This he believ'd, and on his Shield he bore,
And prais'd their Strength, but thought his omn
(was more.
The Valley now this Monster seem'd to fill;
And we (methought) look'd up t' him from our Hill.
All arm'd in Brass, the richest dress of War,
(A difmal glorious Sight) he shone afar.
The Sun himself started with fudden fright,
To fee his Beams return fo dismal bright.
Brafs was his Helmet, his Boot brafs; all o'er
1 His Breaft a thick Plate of strong Brafshe wore,
His Spear the Trunk was of a lofty Tree,
Which Nature meant fome tall Ship's-Mast should be;
Th' huge Iron Head fix Hundred Shekels weigh'd,
And of whole Bodies, but one wound it made,
Able Death's worst command to over-do,
Destroy Life at once, and Carcass too:
Thus arm'd he stood; all direful and all gay,
And round him flung a scornful Look away.
So when a Scythian Tyger gazing round,
An Herd of Kine in some fair Plain has found,
Lowing secure, he swells with angry Pride,
And calls forth all his Spots on ev'ry Side.
Then stops, and hurls his haughty Eyes at all,
In choice of fome strong Neck on which to fall,
Almost he scorns, so weak, so cheap a prey,
And grieves to fee them trembling haft away.
A Paraphrafe on the 148th Pfalm.
By the Earl of Rofcommon.
Azure Vaults! O Chryftal Sky,
The World's transparent Canopy;
Break your long Silence, and let Mortals know,
With what Contempt ye look on Things below.
Wing'd Squadrons of the God of War,
Who conquer wheresoe'er you are;
Let ecchoing Anthems make his Praises known
On Earth, his Foot Stool, as in Heav'n his Throne:
Great Eye of all, whose glorious Ray
Rules the bright Empire of the Day;
O praise hiş Name, without whose purer Light
Thou hadst been hid in an Abyss of Night.
Ye Moon and Planets, who dispense,
By God's Command, your Influence;
Resign to him, as your Creator's due,
That Veneration which Men pay to you.
Fairest, as well as first of Things,
From whom all Joy, all Beauty Springs;
O praise th' Almighty Ruler of the Globe,
Who useth thee for his Empyreal Robe:
Praise him ye loud harmonious Spheres,
Whose sacred Stamp all Nature bears
Who did all Forms from the rude Chaos draw
And whose Command is th' universal Law.
Ye watry Mountains of the Sky,
And you fo far above our Eyes
Vast ever-moving Orbs, exalt his Name,
Who gave its Being to your glorious Frame.
Ye Dragons whose contagious Breath,
Peoples the dark Retreats of Death,
- Change your fierce Hissing into joyful Song,
And praise your Maker with your forked Tongue;
Praise him ye Monsters of the deep,
That in the Sea's vaft Bofonis fleep;
At whose Command the foaming Billows roar,
Yet know their Limits. Tremble and adore,
Ye Mists and Vapours, Hail and Snow,
And you who through the Concave blow.
Swift Executors of his holy Word,
Whirlwinds and Tempefts, praise the Almighty Lord,
Mountains, who to your Maker's View,
Seem less than Mole-Hills do to you;
Remember how, when first Jehovab spoke,
All Heaven was Fire, and Sinai hid in Smoke.
Praise him fweet Offspring of the Ground,
With heavenly Nectar yearly crown'd.
And ye tall Cedars, celebrate his Praise,
That in his Temple facred Altars raise.
Idle Musicians of the Spring,
Whose only Care's to love and fing,
Fly thro' the World, and let your Trembling Throat,
Praife your Creator with the fweetest Note.
Praise him each Salvage furious Beaft,
That on his Stores do daily Feaft.
And you tame Slaves of the laborious Plow,
Your weary Knees to your Creator bow.
Majestick Monarchs, Mortal Gods,
Whose Power hath here no Periods;
May all Attempts against your Crown be vain,
But still remember by whose Power you reign.
Let the wide World his Praises fing,
Where Tagus and Euphrates spring;
And from the Danube's frosty Banks, to those, Where from an unknown Head great Nilus flows. You that dispose of all our Lives,
Praise him from whom your Power derives.
Be true and just like him, and fear his Word,
As much as Malefactors do your Sword.
Praise him old Monuments of Time,
O praise him in your youthful Prime.
Praise him fair Idols of our greedy Senfe,
Exalt his Name, sweet Age of Innocence:
Jehovah's Name shall only last,
When Heaven, Earth, and all is paft.
Nothing, Great God, is to be found in Thee, But unconceivable Eternity.
Exalt, O Jacob's Sacred Race,
The God of Gods, the God of Grace;
Who will above the Stars your Empire raise,
And with his Glory recompence your praife.
'LL sing of Heroes, and of Kings,
In mighty Numbers, mighty Things,
Begin, my Muse; but lo the Strings
To my great Song rebellious prove;
The Strings will found of nought but Love
I broke them all, and put on new
'Tis this or nothing fure will do.
These sure, faid I, will me obey;
These sure Heroick Notes will play.
Straight I began with thund'ring Jove,
And all th'immortal Powers but Love.
Love smil'd, and from my' enfeebled Lyre
Came gentle Ayres, such as inspire
Melting Love, soft Defire.
Farewel then Heroes, farewel Kings,
And mighty Numbers, mighty Things.
Love tunes my Heart just to my Strings.
A Mighty Pain to Love it is,
And 'tis a Pain that Pain to miss
But of all Pain, the greatest Pain
It is to love, but love in vain..
Virtue now nor noble Blood,
Nor Wit by Love is understood.
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