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The god for ever great, for ever king,
Who slew the earth-born race, and measures right
To Heaven's great habitan's? Dictæan hear'st thou
More joyful, or Lycæan, long dispute
And various thought has trac'd. On Ida's mount,
Or Dicte, studious of his country's praise,
The Cretan boasts thy natal place: but oft
He meets reproof deserv'd: for he, presumptuous,
Has built a tomb for thee, who never know'st
To die, but liv'st the same to day and ever.
Arcadian therefore be thy birth: Great Rhea,
Pregnant to high Parrhasia's cliffs retir'd,
And wild Lycarus, black with shading pines:
Holy retreat! sithence no female hither,
Conscious of social love and Nature's rites,
Must dare approach, from the inferior reptile
To woman, form divine. There the blest parent
Ungirt her spacious bosom, and discharg'd
The pondrous birth; she sought a neighbouring spring
To wash the recent babe; in vain: Arcadia,
(However streamy) now adust and dry,
Deny'd the goddess water; where deep Melas
And rocky Cratis flow, the chariot smok'd,
Obscure with rising dust: the thirsty traveller
In vain requir'd the current, then imprison'd
In subterraneous caverns: forests grew
Upon the barren hollows high o'ershading
The haunts of savage beasts, where now laon
And Frimanth incline their friendly urns.
"Thou too, O Earth," great Rhea said, “bring
And short shall be thy pangs." She said; and high
She rear'd her arm, and with her sceptre struck
The yawning cliff: from its disparted height
Adown the mount the gashing torrent ran,
And cheer'd the vallies: there the heavenly mother Bath'd, mighty king, thy tender limbs: she wrapt
In purple bands: she gave the precious pledge
To prudent Neda, charging her to guard thee,
Careful and secret; Neda, of the nymphs
That tended the great birth, next Philyre
And Styx, the eldest. Smiling, she receiv'd thee,
And, conscious of the grace, absolv'd her trust:
Not unrewarded; since the river bore
The favourite virgin's name; fair Neda rolls
By Leprion's ancient walls, a fruitful stream.
Fast by her flowery bank the sons of Arcas,
Favourites of Heaven, with happy care protect
Their fleecy charge; and joyous drink her wave.
Thee, god, to Cnossus Neda brought; the
And Corybantes thee, their sacred charge,
Receiv'd: Adraste rock'd thy golden cradle:
The goat, now bright amidst her fellow-stars,
Kind Amalthea, reach'd her teat distent
With milk, thy early food: the sedulous bee
Distill'd her honey on thy purple lips.
Around, the fierce Curetes (order solemn
To thy fore knowing mother!) trod tumultuous
Their mystic dance, and clang'd their sounding
Industrious with the warlike din to quell [arms,
Thy infant cries, and mock the ear of Saturn:
Swift growth and wondrous grace, O heavenly
Waited thy blooming years: inventive wit, [Jove,
And perfect judgment, crown'd thy youthful act.
That Saturn's sons receiv'd the three-fold empire
Of Heaven, of ocean, and deep Hell beneath,
As the dark urn and chance of lot determin'd,
Old poets mention, fabling. Things of moment,
Well nigh equivalent and neighbouring value,
By lot are parted: but high Heaven, thy share,
In equal balance laid 'gainst sea or Hell,
Flings up the adverse scale, and shuns proportion.
Wherefore not chance, but power above thy bre
Exalted thee their king. When thy great will
Commands thy chariot forth, impetuous strength
And fiery swiftness wing the rapid wheels,
Incessant; high the eagle flies before thee.
And oh! as I and mine consult thy augur,
Grant the glad omen: let thy favourite rise
Propitious, ever soaring from the right.
Thou to the lesser gods hast well assign'd
Their proper shares of power: thy own, great Jove,
Boundless and universal. Those who labour
The sweaty forge, who edge the crooked scythe,
Bend stubborn steel, and harden gleening armour,
Acknowledge Vulcan's aid. The early hunter
Blesses Diana's hand, who leads him safe
O'er hanging cliffs, who spreads his net successful,
And guides the arrow through the panther's heart.
The soldier, from successful camps returning
With laurel wreath'd, and rich with hostile spoil
Severs the bull to Mars. The skilful bard,
Striking the Thracian harp, invokes Apollo,
To make his hero and himself immortal.
Those, mighty Jove, mean time, thy glorious care,
Who model nations, publish laws, announce
Or life or death, and found or change the empire.
Man owns the power of kings; and kings of Jove.
And, as their actions tend subordinate
To what thy will designs, thou giv'st the means
Proportion'd to the work; thou seest impartial
How they those means employ. Each monarch
His different realm, accountable to thee,
Great ruler of the world: these only have
To speak and be obey'd; to those are given
Assistant days to ripen the design;
To some whole months, revolving years to some;
Others, ill-fated, are condemn'd to toil
Their tedious life, and mourn their purpose blasted
With fruitless act, and impotence of council.
Hail! greatest son of Saturn, wise disposer
Of every good: thy praise what man yet born
Has sung? or who that may be born shall sing?
Again, and often hail! indulge our prayer,
Great father! grant us virtue, grant us wealth:
For, without virtue, wealth no man avails not;
And virtue without wealth exerts less power,
And less diffuses good. Then grant us, gracious,
Virtue and wealth; for both are of thy gift!
THE SECOND HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS.
HA! how the laurel, great Apollo's tree,
And all the cavern shakes! far off, far off,
The man that is unhallow'd: for the god,
The god approaches. Hark! he knocks; the gates
Feel the glad impulse; and the sever'd bars
Submissive clink against their brazen portals.
Why do the Delian palms incline their boughs,
Self-mov'd? and hovering swans, their throats rom
From native silence, carol sounds harmonious?
Begin, young men, the hymn: iet all your
Break their inglorious silence; and the dance,
In mystic numbers trod, explain the music.
But first, by ardent prayer, and clear lustration,
Purge the contagious spots of human weakness:
Impure no mortal can behold Apollo.
So may ye flourish, favour'd by the god,
In youth with happy nuptials; and in age
With silver hair, and fair descent of children!
So lay foundations for aspiring cities,
And bless your spreading colonies' increase!
Pay sacred reverence to Apollo's song;
Lest wrathful the far-shooting god emit
His fatal arrows. Silent Nature stands;
And seas subside, obedient to the sound
Of lö, lö Pean! nor dares Thetis,
Longer bewail her lov'd Achilles' death;
For Phoebus was his foe. Nor must sad Niobe
In fruitless sorrow persevere, or weep
Ev'n through the Phrygian marble. Hapless
Whose fondness could compare her mortal off-
To those which fair Latona bore to Jove.
lö! again repeat ye, lö Pean!
Against the deity 'tis hard to strive.
He, that resists the power of Ptolemy,
Resists the power of Heaven; for power from
Derives, and monarchs rule by gods appointed.
Recite Apollo's praise, till night draws on,
The ditty still unfinish'd; and the day
Unequal to the godhead's attributes
Various, and matter copious of your songs.
Sublime at Jove's right-hand Apollo sits,
And thence distributes honour, gracious king,
And theme of verse perpetual. From his robe
Flows light ineffable: his harp, his quiver,
And Lictian bow, are gold: with golden sandals
His feet are shod; how rich! how beautiful!
Beneath his steps the yellow mineral rises,
And Earth reveals her treasures. Youth and beauty
Eternal deck his cheeks: from his fair head
Perfumes distill their sweets; and cheerful Health,
His duteous handmaid, through the air improv'd,
With lavish hand diffuses scents ambrosial.
The spearman's arm by thee, great god, directed,
Sends forth a certain wound. The laurel'd bard,
Inspir'd by thee, composes verse immortal.
Taught by thy art divine, the sage physician
Eludes the urn; and chains or exiles Death.
Thee, Nomian, we adore; for that, from Heaven
Descending, thou on fair Amphrysus' banks
Didst guard Admetus' herds. Sithence the cow
Produc'd an ampler store of milk; the she-goat,
Not without pain, dragg'd her distended udder;
And ewes, that erst brought forth but single lambs,
Now dropp'd their two-fold burthens. Blest the
On which Apollo cast his favouring eye! [cattle,
But, Phabus, thou to man beneficent,
Delight'st in building cities. Bright Diana,
Kind sister to thy infant deity,
New-wean'd, and just arising from the cradle,
Brought hunted wild-goats' heads, and branching
Of stags, the fruit and honour of her toil. [antlers
These with discerning hand thou knew'st to range
(Young as thou wast) and in the well-fram'd
With emblematic skill, and mystic order, (models,
Thou show'st where towers or battlements should
Where gates should open, or where walls should
While from thy childish pastime man receiv'd
The future strength and ornament of nations.
Battus, our great progenitor, now touch'd
The Libyan strand: when the foreboding crow
Flew on the right before the people, marking
The country, destin'd the auspicious seat
Of future kings, and favour of the god,
Whose oath is sure, and promise stands eternal.
Or Boëdromian hear'st thou pleas'd, or Clarian
Phœbus, great king? for different are thy names,
As thy kind hand has founded many cities,
Or dealt benign thy various gifts to man.
Carnean let me call thee; for my country
Calls thee Carnean: the fair colony
Thrice by thy gracions guidance was transported,
Ere settled in Cyrene; there w' appointed
Thy annual feasts, kind god, and bless thy altara
Smoking with hecatombs of slaughter'd bulls,
As Carnus, thy high priest and favour'd friend,
Had erst ordain'd; and with mysterious rites,
Our great forefathers taught their sons to worship
Iö Carnean Phoebus! lö Pean!
The yellow crocus there and fair narcissus
Reserve the honours of their winter-store,
To deck thy temple; till returning spring
Diffuses Nature's various pride; and flowers
Innumerable, by the soft south-west
Open'd, and gather'd by religious hands,
Rebound their sweets from th' odoriferous pave-
Perpetual fires shine hallow'd on thy altars,
When annual the Carnean feast is held;
The warlike Libyans, clad in armour, lead
The dance; with clanging swords and shields they
The dreadful measure: in the chorus join
Their women, brown but beautiful: such rites
To thee well-pleasing. Nor had yet thy votaries,
From Greece transplanted, touch'd Cyrene's banks
And lands determin'd for their last abodes;
But wander'd through Azilis' horrid forest
Dispers'd; when from Myrtusa's craggy brow,
Fond of the maid, auspicious to the city,
Which must hereafter bear her favour'd name,
Thou gracious deign'st to let the fair-one view
Her typic people; thou with pleasure taught'st her
To draw the bow, to slay the shaggy lion,
And stop the spreading ruin of the plains.
Happy the nymph, who, honour'd by thy passion,
Was aided by thy power! The monstrous Python
Durst tempt thy wrath in vain: for dead he fell
To thy great strength and golden arms unequal
Iö! while thy unerring hand clane'd
Another, and another dart; the people
Joyfully repeated lö! lö Pean!
Elance the dart, Apollo: for the safety
And health of man, gracious thy mother bore thee:
Envy, thy latest foc, suggested thus:
"Like thee I am a power immortal; therefore
To thee dare speak. How canst thou favour partial
Those poets who write little? Vast and great
Is what I love: the far-extended ocean
To a small rivulet I prefer." Apollo
Spurn'd Envy with his foot; and thus the god :
"Demon, the head-long current of Euphrates,
Assyrian river, copious runs, but muddy,
And carries forward with his stupid force
Polluting dirt; his torrent still augmenting,
His wave still more defil'd: mean while the nymphe
Melissan, sacred and recluse to Ceres,
Studious to have their offerings well receiv'd,
And fit for heavenly use, from little urns
Pour streams select, and purity of waters."
Iö! Apollo, mighty king, let Envy
Ill-judging and verbose, from Lethe's lake
Draw tuns unmeasurable; while thy favour
Administers to my ambitious thirst
The wholesome draught from Aganippe's spring
Genuine, and with soft murmurs gently rilling
Adown the mountains where thy daughters haunt.
A PARAPHRASE ON THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER OF THE
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.
DID sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounc'd, or angels sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling Earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw
When Moses gave them miracles and law :
Yet, gracious Charity! indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer;
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A tymbal's sound were better than my voice;
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind,
Knows with just reins and gentle hand to guide
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives;
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings where-ever she arrives;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even,
And opens in each heart a little Heaven.
Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bound and due restriction knows;
To one fixt purpose dedicates its power,
And, finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,
And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As, through the artist's intervening glass,
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow
That more remains unseen, than art can show :
So, whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above)
High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope:
Yet we are able only to survey
Dawning of beams, and promises of day.
Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;
The Sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.
Then constant Faith and holy Hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in joy:
Whilst thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy flame,
Shalt still survive-
Shalt stand before the host of Heaven confest,
For ever blessing, and for ever blest.
CUPID IN AMBUSH.
Ir oft to many has successful been,
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean,
Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently squeeze her knees, or press her feet.
All public sports, to favour young desire,
With opportunities like this conspire.
Ev'n where his skill the gladiator shows,
With human blood where the Arena flows;
There oftentimes Love's quiver-bearing boy
Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy:
While the spectator gazes on the sight,
And sees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conquest gains;
Slily the god takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he sees he bears his part.
ENGRAVED ON A COLUMN IN THE
CHURCH OF HALSTEAD IN ESSEX ;
THE SPIRE OF WHICH, BURNT DOWN BY LIGHTNING, WAI
REBUILT AT THE EXPENCE OF MR. SAMUEL FISKE,
VIEW not this spire by measure given
To buildings rais'd by common hands:
That fabric rises high as Heaven,
Whose basis on devotion stands.
While yet we draw this vital breath,
We can our faith and hope declare ;
But charity beyond our death
Will ever in our works appear.
Best be he call'd among good men,
Who to his God this column rais'd:
Though lightning strike the dome again,
The man, who built it, shall be prais'd:
Yet spires and towers in dust shall lie,
The weak efforts of human pains;
And Faith and Hope themselves shall die,
While deathless Charity remains.
THE PROGRESS OF THE MIND.
Πάντα γέλως, καὶ πάντα μόνις, καὶ πάντα τὸ μηδέν·
Πάντα γὰρ ἐξ ἀλόγων ἐστὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα.
Incert. ap. Stobæum.
MATTHEW met Richard, when or where
From story is not mighty clear:
Of many knotty points they spoke,
And pro and con by turns they took.
Rats half the manuscript have eat:
Dire hunger! which we still regret.
O! may they ne'er again digest
The horrours of so sad a feast!
Yet less our grief, if what remains,
Dear Jacob', by thy care and pains
Shall be to future times convey'd.
It thus begins:
Here Matthew said, "Alma in verse, in prose the Mind, By Aristotle's pen defin'd,
Throughout the body, squat or tall,
Is, bona fide, all in all.
And yet, slap-dash, is all again
In every sinew, nerve, and vein:
Runs here and there, like Hamlet's ghost;
While every where she rules the roast.
"This system, Richard, we are told,
The men of Oxford firmly hold.
The Cambridge wits, you know, deny
With ipse dixit to comply.
They say, (for in good truth they speak
With small respect of that old Greek)
That, putting all his words together,
"Tis three blue beans in one blue bladder.
"Alma, they strenuously maintain,
Sits cock-horse on her throne, the brain;
And from that seat of thought dispenses
Her sovereign pleasure to the senses.
Two optic nerves, they say, she ties,
Like spectacles, across the eyes;
By which the spirits bring her word,
Whene'er the balls are fix'd or stirr'd,
How quick at park and play they strike;
The duke they court; the toast they like;
And at St. James's turn their grace
From former friends, now out of place.
"Without these aids, to be more serious,
Her power, they hold, had been precarious:
The eyes might have conspir'd her ruin,
And she not known what they were doing.
Foolish it had been, and unkind,
That they should sce, and she be blind.
"Wise Nature likewise, they suppose,
Has drawn two conduits down our nose:
Could Alma else with judgment tell
When cabbage stinks, or roses smell?
Or who would ask for her opinion
Between an oyster and an onion?
For from most bodies, Dick, you know,
Some little bits ask leave to flow;
And, as through these canals they roll,
Bring up a sample of the whole;
Like footmen running before coaches,
To tell the inn what lord approaches.
"By nerves about our palate plac'd, She likewise judges of the taste.
Else (dismal thought!) our warlike men Might drink thick port for fine champagne ; And our ill judging wives and daughters Mistake small-beer for citron-waters.
"Hence, too, that she might better hear, She sets a drum at either ear: And, loud or gentle, harsh or sweet, Are but th' alarums which they beat.
"Last, to enjoy her sense of feeling, (A thing she much delights to deal in) A thousand little nerves she sends Quite to our toes and fingers' ends; And these, in gratitude, again Return their spirits to the brain; In which their figure being printed, (As just before, I think, I hinted) Alma, inform'd, can try the case, As she had been upon the place.
"Thus, while the judge gives different journies To country council and attornies, He on the bench in quiet sits,
Deciding, as they bring the writs.
The pope thus prays and sleeps at Rome,
And very seldom stirs from home:
Yet, sending forth his holy spies,
And having heard what they advise,
He rules the church's blest dominions,
And sets men's faith by his opinions.
"The scholars of the Stagyrite,
Who for the old opinion fight,
Would make their modern friends confuse
The difference but from more to less.
The Mind, say they, while you sustain
To hold her station in the brain;
You grant, at least, she is extended:
Frgo the whole dispute is ended.
For, till to morrow should you plead,
From form and structure to the head,
The Mind as visibly is seen
Extended through the whole machine.
Why should all honour then be ta’en
From lower parts to load the brain,
When other limbs, we plainly see,
Fach in his way, as brisk as he?
For music, grant the head receive it,
It is the artist's hand that gave it ;
And, though the skull may wear the laurel,
The soldier's arm sustains the quarrel.
Besides, the nostrils, ears, and eyes.
Are not his parts, but his allies;
Ev'n what you hear the tongue proclaim
Comes ab origine from them.
What could the head perform alone,
If all their friendly aids were gone?
A foolish figure he must make;
Do nothing else but sleep and ake.
"Nor matters it, that you can show
How to the head the spirits go;
Those spirits started from some goal,
Before they through the veins could roll.
Now, we should hold them much to blame,
If they went back, before they came.
"If, therefore, as we must suppose,
They came from fingers, and from toes;
Note here, Lucretius dares to teach
(As all our youth may learn from Creech)
That eyes were made, but could not view,
Nor hands embrace, nor feet pursue :
But heedless Nature did produce
The members first, and then the use.
What each must act was yet unknown,
Till all is mov'd by Chance alone.
"A man first builds a country-seat,
Then finds the walls not good to eat.
Another plants, and wondering sees
Nor books nor medals on his trees.
Yet poet and philosopher
Was he, who durst such whims aver.
Blest, for his sake, be human reason,
That came at all, though late in season.
But no man, sure, e'er left his house,
And saddled Ball, with thoughts so wild,
To bring a midwife to his spouse,
Before he knew she was with child. And no man ever reapt his corn,
Or from the oven drew his bread,
Fre hinds and bakers yet were born,
That taught them both to sow and knead. Before they're ask'd, can maids refuse? Can"" Pray," says Dick, "hold in your Muse. While you Pindaric truths rehearse,
She hobbles in alternate verse."
Verse, Mat reply'd; "is that my care?""Go on," quoth Richard, "soft and fair."
"This looks, friend Dick, as Nature had But exercis'd the salesman's trade;
As if she haply had sat down,
And cut out clothes for all the town;
Then sent them out to Monmouth-street,
To try what persons they would fit.
But every free and licens'd taylor
Would in this thesis find a failure.
Should whims like these his head perplex,
How could he work for either sex?
His clothes, as atoms might prevail,
Might fit a pismire, or a whale.
No, no: he views with studious pleasure
Your shape, before he takes your measure.
For real Kate he made the buddice,
And not for an ideal goddess.
No erroar near his shop-board lurk'd:
He knew the folks for whom he work'd;
Still to their size he aim'd his skill:
Else, pr'ythee, who would pay his bill?
"Next, Dick, if Chance herself should vary,
Observe, how matters would miscarry;
Across your eyes, friend, place your shoes;
Your spectacles upon your toes:
Then you and Memmius shall agree
How nicely men would walk, or sce.
"But Wisdom, peevish and cross-grain'd,
Must be oppos'd, to be sustain'd;
And still your knowledge will increase,
As you make other people's less.
In arms and science 'tis the same;
Our rival's hurts create our fame.
At Faubert's, if disputes arise
Among the champions for the prize,
To prove who gave the fairer butt,
John shows the chalk on Robert's coat.
So, for the honour of your book,
It tells where other folks mistook:
And, as their notions you confound,
Those you invent get farther ground.
"The commentators on old Ari-
stotle ('tis urg'd) in judgment vary:
They to their own conceits have brought
The image of his general thought;
Just as the melancholic eye
Sees fleets and armies in the sky;
And to the poor apprentice car
The bells sound, Whittington, lord mayor.'
The conjuror thus explains his scheme;
Thus spirits walk, and prophets dream ;
North Britons thus have second-sight;
And Germans, free from gun-shot, fight.
"Theodoret and Origen,
And fifty other learned men,
Attest, that, if their comments find
The traces of their master's mind,
Alina, can ne'er decay nor die:
This flatly t' other sect deny;
Simplicius, Theophrast, Durand,
Great names, but hard in verse to stand.
They wonder men should have mistook
The tenets of their master's book,
And hold, that Alma yields her breath,
O'ercome by age, and seiz'd by death.
Now which were wise? and which were fools?
Poor Alma sits between two stools:
The more she reads, the more perplext;
The comment ruining the text:
Now fears, now hopes, her doubtful fate:
But, Richard, let her look to that—
Whilst we our own affairs pursue.
"These different systems, old or new,
A man with half an eye may see,
Were only form'd to disagree.
Now, to bring things to fair conclusion,
And save much Christian ink's effusion
Let me propose an healing scheme,
And sail along the middle streain;
For, Dick, if we could reconcile
Old Aristotle with Gassendus,
How many would admire our toil!
And yet how few would comprehend us! "Here, Richard, let my scheme commence; Oh! may my words be lost in sense! While pleas'd Thalia deigns to write The slips and bounds of Alma's flight. "My simple system shall suppose That Alma enters at the toes; That then she mounts by just degrees Up to the ancles, legs, and knees; Next, as the sap of life does rise, She lends her vigour to the thighs; And all these under-regions past, She nestles somewhere near the waist; Gives pain or pleasure, grief or laughter, As we shall show at large hereafter. Mature, if not improv'd by time, Up to the heart she loves to climb; From thence, compell'd by craft and age, She makes the head her latest stage.