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And twice ten thousand hence, if you

Your temper reconcile

To reason's bound, will he behold
Your prudence with a smile;
A smile, which through eternity
Diffuses so bright rays,
The dimmest deifics e'en guilt,
If guilt, at last, obeys:

Your guilt (for guilt it is to mourn
When such a sovereign reigns),
Your guilt diminish; peace pursue;
How glorious peace in pains!
Here, then, your sorrows cease; if not,
Think how unhappy they,
Who guilt increase by streaming tears,
Which guilt should wash away;
Of tears that gush profuse restrain;

Whence burst those dismal sighs?
They from the throbbing breast of one
(Strange truth!) most happy rise;
Not angels (bear it, and exalt!)
Enjoy a larger share
Than is indulg'd to you, and yours,
Of God's impartial care;
Anxious for each, as if on each

His care for all was thrown;
For all his care as absolute,

As all had been but one.

And is he then so near! so kind!
How little then, and great,
That riddle, man! O! let me gaze
At wonders in his fate;

His fate, who yesterday did crawl
A worm from darkness deep,
And shall, with brother-worms, beneath
A turf, to morrow sleep';

How mean!--And yet, if well obey'd
His mighty Master's call,
The whole creation for mean man
Is deem'd a boon too small :
Too small the whole creation deem'd
For emmets in the dust!
Account amazing! yet most true;
My song is bold, yet just:
Man born for infinite, in whom
Nor period can destroy
The power, in exquisite extremes,

To suffer, or enjoy;

Give him Earth's empire (if no more)
He's beggar'd, and undone !
Imprison'd in unbounded space!
Benighted by the Sun!

For what the Sun's meridian blaze

To the most feeble ray

Which glimmers from the distant dawn

Of uncreated day?

'Tis not the poet's rapture feign'd
Swells here the vain to please;
The mind most sober kindles most
At truths sublime as these;

They warm e'en me.-I dare not say,
Divine ambition strove

Not to bless only, but confound,
Nay, fright us with its love;

And yet so frightful what, or kind,
As that the rending rock,
The darken'd Sun, and rising dead,
So formidable spoke?

And are we darker than that Sun?

Than rocks more hard, and blind?
We are ;-if not to such a God

In agonies resign'd.

Yes, e'en in agonies forbear
To doubt almighty love;
Whate'er endears eternity,

Is mercy from above;

What most imbitters time, that most
Eternity endears,

And thus, by plunging in distress,
Exalts us to the spheres ;

Joy's fountain head! where bliss o'er bliss,
O'er wonders wonders rise,

And an Omnipotence prepares
Its banquet for the wise:

Ambrosial banquet! rich in wines
Nectareous to the soul !

What transports sparkle from the stream,
As angels fill the bowl!

Fountain profuse of every bliss!
Good-will immense prevails;

Man's line can't fathom its profound;
An angel's plummet fails.

Thy love and might, by what they know,
Who judge, nor dream of more;
They ask a drop, how deep the sea!
One sand, how wide the shore!

Of thy exuberant good-will,
Offended Deity!

The thousandth part who comprehends,
A deity is he.

How yonder ample azure field

With radiant worlds is sown!
How tubes astonish us with those
More deep in ether thrown!
And those beyond of brighter worlds
Why not a million more?-
In lieu of answer, let us all

Fall prostrate, and adore.
Since thou art infinite in power,
Nor thy indulgence less ;
Since man, quite impotent and blind,
Oft drops into distress;

Say, what is resignation? 'Tis
Man's weakness understood;
And wisdom grasping, with an hand
Far stronger, every good.

Let rash repiners stand appall'd,
In thee who dare not trust;
Whose abject souls, like demons dark,
Are murmuring in the dust;
For man to murmur, or repine

At what by thee is done,

No less absurd, than to complain
Of darkness in the Sun.

Who would not, with an heart at ease,
Bright eye, unclouded brow,
Wisdom and goodness at the helm,
The roughest ocean plough?

Nay, peace beyond, no small degree

What, though I'm swallow'd in the deep?
Though mountains o'er me roar?
Jehovah reigns! as Jonah safe,
I'm landed, and adore:

Thy will is welcome, let it wear

Its most tremendous form;

Roar, waves; rage, winds! I know that thou

Canst save me by a storm.

From thee immortal spirits born,

To thee, their fountain, flow.
If wise; as curl'd around to theirs

Meandering streams below:

Not less compell'd by reason's call,

To thee our souls aspire,

Than to thy skies, by Nature's law,
High mounts material fire;

To thee aspiring they exult,
I feel my spirits rise,

I feel myself thy son, and pant
For patrimonial skies;

Since ardent thirst of future good,

And generous sense of past,

To thee man's prudence strongly ties,
And binds affection fast;

Since great thy love, and great our want,
And men the wisest blind,
And bliss our aim; pronounce us all
Distracted, or resign'd;

Resign'd through duty, interest, shame;
Deep shame! dare I complain,

When (wondrous truth!) in Heaven itself
Joy ow'd its birth to pain?

And pain for me! for me was drain'd
Gall's overflowing bowl;

And shall one drop to murmur bold
Provoke my guilty soul?

If pardon'd this, what cause, what crime

Can indignation raise?

The Sun was lighted up to shine,

And man was born to praise ;

And when to praise the man shall cease,
Or Sun to strike the view;

A cloud dishonours both; but man's
The blacker of the two:

For oh! ingratitude how black!

With most profound amaze

At love, which man belov'd o'erlooks,

Astonish'd angels gaze.

Praise cheers, and warms, like generous wine;
Praise, more divine than prayer;

Prayer points our ready path to Heaven;
Praise is already there.

Let plausive resignation rise,

And banish all complaint;

All virtues thronging into one,

It finishes the saint;

Makes the man bless'd, as man can be;

Life's labours renders light;

Darts beams through fate's incumbent gloom,
And lights cu: Sun by night;

'Tis Nature's brightest ornament,
The richest gift of grace,
Rival of angels, and supreme
Proprietor of peace;

Of rapture 't will impart ;

Know, madam! when your heart 's in Heaven, "All Heaven is in your heart."

But who to Heaven their hearts can raise ?

Denied divine support,

All virtue dies; support divine

The wise with ardour court:

When prayer partakes the seraph's fire,

'Tis mounted on his wing,

Bursts through Heaven's crystal gates, and gains
Sure audience of its king:

The labouring soul from sore distress
That bless'd expedient frees;

I see you far advanc'd in peace;
I see you on your knees:

How on that posture has the beam
Divine for ever shone!

An humble heart, God's other seat 10!
The rival of his throne:

And stoops Omnipotence so low!
And condescends to dwell,
Eternity's inhabitant,

Well pleas'd, in such a cell?
Such honour how shall we repay?

How treat our guest divine?
The sacrifice supreme be slain !

Let self-will die: resign.
Thus far, at large, on our disease;
Now let the cause be shown,
Whence rises, and will ever rise,

The dismal human groan:

What our sole fountain of distress?
Strong passion for this scene;
That trifles make important, things
Of mighty moment mean:

When Earth's dark maxims poison shed

On our polluted souls,

Our hearts and interests fly as far

Asunder, as the poles;

Like princes in a cottage nurs'd,

Unknown their royal race,
With abject aims, and sordid joys,
Our grandeur we disgrace;
O! for an Archimedes new,

Of moral powers possess'd,
The world to move, and quite expel
That traitor from the breast.
No small advantage may be reap'd

From thought whence we descend;
From weighing well, and prizing weigh'd
Our origin, and end:

From far above the glorious Sun
To this dim scene we came :

And may, if wise, for ever bask

In great Jehovah's beam:

Let that bright beam on reason rous'd
In aweful lustre rise,

Earth's giant-ills are dwarf'd at once,

And all disquiet dies.

Earth's glories too their splendour lose,
Those phantoms charm no more;
Empire's a feather for a fool,

And Indian mines are poor:

10 Isaiah lvii: 15.

Then levell'd quite, whilst yet alive,
The monarch and his slave;
Not wait enlighten'd minds to learn
That lesson from the grave:

A George the Third would then be low
As Lewis in renown,

Could he not boast of glory more

Than sparkles from a crown. When human glory rises high

As human glory can;

When, though the king is truly great,
Still greater is the man;

The man is dead, where virtue fails;
And though the monarch proud
In grandeur shines, his gorgeous robe
Is but a gaudy shroud.

Wisdom! where art thou? None on Earth, Though grasping wealth, fame, power, But what, O Death! through thy approach, Is wiser every hour;

Approach how swift, how unconfin'd!

Worms feast on viands rare,
Those little epicures have kings
To grace their bill of fare:

From kings what resignation due
To that almighty will,

Which thrones bestows, and, when they fail,
Can throne them higher still!

Who truly great? The good and brave,

The masters of a mind

The will divine to do resolv'd,

To suffer it resign'd.

Madam! if that may give it weight,
The trifle you receive

Is dated from a solemn scene,

The border of the grave;

Where strongly strikes the trembling soul
Eternity's dread power,

As bursting on it through the thin
Partition of an hour;

Hear this, Voltaire! but this, from me,
Runs hazard of your frown;
However, spare it; ere you die
Such thoughts will be your own.
In mercy to yourself forbear
My notions to chastise,
Lest unawares the gay Voltaire

Should blame Voltaire the wise:
Fame's trumpet rattling in your ear,
Now, makes us disagree;
When a far louder trumpet sounds,
Voltaire will close with me:
How shocking is that modesty,

Which keeps some honest men
From urging what their hearts suggest,
When brav'd by folly's pen
Assaulting truths, of which in all
Is sown the sacred seed!

Our constitution's orthodox,

And closes with our creed:

What then are they, whose proud conceits
Superior wisdom boast ?

Wretches, who fight their own belief,
And labour to be lost!

Though vice by no superior joys
Her heroes keeps in pay;
Through pure disinterested love
Of ruin they obey!

Strict their devotion to the wrong,
Though tempted by no prize;

Hard their commandments, and their creed
A magazine of lyes

From fancy's forge: gay fancy smiles
At reason plain, and cool;

Fancy, whose curious trade it is

To make the finest fool.

Voltaire! long life's the greatest curse

That mortals can receive,

When they imagine the chief end
Of living is to live;

Quite thoughtless of their day of death,
That birth-day of their sorrow!

Knowing, it may be distant far,

Nor crush them till-to morrow.

These are cold, northern thoughts, conceiv'd Beneath an humble cot;

Not mine, your genius, or your state,

No castle is my lot "1;

But soon, quite level shall we lie;

And, what pride most bemoans,
Our parts, in rank so distant now,
As level as our bones;

Hear you that sound? Alarming sound!
Prepare to meet your fate!

One, who writes FINIS to our works,

Is knocking at the gate;

Far other works will soon be weigh'd;

Far other judges sit;

Far other crowns be lost or won,

Than fire ambitious wit:

Their wit far brightest will be prov'd,
Who sunk it in good sense;
And veneration most profound

Of dread Omnipotence.

'Tis that alone unlocks the gate
Of blest eternity;

O! mayst thou never, never lose
That more than golden key 12!
Whate'er may seem too rough excuse,
Your good I have at heart:
Since from my soul I wish you well;

As yet we must not part:

Shall you, and I, in love with life,

Life's future schemes contrive,
The world in wonder not unjust,
That we are still alive?

What have we left? How mean in man
A shadow's shade to crave!
When life, so vain! is vainer still,
'Tis time to take your leave:
Happier, than happiest life, is death,
Who falling in the field

Of conflict with his rebel will,
Writes VICI, on his shield;

11 Letter to lord Lyttelton.

12 Alluding to Prussia.

So falling man, immortal heir

Of an eternal prize; Undaunted at the gloomy grave, Descends into the skies.

O! how disorder'd our machine, When contradictions mix!

When Nature strikes no less than twelve,

And folly points at six!

To mend the moments of your heart,
How great is my delight
Gently to wind your morals up,

And set your hand aright!

That hand, which spread your wisdom wide
To poison distant lands:
Repent, recant; the tainted age
Your antidote demands;
To Satan dreadfully resign'd,

Whole herds rush down the steep
Of folly, by lewd wits possess'd,
And perish in the deep.

Men's praise your vanity pursues ;
'Tis well, pursue it still;
But let it be of men deceas'd,
And you'll resign the will;
And how superior they to those
At whose applause you aim;
How very far superior they
In number, and in name!

POSTSCRIPT.

THUS have I written, when to write

No mortal should presume;
Or only write, what none can blame,
Hic jacet-for his tomb :

The public frowns, and censures loud
My puerile employ ;

Though just the censure, if you smile,
The scandal I enjoy ;

But sing no more-no more I sing
Or reassume the lyre,
Unless vouchsaf'd an humble part
Where Raphael leads the choir:

What myriads swell the concert loud!
Their golden harps resound
High, as the footstool of the throne,
And deep, as Hell profound:

Hell (horrid contrast!) chord and song
Of raptur'd angels drowns

In self-will's peal of blasphemies,
And hideous burst of groans;

But drowns them not to me; I hear
Harmonious thunders roll

(In language low of men to speak)
From echoing pole to pole!

Whilst this grand chorus shakes the skies

"Above, beneath the Sun,

Through boundless age, by men, by gods,
Jehovah's will be done!"

'Tis done in Heaven; whence headlong hurl'd Self-will with Satan fell;

And must from Earth be banish'd too,
Or Earth's another Hell;

Madam! self-will inflicts your pains:

Self-will's the deadly foe

Which deepens all the dismal shades,
And points the shafts of woe:
Your debt to nature fully paid,

Now virtue claims her due:
But virtue's cause I need not plead,
'Tis safe; I write to you:

You know, that virtue's basis lies
In ever judging right;

And wiping errour's clouds away,
Which dim the mental sight:

Why mourn the dead? you wrong the grave,
From storm that safe resort;

We are still tossing out at sea,

Our admiral in port.

Was death denied, this world, a scene

How dismal and forlorn!

To death we owe, that 't is to man
A blessing to be born;

When every other blessing fails,

Or sapp'd by slow decay,

Or, storm'd by sudden blasts of fate,
Is swiftly whirl'd away;

How happy! that no storm, or time,

Of death can rob the just!

None pluck from their unaching heads
Soft pillows in the dust!

Well pleas'd to bear Heaven's darkest frown,
Your utmost power employ;

'Tis noble chemistry to turn Necessity to joy.

Whate'er the colour of my fate,

My fate shall be my choice: Determin'd am I, whilst I breathe, To praise and to rejoice;

What ample cause! triumphant hope

O rich eternity!

I start not at a world in flames,
Charm'd with one glimpse of thee:
And thou! its great inhabitant!
How glorious dost thou shine!

And dart through sorrow, danger, death,
A beam of joy divine!

The void of joy (with some concern
The truth severe I tell)

Is an impenitent in guilt,
A fool or infidel!

Weigh this, ye pupils of Voltaire !
From joyless murmur free;
Or, let us know, which character
Shall crown you of the three.

Resign, resign: this lesson none
Too deeply can instill;

A crown has been resign'd by more,
Than have resign'd the will;

Though will resign'd the meanest makes
Superior in renown,

And richer in celestial eyes,

Than he who wears a crown;

Hence, in the bosom cold of age,
It kindled a strange aim
To shine in song; and bid me boast

The grandeur of my theme;

But oh! how far presumption falls
Its lofty theme below!

Our thoughts in life's December freeze,
And numbers cease to flow.

First! greatest! best! grant what I wrote
For others, ne'er may rise

To brand the writer! thou alone
Canst make our wisdom wise;
And how unwise! how deep in guilt!
How infamous the fault!

"A teacher thron'd in pomp of words,
Indeed, beneath the taught!"
Means most infallible to make

The world an infidel;

And, with instructions most divine,
To pave a path to Hell;

O' for a clean and ardent heart,
O! for a soul on fire,

Thy praise, begun on Earth, to sound
Where angels string the lyre;
How cold is man! to him how hard
(Hard, what most easy scems)
"To set a just esteem on that,

Which yet he-most esteems!"

What shall we say, when boundless bliss Is offer'd to mankind,

And to that offer when a race

Of rationals is blind?

Of human nature ne'er too high
Are our ideas wrought;

Of human merit ne'er too low
Depress'd the daring thought.

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SIR, I have long, and with impatience, sought,
To ease the fullness of my grateful thought,
My fame at once, and duty to pursue,
And please the public, by respect to you.

Though you, long since beyond Britannia known,
Have spread your country's glory with your own;
To me you never did more lovely shine,
Than when so late the kindled wrath divine
Quench'd our ambition, in great Anna's fate,
And darken'd all the poinp of human state.
Though you are rich in fame, and fame decay,
Though rais'd in life, and greatness fade away,
Your lustre brightens: virtue cuts the gloom
With purer rays, and sparkles near a tomb.
Know, sir, the great esteem and honour due,
I chose that moment to profess to you,
When sadness reign'd, when fortune, so severe,
Had warm'd our bosems to be most sincere.
And when no motives could have force to raise
A serious value, and provoke my praise,
But such as rise above, and far transcend
Whatever glorics with this world shall end,

Then shining forth, when deepest shades shall blot
The Sun's bright orb, and Cato be forgot.

I sing but ah! my theme I need not tell,
See every eye with conscious sorrow swell:
Who now to verse would raise his humble voice,
Can only show his duty, not his choice.
How great the weight of grief our hearts sustain !
We languish, and to speak is to complain.

Let us look back, (for who too oft can view
That most illustrious scene, for ever new!)
See all the seasons shine on Anna's throne,
And pay a constant tribute, not their own.
Her summer's heats nor fruits alone bestow,
They reap the harvest, and subdue the foe;
And when black storms confess the distant Sun,
Her winters wear the wreaths her summers won.
Revolving pleasures in their turns appear,
And triumphs are the product of the year.
To crown the whole, great joys in greater cease,
And glorious victory is lost in peace.

Whence this profusion on our favour'd isle?
Did partial fortune on our virtue smile?
Or did the sceptre, in great Anna's hand,
Stretch forth this rich indulgence o'er our land?
Ungrateful Britain! quit thy groundless claim,
Thy queen and thy good fortune are the same.

Hear, with alarms our trumpets fill the sky;
'Tis Anna reigns! the Gallic squadrons fly.
We spread our canvass to the southern shore ;
'Tis Anna reigns! the South resigns her store.
Her virtue smooths the tumult of the main,
And swells the field with mountains of the slain.
Argyll and Churchill but the glory share,
While millions lie subdued by Anna's prayer.
How great her zeal! how fervent her desire !
How did her soul in holy warmth expire!
Constant devotion did her time divide,
Not set returns of pleasure or of pride.
Not want of rest, or the Sun's parting ray,
But finish'd duty, limited the day.

How sweet succceding sleep! what lovely themes
Smil'd in her thoughts, and soften'd all her dreams!
Her royal couch descending angels spread,
And join'd their wings a shelter o'er her head.
Though Europe's wealth and glory claim'd a part,
Religion's cause reign'd mistress of her heart:
She saw, and griev'd to see, the mean estate
Of those who round the hallow'd altar wait;
She shed her bounty, piously profuse,
And thought it more her own in sacred use.
Thus on his furrow see the tiller stand,
And fill with genial seed his lavish hand;
He trusts the kindness of the fruitful plain,
And providently scatters all his grain.

What strikes my sight? does proud Augusta rise
New to behold, and awefully surprise!
Her lofty brow more numerous turrets crown,
And sacred domes on palaces look down:
A noble pride of piety is shown,

And temples cast a lustre on the throne.
How would this work another's glory raise!
But Anna's greatness robs her of the praise.
Drown'd in a brighter blaze it disappears,
Who dry'd the widow's and the orphan's tears?
Who stoop'd from high to succour the distrest,
And reconcile the wounded heart to rest?
Great in her goodness, well could we perceive,
Whoever sought, it was a queen that gave.
Misfortune lost her name, her guiltless frown
But made another debtor to the clown;

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