230 TO THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN,
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear,
But the chief Shepherd is for ever near;
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ;
Thy tears all issue from a source divine,
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine-
"Twas thus in Gideon's fleece the dews were found,
And drought on all the drooping herds around.
THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN.
UNWIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay
As ever friendship penned,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a vicious age.
An union formed, as mine with thee,
Not rashly, nor in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,
And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in comfort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.
The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind,
The stock whereon it grows,
With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair,
As if produced by nature there.
EPISTLE TO THE REV. W. BULL.
Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,
Lest this should prove the last.
"Tis where it should be-in a plan,
That holds in view the good of man.
The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend,
I sink the poet in the friend.
EPISTLE TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
IF reading verse be your delight,
"Tis mine as much, or more, to write;
But what we would, so weak is man,
Lies oft remote from what we can.
For instance, at this very time,
I feel a wish, by cheerful rhyme,
To sooth my friend, and had I power,
To cheat him of an anxious hour.
Not meaning (for I must confess
What 'twere but folly to suppress)
His pleasure or his good alone,
But squinting partly at my own.
But though the sun is flaming high
I'the centre of yon arch, the sky,
And he had once, and who but he?
The name for setting genius free;
Yet whether poets of past days
Yielded him undeserved praise,
And he, by no uncommon lot,
Was fai'd for virtues he had not;
EPISTLE TO THE REV. W. BULL.
Or whether, which is like enough,
His highness may have taken huff;
So seldom sought by invocation,
Since it has been the reigning fashion
To disregard his inspiration,
I seem no brighter in my wits,
For all the radiance he emits,
Than if I saw through midnight vapour
The glimmering of a farthing taper.
Oh, for a succedaneum then
T'accelerate a creeping pen;
Oh, for a ready succedaneum,
Quod caput, cerebrum et cranium
Pondere liberet exoso,
Et morbo jam caliginoso!
'Tis here; this oval box well fill'd
With best tobacco, finely mill'd,
Beats all Antycira's pretences
To disengage th' encumber'd senses.
Oh Nymph of Transatlantic fame,
Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy name,
Whether reposing on the side
Of Oroonoko's spacious tide,
Or listening with delight not small
To Niagara's distant fall,
"Tis thine to cherish and to feed
The pungent nose-refreshing weed;
Which, whether pulveriz'd it gain
A speedy passage to the brain,
Or whether touch'd with fire, it rise
In circling eddies to the skies,
Does thought more quicken and refine
Than all the breath of all the nine-
Forgive the bard, if bard he be,
Who once too wantonly made free
* On one of his visits to the poet, Mr. Bull bad accidentally
leit his box behind him, filled with Oroonoko tobacco.
To touch with a satiric wipe
That symbol of thy power, the PIPE.
So may no blight infect thy plains,
And no unseasonable rains;
And so may smiling peace once more
Visit America's sad shore.
And then secure from all alarms
Of thundering drums and glitt'ring arms,
Rove unconfin'd beneath the shade
Thy wide expanded leaves have made.
So may thy votaries increase
And fumigation never cease;
May Newton* with renewed delights
Perform thine odoriferous rites;
While clouds of incense, half divine,
Involve thy disappearing shrine;
And so may smoke-inhaling Bull
Be always filling, never full.
Olney, June 22, 1782.
THE ENCHANTMENT DISSOLVED.
BLINDED in youth by Satan's arts,
The world to our unpractised hearts
A flattering prospect shows;
Our fancy forms a thousand schemes
Of gay delights, and golden dreams,
And undisturbed repose.
So in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic power produced in haste
(As ancient fables say),
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the traveller meet,
And stop him in his way.
Rev. J. Newton late of Saint Mary's Woolnoth, London, but then of Olney.
LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.
But while he listens with surprise,
The charm dissolves, the vision dies,
"Twas but enchanted ground:
Thus if the Lord our spirit touch,
The world, which promised us so much,
A wilderness is found.
At first we start, and feel distressed,
Convinced we never can have rest
In such a wretched place;
But He whose mercy breaks the charm,
Reveals his own almighty arm,
And bids us seek his face.
Then we begin to live indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed
By this beloved Friend;
We follow him from day to day,
Assured of grace through all the way,
And glory at the end.
LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.
GOD moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break,
In blessings on your head.
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