In vain, alas! thefe outward hopes are try'd ;
Reafon within 's our only guide;

Reason, which (God be prais'd!) still walks, for all

Its old original fall :

And, fince itself the boundless Godhead join'd

With a reasonable mind,

It plainly fhows that myfteries divine
May with our reafon join.

The holy book, like the eighth sphere, does fhine
With thousand lights of truth divine :
So numberless the ftars, that to the eye,
It makes but all one galaxy.

Yet Reafon must assist too; for, in feas
So vaft and dangerous as thefe,
Our course by stars above we cannot know,
Without the compafs too below.

Though Reafon cannot through Faith's myfteries fee, It fees that there and fuch they be ;

Leads to heaven's door, and there does humbly keep, And there through chinks and key-holes peep: Though it, like Mofes, by a fad command,

Muft not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide,
And from afar 'tis all defcry'd.

ON THE

DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW.

OET and Saint! to thee alone are given

POET

The two moft facred names of Earth and Heaven;

The hard and rareft union which can be,

Next that of godhead with humanity.
Long did the Mufes' banish'd flaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;

Like Mofes thou (though spells and charms withstand)
Haft brought them nobly home back to their holy land.
Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou
Wert living the fame poet which thou 'rt now;
Whilft angels fing to thee their airs divine,
And joy in an applause so great as thine.
Equal fociety with them to hold,

'Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old;
And they (kind fpirits !) fhall all rejoice, to fee
How little lefs than they exalted man may be.
Still the old Heathen Gods in Numbers dwell;
The heavenlieft thing on earth still keeps up hƐll !
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Chriftian land;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethel, stand.
And, though Pan's death long since all oracles broke,
Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke :
Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we
(Vain men!) the monster Woman deify;

Find ftars, and tie our fates there in a face,

And paradife in them, by whom we loft it, place.
Wha different faults corrupt our Muses thus ?.
Want n as girls, as old wives fabulous!

Thy spotless Muse, like Mary, did contain
The boundless Godhead; fhe did well difdain
That her eternal verse employ'd should be
On a lefs fubject than eternity;

And for a facred miftrefs fcorn'd to take,

But her whom God himself fcorn'd not his fpoufe to

make.

It (in a kind) her miracle did do ;

A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.

* How well (blest swan!) did Fate contrive thy death, And made thee render up thy tuneful breath In thy great miftrefs' arms, thou most divine And richeft offering of Loretto's shrine ! Where, like fome holy facrifice t' expire, A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire. Angels (they fay) brought the fam'd chapel there, And bore the facred load in triumph through the air: 'Tis furer much they brought thee there and they, And thou, their charge, went finging all the way.

Pardon, my mother-church ! if I confent

That angels led him when from thee he went

For ev'n in error fure no danger is

When join'd with fo much piety as his.

Mr. Crafhaw died of a fever at Loretto, being

newly chofen canon of that church.

Ah,

2

Ah, mighty God ! with shame I speak 't, and grief,
Ah, that our greatest faults were in belief!

And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet,
Rather than thus our wills too strong for it!
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I 'm fure, was in the right;
And I myself a Catholick will be,

So far at least, great Saint! to pray to thee.
Hail, bard triumphant! and fome care beftow
On us, the poets militant below!

Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance,
Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance;
Enchain'd by Beauty, tortur'd by Desires,
Expos'd by Tyrant-Love to favage beasts and fires.
Thou from low earth in nobler flames didst rise,
And, like Elijah, mount alive the skies.
Elisha-like (but with a wish much less,
More fit thy greatnefs and my littleness)
Lo! here I beg (I, whom thou once didst prove
So humble to efteem, fo good to love)

Not that thy fpirit might on me doubled be,

I ask but half thy mighty fpirit for me :

And, when my Mufe foars with fo ftrong a wing,

'Twill learn of things divine, and firft of thee, to fing.

ANA

ANACREONTIQUES:

OR,

SOME COPIES OF VERSES,

TRANSLATED PARAPHRASTICALLY OUT OF

ANACREON.

I

I.

LOV E.

LL fing of heroes and of kings,

In mighty numbers, mighty things.
Begin, my Mufe! but lo! the ftrings
To my great fong rebellious prove ;
The ftrings will found of nought but love.
I broke them all, and put on new;
'Tis this or nothing fure will do.
Thefe fure (faid I) will me obey;
Thefe, fure, heroick notes will play.
Strait I began with thundering Jove,
And all th' immortal powers; but Love,
Love smil'd, and from my' enfeebled lyre
Came gentle airs, fuch as inspire
Melting love and foft defire.
Farewell then, heroes! farewell, kings!
And mighty numbers, mighty things!
Love tunes my heart just to my ftrings.

}

DRINK.