Darkness and wild Confufion foon retire,
Before thy clear illuminating Fire:
To gentle Thoughts thou dost our Bosoms move,
And breath'st the soft melodious Soul of Love.
O thou who mad'st the new Creation bloom,
With active Life and quick'ning Virtue, come;
Come, like the filent Fall of Ev'ning Dews,
Whose Moisture all the flow'ry Field renews,
Breathe on me, like the sweet refreshing Gale,
That fans with rosy Wings the verdant Dale,
Smooth as the gliding Musick, that controuls
Each human Care, and steals upon our Souls ;
In triumph, with the heavenly Train, descend,
Of Loves and Graces, which on thee attend.
In filent Shades, by some clear Fountain's Fall,
Thou oft haft answer'd to a Mortal's Call;
Oft in some artless Cave, or humble Cell,
Thou with the Sons of Men haft deign'd to dwell,
And left behind the high Celestial Seats,
To visit Mortals in their low Retreats;
When holy Vows thy kind Descent invite,
Thou hear'st the gentle Whispers with Delight;
While Nature tir'd, her Midnight Sabbath keeps
And ev'ry Thought, but pure Devotion, fleeps.
The smiling Stars roll on, the dazling Moon
In Pomp advances to her filent Noon;
While the sweet Voice, soft as the Midnight Air,
Dispels the Gloom, and ev'ry earthly Care;
Unfolding boundless Profpects of Delight,
Before the piercing intellectual Sight.
Beneath the sacred Mount, by thee inspir'd,
The Hebrews' glorious Leader sat retir'd;
The new-made World, and Eden's blooming Pride,
In various Scenes, before him lay descry'd.
O princely Swain! how didst thou then despise
Th' Egyptian Court, how worthless in thy Eyes!
What were the Grandeurs of a Royal Fate,
To the Distinctions of thy present State ?
While Paradise, in all its charming Views,
For thee, the great creating Voice renews.
For thee, again the Morning Stars rejoice;
Again for thee, they raise the tuneful Voice.
The Sons of God touch the melodious Lyre,
And all the wide Creation join the Choir.
Lead me, propitious Spir't, lead me far,
Where I no more the Voice of Man may hear:
You charming Visions! how you fire my Soul,
And ev'ry Thought of earthly things controul;
Thro' what enchanting Paths, what flow'ry Ways,
My Fancy led, with boundless Freedom strays;
Reveal'd the Avenues of Pleasure lie,
And open wide the crystal Portals fly;
Immortal Beauty smiles, angelick Pow'rs,
In soft Responses, fing from rosy Bow'rs.
Ictorious Beauty, by what potent Charm,
Do'st thou the Soul of all its Force disarm?
We bless our Chains, abhor our Liberty,
And yield the uncontested Prize to thee:
Whether we rash or calm Designs pursue,
Thine is the glorious Motive still in view.
For thee we search the wide Creation round;
But thou art no where in Perfection found.
Some Blemish still remains on mortal Pride,
And crowding Years its airy Boasts deride.
Triumphant Beauty fits in Flavia's Eyes;
But while we gaze the trembling Lustre dies:
Bellair, compleatly form'd with ev'ry Grace,
A faultless Shape, and an enchanting Face;
In all his Motions each becoming Air,
Greatness and native Elegance appear;
Careless and free in Life's deluding Bloom,
While envious Death threatens a hasty Doom.
Some gentle Mistress full of Love and Truth,
Shall foon lament the dear unrival'd Youth.
Thou lovely, fleeting, transitory thing,
From what immense Perfection doft thou spring?
To what compleat original return,
While we thy short Appearance vainly mourn?
Howe'er our doating Thoughts mistake the
To certain Bliss thine is a friendly Ray,
That points the Passage to unclouded Day.
Ye heav'nly Forms, in all your Pomp appear,
And shew us what immortal Beauties are,
What Life, what rosy Bloom your Faces wear:
Put on each smiling Grace, each conq'ring Charm,
And all the Force of mortal Love disarm;
For still our reftless Thoughts take glorious Aims,
Howe'er seduc'd with these inferior Flames;
The leading Passion, the supreme Defire,'
To Things divine and infinite aspire.
Eternal Excellence! 'tis only thee
We fearch, thro' Nature's bright Variety:
Our eager Wishes with impetuous Force,
To thee, unknown, direct their endless Course;
'Tis thee we feek and love, for thee we pine,
The pow'rful Charm, the foft Attraction's thine.
To thee these Sighs, these tender Vows afcend;
Th' unseen Divinity we still attend;
Sick of these fading Toys, our Thoughts press on
To Joys untasted, Excellence unknown.
Thou, great Original of all that's fair!
Whose Glories no Similitude can bear;
Before the darting Splendour of thy Eyes,
The Pride of all created Beauty dies.
The xxxviiith Chapter of Јов Paraphrased.
N Thunder now our God his Silence broke,
And from a Cloud this lofty Language spoke:
I
Who, and what art thou? fond presumptuous
That, by thy own weak Measures, mine wouldst
Undaunted, as an equal Match for me,
Stand forth, and answer my Demands to thee :
And first, let thy Original be trac'd,
And tell me then, what mighty thing thou waft,
When to the World, my potent Word gave Birth,
And fixt the Centre of the floating Earth?
Didit thou afsist with one designing Thought,
Or my Ideas rectify in ought,
When from Confufion I this Order brought?
When, like an Artist, I the line stretch'd out,
And mark'd its wide Circumference about,
Didft thou contribute, Job, the needful Aid,
When I the Deep and strong Foundations laid,
And with my Hand the rifing Pillars stay'd?
When, from the perfect Model of my Mind,
The vast and stately Fabrick was design'd,
So wond'rous, so compleat in ev'ry Part,
Adorn'd with such Variety of Art;
The Sons of Light the goodly Frame furvey,
As their own Seats magnificent and gay:
Around the shining Verge of Heav'n they croud,
And from the crystal Confines, shout aloud
For Joy; the Morning Stars together sang,
And Heav'n all o'er with glad Preludiums rang.
Were the tumultuous Floods by thee cont:oul'd,
When without Bounds the foaming Billows roll'd?
Didst thou appoint them then their ouzy Bed,
And humid Clouds o'er all their Surface spread,
Affixing Limits to the imperious Deep;
The Limits it perpetually shall keep?
Tho mounting high the angry Surges roar,
And dash themselves with Rage against the Shore.
When didst thou summons up the ling'ring Day,
And hafte the lovely blushing Morn away ?
Swift as my flaming Messengers above,
Its gaudy Wings to my Directions move.
Haft thou survey'd the Ocean's dark Abodes,
The steep Descents, the Vaults and craggy Roads,
Thro' which, in hollow Murmurs, rusn the ne
Or haft thou measur'd the prodigious Store
Of Waves, that in those ghastly Caverns roar?
Or haft thou, Job, the fatal Valley trac'd,
And thro' the Realms of Death undaunted pass'd,
Where the pale King a rusty Sceptre wields,
And reigns a Tyrant o'er the dusky Fields?
Doft thou the pure immortal Fountain know,
From whence those num'rous Streams of Glory
Which feed those Lamps which lighten all below ?
Or from what Caves the fullen Shadows rife,
When, like a Deluge, Night involves the Skies?
How does the Sun-his-Morning Beams display,
Thro' golden Clouds, and spread the sudden Day,
When, breaking from the East, all fresh and fair,
He dances thro' the glitt'ring Fields of Air ?
At his Approach all Nature looks more gay,
Thro' ev'ry Grove refreshing Breezes play,
And o'er the Streams, and o'er the Meadows
Doft thou the Clouds amidst the Air sustain,
And melt the floating Rivers down in Rain;
When overcharg'd, they yielding in their Sphere,
No longer now the watry Load can bear?
On gloomy Wings the founding Tempest flies,
And heavy Thunders roll along the Skies;
Around the airy Vault fierce Lightnings play,
And burn themselves, thro' folid Clouds, a Way.
|