v. 41.

The Subject proposed.

Shall audience meet, pure be the listening ear,
And won by Truth,* the heart, with sov'reign sway;
For Truth attention claims, and pure regard,
From senators and kings. Such themes as these
Have oft awoke the old prophetic lyre
To warble more than mortal minstrelsey,
In sacred strains, which senators and kings
Rejoic'd to hear. In this advent'rous course,
My Muse implores no other aid save THINE,
Prime Source of Effluent Light, whose spirit broods
Over the darkness of our nature's night,
And gives us all the day! Thee I invoke,
Fair Uncreated Wisdom!" first conceiv'd
Ere yet the heaven's triumphal arch was rais'd,
Or herald sons of light proclaim'd their joy;
Propitious hear, and with thy sacred beams
Illume my soul: thy influence divine
Afford throughout the Voyage: me instruct,
Life's fatal rocks and devious currents clear
Myself to shun, and mark the safer course
To heedless man: so shall the pleasing theme
An interest find in every feeling breast,
And win attention from the good and wise.
Proceed, melodious lute: to swell the strain,
Let rivers, dells and rocks responsive pour
Soft echoes to the cadence of the lyre.
The theme, till late, to vocal reeds unsung,

Life's Voyage-" its delusive prospects-hopes-
Conflicting dangers-wrecks-and final end :"
The subject's copious, and th' exciting muse
With ardour bids me" write:" the theme might seem
Not less capacious than th' expansive waves.
Unless the lyre illude my wakeful
ear,
Which pays attention to the pleasing sound
Of measur'd accents, in melodious chime,
Heroic numbers shall exalt the song,

*

And suit, with sweet according sounds, the sense.
Apt words, and sentiments that breathe, have power
To raise, with a resistless charm, the mind,
To form the taste, to fill the judging ear,
And warm with vital energy the soul.

While now the Muse ascends yon lofty cliff
Projecting o'er the deep, methinks I see
Her graceful temples with the laurel crown'd-
Her flowing vestments fall in folds sublime,
Dependent from her zone. Around her head
The opening clouds with added lustre shine;

* Omnia sed numeris vocum concordibus aptant, Atque sono quæcunque canunt imitantur, et apta Verborum facie, et quæsito carminis ore. VIDA. The Author prefers blank verse, because its full and various cadence is more pleasing to his ear than the frequent recurrence of similar sounds, in the " tag'd" tinklings of rhyme. What judge of harmony will prefer the monotonous frivolity of a madrigal, to the sweetly breathing soul of mazy melody which flows in a sonata, or to the sublime and solemn harmony of a concerto?

Beneath her feet the sportive billows play,
And, at her side, the lyre attendant hangs,
Seven-string'd, like fam'd Orphean;* that to which
Apollo sang, harmonious as the spheres.
She stands erect, and, with extended sight,
Beholds a scene of martial destinies,
Conspicuous on the theatre of the world.
The actors disappear-the shifting scenes
Are still succeeded, yet are still alike—
If not in semblance, in routine the same.
Here crowns are barter'd, kingdoms lost and won,
The sport of destiny, in one sad day.

There Fortune blindly plays her idle pranks,
Whilst those who oue while fondly lead the dance
Ere long are cast behind, in hopeless plight :
And he who thinks his earthly bliss secure
In this glad hour, the next recounts his loss,
And warns him to pursue more stable joys.
Yon distant fleets attract th' attentive Muse:
Lo! what a scene, significant, sublime-
Emblem of Life, with all its fleeting joys,
Inconstant and unstable as the waves-
Bearing amain, majestic o'er the deep,

* Orpheus derived his harp from Apollo. I am aware, that, to the eye of modern criticism, it may appear rather incongruous to introduce allusions to Heathen Mythology amid religious subjects: still, I cannot help thinking that, when ju diciously applied, they have a good effect; and our immortal Milton has sanctioned this method, by many recurring examples, in his best poems.

Bark still succeeds to bark, and prow to helm-
Now lost-now seen, emergent on the wave.
So Life, when all its airy bubbles burst,
Emerges forth beyond the boisterous scene,
Where all is stable, where illusions cease.
Anon the Muse, with far-exerted ken,
Discerns the Christian's port; anticipates,
Divinely emulous, his happy lot-
Lodg'd in the haven of eternal peace!
Meanwhile she marks, with kind solicitude,
Kings, heroes, statesmen, patriots, bearing off
In swift succession o'er the changing scene.
Here glory, valour, talents, wisdom, shine
With short liv'd splendour, to illume the world;
There they receive appropriate rewards.

One while the virtues live; then in their room
Shadows succeed, which mock our fond embrace.
My Muse a faithful monitor would prove,
What time, with pain'd anxiety, she marks
The various bearings of the vicious clans,
Not having one on deck of all the train
Of sacred white-rob'd virtues : soon, alas!
Each hapless bark, or strikes on Error's rock,
In luckless hour, or sinks in Stygian sound.
Such, and as various as the passing scenes,
Are oft the cares and subjects of the Muse.
At length within the confines of a grot
She woos sweet solitude, and cools each gust,
Each ardour for the dulcet dregs of time,

v. 140.

Apocalyptic Vision.

With cordial draughts of more substantial bliss.
She estimates the sum of earthly joy,
Perceives the full amount is vanity,

And dedicates to sacred themes the lyre.

So ancient bards, by heaven's soft beams illum'd
Were wont to sing the balmy-breathing hopes,
And the sweet joys Religion sole inspires.
Since these are only permanent, 'tis these
Deserve a Poet's care-'tis these alone
Can raise to long-liv'd eminence his name.
The name was sacred, while the votive bard
To prostituted lays ne'er strung the lyre,
Each tuneful minstrel sang of sacred joys,
And breathing hopes begat celestial fires.
Devoid of these, say, what were human life?
'Twere all a farcical, a motley scene,
Of weeping sorrows, and expiring joys.
Far from the illusive scene, 'tis mine to mark
The well directed choice of such as tell
Their tale of sorrows to his gracious ear—
Supreme intelligence-who kindly deigns
Acceptance to th' address of contrite hearts,
And turns their heaviness to songs of joy.

Rapt to celestial scenes, St. John beheld
A "sea of glass" before th' eternal throne,
Where the redeem'd, elate, to golden harps,
Sang their Deliverer in exalted strains.
Such sacred harmony, when hierarchies
Exalt their voice, might old creation shake,