With much of pomp and show

(As conquering kings in triumph go)

Did he to heaven approach,

[coach.

And wondrous was his way, and wondrous was his

'Twas gaudy all; and rich in every part

Of effences, of gems; and spirit of gold
Was its fubftantial mould,

Drawn forth by chemic angels' art.
Here with moon-beams 'twas filver'd bright,
There double-gilt with the fun's light;
And mystic shapes cut round in it,
Figures that did transcend a vulgar angel's wit.

The horses were of temper'd lightning made,
Of all that in Heaven's beauteous pastures feed
The nobleft, fprightful'ft breed;

And flaming manes their necks array'd:
They all were fhod with diamond,

Not fuch as here are found,

But fuch light folid ones as fhine

On the transparent rocks o' th' Heaven-crystalline

Thus mounted the great Prophet to the skies ;
Astonish'd men, who oft had seen stars fall,
Or that which fo they call,

Wonder'd from hence to fee one rife.

The foft clouds melted him a way;
The fnow and frosts which in it lay

Awhile the facred footsteps bore;

The wheels and horfes' hoofs hizz'd as they past them o'er!

He

He past by th' moon and planets, and did fright
All the worlds there which at this meteor gaz'd,
And their aftrologers amaz'd

With th' unexampled fight.

But where he stopp'd will ne'er be known,
Till Phoenix Nature, aged grown,

To' a better being do aspire,

And mount herself, like him, to' eternity in fire..

ΤΟ THE NEW YEAR.

GREAT Janus! (who doft fure my mistress view

With all thine eyes, yet think'ft them all too few)
If thy fore-face do fee

No better things prepar'd for me,

Than did thy face behind ;

If ftill her breast muft fhut against me be

(For 'tis not Peace that temple's gate does bind)`; Oh, let my life, if thou fo many deaths a coming find, With thine old year its voyage take,

Borne down that stream of Time which no return can make!

Alas! what need I thus to pray?
Th' old avaricious year,

Whether I would or no, will bear

At least a part of me away :

His

His well-hors'd troops, the months, and days, and hours, Though never any-where they stay,

Make in their paffage all their prey;

The months, days, hours, that march i' th' rear can find Nought of value left behind.

All the good wine of life our drunken youth devours ; Sournefs and lees, which to the bottom fink,

Remain for latter years to drink;

Until, fome one offended with the taste,

The veffel breaks, and out the wretched relics run at last..

If then, young Year! thou needft must come
(For in Time's fruitful womb

The Birth beyond its time can never tarry,
Nor ever can miscarry);

Chufe thy attendants well; for 'tis not thee
We fear, but 'tis thy company:

Let neither Lofs of Friends, or Fame, or Liberty,
Nor pining Sickness, nor tormenting Pain,
Nor Sadnefs, nor uncleanly Poverty,

Be feen among thy train:

Nor let thy livery be

Either black Sin, or gaudy Vanity :

Nay, if thou lov'ft me, gentle Year!

Let not fo much as Love be there;

Vain fruitless Love, I mean; for, gentle Year!
Although I fear,

There's of this caution little need,

Yet, gentle Year! take heed

How

How thou dost make

Such a mistake:

Such Love I mean, alone,

As by thy cruel predeceffors has been shown; For, though I have too much cause to doubt it, fain would try for once if Life can live without it.

Into the future times why do we pry,

And feek to antedate our mifery?

Like jealous men, why are we longing still
To fee the thing which only feeing makes an ill?
'Tis well the face is veil'd; for 'twere a fight
That would ev'n happiest men affright;

And fomething still they 'd spy that would destroy
The paft and present joy.

In whatsoever character

The book of Fate is writ,

'Tis well we understand not it;

We should grow mad with little learning there:
Upon the brink of every ill we did foresee,

Undecently and foolishly

We should stand fhivering, and but slowly venture
The fatal flood to enter.

Since, willing or unwilling, we must do it,

They feel least cold and pain who plunge at once into it.

LIFE

W

L IF E.

"Nafcentes Morimur."

E're ill by these grammarians us'd;

MANIL.

We are abus'd by words, grossly abus'd:
From the maternal tomb,

To the grave's fruitful womb,

We call here Life; but Life 's a name
That nothing here can truly claim:
This wretched inn, where we scarce stay to bait,
We call our dwelling-place;

We call one step a race:

But angels, in their full enlighten'd state,
Angels, who Live, and know what 'tis to Be;
Who all the nonfenfe of our language fee;

Who fpeak Things, and our words, their ill-drawn pictures, fcorn;

When we, by' a foolish figure, fay,.
"Behold an old man dead!" then they

Speak properly, and cry, "Behold a man-child born!".

My eyes are open'd, and I see

Through the tranfparent fallacy:

Because we feem wifely to talk

Like men of bufinefs; and for business walk

From place to place,

And mighty voyages we take,

And mighty journeys feem to make,

O'er fea and land, the little point that has no space :

VOL. II.

E

Becaufe