The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper

(Where sickness never comes, nor age, nor pain) Fast-trickling o'er the pebble-gems. Beneath Unfading amarant and asphodel,

A mirror spreads its many-colour'd round,
Mosaic-work, inlaid by hands divine
In glist'ring rows, illuminating each,
Each shading: beryl, topaz, chalcedon,
Em'rald and amethyst. Whatever hues
The light reflects, celestial quarries yield,
Or melt into the vernant-showry bow,
Profusive, vary here in mingling beams.
Collected thus the waters, dimpling, end
Their soft-progressive lapse. The cherubs hence
Immortal vigour quaff and bliss unblam'd.
Nor only flow for you, ye sons of light,
The streams of comfort and of life, but flow
To heal the nations. Wonderful to tell,
The aged they renew, the dead revive,
And more, the festers of the wounded soul,
Corrupted, black, to pristine white relume
And saint-like innocence. The mystic dove
Broods, purifying o'er them, with his wings.
The angel, who Bethesda's troubled pool
Stirr'd, first his pinions with these vital drops
Sprinkled; then poured himself into the flood,
Instilling health and nutriment divine,
Its waves to quicken, and exalt its pow'rs.
Here lights Hygeia, ardent to fulfil
Mercy's behest. The bloom of Paradise
Liv'd on her youthful cheek, and glow'd the spring.
The deep carnations in the eastern skies,
When ruddy morning walks along the hills,
Illustriously red, in purple dews,

Are languid to her blushés; for she blush'd
As through the op'ning file of winged flames,
Bounding, she lightned, and her sapphire eyes
With modest lustre bright, improving Heav'n,
Cast, sweetly, round, and bow'd to her compeers,
An angel amid angels. Light she sprung
Along th' empyreal road: her locks distill'd
Salubrious spirit on the stars. Full soon
She pass'd the gate of pearl, and down the sky,
Precipitant, upon the ev'ning-wing
Cleaves the live ether, and with healthy balm
Impregnates, and fecundity of sweets.

Conscious of her approach, the wanton birds,
Instinctive, carol forth, in livelier lays,
And merrier melody, their grateful hymn,

As snow in Salmon, at the tepid touch
Of southern gales, by soft degrees, dissolves
Trickling, yet slow, away; and loosen'd frosts
The genial impress feel of vernal suns,
Relenting to the ray; my torpid limbs
The healing virtue of Hygeia's hand
And salutary influence perceive,

Instant to wander through the whole. My heart
Begins to melt, o'er-running into joy,
Late froze with agony. Kind tumults seize
My spirits, conscious of returning health,
And dire disease abating from the cells
And mazy haunts of life. The judging leech
Approves the symptoms, and my hope allows.
The hostile humours cease to bubble o'er
Their big-distended channels; quiet now
And sinking into peace. The organs heave
Kindlier with life: and Nature's fabric near
To dissolution shatter'd, and its mould
To dust dissolv'd, tho' not its pristine strength
(The lusty vigour of its healthy prime)
Yet gentle force recovers; to maintain,
Against the tyrant Death's batt'ring assaults,
The fort of life.--But darkness, present still,
And absent sweet repose, best med'cine, sleep,
Forbid my heart the full carouse of joy.

Soft pow'r of slumbers, dewy-feather'd Sleep,
Kind nurse of Nature! whither art thou fled,
A stranger to my senses, weary'd out
With pain, and aching for thy presence? Come,
O come! embrace me in thy liquid arms;
Exert thy drowsy virtue, wrap my limbs
In downy indolence, and bathe in balm,
Fast-flowing from th' abundance of thy horn,
With nourishment replete, and richer stor❜d
Than Amalthea's; who (so poets feign)
With honey and with milk supply'd a god,
And fed the Thunderer. Indulgent quit
Thy couch of poppies! steal thyself on me,
(In rory mists suffus'd and clouds of gold)
On me, thou mildest cordial of the world?
The shield his pillow, in the tented field,
By thee, the soldier, bred in iron-war,
Forgets the mimic thunders of the day,
Nor envies Luxury her bed of down.

Rock'd by the blast, and cabbin'd in the storm,
The sailor hugs thee to the doddering mast,
Of shipwreck negligent, while thou art kind.

Brisk-flutt'ring to the breeze. Eftsoons the hills, The captive's freedom, thou! the labourer's hire;

Beneath the gambols of the lamb and kid,
Of petulant delight, the circling maze
(Brush'd off its dews) betray. All Nature smiles,
With double day delighted. Chief, on man
The goddess ray'd herself: he, wond'ring, feels
His heart in driving tumults, vig'rous, leap,
And gushing ecstasy: bursts out his tongue
In laud, and unpremeditated song,
Obedient to the music in his veins.
Thus, when at first, the instantaneous light
Sprung from the voice of God, and, vivid, threw
Its golden mantle round the rising ball,
The cumb'rous mass, shot through with vital
And plastic energy, to motion roll'd
The drowzy elements, and active rule:
Sudden the morning stars, together, sang,
And shouted all the sons of God for joy.

[warmth

Enters Hygeia, and her task performs, With healing fingers touch'd my breast and head; Three drops into my mouth infus'd, unseen, Save by the eye of Faith: then re-ascends.

The beggar's store; the miser's better goid;
The health of sickness; and the youth of age!
At thy approach the wrinkled front of Care
Subsides into the smooth expanse of smiles.
And, stranger far! the monarch, crown'd by thee,
Beneath his weight of glory gains repose.

What guilt is mine, that I alone am wake,
Ev'n tho' my eyes are seal'd, am wake alone?
Ah seal'd, but not by thee! The world is dumb;
Exhal'd by air, an awful silence rules,
Still as thy brother's reign, or foot of time;
Ev'n nightingales are mute, and lovers rest,
Steep'd in thy influence, and cease to sigh,
Or only sigh in slumbers. Fifteen nights
The Moon has walk'd in glory o'er the sky;
As oft the Sun has shone her from the sphere,
Since, gentle Sleep, I felt thy cordial dews.
Then listen to my moaning; nor delay
To sooth me with thy softness; to o'ershade
Thy suppliant with thy pinions: or at least,
Lightly to touch my temples with thy wand.

So, full and frequent, may the crimson fields
With poppies blush, nor feel a Tarquin's hand.
So may the west-wind's sigh, th' murm'ring brook,
The melody of birds, Ianthe's lute,

And music of the spheres, be all the sounds
That dare intrude on thy devoted hour.
Nor Boreas bluster, nor the thunder roar,
Nor screech-owl flap his wing, nor spirit yell,
As 'neath the trembling of the Moon he walks,
Within the circle of thy still domain.

He comes! he comes! the reconciling pow'r
Of pain, vexation, care, and anguish comes!
He hovers in the lazy air:-he melts,
With honey-heaviness, my senses down.-

Extinct and smother'd in unwieldy clay
Scarce animated: and (O blessing!) now
I seem to tread the winds; to overtake
The empty eagle in her early chase,
Or nimble-trembling dove, from preyful beak,
In many a rapid, many a cautious round,
Wheeling precipitant: I leave behind,
Exulting o'er its aromatic hills,

The bounding Bether-roe. The poet's mind,
(Effluence essential of heat and light!)

Not mounts a loftier wing, when Fancy leads
The glitt'ring track, and points him to the skies,
Excursive: he empyreal air inhales,

Earth fading fror his dight! triumphant soars

-I thank thee, Sleep!-Heav'ns! is the day Amid the pomp oftary worlds,
restor'd

To my desiring eyes? their lids, unglew'd,
Admit the long-lost sight, now streaming in
Painfully clear! O check the rapid gleam
With shading silk, 'till the weak visual orb,
Stronger and stronger, dares imbibe the Sun,
Nor, wat'ring, twinkles at unfolded day.
As, where, in Lapland, Night collects her reign,
Oppressive, over half the rounded year
Uninterrupted with one struggling beam;
Young Orra-Moor, in furry spoils enroll'd,
Shagged and warm, first spies th' imperfect blush
Of op'ning light, exulting; scarce her eyes
The lustre bear, tho' faint; but, wid'ning fast
Th' unbounded tide of splendour covers, fair,
Th' expanded hemisphere; and fills her sight
With gladness, while her heart, warm-leaping,
burns.

Sight, all-expressive! Tho' the feeling sense
Thrills from Ianthe's hand; at Handel's lyre
Tingles the ear; tho' smell from blossom'd beans
Arabian spirit gathers; and the draught,
Sparkling from Burgundy's exalted vines,
Streams nectar on the palate: yet, O Sight!
Weak their sensations, when compar'd with thee.
Without thee, Nature lies unmeaning gloom.
Whatever smiles on Earth, or shines in Heav'n,
From star of Venus to Adonis flow'r;
Whatever Spring can promise: Summer warm
To rich maturity; gay Autumn roll
Into the lap of Plenty, or her horn;
Winter's majestic horrors;-all are thine,
All varying in order's pleasing round,
In regular confusion grateful all!

And now progressive health, with kind repair,
My fever-weaken'd joints and languid limbs
New-brace. Live vigour and auxiliar'd nerves
Sinew the freshen'd frame in bands of steel.
As in the trial of the furnace ore,
From baser dregs refin'd, and drossy scum,
Flames more refulgent, and admits the stamp
Of majesty to dignify the gold,

Cæsar or George! the human body, thus,
Enamel'd, not deform'd, from sickness' rage
More manly features borrows, and a grace
Severe, yet worthier of its sovereign form.
The patriarch of Uz, son of the Morn,
Envy'd of Lucifer, by sores and blanes
Sharply improv'd, to fairer honours rose;
Less his beginning blest than latter end.
How late a tortur'd lump of baleful pain,
The soul immerg'd in one inactive mass
Of breathing blanes, each elegance of sense,
Each intellectual spark and fiery seed
Of reason, mem'ry, judgment, taste and wit,

Ranging infinitude, be, d the stretch
Of Newton's ken, reformer of the spheres,
And, gaining on the Heav'ns, enjoys his home!
The winter of disease all pass'd away,

The spring of health, in bloomy pride, calls forth
Embosom'd bliss, of rosy-winged praise.
The rising incense, the impassion'd glance
Of gratitude, the pant of honour, quick
With emulating zeal; the florid wish
For sacred happiness, and cordial glow
From conscious virtue felt: all the sweet train
Of vernal solitude's refining walks,

Best gift of Heav'n, and source of nameless joys!

NOTES AND ALLUSIONS.

Page 49.

-The sons of light.

Light is the first-born of all creatures, and it is commonly observed that the angels were created at the same period of time. St. Austin thinks them meant under Fiat lux, Let there be light: De Civitate Dei, 1. xi. c. 9. This indeed is only conjectural, and we have no article of the apostles creed which directs upon any considerations of angels; because perhaps it exceeds the faculties of men to understand their nature, and it may not conduce much to our practical edification to know them. Yet however this observation may serve to illustrate that beautiful passage in the book of Job: "When the morning-stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." P. 50. To pristine white relume.

White has been accounted in all ages the peculiar tincture of innocence, and white vestments worn by persons delegated for sacred offices, &c. When our Saviour was transfigured before his disciples, his raiment became shining, exceeding white as snow, Mark, chap. ix. 3. When he ascended into Heaven, the angels descended in white apparel, Acts i. 10. And to the spouse of the lamb was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen, clean and white, which is the righteousness of the saints, Rev. xix. ver. 8, 14. Hence the custom of the primitive church of clothing the persons baptized in white garments. Inde parens saero ducens de fonte sacerdos Infantes, niveo corpore, mente, habitu. Paulinus, epist. xii.

The heathens paid likewise a great regard to white:
Color albus præcipuè Deo charus est.
Cicero de Leg. lib. ii.

P. 50. Than Amalthea's, &c.

Amalthea the daughte of Melissus king of Crete, and nurse of Jupiter, who fed him with goats-milk and honey. Bu this story is differently related. See Strabo. 1, x. Diodor. Sicul. 1. iv. c. 5. and Ovid. Fast. 1. v. It is very remarkable that the translation of the Septuagint uses the expression Amalthea's horn, for the name of Job's third daughter Keren-happuc (so called from her beauty) alluding to a Grecian fable invented long after; Job, ch. the last. v. 14. The same translation likewise mentions Arachne in the ninetieth psalm, and 9th verse, which image is left out in all our late versions. A Christian poet therefore may surely be excused for using the word ambrosia, &c. or drawing metaphors or comparisons from the pagan mythology in a serious composition; which is the practice of Milton and some of the best poets. The fault only is, when the poet weaves the heathen fables with the Jewish and Christian truths. As when Sannazarius introduces the Furies, Cerberus, &c. into his poem (which is otherwise a very fine one) De Partu Virginis. And likewise when Camoens blends the adventures of Bacchus with the miracles of Christ, &c. in his Lusiad. But this by the by.

prospect. Excursion to the battle at Tournay, Reflections on the abuses of modern poetry. Hymn to the ever-blessed and glorious Trinity: 1st, to God the Father, as creator and preserver: 2dly, to God the Son, as mediator and redeemer: 3dły, to God the Holy Ghost, as sanctifier and comforter. Conclusion.

COME, Contemplation! therefore, from thy haunts,
From Spenser's tomb, (with reverent steps and
Oft visited by me; certès, by all,
[slow
Touch'd by the Muse:) from Richmond's green
retreats,

Where Nature's bard' the Seasons on his page
Stole from the Year's rich hand: or Welwyngroves,
Where Young, the friend of virtue and of man,
Sows with poetic stars the nightly song,
To Phœbus dear as his own day! and drowns
The nightingale's complaint in sadder strains
And sweeter elegance of woe, O come!
Now ev'ning mildly-still and softer suns
(While every breeze is flowing balm) invite
To taste the fragrant spirit of the Spring
Salubrious; from mead or hawthorn-hedge
Aromatis'd, and pregnant with delight
No less than health. And what a prospect round
Swells greenly-grateful on the cherish'd eye!
A universal blush! a waste of sweets!
How live the flow'rs, and, as the Zephyrs blow,
Wave a soft lustre on their parent-Sun,
And thank him with their odours for his beams;
Mild image of himself! reflected fair,
By faintness fair, and amiably mild!

Hark! how the airy Echoes talk along
With undulating answer, soft or loud,
The mocking semblance of the imag'd voice,
Babling itinerant from wood to hill,
From hill to dale, and wake their sisters round,
To multiply delight upon the ear.

As float the clouds, romantic Fancy pours
The magazines of Proteus forth, and builds
Huge castles in the air; while vessels sail
Spacious, along the fluid element;

And dragons burn in gold, with azure stains
Speckled: ten thousand inconsistent shapes
Shift on the eye, and through the welkin roll.

Here tufted hills! there shining villas rise,
Circling; and temples, solemn, fill the mind
With beauty, splendour, and religious awe!
Peace o'er the plains expands her snowy wing,
Dove-ev'd; and buxom Plenty laughs around!
Far different objects mortify the eye
Along thy borders, Scheld: (with William's tears
Ennobled, tears from brave Humanity
And royal Pity drawn! nor of his blood
Less prodigal!) Instead of herbag'd plains,
Of fields with golden plenty waving wide,

Of lowing valleys, and of fleecy hills:
What magazines of death! what flaming swords
Destruction brandish; what a burnish'd glare
Of horrour wanders round; what carnage vile
Of dubitable limbs; what groaning piles
Of dying warriors on th' ensanguin'd earth
(E'en sons of Britain, chiefs of high renown)
Grov'ling in dust, and with unmartial fires
Sheer blasted! O'tis pitiful to sight!

It smites the honest brain and heart! The cloud,

'Mr. James Thomson.

Belch'd from the brazen throat of war, would hide, | My God! for meditation is too poor,
Industrious, the ruin which it spreads,

As if asham'd of massacre-But hark!-
What dire explosion tears th' embowel'd sky,
And rumbles from th' infernal caves? The roar
Of Etna's troubled caverns, when she heaves
Trinacria from her marble pillars, fix'd
On the foundations of the solid Earth,
And Thetis' bellows from her distant dens,
O'erwhelm the ear!-A mine with deadly stores
Infuriate, burst; and a whole squadron'd host
Whirl'd through the riven air. A human show'r
With smouldry smoke enroll'd and wrapt in fire,
To cover Earth with desolation drear!-

Curst be the man, the monk, the son of Hell,
The triple Moloch! whose mechanic brain,
Maliciously inventive, from its forge,
Of cruel steel, the sulphur seeds of wrath
Flash'd on the world, and taught us how to kill;
To hurl the blazing ruin, to disgorge
From smoking brass the ragged instruments
Of Fate, in thunder, on the mangled files
Of gallant foes:-the cowardice of Hell!
And what the barb'rous nations never knew,
(Though nourish'd by the tigers, and their tongues
Red with the gore of lions) to involve
The holy temples, the religious fanes,
To hallelujahs sacred and to peace,

With dreadless fires. Shudd'ring the angels weep
At man's impiety, and seek the skies:
They weep! while man, courageous in his guilt,
Smiles at the infant writhing on his spear;
The hoary head pollutes the flinty streets
With scanty blood; and virgins pray in vain.
Blush, blush! or own Deucalion for thy sire.

Yet should Rebellion, bursting from the caves

Of Erebus, uprear her hydra-form,

To poison, Liberty, thy light divine;
If she, audacious, stalk in open day,

Below the sacrifice of Christian hearts:
Plato could meditate; a Christian, more!
Christians, from meditation, soar to pray'r.
Methinks I hear, reprov'd by modern wit,
Or rather pagan: "Tho' ideal sounds
Soft-wafted on the Zephyr's fancy'd wing,
Steal tuneful soothings on the easy ear,
New from Ilissus' gilded mists exhal'd;
Tho' gently o'er the academic groves,
The magic echoes of unbodied thoughts
Roll their light billows through th' unwounded air,
In mildest undulations! yet a priest,
Tasteless and peevish, with his jargon shrill,
Scorns Academus; tho' its flow'rs bestow
On Hybla nectar, purer than her own,
From Plato's honey-dropping tongue distill'd
In copious streams, devolving o'er the sense
Its sweet regalement!" Philodemus, yes:
(Tho' learn'd Lyceum's cloisters lead the mind
Attentive on, as far as Nature leads:
And Plato, for a heathen, nobler dreams
Than dream some modern poets:) yes, a priest,
A priest dares tell you, Salem's hallow'd walks,
And that illumin'd mountain, where a God,
The God of my salvation, and I hope
Of thine, unutterable beauty beam'd,
(Tho' shaded from excess of Deity,
Too fierce for mortal-aching eyes to prove
The rush of glory) me, desirous, draw
From Athen's owls, to Jordan's mystic dove.
Thou sing of Nature, and the moral charms
Gild with thy painted Muse: my fingers lift
The lyre to God! Jehova! Eloim!
Truth is my leader; only Fancy, thine:
(Sweet Farinelli of enervate song!)

I quit the myrtle, for a starry crown.

And know, if Sickness shed her bluish plagues
From fog, or fen, or town-infected damps,

And hiss against the throne by Heav'n's own hand (And, sure I'd pity thee) among thy veins:

Establish'd, and religion Heav'n-reform'd,

Britannia! rescue Earth from such a bane:
Exert thy ancient spirit; urge thyself

Into the bowels of the glowing war,
Sweep her from day to multiply the fiends,

And scare the damn'd!-and thou! the God of
Hosts,

Supreme! the Lord of lords, and King of kings!
Thy people, thy anointed with thy shield

Cover and shade; unbare thy righteous arm,
And save us in the hollow of thy hand!
Michael send, as erst against the host
Of Lucifer, and let his sword be drunk
With rebel blood. The battle is thy own;
When virtue, liberty, religion call:
Thine is the victory: the glory thine!

Turn, Contemplation, from this savage scene
Of violence and waste: my swimming eyes
Have lost the beauties of the vernal view!

Sweet are the beauties of the vernal view!
And yet devotion wafts to nobler themes,
And lifts the soul to Heav'n! for who, untouch'd,
With mental adoration, feeling laud,
Beholds this living-vegetable whole,
This universal witness of a God!
Tho' silent, yet convincing, uncontrol'd,.
Which meets the sense, and triumphs in the soul?
Let me, by Isaac's wise example fir'd,
When meditation led him through the fields,
Sweetly in pious musings lost, adore

Then, theu no Platonist! thy inmost soul
Will thank me for this preaching; nor disdain
To breathe itself in pray'r, as low as mine;
From God begin, with God conclude the song;
Thus glorifying with a Christian-zeal.

Father of Heav'n and Earth! coeval Son!
And co-existing Spirit! Trinal-One!
Mysterious Deity; invisible;
Indefinite, and omnipresent God,
Inhabiting eternity! Shall dust,

Shall ashes, dare presume to sing of thee?
O for a David's heart, and tongue of fire
To rival angels in my praise and zeal!
Yet love immense, and gratitude, with awe
Religious mix'd, shall elevate the hymn,
My heart enkindle, and inspire any tongue.
Father-Creator! who beholds thy works,
But catches inspiration! Thou the Earth
On nothing hung, and balanc'd in the void
With a magnetic force, and central poise.
Ocean of brightness thou! Thy grand behest
Flung on thy orb, the Sun, a sparkling drop,
To light the stars, and feed their silver urns
With unexhausted flame; to bid them shine
Eternal in their courses, o'er the blue
Which mantles night, and woo us to repose
With roscid radiance. They harmonious roll,

The very expressions of one of our disciples of Socrates.

In majesty of motion, solemn, loud,
The universal hallelujah: sphere,

In lucid order, quiring sweet to sphere,
Deep-feit and loftier than a seraph's song;
The symphony of well-according worlds!
But man, thy beam, thy breath, thy image, shines
The crown, the glory, and the lord of all;
Of all below the stars! a plant, from Heav'n
Traduc'd, to spread the riches of its bloom
O'er Earth, and water'd with etherial dews;
Incorruptible aliment! The birds

Warbie among his boughs; the cattle, safe,
Pasture within his shade; and Earth beneath
Th' imperial umbrage of his branches smiles.
The smiling Earth, the spangled spheres, and man
Their great Creator praise! but praise how long,
Unless by thy almighty arm upheld,
Preserver infinite? By thee unless
Upheld, the Earth would from her basis reel;
The spheres forego their courses, (off their orbs
The silver softness melted into shade)
Obscurely dissonant; and mortal man
(Void of thy fostering fires) his stately form
To dust be moulder'd: Chaos would resume
Her ancient anarchy; confusion, rule;
And darkness swallow all. In thee we live,
In thee we move our beings in thy chain,
Linkt to eternity, fasten on thee,

The pillar of our souls! For me, (how late
A neighbour of the worm!) when I forget
The wonders of thy goodness ray'd on me,
And cease to celebrate, with matin-harp
Or vesper-song, thy plenitude of love,
And healing mercy; may the nightly pow'r,
Which whispers on my slumbers, cease to breathe
Her modulating impulse through my soul;
Untun'd, unhallow'd! Discord, string my lyre,
Idly, my finger, press the fretted gold,
Rebellious to the dictates of my hand,
When indolent, to swell the notes for thee,
Father of Heav'n and Earth!-Coeval Son!
(His word, his essence, his effulgence pure!)
Not less thy filial likeness I adore,
Nor from thy Father's glory aught disjoin,
Redeemer! Mediator! from the birth
Of uncreated Time, thy Father's wrath

Of elegiac-sorrow, with the theme
Mournfully varying. Take, my soul redeem'd!
O take the moaning dove's dew-dropping wing,
Fly, fly to Solyma! and melt thy woe
To Cedron's murmurs. Thence, extend thy flight
To Golgotha's accursed tree. Behold!
Clouds roll'd on clouds of wrath (the blackest wrath
Of an offended God!) his beauties shade;
But shade not long: it soon in drops dissolves,
Sweet to the soul as manna to the taste,

As pride of summer-flow'r to sight or smell!
Behind this shadowing cloud, this mystic gloom,
The Sharon rose, dy'd in the blood of Heav'n,
The lily of the valley, white from stain,
Bows the fair head, in loveliness declines,
And, sweetly languishing, it droops and dies.
But darkness 'veils the Sun: a curtain draw
Before the passion; beyond wonder great,
Great beyond silence! - (Awe-struck pause a-
while-)

And heavy as the burthen of our sins! -
'Tis finish'd!-Change the lyre, the numbers
Let holy anthem-airs inspire the hymn. [change;
Glory in Heav'n! redemption to mankind,
And peace on Earth! dominion! blessing! praise!
Thanksgiving! pow'r! salvation to our God!
Salvation to our God, and to the Lamb!
And, co-existing Spirit! Thou, whose breath
My voice informs, shall it be mute to thee,
Eternal Paraclete? in order, last,

Equal in glory to Omnipotence

The first, as to the second; and from both
Proceeding; (O inexplicable name!)
Mystical link of the unnumber'd Three!
To learning, night; to faith, the noon-tide day.
Soul of the universe! thy wisdom, first,
The rage compos'd of warring elements3,
(The subject of a nobler future song)
Yon all-surrounding Heav'ns with crystal orbs
Garnish'd, and living gems, in goodly ranks
And disciplin'd array; dividing night
From day, their ordinances 'stablish'd sure.
Moving the waters saw thee o'er their face,
O God, the waters saw thee, and afraid,
Into their channels shrunk, (capacious bed
Of liquid element!) and own'd their bounds

(Sprung from omniscience!) to appease, for man, Impassable, as that eternal gulph

Upright as yet, to mediate, mercy wak'd
Unbounded love in thee; unbounded love
Contracted to the measure of a span
Immensity of Godhead, and thy crown
Reft from thy faded brow. Listen, O Earth!
And wonder, O ye Heav'ns! shall he, whose feet
Are cloth'd with stars, (the glory of his head
For who can tell?) whose looks divine illume
The dazzl'd eyes of cherubs, and the youth
Of saints with everlasting bloom renew:
Shall he, whose vital smiles with splendour fill
The circuits of creation, and sustain
Th' abodes of all existence, from the depths
Of Hell beneath, above Heav'n's highest orb,
With life, and health, and joy! shall he, to God,
Dear as his eye and heart, engraven there
Deep from eternity; alone belov'd,
Alone begotten! say, shall he become
A man of grief-for man? nay more his foe,
Rebellious next the fiends?-Astonishment
Had chain'd my tongue to silence, if the pow'rs
Of tenderest pity and of warmest love
Provok'd not pensive measures, sadder strains

[beams

"Twixt bliss and woe.-The Prince of Peace thy
Largely imbib'd, when, dovelike, o'er his head,
Fast by the banks of Jordan's sacred stream,
Thy mantling wings diffus'd their heavenly hues;
And Abba glorify'd his Only Son,
Well-pleased.-From thy tongues of cloven fire
Kindled, the nations burn'd in flaming zeal,
And unextinguish'd charity, dispers'd

And glowing as the summer blaze at noon.
The rushing winds, on all their wings convey'd
Thy doctrine, strong to shake the guilty soul;
As, erst, the dome, low-stooping to its base,
Before thy mighty presence learn'd to bend.
Thou, from the morning-womb, upon our souls,
Barren and dry, thy sanctifying dews,
Abroad, in silent softness sheds: the dews
Of love unspotted, uncorrupted joy;
Obedient goodness, temperance subdu'd;
Unshaken faith, and meekness without guile.
Hence flow the odours out, our pray'rs perfume,
Like incense, rising fragrant on the throne,

3 The Elements, a Poem: in four books.

« Föregående Fortsätt »

Böcker

The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper: Including ..., Volym 15