III.

Thoughts fhould be free as Fire or Wind;

The Pinions of a fingle Mind

Will thro' all Nature fly:

But who can drag up to the Poles
Long fetter'd Ranks of Leaden Souls ?
A Genius which no Chain controuls
Roves with Delight, or deep, or high:
Swift I furvey the Globe around,
Dive to the Centre thro' the folid Ground,
Or travel o'er the Sky,

To the Reverend

Mr. BENONI ROWE.

The Way of the Multitude.

I.

ROWE, if

we make the Crowd our Guide

Thro' Life's uncertain Road,

Mean is the Chase; and wandering wide

We miss th' immortal Good:

Yet if my Thoughts could be confin'd

To follow any Leader-Mind,

I'd mark thy Steps, and tread the fame :
Dreft in thy Notions I'd appear

Not like a Soul of mortal Frame,
Nor with a vulgar Air.

II. Men

II.

Men live at random and by Chance, Bright Reafon never leads the Dance ; Whilft in the broad and beaten Way

O'er Dales and Hills from Truth we stray,
To Ruin we defcend, to Ruin we advance.
Wisdom retires; the hates the Crowd,
And with a decent Scorn

Aloof fhe climbs her steepy Seat,
Where nor the grave nor giddy Feet,
Of the learn❜d Vulgar or the Rude,
Have e'er a Paffage worn.

III.

Meer Hazard first began the Track,
Where Custom leads her Thousands blind

In willing Chains and strong;
There's fcarce one bold, one noble Mind,
Dares tread the fatal Error back;

But Hand in Hand our felves we bind
And drag the Age along.

IV.

Mortals, a favage Herd, and loud
As Billows on a noisy Flood
In rapid Order roll :

Example makes the Mifchief good:

With jocund Heel we beat the Road,

Unheedful of the Goal.

Me let* Ithuriel's friendly Wing

natch from the Crowd, and bear fublime

* Ithuriel is the Name of an Angel in Milton's Paradise Loft.

To Wisdom's lofty Tower,

Thence to furvey that wretched Thing,

Mankind; and in exalted Rhime
Blefs the delivering Power.

To the Reverend

Mr. JOHN HOW E.

GR

I.

▼REAT Man, permit the Muse to climb And feat her at thy Feet,

Bid her attempt a Thought fublime,

And confecrate her Wit.

I feel, I feel th' attractive Force
Of thy fuperior Soul:

My Chariot flies her upward Course,
The Wheels divinely roll.

Now let me chide the mean Affairs
And mighty Toil of Men:

How they grow grey in trifling Cares,
Or waste the Motions of the Spheres
Upon Delights as vain!

II.

A Puff of Honour fills the Mind,
And yellow Duft is folid Good;
Thus like the Ass of savage Kind,
We fnuff the Breezes of the Wind,

Or fteal the Serpent's Food.

1704.

Could

Could all the Choirs

That charm the Poles

But ftrike one doleful Sound,

'Twould be employ'd to mourn our Souls, Souls that were fram'd of sprightly Fires In Floods of Folly drown'd.

Souls made of Glory feek a Brutal Joy;

How they disclaim their heavenly Birth,
Melt their bright Subftance down with droffy Earth,
And hate to be refin'd from that impure Alloy.

III.

Oft has thy Genius rous'd us hence

With elevated Song,

Bid us renounce this World of Sense,
Bid us divide th' Immortal Prize

66

With the Seraphic Throng:

"Knowledge and Love makes Spirits bleft, Knowledge their Food, and Love their Reft; But Flesh, th' unmanageable Beaft,

Refifts the Pity of thine Eyes,

And Mufic of thy Tongue.

Then let the Worms of groveling Mind
Round the short Joys of earthy Kind
In restless Windings roam ;

HOWE hath an ample Orb of Soul,
Where fhining Worlds of Knowledge roll,
Where Love the Centre and the Pole
- Compleats the Heaven at home.

患患患患患患患患患毒

V

The Disappointment and Relief.

I.

ERTUE, permit my Fancy to impofe
better Pow'rs:

Upon my

She cafts fweet Fallacies on half our Woes,
And gilds the gloomy Hours.

How could we bear this tedious Round
Of waning Moons, and rolling Years,
Of flaming Hopes, and chilling Fears,
If (where no fovereign Cure appears)
No Opiates could be found.

II.

Love, the most cordial Stream that flows,

Is a deceitful Good:

Young Doris who nor Guilt nor Danger knows,
On the green Margin stood,

Pleas'd with the golden Bubbles as they rose,

And with more golden Sands her Fancy pav'd the Flood
Then fond to be entirely bleft,

And tempted by a faithless Youth,
As void of Goodnefs as of Truth,
She plunges in with heedlefs Hafte,
And rears the nether Mud:
Darkness and naufeous Dregs arise

Over thy fair Current, Love, with large Supplies

Of Pain to teize the Heart, and Sorrow for the Eyes.
The golden Blifs that charm'd her Sight

Is