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Till Jove and Earth shall part these two,
To Care who join'd them, Man is due.'
He said, and sprung with swift career
To trace a circle for the year;

Where ever since the Seasons wheel,
And tread on one another's heel.

"Tis well, (said Jove) and for consent
Thundering he shook the firmament.
Our umpire Time shall have his way,
With Care I let the creature stay:
Let business vex him, avarice blind,
Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind,
Let error act, opinion speak,

And want afflict, and sickness break,
And anger burn, dejection chill,
And joy distract, and sorrow kill.
Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,
Time draws the long destructive blow;
And wasted Man, whose quick decay
Comes hurrying on before his day,
Shall only find by this decree,
The soul flies sooner back to me.'

PIETY ';

OR, THE VISION.

"TWAS when the night in silent sable fled,
When cheerful morning sprung with rising red,
When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain,
And best the vision draws its heavenly scene;

1 This, and the following poem, are not in the octavo edition of Dr. Parnell's Poems published by Mr. Pope: but were first communicated to the public by the late ingenious Mr. James Arbuckle, and published in his Hibernicus's Letters, No 62.

"Twas then, as slumbering on my couch I lay,
A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day,
A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume,
Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room;
And in a void of blue, that clouds invest,
Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest;
Her head a ring of golden glory wore,
Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore;
Her raiment glittering seem'd a silver white,
And all her sweet companions, sons of light.

Straight as I gazed, my fear and wonder grew,
Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder fix'd my view ;
When lo! a cherub of the shining crowd
That sail'd as guardian in her azure cloud,
Fann'd the soft air, and downward seem'd to glide,
And to my lips a living coal applied.

Then while the warmth o'er all my pulses ran
Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began:

'Where glorious mansions are prepared above,
The seats of music, and the seats of love,
Thence I descend, and Piety my name,
To warm thy bosom with celestial flame,
To teach thee praises mix'd with humble prayers,
And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs:
Be thou my bard.' A vial here she caught,
(An angel's hand the crystal vial brought)
And as with awful sound the word was said,
She pour'd a sacred unction on my head;
Then thus proceeded: Be thy Muse thy zeal;
Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal.
While other pencils flattering forms create,
And paint the gaudy plumes that deck the great;
While other pens exalt the vain delight,

Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night;

Or others softly sing in idle lines
How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines;
More wisely thou select a theme divine,
Fame is their recompense, 'tis heaven is thine!
'Despise the raptures of discorded fire,
Where wine, or passion, or applause inspire
Low restless life, and ravings born of earth,
Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth ;
Like working seas, that when loud winters blow,
Not made for rising, only rage below.

Mine is a warm and yet a lambent heat,
More lasting still, as more intensely great,
Produced where prayer, and praise, and pleasure
breathe,

And ever mounting whence it shot beneath.
Unpaint the love, that hovering over beds,
From glittering pinions guilty pleasure sheds ;
Restore the colour to the golden mines
With which behind the feather'd idol shines;
To flowering greens give back their native care,
The rose and lily, never his to wear;
To sweet Arabia send the balmy breath;
Strip the fair flesh, and call the phantom, Death;
His bow be sabled o'er, his shafts the same,
And fork and paint them with eternal flame.

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But urge thy powers, thine utmost voice advance, Make the loud strings against thy fingers dance; "Tis love that angels praise and men adore, "Tis love divine that asks it all, and more. Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day, Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way; And, all in glory wrapp'd, through paths untrod Pursue the great unseen descent of GOD: Hail the meek Virgin, bid the child appear, The child is GOD! and call him JESUS here.

He comes, but where to rest? A manger's nigh,
Make the great Being in a manger lie;

Fill the wide sky with angels on the wing, [sing;
Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousand
Let men afflict him, men he came to save,
And still afflict him till he reach the grave;
Make him resign'd, his loads of sorrow meet,
And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet;
I'll bathe my tresses there, my prayers rehearse,
And glide in flames of love along thy verse.

Ah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell,
My raptures smother what I long to tell.
'Tis God! a present God! Through cleaving air
I see the throne, and see the Jesus there

Placed on the right. He shows the wounds he bore,
(My fervours oft have won him thus before) [ear:
How pleased he looks! my words have reach'd his
He bids the gates unbar, and calls me near.' [tread,
She ceased. The cloud on which she seem'd to
Its curls unfolded, and around her spread;
Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,
And sweep their ivory lutes, and sing aloud;
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is turn'd to wondrous music as they fly;
And soft the swelling sounds of music grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My downy sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,
And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke:
"Thou beauteous Vision! on my soul impress'd,
When most my reason would appear to rest,
'Twas sure with pencils dipp'd in various lights
Some curious Angel limn'd thy sacred sights;
From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew,
White moons the silver gave, and air the blue.

I'll mount the roving winds' expanded wing,
And seek the sacred hill, and light to sing;
('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays
Obedient to thy summons, sound with praise.

'But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame,
I take for truth the flatteries of a dream;'
And barely with the wondrous gift I boast,
And faintly practise what deserves it most.

'Indulgent Lord! whose gracious love displays Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease! Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss; Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this.'

AN ELEGY.

TO AN OLD BEAUTY.

In vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful sight,
You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night,
Your face with patches soil, with paint repair,
Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair:
If truth, in spite of manners, must be told,
Why, really, fifty-five is something old.

[long
Once you were young; or one, whose life's so
She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong:
And once, since Envy's dead before you die,
The women own you play'd a sparkling eye,
Taught the light foot a modish little trip,
And pouted with the prettiest purple lip.-

To some new charmer are the roses fled, Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red; Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign, And airs by thousands fill their easy train. So parting summer bids her flowery prime Attend the sun to dress some foreign clime,

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