« ZurückWeiter »
« This fair variety of things,
"To soothe him on his way.
• Enthufiaft, go! unftring thy lyre,
• How sweet foe'er the strain.
Benevolent in vain ?
• Enthusiast, go! try every sense; • If not thy bliss, thy.excellence, • Thou
haft learn'd to scan ; • At least thy wants, thy weakness know, « And see them all uniting show,
• That man was made for man.'
THE CURE OF S A U L.
A SACRED ODE.
BY DR. BROWN.
ENGEANCE, arise from thy infernal bed,
• And pour thy tempest on his guilty head!'
By fleepless terror Saul poffefs'd,
Midnight Spectres round him howl:
Before his eyes
In troops they rise ;
• Hafte! to Jeffe's fon repair ;
• He best can sweep the lyre,
And lead the vocal choir :
To soothe the throbbings of the troubled breast ; · Whose magick voice can bid the tides of passion swell,
• Or lull the raging storm to reft.',
Sunk on his couch, and loathing day,
The heaven-forsaken monarch lay :
And, while th' obedient choir stood round,
He dropp'd a generous tear.
Thy pitying aid, O God, impart!
The mighty song from Chaos rose: Around his throne the formless atoms sleep, And drowzy darkness broods upon the deep.-
• Rouze him from his dread repose!!
“ Tumult cease!:
• Sink to peace!
• And lo, the radiant fun,
Flaming from his orient bed, * His endless course begun !
See, the twinkling Pleïads rise :
• While slow around the northern plain,
Thy glories, too, refulgent moon, he sung ; ;,
« 0, fairest of the starry throng!
Thy folemn orb of light
• Guides the triumphant car of Night • O'er filver clouds, and sheds a fofter day !
• Ye planets, and each circling constellation,
• Wheel your rounds
. To heavenly founds, « And soothe his fong-enchanted ears
With your celestial chime.'
In dumb surprize the lift'ning monarch lay ;
• Lead the foothing verse along;
« Ocean haftens to his bed ; * The lab'ring mountain rears his rock-encumber'd head:
· Down his steep and fhaggy fide,
• Then smooth and clear, along the fertile plain
• Flocks and herds the hills adorn ;
• The lark, high soaring, hails the morna
· Hark! the folemn nightingale
« Warbles to the woodland dale.
• Heaven's own bliss on Eden's bower :
• Link'd with Innocence and Love.
They pausd :--the monarch, prostrate on his bed,
Submiffive, bow'd his head;
Ador'd the works of boundless power Divine :
"Why, why is Peace the welcome guest
s Now let the folemn numbers flow,
• Heavenly harp, in mournful strain,
O'er yon weeping bower complain :
• What lamentations wound mine ear!
« Peace with Innocence is filed :
The messengers of Grace depart;
• Death glares, and shakes the dreadful dart !
! ܐ ،
Wake, my lyre! can Pity sleep,
• Flow, ye melting numbers, flow;
The king, with pride, and shame, and anguish torn,
Shot fury from his eyes, and scorn.
Bold in truth,
Stern, he bends him o'er his lyre;
• What sounds of terror and distress
. The dreadful thunders found !
• Why yawns that deep’ning gulph below ?-
They fink !-Have mercy, Lord! Their cries
. In dreadful tumult rise!
and lefsen on the ear!
The countless hoft
• For ever loft!