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5

TO THE Rev. Dr. BARNARD, PROVOST OF Eton College, &c.

Servant of God, thy Master's praise I sing;
Aid me, O aid me, while I touch the string:
Lend me one spark of thy celestial fire,
Thoughts that breathe warm, and numbers that aspire.
O shew me where the secret fountain lies,
Which streams of language to thy tongue supplies;
Teach me like thee to feel; and give, ah! give
One greater, nobler art; like thee to live.
O BARNARD, vers'd in wisdom's ancient lore,
And skill'd the depths of science to explore;
Whose well-tun'd ear rejects with nice disdain
The grating sound of each discordant strain;
6

Accept this verse: beneath thine honour'd name
I screen no subject of obscurer fame:
Great is the theme; but oh! my fainting soul
Shrinks from her task, nor grasps this wondrous Whole.
Aid me then, aid me, while I touch the string;
Servant of God, thy Master's praise I sing.
1

A POETICAL ESSAY ON THE EXISTENCE OF GOD.

I. PART I .

Πιστευσαι γαρ δει τον προσερχομενον τω Θεα,
οτι ΕΣΤΙ.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST PART.

General invocation—First Proof of the Existence of God, drawn from the Creation of the World—The Aristotelian system of the World's Eternity, an objection to that proof—That system stated—and refuted—1st, From the lateness of History, Arts, Sciences, &c.—2dly, From the imperfect state of Geography —3dly, From the little alteration that is visible in those objects, which are subject to corruption and decay.—Second Proof of God's Existence drawn from the impossibility of any thing making itself—which introduces the Epicurean system— Epicurus's objections to the Wisdom of God in the Creation stated—and refuted.—Third Proof of the Existence of God drawn from the force of Conscience—An Apostrophe to Conscience. —Fourth Proof of the Existence of God drawn from universal Consent—instanced in Pagans—Mahometans— Christians—A Prayer for the Universality of the Christian Religion.

O Thou, who shrined in beams of purest light,
Encircled by the bright angelic host,
Thy ministers, survey'st whatever is
In earth, in highest heaven, Thee I approach
2

With awful reverence trembling: toward thy seat
I stretch my dazzled eye, if thence a ray
Haply may dart across my feeble spirit,
And touch my lips with fire. Then shall the Muse
Disdain all humbler themes; and soaring far
Above the vapours of this earthly sphere,
Sound an Arch-angel's trumpet, and proclaim,
‘I AM, who was, and is, and is to come.’
Sceptic, if never yet thine eye survey'd
Yon bright empyreal; if thy mind ne'er rov'd
O'er æther's spacious plains; look up, and tell
From what exhaustless stream the Lord of day
Drinks never-wasting fire; what hidden power
3

Wheels the bright planets round their central orb?
Who bids the silent moon with sober pace
Steal o'er the serene azure; and with stars
Spangles the vault of night? Who told the clouds
To drop rich moisture on the thirsty soil?
Who shap'd the lightning's nimble wing, and rais'd
The thunder's awful voice?—At thy command,
Great architect, at thy creative word,
Up from the vast and shapeless chaos rose
Harmonious order. Thee, Thee, mighty Lord,
Even to the center of the formless void
Confusion heard; and, with her thousand tongues,
‘At thy strong bidding,’ Discord sunk to rest.
'Twas then, then first, from Night's ungenial womb,
With all her hills, her vales, and sounding floods,
This goodly Planet sprung: then first the earth
4

Smiled with delicious verdure; fruit and flower
Scatter'd fresh odours thro the fragrant air;
The vast deep roar'd; and on the mountain's brow
The waving forest rear'd his stately head.
Or shall we rather say, this antient globe,
An emanation, which the Eternal Mind
By fate, not freedom, from his essence shed,
With him coæval, and with him to endure,
Runs on a ceaseless round?—Such was the tale,
That in Lycéum, by the hallow'd grove
Of Academe, the subtle Stagyrite
Told his admiring tribe; and drew their minds
From the First Good, First Perfect, and First Fair,
To idle dreams of vain philosophy.
Dreams, which nor haunted on Hydaspes' bank
The frantic Brachman; nor Phœnician seers
5

Vers'd in high pedigree, and antient lore;
Nor Memphian, tho the wonder-working Priest
In mystic symbols 'grav'd on many a stone
Her fabulous annals. Let proud Pekin's sons
Trace her dark records thro a thousand kings;
But shall that haughty empire date her birth
Ere Time his course began?—Go, ask of Earth,
Have thy steep hills for ever pierc'd the skies?
Ask of the Deep, if since his howling waves
Dash'd the rough rock, eternal years have roll'd?
Enquire, if Everlasting be his name?
Where, if this globe's eternal, where are all
Her Kings, her Patriots? Where, alas! are all
Her antient monuments of arts, and arms,
6

And tales of bleeding heroes? Shall we say,
Till Nimrod led his mighty bands to war,
That never chief had hurl'd the pointed lance,
Or drove the winged car? Did never bard,
Till Amram's son pour'd forth his raptur'd strains,
Record past actions of the brave, and wise?
Why unessay'd the deep, till toward her shore
Astonish'd Greece saw daring Cadmus spread
His swelling sails, and from the Tyrian main
Bring peace and science to her savage sons?
Why did no sage explain, how the white ray,
Refracted by dioptric glass, displays
Hues indistinct before, till Newton came,
Pride of Britannia's isle? Why flow'd the blood
Unknown, till Hervey thro' the united veins
Traced back its genial current to the heart?
7

Hark, how the heroes of imperial Rome
Boast their wide empire's universal sway
To distant climes her conquering eagles flew,
To Calpe's hills, to Thule's utmost shore,
And Ganges, farthest oriental stream,
Where rose the morn. But ah! in evil hour
She found what multitudes, who ne'er had felt
Her galling chain, were hid in regions dark
Of ice and frost; till from their barren caves
The populous North drove all her warrior clans
From Weser, and from Elbe, to Anio's bank,
And Tiber's frighted stream?—Have we forgot,
How, strange to tell, the wondering mariner,
Far in the bosom of the western deep
Found worlds unknown before; and from the top
Of Andes, saw the Amazonian stream
8

Swoln by the tribute of expanded lakes,
Rivers, and cataracts, thro forests wild
Pour his broad floods, and in his rapid course
Visit a thousand tribes?—And shall we call
That world eternal, whose undaunted sons
Ne'er circled half her orb? or can we deem
That everlasting ages could have roll'd,
Ere some uncheck'd adventurer had defied
The Hesperian foam, and to his hardy crew
Shewn the rich tribute of Potosi's mines?
Even yet much rests unknown. The day will come,
When some sad ship shall roam the Southern main,
With sails, and ensigns torn; and in the wide
Expanse of roaring waters, far beyond
Where the sun turns to visit northern climes,
Braced by the Antarctic circle shall descry
9

Some mighty continent. The ambitious Thrones
Of distant Europe 'cross the line shall send
Their thronging colonies, and disturb the rest
Of peaceful nations. Thee, Iberia, thee,
And thy false faith, some dying Motezume
Again shall curse, and, with his life, resign
His wrested sceptre to a stranger's hand.
Besides, that's not eternal, which tho chance
Can alter, time corrupt, or force destroy,
Yet still remains, and fills the curious mind
With proofs of late creation. See what rocks,
What mountains rise, that cast their evening shade
Far o'er the plain beneath: tho part the wind
Sweep with its wings away; tho earthquakes tear
Their yawning cliffs; tho Time from year to year
Working with stealthy, and invisible hand,
10

Moulder their crumbling sides, they bend not yet
Their summits to the vale. With all his snows
Stands Teneriff; and Athos still o'erhangs
The Ægean, studded thick with shining isles,
Cyclad and Sporad. If those lofty hills
Knew no beginning, tho ten thousand years
But one small grain impair'd, their names, their place,
Had long been lost; beneath the insatiate waves
Each atom wash'd away; like that fam'd isle
Fancied of ancient fabulists, that with all
Her tower-crown'd cities, palaces, and fanes,
Sunk in the bosom of the Atlantic deep.
Whatever is, hear Reason's voice, was made,
Or increate. If increate, 'tis God;
If made, by whom? Or was itself at once
11

Maker, and work, productive, and produced?
Vain sophistry! to some first plastic cause
Trace then its birth, and that first cause, is God.
For say, could matter by instinctive force
Start into sense, and motion? Hast thou seen
The cold dead clod wake into warmth, and life?
Say, did old Ocean with capacious hand
Scoop the deep channel for his roaring waves?
Did the tall mountain by spontaneous act
Lift his aspiring head; or did the moon
By unimparted, and essential power,
Mould her bright sphere, and point her silver shafts?
Did the free Atoms, in sage council met,
Debate where each should move? or did they float
Thro tracts of endless space, till Chance contrived
12

This order, till from universal strife
This universal harmony began?
Who, that on some deserted coast beheld
A stately pile with antique frieze adorn'd,
Ionic, or Corinthian, who would say
That storms had torn it from the mountain's side
With all its towers; or think the boisterous wind
Haply had fix'd it on its solid base?
Who, but would rather deem that painful art,
Tho now a stranger to this silent shore,
Had polish'd every column, every dome,
The moulded architrave, and fretted roof?
But who is He, that round yon garden bends
His steps, and with presumptuous tongue arraigns
Jehova's works?—I know his hoary hairs;
13

The Sage of Pleasure: with the sons of Greece
I mix, and listen to his impious tale.
‘Think not a hand divine could form that globe,
‘Where scarce a trace of Wisdom may be seen,
‘Of Goodness, or of Power. For part the sun
‘With direct rays, and fire intense, denies
‘To human use; or dark Cimmerian frost
‘Has hid from mortal habitant: and part
‘Vast lakes, huge rocks, rough thorns, and barren sands
‘O'erspread; 'till man with patient care reform
‘The stubborn earth, and tame the ungenial soil.
‘Yet then, even then, when all his hopes are high,
‘When ripening fruits expect the reaper's scythe,
‘Oft he bewails the scorching heat; or weeps
‘To see the summer's angry storm descend,
‘And years of labour in a moment lost.
14

‘What mean those ministers of vengeance; gout,
‘And racking stone, and fever's raging fire?
‘Why shakes the South contagion from his wings;
‘While Death, grim tyrant, with unerring hand
‘Directs his dart unseen?—On the bare ground,
‘Like the poor shipwreck'd mariner, whom storms
‘Have cast on some inhospitable shore,
‘The new-born infant lies; thro many a moon,
‘Helpless and weak, he wails his bitter lot,
‘And each sad hour beholds his artless tear.
‘Not so the tenant of the field: he quits
‘His parent's side, and wantons o'er the lawn
‘Rejoicing: Earth for him spontaneous spreads
‘Ambrosial banquets; and for him the brook
‘Winds thro sequester'd vales his amber stream.’
15

Fool, wast thou present, when the Almighty sunk
Earth's deep foundations, and to Ocean said,
‘Here thy proud waves be staid;’ when first the Stars
Chaunted their matin song, and Angels cried
‘Hosanna to the Highest?’—Thou wast not there;
But Wisdom was.—Ere yet the earth was made,
Ere yet the mountains were brought forth, or ere
The day-spring knew his place, at God's right hand
She sat, his chief delight. She sat, and saw
His spirit moving o'er the watry deep;
Saw genial light, obedient to his call,
Spring from the womb of darkness; she beheld
The ground yield grass and herb, yield fruit and flower,
And Man, imperial Man, the Lord of all,
Rise from the dust. She saw that all was good,
And with her voice divine stamp'd every work.
16

Think'st thou the zone, that girds the torrid soil,
Untrod by human step? The pilot, born
Far from the sun's mæandring path, defies
The burning equinoctial: to the woods
Of hot Bornéo, to Guiana's shore,
He steers his prow undaunted. Oft within
The frozen circle of the Arctic pole,
He moors his vessel on some northern isle,
Greenland, or Zembla. There the shivering hinds
O'er their bleak mountains roam; nor wish to change
Their darkling twilight, and ungenial frost,
For brighter sunshine, or for milder skies.
What tho with thorns and sand the earth be spread,
Say, would'st thou banish painful industry?
Say, would'st thou wish, with folded hands supine,
Like thine own Gods to sit, and dose away
17

A life of senseless ease? What tho' the storm
Oft blasts the planter's hope? drives not that storm
From the purg'd air the putrid pestilence,
Stalking thro noon-day's heat? What tho disease
Infect the feeble frame? yet hence arise
Cool thought, repentance, hence contempt of life,
And eager hope, that springs beyond the grave.
Is death an evil? Tell me, would'st thou drag
A lingering dotage of eternal pain,
And, thro successive generations, shake
Thy hoary hairs, unhonour'd? or would'st wish
To fall, ere reason be matur'd by time;
Ere each fair object, that around thee shines,
Strike thy rapt soul with wonder? Think not then
That man can ripen, as the beast, that soon
Arrives at perfect growth, and soon decays;
Nor judge from Parts unknown, this wond'rous Whole.
18

Thus Heaven, and Earth, declare their Maker's praise:
Nor these alone; but in the human breast
A faithful monitor the Almighty placed,
A witness of Himself.
Come then, the scene
Of frantic mirth is o'er: the social bowl,
The midnight frolic, and the scornful jest,
Are gone; thy youth is past, thy strength decay'd,
And all the partners of thy wanton hours
Are sunk in shame, and sorrow, to the grave.
Come, tell me, did a self-convicted soul
Ne'er check thy guilty joys? Did that blest Spirit
Who o'er the sinner's penitent mind distils
His precious balm, ne'er interrupt thy peace,
'Mid the rude sallies of unholy mirth,
And impure passion; while the still small voice
Of Conscience, made the hour of solitude
19

To thee more hideous, than the silent watch
Of midnight to the sleepless eye of pain,
Or pining care? O Conscience, heavenly guide,
Thou, 'mid the storms, and tempests of the world,
'Mid the rude blasts of chilling penury,
In tears of woe, in death's alarming hour
Spread'st round the good man's couch thy sheltering wing,
And all is peace: But oh! how sharp the pang,
When in the sinner's agonizing heart
Thou piercest deep, and driv'st the guilty wretch
Far from the confines of tumultuous joy
To scenes of melancholy, and black despair!
But whence these boding doubts? Why shrinks the soul
From future ill? If no superior Power
Claims homage, why do fancied evils scare
The heart of wisdom, that to crafty tales
20

Ne'er yielded tame submission? Gracious Lord,
'Tis Thou, that in the sinner's breast dost move
With kindliest influence; 'tis thy tender rod
That heals his soul with medicinal wounds:
The voice of Conscience is the voice of God.
Thee, universal King , thy peopled earth,
Thro every region, every tribe, adores.
And tho rude Ignorance, with barbarous rites,
And uncouth gestures, howls her hymn of praise;
Tho senseless idols, or created lights
Of heaven usurp thine homage; yet to thee
Their voice is rais'd; to thee their incense smokes;
To thee in grove and vale their temples rise.
With feathery crown, and flaming gems adorn'd,
21

The gaudy Mexican from cups of gold
Pours out the captive warrior's reeking blood
At Vitzipultzi's shrine; while, with loud shouts,
In mystic maze the virgins of the Sun
Dance round the bleeding victim. Near the banks
Of Zaara, whence the merchant, dreadful trade!
Comes fraught with slavery to Caribbean isles,
The tawny African o'er Ocean's stream
Spreads forth his arms; on bended knee implores
The howling winds; and begs the storm to drive
The cruel Christian far from Congo's coast.
Where Esperanza to the Indian main
Extends its rocks, the filthy native bows
With humblest reverence to the Moon: From her
He asks ripe fruits, and fertile seasons mild;
And ever as she swells the impetuous tide,
22

With antic dances, and rude carol, greets
Her rising beams. On rich Golconda's walls
Ten tedious nights, and ten long sleepless days,
The self-tormented Bramin sits; if FO
Well-pleas'd behold his pain, it recks not him
That torn with hooks of steel his mangled flesh
Pours streams of blood, or from his burning head
With livid light the spiral flames ascend.
See, where the turban'd Caliph o'er the fields
Of fertile Syria spreads wide-wasting war
And famine: nor can groves of ravag'd palm,
Olives and figs, nor desolated vines
That crown'd the brink of Pharphar, lucid stream,
Nor widow's piercing shriek, nor orphan's tear,
Melt his obdurate soul: for not the lust
Of frantic power, or empire unconfin'd,
23

But burning zeal, and hope of future bliss,
Arm him with tenfold fury. On he goes
Till vanquish'd millions glut his righteous rage;
Then weeps all prostrate o'er Mohammed's tomb,
While Victory washes from her savage hands
The blood of slaughter'd hosts.
These, mighty Lord,
These all thy Being, and thy Power adore,
Thy Name unknown. Not so in those blest climes,
Where thy dear Son has rear'd his cross. For us
He left the regions of eternal day;
While all the host of Angels carol'd round
‘Glory to God on high.’ From east to west,
Swift as a sun-beam darts, the tidings flew
Of covenanted salvation. Scepter'd kings
In vain conspir'd to check its rapid course,
24

And Persecution drew her flaming sword:
Thy Word, great God, prevail'd.—O may it soon
O'er unenlighten'd realms its beams diffuse!
Then, to his long-lamented home restor'd,
The wand'ring Hebrew shall rebuild the walls
Of sacred Salem, and on Calvary's top
Adore his suffering Lord. The feast of love,
The banquet of remembrance dear, shall rise
In wild savannas, and 'mid boundless woods.
Then the fierce Arab, that now prowls for prey
O'er scorching sands, shall drink the cup of life,
Purg'd in baptismal streams; and every tribe
Of savage Indians, in the house of prayer
Kneel with meek faith, and shew Thy Kingdom come.
 

It was not the intention of the Author, either in this or the two following Parts, to introduce all the arguments, which have so frequently and forcibly been made use of on these subjects; but only to select those which seemed most adapted to a work of this nature.

Then flew one of the Seraphim unto me, having a live coal in his hand—and he laid it upon my mouth, and said, This hath touched thy lips— Isaiah vi. 6, 7.

Lucretius, Lib. v.

See Plato.

Epicurus.

See Lucretius, B. 5.

Nulla gens usquam est, adeo contra leges moresque projecta, ut non aliquos Deos credat.

25

II. PART II.

Ο Πατηρ υμων ο εν τοις ουρανοις ΤΕΛΕΙΟΣ εστε.

27

ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND PART.

General address to the Deity—1. On the Unity of God.—On Polytheism—On Idolatry—instanced in the conduct of the Israelites—The Manichean doctrine of two first Principles refuted —2. On the Eternity of God—on the destruction of the idols, and oracles, in the Heathen world—3. On the Omnipresence —4. On the Omnipotence of God—extended over the whole creation—particularly over Man—instanced in the destruction of Pharaoh, and the settlement of the Israelites in Canaan—in the case of Nebuchadnezzar—God's power exhibited in the Sea—5. On the Omniscience—6. On the Wisdom of God—in the production of various animals —in the formation of Man—in the faculties of the human mind—7. On the Goodness of God—shewn in the animal world—in the vegetable—in the change of seasons—in the various products of various countries—in providing herbs, &c. for medicine—8. On the Veracity of God—shewn in fulfilling the predictions of his Prophets—9. On the Justice of God—the unequal Distribution of Good and Evil an objection to the Justice of God—that objection answered—The same objection enforced—answered again, by shewing that all these inequalities will be adjusted hereafter—exemplified in the story of the Rich Man, and Lazarus—10. On the Mercy of God —the office of Mercy to soften the Severity of Justice—The Redemption of Man undertaken by Christ—His Mercy in his life—and at his death.

29

God is, and God is ONE; the first, the last,
‘Immutable, immortal, infinite;’
His wonders who shall tell? His hand supports
The golden chain, that links a thousand worlds.
His undivided essence fills the realms
30

Of time, and boundless space: His eye surveys
Effects far distant, ere their causes rise:
His all-pervading mind disdains the help
Of equal, or inferior: He unmix'd,
Unaided, undirected, uncontroul'd,
Reigns sovereign o'er his works, and reigns alone.
Ere yet the Sun of righteousness dispell'd
The clouds of popular error, not a hill,
But on his secret top, nor tufted grove,
But deep within embowering shades, enshrined
A tutelary Power. Fauns hence, and Nymphs,
Oread and Dryad, and that rabble rout,
Pan's sylvan court: besides what deities
Of mightier name, renown'd in ancient Greece,
Or Phrygia, or Etruria's gloomy vales,
Claim'd general homage o'er the spacious earth.
31

Where fam'd Alphëus washes Pisa's plain,
Arm'd with his lightening stood Olympian Jove,
Of Gentile gods supreme. The Thracian bow'd
To Mars, stern King of war. The vast domain
Of waters earth-encircling Neptune held,
His lot; while Pluto, pityless tyrant, ruled
The fleeting subjects of his nether world.
O ignorant of truth! One only Power
Rolls his loud thunder thro the lowering sky,
With lightening wing'd: the same dread Lord of Hosts
Directs the spear, and on the warrior's thigh
Girds the strong sword of conquest: roaring winds,
And all the tempests of the stormy deep,
Obey his voice; and at his vengeful wrath
Fallen Seraphs tremble in the realms of night.
Ah! faithless Judah! could'st thou then forget
32

The stretch'd-out arm that clave the Red-sea waves,
That rain'd down Manna on thy wandering sons,
And led thee thro the pathless wilderness
Far from the house of bondage? The sweet land,
That flow'd with milk and honey, nectar'd streams,
Refresh'd thy weary feet. But oh! what mean
Those shouts of dissonance, and frantic mirth,
Round yon grim idol? See thy daughters bow
To devils! See, thy princes bend the knee
To Moloch, and to Dagon! Soon, too soon,
Shall sad captivity, and a stranger's land
Receive thee: soon thy harp untuned shall hang
By Babylon's proud waters; never more,
Till seventy tedious moons have twelve times waned,
To sing the songs of Sion. God shall rise,
And vindicate his name; he will not deign
33

To share the sacrifice of prayer, and praise;
For He is ONE; God ever, God alone.
Yet some there are, who say, two Principles,
Equal in power, in nature opposite,
Divide the world; Author of evil this,
And that of every good: that one with frosts,
And noxious mildew blasts the ripening fruit;
Lets loose the rage of famine, and of war,
Of tyranny, and wide-wasting pestilence;
Firm foe to man, prompts the desponding mind
To deeds of desperation; arms with steel
The dark assassin of the midnight hour;
And in the full-swoln vessels of the soul
Pours lust, and rage, and rancorous envy: while
The Rival of his reign with gentle showers
Waters the thirsty soil; o'er ravag'd fields
34

Sends peace, sends plenty; from contagious mists
Purges the winnow'd air; the drooping spirit
Revives with hope's strong cordial; blunts the point
Of the drawn dagger; and distills the dew
Of soft affection o'er the melting heart.
But shall not this divided kingdom fall?
Shall not the world, by adverse powers convuls'd,
Shake to the center? Or subsist its laws
Immutable by everlasting strife?
O fountain pure, from whose original stream
To beast, to man, and all the angelic host,
Flows life, thy being inexhaustible
End, nor beginning bounds. The motley crew
Of idols, Ashtaroth and Baälim,
Are fled: no more the Syrian damsels weep
Their lost Adonis; and the frantic maid
35

No more hears Delphi, central rock, resound
With oracles obscure: Dodona's oaks
Stand silent; and deserted is the fane,
Where dwelt Ammonian Jove. But Thou art still
The same thro endless ages: earth's strong base
Thy hand first laid, and scoop'd the vault of heaven.
Earth's base shall sink, and the high vault of heaven
Shall melt away; but Thou shalt ay endure.
Thro the vast regions of unbounded space,
O'er all thine elements, o'er all thy worlds,
Thine essence spreads. What tho the sinner flee
To forest dark, or thickest grove, retired
From human sight? thy never-sleeping eye
Pierces the gloom, and marks his devious path,
What tho he curtain round his pillow'd head,
Wrapt in the folds of sleep? about his couch
Thou art; to Thee the darkness and the light
36

Shine with one blaze, and night is clear as day.
O whither then, say whither shall he go
From thy pervading presence? Shall he soar
To heaven's high towers? but there enthroned thou sit'st:
Or shall he sink into the deep abyss,
There, where the roots of earth and ocean grow,
Unfathomable? yet still thy spirit broods
O'er hell's dark womb, and fills the vacant gulf.
Great is the Lord. He, nor confin'd by place,
Spirit ætherial, nor by fate controul'd,
Displays the glories of OMNIPOTENCE,
The wonders of his might. When from his throne
He darts the forked lightning; when his voice
Speaks in loud thunder to the sons of earth;
Huge Ocean trembles thro his world of waves;
The cloud-capt mountains smoke; with all his trees,
37

Cedar, and pine, the lofty forest bows.
But Man undaunted stands amidst the shock
With vacant, unregarding eye: He fears
Nor rattling elements, nor all the bolts
Of vengeance, tho suspended, soon to fall
With threefold force on his devoted head.
Stop, Pharaoh, stop. Behold the waves return:
Hark, how the mighty waters round thee roar!
While yon vile slaves, safe landed on the beach,
Defy those idle threats: the Arabian gulf
Shuts close, and swallows thee with all thine host.
Fear not, O Israel, fear not: to the land,
(Whence Jacob led thy great progenitors,
To Goshen, fruitful soil,) shalt thou return.
There shalt thou find nor famine-blasted plains,
Nor waters prison'd in the steely rock;
38

But from each pore the gushing stream shall flow
To slake thy thirst; the olive, and the vine,
Shall weave their twisted foliage round thy head.
On, Israel, on. Fear not or Eglon's king,
Or Sihon, or the giant form of Og,
Lord of the herds that range o'er Basan's hill:
Fear not, tho all the powerful monarchs leagued,
Even from the river (that in Eden flow'd,
Watering the tree of knowledge,) to the sea,
With waving banners, and confederate spears,
Breathe vengeance. 'Tis thy God, that leads thee on:
'Tis He shall quell the force of Ammorite,
And proud Philistine; He shall speak, and strait
The sun shall stop to hail thy victory,
While half the nations of the astonish'd earth
Shall howl in mid-day darkness. In the land,
39

The promis'd land, thy kings shall sheath the sword,
And all thy sons, and daughters, rest in peace.
But what is that, which o'er the spacious mead
(Where Tigris and Euphrates, mingled streams,
Haste to the Persian sea,) moves slowly on,
And pastures sorrowing on the verdant grass?
Is that the great Nebassar? is that he
Who round the towering walls of Babylon
Ten thousand chariots drove; who to the spires
Of sacred Salem led the embattled host;
Who desolated Jordan's fertile fields,
And laid God's favour'd temple in the dust?
Alas, how fallen! Learn hence ye great, ye vain,
Learn hence, ye sovereign monarchs of the earth,
How impotent your power. The King of kings
Laughs all your pomp to scorn, and blasts the pride
40

Of visionary conquest; whether thro
Wide pathless woods ye seek the intrenched foe,
Or tempt the perils of the roaring deep.
With floating pennants, and expanded sails,
Safe in her port the gallant vessel rides.
From every side the winding coast resounds
With festive shouts: the creaking anchor's rais'd;
The ship no more is seen: far, far from shore,
Secure 'tis bounding o'er Biscaya's bay,
Or thro the straits Herculean. But behold
The storms and winds arise, the rains descend,
From heaven's wide gate the thunder roars amain;
Where, where is now her strength? ah! what avails
The stout oak, harden'd by Norwegian frosts?
What profit now tough cables, towering masts,
And all the brazen instruments of war?
41

'Tis God, that bids his clashing elements
Confound the pride of man. See, where the deep
Yawns wide! the ship, with all her freighted crew,
Down sinks, and not a wreck is left behind.
As one, who first surveys the unbounded main,
Pacific, or Hesperian, stretches far
His aching eye to where heaven's concave arch
Bends to the waves, yet still nor all the expanse,
Nor depth conceives; so labours the weak spirit,
That in the bounds of mortal intellect
Strains to compress OMNISCIENCE. Who shall scan
Thy knowledge, wondrous Lord? or how shall dwell
That vast idea in created mind?
For not an atom heaven, or earth contains,
Not one wing'd word, no thought, yet unconceiv'd,
Is hid from thee. The tongue, the heart is thine;
42

And in thy book was written every limb
While yet unfashion'd in the plastic cell.
From the small insect, that escapes the search
Of microscopic eye, thro all the tribes
Of this full-peopled globe, thro every stage
Of sense, of instinct, or of intellect,
To man's imperial race, God's WISDOM shines;
But chief in him, the last, the noblest work.
Yet boast not, Man, thy well-compacted frame,
Thy symmetry of shape, thy graceful limbs;
How, each to each adjusted, all perform
Their proper functions; boast nor strength in fight,
Nor swiftness in the race. Can'st thou o'ertake
The towering eagle in his course? or bid
The famish'd lion crouch within his den,
Scared by thy lifted arm? 'tis Mind, 'tis Mind,
43

That o'er each bird, which cleaves the liquid air,
O'er every beast, that ranges wood, or wild,
Exalts thee: there in express characters
Great Elohim's hand his own bright image drew.
From each fair object to the enthroned Soul,
Like rivers, that with tributary floods
Increase old Ocean's ever-flowing stream,
The SENSES, faithful ministers, convey
Their vivid images. The listening ear
Sounds pleasing, or of harsher dissonance,
Leads through her ductile channels: hence if fife,
And sprightly clarion pour their martial moods,
Rekindling ardour fires the warrior's breast,
Panting for fields of glory. Down the cheek
44

Of pensive Pity drops the melting tear,
When the soft lute draws out in plaintive tone
Her pausing notes of sorrow. The keen eye,
That darts from earth to heaven, each object scans,
Hill, vale, or shady grove, and on the mind
The justly-represented landscape paints
In tints of liveliest hue. So on the bank
Of some clear stream the wondering shepherd stands,
And in the mirrour of the level lake
Sees woods, and lawns, exactest portraiture,
Reflected to his view. 'Tis thus the SOUL,
Herself unmoved, receives her various stores.
Then JUDGMENT with slow art, and patient skill
Sorts each from each, disjoins, unites, compacts
In aptest symmetry; while sportive WIT
With random hand confounds his painful toil;
45

And smiling, to the fancy strait presents
From grave, and gay, from light, and darkest shade,
One motley picture. Soon the Mind, o'ercharg'd
With rich ideas, seeks a calm repose:
And to the MEMORY's faithful care commits
Her still-increasing treasures; there for hours,
For years they rest in silence, till drawn forth
By fit occasion. Hence remembrance dear
Of friends long lost consoles the pensive breast:
Hence the sweet scenes of innocence and youth,
Renew'd by recollection, please again:
Vain else were human learning, human art,
Vain all the ties of gratitude, and love.
Far as the flaming walls, creation's bound,
Beasts wild, or tame, that o'er the forest range,
Or crop the flowery mead; the finny race,
46

And that Leviathan, who wont to sport
In oceans of thick ice: the birds, that sail
O'er the clear azure on expanded wing,
All, all declare thy GOODNESS. Now the grove
Shoots forth luxuriant foliage, and the earth
Flowers of a thousand dies: 'Tis Spring; and soon
Swart Summer, waving with his ripen'd fruits,
With shining hook will arm the reaper's hand.
Next Autumn comes: He, with impurpled foot
Shall tread the press, and from the full-swoln grape
Extract delicious juice: 'tis he shall stain
Each verdant leaf in tints of brownest hue,
Till boisterous Winter with his giant hand
Shakes the dismantled forest, where each branch
Shines spangling to the sun with hoary frost.
Each change how regular! By God's command
47

Alternate seasons mark the varied year.
He, universal parent, still sustains
All that his word created: fix'd on him
Is every eye; and from his open'd hand
Flows liberal plenty o'er the sons of men.
Not that each soil, or in degree, or kind,
Boasts the same produce. Thro wide fields of rice
Roam the parch'd hinds of India; mantling vines
Spread their soft tendrils o'er Burgundian hills.
Sweet is the fragrance which the evening breeze
From orange woods, on Lusitania's shore,
Wafts to the western waves: joyous the sound
When Britain's labouring sons have strip'd her fields,
And sing their harvest done. 'Tis hence each land
By mutual intercourse, commercial bond,
The wants of each supplies. What tho nor gold,
48

Nor diamonds flame beneath the Northern sky,
Nor trees weep odorous gums, yet think not hence
That God with thrifty hand with-holds his stores
From half his sons, and scatters o'er the rest
His partial favours. He, to rouse the mind
By deeds of bold emprize, gave to each land
Her separate blessings. Hence o'er Albion's seas
Rides the proud vessel, fraught with richest stores
Of Afric, or the new-found continent.
Even in the wilderness his hand has spread
A plenteous table; even the silent brook,
Mantled with cresses, to the poor man yields
At once his beverage sweet, and wholesome food.
But not with fruits, and wholesome food alone,
Sweet to the taste, and pleasant to the eye,
Earth's lap is fill'd: in sickness, as in health,
49

O'er all extends God's salutary care.
With toilsome step the peasant climbs the brow
Of some tall mountain: there with skilful hand
Culls every herb, each plant of healing power,
Steep'd in the morning dew. Where the highest sun
Darts beams direct on Lima's silver mines,
The scorch'd Peruvian from the bleeding tree
Strips medicinal bark, and o'er the wave
Sends health, sends vigour, to the distant sons
Of Britain, queen of waters. From the cave
Of hollow rock, from earth's all-teeming womb,
Bursts in full tide the life-dispensing stream,
Sulphureous, or chalybeate. Strait the bloom
Of rosy health o'erspreads the blushing cheek;
Strait the wan virgin, that thro many a year
Had pined with slow decay, again revives
To scenes of sportive mirth, and tales of love.
50

Hear, hear, O Heaven, and thou, O Earth, give ear,
'Tis God that speaks. ‘Yet once more will I shake
‘The land, the sea, the nations.’ Thus proclaims
The eternal King: O tremble at his voice,
Created worlds; his TRUTH shall never fail.
By him inspired the Seer survey'd the womb
Of dark futurity. The gaping croud
Stood round, and listen'd to the ecstatic strains
In blank astonishment: but ripening time
Matured each act, and gradually display'd
Scenes long foretold. Thus fell proud Babylon,
Thy scourge, O captive Israel; thus the walls
Of sea-girt Sidon; thus Phœnician Tyre;
Thus within Solyma's devoted gates
Were heard dire shrieks of horror: round her trench
Hover'd the Latian eagle; in her walls
Raged fell sedition. Famine urged to deeds
51

Of frantic violence: till, her temple fallen,
Her warriors slain, completed all her woes,
In the sad hour of each predicted curse
Sion, the pride of cities, Sion fell.
Fix'd is God's throne on the adamantine base
Of JUSTICE: in his hand is pois'd the scale
That weighs his creatures, and to each awards
What each deserves. Whence then the different lot
Of man and man?—Scorch'd by the summer's heat
The panting peasant toils the tedious day,
Till, shadows length'ning from the mountain's brow,
His turf-built cot receives him: there he tears
From the reluctant ground his slender fare,
And drinks the stagnate waters of the pool.
Then on his couch of straw he sleeps till morn,
And rises to his labour. Near him stands,
52

Embosom'd in yon wood of tufted trees
The palace of his tyrant lord: for him
A thousand coursers neigh; o'er pastures rich
The milk-white heifers bound; the menial train
Observe his nod, and wait his high command.
Yet look once more; that peasant, hungry, poor,
Who sows, who reaps, yet tastes not of the fruit,
With conscience light, and spirits ever gay,
Hies whistling o'er the woodlands: coarse his meal;
But nature asks not better: hard his bed;
But sound his slumbers: while his pamper'd lord
Sleeps not, tho stretch'd on cygnet's down. Remorse
Drives in his mangled spirit her hooks of steel,
And each forc'd smile is clouded with despair.
Yet some there are, whose unrelenting souls
The stings of conscience wound not: On they go
53

Thro life's gay flowery path, nor heave one sigh,
The tribute to their own, or others' woe.
Secure they riot in the pride of health,
And bathe in golden streams. Such once was He,
To sate whose palate ocean pour'd his stores,
And earth unlock'd her caves: in thankless ease
He lived, he died; nor lifted once a prayer
To Him, the giver of all. With upcast eyes
And folded hands, still patient tho in pain,
Fast by the barr'd inhospitable gate
Sat pining Lazarus; he sat, and ask'd
In the meek tone of modest poverty,
The humble pittance of some broken meal,
The refuse of his board, but ask'd in vain.
Nor all his piercing cries, nor bleeding wounds,
Nor famine, staring thro his haggard eyes,
54

Could melt the spirit of obdurate pride;
He died unpitied. Where was JUSTICE then?
Slept she? or did the scabbard hide her sword,
Canker'd with rust? Yet, sceptic, pause awhile;
Arraign not heaven's decrees; the scene is chang'd.
See'st thou that horrid dungeon drear, and dark,
Whence pestilential vapours taint the air,
And livid flames ascend? See, there he lies,
Writhing in agonies, and parch'd with fire;
See there he lies, that rudely from his gate
Push'd the poor pathless wanderer. He the while
Wafted to realms of bliss on angel's wing
Looks down, and drops a tear. Yea, mighty Lord,
Just are thy works, and righteous all thy ways.
The day will come, when each shall meet his doom:
But who shall stand its coming? Virtue's self
55

Shall shrink appall'd, and tremble at the frown
Of all-consuming Justice. Still remains
The last, the only refuge. Near the throne
Of God stands MERCY. She on bended knee,
With outstretch'd hand, averts the vengeful sword
Of Justice, rais'd to strike. The King of heaven
Beholds her, and approves. He bids her rise;
Wipes from her eye the sympathetic tear,
And owns her powerful influence. Soft the dew
That evening sheds on Hermon, favour'd hill;
Soft are the strains, when Pity sooths Despair;
Yet softer, Lord, thy mercy. But in vain;
Stern Justice claims her due: the word was past
Irrevocable: the high behest was given:
Man fell, and Man must suffer. Who, oh! who
Shall interpose? What sacrifice shall bleed?
56

For sin so foul what victim shall atone?
If none, then all is lost.
‘On me, on me,’
Exclaim'd the son of God, ‘on me alone
‘Let all thy wrath be pour'd: theirs was the offence,
‘Be mine the punishment.’ He spake, and left
The golden city's hyacinthine walls;
And thro the middle of the eastern gates,
Hewn from one solid emerald, as he pass'd,
The Angel bow'd obeisance. Earth receiv'd
Her gracious visitant. By him subdued
Legions of spirits accurs'd their mangled prey
Reluctant quitted, and with horrid yell
Howl'd hideous: touch'd by him the palsied hand,
Long wither'd, felt his genial warmth return,
57

Circling thro every vein. He spake, and strait
From the thick film was purg'd the visual ray.
Aw'd by his potent word, the grave op'd wide
His marble jaws, and yielded back to life
His putrid dead. But what could all avail?
Insulted, scorn'd, betray'd by those he lov'd,
He fell. Yet bleeding on the accursed tree,
While the last breath hung quivering on his lips,
His Mercy still endured. Towards heaven he cast
The last faint glances of his closing eye,
Forgive them, O forgive—He bow'd, and died.
 

Σειρην Χρυσειην. Hom. Il. viii. 19.

In the Beginning God [Elohim] created the heaven and the earth. Gen. I. 1.

Rev. xxi.

59

III. PART III.

Αλληλουα: οτι ΕΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣΕ Κυριος ο Θεος ο παντοκρατωρ.

61

ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD PART.

Epicurus denies the Providence of God in the government of the world.—The opinion of some other ancient Philosophers on that subject.—The Providence of God proved, 1st, from the regular motion of the heavenly bodies—the fatal consequence of any change in that system—2dly, from the Atmosphere —3dly, from the revival of every thing after Winter—preceded by a description of Winter.—The impossibility of vegetation, &c. being restored by Chance—4thly, from the propagation of animals, exemplified in birds, beasts, insects.—The Calamities, to which the human race is exposed, would be destructive of the species, without the intervention of Providence—instanced in Diseases—Pestilence—Famine —War—which introduces the 5th proof of God's Providence in repairing this havock—by the propagation—by the preservation of Man.—The consideration of God's preserving Providence, matter of comfort to Men under the severest, afflictions.—Impossible to judge of the whole scheme of God's moral Providence from a partial view of it.—The Conquests of the Romans an instance of God's Providence, who made use of them as instruments, to prepare Mankind for the reception of Christianity.—The Gift of Tongues—the Propagation of the Gospel—the declension of it, where it formerly flourished—parts of God's plan of Government—A particular Providence asserted—exhibited in a more visible manner in the preservation of Empires—in none more than that of Britain.

63

‘Deep in the Olympian vales, and far retired
‘From mortal, or immortal, where the voice
‘Of prayer is never heard, nor rolls one cloud
‘Of fragrant incense, sits the placid God,
‘Or stretch'd on Amaranthine beds, dissolves
64

‘In peaceful slumber; there, if haply rous'd
‘By roaring whirlwind, or the thunder's peal,
‘Wakes to ambrosial banquets, quaffs the bowl
‘Of nectar, beverage sweet, press'd from the fruit
‘Of those unfading trees, that mantle round
‘Heaven's sloping hills, then sinks to rest again,
‘Wrapt in the folds of sleep: For sleep is ease;
‘And ease is happiness. To wing the storm,
‘To point the bolt of vengeance, still to sit
‘With vigilant eye, lest fraud, or force assail,
‘Is this the task of Gods? are these the joys
‘Which death shall never end? then happier they,
‘Heirs of an hour, who fall to rise no more.’
Thus spake the Athenian; he who taught, that Chance,
Scattering her random atoms thro' the void,
Compos'd this wond'rous Whole. Vain Sage! can Gods
65

Delight in apathy, or sensual bliss,
Contented even to be? O happier far,
O far more glorious, o'er the sons of earth,
O'er all the tenants of a thousand worlds
To pour fresh blessings; to create, preserve,
To govern with impartial sway; to check
With deserv'd chastisement the lawless acts
Of violence, of oppression; and to wreathe
Bright flaming crowns of vegetable gold,
The guerdon fair of virtue's patient toil!
Canst thou, convinc'd that Deities exist,
Canst thou deny their Providence? Go then,
Ask the Milesian, if the darkest deed
66

That ever Night wrapt in her sable veil;
Ask, if the dawning of the simplest thought,
Escape that Ancient of eternal days,
The unbegotten God? Ask of the sage,
On whose soft lips Hymettian bees distill'd
Their choicest honey, if that subtle Spirit,
Which animates the living Universe,
Neglect the race of man? Go to the Porch,
Enquire of Zeno's sons, whether that globe,
Which, all its moisture lost, shall blaze with fire,
Rolls thro' the circumambient Void, as blows
67

Some casual blast, or hears that plastic Mind
Which made, which moves, which rules the united frame?
There are, who say, that natural causes act
By general laws; that he, who form'd this whole,
Stamp'd matter inert with such inherent powers,
That tho in essence passive, yet impell'd
By this original force, it still moves on
Unalter'd, unimpair'd: that not a cloud
Sails o'er the blue serene, that not a flash
Bursts from the cleft horizon, but receiv'd
Its special mandate, ere bright Hesper rear'd
His evening torch, or spheres began to roll.
68

There are again, who think that every wheel,
Whose motion speeds thro space this vast machine,
Is still adjusted, as occasion calls,
By God's directing hand.—His care appears
Alike conspicuous, whether from the first
He framed this All, that not a part should need
His interposing power; or whether yet
Orb within orb he guards, lest haply one,
Lawless may deviate from its proper path,
Extravagant. Then fatal were the shock
Of disuniting elements; the world,
Tho now fast bound by gravitation's chain,
Would burst, and anarchy again return.
Behold yon Sun, thron'd in meridian height,
Fountain of fire, round which six wandering stars
For ever roll, and eager to approach
69

With force centripetal, due distance keep,
By adverse force restrain'd: quench but that light,
And universal darkness shall involve
Creation's wide domain. Tho now their times,
Their rounds ordain'd those planets all absolve,
Check, or accelerate their speed, the sun
Will steep them in a lake of liquid fire,
Or madly they will stray exorbitate
Beyond the zone of Saturn. Ill, O earth,
Ill would it fare with thee: thy fruits, thy flowers,
And all that vegetates, and all that lives,
One petrifying blast would smite to the root,
And seas, that roll beneath solstitial heat,
Freeze to their center. See'st thou near the Bear,
Or in the Galaxy, fast by the crown
Of Cepheus, scepter'd king, with streaming light,
70

That sweeps meteorous half the space of heaven,
Yon roving comet? let him shoot transverse,
Thwarting the Ecliptic, where the convex globe
Rolls in her annual course, earth, air, and seas
Will blaze in dire combustion: Is it Chance
That curbs his speed, and tells him where to roll?
O, no; the expanse of heaven God's praise proclaims,
The firmament his power: day tells to day,
And night to night, his providential care.
Above, around, the ambient air is spread,
Dense, or of rarer texture: thro each pore
The elastic fluid wins his easy way,
Invisible: change but the incumbent weight,
Expand it, or compress it, less, or more,
What then, or who shall breathe? Behold the Moon;
Nor cloud, nor rain, her atmosphere deforms;
71

Nor misty fog, save such as nightly rise
From this dank globe, obscure from mortal eye
Her vales, and lofty mountains. Give but earth
That uniform serene, and all that moves
Shall sink annihilate. Exhalations rise,
Nor dewy vapours hover round in vain;
Hence life to beast, to man: 'tis God commands,
And storms, and raging winds, his word obey.
Stern winter chills the world. From snow-top'd hills,
Hæmo and Rhodopè, the sharp North blows,
And drives the naked Thracian to his cave.
Or from those rocks of thick-rib'd ice, where roams
The shivering Savoyard, with intenser cold
Sweeps o'er Grenoble's champain to the streams
Of Isere, and the Rhone. Now to his sledge,
Where Lapland confines on the Chronian main,
72

The blighted native yokes his rein-deers; they
O'er many a league of snow run panting on
From Kola to Warsuga. To the wind
The crackling forest roars: the leafless elm
Spreads o'er the frozen stream her bare broad arms;
And that tall oak, which on the mountain's brow
Three hundred summers stood, beneath whose shade
Fathers, and sons, had led the rustic dance,
Falls ponderous down the riven precipice,
Uptorn. Returning from the Bothnian gulph
The sailor in the horizon's utmost verge
Oft spied her top rejoicing; on the helm,
‘Britain,’ the pilot with loud shout exclaim'd,
And, ‘Britain,’ all the exulting crew replied.
Shall Nature's chearful face no more be seen?
Shall frost eternal bind the barren earth,
73

And mock the toil of man? or shall blind Chance
Call from the teeming soil, fruit, herb, and all
Her vegetable stores? The putrid clod
Now softens by mild Zephyr's tepid breath,
And down from hoary hills the melted snow
Falls in far-sounding cataracts. The blade
Shoots thro the loosen'd glebe: on the soft green,
Aching from desolation's ravag'd scenes,
The wearied eye reposes. O'er the main,
Lured by the genial breeze, the feather'd tribe,
That fled for shelter to a milder sky,
Return spontaneous. Now thro every grove
They chaunt their nuptial song, and in the depth
Of some close-tangled brake, or on the side
Of coving cornice, or beneath the tile,
74

Safe from the dropping eaves, suspend their nest,
Ingenious artists. Could the dainty hand
Of her, inventress of mechanic powers,
Minerva, or Cecropian Pallas nam'd,
Vie with these heaven-taught architects? With wool,
And twisted hair, some line their downy beds,
And weave their walls with moss: others with clay,
More hardy, pave the floor, and fence the sides
With platted twigs; while birds of smaller wing
Arch o'er their heads a pendant roof, to save
Their unfledg'd brood, which ill could bear the damp
Of April's chilling showers. These all obey
God's first command, Increase and multiply;
These for their new-hatch'd offspring, or from plain,
Or pathless wood, or from the sedgy side
75

Of stagnate pool, select their slimy food:
All but the Ostrich: she, poor thoughtless bird,
Leaves her neglected eggs, nor recks it her
Tho some deep-laden camel, or the foot
Of casual pilgrim crush them. Yet even these
Not unregarded lie: the genial sun
With rays prolific warms them, till the birds
Burst from their shell, and soon outstrip the course
Of swiftest Arab on his fiery steed.
Behold the swarms that wing the liquid air,
Or people the green mead! The niggard ant,
Sagacious insect; the slow-creeping snail,
That bears her ponderous house from bough to bough,
The loyal bee, the spider, that beneath
Some lonely rafter weaves her fine-spun woof,
76

And millions more, that in this ample world
Unnotic'd and unnamed claims each his place,
God's general plan fulfil. By him impell'd
They propagate their stock; by his command
They drive each bold invader from their young,
Arm'd with new courage by parental fear.
But who, O Man, who shall preserve thy kind?
From Plague, from Famine, from the avenging Sword,
What shall protect thy race? Shall active Chance
Repair the breaches of devouring war?
Shall Chance supply fresh stores to propagate
Successive generations? With the feast,
Where riots jocund youth, Intemperance
Mixes his subtle poison. In the blood,
Till waken'd by maturing time, the seeds
Of many a mischief sleep; and from the sire,
77

With life imparted, to the son descend,
Fatal inheritance! joint-racking gout,
Consumption, cankering on the virgin's cheek,
And moping melancholy, and frantic rage,
That spurns controuling reason: and what else
From accident on flood, or tented field,
Severs the mangled limbs. But who shall count
The corses, reeking to the putrid air,
When born on Auster's wing the pestilence
Visits afflicted nations? Such as once
When the destroying Angel smote the tribes
Of humbled Israël, what time Jesse's son
From Ascalon to Gilead, from the mount
Of northern Lebanon to the Asphaltic lake,
Number'd his populous hosts. Such too the scene,
When Lacedæmon pour'd her hardy troops
78

O'er mourning Attica. Such in thy streets,
Augusta, Britain's pride, the shrieks of woe,
When thy dead citizens strew'd every path,
An undistinguish'd heap: the famish'd hounds
Bark'd distant; and the hungry birds of prey
Fled screaming to the woods for purer air.
Nor these alone the dangers, that beset
The mortal pilgrim, wandering thro the vale
Of tears, and pain, and sorrow, yet upheld
By that invisible hand, which still supports
Man's feeble race, and from extinction saves
His undiminish'd progeny: for see
The fruits are blasted in their bud; the boughs
Droop with their sickly leaves; the barren earth,
Impenetrable by sun, or softest shower,
Hoards all her stores: as when the Ægyptian dearth,
79

Reveal'd by two prophetic visions, spread
To Beërsheba from the land of Nile,
And the great Patriarch, with all his tribes,
Settled in Rameses. Nor less the grief,
When by the brook of Cherith ravens fed
The wandering seer, till in Sarepta's walls
He found the cruise of never-wasting oil,
Shelter'd beneath the hospitable roof
Of that Sidonian, who for his repast
Pour'd forth with liberal hand her scanty stores.
But who, oh who, shall the dread landscape paint
Of desolation, when the lawless sons
Of war come pouring o'er the cultur'd plains,
Tartar or Cossac, and in one short hour
Confound the toil of ages? Now the din
Of clashing armour, helm and plated mail,
80

Is heard no more; but engines fraught with fire
Sweep o'er the field whole legions! Now, even now,
From North to South, to Marmora's white cliffs
Convuls'd Europa from the Baltic shakes
Thro all her kingdoms. In the crouded streets
Of sad Byzantium to each mosque repairs
The turban'd multitude, and every dome
Re-ecchoes ‘Allah, Allah!’ Now prepares
The vengeful Spaniard yet again to rouse
The sleeping rage of Britain, and renew
War's bloody business. But, great Lord of hosts,
And thou, O blessed messenger of peace,
Knap every spear in twain, and fill their souls
With mild benevolence, and social love!
81

He, mighty God, whose providential eye
Looks down upon the meanest of his works,
'Midst every natural, every moral ill,
Preserves the human race. He sows the seeds
Of charity, that melts the obdurate soul;
He draws by secret cords the ductile heart
Of sex to sex. When now the purple glow
Spreads o'er the virgin's cheek, for some soft youth
She sighs in secret; all the tender names
Of mother, and of sister, please no more:
On him her hopes are fix'd; with him she longs
To travel hand in hand down life's steep vale,
And share with him health, sickness, bliss, or woe.
O happy they, whom tenderest love unites
In bonds connubial, where each thought is spelt,
Each wish prevented, and each glance explain'd!
82

But lawless lust has quench'd the nuptial torch
In discord's bitter streams. The impatient dame
Beholds her Lord with alienated eye,
Smiles at the scoffs of fame, and quits her house,
Her babes, without a blush, without a tear.
But what avails to propagate the race,
If none preserve? Say, can the new-born child
By reason, or by strength, direct his way.
While weak the tottering body, while the mind,
With not a character engrav'd, presents
One universal blank? Yet then thy hand,
Great God, supports his steps, and guides his feet.
Vain else were human skill; vain all the care
Of the fond mother, who with downcast eye,
And smiles of tenderest love, bends o'er her babe,
Whispering low strains that lull to soft repose.
83

Thus he who made, preserves: the common sire
Of all, for all provides. What tho the fig
Fall unconcocted from the blasted bough,
Tho sweltering Sirius scatter thro the land
Disease, and rank contagion; tho the din
Of war ring dreadful on the clanging shield,
Still thou rejoice, O Man: thy Maker reigns.
And yet, mysterious are the ways of heaven:
God's counsels dark. He, thro a regular maze
Of causes, all connected, tho unseen,
Conducts each great event. From age to age
By slow gradation imperceptible
It still advances; till arrived at last
To full perfection, it displays the depth
Of that unfathom'd wisdom, which contriv'd,
That Providence, which, watching every step,
84

Finish'd the wond'rous plan. The sons of men,
Whose puny generations pass away
In quick succession, and fill up the time
'Twixt the commencement, and the accomplish'd end,
See but one link of that stupendous chain,
And wonder what supports it; but at length,
The whole compleat, each well-adapted part,
Each nice dependence, each connection just,
Appears in full proportion, and broad light.
What means Quirinus? Shall those lowly huts
Change to imperial towers? Those vagrant clans,
The shame, the refuse, of each nation round,
To conquerors of the world? Vain thought! and yet
So wills the King supreme. The Gabian yields,
The Tuscan falls, the Sabine joins his powers,
And even from Arno to Tarento's gulph
85

All Italy obeys. Yet what avails?
Beyond the confines of the middle sea
Nations remain unconquer'd. Spread the sails:
Stretch to the Libyan shore; great Carthage there,
Skill'd in commercial arts, and bold in war,
Defies thy threats; great Carthage falls. And now
The towering Eagle o'er Numidia's sands,
O'er Ægypt's fertile fields, o'er Persia's sea,
To Indus, and to Ganges bends his flight.
Thence, to north-west, thro Edom's palmy groves,
He circles all the Levant coast, and o'er
The Ægean waves, from lesser Asia's hills,
O'er Greece, o'er Thrace, and humbled Macedon,
Directs his airy path, and, as he flies,
Bids every vanquish'd nation bend the knee
To Rome's majestic tyrant. Science too
86

Darted her bright beams on the Latian towers,
And with soft manners humanized the soul.
'Twas hence to many a savage lawless horde
The generous conqueror gave the refin'd arts
Of social life, and taught them what the rights
Of civil polity, the charities
Of sweet domestic union. Thus compact
In one great empire, bound by every tie
Of fear, of love, of mutual interest,
The kingdoms bow'd to Rome, But whence, O whence,
This grandeur, such as ne'er before was known
In Babylon, or Niniveh's proud walls,
Names fam'd of old? Say, were these mighty deeds,
Unparallel'd even in romantic tale,
The genuine fruits of more than mortal strength?
Or was it He, the Capitolian Jove,
87

To whom thine incense smoked, that bound thy spear
With victory's green palm, and bade thee lead
Reluctant monarchs up the sacred hill,
To grace thy pompous triumph? Roman, no;
That idol, which thy superstitious soul
Fear'd and adored; that idol, which thine hand
Hew'd from rough stone, or cast in fusile gold,
Had ears, but heard not; nor could all thy force
Have rear'd that column of imperial power,
But that the God, who moulds the ductile heart,
And sways man's will, to his own glory turn'd
Thy pride, thy martial rage: He chose thee out,
An instrument most apt, to execute
His gracious purpose, and with all thy states,
With all thy tributary thrones, receive
The messenger divine of peace and love.
88

He came; the wond'rous story soon was known
In every nation, and in every clime,
Where Rome had rais'd her banner. Hark! what means
That roaring sound? Was it a northern blast
Rushing impetuous from his seven-mouth'd cave?
No; 'twas the Spirit spake; it was the voice
Of inspiration. There the faithful sat,
Waiting their promised Comforter; when each
Unpractis'd in a foreign phrase, at once
Spake every language; nor in accent strange,
And dialect uncouth, as one who first
Holds painful converse in a stranger's land,
But in peculiar diction, and sweet tones
Harmonious. In mute silence stood the croud,
And marvell'd what it meant; Arabians, Cretes,
Phrygians, and Elamites, and they who spread
89

From Tigris to Euphrates, and the slaves
Of Cappadocia, Lydians, Parthians, Medes,
And tenants of Cyrene, torrid soil.
‘Are these,’ said they, and on each other gaz'd
In awful admiration, ‘these the words
‘Of rude, unletter'd peasants? are these they,
‘The pilots of the Galilean lake,
‘Who plied their humble craft, and bent their oar,
‘Undisciplin'd in science? does the art
‘Of potent magic, of Thessalian spells,
‘Cheat our deluded sense with fancied sounds?
‘Or has new wine-inspired their specious tongues
‘With random oratory? It is not art
‘Cheats our deluded sense with fancied sounds;
‘Nor is it wine inspires: for scarce three hours
‘Have pass'd, since first the morn with orient light
90

‘Dawn'd o'er yon hill of Olives; and the voice
‘Of sober reason, of persuasive truth,
‘Pierc'd our relenting hearts. Ye holy men,
‘Yes, we confess that Jesus rose again,
‘That your Messiah reigns. Ye holy men,
‘Lead us, O lead us, to some hallow'd fount,
‘And in baptismal water purge our souls,
‘Till we be pure as ye.’ They spake, they bow'd
With lowliest reverence, and to distant climes
Proclaim'd the wond'rous tale; while Antioch saw
The faithful Patriarch of the rising sect
Unite his votaries in their master's name.
But oh the change! Tell, gracious Governour,
Tell, for thy ways are hid from men, and all
Thy counsels, like thy throne immoveable,
Are wrapt in clouds and darkness, why, where once
91

Repenting nations at the feast of love
Sat, and remember'd their departed Lord,
Reigns Mecca's bold impostor? In those streets,
Whence the great Constantine with holy zeal
Drove Rome's barbaric idols, Christian, tread
With cautious step; rude hisses shalt thou hear,
And savage taunts malicious. Syria weeps
To see the crescent streaming thro her vales;
And Abana, transparent flood, that wash'd
Full many a convert, rolls her mournful tide,
Lamenting the sad change. Even from the verge
Of that blest monument, where lay the bones
Of his sepulcher'd Lord, the Saracen
With cruel rage, and scorn indignant, drove
The way-worn pilgrim. Then, oh then, in vain
Fought lion-hearted England, and France spread
92

His social sails: in vain stout Godfrey rear'd
His banner, while ten thousand crosses blazed
Thro' all the faithful squadrons: still prevail'd
The insulting Infidel.—And yet the day
Shall come, when every nation of the earth
Shall bend with reverence at their Saviour's name.
That day knows no man: He alone can tell,
Who, with wise providence, and sovereign sway,
Conducts, controuls, accelerates, delays,
Events, conceal'd from mortals; He alone,
Who bade four thousand summers roll, or ere
He sent his Son, tho promis'd long before
Even to the sire of men, when to bleak scenes
He led his weeping tempter, doom'd to toil,
Nor dared look back on Eden's blooming bowers.
93

There are, who own that o'er the general plan,
The first great Architect, intent to guard
His favourite works, yet watches, but disdains
The partial care of each. Mark then the event:
Of Individuals Generals are composed;
If one exists, unnotic'd by the eye
Of heaven, why not another? why not all?
In that vast volume, where recorded lie
Creation's acts, in fairest characters
Is register'd whate'er was made: nor bone,
Nor vein, nor branching sinew, but is rang'd
In order due: nor hair, nor colour'd plume,
Nor insect's painted wing, but in its page
Is class'd, and claims protection from its God.
And shall not he, who numbers all his stars,
Who counts each sand, and every wave that rolls,
94

Explore the human heart? The Lord of All
Is Lord of every one; his hand is stretch'd
O'er each; each feels his providential care.
But chief o'er States his tutelary power
Extends. Some sink, an unresisting prey
To despicable conquerors; others stand,
Tho human skill, and mortal succours fail,
Safe 'gainst united legions. Thus fell Rome;
To rescued freedom thus Batavia rais'd
Seven social altars; thus Britannia sits,
Thron'd like a scepter'd Sovereign, in the midst
Of tributary seas. Thou, gracious Lord,
Full oft hast saved her from the invader's arm,
From anarchy's wild uproar, from the chain
Of galling servitude. Thou, when the land,
By civil discord torn, saw half her sons
95

Lie weltering in their blood, her nobles slain,
Her monarch in the dust, thou didst remove,
Safe from the usurper's arm, the shelter'd branch
Of blasted royalty, and in due time
Transplant it to the hereditary throne,
When tyranny, and democratic rage
Yielded to peace, and order. Thou, when zeal,
And frantic bigotry untied the bonds
Of plighted faith, and from his forfeit crown
Exil'd her sovereign, on the vacant seat
Didst place that Guardian Monarch, who secured,
Safe from each inroad of despotic sway,
Her fair inheritance. O may'st thou still
Protect this isle! Pour all thy bessings down
On HIM, THY PEOPLE's SHEPHERD! O defend
Our laws, the wisdom of a thousand years!
96

Preserve thine altars; let that holy flame,
Fed by the blood of many a martyr'd Saint,
Blaze with unclouded lustre. Long the yoke
Had gall'd our fathers: from his awful chair,
Fenc'd by an host of Monks, and bearded Friars,
The Pontiff fulmin'd o'er the prostrate world,
Infallible; nor ceas'd, till all the rights
Of civil, of religious freedom, bow'd
To venal dispensation. Then arose
The unbending spirit of Luther. He alike
Disdain'd the Papal, and Imperial threats,
And to his wondering votaries first display'd
Those sacred treasures, long, too long conceal'd,
The covenants of salvation. Albion saw
The glorious struggle of Germania's sons,
And caught the sacred fire. Ah! bloody Queen,
97

Ah! woman, that, with unaverted eye,
Could'st view the pityless flames wrap round the flesh
Of age, and innocence, let me not write
Thy name, nor blot my chaste page with a curse
Call'd on thy gloomy Spaniard! Drag'd, sad scene!
Drag'd by his hoary hair, old Latimer
Embraced the fire; while Ridley, by his side,
Consoled the venerable sage, and fell
Exulting, tho in pain. Confin'd in smoke
The sullen flame consum'd by slow delay
Meek, patient Hooper; while, with steady look,
Undaunted Cranmer o'er the fatal pile
Stretch'd his apostate hand. Ye murder'd saints,
Once faithful feeders of your master's flock,
But now the seal'd of God, your race is run,
Great is your meed in heaven. Yet oh! look down,
98

Nor spurn the praise of men, from whose freed souls
Ye shook Rome's galling shackle. Oft to you
Posterity shall raise the choral hymn;
Still shall your acts survive, ye faithful band,
In memory's grateful records. For the sea
Shall sooner round their ramparts cease to roar,
Sooner their isle shall in the Southern main
Fix her deep roots, than Britons e'er forget
That faith, those rights, for which their fathers bled.
 
Ανθεμα δε χρυσου φλεγει
Απ' αγλαων δενδρεων ------

Pind. Olymp. 2.

Thales.—Ηρωτησε τις αυτον, ει ληθοι Θεους ανθρωπος αδικων; αλλ' ουδε διανοουμενος, εφη. Diog. Laert. in Vit. Thal.

ΠΡΕΣΒΥΤΑΤΟΝ των οντων Θεος: ΑΓΕΝΝΗΤΟΝ γαρ. Ibid.

Κοσμον—ΕΜΨΥΧΟΝ ειναι.

Οιεται δε και Θεους εφοραν τα ανθρωπινα. Diog. Laert. in Vit. Platonis.

------ fore ut ad extremum omnis mundus ignescat, cum, humore consumpto, neque terra ali possit, &c. Cicero de Nat. Deor. 2.

Εξωθεν δε κοσμου περικεχυμενον το κενον απειρον. Diog. Laert. in Vitâ Zenonis.

Mundum—habere mentem, quæ et se, et ipsum fabricata sit, et omnia moderetur, moveat, regat, &c. Cic. Ac. 2.

Εν δε τω κοσμω μηδεν ειναι κενον: αλλ' ΗΝΩΣΘΑΙ αυτον. Diog. Laert. in Zenon.

Job xxxix. 14.

Written in November 1770.

99

A POETICAL EPISTLE, TO CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY, Esq; ON THE ENGLISH POETS,

CHIEFLY THOSE, WHO HAVE WRITTEN IN BLANK VERSE.

Si sapis, ad numeros exige quidque suos.

101

No not in rhyme. I hate that iron chain,
Forg'd by the hand of some rude Goth, which cramps
Reluctant Genius, and with many a fold
Fast binds him to the ground. Shall the quick thought,
That darts from world to world, and traverses
The realms of time, and space, all fancy-free,
102

Check'd in his rapid course, obey the call
Of some barbarian, who by sound enslav'd,
And deaf to manly melody, proclaims,
“No farther shalt thou go”? Pent in his cage
The imprison'd eagle sits, and beats his bars;
His eye is rais'd to heaven. Tho many a moon
Has seen him pine in sad captivity,
Still to the thunderer's throne he longs to bear
The bolt of vengeance; still he thirsts to dip
His daring pinions in the fount of light.
Go, mark the letter'd sons of Gallia's clime,
Where critic rules, and custom's tyrant law,
Have fetter'd the free verse. On the pall'd ear
The drowsy numbers, regularly dull,
Close in slow tedious unison. Not so
The bard of Eden; to the Grecian lyre
103

He tun'd his verse; he lov'd the genuine muse,
That from the top of Athos circled all
The clustering islands of the Ægean deep,
Or roam'd o'er fair Ionia's winding shore.
Poet of other times, to thee I bow
With lowliest reverence. Oft thou tak'st my soul,
And waftst it by thy potent harmony
To that empyreal mansion, where thine ear
Caught the soft warblings of a Seraph's harp,
What time the nightly visitant unlock'd
The gates of heaven, and to thy mental sight
Display'd celestial scenes. She from thy lyre
With indignation tore the tinkling bells,
And tun'd it to sublimest argument.
Sooner the bird, that ushering in the spring
Strikes the same notes with one unvarying pause,
104

Shall vye with Philomel, when she pursues
Her evening song thro every winding maze
Of melody, than rhyme shall sooth the soul
With music sweet as thine. With vigilant eye,
And cautious step, as fearing to be left,
Thee Philips watches, and with taste refin'd
Each precept culling from the Mantuan page,
Disdains the Gothic bond. Silurian wines,
Ennobled by his song, no more shall yield
To Setin, or the strong Falernian juice,
Beverage of Latian chiefs. Next Thompson came:
He, curious bard, examin'd every drop
That glistens on the thorn; each leaf survey'd
Which Autumn from the rustling forest shakes,
And mark'd its shape, and trac'd in the rude wind
Its eddying motion. Nature in his hand
105

A pencil, dip'd in her own colours, plac'd,
With which the ever-faithful copyist drew
Each feature in proportion just. Had Art
But soften'd the hard lines, and mellow'd down
The glaring tints, not Mincio's self would roll
A prouder stream than Caledonian Tweed.
Nor boast wild Scotia's hills, and pleasant vales,
One bard of freedom only. While the North
Turns his broad canvass, his Siberian van,
Winnowing the noxious air; while luxury breathes
Delicious odours o'er her treacherous meal;
While labour strings the nerves, and warms the blood;
While social sympathy dissolves the soul
In pity, or in love, shall Armstrong please.
Sweet is the sound, when down the sloping side
Of some green hill, or on the scented herb
106

Steep'd in Aurora's aromatic dews,
The full-voic'd choir their emulative notes
Tune to the jocund horn. Whoe'er thou art
Whom now on downy couch dull sloth detains,
Hark to the poet's song. Chaste Dian's bard,
Avonian Somerville, thro many a wood,
Down many a craggy steep, shall hurry on
Thy glowing fancy. He shall shew thee where
The amphibious otter, where the wily fox
Hides his proscribed head. Fresh from the chace
Oft shall some hunter o'er full bowls record
His verse, and with the faithful image fir'd
Exalt his loud-ton'd voice. The ecchoing hall,
Where blaze the roots of elm, or oak, where round
Hang all the shaggy trophies of the field,
Shall ring responsive to the vocal strain.
107

As when red lightning cleaves the clouded sky,
Trees, rocks, and verdant fields, and straw-roof'd cots,
At once are open'd on the traveller's view
Wandering at latest eve; but soon again
The pierc'd cloud closes, and each object sinks
In darkness, as before; so burst thy strains,
And cast a transient gleam, O musing Young,
O'er black obscurity. Poet of night,
How shall I stile thee? for thy cadence now
Grates discord on mine ear, now sweetly flows
Harmonious: oft with wonder have I sought
What mean thy words ambiguous; oft my soul,
Sooth'd by thy pensive minstrelsy, forgets
Her peevish censure. Polish what is rude,
Illumine what is dark, whate'er is low
108

Exalt, and many a muse of fairer fame
To thee shall bend the laurels of her brow.
Come, Akenside, come with thine Attic urn
Fill'd from Ilyssus by a Naïd's hand.
Thy harp was tun'd to freedom: strains like thine,
When Asia's lord bor'd the huge mountain's side,
And bridg'd the sea, to battle rous'd the tribes
Of ancient Greece: the sons of Cecrops rais'd
Minerva's ægis; Lacedæmon sent
Her hardy veterans from their frugal board,
Thy troops, Leonidas; whose glorious death
Stands ay renown'd, fit theme, in British song.
Tell me, O Mason, will thy liberal soul
109

With tame submission hug the chain, and brook
Barbarian bondage? Shall the Muse, who led
Thy youthful steps thro every bosky bourn
That skirts wide Harewood's forest, and before
Thy raptur'd eye rais'd Mona's central oak,
Haunt of the Druids old, implore in vain?
Wilt thou not join, and from her gall'd feet shake
The Northern shackle? So to every walk
That thro thy garden weaves its mazy path,
To every opening glade, each odorous shrub
That scents the horizon round, shall she conduct
Her musing votary; so shall she unfold
Rude nature polish'd, not subdued, by art,
Scenes, where thy fancy roves; and all her flowers
Steep in the living fountains of the spring,
To wreathe a chaplet for her poet's brow.
110

Would I could name thee, Gray! but Ode is thine,
And plaintive Elegy. Not Pindar soars
On bolder wing—But hark! what means that bell
At this still hour slow rising on mine ear?
It is the voice of death Even while I write,
Cold icy dew-drops chill thy languid limbs,
And life's short date is out. From these high spires,
“These antique towers, that crown the watry glade,”
These fields, that ecchoed to thy moral muse,
Warbling in childhood's happiest hour, accept
This boon; and, O sweet melancholy bard,
Rest to thy cares, and mercy to thy soul!
Return, my Muse; thy wild, unfetter'd strains,
Suit not the mournful dirge. Rhyme tunes the pipe
111

Of querulous elegy; 'tis rhyme confines
The lawless numbers of the lyric song.
Who shall deny the quick-retorted sound
To satire, when with this she points her scorn,
Darts her keen shaft, or whets her venom'd fang?
Pent in the close of some strong period stands
The victim's blasted name: The kindred note
First stamps it on the ear; then oft recalls
To memory, what were better wrapt at once
In dark oblivion. Still unrivall'd here
Pope thro his rich dominion reigns alone:
Pope, whose immortal strains Thames ecchoes yet
Thro all his winding banks. He smooth'd the verse,
Tun'd its soft cadence to the classic ear,
And gave to rhyme the dignity of song.
112

As when the chearful bells some wake proclaim,
The village maid loads not her head with gems,
Ruby, or diamond, but from every field
Culls daffadills, and harebells, sprent with dew,
Her loveliest ornaments, in humble stile
Let Pastoral appear. Let rhyme supply
The majesty of nobler sentiment,
Which ill might suit the peasant. Gay felt this;
And banish'd from his woods Arcadian swains,
And mark'd the manners of the British hind,
And uncouth dialect. He too could veil
In fable's mystic garb the form of truth;
And by his sprightly tale could often draw
113

The tear of laughter even from the dim eye
Of churlish gravity. Nor be forgot
The grotesque mirth of Butler's errant Knight,
Nor Swift, strange child of fancy, and of spleen,
Nor he, whose labour'd line flows smoothly on,
The gallant, easy Prior. Subjects light,
Swoln by heroic phrase, like some poor slave,
Who, robed in royal mantle, struts his hour,
Betray their base original the more.
Pardon, my Anstey, that I name thee last,
Tho last, not least in fame. For thee the Muse
Reserv'd a secret spot, unknown before,
And smiled, and bade thee fix thy banner there,
As erst Columbus on his new-found world
Display'd the Iberian ensign. Graceful sit
Thy golden chains, and easy flows the rhyme
114

Spontaneous. While old Bladud's sceptre guards
His medicinal stream, shall Simkin raise
Loud peals of merriment. Thou too canst soar
To nobler heights, and deck the fragrant earth
“Where generous Russel lies.” With thee, my friend,
Oft have I stray'd from morn to latest eve,
And stoln from balmy sleep the midnight hour
To court the Latian Mufe. Tho other cares
Tore me from that sweet social intercourse,
I cannot but remember how I rov'd
By Cadmus, sedgy stream, and on the pipe,
The rustic pipe , while yet it breath'd thy lips,
Essay'd alternate strains. Accept this verse,
Pledge of remembrance dear, and faithful love.
 

Alluding to the Hymn to the Naids.

This was written at the time of Mr. Gray's death. He was buried at Stoke, about three miles from Eton College.

Boileau, L'Art Poetique.

This alludes to a Latin translation of “Gray's Elegy in a Country “Church yard,” written in conjunction with Mr. Anstey, and printed in 1762.

------ πιειει τα σα χειλεα.

Mosch.

115

THE POOR MAN's PRAYER. ADDRESSED TO THE EARL OF CHATHAM. AN ELEGY.

[_]

FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1766.

117

Amidst the more important toils of state,
The counsels labouring in thy patriot soul,
Tho Europe from thy voice expect her fate,
And thy keen glance extend from pole to pole,
118

O CHATHAM, nurs'd in ancient virtue's lore,
To these sad strains incline a favouring ear;
Think on the God, whom Thou, and I adore,
Nor turn unpitying from the Poor Man's Prayer.
Ah me! how blest was once a peasant's life!
No lawless passion swell'd my even breast;
Far from the roaring waves of civil strife,
Sound were my slumbers, and my heart at rest.
I ne'er for guilty, painful pleasures rov'd,
But taught by nature, and by choice to wed,
From all the hamlet cull'd whom best I lov'd,
With her I shared my heart, with her my bed.
119

To gild her worth I ask'd no wealthy dower,
My toil could feed her, and my arm defend;
I envied no man's riches, no man's power,
I ask'd of none to give, of none to lend.
And she, the faithful partner of my care,
When ruddy evening streak'd the western sky,
Look'd towards the uplands, if her mate was there,
Or thro the beech-wood cast an anxious eye:
Then, careful matron, heap'd the maple board
With savoury herbs, and pick'd the nicer part
From such plain food as nature could afford,
Ere simple nature was debauch'd by art.
120

While I, contented with my homely cheer,
Saw round my knees our prattling children play;
And oft with pleas'd attention sat to hear
The little history of their idle day.
But ah! how chang'd the scene! on the cold stones,
Where wont at night to blaze the chearful fire,
Pale famine sits, and counts her naked bones,
Still sighs for food, still pines with vain desire.
My faithful wife with ever-streaming eyes
Hangs on my bosom her dejected head;
My helpless infants raise their feeble cries,
And from their father claim their daily bread.
121

Dear tender pledges of my honest love,
On that bare bed behold your brother lie;
Three tedious days with pinching want he strove,
The fourth, I saw the helpless cherub die.
Nor long shall ye remain. With visage sour
Our tyrant lord commands us from our home;
And arm'd with cruel law's coercive power
Bids me and mine o'er barren mountains roam.
Yet never, CHATHAM, have I pass'd a day
In riot's orgies, or in idle ease;
Ne'er have I squander'd hours in sport and play,
Nor wish'd a pamper'd appetite to please.
122

Hard was my fare, and constant was my toil,
Still with the morning's orient light I rose,
Fell'd the stout oak, or rais'd the lofty pile,
Parch'd in the sun, in dark December froze.
Is it, that nature with a niggard hand
Withholds her gifts from these once-favour'd plains?
Has God, in vengeance to a guilty land,
Sent dearth and famine to her labouring swains?
Ah, no; yon hill, where daily sweats my brow,
A thousand flocks, a thousand herds adorn;
Yon field, where late I drove the painful plough,
Feels all her acres crown'd with bending corn.
123

But what avails, that o'er the furrow'd soil
In autumn's heat the yellow harvests rise,
If artificial want elude my toil,
Untasted plenty wound my craving eyes?
What profits, that at distance I behold
My wealthy neighbour's fragrant smoke ascend,
If still the griping cormorants withhold
The fruits which rain and genial seasons send?
If those fell vipers of the public weal
Yet unrelenting on our bowels prey;
If still the curse of penury we feel,
And in the midst of plenty pine away?
124

In every port the vessel rides secure,
That wafts our harvest to a foreign shore;
While we the pangs of pressing want endure,
The sons of strangers riot on our store.
O generous CHATHAM, stop those fatal sails,
Once more with outstretch'd arm thy Britons save;
The unheeding crew but waits for favouring gales,
O stop them, e'er they stem the Etrurian wave.
So may thy languid limbs with strength be brac'd,
And glowing health support thy active soul;
With fair renown thy public virtue grac'd,
Far as thou bad'st Britannia's thunder roll.
125

Then joy to thee, and to thy children peace,
The grateful hind shall drink from plenty's horn:
And while they share the cultur'd land's increase,
The Poor shall bless the day when PITT was born.
129

ARIMANT and TAMIRA. AN EASTERN TALE.

In the Manner of DRYDEN's FABLES.

[_]

Corrected from an Edition, first Published in M.DCC.LVII.

130

If to the field his valiant troops he led,
Before his arm united nations fled;
And when fair peace return'd ('twas peace he lov'd)
His just decrees all sought, for all approv'd.
So generous was this prince; his court so free
To every country, worship, or degree;
So splendid was his train; so deck'd his board
With all that earth, or air, or seas afford;
That distant nations join'd with one consent
To style Yamodin, the Magnificent.
Twelve years were over, since his lovely bride
Was snatch'd untimely from this monarch's side.
Of all his numerous race, so fate ordain'd,
To fill Golconda's throne no son remain'd.
One only daughter heaven vouchsaf'd to spare,
One only daughter was his darling care.
131

In her the father oft would weep to trace
The living features of a dearer face;
In her would gaze on his lost consort's charms,
And clasp the faithful image in his arms.
This nymph of whom I speak, this gentle maid,
(Whose charms should ne'er decay, nor virtues fade,
If ought my humble verse might raise to fame,)
Was call'd Tamira from her mother's name.
In modest mien, in dignity of air,
Where was the virgin could with her compare;
In whom at once were join'd whate'er can please
Of grace, of motion, elegance, and ease?
Fair as she was, and daughter of a throne,
Soon was her fame to neighbouring nations known.
From neighbouring nations rival princes strove
To win Tamira's heart, and gain her love.
132

As each excell'd in fortune, arms, address,
Some woo'd with bribes, and some with gentleness:
Some told her tales of battles lost and won,
And bloody fields on t'other side the sun.
From rich Indostan wealthy monarchs came,
And kings of Visapour, a mighty name.
But good Yamodin soon compos'd the strife,
And vow'd no stranger e'er should call her wife;
Lest fam'd Golconda, once of high renown,
Should shine a jewel in some foreign crown.
And yet, what broils may vex Tamira's reign,
Should she a queen still unespous'd remain?
Some haughty prince, she once refus'd to wed,
May drag her captive to her conqueror's bed.
Or grant the Gods her happy days may bless
In peace with justice, and in arms, success;
133

What hand, when she's no more, the state shall sway?
What chief the headlong populace obey?
Perhaps, while rival lords aspire to reign,
Th'unpeopled land may weep her children slain:
Or some proud Raja lead up all his powers,
And level with the dust Golconda's lofty towers.
What then remains but soon to match the fair,
And from her father's court adopt an heir?
Some youth, whose arm the sinking realm may save;
And who so fit, as Arimant the brave?
To powerful kings was Arimant allied,
And, next their monarch, was the people's pride.
Oft from his eye the tear of pity stole,
For soft his heart, tho' dauntless was his soul.
Oft had he check'd his arm the foe to spare,
And wept when victor at the chance of war.
134

Long had this youth conceal'd a pleasing pain,
Long fair Tamira lov'd, but lov'd in vain:
For tho Tamira burnt with equal fire,
Yet still she dreaded, as she lov'd her sire.
Now scenes of rapture open to their view
So like a dream, they scarce believe them true.
Fixt for their nuptials is the joyful day;
For life's uncertain pleasures soon decay,
And bliss that wooes our hand 'tis madness to delay.
O happy pair! for you thro all the court
'Tis feasting, dancing, jollity, and sport!
But ah! the short-liv'd joys shall soon be o'er,
And mirth's wild revelry be heard no more!
Forth from the sickly South's contagious breath
Comes the dire Pestilence, and scatters death:
135

She stands, and throws her deadly poisons round,
With stride gigantic covering all the ground.
Vain is the voice of grief: in vain the cries
Of widows, mothers, orphans pierce the skies.
Ten nights in vain the watchful Bramin prays,
In vain observes the sun ten tedious days.
What tho whole weeks with still-uplifted hands
Each sad Faquir in painful suppliance stands;
What, tho to hallow'd groves the saint retires,
And in his bosom clasps the sacred fires;
A stronger poison taints the noisome air,
And mighty Ram disdains his votary's prayer.
What ransom then can angry heaven demand?
What sacrifice can save a guilty land?
Oft could the blood of royal virgins spare
Their lives in famine, and their troops in war;
136

Who knows but now, the offended Gods require
Some royal virgin should again expire?
Swift thro the crowd the voice of transport flies,
‘A royal virgin, every tongue replies;
‘The sacred rites prepare; a royal virgin dies.’
Soon the sad tidings reach'd Yamodin's ear;
'Twas what Yamodin long had learnt to fear.
What shall he do? No virgin but his own
Can boast alliance to Golconda's throne.
Speechless he stood: at length recovering said,
(And check'd a tear he seem'd asham'd to shed,)
‘What had I done, that I was doom'd to reign,
‘Curs'd to this sad pre-eminence of pain?
‘How blest the slave, who plac'd beneath a crown,
‘Shrinks at my nod, and trembles at my frown!
137

‘He undisturb'd, his infant babes can see
‘Smile in his face, or wanton on his knee:
‘He sits secure, and calls them all his own;
‘Their blood a people's guilt can ne'er attone.
‘But I—(O King, is this thy envied state?)
‘One only daughter must resign to fate.
‘Can I forget how to these arms she flew,
‘And told me every idle tale she knew?
‘For yet a child, with each affection free,
‘Her little love was lavish'd all on me.
‘Duty matur'd what nature taught before,
‘And growing years increas'd her fondness more.
‘Yet she must die. O thou, at whose command
‘Golconda weeps, O save a sinking land!
‘Accept that life, for which her country calls,
‘Tamira's life—'tis thine—to thee she falls.’
138

The vow is past, when lo! the nymph appears;
Nor wild complaint she pours, nor silent tears:
But calm content, mild joy, and heavenly grace
Shed their sweet radiance o'er her lovely face.
At the sad sight again the parent's breast
Each tender thought with tenfold force possess'd:
All fear of injur'd heaven his soul forsook;
And, ‘No; thou shalt not die;’ was all he spoke.
‘And canst thou see me live,’ Tamira said,
‘With all a people's curses on my head?
‘Of me shall every orphan ask a sire?
‘Of me each mother a lost son require?
‘Of me shall every wife her lord implore?
‘Die, die, Tamira; lord, sire, son, restore.
‘Yes, yes, I go to heal a nation's wound;
‘A grateful nation shall my praise resound:
139

‘The decent matron, each revolving year,
‘Shall o'er my ashes shed a pious tear;
‘The Bramins too, as feastful days return,
‘Shall hang the golden tissue on mine urn;
‘On which with curious skill some artist draws
‘A princess bleeding in her country's cause.
‘Calm and undaunted to those realms I go,
‘Where virtuous souls a happier mansion know;
‘Thence soon, if ought of truth our sages say,
‘Burst forth triumphant and return to day!’
‘Then be it so; and thus;’ the monarch said,
‘Thus to grim death I doom thy guiltless head.
‘Thou heard'st, my child, a parent's voice before,
‘Now hear thy prince; the parent is no more.
‘Prepare; to-morrow, virgin, is the day
‘When thou to heaven thy forfeit life must pay:
140

‘Virgin, prepare; myself the rites will speed,
‘Conduct the pomp, and see the victim bleed.’
Then round her bending neck his arms he threw,
Embrac'd her thrice, and thrice pronounc'd, adieu.
Where now is Arimant? what art can save
His fond, his lov'd Tamira from the grave?
All wild, and frantick to the crowd he flies;
Still the mad crowd, a royal victim, cries,
Thence, reckless where he went, in mere despair
He sought the court, for all he lov'd was there.
He found Tamira with extatic eyes,
And hands erect, commercing with the skies.
Her soul, refin'd from passion's base alloy,
Seem'd wrapt in visions of seraphic joy:
Thus fixt she stood, and breath'd her fervent pray'r;
He, with a look of love, and wild despair,
141

O'er her enamour'd hung in silent grief;
No tear burst forth to give his soul relief:
Then, when a sigh the obstructed passage broke,
Fondly he press'd her hand, and gently spoke.
‘And is it thus my fairest hopes are cross'd?
‘My scenes of bliss, are thus the phantoms lost?
‘Oh, no! we cannot, must not, will not part!
‘Come, let me clasp thee to my doating heart.
‘Not look, my love,—'tis Arimant is near:
‘Not speak—'tis Arimant's fond voice you hear!’
‘Go, go, vain man,’ at length Tamira said,
‘For I am sentenc'd to another's bed.
‘The clay-cold grave shall clasp me in his arms,
‘The worm shall riot on these lifeless charms.
‘Go, go, vain man; the Gods demand my breath,
‘My King has pass'd the vow, and welcome death!’
142

‘Yet still,’ the youth replied, ‘yet still remains
‘One gleam of hope, one medicine for our pains:
‘Let's instant wed; that when the priest shall stand,
‘And o'er thee raise his unrelenting hand;
‘Myself may snatch thee from the altar's side,
‘No more a virgin, but a lawful bride.
‘The hour that sav'd his child thy sire will bless,
‘And date from this sad day his future happiness!’
‘No, I will die,’ the royal maid replied,
‘Leave me; for sure my heart is sorely tried.
‘Yet stay, and hear my last, my parting prayer,
‘May'st thou be happy in another fair!
‘When she ('twas once my wish) thy hours beguiles
‘With sweet complacence, and obedient smiles,
‘May'st thou transported read her beauties o'er,
‘And never think of poor Tamira more.’
143

But should I tell how much the lover said
To woo his mistress to the bridal bed:
Or how Tamira, melting by degrees,
Thought death more grim, as life began to please:
All this would stretch the limits of my song,
And well I ween my tale's already long.
By vows, by sighs, by tears, the prince prevail'd;
Her thirst of fame, her patriot courage fail'd;
The priest all trembling spoke the blessing o'er,
And join'd their hands, whose hearts were join'd before.
Now evening shades had chas'd the sun away,
And silent gloom eclips'd the lamp of day.
Thro that still gloom the Muse nor pours her light,
Nor pries into the mysteries of the night.
She waits till morn from yonder hill arise
To wake the verdant earth, and chear the skies.
144

Nor stops she now, to tell the long array
Of priests, and nobles, darkening all the way;
What hymns the virgins sung, what tears they shed,
To weep the living princess, as the dead;
But opes the sacred shrine with magic hands,
Where at the altar's foot the destin'd victim stands.
Veil'd in his robe, the monarch turns aside;
Nor knows he yet Tamira is a bride.
The labouring Bramin with extatic stare,
His eyes all haggard, and erect his hair,
Lifts o'er the virgin's neck his sacred knife;
‘Spare her,’ cries Arimant, ‘O spare my wife,
‘Golconda's injur'd Gods demand a virgin life.’
As ere hoarse thunders rend the troubled sky,
Ere lightning's forked darts begin to fly,
145

A gloomy silence reigns o'er all the air;
Yet horrors dark the approaching storm declare:
So silent long the offended monarch stood,
But on his brow was seen the gathering cloud.
Silent he left the shrine. Now, hapless bride,
How dost thou wish the nuptial knot untied!
Yet on thyself no thought hast thou to spare;
The gentle Arimant is all thy care.
Prophetic are thy fears: for lo! a band
(Each bears a falchion glittering in his hand,)
Of trusty guards, with threatening voice they cry,
‘This hour let Arimant prepare to die!’
Thus spake the savage ministers of fate,
And drag'd him struggling to the prison gate.
Soon as Tamira heard the fatal sound,
All pale she lay, and breathless on the ground.
146

At length she starts, she wakes: I see her rise,
And round the temple throw her anxious eyes.
Ah! poor Tamira, close those eyes again;
‘Thy Arimant is gone. The griping chain
‘Has fix'd that gallant warrior to the ground;
‘Supine he lies, and waits the fatal wound.
Her consort's doom when sad Tamira knew,
Swift to the presence of her sire she flew:
He saw her come, but look'd aside, and frown'd;
He saw her kneel, nor rais'd her from the ground.
‘Save him, O save my love,’ the mourner said,
‘Pour all thy vengeance on this wretched head.
‘I, only I, have sinn'd; my blood alone
‘That guilt can expiate, which is all my own.
‘Perhaps the Gods may yet accept my life,
‘No spotless virgin, but a loyal wife.
147

‘When these poor weeping eyes shall sleep in peace,
‘Perhaps the insatiate pestilence may cease.
‘If to your soul my mother's name was dear,
‘If e'er your daughter's voice could charm your ear,
‘If e'er affection's tender ties could move,
‘O kill Tamira; but O save my love.’
To all her plaints no word the king replied,
But wav'd his hand; and thus again the bride.
‘Since he must die, one only wish is mine;
‘Let the same urn our mingled dust enshrine.
‘Fearless I'll rush to clasp him in the fire,
‘And in his arms a faithful wife expire.
‘Happy the dame of Coromandel's coast!
‘She never there laments a husband lost;
‘But with his ashes to one grave descends,
‘Her faith applauded by surrounding friends:
148

‘O'er her, while yet alive, those friends prolong
‘The festive dances, and triumphal song.
‘Nor does Golconda to her brides deny
‘With their lov'd lords in funeral pomp to lie.
‘But ah! while others with their consorts sleep,
‘Why should the royal widow live, and weep?
‘Full well I know, Yamodin, to survive
‘A husband lost is our prerogative;
‘Yet let me die; and dying let me prove
‘That royal hearts are not asham'd to love.’
Silent the monarch stands, but nods assent;
Nor even her instant death can make his heart relent.
Now to young Arimant the muse returns;
Still hopeless Arimant in prison mourns.
Chain'd on the ground the prostrate warrior lies,
And with despair, and rage indignant cries;
149

‘Thus does our king his loyal soldiers pay,
‘Who toil'd for him in many a well-fought day?
‘Have I for this so oft distain'd thy flood,
‘O Ganges, sacred stream, with hostile blood?
‘Did I for this Bengala's monarch wound,
‘And cleave his hundred Omrahs to the ground?
‘Ere yet an hour, this heart, of life the seat,
‘Dry'd all its channels, shall forget to beat!
‘Nor thou, Tamira, whom the rites divine,
‘Had tyrants mercy, made for ever mine,
‘Nor thou Tamira shalt attend my doom,
‘And lay thy murder'd husband in the tomb.’
Scarce had he spoke, when fair Tamira came,
And heard her Arimant repeat her name.
‘Yes, yes, my Arimant, I go,’ she cries,
‘To wait on all thy funeral obsequies;
150

‘Yes, I will see thee fall, yet mark my love,
‘Think not a tear Tamira's faith shall prove;
‘Think not I'll hang lamenting o'er thine urn,
‘And thence to life, and life's vain joys, return;
‘No, Arimant; with thee I mean to die:
‘What grants my father, will my love deny?’
But now the hour was come; the trusty band,
That seiz'd him first, his forfeit life demand.
‘O stay, ye cruel, stay,’ Tamira cries,
‘Let me once more embrace him, ere he dies.
‘And must he die!—Oh! no; again I'll go,
‘Again, (he will not still despise my woe,)
‘Kneel at my father's feet.—Stay, cruel, stay;
‘Touch not my love besure, while I'm away.’—
Thus she distracted. But the youth, who saw
How reason bow'd to love's superior law,
151

Saw passion all her boasted strength controul,
With words of comfort calm'd her troubled soul.
Now, but my bark is hastening to the shore,
I'd count the croud, and tell the legions o'er,
That wait to see their best-lov'd heroe fall,
Each sigh I'd number, and each groan recall:
But the sad pomp I pass in silence by.
Short was his parting prayer: to that, what eye
The tear of honest pity could deny?
With unaverted look, with soul serene
He view'd the horrors of this fatal scene;
Stretch'd to the lifted steel his graceful head,
And at one stroke was number'd with the dead.
Tamira saw his trunk all drench'd in blood,
And pausing o'er his yet-warm relicks stood.
152

Then from a golden urn began to pour
Fresh water o'er his limbs, and cleanse the clotted gore.
With her own hair she wip'd each stain away,
And kiss'd a thousand times th'unconscious clay.
‘Haste, O ye lingering Bramins, haste,’ she said;
Strait on the pyre his breathless corpse was laid.
There myrrh, and costly frankincense she threw,
Each fragrant herb that drinks the morning dew,
Sweet-smelling woods that odorous gums exhale,
And spices, scented by the Arabian gale.
Then to the pile a flaming torch applied,
Stretch'd out her naked arms, and wildly cried:
‘I come, I come—what means that hollow groan?
‘Nay, Arimant, you shall not lie alone.
‘Chide not, my love; Tamira will not stay;
‘We'll mount together to the realms of day:
153

‘Together to celestial climes we'll soar,
‘Where cruel fathers ne'er shall part us more.’
She said, and rushing to the impetuous fire,
Embrac'd her consort on the blazing pyre.
There, soon to dust consum'd, the lovers lay;
Part the rude winds bore unperceiv'd away:
One urn inclos'd the rest: resounding fame
To earth's remotest bounds convey'd their name.
Rest, faithful lovers, at each other's side,
Whose lasting union death could ne'er divide.
O could the Muse shed odors on your tomb,
Sweet as the balms which Eastern vales perfume!
Sweet as the flowrets of a thousand dyes
That deck the ground, where Sigismonda lies.
154

Yet, friendly passenger, one boon I crave;
Pray you tread softly o'er their peaceful grave.
By you, fond swains, a passing sigh be paid
To gentle Arimant's unhappy shade.
And ye, soft nymphs, whose sorrows oft o'erflow
At the sad story of another's woe,
Your kind concern let poor Tamira prove,
And read with tenderest tears, her tale of hapless love.
 

Alluding to Dryden's tale of Sigismonda and Guiscardo.

155

TO JACOB BRYANT, Esq.

I

The Sophist spins his subtle thread;
On liberty and fate,
With heart deprav'd, and puzzled head,
Prolongs the dull debate;
Till Virtue, Truth, his Saviour, and his God,
By Metaphysic's mighty lore
At once lose all their essence, all their power,
Charm'd to eternal sleep by that magician's rod.
156

II

O shame to prostituted parts!
Was time, was genius given,
To darken by dishonest arts
The clear decrees of heaven?
Tell me, my Bryant, burns not all thy soul
With indignation's holy zeal?
Tell me, thou Patriot of the Christian weal,
Feel'st not, secure thyself, what dangers wait the Whole?

III

Thou do'st. To vindicate the ways
Of God to Man, is thine:
And all thy nights, and all thy days
In Truth's neglected mine,
By thee discover'd in these later times,
Thine hand digs deep for solid ore,
The hard-earn'd treasure speeds to many a shore,
And claims its honour due, the praise of distant climes.
157

IV

Where'er thou com'st, discerning Sage,
Detected Falshood flies;
Tho sanctified by many an age,
The creed of Centuries.
Thy torch is rais'd, and lo! the historic Muse
Rears from the dust her mangled head,
Tells the true story of her mighty dead,
And thro each peopled land her wandering tribes pursues.

V

Now stronger grows the blaze of light;
The darkness melts away
Which wrapt Ægyptian realms in night,
And long obscur'd their day.
In vain from Ham's wise sons did Greece of old
Aspire to tear Invention's crown;
In vain she hoped to fix a sure renown
On tales of dragon's teeth, and fabled fleece of gold;
158

VI

The charm is o'er. Thou to her source
Dark Error first didst trace:
Thou marking all her winding course
Shalt free the human race
From prejudice, imbibed in earliest youth;
And sweeping all the mists away
Which Fiction rais'd to lead thy steps astray,
Firm on her blazing throne shalt fix Historic Truth.

VII

Proceed, my friend; so shalt thou find
In these dark paths thy God:
His works, his word, with steady mind
From stern oppression's rod,
From quibbling words, from lying lips retrieve;
And while thou talk'st of ancient days
Erect memorials to Jehova's praise,
Till Sceptics cease to doubt, and Infidels believe.
159

TO G. A. S. Esq. On his Leaving Eton School.

Since now a nobler scene awakes thy care,
Since manhood dawning, to fair Granta's towers,
Where once in life's gay spring I loved to roam,
Invites thy willing steps; accept, dear youth,
This parting strain; accept the fervent prayer
Of him, who loves thee with a passion pure
As ever Friendship drop'd in human heart,
The prayer, that he who guides the hand of youth
160

Thro all the puzzled and perplexed round
Of life's meandring path, upon thy head
May shower down every blessing, every joy,
Which health, which virtue, and which fame can give.
Yet think not, I will deign to flatter thee;
Shall he, the guardian of thy faith and truth,
The guide, the pilot of thy tender years,
Teach thy young heart to feel a spurious glow
At undeserved praise? Perish the slave
Whose venal breath in youth's unpractis'd ear
Pours poison'd flattery, and corrupts the soul
With vain conceit; whose base ungenerous art
Fawns on the vice, which some with honest hand
Have torn for ever from the bleeding breast.
Say, gentle youth, remember'st thou the day
When o'er thy tender shoulders first I hung
161

The golden lyre, and taught thy trembling hand
To touch the accordant strings? From that blest hour
I've seen thee panting up the hill of fame;
Thy little heart beat high with honest praise,
Thy cheek was flush'd, and oft thy sparkling eye
Shot flames of young ambition. Never quench
That generous ardour in thy virtuous breast.
Sweet is the concord of harmonious sounds,
When the soft lute, or pealing organ strikes
The well-attempered ear; sweet is the breath
Of honest love, when nymph and gentle swain
Waft sighs alternate to each others heart:
But nor the concord of harmonious sounds
When the soft lute, or pealing organ strikes
The well-attemper'd ear; nor the sweet breath
Of honest love, when nymph and gentle swain
162

Waft sighs alternate to each others heart,
So charm with ravishment the raptured sense,
As does the voice of well-deserved report
Strike with sweet melody the conscious soul.
On every object thro the giddy world
Which fashion to thy dazzled eye presents,
Fresh is the gloss of newness; look, dear youth,
Oh look, but not admire: O let not these
Rase from thy noble heart the fair records
Which youth and education planted there:
Let not affection's full impetuous tide,
Which riots in thy generous breast, be check'd
By selfish cares; nor let the idle jeers
Of laughing fools make thee forget thyself.
When didst thou hear a tender tale of woe,
And feel thy heart at rest? Have I not seen
163

In thy swoln eye the tear of sympathy,
The milk of human kindness? When didst thou
With envy rankling, hear a rival prais'd?
When didst thou slight the wretched? when despise
The modest humble suit of poverty?
These virtues still be thine; nor ever learn
To look with cold eye on the charities
Of brother, or of parents; think on those
Whose anxious care thro childhood's slippery path
Sustain'd thy feeble steps; whose every wish
Is wafted still to thee; remember those,
Even in thy heart while memory holds her seat.
And oft as to thy mind thou shalt recall
The sweet companions of thy earliest years,
Mates of thy sport, and rivals in the strife
Of every generous art, remember me.
FINIS.
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