Fam'd Hecadem, old hero, lies,
Whose shrine is fhaded from the skies,
And through the gloom of filent night.
Projects from far its trembling light,
You, whose roots defcend as low,
As high in air your branches grow:
Your leafy arms to heav'n extend,
Bend your heads, in homage bend:
Cedars, and pines, that wave above,
And the oak belov'd of Jove.
Omen, monster, prodigy,
Or nothing are, or Jove from thee!
Whether various nature play,
Or re-invers'd thy will obey,
And to rebel man declare
Famine, plague, or wafteful war.
Laugh, ye prophane, who dare despise
The threat'ning vengeance of the fkies,
Whilft the pious, on his guard,
Undifmay'd is still prepar'd:
Life or death, his mind's at rest,
Since what thou fend'st must needs be beft.
No evil can from thee proceed:
'Tis only fuffer'd, not decreed.
Darkness is not from the fun,
Nor mount the fhades till he is
Then does night obscene arise
. From Erebus, and fill the skies,
Fantastic forms the air invade,
Daughters of nothing and of fhade.
Can we forget thy guardian care,
Slow to punifh, prone to fpare!
Thou break'ft the haughty Perfian's pride
That dar'd old ocean's pow'r deride;
Their fhipwrecks ftrew'd the Eubean wave,
At Marathon they 'found a grave.
O ye bleft Greeks who there expir'd,
For Greece with pious ardor fir'd,
What shrines or altars fhall we raise
To fecure your endless praise?
Or need we monuments fupply,
To rescue what can never die!
And yet a greater hero far
(Unlefs great Socrates could err)
Shall rife to bless fome future day,
And teach to live, and teach to pray.
Come, Unknown Inftructor, come!
Our leaping hearts fhall make thee room;
Thou with Jove our vows fhalt share,
Of Jove and Thee we are the care.
O Father, King, whofe heav'nly face
Shines ferenc on all thy race,
We thy magnificence adore,
And thy well-known aid implore:
Nor vainly for thy help we call ;
Nor can we want: for thou art all!
Chrift fuffered for our fins, the juft for the unjust, that
he might bring us to God.
FOR guilt, not innocence, his life he pour'd ;
'Tis guilt alone can juftify his death;
Nor that unless his death can justify
Relenting guilt in heav'n's indulgent fight.
If, fick of folly, I relent, he writes
My name in heav'n, with that inverted spear
(A fpear deep-dipt in blood!) which pierc'd his fide,
And open'd there a font for all mankind,
Who ftrive, who combat crimes, to drink, and live: This, only this, fubdues the fear of death.
And what is this?-furvey the wond'rous cure: And at each step, let higher wonder rife!
Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon
Through means that speak its value infinite! "A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine! "With blood divine of him, I made my foe! "Perfifted to provoke, though woo'd, and aw'd, "Bleft and chaitis'd, a flagrant rebel still! "A rebel, 'midft the thunders of his throne!
Nor I alone! a rebel univerfe;
My fpecies up in arms! not one exempt! "Yet for the fouleft of the foul he dies,
"Moft joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepcft guilt! "As if our race were held of highest rank; "And Godhead dearer, as more kind to man!"
Bound, ev'ry heart! and, ev'ry bofom burn!
O what a scale of miracles is here!
Its loweft round, high planted on the skies;
Its tow'ring fummit loft beyond the thought
Of man or angel! O that I could climb
The wonderful afcent, with equal praife!
Praife! flow for ever, (if astonishment
Will give thee leave) my praife! for ever flow;
Praise ardent, cordial, conftant, to high heav'n
More fragrant, than Arabia facrific'd,
And all her spicy mountains in a flame.
RELIGION! thou the foul of happiness ;
And, groaning Calvary, of thee! There fhine
The nobleft truths; there ftrongeft motives fling;
There facred violence affaults the foul;
There, nothing but compulfion is forborn.
Can love allure us? or can terror awe?
He weeps!--the falling drop puts out the fun;
He fighs the figh earth's deep foundation shakes.
If, in his love, fo terrible, what then
His wrath inflam'd? his tenderness on fire?
Like foft, fmooth oil, outblazing other fires?
Can pray'r, can praife avert it ?-Thou, my all!
My theme! my infpiration! and my crown!
My ftrength in age! my rife in low eftate!
My foal's ambition, pleafure, wealth!-my world!
My light in darknefs; and my life in death!
My boaft through time! blifs through eternity!
Eternity, too short to speak thy praise!
Or fathom thy profound of love to man!
To man of men the meaneft, ev'n to me;
My facrifice! my God! what things are these !
CREATURE HAPPINESS AN ILLUSION.
LYSANDER, happy past the common lot,
Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear.
He woo'd the fair Afpafia: she was kind:
In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bleft:
All who knew, envy'd; yet in envy lov'd:
Can fancy form more finish'd happiness ?
Fix'd was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome
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