« EelmineJätka »
“ To these devouring flames, yet warn’d me not ; “Or faintly warn'd me, and with languid tone, “ And cool harangde, denounc'd eternal fire, « And wrath divine!"At the dread shocking thought My spirit shudders, all my inmost soul Trembles and shrinks. Sure, if the plaintive crics Of spirits reprobate can reach the ear Of their great Judge, they must be cries like these. But if the meanest of that happy choir, That with eternal symphonies surround The heavenly throne, can stand, and thus declare,
I owe it to his care that I am here, ** Next to Almighty grace: his faithful hand, “ Regardless of the frowns he might incur, “ Snatch'd me, reluctant, from approaching dames, " Ready to catch, and burn unquenchable.
May richest grace reward his pious zeal “ With some bright mansion in this world of bliss!" Transporting thought! Then blessed be the hand That form’d my elenrental clay to man, And still supports me! 'Tis worth while to live, If I may live to purposes so great. Awake, my
dormant zeal! for ever flame With gen'rous ardour for immortal souls; And may my head, and tongue, and heart, and all, Spend and be spent in service so divine !
WHERE proud Augusta, blest with long repose,
Thus, when in some fair human form we find The lusts all rampant, and the reason blind, Griev'd we behold such beauty giv'n in vain, And nature's fairest work survey with pain,
Within the chambers which this dome contains, In all her frantic forms Distraction reigns, For when the sense from various objects brings, Through organs craz'd, the images of things; Ideas, all extravagant and vain, In endless swarms, crowd in upon the brain; The cheated reason true and false confounds, And forms her notions from fantastic grounds. ' Then if the blood impetuous swells the veins, And choler in the constitution reigns, Outrageous fury strait inflames the soul, Quick beats the pulse, and fierce the eye-balls roll; Rattling his chains, the wretch all raving lies, And roars and foams, and earth and heaven defies. Not so, when gloomy the black bile prevails, And lumpish phlegm the thicken'd mass congeals: All lifeless then is the poor patient found, And sits for ever moping on the ground; His active pow'rs their uses all forego, Nor senses, tongue, nor limbs, their function know: In melancholy lost, the vital flame Informs, and just informs the listless frame. If brisk the circulating tides advance, And nimble spirits through the fibres dance, Then all the images delightful rise, The tickled fancy sparkles through the eyes: The mortal, all to mirth and joy resign’d, In ev'ry gesture shews his freakish mind;
Frolic and free, he laughs at fortune's pow'r,
Now ent'ring in, my Muse, thy theme pursue, And all the dome, and each apartment view.
Within this lonely lodge, in solemın port, A shiv'ring monarch keeps his awful court; And far and wide, as boundless thought cair stray, Extends a vast imaginary sway. Utopian princes bow before his throne, Lands unexisting his dominion own, And airy realms, and regions in the moon. The pride of dignity, the pomp of state, The darling glories of the envy'd great, Rise to his view, and in his fancy swell, And guards and courtiers crowd his empty cell. See how he walks majestic through the throng; (Behind he trails his tatter'd robes along) And cheaply blest, and innocently vain, Enjoys the dear delusion of his brain; In this small spot expatiates unconfin'd, Supreme of monarchs, first of human kind,
Such joyful extasy as this possest, On some triumphal day, great Cæsar's breast; Great Çæsar, scarce beneath the gods ador'd, The world's proud victor, Rome's imperial lord,
With all his glories in their utmost height,
train,' And captive king's indignant drag their chain, With laureld ensigns glittring from afar His legions, glorious partners of the war, His conqu’ring legions march behind the golden
car: Whilst shouts on shouts from gather'd nations rise, And endless acclamations rend the skies. For this to vex mankind with dire alarms, Urging with rapid speed his restless arms, From clime to clime the mighty madman flew, Nor tasted quiet, nor contentment knew; But spread wild ravage all the world abroad, The plague of nations, and the scourge of GOD.
Poor Cloe-whom yon little cell contains, Of broken vows and faithless man complains ; Her heaving bosom speaks her inward woe; Her tears in melancholy silence flow. Yet still her fond desires tumultuous rise, Melt her sad soul, and languish in her eyes, And form her wild ideas as they rove, To all the tender images of love; And still she soothes and feeds the flatt'ring pain, False as he is, still, still she loves her swain; :