Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thy first Belov'd was the Thessalian Fair,
O Phœbus! not from Chance thy am'rous Care,
But from Revenge of thy Corrival sprung,
With thy Success, and thy Reproaches stung,
For when the God, who late the serpent flew,
Saw the young Archer bend the stubborn Yew,

Fond Boy! he said, those manly Arms forbear,
Arms which are only fit for me to wear.
Th' unerring Wounds we gave the Monster show
Our Hand can never err against a Foe:
See Python, far-extended on the Plain,
Who by innumerable Wounds lies slain;
Then, with thy Torch content vain Fires to light,
Forbear those Arrows, nor invade my Right.
Then Venus' Son: Thy Bow may never err,
But mine shall conquer thee, the Conqueror:
As far as Brutes beneath a Pow'r Divine,
So far thy Glory shall be less than mine.

This scarcely said, he shakes his painted Wings,
And to Parnassus' shady Summit springs.
There from his Quiver's pointed Store selects
Two diff'rent Darts, as diff'rent in Effects;
For banish'd Love with hasty Speed retires
Before the one, the other Love inspires:
That Love inspires is sharp, and Gold the Head;
The other Reed is tipp'd with blunted Lead.
Daphne with this he wounds; the other Dart
Pierc'd Phœbus' Breast, and rankled in his Heart.
He loves; the Name of Love she, bashful, hates,
And thee, unwed Diana! imitates:
In shady Woods delights her Charms to hide;
Her Hair, neglected, in a Ribbon ty'd,
The Spoils of savage Beasts dependent at her Side.
Her many woe'd; averse from all she flies,
Impatient of a Lord, and all denies:
Free, thro' the unfrequented Woods she goes;
What Love or Hymen are, nor cares, nor knows.

Her Father oft a Son-in-law desires:
Her Father Grandsons oft of her requires.
The Name of Marriage, which as Guilt she dreads,
Her lovely Face with modest Blushes spreads;
And hanging on his Neck; O! grant, she said,
Dear Father! I may ever be a Maid:
Diana's Father did to her consent.
He yields indeed: But, O! that Form was meant,
Thy Virgin Wish, fair Votress! to prevent.
Apollo loves, what he desires believes;
And with his Oracles himself deceives:
As smoaky Stubble does to Ashes turn,
With Wanderer's nightly Fires as Thickets burn;
The am'rous God consumes in secret Fires,
And feeds with barren Hopes his vain Desires.
Loose on her Neck he sees her artless Hair;
And cries, how this might be improv'd with Care?
Her Hands, her Arms expos'd to View admires,
Her Eyes, which emulate celestial Fires:
He sees her ruby Lips each other touch,
And, envious, thinks their Happiness too much.
At his Approach she flies, as swift as Wind,
The God and his Intreaties left behind.
Stay, Nymph! he cries, nor fear me as a Foe;
The tim'rous Hind springs from the Lion so:
So from the Eagle flies the trembling Dove;
They from their Fate, mistaken you from Love.
Ah! thou may'st fall; or on the cruel Thorn,
And I the Cause! thy tender Limbs be torn:
The Ways are rugged whither you repair;
Ah! moderate thy Speed, attend my Pray'r,

More slow I'll follow thee. Yet stay and know,
That 'tis no Mountain Swain pursues you now;
No rugged Herdsman. Ignorant you fly;
Jove is my Father, I, the World's great Eye,
I Delphi, Tenedos, and Claros sway,
My Pow'r the Pataræan Realms obey;
And Future, Past, and Present I survey.
Harmonious Notes to flowing Verse I join:
Sure is my Dart, but one more sure than mine,
Which made those Wounds; for which no Cure I know,
Tho' I'm the great Physician call'd below.
To me, tho' Med'cine it's Invention owes,
And mine is ev'ry potent Plant that grows,
Alas! no Plant a Lover's Wound can heal;
And Arts which others aid their Master's fail.
More he had said, but his imperfect Pray'r
And him, she, tim'rous, leaves: the obvious Air
Waves her light Robes, and fans her flowing Hair.
Her Flight does her neglected Charms improve;
Charms that increas'd the God's impatient Love:
No more he bears his Flatteries to lose,
But now, by Love's Advice, her Steps pursues.
The Hare and Greyhound represent the Strife,
When he contends for Prey, and she for Life:
He seems to seize her now, untouch'd she glides,
And following Fate with doubling Turns avoids.
The God and Maid so in the Chace appear;
He borrows Speed from Hope, and She from Fear:
At length the God prevails, and onward springs,
Close at her Back, for Love had lent him Wings;

Allows no Respite to the fainting Maid,
But, panting, fan'd her Hair that on her Shoulders play'd.
She, spent with Toil, her Father's Help implores,
And anxious looks upon his distant Shores:
Assist, if Deities in Streams reside,
She pray'd, or thou, O Mother Earth! divide;
Or you, ye Pow'rs! to rescue me from Shame,
Destroy my Figure whence the Danger came.
Scarce said, her Limbs with Faintness now opprest,
The rising Bark invades her tender Breast;
To Leaves her graceful Length of Tresses grows,
And now her Arms extend to verdant Boughs:
Her Foot, of late so swift, now downward shoots,
For ever motionless in lazy Roots.

Nor cou'd this wondr'ous Change destructive prove
To Daphne's Beauty or Apollo's Love.
Beneath the Bole, still warm with vital Heat,
He felt her Heart with trembling Motion beat:
Then in the Wood embrac'd the latent Maid;
The modest Wood from his Embraces fled.
Then Phœbus, since my Bride thou can'st not be,
Yet, Laurel! thou shalt be my favo'rite Tree:
My Hair, my Quiver, and my Harp adorn;
Thou shalt by valiant Conquerors be worn,
Who mount the Capitol in solemn State,
While joyful Songs upon their Triumphs wait.
Do thou protect, on either Side the Oak,
Augustus' Palace from the Thunder's Stroak:

And as my Head is crown'd with flowing Hair,
So shall thy Leaves perpetual Verdure wear.

He ends: The grateful Laurel this allows,
And for her Head her leavey Crown she bows,

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 10.

Rectius Vives Licini ------

Fondly, my Friend! does proud Ambition soar,
And Danger tempt with an unwearied Flight:
Fondly does Fear still keep the humble Shore,
Whom whistling Winds and beating Surges fright.

Whoever wisely keeps the golden Mean,
Nor he to smoaky Cottages retires,
Nor he in envied Palaces is seen:
Too low he sinks not, nor too high aspires.

But oh! whatever's great, whatever's high,
The loftiest Turret, and the stoutest Oak,
The Mountain Tops, which seem to touch the Sky,
Are most obnoxious to the Thunder's Stroak.

The Mind which Constancy for Fate prepares,
Which knows how wav'ring Fortune loves to range;
In adverse Hopes, and in successful Fears:
For stormy Seasons oft to milder change.

Ills cannot ever last: Apollo so
Oft mixes with the Muses tuneful Choir;
Returning from the Chace, unbends his Bow,
And with swift Fingers strikes the golden Lyre.

In adverse Chance resolv'd and bold appear;
And so thou best may'st stem the Tide of Fate:
Lower thy Sail when there's no Danger near,
And prosp'rous Gales upon thy Voyage wait.

Claudian's Old Man of Verona.

Felix qui Patriis ævum transegit in arvis.

Happy the Man, whom prudent Wishes bound,
Within the streight Inclosure of his Ground.
Who, ancient, leaning on his Staff's Support,
Reviews the grateful Scene of infant Sport:
Then, with his Mansion's Age computes his own,
And tells the Circles whirling Years have run.
The busy World he shuns, nor loves to roam;
Nor weary makes a foreign clime his Home.
Nor he the stormy Winds or Waves does fear;
Nor he that dreadful Sound of horrid War:
The noisy Courts are all to him unknown;
To him, who never saw the neighbouring Town.
No Change of Consuls troubles his Repose;
The Spring by Flow'rs, by Fruit he Autumn knows:

The Sun, whom his paternal Fences bound,
Rises and sets within his little Ground.
He does Verona and Benacus' Lake,
For the Red Sea and distant India take.
Yet, firm in Age, a long Descent he sees,
And, chearful, visits his coæval Trees;
Others rough Seas, and foreign Countries see;
How few so long, so blest a Life as he!

Translation of Horace, Lib. I. Ode 23.

Young Chloe flies me, as a Fawn
That seeks her Mother o'er the Lawn:
Who trembles as she hears
The Wind that in the Branches plays,
The Lizards rustling in the Sprays;
And pants with thrilling Fears.

Not as the crafty Tigress prowls,
Not as the hungry Lion growls,
Do I thy Footsteps trace:
Thy tim'rous Soul then undeceive,
'Tis Time thy Mother now to leave:
A Lover gives the Chase.

Imitation of Horace, Lib. IV. Ode 7.

Diffugere Nives ------

I.

The Snows are gone: Again the Ground,
Again the Trees with chearful Green are crown'd;
Again their ancient Banks decreasing Rivers bound.
The Nymphs who haunt the lofty Woods,
Or bath themselves in murm'ring Floods,
In Dances with the Graces join:
Nor do the naked Graces fear,
To tempt the Rigour of the Air.
All Nature does in this great Truth combine,
Enjoy the present Hour, for that alone is thine.

II.

The circling Seasons of the Year
A fix'd Succession know.
The Winter does to Spring give Way,
Nor long delightful Spring can stay;
And fruitful Summer does decay:
Next, bounteous Autumn does his Wealth bestow,
Last, Winter crown'd with Snow,
Returns unwelcome and severe.
The waning Moons their lessen'd Horns restore:
But Man once disappears, and comes no more.

Say, could Æneas' Piety, or Pray'rs,
One Moment add to his determin'd Years?
Cou'd Strength preserve unconquer'd Tullus' Breath?
Cou'd wealthy Ancus bribe impartial Death?
Who now in dull Obscurity is laid,
Or mould'ring Ashes, or a wand'ring Shade.

III.

To-morrow you expect in vain,
And thence wou'd future Pleasures date:
Who knows, my Friend! if there remain
To-morrow in the Stores of Fate?
What on yourself you do bestow,
You from your greedy Heir will save:
This melancholy Truth too soon you'll know,
That not your Wit, nor noble Race,
Nor Piety, nor winning Grace,
Will e're retrieve you from the Grave.
Nor thee, Hippolytus! Diana's Care
Cou'd e're restore to breath celestial Air:
And Theseus' Strength was try'd in vain
To break Perithous' adamantine Chain.

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 3.

Æquam memento rebus in arduis
Servare mentem ------

I.

Why thus dejected? can you hope a Cure
In mourning Ills which you endure?
Without Redress you grieve:
A melancholy Thought may sour
The Pleasures of the present Hour,
But never can the Past retrieve.
Who knows if more remain for Fate to give?
Unerring Death alike on all attends;
Alike our Hopes and Fears destroys:
Alike one silent Period ends
All our repining Griefs and our insulting Joys.

II.

Not thy Expence, nor thy Physicians Skill
Can guard thee from the Stroak of Fate:
Thou yield'st to some imaginary Ill
Thy very Fears of Death create.
With the fantastick Spleen oppress'd,
With Vapour's wilder Indolence possess'd,
Thy stagnant Blood forgets to roll,
And Fate attacks thee from thy inward Soul.

Vain is Resistance, let's retreat
To some remote, some rural Seat;
Where on the Grass reclin'd we may
Make ev'ry Day an Holy-day:
Where all to our Delights combine,
With Friendship, Wit, and chearful Wine.

III.

Where the tall Poplar and aspiring Pine
Their hospitable Branches twine:
Among their Roots a silver Current strays,
Which wand'ring here and there, its Course delays,
And in Mæanders forms its winding Ways.
Perfumes, and Wine, and Roses bring!
The short-liv'd Treasures of the Spring!
While Wealth can give, or Youth can use,
While that can purchase, this excuse,
Let's live the present Now!
'Tis all the fatal Sisters may allow.
Tho' thou should'st purchase an immense Estate,
Tho' the clear Mirror of the rolling Tide
Reflect thy Villa's rising Pride,
And Forest shading either Side;
Yet must thou yield to Fate:
To these shall thy unthankful Heir succeed;
And waste the heapy Treasures of the Dead.

IV.

Nor shall it aid thee then to trace
Thy Ancestors beyond the Norman Race:
Death, the great Leveller of all Degrees,
Does on Mankind without Distinction seize.

Undaunted Guards attend in vain
The mighty Tyrant to repel;
Nor does his Cruelty disdain
The lab'ring Hind and weary Swain,
Who in obscure Oblivion dwell.
When from the fated Urn the Lot is cast,
The Doom irrevocable past,
Still on the Brink the shiv'ring Ghosts wou'd stay:
Imperious Fate brooks no Delay;
The Steersman calls, away! away!

The Complaint of Damon.

[_]

From Virgil.

Pastorum Musam ------

Sad Damon's and Alphesibeus' Muse,
At whose Complaint the Herds their Food refuse;
The spotted Pards their Song attentive hear,
And flowing Waves their wonted Course forbear:
I sing the mournful Swain, and his ill-fated Care.
The Shades of Night were scarce dispell'd by Day,
The Morning Dew still on the Herbage lay;
Against a slender Olive Damon lean'd,
And thus of Nisa's Perjuries complain'd:
Rise, Lucifer! bring on the rosy Morn;
And hear my last Complaints for Nisa's scorn:

Gods! I invoke you with my latest breath,
Tho' vain my Pray'rs, tho' unreveng'd my Death.
Begin, my Muse! begin with me to sute
Mænalian Numbers to the breathing Flute.
Fair Mænalus has Pines and vocal Groves,
Where Eccho still repeats the Shepherds Loves:
There Pan himself, to sooth his love-sick Mind,
The idle Reeds in gradual Order join'd.
Begin—

Mopsus weds Nisa: What shall Lovers fear
When this unequal Match forbids Despair?
Now Gryphons join with Mares; and Time shall bring
The Hound and Doe together to the Spring.
Blest Mopsus haste! the nuptial Torch prepare,
And to thy Home conduct the willing Fair.
Thy Nuts among the sportive Children throw;
Hesper for thee descends from Oeta's Brow,
Begin—

O worthy Choice! For this with nice Disdain
Didst thou refuse the Love of ev'ry Swain?
For this didst thou my Pipe and Lamb-kins scorn,
My shaggy Eye-brows, and my Beard unshorn?
Think'st thou the Gods neglect a Lover's Pray'r?
Or wretched Mortals plac'd beneath their Care?
Begin—

Your early Charms in youthful Bloom I found,
You came to gather Apples in our Ground:

And still your Choice I to the fairest led,
Humid with pearly Dew, and streak'd with glowing Red.
I then the thirteenth Summer did attain:
Scarce cou'd my Arms the lowest Branches gain:
Lost in my fatal Error, ah! how soon
I saw and perish'd, lov'd and was undone!
Begin—

I know thee, Love! I know thy savage Race,
Nurs'd in the Lybian Wastes, or Wilds of Thrace:
No Marks of Tenderness in thee we find,
Which might pronounce thee sprung of human-kind.
Begin—

The Rage of flighted Love thy Hands embru'd,
Inhuman Mother! in thy Infant's Blood:
Which was more cruel? Cruel Mother thou!
More cruel Love, who taught to strike the Blow;
Begin—

The Wolf from the pursuing Lamb shall haste;
And stubborn Oaks with golden Fruit be grac'd:
The yellow Daffadil on Alders grow;
From humble Brakes transparent Amber flow.
Owls vye with Swans; and let the rudest Swain
His jarring Notes compare to Orpheus' Strain:
Commanding Savages, like him, in Woods,
Or, like Arion, Dolphins on the Floods.
Begin—

Or let th' incroaching Sea the Land invade:
Adieu, ye Woods! and flourish green your Shade!
A Rock there is, from whose impendent Steep,
Desp'rate I'll plunge into the foaming Deep:
Unfaithful Maid! this mournful Verse receive;
The last your dying Lover e'er shall give.
Forbear, my Muse! no longer shalt thou sute
Mænalian Numbers to the breathing Flute.

On Mr. Congreve's Plays and Poems.

Congreve! the justest Glory of our Age!
The whole Menander of the English Stage!
Thy comic Muse, in each complete Design,
Does manly Sense and sprightly Wit combine.
And sure the Theatre was meant a School,
To lash the Vicious and expose the Fool:
The wilful Fool, whose Wit is always shown
To hit another's Fault and miss his own,
Laughs at himself when by thy Skill exprest:
And always in his Neighbour finds the Jest.
A Fame from vulgar Characters to raise
Is ev'ry Poet's Labour, and his Praise:
They, fearful, coast; while you forsake the Shore,
And undiscover'd Worlds of Wit explore,
Enrich the Scene with Characters unknown,
There plant your Colonies and fix your Throne.

Let Maskwell's Treacheries, and Touchwood's Rage,
Let rugged Ben, and Foresight's tim'rous Age,
And Heartwell's sullen Passion grace the Stage:
Then let Half-Criticks veil their idle Spight,
For he knows best to rail who worst can write.
Let juster Satire now employ their Pen,
To tax the Vicious on the World's great Scene;
There the Reformer's Praise the Poet shares,
And boldly lashes whom the Zealot spares.

Ye British Fair! Cou'd your bright Eyes refuse
A pitying Tear to grace his Tragic Muse?
Can gen'rous Osmyn sigh beneath his Chain,
Or the distress'd Almeria weep in vain?
A kindly Pity ev'ry Breast must move,
For injur'd Virtue, or for suff'ring Love.
The Nymphs adorn Pastora's sacred Tomb;
And mourn the lov'd Amyntas' short-liv'd Bloom:
The Learn'd admire the Poet, when he flies
To trace the Theban Swan amid the cloudless Skies.
When he translates, still faithful to the Sense,
He copies, and improves each Excellence.
Or when he teaches how the Rich and Great,
And all but deathless Wit must yield to Fate:
Or when he sings the Coursers rapid Speed;
Or Virtue's loftier Praise, and more immortal Deed.
Each various Grace conspires t'adorn his Song;
As Horace easy, and as Pindar strong:
Pindar, who long like Oracles ador'd
In rev'rend Darkness, now to Light restor'd
Shall stamp thy current Wit, and seal thy Fame's Record.

An EPISTLE.

'Tis tasteless all! I wish that I was hurl'd
By some kind Tempest to a calmer World!
To those blest Isles, in ancient Song renown'd,
Where with eternal Spring the smiling Year is crown'd.
Where Nature's Bounty and the wealthy Soil,
Enrich the Rustics, and excuse their Toil:
Each grateful Fruit the loaded Trees produce;
The generous Wine bestows a nobler Juice.
No Misers there amass an useless Store,
Curs'd with the Knowledge of a fatal Ore:
All there are equal, all are there content,
And all are free, for all are innocent.
Such Man was made, and had continued still,
Wou'd he have liv'd in Ignorance of Ill:
But he too soon forsook that peaceful Life,
From wicked Knowledge sprung domestick Strife,
The Wife deceives the Man, the Man upbraids the Wife.
Hence endless Feuds and hateful Discords grow;
And still, like Streams, they widen as they flow.
Teach me, who from this odious World would run,
Where most are Wicked, or by such undone,
This Scene of Guilt and Wretchedness to shun.

Teach you! There's no Place free, there's no Retreat
Where Innocence can hope to fix her Seat.
Shou'd you, like Hermits, in a narrow Cell,
Break your short Slumbers by the midnight Bell,
By niggard Measure bound your scanted Food,
Drink the chill Waters of the icey Flood,
And for your chiefest Dainties search the Wood.
Think you that restless Thoughts you can exclude?
That anxious Care will fly your Solitude?

Methinks you tell me this; and 'tis too true:
For who can fly when following Cares pursue?
Our speedy Discontents outstrip the Mind;
What Fugitive can leave himself behind?
But I repeat what you much better know:
What the old Sabine taught so long ago.
His chearful Page consumes the Winter's Day,
And wastes the nightly Taper's paler Ray:
By his instructive Lines my Spleen is eas'd,
And I grow wiser as I grow more pleas'd.
For he alone those Depths of Wit could reach
Which form the Poet to delight and teach.

Ecce Homo. An Ode.

I.

See! how the sanguine Streams run down,
And bath his heav'nly Face with Gore:
Those sacred Streams, whose inexhausted Store
A World of Sin must drown.
With Thorns his wounded Temples crown'd,
With dropping Blood are hung around:
Those Drops which our lost Whiteness must restore.
See how, the regal Purple glows;
Vain Insult of tyrannic Pride!
See how, with nobler Purple dy'd,
His furrow'd Sides the livid Stripes disclose.
Those livid Stripes, with virtuous Smart,
A Cure to our Disease impart.
See! in his Hand, whose Fate of old
The dying patriarch to his Sons foretold,
For Juda's Sceptre, for the awful Rod
Of high Command, an useless Bulrush nod.

II.

In vain the Romans threat, the Jews deride;
Nor know their King in his diminish'd State:
How distant from our Hopes, they cry'd,
Is this Deliv'rer, long reserv'd by Fate?

Behold the Man! O! yet behold!
And gaze till Tears have made you blind,
Those Sorrows never to be told,
That silent Grief, that Air resign'd:
How he appeals, with up-cast Eyes,
To his great Father, and his native Skies.
In ev'ry Feature, ev'ry Line,
The Characters unalter'd shine
Of Goodness and of Love divine.
'Twas only Love Divine that cou'd sustain
This cruel agonizing Pain:
Th' eternal Word in human Flesh array'd,
The Maker thus redeem'd whom he had made:
And for lost Man th' inestimable Ransom pay'd.

III.

Wretch! can'st thou think on this, and yet not feel
The thorny Wreath, the biting Steel,
Which pierc'd his Hands and Feet, and gor'd his tender Side!
For thee he bled, for thee he dy'd:
All this for ruin'd Man he bore,
And open'd heav'nly Mercy's boundless Store.
Can'st thou, by him redeem'd, deny
For him to bleed, for him to dy?
O thou who singly can'st for all suffice!
Our reconciling Priest! our spotless Sacrifice!
Thou, the great Father's co-eternal Son!
Whose ever-during Being with no Time begun.

Propitious God! thy gracious Aid impart
To crucify this sinful Heart,
Transfix'd, like thine, with sympathizing Smart.
Forbid it, Lord! that I untouch'd should be
With Suff'rings from myself transferr'd on Thee.

IV.

And what, alas! can I bestow?
My Eyes! bid all your Fountains flow!
Too mean, alas! the watry Show'r!
My Veins! your purple Torrents pour:
Unequal all to what I owe!
No! tho' in gushing Tears dissolve my Brain,
And Life, exhausted, ebb at every Vein,
Nor cou'd the gushing Tears prevail,
That Inundation of my Eye!
Nor what my bleeding Veins supply,
To wash away the guilty Dye:
The Ocean there itself wou'd fail.
Tho' mine is all the Guilt and thine the Pain,
Thy sacred Blood alone can purify the Stain.

To a young Lady.

As Persians on the gleamy Skies
Gaze, and adore the Sun's Uprise;
So we on young Panthea's Eyes.

A blooming Beauty's Morning Ray
Did ne'er presage a fairer Day:
As bright as June, as fresh as May.
But as parch'd Eastern Shepherds run
Beneath refreshing Shades, to shun
The Fervors of the Mid-day Sun:
Our Youth shou'd fly the fatal Sight:
Those Eyes, intolerably bright,
Dart scorching Fires, and dazzling Light.

To my Brother at St. John's College in Cambridge.

Blest be the Man, who first the Method found
In Absence to discourse, and paint a Sound!
This Praise old Greece to Tyrian Cadmus gives;
And still the Author by th' Invention lives:
Still may he live, and justly famous be,
Whose Art assists me to converse with thee!
All Day I pensive sit, but not alone;
And have the best Companions when I've none:
I read great Tully's Page, and wond'ring find
The heav'nly Doctrine of th' immortal Mind;
An Axiom first by Parent Nature taught,
An inborn Truth, which proves itself by Thought.
But when the Sun declines the Task I change,
And round the Walls and antick Turrets range;
From hence a vary'd Scene delights the Eyes,
See! here Augusta's massive Temples rise,
There Meads extend, and Hills support the Skies;

See! there the Ships, an anchor'd Forest ride,
And either India's Wealth enrich the Tide.

Thrice happy you, in Learning's peaceful Seat!
No noisy Guards disturb your blest Retreat:
Where, to your Cell retir'd, you know to choose
The wisest Author, or the sweetest Muse.
Let useful Toil employ the busy Light,
And steal a restless Portion from the Night;
With Thirst of Knowledge wake before the Day,
Prevent the Sun, and chide his tardy Ray:
When chearful Larks their early Anthem sing,
And op'ning Winds refreshing Odours bring;
When from the Hills you see the Morning rise,
As fresh as Lansdown's Cheeks, and bright as Windham's Eyes.

But when you leave your Books, as all must find
Some Ease requir'd t'indulge the lab'ring Mind;
With such Companions mix, such Friendships make,
As not to choose what you must soon forsake:
Mark well thy Choice; let Modesty, and Truth,
And constant Industry adorn the Youth.
In Books good Subjects for Discourse are found;
Such be thy Talk when friendly Tea goes round:
Mirth more than Wine the drooping Spirits chears,
Revives our Hopes, and dissipates our Fears;
From Circe's Cup, immeasur'd Wine, refrain,
Start backward, and reject th' untasted Bane.

Perhaps to neighb'ring Shades you now repair,
To look abroad and taste the scented Air:

Survey the useful Labours of the Swain,
The tedded Grass, and Sheaves of ripen'd Grain;
The loaded Trees with blushing Apples grac'd,
Or hardy Pears, which scorn the wintry Blast.
Or see the sturdy Hinds from Harvest come,
To waste the setting Suns in rural Mirth at Home.
Now on the Banks of silver Cam you stray;
While thro' the twisted Boughs the Sun-Beams play,
And the clear Stream reflects the trembling Ray.

Think, when you tread the venerable Shade,
Here Cowley sung, and tuneful Prior play'd.
O! would the Muse thy youthful Breast inspire
With charming Raptures and Poetick Fire!
Then thou might'st sing, (who better claims thy Lays?)
A tributary Strain to Oxford's Praise:
Thy humble Verse from him shall Fame derive,
And grac'd with Harley's Name for ever live.
First sing the Man in constant Temper found,
Unmov'd when Fortune smil'd, undaunted when she frown'd.
A Mind above Rewards, serenely great,
And equal to the Province of the State:
Thence let thy Muse to private Life descend,
Nor in the Patriot's Labours lose the Friend.

Written in a Book of Novels.

Methinks that reading these Romances
Is just like dancing Country Dances:
All in the same dull Measures move,
Adventures brave and constant Love;
Each Pair in formal Order tread
The Steps their Predecessors led.

To a Gentleman in Love.

Say, in what gentle Sounds, what healing Strain,
The friendly Muse shall sooth the wounded Swain?
Thy self, the Muses Servant, best may know
To mourn in moving Verse the latent Woe:
Such Verse where Fear and humble Passion speak,
Where crowding Thoughts in soft Confusion break,
With falt'ring Eloquence the Fair might move,
Tho' cold as Northern Snows to mutual Love.
Tho' that perhaps thou hast in vain essay'd:
The Muse, at best, is but a faithless Aid;
So Princes by Auxiliars are betray'd.
Lonely thou wander'st where the sounding Stones
Of Balliol's Walls return thy hollow Groans;

Or where Severus' Work describes the Bound
Of Roman Conquests on the British Ground.
The ruin'd Pile stood threatning o'er the Waste;
Prodigious Monument of Greatness past!
Hither perhaps the pensive Lover goes,
To shun his chearful Friends, and speak his Woes.
How art thou chang'd? Thou! who wert always known,
With modest Wit our temp'rate Mirth to crown.
What? Cannot Politicks and deep Debate
What menaces the Church, or shakes the State,
How great Eugenius clouds the waning Moon,
What Spain intends, or they who drink the Rhone,
From thy unquiet Breast these Cares remove?
This 'tis, unhappy Youth! to be in Love.

Or when thy jocund Friends the Board surround,
With rural Stores and native Liquors crown'd,
Such as the British Swains, industrious, drain,
From blushing Apples, or the bearded Grain;
The love-sick Youth discovers his Surprize,
By faded Cheeks and unregarding Eyes:
By rising Sighs which heave his struggling Breast,
And wand'ring Speech with sudden Pause supprest.
All smile; and some with friendly Anger chide,
Some pity thy Distress, but most deride:
While you sit by, with careless Head reclin'd;
The Fair alone employs your absent Mind.
We by your Doctrines may perhaps improve
For we, alas! are Hereticks in Love:

We may with Vows of Constancy make bold;
But you de Jure love—to have and hold.

Amantem languor & silentium
Arguit, & latere
Petitus imo spiritus.

Hor. Epod.

To Mrs. Elizabeth Blackler, playing on the Harpsichord.

ODE.

I.

While our charm'd Eyes with Wonder gaze
On her, whose Beauty is her meanest Praise,
What sudden Harmony of Sound!
Descending Heav'n is all around!
Some unseen Pow'r! it can be only such,
No mortal Touch
Can with such Rapture strike the Mind:
Such heav'nly Awe with Pleasure join'd.
See! every Faculty with Transport fill'd:
The active Blood forgets its Course,
Flows back, and trembles at its Source;
And ev'ry heaving Pulse is still'd.
See! ev'ry Sense in sweet Oblivion lye;
And Thought admits a Pause in Ecstasy.

II.

See! how the trembling Strings her Hand obey:
'Tis she! 'tis she who deals around
The magick Properties of Sound;
The vary'd Passions own her pow'rful Sway.
Corroding Grief! and gloomy Care!
Black Melancholy! wild Despair!
Far from this chearful Scene be gone,
Back to your dismal, hateful Cell:
There fix your arbitrary Throne,
Where Darkness and Confusion dwell.
Before the Pow'r of Harmony
The vanquish'd Dæmons wing their Flight,
To spacious Realms of genuine Night:
There plunge their sullen Heads and murm'ring lye.
While new-born Joys around impart
A quicker Pulse to ev'ry Heart;
And bid the busy Spirits flow,
Diffusing Life and Gladness as they go:
When sprightly Measures break the Trance,
And Motion now renews her interrupted Dance.

III.

What Praise is thine, harmonious Maid?
What Thanks for all thy Wonders shall be pay'd?
Yet what the Sister-Art can give
Disdain not, Fairest! to receive:
The Sister-Art can save from Death
The Pow'r of skilful Hands and tuneful Breath.

Forbear, ambitious Muse! forbear;
Nor with rude Transport interrupt her Strain:
She strikes the vocal Strings again,
And Praise itself becomes Detraction here.
See! the Musicians of the Sky
Descending fill the shining Air;
And see! they hover o'er the Fair,
And hang, with silent Rapture on her Harmony.
Her Harmony, which well may show
To all above, as well as all below,
That what was Art before is Inspiration now.

On an unknown generous Person.

'Tis Virtue to the highest Pitch to raise,
At once to merit, and decline the Praise:
While conscious inward Joy and deep Delight
Approve the Doer, and the Deed requite.
Tho' modest Worth its own Desert may wrong.
Yet ev'n from Silence he demands a Tongue,
Who like dispensing Providence bestows:
The Good confers, concealing the Dispose:
So oft descending Pow'rs, in Mists array'd,
Veil'd the bright Glory with impervious Shade.

Written by Lady Jane Grey, when Prisoner in the Tower, with her Pin on her Chamber Wall.

ENGLISH'D.

Let no Distress be foreign to your Mind
That may but possibly befall Mankind:
My Lot To-day, To-morrow you may find.

The PORTRAIT.

Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabellâ
Vita ------
Hor.

On what wou'd I my Wishes fix?
'Tis not upon a Coach and Six:
'Tis not your rich Brocades to wear;
'Tis not on Brilliants in my Ear.
'Tis not to hurry up and down
To Tunbridge, Epsom, Kensington;
Much less to rub my wakeful Eyes
At Basset, till the Sun shou'd rise:
Had I a Foe I meant to curse,
Nay, Rival, I'd not wish her worse.
For once, to tell you what's the Lot
I like, I've told you what 'tis not;

A lazy Life I first wou'd choose,
A lazy Life best suits the Muse:
A few choice Books of ev'ry Sort;
But none that meddle with the Court.
Small Thoughts for Cloaths; 'tis all a Case:
They'll neither mend nor spoil my Face.
Money! Enough to serve my Ends:
An Hackney to go see my Friends;
That I may laugh if Fops pass by,
And they not know my Livery.
Friends that in any Dress would come;
To whom I'd always be at home:
My Table still shou'd cover'd be,
On this Side Books, on that Bohea;
While we sip on, and ne'er debate
Matters of Scandal, or of State.
For Horace tells us, as you know,
'Tis sweet to fool it a propos.

Dulce est desipere in loco.

Hor.

On a Lady of Quality, saying Spenser wrote broad Scotch.

Thee, Spenser, emulous of Homer's Fame,
With jealous Pride the rival Nations claim:
Thy Residence Ierne's wintry Isle,
England thy Birth, and Scotia claims thy Stile.

Buchananus ad Neæram.

IMITATED.

Tho' present I can only move
Relentless Hate, or rig'rous Scorn,
The Fair, insensible to Love,
Does kindly for my Absence mourn.
Does Pity come to my Relief?
Is Love triumphant o'er Disdain?
No! 'tis to her the Cause of Grief
That she no more enjoys my Pain.

PASTORAL.

In Memory of Mrs. Elizabeth Blackler, 1717.

Mourn, Shepherds! mourn the fair Eliza dead,
And all that's sweet and lovely with her fled:
Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains their Sighs restore,
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

For her the Heav'ns were fill'd with dire Presage,
Of battling Winds, and dreadful Thunder's Rage:
Descending Rills increas'd the troubled Floods,
And the Serene grew black with bellying Clouds;
From their riv'n Sides the wavy Lightning broke,
Blaz'd all around, nor spar'd the sacred Oak.
Impetuous Rains and rising Torrents spoil
The delug'd Fields, and mock the Reapers Toil:
The Hinds, with wild Affrights, run trembling home,
Thro' the redoubled Horrors of the Gloom.
How oft the tim'rous Nymphs with female Cries
Invok'd the Pow'rs? How oft with streaming Eyes?
But what had they for Innocence to fear,
Or think the frowning Heav'ns should menace her?
And now with unavailing Sighs they mourn,
And watch the lov'd Eliza's sacred Urn:
Weeping they sit upon the faded Moss,
And tell the sad Presages of their Loss.
Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! their Sighs restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Unpitying Fate! they cry, cou'd none be found
But her, so lovely, so belov'd, to wound?
In whom all Sweetnesses at once combin'd,
To grace her Person, and adorn her Mind.
Must we no more survey her heav'nly Face?
No more with mixt Delight and Wonder gaze?
Must we no more the setting Suns prolong,
Charm'd with her artful Notes and tuneful Song?

No more her beauteous Form shall bless our Sight;
Clos'd are those Eyes, and sleep in endless Night:
Those Hands are motionless, that Voice is mute;
And Silence best does with our Sorrow suit.
Cease then, ye Nymphs! your loud Complaints, and show
The dumb majestic Pomp of speechless Woe!
Let stealing Sighs alone her Fate deplore:
Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! our Sighs restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

See! all around contagious Sorrow spreads;
The drooping Flow'rs decline upon their Beds:
See! how the Rose, with wasting Grief decay'd,
Drops all her tender Leaves, and hastes to fade;
See! how the Lilies shed their Virgin Bloom,
And only live to dress Eliza's Tomb.
Yet those by Winter pinch'd, or charg'd with Rain,
Renew their Beings, and revive again:
Why then must Life, frail Nature's noblest Boast,
For once expiring be for ever lost?
For her, the Woods afford a trembling Sound;
For her, sad Eccho answers from the Ground:
For her, the Wind in hollow Accents roars;
For her, the Currents murmur on their Shores.
The Streams, the Banks, the Plains, our Sighs restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Sad Philomel, forgetful of her Wrong,
For lost Eliza tunes her mournful Song:

For her the Linnet and the sighing Dove
With soft complaining fill the vocal Grove.
For chearful Notes, a plaintive Air they sing;
And droop the Head, and hang the heavy Wing:
All wild they range amid the lonely Wood;
Thoughtless of Love; and careless of their Food.
Ye Groves! ye Bow'rs! ye Grots! their Sighs restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

See! how the Shepherds, struck with deep Despair,
Stand stupid, and neglect their fleecy Care:
To her no more they now shall sing and play,
But sigh, and throw their broken Reeds away.
The pining Flocks attend their Master's Moan,
And with soft bleating answer Groan for Groan:
Pensive they stray, and scorn the full Repast;
Nor thirsty, deign the crystal Stream to taste.
Ye Hills! ye Dales! ye Lawns! the Sighs restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Mourn, all ye healing Springs! wheree'er you glide:
Mourn, all ye Nymphs! who o'er these Springs preside:
And ye, delightful Groves! which us'd to shade
The silver Fountain, wither now, and fade.
No more the Fair your flow'ry Side shall press;
No more the Fair shall haunt your sweet Recess:
No more amid the beauteous Train advance,
And, all excelling, lead the graceful Dance.

No longer here shall Joy and Pleasure dwell,
But streaming Tears the troubled Currents swell:
The Springs, the Meads, the Shades, our Sighs restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Let all the Sons of Music join, to show
The mingled Pow'rs of Harmony and Woe:
Such as of old when Thracian Orpheus try'd
The Fates relented, and restor'd the Bride.
Begin! your Art may speak your deep Despair;
But never, never can redeem the Fair.
Let harsh, discordant Strings a Sense impart
Of sharpest Grief, and thrill the wounded Heart:
In distant Sounds the dying Notes prolong;
And with sad Pauses interrupt the Song,
Ye Streams! ye Banks! ye Plains! the Sounds restore;
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

Ye hateful Tow'rs! where lov'd Eliza fell;
Who all your savage Cruelties can tell?
How oft have you conceal'd the horrid Scene
Of Death and Murther, in your guilty Den?
Did we to you, to you entrust the Fair?
Thus do you guard, and thus restore your Care?
Relentless you your Charge will ever keep,
Where rival Queens and beauteous Dudley sleep.
There rest alike the Guilty and the Just,
While only Virtue triumphs in the Dust.

This Crime with late, repentant Grief atone;
Let living Sorrow touch the senseless Stone:
Thou , Julian Mole! our hollow Sighs restore.
And join to mourn Eliza now no more.

The Muse alone this Privilege can claim,
Among the Stars to fix a deathless Name:
She rais'd of old to those divine Abodes
Whom Arts or Virtues equal'd with the Gods.
She can afar descry, with piercing Eyes,
Eliza, gliding thro' the open Skies:
Point out the radiant Stream that gilds her Way;
And lambent Glories which around her play.
And you, to whom your bounteous Stars impart
The Love of sacred Lays and Phœbus' Art!
With rev'rend Awe attend; and listen well
To what the Priestess of the Muse shall tell.
When on that Day, most gladsom of the Year,
On which Gæcilia marks the Calendar,
With emulating Skill the Saint you grace,
Let lov'd Eliza hold the second Place:
So shall her Fame Life's hasty Date prolong,
In spight of Death's fell Rage, and Time's injurious Wrong,
And ever flourish, ever live, in never-dying Song.

Mrs. B. was buried near Henry VIIIth; Wives, and, as is supposed near Lady Jane Grey.

The white Tower.

Mary, Queen of Scots, Farewel to Buxton.

On the foregoing Lines.

[_]

Buxtona, quæ calidis celebrabere nomine lymphis,
Forte mihi posthac non adeunda, vale.

Buxton! whose healing Spring, salubrious Flood,
The royal Mother of the Scottish Blood
Deign'd celebrate in Verse, to be her Theme
Shall make thee rival Aganippe's Stream.

My own EPITAPH.

Falsly this wounded Stone pretends to show
The Inmate of the silent Cell below;
'Tis not that Being, rational, combin'd
Of finer Clay, and the celestial Mind,
But mould'ring Dust to its first Bed resign'd.
Thou sacred, plastic Pow'r! whose Book contains
Our number'd Fibres, our minutest Veins!
These Atoms, in successive Changes tost,
Thro' ev'ry Element dispers'd and lost,
Again from ev'ry Element shall come,
When thy dread Summons calls them from the Tomb;
Again the pristine Structure shall complete,
And wait their Doom at thy decisive Seat.

Then grant these mortal Optics firmer Ray
May thee, the Source of Light immense! survey,
Complete thy chosen Blest, and this Desire
Which holy Hope and stedfast Faith inspire,
To join my Voice to thy immortal Choir.

PASTORAL.

On a rural Amour.

Tell me, O! tell me, why with cold Disdain
You scorn the Passion of an artless Swain?
Why now with haughty Charms and conscious Pride,
You frown severe, and turn your Head aside?
Perhaps my Form and Courtship rude are thought;
Love is not unsincere because untaught.
Far from your Town, and distant from Resort,
In Woods has been my Business and my Sport:
Yet Love, if pleasing Tales may be believ'd
From antient Bards to list'ning Youth deriv'd,
Has in the shady Forest's dark Retreat
Compos'd his Bow'r, and fix'd his rural Seat.
They say the Mother and the Queen of Love
Forsook the starry Skies, and chose to rove,
And trace a fav'rite Shepherd thro' the Grove.
And some good Gentry in our Town, 'tis said,
Have met their Lovers in the neighb'ring Glade:
Not that I close Intrigues to Light would bring,
But you perhaps have heard of such a Thing:

By these Examples warn'd, fair Maid! remove
That Pride that is the Obstacle of Love.
This Form, the Object you so much despise,
Our Country Maids beheld with other Eyes:
With envious Care and rival Art they strove
Who first should gain, and longest keep my Love.
I lov'd, or thought I lov'd; what Youth could choose?
So fairly proffer'd, how could I refuse?
But then no Pain, no anxious Care I knew;
That future Triumph was reserv'd for you.
You may remember, I remember well,
And still my Thoughts on that lov'd Image dwell,
'Twas when the Earth had welcom'd jolly May,
Beneath an Oak upon the Sands I lay,
And with my Hook deceiv'd the finny Prey.
Careless I lay, for then my only Care
Was o're the Lawns to course the tim'rous Hare;
Or to disperse the missive Deaths in Air.
With youthful Pride and vain Delight I knew,
How my strong Arm could bend the stubborn Yew;
But when you came, I to my Grief confest
A surer Marksman that had pierc'd my Breast.
You came, and chose that Oak for your Retreat,
Where I was shelter'd from the Noon-tyde Heat:
Your shining Hat was with a Ribbon ty'd,
And but adorn'd the Charms it seem'd to hide,
With modest Gaiety and decent Pride.
You sate, and on my sportive Labours smil'd:
While I the Fish, the Fisher you beguil'd:
'Twas from that fatal Day the Source arose
Of all my Griefs, the Date of all my Woes;

I'll call it so, unless you should relent,
And prove it blest and happy by th' Event
How oft, at your Approach, my faded Cheek
Betray'd the Passion which I durst not speak?
Aw'd by your Eyes, how oft the Accents hung
And dy'd imperfect on my falt'ring Tongue?
By Day, the woodland Solitudes I sought,
To hide my Passion, and indulge my Thought:
By Night, upon the Ground my Limbs I spread,
And on the mossy Roots repos'd my Head.
My alter'd Eyes roll'd wild with gloomy Care;
And Doubt increasing ended in Despair:
My love-sick Heart no longer cou'd maintain
Its vital Functions, or support its Pain.
'Twas then you came, by kind Compassion mov'd,
With Looks which bid me hope to be belov'd.
Why are you chang'd? while I am still the same,
While Life shall feed the inexausted Flame:
While your dear Image in my tortur'd Breast,
Disturbs my haunted Dreams and broken Rest;
I madly from pursuing Love would run,
And bear about the Torments which I shun.
So strive the feather'd Tribes in vain to fly
The Fowler's certain Arm and constant Eye:
While on extended Pennons they forsake
The shelt'ring Thicket, or the sedgy Lake,
Dang'rous their Flight, nor less unsafe their Stay,
Fate, swifter-wing'd, o'ertakes their mounting Way.

ARIETTE.

Hark, Lucinda! to the wooing,
Murm'ring Turtles am'rous cooing,
Shelly Grotts their Loves rebound:
Streams along the Pebles trilling,
Hearts with trembling Pleasure filling,
Sweetly answer to the Sound.

Twisted Boughs above combining.
Loving Joy around them twining,
Guard thee with a mingled Shade:
Purple Vi'lets, blushing Roses,
Od'rous Flow'rs in various Posies,
Dress thy Bosom and thy Head.

See! their tender Beings flying!
Quickly fading, quickly dying!
Beauty ne'er was fram'd to last:
Let the Lover once advise thee,
To improve the Good that flies thee;
Soon, ah! soon the Season's past.

Air with hollow Tempests swelling,
Gathering Clouds a Storm foretelling,

Shrowd in Night the fairest Day:
Springing Beauty, gayly blooming,
Sees not lowry Winter's coming,
To December change her May.

Set by Mr. Thomas Roseingrave.

On Lisetta.

Lisetta , full of coquette Airs,
For fluttering Coxcombs lays her Snares:
But, view that glossy white and red,
That Birdlime is too coarsely spread.

On loving once and loving often.

Once loving is a gen'ral Fashion,
To Nature 'tis a Tribute paid:
But, loving often shews that Passion
Despises Reason's feeble Aid.

Against Chance and Fate.

'Tis not wild Chance, or arbitrary Fate,
Fond Man! that guides thy fluctuating State:
Poor Reason yields in vain her feeble Aid,
Alike by each fantastick Scheme betray'd.

Cou'd wand'ring Atoms, in their casual Fall,
Compose the Fabric of this wond'rous Ball:
Are Modes of Matter capable of Thought,
With Act reflex, and clear Ideas fraught?
Then well may Chance in endless Mazes run,
And rule the System which it first begun.
But see! the Earth with useful Plenty bless'd,
The Plants of vegetable Life possess'd;
Observe by Beasts, in ev'ry Species, shown
A dubious Reason which we blush to own:
Then thou, whose boasted Power can all controul,
Consult the native Dictates of thy Soul;
And if thou there discern the Maker's Hand,
Confess his Care, resign to his Command,
Others, as vain, to human Acts apply
A fatal Series and Necessity:
And think that Choice, which we imagine free,
Was predetermin'd by severe Decree.
Why then must Man, of Liberty debarr'd,
Or suffer Punishment, or meet Reward?
Whence springs the Difference of Good and Ill,
Our Deed constrain'd, and over-rul'd our Will?
Must we the Guilt of fancy'd Freedom bear?
Why is our blinded Reason forc'd to err?
Does this consist with Rules by Justice taught,
That Pow'r shou'd punish which compell'd the Fault?
Thus vainly in the jangling Schools engage
Fond Epicurus and the Cyprian Sage:
'Till Heav'n the interposing Curtain draws,
A World created, and superior Cause

Now stand reveal'd; and in his Works is shown,
Who long was sought in vain, a God unknown.
From whence this consequential System flows,
The whole subsisting by his sole Dispose:
That his eternal Wisdom does dispense
The various Bounties of his Providence.
To thee, O Man! a reas'ning Soul is giv'n,
Form'd to be happy, capable of Heav'n;
Thy Act is free, and unconstrain'd thy Will,
In Good instructed, and forewarn'd of Ill:
And hence that Punishment, deserv'd and due,
To those who know the Good, the Worst pursue.
Perplex'd and weary'd in the tedious Chace,
Reason thus far a Providence may trace:
Here she must rest; nor can her dazzled Sight
Pierce the bright Regions of eternal Light.
How does it mock her Labour to explain
How we from Adam's Crime derive a Stain?
How can her Force a proper Victim show
Our Guilt to expiate, and avert our Woe?
How in one Person, tho' not mix'd, are join'd
The human Nature and eternal Mind?
How he who was e're Time in Time had Birth,
Uncircumscrib'd by Heav'n inhabits Earth?
Whose sacred Blood, by impious Fury spilt,
Man's greatest Crime, atones Man's greatest Guilt.
Canst thou, who hast with Subtilty defin'd
The closest Operations of the Mind,
Canst thou, I say, with like Discernment trace
Th' effective Influence of celestial Grace?
Can'st thou distinguish, with acutest Skill,
How the bless'd Spirit leads thy proper Will?

Then, feeble Reason! thy Pursuit must cease:
Implore the God of Knowledge, Truth and Peace,
To teach that Rebel Folly we call Wit,
That 'tis her noblest Conquest to submit.
Vain Man, whom Pride and Obstinacy sway,
Persists disputing when he should obey;
To Terms of Honour giv'n he scorns to yield;
And strives, tho' vanquish'd, to maintain the Field.
Here end thy Search; and fix thy lasting Trust
On the most wise, most pow'rful, and most just.

Zeno.

In Memory of the Countess of Winchelsea.

------ Effugiunt avidos carmina sola rogos.
Ovid.

Sad Cypress and the Muses Tree
Shall shade Ardelia's sacred Urn:
These with her Fame and Fate agree,
And ever live, and ever mourn.

While ev'ry Muse with vocal Breath
In moving Strains recites her Praise:
And there assumes the Cypress Wreath,
And on her Tomb resigns the Bays.

What Pow'r shall aid the Virgin Choir
To make her Worth and Virtue known?
Who shall the Sculptor's Art inspire
To write them on the lasting Stone?

The honour'd Streams of antient Blood,
And Titles, are by Fortune giv'n:
But to be virtuous, wise, and good,
Derives a kindred Claim from Heav'n.

Virtue, and Wit in Courts admir'd,
The shining Pattern shall diffuse:
Nor, tho' to private Life retir'd,
Are lost, but flourish with her Muse.

Of those the Sister-Nine shall sing,
Yet with their Voice their Verse shall pass:
And Time shall sure Destruction bring
To wounded Stone, or molten Brass.

Tho' Titles grace the stately Tomb,
Vain Monument of mortal Pride!
The Ruins of the mould'ring Dome
Its undistinguish'd Heap shall hide.

Wit, which outlasts the firmest Stone,
Shall, Phœnix-like, its life prolong;
No Verse can speak her but her own,
The Spleen must be her fun'ral Song.

To a Lady lending me Heliodorus just before her Marriage.

See! Love, by scornful Nymphs esteem'd a Fault,
Here by a venerable Prelate taught:
The good old Man, with rigid Zeal at Strife,
Devoutly preaches up a marry'd Life.
At this th' assembled Synod loud exclaims,
And dooms the am'rous Fiction to the Flames:
But he, such wond'rous Prevalence obtains
The fondling Offspring of an Author's Brains!
With mild Composure, and serene of Mind,
To save his Book, his Bishoprick resign'd.
He thought, perhaps, his Sermons might not bear
The nice Attention of a Lady's Ear,
These Lectures, he presum'd, might stand the Test,
Which all the World applies to Practice best.

Paraphrase on Agur's Wish.

------ Give me neither Poverty nor Riches.

O thou whose Dictates rule this pensile Ball!
Who didst Privation into Being call!
With bounteous Grace thy Servant's Pray'r allow;
Attend, propitious, to my humble Vow:

Some Comfort give, that in the bounded Space
Of human Life may chear it's fleeting Race.
Permit, great God! my happy Mean to lye
Far from indecent Want and Penury:
Restrain my open Hands and ready Tongue,
From impious Murmurs and injurious Wrong,
Keep me remote from Riches, and their Train
Of empty Pleasures, insolent and vain:
Lest my full Soul, amid her flowing Store,
Forget at once her Maker and the Poor.
Or lest the Fire of Youth, when I rejoice
In Wealth and Grandeur, silence Virtue's Voice;
Impose on Reason by a poor Pretence,
Make Vice for Wit, and Atheism pass for Sense.
Unthinking whence that Wit and Reason flow'd,
Can Man reflect, and then forget his God?
As thy wise Bounty has dispos'd my Fate,
Above the Vulgar, and below the Great,
To future Years proportion'd Blessings grant,
Remov'd alike from Luxury and Want:
That peaceful Wishes, and Desires suppress'd
By thy eternal Laws, may rule my Breast.
So shall the Series of my future Days
Attend thy Service, and proclaims thy Praise.

AMEN.

From Boethius.

Qui se volet esse potentem,
Animos domet ille feroces, &c.

The Man who does to Height of Pow'r aspire
Must curb ungovern'd Rage and wild Desire:
Nor yield his Neck, by shameful Passion broke,
In tame Submission to her servile Yoke.
Tho' tawny Indians dread thy Canvass furl'd,
Where glowing Ocean bounds their Eastern World;
Tho' thy Command to Thule's utmost Coast
Extend, and Regions of eternal Frost,
Yet what shall all avail thee, while within
Oppress'd with gloomy Cares and black Chagrin!
'Tis vain, alas! thro' foreign Climes to roam
In Search of Empire, when 'tis lost at home.

Paraphrase on the Nicene Creed.

In thee, great God! my Soul securely rests;
This Faith my Heart receives, my Mouth attests.

In thee! bless'd Father! the superior Cause
Whence ev'n Existence its Existence draws;

Of all that in the Sphere of Matter rolls,
Of Minds celestial, and unbody'd Souls.

In thee! by Nature Two, in Person One,
Anointed Saviour! his coæval Son:
Unmade, begot from that eternal Source;
E're Time or Matter roll'd their destin'd Course;
As Light by Light diffus'd expands its Flame,
The Ray distinct, the Substance still the same.
Unmade, begot, the Verity that flow'd
From Verity primæval, God of God!
One in his great Existence, at whose Call
Emerg'd the starry Heav'ns and earthly Ball.
For us didst thou descend, and deign below
To suffer, and relieve thy Creature's Woe.
Thou! whom, o'er-shaded by th' Almighty Pow'r
Of the bless'd Spirit, thy Virgin Mother bore
Inviolate: Our earthly Mold was thine;
The human Nature veiling the Divine.
Thou, doom'd by Pilate to a servile Death,
Didst on the Cross resign thy weary Breath:
The peaceful Tomb, that universal Rest
Of Nature's Toil, receiv'd its sacred Guest;
Till the third destin'd Morning, which of old
In holy Song prophetic Seers foretold.
With her from silent Shades didst Thou arise;
Again didst Thou ascend thy native Skies;
The great Assessor of thy Father's Throne,
Upon his nobler Hand, propitious Son!
Thou with refulgent Majesty shall come,
When trembling Mortals wait their final Doom:

All who in Life shall meet the dreadful Hour:
All whom the vanquish'd Realms of Death restore
To thy Award. Thenceforth shalt Thou retain
The Sceptre of thy ever-during Reign.

In Thee! the Third of that eternal Trine:
The vital Spirit! Paraclete divine!
Who from the mighty Father and the Son
Proceed'st; with Both ador'd in Glory One.
By Thee inspir'd the antient Prophets taught
Diviner Truths, transcending human Thought.
One Church I own, by Christ's first Legates built:
One sacred Font to purify from Guilt:
That Time I wait when Death shall Life restore;
That Life when Time and Death shall be no more.

On Mr. Pope's Homer.

The Samian Sage, whose venerable Breast
Euphorbus' transmigrating Soul possest,
Cou'd he revive again, wou'd joy to see
That Homer's Spirit is transfus'd to thee.

Par Nobile Fratrum.

Two Youngsters, with the same Preciseness taught,
When rip'ning Time to due Perfection brought,
Observe how well their Principles agree;
An Atheist This, and an Enthusiast He.

The Triumvirate of Poets.

Britain with Greece and Rome contended long
For lofty Genius and poetic Song:
Till this Augustan Age with Three was blest,
To fix the Prize, and finish the Contest.
In Addison immortal Virgil reigns;
So pure his Numbers, so refin'd his Strains:
Of Nature full, with more impetuous Heat,
In Prior Horace shines, sublimely great.
Thy Country, Homer! we dispute no more,
For Pope has fix'd it to his native Shore.

The Praise of Astronomy, from the first Book of Ovid's Fasti.

Felices animos quibus hæc cognoscere primis.—

O happy Souls who first aspir'd to climb,
With glorious Cares, the heav'nly Seats sublime!
Who rais'd aloft the Head, to leave behind
The Crimes and Pleasures that debase Mankind.
Nor cou'd the Cyprian Dame, or flowing Bowls,
Enerve their gen'rous Breasts, or dull their Souls:
Nor the laborious Duties of the Bar;
Nor more heroic Dangers of the War.
Nor them the Fumes of light Ambition warm'd,
Nor Glory them with painted Beauties charm'd;
Nor them sollicited the mean Desire,
That shining Dross and Golden Dust inspire:
But to our Eyes the distant Stars they brought;
And boundless Æther circumscrib'd in Thought.
'Tis not by Ossa on Olympus thrown,
Tho' to the Stars aspires the topmost Cone
Of Pelion, pil'd on both, the Skies we gain:
'Tis thus that Science can the Heav'ns obtain.

On a Death's Head.

Est illic Lethæus Amor, qui pectora sanat,
Inque suas gelidam lampædas addit aquam.
Ovid.

On this Resemblance, where we find
A Portrait drawn for all Mankind,
Fond Lover! gaze a while, to see
What Beauty's Idol Charms shall be.
Where are the Balls that once cou'd dart
Quick Lightning thro' the wounded Heart?
The Skin, whose Teint cou'd once unite
The glowing Red and polish'd White?
The Lip in brighter Ruby drest?
The Cheek with dimpled Smiles imprest?
The rising Front, where Beauty sate
Thron'd in her Residence of State;
Which, half-disclos'd and half-conceal'd,
The Hair in flowing Ringlets veil'd;
'Tis vanish'd all! remains alone
This eyeless Scalp of naked Bone:
The vacant Orbits sunk within:
The Jaw that offers at a Grin.
Is this the Object then that claims
The Tribute of our youthful Flames?
Must am'rous Hopes and fancy'd Bliss,
Too dear Delusions! end in this?

How high does Melancholy swell!
Which Sighs can more than Language tell:
Till Love can only grieve or fear;
Reflect a while, then drop a Tear
For all that's beautiful or dear.

From Owen's Epigrams.

Were now the Strife renew'd, so fam'd of Old,
When Beauty's Queen obtain'd the Orb of Gold,
In vain might Venus, or the warlike Maid,
Or practise Airs, or Eloquence to plead:
A modern Youth would judge with other Eyes,
And money'd Juno gain the splendid Prize.

On a POEM of the Right Honourable Lady M. W. M. in Mr. Hammond's Miscellany.

Where Storms the Sea, and Wars infest the Shore,
Where the bleak Euxine and Propontis roar,
The British Muse extends thy spreading Praise;
And there for Pierpoint plants immortal Bays.
That Orpheus once cou'd draw the savage Throng
And moving Forests to attend his Song,

That Helen's Eyes contending Kings cou'd fire,
That Phaon's Mistress tun'd the Doric Lyre,
No more are Fables held: Since Thrace could see
The diff'rent Wonders all reviv'd in thee.

From Virgil.

O Felix una ante alias Priameia virgo,
Hostilem ad tumulum, Trojæ sub mœnibus altis,
Jussa mori, quæ non sortitus pertulit ullos,
Nec victoris heri tetigit captiva cubile!

O happy she alone of Priam's Race!
Who, free from servile Bonds and dire Disgrace,
Beneath the Walls of ruin'd Ilium bled,
A Victim to th' inexorable Dead:
Exempt from hateful Lots, nor doom'd to know
The lordly Bed of a victorious Foe.

The foregoing Lines applied.

How hard a Fate enthrals the wretched Maid
By Tyrant Kindred barter'd and betray'd!
Whose Beauty, Youth, and Innocence are sold,
For shining Equipage, or Heaps of Gold:
Condemn'd to drag an odious Chain for Life;
A living Victim and a captive Wife!
More happy She, and less severe her Doom,
Who falls in all the Pride of early Bloom,
And Virgin Honours dress her peaceful Tomb!

Occasioned by a Passage in Tully de Senectute, relating to the Immortality of the Soul.

Si in hoc erro libenter erro, &c.

When the foreboding Soul, with firm Presage,
Contemns the narrow Bounds of human Age,
O'erleaps the Bars which Fate and Nature place,
To fix the Limits of a scanted Space,
And, upward on extended Wings sublime
Shoots thro' the vast Abyss of future Time,
Secure that Heav'n in virtuous Toil bestows
A blissful State, interminate Repose.
If 'tis an Error, if the fleeting Breath
Resolves to Air, and dissipates in Death:
If subtile Matter and the vital Fire,
Corporeal Parts, to Elements retire;
While no reflective Pow'r, survives to show
That Virtue meets Reward, and Vice produces Woe.
Willful I err; and with Delight I find
The kind Delusion fortify my Mind.
For, if deceiv'd of her expected Skies,
The Soul with her material Partner dies,
Reduc'd to Nothing, No-where doom'd to go,
If waste, unpeopled Realms extend below;
Philosophizing Ghosts shall ne'er upbraid
The pleasing Error to my wand'ring Shade,
From some new System of the human Frame:
From scatter'd Atoms, or extinguished Flame.

But if wise Nature's Dictates can prevail,
And weighty Reason turn the doubtful Scale,
The sure Decrees of heav'nly Justice wait
A permanent Award, and future State.

The Destruction of BABYLON.

[_]

From Isaiah, Chap. XIII.

Where the tall Rock exalts his steepy Head,
In sign of dismal Rout the Banner spread:
With shrill resounding Cries, and wafted Hand,
Proclaim Destruction to the guilty Land;
Th' assembled Elders summon to the Gate,
In vain consult to prop the sinking State,
Lo! I have charg'd the destin'd Train to come,
Select, and arm'd by my eternal Doom:
To whom my dread Revenge directs my Choice,
The martial Chiefs, who in my Pow'r rejoice.
Hark! how the distant Hills their Shouts rebound!
The Voice of Nations ecchoes in the Sound:
Of congregated Nations from afar;
The Lord of Hosts himself has rang'd the War.
Ev'n from remotest Regions of the Skies,
The ruddy Confines of the Sun's Uprise,
Behold! with rapid March they pour amain;
The Lord himself conducts the vengeful Train:
He heav'nly Temper to their Arms supplies,
Till the devoted Land a Desert lies.

With Shrieks of Horror pierce the wounded Air!
Exalt the Voice in Accents of Despair!
The Dawn appears, the fated Morn ascends:
And sweeping Ruin from above impends.
The nervous Vigour shall desert the Arm:
Unmanly Fears the beating Heart alarm.
Incertain Terrors, ever-anxious Woe,
Keen as the Pains which teeming Mothers know,
Shall ev'ry Breast distract: With wild Amaze
And stupid Grief shall each on other gaze;
As when thro' Dead of Night projects the streaming Blaze.
The Day appears, the Day with Vengeance great,
Sacred to Wrath divine, and charg'd with Fate:
The Day when Desolation shall demand
The guilty People and the guilty Land.
The Stars shall fade, and all yon figur'd Schemes
Of fancy'd Monster-Gods recal their Beams:
Involving Night shall shrowd the Lamp of Day,
When forth he issues thro' th' ethereal Way;
The Silver Moon shall vell her borrow'd Ray.
Dreadful I rise, that pale Mankind may know
Supernal Wrath, and Guilt the Source of Woe.
Then Pride shall fail; and Retribution just
Extend the haughty Tyrant in the Dust.
The scatter'd Few, what yet remain behind
Sav'd from the general Waste of human Kind,
Shall be more rare, more precious than the Store
Of Golden Talents; or the purer Ore
Of tawny Æthiops, on the farthest Shore.

The Heav'ns shall tremble thro' their liquid Space:
The solid Earth start frighted from her Base,
Roll'd thro' the Void, when he, whose Edicts sway
The heav'nly Host, shall wake the dreadful Day.
As from the Dogs the Roe, with active Bound,
Springs thro' the Thicket, and evades the Wound;
As fares the Lamb, whom the forgetful Swain
Shuts from the Fold to wander o'er the Plain;
So flies the Fugitive, devoted Race;
Each seeks his rural Home, and peaceful native Place.
In vain! the Arrow speeds on swifter Wings:
The deathful Sword a sure Destruction brings.
Their Eyes shall see their tender Infants thrown,
Their Limbs all batter'd on the pointed Stone:
Their lofty Palaces the Victor's Prey;
Their captive Wives disgraceful Force obey.
A Race inur'd to military Toil,
The hardy Medians, negligent of Spoil:
Chiefs who behold with undesiring Eyes
The treasur'd Silver and the golden Prize.
Their forceful Bow the warlike Youth confounds,
With rapid Deaths and undistinguished Wounds:
Nor smiling Babes escape their savage Rage;
Nor knows their Eye to pity infant Age.
Thus, Babylon! thy wide-extended Pow'rs,
Thy peerless Majesty, thy princely Tow'rs,
Unrival'd Empress of the Eastern World!
Shall sink in Ruines: As when once were hurl'd,
The blasting Lightnings and sulphureous Rain,
To wrap the Cities, and o'erwhelm the Plain.
While rolling Time the mortal Race supplies,
While various Monarchies decline and rise,

Unhabited and waste, on Heaps shall lye
Thy haughty Spires which penetrate the Sky.
No Arab there shall fix the tented Shade;
Nor o'er the ruin'd Pile his Curtains spread:
No Shepherd there his lonely Watch shall keep;
Nor in the desert Palace fold his Sheep.
The savage Kind alone shall revel there;
Portents of Earth and Prodigies of Air;
The Bird of Night shall clap her grizzly Wings,
And shaggy Satyrs dance in antic Rings.
In polish'd Domes amphibious Monsters yell,
That in the Sea-encircled Islands dwell:
O'er marble Courts shall scaly Dragons roll
Their spiry Volumes; and, portentous, howl.
Thus undelay'd on thy accurs'd Abode
Impend the Terrors of a vengeful God.

HYPATIA.

Deny'd that Fame, and robb'd of that Repose
Which Learning merits, Innocence bestows,
From that poetic Shade, th' Elysian Field,
That Shade at least to Heathen Virtue yield,
Hypatia comes: The dire, revolving Date
Of circling Years renews my cruel Fate.
Did I for this to Plato's Chair succeed,
In Youth by envious Ignorance to bleed?
When neither Virtue, nor the soften Charm
Of female Grace, the Vulgar cou'd disarm,

(To Fury heighten'd by misguided Zeal,)
To future Age I made my just Appeal.
But what detested Spell my Shade cou'd raise
To suffer L---s' Spleen, or Toland's Praise?
Above thy Rage, above thy Flattery more,
The tort'ring Shells with less Regret I bore:
Alas! by thee 'tis Honour to be blam'd;
And to be prais'd by thee to be defam'd.

Severe! tho' conscious Innocence sustains
The Mind, and mean Apology disdains:
That Conduct to ambiguous Guilt belongs,
Or Souls unequal to the Weight of Wrongs.
To such her Fame would inbred Virtue owe,
Whom her exalted Flight surveys below,
Unskill'd to judge, tho' forward to bestow,
Yet to th' Unbyass'd, the distinguish'd Few,
Whose clearer Judgment makes a just Review,
She turns undaunted, and submits her Cause:
Nor shrinks from Censure, nor demands Applause.
Such gen'rous Warmth true Modesty inspires,
Where servile Shame with Coward Dread retires:
Virtue and Vice mistaken for the same;
Yet more distinct in Nature than in Name.

What cruel Laws depress the female Kind,
To humble Cares and servile Tasks confin'd?
In gilded Toys their florid Bloom to spend,
And empty Glories that in Age must end:
For am'rous Youth to spread the artful Snares;
And by their Triumphs to enlarge their Cares.

For, once engag'd in the domestic Chain,
Compare the Sorrows, and compute the Gain;
What Happiness can Servitude afford?
A Will resign'd to an imperious Lord,
Or Slave to Avarice, to Beauty blind,
Or sour'd with Spleen, or ranging unconfin'd.
That haughty Man, unrival'd and alone,
May boast the World of Science all his own:
As barb'rous Tyrants, to secure their Sway,
Conclude that Ignorance will best obey.
Then boldly loud, and privileg'd to rail,
As Prejudice o'er Reason may prevail,
Unequal Nature is accus'd to fail.
The Theme, in keen Iambics smoothly writ,
Which was but Malice late, shall soon be Wit.

Nature in vain can Womankind inspire
With brighter Particles of active Fire,
Which to their Frame a due Proportion hold,
Refin'd by dwelling in a purer Mold,
If useless Rust must fair Endowments hide;
Or Wit, disdaining Ease, be misapply'd.
'Tis then that Wit, which Reason shou'd refine,
And disengage the Metal from the Mine,
Luxuriates, or degen'rates to Design.
Wit unemploy'd becomes a dang'rous Thing;
As Waters stagnate, and defile their Spring.
The cultivated Mind, a fertile Soil,
With rich Increase rewards the useful Toil:
But fallow left, an hateful Crop succeeds,
Of tangling Brambles, and pernicious Weeds;

'Tis endless Labour then the Ground to clear,
And trust the doubtful Earnest of the Year.

Yet oft we hear, in Height of stupid Pride,
Some senseless Ideot curse a letter'd Bride.
Is this a Crime? for female Minds to share
The early Influence of instructive Care:
To learn from treach'rous Passions to divest
The yielding Softness of a youthful Breast;
The Heart with solid Prudence to redeem
From fond, mistaken Objects of Esteem.
To see in Fortune, when she smiles serene,
A dang'rous Syren with a fawning Mien:
But when she frowns, to scorn her vain Alarms,
Secure in Virtue's adamantine Arms.
Or to distinguish, with a stricter View,
The near Resemblance of the False and True:
Of Vice and Virtue there the Bounds to fix,
Just where their fading Colours seem to mix.

Or yet is this a Crime? By Measures just,
In figur'd Space to circumscribe the Dust:
With Ecstacy Proportion to compare,
Of streight and crooked, circular and square;
Abstracted Truths in Numbers to explain,
Or in mysterious Secrecy retain.

Or yet is this a Crime? the Mind to raise,
To follow Nature in her winding Ways:
To interdicted Knowledge to aspire,
And of the mighty Parent thus enquire.

How all that Reason points, or Sense can see,
At first began, and yet persists to be:
How, link'd in Peace, the Elements combine,
And each contributes to the great Design;
Tho' when the chymic Fires their Parts divide,
The Volatile ascend, the Gross subside.
What in her Cells the central Earth contains;
How latent Metals ripen in their Veins:
How ruder Flints the sparkling Gem inclose;
And how amid the Rock the Ruby glows.
From whence the Earth imbibes the humid Stores,
Which weeping Marble ouzes at its Pores:
Why justly she renews the annual Scene,
Now white with Snow, now gay with springing Green.
Whence knows th' refluent Ocean to obey
Th' alternate Impulse of the lunar Ray.
What diff'rent Principles do Life bestow
Upon the Scale of Beings here below;
Whence some have only to exist and grow.
Of these, why some upon their native Bed
Lye prostrate: some to Heav'n erect the Head;
Why some a leavy Shade alone produce;
Why others clust'ring Fruit and gen'rous Juice.
Why some the Air with spicy Odors fill;
Some thro' the wounded Bark their Balm distil:
Whence some have Pow'r to stay the fleeting Breath;
And some the fatal Shafts of instant Death.

Or why those Beings which we Brutes miscal,
So closely imitate the Rational.

Howe'er that Fire that animates their Frame
May be defin'd, or whence soe'er it came;
Which now collected, and in Bodies fix'd,
With liquid Air hereafter may be mix'd:
Yet by external Acts they seem endu'd
With Hatred, Love, Resentment, Gratitude;
Almost the Samian Sage Belief might gain,
That transmigrating Souls their Breasts contain.

Or how the Race of Man perceives within,
That Principle whence these Demands begin:
How Nature does in him to Sense unite
A more exalted Flame, and purer Light,
Empower'd to choose, reject, divide, combine,
With Rays reflected on the Past to shine,
And thence the distant Future to divine.
Whether, distinct, the Heav'n-born Mind controul
The headstrong Animal, the lower Soul;
Or but a Part herself conduct the Whole.
Or of Primæval Light is she a Ray,
Infus'd to guide the amicable Clay?
Or hold these Bodies the reluctant Mind
In Penalty of former Guilt confin'd?
Is she again thro' other Forms to stray?
Or wait the Doom of one decisive Day?

Yet, as she may, her Forces she explores,
And far above the Orb sublunar soars.
She leaves the less'ning Earth, and upward springs,
On purer Æther to expand her Wings;

A nobler Pitch her bold Enquiries fly,
Amid the Fields of her congenial Sky.
She sees the Lights which we accuse to stray,
In measur'd Dance pursue their certain Way:
And thousand Stars, which scarce to us appear,
With vivid Rays illuminate the Sphere;
In deepen'd Spaces, and retiring Files,
Whose Distance hence the weary Eye beguiles.
She sees where Comets trail their fiery Hair,
Terrific Lustre! thro' the shining Air:
Nor Vapours they, whose Levity aspires
At Phœbus' Car to catch Promethean Fires;
But real Stars, which unextinguish'd burn,
Thro' larger Periods of a just Return.

Whether that Spirit which o'er all presides
Infus'd thro' all its equal Motions guides,
Or from the whole distinct, himself unseen,
Conducts and regulates the vast Machine,
Let Heav'n decide; by Reason's finite View
To judge the Diff'rence, wou'd the Doubt renew:
Yet she aspires that Being to explore,
The Source of all, and wond'ring to adore.

Shall jealous Man to Woman then deny,
In these Debates her Faculties to try;
And spend the Moments which unheeded fly?
For this must our unhappy Sex engage
Relentless Malice, and Barbarian Rage?
While Tyrant Custom Reason over-awes;
And partial Humour to the World gives Laws.

Yet these may conscious Innocence defy,
Approv'd to Virtue, and secure to dye:
No Doubt remains, that Fame shall then be just,
When Spleen and Censure shall be laid in Dust;
That future Ages shall reverse their Doom,
Nor impious Envy violate the Tomb.
For Virtue then, with native Lustre bright,
From Time and Death receives her strongest Light:
So when nice Art with Nature seems at Strife,
To animate the Canvas into Life,
The just Obscure the bolder Light confines,
And soft'ning Shadows swell the glowing Lines.

If in this little Piece the Doubts concerning the supreme Being be thought exceptionable, or any Passage in it inconsistent with the modern Philosophy, it must be considered that I was to adapt my Notions to the Character of an Heathen and a Platonist, who is supposed to deliver them: Indeed as to Comets, I have deviated a little to follow the late Improvements of Astronomy.

Hymn to the Paraclete.

At Whitsontide, 1723.

O thou the Third in that eternal Trine!
In individuate Unity divine!
Tho' me my humble Fate denies to raise
The votive Temple, sacred to thy Praise,

Where Columns in extended Ranks retire,
And sounding Arches eccho to the Choir,
Where in the ample Dome the central Eye
Beholds the imitated Round of Sky,
Where on the Roof the artful Colours glow,
Whose Height and Distance juster Grace bestow,
Where Order and Magnificence combine,
The polish'd Marble and the golden Mine,
Yet thine the Temple of my Breast shall be,
If purify'd and consecrate by Thee:
Thither, serene, indulgent Guest! repair,
And fix thy bless'd Abode for ever there.

Whether the plastic Spirit Thou descend;
And o'er my Soul thy Dove-like Wings extend:
The warring Seeds of Nature to subdue;
And call thy fair Creation forth anew.
Whether the Advocate by Heav'n assign'd,
At once to comfort and convince the Mind;
The fiery-parted Tongues, th' impetuous Wind:
Tho' bellying Clouds the sable Skies invest,
And pois'nous Vapours breath the direful Pest,
Yet those before th' impetuous Wind retire,
And these are purg'd by thy celestial Fire.
Thou the chief Boon propitious Heav'n bestows!
To whom her Force recruited Nature owes!
Dispel the Gloom of melancholy Fear,
That all within may shine serenely clear;
Nor suffer Guilt, a worse Contagion, there.

Within my Heart if Thou descend to dwell,
To Thee the Shrine, and to my Soul the Cell,

If thither Thou descend, a decent Band,
Shall all thy Graces at thy Altar stand:
Here Faith to Heav'n shall lift her Eagle Eye,
And prompt Obedience wait attentive by;
Here Penitence shall drop a silent Tear,
And holy Hope the pensive Mourner chear.
Here Piety shall her Oblation bring,
Her Pray'r the Fragrance of an Eastern Spring:
In prostrate Adoration here shall lye,
Upon the sacred Floor, Humility.
Here awful Justice shall her Balance hold,
Where Innocence can turn the Scale with Gold:
Here heav'nly-minded Wisdom from above,
Shall to the Serpent reconcile the Dove.
Here Charity her Offspring shall embrace,
And on her Bosom lull her tender Race:
Here rev'rend Truth, and Purity of Mind,
And calm Content to Providence resign'd,
Here, arm'd with fiery Darts, shall Love divine,
A Seraph wing'd, reside; and Peace shall twine
Her everlasting Olives round thy Shrine.

My Soul, illumin'd with an heav'nly Beam,
Shou'd slake her Thirst at thy diffusive Stream:
Then Heav'nward she shou'd wing her noble Flight,
And float upon the vast Abyss of Light;
Or, from the Chains of Sense and Matter free,
Mount on a fiery Car of Zeal to thee.
Yet this since frail Mortality denies,
To Thee she brings her humble Sacrifice:

Content, if Thou her pious Hopes inspire,
That when thy chosen Just complete thy Choir,
To Thee she then may sing, to Thee may touch the Lyre.

From Job, Chap. XXVI. v. 7.

Of GOD.

He o'er the spacious Void the North extends:
On nothing He the balanc'd Orb suspends.
He binds the Waters in the thick'ning Clouds;
Nor burst the Clouds beneath the weighty Floods.
He, in the deep Recess, his Throne conceals;
And, all above, with gloomy Darkness veils.
The Main he limits with the ambient Shore,
Till Day and Night alternate roll no more.
The Poles of Heav'n, like Columns unremov'd,
With Horror tremble when by him reprov'd,
He, in his Strength, divides the vast Profound;
The Proud, in Wisdom, deeply does He wound.
His Spirit Heav'n adorn'd; his Hand inroll'd
The bending Serpent in a circling Fold.
These of his Works are Part; a slender Store!
But who can know Him thund'ring in his Pow'r!

The Zodiac.

Anne Boleyn to King Henry VIII.

An EPISTLE.

Amid the Joys of this auspicious Hour,
When Fame exalted and extended Pow'r,
With mingled Rays your Sov'reign Head adorn,
Permit unhappy Anne at least to mourn:
Permit one Object to disturb the Scene,
An injur'd Lover and a captive Queen.
That Hand which late the regal Sceptre bore,
And which, when join'd to yours, was honour'd more,
Scarce to its Task the trembling Pen constrains;
So much is Grief a greater Weight than Chains.

Irresolute I sit; alike 'tis vain
Or to suppress my Sorrows, or complain
Of Woes that Language never can contain.
What Nature most to Womankind endears,
Whate'er the first and justest Value bears
By universal Voice, demands my Tears.
With Fear my Bosom beats, and sinks with Shame,
When the Debate is Life, and Love, and Fame.
O! how can I proceed, so fast arise
The crowding Images, and stream my Eyes!

Or whence, my Liege! shall my Complaint begin
To move Compassion, or Belief to win?
When now the Series of a blameless Life
Is found too weak to vindicate your Wife.
To prove that Truth requir'd by your Command,
Let all my Actions be severely scan'd:
To you my Virtue makes a bold Appeal;
Cou'd or your Greatness, or your Pow'r prevail?
Or cou'd your Person, grac'd above Compare
With manly Beauty, and an awful Air?
Or all the Charms that Learning cou'd impart
To native Eloquence, with soothing Art,
To charm the Frailty of a female Heart?
While rival Princesses aspir'd in vain
To share your Empire, or your Heart to gain,
While jealous France her utmost Efforts try'd
To buy your Friendship with a royal Bride,
Cou'd any Arts my Innocence surprize?
For guarded Virtue sees thro' other Eyes.

Let ev'n that jealous France my Deeds report;
A daring Challenge to a partial Court!
There pass'd my early Years, and thence I claim
The Debt of Justice, to defend my Name.
Wou'd two great Queens, by Virtue plac'd as high,
In spotless Fame, as beauteous in the Eye,

Among their honourable Maids retain
Suspected Boleyn, touch'd with guilty Stain,
Dear to their Breast, and foremost of their Train?

Where Virtue fails, what Arguments can move?
Can tend'rest Proofs of undissembled Love?
Such as in Virgin Hearts from Nature spring,
Distinguishing the Lover from the King.
From Pow'r abstracted to yourself be just;
Reflect again, and scorn the mean Distrust.
'Tis true that never durst my bashful Eye,
Much less my humble Thoughts have soar'd so high;
I well concluded what Event must wait
On Love divided by unequal Fate:
When Passion is the blind Effect of Chance,
The slight Impression of a transient Glance;
When Prudence, Int'rest, and the potent Voice
Of Fame conspire, and all reprove the Choice.
Whate'er of fond, believing Maids I heard,
And Men inconstant, for myself I fear'd:
Too well your Sex weak Woman knows to gain,
With fictious Vows, and a delusive Strain;
'Till ev'n our Hearts your Artifices aid,
Or by Ambition, or by Love betray'd.
The Conquest won, away the Victor flies,
To seek Variety in other Eyes:
While the forsaken Fair beholds him part,
And pines with Anguish of a broken Heart.

Ev'n then, when flatt'ring Stars the Passion bless,
And Hymenæals crown the wish'd Success,
Then stern Ambition points to other Views;
Or some succeeding Flame the past subdues,
And Man the Chace of Novelty pursues.
He looks abroad, and struggles to be freed;
Disgusts and Jealousies, alas! succeed.
He wishes for the Hour that shall divide
The weary Husband from the suff'ring Bride;
Or else prevents it, by some useful Flaw,
Some lucky Turn of misconstructed Law.

Too well I guess'd what must at last ensue:
Too soon these direful Omens struck my View,
When first, my Liege! I heard of Love and You.
But then my unsuspecting Soul assur'd
A nobler Mind my Happiness secur'd:
That such a Change in you no Place cou'd find;
Whom Nature had for Royalty design'd,
And pointed out the first of all Mankind.
To Crowns and Sceptres Fortune can advance;
But to deserve them is no Work of Chance.
Rebels and Foes that Valour claims to awe,
That Wisdom, Nations to receive its Law;
(I argued thus,) and he who can persuade
The Learn'd and Wise, may well an harmless Maid.

Witness my Heart from all Ambition free,
No Hope of Greatness ever conquer'd me!
But by your Love encourag'd, I aspir'd:
How easy 'twas to like what all admir'd!
This Truth I now without a Blush may own,
That Love determin'd me, and Love alone,
To tempt the slipp'ry Grandeur of a Throne.

Let these Reflections touch my Henry's Mind;
Said I my Henry? I the King design'd:
Forgive the erring Pen that yet dares write
The past Endearments Love would still indite.
Tho' from your Throne and Bosom forc'd to part,
I bear your Image in my faithful Heart:
Your Royalty with Ease I can resign;
But never can forget you once were mine.
Witness, ye cruel Tow'rs! how oft I call
The Name of Henry from the ecchoing Wall:
Witness the Glass! which with a dimmer Ray
Thro' interposing Grates admits the Day;
Where oft the Diamond, of your former Flame
The earliest Earnest, traces Henry's Name.
No! till I sink into the silent Tomb,
If such your Will, and my impendent Doom,
Shall unexstinguish'd burn the sacred Fires,
Which Virtue warrants and which Love inspires.

Why does my Mind so sad a Fate presage!
Preventing Nature, Maladies, and Age!
When youthful Blood with lively Spirit warms,
And roseate Health diffuses all her Charms,

When ev'ry Object smiling, fresh and gay,
Adorns the Prospect, to be snatch'd away!
To grow a stupid Mass of mould'ring Clay!
Whither? Ah! whither must we then remove?
Where must the discontented Spirit rove?
From Pow'r, from Pleasure, all that here below
Enchants our Senses, all Mankind must go:
But whither? that to point our Reason errs;
And only humble Faith relieves our Fears;
She promises that guiltless Souls shall know
What lasting Bliss celestial Seats bestow;
What blooming Sweets the injur'd Name embalm,
And how the Martyr gains the Victor-Palm.

By her supported, I resign my Fear:
But wounded Honour!—'tis too much to bear!
Honour both Sexes have agreed the best,
The noblest Passion of a virtuous Breast:
To fighting Fields she calls the Hero forth,
To prove his Valour, and attest his Worth;
By martial Toils the glorious Prize to buy,
With Honour conquer or with Honour dye.
In Womankind she wears a diff'rent Dress,
Frailty to guard, and Passion to suppress:
She forms the Manners with exactest Care;
Of each ambiguous Action, bids, beware!
And regulates the Motions of the Mind,
By her conducted, and to her resign'd.
'Tis all, alas! that Woman has to boast:
And all that Woman has in her is lost.
By wretched Anne how can the Load be born
Of private Censure, and of public Scorn?

And harder yet to bear, when disapprov'd
By you, a Lover once, and still belov'd.
Think then what Sorrow I must undergo;
Here Sense of Virtue but augments the Woe:
For her, my Cheeks the glowing Blushes dye;
For her, whole Oceans gather in my Eye.
In vain the Passion strives in Words to break;
The Cause too odious and too great to speak:
If in Disgrace my tragic Scene must end,
And I dishonour'd to the Shades descend.
O! had I perish'd but obscure, unknown!
Far from the envy'd Splendors of a Crown!
Then had at once expir'd my Breath and Name;
As safe from Slander as remote from Fame.

But now, alas! while each succeeding Age
Shall of your Annals turn the shining Page,
To learn how warlike Scotland felt your Arms,
And England triumph'd free from all Alarms,
How potent France your valu'd Friendship sought,
And how beneath your Standards, Cæsar fought,
In other Combats how from Rome you gain'd
The glorious Stile for sacred Faith maintain'd,

There still must I be read; while Times to come
Renew my Suff'rings, and repeat my Doom:
As wayward Humor governs ev'ry Breast,
Judg'd by the Bad, ev'n doubted by the Best.
Where shall my question'd Innocence appeal,
When partial Spleen assumes the Mask of Zeal?
Hard Fate! that I for ever must engage
The various Insults of injurious Rage:
My own misjudging Sex, who, loth to blame
Their own Defects, imagine mine the same;
Or Men who triumph in a prostrate Fame.
And scarce among the Herd of Readers find
One pitying Tear, to speak a gen'rous Mind.

Unhappy Beauty! of our Woes the Spring!
Of all our Vanities the vainest Thing!
Fondly by our unthinking Sex desir'd;
The more endanger'd as the more admir'd!
But for a certain Fall to Greatness rais'd!
But lov'd for Change, and but for Censure prais'd!
Here my Reflections cease; and turn no more
On what my Soul had prophesy'd before.

How miserable is the Pris'ner's State
Who lingers in the slow Suspense of Fate!
Is there a greater Ill?—Yes! one remains;
The doubted Fame which foul Suspicion stains.

To obviate this, undaunted I demand
That at the Bar of Justice I may stand:
Nor there, O King! your helpless Wife expose
To the fell Rage of her relentless Foes;
But let the World decide, on what were built
The base Surmises of objected Guilt.
Or I absolv'd shall vindicate from Stain
Your Royal Infant and your glorious Reign,
Or sink in Ruin, nor my Fame survive:
'Twould then be Cruelty to bid me live.
Nor shall I then, to your Delight a Bar,
Retard the Influence of a fairer Star:
I could have pointed to the Name before,
But Love is timorous, and I forbore.
Yet if Ambition urge, and publick Good
Best by the Monarch's Will be understood,
She too may fall, whose now too potent Eyes
Enthral your Heart, herself your Sacrifice.
Unhappy she, whoe'er like me must prove
The dire Disaster of superior Love!

One only Instance yet remains behind
To plead my Cause, and touch your royal Mind:

When in our common Pledge yourself you view,
Believe me loyal then, believe me true.
How can you doubt me, when in her design'd
You see the strongest Features of your Mind?
So just, so masterly describ'd they stand,
That Nature's Work surpasses Holben's Hand.
O! may she still survive!—I ask no more!
Tho' Fancy augurs greater Things in Store,
To vindicate, tho' late, my injur'd Name;
And emulate, perhaps, her Father's Fame.

If in your Bosom to Conclusion draws
My Fate determin'd, and prejudg'd my Cause,
Yet think, on one impartial Day shall come
The Judge and Pris'ner to receive their Doom:
'Tis certain that my Innocence shall clear,
However runs the Voice of Rumor here.
Yet no revengeful Wish my Breast shall stain,
Nor from the Seats of Bliss my Soul detain:
Be all the Authors of my Wrongs forgiv'n,
And you absolv'd before the Throne of Heav'n!
Yet, if I ever to your Breast was dear,
Your dread Displeasure let me singly bear:
'Tis but a poor Request to fall alone,
For her whom Fortune tumbles from a Throne.

Ye Angel Guardians! who the Throne defend,
And hov'ring light in Air, unseen attend;

If heav'nly Minds can hear a Mortal's Pray'r,
From threat'ning Danger guard your sacred Care:
From foreign Wars, and from seditious Strife,
From dark Conspiracy preserve his Life.
Nor ever, ever let the faithless Wiles
Of perjur'd Beauty drest in gaudy Smiles,
The Conflict of the Royal Breast renew;
And by the false One justify the True.
If ever Boleyn to Remembrance brought
Too late shou'd Pity gain, suppress the Thought:
Ev'n Pity I renounce, if it must bring
But an uneasy Moment to the King.

And whence, O sad Reverse of prosp'rous Fate!
Must these unhappy Lines receive their Date?
Not from fair Greenwich' ever-pleasing Bow'rs;
Not from the painted Roof of Woolsey's Tow'rs:
But from the Gothic Structures, whence on high
Far, far Beneath I cast my distant Eye,
And see your subject River rolling by.
Alas! how diff'rent from the shining Court
Is this Abode? debarr'd of all Resort?
A Band of Goalers, not a Guard of State,
With surly Aspect here observes the Gate:

Where in its Fall the massive Barrier clangs,
And threat'ning Ruin the Portcullis hangs.

Think how I pass the melancholy Hours,
Alone, immur'd in these relentless Tow'rs,
My languid Head upon my Hand declin'd,
Supported only by the conscious Mind.
The Day in pensive Solitude I weep,
And all the Night an anxious Vigil keep;
Or if my weary Eyes, at length opprest
With ever-during Cares, resign to Rest,
Soon start aghast, with shrill-resounding Streams,
From all the Terrors of presaging Dreams:
Nor so reliev'd, the Terrors all remain,
Trac'd in too lively Colours on my Brain;
And imag'd stronger than they were before,
All seems a Vision now, a Dream no more.
The dire Idea by Reflection frights:
Now murther'd Innocents and royal Sprights
Glancing all pale, before my Curtains glare,
Grizzly with gaping Wounds and upstart Hair;
Or Forms of Fancy, or embody'd Air.
Now to my boding Fears the Spectres tell,
How pious Henry, how young Edward fell:
Come then! or calls a Voice, or seems to call
Increase the Number destin'd here to fall!

Here too my poor Remains must rest unknown,
No Name inscrib'd, no monumental Stone:

No weeping Servant must my Hearse attend,
No pious Kinsman, no afflicted Friend.
They fly me all! how barb'rous! how ingrate!
All but the faithful Few who share my Fate!
Deterr'd by their Example, who shall dare
Compose my lifeless Limbs with decent Care?
Who from polluting Gore my Body lave?
Or lay me peaceful in an humble Grave?
Who then shall interdicted Pity show?
Permit a Sigh to breath, a Tear to flow?
Or whisp'ring soft, my mounting Spirit aid?
Light lye the Earth, and rest the gentle Shade!
Such fun'ral Rites alone must I receive
As Enmity confers, or Chance can give.

Pity, the meanest Boon a Queen can claim,
Is due at least to Boleyn's once lov'd Name:

That Name had yet my noblest Boast remain'd,
Had not your Will another Fate ordain'd.
But you advanc'd me to an higher Sphere,
And Pembroke glitter'd with the Brightest there;
With more conspicuous Lustre next I shone,
Declar'd the Partner of your Heart and Throne:
Earth has no more to give,—but you supply
Her Poverty, and lift me to the Sky;
Thither, where Amaranths eternal grow,
To wreath the Chaplet for the Martyr's Brow.

The Hint of this Epistle was taken from the last Letter of this unfortunate Princess to King Henry, still preserved in the Cotton Library, and printed in the Spectators; in which we have a lasting Monument of the Quickness of her Understanding, and the Greatness of her Spirit: To her Wit and engaging Behaviour she owed her Advancement; her Ruin partly to the King's Inconstancy, and partly to Reason of State, which required a more indisputed Succession than could be had from a Marriage not acknowledged by foreign Princes. Tho' it cannot be denied that her immoderate Fóndness for being admired, the usual Result of a French Education, as well as the implacable Malice of a Party who apprehended her Favour to the Reformation, contributed to her Fall: I shall not enter into her general Character, tho' no Writer seems to have treated it with Impartiality,

except my Lord Herbert. But as I have given this Letter entirely a poetical Cast, it was not improper to explain some Parts of the History alluded to in it.

Margaret Dutchess of Alençon, afterwards Queen of Navarre, Sister to Fran. I. famous for her Wit and Patronage of Learning.

Mary, Sister to King Henry, first married to Lewis XII. of France, afterward to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and the Consort of Francis I.

Henry VIII, was both a learned and accomplished Prince; and, as my Lord Herbert relates, one of the handsomest Men of his Time, when he married Jane Seymour.

The Defeat of James IV.

The Emperor Maximilian I.

The Stile of Defender of the Faith, conferr'd on this King and his Successors by the Pope, for writing against Luther.

The Popish Clergy, whose bitter Malice to this Queen appears from the scurrilous and improbable Reflections of Sanders the Jesuit: For 'tis not very likely that a Woman of a public bad Character, and withal so indifferent a Person as he represents her, could captivate a Prince, who did not need to be at a Loss for a Wife at that Time.

Jane Seymour.

I have not scrupled, by the prophetic Spirit which Poesy allows to dying Persons, to allude to the current Opinion, that King Henry sacrificed this Queen likewise, tho' in a different Manner, to the Security of the Succession: Tho' the best of our Historians contradict it, and clear King Henry in this particular.

Queen Elizabeth.

Anne Boleyn ends her Letter with a Recommendation of the King to Heaven, too solemn to be introduced into this Sort of Poetry.

A Presage hinting at the Infidelities of Catherine Howard.

Whiteball.

The Lieutenant's House in the Tower.

Henry VI.

Her Brother the Lord Rochford, Henry Norris, Esq; and others who suffered on her Account.

Historians have informed us that this unfortunate Lady was interred without even the Regards of common Decency: They tell us that not so much as a Coffin was provided for her; for Want of which her Body was put into an Arrow-Chest, and buried in the Tower Chapel before the high Altar. Where the high Altar stood, a Person best skilled in the Antiquities of the Place was not able to inform me; but it is conjectured by an Accident that happened a few Years since, that she was not buried in the Chapel: For in a Cellar adjoining thereto were found, in such a Chest as Writers mention, not very deeply covered with Earth, the Bones of a human Body of a small Stature, the Scull only wanting. These Bones, after being view'd by several Persons, were by all concluded to be the Remains of Anne Boleyn, and soon after again covered in the same Place.

Alluding to her last Words: That the King of a private Gentlewoman had made her a Marchioness, of a Marchioness a Queen: and since he could prefer her no higher on Earth, of a Queen would make her a Saint in Heaven.

The MICROCOSM, asserting the Dignity of Man.

Sanctius his Animal, mentisque capacius altæ.
Ovid.

This Essay of mine was occasioned by an ingenious Poem, called the Universe; which takes in the most curious Parts of Nature with a beautiful Variety: I think that Scripture favours the opposite Side; tho' here accus'd of Self-Love and Arrogance. I refer the whole of this Argument to Psalm 8. where it is expressed with a significant and elegant Brevity.

On this Subject I first intended a larger Introduction: Bus as I design, not Controversy, but Contrast, shall content myself with what I have premised.

Ascend, my Soul, and elevate thy Thought,
To view the Wonders by thy Maker wrought;
To yon bright Arch thy dazzled Eyes erect,
And in the Work confess the Architect:
Then, looking down, contracted in a Span,
Behold another Universe in Man.

100

Dust is his Origin, and Earth his Place:
But on the Mother's Side tho' Man be base,
Sprung from the sacred Sire, to Heav'n ally'd,
The conscious Soul maintains her noble Pride,
Nor is it Pride: What Gratitude were due
Unless the Value of the Gift she knew?
No more, O Man! thy Faculties disgrace;
Nor seek to herd among the reptile Race:
Nor thro' the boundless Fields of Æther roam,
Lost in thy Search—Begin thy Search at Home.
Think on thy first Forefather when he lay
Inanimate upon his native Clay:
The beauteous Symmetry, tho' not inspir'd
With vital Breath, was then to be admir'd.
When Art but imitates in Parian Stone,
The swelling Muscles, and the jointed Bone,
The steady Thighs, the Ribs with easy Sweep,
Which all erect the stately Posture keep,
The supple Knee, the Ancles firm to stand,
The bending Fingers, and the grasping Hand,
The Neck, with gentle Negligence inclin'd,
The lively Features that express the Mind,
When thus, tho' from the Marble hard and rude,
With yielding Flesh the Figure seems endu'd,
How can its Air to Veneration move?
Or the cold Iv'ry warm the Carver's Love?
What this external Mold contains within
Unseen, unknown; to actuate the Machine,
Or why the whole, or why the Parts were made,
Each for itself, and each for mutual Aid,

101

Remains to ask; See! from the Ground he springs.
What Pow'r has giv'n the grov'ling Creature Wings?
See! how to Heav'n he casts his op'ning Eyes;
New to the Scene of Wonders he descries:
Then runs, and leaps, perceives and understands,
And lifts with sudden Ecstasy his Hands;
Say, whence am I? and whence these Objects all
That strike my Sense? He calls, or seems to call.
What is that Sense? how downward from the Brain
The subtile Nerves deduce their artful Chain,
And what æthereal Juice their Tubes contain,
What to the Ear impulsive Air conveys,
What in the Eye collects the visual Rays,
Let Reason trace; in all their Mazes lost:
The smallest Work commends the Artist most.
Yet Usefulness of Parts, and Sense acute,
Man but enjoys in common with the Brute:
They move, and feed, and leave their Like behind:
To Him a nobler Province is assign'd,
To worship God, and benefit his Kind.
When from the Sun his Fire Prometheus stole,
Cou'd that give Reason to the human Soul?
That vital Fire each as he likes explain;
Lodg'd in the Heart, or lab'ring in the Brain,
From whence the circulating Spirits flow;
Pleasure or Pain their Action may bestow,
But 'tis the Mind determines Bliss or Woe.

102

Who was it first the infant Tongue unbound,
And tun'd it to the Elements of Sound?
The World of Beings by their Names to call,
Or by soft Intervals to rise and fall?
The mimic Parrot ecchoes what is taught;
The Speech of Man is the Result of Thought:
The Lark and Linnet Strain their warbling Throats;
But not a Word accompanies their Notes.
O! then to God thy double Tribute bring!
Reason to speak his Works, and Verse to sing.
Since such Pre-eminence is thine alone,
In these great Gifts their greater Author own:
Nor doubt that all was giv'n to thy Command,
Arm'd with that useful Instrument, the Hand,
To tame thy Vassals of the Air and Land.
By this, and Reason's Aid be taught to shear
The bleating Sheep, and break the sturdy Steer:
Thine is the Robe the curling Fleeces yield;
And thine the Plenty of the furrow'd Field.
Go, lure the Falcon from his airy Way;
Not for himself the Taker takes the Prey:
Toss'd from his Master's Hand he soars above,
And chaces thro' the Clouds the trembling Dove;
Or grapples with the Heron, when on high,
He rends her finny Captives in the Sky.
Go; teach the gen'rous Courser not to fear,
When the shrill Trumpet terrifies the Ear:
In equal Rank to keep or change his Ground;
Tho' Thousands fall, and Thunder roars around.
Lybians and Indians, marching to the War,
May scorn the fiery Steed, and rolling Car:

103

Amid the swarthy Host aloft appears
A living Bulk, that crested Turrets bears.
Forward he presses on the adverse Foe;
While the bold Archer deals his Darts below.
Who taught to manage that unweildy Strength?
Or, with the sinewy Trunk's enormous Length,
His mounting Rider to his Seat to aid?
Or pierce the thickest Legions undismay'd
Tho' in impenetrabie Scales array'd?
When Behemoth the ruling Voice obeys:
Or from the Field his wounded Lord conveys.
Go; from the Mountain fell the lofty Pine:
Since all the Forests on his Brows are thine:
And Reason gives, thy Labours to prepare,
The Wedge and Ax, the Compasses and Square.
Raise the tall Mast, and rib the solid Sides;
Build the stout Vessel that, with Winds and Tides,
May seek the Regions which the Sea divides;
Or steer thy Course, where, by the frozen Poles,
Leviathan upon the Ocean rolls;
And the fierce Sea-horse sleeps on icey Shoals.
Tho' he the rattling of thy Shafts deride,
Tho' he be Sov'reign o'er the Sons of Pride.
When from thy Hand the piercing Barb is thrown
The Monster trembles, tho' his Heart be stone:
Wounded he roars, and drags the length'ning Line,
And mingled with his Blood he spouts the Brine,
Lash'd by his ample Tail the frothy Surges shine:

104

Then to the shallow Shores for Safety flies;
While on his Back whole Groves of Lances rise.
Who to these Arts, O Mortal! led thy Way?
To rule the Brutes made thee more wise than they,
The Wild to conquer, while the Tame obey?
Or canst thou doubt that Nature's golden Law
Once kept spontaneous Innocence in Awe?
Tho' then the Rebel Beast refus'd thy Yoak,
When Rebel Man to God his Fealty broke.
What various Life in lesser Forms we see?
Who first instructed the laborious Bee,
Not in our Rules of Architecture skill'd,
Sexangular her waxen Dome to build,
To lodge her Brood, and hoard her luscious Store?
Mark!—and the great Geometer adore.
Unweary'd she collects the flow'ry Bloom,
For Man to rifle the nectareous Comb:
With fragrant Herbs to temper in the Bowl,
To cool his Veins and chear his fainting Soul;
Or dire intestine Tortures to allay,
The lab'ring Lungs, and Stone's impetuous Way.
Nor think thy Maker was in Part unkind,
And to minuter Objects left thee blind,
When in the Microscope thou canst descry,
The Gnat's sharp Spear, the Muscles of a Fly:
These might at Random thy Inquiry Scape;
But there thou may'st examine all their Shape.
There the gay Down of Insects to behold,
Or Millions crowding in the Plumb's blue Mold,
Or in the Acorn view the branching Tree;
Wiser or better dost thou seek to be?

105

Acknowledge him who taught Mankind to try
The curious Use of that fictitious Eye.
Look to yon Heav'n above: was that design'd
To serve thy Wants, or exercise thy Mind?
Tho' that fair Moon, to chear the gloomy Night,
Around thy Globe conveys her borrow'd Light;
Tho' other Stars, each in his proper Sphere,
Divide thy Days and Nights, thy Month and Year,
Beyond thy Ken remoter Orbits run,
In each a System which attends a Sun.
While we look up and gaze and guess below
At what we are not privileg'd to know,
How can thy Pride imagine it shou'd be
He who rules there shou'd cast an Eye to thee?
Be that confess'd; we own his Care the more,
Who taught to find those Worlds unknown before,
Who summons each by Name, and numbers all their Store.
Nor is it long since Reason cou'd invent
An Eye to pierce the distant Firmament:
A thousand Stars disclosing to our View,
Or in Appearance or Discov'ry new,
But what from them to Mortals can accrue?
Their Influence in a Space, so vast and void,
Must all be dissipated and destroy'd.
What are the Beings that inhabit there?
Or how their Nature suited to their Sphere?
Where wou'd that Icarns of Fancy rove,
And then drop headlong from his Flight above?
Ambition! never weep for Worlds unknown;
But learn to be contented with thy own.

106

Yet these are thine; as destin'd to conduce
Connected to thy necessary Use:
As in their Turns they rise and disappear,
To point the rural Labours of the Year.
Led by these Lights, for Knowledge or for Gain,
Launch the good Ship, and plough the spacious Main:
And on whatever Spot by Tempest tost,
Explore thy Distance from thy native Coast.
This little World, where we pretend to Sway,
One Half, for Ages, undiscover'd lay:
The Sailor then, the Magnet's Aid unknown,
And scar'd with Monsters of the torrid Zone,
Believ'd the verdant Cape the farthest Ground;
And all beyond was lost in Sea profound,
Or old Atlantis in Oblivion drown'd.
That other Pole, that sinks beneath our Sight,
They doom'd to Waters or eternal Night:
Not so Columbus; and he judg'd aright.
Sedate, tho' bold, and resolute, tho' wise,
Distress, and Storms. and Envy to despise,
O'er the wide Waves he led the dauntless Crew,
Fame, Wealth, and Empire, all at once in View.
Where other Shores arise and Stars appear:
And the fair Crosiers light the Southern Sphere.
Yet Man was there; tho' rude in Arts like ours,
The same in all his Faculties and Pow'rs:

107

And with the same inventive Wit inspir'd
To find what his Necessity requir'd.
Irregular to Heav'ns more usual Laws,
Say, whence his Train the fiery Comet draws?
Thro' what unfathom'd void his Course is bound?
Or how to vanish in the vast Profound?
Let Halley this, or Newton this explain;
And fix his Period to return again:
While the pale Vulgar sees, with wild Amaze,
The Sword of God, unsheath'd for Vengeance blaze.
Avert that Omen, Heav'n! avert our Guilt:
Enough, alas! of native Blood is spilt.
Yet neither they determine, nor presage:
The Lord of Hosts commands when War shall rage,
To tame the Licence of an impious Age.
A Mind that grasps the habitable Ball,
Aspires to Heav'n, and strives to measure all.
Whether at Objects so remote from hence
She guess aright, or err with specious Sense,
Superior Excellence of Man proclaims:
Tho' oft mistaking in his glorious Aims.
His boasted Science by Degrees he gains,
As op'ning Truth rewards his tiresome Pains:
For that acquir'd without the Labour try'd,
Would sink its Worth and elevate his Pride.
Labour to Man was as his Portion giv'n;
How just and how benevolent is Heav'n!
The Soul from stupid Indolence to raise;
To trace the great Creator's mystic Ways.

108

And much, O Mortal! to thy curious Mind,
Has Time reveal'd; and much Remains behind:
Leave that to Heav'n, and know thy Search confin'd.
Howe'er important thy Discov'ries are,
Another Age demands an equal Share.
Number, and Weight and Measure to explain,
Can thy small Heart this ample World contain?
Yet there has God infix'd the keen Desire;
Excites, and not forbids thee to inquire:
A pleasing Task! tho' none can comprehend
Its first Beginning, or its latest End.
How well was that Advice thyself to know,
Ascrib'd to Heav'n by Sages long ago!
Thy very Doubt of all these wond'rous Things.
From that high Monitor within thee springs.
Daughter of Heav'n, my Soul! for such thou art,
Not of material Elements a Part,
On this fair Scene thy present Sense employ:
But raise thy nobler Hope to future Joy.
Tho' Heav'n shall vanish, and the Stars shall fall,
And rolling Flames dissolve this earthly Ball,
The Just in happy Mansions shall remain,
While Worlds shall perish, and revive again.

Vide Ray on the Creation.

Q. Curtius Hist. of Alexander and Porus.

Job xli.

Illum
Sub pedibus Styx atra videt.
Illic, ut prohibent, aut intempesta silet nox
Semper.

Virgil.

Ecclesiasticus iii. 23. Be not curious in unnecessary Matters.

Ecclesiastes iii. 11.

109

The three Children in the fiery Furnace.

The proud Chaldean made of fusile Gold,
A mighty Image of gigantic Mold!
On Dura's Plain, of solid Metal cast
He rear'd the Frame, immeasurably vast.
Then thro' the East he sent his dread Commands,
To Chiefs and Ancients of the various Lands
Of vassal Faith to his imperial Sway;
Or forc'd by right of Conquest to obey:
He summon'd all; and to the Feast resort
The servile Princes, and obsequious Court.
An Herald then: 'tis thus the King commands,
Ye various Nations, Languages, and Lands!
When thro' the ecchoing Heav'n you hear around
The martial Trumpet and the Cornet sound,
When softer Flutes their Harmony respire
And miscellaneous Stop of vocal Wire.
Then, humbly prostrate on the Ground, adore
The regal Image of refulgent Ore.
To him who shall presume to disobey
'Tis certain Death; and void of all Delay:
That moment shall the destin'd Wretch expire,
Plung'd in the Furnace of devouring Fire.
The Musick sounds, and instant at the Call,
O Shame of human Minds! they prostrate Fall.
With Envy stung a fawning Crew drew near:
Officious to invade the Royal Ear.

110

O King! they said, whose long extended Line
Of Age and Empire may no Bound confine!
Long in thy Favour have distinguish'd stood,
Three haughty Captives of the Hebrew Blood;
Who now, rebellious to thy high Decree,
With equal Scorn neglect thy Gods and thee,
And disobey thy Edict to adore
The regal Image of refulgent Ore.
He heard; impetuous Rage and kindling Ire
With frantic Fury all his Soul inspire:
And, at his Word, the prompt Attendants bring
The pious Brethren to the vengeful King.
And is it thus? as Wrath afforded Way,
And is it thus, he stern, began to say,
That you my Mandates and my Gods obey?
Was my Decree to only you unknown?
The Symphony unheard by you alone?
Yet, as you may, your former Crime recall;
Before the golden Statue prostrate fall:
If you persist, 'tis fix'd that you expire,
Plung'd in the Furnace of devouring Fire.
Is there a God who in the fatal Hour
Can give Assistance, or elude my Pow'r?
Unterrify'd the Brethren thus rejoin'd,
Receive the Answer of a constant Mind;
Our Deity can, if his Will require,
Extend his Hand to save us from the Fire:
The Pow'r of him from whom thy Empire springs,
In our Defence can over-rule the King's.
But be it as befalls; we fix'd remain
Nor serve thy Gods: Thy Menaces are vain.

111

The Monarch frown'd; and dreadful to behold,
With alter'd Looks his flashing Eyes he roll'd.
On sevenfold Heaps he bad to build the Pyre;
And with Bitumen to foment the Fire:
Then that the Leaders of his warlike Bands
In Manacles shou'd link the Hebrews Hands.
The willing Guards the stern Behest obey,
They bound the Youths, and in their rich Array
And bright Tyars, amid the Flames they threw,
While all around the ruddy Sparkles flew.
The rapid Blaze forth from the Furnace pours,
And all the dire Assistants it devours:
In vain for Aid they call, in vain they fly,
And raise to Heav'n an unavailing Cry.
Less swift the Flood, increas'd with wintry Rain,
O'erflows its Banks, and deluges the Plain:
When Tillage, Flocks, and Swains at once it sweeps,
And rolls the Ruin to the gulphy Deeps.
But to the three, amid surrounding Flame,
On Pennons Expedite an Angel came:
All manifest he stood, of Form divine;
Not like the Earth-born Sons of mortal Line.
In his Descent an humid Cloud he drew,
And thro' the Furnace scatter'd cooling Dew:
His shady Wings the scorching Heat repel,
And from the Captives Limbs the Shackles fell.
At large they walk, and triumph o'er the Fire;
Untouch'd their Hair, un-injur'd their Attire:
Inviolate their grateful Voice they raise;
And sing, in choral Verse their Maker's Praise;

112

O all ye Beings! which when Time was young,
From the divine productive fiat sprung:
Bless ye the Lord, and celebrate his Praise;
His Glories over all for ever raise.

Ye Angels! delegated from above,
To act his Vengeance or declare his Love:
Bless—

Ye azure Fields! thro' whose immense Expanse
Revolving Orbs complete their mystic Dance:
Bless—

Ye Waters! whose circumfluous Treasures lye
Above the Vaults of our inferior Sky:
Bless—

Ye who excell in Might and Virtue most
Ye Hierarchs of the celestial Host!
Bless—

Thou Sun, the Fountain of diffusive Light!
And thou the silver Planet of the Night!
Bless—

Ye Stars! who circle thro' th' ethereal Space;
Ye who for ever keep your destin'd Place:
Bless—

113

Ye Show'rs! which on the Earth your Drops diffuse;
Ye Exhalations, which return in Dews:
Bless—

Ye Winds! which thro' the languid Air respire,
Or speak in Tempests your Creator's Ire:
Bless—

Ye Flames! which with destructive Fury glow;
And you to which congenial Heat we owe:
Bless—

Ye wintry Months! unchearful and severe,
And thou, the brighter Solstice of the Year:
Bless—

Ye Dews! that owe to humid Mists your Birth;
Ye hoary Frosts that whiten all the Earth:
Bless—

Ye that in solid Chains the Waters hold!
Ye Particles of penetrating cold:
Bless—

Ye Waters in those icey Fetters bound!
Ye Snows whose silver Fleece bespreads the Ground!
Bless—

Ye Revolutions of alternate Night!
Ye Revolutions of diurnal Light!
Bless—

114

Thou Light, as early born as Nature's Prime!
Thou Darkness, ancient ere the Birth of Time!
Bless—

Ye Lightnings, waving with a dreadful glare!
Ye Clouds, suspended on the liquid Air:
Bless—

And thou terrestrial Ball to these reply;
With grateful Voice to bless the Deity:
Do thou combine to celebrate his Praise;
His Glories over all for ever raise.
Ye montain Steeps! that emulate the Skies!
Hills that with humbler Elevation rise!
Bless—

Ye Vegetables! that with springing Green
Enrich, and beautify the rural Scene:
Bless—

Ye Springs! whose subterranean Cells contain
Collected Humor or pervading Rain:
Bless—

Ye mighty Oceans! which the World divide;
Ye Rivers! which devolve an useful Tyde:
Bless—

Enormous Whales! who roll upon the Main;
And all who glide along the watry Plain:
Bless—

115

Ye Wanderers! whom plumy Pennons bear
Aloft, in Regions of the trackless Air:
Bless—

Ye Savages of Earth! inur'd to prey;
Ye Herds, who the Command of Man obey:
Bless—

Ye whom the wise Creator of the whole
Has form'd erect, and rational of Soul:
Bless—

Ye Tribes! who sever'd from the Race of Earth,
From ancient Israel derive your Birth:
Bless—

Ye who, descended from the priestly Line,
Are ever destin'd to attend his Shrine:
Bless—

Ye Votaries! whose Piety of Mind
Is to the Service of the Lord resign'd?
Bless—

Ye Spirits of the Just! ye Souls who past
Thro' mortal Toils to Happiness at last:
Bless—

Ye virtuous Hearts! where pure Religion sways
And meek Humility her Laws obeys:
Bless—

116

And you, the three, whom dauntless Zeal inspires
To dare the Monarch's Frown and Rage of Fires!
Bless ye the Lord and celebrate his Praise;
His Glories over all for ever raise.

On Lady Bridgwater's Picture,

By Mr. JERVAS. 1713.

Such flowing Lines, and such a lovely Saint!
So might a Raphael a Cecilia paint.
Almost the Eye imposes on the Ear;
Her Fingers seem to move, and we to hear:
While two young Angel Forms stand list'ning by;
And wait with upward Eyes her Harmony.
No Strength of Fancy, no Success of Art,
O Jervas! this Idea cou'd impart:
Thy Pencil other Beauties may command,
But Churchill's Eyes instruct the Master's Hand.

117

CURIOSITY.

Nor wish, nor fondly seek to know
What Fate denies to human Kind:
Misfortunes more severe wou'd grow,
If what we follow we should find.

That Origin of being curst,
Does with the Sex's Frailty suit:
And wretched Man was ruin'd first
When Woman pull'd the tempting Fruit.

How rashly she for Knowledge sought?
The fatal Error chains us still,
How dear our gen'ral Mother bought
The Knowledge of her certain Ill!

In Grace to us has Heav'ns Decree
Conceal'd from Sight Events to come:
While, by our vain Inquiries, we
Anticipate the dreaded Doom.

If silent Campbell cou'd to View
The future Scenes of Time unfold;
Were his prophetic Fables true,
As Delphian Oracles of old:

118

By mystic Arts and impious Spells,
In vain, alas! wou'd you explore,
What Fate retains in gloomy Cells;
What Love and Life have yet in Store.

Our Disappointment gives us Pain,
If 'tis impossible to know.
But what does their Discov'ry gain,
Who feel the Wound before the Blow?

Misfortune, Pain, and Death at last
'Tis certain all must undergo:
Why shou'd we singly long to taste,
The dire Ingredients of our Woe?

On the Thunder-Storm, June 1726.

[_]

In Allusion to Horace.

Parcus Deorum cultor ------

What Magazines of Sulphur in the Sky,
What Stores of Flame and crackling Nitre lye,
When o'er our Heads the sable Clouds impend,
And Bursts of Thunder all the Concave rend;
When Forests, Mortals, and the lofty Spires
Of sacred Temples feel the darted Fires,

119

Ye sceptic Wits, the latent Cause contend:
Till with the World the Controversy end:
Dispute th' Effect of an almighty Hand,
Yet inly tremble at the forky Brand:
No Art your conscious Terrors can remove,
When God majestic thunders from above.
But when again he calms the troubled Sky
Secure to Causes natural you fly:
The formidable Voice of Heaven despise;
And think yourselves the only brave and wise.
Mistaken Fools! 'twas he assign'd to all
That universal Law we Nature call.
He bad sulphureous Particles aspire,
To float in Air, and agitate to Fire;
He guides their Fury and directs the Blow,
That menaces the guilty World below.
At his Command the livid Flames are hurl'd,
Trembles the solid Basis of the World;
Black Smoak and ruddy Fire together roll
From Ætna's Top, and Rocks beneath the Pole:
The central Deep refunds its wat'ry Stores;
And with redoubled Rage the vast Atlantic roars.
Nor only Matter his Decrees obeys;
The various Turns of human Kind he sways:
No giddy Chance controuls our earthly Ball,
By him alternate Empires rise or fall;
'Tis his alone or to depose or crown,
To raise the Mean, or bring the Lofty down.

120

The Lord's Prayer.

Parent of all! who dost in Heav'n reside,
Thy venerable Name be sanctify'd:
O'er all the Universe advance thy Sway;
While, like thy Angels we, thy Will obey.
The constant Sustenance of Life bestow;
And pardon us, as we forgive a Foe:
Expose us not to Trials; but from Ill
In thy propitious Care defend us still.
No Term of Age thy Empire shall confine,
And Pow'r and Majesty are ever thine.

Sacred ODE.

Heav'nly Muse! my Soul inspire,
Tune my Voice, and string my Lyre:
Higher yet, and yet more high
Lift the mutual Harmony.
Wake me from delusive Dreams;
Vain imaginary Themes:
Lift my Voice to him above;
Wisdom, Word, and heav'nly Love.
How ineffable thy Birth?
Progeny of Heav'n and Earth!

121

God e'er Time his Course began;
In his destin'd Period Man.
Offspring of a spotless Maid;
Infant in a Manger lay'd;
Welcom'd by angelic Strains;
Publish'd to the harmless Swains.
Usher'd by a new-born Star;
Sought by Sages from afar.
By the Tyrant's Rage explor'd;
Rescu'd from the fatal Sword:
Nourish'd on the Banks of Nile;
Son recall'd from that Exile.
Heir of David's ancient Throne;
Public Victim to atone:
Paschal Lamb and heav'nly Bread,
Food by which our Souls are fed.
King by servile Scourges torn,
Piercing Nails, and pointed Thorn;
Sol his frighted Beams withdrew,
Struck with Horror at the View:
Cou'd the Sun thy Suff'rings see,
And not sympathize with thee;
Genuine Light! who kindled his
Rising from the dark Abyss.
Nature to her Centre shook;
Ghosts their former Bodies took:
Torn the Veil to common Eyes
Leaves the naked Mysteries.
Was it not enough he dy'd?
Wounds on Wounds are multiply'd?
Can the Dead be doubly slain?
Are they sensible of Pain?

122

Issues from his bleeding Side
Water with the vital Tide:
That our scarlet Sins to lave;
This to expiate and to save.
Scene of Death, O! when to end?
See! his mournful Friends attend,
In the silent Grave to lay
Death! thy unresisting Prey.
Boast thy Triumph, Death! undone
By the Conquest thou hast won.
Barr'd are all thy Gates in vain;
He shall burst the Bars again:
As the Sun in Western Skies
Sets, but only sets to rise,
He resumes, and he alone
Voluntary Life laid down.
Now he mounts again on high
Glorious in his Victory:
Mortal Eyes pursue his Flight,
Lost amid the Fields of Light:
Angels wait him on the Wing:
Hark! alternate how they sing,
Open on your Hinges fly,
Azure Portals of the Sky!
To the King of Majesty.

123

Horace to Leuconoe.

No! no! Leuconoe! seek no more
What rests for thee or me in Store;
'Tis Guilt the future to explore:
The vain Chaldæan's Art to try;
For casting thy Nativity.
'Tis better learn the worst to bear:
Whether we gain another Year;
Or this the last which shall be given
At the determin'd Will of Heav'n.
Be wise; and pierce the gen'rous Wine:
And all thy distant Hopes resign;
When but a Moment can be thine.
And what can envious Time afford,
Which slies while we pronounce the Word?
Then seize the present while you may;
Nor trust To-morrow for a Day.

Pars minima est ipsa puella sui.

This Perspective may teach your Eyes
To see your Mistress set or rise;
When you surprize her late or soon,
Unlike the Lustre of her Noon:

124

What Mouse thus arches o'er her Eyes,
Her Hair what jetty Tincture dyes;
What Cream her polish'd Forehead sleeks,
And what Vermilion stains her Cheeks.
Now wou'd not this convince a Lover
That Beauty is a Cheat all over?
Her Teeth, so far I own is right,
Are real Iv'ry, good and white.

Imitation of Horace, Lib. II. Ode 15.

Jam pauca aratro jugera.

We now no longer can allow,
Superfluous Acres to the Plow:
As we improve our Taste:
We turn them to fantastic Scenes,
Exotics all, and Ever-greens,
In various Order cast.

'Tis now a Crime for Trees to bear,
The Plum, the Apple, and the Pear
Are rooted from the Ground:
While Myrtles here their Buds disclose;
And there, to entertain the Nose,
The Orange blooms around.

125

Behold our airy Palaces!
Our Palestrina and Farnese!
How we in Fresco breath!
Who would not think the lofty Dome
Was lifted all entire from Rome,
To Wansted or Blackheath?

Strong solid Buildings warm and plain,
Our Ancestors could entertain
An hospitable Race:
Queen Bess with humbler was content,
More frugally magnificent,
Almost upon the Place.

If ever Cost or Art they show'd,
Such as Antiquity bestow'd
'Twas to the Public given:
Then let us imitate our Sires;
And finish the majestic Spires
That slowly rise to Heav'n.

The Coquette and Prude.

The vain Coquette you soon may know;
The perfect Tally to the Beau:
Ambitious all the Sex to please,
She likes and leaves with equal Ease.

126

With mimic Airs, and Dress design'd
At nothing less than all Mankind,
She rolls her Eyes alike on all;
At Court, or Theatre, or Ball.
Her Mind important Projects fill;
To make a Party at Quadrille:
A Ticket when Faustina sings;
And such considerable Things.
Of what is new, and what is gay,
Is all she has to think or say:
She only fears some rural Clown
Should drag her from the charming Town.
At last the Youth obtains her Grace,
Whose Merit is the finest Lace:
Who dresses alamode de France;
And bows—with perfect Complaisance.
Another, more reserv'd or rude,
Assumes the Conduct of a Prude:
To odious Man so grave and shy
She scarce can give him a Reply.
Of vast Discretion to reprove
That despicable Foible Love:
She wonders Girls are fond or frail;
And takes a virtuous Pride to rail.
In Company shou'd she be gay,
What the censorious World wou'd say?
But gives herself excessive Airs
Of edifying Zeal at Pray'rs.
She means to act the prudent Part;
And suffer none to touch her Heart:

127

Insensible, as she pretends;
Yet slave to mercenary Ends.
To Terms like these if native Wit
And conscious Virtue must submit,
What Motive is there to compell
A Milk-Maid to commence a Belle!

The Monument.

In vain the stately Monument you raise,
Inscrib'd with pompous Epitaphs of Praise:
By waste of Time, or sacrilege o'erthrown,
A nameless Ruin shall remain alone.
Let servile Poets, in a fawning Strain,
Applaud the Mighty, and delude the vain:
Let curious Art inspire the breathing Bust;
And marble Urns enshrine the mould'ring Dust.
Can these, alas! an after Being buy?
Or raise the Man above Mortality?
May I, in Death that useless Pride resign;
The humble Surface of the Earth be mine:
The Hand which made can recollect the Frame,
Without the Guidance of a Stone or Name.

128

From Owen's Epigrams.

While Nile diffuses from my streaming Eyes,
Love to my Heart Ætnæan Fire supplies:
Nor can the copious Floods his Ardor tame;
Nor are they wasted by the raging Flame.
The jarring Elements the Wave and Fire,
Thus with united Force in me conspire.

On the Death of Sir Isaac Newton.

'Tis now the Night thy pious Friends entrust
To sacred Earth thy venerable Dust:
By Nature doom'd maturely to expire;
If Life or Fame can satiate the Desire.
Immortal and secure thy Name remains,
Which scarce the habitable World contains.

129

Whether thou did'st the levell'd Tube apply,
To bring the Planets to thy searching Eye:
Or rather thro' the Heav'ns thy Spirit flew,
To trace their Motions with a nearer View;
What Force their destin'd Line obliquely bends,
And what in vacuous Space their Weight suspends.
Or to describe how this terrestrial Ball,
Where Man, as in himself, has cent'red all,
And doom'd it ever to Repose profound,
Incessant finishes its ample Round
Of annual Course: Or to the Morning Ray
Obverts its Front; or wheels to fly the Day.
To calculate how distant we admire,
Or how enjoy remote the solar Fire,
Thy Soul th' Abyss of Numbers could explore:
Tho' they, like Hydra, multiply their Store.
Thy Mind, enlarg'd by Nature to compute
Her vastest Work, cou'd trace the most minute.
Alike exact to penetrate the Ways
Of subtile Light, and fine æthereal Rays:
What Obstacle compels them, as they pass,
To march diverted thro' the pervious Glass;
What various Hues the lucid Pencils paint,
How deep or glaring soften into faint;
By what Degrees their kindred Shades unite,
And how their equal Mixture spreads a White.
Sicilia now, and Samos strive in vain
With Britain bounded by the ambient Main.
Of solid Rocks on shatter'd Navies hurl'd,
And fancy'd Engines to remove the World,
Of pious Hecatombs on Altars lay'd,
When the discover'd Truth the Search repay'd.

130

Much have we heard, and something we believ'd;
But see the Wonders by thyself atchiev'd.
Bacon and Boyle thy Triumphs but fore-run,
As Phosphor rises to precade the Sun:
Nor shall our Age or Isle resign the Praise
To Greece, for Sages born in ancient Days.
Soon shall the marble Monument arise,
And Newton's honour'd Name attract our Eyes:
The finish'd Bust, in curious Sculpture wrought;
Shall seem to breath, alone absorpt in Thought.
When fading Letters vanish from the Wall,
And when the lofty Pile itself shall fall,
Shou'd wasting Age, and Barbarism conspire
To sink the Dome, or sacrilegious Fire,
Some future Cicero, in Times to come
Shall rescue from Neglect and Archimedes' Tomb.

To Dr. JAMES SHERARD, M. D.

On the Hortus Elthamensis.

The wisest Man, the noblest Theme to choose,
On Trees and Plants employ'd his royal Muse:
A Subject worthy Solomon to sing;
To sute the Sage, the Poet, and the King.
Bear me, O Muse! where Sherard dar'd to tread
By sacred Love of Vegetables led.

131

Where Athos lifts his solitary Brow,
Or where Olympus views the Clouds below:
Or Lebanon in nobler Song renown'd,
With everlasting Snows and Cedars crown'd;
To paint in Verse the wild majestic Scenes,
And shade their vast Variety of Greens.
May fairest Flow'rs of everlasting Bloom
And freshest Verdure still adorn his Tomb,
Who on his native Isis has bestow'd
The Shades where Ganges and Euphrates flow'd.
The Laurel, Palm, and every sacred Tree
Are his; but yet divided still with thee:
In thy Recess shall all the Muses rove;
And Eltham's Gardens vye with Plato's Grove.

Winter SONG.

Ask me no more, my Truth to prove,
What I wou'd suffer for my Love:
With thee I wou'd in Exile go,
To Regions of eternal Snow:
O'er Floods by solid Ice confin'd;
Thro' Forests bare with Northern Wind:
While all around my Eyes I cast,
Where all is wild, and all is waste.
If there the tim'rous Stag you chace,
Or rouze to fight a fiercer Race,

132

Undaunted I thy Arms wou'd bear;
And give thy Hand the Hunter's Spear.
When the low Sun withdraws his Light,
And menaces an half Year's Night,
The conscious Moon, and Stars above,
Shall guide me with my wand'ring Love.
Beneath the Mountain's hollow Brow,
Or in its rocky Cells below,
Thy rural Feast I wou'd provide;
Nor envy Palaces their Pride.
The softest Moss shou'd dress thy Bed,
With Savage Spoils about thee spread:
While faithful Love the Watch should keep,
To banish Danger from thy Sleep.

The ROSE.

[_]

Set by Dr. Boyce.

Beneath my Feet when Flora cast
Her choicest Sweets of various Hue,
Their Charms, unheeded as I past,
Nor chear'd my Sense, nor took my View.

I chose, neglecting all the Rest,
The Provence Rose too fully blown:
I lodg'd it in my Virgin Breast,
It droop'd, alas! and dy'd too soon.

133

This gentle Sigh, this Rain of Eyes,
Thy Beauty never can recall:
'Tis thus that all Perfection flies;
And Love and Life must fade and fall.

From Horace, Lib. 1. Ode 38.

Persicos odi, puer, Apparatus.

I

I hate, my Boy! the Persian Pride;
Eternal Greens in Garlands ty'd:
And for the Rose, thy Search forbear,
To crop the latest of the Year.

II

To simple Myrtle stand confin'd,
'Tis fit the Servants Brows to bind;
'Tis fit the Masters Brows to twine,
Who drinks beneath the shady Vine.

134

SONG.

[_]

Set by Mr. Howard.

I

How happy is the Maid
That lives a rural Life!
By no false Views betray'd
To know domestic Strife.
No Passion sways her Mind;
No Wishes to be great:
To humble Hopes confin'd
She shuns the flatt'ring Bait.

II

Her Soul with calm Disdain,
Above the Pomp of Pride,
Beholds the Rich and Vain
In gilded Fetters ty'd:
While Titles, Wealth and Pow'r,
The gaudy Scene display;
And Pageants of an Hour
In Darkness glide away.

III

But if some gentle Boy
Her faithful Bosom share,
He doubles all her Joy,
And lessens all her Care:

135

Their Moments on the Wing
The mutual Bliss improve,
And give perpetual Spring
To Virtue, Truth, and Love.

On Shakespear's Monument.

Old Homer's fancy'd Face, a Form unknown,
Survives in breathing Brass, or Parian Stone:
While of the Mind such Images remain,
We wish to raise the honour'd Shade again;
Immortal Wit compels us to admire
The Relique, rescu'd from devouring Fire.
Such Shakespear was; from hence Invention took
The studious Posture, and the piercing Look.
He, nobly bold, disdain'd the Bounds of Art;
And spoke the native Dictates of the Heart:
Cou'd paint the Softness of th' enamour'd Maid,
The jealous Lover to his Rage betray'd;
Cou'd trace the Passions to their secret Springs,
The Pride of Heroes and the Wrongs of Kings;
The Murth'rer's Guilt; and whisper in the Ear
What dire Ambition trembles but to hear.
Fairies and Ghosts obey'd his magic Wand;
And with new Beings fill'd an unknown Land:
Ev'n then he taught the visionary Throng
With useful Truth to moralize the Song.

136

Ye Kings who once our ancient Sceptre sway'd!
Tho' here in Dust your sacred Heads are lay'd,
Afford the Poet's Monument a Room,
Whose Muse recalls you from the silent Tomb.
At her Command majestic each appears,
To claim the loyal Tribute of our Tears:
The Waste of civil Fury to disclose,
Their mighty Triumphs and their mighty Woes.
When Princes fall, too great to fall alone,
We weep those Ills our Ancestors have done.
Such was the Bard; true to his Country's Cause,
He scorn'd to give successful Vice Applause.
Such may he still remain, thro' ev'ry Age,
With Patriot Virtue to inspire the Stage.

There is no genuine Picture of Shakespear. That called his was taken long after his Death from a Person supposed extremely like him; at the Direction of Sir Thomas Clarges.

To Mr. HANDELL.

The Sounds which vain unmeaning Accents bear
May strike the Sense and play upon the Ear:
In youthful Breasts inspire a transient Flame;
Then vanish in the Void from whence they came.

137

But when just Reason animates the Song,
With lofty Style, in Numbers smooth and strong,
Such as young Ammon's Passions cou'd controul,
Or chear the Gloom of Saul's distemper'd Soul;
To these the Goddess Muse shall tune her Voice:
For then the Muse directs the Master's Choice.
Such Themes are suited to the Hero's Mind:
But rural Lays have Charms for all Mankind.
Whether the Poet paints the native Scene,
Or calls to trip it on the level Green:
Or leads the Wand'rer by the Moon along,
While the sweet Chauntress tunes her Even-Song:
The serious Mind with sudden Rapture glows;
The Gazer sinks into sedate Repose:
And each in Silence doubts, if more to praise
The Pow'r of Handell's Notes, or Milton's Lays.
One Labour yet, great Artist! we require;
And worthy thine, as worthy Milton's Lyre;
In Sounds adapted to his Verse to tell
How, with his Foes, the Hebrew Champion fell:
To all invincible in Force and Mind,
But to the fatal Fraud of Womankind.
To others point his Error, and his Doom;
And from the Temple's Ruins raise his Tomb.

138

To Mrs. ROKEBY, Junior, At Arthingworth.

Invisible, and unconfin'd by Place,
Your rural Haunts the Heav'n born Muse can trace:
Where smiling Love attends the beautous Bride,
And the calm Hours in golden Circles glide
Remote from Tumult, Avarice and Pride.
Her airy Steps pursue where'er you rove;
Ascend the Hill or range around the Grove:
Where thro' the sylvan Glades her View she tires,
To count the distant Vills and rising Spires.
There the first Object that your Eyes command,
Thro' Vistas planted by a Father's Hand,
Is the fair Prospect of paternal Land.
For Wealth let others try the faithless Main;
More certain are the Labours of the Swain:
For you this Verdure springs, this Harvest grows;
And these tall Oaks their spacious Arches close.
Or now reposing in the rustic Cell,
Or in the Bow'r of lonely Philomel,
Your own soft Voice assists the Lover's String,
And all the Woods with gay Vertumnus ring.
All shapes to please the am'rous Youth had try'd;
Till with his own the Captive Nymph comply'd:
So may thyself be bless'd; and so thy Grove,
Where conscious Virtue dwells, and constant Love.

139

In Memory of Mrs. Eliz. Bridges, Ob. Dec. 1, 1745, Ætat. 88.

If copious Wealth, enjoy'd to full Content,
Or length of Days in Peace and Honour spent,
Is all the anxious Heart of Man can crave,
Yet here they cease; and vanish in the Grave:
Behold the sacred Stone where Bridges lies;
But spare your Tears, for Virtue never dies.
The visionary Vestals of the Cell
In Solitude and in Oblivion dwell:
But Heav'n to her a nobler Sphere assign'd,
A Virgin Life, with a maternal Mind;
Nor was the Blessing to her Blood confin'd.
Her Heart, enlarg'd beyond a private Care,
To each Unhappy gave a gen'rous Share;
Her elevated Mind Religion sway'd,
Its Rites she reverenc'd, and its Laws obey'd;
Hence each good Work its genuine Lustre drew,
Instructing Earth, and pointing Heav'n to View.
May no rude Age of Sacrilege return
To raze thy Tomb, or violate thy Urn;
But rest in Peace, till the tremendous Call
Shall, from their silent Mansion, summon all.
When the great Master all Mankind repays;
And crowns the Bounteous with distinguish'd Rays.

140

April 18, 1747.

Proud Monuments of Art! renown'd of old
Rais'd to the Clouds above, and roof'd with Gold,
Now vanish'd all! as destin'd to expire
By hostile Rage, or Ammon's wanton Fire:
Yet happy you! for each enjoy'd its Date;
And shar'd at last a memorable Fate.
The short-liv'd Pile which Vanity cou'd raise
Is but coeval with the Master's Days,
Turn'd by the Plow, what cou'd a Foe do more!
Where shall we find the tesselated Floor?
While some industrious Swain, whose painful Hand
With rising Harvest better decks the Land,
To the bewilder'd Traveller shall call
Here C--- was; or here was ---.

141

[When upright]

When upright Rokeby scorn'd the shining Pelf,
Pay'd Gold, but eat in Wood or Tin himself,
When Gascoigne taught a Prince to know the Law,
And Virtue kept the Royal Rake in Awe;
When we have Precedents like these at Home,
Keep thy Fabricius and thy Cato, Rome.

In the Time òf Edward the Ild the Governors of Ireland took Meat for their Men and Horses, and extorted Money, without making any Satisfaction: But Sir Thomas Rokeby, who in the thirty-first Year of Edward the Illd was the second Time made Justiciary of Ireland said, that he would eat and drink out of wooden Vessels and pay Gold and Silver for his Meat, Cloaths, and Servants. Cambden's Annals of Ireland.

Sir William Gascoigne, Lord Chief Justice in the Reign of Henry the IVth, committed to Prison Henry Prince of Wales, afterwards King Henry the Fifth, for striking him on the King's Bench. Hist. of Eng. from authentic Records.

142

MADEIRA.

Et quæ dempsistis vitæ date tempora famæ.
Ovid.

Macham, an Englishman, whom a French Historian or Novelist stiles Sir Robert, having carried off by Sea a Lady, whose Name other Writers say he honourably concealed, but the Frenchman has christened Anne D'Arset, we may suppose he intends D'Arcy, was driven by Storms to the Island afterward from its vast Forests called Madeira. She died there soon after her Arrival, very probably of the Fatigue, and was buried by her Lover; who fixed a Table with an Inscription, and is said to have built a Chapel of Boards ever her Tomb. Whether he got off with his Companions to Barbary, or died on the Island is uncertain; but as Poetry has a Right to prefer the agreeable to the probable, I have followed the French Author farther in Verse than I think myself bound to believe him in Prose. The whole Story is contained in few Words. The Fate of two unfortunate English Lovers led the Portuguese to discover an Island, which we may reasonably judge one of the Fortunate, where the Ancient placed their Elysium.

MADEIRA to MARIANA.
Ye lofty Woods! ye Rocks of rugged Stone!
Ye falling Streams! attend a Lover's Moan!

143

Ye whisp'ring Winds! your gentle Breath restrain;
Be dumb ye Murmurs of the circling Main!
For never Rocks, or Woods, or Streams, or Vale,
Or rolling Ocean, heard so sad a Tale.
By Birth distinguish'd from the vulgar Herd,
Of Ancestors for Martial Worth preferr'd
I sprung: To emulate their Deeds I strove;
Excited much by Fame, and more by Love.
My Youth, inur'd to Arms, was spent in vain
For royal Edward on the Gallie Plain:
For what avails Success, if Fate denies
The beauteous Bride, the sole expected Prize?
My hated Rival, in my Absence bold,
Had brib'd her Friends with Grandeur and with Gold;
And tho' reluctant, and by Force compell'd,
Her Vows, extorted and her Charms with-held.
O! perish all whom Avarice can buy
To int'rest Heav'n in solemn Perjury!
To feel my Wrongs too swiftly I return,
And with a Soldier's just Resentment burn:
The base Ingratitude of Courts upbraid,
In Terms by Sycophants to Court convey'd.
For this dishonour'd and for this confin'd,
Both Love and Vengeance fire the manly Mind:
But now releas'd, my Passion I restrain,
Or Love and Vengeance had alike been vain:
Nor cou'd my Heart its elder Claim resign;
The Vows he forc'd had long before been mine:
Determin'd thus to re-assert her Charms,
I seiz'd, and bore her from my Rival's Arms.

144

At first she fainted, with a female Fear;
But soon recover'd when she saw me near:
For Love was present, and that Fear control'd;
And Women hope Protection from the Bold.
A well built Bark attended near the Shore,
Where meeting Avon and Sabrina roar:
With fav'ring Gales to waft us o'er the Main
In Hope some friendly Port of France to gain.
But Winds arise, Air thunders, Ocean swells:
And my sad Soul the future Woe foretells.
Heav'n was my Foe; I now behold too late
My rash Attempt, and dread impending Fate:
Yet, if I fear, I fear for her alone;
Or for the Friends my Folly had undone.
What cou'd I do to chear the lab'ring Band?
The frighted Fair had all my Soul unman'd.
Now in my Breast her faded Cheek she hides,
And mingling Tears descend in silent Tides:
In mutual Murmurs now too late I blame
My daring Rapine, she absolves my Flame,
The same our Passion, and our Fate the same.
Now Days and Nights without Distinction past,
And all was Darkness o'er the wat'ry Waste;
Till driven beyond old Europe's utmost Bound,
With only Skies above, and Ocean round,
The Sun burst forth; and as the Gloom dispell'd,
A low-hung Cloud at Distance we beheld:
And as the Day the wide Horizon clears,
Now to our dubious Eyes an Isle appears,
Which high to Heav'n her sylvan Summit rears.
And now, perhaps as some Enchantment leads,
Beyond our View the fancy'd Isle recedes.

145

The Sailors ply their wretched Lives to save:
Or Fate conducts us to a certain Grave.
And now my Mates obtain the wish'd for Ground,
Where the steep Shore is lash'd with Sea profound:
Grove above Grove ascends in gradual Scenes,
And golden Apples glitter thro' the Greens;
There from the Rocks the gushing Torrents flow,
To wind in Mazes thro' the Vale below.
Of savage Beasts they found no direful Den;
No Cattle, Works of Art, or Steps of Men:
But, void of Fear, the Birds of sweetest Song,
And Doves re-murmur'd all the Cliffs along.
The fertile Climate and the fragrant Air
Might banish any Sadness but Despair.
The rest entranc'd the blissful Seat survey'd,
While from the Bark I bore the dear bought Maid:
Her tender Frame no longer cou'd sustain
The boist'rous Blast, and Dangers of the Main,
However Love exalts the gen'rous Mind,
Yet Woman's feeble Force must lag behind.
The Toils and Dangers of the Seas o'ercome,
An unknown World must be her only Home.
While my sad Heart was pierc'd with equal Woe
I need myself the Comfort I bestow.
What said I not her flowing Tears to stay?
Beneath a spreading Cedar as we lay.
No more thy Country to thy Thought recall;
Or former Friends: in me behold them all.
When I for thee the bold Adventure try'd
Love was my Friend, and Fortune was my Guide:
The now relenting Pow'rs that rule above,
And persecuted once, indulge our Love;

146

Sav'd from yon Ocean, and together thrown,
In happy Exile on a World unknown.
Short was the Triumph; for the Winds again
Drove back the shatter'd Pinnace to the Main:
Wide o'er the Waves she vanish'd from our View;
With all the Fates of the remaining Crew.
But when the Maid beheld the Vessel tost,
Beyond our Ken, and Hope itself was lost,
For ever now to Sea-girt Rocks confin'd,
Far from the sweet Converse of Humankind;
A while she like a Statue fix'd remains,
With cold Despair that freezes in her Veins:
Then pale and lifeless in my Arms she falls,
Till my known Voice her flying Soul recalls.
What Aid in Solitude cou'd I impart?
Or what the Med'cine for a wounded Heart?
Three sleepless Nights, and three succeeding Days,
Her Head she strove and only strove to raise:
But all in Silence lifts to Heav'n her Eyes;
Then turns them on me, closes them, and dies.
My fatal Love, by adverse Heav'n accurst,
Endur'd these Ills, and this the last and worst.
Beneath the Cedars venerable Shade,
Adorn'd with native Flow'rs, the Tomb I made:
These and my Tears are all I cou'd bestow;
And add the mournful Tablet of our Woe.
Such were the humble Rites that I cou'd pay,
Fate and my Love have summon'd me away:
And you my Friends! Survivors of the Wave,
Unite our Ashes in this common Grave.
If better Fortune to this sylvan Place,
In future Times shall guide a Christian Race,

147

May some kind Hand, as Piety shall move,
Or sad Remembrance of disastrous Love,
The rural Shrine of fragrant Timber rear;
To shade our long neglected Sepulchre
For various Marble let the Floor be spread
With the cold Reliques of the silent Dead.
Whoe'er shall touch on this Hesperian Shore,
This Ocean pass'd and all its Dangers o'er,
When to high Heav'n your grateful Vows arise,
Mix with your Hymns our solemn Obsequies:
Then, when the Priest the pious Requiem sings,
And pure Devotion mounts on Angels Wings,
Severe Religion may perhaps relent,
And drop a Tear upon the Monument.
Our Fate, remember'd on a foreign Coast,
Shall give to Honour what to Life was lost.

On the Origin of the World.

Let those who for their fancy'd Godhead trace,
Thro' gen'ral Nature, or unbounded Space,
With solid Reason and Discourse explain
Th' unreal Idol of their heated Brain.
Whose Deity immers'd in Matter lies;
Refin'd and volatile thro' Space he flies:
The Proteus scorns Detection or Surprize:
The System on a vain Foundation built,
False Shame, and falser Pride, and tim'rous Guilt,

148

Must weakly for a wretched Safety try;
And banish, or disarm its Deity.
Fond Man! who scorns those Principles to learn
Which Faith may teach, or Reason may discern.
Ev'n unassisted Nature bids us look
On the fair Volume of her various Book,
And then inquire, if Homer's lofty Page,
Ulysses' Toils, or stern Achilles' Rage,
The Grecian Triumphs, and the Trojan Woes,
From the Result of scatter'd Letters rose.
If not, cou'd Chance the noblest Work produce
For various Beauties, and for aptest Use?
Did she, that we might see, and taste, and hear,
Contrive the Eye, the Palate, and the Ear,
And all this vast Variety around,
Of Objects visible, and Taste and Sound?
Or were they form'd, of Thought and Purpose void,
By Chance at first, and then by Chance employ'd?
And do we to combining Atoms owe
That we exist, and that we act and know?
Or shall we say this universal Frame
For ever was, and shall remain the same?
Vain Error! by th' ambiguous Samian taught;
And from the fabling Priests of Ægypt brought.
For ever did eternal Planets rise,
And set alternate in eternal Skies?
Or must a first determin'd Point be giv'n
From whence they started thro' the ambient Heav'n?
That certain Point began their vast Career;
If not they must at once be ev'ry where:

149

As seems the whirling Brand, when it returns
In rapid Hands and in a Circle burns.
The Revolutions of their endless Dance,
If unbegun, nor lessen, nor advance;
Were infinite a thousand Years before,
A thousand Ages hence shall be no more:
The part and whole must justly equal be,
Or infinites in Number disagree.
Yet grave Antiquity may turn the Scale,
When captious Wit, and jealous Reason fail:
Let Annals then, and Observations show
The Face of Heav'n and Earth so along go:
If Arts or Arms that ancient World cou'd boast,
How was their Fame in long Oblivion lost?
Had Floods of Fire or Insults of the Main,
Reduc'd Mankind to Savages again,
Tradition wou'd preserve the dire Event;
Or Nature wou'd retain the Monument.
No Trace remains of any that befel,
But one; of which the sacred Volumes tell.
The Miner wonders, as his Search explores
The Spoils of Ocean, mix'd with shining Ores:
Thus empty Shells on Alpine Hills are found,
Or wedg'd in Marble underneath the Ground;
Nor more distinct when on the Beach they lie,
Wash'd by the Tide, and gaping to the Sky.
To sum the Whole in one compendious View,
The Growth of Science proves the World but new:
And Arts and Empire first at Babel grew.
Here first the mighty Hunter rang'd the Plain,
Rais'd his strong Walls, and fix'd his ample Reign:

150

Here impious Men the brick-built Turret rear,
And wife Chaldæans watch the rolling Sphere;
Here, bright in Arms embattled Troops were seen;
And Myriads pouring round their warlike Queen.
This Greece relates; but Greece can add no more,
Till Ægypt lends her inexhausted Store.
In vain of countless Ages they may boast;
Fancy herself in that Abyss is lost:
That round of vast Eternity to feign,
The Year of Plato must return again.
Yet Faith aspires to Notions more sublime,
Distinguishing Eternity from Time:
An Attribute which he alone can claim
Who always is; and always is the same.
But grant the pre-existent Seeds were held
In fluid Principles, and Chaos veil'd,
Why ever? Why not sooner did they rise
To form material Worlds and liquid Skies?
For yet no Planet, by his genial Pow'r,
Matur'd the Mass, or fix'd the natal Hour.
But if the Birth from inbred Vigour came,
Aspiring Principles, enliv'ning Flame,
Why rose so late this beauteous useful Frame?
Why slept so long this indigested Mass?
Or Chaos still must be, or never was.
Then blush your universal Pan is found,
Or rarify'd to Space, or else in Matter drown'd.
Then own that God, whose Hand on all impress'd,
Created Matter, and with Order bless'd;
Omniscient Spirit, omnipresent Mind,
Not press'd by Matter, nor by Space confin'd:

151

Time, that to Man does in Succession flow,
By him is center'd in eternal now.
Cease, human Wit! for thy Attempts are vain
His infinite Duration to explain,
By bounded Notions, vanishing like thee,
Between what has, and what is still to be.
O foolish Man! by causeless Doubts misled!
By Learning blinded, and by Wit betray'd!
Whom God from nothing did so lately raise,
Is this thy Gratitude? Is this thy Praise?
Lay all thy jangling Sophisters aside,
With verbal Gloss and wand'ring Guess supply'd:
Their Search of Truth in Falshood does abound,
Shews rather how 'tis lost, than how 'tis found.
Reason exhausted with the long Dispute,
And Passion to assert, or to confute,
May all their Systems in a Word confine,
'Tis all the Fabric of a Pow'r divine.
'Tis he the Sun with genial Flames inspires
To lead the Dance of the celestial Fires;
As in proportion'd Intervals they go,
Swift in Approaches, and at Distance slow:
Or in a less, or in a wider Space,
As his attractive Force directs their Race.
'Tis he compels them in their Orbs to keep;
Tho' such an Influence turns their ample Sweep?
Then to the Book return, whence we receive
All we are bound to practise or believe:
Nor is the Book of Nature wrote more fair
Than is her Origin recorded There.
What Muse but the celestial cou'd indite
The vast and void Obscure? The Birth of Light?

152

Creative Spirit o'er the Waters hung?
Such were the Truths the raptur'd Shepherd sung,
Greater at Horebs blazing Foot, alone,
Than in the Prospect of the Memphian Throne.
Of sceptic Sophistry thy Mind divest;
And heav'nly Truth shall beam upon thy Breast:
But not with such do these Inquiries suit,
Whose Wit is doubting, Science to dispute.
God, rob'd in Pow'r, rebellious Pride o'erthrows,
But on the humble Heart his Grace bestows.

On the Prospect from Westminster Bridge, March 1750.

Cæsar! renown'd in Science as in War,
Look down a while from thy maternal Star:
See! to the Skies what sacred Domes ascend,
What ample Arches o'er the River bend;
What Vills above in rural Prospect lye,
Beneath a Street that intercepts the Eye,
Where happy Commerce glads the wealthy Streams,
And floating Castles ride. Is this the Thames?
The Scene where brave Cassibelan of Yore
Repuls'd thy Legions on a savage Shore?
Britain 'tis true was hard to overcome,
Or by the Arms, or by the Arts of Rome,
Yet we allow thee Ruler of the Sphere;
And last of all resign thy Julian Year.

153

[Now Night her highest Noon ascends]

Now Night her highest Noon ascends,
And o'er the Globe her Shades extends:
While all her shining Lamps of Light,
The Soul to solemn Thought invite.
How were they made? by whom? or when?
And whence arose the Race of Men?
From ancient Chaos did they come?
Must Chaos be again their Tomb?
Who lighted up the vital Fire?
Whither again shall that retire?
On that important Question pause:
And learn that Nature had a Cause,
From whom the whole Creation springs;
The Cause of Causes and of Things.
The Mass in fun'ral Flames shall burn;
And rise a Phœnix from its Urn.
But, must the Soul, uncloth'd and cold,
Appear, her Maker to behold?
Or shall the gaping Grave restore,
The Robe of Flesh which once she wore?
O who shall paint her Shame and Fear?
Think, O my Soul! thou must be there;
And wish, too late, to lay aside
Thy Passions veil'd beneath thy Pride.
O God! if e'er my heedless Youth
Deny'd, or doubted of thy Truth,
If unrelenting or unjust
I spurn'd the Poor, or wrong'd my Trust,

154

For Hope I never shou'd presume;
But shrink to hide me in the Tomb:
Or to the Rocks and Mountains call
To whelm me in their gen'ral Fall.
Alas! the Frailties, which are mine,
I only can with Life resign:
When my chill Blood forgets to roll;
And Death benumbs my Sense and Soul.
These I commit to thee alone,
Thou public Victim to atone,
And judge triumphant on thy Throne.

[Adieu my Friend! and may thy Woes]

Adieu my Friend! and may thy Woes
Be all in long Oblivion lost:
If Innocence can give Repose;
Or gentle Verse can please thy Ghost.

No pious Rite, no solemn Knell
Attended thy belov'd Remains:
Nor shall the letter'd Marble tell
What silent Earth the Charge contains.

Obscure, beneath the nameless Stone,
With thee shall Truth and Virtue sleep:
While, with her Lamp, the Muse alone,
Shall watch thy sacred Dust and weep.

155

Blue Violets, and Snow-Drops pale,
In pearly Dew for thee shall mourn:
And humble Lillies of the Vale
Shall cover thy neglected Urn.

A SONG.

[Be still ye Winds! let ev'ry Breath]

Be still ye Winds! let ev'ry Breath,
Let ev'ry Whisper cease:
As in the quiet Cave of Death,
Thou babling Eccho! Peace!

Ye Streams without a Murmur glide;
To nourish deep Despair:
No trembling Osiers by your Side,
Disturb the Midnight Air.

Ye conscious Stars, that roll above,
To fix our Fate below;
In solemn Silence as you move
Be Witness to my Woe:

Be Witness to the Vows I made
The Tears I still must pay;
While, like a melancholy Shade,
I shun the Face of Day.

156

SUSANNA:

OR INNOCENCE PRESERV'D.

Musical Drama.

Two Elders.
Susanna.
Her Servants.
Daniel.
Israelites and Captive Women.
Chelcias.
Joachim.

In Babylon.

1. FIRST PART.

First Elder.
Tyrant of Youth! how oft we blame
Thy rash, ungovernable Flame?
Tho' not the Snows of hoary Age,
Can thy devouring Fire asswage.

157

Second Elder.
An aweful Air, and learned Pride,
From public Eyes our Frailties hide:
And, while the Passions lurk within,
Afford a specious Veil to Sin.
But what Discov'ry need I fear?

First Elder.
Then have I met a Rival here?

Second Elder.
What in these Shades does thee detain?

First Elder.
Of what, my Friend, dost thou complain?

DUO.
Our common Guilt, our common Pain.

First Elder.
Wisdom! Virtue! Duty!
I confess your Sway:
What are you, when Beauty
Forces to obey?
While I gaze upon her
Phantoms all of Honour
Vanish quite away.

Second Elder.
See! to the gloomy Grove she goes,
To shun the fierce Meridian Beams:
Ye Zephyrs! lull her to Repose;
And tell my Passion to her Dreams.

Susanna.
The Croud and Senators are gone:
Securely I may bathe alone:
No Eye beneath, around, above,
Can pierce the Shades of this Alcove;

158

The Spring is clear, and undefil'd;
And fann'd with Breezes breathing mild.

AIR.
Bring, ye Virgins! bring,
Liquid Sweets and fragrant Oil;
What the lavish Spring
Scatters on this happy Soil:
What Nature breathes, or Art composes,
From Nard, or Jessamin or Roses.

Maids.
What can be so fair and sweet
As when Love and Virtue meet,
Thus to bless, the wedded Pair?
He so faithful, she so fair.

Susanna
sola.
But O! ye Eastern Waters! as you flow,
Remember that our Country claims our Woe:
That neither Voice nor Lyre we can command,
Sighs check the Voice and Sorrow chills the Hand.

First Elder.
Whither dost thou hope to fly?
Love has a more piercing Eye.

Second Elder.
Whither dost thou hope to run?
Love has Flames thou canst not shun.

Susanna.
Ah me! what rustles thro' the Grove?

First Elder.
No Tiger fear ------

Second Elder.
'Tis only Love.

159

DUO.
No Tiger fear ------
'Tis only Love.

Susanna.
Ah me! what Rustles thro' the Grove.

First Elder.
See! how your Beauty can enslave
The Learned, the Severe and Grave:
How Wisdom, Honor, Justice, Fame,
Submit to the victorious Flame.

Second Elder.
If rev'rend Age be counted wise,
Let Youth attend what we advise:
Nor vainly lose thy lovely Prime;
For Wisdom is but Use of Time.

Susanna.
Strange are the Words; unheard before:
O cease! that I may hear no more.

AIR.
To Joachim my Vows are giv'n;
Be Witness Earth! and Witness Heav'n!
Can ever Earth or Heav'n allow,
That I should break the sacred Vow?

TRIO.

First Elder.
Who can our secret Love descry?

Second Elder.
Who to reveal the Tale is nigh?

Susanna.
But Witness Heav'ns all-piercing Eye.

160

AIR.

Susanna.
Or send thy Succour from above,
Or inward Force inspire, S.
To guard me from forbidden Love;
Or quench their guilty Fire.

D. C.
First Elder.
Love ill repay'd to Vengeance turns:

Second Elder.
Vengeance than Love more fiercely burns.

DUO.
Vengeance than Love ------

First Elder.
Then Love or Death.

Second Elder.
Then Love or ------

Susanna.
Be Death my Choice.

First Elder.
And Death of Fame by publick Voice.

DUO.
And Death of Fame ------

AIR.

Susanna.
In Heighth of Bliss and Bloom of Youth,
How hard it is to die?
To violate my plighted Truth
Is harder to comply.
Tho' to the Rage of impious Love
I fall a Sacrifice,
Yet know there is a Pow'r above,
Beholds with equal Eyes.

161

First Elder.
Stop, seize, pursue ------

Servants
Entering.
What means the Call?

Second Elder.
The Youth has overleap'd the Wall.

Servants.
What Youth?

First Elder.
Alas! in that Surprize
With her ------

Second Elder.
Cou'd we believe our Eyes!
He mocks our feeble Age, and flies;

First Elder.
We sought to hold, but he, more young,
Escap'd, and o'er the Fences sprung:
His Person was to us unknown;
Nor wou'd she tell when he was gone.

Servants.
Incredible! did ever Fame,
Or ev'n Suspicion touch her Name?

Second Elder.
Our Age such Credit may obtain:
Our Testimony is not vain.
And since our Victor does permit
We in Judicature should sit,
To Joachim's Abode repair:
Let all the Senators be there.

First Elder.
Beauty may to Pity move;
Pity be the Bait of Love:

162

Justice, aweful and severe,
Veils her Eyes and shuts her Ear;
Scorns, the Bribe, and slights the Tear.

Susanna.
In Heav'n alone, in Heav'n I trust:
Tho' Man be impious and unjust.

AIR.
Adieu ye Glades! ye Springs adieu!
Did ever I commit to you
A single Thought that shun'd the View!
Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!

2. SECOND PART.

Daniel.
O! whither is the Glory gone
Of Sion, once renown'd?
Our holy Place, and David's Throne,
Are levell'd with the Ground.
Alas! the slow revolving Year
Must circle seventy Times,
While we remain in Bondage here,
To languish for our Crimes.

RECITATIVE.
Nor is it all: Alas! our own
Exceed the Sins of Babylon:
Vice reigns thro' our abandon'd Tribes;
Ambition, Avarice, and Bribes.

163

Whence do I hear that furious Cry?

Israel.
It is Susanna, led to dye.

Daniel.
Susanna, of our royal Race?
Susanna, doom'd to this Disgrace?
Susanna, beautiful and chaste?

Israel.
Blessings, alas! but not to last.

Susanna.
Adagio.
O Pow'r Divine! to thee I call:
Behold! in Innocence I fall.

AIR.
What was, and is, and is to be,
Alike are visible to thee;
Tho' in Obscurity they lye:
And tho' by Perjuries I dye,
Yet I am spotless in thine Eye.

Captive Women.
What alas! shall Woman trust?
Youth and Beauty are but Dust:
If to noble Blood ally'd,
All is transitory Pride.
Honour, and a spotless Name,
Bubbles of uncertain Fame:
All to vanish with a Breath.
What is all this Scene beneath?

First Elder.
See! how the Beauty, false and frail,
Unmerited their Pity draws?

Second Elder.
Shall her dissembling Tears avail
Against the Justice of our Laws?

164

RECITATIVE.

Chelcias.
O this did ever I presage?
Is this the Comfort of my Age?
Thy pious Youth! thy modest Bloom!
Unjust and impious is the Doom,
That sinks me to the silent Tomb.

Joachin.
O! cou'd my faithful Heart deceive?
Or that fair Form my Trust betray?
O! no! I never can believe ------
Together either save, or slay.

AIR.

Susanna.
Thus the Falcon from above,
Shoots upon the tender Dove:
While hid in Silence lies
Her gentle Mate,
To mourn her Fate,
She trembles, bleeds and dies.

Daniel.
Witness my Hands, that you remain
Untainted with the purple Stain,
When helpless Innocence is slain.

D. C. 1st and 2d Lines.
First Elder.
Where is the Youth, who rash and bold
Usurps the Honours of the Old?

Second Elder.
If that thou hast receiv'd from Heav'n,
Authority, to the Ancients giv'n?

165

Daniel.
The Gifts of Heav'n are not confin'd,
An upright Heart, a searching Mind,
To young or old, or great or small:
If Heav'n the Breast of you inspires
Or Passion lead the hoary Sires,
Shall soon be visible to all.

First Elder.
Ascend the Tribune, and from thence
Thy Wisdom to the Croud dispense.

Daniel.
Then set the Witnesses aside:
Asunder; till the Cause be try'd.

Solemn Symphony.
And thou! alone supremely wise!
Unalterably just and true!
Assist me, thro' the dark Disguise
Of Falshood; to direct my View:
And all her Mazes to pursue.

Music again
Piano.
Susanna.
O Pow'r divine! attend and hear!
My Tongue is ty'd by Shame and Fear:
But when the Innocent bemoan,

Pianiss.
Ev'n Silence whispers at thy Throne.

Daniel to First Elder.
O thou! whose hoary Age can rove,
Lost in the Wilds of guilty Love!
Now heav'nly Vengeance brings to Light,
Thy Crimes; too close for human Sight:

166

For thou hast clear'd exalted Guilt,
And Blood of Innocence hast spilt.
Yet tell me, if thou hast beheld,
What Tree the lawless Love conceal'd?

First Elder.
Beneath a dropping Mastick; there
We both surpriz'd the guilty Pair.

Daniel.
'Tis well! thy Head shall bear the Lye:
O false and fraudulent, in vain;
The Angel of the Lord stands by;
Ordain'd to sever thee in twain.

To Second Elder.
O thou of Canaan's impious Race!
For Juda scorns a Son so base;
Since Beauty can thy Judgment blind,
And Passion over-rule thy Mind.
O'er Israel's Daughters aw'd by Fear
Your easy Victories you gain'd.
Which she of Juda scorn'd to bear;
And all your Artifice disdain'd.
Yet tell me, if thou hast beheld,
What Tree the lawless Love conceal'd?

Second Elder.
A stately Holm above them spread
The Shelter of his ample Head.

Daniel.
O Force of Truth! that uncontroll'd
Confutes the Wise, and daunts the Bold!
How little shall thy specious Tale
To murther Innocence avail?

167

AIR.
Thy Sentence by thyself is giv'n!
Look up and tremble with Despair!
Behold the Minister of Heav'n!
He wheels the fiery Sword in Air;
And waits to sever thee in twain.
Ye both are destin'd to be slain.

Israel.
O! bear them, bear them to their Fate;
As to another they design'd:

Second Israel.
That impious Love, and guileful Hate,
An equal Recompense may find.

First Elder.
Conscious Anguish, guilty Shame,
Pierce my Heart, and brand my Name.

Second Elder.
Hide me, Earth! that I may lye,
Safe from Scorn and Infamy.

DUO.
But unreveng'd is twice to dye.

Chelcias.
O Daniel! just is thy Decree;
The Voice of Heav'n decides in thee:

To Susanna.
Thine is the Praise of Virtue try'd;

To Joach.
And thine the Bliss of such a Bride.
The Crown of hoary Age is mine:
The Glory to the Pow'r Divine.
Present Joy for Sorrow past,
Heightens the delicious Taste.

168

AIR.

Joachim.
Rumor base, and canker'd Spight,
Hence to everlasting Night;
There in solid Fetters bound,
Fetters which in vain you bite,
Murmur thro' the dark Profound.

Susanna.
I tremble, like the frighted Deer,
That just escapes the Tiger near.

AIR.
But, O! to him the Praise is due,
Who vindicates the Chaste and True:
The Triumph is not mine.
For who the Victory cou'd win
Unless supported from within
By Fortitude divine?

D. C.
Grand CHORUS.
Show'r thy Blessings from above,
Author of connubial Love!
On the Hearts by thee combin'd;
Sacred Harmony of Mind!
Show'r thy Blessings from above,
Author of connubial Love!

169

D. D. D.

This Off'ring, Lord! I to thy Altar bring,
Now Sorrow has untun'd my Voice to sing:
Yet thus I sung, when thy auspicious Praise
Inspir'd my humble Muse in better Days.
But what is Life? while Youth is fresh and strong
Unfelt it bears the destin'd Load along:
Advancing onwards to maturer Years,
The Path, alas! is thro' the Vale of Tears.
The Harvest blasted what have I to give?
This Sheaf, the Tribute of the Field, receive.

1732.

PSALM I.

I

Happy the Man who never strays
In vain Consult thro' guilty Ways:
Nor does in Paths of Sinners wait,
Nor rests in their licentious Seat.

II

The Law divine does him employ,
With constant Diligence and Joy:

170

This Task prevents the dawning Light,
And fills the Vigils of the Night.

III

So shall he live, so flourish still,
As fast beside the silver Rill,
The Tree, with Fruit maturely hung,
For ever green, for ever young.

IV

But far unlike are the Profane;
As parted from the solid Grain.
Beneath the Van, when Winds arise
The Chaff in whirling Eddies flies.

V

Nor shall the Impious dare to stand
Before the Seat of high Command:
Nor shall they undiscern'd remain,
Tho' herded with the righteous Train.

VI

The Lord observes, with strict Survey,
How pious Men direct their Way:
The Paths in which the Wicked tread
To Certainty of Ruin lead.

171

PSALM III.

What Numbers, Lord! increase the Swarms
Which vex me with their Rage?
What Numbers in rebellious Arms
Against my Peace engage?
How many of my Soul have said,
Nor him his Deity can aid?

'Tis thou art my Protector Lord!
The Subject of my Praise:
'Tis thou that dost thy Help afford,
My Head aloft to raise.
To God I my Complaint preferr'd,
And from his Holy Hill he heard.

Upon my Couch I lay'd me down,
Securely to repose:
Supported by the Lord alone;
Again from Sleep I rose.
No Terror shall my Heart confound,
Not tho' ten thousand hem me round.

Rouze thee, O Lord! assert my Cause,
O God in my Defence:
Thou of my Foes hast smote the Jaws
And dash'd their Teeth from thence.
Salvation does to thee belong;
'Tis thine to bless thy pious Throng.

172

PSALM XXIX.

Ye Kings and Heroes! whose imperial Sway
The Subject Nations of the World obey:
Select the Leaders of the Flock with Care,
Whose budding Horns imagin'd Fights prepare;
To God's Abode the destin'd Victims bring,
And own the Lord, of Majesty the Spring.
With Rev'rence pure his sacred Name adore;
The Author of your delegated Pow'r:
For Strength deriv'd from him your Homage own;
And prostrate fall before his awful Throne.
His Sov'reign Voice restrains the swelling Floods;
He rolls his Thunder thro' the sable Clouds:
His Pow'r to Bounds confines the raging Sea;
And Nature's Laws his dreaded Voice obey.
His awful Voice commands; and all around
The stately Cedars tremble at the Sound:
From snow-crown'd Libanus the Cedars torn,
Their rifted Bole and shatter'd Branches mourn.
Not Woods alone, but solid Mountains shake;
Like Calves which Herdsmen from their Mothers take:
Tall Libanus inclines, and Hermon moves,
As the young Unicorn his Fury proves.
Th' Almighty speaks, the parted Clouds give way,
And thro' the Breach the ruddy Lightnings play:

173

The desert Region, and the wild Abode
Of Cadesh, tremble at the Voice of God.
The Forest shakes, and forc'd by sudden Throes
The frighted Hinds their helpless Fawns depose.
The Coverts shine, detected by the Blaze,
And God's high Temple ecchoes with his Praise.
The Lord, for ever King, tho' Tempests rave,
Enthron'd resides above the roaring Wave.
Be thou in War thy People's dread Defence;
In Peace the Blessings of calm Peace dispense.

PSALM XXXVII.

Nor e'er let Sinners, in Success elate,
Disturb thy Soul, or impious Doubts create:
Nor e'er at prosp'rous Guilt in Thought repine,
To wish the transitory Grandeur thine.
Shorn as the Grass shall fall their faded Pride:
Like sickly Plants, in sultry Summer dry'd.
Rely on God; employ thyself in Good:
Inhabit Earth, and rest secure of Food.
In him be thy Delight, who shall impart
Thy Wish complete to gratify thy Heart:
Thy Conduct to the Deity commend;
And trust on him to give a prosp'rous End.
He shall thy question'd Innocence display,
As from the Cloud breaks forth th' emergent Ray:
And thy Integrity shall then be shown,
Bright as the Sun on his Meridian Throne.

174

Then persevere; and to the Lord resign'd
Attend his Will, with Constancy of Mind:
Nor envy him who in his Way proceeds
To ripen dark Design to guilty Deeds.
From Ire and Indignation clear thy Breast:
Habitual Discontent will Sin suggest.
For from the Root shall perish the Profane:
The Patient shall the Heritage obtain,
The Impious, Mark! how in a Moment's Space
He vanishes away! his former Place
Nor curious Eye, nor searching Thought can trace.
But by the Mild the Land shall be possess'd,
In Affluence, Peace, and Plenitude of Rest.
The Godless Wretch against the Man upright
Consults; and grinds his horrid Teeth for Spight:
Him shall the Lord deride; in whose Survey
Are seen the near Approaches of his Day.
His Sword the Wicked draws, he bends his Bow,
To slay the Just, and lay th' Unhappy low:
The fatal Sword shall pierce the Master's Heart,
And the perfidious Bow to Shivers start.
The Competence of pious Men is more
Than all the Miser's Mass of hoarded Ore.
While God supports the Just, disarm'd and broke
The Sinner's Arm shall disappoint the Stroke.
He sees the Term which yet remains behind
Of future Years to righteous Men assign'd:
That their Inheritance no Change shall know;
No Fears perplex them in the Days of Woe.
Suffic'd with Plenty, tho' penurious Dearth
And meagre Famine desolate the Earth.

175

Soon shall the Impious perish; O! how soon
The rebel Foes of Heav'ns high Lord are gone;
Like Fat of Lambs which sacred Flames consume;
Or in the apter Semblance of their Fume.
The Wicked borrows, heedless of his Day,
And means to circumvert, but not repay:
While kind Compassion, ready to impart,
Diffuses Wealth, and opens all the Heart.
These bless'd by God, their fertile Glebe shall keep:
But those his vengeful Curse away shall sweep.
He of the Good shall guide the Steps aright,
And still observes his Progress with Delight:
Tho' he may fall, not fall'n for ever down
The Lord supports, and raises him o'erthrown.
From blooming Youth to this Decline of Age,
As long Experience ripen'd ev'ry Stage,
This Truth I still attest, I never saw
The Care of Heav'n from pious Men withdraw:
Nor helpless Orphans of the Just, unfed
From unrelenting Strangers ask their Bread.
His Charity, who does the Loan dispense,
Entails on them the Guard of Providence.
Then fly from Guilt, endeavour to excel
In virtuous Deeds, and so for ever dwell.
For still the Lord with Pleasure shall respect
The Right; nor leave his Servants to neglect;
Them with incessant Goodness he defends:
While rooted up the Race of Sinners ends.
The Pious shall the wealthy Soil divide
In Heritage; and ever there reside.
The Mouth of righteous Men maintains the Cause
Of sacred Prudence, and impartial Laws:

176

Firm in their Hearts the Lord's Decrees abide,
Nor ever fears their steady Foot to slide.
The Wicked waits, and seeks the Just to slay:
The Lord shall not resign the destin'd Prey
To cruel Hands; nor when he shall appear
At his Tribunal, pass a Doom severe.
Then trust on him, and tread his Paths with Care;
And he shall raise thee his Domain to share:
When on his Foes his vengeful Wrath shall fall,
Thyself shall see the Ruin of them all.
I oft myself the impious Man have seen
In Heighth of Pow'r with an exalted Mien;
So the fair Laurel spreads her hardy Green:
He pass'd away, behold! and was no more;
Nor cou'd my Eye his vanish'd Place explore.
But mark the perfect Man; and fix thy Sight
Intent on him who well observes the Right:
How gently he from human Toil shall cease;
Compos'd and wrap'd in everlasting Peace.
But the Transgressors, as in Guilt combin'd,
Together shall a like Destruction find:
At once they end. But God in Days of Woe
Does Strength and Succour on the Just bestow:
Thou, Lord! shall aid, relieve, and set them free
From lawless Man; for they confide in thee.

PSALM XLIII.

I

O God! deliver me from Wrong;
Defend me from an impious Throng:

177

From secret Guile and open Strife
Relieve my Fears, and free my Life.

II

O God! from whom my Strength is giv'n,
Why from thy Presence am I driv'n?
Why rove I thus, of Joy bereft,
And to my Foes defenceless left?

III

Of heav'nly Light impart a Ray;
Let Truth divine direct my Way;
And to the favour'd Mountain guide,
Which thy Abode has sanctify'd.

IV

To God I then my Steps will bend;
His holy Altar to attend:
The God who does my Joys inspire;
The God to whom I tune my Lyre.

V

Why droops my Soul with Sorrow fraught,
And dire Inquietude of Thought?
That dire Inquietude resign,
Deliver'd to the Pow'r divine.

VI

To him I yet my Voice will raise,
In pious Melody of Praise:
To him who does my Cheeks renew
With florid Health and roseate Hue.

178

PSALM XLV.

From my full Heart bursts forth the bubling Stream;
The youthful Monarch is my darling Theme
Of sacred Verse: my Tongue, the ready Style
Of the swift Scribe, pursues the chearful Toil.
O thou in Beauty and majestic Grace
Above the Progeny of human Race!
Upon thy Lips soft Elocution flows;
Such endless Blessings God on thee bestows,
Thou, great in Arms! with military Pride,
Suspend the blazing Falchion at thy Side:
With prosp'rous Omens ride in princely State;
Truth, Mercy, Justice, in thy Train shall wait.
Thy right Hand, with inevitable Art,
Swift from the Bow shall send the piercing Dart
Against thy Foes, and fix it in their Heart.
Subdu'd and vanquish'd then the Nations all
With prostrate Homage shall before thee fall.
Thy Throne, O God! for ever shall remain;
And righteous is the Sceptre of thy Reign.
The Love of Equity delights thy Breast;
And dire Injustice all thy Thoughts detest:
For this has God, thy God himself has shed
The chearful Fragrance on thy honour'd Head
Superior to thy Peers. From thy Attire
The Tears of Myrrh with balmy Breath respire;
The aromatic Wood unfolds its Sweets,
And the rich Odour of the Cassia meets:

179

In iv'ry Domes the measur'd Spices lay,
To swell thy Joys on this triumphal Day.
The royal Maids attend, an honour'd Band:
And on thy right, behold thy Consort stand;
Her fair Cymarrin rich Materials vyes,
Weighty with Gold, and gay with various Dyes.
To this Advice a willing Ear impart;
Let this, my Daughter! ease thy pensive Heart:
Forget the Pleasures of thy native Earth,
Forget the royal Authors of thy Birth;
So shall thy Beauty with thy Bliss improve,
The dearest Object of the Monarch's Love.
To him thy Lord, submissive Honour pay,
While at thy Feet Phœnicia's Daughters lay
The Wealth of Tyrus' tributary Shore;
And suppliant Strangers shall thy Grace implore.
Tho' cloath'd in radiant Metal shines the Queen,
Her noblest Charms are of the Mind unseen.
Upon her Robe the artful Needle pours
A gay Profusion of embroider'd Flow'rs:
With solemn Pompher fair Companions bring
The bright imperial Virgin to the King;
With Sounds of universal Joy they come
To the high Portals of the royal Dome.
Thy absent Sire thy Children shall repay;
And thro' the World extend their princely Sway:
My Song, the Sponsion of eternal Fame,
To future Age shall celebrate thy Name;
To thee the joyful Populace shall raise,
Their loud Acclaim, and eccho to thy Praise.

180

PSALM XLIX.

Ye Sons of Humankind attend me all!
Ye Habitants of this sublunar Ball;
The Rich, the Poor, the Mean, the Nobly born,
Observe me well, nor my Instruction scorn.
My Lips discursive Science shall impart,
And all on Prudence meditate my Heart:
To mystic Truth in Allegory told
I bend my Ear; and to the Harp unfold.
In adverse Times what Fear have I to feel,
Tho' then my Guilt shou'd press my flying Heel?
Tho' some in boasted Heaps of Wealth confide,
And by their Treasures fortify their Pride,
No Bribe prevails with Heav'n; nor can it save
A ransom'd Brother from the gaping Grave:
For Heav'n-born Souls so poor a Price transcend,
As human Wealth; and let their Labour end.
If Life cou'd last for Ages long to come,
Yet hope not vainly to escape the Tomb.
Behold, a mournful Scene, before your Eyes
The frequent Fun'rals of the Grave and Wise:
How they, like Fools and Idiots are no more;
And leave to thankless Heirs their hoarded Store.
Yet still with empty Hopes their Toils engage,
In Buildings to remain from Age to Age;
Such as transmitted thro' a long Descent
May bear their Name, and be their Monument.

181

Yet Pow'r and Titles to their Period haste,
'Tis not the Privilege of Man to last:
Too well with thoughtless Brutes may he compare,
Whose fleeting Spirit vanishes in Air.
A stupid Course! yet, in the beaten Way,
Their senseless Race approves of all they say.
Like Sheep to Slaughter they resign to Doom,
Their lifeless Limbs are bedded in the Tomb;
To Death's insatiate Teeth a pleasing Prey:
But when the Morning shall awake the Day,
The Just shall over them obtain the Sway.
In that Abode shall waste their lovely Bloom,
For ever banish'd from their former Home.
But God my ransom'd Spirit shall retrieve
From that dire Cave; for me shall he receive.
Then fear not Man; not tho' his Treasure swells
To vast Excess, and he in Splendor dwells:
Nor shall he bear, when he resigns his Breath,
His useless Riches to the Shades beneath;
Nor shall the pompous Ensigns, which attend
His Rites of Fun'ral, after him descend.
Yet while this vital Air the Mortal draws,
His own Felicity, the World's Applause,
He deems inseparable, to commend
The Man to Int'rest and himself a Friend.
The darkling Paths his Fathers trod before
Himself shall trace, and see the Sun no more.
The Man who does the Pinnacle attain,
If there the Distance turn his giddy Brain,
Too well with thoughtless Brutes may he compare,
Whose fleeting Spirit vanishes in Air.

182

PSALM L.

Thus spoke the Sov'reign Lord; his Mandate run
To summon all the World, from whence begun
His Course, to where descends the setting Sun.
From Sion God in matchless Glory shone:
Nor shall in Silence lead his Triumph on;
A Stream of rapid Flame before devours,
He wraps himself in Storms and sable Show'rs.
On Heav'n above, and our inferior Ball,
He for his People shall to Judgment call:
Summon my Saints who have a Contract made
With me, by Victims on my Altar lay'd.
The very Heav'n his Justice shall aver:
For God himself is now the Arbiter.
Hear, O my People! while I speak, while I
Myself against thee, Israel! testify:
For I am God, myself thy Deity.
Nor thy neglected Sacrifice I claim,
Nor Holocausts to feed the constant Flame:
No Bullock from thy Stalls, nor from thy Cotes
Demand I now the Leaders of thy Goats.
For mine is ev'ry Beast of ev'ry Kind
To sylvan Laires or Forest-Walls confin'd:
And mine are all the Herds whose Number fills
The spacious Pastures of a thousand Hills.
The Fowls are mine upon the Mountain Brow,
And mine the Savages in Fields below.

183

Did Hunger urge, to thee shou'd I complain,
When Earth is mine, and all its Stores contain?
Or shall the Flesh of Beeves be my Repaste?
Or shall the Blood of Goats delight my Taste?
On God the Tribute of thy Thanks bestow;
And to the Pow'r most high perform thy Vow:
Then call on me, when Trouble clouds thy Days;
And find my Aid, and render me thy Praise.
Then to the Impious thus. Hadst thou a Cause
To name my Covenant, or preach my Laws?
Who still averse to Discipline, behind
Hast scatter'd my Instruction in the Wind.
Thou, who with full Consent and conscious Eyes,
Hast shar'd the Robber's and Adult'rer's Prize.
Thy Mouth promotes Impiety and Guile:
There dost thou sit thy Brother to revile;
Thy very Brother of thy Mother born
Is by thy Calumnies expos'd to Scorn.
Such were thy Deeds, which I in Silence view'd:
And thence did thy relentless Heart conclude
That unconcern'd I to thy Crimes agree;
And by itself presum'd to judge of me.
But to reprove thee, now thy Deeds shall rise,
And open all their Horrors to thy Eyes.
O! turn your Thoughts, and all on this reflect,
Too prone your great Creator to neglect!
E'er yet he comes to rend the trembling Prey,
When all Assistance shall be far away.
'Tis he the noblest Adoration pays
Who offers up the Sacrifice of Praise:
And for the Man who guides his Actions right,
The saving Pow'r of God shall bless his Sight.

184

PSALM LVIII.

Say, O ye Senators! do you pursue
Untainted Probity in ev'ry View?
Ye Sons of Men! do all your Votes unite
To guard the Sentence of impartial Right?
Alas! within your Heart Injustice lyes,
And governs there, secure in her Disguise:
While that unequal Balance in your Hand.
Distributes Violence thro' all the Land.
The Impious, tho' but late produc'd to Day,
Divert from Good: but newly born they stray
With early Steps; their infant Voice they try,
And their first Accents issue in a Lye.
Swol'n with the Bane, their livid Veins partake
The noxious Venom of the turgid Snake:
They, like the sullen Asp, refuse to hear;
Who folds the winding Mazes of her Ear,
Nor listens to the Voice whose Skill excells
In magic Harmony and potent Spells.
Disarm their Mouths, O God! and scatter far
The dreadful Weapons of the Lion's War,
Broke from their Jaws. So let them roll away
As ebbing Waters hasten to the Sea.
Together when the circling Points they bring
Of the tough Horn, the shining Shaft to wing,
Snap the strong Bow, and burst the sounding String.
So let them waste, as Snails dissolve in Slime:
As Births which immature prevent their Time,

185

Nor see the golden Sun. Ere yet the Blaze
Of crackling Thorns can heat the brazen Vase,
These, doom'd to heav'nly Wrath a living Prey,
Enwrap'd in Whirlwinds he shall bear away.
The pious Man, reflecting on the Sight,
Which fills his Bosom with severe Delight,
Observes celestial Vengeance now complete;
And in the Blood of Sinners bathes his Feet.
Mankind shall then pronounce: assur'd we trust
That Retribution shall attend the Just:
No Doubt remains, that God, the Lord of all
Dispenses Justice thro' this earthly Ball.

PSALM LXV.

From thee, O God! begins the sacred Song:
On thee, O God! attends the pious Throng
In Sion's Courts; the grateful Vow to pay,
And destin'd Victims on thy Flames to lay.
To thee, whose Ear receives the Voice of Pray'r,
Shall all of animated Earth repair.
My num'rous Crimes sad Prevalence obtain:
But thine it is to purge the guilty Stain.
How happy he, distinguish'd by thy Choice,
To near Attendance summon'd by thy Voice,
Who in thy Courts for ever shall remain,
And taste the bounteous Blessings of thy Fane.
Thou, by terrific Deeds in Justice wrought,
Shalt give the Answer which our Vows have sought:

186

O saving Deity! who dost maintain
The Hopes of all on Earth's extended Plain,
And all who wander on the spacious Main.
His Strength the Rocks has rooted to the Ground:
And Pow'r with mystic Cincture girds him round.
His Will the roaring Ocean can assuage;
Or curb a frantic Nation's wilder Rage.
Thy Signals, with tremendous Dread, controll
The limitary Circles of the Pole:
The various Climates where the Sun displays
His early Beam, or hides his setting Rays,
Resound a joyful Eccho to thy Praise.
If thou to our inferior Region come,
The gentle Show'r restores its vernal Bloom:
The Stream divine a rich Profusion yields,
And with a golden Harvest glads the Fields.
The genial Moisture chears the furrow'd Plain,
The Ridge subsides, and softens with the Rain.
Thus bless'd by thee does infant Spring appear;
And thy Indulgence crowns the future Year,
While, from beneath thy Steps, the Clouds around
With fragrant Dews enrich the fertile Ground.
Ev'n on the desert Waste the Drops distill;
And grateful Mirth resounds from ev'ry Hill.
The silver Flocks the Pasture Lands adorn,
The Vallies glitter with the waving Corn,
And o'er the smiling Fields the vocal Joys are born.

187

PSALM LXVIII.

Let God arise, while, all in dire Dismay,
His impious Foes shall fly, dispers'd away;
So let them fly before, a routed Host,
As curling Smoak in fluid Air is lost:
As pliant Wax is liquify'd by Fire,
So let the Guilty waste in God's avenging Ire.
Ye pious Votaries! let grateful Joy
Dilate your Breast, and all your Pow'rs employ:
Attune your Voice to celebrate his Fame,
Who rides aloft on yon celestial Frame;
Rejoice in Jah, his venerable Name.
The Orphan Babes in him a Father know;
And he relieves the Widow'd Matron's Woe:
Impartial Judge! he vindicates her Cause,
And from his sacred Seat asserts his Laws.
The solitary Train he knows to bind
In mutual Tyes, and Unity of Mind:
The Captive he delivers from his Chain,
And leads him forth to Liberty again;
But dooms the curs'd Apostate to remain
In Thirst and Famine on a sandy Plain.
When thou, O God! all radiant at our Head,
Didst thro' the pathless Wild thy People lead,
Earth shook beneath; distill'd the sable Show'r
From Heav'n above, before th' approaching Pow'r:
Ev'n Sinai trembl'd on his solid Base,
Before the God, the God of Israel's Race.

188

Thou pour'st the plenteous Stores of timely Rain
To chear the thirsty Glebe of thy Domain:
Thy own peculiar People there resides;
And there thy Bounty for the Poor provides.
He spake; a numerous Train attends the Word,
And loud proclaims the Dictates of the Lord.
The Kings and Captains fled in Haste away:
While Women and Domestics share the Prey.
Ye who so late, in deep Dejection spread
Among the sully'd Caldrons made your Bed,
Shall yet arise, fair as the Wings that fold
The silver Dove, whose Plumes are ray'd with Gold.
When Kings for you th' Almighty put to Flight,
Not Snow on Salmon was more lovely white.
The Hill of God like Basan's Hill ascends,
High as the Hill which Basan's Verge defends:
Why leap you thus, ye Hills? on this alone
The Lord has fix'd his Mansion and his Throne.
Him twice ten thousand Chariots in Array,
The bright angelic Myriads him obey:
Presides the Sov'reign, as of old he shin'd,
On Sinai's Summit in the Blaze enshrin'd.
While thou to Heav'n in Triumph dost arise,
Thy rescu'd Captives wait thee to the Skies:
The Tribute pay'd to thee, thou dost bestow
In Bounties to Mankind and ev'n thy Foe;
That God may dwell with Mortals here below.
Bless'd be the Pow'r, whose Goodness ev'ry Day
Does needful Aid and Benefits convey:
The God on whom we for Salvation wait;
And who commands the Avenues of Fate.

189

He on their Head his Enemies shall wound;
Deep on their Head with flowing Tresses crown'd:
Such is their Doom, who on the guilty Way
Proceeding farther more from Virtue stray.
Thus spoke the Lord. My own selected Train
Again I guide from Basan's fertile Plain;
Again from deep Recesses of the Main.
To purple o'er thy Feet with hostile Blood,
While thy insatiate Dogs shall lap the sanguine Flood.
My Sov'reign Lord! what Majesty Divine
Attends thy regal Progress to thy Shrine:
The venerable Priests, a vocal Choir,
Precede, behind resounds the solemn Lyre;
Fair Virgins march amid the pious Throng,
And with the lively Timbrel raise the Song.
To God, assembled Tribes! your Praises sing,
Sincerely flowing from the vital Spring.
There waits the rev'rend Patriarch's youngest born,
And Chiefs which his diminish'd Race adorn;
There Juda, destin'd to a nobler Fate,
In Synod first, and first in princely State.
While Zebulon and Nephthali forsake
The Borders of their Sea resembling Lake.
O Author of our Force! by thy Decree
Confirm the Work which was begun by thee.
Led by thy Fame, to Solyma's high Dome
Suppliant shall tributary Monarchs come.
Break thou the Spear, and prostrate on the Ground
The Masters of the Herd for Strength renown'd;
Till each his Pride, and all his Rage resign,
With wealthy Presents from the silver Mine:

190

So scatter thou the Bands, whose dire Delight
Is in the Waste of Rapine and of Fight.
Then Princes shall attend from Ægypt's Sands:
To God shall Æthiopia lift her Hands.
With early Zeal ye various Nations join,
And with united Voice extol the Pow'r Divine.
He on his glorious Chariot rides on high,
On the primæval Empyrean Sky:
Hark! how he speaks; with formidable Sound
The dreadful Eccho Thunders all around.
Ascribe to him Omnipotence alone
Who has in Israel fix'd his awful Throne:
But gather'd Clouds, his radiant State conceal,
And over his Tribunal cast a Veil.
How dreadful is the Majesty Divine!
What Terrors wait around his sacred Shrine.
'Tis Israel's God with Glory and Success
Adorns his Tribes: 'tis ours his Name to bless.

PSALM LXXII.

O God! do thou inspire the Monarch's Thought,
With Lessons of unerring Justice fraught;
Derive the lineal Blessing to his Son,
And teach thy right Decrees to Solomon:
He to thy Tribes shall give impartial Laws,
And thus instructed guard the poor Man's Cause.
Peace to the People shall the Mountains bring:
From humble Hills Integrity shall spring.

191

He, to their injur'd Innocence a Friend,
The Destitute and Orphan shall defend:
And in his Wrath the proud Oppressor rend.
Thee shall they rev'rence, while the golden Sun
His constant Race shall thro' the Zodiac run,
Thee, while the various Moon with borrow'd Light
Shall in a silver Orb her Horns unite,
Thee, while the restless Course of Time supplies
One Race expiring with another's Rise.
He from above shall come, as falling Dews
Upon the curling Fleece their Drops diffuse:
Or as the Show'rs of seasonable Rain
With vegetative Humor steep the Plain
The Just shall prosper in his happy Days:
And Peace abundant till the Moon decays.
From Sea to Sea shall spread his ample Reign:
Here bounds Euphrates, there the Western Main.
The Tribes who wander in the lonely Waste,
Shall bow to him: his Foes before him cast
Shall lick the Dust. To him the Kings who reign
In foreign Isles and o'er the distant Main,
And Kings who Arab and Sabæa sway
Shall wealthy Tribute and Oblation pay.
The Monarchs all shall fall before him prone;
And Men their universal Sov'reign own.
He saves the Wretches who his Aid implore;
And guards the Unassisted and the Poor:
In him they shall a gen'rous Patron find,
To rescue them, and chear their anxious Mind;
From Fraud and Rapine he their Souls redeems,
And precious in his Sight their Blood esteems.

192

Long shall he live; and from Arabia's Store
Receive the Treasures of her shining Ore:
To him shall all their Supplications pay,
And sing his Praise with each returning Day.
From scatter'd Grain, which scarce the Grasp cou'd fill,
Shall golden Harvests crown the summit Hill,
Trembling with burthen'd Ears; so shake the Woods
When Lebanon with all his Forests nods:
And in the peaceful City shall be seen
Her People, chearful as the vernal Green.
His Name shall ever last, his deathless Name,
While Day's bright Lamp renews his orient Flame:
And all Posterity to him shall give
The Praise of Blessings they from him receive.
Let Israel's God be bless'd, by whom alone
Such signal Acts and Miracles are done:
Bless'd be the Name, and Majesty Divine,
And o'er the spacious World his Glory shine.

Sandys.

Gideon's Fleece.

PSALM LXXIII.

'Tis certain God to Israel does approve,
To Hearts untainted, his indulgent Love.
But from his Path my Feet were near to slide,
And my unsteady Steps to turn aside:
At impious Men my Breast with Envy swell'd,
When prosp'rous Guilt in Triumph I beheld.
When I observ'd, from where it first begun,
On to the last their Thread so smoothly run:

193

While inexhausted Strength renews their Prime,
Firm and unconscious of the Waste of Time.
Exempt from adverse Chance, they never know
That common Fate which Mortals undergo:
That universal Lot of human Woe.
Yet favour'd thus, with Insolence they deck
As with an honorary Chain their Neck:
For this are they, as with a Mantle spread
To wrap them round, with Violence array'd.
Inclos'd with swelling Fat, their Eye-balls start:
Their wealth exceeds the Wishes of the Heart.
To all around does their Contagion reach;
They menace Outrage, arrogant of Speech:
Their Mouth opposes Heav'n; their Censures go
Thro' all the habitable World below.
For this the Vulgar courts them; whence they drain,
As from a plenteous Bowl, no slender Gain:
And yet, can God discover this! they cry;
Is he Omniscient whom they stile Most High?
Behold the Impious! what the World confers
In smooth Success or wealthy Store is theirs.
Then I, alas! have purg'd my Heart in vain:
And purify'd my Hands from guilty Stain.
The live-long Day with Sorrow was I worn;
My anxious Doubts awaken'd with the Morn:
Almost my Sentence did with theirs agree;
Then to thy Children I injust shou'd be.
I labour'd long this Science to attain;
But found my Force unequal to the Pain:
Till I perplex'd the Sanctuary sought,
Where I at length their final Doom was taught.

194

How thou hast plac'd them, where, too apt to slide,
They totter on the Pinnacle of Pride:
And then from thence by thee are headlong thrown,
And into Depths of Ruin tumble down.
How in the momentary Glance of Thought,
They to a dreadful Fate at once are brought!
Like Visions, which before the sleeping Eye
Glide smoothly on, but with the Slumbers fly,
So thou, O Lord! the Phantom shalt disdain,
When from Repose thou shalt arise again.
This Conflict long disquieted my Heart;
My very Reins were thrill'd with piercing Smart:
My Sense, when I adventur'd to dispute
The Cause with thee, did not excell the Brute.
Yet by thy Side for ever I remain;
And me thou dost by my right Hand sustain:
To guide me here thy Council thou shalt give;
And after that to Glory shalt receive.
Whom but thy self have I in Heav'n above?
Or who on Earth with thee divides my Love?
No! tho' my wasted Flesh shou'd wear away,
My Heart with languid Pulse forget to play,
Yet God it's lively Vigour shall restore;
And be my Heritage for evermore.
Behold! they perish all, from thee who rove,
And to thy Rivals yield their perjur'd Love.
'Tis best that I with near Attendance wait,
And trust in God: and then I shall relate
His noble Acts in Sion's lofty Gate.

195

PSALM LXXIV.

Why, Lord! so long from us dost thou retire?
Against thy Pasture Sheep why glows thy Ire?
On thy Assembly turn thy Thought once more;
Thy antient Right, by Purchase thine of yore:
Thy Glebe redeem'd, and subject to thy Rod;
This Hill of Sion, once thy lov'd abode.
O! hither turn thy Steps! O hither haste,
Or to repair, or to revenge the Waste:
Where impious Foes reduce thy holy Fane
To Ruins, which for ever must remain.
Within thy Courts they raise an horrid Cry:
And fix their Standards in the Air to fly.
To lift the polish'd Ax, in former Days,
On stately Cedars, was the Workman's Praise:
But now at once descending Axes sound,
The weighty Hammer's blunter Strokes rebound,
Till all the Artifice that did adorn
The gilded Fretwork from the Walls is torn.
Nor so content, their sacrilegious Hands
Within thy Shrine have toss'd the flaming Brands;
The Mansion where abode thy Name before
Have they profan'd, and levell'd with it's Floor.
Their Hearts inspir'd; let all to Ruin turn:
The Synagogues thro' all the Land they burn.

196

No wonted Omens now our Prospect chear:
Nor rises now the visionary Seer;
Nor one the dark Events of future Time to clear.
O God! how long shall thus thy Foe defame?
Must he for ever thus revile thy Name?
Why does thy Hand, as if contracted rest?
Thy better Hand? O! draw it from thy Breast.
For God my Sov'reign is from Nature's Birth:
The Author of Salvation thro' the Earth.
By potent Might thou didst the Sea divide;
And crush the Heads of Dragons in the Tide:
Thy Stroke the vast Leviathan confounds,
And cleaves his many Heads with mortal Wounds;
The People who along the Desert stray
Upon the Coast, shall feast upon the Prey.
Express'd by thee, from rocky Fissures glide
The Spring and Streams; while rapid Floods are dry'd.
Thine is the Day, with golden Lustre bright;
And thine the spangled Purple of the Night:
The Dawn which opens with a rosy Gleam;
And the full Glories of the solar Beam.
Thou didst the Globe with various Zones inclose:
And mad'st the Summer's Heat, and Winter's Snows.
Remember, Lord! how thus thy Foes exclaim:
How stupid Idiots dare revile thy Name.
O! do not thou to cruel Hands resign
This harmless tim'rous Turtle which is thine:
Nor to profound oblivion doom the Poor.
Recall to mind the Covenant once more:

197

For in the Caves of Earth, remote from Day,
Relentless Murther watches for her Prey.
Arise, O Lord! to vindicate thy Cause;
Still must the Libertine blaspheme thy Laws?
Neglect not then their Clamour bold and loud;
Nor the rude Tumult of the gath'ring Crowd.

PSALM LXXVIII.

Your Ear, my People! to my Dictates bend;
And to my Words your whole Attention lend:
My Lips I will in Parables unfold,
Involv'd in mystic Sentences of old.
What mighty Deeds have we receiv'd from Fame!
And certain Knowledge has confirm'd the same;
Each to his Son, as by his Father taught
Shall tell the Wonders which the Lord has wrought:
To future Age shall send his Praises down,
And Miracles perform'd by him alone.
His Covenant confirm'd with Jacob stands;
To Israel thus he fix'd his high Commands:
This, with enjoin'd Obedience to our Sires,
To teach their future Children he requires;
That unborn Race, who wait the natal Day,
Shall this to a successive Race convey,
To trust in God, remember, and obey.
And not with impious Imitation trace
Their Ancestors, a false obdurate Race,
Refusing to direct their Hearts aright;
Nor wou'd they to the Lord their Souls unite.

198

So Ephraim's Sons, tho' arm'd they bore the Bow,
Yet turn'd their Backs, when they beheld the Foe:
From God's disclaim'd Alliance they withdraw;
Rejecting all Obedience to his Law;
His Benefits forgot, and Acts that prove,
Ev'n to their conscious Eyes, his boundless Love;
The Prodigies their Fathers once beheld
In Egypt's Land, in Zoan's wond'ring Field.
He parts the Sea, and leads them thro' the Tide;
And heaps the Billows high on either Side:
A pillar'd Cloud conducts them all the Day;
By Night the Blaze of Fire directs their Way.
He burst the Rocks, in Wilds which never knew
The bubbling Fountain, or refreshing Dew;
To quench their Thirst he bad the Moisture flow,
Plenteous as from the vast Abyss below:
Forth from the Rift the living Streams distill;
As swelling Floods their spacious Channel fill.
Yet still their Crime proceeds; they still conspire
To tempt the Highest to vindictive Ire,
Amid the Solitude: For so suggests
The Diffidence of their ingrateful Breasts.
The Deity they challenge, to supply
The Banquet for their wanton Luxury.
In open Accents now the Murmurs broke,
And thus of God in bold Defiance spoke.
Can he amid the thirsty Wild prepare
The Table charg'd with hospitable Fare?
He smote the Rock indeed, the Waters flow
From gaping Clefts, obedient to the Blow,
And all around in limpid Currents spread:
But can he add the Nourishment of Bread?

199

Or with the Food of solid Flesh maintain
The Numbers of his faint exhausted Train?
The Almighty heard, nor long delay'd his Ire;
In Jacob soon burst forth the kindled Fire;
At Israel's Race his Indignation rose;
Who scorn'd on him their Credence to repose,
Distrustful of the Aid which he bestows.
Tho' he to gath'ring Clouds command had giv'n,
And open'd wide the azure Gate of Heav'n,
To pour the Food, whose memorable Name,
Unheard before, from their Inquiry came.
Ethereal Heav'n produc'd the pearly Grain,
Such Dainties as angelic Boards sustain
Were then indulg'd to Man; till Hunger ceas'd
Repress'd with Plenty of the copious Feast.
He sent the rapid East beneath the Skies:
The softer South by his Commission flies:
Thick as the Dust descends the living Rain,
Of feather'd Fowls; or Sands beside the Main.
These thro' the Limit of their Camp he strow'd.
Around, and in the Midst of their Abode.
They eat, their craving Appetite they fill,
For he indulg'd them to their utmost Will;
Nor was their Wish debarr'd: But while they press'd
With eager Teeth the yet unfinish'd Feast,
The Wrath of God surpriz'd them all, and slew
The wealthy Chiefs of that intemp'rate Crew:
And all the Choice of Israel's Sons o'erthrew.
Yet they persist to Sin; nor to believe
His signal Prodigies Attention give:
For this their Days in Vanity he wears;
And unavailing Labour wastes their Years.

200

Destroy'd by him, to seek him they return;
Their early Diligence prevents the Morn:
Then God their Strength they call to Mind once more;
That the most High their Freedom did restore.
While they on him with fawning Accents hung,
False were their Lips, and faithless was their Tongue:
Nor was their Heart to him approv'd sincere!
Nor did they to his Covenant adhere.
But him serene Benevolence inspires;
Their Guilt he pardons, nor their Fate requires:
How oft from them his Indignation turn'd,
And his diminish'd Ire with slacker Fury burn'd!
The frail Condition of our earthly Kind
To him appears but as the passing Wind
That comes no more, nor leaves its Track behind.
Him in the Wild how oft did they incense,
And grieve his heav'nly Mind with their Offence?
Retreating back they tempt the Pow'r divine;
And Israel's Holy One they dar'd confine.
Forgetful of his Hand; and of the Day
When from their Foes he led them safe away:
When Ægypt once his Prodigies beheld;
The Wonders he perform'd in Zoan's Field.
He bad the River roll a purple Store:
They pine for Thirst, and loath the tasted Gore.
At his Command the putrid Air supplies
The clust'ring Legions of envenom'd Flies,
With Stings infix'd to riot in their Blood:
With these, the noisy Frogs, aquatic Brood,

201

Annoy'd their fainting Sense. In vain appear
The globous Buds in Promise of the Year:
Upon the ravag'd Sweets the Canker feeds;
The Locust to the lab'ring Hind succeeds.
In vain the curling Vines are hung around
With swelling Gems; for with a rattling Sound
The marble Tempest bears them to the Ground.
Pinch'd by untimely Winter scatter'd lye
The juicy Berries of a sanguin Dye:
The weighty Hail upon their Herds he threw;
To blast their Flocks the ruddy Lightning flew,
And hissing Bolts with flaming Sulphur blue.
He pours upon them his Revenge severe;
Fury, and Consternation, and Despair:
And to malignant Angels gives Command
To bear his Terrors thro' the guilty Land.
He gave his Anger way; nor deign'd to save
Their sinking Spirit from the gaping Grave:
Their Cattle first the dire Destruction find,
By him to wasteful Pestilence resign'd.
And now a deeper Wound the Ægyptians mourn,
In mingl'd Fun'rals of their eldest born:
The Choice of Youth, and who in Strength excell'd,
Wherever Ham's detested Offspring dwell'd.
But, as the Shepherd to the flow'ry Meads
Conducts his Flock, his People forth he leads:
Secure and fearless they, their March he guides;
But whelms their Foes beneath the rushing Tides:
On to the Limits of his sacred Land,
This Mountain purchas'd by his own right Hand:
From thence the Natives he before them drives:
And by the Line to them Possession gives,

202

Proportion'd; thus the Tribes of Israel dwell'd
In their Abodes whom he from thence expell'd.
Yet to the Trial the Supreme they dare;
Nor think his Institutes deserve their Care.
Now, turn'd to Flight, they measure back their Pace,
And prove the faithless Authors of their Race:
So bursts the Bow, and to the Archer's Scope
Deceitful, frustrates his eluded Hope.
Forbidden Altars on the Hills on high,
And sculptur'd Gods provoke his Jealousy.
This when the Lord had heard, his Anger grew
To sternest Hate of Israel's impious Crew:
The Tent of Shiloh he abandon'd then;
The lov'd Pavilion he had fix'd with Men.
Their Strength he then resign'd to servile Bands:
His Glory to the bold Invader's Hands.
The People, once his own, he doom'd to feel
Th' insatiate Fury of the deathful Steel;
When on his own Domain burst forth his Ire:
Their blooming Youth in cruel Flames expire;
In bridal Song no more the Virgin hears
Her Praises chaunted by her late Compeers.
Fall'n by the Sword the holy Priests lye slain:
The Widows fix'd in silent Woe remain.
Then, as from quiet Sleep, arose the Lord:
As when some Hero finds his Strength restor'd
By Spirits which the gen'rous Grape supplies,
In ecchoing Shouts his lofty Voice he tries.

203

Deep in their Back his Enemies he wounds:
And with eternal Infamy confounds.
He Joseph's Tents refus'd; nor him preferr'd,
On whom the Patriarch's Blessing wilful err'd:
But Juda's favour'd Tribe, his Choice approv'd;
And Sion's holy Mountain, his belov'd.
His Temple there he rais'd, to emulate
The lofty Structures of imperial State:
And laid the firm Foundation deep below;
Strong as the Earth, no Change to undergo.
His Choice on David fix'd, he took the Swain
From Flocks, and Folds, and from the rural Plain:
From following Mothers of the fleecy Breed,
The People of his Heritage to feed.
His faithful Heart, sincerely he apply'd,
For them the plenteous Pasture to provide:
And with experienc'd Skill their Ways to guide.

The Ark.

PSALM LXXIX.

Behold! O God! behold the cruel Train
Of stern Barbarians ravage thy Domain:
Behold thy Shrine profan'd, and when on high
The Tow'rs of Salem glitter'd on the Sky,
A mighty Waste, and Pile of Ruins lye.
Thy Servants lifeless Carcasses are giv'n
To ev'ry greedy Vulture of the Heav'n:
Thy holy Saints without Interment lay,
And ev'ry Beast of Earth devour'd the Prey.

204

As falling Rains increase the swelling Flood,
So Sion floated with her Children's Blood:
Nor dar'd a pitying Friend upon the Bier
Compose the Dead, or fun'ral Rites confer.
Stung with Reproaches of our Foes we mourn:
To bord'ring Realms a Mark of public Scorn.
Shall Length of Time, O Lord! thy Ire assuage?
Or shall for ever glow thy jealous Rage
Like wasteful Flames, and unextinguish'd burn?
Thy kindled Wrath on other Objects turn:
On Nations ignorant of thee to fall;
And Realms which never on thy Name did call.
For to their cruel Rage is Jacob made
A Prey; and his Abode in Ruins lay'd.
But O! remember not, from former Times
Our past Offences; but forgive our Crimes:
With soft Compassion, e're it is too late,
Behold, and raise us from our fall'n Estate.
O God of our Salvation! yet once more,
For thy Renown, our Liberty restore:
And cleanse our Guilt, as we thy Name implore.
With impious Taunt why should the Heathen cry
Where? where is now their boasted Deity?
May he, so known, conspicuous in their Sight,
Upon themselves his Servants Blood requite.
O! let the mournful Sighs before thee come
Of Captives, destin'd to receive their Doom:
And prove, by Pow'r in their Deliv'rance shown,
That Life and Death are in thy Hand alone.
But to our Neighbours, seven times multiply'd
Into their Bosom recompense their Pride:
Who thee with impious Scoff have dar'd deride.

205

So we thy People, of thy Pasture we
The chosen Sheep, shall render Thanks to thee;
Nor ever cease: To thee we mean to pay
The pious Hymn, while Ages roll away.

PSALM LXXXVIII.

O God of my Salvation! all the Day
To thee, and all the Night to thee I pray:
Admit my Cries before thee to appear;
And to my Supplication bend thine Ear.
With Woe my Soul is fraught; my fainting Breath
Approaches nearly to the Gates of Death:
I seem like one who to the nether Shade
Descends; in Vigour and in Force decay'd.
Where all, whom Death restores to Liberty,
Slain in the Grave, and unremember'd lye:
These from the Living, by a fatal Blow,
Thy Hand divides. And thou hast cast me low;
In deepest Caverns underneath the Ground,
Obscure with Night, and in the vast Profound.
Thy dread Displeasure presses on my Soul;
And o'er my Head the raging Tempests roll.
My dearest Friends, or who were such of late,
Hast thou remov'd, or turn'd their Love to Hate:
Confin'd in Dungeons, and oppress'd with Chains,
No Hope of Liberty to me remains.
With pining Grief my wasted Eyes decay:
To thee I spread my Hands, to thee I pray;
As each revolving Sun renews the Day.

206

For wilt thou thy stupendous Wonders show
To the pale Nations of the Dead below?
What Pow'r of Art, or Miracle shall raise
Their vanish'd Being to recite thy Praise?
Who in the Tomb shall tell thy Mercy's Fame?
Or thy Veracity in Death proclaim?
Or shall eternal Night thy Marvels boast?
Or show thy Justice on the dismal Coast
Where Thought itself is in Oblivion lost?
But thee have I implor'd; with early Cries,
My Pray'r attends thee, e're the Morn arise:
O! wherefore dost thou thus my Soul repell?
And o'er thy Presence cast a cloudy Veil?
Thus have I languish'd from my tender Years,
And instant Death before my Eyes appears,
Press'd with thy Wrath, and frantic with my Fears.
Thy Indignation, and the conscious Dread
Of heav'nly Vengeance, overwhelms my Head;
Like rolling Billows, and the rushing Tide,
They break above, and pour on ev'ry Side:
In vain on Kinsman, or on Friend I call;
For universal Darkness hides them all.

PSALM XC.

Thou, Lord! hast been our sure Repose,
Our sacred Refuge from our Foes;
Since aged Time his Course began,
And thro' successive Periods ran.

207

Before the Mountain's early Birth,
Before the Structure of the Earth,
Before the universal Ball
Emerg'd from nothing at thy Call,
Thou, present Godhead! dost survey
An unbegun, an endless Day.
Mankind by thee resign'd to Doom,
Thy Voice recalls them from the Tomb:
The Series of a thousand Years,
To thee that narrow Space appears,
Which bounded last diurnal Light:
Or as an Hour of Watch by Night:
As rapid Floods, which roll away
To lose their Water in the Sea;
As Visions of the slumb'ring Eye,
Which vanish when the Slumbers fly:
Or as the Grass they shall consume;
The Morning sees the Verdure bloom,
Which, e'er the Stars of Eav'n arise,
Falls by the Scythe, and fades and dries.
Such is our frail uncertain Age;
Sad Victims of celestial Rage!
Thy Indignation wastes our Years
In dire Anxieties and Fears.
Our Crimes to thy Tribunal brought
The secret Act, and conscious Thought,
Are open all to thy Survey,
Where thy bright Presence gilds the Day.
Our Days in thy Displeasure fail:
Our Years are ended like a Tale.
Sev'n Decads does the annual Sun
To limit our Duration run:

208

Perhaps with firmer Strength we gain
One Decad more of Toil and Pain;
But soon the rapid Hours run on;
And the Reserve of Life is gone.
O! why presume we to inquire
The Force of thy tremendous Ire?
Whose Terrors we so deeply find,
Impress'd upon the wounded Mind.
Nor let us calculate in vain
Our Years that pass, or what remain,
But thence instruct us, to impart
The Care of Wisdom to our Heart.
Return, O Lord! but O how slow!
And mitigate thy Servants woe.
O! Satisfy our eager Sense
With undelay'd Benevolence:
That pious Gratitude, and Joy,
May our successive Days employ.
An Age of Happiness bestow,
To recompense our former Woe.
Let thy dread Acts thy Servants grace;
Thy Glory bless our future Race.
On us thou Majesty Divine!
Conspicuous in Effulgence shine:
And let our Toils, in thee begun,
By thy auspicious Aid be done.

209

PSALM XCI.

Who in Retirement of the Highest dwells,
Him with impervious Shade th' Almighty veils.
Thee I invoke, my Refuge! my Defence!
Unshaken Tow'r of firm Omnipotence!
On him my Trust I place, whose guardian Care
Is fix'd to free me from the Fowler's Snare;
And dire Contagion of the tainted Air.
Thee, hov'ring o'er thy Head, his Plumes shall hide;
Secure shalt thou beneath his Wings abide:
His Truth shall drive thy Dangers all repell'd
By the broad Orb of her protecting Shield.
Thy peaceful Mind no Terror shall affright,
When the wan Spectres glide along by Night:
Nor thee the formidable Shafts which fly
To carry Fate thro' the diurnal Sky.
Nor thee the Venom of the direful Pest,
Whose gloomy March ensanguin'd Clouds invest:
From Realm to Realm tho' swift Destruction run,
And Crowds expire beneath the noon-tide Sun.
A thousand by thy Side shall heap the Plain,
At thy right Hand shall fall ten thousand slain;
Thou, only thou, inviolate remain.
Yet shall thy Eyes the heav'nly Vengeance view:
The Retribution of the impious Crew:

210

For on the Lord thy constant Hope rely'd,
Within his rocky Fortress to reside.
Rest thou secure no adverse Chance to meet:
No wasteful Plague shall reach thy happy Seat.
He, with distinguish'd Charge expressly given,
Consigns thee to the Ministry of Heav'n:
With watchful Diligence to tend thy Ways;
Thee gently wafted in their Arms to raise,
Lest, prominent above the level Ground,
The pointed Stone thy tender Foot shou'd wound.
Beneath thy Foot the drowsy Asp shall lye,
And regal Basilisc with baneful Eye;
Bold shalt thou tread, beneath thy Steps impress'd,
The Lion's brindled Mane, and Dragon's turgid Crest.
His faithful Heart my heav'nly Love respires,
With holy Ardor, and with pure Desires:
For this will I relieve, and raise to Fame,
This pious Vot'ry of my sacred Name.
Invok'd by him with supplicating Cry,
I chear his Sorrows with a prompt Reply:
My Presence in his dubious Toils is known
An Aid confess'd; the Benefit I crown
With sure Deliv'rance, and with high Renown.
To Nature's full Demand shall he be blest
With long extended Days and peaceful Rest.

Super Aspidem et Basiliscum ambulabis, et conculcabis leonem et draconem. Vers. Vulg. V. B.

211

PSALM XCIII.

The Lord, a mighty Monarch, reigns,
In Robes of State himself he drest:
The Zone of Fortitude restrains
The Folds of his imperial Vest.
This pensile habitable World
He balanc'd in the liquid Space:
Which by no Force shall e'er be hurl'd
From its determin'd destin'd Place.
Thy Throne was founded e'er the Earth
Was made; or rolling Ages run:
Anteriour thou to Nature's Birth,
Primæval Essence, unbegun!
Hark, Lord! the swelling Torrent roars;
The Flood exhorts the boiling Main:
Old Ocean summons all the Stores
His ample Magazines contain.
What tho' the Surges foam and roll,
And with impetuous Tumult rave?
The Lord resides above the Pole,
More dreadful than the raging Wave.
On thy Decrees does Truth await:
And, Lord! in thy eternal Dome,
So to adorn thy regal State,
Fair Piety has fix'd her Home.

212

PSALM C.

Ye Nations all! whose various Climates glow
With sultry Suns, or freeze with solid Snow:
The Heav'n's eternal Law your Bounds divides,
With Range of Mountains or resounding Tides,
Let pious Joy your grateful Bosoms raise;
And join in Hymns of universal Praise.
Revere th' omnipotent, eternal King:
Parent divine, of Nature sacred Spring.
No heav'n-born Race, nor self-existent we;
His Word from nothing summon'd us to be:
His People we, his Flock peculiar Share
The plenteous Herbage, and the Pastor's Care.
With humble Joy and Veneration wait
To tread his Courts, and to approach his Gate:
Adore the sacred Name, from whose Dispose
An inexhausted Stream of Bounty flows.
While Ages roll his Mercy shall remain;
No Period limits his extended Reign:
His Truth shall last, while with successive Birth
The Race of Mortals shall renew the Earth.

PSALM CII.

Accept my Supplication, heav'nly Lord!
To my Complaint a gentle Ear afford:

213

Nor in the Time of my Distress conceal
Thy sacred Presence with a cloudy Veil.
When in the Days of Woe to thee I cry,
Incline thine Ear and give a prompt Reply.
My wasted Days in pining Sorrow wear;
Like rising Smoke which vanishes in Air.
My solid Bones with secret Grief decay,
As smooth'ring Brands in Embers fall away.
My wounded Heart, to deep Dejection cast,
Withers, like Verdure by a piercing Blast:
No needful Food invites my sickly Taste.
My Breast is tortur'd with incessant Groans:
And scarce my Skin invests my starting Bones.
Like pensive Swans in sedgy Lakes I moan;
Or Birds of Night who dwell in Wilds alone:
As widow'd Sparrows on the Roof deplore,
When their lov'd Mates return to them no more.
While, all the live long Day, my Foes engage
In vile Reproach, and Vows of frantic Rage.
My Palate, now with bitter ashes fed,
Forgets the vital Nourishment of Bread:
No gen'rous Wine my flowing Goblet fills,
But the salt Stream, which from my Eyes distills.
Such Grief thy Indignation does require;
And such Effects attends thy dreadful Ire:
For thou hast rais'd me, for a surer Blow,
And cast me then precipitous below.
My fleeting Days insensibly decline,
Like creeping Shadows from the horal Line:
The Vigour of my languid Prime decays,
Like Grass that fades beneath the solar Rays.

214

But thy Existence, Lord! shall ever last:
No Flux of Time shall thy Memorial waste.
Yet shalt thou rise, and in Indulgence great,
Shall grace thy Sion, once thy favour'd Seat:
'Tis now the Time her Glory to restore,
Confirm'd by Fate to this auspicious Hour.
Her ruin'd Heaps thy Servants Thoughts employ:
Her Dust inspires a melancholy Joy.
O Lord! the Nations shall revere thy Name;
And Earth's proud Monarchs tremble at thy Fame.
When Sion's God again her Walls shall raise,
And there conspicuous in his Glory blaze.
He hears the Pray'r of the neglected Train:
Nor shall they sue to him and sue in vain.
This Roll of lasting Record shall engage
The fix'd Attention of the future Age:
A Race unborn, and to the Light unknown,
With joyous Hymns the Deity shall own.
He from his Sanctuary far on high
Casts down his Eyes; the Lord from yonder Sky
Beholds the Globe of Earth beneath him lye.
He, with relenting Pity, hears complain
The groaning Captives; and he breaks their Chain,
Whom their stern Foes have destin'd to be slain.
The sacred Name in Sion they shall praise;
Jerusalem shall sound with mystic Lays:
While various Nations shall in Union join,
And distant Realms, to serve the Pow'r Divine.
But he exhausts my Strength, and checks my Race:
And bounds my Days in more contracted Space.

215

My God! said I, O! take me not away,
Snatch'd from the full Meridian of my Day:
Thy Years for ever last, unconscious of Decay.
Thou, at primæval Nature's early Birth,
Hast lay'd the deep Foundations of the Earth;
Above the azure Veil of Heav'n expands,
And is the beauteous Fabric of thy Hands,
Yet they shall perish, thou remain the same;
And Age, like worn Attire, shall waste their Frame:
For thou shall lay them as a Robe aside,
And with their Beauty vanishes their Pride.
Thou, only thou no Change shalt ever know;
Thy Years alone without a Period flow.
A Course of long Succession shall maintain,
The favour'd Line of thy devoted Train:
And in thy Presence shall the Race remain.

PSALM CIV.

Bless thou the Lord, my Soul! O Pow'r divine!
My Sov'reign Dread! what Majesty is thine!
With Honor and imperial Greatness drest,
And purest Rays compose thy lucid Vest.
Heav'n, like a Veil, his secret seat enfolds,
The liquid Chrystalline it's Beams upholds.
Upon the Chariot of the Clouds he sails,
And treads the Pennons of the soaring Gales.
In Rays of Æther and celestial Fire,
He cloaths his Ministers and Angel Choir.

216

He fix'd the Earth as on a solid Base,
Self-pois'd to rest; nor ever change it's Place.
Thou erst o'erspreadst it with the brooding Deep,
As with a Robe; above the Mountain-steep
The Billows roll'd: But at thy Check they fly;
And when thy Thunder rattles thro' the Sky.
Precipitate their headlong Flight. They now
Climb the steep Summit of the Mountain's Brow:
Now thro' the Dales with prone Descent they pour;
To seek the Place where thou hadst form'd before
The mighty Basin for their confluent Store.
With Barriers fix'd their Rage thou dost restrain:
Not to be pass'd to drown the Land again.
He thro' the Vallies sends the streaming Rills,
Whose bubbling Fountains Ooze among the Hills.
Beasts of the Field upon the Margin meet,
With cooling Draughts to quench their inward Heat;
The savage Ass his fiery Thirst allays:
Above, the vocal Birds, among the Sprays,
Tune their wild Notes. From his celestial Bow'rs,
He on the Hills the genial Moisture show'rs.
So with thy Bounty fill'd, does Earth produce
Grass for the Herds, and Plants for human Use:
So hast thou caus'd the fertile Globe to bear,
The gen'rous Grape, the Heart of Man to chear;
To glad his Countenance the fragrant Oil,
And Bread, Support of necessary Toil,
The sacred Trees with vital Sap are fed;
The Cedars, planted by the Lord, to spread
O'er Lebanon the Umbrage of their Head.
Upon their Summit next the chirping Choir:
And Storks upon the Pine's aerial Spite.

217

The Mountain-Goats o'er Precipices bound;
A safe Retirement from the Hunter found:
And deep the Conies hide in rocky Ground.
He set the silver Moon, with various Face,
To mark th' alternate Stages of her Race:
He taught the Sun, at Close of Day, to sink
Beneath the blue Horizon's doubtful Brink.
Thou call'st for Darkness; then the Shades arise,
And Night regains the Empire of the Skies:
Then, in the friendly Shelter of the Gloom,
Rouz'd from their Laires, the shaggy Sylvans roam;
The Lyon's Whelps in search of Quarry roar,
Yet they from God their Sustenance implore.
No sooner o'er the Earth the ruddy Sun
Exalts his Orb, but all away they run,
Till in their hollow Dens, obscure and deep,
On a promiscuous Heap they couch to sleep.
But, with the Day, to Man returns again
His constant Portion of appointed Pain
And destin'd Labour; till the Ev'ning's Close
Refresh his weary Limbs with due Repose.
O Lord! how num'rous for our Wonder call
Thy Operations, form'd in Wisdom all!
Thy Wealth diffus'd o'er this terrestrial Ball!
Nor o'er the Earth alone, the spacious Main
Partakes; whose vast extended Tracts contain
A Race transcending Number: Part a Fry
Scarce worth a Name, or obvious to the Eye;
Part of enormous Bulk. There o'er the Tide
To distant Ports adventrous Vessels ride.
There the Leviathan thy Pleasure forms,
To dance upon the Waves, and sport in Storms.

218

All these, thy Creatures, thee alone await,
Of thee, in Season, to receive their Meat:
By thee dispens'd they gather up their Food,
All from thy lib'ral Hand suffic'd with Good.
Thy Face averted, destitute they mourn:
Their Breath by thee recall'd, they dye, they turn,
Again to native Dust—
Thy Spirit issuing forth, with second Birth,
A new Creation shall adorn the Earth.
The Glory of the Lord for ever lasts:
And in his Works sincere Delight he tastes.
Earth he beholds; it trembles on it's Poles:
The Hills he touches, and above them rolls
Involving Smoak. While the congenial Flame
Of vital Spirit animates my Frame,
I to the Lord will consecrate my Lays:
While I exist my God I mean to praise,
In Thoughts of him to Ecstasy resign'd,
So shall the Deity rejoice my Mind.
O! may the Guilty from the World decay!
O! may the Impious ever waste away!
Bless thou the Lord, my Soul! and yet again
With Alleluias end the sacred Strain.

PSALM CV.

O celebrate the Lord! invoke his Name;
His mighty Deeds to heathen Realms proclaim:
From him derive the Hymn, the solemn Song;
Of his stupendous Acts your Speech prolong.

219

Then triumph in his Name, for ever blest:
Who seek the Lord, let Joy inspire their Breast.
The Lord and his Omnipotence explore:
Require his sacred Presence ever-more.
Preserve in Memory his wondrous Deed,
His Signs, and Judgment by his Mouth decreed.
O ye of Abraham his Servant's Race;
Ye who from his elected Jacob trace
Your favour'd Line! the Lord our God is he;
And all the World submits to his Decree.
His Covenant he still in Mind retains;
His Promise, which immutable remains,
While thousand Ages roll: which he of yore
To Abraham engag'd, to Isaac swore;
The same he gave to Jacob in Command,
The League with Israel ever fix'd to stand.
This Land, he said, of Canaan shall be thine;
This your paternal Portion I assign.
Tho' yet but few in Number they were found;
A slender Train, and then on foreign Ground:
For then they wander'd thro' the bord'ring States,
In various Exiles, led by various Fates.
He suffer'd none to injure them; but mov'd
In their Defence, ev'n Monarchs he reprov'd.
Nor my Anointed touch; nor violate
Whom I have sent, the Messengers of Fate.
He calls; obsequious to the stern Command,
Commission'd Famine desolates the Land.
No longer the Support of corny Grain,
Destroy'd by him, does human Life maintain.
He sends his Harbinger before, the Youth
Adorn'd with Beauty, Chastity and Truth:

220

To base unworthy Slavery betray'd,
With Fetters gall'd, in Chains of Iron laid,
Which pierc'd his Soul; till the celestial Word,
In destin'd Hour, his Innocence explor'd.
Then sent the King, who there the Sceptre bore,
To break his Chains, and Freedom to restore:
Exalted him his regal Pow'r to share;
And trusted all his Treasures to his Care.
Permitted him his Princes to restrain,
And Wisdom to his Senate to explain.
To Ægypt then the rev'rend Israel came,
And Jacob sojourn'd in the Land of Ham.
To Numbers there he caus'd their Tribes to grow;
And gave them Force superior to their Foe:
For this dire Envy animates their Breast,
With faithless Wiles his Servants to molest.
His Servant Moses then, with Aaron join'd,
His sacred Choice Ambassadors design'd:
Disclos'd in public View his Signals stand
By these; his Prodigies in Ammon's Land.
Night he commanded from the nether Shade;
And all the wide Horizon Night array'd:
Nor then his Oracles they disobey'd.
Their worshipp'd Stream he turns to putrid Blood:
While dying roll upon the goary Flood,
Their Monster-Gods, and Terrors of the Nile,
The River-Horse and sealy Crocodile.
Then to the Frogs he gave a wond'rous Birth;
An upstart Offspring of the teeming Earth:
These thro' their Palaces in Numbers spread,
And lodge themselves upon the royal Bed.

221

He spake; and instant as the Word repair
Black Swarms of Flies to darken all the Air:
Thro' all the Region he the Insects brings
To wound their Bodies with envenom'd Stings.
In Place of Rain he gives them pond'rous Hail;
While on the Ground the fiery Meteors trail.
In vain the Vines their swelling Gems produce,
And rip'ning Figs digest their cruder Juice:
He blasts them all; and spreads the Country round
With levell'd Woods, all shatter'd on the Ground.
He calls; the Locusts, and a countless Band
Of wasteful Cankers, posting o'er the Land,
To Pillage destin'd it's Increase invade:
Devour the tender Plant, and springing Blade.
Wounded by him, thro' all their Confines dy'd
The blooming youth, their Parents eldest Pride.
His own he forth conducts, enrich'd with Store
Of silver Vases, and of golden Ore:
Not one in all their Kindred cou'd they find
Whose feeble Force with Sickness was declin'd.
Th' Ægyptians now with Joy their March beheld:
So had their Fear their Avarice expell'd.
Above a cloudy Canopy he spread:
And pointed Flames their nightly Journey led.
He to their Wish the tasteful Quail accords;
And with the Bread of Heav'n supplies their Boards:
He cleaves the Rock; the copious Streams diffuse
O'er the parch'd Sands, as ample Rivers Use.
For he what sacred Ties his Promise bind,
And Abraham his Servant calls to mind.
With Joy his rescu'd People forth he guides;
With Triumph his Elect: and he divides

222

To them of heathen Realms the conquer'd Soil;
A rich Inheritance in other's Toil.
Yet limited, that with religious Awe
They keep his Statutes, and observe his Law.

Milton.

Ibid.

PSALM CVI.

In Alleluias all your Voices join;
With grateful Praise confess the Lord benign:
No Period e'er shall his Indulgence bound,
While Ages measure their eternal Round.
His mighty Deeds what Mortal can relate?
His equal Praises who shall celebrate?
How happy they who Justice still attend,
And all their Hours in Acts of Virtue spend!
Remember me, O Lord! that I may find
What Favour for thy People is design'd:
With salutary Presence visit me;
That I the Bliss of thy Elect may see,
Partake the Joys of thy peculiar Train,
And share the Triumphs of thy own Domain.
We to our Ancestors in Guilt succeed:
In perpetrated Crimes, and impious Deed.
Our Sires beheld, with inattentive Thought,
Thy iterated Signs in Ægypt wrought;
Nor treasur'd in their recollected Sense
The boundless Stores of thy Benevolence;
But where the Sea, the Erythræan flows,
Against thee there in bold Rebellion rose.

223

Yet them he sav'd, to vindicate his Name:
And his Omnipotence confirm'd to Fame.
Reprov'd by him, the Sea forgets to flow;
And bare appears the solid Soil below;
By him conducted, thro' the Deep they pass'd,
As thro' the Regions of the sandy Waste.
He then redeem'd them from the Tyrant's Hand;
And sav'd them from their Enemy's Command:
While all their Foes beneath the gulphy Wave
Lie whelm'd; not one escapes the watry Grave.
His Oracles did then their Credence gain:
His Praise they sung in an alternate Strain.
But soon to dark Oblivion they resign'd
His Acts; nor to his Council bend their Mind.
As thro' the dreary Solitude they go,
To mad Excess their wanton Wishes grow;
And with their insolent Demands they try,
Amid the Wild, to brave the Deity:
He grants the Boon; but thus the Grant controlls,
That meager Atrophy shou'd waste their Souls.
Yet in the Camp again, with Envy fir'd,
Against their patient Leader they conspir'd;
And Aaron, venerable by the Sign
Of Consecration to the Pow'r Divine.
The gaping Earth, down to the Centre cleaves,
And Rebel Dathan to the Shades receives:
Then, closing o'er their Heads, it's Bars restrain
His guilty Brother, and seditious Train.
The sudden Flame amid their Crew aspires:
The Impious perish in devouring Fires.
At Horeb's Foot an imag'd Calf they made:
And to the molten Gold their Adoration paid.

224

Thus their inverted Glory they deface;
And with the Semblance of an Ox disgrace:
An Animal, who knows no higher Good
Than ruminating on his grassy Food.
Their Saviour, God, they banish'd from their Thought;
And all his mighty Deeds in Ægypt wrought:
Stupendous Prodigies in Ammon's Land;
And Signs terrific on the Red-Sea Strand.
Then he pronounc'd, that he decreed to fall
The universal Ruin on them all:
But Moses, his Elect, the Breach maintains
And from the rest the issuing Wrath detains;
That Wrath celestial, which prepar'd to fall,
With universal Ruin menac'd all.
Yet ev'n that happy Region they disdain'd;
Nor now his Promise their Belief obtain'd:
They spread the Murmurs of their Discontent,
In mutual Confidence from Tent to Tent;
Too obstinate Attention to afford
To monitory Dictates of the Lord.
He rais'd against them his obtesting Hand,
To whelm them in the solitary Land:
To drive their Progeny dispers'd and hurl'd
Thro' barb'rous Nations, and the distant World.
To Phegor next they join'd themselves; and fed
On the polluted Victims of the Dead:
Their wild Inventions his Revenge inflame;
And on them swift the dire Destruction came.
Then Phineas rose, and by Atonement made
With guilty Blood, the spreading Mischief stay'd:

225

This Act imputed Righteousness shall crown,
From Age to Age recording his Renown.
His dreadful Anger yet again they try'd;
There where the Waters of Contention glide:
Then Moses found, by sad Experience taught,
The Prince to suffer for the People's Fault;
For him so far their Murmurs did provoke,
That from his Lips unguarded Passion broke,
Yet did they not destroy the gentile Train,
So did the Mandate of the Lord ordain:
Accurs'd Alliance soon their Blood unites;
And leads to imitate forbidden Rites.
The imag'd Gods their servile Homage share:
Which often prov'd their Detriment and Snare.
Unhappy Victims! at the Dæmon's Call,
Their blooming Youth, and fairest Virgins fall;
All smear'd with filial Gore the Parents stand
Of Innocents, who by the dire Command
Of Canaan's Idols purple all the Land.
They, with the Tincture of their Deeds embrew'd,
Their Fictions with adult'rous Love pursu'd.
Against his People this incens'd the Lord;
Who now his own Inheritance abhorr'd.
He then resign'd them to the cruel Hand
Of heathen Nations; to the hard Command
Of hostile Lords: To their oppressive Foe,
Beneath the Yoak of Servitude they bow.
He oft reliev'd them; they as many Times
Provok'd him, and were humbled for their Crimes:
He yet regards their Sorrows; nor denies
A gentle Audience to their suppliant Cries.

226

His Covenant again recall'd to mind,
He, in his num'rous Mercies, grows more kind:
The Victors to Compassion he inclin'd.
Preserve us, Lord! our God whom we adore!
From foreign Lands our scatter'd Race restore:
Again assembled to thy sacred Name
Our Thanks to pay; and triumph in thy Fame.
Blest be the Lord whom Israel's Sons adore,
From Age to Age, till Time shall be no more!
Let full Assent resound from all the Throng;
And with your Alleluias end the Song.

PSALM CXIV.

I

When Israel fled from Ægypt's Shore,
Freed from a stern Barbarian's Pow'r,
He whose Protection Israel grac'd,
In Juda his Pavilion plac'd.

II

An unknown Frost surpriz'd the Flood;
On Heaps the parted Waters stood:
And Jordan, struck with equal Dread,
Shrunk backward to his antient Head.

III

The solid Mountains skipp'd like Rams;
The rising Hills like frisking Lambs:
What unknown Frost surpriz'd the Flood?
Say, why on Heaps the Waters stood?

227

IV

Why did'st thou, Jordan! struck with Dread,
Shrink backward to thy antient Head?
Say, why the Mountains skipp'd like Rams?
The rising Hills like frisking Lambs?

V

Tremble, thou Earth! with rev'rend Fear
Tremble when Jacob's God is near:
At whose Command the Rocks distil,
The Flint pours forth a weeping Rill.

ODE on Psalm CXXX.

I.

From the profound Abyss below
Beneath the vaulted Base of Earth,
Beneath where Vegetables take their Birth,
Beneath where Gems and rip'ning Metals glow:
Beneath those Caverns which abide
Th' incessant Pressure of the rolling Tide,
Beneath the Magazines which keep
Th' exhaustless Treasures of the watry Deep;
I raise my humble Voice, and try,
Tho' I so low and he so high,
To reach the starry Mansions of the Deity,

228

II.

My humble Voice with mild Attention hear!
I see, I see the dreadful Day,
What mortal Eye the View can bear?
When Justice, rob'd in terrible Array,
Shall all the World to thy Tribunal call:
When Men shall seek their guilty Heads to hide
Crush'd by the Mountain's mould'ring Side;
Or bury'd in the Ruins of the universal Ball.
Till Mercy from the Sky descends;
Divinest Attribute of Power!
In Air the flaming Sword suspends;
And bids it rage no more, no more devour.
Divinest Attribute! which does maintain
The sacred Awe of thy eternal Reign.

III.

My Soul secure attends the Lord;
Repos'd on his irrevocable Word:
With early Hymns she wakes the rising Day;
With earlier Vigilance than they
Who from the Turret watch the dawning Light,
Emerging from the Shades of Night.
Ye Sons of Israel! ye who trace
Your hallow'd Lineage from the Patriarch's Race!
With stedfast Hope your gracious Lord adore:
For know, that in the inexhausted Store
Of certain Fate, your great Redeemer lies.
When future Time and certain Fate
The destin'd Period shall complete,
Himself the Lord, shall this Redeemer rise.

229

No Triumphs equal to the Deed,
Tho' from Ægyptian Bondage reed,
Can be compar'd to what remain;
When he of Guilt shall break the Chain,
And give us Liberty again.

PSALM CXXXI.

Lord! no ambitious Mind I bear,
Betray'd in haughty Airs:
Nor I, above my proper Sphere
Converse in great Affairs.
But mildly I myself demean'd;
And angry Thoughts suppress'd:
As when an Infant newly wean'd,
Forgets his Mother's Breast.
Ev'n like that weanling Babe my Mind
Is soon compos'd to Peace:
To God be Israel's Hope resign'd,
From now till Time shall cease.

PSALM CXXXIII.

I

What Joy when Brethren dwell combin'd
In Pious Unity of Mind!
'Tis like the sacred Unction shed
On Aaron's venerable Head:

230

When bath'd in Fragrancy respire
His rev'rend Beard and rich Attire.

II

Like Dews which trickling from the Sky
In pearly Globes on Hermon lye;
Or balmy Vapours which distil
On Sion's consecrated Hill.
For there the Lord his Blessing plac'd;
And these with Life eternal grac'd.

PSALM CXXXVII.

I

Beside where fam'd Euphrates flows,
Thy dear Remembrance urg'd our Woes;
Thee Solyma! our Tears deplore,
The Great! the Glorious! now no more:
Our silent Harp, untun'd, unstrung,
Upon the hoary Willows hung.

II

Our haughty Lords, insulting throng,
In barb'rous Mirth demand a Song:
Such tuneful Airs, melodious Strains,
As ill agree with servile Chains;
Such Songs as us'd of old to sound,
O'er Sion's Courts and hallow'd Ground.

231

III

And can we then, celestial King!
Thy Hymns in hateful Exile sing!
Thee, Sion! if my Thoughts forego,
Thy Glories past, thy present Woe,
May then, with Palsies numb'd and chill,
My better Hand forget her Skill.

IV

O Solyma! if ever part
Thy honour'd Image from my Heart,
Fix'd to my Palate may my Tongue
For ever motionless be hung:
If any Joy my Bosom know
Superior to so just a Woe.

V

O may celestial Ire apace
Involve Idume's cruel Race!
Think, Lord! what they presum'd to say,
When Sion saw her latest Day:
They bad her levell'd Pride confound;
And raze her Turret to the Ground.

VI

Daughter of Babel doom'd to know
The pining Waste of meager Woe!
O! happy he who shall repay
The Vengeance of that signal Day:
And happy he by whom are thrown
Thy Infants on the rugged Stone.

232

ODE on Part of the same.

I.

As on Euphrates' Bank we sate
Adown our Cheeks such Torrents glide,
To mourn our melancholy Fate,
As emulate the swelling Tide.
O Sion! all on thee revolv'd our Thought;
Sad, lov'd Idea! to Remembrance brought,
Eternal Anguish to inspire:
While we, upon the Willow, fed
With plenteous Moisture by the River's Bed,
Suspend the silent Lyre.

II.

The cruel Authors of our servile Bands
Insult us with severe Commands:
That mean Delight of arbitrary Pride,
The Miserable to deride;
They bad us tune our mournful Voice
Difus'd to sing, or to rejoice:
Begin, th' imperious Victors cry'd,
Begin the lofty Strain, which er'st you sung
When ecchoing Sion with the Music rung.

III.

Lord! shall we sing thy Hymns, to be profan'd
By such an Audience in a barb'rous Land?

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And thou, Jerusalem! if it can be
That to Oblivion I abandon thee,
May this right Hand, forsaken of it's Skill,
And all it's paralytic Nerves unstrung,
Forget to Act the Dictates of my Will.
If ever my ingrateful Breast
Shall with thy Image cease to be possess'd,
Fix'd to my Palate cleave my stupid Tongue
If any Joy my pensive Bosom chear;
Nor I Jerusalem to all prefer.

PSALM CXLVIII.

From vocal Air and convex Skies,
Let wafted Alleluias sound:
And let the sacred Triumphs rise,
Till vaulted Heav'n the Notes rebound.
Ye Angels! you harmonious Throng,
Who round the Throne eternal wait:
Alternate answer to the Song,
Ye rapid Ministers of Fate!
Thou solar Orb! whose ruddy Beam
Compells the Shades of Night to yield:
Thou silver Moon! whose fainter Gleam
Scarce trembles o'er yon azure Field.
Ye Stars! who circle round the Pole,
Illumin'd with distinguish'd Rays;
Instruct your vocal Spheres to roll
Symphonious, to your Maker's Praise.

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Praise him, above th' æthereal Heighth
Thou Empyrean! far more high:
Praise him, ye Cataracts! the Weight
Of Waters treasur'd o'er the Sky.
His Name with pious Praises sing,
Who kindled first the beamy Light:
Who first commanded you to spring
Forth from the Cells of genuine Night.
His Edict, with eternal Force,
Aloft suspends the starry Rays:
He points, along the liquid Course,
Their Motions, Intervals, and Ways,
Thee, lower Earth! the Hymn requires,
To answer to the jocund Sound:
Ye Dragons with enamell'd Spires!
Ye Caverns of the vast Profound!
Ye lambent Flames! ye Hail and Snow!
In humid Trails ye Vapours curl'd!
Ye Tempests! which obedient blow
To pour his Vengeance on the World.
Ye Mountain-Steeps! ye humbler Hills!
Ye Trees! which with delicious Food
And gen'rous Juice the Season fills:
Ye Cedars, Giants of the Wood.
Ye savage Beasts! who lone abide
In Forests: Ye of milder kind!
Ye Reptiles, who extended glide!
Ye plumy Tribes who mount the Wind.
Ye Monarchs! whose imperial Sway,
The subjugated Nations awes:
Ye Nations who those Kings obey!
Ye Chiefs and Guardians of the Laws.

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Ye active Youth, in manly Prime!
Ye Virgins deck'd with blooming Grace!
Ye Elders press'd by creeping Time!
And you the tender infant Race!
Your Voices raise with mix'd Acclaim;
To praise the universal Lord:
The sole, august, majestic Name,
O'er Earth and distant Heav'n ador'd.
When he shall elevate their Horn,
Shall all his Saints his Praises sing:
The Progeny of Israel born,
Who still attend their heav'nly King.

PSALM CL.

I

With Alleluias from the Shrine
Salute th' Omnipotence Divine:
And eccho praises from the Sky;
Where he resides in Majesty.

II

Praise him in all his glorious Deeds;
Where his Almighty Pow'r exceeds.
The Trumpet's martial Voice inspire;
And touch the Lute; and strike the Lyre.

III

Let Youth and Beauty form the Dance;
And to the Timbrell's Sound advance:

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Ye Masters of the trembling Wire,
And solemn Organs lead the Choir.

IV

On tuneful Cymbals raise the Sound;
Or from the concave Brass rebound:
And praise him, for to him belongs
The Breath which modulates your Songs.

HYMN, Taken from Psalm VIII.

O Lord, Thou Sov'reign Lord of all,
How glorious is thy Name:
How glorious o'er this earthly Ball,
And yon celestial Frame!
By Infants who begin to try
Their yet unpractis'd Tongue,
To silence bold Impiety,
Thy Praises shall be sung,
Nor to the starry Skies alone
Thy Presence is confin'd:
But thou on Earth hast made it known
In Bounty to Mankind.
The lab'ring Steer and bleating Sheep
And Fowl his Rule obey;
And all that in the spacious Deep
Pursue their watry Way.

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Chorus.

O Lord, thou sov'reign Lord of all,
How glorious is thy Name;
How glorious o'er this earthly Ball,
And yon celestial Frame.
Alleluia.

Wrote June 14th, 1752.

HYMN from Psalm CXIX. Ver. 54.

Thy Statutes have been my Songs in the House of a Pilgrimage.

While on the melancholy Way,
That Journey of a Winter's Day,
Of human Life, I pass along,
Wherever, as my wand'ring Guest,
I bend my weary Head to Rest,
Thy Laws, O Lord! have been my Song.
Tho' all the horrid Shapes of Fear,
Of Danger and of Death are near,
Yet I perceive thee at my Side:
Tho' Shades of genuine Night profound
Enwrap my wretched Head around,
Thy Hand alone shall be my Guide,
Tho' here the Snares of faithless Foes,
There Torrents of involving Woes,

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And there extend the Jaws of Hell:
Tho' Tempests gather in the Sky,
And wing'd with Fate tho' Arrows fly,
Thy Presence shall my Tears expel.
Tho' from the dreadful Storm to fly,
No Cave, nor Hermitage is nigh;
Where I in Safety may retire:
Yet, while I wander thro' the Gloom
Of all my Pilgrimage to come,
Thy Statutes shall my Voice inspire.
My weary Steps forever tend
Incertain, to a certain End;
The Space is Short, the Toil is long:
And, tho' my Voice is faint and weak,
Yet shall my Soul in Silence speak
Of thee; the Subject of my Song.

September 20th, 1753.

Eternal Rocks Edina's Walls surround,
Aloft with Palaces and Castles crown'd:
Here Nature has the rich Material giv'n;
But Arts of Masonry derive from Heav'n.
While Drummond does the deep Foundations cast,
Sound ev'ry Trumpet ev'ry tuneful Blast,
Call ev'ry Star to bless the rising Pyle;
And summon Commerce to the Peristyle.
Tho' Nimrod's impious Tow'r may check the Boast
Of Vanity deceiv'd, and Labour lost,
The true grand Master was the Theban King,
Who built a City by the lyric String.

THE END.