Here I put off the chains of death Raphael, behold me all undress'd, Here gently lay this flesh to rest; Then mount, and lead the path unknown, Swift I pursue thee, flaming guide, on pinions of my own. THE HUNDREDTH EPIGRAM OF CASIMIR, ENGLISHED. Ardalio sacros deridet, &c. On Saint Ardalio, who from a Stage-player became a Christian, and suffered Martyrdom. ARDALIO jeers, and in his comic strains The mysteries of our bleeding God profanes, While his loud laughter shakes the painted scenes. Heaven heard, and straight around the smoking throne The kindling lightning in thick flashes shone, Mercy stood near, and with a smiling brow Grace leaves the skies, and he the stage forsakes, 'So goes the comedy of life away; Vain earth adieu; Heaven will applaud to-day; When the Protestant Church at Montpelier was demolished by the French King's order, the Protestants laid the stones up in their burying-place, whereon a Jesuit made a Latin Epigram; ENGLISHED THUS : A Hugonot church, once at Montpelier built, THE ANSWER BY A FRENCH PROTESTANT. ENGLISHED THUS : A Christian church once at Montpelier stood, TWO HAPPY RIVALS, DEVOTION AND THE MUSE. WILD as the lightning, various as the moon, 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 If she roves By streams or groves, Tuning her pleasures or her pains, [she reigns, My passion keeps her still in sight, 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 The Muse ascends her heavenly car, And climbs the steepy path, and views the throne Then she leaves my fluttering mind Clog'd with clay, and unrefin'd, [divine. Virtue lags with heavy wheel; O why is Piety so weak, And yet the Muse so strong? And mortal passion charms my soul astray: And call me high To mingle with the choirs of glory and of bliss. 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, Behold Religion on her throne, And her dominions, vast and bright, within my spacious view. |