'Tis not that knowledge I defpife;
No, you mifconftrue my defign;
Or that tenthusiasm I incline,
And hope by infpiration to be wife.
'Tis not for this I bid my books adieu,
No, I love learning full as well as you,
And have the arts great circle run
With as much vigour as the fun
His Zodiac treads, till t'other day
A thought furpris'd me in my way.

III.

Thought I, for any thing I know,
What we have ftamp'd for science here,
Does only the appearance of it wear,

And will not pafs above, tho current here below
Perhaps they've other rules to reafon by,
And what's truth here, with them's abfurdity.
We truth by a refracted ray

View, like the fun at ebb of day:
Whom the grofs, treacherous Atmosphere
Makes where it is not, to appear.
IV.

Why then fhall I with fweat and pain
Dig mines of difputable oar?

My labour's certain, fo is not my store,
I may hereafter unlearn all again.
Why then for truth do I my fpirits wafte,
When after all I may be gull'd at laft?

So when the honeft Patriarch thought
With feven years labour he had bought
His Rachel's love, by morning light
He found the error of the night.
V.

Or grant fome knowledge dwells below,
'Tis but for fome few years to stay

Till I'm fet loofe from this dark houfe of clay,
And in an instant I shall all things know.
Then fhall I learn t' accumulate degrees,
And be at once made master of all fciences.

What

What need I then great fums lay out,
And that estate with care foreftall,
Which when few years are come about,
Into my hands of courfe will fall?

The 634 Chapter of ISAIAH paraphrafed to the 6th Verfe.

A PINDARIQUE ODE.

I.

Trange fcene of glory! am I well awake!

ST Or is't my fancy's wild mistake?

It cannot be a dream,bright beams of light Flow from the vifions face, and peirce my tender fight. No common vifion this, I fee

Some marks of more than human Majefty.
Who is this mighty Hero, who?

With glories round his head, and terror in his brow
From Bozrah lo he comes, a fcarlet die

O'erfpreads his cloaths, and does outvie
The blufhes of the morning Sky.
Triumphant and victorious he appears,
And honour in his looks and habit wears:
How ftrong he treads, how ftately does he go!
Pompous and folemn is his pace,

And full of Majefty, as is his face.
Who is this mighty hero, who?
'Tis I who to my promife faithful stand,
I who the powers of death, hell, and the grave,
Have foil'd with this all-conquering hand,
I who moft ready am, and mighty too to fave.

II.

Why wear'ft thou then this fcarlet die?
Say, mighty Hero, why?

Why do thy garments look all red
Like them that in the wine-fat tread?

The

The wine-prefs I alone have trod,

That vaft unwieldy frame, which long did ftand Unmov'd, and which no mortal force could e'es command,

That ponderous mass I ply'd alone
And with me to affift were none;

A mighty task it was, worthy the Son of God.
Angels flood trembling at the dreadful fight,
Concern'd with what fuccefs I fhould go through
The work I undertook to do;

Inrag'd I put forth all my might

And down the engine prefs'd, the violent force
Difturb'd the univerfe, put nature out of courfe.
The blood gufh'd out in ftreams, and chequer'd o'es
My garments with its deepeft gore;

With ornamental drops bedeck'd I ftood,
And writ my victory with my enemy's blood.

III.

The day, the fignal day is come

When of my enemies I muft vengeance take;

The day when death fhall have its doom, And the dark Kingdom with its powers shall shake. Fate in her kalendar mark'd out this day with red, She folded down the iron leaf, and thus fhe faid. This day, if ought I can divine be true, Shall for a fignal victory

Be celebrated to pofterity:

Then fhall the Prince of light defcend,

And refcue mortals from th' infernal fiend,

Break through his strongest forts, and all his hoft fubdue,

This faid, the shut the adamantime volume close, And with'd the might the crouding yearstranspose; So much the long'd to have the fcene difplay, And fee the vast event of this important day.

IV.

And now in midst of the revolving years,
This great, this mighty one appears:
The faithful traveller the fun

Has number'd out the days, and the fet period run.
I look'd, and to affift was none,

My

My angelick guards ftood trembling by,
But durft not venture nigh:
In vain too from my Father did I look
For help, my Father me forfook.
Amaz'd I was to fee

How all deferted me.

I took my fury for my fole fupport
And with my fingle arm the conqueft won,
Loud acclamations fill'd all Heaven's court,
The hymning guards above

Strain'd to an higher pitch of joy and love,
The great Jehovah prais'd, and his victorious Son

TA

The ELEVATION.

I.

Ake wing (my foul) and upwards bend thy flight, To thy originary fields of light, Here nothing, nothing here below That can deferve thy longer ftay; A fecret whifper bids thee To purer air, and beams of native day. Th' ambition of the tow'ring lark out-vy, And like him fing as thou doft upward йy.

II.

go

How all things leffen which my foul before
Did with the groveling multitude adore !
Thofe pageant glories difappear,
Which charm and dazle mortals eyes:
How do I in this higher fphere,

How do I mortals, with their joys defpife!
Pure, uncorrupted element I breathe,
And pity their grofs atmosphere beneath.

III.

How vile, how fordid here thofe trifles fhew,
That please the tenants of that ball below!
But ha! I've loft the little fight,
The fcene's remov'd, and all I fee

İs one confus'd dark mafs of night.
What nothing was, now nothing feems to be :
How calm this region, how ferene, how clear:
Sure I fome ftrains of heavenly mufick hear.

IV.

On, on, the task is eafie now and light,
No fteams of earth can here retard thy flight.
Thou needft not now thy ftrokes renew,
'Tis but to fpread thy pinions wide,
And thou with eafe thy feat wilt view,
Drawn by the bent of the ethereal tide.
'Tis fo I find; how fweetly on I move,
Not lett by things below, and help'd by thofe above!

V.

But fee, to what new region am I come?
I know it well, it is my native home,
Here led I once a life divine,

Which did all good, no evil know:

Ah; who wou'd fuch fweet blifs refign
For those vain fhews which fools admire below?
'Tis true, but don't of folly paft complain,
But joy to see these bleft abodes again.

VI.

A good retrieve: But lo, while thus 1 fpeak,
With piercing rays th' eternal day does break.
The beauties of the face divine
Strike ftrongly on my feeble fight:

With what bright glories does it fhine!

"Tis one immenfe and ever-flowing light. Stop here, my foul; thou canst not bear more blifs, Nor can thy now rais'd palate ever relish less.

T

ANNOTATIONS.

HE general defign of the precedent poem is to reprefent the gradual afcent of the foul by contemplation to the fupreme good, together with its firm adherency to it, and its full

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