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HORA LYRICÆ.,

BOOK II.

SACRED TO

VIRTUE, HONOUR, AND FRIENDSHIP.

QUEEN

TO HER MAJESTY.

UEEN of the northern world, whose gentle sway
Commands our love, and charms our hearts t' obey,
Forgive the nation's groan when WILLIAM died:
Lo, at thy feet, in all the royal pride

Of blooming joy, three happy realins appear,
And WILLIAM'S urn almost without a tear [tongue
Stands; nor complains; while from thy gracious
Peace flows in silver streams amidst the throng.
Amazing balm, that on those lips was found
To sooth the torment of that mortal wound,
And calm the wild affright! The terrour dies,
The bleeding wound cements, the danger flies,
And Albion shouts thine honours as her joys arise.

The German eagle feels her guardian dead,
Not her own thunder can secure her head;
Her trembling eagles hasten from afar,
And Belgia's lion dreads the Gallic war:
All hide behind thy shield. Remoter lands,
Whose lives lay trusted in Nassovian hands,
Transfer their souls, and live; secure they play
In thy mild rays, and love the growing day.

Thy beamy wing at once defends and warms
Fainting Religion, whilst in varions forms
Fair Piety shines through the British isles:
Here at thy side, and in thy kindest smiles
Blazing in ornamental gold she stands,
To bless thy councils, and assist thy hands,
And crowds wait round her to receive commands.
There at a humble distance from the throne 2
Beauteous she lies; her lustre all her own,
Ungarnish'd; yet not blushing, nor afraid,
Nor knows suspicion, nor affects the shade:
Cheerful and pleas'd, she not presumes to share
In thy parental gifts, but owns thy guardian care.
For thee, dear sovereign, endless vows arise,
And zeal with earthly wing salutes the skies
To gain thy safety. Here a solemn form1
Of ancient words keeps the devotion warm,
And guides, but bounds our wishes: there the miud
Feels its own fire, and kindles unconfin'd
With bolder hopes: yet still beyond our vows,
Thy lovely glories rise, thy spreading terrour grows.

Princess, the world already owns thy name: Go, mount the chariot of immortal Faine,

1 The established church of England. *The Protestant Dissenters.

VOL. XIIL

Nor die to be renown'd: Fame's loudest breath
Too dear is purchas'd by an angel's death.
The vengeance of thy rod, with general joy,
Shall scourge Rebellion and the rival-boy 3;
Thy sounding arms his Gallic patron hears,
And speeds his flight; nor overtakes his fears,
Till hard Despair wring from the tyrant's soul
The iron tears out. Let thy frown control
Our angry jars at home, till Wrath submit
Mad Zeal and Phrensy, with their murderous train,
Her impious banners to thy sacred feet;
Feel these sweet realms in thine auspicious reign,
Envy expire in rage, and Treason bite the chain.
Let no black scenes affright fair Albion's stage:
Thy thread of life prolong our golden age,
Long bless the Earth, and late ascend thy throne
Ethereal; (not thy deeds are there unknown,
Nor there unsung; for by thine awful hands
Heaven rules the waves, and thunders o'er the lands,
Creates inferiour kings 4, and gives them their com-
mands.

Legions attend thee at the radiant gates;
For thee thy sister-seraph, blest Maria, waits.

But oh! the parting stroke! some heavenly power
Cheer thy sad Britons in the gloomy hour;
Some new propitious star appear on high,
The fairest glory of the western sky,
And Anna be its name; with gentle sway
To check the planets of malignant ray,

Sooth the rude North-wind, and the rugged Bear,
Calm rising wars, heal the contagious air,
And reign with peaceful influence to the southern
sphere.

Note. This poem was written in the year 1705, in that honourable part of the reign of our late queen, when she had broken the French power at Blenheim, asserted the right of Charles the present emperor to the crown of Spain, exerted her zeal for the Protestant succession, and promised inviolably to maintain the toleration to the Protestant Dissenters. Thus she appeared the chief support of the Reformation, and the patroness of the liberties of Europe.

The latter part of her reign was of a different colour, and was by no means attended with the accomplishment of those glorious hopes which we had conceived. Now the Muse cannot satisfy herself to publish this new edition without acknowledging the mistake of her former presages; and while she does the world this justice, she does herself the honour of a voluntary retractation.

August 1, 1721.

2 The Pretender.

1. W.

4 he made Charles, the emperor's second son, king of Spain, who was afterward emperor of Germany.

B

PALINODIA.

BRITONS, forgive the forward Muse That dar'd prophetic seals to loose, (Unskill'd in Fate's eternal book) And the deep characters mistook.

George is the name, that glorious star; Ye saw his splendours beaming far; Saw in the East your joys arise, When Anna sunk in western skies, Streaking the heavens with crimson gloom, Emblems of tyranny and Rome, Portending blood and night to come. 'Twas George diffus'd a vital ray, And gave the dying nations day: His influence sooths the Russian bear, Calms rising wars, and heals the air; Join'd with the Sun his beams are hurl'd To scatter blessings round the world, Fulfil whate'er the Muse has spoke, And crown the work that Anne forsook. August 1, 1721.

Go, friend, and wait the prophet's flight,
Watch if his mantle chance to light,
And seize it for thy own;

Shute is the darling of his years,
Young Shute his better likeness bears;
All but his wrinkles and his hairs
Are copied in his son.

Thus when our follies, or our faults,
Call for the pity of thy thoughts,

Thy pen shall make us wise;
The sallies of whose youthful wit
Could pierce the British fogs with light,
Place our true Interest 5 in our sight,
And open half our eyes.

ΤΟ

JOHN LOCKE, ESQ.

RETIRED FROM BUSINESS.

ANGELS are made of heavenly things,
And light and love our souls compose,
Their bliss within their bosom springs,
Within their bosom flows.

But narrow minds still make pretence
To search the coasts of flesh and sense,
And fetch diviner pleasures thence.
Men are akin to ethereal forms,
But they belie their nobler birth,
Debase their honour down to Earth,

And claim a share with worms.
He that has treasures of his own
May leave the cottage or the throne,
May quit the world and dwell alone
Within his spacious mind.

Locke hath a soul wide as the sea, Calm as the night, bright as the day, There may his vast ideas play,

Nor feel a thought confin'd.

TO JOHN SHUTE, ESQ. (AFTERWARDS LORD BARRINGTON)

ON

MR. LOCKE'S DANGEROUS SICKNESS, Some time after he had retired to study the Scriptures. June, 1704.

AND must the man of wondrous mind
(Now his rich thoughts are just refin❜d)
Forsake our longing eyes?

Reason at length submits to wear
The wings of Faith; and lo, they rear
Her chariot high, and nobly bear

Her prophet to the skies.

TO MR. WILLIAM NOKES. FRIENDSHIP.

FRIENDSHIP, thou charmer of the mind,
Thou sweet deluding ill,
The brightest minute mortals find,
And sharpest hour we feel.

Fate has divided all our shares
Of pleasure and of pain;

In love the comforts and the cares

Are mixt and join'd again.

But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls,
And drops of joy are few,
This dear delight of mingling souls
Serves but to swell our woe.

Oh! why should bliss depart in haste,
And friendship stay to moan?
Why the fond passion cling so fast,
When every joy is gone?

Yet never let our hearts divide,

Nor death dissolve the chain: For love and joy were once allied, And must be join'd again.

1702.

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When Gould commands his ships to run
And search the traffic of the sea,
His fleet o'ertakes the falling day,
And bears the western mines away,
Or richer spices from the rising Sun:
While the glad tenants of the shore
Shout and pronounce him senator 6,

Yet still the man's the same:
For well the happy merchant knows,
The soul with treasure never grows,
Nor swells with airy fame.

But trust me, Gould, 'tis lawful pride
To rise above the mean control
of flesh and sense, to which we're tied;
This is ambition that becomes a soul.

We steer our course up through the skies;
Farewell this barren land :

We ken the heavenly shore with longing eyes, There the dear wealth of spirit lies,

And beckoning angels stand.

TO DR. THOMAS GIBSON. THE LIFE OF SOULS.

SWIFT as the Sun revolves the day

We hasten to the dead;

Slaves to the wind we puff away,

And to the ground we tread.
'Tis air that lends us life, when first
The vital bellows heave:
Our flesh we borrow of the dust;
And when a mother's care has nurst
The babe to manly size, we must
With usury pay the grave.

Rich juleps drawn from precious ore

Still tend the dying flame;

And plants, and roots, of barbarous name, Torn from the Indian shore.

Thus we support our tottering flesh,

Our cheeks resume the rose afresh, When bark and steel play well their game To save our sinking breath, And Gibson, with his awful power, Rescues the poor precarious hour

From the demands of Death.

But art and nature, powers and charms,
And drugs, and recipes, and forms,
Yield us at last to greedy worms

A despicable prey:

I'd have a life to call my own,
That shall depend on Heaven alone;
Nor air, nor earth, nor sea
Mix their base essences with mine,
Nor claim dominion so divine

To give me leave to be.

Sure there's a mind within, that reigns
O'er the dull current of my veins;
I feel the inward pulse beat high
With vigorous immortality:

Let earth resume the flesh it gave,
And breath dissolve amongst the winds;
Gibson, the things that fear a grave,
That I can lose, or you can save,

Are not akin to minds.

1704.

• Member of parliament for a port in Sussex,

We claim acquaintance with the skies,
Upward our spirits hourly rise,

And there our thoughts employ:
When Heaven shall sign our grand release,
We are no strangers to the place,
The business, or the joy.

FALSE GREATNESS.

MYLO, forbear to call him blest
That only boasts a large estate,
Should all the treasures of the West
Meet, and conspire to make him great.
I know thy better thoughts, I know
Thy reason can't descend so low.
Let a broad stream with golden sands
Through all his meadows roll,
He's but a wretch, with all his lands,
That wears a narrow soul.

He swells amidst his wealthy store,
And proudly poizing what he weighs,
In his own scale he fondly lays

Huge heaps of shining ore.

He spreads the balance wide to hold
His manors and his farms,

And cheats the beam with loads of gold
He hugs between his arms.

So might the plough-boy climb a tree,
When Croesus mounts his throne,
And both stand up, and smile to see

How long their shadow's grown.
Alas! how vain their fancies be

To think that shape their own!

Thus mingled still with wealth and state,
Cræsus himself can never know;
His true dimensions and his weight
Are far inferiour to their show.
Were I so tall to reach the Pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measur'd by my soul:
The mind's the standard of the man.

TO SARISSA.

AN EPISTLE.

BEAR Up, Sarissa, through the ruffling storms
Of a vain vexing world: tread down the cares,
Those ragged thorns that lie across the road,
Nor spend a tear upon them. Trust the Muse,
She sings experienc'd truth: This briny dew,
This rain of eyes, will make the briers grow.
We travel through a desert, and our feet
Have measur'd a fair space, have left behind
A thousand dangers, and a thousand snares
Well scap'd. Adieu, ye horrours of the dark,
Ye finish'd labours, and ye tedious toils
Of days and hours! The twinge of real smart,
And the base terrours of ill-boding dreams,
Vanish together, be alike forgot,

For ever blended in one common grave.

Farewell, ye waxing and ye waning moons, That we have watch'd behind the flying clouds On night's dark hill, or setting or ascending, Or in meridian height! Then silence reign'd O'er half the world; then ye beheld our tears, Ye witness'd our complaints, our kindred groans,

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Are gone for ever, and have borne away
Each his own load. Our woes and sorrows past,
Mountainous woes, still lessen as they fly

[gone

Far off. So billows in a stormy sea,
Wave after wave (a long succession) roll
Beyond the ken of sight: the sailors, safe,
Look far a-stern till they have lost the storm,
And shout their boisterous joys. A gentler Muse
Sings thy dear safety, and commands thy cares
To dark oblivion; buried deep in night,
Lose them, Sarissa, and assist my song.

Awake thy voice, sing how the slender line
Of Fate's immortal Now divides the past
From all the future with eternal bars,
Forbidding a return. The past temptations
No more shall vex us; every grief wè feel
Shortens the destin'd number; every pulse
Beats a sharp moment of the pain away,

And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees
Time sweeps us off, and we shall soon arrive
At life's sweet period: O celestial point
That ends this mortal story!

But if a glimpse of light with flattering ray
Breaks through the clouds of life, or wandering fire
Amidst the shades invite your doubtful fect,
Beware the dancing meteor; faithless guide,
That leads the lonesome pilgrim wide astray
To bogs, and fens, and pits, and certain death!
Should vicious Pleasure take an angel-form
And at a distance rise, by slow degrees,
Treacherous, to wind herself into your heart,
Stand firm aloof, nor let the gaudy phantom
Too long allure your gaze: The just delight
That Heaven indulges lawful must obey
Superior powers; nor tempt your thoughts too far
In slavery to sense, nor swell your hope
To dangerous size: If it approach your feet
And court your hand, forbid th' intruding joy
To sit too near your heart: Still may our souls
Claim kindred with the skies, nor mix with dust
Our better-born affections; leave the globe
A nest for worms, and hasten to our home.

O there are gardens of th' immortal kind That crown the heavenly Eden's rising hills With beauty and with sweets; no lurking mischief Dwells in the fruit, nor serpent twines the boughs; The branches bend laden with life and bliss Ripe for the taste, but 'tis a steep ascent : Hold fast the golden chain let down from Heaven, "Twill help your feet and wings; I feel its force Draw upwards; fasten'd to the pearly gate It guides the way unerring: happy clue Through this dark wild! 'Twas Wisdom's noblest work, All join'd by Power Divine, and every link is love.

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Farewell to growing fame! I leave below
A life not half worn out with cares,

Or agonies, or years;

I leave my country all in tears,

But Heaven demands me upward, and I dare to ge Amongst ye, friends, divide and share

The remnant of my days,

If ye have patience, and can bear

[race.

A long fatigue of life, and drudge through all the

Hark, my fair guardian chides my stay,
And waves his golden rod :
"Angel, I come; lead on the way:"
And now by swift degrees

I sail aloft through azure seas,

Now tread the milky road

Farewell, ye planets, in your spheres ;

And as the stars are lost, a brighter sky appears.
In haste for Paradise

I stretch the pinions of a bolder thought;
Scarce had I will'd, but I was past
Deserts of trackless light and all the ethereal waste,
And to the sacred borders brought;

There on the wing a guard of cherubs lies,

Each waves a keen flame as he flies,

And well defends the walls from sieges and surprise.

With pleasing reverence I behold

The pearly portals wide unfold:
Enter, my soul, and view th' amazing scenes;
Sit fast upon the flying Muse,

And let thy roving wonder loose
O'er all th' empyreal plains.

Noon stands eternal here: here may thy sight
Drink-in the rays of primogenial light;

Here breathe immortal air:

Joy must beat high in every vein,
Pleasure through all thy bosom reign;
The laws forbid the stranger, Pain,
And banish every care.

See how the bubbling springs of love
Beneath the throne arise;

The streams in crystal channels move,
Around the golden streets they rove,
And bless the mansions of the upper skies.
There a fair grove of knowledge grows,
Nor Sin nor Death infects the fruit ;
Young Life hangs fresh on all the boughs,
And springs from every root;
Here may thy greedy senses feast,
While ecstasy and health attend on every taste.
With the fair prospect charm'd I stood;
Fearless I feed on the delicious fare,
And drink profuse salvation from the silver flood,
Nor can excess be there.

In sacred order rang'd along,

Saints new-releas'd by Death
Join the bold seraph's warbling breath,
And aid th' immortal song.
Each has a voice that tunes his strings
To mighty sounds and mighty things,

Things of everlasting weight,
Sounds, like the softer viol, sweet,
And, like the trumpet, strong,
Divine attention held my soul,

I was all ear!

Through all my powers the heavenly accents roll,

I long'd and wish'd my Bradbury there;
"Could he but hear these notes," I said,
"His tuneful soul would never bear

The dull unwinding of life's tedious thread,
But burst the vital chords to reach the happy dead."

And now my tongue prepares to join
The harmony, and with a noble aim

Attempts th' nnutterable name,

"But faints, confounded by the notes divine: Again my soul th' unequal honour sought,

Again her utmost force she brought, [thought. And bow'd beneath the burthen of th' unwieldy Thrice I essay'd, and fainted thrice;

Th' immortal labour strain'd my feeble frame,
Broke the bright vision, and dissolv'd the dream:
I sunk at once, and lost the skies:
In vain I sought the scenes of light,
Rolling abroad my longing eyes,

For all around them stood my curtains and the night.

STRICT RELIGIÓN VERY RARE.

I'm borne aloft, and leave the crowd,
I sail upon a morning cloud

Skirted with dawning gold:
Mine eyes beneath the open day
Command the globe with wide survey,
Where ants in busy millions play,

And tug and heave the mould.

"Are these the things (my passion cried)
That we call men? are these allied

To the fair worlds of light?
They have ras'd out their Maker's name,
Graven on their minds with pointed flame
In strokes divinely bright.

"Wretches! they hate their native skies:
If an ethereal thought arise,

Or spark of virtue shine,

With cruel force they damp its plumes,
Choke the young fire with sensual fumes,
With business, lust, or wine.

"Lo! how they throng with panting breath The broad descending road

That leads unerring down to Death,

Nor miss the dark abode."
Thus while I drop a tear or two
On the wild herd, a noble few
Dare to stray upward, and pursue
Th' unbeaten way to God.
I meet Myrtillo mounting high,
I know his candid soul afar;
Here Dorylus and Thyrsis fly,
Each like a rising star.
Charin I saw and Fidea there,
I saw them help each other's flight,

And bless them as they go;
They soar beyond my labouring sight,
And leave their loads of mortal care,

But not their love, below.

On Heaven, their home, they fix their eyes,
The temple of their God:

With morning incense up they rise
Sublime, and through the lower skies
Spread the perfumes abroad.

Across the road a seraph flew,

"Mark (said he) that happy pair,
Marriage helps devotion there:
When kindred minds their God pursue,
They break with double vigour through
The dull incumbent air,"

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[on.

Whirling the planets round the poles, Winds off our threads of life, and brings our periods Swift the approach, and solemn is the day,

When this immortal mind, Stript of the body's coarse array, To endless pain, or endless joy,

Must be at once consign'd,

Think of the sands run down to waste,
We possess none of all the past,
None but the present is our own;
Grace is not plac'd within our power,
'Tis but one short, one shining hour,
Bright and declining as a setting sun.
See the white minutes wing'd with haste;
The Now that flies may be the last;
Seize the salvation ere 'tis past,

Nor mourn the blessing gone:
A thought's delay is ruin here,
A closing eye, a gasping breath,
Shuts up the golden scene in death,
And drowns you in despair.

TO WILLIAM BLACKBOURN, ESQ.

CASIMIR. LIB. II. OD. 2. IMITATED. Quæ tegit canas modo Bruma valles, &c. MARK how it snows! how fast the valley fills! And the sweet groves the hoary garment wear; Yet the warın sun-beams bounding from the hills Shall melt the veil away, and the young green appear.

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