|
Near those bright Tow’rs where Art has Wonders done, Where Davids sight glads the blest Summers Sun; And at his feet proud Jordans Waters run; | } |
A Cell there stands by Pious Founders rais’d,
Both for its Wealth and Learned Rabbins prais’d:
To this did an Ambitious Bard aspire,
To be no less than Lord of that blest Quire:
Till Wisdom deem’d so Sacred a Command,
A Prize too great for his unhallow’d Hand.
Besides, lewd Fame had told his plighted Vow,
To Laura’s cooing Love percht on a dropping Bough
Laura in faithful Constancy confin’d
To Ethiops Envoy, and to all Mankind.
Laura though Rotten, yet of Mold Divine;
He had all her Cl—ps, and She had all his Coine.
Her Wit so far his Purse and Sense could drain,
Till every P—x was sweetn’d to a Strain.
And if at last his Nature can reform,
A weary grown of Loves tumultuous storm,
’Tis Ages Fault, not His; of pow’r bereft,
He left not Whoring, but of that was left.
But wandring Muse bear up thy flagging Wing:
To thy more glorious Theme return, and sing
Brave Jothams Worth, Impartial, Great, and Just,
Of unbrib’d Faith, and of unshaken Trust:
Once Geshurs Lord, their Throne so nobly fill’d,
As if to th’borrow’d Scepter that he held,
49 Th’inspiring David yet more generous grew,
And lent him his Imperial Genius too.
Nor has he worn the Royal Image more
In Israels Viceroy, than Embassador:
Witness his Gallantry that resolute hour,
When to uphold the Sacred Pride of Pow’r,
His stubborn Flags from the Sydonian shore,
The angry storms of Thundring Castles bore.
But these are Virtues Fame must less admire,
Because deriv’d from that Heroick Sire,
Who on a Block a dauntless Martyr dy’d,
With all the Sweetness of a Smiling Bride;
Charm’d with the Thought of Honours Starry Pole,
With Joy laid down a Head to mount a Soul.
Of all the Champions rich in Honours Scarrs,
Whose Loyalty through Davids ancient Wars,
(In spight of the triumphant Tyrants pride,)
Was to his lowest Ebb of Fortune ty’d;
No Link more strong in all that Chain of Gold,
Then Amasai, the Constant, and the Bold.
That Warlike General whose avenging Sword,
Through all the Battles of his Royal Lord,
Pour’d all the Fires that Loyal Zeal could light,
No brighter Star in the lost Davids night.
No less with Laurels Ashurs Brows adorn,
That mangled Brave who with Tyres Thunder torn,
Brought a dismember’d Load of Honour home,
And lives to make both th’Earth and Seas his Tomb.
With Reverence the Religious Helon treat,
Refin’d from all the looseness of the Great.
|
Helon who sees his Line of Virtues run Beyond the Center of his Grave, his own Unfinisht Luster sparkling in his Son. | } |
A Son so high in Sanedrims renown’d,
In Israels Intrest strong, in Sense profound.
|
Under one Roof here Truth a Goddess dwells, The Pious Father builds her Shrines and Cells, And in the Son she speaks her Oracles. | } |
50