"Twas hard to make so rich a soul submit, And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet. Sister of faith, fair charity, Show me the wondrous man on high, Tell how he sees the Godhead Three in One; His noblest powers in deep prostration lie "Forgive," he cries, "ye saints below, "Eternal darkness veil the lines "Of that unhappy book, "Where glimmering reason with false lustre shines, "Where the mere mortal pen mistook "What the celestial meant? TRUE RICHES. I AM not concern'd to know Then if haply midnight death Yet to-morrow I shall be Heir to the best part of me. Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone, I could never call my own: Riches that the world bestows, She can take, and I can lose; But the treasures that are mine Lie afar beyond her line. When I view my spacious soul, And survey myself a whole, And enjoy myself alone, I'm a kingdom of my own. I've a mighty part within, Here are thoughts of larger growth, Ripening into solid truth: Fruits refin'd, of noble taste; Seraphs feed on such repast. Here, in a green and a shady grove, Streams of pleasure mix with love: There, beneath the smiling skies, Hills of contemplation rise; Now upon some shining top Both rejoice when there we meet. There are endless beauties more Earth hath no resemblance for; Nothing like them round the pole, Nothing can describe the soul: 'Tis a region half unknown, That has treasures of its own, More remote from public view Than the bowels of Peru; Broader 'tis, and brighter far, Than the golden Indies are; Ships that trace the watery stage Cannot coast it in an age; Harts, or horses, strong and fleet, Had they wings to help their feet, Could not run it half way o'er In ten thousand days and more. Yet the silly wandering mind, Loth to be too much confin'd, Roves and takes her daily tours, Coasting round the narrow shores, Narrow shores of flesh and sense, Picking shells and pebbles thence: Or she sits at fancy's door, Calling shapes and shadows to her, Foreign visits still receiving, THE ADVENTUROUS MUSE. URANIA takes her morning flight With an inimitable wing: Through rising deluges of dawning light She tunes immortal anthems to the growing day; Nor Rapin1 give her rules to fly, nor Purcell2 notes to sing. She nor inquires, nor knows, nor fears Where lie the pointed rocks, or where the ingulfing sand: Climbing the liquid mountains of the skies, 1 A French critic. 2 An English master of music. Touch'd with an empyreal ray, She springs, unerring, upward to eternal day, Whilst little skiffs along the mortal shores The snail o'ertakes them in their wildest play, Give me the chariot whose diviner wheels [behind. And lose the clouds below, and leave the stars Give me the muse whose generous force, Impatient of the reins, Pursues an unattempted course, Breaks all the critic's iron chains, And bears to paradise the raptur'd mind. There Milton dwells: the mortal sung In every page, and flying scenes divine [along. |