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16. Hymn to Cheerfulness-The Author being
fick. Dr. AKENSIDE.

thick the fhades of evening clofe!
How pale the fky with weight of fnows!
Hafte, light the tapers, urge the fire,
And bid the joylefs day retire!

Alas, in vain I try within
To raife the dull, dejected feene,
While rous'd by grief these fiery pains
Tear the frail texture of my veins;
While winter's voice, that forms around,
And yon deep death-bell's groaning found
Renew my mind's oppreffive gloom,
Till starting horror thakes the room.
Is there in nature no kind power
To footh affliction's lonely hour?
Fo blunt the edge of dire difeafe,
And teach thefe wintry fhades to please?
Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant fair,
Shine thro' the painful cloud of care:
Ofweet of language, mild of mien,
O virtue's friend and pleasure's queen!
Affuage the flames that burn my breast,
Attune my jarring thoughts to reft;
And while thy gracious gifts I feel,
My fong fhall all thy praife reveal.

As once ('twas in Aftrea's reign)
The vernal pow'rs renew'd their train,

It happen'd that immortal Love
Was ranging thro' the fpheres above,
And downward hither caft his eye,
The year's returning pomp to fpy:
He faw the radiant God of day
Lead round the globe the rofy May;
The fragrant Airs and genial Hours
Were fhedding round him dews and flowers;
Before his wheels Aurora pafs'd,
And Helper's golden lamp was last.
But, faircft of the blooming throng,
When Health majestic mov'd along,


gay with fimiles, to fee below
The joys which from her prefence flow,
While carth enliven'd hears her voice,
And fields, and flocks, and fwains rejoice;
Then mighty Love her charms confefs'd,
And foon his vows inclin'd her breaft,
And, known from that aufpicious morn,
The pleafing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulnefs, by Heav'n defign'd
To rule the pulfe that moves the mind,
Whatever fretful passion springs,
Whatever chance or nature brings
To ftrain the tuneful poize within,
And difarrange the fweet machine;
Thou, goddefs, with a master-hand
Doft each attemper'd key command,
Refine the foft and fwell the strong,
Till all is concord, all is fong.

Fair guardian of domestic life,
Beft banisher of home-bred ftrife,
Nor fullen lip, nor taunting eye
Deform the fcene where thou art by:
No fickening husband damns the hour
That bound his joys to female power:
No pining mother weeps the cares
That parents wafte on hopeless heirs:
Th' officious daughters pleas'd attend;
The brother rifes to the friend:

By thee their board with flowers is crown'd,
By thee with fongs their walks refound,
By thee their sprightly mornings fhine,
And evening-hours in peace decline.

Behold the youth, whofe trembling heart
Beats high with love's unpitied fmart;
Tho' now he ftrays by rills and bowers,
And weeping wears the lonely hours;
Or, if the nymph her audience deign,
Shames the foft ftory of his pain
With flavish looks, difcolour'd eyes,
And accents faltering into fighs;
Yet thou, aufpicious power, with cafe,
Canft yield him happier arts to pleate,
Exalt his mien to manlier charms,
Inftruct his tongue with nobler arins,
With more commanding paffion move,
And teach the dignity of love.

Friend to the Mufe and all her train,
For thee I court the Mufe again;
And may the votive lay difclofe
How much to thy fair aid the owes !
See, when thy touch reveals her mine,
How pure the ftores of fancy fhine


Hark, when thy breath her fong impels,
How full the tuneful current fwells.
Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue
Inftruct the nightly ftrains of Y;
But thine was Homer's ancient might,
And thine victorious Pindar's flight:
Thy myrtles crown'd the Lefbian meads;
Thy voice awak'd + Sicilian reeds;
Thy breath perfumes the Teian rofe,
And Tiber's vine fpontaneous flows,
While Horace wantons in thy quire;
The gods and heroes of the lyre.

See where the pale, the fick'ning fage
(A prey perhaps to fortune's rage,
Perhaps by tender griefs oppreft,
Or glooms congenial to his breast)
Retires in defert-fcenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewel.
Alone he treads th' autumnal fhade,
Alone beneath the mountain laid,
He fees the nightly damps arife,
And gathering ftorms involve the skies;
He hears the neighb'ring furges roll,
And raging thunders thake the pole;
Then, ftruck by every object round,
And frunn'd by ev'ry horrid found,
He pants to traverfe nature's ways:
His evils haunt him thro' the maze:
He views ten thoufand demons rife,
To wield the empire of the skies,
And Chance and Fate affume the rod,
And Malice blots the throne of GOD.
-0 thou, whofe pleafing power I fing!
Thy lenient influence hither bring;
Compofe the ftorm, difpel the gloom,
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom,
Till fields and fhades their fweets exhale,
And mufic fwell each opening gale :
Then o'er his breaft thy foftnels pour,
And let him learn the timely hour
To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that prefiding caufe
Who founds in difcord beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure every pain,
Subdues the hoftile forms to reft,
And bids the universe be bleft.

O thou, whofe pleasing power I fing!
If right I touch the votive ftring,
If equal praife I yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poet's flame;
Still with the Mufe my bofom fhare,
And footh to peace corroding care.
But moft exert thy genial power
On friendship's confecrated hour:
And while my Agis leads the road
To fearless wisdom's high abode;
Or, warm in freedom's facred caufe,
Purives the light of Grecian laws;
Attend, and grace our gen'rous toils
With all thy garlands, all thy fmiles,
But if, by fortune's stubborn fway
From him and friendship torn away,
I court the Mufe's healing spell
For griefs that still with abfence dwell,
* Alcæus and Sappho.

Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To fuch indulgent, tender themes
As juft the struggling breaft may cheer,
And just fufpend the starting tear;
Yet leave that charming fenfe of woe,
Which none but friends and lovers know.

17. The 8th Pfalm tranflated. CHRISTOPHER PITT.

KING eternal and divine!

The world is thine alone:
Above the stars thy glories fhine,
Above the heavens thy throne.
How far extends thy mighty name!
Where'er the fun can roll,
That fun thy wonders fhall proclaim,
Thy deeds from pole to pole.

The infant's tongue shall speak thy power,
And vindicate thy laws;

The tongue that never spoke before,
Shall labour in thy cause.
For when I lift my thoughts and eyes,
And view the heavens around,
Yon ftretching waste of azure fkies,

With ftars and planets crown'd;
Who in their dance attend the Moon,
The emprefs of the night,
And pour around her filver throne
Their tributary light:

Lord what is mortal man? that he

Thy kind regard fhould fhare?
What is his fon, who claims from thee,
And challenges thy care?
Next to the bleft Angelic kind,

Thy hands created man,
And this inferior world affign'd
To dignify his span.

Him all revere, and all obey

His delegated reign;
The flocks that through the valley stray,
The herds that graze the plain.
The furious tiger fpeeds his flight,
And trembles at his power;
In fear of his fuperior might,
The lions ceafe to roar.
Whatever horrid monsters tread
The paths beneath the fea,
Their king at awful distance dread,
And fullenly obey.

O Lord, how far extends thy name!
Where'er the fun can roll,
That fun thy wonders fhall proclaim;
Thy deeds from pole to pole.

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For he within the gloomy deeps

Its dark foundations caft,

And rear'd the pillars of the carth
Amid the watery waste.

Who fhall afcend his Sion's hill,

And fee Jehovah there?

Who from his facred fhrine fhall breathe
The facrifice of prayer?

He only whofe unfully'd foul

Fair virtue's paths has trod,

Who with clean hands and heart regards
His neighbour and his God.
On him fhall his indulgent Lord

Diffufive bounties fhed;
From God his Saviour fhall defcend
All bleffings on his head.

Of those who feck his righteous ways
Is this the chofen race,

Who bak in all his bounteous finiles,
And flourish in his grace.

Lift up your ftately heads, ye doors,
With hafty reverence rife;
Ye everlasting doors, who guard

The paffes of the skies,
Swift from your golden hinges leap,

Your barriers roll away,
Now throw your blazing portals wide,
And burst the gates of day.
For fee! the King of glory comes

Along th' ethereal road:

The cherubs through your folds fhall bear
The triumphs of your God.

Who is this great and glorious King?

Oh! 'tis the Lord, whofe might Decides the conqueft, and fufpends

The balance of the fight.

Lift up your ftately heads, ye doors!

With hafty reverence rife;
Ye everlasting doors! who guard
The palles of the fkies.
Swift from your golden hinges leap,

Your barriers roll away,
Now throw your blazing portals wide,
And burft the gates of day;
For fee! the King of Glory comes

Along th' ethereal road:

The Cherubs through your folds fhall bear
The triumphs of their God.

Who is this great and glorious King?
Oh! 'tis the God, whofe care

Leads on his Ifrael to the field,
Whofe power controuls the war.

§ 19. Pfalm 29th. PITT.

YE mighty princes, your oblations bring,

And pay due honours to your awful King; His boundlefs power to all the world proclaim, Bend at his fhrine, and tremble at his name. For hark! his voice, with unrefifted fway, Rules and controuls the raging of the Sea;

Within due bounds the mighty ocean keeps,
And in their watery cavern awes the deeps.
Shook by that voice, the nodding groves around
Start from their roots, and fly the dreadful found.
The blafted cedars low in duft are laid,
And Lebanon is left without a fhade.

See! when he speaks, the lofty mountains crowd,
And fly for fhelter from the thundering God:
Sirion and Lebanon like hinds advance,
And in wild measures lead th' unwieldy dance.
His voice, his mighty voice, divides the fire,
Back from the blast the fhrinking flames retire.
Ev'n Cades trembles when Jehovah fpeaks,
With all his Savages the defert fhakes.
At the dread found the hinds with fear are ftung,
And in the lonely foreft drop their young;
While in his hallow'd temple all proclaim
His glorious honours, and adore his name.
High o'er the foaming furges of the fea
He fits, and bids the liftening deeps obey:
He reigns o'er all; for ever lafts his power,

Till nature finks, and time fhall be no more.
With ftrength the fons of Ifrael fhall he blefs,
And crown our tribes with happiness and peace.

§ 20. Pfilm 461b paraphrafed. PITT. ON God we build our fure defence,

In God our hope repose:

His hand protects us in the fight,

And guards us from our woes.
Then, be the earth's unwieldy frame
From its foundations hurl'd,
We may, unmov'd with fear, enjoy
The ruins of the world.

What though the folid rocks be rent,
In tempefts whirl'd away?

What though the hills fhould burst their roots,
And roll into the Sea

Thou Sea, with dreadful tumults fwell,
And bid thy waters rife

In furious furges, till they dash

The flood-gates of the fkies. Our minds fhall be ferene and calm, Like Siloah's peaceful flood; Whofe foft and filver ftreams refresh The City of our God.

Within the proud delighted waves

The wanton turrets play;

The ftreams lead down their humid train,
Reluctant to the Sea.

Amid the fcene the temple floats,

With its reflected towers,
Gilds all the furface of the flood,
And dances to the shores.
With wonder fee what mighty power
Our facred Sion cheers,

Lo! there amidst her ftately walls,
Her God, her God appears.
Fixt on her bafis we fhall stand,
And, innocently proud,
Smile on the tumults of the world,
Beneath the wings of God.


See! how their weak nefs to proclaim,

The heathen tribes engage!

See! how with fruitlefs wrath they burn,
And impotence of rage!

But God has fpoke; and lo! the world,
His terrors to difplav,

With all the melting globe of earth,
Drops filently away.

Still to the mighty Lord of hofts
Securely we refort;

For refuge fly to Jacob's God,

Our fuccour and support.

Hither, ve numerous nations, crowd,
In filent rapture stand,
And fee o'er all the earth display'd
The wonders of his hand.

He bids the din of war be ftill,

And all its tumults ceale;
He bids the guiltless trumpet found
The harmony of peace.
He breaks the tough reluctant bow,
He burfts the brazen spear,
And in the crackling fire his hand
Confumes the blazing car.
Hear then his formidable voice,

"Be ftill, and know the Lord: "By all the heathen I'll be fear'd;

"By all the earth ador'd." Still to the mighty Lord of hofts Securely we refort;

For refuge fly to Jacob's God,

Our fuccour and support.

§ 21. Pfalm 90th paraphrafed. PITT. THY hand, O Lord, through rolling years Has fav'd us from defpair,

From period down to period stretch'd
The profpects of thy care.

Before the world was firft conceiv'd,
Before the pregnant earth

Call'd forth the mountains from her womb,
Who ftruggled to their birtht;
Eternal God! thy early days

Beyond duration run,

Ere the first race of ftartling time

Was meafur'd by the Sun. We die; but future nations hear Thy potent voice again, Rife at the fummons, and restore The perish'd race of man. Before thy comprehensive sight Duration fleets away; And rapid ages on the wing

Fly fwifter than a day.

As great Jehovah's piercing eyes
Eternity explore,

The longeft æra is a night;
A period is an hour.

We at thy mighty call, O Lord,
Our fancy'd beings leave,

Rous'd from the flattering dream of life,
To fleep within the grave.

Swift from their barrier to their goal
The rapid moments pafs,

And leave poor man, for whom they run,
The emblem of the grafs.

In the first morn of life it grows,
And lifts its verdant head;
At noon decays, at evening dies,
And withers in the mead.

We in the glories of thy face
Our fecret fins furvey,
And fee how gloomy thofe appear,
How pure and radiant they.
To death as our appointed goal
Thy anger drives us on;
To that full period fix'd at length
This tale of life is done.
With winged fpeed, to ftated bounds
And limits we must fly,
While feventy rolling funs complete
Their circles in the sky.

Or if ten more around us roll,
'Tis labour, woe, and ftrife,
Till we at length are quite drawn down
To the laft dregs of life.

But who, O Lord, regards thy wrath,
Though dreadful and fevere ?

That wrath, whatever fear he feels,
Is equal to his fear.

So teach us, Lord, to count our days,
And eye their conftant race,
To measure what we want in time,
By wifdom, and by grace.
With us repent, and on our hearts
Thy choiceft graces fhed,
And fhower from thy celeftial throne
Thy bleffings on our head.

Oh may thy mercy crown us here,
And come without delay;
Then our whole courfe of life will feem
One glad triumphant day.

Now the bleft years of joy reftore,
For thofe of grief and ftrife,
And with one pleafant drop allay

This bitter draught of life.
Thy wonders to the world difplay,
Thy fervants to adorn,
That may delight their future fons,
And children yet unborn;
Thy beams of Majefty diffuse,

With them thy great commands,
And bid profperity attend

The labours of our hands.

§ 22. Pfalm 144th paraphrased. PITT. MY foul, in raptures rife to blefs the Lord, Who taught my hands to draw the fatal fword; Led by his arm, undaunted 1 appear In the firft ranks of death, and front of war.


He taught me firft the pointed fpear to wield,
And mow the glorious harvest of the field.
By him infpir'd, from ftrength to strength I pafs'd,
Plung'd through the troops, and laid the battle
In him my hopes I centre and repofe, [wafte.
He guards my life, and shields me from my foes.
He held his ample buckler o'er my head,
And fcreen'd me trembling in the mighty shade:
Against all hoftile violence and power,
He was my fword, my bulwark, and my tower.
He o'er my people will maintain my fway,
And teach my willing fubjects to obey.

Lord! what is man, of vile and humble birth,
Sprung with his kindred reptiles from the carth,
That he fhould thus thy fecret counfels fhare?
Or what his fon, who challenges thy care?
Why does thine eye regard this nothing, man?
His life a point, his meafure but a fpan?
The fancy'd pageant of a moment made,
Swift as a dream, and fleeting as a fhade.

Come in thy power, and leave th' ethereal plain, And to thy harnefs'd tempeft give the rein; Yon ftarry arch fhall bend beneath the load, So loud the chariot, and fo great the God! Soon as his rapid wheels Jehovah rolls, The folding fkies fhall tremble to the poles: Heaven's gaudy Axle with the world thall fall, Leap from the centre, and unhinge the ball. Touch'd by thy hands,the labouring hills expire Thick clouds of fmoke, and deluges of fire; On the tall groves the red deftroyer preys, And wraps th' eternal mountains in the blaze: Full on my foes may all thy lightnings fly, On purple pinions through the gloomy fky.

Extend thy hand, thou kind all-gracious God, Down from the heaven of heavens thy brightabode, And fhield me from my foes, whofe towering pride Lowers like a ftorm, and gathers like a tide: Against ftrange children vindicate my caufe, Who curfe thy name, and trample on thy laws; Who fear not vengeance which they never felt, Train'd to blafpheme, and eloquent in guilt: Their hands are impious, and their deeds profane; They plead their boafted innocence in vain.

Thy name fhall dwell for ever on my tongue, And guide the facred numbers of my fong; To thee my Mufe thall confecrate her lays, And every note fhall labour in thy praife; The hallow'd theme fhall teach me how to fing, Swell on the lyre, and tremble on the ftring.

Oft has thy hand from fight the monarch led, When death flew raging, and the battle bled; And thatch'd thy fervant in the laft defpair From all the rifing tumult of the war.

Againft ftrange children vindicate my cause, Who curfe thy name, and trample on thy laws; That our fair fons may fimile in early bloom, Our fons, the hopes of all our years to come; Like plants that nurs'd by fostering fhowers arife, And lift their spreading honours to the skies: That our chafte daughters may their charms


Like the bright pillars of our temple, gay, Polish'd, and tall, and finooth, and fair as they.


Pil'd up with plenty let our barns appear,
And burft with all the Scafons of the Year;
Let pregnant flocks in every quarter bleat,
And drop their tender young in every street.
Safe from their labours may our oxen come,
Safe may they bring the gather'd fummer home.
Oh! may no fighs, no ftreams of forrow flow,
To ftain our triumphs with the tears of woc.

Bleft is the nation, how fincerely bleft!
Of fuch unbounded happiness poffeft,
To whom Jehovah's facred name is known,
Who claim the God of Ifrael for their own.

§ 23. The 3d Chapter of Job. PITT. OB curs'd his birth, and bade his curfes flow In words of grief, and eloquence of woe: Loft be that day which dragg'd me to my doom, Recent to life, and ftruggling from the womb; Whose beams with fuch malignant luftre fhone, Whence all my years in anxious circles run. Loft be that night in undetermin'd space, And veil with deeper fhades her gloomy face, Which crowded up with woes this flender fpan, While the dull mafs rofe quick'ning into man.

O'er that curs'd day let fable darknets rife, Shroud the blue vault, and blacken all the skies; May God o'erlook it from his heavenly throne, Nor roufe from fleep the fedentary fun, O'er its dark face to fhed his genial ray, And warm to joy the melancholy day. May the clouds frown, and livid poisons breathe, And ftain heaven's azure with the fhade of death. May ten-fold darknefs from that dreadful


Scize and arreft the fraggling gleams of light;
To pay due vengeance for its fatal crime,
Still be it banifh'd from the train of time;
Nor in the radiant lift of months appear,
To ftain the fhining circle of the Year:
There through her dufky range may filence


There may no ray, no glimpfe of gladness come ;
No voice to cheer the folitary gloom.
May every ftar his gaudy light with-hold,
Nor through the vapour fhoot his beamy gold;
Nor let the dawn with radiant fkirts come on,
Tipp'd with the glories of the rising fun;
Becaufe that dreadful period fix'd my doom,
Nor feal'd the dark receffes of the womb.
To that original my ills I owe;

Heir of affliction, and the fon of wee.
Oh! had I died unexercis'd in pain,
And wak'd to life, to fleep in death again!
Why did not Fate attend me at my birth,
And give me back to my congenial earth?
Why was I, when an infant, footh'd to rest,
Lull'd on the knee, or hung upon the breaft?
For now the grave would all my cares compofè,
Conceal my forrows, and inter my woes:
There wrapp dand lock'd within his cold embrace,
Safe had I lumber'd in the arms of peace;
There with the mighty kings, who lie inroll'd
In clouds of incenfe, and in beds of gold:


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