early blushes of the day reveal.

The circling sun thy glory manifests;
Whether ascending from the eastern wave,
With glancing smiles he chears the dewy fields;
Or mounted to the zenith's lofty height,
He blazes with transcendent glory crown'd;
Or down the steep of heav'n he rolls amain
And ends his flaming progress in the sea;
From east to west thy greatness he proclaims,
And thro' his radiant kingdoms spreads thy praise.

Thou rid'st upon the wild, tempestuous wind,
And flying storms obey thy pow'rful voice;
Sublime on clouds thy dark pavilion's set,
With shades and gloomy majesty involv'd.

242

Thy hands the pointed lightnings lance around,
While peals of thunder shake the firmament:
At thy approach the kindling forests smoke,
And from their base the trembling mountains start;
The rivers ebb and flow at thy command,
Observe their wonted course, or run reverse;
At thy rebuke the frighted waves divide,
And with stupendous motion backward roll
Their crystal volumes to their inmost springs.

Thou all things canst—thy mighty mandates heard,
Necessity and nature are no more;
Th' obedient elements dissolve their league,
And wonderful effects attest the God.

Thus far we trace thee by unerring lights,
But what thou art beyond is still unknown;
We launch in vain into the deep abyss,
Thro' vast infinity thou fly'st our search.

SOLILOQUY XLI.

Ye lagging months and years, take swifter wings,
And bring the promis'd day, when all my hopes
Shall be fulfill'd; when that resplendent face,
Which yonder folding clouds conceal, shall dawn
With everlasting smiles, smiles that inspire
Immortal life and undecaying joy.
Blest period! why art thou so long delay'd?

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O stretch thy shining wings, and leave behind
The lazy minutes in their tedious course!

I call in vain; the hours must be fulfill'd,
And all their winding circles measur'd out;
In grief and wild complaints I yet must wait
The day, and tell my sorrows to the winds;
Forlorn I thro' the gloomy woods must stray,
And teach the murm'ring streams my tender theme:
The woods and streams already know my grief,
And oft are witness to the mournful tale;
While the pale moon in silent majesty
Her midnight empire holds, and all the stars
In solemn order on her state attend.

Thou moon, I cry, and all ye ling'ring stars,
How long must you these tedious circles roll!
When shall the great commission'd angel stay
Your shining course, and with uplifted hand
Swear by the dread unutterable name,
That time shall be no more?

Then you no more shall turn the rolling year,
Nor lead the flow'ry spring, nor gently guide
The summer on with all her various store;
Great nature then thro' all her diff'rent works
Shall be transform'd, the earth and those gay skies
Shall be no more the same! A brighter scene
Succeeds, and paradise in all its charms
Shall be renew'd; but far the blissful state improv'd,
And fit for minds to whom the mighty maker

244

Shall give the glorious vision of his face,
Unveil'd and smiling with eternal love.

O infinite delight! my eager soul
Springs forward to embrace the promis'd joy
And antedates its heav'n. The lightsome fields,
And blissful groves are open to my view,
The songs of angels and their silver lutes
Delight me, while th' Omnipotent they sing.
On all his glorious titles long they dwell,
But love, unbounded love, commands the song;
Their darling subject this, and noblest theme.
Here let my ravish'd soul for ever dwell,
Here let me gaze, nor turn one careless look
On yonder hated world, here let me drink
Full draughts of bliss, and bathe in boundless floods
Of life and joy, here let me still converse.

It cannot be! mortality returns.
Ye radiant skies, adieu! ye starry worlds,
Ye blissful scenes, and walks of paradise!
I must fulfil my day, and wait the hour
That brings eternal liberty and rest.

Yet while I sojourn in this gloomy waste,
And trace with weary steps life's doubtful road:
Permit me, ye gay realms, permit me oft
To visit you, and meditate your joys.
Whether my part in this great theatre
Be joyous or severe, let the fair hopes,
The charming prospect of eternal rest

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Be present with my soul, mix with my joys,
And soften all my intervals of grief.

SOLILOQUY XLII.

I will not let thee go without a blessing;
By thy great name I enter my protest
Never to leave thee, till I see thy word
Accomplish'd to my vows, till thou with full
And cloudless demonstration to my soul
Reveal thy promis'd grace—Regard my sighs,
My secret pantings to be near to thee!
Wilt thou for ever fly my earnest search,
Shut out my pray'r, and keep this painful distance?

Where is the obstacle, the fatal bar,
The curst partition, that divides my soul
From all its joys? 'Tis sin, detested sin!
From hence arise these separating clouds,
These sullen shadows that conceal thy face,
And darken all the prospect of my bliss.

But thou the fair, the bright, the morning star,
Canst with thy darting glories chase these shades,
And break the thick, the complicated night.
In great forgiveness thou wilt raise thy name;
And much forgiven, I shall love thee much,
And stand a glorious instance of thy grace:
Where sin abounds, its lustre shall abound.
My grateful heart and tongue to praises tun'd,
Shall tell with transport the amazing heights
Of love, of wisdom, of redeeming grace.

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Jesus! my only hope, my advocate,
My gracious mediator, O defend
My trembling guilty soul, from all the storms
Of wrath divine! be thou a hiding place,
A covert from the wind, a safe retreat
From all the terror of avenging pow'r,
And justice infinite! Thy blood can cleanse
My deepest stains, and purify my soul
From all its native, and contracted guilt:
In that clear fountain of immortal life
Let me be cleans'd and throughly sactify'd.
I come a helpless, miserable wretch,
And throw my self, and all my future hopes
On mercy infinite; reject me not,
Thou Saviour of the sinful race of men!

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A Paraphrase on CANTICLES.

In blank verse.

A DIVINE PASTORAL.

August, 1735.

Chapter I.

SHE.

O come! and with thy balmy kisses sooth
These holy languishments, and let thy breath
With vital fragrance chear my drooping pow'rs:
Not spicy wines with their delicious scent,
And cordial flavour, so revive the soul.

Thy name is music! when I mention thee
Celestial sweetness fills the ambient air;
The list'ning virgins find the heav'nly charm,
Confess thy worth, and catch the sacred flame.

O draw me with the soft, resistless bands
Of gentle love, and I will follow thee
To those fair chambers where my gracious king
With royal banquets feasts my longing soul,
And seals his truth in sacramental wine.
But who can paint the rising ecstasy

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His presence gives, while on his charming face
Sit smiling beauty, and immortal love?

Have I deserv'd this grace? my conscious heart
Forbids the guilty boast; for I am black
As Kedar's tents; expos'd at burning noon
The sultry sun has stain'd my native hue.
But who shall ask my glorious lover why
His favours, thus unmerited, are plac'd?

Conduct me, thou more dear to me than life!
Conduct me where thy snowy flocks are fed,
In verdant meads among the living springs
That gently wind around their flow'ry banks:
There let me shelter'd in the cool recess
Of some delightful shade repose at noon,
Nor ever from thy sacred pastures stray
In paths unknown, nor hear a stranger's voice.

HE.

Thou fairest object that the world can boast!
Keep near the shepherds tents; thy little kids
May there securely feed, and safely rest,
Follow the bleating of my harmless flocks,
And mark their foot-steps on the grassy plain.

What artless graces on thy mein appear!
Not Pharaoh's manag'd steeds with easier state,
In golden reins, the royal chariot draw.
Where-e'er I gaze, new beauties charm my sight.
The sparkling pendants on thy blushing cheeks

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More warmly glow, while from thy lovely neck
The circling chain new blandishment receives.

Ye nymphs of Salem, with your nicest art
Prepare the nuptial vest: On braided gold
Let silver foliage round the border shine.

SHE.

While at his royal board the heav'nly king
Vouchsafes to entertain his joyful guests,
Let all my spikenard yield its rich perfume:
But oh! what sweetness like his rosy breath?
Not myrrhe new bleeding from the wounded tree,
Nor blest Arabia thro' her spicy groves
Such fragrance blows. He all the silent night
Shall lean his head upon my peaceful breast.

As clust'ring camphire, with a livelier green
Distinguish'd, in Engedi's vineyard stands,
Thus with peculiar charms thy heav'nly form
Surpasses all the pride of human race.
Not half so bright the eyes of doves as thine,
Their lustre all similitude exceeds:
Description faints, when I would talk of thee.

But I shall praise thee in a loftier strain,
When in the blissful bow'rs above we meet;
Those glorious mansions rais'd by skill divine,
Where crown'd with peace and ever-verdant youth,
The jocund hours dance on their endless round.

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Chapter II.

HE.
A bloom like thine the vernal rose displays
On Sharon's flow'ry lawn; so pure a white
The fragrant lilly of the valley wears:
As these among the rambling briars shine,
My fair excels the daughters of the land.

SHE.

My prince distinguish'd with superior charms
Out-shines the brightest of the sons of men;
As some tall tree, with golden apples crown'd,
Stands eminent, the glory of the grove:
Beneath his cooling shade reclin'd I sate,
And sooth'd my taste with the delicious fruit.

Me to his house of banquetting the king
With gracious smiles invites, and o'er my head
The banners of immortal love displays;
Its sacred myst'ries unfolded there,
Emblazon'd, shew the triumphs of his grace.

With flowing bowls from life's eternal spring,
And heav'nly fruits refresh my fainting soul;
For I am sick of love.—O let me lean
My drooping head upon thy downy breast;
While thy left arm supports me, let thy right
Kindly infold me in a chaste embrace.

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HE.

JERUSALEM's fair daughters, that attend
The princely bow'rs, I charge you by the hinds,
The nimble roe-bucks, and the sportive fawns,
(Your sylvan joys) I charge you not to wake
My sleeping Love, nor break her golden rest.

SHE.

What heav'nly music steals upon the dawn?
'Tis my Beloved's voice! behold! he comes,
Light as a bounding hart along the hills;
Now thro' the lattice darts his radiant eyes,
And in this gentle language calls me forth.
‘Arise, my charmer! see! the morning breaks
‘In rosy smiles; the wint'ry storms are gone,
‘The fragrant spring, with flow'ry chaplets crown'd
‘Leads on her jovial train; the feather'd race
‘In artless harmony unite their strains,
‘While cooing turtles murmur in the glade;
‘The pregnant fig-tree shoots, the purple vine
‘With promis'd clusters chears the pruner's hope;
‘Nature in all her vernal glory shines:
‘Arise, my Fair! arise, and come away!’

From the cool grotto's of the marble rock
Come forth, my Dove, display thy lovely face,
And let thy charming voice delight mine ear;
Thy voice is music, harmony divine,
And in thy face celestial beauty smiles.

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Ye keepers of my vineyard, spread the toils
To catch the wily foxes, that destroy
The swelling clusters rich with purple juice.

SHE.

My lord is mine, and I am wholly his
By purchas'd right, and voluntary vows.
Among the lillies he delights to walk,
Himself more fragrant, and more fair than they!

O stay! nor leave me, 'till the morning rays
Break from the east, and dissipate the gloom:
Then if I must a while thy absence mourn,
Swift as the hart on Bether's airy hills
Return again, and bless my longing eyes.

Chapter III.

SHE.

'Twas night, when on my restless bed I sought,
But sought in vain the partner of my cares,
For he was now withdrawn: In soft complaints
I breath'd my grief, but there was no reply.
With haste I rise, and thro' the spacious streets
Distracted rove; at last, the nightly watch
I met, but they no consolation give.

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Not far from them my weary feet had gone,
E'er the bright object of my love appear'd;
Eager I clasp'd him in my folded arms;
Then gently drew him to my mother's house,
The sacred seat where first our mutual flames
With solemn vows, and holy rites were seal'd.

Virgins of Salem, by the forest roe,
And skipping fawn, I charge you not to wake
My slumb'ring Lord, nor break his soft repose.

See! where he comes from his sequester'd bow'r,
And with celestial fragrance fills the air,
Perfum'd with all the aromatic cost
That rich Sabæa's spicy groves produce:
Such sweets in clouds of holy incense rise,
When eastern odours on the altar smoke.

The regal bed, a valiant guard surrounds;
Threescore the boldest sons of Judah's race,
With each a sword girt on his manly thigh,
To free the night from terror and alarm.

King Solomon with wond'rous art prepar'd
A chariot blazing with imperial cost:
The frame was polish'd wood from Lebanon,
Its pedestals of gold, in equal height
The silver pillars rose, the gay support
Of purple curtains, proud with Tyrian dye,
The seat beneath was softly pav'd with love.

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Daughters of Salem, see the Hebrew king
Crown'd with the beauteous wreath his mother plac'd
About his temples, on that happy day
When bridal rites completed all his bliss.

Chapter IV.

HE.

What sparkling language can describe my fair?
Not all the various charms that nature boasts,
In gay similitudes can reach her worth.

Less mild than her's the eyes of doves appear.
Her tresses waving to the sportive wind,
Look like the frisking kids on Gilead's plain.
In equal rows her teeth appear more white
Than sheep new shorn wash'd in the crystal brook.
Her lips like threads of scarlet: When she speaks
In sweetest sounds the melting accents flow.
Her rosy cheeks glow thro' the flowing curls,
Like ripe pomegranates blushing on the tree.
Like David's lofty tow'r her graceful neck,
Circled with gems, as that with glitt'ring shields.
Her breasts, the seat of innocence and truth,
Harmless and white as twins of gentle roes,
Which in some fragrant spot of lillies feed.

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'Till the celestial morn with golden beams
Dispels the gloom, and clears the dusky sky,
I'll hasten to the hills of frankincense,
And dropping myrrhe; while thro' the silent shades
Refreshing gales their balmy breath diffuse.

How fair thou art! how spotless in my sight!
Return, my Love, from Lebanon with me
To Shenir's groves, and Hermon's flow'ry plain.
Look from the top of Amana, nor fear
The spotted leopard, or the lion's range.

A thousand graces lighten in thy eyes;
In pleasing chains thy captive I am held,
My Spouse! my Sister!—If beyond these names
Of chaste affection, there are dearer ties,
Still thou art more to me! My ravish'd heart
Dwells on thy heav'nly beauties, and prefers
Thy love to all the joys of sprightly wine.
Not honey dropping from the luscious comb
Exceeds the sweetness on thy balmy lips.
The vernal scents of Lebanon perfume
Thy flowing vest with aromatic dews.

A garden well enclos'd, a fountain seal'd
From all unholy and profane access,
Such is my Love to me: As fertile too,
As some fair orchard crown'd with ev'ry plant
Grateful in taste or smell.—Thro' verdant leaves
The large pomegranate's ripen'd scarlet glows,

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While spikenard, cassia, frankincense and myrrhe
Their humid odours yield: The golden bloom
Of saffron spreads its treasures to the sun.

But thou art sweeter than the flow'ry spring,
Or blest Arabia when her spices blow;
Thy mind unsully'd as the crystal streams
That plenteous flow from tow'ring Lebanon.

SHE.
Awake, thou north, ye southern breezes rise,
With silken wings your balmy vapour spread,
And open ev'ry aromatic bloom!
While my Beloved with his presence glads
The sylvan scenes, and tastes my pleasant fruits.

Chapter V.

SHE

I come, my lovely Sister and my Spouse!
Those spicy groves, and ever-blooming bow'rs
Invite me often to their happy shades;
Balsamic odours and delicious fruits
With various plenty entertain me here.

O come, my friends, the banquet is divine!
Indulge your taste, and recreate your souls
With heav'nly food, and consecrated wines.

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SHE

Unwelcome slumbers steal upon my sense,
I sleep, but still my list'ning fancy wakes.
'Tis my beloved speaks, I know the voice:
‘My fair, my undefil'd! he gently cries,
‘Unbolt these envious doors; 'tis I that call
‘For entrance here: My locks with drizly dews,
‘And falling moisture of the night are fill'd.”
‘My vesture's off, my cruel tongue reply'd,
‘How can I put it on? My feet new-wash'd
‘How can I groping thro' the dark defile?”

Still at the door my injur'd lord attends,
While on the lock his busy fingers move:
Touch'd with a soft remorse, at last I rise,
Flew to the door; but while with eager haste
The fasten'd lock I search'd, sweet smelling myrrh
From ev'ry bolt its precious moisture shed;
The rich perfume my lover's hands had left.
With joyful speed the passage I unbarr'd,
But found my visionary bliss was gone.
My soul with anguish melted when he spoke,
And now with wild distraction sees her guilt.
I call'd in vain, for there was no reply,
In vain I search'd, for he was now withdrawn:
Then pensive wand'ring thro' the silent streets
The watchmen found me, and with cruel scorn
Reproach my honour and unblemish'd name.
The scoffing centry took away my veil.

But you, bright maids of Salem, I adjure
By your own chaste affections, if you find

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My lord, with all your tender eloquence
Relate the anguish of my love-sick heart.

VIRGINS.
Inform us then, thou fairest of thy sex!
For whom those melting tears are shed in vain;
Tell us with what peculiar excellence
Superior to the race of men he shines.

SHE.
Among ten thousand he distinguish'd stands.
A spotless white with rosy blushes stain'd
Adorns his face, bright as a cloudless morn,
With crimson flush'd. In shining curls his hair
Flows graceful down, black as the raven's plumes.
His eyes, the eyes of doves, serene and mild.
A vernal bloom upon his youthful cheeks
And balmy lips perpetually resides.
To what shall I his matchless hands compare,
And snowy fingers? whence the circling gems
Receive more grace and lustre than they give.
His well-shap'd legs in just proportion rise
Like marble pillars on a base of gold.
Majestic and complete his form appears,
As tow'ring Lebanon with cedars crown'd.
Persuasion dwells upon his charming tongue,
And eloquence divine: When-e'er he speaks
My soul with ecstasy attends the sound.
He's altogether lovely!—This is he,
My friend, my life, and my eternal bliss!

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Chapter VI.

VIRGINS.
Thou prime of beauty! tell us where to find
Thy absent Lord; to what sequester'd shade
Does he retire? that we may seek him there.

SHE.

The fertile gardens are his pleasing haunts:
With balmy scents and juicy fruits regal'd,
On flow'ry beds he takes his sweet repose.

Tho' absent now, my well-beloved's mine,
And I am his: Immortal love has join'd
Our constant hearts; nor place, nor endless lengths
Of time shall e'er the sacred union break.

HE.

See here she comes!—but how divinely fair!
Should Tirza with its lofty turrets rise,
Or Salem's golden spires the landscape paint,
A finer prospect in her face I view.
Should armies march along in pompous ranks,
With ensigns spread, and glitt'ring spears advanc'd,
Her glances, yet more conqu'ring rays would dart.—
O turn away thy bright resistless eyes!
They overcome me with their piercing light.

As Gilead's rising top with flocks adorn'd,
Thy temples thus the curling tresses grace.

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Not sheep, new-wash'd, with snowy twins appear
More white and equal than thy polish'd teeth:
Nor half so fair the ripe pomegranate's blush,
As that which glows upon thy blooming cheek.

Unnumber'd beauties grace Judea's court,
And royal maids their sov'reign's will attend:
But thou art one selected from the rest,
Thy mother's blooming joy and only care.
The queens and virgins saw thy matchless form,
Approv'd thy charms, and blest thee with their smiles.

Thy lovely aspect, as the morning clear,
Fair as the silver moon, but darting light
More warm and splendid than the mid-day sun!
Thy mien majestic, as the pompous show
Of armies in a proud triumphant march!

Along the spicy groves and flow'ry vale,
Delighted with their various sweets I walk'd,
Survey'd the springing plants, the curling vines,
And fair pomegranates in their luscious bloom.
But oh! the blest surprize, when unawares
Thy lovely form among the trees I saw:
Wing'd with desire my hasty steps out-flew
Amminadib's light chariots in their speed.

Return, my charming Shulamite, return
With me to those inviting shades again;
Our joys the same as when two armies join'd
In peaceful leagues forget their hostile claims.

261

Chapter VII.

HE.

Thou lovely offspring of a princely race,
How graceful is thy mien! Thy slender legs
With buskins ty'd of ornamental cost!
What just proportion shines in ev'ry part!
What artful hand such excellence can trace!

Like summer harvests fruitful, and as fair
As silver lillies in their snowy pride.
Her breasts like twins of young unspotted roes.
Her neck an iv'ry column fitly plac'd.
But what can match the splendor of her eyes!
Not Heshbon's limpid current, when the sun
Reflected sparkles on the crystal wave.
As Lebanon's high palace, op'ning wide
In dazzling prospect to the distant hills,
Such perfect symmetry her features boast.
As Carmel's top with plenteous verdure crown'd,
Her head a flowing length of shining hair
With silken ringlets decks.—Th' enamour'd king,
Held by her beauty, in the gallery stays.

How fair thou art! how fashion'd for delight!
Thy stature like the shapely palm, thy breasts
Like swelling clusters of the juicy vine:
I'll climb the palm, and with its verdant boughs
My joyful temples crown; the juicy vine
Shall with its swelling clusters please my taste.

262

The vernal sweetness of thy rosy lips
The ambient air perfumes; while in thy voice
Celestial music charms my list'ning ears:
Thy voice would stay th' invading sleep of death,
And with immortal rapture fill the soul.

SHE.
What joy can equal this transporting thought,
That my beloved's mine, and I am his!
Come, let us to the peaceful village haste,
There lodge at night; and at the early dawn
With thee I'll range the solitary fields,
Observe the vineyards, how their branches shoot,
How in its prime the fresh pomegranate glows;
These pleasing scenes shall tender thoughts inspire,
Improve our joys, and sooth the heav'nly flame.
Come, let us hasten to our country-seat,
The blooming season in its prime appears;
The mandrakes at our gates perfume the air;
Within, what choice autumnal plenty yields,
Or early springs produce, fruits new and old
Of pleasing taste are all reserv'd for thee.

Chapter VIII.

SHE.
O could I call thee by a brother's name,
That tender title would indulge my bliss;
While unrestrain'd by thy superior claims

263

I'd lead thee to my mother's rural seat,
And with domestic kindness treat thee there,
With spicy wines and sweet pomegranate's juice;
Then leaning on thy bosom gently rest,
While thou shouldst fold me in a chaste embrace.

Ye virgin train, I charge you not to wake
My sleeping lover from his soft repose.

HE.

Come lean, my fair, on this supporting arm,
The care to guide thy gentle steps be mine,
Along this gloomy forest's winding paths.
These pleasing scenes the pleasing thought revive,
When first thy mother brought thee to my arms;
Beneath a spreading tree's delightful shade
I saw, and rais'd thee from the lowly ground.

SHE.

For ever blest be that auspicious hour,
And may the soft impression ne'er be lost!
O set me as a signet on thy heart!
For love is strong as death, and jealousy
Relentless as the grave; and mine's a flame
That streams, that swelling fountains cannot quench,
Nor all the ocean's boundless stores allay.

I have a sister yet obscure and young,
A helpless orphan; let my gracious prince
With pity think on her defenceless state.

264

HE.
If worthy of our royal grace she prove,
A palace rich with silver roofs we'll raise,
Enclos'd with doors of cedar for her guard.

SHE.
Such was the favour, so divinely free,
That first with gentle and propitious eyes
Beheld my humble charms, and rais'd me thus.

HE.
His vineyard Solomon to keepers lets;
But mine, entrusted to no hireling's hands,
With pleasing toil employs my busy hours,
And is my constant, my peculiar care.
With thee, my Love, conversing in the shades
The downy moments wing'd with pleasure fly;
Still I could listen to thy charming voice:
Thy fair companions too instructed hear
Thy gracious words, and catch the heav'nly sound.

SHE.
My lord! my life! my soul's eternal bliss!
Haste to my longing arms! fly like the roe,
Or bounding hart on Bether's spicy hills!

The End of the First Volume.

University of Virginia Library

I. VOL. I.

On the present publication of Mrs. Rowe's Poems after her death.

POEMS ON Several Occasions.

The VISION.

The beginning of the fourth Book of Tasso's Jerusalem translated.

On the Creation.

Love and Friendship:

A PASTORAL.

To the Author of the foregoing Pastoral.

In praise of Memory. Inscrib'd to the Honourable the Lady Worsely.

An imitation of a PASTORAL of Mrs. Killegrew's.

A description of the enchanted palace and garden of Armida; whither two knights from the Christian camp were come in search of Rinaldo.

The story of Erminia. Translated from the seventh Book of Tasso's Jerusalem.

Hymn I.

[The glorious armies of the sky]

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

Hymn II.

[Begin the high celestial strain]

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

Hymn III.

[Thou didst, O mighty God, exist]

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

Hymn IV.

[To thee, my God, I hourly sigh]

I

II

III

IV

V

Hymn V.

[In vain the dusky night retires]

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

Hymn on the sacrament.

I

II

III

IV

V

A Pastoral on the nativity of our Saviour.

Hymn on Heaven.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

Come, my Beloved, let us go forth into the fields, let us lodge in the villages, Cant. vii. II.

I

II

III