POE M S,

Chiefly of the LYRIC Kind,

In THREE BOOK S.

SACRED

I. TO DEVOTION and PIETY.

II. TO VIRTUE, HONOUR, and FRIENDSHIP. III. To the MEMORY of the Dead.

By I. WATTS, D. D.

Si non Uraniê Lyram
"Cœleftem cohibet, nec Polyhymnia
"Humanum refugit tendere Barbiton.”

HOR. Od. I. imitat.

̓Αθάνατον μὲν πρῶτα Θεὸν, νόμῳ ὡς διάκειται,
Τίμα, (και σέβε αὐτὸν) ἔπειθ' Ήρωας αγαύης,
Τές τε Καταχθονίας.

PYTHAG, Aur. Car.

VOL. I.

RECOMMENDATORY VERSES.

On Reading Mr. WATTS's Poems, facred to Piety and Devotion..

EGARD the man who in feraphic lays,

RE

And flowing numbers, fings his Maker's praise : He needs invoke no fabled Mufe's art,

The heavenly fong comes genuine from his heart,
From that pure heart, which God has deign'd t'inspire
With holy raptures, and a facred fire.

Thrice happy man! whofe foul, and guiltless breast,.
Are well prepar'd to lodge th' Almighty gueft!
'Tis He that lends thy towering thoughts their wing,
And tunes thy lyre, when thou attempt'ft to fing:
He to thy foul lets-in celeftial day,

Ev'n whilst imprison'd in this mortal clay.
By death's grim afpect thou art not alarm'd,
He, for thy fake, has death itself disarm'd;
Nor fhall the grave o'er thee a victory boast ;;
Her triumph in thy rifing fhall be loft,
When thou shalt join th' angelic choirs above,
In never-ending fongs of praife and love.

EUSEBIA..

To Mr. WATT s, on his Poems.

To murmuring ftreams, in tender strains,

то

My penfive Mufe no more

Of love's enchanting force complains,
Along the flowery shore.

No more MIRTILLO's fatal face
My quiet breaft alarms,

His eyes, his air, and youthful grace,

Have loft their ufual charms.

No gay ALEXIS in the grove
Shall be my future theme:
I burn with an immortal love,
And fing a purer flame.

Seraphic heights I seem to gain,
And facred transports feel,

While, WATTS, to thy celeftial ftrain,
Surpriz`d, I listen still.

The gliding ftreams their courfe forbear,
When I thy lays repeat;

The bending foreft lends an ear;
The birds their notes forget.

With fuch a graceful harmony
Thy numbers ftill prolong;
And let remoteft lands reply,

And echo to thy fong.

Far