SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flow'rs:
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leavy bow'rs
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs.
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
(Attir'd in sweetness) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget Earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.
As when it happeneth that some lovely town
Unto a barbarous besieger falls,
Who both by sword and flame himself instals,
And shameless it in tears and blood doth drown;
Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls,
His spite yet cannot so her all throw down,
But that some statue, pillar of renown,
Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls:
So after all the spoil, disgrace and wreck, [bin'd,
That time, the world, and death, could bring com-
Amidst that mass of ruins they did make,
Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind:
From this so high transcendent rapture springs,
That I, all else defac'd, not envy kings.
LET us each day inure ourselves to die,
If this, and not our fears, be truly death;
Above the circles both of hope and faith
With fair immortal pinions to fly;
If this be death, our best part to untie
(By ruining the jail) from lust and wrath,
And every drowsy languor here beneath,
To be made deniz'd citizen of sky;
To have more knowledge than all books contain,
All pleasures even surmounting wishing pow'r,
The fellowship of God's immortal train,
And these that time nor force shall e'er devour:
If this be death, what joy, what golden care
Of life, can with death's ugliness compare?
AMIDST the azure clear
Of Jordan's sacred streams,
Jordan, of Lebanon the offspring dear,
When zephyrs flow'rs unclose,
And Sun shines with new beams,
With grave and stately grace a nymph arose.
Upon her head she wear
Of amaranths a crown;
Her left hand palms, her right a torch did bear;
Unveil'd skin's whiteness lay,
Gold hairs in curls hung down,
Eyes sparkled joy, more bright than star of day.
The flood a throne her rear'd Of waves, most like that Heaven Where beaming stars in glory turn enspher'd: The air stood calm and clear, No sigh by winds was given, Birds left to sing, herds feed, her voice to hear.
I FEEL my bosom glow with wontless fires,
Rais'd from the vulgar press my mind aspires,
Wing'd with high thoughts, unto his praise to climb,
From deep eternity, who call'd forth time;
That essence which, not mov'd, makes each thing
Uncreate beauty, all-creating love:
But by so great an object, radiant light,
My heart apall'd, enfeebled rests my sight,
Thick clouds benight my labouring engine,
And at my high attempts my wits repine.
If thou in me this sacred heat hast wrought,
My knowledge sharpen, sarcels lend my thought:
Grant me, Time's Father, world-containing King,
A pow'r of thee in pow'rful lays to sing;
That as thy beauty in Earth lives, Heaven shines,
It dawning may or shadow in my lines.
As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven, As is the loftiest of the planets seven, Sequester'd from this Earth in purest light, Out-shining ours, as ours doth sable night, Thou all-sufficient, omnipotent, Thou ever glorious, most excellent, God various in names, in essence one, High art installed on a golden throne, Out-stretching Heaven's wide bespangled vault, Transcending all the circles of our thought; With diamantine sceptre in thy hand, 'There thou giv'st laws, and dost this world comThis world of concords rais'd unlikely sweet, Which like a ball lies prostrate at thy feet.
If so we may well say, (and what we say Here wrapp'd in flesh, led by dim reason's ray, To show, by earthly beauties which we see, That spiritual excellence that shines in thee, Good Lord forgive) not far from thy right side, With curled locks Youth ever doth abide; Rose-cheeked Youth, who garlanded with flow'rs, Still blooming, ceaselessly unto thee pours Immortal nectar in a cup of gold, That by no darts of ages thou grow old; And as ends and beginnings thee not claim, Successionless that thou be still the same.
Near to thy other side resistless Might, From head to foot in burnish'd armour dight, That rings about him, with a waving brand, And watchful eye, great centinel doth stand; That neither time nor force in aught impair Thy workmanship, nor harm thine empire fair; Soon to give death to all again that would Stern Discord raise, which thou destroy'd of old; Discord, that foe to order, nurse of war, By which the noblest things demolish'd are: But, caitiff! she no treason doth devise, When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise: Thy all-upholding Might her malice reins. And her to Hell throws, bound in iron chains.
With locks in waves of gold, that ebb and flow On ivory neck, in robes more white than snow, Truth stedfastly before thee holds a glass, Indent with gems, where shineth all that was, That is, or shall be, here ere aught was wrought. Thou knew all that thy pow'r with time forth brought, And more, things numberless which thou couldst That actually shall never being take; [make, Here thou behold'st thyself, and, strange! dost prove At once the beauty, lover, and the love.
With faces two, like sisters, sweetly fair, Whose blossoms no rough autumn can impair, Stands Providence, and doth her looks disperse Through every corner of this universe; Thy Providence, at once which general things And singular doth rule, as empires kings; Without whose care this world lost would remain, As ship without a master in the main, As chariot alone, as bodies prove Depriv'd of souls, whereby they be, live, move.
But who are they which shine thy throne so near, With sacred countenance and look severe? This in one hand a pond'rous sword doth hold, Her left stays charg'd with balances of gold; That, with brows girt with bays, sweet-smiling fact, Doth bear a brandon with a babish grace: Two milk-white wings him easily do move; O she thy Justice is, and this thy Love! By this thou brought'st this engine great to light; By that it fram'd in number, measure, weight,
That destine doth reward to ill and good:
But sway of Justice is by Love withstood,
Which did it not relent, and mildly stay,
This world ere now had found its funeral day.
What bands, encluster'd, near to these abide,
Which into vast infinity them hide!
Infinity that neither doth admit
Place, time, nor number to encroach on it.
Here Bounty sparkleth, here doth Beauty shine,
Simplicity, more white than gelsomine,
Mercy with open wings, aye-varied Bliss,
Glory, and Joy, that Bliss's darling is.
Ineffable, all-pow'rful God, all free,
Thou only liv'st, and each thing lives by thee;
No joy, no, nor perfection to thee came
By the contriving of this world's great frame:
Ere Sun, Moon, stars began their restless race,
Ere painted was with light Heaven's pure face,
Ere air had clouds, ere clouds wept down their
show'rs,
Ere sea embraced earth, ere earth bare flow'rs,
Thou happy liv'dst; world nought to thee supply'd,
All in thyself thyself thou satisfy'd:
Of good no slender shadow doth appear,
No age-worn track, which shin'd in thee not clear,
Perfection's sum, prime cause of every cause,
Midst, end, beginning where all good doth pause:
Hence of thy substance, differing in nought,
Thou in eternity thy son forth brought;
The only birth of thy unchanging mind,
Thine image, pattern-like that ever shin'd;
Light out of light, begotten not by will,
But nature, all and that same essence still
Which thou thyself, for thou dost nought possess
Which he hath not, in aught nor is he less
Than thee his great begetter; of this light,
Eternal, double-kindled was thy spright
Eternally, who is with thee the same,
All-holy gift, ambassador, knot, flame:
Most sacred Triad, O most holy One!
Unprocreate Father, ever procreate Son, [be,
Ghost breath'd from both, you were, are still, shall
(Most blessed) Three in One, and One in Three,
Incomprehensible by reachless height,
And unperceived by excessive light.
So in our souls three and yet one are still,
The understanding, memory, and will;
So (though unlike) the planet of the days,
So soon as he was made, begat his rays,
Which are his offspring, and from both was hurl'd
The rosy light which consolates the world,
And none forewent another: so the spring,
The well-head, and the stream which they forth
bring,
Are but one self-same essence, nor in aught
Do differ, save in order; and our thought
No chime of time discerns in them to fall,
But three distinctly 'bide one essence all.
But these express not thee. Who can declare
Thy being? Men and angels dazzled are.
Who would this Eden force with wit or sense,
A cherubin shall find to bar him thence.
Great Architect, Lord of this universe,
That light is blinded would thy greatness pierce.
Ah! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
Or, Atlas' temples crown'd with winter glass,
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenees' elifts where Sun doth never shine,
When he some craggy hills hath overwent,
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,
Till mounting some tall mountain, he do find
More heights before him than he left behind:
With halting pace so while I would me raise
To the unbounded limits of thy praise,
Some part of way I thought to have o'er-run,
But now I see how scarce I have begun;
With wonders new my spirits range possest,
And wandering wayless in a maze them rest.
In these vast fields of light, ethereal plains,
Thou art attended by immortal trains
Of intellectual pow'rs, which thou brought'st forth
To praise thy goodness, and admire thy worth,
In numbers passing other creatures far,
Since most in number noblest creatures are,
Which do in knowledge us not less outrun
Than Moon in light doth stars, or Moon the Sun;
Uulike, in orders rang'd and many a band,
(If beauty in disparity doth stand)
Archangels, angels, cherubs, seraphines,
Aud what with name of thrones amongst them shines,
Large-ruling princes, dominations, pow'rs,
All-acting virtues of those flaming tow'rs:
These freed of umbrage, these of labour free,
Rest ravished with still beholding thee;
Inflam'd with beams which sparkle from thy face,
They can no more desire, far less embrace.
Low under them, with slow and staggering pace
Thy hand-maid Nature thy great steps doth trace,
The source of second causes' golden chain,
That links this frame as thou it doth ordain.
Nature gaz'd on with such a curious eye,
That earthlings oft her deem'd a deity.
By Nature led, those bodies fair and great,
Which faint not in their course, nor change their
Unintermix'd, which no disorder prove,
Though aye and contrary they always move,
The organs of thy providence divine,
Books ever open, signs that clearly shine;
Time's purpled maskers then do them advance,
As by sweet music in a measur'd dance;
Stars, host of Heaven, ye firmaments, bright flow'rs,
Clear lamps which overhang this stage of ours,
Ye turn not there to deck the weeds of night,
Nor, pageant like, to please the vulgar sight:
Great causes, sure ye must bring great effects;
But who can descant right your grave aspects?
He only who you made decypher can
Your notes; Heaven's eyes, ye blind the eyes of man.
Amidst these sapphire far-extending heights,
The never-twinkling, ever wand'ring lights
Their fixed motions keep; one dry and cold,
Deep-leaden colour'd, slowly there is roll'd,
With rule and line for Time's steps meeting even,
In twice three lustres he but turns his heaven.
With temperate qualities and countenauce fair,
Still mildly smiling, sweetly debonnaire,
Another cheers the world, and way doth make
In twice six autumns through the zodiac.
But hot and dry with flaming locks and brows
Enrag'd, this in his red pavilion glows:
Together running with like speed, if space,
Two equally in hands achieve their race;
With blushing face this oft doth bring the day,
And ushers oft to stately stars the way;
That various in virtue, changing, light,
With his small flame impearls the vail of night.
Prince of this court, the Sun in triumph rides,
With the year snake-like in herself that glides,
Time's dispensator, fair life-giving source,
Through sky's twelve posts as he doth run his course;
Heart of this all, of what is known to sense,
The likest to his Maker's excellence;
In whose diurnal motion doth appear
A shadow, no true portrait of the year.
The Moon moves lowest, silver sun of night,
Dispersing through the world her borrow'd light;
Who in three forms her head abroad doth range,
And only constant is in constant change.
Sad queen of silence, I ne'er see thy face
To wax, or wane, or shine with a full grace,
But straight, amaz'd, on man I think, each day
His state who changeth, or if he find stay,
It is in doleful anguish, cares, and pains,
And of his labours death is all the gains.
Immortal Monarch, can so fond a thought
Lodge in my breast, as to trust thou first brought
Here in Earth's shady cloister, wretched man,
To suck the air of woe, to spend life's span
Midst sighs and plaints, a stranger unto mirth,
To give himself his death rebuking birth?
By sense and wit of creatures made king,
By sense and wit to live their underling?
And what is worst, have eaglets eyes to see
His own disgrace, and know an high degree
Of bliss, the place, if he might thereto climb,
And not live thralled to imperious time?
Or, dotard! shall I so from reason swerve,
To dim those lights, which to our use do serve,
For thou dost not them need, more nobly fram'd
Than us, that know their course, and have them
nam'd?
No, I ne'er think but we did them surpass
As far as they do asterisms of glass.
When thou us made, by treason high defil'd,
Thrust from our first estate, we live exil'd,
Wand'ring this Earth, which is of Death the lot,
Where he doth use the power which he hath got,
Indifferent umpire unto clowns and kings,
The supreme monarch of all mortal things.
When first this flow'ry orb was to us given,
It but a place disvalu'd was to Heaven:
These creatures which now our sovereigns are,
And, as to rebels, do denounce us war,
Then were our vassals; no tumultuous storm,
No thunders, earthquakes, did her form deforın;
The seas in tumbling mountains did not roar,
But like moist crystal whisper'd on the shore;
No snake did trace her meads, nor ambush'd
low'r
In azure curls beneath the sweet spring flow'r;
The nightshade, henbane, napel, aconite,
Her bowels then not bear, with death to smite
Her guiltless brood: thy messengers of grace,
As their high rounds, did haunt this lower place.
O joy of joys! with our first parents thou
To commune then didst deign, as friends do now:
Against thee we rebell'd, and justly thus
Each creature rebelled against us;
Earth, reft of what did chief in her excel,
To all became a jail, to most a Hell:
In time's full term, until thy Son was given,
Who man with thee, Earth reconcil'd with Heaven.
Whole and entire, all in thyself thou art;
All-where diffus'd, yet of this all no part:
For infinite, in making this fair frame,
Great without quantity, in all thou came ;
And filling all, how can thy state admit,
Or place or substance to be void of it?
Were worlds as many as the rays which stream
From day's bright lamp, or madding wits do dream,
They would not reel in aught, nor wand'ring stray,
But draw to thee, who could their centres stay;
Were but one hour this world disjoin'd from the,
It in one hour to nought reduc'd should be.
For it thy shadow is; and can they last,
If sever'd from the substances them cast?
O! only bless'd, and Author of all bliss!
No, bliss itself, that all-where wished is;
Efficient, exemplary, final good,
Of thine own self but only understood:
Light is thy curtain: thou art Light of light;
An ever-waking eye still shining bright.
In-looking all, exempt of passive pow'r,
And change, in change since Death's pale shade
doth low'r :
All times to thee are one; that which hath res,
And that which is not brought yet by the Sun,
To thee are present, who dost always see
In present act, what past is, or to be.
Day-livers, we rememberance do lose
Of ages worn, so miseries us toss,
(Blind and lethargic of thy heavenly grace,
Which sin in our first parents did deface;
And even while embrions curst by justest doum)
That we neglect what gone is, or to come;
But thou in thy great archives scrolled hast,
In parts and whole, whatever yet hath past,
Since first the marble wheels of Time were roll'd,
As ever living, never waxing old,
Still is the same thy day and yesterday,
An undivided now, a constant aye.
O! king, whose greatness none can comprehend,
Whose boundless goodness doth to all extend;
Light of all beauty, ocean without ground,
That standing, flowest; giving, dost abound;
Rich palace, and in-dweller, ever blest,
Never not working, ever yet in rest:
What wit cannot conceive, words say of thee,
Here where we as but in a mirror see,
Shadows of shadows, atoms of thy might,
Still owely-eyed when staring on thy light;
Grant, that, released from this earthly jail, [rel
And freed from clouds, which here our knowledzt
In Heaven's high temples where thy praises ring,
In sweeter notes I may hear angels sing.
GREAT God, whom we with humbled thoughts adort,
Eternal, infinite, almighty King,
Whose dwellings Heaven transcend, whose throne
before
Archangels serve, and seraphim do sing;
Of nought who wrought all that with wond'ring eyes
We do behold within this various round;
Who makes the rocks to rock, to stand the skies:
At whose command clouds peals of thunder sound-
Ah! spare us worms, weigh not how we, alas!
Evil to ourselves, against thy laws rebel;
Wash off those spots, which still in conscience' glass,
Though we be loath to look, we see too well.
Deserv'd revenge, Oh! do not, do not take:
If thou revenge, who shall abide thy blow?
Pass shall this world, this world which thou didst
make,
Which should not perish till thy trumpet blow.
What soul is found whose parent's crime not stams?
Or what with its own sins defil'd is not?
Though Justice rigour threaten, yet her reins
Let Mercy guide, and never be forgot.
Less are our faults, far, far than is thy love:
O! what can better seem thy grace divine,
Than they, who plagues deserve, thy bounty prove
And where thou show'r may'st vengeance, there to
Then look and pity; pitying, forgive
[shine!
Us guilty slaves, or servants now in thrall;
Slaves, if alas! thou look how we do live,
Or doing ill, or doing nought at all;
Of an ungrateful mind the foul effect.
But if thy gifts, which largely heretofore
Thou hast upon us pour'd, thou dost respect,
We are thy servants, nay, than servants more,
Thy children; yes, and children dearly bought:
But what strange chance us of this lot bereaves?
Poor, worthless wights, how lowly are we brought!
Whom grace once children made, sin hath made
[break,
Sin hath made slaves, but let those bands grace
That in our wrongs thy mercies may appear:
Thy wisdom not so mean is, pow'r so weak,
But thousand ways they can make worlds thee fear.
O wisdom boundless! O miraculous grace!
Grace, wisdom which make wink dim reason's eye!
And could Heaven's King bring from his placeless
On this ignoble stage of care to die; [place,
To die our death, and with the sacred stream
Of blood and water gushing from his side,
To make us clean of that contagious blame,
First on us brought by our first parent's pride!
Thus thy great love and pity, heavenly king!
Love, pity, which so well our loss prevent,
Of evil itself, lo! could all goodness bring,
And sad beginning cheer with glad event.
O love and pity! ill known of these times!
O love and pity! careful of our need!
O bounties! which our horrid acts and crimes,
Grown numberless, contend near to exceed.
Make this excessive ardour of thy love
So warm our coldness, so our lives renew,
That we from sin, sin may from us remove,
Wisdom our will, faith may our wit subdue.
Let thy pure love burn up all worldly lust,
Hell's candid poison killing our best part,
Which makes us joy in toys, adore frail dust
Instead of thee, in temple of our heart.
Grant, when at last our souls these bodies leave,
Their loathsome shops of sin and mansions blind,
And doom before thy royal seat receive,
A saviour more than judge they thee may find.
THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING.
BEING A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE JAMES, KING OF GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE AND IRELAND.
HIS SACRED MAJESTY.
If in this storm of joy and pompous throng,
This nymph, great king, doth come to thee so near,
That thy harmonious ears her accents hear,
Give pardon to her hoarse and lowly song.
Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear:
But for this stately task she is not strong,
And her defects her high attempts do wrong:
Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear.
So in a map is shown this flow'ry place;
So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand,
With Heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand;
So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face:
She like the morn may be to some bright sun,
The day to perfect that's by her begun.
WHAT blust'ring noise now interrupts my sleeps?
What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deeps?
And seem to call me from my watry court?
What melody, what sounds of joy and sport,
Are convey'd hither from each night-born spring?
With what loud rumours do the mountains ring,
Which in unusual pomp on tip-toes stand,
And, full of wonder, overlook the land? [bright,
Whence come these glitt'ring throngs, these meteors
This golden people glancing in my sight?
Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise?
What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes?
Am I awake? Or have some dreams conspir'd
To mock my sense with what I most desir'd?
View I that living face, see I those looks,
Which with delight were wont t' amaze my brooks?
Do I behold that worth, that man divine,
This age's glory, by these banks of mine?
Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain;
My much-beloved prince is come again.
So unto them whose zenith is the pole,
When six black months are past, the Sun doth roll:
So after tempest to sea-tossed wights,
Fair Helen's brothers show their clearing lights:
So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods,
And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods;
The feather'd sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly,
And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky;
Nile marvels, Serap's priests entranced rave,
And in Mygdonian stone her shape engrave;
In lasting cedars they do mark the time
In which Apollo's bird came to their clime.
Let mother Earth now deck'd with flow'rs be seen,
And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green:
Let Heaven weep rubies in a crimson show'r,
Such as on India's shores they use to pour:
Or with that golden storm the fields adorn,
Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born
May never Hours the web of day out-weave,
May never Night rise from her sable cave!
Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare
Your joys as ample as their causes are:
For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp,
Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp.
And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair,
Strew all your springs and grots with lilies fair:
Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray
Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday;
Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run,
Which see the rising, or the setting Sun,
Which drink stern Grampus' mists, or Ochel's snows:
Stone-rolling Tay, Tine tortoise-like that flows,
|