The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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The happy Man.
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
The happy Man.
Serene as light is Myron's soul,
And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole:
In manly beauty shines his face;
Every muse, and every grace,
Makes his heart and tongue their seat,
His heart profusely good, his tongue divinely sweet.
Myron, the wonder of our eyes,
Behold his manhood scarce begun!
Behold his race of virtue run!
Behold the goal of glory won!
Nor fame denies the merit, nor withholds the prize;
Her silver trumpets his renown proclaim:
The lands where learning never flew,
Which neither Rome nor Athens knew,
Surly Japan and rich Peru,
In barbarous songs, pronounce the British hero's name.
And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole:
In manly beauty shines his face;
Every muse, and every grace,
Makes his heart and tongue their seat,
His heart profusely good, his tongue divinely sweet.
Myron, the wonder of our eyes,
Behold his manhood scarce begun!
Behold his race of virtue run!
Behold the goal of glory won!
Nor fame denies the merit, nor withholds the prize;
Her silver trumpets his renown proclaim:
The lands where learning never flew,
Which neither Rome nor Athens knew,
Surly Japan and rich Peru,
In barbarous songs, pronounce the British hero's name.
‘Airy bliss,’ the hero cry'd,
‘May feed the tympany of pride;
‘But healthy souls were never found
‘To live on emptiness and sound.’
‘May feed the tympany of pride;
‘But healthy souls were never found
‘To live on emptiness and sound.’
Lo, at his honourable feet
Fame's bright attendant, wealth, appears;
She comes to pay obedience meet,
Providing joys for future years;
Blessings with lavish hand she pours
Gather'd from the Indian coast:
Not Danäe's lap could equal treasures boast,
When Jove came down in golden show'rs.
Fame's bright attendant, wealth, appears;
She comes to pay obedience meet,
Providing joys for future years;
Blessings with lavish hand she pours
Gather'd from the Indian coast:
Not Danäe's lap could equal treasures boast,
When Jove came down in golden show'rs.
He look'd and turn'd his eyes away,
With high disdain I heard him say,
‘Bliss is not made of glitt'ring clay.’
With high disdain I heard him say,
‘Bliss is not made of glitt'ring clay.’
Now pomp and grandeur court his head
With scutcheons, arms, and ensigns spread:
Gay magnificence and state,
Guards and chariots, at his gate,
And slaves in endless order round his table wait:
They learn the dictates of his eyes,
And now they fall, and now they rise,
Watch every motion of their Lord,
Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal,
With swift ambition seize th'unfinish'd word,
And the command fulfil.
Tir'd with the train that grandeur brings,
He dropt a tear, and pity'd kings:
Then flying from the noisy throng,
Seeks the diversion of a song.
With scutcheons, arms, and ensigns spread:
Gay magnificence and state,
Guards and chariots, at his gate,
And slaves in endless order round his table wait:
They learn the dictates of his eyes,
And now they fall, and now they rise,
Watch every motion of their Lord,
Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal,
With swift ambition seize th'unfinish'd word,
And the command fulfil.
478
He dropt a tear, and pity'd kings:
Then flying from the noisy throng,
Seeks the diversion of a song.
Music descending on a silent cloud,
Tun'd all her strings with endless art;
By slow degrees from soft to loud
Changing she rose: The harp and flute
Harmonious join, the hero to salute,
And make a captive of his heart.
Fruits, and rich wine, and scenes of lawless love
Each with utmost luxury strove
To treat their favourite best;
But sounding strings, and fruits, and wine,
And lawless love, in vain combine
To make his virtue sleep, or lull his soul to rest.
Tun'd all her strings with endless art;
By slow degrees from soft to loud
Changing she rose: The harp and flute
Harmonious join, the hero to salute,
And make a captive of his heart.
Fruits, and rich wine, and scenes of lawless love
Each with utmost luxury strove
To treat their favourite best;
But sounding strings, and fruits, and wine,
And lawless love, in vain combine
To make his virtue sleep, or lull his soul to rest.
He saw the tedious round, and, with a sigh,
Pronounc'd the world but vanity.
‘In crowds of pleasure still I find
‘A painful solitude of mind.
‘A vacancy within which sense can ne'er supply.
‘Hence, and be gone, ye flatt'ring snares,
‘Ye vulgar charms of eyes and ears,
‘Ye unperforming promisers!
‘Be all my baser passions dead,
‘And base desires, by nature made
‘For animals and boys:
‘Man has a relish more refin'd,
‘Souls are for social bliss design'd,
‘Give me a blessing fit to match my mind,
‘A kindred soul to double and to share my joys.’
Pronounc'd the world but vanity.
‘In crowds of pleasure still I find
‘A painful solitude of mind.
‘A vacancy within which sense can ne'er supply.
‘Hence, and be gone, ye flatt'ring snares,
‘Ye vulgar charms of eyes and ears,
‘Ye unperforming promisers!
‘Be all my baser passions dead,
‘And base desires, by nature made
‘For animals and boys:
‘Man has a relish more refin'd,
‘Souls are for social bliss design'd,
‘Give me a blessing fit to match my mind,
‘A kindred soul to double and to share my joys.’
Myrrha appear'd: Serene her soul
And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole:
In softer beauties shone her face;
Every muse, and every grace,
Made her heart and tongue their seat,
Her heart profusely good; her tongue divinely sweet:
Myrrha, the wonder of his eyes;
His heart recoil'd with sweet surprise,
With joys unknown before:
His soul, dissolv'd in pleasing pain,
Flow'd to his eyes, and look'd again,
And could endure no more.
Enough!’ th'impatient hero cries,
And seiz'd her to his breast,
‘I seek no more below the skies,
‘I give my slaves the rest.’
And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole:
In softer beauties shone her face;
Every muse, and every grace,
Made her heart and tongue their seat,
Her heart profusely good; her tongue divinely sweet:
Myrrha, the wonder of his eyes;
His heart recoil'd with sweet surprise,
With joys unknown before:
His soul, dissolv'd in pleasing pain,
Flow'd to his eyes, and look'd again,
And could endure no more.
Enough!’ th'impatient hero cries,
And seiz'd her to his breast,
‘I seek no more below the skies,
‘I give my slaves the rest.’
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |