Some show that nice sagacity of smell, And read with such discernment, in the 'port We could not teach, and must despair to learn. Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 620 625 630 635 Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake! But less, methink, than sacrilege might serve (For, was it less, what heathen would have dar'd To strip Jove's statute of his oaken wreath, 640 Much less might serve, when all that we design, And give the day to a musician's praise. Remember Handel; Who, was not born 645 Or can, the more than Homer of his age? Yes we remember him; and, while we praise A talent so divine, remember too That His most holy book from whom it came 650 Was never meant, was never us'd before, And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed 655 When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, 660 The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, -Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next, When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 665 The god of our idolatry once more, Shall have its altar; and the world shall go In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, To show the world how Garrick did not act For Garrick was a worshipper himself; He drew the liturgy, and fram'd the rites 610 And call'd the world to worship on the banks Ah, pleasant proof That piety has still in human hearts Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths; 685 The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance; The mulberry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs; And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree 690 695 700 While others, not so satisfied, unhorse The gilded equipage, and, turning loose His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he sav'd the state? 705 That finds out every crevice of the head That is not sound and perfect, hath in their's Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 710 Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, And just direction sacred, to a thing Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there! The task now falls into the public hand; And I, contented with an humble theme, Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down The vale of nature, where it creeps and winds The groans of nature in this nether world, 715 720 725 730. 735 For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 740 The dust that waits upon his sultry march, When sin hath mov'd him, and his wrath is hot, 745 And what his storms have blasted and defac'd Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet 750 But, when a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetic flowers, Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair,. 755 Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, 760 Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth, And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 765 Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean, Or fertile only in its own disgrace, Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. The various seasons woven into one, And that one season an eternal spring, 770 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full. The lion, and the libbard, and the bear Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade 775 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. Antipathies are none. No foe to man Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees, The breath of heaven has chas'd it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string, Disease Is not the pure and uncontaminate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 790 Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy; 795 Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 800 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, * Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there; 805 810 Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. Thus heaven-ward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restor❜d. So God has greatly purpos'd; who would else 820 In his dishonour'd works himself endure 825 Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is, 835 *Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. |