Classic Poem

My friend, in what a just but sweet amaze
Do I upon thy poems beauties gaze!
Thro' ev'ry page a thousand graces shine
Sparkling with decent pomp in every line.

I traverse thy great work with longing eyes,
While new, and still new pleasing scenes arise:
Such lively colours there I find displaid,
With so much art and so much nature laid;
So long, and yet so just a chain of thought,
Such lofty sense couch'd in a strain so soft;
So smooth and free thy well-tun'd numbers roll;
They raise a noble ferment in my soul.
A train of bright ideas strait I find
Spring up in the apartments of my mind:
Light to my wakened judgment they impart,
And breath a gen'rous warmth into my heart.
By your magnetic verse a captive made,
Methinks what e'er you say was done or said,
I see and hear and feel you've learn'd to give
To words such warmth as makes 'em breathe and live.

One while I think I'm with the shepherdswains,
And hear the ecchoing hills strike thro' the plains:
The numerous seraphs voices heavenly sound,
While ambient glories lighten all around.
Glory to God on high, I hear 'em sing,
And peace on earth, from Sion's peaceful king.

To that blest mount sometimes I follow thee;
Where with sweet awe, and mild solemnity,
Immanuel dictates his great father's will,
The dews of grace his balmy lips distil,
From them the laws of kindness sweetly flow,
Scattering vast blessings on the crowd below,
Such mighty sense each weighty clause contains,
Urg'd with such force, yet in such melting strains,
Each awful word with so much love imprest;
Methinks I feel him grave it in my breast.

When to bright Tabor you transport my thought,
My body too, methinks, is thither brought.
I see two prophets clad in bright array
Fly from the regions of eternal day;
Glad with their God incarnate to converse,
His sufferings and his glories to rehearse.
With the amaz'd disciples I draw near,
Unutterable mystic words to hear,
Surpriz'd with trembling joy, and awful fear.
I see th' ambitious flames of glory now
With light'ning rays salute his sacred brow.
These subtile beams, shot from aetherial light,
Dazzle my fancy, and confound my sight.

But when I trace him up mount Calvary,
What a sad scene of sorrow do I see?
His head with thorns instead of jewels crown'd,
While cruel hands by many a barb'rous wound
With crimson tincture stain the blushing ground.
When to deaf heaven I hear him groan and cry,
And see him bow his fainting head and die,
Pity and sorrow, love and strong desire,
With generous rage first set my breast on fire.
A troop of horrors then my soul surrounds
And every pain he feels, my bosom wounds.

Such are the charms of verse, such verse as thine,
Such beauties in each moving period shine,
So bright thy thoughts, the subject so divine!
They ne'er insipid prove; still entertain
My ravish'd mind; I read and read again;
Still find new charms, still fresh delights obtain.

Go on, and make the wondering world confess
The noblest theme deserves the loftiest verse.
From oracles divine more songs derive,
And Israel's royal poet's strains revive:
With the blest few that in his steps have trod,
Thy muse devote unto thy Saviour God.
Beat these now unfrequented milky ways:
Follow the lofty Milton's great essays:
Renew th' immortal Cowley's sacred lays:
And share with them the bright Urania's praise.
Make youthful breasts with true devotion burn,
And flights of wit into divine oblations turn.