The fop's impertinence she should despise,
Tho' sorely wounded by her radient eyes;
But pay due rev'rence to the exalted mind
By learning polish'd, and by wit refin'd,
Who all her virtues, without guile, commends,
And all her faults as freely reprehends.
Soft Hymen's rites her passion should approve,
And in her bosom glow the flames of love:
To me her foul, by sacred friendship turn,
And I, for her, with equal friendship burn;
In ev'ry stage of life afford relief,
Partake my joys, and sympathize my grief;
Unshaken, walk in virtue's peaceful road,
Nor bribe her reason to pursue the mode;
Mild as the saint whose errors are forgiv'n,
Calm as a vestal, and compos'd as heav'n.
This be the partner, this the lovely wife
That should embellish and prolong my life;
A nymph! who might a second fall inspire,
And fill a glowing Cherub with desire!
With her I'd spend the pleasurable day,
While fleeting minutes gaily danc'd away:
With her I'd walk, delighted, o'er the green,
Thro' ev'ry blooming mead, and rural scene,
Or sit in open fields damask'd with flow'rs,
Or where cool shades imbrown the noon-tide bow'rs,
Imparadis'd within my eager arms,
I'd reign the happy monarch of her charms:
Oft on her panting bosom would I lay,
And, in dissolving raptures, melt away;
Then lull'd, by nightingales, to balmy rest,
My blooming fair should slumber at my breast.
And when decrepid age (frail mortals doom!)
Should bend my wither'd body to the tomb,
No warbling Syrens should retard my flight,
To heav'nly mansions of unclouded light;
Tho' death, with his imperial horrors crown'd,
Terrific grinn'd, and formidably frown'd,
Offences pardon'd, and remitted sin,
Should form a calm serenity within:
Blessing my natal and my mortal hour,
(My soul committed to th' eternal pow'r)
Inexorable death should smile, for I,
Who knew to LIVE, would never fear to DIE.
[A] Cato.
[B] Seneca.
[C] Socrates.
HYMNS
HYMN I.
Begin the high celestial strain,
My ravish'd soul, and sing,
A solemn hymn of grateful praise
To heav'n's Almighty King.
Ye curling fountains, as ye roll
Your silver waves along,
Whisper to all your verdant shores
The subject of my song.
Retain it long y' echoing rocks,
The sacred sound retain,
And from your hollow winding caves
Return it oft again.
Bear it, ye winds, on all your wings,
To distant climes away,
And round the wide extended world
My lofty theme convey.
Take the glad burden of his name,
Ye clouds, as you arise,
Whether to deck the golden morn,
Or shade the ev'ning skies.
Let harmless thunders roll along
The smooth etherial plain,
And answer from the crystal vault
To ev'ry flying strain.
Long let it warble round the spheres,
And echo through the sky,
Till Angels, with immortal skill,
Improve the harmony.
While I, with sacred rapture fir'd,
The blest Creator sing,
And warble consecrated lays
To heav'n's Almighty King.