Mæcenas, you, beneath the myrtle
shade,

Read o’er what poets sung, and shepherds play’d.

What felt those poets but you feel the same?

Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?

Their noble strains your equal genius shares 5

In softer language, and diviner airs.

While Homer paints lo! circumfus’d in air,

Celestial Gods in mortal forms appear;

Swift as they move hear each recess rebound,

Heav’n quakes, earth trembles, and the shores resound.
10

Great Sire of verse, before my mortal eyes,

The lightnings blaze across the vaulted skies,

And, as the thunder shakes the heav’nly plains,

A deep-felt horror thrills through all my veins.

When gentler strains demand thy graceful song, 15

The length’ning line moves languishing along.

When great Patroclus courts Achilles’ aid,

The grateful tribute of my tears is paid;

Prone on the shore he feels the pangs of love,

And stern Pelides tend’rest passions move. 20

Great Maro’s strain in heav’nly numbers flows,

The Nine inspire, and all the bosom glows.

O could I rival thine and Virgil’s page,

Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan Sage;

Soon the same beauties should my mind adorn, 25

And the same ardors in my soul should burn:

Then should my song in bolder notes arise,

And all my numbers pleasingly surprize;

But here I sit, and mourn a grov’ling mind,

That fain would mount, and ride upon the wind.

Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,

Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home;

When they from tow’ring Helicon retire,

They fan in you the bright immortal fire,

But I less happy, cannot raise the song, 35

The fault’ring music dies upon my tongue.

The happier Terence Open note 2Back to note ² all the choir inspir’d,

His soul replenish’d, and his bosom fir’d;

But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace,

To one alone of Afric’s sable race; 40

From age to age transmitting thus his name

With the first glory in the rolls of fame?

Thy virtues, great Mæcenas! shall be sung

In praise of him, from whom those virtues sprung:

As long as Thames in streams majestic flows,

Or Naiads in their oozy beds repose,

While Phœbus reigns above the starry train, 50

While bright Aurora purples o’er the main,

So long, great Sir, the muse thy praise shall sing,

So long thy praise shall make Parnassus ring:

Then grant, Mæcenas, thy paternal rays,

Hear me propitious, and defend my lays. 55

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive

To comprehend thee. Thine own words
declare

Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.

I cease to wonder, and no more attempt

Thine height t’explore, or fathom thy profound. 5

But, O my soul, sink not into despair,

Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand

Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.

Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,

Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.

Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread,

And lead celestial Chastity along;

Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,

Array’d in glory from the orbs above.

Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!

O leave me not to the false joys of time!

But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.

Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,

To give an higher appellation still,

Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,

O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of
day!

While an intrinsic ardor prompts to write;

The muses promise to assist my pen;

’Twas not long since I left my native shore

The land of errors, and Egyptian gloom:

Father of mercy, ’twas thy gracious hand 5

Brought me in safety from those dark abodes.

Students, to you ’tis giv’n to scan the heights

Above, to traverse the ethereal space,

And mark the systems of revolving worlds.

Still more, ye sons of science ye receive 10

The blissful news by messengers from heav’n,

How Jesus’ blood for your redemption flows.

See him with hands out-stretcht upon the cross;

Immense compassion in his bosom glows;

He hears revilers, nor resents their scorn: 15

What matchless mercy in the Son of God!

When the whole human race by sin had fall’n,

He deign’d to die that they might rise again,

And share with him in the sublimest skies,

Life without death, and glory without end. 20

Improve your privileges while they stay,

Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears

Or good or bad report of you to heav’n.

Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,

By you be shunn’d, nor once remit your guard; 25

Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg.

Ye blooming plants of human race divine,

An Ethiop tells you ’tis your greatest foe;

Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,

And in immense perdition sinks the soul. 30

Your subjects hope, dread Sire—

The crown upon your brows may flourish
long,

And that your arm may in your God be strong!

O may your sceptre num’rous nations sway,

And all with love and readiness obey!

But how shall we the British king reward! 5

Rule thou in peace, our father, and our lord!

Midst the remembrance of thy favours past,

The meanest peasants most admire the last.Open note 3Back to note ³

May George, belov’d by all the nations round,

Live with heav’ns choicest constant blessings
crown’d! 10

Great God, direct, and guard him from on high,

And from his head let ev’ry evil fly!

And may each clime with equal gladness see

A monarch’s smile can set his subjects free!

’Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan
land,

Taught my benighted soul to understand

That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:

Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.

Some view our sable race with scornful eye, 5

“Their colour is a diabolic die.”

Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,

May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.

Ere yet the morn its lovely blushes spread,

See Sewell number’d with the happy dead.

Hail, holy man, arriv’d th’ immortal shore,

Though we shall hear thy warning voice no more.

Come, let us all behold with wishful eyes 5

The saint ascending to his native skies;

From hence the prophet wing’d his rapt’rous way

To the blest mansions in eternal day.

Then begging for the Spirit of our God,

And panting eager for the same abode, 10

Come, let us all with the same vigour rise,

And take a prospect of the blissful skies;

While on our minds Christ’s image is imprest,

And the dear Saviour glows in ev’ry breast.

Thrice happy saint! to find thy heav’n at last, 15

What compensation for the evils past!

Great God, incomprehensible, unknown

By sense, we bow at thine exalted throne.

O, while we beg thine excellence to feel,

Thy sacred Spirit to our hearts reveal, 20

And give us of that mercy to partake,

Which thou hast promis’d for the Saviour’s sake!

How oft for us the holy prophet pray’d!

How oft to us the Word of Life convey’d!

By duty urg’d my mournful verse to close,

I for his tomb this epitaph compose.

“Lo, here a man, redeem’d by Jesus’ blood, 30

A sinner once, but now a saint with God;

Behold ye rich, ye poor, ye fools, ye wise,

Nor let his monument your heart surprize;

’Twill tell you what this holy man has done,

Which gives him brighter lustre than the sun.

Listen, ye happy, from your seats above.

I speak sincerely, while I speak and love,

He sought the paths of piety and truth,

By these made happy from his early youth!

In blooming years that grace divine he felt, 40

Which rescues sinners from the chains of guilt.

Mourn him, ye indigent, whom he has fed,

And henceforth seek, like him, for living bread;

Ev’n Christ, the bread descending from above,

And ask an int’rest in his saving love. 45

Mourn him, ye youth, to whom he oft has told

God’s gracious wonders from the times of old.

I, too have cause this mighty loss to mourn,

For he my monitor will not return.

O when shall we to his blest state arrive? 50

When the same graces in our bosoms thrive.”

Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,

Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown;

We hear no more the music of thy tongue,

Thy wonted auditories cease to throng.

Thy sermons in unequall’d accents flow’d, 5

And ev’ry bosom with devotion glow’d;

Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin’d

Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.

Unhappy we the setting sun deplore,

So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more. 10

There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way,

And sails to Zion through vast seas of day. 15

Thy pray’rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries

Have pierc’d the bosom of thy native skies.

Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light,

How he has wrestled with his God by night.

He pray’d that grace in ev’ry heart might dwell, 20

He long’d to see America excel;

He charg’d its youth that ev’ry grace divine

Should with full lustre in their conduct shine;

That Saviour, which his soul did first receive,

The greatest gift that ev’n a God can give, 25

He freely offer’d to the num’rous throng,

That on his lips with list’ning pleasure hung,

“Take him, ye wretched, for your only good,

Take him ye starving sinners, for your food;

Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream, 30

Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme;

Take him my dear Americans, he said,

Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid:

Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you,

Impartial Saviour is his title due: 35

Wash’d in the fountain of redeeming blood,

You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God.”

Great Countess,Open note 4Back to note ⁴ we Americans revere

Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere;

New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn, 40

Their more than father will no more return.

But, though arrested by the hand of death,

Whitefield no more exerts his lab’ring breath,

Yet let us view him in th’ eternal skies,

Let ev’ry heart to this bright vision rise; 45

While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust,

Till life divine re-animates his dust.

From dark abodes to fair etherial light

Th’ enraptur’d innocent had wing’d her flight;

On the kind bosom of eternal love

She finds unknown beatitude above.

This know, ye parents, nor her loss deplore, 5

She feels the iron hand of pain no more;

The dispensations of unerring grace,

Should turn your sorrows into grateful praise;

Let then no tear for her henceforward flow,

No more distress’d in our dark vale below. 10

Her morning sun, which rose divinely bright,

Was quickly mantled with the gloom of night;

But hear in heav’n’s blest bow’rs your Nancy fair,

And learn to imitate her language there.

“Thou, Lord, whom I behold with glory crown’d,

By what sweet name, and in what tuneful sound

Wilt thou be prais’d? Seraphic pow’rs are faint

Infinite love and majesty to paint.

To thee let all their grateful voices raise,

And saints and angels join their songs of
praise.” 20

Perfect in bliss she from her heav’nly home

Looks down, and smiling beckons you to come;

Why then, fond parents, why these fruitless groans?

Restrain your tears, and cease your plaintive moans.

Freed from a world of sin, and snares, and pain, 25

Why would you wish your daughter back again?

No――bow resign’d. Let hope your grief control,

And check the rising tumult of the soul.

Calm in the prosperous, and adverse day,

Adore the God who gives and takes away; 30

Eye him in all, his holy name revere,

Upright your actions, and your hearts sincere,

Till having sail’d through life’s tempestuous sea,

And from its rocks, and boist’rous billows free,

Yourselves, safe landed on the blissful shore, 35

Shall join your happy babe to part no more.

Who taught thee conflict with the pow’rs
of night,

To vanquish Satan in the fields of sight?

Who strung thy feeble arms with might unknown,

How great thy conquest, and how bright thy
crown!

War with each princedom, throne, and pow’r
is o’er. 5

The scene is ended to return no more.

O could my muse thy seat on high behold,

How deckt with laurel, how enrich’d with gold!

O could she hear what praise thine harp employs,

How sweet thine anthems, how divine thy joys! 10

What heav’nly grandeur should exalt her strain!

What holy raptures in her numbers reign!

To sooth the troubles of the mind to peace,

To still the tumult of life’s tossing seas,

To ease the anguish of the parents heart, 15

What shall my sympathizing verse impart?

Where is the balm to heal so deep a wound?

Where shall a sov’reign remedy be found?

Look, gracious Spirit, from thine heav’nly bow’r,

And thy full joys into their bosoms pour; 20

The raging tempest of their grief control,

And spread the dawn of glory through the soul,

To eye the path the saint departed trod,

And trace him to the bosom of his God.

Grim monarch! see, depriv’d of vital breath,

A young physician in the dust of death:

Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,

Our griefs to double, and lay waste our joy?

Enough thou never yet wast known to say, 5

Though millions die, the vassals of thy sway:

Nor youth, nor science, nor the ties of love,

Nor aught on earth thy flinty heart can move.

The friend, the spouse from his dire dart to save,

In vain we ask the sovereign of the grave. 10

Fair mourner, there see thy lov’d Leonard laid,

And o’er him spread the deep impervious shade;

Clos’d are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep

His senses bound in never-waking sleep,

Till time shall cease, till many a starry world 15

Shall fall from heav’n, in dire confusion hurl’d,

Till nature in her final wreck shall lie,

And her last groan shall rend the azure sky:

Not, not till then his active soul shall claim

His body, a divine immortal frame. 20

But see the softly-stealing tears apace

Pursue each other down the mourner’s face;

But cease thy tears, bid ev’ry sigh depart,

And cast the load of anguish from thine heart:

From the cold shell of his great soul arise,

And look beyond, thou native of the skies;

There fix thy view, where fleeter than the wind

Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.

Thyself prepare to pass the vale of night

To join for ever on the hills of light:

To thine embrace his joyful spirit moves

To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;

He welcomes thee to pleasures more refin’d,

And better suited to th’ immortal mind.

Ye martial pow’rs, and all ye tuneful nine,

Inspire my song, and aid my high design.

The dreadful scenes and toils of war I write,

The ardent warriors, and the fields of fight:

You best remember, and you best can sing

The acts of heroes to the vocal string:

Resume the lays with which your sacred lyre,

Did then the poet and the sage inspire.

Now front to front the armies were display’d,

Here Israel rang’d, and there the foes array’d;

The hosts on two opposing mountains stood,

Thick as the foliage of the waving wood;

Between them an extensive valley lay,

O’er which the gleaming armour pour’d the day,

When from the camp of the Philistine foes,

Dreadful to view, a mighty warrior rose;

In the dire deeds of bleeding battle skill’d,

The monster stalks the terror of the field.

From Gath he sprung, Goliath was his name,

Of fierce deportment, and gigantic frame:

A brazen helmet on his head was plac’d,

A coat of mail his form terrific grac’d,

The greaves his legs, the targe his shoulders prest:

Dreadful in arms high-tow’ring o’er the rest

A spear he proudly wav’d, whose iron head,

Strange to relate, six hundred shekels weigh’d;

He strode along, and shook the ample field,

While Phœbus blaz’d refulgent on his shield:

Through Jacob’s race a chilling horror ran,

When thus the huge, enormous chief began:

“Say, what the cause that in this proud array

You set your battle in the face of day?

One hero find in all your vaunting train,

Then see who loses, and who wins the plain;

For he who wins, in triumph may demand

Perpetual service from the vanquish’d land:

Your armies I defy, your force despise,

By far inferior in Philistia’s eyes:

Produce a man, and let us try the fight,

Decide the contest, and the victor’s right.”

Thus challeng’d he: all Israel stood amaz’d,

And ev’ry chief in consternation gaz’d;

But Jesse’s son in youthful bloom appears,

And warlike courage far beyond his years:

He left the folds, he left the flow’ry meads,

And soft recesses of the sylvan shades.

When the fair morning blush’d with orient
red,

What David’s fire enjoin’d the son obey’d,

And swift of foot towards the trench he came,

Where glow’d each bosom with the martial flame.

He leaves his carriage to another’s care,

And runs to greet his brethren of the war.

While yet they spake the giant-chief arose,

Repeats the challenge, and insults his foes:

Struck with the sound, and trembling at the view,

Affrighted Israel from its post withdrew.

“Observe ye this tremendous foe, they cry’d,

Who in proud vaunts our armies hath defy’d:

Whoever lays him prostrate on the plain,

Freedom in Israel for his house shall gain;

And on his wealth unknown the king will pour,

And give his royal daughter for his dow’r.”

Then Jesse’s youngest hope: “My brethren”
“say,

What shall be done for him who takes away

Reproach from Jacob, who destroys the chief,

And puts a period to his country’s grief.

He vaunts the honours of his arms abroad,

And scorns the armies of the living God.”

Thus spoke the youth, th’ attentive people ey’d

The wond’rous hero, and again reply’d:

“Such the rewards our monarch will bestow,

On him who conquers, and destroys his foe.”

Eliah heard, and kindled into ire

To hear his shepherd-brother thus inquire,

And thus begun? “What errand brought thee?”
“say

Who keeps thy flock? or does it go astray?

I know the base ambition of thine heart,

But back in safety from the field depart.”

Eliah thus to Jesse’s youngest heir,

Express’d his wrath in accents most severe.

When to his brother mildly he reply’d,

“What have I done? or what the cause to
chide?”

The words were told before the king, who sent

For the young hero to his royal tent:

Before the monarch dauntless he began,

“For this Philistine fail no heart of man:

I’ll take the vale, and with the giant fight:

I dread not all his boasts, nor all his might.”

When thus the king: “Dar’st thou a stripling go,

And venture combat with so great a foe?

Who all his days has been inur’d to fight,

And made its deeds his study and delight:

Battles and bloodshed brought the monster forth,

And clouds and whirlwinds usher’d in his birth.”

When David thus: “I kept the fleecy care

And out there rush’d a lion and a bear;

A tender lamb the hungry lion took,

And with no other weapon than my crook

Bold I pursu’d, and chas’d him o’er the field,

The prey deliver’d, and the felon kill’d:

As thus the lion and the bear I slew,

So shall Goliath fall, and all his crew:

The God, who sav’d me from these beasts of
prey,

By me this monster in the dust shall lay,”

So David spoke. The wond’ring king reply’d;

“Go thou with heav’n and victory on thy side:

This coat of mail, this sword gird on,” he
said,

And plac’d a mighty helmet on his head:

The coat, the sword, the helm he laid aside,

Nor chose to venture with those arms untry’d,

Then took his staff, and to the neighb’ring
brook

Instant he ran, and thence five pebbles took.

Mean time descended to Philistia’s son

A radiant cherub, and he thus begun:

“Goliath, well thou know’st thou hast defy’d

Yon Hebrew armies, and their God deny’d:

Rebellious wretch! audacious worm! forbear,

Nor tempt the vengeance of their God too far:

Them, who with his omnipotence contend,

No eye shall pity, and no arm defend:

Proud as thou art, in short liv’d glory great,

I come to tell thee thine approaching fate.

Regard my words, The judge of all the gods,

Beneath whose steps the tow’ring mountain nods,

Will give thine armies to the savage brood,

That cut the liquid air, or range the wood.

Thee too a well-aim’d pebble shall destroy,

And thou shalt perish by a beardless boy:”

“Goliath say, shall grace to him be shown,

Who dares heav’ns monarch, and insults his
throne?”

“Provoke no more Jehovah’s awful hand

To hurl its vengeance on thy guilty land:

He grasps the thunder, and, he wings the
storm,

Servants their sov’reign’s orders to perform.”

The angel spoke, and turn’d his eyes away,

Adding new radiance to the rising day.

Now David comes: the fatal stones demand

His left, the staff engag’d his better hand:

The giant mov’d, and from his tow’ring height

Survey’d the stripling, and disdain’d the sight,

And thus began: “Am I a dog with thee?

Bring’st thou no armour, but a staff to me?

The gods on thee their vollied curses pour,

And beasts and birds of prey thy flesh devour.”

David undaunted thus, “Thy spear and shield

Shall no protection to thy body yield:

Jehovah’s name—no other arms I bear,

I ask no other in this glorious war.

To-day the Lord of Hosts to me will give

Vict’ry, to-day thy doom thou shalt receive;

The fate you threaten shall your own become,

And beasts shall be your animated tomb,

That all the earth’s inhabitants may know

That there’s a God, who governs all below:

This great assembly too shall witness stand,

That needs nor sword, nor spear, th’ Almighty’s
hand:

The battle his, the conquest he bestows,

And to our pow’r consigns our hated foes.”

Thus David spoke; Goliath heard and came

To meet the hero in the field of fame.

Ah! fatal meeting to thy troops and thee,

But thou wast deaf to the divine decree;

Young David meets thee, meets thee not in vain;

’Tis thine to perish on th’ ensanguin’d plain.

And now the youth the forceful pebble flung,

Philistia trembled as it whizz’d along:

In his dread forehead, where the helmet ends,

Just o’er the brows the well-aim’d stone descends,

It pierc’d the skull, and shatter’d all the brain,

Prone on his face he tumbled to the plain:

Goliath’s fall no smaller terror yields

Than riving thunders in aerial fields:

The soul still ling’red in its lov’d abode,

Till conq’ring David o’er the giant strode:

Goliath’s sword then laid its master dead,

And from the body hew’d the ghastly head;

The blood in gushing torrents drench’d the plains,

The soul found passage through the spouting
veins.

But fled in vain; the conqu’ror swift pursu’d:

What scenes of slaughter! and what seas of blood!

There Saul thy thousands grasp’d th’ impurpled
sand

In pangs of death the conquest of thine hand;

And David there were thy ten thousands laid:

Thus Israel’s damsels musically play’d.

Near Gath and Ekron many an hero lay,

Breath’d out their souls, and curs’d the light of
day:

Their fury, quench’d by death, no longer burns,

And David with Goliath’s head returns,

To Salem brought, but in his tent he plac’d

the load of armour which the giant grac’d.

His monarch saw him coming from the war,

And thus demanded of the son of Ner.

“Say, who is this amazing youth?” he cry’d,

When thus the leader of the host reply’d;

“As lives thy soul I know not whence he sprung,

So great in prowess though in years so young:”

“Inquire whose son is he, the sov’reign said,

Before whose conq’ring arm Philistia fled.”

Before the king behold the stripling stand,

Goliath’s head depending from his hand;

To him the king: “Say of what martial line

Art thou, young hero, and what sire was thine?”

He humbly thus; “the son of Jesse I:

I came the glories of the field to try.

Small is my tribe, but valiant in the fight;

Small is my city, but thy royal right.”

“Then take the promis’d gifts,” the monarch
cry’d,

Conferring riches and the royal bride:

“Knit to my soul for ever thou remain

With me, nor quit my regal roof again.”

Arise, my soul, on wings enraptur’d, rise

To praise the monarch of the earth and
skies,

Whose goodness and beneficence appear

As round its centre moves the rolling year,

Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,

Or the sun slumbers in the ocean’s arms:

Of light divine be a rich portion lent

To guide my soul, and favour my intent.

Celestial muse, my arduous flight sustain,

And raise my mind to a seraphic strain!

Ador’d for ever be the God unseen,

Which round the sun revolves this vast machine,

Though to his eye its mass a point appears:

Ador’d the God that whirls surrounding spheres,

Which first ordain’d that mighty Sol should
reign

The peerless monarch of th’ ethereal train:

Of miles twice forty millions is his height,

And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight

So far beneath—from his th’ extended earth

Vigour derives, and ev’ry flow’ry birth:

Vast through her orb she moves with easy grace

Around her Phœbus in unbounded space;

True to her course th’ impetuous storm derides,

Triumphant o’er the winds, and surging tides.

Almighty, in these wond’rous works of thine,

What Pow’r, what Wisdom, and what Goodness
shine?

And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explor’d,

And yet creating glory unador’d!

Creation smiles in various beauty gay,

While day to night, and night succeeds to day:

That Wisdom, which attends Jehovah’s ways,

Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays:

Without them, destitute of heat and light,

This world would be the reign of endless
night:

In their excess how would our race complain,

Abhorring life! how hate its length’ned chain!

From air adust what num’rous ills would rise?

What dire contagion taint the burning skies?

What pestilential vapours, fraught with death,

Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath?

Hail, smiling morn, that from the orient main

Ascending dost adorn the heav’nly plain!

So rich, so various are thy beauteous dies,

That spread through all the circuit of the skies,

That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars,

And thy great God, the cause of all adores.

O’er beings infinite his love extends,

His Wisdom rules them, and his Pow’r defends.

When tasks diurnal tire the human frame,

The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame,

Then too that ever active bounty shines,

Which not infinity of space confines.

The sable veil, that Night in silence draws,

Conceals effects, but shews th’ Almighty Cause;

Night seals in sleep the wide creation fair,

And all is peaceful but the brow of care.

Again, gay Phœbus, as the day before,

Wakes ev’ry eye, but what shall wake no more;

Again the face of nature is renew’d,

Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good.

May grateful strains salute the smiling morn,

Before its beams the eastern hills adorn!

Shall day to day and night to night conspire

To show the goodness of the Almighty Sire?

This mental voice shall man regardless hear,

And never, never raise the filial pray’r?

To-day, O hearken, not your folly mourn

For time mispent, that never will return.

But see the sons of vegetation rise,

And spread their leafy banners to the skies.

All-wise Almighty Providence we trace

In trees, and plants, and all the flow’ry race;

As clear as in the nobler frame of man,

All lovely copies of the Maker’s plan.

The pow’r the same that forms a ray of light,

That call’d creation from eternal night.

“Let there be light,” he said: from his profound

Old Chaos heard, and trembled at the sound:

Swift as the word, inspir’d by pow’r divine,

Behold the light around its maker shine,

The first fair product of th’ omnific God,

And now through all his works diffus’d abroad.

As reason’s pow’rs by day our God disclose,

So we may trace him in the night’s repose:

Say what is sleep? and dreams how passing
strange!

When action ceases, and ideas range

Licentious and unbounded o’er the plains,

Where Fancy’s queen in giddy triumph reigns.

Hear in soft strains the dreaming lover sigh

To a kind fair, or rave in jealousy;

On pleasure now, and now on vengeance bent,

The lab’ring passions struggle for a vent.

What pow’r, O man! thy reason then restores,

So long suspended in nocturnal hours?

What secret hand returns the mental train,

And gives improv’d thine active pow’rs again?

How merciful our God who thus imparts

O’erflowing tides of joy to human hearts,

When wants and woes might be our righteous lot,

Our God forgetting, by our God forgot!

Among the mental pow’rs a question rose,

“What most the image of th’ Eternal shows?”

When thus to Reason (so let Fancy rove)

Her great companion spoke immortal Love.

“Say, mighty pow’r, how long shall strife prevail,

And with its murmurs load the whisp’ring
gale?

Refer the cause to Recollection’s shrine,

Who loud proclaims my origin divine,

The cause whence heav’n and earth began to be,

And is not man immortaliz’d by me?

Reason let this most causeless strife subside.”

Thus Love pronounc’d, and Reason thus reply’d.

“Thy birth, celestial queen! ’tis mine to own,

In thee resplendent is the Godhead shown;

Thy words persuade, my soul enraptur’d feels

Resistless beauty which thy smile reveals.”

Ardent she spoke, and, kindling at her
charms,

She clasp’d the blooming goddess in her arms.

Infinite Love where’er we turn our eyes

Appears: this ev’ry creature’s wants supplies;

This most is heard in Nature’s constant voice,

This makes the morn, and this the eve rejoice;

This bids the fost’ring rains and dews descend

To nourish all, to serve one gen’ral end,

The good of man: yet man ungrateful pays

But little homage, and but little praise.

To him, whose works array’d with mercy
shine,

What songs should rise, how constant, how divine!

We trace the pow’r of Death from tomb to
tomb,

And his are all the ages yet to come.

’Tis his to call the planets from on high,

To blacken Phœbus, and dissolve the sky;

His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,

From its firm base to shake the solid world;

His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,

And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.

Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:

Behold thy brother number’d with the dead

From bondage freed, the exulting spirit flies

Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.

Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn

In vain; to earth thou never must return.

Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart

Of Death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.

Weep not for them, who wish thine happy mind

To rise with them, and leave the world behind.

As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,

So near its parent lies the newly born—

But ’midst the bright ethereal train behold

It shines superior on a throne of gold:

Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,

Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.

On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,

Mindless of sublunary scenes below;

Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,

And seek substantial, and immortal joys;

Where hope receives, where faith to vision
springs,

And raptur’d seraphs tune th’ immortal strings

To strains extatic. Thou the chorus join,

And to thy father tune the praise divine.

Where contemplation finds her sacred
spring,

Where heav’nly music makes the arches ring,

Where virtue reigns unsully’d and divine,

Where wisdom thron’d, and all the graces shine,

There sits thy spouse amidst the radiant throng,

While praise eternal warbles from her tongue;

There choirs angelic shout her welcome round,

With perfect bliss, and peerless glory crown’d.

While thy dear mate, to flesh no more confin’d,

Exults a blest, an heav’n-ascended mind,

Say in thy breast shall floods of sorrow rise?

Say shall its torrents overwhelm thine eyes?

Amid the seats of heav’n a place is free,

And angels ope their bright ranks for thee;

For thee they wait, and with expectant eye

Thy spouse leans downward from th’ empyreal
sky:

“O come away, her longing spirit cries,

And share with me the raptures of the skies.

Our bliss divine to mortals is unknown;

Immortal life and glory are our own.

There too may the dear pledges of our love

Arrive, and taste with us the joys above;

Attune the harp to more than mortal lays,

And join with us the tribute of their praise

To him, who dy’d stern justice to atone,

And make eternal glory all our own.

He in his death slew ours, and, as he rose,

He crush’d the dire dominion of our foes;

Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight,

Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light.”

She spoke, and turn’d from mortal scenes her eyes,

Which beam’d celestial radiance o’er the skies.

Thy sighs no more be wasted by the wind,

No more complain, but be to heav’n resign’d.

’Twas thine t’ unfold the oracles divine,

To sooth our woes the task was also thine;

Now sorrow is incumbent on thy heart,

Permit the muse a cordial to impart;

Who can to thee their tend’rest aid refuse?

To dry thy tears how longs the heav’nly muse!

Attend my lays, ye ever honour’d nine,

Assist my labours, and my strains refine;

In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,

For bright Aurora now demands my song.

Aurora hail, and all the thousands dies,

Which deck thy progress through the vaulted
skies:

The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,

On ev’ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;

Harmonious lays the feather’d race resume,

Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted
plume.

Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display

To shield your poet from the burning day:

Calliope awake the sacred lyre,

While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire:

The bow’rs, the gales, the variegated skies

In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.

See in the east th’ illustrious king of day!

His rising radiance drives the shades away—

But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong,

And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song.

Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main

The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly
plain;

Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,

Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.

Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their
notes,

And through the air their mingled music floats.

Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are
spread!

But the west glories in the deepest red:

So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,

The living temples of our God below!

Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the
light,

And draws the sable curtains of the night,

Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,

At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;

So shall the labours of the day begin

More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.

Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,

Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

Say, heav’nly muse, what king, or mighty
God,

That moves sublime from Idumea’s road?

In Bozrah’s dies, with martial glories join’d,

His purple vesture waves upon the wind.

Why thus enrob’d delights he to appear

In the dread image of the Pow’r of war?

Compress’d in wrath the swelling wine-press
groan’d

It bled, and pour’d the gushing purple round.

“Mine was the act, th’ Almighty Saviour
said,

And shook the dazzling glories of his head,

When all forsook I trod the press alone,

And conquer’d by omnipotence my own;

For man’s release sustain’d the pond’rous load,

For man the wrath of an immortal God:

To execute th’ Eternal’s dread command

My soul I sacrific’d with willing hand;

Sinless I stood before the avenging frown,

Atoning thus for vices not my own.”

His eye the ample field of battle round

Survey’d, but no created succours sound;

His own omnipotence sustain’d the sight,

His vengeance sunk the haughty foes in night;

Beneath his feet the prostrate troops were spread,

And round him lay the dying, and the dead.

Great God, what light’ning flashes from thine
eyes?

What pow’r withstands if thou indignant rise?

Against thy Zion though her foes may rage,

And all their cunning, all their strength engage,

Yet she serenely on thy bosom lies,

Smiles at their arts, and all their force defies.

Mneme begin. Inspire, ye sacred nine,

Your vent’rous Afric in her great design.

Mneme, immortal pow’r, I trace thy spring:

Assist my strains, while I thy glories sing:

The acts of long departed years, by thee

Recover’d, in due order rang’d we see:

Thy pow’r the long-forgotten calls from night;

That sweetly plays before the fancy’s sight.

Mneme in our nocturnal visions pours

The ample treasure of her secret stores;

Swift from above she wings her silent flight

Through Phœbe’s realms, fair regent of the
night;

And, in her pomp of images display’d,

To the high-raptur’d poet gives her aid,

Through the unbounded regions of the mind,

Diffusing light celestial and refin’d.

The heav’nly phantom paints the actions done

By ev’ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.

Mneme, enthron’d within the human breast,

Has vice condemn’d, and ev’ry virtue blest.

How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear?

Sweeter than Maro’s entertaining strains

Resounding through the groves, and hills, and
plains.

But how is Mneme dreaded by the race,

Who scorn her warnings, and despise her grace?

By her unveil’d each horrid crime appears,

Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.

Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!

Hers the worst tortures that our souls can know.

Now eighteen years their destin’d course have
run,

In fast sucession round the central sun.

How did the follies of that period pass

Unnotic’d, but behold them writ in brass!

In Recollection see them fresh return,

And sure ’tis mine to be asham’d, and mourn.

O Virtue, smiling in immortal green,

Do thou exert thy pow’r, and change the scene;

Be thine employ to guide my future days,

And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.

Of Recollection such the pow’r enthron’d

In ev’ry breast, and thus her pow’r is own’d.

The wretch, who dar’d the vengeance of the skies,

At last awakes in horror and surprize,

By her alarm’d, he sees impending fate,

He howls in anguish, and repents too late.

But O! what peace, what joys are hers t’impart

To ev’ry holy, ev’ry upright heart!

Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,

Feels himself shelter’d from the wrath divine!

Thy various works, imperial queen, we see,

How bright their forms! how deck’d with
pomp by thee!

Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order stand,

And all attest how potent is thine hand.

From Helicon’s refulgent heights attend,

Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:

To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,

Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.

Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,

Till some lov’d object strikes her wand’ring
eyes,

Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,

And soft captivity involves the mind.

Imagination! who can sing thy force?

Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?

Soaring through air to find the bright abode,

Th’ empyreal palace of the thund’ring God,

We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,

And leave the rolling universe behind:

From star to star the mental optics rove,

Measure the skies, and range the realms
above.

There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,

Or with new worlds amaze th’ unbounded soul.

Though Winter frowns to Fancy’s raptur’d
eyes

The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;

The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,

And bid their waters murmur o’er the sands.

Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,

And with her flow’ry riches deck the plain;

Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,

And all the forest may with leaves be crown’d:

Show’rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,

And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.

Such is thy pow’r, nor are thine orders vain,

O thou the leader of the mental train:

In full perfection all thy works are wrought,

And thine the sceptre o’er the realms of thought.

Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,

Of subject-passions sov’reign ruler Thou;

At thy command joy rushes on the heart,

And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.

Shall day to day and night to night conspire

To show the goodness of the Almighty Sire?

This mental voice shall man regardless hear,

And never, never raise the filial pray’r?

To-day, O hearken, nor your folly mourn

For time mispent, that never will return.

Fancy might now her silken pinions try

To rise from earth, and sweep th’ expanse on
high;

The monarch of the day I might behold,

And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,

But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,

Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;

Winter austere forbids me to aspire,

And northern tempests damp the rising fire;

They chill the tides of Fancy’s flowing sea,

Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.

Say, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight

The warrior’s bosom in the fields of fight?

Lo! here the christian, and the hero join

With mutual grace to form the man divine.

In H—d see with pleasure and surprize,

Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies:

Go, hero brave, still grace the post of fame,

And add new glories to thine honour’d name,

Still to the field, and still to virtue true:

Britannia glories in no son like you.

Hail, happy day, when, smiling like the
morn,

Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:

The northern clime beneath her genial ray,

Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:

Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,

Each soul expands, each grateful bosom burns,

While in thine hand with pleasure we behold

The silken reins, and Freedom’s charms unfold.

Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies

She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:

Soon as appear’d the Goddess long desir’d,

Sick at the view, she languish’d and expir’d;

Thus from the splendors of the morning light

The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.

Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand

Had made, and with it meant t’ enslave the land.

Should you, my lord, while you peruse my
song,

Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,

Whence flow these wishes for the common good,

By feeling hearts alone best understood,

I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate

Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat:

What pangs excruciating must molest,

What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?

Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d

That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d:

Such, such my case. And can I then but
pray

Others may never feel tyrannic sway?

For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,

And thee we ask thy favours to renew,

Since in thy pow’r, as in thy will before,

To sooth the griefs, which thou did’st once deplore.

May heav’nly grace the sacred sanction give

To all thy works, and thou for ever live

Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,

Though praise immortal crowns the patriot’s
name,

But to conduct to heav’ns refulgent fane,

May fiery coursers sweep th’ ethereal plain,

And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,

Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.

Indulgent muse! my grov’ling mind inspire,

And fill my bosom with celestial fire.

See from Jamaica’s fervid shore she moves,

Like the fair mother of the blooming loves,

When from above the Goddess with her hand

Fans the soft breeze, and lights upon the land;

Thus she on Neptune’s wat’ry realm reclin’d

Appear’d, and thus invites the ling’ring wind.

“Arise, ye winds, America explore,

Waft me, ye gales, from this malignant
shore;

The Northern milder climes I long to greet,

There hope that health will my arrival meet.”

Soon as she spoke in my ideal view

The winds assented, and the vessel flew.

Madam, your spouse bereft of wife and son,

In the grove’s dark recesses pours his moan;

Each branch, wide-spreading to the ambient sky,

Forgets its verdure, and submits to die.

From thence I turn, and leave the sultry plain,

And swift pursue thy passage o’er the main:

The ship arrives before the fav’ring wind,

And makes the Philadelphian port assign’d,

Thence I attend you to Bostonia’s arms,

Where gen’rous friendship ev’ry bosom warms:

Thrice welcome here! may health revive again,

Bloom on thy cheek, and bound in ev’ry vein!

Then back return to gladden ev’ry heart,

And give your spouse his soul’s far dearer part,

Receiv’d again with what a sweet surprize,

The tear in transport starting from his eyes!

While his attendant son with blooming grace

Springs to his father’s ever dear embrace.

With shouts of joy Jamaica’s rocks resound,

With shouts of joy the country rings around.

Though thou did’st hear the tempest from
afar,

And felt’st the horrors of the wat’ry war,

To me unknown, yet on this peaceful shore

Methinks I hear the storm tumultuous roar,

And how stern Boreas with impetuous hand

Compell’d the Nereids to usurp the land.

Reluctant rose the daughters of the main,

And slow ascending glided o’er the plain,

Till Æolus in his rapid chariot drove

In gloomy grandeur from the vault above:

Furious he comes. His winged sons obey

Their frantic fire, and madden all the sea.

The billows rave, the wind’s fierce tyrant roars,

And with his thund’ring terrors shakes the shores:

Broken by waves the vessel’s frame is rent,

And strows with planks the wat’ry element.

But thee, Maria, a kind Nereid’s shield

Preserv’d from sinking, and thy form upheld:

And sure some heav’nly oracle design’d

At that dread crisis to instruct thy mind

Things of eternal consequence to weigh,

And to thine heart just feelings to convey

Of things above, and of the future doom,

And what the births of the dread world to come.

From tossing seas I welcome thee to land.

“Resign her, Nereid,” ’twas thy God’s command.

Thy spouse late buried, as thy fears conceiv’d,

Again returns, thy fears are all reliev’d:

Thy daughter blooming with superior grace

Again thou see’st, again thine arms embrace;

O come, and joyful show thy spouse his heir,

And what the blessings of maternal care!

O’Erwhelming sorrow now demands my song:

From death the overwhelming sorrow sprung.

What flowing tears? What hearts with grief opprest?

What sighs on sighs heave the fond parent’s
breast?

The brother weeps, the hapless sisters join

Th’ increasing woe, and swell the crystal brine;

The poor, who once his gen’rous bounty fed,

Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead.

In death the friend, the kind companion lies,

And in one death what various comfort dies!

Th’ unhappy mother sees the sanguine rill

Forget to flow, and nature’s wheels stand still,

But see from earth his spirit far remov’d

And know no grief recals your best-belov’d:

He, upon pinions swifter than the wind,

Has left mortality’s sad scenes behind

For joys to this terrestrial state unknown,

And glories richer than the monarch’s crown.

Of virtue’s steady course the prize behold!

What blissful wonders to his mind unfold!

But of celestial joys I sing in vain:

Attempt not, muse, the too advent’rous strain.

No more in briny show’rs, ye friends around,

Or bathe his clay, or waste them on the ground:

Still do you weep, still wish for his return?

How cruel thus to wish, and thus to mourn?

No more for him the streams of sorrow pour,

But haste to join him on the heav’nly shore,

On harps of gold to tune immortal lays,

And to your God immortal anthems raise.

On Death’s domain intent I fix my eyes,

Where human nature in vast ruin lies:

With pensive mind I search the drear abode,

Where the great conqu’ror has his spoils bestow’d;

There there the offspring of six thousand years

In endless numbers to my view appears:

Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust,

And nations mix with their primeval dust:

Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb;

His is the present, his the age to come.

See here a brother, here a sister spread,

And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.

But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,

And let the fountain of your tears be dry’d,

In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,

Your sighs are wasted to the skies in vain,

Your pains they witness, but they can no more,

While Death reigns tyrant o’er this mortal shore.

The glowing stars and silver queen of light

At last must perish in the gloom of night:

Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand,

Which gave them life, and bow to his command;

Thine Avis give without a murm’ring heart,

Though half thy soul be fated to depart.

To shining guards consign thine infant care

To waft triumphant through the seas of air:

Her soul enlarg’d to heav’nly pleasure springs,

She feeds on truth and uncreated things.

Methinks I hear her in the realms above,

And leaning forward with a filial love,

Invite you there to share immortal bliss

Unknown, untasted in a state like this.

With tow’ring hopes, and growing grace arise,

And seek beatitude beyond the skies.

Through thickest glooms look back,
immortal shade,

On that confusion which thy death has made;

Or from Olympus’ height look down, and see

A Town involv’d in grief bereft of thee.

Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead,

And rends the graceful tresses from her head,

Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest

Sigh follows sigh deep heaving from her breast.

Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone?

Ah! lost for ever to thy wife and son!

The hapless child, thine only hope and heir,

Clings round his mother’s neck, and weeps his
sorrows there.

The loss of thee on Tyler’s soul returns,

And Boston for her dear physician mourns.

When sickness call’d for Marshall’s healing
hand,

With what compassion did his soul expand?

In him we found the father and the friend:

In life how lov’d! how honour’d in his end!

And must not then our Æsculapius stay

To bring his ling’ring infant into day?

The babe unborn in the dark womb is tost,

And seems in anguish for its father lost.

Gone is Apollo from his house of earth,

But leaves the sweet memorials of his worth:

The common parent, whom we all deplore,

From yonder world unseen must come no more,

Yet ’midst our woes immortal hopes attend

The spouse, the sire, the universal friend.

While others chant of gay Elysian scenes,

Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow’ry plains,

My song more happy speaks a greater name,

Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.

For thee, O R—, the muse attunes her strings,

And mounts sublime above the inferior things.

I sing not now of green embow’ring woods,

I sing not now the daughters of the floods,

I sing not of the storms o’er ocean driv’n,

And how they howl’d along the waste of heav’n,

But I to R— would paint the British shore,

And vast Atlantic, not untry’d before:

Thy life impair’d commands thee to arise,

Leave these bleak regions, and inclement skies,

Where chilling winds return the winter past,

And nature shudders at the furious blast.

O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main

Exert thy wonders to the world again!

If ere thy pow’r prolong’d the fleeting breath,

Turn’d back the shafts, and mock’d the gates of
death,

If ere thine air dispens’d an healing pow’r,

Or snatch’d the victim from the fatal hour,

This equal case demands thine equal care,

And equal wonders may this patient share.

But unavailing, frantic is the dream

To hope thine aid without the aid of him

Who gave thee birth, and taught thee where to
flow,

And in thy waves his various blessings show.

May R— return to view his native shore

Replete with vigour not his own before,

Then shall we see with pleasure and surprize,

And own thy work, great Ruler of the skies!

To cultivate in ev’ry noble mind

Habitual grace, and sentiments refin’d,

Thus while you strive to mend the human heart,

Thus while the heav’nly precepts you impart,

O may each bosom catch the sacred fire,

And youthful minds to Virtue’s throne aspire!

When God’s eternal ways you set in sight,

And Virtue shines in all her native light,

In vain would Vice her works in night conceal,

For Wisdom’s eye pervades the sable veil.

Artists may paint the sun’s effulgent rays,

But Amory’s pen the brighter God displays:

While his great works in Amory’s pages shine,

And while he proves his essence all divine,

The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud

Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God;

As if the clay without the potter’s aid

Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made,

Or worlds above with orb o’er orb profound

Self-mov’d could run the everlasting round.

It cannot be — unerring Wisdom guides

With eye propitious, and o’er all presides.

Still prosper, Amory! still may’st thou receive

The warmest blessings which a muse can give,

And when this transitory state is o’er,

When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame’s no more,

May Amory triumph in immortal fame,

A nobler title, and superior name!

No more the flow’ry scenes of pleasure rise,

Nor charming prospects greet the mental
eyes,

No more with joy we view that lovely face

Smiling, disportive, flush’d with ev’ry grace.

The tear of sorrow flows from ev’ry eye,

Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply;

What sudden pangs shot thro’ each aching heart,

When, Death, thy messenger dispatch’d his dart?

Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow’r,

Hurried the infant to his mortal hour.

Could’st thou unpitying close those radiant
eyes?

Or fail’d his artless beauties to surprize?

Could not his innocence thy stroke controul,

Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul?