IN colleges and halls, in ancient days, When learning, virtue, piety and truth Were precious, and inculcated with care, There dwelt a sage,call'd Discipline. His head, Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile Play'd on his lips; and in his speech, was heard Paternal sweetness, dignity and love. 10 The occupation dearest to his heart Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke The head of modest and ingenuous worth, That blush'd at its own praise; and press the youth
see, that all are wand'rers, gone astray, Each in his own delusions; they are lost In chace of fancied happiness, still woo'd,
And never won. Dream after dream ensues; And still they dream, that they shall still succeed,
And still are disappointed. Rings the world With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, And add two thirds of the remaining half, And find the total of their hopes and fears, 25 Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay. [grew 15 As if created, only like the fly, [noon, Close to his side, that pleas'd him. Learning That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of Beneath his care, a thriving, vig'rous plant; To sport their season, and be seen no more.
The mind was well inform'd; the passions, held Subordinate; and diligence was choice.
If e'er it chanc'd, as sometimes chance it must, That one among so many, overleap'd 20 The limits of control, his gentle eye Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke; His frown was full of terror; and his voice Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe, As left him not, till penitence had won Lost favor back again, and clos'd the breach. But Discipline, a faithful servant long, Declin'd at length, into the vale of years; A palsy struck his arm; his sparkling eye Was quench'd in rheums of age; his voice, un-
Grew tremulous, and mov'd derision more Than rev'rence in perverse, rebellious youth. So colleges and halls neglected much Their good old friend; and Discipline at length, O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick & died. 35 Then study languish'd; emulation slept; And virtue fled. The schools became a scene Of solemn farce, where ignorance in stilts, His cap well lin'd with logic not his own, With parrot tongue, perform'd the scholar's part,
Proceeding soon a graduated dunce.
NO. 100. THE STRICKEN DEER. WAS a stricken deer, that left the herd Long since; with many an arrow deep in- fix'd,
My panting side was charg'd, when I withdrew, To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. There was I found by ONE, who had himself Been hurt by th' archers. In his side, he bore, And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force, soliciting the darts, [live. He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me Since then, with few associates, in remote 10 And silent woods, I wander, far from those My former partners of the peopled scene;
By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wond'rous, he commands us in his word,
To seek HIM rather, where his mercy shines. The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above, 5 Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause, The grand effect; acknowledges with joy, His manner, and with rapture, tastes his style. But never yet did philosophic tube, Of observation, and discovers, else That brings the planets home into the eye 10 Not visible, his family of worlds, Discover him that rules them; such a veil Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, Our wayward intellect, the more we learn And dark in things divine. Full often, too, 15 Of nature, overlooks her Author more; From instrumental causes, proud to draw Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray 20 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and re- veal
Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptiz'd In the pure fountain of eternal love, Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees 25 As meant to indicate a God to man, Gives HIM his praise, and forfeits not her own. On all her branches; piety has found Learning has borne such fruit in other days
Friends in the friends of science, and true pray`r
Has flow'd from lips, wet with Castalian dews. Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage! And in his word sagacious. Sagacious reader of the works of God,
NO. 102. THE TAME HARE. ETESTED sport,
That wes its pleasures to another's pain;
Discriminated each from each, by strokes And touches of his hand, with so much art, 5 Diversified, that two were never found Twins at all points; yet this obtains in all, That all discern a beauty in his works, And all can taste them; minds, that have been form'd
That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endu'd With eloquence, that agonies inspire, Of silent tears, and heart-distending sighs! Vain tears, alas, and sighs, that never find A corresponding tone in jovial souls! Well-one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare Has never heard the sanguinary yell Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. Innocent partner of my peaceful home, Whom ten long years' experience of my care Has made at last familiar. She has lost Much of her vigilant, instinctive dread, Not needful here, beneath a roof, like mine. Yes--thou may'st eat thy bread, & lick the hand That feeds thee; thou may'st frolic on the floor At evening, and at night retire secure To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd ; 20 For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd All that is human in me, to protect Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave;
And, when I place thee in it, sighing, say, 25 LESS worthy of applause, tho' more admir'd,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.
And spotted with all crimes; in whom, I see Much that I love, and more that I admire, And all that I abhor; thou freckl'd fair, That pleasest, and yet shock'st me, I can laugh, And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee! Ten righteous would have sav'd a city once; And thou hast many righteous.-Well for thee, That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, Than Sodom, in her day, had pow'r to be; For whom God heard his Abr'am plead in vain.
Because a novelty, the work of man, Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ! Thy most magnificent and mighty freak, The wonder of the North. No forest fell, 5 When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its [floods, T'enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the And make thy marble of the glassy wave. In such a palace, poctry might place The armory of winter; where his troops, The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet, Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, And snow,that often blinds the trav'ller's course, And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. Silently as a dream, the fabric rose; No sound of hammer or of saw was there. Ice upon ice, the well adjusted parts Were soon conjoin'd; nor other cement ask'd, Than water, interfus'd, to make them one. Lamps gracefully dispos'd, and of all hues, 20 Illumin'd ev'ry side; a wat❜ry light [seem'd Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that Another moon new risen, or meteor fall'n From heav'n to earth, of lambent flame serene. So stood the brittle prodigy; though smooth 25 And slipp'ry the materials, yet frost-bound, Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within, That royal residence might well befit, For grandeur or for use. Long, wavy wreaths Of flow'rs, that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 30 Blush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none, Where all was vitreous; but in order due, Convivial table and commodious seat [there; (What seem'd at least commodious seat) were Sofa and couch and high built throne august. The same lubricity was found in all, And all was moist to the warm touch; a scene Of evanescent glory, once a stream,
And soon to slide into a stream again. Alas! 'twas but a mortifying stroke Of undesign'd severity, that glanc'd (Made by a monarch) on her own estate, On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 'Twas durable; as worthless, as it seem'd 45 Intrinsically precious; to the foot, [cold. Treach'rous and false; it smil'd, and it was
Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the
Of earth and hell confed'rate, take away; A liberty, which persecution, fraud, Oppression, prisons, have no pow'r to bind; Which, whoso tastes, can be enslav'd no more. "Tis liberty of heart, deriv'd from heav'n ; Bought with HIS blood, who gave it to mankind, And seal'd with the same token! It is held 10 By charter, and that charter, sanction'd sure NO. 106. ENGLISH FREEDOM. By th' unimpeachable and awful oath of God! His other gifts
IS liberty alone, gives flow'r
Of heeting life, its lustre and perfume: All bear the royal stamp, that speaks them his,
And we are weeds without it. All constraint, Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes Their progress in the road of science; blinds The eye-sight of discovery; and begets, In those that suffer it, a sordid mind, Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit To be the tenant of man's noble form. Thee therefore still, blame-worthy as thou art, With all thy loss of empire, and tho' squeez'd By public exigence, till annual food Fails for the craving hunger of the state, Thee I account still happy, and the chief Among the nations, seeing thou art free; My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, Replete with vapors, and disposes much All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine. Thine unadult'rate manners are less soft 20 And plausible, than social life requires; And thou hast need of discipline and art, To give thee what politer France receives From nature's bounty-that humane address And sweetness, without which no pleasure is In converse, either starv'd by cold reserve, Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl; Yet, being free, I love thee; for the sake Of that one feature, can be well content, Disgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 30 To seek no sublunary rest beside. But, once enslav'd, farewell! I could endure Chains no where patiently; and chains at home, Where I am free by birth-right, not at all. Then, what were left of roughness in the grain Of Britsh natures, wanting its excuse, That it belongs to freemen, would disgust And shock me. I should then, with double pain, Feel all the rigor of thy fickle clime; And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, I would at least bewail it under skies Milder, among a people less austere ; In scenes, which, having never known me free, Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 45
NO. 107. LIBERTY OF HEART.
BUT there, yet
By poets, and by senators, unprais'd,
And are august; but this transcends them all. His other works, the visible display
Of all-creating energy and might,
Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word, That, finding an interminable space Unoccupied, has fill'd the void so well, And made so sparkling, what was dark before. But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, Might well suppose, th' artificer divine Meant it eternal, had he not himself Pronounc'd it transient, glorious as it is, And, still designing a more glorious far, Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. These, therefore, are occasional, and pass; Form'd for the confutation of the fool, Whose lying heart disputes against a God; That office serv'd, they must be swept away. Not so the labors of his love; they shine In other heav'ns, than these that we behold, And fade not. There is a paradise, that fears No forfeiture, and of its fruits, he sends Large prelibation oft to saints below. Of these the first in order, and the pledge And confident assurance of the rest, Is liberty;--a flight into his arms, Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, A clear escape from tyrannizing lust, And full immunity from penal woe.
NO. 108. MISERIES OF SIN. HAINS are the portion of revolted man,
Stripes and a dungeon; and his body serves The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. Propense his heart to idols; he is held In silly dotage on created things, Careless of their Creator. And that low And sordid gravitation of his pow'rs To a vile clod, so draws him, with such force Resistless from the centre, he should seek, 10 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes Tend downward; his ambition is to sink, To reach a depth profounder still, and still Profounder, in the fathomless abyss Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. But, ere he gain the comfortless repose
He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul, In heav'n-renouncing exile, he endures What does he not, from lusts oppos'd in vain, And self-reproaching conscience? He foresees The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, 21 Fortune, and dignity; the loss of all, That can ennoble man, and make frail life, Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, Far worse than all the plagues, with which his 25
Infect his happiest moments, "he forebodes Ages of hopeless mis'ry; future death, And death still future. Not a hasty stroke, Like that, which sends him to a dusty grave; But unrepealable, enduring death! Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears. What none can prove a forg'ry, may be true; What none but bad men wish exploded, must. That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud, Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst Of laughter, his compunctions are sincere; 36 And he abhors the jest, by which he shines. Remorse begets reform. His master-lust Falls first before his resolute rebuke, [ensues, And seems dethron'd and vanquish'd, Peace But spurious and short-liv'd. Again he falls, And fights again; but finds his best essay A presage ominous, portending still Its own dishonor, by a worse relapse. Till nature, unavailing nature, foil'd So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause, Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd; With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 50 And tatter'd in the service of debauch, Cov'ring his shame from his offended sight. NO. 109. THE GLORY OF MARTYRDOM. ATRIOTS have toil'd, and in their coun- try's cause,
E is the freeman, whom the truth makes free, There's not a chain, That hellish foes, confed'rate for his harm, Can wind around him, but he casts it off With as much ease, as Samson his green
And all are slaves beside.
He looks abroad into the varied field Of nature, and, though poor perhaps, compar'd With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 10 And the resplendent rivers-his to enjoy With a propriety that none can feel, But who with filial confidence inspir'd, 45 Can lift to heav'n an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say, "My Father made them all!" Are they not his by a peculiar right, And by an emphasis of int'rest, his, Whose eyes they fill with tears of holy joy, Whose heart, with praise, and whose exalted mind,
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historic
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 5 To latest times; and sculpture, in her turn, Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass, To guard them, and t' immortalize her trust; But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, To those, who, posted at the shrine of truth, Have fall'n in her defence. A patriot's blood, Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, And for a time ensure, to his lov'd land, The sweets of liberty and equal laws; But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, And win it, with more pain. Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim- Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free,
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, That plann'd, & built, & still upholds, a world, So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man? Yes-ye may fill your garners, ye that reap The loaded soil; and ye may waste much good, In senseless riot; but ye will not find In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, A liberty like his, who, unimpeach’d Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, Appropriates nature, as his Father's work, And has a richer use of your's, than you. He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth, Of no mean city; plann'd, or ere the hills Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea With all his roaring multitude of waves. His freedom is the same in every state; And no condition of this changeful life, So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day Brings its own evil with it, makes it less; For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 40 No nook so narrow but he spreads them there With ease, and is at large. Th' oppressor holds His body bound, but knows not, what a range
Distinctly, scenes invisible to man, 45 And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet
Ilis spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; And that to bind him is a vain attempt, Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.
NO. 111. TASTE AND JUDGMENT PROVED BY GRACE.
Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race Favor'd as our's; transgressors from the womb, IM-And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise,
CQUAINT thyself with God, if thou would'st taste
His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive,that thou wast blind before; Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight, 5 "Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wro't. Brutes graze the mountain-top,with faces prone, And eyes intent upon the scanty herb, It yields them; or recumbent on its brow, Ruminate, heedless of the scene, outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away, From inland regions to the distant main. Man views it, and admires; but rests content With what he views. The landscape has his praise;
But not its author. Unconcern'd who form'd The paradise he sees, he finds it such, And such well pleas'd to find it, asks no more. Not so the mind, that has been touch'd from heav'n,
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught To read his wonders, in whose thought, the world, 20
Fair as it is, existed, ere it was.
Not for its own sake merely, but for his, Much more, who fashion'd it, he gives it praise; Praise, that from earth resulting, as it ought, To earth's acknowledg'd sovereign, finds at 20
Its only just proprietor in Him.
The soul, that sees him, or receives sublim'd New faculties, or learns at least to employ More worthily the powers she own'd before, Discerns in all things, what, with stupid gaze Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, A ray of heav'nly light, gilding all forms Terrestrial, in the vast and the minute, The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds; Much conversant with heav'n, she often holds With those fair ministers of light to man, That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, Sweet conference; inquires, what strains were they,
With which heav'n rang, when every star, haste
And to possess a brighter heav'n than your's? As one, who long detain'd on foreign shores, Pants to return, and when he sees afar His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks,
So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth Illuminates; thy lamp, mysterious Word! Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost, With intellects bemaz'd in endless doubt, But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built With means, that were not, till by thee employ'd, [strength, Worlds, that had never been, hadst thou in Been less, or less benevolent than strong. They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r And goodness infinite, but speak in ears, That hear not, or receive not their report. In vain, thy creatures testify of thee, Till thou proclaim thyself. Their's is indeed A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine, That whom it teaches, it makes prompt to learn, And with the boon, gives talents for its use. Till thou art heard, imaginations vain Possess the heart, and fables false as hell; Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. Yet thus we dote, refusing, while we can, Instruction, and inventing to ourselves, Gods, such as guilt makes welcome; gods, that sleep,
Or disregard our follies, or that sit Amus'd spectators of this bustling stage. Thee we reject, unable to abide Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure; Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause, 40 For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, 96 Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heav'n, Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not, Till thou hast touch'd them; 'tis the voice of song,
To gratulate the new-created earth, Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God Shouted for joy.-" Tell me, ye shining hosts, That navigate a sea, that knows no storms, 45 Beneath a vault, unsulli'd with a cloud, If from your elevation, whence ye view
A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works; Which he that hears it with a shout repeats,
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