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If he fair liberty and law
From the bright vision I descend,
Me never did ambition seize,
That courts jilt Fortune for a bride,
Contentment, parent of delight,
Forc'd by soft violence of pray'r,
And better to preserve the peace,
Thus shelter'd, free from care and strife,
With trips to town life to amuse,
But now more serious see me grow,
Th' enthusiast's hope, and raptures wild,
That superstition mayn't create,
To thee, Creator uncreate,
Through fields unknown nor madly stray
And trembling hands, forbear to paint
*Thus, thus I steer my bark, and sail
Here 'tis the soul feels sudden youth, ON BARCLAY'S APOLOGY FOR THE And meets exulting, virgin Truth; QUAKERS.*
Here, like a breeze of gentlest kind,
Impulses rustle through the mind : THESE sheets primeval doctrines yield,
Here shines that light with glowing face, Where revelation is reveal'd;
The fuse divine, that kindles grace; Soul-phlegm from literal feeding bred,
Which, if we trim our lamps, will last, Systems lethargic to the head
Till darkness be by dying past. They purge, and yield a diet thin,
And then goes out at end of night, That turns to Gospel-chyle within.
Extinguish'd by superior light. Truth sublimate may here be seen
Ah me! the heats and colds of life, Extracted from the parts terrene.
Pleasure's and pain's eternal strife, In these is shown, how men obtain
Breed stormy passions, which confin'd, What of Prometheus poets feign:
Shake, like th’ Æolian vale, the mind, To Scripture plainness dress is brought,
And raise despair; my lamp can last, And speech, apparel to the thought.
Plac'd where they drive the furious blast. They hiss from instinct at red coats,
False eloquence! big empty sound!
Like showers that rush upon the ground! And war, whose work is cutting throats, Forbid, and press the law of love;
Little beneath the surface goes, Breathing the spirit of the dove.
All streams along, and muddy flows. Lucrative doctrines they detest,
This sinks, and swells we buried grain, As manufactur'd by the priest;
And fructifies like southern rain. And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
His art, well hid in mild discourse, For stuff, which never mends the way;
Exerts persuasion's winning force, And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
And nervates so the good design, And frank the Gospel for our use.
That king Agrippa's case is mine. They sable standing armies break;
Well-natur'd, happy shade forgive! But the militia useful make :
Like you I think, but cannot live. Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
Thy scheme requires the world's contempt, Taught by these rules as well as they;
That from dependence life exempt; Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal,
And constitution fram'd so strong, Bid us to follow what we feel.
This world's worst climate cannot wrong The world can't hear the small still voice,
Not such my lot, not Fortune's brat, Such is its bustle and its noise :
I live by pulling off the hat; Reason the proclamation reads,
Compellid by station every hour But not one riot passion heeds.
To bow to images of power; Wealth, honor, power, the graces are,
And in life's busy scenes immers’d, Which here below our homage share :
See better things, and do the worst. They, if one votary they find
Eloquent Want, whose reasons sway, To mistress more divine inclin'd,
And make ten thousand truths give way, In truth's pursuit, t cause delay,
While I your scheme with pleasure trace, Throw golden apples in his way.
Draws near, and stares me in the face. Place me, O Heav'n, in some retreat;
“Consider well your state," she cries, There let the serious death-watch beat,
Like others kneel, that you may rise ; There let me self in silence shun,
Hold doctrines, by no scruples vex'd, To feel thy will, which should be done.
To which preferment is annex'd; Then comes the Spirit to our hut,
Nor madly prove, where all depends, When fast the senses' doors are shut;
Idolatry upon your friends. For so divine and pure a guest
See, how you like my rueful face, The emptiest rooms are furnish'd best.
Such you must wear, if out of place. O Contemplation! air serene!
Crack'd is your brain to turn recluse From damps of sense, and fogs of spleen!
Without one farthing out at use.
They, who have lands, and safe bank-stock, Pure mount of thought! thrice holy ground,
With faith so founded on a rock,
May give a rich invention ease,
" The honor'd prophet, that of old * This celebrated book was written by its author, both Us'd Heav'n's high counsels to unfold, in Latin and English, and was afterwards translated into. Did, more than courier angels, greet High Dutch, Low Dutch, French, and Spanish, and proba. The crows, that brought him bread and meat bly into other languages. It has always been esteemed a very ingenious defence of the principles of Quakerism, even by those who deny the doctrines which it endeavors to establish. The author was born at Edinburgh in 1648,
THE SEEKER. and received part of his education at the Scots College in Paris, where his uncle was principal. His father became
WHEN I first came to London, I rambled about, one of the earliest converts to the new sect, and from
From sermon to sermon, took a slice and went out his example, the son seems to have been induced to tread
Then on me, in divinity bachelor, tried in his steps. He died on the 3d of October, 1690, in the 420 year of his age
Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride;
And urging their various opinions, intended
Say, father Thames, whose gentle pace To make me wed systems, which they recom Gives leave to view what beauties grace mended.
Your flow'ry banks, if you have seen Said a lech'rous old friar skulking near Lincoln's The much-sung Grotto of the queen. inn,
Contemplative, forget awhile
And Wolsey's pridet (his greatest guilt)
Browbeats your flood, look 'cross the way, Hear a church that can't err, if you hope for sal And view, from highest swell of tide, vation.”
The milder scenes of Surrey side.
Nor abbeys, great in ruin, rise,
The Graces' and the Muses' love.
Said a jolly church parson, (devoted to ease, How would he hail his new-born year.)
Whose sides such licens'd idols crown That our's is the true church, the sense of our As Superstition would pull down: tribe is,
The only pilgrimage I know, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis."
That men of sense would choose to go: Said a yea and nay Friend, with a stiff hat and Which sweet abode, her wisest choice, band,
Urania cheers with heavenly voice, (Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his While all the Virtues gather round, hand,)
To see her consecrate the ground. “ Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, If thou, the god with winged feet, Though about ways and means they may all dis In council talk of this retreat, agree;
And jealous gods resentment show
Their house our heroes should admit;
With Earth's first commoners recruit.
Needless it is in terms unskill'd
To praise whatever Boyle 5 shall build ;
Of men, monopolists of fame;
For virtue as for learning known;
The thinking sculpture helps to raise
Deep thoughts, the genii of the place :
f Hampton Court, begun by Cardinal Wolsey, and imFinding this chalkstone in my nest,
proved by King William III. I strain, and lay among the rest.
I Queen Anne, consort to King Richard II. and Queen
Elizabeth, both died at Richmond.
Sion.House is now a seat belonging to the Duke of
& Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington, a nobleman remark. able for his fine taste in architecture. “Never were protection and great wealth more generously and judiciously
diffused than by this great person, who had every quality * A building in Richmond Gardens, erected by Queen of a genius and artist, except envy." He died December Caroline, and committed to the custody of Stephen Duck.
14, 1753. At the time this poem was written, many other verses ap- T The author should have said five; there being the peared on the same subject.
busts of Newton, Locke, Wollaston, Clarke, and Boyle
To the mind's ear, and inward sight,
Nor watch the wainscot's hollow blow; Their silence speaks, and shade gives light: And hens portentous when they crow: While insects from the threshold preach,
Nor sleepless mind the death-watch beat; And minds disposid to musing teach :
In taper find no winding-sheet: Proud of strong limbs and painted hues,
Nor in burnt coal a coffin see, They perish by the slightest bruise ;
Though thrown at others, meant for thee: Or maladies, begun within,
Or when the coruscation gleams, Destroy more slow life's frail machine ;
Find out not first the bloody streams; From maggot-youth through change of state, Nor in imprest remembrance keep They feel like us the turns of fate;
Grim tap'stry figures wrought in sleep; Some born to creep have liv'd to fly,
Nor rise to see in antique hall And change earth-cells for dwellings high; The moonlight monsters on the wall, And some that did their six wings keep,
And shadowy spectres darkly pass Before they died been forc'd to creep;
Trailing their sables o'er the grass, They politics like ours profess,
Let vice and guilt act how they please The greater prey upon the less :
In souls, their conquer'd provinces; Some strain on foot huge loads to bring ,
By Heaven's just charter it appears, Some toil incessant on the wing,
Virtue's exempt from quartering fears, And in their different ways explore
Shall then arm'd fancies fiercely drest, Wise sense of want by future store ;
Live at discretion in your breast ? Nor from their vigorous schemes desist
Be wise, and panic fright disdain, Till death, and then are never miss'd.
As notions, meteors of the brain ; Some frolic, toil, marry, increase,
And sights perform'd, illusive scene! Are sick and well, have war and peace,
By magic-lantern of the Spleen. And, broke with age, in half a day
Come here, from baleful cares releas'd, Yield to successors, and away.
With Virtue's ticket, to a feast, Let not profane this sacred place,
Where decent Mirth and Wisdom, join'd Hypocrisy with Janus' face;
In stewardship, regale the mind. Or Pomp, mixt state of pride and care ;
Call back the Cupids to your eyes, Court Kindness, Falsehood's polish'd ware; I see the godlings with surprise, Scandal disguis'd in Friendship's veil,
Not knowing home in such a plight, That tells, unask'd, th' injurious tale ;
Fly to and fro, afraid to light. Or art politic, which allows
Far from my theme, from method far, The Jesuit-remedy for vows;
Convey'd in Venus' flying car, Or priest, perfuming crowned head,
I go compellid by feather'd steeds, "Till in a swoon Truth lies for dead ;
That scorn the rein, when Delia leads. Or tawdry critic, who perceives
No daub of elegiac strain No grace, wbich plain proportion gives,
These holy wars shall ever stain ; And more than lineaments divine
As spiders Irish wainscot flee, Admires the gilding of the shrine;
Falsehood with them shall disagree; Or that self-haunting spectre Spleen,
This floor let not the vulgar tread, In thickest fog the clearest seen;
Who worship only what they dread : Or Prophecy, which dreams a lie,
Nor bigots who but one way see That fools believe and knaves apply ;
Through blinkers of authority. Or frolic Mirth, profanely loud,
Nor they who its four saints defame And happy only in a crowd;
By making virtue but a name ; Or Melancholy's pensive gloom,
Nor abstract wit, (painful regale Proxy in Contemplation's room.
To hunt the pig with slippery tail !) o Delia! when I touch this string,
Artists, who richly chase their thought, To thee my Muse directs her wing.
Gaudy without, but hollow wrought, Unspotted fair! with downcast look
And beat too thin, and tool'd too much Mind not so much the murm'ring brook ;
To bear the proof and standard touch Nor fixt in thought, with footsteps slow
Nor fops to guard this sylvan ark, Through cypress alleys cherish woe :
With necklace bells in treble bark: I see the soul in pensive fit,
Nor cynics growl and fiercely paw, And moping like sick linnet sit.
The mastiffs of the moral law. With dewy eye, and moulting wing,
Come, nymph, with rural honors drest, Unperch'd, averse to fly or sing;
Virtue's exterior form confest, I see the favorite curls begin
With charms untarnish'd, innocence (Disus'd to toilet discipline)
Display, and Eden shall commence; To quit their post, lose their smart air,
When thus you come in sober fit, And grow again like common hair;
And wisdom is preferr'd to wit; And tears, which frequent kerchiefs dry,
And looks diviner graces tell, Raise a red circle round the eye;
Which don't with giggling muscles dwell, And by this bar about the Moon,
And Beauty like the ray-clipt Sun, Conjecture more ill weather soon.
With bolder eye we look upon; Love not so much the doleful knell :
Learning shall with obsequious mien And news the boding night-birds tell ;
Tell all the wonders she has seen;