Nor hadst thou met the vision at Philippi,
Nor hadst thou sheathed thy bloody daggers point
Or in the breast of Cæsar or thy own.
The Pagan page how far more wise than ours,
The with the gods they worshipp'd graced their song;
Our song we grace with gods we disbelieve;
Retain the manners, but reject the creed.
Shall fiction only raise poetic flame,
And shall no altars blaze, O Truth, to thee?
Shall falsehood only please, and fable charm?
And shall eternal Truth neglected lie
Because immortal, slighted, or profaned?
Truth has our reverence only, not our love;
Our praise, but not our heart: a deity
Confess'd, but shunn'd; acknowledged, not ador'd.
Alarm'd we dread her penetrating beams;
She comes too near us, and too brightly shines.
Why shun to make our duty our delight?
Let pleasure be the motive, disallow
All high incentives drawn from God's command:
Where shall we trace, thro' all the page profane,
A livelier pleasure and a purer source
Of innocent delight, than the fair book
Of holy Truth presents? for ardent youth,
The sprightly narrative; for years mature,
The moral document, in sober robe
Of grave philosophy array'd: which all
Had heard with admiration, had embrac'd
With rapture, had the shades of Academe,
Or the learn'd Porch produced it :-Tomes had then
Been multiplied on tomes, to draw the veil
Of graceful allegory, to unfold
Some hidden source of beauty, now not felt!
Do not the powers of soul-enchanting song,
Strong imag'ry, bold figure, every charm
Of eastern flight sublime, apt metaphor,
And all the graces in thy lovely train,
Divine Simplicity! assemble all
In Sion's songs, and bold Isaiah's strain?
Why should the classic eye delight to trace
The tale corrupted from its prime pure source,
How Pyrrha and the famed Thessalian king
Restored the ruin'd race of lost mankind :
Yet turn, incurious, from the patriarch saved,
The rescued remnant of a deluged world?
Why are we taught delighted to recount
Alcides' labours, yet neglect to note
Heroic Samson 'midst a life of toil
Herculean? Pain and peril marking both
A life eventful and disastrous death.
Can all the tales which Grecian story yields;
Can all the names the Roman page records
Of wondrous friendship and surpassing love;
Can gallant Theseus and his brave compeer;
Orestes, and the partner of his toils;
Achates and his friend; Euryalus
And blooming Nisus, pleasant in their lives,
And undivided by the stroke of death;
Can each, can all, a lovelier picture yield
Of virtuous friendship: can they all present
A tenderness more touching than the love
Of Jonathan and David?-Speak, ye young,
Who, undebauch'd as yet with fashion's lore,
And unsophisticate, unbiass'd judge,,
Say, is your quick attention more arous'd
By the red plagues which wasted smitten Thebes,
Than Heaven's avenging hand on Pharaoh's host?
Or do the vagrant Trojans, driven by fate
On adverse shores successive, yield a theme
More grateful to the eager appetite
Of young impatience, than the wand'ring tribes
The Hebrew leader through the desert led?
The beauteous Maid* (tho' tender is the tale), Whose guiltless blood on Aulis' altar stream'd, Smites not the bosom with a softer pang Than her in fate how sadly similar, Otra The Gileaditish virgin-victims both sou Of vows unsanctified.
Such are the lovely themes which court the Bard, 1: Scarce yet essay'd in verse-for verse how eet! aved While heaven-descended song, forgetting oft
Her sacred dignity and high descent,
Debases her fair origin; oft spreads
Corruption's deadly bane, pollutes the heart
Of innocence, and with unhallow'd hand
Presents the poison'd chalice to the brim
Fill'd with delicious ruin, minist❜ring
ds; The unwholesome rapture to the fever'd taste,
While its fell venom, with malignant power,
Strikes at the root of virtue, with'ring all
Her vital energy. Oh! for some balm
Of sov❜reign power, to raise the drooping Muse
To all the health of virtue! to infuse
A gen'rous warmth, to rouse a holy zeal,
And give her high onceptions of herself,
Her dignity, her worth, her aim, her end!
For me, Eternal Spirit, let thy word
My path illume! O thou compassionate God!
Thou know'st our frame, thou know'st we are but
From dust a Seraph's zeal thou wilt not seek,
Nor wilt thou ask an Angel's purity,
But hear, and hearing, pardon; as I strive,
Though with a feeble voice and flagging wing,
A glowing heart, but pow'rless hand, to point
The faith of favour'd man to Heaven; to sing
The ways inscrutable of Heaven to man;
May I, by thy celestial guidance led,
Fix deep in my own heart the truths I teach,
In my own life transcribe whate'er of good
To others I propose!, and by thy rule
Correct the irregular,* reform the wrong,
Exalt the low, and brighten the obscure!
Still may I note, how all the agreeing parts
Of this consummate system join to frame
One fair, one finish'd, one harmonious all!
Trace the close links which form the perfect chain
In beautiful connexion; mark the scale
Whose nice gradations, with progression true
For ever rising, end in DEITY!
Dlumine what is low, raise and support.
WITH THE MOST PERFECT RESPECT,
As, among the many amiable and distinguished Qualities which adorn her Mind, and add Lustre to her Rank, her Excellence in the Maternal Character gives a peculiar Propriety to her Protection of THIS LITTE WORK; written with an humble Wish to promote the Love of Piety and Virtue in Young Persons.
Most obedient,
Most obliged,
And most humble Servant,
HANNAH MORE.
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