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POE M

S.

AGAINST IMMODERATE GRIEF.

To a Young Lady Weeping An Ode in Imitation of
Cafimire.

COULD mournful fighs, or floods of tears, prevent
The ills unhappy men lament:
Could all the anguish of my mind
Remove my cares, or make but fortune kind;
Soon I'd the grateful tribute pay,

And weep my troubled thoughts away :
To wealth and pleasure every figh prefer,
And more than gems efteem each falling tear.
But, fince infulting cares are most inclin'd

To triumph o'er th' afflicted mind;
Since fighs can yield us no relief,
And tears, like fuitful showers, but nourish grief;
Then cease, fair mourner, to complain,
Nor lavish fuch bright streams in vain :
But ftill with cheerful thoughts thy cares beguile,
And tempt thy better fortunes with a fmile.
The generous mind is by its sufferings known,
Which no affliction tramples down;
But when opprefs'd will upward move,
Spurn down its clog of cares, and foar above.
Thus the young royal eagle tries

On the fun-beams his tender eyes,
And, if he shrinks not at th' offenfive light,
He's then for empire fit, and takes his foaring
flight.

Though cares affault thy breast on every side,
Yet bravely ftem th' impetuous tide :
No tributary tears to fortune pay,
Nor add to any lofs a nobler day;

But with kind hopes support thy mind,
And think thy better lot behind:
Amidst afflictions let thy foul be great,
And show thou dar'ft deferve a better ftate.

Then, lovely mourner, wipe those tears away,
And cares that urge thee to decay;
Like ravenous age thy charms they waste,
Wrinkle thy youthful brow, and blooming beau-
ties blaft.

But keep thy looks and mind ferene,
All gay without, all calm within;

For fate is aw'd, and adverse fortunes fly
A cheerful look, and an unconquer'd eye.

HYMN TO THE MORNING.

IN PRAISE OF LIGHT.

PARENT of day! whose beauteous beams of light
Spring from the darksome womb of night,
And 'midst their native horrors show,
Like gems adorning of the Negro's brow:
Not heav'n's fair bow can equal thee,
In all its gaudy drapery;

Thou first effay of light, and pledge of day!
That usher'st in the fun, and still prepar'st its way.

Rival of shade, eternal spring of light!

Thou art the genuine fource of it: From thy bright unexhausted womb, The beauteous race of days and seasons come. Thy beauty ages cannot wrong,

But, fpight of time, thou'rt ever young: Thou art alone heaven's modeft virgin light, Whose face a veil of blushes hides from human

fight.

Like some fair bride thou risest from thy bed,
And doft around thy luftre fpread;
Around the universe dispense
New life to all, and quickening influence.

With gloomy fmiles thy rival night
Beholds thy glorious dawn of light;
Not all the wealth fhe views in mines below
Can match thy brighter beams, or equal luftre
fhow.

At thy approach, nature erects her head,
The smiling univerfe is glad;
The drowsy earth and feas awake,

And, from thy beams, new life and vigour take:
When thy more cheerful rays appear,

Ev'n guilt and women cease to fear :
Horror, defpair, and all the fons of night
Retire before thy beams, and take their hafty flight.

To thee, the grateful caft their altars raise,

And fing with early hymns thy praise;
Thou doft their happy foil bestow,
Enrich the heavens above, and earth below:
Thou rifeft in the fragrant eaft,
Like the fair Phonix from her balmy neft:
No altar of the gods can equal thine, [fhrine!
The air's thy richest incense, the whole land thy

But yet thy fading glories foon decay.

Thine's but a momentary stay;

'Too foon thou'rt ravifh'd from our fight, Borne down the stream of day, and overwhelm'd with light.

Thy beams to their own ruin hafte,
They're fram'd too exquifite to last:
Thine is a glorious, but a fhort-liv'd state.
Pity fo fair a birth fhould yield fo foon to fate!

Before th' Almighty Artist fram'd the sky,
Or gave the earth its harmony,

His first command was for thy light;
He view'd the lovely birth, and bleffed it:

In purple swaddling-bands it struggling lay,
Not yet maturely bright for day:

Old Chaos then a cheerful smile put on,

Though folid bodies dare exclude the light;
Nor will the brightest ray admit;
No fubftance can thy force repel,
Thou reign'ft in depths below, doft in the centre
dwell.

The fparkling gems, and ore in mines below,
To thee their beauteous luftre owe;
Though form'd within the womb of night,
Bright as their fire they shine with native rays of
light.

When thou doft raise thy venerable head,

And art in genuine night array'd,

Thy Negro beauties then delight; Beauties, like polish'd jet, with their own darkne bright.

And, from thy beauteous form, did firft prefage Thou doft thy fmiles impartially bestow,

its own.

Let there be light' "" the great Creator faid, His word the active child obey'd: Night did her teeming womb difclofe; And then the blushing morn, its brightest offfpring rofe.

A while the Almighty wondering view'd, And then himself pronounc'd it good: "With night," faid he, "divide th' imperial "fway;

"Thou my first labour art, and thou shalt blefs "the day."

HYMN TO DARKNESS.

DARKNESS, thou first great parent of us all,
Thou art our great original :
Since from thy univerfal womb
Does all thou fhad'ft below, thy numerous off-
fpring come.

Thy wondrous birth is ev'n to time unknown,
Or, like eternity, thou'dft none;
Whilft light did its first being owe
Unto that awful fhade it dares to rival now.

Say, in what diftant region doft thou dwell,
To reafon inacceffible?

From form and duller matter free.
Thou four'it above the reach of man's philofophy.

Involv'd in thee, we first receive our breath,
Thou art our refuge too in death:
Great monarch of the grave and womb,
Where'er our fouls fhall go, to thee our bodies

come.

The flent globe is struck with awful fear, Wher thy majestic fhades appear:

Thou doit compofe the air and sea,

And know'ft no difference here below: All things appear the fame by thee, Though light diftinction makes, thou giv'ft equality.

Thon, darkness, art the lover's kind retreat,

And doft the nuptial joys complete; Thou doft infpire them with thy fhade, Giv'ft vigour to the youth, and warm'st the yield. ing maid.

Calm as the blefs'd above the Anchorites dwell,
Within their peaceful gloomy cell.
Their minds with heavenly joys are fill'd;
The pleasures light deny, thy fhades for ever yield

In caves of night, the oracles of old
Did all their mysteries unfold:
Darkness did first religion grace,
Gave terrors to the god, and reverence to the
place.

When the Almighty did on Horeb stand,

Thy fhades enclos'd the hallow'd land; In clouds of night he was array'd, And venerable darkness his pavilion made. When he appear'd arm'd in his power and might, He veil'd the beatific light; When terrible with majefty, In tempefts he gave laws, and clad himself in

thee.

Ere the foundation of the earth was laid,

Or brighter firmament was made; Ere matter, time, or place, was known, Thou, monarch darkness, sway'dit these spacious realmus alone.

But, now the moon (though gay with borrow'd light)

Invades thy fcanty lot of night:
By rebel fubjects thou'rt betray'd,

And earth a fabbath keeps, facred to reft and thee. The anarchy of stars depofe their monarch shade.

In thy ferener fhades our ghofts delight,

And court the umbrage of the night;
In vaults and gloomy caves they stray,

Yet fading light its empire muft refign, And nature's power fubmit to thine: An univerfal ruin fhall erect thy throne,

But fly the morning's beams, and ficken at the And fate confirm thy kingdom evermore

day.

own.

HUMAN LIFE.

SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY AN EPICURE.

In Imitation of the Second Chapter of the Wisdom of Solomon.

TO THE LORD HUNSDON,

A PINDARIC ODE.

THEN will penurious heaven no more allow ?
No more on its own darling man bestow?

Is it for this he lord of all appears,

And his great Maker's image bears! To toil beneath a wretched state, Opprefs'd with miseries and fate; Beneath his painful burden groan, And in this beaten road of life drudge on! Amidst our labours, we poffefs No kind allays of happiness: No foftening joys can call our own, To make this bitter drug go down; Whilft death an easy conqueft gains, And the infatiate grave in endless triumph reigns. With throes and pangs into the world we come, The curfe and burden of the womb: Nor wretched to ourselves alone, Our mother's labours introduce our own, In cries and tears our infancy we waste, Those fad prophetic tears, that ow By inftina of our future woe:

And ev'n our dawn of life with forrows overcast.
Thus we toil out a restless age,

Each his laborious part must have,
Down from the monarch to the flave,

Act o'er this farce of life, then drop beneath the stage.

From our firft drawing vital breath,
From our first starting from the womb,
Until we reach the deftin'd tomb,

We all are pofting on to the dark goal of death,
Life, like a cloud that fleets before the wind,
No mark, no kind impreffion, leaves behind,

'Tis fcatter'd like the winds that blow,
Boifterous as them, full as inconstant too,
That know not whence they come, nor where
they go.

Here we're detain'd a while, and then
Become originals again:

Time fhall a man to his first felf restore,
And make him intire nothing, all he was before.
No part of us, no remnant, shall survive!
And yet we impudently fay, we live!
No we but ebb into ourselves again,
And only come to be, as we had never been.

Say, learned fage, thou that art mighty wife!
Unriddle me these mysteries:
What is the foul, the vital heat,
That our mean frame does animate?
What is our breath, the breath of man,

That buoys his nature up, and does ev'n life fuf. tain ?

YOL. VII.

Is it not air, an empty fume,
A fire that does itfelf confume;
A warmth that in a heart is bred,
A lambent flame with heat and motion fed?
Extinguish that the whole is gone,
This boafted fcene of life is done :
Away the phantom takes its flight,
Damn'd to a loathfome grave, and an eternal night,
The foul th' immortal part we boast,

In one confuming minute's loft;
To its first fource it must repair,

Scatter with winds, and flow with common air.
Whilst the fall'n body, by a swift decay,
Refolves into its native clay :

For duft and athes are its fecond birth, And that incorporates too with its great parent earth,

Nor fhall our names our memories furvive,
Alas, no part of man can live!
The empty blafts of fame shall die,
And even thofe nothings taste mortality.
In vain to future ages we transmit
Heroic acts, and monuments of wit:

In vain we dear bought honours leave,
To make our afhes gay, and furnish out a grave.
Ah, treacherous immortality!

For thee our stock of youth we waste, And urge on life, that ebbs too fast: To purchase thee with blood, the valiant fly; And, to furvive in fame, the great and glorious die.

Lavish of life, they fquander this estate,

And for a poor reverfion wait:

Bankrupts and mifers to themselves they grow, Embitter wretched life with toils and woe,

To hoard up endless fame, they know not where or how.

Ah, think, my friends, how fwift the minutes

hafte!

The prefent day entirely is our own,

Then feize the bleffing ere 'tis gone:
To-morrow, fatal found! fince this may be our last.
Why do we boast of years, and fum up days!
'Tis all imaginary space:
To-day, to-day, is our inheritance,

'Tis all penurious fate will give
Pofterity 'll to-morrow live,

Qur fons crowd, on behind, our children drive us hence.

With garlands then your temples crown,
And lie on beds of rofes down:
Beds of rafes we'll prepare,

Roles that our emblems are;

A while they flourish on the bough,

And drink large draughts of heavenly dew:
Like us they fmile, are young and gay,
And, like us too, are tenants for a day,
Since with night's blafting breath they vanish
fwift away.

Bring cheerful wine, and coftly fweets prepare
'Tis more than frenzy now to fpare:
Let cares and business wait a while;
Old age affords a thinking interval:

3 B

Or, if they must a longer hearing have,
Bid them attend below, adjourn into the grave.
Then gay and fprightly wine produce,
Wines that wit and mirth infufe:
That feed, like oil, th' expiring flame,
Revive our drooping fouls, and prop this tottering
frame.

That, when the grave our bodies has ingrofs'd,
When virtues fhall forgotten lie,
With all their boasted piety,

Honours and titles, like ourselves, be loft;
Then our recorded vice fhall flourish on,
And our immortal riots be for ever known.
This, this, is what we ought to do,
The great defign, the grand affair below!
Since bounteous nature's plac'd our steward here,
Then man his grandeur fhould maintain,
And in excess of pleasure reign,
Keep up his character, and lord of all appear.

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But falfe enjoyment the kind guide deftroys,
We lofe the paffion in the treacherous joys.
Like the gay filk-worm, when it pleafes moft,
In that ungrateful web it fpun, 'tis loft.

Fruition only cloys the appetite;
More does the conqueft, than the prize delight:
One victory gain'd, another fills the mind,
Our reftlefs wishes cannot be confin'd,
Like boisterous waves, no fettled bounds they
know,

Fix'd at no point, but always ebb or flow.

Who moft expects, enjoys the pleasure most, 'Tis rais'd by wifhes, by fruition loft: We're charm'd with diftant views of happiness, But near approaches make the profpe lefs. Wines, like painted landscapes, best delight, Whilft diftance recommends them to the fight: Plac'd afar off, they beautiful appear;

But flow their courfe and naufeous colours near. Thus the fam'd Midas, when he found his ftore

Increasing ftill, and would admit of more,
With eager arms his fwelling bags he prefs'd;
And expectation only made him blefs'd:
But, when a boundlefs treafure he enjoy'd,
And every with was with fruition clay'd:
Then, damn'd to heaps, and forfeited with ore,
He curs'd that gold he doated on before.

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THE CURSE OF BABYLON. ISAIAH, Chap. xiii. Paraphrased.

A PINDARIC ODE.

Now let the fatal banner be display'd!
Upon fome lofty mountain's top

Go fet the dreadful ftandard up!
And all around the hills the bloody signals fpread
For, lo, the numerous hofts of heaven appear!
Th' embattled legions of the sky,
With all their dread artillery,

Draw forth in bright array, and mufter in the air.
Why do the mountains tremble with the note,
And vallies echo back their voice?

The hills tumultuous grow and loud, The hills that groan beneath the gathering mul titude.

Wide as the poles of heaven's extent, So far's the dreadful fummons fent : Kingdoms and nations at his call appear, For ev❜n the Lord of hofts commands in perfon there.

Start from thy lethargy, thou drowsy land, Awake, and hear his dread command! Thy black tempestuous day comes lowering en, O fatal light! O inaufpicious hour?

Was ever fuch a day before! So ftain'd with blood, by marks of vengeance known.

Nature fhall from her fteady course remove,
The well-fix'd earth be from his bafis rent,
Convulfions shake the firmament;
Horror feize all below, confufion reign above.
The flars of heaven fhall ficken at the fight,
Nor fhall the planets yield their light:
But from the wretched object fly,
And, like extinguith'd tapers, quit the darken'd j.
The rifing fun, as he was confcious too,
As he the fatal business knew,
A deep, a bloody red fhall flain

And at his early dawn fhall fet in night again.
To the destroying sword I've said, go forth,
Go fully execute my wrath!
Command my hofts, my willing armies lead;
For this rebellious land and all therein shall bleed
They fhall not grieve me more, no more tran

grefs;

I will confume the ftubborn race: Yet brutes and favages I juftly fpare; Ufelefs is all my vengeance there; Ungrateful man's the greater menfter far. On guiltless beafs I will the land beftow, To them th' inheritance fhall go; Thofe elder brothers now fhall lord it here below: And, if fome poor remains escape behind, Some relics left of loft mankind; Th' aftonifh'd herds thall in their cities cry, When they behold a man, lo, there's a prodigy! The Medes I call to my affiftance here, A people that delight in war;

A generous race of men, a nation free From vicious ease and Persian luxury. Silver is defpicable in their eyes, Contemn'd the ufelefs metal lies: Their conquering iron they prefer before The fineft gold, ev'n Ophir's tempting ore. By these the land shall be subdued, Abroad their bows fhall overcome,, Their fwords and flames deftroy at home; For neither fex nor age fhall be exempt from blood. The nobles and princes of thy ftate

Shall on the victor's triumphs wait: And those that from the battle fled Shall be, with chains opprefs'd, in cruel bondage

led.

I'll visit their diftrefs with plagues and miferies,
The throes that women's labours wait,
Convulfive pangs, and bloody fweat,
Their beauty fhail confume, and vital fpirits feize,
The ravifh'd virgins fhall be borne away,
And their difhonour'd wives be led
To the infulting victor's bed,
To brutal lufts expos'd, to fury left a prey.
Nor fhall the teeming womb afford
Its forming births a refuge from the fword;

The fword, that fhall their pangs increase, And all the throes of travail curfe with barrennefs,

The infants fhall expire with their first breath,
And only live in pangs of death.

Live but with early cries to curfe the light,
And, at the dawn of life, fet in eternal night.

Ev'n Babylon, adorn'd with every grace,
The beauty of the univerfe:
Glory of nations! the Chaldean's pride,
And joy of all th' admiring world befide:
Thou, Babylon! before whofe throne
The empires of the earth fall down;
The proftrate nations homage pay,
And vaffal princes of the world obey:

Shalt in the dust be trampled low:
Abject and low upon the earth be laid,
And deep in ruins hide thy ignominious head.
Thy ftrong amazing walls, whofe impious height
The clouds conceal from human fight;
That proudly now their polifh'd turrets rear,

Which bright as neighbouring ftars appear,
Diffufing glories round th' enlighten'd air,
In flames fhall downwards to their centre fly,
And deep within the earth, as their foundations,
lie.

Thy beauteous palaces (though now thy pride!)
Shall be in heaps of ashes hid:

In vaft surprising heaps fhall lie,

And ev'n their ruins bear the pomp of majesty.
No bold inhabitant fhall dare
Thy raz'd foundations to repair:
No pitying hand exalt thy abje& state;
No! to fucceeding times thou must remain
An horrid exemplary scene,

And lie from age to age ruin'd and defolate.
Thy fall's decreed (amazing turn of fate!)
Low as Gomorrah's wretched ftate:

Thou, Babylon, fhalt be like Sodom curft, Dellroy'd by flames from heaven, and thy more burning luft.

The day's at hand, when in thy fruitful foil No labourer shall reap, no mower toil : His tent the wandering Arab fhall not fpread, Nor make thy curfed ground his bed; Though faint with travel, though opprefs'd with thirst,

He to his drooping herds fhall cry aloud, Tafle not of that embitter'd flood, Tafte not Euphrates' ftreams they're poisonous all, and curf'd,

The fhepherd to his wandering flocks fhall fay, When o'er thy battlements they stray, When in thy palaces they graze,

Ah, fly, unhappy flocks! fly this infectious place.

Whilft the fad traveller, that paffes on,

Shall afk, lo, where is Babylon?

And when he has thy fmall remainder found, Shall fay, I'll fly from hence, 'tis fure accurfed ground.

Then fhall the favages and beafts of prey
From their deferted mountains hafte away;

Every obfcene and vulgar beaft
Shall be to Babylon a guest :
Her marble roofs, and very cedar room,
Shall dens and caves of ftate to nobler brutes be.

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