Placing all knowledge there :
And lovers in their mistress' eyes
Contract those wonders of the skies,
And seek no higher sphere.
The wand'ring pilot sweats to find
The causes that produce the wind
Still gazing on the pole :
The politician scorns all art,

But what doth pride and pow'r impart,
And swells th' ambitious soul.

But he whom heavenly fire doth warm
And 'gainst these potent follies arm,
Doth soberly disdain

All these fond human mysteries,
As the deceitful and unwise
Distempers of our brain.

He, as a burden, bears his clay,
Yet vainly throws it not away
On ev'ry idle cause:

But with the same untroubled eye
Can or resolve to live or die,

Regardless of th' applause.

My God! if 'tis thy great decree
That this must the last moment be
Wherein I breathe this air;
My heart obeys, joy'd to retreat
From the false favours of the great
And treach'ry of the fair.

When thou shalt please this soul t' enthrone
Above impure corruption;

What should I grieve or fear,
To think this breathless body must
Become a loathsome heap of dust,
And ne'er again appear?

For in the fire when ore is tried,
And by that torment purified,

Do we deplore the loss?

And when thou shalt my soul refine,
That it thereby may purer shine,
Shall I grieve for the dross?

44. Meditation on Death. LANSDOWNE.

ENOUGH, enough, my soul, of woridly noise,
Of airy pomps, and fleeting joys;
What doth this busy world provide at best
But brittle goods, that break like glass,
But poison'd sweets, a troubled feast,
And pleasures like the winds, that in a mo-
ment pass?

Thy thoughts to nobler meditations give,
And study how to die, not how to live.

How frail is beauty! Ah, how vain,

And how short-liv'd those glories are, That vex our nights and days with pain, And break our hearts with care! In dust we no distinction see, Such Helen is; such, Myra, thou must be. How short is life! why will vain courtiers toil,| And crowd a vainer monarch, for a smile? What is that monarch, but a mortal man, His crown a pageant, and his life a span ?

With all his guards, and his dominions, he
Must sicken too, and die as well as we.
Those boasted names of conquerors and kings
Are swallow'd and become forgotten things;
One destin'd period men in common have,
The great, the base, the coward, and the
brave,
[grave:

All food alike for worms, companions in the
The prince and parasite together lie,
No fortune can exalt, but death will climb as
high.

§ 45. The Nunc Dimittis. MERRICK. "Tis enough-the hour is come: Now within the silent tomb Let this mortal frame decay, Mingled with its kindred clay; Since thy mercies, oft of old By thy chosen seers foretold, Faithful now and steadfast prove, God of truth, and God of love! Since at length my aged eye Sees the day spring from on high, Sun of righteousness, to thee, Lo! the nations bow the knee; And the realms of distant kings Own the healing of thy wings. Those whom death had overspread With his dark and dreary shade, Lift their eyes, and from afar Hail the light of Jacob's Star; Waiting till the promis'd ray Turn their darkness into day. See the beams intensely shed, Shine o'er Sion's favor'd head! Never may they hence remove, God of truth and God of love!

646. The Benedicite paraphrased.
MERRICK

YE works of God, on him alone,
In earth his footstool, heav'n his throne,
Be all your praise bestow'd;
Whose hand the beauteous fabric made,
Whose eye the finish'd work survey'd,
And saw that all was good

Ye angels, that with loud acclaim
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,

And hail'd the Eternal King,
Again proclaim your Maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raise,

And touch the tuneful string.

Praise him, ye blest ethereal plains,
Where, in full majesty, he deigns
To fix his awful throne:
Ye waters that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
O make his praises known!
Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful songs with ours;
With us your voices raise!

Let wonder seize the heavenly train,
Pleas'd while they hear a mortal strain
So sweet, so like their own.

And you your thankful voices join,
That oft at Salem's sacred shrine

Before his altars kneel;

Where thron'd in majesty he dwells,
And from the mystic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.

Ye spirits of the just and good,
That, eager for the bless'd abode,

To heavenly mansions soar;
O let your songs his praise display,
Till heaven itself shall melt away,

And time shall be no more!

Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye saints, whom his decrees ordain

The boundless bliss to share;
O praise him, till ye take your way
To regions of eternal day,

And reign for ever there.

Let us, who now impassive stand,
Aw'd by the tyrant's stern command,
Amid the fiery blaze;

While thus we triumph in the flame.
Rise, and our Maker's love proclaim,
In hymns of endless praise.

§ 47. A Funeral Hymn. MALLET.
YE midnight shades, o'er nature spread!
Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
In honor of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,

On this pale ground,

Through all this deep surrounding gloom,
The sober thought,
The tear untaught,
Those meetest mourners at a tomb.
Lo! as the surplic'd train drew near
To this last mansion of mankind,
The slow sad bell, the sable bier,
In holy musing wrapt the mind!
And while their beam,
With trembling stream,
Attending tapers faintly dart;
Each mould'ring bone,
Each sculptur'd stone,
Strikes mute instruction to the heart!

Now let the sacred organ blow,
With solemn pause, and sounding slow;
Now let the voice due measure keep,
In strains that sigh, and words that weep;
Till all the vocal current blended roll,
Not to depress, but lift the soaring soul:

To lift it in the Maker's praise,

Who first inform'd our frame with breath; And, after some few storiny days, Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death No King of Fears

In him appears,

§ 48. Veni Creator Spiritus, paraphrased. DRYDEN.

CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit ev'ry pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind.
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.

O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promis'd Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy!

Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
Whose pow'r does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown thy gift with eloquence!

Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts.
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;

And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down
Chase from our minds th' infernal foe
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truth receive,
And practise all that we believe;
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend th' Almighty Father's name:
Thy Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died:
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

§ 49. A Night Piece. MISS CARTER.
WHILE night in solemn shade invests the pole,
And calm reflection sooths the pensive soul,
While reason undisturb'd asserts her sway,
And life's deceitful colors fade away;
To thee! all-conscious Presence! I devote
This peaceful interval of sober thought;

Here all my better faculties confine;
And be this hour of sacred silence thine!
If, by the day's illusive scenes misled,
My erring soul from virtue's path has stray'd;
Snar'd by example, or by passion warm'd,
Some false delight my giddy sense has charm'd;
My calmer thoughts the wretched choice re-
prove,

And my best hopes are centred in thy love.
Depriv'd of this can life one joy afford?
Its utmost boast a vain unmeaning word

But, ah! how oft my lawless passions rove, And break those awful precepts I approve! Pursue the fatal impulse I abhor,

And violate the virtue I adore!

Oft when thy better Spirit's guardian care, Warn'd my fond soul to shun the tempting

snare,

My stubborn will his gentle aid repress'd,
And check'd the rising goodness in my breast;
Mad with vain hopes, or urg'd by false desires,
Still'd his soft voice, and quench'd his sacred
fires.

[dust,

With grief oppress'd, and prostate in the Shouldst thou condemn, I own thy sentence just.

But, oh! thy softer titles let me cla.m,
And plead my cause by Mercy's gentle name.
Mercy! that wipes the penitential tear,
And dissipates the horrors of despair!
From righteous justice steals the vengeful hour,
Softens the dreadful attribute of pow'r,
Disarms the wrath of an offended God,
And seals my pardon in a Saviour's blood!
All pow'rful Grace, exert thy gentle way,
And teach my rebel passions to obey;
Lest lurking Folly, with insidious art,
Regain my volatile inconstant heart'
Shall every high resolve Devotion frames
Be only lifeless sounds and specious names?
Oh rather, while thy hopes and fears control,
In this still hour, each motion of my soul,
Secure its safety by a sudden doom,
And be the soft retreat of sleep my tomb!
Calm let me slumber in that dark repose,
Till the last morn its orient beam disclose:
Then, when the great archangel's potent sound
Shall echo through creation's ample round,
Wak'd from the sleep of death, with joy survey
The opening splendors of eternal day.

§ 50. Written at Midnight in a Thunder Storm. CARTER.

LET coward Guilt, with pallid fear,
To shelt'ring caverns fly,
And justly dread the vengeful fate
That thunders through the sky.
Protected by that hand, whose law
The threat'ning storms obey,
Intrepid virtue smiles secure,
As in the blaze of day.

In the thick cloud's tremendous gloom,
The lightning's lurid glare.

It views the same all-gracious Pow'r
That breathes the vernal air.
Through Nature's ever-varying scene,
By different ways pursued,
The one eternal end of Heav'n
Is universal good:

With like beneficent effect

O'er flaming ether glows,
As when it tunes the linnet's voice,
Or blushes in the rose.

By reason taught to scorn those fears
That vulgar minds molest,
Let no fantastic terrors break
My dear Narcissa's rest.

Thy life may all the tend'rest care

Of Providence defend; And delegated angels round

Their guardian wings extend! When thro' creation's vast expanse The last dread thunders roll, Untune the concord of the spheres, And shake the rising soul; Unmov'd mayst thou the final storm Of jarring worlds survey, That ushers in the glad serene Of everlasting day!

§ 51. The Vanity of Human Wishes.
JOHNSON.

In Imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal.
LET* observation with extensive view
Survey mankind, from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life:
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of
fate,
[pride
Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous
To tread the dreary paths without a guide;
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant

voice :

How nations sink by darling schemes opprest,
When vengeance listens to the fool's request.
Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,
Each gift of nature, and each grace of art;
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows;
Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful
breath,

And restless fire precipitates on death. [bold
But, scarce observ'd, the knowing and the
Fall in the general massacre of gold:
Wide-wasting pest, that rages unconfin'd,
And crowds with crimes the records of man-
kind!

For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;

* Ver. 1-11. † Ver. 12-22

buys;

The dangers gather as the treasures rise.
Let hist'ry tell where rival kings command,
And dubious title shakes the madden'd land,
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
How much more safe the vassal than the lord:
Low sculks the hind beneath the rage of
pow'r,

And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower,
Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound,
Though confiscation's vultures hover round.

The needy traveller, serene and gay,
Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.
Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding
joy;

Increase his riches, and his peace destroy.
New fears in dire vicissitude invade,
The rustling break alarms, and quiv'ring shade;
Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief,
One shows the plunder, and one hides the
thief.

Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails, And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales; Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, Th' insidious rival and the gaping heir.

Oncet more, Democritus, arise on earth, With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth, See motley life in modern trappings drest, And feed with varied fools th' eternal jest: Thou who couldst laugh where want enchain'd caprice,

Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece; Where wealth unlov'd without a mourner died; And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate,

Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws,

And senates heard before they judg'd a cause;
How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish
tribe,
[gibe?
Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing
Attentive truth and nature to descry,
And pierce each scene with philosophic eye,
To thee were solemn toys or empty show,
The robes of pleasure and the veils of woe;
All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain,
Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are
vain.
[mind,
Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's
Renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind;
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare,
Search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry pray'r.
Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's
gate,

Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great;
Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant call,
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.
On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend,
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their
end.

Ver. 23-27. † Ver. 28-55. Ver. 56-107. VOL. V: Nos. 69 & 70.

door

Pours in the morning worshipper no more;
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies,
To growing wealth the dedicator flies:
From ev'ry room descends the painted face,
That hung the bright palladium of the place,
And smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold,
To better features yields the frame of gold;
For now no more we trace in ev'ry line
Heroic worth, benevolence divine;
The form distorted justifies the fall,
And detestation rides th' indignant wall.
But will not Britain hear the last appeal,
Sign her foes' doom, or guard her favʼrites'
zeal?
[rings,

Thro' Freedom's sons no more remonstrance
Degrading nobles, and controlling kings;
Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats,
And ask no questions but the price of votes ;
With weekly libels, and septennial ale,
Their wish is full to riot and to rail.

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand:
To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs
consign,

Thro' him the rays of regal bounty shine;
Turn'd by his nod the stream of honor flows,
His smile alone security bestows:
Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r;
Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances
pow'r ;

Till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize.
At length his sov'reign frowns-the train of

Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to
Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye,
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly:
Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, with maladies opprest,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings
Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace
[thine?
Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be
Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content,
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent?
For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate,
On weak foundations raise th' enormous
weight?

repine,

Why but to sink, beneath misfortune's blow, With louder ruins to the gulphs below?

What gave great Villiers to th' assassin's