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A Christian church once at Montpelier stood,
And nobly spoke the builder's zeal for God.
It stood the envy of the fierce dragoon,
But not deserv'd to be destroy'd so soon:.
Yet Lewis, the vile tyrant of the age,
Tears down the walls, a victim to his page.
Young, faithful hands, pile up the sacred stones
(Dear monument!) o’er their dead fathers' bones;
The stones shall move when the dead fathers rise,
Start up before the pale destroyer's eyes,
And testify his madness to the avenging skies.



Wild as the lightning, various as the moon,

Roves my Pindaric song: Here she glows like burning noon

In fiercest flames, and here she plays Gentle as star-beams on the midnight seas;

Now in a smiling angel's form,

Anon she rides upon the storm,
Loud as the noisy thunder, as a deluge strong.

Are my thoughts and wishes free,
And know no number nor degree?
Such is the Muse : lo! she disdains

The links and chains,
Measures and rules of vulgar strains,
And o'er the laws of harmony, a sovereign queen

(she reigns. If she roves

By streams or groves,
Tuning her pleasures or her pains,
My passion keeps her still in sight,
My passion holds an equal flight
Through love's or nature's wide campaigns.

If with bold attempt she sings
Of the biggest mortal things,

Tottering thrones and nations slain;
Or breaks the fleets of warring kings,

While thunders roar

From shore to shore, My soul sits fast upon her wings, And sweeps the crimson surge, or scours the pur.

ple plain ; Still I attend her as she flies, Round the broad globe, and all beneath the skies.

But when from the meridian star

Long streaks of glory shine,
And Heaven invites her from afar,
She takes the hint, she knows the sign,

The Muse ascends her heavenly car,
And climbs the steepy path, and views the throne

Then she leaves my fluttering mind [divine,
Clogg'd with clay, and unrefin'd;
Lengths of distance far behind :

Virtue lags with heavy wheel;
Faith has wings, but cannot rise,
Cannot rise, --swift and high

As the winged numbers fly,
And faint Devotion panting lies

Half way the ethereal hill.

O why is Piety so weak,

And yet the Muse so strong!
When shall these hateful fetters break,

That have confin'd me long?
Inward a glowing heat I feel,

A spark of heavenly day;
But earthly vapours damp my zeal,
And heavy flesh drags me the downward way.

Faint are the efforts of my will,
And mortal passion charms my soul astray ;
Shine thou sweet hour of dear release !

Shine from the sky,

And call me high
To mingle with the choirs of glory and of bliss.

Devotion there begins the flight,
Awakes the song, and guides the way ;
There love and zeal, divine and bright,

Trace out new regions in the world of light, And scarce the boldest Muse can follow or obey.

I'm in a dream, and Fancy reigns,
Spreads she her gay delusive scenes ;

Or is the vision true ?
Behold Religion on her throne,

In awful state descending down,
And her dominions, vast and bright, within my

spacious view.

She smiles, and with a courteous hand

She beckons me away ; I feel mine airy powers loose from the cumbrous

clay, And with a joyful haste obey

Religion's high command.
What lengths and heights and depths unknown!
Broad fields with blooming glory sown,
And seas, and skies, and stars her own,

In an unmeasur'd sphere !
What heavens of joy, and light serene,
Which nor the rolling sun has seen,
Where nor the roving Muse has been,

That greater traveller!
A long farewell to all below,
Farewell to all that sense can show :
To golden scenes, and flowery fields,
To all the worlds that fancy builds,

And all that poets know :
Now the swift transports of the mind

Leave the fluttering Muse behind,
A thousand loose Pindaric plumes fly scattering

down the wind. Amongst the clouds I lose my breath,

The rapture grows too strong : The feeble powers that Nature gave

Faint, and drop downward to the grave; Receive their fall, thou treasurer of death,

I will no more demand my tongue, Till the gross organ, well refind, Can trace the boundless flights of an unfetter'd mind,

And raise an equal song,

The following Poems of this Book are peculiarly dedi

cated to Divine Love.*


HAZARD OF LOVING THE CREATURES. WHERE’Er my futtering passions rove,

I find a lurking snare ; 'Tis dangerous to let loose our love

Beneath the Eternal Fair.

Souls whom the tie of friendship binds,

And partners of our blood,
Seize a large portion of our minds,

And leave the less for God.

Nature has soft but powerful bands,

And 'reason she controuls ;
While children with their little hands

Hang closest to our souls.

Thoughtless they act the Old Serpent's part ;

What tempting things they be!
Lord, how they twine about our heart,

And draw it off from thee!

Our hasty wills rush blindly on

Where rising passion rolls,
And thus we make our fetters strong

To bind our slavish souls.

• Different ages have their different airs and fashions of writing. It was much more the fashion of the age, when these poems were written, to treat of Divine subjects in the style of Solomon's Song, than it is aí this day, which will afford some apology for the writer in his younger years.

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