The branches bend laden with life and blifs Hold fast the golden chain let down from heaven, 'Twill help your feet and wings; I feel its force Draw upwards; fatten'd to the pearly gate It guides the way unerring: Happy clue Through this dark wild! 'Twas wisdom's nobleft work, All join'd by power divine, and every link is love. To Mr. T. BRADBURY. PARADISE. 1703. YOUNG I leave my country all in tears, But heaven demands me upward, and I dare to go. Amongst ye, friends, divide and share If The remnant of my days, ye have patience, and can bear A long fatigue of life, and drudge through all the race. Hark, my fair guardian chides my stay, 66 Angel, I come; lead on the way :" I fail aloft through azure feas, Farewell, ye planets, in your spheres ; I ftretch the pinions of a bolder thought; Deferts of trackless light and all th' ethereal waste, There on the wing a guard of cherubs lies, And well defends the walls from fieges and furprize. With pleasing reverence I behold The pearly portals wide unfold: Sit fast upon the flying Mufe, And let thy roving wonder loose Noon ftands eternal here: here may thy fight Joy must beat high in every vein,. And banish every care. See how the bubbling springs of love The ftreams in cryftal channels move, Here may thy greedy fenfes feaft And drink profuse falvation from the filver flood, In facred order rang'd along Saints new-releas'd by death Join the bold feraph's warbling breath, And aid th' immortal fong. I was all ear! Through all my powers the heavenly accents roll, I long'd and wifh'd my Bradbury there; "The dull unwinding of life's tedious thread, "But burft the vital chords to reach the happy dead." And now my tongue prepares to join In vain I fought the fcenes of light For all around them ftood my curtains and the night. Strict Religion very rare. I'M borne aloft, and leave the crowd, Skirted with dawning gold: Mine eyes beneath the opening day Are thefe the things (my paffion cry'd) "That we call men? Are thefe ally'd "To "To the fair worlds of light? 86 They have ras'd out their Maker's name, "Graven on their minds with pointed flame "In ftrokes divinely bright. "Wretches! they hate their native skies; "If an ethereal thought arife, "Or fpark of virtue fhine, "With cruel force they damp its'plumes, "Choke the young fire with fenfual fumes, "With business, luft, or wine. "Lo! how they throng with panting breath "The broad defcending road "That leads unerring down to death, "Nor mifs the dark abode." Thus while I drop a tear or two I faw them help each other's flight, They foar beyond my labouring fight, But not their love, below. N 4 |