 | Poems by Dr. Roberts of Eton College |  |
I. PART I .
Πιστευσαι γαρ δει τον προσερχομενον τω Θεα,
οτι ΕΣΤΙ.
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
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.’
Encircled by the bright angelic host,
Thy ministers, survey'st whatever is
In earth, in highest heaven, Thee I approach
2
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
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.
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
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
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.
With all her hills, her vales, and sounding floods,
This goodly Planet sprung: then first the earth
4
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
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?
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
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,
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?
Her Kings, her Patriots? Where, alas! are all
Her antient monuments of arts, and arms,
6
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
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
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.
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
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
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,
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.
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
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
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
This order, till from universal strife
This universal harmony began?
Or increate. If increate, 'tis God;
If made, by whom? Or was itself at once
11
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 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?
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;
The
Sage of Pleasure: with the sons of Greece
I mix, and listen to his impious tale.
His steps, and with presumptuous tongue arraigns
Jehova's works?—I know his hoary hairs;
13
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.
‘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.’
‘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.
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
'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.
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,
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.
21
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,
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.
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
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,
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.
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
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,
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.
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
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.
| Poems by Dr. Roberts of Eton College | |