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I. PART I.
Avia Pieridum peragro loca, &c.
Led by the Muse, o'er devious tracks I stray,
Where few poetic footsteps mark the way;
Of hallow'd boughs a spotless chaplet twine,
And drink from fountains pure of truth divine.
Led by the Muse, o'er devious tracks I stray,
Where few poetic footsteps mark the way;
Of hallow'd boughs a spotless chaplet twine,
And drink from fountains pure of truth divine.
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TO THE REV. HENRY PHILLPOTTS, M. A. AND LATE FELLOW OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE.
“O gracious God! how far have we
Profan'd thy heavenly gift of poesy?
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,
Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,
Whose harmony was first ordain'd above
For tongues of Angels and for hymns of love!”
Dryden's Ode on Mrs. Anne Killigrew.
Profan'd thy heavenly gift of poesy?
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,
Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,
Whose harmony was first ordain'd above
For tongues of Angels and for hymns of love!”
Dryden's Ode on Mrs. Anne Killigrew.
In eastern climes, when time was young,
'Twas Nature tun'd the poet's tongue
To piety and love:
Fair woman's matchless charms he told;
And those, whom fable feign'd to hold
On grey Olympus' top the scepter'd rule above.
'Twas Nature tun'd the poet's tongue
To piety and love:
Fair woman's matchless charms he told;
And those, whom fable feign'd to hold
On grey Olympus' top the scepter'd rule above.
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But oft he made the Muses' shrine
With flames from unblest incense shine:
And oft his numbers flow'd,
Responsive to the golden chord,
In praise of idol-gods abhorr'd,
With lawless passion foul, and wet with crimson blood.
With flames from unblest incense shine:
And oft his numbers flow'd,
Responsive to the golden chord,
In praise of idol-gods abhorr'd,
With lawless passion foul, and wet with crimson blood.
Alas, that weeds impure should mar,
O Arethuse, thy fountain fair;
And, clear Ilissus, thine;
Thine too, O Meles, nobler flood!
Whose bard could oft, in holier mood,
Touch the refulgent verse with fire almost divine.
O Arethuse, thy fountain fair;
And, clear Ilissus, thine;
Thine too, O Meles, nobler flood!
Whose bard could oft, in holier mood,
Touch the refulgent verse with fire almost divine.
Not such the themes, that wont to swell
Thy hymns, triumphant Israël,
To Virgin timbrels sung:
Or when thy tribes from Shinar's plain
To gladness tun'd their harps again,
Which many a silent year by Babel's waters hung:
Thy hymns, triumphant Israël,
To Virgin timbrels sung:
Or when thy tribes from Shinar's plain
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Which many a silent year by Babel's waters hung:
But raptures heav'nly pure, to Him,
Who dwells between the Cherubim,
Thron'd on the viewless sky;
Of old who brought the mountains forth,
Girt with a wat'ry zone the earth,
And cloth'd the heav'n with light, The Holy One and High.
Who dwells between the Cherubim,
Thron'd on the viewless sky;
Of old who brought the mountains forth,
Girt with a wat'ry zone the earth,
And cloth'd the heav'n with light, The Holy One and High.
For who from Cedron's gushing wave
Would turn, his thirsty lip to lave
In Sodom's pool obscene?
Who mid Arabian deserts rove,
If his the sweets of Eden's grove,
Ambrosial nectarin fruits, fresh flow'rs, and arbours green?
Would turn, his thirsty lip to lave
In Sodom's pool obscene?
Who mid Arabian deserts rove,
If his the sweets of Eden's grove,
Ambrosial nectarin fruits, fresh flow'rs, and arbours green?
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Yet, ah! to bless our favour'd sky,
Tho' beams the day-spring from on high
With clear and cloudless light,
Whose rays might deck the brightest strain;
Yet many a spot of earthly stain
Fair fancy's cheek deforms, and blurs her vesture white.
Tho' beams the day-spring from on high
With clear and cloudless light,
Whose rays might deck the brightest strain;
Yet many a spot of earthly stain
Fair fancy's cheek deforms, and blurs her vesture white.
Tho' Dryden move with stateliest pace;
In Pope's mellifluous song though grace
And polish'd softness smile;
I envy not their tainted praise;
I'd scorn to wear the freshest bays,
Which bind poetic brows, if guilt the wreath defile.
In Pope's mellifluous song though grace
And polish'd softness smile;
I envy not their tainted praise;
I'd scorn to wear the freshest bays,
Which bind poetic brows, if guilt the wreath defile.
Be mine the nobler aim, to feel
And plead for outrag'd right, with zeal,
O Cowper, pure as thine;
With Gray to wake the pensive lyre;
Or sing with Milton's angel fire,
Connubial love how sweet! how charming truth divine!
And plead for outrag'd right, with zeal,
O Cowper, pure as thine;
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Or sing with Milton's angel fire,
Connubial love how sweet! how charming truth divine!
So, as she lists the moral strain,
No generous blush, my Friend, shall stain
The virgin's kindling cheek;
And so perchance the melting eye
Of heav'n-descended Piety
Be turn'd with steadfast gaze her native courts to seek;
No generous blush, my Friend, shall stain
The virgin's kindling cheek;
And so perchance the melting eye
Of heav'n-descended Piety
Be turn'd with steadfast gaze her native courts to seek;
While, like the morning dew, that pours
From April clouds in grateful show'rs
To glad its parent earth;
I chaunt my pure and guiltless lay,
And strive the mercies to display
Of Him, who forms the tongue, and gives the fancy birth.
From April clouds in grateful show'rs
To glad its parent earth;
I chaunt my pure and guiltless lay,
And strive the mercies to display
Of Him, who forms the tongue, and gives the fancy birth.
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RELIGIOUS COMFORT.
LINES OCCASIONED BY ECCLESIASTICUS XLI. 1, 2, 3.
“Just heav'n, man's fortitude to prove,
Permits thro' life at large to rove
The tribes of hell-born woe;
But the same pow'r, that wisely sends
Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
Religion's golden shield to break th' embattled foe.”
Warton's Suicide.
Permits thro' life at large to rove
The tribes of hell-born woe;
But the same pow'r, that wisely sends
Life's fiercest ills, indulgent lends
Religion's golden shield to break th' embattled foe.”
Warton's Suicide.
O varied ills of man's uncertain state,
A gloomy train, that round his dwelling wait,
Fear, Grief, Contempt, and Famine, and Disease;
In sleepless watch their trembling prey to seise,
Rack his weak frame, oppress his struggling breath,
And bend his spirit to despair and death.
A gloomy train, that round his dwelling wait,
Fear, Grief, Contempt, and Famine, and Disease;
In sleepless watch their trembling prey to seise,
Rack his weak frame, oppress his struggling breath,
And bend his spirit to despair and death.
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O Death! how dreary sounds thy awful name
To the gay fool of fortune and of fame;
How cloth'd in horror and dismay appear
To him thy griesly front and threatening air;
Who, slumb'ring soft on pleasure's downy bed,
By music lull'd, by delicacy fed,
Unmov'd hath seen the precious hours steal by,
And heard th' appointed doom for man to die!
To the gay fool of fortune and of fame;
How cloth'd in horror and dismay appear
To him thy griesly front and threatening air;
Who, slumb'ring soft on pleasure's downy bed,
By music lull'd, by delicacy fed,
Unmov'd hath seen the precious hours steal by,
And heard th' appointed doom for man to die!
O Death! how pleasing sounds thy awful cry
To the heart-stricken child of misery;
Who in this world's drear prison-house confin'd,
Beat by the storms of want, the rushing wind
Of obloquy and scorn, full long hath cast
A wistful look around the cheerless waste;
Nor seen one answering look, one melting eye;
Nor heard in all his woes one pitying sigh!
To him thy ghastly front appears serene,
And mild the terrors of thy threatening mien;
No frown, no rugged sternness can he see;
He finds no loathsome hell-born fiend in thee;
As to a friend his eager arms he spreads,
No longing tear of fond remembrance sheds,
Smiles on his fellow man's unpitying race,
And meets with patient hope thy wish'd embrace.
To the heart-stricken child of misery;
Who in this world's drear prison-house confin'd,
Beat by the storms of want, the rushing wind
Of obloquy and scorn, full long hath cast
A wistful look around the cheerless waste;
Nor seen one answering look, one melting eye;
Nor heard in all his woes one pitying sigh!
To him thy ghastly front appears serene,
And mild the terrors of thy threatening mien;
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He finds no loathsome hell-born fiend in thee;
As to a friend his eager arms he spreads,
No longing tear of fond remembrance sheds,
Smiles on his fellow man's unpitying race,
And meets with patient hope thy wish'd embrace.
O! may his meek enduring spirit have
Repose and quiet in the silent grave!
And, soaring thence, in heav'nly visions glow,
Repaid for every pang he felt below!
Repose and quiet in the silent grave!
And, soaring thence, in heav'nly visions glow,
Repaid for every pang he felt below!
But, ah! what requiem can the pious Muse,
Her breast enlighten'd with celestial views,
What hymns of peace and holy hope prepare,
To soothe the bloodstain'd victims of despair?
She bids not violated nature bring
The roseate treasures of the opening spring;
She bids not hosts of hovering angels wave
Their silver wings about th' unhallow'd grave;
She dares not cause th' ennobling verse to flow,
And bind with virtue's wreath the guilty brow
Of those, who proudly spurn the chastening rod,
And rush presumptuous to the throne of God.
Her breast enlighten'd with celestial views,
What hymns of peace and holy hope prepare,
To soothe the bloodstain'd victims of despair?
She bids not violated nature bring
The roseate treasures of the opening spring;
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Their silver wings about th' unhallow'd grave;
She dares not cause th' ennobling verse to flow,
And bind with virtue's wreath the guilty brow
Of those, who proudly spurn the chastening rod,
And rush presumptuous to the throne of God.
Else might she pour her most melodious meed,
And bless with fabling lays the frantic deed
Of him, the youthful bard; whose restless breast,
By doubts perplex'd, by penury distrest;
His trembling nerves by feeling finely strung,
By cold neglect his lofty spirit wrung;
No hope to cheer, no friend to calm, his woe,
Unbidden dar'd the self-destroying blow.
Now, while the dusky wing of Autumn broods
In gloomy darkness o'er the fading woods,
She seeks the lonely visionary shade,
Where dumb in death the hapless youth is laid.
Curst is the spot of his untimely grave,
Nor vernal blossom there is seen to wave.
Yet Pity, meek complainer, lingers there,
With tear-worn cheek and throbbing bosom bare;
And sweetly-plaining from the willow tree ,
A garland weaves, poor Chatterton, for thee!
And bless with fabling lays the frantic deed
Of him, the youthful bard; whose restless breast,
By doubts perplex'd, by penury distrest;
His trembling nerves by feeling finely strung,
By cold neglect his lofty spirit wrung;
No hope to cheer, no friend to calm, his woe,
Unbidden dar'd the self-destroying blow.
Now, while the dusky wing of Autumn broods
In gloomy darkness o'er the fading woods,
She seeks the lonely visionary shade,
Where dumb in death the hapless youth is laid.
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Nor vernal blossom there is seen to wave.
Yet Pity, meek complainer, lingers there,
With tear-worn cheek and throbbing bosom bare;
And sweetly-plaining from the willow tree ,
A garland weaves, poor Chatterton, for thee!
O Poverty, by scowling insult wounded;
With thirst, with cold, with hunger sore confounded;
With deep-sunk eye, and cheek of sallow hue,
Too weak to labour, and too proud to sue;
The struggling tear by scorn forbid to start;
The galling iron rankling in thy heart;
Without one earthly hope, one earthly friend,
Whither, ah! whither do thy footsteps tend?
In bitterness of spirit thou dost sit,
While on thy naked breast rude tempests beat,
And distant in the glittering sunshine ride
The silken sons of luxury and pride.
Then sinks in blank despair thy pensive soul;
Then in wild gaze thy glassy eye-balls roll;
Then dost thou curse in thine afflicted heart
Of human woes thy more than equal part;
And fondly dar'st, poor earth-born worm! to blame
The justice of the all-sufficient name.
With thirst, with cold, with hunger sore confounded;
With deep-sunk eye, and cheek of sallow hue,
Too weak to labour, and too proud to sue;
The struggling tear by scorn forbid to start;
The galling iron rankling in thy heart;
Without one earthly hope, one earthly friend,
Whither, ah! whither do thy footsteps tend?
In bitterness of spirit thou dost sit,
While on thy naked breast rude tempests beat,
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The silken sons of luxury and pride.
Then sinks in blank despair thy pensive soul;
Then in wild gaze thy glassy eye-balls roll;
Then dost thou curse in thine afflicted heart
Of human woes thy more than equal part;
And fondly dar'st, poor earth-born worm! to blame
The justice of the all-sufficient name.
And is there then no comfort to dispense
A lenient balm, to lull the aching sense?
Or when of old the high and holy God
Pour'd the red drainings of his wrath abroad,
Did he not bid the stream of mercy flow,
In sweet compassion to the sons of woe?
A lenient balm, to lull the aching sense?
Or when of old the high and holy God
Pour'd the red drainings of his wrath abroad,
Did he not bid the stream of mercy flow,
In sweet compassion to the sons of woe?
For this Religion came, a heav'n-born guest,
To bathe in opiate dews the throbbing breast,
Girt with her choir of holy handmaids fair:
Bright Truth, with forehead like the morning star;
And Purity; and Patience wiping meek
The silent tear, that wets her smiling cheek;
And Hope, that warbles many a carol gay;
And Faith, with eye fix'd on the courts of day,
Where sainted spirits, who their race have run,
Sing unto Him that sitteth on the throne;
And orient palms, the meed of conquest, hold,
In robes of white array'd, and wreathe their locks with gold.
To bathe in opiate dews the throbbing breast,
Girt with her choir of holy handmaids fair:
Bright Truth, with forehead like the morning star;
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The silent tear, that wets her smiling cheek;
And Hope, that warbles many a carol gay;
And Faith, with eye fix'd on the courts of day,
Where sainted spirits, who their race have run,
Sing unto Him that sitteth on the throne;
And orient palms, the meed of conquest, hold,
In robes of white array'd, and wreathe their locks with gold.
So have I seen the sun retiring shroud
His radiant glories in a wat'ry cloud;
And I have mark'd far off the sparkling stream,
Hills, groves, and meadows glow beneath his beam;
E'en so do clouds and darkness oft beset
Us, mortal pilgrims, in this earthly state;
And so, bright opening thro' the vale of tears,
To Faith's fix'd eye the distant scene appears,
Where gardens fair by living waters lie,
The blissful visions of eternity.
His radiant glories in a wat'ry cloud;
And I have mark'd far off the sparkling stream,
Hills, groves, and meadows glow beneath his beam;
E'en so do clouds and darkness oft beset
Us, mortal pilgrims, in this earthly state;
And so, bright opening thro' the vale of tears,
To Faith's fix'd eye the distant scene appears,
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The blissful visions of eternity.
O Thou! of sov'reign mercy, sov'reign might;
Father of life, eternity, and light;
If ought of ill await my mortal course,
Soften its terrors, and abate its force!
But if my hours by righteous doom must flow
In one dark stream of wretchedness and woe;
If nought, but bitter, meet my loathing taste,
And nought my view, but a drear dismal waste;
Thy will be done! But grant, my only care,
Grant me resign'd thy will, O God, to bear.
Father of life, eternity, and light;
If ought of ill await my mortal course,
Soften its terrors, and abate its force!
But if my hours by righteous doom must flow
In one dark stream of wretchedness and woe;
If nought, but bitter, meet my loathing taste,
And nought my view, but a drear dismal waste;
Thy will be done! But grant, my only care,
Grant me resign'd thy will, O God, to bear.
For when the tumults of this world shall cease,
And nought shall reign but everlasting peace;
When thou shalt all in all exist, and we
(O, may my lot be such!) exist in thee;
Then shall the spirits of the just in heaven
Own the bright crown of glory rightly given,
Through Him, who died and lives for evermore,
To such as meek in heart, in spirit poor,
Have fought with patience faith's victorious fight,
Their aim thy blessing, and the Lamb their might.
And nought shall reign but everlasting peace;
When thou shalt all in all exist, and we
(O, may my lot be such!) exist in thee;
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Own the bright crown of glory rightly given,
Through Him, who died and lives for evermore,
To such as meek in heart, in spirit poor,
Have fought with patience faith's victorious fight,
Their aim thy blessing, and the Lamb their might.
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CONNUBIAL LOVE.
TO THE REV. ------.
“Hail, wedded Love! mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring, sole propriety
In Paradise of all things common else.—”
Paradise Lost, IV.
Of human offspring, sole propriety
In Paradise of all things common else.—”
Paradise Lost, IV.
Hence, to thy den beneath the sunless main!
Nor the holy lay profane,
Thou, whom Poets hail'd of old
Goddess of the cest of gold;
Star that gilds the orient morn;
Of the scepter'd Thunderer born;
And fondly feign'd, that at thy birth
Rapture smil'd on heav'n and earth.
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Bore thee in the depths of hell;
Mother thou of joys impure,
Which thy feeble votaries lure
By treach'rous paths to caves, where lie
Disease and death and infamy.
Hence, with thy distemper'd train,
Fev'rish Youth with madd'ning brain,
Thy zoneless nymphs, thy sightless boy
Charm'd with every tinkling toy;
Debauch, loud roaring o'er the venom'd bowl;
And Fraud; and Sloth that numbs with palsying touch the soul.
But come, thou Angel pure and bright,
Parent of sincere delight,
Daughter of heav'n, Connubial Love!
Thee th' Almighty Sire above
Of old, in mercy to mankind,
Created from his perfect mind,
While stars of morning hail'd the birth;
And Seraphs bore thee to the earth
In triumph from thy native skies,
To dwell with man in Paradise.
Parent of sincere delight,
Daughter of heav'n, Connubial Love!
Thee th' Almighty Sire above
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Created from his perfect mind,
While stars of morning hail'd the birth;
And Seraphs bore thee to the earth
In triumph from thy native skies,
To dwell with man in Paradise.
Come! with raiment snowy white;
And eyes, that beam with dewy light;
Thy thoughts, as clear as vernal rills,
That sparkling fall from Alpine hills;
Thy breath, as sweet as spicy gales
That blow o'er blest Arabian vales;
And soft, as balmy spring-tide breaks,
The smile that dimples on thy cheeks.
And eyes, that beam with dewy light;
Thy thoughts, as clear as vernal rills,
That sparkling fall from Alpine hills;
Thy breath, as sweet as spicy gales
That blow o'er blest Arabian vales;
And soft, as balmy spring-tide breaks,
The smile that dimples on thy cheeks.
Come! nor leave thy train behind:
Content of heart; and Peace of mind;
Soft Sympathy's delightful tear;
And Sanctity, with brow severe,
Which lawless riot's sons confess;
And “wisdom join'd with simpleness ,”
Whom meek and modest joys can please,
Domestic sweets and rural ease.
Content of heart; and Peace of mind;
Soft Sympathy's delightful tear;
And Sanctity, with brow severe,
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And “wisdom join'd with simpleness ,”
Whom meek and modest joys can please,
Domestic sweets and rural ease.
Ten moons have wan'd, since thee I sought
To visit my sequester'd cot.
Thou cam'st; thou gav'st me ample store
Of bliss; thou bid'st me hope for more.
Behold, I woo thy smile again!
Behold, to thee I pour the strain
In favour of a generous youth!
Now by his soul of guileless truth;
By his gentle manners bland;
His liberal heart; his open hand;
By his ardent piety;
By the zeal he'll prove for thee,
Steadfast to the plighted vow;
Sweet Connubial Love, do thou
On --- cottag'd vale descend,
And bless the dwelling of my friend!
To visit my sequester'd cot.
Thou cam'st; thou gav'st me ample store
Of bliss; thou bid'st me hope for more.
Behold, I woo thy smile again!
Behold, to thee I pour the strain
In favour of a generous youth!
Now by his soul of guileless truth;
By his gentle manners bland;
His liberal heart; his open hand;
By his ardent piety;
By the zeal he'll prove for thee,
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Sweet Connubial Love, do thou
On --- cottag'd vale descend,
And bless the dwelling of my friend!
The charm's complete: the lay is done.
See, from realms beyond the sun,
An Angel spotless pure descend,
And seek the dwelling of my friend.
A nymph she leads of noble race,
Ennobled more by mental grace;
And hark, her accents softly flow,
Like dew-drops on the fleece below.
See, from realms beyond the sun,
An Angel spotless pure descend,
And seek the dwelling of my friend.
A nymph she leads of noble race,
Ennobled more by mental grace;
And hark, her accents softly flow,
Like dew-drops on the fleece below.
Take the gift of Nuptial Love.
Leaning on her gentle breast,
Her lip with kisses pure carest,
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No unwedded bosoms know.
Fond Attachment, springing thence,
Shall with gentle violence
Forbid thy wayward step to roam,
And hold in golden chain at home.
While every sound, and smell, and sight,
And every source of past delight,
On thy ravish'd sense shall pour
Transport never felt before.
“Thou her willing step shalt bring
To the grove, where linnets sing,
Where the clearest fountains flow,
Where the sweetest violets blow.
Thou with her the hill shalt climb,
Fragrant with the creeping thyme;
And from the breezy summit trace
The valley's many-mingled grace,
Where mid elmy meadows green
Thy roof, my pleasant haunt, is seen.
Seated by her tender side,
Thou her docile hand shalt guide
With mimic pencil to pourtray
Simple nature's landscapes gay:
Or open to her charmed eye
The kindred stores of Poesy,
Dipt in Castalia's chastest dews:
Chief of him, whose saintly Muse
With a seraph's sweetness told
The raptures of that age of gold;
When Eve, my first-born daughter, stray'd
In blooming Eden's palmy shade;
And own'd not all the charms, that heaven
With large and lavish hand had given
To deck her happy rural seat,
Without her wedded partner sweet.
To the grove, where linnets sing,
Where the clearest fountains flow,
Where the sweetest violets blow.
Thou with her the hill shalt climb,
Fragrant with the creeping thyme;
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The valley's many-mingled grace,
Where mid elmy meadows green
Thy roof, my pleasant haunt, is seen.
Seated by her tender side,
Thou her docile hand shalt guide
With mimic pencil to pourtray
Simple nature's landscapes gay:
Or open to her charmed eye
The kindred stores of Poesy,
Dipt in Castalia's chastest dews:
Chief of him, whose saintly Muse
With a seraph's sweetness told
The raptures of that age of gold;
When Eve, my first-born daughter, stray'd
In blooming Eden's palmy shade;
And own'd not all the charms, that heaven
With large and lavish hand had given
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Without her wedded partner sweet.
“She meanwhile with thee shall share
The duties of thy past'ral care;
(For well I know thou lov'st to tread,
No stranger guest, the straw-roof'd shed;)
And lend with thee a patient ear
The peasant's simple tale to hear.
She shall round his blazing hearth,
Echoing to the voice of mirth,
Unaccustom'd comforts pour:
Shall train his babes in sacred lore,
And teach their little hands to ply
The task of useful industry:
Shall feed the hungry, and shall spread
Warm fleeces o'er the sick man's bed;
And, when o'erspent and widow'd age
Draws nigh to close its pilgrimage,
With soothing voice and cherub smile
The hours of ling'ring life beguile.
The duties of thy past'ral care;
(For well I know thou lov'st to tread,
No stranger guest, the straw-roof'd shed;)
And lend with thee a patient ear
The peasant's simple tale to hear.
She shall round his blazing hearth,
Echoing to the voice of mirth,
Unaccustom'd comforts pour:
Shall train his babes in sacred lore,
And teach their little hands to ply
The task of useful industry:
Shall feed the hungry, and shall spread
Warm fleeces o'er the sick man's bed;
And, when o'erspent and widow'd age
Draws nigh to close its pilgrimage,
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The hours of ling'ring life beguile.
“Nor will she shun with thee to trace
The triumphs of the chosen race,
When th' Egyptian's car-borne pride
O'er the Red sea welter'd wide,
And Gath's huge Champion press'd the field,
By a stripling Shepherd quell'd:
With thee shall bless the arm, that turn'd
Judah's woe, who captive mourn'd
For Sion's hallow'd courts profan'd
By an unbelieving hand;
(What time the stoled Prophet stood
By Chebar or Ulaï's flood,
And saw before his tranced gaze
Visions strange of unborn days:)
With thee shall hail from Beth'lem's sky
The day-spring, breaking from on high,
To lighten them that sat beneath
The shadows of the vale of death,
And guide the erring feet to press
The path of peace and holiness.
The triumphs of the chosen race,
When th' Egyptian's car-borne pride
O'er the Red sea welter'd wide,
And Gath's huge Champion press'd the field,
By a stripling Shepherd quell'd:
With thee shall bless the arm, that turn'd
Judah's woe, who captive mourn'd
For Sion's hallow'd courts profan'd
By an unbelieving hand;
(What time the stoled Prophet stood
By Chebar or Ulaï's flood,
And saw before his tranced gaze
Visions strange of unborn days:)
With thee shall hail from Beth'lem's sky
The day-spring, breaking from on high,
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The shadows of the vale of death,
And guide the erring feet to press
The path of peace and holiness.
“Fill'd with the themes, her melting eye
Shall lift thy soul to virtues high:
Her heart, in sweet accord with thine,
Shall bow before the throne divine,
On winged prayers heav'nward borne,
Sweet as the incens'd breath of morn:
And oft her voice shall charm thine ear,
To strings symphonious chaunting clear
Such sounds of high and holy praise,
As the rapt soul to heaven raise;
And such perhaps as heav'nly quires
Hymn to the touch of golden wires.
Shall lift thy soul to virtues high:
Her heart, in sweet accord with thine,
Shall bow before the throne divine,
On winged prayers heav'nward borne,
Sweet as the incens'd breath of morn:
And oft her voice shall charm thine ear,
To strings symphonious chaunting clear
Such sounds of high and holy praise,
As the rapt soul to heaven raise;
And such perhaps as heav'nly quires
Hymn to the touch of golden wires.
“These, my Son, thy joys shall be!
These delights I promise thee!
I in health will bless thy bed;
I in sickness calm thine head;
I thy life's aspiring noon
With unreproved pleasures crown,
And with mildly-beaming ray
Gild the evening of thy day.”
These delights I promise thee!
31
I in sickness calm thine head;
I thy life's aspiring noon
With unreproved pleasures crown,
And with mildly-beaming ray
Gild the evening of thy day.”
32
THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
TO --- --- ESQ.
“O, friendly to the best pursuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domestic life in rural leisure pass'd!
Few know thy value—”
Cowper's Task, Book III.
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domestic life in rural leisure pass'd!
Few know thy value—”
Cowper's Task, Book III.
As one, who long in joyless solitude
Hath roam'd mid Alpine deserts vast and rude,
Where Reuss impetuous hurls his dashing tide,
Or, Rhone, thy torrents cleave the mountain's side,
Where seas extend of everlasting ice,
And horror shaggs the unsunn'd precipice;
If chance he gain some still and shelter'd dale,
Fair Urseren, or Hasli's fairer vale,
What time the golden beams of eve are shed
On each fantastic mountain's snow-crown'd head;
Charm'd with the beauties of the varied scene,
White flocks, and herds, that stray thro' pastures green;
Pines, that high-waving shade the cottag'd steep;
And streams, that now the vale in silence sweep,
And now thro' hanging beeches glittering fall,
Responsive to the goat-herd's madrigal:
With livelier joy he eyes the landscape o'er,
Fresh from the dreary waste he trod before:—
Thus in those scenes of woe, where Vice hath sway'd,
And round, a moral desolation spread,
O'erjoy'd we turn, the good man's deeds to bless,
Fair deeds of love, of peace, and holiness.
For Virtue, tho', in native radiance bright,
Her form be beauty and her vesture light,
Can still a brighter lovelier shape assume,
And like the star of eve, shines fairest thro' the gloom.
Hath roam'd mid Alpine deserts vast and rude,
Where Reuss impetuous hurls his dashing tide,
Or, Rhone, thy torrents cleave the mountain's side,
Where seas extend of everlasting ice,
And horror shaggs the unsunn'd precipice;
If chance he gain some still and shelter'd dale,
Fair Urseren, or Hasli's fairer vale,
33
On each fantastic mountain's snow-crown'd head;
Charm'd with the beauties of the varied scene,
White flocks, and herds, that stray thro' pastures green;
Pines, that high-waving shade the cottag'd steep;
And streams, that now the vale in silence sweep,
And now thro' hanging beeches glittering fall,
Responsive to the goat-herd's madrigal:
With livelier joy he eyes the landscape o'er,
Fresh from the dreary waste he trod before:—
Thus in those scenes of woe, where Vice hath sway'd,
And round, a moral desolation spread,
O'erjoy'd we turn, the good man's deeds to bless,
Fair deeds of love, of peace, and holiness.
For Virtue, tho', in native radiance bright,
Her form be beauty and her vesture light,
Can still a brighter lovelier shape assume,
And like the star of eve, shines fairest thro' the gloom.
34
In such a scene, (no venom'd shaft I aim
To wound the honour of a virtuous name;)
In such a scene (alas! the truth too well
Religion scorn'd and slighted Love can tell)
Thy lot is cast; and, oh! the praise be thine
By the pure light of virtuous deeds to shine!
To wound the honour of a virtuous name;)
In such a scene (alas! the truth too well
Religion scorn'd and slighted Love can tell)
Thy lot is cast; and, oh! the praise be thine
By the pure light of virtuous deeds to shine!
Friend of domestic joys and rural ease,
Be these thy praise, and thy delight be these!
Nor thou to scenes of distant splendour roam;
Fashion may stray, but Pleasure dwells at home.
In peaceful solitude she loves to trace
The flow'rs of genius, that unfading grace
Tiber, and old Ilissus, classic streams;
And Tuscan Arno, and imperial Thames:
She loves around the hospitable hearth
To view the smile, and hear the voice, of mirth;
And, rapt in visions of delight, to prove
The soft endearments of connubial love.
Be these thy praise, and thy delight be these!
Nor thou to scenes of distant splendour roam;
Fashion may stray, but Pleasure dwells at home.
In peaceful solitude she loves to trace
The flow'rs of genius, that unfading grace
Tiber, and old Ilissus, classic streams;
And Tuscan Arno, and imperial Thames:
She loves around the hospitable hearth
To view the smile, and hear the voice, of mirth;
And, rapt in visions of delight, to prove
The soft endearments of connubial love.
35
And see, abroad thy devious step invite
All that can fill the heart, and charm the sight.
For thee the long and verdant lawn is spread;
For thee the forest waves his branching head;
For thee the meadows spring, the harvests shine;
And every joy the country yields, is thine.
Repay the debt, and let the country share
The present influence of thy soft'ring care!
All that can fill the heart, and charm the sight.
For thee the long and verdant lawn is spread;
For thee the forest waves his branching head;
For thee the meadows spring, the harvests shine;
And every joy the country yields, is thine.
Repay the debt, and let the country share
The present influence of thy soft'ring care!
Friend of the poor, be thine the praise to spread
Content and comfort thro' his lowly shed:
To help the fatherless and weak; to dry
The widow's tears; the unknown cause to try;
To check licentious riot's mad career;
The heart of meek and patient toil to cheer,
Teach him in health the path of right to tread,
And in the hour of sickness smooth his bed.
Content and comfort thro' his lowly shed:
To help the fatherless and weak; to dry
The widow's tears; the unknown cause to try;
To check licentious riot's mad career;
The heart of meek and patient toil to cheer,
Teach him in health the path of right to tread,
And in the hour of sickness smooth his bed.
True to thy God, and steadfast in his cause,
Be thine the praise to guard his holy laws.
Lo! from yon plain the village steeple swells!
Hark! 'tis the music of the sabbath-bells!
To thee they speak; they call thee to repair,
Thee, and thy house, to bend in worship there.
See! where with mien devout and holy hands
The white-rob'd priest beside the altar stands!
To thee he speaks; he bids thee to the board,
Thee and thy house, in memory of thy Lord.
Ah! scorn not thou to tread the church-ward road;
Ah! scorn not thou the table of thy God;
Nor e'er forget, in pleasure's dazzling hour,
The pride of riches, and the pomp of pow'r,
To bow thy knee before th' Eternal throne;
Thy sins in lowliness of heart to own;
To bid thy pray'r, like morning incense, rise,
And praise him with thine evening sacrifice.
Be thine the praise to guard his holy laws.
36
Hark! 'tis the music of the sabbath-bells!
To thee they speak; they call thee to repair,
Thee, and thy house, to bend in worship there.
See! where with mien devout and holy hands
The white-rob'd priest beside the altar stands!
To thee he speaks; he bids thee to the board,
Thee and thy house, in memory of thy Lord.
Ah! scorn not thou to tread the church-ward road;
Ah! scorn not thou the table of thy God;
Nor e'er forget, in pleasure's dazzling hour,
The pride of riches, and the pomp of pow'r,
To bow thy knee before th' Eternal throne;
Thy sins in lowliness of heart to own;
To bid thy pray'r, like morning incense, rise,
And praise him with thine evening sacrifice.
37
And see, to guide at once, and cheer thy way,
Celestial Truth the banner'd Cross display,
Where shines in characters divinely bright,
“My yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
And hark, her voice in accents strong and clear:
“Go on, my Son, pursue thy firm career;
“Thy heart shall feel it, and thy tongue confess,
“My ways are peace, my paths are pleasantness.
“Propt by thy hand, and nurtur'd by thy care,
“For thee the poor shall breathe his humble pray'r.
“The wedded mother, in her husband blest,
“Straining her lovely infant to her breast,
“No more afraid of lawless lust, shall see
“With joy the guardian of her babe in thee.
“The widow's heart shall sing for joy, and send
“Its suit to heav'n for thee her only friend.
“E'en he, whose heart was dead to heav'n before,
“Warn'd by thy voice, by thy example more,
“Shall shun the treach'rous path, which once he prest,
“Shall feel new virtue springing in his breast,
“On future scenes of purer rapture gaze,
“And speak the words of penitence and praise;
“While his heart's wish and servent pray'r shall be
“The blessing of eternal peace on thee.
“The eye, that sees thee, shall thy worth express;
“The ear, that hears thee, shall thy accents bless;
“And e'en the stranger, as he journeys by,
“Charm'd with thy fair and honest fame, shall cry,
‘Blest in the blessings he to others gives,
‘Behold the dwelling, where the good man lives.’
Celestial Truth the banner'd Cross display,
Where shines in characters divinely bright,
“My yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
And hark, her voice in accents strong and clear:
“Go on, my Son, pursue thy firm career;
“Thy heart shall feel it, and thy tongue confess,
“My ways are peace, my paths are pleasantness.
“Propt by thy hand, and nurtur'd by thy care,
“For thee the poor shall breathe his humble pray'r.
“The wedded mother, in her husband blest,
“Straining her lovely infant to her breast,
“No more afraid of lawless lust, shall see
“With joy the guardian of her babe in thee.
“The widow's heart shall sing for joy, and send
“Its suit to heav'n for thee her only friend.
“E'en he, whose heart was dead to heav'n before,
“Warn'd by thy voice, by thy example more,
38
“Shall feel new virtue springing in his breast,
“On future scenes of purer rapture gaze,
“And speak the words of penitence and praise;
“While his heart's wish and servent pray'r shall be
“The blessing of eternal peace on thee.
“The eye, that sees thee, shall thy worth express;
“The ear, that hears thee, shall thy accents bless;
“And e'en the stranger, as he journeys by,
“Charm'd with thy fair and honest fame, shall cry,
‘Blest in the blessings he to others gives,
‘Behold the dwelling, where the good man lives.’
“The still small voice within shall bear its part,
“And whisper comfort to thy fainting heart
“(As down the vale of years thou mov'st along)
“With accents sweet as is an Angel's song.
“And whisper comfort to thy fainting heart
“(As down the vale of years thou mov'st along)
“With accents sweet as is an Angel's song.
“Angels themselves shall tend thy bed of death,
“And soothe thy sorrows, and receive thy breath,
“And bear thee to the mansions of the sky,
“With shouts of joy and heav'nly minstrelsy.
“And soothe thy sorrows, and receive thy breath,
39
“With shouts of joy and heav'nly minstrelsy.
“There, from the bosom of an orient cloud,
“The Lord, the righteous Judge, shall speak aloud;
‘Servant of Christ, well done! well hast thou trod,
‘Just to thy brethren, faithful to thy God,
‘The path of life; thy day of trial o'er,
‘Enter thy Master's joy, and dwell for evermore.’
Thus speaks Celestial Truth: attend, behold
“The Lord, the righteous Judge, shall speak aloud;
‘Servant of Christ, well done! well hast thou trod,
‘Just to thy brethren, faithful to thy God,
‘The path of life; thy day of trial o'er,
‘Enter thy Master's joy, and dwell for evermore.’
Her precepts in the book of life enroll'd.
And now farewell! receive in friendly part
The well-meant off'ring of a friendly heart;
Nor spurn the poet, tho' obscure his name:
Unknown to thee, nor less unknown to fame;
By nature fond of hills and lonely dells,
Remote from noise where rural Quiet dwells;
40
By feeling grateful for its mercies given;
Delighted most, when most diffus'd around
Religious truth and harmless joys are found;
A friend to Virtue; and, if Virtue be
Thy choice, (O grant it, heav'n!) a friend to thee.
41
RURAL HAPPINESS,
WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN .
INSCRIBED TO THE REV. JOHN WOOLLCOMBE, M. A. AND FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE.
“O, blest seclusion from a jarring world,
Which he thus occupied enjoys!”
Cowper's Task, Book III.
Which he thus occupied enjoys!”
Cowper's Task, Book III.
O, blest beyond compare are they,
Who hold their calm contented way,
Where cots, mid fields and gardens green,
Mark some lone hamlet's peaceful scene:
Thrice blest, if heav'n withal bestow
A heart their happiness to know!
Who hold their calm contented way,
Where cots, mid fields and gardens green,
Mark some lone hamlet's peaceful scene:
42
A heart their happiness to know!
What tho' for them no portals proud
Pour forth at morn a courtier crowd;
For them no midnight dances shine,
Nor Gallia send her sparkling wine:
Yet their's, repose secure from strife;
And their's, the calm and guileless life;
For them the social blackbird sings;
For them the purple hare-bell springs;
White flocks for them with bleatings fill
The bending lawn or coppic'd hill;
While waving o'er some cavern'd bank,
Beset with snow-white lilies dank,
The beech his roots fantastic wreathes,
And fresh and cool the west-wind breathes.
Pour forth at morn a courtier crowd;
For them no midnight dances shine,
Nor Gallia send her sparkling wine:
Yet their's, repose secure from strife;
And their's, the calm and guileless life;
For them the social blackbird sings;
For them the purple hare-bell springs;
White flocks for them with bleatings fill
The bending lawn or coppic'd hill;
While waving o'er some cavern'd bank,
Beset with snow-white lilies dank,
The beech his roots fantastic wreathes,
And fresh and cool the west-wind breathes.
Around the modest virtues dwell,
Nor scorn the peasant's peaceful cell.
Contented Age; laborious Youth;
Parental Honour; nuptial Truth;
And, fairest daughters of the sky,
Meek Faith and tender Charity,
If yet on earth their footsteps be,
Linger, O rural Peace, with thee.
Nor scorn the peasant's peaceful cell.
43
Parental Honour; nuptial Truth;
And, fairest daughters of the sky,
Meek Faith and tender Charity,
If yet on earth their footsteps be,
Linger, O rural Peace, with thee.
Mine be the lot, thy scenes among,
“Smit with the love of sacred song,”
And rapt in high poetic dream,
To meditate some holy theme.
So may I strike perchance the string,
And hymns of solemn triumph sing!
“Smit with the love of sacred song,”
And rapt in high poetic dream,
To meditate some holy theme.
So may I strike perchance the string,
And hymns of solemn triumph sing!
Or if my laggart soul in vain
Would soar to reach the lofty strain,
Be mine to rove mid waving woods,
Mid rocks, and glens, and falling floods;
Or sit in some romantic dell,
And on the songs of Sion dwell,
Till visionary fancy flies
To elder days and holier skies.
O! for the palmy woods, that wave
O'er streams, which pleasant Carmel lave;
Or cedar's branching arms, that crown
Thy brows, majestic Lebanon!
O, who my pilgrim feet will guide
To Jordan's ancient-hallow'd tide;
To valleys, where in many a rill
Falls the rich dew from Hermon's hill;
Or Siloa's flowery brook, “that flow'd
“Fast by the Oracle of God!”
Would soar to reach the lofty strain,
Be mine to rove mid waving woods,
Mid rocks, and glens, and falling floods;
Or sit in some romantic dell,
And on the songs of Sion dwell,
44
To elder days and holier skies.
O! for the palmy woods, that wave
O'er streams, which pleasant Carmel lave;
Or cedar's branching arms, that crown
Thy brows, majestic Lebanon!
O, who my pilgrim feet will guide
To Jordan's ancient-hallow'd tide;
To valleys, where in many a rill
Falls the rich dew from Hermon's hill;
Or Siloa's flowery brook, “that flow'd
“Fast by the Oracle of God!”
Blest was the sightless bard, who told
God's noble acts in days of old.
Who sang Creation's glorious morn,
When sea and earth and heav'n were born:
And how, or ere the birth of time,
The rebel host from heav'n's fair clime,
With hideous rout and ruin, fell
Thro' Chaos to the depths of hell;
Then tun'd to sweeter tones his song,
And hymn'd, as with an Angel's tongue,
In numbers, fit for harps above,
The wonders of Messiah's love.
God's noble acts in days of old.
Who sang Creation's glorious morn,
When sea and earth and heav'n were born:
And how, or ere the birth of time,
The rebel host from heav'n's fair clime,
45
Thro' Chaos to the depths of hell;
Then tun'd to sweeter tones his song,
And hymn'd, as with an Angel's tongue,
In numbers, fit for harps above,
The wonders of Messiah's love.
And happy he, (tho' heav'n withhold
The sounding verse and genius bold,)
Happy the man whose humbler lot
Is cast in some sequester'd spot;
Whose life with innocence is spent,
In letter'd ease and calm content;
His task, the list'ning swains around
To spread salvation's joyful sound.
The sounding verse and genius bold,)
Happy the man whose humbler lot
Is cast in some sequester'd spot;
Whose life with innocence is spent,
In letter'd ease and calm content;
His task, the list'ning swains around
To spread salvation's joyful sound.
His board by temperance is spread;
Sweet peace reposes on his bed;
Nor envies he the rich and great;
Nor sighs to change his lowly state;
Blest, if that lowly state afford
Enough to trim the social board,
And still a cheering gleam to spread
Of comfort thro' the poor man's shed.
Sweet peace reposes on his bed;
Nor envies he the rich and great;
Nor sighs to change his lowly state;
46
Enough to trim the social board,
And still a cheering gleam to spread
Of comfort thro' the poor man's shed.
No wish has he abroad to roam,
Or seek for guilty joys at home.
But if his soul's far dearer part
Repay with her's his faithful heart;
If, sporting on its mother's breast,
His babe, with many a kiss carest,
Stretch forth its little arms the while,
And at its father sweetly smile;
While transport fills his swimming eyes,
He feels the bliss of Paradise.
Or seek for guilty joys at home.
But if his soul's far dearer part
Repay with her's his faithful heart;
If, sporting on its mother's breast,
His babe, with many a kiss carest,
Stretch forth its little arms the while,
And at its father sweetly smile;
While transport fills his swimming eyes,
He feels the bliss of Paradise.
Meantime with bards and sages old
His raptur'd thoughts high converse hold.
Nor want there, who in later time
Have sprung to grace our northern clime.
But most the holy men, who spread,
From Olivet and Horeb's head,
To earth and heav'n Jehovah's praise,
On themes divine employ his days.
And oft, in accents sweet and clear,
Such sounds salute his nightly ear,
As echoed from the tuneful shell
The pleasant hymns of Israël:
Or such as Bethlehem's shepherds heard,
What time the heav'nly host appear'd,
And angels told to all the earth
Glad tidings of the Saviour's birth.
His raptur'd thoughts high converse hold.
Nor want there, who in later time
Have sprung to grace our northern clime.
47
From Olivet and Horeb's head,
To earth and heav'n Jehovah's praise,
On themes divine employ his days.
And oft, in accents sweet and clear,
Such sounds salute his nightly ear,
As echoed from the tuneful shell
The pleasant hymns of Israël:
Or such as Bethlehem's shepherds heard,
What time the heav'nly host appear'd,
And angels told to all the earth
Glad tidings of the Saviour's birth.
But his no hermit's dull repose:
His breast with active virtue glows.
He forms the falt'ring infant tongue
To lisp in many a holy song;
He trains the wand'ring step of youth
To tread the path of heav'nly truth;
He loves around the hoary head
Comfort and peace and joy to shed,
To calm with hope the struggling breath,
And dress in smiles the cheek of death.
His breast with active virtue glows.
He forms the falt'ring infant tongue
To lisp in many a holy song;
He trains the wand'ring step of youth
To tread the path of heav'nly truth;
48
Comfort and peace and joy to shed,
To calm with hope the struggling breath,
And dress in smiles the cheek of death.
Chief on that day, which God hath blest
And hallow'd for his solemn rest,
To Sion's courts his steps repair,
To meet his Saviour's blessing there.
There, while his lips their tribute raise
Of pray'r and gratitude and praise,
“With meek and unaffected grace
His looks adorn the holy place;”
Warm from the altar of his heart,
His words a pious glow impart,
And seek, like fragrant fumes, the skies,
That from the golden censer rise.
And hallow'd for his solemn rest,
To Sion's courts his steps repair,
To meet his Saviour's blessing there.
There, while his lips their tribute raise
Of pray'r and gratitude and praise,
“With meek and unaffected grace
His looks adorn the holy place;”
Warm from the altar of his heart,
His words a pious glow impart,
And seek, like fragrant fumes, the skies,
That from the golden censer rise.
With temper'd zeal his Master's cause
He pleads; explains, confirms his laws;
Nor fails before the sight to lay
The terrors of the judgment-day:
But more his tongue delights to dwell
On those pure joys, which (Prophets tell)
Nor ear hath heard, nor eye hath seen,
Nor dwell they in the hearts of men;
To fix the hopes on things above,
To warm the heart to deeds of love,
Point the bright path his Saviour trod,
And lift the grateful soul to God.
He pleads; explains, confirms his laws;
49
The terrors of the judgment-day:
But more his tongue delights to dwell
On those pure joys, which (Prophets tell)
Nor ear hath heard, nor eye hath seen,
Nor dwell they in the hearts of men;
To fix the hopes on things above,
To warm the heart to deeds of love,
Point the bright path his Saviour trod,
And lift the grateful soul to God.
So on he fares with steadfast pace,
And runs with joy his earthly race.
While Faith forestalls in visions bright
The blessings of the courts of light;
And, gazing with uplifted eye
Where yon bright orbs in order lie,
Sees heav'n unfold, and Jesus stand
In glory upon God's right hand.
And runs with joy his earthly race.
While Faith forestalls in visions bright
The blessings of the courts of light;
And, gazing with uplifted eye
Where yon bright orbs in order lie,
Sees heav'n unfold, and Jesus stand
In glory upon God's right hand.
50
Such views immortal Hooker
blest;
And him , who drew the Country Priest,
And in his life held forth to view
The portrait, which his pencil drew.
And such in this sequester'd dell,
Where hoary swains thy virtues tell,
Such views were thine, thou rev'rend Sage ,
Who here, to cheer thy pilgrimage,
Didst draw the mystic veils, that lie
O'er the bright form of Prophecy;
Nor yet didst scorn with tender care
To lead thy flock to pastures fair,
Where flow'rs, like those of Eden, blow,
And streams of heav'nly comfort flow.
And him , who drew the Country Priest,
And in his life held forth to view
The portrait, which his pencil drew.
And such in this sequester'd dell,
Where hoary swains thy virtues tell,
Such views were thine, thou rev'rend Sage ,
Who here, to cheer thy pilgrimage,
51
O'er the bright form of Prophecy;
Nor yet didst scorn with tender care
To lead thy flock to pastures fair,
Where flow'rs, like those of Eden, blow,
And streams of heav'nly comfort flow.
Oft as I tread the sacred shrine,
Where in calm peace thy bones recline;
And see thy warning words, tho' dead,
Call those thy living precepts led,
To serve the Lord with holy fear,
In peace with men to sojourn here,
Then hope, arising from the dust,
To join th' assembly of the just;
I hear a voice, that speaks to me,
And burn with zeal to follow thee.
Where in calm peace thy bones recline;
52
Call those thy living precepts led,
To serve the Lord with holy fear,
In peace with men to sojourn here,
Then hope, arising from the dust,
To join th' assembly of the just;
I hear a voice, that speaks to me,
And burn with zeal to follow thee.
God of all goodness, pow'r, and might;
Father and source of life and light;
Thy Holy Spirit, Lord, impart;
Graft love of thee within my heart;
There true religion's fruits increase,
And give me innocence and peace!
So may no earthly cares molest
The holy calm, that stills my breast;
So may I serve thy courts with zeal,
And spread around the bliss I feel;
And when before thy throne I bend
With these, whom I thy servant tend,
May'st thou my willing heart approve,
And bless me with a smile of love.
Father and source of life and light;
Thy Holy Spirit, Lord, impart;
Graft love of thee within my heart;
There true religion's fruits increase,
And give me innocence and peace!
So may no earthly cares molest
The holy calm, that stills my breast;
So may I serve thy courts with zeal,
And spread around the bliss I feel;
53
With these, whom I thy servant tend,
May'st thou my willing heart approve,
And bless me with a smile of love.
Author of “Ecclesiastical Polity.” See his Life by Isaac Walton; especially his address to the Abp. of Canterbury, where speaking of his great work, he says; “But, my Lord, I shall never be able to finish what I have begun, unless I be removed into some quiet country parsonage, where I may see God's blessings spring out of my mother earth, and eat mine own bread in peace and privacy. A place where I may, without disturbance, meditate my approaching mortality, and that great account, which all flesh must at the last great day give to the God of all spirits.” (p. 75. Oxford Edit.)
Lowth, the Commentator on the Prophets, was rector of Buriton. His Epitaph, to which there is an allusion below, is inscribed on a plain tablet of black marble on the south side of the Communion table in Buriton Church. My readers will pardon me for inserting it.
“Near the outside of this Wall
Lyeth the body of Mr. William Lowth,
Late Rector of this Church,
Who died May the 17th, 1732.
And being dead, still desires to speak to his beloved Parishioners,
And earnestly to exhort them,
Constantly to attend upon the worship of God,
Frequently to receive the Holy Sacrament,
And diligently to observe the good Instructions given in this place;
To breed up their children in the fear of God,
And to follow peace with all men,
And Holiness,
Without which no man shall see the Lord.
God give us all an happy Meeting
At the Resurrection of the Just!”
Lyeth the body of Mr. William Lowth,
Late Rector of this Church,
Who died May the 17th, 1732.
And being dead, still desires to speak to his beloved Parishioners,
And earnestly to exhort them,
Constantly to attend upon the worship of God,
Frequently to receive the Holy Sacrament,
And diligently to observe the good Instructions given in this place;
To breed up their children in the fear of God,
And to follow peace with all men,
And Holiness,
Without which no man shall see the Lord.
God give us all an happy Meeting
At the Resurrection of the Just!”
The original idea of this poem was suggested by the conclusion of Virgil's second Georgic. The resemblance may be traced both in the general plan, and in some particular sentiments and expressions.
54
SUNDAY MORNING.
“For by th' Almighty this great holy-day
Was not ordain'd to daunce, and mask and play,
To slugg in sloath, and languish in delights,
And loose the rains to raging appetites.”
Sylvester's Du Bartas.
Was not ordain'd to daunce, and mask and play,
To slugg in sloath, and languish in delights,
And loose the rains to raging appetites.”
Sylvester's Du Bartas.
Welcome, thou peaceful dawn!
O'er field and wooded lawn
The wonted sound of busy toil is laid.
And hark, the village-bell!
Whose simple tinklings swell,
Sweet as soft music, on the straw-roof'd shed;
And bid the pious Cottager prepare,
To keep th' appointed rest, and seek the house of Pray'r.
O'er field and wooded lawn
The wonted sound of busy toil is laid.
And hark, the village-bell!
Whose simple tinklings swell,
Sweet as soft music, on the straw-roof'd shed;
And bid the pious Cottager prepare,
To keep th' appointed rest, and seek the house of Pray'r.
55
How goodly 'tis to see
The rustic family
Duely along the church-way path repair:
The mother trim and plain,
Leading her ruddy train,
The father pacing slow with modest air.
With honest heart in humble guise they come,
To serve Almighty God, and bear his blessing home.
The rustic family
Duely along the church-way path repair:
The mother trim and plain,
Leading her ruddy train,
The father pacing slow with modest air.
With honest heart in humble guise they come,
To serve Almighty God, and bear his blessing home.
At home they gayly share
Their sweet and simple fare,
And thank the Giver of the festal board;
Around the blazing hearth
They sit in harmless mirth,
Or turn with awe the volume of the Lord:
Then full of heav'nly joy retiring pay
Their sacrifice of pray'r to him who blest the day.
Their sweet and simple fare,
And thank the Giver of the festal board;
Around the blazing hearth
They sit in harmless mirth,
Or turn with awe the volume of the Lord:
Then full of heav'nly joy retiring pay
Their sacrifice of pray'r to him who blest the day.
56
O Sabbath bell, thy voice
Makes hearts like these rejoice;
Not so the child of vanity and pow'r:
He the blest pavement treads,
Perchance as custom bids,
Perchance to gaze away a listless hour;
Then crowns the bowl, or scours along the road,
Nor hides his shame from men, nor heeds the eye of God.
Makes hearts like these rejoice;
Not so the child of vanity and pow'r:
He the blest pavement treads,
Perchance as custom bids,
Perchance to gaze away a listless hour;
Then crowns the bowl, or scours along the road,
Nor hides his shame from men, nor heeds the eye of God.
When the sev'nth morning's gleam
Purpled the lonely stream,
On its green bank of old the Christian bow'd;
The hand adoring spread;
And broke the mystic bread;
And, leagu'd in bonds of holy concord, vow'd,
From the cleans'd heart to wash each foul offence,
And give his days to peace and saintly innocence.
Purpled the lonely stream,
On its green bank of old the Christian bow'd;
The hand adoring spread;
And broke the mystic bread;
And, leagu'd in bonds of holy concord, vow'd,
From the cleans'd heart to wash each foul offence,
And give his days to peace and saintly innocence.
57
In vain the Roman Lord
Wav'd the relentless sword,
And spread the terrors of the circling flame;
In vain the Heathen sought,
If chance some lurking spot
Might mar the lustre of the Christian name:
Th' Eternal Spirit, by his fruits confest,
In life secur'd from stain, and steel'd in death the breast.
Wav'd the relentless sword,
And spread the terrors of the circling flame;
In vain the Heathen sought,
If chance some lurking spot
Might mar the lustre of the Christian name:
Th' Eternal Spirit, by his fruits confest,
In life secur'd from stain, and steel'd in death the breast.
O, would his influence bless
With faith and holiness
The laggart people of our favour'd isle!
But if too deep and wide
Have spread corruption's tide,
O, might he deign on me and mine to smile!
So shall we ne'er with due devotion fail
The consecrated day of solemn rest to hail:
With faith and holiness
The laggart people of our favour'd isle!
But if too deep and wide
Have spread corruption's tide,
O, might he deign on me and mine to smile!
So shall we ne'er with due devotion fail
The consecrated day of solemn rest to hail:
58
So shall we still resort
To Sion's hallow'd court,
And lift the heart to him who dwells above;
Thence home returning muse
On sweet and solemn views,
Or fill the void with acts of holy love;
Then lay us down in peace to think we've given
Another precious day to fit our souls for heaven!
To Sion's hallow'd court,
And lift the heart to him who dwells above;
Thence home returning muse
On sweet and solemn views,
Or fill the void with acts of holy love;
Then lay us down in peace to think we've given
Another precious day to fit our souls for heaven!
59
PRAYER.
“How much more, if we pray him, will his ear
Be open, and his heart to pity incline!”
Par. Lost, X. 1060.
Be open, and his heart to pity incline!”
Par. Lost, X. 1060.
Ere the morning's busy ray
Call you to your work away;
Ere the silent evening close
Your wearied eyes in sweet repose;
To lift your heart and voice in pray'r,
Be your first and latest care.
Call you to your work away;
Ere the silent evening close
Your wearied eyes in sweet repose;
To lift your heart and voice in pray'r,
Be your first and latest care.
He, to whom the pray'r is due,
From heav'n his throne shall smile on you;
Angels, sent by him, shall tend,
Your daily labours to befriend;
And their nightly vigils keep,
To guard you in the hour of sleep.
From heav'n his throne shall smile on you;
60
Your daily labours to befriend;
And their nightly vigils keep,
To guard you in the hour of sleep.
When thro' the peaceful parish swells
The music of the sabbath bells,
Duely tread the sacred road
Which leads you to the house of God:
The blessing of the Lamb is there,
And “God is in the midst of her.”
The music of the sabbath bells,
Duely tread the sacred road
Which leads you to the house of God:
The blessing of the Lamb is there,
And “God is in the midst of her.”
Is the holy Altar spread?
True to him, for you who bled,
Cleanse from your heart each foul offence,
And “wash your hands in innocence,”
And draw near the mystic board,
In remembrance of your Lord.
True to him, for you who bled,
Cleanse from your heart each foul offence,
And “wash your hands in innocence,”
And draw near the mystic board,
In remembrance of your Lord.
61
On th' appointed sacrifice
He shall look with fav'ring eyes,
With holy strength your breast inform,
And with holy rapture warm,
And whisper to your wounded soul,
“I will heal thee, be thou whole.”
He shall look with fav'ring eyes,
With holy strength your breast inform,
And with holy rapture warm,
And whisper to your wounded soul,
“I will heal thee, be thou whole.”
And O! where'er your days be past,
And O! howe'er your lot be cast,
Still think on him, whose eye surveys,
Whose hand is over all your ways.
And O! howe'er your lot be cast,
Still think on him, whose eye surveys,
Whose hand is over all your ways.
Does darkness veil your deeds in night?
Darkness to him is clear as light.
In secret he your deeds can see,
And shall reward them openly.
Darkness to him is clear as light.
In secret he your deeds can see,
And shall reward them openly.
About your path are comforts spread?
Does peace repose upon your bed?
Lift up your soul in praise to heaven,
Whence every precious gift is given;
And, thankful for the mercy, show
Love to your fellow men below.
Does peace repose upon your bed?
62
Whence every precious gift is given;
And, thankful for the mercy, show
Love to your fellow men below.
Do woes afflict? Lift up your soul
To him, who bids the thunder roll;
And fearless brave the stormy hour,
Secure in his protecting pow'r,
Who sends distress your faith to try,
And your heart to purify.
To him, who bids the thunder roll;
And fearless brave the stormy hour,
Secure in his protecting pow'r,
Who sends distress your faith to try,
And your heart to purify.
Abroad, at home; in weal, in woe;
That service, which to heav'n you owe,
That bounden service duely pay,
And God shall be your strength alway.
That service, which to heav'n you owe,
That bounden service duely pay,
And God shall be your strength alway.
He only to the heart can give
Peace and true pleasure, while you live;
He only, when you yield your breath,
Can guide you thro' the vale of death:
He can, he will, from out the dust
Raise the blest spirits of the just;
Heal every wound; hush every fear;
From every eye wipe every tear;
And place them, where distress is o'er,
And pleasures dwell for evermore.
Peace and true pleasure, while you live;
63
Can guide you thro' the vale of death:
He can, he will, from out the dust
Raise the blest spirits of the just;
Heal every wound; hush every fear;
From every eye wipe every tear;
And place them, where distress is o'er,
And pleasures dwell for evermore.
64
A WINTER SCENE.
WRITTEN ON CHRISTMAS DAY.
'Tis sad to gaze, when winter shrouds
The sun's reluctant ray,
And veils in deep embattled clouds
The glories of the day;
When sighing to the gale, the wood
His wither'd honours yields;
And dark is now the mountain flood,
With storms deform'd, and foul with mud;
And dimm'd the pleasant fields.
The sun's reluctant ray,
And veils in deep embattled clouds
The glories of the day;
When sighing to the gale, the wood
His wither'd honours yields;
And dark is now the mountain flood,
With storms deform'd, and foul with mud;
And dimm'd the pleasant fields.
For who, that has an eye, to view,
And who that has a breast,
To feel the charms, that round him glow
In summer splendour drest,
O'er all the scene a glance can dart,
And see without a sigh,
Not all the scene can now impart
A charm, to glad his drooping heart,
And fix his roving eye?
And who that has a breast,
65
In summer splendour drest,
O'er all the scene a glance can dart,
And see without a sigh,
Not all the scene can now impart
A charm, to glad his drooping heart,
And fix his roving eye?
O, then 'tis sweet to think, the hour
Of gloom shall pass away;
And dark December's stormy pow'r
Soon yield to gentle May;
That soon the sun his laughing beam
From azure skies shall shed,
Soon on the tufted forest gleam,
And touch with gold the lucid stream,
And robe the verdant mead.
Of gloom shall pass away;
And dark December's stormy pow'r
Soon yield to gentle May;
That soon the sun his laughing beam
From azure skies shall shed,
Soon on the tufted forest gleam,
And touch with gold the lucid stream,
And robe the verdant mead.
66
E'en so it is with them, who trace
The monuments of death,
And mourn for man's devoted race;
Till to the eye of faith,
The winter of the grave to cheer,
Look forth the smiling spring;
And leading heav'n's eternal year
The Sun of Righteousness appear
With healing in his wing.
The monuments of death,
And mourn for man's devoted race;
Till to the eye of faith,
The winter of the grave to cheer,
Look forth the smiling spring;
And leading heav'n's eternal year
The Sun of Righteousness appear
With healing in his wing.
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