 | Poems upon Several Occasions |  |
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Sacred POEMS.
A Paraphrase on Psal. 128.
I.
Hearken, (for it concerns you near) to meAll you that happy wish to be.
Would you be certain not to miss
Of Peace on Earth, in Heav'n of Bliss?
Then let th' Almighty's Fear within you reign
To teach you Virtue, and from Vice restrain;
Walk in the Ways of God: his Ways are safe and plain.
Blessed art thou who thus thy Steps dost guide,
Blessed and safe on ev'ry side.
Thy peaceful Temples shall be crown'd
With Garlands of fresh Honours all around.
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Above thy Head, and underneath thy Feet.
Of thine own Labours thou shalt eat
(An wholsom and well-relish'd Food
That needs no Sauce to make it savoury and good)
And freely shalt enjoy the Fruit of all thy Toil and Sweat.
II.
To this an happy Wife shall added be;An happy Wife shall fall to thee,
Who round thy Neck her gentle Arms will twine
Like Tendrels of the fertile Vine,
And Kisses give that far surpass the richest Wine:
And from an unexhausted Store
Of Love and Meekness evermore
Fresh Comforts, and new Charms she will apply,
And by dividing double all thy Joy.
Each others mutual Help, blest Pair, ye shall be made;
Thou her supporting Wall, she thy refreshing Shade.
Meet-helper, She! Her pleasant Usefulness
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For she thy Spirit will revive, and cheer thy Heart no less.
III.
A gen'rous Off'spring to thy Bed she'll bring,An honest healthful Race from her will spring,
Who round the Table shall be seen,
Straight as young Plants, like Olives fresh and green.
These thou with Joy shalt view, and tender Love,
And then a secret Bliss will move
With Raptures not to be exprest,
In thy Contented and Paternal Breast.
Yet think not, happy Man, that this
Thy whole and final Portion is:
Far better Things God hath for thee in store,
And choicer Blessings on thy Head will pour,
Blessings from Sion, his own House, from whence
His best Gifts he doth still dispence.
And loves to have us come to fetch them thence,
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In her Prosperity a lib'ral Share.
Thus thou shalt live, and gladly see
Thy Children, and their hopeful Progeny,
A num'rous and wel-govern'd Family.
And further, that thou may'st be sure
This prosp'rous State will long endure,
A publick Peace thy private Blessings shall secure.
On Mr. George Herbert's Sacred Poems, called, The Temple.
I.
So long had Poetry possessed beenBy Pagans, that a Right in her they claim'd,
Pleaded Prescription for their Sin,
And Laws they made, and Arguments they fram'd,
Nor thought it Wit, if God therein was nam'd:
The true God; for of false ones they had store,
Whom Devils we may better call,
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And to a Stone, Arise and help they cri'd.
And Woman-kind they fell before;
Ev'n Woman-kind, which caus'd at first their Fall,
Were almost the sole Subject of their Pen,
And the chief Deities ador'd by fond and sottish Men.
II.
Herbert at last arose,Herbert inspir'd with holy Zeal,
Their Arguments he solv'd, their Laws he did repeal,
And spight of all th' enraged Foes
That with their utmost Malice did oppose,
He rescu'd the poor Captive, Poetry,
Whom her vile Masters had before decreed,
All her immortal Spirit to employ
In painting out the Lip or Eye
Of some fantastick Dame, whose Pride Incentives did not need.
This mighty Herbert could not brook;
It griev'd his pious Soul to see
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That God to Man has left,
Abus'd to serve vile Lust, and sordid Flattery:
So, glorious Arms in her Defence he took;
And when with great Success he'd set her free,
He rais'd her fancy on a stronger Wing,
Taught her of God above, and Things Divine to sing.
III.
Th' infernal Pow'rs that held her fast beforeAnd great Advantage of their Pris'ner made,
And drove of Souls a gainful Trade,
Began to mutiny and roar.
So when Demetrius and his Partners view'd
Their Goddess, and with her, their dearer Gains to fall,
They draw together a confus'd Multitude,
And into th' Theater they crowd,
And great Diana, great, they loudly call.
Up into th' Air their Voices flie,
Some one thing, some another crie,
And most of them, they know not why.
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Aloud they crie; but all in vain.
Diana down must go; They can no more
Their sinking Idol help, than she could them before.
Down she must go with all her Pomp and Train:
The glorious Gospel-Sun her horned Pride doth stain,
No more to be renew'd, but ever in the Wane;
And Poetry, now grown Divine above must ever reign.
IV.
A Mon'ment of this VictoryOur David, our sweet Psalmist, rais'd on high,
When he this Giant under foot did tread,
And with Verse, his own Sword, cut off the Monster's Head.
For as a Sling and Heav'n-directed Stone
Laid flat the Gathite Champion, who alone
Made Thousands tremble, while he proudly stood
Bidding Defiance to the Hosts of God:
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Of mighty Herbert, who upon the Place
A Temple built, that does outgo
Both Solomon's, and Herod's too,
And all the Temples of the Gods by far;
So costly the Materials, and the Workmanship so rare
A Temple built, as God did once ordain
Without the Saw's harsh Noise
Or the untuneful Hammer's Voice,
But built with sacred Musick's sweetest strain,
Like Theban Walls of old, as witty Poets feign.
V.
Hail, heav'nly Bard, to whom great LOVE has giv'n(His mighty Kindness to express)
To bear his Three mysterious Offices;
Prophet, and Priest on Earth thou wast, and now a King in Heav'n.
There thou dost reign, and there
Thy Bus'ness is the same 'twas here,
And thine old Songs thou singest o'er agen:
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Gaze on thee, and admire
To hear such Anthems from an earthly Lyre,
Their own Hymns almost equall'd by an human Pen.
We foolish Poets hope in vain
Our Works Eternity shall gain:
But sure those Poems needs must die
Whose Theme is but Mortality.
Thy wiser and more noble Muse
The best, the only way did chuse
To grow Immortal: For what Chance can wrong,
What Teeth of Time devour that Song
Which to a Heav'nly Tune is set for glorifi'd Saints to use?
O may some Portion of thy Sp'rit on me
(Thy poor Admirer) light, whose Breast
By wretched mortal Loves hath been too long possest!
When, Oh! when will the joyful Day arise
That rescu'd from these Vanities,
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If not an inspir'd Poet, yet an holy Priest like thee.
Death.
Victurosq; Dei celant, ut vivere durent;
Felix est mori ------
Luc. Phar. Lib. 4.
Felix est mori ------
Luc. Phar. Lib. 4.
I.
Come, Life's long Hope, and on thy peaceful BreastMy burning Temples let me rest!
Worn out with Grief, prest down with Loads of Care,
To thee for succour I repair,
Thou Comfort of the Sad, and ease of the Opprest.
Could Mortals all thy Virtues clearly see,
As much belov'd and courted thou wouldst be
By all the World, as now thou art by me.
Wars would not fright us then
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Would we be driven by the Pestilence.
To breath the healthful Country Air agen:
Nor to the Doctor would Men flie,
Unless to crave his aidful hand, to make them sooner die,
Thou art the Pilgrims Home, the poor Man's Wealth
The Captive's Ransom, and the sick Man's Health,
In vain of Goods and Liberty
The Living boast; for none are free
Or rich, but only such as are made so by thee.
II.
But Men (alas!) are blind to their own Good,They shun the Harbour, and desire to be
For ever tossing on the stormy Flood:
From Peace and Happiness they flee,
Because the Benefits that come from thee
Cannot be seen nor understood
But by a wel-purg'd Mind, a quick enlightning Eye.
Blest Aaron's Lot: full wisely he did spie
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To what vast Sums thy Treasures do amount,
When to the Top of Hor, with thee to meet,
His longing Soul drew up his aged Feet.
There unconcern'd like one that goes to Rest,
Having first himself undrest,
While God-like Moses and his own dear Son,
The Heir of his high Place, with Tears stood looking on.
His wel-pleas'd Head down laid the good old Priest
To Heav'n it's Home, his Spirit enlarged fled;
Within thy Arms his other Part was safe Deposited.
III.
Ah! Let it not prejudge my suit, that ITo thee so late a Convert flie.
Thou dost dispence, I grant, such solid Joys
As well may win a Soul, that lies
Nurs'd in the Lap of warm Prosperities,
And well thou dost deserve our first and freest Choice:
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Not to know Good, 'till first we taste of Ill.
We're like Sea-monsters, which before
They're wounded, never come to Shore.
So when God's People by the Flesh-pots sate,
Enjoying Bondage easie, they forgat
Their promis'd Country: But the Iron Rod
Of Pharaoh, and the toilsom Fire
Soon kindled in their Breasts a strong desire
Out of Egypt to retire,
And travel tow'rds the fatal Land, where God
Had promis'd rest to them, and safe abode;
A Land, where gentle Streams of Milk and tastful Honey flow'd.
IV.
They know thee not, who thee grim Feature style,And meagre Shadow; Names too vile
And much unfit for thee, whose ev'ry Part
Lays stronger Chains upon the Heart,
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That mortal Lovers Beauty call,
Tho' heighten'd much by Fancy, and help'd by Art
Through the false perspective of Hate
They look'd, who hollow Cheeks in thee espy'd.
And Mouth for ever open, grinning wide,
With deep sunk Eyes, and Nose down levell'd flat.
Thou'rt lovely all; no Virgin e'er
Smil'd so sweet, or look'd so fair,
Save she whose heav'nly Womb Man's ruin did repair.
The Charms and Graces which we find
Dispersed here and there in Woman-kind,
Are all united, and sum'd up in thee,
Beauties rich Epitome.
Oh! that in this thou would'st not too
That peevish Sex out-do,
Flying the more from Men, the more they woe.
V.
Truth is, thou once wast such as weFond tim'rous Men suspect thee still to be.
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The most resolved Heart affright,
Unable to endure the ghastly Sight,
And on thy gloomy Eye lids sate eternal Night.
But now thy looks are mended: now in thee
No Terrour nor Deformity,
But Friendliness and Love is all we see.
The Blood that issu'd from my Saviour's Side
By strange Transfusion fill'd each Vein
Of thine with such a noble Tide,
That thou'rt grown fresh and young again;
Young as the Morn, Fresh as a Virgin-bride.
The Roses which thy Cheek adorn,
Were there transplanted, from the Thorn
Which on his sacred Head did grow:
His Innocence did deck
Thy Hands and Neck
With Beds of Lilies whiter far than Snow.
Thy Shaft which was of old
Headed with baleful Lead, he tip'd with Gold,
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And straight new Virtue drew, to dart
Not Death, but Life and Joy instead of Smart.
And ever since, thou'rt lovely grown;
Since then, thy charming Face has shone
With borrow'd Grace and Beauty, not thine own.
VI.
Thy Nature thus being chang'd 'tis fitThy Name should likewise change with it.
And so it is; Thy Christian Name is Rest,
Sweet Rest, whose balmy Hand at Night repairs
The vital Sp'rits, and Strength, which Day
And painful Labour waste away:
Of all God's Gifts the softest, and the best
The fruitful Womb of Peace, the Tomb of Grief and Cares.
But yet, 'twixt other Rests and thee there lies
This diff'rence: they give Short, thou Lasting Joys.
They make us abler to endure
The long Disease of Life, thou the Disease dost cure.
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Devoureth, they restore to feel fresh Wounds again;
But when thy Pow'r is o'er,
To Grief and Labour we return no more:
Of everlasting Peace and Joy thou art the Door.
Eternal Life we cannot gain but by
Thy Gift and Liberality,
And he that hopes to live, must wish to die.
VII.
This Hope it is that now my Heart doth move,For truly (that I may no Flatt'rer prove)
Thy Goods, O gentle Death, not thee I love.
I would not perish like a Beast:
To thee and all the World I here protest.
No such unmanly Thought e'er came within my Breast.
My Wishes are more gen'rous than to be
Reduced to my First Non-entity:
I would not be unmade, but made anew by thee.
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Not for thy self, but for thy Portion woe:
Nor shouldst thou ever hear of Love from me,
Were I not sure e'er long to bury thee,
That by thy Spoils enrich'd I may arise
More glorious Banns to solemnize,
And change thy cold Love for a nobler Flame,
The Nuptials of th' eternal Lamb.
Judith.
I.
Speak, Muse, whom wilt thou sing?What mighty Man, what King,
Upon the Stage what Hero wilt thou bring,
To act his Part o'er once again,
In such impetuous Numbers, as shall make
His hearers (as his En'mies did) to quake?
No, no; my Muse will not this Subject take.
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Too long already they have been
The flatter'd Theme of the Pindarique Pen.
The fair and gentle Sex
With barb'rous Spight to vex
Their spleenful Tongues while others bend,
My grateful and more gen'rous Muse
(Like virtuous Knights of old) a nobler Task will chuse,
Wrong'd and abus'd Ladies to defend.
A Woman she will sing, whose matchless worth
The best of Men must gladly Copy forth,
If ever they expect to have their Name
Recorded in the Rolls of never-dying Fame.
II.
Begin, begin, and strike the LyreTeach all the World great Judith to admire,
Judith who in that Hand a Fauchi'n bore
Which a Distaff held before;
Who bought the Safety of her native Town,
With the Danger of her own;
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Of his proud Hopes, and all his shining Glories soyl'd.
The fairest, and the chastest of her kind,
(Two Epithets, that are but seldom joyn'd,
Unless for some great Work by Heav'n design'd)
And with these Female Gifts, Courage and Wit combin'd,
Which we Male-Virtues call'd till then,
And thought them proper to us Men.
Judith all these together brought,
And self-conceited Men a better Judgment taught,
More fair and good than ev'ry she,
More bold and wise than ev'ry he:
A Miracle she was, greater than that she wrought.
III.
Her mourning Habit laid aside,Which ne'er was done 'till now, since good Manasses dy'd,
She drest her self in all her Gaity and Pride,
Not like a drooping Widow, but a sprightful Bride.
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Some little needless help of Art.
Her Skin she washes, and she curls her Hair,
Her Head a Bonnet set with sparkling Gems doth bear,
Upon her Arms, her Fingers, and her Ears
She Bracelets, Rings, and Jewels wears,
And Silver Slippers on her feet.
Arm'd weakly (one would think) a mighty Host to meet:
But naked Beauty has a stronger Force
Than armed Bands of Foot, and Troops of Horse.
Thus arm'd, the Gen'rals Heart she'll captive lead;
His Heart she first will take, and then his Head.
IV.
Thus drest, tow'rds the proud Gen'rals Tent,The Widow and her Maid with dil'gent Footsteps went:
Bethulia' Elders wonder'd she would go
So late, so drest, attended so:
They wonder'd, but they fear'd no ill intent;
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Against Suspicion were a strong Defence.
But on secure th' Heroic Lady goes,
Nor fears she ought amidst the armed Foes;
So bold is Beauty, when her Strength she knows.
And now the Guards upon her Seize,
And to the Gen'ral carry their fair Prize:
The Sight his want on Fancy much doth please;
He makes his Soul a Slave to her imperious Eyes.
And swears, if with her Love she him will crown,
He'll think't a nobler Triumph than the vanquish'd Town.
The Souldiers round his Tent do Crowd
Their Wonder makes them insolent and rude,
And thus they boldly cry aloud,
Happy Hebrews! happy they
Who 'mbrace such Beauties ev'ry day!
Come on, brave Hearts, let's make the Town submit
That ev'ry one of us may such a Mistress get.
Fond Fools, rejoyce not that to you she's fled.
Your Fathers were of old by an Angel visited
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For this is a destroying Angel too.
V.
Tell me what made thee leave this Town,Said Holophernes 'twixt a Smile and Frown
(The Smile to her, to th' Town the Frown he gave)
This Town that dares me to out-brave,
And 'gainst my Two great Gods so vainly boast,
Th' Assyrian Monarch, and this num'rous Host?
She softly answer'd with a virtuous Lie,
That Isr'el's God his People would forsake,
Because by strong necessity compell'd,
His rev'rend Laws they had agreed to break,
And eat such things as were by strict Command withheld.
That she their Sin and Punishment to slie,
Had sled for Safety to his Princely Aid:
Nor should the noble Favour be unpaid,
For she would undertake to shew
The Season when and Manner how
These desp'rate Hebrews he might best subdue.
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VI.
She spake, and by their Looks perceiv'dHer Tale was readily believ'd,
Which made her bold thus to proceed and say,
Wherefore, great Prince, I beg that with your leave I may
Each Night go forth without the Camp to pray;
For then my God to whom
Fervent Devotions I do daily pay,
Will tell me when Bethulia's Day is come.
Then I, dread Sir, your valiant Troops will head
And through the Heart of Palestina lead,
And none shall dare to draw a Sword at them,
Until all Labours over past,
This Hand your peaceful Throne have plac'd
Within the Walls of sack'd Jerusalem.
While thus she pleads, he gazes on her Face,
Admires her Wit, and Beauty, and the Grace
Of her enchanting Words, and drinks down Love apace.
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And for her sake a Party-Convert turns,
If this be true (said he)
And if thy God and thou perform all this for me,
He shall my God, and thou my Goddess be.
No other Deity I'll serve, but thine, and thee.
VII.
For Joy he makes a royal Feast,And beauteous Judith is his Guest.
The golden Cups are crown'd,
And Judith's Health goes round.
With Flames of Wine he nourisheth Love's Fire:
Drunkenness doubles his Desire.
At last the Company retire,
Leaving their envi'd Gen'ral to his Rest,
And (as they thought) to a more delicious Feast,
For Love, (that wanton Epicure) by luscious Beauty drest.
He trebly drunk, with Joy, and Wine and Love
Does from the Table to the Bed remove:
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With misty Fumes his Brain is drown'd,
And his weak Sight
Doubles the Light;
Their Watch his Senses cannot keep
(Such Dangers ever do attend
The Man whom drunken Guards defend)
Their Master is by them betray'd t'a deadly Sleep.
VIII.
Sleep Holophernes, sleep thy last:For when this Slumber once is past,
Over thy Head his downy Wing shall never more be cast.
The Bed, whereon thou next shalt lie,
Will be a Bed of Flames, that never can expire,
Of Flames more hot & smoaky than thy lustful Fire,
And Death will then appear a welcome Remedy;
But thou (alas!) must never die.
The Devils roaring, and the Groans
Of damned Souls, and thine own Pains and Moans,
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The laughing Fury's dismal Voice
All hope of Slumber from thine Eyes will take,
And ever, ever keep thy weary Soul awake,
IX.
Thus while in Sleep the Gen'ral buri'd liesThe valiant Dame comes softly to the Bed,
And takes the Fauchi'n from her Lover's Head,
And, lifting up to Heav'n her faithful Eyes,
Now help me, O my God (said she) and now
Thy promis'd Mercy to thy People show.
Then up she lifts her Arm, and strikes a Blow
Upon his Neck with all her might,
(An unseen Angel guides the Blow aright)
Out Blood, and Wine, and Life, together mingled slow.
A second Time she lifts her mighty Hands
(The Angel ready by her stands)
And with that Stroak his Soul is severed
From's Body, and his Body from his Head.
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Through all the Guards upon Pretence
Of Prayer, and unsuspected carries thence
Their Master's Head, the Hebrew Tow'rs to grace.
What Tongue can tell th' excess of Joy, which then
Oe'rflow'd the Hearts of sav'd Bethulia's Men?
The Mouths which heretofore with Thirst were dri'd,
Found Moisture now their inward Joy to vent
And Eyes, which all their Stock had spent,
While they the publick Danger did lament,
Pump'd up fresh Tears of Gladness, when they 'spi'd
In Judith's Hand, the Tyrant's Head,
Who all their Sorrows, and their Fears had bred.
Nor was their Joy secure, and unemploy'd,
But all quick Preparation make,
As soon as e'er the early Morn should 'wake,
Their well-appointed Arms to take,
And sally out upon the careless Foe,
Whilst yet the last Nights Fate he did not know,
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X.
The Morning come, the Souldiers throngAbout the Gen'rals Tent, and think he sleeps too long;
With waiting tir'd, at last they ope the Door;
And lo! their Duke lies Headless on the Floor,
His Corps all wallowed in Dirt and Gore
And lo! an hideous Crie through all the Army flies,
Fear, and Despair, and Horror fill the Place:
Nothing appears in ev'ry Face,
But Wonder, Paleness, and Surprize.
Such, I believe, but more amazing far
Will the Face of things appear,
Such Trembling and Astonishment will come
On sinful Wretches at the Day of Doom,
When Earth shall from the Center start, and all
The blasted Stars like unripe Figs shall fall.
Torn from the Sphere, as Fruit by Tempest from the Tree
When the Sun's Lamp obscure and black shall grow
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And the Appearance of a greater Light,
And from the Moon (robb'd of her Brothers Sight)
All Beauty shall depart, and Tears of Blood shall flow.
When all the Orbs of Heaven untun'd shall be,
And like a Parchment Scroll
Which Men together roll,
Crackle, and shrink on heaps amidst the Fire,
Wherein the aged World's proud Fabrick must expire,
And when the Sea shall boyl, and from her Bosom throw
The Islands she embraces now.
When Nature's self shall feel Death's inward Pain,
And Rocks and Mountains shall be implor'd in vain
To shelter guilty Souls from that devouring Flame,
Which burns before the Presence of the now despised Lamb.
XI.
Hold, hold, audacious Muse, forbear to wrong,This mighty Day with thy bold Tongue.
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Call in thy 'nruly Heat, which hath digress'd so long;
And let this dreadful Judgment be
The daily Bus'ness of my Thoughts, more than my Song.
Return we to th' Assyrian Camp, and view
The sad Effects that Wine and Lust ensue.
While thus amaz'd they stand, and no man knew
Or, what to say, or what to do,
In, like fierce lightning, Lo! the Hebrews flew.
The Torrent of whose direful Rage
Nor struggling can repel, nor yielding can asswage.
For like a mighty Wind,
Which scatters, or o'erthrows with violent Force
Whatever stops the Passage of his haughty Course.
With no less fury they
Whoe'er they find without Distinction slay.
Revenge, as well as Love is blind,
It sees no Cause of Rev'rence, nor of being kind:
Princes and common Souldiers heap'd together lay.
In vain some for their Lives do fight,
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Death overtakes these in their Flight,
And th' others stay to die.
They flie; their furnish'd Tents behind them stay,
To th' Isra'lites a joyful Prey,
Who in Assyrian Blood dy'd Red their Holy-day.
XII.
Return my Muse, leave now the bloody Field,And let thy tuneful Strings a softer Musick yield,
Return to Israel's joyful Sons, and sing
How to the Temple they their vowed Off'rings bring,
The Altar with bright Flames is beautifi'd,
Whole Hecatombs of chosen Bullocks fri'd,
And Clouds of Incence to the Skies
Perfum'd with grateful Praises rise.
And now where's beaut'ous Judith, where
To take her due and mighty Share
In this great solemn Feast of Victory
Wrought by her conqu'ring Hand, and more prevailing Eye?
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Such as no show that e'er you saw can vie,
Of beaut'ous Maids and Matrons a bright Galaxie.
See, see how Judith's Star above the rest aspires!
She shines like Cynthia 'mongst the lesser Fires.
Lo! in what decent Pride the now glad Widow stands!
A Crown of Olive on her Head she wears,
And the glad Name of Isr'el's Saviour hears.
The Women round her dance with Branches in their Hands,
And a triumphant Song they sing,
As once they did to Isr'el's destin'd King;
For she to her ten Thousands may be said,
T'have slain in cutting off the Army's Head.
Behind the Men of Isr'el joyful go,
All armed, not for Battel, but for show,
And as they march along thus to her Praise
Their cheerful Voices raise.
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XIII.
Hail, guardian Angel of old Isr'el's Seed,The Stock of faithful Abraham,
To whom the Promise of Salvation came,
Which now our joyful Eyes have seen fulfil'd indeed
Much we have seen: but yet our Sons shall see
Much more than we:
For greater Things are breeding in the Womb
Of Time to come.
Hail Judith, t'whom, next to kind Heav'n we owe
That thus triumphantly we go,
Nor fear th' Insultings of a conqu'ring Foe.
Such Fruit thy Beauty's born, as never grew
Upon that Stock, 'till now.
Beauty's destroy'd Towns oft, and may do more:
Never did Beauty save a Town before.
'Tis thou that hast improv'd its Fruit
By grafting it on Virtue's noble Root.
Ah! how unlike to thine, how far less fair
Is that which other Ladies bear!
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Their Beauty boasts to kill, but thine to save.
Their Eyes to Comets may be liken'd well,
Whose direful Beams approaching Plagues foretel:
Thine, like the gracious Sun, dispence
Health and Beauty, Life and Sense,
And chear the World by their kind Influence.
Shine Beaut'ous Judith; for no Light
Like thine, will ever glad our sight,
Until the Sun of Righteousness arise,
The true and living Light, to bless our Heart and Eyes.
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VIRGILIUS EVANGELIZANS
POLLIO.
A POEM UPON Christmas-Day.
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I.
Enough of Rural Things, my Muse,The lowly Shrubs and Bushes of the Field
To all an equal Pleasure do not yield.
'Tis Time for thee a nobler Theam to chuse:
Or if of Woods thou still do sing,
Let them be such Woods as are
Worthy of a Consuls Care.
Enough my Muse, of Love and Woman-kind.
Take now thy Lute and to it bind
A loud and everlasting String,
And make the joyful News through the wide World to ring.
The golden Age is come that shall unfold
Sibylla's mystick Oracles of old.
Behold! at last the heav'nly Maid is come,
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And from the Regions of high Heav'n recall
The Days of Paradise before the Fall.
See, how her chast and sacred Womb
Does with Seed immortal swell!
From Heav'n the best Conception did descend,
May Angels at their Master's Birth attend,
And to Mankind the welcome Tidings tell,
That by the Merit of this high-born Child
The ancient Enmity is now exil'd,
And God and Man are reconcil'd;
Peace on the Earth through him, the Prince of Peace doth dwell.
II.
Thou Pollio thou shalt surely seeThis Darling of Manking, the World's Desire:
For yet before thy Consul-ship expire
The wond'rous Things shall be perform'd, that are foretold by me.
For now the Womb of Time so big is grown,
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A new Account of Years comes marching on,
The Iron Age will soon improve to Gold.
Come, blessed Infant, whom high Heav'n ordains
The promis'd Renovation to begin;
'Tis thou must wash away the Stains
And Footsteps of Orig'nal Sin,
And ease Man-kind of all the Fears they now are in.
A Life divine thou on the Earth shalt lead
Amidst thy Saints conversing Face to Face,
A Priviledge not giv'n 'till now to human Race.
Upon thy Foes thy Foot shall tread:
Thou thy great Father's Gift the World shalt sway,
And all the Kingdoms of the Earth thy Scepter shall obey.
III.
In Honour of thy Birth, the Earth untill'dAll kinds of Sovereign Herbs and smiling Flow'rs shall yield.
Roses and Lilies of their own accord
Shall grow about the Cradle of their Lord.
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The Kine shall dutifully bring
Their well fill'd Bottles to their Infant King,
And thou shalt suck the free-will Off'rings of the Bee
'Twixt tame and savage Beasts there shall remain
No diff'rence in thy peaceful Reign,
The Kids with Wolves shall safely dwell,
And Lambs sleep boldly in the Leopard's Cell,
The Flocks shall feed secure, and for thy sake
The Lion and the calf shall Leagues of Friendship make.
Nay, Man more savage yet than these,
Shall lay aside the Thoughts of War:
The sound of Trumpets then shall cease,
No loud Alarums shall disturb Man's ease;
But Janus Gates an universal Peace shall bar.
Th' old Serpent's Head shall bruised be,
And all his Poison taken out by thee,
No Herbs of painful Nature shall be found;
But rich Assyrian Odours then shall grow on ev'ry Ground.
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IV.
But as in Strength and Stature thou shalt grow,Thy Fame shall new Advances make:
Whatever ancient Prophets spake
Thou shalt not only answer but out-do.
The Virtues of thy Royal Line,
Which in the sacred Books so clearly shine,
Shall be obscur'd and over-cast by thine:
As less illustrious Stars slip out of sight,
When once the Sun steps forth all clad in golden Light.
The cursed Earth, which like a Desert lies,
A barren and unlovely Land,
Into a fair and fruitful Paradise
Shall be reformed by thy skilful Hand.
Thy precious Seed in ev'ry Field
A manifold Encrease shall yield.
The Wood's wild Plants shall feel thy Pow'r divine,
Their Nature thou shalt change, their Fruit refine,
And bid the rugged Thorn become a noble Vine.
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And stubborn Oaks shall store of tastful Honey sweat.
V.
Yet still some Reliques of the Prim'tive StainShall in the Root of tainted Nature lurk,
And countermine thy sacred Work,
Reducing Sin, and Sin's unlucky Fruits again.
The Love of Gold shall yet enslave Man-kind,
And to vexatious Cares and Labours bind.
Some to the toilsom Plough shall yoaked be,
And others travel through the Pathless Sea,
Pride and Ambition still shall reign,
And Princes to the Wars their People train;
And foolish Men their Wits shall stain
T' invent more dreadful Engines still
The Life of Innocents to spill.
VI.
But when thy glorious Body shall receiveIt's perfect growth, it's full increase,
All Pain and Labour then shall cease.
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Of Traffick there shall be no further need,
For ev'ry Land shall all things useful breed,
With Plough-shares torn, the Earth no more shall be
The lab'ring Ox shall then go free;
Nor shall the tender Vine by cutting bleed,
The Dyers feigned Art shall useless lie:
Instructed Nature shall the Place of Art supply.
Thy Flocks shall precious Colours freely bear,
Some Azure Wool, and some shall Scarlet wear.
Soft to the Touch, and to the Eye more fair
Than Persian Silks, or Tyrian Hangings are:
And all thy Lambs shall yield a golden Fleece,
Richer than that at Colchos, sought by all the Youth of Greece.
So Heav'n decrees, so Prophecies relate;
This blessed Change we all expect from thy resistless Fate.
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VII.
Come mighty Prince the Time draws near,Thou, God's beloved Son, Heav'ns shining Crown,
Thou Joy of Angels hasten down:
The sinful Earth to visit do not fear;
Thy Presence will create its own Heav'n ev'ry where.
See how the Heav'ns, the Earth, and spacious Sea
Beneath the Weight of Sin and Vanity
Do groan and pant, and long for thee,
Who art ordain'd their great Deliverer to be.
See how they smile with secret Joy,
Stretch forth their Necks, and raise their Heads on high.
O might I live to see that Joyful Day,
When free'd from Sin and Vanity,
Both Heav'n and Earth renew'd shall be,
And re-obtain their sweet and ancient Liberty!
When the last Fire shall purge their Dross away,
But leave the Substance still behind,
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No more obnoxious now to Bondage or Decay.
When, Sin and Malice driven down to Hell,
(Their native Place, their ancient Home,
From whence they never more shall come)
Just Men and meek in endless Bliss on the new Earth shall dwell.
O might I live thy noble Acts to tell!
Doubtless that glorious Subject will inspire
Thy Servant's Breast with such exalted Fire,
That the blest Spirits, and th' immortal Quire
Shall listen to my Verses, and admire
To hear Angelick Songs breath'd from an human Lyre.
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Joseph.
I.
Not the Pellæan Conquerour,To whose insatiate restless Mind
The spacious Globe too narrow did appear;
It made him sweat to be so close confin'd;
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Who did so many warlike Nations bring
Under the Roman Eagle's tow'ring Wing.
Rough Wars, and bloody Battles seem
For gentle Verse no proper Theme:
The peaceful Muse, believe me, can't rejoyce
To hear the barb'rous Drum, or the shrill Trumpet's Voice.
Nor can the World Two Things so 'nlike afford
(With Contrarieties tho' richly stor'd)
As are the Poet's Pen, and Tyrant's Sword.
II.
Since Kings and Emperours thou dost refuse,I'll teach thee, my Pindarique Muse,
What fitter Subject thou shalt chuse:
Let virtuous Joseph move thy tuneful Strings;
A greater Man than Emperours and Kings;
Joseph, who o'er himself a Conquest made,
And by his own Affections was obey'd.
Who subdu'd Vanity and Pride,
And the whold World of Passions else beside.
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And chas'd the Tyrant Beauty from the Field,
A bolder Labour than the fam'd Alcides ever try'd;
Or all those royal Monsters, who amidst the state
And glories of their prosp'rous Fate
Were Slaves themselves, and very meanly Great:
Who basely did to Woman-kind submit,
And when with equal Guilt and Toil
Of many Lands they'd reap'd the Spoil,
They laid all down at an imperious Harlot's feet.
This Bondage noble Joseph scorn'd,
A Youth by God and Nature so adorn'd
With rich variety of Grace,
That born he seem'd of heav'nly Race,
So pure his Mind, so lovely was his Face.
III.
No sooner had his Mistress cast(A Lady beautiful and young)
Her Eyes on him, but she began to long
The fair and prom'sing Fruit, (like Eve) to tast.
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To disengage her Captive Heart:
Some Strife there was on either part,
But Passion did at length too hard for Virtue prove.
Shall I (said he) forget my nuptial Vows?
Shall I defame my Husband's noble House,
And lose the Honour of a chast and loyal Spouse?
Shall I debase my self, and leave
A Peer of Egypt, for an Hebrew Slave?
Yet why a Slave? Not his, but Fortune's Sin,
That partial Dame, by whom the best
And bravest Men are most depress'd,
While the vile Sons of Earth are courted and caress'd.
Can any Thing so Charming, so Divine
Come from a low ignoble Origine?
His God-like Beauty, and his Princely Meen
Bear witness for him, that he springs
From a long Race of ancient Kings:
I'm sure he well deserves th' Embraces of a Queen.
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There's nothing to obstruct my Joys,
There's nothing to condemn my wel-made Choice.
But Priest-craft, out worn Laws, and Honours empty Name.
Well then, th' illustrious Passion I'll obey.
Let Preachers, Laws, and Honour all give way:
Love is a Lord more absolute than they.
IV.
Resolv'd to try, nor doubtful of Success(Her Wit and Beauty made her confident)
She courts her Servant with a bold Address,
Tells him the Story of her Love,
And all her Charms she does display,
And all her Beauties open lay:
But vain are all her Arts his Inn'cence to betray,
And all her Witchcrafts prove too weak his well-fix'd Mind to move.
More gen'rous Thoughts had prepossess'd
And strongly garison'd his Breast.
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Were firm Engagements to be just.
All things were his, but only she
That most desired his to be:
But Joseph would not taste the One forbidden Tree
The Love of Virtue, and the Fear of God
So fill'd his Soul with sacred Fire,
They left no room for any lewd Desire.
His purer Flame (as Moses wondrous Rod
Th' enchanted Serpents did devour)
Consum'd the other Passions: all their Pow'r
His steady Resolutions mock.
In vain her Courtship she repeats,
In vain she threatens and intreats:
He equally disdains her Flatt'ries, and her Threats.
Her Sighs and Tears are fruitless all;
Those idly blow, these idly fall:
His solid Virtue they no more can shock,
Than Winds and Waves can rend the sure Foundations of a Rock.
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V.
Upon what desp'rate Service will not Lust,When raging grown its blinded Bond-slaves thrust?
His stubborn Heart, so long besieg'd in vain,
That to no Composition would descend,
She now resolves by Force to bend,
And storm the fortress which no Treaty could obtain.
Upon the comely Youth, her furious Hands she cast,
And impudently drew him to the Bed:
Long Time she strove to hold him, but at last,
He broke away, and from the lustful Syren fled.
Go, matchless Youth, glad and triumphant go,
And bind fresh Lawrels round thy Conq'ring Brow.
The Sons of War, who take Delight
To meet their Foes in open Fight,
Less Honour merit than is due to thee
For daring from thine Enemy to flee.
An everlasting Temple to thy Fame
(If such her Pow'r may be) my Muse has vow'd to frame,
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Full of Grace and Majesty,
Beneath thy Foot-stool Pride and Lust shall lie,
And all the Passions else, a long Captivity,
Round thy Victorious Head
A Glory shall be spread,
And on a well-wrought Pillar by,
In smooth and noble Verse thy Triumphs shall be read.
VI.
Enrag'd to find her Labour lost(A Woman and a Lover to be crost!
She turns from Bad to Worse. Lust quits her Breast
By Anger and Revenge, new Lords, to be possess'd.
She threatens high, and tho' her Love did fail,
She swears her Malice shall prevail.
His Vest, which flying, he had left behind,
She keeps, until her Lord should come
From th' honorable Toil of publick Business, home.
This, this (says she) my Husband's Eyes shall blind,
And the proud Hebrew Slave shall quickly find,
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All drown'd in Tears the spleenful Hypocrite
Accuses Joseph of that Sin,
Of which herself had guilty been,
And (as his Brethren did before,
Their Treachery to cover o'er)
She shows her Garment to confirm her Spight.
The false Complaint her too fond Husband hears,
Believes her Words, believes her artificial Tears,
Highly commends her feign'd Fidelity,
And in a jealous Rage
(Which nothing could asswage)
Condemns unheard the right'ous Youth
(Regardless of his former Truth)
In a dark Dung'on all his Days to lie.
But God that still protects and loves the Innocent,
To comfort him, from Heav'n an Angel sent.
Blest Gabriel, none more kind than he
To men renown'd for Chastity,
Assum'd a Shape (like Joseph's) pure and bright.
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And Joseph trembled at the Sight;
Till his Approach the courteous Spirit made,
And, bowing, thus his sacred Message said.
VII.
Hail, peerless Youth, of God belov'd,Tho' Men and Dev'ls conspire to blast and ruin thee,
Yet Heav'n thy well-try'd Virtue has approv'd,
And thou shalt soon from hence deliver'd be.
Thy Fame, now deeply rooted under ground,
Up to the Skies
Shall shortly rise,
And spread it's flour'shing Branches all around.
Thy Suff'rings and Disgrace shall end with speed,
And Wealth and Glory in their Place succeed,
With Joy unspeakable thou shalt behold
Thy Chain of Iron, chang'd for one of Gold.
And thou who now ly'st in the lowest Pit,
Upon a lofty Throne shalt sit,
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And beauteous Asenath shall be thy Bride.
A noble Race thou shalt beget,
And what thy eldest Brother Lost
By Sin, thy Virtue shall obtain:
The double Portion thou shalt gain,
And Two illustrious Tribes to come from thee shall boast.
None but Judah's royal Line
T' which ancient Prophecies confine
The great Messiah's Birth, thy Off-spring shall outshine.
Thy Father's num'rous Family,
And all the sacred Seed shall be sustain'd by thee.
And when thy glorious Race is run,
Thou shalt to Heav'n translated be,
Where thy pure Eyes shall gladly see
The blessed Face of God, far brighter than the Sun.
All human Hopes thy Bliss shall there excel,
And with chaste Spirits, like thy self, for ever thou shalt dwell.
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FINIS.
| Poems upon Several Occasions | |