The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston ... The Sixth edition |
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To the FREE-MASONS.
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 | The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston |  |
195
To the FREE-MASONS.
No more, my Muse, in doggrel rhime delight,
The present theme requires a higher flight;
Too long thou'st liv'd 'mongst shrubs and heath; too long
Pleas'd rural ears with thy more rural song;
Imploy thy vigour now, thy force exert,
To celebrate the Mason's useful art.
The present theme requires a higher flight;
Too long thou'st liv'd 'mongst shrubs and heath; too long
Pleas'd rural ears with thy more rural song;
Imploy thy vigour now, thy force exert,
To celebrate the Mason's useful art.
When embrio forms first ripen'd into birth,
And chaos' womb brought forth old Mother Earth;
Through woods and desarts savage man did roam,
What could he do? he'd neither house nor home;
No shelter to protect him from the heat
Of Phœbus' beams, from storms no safe retreat,
The meanest of the brutish subjects, then,
Was as well lodg'd as was the best of men:
So had he wander'd still, but that the care
Of Masons did a manour-house prepare
By whose industrious pains and art, anon,
The earth herself a better face put on;
From lowly valleys stately structures rise,
Aspiring tow'rs seem'd to invade the skies,
Strong forts, large towns, with walls encompass'd round,
Which all the art and force of foes confound.
Ye lofty piles, on Nile's fam'd banks that stand,
Proclaim the works wrought by the Mason's hand;
You are the lasting monuments of fame
On you is register'd the Mason's name,
Which time's corroding teeth cannot devour;
You still must stand till time shall be no more.
And chaos' womb brought forth old Mother Earth;
Through woods and desarts savage man did roam,
What could he do? he'd neither house nor home;
No shelter to protect him from the heat
Of Phœbus' beams, from storms no safe retreat,
The meanest of the brutish subjects, then,
Was as well lodg'd as was the best of men:
So had he wander'd still, but that the care
Of Masons did a manour-house prepare
By whose industrious pains and art, anon,
The earth herself a better face put on;
From lowly valleys stately structures rise,
Aspiring tow'rs seem'd to invade the skies,
Strong forts, large towns, with walls encompass'd round,
Which all the art and force of foes confound.
Ye lofty piles, on Nile's fam'd banks that stand,
Proclaim the works wrought by the Mason's hand;
You are the lasting monuments of fame
On you is register'd the Mason's name,
Which time's corroding teeth cannot devour;
You still must stand till time shall be no more.
Time now was past his none-age, when the Gods
In groves and thickets had their sole abodes,
When 'mongst the oaks the Druids sacrific'd,
And angry Gods with roasted flesh were pleas'd;
'Tis only owing to the Mason's hand,
That they have chapels now in every land.
Ye sacred buildings, you alone can shew
Th'immortal works which mortal hands can do;
Through all the earth you loudly do proclaim,
And trumpet forth the pious Mason's fame.
In groves and thickets had their sole abodes,
196
And angry Gods with roasted flesh were pleas'd;
'Tis only owing to the Mason's hand,
That they have chapels now in every land.
Ye sacred buildings, you alone can shew
Th'immortal works which mortal hands can do;
Through all the earth you loudly do proclaim,
And trumpet forth the pious Mason's fame.
Long had the muses dwelt on mountain-tops,
Expos'd to Boreas' blasts, and Iris' drops;
The Mason here again imploys his tools,
And builds for them both colleges and schools.
Ye Muses, who were never yet ungrate,
When you your benefactors deeds relate,
And crown their heads with never-fading bays,
Then let the Mason also have his praise;
These are the men whose wonder-working hand
Makes arches over rapid rivers stand,
Where men can walk on water as on land.
Expos'd to Boreas' blasts, and Iris' drops;
The Mason here again imploys his tools,
And builds for them both colleges and schools.
Ye Muses, who were never yet ungrate,
When you your benefactors deeds relate,
And crown their heads with never-fading bays,
Then let the Mason also have his praise;
These are the men whose wonder-working hand
Makes arches over rapid rivers stand,
Where men can walk on water as on land.
Still may they flourish, may they still decore
The earth with glorious structures, more and more;
For if their art no longer should remain,
The earth must needs turn chaos once again.
The earth with glorious structures, more and more;
For if their art no longer should remain,
The earth must needs turn chaos once again.
| The Poetical Works of the Ingenious and Learned William Meston | |