Part 20 (1/2)

But full as well may we blame night, and chide His wisdom, Who doth light with darkness hide, Or deny curtains to thy royal bed, As take this sacred cov'ring from thy head.

Secrets of State are points we must not know; This vizard is thy privy-council now, Thou royal riddle, and in everything The true white prince, our hieroglyphic king!

Ride safely in His shade, Who gives thee light, And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.

O! may they wander all from thee as far As they from peace are, and thyself from war!

And wheresoe'er thou dost design to be With thy--now spotted--spotless majesty, Be sure to look no sanctuary there, Nor hope for safety in a temple, where Buyers and sellers trade: O! strengthen not With too much trust the treason of a Scot!

THE EAGLE.

Tis madness sure; and I am in the fit, To dare an eagle with my unfledg'd wit.

For what did ever Rome or Athens sing In all their lines, as lofty as his wing?

He that an eagle's powers would rehea.r.s.e Should with his plumes first feather all his verse.

I know not, when into thee I would pry, Which to admire, thy wing first, or thine eye; Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd More of her fire for thee, or of her wind.

When thou in the clear heights and upmost air Dost face the sun and his dispersed hair, Ev'n from that distance thou the sea dost spy And sporting in its deep, wide lap, the fry.

Not the least minnow there but thou canst see: Whole seas are narrow spectacles to thee.

Nor is this element of water here Below of all thy miracles the sphere.

If poets ought may add unto thy store, Thou hast in heav'n of wonders many more.

For when just Jove to earth his thunder bends, And from that bright, eternal fortress sends His louder volleys, straight this bird doth fly To aetna, where his magazine doth lie, And in his active talons brings him more Of ammunition, and recruits his store.

Nor is't a low or easy lift. He soars 'Bove wind and fire; gets to the moon, and pores With scorn upon her duller face; for she Gives him but shadows and obscurity.

Here much displeas'd, that anything like night Should meet him in his proud and lofty flight, That such dull tinctures should advance so far, And rival in the glories of a star, Resolv'd he is a n.o.bler course to try, And measures out his voyage with his eye.

Then with such fury he begins his flight, As if his wings contended with his sight.

Leaving the moon, whose humble light doth trade With spots, and deals most in the dark and shade, To the day's royal planet he doth pa.s.s With daring eyes, and makes the sun his gla.s.s.

Here doth he plume and dress himself, the beams Rus.h.i.+ng upon him like so many streams; While with direct looks he doth entertain The thronging flames, and shoots them back again.

And thus from star to star he doth repair, And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.

Sometimes he frights the starry swan, and now Orion's fearful hare, and then the crow.

Then with the orb itself he moves, to see Which is more swift, th' intelligence or he.

Thus with his wings his body he hath brought Where man can travel only in a thought.

I will not seek, rare bird, what spirit 'tis That mounts thee thus; I'll be content with this, To think that Nature made thee to express Our soul's bold heights in a material dress.

TO MR. M. L. UPON HIS REDUCTION OF THE PSALMS INTO METHOD.

Sir,

You have oblig'd the patriarch, and 'tis known He is your debtor now, though for his own.

What he wrote is a medley: we can see Confusion trespa.s.s on his piety.

Misfortunes did not only strike at him, They charged further, and oppress'd his pen; For he wrote as his crosses came, and went By no safe rule, but by his punishment.

His quill mov'd by the rod; his wits and he Did know no method, but their misery.

You brought his Psalms now into tune. Nay all His measures thus are more than musical; Your method and his airs are justly sweet, And--what's church music right--like anthems meet.

You did so much in this, that I believe He gave the matter, you the form did give.

And yet I wish you were not understood, For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!

Why then you'll say, all I would have, is this: None must be good, because the time's amiss.

For since wise Nature did ordain the night, I would not have the sun to give us light.

Whereas this doth not take the use away, But urgeth the necessity of day.

Proceed to make your pious work as free, Stop not your seasonable charity.