66

"Methinks a mouldering pyramid

Says all that the old sages said: "For me these shatter'd tombs contain

"More morals than the Vatican.

"The dust of heroes cast abroad,

"And kick'd and trampled in the road,
"The relics of a lofty mind,

"That lately wars and crowns design'd,
"Tost for a jest from wind to wind,
"Bid me be humble, and forbear
"Tall monuments of fame to rear:
"They are but castles in the air.

The towering heights and frightful falls, "The ruin'd heaps and funerals, “Of smoking kingdoms and their kings, "Tell me a thousand mournful things "In melancholy silence. He "That living could not bear to see

"An equal, now lies torn and dead, "Here his pale trunk, and there his head. "Great Pompey, while I meditate, "With solemn horror, thy sad fate,

"Thy carcass, scatter'd on the shore "Without a name, instructs me more "Than my whole library before.

"Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, "And my good Seneca may keep "Your volumes clos'd for ever too: "I have no further use for you.

"For when I feel

my virtue fail,

"And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
"I'll take a turn among the tombs,
"And see whereto all glory comes.
"There the vile foot of every clown
"Tramples the sons of honour down;

66

Beggars with awful ashes sport,

"And tread the Cæsars in the dirt."

FREEDOM.

TEMPT me no more.

My soul can ne'er comport

With the gay slaveries of a court;
I've an aversion to those charms,
And hug dear liberty in both mine arms.
Go, vassal souls, go, cringe and wait,

And dance attendance at Honorio's gate,

Then run in troops before him, to compose his state; Move as he moves; and when he loiters, stand:

You're but the shadows of a man.

Bend when he speaks, and kiss the ground;
Go, catch the impertinence of sound;
Adore the follies of the great;

Wait till he smiles:- but lo! the idol frown'd,
And drove them to their fate.

Thus base-born minds; but as for me,

I can and will be free:

Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree,

My soul grows firm upright,

And as I stand, and as I go,

It keeps my body so.

No, I can never part with my creation-right: Let slaves and asses stoop and bow,

I cannot make this iron knee

[it free.

Bend to a meaner power than that which form'd

Thus my bold harp profusely play'd,
Pindarical; then on a branchy shade

I hung my harp aloft, myself beneath it laid.
Nature, that listen'd to my strain,
Resum❜d the theme, and acted it again.

Sudden rose a whirling wind,

Swelling like Honorio proud;

Around the straws and feathers crowd,
Types of a slavish mind:

Upwards the stormy forces rise,

The dust flies up and climbs the skies, And as the tempest fell, the obedient vapours Again it roars with bellowing sound;

The meaner plants that grew around,

sunk.

The willow, and the asp, trembled and kiss'd the ground.

Hard by there stood the iron trunk

Of an old oak, and all the storm defied:
In vain the winds their forces tried,
In vain they roar'd; the iron oak
Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's stroke.

1697.

ON MR. LOCKE'S ANNOTATIONS

UPON SEVERAL PARTS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT, LEFT BEHIND HIM AT HIS DEATH.

THUS Reason learns by slow degrees
What Faith reveals; but still complains
Of intellectual pains,

And darkness from the too exuberant light.
The blaze of those bright mysteries
Pour'd all at once on Nature's eyes,
Offend and cloud her feeble sight.

Reason could scarce sustain to see
The Almighty One, the Eternal Three,
Or bear the infant Deity;

Scarce could her pride descend to own
Her Maker stooping from his throne,
And drest in glories so unknown.
A ransom'd world, a bleeding God,

And heaven appeas'd with flowing blood,
Were themes too painful to be understood.

Faith, thou bright cherub, speak, and say,
Did ever mind of mortal race
Cost thee more toil, or larger grace,
To melt and bend it to obey?

'Twas hard to make so rich a soul submit,

And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet.

Sister of Faith, fair Charity,

Show me the wondrous man on high;

Tell how he sees the Godhead Three in One:

The bright conviction fills his eye,

His noblest powers in deep prostration lie
At the mysterious throne.

"Forgive," he cries, "ye saints below,
"The wavering and the cold assent
"I gave to themes divinely true:
"Can you admit the blessed to repent?
"Eternal darkness veil the lines

"Of that unhappy book,

"Where glimmering reason with false lustre shines, "Where the mere mortal pen mistook "What the celestial meant !

TRUE RICHES.

I AM not concern'd to know
What to-morrow fate will do;
'Tis enough that I can say,
I've possest myself to day.
Then if haply midnight-death
Seize my flesh, and stop my breath,

Yet to-morrow I shall be

Heir to the best part of me.