Messiah.-A sacred Eclogue.
E nymphs of Solyma! begin the fong:
To heav'nly themes fublimer strains belong.
The moffy fountains, and the fylvan fhades,
The dreams of Pindus, and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more-Oh Thou my voice infpire
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!
Kapt into future times, the Bard begun :
A Virgin fhall conceive, a virgin bear a Son!
From Jeffe's root behold a branch arife,
Whofe facred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies;
Th' æthereal fpirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descend the mystic Dove.
Ye heavn's! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in foft filence shed the kindly show'r!
The fick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From ftorms a fhelter, and from heat a fhade.
All crimes fhall cease, and ancient fraud fhall fail;
Returning Juftice lift aloft her scale;
Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-rob'd Innocence from heav'n defcend.
Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn!
Oh spring to light, aufpicious Babe! be born.
See Nature haftes her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incenfe of the breathing Spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance:
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rife,
And Carmel's flow'ry top perfume the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert chears;
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears!
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply,
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity.
A a 3
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains! and ye vallies, rife!
With heads declin❜d, ye cedars, homage pay!
Be fmooth, ye rocks! ye rapid floods, give way!
The Saviour comes, by ancient bards foretold:
Hear him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold!
He from thick films fhall purge the visual ray,
And on the fightlefs eye-ball pour the day:
'Tis he th' obftructed paths of found shall clear,
And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear:
The dumb fhall fing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting like the bounding roe.
No figh, no murmur, the wide world fhall hear,
From ev'ry face he wipes off ev'ry tear.
In adamantine chains shall Death be bound,
And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound.
As the good fhepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks fresheft pafture, and the pureft air,
Explores the loft, the wand'ring fheep directs,
By day o'erfees them, and by night protects,
The tender lambs he raifes in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bofom warms;
Thus fhall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promis'd father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rife,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming fteel be cover'd o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But useless lances into fcythes fhall bend,
And the broad faulchion in a plowshare end.
Then palaces fhall rife; the joyful fon
Shall finish what his fhort-liv'd fire begun;
Their vines a fhadow to their race fhall yield,
And the fame hand that fow'd fhall reap the field.
The fwain in barren deferts with fuprife
Sees lilies fpring, and fudden verdure rife;
And starts amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murm'ring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods.
Waste fandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
The fpiry fir and shapely box adorn:
To leaflefs fhrubs the flow'ry palms fucceed,
And od❜rous myrtles to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves fhall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead;
The fteer and lion at one crib fhall meet,
And harmless ferpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The fmiling infant in his hand fhall take
The crefted bafilifk and fpeckled fnake,
Pleas'd the green luftre of their scales furvey,
And with their forky tongues fhall innocently play.
Rife, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rife!
Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes!
See a long race thy fpacious courts adorn;
See future fons and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every fide arife,
Demanding life, impatient for the fkies!
See barb'rous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with proftrate kings,
And heap'd with products of Sabæan fprings!
For thee Idumea's fpicy forefts blow,
And feeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See Heav'n its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day!
No more the rifing fun shall gild the morn,
Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her filver horn;
But loft, diffolv'd in thy fuperior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts, the light himself fhall fhine
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
The feas fhall wafte, the skies in fmoke decay,
Rocks fall to duft, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd his word, his faving pow'r remains;
Thy realm for ever lafts, thy own MESSIAH reigns!
"TIS night, and hark! the eastern blast
With fury blows upon the fhore;
The thunder rolls,-the rain pours fast,-
And angry billows madly roar !
Now for poor failors' fate falls many a tear,
And many a bofom's fill'd with anxious fear.
The morn returns-ftill thunders roar
Loud blows the wind-the billows foam-
Shall failors greet their friends on fhore,
Or fee again their much lov'd home?
Alas! fo dire, fo ruthlefs is the ftorm,
No chance of fafety Hope herfelf can form!
A fbrick now mingles with the blaft;
Each fad foreboding proves too true;
See, on the rocks a fhip is caft,
See, to the rigging clings the crew!
Ah! who the fury of the furge can brave,
And fnatch the fuff'rers from a watery grave?
Thy facred claims now, Pity, urge,
Now prompt to bold exploit the brave: 'Tis done-the Life-Boat cleaves the furge, Intent the hapless crew to fave;
The wreck's approach'd-on board are all receiv'd,
Rescued from danger, and from death repriev'd.
Blow on, blow on, ye ruthlefs winds,
And idly rage, thou troubled main,-
Snatch'd from your power, the failor finds
His much-lov'd friends and home again,
And bleffes oft, with grateful heart, the name
Of him whofe genius did the Life-Boat frame.
That name shall ever live renown'd,
Alike to Fame and Albion dear,
Whilst commerce fpreads her fails around,
Whilft British tars the world revere ;
To latest ages ftill it shall descend,
Graç'd with the title of The Sailor's Friend.
AYS Tom to Richard, Churchill's dead;
Says Richard, Tom, you lie,
Old Rancour the report hath spread,
But Genius cannot die.
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