Were wealth of nations offer'd, all would prove
Too small a danger, or a price for love.

If then with love this world of worth agree,
With foft regard our little fifter fee;

How far unapt, as yet, like maids that own
No breafts at all, or breafts but hardly grown; .
Her part of Profelyte is scarce a part,

Too much a Gentile at her erring heart;
Her day draws nearer; what have we to do,
Left fhe be afk'd, and prove unworthy too?
Despair not, spouse, He cries; we 'll find the means,-
Her good beginnings afk the greater pains.

Let her but ftand,, the thrives; a wall too low
Is not rejected for the standing fo;

What falls is only loft, we 'll build her high,
Till the rich palace glitters in the sky.

'The door that's weak (what need we spare the coft ?)

If 'tis a door, we need not think it loft;

The leaves fhe brings us, if thofe leaves be good,

We'll close in cedar's uncorrupting wood.

Wrapt with the news, the fpoufe converts her eyes, And, oh! companions to the maids, he cries, What joys are ours, to hail the nuptial day, Which calls our fifter -Hark, I hear her fay, Yes, I'm a wall; lo! the that boasted none, Now boafts of breafts unmeasurably grown; Large towery buildings, where fecurely rests A thousand thoufand of my lover's guests; The vast increafe affords his heart delight, And I find favour in his heavenly fight.

The

The lover here, to make her rapture last,.
Thus adds affurance to the promise past.
A fpacious vine-yard, in Baal-Hamon vale,
The vintage fet, by Solomon, to fale,
His keepers took; and every keeper paid
A thousand purfes for the gains he made.
And I 've a vintage too; his vintage bleeds
A large increase, but my return exceeds.
Let Solomon receive his keeper's pay,

He gains his thousand, their two hundred they
Mine is mine own, 'tis in my presence ftill,
And fhall increase the more, the more the will.
My love, my vineyard, oh the future shoots
Which fill my garden-rows with facred fruits!
I faw the liftening maids attend thy voice,
And in their listening saw their eyes rejoice;
A due fuccefs thy words of comfort met,
Now turn to me-'tis I would hear thee yet.
Say, dove, and spotlefs, for I must away,
Say, spouse, and fifter, all you wish to say.
He fpake; the place was bright with lambent fire,
(But what is brightness, if the Chrift retire ?)
Gold-bordering purple mark'd his road in air,
And kneeling all, the fpoufe addrefs'd the prayer:
Defire of nations! if thou must be gone,.
Accept our wishes, all compriz'd in one;
We wait thine advent! Oh, we long to fee

I, and my fifter, both as one, in thee.

Then leave thy heaven, and come and dwell below; Why faid I leave ?-'tis heaven where-e'er you go.

Hafte,

Hafte, my belov'd, thy promise haste to crown,
The form thou 'It honour waits thy coming down ;
Nor let fuch fwiftnefs in the roes be fhown

To fave themselves, as thine to fave thine own.
Hafte, like the nimblest harts, that lightly bound
Before the ftretches of the fwifteft hound;
With reaching feet devour a level way,
Across their backs their branching antlers lay,
In the cool dews their bending body ply,
And brush the fpicy mountains as they fly..

THUS fung the king-fome angel reach a bough From Eden's tree to crown the wifeft brow.

And now, thou faireft garden ever made,
Broad banks of fpices, bloffom'd walks of shade,
O Lebanon! where much I love to dwell,
Since I must leave thee, Lebanon, farewell! ́
Swift from my foul the fair idea flies,
A wilder fight the changing scene supplies;
Wide feas come rolling to my future page,
And ftorms ftand ready, when I call, to rage.
Then go where Joppa crowns the winding fhore,
The prophet Jonah just arrives before ;

He fees a fhip unmooring, foft the gales,

He

pays, and enters, and the veffel fails.

Ah, wouldst thou fly thy God? rash man, forbear. What land fo diftant but thy God is there?

Weak

Weak reafon, cease thy voice.-They run the deep,
And the tir'd Prophet lays his limbs to sleep.
Here God speaks louder, sends a storm to sea,
The clouds remove to give the vengeance way;
Strong blasts come whistling, by degrees they roar,
And shove big furges tumbling on to shore;
The vessel bounds, then rolls, and every blast
Works hard to tear her by the groaning maft;
The faflors, doubling all their shouts and cares,
Furl the white canvas, and cast forth the wares;
Each feek the God their native regions own,
In vain they feek them, for thofe Gods were none.
Yet Jonah slept the while, who solely knew,

In all that number, where to find the true.

To whom the pilot.

Our Gods are deaf;

But thus they reft,

Sleeper, rife and pray,

may thine do more than they !
perhaps we waft a foe

To heaven itself, and that 's our cause of woe;
Let's feek by lots, if heaven be pleas'd to tell;
And what they fought by lots, on Jonah fell :
Then, whence he came, and who, and what, and why
Thus rag'd the tempeft, all confus'dly cry;

Each prefs'd in hafte to get his question heard,
When Jonah ftops them with a grave regard.

An Hebrew man, you fee, who God revere,

He made this world, and makes this world his care;
His the whirl'd sky, these waves that lift their head,
And his yon land, on which you long to tread.
He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair,

And to their face denounce his fentence there:

Go,

Go, faid the vision, Prophet, preach to all,
Yet forty days, and Nineveh fhall fall.
But well I knew him gracious to forgive,
And much my zeal abhorr'd the bad fhould live;
And if they turn, they live; then what were I
But fome falfe Prophet, when they fail to die?
Or what, I fancied, had the Gentiles too
With Hebrew prophets, and their God, to do?
Drawn by the wilful thoughts, my foil I run,
I fled his prefence, and the work 's undone.
The form increases as the Prophet speaks,
O'er the toft fhip a foaming billow breaks ;
She rifes pendant on the lifted waves,
And thence defcries a thousand watery graves;
Then, downward rushing, watery mountains hide
Her hulk beneath, in deaths on every fide.
O, cry the failors all, thy fact was ill,
Yet, if a Prophet, fpeak thy mafter's will;
What part is ours with thee? can aught remain
To bring the bleffings of a calm again

Then Jonah: Mine's the death will best atone
(And God is pleas'd that I pronounce my own);
Arife, and cast me forth, the wind will cease,
The fea fubfiding wear the looks of peace,
And you fecurely fteer. For well I fee
Myfelf the criminal, the storm for me.

Yet pity moves for one that owns a blame, And awe refulting from a Prophet's name ; Love pleads, he kindly meant for them to die; Fear pleads against him, left they power defy: