The tyrannous pleasure could express. Oh, 't is too much for man! but let it ne'er be less! The mighty' Elijah mounted so on high, And went not downwards to the sky! (As conquering kings in triumph go) Did he to heaven approach, And wondrous was his way, and wondrous was his coach. 'Twas gaudy all; and rich in every part Of essences, of gems; and spirit of gold Was its substantial mould, Drawn forth by chemick angels' art. Here with moon-beams 't was silver'd bright, There double-gilt with the sun's light; And mystick shapes cut round in it, Figures that did transcend a vulgar angel's wit. The horses were of temper'd lightning made, And flaming manes their necks array'd; Not such as here are found, But such light solid ones as shine On the transparent rocks o' th' Heaven-crystalline. Thus mounted the great Prophet to the skies; Wonder'd from hence to see one rise. Awhile the sacred footsteps bore; The wheels and horses' hoofs hizz'd as they pass'd them o'er! He pass'd by th' moon and planets, and did fright All the worlds there which at this meteor gaz'd, And their astrologers amaz'd With th' unexampled sight. But where he stopp'd will ne'er be known, To' a better thing do aspire, And mount herself, like him, to' eternity in fire. TO THE NEW YEAR. GREAT Janus! (who dost sure my mistress view With all thine eyes, yet think'st them all too few) If thy fore-face do see No better things prepar'd for me, Than did thy face behind; If still her breast must shut against me be (For 't is not Peace that temple's gate does bind); Oh, let my life, if thou so many deaths a-coming find, With thine old year its voyage take, Borne down that stream of Time which no return can make! Alas! what need I thus to pray? Th' old avaricious year, Whether I would or no, will bear At least a part of me away : His well-hors'd troops, the months, and days, and hours, Though never any-where they stay, Make in their passage all their prey; [find can All the good wine of life our drunken youth devours; Sourness and lees, which to the bottom sink, Remain for latter years to drink; Until, some one offended with the taste, The vessel breaks, and out the wretched relicks run at last. If then, young Year! thou needst must come The birth beyond its time can never tarry, Choose thy attendants well; for 't is not thee Let neither Loss of Friends, or Fame, or Liberty, Nor Sadness, nor uncleanly Poverty, Be seen among thy train: Nor let thy livery be Either black Sin, or gaudy Vanity: Nay, if thou lov'st me, gentle Year! Vain fruitless Love, I mean; for, gentle Year! There's of this caution little need, How thou dost make Such a mistake: Such Love I mean, alone, As by thy cruel predecessors has been shown; Into the future times why do we pry, And seek to antedate our misery? Like jealous men, why are we longing still In whatsoever character The book of Fate is writ, 'Tis well we understand not it; We should grow mad with little learning there: Undecently and foolishly We should stand shivering, and but slowly venture The fatal flood to enter. Since, willing or unwilling, we must do it, They feel least cold and pain who plunge at once into it. LIFE. "Nascentes morimur." WE're ill by these grammarians us'd; To the grave's fruitful womb, MANIL. We call here Life; but Life's a name We call one step a race: But angels, in their full enlighten'd state, Who speak Things, and our words, their ill-drawn pictures' scorn; When we, by' a foolish figure, say, "Behold an old man dead!" then they [born!" Speak properly, and cry, "Behold a man-child |