Chapter XVI: Section III: On Reading and Speaking, (14)

'Tis true, there was a time, when we were powerful enough, not only to defend our own borders, and protect our allies, but even to invade Philip in his own dominions. Yes, Athenians, there was such a juncture; I remember it well. But, by neglect of proper opportunities, we are no longer in a situation to be invaders: it will be well for us, if we can procure for our own defence, and our allies. Never did any conjuncture require so much prudence as this. However, I should not despair of seasonable remedies, had I the art to prevail with you to be unanimous in right measures. The opportunities, which have so often escaped us have not been lost; through ignorance, or want of judgment; but through negligence or treachery.--If I assume, at this time, more than ordinary liberty of speech, I conjure you to suffer, patiently, those truths, which have no other end, but your own good. You have too many reasons to be sensible how much you have suffered, by hearkening to sycophants. I shall, therefore, be plain, in laying before you the grounds of past miscarriages, in order to correct you in your future conducts.

You may remember, it is not above three or four years since we had the news of Philip's laying siege to the fortress of Juno, in Thrace. It was, as I think, in October we received this intelligence. We voted an immediate supply of threescore talents; forty men of war were ordered to sea: and so zealous we were, that preferring the necessities of state to our very laws, our citizens above the age of five and forty years, were commanded to serve. What followed?--A whole year was spent idly, without any thing done; and it was but the third month of the following year, a little after the celebration of the feast of Ceres, that Charedemus set sail, furnished with no more than five talents, and ten galleys, not half manned.

A rumour was spread that Philip was sick. That rumour was followed by another, that Philip was dead. And, then, as if all danger died with him, you dropped your preparations: whereas then, then was your time to push, and be active; then was your time to secure yourselves, and confound him at once. Had your resolutions, taken with so much heat, been as warmly seconded by action, you had then been as terrible to Philip, as Philip, recovered, is now to you. "To what purpose, at this time, these reflections! What is done cannot be undone." But, by your leave, Athenians; though past moments are not to be recalled, past errors may be repeated. Have we not now, a fresh provocation to war? Let the memory of oversights, by which you have suffered so much, instruct you to be more vigilant in the present danger. If the Olynthians are not instantly succoured, and with your utmost efforts, you become assistants to Philip, and serve him more effectually than he can help himself.

It is not, surely, necessary to warn you, that votes alone can be of no consequence. Had your resolutions, of themselves, the virtue to compass what you intend, we should not see them multiply every day, as they do, and upon every occasion, with so little effect: nor would Philip be in a condition to brave and affront us in this manner.--Proceed, then, Athenians, to support your deliberations with vigour. You have heads capable of advising what is best; you have judgment and experience, to discern what is right; and you have power and opportunity to execute what you determine. What time so proper for action! What occasion so happy? And when can you hope for such another, if this be neglected? Has not Philip, contrary to all treaties, insulted you in Thrace? Does he not, at this instant, straiten and invade your confederates, whom you have solemnly sworn to protect? Is he not an implacable enemy? a faithless ally? the usurper of provinces, to which he has no title nor pretence? a stranger, a barbarian, a tyrant? and indeed, what is he not?

Observe, I beseech you, men of Athens, how different your conduct appears from the practices of your ancestors. They were friends to truth and plain dealing, and detested flattery and servile compliance. By unanimous consent they continued arbiters of all Greece for the space of forty-five years, without interruption; a public fund, of no less than ten thousand talents, were ready for any emergency: they exercised over the kings of Macedon that authority which is due to Barbarians; obtained, both by sea and land, in their own persons frequent and signal victories and by their noble exploits, transmitted to posterity an immortal memory of their virtue, superior to the reach of malice and detraction. It is to them we owe that great number of public edifices, by which the city of Athens exceeds all the rest of the world, in beauty and magnificence. It is to them we owe so many stately temples, so richly embellished; but, above all, adorned with the spoils of vanquished enemies--But, visit their own private habitations; visit the houses of Aristides, Militiades, or any other of those patriots of antiquity; you will find nothing, not the least mark of ornament, to distinguish them from their neighbours. They took part in the government, not to enrich themselves, but the public; they had no schemes or ambition, but for the public nor knew any interest, but the public. It was by a close and steady application to the general good of their country; by an exemplary piety toward the immortal gods; by a strict faith, and religious honesty, betwixt man and man; and a moderation, always uniform, and of apiece; they established that reputation, which remains to this day, and will last to utmost posterity.

Such, O men of Athens! were your ancestors; so glorious in the eye of the world; so bountiful and munificent to their country; so sparing, so modest, so self-denying to themselves. What resemblance can we find in the present generation, of these great men? At a time, when your ancient competitors have left you a clear stage; when the Lacedemonians are disabled; the Thebans employed in troubles of their own; when no other state whatever is in a condition to rival or molest you: in short, when you are at full liberty; when you have the opportunity and the power to become once more the sole arbiters of Greece; you permit, patiently, whole provinces to be arrested from you; you lavish the public money to scandalous and obscure uses; you suffer your allies to perish in time of peace, whom you preserved in time of war; and, to sum up all, you yourselves, by your mercenary court, and servile resignation to the will and pleasure of designing, insidious leaders, abet, encourage, and strengthen the most dangerous and formidable of your enemies. Yes, Athenians, I repeat it, you yourselves are the contrivers of your own ruin. Lives there a man who has confidence enough to deny it? let him arise, and assign, if he can, any other cause of the success and prosperity of Philip. "But," you reply, "what Athens may have lost in reputation abroad, she has gained in splendor at home. Was there ever a greater appearance of prosperity! a greater face of plenty? Is not the city enlarged? Are not the streets better paved? houses repaired and beautified?"--Away with such trifles! Shall I be paid with counters? An old square new vamped up! a fountain! an aqueduct! Are these acquisitions to brag of? Cast your eye upon the magistrate, under whose ministry you boast these precious improvements. Behold the despicable creature, raised, all at once, from dirt to opulence; from the lowest obscurity to the highest honours. Have not some of these upstarts built private houses and seats, vying with the most sumptuous of our public palaces? And how have their fortunes and their power increased, but as the commonwealth has been ruined and impoverished!

To what are we to impute these disorders? and to what cause assign the decay of a state, so powerful and flourishing in past time?--The reason is plain. The servant is now become the master. The magistrate was then subservient to the people: punishments and rewards were properties of the people: all honours, dignities, and preferments were disposed by the voice and favour of the people. But the magistrate, now, has usurped the right of the people, and exercises an arbitrary authority over his ancient and natural lord. You miserable people! the mean while, without money, without friends; from being the ruler, are become the servant; from being the master, the dependant: happy that these governors, into whose hands you have thus resigned your own power, are so good, and so gracious, as to continue your poor allowance to see plays.

Believe me, Athenians, if recovering from this lethargy, you would assume the ancient freedom and spirit of your fathers; if you would be your own soldiers, and your own commanders, confiding no longer your affairs in foreign or mercenary hands; if you would charge yourselves with your own defence, employing abroad, for the public, what you waste in unprofitable pleasures at home, the world might, once more, behold you making a figure worthy of Athenians. "You would have us then (you say) do service in our armies, in our own persons; and for so doing, you would have the pensions we receive in time of peace, accepted as pay in time of war. Is it thus we are to understand you?"--Yes, Athenians, 'tis my plain meaning. I would make it a standing rule, that no person, great or little, should be the better for the public money, who should grudge to employ it for the public service. Are we in peace? the public is charged with your subsistence. Are we in war, or under a necessity, as at this time, to enter into a war? let your gratitude oblige you to accept, as pay, in defence of your benefactors, what you receive, in peace, as mere bounty.--Thus, without any innovation, without altering or abolishing any thing, but pernicious novelties, introduced for the encouragement of sloth and idleness; by converting only for the future the same funds for the use of the serviceable, which are spent, at present, upon the unprofitable; you may be well served in your armies; your troops regularly paid; justice duly administered; the public revenues reformed and increased; and every member of the commonwealth rendered useful to his country, according to his age and ability, without any further burden to the state.

This, O men of Athens! is what my duty prompted me to represent to you upon this occasion.--May the gods inspire you to determine upon such measures as may be most expedient for the particular and general good of our country!

THE PERFECT SPEAKER.

Imagine to yourselves a Demosthenes addressing the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended.--How awful such a meeting! How vast the subject! Is man possessed of talents adequate to the great occasion? Adequate--yes, superior. By the power of his eloquence; the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the subject for a while superceded by the admiration of his talents. With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the whole man, and, at once, captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions!--To effect this, must be the utmost effort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses, is here unemployed: not a faculty that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work: all his external testify their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions are all busy: without, every muscle, every nerve is exerted; not a feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantaneously, and, as it were, with an electrical spirit, vibrate those energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a multitude, by the lightning of eloquence, they are melted into one mass--the whole assembly actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is--LET US MARCH AGAINST PHILIP--LET US FIGHT FOR OUR LIBERTIES--LET US CONQUER--OR DIE!

_On the duties of School-Boys, from the pious and judicious_

ROLLIN.

Quintillian says, that he has included almost all the duty of scholars in this one piece of advice which he gives them, to love those who teach them, as they love the science which they learn of them; and to look upon them as fathers, from whom they derive not the life of the body, but that instruction which is in a manner the life of the soul. Indeed this sentiment of affection, and respect suffices to make them apt to learn during the time of their studies, and full of gratitude all the rest of their lives. It seems to me to include a great part of what is to be expected from them.

Docility, which consists in submitting to directions, in readily receiving the instructions of their masters; and reducing them to practice, is properly the virtue of scholars, as that of masters is to teach well. The one can do nothing without the other; and as it is not sufficient for a labourer to sow the seed, unless the earth, after having opened its bosom to receive it, in a manner hatches, warms, and moistens it; so likewise the whole fruit of instruction depends upon a good correspondence between the masters and the scholars.

Gratitude for those who have laboured in our education, is the character of an honest man, and the mark of a good heart. Who is there among us, says Cicero, that has been instructed with any care, that is not highly delighted with the sight, or even the bare remembrance of his preceptors, masters, and the place where he was taught and brought up? Seneca exhorts young men to preserve always a great respect for their masters, to whose care they are indebted for the amendment of their faults, and for having imbibed sentiments of honour and probity. Their exactness and severity displease sometimes, at an age when we are not in a condition to judge of the obligations we owe to them; but when years have ripened our understanding and judgment, we then discern that what made us dislike them, I mean admonitions, reprimands, and a severe exactness in restraining the passions of an imprudent and inconsiderate age, is expressly the very thing which should make us esteem and love them. Thus we see that Marcus Aurelius, one of the wisest and most illustrious emperors that Rome ever had, thanked the gods for two things especially--for his having had excellent tutors himself, and that he had found the like for his children.

Quintillian, after having noted the different characters of the mind in children, draws, in a few words, the image of what he judged to be a perfect scholar; and certainly it is a very amiable one: "For my part," says he, "I like a child who is encouraged by commendation, is animated by a sense of glory, and weeps when he is outdone. A noble emulation will always keep him in exercise, a reprimand will touch him to the quick, and honour will serve instead of a spur. We need not fear that such a scholar will ever give himself up to sullenness." _Mihi ille detur puer, quem laus excitet, quem gloria juvet, qui virtus fleut. Hic erit alendus ambitu: hunc mordebit objurgetio; hunc honor excitabit; in hoc desidium nunquam verebor._

How great a value soever Quintillian sets upon the talents of the mind, he esteems those of the heart far beyond them, and looks upon the others as of no value without them. In the same chapter from whence I took the preceding words, he declares, he should never have a good opinion of a child, who placed his study in occasioning laughter, by mimicking the behaviour, mien, and faults of others; and he presently gives an admirable reason for it: "A child," says he, "cannot be truly ingenuous, in my opinion, unless he be good and virtuous; otherwise, I should rather choose to have him dull and heavy, than of a bad disposition." _Non dubit spem bonoe indolis, qui hoc initandi studio petit, ut rideatur. Nam probus quoque imprimus erit ille vere ingeniosus: alioquinon pejus duxerim tardi esse ingenii, quam mali._

He displays to us all these talents in the eldest of his two children, whose character he draws, and whose death he laments in so eloquent and pathetic a strain, in the beautiful preface to his sixth book. I shall beg leave to insert here a small extract of it, which will not be useless to the boys, as they will find it a model which suits well with their age and condition.

Alter having mentioned his younger son, who died at five years old, and described the graces and beauties of his countenance, the prettiness of his expression, the vivacity of his understanding, which began to shine through the veil of childhood: "I had still left me," says he, "my son Quintillian, in whom I placed all my pleasure and all my hopes, and comfort enough I might have found in him; for, having now entered into his tenth year, he did not produce only blossoms like his younger brother, but fruits already formed, and beyond the power of disappointment.--I have much experience; but I never saw in any child, I do not say only so many excellent dispositions for the sciences, nor so much taste, as his masters know, but so much probity, sweetness, good nature, gentleness, and inclination to please and oblige, as I discerned in him."

"Besides this, he had all the advantages of nature, a charming voice, a pleasing countenance, and a surprising facility in pronouncing well the two languages, as if he had been equally born for both of them.

"But all this was no more than hopes. I set a greater value upon his admirable virtues, his equality of temper, his resolution, the courage with which he bore up against fear and pain; for, how were his physicians astonished at his patience under a distemper of eight months continuance, when at the point of death he comforted me himself, and bade me not to weep for him! and delirious as he sometimes was at his last moments, his tongue ran on nothing else but learning and the sciences: O vain and deceitful hopes!" &c.

Are there many boys amongst us, of whom we can truly say so much to their advantage, as Quintillian says here of his son? What a shame would it be for them, if born and brought up in a Christian country, they had not even the virtues of Pagan children! I make no scruple to repeat them here again--docility, obedience, respect for their masters, or rather a degree of affection, and the source of an eternal gratitude; zeal for study, and a wonderful thirst after the sciences, joined to an abhorrence of vice and irregularity; an admirable fund of probity, goodness, gentleness, civility, and liberality; as also patience, courage, and greatness of soul in the course of a long sickness.--What then was wanting to all these virtues?--That which alone could render them truly worthy the name, and must be in a manner the soul of them, and constitute their whole value, the precious gift of faith and piety; the saving knowledge of a Mediator; a sincere desire of pleasing God, and referring all our actions to him.

_COLUMBIA._

_BY THE REVEREND DR. DWIGHT._

Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and child of the skies!
Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold,
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold.
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime;
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name,
Be Freedom, and Science, and Virtue, thy fame.

To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire;
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire;
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.
A world is thy realm: for a world be thy laws,
Enlarg'd as thine empire, and just as thy cause;
On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise;
Extend with the main and dissolve with the skies.

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star,
New bards, and new sages, unrival'd shall soar
To fame, unextinguish'd, when time is no more;
To thee, the last refuge of virtue design'd,
Shall fly from all nations, the best of mankind;
Here, grateful to Heaven, with transports shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring.

Nor less, shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire;
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin'd,
And virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind,
With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.

Thy fleets to all regions thy pow'r shall display,
The nations admire, and the ocean obey;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the east and the south yield their spices and gold.
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow,
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow;
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl'd,
Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world.

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread,
From war's dread confusion, I pensively stray'd--
The gloom from the face of fair heav'n retir'd;
The winds ceas'd to murmur; the thunders expir'd;
Perfumes, as of Eden, flow'd sweetly along,
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung:
"Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies"

THE CHOICE OF A RURAL LIFE.

_A POEM_,

Written by W.L. Esq. Gov. of N.J.

_THE ARGUMENT_.

_The subject proposed. Situation of the author's house. His frugality in his furniture. The beauties of the country. His love of retirement, and choice of his friends. A description of the morning. Hymn to the sun. Contemplation of the Heavens. The existence of God inferred from a view of the beauty and harmony of the creation. Morning and evening devotion. The vanity of riches and grandeur. The choice of his books. Praise of the marriage state. A knot of modern ladies described. The author's exit._

PHILOSOPHIC SOLITUDE, &c.

Let ardent heroes seek renown in arms,
Pant after fame, and rush to war's alarms;
To shining palaces let fools resort,
And dunces cringe to be esteem'd at court:
Mine be the pleasure of a _rural_ life,
From noise remote, and ignorant of strife;
Far from the painted belle, and white-glov'd beau,
The lawless masquerade and midnight show;
From ladies, lap-dogs, courtiers, garters, stars,
Fops, fiddlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars.

Full in the centre of some shady grove,
By nature form'd for solitude and love;
On banks array'd with ever-blooming flow'rs,
Near beaut'ous landscapes, or by roseate bow'rs,
My neat, but simple mansion I would raise,
Unlike the sumptuous domes of modern days;
Devoid of pomp, with rural plainness form'd,
With savage game, and glossy shells adorn'd.

No costly furniture should grace my hall;
But curling vines ascend against the wall,
Whose pliant branches shou'd luxuriant twine,
While purple clusters swell'd with future wine
To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distill,
From craggy rocks, and spread a limpid rill.
Along my mansion spiry firs should grow,
And gloomy yews extend the shady row;

The cedars flourish, and the poplars rise
Sublimely tall, and shoot into the skies:
Among the leaves refreshing zephyrs play,
And crouding trees exclude the noon-tide ray;
Whereon the birds their downy nests should form,
Securely shelter'd from the batt'ring storm;
And to melodious notes their choir apply,
Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky:
While all around the enchanting music rings,
And every vocal grove reponsive sings.

Me to sequester'd scenes, ye muses guide,
Where nature wanton's in her virgin pride,
To mossy banks, edg'd round with op'ning flow'rs,
Elysian fields and amaranthian bow'rs;
T' ambrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills,
To herbag'd vales, gay lawns, and funny hills.

Welcome ye shades! all hail, ye vernal blooms
Ye bow'ry thickets, and prophetic glooms!
Ye forests hail! ye solitary woods!
Love-whispering groves and silver-streaming floods!
Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale!
Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties hail!
Oh how I long with you to spend my days,
Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays!

No trumpets there with martial clangor found,
No prostrate heroes strew the crimson'd ground;
No groves of lances glitter in the air,
Nor thund'ring drums provoke the sanguine war;
but white-rob'd peace, and universal love
Smile in the field, and brighten, ev'ry grove,
There all the beauties of the circling year,
In native ornamental pride appear;
Gay rosy-bosom'd SPRING, and _April_ show'rs;
Wake from the womb of earth the rising flow'rs:
In deeper verdure SUMMER clothes the plain,
And AUTUMN bends beneath the golden grain;
The trees weep amber, and the whispering gales
Breeze o'er the lawn, or murmur through the vales:
The flow'ry tribes in gay confusion bloom,
Profuse of sweets, and fragrant with perfume;
On blossoms blossoms, fruits on fruits arise.
And varied prospects glad the wand'ring eyes.
In these fair seats I'd pass the joyous day,
Where meadows flourish and where fields look gay;
From bliss to bliss with endless pleasure rove,
Seek crystal streams, or haunt the vernal grove,
Woods, fountains, lakes, the fertile fields, or shades
Aerial mountains, or subjacent glades.

There from the polish'd fetters of the great,
Triumphal piles, and gilded rooms of state;
Prime ministers, and sycophantic knaves;
Illustrious villains, and illustrious slaves;
From all the vain formality of fools,
An odious task of arbitrary rules;
The ruffling cares which the vex'd soul annoy,
The wealth the rich possess, but not enjoy,
The visionary bliss the world can lend,
The insidious foe, and false designing friend,
The seven-fold fury of _Xantippe_'s soul,
And _S----_'s rage that burns without controul;
I'd live retir'd, contented, and serene,
Forgot, unknown, unenvied and unseen.

Yet not a real hermitage I'd chuse,
Nor wish to live from all the world recluse;
But with a friend sometimes unbend the soul,
In social converse, o'er the sprightly bowl.
With cheerful _W----_, serene and wisely gay,
I'd often pass the dancing hours away;
He skill'd alike to profit and to please,
Politely talks with unaffected ease;
Sage in debate, and faithful to his trust,
Mature in science, and severely just;
Of soul diffusive, vast and unconfin'd,
Breathing benevolence to all mankind;
Cautious to censure, ready to commend,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted friend:
In early youth fair wisdom's paths he trod,
In early youth a minister of God:
Each pupil lov'd him when at _Yale_ he shone,
And ev'ry bleeding bosom weeps him gone.
Dear _A----_, too, should grace my rural seat,
Forever welcome to the green retreat:
Heav'n for the cause of righteousness design'd
His florid genius, and capacious mind:
Oft have I heard, amidst th' adoring throng,
Celestial truths devolving from his tongue;
High o'er the list'ning audience seen him stand,
Divinely speak, and graceful stretch his hand:
With such becoming grace and pompous sound,
With long-rob'd senators encircled round,
Before the Roman bar, while _Rome_ was free,
Nor bow'd to _Cæsar's_ throne the servile knee;
Immortal _Tully_ pleads the patriot cause,
While ev'ry tongue resounded his applause.
Next round my board should candid _S----_ appear,
Of manners gentle, and a friend sincere,
Averse to discord party-rage and strife,
He sails serenely down the stream of life.
With these _three friends_ beneath a spreading shade,
Where silver fountains murmur thro' the glade;
Or in cool grots, perfum'd with native flow'rs,
In harmless mirth I'd spend the circling hours;
Or gravely talk, or innocently sing,
Or, in harmonious concert, strike the trembling string.

Amid sequester'd bow'rs near gliding streams,
_Druids_ and _Bards_ enjoy'd serenest dreams.
Such was the seat where courtly _Horace_ sung:
And his bold harp immortal _Maro_ strung:
Where tuneful _Orpheus_' unresisted lay,
Made rapid tygers bear their rage away;
While groves attentive to th' extatic sound
Burst from their roots, and raptur'd, danc'd around.
Such feats the venerable _Seers_ of old
(When blissful years in golden circles roll'd)
Chose and admir'd: e'en Goddesses and Gods
(As poets feign) were fond of such abodes:
Th' imperial consort of fictitious _Jove_,
For fount full _Ida_ forsook the realms above.
Oft to _Idalia_ on a golden cloud,
Veil'd in a mist of fragrance, _Venus_ rode;
The num'rous altars to the queen were rear'd,
And love-sick youths there am'rous-vows prefer'd,
While fair-hair'd damsels (a lascivious train)
With wanton rites ador'd her gentle reign.
The silver-shafted _Huntress_ of the woods,
Sought pendant shades, and bath'd in cooling floods.
In palmy _Delos_, by _Scamander_'s side,
Or when _Cajister_ roll'd his silver tide,
Melodious _Phoebus_ sang; the _Muses round_
Alternate warb'ling to the heav'nly sound.
E'en the feign'd MONARCH of heav'n's bright abode,
High thron'd in gold, of Gods the sov'reign God,
Oft time prefer'd the shade of _Ida_'s grove
To all th'ambrosial feast's, and nectar'd cups above.

Behold, the rosy-finger'd morning dawn,
In saffron rob'd, and blushing o'er the lawn!
Reflected from the clouds, a radiant stream,
Tips with etherial dew the mountain's brim.
Th' unfolding roses, and the op'ning flow'rs
Imbibe the dew, and strew the varied bow'rs,
Diffuse nectarious sweets around, and glow
With all the colours of the show'ry bow
The industrious bees their balmy toil renew,
Buzz o'er the field, and sip the rosy dew.
But yonder comes th'illustrious God of day,
Invests the east, and gilds the etherial way;
The groves rejoice, the feather'd nations sing,
Echo the mountains and the vallies ring.

Hail Orb! array'd with majesty and fire,
That bids each sable shade of night retire!
Fountain of light! with burning glory crown'd,
Darting a deluge of effulgence round!
Wak'd by thy genial and praline ray,
Nature resumes her verdure, and looks gay;
Fresh blooms the rose, the dropping plants revive,
The groves reflourish, and forests live.
Deep in the teeming earth, the rip'ning ore
Confesses thy consolidating pow'r:
Hence labour draws her tools, and artists mould
The fusile silver and the ductile gold:
Hence war is furnish'd, and the regal shield
Like lightning flashes o'er th' illumin'd field.
If thou so fair with delegated light,
That all heav'n's splendors vanish at thy sight;
With what effulgence must the ocean glow!
From which thy borrow'd beams incessant flow!
Th' exhaustless force whose single smiles supplies,
Th' unnumber'd orbs that gild the spangled skies!

Oft would I view, in admiration lost,
Heav'n's sumptuous canopy, and starry host;
With level'd tube and astronomic eye,
Pursue the planets whirling thro' the sky:
Immeasurable vaults! where thunders roll,
And forked lightnings flash from pole to pole.
Say, railing infidel! canst thou survey
Yon globe of fire, that gives the golden day,
Th' harmonious structure of this vast machine,
And not confess its Architect divine?
Then go, vain wretch; tho' deathless be thy soul,
Go, swell the riot, and exhaust the bowl;
Plunge into vice, humanity resign,
Go, fill the stie, and bristle into swine?

None but a pow'r omnipotent and wise
Could frame this earth, or spread the boundless skies
He made the whole; at his omnific call, }
From formless chaos rose this spacious ball, }
And one ALMIGHTY GOD is seen in all. }
By him our cup is crown'd, our table spread
With luscious wine, and life-sustaining bread.
What countless wonders doth the earth contain!
What countless wonders the unfathom'd main!
Bedrop'd with gold, their scaly nations shine,
Haunt coral groves, or lash the foaming brine.
JEHOVAH's glories blaze all nature round.
In heaven, on earth, and in the deeps profound;
Ambitious of his name, the warblers sing,
And praise their Maker while they hail the spring:
The zephyrs breathe it, and the thunders roar,
While surge to surge, and shore resounds to shore.
But MAN, endu'd with an immortal mind,
His Maker's Image, and for heaven design'd;
To loftier notes his raptur'd voice should raise,
And chaunt sublimer hymns to his Creator's praise.

When rising _Phoebus_ ushers in the morn,
And golden beams th' impurpled skies adorn:
Wak'd by the gentle murmur of the floods,
Or the soft music of the waving woods;
Rising from sleep with the melodious quire,
To solemn sounds I'd tune the hallow'd lyre.
Thy name, O GOD! should tremble on my tongue,
Till ev'ry grove prov'd vocal to my song:
(Delightful task! with dawning light to sing,
Triumphant hymns to heav'n's eternal king.)
Some courteous angel should my breast inspire,
Attune my lips, and guide the warbled wire,
While sportive echoes catch the sacred sound,
Swell ev'ry note, and bear the music round;
While mazy streams meand'ring to the main
Hang in suspence to hear the heav'nly strain;
And hush'd to silence, all the feather'd throng,
Attentive listen to the tuneful song.

Father of _Light_! exhaustless source of good!
Supreme, eternal, self-existent God!
Before the beamy sun dispens'd a ray,
Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day;
Before the glimm'ring Moon with borrow'd light,
Shone queen amid the silver host of night;
High in the Heav'ns, thou reign'dst superior Lord,
By suppliant angels worship'd and ador'd.
With the celestial choir then let me join,
In cheerful praises to the pow'r Divine.
To sing thy praise, do thou, O GOD! inspire,
A mortal breast with more than mortal fire;
In dreadful majesty thou sit'st enthron'd,
With light encircled, and with glory crown'd;
Thro' all infinitude extends thy reign,
For thee, nor heav'n, nor heav'n of heav'ns contain;
But tho' thy throne is fix'd above the sky,
Thy _Omnipresence_ fills immensity.
Saints rob'd in white, to thee their anthems bring,
And radient Martyrs hallelujahs sing:
Heav'n's universal host their voices raise,
In one _eternal chorus_, to thy praise;
And round thy awful throne, with one accord,
Sing, Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord.
At thy creative voice, from ancient night,
Sprang smiling beauty, and yon' worlds of light:
Thou spak'st--the planetary Chorus roll'd
And all th' expanse was starr'd with beamy gold;
_Let there be light_, said GOD--Light instant shone,
And from the orient, burst the golden Sun;
Heav'n's gazing hierarchies, with glad surprise,
Saw the first morn invest the skies,
And straight th' exulting troops thy throne surround,
With thousand thousand harps of heav'nly sound:
Thrones, powers, dominions, (ever shining trains!)
Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains:
_Great are thy works_, they sing, and, all around,
_Great are thy works_, the echoing heav'n's resound.
The effulgent sun, insufferably bright,
Is but a beam of thy o'erflowing light;
The tempest is thy breath; the thunder hurl'd,
Tremendous roars thy vengeance o'er the world;
Thou bow'st the heav'ns the smoaking mountains nod;
Rocks fall to dust, and nature owns her God;
Pale tyrants shrink, the atheist stands aghast,
And impious kings in horror breath their last.
To this great God alternately I'd pay,
The evening anthem, and the morning lay.

For sov'reign _Gold_ I never would repine,
Nor wish the glitt'ring dust of monarchs mine.
What tho' high columns heave into the skies,
Gay ceilings shine, and vaulted arches rise;
Tho' fretted gold the sculptur'd roof adorn,
The rubies redden, and the jaspers burn!
Or what, alas! avails the gay attire,
To wretched man, who breathes but to expire!
Oft on the vilest, riches are bestow'd,
To shew their meanness in the sight of God.
High from a dung-hill, see a _Dives_ rise,
And, _Titan_-like, insult th' avenging skies:
The crowd, in adulation, calls him Lord,
By thousands courted, flatter'd, and ador'd:
In riot plung'd, and drunk with earthly joys,
No higher thought his grov'ling foul employs:
The poor he scourges with an iron rod,
And from his bosom banishes his God.
But oft in height of wealth, and beauty's bloom,
Deluded man is fated to the tomb!
For, lo! he sickens, swift his colour flies,
And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes:
Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan,
Extort th' unwilling tear, and wish him gone;
His sorrowing heir augments the tender show'r,
Deplores his death--yet hails the dying hour.
Ah bitter comfort! Sad relief, to die!
Tho' sunk in down, beneath the canopy!
His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light,
Weigh'd down by death in everlasting night:
"And when with age thy head is silver'd o'er,
"And cold in death thy bosom beats no more,
"Thy foul exulting shall desert its clay,
"And mount, triumphant, to eternal day."
But to improve the intellectual mind,
Reading should be to contemplation join'd.
First I'd collect from the Parnassian spring,
What muses dictate, and what poets sing.--
_Virgil_, as Prince, shou'd wear the laurel'd crown,
And other bards pay homage to his throne;
The blood of heroes now effus'd so long,
Will run forever purple thro' his song.
See! how he mounts toward the blest abodes,
On planets rides, and talks with demi-gods!
How do our ravish'd spirits melt away,
When in his song _Sicilian_ shepherds play!
But what a splendor strikes the dazzled eye,
When _Dido_ shines in awful majesty!
Embroider'd purple clad the _Tyrian_ queen,
Her motion graceful, and august her mein;
A golden zone her royal limbs embrac'd,
A golden quiver rattled by her waist.
See her proud steed majestically prance,
Contemn the trumpet, and deride the lance!
In crimson trappings, glorious to behold,
Confus'dly gay with interwoven gold!
He champs the bitt, and throws the foam around,
Impatient paws, and tears the solid ground.
How stern _Æneas_ thunders thro' the field!
With tow'ring helmet, and refulgent shield!
Coursers o'erturn'd, and mighty warriors slain,
Deform'd with gore, lie welt'ring on the plain.
Struck thro' with wounds, ill-fated chieftains lie,
Frown e'en in death, and threaten as they die.
Thro' the thick squadrons see the Hero bound,
(His helmet flashes, and his arms resound!)
All grim with rage, he frowns o'er _Turnus'_ head,
(Re-kindled ire! for blooming _Pallas_ dead)
Then, in his bosom plung'd the shining blade--
The soul indignant sought the Stygian shade!

The far-fam'd bards that grac'd _Britannia's_ isle,
Should next compose the venerable pile.
Great _Milton_ first, for tow'ring thought renown'd,
Parent of song, and fam'd the world around!
His glowing breast divine _Urania_ fir'd,
Or GOD himself th' immortal Bard inspir'd.
Borne on triumphant wings he take this flight,
Explores all heaven, and treads the realms of light:
In martial pomp he clothes th' angelic train,
While warring myriads shake th' etherial plain.
First _Michael_ stalks, high tow'ring o'er the rest;
With heav'nly plumage nodding on his crest:
Impenetrable arms his limbs unfold,
Eternal adamant, and burning gold!
Sparkling in fiery mail, with dire delight,
Rebellious _Satan_ animates the fight:
Armipotent they sink in rolling smoke,
All heav'n resounding, to its centre shook,
To crush his foes, and quell the dire alarms,
_Messiah_ sparkled in refulgent arms;
In radient panoply divinely bright,
His limbs incas'd, he slash'd devouring light,
On burning wheels, o'er heav'n's crystalline road
Thunder'd the chariot of thy _Filial_ God;
The burning wheels on golden axles turn'd,
With flaming gems the golden axles burn'd.
Lo! the apostate host, with terror struck,
Roll back by millions! Th' Empyrean shook!
Sceptres, and orbid shields, and crowns of gold,
Cherubs and Seraphs in confusion roll'd;
Till, from his hand, the triple thunder hurl'd,
Compell'd them headlong, to th' Infernal world.

Then tuneful _Pope_, whom all the nine inspire,
With _saphic_ sweetness, and _pindaric_ fire.
Father of verse! melodious and divine!
Next peerless _Milton_ should distinguish'd shine.
Smooth flow his numbers when he paints the grove,
Th' enraptur'd virgins list'ning into love.
But when the night and hoarse resounding storm,
Rush on the deep, and _Neptune's_ face deform,
Rough runs the verse, the son'rous numbers roar
Like the hoarse surge that thunders on the shore.
But when he sings th' exhilerated swains,
Th' embow'ring groves, and _Windsor's_ blissful plains,
Our eyes are ravish'd with the sylvan scene,
Embroider'd fields, and groves in living green:
His lays the verdure of the meads prolong,
And wither'd forests blossom in his song;
_Thames'_ silver streams his flowing verse admire,
And cease to murmur while he tunes his lyre.

Next shou'd appear great _Dryden's_ lofty muse,
For who would _Dryden's_ polish'd verse refuse?
His lips were moisten'd in _Parnassus'_ spring,
And _Phoebus_ taught his _laureat_ son to sing.
How long did _Virgil_ untranslated moan,
His beauties fading, and his flights unknown;
Till _Dryden_ rose, and, in exalted strain,
Re-sang the fortune of the god-like man?
Again the _Trojan_ prince with dire delight,
Dreadful in arms, demands the ling'ring fight:
Again _Camilla_ glows with martial fire,
Drives armies back, and makes all _Troy_ retire.
With more than native lustre _Virgil_ shines,
And gains sublimer heights in _Dryden's_ lines.

The gentle _Watts_, who strings his silver lyre
To sacred odes, and heav'n's all-ruling fire;
Who scorns th' applause of the licentious stage,
And mounts yon sparkling worlds with hallow'd rage,
Compels my thoughts to wing the heav'nly road,
And wafts my soul, exulting, to my God;
No fabled _Nine_ harmonious bard! inspire
Thy raptur'd breast with such seraphic fire;
But prompting _Angels_ warm thy boundless rage,
Direct thy thoughts, and animate thy page.
Blest man! for spotless sanctity rever'd,
Lov'd by the good, and by the guilty fear'd;
Blest man! from gay delusive scenes remov'd,
Thy Maker loving, by thy Maker lov'd;
To God thou tun'st thy consecrated lays,
Nor meanly blush to sing _Jehovah's_ praise.
Oh! did, like thee, each laurel'd bard delight,
To paint _Religion_ in her native light,
Not then with _Plays_ the lab'ring' press would groan,
Nor _Vice_ defy the _Pulpit_ and the _Throne_;
No impious rhymer charm a vicious age,
Nor prostrate _Virtue_ groan beneath their rage:
But themes divine in lofty numbers rise,
Fill the wide earth, and echo through the skies.

These for _Delight_;--for _Profit_ I would read,
The labour'd volumes of the learned dead:
Sagacious _Locke_, by Providence design'd
T' exalt, instruct, and rectify the mind.
Th' unconquerable _Sage_,[A] whom virtue fir'd,
And from the tyrant's lawless rage retir'd,
When victor _Cæsar_ freed unhappy _Rome_,
From _Pompey's_ chains, to substitute his own.
_Longinius_, _Livy_, fam'd _Thucydides_,
_Quintillian_, _Plato_ and _Demosthenes_,
Persuasive _Tully_, and _Corduba's Sage_,[B]
Who fell by _Nero's_ unrelenting rage;
_Him_[C] whom ungrateful _Athens_ doom'd to bleed,
Despis'd when living, and deplor'd when dead.
_Raleigh_ I'd read with ever fresh delight,
While ages past rise present to my fight:
Ah man unblest! he foreign realms explor'd,
Then fell a victim to his country's sword!
Nor should great _Derham_ pass neglected by, }
Observant sage! to whose deep piercing eye }
Nature's stupendous works expanded lie. }

Nor he, _Britannia_, thy unmatch'd renown!
(Adjudg'd to wear the philosophic crown)
Who on the solar orb uplifted rode,
And scan'd th' unfathomable works of God,
Who bound the silver planets to their spheres,
And trac'd th' elliptic curve of blazing stars!
_Immortal Newton_; whole illustrious name
Will shine on records of eternal fame.

[Footnote A: Cato.]

[Footnote B: Seneca.]

[Footnote C: Socrates.]

By love directed, I wou'd choose a wife,
T' improve my bliss and ease the load of life.
Hail _Wedlock!_ hail, inviolable tye!
Perpetual fountain of domestic joy!
Love, friendship, honour, truth, and pure delight,
Harmonious mingle in the nuptial rite.
In _Eden_ first the holy state begun,
When perfect innocence distinguish'd man;
The human pair, th' Almighty Pontiff led,
Gay as the morning to the bridal bed;
A dread solemnity th' espousals grac'd,
_Angels_ the _Witnesses_, and GOD the PRIEST!
All earth exulted on the nuptial hour,
And voluntary roses deck'd the bow'r!
The joyous birds, on ev'ry blossom'd spray,
Sung _Hymenians_ to th' important day,
While _Philomela_ swell'd the sponsal song,
And Paradise with gratulations rung.

Relate, inspiring muse! where shall I find
A blooming virgin with an angel mind,
Unblemish'd as the white-rob'd virgin quire
That fed, _O Rome!_ thy consecrated fire;
By reason aw'd, ambitious to be good,
Averse to vice, and zealous for her God?
Relate, in what blest region can I find
Such bright perfections in a female mind?
What _Phoenix_-woman breathes the vital air,
So greatly greatly good, and so divinely fair?
Sure, not the gay and fashionable train,
Licentious, proud, immoral and prophane;
Who spend their golden hours in antic dress,
Malicious whispers, and inglorious ease.--

Lo! round the board a shining train appears,
In rosy beauty, and in prime of years!
_This_ hates a flounce, and _this_ a flounce approves,
_This_ shews the trophies of her former loves;
_Polly_ avers that _Sylvia_ dress in green,
When last at church the gaudy Nymph was seen;
_Chloe_ condemns her optics, and will lay
'Twas azure sattin, interstreak'd with grey;
_Lucy_ invested with judicial pow'r,
Awards 'twas neither--and the strife is o'er.

Then parrots, lap-dogs, monkeys, squirrels, beaus,
Fans, ribbands, tuckers, patches, furbaloes,
In quick succession, thro' their fancies run,
And dance incessant on the flippant tongue.
And when fatigued with ev'ry other sport,
The belles prepare to grace the sacred court,
They marshal all their forces in array,
To kill with glances and destroy in play.
Two skilful _maids_, with reverential fear,
In wanton wreaths collect their silken hair;
Two paint their cheeks, and round their temples pour
The fragrant unguent, and the ambrosial show'r;
One pulls the shape-creating stays, and one
Encircles round her waist the golden zone:
Not with more toil t' improve immortal charms,
Strove _Juno_, _Venus_, and the _Queen of Arms_,
When _Priam's_ Son adjudg'd the golden prize
To the resistless beauty of the skies.
At length equip'd in love's enticing arms,
With all that glitters and with all that charms,
Th' ideal goddesses to church repair,
Peep thro' the fan and mutter o'er a pray'r,
Or listen to the organ's pompous sound,
Or eye the gilded images around;
Or, deeply studied in coquetish rules,
Aim wily glances at unthinking fools;
Or shew the lilly hand with graceful air,
Or wound the fopling with a lock of hair:
And when the hated discipline is o'er,
And _Misses_ tortur'd with _Repent_ no more,
They mount the pictur'd coach, and to the play
The celebrated idols hie away.

Not so the _Lass_ that shou'd my joys improve,
With solid friendship, and connubial love:
A native bloom, with intermingled white,
Should set features in a pleasing light;
Like _Helen_ flushing with unrival'd charms.
When raptur'd _Paris_ darted in her arms.
But what, alas! avails a ruby cheek,
A downy bosom, or a snowy neck!
Charms ill supply the want of innocence,
Nor beauty forms intrinsic excellence:
But in her breast let moral beauties shine,
Supernal grace and purity divine:
Sublime her reason, and her native wit
Unstrain'd with pedantry and low conceit;
Her fancy lively, and her judgment free,
From female prejudice and bigotry:
Averse to idle pomp, and outward show,
The flatt'ring coxcomb, and fantastic beau.

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.

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.

HYMN II--ON HEAVEN.

Hail sacred Salem! plac'd on high,
Seat of the mighty King!
What thought can grasp thy boundless bliss,
What tongue thy glories sing?
Thy crystal tow'rs and palaces
Magnificently rise,
And dart their beaut'ous lustre round
The empyrean skies.
The voice of triumph in thy streets
And acclamations found,
Gay banquets in thy splendid courts
And purest joys abound.
Bright smiles on ev'ry face appear,
Rapture in ev'ry eye;
From ev'ry mouth glad anthems flow,
And charming harmony.
Illustrious day for ever there,
Streams from the face divine;
No pale-fac'd moon e'er glimmers forth,
Nor stars nor sun decline.
No scorching heats, no piercing colds,
The changing seasons bring;
But o'er the fields mild breezes there
Breathe an eternal spring.
The flow'rs with lasting beauty shine,
And deck the smiling ground,
While flowing streams of pleasures all
The happy plains surround.

HYMN III.--THE CREATION.

Now let the spacious world arise,
Said the creator Lord:
At once th' obedient earth and skies
Rose at his sov'reign word.
Dark was the deep, the waters lay
Confus'd, and drown'd the land;
He call'd the light, the new-born day
Attends on his command.
He bids the clouds ascend on high;
The clouds ascend, and bear
A wat'ry treasure to the sky,
And float on softer air.
The liquid element below,
Was gather'd by his hand;
The rolling seas together flow,
And leave a solid land:
With herbs and plants (a flow'ry birth)
The naked globe he crown'd,
Ere there was rain to bless the earth,
Or sun to warm the ground.
Then he adorn'd the upper skies,
Behold the sun appears,
The moon and stars in order rise,
To mark our months and years.
Out of the deep th' Almighty King
Did vital beings frame,
And painted fowls of ev'ry wing,
And fish of ev'ry name,
He gave the lion and the worm
At once their wond'rous birth;
And grazing beasts of various form
Rose from the teeming earth.
Adam was form'd of equal clay,
The sov'reign of the rest;
Design'd for nobler ends than they,
With God's own image blest.
Thus glorious in the Maker's eye,
The young Creation stood;
He saw the building from on high,
His word pronounc'd it good.

THE LORD'S PRAYER.

Father of all! we bow to thee,
Who dwells in heav'n ador'd;
But present still thro' all thy works,
The universal Lord.
All hallow'd be thy sacred name,
O'er all the nations known;
Advance the kingdom of thy grace,
And let thy glory come.
A grateful homage may we yield,
With hearts resigned to thee;
And as in heav'n thy will is done,
On earth so let it be.
From day to day we humbly own
The hand that feeds us still;
Give us our bread, and we may rest
Contented in thy will.
Our sins and trespasses we own;
O may they be forgiv'n!
That mercy we to others shew,
We pray the like from Heav'n.
Our life let still thy grace direct,
From evil guard our way,
And in temptation's fatal path
Permit us not to stray.
For thine the pow'r, the kingdom thine,
All glory's due to thee:
Thine from eternity they were,
And thine shall ever be.

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.--_BY MR. POPE_.