2, But chief my fear the dangers mov'd,
That virtue's path enclose:
My heart the wise pursuit approv'd; :
But O, what toils oppose !
3. For see, ah see! while yet her ways
With doubtful step I tread,
A hostile world its terrors raise,
Its snares delnsive spread.
4. O how shall I, with heart prepar'd,
Those terrors learn to meet?
How, from the thousand snares to guard
My unexperienc'd feet?
5. As thus I mus'd, oppressive sleep
Soft o'er my temples drew
Oblivion's veil,-The wat'ry deep,
An object strange and new.
Observant as I stood,
The gathering storms around me roar,
And heave the boiling flood.
7. Near and more near the billows rise;
Ev'n now my steps they lave;
And death to my affrighted eyes
Approached in ev'ry wave.
2. What hope, or whither to retreat!
Each nerve at once unstrung;
Chill fear had fetter'd fast my feet,
And chain'd my speechless tongue.
9. I felt my heart within me die ;
When sudden to mine ear
A voice, descending from on high,
Reprov'd my erring fear.
10. "What though the swelling surge thou see Impatient to devour;
Rest, mortal; rest on God's decree,
And thankful own his power.
11. "Know, when he bade the deep appear, 'Thus far, th'. Almighty said,
6 Thus far, no further rage; and here
6 Let thy proud waves be stay'd." .
12. I heard; and lo! at once controll'd,
The waves in wild retreat,
Back on themselves reluctant roll'd,
And murm'ring left my feet.
13. Deeps to assembling deeps in vain
Once more the signal gave:
The shores the rushing weight sustain,
And check th' usurping wave.
14. Convinced in nature's volume wise,
The imagin'd truth 1 read;
And sudden from my waking eyes
Th' instructive vision fled.
15. Then why thus heavy, O my soul?
Say, why, distrustful still,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er scenes of future ill?
16. Let faith suppress each rising fear,
Each anxious doubt exclude:
Thy Maker's will hath placed thee here,
A Maker wise and good!
17. He to thy ev'ry trial knows
Its just restraint to give:
Attentive to behold thy woes,
And faithful to relieve.
18. Then why thus heavy, O my soul?
Say, why, distrustful still,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er scenes of future ill?
19. Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round, Still in thy God confide,
Whose finger marks the seas their bound,
And curbs the headlong tide.
The Youth and the Philosopher.
1. A GRECIAN youth of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had form'd for virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,
Would often boast his matchless skill,
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel;
And as he passed the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they expressed,
Was praise and transport to his breast.
2. At length, quite vain, he needs would show His master what his art could do;
And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' sacred shade.
The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The wood nymphs started at the sight;
The muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire.
3. Howe'er, the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car.
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.
4. Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain
The self-same track he marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement seized the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glowed;
Ev'n bearded sages hailed the boy;
And all but Plato gazed with joy.
5. For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field;
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye-
"Alas! unhappy youth," he cried,
"Expect no praise from me," (and sigh'd.)
6. "With indignation survey
"Such skill and judgment thrown away:
The time profusely squander'd there,
"On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
"If well employed, at less expense,
"Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense;
"And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
"To govern men, and guide the state."
Discourse between Adam and Eve, Retiring to rest.
1. Now came still ev'ning on, and twilight gray
Had in her sober liv'ry all things clad.
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk all but the wakeful nightingale.
She all night long her am'rous descant sung.
Silence was pleased. Now glow'd the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver-mantle threw.
2. When Adam thus to Eve: "Fair consort, th' hour
Of night, and all things now retired to rest,
Mind us of like repose; since God hath set
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men
Successive; and the timely dew of sleep,
Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, inclines
Our eye lids. Other creatures all day long
Rove idle unemployed, and less need rest;
Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed, which declares his dignity,
And the regard of heav'n on all his ways;
While other animals unactive range,
And of their doings God takes no account.
3. To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be risen,
And at our pleasant labour; to reform
Yon flow'ry arbours, yonder alleys green,
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown,
That mock our scant manuring, and require
More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth.
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums,
That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth,
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease.
Mean while, as nature wills, night bids us rest."
4. To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd
"My author and disposer, what thou bidst
Unargued I obey; so God ordains.
With thee conversing, I forget all time;
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist'ning with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft show'rs; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful ev'ning mild; then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train:
15. But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flow'r,
Glist'ring with dew; nor fragrance after show'rs;
Nor grateful ev'ning mild; nor silent night,
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
Or glittering star-light-without thee is sweet.
But wherefore all night long shine these? for whom.
This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes
6. To whom our gen❜ral ancestor reply'd:
"Daughter of God and man, accomplish'd Eve!
These have their course to finish round the earth,
By morrow evening: and from land to land,
In order, though to nations yet unborn,
Minist'ring light prepar'd, they set and rise;
Lest total darkness should by night regain
Her old possession, and extinguish life
In nature and all things; which these soft fires
Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat
Of virtuous influence, foment and warm,
Temper or nourish; or in part shed down
Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow
On earth, made hereby apter to receive
Perfection from the sun's more potent ray.
7. These, then, though unbeheld in deep of night,
Shine not in vain; nor think, though men were none,
That heav'n would want spectators, God want praise.
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen both when we wake and when we sleep.
All these with ceaseless praise his works behold,
Both day and night. How often from the steep
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices to the midnight air,
Sole or responsive each to others' note,
Singing their great Creator? Oft in bands,
While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk
With heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds,
In full harmonic number join'd, their songs
Divide the night and lift our thoughts to heaven."
8. Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they passed
On to their blissful bower-
-There arrived, both stood,
Both turned; and under open sky adored
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven,
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe,
And starry pole. "Thou also mad'st the night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day,
Which we, in our appointed work employ'd,
Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help,
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
Ordain'd by thee; and this delicious place
For us too large, where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
But thou hast promised from us two a race,
To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now thy gift of sleep."
SECTION VI.
Religion and Death.
1. Lo a form divinely bright
Descends, and bursts upon my sight; A seraph of illustrious birth! (Religion was her name on earth ;) Supremely sweet her radiant face, * And blooming with celestial grace!
Three shining cherubs formed her train,
Waved their light wings, and reached the plain ;
Faith, with sublime and piercing eye,
And pinions flutt'ring for the sky;
Here Hope, that smiling angel, stands,
And golden anchors grace her hands;
There Charity in robes of white,
Fairest and fav'rite maid of light.
2. The seraph spoke-" "Tis reason's part
To govern and to guard the heart;
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