« PreviousContinue »
From the Rev. Thomas IVarton's Address to the
present Queen on her Marriage. LO! this the land, whence Milton's Muse of fire High soar'd to steal from Heaven a Seraph's lyre ; And told the golden ties of wedded love In facred Eden's amarantine grove.
From the description of night in the same Author's
Pleasures of Melancholy.
NOR then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My senses lead through flowery paths of joy;
But let the facred Genius of the night
Such mystick visions fend, as Spenser saw,
When through bewildering Fancy's magick maze,
To the fell house of Bufyrane, he led
The unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,
When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd
All Heaven in tumult, and the Seraphim
Came towering, arm'd in adamant and gold.
APART, and on a facred hill retird,
Beyond all mortal inspiration fir’d,
The mighty Milton fits :--An hoft around
Of listening Angels guard the holy ground;
Amaz’d they fee a human form aspire
To grasp with daring hand a Seraph's lyre,
Inly irradiate with celestial beams,
Attempt those high, those foul-fubduing themes,
(Which humbler denizens of Heaven decline,)
And celebrate, with fanctity divine,
The starry field from warring Angels won,
And God triumphant in his Victor Son.
Nor less the wonder, and the sweet delight,
His milder scenes and fofter notes excite,
When, at his bidding, Eden's blooming grove
Breathes the rich sweets of Innocence and Love.
With such pure joy as our Forefather knew
When Raphael, heavenly guest, first met his view,
And our glad Sire, within his blissful bower,
Drank the pure converse of the ætherial Power,
Round the bleft Bard his raptur'd audience throng,
And feel their souls imparadis'd in fong.
HAYLEY's Effay on Epick Poetry, Epift. iii.
AGES elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appeard,
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard :
carry Nature lengths unknown before,
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
Thus Genius rose and set at order'd tiines,
And fhot a day-spring into distant climes,
Ennobling every region that he chose;
He funk in Greece, in Italy he rose;
And, teslious years of Gothick darkness pais d,
Emerg'd all splendour in our ille at last.
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,
Then thow far off their shining plumes again.
COWPER'S Table Talk.
From the fame Author's Task, B. iii.
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes indeed; and, viewing all she sees
As meant to indicate a God to man,
Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own.
Learning has borne fuch fruit in other days
On all her branches : Piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer
Has fiow'd from lips wet with Cafialian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike fage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine,
Milton, whose genius had angelick wings,
And fed on manna. And such thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais’d,
And found integrity, not more than fand
For fanctity of manners undefild.
AND Thou, with age oppress’d, beset with
wrongs, And “ fallen on evil days and evil tongues, 5 In darkness and with dangers compass d round," What stars of joy thy night of anguith crown'd? What breath of vernal airs, or found of rill, Or haunt by Siloa's brook, or Sion's hill, Or light of Cherubim, the empyreal throne, The effulgent car, and inexpressive One? Alas, not thine the foretaste of thy praise; A dull oblivion wrapt thy mighty lays.
A while thy glory funk, in dread repose;
Then, with fresh vigour, like a giant rose,
And strode sublime, and pass’d, with generous rage,
The feeble minions of a puny age.
From the Poetical Works of William
Preston, Esq. Dublin, 1793.
SEE! where the BRITISH HOMER leads
The Epick choir of modern days; Blind as the Grecian bard, he speeds
To realms unknown to Pagan lays : He fings no mortal war :-his ftrains Describe no hero's amorous pains;
He chaunts the birth-day of the world, The conflict of Angelick Powers,
The joys of Eden's peaceful bowers, When fled the Infernal Host, to thundering Chaos hurld. Yet, as this deathless song he breath’d,
He bath'd it with Afiction's tear; And to Pofterity bequeath'd
The cherish'd hope to Nature dear. No grateful praise his labours cheerd, No beam beneficent appear'd
To penetrate the chilling gloom ;Ah! what avails that Britain now
With sculptur'd laurel deck his brow, And hangs the votive verse on his unconscious tomb !
From Poems and Plays by Mrs. West, 1799.