REASON.

S

THE USE OF IT IN DIVINE MATTERS.

WOME blind themfelves, 'caufe poffibly they may Be led by others a right way;

,

They build on fands, which if unmov'd they find,
'Tis but because there was no wind.
Lefs hard 'tis, not to err ourselves, than know
If our forefathers err'd or no.

When we truft men concerning God, we then
Truft not God concerning men.

Vifions and infpirations fome expect
Their courfe here to direct;

Like fenfelefs chemifts their own wealth deftroy,

Imaginary gold t' enjoy:'

So ftars appear to drop to us from sky,

And gild the paffage as they fly;

But when they fall, and meet th' oppofing ground,
What but a fordid flime is found?

Sometimes their fancies they 'bove reason fet,

And faft, that they may dream of meat ; Sometimes ill fpirits their fickly fouls delude, And baftard forms obtrude:

So Endor's wretched forcerefs, although

She Saul through his disguise did know, Yet, when the devil comes up difguis'd, fhe cries, "Behold! the Gods arife."

R

In vain, alas! these outward hopes are try'd;
Reafon within 's our only guide;

Reason, which (God be prais'd!) still walks, for all

Its old original fall :

And, fince itself the boundless Godhead join'd

With a reasonable mind,

It plainly fhows that myfteries divine
May with our reafon join.

The holy book, like the eighth sphere, does fhine
With thousand lights of truth divine

So numberless the stars, that to the eye,
It makes but all one galaxy.

Yet Reafon must affist too; for, in feas
So vaft and dangerous as these,
Our course by ftars above we cannot know,
Without the compass too below.

Though Reason cannot through Faith's myfteries fee, It fees that there and fuch they be ;

Leads to heaven's door, and there does humbly keep, And there through chinks and key-holes peep:

Though it, like Mofes, by a fad command,

Mult not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide,

And from afar 'tis all defcry'd.

ON THE

DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW.

OET and Saint! to thee alone are given

POET

The two moft facred names of Earth and Heaven;

The hard and rareft union which can be,

Next that of godhead with humanity.
Long did the Mufes' banish'd flaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;

Like Mofes thou (though spells and charms withstand)
Haft brought them nobly home back to their holy land.
Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou

Wert living the fame poet which thou 'rt now;
Whilft angels fing to thee their airs divine,

And joy in an applause so great as thine.
Equal fociety with them to hold,

Thou need'ft not make new fongs, but fay the old;
And they (kind fpirits !) fhall all rejoice, to fee
How little less than they exalted man may be.
Still the old Heathen Gods in Numbers dwell;
The heavenlieft thing on earth ftill keeps up hell!
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Chriftian land;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, stand.
And, though Pan's death long fince all oracles broke,
Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke :
Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we
(Vain men!) the monster Woman deify;

Find ftars, and tie our fates there in a face,

And paradife in them, by whom we lost it, place.
What different faults corrupt our Mufes thus ?
Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous!

Thy spotless Mufe, like Mary, did contain
The boundless Godhead; fhe did well difdain
That her eternal verse employ'd should be
On a less subject than eternity;

And for à facred miftrefs fcorn'd to take,

But her whom God himself fcorn'd not his fpoufe to make.

It (in a kind) her miracle did do ;

A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.

* How well (blest swan!) did Fate contrive thy death, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath In thy great miftrefs' arms, thou most divine And richeft offering of Loretto's shrine! Where, like fome holy facrifice t' expire, A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. Angels (they fay) brought the fam'd chapel there, And bore the facred load in triumph through the air: 'Tis furer much they brought thee there; and they, And thou, their charge, went finging all the way. Pardon, my mother-church! if I confent

That angels led him when from thee he went;

For ev'n in error fure no danger is,

When join'd with fo much piety as his

*Mr. Crashaw died of a fever at Loretto, being newly chosen canon of that church,

Ah,

Ah, mighty God! with fhame I speak 't, and grief,
Ah, that our greatest faults were in belief!

And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet,
Rather than thus our wills too strong for it!
His faith, perhaps, in fome nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I 'm fure, was in the right;
And I myself a Catholick will be,

So far at least, great Saint! to pray to thee.
Hail, bard triumphant! and fome care bestow
On us, the poets militant below!

Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance,
Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance;
Enchain'd by Beauty, tortur'd by Defires,
Expos'd by Tyrant-Love to favage beasts and fires.
Thou from low earth in nobler flames didft rise,
And, like Elijah, mount alive the skies.
Elisha-like (but with a wish much lefs,
More fit thy greatnefs and my littleness)
Lo! here I beg (I, whom thou once didst prove
So humble to esteem, fo good to love)

Not that thy fpirit might on me doubled be,

I afk but half thy mighty spirit for me:

And, when my Mufe foars with fo ftrong a wing,

'Twill learn of things divine, and firft of thee, to fing.

ΑΝ Α.