VERSE S

то

THE

AUTHOR.

OW let the Atheist tremble; Thou alone

No

Canft bid his confcious heart the Godhead own..

Whom fhalt thou not reform? O thou haft feen,
How God defcends to judge the fouls of men.
Thou heard'ft the fentence how the guilty mourn,
Driv'n out from God, and never to return.

Yet more, behold ten thousand thunders fall,
And sudden vengeance wrap the flaming ball:
When nature funk, when every bolt was hurl'd,
Thou faw'ft the boundless ruins of the world.

When guilty Sodom felt the burning rain,
And fulphur fell on the devoted plain;
The patriarch thus, the fiery tempest past,
With pious horror view'd the desart waste ;
The restless smoke ftill wav'd its curls around,
For ever rifing from the glowing ground.

But tell me, oh! what heav'nly pleasure tell,
To think fo greatly, and defcribe fo well!
How waft thou pleas'd the wond'rous theme to try,
And find the thought of man could rise so high?
B 2

BAYERISCHE
STAATS-

BIBLIOTHEK

MUENCHEN

Beyond

Beyond this world the labour to pursue,
And open all ETERNITY to view?

But thou art beft delighted to rehearse
Heav'n's holy dictates in exalted verse :
O thou haft power the harden'd heart to warm,
To grieve, to raise, to terrify, to charm;
To fix the foul on God; to teach the mind
To know the dignity of human-kind;
By ftricter rules well-govern'd life to scan,
And practise o'er the angel in the man.

Magd. Coll.

Oxon.

T. WARTON.

Το

To a LADY, with the LAST DAY.

MADAM,

H

ERE, facred truths, in lofty numbers told,
The prospect of a future ftate unfold:
The realms of night to mortal view display,
And the glad regions of eternal day.
This daring author fcorns, by vulgar ways
Of guilty wit, to merit worthless praise.
Full of her glorious theme, his tow'ring mufe,
With gen'rous zeal, a nobler fame pursues :
Religion's cause her ravish'd heart infpires,
And with a thousand bright ideas fires;
Transports her quick, impatient, piercing eye,
O'er the ftrait limits of mortality,

To boundless orbs, and bids her fearless foar,
Where only MILTON gain'd renown before;
Where various fcenes alternately excite
Amazement, pity, terror, and delight.

Thus did the muses fing in early-times,
Ere fkill'd to flatter vice, and varnish crimes:
Their lyres were tun'd to Virtue's fons alone,
And the chaste poet, and the priest, were one.
But now, forgetful of their infant state,
They footh the wanton pleasures of the great:
And from the press, and the licentious stage,
With luscious poison taint the thoughtless age;
Deceitful charms attract our wond'ring eyes,
And fpecious ruin unfufpected lies.

B 3

So