Each maid of Salem cries, I'll mount the tree,
Hold the broad branches, and depend on thee.'
O, more than grapes, thy fruit delights the maids,
Thy pleasing breath excels the citron shades:
Thy mouth exceeds rich wine, the words that go
From those sweet lips with more refreshment
flow;

Their powerful graces slumbering souls awake,
And cause the dead, that hear thy voice, to speak."
This anthem sung, the glorious spouse arose,
Yet thus instructs the daughters ere she goes.
"If aught, my damsels, in the spouse ye find
Deserving praises, think the lover kind:
To my belov'd these marriage-robes I owe,
I'm his desire, and he would have it so."

Scarce spake the spouse, but see the lover near!
Her humble temper brought the presence here;
Then, rais'd by grace, and strongly warm'd by love,
No second languor lets her lord remove;
She flies to meet him, zeal supplies the wings,
And thus her haste to work his will she sings:
"Come, my beloved, to the fields repair,
Come, where another spot demands our care;
There in the village we'll to rest recline,
Mean as it is, I try to make it thine.

When the first rays their cheering crimson shed,
We'll rise betimes to see the vineyard spread;
See vines luxuriant-verdur'd leaves display,
Supporting tendrils curling all the way.
See young unpurpled grapes in clusters grow,
And smell pomegranate-blossoms as they blow;
There will I give my loves, employ my care,
And, as my labours thrive, approve me there:
Scarce have we pass'd my gate, the scent we meet,
My covering jasmines now diffuse their sweet;
My spicy flowerets, mingled as they fly,
With doubling odours crowd a balmy sky.
Now all the fruits, which crown the season, view,
These nearer fruits are old, and those are new;
And these, and all of every loaded tree,
My love, I gather, and reserve for thee.
If then thy spouse's labour please thee well,
Oh! like my brethren, with thy sister dwell;
No blameless maid, whose fond caresses meet
An infant-brother in the public street,
Clings to its lips with less reserve than I
Would hang on thine, where'er I found thee nigh:
No shame would make me from thy side remove,
No danger make me not confess thy love.
Straight to my mother's house, thine Israel she
(And thou my monarch wouldst arrive with me);
'Tis there I'd lead thee, where I mean to stay,
Till thou, by her, instruct my soul to pray;
There shalt thou prove my virtues, drink my wine,
And feel my joy, to find me wholly thine.
Oh! while my soul were sick, through fond de-
sire,

Thine hands should hold me lest my life expire;
As round a child the parents' arms are plac'd,
This holds the head, and that enfoids the waist."
"So cast thy cares on me," the lover cry'd,
Lean to my bosom, lean, my lovely bride;
And now, ye daughters of the realm of bliss,
Let nothing discompose a love like this;
But guard her rest from each approach of ill;
I caus'd her languor, guard her while she will."
Here pause the lines, but soon the lines renew,
Once more the pair celestial come to view;
Ah! seek them once, my ravish'd Fancy, more,
And then thy songs of Solomon are o'er:

High Sinai pierces, comes involv'd with crowds? 'Tis she, the spouse! oh! favour'd o'er the rest! Who walks reclin'd by such a lover's breast,”

The spouse, rejoicing, heard the kind salute,
And thus address'd him-all the rest were mute.
"Beneath the law, our goodly parent tree,
I went, my much-belov'd, in search of thee;
For thee, like one in pangs of travail, strove;
Hence, none may wonder if I gain thy love."
As seals their pictures to the wax impart,
So let my picture stamp thy gentle heart;
As fix'd the signets on our hands remain,
So fix me thine, and ne'er to part again.
For Love is strong as Death; whene'er they
Alike imperious, vainly check'd alike; [strike,
Both dread to lose. Love, mix'd with jealous
dread!

As soon the marble tomb resigns the dead.
Its fatal arrows fiery-pointed fall,

The fire intense, and thine the most of all;
To slack the points no chilling floods are found,
Nay, should afflictions roll like floods around,
Were wealth of nations offer'd, all would prove
Too small a danger, or a price for love.
If then with love this world of worth agree,
With soft regard our little sister see;
How far unapt, as yet, like maids that own
No breasts at all, or breasts but hardly grown;
Her part of proselyte is scarce a part,
Too much a Gentile at her erring heart;
Her day draws nearer; what have we to do,
Lest she be ask'd, and prove unworthy too?"
"Despair not, spouse," he cries; "we'll find the

means,

Her good beginnings ask the greater pains.
Let her but stand, she thrives; a wall too low
Is not rejected for the standing so;
What falls is only lost, we'll build her high,
Till the rich palace glitters in the sky,
The door that's weak (what need we spare the
If'tis a door, we need not think it lost; [cost?)
The leaves she brings us, if those leaves be good,
We'll close in cedar's uncorrupting wood."

Wrapt with the news, the spouse converts her eyes,

"And, oh! companions to the maids," she cries,
"What joys are ours, to hail the nuptial day,
Which calls our sister!—Hark, I hear her say,
'Yes, I'm a wall; lo! she that boasted none,
Now boasts of breasts unmeasurably grown;
Large towery buildings, where securely rests
A thousand thousand of my lover's guests;
The vast increase affords his heart delight,
And I find favour in his heavenly sight."
The lover here, to make her rapture last,
Thus adds assurance to the promise past.
"A spacious vineyard, in Baal-Hamon vale,
The vintage set, by Solomon, to sale,
His keepers took; and every keeper paid
A thousand purses for the gains he made.
And I've a vintage too; his vintage bleeds
A large increase, but my return exceeds.
Let Solomon receive his keeper's pay,
He gains his thousand, their two hundred they;

Mine is mine own, 't is in my presence still,
And shall increase the more, the more she will.
My love, my vineyard, oh the future shoots
Which fill my garden-rows with sacred fruits!
I saw the listening maids attend thy voice,
And in their listening saw their eyes rejoice;
A due success thy words of comfort inet,
Now turn to me-'tis I would hear thee yet.
Say, dove, and spotless, for I must away,
Say, spouse, and sister, all you wish to say."
He spake: the place was bright with lambent fire,
(But what is brightness, if the Christ retire?)
Gold-bordering purple mark'd his road in air,
And kneeling all, the spouse address'd the prayer:
Desire of nations! if thou must be gone,
Accept our wishes, all compris'd in one;
We wait thine advent! Oh, we long to see,
I and my sister, both as one, in thee.
Then leave thy Heaven, and come and dwell below;
Why said I leave?-tis Heaven where-e'er you go.
Haste, my belov'd, thy promise haste to crown,
The form thou 'lt honour waits thy coming down;
Nor let such swiftness in the roes be shown
To save themselves, as thine to save thine own.
Haste, like the nimblest harts, that lightly bound
Before the stretches of the swiftest hound;
With reaching feet devour a level way,
Across their backs their branching antlers lay,
In the cool dews their bending body ply,
And brush the spicy mountains as they fly."

JONAH.

THUS sung the king-Some angel reach a bough From Eden's tree to crown the wisest brow. And now, thou fairest garden ever made, Broad banks of spices, blossom'd walks of shade, O Lebanon; where much I love to dwell, Since I must leave thee, Lebanon, farewel!

Swift from my soul the fair idea flies, A wilder sight the changing scene supplies; Wide seas come rolling to my future page, And storms stand ready, when I call, to rage. Then go where Joppa crowns the winding shore, The prophet Jonah just arrives before; He sees a ship unmooring, soft the gales, He pays, and enters, and the vessel sails.

Ah, wouldst thou fly thy God? rash man, forbear. What land so distant but thy God is there? Weak reason, cease thy voice. They run the deep, And the tir'd prophet lays his limbs to sleep. Here God speaks louder, sends a storm to sea, The clouds remove to give the vengeance way; Strong blasts come whistling, by degrees they roar, And shove big surges tumbling on to shore; The vessel bounds, then rolls, and every blast Works hard to tear her by the groaning mast; The sailors, doubling all their shouts and cares, Furl the white canvas, and cast forth the wares; Each seek the God their native regions own, In vain they seek them, for those gods were none. Yet Jonah slept the while, who solely knew, In all that number, where to find the true. To whom the pilot: "Sleeper, rise and pray, Our gods are deaf; may thine do more than they !" But thus the rest: "Perhaps we waft a foe To Heaven itself, and that's our cause of woe; Let's seek by lots, if Heaven be pleas'd to tell;" And what they sought by lots, on Jonah fell: Then, whence he came, and who, and what, and why Thus rag'd the tempest, all confus'dly cry;

Each press'd in haste to get his question heard, When Jonah stops them with a grave regard.

"An Hebrew man, you see, who God revere, He made this world, and makes this world his care; His the whirl'd sky, these waves that lift their head, And his yon land, on which you long to tread. He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair, And to their face denounce his sentence there: 'Go,' said the vision, prophet, preach to all, Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall fall.' But well I knew him gracious to forgive, And much my zeal abhorr'd the bad should live; And if they turn, they live; then what were I But some false prophet, when they fail to die? Or what, I fancied, had the Gentiles too With Hebrew prophets, and their God, to do? Drawn by the wilful thoughts, my soil I run, 1 fled his presence, and the work's undone."

The storm increases as the prophet speaks, O'er the tost ship a foaming billow breaks; She rises pendant on the lifted waves, And thence descries a thousand watery graves; Then, downward rushing, watery mountains hide Her hulk beneath, in deaths on every side. 'O," cry the sailors all, "thy fact was ill, Yet, if a prophet, speak thy master's will; What part is ours with thee? can aught remain To bring the blessings of a calm again?"

Then Jonah: "Mine's the death will best atone (And God is pleas'd that I pronounce my own); Arise, and cast me forth, the wind will cease, The sea subsiding wear the looks of peace, And you securely steer. For well 1 see Myself the criminal, the storm for me."

Yet pity moves for one that owns a blame, And awe resulting from a prophet's name; Love pleads, he kindly meant for them to die; Fear pleads against him, lest they power defy: If then to aid the flight abets the sin, They think to land him where they took him in. Perhaps, to quit the cause, might end the woe, And, God appeasing, let the vessel go. For this they fix their oars, and strike the main, But God withstands them, and they strike in vain.

The storm increases more with want of light, Low blackening clouds involve the ship in night; Thick battering rains fly through the driving skies, Loud thunder bellows, darted lightning flies; A dreadful pieture night-born horrour drew, And his, os theirs, or both their fates, they view.

Then thus to God they cry: "Almighty power, Whom we ne'er knew till this despairing hour, From this devoted blood thy servants free, To us he's innocent, if so to thee; In all the past we see thy wond'rous hand, And that he perish, think it thy command."

This prayer perform'd, they cast the prophet o'er; A surge receives him, and be mounts no more; Then still's the thunder, cease the flames of blue, The rains abated, and the winds withdrew; The clouds ride off, and, as they march away, Through every breaking shoots a cheerful day; The sea, which rag'd so loud, accepts the prize, A while it rolls, then all the tempest dies; By gradual sinking, flat the surface grows, And safe the vessel with the sailors goes. The lion thus, that bounds the fences o'er, And makes the mountain-echoes learn to roar, If on the lawn a branching deer he rend, Then falls his hunger, all his roarings end;

Murmuring a while, to rest his limbs he lays,
And the freed lawn enjoys its herd at ease.

Bless'd with the sudden calm, the sailors own That wretched Jonah worshipp'd right alone; Then make their vows, the victim sheep prepare, Bemoan the prophet, and the God revere.

His eyes, though glad, in strange astonish'd way
Stare at the golden front of cheerful day;
Then, slowly rais'd, he sees the wonder plain,
And what he pray'd, he wrote, to sing again.

The song recorded brings his vow to mind;
He must be thankful, for the Lord was kind;

breathe,

Now, though you tremble, Fancy, dive beneath;
What worlds of wonders in the deep are seen!
But this the greatest-Jonah lives within!
The man who fondly fled the Maker's view,
Strange as the crime, has found a dungeon too.
God sent a monster of the frothing sea,
Fit, by the bulk, to gorge the living prey,
And lodge him still alive; this bulk receives
The falling prophet, as he dash'd the waves.
There, newly wak'd from fancied death, he lies,
And oft again in apprehension dies:
While three long days and nights, depriv'd of sleep,
He turn'd and toss'd him up and down the deep,
He thinks the judgment of the strangest kind,
And much he wonders what the Lord design'd;
Yet, since he lives, the gift of life he weighs,
That's time for prayer, and thus a ground for praise;
"From the dark entrails of the whale to thee,
(This new contrivance of a Hell to me)
To thee, my God, I cry'd; my full distress
Pierc'd thy kind ear, and brought my soul redress.
Cast to the deep I fell, by thy command,
Cast in the midst, beyond the reach of land;
Then to the midst brought down, the seas abide
Beneath my feet, the seas on every side;
In storms the billow, and in calms the wave,
Are moving coverings to my wandering grave.
Forc'd by despair, I cry'd, How to my cost
I fled thy presence, oh, for ever lost!
But hope revives my soul, and makes me say,
Yet tow'rds thy temple shall I turn and pray;
Or, if I know not here where Salem lies,
Thy temple's Heaven, and faith has inward eyes.
Alas! the waters, which my whale surround,
Have through my sorrowing soul a passage found;
And now the dungeon moves, new depths I try,
New thoughts of danger all his paths supply.
The last of deeps affords the last of dread,
And wraps its funeral weeds around my head:
Now o'er the sand his rollings seem to go,
Where the big mountains root their base below;
And now to rocks and clefts their course they take,
Earth's endless bars, too strong for me to break;
Yet, from th' abyss, my God! thy grace divine
Hath call'd him upward, and my life is mine.
Still, as I toss'd, I scarce retain'd my breath,
My soul was sick within, and faint to death.
'Twas then I thought of thee, for pity pray'd,
And to thy temple flew the prayers I made.
The men, whom lying vanity ensnares,
Forsake thy mercy, that which might be theirs.
But I will pay-my God! my king! receive
The solemn vows my full affection gave,
When in thy temple, for a psalm, I sing
Salvation only from my God, my king."
Thus ends the prophet; first from Canaan sent,
To let the Gentiles know they must repent:
God hears, and speaks; the whale, at God's com-
mand,

Heaves to the light, and casts him forth to land.
With long fatigue, with unexpected ease,
Oppress'd a while, he lies aside the seas;

(That seems his vow, or seems a part at least);
Preaching he comes, and thus denounc'd to all,
Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall fall.
Fear seiz'd the Gentiles, Nineveh believes;
All fast with penitence, and God forgives.

Nor yet of use the prophet's suffering fails, Hell's deep black bosom more than shows the whale's,

But some resemblance brings a type to view,
The place was dark, the time proportion'd too.
"A race," the Saviour cries, "a sinful race,
Tempts for a sign the powers of heavenly grace,
And let them take the sign: as Jonah lay,
Three days and nights within the fish of prey;
So shall the Son of Man descend below,
Earth's opening entrails shall retain him so."

My soul, now seek the song, and find me there What Heaven has shown thee to repel dispair; See, where from Hell she breaks the crumbling ground,

Her hairs stand upright, and they stare around;
Her horrid front deep-trenching wrinkles trace,
Lean sharpening looks deform her livid face;
Bent lie the brows, and at the bend below,
With fire and blood two wandering eye-balls glow;
Fill'd are her arms with numerous aids to kill,
And God she fancies but the judge of ill.
Oh, fair-ey'd Hope! thou see'st the passion nigh,
Daughter of Promise, oh forbear to fly!
Assurance holds thee, Fear would have thee go,
Close thy blue wings, and stand thy deadly foe;
The judge of ill is still the Lord of grace,
As such behold him in the prophet's case,
Cast to be drown'd, devour'd within the sea,
Sunk to the deep, and yet restor❜d to day.

Oh, love the Lord, my soul, whose parent care
So rules the world he punishes to spare.
If heavy grief my downcast heart oppress,
My body danger, or my state distress,
With low submission in thy temper bow,
Like Jonah pray, like Jonah make thy vow;
With hopes of comfort kiss the chastening rod,
And, shunning mad despair, repose in God;
Then, whatsoe'er the prophet's vow design,
Repentance, thanks, and charity, be mine.

HEZEKIAH.

FROM the bleak beach, and broad expanse of sea, To lofty Salem, Thought, direct thy way; Mount thy light chariot, move along the plains, And end thy flight when Hezekiah reigns.

How swiftly Thought has pass'd from land to land,

And quite out-run Time's measuring-glass of sand!
Great Salem's walls appear, and I resort
To view the state of Hezekiah's court.

Well may that king a pious verse inspire,
Who cleans'd the temple, who reviv'd the choir,
Pleas'd with the service David fix'd before,
That heavenly music might on Earth adore.
Deep-rob'd in white, he made the Levites stand
With cymbals, harps, and psalteries in their hand;

"What mouth has Death, which can thy praise proclaim? [name? What tongue the Grave, to speak thy glorious Or will the senseless dead exult with mirth, Mov'd to their hope by promises on Earth? The living, Lord, the living only praise, The living only fit to sing thy lays: These feel thy favours, these thy temples see; These raise the song, as I this day to thee. Nor will thy truth the present only reach, This the good fathers shall their offspring teach; Report the blessings which adorn my page, And hand their own, with mine, from age to age. "So, when the Maker heard his creature crave, So kindly rose his ready will to save, Then march we solemn tow'rds the temple-door, While all our joyful music sounds before; There, on this day, through all my life appear, When this comes round in each returning year; There strike the strings, our voices jointly raise, And let his dwellings hear my songs of praise." Thus wrote the monarch, and I'll think the lay Design'd for public, when he went to pray; I'll think the perfect composition runs, Perform'd by Heman's or Jeduthun's sons.

Then, since the time arrives the seer foretold, And the third morning rolls an orb of gold, With thankful zeal, recover'd prince, prepare To lead thy nation to the dome of prayer.

My fancy takes her chariot once again,
Moves the rich wheels, and mingles in thy train;
She sees the singers reach Morian's hill,
The minstrels foilow, then the porches fill;
She wakes the numerous instruments of art,
That each perform its own adapted part;
Seeks airs expressive of thy grateful strains,
And, listening, hears the vary'd tune she feigns.
From a grave pitch, to speak the monarch's woe,
The notes flow down and deeply sound below;
All long-continuing, while depriv'd of ease
He rolls for tedious nights and heavy days.
Here intermix'd with discord, when the crane
Screams in the notes, through sharper sense of
pain;

There, run with descant on, and taught to shake,
When pangs repeated force the voice to break:
Now like the dove they murmur, till in sighs
They fall, and languish with the failing eyes:
Then slowly slackening, to surprise the more,
From a dead pause his exclamations soar,
To meet brisk health the notes ascending fly,
Live with the living, and exult on high:
Yet still distinct in parts the music plays,
Till prince and people both are call'd to praise;
Then all, uniting, strongly strike the string,
Put forth their utmost breath, and loudly sing;
The wide-spread chorus fills the sacred ground,
And holy transport scales the clouds with sound.
Or thus, or livelier, if their hand and voice
Join'd the good anthem, might the realm rejoice.
This story known, the learn'd Chaideans came,
Drawn by the sign observ'd, or mov'd by fame;
These ask the fact for Hezekiah done,

And much they wonder at their god the Sun,
That thrice he drove, through one extent of day,
His gold-shod horses in etherial way:

Then vainly ground their guess on Nature's laws; The soundest knowledge owns a greater cause. Faith knows the fact transcends, and bids me find What help for practice here incites the mind:

move;

Straight to the song, the thankful song,
May such the voice of every creature prove!
If every creature meets its share of woe,
And for kind rescues every creature owe,
In public so thy Maker's praise prociam,
Nor what you begg'd with tears, conceal with shame.
'Tis there the ministry thy name repeat,
And tell what inercies were vouchsaf'd of late;
Then joins the church, and begs, through all our
days,

Not only with our lips, but lives, to praise.

'Tis there our sovereigns, for a signal day The feast proclaim'd, their signal thanks repay. O'er the long streets we see the chariots wheel, And, following, think of Hezekiah still.

In the bless'd dome we meet the white-rob'd choir,
In whose sweet notes our ravish'd souls aspire;
Side answering side, we hear, and bear a part,
All warm'd with language from the grateful heart;
Or raise the song, where meeting keys rejoice,
And teach the base to wed the treble voice;
Art's softening echoes in the music sound,
And, answering nature's, from the roof rebound.
Here close my verse, the service asks no more,
Bless thy good God, and give the transport o'er.

HABAKKUK.

Now leave the porch, to vision now retreat, Where the next rapture glows with varying heat; Now change the time, and change the temple-scene, The following seer forewarns a future reign. To some retirement, where the prophet's sons Indulge their holy flight, my fancy runs; Some sacred college, built for praise and prayer, And heavenly dream, she seeks Habakkuk there. Perhaps 'tis there he moans the nation's sin, Hears the word come, or feels the fit within; Or sees the vision, fram'd with angels' hands, And dreads the judgments of revolted lands; Or holds a converse, if the Lord appear, And, like Elijah, wraps his face for fear. This deep recess portends an act of weight, A message labouring with the work of Fate.

Methinks the skies have lost their lovely blue, A storm rides fiery, thick the clouds ensue. Fali'n to the ground, with prostrate face I lie: Oh! 'twere the same in this to gaze and die! But hark the prophet's voice; my prayers complain Of labour spent, of preaching urg'd in vain. And must, my God, thy sorrowing servant still Quit my lone joys, to walk this world of ill? Where spoiling rages, strife and wrong command, And the slack'd laws no longer curb the land?

At this a strange and more than human sound Thus breaks the cloud, and daunts the trembling ground.

"Behold, ye Gentiles; wondering all behold,
What scarce ye credit, though the work be told;
For, lo, the proud Chaldean troops I raise,
To march the breadth, and all the region seize;
Fierce as the prowling wolves, at close of day,
And swift as eagles in pursuit of prey.
As eastern winds to blast the season blow,
For blood and rapine flies the dreadfui foe;
Leads the sad captives, countless as the sand,
Derides the princes, and destroys the land.
Yet these, triumphant grown, offend me more,
And only thank the gods they chose before."

"Art thou not holiest," here the prophet cries; 46 Supreme, eternal, of the purest eyes?