This when the nymph had said,

She div'd within the flood,

Whose face with smiling curls long after staid; Then sighs did zephyrs press,

Birds sang from every wood,

And echoes rang, This was true happiness.

A PRAYER FOR MANKIND.

GREAT God, whom we with humbled thoughts adore,

Eternal, infinite, almighty King,

Whose dwellings heaven transcend, whose throne before

Archangels serve, and seraphim do sing;

Of nought who wrought all that with wond'ring

eyes

We do behold within this various round;

Who makes the rocks to rock, to stand the skies; At whose command clouds peals of thunder sound: Ah! spare us worms, weigh not how we, alas! Evil to ourselves, against thy laws rebel;

Wash off those spots, which still in conscience' glass,

Though we be loath to look, we see too well.
Deserv'd revenge, O! do not, do not take:

If thou revenge, who shall abide thy blow?

Pass shall this world, this world which thou didst

make,

Which should not perish till thy trumpet blow. What soul is found whom parents' crime not

stains?

Or what with its own sins defil'd is not?

Though Justice rigour threaten, yet her reins
Let Mercy guide, and never be forgot.

Less are our faults, far, far, than is thy love:
O! what can better seem thy grace divine,

Than they, who plagues deserve, thy bounty prove? And where thou show'r may'st vengeance, there to shine,

Then look and pity; pitying, forgive

Us guilty slaves, or servants now in thrall;
Slaves, if, alas! thou look how we do live,
Or doing ill, or doing nought at all;
Of an ungrateful mind the foul effect.
But if thy gifts, which largely heretofore
Thou hast upon us pour'd, thou dost respect,
We are thy servants, nay, than servants more
Thy children; yes, and children dearly bought:
But what strange chance us of this lot bereaves?
Poor, worthless wights, how lowly are we brought!
Whom grace once children made, sin hath made
slaves.

Sin hath made slaves, but let those bands grace break,

That in our wrongs thy mercies may appear:

Thy wisdom not so mean is, pow'r so weak,

But thousand ways they can make worlds thee fear. O wisdom boundless! O miraculous grace! Grace, wisdom, which make wink dim Reason's eye!

And could heaven's King bring from his placeless place,

On this ignoble stage of care to die;

To die our death, and with the sacred stream
Of blood and water gushing from his side,
To make us clean of that contagious blame,
First on us brought by our first parent's pride!

Thus thy great love and pity, heavenly King!
Love, pity, which so well our loss prevent,
Of evil itself, lo! could all goodness bring,
And sad beginning cheer with glad event.
O love and pity! ill known of these times!
O love and pity! careful of our need!

O bounties! which our horrid acts and crimes,
Grown numberless, contend near to exceed.
Make this excessive ardour of thy love

So warm our coldness, so our lives renew,
That we from sin, sin may from us remove,
Wisdom our will, faith may our wit subdue.
Let thy pure love burn up all worldly lust,
Hell's candied poison killing our best part,
Which makes us joy in toys, adore frail dust
Instead of thee, in temple of our heart.

Grant, when at last our souls these bodies leave, Their loathsome shops of sin and mansions blind, And doom before thy royal seat receive, They may a Saviour, not a judge, thee find.

MADRIGAL.

THIS life, which seems so fair,

Is like a bubble blown up in the air,

By sporting children's breath,

Who chase it everywhere,

And strive who can most motion it bequeath.

And though it sometimes seem of its own might

Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,

That only is because it is so light.

But in that pomp it doth not long appear;

For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns, to nought.

SONG.

IF autumn was, and on our hemisphere
Fair Ericine began bright to appear,

Night westward did her gemmy world decline,
And hide her lights, that greater light might

shine:

The crested bird had given alarum twice

To lazy mortals to unlock their eyes;

The owl had left to plain, and from each thorn

The wing'd musicians did salute the morn,

Who (while she dress'd her locks in Ganges' streams)

Set open wide the crystal port of dreams:

When I, whose eyes no drowsy night could close,
In Sleep's soft arms did quietly repose,

And, for that heavens to die did me deny,
Death's image kissed, and as dead did lie.

I lay as dead, but scarce charm'd were my cares,
And slaked scarce my sighs, scarce dried my tears,
Sleep scarce the ugly figures of the day
Had with his sable pencil put away,
And left me in a still and calmy mood,
When by my bed methought a virgin stood;
A virgin in the blooming of her prime,
If such rare beauty measur'd be by time.
Her head a garland wore of opals bright,
About her flow'd a gown like purest light;
Pure amber locks gave umbrage to her face,
Where modesty high majesty did grace;

Her eyes such beams sent forth, that but with pain
My weaker sight their sparklings could sustain.
No feigned deity which haunts the woods.

Is like to her, nor syren of the floods:

Such is the golden planet of the year,
When blushing in the east he doth appear,
Her grace did beauty, voice yet grace did pass,
Which thus through pearls and rubies broken was.
How long wilt thou, (said she,) estrang'd from joy,
Paint shadows to thyself of false annoy;
How long thy mind with horrid shapes affright,
And in imaginary ills delight;

Esteem that loss which (well when view'd) is gain,
Or if a loss, yet not a loss to plain ?

O leave thy plaintful soul more to molest,
And think that woe when shortest then is best.
If she for whom thou thus dost deaf the sky
Be dead, what then? was she not born to die?
Was she not mortal born? If thou dost grieve
That times should be in which she should not live,
Ere e'er she was weep that day's wheel was roll'd,
Weep that she liv'd not in the age of gold.
For that she was not then thou may'st deplore,
As well as that she now can be no more.
If only she had died, thou sure hadst cause
To blame the Fates, and their too iron laws.
But look how many millions her advance,
What numbers with her enter in this dance,
With those which are to come: shall Heavens

them stay,

And the universe dissolve, thee to obey?

As birth, death, which so much thee doth appal,
A piece is of the life of this great All.

Strong cities die, die do high palmy reigns,
And fondling thou thus to be us'd complains!