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Exalted anthems all their hours employ;
And all is mufic and excefs of joy.

Charm'd with the fight, I long to bear a part;
The pleasure flutters at my ravish'd heart.
Sweet faints and angels of the heavenly choir,
If love has warm'd you with celeftial fire,
Affift my words, and, as they move along,
With Halk lujahs crown the burthen'd fong.
Father of all above, and all below!

O great, and far beyond expreffion fo! [confine,
No bounds thy knowledge, none thy power
For power and knowledge in their fource are
thine;

Around thee glory fpreads her golden wing;
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah fing.

Son of the Father, first-begotten Son !
Ere the fhort meafuring line of time begun,

What refiftless charms were thine,
In thy good, thy best defign!
When God was hated, Sin obey'd,
And man undone without thy aid,
From the feats of endlefs peace

They brought the Son, the Lord of Grace;
They taught him to receive a birth,
To clothe in flesh, to live on earth;
And after, lifted him on high,
And taught him on the crofs to die.
Love celeftial, ardent fire,
O, extreme of fweet defire!
Spread thy brightly raging flame
Through and over all my frame;
Let it warm me, let it burn,
Let my corpfe to athes turn;
And, might thy flame thus act with me,

I next would ufe thy wings, and fly
To meet my Jefus in the fky.

The world has feen thy works, and joy'd to feeTo fet the foul from body free,
The bright effulgence manifeft in thee. [fpring;
The world muft own thy Love's unfathom'd
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah sing.
Proceeding Spirit, equally divine,

In whom the Godhead's full perfections shine!
With various graces, comforts unexprefs'd,
With holy tranfports you refine the breast;

And earth is heavenly where your gifts you bring,
Sing, glittering angels, Hallelujah fing.

But where's my rapture, where my wondrous
What interruption makes my blifs retreat? [heat?
This world's got in, the thoughts of t'other's
And the gay picture's in my fancy loft. [croft,
With what an eager zeal the confcious foul
Would claim its feat, and, foaring, pass the pole !
But our attempts thefe chains of earth reftrain,
Deride our toil, and drag us down again.
So from the ground afpiring meteors go,
And, rank'd with plancts, light the world below;
But their own bodies fink them in the sky,
When the warmth's gone that taught them how
to fly.

40. On Divine Love, by meditating on the Wounds of Chrift. PARNELL. HOLY Jefus! God of Love!

Look with pity from above.
Shed the precious purple tide
From thine hands, thy feet, thy fide;
Let thy ftreams of comfort roll,
Let them pleafe and fill my foul.
Let me thus for ever be
Full of gladness, full of thee.
This, for which my wishes pine,
Is the cup of love divine;
Sweet affections flow from hence,
Sweet, above the joys of fense;
Bleffed philtre! how we find
Its facred worships! how the mind,
Of all the world forgetful grown,
Can defpife an earthly throne;
Raife its thoughts to realms above,
Think of God, and fing of love.

Love celeftial, wondrous heat,
O, beyond expreffion great!

$41. The Univerfal Prayer. POPE. Deo Opt. Max.

FATHER of all! in ev'ry age,

By

In ev'ry clime, ador'd,
Saint, by Savage, and by Sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou Great First Caufe, least understood,
To know but this, that Thou art good,
Who all my fenfe confin'd

And that inyself am blind:
Yet gave me, in this dark eftate,

To fee the good from ill;
And, binding nature faft in fate,
Left free the human will.
What confcience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
This teach me more than hell to fhun,
That more than heav'n pursue.
What bleffings thy free bounty gives
Let me not caft away;

For God is paid when man receives,
T'enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,

When thoufand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Prefume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.

If I am right, thy grace impart

Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart

To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious difcontent,

At aught thy wifdom has deny'd,
Or aught thy goodness lent."
Cz

Teach

Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I fee;
That mercy I to others fhow,

That mercy fhow to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly fo,
Since quicken'd by thy breath;
O lead me wherefoe'er I go,

Thro' this day's life or death.
This day, be bread and peace my lot:
All elfe beneath the fun,
Thou know'ft if beft beftow'd or not,
And let thy will be done.

To Thee, whofe temple is all space,
Whofe altar, earth, fea, fkics!
One chorus let all Being raife!
All nature's incenfe rife!

§ 42. Meffiah, a Sacred Eclogue. Pore. YE Nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:

To heavenly themes fublimer ftrains belong.
The moffy fountains and the fylvan fhades,
The dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more.-O Thou my voice infpire,
Who touch'd Ifaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun:
A Virgin fhall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
From Jefic's root behold a branch arife,
Whofe facred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies:
Th'ethereal fpirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top defcends the myftic Dove.
Ye heav'ns! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in foft filence fhed the kindly fhow'r!
The fick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From ftorms a fhelter, and from heat a fhade.
All crimes fhall ceafe, and antient fraud fhall fail,
Returning Juftice lift aloft her scale;
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-rob'd Innocence from heav'n defcend.
Swift fly the years, and rife th’expected morn!
Oh fpring to light, aufpicious Babe, be born!
See Nature haftes her carlicft wreathes to bring,
With all the incenfe of the breathing fpring:
Sce lofty Lebanon his head advance,
Sue nodding forefts on the mountains dance;
See fpicy clouds from lowly Saron rife,
And Carmel's flow 'ry top perfumes the fkies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely defart cheers;
Prepare the way a God, a God appears!
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply:
The rocks proclaim th'approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending kics!
Sink down, ve mountains, and, ye vallies, rife!
With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be fmooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way!
The Saviour comes! by antient bards foretold;
Hear him, ye deaf! and, all ye blind, behold!
tfe from thick films fhall purge the vifual ray,
And on the fightlefs eye-ball pour the day:
'Tis be th’obfructed paths of found fhall clear,
And bid new mufic charm th'unfolding car;
The dumb fhall fing, the lune his cruten forego,
And leap exulting itke the bounding roc.

No figh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear;
From ev'ry face he wipes off ev'ry tear.
In adamantine chains fhall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel th'eternal wound.
As the good thepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seks fretheft pafture, and the pureft air,
Explores the loft, the wand'ring sheep directs,
By day o'erfees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raifes in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bofom warms:
Thus fhall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promis'd father of the future age.
No more fhall nation against nation rife,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming fteel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But ufelefs lances into fcythes fhall bend,
And the broad faulchion in a plough-fhare end.
Then palaces fhall rife; the joyful fon
Shall finish what his short-liv'd fire begun;
Their vines a fhadow to their race fhall yield,
And the fame hand that fow'd shall reap the field.
The swain in barren defarts, with furprize,
Sees lilies fpring, and fudden verdure rife;
And ftarts, amidit the thirty wilds, to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrufh nods.
Wafte fandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
The fpiry fir and shapely box adorn;

To leaflets fhrubs the flow ring palms fucceed,
And od'rous myrtle to the noifome weed. [mead,
The lambs with wolves fhall graze the verdant
And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead;
The fteer and lion at one crib fhall meet,
And harmless ferpents lick the pilgrim's fect.
The fmiling infant in his hand hall take
The crefted bafilifk and speckled fnake,
Pleas'd the green luftre of their feales furvey,
And with their forky tongue fhall innocently play.
Rife, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rile!
Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes!
See a long race thy fpacious courts adorn ;
Sec future fons and daughters, yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on ev'ry fide arife,
Demanding life, impatient for the fkies!
See barbious nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with proftrate kings,
And heap'd with products of Sabaan fprings!
For thee Idume's fpicy forefts blow,
And feeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day.
No more the rifing Sun thall gild the morn,
Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her filver horn,
But loft, diffolv'd in thy fuperior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts: the Lig t himself thall fhine
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
The feas fhall wafte, the fkics in fimoke decay,
Rocks fall to duft, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd his word, his faving pow'r remains:
Thy realm for ever lafts, thy own Meffiah reigns

PARNELL.

$43. A Night-Piece on Death.
BY the blue taper's trembling light
No more I waste the wakeful night,
Intent with endless view to pore
The schoolinen and the fages o'er:
Their books from wifdom widely stray,
Or point, at beft, the longest way.
I'll feek a readier path, and go
Where wildom's furely taught below.
How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie;
While thro' their ranks, in filver pride,
The nether crefcent feems to glide.
The flumbering breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is fimooth, and clear beneath,
Where once again the fpangled fhow
Defcends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds which on the right aspire,
In dimnets from the view retire;
The left prefents a place of graves,
Whofe wall the filent water laves.
That steeple guides thy doubtful fight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pafs, with melancholy state,
By all the folemn heaps of fate;
And think, as foftly-fad you tread
Above the venerable dead,

Time was, like thee they life poffeft,
And time fhall be, that thou shalt reft.'
Thole graves, with bending ofier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought difelofe,
Where toil and poverty repofe.

The flat fmooth ftones that hear a name,
The chifels flender help to fame,
(Which, ere our fet of friends decay,
Their frequent fteps may wear away)
A middle race of mortals own,
Men half ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rife on high,
Whole dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whofe pillars fwell with fculptur'd stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
Thete, all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praife the great;
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are fenfclefs of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
The bursting earth unveils the fhades!
All flow, and wan, and wrapp'd with fhrouds,
They rife in vifionary crowds;
And all with fober accent cry,
"Think, mortal, what it is to die."

Now, from yon black and fun'ral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks I hear a voice begin(Ye ravens, ceafe your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time refound O'er the long lake and midnight ground)— It fends a peal of hollow groans, Thus fpeaking from among the bones:

"When men my fcythe and darts fupply, How great a King of Fears am I!

They view me like the laft of things;
They make, and then they dread, my ftings.
Fools! if you lefs provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trod,
If man would ever pafs to God:
A port of calms, a fate of cafe,
From the rough rage of iwelling feas.

Why, then, thy flowing fable ftoles, Deep pending cyprefs, mourning poles, Loole fcarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, Long palls, drawn hearfes, cover'd fteeds, And plumes of black, that, as they tread, Nod o'er the 'fcutcheons of the dead?

Nor can the parted body know, Nor wants the foul, thefe forms of woe: As men who long in prifon dwell, With lamps that gliminer round the cell, Whene'er their fuff ring years are run, Spring forth to greet the glittering fun; Such joy, tho' far tranfcending fenfe, Have pious fouls at parting hence. On earth, and in the body plac'd, A few, and evil years, they wafte: But, when their chains are caft afide, See the glad fcene unfolding wide; Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away, And mingle with the blaze of day."

§ 44. An Elegy, written in a Country Church

THE

Yard. GRAY.

curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darknefs and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight, And all the air a folemn ftillnets holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds; Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r,

The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of fuch, as, wand'ring near her fecret bow'r, Moleft her ancient folitary reign.

Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, [heap,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet fleep. The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn, [thed, The fwallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more fhall roufe them from their lowly bed," For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn, Or bufy housewife ply her evening care: Nor children run to lifp their fire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.

Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield;

Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy ftroke!

Let

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and deftiny obfcure; Nor grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile The short and fimple annals of the poor. The boaft of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to thefe the fault,

If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raife, Wherethro' the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem fwells the note of praife.

Can ftoried urn, or animated buft,

Back to its manfion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the filent duft, Or Flatt'ry foothe the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid

Some heart once pregnant with celeftial fire: Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd, Or wak'd to ecftafy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the fpoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the foul. Full many a gem, of pureft ray ferene,

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear. Full many a flow'r is born to blufh unicen,

And wafte its fweetnefs on the defart air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breaft The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft; Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood. Th'applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to defpife, To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,

And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumfcrib'd alone [fin'd; Their growing virtues, but their crimes conForbade to wade through flaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The ftruggling pangs of confcious truth to hide, To quench the blufhes of ingenuous fhame, Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride

With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their fober withes never learn'd to ftray; Along the cool fequefter'd vaie of life

They kept the noifelefs tenor of their way. Yet ev❜n these bones from infult to protect,

Some frail memorial ftill erected nigh, With uncouth rhimes and fhapclefs fculpture Implores the paffing tribute of a figh. [deck'd, Their name, their years, fpelt by th'unletter'd The place of fame and elegy fupply: [mufe, And many a holy text around the fews, That teach the ruflic inoralift to die.

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,

This pleafing anxious being e'er refign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,

Nor caft one longing, ling'ring, look behind? On fome fond breast the parting foul relies,

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Some pious drops the clofing eye requires:

Ev'n in our alhes live their wonted fires.
For thee, who, mindful of th'unhonour'd dead,
Doft in thefe lines their artlefs tale relate;
If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit fhall inquire thy fate,
Haply fome hoary-headed fwain may say,
"Oft have we feen him at the peep of dawn,
Brufhing, with hafty steps, the dews away,

To meet the fun upon the upland lawn. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His liftlefs length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. Hard by yon wood, now fimiling, as in fcorn,

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,

Or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeless love. One morn I mifs'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. The next, with dirges due, in fad array, [borne: Slow thro' the church-yard path we faw him Approach and read (for thou canft read) the lay, Grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPIТАРН.

Here refts his head upon the lap of earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,

Heav'n did a recoinpence as largely fend: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear; [a friend, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) No farther feck his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repole) The bofom of his Father and his God.

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Of meagre phantoms fhooting crofs my path
With filent glance, I seck the fhadowy vale
Of Death. Deep in a murky cave's recefs,
Lay'd by Oblivion's liftlefs ftream, and fenc'd
By thelving rocks, and intermingled horrors
Of yew and cyprefs fhade, from all intrufion
Of bufy noontide beam, the Monarch fits
In unfubftantial majefty enthron'd.
At his right hand, nearest himself in place
And frightfulness of form, his parent Sin
With fatal induftry and cruel care
Bufies herfelf in pointing all his ftings,
And tipping every fhaft with venom drawn
From her infernal ftore: around him rang'd
In terrible array, and mixture ftrange
Of uncouth fhapes, stand his dread Minifters.
Foremoft Old Age, his natural ally

And firmeft friend: next him difcafes thick,
A motley train; Fever, with cheek of fire;
Consumption wan; Palfy, half warm with life,
And half a clay-clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout,
And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulfion wild;
Swoln Dropfy; panting Afthma; Apoplex
Full-gorg'd. There too the Peftilence that walks
In darkness, and the Sicknefs that deftroys
Atbroad noon-day. These, and a thousand more,
Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
ByHeav'n's commandDeath waves his ebonwand,
Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose,
And fcatter defolation o'er the Earth.

duft

Ill-fated Man, for whom fuch various forms
Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey!
Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didft thou make
This creature, Man? why wake th'unconfcious
To life and wretchednefs? O better far
Still had he flept in uncreated night,
If this the lot of Being! Was it for this
Thy Breath divine kindled within his breaft
The vital flame? For this was thy fair image
Stampt on his foul in godlike lineaments?
For this dominion giv'n him absolute
O'er all thy works, only that he might reign
Supreme in woe? From the bleft fource of Good
Could Pain and Death proceed? Could fuch foul ills
Fall from fairMercy's hands? Far be the thought,
The impious thought! God never made a creature
But what was good. He made a living Soul;
The wretched Mortal was the work of Man.
Forth from his Maker's hands he fprung to life,
Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew,
No fear of change, no check to his defires, [ftood
Save one command. That one command, which
'Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience,
Urg'd on by wanton curiofity,

He broke. There in one moment was undone
The fairest of God's works. The fame rash hand,
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin
And Death, and all the family of Pain,
To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature faw
The monstrous crew,and fhook thro'all her frame.
Then fled her new-born luftre, then began
Heaven's cheerful face to low'r, then vapours
choard

The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds
To hide the willing Sun. The earth convuls'd
With painful throes threw forth a briftly crop
Of thorns and briars; and Infect, Bird, and Beaft,
That wont before with admiration fond
To gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around him,
Now fed before his face, fhunning in hafte
Th'infection of his mifery. He alone
Who justly might, th'offended Lord of Man,
Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity,
For fook not in this uttermoft diftrefs

His beft lov'd work. That comfort ftill remain'd
(That beft, that greatest comfort in affliction)
The countenance of God, and thro' the gloom
Shot forth fome kindly gleams, to cheer and warm
Th'offender's finking foul. Hope fent from Heav'n
Uprais'd his drooping head, and fhew'd afar
A happier fcene of things; the Promis'd Seed
Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled creft;
Death of his fting difarm'd; and the dark grave,
Made pervious to the realms of endless day,
No more the limit but the gate of life. [ground,
Cheer'd with the view, Man went to till the
From whence he rofe; fentenc'd indeed to toil
As to a punishment, yet (ev'n in wrath,
So merciful is Heav'n) this toil became
The folace of his woes, the fweet employ
Of many, a live-long hour, and fureft guard
Againft Difeafe and Death. Death, tho'denounc'd,
Was yet a diftant ill, by feeble arm
Of Age, his fole fupport, led flowly on.
Not then, as fince, the fhort-liv'd fons of men
Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes;
Scarce in the courfe of twice five hundred years,
One folitary ghoft went fhiv'ring down
To his unpeopled fhore. In fober state,
Through the fequefter'd vale of rural life,
The venerable Patriarch guilclefs held
The tenor of his way; Labour prepar'd
His fimple fare, and Temp'rance rul'd his board,
Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve
He funk to fudden reft; gentle and pure
As breath of evening Zephyr, and as fweet,
Were all his flumbers; with the Sun he rose,
Alert and vigorous as He, to run
His deftin'd courfe. Thus nerv'd with giant
He ftemm'd the tide of time, and stood the shock
Of ages rolling harmlefs o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd, he stood,
And looking round, faw all the valleys fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-well content
To leave his race thus scatter'd o'er the earth,
Along the gentle flope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till full of years,
He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave.

[strength

Such in the infancy of Time was Man; So calm was life, fo impotent was Death! O had he but preferv'd these few remains, The shatter'd fragments, of loft happiness, Snatch'd by the hand of Heav'n from the fad wreck Of innocence primæval; still had he liv'd In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn; Though mortal, yet not every where befet With Death in every shape! But he, impatient

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