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Cease, man of woman born, to hope relief From daily trouble and continued grief; Thy hope of joy deliver to the wind, Suppress thy passions, and prepare thy mind ; Free and familiar with misfortune grow, Be us'd to sorrow, and inur'd to woe; By weakening toil and hoary age o'ercome, See thy decrease, and hasten to thy tomb; Leave to thy children tumult, strife, and war, Portions of toil, and legacies of care; Send the successive ills through ages down, And let each weeping father tell his son, That deeper struck, and more distinctly griev'd, He must augment the sorrows he receiv'd. "The child to whose success thy hope is bound, Ere thou art scarce interr'd, or he is crown'd, To lust of arbitrary sway inclin'd, (That cursed poison to the prince's mind!) Shall from thy dictates and his duty rove, And lose his great defence, his people's love; Ill-counsell'd, vanquish'd, fugitive, disgrac'd, Shall mourn the fame of Jacob's strength effac'd; Shall sigh the king diminish'd, and the crown With lessen'd rays descending to his son; Shall see the wreaths, his grandsire knew to reap By active toil and military sweat, Pining, incline their sickly leaves, and shed Their falling honors from his giddy head; By arms or prayer unable to assuage Domestic horror and intestine rage, Shall from the victor and the vanquish'd fear, From Israel's arrow, and from Judah's spear; Shall cast his wearied limbs on Jordan's flood, By brother's arms disturb'd, and stain'd with kindred blood.
[race, "Hence laboring years shall weep their destin'd Charg'd with ill omens, sullied with disgrace. Time, by necessity compell'd, shall go Through scenes of war, and epochas of woe. The empire, lessen'd in a parted stream, Shall lose its course
Indulge thy tears: the Heathen shall blaspheme;
Judah shall fall, oppress'd by grief and shame,
And men shall from her ruins know her fame.
"New Egypts yet and second bonds remain,
A harsher Pharaoh, and a heavier chain.
Again, obedient to a dire command,
Thy captive sons shall leave the promis'd land. Their name more low, their servitude more vile, Shall on Euphrates' bank renew the grief of Nile. "These pointed spires, that wound the ambient sky,
(Inglorious change!) shall in destruction lie
Low, levell'd with the dust; their heights unknown,
Or measur'd by their ruin. Yonder throne,
For lasting glory built, design'd the seat
Of kings for ever blest, for ever great,
Remov'd by the invader's barbarous hand,
Shall grace his triumph in a foreign land.
The tyrant shall demand yon sacred load
Of gold, and vessels set apart to GOD,
Then, by vile hands to common use debas'd,
Shall send them flowing round his drunken feast,
With sacrilegious taunt, and impious jest.
"Twice fourteen ages shall their way complete;
Empires by various turns shall rise and set;
While thy abandon'd tribes shall only know
A different master, and a change of woe,
With down-cast eye-lids, and with looks aghast,
Shall dread the future, or bewail the past.
"Afflicted Israel shall sit weeping down, Fast by the stream where Babel's waters run; Their harps upon the neighboring willows hung, Nor joyous hymn encouraging their tongue, Nor cheerful dance their feet; with toil oppress'd, Their wearied limbs aspiring but to rest. In the reflective stream the sighing bride, Viewing her charms impair'd, abash'd, shall hide Her pensive head; and in her languid face The bridegroom shall foresee his sickly race, While ponderous fetters vex their close embrace. With irksome anguish then your priests shall mourn Their long-neglected feasts' despair'd return, And sad oblivion of their solemn days. Thenceforth their voices they shall only raise, Louder to weep. By day, your frighted seer's Shall call for fountains to express their tears, And wish their eyes were floods; by night, from dreams
Of opening gulfs, black storms, and raging flames, Starting amaz'd, shall to the people show Emblems of heavenly wrath, and mystic types of woe. "The captives, as their tyrant shall require That they should breathe the song, and touch the lyre,
Shall say: Can Jacob's servile race rejoice,
Untun'd the music, and disus'd the voice?
What can we play,' (they shall discourse,) how sing
In foreign lands, and to a barbarous king?
We and our fathers, from our childhood bred
To watch the cruel victor's eye, to dread
The arbitrary lash, to bend, to grieve,
(Outcast of mortal race!) can we conceive
Image of aught delightful, soft, or gay?
Alas! when we have toil'd the longsome day,
The fullest bliss our hearts aspire to know
Is but some interval from active woe,
In broken rest and startling sleep to mourn,
Till morn, the tyrant, and the scourge, return.
Bred up in grief, can pleasure be our theme?
Our endless anguish does not Nature claim?
Reason and sorrow are to us the same.
Alas! with wild amazement we require,
If idle Folly was not Pleasure's fire?
Madness, we fancy, gave an ill-tim'd birth
To grinning Laughter, and to frantic Mirth.'
"This is the series of perpetual woe,
Which thou, alas! and thine, are born to know.
Illustrious wretch! repine not, nor reply:
View not what Heaven ordains with Reason's eye;
Too bright the object is; the distance is too high.
The man who would resolve the work of Fate,
May limit number, and make crooked straight:
Stop thy inquiry then, and curb thy sense,
Nor let dust argue with Omnipotence.
'Tis GOD who must dispose, and man sustain,
Born to endure, forbidden to complain.
Thy sum of life must his decrees fulfil;
What derogates from his command, is ill;
And that alone is good which centres in his will
"Yet, that thy laboring senses may not droop,
Lost to delight, and destitute of hope,
Remark what I, GOD's messenger, aver
From him, who neither can deceive nor err.
The land, at length redeem'd, shall cease to mourn
Shall from her sad captivity return.
Sion shall raise her long-dejected head,
And in her courts the law again be read.
Again the glorious temple shall arise,
And with new lustre pierce the neighboring skies
The promis'd seat of empire shall again
Cover the mountain, and command the plain;
And, from thy race distinguish'd, one shall spring,
Greater in act than victor, more than king
In dignity and power, sent down from heaven,
To succor Earth. To him, to him, 'tis given,
Passion, and care, and anguish, to destroy.
Through him, soft peace, and plenitude of joy,
Perpetual o'er the world redeem'd shall flow;
No more may man inquire, nor angel know.
"Now, Solomon! remembering who thou art,
Act through thy remnant life the decent part.
Go forth be strong with patience and with care
Perform, and suffer: to thyself severe,
Gracious to others, thy desires suppress'd,
Diffus'd thy virtues; first of men! be best.
Thy sum of duty let two words contain;
(O may they graven in thy heart remain!)
Be humble, and be just." The angel said :-
With upward speed his agile wings he spread;
Whilst on the holy ground I prostrate lay,
By various doubts impell'd, or to obey,
Or to object; at length (my mournful look
Heaven-ward erect) determin'd, thus I spoke :
"Supreme, all-wise, eternal Potentate!
Sole Author, sole Disposer of our fate!
Enthron'd in light and immortality,
Whom no man fully sees, and none can see!
Original of beings! Power divine!
Since that I live, and that I think, is thine!
Benign Creator! let thy plastic hand
Dispose its own effect; let thy command
Restore, Great Father! thy instructed son;
And in my act may thy great will be done!"
THE THIEF AND THE CORDELIER,
To the Tune of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.
WHO has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave; Where Honor and Justice most oddly contribute To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There Death breaks the shackles which Force had put on,
And the hangman completes what the judge but begun;
There the squire of the pad, and the knight of the
The squire, whose good grace was to open the
Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin :
Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart,
And often took leave, but was loth to depart.
Derry down, &c.
"What frightens you thus, my good son?" says the priest:
"You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confest." "O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon; For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken." Derry down, &c.
"Pugh! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy head with
Rely on the aid you shall have from Saint Francis: If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest, You have only to die: let the church do the rest. Derry down, &c.
“And what will folks say, if they see you afraid? It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade: Courage, friend; for to-day is your period of sorrow; And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.' Derry down, &c.
"To-morrow!" our hero replied, in a fright: "He that's hang'd before noon, ought to thing of tonight."
"Tell your beads," quoth the priest, "and be fairly truss'd up,
For you surely to-night shall in Paradise sup."
Derry down, &c.
"Alas!" quoth the squire, "howe'er sumptuous the treat,
Parbleu! I shall have little stomach to eat;
I should therefore esteem it great favor and grace.
Would you be so kind as to go in my place."
Derry down, &c.
"That I would," quoth the father, "and thank you to boot;
But our actions, you know, with our duty must suit
The feast I propos'd to you, I cannot taste;
For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast."
Derry down, &e.
Then, turning about to the hangman, he said,
"Dispatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade;
For thy cord and my cord both equally tie,
And we live by the gold for which other men die..
Derry down, &c.
In vain you tell your parting lover,
You wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows, and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose:
That, thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain;
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows, and cold disdain.
THE pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink, and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Chloe's hair.
At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flowers less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.
The flowers she wore along the day:
And every nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.
Undrest at evening, when she found
Their odors lost, their colors past;
She chang'd her look, and on the ground
Her garland and her eye she cast.
That eye dropt sense distinct and clear,
As any Muse's tongue could speak,
When from its lid a pearly tear
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.
The reason of the thing is clear,
Would Jove the naked truth aver.
Cupid was with him of the party,
And show'd himself sincere and hearty;
For, give that whipster but his errand,
He takes my lord chief justice' warrant:
Dauntless as Death, away he walks;
Breaks the doors open, snaps the locks;
Searches the parlor, chamber, study;
Nor stops till he has culprit's body.
"Since this has been authentic truth,
By age deliver'd down to youth;
Tell us, mistaken husband, tell us,
Why so mysterious, why so jealous?
Does the restraint, the bolt, the bar,
Make us less curious, her less fair?
The spy, which does this treasure keep,
Does she ne'er say her prayers, nor sleep?
Does she to no excess incline?
Does she fly music, mirth, and wine?
Or have not gold and flattery power
To purchase one unguarded hour?
"Your care does further yet extend:
That spy is guarded by your friend.-
But has this friend nor eye nor heart?
May he not feel the cruel dart,
Which, soon or late, all mortals feel?
May he not, with too tender zeal,
Give the fair prisoner cause to see,
How much he wishes she were free?
May he not craftily infer
The rules of friendship too severe,
Which chain him to a hated trust;
Which make him wretched, to be just?
And may not she, this darling she,
Youthful and healthy, flesh and blood, Easy with him, ill us'd by thee,
Allow this logic to be good?"
"Sir, will your questions never end?
I trust to neither spy nor friend.
In short, I keep her from the sight
Of every human face."-" She'll write."-
"From pen and paper she's debarr'd."-
"Has she a bodkin and a card?
She'll prick her mind."- "She will, you say:
But how shall she that mind convey?
I keep her in one room: I lock it:
The key, (look here,) is in this pocket."— "The key-hole, is that left?"-" Most cer
"She'll thrust her letter through, Sir Martin.”
"Dear, angry friend, what must be done?
"Is there no way?"- "There is but one.
Send her abroad: and let her see,
That all this mingled mass, which she,
Being forbidden, longs to know,
Is a dull farce, an empty show,
Powder, and pocket-glass, and beau;
A staple of romance and lies,
False tears and real perjuries:
Where sighs and looks are bought and sold,
And love is made but to be told:
Where the fat bawd and lavish heir
The spoils of ruin'd beauty share;
And youth, seduc'd from friends and fame.
Must give up age to want and shame.
Let her behold the frantic scene,
The women wretched, false the men:
And when, these certain ills to shun,
She would to thy embraces run,
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise,
But with my numbers mix my sighs;
And, whilst I sing Euphelia's praise,
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.
Fair Chloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd;
I sung, and gaz'd; I play'd and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around
Remark'd, how ill we all dissembled.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.
In imitation of a Greek Idyllium.
CELIA and I, the other day,
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting Sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost:
And, on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep:
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.
But, oh the change! the winds grow high; Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight:
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.
"Once more, at least, look back," said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good-humor drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The Sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of Love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.