DEAR SIR,

TO MR. HENRY BENDISH.

The following song was yours, when first composed; the muse then described the general fate of mankind, that is, to be ill-matched; and now she rejoices that you have escaped the common mischief, and that your soul has found its own mate. Let this ode, then, congratulate you both. Grow mutually in more complete likeness and love: Persevere, and be happy.

I persuade myself you will accept from the press what the pen more privately inscribed to you, long ago; and I am in no pain lest you should take offence at the fabulous dress of this poem: Nor would weaker minds be scandalized at it, if they would give themselves leave to reflect how many divine truths are spoken by the holy writers in visions and images, parables and dreams: Nor are my wiser friends ashamed to defend it, since the narrative is grave, and the moral so just and obvious.

THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.

WHY should our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's silken chain

A plague of iron prove?

Bendish, 'tis strange the charm that binds
Millions of hands, should leave their minds
At such a loose from love.

In vain I sought the wond'rous cause,
Rang'd the wide fields of nature's laws,

And urg'd the schools in vain;

Then deep in thought, within my breast
My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd
A bright instructive scene.

O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide,
On fancy's airy horse I ride,

(Sweet rapture of my mind!) Till on the banks of Ganges flood,

In a tall ancient grove

I stood

For sacred use design'd.

Hard by, a venerable priest,

Risen with his god, the sun, from rest,

Awoke his morning song;

Thrice he conjur'd the murmuring stream; The birth of souls was all his theme,

And half-divine his tongue.

"He sang the eternal rolling flame,
"That vital mass, that still the same
"Does all our minds compose:

"But shaped in twice ten thousand frames: "Thence differing souls of differing names, "And jarring tempers rose.

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The mighty power that form'd the mind "One mould for every two design'd,

"And bless'd the new-born pair: "This be a match for this (he said):

"Then down he sent the souls he made, "To seek them bodies here.

"But parting from their warm abode "They lost their fellows on the road, "And never join'd their hands. "Ah cruel chance, and crossing fates! "Our eastern souls have dropp'd their mates "On Europe's barb'rous lands.

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Happy the youth that finds the bride "Whose birth is to his own allied,

"The sweetest joy of life:

"But oh, the crowds of wretched souls "Fetter'd to minds of different moulds, "And chain'd to eternal strife!"

Thus sang the wondrous Indian bard;
My soul with vast attention heard,
While Ganges ceas'd to flow:
"Sure then (I cried) might I but see

"That gentle nymph that twinn'd with me, "I may be happy too.

"Some courteous angel tell me where,

"What distant lands this unknown fair, "Or distant seas detain?

"Swift as the wheel of nature rolls "I'd fly, to meet, and mingle souls, "And wear the joyful chain."

THE HAPPY MAN.

SERENE as light is Myron's soul,

And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole:
In manly beauty shines his face;

Every muse, and every grace,

Makes his heart and tongue their seat; His heart profusely good, his tongue divinely sweet.

Myron, the wonder of our eyes,
Behold his manhood scarce begun!
Behold the race of virtue run!

Behold the goal of glory won!

Nor fame denies the merit, nor withholds the prize;
Her silver trumpets his renown proclaim:
The lands where learning never flew,

Which neither Rome nor Athens knew,
Surly Japan and rich Peru,

In barb'rous songs, pronounce the British hero's

name.

"Airy bliss (the hero cried) "May feed the tympany of pride;

"But healthy souls were never found "To live on emptiness and sound."

Lo, at his honourable feet

Fame's bright attendant, wealth, appears;
She comes to pay obedience meet,
Providing joys for future years;

Blessings with lavish hand she pours,
Gather'd from the Indian coast;

Not Danae's lap could equal treasures boast,
When Jove came down in golden showers.

He look'd and turn'd his eyes away,
With high disdain I heard him say,
"Bliss is not made of glittering clay."

Now pomp and grandeur court his head
With 'scutcheons, arms, and ensigns spread;
Gay magnificence and state,

Guards, and chariots, at his gate,

And slaves in endless order round his table wait.
They learn the dictates of his eyes,
And now they fall, and now they rise,
Watch every motion of their lord,
Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal,
With swift ambition seize the unfinish'd word,
And the command fulfil.

Tir'd with the train that grandeur brings,
He dropp'd a tear, and pitied kings,