TEMPT me no more. My soul can ne'er comport With the gay slaveries of a court;
I've an aversion to those charms,
And hug dear liberty in both mine arms.
Go vassal-souls, go, cringe and wait,
And dance attendance at Honoria's gate;
Then run in troops before him, to compose his state :
Move as he moves: and when he loiters, stand:
You're but the shadows of a man.
Bend when he speaks; and kiss the ground:
Go, catch the' impertinence of sound:
Adore the follies of the great;
Wait till he smiles: but, lo! the idol frown'd,
And drove them to their fate.
Thus base-born minds :-but as for me,
I can and will be free:
Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree,
My soul grows firm upright,
And as I stand, and as I go,
It keeps my body so;
No, I can never part with my creation-right. Let slaves and asses stoop and bow,
I cannot make this iron knee
Bend to a meaner power than that which form'd it
Thus my bold harp profusely play'd Pindarical; then on a branchy shade
I hung my harp aloft, myself beneath it laid.
Nature, that listen'd to my strain,
Resum'd the theme, and acted it again.
Sudden rose a whirling wind,
Swelling like Honoria proud,
Around the straws and feathers crowd,
Types of a slavish mind;
Upward the stormy forces rise,
The dust flies up and climbs the skies,
And as the tempest fell the' obedient vapours sunk : Again it roars with bellowing sound,
The meaner plants that grew around, [ground; The willow, and the asp, trembled and kiss'd the Hard by there stood the iron trunk
Of an old oak, and all the storm defied;
In vain the winds their forces tried,
In vain they roar'd; the iron oak
Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's stroke.
I AM not concern'd to know
What, to-morrow, fate will do:
'Tis enough that I can say,
I've possess'd myself to-day :
Then, if haply midnight-death
Seize my flesh, and stop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I shall be
Heir to the best part of me.
Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lose ;
But the treasures that are mine,
Lie far beyond her line.
When I view my spacious soul,
And survey myself a whole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.
I've a mighty part within,
That the world hath never seen;
Rich as Eden's happy ground.
And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here on all the shining boughs
Knowledge fair and useless grows;
On the same young flowery tree
All the Seasons you may see;
Notions, in the bloom of light,
Just disclosing to the sight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth,
Ripening into solid truth;
Fruits refin'd, of noble taste;
Seraphs feed on such repast.
Here, in a green and shady grove,
Streams of pleasure mix with love:
There, beneath the smiling skies,
Hills of contemplation rise;
Now, upon some shining top,
Angels light, and call me up;
I rejoice to raise my feet,
Both rejoice when there we meet.
There are endless beauties more,
Earth hath no resemblance for ;
Nothing like them round the pole,
Nothing can describe the soul:
'Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own,
More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru;
Broader 'tis, and brighter far,
Than the golden Indies are;
Ships that trace the wat'ry stage
Cannot coast it in an age;
Harts, or horses, strong and fleet,
Had they wings to help their feet,
Could not run it half way o'er
In ten thousand days or more.
Yet the silly wandering mind,
Loth to be too much confin'd,
Roves and takes her daily tours,
Coasting round the narrow shores,
Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
Picking shells and pebbles thence:
Or she sits at Fancy's door,
Calling shapes and shadows to her,
Foreign visits still receiving,
And to' herself a stranger living.
Never, never would she buy
Indian dust, or Tyrian dye,
Never trade abroad for more,
If she saw her native store;
If her inward worth were known,
She might ever live alone.
ANNOTATIONS UPON SEVERAL PARTS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.
Left behind him at his Death.
THUS Reason learns, by slow degrees,
What Faith reveals; but still complains
Of intellectual pains,
And darkness from the too exuberant light.
The blaze of those bright mysteries
Pour'd all at once on Nature's eyes,
Offend and cloud her feeble sight.
Reason could scarce sustain to see
The' Almighty One, the' Eternal Three,
Or bear the infant Deity;
Scarce could her pride descend to own
Her Maker stooping from his throne,
And dress'd in glories so unknown.
A ransom'd world, a bleeding God,
And Heaven appeas'd with flowing blood,
Were themes too painful to be understood.
Faith! thou bright cherub, speak, and say-
Did ever mind of mortal race
Cost thee more toil, or larger grace,
To melt and bend it to obey?
'Twas hard to make so rich a soul submit,
And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet.
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