Who dwell in enclos'd folid orbs of scull;
Plodding along their sober way
The snail o'ertakes them in their wildest play,
While the poor lab’rers sweat to be correaly dull.

Give me the chariot whose diviner wheels 26
Mark their own route, and unconfin'd
Bound o'er the everlasting hills,
And lose the clouds below and leave the stars behind:
Give me the Mufe whose gen'rous force, 30
Impatient of the reigns,
Pursues an unattempted course,
Breaks all the criticks' iron chains,
And bears to Paradise the raptur'd mind.


There Milton dwells; the mortal sung

35 Themes not presum'd by any mortal tongue; New terrours or new glories shine In ev'ry page, and flying scenes divine Surprise the wond'ring sense and draw our souls along. Behold his Muse sent out t'explore

40 The unapparent deep, where waves of chaos roar, And realms of night anknown before. She trac'd a glorious path unknown Thro'fields of heav'nly war and seraphs overthrown, Where his advent'rous genius led;

45 Sov'reign she fram'd a model of her own, Nor thank'd the living nor the dead.

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The noble hater of degen'rate rhyme
Shook off the chains and built his verse sublime,
A monument too high for coupled sounds to climb :
He mourn’d the garden lost below;

(Earth is the scene for tuneful wo)
Now bliss beats high in all his veins,
Now the loft Eden he regains,
Keeps his own air and triumphs in unrivall'd ttrains.

Immortal Bard! thus thy own Raphael sings,
And knows no rule but native fire;
All heav'n fits filent while to his sov'reign strings
He talks unutterable things;
With graces infinite his untaught fingers rove 60
Across the golden lyre;
From ev'ry note devotion springs;
Rapture, and harmony, and love,
O'erspread the lit’ning choir.



To Mr. Nicholas Clarke.

The complaint.



Twas in a vale where ofiers
By murm'ring streams we told our wo
And mingled all our cares;
Friendship sat pleas’d in both our eyes,
In both the weeping deus arise,
And drop alternate tears.




The vig'rous monarch of the day,
Now mounting half his morning way,
Shone with a fainter bright;
Still fick’ning and decaying Nill
Dimly he wander'd up the hill
With his expiring light.

Jn dark eclipfe his chariot rolld,
The queen of Night obscur'd his gold
Behind her fable wheels;


fad to lose the day, The flow'ry vales in mourning lay, In mourning stood the hills.

IV. “ Such are our sorrows, Clarke,” I cry'd, “ Clouds of the brain grow black and hide “Our darken'd souls behind; “In the young morning of our years “ Distemp’ring fogs have climb’d the spheres " And choke the lab'ring mind.

V. “Lo, the gay planet rears his head “ And overlooks the lofty shade,

New-bright'ning all the skies: “ But hy, dear partner of my moan, " When will our long eclipse be gone, 5 Or when our suns arisc?




VI. “In vain are potent herbs apply'd, “Harmonious sounds in vain have try'd "To make the darkness fly; “But drugs would raise the dead as soon, " Or clatc'ring brass relieve the moon, 64 When fainting in the sky.

VII. “Some friendly spirit from above, “ Born of the light and nurs’d with love, " Alift our feeble fires, “Force these invading glooms away;

Souls should be seen quite thro' their clay " Bright as your heav'nly choirs.

VIII. “ But if the fogs muft damp the flame,

Gently kind Death dissolve our frame, “Release the pris’ner mind: “Our souls shall mount at thy discharge " To their bright source, and shine at large " Nor clouded nor confin'd.”

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The aplietions of a friend, 1702.

Now let my cares all bury'd lie,
My griefs for ever dumb,
Your forrows swell my heart so high
They leave my own no room.

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2. Sickness and pains are quite forgot,
The spleen itself is gone;
Plung'd in your woes I feel them not,
Or feel them all in one.

3. Infinite grief puts sense to flight
And all the soul invades;
So the broad gloom of spreading night
Devours the ev'ning shades.

4. Thus am I born to be unbleft;
This fympathy of wo
Drives my own tyrants from my

breast T'admit a foreign foe.

5. Sorrows in long succellion reign,
Their iron rod I feel;
Friendship has only chang'd the chain,
But I'nı the pris’ner flill.

6. Why was this life for mis’ry made,
Or why drawn out so long?
Is there no room amongst the dead,
Or is a wretch too young?

7. Move faster on great Nature's wheel,
Be kind ye rolling pow'rs,
Hurl my days headlong down the hill
With undistinguish'd lionrs.

8. Be dulky all my rising suns,
Nor finile upon a slave;
Darkness and death make hafte at once
To hide me in the grave.
Volume VI,







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