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So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee riot,
To whom related, or by whom begot ;
A heap of duft alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be !
Poets themselves muft fall, like those they sung,
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays ;
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part,
And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart ;
Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er,
The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more !
HESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good !
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair ! thyself how wond'rous then !
Unspeakable ! who fitteft above these heav'ns,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowliest works ; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye fons of light,
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing"; ye in heav'n.
On earth join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him laft, him midit, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown’d the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou fun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater ; found his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high noon haft gain’d, and when thou fall'it,
Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fly'ft
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that Aies ;
And ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
In myftic dance not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness, call'd up light
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,
And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mifts and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rise,
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rifing or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or louds and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tane his praise.
Join voices all ye living fouls ; ye birds,
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh fhade,
Made vocal by my fong, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord ; be bounteous still
To give us only good ; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, oi conceald,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
SATAN's SOLILOQU Y.
THOU that, with furpafling glory crown'd,
Look'st from thy fole dominion like the God
Of this new world ; at whose fight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads ; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ;
"Till pride, and worse ambition threw me down,
Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless King,
Ah, wherefore ? he deserv'd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less, than to afford him praise,
The cafieft recompence, and pay him thanks,
How due ! yet all his good prov'd ill in me, And wrought but malice; lifted up so high I '[dain'd subjection, and thought one ftep higher Would set me high't, and in a moment quit The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burdensome, ftill paying, still to owe ; Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd; And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharged ; what burthen then ? O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd Me some inferior angel, I had stood Then happy ; no unbounded hope had rais’d Ambition. Yet why not? some other power As great might have aspir’d, and me though mean Drawn to his part ; but other pow'rs as great Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. Hadst thou the same free will and pow'r to stand ? Thou hadít. Whom haft thou then, or what ťaccuse, But Heav'n's free love dealt equally to all ? Be then his love accurs’d, fince love or hate To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay, curs'd be thou; since against his thy will Chofe freely what it now so justly rues. Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell ; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threat’ning to devour me opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. O then at last relent: is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left ?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd
With other promises, and other vaupts,
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th' Omnipotent. Ah me, they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell
With diadem and sceptre high advanc'd,
The lower ftill I fall, only supreme
In misery : such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,
By act of grace, my former state ; how foon
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feign’d submission swore ! ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void :
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so doep:
Which would but lead us to a worse relapse,
And heavier fall : fo should I purchase dear
Short intermission, bought with double smart.
This knows my punisher : therefore as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace :
All hope excluded thus, behold instead
Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for himn this world.
So farewel hope, and with hope farewel fear,
Farewel remorse ; all good to me is lost :
Evil be thou my good : by thee at least
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,