BUM HhhBR&sI HffiffifflK^^ HH RHWii HH Hfl HI HH ■ mwBiBmfm 1 I H II BHH H !■■■ e> <-, xV t/* *\>^oV^ - *** > < < £%&% ^V v* . > A 9 ' ^ IT * aV aV «t Printed for Lonaman i C? April 8* 1^5 - c HORJE LYRICM. POEMS, CHIEFLY OF THE LYRIC K|ND, IN three! books. SACRED TO DEVOTION AND PIETXr-" TO VIRTUE, HONOUR AND FRIENDSHIP — TO THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. BY ISAAC WATTS, D.D. A NEW EDITION. TO WHICH ARE ADDED, A SUPPLEMENT, CONTAINING TRANSLATIONS OF ALL THE LATIN POEMS, WITH NOTES, BY THOMAS GIBBONS, D. D. .. . Si non Uranie Lyram Ccelestem cohibet, nee Polyhymnia Humanum refagit tender e Barbiton. HOR. Od. I. imitat. LONDON: PRINTED FOR G. WILKIE, J. WALKER, OTRIDGE AND SON, OGILVY AND SON, SCATCHERDAND LETTER MAN, VERNOR AND HOOD, LACKINGTON, ALLEN AND CO, LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ANDORME, AND J.MAWM AN. 1805. 0-7 Printed by Biggs and Co. Crane-Court, Fleet-Streer. MEMOIRS OF DR. ISAAC WATTS. AS the lives of men who have rendered themselves famous by their talents, should always be handed down to posterity for a memorial of their worth, we here prefix a brief memoir of this celebrated and pious writer. Isaac Watts, the eldest of nine children, was born at Southampton, July 17, 1674. His father, Mr. Isaac Watts, was the master of a very nourishing boarding- school in that town, which was in such reputation, that gentlemen's sons were sent to it from America and the West-Indies for education. He was a man of lively devotion, and a decided nonconformist. He was im- prisoned more than once for his nonconformity ; and during his confinement, his wife had been known to sit on a stone near the prison door, suckling her son Isaac, the subject of this memoir. At an early age our author displayed his love of learning ; even in his infant days, before he could speak plain, whenever he received a present from a friend he would give the money to his mother, saying, " A book, buy a book :" the hours devoted by other children to play he employed in read- IV ing, even in composing little poems to gratify the fond expectations of his mother. In his fourth year he en- tered upon the study of Latin, under the tuition of Mr. Pinhorne*; a minister of the established church, and master of the free grammar-school at Southampton. He not only made a rapid progress in this language, but soon became master of the Greek, and also studied Hebrew under the same master, as appears from a La- 1 in ode which our author, when in the twentieth year of his age, gratefully inscribed to his preceptor. In the year 1690, he was sent to London for acade- mical education under the Rev. Mr. Thomas Rowe, son (if the Rev. John Rowe, M. A. who was ejected by the act of uniformity, 1662, from Westminster Abbey ; and, in 1693, in his nineteenth year, he joined in com- munion with the church under the pastoral care of his tutor. At the academy Mr. Hughes, the poet, Dr. Hort, afterwards archbishop of Tuam, and Mr. Say, (the successor of Mr. Edward Calamy) were his fellow students; and, as appears from their correspondence, they entertained a warm affection for him. Various compositions in Latin and English, being his college exercises, evinced our author's attention to his studies during his residence at Mr. Rowe's academy. We are told by his biographers, that he took the most * There is a monument erected to his memory at Eling, now standing, and bearing this inscription : " Here lies the body of the Re*. Mr. Johh Pinhorne, Prebendary of Leckford and Vicar of 1 linfe who died June 8, 171-i. Aged 62." laborious methods to possess himself of knowledge, not being content with superficial glances and partial sur- veys. Having, in his twentieth year, finished his aca- demical studies, he returned to his father's house at Southampton, where he spent two years in reading, meditation, and prayer. On his birth-day, 1698, he preached his first sermon, and was the same year cho- sen assistent to Dr. Chauncy, pastor of the independ- ent church, at their meeting at Mark-lane, London ; and such was the approbation he met with, that in Ja- nuary 1701-2, he was invited to succeed Dr. Chaun- cy in his sacred functions, and accepted the invita- tion, March 8, 1701-2, the very day king William III. died: notwithstanding the cloud which this discou- raging event brought over the prospects of the disseut- ers, which in the close of the succeeding reign, was ready to burst in showers of calamity, but was happily dispelled by the death of queen Anne. He was soon after visited with illness (occasioned no doubt by his unremitting labours) which threatened all the sanguine hopes of his rlock. His confinement was long, his recovery slow, and his constitution considera- bly impaired. Under these circumstances the Rev. Samuel Price was chosen to assist him in the duties ot his office : however, his exertions were renewed with his strength, and he met with no material interruption in the prosecution of his duties, till September 1712, when VI he was seized with such a violent fever that he became so debilitated as to be incapable of performing his mi- nistry for more than four years. Mr. Price, his assis- tant, wasnowathis own particular request, elected to be joint pastor with him; and he was accordingly or- dained to this office, March 3, 1? 13 : between these two fellow-labourers there subsisted, till death, an in- violable friendship. The two universities of Edinburgh and Aberdeen, in the year 1728, severally conferred on him, unsolicited and without his knowledge, the degree of doctor of di- vinity. Frequent and heavy strokes of illness, added to the intense exertions of his mind, threatened speedy disso- lution; he could obtain no sleep for several nights suc- cessively, except such as was forced by medical prepa- rations, and at length opiates lost their virtue and only served to aggravate his malady. The various stories circulated of his strange nervous affections, or rather it should be said, of his intellectual derangement, appear to have been the fabrications of the designing, and only to have obtained belief with the credulous. His death, which happened Nov. 25, 1748, fully cor- responded with his holy and useful life. For near three years prior to this period, his lamp had given such a weak and uncertain light, that his friends daily expected its ut- ter extinction ; but his prospects were bright and his con- vn iiJence was firm. Tlie remains of this great man were de- posited in Bunhill-fields' burial ground, London, and to give a final testimony to his arFection and liberality, his pall was supported by six ministers, two of the presby- terian, two of the congregational, and two of the anti- paedo-baptist denomination : Dr. Samuel Chandler de- livered an oration at the grave, and Dr. Jennings preached his funeral sermon to the church of which Dr. Watts had been pastor, from Hebrews xi. 4. " By it he being -dead yet speaketh." Several other eminent charac- ters gave similar testimonies of respect to his memory. .He gave directions to have only a stone erected over the place of his interment, with this humble inscrip- tion. — " Isaac Watts, D. D. Pastor of a Church of Christ " in London : Successor to the Rev. Mr. Joseph Caryl, " Dr. John Owen, Mr. David Clarkson, and Dr. Isaac " Chauncy ; after fifty years of feeble labours in the u gospel, interrupted by four years of tiresome sickness, '* was dismissed to his rest. " In uno Jesu omnia, " 2 Cor. v. 8, Absent from the body, and present *' with the Lord. " Col. iii. 4. When Christ who is my life shall ap- M pear, then shall I also appear with him in glory." A handsome tcmb bearing this inscription, with the time of his death, was accordingly erected at the joint expence of Sir John Hartop, once his pupil - ? and Lady Vlll Abney, in whose house he for some time, and with in- finite happiness, resided. In his personal appearance there was little to interest the admirers of external comeliness. He was low of stature, and his bodily presence was weak, yet there was a certain dignity in his countenance, and such pier- cing expression in his eyes, as commanded attention and awe.. His manner was animated, but not bois- terous. At the conclusion of weighty sentences it was his custom to pause, that he might quicken the atten- tion, and more solemnly impress his wprds upon the minds of his hearers. He had cultivated with care and singular success the graces of language; the correct- ness of his pronunciation, the elegance of his diction, and the grandeur of his sentiments, obtained him an uncommon share of popularity. As an author, no man's posthumous claim upon the gratitude of the church and of his country can be urged with a more imperative tone : the natural strength of his genius, which he cultivated and improved by a very considerable acquaintance with the most celebrated writers, both ancient and modern ; had enriched his mind with a large and uncommon share of just senti- ments and useful knowledge of various kinds. The Hjmns which have given his name a kind of immor- tality in our worshipping assemblies, were written for his father's dissenting meeting in Southampton; who, fondly attached to his old guides in this service, and IX impatient of innovation, did not wish to decline the original hymns, till he saw how far superior his son's were. The 461st number of the Spectator contains a poetical version ofthell4th psalm, and an introduc- tory letter, both composed and communicated by the Doctor to the conductors of that celebrated work. Prefixed to the later editions of his floras Lvricss are several copies of verses. That of the earliest date, April 17, 1706, was composed by the Rev. Mr. Joseph Stan- den, which is not destitute of poetical merit, and pays the highest honour to the Doctor. The next commendatory verses in order of time, Ju- ly, 1706, are those of Miss Singer, afterwards Mrs. Rowe, under the name of Philomela. The numbers are remarkably easy and flowing, and the beauties of poetry, and the greatest encomiums on the Doctor are blended together. The Rev. Mr. Henry Grove next adds his commen- dations in a copy of verses dated Sept. 4, 1706, which does honour to the author as well as the subject of them. They contain an inimitable tenderness and beauty of. description, and the sublimest panegyric upon the doc- tor's Divine Poems. A fourth poem is prefixed to the Doctor's Lyrics un- der the signature of Britannicus ; the author of which could never be ascertained. The only remaining copy of verses that introduces the Doctor's Lyrics is sub- scribed Eusebia, who without doubt was no less a person than the Countess of Hertford, afterwards the Duchess of Somerset. The lines are remarkably easy, smooth, and poetical; and discover a transcendent es- teem of the Doctor's genius and piety. Dr. Mather Byles, pastor of one of the churches at Boston, in New England, addressed an ode to the Doc- tor, Feb. 1, 1727 — 8. Several others have also written encomiums upon him both in verse and prose. ^^^STH^ PREFJCE. It has been a long complaint of the virtuous and re- fined world, that poesy, whose original is divine, should be enslaved to vice and profaneness ; that an art in- spired from heaven, should have so far lost the me- mory of its birth-place, as to be engaged in the inte- rests of hell. How unhappily is it perverted from its most glorious design ! How basely has it been driven away from its proper station in the temple of God, and abused to much dishonour ! The iniquity of men has constrained it to serve their vilest purposes, while the sons of piety mourn the sacrilege and the shame. The eldest song which history has brought down to our ears, was a noble act of worship paid to the God of Israel, when his " right-hand became glorious in pow- er; when thy right-hand, O Lord, dashed in pieces the enemy : the chariots of Pharaoh and his hosts were cast into the Red Sea ; thou didst blow with thy wind, the deep covered them, and they sank like lead in the mighty waters," Exod. xv. This art was maintained sacred through the following ages of the church, and employed by kings and prophets, by David, Solomon, and Isaiah, in describing the nature and the glories of God, and in conveying grace or vengeance to the hearts Xll ef men. By this method they brought so much of heaven down to this lower world, as the darkness of that dispensation would admit : and now and then a divine and poetic rapture lifted their souls far above the level of that (economy of shadows, bore them away far into a brighter region, and gave them a glimpse of evangelic day. The life of angels was harmoniously breathed into the children of Adam, and their minds raised near to heaven in melody and devotion at once. - In the younger days of heathenism the muses were devoted to the same service ; the language in which old Hesiod addresses them is this : Pierian Muses, fam'd for heavenly lays, Descend, and sing the God your Father's praise. And he pursues the subject in ten pious lines, which I could not forbear to transcribe, if the aspect and sound of so much Greek were not terrifying to a nice reader. But some of the latter poets of the Pagan world have debased this divine gift ; and many of the writers of the first rank, in this our age of national Christians, have, to their eternal shame, surpassed the vilest of the gentiles. They have not 01113' disrobed religion of all the ornaments of verse, but have employed their pens in pious mischief, to deform her native beauty, and defile her honours. They have exposed her most sa- cred character to drollery, a-ad dressed her up in a most Xlll vile and ridiculous disguise, for the scorn of the ruder herd of mankind. The vices have been painted like so many Goddesses, the charms of wit have been added to debauche^, and the temptation heightened where nature needs the strongest restraints. With sweetness of sound, and delicacy of expression, they have given a relish to blasphemies of the harshest kind ; and when they rant at their Maker in sonorous numbers, they fancy themselves to have acted the hero well. Thus almost in vain have the throne and the pulpit cried reformation ; while the stage and licentious poems have waged open war with the pious design of church and state. The press has spread the poison far, and scattered wide the mortal infection : Unthinking youth have been enticed to sin beyond the vicious propensi- ties of nature, plunged early into diseases and death, and sunk down to damnation in multitudes. Was it for this that poesy was endued with all those allure- ments that lead the mind away in a pleasing captivity ? Was it for this, she was furnished with so many intel- lectual charms, that she might seduce the heart from God, the original beauty, and the most lovely of beings ? Can I ever be persuaded, that those sweet and resist- less forces of metaphor, wit, sound, and number, were given with this design, that they should be all ranged under the banner of the great malicious spirit, to in- vade the rights of heaven, and to bring swift and ever- lasting destruction upon men ? How will these allies of XIV the nether world, the lewd and profane versifiers, stand aghast before the great Judge, when the blood of many souls, whom they never saw, shall be laid to the charge of their writings, and be dreadfully requited at their hands ? The reverend Mr. Collier has set this awful scene before them in just and naming colours. If the application were not too rude and uncivil, that noble stanza of my Lord Roscommon, on Psalm cxlviii. might be addressed to them: Ye dragons, whose contagious breath Peoples the dark retreats of death, Change your dire hissings into heavenly songs, And praise your Maker with your forked tongues. This profanation and debasement of so divine an art, has tempted some weaker Christians to imagine that poe- try and vice are naturally akin ; or at least, that verse is fit only to recommend trifles, and entertain our looser hours, but is too light and trivial a method to treat any thing that is serious and sacred. They submit, indeed, to use it in divine psalmody, but they love the driest translation of the psalm best. They will venture to sing a dull hymn or two at church, in tunes of equal dul- ness ; but still they persuade themselves, and their chil- dren, that the beauties of poesy are vain and dange- rous. All that arises a degree above Mr. Sternhold is too airy for worship, and hardly escapes the sentence of unclean and abominable. 'Tis strange, that per- >:v sons that have the Bible in their hands, should be led away by thoughtless prejudices to so wild and rash an opinion. Let me entreat them not to indulge this sour, this censorious humour too far, lest the sacred writers fall under the lash of their unlimited and unguarded reproaches. Let me entreat them to look into their bibles, and remember the style and way of writing that is used by the ancient prophets. Have they forgot, or were they never told, that many parts of the Old Tes- tament are Hebrew verse ? and the figures are stronger, and the metaphors bolder, and the images more sur- prising and strange than ever were read in any profane writer. When Deborah sings her praises to the God of Israel, while he marched from the field of Edom, she sets the " earth a trembling, the heavens drop, and the mountains dissolve from before the Lord. They fought from heaven, the stars in their courses fought against Sisera : When the river of Kishon swept them away, that ancient river, the river Kishon. O my soul, thou hast trodden down strength, ,r Judg. v. &c. When Eliphaz, in the book of Job, speaks his sense of the holiness of God, he introduces a machine in a vi- sion : " Fear came upon me, trembling on all my bones, the hair of my flesh stood up ; a spirit passed by and stood still, but its form was undiscernible ; an image before mine eyes ; and silence ; then I heard a voice, saying, shall mortal man be more just than God ?" Ornemens egayez ne sont point susceptibles ? But the French critic t, in his Reflections upon Elc*- quence, tells us, r * that the majesty of our religion, the " holiness of its laws, the purity of its morals, the " height of its mysteries, and the importance of every * f subject that belongs to it requires a grandeur, a noble- " ness, a majesty, and elevation of style suited to the " theme : sparkling images and magnificent expressions " must be used, and are best borrowed from scripture : M let the preacher, that aims at eloquence, read the " prophets incessantly, for their writings are an abun- " dant source of all the riches and ornaments of speech. " And, in my opinion, this is far better counsel than Ho- race gives us, when he says, Vos examplaria Graeca Nocturna versate Manu, versate diurna. As in the conduct of my studies with regard to divi- nity, I have reason to repent of nothing more than that * Boileau. + Rapin. XX111 I have not perused the Bible with more frequency ; so if I were to set up for a poet, with a design to exceed all the modern writers, I would follow the advice of Rapin, and read the prophets night and day. I am sure, the composures of the following hook would have been filled with much greater sense, and appeared with much more agreeable ornaments, had I derived a larger por- tion from, the holy script ..res. Besides, we may fetch a further answer to Mons. Boileau's objection, from other poets of his own country. What a noble use have Racine and Corneille made of christian subjects, in some of their^best tragedies I what a variety of divine scenes are displayed, and pious passions awakened in those poems ? the Martyrdom of Polyeucte, how doth it reign over our love and pity, and at the same time animate our zeal and devotion ! may I here be permitted the liberty to return my thanks to that fair and ingenious hand* that directed me to such entertainments in a foreign language, which I had iong wished for, and sought in vain in our own. Yet I must confess, that the Davideis, and the two Arthurs, have so far answered Boileau's objection, in English, as that the obstacles of attempting christian poesy are broken down, and the vain pretence of its being impracticable, is experimentally confuted-f*. * Philomela. + Sir Richard Blackmore, in his admirable preface to his last poem entitled Alfred, has more copiously refuted all Boileau's arguments XXIV It is true indeed the christian mysteries have not such need of gay trappings as beautified, or rather composed, the heathen superstition. Bat this still makes for the greater ease and surer success of the poet. The won- ders of our religionj in a plain narration and a simple dress, have a native grandeur, a dignity, and a beauty in them, though they do not utterly disdain all methods of ornament. The book of the Revelations seems to be a prophecy in the form of an opera, or dramatic poem, where divine art illustrates the subject with many charming glories; but still it must be acknowledged, that the naked themes of Christianity have something brighter and bolder in them, something more surprising and celestial than all the adventures of gods and heroes, all the dazzling images of false lustre that form and gar- nish a heathen song : here the very argument would give wonderful aids to the muse, and the heavenly theme would so relieve a dull hour, and a languishing genius, that when the muse nods, the sense would burn and sparkle upon the reader, and keep him feelingly awake. With how much less toil and expence might a Dry- den, an Otway, a Congreve, or a Dennis, furnish out a christian poem, than a modern play ? there is nothing amongst all the ancient fables, or later romances, that have two such extremes united in them, as the Eternal on this subject, and that with great justice and elegance, 1723. I am persuaded that many persons who despise this poem would acknow- geled the just sentiments of that preface. XXV God becoming an infant of days; the possessor of the palace of Heaven laid to sleep in a manger; the holy Jesus, who knew no sin, bearing the sins of men in his body on the tree ; agonies of sorrow loading the soul of him who was God over all, blessed for ever ; and the Sovereign of Life stretching his arms on a cross, bleed- ing and expiring. The heaven and the hell in our Di- vinity are infinitely more delightful and dreadful than the childish figments of a dog with three heads, the buckets of the Belides, the furies with snaky hairs, or all the flowery stories of Elysium. And if we survey the one as themes divinely true, and the other as a raedly of fooleries which we can never believe, the advantage for touching the springs of passion will fall infinitely on the side of the Christian poet; our wonder and our love, our pity, delight, and sorrow, with the long train of hopes and fears, must needs be under the command of an harmonious pen, whose every line makes a part of the reader's faith, and is the very life* or death of his soul. If the trifling and incredible tales that furnish out a tragedy, are so armed by wit and fancy, as to become sovereign of the rational powers, to triumph over all the affections, and manage our smiles and our tears at pleasure ; how wonderous a conquest might be obtained over a wild world, and reduce it at least, to sobriety, if the same happy talent were employed in dressing the scenes of religion in their proper figures of majesty, XXY1 sweetness and terror ? The wonders of Creating Power, of Redeeming Love, and Renewing Grace, ought not to be thus impiously neglected by those whom Heaven has endued with a gift so proper to adorn and cultivate them ; an art whose sweet insinuations might almost convey piety in resisting nature, and melt the hardest souls to the love of virtue. The affairs of this life, with their reference to a life to come, would shine bright in a dramatic description ; nor is there any need or any reason why we should always borrow the plan or history from the ancient Jews, or primitive martyrs ; though several of these would furnish out noble materials for this sort of poesy : but modern scenes would be better understood by most readers, and the application would be much more easy. The anguish of inward guilt, the secret stings, and racks, and scourges of conscience ; the sweet retiring hour, and seraphical joys of devotion ; the victory of a resolved soul over a thousand tempta- tions ; the inimitable love and passion of a dying God ; the awful glories of the last tribunal ; the grand decisive sentence, from which there is no appeal ; and the con- sequent transports or horrors of the two eternal worlds ; these things may be variously disposed, and form many poems. How might such performances, under a Divine Blessing, call back the dying piety of the nation to life and beauty ? This would make religion appear like itself, and confound the blasphemies of a profligate world, ignorant of pious pleasures. xxvn But we have reason to fear, that the tuneful men of our day have not raised their ambition to so divine a pitch; I should rejoice to see more of this celestial fire kindling within them ; for the flashes that break out in some present and past writings, betray an infernal source. This the incomparable Mr. Cowley, in the latter end of his Preface, and the ingenious Sir Richard Blackmore, in the beginning of his, have so pathetically described and lamented, that I rather refer the reader to mourn with them, than detain and tire him here. These gentlemen, in their large and laboured works of poesy, have given the world happy examples of what they wish and encourage in prose ; the one in a rich variety of thought and fancy, the other in all the shining co- lours of profuse and florid diction. If shorter sonnets were composed on sublime subjects, •such as the Psalms of David, and the holy transports interspersed in the other sacred writings, or such as the moral Odes of Horace, and the antient Lyrics ; I per- suade myself, that the Christian preacher would find abundant aid from the poet, in his design to diffuse virtue, and allure souls to God. If the heart were first inflamed from heaven, and the muse were not left alone to form the devotion, and pursue a cold scent, but only called in as an assistant to the worship, then the song would end where the inspiration ceases ; the whole composure would be of a piece, all meridian light and -meridian fervour : and the same pious flame would be xxvm propagated, and kept glowing in the heart of him that reads. Some of the shorter odes of the two poets now mentioned, and a few of the Reverend Mr. Norris's Essays in verse, are convincing instances of the success of this proposal. It is my opinion also, that the free and unconfmed numbers of Pindar, or the noble measures of Milton without rhyme, would best maintain the dignity of the theme, as well as give a loose- to the devout soul, nor check the raptures of her faith and love. Though in my feeble attempts of this kind, I have too often fettered my thoughts in the narrow metre of our psalm translators j I have contracted and cramped the sense, or rendered it obscure and feeble, by the two speedy and regular returns of rhyme. If my friends expect any reason of the following composures, and of the first or second publication, I entreat them to accept of this account. The title assures them that poesy is not the business of my life ; and if I seized those hours of leisure, where- in my soul was in a more sprightly frame, to entertain them or myself, with a divine or moral song, I hope I shall find an easy pardon. In the First Book are many odes which were written to assist the meditations and worship of vulgar Chris- tians, and with a design to be published in the volume of Iannis, which have now passed a second impression ; but upon the review, I found some expressions that XXIX >vere not suited to the plainest capacity, and the meta- phors are too bold to please the weaker Christian, there- fore I have allotted them a place here. Amongst the Songs that are dedicated to Divine Love, I think I may be bold to assert, that I never composed one line of them with any other design than what they are applied to here ; and I have endeavoured to secure them all from being perverted and debased to wanton passions, by several lines in them that can never be applied to a meaner love. Are not the noblest in- stances of the grace of Christ represented under the figure of a conjugal state, and described in one of the sweetest odes, and the softest pastoral that ever was written ? I appeal to Solomon, * in his Song, and his father David, in Psalm xlv. if David was the author : And 1 am well assured, that I have never indulged an equal licence : It was dangerous to imitate the sacred writers too nearly, in so nice an affair. The Poems sacred to Virtue, &c. were formed when the frame and humour of my soul was just suited to the subject of my verse : The image of my heart is painted in them; and if they meet with a reader whose soul is akin to mine, perhaps they may agreeably entertain him. The dulness of the fancy, and coarseness of ex- pression, will disappear ; the sameness of the humour * Solomon's Song was much more in use among preachers and writers of divinity when these poems were written than it is now 1736. XXX -will create a pleasure, and insensibly overcome and conceal the defects of the muse. Young gentlemen and ladies, whose genius and education have given them a relish of oratory and verse, may be tempted to seek satisfaction among the dangerous diversions of the stage, and impure sonnets, if there be no provision of a safer kind made to please them. While I have at- tempted to gratify innocent fancy in this respect, I have not forgotten to allure the heart to virtue, and to raise it a to disdain of brutal pleasures, The frequent interposition of a devout thought may awaken the mind to a serious sense of God, religion, and eternity. The same duty that might be despised in a sermon, when proposed to their reason, may here, perhaps, seize the lower faculties with surprise, delight, and devotion at once ; and thus, by degrees, draw the superior powers of the mind to piety. Amongst the infinite numbers of mankind, there is not more difference in their out- ward shape and features, than in their temper and in- ward inclination. Some are more easily susceptive of religion in a grave discourse and sedate reasoning. Some are best frighted from sin and ruin by terror, threatening and amazement ; their fear is the properest passion to which we can address ourselves, and begin the divine work : Others can feel no motive so powerful as that which applies itself to their ingenuity, and their polished imagination. Now I thought it lawful to take hold of any handle of the soul, to lead it away be xxxt times from vicious pleasures : and if I could but make up a composition of virtue and delight, suited to the taste of well-bred youth, and a refined education, I had some hope to allure and raise them thereby above the vile temptations of degenerate nature, and custom, that is yet more degenerate. When I have felt a slight in- clination to satire or burlesque, I thought it proper to suppress it. The grinning and the growling muse are not hard to be obtained ; but I would disdain their as- sistance, where a manly invitation to virtue, and a friendly smile may be successfully employed. Cuuld I persuade any man by a kinder method, I should never think it proper to scold or laugh at him. Perhaps there are some morose readers, that stand ready to condemn every line that's written upon the theme of love ; but have we not the cares and the feli- cities of that sort of social life represented to us in the sacred writings ? Some expressions are there used with a design to give a mortifying influence to our softest affections ; others again brighten the character of that state, and allure virtuous souls to pursue the divine ad- vantage of it, the mutual assistance in the way to sal- vation. Are not the cxxvii. and cxxviii. Psalms indited on this very subject? Shall it be lawful for the press' and the pulpit to treat of it with a becoming solemnity in prose, and must the mention of the same thing in poesy be pronounced for ever unlawful ? Is it utterly unworthy of a serious character to write on this argu- XXX11 merit, because it has been unhappily polluted by some scurrilous pens ? Why may I not be permitted to ob- viate a common and a growing mischief, while a thou- sand vile poems of the amorous kind swarm abroad, and give a vicious taint to the unwary reader ? 1 would tell the world that I have endeavoured to recover this argument out of the hands of impure writers, and to make it appear, that virtue and love are not such strangers as they are represented. The blissful inti- macy of souls in that state will afford sufficient furniture for the gravest entertainment in verse ; so that it need not be everlastingly dressed up in ridicule, nor assumed only to furnish out the lewd sonnets of the times. May some happier genius promote the same service that I have proposed, and hy superior sense, and sweeter sound, render what I have written contemptible and useless. The imitations of that noblest Latin poet of modern ages, Casimire Sarbiewski of Poland, would need no excuse, did they but arise to the beauty of the original I have often taken the freedom to add ten or twenty lines, or to leave out as many, that I might suit my song more to my own design, or because I saw it im- possible to preserve the force, the fineness, and the fire of his expression in our language. There are a few copies wherein I borrowed some hints from the same author, without the mention of his name in the title. Methinks I can allow so superior a genius now and then to be lavish in his imagination, and to indulge XXX111 some excursions beyond the limits of sedate judgment . the riches and glory of his verse make atonement in abundance. T wish some English pen would import more of his treasures, and bless our nation. The inscriptions to particular friends, are warranted and defended by the practice of almost all the lyric writers. They frequently convey the rigid rules of morality to the mind in the softer method of applause. Sustained by their example, a man will not easily be overwhelmed by the heaviest censures of the unthink- ing and unknowing; especially when there is a shadow of this practice in the divine Psalmist, while he inscribes to Asaph or Jeduthun his songs that were made for the harp, or, which is all one, his lyric odes, though they are addressed to God himself. In the poems of heroic measure, I have attempted in rhyme the same variety of cadence, comma and period, which blank verse glories in as its peculiar elegance and ornament. It degrades the excellency of the best ver- sification when the lines run on by couplets, twenty to- gether, just in the same pace, and with the same pauses. It spoils the noblest pleasure of the sound : the reader is tired with the tedious uniformity, or charmed to sleep with the unmanly softness of the numbers, and the per- petual chime of even cadences. In the essays without rhyme, I have not set up Mil- ton for a perfect pattern ; though he shall be for ever honoured as our deliverer from the bondage* His works XXXIV contain admirable and unequalled instances of bright and beautiful diction, as well as majesty and serene- ness of thought. There are several episodes in his longer works, that stand in supreme dignity without a rival ; yet all that vast reverence with which I read his Pa- radise Lost, cannot persuade me to be charmed with every page of it. The length of his periods, and some- times of his parenthesis, runs me out of breath : some o{ his numbers seem too harsh and uneasy. I could never believe that roughness and obscurity added any thing to the true grandeur of a poem : nor will I ever affect archaisms, exoticisms, and a quaint uncouthness 01 speech, in order to become perfectly Miltonian. It is my opinion that blank verse may be written with all due elevation of thought in a modern style, without borrowing any thing from Chaucer's Tales, or running back so far as the days of Colin the Shepherd, and the reign of the Fairy Queen. The oddness of an antique sound gives but a false pleasure to the ear, and abuses the true relish, even when it works delight. There were some such judges of poesy among the old Romans, and Martial ingeniously laughs at one of them, that was pleased even to astonishment with obsolete words and iigures. Attonitusque legis terrai frugiferai. So the ill-drawn postures and distortions of shape that we meet with in Chinese pictures charm a sickly fancy by their very aukwardness; so a distempered appetite will chew coals and sand, and pronounce it gustful. XXXV In the Pindarics I have generally conformed my lines to the shorter size of the ancient, and avoided to imitate the excessive lengths to which some modern writers have stretched their sentences, and especially the Concluding verse. In these the ear is the truest judge -, nor was it made to be enslaved by any precise model of elder or later times. After all, I must petition my reader to lay aside the sour and sullen air of criticism, and to assume the friend. Let him choose such copies to read at particu- lar hours, when the temper of his mind is suited to the song. Let him come with a desire to be entertained and pleased, rather than to seek his own disgust and aversion, which will not be hard to find. I am not so vain as to think there are no faults, nor so blind as to espy none : though I hope the multitude of alterations in this second edition are not without amendment. There is so large a difference between this and the for- mer, in the change of titles, lines, and whole poems, as well as in the various transpositions, that it would be useless and endless, and all confusion, for any reader to compare them throughout. The additions also make up almost half the book, and some of these have need of as many alterations as the former. Many a line needs the file to polish the roughness of it, and many a thought wants richer language to adorn and make it shine. Wide defects and equal superfluities may be found, especially in the larger pieces ; but 1 have at c 2 XXXV 1 present neither inclination or leisure to correct, and I hope I never shall. It is one of the biggest satisfac- tions I take in giving this volume to the world, that I expect to be for ever free from the temptation of mak- ing or mending poems again.* So that my friends may be perfectly secure against this impression's growing waste upon their hands, and useless as the former has done. Let minds that are better furnished for suc4i performances pursue these studies, if they are con- vinced that poesy can be made serviceable to religion and virtue. As'for myself, I almost blush to think that I have read so little, and written so much. The ioL lowing years of my life shall be more entirely devoted to the immediate and direct labours of my station, ex- cepting those hours that may be imployed in finishing my imitation of the Psalms of David, in Christian lan- guage, which I have now promised the world, t I cannot court the world to purchase this book for their pleasure or entertainment, by telling them that any one copy entirely pleases me. The best of them sinks below the idea which I form of a divine or moral ode. He that deals in the mysteries of heaven, or of * Naturam expellasfurca licet, usque recurret. . .Hor. Will thi $ short note of Horace excuse a man who has resisted nature many years, but has been sometimes overcome ? 1736. Edition the 7th, f In the year 1719 these were finished and printed. xxxvn the muses, should be a genius of no vulgar mould : and, as the name vates belongs to both ; so the furni- ture of both is comprised in that line of Horace, Cui mens divinior, atque os Magna sonaturum. . . . But what Juvenal spake in his age, abides true in ours : a complete poet or a prophet is such a one ; . . . .Q.ualem nequeo monstrare, etsentio tantum. Perhaps neither of these characters in perfection shall ever be seen on earth, till the seventh angel has sounded his awful trumpet; till the victory be com- pleat over the beast and his image, when* the natives of heaven shall join in consort with prophets and saints, and sing to their golden harps, salvation, honour, and glory to him that sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb for ever." May 14, 1709, xxxvm TO DR. WATTS, ON THE FIFTH EDITION OF HIS HOUM LYRICJE. OOVEREIGN of sacred verse, accept the lays Of a young bard that dares attempt thy praise. A muse, the meanest of the vocal throng, New to the bays, nor equal to the song. Fir'd with the growing glories of thy fame, Joins all her powers to celebrate thy name. No vulgar themes thy pious muse engage, No scenes of lust pollute thy sacred page ; You in majestic numbers mount the skies, And meet descending angels as you rise, Whose just applauses charm the crowded groves, And Addison thy tuneful song approves. Soft harmony and manly vigour join, To form the beauties of each sprightly line, For every grace of every muse is thine. Milton, immortal bard, divinely bright, Conducts his fav'rite to the realms of light. Where Raphael's lyre charms the celestial throng, "Delighted cherubs list'ning to the song : From bliss to bliss the happy beings rove 5 And taste the sweets of music and of love. But when the softer scenes of life you paint, And join the beauteous virgin to the saint; When you describe how few the happy pairs, Whose hearts united, soften all their cares ; We see to whom the sweetest joys belong, And Myra's beauties consecrate your song. Fain the unnumber'd graces I would tell, And on the pleasing theme for ever dwell ; XXXIX But the muse faints, unequal to the flight, And hears thy strains with wonder and delight. When tombs of princes shall in ruins lie, And all, but heaven-born Piety, shall die. When the last trumpet wakes the silent dead, And each lascivious poet hides his head, With thee shall thy divine Urania rise, Crown'd with fresh laurels, to thy native skies : Great Howe and Gouge shall hail thee on thy way, And welcome thee to the bright realms of day, Adopt thy tuneful notes to heavenly strings, And join the Lyric Ode while some fair seraph sings. Sic spirat, sic optat, Tui amantissimus, BRITANNIC VS ON READING MR. WATTS's POEMS SACRED TO PIETY AND DEVOTWN XtEGARD the man who in seraphic lays, And flowing numbers, sings his Maker's praise : He needs invoke no fabled muse's art, The heav'nly song comes genuine from the heart ; From that pure heart, which God has deign'd t' inspire With holy raptures, and a sacred fire. Thrice happy man ! whose soul, and guiltless breast, Are well prepar'd to lodge th' Almighty guest ! J Tis HE that lends thy tow'ring thoughts their wing, And tunes thy lyre, when thou attempt'st to sing . HE to thy soul lets in celestial day, Ev'n whilst imprison'd in this mortal clay. By death's grim aspect thou art not alarm'd, HE, for thy sake, has death itself disann'd : xl Nor shall the grave o'er thee a vict'ry boast, Her triumph in thy rising shall be lost, When thou shalt join the angelic choirs above, In never ending songs of praise and love. EUSEBIA. (STo ®r i£att£ on trig FOE MS SACRED TO DEVOTION. i O murmuring streams, in tender strains, My pensive muse no more Of love's enchanting force complains, Along the fiow'ry shore. No more Mirtilio's fatal face My quiet breast alarms ; His eyes, his air, and youthful grace, Have lost their usual charms. No gay Alexis in the grove Shall be my future theme : I burn with an immortal love, And sing a purer flame. xli Seraphic heights 1 seem to gain, And sacred transports feel, While, WATTS, to thy celestial strain, Surpriz'd, I listen still. The gliding streams their course forbear. When I thy lays repeat ; The bending forest lends an ear, The birds their notes forget. With such a graceful harmony, Thy numbers still prolong ; And let remotest lands reply, And echo to thy song. Far as the distant regions, where The beauteous morning springs, And scatters odours through the air From her resplendent wings; Unto the new-found realms, which see The latter sun arise, When, with an easy progress, he Rolls down the nether skies. July, 1706, PHILOMELA xlii TO MR. I. WATTS, ON READING HIS HORJE LYRICJE. JlaAIL, heaven-born Muse ! that with celestial flame, And high seraphic numbers, durst attempt To gain thy native skies. No common theme Merits thy thought, self-conscious of a soul Superior, though on earth detained awhile ; Like some propitious angel, that's designed A resident in this inferior orb, To guide the wand'ring souls to heavenly bliss, Thou seem'st ; while thou their everlasting songs Hast sung to mortal ears, and down to earth Transfer'd the work of heav'n ; with thought sublime, And high sonorous words, thou sweetly sing'st To thy immortal lyre. Amaz'd, we view The tow'ring height stupendous, while thou soar'st Above the reach of vulgar eyes or thought, Hymning th' eternal Father j as of old When first th' Almighty from the dark abyss Of everlasting night and silence call'd The shining worlds with one creating word, And rais'd from nothing all the heav'nly hosts, And with external glories fill'd the void, Harmonious Seraphs tun'd their golden harps, And with their chearful Hallelujahs blessed The bounteous author of their happiness j From orb to orb th' alternate music rang, And from the chrystal arches of the sky Reach'd our then glorious world, the native seat Of the first happy pair, who join'd their songs To the loud echo's of th' angelic choirs, And fill'd with blissful hymns, terrestrial heaven ;. xliii The paradise of God, where all delights Abounded, and the pure ambrosial air, Fann'd by mild zephyrs, breath'd eternal sweets, Forbidding death and sorrow, and bestow'd Fresh heavenly bloom, and gay immortal youth. Not so, alas ! the vile apostate race, Who in mad joys their brutal hours employ'd, Assaulting with their impious blasphemies The Power supreme, who gave 'em life and breathy Incarnate Fiends ! outrageous they defy'd Th' Eternal's thunder, and Almighty wrath Fearless provokM, which all the other devils Would dread to meet; rememb'ring well the day When driv'n from pure immortal seats above, A fiery tempestliurl'd them down the skies, And hung upon the rear, urging their fall To the dark, deep, unfathomable gulph, Where bound on sulph'rous lakes to glowing rocks With adamantine chains, they wail their woes, And know Jehovah great as well as good ; And fix'd for ever by eternal fate, With horror find His arm omnipotent. Prodigious madness ! that the sacred muse, First taught in heaven to mount immortal heights And trace the boundless glories of the sky, Should now to every idol basely bow, And curse the deity she once ador'd, Erecting trophies to each sordid vice, And celebrating the infernal praise Of haughty Lucifer, the desperate foe Of God and Man, and winning every hour "New votaries to hell, while all the fiends xliv Hear these accursed lays, and thus outdone. Raging they try to match the human race, Redoubling all their hellish blasphemies, And with loud curses rend the gloomy vault. Ungrateful mortals ! ah ! too late you'll find What 'tis to banter heaven and laugh at hell ; To dress up vice in false delusive charms, And with gay colours paint her hideous face, Leading besotted souls thro' flow'ry paths, In gaudy dreams, and vain fantastic joys To dismal scenes of everlasting woe ; When the great judge shall rear his awful throne, And raging flames surround the trembling globe. While the loud thunders roll from pole to pole, And the last trump awakes the sleeping dead ; And guilty souls to ghastly bodies driven, Within those dire eternal prisons shut, Expect their sad inexorable doom. Say now ye men of wit ! what turn of thought Will please you then ? Alas how dull and poor, Ev'n to yourselves, will your lewd flights appear I How will you envy then the happy fate Of ideots ! and perhaps in vain you'll wish, You'd been as very fools as once you thought Others, for the sublimest wisdom scorn 'd; When pointed lightnings from the wrathful judge Shall singe your laurels, and the men Who thought they flew so high, shall fall so low. No more, my muse, of that tremendous thought. Resume thy more delightful theme, and sing Th' immortal man, that with immortal verse Rivals the hymns of angels, and like them Despises mortal critics' idle rules : xlv While the celestial flame that warms thy soul Inspires us, and with holy transports moves Our labouring minds, and nobler scenes presents Than all the pagan poets ever sung, Homer, or Virgil ; and far sweeter notes Than Horace ever taught his sounding lyre, And purer far, tho' Martial's self might seem A modest poet in our Christian days. May those forgotten and neglected lie ; No more let men be fond of fab'lous gods, Nor heathen wit debauch one Christian line, While with the coarse and daubing paint we hide The shining beauties of eternal truth, That in her native dress appears most bright, And charms the eyes of angels. . . Oh ! like thee, Let every nobler genius tune his voice To subjects worthy of their tow'ring thoughts. Let Heaven and Anna then your tuneful art Improve, and consecrate your deathless lays To Him who reigns above, and Her who rules below. April 17, 1706. JOSEPH STANDEN TO DR. WATTS ON HIS DIVINE POEMS. ^AY, human seraph, whence that charming force That flame ! that soul ! which animates each line j And how it runs with such a graceful ease, Loaded with pond'rous sense ! Say, did not He, The lovely Jesus, who commands thy breast, xlvi Inspire thee with himself? With Jesus dwells, Knit in mysterious bands, the Paraclete, The breath of GOD, the everlasting source Of love ; and what is love in souls like thine, But air, and incense to the Poet's fire » Should an expiring saint, whose swimming eyes Mingle the images of things about him, But hear the least exalted of thy strains, How greedily he'd drink the music in, Thinking his heav'nly convoy waited near ! So great a stress of powerful harmony, Nature unable longer to sustain, Would sink oppress'd with joy to endless rest. Let none henceforth of Providence complain, As if the world of spirits lay unknown, Fenc'd round with black impenetrable night j What tho' no shining angel darts from thence With leave to publish things conceaPd from sense, In language bright as theirs, we are here told, When life its narrow round of years hath roll'd, What 'tis employs the bless'd, what makes their bliss ; Songs such as WATTS's are, and love like his. But then, dear Sir, be cautious how you use, To transports so intensely rais'd your muse, Lest, while th' ecstatic impulse you obey, The soul leap out, and drop the duller clay. Sept. 4,1706. HENRY GROVE. CONTENTS. BOOK L Page Worshipping with Fear 1 Asking Leave to sing 3 God's Dominion and Decrees ib. Divine Judgments 5 Earth and Heaven 8 Felicity above '. 9 Self Consecration 10 The Creator and Creatures 11 The Nativity of Christ 13 God glorious and Sinners saved 14 The Penitent pardoned 15 The humble Enquiry, a French Sonnet imitated 17 A Hymn of Praise for three great Salvations 18 The Incomprehensible 21 Death and Eternity .. . . . 22 A Sight of Heaven in Sickness 23 The universal Hallelujah, Psal. cxlviii 24 The Atheist's Mistake 25 The Law given at Sinai 2S Remember your Creator 34 Sun, Moon, and Stars, praise ye the Lord 35 The welcome Messenger 37 Sincere Praise 38- True Learning 49 True Wisdom 42 Song to Creating Wisdom 44 God's absolute Dominion , 47 Condescending Grace 49 CONTENTS. Page The Infinite 50 Confession and Pardon 51 Young Men and Maidens, &c. praise ye the Lord 54 Flying Fowl, Sec. praise ye the Lord 55 The Comparison and Complaint 56 God supreme and self-sumcient 58 Jesus the only Saviour 59 Looking upward 61 Christ dying, rising , and reigning 62 The God of Thunder 63 The Day of Judgment, in English Sapphic 64 The Song of Angels above 65 Fire, Air, Earth, and Sea, praise ye the Lord . 68 The Farewell 7o God only known to himself 71 Pardon and Sanctincation 72 Sovereignty and Grace 73 The Law and Gospel 74 Seeking a Divine Calm, &c. Casimir, B. I V. Od. 28 75 Happy Frailty 76 Launching into Eternity 78 A Prospect of the Resurrection 79 Ad Dominum Nostrum Jesum Christum : Oda 81 Sui Ipsius Increpatio : Epigramma 84 Excitatio Cordis Cerium versus ib. Breathing towards Heaven, Casimir, B. I. Od. 19 85 In Sanctum Ardalionem, &c. Casim. Epigr. 100 86 On the Protestant Church at Montpelier demolished, Two Latin Epigrams englished « 88 Two happy Rivals, Devotion and the Muse 8y CONTENTS. ON DIVINE LOVE. . Page The hazard of Loving the Creatures 92 Desiring to Love Christ 93 The Heart given away 95 Meditation in a Grove 96 The Fairest and Only Beloved 97 Mutual Love stronger than Death 99 A Sight of Christ 100 Love on a Cross and on a Throne 103 A preparatory Thought for the Lord's Supper 104 Converse with Christ 105 Grace shining, and Nature fainting 107 Love to Christ present or absent 109 The Absence of Christ 110 Desiring his Descent to Earth ill Ascending to him in Heaven 112 The Presence of God worth dying for j or, the Death of Moses. . Il3 Longing for his Return 1.15 Hope in Darkness ib" Come Lord Jesus 118 Bewailing my own Inconstancy 120 Forsaken, yet hoping 121 The Conclusion , 123 BOOK IL To her Majesty 125 Palinodia 129 To John Locke, Esq. retired from Business ib To John Shute, Esq. on Mr. Locke's Death 130 To Mr. William Nokes : Friendship 131 To Nathaniel Gould, Esq 132 To Dr. Thomas Gibson : the Life of Souls 133 d CONTENTS. Page To Milo : False Greatness . . 135 To Sarissa : an Epistle 139 To Mr. Thomas Bradbury : Paradise 136 Strict Religion very rare 14? To Mr. C. and S. Fleetwood 144 To Mr. William Blackbourn : Casim. B. II. Od. 2 146 True Monarchy 147 True Courage 149 To the Rev. Mr. T. Rowe : Free Philosophy 151 To the Rev. Mr. Benoni Rowe : the Way of the Multitude .... 152 To the Rev. Mr. John Howe 154 The Disappointment and Relief 155 The Hero's School of Morality 157 Freedom 159 True Riches 160 On Mr. Locke's Annotations, &c 163 The Adventurous Muse 164 To Mr. N. Clark : the Complaint 167 The Afflictions of a Friend 169 The Reverse : or, the Comforts of a Friend 170 To the Right Hon. John Lord Cutts : the Hardy Soldier. 171 On burning several Poems of Ovid, &c 173 To Mrs. B. Bendysh : Against Tears 174 Few Happy Matches 175 To David Polhill, Esq. an Epistle 177 The celebrated Victory of the Poles, &c. Casimir. B. IV. Ode 4. 179 To Mr. Henry Bendysh 186 The Indian Philosopher 187 The Happy Man 189 To David Polhill, Esq. an Answer to an infamous Satire against King William 192 To the Discontented and Unquiet, Casim. B. IV. Ode 15 197 To John Hartopp, Esq. Casim. B. I. Ode 4 199 To Thos. Gunston, Esq. Happy Solitude, Casim. B. IV. Ode 12. 201 CONTENTS. Page To John Hartopp, Esq. the Disdain 203 To Mitio, my Friend : the Mourning-Piece . * 205 The Second Part ; or, the Bright Vision 209 The Third Part ; or, the Account Ballanced 217 On the Death of the Duke of Gloucester, &c. an Epigram 219 An Epigram of Martial to Cirinus, inscribed to Mr, Josiah Hort ib Epistola Fratri suo dilecto R. W 220 Fratri olim Navigaturo 223 Ad Reverendum Virum Dominum Johannem Pinhorne : Car- men Pindaricum 224 Ad Johannem Hartoppum, Baronettum : Votum, seu Vita in Terris Beata 227 To Miss Singer, on the Sight of some of her Divine Poems un- priced 229 BOOK III. An Epitaph on King William 231 Epitaphium Domini Nathanielis Matheri 233 An Elegiac Song on Mrs. Peacock 235 An Elegiac Thought on Mrs. Anne Warner 237 On the Death of Mrs. M. W 241 A Funeral Poem on Thomas Gunston, Esq 244 An Elegy on the Reverend Mr. Gouge »... 260 UORJE LYRICS. BOOK I. SACRED TO DEVOTION AND PIETY. WORSHIPPING WITH FEAR. WHO dares attempt th' Eternal Name, With notes of mortal sound ? Dangers and glories guard the theme, And spread despair around. Destruction waits t' obey his frown, And heaven attends his smile ; A wreath of lightning arms his crown, But love adorns it still. Celestial King, our spirits lie, Trembling beneath thy feet, And wish, and cast a longing eye, To reach thy lofty seat. B LYRIC POExMS, boc When shall we see the Great Unknown, And in thy presence stand ? Reveal the splendours of thy throne, But shield us with thy hand. In thee what endless wonders meet ! What various glory shines ! The crossing rays too fiercely beat Upon our fainting minds. Angels are lost in sweet surprise, If thou unveil thy grace ; And humble awe runs thro' the skies, When wrath arrays thy face. When mercy joins with majesty To spread their beams abroad, Not ail their fairest minds on high Are shadows of a God. Thy works the strongest seraph sings In a too feeble strain, And labours hard on all his strings To reach thy thoughts in vain. Created powers, how weak they be t How short our praises fall ! So much akin to nothing we, And thou th' Eternal All. SACRED TO DEVOTION. ASKING LEAVE TO SING. 1 et, mighty God, indulge my tongue, Nor let thy thunders roar, Whilst the young notes and vent'rous song To worlds of glory soar. If thou my daring flight forbid The muse folds up her wings ; Or at thy word her slender reed Attempts Almighty things. Her slender reed inspir'd by thee Bids a new Eden grow, With blooming life on every tree, And spreads a heav'n below. She mocks the trumpet's loud alarms Fill'd with thy dreadful breath 3 And calls th' angelic hosts to arms, To give the nations death. But when she tastes her Saviour's love And feels the rapture strong, Scarce the divinest harp above Aims at a sweeter song. god's dominion and decrees. Keep silence, all created things, And wait your Maker's nod : The muse stands trembling while she sings The honours of her God. B 2 4 LYRIC POEMS. bc Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown Hang on his firm decree : He sits on no precarious throne, Nor borrows leave to be. Th' Almighty voice bid ancient night Her endless realm resign, And lo, ten thousand globes of light In fields of azure shine. Now wisdom with superior sway Guides the vast moving frame, Whilst all the ranks of being pay Deep rev'rence to his name. He spake ; the sun obedient stood, And held the falling day : Old Jordan backward drives his flood, And disappoints the sea. Lord of the armies of the sky, He marshals all the stars ; Red comets lift their banners high, And wide proclaim his wars. Chain d to his throne a volume lies, With all the fates of men, With every angel's form and size Drawn by th 1 Eternal Pen. His Providence unfolds the book, And makes his counsels shine: Each opening leaf, and every stroke, Fulfils some deep design. SACRED TO DEVOTION. Here he exalts neglected worms To sceptres and a crown ; Anon the following page he turns, And treads the monarch down. Not Gabriel asks the reason why, Nor God the reason gives 5 Nor dares the favourite angel pry Between the folded leaves. My God, I never long'd to see My fate with curious eyes, W hat gloomy lines are writ for me, Or what bright scenes shall rise. In thy fair book of life and grace May I but find my name, Recorded in some humble place Beneath my Lord the Lamb. DIVINE JUDGMENTS, Not from the dust my sorrows spring Nor drop my comforts from the lower skies ; Let all the baneful planets shed Their mingled curses on my head, How vain their curses, if trf Eternal King Look thro 1 the clouds, and bless me with his eyes. Creatures with all their boasted sway Are but his slaves, and must obey ; They wait their orders from above, And execute his word, the vengeance, or the love. 6 LYRIC POEMS. book i. Tis by a warrant from his hand The gentler gales are bound to sleep : The north wind blusters and assumes command Over the desert and the deep - y Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glass, Arrests the dancing riv'lets as they pass, And chains them moveless to their shores ; The grazing ox lows to the gelid skies, Walks o'er the marble meads with withering eyes, Walks o'er the solid lakes, snuffs up the wind, and dies. Fly to the polar world, my song, And mourn the pilgrims there, (a wretched throng!) Seizd and bound in rigid chains, A troop of statues on the Russian plains, And life stands frozen in the purple veins. Atheist, forbear; no more blaspheme: God has a thousand terrors in his name, A thousand armies at command, Waiting the signal of his hand, And magazines of frost, and magazines of flame. Dress thee in steel to meet his wrath; His sharp artillery from the north Shall pierce thee to the soul, and shake thy mortal frame. Sublime on winter's rugged wings He rides in arms along the sky, And scatters fate on swains and kings ; And flocks and herds, and nations die ; While impious lips, profanely bold, Grow pale ; and, quivering at his dreadful cold, Give their own blasphemies the lie. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 7 The mischiefs that infest the earth, When the hot dog-star fires the realms on high, Drought and' disease, and cruel dearth, Are but the flashes of a wrathful eye From the incens'd Divinity. In vain our parching palates thirst, For vital food in vain we cry, And pant for vital breath ; The verdant fields are burnt to dust. The sun has drunk the channels dry, And all the air is death : Ye scourges of our Maker's rod, Tis at his dread command, at his imperial nod You deal your various plagues abroad. Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes and floods That all the leafy standards strip, And bear down with a mighty sweep The riches of the fields, and honours of the woods; Storms, that ravage o'er the deep, And bury millions in the waves ; Earthquakes, that in midnight sleep Turn cities into heaps, and make our beds our graves ; While you dispense your mortal harms, 'Tis the Creator's voice that sounds your loud alarms, When guilt with louder cries provokes a God to arms. O for a message from above To bear my spirits up ! Some pledge of my Creator's love To calm my terrors and support my hope I Let waves and thunders mix and roar, 8 LYRIC POEMS. OK I. Be thou my God, and the whole world is mine : While thou art Sov'reign, I'm secure ; I shall be rich till thou art poor ; For all I fear, and all I wish, heav'n, earth, and hell, are thine. EARTH AND HEAVEN. Hast thou not seen, impatient boy, Hast thou not read the solemn truth, That grey experience writes for giddy youth On every mortal joy ; ** Pleasure must be dash'd with pain ?" And yet with heedless haste, The thirsty boy repeats the taste, Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. The rills of pleasure never run sincere; (Earth has no unpolluted spring) From the curs' d soil some dangrous taint they bear ; So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting. In vain we seek a heaven below the sky ; The world has false, but flatfring charms : Its distant joys show big in our esteem, But lessen still as they draw near the eye ; In our embrace the visions die, And when we grasp the airy forms We lose the pleasing dream. JEarth, with her scenes of gay delight, Is but # landscape rudely drawn, SACRED TO DEVOTION. 9 With glaring colours, and false light ; Distance commends it to the sight, For fools to gaze upon ; But bring the nauseous daubing nigh, Coarse and cbnfus'd the hideous figures lie, Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye. Look up, my soul, pant tow'rd th* eternal hills j Those heav'ns are fairer than they seem ; There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills, There not a dreg of guilt defiles, Nor grief disturbs the stream. That Canaan knows no noxious thing, No cursed soil, no tainted spring, Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting. FELICITY ABOVE. xs o, 'tis in vain to seek for bliss ; For bliss can ne'er be found 'Till we arrive where Jesus is, And tread on heav'nly ground. There's nothing round these painted skies, Or round this dusty clcd ; Nothing, my soul, that's worth thy joys, Or lovely as thy God. 'Tis heav'n on earth to taste his love, To feel his quick'ning grace ; And all the heav'n I hope above Is but to see his face. 10 LYRIC POEMS. b Why move my years in slow delay > O God of ages ! why ? Let the spheres cleave, and mark my way To the superior sky. Dear Sovreign, break these vital strings That bind me to my clay ; Take me, Uriel, on thy wings, And stretch and soar away. SELF CONSECRATION. It grieves me, Lord, it grieves me sore, That I have livd to thee no more, And wasted half my days ; My inward pow'rs shall burn and flame With zeal and passion for thy name, I would not speak, but for my God, nor move, but to his praise. What are my eyes, but aids to see The glories of the Deity Inscribed with beams of light, On flowTs and stars ? Lord, I behold The shining azure, green and gold ; But when 1 try to read thy name, a dimness veils my sight. Mine ears are rais'd when Virgil sings Sicilian swains, or Trojan kings, And drink the music in : SACRED TO DEVOTION. It Why should the trumpet's brazen voice, Or oaten reed awake my joys, And yet my heart so stupid lie when sacred hymns begin ? Change me, O God ; my flesh shall be An instrument of song to thee, And thou the notes inspire : My tongue shall keep the heav'nly chime, My chearful pulse shall beat the time, And sweet variety of sound shall in thy praise conspire. The dearest nerve about my heart, Should it refuse to bear a part With my melodious breath, I'd tear away the vital chord, A bloody victim to my Lord, And live without that impious string, or shew my zeal in death. THE CREATOR AND CREATURES. O od is a name my soul adores, Th' Almighty Three, th' Eternal One; Nature and grace, with all their pow'rs, Confess the infinite unknown. From thy great self thy being springs ; Thou art thine own original, Made up of uncreated things, And self-sufficience bears them all. n LYRIC POEMS, book Thy voice produc'd the seas and spheres, Bid the waves roar, and planets shine ; But nothing like thy self appears, Thro 1 all these spacious works of thine. Still restless nature dies and grows ; From change to change the creatures run : Thy being no succession knows, And all thy vast designs are one. A glance of thine runs thro' the globes, Rules the bright worlds, and moves their frame : Broad sheets of light compose thy robes ; Thy guards are form'dof living flame. Thrones and dominions round thee fall, And worship in submissive forms; Thy presence shakes this lower ball, This little dwelling-place of worms. How shall affrighted mortals dare To sing thy glory or thy grace, Beneath thy feet we lie so far, And see but shadows of thy face ? Who can behold the blazing light? Who can approach consuming flame ? None but thy wisdom knows thy might : None but thy word can speak thy name. SACRED TO DEVOTION, 13 THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST. Shepherds, rejoice, lift up your eyes, " And send your fears away ; " News from the regions of the skies, " Salvation's born to-day. " Jesus, the God whom angels fear, " Comes down to dwell with you ; * To-day he makes his entrance here, " But not as monarchs do. " No gold, nor purple swadling bands, " Nor royal shining things ; ** A manger for his cradle stands, " And holds the King of kings. " Go, shepherds, where the infant lies, " And see his humble throne ; u With tears of joy in all your eyes, " Go, shepherds, kiss the Son/* Thus Gabriel sang, and straight around The heavenly armies throng, They tune their harps to lofty sound, And thus conclude the song: " Glory to God that reigns above, " Let peace surround the earth ; u Mortals shall know their Maker's love, u At their Redeemer's birth." 14 LYRIC POEMS, Lord ! and shall angels have their songs, And men no tunes to raise ? O may we lose these useless tongues When they forget to praise ! Glory to God that reigns above, That pitied us forlorn, We join to sing our Maker's love, For there's a Saviour born. GOD GLORIOUS, AND SINNERS SAVED. r ather, how wide thy glory shines! How high thy wonders rise ! Known thro' the earth by thousand signs, By thousand thro' the skies. Those mighty orbs proclaim thy power, Their motions speak thy skill ; And on the wings of ev'ry hour, We read thy patience still. Part of thy name divinely stands On all thy creatures writ, They shew the labour of thine hands, Or impress of thy feet. But when we view thy strange design To save rebellious worms, Where vengeance and compassion join In their divinest forms ; SACRED TO DEVOTION. 15 Our thoughts are lost in reverend awe : We love and we adore ; The first arch- angel never saw So much of God before. Here the whole Deity is known, Nor dares a creature guess Which of the glories brightest shone, The justice or the grace. When sinners broke the Father's laws, The dying Son atones ; Oh the dear mysteries of his cross ! The triumph of his groans ! Now the full glories of the Lamb Adorn the heav'nly plains ; Sweet cherubs learn Immanuel's name, And try their choicest strains. O may I bear some humble part In that immortal song ! Wonder and joy shall tune my heart, And love command my tongue. THE PENITENT PARDONED. Hence from my soul, my sins, depart, Your fatal friendship now I see; Long have you dwelt too near my heart, Hence, to eternal distance flee. 16 LYRIC POEMS, bc Ye gave my dj r ing Lord his wound, Yet I caress'd your viperous brood, And in my heart-strings lapp'd you round, You, the vile murderers of my God. Black heavy thoughts, like mountains, roll O'er my poor breast, with boding fears, And crushing hard my tortur'd soul, Wring thro' my eyes the briny tears. Forgive my treasons, Prince of Grace, The bloody Jews were traitors too, Yet thou hast pray'd for that cuiVd race, ** Father, they know not what they do." Great Advocate ! look down and see A wretch, whose smarting sorrows bleed ; plead the same excuse for me I For, Lord, I knew not what I did. Peace, my complaints ; let every groan Be still, and silence wait his love; Compassions dwell amidst his throne, And thro' his inmost bowels move. Lo, from the everlasting skies, Gently, as morning-dews distil, The Dove immortal downward flies, With peaceful olive in his bill. How sweet the voice of pardon sounds I Sweet the relief to deep distress ! 1 feel the balm that heals my wounds, And all my powers adore the grace. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 17 THE HUMBLE ENQUIRY : A FRENCH SONNET IMITATED, 1692. Grand Dieu, tes Jugemens, <£c Grace rules below, and sits enthron'd above, How few the sparks of wrath ! how slow they move, And drop and die in boundless seas of love ! But me, vile wretch ! should pitying love em- brace Deep in its ocean, hell itself would blaze, And flash, and burn me thro' the boundless seas. Yea, Lord, my guilt to such a vastness grown Seems to confine thy choice to wrath alone, And calls thy power to vindicate thy throne. Thine honour bids, avenge thine injurd name, Thy slighted loves a dreadful glory claim, While my moist tears might but incense thy flame. Should heavn grow black, almighty thunder roar, And vengeance blast me, I could plead no more, But own thy justice dying, and adore. Yet can those bolts of death that cleave the flood To reach a rebel, pierce this sacred shroud, Ting'd in the vital stream of my Redeemer's blood. c 18 LYRIC POEMS A HYMN OF PRAISE FOR THREE GREAT SALVATIONS, VIZ, 1. From the Spanish Invasion, 1588. 2. From the Gunpowder Plot, Nov. 5. 3. From Popery and Slavery by King William, of glorious Memory, who landed Nov. 5. 1688. Composed, Nov. 5, 1695. Infinite God, thy counsels stand Like mountains of eternal brass, Pillars to prop our sinking land, Or guardian rocks to break the seas. From pole to pole thy name is known, Thee a whole heaven of angels praise, Our labouring tongues would reach thy throne With the loud triumphs of thy grace. Part of thy church, by thy command, Stands rais'd upon the British isles ; " There," said the Lord, " to ages stand, " Firm as the everlasting hills." In vain the Spanish ocean roar'd ; Its billows swell' d against our shore, Its billows sunk beneath thy word, With all the floating war they bore. " Come," said the sons of bloody Rome, " Let us provide new arms from hell:" And down they digg'd thro' earth's dark womb, And ransack'd all the burning cell SACRED TO DEVOTION. 19 Old Satan lent them fiery stores, Infernal coal, and sulph'rous flame, And all that burns, and all that roars, Outrageous fires of dreadful name. Beneath the senate and the throne, Engines of hellish thunder lay ; There the dark seeds i of fire were sown, To spring a bright, but dismal day. Thy love beheld the black design, Thy love that guards our island round ; Strange 1 how it quench' d the fiery mine, And crushed the tempest under ground. THE SECOND PART. Assume, my tongue, a nobler strain, Sing the new wonders of the Lord ; The foes revive their pow'rs again, Again they die beneath his sword. Dark as our thoughts our minutes roll, While tyranny possess 1 d the throne, And murderers of an Irish soul Ran, threat 1 ning death, thro' every town* The Roman priest, and British prince, Joind their best force, and blackest charms, And the fierce troops of neighbouring France Offer'd the service of their arms, c 2 20 LYRIC POEMS, bo Tis clone, they cry'd, and laugh'd aloud, The courts of darkness rang with joy, TrT old serpent hiss'd, and hell grew proud, While Zion mourn d her ruin nigh. But, lo, the great Deliverer sails Commission d from Jehovah's hand, And smiling seas, and wishing gales, Convey him to the longing land. The happy day, and happy year,* Both in our new salvation meet: The day that quench'd the burning snare, The year that burnt the invading fleet. f Now did thine arm, O God of Hosts, Now did thine arm shine dazzling bright, The sons of might their hands had lost, And men of blood forgot to fight. Brigades of angels lin'd the way, And guarded William to his throne ; There, ye celestial warriors, stay, And make his palace like your own. Then, mighty God, the earth shall know And learn the worship of the sky: Angels and Britons join below, To raise their hallelujahs high. b Nov. 5, 1688. t Nov, 5, 1588. SACRED TO DEVOTION, 21 All hallelujah, heavenly King; While distant lands thy victory sing, And. tongues their utmost powers employ, The world's bright roof repeats the joy. THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE. Far in the heav'ns my God retires, My God, the mark of my desires, And hides his lovely face ; When he descends within my view, He charms my reason to pursue, But leaves it tird and fainting in th' unequal chase. Or if I reach unusual height 'Till near his presence brought, There floods of glory check my flight, Cramp the bold pinions of my wit, And all untune my thought ; Plung'd in a sea of light I roll, Where wisdom, justice, mercy, shines; Infinite rays in crossing lines Beat thick confusion on my sight, and overwhelm my soul. Come to my aid, ye fellow-minds, And help me reach the throne ; (What single strength in vain designs, United force hath done ; Thus worms may join, and grasp the poles, Thus atoms fill the sea) n LYRIC POEMS. book i. But the whole race of creature-souls Stretch'd to their last extent of thought, plunge and are lost in thee. Great God, behold my reason lies Adoring ; yet my love would rise On pinions not her own : Faith shall direct her humble flight, Thro' all the trackless seas of light, To thee, trf eternal fair, the infinite unknown. DEATH AND ETERNITY. My thoughts, that often mount the skies, Go, search the world beneath, Where nature all in ruin lies, And owns her sovereign, death. The tyrant, how he triumphs here ! His trophies spread around ! And heaps of dust and bones appear Thro' all the hollow ground. These skulls, what ghastly figures now ! How loathsome to the eyes ! These are the heads we lately knew So beauteous and so wise. But where the souls, those deathless things, That left this dying clay ? My thoughts, now stretch out all your wings And trace eternity. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 23 O that unfathomable sea ! Those deeps without a shore ; Where living waters gently play, Or fiery billows roar. Thus must we leave the banks of life, And try this doubtful sea; Vain are our groans, and dying strife, To gain a moment's sta} r . There we shall swim in heavnly bliss, Or sink in flaming waves, While the pale carcass thoughtless lies, Amongst the silent graves. Some hearty friend shall drop his tear On our dry bones, and say, " These once were strong, as mine appear, " And mine must be as they." Thus shall our mouldering members teach What now our senses learn : For dust and ashes loudest preach Man's infinite concern. A SIGHT OF HEAVEN IN SICKNESS. Oft have I sat in secret sighs, To feel my flesh decay, Then groan'd aloud with frighted eyes, To view the tott'ring clay. 14 LYRIC POEMS, But I forbid my sorrows now, Nor dares the flesh complain; Diseases bring their profit too ; The joy o'ercomes the pain. My chearful soul now all the day Sits waiting here and sings ; Looks thro' the ruins of her clay, And practises her wings. Faith almost changes into sight, While from afar she spies, Her fair inheritance, in light Above created skies, Had but the prison walls been strong, And firm without a flaw, In darkness she had dwelt too long, And less of glory saw. But now the everlasting hills, Thro 1 every chink appear, And something of the joy she feels While she's a pris'ner here. The shines of heaven rush sweetly in At all the gaping flaws ; Visions of endless bliss are seen ; And native air she draws. O may these walls stand tott'ring still, The breaches never close, If I must here in darkness dwell, And all this glory lose ! SACRED TO DEVOTION. Or rather let this flesh decay, The ruins wider grow, Till glad to see th' enlarged way, I stretch my pinions through. THE UNIVERSAL HALLELUJAH. Psalm cxlviii. Paraphrased. Praise ye the Lord with joyful tongue, Ye pow'rs that guard his throne ; Jesus the man shall lead the song, The God inspire the tune. Gabriel, and all th' immortal choir That fill the realms above, Sing ; for he form'd you of his fire, And feeds you with his love. Shine to his praise, ye crystal skies, The floor of his abode, Or veil your little twinkling eyes Before a brighter God. Thou restless globe of golden light, Whose beams create our days, Join with the silver queen of night, To own your borrow 1 d rays* Blush and refund the honours paid To your inferior names : Tell the blind world your orbs are fed By his o'erflowing flames. 26 XTRIC POEMS. Winds, ye shall bear his name aloud Thro' the ethereal blue, For when his chariot is a cloud, He makes his wheels of you. Thunder and hail, and fires and storms, The troops of his command, Appear in all your dreadful forms, And speak his awful hand. Shout to the Lord, ye surging seas, In your eternal roar ; Let wave to wave resound his praise, And shore reply to shore : While monsters sporting on the flood, In scal} r silver shine, Speak terribly their Maker- God, And lash the foaming brine. - But gentler things shall tune his name To softer notes than these, Young zephyrs breathing o'er the stream, Or whispering thro 1 the trees. Wave your tall heads, ye lofty pines, To him that bid you grow, Sweet clusters, bend the fruitful vines On every thankful bough. Let the shrill birds his honour raise, And climb the morning sky : While groveling beasts attempt his praise In hoarser harmony. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 27 Thus while the meaner creatures sing, Ye mortals, take the sound, Echo the glories of your king Thro' all the nations round. Th' eternal name must fly abroad From Britain to Japan ; And the whole race shall bow to God, That owns the name of man. THE ATHEIST'S MISTAKE. Laugh, ye prophane, and swell and burst With bold impiety : Yet shall ye live for ever curs'd, And seek in vain to die. The gasp of your expiring breath Consigns your souls to chains, By the last agonies of death Sent down to fiercer pains. Ye stand upon a dreadful steep, And all beneath is hell ; Your weighty guilt will sink you deep, Where the old serpent fell. When iron slumbers bind your flesh, With strange surprise you'll find Immortal vigour spring afresh, And tortures wake the mind ! 28 LYRIC POEMS, Then you'll confess the frightful names Of plagues you scorn' d before, No more shall look like idle dreams, Like foolish tales no more. Then shall ye curse that fatal day, (With flames upon your tongues) When you exchanged your souls away For vanity and songs. Behold the saints rejoice to die, For heav'n shines round their heads ; And angel-guards prepared to fly, Attend their fainting beds. Their longing spirits part, and rise To their celestial seat ; Above these ruinable skies They make their last retreat. Hence, ye prophane, I hate your ways, I walk with pious souls ; There's a wide difference in our race, And distant are our goals. THE LAW GIVEN AT SINAI, Arm thee with thunder, heavenly muse, And keep th' expecting world in awe j Oft hast thou sung in gentler mood The melting mercies of thy God , SACRED TO DEVOTION. Now give thy fiercest fires a loose, And sound his dreadful law : To Israel first the words were spoke, To Israel freed from Egypt's yoke, Inhuman bondage I The hard galling load Over-press' d their feeble souls, Bent their knees to senseless bulls, And broke their knees to God. Now had they pass'd the Arabian bay, And march'd between the cleaving sea \ The rising waves stood guardians of their won- d'rous way, But fell with most impetuous force, On the pursuing swarms, And bury'd Egypt all in arms, Blending in wafry death the rider and his horse : O'er struggling Pharaoh roll'd the mighty tide, And sav'd the labours of a pyramid. Apis and Ore in vain he cries, And all his horned Gods beside, He swallows fate with swimming eyes, And curs' d the Hebrews as. he dy'd. Ah ! foolish Israel to comply With Memphian idolatry ! And bow to brutes, (a stupid slave) To idols impotent to save ! Behold thy God, the Sovereign of the sky, Has wrought salvation in the deep^ Has bound thy foes in iron sleep, And raisM thine honours hi°rh ; 30 LYRIC POEMS, book i His grace forgives thy follies past, Behold he comes in majesty, And Sinai's top proclaims his law : Prepare to meet thy God in haste ; But keep an awful distance still : Let Moses round the sacred hill The circling limits draw. Hark ! The shrill echoes of the trumpet roar, And call the trembling armies near ; Slow and unwilling they appear, Rails kept them from the mount before, Now from the rails their fear : Twas the same herald, and the trump the same Which shall be blown by high command, Shall bid the wheels of nature stand, And Heav'n's eternal will proclaim, That time shall be no more. Thus while the labouring angel swell'd the sound, And rent the skies, and shook the ground, Uprose th' Almighty; round his sapphire seat Adoring thrones in order fell ; The lesser powers at distance dwell, And cast their glories down successive at his feet : Gabriel the Great prepares his way, Lift up your heads, eternal doors, he cries ; Th' eternal doors his word obey, Open and shoot celestial day Upon the lower skies. HeavV s mighty pillars bow'd their head, As their creator bid, And down Jehovah rode from the superior sphere, A thousand guards before, and myriads in the rear. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 31 His chariot was a pitchy cloud, The wheels beset with burning gems; The winds in harness with the flames Flew o'er th' ethereal road : Down thro' his magazines he past Of hail, and ice, and fleecy snow, Swift roll'd the triumph, and as fast Did hail, and ice, in melted rivers flow. The day was mingled with the night, His feet on solid darkness trod, His radiant eyes proclaim' d the God, And scatter'd dreadful light ; He breath' d, and sulphur ran, a fiery stream : He spoke, and (tho' with unknown speed he came) Chid the slow tempest, and the lagging flame. Sinai received his glorious flight, With axle red, and glowing wheel Did the wing'd chariot light, And rising smoke obscur'd the burning hill. Lo, it mounts in curling waves, Lo, the gloomy pride out-braves The stately pyramids of fire ; The pyramids to heav'n aspire, And mix with stars, but see their gloomy offspring higher. So have you seen ungrateful ivy grow Round the tall oak that six score years has stood, And proudly shoot a leaf or two Above its kind supporter's utmost bough, And glory there to stand the loftiest of the wood. Forbear, young muse, forbear ; The flow'ry things that poets say, $2 LYRIC POEMS, book The little arts of simile Are vain and useless here ; Nor shall the burning hills of old With Sinai be compard, Nor all that lying Greece has told, Or learned Rome has heard ; iEtna shall be nam'd no more, ^Etna the torch of Sicily j Not half so high Her lightnings fly, Not half so loud her thunders roar Cross the Sicanian sea, to fright th' Italian shore. Behold the sacred hill : its trembling spire Quakes at the terrors of the fire, While all below its verdant feet Stagger and reel under th' Almighty weight : Press 1 d with a greater than feign'd Atlas' load Deep groan d the mount; it never bore Infinity before, It bow'd, and shook beneath the burden of a God. Fresh horror seize the camp, despair, And dying groans, torment the air, And shrieks, and swoons, and deaths were there; The bellowing thunder, and the lightnings blaze Spread thro' the host a wild amaze ; Darkness on every soul, paleness on every face : Confus'd and dismal were the cries, Let Moses speak, or Israel dies : Moses the spreading terror feels, No more the man of God conceals His shivering and surprize : Yet, with recovering mind, commands Silence, and deep attention, thro 1 the Hebrew bands. SACRED- TO DEVOTION S3 Hark ! from the centre of the flame, All arm'd and feather' d with the same, Majestic sounds break thro' the smokey cloud: Sent from the All-creating tongue, A flight of cherubs guard the words along, And bear their fiery law to the retreating crowd. " I am the Lord: TisI proclaim " That glorious and that fearful name, " Thy God and King : 'Twas I, that broke " Thy bondage, and th' Egyptian yoke y ** Mine is the right to speak my will, " And thine the duty to fulfil " Adore no God beside me, to provoke mine eyes; " Nor worship me in shapes and forms that men devise ; " With rev'rence use my name, nor turn my words to jest; " Observe my sabbath well, nor dare profane my rest; " Honour, and due obedience to thy parents give ; " Nor spill the guiltless blood> nor let the guilty live : " Preserve thy body chaste, and flee th' unlawful bed; " Nor steal thy neighbour's gold, his garment, or his bread ; " Forbear to blast his name with falshood, or deceit; " Nor let thy wishes loose upon his large estate." $4, LYRIC POEMS. book REMEMBER YOUR CREATOR, &C. Ecclesiastes xii. Children, to your Creator, God, Your early honours pay, While vanity and youthful blood Would tempt your thoughts astray. The memory of his mighty name, Demands your first regard. Nor dare indulge a meaner flame. 'Till you have lov'd the Lord. Be wise, and make his favour sure, Before the mournful days, When youth and mirth are known no more. And life and strength decays. No more the blessings of a feast Shall relish on the tongue, The heavy ear forgets to taste The pleasure of a song. Old age, with all her dismal train, Invades your golden years With sighs and groans, and raging pain, And death, that never spares. What will ye do when light departs, And leaves your withering eyes, Without one beam to chear your hcartf, From the superior skies ? SACRED TO DEVOTION. How will you meet God's frowning brow, Or stand before bis seat, While nature's old supporters bow, Nor bear their tott 'ring weight ? Can you expect your feeble arms Shall make a strong defence, When death, with terrible alarms, Summons the pris'ner hence? The silver bands of nature burst, And let the building fall ; The flesh goes down to mix with dust, Its vile original. Laden with guilt, (a heavy load) Uncleans'd and unforgiv'n, 'The soul returns t' an angry God, To be shut out from heav'n. SUN, MOON, AND STARS, PRAISE YE THE LORD. Fairest of all the lights above, Thou sun, whose beams adorn the spheres, And with unweary'd swiftness move, To form the circles of our years - y Praise the Creator of the skies, That dress'd thine orb in golden rays : Or may the sun forget to rise, If he forget his Maker's praise. D 2 3S LYRIC POEMS, i Thou reigning beauty of the night, Fair queen of silence, silver moon, Whose gentle beams, and borrow'd light, Are softer rivals of the noon 3 Arise, and to that Sov'reign Pow'r Waxing and waning honours pay, Who bid thee rule the dusky hour, And half supply the absent day. Ye twinkling stars, who gild the skies When darkness has its curtains drawn, Who keep your watch, with wakeful eyes, When business, cares, and day are gone : Proclaim the glories of your Lord, Dispers'd thro' all the heavenly street, Whose boundless treasures can afford So rich a pavement for his feet. Thou Heavn of heav'ns, supremely bright, Fair palace of the court divine, Where, with inimitable light, The Godhead condescends to shine. Praise thou thy great Inhabitant, Who scatters lovely beams of grace On every angel, every saint, Nor veils the lustre of his face. O God of glory, God of love, Thou art the Sun that makes our days: With all thy shining works above, Let earth and dust attempt thy praise. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 57 THE WELCOME MESSENGER. Loud, when we see a saint of thine Lie gasping out his breath, With longing eyes, and looks divine, Smiling and pleas d in death; How we could e'en contend to lay Our limbs upon that bed I We ask thine envoy to convey Our spirits in his stead. To venture in his place; or when grim death has He has an angel's face. For when grim death has lost his sting, Jesus, then purge my crimes away, 'Tis guilt creates my fears, *Tis guilt gives death its fierce array, And all the arms it bears. Oh ! if my threat'ning sins were gone, And death had lost his sting, I could invite the angel on, And chide his lazy wing. Away these interposing days, And let the lovers meet ; The angel has a cold embrace, But kind, and soft and sweet. 88 LYRIC POEMS, Id leap at once my seventy years, I'd rush into his arms, And lose my breath, and all my cares, Amidst those heav'nly charms. Joyful Td lay this body down, And leave the lifeless clay, Without a sigh, without a groan, And stretch and soar away. SINCERE PRAISE. Almighty Maker, God! How wond'rous is thy name ! Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Thro' the creation's frame ! Nature in every dress Her humble homage pays, And finds a thousand ways t' express Thine undissembled praise. In native white and red The rose and lily stand, And free from pride, their beauties spread, To shew thy skilful hand. The lark mounts up the sky, With unambitious song, And bears her Maker's praise on high Upon her artless tongue. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 39 My soul would rise and sing To her Creator too, Fain would my tongue adore my King, And pay the worship due. But pride, that busy sin, Spoils all that I perform; Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in, And swells a haughty worm. Thy glories I abate, Or praise thee with design ; Some of thy favours I forget, Or think the merit mine. The very songs I frame, Are faithless to thy cause, And steal the honours of thy name To build their own applause. Create my soul anew, Else all my worship's vain ; This wretched heart will ne'er be true, Until 'tis form'd again. Descend, celestial fire, And seize me from above, Melt me in flames of pure desire, A sacrifice to love. Let joy and worship spend The remnant of my days, And to my God, my soul, ascend, In sweet perfumes of praise. 40 LYRIC POEMS. book i. TRUE LEARNING. Partly imitated from a French Sonnet of Mr. Poiret. Happy the feet that shining Truth has led With her own hand to tread the path she please, To see her native lustre round her spread, Without a veil, without a shade, All beauty, and all light, as in herself she is. Our senses cheat us with the pressing crowds Of painted shapes they thrust upon the mind : The truth they shew lies wrappd in sevenfold shrouds, Our senses cast a thousand clouds On unenlighten'd souls, and leave them doubly blind. I hate the dust that fierce disputers raise, And lose the mind in a wild maze of thought : What empty triflings, and what subtil ways, To fence and guard by rule and rote ! [not. Our God will never charge us, that we knew them Touch, heavnly Word, O touch these curious souls; Since I have heard but one soft hint from thee, From all the vain opinions of the schools (That pageantry of knowing fools) I feel my powers releasd, and stand divinely free. Twas this Almighty Word that all things made, Tie grasps whole nature in his single hand; All the eternal truths in him are laid, The ground of all things, and their head, The circle where they move, and centre where they stand. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 41 Without his aid I have no sure defence, From troops of errors that besiege me round ; But he that rests his reason and his sense Fast here, and never wanders hence, Immoveable he dwells upon unshaken ground. Infinite Truth ! the life of my desires, Come from the sky, and join thyself to me; Fm tir d with hearing, and this reading tires ; But never tir'd of telling thee, Tis thy fair face alone my spirit burns to see. Speak to my soul, alone, no other hand Shall mark my path out with delusive art: All nature silent in his presence stand, Creatures be dumb at his command, And leave his single voice to whisper to my heart. Retire, my soul, within thyself retire, Away from sense and every outward show : Nor let my thoughts to loftier themes aspire, My knowledge now on wheels of fire May mount and spread above, surveying all below. The Lord grows lavish of his heav'nly light, And pours whole floods on such a mind as this : Fled from the eyes she gains a piercing sight, She dives into the infinite, And sees unutterable things in that unknown abyss. 42 LYRIC POEMS, book i. TRUE WISDOM. Pronounce him blest, my muse, whom wisdom guides In her own path to her own heavenly seat ; Thro' all the storms his soul securely glides, Nor can the tempests, nor the tides, That rise and roar around, supplant his steady feet. Earth, )'ou may let your golden arrows fly, And seek, in vain, a passage to his breast, Spread all your painted toys to court his eye, He smiles, and sees them vainly try To lure his soul aside from her eternal rest. Our head-strong lusts, like a young fiery horse, Start, and flee raging in a violent course ; He tames and breaks them, manages and rides 'em, Checks their career, and turns and guides 'em, And bids bis reason bridle their licentious force. Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts, And boldly acts what calmly he design' d, Whilst he looks down and pities human faults ; Nor can he think, nor can he find A plague like reigning passions, and a subject mind. But oh ! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height, To vanquish self is a laborious art ; What manly courage to sustain the fight To bear the noble pain, and part With those dear charming tempters rooted in the heart ! SACRED TO DEVOTION. 43 Tis hard to stand when all the passions move, Hard to awake the eye that passion blinds, To rend and tear out this unhappy love, That clings so close about our minds, And where th' enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds. Hard ; but it may be done. Come, heavenly fire, Come to my breast, and with one powerful ray Melt off my lusts, my fetters: I can bear A while to be a tenant here, But not be chain'd and prisond in a cage of clay. Heav'n is my home and I must use my wings ; Sublime above the globe my flight aspires : I have a soul was made to pity kings, And all their little glitt'ring things; I have a soul was made for infinite desires. Loos' d from the earth, my heart is upward flown: Farewel, my friends, and all that once was mine; Nor, should you fix my feet on Csesar's throne, Crown me, and call the world my own, The gold that binds my brows could ne'er my soul confine. I am the Lord's, and Jesus is my love ; He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire, My flesh below ; yet I can dwell above, And nearer to my Saviour move ; There all my soul shall center, all my pow'rs conspire. Thus I with angels live ; thus half divine I sit on high, nor mind inferior joys: 44 LYRIC POEMS, book i FilFd with his love, I feel that God is mine, His glory is my great design, That everlasting project all my thought employs. A SONG TO CREATING WISDOM. PART I. Internal Wisdom, thee we praise, Thee the creation sings ; With thy loud name, rocks, hills, and seas, And heaven's high palace rings. Place me on the bright wings of day To travel with the sun ; With what amaze shall I survey The wonders thou hast done ? Thy hand how wide it spread the sky, How glorious to behold ? Ting'd with a blue of heavenly dye, And starrd with sparkling gold. There thou hast bid the globes of light Their endless circles run ; There the pale planet rules the nighf, And day obeys the sun. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 4& PART II. Downward I turn my wondring eyes On clouds and storms below, Those under regions of the skies Thy num'rous glories show. The noisy winds stand ready there Thy orders to obey, With sounding wings they sweep the air r To make thy chariot way. There, like a trumpet, loud and strong, Thy thunder shakes our coast : While the red light'nings wave along, The banners of thine host. On the thin air, without a prop, Hang fruitful show'rs around : At thy command they sink, and drop Their fatness on the ground. PART III. Now to the earth I bend my song, And cast my eyes abroad, Glancing the British isles along ; Blest isles, confess your God. How did his wond'rous skill array Your fields in charming green ; A thousand herbs his art display, A thousand flowers between I 46 LYRIC POEMS. Tall oaks for future navies grow, Fair Albion's best defence, While corn and vines rejoice below, Those luxuries of sense. The bleating flocks his pasture feeds : And herds of larger size, That bellow thro' the Lindian meads, His bounteous hand supplies. PART IV. We see the Thames caress the shores, He guides her silver flood : While angry Severn swells and roars, Yet hears her ruler God. The roiling mountains of the deep Observe his strong command ; His breath can raise the billows steep, Or sink them to the sand. Amidst thy wat'ry kingdoms, Lord, The finny nations play, And scaly monsters, at thy word, Rush thro' the northern sea. PART V. Thy glories blaze all nature round, And strike the gazing sight, Thro' skies, and seas, and solid ground, With terror and delight. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 47 Infinite strength, and equal skill, Shine thro' the worlds abroad, Our souls with vast amazement fill, And speak the builder God. But the sweet beauties of thy grace Our softer passions move ; Pity divine in Jesus' face We see, adore, and love. GODS ABSOLUTE DOMINION. Lord, when my thoughtful soul surveys Fire, air and earth, and stars and seas, I call them all thy slaves ; Commission'd by my Fathers will, Poisons shall cure, or balms shall kill ; Vernal suns, or Zephyrs breath, May burn or blast the plants to death That sharp December saves ; What can winds or planets boast But a precarious pow'r ? The sun is all in darkness lost, Frost shall be fire, and fire be frosty When he appoints the hour. Lo, the Norwegians near the polar sky Chafe their frozen limbs with snow, Their frozen limbs awake and glow, The vital flame touch'd with a strange supply, Rekindles, for the God of life is nigh j 48. LYRIC POEMS, book t. He bids the vital flood in wonted circles flow. Cold steel expos'd to northern air, Drinks the meridian fury of the midnight bear, And burns th 1 unwary stranger there. Enquire, my soul, of ancient fame, Look back two thousand years, and see Th' Assyrian prince transform'd a brute. For boasting to be absolute : Once to his court the God of Israel came, A King more absolute than he. I see the furnace blaze with rage Sevenfold : I see amidst the flame Three Hebrews of immortal name ; They move, they walk across the burning stage Unhurt, and fearless, while the tyrant stood A statue j fear congeal' d his blood: Nor did the raging element dare Attempt their garments, or their hair ; It knew the Lord of nature there. Nature, compeird by a superior cause, Now breaks her own eternal laws, Now seems to break them, and obeys Her SovVeign King in different ways. Father, how bright thy glories shine ! How broad thy kingdom, how divine \ Nature, and miracle, and fate, and chance are thine. Hence from my heart, ye idols, flee, Ye sounding names of vanity ! No more my lips shall sacrifice To ciiance and nature, tales and lies : Creatures without a God can yield me no supplies. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 49 What is the sun, or what the shade, Or frosts, or flames, to kill or save ? His favour is my life, his lips pronounce me dead; And as his awful dictates bid, Earth is my mother, or my grave. CONDESCENDING GRACE. Iii imitation of Psalm cxivth. When the Eternal bows the skies, To visit earthly things, With scorn divine he turns his eyes From towers of haughty kings. Rides on a cloud disdainful by A Sultan, or a Czar, Laughs at the worms that rise so high, Or frowns 'em from afar, He bids his awful chariot roll Far downward from the skies, To visit every humble soul, With pleasure in his eyes. Why should the Lord that reigns above Disdain so lofty kings ? Say, Lord, and why such looks of love Upon such worthless things ? Mortals, be dumb ; what creature dares, Dispute his awful will ? Ask no account of his affairs, But tremble, and be still. E 50 LYRIC POEMS, Just like his nature is his grace, All sovereign, and all free ; Great God, how searchless are thy ways ! How deep thy judgments be ! THE INFINITE. Some seraph, lend your heavenly tongue, Or harp of golden string, That I may raise a lofty song To our Eternal King. Thy names, how infinite they be ! Great Everlasting One 1 Boundless thy might and majesty, And unconfind thy throne. Thy glories shine of wondrous size, And wondrous large thy grace ; Immortal day breaks from thine eyes, And Gabriel veils his face. Thine essence is a vast abyss, Which angels cannot sound, An ocean of infinities Where all our thoughts are drown'd. The mysteries of creation lie, Beneath enlightend minds, Thoughts can ascend above the sky, And fly before the winds. SACRED TO DEVOTION. M Reason may grasp the massy hills, And stretch from pole to pole, But half thy name our spirit fills, And overloads our soul. In vain our haughty reason swells, For nothing's found in thee But boundless unconceivables, And vast eternity. CONFESSION AND PARDON. Alas, my aching heart ! Here the keen torment lies ; It racks my waking hours with smart, And frights my slumb'ring eyes. Guilt will be hid no more, My griefs take vent apace, The crimes that blot my conscience o'er Flush crimson in my face. My sorrows, like a flood, Impatient of restraint, Into thy bosom, O my God, Pour out a long complaint. This impious heart of mine, Could once defy the Lord, Could rush with violence on to sin, In presence of thy sword. E 2 52 LYRIC POEMS, b How often have I stood A rebel to the skies, The calls, the tenders of a God, And merc3 T 's loudest cries ! He offers all his grace, And all his heaven to me ; Offers ! but 'tis to senseless brass, That cannot feel nor see. Jesus the Saviour stands To court me from above, And looks and spreads his wounded hands, And shews the prints of love. But I, a stupid fool, How long have I withstood The blessings purchas'd with his soul, And paid for all in blood ? The heav'nly Dove came down And tender' d me his wings To mount me upwards to a crown, And bright immortal things. Lord, I'm asham'd to say That I refus'd thy Dove, And sent thy Spirit griev'd away, To his own realms of love. Not all thine heav nly charms, Nor terrors of thy hand, Could force me to lay down my arms, And bow to thy command. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 53 Lord, 'tis against thy face My sins like arrows rise, And yet, and yet (O matchless grace !) Thy thunder silent lies. O shall I never feel The meltings of thy love ? Am I of such hell-harden d steel That mercy cannot move ? Now for one powerful glance, Dear Saviour, from thy face ! This rebel-heart no more withstands, But sinks beneath thy grace. O'ercome by dying love I fall, Here at thy cross I lie ; And throw my flesh, my soul, my all, And weep, and love, and die. " Rise, says the Prince of Mercy, rise, " With joy and pity in his eyes : " Rise, and behold my wounded veins, " Here flows the blood to wash thy stains. u See my great Father reconcil'd :" He said. And lo, the Father smil'd ; The joyful cherubs clapd their wings, And sounded grace on all their strings. 54 LYRIC POEMS, book r YOUNG MEN AND MAIDENS, OLD MEN AND BABES, PRAISE YE THE LORD. ,Psaim cxlviii. 12. OONS of Adam, bold and young, In the wild mazes of whose veins A flood of fiery vigour reigns, And wields your active limbs, with hardy sinews strung; Fall prostrate at th' eternal throne Whence your precarious powers depend; Nor swell as if your lives were all your own, But choose your Maker for your friend ; His favour is your life, his arm is your support, His hand can stretch your days, or cut your minutes short. Virgins, who roll your artful eyes, And shoot delicious danger thence ; Swift the lovely lightning flies, And melts our reason down to sense; Boast not of those withering charms That must yield their youthful grace To age and wrinkles, earth and worms : But love the author of your smiling face; That heav'nly Bridegroom claims your blooming O make it your perpetual care [hours; To please that Everlasting Fair; His beauties are the sun, and but the shade is yours. Infants, whose different destinies Are wove with threads of different size; But from the same spring-tide of tears, Commence your hopes and joys and fears, (A tedious train;) and date your following years : SACRED TO DEVOTION. 55 Break your first silence in his praise Who wrought your wondrous frame : With sounds of tenderest accent raise Young honours to his name ; And consecrate your early days To know the pow'r supreme. Ye heads of venerable age, Just marching off the mortal stage, Fathers, whose vital threads are spun As long as e'er the glass of life would run, Adore the hand that led your way Thro' flow'ry fields a fair long summer's day ; Gasp out your soul in praises to the Sovereign Pow'r That set your west so distant from your dawning hour. FLYING FOWL, AND CREEPING THINGS, PRAISE YE THE LORD, Psalm cxlviii. 10. Sweet flocks, whose soft enamel'd wing Swift and gently cleaves the sky ; Whose charming notes address the spring With an artless harmony. Lovely minstrels of the field, Who in leafy shadows sit, And your wondrous structures build, Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light; To nature's Cod your first devotions pay, E'er you salute the rising day, Tis he calls up the sun, and gives him every ray. 56 LYRIC POEMS, bo Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide, And wear upon your shining back Numerous ranks of gaudy pride, Which thousand mingling colours make ; Let the fierce glances of your eyes Rebate their baleful fire : In harmless play twist and unfold The volumes of your scaly gold : That rich embroidery of your gay attire, Proclaims your Maker kind and wise. Insects and mites, of mean degree, That swarm in myriads o'er the land, Moulded by wisdom's artful hand, And curl'd and painted with a various die ; In your innumerable forms Praise him that wears th' ethereal crown, And bends his lofty counsels down To despicable worms. THE COMPARISON AND COMPLAINT. Infinite power, eternal Lord, How sovereign is thy hand ! All nature rose f obey thy word, And moves at thy command. With steady course thy shining sun Keeps his appointed way ', And all the hours obedient run The circle of the day. SACRED TO DEVOTION, 57 But ah S how wide my spirit flies, And wanders from her God! My soul forgets the heavenly prize, And treads the downward-road. The raging fire, and stormy sea, Perform thine awful will, And every beast and every tree, Thy great designs fulfil. While my wild passions rage within. Nor thy commands obey ; And flesh and sense, enslav'd to sin, Draw my best thoughts awa} r . Shall creatures of a meaner frame Pay all their dues to thee? Creatures, that never knew thy name, That never lov'd like me ? Great God, create my soul anew, Conform my heart to thine, Melt down my will, and let it flow, And take the mould divine. Seize my whole frame into thy hand ; Here all my pow'rs I bring; Manage the wheels by thy command, And govern every spring. Then shall my feet no more depart, Nor wand'ring senses rove ; Devotion shall be all my heart, And all my passions love* 58 LYRIC POEMS. Then not the sun shall more than I His Maker's law perform, Nor travel swifter thro' the sky, Nor with a zeal so warm. GOD SUPREME AND SELF-SUFFICIENT. VV hat is our God, or what his name, Nor men can learn, nor angels teach ; He dwells conceal'd in radiant flame, Where neither eyes nor thoughts can reach. The spacious worlds of heav'nly light, Compar'd with him, how short they fall ? They are too dark, and he too bright, Nothing are they, and God is all. He spoke the wondrous word, and lo, Creation rose at his command : Whirlwinds and seas their limits know, Bound in the hollow of his hand. There rests the earth, there roll the spheres, There nature leans, and feels her prop : But his own self-sufficience bears The weight of his own glories up. The tide of creatures ebbs and flows, Measuring their changes by the moon : No ebb his sea of glory knows ; His age is one eternal noon. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 59 Then fly, my song, an endless round, The lofty tune let Michael raise ; All nature dwell upon the sound, But we can ne'er fulfil the praise. JESUS THE ONLY SAVIOUR. Adam, our father and our head Transgrest ; and justice doom'd us dead : The fiery law speaks all despair, There's no reprieve, nor pardon there. Call a bright counsel in the skies ; " Seraphs the mighty and the wise, u Say, what expedient can you give, " That sin be damnd, and sinners live ? " Speak, are you strong to bear the load, " The weighty vengeance of a God ? " Which of you loves our wretched race, " Or dares to venture in our place ?" In vain we ask : for all around Stands silence thro' the heavenly ground : There's not a glorious mind above Has half the strength, or half the love. But, O unutterable Grace ! Th' eternal Son takes Adam's place : Down to our world the Saviour flies, Stretches his naked arms, and dies. 60 LYRIC POEMS, a Justice was pleas'd to bruise the God, And pay its wrongs with heavenly blood; What unknown racks and pangs he bore ! Then rose : The law could ask no more. Amazing work! look down, ye skies, Wonder and gaze with all your eyes ; Ye heavenly thrones, stoop from above, And bow to this mysterious love. See, how they bend I See, how they look ! Long they had read th 1 Eternal Book, And studied dark decrees in vain, The cross and Calvary makes them plain. Now they are struck with deep amaze, Each with his wings conceals his face ; Now clap their sounding plumes, and cry, The wisdom of a Deity ! Low they adore th' incarnate Son, And sing the glories he hath won ; Sing how he broke our iron chains, How deep he sunk, how high he reigns. Triumph and reign, victorious Lord, By all thy flaming hosts ador'd : And say, dear Conqueror, say, how long,. Ere we shall rise to join their song. Lo, from afar the promis'd day Shines with a well-distinguish'd ray ; But my wing d passion hardly bears These lengths of slow delaying years. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 61 Send down a chariot from above, With fiery wheels, and pav'd with love ; Raise me beyond th' ethereal blue, To sinsr and love as angels do. LOOKING UPWARD. The heavens invite mine eye, The stars salute me round ; Father, I blush, I mourn to lie Thus grovelling on the ground. My warmer spirits move, And make attempts to fly; I wish aloud for wings of love To raise me swift and high. Beyond those crystal vaults, And all their sparkling balls ; They're but the porches to thy courts, And paintings on thy walls. Vain world, farewell to you j Heaven is my native air : I bid my friends a short adieu, Impatient to be there. I feel my powers releast From their old fleshy clod ; Fair guardian, bear me up in haste And set me near my God. 62 LYRIC POEMS, CHRIST DYING, RISING, AND REIGNING, He dies ! the heavenly Lover dies ! The tidings strike a doleful sound On my poor heart-strings : deep he lies In the cold caverns of the ground. Come, saints, and drop a tear or two, On the dear bosom of your God, He shed a thousand drops for you, A thousand drops of richer blood. Here's love and grief beyond degree, The Lord of Glory dies for men ! But lo, what sudden joys I see ! Jesus the dead revives again. The rising God forsakes the tomb, Up to his Father's court he flies ; Cherubic legions guard him home, And shout him welcome to the skies. Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell How high our Great Deliverer reigns, Sing how he spoil d the hosts of hell, And led the monster Death in chains. Say, live for ever, wondrous King ! Born to redeem, and strong to save ! Then ask the monster, \V here's his sting ? And where a thy victor}', boasting Grave ? SACRED TO DEVOTION 63 THE GOD OF THUNDER. O the immense, th' amazing height, The boundless grandeur of our God, Who treads the worlds beneath his feet t And sways the nations with his nod ! He speaks ; and lo, all nature shakes, Heav'ns everlasting pillars bcw ; He rends the clouds with hideous cracks, And shoots his fiery arrows through. Well, let the nations start and fly At the blue lightning's horrid glare, Atheists and emperors shrink and die, When flame and noise torment the air. Let noise and flame confound the skies, And drown the spacious realms below, Yet will we sing the Thunderer's praise, And send our loud hosannas through. Celestial King, thy blazing power Kindles our hearts to flaming joys, We shout to hear thy thunders roar, And echo to our Father's voice. Thus shall the God our Saviour come, And lightnings round his chariot play, Ye lightnings, fly to make him room, Ye glorious storms, prepare his way. 64 LYRIC POEMS, book r. THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. AN ODE. Attempted in English Sapphick. When the fierce north wind with his airy forces Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury ; And the red lightning, with a storm of hail comes, Rushing amain down. How the poor sailors stand amaz'd and tremble ! While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters Quick to devour them. Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder, (If things eternal may be like those earthly) Such the dire terror when the great Archangel Shakes the creation ; Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven, Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes ; See the graves open, and the bones arising, Flames all around 'em I Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches ! Lively bright horror, and amazing anguish, Stare thro 1 their eye-lids, while the living worm lies Gnawing within them. Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart- strings, And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling afore him. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 65 Hopeless immortals ! how they scream and shiver While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning Hideous and gloomy to receive them headlong Down to the centre. Stop here, my fancy : (all away, ye horrid Doleful ideas,) come, arise to Jesus, How he sits God-like ! and the saints around him Thron d, yet adoring ! O may I sit there when he comes triumphant, Dooming the nations ! then ascend to glory, While our hosannas all along the passage Shout the Redeemer. THE SONG OF ANGELS ABOVE. -Larth has detain' d me prisoner long, And I'm grown weary now : My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, There's nothing here for you. Tir'd in my thoughts I stretch me down, And upward glance mine eyes ; Upward, my Father, to thy throne, And to my native skies. There the dear Man, my Saviour sits, The God, how bright he shines ! Vnd scatters infinite delights On all the happy minds. F 66 LYRIC POE]\IS. Seraphs with elevated strains Circle the throne around, And move and charm the starry plains With an immortal sound. Jesus the Lord their harps employs, Jesus, my love they sing, Jesus, the name of both our joys Sounds sweet from every string. Hark, how beyond the narrow bounds Of time and space they run, And speak in most majestic sounds, The Godhead of the Son. How on the Father's breast he lay, The darling of his soul, Infinite years before the day Or heavens began to roll. And now they sink the lofty tone, And gentler notes they play. And bring th' Eternal Godhead down To dwell in humble clay. O sacred beauties of the Man ! (The God resides within) His flesh all pure, without a stain, ■ His soul without a sin. Then, how he look'd, and how he smiFd, What wondrous things he said ! Sweet cherubs, stay, dwell here a while, And tell what Jesus did. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 67 At his command the blind awake, And feel the gladsome rays ; He bids the dumb attempt to speak, They try their tongues in praise. He shed a thousand blessings round Where'er he turn'd his eye ; He spoke, and at the sovereign sound The hellish legions fly. Thus while with unambitious strife Th' ethereal minstrels rove Thro' all the labours of his life, And wonders of his love; In the full choir a broken string Groans with a strange surprize ; The rest in silence mourn their king, That bleeds, and loves, and dies. Seraph and saint, with drooping wings, Cease their harmonious breath ; No blooming trees, nor bubbling springs,. While Jesus sleeps in death. Then all at once to living strains They summon every chord, Break up the tomb, and burst his chains, And shew their rising Lord. Around the flaming army throngs To guard him to the skies, With loud Hosannas on their tongues, And triumph in their eyes. f i 68 LYRIC POEMS. book i. In awful state the conquering God Ascends his shining throne, While tuneful angels sound abroad The vicfries he has won. Now let me rise, and join their song, And be an angel too ; My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue. Here's joyful work for you. I would begin the music here, And so my soul should rise : Oh for some heavenly notes to bear My spirit to the skies ! There, ye that love my Saviour, sit, There I would fain have place, Amongst your thrones, or at your feet So I might see his face, I am confin'd to earth no more, But mount in haste above, To bless the God that I adore, And sing the Man I love. FIRE, AIR, EARTH, AND SEA, PRAISE YE THE LORD. Earth, thou great footstool of our God Who reigns on high-; thou fruitful source Of all our raiment, life and food ; Our house, our parent, and our nurse - 9 SACRED TO DEVOTION. 69 Mighty stage of mortal scenes, Drest with strong and gay machines, Hung with golden lamps around 5 (And flow'ry carpets spread the ground) Thou bulky globe, prodigious mass, That hangs unpillar'd in an empty space : While thy unwieldy weight rests on the feeble air, Bless that Almighty Word that fix'd and holds thee there. Fire, thou swift herald of his face, Whose glorious rage, at his command* Levels a palace with the sand, Blending the lofty spires in ruin with the base : Ye heav nly flames, that singe the air, Artillery of a jealous God; Bright arrows that his sounding quivers bear To scatter deaths abroad ; Lightnings, adore the sovereign arm that flings His vengeance, and your fires, upon the heads of kings. Thou vital element, the air, Whose boundless magazines of breath Our fainting flame of life repair, And save the bubble man from the cold arms of death : And ye, whose vital moisture yields Lifes purple stream a fresh supply ; Sweet waters, wand' ring thro' the fiow'ry fields, Or dropping from the sky ; Confess the Powr whose all-sufficient name Nor needs your aid to build, or to support our frame. 70 LYRIC POEMS, book i. Now the rude air, with noisy force, Beats up and swells the angry sea, They join to make our lives a prey, And sweep the sailor's hopes away, Vain hopes, to reach their kindred on the shores ! Lo, the wild seas %nd surging waves Gape hideous in a thousand graves : Be still, ye floods, and know your bounds of sand, Ye storms, adore your Masters hand ; ( The winds are in his fist, the waves at his command. From the eternal emptiness His fruitful word by secret springs Drew the whole harmony of things That form this noble universe : Old Nothing knew his pow'rful hand, Scarce had he spoke his full command, Fire, air, and earth, and sea heard the creating call, And leap'd from empty nothing to this beauteous And still they dance, and still obey [All; The orders they receivd the great creation-day. THE FAREWEL. i^EAD be my heart to all below, To mortal joys and mortal cares ; To sensual bliss that charms us so Be dark, my eyes, and deaf, mine ears. Here I renounce my carnal taste Of the fair fruit that sinners prize : Their paradise shall never waste One thought of mine, but to despise. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 71 AH earthly joys are over-weigh' d With mountains of vexatious care ; And where's the sweet that is not laid A bait to some destructive snare ? Be gone for ever, mortal things ! Thou mighty mole-hill, earth, farewel ! Angels aspire on lofty wings, And leave the globe for ants to dwell. Come Heaven, and fill my vast desires, My soul pursues the sovereign good ; She was all made of heavenly fires, Nor can she live on meaner food. GOD ONLY KNOWN TO HIMSELF. Stand and adore ! how glorious he That dwells in bright eternity ! We gaze, and we confound our sight Plung'd in th' abyss of dazzling light. Thou sacred One, Almighty Three, Great Everlasting Mystery, What lofty numbers shall we frame Equal to thy tremendous name ? Seraphs, the nearest to the throne, Begin, and speak the Great Unknown : Attempt the song, wind up your strings, To notes untry'd, and boundless things. 72 LYRIC POEMS. You, whose capacious powers survey Largely beyond our eyes of clay : Yet what a narrow portion too Is seen, or known, or thought by you ? How flat your highest praises fall Below the immense Original ! Weak creatures we, that strive in vain To reach an uncreated strain ! Great God, forgive our feeble lays, Sound out thine own eternal praise ; A song so vast, a theme so high, Calls for the voice that tun'd the skv. PARDON AND SANCTIFIC ATION. JVIy crimes awake; and hideous fear Distracts my restless mind, Guilt meets my eyes with horrid glare, And hell pursues behind. Almighty vengeance frowns on high, And flames array the throne; While thunder murmurs round the sky, Impatient to be gone. Where shall I hide this noxious head ? Can recks or mountains save ? Or shall I wrap me in the shade Of midnight and the grave? SACRED TO DEVOTION. 1* Is there no shelter from the eye Of a revenging God ? Jesus, to thy dear wounds I fly, Bedew me with thy blood. Those guardian drops my soul secure, And wash away my sin ; Eternal justice frowns no more, And conscience smiles within. I bless that wondrous purple stream That whitens every stain ; Yet is my soul but half redeem'd, If Sin the tyrant reign. Lord, blast his empire with thy breath, That cursed throne msst fall ; Ye flattering plagues, that work my death, Fly, for I hate you all. SOVEREIGNTY AND GRACE. The Lord ! how fearful is his name ? How wide is his command ? Nature, with all her moving frame, Rests on his mighty hand. Immortal glory forms his throne, And light his awful robe ; Whilst with a smile, or with a frown, He manages the globe. 74 LYRIC POEMS, book i. A word of his almighty breath Can swell or sink the seas 5 Build the vast empires of the earth, Or break them as he please. Adoring angels round him fall In all their shining forms, His sovereign eve looks thro' them all, And pities mortal worms. His bowels, to our worthless race, In sweet compassion move ; He clothes his looks with softest grace, And takes his title, Love. Now let the Lord for ever reign, And sway us as he will, Sick, or in health, in ease, or pain, We are his favourites still. No more shall peevish passion rise, The tongue no more complain ; Tis sovereign love that lends our joys, And love resumes a<2ain. THE LAW AND GOSPEL. " Curst be the man, for ever curst, " That doth one wilful sin commit ; " Death and damnation for the first, " Without relief and infinite." SACRED TO DEVOTION. Thus Sinai roars; and round the earth Thunder, and fire, and vengeance flings; But Jesus, thy dear gasping breath, And Calvary, say gentler things. " Pardon, and grace, and boundless love, " Streaming along a Saviours blood, " And life, and joys, and crowns above, " Dear-purchas'd by a bleeding God." Hark, how he prays, (the charming sound Dwells on his dying lips) forgive ; And every groan and gaping wound, Cries, " Father, let the rebels live." Go you that rest upon the law, And toil, and seek salvation there, Look to the flames that Moses saw, And shrink, and tremble, and despair. But Til retire beneath the cross, Saviour, at thy dear feet I lie ; And the keen sword that Justice draws, Flaming and red, shall pass me by. SEEKING A DIVINE CALM IN A RESTLESS WORLD. O Mens, qua? stabili fata Regis vice, &c. Casimive, Book III. Od. 28, Internal mind, who rul'st the fates Of dying realms, and rising states, 76 LYRIC POEMS. b< With one unchang'd decree, While we admire thy vast affairs Say, can our little trifling cares Afford a smile to thee ? Thou scatterest honours, crowns, and gold j We fly to seize, and fight to hold The bubbles and the ore : So emmets struggle for a grain; So boys their petty wars maintain For shells upon the shore. Here a vain man his scepter breaks, The next a broken scepter takes, And warriors win and lose ; This rolling world will never stand Plundered and snatch'd from hand to hand, As power decays or grows. Earth's but an atom : greedy swords Carve it amongst a thousand lords, And yet they cant agree : Let greedy swords still fight and slay, I can be poor : but Lord, I pray To sit and smile with thee. HAPPY FRAILTY. il How meanly dwells th' immortal mind ! " How vile these bodies are ! u Why was a clod of earth design d " T' enclose a heavenly star ? SACRED TO DEVOTION. 77 " Weak cottage where our souls reside ! * This flesh a tottring wall ; " With frightful breaches gaping wide " The building bends to fall. " All round it storms of trouble blow, *' And waves of sorrow roll 5 *' Cold waves and winter storms beat through, " And pain the tenant-souL *' Alas ! how frail our state l" said I; And thus went mourning on, Till sudden from the cleaving sky A gleam of glory shone. My soul all felt the glory come, And breath 1 d her native air ; Then she remember'd heaven her home, And she a prisoner here. Straight she began to change her key, And joyful in her pains, She sung the frailty of her clay In pleasurable strains. " How weak the pris n is where I dwell ! " Flesh but a tottering wall, " The breaches certainly foretel, " The house must shortly fall. 4( No more, my friends, shall I complain, " Tho' all my heart-strings ache ; •* i Welcome, disease, and every pain, " That makes the cottage shake. 78 LYRIC POEMS, u Now let the tempest blow all round, " Now swell the surges high, " And beat this house of bondage down, * To let the stranger fly. " I have a mansion built above Again he lives ; and spreads his hands, Hands that were naiFd to tort 1 ring smart ; By these dear wounds, says he ; and stands And prays to clasp me to his heart. Sure I must love ; or are my ears Still deaf, nor will my passions move ? Then let me melt this heart to tears; This heart shall yield to death or love. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 95 THE HEART GIVEN AWAY* If there are passions in my soul, (And passions sure there be) Now they are all at thy controul, My Jesus, all for thee. If love, that pleasing power, can rest In hearts so hard as mine, Come, gentle Saviour, to my breast, For all my love is thine. Let the gay world, with treacherous art, Allure my eyes in vain : I have convey'd away my heart, Ne'er to return again. I feel my warmest passions dead To all that earth can boast ; This soul of mine was never made For vanity and lust. Now I can fix my thoughts above, Amidst their flatt'ring charms, Till the dear Lord that hath my love Shall call me to his arms. So Gabriel at his King's command, From yon celestial hill, Flies downward to our worthless land, His soul points upward still 96 LYRIC POEMS, He glides along by mortal things, Without a tnought of love, Fulfils his task, and spreads his wings To reach the realms above. MEDITATION IN A GROVE. Sweet muse, descend and bless the shade, And bless the evening grove ; Business, and noise, and day are fled, And every care, but love. But hence, ye wanton young and fair, Mine is a purer flame ; No Phillis shall infect the air, With her unhallowed name. Jesus has all my powers possest, My hopes, my fears, my jo} T s : He, the dear Sovereign of my breast, Shall still command my voice. Some of the fairest choirs above Shall flock around my song, With joy to hear the name they love Sound from a mortal tongue. His charms shall make my numbers flow, And hold the falling floods, While silence sits on every bough, And bends the list'ning woods. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 9? I'll carve our passion on the bark, And every wounded tree Shall drop and bear some mystic mark That Jesus dy'd for me. The swains shall wonder when they read, Inscrib d on all the grove, That Heaven itself came down, and bled To win a mortal's love. THE FAIREST AND THE ONLY EELOVED, Honour to that diviner ray That first allur'd my eyes away From every mortal fair; All the gay things that held my sight Seem but the twinkling sparks of night, And languishing in doubtful light Die at the morning-star. "Whatever speaks the Godhead great, And fit to be ador d, Whatever makes the creature sweet, And worthy of my passion, meet Harmonious in my Lord. A thousand graces ever rise And bloom upon his face 5 A thousand arrows from his eyes Shoot thro 1 my heart with dear surprize, And guard around the place. h n LYRIC POEMS, All nature's art shall never cure The heavenly pains I found, And 'tis beyond all beauty's power To make another wound : Earthly beauties grow and fade ; Nature heals the wounds she made, But charms so much divine Hold a long empire of the heart ; What heaven has join'd shall never part, And Jesus must be mine. In vain the envious shades of night, Or flatteries of the day- Would veil his image from my sight, Or tempt my soul away ; Jesus is all my waking theme, His lovely form meets every dream And knows not to depart : The passion reigns Thro' all my veins, And floating round the crimson stream, Still finds him at my heart. Dwell there, for ever dwell, my love ; Here I confine my sense ; Nor dare my wildest wishes rove Nor stir a thought from thence. Amidst thy glories and thy grace Let all my remnant minutes pass ; Grant, thou Everlasting Fair, Grant my soul a mansion there : My soul aspires to see thy face Tho' life should for the vision pay ; SACRED TO DEVOTION. 9§ So rivers run to meet the sea, And lose their nature in th' embrace. Thou art my ocean, thou my God ! In thee the passions of the mind With joys and freedom unconfin d Exult, and spread their powers abroad. Not all the glittering things on high Can make my heaven, if thou remove j I shall be tird and long to die ; Life is a pain without thy love ; Who could ever bear to be Curst with immortality Among the stars, but far from thee ? MUTUAL LOVE STRONGER THAN DEATH, Not the rich world of minds above Can pay the mighty debt of love I owe to Christ my God : With pangs which none but he could feel He brought my guilty soul from hell : Not the first Seraph's tongue can tell The value of his blood. Kindly he seiz'd me in his arms, From the false world's pernicious charms With force divinely sweet. Had T ten thousand lives my own, At his demand, With chearful hand, H2 100 LYRIC POEMS. I'd pay the vital treasure down In hourly tributes at his feet. But Saviour, let me taste thy grace With every fleeting breath : And thro' that heaven of pleasure pass To the cold arms of death ; Then I could lose successive souls Fast as the minutes fly ; So billow after billow rolls To kiss the shore, and die. A SIGHT OF CHRIST. The substance of the following Copy, and many of the Lines, were sent me by an esteemed friend, Mr W. Nokes, wiih a desire that I would form them into a Pindaric Ode ; but I retained his measures, lest I should too much alter his sense. Angels of light, your God and King surround With noble songs 3 in his exalted flesh He claims your worship; while his saints on earth, Bless their Redeemer-God with humble tongues, Angels with lofty honours crown his head ; We bowing at his feet, by faith, may feel His distant influence, and confess his love. Once I beheld his face, when beams divine Broke from his eye-lids, and unusual light Wrapt me at once in glory and surprize. My joyful heart high leaping in my breast With transport cry'd, This is the Christ of God-, SACRED TO DEVOTION; 101 Then threw my arms around in sweet embrace, And clasp'd, and bow'd adoring low, till I was lost in him. While he appears, no other charms can hold X)r draw my soul, asham'd of former things, Which no remembrance now deserve or name, Tho' with contempt ; best in oblivion hid. But the bright shine and presence soon withdrew ; I sought him whom I love, but found him not ; I felt his absence ; and with strongest cries Proclaim'd, Where Jesus is not, all is vain. Whether I hold him with a full delight, Or seek him panting with extreme desire, 'Tis he alone can please my wond 'ring soul ; To hold or seek him is my only choice. If he refrain .on me to cast his eye Down from his palace, nor my longing soul With upward look can spy my dearest Lord Thro' his blue pavement, 111 behold him still With sweet reflection on the peaceful cross, All in his blood and anguish groaning deep, Gasping and dying there. This sight I ne'er can lose, by it I live : A quick'ning virtue from his death inspir'd Is life and breath to me ; his flesh my food \ His vital blood I drink, and hence my strength. I live, I'm strong, and now eternal life Beats quick within my breast ; my vigorous mind Spurns the dull earth, and on her fiery wings Reaches the mount of purposes divine, 102 LYRIC POEMS, book i, Counsels of peace betwixt th' Almighty Three Conceived at once, and sign'd without debate, In perfect union of th' eternal mind. With vast amaze I see the unfathom'd thoughts, Infinite schemes, and infinite designs Of God's own heart, in which he ever rests. Eternity lies open to my view ; Here the beginning and the end of all I can discover ; Christ the end of all, And Christ the great beginning; he my head, My God, my Glory, and my All in All. O that the day, the joyful day were come, When the first Adam from his ancient dust Crown'd with new honours shall revive, and see Jesus his Son and Lord; while shouting saints Surround their King, and God's eternal Son Shines in the midst, but with superior beams, And like himself: Then the m) T stenous word Long hid behind the letter, shall appear All spirit and life, and in the fullest light Stand forth to public view ; and there disclose His Father's sacred works, and wondrous ways : Then wisdom, righteousness, and grace divine, Thro' all the infinite transactions past, Inwrought and shining, shall with double blaze Strike our astonish'd eyes, and ever reign Admir'd and glorious in triumphant light Death, and the Tempter, and the Man of Sin Now at the bar arraignd, in judgment cast, Shall vex the saints no more : but perfect love And loudest praises perfect joy create, While ever-circling vears maintain the blissful state. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 103 LOVE ON A CROSS, AND A THRONE. Now let my faith grow strong, and rise, And view my Lord in all his love j Look back to hear his dying cries, Then mount and see his throne above. See where he languish' d on the cross, Beneath my sins he groan'd and dy'd ; See where he sits to plead my cause By his Almighty Father's side. If I behold his bleeding heart, There love in floods of sorrow reigns, He triumphs o'er the killing smart, And buys my pleasure with his pains. Or if I climb th' eternal hills Where the dear Conqueror sits enthroned, Still in his heart compassion dwells, Near the memorials of his wound. How shall a pardon'd rebel show How much I love my dying God > Lord, here I banish every foe, I hate the sins that cost thy blood. I hold no more commerce with hell, My dearest lusts shall all depart ; But let thine image ever dwell Stampt as a seal upon my heart. 104 LYRIC POEMS. boof A PREPARATORY THOUGHT FOR THE LORD'S SUPPER. In imitation of Isaiah lxiii. 1,2, 3. What heavenly Man, or lovely God, Comes marching downward from the skies, Array' d in garments roll'd in blood, With joy and pity in his eyes ? The Lord ! the Saviour ! yes, 'tis he, I know him by the smiles he wears : Dear glorious Man that dy'd for me, Drench'd deep in agonies and tears ! Lo, he reveals his shining breast ; 1 own those wounds, and I adore : Lo, he prepares a royal feast, Sweet fruit of the sharp pangs he bore ! Whence flow these favours so divine ! Lord ! why so lavish of thy blood ? Why for such earthly souls as mine, This heav'nly flesh, this sacred food ? Twas his own love that made him bleed, That nail'd him to the cursed tree ; *Twas his own love this table spread For such unworthy worms as we. Then let us taste the Saviour's love, Come, faith, and feed upon the Lord: With glad consent our lips shall move And sweet Hcsannas crown the board. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 105 CONVERSE WITH CHRIST. I'm tir'd with visits, modes, and forms, And flatteries paid to fellow- worms : Their conversation cloys ; Their vain amours, and empty stuff: But I can ne'er enjoy enough Of thy blest company, my Lord, thou life of all my joys. When he begins to tell his love, Through every vein my passions move, The captives of his tongue : In midnight shades, on frosty ground, I could attend the pleasing sound, Nor should I feel December cold, nor think the darkness long. There, while I hear my Saviour God Count o'er the sins (a heavy load) He bore upon the tree, Inward I blush with secret shame, And weep, and love, and bless the name That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare it all for me. Next he describes the thorns he wore, And talks his bloody passion o'er, Till I am drown d in tears : Yet with the sympathetic smart There's a strange joy beats round my heart ! The cursed tree has blessings in't, my sweetest balm it bears, 106 LYRIC POEMS. book i. I hear the glorious sufferer tell, How on his cross he vanquish'd hell, And all the powers beneath : Transported and inspird, my tongue Attempts his triumphs in a song ; u How has the Serpent lost his sting, and where's. thy victory, Death ?" But when he shews his hands and heart, With those dear prints of dying smart, He sets my soul on fire : Not the beloved John could rest With more delight upon that breast, Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense desire. Kindly he opens me his ear, And bids me pour my sorrows there, And tell him all my pains : Thus while I ease my burden'd heart, In every woe he bears a part, His arms embrace me, and his hand my drooping head sustains. Fly from my thoughts, all human things, And sporting swains, and fighting kings, And tales of wanton love : My soul disdains that little snare The tangles of Amira s hair ; Thine arms, my God, are sweeter bands, nor can my heart remove. SACRED TO DEYOTION. 10j GRACE SHINING, AND NATURE FAINTING. Solomon's Song^ i. 3. and ii. 5. and vi, 5. Tell me, fairest of thy kind, Tell me, Shepherd, all divine, Where this fainting head reclin'd May relieve such cares as mine : Shepherd, lead me to thy grove ; If burning noon infect the sky The sick'ning sheep to covert fly, The sheep not half so faint as I, Thus overcome with love. Say, thou dear Sovereign of my breast, Where dost thou'lead thy flock to rest: W T hy should I appear like one Wild and wand'ring all alone, Unbeloved and unknown ? O my Great Redeemer, say, Shall I turn my feet astray I Will Jesus bear to see me rove, To see me seek another love ? Ne'er had I known his dearest name, Neer had I felt his inward flame, Had not his heart-strings first began the tender sound : Nor can I bear the thought, that he Should leave the sky, Should bleed and die, Should love a wretch so vile as me Without returns of passion for his dying wound. 108 LYRIC POEMS, boo* i His eyes are glory mix'd with grace ; In his delightful awful face Sits majesty and gentleness. So tender is my bleeding heart That with a frown he kills ; His absence is perpetual smart Nor is my soul refind enough To bear the beaming of his love, And feel his warmer smiles. Where shall I rest this drooping head ? I love, I love the Sun, and yet I want the shade. My sinking spirits feebly strive T' endure the ecstasy; Beneath these rays I cannot live, And yet without them die. None knows the pleasure and the pain That all my inward powers sustain, But such as feel a Saviour's love, and love the God again. Oh why should beauty heavenly bright Stoop to charm a mortal's sight, And torture with the sweet excess of light? Our hearts, alas ! how frail their make ! With their own weight of joy they break, O ! why is love so strong, and nature's self so weak? Turn, turn away thine eyes, Ascend the azure hills, and shine Amongst the happy tenants of the skies, They can sustain a vision so divine. O turn thy lovely glories from me, The joys are too intense, the glories overcome me. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 109 Dear Lord, forgive my rash complaint, And love me still Against my froward will ; Unveil thy beauties, tho' I faint. Send the great herald from the sky, And at the trumpet's awful roar This feeble state of things shall fly, And pain and pleasure mix no more : Then shall I gaze with strengthen'd sight On glories infinitely bright, My heart shall all be love, my Jesus all delight. LOVE TO CHRIST PRESENT OR ABSENT, Of all the joys we mortals know, Jesus, thy love exceeds the rest ; Love, the best blessing here below, And nearest image of the blest. Sweet are my thoughts, and soft my cares, When the celestial flame I feel ; In all my hopes, and all my fears, There's something kind and pleasing still. While I am held in his embrace There's not a thought attempts to rove j Each smile lie wears upon his face Fixes, and charms, and fires my love. He speaks, and straight immortal joys Run thro' my ears, and reach my heart j My soul all melts at that dear voice, And pleasure shoots thro' every part. 110 LYHIC POEMS, i If he withdraw a moment's space, He leaves a sacred pledge behind ; Here in this breast his image stays, The grief and comfort of my mind. While of his absence I complain, And long, and weep as lovers do, There's a strange pleasure in the pain, And tears have their own sweetness too, When round his courts by day I rove, Or ask the watchmen of the night For some kind tidings of my love, His very name creates delight. Jesus, my God ; yet rather come ; Mine eyes would dwell upon thy face j 'Tis best to see my Lord at home, And feel the presence of his grace. THE AESENCE OF CHRIST. Come, lead me to some lofty shade Where turtflts moan their loves ; Tall shadows were for lovers made ; And grief becomes the groves. Tis no mean beauty of the ground That has enslavd mine eyes'; I faint beneath a nobler wound, Nor love below the skies. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 1 1 i Jesus, the spring of all that's bright, The Everlasting Fair, Heaven's Ornament, and Heaven's Delight, Is my Eternal Care. But, ah ! how far above this grove Does the bright Charmer dwell ? Absence, thou keenest wound to love, That sharpest pain, I feel. Pensive I climb the sacred hills, And near him vent my woes ; Yet his sweet face he still conceals, Yet still my passion grows. I murmur to the hollow vale, I tell the rocks my flame, And bless the echo in her cell That best repeats his name. My passion breathes perpetual sighs, Till pitying winds shall hear, And gently bear them up the skies, And gently wound his ear. DESIRING HIS DESCENT TO EARTH. Jesus, I love. Come, dearest name, Come and possess this heart of mine ; I love, tho' 'tis a fainter flame, And infinitely less than thine. llf LYRIC POEMS, bog O ! if my Lord would leave the skies, Drest in the rays of mildest grace, My soul should hasten to my eyes To meet the pleasures of his face. How would I feast on all his charms, Then round his lovely feet entwine ! Worship and love, in all their forms, Should honour beauty so divine. In vain the tempter's flatt'ring tongue, The world in vain shall bid me move, In vain ; for I should gaze so long Till I were all transform'd to love. Then, mighty God ! I'd sing and say, " What empty names are crowns and kings I " Amongst 'em give these worlds away, u These little despicable things/' I would not ask to climb the sky, Nor envy angels their abode, I have a heaven as bright and high In the blest vision of my God. ASCENDING TO HIM IN HEAVEN. lis pure delight, without alloy, Jesus, to hear thy name, My spirit leaps with inward joy, I feel the sacred flame. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 113 My passions hold a pleasing reign, While love inspires my breast, Love, the divinest of the train, The Sovereign of the rest. This is the grace must live and sing, When faith and fear shall cease, Must sound from every joyful string Thro* the sweet groves of bliss. Let life immortal seize my clay ; Let love refine my blood ; Her flames can bear my soul away, Can bring me near my God. Swift I ascend the heavenly place, And hasten to my home, I leap to meet thy kind embrace, I come, O Lord, I come. Sink down, ye separating hills, Let guilt and death remove, Tis love that drives my chariot-wheels, And death must vield to love. THE PRESENCE OF GOD WORTH DYING FOR. OR, THE DEATH OF MOSES. Lord, 'tis an infinite delight To see thy lovely face, To dwell whole ages in thy sight, And feel thy vital rays. 1U LYRIC POEMS, book This Gabriel knows ; and sings thy name With rapture on his tongue ; Moses the saint enjoys the same, And heaven repeats the song. While the bright nation sounds thy praise From each eternal hill, Sweet odours of exhaling grace The happy region fill. Thy love, a sea without a shore, Spreads life and joy abroad: O 'tis a heaven worth dying for To see a smiling God ! Shew me thy face, and I'll away From all inferior things; Speak, Lord, and here I quit my clay, And stretch my airy wings. Sweet was the journey to the sky The wondrous prophet try'd ; " Climb up the mount," says God, " and die;" The prophet climb' d and dy'd. Softly his fainting head he lay Upon his Makers breast, His Maker kissd his soul away, And laid his flesh to rest. In God's own arms he left the breath That God's own Spirit gave ; His was the noblest road to death, And his the sweetest grave. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 115 LONGING FOR HIS RETURN. O 'twas a mournful parting day ! " Farewel, my Spouse," he said ; (How tedious, Lord, is thy delay ! How long my Love hath staid !) Farewel ! at once he left the ground, And climb' d his Father's sky ; Lord, I would tempt thy chariot down, Or leap to thee on high. Round the creation wild I rove, And search the globe in vain ; There's nothing here that's worth my lovf Till thou return again. My passions fly to seek their King, And send their groans abroad, They beat the air with heavy wing, And mourn an absent God. With inward pain my heart-strings sound, My soul dissolves away ; Dear Sovereign, whirl the seasons round, And bring the promisd day. HOPE IN DARKNESS. 1694. Y et, gracious God, Yet will I seek thy smiling face ; 116 LYRIC POEMS, book What tho t a short eclipse his beauties shroud And bar the influence of his rays, Tis but a morning vapour, or a summer cloud : He is my Sun tho' he refuse to shine, Tho' for a moment he depart 7 dwell for ever on his heart, For ever he on mine. Early before the light arise I'll spring a thought away to God ; The passion of my heart and eyes Shall shout a thousand groans and sighs, A thousand glances strike the skies, The floor of his abode. Dear Sovereign, hear thy servant pray, Bend the blue heavens, Eternal King, Downward thy chearful graces bring ; Or shall 1 breathe in vain, and pant my hours away ? Break, glorious Brightness, thro' the gloomy veil, Look how the armies of despair Aloft their sooty banners rear Round my poor captive soul, and dare Pronounce me prisoner of hell. But Thou, my Sun, and Thou, my Shield, Wilt save me in the bloody field; Break, glorious Brightness, shoot one glimmering ray, One glance of thine creates a day, And drives the troops of hell away. Happy the times, but ah 1 those times are gone When wondrous power and radiant grace Round the tall arches of the temple shone, And mingled their victorious rays : SACRED TO DEVOTION. 1 17 Sin, with all its ghastly train, Fled to the deeps of death again, And smiling triumph sat on every face : Our spirits raptur'd with the sight, Were all devotion, all delight, And loud Hosannas sounded the Redeemer's praise. Here could I say, (And point the place whereon I stood) Here I enjoy'd a visit half the day From my descending God : I was regal' d with heavenly fare, With fruit and manna from above ; Divinely sweet the blessings were While my Emmanuel was there : And o'er my head The Conqueror spread The banner of his love. Then why my heart sunk down so low ? Why do my eyes dissolve and flow, And hopeless nature mourn ? Review, my soul, those pleasing days, Read his unalterable grace Thro' the displeasure of his face, And wait a kind return. A father's love may raise a frown To chide the child, or prove the son> But love will ne'er destroy ; The hour of darkness is but short, Faith be thy life, and patience thy support, The morning brings the joy. 118 LYRIC POEMS. COME, LORD JESUS. When shall thy lovely face be seen? When shall our eyes behold our God ? What lengths of distance lie between, And hills of guilt ? a heavy load ! Our months are ages of delay, And slowly every minute wears : Fly, winged time, and roll away These tedious rounds of sluggish years. Ye heavenly gates, loose all your chains, Let the eternal pillars bow ; Blest Saviour, cleave the starry plains, And make the crystal mountains flow. Hark, how thy saints unite their cries, And pray and wait the general doom ; Come Thou, the Soul of all our joys, Thou, the Desire of nations, come. Put thy bright robes of triumph on, And bless our eyes, and bless our ears, Thou absent Love, thou dear Unknown, Thou Fairest of ten thousand fairs. Our heart-strings groan with deep complaint, Our flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee ; And every limb, and every joint, Stretches for immortality. SACRED TO DEVOTION. 119 Our spirits shake their eager wings, And burn to meet thy flying throne -> We rise away from mortal things T' attend thy shining chariot down. Now let our chearful eyes survey The blazing earth and melting hills, And smile to see the lightnings play, And flash along before thy wheels. O for a shout of violent joys To join the trumpet's thundering sound ! The angel herald shakes the skies, Awakes the graves, and tears the ground. Ye slumb'ring saints, a heavenly host Stands waiting at your gaping tombs 5 Let every sacred sleeping dust Leap into life, for Jesus comes. Jesus, the God of might and love, New-moulds our limbs of cumb'rous clay > Quick as seraphic flames we move, Active and young, and fair as they. Our airy feet with unknown flight Swift as the motions of desire, Run up the hills of heavenly light, And leave the welfring world in fire. ISO LYRIC POEMS, BEWAILING MY OWN INCONSTANCY. T / I love the Lord; but ah ! how far My thoughts from the dear object are ! This wanton heart, how wide it roves ! And fancy meets a thousand loves. If my soul burn to see my God, I tread the courts of his abode, But troops of rivals throng the place And tempt me off before his face. Would I enjoy my Lord alone, I bid my passions all be gone, All but my love ; and charge my will To bar the door and guard it still. But cares, or trifles, make, or find, Still new avenues to the mind, Till I with grief and wonder see, Huge crowds betwixt the Lord and me. Oft I am told the muse will prove A friend to piety and love; Strait I begin some sacred song, And take my Saviour on my tongue. Strangely 1 lose his lovely face, To hold the ^mpty sounds in chase; At best the r mes divide my heart, And the muse shares the larger part SACRED TO DEVOTION. 121 False confident ! and falser breast ! Fickle, and fond of every guest : Each airy image as it flies Here finds admittance thro' my eyes. This foolish hea^t can leave her God, And shadows tempt her thoughts abroad : How shall I fix this wand' ring mind ? Or throw my fetters on the wind ? Look gently down, Almighty Grace> Prison me round in thine embrace ; Pity the soul that would be thine, And let thy power my love confine. Say, when shall that bright moment be That I shall live alone for thee, My heart no foreign lords adore, And the wild muse prove false no more ? FORSAKEN, VET HOPING. Happy the hours, the golden days, When I could call my Jesus mine, And sit and view his smiling face, And melt in pleasures all divine. Near to my heart, within my arms He lay, till sin defil'd my breast, Till broken vows, and earthly charms, Tir'd and provok'd my heavenly guest. m LYRIC POEMS, book i And now He's gone, (O mighty woe !) Gone from my soul, and hides his love ! Curse on you, sins, that griev'd him so, Ye sins, that forcd him to remove. Break, break, my heart ; complain, my tongue ; Hither, my friends, your sorrows bring : Angels, assist my doleful song, If you have e'er a mourning string. ~> But ah ! your joys are ever high, Ever his lovely face you see ; While my poor spirits pant and die, And groan, for Thee, my God, for Thee. Yet let my hope look thro' my tears, And spy afar his rolling throne ; His chariot thro' the cleaving spheres Shall bring the bright Beloved down. Swift as a roe flies o'er the hills, My soul springs out to meet him high, Then the fair Conqueror turns his wheels, And climbs the mansions of the sky, There smiling joy for ever reigns No more the turtle leaves the dove ; Farewel to jealousies, and pains, And all the ills of absent love. SACRED TO DEVOTION 123 The CONCLUSION. GOD EXALTED ABOVE ALL PRAISE. Eternal Power ! whose high abode Becomes the grandeur of a God; Infinite length beyond the bounds Where stars revolve their little rounds. The lowest step above thy seat Rises too high for Gabriel's feet, In vain the tall arch- angel tries To reach thine height with wond'ring eyes. Thy dazzling beauties whilst he sings He hides his face behind his wings ; And ranks of shining thrones around Fall worshipping, and spread the ground. Lord, what shall earth and ashes do ? We would adore our maker too ; From sin and dust to thee we cry, " The Great, the Holy, and the High P Earth from afar has heard thy fame, And worms have learnt to lisp thy name ; But O, the glories of thy mind Leave all our soaring thoughts behind. 124 LYRIC POEMS. God is in heaven, and men below ; Be short, our tunes > our words be few ; A sacred reverence checks our songs, And praise sits silent on our tongues* END OF BOOK I. Tibi siletj O Deus. Psal, Ixv. ]. HOILE LYRICtE. BOOK II. SACRED TO VIRTUE, HONOUR, AND FRIENDSHIP. TO HER MAJESTY. QUEEN of the Northern world whose gentle sway Commands our love, and charms our hearts t' obey, Forgive the nation s groan when William dy'd : Lo, at thy feet in all the loyal pride Of blooming joy, three happy realms appear* And William's urn almost without a tear Stands ; nor complains : while from thy gracious tongue Peace flows in silver streams amidst the throng. Amazing balm, that on those lips was found To sooth the torment of that mortal wound, And calm the wild affright ! The terror dies, The bleeding wound cements, the danger flies, And Albion shouts thine honours as her joys arise. The German eagle feels her guardian dead, Not her own thunder can secure her head y 126 LYRIC POEMS, book it. Her trembling eaglets hasten from afar, And Belgias lion dreads the Gallic war : All hide behind thy shield. Remoter lands Whose lives lay trusted in Nassovian hands, Transfer their souls, and live ; secure they play In thy mild rays, and love the growing day. Thy beamy wing at once defends and warms Fainting religion, whilst in various forms Fair piety shines thro' the British isles : Here at thy side, and in thy kindest smiles* Blazing in ornamental gold she stands, To bless thy councils, and assist thy hands, And crowds wait round her to receive com- mands. There, at a humble distance from the thronef, Beauteous she lies ; her lustre all her own, Ungarnisfrd ; yet not blushing, nor afraid, Nor knows suspicion, nor affects the shade : Chearful and pleas'd, she not presumes to share In thy parental gifts, but owns thy guardian care. For thee, dear Sovereign, endless vows arise, And zeal, with earthly wing, salutes the skies To gairi thy safety : here a sclemn form* Of ancient words keeps the devotion warm, And guides, but bounds our wishes : there the mindf Feels its own fire, and kindles, unconfind, * The Established Church of England. t The Protestant Dissenters. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 127 With bolder hopes : yet still beyond our vows, Thy lovely glories rise, thy spreading terror grows. Princess, the world already owns thy name : Go, mount the chariot of immortal fame, Nor die to be renown d : Fame's loudest breath Too dear is purchas'd by an angel's death. The vengeance of thy rod, with general jo) r , Shall scourge rebellion and the rival boy* : Thy sounding arms his Gallic patron hears And speeds his flight ; nor overtakes his fears, Till hard despair wring from the tyrant's soul The iron tears out. Let thy frown controul Our angry jars at home, till wrath submit Her impious banners to thy sacred feet. Mad zeal, and frenzy, with their murd'rous train, Flee these sweet realms in thine auspicious reign, Envy expire in rage, and Treason bite the chain. Let no black scenes affright fair Albion s stage: Thy thread of life prolong our golden age, Long bless the earth, and late ascend thy throne Ethereal; (not thy deeds are there unknown, Nor there unsung ; for, by thine awful hands, Heaven rules the waves, and thunders o'er the lands, Creates inferior kingsf, and gives them their commands.) * The Pretender. t She made Charles the emperor's second son king of Spain, who is now emperor of Germany. 128 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. Legions attend thee at the radiant gates ; For thee thy sister-seraph, blest Maria, waits. But oh ! the parting stroke ! some heavenly power > Chear thy sad Britons in the gloomy hour ; Some new propitious star appear on high The fairest glory of the western sky, And Anna be its name ; with gentle sway To check the planets of malignant ra} r , Sooth the rude north wind, and the rugged bear, Calm rising wars, heal the contagious air, And reign with peaceful influence to the south- ern sphere. . Note, This poem was written in the year 1705, in that honourable part of the reign of our late queen, when she had broke the French power at Blenheim, as- serted the right of Charles, the present emperor, to the crown of Spain, exerted her zeal for the protestant suc- cession, and promised, inviolably, to maintain the to- leration to the protestant dissenters. Thus she appeared the chief support of the reformation, and the patroness of the liberties of Europe. The latter part of her reign was of a different colour, and was by no means attended with the accomplishment of those glorious hopes which we had conceived. Now the Muse cannot satisfy herself to publish this new edi- tion without acknowledging .the mistake of her former presages ; and while she does the world this justice, she does herself the honour of a voluntary retraction. August I, 1721. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &x. 3 ?9 PALINOBIA. Britons, forgive the forward Muse That dar d prophetic seals to loose, (Unskilled in Fate's eternal book) And the deep characters mistook. George is the name, that glorious star ; Ye saw his splendors beaming far ; Saw, in the -East, your joys arise, When Anna sunk in Western skies, Streaking the heavens with crimson gloom, Emblems of Tyranny and Rome, Portending blood and night to come. 'Twas George difTusd a vital ray, And gave the dying nations day : His influence sooths the Russian bear, Calms rising wars, and heals the air ; Join'd with the sun his beams are hurTd To scatter blessings round the world, Fulfil whatever the muse has spoke, And crown the work that Anne forsook. Aug. 1, 1712. TO JOHN LOCK, Esq. Retired from Business. Angels are made of heavenly things And light and love our souls compose, Their bliss within their bosom springs, Within their bosom flows. K 130 LYRIC POEMS. But narrow minds still make pretence To search the coasts of flesh and sense, And fetch diviner pleasures thence. Men are akin to ethereal forms, But they helve their nobler birth, Debase their honour down to earth, And claim a share with worms. He that has treasures of his own May leave the cottage or the throne, May quit the globe, and dwell alone Within his spacious mind. Locke hath a soul wide as the sea, Calm as the night, bright as the day, There may his vast ideas play, Nor feel a thought confind. TO JOHN SHUTE, Esq, (now lord barrington) On Mr. Locke's dangerous Sickness, some time after he had retired to study the Scriptures. June, 1704. And must the man of wondrous mind (Now his rich thoughts are just refind) Forsake our longing eyes ? Reason, at length submits to wear The wings of Faith; and lo, they rear Her chariot high, and nobly bear Her prophet to the skies. SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 131 Go, friend, and wait the prophet's flight, Watch if his mantle chance to light, And seize it for thy own ; Shute is the darling of his years, Young Shute his better likeness bears; All but his wrinkles and his hairs Are copy'd in his son. Thus when our follies or our faults, Call for the pity of thy thoughts, Thy pen shall make us wise : The sallies of whose youthful wit Could pierce the British fogs with light, Place our true * interest in our sight, And open half our eyes. TO MR. WILLIAM NOKES, FRIENDSHIP. 1702. Friendship, thou charmer of the mind, Thou sweet deluding ill, The brightest minute mortals find, And sharpest hour we feel. Fate has divided all our shares Of pleasure and of pain ; In love the comforts and the cares Are mix'd and joind again. * The Interest of England, written by I. S. Esq. K 2 132 LYRIC POEMS, But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls, And drops of joy are few, This dear delight of mingling souls Serves but to swell our woe. Oh ! why should bliss depart in haste, And friendship stay to moan ? Why the fond passion cling so fast, When every joy is gone ? Yet never let our hearts divide, Nor death dissolve the chain : For love and joy were once ally'd, And must be join d again. To NATHANIEL GOULD, Esq, 1704. Tis not by splendour, or by state, Exalted mien, or lofty gait, My muse takes measure of a king: If wealth, or height, or bulk will do, She calls each mountain of Peru A more majestic thing. Frown on me, friend, if e'er I boast O'er fellow-minds enslav'd in clay, Or swell when I shall have engrost A larger heap of shining dust, And bear a bigger load of earth than they. Let the vain world salute me loud, My thoughts look inward, and forget The sounding names of high and great, Tbe flatteries of the crowd. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &«. 133 When Gould commands his ships to run And search the traffick of the sea, His fleet overtakes the falling day, And bears the westerns-mines away, Or richer spices from the rising sun: While the glad tenants of the shore Shout and pronounce him Senator*, Yet still the man's the same : For well the happy merchant knows The soul with treasure never grows, Nor swells with airy fame. But trust me, Gould, 'tis lawful pride To rise above the mean controul Of flesh and sense, to which we're ty'd ; This is ambition that becomes a soul. We steer our course up thro' the skies ; Farewel this barren land : We ken the heavenly shore with longing eyes, There the dear wealth of spirits lies, And beckoning angels stand. TO DR. THOMAS GIBSON. THE LIFE OF SOULS. 1704. Owift as the sun revolves the day, We hasten to the dead, Slaves to the wind, we puff away, And to the ground we tread. * Member of Parliament for a port in Sussex. 134 LYRIC POEMS, bo Tis air that lends us life, when first The vital bellows heave : Our flesh we borrow of the dust ; And when a mother's care has nurst The babe to manly size, we must With usury pay the grave. Kich juleps drawn from precious ore Still tend the dying flame : And plants, and roots, of barbarous name, Torn from the Indian shore. Tli us we support our tott'ring flesh, Our cheeks resume the rose afresh, When bark and steel play well their game To save our sinking breath, And Gibson, with his awful power, Rescues the poor precarious hour From the demands of death. But art and nature, powers and charms, And drugs, and recipes, and forms, Yield us, at last, to greedy worms A despicable prey ; I'd have a life to call my own, That shall depend on heaven alone ; Nor air, nor earth, nor sea Mix their base essences with mine, Nor claim dominion so divine To give me leave to be. Sure there's a mind within, that reigns O'er the dull current of my veins; I feel the inward pulse beat high With vig'rous immortality. SACRED TO VIRTUE, kc. i$5 X,et earth resume the flesh it gave, And breath dissolve amongst the winds ; Gibson, the things that fear a grave, That I can lose, or you can save, Are not akin to minds. We claim acquaintance with the skies, Upward our spirits hourly rise, And there our thoughts employ: When Heaven shall sign our grand release, We are no strangers to the place, The business, or the joy. FALSE GREATNESS. Mylo, forbear to call him blest That only boasts a large estate, Should all the treasures of the west Meet, and conspire to make him great. I know thy better thoughts, I know Thy reason can't descend so low. Let a broad stream, with golden sands, Thro 1 all his meadows roll, He's but a wretch, with all his lands, That wears a narrow soul. He swells amidst his wealthy store, And proudly poizing what he weighs, In his own scale he fondly lays Huge heaps of shining ore. He spreads the balance wide to hold His manors and his farms, And cheats the beam with loads of gold He hugs between his arms. 136 LYRIC POEMS. i So might the plough-boy climb a tree, When Croesus mounts his throne, And both stand up, and smile to see How long their shadow's grown. Alas ! how vain their fancies be To think that shape their own ! Thus mingled still with wealth and state, Croesus himself can never know ; His true dimensions and his weight Are far inferior to their show. Were I so tail to reach the pole, Or grasp the ocean with my span, I must be measur'd by my soul: The mind's the standard of the man. TO-SARISSA. AN EPISTLE. Lear up, Sarissa, thro' the ruffling storms Of a vain vexing world : tread down the cares, Those rugged thorns that lie across the road, Nor spend a tear upon them. Trust the Muse, She sings experienc'd truth : this briny dew, This rain of eyes will make the briars grow. We travel thro' a desert, and our feet Have measur'd a fair space, have left behind A thousand dangers, and a thousand snares Well 'scap'd. Adieu, ye horrors of the dark, Ye finished labours, and ye tedious toils Of days and hours : the twinge of real smart, And the false terrors of ill-boding dreams SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 187 Vanish together, be alike forgot, For ever blended in one common grave. Farewel, ye waxing and ye waning moons, That we have watch' d behind the flying clouds On Night's dark hill, or setting or ascending, Or in meridian height : then silence reign'd O'er half the world ; then ye beheld our tears, Ye witness'd our complaints, our kindred groans, (Sad harmony !) while with your beamy horns Or richer orb ye silver'd o'er the green Where trod our feet, and lent a feeble light To mourners. Now ye have fulfill'd your round, Those hours are fled, farewel. Months that are gone Are gone for ever, and have borne away Each his own load. Our woes and sorrows past, Mountainous woes, still lessen as they fly Far off. So billows in a stormy sea, Wave after wave (a long succession) roll Beyond the ken of sight : the sailors safe, Look far a-stern till they have lost the storm, And shout their boisterous joys. A gentler muse Sings thy dear safety, and commands thy cares To dark oblivion ; bury'd deep in night Lose them, Sarissa, and assist my song. Awake thy voice, sing how the slender line Of Fate's immortal Now divides the past From all the future, with eternal bars Forbidding a return. The past temptations No more shall vex us ; every grief we feel Shortens the destin'd number ; every pulse Beats a sharp moment of the pain away, 138 LYRIC POEMS, book ii, And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees Time sweeps us off, and we shall soon arrive At Life's sweet period: O celestial point That ends this mortal story ! But if a glimpse of light, with flatt'ring ray, Breaks thro' the clouds of life, or wandering fire, Amidst the shades invite your doubtful feet, Beware the dancing meteor; faithless guide, That leads the lonesome pilgrim wide astray To bogs, and fens, and pits, and certain death ! Should vicious pleasure take an angel form And at a distance rise, by slow degrees, Treacherous, to wind herself into your heart, Stand firm aloof; nor let the gaudy phantom Too long allure } T our gaze : the just delight That heaven indulges lawful must obey Superior powers; nor tempt your thoughts too far In slavery to sense, nor swell your hope To dang'rous size : If it approach your feet, And court your hand, forbid th' intruding joy To sit too near your heart: Still may our souls Claim kindred with the skies, nor mix with dust Our better-born affections : leave the globe, A nest for worms, and hasten to our home. O there are gardens of th' immortal kind, That crown the heavenly Eden's rising hills With beauty and with sweets; no lurking mischief Dwells in the fruit, nor serpent twines the boughs; The branches bend laden with life and bliss Ripe for the taste, but 'tis a steep ascent : SACRED TO DEVOTION. 139 Hold fast the *golden chain let down from heav'n, 'Twill help your feet and wings; I feel its force Draw upwards ; fasten d to the pearly gate It guides the way unerring : Happy clue Thro this dark wild! 'Twas Wisdom's noblest work, All join d by Power Divine, and every link is love. TO MR. T. BRADBURY. PARADISE. 1708, Young as I am, I quit the stage, Nor will I know th' applauses of the age ; Farewel to growing fame. I leave below A life not half worn out with cares, Or agonies, or years ; I leave my country all in tears, But Heaven demands me upward, and I dare to go. Amongst ye. friends, divide and share The remnant of my days, If ye have patience, and can bear A long fatigue of life, and drudge thro' all the Hark, my fair guardian chides my stay, And waves his golden rod : " Angel, I come, lead on the way : ,f * The Gospel. UO LYRIC POEMS. book n. And now by swift degrees I sail aloft thro' azure seas, Now tread the milky road : Farewel, ye planets, in your spheres ; And as the stars are lost, a brighter sky appears. In haste for Paradise I stretch the pinions of a bolder thought : Scarce had I will'd, but I was past Deserts of trackless light and all th' ethereal waste, And to the sacred borders brought; There on the wing a guard of cherubs lies, Each waves a keen flame as he flies, And well defends the walls from sieges and surprize. With pleasing rev'rence I behold The pearly portals wide unfold : Enter, my soul, and view th' amazing scenes ; Sit fast upon the flying muse, And let thy roving wonder loose O'er all th' empyreal plains. Noon stands eternal here: here may thy sight Drink in the rays of primogenial light ; Here breathe immortal air : Joy must beat high in ev'ry vein, Pleasure thro' all thy bosom reign ; The laws forbid that stranger, pain, And banish every care. See how the bubbling springs of love Beneath the throne arise ; The streams in crystal channels move, Around the golden streets they rove, And bless the mansions of the upper skies. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c, Ul There a fair grove of knowledge grows, Nor sin nor death infects the fruit ; Young life hangs fresh on all the boughs, And springs from ev'ry root; Here may thy greedy senses feast While ecstasy and health attends on every taste. With the fair prospect charm'd I stood; Fearless I feed on the delicious fare, And drink profuse Salvation from the Silver Flood, Nor can excess be there. / In sacred order rang'd along, Saints new-releas d by death Join the bold Seraph's warbling breath, Ajid aid th' immortal song. Each has a voice that tunes his strings To mighty sounds and mighty things, Things of everlasting weight, Sounds, like the softer viol, sweet, And, like the trumpet, strong. Divine attention held my soul, I was all ear ! Thro' all my powers the heavenly accents roll, I long'd and wish'd my Bradbury there ; " Could he but hear these notes, I said, " His tuneful soul would never bear " The dull unwinding of life s tedious thread, "But burst the vital chords ' to reach the happy dead." And now my tongue prepares to join The harmony, and with a noble aim Attempts th' unutterable name, But faints, confounded by the notes divine: 142 LYRIC POEMS, book it. Again my soul th' unequal honour sought, Again her utmost force she brought, And bow'd beneath the burden of th' unwieldy thought. Thrice I essay'd, and fainted thrice ; Th' immortal labour strain'd my feeble frame, Broke the bright vision, and dissolv'd the dreamy I sunk at once and lost the skies : In vain I sought the scenes of light Rolling abroad my longing eyes, For all around 'em stood my curtains and the night. STRICT RELIGION VERY RARE* I'm borne aloft, and leave the crowd, I sail upon a morning cloud Skirted with dawning gold : Mine eyes beneath the opening day Command the globe with wide survey, Where ants in busy millions play, And tug and heave the mould. ** Are these the things (my passion cry'd) ** That we call men ? Are these ally'd " To the fair worlds of light ? *' They have ras'd out their Maker's name, •* Grav'n on their minds with pointed flame u In strokes divinely bright. w Wretches ! they hate their native skies ; *' If an ethereal thought arise, w Or spark of virtue shine, SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 143 •* With cruel force they damp its plumes, " Choke the young fire with sensual fumes, " With business, lust, or wine. " Lo ! how they throng with panting breath " The broad descending road " That leads unerring down to death, " Nor miss the dark abode." Thus while I drop a tear or two On the wild herd, a noble few Dare to stray upward, and pursue Th' unbeaten way to God. I meet Myrtillo mounting high, I know his candid soul afar ; Here Dorylus and Thyrsis fly Each like a rising star, Charin I saw and Fidea there, I saw them help each other's flight, And bless them as they go 5 They soar beyond my lab'ring sight, And leave their loads of mortal care, But not their love below. On heavn, their home, they fix their eyes, The temple of their God : With morning incense up they rise Sublime, and thro' the lower skies Spread their perfumes abroad. Across the road a Seraph flew, u Mark, (said he) that happy pair, " Marriage helps devotion there : 144 LYRIC POEMS, book " When kindred minds their God pursue " They break with double vigour thro' M The dull incumbent air." Charrnd with the pleasure and surprize My soul adores and sings, " Blest be the pow'r that springs their flight, " That streaks their path with heavenly light, * That turns their love to sacrifice, " And joins their zeal for wings." TO MR. C. AND S. FLEETWOOD. Fleetwoods, young generous pair, Despise the joys that fools pursue - y Bubbles are light and brittle too, Born of the water and the air. Try'd by a standard bold and just Honour and gold, and paint and dust ; How vile the last is, and as vain the first ! Things that the crowd call great and brave, With me how low their value's brought ? Titles and names, and life and breath, Slaves to the wind, and born for death ; The soul's the only thing we have Worth an important thought. The soul ! 'tis of th' immortal kind, Nor form'd of fire, or earth, or wind, Out-lives the mould'ring corpse, and leaves the globe behind. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. *45 In limbs of clay thcT she appears, Array'd in rosy skin, and deck'd with ears and eyes* The flesh is but the soul's disguise, There's nothing in her frame kin to the dress she wears : From all the laws of matter free, From all we feel, from all we see, She stands eternally distinct, and must for ever be. Rise then, my thoughts, on high, Soar beyond all that's made to die ; Lo ! on an awful throne Sits the Creator and the Judge of vSouls, Whirling the planets round the poles, Winds off our threads of life, and brings our periods on. Swift the approach, and solemn is the day, When this immortal mind Stript of the body's coarse array To endless pain, or endless joy, Must be at once consign d. Think of the sands run down to waste, We possess none of all the past, None but the present is our own ; Grace is not plac'd within our pow'r, Tis but one short, one shining hour, Bright and declining as a setting sun. See the white minutes wing'd with haste j The now that flies may be the last; Seize the Salvation ere 'tis past past, 146 LYRIC POEMS. A thought's delay is ruin here, A closing eye, a gasping breath Shuts up the golden scene in death, And drowns you in despair. To WILLIAM BLACKBOURN, Esq. Casimir, Lib. II. Od. 2. imitated. Quae tegit canas modo Bruma vailes, &c. Mark how it snows ! how fast the valley fills ! And the sweet groves the hoary garments wear; Yet the warm sun-heams bounding from the hills Shall melt the veil away, and the young green appear. But when old age has on your temples shed Her silver- frost, there's no returning sun; Swift flies our autumn, swift our summer's fled, When youth, and love, and spring, and golden joys are gone. Then cold, and winter, and your aged snow, Stick fast upon you ; not t^ae rich array, Not the green garland, nor the rosy bough Shall cancel or conceal the melancholy grey. The chase of pleasures is not worth the pains, "While the bright sands of health run wasting down ; And honour calls you from the softer scenes, To sell the gaudy hour for ages of renown. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 14? *Tis but one youth, and short, that mortals have, And one old age dissolves our feeble frame ; But there's a heavenly art t' elude the grave, And with the hero-race immortal kindred claim. The man that has his country's sacred tears Bedewing his cold hearse, has liv'd his day : Thus, Blackbourn, we should leave our names our heirs ; Old time and waning moons sweep all the rest away. TRUE MONARCHY. 1701. The rising year beheld th' imperious Gaul Stretch his dominion, while a hundred towns Crouch' d to the victor : but a steady soul Stands firm on its own base, and reigns as wide, As absolute : and sways ten thousand slaves, Lusts and wild fancies with a sovereign hand. We are a little kingdom ; but the man That chains his rebel will to reason's throne, Forms it a large one, whilst his royal mind Makes Heaven its council, from the rolls above Draws its own statutes, and with joy obeys. Tis not a troop of well-appointed guards Create a monarch, not a purple robe Dy'd in the people's blood, not all the crowns Or dazzling tiars that bend about the head, Tho' gilt with sun-beams and set round with stars L 2 148 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. A monarch he that conquers all his fears, And treads upon them; when he stands alone, Makes his own camp ; four guardian virtues wait His nightly slumbers, and secure his dreams. Now dawns the light; he ranges all his thoughts In square battalions, bold to meet th' attacks Of time and chance, himself a num'rous host, All eye, all ear, all wakeful as the day, Firm as a rock, and moveless as the centre. In vain the harlot, Pleasure, spreads her charms, To lull his thoughts in luxury's fair lap, To sensual ease, (the bane of little kings, Monarchs whose waxen images of souls Are moulded into softness) still his mind W ears its own shape, nor can the heavenly form. Stoop to be model'd by the wild decrees Of the mad vulgar, that unthinking herd. He lives above the crowd, nor hears the noise Of wars and triumphs, nor regards the shouts Of popular applause, that empty sound ; Nor feels the flying arrows of reproach, Or spite or envy. In himself secure, Wisdom his tower, and conscience is his shield, His peace all inward, and his joys his own. Now my ambition swells, my wishes soar, This be my kingdom : sit above the globe My rising soul, and dress thyself around And shine in virtue's armour, climb the height Of wisdom's lofty castle, there reside Safe from the smiling and the frowning world SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 149 Yet once a day drop down a gentle look On the great mole-hill, and with pitying eye Survey the busy emmets round the heap, Clouding and bustling in a thousand forms Of strife and toil, to purchase wealth and fame, A bubble or a dust : then call thy thoughts Up to thyself to feed on joys unknown, Rich without gold, and great without renown. TRUE COURAGE. Honour demands my song. Forget the ground, My generous muse, and sit amongst the stars ! There sing the soul, that, conscious of her birth, Lives like a native of the vital world, Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state Just to herself: how nobly she maintains Her character, superior to the flesh, She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows The brutal powers were only born t' obey, This is the man whom storms could never make Meanly complain ; nor can a flatt'ring gale Make him talk proudly : he hath no desire To read his secret fate ; yet unconcern'd And calm could meet his unborn destiny, In all its charming, or its frightful shapes. He that unshrinking, and without a groan, Bears the first wound, may finish all the war With meer courageous silence, and come off 150 LYRIC POEMS, book 11 Conqueror : for the man that well conceals The heavy strokes of fate, he bears 'em well. He, tho' the Atlantic and the Midland seas With adverse surges meet, and rise on high Suspended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain Mingled with flames, upon his single head, And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm he stands, Secure of his best life; unhurt, unmov'd; And drops his lower nature, born for death. Then from the lofty castle of his mind Sublime looks down, exulting, and surveys The ruins of creation; (souls alone Are heirs of dying worlds j) a piercing glance Shoots upwards from between his closing lids, To reach his birth-place, and without a sigh He bids his batter' d flesh lie gently down Amongst his native rubbish ; whilst the spirit Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest Of the third heaven, th' unruinable sky. Thither, when fate has brought our willing souls, No matter whether 'twas a sharp disease, Or a snarp sword that help'd the travellers on, And push'd us to our home. Bear up, my friend, Serenely, and break thro' the stormy brine With steady prow ; know, we shall once arrive At the fair haven of eternal bliss. To which we ever steer ; whether as kiugs Of wide command we've spread the spacious sea With a broad painted fleet, or row'd along In a thin cock-boat with a little oar. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. \H There let my native plank shift me to land And I'll be happy : Thus I'll leap ashore Joyful and fearless on th' immortal coast, Since all I leave is mortal, and it must" be lost TO THE MUCH HONOURED MR. THOMAS ROWE, THl director of my youthful studies. FREE PHILOSOPHY. Custom, that tyranness of fools, That leads the learned round the schools, In magic chains of forms and rules ! My genius storms her throne : No more, ye slaves, with awe profound Beat the dull track, nor dance the round : Loose hands, and quit th' inchanted ground : Knowledge invites us each alone. I hate these shackles of the mind Forged by the haughty wise ; Souls were not born to be confin'd, And led, like Samr?on, blind and bound 5 But when his native strength he found He well aveng'd his eyes. 1 love thy gentle influence, Rowe, Thy gentle influence like the sun, Only dissolves the frozen snow, Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow. And chuse the channels where they run. 152 LYUIC POEMS, bo Thoughts should be free as fire or wind ; The pinions of a single mind Will thro' all nature fly : But who can drag up to the poles Long fetter' d ranks of leaden souls ? A genius which no chain controuls Roves with delight, or deep, or high : Swift I survey the globe around, Dive to the centre thro 1 the solid ground, Or travel o er the sky. TO THE REVEREND MR. BENONI ROWE. THE WAY OF THE MULTITUDE. Rowe, if we make the croud our guide Thro' life's uncertain road, Mean is the chase •, and wandering wide We miss th' immortal good ; Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd To follow any leader- mind, Td mark thy steps, and tread the same : Drest in thy notions Td appear Not like a soul of mortal frame, Nor with a vulgar air. "Men live at random and by chance, Bright reason never leads the dance \ W hilst in the broad and beaten way O'er dales and hills from truth we stray, SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 153 To ruin we descend, to ruin we advance. Wisdom retires ; she hates the crowd. And with a decent scorn Aloof she climbs her steepy seat, Where nor the grave nor giddy feet, Of the learn'd vulgar or the rude, Have e'er a passage worn. Mere hazard first began the track, Where custom leads her thousands blind In willing chains and strong; There's scarce one bold, one noble mind, Dares tread the fatal error back ; But hand in hand ourselves we bind And drag the age along. Mortals, a savage herd, and loud As billows on a noisy flood In rapid order roll : Example makes the mischief good : W r ith jocund heel we beat the road, Unheedful of the goal. Me let * Ithuriei's friendly wing Snatch from the crowd, and bear sublime To wisdom's lofty tower, Thence to survey that wretched thing, Mankind; and in exalted rhime Bless the delivering power. * Ith uriel is the name of an angel in Milton's Para- dise Lost. i54 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. TO THE REV. MR. JOHN HOWE. 1704. Great man, permit the muse to climb And seat her at thy feet, Bid her attempt a thought sublime, And consecrate her wit. I feel, I feel th' attractive force Of thy superior soul : My chariot flies her upward course, The wheels divinely roll. Now let me chide the mean affairs And mighty toil of men : How they grow grey in trifling cares, Or waste the motions of the spheres Upon delights as vain ! A puff of honour fills the mind, And yellow dust is solid good ; Thus like the ass of savage kind, We snuff the breezes of the wind, Or steal the serpent's food. Could all the choirs That charm the poles But strike one doleful sound, Twould be employ'd to mourn our souls, Souls that were fram'd of sprightly fires In floods of folly drown'd. Souls made of glory seek a brutal joy; How they disclaim their heavenly birth, Melt their bright substance down with drossy earth, And hate to be refin'd from that impure alloy. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 155 Oft has thy genius reus'd us hence With elevated song, Bid us renounce this world of sense, Bid us divide trf immortal prize With the seraphic throng : * Knowledge and love make spirits blest, " Knowledge their food, and love their rest j" But flesh, th' unmanageable beast, Resists the pity of thine eyes, And music of thy tongue. Then let the worms of groveling mind Round the short joys of earthly kind In restless windings roam ; Howe hath an ample orb of soul, Where shining worlds of knowledge roll, Where love the centre and the pole Compleats the heaven at home. THE DISAPPOINTMENT AND RELIEF. V irtue, permit my fancy to impose Upon my better pow'rs : She casts sweet fallacies on half our woes, And gilds the gloomy hours. How could we bear this tedious round Of waning moons, and rolling years, Of flaming hopes and chilling fears, If (where no sovereign cure appears) No opiates could be found. 1 56 LYRIC POEMS. ioox n. Love, the most cordial stream that flows, Is a deceitful good : Young Doris who nor guilt nor danger knows, On the green margin stood, Pleas'd with the golden bubbles as they rose, And with more golden sands her fancy pav'd the Then fond to be entirely blest, [flood : And tempted by a faithless youth, As void of goodness as of truth, She plunges in with heedless haste, And rears the nether mud : Darkness and nauseous dregs arise O'er thy fair current, love, with large supplies Of pain, to teaze the heart, and sorrow for the eyes. The golden bliss that charm'd her sight Is dash'd, and drown'd, and lost : A spark, or glimmering streak at most, Shines here and there, amidst the night, Amidst the turbid waves, and gives a faint delight. Recovered from the sad surprize, Doris awakes at last, Grown by the disappointment wise ; And manages with art th 1 unlucky cast ; When the low'ring frown she spies On her haughty tyrant's brow, With humble love she meets his wrathful eyes, And makes her sovereign beauty bow ; Chearful she smiles upon his grizly form ; So shines the setting sun on adverse skies, And paints a rainbow on the storm. Anon she lets the sullen humour spend, And with a virtuous book, or friend, Beguiles th' uneasy hours : SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 157 Well-colouring every cross she meets, "With heart serene she sleeps and eats, She spreads her board with fancy d sweets, And strews her bed with flow'rs. THE HERO'S SCHOOL OF MORALITY. 1 heron, amongst his travels, found A broken statue on the ground; And searching onward as he went He trac'd a ruin'd monument. Mould, moss, and shades had overgrown The sculpture of the crumbling stone, Yet eer he past, with much ado, He guess'd, and speird out, Sci-pi-o. " Enough," he cry'd ; " I'll drudge no more " In turning the dull Stoics o'er j " Let pedants waste their hours of ease " To sweat all night at Socrates ; " And feed their boys with notes and rules, " Those tedious recipes of schools, " To cure ambition: I can learn " With greater ease the great concern " Of mortals ; how we may despise " All the gay things below the skies. " Methinks a mouldering pyramid " Says all that the old sages said ; " For me these shatter 1 d tombs contain " More morals than the Vatican. " The dust of heroes cast abroad, " And kickd, and trampled in the road, 158 LYRIC POEMS, bo " The relics of a lofty mind, " That lately wars and crowns design'd, u Tost for a jest from wind to wind, " Bid me be humble, and forbear " Tall monuments of fame to rear u They are but castles in the air. " The tow 'ring heights, and frightful falls, " The ruind heaps, and funerals, M Of smoking kingdoms and their kings, " Tell me a thousand mournful things " In melancholy silence *' That living could not bear to see " An equal, now lies torn and dead ; " Here his pale trunk, and there his head ; *' Great Pompey ! while I meditate, " With solemn horror, thy sad fate, " Thy carcass, scatter'd on the shore *' Without a name, instructs me more ** Than my whole library before. " Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, " And my good Seneca may keep " Your volumes clos'd for ever too, " I have no further use for you : " For when I feel my virtue fail, " And my ambitious thoughts prevail, " I'll take a turn among the tombs, *' And see whereto all glory comes: " There the vile foot of every clown u Tramples the sons of honour down ; " Beggars with awful ashes sport, " And tread the Caesars in the dirt" He SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 159 FREEDOM. 1697. Tempt me no more. My soul can ne'er com- port With the gay slaveries of a court: I've an aversion to those charms, And hug dear liberty in both mine arms. Go, vassal souls, go, cringe and wait, And dance attendance at Honoria's gate, Then run in troops before him to compose his state : Move as he moves : and when he loiters, stand : You're but the shadows of a man. Bend when he speaks ; and kiss the ground : Go, catch th' impertinence of sound : Adore the follies of the great ; Wait till he smiles : but lo, the idol frown' d And drove them to their fate. Thus base-born minds : but as for me, I can and will be free : Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree, My soul grows firm upright, And as I stand, and as I go, It keeps my body so ; No, I can never part with my creation-right. Let slaves and asses stoop and bow, I cannot make this iron knee [it free. Bend to a meaner power than that which form'd Thus my bold harp profusely play'd Pindarical $ then on a branchy shade I hung my harp aloft, myself beneatn it laid. 160 LYRIC POEMS, book n. Nature that listen'd to my strain, Resum'd the theme, and acted it again. Sudden rose a whirling wind Swelling like Honoria proud, Around the straws and feathers crowd, Types of a slavish mind ; Upwards the stormy forces rise, The dust flies up and climbs the skies, And as the tempest fell th' obedient vapours sunk: Again it roars with bellowing sound, The meaner plants that grew around, The willow, and the asp, trembled and kiss'd the ground : Hard by there stood the iron trunk Of an old oak, and all the storm defy'd ; In vain the Avinds their forces try'd, In vain they roar'd 5 the iron oak Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's stroke. TRUE RICHES. I am not concern'd to know What, to-morrow, fate will do : Tis enough that I can say, I've possest myself to-day : Then, if haply midnight death Seize my flesh, and stop my breath, Yet to-morrow I shall be Heir to the best part of me. Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 161 Ever fluttering to be gone I could never call my own : Riches that the world bestows, She can take, and I can lose; But the treasures that are mine Lie afar beyond her line. When I view my spacious soul, And survey myself a whole, And enjoy myself alone, I'm a kingdom of my own. IVe a mighty part within That the world hath never seen, Rich as Eden's happy ground, And with choicer plenty crown'd. Here on all the shining boughs Knowledge fair and useless grows; On the same young flow'ry tree All the seasons you may see ; Notions in the bloom of light, Just disclosing to the sight • Here are thoughts of larger growth, Rip'ning into solid truth ; Fruits refin'd, of noble taste ; Seraphs feed on such repast. Here, in a green and shady grove, Streams of pleasure mix with love : There, beneath the smiling skies, Hills of contemplation rise ; Now, upon some shining top, Angels light, and call me up ; I rejoice to raise my feet, Both rejoice when there we meet. M 16g LYRIC POEMS, There are endless beauties more Earth hath no resemblance for ; Nothing like them round the pole, Nothing can describe the soul : 'Tis a region half unknown, That has treasures of its own, More remote from public view Than the bowels of Peru ; Broader 'tis, and brighter far, Than the golden Indies are ; Ships that trace the wat'ry stage Cannot coast it in an age ; Harts, or horses, strong and fleet, Had they wings to help their feet, Could not run it half way o'er In ten thousand days or more. Yet the silly wand' ring mind, Loth to be too much confind, Roves and takes her daily tours, Coasting round the narrow shores, Narrow shores of flesh and sense, Picking shells and pebbles thence : Or she sits at Fancy's door, Calling shapes and shadows to her, Foreign visits still receiving, And f herself a stranger living. Never, never would she buy Indian dust, or Tyrian dye, Never trade abroad for more, If she saw her native store, If her inward worth were known She might ever live alone. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 163 on mr. locke's annotations upon several parts of the new testament, Left behind him at his Death. Thus Reason learns, by slow degrees, What faith reveals ; but still complains Of intellectual pains, And darkness from the too exuberant light. The blaze of those bright mysteries Pourd all at once on Nature' s eyes Offend and cloud her feeble sight. Reason could scarce sustain to see Th' Almighty One, trf Eternal Three, Or bear the infant deity; Scarce could her pride descend to own Her Maker stooping from his throne, And drest in glories so unknown. A ransom'd world, a bleeding God, And Heav'n appeas'd with flowing blood, Were themes too painful to be understood. Faith, thou bright cherub, speak, and say Did ever mind of mortal race Cost thee more toil, or larger grace, To melt and bend it to obey. Twas hard to make so rich a soul submit, And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet. Sister of Faith, fair Charity, Shew me the wondrous man on high, Tell how he sees the Godhead Three in One, The bright conviction fills his eye, His noblest powers in deep prostration lie At the mysterious throne. 164 LYRIC POEMS, book i* " Forgive, he cries, ye saints below, " The wav'ring and the cold assent " I gave to themes divinely true ; " Can you admit the blessed to repent ? " Eternal darkness veil the lines " Of that unhappy book, [shines " Where glimmering Reason with false lustre " Where the mere mortal pen mistook " What the celestial meant ! See Mr. Locke's Annotations on Rom iii. 25. and paraphrase on Rom. ix. 5, which has inclined some readers to doubt whether he believed the Deity and sa- tisfaction of Christ. Therefore, in the fourth stanza, 1 invoke Charity, that, by her help, I may find him out in heaven, since his Notes on 2 Cor. v. ult. and some other places, give me reason to believe he was no Soci- nian, though he has darkened the glory of the Gospel, and debased Christianity, in the book which he calls the Reasonableness of it, and in^o^e-of his other works, THE ADVENTUROUS MUSE. Urania takes her morning flight With an inimitable wing: Thro 1 rising deluges of dawning light She cleaves her wondrous way, She tunes immortal anthems to the growing day. Nor * Rapin gives her rules to fly, nor t Purcell notes to sing. A French critic. t An English master of music. SA€RED TO VIRTUE, &e, 16S She nor inquires, nor knows, nor fears Where lie the pointed rocks, or where th' in- gulphing sand, Climbing the liquid mountains of the skies She meets descending angels as she flies, Nor asks them where their country lies Or where the sea-marks stand. Touch'd with an empyreal ray She springs, unerring, upward to eternal day, Spreads her white sails aloft, and steers, With bold and safe attempt, to the celestial land. Whilst little skiffs along the mortal shores With humble toil in order creep, Coasting in sight of one another s oars, Nor venture thro' the boundless deep. Such low pretending souls are they Who dwell inclos'd in solid orbs of skull j Plodding along their sober way, The snail oertakes them in their wildest play, While the poor labourers sweat to be correctly dull. Give me the chariot whose diviner wheels Mark their own route, and unconfin'd Bound o'er the everlasting hills, [behind, And lose the clouds below, and leave the stars Give me the muse whose generous force, Impatient of the reins, Pursues an unattempted course, Breaks all the critics' iron chains, And bears to paradise the raptur'd mind. 166 LYRIC POEMS, book is. There Milton dwells : the man who sung Themes not presum'd by mortal tongue ; New terrors, or new glories, shine In every page, and flying scenes divine [along. Surprise the wond'ring sense, and draw our souls Behold his muse sent out t' explore The unapparent deep where waves of Chaos roar, And realms of night unknown before. She tracd a glorious path untrod, [thrown, Thro' fields of heavenly war, and seraphs over- Where his advent'rous genius led: Sovereign she frarrfd a model of her own, Nor thank' d the living nor the dead. The noble hater of degenerate rhime Shook off the chains, and built his verse sublime, A monument too high for coupled sounds to climb. He mournd the garden lost below; (Earth is the scene for tun eful woe) Now bliss beats high in all his veins, Now the lost Eden her egains, Keeps his own air, and triumphs in unrival'd strains. Immortal bard ! Thus thy own Raphael sings, And knows no rule but native fire : All heav'n sits silent, while to his sovereign strings He talks unutterable things; With graces infinite his untaught fingers rove Across the golden lyre: From every note devotion springs ; Rapture, and harmony, and love, Oerspread the listning choir. SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 167 TO MR. NICHOLAS CLARK. THE COMPLAINT. 1 was in a vale where osiers grow By murm'ring streams we told our woe, And mingled all our cares : Friendship sat pleas'd in both our eyes, In both the weeping dews arise, And drop alternate tears. The vigorous monarch of the day Now mounting half his morning way Shone with a fainter bright ; Still sickning, and decaying still, Dimly he wander d up the hill, With his expiring light. In dark eclipse his chariot roll'd, The queen of night obscur'd his gold Behind her sable wheels ; Nature grew sad to lose the day, The fiowTy vales in mourning lay, In mourning stood the hills. Such are our sorrows, Clark, I cry'd, Clouds of the' brain grow black, and hide Our darkened souls behind; In the young morning of our years Distempering fogs have climb' d the spheres, And choke the labring mind. 168 LYRIC POEMS, *o Lo, the gay planet rears his head, And overlooks the lofty shade, New-brighf ning all the skies : But say, dear partner of my moan, When will our long eclipse be gone, Or when our suns arise ? In vain are potent herbs apply'd, Harmonious sounds in vain have try'd To make the darkness fly : But drugs would raise the dead as soon, Or clatfring brass relieve the moon, When fainting in the sky. Some friendly Spirit from above, Born of the light, and nurst with love, Assist our feeble fires ; Force these invading glooms away ; Souls should be seen quite thro 1 their clay, Bright as your heav'nly choirs. But if the fogs must damp the flame, Gently, kind death, dissolve our frame, Release the prisoner-mind : Our souls shall mount, at thy discharge, To their bright source, and shine at large Nor clouded, nor confm cL SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 169 THE AFFLICTIONS OF A FRIEND. 1702. Now let my cares all bury'd lie, My griefs for ever dumb : Your sorrows swell my heart so high, They leave my own no room. Sickness and pains are quite forgot, The spleen itself is gone ; Plung'd in your woes I feel them not, Or feel them all in one. Infinite grief puts sense to flight, And all the soul invades : So the broad gloom of spreading night Devours the evening shades. Thus am I born to be unblest ! This sympathy of woe Drives my own tyrants from my breast T' admit a foreign foe. Sorrows in long succession reign ; Their iron rod I ieel : Friendship has only changd the chain, But I'm the prisoner stilL Why was this life for misery made ? Or why drawn out so long? Is there no room amongst the dead? Or is a wretch too young ? 170 LYRIC POEMS. Move faster on, great nature's wheel; Be kind, ye rolling powers, Hurl my days headlong down the hill With unclistinguish'd hours. Be dusl the barbarous ensigns torn Fled with the wind, the sport of angry heav'n : And a large cloud of infantry and horse Scattering in wild disorder, spread the plain. Not noise, nor number, nor the brawny limb, Nor high-built size prevails : 'tis courage fights, 'Tis courage conquers. So whole forests fail (A spacious ruin) by one single axe, And steel well-sharp'ned : so a generous pair Of young- wing'd eaglets fright a thousand doves. Vast was the slaughter, and the flow'ry green Drank deep of flowing crimson. Veteran bands Here made their last campaign. Here haughty chiefs 134 LYRIC POEMS, b«iok ii. Stretch' d on the bed of purple honour lie Supine, nor dream of batttle's^hard event, Oppress' d with iron slumbersAnd long night. Their ghosts indignant to the nVther world Fled, but attended well : for at their side Some faithful Janizaries strew" d the field, FalPn in just ranks or wedges, lunes or squares, Firm as they stood : to the Warsovian troops, A nobler toil, and triumph worth their fight. But the broad sabre and keen pole-axe flew With speedy terror thro' the feebler herd, And made rude havock and irregular spoil Amongst the vulgar bands that own'd the name Of Mahomet. The wild Arabians fled In swift affright a thousand different ways Thro 1 brakes and thorns, and climb'd the craggy mountains Bellowing ; yet hasty fate o'ertook the cry, And Polish hunters clave the timorous deer. Thus the dire prospect distant fill'd my soul With awe ; till the last relics of the war The thin Edonians, flying had disclos'd The ghastly plain : I took a nearer view, Unseemly to the sight, nor to the smell Grateful. What loads of mangled flesh and limbs (A dismal carnage !) batlfd in reeking gore Lay welt'ring on the ground; while flitting life Convuls'd the nerves still shivering, nor had lost All taste of pain ! here an old Thracian lies Deform'd with years, and scars, and groans aloud Torn. with fresh wounds; but inward vitals firm Forbid the soul's remove, and chain it down By the hard laws of nature, to sustain SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 185 Long torment; his wild eye-balls roll: his teeth Gnashing with anguish, chide his ling ring fate. Emblazond armour spoke his high command Amongst the neighbouring dead; they round their Lord Lay prostrate; some in flight ignobly slain, Some to the skies their faces upwards turn'd Still brave, and proud to die so near their Prince. I mov'd not far, and lo, at manly length Two beauteous youths of richest Ott'man blood Extended on the field: in friendship join'd, Nor fate divides them: hardy warriors both: Both faithful; drown'd in show'rs of darts they fell, Each with his shield spread o'er his lover's heart, In vain : for on those orbs of friendly brass Stood groves of javelins ; some, alas, too deep Were planted there, and thro' their lovely bosoms Made painful avenues for cruel death. my dear native land, forgive the tear 1 dropt on their wan cheeks, when strong compassion Forc'd from my melting eyes the briny dew, And paid a sacrifice to hostile virtue. Dacia, forgive the sight that wish'd the souls Of those fair infidels some humble place Amongst the blest. " Sleep, sleep, ye hapless pair u Gently, I cry'd, worthy of better fate, " And better faith." Hard by the General lay Of Saracen descent, a grizzly form Breathless, yet pride sat pale upon his front In disappointment, with a surly brow Lowring in death, and vext ; his rigid jaws Foaming with blood bite hard the Polish spear, In that dead visage my remembrance reads 186 LYBIC POEMS, book ii. Rash Caraccas : In vain the boasting slave Promis'd and sooth' d the Sultan, threatning fierce. With royal suppers and triumphant fare Spread wide beneath Warsovian silk and gold; See on the naked ground all cold he lies Beneath the damp wide covering of the air Forgetful of his word. How heaven con founds Insulting-hopes ; with what an awful smile Laughs at the proud, that loosen all the reins To their unbounded wishes, and leads on Their blind ambition to a shameful end ! But whither am I borne? this thought of arms Tires me in vain to sing to senseless bulls What generous horse should hear. Break offmy song My barbarous muse be still: immortal deeds Must not be thus profand in rustic verse : The martial trumpet, and the following age, And growing fame, shall loud rehearse the tight In sounds of glory. Lo, the evening-star Shines o'er the western hill; my oxen, come, The well-known star invites the labourer home. MR. HENRY BEXBYSH. DEAR sir, Aug. 24, 1705. The following song was yours when first corapos'd : the muse then describ'd the general fate of mankind, that is to be ill matched ; and now she rejoices that you have escaped the common mischief, and that your soul SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 187 has found its own mate. Let this Ode then congratulate you both. Grow mutually in more compleat likeness and love : persevere and be happy. I persuade myself you will accept from the press what the pen more privately inscrib'd to you long ago; and I am in no pain lest you should take offence at the fabulous dress of this poem : nor would weaker minds be scandalized at it, if they would give themselves leave to reflect how many divine truths are spoken by the Holy Writers in visions and images, parables and dreams: nor are my wiser friends ashamed to defend it, since the narrative is grave and the moral so just and ©bvious. THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. Sep. 3, 1701. Why should our joys transform to pain ? Why gentle Hymen s silken chain A plaugue of iron prove ? Bend ysh, 'tis strange the charm that binds Millions of hands, should leave their minds At such a loose from love. In vain I sought the wondrous cause, Rang'd the wide fields of nature's laws, And urg'd the schools in vain; Then deep in thought, within my breast My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd A bright instructive scene. O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide, On Fancy's airy horse I ride, 188 LYRIC POEMS. b< (Sweet rapture of the mind !) Till on the banks of Ganges' flood, In a tall ancient grove I stood For sacred use design'd. Hard by, a venerable priest, Ris n with his God, the sun, from rest, Awoke his morning song; Thrice he conjurd the murm'ring stream -, The birth of souls was all his theme, And half-divine his tongue. He sang — " Th' eternal rolling flame, " That vital mass, that still the same " Does all our minds compose : 41 But shapd in twice ten thousand frames : 44 Thence differing souls of diffring names, " And jarring tempers rose. •' The mighty power that forrnd the mind " One mould for every two design'd, " And bless'd the new born pair : " This be a match for this : (he said) " Then down he sent the souls he made, 4i To seek them bodies here : " But parting from their warm abode 46 They lost their fellows on the road, " And never join d their hands : " Ah cruel chance, and crossing fates ! " Our eastern souls have dropt their mates " On Europe's barbarous lands. " Happy the youth that finds the bride " Whose birth is to his own ail ; 'd, SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 189 *< The sweetest joy of life : " But oh the crowds of wretched souls " Fetter d to minds of different moulds, " And chain d t eternal strife i" Thus sang the wondrous Indian bard; My soul with vast attention heard, While Ganges ceas'd to flow: " Sure then (I cry d) might I but see " That gentle nymph that twinnd with me, " I may be happy too. " Some courteous angel, tell me where, " What distant lands this unknown fair, " Or distant seas detain ? " Swift as the wheel of nature rolls ** I'd fly, to meet, and mingle souls, " And wear the joyful chain." 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, Make 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 ! 190 LYRIC POEMS, B 6ok u. 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, [name. In barbarous songs, pronounce the British hero's " xAirv bliss (the hero cry'd) u May feed the tympany of pride; " But healthy souls were never found " To live on emptiness and sound. Lo, at his honourable feet Fames bright attendant, Wealth, appears \ She comes to pay obedience meet, Providing jovs for future years; Blessings with lavish hand she pours Gathered from the Indian coast; Not Danae's lap could equal treasures boast. When Jove came dov> n 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 glittering clay. 11 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, SACBED TO VIRTUE, &c. *M With swift ambition seize trf unfinish'd word, And the command fulfil. Tird 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. 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 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. u A vacancy within which sense can ne'er supply, ** Hence, and begone, 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 refiVd, " Souls are for social bliss designed, ** Give me a blessing fit to match my mind, a A kindred-soul to double and to share my joys. m LYRIC POEMS, book ir 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 dissolved in pleasing pain Flow'd to his eyes, and look'd again, And could endure no more. " Enough ! (tff impatient hero cries) " And seizd her to his breast, " I seek no more below the skies, " I give my slaves the rest." TO DAVID POLHILL, Esq. An Answer to an infamous Satire, called, "Advice to a Painter ;" written by a nameless Author, against King William III. of glorious Memory, 1698. Sir, When you put this satire into m}' hand, you gave me the occasion of employing my pen to answer so de- testable a writing ; which might be done much more ef- fectually by your known zeal for the interest of his Ma- jesty, your counsels and your courage employed in the defence of your king and country. And since you pro- voked me to write, you will accept of these efforts of my loyalty to the best of kings, addressed to one of the most zealous of his subjects, by, Sir, Your most obedient Servant, I. W. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 195 PART I. And must the hero, that redeem' d our land, Here in the front of vice and scandal stand? The man of wondrous soul, that scorn' d his ease, Tempting the winters, and the faithless seas, And paid an annual tribute of his life To guard his England from the Irish knife, And crush the French dragoon ? Must William's name, That brightest star that gilds the wings of Fame, William the brave, the pious, and the just, Adorn these gloomy scenes of tyranny and lust? Polhili, my blood boils high, my spirits flame : Can your zeal sleep! Or are your passions tame ? Nor call revenge and darkness on the poet's name? W f hy smoke the skies not? Why no thunders roll? Nor kindling lightnings blast his guilty soul? Audacious wretch! to stab a monarch's fame, And fire his subjects with a rebel flame; To call the painter to his black designs, To draw our guardian's face in hellish lines : Painter, beware ; the monarch can be shown Under no shape but angels, or his own, Gabriel, or William, on the British throne. O ! could my thought but grasp the vast design, And words with infinite ideas join, I'd rouse Apelles from his iron sleep, And bid him trace the warrior o'er the deep. Trace him, Apelles, o'er the Belgian plain Fierce, how he climbs the mountains of the slain, Scattering just vengeance thro' the red campaign. o 194 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. Then dash the canvas with a flying stroke, Till it be lost in clouds of fire and smoke, And say, 'twas thus the conqueror thro 1 the squa- drons broke. Mark him again emerging from the cloud, Far from his troops ; there, like a rock, he stood His country's single barrier in a sea of blood. Calmly he leaves the pleasures of a throne, And his Maria weeping ; whilst alone He wards the fate of nations, and provokes his own: But Heav'n secures its champion ; o'er the field Paint hov'ring angels ; tho' they fly concealed, Each intercepts a death, and wears it on his shield. Now, noble pencil, lead him to our isle, Mark how the skies with joyful lustre smile. Then imitate the glory on the strand, Spread half the nation, longing till he land. Wash off the blood, and take a peaceful teint, All red the warrior, white the ruler paint: Abroad a hero, and at home a saint. Throne him on high upon a shining seat, Lust and prophaneness dying at his feet, While round his head the laurel and the olive meet, The crowns of war and peace : and may they blow, With flow'ry blessings ever on his brow. At his right hand pile up the English laws In sacred volumes ; thence the monarch draws His wise and just commands Rise, ye old sages of the British isle, On the fair tablet cast a reverend smile, And bless the piece j these statutes are your owd> That sway the cottage, and direct the throne ; i. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 195 People and prince are one in William's name, Their joys, their dangers, and their laws the Let liberty and right, with plumes displayed, Clap their glad wings around their guardian's head, Religion o'er the rest her starry pinions spread. Religion guards him ; round th' Imperial queen Place waiting virtues, each of heav'nly mien: Learn their bright air, and paint it from his eyes ; The just, the bold, the temperate, and the wise Dwell in his looks; majestic, but serene; Sweet, with no fondness; chearful, but not vain: Bright, without terror ; great, without disdain. His soul inspires us what his lips command, And spreads his brave example thro' the land : Not so the former reigns ; '■ Bend down his ear to each afflicted cry, Let beams of grace dart gently from his eye ; But the bright treasures of his sacred breast Are too divine, too vast to be exprest : Colours must fail where words and numbers faint, And leave the hero's heart for Thought alone to paint PART II. Now, Muse, pursue the satirist again, Wipe off the blots of his invenom'd pen; Hark, how he bids the servile painter draw, In monstrous shapes, the patrons of outlaw ; At one slight dash he cancels every name From the white rolls of honesty and fame : o 2 196 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. This scribbling wretch marks all he meets for knave, Shoots sudden bolts promiscuous at the base and brave, And, with unpardonable malice, sheds Poison and spite on undistinguished heads. Painter, forbear ! or, if thy bolder hand Dares to attempt the villains of the land, Draw first this poet like some baleful star, With silent influence shedding civil war; Or factious trumpeter, whose magic sound Calls off the subjects to the hostile ground, And scatters hellish feuds the nation round, These are the imps of hell, that cursed tribe That first create the plague, and then the pain describe. Draw next above, the great ones of our isle, Still from the good distinguishing the vile ; Seat 'em in pomp, in grandeur, and command, Peeling the subjects with a greedy hand : Paint forth the knaves that have the nation sold, And tinge their greedy looks with sordid gold. Mark what a selfish faction undermines The pious monarch's generous designs, Spoil their own native land as vipers do, Vipers that tear their mother's bowels through. Let great Nassau, beneath a careful crown, Mournful in majesty, look gently down, Mingling soft pity with an awful frown : He grieves to see how long in vain he strove To make us blest, how vain his labours prove To save the stubborn land he condescends to lovt. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 197 TO THE DISCONTENTED AND UNQUIET* Imitated partly from Casimire, B. IV. Od. 15. V aria, there's nothing here that's free From wearisome anxiety: And the whole round of mortal joys With short possession tires and cloys : 'Tis a dull circle that we tread, Just from the window to the bed, We rise to see, and to be seen, Gaze on the world awhile, and then We yawn, and stretch to sleep again. But Fancy, that uneasy guest, Still holds a longing in our breast : She finds or frames vexations still, Herself the greatest plague we feeL We take great pleasure in our pain, And make a mountain of a grain, Assume the load, and pant and sweat Beneath th' imaginary weight. With our dear selves we live at strife. While the most constant scenes of life From peevish humours are not free j Still we affect variety : Rather than pass an easy day, We fret aud chide the hours away, Grow weary of this circling sun, And vex: that he should ever run The same old track ; and still, and still Rise red behind yon eastern hill, And chide the moon that darts her light Thro' the same casement every nigh t 3t8 LYRIC POEMS, »e We shift our chambers, and our homes, To -dwell where trouble never comes: Sylvia has left the city crowd, Against the court exclaims aloud, Flies to the woods ; a hermit saint ! She loaths her patches, pins and paint, Dear diamonds from her neck are torn ; But Humour, that eternal thorn, Sticks in her heart : she's hurry' d still, Twixt her wild passions and her will : Haunted and hagg'd where'er she roves, By purling streams, and silent groves, Or with her furies, or her loves* Then our native land we hate, Too cold, too windy, or too w r et ; Change the thick climate, and repair To France or Italy for air ; In vain we change, in vain we fly ; Go, Sylvia, mount the whirling sky, Or ride upon the feather'd wind In vain ; if this diseased mind Clings fast, and still sits close behind. Faithful disease, that never fails Attendance at her lady's side, Over the desart or the tide, On rolling wheels, or flying sails. Happy the soul that Virtue shows To fix the place of her repose, Needless to move ; for she can dweU In her old grandsires hall as well. Virtue that never loves to roam, But sweetly hides herself at home. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. m And easy on a native throne Of humble turf sits gently down. Yet should tumultuous storms arise, And mingle earth, and seas, and skies, Should the waves swell, and make her roll Across the line, or near the pole, Still she's at peace; for well she knows To launch the stream that duty shows And makes her home where'er she goes. Bear her, ye seas, upon your breast, Or -waft her, winds, from east to west On the soft air; she cannot find A couch so easy as her mind, Nor breathe a climate half so kind. To JOHN HARTOPP, Esq. (NOW SIR JOHN HARTOPP, BART.) Casiraire, JB. I. Od.4. imitated. Vice jucundcB metuens juventce, &Ci July 1700. .Live, my dear Hartopp, live to-day, Nor let the sun look down and say, " Inglorious here he lies," Shake off your ease, and send your name To immortality and fame, By ev'ry hour that flies. Youth's a soft scene, but trust her not: Her airy minutes, swift as thought, 200 LYRIC POEMS, aoo* it. Slide off the slipp'ry sphere ; Moons with their months make hasty round?, The sun has pass'd his vernal bounds, And whirls about the year. Let folly dress in green and red, And gird her waste with flowing gold Knit blushing roses round her head, Alas 1 the gaudy colours fade, The garment waxes old. Hartopp, mark the withering rose, And the pale gold how dim it shows! Bright and lasting bliss below Is all romance and dream ; Only the joys celestial flow In an eternal stream : The pleasures that the smiling day With large right hand bestows, Falsely her left conveys away And shuffles in our woes. So have I seen a mother play, And cheat her silly child, She gave and took a toy away, The infant cry'd and smil'd. Airy chance, and iron fate Hurry and vex our mortal state, And all the race of ills create ; Now fiery joy, now sullen grief, Commands the reins of human life, The wheels impetuous roll; The hamessd hours and minutes strive, And days with stretching pinions drive— — down fiercely on the gaol. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 20t Not half so fast the galley flies O'er the Venetian sea, When sails, and oars, and lab'ring skies Contend to make her way. Swift wings for all the riving hours The God of time prepares, The rest lie still yet in their nest And grow for future years. To THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. 1700. HAPPY SOLITUDE. Casimire, Book IV. Ode 12. imitated. Quid me latentem, djrc. The noisy world complains of me That I should shun their sight, and flee Visits, and crowds, and company. Gunston, the lark dwells in her nest Till she ascends the skies; And in my closet I could rest Till to the heavens I rise. Yet they will urge, " This private life " Can never make you blest, " And twenty doors are still at strife " T' engage you for a guest." Friend, should the towers of Windsor or Whitehall Spread open their inviting gates To make my entertainment gay; I would obey the royal call, But short should be my stay, Since a diviner service waits T' employ my hours at home, and better fill the day. 202 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. When I within myself retreat I shut my doors against the great; My busy eye-balls inward roll, And there with large survey I see All the wide theatre of me, And view the various scenes of my retiring soul j There I walk o'er the mazes I have trod, While hope and fear are in a doubtful strife, Whether this opera of life Be acted well to gain the plaudit of my God. There's a day hasfning, ('tis an awful day!) When the great Sovereign shall at large review All that we speak, and all we do, The several parts we act on this wide stage of clay: These he approves, and those he blames, And crowns perhaps a porter, and a prince he damns. O, if the Judge from his tremendous seat Shall not condemn what I have done, I shall be happy tho' unknown, JJor need the gazing rabble, nor the shouting street. I hate the glory, friend, that springs From vulgar breath, and empty sound ; Fame mounts her upward with a flatt'ring gale Upon her airy wings, Till Envy shoots, and Fame receives the wound; Then her flagging pinions fail, Down glory falls and strikes the ground, And breaks her batter'd limbs. Rather let me be quite conceald from fame; How happy I should lie In sweet obscurity, Nor the loud world pronounce my little name ! SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 203 Here I could live and die alone; Or if society be due To keep our taste of pleasure new, Gunston, I'd live and die with you, For both our souls are one. Here we could sit and pass the hour, And pity kingdoms, and their kings, And smile at all their shining things, Their toys of state, and images of power j Virtue should dwell within our seat, Virtue alone could make it sweet, Nor is herself secure, but in a close retreat* While she withdraws from public praise Envy perhaps would cease to rail, Envy itself may innocently gaze At beauty in a veil ; But if she once advance to light, Her charms are lost in envy's sight, And virtue stands the mark of universal spight^ To JOHN HARTOPP, Esq. (NOW SIR JOHN HARTOPP, Bart) THE DISDAIN. 1700 Hartopp, I love the soul that dares Tread the temptations of his years Beneath his youthful feet : Fleetwood and all thy heavenly line Look thro' the stars, and smile divine Upon an heir so great 204 LYRIC POEMS, b Young Hartopp knows this noble theme, That the wild scenes of busy life, The noise, th' amusements, and the strife Are but the visions of the night, Gay phantoms of delusive light, Or a vexatious dream. Flesh is the vilest and the least Ingredient of our frame : Were born to live above the beast, Or quit the manly name. Pleasures of sense we leave for boys f Be shining dust the miser's food ; Let Fancy feed on Fame and Noise, Souls must pursue diviner joys, And seize the immortal good. TO MITIO, MY FRIEND, AN EPISTLE. Torgive me, Mitio, that there should be any mor- tifying lines in the following poems inscribed to you, so soon after your entrance into that state which was de- signed lor the completest happiness on earth: but you will quickly discover that the Muse in the first poem only represents the shades and dark colours that melan- choly throws upon love, and the social life. In the se- cond, perhaps, she indulges her own bright ideas a lit- tle. Yet, it the accounts are but weil balanced at last, and things set in a due light, 1 hope there is no ground for censure. Here you will find an attempt made to talk SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 205 •of one of the most important concerns of human nature ■ in verse, and that with a solemnity becoming the argu- ment. I have banished grimace and ridicule, that per- • sons of the most serious character may read without of- fence. What was written several years ago to yourself is now permitted to entertain the worid ; but you may assume it to yourself as a private entertainment still, while you lie concealed behind a feigned name. THE MOURNING-PIECE. Life's a long tragedy : the globe the stage, Well fix'd and well adorn' d with strong machines, Gay fields, and skies, and seas: the actors many: The plot immense : a flight of daemons sit On every sailing cloud with fatal purpose; And shoot across the scenes ten thousand arrows Perpetual and unseen, headed with pain, With sorrow, infamy, disease, and death. The pointed plagues fly silent thro' the air Nor twangs the bow, yet sure and deep the wound. Dianthe acts her little part alone, Nor wishes an associate. Lo, she glides Single thro' all the storm, and more secure ; Less are her dangers, and her breast receives The fewest darts. " But, O my lov'd Marilla, *• My sister, once my friend, (Dianthe cries) 46 How much art thou expos'd ! Thy growing soul 44 Doubled in wedlock, multiply'd in children, 206 LYRIC POEMS, book it. *' Stands but the broader mark for all the mis- chiefs • - That rove promiscuous o'er the mortal stage: 44 Children, those dear young limbs, those tend'rest pieces u Of your own flesh, those little other selves, * c How they dilate the heart to wide dimensions, Ai And soften every fibre to improve <€ The mother's sad capacity of pain ! €€ I mourn Fidelio too ; tho' Heav'n has chose * 6 A favourite mate for him, of all her sex *' The pride and flower : how blest the lovely pair, 4t Beyond expression, if well mingled loves *' And woes well mingled could improve our bliss ! *' Amidst the rugged cares of life behold 46 The father and the husband, flattering names, €€ That spread his title, and enlarge his share •' Of common wretchedness. He fondly hopes 4 * To multiply his joys, but every hour " Renews the disappointment and the smart. " There's not a wound afflicts the meanest joint *' Of his fair partner, or her infant train, M (Sweet babes !) but pierces to his inmost soul. ** Strange is thy power, O Love! what numerous veins, u And arteries, and arms, and hands, and eyes, " Are link'd and fasten'd to a lover's heart, " By strong but secret strings ! with vain attempt ••'We put the Stoic on, in vain we try " To break the ties of nature and of blood ; ^ Those hidden threads maintain the dear com- munion SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 207 " Inviolably firm : their thrilling motions " Reciprocal give endless sympathy " In all the bitters and the sweets of life. " Thrice happy man, if Pleasure only knevf " These avenues of Love to reach our souls, " And Pain had never found 'em !" Thus sang the tuneful maid, fearful to tr^ The bold experiment. Oft Daphnis came, And oft Narcissus, rivals of her heart, Luring her eyes with trifles dipt in gold, And the gay silken bondage. Firm she stood* And bold repuls'd the bright temptation still, Nor put the chains on ; dangerous to try, And hard to be dissolv'd. Yet rising tears Sate on her eye-lids, while her numbers flow'd Harmonious sorrow ; and the pitying drops Stole down her cheeks, to mourn the hapless state Of mortal love. Love, thou best blessing sent To soften life, and make our iron cares Easy : but thy own cares, of softer kind, Give sharper wounds : they lodge too near the heart, Beat, like the pulse, perpetual, and create A strange uneasy sense, a tempting pain. Say, my companion Mitio, speak sincere, (For thou art learned now) what anxious thoughts, What kind perplexities tumultuous rise, If but the absence of a day divide Thee from thy fair beloved ! Vainly smiles The chearful sun, and night with radiant eye& Twinkles in vain : the region of thy soul Is darkness, till thy better star appear. Tell me, what toil, what torment to sustain SOS LYRIC POEMS, book ir. The rolling burden of the tedious hours ? The tedious hours are ages. Fancy roves Restless in fond enquiry, nor believes Charissa safe : Charissa, in whose life Thy life consists, and in her comfort thine. Fear and surmise put on a thousand forms Of dear disquietude, and round thine ears Whisper ten thousand dangers, endless woes, Till thy frame shudders at her fancy'd death ; Then dies my Mitio, and his blood creeps cold Thro 1 every vein. Speak, does the stranger Muse Cast happy guesses at the unknown passion, Or has she fabled all? Inform me, friend, Are half thy jovs sincere ? Thy hopes fulfill'd, Or frustrate? Here commit thy secret griefs To faithful ears, and be they bury'd here In friendship and oblivion ; lest they spoil Thy new-born pleasures with distasteful gall. Nor let thine eye too greedily drink in The frightful prospect, when untimely death Shall make wide inroads on a parent's heart, And his dear offspring to the cruel grave Are dragg'd in sad succession, while his soul Is torn away piece-meal: Thus dies the wretch A various death, and frequent, ere he quit The theatre, and make his exit final But if his dearest half, his faithful mate Survive, and in the sweetest saddest airs Of love and grief, approach with trembling hand To close his swimming eyes, what double pangs, What racks, what twinges rend his heart-strings off From the fair bosom of that fellow-dove He leaves behind to mourn ? what jealous cares SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 209 Hang on his parting soul, to think his love Expos'd to wild oppression, and the herd Of savage men ? so parts the dying turtle With sobbing accents, with such sad regret Leaves his kind feather'd mate : the widow bird Wanders in lonesome shades, forgets her food, Forgets her life ; or falls a speedier prey To talond falcons, and the crooked beak Of hawks athirst for blood. PART II. THE BRIGHT VISION. Thus far the Muse, in unaccustom'd mood, And strains unpleasing to a lover's ear, Indulg'd a gloom of thought: and thus she sang Partial ; for Melancholy's hateful form Stood by in sable robe : the pensive muse Surveyed the darksome scenes of life, and sought Some bright relieving glimpse, some cordial ray In the fair world of love : but while she gaz'd Delightful on the state of twin-born souls United, bless'd, the cruel shade apply'd A dark long tube, and a false tinctur'd glass Deceitful ; blending love and life at once In darkness, Chaos, and the common mass Of misery : now Urania feels the cheat, And breaks the hated optic in disdain. Swift vanishes the sullen form, and lo The scene shines bright with bliss : behold the place Where mischiefs never fty, care, never come p 210 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. With wrinkled brow, nor anguish, nor disease, Nor malice forky-tongud. On this dear spot, Mitio, my love would fix and plant thy station To act thy part of life, serene and blest With thy fair consort fitted to thy heart. Sure 'tis a vision of that happy grove Where the first authors of our mournful race Liv'd in sweet Partnership ! one hour they liv'd But changd the tasted bliss (imprudent pair!) For sin, and shame, and this vast wilderness Of briars, and nine hundred years of pain. The wishing muse new-dresses the fair garden Amid this desert- world, with budding bliss, And ever-greens, and balms, and flow'ry beauties, Without one dangerous tree : there heavenly dews Nightly descending shall impearl the grass And verdant herbage ; drops of fragrancy Sit trembling on the spires : the spicy vapours Rise with the dawn, and thro' the air diffus'd Salute your waking senses with perfume : While vital fruits with their ambrosial juice Renew life's purple flood and fountain, pure From vicious taint ; and with your innocence Immortalize the structure of your clay. On this new paradise the cloudless skies Shall smile perpetual, while the lamp of day With flames unsullyd, (as the fabled torch Of Hymen) measures out your golden hours Along his azure road. The nuptial moon In milder rays serene, should nightly ri^e Full orb'd (if heaven and nature will indulge So fair an emblem) big with silver joys, And still forgot her wane* The feather'd choir SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 2!1 Warbling their Makers praise on early wing, Or perch' d on evening bough, shall join your worship, Join your sweet vespers, and the morning song. sacred symphony ! hark, thro 1 the grove I hear the sound divine ! I'm all attention, All ear, all ecstasy ; unknown delight ! And the fair muse proclaims the heav'n below. Not the seraphic minds of high degree Disdain converse with men : again returning I see th' ethereal host on downward wing. Lo, at the eastern gate young cherubs stand Guardians, commission'd to convey their joys To earthly lovers. Go, ye happy pair, Go taste their banquet, learn the nobler pleasures Supernal, and from brutal dregs refm'd. Raphael shall teach thee, friend, exalted thoughts And intellectual bliss. Twas Raphael taught The patriarch of our progeny th' affairs Of heaven : (so Milton sings, enlighten'd bard I Nor miss'd his eyes, when in sublimest strain The angel's great narration he repeats To Albion's sons high favour'd) thou shalt leara Celestial lessons from his awful tongue; And with soft grace and interwoven loves (Grateful digression) all his words rehearse To thy Charissas ear, and charm her soul. Thus with divine discourse, in shady bowers Of Eden, our first father entertain'd Eve, his sole auditress ;, and deep dispute 212 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. With conjugal caresses on her lip Solv'd easy, and obstrusest thoughts reveal'd. Now the day wears apace, now Mitio comes From his bright tutor, and finds out his mate. Behold the dear associates seated low On humble turf, with rose and myrtle strow'd ; But high their conference ! how self-sufrlc'd Lives their Eternal Maker, girt around With glories: arm'dwith thunders; and his throne Mortal access forbids, projecting far Splendors unsufferable and radiant death. With reverence and abasement deep they fall Before his sovereign majesty, to pay Due worship: then his mercy on their souls Smiles with a gentler ray, but sovereign still; And leads their meditation and discourse Long ages backward, and across the seas To Bethlehem of Judah: there the Son, The filial Godhead, character express Of brightness inexpressible, laid by His beamy robes, and made descent to earth ; Sprung from the sons of Adam he became A second father, studious to regain Lost Paradise for men, and purchase heav'n. The lovers with indearment mutual thus Promiscuous tahVd, and questions intricate His manly judgment still resolv'd, and still Held her attention fix'd: she musing sat On the sweet mention of incarnate love, Till rapture wak'd her voice to softest strains. " She S3ng the infant god; (mysterious theme !) SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 215 u How vile his birth-place, and his cradle vile! " The ox and ass his mean companions ; there " In habit vile the shepherds flock around, " Saluting the great mother, and adore " Israel's anointed king, the appointed heir " Of the creation. How debas'd he lies " Beneath his regal state; for thee, my Mitio, " Debas'd in servile form ; but angels stood " Ministring round their charge with folded wings " Obsequious, tho' unseen-, while lightsome hours " FulfnTd the day, and the grey evening rose. " Then the fair guardians hov'ring o'er his head *' Wakeful all night, drive the foul spirits far, " And with their fanning pinions purge the air " From busy phantoms, from infectious damps, " And impure taint; while their ambrosial plumes " A dewy slumber on his senses shed. " Alternate hymns the heavenly watchers sung " Melodious, soothing the surrounding shades, " And kept the darkness chaste and holy. Then " Midnight was charm'd, and ali her gazing eyes " Wonder d to see their mighty Maker sleep. " Behold the glooms disperse, the rosy morn " Smiles in the east with eye-lids opening fair, " But not so fair as thine ; O I could fold thee, w My young Almighty, my Creator-babe, " For ever in these arms ! for ever dwell " Upon thy lovely form with gazing joy, " And every pulse shall beat seraphic love ! u Around my seat should croudihg cherubs come u With swift ambition, zealous to attend " Their prince, and form a heav'n below the sky. SU LYRIC POEMS, book it. u Forbear, Charissa, O forbear the thought *' Of female- fondness, and forgive tne man ** That interrupts such melting harmony I" Thus Mitio ; and awakes her nobler powers To pay just worship to the sacred King, Jesus, the God ; nor with devotion pure Mix the caresses of her softer sex ; {Vain blandishment) " Come, turn thine eyes aside ** From Bethle'em, and climb up the doleful steep, *' Of bloody Calvary, where naked sculls 4i Pave the sad road, and fright the traveller. " Can my beloved bear to trace the feet " Of her Redeemer panting up the hill *' Hard burdened? can thy heart attend his cross? " Naird to the cruel wood he groans, he dies, " For thee he dies. Beneath thy sins and mine " (Horrible load !) the sinless Saviour groans, *' And in fierce anguish of his soul expires. * x Adoring angels pry with bending head *' Searching the deep contrivance, and admire " This infinite design. Here peace is made * 'Twixt God the Sovereign, and the rebel man: " Here Satan overthrown with all his hosts u In second ruin rages and despairs; *' Malice itself despairs. The captive prey u Long held in slavery hopes a sweet release, *' And Adam's ruin'd offspring shall revive *' Thus ransom' d from the greedy jaws of death." The fair disciple heard; her passions move Harmonious to the great discourse, and breathe Refin'd devotion : while new smiles of love Repay her teacher. Both with bended knees SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 215 Read o'er the covenant of eternal life Brought down to men; seal'd by the sacred three In heav'n ; and seal'd on earth with God's own blood. Here they unite their names again, and sign Those peaceful articles. (Hail, blest co-heirs Celestial I ye shall grow to manly age, And spite of earth and hell, in season due Possess the fair inheritance above.) With joyous admiration they survey The gospel treasures infinite, unseen By mortal eye, by mortal ear unheard, And unconceiv'd by thought : riches divine And honours which the Almighty Father God Pour'd with immense profusion, on his Son, High treasurer of heaven. The Son bestows The life, the love, the blessing, and the joy On bankrupt mortals who believe and love His name. " Then, my Charissa, all is thine : " And thine, my Mitio, the fair saint replies. " Life, death, the world below, and worlds on high, " And place, and time, are ours ; and things to come, " And past, and present, for our interest stands " Firm in our mystic head, the title sure. " 'Tis for our health and sweet refreshment (while ** We sojourn strangers, here) the fruitful earth *' Bears plenteous ; and revolving seasons still M Dress her vast globe in various ornament. " For us this chearful sun and chearful light " Diurnal shine. This blue expanse of sky " Hangs, a rich canopy above our heads 516 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. " Covering our slumbers, all with starry gold 4t Inwrought, when night alternates her return. " For us time wears his wings out : nature keeps M Her wheels in motion : and her fabric stands. " Glories beyond our ken of mortal sight " Are now preparing, and a mansion fair " Awaits us, where the Saints unbody'd live. " Spirits releas'd from clay, and purge! from sin: M Thither our hearts with most incessant wish " Panting aspire ; when shall that dearest hour " Shine and release us hence, and bear us high u Bear us at once unsever d to our better homer" O blest connubial state ! O happy pair, Envy'd by yet unsociated souls Who seek their faithful twins ! your pleasures rise Sweet as the morn, advancing as the day, Fervent as the glorious noon, serenely calm As summer-evenings. The vile sons of earth Grovelling in dust with all their noisy jars Restless, shall interrupt your joys no more Than barking animals affright the moon Sublime, and riding in her midnight way. Friendship and love shall undistinguish'd reign O'er all your passions with unrival'd sway Mutual and everlasting : friendship knows No property in good, but all things common That each possesses, as the light or air In which we breathe and live : there's not one thought Can lurk in close reserve, no barriers fix'd, But every passage open as the day To one another's breast, and inmost mfnd. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 217 Thus by communion your delight shall grow, Thus streams of mingled bliss swell higher as they flow, Thus angels mix their flames, and more divinely glow. PART III. THE ACCOUNT BALANCED. Should sovereign love before me stand, W itb all his train of pomp and state, And bid the daring muse relate His comforts and his cares ; Mitio, I would not ask the sand For metaphors t 1 express their weight, Nor borrow numbers from the stars. Thy cares and comforts, sovereign love Vastly out-weigh the sand below, And to a larger audit grow Than all the stars above. Thy mighty losses and thy gains Are their own mutual measures ; Only the man that knows thy pains Can reckon up thy pleasures. Say, Damon, say how bright the scene, Damon is half-divinely blest, Leaning his head on his Florellas breast Without a jealous thought, or busy care between; They the sweet passions mix and share 5 Florella tells thee all her heart, Nor can thy soul's remotest part Conceal a thought or wish from the beloved fair. Say, what a pitch thy pleasures fly, When friendship all -sincere grows up to ecstacy; 215 LYUIC POEMS. book u. Nor self contracts the bliss, nor vice pollutes the joy ? While thy dear offspring round thee sit, Or sporting innocently at thy feet, Thy kindest thoughts engage: Those little images of thee, What pretty toys of youth they be, And growing props of age ! But short is earthly bliss ! the changing wind Blows from the sickly South, and brings Malignant fevers on its sultry wings, Relentless death sits close behind : Now gasping infants, and a wife in tears, With piercing groans salutes his ears, Thro' evry vein the thrilling torments roll ; While sweet and bitter are at strife In those dear nurseries of life, Those tenderest pieces of his bleeding soul. The pleasing sense of love awhile Mixt with the heart-ache, may the pain beguile, And make a feeble fight : Till sorrows like a gloomy deluge rise, Then every smiling passion dies, And hope alone with wakeful eyes, Darkling and solitary waits the slow-returning light Here then let my ambition rest, May I be moderately blest When I the laws of love obey : Let but my pleasure and my pain In equal balance ever reign, Or mount by turns and sink again, And share just measures of alternate sway* So Damon lives, and ne'er complains.; Scarce can we hope div iner scenes SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 219 On this dull stage of clay : The tribes beneath the northern bear Submit to darkness half the year, Since half the year is day. ON THE DEATH of the DUKE of GLOUCESTER, Just after Mr. Dry den. 1700. AN EPIGRAM. Dryden is dead, Dryden alone could sing The full-grown glories of a future king. Now Glo'ster dies : thus lesser heroes live By that immortal breath that poets give ; And scarce survive the muse: but William stands Nor asks his honours from the poet's hands. William shall shine without a Dry den's praise, His laurels are not grafted on the bays. AN EPIGRAM OF MARTIAL TO CIRINUS. Sic, tua, Cirini. promas Epigrammata vulgo Ut mecum possis, $c. INSCRIBED TO MR. JOSIAH HORT. 1694. NOW LORD BISHOP OF KILMORE IN IRELAND. So smooth your numbers, Friend, your verse so sweet, So sharp the jest, and yet the turn so neat, 220 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. That, with her Martial Rome would place Ci- rine, Rome would prefer your sense and thought to mine. Yet modest you decline the public stage, To fix your friend alone amidst trf applauding age. So Maro did ; the mighty Maro sings In vast heroick notes of vast heroick things, And leaves the Ode to dance upon his Flaccus* strings. He scorn'd to daunt the dear Horation lyre, Tho' his brave genius flashed Pindaric fire, And, at his will, could silence all the Lyric quire. So to his Varius he resigned the praise Of the proud buskin and the tragic bays, When he could thunder with a loftier vein, And sing of gods and heroes in a bolder strain. A handsome treat, a piece of gold, or so, And compliments will every friend bestow ; Rarely a Virgil, a Cirine we meet, Who lays his laurels at inferior feet, And yields the tenderest point of honour, wit. EPISTOLA. Fratri suo dilecto B.W. I.W. S.P.D. Rtjrsum tuas, amande frater, accepi literas, eodem fortasse momento, quomeae ad te pervenerunt; ideraque qui tc scribentem vidit dies, raeum ad epistolare niu- nus excitavit calamum ; non inane est inter nos frater- num nomen, unicus enim spiritus nos intiis animat, agitque, et Concordes in ambobus efiicit motas ; O uti- nara crescat indies, et vigescat mutua charitas; Faxit SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 221 Deus, ut amor sui nostra incendat et defaecet pectora, tunc etenim etaltemis purae amicitiae flammis erga nos invicem divinum in modum ardebiraus ; contemplemur Jesum nostrum, caeleste illud et adorandum exemplar eharitatis. Ille est. Qui quondam aeterno delapsus ab JEthere vultus Induit humanos, ut posset corpore nostras (Heu miseras) sufferre vices ; sponsoris obivit Munia, et in sese Tabulae maledicta Minacis Transtulit, et sceleris poenas hominisque reatum. Ecce jacet desertus humi, diffusus in herbam Integer, innocuas versus sua sidera Palmas Et placidum attolens vultum, nee ad oscula Pa- tris Amplexus solitosve; artus nudatus amictu Sideros, et sponte sinum patefactus ad iras Numinis armati. Pater, hie infige * sagittas, " Hsec, ait, iratum sorbebunt Pectora ferrum, " Abluat aethereus mortalia crimina sanguis." Dixit, et horrendum fremuere tonitura coeli Infensusque Deus; (quern jam posuisse paternum Musa queri vellet nomen, sed et ipsa fragores Ad tantos pevefacta silet,) Jam dissilit aether, Pandunturque fores, ubi duro carcere regnat, Ira, et Pcenarum Thesauros mille coercet, Indi ruunt gravidi vesano sulphere nimbi, Contuplicisque volant contorta volumina flammse In caput immeritum; diro hie sub pondere pressus Restat, compressos dumque ardens explicat artus t Purpureo vestes tinctae sudore madescunt. * Job iv. 6. t Luke xxii. 44. in LYRIC POEMS book iil Nee tamen infando Vindex Regina labori Segnius incumbit, sed lassos increpat ignes Acriter, et somno languentem suscitat * ensem : " Surge, age, divinum pete pectus, et imbue sacro " Flumine mucronem; vos bine, mea spicula, late " Ferrea per totum dispergite tormina Cbristum, " Immensum tollerare valet ; ad pondera Poense " Sustentanda hominem suflfulciet incola Numen. " Et ut sacra Decas legum, violata tabella, " Ebibe vindictam ; vasta satiabere csede, " Mortalis culpae pensabit dedecus ingens " Permistus Deitate cruor." — *- Sic fata, immiti contorquet vuluera dextrS Dilaniatque sinus j sancti penetralia cordis Panduntur, ssevis avidas dolor involat alis, Atque audax mentem scrutator, et ilia mordet; Interea servator f ovat, victorque doloris Eminet, illustri Jperfusus membra cruore, Exultatque miser fieri ; nam fortius ilium Urget patris honos, et non vincenda voluptas Servandi miseros sontes ; O nobilis ardor Poenarum! O quid non mortalia pectora cogis Durus amor ? Quid non coelestia At subsidat phantasia, vanescant imagines ; nescio quo me proripuit amens musa : volui quatuor linias pedibus astringere, et ecce ! numeri crescunt in immensum ; dumque concitatio genio laxavi fr^na, vereor ne juve- nilis impetus theologiumlEeserit, et audax nimis imagi- natio. Heri adlata est ad me epistola indicans matrem meliusculese habere, licet ignis febrilis non prorsus de- * Zech. xiii. 7. + Col. ii. 25. % Luke xxii. 24 SACRED TO THE DEAD. 225 seruit mortale ejus domicilium. Plura volui, sed turgidi et crescentes versus noluere plura, et coarctarunt scrip- tionis limites. Vale amice frater, et in studio pietati*- et artis medicae strenuus decurre. Datum a Musozo meo Londini xvto Calend. Febr* Anno Salutis cioiocxciii. JRATRIS E. W. OLIM NAVIGATURO* Sept. 30,1691. I felix, pede prospero I frater, trabe pinea Sulces aequora coerula Pandas carbasa flatibus Quae tuto reditura sint. Non te monstra natantia Ponti carnivorae incolae Praedentur rate naufraga. Navis, tu tibi creditum Fratrem dimidium mei Salvum fer per inhospita Ponti regna, per avios Tractus, et liquidum Chaos, Nee te sorbeat horrida Syrtis, nee scopulus minax Rumpat roboreum latus Captent mitia flamina Antennae ; et Zephyri leves Dent portum placidum tibi. Tu, qui flumina, qui vages Fluctus oceani regis, Et saevam boream domas. Da fratri faciles vias, Et fratrem rcducem suis, 224 LYRIC POEMS, book ir. AD REVERENDUM VIRUM Dm. JOHANNEM PINHORNE, FIDUM ADOLESCENTIJE MEiE PR^CEPTOREM. Pindarici Carminis Specimen. 1694. En te, Pinhorni, Musa Trisantica Salutat, ardens discipulum tuam Grate fateri : nunc Athenas, Nunc Latias per amoenitates Tuto pererrans te recolit ducem, Te quondam teneros et Ebraia per aspera gressus Non dura duxisse manu. Tuo patescunt lumine Thespii Campi atque ad arcem Pieridon iter : En altus assurgens Homerus Arma deosque virosque miscens Occupat aethereum Parnassi cnlmen : Homeri Immensos stupeo manes Te, Maro, dulce canens sylvas, te bella sonantem Ardua, da veniam tenui venerare Camoena; Tuaeque accipias, Thebane Vates, Debita thura lyrae. Vobis, magna Trias ! clarissima nomina semper Scrinia nostro patent, et pectora nostra patebunt Quum mihicunque levem concesseritotiaethoram Divina Mosis pagina. Flaccus ad hanc Triadem ponatur,at ipsa pudendas Deponat veneres : venias sed * purus et insons Ut te collaudem, dum sordes et mala lustra Ablutus, Venusine, canis ridesve. Pecisae Hac lege accedant Satyrae Juvenalis, amari * Herat. Lib. I. Sat. 6 SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. £2$ Terrorcs vitiorum. At Ionge csecusabesset Fersius, obscuros vates, nisi lumina circum- fusa forent, sphingisque aenigmata, Bonde, sci- disses. Grande sonans Senacae fulmen, gradisque co- thurni Fompa Sophoclei celso ponantur eodem Ordine, et ambabus simul hos amplecrar in ulnjs. Tuto, poetae, tuto habitabitis Pictos abacos : improba tinea Obiir, nee audet saeva castas Attingere blata camoenas. At tu renidens foeda epigrammatum Farrago inertum, stercoris impii Sentina fastens, Martialis, In barathrum relegandus imum Aufuge, et hinc tecum rapias Catullum Insulse mollem, naribus, auribus Ingrata castis carmina, et improbi Spurcos Nasonis amores. Nobilis extrema gradiens Caledonis ab ara En Buchananus adest. Divini Psaltis imago Jessiadae salveto ; potens seu niminis iras Fulminibus miscere, sacro vel lumine mentis Fugare noctes, vel citharse sono Sedate fluctus pectoris. Tu mihi haerebis comes ambulanti, Tu Domi astabis socius perennis, Seu levi mensas simul assidere Dignabere, seu lecticas. Mox recumbentis vigilans ad aurem Aureos suadebis inire somnos Sacra sopitis superinferens oblivia cutis, 9. 22-6 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. Stet juxta * Casimirus, huic nee parcius ignem. Natura indulsit nee musa armavit alumnum * Sarbivum rudiore lyra. Quanta Polonum levat aura cygnum ! t Humana linquens (en sibi devii Montes recedunt) luxuriantibus Spatiatur in aere pennis. Seu tu forte virum tollis ad aethera, Cognatosve thronos et patrium Polum Visurus consurgus ovans, Visum fatigas, aciemque fallis, Dum tuum a longe stupeo volatum O non imitabilis ales. Sarbivii ad nomen gelida incalet Musa, simul totus fervescere Sentio, stellatas levis induor Alas et tollor in altum. Jam juga Zionis radens pede Elato inter sidera radens vertice Longe despecto mortalia. Quam juvat altisonis volitare per aethera pennis* Et ridere procul fallacia gaudia secli Tereliae grandia inania, Quae mortale genus (heu male) deperit. O curas hominum miseras ! cano, Et miseras nugas diademata ! Ventosae sortis ludibrium. En mihi subsidunt terrenae a pectsre faeces, Gestit et effraenis divinum effundere carmen * M. Casimirus Sarbiewski Poeta insignis Polonis. + Oda V. Lib. 2. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. fl& Mens afflato Deo • at vos heroes et arma Et procul este dii, ludicra numina. Quid mini cum vestrse pondere lanceoe, Pallas! aut vestris, Dionyse, thyrsis? Et clava, et anguis, et leo, et Hercules, Et brutum tonitru fictitii patris, Abstate a carmine nostro. Te, Deus Omnipotens 1 te nostra sonabit Jesu Musa, nee assueto coelestes barbiton ausu Tentabit numeros. Vasti sine limite numen et Immensum sine lege Deum numeri sine lege sonabunt. Sed musam magna pollicentem destait vigor: divino jubare perstringitur oculorum acies. En labascit pen- nis, tremit artubus, ruit deorsum per inane aetheris, jacet victa, obstupescit, silet. Ignoscas, Reverende vir, vano carmini ; fr agin en hoc rude licet et impolitu aequi boni consulas, et gratitudinis jam diu debits in partem reponas. VOTUM, SEU VITA IN TERRIS BEATA. AD VIRUM DIGNIS5D1UM JOHANNEM HARTOPPIUM, BART. 1702. Hartoppi eximio stemmate nobilis V T enaque ingenii divite, si roges Quern mea musa beat, Ille mihi felix ter et amplius, Et similes superis annos agit " Qui sibi sufficiens semper adest sibi." Hunc longe a curis mortalibus 228 „ LYRIC POEMS, book ii. Inter agros, sylvasque silentes Se musisque suis tranquilla in pace fruentem Sol orens videt et recumbens. Nan suae vulgi favor insolentes tTIausus insani tumidus popeili) Me»tis ad sacram penetrabit arccm, Feriat licet aethera clamor. Nee gaza fiammans divitis Indias. -oS T ec, Tage, vestra fulgor arenulas Ducent ab obscura quiete Ad laquear radiantis aulas, O si daretur stamina proprii Tractare fusi pollice proprio, Atque meum mihi fingere fatum ; Candidus vitas color innocentis Fila nativo decoraret albo Non Tyria vitiata concha. Non aurum, non gemmanitens, nee purpura telae ]ntertexta forent invidiosa meas. Longe a tritimpbis, et sonitu tubas Longe remotos transigerem dies : Abstate fasces (splendida vanitas) Et vos abstate, coronac. Pro meo tecto casa sit, salubres Captet auroras, procul urbis atro Distet afumo, fugiatque longe Lhira phthisis mala, dura tussis, Displicet Byrsa et fremitu molesto Turba mercantum; gratius alvear Emulcet aures murmure, gratius l 7 ons salientis aquas. SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 229 Litigiosa fori me terrent jurgia, lenes Ad s vivas properans rixosas execror artes Eminus in tuto a linguis Blandimenta artis simul aequus odi, Valete, cives, et amoena fraudis Verba; proh mores ! et innane sacri Nomen amici ! Tuque quae nostris inimica musis Felle sacratum vitias amorem, Absis asturnum, diva libidinis Et pharetrate puer ! Hinc, hinc, Cupido, longius avola? Nil mi hi cum foedis, puer, ignibus ; iEtherea fervent face pectora, Sacra mihi Venus est Urania, Et Juvenis Jessaeus amor mihi. Coeleste carmen (nee taceat lyra Jessaea) laetis auribus insonet, Nee Watsianis e medullis Ulla dies rapiet vel hora, Sacri libelli, delicae meae, Et vos, sodales, semper amabiles, Nunc simul adsitis, nunc vicissim, Et fallite taedia vita?. TO MISS SINGER, (NOW MRS. ROWE,) ON THE SIGHT OF SOME OF HER DIVINE POEMS, NEVER PRINTED. July 19, 1706. On the fair banks of gentle Thames i tund my harp; nor did celestial themes m LYRIC POEMS, book u. Refuse to dance upon my strings: There beneath the evening sky I sung my cares asleep, and raisd my wishes high To everlasting things. Sudden from Albion's western coast Harmonious notes come gliding by, The neighbouring shepherds knew the silver sound ; " Tis Philomela's voice, the neighb'ring shep- herds cry ;" At once my strings all silent lie, At once my fainting muse was lost, In the superior sweetness drown'd. In vain I bid my tuneful powers unite ; My soul retir'd, and left my tongue, I was all ear, and Philomelas song, Was all divine delight. Now be my harp for ever dumb, My muse attempt no more. 'Twas long ago I bid adieu to mortal things, To Grecian tales, and wars of Rome, Twas long ago I broke all but th 1 immortal strings j Now those immortal strings have no employ, Since a fair angel dwells below, To tune the notes of heav'n, and propagate the joy. Let all my powers with awe profound While Philomela sings, Attend the rapture of the sound, And my devotion rise on her seraphic wings. END OF BOOK II. m HOILE LYRICS. BOOK III. SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THE BEAD. AN EPITAPH ON KING WILLIAM THE THIRD OF GLORIOUS MEMORY, Who died March 8, 1701. BENEATH these honours of a tomb, Greatness in humble ruin lies: (How earth confines in narrow room What heroes leave beneath the skies !) Preserve, O venerable Pile, Inviolate thy sacred trust; To thy cold arms the British isle, Weeping, commits her richest dust. Ye gentlest ministers of fate, Attend the monarch as he lies, And bid the softest slumbers wait With silken cords to bind his eyes. Rest his dear sword beneath his head ; Round him his faithful arms shall stand : Fix his bright ensigns on his bed, The guards and honours of cur land. n« LYRIC POEMS. b© Ye sister arts of paint and verse. Place Albion fainting by his side, Pier groans arising o'er the4iearse, And Belgia sinking when he dy'd. High o'er the grave religion set In solemn guise ; pronounce the ground Sacred, to bar unhallow'd feet, And plant her guardian virtues ronnd. Fair liberty in sables drest, Write his lov'd name upon his urn, William, the scourge of tyrants past, And awe of princes yet unborn. Sweet peace, his sacred relics keep, With olives blooming round her head, And stretch her wings across the deep To bless the nations with the shade. Stand on the pile, immortal fame, Broad stars adorn thy brightest robe, Thy thousand voices sound his name In silver accents round the globe, Flattery shall faint beneath the sound, While hoary truth inspires the song; Envy grow pale and bite the ground, And slander gnaw her forky tongue. .Night and the grave remove your gloom; Darkness becomes the vulgar dead; But glory bids thej-oyal tomb Disdain the horrors of a shade. SACRED TO THE DEAD. 233 Glory with all her lamps shall burn, And watch the warrior's sleeping clayv Till the last trumpet rouze his urn To aid the triumphs of the day. EPITAPHIUM VIRI VENERABILIS DOM. N. MATHER, Carmine Lapidario conscriptum. M. $. REVERENDI ADMODUM VIRI NATHANAELIS MATHERL Quod mori potuit hie subtus depositum est, Si quaeris, hospes, quantus et qualis fuit, Fidus enarrabit lapis. Nomen a familia duxit Sanctioribus studiis et evangelio devota, Et per utramque Angliam celebri. Americanum se, atque Europaeum. Et hie quoque in sancti ministerii spem eductus Non fallacem : Et hunc utraque novit Anglia Doctum et docentem. Corpore fuit procero, forma placide verenda ; At supra corpus et formam sublime eminuerunt Indoles, ingenium, atq ; eruditio: Supra haec pietas, et (si fas dicere) Supra pietatem modestia, Caeterus enim dotes obrumbravit. Quoties in rebus divinis peragendis Divinitus afflatae mentis specimina Praestantiora edidit, 234 LYRIC POEMS, book ii Toties hominem sedulus occuluit Ut solus conspiceretur Deus : Voluit totus latere, nee potuit ; Heii quantum tamen sui nos latet ! Et majorem laudis partem sepulchrale marmor Invito obruit silentio. Gratiam Jesu Christi salutiferam Quam abunde hausit ipse, aliis propinavit, Puram ab humana faece. Veritatis evangelicae decus ingens, Et ingens propugnaculum. Concionatur gravis aspectu, gestu, voce; Cui nee aderat pompa oratoria, Nee deerat ; Floculos rhetorices supervacaneos fecit Rerum dicendarum majestas, et Deus praesens. Hinc arma militiae suae non infelicia, Hinc toties fugatus Satanas. Et hinc victoriae Ab inferorum portis torties reportatac. Solas ille ferreis impiorum animis infigere Altum et salutare vulnus : Vulneratas idem tractare leniter solers, Et medelam adhibere magis salutarem. Ex defaecato cordis fonte Divinis eloquiis affatim scatebant labia, Etiam in familiari contubernio : Spirabat ipse undique ccelestes suavitates, Quasi oleo laetitiae semper recens delibutus, Et semper supra socios ; Gratumque dilectissimi sui Jesu odorem Quaquaversus et late ditfudit. Dolores tolerans supra tidem, ^rumnasqne heu quam assiduae ! SACRED TO THE DEAD. 255 Invicto animo, victrice patentia Varias curarum moles pertulit Et in stadio et in meta vitae : Quam ubi propinquam vidit, Plerophoria fidei quasi corru alato vectus Propere et exultim attigit. Natus est in agro Lancastriensi 20° Martii, 1630. Inter Nov-Anglos theologiae tyrocinia fecit. Pastorali munere diu Dublinii in Hibernia functus, Tandem (ut semper) providentiam secutus ducem, Ccetui fldelium apud Londinenses propositus est, Quos doctrina precibus, et vita beavit : Ah brevi ! Corpore solutus 26° Julii, 1697. Mtzi. 67. Ecclesiis moerorem, theologis exemplar reliquit Probis pisque omnibus Infandum sui desiderium : Dum pulvis Christo charus hie dulce dormit Expectans stellam matutinam. ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF MRS. MARY PEACOCK. AN ELEGIAC SONG, SENT IN A LETTER OP CONDOLANCE TO MR. N. P. MERCHANT AT AMSTERDAM. Hark ! she bids all her friends adieu } Some angel calls her to the spheres j Our eyes the radiant saint pursue Thro' liquid telescopes of tears* 2oQ LYRIC POEMS, book Farewel, bright soul, a short farewel, Till we shall meet again above, In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell, And trees of life bear fruits of love: There glory sits on every face, There friendship smiles in every eye, There shall our tongues relate the grace That led us homeward to the sky. O'er all the names of Christ our King Shall our harmonious voices rove, Our harps shall sound from every string The wonders of his bleeding love. Come, Sovereign Lord, dear Saviour, come, Remove these separating days, Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home ; That golden hour, how long it stays 1 How long must we lie ling' ring here, While saints around us take their flight? Smiling, they quit this dusky sphere, And mount the hills of heavenly light. Sweet soul, we leave thee to thy rest, Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God, Till we, from bands of clay releast, Spring out and climb the shining road. While the dear dust she leaves behind Sleeps in thy bosom, sacred tomb ! Soft be her bed, her slumbers kind, And all her dreams of joy to come. SACRED TO THE DEAD. 237 TO 1HE REV. MR. JOHN SHOWER. On the Death of his Daughter, MRS. ANNE WARNER. REVEREND AND DEAR SIR, HOW great soever was my sense of your loss, yet I did not think myself fit to offer any lines of comfort ; your own meditations can furnish you with many a de- lightful truth in the midst of so heavy a sorrow ; for the covenant of grace has brightness enough in it to gild the most gloomy providence ; and to that sweet cove- Rant your soul is no stranger. My own thoughts were much impressed with the tidings of your daughter's death ; and though I made many a reflection on the vanity of mankind in its best estate, yet 1 must acknow- ledge that my temper leads me most to the pleasant scenes of heaven, and that future world of blessedness. When I recollect the memory of my friends that are dead, I frequently rove in the world of spirits, and search them out there : thus I endeavoured to trace Mrs. Warner ; and these thoughts crouding fast upon me, I set them down for my own entertainment. The verse breaks off abruptly, because I had no design to write a finished elegy : and besides, when I was fallen upon the dark side of death, I had no mind to tarry there. If the lines I have written be so happy as to entertain you a little, and divert your grief, the time spent in composing them shall not be reckoned among my lost hours, and the review will be more pleasing to, Sir, Your affectionate humble Servant, I. W. An Elegiac Thought on Mrs. ANN WARNER, Who died of the Small Pox, Dec. 18, 1707, at one o'clock in the morning, a few days after the birth and death of her first child. Awake, my muse, range the wide world of souls, And seek Vernera fled *, with upward aim 233 LYRIC POEMS, «ook in. Direct thy wing • for she was born from heaven, Fulflird her visit, and returned on high. The midnight watch of angels that patrole The British sky, have notic'd her ascent Near the meridian star; pursue the track To the bright confines of immortal day And Paradise, her home. Say, my Urania, (For nothing 'scapes thy search, nor canst thou miss So fair a spirit) say, beneath what shade Of Amarant, or chearful Ever-green She sits, recounting to her kindred-minds, Angelic or humane, her mortal toil And travels thro' this howling wilderness: By what Divine protection she escap'd Those deadly snares when youth and Satan leagu'd In combination to assail her virtue j (Snares set to murder souls) but heav'n secur'd The favourite nymph, and taught her victory. Or does she seek, or has she found her babe Amongst the infant-nation of the blest, And clasp' d it to her soul, to satiate there The young maternal passion, and absolve The unfulfhTd embrace? thrice happy child, That saw the light, and turn'd its eyes aside From our dim regions to th' eternal sun, And led the parent's way to glory! there Thou art for ever her's, with powers enlarged For love reciprocal and sweet converse. Behold her ancestors (a pious race) Rang'd in fair order, at her sight rejoice And sing her welcome. She along their seats SACRED TO THE DEAD. 239 Gliding salutes them all with honours due Such as are paid in heaven : and last she finds A mansion fashiond of distinguish'd light, But vacant: this (with sure presage she cries) Awaits my father ; when will he arrive ? How long, alas, how long ! (Then calls her mate) Die, thou dear partner of my mortal cares, Die, and partake my bliss; we are for ever one. Ah me 1 where roves my fancy ! what kind dreams Croud with sweet violence on my waking mind ! Perhaps illusions all ; inform me, muse, Chuses she rather to retire apart To recollect her dissipated powers, And call her thoughts her own ; so lately freed From earth's vain scenes, gay visits, gratulations, From Hymen's hurrying and tumultuous joys, And fears and pangs, fierce pangs that wrought her death. Tell me on what sublimer theme she dwells In contemplation, with unerring clue Infinite truth pursuing. (When, my soul, O when shall thy release from cumb'rous flesh Pass the great Seal of Heaven? what happy hour Shall give thy thoughts a loose to soar and trace The intellectual world? divine delight! Verneras lov'd employ !) perhaps she sings To some new golden harp th' almighty deeds, The names, the honours of her Saviour-God, His cross, his grave, his victory, and his crown : Oh could I imitate th' exalted notes, And mortal ears could bear them!— 24Q LYRIC POEMS, rook In. Or lies she now before th' eternal throne Prostrate in humble form, with deep devotion O'erwhelnVd, and self-abasement at the sight Of the uncover' d godhead face to face ! Seraphic crowns pay homage at his feet, And hers amongst them, not of dimmer ore, Nor set with meaner gems ; but vain ambition, And emulation vain, and fond conceit, And pride for ever banish'd flies the place, Curst pride, the dress of hell. Tell me, Urania, How her joys heighten, and her golden hours Circle in love. O stamp upon my soul Some blissful image of the fair deceased, To call my passions and my eyes aside From the dear breathless clay, distressing sight ! I look and mourn and gaze with greedy view Of melancholy fondness: tears bedewing That form so late desir'd, so late belov'd, Now loathsome and unlovely. Base disease, That leagu'd with Natures sharpest pains, and spoil'd So sweet a structure ! the impoisoning taint O'erspreads the building wrought with skill divine, And ruins the rich temple to the dust ! Was this the countenance, where the world admir'd Features of wit and virtue ? this the face Where love triumph'd ? and beauty on these cheeks, As on a throne, beneath her radiant eyes, Was seated to advantage ; mild, serene, Reflecting rosy light? so sits the sun (Fair eye of heavn !) upon a crimson cloud SACRED TO THE DEAD. Mi Near the horizon, and with gentle ray Smiles lovely round the sky, till rising fogs, Portending night, with foul and heavy wing Involve the golden star, and sink him down Opprest with darkness. DEATH OF AN AGED AND HONOURED RELATIVE^ MRS. M. W. July 13, 1693. I know the kindred-mind. Tis she, 'tis she; Among the heavnly forms I see The kindred-mind from fleshly bondage free; O how unlike the thing was lately seen Groaning and panting on the bed, With ghastly air, and languish'd head, Life on this side, there the dead, While the delaying flesh lay shivering between. Long did the earthly house restrain In toilsome slavery that ethereal guest ; Prison'd her round in walls of pain, And twisted cramps and aches within her chain: Till by the weight of num'rous days opprest The earthly house began to reel, The pillars trembled, and the building fell ; The captive soul became her own again : Tir'd with the sorrows and the cares, A tedious train of fourscore years, The pris'ner smil'd to be releast, She felt her fetters loose, and mounted to her rest, R 2*2 LYRIC POEMS, book hi. Gaze on, my soul, and let a perfect view Paint her idea all anew ; Rase out those melancholy shapes of woe That hang around thy memory, and becloud it so- Come fancy, come, with essences refhid, With youthful green, and spotless white: Deep be the tincture, and the colours bright T 1 express the beauties of a naked mind. Provide no glooms to form a shade ; All things above of vary'd light are made, Nor can the heav'nly piece require a mortal aid. But if the features too divine Beyond the power of fancy shine, [shrine. Conceal th 1 inimitable strokes behind a graceful Describe the saint from head to feet, Make all the lines in just proportion meet ; But let her posture be Pilling a chair of high degree ; Observe how near it stands to the Almighty seat Paint the new graces of her eyes ; Fresh in her looks let sprightly youth arise, And joys unknown below the skies. Virtue that li\ es conceal 1 d below, And to the breast confin'd, Sits here triumphant on the brow, And breaks with radiant glories through The features of the mind. Express her passion still the same, But more divinely sweet ; Love has an everlasting flame, And makes the work complete. SACRED TO THE DEAD. 243 The Painter Muse with glancing eye Observd a manly spirit nigh*, That death had long disjoin'd : " In the fair tablet they shall stand " United by a happier band:" She said, and fix'd her sight, and drew the manly mind. Recount the years, my song, (a mournful round!) Since he was seen on earth no more : He fought in lower seas and drown d ; But victory and peace he found On the superior shore. There now his tuneful breath in sacred songs Employs the European and the Eastern tongues. Let th' awful truncheon and the flute, The pencil and the well-known lute, Powerful numbers, charming wit, And ev'ry art and science meet, And bring their laurels to his hand, or lay them at his feet. Tis done. What beams of glory fail (Rich varnish of immortal art) To gild the bright original ; * My Grandfather Mr. Thomas Watts had such ac- quaintance with the mathematics, painting, music, and poesy, &c. as gave him considerable esteem among his contemporaries. - He was commander of a ship of war 1656, and by blowing up of the ship in the Dutch War, he was drowned in his youth. E 2 ?44 LYRIC POEMS, book hi, Tis done. The muse has now performed her part. Bring down the piece, Urania, from above, And let my honour and my love Dress it with chains of gold to hang upon my heart. A FUNERAL POEM On the death of THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. Presented to the RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY ABNEY, LADY-MAYORESS OF LONDON. July. 1701. MADAM, HAD I been a common mourner at the funeral of the dear gentleman deceased, I should have laboured after more of art in the following composition, to supply the defect of nature, and to feign a sorrow; but the uncom- mon condescension of his friendship to me, the inward esteem 1 pay his memory, and the vast and tender sense I have of the loss, make all the methods of art needless, whilst natural grief supplies more than all, I had resolved indeed to lament in sighs and silence, and frequently checked the too forward muse; but the importunity was not to be resisted ; long lines of sorrow- flowed in upon me ere T was aware, whilst I took many a solitary walk in the garden adjoining to his seat at Newington ; nor could I free myself from the crowd of melancholy ideas. Your ladyship will find throughout ihe poem, that the fair and unfinished building which he bad just raised for himself, gave almost all the turns SACRED TO THE DEAD. 245 «f mourning to my thoughts ; for I pursue no other to- pic of elegy than what my passion and my senses led me to. The poem roves, as my eyes and grief did, from one part of the fabric to the other ; it rises from the foun- dation, salutes the walls, the doors, and the windows, drops a tear upon the roof, and climbs the turret, that pleasant retreat, where I promised myself many sweet hours of his conversation : there my song wanders amongst the delightful subjects divine and moral, which used to entertain our happy leisure ; and thence des- cends to the fields and the shady walks, where I so of- ten enjoyed his pleasing discourse ; my sorrows diffuse themselves there without a limit : I had quite forgottea all scheme and method of writing, till I correct myself, and rise to the turret again to lament that desolate seat. Now if the critics laugh at the folly of the muse for taking too much notice of the golden ball, let them consider that the meanest thing that belonged to so va- luable a person still gave some fresh and doleful re- flections : and I transcribe nature without rule, and represent friendship in a mourning dress, abandoned to the deepest sorrow, and with a negligence becoming woe unfeigned. Had I designed a compleat elegy, Madam, on your dearest brother, and intended it for public view, I should have followed the usual forms of poetry, so far at least, as to spend some pages in the character and praises of the deceased, and thence have taken occasion to call mankind to complain aloud of the universal and unspeakable loss ; but I wrote merely for myself as a friend of the dead, and to ease my full soul by breathing out my own complaints. I knew his character and vir- tues so well, that there was no need to mention them while I talked only with myself; for the image of them was ever present with me, which kept the pain at the 246 LYRIC POEMS, book hi. heart intense and lively, and my tears flowing with my verse. Perhaps your ladyship will expect some divine thoughts and sacred meditations, mingled with a subject so solemn as this is : had 1 formed a design of offering it to your hands, I had composed a more christian poem: but it was grief purely natural for a death so surprising that drew all the strokes of it, and therefore my reflec- tions are chiefly of a moral strain. Such as it is, your ladyship requires a copy of it ; but let it not touch j r our soul too tenderly, nor renew your own mournings. Receive it, Madam, as an offering of love and tears at the tomb of a departed friend, and let it abide with you as a witness of that affectionate respect and honour that I bore him ; all which, as your ladyship's most rightful due, both by merit and by succession, is now humbly offered, by, Madam, Your ladyship's most hearty and obedient servant, I. WATTS. TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF MY HONOURED FRIEND, THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. Who died Nov. 1 1, 1700, when he had just finished his seat at Newington. Of blasted hopes, and of short withering joys, Sing, heavenly Muse. Try thine ethereal voice In funeral numbers and a doleful song ; Gunston the just, the generous, and the young, Gunston the friend is dead. O empty name Of earthly bliss ! 'tis all an airy dream, All a vain thought ! our soaring fancies rise On treacherous wings ! and hopes that touch th€ skies SACRED TO THE DEAD. 24f Drag but a longer ruin thro 1 the downward air, And plunge the fallen joy still deeper in despair. How did our souls stand flatter 1 d and prepared To shout him welcome to the seat he rear'd ! There the dear man should see his hopes complete, Smiling, and tasting ev'ry lawful sweet That peace and plenty brings, while nu merous years/ Circling delightful play'd around the spheres: Revolving suns should still renew his strength, And draw th' uncommon thread to an unusual length, But hasty Fate thrusts her dread shears between, Cuts the } r oung life off, and shuts up the scene. Thus airy pleasure dances in our eyes, And spreads false images in fair disguise, T' allure our souls, till just within our arms The vision dies, and all the painted charms Flee quick away from the pursuing sight, Till they are lost in shades, and mingle with the night. Muse, stretch thy wings, and thy sad journey bend To the fair fabric that thy dying friend Built nameless : 'twill suggest a thousand things Mournful and soft as my Urania sings. How did he lay the deep foundations strong, Marking the bounds, and rear the walls along Solid and lasting; there a numerous train Of happy Gunstons might in pleasure reign. While nations perish, and long ages run, Nations unborn, and ages unbegun: 248 LYRIC POEMS. book hi. Not time itself should waste the blest estate, Nor the tenth race rebuild the ancient seat. How fond our fancies are! the founder dies Childless ; his sisters weep and close his eyes, And wait upon his hearse with never ceasing cries. Lofty and slow it moves to meet the tomb, While weighty sorrow nods on every plume; A thousand groans his dear remains convey, To his cold lodging in a bed of clay, His country's sacred tears well-watering all the way. See the dull wheels roll on the sable road; But no dear son to tread the mournful load, And fondly kind drop his young sorrows there, The father's urn bedewing with a filial tear. O had he left us one behind, to play Wanton about the painted hall, and say, This was my father's, with impatient joy In my fond arms I'd clasp the smiling boy, And call him my young friend: but awful fate, Design d the mighty stroke as lasting as 'twas great And must this building then, this costly frame Stand here for strangers ? Must some unknown name, Possess these rooms, the labours of my friend? Why were these walls rais'd for this hapless end? Why these apartments all adorn'd so gay ? Why his rich fancy lavish'd thus away? Muse, view the paintings, how the hovering light Plays o'er the colours in a wanton flight, And mingled shades wrought in by soft degrees, Give a sweet foil to all the charming piece; SACRED TO THE DEAD. 24* But night, eternal night, hangs black around The dismal chambers of the hollow ground. And solid shades unmingled round his bed Stand hideous : earthy fogs embrace his head, And noisome vapours glide along his face Rising perpetual. Muse, forsake the place, Flee the raw damps of the unwholesome clay, Look to his airy spacious hall, and say, " How has he changd it for a lonesome cave, " Confind and crowded in a narrow grave!" Trf unhappy house, looks desolate and mourns. And every door groans doleful as it turns; The pillars languish; and each lofty wall Stately in grief, laments the masters fall, In drops of briny dew; the fabric bears His faint resemblance, and renews my tears. Solid and square it rises from below: A noble air without a gaudy show Reigns thro' the model, and adorns the whole, Manly and plain. Such was the builder's soul. O how I love to view the stately frame, That dear memorial of the best-lov'd name ! Then could I wish for some prodigious cave Vast as his seat, and silent as his grave, Where the tall shades stretch to the hideous roof, Forbid the day, and guard the sun-beams off; Thither, my willing feet, should ye be drawn At the grey twilight, and the early dawn. There sweetly sad should my soft minutes roll, Numbering the sorrows of my drooping souL 250 LYRIC POEMS, book nt. But these are airy thoughts! substantial grief Grows by those objects that should yield relief; Fond of my woes 1 heave my eyes around, My grief from every prospect courts a wound; Views the green gardens, views the smiling skies, Still my heart sinks, and still my cares arise ; My wand 1 ring feet round the fair mansion rove, And there to sooth my sorrows I indulge my love. Oft have I laid the awful Calvin by, And the sweet Cowley, with impatient eye To see those walls, pay the sad visit there, And drop the tribute of an hourly tear: Still I behold some melancholy scene, With many a pensive thought, and many a sigh between. Two days ago we took the evening air, I, and my grief, and my Urania there; Say, my Urania, how the western sun Broke from black clouds, and in full glory shone Gilding the roof, then dropt into the sea, And sudden night devour d the sweet remains of day; Thus the bright youth just rear'd his shining head From obscure shades of life, and sunk among the dead. The rising sun adorn'd with all his light Smiles on these walls again: but endless night Reigns uncontrouFd where the dear Gunston lies, He's set for ever, and must never rise. SACRED TO THE DE&D. 251 Then why these beams, unseasonable star, These lightsome smiles descending from afar, To greet a mourning house? In vain the day Breaks thro' the windows with a joyful ray, And marks a shining path along the floors Bounding the evening and the morning hours? In vain it bounds 'em : while vast emptiness And hollow silence reigns thro' all the place, Nor heeds the ch earful change of Natures face. Yet Natures wheels will on without controul, The sun will rise, the tuneful spheres will roll, And the two nightly bears walk round and watch the pole. See while I speak, high on her sable wheel Old Night advancing climbs the eastern hill: Troops of dark clouds prepare her way ; behold, How their brown pinions edg'd with evening gold Spread shadowing o'er the house, and glide away Slowly pursuing the declining day; O'er the broad roof they fly their circuit still, Thus days before they did, and days to come they will ; But the black cloud that shadows o'er his eyes, Hangs there unmoveable, and never flies ; Fain would I bid the envious gloom be gone ; Ah fruitless wish ! how are his curtains drawn For a long evening that despairs the dawn I Muse, view the turret : just beneath the skies, Lonesome it stands, and fixes my sad eyes, As it would ask a tear. O sacred seat Sacred to friendship ! O divine retreat ! 85* LYRIC POEMS, isooK git. Here did I hope my happy hours f employ, And fed before-hand on the promis'd joy, When weary of the noisy town, my friend From mortal cares retiring, should ascend And lead me thither. We alone would sit Free and secure of all intruding feet : Our thoughts should stretch their longest wings, and rise, Nor bound their soarings by the lower skies: Our tongues should aim at everlasting themes, And speak what mortals dare, of all the names Of boundless joys and glories, thrones and seats Built high in heaven for souls : we'd trace the streets Of golden pavement, walk each blissful field, And climb and taste the fruits the spicy moun- tains yield : Then would we swear to keep the sacred road, And walk right upwards to that blest abode ; We'd charge our parting spirits there to meet, There hand in hand approach th' Almighty seat, And bend our heads adoring at our Maker's feet Thus should we mount on bold adventurous wings In high discourse, and dwell on heavenly things, While the pleas'd hours in sweet succession move, And minutes measur'd, as they are above, By ever-circling joys, and ever-shining love. Anon our thoughts should lower their lofty flight, Sink by degrees, and take a pleasing sight, A large round prospect of the spreading plain, The wealthy river, and his winding train, The smoky city, and the busy men. SACRED TO THE DEAD. tm How we should smile to see degenerate worms Lavish their lives, and right for airy forms Of painted honour, dreams of empty sound, Till envy rise, and shoot a secret wound At swelling glory, strait the bubble breaks, And the scenes vanish, as the man awakes ; Then the tali titles, insolent and proud Sink to the dust, and mingle with the crowd. Man is a restless thing : still vain and wild, Lives beyond sixty, nor outgrows the child : His hurrying lusts still break the sacred bound To seek new pleasures on forbidden ground, And buy them all too dear. Unthinking fool, For a short dying joy to sell a deathless soul I Tis but a grain of sweetness they can sow, An d reap the long sad harvest of immortal woe. Another tribe toil in a different strife, And banish all the lawful sweets of life, To sweat and dig for gold, to hold the ore, Hide the dear dust yet darker than before, And never dare to use a grain of all the store. Happy the man that knows the value just Of earthly things, nor is enslav'd to dust. 'Tis a rich gift the skies but rarely send To fav'rite souls. Then happy thou, my friend, For thou hadst learnt to manage and command The wealth that heaven bestow'd with liberal hand: Hence this fair structure rose ; and hence this seat Made to invite my not unwilling feet : In vain 'twas made ! for we shall never meet, i>54 LYRIC POEMS, book n. And smile, and love, and bless each other here, The envious tomb forbids thy face t' appear, Detains thee, Guns ton, from my longing eyes, And all my hopes lie bury'd, where my Gunston lies. Come hither, all ye tenderest souls, that know The heights of fondness, and the depths of woe ; Young mothers, who your darling babes have found Untimely murder d with a ghastly wound ; Ye frighted nymphs, who on the bridal bed Clasp' d in your arms your lovers cold and dead, Come ; in the pomp of all your wild despair, With flowing eye-lids, and disordered hair, Death in your looks ; come, mingle grief with me, And drown your little streams in my unbounded sea. You sacred mourners of a nobler mold, Born for a friend, whose dear embraces hold Beyond all Nature's ties ; you that have known Two happy souls made intimately one, And felt a parting stroke : 'tis you must tell The smart, the twinges, and the racks I feel : This soul of mine that dreadful wound has borne, Off from its side its dearest half is torn, The rest lies bleeding, and but lives to mourn. Oh infinite distress ! such raging grief Should command pity, and despair relief. Passion, methinks, should rise from all my groans, Give sense to rocks, and sympathy to stones. SACRED TO THE DEAD. 255 Ye dusky woods and echoing hills around, Repeat my cries with a perpetual sound : Be all ye flow'ry vales with thorns o'ergrown, Assist my sorrows, and declare your own; Alas 1 your Lord is dead. The humble plain Must neer receive his courteous feet again : Mourn ye gay smiling meadows, and be seen In wintry robes, instead of youthful green ; And bid the brook, that still runs warbling by, Move silent on, and weep his useless channel dry. Hither methinks the lowing herd should come, And moaning turtles murmur o'er his tomb : The oak shall wither, and the curling vine Weep his young life out, while his arms untwine Their amorous folds, and mix his bleeding soul with mine. Ye stately elms, in your long order mourn*, Strip off your pride to dress your master's urn : Here gently drop your leaves instead of tears: Ye elms, the reverend growth of ancient years, Stand tall and naked to the blustering rage Of the mad winds ; thus it becomes your age To shew your sorrows. Often ye have seen Our heads reclin'd upon the rising green ; Beneath your sacred shade diffus'd we lay, Here Friendship reign'd with an unbounded sway : Hither our souls their constant ofPrings brought, The burthens of the breast and labours of the thought ; * There was a long row of tall elms then standing, where some time after, the lower garden was made. $56 LYRIC POEMS* book in. Our opening bosoms on the conscious ground Spread all the sorrows and the joys we found, And mingled every care ; nor was it known Which of the pains and pleasures were our own ; Then with an equal hand and honest soul We share the heap, yet both possess the whole, And all the passions there thro' both our bosoms roll. By turns we comfort, and by turns complain, And bear and ease by turns the sympathy of pain. Friendship ! mysterious thing, what magic pow'rs Support thy sway, and charm these minds of ours ? Bound to thy foot, w r e boast our birth-right still, And dream of freedom, when we've lost our will, And changd away our souls : at thy command We snatch new miseries from a foreign hand, To call them ours ; and, thoughtless of our ease, Plague the dear self that we were born to please. Thou tyranness of minds, whose cruel throne Heaps on poor mortals sorrows not their own; As though our mother Nature could no more Find woes sufficient for each son she bore, Friendship divides the shares, and lengthens out the store. Yet are we fond of thine imperious reign, Proud of thy slavery, wanton in our pain, And chide the courteous hand when death dis- solves the chain. SACRED TO THE DEAD. '257 Virtue, forgive the thought! the raving Muse Wild and despairing, knows not what she does, Grows mad in grief, and in her savage hours Affronts the name she loves and she adores. She is thy vot'ress, too ; and at thy shrine, O sacred Friendship, offer d songs divine, While Gunston liv'd, and both our souls were thine. Here to these shades at solemn hours w r e came, To pay devotion with a mutual flame, Partners in bliss. Sweet luxury of the mind ! And sweet the aids of sense ! Each ruder wind Slept in its caverns, while an evening breeze Fann'd the leaves gently, sporting through the trees ; The linnet and the lark their vespers sung, And clouds of crimson o'er th' horizon hung ; The slow-declining sun with sloping wheels Sunk down the golden day behind the western hills. Mourn, ye young gardens, ye unfinish'd gates, Ye green inclosures, and ye growing sweets, Lament, for ye our midnight hours have known, And watch' d us walking by the silent moon In conference divine, while heavenly fire Kindling our breasts did all our thoughts inspire With joys almost immortal ; then our zeal Blazd and burnt high to reach th' ethereal hill, And love refin'd, like that above the poles, Threw both our arms round one another's souls In rapture and embraces. Oh forbear, Forbear my song ! this is too much to hear, *$8 LYRIC POEMS. book nr. Too dreadful to repeat ; such joys as these Fled from the earth for ever !- Oh for a general grief ! let all things share Our woes, that knew our loves: the neighbouring air Let it be laden with immortal sighs, And tell the gales, that every breath that flies Over the fields should murmur and complain, And kiss the fading grass, and propagate the pain. Weep all ye buildings, and the groves around For ever weep: this is an endless wound, Vast and incurable. Ye buildings knew His silver tongue, ye groves have>heard it too: At that dear sound no more shall ye rejoice, And I no more must hear the charming voice : Woe to my drooping soul ! that heavenly breath That could speak life lies now congeal'd in death; While on his folded lips all cold and pale Eternal chains and heavy silence dwell. Yet my fond hope would hear him speak again Once more at least, one gentle word, and then Gunston aloud I call : in vain I cry Gunston aloud ; for he must ne'er reply. In vain I mourn, and drop these funeral tears, Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears: Wandnng, I tune my sorrows to the groves, And vent my swelling griefs, and tell the winds our loves ; While the dear youth sleeps fast, and hears them not: He hath forgot me. In the lonesome vault SACRED TO THE DEAD. 259 Mindless of Watts and friendship, cold he lies, Deaf and unthinking clay. But whither am I led ? This artless grief Hurries the muse on, obstinate and deaf To all the nicer rules, and bears her down From the tall fabric to the neighbouring ground: The pleasing hours, the happy moments past, In these sweet fields reviving on my taste, Snatch me away resistless with impetuous haste. Spread thy strong pinions once again, my song, And reach the turret thou hast left so long: O'er the wide roof its lofty head it rears, Long waiting our converse ; but only hears The noisy tumults of the realms on high : The winds salute it, whistling, as they fly, Or jarring round the windows; rattling showers Lash the fair sides ; above, loud thunder roars : But still the master sleeps ; nor hears the voice Of sacred friendship, nor the tempests noise: An iron slumber sits on every sense, In vain the heavenly thunders strive to rouse it thence. One labour more, my muse, the golden sphere Seems to demand. See thro' the dusky air Downward it shines upon the rising moon ; And, as she labours up to reach her noon, Pursues her orb with reperscussive light, [night; And streaming gold repays the paler beams of But not one ray can reach the darksome grave, Or pierce the solid gloom that fills the cave s 2 260 LYRIC POEMS, book hi. Where Gunston dwells in death. Behold it flames Like some new meteor, with diffusive beams, Thro' the mid-heaven, and overcomes the stars ; " So shines thy Gunston's soul above the spheres," Raphael replies, and wipes away my tears. " We saw the flesh sink down with closing eyes, " We heard thy grief shriek out, * he dies, he dies!' " Mistaken grief! to call the flesh the friend! M On our fair wings did the bright youth ascend, " All heavn embrac'd him with immortal love, " And sung his welcome to the courts above. " Gentle Ithuriel led him round the skies, " The buildings struck him with immense sur- prise; " The spires all radiant, and the mansions bright, " The roof high-vaulted with ethereal light: " Beauty and strength on the tall bulwarks sat " In heavenly diamond; and for every gate ** On golden hinges a broad ruby turns ; " Guards of the foe, and as it moves it burns ; *' Millions of glories reign thro* every part ; u Infinite power and uncreated art " Stand here display'd, and to the stranger show •* How it outshines the noblest seats below. " The stranger fed his gazing powers awhile, " Transported : then, with a regardless smile, '* Glanc'd his eye downward thro' the crystal floor, 11 And took eternal leave of what he built before." SACRED TO THE DEAD. 261 Now, fair Urania, leave the doleful strain - y "Raphael commands : assume thy joys again. In everlasting numbers sing, and say, " Gunston has mov'd his dwelling to the realmsr of day ; *' Gunston the friend lives still : and give thy groans away. AN ELEGY ON MR. THOMAS GOUGK TO MR. ARTHUR SHALLET, MERCHANT. Worthy sir, THE subject of the following elegy was high in your esteem, and enjoyed a large share of your affections. Scarce doth his memory need the assistance of the muse to make it perpetual ; but when she can at once pay her honours to the venerable dead, and by this address acknowledge the favours she has received from the living, it is a double pleasure to, Sir, Your obliged humble Servant, I. WATTS. 262 LYRIC POEMS book m. TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. MR. THOMAS GOUGE, Who died Jan. 8, 1700. 1 E virgin souls, whose sweet complaint* Could teach Euphrates not to flow, f Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint, Array'd in beauty and in woe; Awake, ye virgin souls, to mourn, And with your tuneful sorrows dress a prophet's urn. O could my lips or flowing eyes But imitate such charming grief, I'd teach the seas, and teach the skies, Wailings, and sobs, and sympathies ; Nor should the stones or rocks be deaf; Rocks shall have eyes, and stones have ears, While Gouges death is mourn'd in melody and tears. Heav'n was impatient of our crimes, And sent his minister of death To scourge the bold rebellion of the times, And to demand our prophet's breath : He came, commisson d, for the fates Of awful Mead, and charming Bates : There he essay'd the vengeance first. Then took a dismal aim, and brought great Gouge to dust. Psalm cxxxvii. t Lament, i. 2. 3. SACRED TO THE DEAD. 263 Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound! How vast the stroke is! and how wide the wound! Oh painful stroke 1 distressing death I A wound unmeasurably wide ! No vulgar mortal dy'd When he resign'd his breath. The muse that mourns a nations fall Should wait at Gouge's funeral; Should mingle majesty and groans, Such as she sings to sinking thrones, And, in deep sounding numbers, tell How Sion trembled when this pillar fell : Ston grows weak, and England poor, Nature herself, with all her store, Can furnish such a pomp for death no more. The reverend man let all things mourn - 9 Sure he was some sethereal mind, Fated in flesh to be confin'd, And order d to be born. His soul was of th' angelic frame, The same ingredients, and the mould the same, When the Creator makes a minister of flame; He was all form'd of heavenly things. Mortals, believe what my Urania sings, For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings, How would he mount, how would he fly, Up thro' the ocean of the sky, Tow'rd the celestial coast ! With what amazing swiftness soar, Till earth's dark ball was seen no more, And all its mountains lost ! 264 LYRIC POEMS, book nj Scarce could the muse pursue him with her sight; But, angels, you can tell, For oft you meet his wondrous flight, And knew the stranger well ; Say, how he past the radiant spheres, And visited your happy seats, And trac'd the well-known turnings of the golden streets, And walk'd among the stars. Tell how he climb' d the everlasting hills, Surveying all the realms above, Borne on a strong-wing'd faith, and on the fiery wheels Of an immortal love. 'Twas there he took a glorious sight Of the inheritance of saints in light, And read their title in their Saviours right How oft the humble scholar came, And to your songs he rais'd his ears, To learn th' unutterable name, To view th' eternal base that bears The new creation's frame. The countenance of God he saw, Full of mercy, full of awe, The glories of his power, and glories of his grace. There he beheld the wondrous springs Of those celestial sacred things, The peaceful gospel and the fiery law, In that majestic face. That face did all his gazing powers employ, With most profound abasement and exalted joy: SACRED TO THE DEAD. 265 The rolls of fate were half unseal'd, He stood, adoring by ; The volumes open'd to his eye ; And sweet intelligence he held With all his shining kindred of the sky. Ye seraphs that surround the throne, Tell how his name was thro 1 the palace known, How warm his zeal was, and how like your own ; Speak it aloud, let half the nation hear, And bold blasphemers shrink and fear;* Impudent tongues ! to blast a prophet's name ; The poison, sure, was fetched from hell, Where the old blasphemers dwell, To taint the purest dust, and blot the whitest fame ! Impudent tongues ! you should be darted thro', Nail'd to your own black mouths, and lie, Useless and dead till slander die, Till slander die with you. " We saw him (said th' ethereal throng), " We saw his warm devotions rise, " We heard the fervour of his cries, " And mix d his praises with our song : u We knew the secret flights of his retiring hours: " Nightly he wak'd his inward powers; " Young Israel rose to wrestle with his God, " And with unconquer'd force, scal'd the celestial towers, * Though he was so great and good a man, he did not escape censure. Z66 LYRIC POEMS, book nr. 4C To reach the blessing down for those that sought his blood. " Oft we beheld the Thunderer's hand " Rais'd high to crush the factious foe ; u As oft we saw the rolling vengeance stand, " Doubtful to' obey the dread command, 4< While his ascending pray'r upheld the falling blow." Draw the past scenes of thy delight, My muse, and bring the wondrous man to sight, Place him surrounded as he stood, With pious crowds, while from his tongue A stream of harmony ran soft along, And every year drank in the flowing good : Softly it ran its silver way, Till warm devotion rais'd the current strong ; Then fervid zeal on the sweet deluge rode, Life, love and glory, grace and joy, Divinely roll'd promiscuous on the torrent-flood, And bore our rapturVl sense away, and thoughts, and souls to God. O might we dwell for ever there ! No more return to breathe this grosser air, This atmosphere of sin, calamity, and care ! But heavenly scenes soon leave the sight While we belong to clay, Passions of terror and delight Demand alternate sway. Behold the man whose awful voice Could well proclaim the fiery law, Kindle the flames that Moses saw, SACRED TO THE DEAD. t6T And swell the trumpet's warlike noise. He stands the herald of the threatning skies : Lo, on his reverend brow the frowns divinely rise, All Sinai's thunder on his tongue and lightning in his eyes. Round the high roof the curses flew, Distinguishing each guilty head, Far from th' unequal war the atheist fled, His kindled arrows still pursue, His arrows strike the atheist thro', [spread. And o'er his inmost powers a shuddering horror The marble heart groans with an inward wound: Blaspheming souls of harden d steel Shriek out amaz'd at the new pangs they feel, And dread the echoes of the sound. The lofty wretch arm'd and array 1 d In gaudy pride, sinks down his impious head, Plunges in dark despair, and mingles with the dead. Now, muse, assume a softer strain, Now soothe the sinner's raging smart, Borrow of Gouge the wondrous art To calm the surging conscience and assuage the pain: He from a bleeding God derives Life for the souls that guilt had slain, And strait the dying rebel lives, The dead arise again ; The opening skies almost obey His powerful song ; a heavenly ray Awakes despair to light, and sheds a cheerful day. His wondrous voice rolls back the spheres, Recals the scenes of ancient years, 268 LYRIC POEMS, book ut. To make the Saviour known ; Sweetly the flying charmer roves Thro' all his labours and his loves, [throne The anguish of his cross and triumphs of his Come, he invites our feet to try The steep ascent of Calvary, And sets the fatal tree before our eye : See here celestial sorrow reigns ; Rude nails and ragged thorns lay by, TingM with the crimson of redeeming veins. In wondrous words he sung the vital flood Where all our sins were drown'd, Words fit to heal and fit to wound ; Sharp as the spear and balmy as the blood. In his discourse divine, Afresh the purple fountain flow'd; Our falling tears kept sympathetic time, And trickled to the ground, While every accent gave a doleful sound, 'Sad as the breaking heart-strings of tlr expiring God. Down to the mansions of the dead, With trembling joy our souls are led, The captives of his tongue : There the dear Prince of Light reclines his head Darkness and shades among. With pleasing horror we survey The caverns of the tomb, Where the belov'd Redeemer lay, And shed a sweet perfume. SACRED TO THE DEAD. 269 Hark, the old earthquake roars again In Gouges voice, and breaks the chain Of heavy death, and rends the tombs ; The rising God ! he comes, he comes, With throngs of waking saints, a long triumph- ing train. See the bright squadrons of the sky : Downward, on wings of joy and haste, they fly. Meet their returning Sovereign, and attend him high. A shining car the conqueror fills, Form'd of a golden cloud y Slowly the pomp moves up the azure hills, Old Satan foams and yells aloud, And knaws th 1 eternal brass that binds him to the wheels. The opening gates of bliss receive their King, The Father-God smiles on his Son, Pays him the honours he has won, The lofty thrones adore, and little cherubs sing. Behold him on his native throne, Glory sits fast upon his head ; Dress d in new light and beamy robes, His hand rolls on the seasons and the shining globes, And sways the living worlds, and regions of the dead. Gouge was his envoy to the realm below; Vast was his trust, and great his skill, Bright the credentials he could shew, And thousands ownd the seal : £70 LYRIC POEMS, book in. His hallow'd lips could well impart The grace, the promise, and command: He knew the pity of Immanuel's heart, And terrors of Jehovah's hand. How did our souls start out to hear The embassies of love he bare, While every ear in rapture hung Upon the charming wonders of his tongue. Life's busy cares a sacred silence bound, Attention stood with all her powers, With fixed eyes and awe profound, Chain d to the pleasure of the sound, Nor knew the flying hours. But, O my everlasting grief! Heavn has recall'd his envoy from our eyes; Hence deluges of sorrow rise, Nor hope th' impossible relief. Ye remnants of the sacred tribe, Who feel the loss, come share the smart, And mix your groans with mine : Where is the tongue that can describe Infinite things with equal art, Or language so divine ? Our passions want the heavenly flame, Almighty Love breathes faintly in our songs, And awful threatnings languish on our tongues, Howe is a great but single name : Amidst the crowd he stands alone ; Stands yet, but with his starry pinions on, Drest for the flight, and ready to be gone: Eternal God 1 command his stay, Stretch the dear months of his delay; O we could wish his age were one immortal day ! SACRED TO THE DEAD. 271 But when the flaming chariot's come, And shining guards t' attend thy prophet home, Amidst a thousand weeping eyes, Send an Elisha down, a soul of equal size, Or burn this worthless globe, and take us to the skies. END OF BOOK. III. SUPPLEMENT, CONTAINING TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN POEMS, IN THE FOREGOING BOORS. BY THOMAS GIBBONS, D. D. AD DOMINUM NOSTRUM ET SERVATOREM JESUM CHRISTUM, P. 81.* ODA. TO OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST, AN ODE. 1 hee, Jesus, in whose person join The human nature and divine, Th' all-glorious Sire's all-glorious Son Ere worlds were forrnd or time begun. * This ode may perhaps vie in the merit of its composition with any of the Lyric performances of the Greek and Latin wri- ters. A most astonishing energy animates, I may truly say, every line, and evinces what uncommon poetic powers the Doctor possessed. I will point out what appear to me some of SUPPLEMENT. 27? Thee will I praise ; thy name ador'd Shall consecrate the tuneful chord ; My tongue thy glories shall proclaim, And my pen propagate thy fame. the most eminent excellencies of the poem, which, though they may not be observed in a transient reading, yet may strike the mind with self-evident lustre, upon being properly displayed and duly considered. In the representation of our Lord's conquests over his and our enemies, what can be more strongly descriptive than Fractosque terrores averni, Victum erebum, domitamque mortem > " The broken terrors of hell, and its powers with those of " death vanished." The felicity of the Son of God in the bosom of his divine Father infinite ages before the world began, is most happily expressed in the third stanza. Immensa vastos saecula circulos Volvere, blando dum Patris sinu Toto fruebatur Jehova Gaudia mille bibens Jesus. " Immense ages rolled their vast circles, while Jesus in the * blissful bosom of his Father possessed the full Jehovah, there " imbibing a thousand joys." What can more forcibly describe the anger which inflamed our Lord against Satan for his attempts and success in involving mankind in sin and ruin, and the amazing love of the Son of God, in becoming incarnate, and suffering and dying for our redemp- tion, than the lines, Commota sacra viscera protinus Sensere flammasj omnipotens furor T 274 SUPPLEMENT. Let strings of sounds divinely bold Be fitted to the vocal gold, And thou, my harp, awake and tell The triumphs of Immanuel, Ebullit, immensique amoris ^thereum calet igne pectus ? u Immediately (on man's fall) his bowels felt a sacred flame. " Omnipotent fury boils within him, and his heavenly bosom " glows with the fire of infinite love." His readiness to become man, and so to become our Saviour, and his actual descent from heaven for that purpose, are des- cribed in most lively and suitable language. et £theris Inclinat ingens cuimen, alto Desiliitque ruens olympo. u He bends the mighty summit of the heaven, and rushing " down leaps from the lofty sky." Bending the mighty summit, what majesty? Rushing down, and leaping from the lofty sky - t what swiftness and alacrity ? The behaviour of Satan upon our Lord's entrance into the in- fernal regions is finely imagined in the following verses. Dirum fremebat rex gehenna?, Perque suum tremebundus orcum Late refugit. " The king of hell roars horribly, and trembling flies hither u and thither through his domain." His roaring horribly ex- presses the terrors that possessed him only at the sight of him who had driven him into that place of punishment, and who now, as he could make no doubt, was come to inflict sorer plagues upon him; and his trembling flight to find some corner or depth of hell to escape his vengeance implies a consciousness SUPPLEMENT. 275 How, in the thunder of his might, He put the infernal hosts to flight, In fetters bound their vanquish'd king, Trampled on death, and crush' d his sting. of his utter incapacity to encounter his adversary, and a dread of feeling worse torments from his hands, and therefore he in- stantly and eagerly seeks a retreat from his presence and power. In what images of invincible strength and sovereign majesty do we find the infernal prisons destined for the confinement of those souls whom Christ meant to redeem broken up and des- troyed by him ? Immane rugit jam tonitru : fragor Late ruinam mandat; ab infimis Lectaque designata genti Tartara disjiciuntur antris. " Now immense thunder roars, the peals diffuse wide ruin, " and the infernal abodes designed for the chosen race are torn " up from their lowest caverns." But surely nothing can exceed in poetical merit the following stanza, where the Doctor describes the destruction of the infer- nal engines of torture, the conquest of death, and his consequent distress : Heic strata passim vincula, et heic jacent Unci cruenti, tormina mentium Invasia; ploratuqj vasto Spicula Mors sibi adempta plangit. u Here chains are every where scattered, and here lie bloody " racks, the hated tortures of souls, all in ruins, and Death "bemoans his darts taken. from him with vast lamentation." What can be fitter words to express the most pungent sorrow than plorat u vasto, vast lamentation ? They bring to my mind the lines of Milton.— — $76 SUPPLEMENT. Ages immense through heav'n had rolFd Their ample rounds of radiant gold, While in the realms of endless day He in the Fathers bosom lay, Cocytus nam'd of lamentation loud Heard on the rueful stream and in both the poets huge affliction is expressed not in short but long sounds. The ascent of our Lord from hell as a conqueror with his and our enemies dragged at his triumphal chariot is admirably described in the lines En ut resurgit victor ab ultimo Ditis profundo, curribus aureis Astricta raptans monstra noctis Perdomitumq j erebi tyrannum ! u See how the victor ascends from the profoundest hell hurrjr- u ing away the monsters of darkness, and the vanquished tyrant " of hell bound to his golden chariots." The word raptans, hurrying, snatching by violence, is admirably well chosen to express our Lord's absolute dominion over his and our enemies, and their utter inability to resist his power, when, as the scrip- ture says, " he ascended up on high, and led captivity captive." There is another beauty in this divine ode which I shall point out, and which shall close my observations upon it. It lies in the last stanza. Io triumphe, plectra seraphica, Io triumphe, grex hominum sonet, Dum laeta quaquaversus ambos Astra repercutiunt triumphos. " Let the seraphic harps tune their songs, let the race of men u sound his praise, while the joyful stars on every side echo t» SUPPLEMENT. 277 Of his unbounded love possess'd, With joys immeasurably bless' d, Till from th' empyreal heights he saw Adam transgress his Maker's law, And hell expand its lake of fire T ingulph the offspring with their sire*, Saw too th 1 avenging angel stand, Swords and keen lightnings in his hand, And arrows rangd in dire array Athirst for blood, and wing'd to slay : Then heard from the abhorr'd profound The monsters of the pit resound Their joys, that man from God was driv'n, And earth to hell's dominion giv'n : Compassion not to be exprest, Like a swift flame, pervades his breast ; To help, to save almighty ire, And love dimensionless conspire, " Not the whole race of men shall be " Plung'd in eternal misery : " What, shall my Father's work divine, " Where his refulgent beauties shine, " Perish by hellish fraud and spite ? " Rather let all the stars of lisfht " both the triumphs ;" that is, to that of seraphs above, and to that of men below. The stars, perpetually rolling between the heaven of heavens and the earth, are called upon by our divine poet to repeat the songs of angels as they descend to our world, and the songs of men as they ascend to the celestial regions, and thus, as the consequence 3 there will be a boundless and immor- tal praise. 278 SUPPLEMENT. " Be from their glorious stations hurl'd, " And night and chaos whelm the world : " I'll enter Satan's dark domain, " And bind the felon in my chain, " Or he shall chase me from the field, " And I'll to him my sceptre yield. " By my Sires glories, and by mine, " Alike immortal and divine, " I swear." He said, and bows the skies, And to our world impatient flies. The Prince of heaven without delay Assumes an humble form of clay, Though scant the room, and poor th' abode, Yet honour'd to admit the God ! Thus he displays his wondrous grace, Thus he redeems our ruin'd race, Vengeance' full quiver he receives, And for our own his life he gives. O the distress ! th' effects how dire Of the offended thunderer's ire ! Edict severe ! what punishment For Adam's one transgression sent ! He tastes the interdicted tree, And death sweeps o'er his progeny. But check, my muse, thy plaintive lay; Whither do thy wild pinions stray? Suppress these sighs, these groans restrain, What shall a flood of tears prophane The triumphs of Immanuel's tomb ? Rather a joyful strain assume, And in thy noblest numbers tell How he descended into hell, And entered the tremendous cells Where death in night and horror dwells ; SUPPLEMENT. 279 The dreary seats his presence own'd, And to their inmost caverns groan'd. Chaos through all his empire shook, Trf alarm th' infernal tyrant took And, roaring loud in wild affright, Ran, fled through ail the realms of night, In hope to hide his guilty head, When thus the Lord of glory said: " Monster, curst cause of sin and woe, *' In vain thou try'st to shun my blow : " This bolt shall find, shall pierce thee thro', " Though, to conceal thee from my view, "Thou under hell's profoundest wave " Should'st dive to seek a sheltering grave." He spoke, and with unerring aim Full on the foe he flung the flame His Father gave: through all the coasts, Hell trembled, trembled all the ghosts, Who well etherial fires might dread Ere since before their force they fled From the celestial light and bliss Down to the bottomless abyss. Now from the deep loud thunders sound Scattering immense destruction round, Tear up the dungeons from their base Prepared t' immure the chosen race. Here in a thousand fragments lie Engines of hellish tyranny, Fetters, wheels, racks asunder burst, And every cruelty accurs'd. While Death in lamentable groans The plunder of his darts bemoans. But see the God, with conquest crownYL Returning from the dark profound, 280 SUPPLEMENT, See up heav n's hills the triumph roll'd, See to his wheels of burning gold Proud Satan chain d, and with a throng Of hell's grim monsters dragg d along. What shouts of joy from angels rise, While he ascends his native skies ? What pleasure in the victor glow'd, While thro' the gates of bliss he rode > His praises, ye seraphic choirs, Resound, and sweep your golden lyres, His praises too all human tongues Resound, and tune the noblest songs, While the glad stars that round the pole 'Twixt heaven and earth incessant roll, Seize from both worlds the tuneful sound, And waft th' immortal echoes round. SUI-IPSIUS INCREPATIO. EPIGRAMMA. p. 84. SELF-REPROOF. Why dost thou linger in thy cell, My soul, contented here to dwell ? What are the charms of sinful clay To court and entertain thy stay ? A thousand ills thy body feels : In weakness now the fabric reels, And now the crimson currents roll In poison, and infect the soul : Fear, love, wrath, sorrow mix their strife, And break the harmony of life. SUPPLEMENT. 281 See how the stars their beams unite To point thy course, and guide thy flight To the fair temple of thy God, The purchase of Immanuel's blood. Kind Uriel waits to lead thy way In triumph to the realms of day : Seraphic squadrons from the skies Tender their wings, and bid thee rise. Heav'n opes its gates to give thee room : Jesus in smiles invites thee home. " Here on the pillow of my breast, " He cries, thy weary temples rest." How criminal his fond delight In earth, who still delays his flight, When Satan, and the pains of sense Try all their pow'rs to drive him hence 5 And friendly Angels, Heav'n, and God Court him in vain to quit his clod. EXCITATIO CORDIS AD CCELUM VERSUS, p. 84. THE EXCITATION OF THE HEART TOWARDS HEAVEN. What shall whole ages wear away, And I a willing pris'ner stay Immur'd within these walls of clay ? The porch, the open door I see : Shall both conspire to set me free, And I start back from liberty ? 282 SUPPLEMENT. Shall I not pant t' ascend the road, That leads to yon sublime abode, The palace of my Father, God ? From this vile flesh what countless ills Arise ? now fear my bosom chills, Now grief in trickling tears distils ; While Sin, the worst of all my foes. Prevents or murders my repose, And snares of dark destruction strows. On this poor spot where canst thou find Pleasures of such exalted kind To fill the wishes of the mind ? Jesus, thy love, far far from sight 'Midst stars and seraphs pure and bright Dwells high-enthron'd in worlds of light Thither should'st thou attempt to go Th 1 Almighty would no thunders throw, Nor would one cloud obscure his brow : Himself invites thee to the skies : From sin and all its sorrows rise; Wings of swift flame his love supplies. SUPPLEMENT. £83 EPISTOLA FRJTRI SUO DILECTO. R. W. I. W. S. P. D. p. 221. A LETTER FROM ISAAC WATTS, TO HIS BROTHER RICHARD WATTS, WISHING HIM PEACE AND SAFETY IN GOD. Dear Brother, I had a second receipt of a letter from you perhaps in the very moment in which mine came to hand; and the very day in which you was writing to me was the same which awakened my pen to the discharge of its epistolary duty to you. We bear not the fraternal name in vain, for the same spirit possesses, in- spires, and produces the most harmonious movements in us. May our mutual esteem every day increase and flourish ! God grant his love may purify and kindle our souls ! thus shall we in a divine manner burn with reciprocal flames of friendship. Let us contemplate our Saviour, that celestial and adorable example of love. The Son of God descending from the skies, Assum'd an human form that in our flesh He might endure the agonizing pains Due to our crimes : our surety he became Transferring to himself each baleful curse Of Heav'n's vindictive, death-denouncing law, And made our guilt and punishment his own. See him deserted on the naked ground, And kneeling on the sod extend his hands, And lift his placid counfnance to the skies With conscious innocence, but not t 1 enjoy, ^84 SUPPLEMENT. As he was wont, his heavenly Father's smiles, And kind embraces. See his godlike form Expos'd to night's cold blast, and see his breast By his own hands expanded to the stroke Of Deity in arms. " Here, here, he cries, " O Father, plant thy darts, here plunge thy sword " Flaming and edg'd for slaughter : blood divine " Has pow'r to expiate the crimes of men." He said: th' Omnipotent in terror rose, And launch 1 d the rattling thunders from his hand. Now might the Muse in melting lays bemoan The Father's tender name extinct and lost, But the unsufferable noise affrights, Confounds her, and in silence seals her tongue. The skies asunder rend, the doors expand, Where Vengeance in its iron prison dwells, And in a thousand penal terrors reigns. Swift issue huge conglomerated clouds Fraught with outrageous sulphur : lightnings thence, All arm'd with tortures exquisitely keen, Voluminous, uninterrupted rush Down on his guiltless head. The wrath immense He firmly suffers, though beneath his pangs The blood reluctant quits its well-known roads, And bathes his limbs in gore, the purple sweat In big round drops descending to the ground. Still, still th' avenging Queen * her direful work Plies with redoubled fury, loudly chides * Divine Justice, or Vengeance. SUPPLEMENT. 285 The lagging fire, and wakes her ling 1 ring sword To more than sevenfold rage. " Arise, she cries, " And in Immanuers bosom sheath thy blade ■*« And drink his sacred blood : my keenest shafts " With all your iron torments wound his heart : " He can endure them all, th' indwelling God " Supports the weak humanity to bear " The weight of sorrows due to human guilt: " And thou, most holy law of stamp divine, " Broken, insulted by the sins of men, V Here take full recompence for all thy wrongs. " See the full expiation ! See the blood, ** Ordain'd thine injur'd honours to restore, " Merit unknown from Deity acquire." Thus Vengeance spoke, and with remorseless rage Transfix' d his heart, and gash'd him o'er with wounds. The inmost deep recesses of his soul Thrown open, Anguish there on cruel wing Alights, and, like an hungry vulture, tears And preys upon his heart-strings, but amidst Th' unparalleled distress the Son of God Superior shines, defies the fiercest pangs, And triumphs in his woes. Heroic zeal For his great Father's glories arm'd his soul Join'd with invincible delight to save Millions of rebels from the guiph of hell. Such his stupendous ardour to endure Vicarious punishment ! What will not love When love inspires a mortal breast achieve ? But when celestial bosoms catch the fire, What miracles of mercy blaze around? 286 SUPPLEMENT. But let fancy with all its images subside and vanish. I know not whither the impetuous Muse has hurried me. I designed only four lines in verse, and behold what a number ! While I have indulged my rapture I fear my juvenile heat, and too bold an imagination may have made some trespass on divinity. I received a letter yesterday acquainting me that our mother was somewhat better, though the fever has not left her. I in- tended to have written more particularly, but the swelling and growing verses have prevented me, and contracted the limits of my letter. Farewell, dear brother, and may you make strenuous advances in the study of religion and medicine ! Given from my study in London on the sixteenth of the Kalends of February, 1693. FRATRI OLIM NAVIGATURO. p. 224. TO MY BROTHER ENOCH WATTS, GOING A VOYAGE. Brother, may heaven vouchsafe to bless, And crown your voyage with success ! Go, in the planks of pine immur'd, And from surrounding harms secur'd, Go, and with sails expanding wide, With pleasure plough the placid tide, In safety wafted o'er the main, In safety wafted home again. O may no monster of the flood, That roams for prey, and thirsts for blood, Seize you to his tremendous pow'r And with remorseless jaws devour, While the bark shiver' d by the blast S trows with its wreck the wat'ry waste ! SUPPLEMENT. 287 My brother trusted to thy care, Half of myself, O vessel, bear Secure through ocean's wide domain, At best a desert trackless plain, And oft, when hurricanes arise, In billows thund'ring to the skies : Safe from the sand's devouring heap, May'st thou thy wary passage keep, Safe too from each tremendous rock, Where ships are shatter'd by the shock: May only favourable gales Attend thy course, and fill thy sails, And may the zephyrs softest wing Thee to thy port serenely bring ! Thou, who dost o'er the seas preside, Rouse them to rage, or smooth their tide ! Thou, who dost in thy fetters keep The boisterous tyrants of the deep ! To foreign climes secure convey My brother thro' the wat'ry way; And back conduct him, o'er the main, To his dear shores and friends a°:ain ! SS8 SUPPLEMENT. AD REVERENDUM VIRUM DOMINUM JOHANNEM PlNHORNE, FIDUM ADOLESCENTIS PRECEPTOREM. p. 225. TO THE REV. MR JOHN PlNHORNE. THE FAITHFUL PRECEPTOR OF MY YOUNGER YEARS. Pinhorne, permit the muse f aspire To thee, and vent th' impatient fire That in her bosom glows : Fain would she tune an equal lay, And to her honoured tutor pay The debt of thanks she owes. Thro' Plato's walks, a flow'iy road, And LatiuirTs fields with pleasure strow'd, She owns thy guiding hand ; Thou, too, didst her young steps convey Thro' many a rough and craggy way In Palestinas land. Twas thine irradiating light Open'd the Thespian vales to sight, And taught the muse to climb The mountains w r here the muses' choir Now tune their breath, now touch the lyre, To ecstasy sublime. Of high Parnassus' top possess'd, See Homer tow'ring o'er the rest — What a stupendous strain ! SUPPLEMENT, 280. In battle, gods and men contend, The heav'ns outrageous uproars rend, And slaughters drench the plain. My ear imbibes th' immense delight, When Virgil's pastoral lays recite The country's humble charms; Or when his muse exalts her voice, And like the warlike clarion's noise, Sounds the loud charge to arms. The Theban bard* my soul admires, His tow'ring flights, his mounting fires, The raptures of his rage ! Hail, great triumvirate ! your lays The world, consenting in your praise, Resound from age to age. When, from my labours in the mine Of heav'nly truth and grace divine, To leisure I retire, I'll seize your works with both my arms, Take a sweet range among their charms, And catch th immortal fire. Horace shall with the choir be joind, When virtue has his verse refin'd, And purg'd his tainted page : f * Pindar. + The Doctor has given us an instance of his improvement of part of an ode of Horace, lib. iii. ode 29 ; which has become divine under the new mouiding he has bestowed upon it; it is U 290 SUPPLEMENT. Pleas'd, I'll attend his lyric strain, Hear him indulge his laughing vein, And satirize the age. Next, cleans' d from his unhallow'd scum, The mighty Juvenal shall come, And high his vengeance wield : His satires sound the loud alarm To vice ; she sees his lifted arm, And, cow' ring, quits the field. in his * Remnants of Time employed in Prose and Verse;' No. 4, 4>to. edit. vol. iv. page 608. Horace's stanzas are — Non meum est si mugiat Africis Malus procellis, ad miseras preces Becurrere, et votis pacisci, ~Ne Cypria? Tynaeque merces Addant avaro divitias mari. Tunc me biremis presidio scaphae Tutum per ^Egeos tumultus Aura feret, geminusque Pollux. That is in Mr. Francis's translation — ■ Tho' the mast howl beneath the wind, I make no mercenary prayers. Nor with the gods a bargain bind, With future vows and streaming tears, To save my wealth from adding more To boundless ocean's avaricious store. Then in my little barge I'll ride Secure amidst the foamy wave, Calm will I stem the threat'ning tide, And fearless all its tumults brave ! SUPPLEMENT. 291 In vain should I expect delight From Persius, wrapt in tenfold night, Unless, O Bond, thy ray Had piercd the shades that veil him round, And set his sense, obscure, profound, Amidst the blaze of day. Now Seneca, with tragic lays, Demands my wonder and my praise : What thunder arms his tongue ! Ev'n then, perhaps, some kinder gale, While the twin-stars appear, shall fill my joyful sail. The Doctor's improvement is as follows, entitled, ' The British Fisherman .' Let Spain's proud traders, when the mast Bends, groaning, to the stormy blast, Run to their beads with wretched plaints, And vow and bargain with their saints, Lest Turkish silks or Tyrian wares Sink in the drowning ship, Or the rich dust Peru prepares Defraud their long projecting cares And add new treasures to the greedy deep : My little skiff, that skims the shores With half a sail and two short oars, Provides me food in gentler waves ; But if they gape in wat'ry graves, I trust th' Eternal Power, whose hand Has swell'd the storm so high, To waft my boat and me to land, Or give some angel swift command To bear the drowning sailor to the sky. U 2 292 SUPPLEMENT. Now Sophocles lets loose his rage: With what a pomp he treads the stage, And how sublime his song ! In long and regular array, My shelves your volumes shall displa}^ Ye fav'rites of the nine ! No moth's, no worm's, insidious rage Shall dare to riot on your page, Or mar one modest line. Meanwhile, let Martial's blushless muse, Whose wit is poison'd by the stews, Catullus' wanton fire, With Ovid's verse, that, as it rolls, With luscious poison taints our souls, In bogs obscene expire. See, from the Caledonian shore, With blooming laurels cover'd o'er, Buchanan march along ! Hail, honour'd heir of David's lyre, Thou full-grown image of thy sire ! And hail thy matchless song ! What terror sounds thro' all thy strings When, in his wrath, th' almighty flings His thunder thro' the skies ! Anon, when heav'n's wide op'ning ray Shines all our gloomy doubts away, How soft the notes arise ! SUPPLEMENT. 293 When billows upon billows roll, And night overwhelms the tossing soul, How potent is thy lyre To hush the raging storm to rest, Restore the sunshine of the breast, And joy divine inspire! Thou sacred bard, whene'er I rove The smiling mead or shady grove Shalt entertain my way : My humble mansion thou shalt grace, Shalt at my table find a place, And tune th 1 extatic lay: When the returning shades of night My eyes to balmy sleep invite, Thy sweet angelic airs Shall warble to my ear, till sleep's Soft influence o'er my senses creeps And buries all my cares. Next comes the charming Casimire; Exulting in seraphic fire, The bard divinely sings : The heav'nly muse inspir'd his tongue, The heav'nly muse his viol strung, And tun'd th' harmonious strings. See on what full, what rapid, gales The Polish swan triumphant sails ! He spurns the globe behind ; And, mountains less'ning to the eye, Thro' the unbounded fields on high Expatiates unconfin'd> 294 SUPPLEMENT. Whether 'tis his divine delight To bear, in his exalted flight, Some hero to the skies, Or to explore the seats above, His kindred seats of peace and love, His peerless pinions rise — With what a wing ! to what an height ! He tow'rs and mocks the gazing sight, Lost in the tracts of day ! I from afar behold his course, Amaz'd with what a sov'reign force He mounts his arduous way ! Methinks, enkindled by the name Of Casimire, a sudden flame Now shoots thro' all my soul. I feel, I feel, the raptures rise, On starry plumes, I cut the skies, And range from pole to pole. — Touching on Z ion's sacred brow, My wand' ring eyes I cast below, And our vain race survey : O how they stretch their eager arms T' embrace imaginary charms, And throw their souls away ! In grov'ling cares and stormy sirife, They waste the golden hours of life, And murder every joy ; What is a diadem, that's tost From hand to hand, now won, now lost, But a delusive toy ? SUPPLEMENT. From all terrestrial dregs refin'd And sensual fogs, that choke the mind, Full of th' inspiring God, My soul shall her sublimest lay To her Creator, Father, pay, And sound his praise abroad. Ye Heroes, with your blood-stain' d arms, Avaunt ! the muse beholds no charms In the devouring sword. Avaunt ! ye despicable train Of gods, the phantoms of the brain, By Greece and Rome ador'd. Say, what is Wisdom's queen to me, Or her fictitious panoply, Or what the god of wine ? I never will profane this hand Around his tall imperial * wand The sacred boughs to twine. Tis all romance beneath a thought How Hercules with lions fought, And crush'd the dragons spires ; Alike, their thunderer I despise, The fabled ruler of the skies, And his pretended fires. * The thyrsus mentioned by the Doctor ia his ode was a spear twined round with ivy or bay leaves, which the votaries of Bacchus carried about in their hands at his feasts. 296 SUPPLEMENT. Thy name, Almighty Sire, and thine, Jesus, where his full glories shine, Shall consecrate my lays ; In numbers by no vulgar bounds controul'd, In numbers most divinely strong and bold, I'll sound thro' all the world th' immeasurable praise ! But in the moment the Muse is promising great things her •vigour fails, her eyes are dazzled with the divine glories, her pinions nutter, her limbs tremble ; she rushes headlong from the skies, falls to the earth, and there lies vanquished, over- whelmed in confusion and silence. Forgive, Rev. Sir, the vain attempt, and kindly accept this poetical fragment, though rude and unpolished,, as an expression, of that gratitude which has been so long due to your merit. VOTUM,SEU VITA Ix\ T TERRIS BEATA. Ad virum dignissimmn Johannem Hartoppium, Bart, TO Sir JOHN HARTOPP, Baronet. THE WISH. Hartopp, thou young illustrious shoot, The offspring of a noble root, Of genius' richest vein possest, Should you desire my Muse to paint The happy soul, the God-like saint, Whom she would call divinely blest, Behold the man, Urania cries, Who, while at distance from the skies, Leads such a life as angels do ; SUPPLEMENT. 297 In every state who smiles serene, Sufficient to himself is seen, And to himself is ever true. He, when the sun ascends the skies, And when the evning-vapours rise, No mortal cares, nor troubles knows, But, 'midst the sylvan shades and hills, The spreading lawns, and silver rills, Enjoys an undisturb'd repose. In studies moral and divine, That raise, enrapture, and refine, He well employs his circling hours ; And, or to serve his maker here, Or in yon bright empyreal sphere, Collects and consecrates his pow'rs. The fickle favours of the crowd, His name, his praise resounding loud Reach not his Heav'n-ascending soul : Their senseless noise he could despise, E'vn though it mounted to the skies, And with its echoes rent the pole. Not all the wealth of Indian lands, Nor Tagus with his golden sands Could from his grove-embosom'd seat Tempt him away. The roofs of kings, Their robes and crowns are futile things, And Pageants despicably great. 298 SUPPLEMENT. Was I permitted to compose Whatever vital thread I chose, And fix the colours of my fate, Of spotless white Id form the twine, In spotless white should run the line, Till Time had measurd out my date. No Tyrian dye its course should stain. No gold enrich th' unwinding skain, No gem its envy'd lustre throw: An humble state of sweet content, A life serene and innocent Com pleat my utmost wish below. No sounding trump, no thund'ring car, No standard of triumphant war Should ever visit my retreat : Nor a proud mace, nor prouder crown, An idle glare, a vain renown, Should tempt me from my peaceful seat. I'd dwell an humble roof beneath, Where purest gales should round me breathe, And fan the flame within my veins j Far, far away from clouds of smoke, Which first create, and then provoke The cough's and phthisic 1 s grinding pains. Th' Exchange to me can yield no charms, Where merchants mix in clust'ring swarms, And the broad space with murmurs fill ; Td rather hear the slumbrous sound Of bees, the meads wide-wand'ring round, Or listen to the tinkling rill. SUPPLEMENT. 299 The noisy wrangling of the bar, Where lawyers wage the venal war, Terror instead of joy inspires; My soul detests those arts of strife, And to enjoy an happy life To calm sequester'd bow'rs retires. With a like hatred from my heart, I spurn the blandishments of art : Ye faithless citizens, adieu, With all your methods to beguile, The glaring lie, th' insidious smile : Friendship's an empty name with you. From me for ever be exil'd Gay Venus, and her wanton child, His bow, his quiver fledg'd with darts : Before them ev'ry science flies, And all celestial ardor dies, When once their poison taints our hearts. Cupid, avaunt with all thy fires ! Seraphic flame my soul inspires, My joys in purer channels run ; My Venus is the heav'n-born muse, The youth, that for my guest I choose, Is Jesse's soul-enliv'ning Son. With what a sov'reign sweep he flings His arm across the sounding strings ! What notes inimitable rise ! Astonish' d at his tuneful pow'rs, What raptures entertain my hours, And bear my spirit to the skies > 300 SUPPLEMENT. Anon withdrawing from the muse, Ed from my sacred treasure choose Some volume, and its wisdom weigh, Till a choice few, where friendship burns, Now in full circle, now by turns, With social bliss should crown the day. FINIS. Printed by Biggs and Co. Crane-court, Fleet-street. 7 3 8. * K " < v - ^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEflnFR IN HOI I f.-t>"MR PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 -* ±v *'MR(r/z>;+ 5 ^ V v - ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 154 703 3 M I