Their Name is Legion, grinning from a far

Against the Throne, who wage unequal
War;

Tho’ nearer, on perpetual Guard, attends

A far more numerous Host of brighter Friends:

Around our Prince, Heav’ns Care, the sacred Band

With fiery Arms in firm Battalia stand:

To him mild Light, and Lambent Beams they
show,

But Wrath and Terror to his harden’d Foe.

See the black Phalanx melt, they melt away,

As guilty Ghosts slink from approaching Day,

Behold their Leaders, deckt in horrid State,

Nor wonder why they Heav’n and Cæsar hate.

First mark their haughty General, arm’d compleat

In Plates of glowing Steel! ’tis Lucifer the great!

See his proud Standard o’re his Tent enlarg’d!

With bloated Toads, an odious Bearing, charg’d.

The ancient Arms which once his Shield adorn’d,

Tho’ ’tis of late to Flour-de-Lis’s turn’d.

Ah were there none but these, who wou’d not be

Proud and Ambitious of their Enmity!

There’s one small party, near, too near their Line,

Which hover yet, and scarce know which to
joyn.

No black, no ugly marks of Sin disgrace

Their nobler Forms, no malice in their Face:

A Duskier Gleam they wear then e’re they fell,

Their Plumes just scorcht, too near ally’d to Hell.

What mad mistaken bravery draws ’em in,

Where Constancy’s no Virtue but a Sin?

How can they still their fallen Prince esteem?

When false to Heaven, why are they true to him?

O! must they sink! a glorious Starry Race!

They are almost too good, for that sad place.

With swelling thoughts fixt on his great
intent,

Now Phaeton had climb’d the Suns ascent;

And to his radiant Father’s Pallace came;

Whose heavenly seat lookt blazon’d all with
flame:

On Stately Pedestalls erected high

Above the Convex of the utmost Sky:

Its Glorious Front, dazled, yet pleas’d the sight,

With vigorous sallys of Æthereal Light.

The entrance, all divinely deckt, was wrought,

Beyond the invention of a humane thought;

With various figures exquisite and bold,

As the Amazing Novelties they told.

Here awful Neptune rises from the deep,

Around the peaceful Billows seem to sleep:

Here dreadful Whales the Blust’ring Tritons
stride,

And raise a Silver Tempest as they glide:

In mighty shells the lovely Nereids swim,

And blewish gods the lofty billows climb.

Wide from the Shore a pleasant scene of
Land,

With careless Beauty did it self expand:

Here Mountains, Valleys, Springs, and Sacred
Groves,

Flocks, Herds, Unpolish’d Shepherds, and their
Loves;

The Dryads, Satyrs, Silver Gods, and Fawns,

Had here their Rural Pallaces and Lawns.

Above all this, appear’d the blest abodes,

And gay Pavilions of th’Immortal Gods:

Upon a Painted-Zodiack brightly shone

With Glittering Emralds Sols refulgent Throne:

Here sate in Purple the Bright God of Day,

(Whom Phaeton now trembles to survey:)

Smooth were his Cheeks, most lovely eyes, his
brows

Adorn’d with rays, and his own sacred boughs:

Around, the days, the months, and years attend,

While, at his feet, the crooked Ages bend:

The beauteous Spring (more gay than all the
rest,)

Stood smiling by, clad in a Flowry Vest:

Summer, with Ears of Corn, her temples bound,

And Autumn with Luxuriant Clusters crown’d:

In order next old hoary-Winter stood;

His Aspect horrid, and congeal’d his blood.

Surrounded thus with Majesty and State,

Bold Phaeton’s Illustrious Father sate:

“Monarch of Light, the doubtful Youth returns,

Whose absence Life it self and Nature mourns:

Most splendid Ruler of the wellcome Day,

Serenest Spring of all that’s fair and gay――

If bolder I may speak――if e’re――if e’re

The Thoughts of Love and Clymene were dear;

――Then grant a certain sign, that may on
Earth

Resolve the question’d grandeur of my Birth,”

And doubt no longer my Paternal rights;

For, by my Clymene, by th’ Intense delights

That gave thee Birth, so――now chuse a sign,

And by the Dark Infernal Lake ’tis thine.”

Straight the ambitious youth demands the
sway

Of his hot Steeds, and Chariot of the Day.

Amaz’d the lucent Deity shook his head,

Revolving his Tremendous Oath, and said;

“Unthinking Phaeton what dost thou ask?

Not Jove himself durst undertake the Task:

Though not a God in the Blew-Arch more great,

Yet even he’d decline our Flaming Seat.

Can’st thou, a Mortal, then supply my Throne?

Curb my fierce Steeds, and pass the Intemperate
Zone?

So hard and difficult, the ascent of day

Scarce with fresh Horses vanquish I the way:

With horror, on the distant Earth at Noon,

We from the Zenith’s dismal heighth look
down

The steep Descent; from thence we swiftly
roul:

Nor here our headlong Coursers Brook controul.

Even Lovely Thetis sees my Fall with dread,

Though every Night she expects me to her
Bed.

Besides, thou’lt meet a Thousand rugged Jarrs

From the incountring Motions of the Stars;

Scarce our Immortal Efforts stem their force:

Betwixt the Bulls sharp hornes then lies thy
course,

By Sagitarius, and the Scorpion’s Claws,

The Gastly Crab, and Leo’s dreadful Jaws.

Expect no Groves, nor Flowry Mansions there,

Nor Gods, nor Nymphs; but Monsters every
where,

Then let a Father’s timely Care perswade,

And yet retract the dangerous Choice thou’st
made

Be wise, and urge no more this fatal Sign;

Alas, my Grief, too sadly, speaks thee Mine.

Of all the Earths, or Seas rich Bosoms hide,

Or Treasures which in upper Air abide;

Ask what thou wilt, or dar’st (besides) to
wish;

Do, Phaeton, ask any thing but this;

And, by my former Sacred Oath, ’tis thine.”

But the hot Youth, fixt on his rash design,

With such an Enterprize, the more inflam’d

His anxious Father’s Oath, now boldly claim’d,

Who forc’d to yield. The nimble hours soon
brought

His Chariot forth in hot Vesuvio wrought,

By crafty Vulcan, and the Cyclops Art,

Who’d shown immortal skill in every part:

The Wheels, and Axeltree, the purest Gold,

Bright as those Lucid Tracts in which they
roul’d:

The Harness all Emboss’d with Crysolites,

And twinkling sparks of wondrous colour’d Lights.

But now Aurora from her Eastern Bed,

Had, o’er the Expanse her Dewy Mantle
spread:

The Sickly Moon the Hemisphere resigns;

And, with her Waning, Lucifer declines.

The Dawning grew more fair and ruddy still,

And Sol officious now against his will:

With Sacred Compounds his fierce Orb allays,

Then crowns the Joyful Hero with his Rays:

With tender Speeches caution’d thus the while,

“Let not Presumption thy Fond Thoughts beguile
’

To give my hot unruly Steeds their course,

But use the Reins, with utmost care and force,

Along a beaten, broad, and oblique way,

Far from the Poles, now likes the Road of Day.

Avoid the Altar, and the hissing Snake,

Both opposite, betwixt them keep the Track;

Observe a careful distance from the Skyes,

Lest thou affront the awful Deities;

Nor near the Earth approach, the mean is best;

To Destiny with hope I leave the rest.

For, loe the pale Commandress of the Night

Resigns her Empire to th’ expected Light.

Take up the Reins; or yet, or yet be wise,

And grasp a more proportion’d enterprize:”

But Phaeton, as resolute as great,

Undaunted, leaps into the Blazing Seat;

Pleas’d with his glorious charge, nor doubts his
Skill

To manage it, he Mounts th’ Olympick Hill.

And finding now the Reeling Chariot fraught

With nothing congruous to Celestial weight;

Unruly grow, and heedless of the Rein,

Its feeble Checks, and trembling Guide disdain;

And, all disorder’d, careless of their way,

Through Paths unknown to Sol himself, they
stray:

Now near the Fair Triones, who, in vain,

Implor’d more Temperate Quarters in the
Main

With Heat reviv’d, see the fierce Serpent roul,

Tho’ fix’d his Station near the Frozen Pole.

Bootes sweats, and drives his Lazy Team

A nimble pace, untry’d before by them.

As much distress’d, unhappy Phaeton

From Great Olympus arched Top looks down:

Black horror now, and aggravating fear,

Through all his Conscious thoughts triumphant
were:

He Curst his Pride, conspicuous Seat, and Birth,

And covets the obscurest place on Earth;

To be the Son of Meropes, safe below,

Unknown to Gods and Men, would please him
now:

So, all confus’d, the hopeless Pilot Raves,

And yields, at last, to the relentless Waves.

What can he do? much of the Glowing East

Is yet Unconquer’d; more he dreads the West,

That dangerous Fall; nor one clear Track can
fin’d

In Heaven; nor call his Horses Names to mind:

Who now near where the dreadful Scorpion
lay,

Hurryd the shatter’d Chariot of the Day:

Proud of the Reins, which from his trembling
hands

Now faintly drop, no obstacle withstands

Their furious course; but through the blazing
Sky

They foam, and rave, and all disorder’d fly.

Now upward, to the Stars, a Path they rend,

Then down agen the frightful Steeps descend:

Below, her own Diana from afar,

With wonder, views her radiant Brothers Car:

The exhaled Earth down to its Centre dry,

Wants Juice, her fainting Products to supply:

Assaulted with the too prevailing rays,

In fatal Flames, whole Towns and Mountains
blaze:

High Athos, Oete, and the Pin’y top

Of pleasant Ida into Cinders drop:

Old Tmolus, the Cicillian Mount, and high

Parnassus, smoak up to the darkned Sky:

Vesuvio roars, more fierce its entrails glow;

Nor work the Cyclops at their Anvils now.

Steep Othrys, Cynthus, Erix, Mimas, flame

Nor Rhodopean Snows the fiercer Fire can
tame.

Caucasus frys, Dindyma chaps, and burns

Her kindling Grove; fair Aphrodites mourns.

The Airy Alps, and Gloomy Appenine,

With Ossa, in the conflagration shine:

Surrounded thus with Smoak, and Wrathful
Fires,

Unhappy Phaeton almost expires:

Despair within, and Terror all without,

By’s furious Steeds, at pleasure, hurl’d about;

Gasping, and faint, still hurried round, nor
more,

Tho prop’t by Fate, a Mortal could have bore:

They say, the Ethiopians now with heat

Adust and scorch’t, diffus’d a Sable Sweat;

And all the wasted Fountains sadly ring

Of some fair Nais, Mourning for her Spring.

Nor from the Mightyer Streams the Flame recoils,

For in its Channel antient Tana’is boyls.

Xanthus, whose Waves agen that Fate must
know;

Mænder, whose wild Waters, circling flow.

Melas, Eurotas, Ister, and the Fair

Euphrates, Torrents, half exhausted are.

Orontes, Phasis, and the cooler Stream

Of Sperchius now like boyling Chaldron’s Steam;

Alpheus, Ganges, and the flowing Gold,

That in the Rich Pactolus Channel roul’d:

The Muses Mourn; their Swans, who, as they
dye

In Charming Notes, breath their own Elegy:

Deep, in his utmost Subterranean Bed,

Great Nilus hides his undiscover’d Head.

Earth cracks, to Hell descend the hated beams,

And Plague the howling Ghosts with worse extreams:

The exhausted Ocean leaves a Field of Sand;

Nor does vext Neptune one cool Wave command.

He has lost his share of the grand Monarchy,

And vainly lifts his forked Trident high.

The Lovely Sisters melt upon the Rocks,

While Aged Doris tares her Silver Locks:

The Phocœ dye; the Dolphins vainly dive

In scalding streams, to keep themselves alive.

As much the Goddess of the Earth distrest,

With trembling Lips the King of Gods addrest;

“If thou the Groaning World’s Destruction
mean,

(Incensed Jove) Why sleep thy Thunders
then?

If thou the cause of this Calamity;

Or if ’tis some less potent God then thee:

Where’s all thy goodness, all thy gentle care

For Mortals now that should these Ills repair?

Have I for this thy Sacred Victims fed

In Hecatombs, to thy high Altars led?

Those Altars, which with thy bright Temples
smoak,

While Jove, in vain, the gasping-Priests Invoke:

And loe the Mighty Poles begin to fume;

And, Wher’s thy Starry Seat should they consume?

Tyr’d Atlas sweating, of his load complains,

And scarce the burning Axletree sustains.”

But, fainting here, she stop’d, and shrinks her
head

Below the gloomy Lodgings of the Dead.

Jove calls the Gods (with him, whose daring
Son,

Too fond of Glory, had this Mischief done:

To view the dreadful flames; then mounts on
high,

The loftyest Turret that commands the Sky;

From whence he us’d to shade the sultry Air,

And with kind Showers the Parched Earth to
chear:

But throws his Flood-gates open now in vain,

And prest the light transparent clouds for Rain:

At which incens’d, his ruddy Thunder glows,

Nor durst the God of beams himself oppose.

See the wing’d Vengeance now, see where it
breaks,

On the rash cause of those lamented Wrecks;

And sends the bold Usurper breathless down

To the scorch’t Earth from his affected Throne.

So strike the Gallick Tyrant, that has hurl’d

As guilty flames through the complaining
World.

So awful Jove, so Strike him from his Seat,

And all his Aims, and all his Hopes defeat.

Ah! Bright Unknown! you know not what you ask!

Angels wou’d bend beneath the unequal Task.

Were that bless’d World disclos’d, ’twou’d seem so fair,

Who wou’d not leap Lifes Barriers to be there?

Yet see a Glimpse, all, Heav’n permits to see,

And learn the rest from Faith and Extasie.

The Paradise of God, those happy seats which cost

Far more than that fair Eden we have lost;

Exceeds luxuriant Fancies richest dress,

And Beggers Rhime and Numbers self t’ express.

―― No, were we lost in that primæal Grove

Where Father Adam with his New-born Bride

Walkt careless, walkt and lov’d, nor Want, nor Sin,

Nor jealous Rage, nor curst tormenting Hopes

Their Sacred Verge approaching cou’d we pierce

As the blind Bard, with intellectual sight

Thro’ those first happy Mortals Sylvan shade,

Thro’ clust’ring Vines whose swelling Purple Grapes

With generous Juice invited the bless’d Pair

To taste, nor fear to dye; were all the Springs

That from some easie Mountains mossy side

Or hoary Rock ran gently murmuring,

A thousand Flour’s upon the bending Banks,

A thousand Birds upon the fragrant Trees,

And Eve her self all smiling joyn’d the Quire,

With blissful Hymns of chast and holy Love

Were these and more united to compose

A Poets Heaven to the true Heaven ’twou’d be

A Barren Wilderness, nay worse, a World.

Not Reasons self, a Ray of the divine

Off-spring, and Friend of God, when manacled

In sinful mortal mold, altho it trace,

No Sister Truth thro’ each Dedalean maze,

And builds on Sense with well poiz’d Argument,

Not that can tell us what we there shall see,

Or have or know, or do, or ever be.

Nay tho’ with nobler Faiths more perfect Glass,

We look beyond the Christal starry Worlds,

We know but part, sunk in our darksom selves,

And from Life’s dungeon wish the glim’ring Light,

Coasters of Heav’n we beat along the shore,

Some Creeks and Landmarks found, but know no
more.

The Inland Country’s undiscover’d still,

The glorious City of th’eternal King,

Yet of cœstial Growth we bear away,

Some rich immortal Fruit, Joy, Peace and Love,

Knowledge and Praise, Vision and pure Delight,

Rivers of Bliss, ay-dwelling from the Throne

Of the most high, exhaustless Fund of Light.

There, there is Heav’n, ’tis he who makes it so,

The Soul can hold no more, for God is all,

He only equalls its capacious Grasp,

He only o’re fills to spaces infinite,

Ah! who can follow?—That shall only those

Who with intrepid Breasts the World oppose.

Tear out the glitt’ring Snake, tho’ ne’re so close it twine,

And part with mortal Joys for Joys Divine.

Forgo the charming Muses! No, in spight

Of your ill-natur’d Prophecy I’ll write,

And for the future paint my thoughts at large,

I waste no paper at the Hunderds charge:

I rob no Neighbouring Geese of Quills, nor slink

For a collection to the Church for ink:

Besides my Muse is the most gentle thing

That ever yet made an attempt to sing:

I call no Lady “Punk”, nor Gallants “Fops”,

Nor set the married world an edge for Ropes;

Yet I’m so scurvily inclin’d to Rhiming,

That undesign’d my thoughts burst out a chiming;

My active Genius will by no means sleep,

And let it then its proper channel keep.

I’ve told you, and you may believe me too,

That I must this, or greater mischiefe do;

And let the world think me inspir’d, or mad,

I’le surely write whilst paper’s to be had;