As Bounty copious, as Perfuafion fweet,/
Like Nature various, and like Art complete;
So fine her Morals, fo fublime her Views,
His Life is almost equal'd by his Muse.

O POPE! Since Envy is decreed by Fate, Since the pursues alone the Wife, and Great; In one fmall, emblematic Landscape fee, How vaft a Distance 'twixt thy Foe and Thee! Truth from an Eminence furveys our Scene, (A Hill, where all is clear, and all ferene.) Rude earth-bred Storms o'er meaner Valleys blow, And wand'ring Mifts roll, black'ning, far below; Dark, and debas'd, like them, is Envy's Aim, And clear, and eminent, like Truth, thy Fame.

Thus I. From what dire Caufe can Envy spring?
Or why embosom we a Viper's Sting P
'Tis Envy ftings our darling Paffion, Pride.
Alas! (the Man of mighty Soul replied)
Why chufe we Mis'ries? Moft derive their Birth
From one bad Source; we dread fuperior Worth;
Prefer'd, it feems a Satire on our own;

Then heedlefs to excel we meanly moan:
Then we abstract our Views, and Envy show,

Whence fprings the Mis'ry, Pride is doom'd to know.
Thus Folly Pain creates : By Wisdom's Pow'r,
We fhun the Weight of many a restless Hour-

Lo!

Lo! I meet Wrong; perhaps the Wrong I feel
Tends, by the Scheme of Things, to public Weal.
I, of the Whole am Part-the Joy, Men fee,
Muft circulate, and fo revolve to me.

Why should I then of private Lofs complain?
Of Lofs, that proves, perchance, a Brother's Gain?
The Wind, that binds one Bark within the Bay,
May waft a richer Freight its wish'd-for Way.
If Rains, redundant flood the abject Ground,
Mountains are but fupplied, when Vales are drown'd;
If, with soft Moisture fwell'd, the Vale looks gay,
The Verdure of the Mountain fades away.
Shall Clouds, but at my Welfare's Call descend?
Shall Gravity for me her Laws fufpend?

For me fhall Suns their Noon-tide Course forbear?
Or Motion not fubfift to influence Air?

Let the Means vary, be they Froft, or Flame,
Thy End, O Nature! ftill remains the fame!
Be This the Motive of a wife Man's Care,
To fhun deferving Ills, and learn to bear.

The END of the FIRST CANTO.

THE

WANDERER.

A

VISION.

CANTO II.

HILE thus a Mind humane, and wife, he

W fhows,

All-cloquent of Truth his Language flows.
Youth, tho' deprefs'd, thro' all his Form appears;
Thro' all his Sentiments the Depth of Years.
Thus He Yet farther Industry behold,
Which confcious waits new Wonders to unfold.

Enter my Chapel next Lo! here begin

The hallow'd Rites, that check the Growth of Sin. When first we met, how foon you feem'd to know My Bofom, lab'ring with the Throbs of Woe!

Such

Such racking Throbs!-foft! when I rouze thofe Cares,
On my chill'd Mind pale Recollection glares!
When moping Frenzy ftrove my Thoughts to fway
Here prudent Labours chac'd her Pow'r away.
Full, and rough-rifing from yon sculptur'd Wall,
Bold Prophets, Nations to Repentance call!
Meek Martyrs fmile in Flames! gor'd Champions groan!
And Mufe-like Cherubs tune their Harps in Stone!
Next shadow'd Light a rounding Force bestows,
Swells into Life, and fpeaking Action grows!
Here pleafing, melancholy Subjects find,

To calm, amufe, exalt the penfive Mind!

This Figure tender Grief, like mine, implies,

And femblant Thoughts, that earthly Pomp defpife.
Such penitential Magdalene reveals;

Loofe-veild, in Negligence of Charms fhe kneels.
Tho' Drefs, near-ftor'd, its Vanity fupplies,
The Vanity of Drefs unheeded lies.

The finful World in forrowing Eye fhe keeps,
As o'er Jerufalem, Meffiah weeps.

One Hand her Bofom fmites; in One appears
The lifted Lawn, that drinks her falling Tears.

Since Evil outweighs Good, and fways Mankind,
True Fortitude affumes the patient Mind:
Such prov'd Meffiah's, tho' to Suff'ring born,
To Penury, Repulfe, Reproach, aud Scorn.

Here

Here, by the Pencil, mark his Flight defign'd;

The wearied Virgin by a Stream reclin❜d,

Who feeds the Child. Her Looks a Charm exprefs, A modest Charm, that dignifies Distress.

Boughs o'er their Heads with blushing Fruits depend,
Which Angels to her bufied Confort bend.

Hence by the fmiling Infant feems difcern'd,
Trifles, concerning Him, all Heav'n, concern'd.

Here the transfigur'd Son, from Earth, retires: See! the white Form in a bright Cloud aspires! Full on his Foll❜wers bursts a Flood of Rays, Proftrate they fall beneath th' o'erwhelming Blaze! Like Noon-tide Summer-Suns the Rays appear, Unfuff'rable, magnificent, and near!

What Scene of Agony the Garden brings; The Cup of Gall; the fuppliant King of Kings! The Crown of Thorns; the Crofs, that felt him die; Thefe, languid in the Sketch, unfinish'd, lye.

There, from the Dead, Centurions fee him rife,
See! but ftruck down with horrible Surprize!
As the first Glory feem'd a Sun at Noon,
This cafts the Silver Splendor of the Moon.

3

Here peopled Day, th' afcending God furveys! The Glory varies, as the Myriads gaze!!