And o'er the infernal regions void of day. A PARAPHRASE. (ON THOMAS À KEMPIS, 1. iii. c. 2.) SPEAK, gracious Lord, oh, speak; For I'm Thy servant and I'll still be so: Speak words of comfort in my willing ears; And since my tongue is in Thy praises slow, And since that Thine all rhetoric exceeds; Speak Thou in words, but let me speak in deeds! Nor speak alone, but give me grace to hear What Thy celestial sweetness does impart; Let it not stop when entered at the ear, But sink and take deep rooting in my heart. As the parched earth drinks rain (but grace afford) With such a gust will I receive Thy word. Nor with the Israelites shall I desire Thy heavenly word by Moses to receive, Lest I should die: but Thou who didst inspire Moses himself, speak Thou, that I may live. First published from the Caryll Papers, in the Athenæum, July 15, 1854. Rather with Samuel I beseech with tears, Speak, gracious Lord, oh, speak, Thy servant hears. Moses, indeed, may say the words, but Thou They preach the doctrine, but Thou mak'st us do't; They teach the mysteries Thou dost open lay; The trees they water, but Thou giv'st the fruit; They to salvation show the arduous way, But none but You can give us strength to walk; You give the practice, they but give the talk. Let them be silent then; and Thou alone, Speak when Thou wilt, for still Thy servant hears. Whate'er Thou speak'st, let this be understood: Thy greater glory, and my greater good! OCCASIONED BY READING THE TRAVELS OF CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER. I. TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MANMOUNTAIN. AN ODE BY TILLY-TIT, POET LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. Translated into English. N amaze, Can our eyes Reach thy size? May my lays Swell with praise, Worthy thee! When they said Atlas' head Propped the skies : See! and believe your eyes! See him stride Valleys wide, Over woods Over floods! When he treads, Armies quake: Let his spurn Overturn Man and steed: Lest an host Beneath his foot be lost. Turned aside, From his hide, Clouds he blows: When he speaks, When he eats, On thy hand, Let me stand; So shall I, Lofty Poet, touch the sky. II. THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG. A PASTORAL. OON as Glum dalclitch missed her pleasing care, She wept, she blubbered, and she tore her hair. No British miss sincerer grief has known, Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown. She furled her sampler, and hauled in her thread, And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed; Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall. Her locks dishevelled, and her flood of tears In vain she searched each cranny of the house, Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse. She dragged the cruet, but no Grildrig found. "Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? Who from a page can ever learn the truth? Versed in Court tricks, that money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, |