From Toil and Labour here they ever cease,
And keep a Sabbath of sweet Reft and Peace..
Why then does Heaven on Mortals Life bestow
When 'tis thus overtax'd with woe?
Why am I forc'd to live against my Will,
When all the Good is loft in Ill?
My Sighs flow thick, my Groans found from afar, Like falling Waters to the Traveller.
Is true, Frail Beauty, I did once refign
To thy imperious Charms this Heart of mine:
There didst thou undiflurb'd thy Scepter fway,
And I methought was pleas'd t' obey.
Thou feem'it fo lovely, fo divine,
With fuch sweet Graces didft thou fhine;
Thou entertain't my Amorous fenfe
With fuch Harmonious Excellence,
That, Credulous and Silly I,
With vain, with impious Idolatry,
Ador'd that Star which was to lead me to the Deity:
But now, thou foft Enchantress of the Mind,
Farewel, a change, a mighty change I find;
The Empire of my Heart thou muit refign,"
For I can be no longer thine.
A Nobler, a Diviner Guest,
Has took poffeffion of my Breaft;
He has, and must engross it all,
And
yet
the Room is ftill too small.
In vain you tempt my Heart to rove,
A fairer Object now my Soul does move,
It must be all Devotion, what before was Love.
Through Contemplation's Optics I have seen
Him who is Fairer than the Sons of Men:
The Source of good, the light Archetypall,
Beauty in the Original.
The fairest of ten thousand, He,
Proportion all and Harmony.
All Mortal Beauty's but a Ray
Of his bright ever-fhining Day;
A little feeble twinkling Star,
Which now the Sun's in place must disappear;
There is but One that's Good,there is but One that's Fair.
IV.
To thee, thou only Fair, my Soul afpires
With Holy Breathings, languishing Defires.
To thee m' inamour'd, panting Heart does move,
-By Efforts of Ecstatic Love.
How do thy glorious ftreams of Light
Refresh my intellectual fight!
Tho broken, and firain'd through a Skreen
Of envious Flesh that stands between!
When fhall m' imprifon'd Soul be free,
That the thy Native Uncorrected Light may fee,
And gaze upon thy Beatifick Face to all Eternity?
Well, I have thought on't, and I find,
This bafie World is Nonfenfe all;
There defpair to please my Mind,
Her sweetest Honey is fo mixt with Gall.
Come then, I'll try how 'tis to be alone,
Live to my self a while, and be my own.
I've try'd, and blefs the happy change;
So happy, I could almoft vow
Never from this Retreat to range,
For fure I ne'r can be fo bleft as now.
From all th' allays of Bliss I here am free;
I pity others, and none envy me.
Here in this fhady lonely Grove,
I fweetly think my hours away,
Neither with Bufinefs vex'd, nor Love,
Which in the World bear fuch Tyrannick fway:
No Tumults can my clofe Apartment find,
Calm as thofe Seats above, which know no Storm nor Wind.
Let Plots and News embroil the State,
Pray what's that to my Books and Me?
Whatever be the Kingdom's Fate,
Here I am fure t' enjoy a Monarchy.
Lord of my felf, accountable to none,
Like the first Man in Paradife, alone.
V.
While the ambitious vainly fue,
And of the partial Stars complain,
I ftand upon the Shore and view
The mighty Labours of the diftant Main,
I'm flufh'd with filent joy, and fmile to fee
The Shafts of Fortune ftill drop short of Me.
VI.
Th' uneafie Pageantry of State,
And all the Plagues to Thought and Senfe
Are far remov'd; I'm plac'd by Fate
Out of the Road of all Impertinence.
Thus, tho my fleeting Life runs fwiftly on,
Twill not be short, becaufe 'tis all my own.
Arewel Fruition, thou grand Cruel Cheat, Which first our hopes does raife and then defeat. Farewel thou Midwife to Abortive Blifs, Thou Mystery of Fallacies.
Distance prefents the Object fair,
With Charming Features and a graceful Air,
But when we come to feize th' inviting prey,
Like a Shy Ghost, it vanifhes away.
So to the unthinking Boy the diftant Sky
Seems on fome Mountain's Surface to rely;
He with Ambitious haite climbs the afcent,
Curious to touch the Firmament:
But when with an unweary'd pace
Arriv'd he is at the long-wifh'd-for place,
With Sighs the fad defeat he does deplore,
His Heaven is ftill as diftant as before.
And yet 'twas long e're I could throughly fee
This grand Impoftor's frequent Treachery.
Tho often Fool'd, yet I fhould ftill dream on
Of Pleafure in Reverfion.
Tho ftill he did my hopes deceive,
His fair Pretenfions I. would ftill believe.
Such was my Charity, that tho I knew
And found him falfe, yet I would think him true.
But now he fhall no more with fhews deceive,
I will no more enjoy, no more believe.
The unwary Fugler has fo often fhewn
His Fallacies, that now they'r known.
Shall I trust on? the Cheat is plain,
I will not be impos'd upon again.
I'll view the Bright Appearance from afar,
But never try to catch the falling Star.
On a Musician, supposed to be mad with Musick,
OOR dull mistake of low Mortality,
To call that Madness, which is Ecitacy.
'Tis no diforder of the Brain,
His Soul is only fet t' an higher ftrain.
Out-foar he does the Sphere of Common Sense,
Rais'd to Diviner Excellence;
But when at highest pitch, his Soul out-flies,
Not Reafon's Bounds, but thofe of vulgar Eyes,
So when the Myftick Sibyl's Sacred Breast
Was with Divine Infufions poffeft,
'Twas Rage and Madness thought to be
Which was all Oracle and Mystery.
And fo the Soul that's fhortly to Commence
A Spirit free from dregs of Senfe,
Is thought to rave, when She difcourfes high,
And breathes the lofty Strains of Immortality.
Mufick, thou Generous Ferment of the Soul,
Thou univerfal Cement of the whole;
Thou Spring of Paffion, that doft infpire
Religious Ardours, and Poetick Fire,
Who'd think that Madness fhould b' afcrib'd to thee,
That mighty Difcord to thy Harmony?
But 'twas fuch ignorance that call'd the Gift Divine
Of Various Tongues, Rage, and th' Effects of Wine.
But thou, Seraphick Soul, do thou advance
In thy fweet Ecstacy, thy pleafing Trance:
Let thy brisk Paffions mount ftill higher,
Till they join to the Element of Fire.
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