A R I S E, my soul, on wings enraptur’d, rise
  To praise the monarch of the earth and skies,
  Whose goodness and benificence appear
  As round its centre moves the rolling year,
  Or when the morning glows with rosy charms,
  Or the sun slumbers in the ocean’s arms:
  Of light divine be a rich portion lent
  To guide my soul, and favour my intend.
  Celestial muse, my arduous flight sustain
  And raise my mind to a seraphic strain!
    Ador’d for ever be the God unseen,
  Which round the sun revolves this vast machine,
  Though to his eye its mass a point appears:
  Ador’d the God that whirls surrounding spheres,
  Which first ordain’d that mighty Sol should reign
  The peerless monarch of th’ ethereal train:
  Of miles twice forty millions is his height,
  And yet his radiance dazzles mortal sight
  So far beneath—from him th’ extended earth
  Vigour derives, and ev’ry flow’ry birth:
  Vast through her orb she moves with easy grace
  Around her Phoebus in unbounded space;
  True to her course th’ impetuous storm derides,
  Triumphant o’er the winds, and surging tides.
    Almighty, in these wond’rous works of thine,
  What Pow’r, what Wisdom, and what Goodness shine!
  And are thy wonders, Lord, by men explor’d,
  And yet creating glory unador’d!
    Creation smiles in various beauty gay,
  While day to night, and night succeeds to day:
  That Wisdom, which attends Jehovah’s ways,
  Shines most conspicuous in the solar rays:
  Without them, destitute of heat and light,
  This world would be the reign of endless night:
  In their excess how would our race complain,
  Abhorring life! how hate its length’ned chain!
  From air adust what num’rous ills would rise?
  What dire contagion taint the burning skies?
  What pestilential vapours, fraught with death,
  Would rise, and overspread the lands beneath?
    Hail, smiling morn, that from the orient main
  Ascending dost adorn the heav’nly plain!
  So rich, so various are thy beauteous dies,
  That spread through all the circuit of the skies,
  That, full of thee, my soul in rapture soars,
  And thy great God, the cause of all adores.
    O’er beings infinite his love extends,
  His Wisdom rules them, and his Pow’r defends.
  When tasks diurnal tire the human frame,
  The spirits faint, and dim the vital flame,
  Then too that ever active bounty shines,
  Which not infinity of space confines.
  The sable veil, that Night in silence draws,
  Conceals effects, but shows th’ Almighty Cause,
  Night seals in sleep the wide creation fair,
  And all is peaceful but the brow of care.
  Again, gay Phoebus, as the day before,
  Wakes ev’ry eye, but what shall wake no more;
  Again the face of nature is renew’d,
  Which still appears harmonious, fair, and good.
  May grateful strains salute the smiling morn,
  Before its beams the eastern hills adorn!
    Shall day to day, and night to night conspire
  To show the goodness of the Almighty Sire?
  This mental voice shall man regardless hear,
  And never, never raise the filial pray’r?
  To-day, O hearken, nor your folly mourn
  For time mispent, that never will return.
       But see the sons of vegetation rise,
  And spread their leafy banners to the skies.
  All-wise Almighty Providence we trace
  In trees, and plants, and all the flow’ry race;
  As clear as in the nobler frame of man,
  All lovely copies of the Maker’s plan.
  The pow’r the same that forms a ray of light,
  That call d creation from eternal night.
  “Let there be light,” he said: from his profound
  Old Chaos heard, and trembled at the sound:
  Swift as the word, inspir’d by pow’r divine,
  Behold the light around its Maker shine,
  The first fair product of th’ omnific God,
  And now through all his works diffus’d abroad.
       As reason’s pow’rs by day our God disclose,
  So we may trace him in the night’s repose:
  Say what is sleep? and dreams how passing strange!
  When action ceases, and ideas range
  Licentious and unbounded o’er the plains,
  Where Fancy’s queen in giddy triumph reigns.
  Hear in soft strains the dreaming lover sigh
  To a kind fair, or rave in jealousy;
  On pleasure now, and now on vengeance bent,
  The lab’ring passions struggle for a vent.
  What pow’r, O man! thy reason then restores,
  So long suspended in nocturnal hours?
  What secret hand returns the mental train,
  And gives improv’d thine active pow’rs again?
  From thee, O man, what gratitude should rise!
  And, when from balmy sleep thou op’st thine eyes,
  Let thy first thoughts be praises to the skies.
  How merciful our God who thus imparts
  O’erflowing tides of joy to human hearts,
  When wants and woes might be our righteous lot,
  Our God forgetting, by our God forgot!
    Among the mental pow’rs a question rose,
  “What most the image of th’ Eternal shows?”
   When thus to Reason (so let Fancy rove)
  Her great companion spoke immortal Love.
    “Say, mighty pow’r, how long shall strife prevail,
  “And with its murmurs load the whisp’ring gale?
  “Refer the cause to Recollection’s shrine,
  “Who loud proclaims my origin divine,
  “The cause whence heav’n and earth began to be,
  “And is not man immortaliz’d by me?
  “Reason let this most causeless strife subside.”
   Thus Love pronounc’d, and Reason thus reply’d.
    “Thy birth, coelestial queen! ’tis mine to own,
  “In thee resplendent is the Godhead shown;
  “Thy words persuade, my soul enraptur’d feels
  “Resistless beauty which thy smile reveals.”
   Ardent she spoke, and, kindling at her charms,
  She clasp’d the blooming goddess in her arms.
    Infinite Love where’er we turn our eyes
  Appears: this ev’ry creature’s wants supplies;
  This most is heard in Nature’s constant voice,
  This makes the morn, and this the eve rejoice;
  This bids the fost’ring rains and dews descend
  To nourish all, to serve one gen’ral end,
  The good of man: yet man ungrateful pays
  But little homage, and but little praise.
  To him, whose works arry’d with mercy shine,
  What songs should rise, how constant, how divine!

  WE trace the pow’r of Death from tomb to tomb,
  And his are all the ages yet to come.
  ’Tis his to call the planets from on high,
  To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
  His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,
  From its firm base to shake the solid world;
  His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,
  And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.
    Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:
  Behold thy brother number’d with the dead!
  From bondage freed, the exulting spirit flies
  Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.
  Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn
  In vain; to earth thou never must return.
  Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart
  Of Death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.
  Weep not for them, and leave the world behind.
    As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
  So near its parent lies the newly born—
  But ‘midst the bright ehtereal train behold
  It shines superior on a throne of gold:
  Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,
  Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.
  On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,
  Mindless of sublunary scenes below;
  Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,
  And seek substantial and immortal joys;
  Where hope receives, where faith to vision springs,
  And raptur’d seraphs tune th’ immortal strings
  To strains extatic.  Thou the chorus join,
  And to thy father tune the praise divine.

  WHERE contemplation finds her sacred spring,
  Where heav’nly music makes the arches ring,
  Where virtue reigns unsully’d and divine,
  Where wisdom thron’d, and all the graces shine,
  There sits thy spouse amidst the radiant throng,
  While praise eternal warbles from her tongue;
  There choirs angelic shout her welcome round,
  With perfect bliss, and peerless glory crown’d.
    While thy dear mate, to flesh no more confin’d,
  Exults a blest, an heav’n-ascended mind,
  Say in thy breast shall floods of sorrow rise?
  Say shall its torrents overwhelm thine eyes?
  Amid the seats of heav’n a place is free,
  And angels open their bright ranks for thee;
  For thee they wait, and with expectant eye
  Thy spouse leans downward from th’ empyreal sky:
  “O come away,” her longing spirit cries,
  “And share with me the raptures of the skies.
  “Our bliss divine to mortals is unknown;
  “Immortal life and glory are our own.
  “There too may the dear pledges of our love
  “Arrive, and taste with us the joys above;
  “Attune the harp to more than mortal lays,
  “And join with us the tribute of their praise
  “To him, who dy’d stern justice to stone,
  “And make eternal glory all our own.
  “He in his death slew ours, and, as he rose,
  “He crush’d the dire dominion of our foes;
  “Vain were their hopes to put the God to flight,
  “Chain us to hell, and bar the gates of light.”
     She spoke, and turn’d from mortal scenes her eyes,
  Which beam’d celestial radiance o’er the skies.
    Then thou dear man, no more with grief retire,
  Let grief no longer damp devotion’s fire,
  But rise sublime, to equal bliss aspire,
  Thy sighs no more be wafted by the wind,
  No more complain, but be to heav’n resign’d
  ’Twas thine t’ unfold the oracles divine,
  To sooth our woes the task was also thine;
  Now sorrow is incumbent on thy heart,
  Permit the muse a cordial to impart;
  Who can to thee their tend’rest aid refuse?
  To dry thy tears how longs the heav’nly muse!

  ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour’d nine,
  Assist my labours, and my strains refine;
  In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
  For bright Aurora now demands my song.
    Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies,
  Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:
  The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,
  On ev’ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;
  Harmonious lays the feather’d race resume,
  Dart the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.
    Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display
  To shield your poet from the burning day:
  Calliope awake the sacred lyre,
  While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire:
  The bow’rs, the gales, the variegated skies
  In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.
    See in the east th’ illustrious king of day!
  His rising radiance drives the shades away—
  But Oh! I feel his fervid beams too strong,
  And scarce begun, concludes th’ abortive song.

  SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main
  The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
  Majestic grandeur!  From the zephyr’s wing,
  Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
  Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
  And through the air their mingled music floats.
    Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread!
  But the west glories in the deepest red:
  So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,
  The living temples of our God below!
    Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
  And draws the sable curtains of the night,
  Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
  At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
  So shall the labours of the day begin
  More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
    Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
  Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

  SAY, heav’nly muse, what king or mighty God,
  That moves sublime from Idumea’s road?
  In Bosrah’s dies, with martial glories join’d,
  His purple vesture waves upon the wind.
  Why thus enrob’d delights he to appear
  In the dread image of the Pow’r of war?
    Compres’d in wrath the swelling wine-press groan’d,
  It bled, and pour’d the gushing purple round.
    “Mine was the act,” th’ Almighty Saviour said,
  And shook the dazzling glories of his head,
  “When all forsook I trod the press alone,
  “And conquer’d by omnipotence my own;
  “For man’s release sustain’d the pond’rous load,
  “For man the wrath of an immortal God:
  “To execute th’ Eternal’s dread command
  “My soul I sacrific’d with willing hand;
  “Sinless I stood before the avenging frown,
  “Atoning thus for vices not my own.”
     His eye the ample field of battle round
  Survey’d, but no created succours found;
  His own omnipotence sustain’d the right,
  His vengeance sunk the haughty foes in night;
  Beneath his feet the prostrate troops were spread,
  And round him lay the dying, and the dead.
    Great God, what light’ning flashes from thine eyes?
  What pow’r withstands if thou indignant rise?
    Against thy Zion though her foes may rage,
  And all their cunning, all their strength engage,
  Yet she serenely on thy bosom lies,
  Smiles at their arts, and all their force defies.

  MNEME begin.  Inspire, ye sacred nine,
  Your vent’rous Afric in her great design.
  Mneme, immortal pow’r, I trace thy spring:
  Assist my strains, while I thy glories sing:
  The acts of long departed years, by thee
  Recover’d, in due order rang’d we see:
  Thy pow’r the long-forgotten calls from night,
  That sweetly plays before the fancy’s sight.
  Mneme in our nocturnal visions pours
  The ample treasure of her secret stores;
  Swift from above the wings her silent flight
  Through Phoebe’s realms, fair regent of the night;
  And, in her pomp of images display’d,
  To the high-raptur’d poet gives her aid,
  Through the unbounded regions of the mind,
  Diffusing light celestial and refin’d.
  The heav’nly phantom paints the actions done
  By ev’ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.
    Mneme, enthron’d within the human breast,
  Has vice condemn’d, and ev’ry virtue blest.
  How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear?
  Sweeter than music to the ravish’d ear,
  Sweeter than Maro’s entertaining strains
  Resounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.
  But how is Mneme dreaded by the race,
  Who scorn her warnings and despise her grace?
  By her unveil’d each horrid crime appears,
  Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.
  Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!
  Hers the worst tortures that our souls can know.
    Now eighteen years their destin’d course have run,
  In fast succession round the central sun.
  How did the follies of that period pass
  Unnotic’d, but behold them writ in brass!
  In Recollection see them fresh return,
  And sure ’tis mine to be asham’d, and mourn.
    O Virtue, smiling in immortal green,
  Do thou exert thy pow’r, and change the scene;
  Be thine employ to guide my future days,
  And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.
    Of Recollection such the pow’r enthron’d
  In ev’ry breast, and thus her pow’r is own’d.
  The wretch, who dar’d the vengeance of the skies,
  At last awakes in horror and surprise,
  By her alarm’d, he sees impending fate,
  He howls in anguish, and repents too late.
  But O! what peace, what joys are hers t’ impart
  To ev’ry holy, ev’ry upright heart!
  Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,
  Feels himself shelter’d from the wrath divine!

  THY various works, imperial queen, we see,
    How bright their forms! how deck’d with pomp
      by thee!
  Thy wond’rous acts in beauteous order stand,
  And all attest how potent is thine hand.
    From Helicon’s refulgent heights attend,
  Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
  To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
  Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
       Now here, now there, the roving Fancy flies,
  Till some lov’d object strikes her wand’ring eyes,
  Whose silken fetters all the senses bind,
  And soft captivity involves the mind.
    Imagination! who can sing thy force?
  Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
  Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
  Th’ empyreal palace of the thund’ring God,
  We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
  And leave the rolling universe behind:
  From star to star the mental optics rove,
  Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
  There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
  Or with new worlds amaze th’ unbounded soul.
    Though Winter frowns to Fancy’s raptur’d eyes
  The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
  The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
  And bid their waters murmur o’er the sands.
  Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
  And with her flow’ry riches deck the plain;
  Sylvanus may diffuse his honours round,
  And all the forest may with leaves be crown’d:
  Show’rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
  And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
    Such is thy pow’r, nor are thine orders vain,
  O thou the leader of the mental train:
  In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
  And thine the sceptre o’er the realms of thought.
  Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
  Of subject-passions sov’reign ruler thou;
  At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
  And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
    Fancy might now her silken pinions try
  To rise from earth, and sweep th’ expanse on high:
  From Tithon’s bed now might Aurora rise,
  Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies,
  While a pure stream of light o’erflows the skies.
  The monarch of the day I might behold,
  And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold,
  But I reluctant leave the pleasing views,
  Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse;
  Winter austere forbids me to aspire,
  And northern tempests damp the rising fire;
  They chill the tides of Fancy’s flowing sea,
  Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.

  THROUGH airy roads he wings his instant flight
  To purer regions of celestial light;
  Enlarg’d he sees unnumber’d systems roll,
  Beneath him sees the universal whole,
  Planets on planets run their destin’d round,
  And circling wonders fill the vast profound.
  Th’ ethereal now, and now th’ empyreal skies
  With growing splendors strike his wond’ring eyes:
  The angels view him with delight unknown,
  Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne;
  Then smilling thus: “To this divine abode,
  “The seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God,
  “Thrice welcome thou.”  The raptur’d babe replies,
  “Thanks to my God, who snatch’d me to the skies,
  “E’er vice triumphant had possess’d my heart,
  “E’er yet the tempter had beguil d my heart,
  “E’er yet on sin’s base actions I was bent,
  “E’er yet I knew temptation’s dire intent;
  “E’er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt,
  “E’er vanity had led my way to guilt,
  “But, soon arriv’d at my celestial goal,
  “Full glories rush on my expanding soul.”
   Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round
  Clapt their glad wings, the heav’nly vaults resound.
    Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?
  Why heave your pensive bosoms with the groan?
  To Charles, the happy subject of my song,
  A brighter world, and nobler strains belong.
  Say would you tear him from the realms above
  By thoughtless wishes, and prepost’rous love?
  Doth his felicity increase your pain?
  Or could you welcome to this world again
  The heir of bliss? with a superior air
  Methinks he answers with a smile severe,
  “Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me there.”
     But still you cry, “Can we the sigh forbear,
  “And still and still must we not pour the tear?
  “Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
  “Twelve moons revolv’d, becomes the prey of death;
  “Delightful infant, nightly visions give
  “Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
  “We fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast,
  “The Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest.”
     To yon bright regions let your faith ascend,
  Prepare to join your dearest infant friend
  In pleasures without measure, without end.

  SAY, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight
  The warrior’s bosom in the fields of fight?
  Lo! here the christian and the hero join
  With mutual grace to form the man divine.
  In H——-D see with pleasure and surprise,
  Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies:
  Go, hero brave, still grace the post of fame,
  And add new glories to thine honour’d name,
  Still to the field, and still to virtue true:
  Britannia glories in no son like you.

  His Majesty’s Principal
    Secretary of State for North-America, &c.

  HAIL, happy day, when, smiling like the morn,
  Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn:
  The northern clime beneath her genial ray,
  Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway:
  Elate with hope her race no longer mourns,
  Each soul expands, each grateful bosom burns,
  While in thine hand with pleasure we behold
  The silken reins, and Freedom’s charms unfold.
  Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies
  She shines supreme, while hated faction dies:
  Soon as appear’d the Goddess long desir’d,
  Sick at the view, she languish’d and expir’d;
  Thus from the splendors of the morning light
  The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.
    No more, America, in mournful strain
  Of wrongs, and grievance unredress’d complain,
  No longer shalt thou dread the iron chain,
  Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand
  Had made, and with it meant t’ enslave the land.
    Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,
  Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
  Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
  By feeling hearts alone best understood,
  I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
  Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy’d happy seat:
  What pangs excruciating must molest,
  What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
  Steel’d was that soul and by no misery mov’d
  That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d:
  Such, such my case.  And can I then but pray
  Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
    For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due,
  And thee we ask thy favours to renew,
  Since in thy pow’r, as in thy will before,
  To sooth the griefs, which thou did’st once deplore.
  May heav’nly grace the sacred sanction give
  To all thy works, and thou for ever live
  Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame,
  Though praise immortal crowns the patriot’s name,
  But to conduct to heav’ns refulgent fane,
  May fiery coursers sweep th’ ethereal plain,
  And bear thee upwards to that blest abode,
  Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.

  On Mrs. W———‘s Voyage to England.

                 I.

  WHILE raging tempests shake the shore,
  While AElus’ thunders round us roar,
  And sweep impetuous o’er the plain
  Be still, O tyrant of the main;
  Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray,
  While my Susanna skims the wat’ry way.

                 II.

  The Pow’r propitious hears the lay,
  The blue-ey’d daughters of the sea
  With sweeter cadence glide along,
  And Thames responsive joins the song.
  Pleas’d with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray,
  And double radiance decks the face of day.

                 III.

  To court thee to Britannia’s arms
    Serene the climes and mild the sky,
  Her region boasts unnumber’d charms,
    Thy welcome smiles in ev’ry eye.
  Thy promise, Neptune keep, record my pray’r,
  Not give my wishes to the empty air.

    Boston, October 12, 1772.

  INDULGENT muse! my grov’ling mind inspire,
  And fill my bosom with celestial fire.
  See from Jamaica’s fervid shore she moves,
  Like the fair mother of the blooming loves,
  When from above the Goddess with her hand
  Fans the soft breeze, and lights upon the land;
  Thus she on Neptune’s wat’ry realm reclin’d
  Appear’d, and thus invites the ling’ring wind.
    “Arise, ye winds, America explore,
  “Waft me, ye gales, from this malignant shore;
  “The Northern milder climes I long to greet,
  “There hope that health will my arrival meet.”
   Soon as she spoke in my ideal view
  The winds assented, and the vessel flew.
    Madam, your spouse bereft of wife and son,
  In the grove’s dark recesses pours his moan;
  Each branch, wide-spreading to the ambient sky,
  Forgets its verdure, and submits to die.
    From thence I turn, and leave the sultry plain,
  And swift pursue thy passage o’er the main:
  The ship arrives before the fav’ring wind,
  And makes the Philadelphian port assign’d,
  Thence I attend you to Bostonia’s arms,
  Where gen’rous friendship ev’ry bosom warms:
  Thrice welcome here! may health revive again,
  Bloom on thy cheek, and bound in ev’ry vein!
  Then back return to gladden ev’ry heart,
  And give your spouse his soul’s far dearer part,
  Receiv’d again with what a sweet surprise,
  The tear in transport starting from his eyes!
  While his attendant son with blooming grace
  Springs to his father’s ever dear embrace.
  With shouts of joy Jamaica’s rocks resound,
  With shouts of joy the country rings around.

  THOUGH thou did’st hear the tempest from afar,
  And felt’st the horrors of the wat’ry war,
  To me unknown, yet on this peaceful shore
  Methinks I hear the storm tumultuous roar,
  And how stern Boreas with impetuous hand
  Compell’d the Nereids to usurp the land.
  Reluctant rose the daughters of the main,
  And slow ascending glided o’er the plain,
  Till AEolus in his rapid chariot drove
  In gloomy grandeur from the vault above:
  Furious he comes.  His winged sons obey
  Their frantic sire, and madden all the sea.
  The billows rave, the wind’s fierce tyrant roars,
  And with his thund’ring terrors shakes the shores:
  Broken by waves the vessel’s frame is rent,
  And strows with planks the wat’ry element.
    But thee, Maria, a kind Nereid’s shield
  Preserv’d from sinking, and thy form upheld:
  And sure some heav’nly oracle design’d
  At that dread crisis to instruct thy mind
  Things of eternal consequence to weigh,
  And to thine heart just feelings to convey
  Of things above, and of the future doom,
  And what the births of the dread world to come.
    From tossing seas I welcome thee to land.
  “Resign her, Nereid,” ’twas thy God’s command.
  Thy spouse late buried, as thy fears conceiv’d,
  Again returns, thy fears are all reliev’d:
  Thy daughter blooming with superior grace
  Again thou see’st, again thine arms embrace;
  O come, and joyful show thy spouse his heir,
  And what the blessings of maternal care!

  O’ERWHELMING sorrow now demands my song:
  From death the overwhelming sorrow sprung.
  What flowing tears?  What hearts with grief opprest?
  What sighs on sighs heave the fond parent’s breast?
  The brother weeps, the hapless sisters join
  Th’ increasing woe, and swell the crystal brine;
  The poor, who once his gen’rous bounty fed,
  Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead.
  In death the friend, the kind companion lies,
  And in one death what various comfort dies!
    Th’ unhappy mother sees the sanguine rill
  Forget to flow, and nature’s wheels stand still,
  But see from earth his spirit far remov’d,
  And know no grief recals your best-belov’d:
  He, upon pinions swifter than the wind,
  Has left mortality’s sad scenes behind
  For joys to this terrestial state unknown,
  And glories richer than the monarch’s crown.
  Of virtue’s steady course the prize behold!
  What blissful wonders to his mind unfold!
  But of celestial joys I sing in vain:
  Attempt not, muse, the too advent’rous strain.
    No more in briny show’rs, ye friends around,
  Or bathe his clay, or waste them on the ground:
  Still do you weep, still wish for his return?
  How cruel thus to wish, and thus to mourn?
  No more for him the streams of sorrow pour,
  But haste to join him on the heav’nly shore,
  On harps of gold to tune immortal lays,
  And to your God immortal anthems raise.

  ON Death’s domain intent I fix my eyes,
  Where human nature in vast ruin lies:
  With pensive mind I search the drear abode,
  Where the great conqu’ror has his spoils bestow’d;
  There where the offspring of six thousand years
  In endless numbers to my view appears:
  Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust,
  And nations mix with their primeval dust:
  Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb;
  His is the present, his the age to come.
  See here a brother, here a sister spread,
  And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.
    But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
  And let the fountain of your tears be dry’d,
  In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
  Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
  Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
  While Death reigns tyrant o’er this mortal shore.
    The glowing stars and silver queen of light
  At last must perish in the gloom of night:
  Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand,
  Which gave them life, and bow to his command;
  Thine Avis give without a murm’ring heart,
  Though half thy soul be fated to depart.
  To shining guards consign thine infant care
  To waft triumphant through the seas of air:
  Her soul enlarg’d to heav’nly pleasure springs,
  She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
  Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
  And leaning forward with a filial love,
  Invite you there to share immortal bliss
  Unknown, untasted in a state like this.
  With tow’ring hopes, and growing grace arise,
  And seek beatitude beyond the skies.

  THROUGH thickest glooms look back, immortal shade,
  On that confusion which thy death has made:
  Or from Olympus’ height look down, and see
  A Town involv’d in grief bereft of thee.
  Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead,
  And rends the graceful tresses from her head,
  Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest
  Sigh follows sigh deep heaving from her breast.
    Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone?
  Ah! lost for ever to thy wife and son!
  The hapless child, thine only hope and heir,
  Clings round his mother’s neck, and weeps his sorrows there.
  The loss of thee on Tyler’s soul returns,
  And Boston for her dear physician mourns.
    When sickness call’d for Marshall’s healing hand,
  With what compassion did his soul expand?
  In him we found the father and the friend:
  In life how lov’d! how honour’d in his end!
    And must not then our AEsculapius stay
  To bring his ling’ring infant into day?
  The babe unborn in the dark womb is tost,
  And seems in anguish for its father lost.
    Gone is Apollo from his house of earth,
  But leaves the sweet memorials of his worth:
  The common parent, whom we all deplore,
  From yonder world unseen must come no more,
  Yet ‘midst our woes immortal hopes attend
  The spouse, the sire, the universal friend.

  WHILE others chant of gay Elysian scenes,
  Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow’ry plains,
  My song more happy speaks a greater name,
  Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
  For thee, O R——-, the muse attunes her strings,
  And mounts sublime above inferior things.
    I sing not now of green embow’ring woods,
  I sing not now the daughters of the floods,
  I sing not of the storms o’er ocean driv’n,
  And how they howl’d along the waste of heav’n.
  But I to R——- would paint the British shore,
  And vast Atlantic, not untry’d before:
  Thy life impair’d commands thee to arise,
  Leave these bleak regions and inclement skies,
  Where chilling winds return the winter past,
  And nature shudders at the furious blast.
    O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main
  Exert thy wonders to the world again!
  If ere thy pow’r prolong’d the fleeting breath,
  Turn’d back the shafts, and mock’d the gates of death,
  If ere thine air dispens’d an healing pow’r,
  Or snatch’d the victim from the fatal hour,
  This equal case demands thine equal care,
  And equal wonders may this patient share.
  But unavailing, frantic is the dream
  To hope thine aid without the aid of him
  Who gave thee birth and taught thee where to flow,
  And in thy waves his various blessings show.
    May R——- return to view his native shore
  Replete with vigour not his own before,
  Then shall we see with pleasure and surprise,
  And own thy work, great Ruler of the skies!

  TO cultivate in ev’ry noble mind
  Habitual grace, and sentiments refin’d,
  Thus while you strive to mend the human heart,
  Thus while the heav’nly precepts you impart,
  O may each bosom catch the sacred fire,
  And youthful minds to Virtue’s throne aspire!
    When God’s eternal ways you set in sight,
  And Virtue shines in all her native light,
  In vain would Vice her works in night conceal,
  For Wisdom’s eye pervades the sable veil.
    Artists may paint the sun’s effulgent rays,
  But Amory’s pen the brighter God displays:
  While his great works in Amory’s pages shine,
  And while he proves his essence all divine,
  The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud
  Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God;
  As if the clay without the potter’s aid
  Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made,
  Or worlds above with orb o’er orb profound
  Self-mov’d could run the everlasting round.
  It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides
  With eye propitious, and o’er all presides.
    Still prosper, Amory! still may’st thou receive
  The warmest blessings which a muse can give,
  And when this transitory state is o’er,
  When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame’s no more,
  May Amory triumph in immortal fame,
  A nobler title, and superior name!

  NO more the flow’ry scenes of pleasure rife,
  Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes,
  No more with joy we view that lovely face
  Smiling, disportive, flush’d with ev’ry grace.
    The tear of sorrow flows from ev’ry eye,
  Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply;
  What sudden pangs shot thro’ each aching heart,
  When, Death, thy messenger dispatch’d his dart?
  Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow’r,
  Hurried the infant to his mortal hour.
  Could’st thou unpitying close those radiant eyes?
  Or fail’d his artless beauties to surprise?
  Could not his innocence thy stroke controul,
  Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul?
    The blooming babe, with shades of Death o’er-spread,
  No more shall smile, no more shall raise its head,
  But, like a branch that from the tree is torn,
  Falls prostrate, wither’d, languid, and forlorn.
  “Where flies my James?” ’tis thus I seem to hear
  The parent ask, “Some angel tell me where
  “He wings his passage thro’ the yielding air?”
   Methinks a cherub bending from the skies
  Observes the question, and serene replies,
  “In heav’ns high palaces your babe appears:
  “Prepare to meet him, and dismiss your tears.”
   Shall not th’ intelligence your grief restrain,
  And turn the mournful to the cheerful strain?
  Cease your complaints, suspend each rising sigh,
  Cease to accuse the Ruler of the sky.
  Parents, no more indulge the falling tear:
  Let Faith to heav’n’s refulgent domes repair,
  There see your infant, like a seraph glow:
  What charms celestial in his numbers flow
  Melodious, while the foul-enchanting strain
  Dwells on his tongue, and fills th’ ethereal plain?
  Enough—for ever cease your murm’ring breath;
  Not as a foe, but friend converse with Death,
  Since to the port of happiness unknown
  He brought that treasure which you call your own.
  The gift of heav’n intrusted to your hand
  Cheerful resign at the divine command:
  Not at your bar must sov’reign Wisdom stand.

                 I.

  LO! for this dark terrestrial ball
  Forsakes his azure-paved hall
      A prince of heav’nly birth!
  Divine Humanity behold,
  What wonders rise, what charms unfold
      At his descent to earth!

                 II.

  The bosoms of the great and good
  With wonder and delight he view’d,
      And fix’d his empire there:
  Him, close compressing to his breast,
  The sire of gods and men address’d,
      “My son, my heav’nly fair!

                 III.

  “Descend to earth, there place thy throne;
  “To succour man’s afflicted son
      “Each human heart inspire:
  “To act in bounties unconfin’d
  “Enlarge the close contracted mind,
      “And fill it with thy fire.”

                 IV.

  Quick as the word, with swift career
  He wings his course from star to star,
      And leaves the bright abode.
  The Virtue did his charms impart;
  Their G——-! then thy raptur’d heart
      Perceiv’d the rushing God:

                 V.

  For when thy pitying eye did see
  The languid muse in low degree,
      Then, then at thy desire
  Descended the celestial nine;
  O’er me methought they deign’d to shine,
      And deign’d to string my lyre.

                 VI.

  Can Afric’s muse forgetful prove?
  Or can such friendship fail to move
      A tender human heart?
  Immortal Friendship laurel-crown’d
  The smiling Graces all surround
      With ev’ry heav’nly Art.