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Though man sits still, and takes his ease;

God is at work on man;

No means, no moment unemploy'd,
To bless him, if he can.

But man consents not, boldly bent
To fashion his own fate;

Man, a mere bungler in the trade,

Repents his crime too late;

Hence loud laments: let me thy cause,

Indulgent Father! plead;

Of all the wretches we deplore,
Not one by thee was made.
What is thy whole creation fair?

Of love divine the child;

Love brought it forth; and, from its birth,
Has o'er it fondly smil'd:

Now, and through periods distant far,
Long ere the world began,
Heaven is, and has in travail been,
Its birth the good of man;

Man holds in constant service bound

The blustering winds and seas; Nor suns disdain to travel hard Their master, man, to please : To final good the worst events

Through secret channels run;
Finish for man their destin'd course,
As 'twas for man begun.

One point (observ'd, perhaps, by few)
Has often smote, and smites
My mind, as demonstration strong;
That Heaven in man delights:

What's known to man of things unseen,
Of future worlds, or fates?

So much, nor more, than what to man's
Sublime affairs relates;

What's revelation then? a list,

An inventory just

Of that poor insect's goods, so late
Call'd out of night and dust.

What various motives to rejoice!
To render joy sincere,

Has this no weight? our joy is felt
Beyond this narrow sphere:

Would we in Heaven new Heaven create,

And double its delight?

A smiling world, when Heaven looks down,
How pleasing in its sight!

Angels stoop forward from their thrones
To hear its joyful lays;

As incense sweet enjoy, and join,

Its aromatic praise:

Have we no cause to fear the stroke
Of Heaven's avenging rod,
When we presume to counteract
A sympathetic God?

If we resign, our patience makes

His rod an armless wand;
If not, it darts a serpent's sting,
Like that in Moses' hand;
Like that, it swallows up whatc'er
Earth's vain magicians bring,
Whose baffled arts would boast below
Of joys a rival spring.

VOL. XIII.

Consummate love! the list how large

Of blessings from thy hand!
To banish sorrow, and be blest,
Is thy supreme command.
Are such commands but ill obey'd?
Of bliss, shall we complain?
The man, who dares to be a wretch,
Deserves still greater pain.

Joy is our duty, glory, health;
The sunshine of the soul;
Our best encomium on the power
Who sweetly plans the whole :
Joy is our Eden still possess'd:
Be gone, ignoble grief!

Tis joy makes gods, and men exalts,
Their nature, our relief;

Relief, for man to that must stoop,

And his due distance know;
Transport's the language of the skies,
Content the style below.

Content is joy, and joy in pain
Is joy and virtue too;
Thus, whilst good present we possess
More precious we pursue:

Of joy the more we have in hand,
The more have we to come;
Joy, like our money, interest bears,
Which daily swells the sum.
"But how to smile; to stem the tide
Of nature in our veins ;

Is it not hard to weep in joy

What then to surile in pains?" Victorious joy! which breaks the clouds, And struggles through a storm; Proclaims the mind as great, as good; And bids it doubly charm:

If doubly charining in our sex,

A sex, by nature, bold;

What then in yours? 't is diamond there,
Triumphant o'er our gold.

And should not this complaint repress?
And check the rising sigh?
Yet farther opiate to your pain
1 labour to supply.

Since spirits greatly damp'd distort
Ideas of delight,

Look through the medium of a friend,

To set your notions right:

As tears the sight, grief dims the soul;
Its object dark appears;
True friendship, like a rising sun,
The soul's horizon clears.

A friend's an optic to the mind
With sorrow clouded o'er;
And gives it strength of sight to see
Redress unseen before.

Reason is somewhat rough in man;
Extremely smooth and fair,

When she, to grace her manly strength,
Assumes a female air:

A friend 3 you have, and I the same,
Whose prudent, soft address

Will bring to life those healing thoughts
Which died in your distress;

3 Mrs. Montague. KA

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T is brewing perfect pains;
Lull'd reason sleeps, the pulse is king;
Despotic body reigns:

Have you 4 ne'er pity'd joy's gay scenes,
And deem'd their glory dark?
Alas! poor Envy! she's stone-blind,

And quite mistakes her mark:
Her mark lies hid in sorrow's shades,
But sorrow well subdued;

And in proud fortune's frown defy'd
By meek, unborrow'd good.

By resignation; all in that

A double friend may find,

A wing to Heaven, and, while on Earth, The pillow of mankind :

On pillows void of down, for rest

Our restless hopes we place;

When hopes of Heaven he warm at heart,
Our hearts repose in peace:
The peace, which resignation yields,
Who feel alone can guess;

'T is disbeliev'd by murmuring minds,

They must conclude it less:

The loss, or gain, of that alone
Have we to hope, or fear;

That fate controls, and can invert
The seasons of the year:

O! the dark days, the year around,

Of an impatient mind!

Through clouds, and storms, a summer breaks,

To shine on the resign'd:

While man by that of every grace,
And virtue, is possess'd;

Foul vice her pandemonium builds
In the rebellious breast;

By resignation we defeat

The worst that can annoy;
And suffer, with far more repose,
Than worldlings can enjoy.
From small experience this I speak;
O! grant to those I love
Experience fuller far, ye powers,
Who form our fates above!
My love where due, if not to those
Who, leaving grandeur, came
To shine on age in mean recess,
And light me to my theme!

A theme themselves! A theme, how rare!
The charms, which they display,

To triumph over captive heads,

Are set in bright array:

With his own arms proud man's o'ercome,
His boasted laurels die :

Learning and genies, wiser grown,

To female bosoms fly.

4 Mrs. Montague.

This revolution, fix'd by fate,
In fable was foretold;
The dark prediction puzzled wits,
Nor could the learn'd unfold:
But as those ladies' 5 works I read,
They darted such a ray,

The latent sense burst out at once,
Aud shone in open day :

So burst, full ripe, distended fruits,
When strongly strikes the Sun;
And from the purple grape unpress'd
Spontaneous nectars run.

Pallas, ('t is said) when Jove grew dull,
Forsook his drowsy brain;

And sprightly leap'd into the throne
Of wisdom's brighter reign;
Her helmet took; that is, shot rays
Of formidable wit;

And lance, or, genius most acute,
Which lines immortal writ;

And gorgon shield,-or, power to fright
Man's folly, dreadful shone,
And many a blockhead (easy change!)
Turn'd, instantly, to stone.

Our authors male, as, then, did Jove,
Now scratch a damag'd head,
And call for what once quarter'd there,
But find the goddess fled.

The fruit of knowledge, golden fruit!
That once forbidden tree,
Hedg'd-in by surly man, is now

To Britain's daughters free:

In Eve (we know) of fruit so fair
The noble thirst began;

And they, like her, have caus'd a fall,
A fall of fame in man:

And since of genius in our sex,

O Addison! with thee

The sun is set; how I rejoice

This sister lamp to see!

It sheds, like Cynthia, silver beams
On man's nocturnal state;

His lessen'd light, and languid powers,
I show, whilst I relate.

PART II.

But what in either sex, beyond
All parts, our glory crowns?
"In ruffling seasons to be calm,
And smile, when fortune frowns."
Heaven's choice is safer than our own;
Of ages past inquire,

What the most formidable fate?

"To have our own desire."

If, in your wrath, the worst of foes
You wish extremely ill;

Expose him to the thunder's stroke,
Or that of his own will.

What numbers, rushing down the steep
Of inclination strong,

Have perish'd in their ardent wish!
Wish ardent, ever wrong!

5 Mrs. Montague. Mrs. Carter.

'Tis resignation's full reverse, Most wrong, as it implies Errour most fatal in our choice, Detachment from the skies.

By closing with the skies, we make
Omnipotence our own;
That done, how formidable ill's
Whole army is o'erthrown,!
No longer impotent, and frail,
Ourselves above we rise:

We scarce believe ourselves below!
We trespass on the skies!

The Lord, the soul, and source of all,
Whilst man enjoys his ease,

Is executing human will,

In earth, and air, and seas;
Beyond us, what can angels boast?
Archangels what require?
Whate'er below, above, is done,
Is done as we desire.

What glory this for man so mean,
Whose life is but a span!
This is meridian majesty!

This, the sublime of man!
Beyond the boast of pagan song
My sacred subject shines!
And for a foil the lustre takes

Of Rome's exalted lines.

"All, that the Sun surveys, subdued,
But Cato's mighty mind."

How grand! most true; yet far beneath
The soul of the resign'd:

To more than kingdoms, more than worlds,
To passion that gives law;

Its matchless empire could have kept
Great Cato's pride in awe;

That fatal pride, whose cruel point

Transfix'd his noble breast;
Far nobler! if his fate sustain'd

Had left to Heaven the rest;
Then he the palm had borne away,
At distance Cæsar thrown;
Put him off cheaply with the world,
And made the skies his own.
What cannot resignation do?

It wonders can perform ;

That powerful charm, "Thy will be done,"
Can lay the loudest storm.

Come, Resignation! then, froin fields,
Where, mounted on the wing,
A wing of flame, blest martyrs' souls
Ascended to their king:

Who is it calls thee? one whose need
Transcends the common size;
Who stands in front against a fue
To which none equal rise:

In front he stands, the brink he treads

Of an eternal state;

How dreadful his appointed post!

How strongly arm'd by fate:

His threatening foe! what shadows deep
O'erwhelm his gloomy brow!
Ilis dart tremendous !at fourscore
My sole asylum, thou!

Haste, then, O Resignation! haste,
'Tis thine to reconcile
My foe, and me; at thy approach,
My foe begins to smile:

O! for that summit of my wish,
Whilst here I draw my breath,
That promise of eternal life,

A glorious smile in death:

What sight, Heaven's azure arch beneath,
Has most of Heaven to boast?
The man resign'd; at once serene,
And giving up the ghost.

At Death's arrival they shall smile,
Who, not in life o'er gay,

Serious and frequent thought send out
To meet him on his way:

My gay coevals! (such there are)
If happiness is dear;
Approaching death's alarming day
Discreetly let us fear:

The fear of death is truly wise,

Till wisdom can rise higher; And, arm'd with pious fortitude, Death dreaded once, desire: Grand climacteric vanities

The vainest will despise;

Shock'd, when beneath the snow of age
Man immaturely dies:

But am not I myself the man?
No need abroad to roam
In quest of faults to be chatis'd;

What cause to blush at home?

In life's decline, when men relapse
Into the sports of youth,
The second child out-fools the first,
And tempts the lash of truth;
Shall a mere truant from the grave
With rival boys engage?

His tren.bling voice attempt to sing,
And ape the poet's rage?
Here, madam! let me visit one,

My fault who, partly, shares,
And tell myself, by telling him,

What more becomes our years;
And if your breast with prudent zeal
For resignation glows,

You will not disapprove a just
Resentment at its foes.

In youth, Voltaire! our foibles plead
For some indulgence due;

When heads are white, their thoughts and aims
Should change their colour too:

How are you cheated by your wit!
Old age is bound to pay,

By Nature's law, a mind discreet,
For joys it takes away;

A mighty change is wrought by years,
Reversing human lot;

In age 't is bonour to lie hid,

'T is praise to be forgot;

The wise, as flowers, which spread at noon,
And all their charms expose,

When evening damps and shades descend,
Their evolutions close,

What though your Muse has nobly soar'd,

Is that our true sublime?

Ours, hoary friend! is to prefer
Eternity to time:

Why close a life so justly farm'd

With such bold trash as this 6? This for renown? yes, such as makes Obscurity a bliss:

Your trash, with mine, at open war,

Is obstinately bent 7,

Like wits below, to sow your tares
Of gloom and discontent:
With so much sunshine at command,
Why light with darkness mix?

Why dash with pain our pleasure? why
Your Helicon with Styx?

Your works in our divided minds

Repugnant passions raise,
Confound us with a double stroke,
We shudder whilst we praise;

A curious web, as finely wrought
As genius can inspire,

From a black bag of poison spun,
With horrour we admire.

Mean as it is, if this is read
With a disdainful air,
I can't forgive so great a foe
To my dear friend Voltaire:
Early I knew him, early prais'd,
And long to praise him late;
His genius greatly I admire,

Nor would deplore his fate;

A fate how much to be deplor'd!
At which our nature starts,
Forbear to fall on your own sword,

To perish by your parts:

"But great your name"-To feed on air,
Were then immortals born?
Nothing is great, of which more great,
More glorious is the scorn.

Can fame your carcase from the worm
Which gnaws us in the grave,
Or soul from that which never dies,
Applauding Europe save?

But fame you lose; good sense alone
Your idol, praise, can claim;
When wild wit murders happiness,
It puts to death our fame!

Nor boast your genius, talents bright;
F'en dunces will despise,

If in your western beams is miss'd
A genius for the skies;

Your taste too fails; what most excels
True taste must relish most!
And what, to rival palms above,
Can proudest laurels boast ?

Sound heads salvation's helmet seek 8,
Resplendent are its rays,

Let that suffice; it needs no plume,
Of sublunary praise.

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May this enable couch'd Voltaire
To see that" All is right 9,"
His eye, by flash of wit struck blind,
Restoring to its sight;

If so, all's well: who much have err'd,
That much have been forgiven;

I speak with joy, with joy he'll hear,
"Voltaires are, now, in Heaven."
Nay, such philanthropy divine,
So boundless in degree,

Its marvellous of love extends
(Stoops most profound!) to me:
Let others cruel stars arraign,

Or dwell on their distress;
But let my page, for mercies pour'd,
A grateful heart express :
Walking, the present God was seen,
Of old, in Eden fair;

The God as present, by plain steps
Of providential care,

I behold passing through my life;
His awful voice I hear;
And, conscious of my nakedness,
Would hide myself for fear:

But where the trees, or where the clouds,
Can cover from his sight?

Naked the centre to that eye,

To which the Sun is night.

As yonder glittering lamps on high

Through night illumin'd roll;

May thoughts of him, by whom they shine,
Chase darkness from my soul;

My soul, which reads his hand as clear
In my minute affairs,

As in his ample manuscript

Of Sun, and Moon, and stars;
And knows him not more bent aright
To wield that vast machine,
Than to correct one erring thought
In my small world within;

A world, that shall survive the fall
Of all his wonders here;
Survive, when suns ten thousand drop,
And leave a darken'd sphere.

Yon matter gross, how bright it shines!
For time how great his care!

Sure spirit and eternity

Far richer glories share;

Let those our hearts impress, on those
Our contemplation dwell;

On those my thoughts how justly thrown,
By what I now shall tell:

When backward with attentive mind
Life's labyrinth I trace,

I find him far myself beyond

Propitious to my peace:

Through all the crooked paths I trod,
My folly he pursued ;
My heart astray to quick return
Importunately woo'd;

Due resignation home to press
On my capricious will,
How many rescues did I meet,
Beneath the mask of ill!

9 Which his romance ridicules,

How many foes in ambush faid
Beneath my soul's desire!
The deepest penitents are made
By what we most admire.
Have I not sometimes (real good

So little mortals know!)
Mounting the summit of my wish,
Profoundly plung'd in woe?

I rarely plann'd, but cause I found
My plan's defeat to bless :
Oft I lamented an event;

It turn'd to my success.
By sharpen'd appetite to give
To good intense delight,

Through dark and deep perplexities
He led me to the right.

And is not this the gloomy path,

Which you are treading now?
The path most gloomy leads to light,
When our proud passions bow:
When labouring under fancy'd ill,
My spirits to sustain,

He kindly cur'd with sovereign draughts
Of unimagin'd pain.

Pain'd sense from fancy'd tyranny
Alone can set us free;

A thousand miseries we feel,

Till sunk in misery.

Cloy'd with a glut of all we wish,
Our wish we relish less;
Success, a sort of suicide,

Is ruin'd by success :

Sometimes he led me near to death,

And, pointing to the grave,
Bid terrour whisper kind advice;
And taught the tomb to save:

To raise my thoughts beyond where worlds
As spangles o'er us shine,

One day he gave, and bid the next

My soul's delight resign.

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We to ourselves, but through the means
Of mirrors, are unknown;

In this my fate can you descry
No features of your own?

And if you can, let that excuse
These self-recording lines;

A record, modesty forbids,

Or to small bound confines :

In grief why deep ingulf'd? You see
You suffer nothing rare;

Uncommon grief for common fate!

That wisdom cannot bear.

When streams flow backward to their source,
And humbled flames descend,
And mountains wing'd shall fly aloft,
Then human sorrows end;

But human prudence too must cease,
When sorrows domineer,
When fortitude has losits fire,
And freezes into fear:

The pang most poignant of my life

Now heightens my delight;

I see a fair creation rise

From chaos, and old night:

From what seem'd horrour, and despair,

The richest harvest rose; And gave me in the nod divine

An absolute repose.

Of all the plunders of mankind,

More gross, or frequent, none,
Than in their grief and joy misplac'd,
Eternally are shown.

But whither points all this parade?
It says, that near you lies
A book, perhaps, yet unperus'd,
Which you should greatly prize:
Of self-perusal, science rare!
Few know the mighty gain;
Learn'd prelates, self-unread, may read
Their Bibles o'er in vain :

Self-knowledge, which from Heaven itself
(So sages tell us) came,

What is it, but a daughter fair
Of my maternal theme?
Unletter'd and untravel'd men
An oracle might find,

Would they consult their own contents,
The Delphos of the mind.

Enter your bosom; there you'll meet
A revelation new,

A revelation personal;

Which none can read but you.
There will you clearly read reveal'd
In your enlighten'd thought,
By mercies manifold. through life,
To fresh remembrance brought,

A mighty Being! and in him
A complicated friend,

A father, brother, spouse; no dread
Of death, divorce, or end:

Who such a matchless friend embrace,
And lodge him in their heart,
Full well, from agonies exempt,
With other friends may part:
As when o'erloaded branches bear
Large clusters big with wine,
We scarce regret one falling leaf
From the luxuriant vine,

My short advice to you may sɔund
Obscure or somewhat odd,

Though 't is the best that man can give,→→ "E'en be content with God."

Through love he gave you the deceas'd,
Through greater took him hence;
This reason fully could evince,
Though murmur'd at by sense.

This friend, far past the kindest kind,
Is past the greatest great;
His greatness let me touch in points
Not foreign to your state;

His eye, this instant, reads your heart;
A truth less obvious hear;

This instant its most secret thoughts
Are sounding in his ear:

Dispute you this? O! stand in awe,
And cease your sorrow; know,
That tears now trickling down, he saw
Ten thousand years ago;

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