Darkness and wild Confufion foon retire,
Before thy clear illuminating Fire:
To gentle Thoughts thou dost our Bofoms move,
And breath'ft the foft melodious Soul of Love.
O thou who mad'ft the new Creation bloom,
With active Life and quick'ning Virtue, come;
Come, like the filent Fall of Ev'ning Dews,
Whofe Moisture all the flow'ry Field renews,
Breathe on me, like the sweet refreshing Gale,
That fans with rofy Wings the verdant Dale,
Smooth as the gliding Mufick, that controuls
Each human Care, and fteals upon our Souls ;
In triumph, with the heavenly Train, defcend,
Of Loves and Graces, which on thee attend.
In filent Shades, by fome clear Fountain's Fall,
Thou oft haft answer'd to a Mortal's Call;
Oft in fome artlefs Cave, or humble Cell,
Thou with the Sons of Men haft deign'd to dwell,
And left behind the high Celestial Seats,
To vifit Mortals in their low Retreats;
When holy Vows thy kind Descent invite,
Thou hear'ft the gentle Whifpers with Delight;
While Nature tir'd, her Midnight Sabbath keeps
And ev'ry Thought, but pure Devotion, fleeps.
The fmiling Stars roll on, the dazling Moon
In Pomp advances to her filent Noon;
While the sweet Voice, foft as the Midnight Air,
Difpels the Gloom, and ev'ry earthly Care;
Unfolding boundless Profpects of Delight,
Before the piercing intellectual Sight.
Beneath the facred Mount, by thee infpir'd,
The Hebrews' glorious Leader fat retir'd;
The new-made World, and Eden's blooming Pride,
In various Scenes, before him lay defcry'd.
O princely Swain ! how didft thou then defpife
Th' Egyptian Court, how worthless in thy Eyes!
What were the Grandeurs of a Royal Fate,
To the Distinctions of thy prefent State?
While Paradife, in all its charming Views,
For thee, the great creating Voice renews.
For thee, again the Morning Stars rejoice;
Again for thee, they raife 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 Vifions! 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 ftrays;
Reveal'd the Avenues of Pleasure lie,
And open wide the crystal Portals fly;
Immortal Beauty fmiles, angelick Pow'rs,
In foft Refponfes, fing from rofy Bow'rs.
Do'st thou the Soul of all its Force difarm? We blefs our Chains, abhor our Liberty, And yield the uncontested Prize to thee; Whether we rash or calm Defigns pursue, Thine is the glorious Motive ftill in view. For thee we fearch the wide Creation round; But thou art no where in Perfection found. Some Blemish ftill remains on mortal Pride, And crowding Years its airy Boafts deride. Triumphant Beauty fits in Flavia's Eyes; But while we gaze the trembling Luftre dies: Bellair, compleatly form'd with ev'ry Grace, A faultlefs 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 hafty Doom.
Some gentle Miftrefs full of Love and Truth,
Shall foon lament the dear unrival'd Youth.
Thou lovely, fleeting, tranfitory thing,
From what immenfe Perfection doft thou fpring?
To what compleat original return,
While we thy fhort Appearance vainly mourn?
Howe'er our doating Thoughts mistake the
Way,
To certain Blifs thine is a friendly Ray,
That points the Paffage to unclouded Day.
Ye heav'nly Forms, in all your Pomp appear,
And fhew us what immortal. Beauties are,
What Life, what rofy Bloom your Faces wear:
Put on each fmiling Grace, each conq'ring Charm,
And all the Force of mortal Love difarm ;.
For ftill our reftlefs Thoughts take glorious Aims,
Howe'er feduc'd with these inferior Flames;
The leading Paffion, the fupreme 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 thinę.
To thee thefe Sighs, these tender Vows afcend;
Th' unfeen Divinity we ftill attend ;
Sick of these fading Toys, our Thoughts prefs on
To Joys untafted, Excellence unknown.
Thou, great Original of all that's fair!
Whofe Glories no Similitude can bear;
Before the darting Splendour of thy Eyes,
The Pride of all created Beauty dies.
The xxxviiith Chapter of Joв Paraphrafed.
N Thunder now our God his Silence broke, And from a Cloud this lofty Language fpoke: Who, and what art thou? fond prefumptuous Man,
That, by thy own weak Measures, mine wouldít
Undaunted, as an equal Match for me, [fcan;
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 affift with one defigning Thought,
Or my Ideas rectify in ought,
When from Confufion I this Order brought?
When, like an Artist, I the line ftretch'd out,
And mark'd its wide Circumference about,
Didft thou contribute, Job, the needful Aid,
When I the Deep and ftrong Foundations laid,
And with my Hand the rifing Pillars ftay'd?
When, from the perfect Model of my Mind,
The vaft and stately Fabrick was defign'd,
So wond'rous, fo compleat in ev'ry Part,
Adorn'd with fuch Variety of Art;
The Sons of Light the goodly Frame furvey,
As their own Seats magnificent and gay:
Around the fhining Verge of Heav'n they croud,
And from the cryftal Confines, fhout aloud
For Joy; the Morning Stars together fang,
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?
Didft thou appoint them then their ouzy Bed,
And humid Clouds o'er all their Surface spread,
Affixing Limits to th' 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 fummons up the ling'ring Day,
And hafte the lovely blufhing Morn away?
Swift as my flaming Meffengers above,
Its gaudy Wings to my Directions move.
Haft thou furvey'd the Ocean's dark Abodes,
The fteep Defcents, the Vaults and craggy Roads,
Thro' which, in hollow Murmurs, rufh the ne
ther Floods?
Or haft thou meafur'd the prodigious Store
Of Waves, that in thofe ghaftly Caverns roar?`
Or haft thou, Job, the fatal Valley trac'd,
And thro' the Realms of Death undaunted pafs'd,
Where the pale King a rufly Sceptre wields,
And reigns a Tyrant o'er the dufky Fields?
Doft thou the pure immortal Fountain know,
From whence thofe num'rous Streams of Glory
Which feed thofe 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 fpread the fudden Day,
When, breaking from the Eaft, 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
ftray,
Doft thou the Clouds amidst the Air fuftain,
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 themfelves, thro' folid Clouds, a Way.
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