Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | III. | PART III. |
 | Streams from Helicon |  |
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III. PART III.
From amber Shrouds I see the Morning rise,
Her rosie Hand begins to paint the Skies.
And now the City Emmits leave their Hive;
And rouzing Hinds to chearful Labour drive.
High Clifts and Rocks are pleasant Objects now,
And Nature smiles upon the Mountains Brow.
The joyful Lark, salutes the Sun's approach,
The Sun too Laughs, and mounts his gawdy Coach:
While from his Carr the dropping Gems distill,
And all the Earth, and all the Heav'ns do smile.
Her rosie Hand begins to paint the Skies.
And now the City Emmits leave their Hive;
And rouzing Hinds to chearful Labour drive.
High Clifts and Rocks are pleasant Objects now,
And Nature smiles upon the Mountains Brow.
The joyful Lark, salutes the Sun's approach,
The Sun too Laughs, and mounts his gawdy Coach:
While from his Carr the dropping Gems distill,
And all the Earth, and all the Heav'ns do smile.
Lee.
165
A Morning Walk TO ARTHUR's SEAT, On the First Day of May.
I wander where the Muses haunt,
To shady Groves, clear Spring, or sunny Hill,
Smit with the Love of sacred Song.
Milt.
To shady Groves, clear Spring, or sunny Hill,
Smit with the Love of sacred Song.
Milt.
Last Night opprest with sullen Grief I lay,
Upon th'uneasie Couch, indulging Sorrow:
My Soul disturbed with a Chain of Mis'ries.
Job's melancholy Plaints was now my Theme,
Like him I wish'd my Sorrows on record,
Engraven deeply with a Pen of Iron.
Upon th'uneasie Couch, indulging Sorrow:
My Soul disturbed with a Chain of Mis'ries.
Job's melancholy Plaints was now my Theme,
Like him I wish'd my Sorrows on record,
Engraven deeply with a Pen of Iron.
166
Open'd his Mouth to curse the weary Day.
O'erwhelm'd with Grief and Pain deep Silence broke:
And secret Charms in wond'rous Words he spoke.
Perish ye dismal Day, commenc'd my infant Years:
O blasted be that Night, which louring Aspect wears:
That fatal Night of Blessings be't bereav'd,
In which the pregnant Womb th'unhappy Male conceiv'd.
Dark be the fatal Day ------
Let massie Clouds form the Cimmerian Night:
No twinkling Tapers dart small Rays of Light,
The God, who made it, curse it from from above,
O may it never see his Light nor Love.
Heap Darkness on't for Tokens of thy Wrath,
O be it mantled o'er with Shades of Death.
May lasting Clouds, thick as the Mists of Hell,
Descend upon't perpetually to dwell.
Unheard of Darkness-fix upon the Air,
Terrors fly round the Glob, t'encrease the Fear,
Let baleful Blackness darken down the Night,
Nor Moon or Stars command the least of Light.
May they this Night restrain their blessful Rays,
No more this Night be join'd to wellcome Days.
Lop off this Night's Alliance to the Day;
Divorc'd from Months may it dissolve away.
Lo in this sad, this solitary Night,
No Voice be heard, can yield the least Delight.
167
No Noise be heard unless to terrify.
Let discontented Souls, who spurn at Life,
Opprest with Pain, who court the murd'ring Knife,
Who long for Death, and pine to be away,
O let them curse it, when they curse the Day.
Let th'Ev'ning Stars, which usher in the Night,
Be doom'd to Darkness, empti'd of their Light,
Whilst groping Mortals look for Stars t'arise;
These Lanthorns be shut up, and Darkness load the Skys.
May Darkness still encrease, without the least alloy:
O may it never kindle up to Day.
This Night allow'd my Life for to begin;
Nor bolted Natures Doors to keep me in,
No Pitty shew'd unto my new born Crys;
Nor Sorrow hid from my poor feeble Eyes.
Ah me! Why did I to this World come?
Why dy'd I not within the teeming Womb?
When smoaking from the Belly I suck'd Breath,
O had it prov'd the Agonies of Death.
Newly resign'd from my glad Mother's Womb
Had I giv'n up the Ghost, and t'ane the Tomb.
Why did the Knees with vigour bear me up,
Or swelling Breasts afford my morning Cup?
Oh had I fall'n from a trembling Knee;
Or barren Breasts had starv'd unhappy me:
Then should eternal Slumbers nail'd my Head,
In soft repose I'd ly'n amongst the Dead;
Where anxious Cares do not invade the Breast;
No Malheur there disturbs the peaceful Rest:
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Earth's Monarchs, and their Ministers of State,
Who loath'd in Courts and gaudy Pomp to dwell,
Threw down their thorny Crowns t'embrace a Cell.
I'd lodg'd with Princes in oblivion's Bed,
Whose Riches Fame thro' all the World hath spread
With gold and silver Plate their Houses shin'd,
Yet stole to Dust, and left the gawgaw Things behind
Or like th'unripen'd Embryo of the Womb,
Untimely Born, is hidden in the Tomb:
Like that raw Mass doom'd to perpetual Night,
Whose sealed Eyes disdains to view the Light.
'Tis in the peaceful Grave where none's opprest:
The Wicked and the Weary are at rest.
'Tis there th'afflicted Prisoners are free
From the stern brawny Keepers Cruelty,
In the dark Regions of the silent Grave,
Rich Creditor can't make poor Debitor a Slave.
Without Distinction blended in the Dust
Lies Prince and Peasant, Wicked and the Just:
The Servant's free from Toil and Drudgery now;
Nor early wakes to streck the labouring Plow.
Tell me, ye arbitrary Pow'rs of Heav'n,
Why your officious Light to pensive Souls is giv'n.
A dark perpetual Night doth best agree
With Souls plung'd deep in Gulfs of Misery.
Why am I plagu'd with Life, opprest with Woes?
Th'imbitter'd Souls desire the Grave's repose,
Who long to ly in Chambers of the Dead,
Amongst their Sister Worms to lay their Head.
But stubborn Death is deaf to all their Cries,
Holds up his iron Hands, and from them flies.
Still they renew their humble Pray'r again,
They beg their Warrand to depart in vain.
With the same Pains their Exit they implore,
As Misers dig the Earth for golden Ore.
With Joy meet Death, and call the Sentence just,
Sob out their Souls, and turn to native Dust.
In vain the radiant Sun dispenses Rays
To him who walks in Darkness all his Days.
In devious Wilds I'm caught by fatal Gin,
And can't escape for God doth hedge me in:
Deep Sighs do throb my Breast before I eat,
And brinny Tears distill to sauce my Meat:
With mournful Cries my Mis'ry I deplore,
Loud as the stormy Sea when angry Billows roar:
The Evils, which I most abhor'd to see,
With rapid Force comes rolling upon me,
The Object of my Hate, my Soul's Bugbear,
Is come and fills my Soul with panick Fear.
Expos'd to Dangers, and with Cares opprest,
My discontented Soul can find no rest.
My Troubles still succeeded are by worse,
Which flow upon upon me with impetuous Force.
Why your officious Light to pensive Souls is giv'n.
A dark perpetual Night doth best agree
With Souls plung'd deep in Gulfs of Misery.
Why am I plagu'd with Life, opprest with Woes?
Th'imbitter'd Souls desire the Grave's repose,
169
Amongst their Sister Worms to lay their Head.
But stubborn Death is deaf to all their Cries,
Holds up his iron Hands, and from them flies.
Still they renew their humble Pray'r again,
They beg their Warrand to depart in vain.
With the same Pains their Exit they implore,
As Misers dig the Earth for golden Ore.
With Joy meet Death, and call the Sentence just,
Sob out their Souls, and turn to native Dust.
In vain the radiant Sun dispenses Rays
To him who walks in Darkness all his Days.
In devious Wilds I'm caught by fatal Gin,
And can't escape for God doth hedge me in:
Deep Sighs do throb my Breast before I eat,
And brinny Tears distill to sauce my Meat:
With mournful Cries my Mis'ry I deplore,
Loud as the stormy Sea when angry Billows roar:
The Evils, which I most abhor'd to see,
With rapid Force comes rolling upon me,
The Object of my Hate, my Soul's Bugbear,
Is come and fills my Soul with panick Fear.
Expos'd to Dangers, and with Cares opprest,
My discontented Soul can find no rest.
My Troubles still succeeded are by worse,
Which flow upon upon me with impetuous Force.
Thus did I waste the louring Night away:
My mind more gloomy than th'Horizon is,
When Nights black Wings prevail and brood upon it.
But when I saw the chearful rosie Morn,
Give Intimations of returning Day,
I from my Pillow rose, ere Heav'ns bright Lamp
Dispens'd his glad'ning Beams on tops of Hills:
Or Quiristers o'th' Air awak'd with Notes
To tune the vocal Forrest with their Musick;
From the Town's Smoak and Clamour I retir'd,
To breath the Country's fresher Air with Pleasure.
My heavy Load of Sorrow I forgot,
When I survey'd the various Scenes of Nature,
The Pow'r and Wisdom of th'eternal Being,
Bless'd Origine of Life, and endless Glory,
Who claims the highest Acts of Adoration,
Deep Love runs thro' the whole harmonious Scheme.
My mind more gloomy than th'Horizon is,
When Nights black Wings prevail and brood upon it.
170
Give Intimations of returning Day,
I from my Pillow rose, ere Heav'ns bright Lamp
Dispens'd his glad'ning Beams on tops of Hills:
Or Quiristers o'th' Air awak'd with Notes
To tune the vocal Forrest with their Musick;
From the Town's Smoak and Clamour I retir'd,
To breath the Country's fresher Air with Pleasure.
My heavy Load of Sorrow I forgot,
When I survey'd the various Scenes of Nature,
The Pow'r and Wisdom of th'eternal Being,
Bless'd Origine of Life, and endless Glory,
Who claims the highest Acts of Adoration,
Deep Love runs thro' the whole harmonious Scheme.
I walk'd to that once happy royal Palace,
Which now laments the absence of her Monarch:
Whose Bosom still remains a bless'd Retreat
To those, who do not share in prosp'rous Fortune.
I view'd her Gall'ry lin'd with royal Faces,
The empty Image of her former Grandeur.
Which now laments the absence of her Monarch:
Whose Bosom still remains a bless'd Retreat
To those, who do not share in prosp'rous Fortune.
I view'd her Gall'ry lin'd with royal Faces,
The empty Image of her former Grandeur.
To have the fuller Prospect, I ascended
The lofty Summit of the neighbouring Mountain:
Which with rough Visage hangs its aged Head;
As if it mourn'd for fair Edina's Ruin.
The lofty Summit of the neighbouring Mountain:
Which with rough Visage hangs its aged Head;
As if it mourn'd for fair Edina's Ruin.
'Twas in that Season of the Year, when Nature,
Fully recover'd from her Winter Sickness,
In rich embroidered fragrant Garments cloth'd,
Displays her Bosom garnished with Riches.
The Flow'rs returning from the Mother's Womb,
Suck in the balmy Breath o'th' Air; and smile
Regal'd and moisten'd with soft April Showers.
Phœbus with genial Warmth inspires the Earth,
His Heat dissolves the frozen Cheeks of Nature.
Heav'n shook her Fleeces on the rip'ning Plants,
Which glister'd with the Pearls were sown upon them.
From Nature's Cellars, hid from human Ken,
Fresh Springs gush down, to chear the Vales below;
And flow'ry Meads laugh with their Purple Cheeks.
The Seat of Ceres is the Fields around;
Where she is brooding with her joyful Wings;
Hatching a halcyon Harvest. ------
Fully recover'd from her Winter Sickness,
In rich embroidered fragrant Garments cloth'd,
Displays her Bosom garnished with Riches.
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Suck in the balmy Breath o'th' Air; and smile
Regal'd and moisten'd with soft April Showers.
Phœbus with genial Warmth inspires the Earth,
His Heat dissolves the frozen Cheeks of Nature.
Heav'n shook her Fleeces on the rip'ning Plants,
Which glister'd with the Pearls were sown upon them.
From Nature's Cellars, hid from human Ken,
Fresh Springs gush down, to chear the Vales below;
And flow'ry Meads laugh with their Purple Cheeks.
The Seat of Ceres is the Fields around;
Where she is brooding with her joyful Wings;
Hatching a halcyon Harvest. ------
'Twas the first Morning of the blooming May,
The Ladies Anniversary to Nature,
When the fair Sex rise earlier than the Sun,
To view their lovely Image in the Brook,
(For Beauties all the Portion Heav'n gives them.)
And wash their Faces with the falling Dew,
Gaze on the Fields more richly dress'd than they,
With Garlands Crown the Lady of the May.
“For this sweet Month the Groves green Liv'rys wear,
“If not the first, the fairest of the Year,
“For her the Graces lead the dancing Hours;
“And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flowers.
The Ladies Anniversary to Nature,
When the fair Sex rise earlier than the Sun,
To view their lovely Image in the Brook,
(For Beauties all the Portion Heav'n gives them.)
And wash their Faces with the falling Dew,
Gaze on the Fields more richly dress'd than they,
With Garlands Crown the Lady of the May.
“For this sweet Month the Groves green Liv'rys wear,
“If not the first, the fairest of the Year,
“For her the Graces lead the dancing Hours;
“And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flowers.
On Arthur's awfull Top my Head reclin'd,
A lovely Landskip open'd to my Eyes.
The bearded Goats climbing the steepy Cliffs,
And traversing the Rocks for wholesome Herbage.
A Symphony of Voices charm'd my Ears,
The mournful Clamour of the scoulling Ass,
The merry Lark whistling her nat'ral Notes,
The bleetings of the Lambs, and hoarser Maes
of Ews, that brouzed on the Mountain Sides,
The Lowings of the Herds in humble Valley:
Echo in mimick Notes return'd the Song.
My Ears being cloy'd with the artless Musick;
My Eyes were ravish'd with a beauteous Scene.
The Seas smooth Face, calm as the cradled Infant,
When lull'd asleep with Nurses dreery Songs.
Ships in Leith's happy Bosom spread their Sails;
Which sported with the Winds in gaudie Pomp.
Morning Tide had early rouz'd the Sailers:
With labour'd Stroaks they reach'd the Southern Shoar.
Variety of Plants, in this rude Garden,
Perfum'd my Nostrils with their vernal Sweetness.
Here I with Pleasure herbaliz'd alone,
Praising th'eternal Fountain of the Bounty.
A lovely Landskip open'd to my Eyes.
The bearded Goats climbing the steepy Cliffs,
And traversing the Rocks for wholesome Herbage.
172
The mournful Clamour of the scoulling Ass,
The merry Lark whistling her nat'ral Notes,
The bleetings of the Lambs, and hoarser Maes
of Ews, that brouzed on the Mountain Sides,
The Lowings of the Herds in humble Valley:
Echo in mimick Notes return'd the Song.
My Ears being cloy'd with the artless Musick;
My Eyes were ravish'd with a beauteous Scene.
The Seas smooth Face, calm as the cradled Infant,
When lull'd asleep with Nurses dreery Songs.
Ships in Leith's happy Bosom spread their Sails;
Which sported with the Winds in gaudie Pomp.
Morning Tide had early rouz'd the Sailers:
With labour'd Stroaks they reach'd the Southern Shoar.
Variety of Plants, in this rude Garden,
Perfum'd my Nostrils with their vernal Sweetness.
Here I with Pleasure herbaliz'd alone,
Praising th'eternal Fountain of the Bounty.
The rising Sun shone with unshaded Beauty,
No Fogs and Mists did intercept his Splendour.
The setting Stars withdrew their feebler Light,
When the great Charioteer did mount his Coach.
A lofty Subject for a Milton's Muse;
The divine Bard, who sung in Angel's Notes,
“These are thy glorious Works Parent of Good
“Almighty thine this universal Frame,
“Thus wond'rous Fair, thy self how wondrous then.
No Fogs and Mists did intercept his Splendour.
The setting Stars withdrew their feebler Light,
When the great Charioteer did mount his Coach.
A lofty Subject for a Milton's Muse;
The divine Bard, who sung in Angel's Notes,
“These are thy glorious Works Parent of Good
“Almighty thine this universal Frame,
“Thus wond'rous Fair, thy self how wondrous then.
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In lower Notes I sung, for Heav'n is pleas'd
With Gratitude, a Tribute due to Heav'n.
To thee, great God, incline my ravish'd Soul,
As doth the Needle to th'attractive Pole.
Brighten Beams of Faith, encrease the flame of Love.
The Mercies Men enjoy, O gracious God,
Is only from the Tenor of thy Bounty.
As doth the Needle to th'attractive Pole.
Brighten Beams of Faith, encrease the flame of Love.
The Mercies Men enjoy, O gracious God,
Is only from the Tenor of thy Bounty.
Who can behold thy mighty Works, O God,
Or think upon thy Goodness without Rapture.
Great Architect of this bright shining Glob,
I'll join with heav'nly Choirs in rapt'rous Praise,
To Celebrate the Depths of divine Wisdom.
Or think upon thy Goodness without Rapture.
Great Architect of this bright shining Glob,
I'll join with heav'nly Choirs in rapt'rous Praise,
To Celebrate the Depths of divine Wisdom.
Ye nether World sing Hymns to the great Numen,
Ev'n from the Artick to th'Antartick Pole
Lo yon blew Canopy, adorn'd with Stars,
Lanthorns hung out t'illuminate this World,
Displays the Pow'r and Wisdom of its Maker;
Who laid Earth's Basis in the fluid Air;
An Element too weak to bear a Straw.
I admire the vast Suspension of the Glob,
The Flux and Reflux of the raging Sea,
Bounded and circumscrib'd with special Laws.
He shuteth up the Sea with Doors of Sand;
With these the Seas proud Waves is buttress'd up,
They kiss the Shoar but can't o'erflow the Land.
Her Billows tremble at th'Almighty's Nod:
Did not the raging Sea obey her God,
And split her Waves, when touch'd with Aarons Rod.
Firm as a Rock the liquid Waves do stand,
Till th'Israelites with Safety reach the Land.
Then Seas do Storm, the angry Billows rise,
And with impetuous Force o'erwhelm th'Enemies.
Her wrathful Jaws receive them to their Tomb,
'Mongst secret Horrors of her wat'ry Womb.
These, who in Ships on Hills of Billows ride,
To deck Britannia's Belles with Persian Pride,
Fly to both Indies for their Gold and Spices,
Mount to the Skies, and dance upon the Waves,
Do see the Wonders of the Lord i'th' Deep:
To which all Currents daily do resort,
To be in their great Parents Arms embrac'd;
Who swallows thousand Rivers in her Mouth:
Yet like the thirsty Drunkard gaspes for Drought.
Her swaging Womb comes begging to the Shoar,
While she receives her Alms, she begs for more.
Millions of Mouths within her Bosom ly;
Were she not well supply'd they'd drink her dry.
To Eolus she gives ten thousand Tun,
Millions of Hogsheads to the Moon and Sun.
Descartes, great Philosopher did own,
He knew not how the Pression of the Moon
Did cause the Sea to make so swift a Motion,
One thousand eighty Foot unto a second.
Who can by searching fathom the Almighty,
And trace the Maze and Labyrinth of his Works.
Such Knowledge is too wonderful for Man;
'Tis higher than the Battlements of Heav'n.
Deeper than the infernal Shades below,
Longer than Earth, and broader than the Sea.
God's Spirit garnished the Azure Vault:
He form'd the crooked Serpent and Arcturus,
Orion, Pleiades, and the Southern Gall'ries.
Ev'n from the Artick to th'Antartick Pole
Lo yon blew Canopy, adorn'd with Stars,
Lanthorns hung out t'illuminate this World,
Displays the Pow'r and Wisdom of its Maker;
Who laid Earth's Basis in the fluid Air;
An Element too weak to bear a Straw.
I admire the vast Suspension of the Glob,
The Flux and Reflux of the raging Sea,
Bounded and circumscrib'd with special Laws.
He shuteth up the Sea with Doors of Sand;
With these the Seas proud Waves is buttress'd up,
They kiss the Shoar but can't o'erflow the Land.
Her Billows tremble at th'Almighty's Nod:
174
And split her Waves, when touch'd with Aarons Rod.
Firm as a Rock the liquid Waves do stand,
Till th'Israelites with Safety reach the Land.
Then Seas do Storm, the angry Billows rise,
And with impetuous Force o'erwhelm th'Enemies.
Her wrathful Jaws receive them to their Tomb,
'Mongst secret Horrors of her wat'ry Womb.
These, who in Ships on Hills of Billows ride,
To deck Britannia's Belles with Persian Pride,
Fly to both Indies for their Gold and Spices,
Mount to the Skies, and dance upon the Waves,
Do see the Wonders of the Lord i'th' Deep:
To which all Currents daily do resort,
To be in their great Parents Arms embrac'd;
Who swallows thousand Rivers in her Mouth:
Yet like the thirsty Drunkard gaspes for Drought.
Her swaging Womb comes begging to the Shoar,
While she receives her Alms, she begs for more.
Millions of Mouths within her Bosom ly;
Were she not well supply'd they'd drink her dry.
To Eolus she gives ten thousand Tun,
Millions of Hogsheads to the Moon and Sun.
Descartes, great Philosopher did own,
He knew not how the Pression of the Moon
Did cause the Sea to make so swift a Motion,
One thousand eighty Foot unto a second.
Who can by searching fathom the Almighty,
And trace the Maze and Labyrinth of his Works.
Such Knowledge is too wonderful for Man;
175
Deeper than the infernal Shades below,
Longer than Earth, and broader than the Sea.
God's Spirit garnished the Azure Vault:
He form'd the crooked Serpent and Arcturus,
Orion, Pleiades, and the Southern Gall'ries.
The Sun approaches on his dazling Carr,
More glorious than a Bridegroom doth he shine,
Or Solomon in his imperial Purples,
Warms the cold Glebe, and ripens her Productions;
Never is restive to th'Almighty's Laws,
But drives with speedy Course from Pole to Pole
To visit ev'n ungrateful Wretches, who
Did never thank their Maker for the Blessing.
When the Omnipotent commands, the Sun
Doth not arise, or stops i'th' radiant Passage.
More glorious than a Bridegroom doth he shine,
Or Solomon in his imperial Purples,
Warms the cold Glebe, and ripens her Productions;
Never is restive to th'Almighty's Laws,
But drives with speedy Course from Pole to Pole
To visit ev'n ungrateful Wretches, who
Did never thank their Maker for the Blessing.
When the Omnipotent commands, the Sun
Doth not arise, or stops i'th' radiant Passage.
Stars in their nightly Dance with twinkling Eye,
Guide Travellers, ev'n the reeling Drunkards home.
God with strong Arm doth loose the Bonds of Orion
And bindeth the sweet Influence of Pleiades.
'Tis he that ruleth Phospher in his Sphere,
And guides Arcturus with his wand'ring Sons.
He ballanceth the Clouds with divine Art,
And spreadeth out the Sky, that molten Looking-Glass.
I admire th'elastick Quality of the Air,
Which God doth purge with Lightnings and with Thunder.
What Naturalist can tell, how Exhalations,
And Vapors from the Earth, warm'd by the Sun,
Should thunder in the Firmament of Heav'n;
With such impetuous Force ev'n burst the Clouds,
And shake the pond'rous Earth with violent Motion:
Level the Princes Palace with the Ground,
And melt the Sword of Iron in the Scabbard.
With sulph'rous Particles a little Air
From th'Earth, when rarified by solar Heat,
Doth loudly blow, and rive the sturdy Oaks
Tear up their Roots and leave their Tendrils naked;
With Force swells up the Ocean to the Skies;
Threatens to shake the Earth from of its Axis;
Draws back its Breath for fresh Recruits of Strength,
And then returneth with the greater Fury;
Within a Moment dies unto a Calm:
Like fondled Child, when ang'ry Humor's spent,
Smiles in the Face and plays with Lovers softness.
Guide Travellers, ev'n the reeling Drunkards home.
God with strong Arm doth loose the Bonds of Orion
And bindeth the sweet Influence of Pleiades.
'Tis he that ruleth Phospher in his Sphere,
And guides Arcturus with his wand'ring Sons.
He ballanceth the Clouds with divine Art,
And spreadeth out the Sky, that molten Looking-Glass.
I admire th'elastick Quality of the Air,
Which God doth purge with Lightnings and with Thunder.
What Naturalist can tell, how Exhalations,
And Vapors from the Earth, warm'd by the Sun,
Should thunder in the Firmament of Heav'n;
176
And shake the pond'rous Earth with violent Motion:
Level the Princes Palace with the Ground,
And melt the Sword of Iron in the Scabbard.
With sulph'rous Particles a little Air
From th'Earth, when rarified by solar Heat,
Doth loudly blow, and rive the sturdy Oaks
Tear up their Roots and leave their Tendrils naked;
With Force swells up the Ocean to the Skies;
Threatens to shake the Earth from of its Axis;
Draws back its Breath for fresh Recruits of Strength,
And then returneth with the greater Fury;
Within a Moment dies unto a Calm:
Like fondled Child, when ang'ry Humor's spent,
Smiles in the Face and plays with Lovers softness.
Earth's Perspiration by a solar Heat
Condenses unto Rain, which falls on Flow'rs,
And wholsome Herbage for the use of Man.
He with prolifick Humours warms the Earth,
And fructifies her Womb with gentle Show'rs.
Condenses unto Rain, which falls on Flow'rs,
And wholsome Herbage for the use of Man.
He with prolifick Humours warms the Earth,
And fructifies her Womb with gentle Show'rs.
Let Men with Shouts proclaim his Pow'r and Glory,
Till Heav'ns wide Hall ring with the pious Noise:
Rare Workmanship of the eternal Artist.
Is this bright Glob, in which we Mortals dwell:
His Works all Wonders are, his Ways unknown.
He spoke the World from nothing unto Being:
It leapt to Life and Shape at his great Fiat.
He wrought the formless Mass, the embryo World,
To Beauty, which enamour'd its Creator.
The Earth attir'd in all its gawdy Drapry,
Hath all its Beauty from the Lord of Life,
The Sea of all our Drops, the Sun of all our Beams.
O could I wade thro' all the various Creatures;
Till plung'd and swallow'd in the living God.
Till Heav'ns wide Hall ring with the pious Noise:
Rare Workmanship of the eternal Artist.
Is this bright Glob, in which we Mortals dwell:
His Works all Wonders are, his Ways unknown.
He spoke the World from nothing unto Being:
It leapt to Life and Shape at his great Fiat.
He wrought the formless Mass, the embryo World,
To Beauty, which enamour'd its Creator.
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Hath all its Beauty from the Lord of Life,
The Sea of all our Drops, the Sun of all our Beams.
O could I wade thro' all the various Creatures;
Till plung'd and swallow'd in the living God.
Instructed by the independent Being,
On whom all other Beings do depend,
The Bees do traffick in their Commonwealth:
Full of heroick Valour they come forth,
With their illustrious Sov'reign at their Head;
Whom with unspoted Loyalty th'obey.
Th'Ants are not strong, yet they prepare their Meat,
Winter's Provision in the Summer's Heat.
He teaches Nightingales their Songs of Love,
And all the feather'd Quires to build their Houses,
With well tun'd Notes they flicker from the Nest,
Sing all the Day till Nature call for Rest:
Early awake, thro' airy Regions fly
To chirl the Praises of a Deity.
The Ass he Pastures in the Forrests Wild;
The barren Heaths and Desarts is its Dwelling:
'Tis dignify'd beyond the brute Creation.
The Christians Arms is blazon'd on its Back,
Which foolish Greeks and blinded Jews condemn,
The Christian values't 'bove a Diadem:
I'll mock the Pomp and Pagentry of Courts,
The World's fallacious, silly, glistering Honours,
Vain Sepulchers are rear'd, t'adorn the Dust
The Heralds Art's a dull routtine of Words,
Than this no other 'scutcheon will I have.
On whom all other Beings do depend,
The Bees do traffick in their Commonwealth:
Full of heroick Valour they come forth,
With their illustrious Sov'reign at their Head;
Whom with unspoted Loyalty th'obey.
Th'Ants are not strong, yet they prepare their Meat,
Winter's Provision in the Summer's Heat.
He teaches Nightingales their Songs of Love,
And all the feather'd Quires to build their Houses,
With well tun'd Notes they flicker from the Nest,
Sing all the Day till Nature call for Rest:
Early awake, thro' airy Regions fly
To chirl the Praises of a Deity.
The Ass he Pastures in the Forrests Wild;
The barren Heaths and Desarts is its Dwelling:
'Tis dignify'd beyond the brute Creation.
The Christians Arms is blazon'd on its Back,
Which foolish Greeks and blinded Jews condemn,
The Christian values't 'bove a Diadem:
I'll mock the Pomp and Pagentry of Courts,
The World's fallacious, silly, glistering Honours,
Vain Sepulchers are rear'd, t'adorn the Dust
178
Than this no other 'scutcheon will I have.
In a Field Or, a bleeding dying Jesus
Upon the Cross expanded Proper Sable;
The Dexter grasps a Reed, i'th' Sinister,
A bitter Cup of Vinegar and Gall.
For gentile Nations quarterly o'er all
I'th' First and Fourth; the gentile Elect Or;
Crown'd, arm'd, languid, Gules; for Jews.
I'th' second and the third a Breast-Plate, bearing
The twelve Tribes Bend-ways Argent and Azure ;
The polar Part inscribed Ecce Homo,
Mantled with Love befitting his Degree.
For Crest a Crown; not Gold, but plaited Thorns;
Which terminateth in a Mond, Or;
Th'Arms supported by two wretched Thieves
Whose drooping Heads lys on their pensive Bosom;
And Jesus's Motto in an escrol Writ,
Jesus Nazareus Rex Judeorum.
Upon the Cross expanded Proper Sable;
The Dexter grasps a Reed, i'th' Sinister,
A bitter Cup of Vinegar and Gall.
For gentile Nations quarterly o'er all
I'th' First and Fourth; the gentile Elect Or;
Crown'd, arm'd, languid, Gules; for Jews.
I'th' second and the third a Breast-Plate, bearing
The twelve Tribes Bend-ways Argent and Azure ;
The polar Part inscribed Ecce Homo,
Mantled with Love befitting his Degree.
For Crest a Crown; not Gold, but plaited Thorns;
Which terminateth in a Mond, Or;
Th'Arms supported by two wretched Thieves
Whose drooping Heads lys on their pensive Bosom;
And Jesus's Motto in an escrol Writ,
Jesus Nazareus Rex Judeorum.
O Soul refreshing and mysterious Theme,
The Love of Jesus dying on a Cross.
'Twas Love that nail'd him to the cruel Stake,
Or else his En'mies Power had prov'd too weak.
In th'Arms of Love he on Mount Calv'ry dies;
His Death was our attoning sacrifice:
O Jesus, lovely when thou'rt dy'd in Blood,
These Streams gush out the precious crimson Flood,
For Man's Salvation and eternal Good.
Blood thirsty Rebells, have you slain your Lord,
Who by all Saints and Angels is ador'd.
And is your Malice spent, your Anger ceas'd,
Know he thro' all Eternity is bless'd.
The Love of Jesus dying on a Cross.
'Twas Love that nail'd him to the cruel Stake,
Or else his En'mies Power had prov'd too weak.
In th'Arms of Love he on Mount Calv'ry dies;
His Death was our attoning sacrifice:
O Jesus, lovely when thou'rt dy'd in Blood,
These Streams gush out the precious crimson Flood,
For Man's Salvation and eternal Good.
179
Who by all Saints and Angels is ador'd.
And is your Malice spent, your Anger ceas'd,
Know he thro' all Eternity is bless'd.
His breathless Body's laid into a Cave;
O strange! must he be buried in the Grave:
God in a Bed of stinking Bones, strange thing!
Must he ly dead, who must for ever reign.
No, he must rise, Redemption to compleat:
He mounts to Heaven, resumes his native Seat,
There sits enthron'd in Majesty and State.
O strange! must he be buried in the Grave:
God in a Bed of stinking Bones, strange thing!
Must he ly dead, who must for ever reign.
No, he must rise, Redemption to compleat:
He mounts to Heaven, resumes his native Seat,
There sits enthron'd in Majesty and State.
Lord, burry all my Sins in Jesus's Grave,
And quench the fev'rish Ferment of my Lusts,
In the dear Fountain of my Saviour's Blood.
And quench the fev'rish Ferment of my Lusts,
In the dear Fountain of my Saviour's Blood.
Thro' the gross Darkness of polluted Nature,
I'll look on Mercies Face with Joy and Triumph,
And praise him for his Works of Grace and Nature,
I'll look on Mercies Face with Joy and Triumph,
And praise him for his Works of Grace and Nature,
Each Flow'r, and Herb, and Pile of Grass doth teach
In silent Language, God should be ador'd.
How various is the Objects of my Thoughts,
The vegitive and animal Creation,
Their different Species, and their Propagation.
The Structure and the make of human Bodies,
The various Fluids and their Destribution,
Th'impulsive Energy of subtile Spirits,
Which cherisheth this tender Lamp of Life,
Th'Immensity of Man's capacious Parts,
The vast, the boundless Extent of the Thoughts
Which forms Ideas of the Things unseen.
In silent Language, God should be ador'd.
How various is the Objects of my Thoughts,
The vegitive and animal Creation,
Their different Species, and their Propagation.
The Structure and the make of human Bodies,
The various Fluids and their Destribution,
Th'impulsive Energy of subtile Spirits,
Which cherisheth this tender Lamp of Life,
Th'Immensity of Man's capacious Parts,
180
Which forms Ideas of the Things unseen.
My God I'll praise thee while I have a Being;
Thy Pow'r and Goodness still shall be my Song,
I'll sing with Saints on Earth, and with th'angelick Throng.
Thy Pow'r and Goodness still shall be my Song,
I'll sing with Saints on Earth, and with th'angelick Throng.
Thus far my Morning Meditations went,
When I beheld a melancholy Sight:
Two angry Rivals in the listed Ground,
Who taking Cupid for the warriors God,
Came to decide their Claims to fair Orinda.
Ill guided Youths, to shew their burning Love,
Open their Breasts with the cold Point of Iron:
With Lion's Looks, and a saluting Kiss,
They brandished the Implements of Death.
Equal in Arms, long did they push their Fate
The more they bled, the higher rose their Fury:
As if their Wounds suck'd in recruits of Courage.
O foolish Man, where is thy boasted Wisdom;
To trample on divine and humane Laws,
And damn thy self for that poor Toy a Woman;
The first and worst Seducer of the Man;
Light as the Patch, and painted as the Fan,
To Day stiff as the Hoop, and then she'll prove,
The very next, as pliant as the Glove.
When I beheld a melancholy Sight:
Two angry Rivals in the listed Ground,
Who taking Cupid for the warriors God,
Came to decide their Claims to fair Orinda.
Ill guided Youths, to shew their burning Love,
Open their Breasts with the cold Point of Iron:
With Lion's Looks, and a saluting Kiss,
They brandished the Implements of Death.
Equal in Arms, long did they push their Fate
The more they bled, the higher rose their Fury:
As if their Wounds suck'd in recruits of Courage.
O foolish Man, where is thy boasted Wisdom;
To trample on divine and humane Laws,
And damn thy self for that poor Toy a Woman;
The first and worst Seducer of the Man;
Light as the Patch, and painted as the Fan,
To Day stiff as the Hoop, and then she'll prove,
The very next, as pliant as the Glove.
Let us make Man, says God, and pull him down
And wretched Man obeys the impious Orders,
And rushes to his own eternal Ruin.
Seeing a Lady, so her Garb bespoke her,
Run swiftly thro' Saint Anne's flow'ry Park,
Which in its Pride was ready for the Mower;
I soon concluded 'twas the charming she
Had wounded these, were wounding one another,
Who came to save them from a fatal Exit.
But oh! this was a Day of sad Disasters.
The narrow Wicket, which delivers in
To the Dukes Walk, would not admit her Hoop,
Which bigger was than monstrous Gorgon's Head.
She stood intangl'd, gazing thro' the spokes.
Like youthful Nun, when peeping thro' a Cloyster,
Mangling her Limbs, to break the stubborn Steel,
Which held her as in Adamantine Fetters.
With strange Disorder they beheld the Lady,
Bow'd at her Feet, and yielded up their Weapons:
Then led her off, but where they went I know not
The Edge being blunted of my fine Devotion,
With this unhappy melancholy Sight,
I left the Park with Dryden's wise Reflection;
“Love is the pleasant Frenzy of the Mind,
“And frantick Men, in their mad Actions show,
“A Happiness, which none but mad Men know.
181
And rushes to his own eternal Ruin.
Seeing a Lady, so her Garb bespoke her,
Run swiftly thro' Saint Anne's flow'ry Park,
Which in its Pride was ready for the Mower;
I soon concluded 'twas the charming she
Had wounded these, were wounding one another,
Who came to save them from a fatal Exit.
But oh! this was a Day of sad Disasters.
The narrow Wicket, which delivers in
To the Dukes Walk, would not admit her Hoop,
Which bigger was than monstrous Gorgon's Head.
She stood intangl'd, gazing thro' the spokes.
Like youthful Nun, when peeping thro' a Cloyster,
Mangling her Limbs, to break the stubborn Steel,
Which held her as in Adamantine Fetters.
With strange Disorder they beheld the Lady,
Bow'd at her Feet, and yielded up their Weapons:
Then led her off, but where they went I know not
The Edge being blunted of my fine Devotion,
With this unhappy melancholy Sight,
I left the Park with Dryden's wise Reflection;
“Love is the pleasant Frenzy of the Mind,
“And frantick Men, in their mad Actions show,
“A Happiness, which none but mad Men know.
182
THE AMOURS OF Polyndus and Ardella.
So àmorous, and fond and billing,
Like Philip and Mary on a Shilling.
Hudib.
Like Philip and Mary on a Shilling.
Hudib.
A hero, who in War gain'd ample Glory,
Becomes the Subject of my amorous Story.
Becomes the Subject of my amorous Story.
Polyndus prov'd his Courage in the War,
Brought Honour to his Country from afar:
Whilst yet a stripling Boy, scarce Musquet hight,
He lov'd the Din of War, and went to Fight
With little Will, whom Britain did obey:
Great Souls are always lodg'd in little Clay.
And gather'd Laurels on the Belgian Plain,
Wading 'mongst Blood, and climbing o'er the Slain.
His infant Arms the Sword could scarcely wild;
When he appear'd like Eugine in the Field:
There he immortal Reputation got,
And that bright Character, The valiant Scot.
But when the Gallick Monarch beg'd a Peace,
And Clement William said, now War shall cease;
Polyndus to his native Country came,
Which lov'd him for his Merit and his Fame.
He all the Arts of Conversation had;
O how he spoke and how he did perswade:
The fair were tickl'd with his Eloquence,
And all the Pleasures which could flatter Sense:
Old Matrons chuckl'd when they saw the Boy,
And florid Maids felt an excess of Joy.
His Charms can scarce be imitate or told,
In short the Squire had every thing save Gold.
But it's the spreading Error of the Clime,
That want of Money is the greatest Crime.
Moe than the Mob think he that's void of Pence,
Is void of Learning, Honesty and Sense.
Hence gallant Men and Merit's cloth'd in Rags,
Whilst Knaves and Fools are brooding o'er their Bags.
Beauteous Ardella vanquished the Squire,
And he is scorch'd with Flames of Paphian Fire:
Her lovely Face Polyndus's Bosom warms,
Death's in her Beauty, Ruin in her Charms:
She prov'd the Robber of his Heart's repose,
The Spring of Mischief, and the Source of Woes.
Ardella was a very lovely Creature,
The very Pride and Master-Peice of Nature:
Nature had stampt a Beauty on her Face,
She spoke and danc'd, and walk'd with a Bon-grace.
The Nymph had Charms could ruin all Mankind;
Men gaz'd upon her till their Eyes were blind:
By her Polyndus lost his martial Mind,
He's wounded by the little Boy that's blind.
Brought Honour to his Country from afar:
Whilst yet a stripling Boy, scarce Musquet hight,
He lov'd the Din of War, and went to Fight
With little Will, whom Britain did obey:
Great Souls are always lodg'd in little Clay.
And gather'd Laurels on the Belgian Plain,
Wading 'mongst Blood, and climbing o'er the Slain.
183
When he appear'd like Eugine in the Field:
There he immortal Reputation got,
And that bright Character, The valiant Scot.
But when the Gallick Monarch beg'd a Peace,
And Clement William said, now War shall cease;
Polyndus to his native Country came,
Which lov'd him for his Merit and his Fame.
He all the Arts of Conversation had;
O how he spoke and how he did perswade:
The fair were tickl'd with his Eloquence,
And all the Pleasures which could flatter Sense:
Old Matrons chuckl'd when they saw the Boy,
And florid Maids felt an excess of Joy.
His Charms can scarce be imitate or told,
In short the Squire had every thing save Gold.
But it's the spreading Error of the Clime,
That want of Money is the greatest Crime.
Moe than the Mob think he that's void of Pence,
Is void of Learning, Honesty and Sense.
Hence gallant Men and Merit's cloth'd in Rags,
Whilst Knaves and Fools are brooding o'er their Bags.
Beauteous Ardella vanquished the Squire,
And he is scorch'd with Flames of Paphian Fire:
Her lovely Face Polyndus's Bosom warms,
Death's in her Beauty, Ruin in her Charms:
She prov'd the Robber of his Heart's repose,
The Spring of Mischief, and the Source of Woes.
Ardella was a very lovely Creature,
The very Pride and Master-Peice of Nature:
184
She spoke and danc'd, and walk'd with a Bon-grace.
The Nymph had Charms could ruin all Mankind;
Men gaz'd upon her till their Eyes were blind:
By her Polyndus lost his martial Mind,
He's wounded by the little Boy that's blind.
Like Rivers, which the Storms of Winter freeze,
The Soldiers doth strong Burthens bear with Ease,
Make bold Resistance to the two edg'd Steel;
But both do melt, when kindly Heat they feel:
Doth not th'Ice resist the Hatchets blows,
But with Meridian Sun it feeble grows.
The Man, who fights for Laurels in the Field,
Will dy in Blood and Wounds before he yield,
When Beauty shines, how feeble doth he prove,
He melts before its Rays, dissolves in Love.
The Soldiers doth strong Burthens bear with Ease,
Make bold Resistance to the two edg'd Steel;
But both do melt, when kindly Heat they feel:
Doth not th'Ice resist the Hatchets blows,
But with Meridian Sun it feeble grows.
The Man, who fights for Laurels in the Field,
Will dy in Blood and Wounds before he yield,
When Beauty shines, how feeble doth he prove,
He melts before its Rays, dissolves in Love.
The Man of Valour's most inclin'd to Love,
He's forc'd by Nature, as the Schoolmen prove:
Th'Original of both is heat of Blood,
This animates the Wariour and the Prude:
The Motions of their Souls are just the same,
They're thirsting after Praise and endless Fame:
By different Ways they strive to overcome,
She by her Face and Flut, he by the Sword and Drum.
He's forc'd by Nature, as the Schoolmen prove:
Th'Original of both is heat of Blood,
This animates the Wariour and the Prude:
The Motions of their Souls are just the same,
They're thirsting after Praise and endless Fame:
By different Ways they strive to overcome,
She by her Face and Flut, he by the Sword and Drum.
Altho' Polyndus's Breast was fortify'd
With all that Sense, and Reason could provide;
The Hero's Soul replenish'd is with Grace,
Yet falls a Victim to a Female Face.
He labour'd to be free of Love's Desease;
But Poison's stronger than its Remedies.
He strove to have this Passion subdued,
But Evil still more active is than Good.
The Means apply'd do often not prevail,
But Poison kills us with its very smell.
Painters observe, tho' Black's excell'd by White,
The last hath ne'er Affinity with Light:
When mix'd together with the Painter's Skill,
White is so feeble, Black doth still prevail.
With all that Sense, and Reason could provide;
The Hero's Soul replenish'd is with Grace,
Yet falls a Victim to a Female Face.
185
But Poison's stronger than its Remedies.
He strove to have this Passion subdued,
But Evil still more active is than Good.
The Means apply'd do often not prevail,
But Poison kills us with its very smell.
Painters observe, tho' Black's excell'd by White,
The last hath ne'er Affinity with Light:
When mix'd together with the Painter's Skill,
White is so feeble, Black doth still prevail.
When rival Monarchs struggle for a Crown,
The Prince that's strongest may be overthrown:
If half his Forces come not to the Field,
The weaker Prince will force him for to yield.
It's otherwise in Love, a single Face
Will conquer much Philosophy and Grace.
The Prince that's strongest may be overthrown:
If half his Forces come not to the Field,
The weaker Prince will force him for to yield.
It's otherwise in Love, a single Face
Will conquer much Philosophy and Grace.
Polyndus left no Method unessay'd
To make a Conquest of the charming Maid:
He spent a Winter and a Spring in vain,
Ardella treat him with a cold Disdain.
Women and Glory always turn their Back,
When their fond Lovers give too close attack.
The low Submission and the humble Prayer
Prevails with Heaven, but seldom with the Fair.
When the wise Lover keeps the golden Meen,
Neither appears too negligent not keen,
The Lady labours to encrease th'Esteem,
With Arts of Love she blows the kindling Coal,
But when she knows she's Mistress of the Soul,
She laughs to think she's choos'd the easy Fool.
Philosophers, acquaint with Nature's Laws,
Look thro' Effects, and dive unto the Cause,
Tell us that Things do naturally expire
By that, which first did give them vital Fire:
If too abundant and excesive grown,
Thus by their Parents are they overthrown.
A heap of Wood thrown rashly on the Fire,
Will make it blaze so high, 'twill soon expire.
Thus Love by an extravagant Caress
Grows ev'ry Day and Hour and Minute less.
Five Months and more Polyndus had essay'd
To win the Heart of this fair cruel Maid;
But got a final Answer from her Mouth,
Pray trouble me no more, she says, fond Youth:
That you are well accomplish'd I must grant,
You are a proper, but a poor Gallant:
I know you love me to a mighty Pitch,
But I resolve to marry one that's Rich.
It's only Money makes a pleasant Life:
It's Gold, and not fine Shapes, must please a Wife.
Great Solomon, that wise and learned Prince,
Says Wisdom's good with an Inheritance.
Begone Polyndus and no more return,
Or be the Object of my Hate and Scorn.
To make a Conquest of the charming Maid:
He spent a Winter and a Spring in vain,
Ardella treat him with a cold Disdain.
Women and Glory always turn their Back,
When their fond Lovers give too close attack.
The low Submission and the humble Prayer
Prevails with Heaven, but seldom with the Fair.
When the wise Lover keeps the golden Meen,
Neither appears too negligent not keen,
The Lady labours to encrease th'Esteem,
186
But when she knows she's Mistress of the Soul,
She laughs to think she's choos'd the easy Fool.
Philosophers, acquaint with Nature's Laws,
Look thro' Effects, and dive unto the Cause,
Tell us that Things do naturally expire
By that, which first did give them vital Fire:
If too abundant and excesive grown,
Thus by their Parents are they overthrown.
A heap of Wood thrown rashly on the Fire,
Will make it blaze so high, 'twill soon expire.
Thus Love by an extravagant Caress
Grows ev'ry Day and Hour and Minute less.
Five Months and more Polyndus had essay'd
To win the Heart of this fair cruel Maid;
But got a final Answer from her Mouth,
Pray trouble me no more, she says, fond Youth:
That you are well accomplish'd I must grant,
You are a proper, but a poor Gallant:
I know you love me to a mighty Pitch,
But I resolve to marry one that's Rich.
It's only Money makes a pleasant Life:
It's Gold, and not fine Shapes, must please a Wife.
Great Solomon, that wise and learned Prince,
Says Wisdom's good with an Inheritance.
Begone Polyndus and no more return,
Or be the Object of my Hate and Scorn.
As th'ancient Painter, Sorrow to express,
Did draw a Vail o'er Agamemnon's Face;
So I shall not Polyndus's Grief relate,
The Reader may believe 'twas very great.
I'll o'er his Grief a Vail of Silence draw,
Since I can't paint it with a coup d' eclate.
Did draw a Vail o'er Agamemnon's Face;
187
The Reader may believe 'twas very great.
I'll o'er his Grief a Vail of Silence draw,
Since I can't paint it with a coup d' eclate.
He came to me, a Lump of walking Woe,
And told me he had got the killing Blow.
And told me he had got the killing Blow.
Take Courage, I reply'd, and don't give o'er,
You have not got her in the Coachman's Hour.
The Course of your Amours, if right, should look
Much like the Progress of a rapid Brook.
Within its Banks it swiftly runs and clear;
But if it meet with stop in its Career,
It gathers all its formidable Strength,
And swells so high it vanquisheth at length.
There is a certain Time, at least it's said,
Most proper for a Man t'address a Maid;
For then her Virtue nods, and she's betray'd.
But when that Season is, I'm not so sure,
Some call it Venus, some the Coachman's Hour.
I've heard a Sage and learn'd Physician say,
He could not condescend on th'Hour or Day:
But August was the fitest Month to Woo,
And us'd this Argument to prove it true.
You have not got her in the Coachman's Hour.
The Course of your Amours, if right, should look
Much like the Progress of a rapid Brook.
Within its Banks it swiftly runs and clear;
But if it meet with stop in its Career,
It gathers all its formidable Strength,
And swells so high it vanquisheth at length.
There is a certain Time, at least it's said,
Most proper for a Man t'address a Maid;
For then her Virtue nods, and she's betray'd.
But when that Season is, I'm not so sure,
Some call it Venus, some the Coachman's Hour.
I've heard a Sage and learn'd Physician say,
He could not condescend on th'Hour or Day:
But August was the fitest Month to Woo,
And us'd this Argument to prove it true.
“In August, when the Sun darts oblique Rays,
“Lengthens the Nights, contracts the sultry Days,
“The Dog Star's Pow'r becomes immensely great;
“He fires the Females with malignant Heat:
“The Earth's excesive dry, the Air is bad,
“And Virgins then, as well as Dogs, run mad.
“If Maids, in Month of August, go astray,
“Skilful Astronomers and Partridge say,
“That Star is only in the wrong, not they.
“Their Flesh and Blood is in a civil War,
“Thro' the impulse of that curs'd unlucky Star.
“Lengthens the Nights, contracts the sultry Days,
“The Dog Star's Pow'r becomes immensely great;
“He fires the Females with malignant Heat:
188
“And Virgins then, as well as Dogs, run mad.
“If Maids, in Month of August, go astray,
“Skilful Astronomers and Partridge say,
“That Star is only in the wrong, not they.
“Their Flesh and Blood is in a civil War,
“Thro' the impulse of that curs'd unlucky Star.
Polyndus wisely follow'd my Advice,
And found Ardella far from being Nice.
August's a happy Month for Men to Woe,
I'm sure my Friend Polyndus found it true.
He catch'd her sleeping in her Summer Bow'r,
He catch'd her in the very Coachman's Hour,
He lay beside her in the verdant Grove,
And in melodious Notes express'd his Love:
And found Ardella far from being Nice.
August's a happy Month for Men to Woe,
I'm sure my Friend Polyndus found it true.
He catch'd her sleeping in her Summer Bow'r,
He catch'd her in the very Coachman's Hour,
He lay beside her in the verdant Grove,
And in melodious Notes express'd his Love:
SONG.
Ye airy Spirits hither throng,
Cause Ardella hear my Song:
Of Polyndus cause her dream;
O inspire her with the Theme.
Cause Ardella hear my Song:
Of Polyndus cause her dream;
O inspire her with the Theme.
Quires of Angels bless the Grove,
Fill Ardellas Breast with Love
O ye Pow'rs, that pity Love,
With soft Fires her Bosom move.
Fill Ardellas Breast with Love
O ye Pow'rs, that pity Love,
With soft Fires her Bosom move.
Heavenly Pow'rs, that know my Grief,
Interpose for my Relief.
Let my solitary Groan
Pierce Heaven's Vault, and reach its Throne.
Must Polyndus always mourn,
Love without the least return.
Interpose for my Relief.
189
Pierce Heaven's Vault, and reach its Throne.
Must Polyndus always mourn,
Love without the least return.
Now she's rock'd into a Calm,
All her Pores do smell like Balm,
Cheeks and Bosom glow with Charms.
I'll embrace her in my Arms,
Clasp and hold her there for ever:
All my Blood is in a Fever.
All her Pores do smell like Balm,
Cheeks and Bosom glow with Charms.
I'll embrace her in my Arms,
Clasp and hold her there for ever:
All my Blood is in a Fever.
Shall I steal her from the Bower,
Fortune's put it in my Pow'r:
She'll be angry if I do,
Love no Rudeness doth allow.
Fortune's put it in my Pow'r:
She'll be angry if I do,
Love no Rudeness doth allow.
If she awake a cruel Lass,
I'll a dreadful Sentence pass,
In her presence make a Vow,
(Soldiers to their Words are true)
If she Mercy won't afford,
She shall see my naked Sword
Wound my Breast and drink my Blood;
She shall see the purple Flood.
I'll a dreadful Sentence pass,
In her presence make a Vow,
(Soldiers to their Words are true)
If she Mercy won't afford,
She shall see my naked Sword
Wound my Breast and drink my Blood;
She shall see the purple Flood.
I'll Bless her with departing Breath,
Bless her in the Arms of Death:
I'll look on her in the last Tug of Nature,
Print gelid Kisses on the killing Creature.
But, if she bid me live, I will obey;
If not, I'll shut my Eyes, dissolve away.
Perhaps she'll smile me back to life again,
One sugar Word from her will cure my Pain.
Bless her in the Arms of Death:
I'll look on her in the last Tug of Nature,
Print gelid Kisses on the killing Creature.
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If not, I'll shut my Eyes, dissolve away.
Perhaps she'll smile me back to life again,
One sugar Word from her will cure my Pain.
My Sword had always Charms till now;
Perhaps her haughty Sp'rit will bow,
When she sees it she may change,
And prevent the dire Revenge.
Perhaps her haughty Sp'rit will bow,
When she sees it she may change,
And prevent the dire Revenge.
He stole a silent Kiss, and she awoke:
When she beheld Polyndus, thus she spoke.
When she beheld Polyndus, thus she spoke.
“Polyndus I was sleeping when you came,
“Nay, I must tell you, I was in a Dream.
“Nay, I must tell you, I was in a Dream.
To her Polyndus, “O my charming Maid,
“To whom with Zeal my daily Vows are paid,
“My Love to you hath been excessive great;
“I've lov'd in vain, such is my wretched Fate.
“No more shall I be with Love's Pains opprest;
“I'll stab your Image in my throbing Breast.
“This Sword shall kill your Lover; when I'm lost,
“Ardella, you'll be haunted with my Ghost.
“To whom with Zeal my daily Vows are paid,
“My Love to you hath been excessive great;
“I've lov'd in vain, such is my wretched Fate.
“No more shall I be with Love's Pains opprest;
“I'll stab your Image in my throbing Breast.
“This Sword shall kill your Lover; when I'm lost,
“Ardella, you'll be haunted with my Ghost.
“Hold, hold, Ardella crys, what do you mean;
“Patience Polyndus, i'll relate my Dream.
“I thought with that same Sword, you touch'd your Breast,
“I had not Strength enough to bear the rest:
“I cry'd, my dear Polyndus, save your Life,
“And take Ardella for your future Wife.
“Awake, I do the Resolution keep;
“I ratify what I have done in sleep.
“Patience Polyndus, i'll relate my Dream.
“I thought with that same Sword, you touch'd your Breast,
“I had not Strength enough to bear the rest:
“I cry'd, my dear Polyndus, save your Life,
“And take Ardella for your future Wife.
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“I ratify what I have done in sleep.
Polyndus gave her many a melting Kiss:
He's all in Rapture and extatick Bless,
He's all in Rapture and extatick Bless,
The Wedding Rites perform'd, Joy did succeed;
This August was a honey Month indeed.
Ardella prov'd a fond and loving Wife;
She call'd him still her Love, her Soul, her Life.
Like new created Popes they change their Name:
(He's lost all Reason, she hath lost all Shame.)
His is Heart Pipes; her's little Duty, Spouse:
Such is the kindly Epithets they use.
Sometimes they're almost choak'd with am'rous Blesses,
She rushes on him with a Storm of Kisses,
Ogling hangs round his Neck, he leering spys
Two little smiling Babies in her Eyes.
Where e'er he goes, there goes his loving Bride;
Duty is always packing by his Side.
Once they went forth upon a Morning clear,
To walk upon Clide-Side, and take the Air.
Fond Fools, they mind, ev'n in the glaring Light,
The Action only proper to the Night.
Tho' lawful Love may very well b' exprest,
Yet least lascivious Ardours fire your Breast,
Reader, I shall in Silence pass the rest.
This August was a honey Month indeed.
Ardella prov'd a fond and loving Wife;
She call'd him still her Love, her Soul, her Life.
Like new created Popes they change their Name:
(He's lost all Reason, she hath lost all Shame.)
His is Heart Pipes; her's little Duty, Spouse:
Such is the kindly Epithets they use.
Sometimes they're almost choak'd with am'rous Blesses,
She rushes on him with a Storm of Kisses,
Ogling hangs round his Neck, he leering spys
Two little smiling Babies in her Eyes.
Where e'er he goes, there goes his loving Bride;
Duty is always packing by his Side.
Once they went forth upon a Morning clear,
To walk upon Clide-Side, and take the Air.
Fond Fools, they mind, ev'n in the glaring Light,
The Action only proper to the Night.
Tho' lawful Love may very well b' exprest,
Yet least lascivious Ardours fire your Breast,
Reader, I shall in Silence pass the rest.
Near to the River, on the Brink they ly,
Not dreaming in the least that Trouble's nigh.
But often we imagine all Things well,
When Death and Danger tread upon our Heel.
Not dreaming in the least that Trouble's nigh.
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When Death and Danger tread upon our Heel.
In Winter Storms this rapid River Clyde,
Did undermind this Brae with raging Tide;
Loos'd from its Roots, and hollow all below,
Unable to support the Weight of two,
It sunk beneath the Hero and the Fair;
Surpriz'd, and almost drown'd, the loving Pair.
Ardella's Fear prevailing over Shame;
She held by what, I'm very loath to name:
Sure none can call her an immodest Wife:
We'll grasp at any Thing to save our Life.
Did undermind this Brae with raging Tide;
Loos'd from its Roots, and hollow all below,
Unable to support the Weight of two,
It sunk beneath the Hero and the Fair;
Surpriz'd, and almost drown'd, the loving Pair.
Ardella's Fear prevailing over Shame;
She held by what, I'm very loath to name:
Sure none can call her an immodest Wife:
We'll grasp at any Thing to save our Life.
The Pow'rs propitious to the nuptial Bed
Dispatch'd aerial Spirits to their Aid.
When Dangers over, they upo' the Bank;
Ardella, not till then, did quite her Plank
Dispatch'd aerial Spirits to their Aid.
When Dangers over, they upo' the Bank;
Ardella, not till then, did quite her Plank
“Polyndus says, Ardella, O my Jewel,
“When in such Danger, why was you so cruel?
“When in such Danger, why was you so cruel?
Ardella blushing, gave a soft Reply,
“Polyndus, I believ'd we both would dy:
“Instinct doth teach us to prolong our Days,
“'Tis Nature's Law, and every one obeys.
“I us'd the Means, for you and I both know,
“That Thing would never to the Bottom go.
“Polyndus, I believ'd we both would dy:
“Instinct doth teach us to prolong our Days,
“'Tis Nature's Law, and every one obeys.
“I us'd the Means, for you and I both know,
“That Thing would never to the Bottom go.
195
THE Mourning Muse,
Occasioned by the Death of that excellent Gentleman James Deans of Woodhuslee, Esq; Who died at his Country Seat 7th May 1720.
To the virtuous Lady his Widow.
Madam,
Accept your Cousins mournful Tale,
Written when gloomy Sadness did prevail.
Pardon the Errors of the low Propine,
Since Grief and Sorrow dictate ev'ry Line.
Written when gloomy Sadness did prevail.
Pardon the Errors of the low Propine,
Since Grief and Sorrow dictate ev'ry Line.
Gracious Relict of the Man I lov'd,
Altho' your bosom Blessing be remov'd,
Yet do not sink with an excess of Grief,
The Covenant of Grace brings fresh Relief.
Ere long you'll see him in Immanuels Land
And get the Palm of Vict'ry in your Hand.
He'll bid you welcome to the Courts above;
There you'll like Angels sing, like Angels love.
That God, whom you do love so well below,
Will Heav'ns bright Crown and Robes on you bestow.
Altho' your bosom Blessing be remov'd,
196
The Covenant of Grace brings fresh Relief.
Ere long you'll see him in Immanuels Land
And get the Palm of Vict'ry in your Hand.
He'll bid you welcome to the Courts above;
There you'll like Angels sing, like Angels love.
That God, whom you do love so well below,
Will Heav'ns bright Crown and Robes on you bestow.
Sweet Soul, remember Heav'n's been very kind:
Fair is the Offspring he has left behind.
In these rejoyce, they do his Image bear:
God mixes Mercy with the mourning Tear.
O may some Angel, from Realms of Light,
Descend his shining Epitaph to write.
No mortal Wit his Character can give;
Our Verse can only on his Marble live.
Fair is the Offspring he has left behind.
In these rejoyce, they do his Image bear:
God mixes Mercy with the mourning Tear.
O may some Angel, from Realms of Light,
Descend his shining Epitaph to write.
No mortal Wit his Character can give;
Our Verse can only on his Marble live.
Taitte.
All Flesh is Grass, they wither as the Flower:
The cruel Grave doth every Man devour.
He's gone, whom all Men lov'd: Alas he's fled
To the dark lonely Regions of the Dead.
So precious was his Life, it could not last:
Fine was the Threed, but 'twas a slender Twist.
O Death, why do you press for Volunteers?
There's many an aged Man with hoary Hairs,
Leaning o'er Props, and noding o'er the Grave,
Bowing the Back, as if they'd entrance crave:
And yet, O Grave, thou shuts thy ugly Mouth,
But gapes, and swallows up the lovely Youth.
O Death, great is thy Tyranny and Lust,
To pull the blooming Hero to the Dust.
Ah! must the Good, the Gallant, and the Brave
Kiss thy wan Cheeks, and moulder in the Grave.
Must thy cold Arms the blooming Youth embrace,
And will you blow the Roses from his Face.
He, like the Rose, did wear a lovely Bloom,
But soon was cropt, he wither'd ere 'twas Noon.
The cruel Grave doth every Man devour.
He's gone, whom all Men lov'd: Alas he's fled
To the dark lonely Regions of the Dead.
So precious was his Life, it could not last:
Fine was the Threed, but 'twas a slender Twist.
O Death, why do you press for Volunteers?
There's many an aged Man with hoary Hairs,
Leaning o'er Props, and noding o'er the Grave,
Bowing the Back, as if they'd entrance crave:
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But gapes, and swallows up the lovely Youth.
O Death, great is thy Tyranny and Lust,
To pull the blooming Hero to the Dust.
Ah! must the Good, the Gallant, and the Brave
Kiss thy wan Cheeks, and moulder in the Grave.
Must thy cold Arms the blooming Youth embrace,
And will you blow the Roses from his Face.
He, like the Rose, did wear a lovely Bloom,
But soon was cropt, he wither'd ere 'twas Noon.
The fairest Flowers the soonest do decay;
The Rose in July dies, that's born in May.
A precious Plant doth seldom more than sprout,
But noxious Weeds can scarce be rooted out.
Ravens and Birds of Prey live very long:
The Lark and Nightingale die wondrous soon.
Generous Spirits, like the purest Fire,
Shine with a lambent Flame, but soon expire.
The Rose in July dies, that's born in May.
A precious Plant doth seldom more than sprout,
But noxious Weeds can scarce be rooted out.
Ravens and Birds of Prey live very long:
The Lark and Nightingale die wondrous soon.
Generous Spirits, like the purest Fire,
Shine with a lambent Flame, but soon expire.
Down to the thoughtless Grave the Charmer goes,
'Mongst Sculls and Worms to take a long Repose:
Whose sweet facetious Tales still charm'd our Ears.
Then we were swell'd with Joy, as now with Tears.
'Mongst Sculls and Worms to take a long Repose:
Whose sweet facetious Tales still charm'd our Ears.
Then we were swell'd with Joy, as now with Tears.
O Grave, with Grief and Sorrow I'd despair,
Did I not know that he was Adam's Heir:
Nay, That the blessed Jesus once lay there.
And that his Spirit drinks immortal Air,
Mingles with Heav'ns loud Quires and warbles there.
The hymning Guards, which scout on Heav'ns Frontier,
Salute his Soul; they're glad to see it there.
Did I not know that he was Adam's Heir:
Nay, That the blessed Jesus once lay there.
And that his Spirit drinks immortal Air,
Mingles with Heav'ns loud Quires and warbles there.
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Salute his Soul; they're glad to see it there.
Ye precious Souls, who at the Altar stand,
And with your Incense save a sinful Land,
Approach with Rev'rence to his burial Place;
Declare it Holy by your Rites of Grace;
Plant Bays and Laurels on the mournful Cell;
Upon his Grave perpetual Greenness dwell.
Pilgrims must know it is not common Dust;
O! he was Wise, and Good, and Kind and Just.
O may it be with Roses overgrown,
Still in their Pride and never fully blown.
And with your Incense save a sinful Land,
Approach with Rev'rence to his burial Place;
Declare it Holy by your Rites of Grace;
Plant Bays and Laurels on the mournful Cell;
Upon his Grave perpetual Greenness dwell.
Pilgrims must know it is not common Dust;
O! he was Wise, and Good, and Kind and Just.
O may it be with Roses overgrown,
Still in their Pride and never fully blown.
Angels descend and guard the awful Dust
Till he appear in Judgment with the Just.
Till he appear in Judgment with the Just.
From me he shall a grateful Tribute have,
I'll kneel and pay my Homage to his Grave.
I'll kneel and pay my Homage to his Grave.
O Philomel, like me with Grief opprest,
Come hither to his Tomb, and build your Nest.
Upon his peaceful Grave distend your Throat,
With a poetick and a mournful Note.
Come here, ye mournful Quires of every Wing,
My sweet tongu'd Birds, I'll teach you what to sing.
Fly from the Oozie Pool each sick'ning Swan,
And with your dying Song lament the Man.
Come hither to his Tomb, and build your Nest.
Upon his peaceful Grave distend your Throat,
With a poetick and a mournful Note.
Come here, ye mournful Quires of every Wing,
My sweet tongu'd Birds, I'll teach you what to sing.
Fly from the Oozie Pool each sick'ning Swan,
And with your dying Song lament the Man.
199
But chearful Lark, I charge you not to come:
Go to the Window of his Lady's Room,
And sing your native Notes and Anthems there.
For when she sees you fly aloof i'th' Air,
She'll mind he sings above, and so will she;
This will allay her Grief for Woodhuslee.
Go to the Window of his Lady's Room,
And sing your native Notes and Anthems there.
For when she sees you fly aloof i'th' Air,
She'll mind he sings above, and so will she;
This will allay her Grief for Woodhuslee.
Eheu quam tenui pendunt mortalia filo.
The End of this Volume.
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