No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird,
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those, that walk at evening where ye dwell:
But Winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne;

Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste,
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast;
Beckons the legions of his storms away
From happier scenes, to make your land a prey;
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won,
And scorns to share it with the distant sun.
Yet Truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle!
And Peace, the genuine offspring of her smile;
The pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds,
That decks, with all the splendour of the true,
A false religion, is unknown to you.
Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here;
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies,
Have risen at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day,
From which our nicer optics turn away.

Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice,
The dire effect of Mercy without price!

What were they? what some fools are made by art,
They were by nature, Atheists, head and heart.
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach

Was too refined for them, beyond their reach.
Not e'en the glorious sun, though men revere
The monarch most, that seldom will appear,

And though his beams, that quicken where they shine,
May claim some right to be esteem'd divine,

Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare,

Could bend one knee, engage one votary there;

They were, what base Credulity believes

True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves.
The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast,
Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest,

Was one, whom Justice on an equal plan,
Denouncing death upon the sins of man,
Might almost have indulged with an escape,
Chargeable only with a human shape.

What are they now?-Morality may spare
Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there:

The wretch, who once sang wildly, danced, and laugh'd,
And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught,

Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways,
Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays,
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store,
Abhors the craft he boasted of before,

And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more.
Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing,
Where sprang the thorn the spiry fir shall spring,
And where unsightly and rank thistles grew,
Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew.
Go now, and with important tone demand
On what foundation virtue is to stand,
If self-exalting claims be turned adrift,
And

grace be grace indeed, and life a gift;
The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes
Glistening at once with pity and surprise,
Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight
Of one, whose birth was in a land of light,
Shall answer, Hope, sweet hope, has set me free,
And made all pleasures else mere dross to me.
These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied
The common care that waits on all beside,
Wild as if Nature there, void of all good,
Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood,

(Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd
A plaything world, unworthy of his hand,)
Can see his love, though secret evil lurks

In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works,
Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes,
Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows.
Hard task, indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam'
Is hope exotic? Grows it not at home?
Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn,
May press the eye too closely to be borne;

A distant virtue w an all confess,

It hurts our pride, and moves our envy, less.
Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek
I slur a name a poet must not speak)
Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage,
And bore the pelting scorn of half an age;
The very butt of Slander, and the blot
For every dart that Malice ever shot.

The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd
All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd;
His crimes were such as Sodom never knew,
And perjury stood up to swear all true;
His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence,
His speech rebellion against common sense:
A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule;
And when by that of reason, a mere fool;
The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass'd;
Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last.
Now, Truth perform thine office; waft aside
The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride,
Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes
This more than monster, in his proper guise.
He loved the world that hated him the tear
That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere:
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife,
His only answer was a blameless life;
And he that forged, and he that threw the dart,
Had each a brother's interest in his heart,
Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed,
Were copied close in him, and well transcribed.
He follow'd Paul; his zeal a kindred flame,
His apostolic charity the same.

Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas,
Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease;
Like him he labour'd, and like him content
To bear it, suffer'd shame, where'er he went.
Blush, Calumny! and write upon his tomb,
If honest Eulogy can spare the room,
Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies,

Which, aim'd at him, have pierced the offended skies!
And say, Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored,

Against thine image, in thy saint, O Lord!

No blinder bigot, I maintain it still,

Than he who must have pleasure, come what will:
He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw,
And deems her sharp artillery mere straw.
Scripture indeed is plain; but God and he
On Scripture ground are sure to disagree;
Some wiser rule must teach him how to live,
Than this his Maker has seen fit to give;
Supple and flexible as Indian cane,
To take the bend his appetites ordain;
Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case,
And reconcile his lusts with saving grace.
By this, with nice precision of design,
He draws upon life's map a zig-zag line,
That shews how far 'tis safe to follow sin,
And where his danger and God's wrath begin
By this he forms, as pleased he sports along,
His well-poised estimate of right and wrong;
And finds the modish manners of the day,
Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play.
Build by whatever plan Caprice decrees,
With what materials, on what ground you please;
Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired,
If not that hope the Scripture has required.

The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams,
With which hypocrisy for ever teems

(Though other follies strike the public eye,
And raise a laugh), pass unmolested by ;
But if unblamable in word and thought,
A man arise, a man whom God has taught,
With all Elijah's dignity of tone,

And all the love of the beloved John.
To storm the citadels they build in air,

And smite the untemper'd wall; 'tis death to spare.

To sweep away all refuges of lies,

And place, instead of quirks themselves devise,

Lama Sabacthani before their eyes;

To prove that without Christ all gain is loss,

All hope despair, that stands not on his cross;
Except the few his God may have impress'd,
A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest.

Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least, There dwells a consciousness in every breast,

That folly ends were genuine hope begins,
And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins.
Nature opposes with her utmost force
This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce;
And while religion seems to be her view,
Hates with a deep sincerity the true:
For this, of all that ever influenced man,
Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began,
This only spares no lust, admits no plea,
But makes him, if at all, completely free;
Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car,
Of an eternal, universal war;

Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles,

Scorns with the same indifference frowns and smiles;
Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reels,
And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels!
Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art,
Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart.
Insensible of Truth's almighty charms,

Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms!
While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears,
His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears,
Mighty to parry and push by God's word,
With senseless noise, his argument the sword,
Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace,

And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face.

Parent of Hope, immortal Truth! make known Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine own: The silent progress of thy power is such,

Thy means so feeble, and despised so much,

That few believe the wonders thou has wrought,

And none can teach them, but whom thou hast taught

O see me sworn to serve thee, and command

A painter's skill into a poet's hand,

That, while I trembling trace a work divine,

Fancy may stand aloof from the design,

And light, and shade, and every stroke be thine.

If ever thou hast felt another's pain,

If ever when he sigh'd hast sigh'd again.