Mean is the chafe; and wandering wide
We mifs th' immortal good;
Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd
To follow any leader-mind,

I'd mark thy fteps, and tread the fame :
Dreft in thy notions I'd appear
Not like a foul of mortal frame,
Nor with a vulgar air.

Men live at random and by chance,
Bright reason never leads the dance;
While in the broad and beaten way

O'er dales and hills from truth we stray,
To ruin we defcend, to ruin we advance.
Wifdom retires; the hates the crowd,
And with a decent fcorn
Aloof the climbs her steepy seat,
Where nor the grave nor giddy feet
Of the learn'd vulgar or the rude,
Have e'er a paffage worn.

Mere hazard first began the track,
Where cuftom leads her thousands blind
In willing chains and strong;
There's fcarce one bold, one noble mind,
Dares tread the fatal error back;
But hand in hand ourselves we bind,
And drag the age along.

Mortals, a favage herd, and loud
is billows on a noify flood,
In rapid order roll:

ample makes the mischief good: With jocund heel we beat the road. Unheadful of the goal.

Je let Ithuriel's friendly wing

hatch from the crowd, and bear fublime
To wildom's lofty tower,

hence to furvey that wretched thing,
fankind; and in exalted rhyme
Blefs the delivering power.

TO THE REVEREND MR. JOHN HOWE.

1704.

MEAT man, permit the muse to climb,

And feat her at thy feet;

her attempt a thought fublime,

And confecrate her wit.

kel, I feel th' attractive force

Of thy fuperior foul:

y chariot flies her upward courfe;
The wheels divinely roll.
Now let me chide the mean affairs
And mighty toil of men :

ow they grow gray in trifling cares,
wafte the motions of the spheres
Upon delights as vain!
Apuff of honour fills the mind,
And yellow duft is folid good;
Thus, like the afs of savage kind,
We fouff the breezes of the wind,
Or fteal the serpent's food.
Could all the choirs
That charm the poles

The name of an angel in Milton's Paradife VOL. IX.

But strike one doleful found, 'Twould be employ'd to mourn our fouls, Souls that were fram'd of sprightly fires In floods of folly drown'd.

Souls made of glory feek a brutal joy;

337

How they difclaim their heavenly birth, Melt their bright fubftance down with droffy earth, And hate to be refin'd from that impure alloy.

Oft has thy genius rous'd us hence

With elevated fong,

Bid us renounce this world of fenfe,
Bid us divide th' immortal prize

46

With the feraphic throng:

Knowledge and love makes fpirits bleft, Knowledge their food, and love their reft;" But flesh, th' unmanageable beast,

Refifts the pity of thine eyes,

And mufic of thy tongue.

Then let the worms of groveling mind
Round the thort joys of earthly kind

In reftlefs windings roam;

Howe hath an ample orb of foul,
Where fhining worlds of knowledge roll,
Where love, the centre and the pole,
Completes the heaven at home.

THE DISAPPOINTMENT AND RELIEF,

VIRTUE, permit my fancy to impose
Upon my better powers:

She cafts fweet fallacies on half our woes,
And gilds the gloomy hours.

How could we bear this tedious round
Of waning moons, and rolling years,
Of flaming hopes, and chilling fears,
If (where no fovereign cure appears)
No opiates could be found..

Love, the most cordial ftream that flows,
Is a deceitful good:

Young Doris, who nor guilt nor danger knows,

On the green margin stood,

Pleas'd with the golden bubbles as they rofe,
And with more golden fands her fancy pav'd the
Then fond to be entirely bleft,

And tempted by a faithlefs youth,
As void of goodness as of truth,
She plunges in with heedlefs hafte,
And rears the nether mud:
Darkness and naufeous dregs arise

[flood

O'er thy fair current, love, with large fupplies
Of pain to teaze the heart, and forrow for the eyes,
The golden blifs that charm'd her fight

Is dafh'd, and drown'd, and loft:
A fpark or glimmering ftreak at most,
Shines here and there, amidst the night,
Amidst the turbid,waves, and gives a faint delight
Recover'd from the fad surprise,
Doris awakes at last,

Grown by the disappointment wife; And manages with art th' unlucky caft; When the lowering frown she spies

On her haughty tyrant's brow,

With humble love fhe meets his wrathful eyes, And makes her fovereign beauty bow; Cheerful the fmiles upon the grizly form;

So fhines the setting fun on adverse skies,

And paints a rainbow on the form; Anon the lets the fullen humour spend, And with a virtuous book or friend, Beguiles th' uneasy hours: Well-colouring every cross the meets, With heart ferene fhe fleeps and eats, She spreads her board with fancy'd sweets, And ftrows her bed with flowers.

THE HERO'S SCHOOL OF MORALITY.

THERON, amongst his travels, found,
A broken ftatue on the ground;
And fearching onward as he went
He trac'd a ruin'd monument.
Mould, mofs, and shades, had overgrown
The fculpture of the crumbling stone,
Yet e'er he paft, with much ado,
He guefs'd, and spell'd out, SCI-PI-O.

"Enough, he cry'd; I'll drudge no more "In turning the dull Stoics o'er;

Let pedants wafte their hours of cafe

To fweat all night at Socrates;

"And feed their boys with notes and rules, "Thofe tedious recipe's of fchools, "To cure ambition: I can learn "With greater ease the great concern "Of mortals; how we may despise "All the gay things below the kies.

"Methinks a mouldering pyramid Says all that the old fages faid; "For me thefe fhatter'd tombs contain "More morals than the Vatican. "The duft of heroes caft abroad, "And kick'd, and trampled in the road, "The relics of a lofty mind, "That lately wars and crowns defign'd, "Toft for a jeft from wind to wind, "Bid me be humble, and forbear

"Tall monuments of fame to rear,

86

They are but caftles in the air.

"The towering heights, and frightful falls, "The ruin'd heaps, and funerals, "Of fmoking kingdoms and their kings, "Tell me a thoufand mournful things "In melancholy flence.

-He

"That living could not bear to fee "An equal, now lies torn and dead; "Here his pale trunk, and there his head; "Great Pompey whil I meditate, "With folemn horror, thy fad fate, "Thy carcafe, fcatter'd on the shore "Without a name, inftructs me more "Than my whole library before.

"Lie ftill, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, "And my good Seneca may keep "Your volumes clos'd for ever too, "I have no further use for you: "For when I feel my virtue fail, "And my ambitious thoughts prevail, "I'll take a turn among the tombs, "And fee whereto all glory comes: "There the vile foot of every clown Tramples the fons of honour down.

TEMPT me no more. My foul can ne'er comport
With the gay flaveries of a court;
I've an averfion to those charms,
And hug dear liberty in both mine arms.

Go, vaffal fouls, go, cringe and wait,
And dance attendance at Honorio's gate,
Then run in troops before him to compofe his ftate;
Move as he moves; and when he loiters, ftand;
You're but the shadows of a man.
Bend when he speaks; and kiss the ground:
Go, catch th' impertinence of found:
Adore the follies of the great;

Wait till he smiles: But lo, the idol frown'd, And drove them to their fate.

Thus bafe born minds: but as for me,

I can and will be free:

Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree, My foul grows firm upright,

And as I ftand, and as I go,

It keeps my body fo;

No, I can never part with my creation-right. Let laves and affes ftoop and bow,

[it fret

I cannot make this iron knee
Bend to a meaner power than that which form

Thus my bold harp profusely play'd
Pindarical; then on a branchy fhade
I hung my harp aloft, myself beneath it laid.
Nature that liften'd to my ftrain,
Refum'd the theme, and acted it again.
Sudden rofe a whirling wind
Swelling like Honorio proud,

Around the straws and feathers crowd,
Types of a flavish mind;

Upwards the ftormy forces rife,

The duft flies up and climbs the skies, And as the tempeft feil, th' obedient vapours fun Again it roars with bellowing found,

The meaner plants that grew around, The willow, and the afp, trembled and kifs'd t ground:

Hard by there stood the iron trunk Of an old oak, and all the ftorm defy'd; In vain the winds their forces try'd, In vain they roar'd; the iron oak Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's stroke.

ON MR. LOCKE'S ANNOTATIONS, UPON SEVERAL PARTS OF THE NEW TESTAMEN LEFT BEHIND HIM AT HIS DEATH.

THUS reafon learns by flow degrees,
What faith reveals; but ftill complains
Of intellectual pains,

And darkness from the too exuberant light.
The blaze of those bright mysteries
Pour'd all at once on nature's eyes
Offend and cloud her feeble fight.

Reafon could fcare fuftain to fee
Th' Almighty One, th' Eternal Three,
Or bear the infant Deity;

Scarce could her pride defcend to own
Her Maker ftooping from his throne,
And dreft in glories fo unknown.
A ransom'd world, a bleeding God,
And heaven appeas'd with flowing blood,
Were themes too painful to be understood.

Faith, thou bright cherub, speak, and say,
Did ever mind of mortal race

Coft thee more toil, or larger grace,
To melt and bend it to obey.

'Twas hard to make fo rich a foul fubmit,

And lay her thining honours at thy fovereign feet. Sifter of faith, fair charity,

Show me the wondrous man on high,

Tell how he fees the Godhead Three in One; The bright conviction fills his eye, His nobleft powers in deep proftration lie At the mysterious throne. Forgive, he cries, ye faints below, "The wavering and the cold affent gave to themes divinely true;

Can you admit the bleffed to repent? "Eternal darkness veil the lines

"Of that unhappy book,

There beneath the fmiling skies
Hills of contemplation rife;
Now upon fome shining top
Angels light, and call me up;
I rejoice to raise my feet,
Both rejoice when there we meet.

There are endless beauties more
Earth hath no resemblance for;
Nothing like them round the pole,
Nothing can defcribe the foul:
'Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own,
More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru;
Broader 'tis, and brighter far,
Than the golden Indies are ;
Ships that trace the watery flage
Cannot coaft it in an age;
Harts, or horfes, ftrong and fleet,
Had they wings to help their feet,
Could not run it half way o'er
In ten thousand days and more.

Yet the filly wandering mind, Loth to be too much contin'd, Roves and takes her daily tours,

"Where the mortal pen mistook

"What the celestial meant !"

TRUE RICHES.

I AM not concern'd to know
What to-morrow fate will do ;
'Tis enough that I can fay,
I've poffefs'd myself to-day:
Then if haply midnight-death
Seize my tleh, and ftop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I fhall be
Heir to the best part of me.
Glittering ftones, and golden things,
Wealth and honours that have wings,
Ever flattering to be gone,

I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lofe;
But the treafures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line.
When I view my fpacious foul,
And furvey myfelf awhole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.
I've a mighty part within
That the world hath never feen,
Rich as Eden's happy ground,
And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here on all the fhining boughs
Knowledge fair and useless grows;
On the fame young flowery tree
All the feafons you may fee;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Jaft difclofing to the fight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth,
Ripening into folid truth;
Fruits refin'd, of noble taste;
Seraphs feed on fuch repaft.
Here, in a green and fhady grove,
Streams of pleasure mix with love:

Narrow fhores of flefh and fenfe,
Picking shells and pebbles thence :
Or fhe fits at fancy's door,
Calling fhapes and fhadows to her,
Foreign viits fill receiving,
And t' herself a stranger living.
Never, never would the buy
Indian duft, or Tyrian dye,
Never trade abroad for more,
If the faw her native ftore;

If her inward worth were known,
She might ever live alone.

THE ADVENTUROUS MUSE.

URANIA takes her morning flight
With an inimitable wing:
Through rifing deluges of dawning light
She cleaves her wonderous way,

339

She tunes immortal anthems to the growing day; Nor Rapin gives her rules to fly, nor † Purcell notes to fing.

She nor inquires, nor knows, nor fears Where lie the pointed rocks, or where th' ingulf ing fand:

Climbing the liquid mountains of the skies,
She meets defcending angels as the flies,
Nor afks them where their country lies,
Or where the fea-marks ftand.
Touch'd with an empyreal ray

She fprings, unerring, upward to eternal day,

Spreads her white fails aloft, and ftecrs, With bold and safe attempt, to the celeftial land. Whilft little skiffs along the mortal flores With humble toil in order creep,

Taus nature tun'd her mournful tongue,
Till grace lift up her head,
Revers'd the forrow and the song,
And, smiling, thus she said ;

Were kindred spirits born for cares?
Muft every grief be mine?
Is there a fympathy in tears?
Yet joys refuse to join?

Forbid it, heaven, and raise my love,
And make our joys the fame;
So blifs and friendship join'd above
Mix an immortal flame.

Sorrows are loft in vain delight
That brightens all the foul,
As deluges of dawning light
O'erwhelm the dusky pole.
Pleafures in long fucceffion reign,
And all my powers employ :
Friendship but shifts the pleasing scene,
And fresh repeats the joy.

Life has a foft and filver thread,
Nor is it drawn too long;

Yet, when my vafter hopes perfuade,
I'm willing to be gone.

Faft as ye please roll down the hill,
And hafte away, my years;
Or I can wait my father's will,
And dwell beneath the spheres.
Rife glorious, every future fun,
Gild all my following days,

But make the laft dear moment known
By well-diftinguish'd rays.

To the Right Honourable JOHN LORD CUTTS, AT THE SIEGE OF NAMUR. 1HE HARDY SOLDIER.

"O WHY is man fo thoughtiefs grown? Why guilty fouls in hafte to die?

Venturing the leap to worlds unknown,

Heedlefs to arms and blood they fly.

Are lives but worth a foldier's pay?

Why will ye join fuch wide extremes,

"And ftake immortal fouls, in play

At desperate chance, and bloody games? "Valour's a nobler turn of thought, "Whose pardon'd guilt forbids her fears: "Calmly the meets the deadly fhot! "Secure of life above the stars.

"But phrenzy dares eternal fate,
"And, fpurr'd with honour's airy dreams,
"Flies to attack th' infernal gate,
"And force a paffage to the flames."

Thus hovering o'er Namuria's plains,
Sung heavenly love in Gabriel's form:
Young Thrafo left the moving strains,
And vow'd to pray before the storm.
Anon the thundering trumpet calls;
Vows are but wind, the hero cries;
Then fwears by heaven, and fcales the walls,
Drops in the ditch, despairs, and dies.

BURNING SEVERAL POEMS OF

OVID, MARTIAL, OLDHAM, DRYDEN, &c. 1708.

I JUDGE the muse of lewd defire;

Her fons to darkness, and her works to fire.

In vain the flatteries of their wit

Now with a melting ftrain, now with an heavenly

flight,

Would tempt my virtue to approve
Thofe gaudy tinders of a lawless love.
So harlots drefs: They can appear
Sweet, modeft, cool, divinely fair,
To charm a Cato's eye; but all within,

Stench, impudence, and fire, and ugly raging fin.

Die, Flora, die in endless fhame,
Thou prostitute of blackest fame,
Stript of thy falfe array.

Ovid, and all ye wilder pens

Of modern luft, who gild our scenes, Poison the British stage, and paint damnation gay, Attend your mistress to the dead;

When Flora dies, her imps hould wait upon her fhade.

Strephon*, of noble blood and mind, (For ever thine his name!) As death approach'd, his foul refin'd,' And gave his loofer fonnets to the flame. "Burn, burn, he cry'd with facred rage, "Hell is the due of every page,

"Hell be the fate. (But O indulgent heaven! "So vile the mufe, and yet the man forgiven!) "Burn on my fongs: For not the filver Thames "Nor Tyber with his yellow ftreams

"In endless currents rolling to the main, "Can e'er dilute the poifon, or wash out the "ftain."

So Mofes by divine command

Forbid the leprous houfe to ftand
When deep the fatal (pot was grown.

"Break down the timber, and dig up the stone."