Mine is mine own, 't is in my presence still,
And shall increase the more, the more she will.
My love, my vineyard, oh the future shoots
Which fill my garden-rows with sacred fruits!
I saw the listening maids attend thy voice,
And in their listening saw their eyes rejoice;
A due success thy words of comfort met,
Now turn to me-'tis I would hear thee yet.
Say, dove, and spotless, for I must away,
Say, spouse, and sister, all you wish to say."
He spake the place was bright with lambent fire,
(But what is brightness, if the Christ retire?)
Gold-bordering purple mark'd his road in air,
And kneeling all, the spouse address'd the prayer:
"Desire of nations! if thou must be gone,
Accept our wishes, all compris❜d in one;
We wait thine advent! Oh, we long to see,
I and my sister, both as one, in thee.
Then leave thy Heaven, and come and dwell below;
Why said I leave?-'tis Heaven where-e'er you go.
Haste, my belov'd, thy promise haste to crown,
The form thou 'lt honour waits thy coming down;

Nor let such swiftness in the roes be shown
To save themselves, as thine to save thine own.
Haste, like the nimblest harts, that lightly bound
Before the stretches of the swiftest hound;
With reaching feet devour a level way,
Across their backs their branching antlers lay,
In the cool dews their bending body ply,
And brush the spicy mountains as they fly."

JONAH.

THUS sung the king-Some angel reach a bough
From Eden's tree to crown the wisest brow.
And now, thou fairest garden ever made,
Broad banks of spices, blossom'd walks of shade,
O Lebanon; where much I love to dwell,
Since I must leave thee, Lebanon, farewel!
Swift from my soul the fair idea flies,

A wilder sight the changing scene supplies;
Wide seas come rolling to my future page,
And storms stand ready, when I call, to rage.
Then go where Joppa crowns the winding shore,
The prophet Jonah just arrives before;
He sees a ship unmooring, soft the gales,
He pays, and enters, and the vessel sails.

Ah, wouldst thou fly thy God? rash man, forbear.
What land so distant but thy God is there?
Weak reason, cease thy voice. They run the deep,
And the tir'd prophet lays his limbs to sleep.
Here God speaks louder, sends a storm to sea,
The clouds remove to give the vengeance way;
Strong blasts come whistling, by degrees they roar,
And shove big surges tumbling on to shore;
The vessel bounds, then rolls, and every blast
Works hard to tear her by the groaning mast;
The sailors, doubling all their shouts and cares,
Furl the white canvas, and cast forth the wares;
Each seek the God their native regions own,
In vain they seek them, for those gods were none.
Yet Jonah slept the while, who solely knew,
In all that number, where to find the true.
To whom the pilot: "Sleeper, rise and pray,
Our gods are deaf; may thine do more than they!
But thus the rest: "Perhaps we waft a foe
To Heaven itself, and that's our cause of woe;
Let's seek by lots, if Heaven be pleas'd to tell;"
And what they sought by lots, on Jonah fell:
Then, whence he came, and who, and what, and why
Thus rag'd the tempest, all confus'dly cry;

Each press'd in haste to get his question heard, When Jonah stops them with a grave regard.

"An Hebrew man, you see, who God revere, He made this world, and makes this world his care; His the whiri'd sky, these waves that lift their head, And his yon land, on which you long to tread. He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair, And to their face denounce his sentence there: Go,' said the vision, prophet, preach to all, Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall fall.' But well I knew him gracious to forgive, And much my zeal abhorr'd the bad should live; And if they turn, they live; then what were I But some false prophet, when they fail to die? Or what, I fancied, had the Gentiles too With Hebrew prophets, and their God, to do? Drawn by the wilful thoughts, my soil I run, 1 fled his presence, and the work's undone." The storm increases as the prophet speaks, O'er the tost ship a foaming billow breaks; She rises pendant on the lifted waves, And thence descries a thousand watery graves; Then, downward rushing, watery mountains hide Her hulk beneath, in deaths on every side. "O," cry the sailors all, "thy fact was ill, Yet, if a prophet, speak thy master's will; What part is ours with thee? can aught remain To bring the blessings of a calm again?"

Then Jonah: "Mine's the death will best atone (And God is pleas'd that I pronounce my own); Arise, and cast me forth, the wind will cease, The sea subsiding wear the looks of peace, And you securely steer. For well 1 see Myself the criminal, the storm for me."

Yet pity moves for one that owns a blame, And awe resulting from a prophet's name; Love pleads, he kindly meant for them to die; Fear pleads against him, lest they power defy: If then to aid the flight abets the sin, They think to land him where they took him in. Perhaps, to quit the cause, might end the woe, And, God appeasing, let the vessel go. For this they fix their oars, and strike the main, But God withstands them, and they strike in vain. The storm increases more with want of light, Low blackening clouds involve the ship in night; Thick battering rains fly through the driving skies, Loud thunder bellows, darted lightning flies; A dreadful pieture night-born horrour drew, And his, or theirs, or both their fates, they view.

Then thus to God they cry: " Almighty power, Whom we ne'er knew till this despairing hour, From this devoted blood thy servants free, To us he's innocent, if so to thee; In all the past we see thy wond'rous hand, And that he perish, think it thy command."

This prayer perform'd, they cast the prophet o'er; A surge receives him, and he mounts no more; Then still's the thunder, cease the flames of blue, The rains abated, and the winds withdrew; The clouds ride off, and, as they march away, Through every breaking shoots a cheerful day; The sea, which rag'd so loud, accepts the prize, A while it rolls, then all the tempest dies; By gradual sinking, flat the surface grows, And safe the vessel with the sailors goes. The lion thus, that bounds the fences o'er, And makes the mountain-echoes learn to roar, If on the lawn a branching deer he rend, Then falls his hunger, all his roarings end;

He gave the priests their trumpets, prompt to raise
The tuneful soul, by force of sound, to praise.
A skilful master for the song he chose,
The songs were David's these, and Asaph's those;
Then burns their offering, all around rejoice,
Each tunes his instrument to join the voice;
The trumpets sounded, and the singers sung,
The people worshipp'd, and the temple rung.
Each, while the victim burns, presents his heart,
Then the priest blesses, and the people part.

Hail! sacred Music! since you know to draw
The soul to Heaven, the spirit to the law,
I come to prove thy force, thy warbling string
May tune my soul to write what others sing.
But is this Salem? this the promis'd bliss,
These sighs and groans? what means the realm
by this?

What solemn sorrow dwells in every street?
What fear confounds the downcast looks I meet?
Alas! the king! whole nations sink with woe,
When righteous kings are summon'd hence to go;
The king lies sick; and thus, to speak his doom,
The prophet, grave Isaiah, stalks the room:
"Oh, prince, thy servant, sent from God, believe;
Set all in order, for thou canst not live."
Solemn he said, and sighing left the place;
Deep prints of horrour furrow'd every face;
Within their minds appear eternal glooms,
Black gaping marbles of their monarchs' tombs;
A king belov'd deceas'd, his offspring none,
And wars destructive, ere they fix the throne.
Strait to the wall he turn'd, with dark despair,
('Twas tow'rds the temple, or for private prayer,)
And thus to God the pious monarch spoke,
Who burn'd the groves, the brazen serpent broke:
"Remember, Lord, with what a heart for right,
What care for truth, I walk'd within thy sight."
'Twas thus with terrour, prayers, and tears, he
toss'd,

When the mid-court the grave Isaiah cross'd,
Whom, in the cedar columns of the square,
Meets a sweet angel, hung in glittering air.
Seiz'd with a trance, he stopp'd, before his eye
Clears a rais'd arch of visionary sky,
Where, as a minute pass'd, the greater light
Purpling appear'd, and south'd and set in night;
A Moon succeeding leads the starry strain,
She glides, and sinks her silver horns again :
A second fancied morning drives the shades,
Clos'd by the dark, the second evening fades;
The third bright dawn awakes, and straight he sees
The temple rise, the monarch on his knees.
Pleas'd with the scene, his inward thoughts rejoice,
When thus the guardian angel form'd a voice:
"Now tow'rds the captain of my people go,
And, seer, relate him what thy visions show;
The Lord has heard his words, and seen his tears,
And through fifteen extends his future years."

Here, to the room prepar'd with dismal black, The Prophet turning, brought the comfort back. "Oh, monarch, hail," he cry'd; thy words are beard,

Thy virtuous actions meet a kind regard;
God gives thee fifteen years, when thrice a day
Shows the round Sun, within the temple pray.
"When thrice the day!" surpris'd, the monarch

cries,

"When thrice the Sun! what power have I to rise! Put, if thy comfort's human or divine, 'Tis short to prove it-give thy prince a sign."

“Behold,” the prophet cry'd (and stretch'd his

hands,)

"Against yon lattice, where the dial stands;
Now shall the Sun a backward journey go
Through ten drawn lines, or leap to ten below."
"'Tis easier posting Nature's airy track,"
Replies the monarch: "let the Sun go back.”
Attentive here he gaz'd, the prophet pray'd,
Back went the Sun, and back pursued the shade.
Cheer'd by the sign, and by the prophet heal'd,
What sacred thanks his gratitude reveal'd!
As sickly swallows, when a summer ends,
Who miss'd the passage with their flying friends,
Take to a wall, there lean the languid head,
While all who find them think the sleepers dead;
If yet their warmth new days of summer bring,
They wake, and joyful flutter up to sing:
So far'd the monarch, sick to death he lay,
His court despair'd, and watch'd the last decay;
At length new favour shines, new life he gains,
And rais'd he sings; 'tis thus the song remains:

"I said, my God, when in.the loath'd disease
Thy prophet's words cut off my future days,
Now to the grave, with mournful baste, I go,
Now Death unbars his sable gates below.
How might my years by course of nature last!
But thou pronounc'd it, and the prospect pass'd,
I said, my God, thy servant now no more
Shall in thy temple's sacred courts adore;
No more on Earth with living man converse,
Shrunk in a cold uncomfortable hearse.
My life, like tents which wandering shepherds raise,
Proves a short dwelling, and removes at case,
My sins pursue me; see the deadly band!
My God, who sees them, cuts me from the land;
As when a weaver finds his labour sped,
Swift from the beams he parts the fastening thread.
With pining sickness all from night to day,
From day to night, he makes my strength decay:
Reckoning the time, I roll with restless groans,
Till, with a lion's force, he crush my bones;
New morning dawns, but, like the morning past,
'Tis day, 'tis night, and still my sorrows last.
Now, screaming like the crane, my words I spoke,
Now, like the swallow, chattering quick, and broke;
Now, like the doleful dove, when on the plains
Her mourning tone affects the listening swains.
To Heaven, for aid, my wearying eyes I throw,
At length they 're weary'd quite, and sink with

woe.

From Death's arrest, for some delays, I sue;
Thou, Lord, who judg'd me, thou ieprieve me, too.
"Rapture of joy! what can thy servant say?
He sent his prophet to prolong my day;
Through my glad limbs I feel the wonder run,
Thus said the Lord, and this himself has done.
Soft shall I walk, and, well secur'd from fears,
Possess the comforts of my future years.

Keep soft, my heart, keep humble, while they roll,
Nor e'er forget my bitterness of soul.
'Tis by the means thy sacred words supply,
That mankind live, but in peculiar I;
A second grant thy mercy pleas'd to give,
And my rais'd spirits doubly seem to live.
Behold the time! when peace adorn'd my reign,
'Twas then I felt my stroke of humbling pain;
Corruption dug her pit, I fear'd to siuk,
God lov'd my soul, and snatch'd me from the brink:
He turn'd my follies from his gracious eye,
As men who pass accounts, and cast them by.

And shall those eyes the wicked realms regard,
Their crimes be great, yet victory their reward?
Shall these still ravage more and more to reign,
Draw the full net, and cast to fill again?
As watch-men silent sit, I wait to see
How solves my doubt, what speaks the Lord to me."
"Then go," the Lord replies, "suspend thy fears,
And write the vision for a term of years:
Thy foes will feel their turn when those are past,
Wait, though it tarry; sure it comes at last.
'Tis for their rapine, lusts, and thirst of blood,
And all their unprotecting gods of wood,
The Lord is present on his sacred hill,

Cease thy weak doubts, and let the world be still."
Here terrour leaves me; with exalted head,
I breathe fine air, and find the vision fled;
The seer withdrawn, inspir'd, and urg'd to write,
By the warm influence of the sacred sight.

His writing finished, prophet-like array'd,
He brings the burthen on the region laid;
His hands a tablet and a volume bear,
The tablet threatenings, and the volume prayer;
Both for the temple, where, to shun decay,
Enroll'd the works of inspiration lay.
And awful, oft he stops, or marches slow,
While the dull'd nation hears him preach theirwoe.
Arriv'd at length, with grave concern for all,
He fix'd his table on the sacred wall. [read:
'Twas large inscrib'd, that those who run might
"Habakkuk's burthen, by the Lord decreed;
For Judah's sins her empire is no more,
The fierce Chaldeans bathe her realm in gore."
Next to the priest his volume he resign'd,
'Twas prayer, with praises mix'd, to raise the mind;
'Twas facts recounted, which their fathers knew;
'Twas power in wonders manifest to view;
'Twas comfort, rais'd on love already past,
And hope, that former love returns at last.
The priests within the prophecy convey'd,
The singers tunes to join his anthem made.
Hear, and attend the words: and, holy Thou
That help'd the prophet, help the poet now.

"O, Lord, who rul'st the world, with mortal ear
I've heard thy judgments, and I shake for fear.
O Lord, by whom their number'd years we find,
Ev'n in the midst receive the drooping mind;
Ev'n in the midst thou canst-then make it known,
Thy love, thy will, thy power, to save thine own.
Remember mercy, though thine anger burn,
And soon to Salem bid thy flock return.
O, Lord, who gav'st it with an outstretch'd hand,
We well remember how thou gav'st the land.
"God came from Teman, southward sprung the
flame,

Prom Paron-mount the One that's holy came;
A glittering glory made the desert blaze,
High Heaven was cover'd, Earth was fill'd with
praise.

Dazzling the brightness, not the Sun so bright,
"Twas here the pure substantial fount of light;
Shot from his hand and side in golden streams,
Came forward effluent horny-pointed beams:
Thus shone his coming, as sublimely fair
As bounded nature has been fram'd to bear;
But all his further marks of grandeur hid,
Nor what he could was known, but what he did.
Dire plagues before him ran at his command,
To waste the nations in the promis'd land.
A scorching flame went forth where'er he trod,
And burning fevers were the coals of God.

Fix'd on the mount he stood, his measuring reed
Marks the rich realms for Jacob's seed decreed:
He looks with anger, and the nations fly
From the fierce sparklings of his dreadful eye;
He turns, the mountain shakes its awful brow;
Awful he turns, and hills eternal bow.
How glory there, how terrour here, displays
His great unknown, yet everlasting ways!

"I see the sable tents along the strand
Where Cushan wander'd, desolately stand;
And Midian's high pavilions shake with dread,
While the tam'd seas thy rescued nation tread.
What burst the path? what made the Lord engage?
Could waters anger, seas incite thy rage,
That thus thine horses force the foaming tide,
And all the chariots of salvation ride?
Thy bow was bare for what thy mercy swore;
These oaths, that promise, Israel had before.

"The rock that felt thee cleav'd, the rivers flow, The wondering desert lends them beds below. Thy might the mountain's heaving shocks confess'd, High shatter'd Horeb trembled o'er the rest. Great Jordan pass'd its nether waters by, Its upper waters rais'd the voice on high: Safe in the deep we went, the liquid wall Curling arose, and had no leave to fall. The Sun effulgent, and the Moon serene, Stopt by thy will, their heavenly course refrain: The voice was man's, yet both the voice obey, Till wars completed close the lengthen'd day. Thy glittering spears, thy rattling darts prevail, Thy spears of lightning, and thy darts of hail. 'Twas thou that march'd against their heathen band, Rage in thy visage, and thy flail in hand; 'T was thou that went before to wound their head, The captain follow'd where the Saviour led: Torn from their earth, they feel the desperate

wound,

And power unfounded fails for want of ground.
With village-war thy tribes, where'er they go,
Distress the remnant of the scatter'd foe;
Yet mad they rush'd, as whirling wind descends,
And deem'd for friendless those the Lord befriends.
Thy trampling horse from sea to sea subdue,
The bounding ocean left no more to do.

"O, when I heard what thou vouchsaf'st to win,
With works of wonder must be lost for sin;
I quak'd through fear, the voice forsook my tongue,
Or, at my lips, with quivering accent hung;
Dry leanness entering to my marrow came,
And every loosening nerve unstrung my frame.
How shall I rest, in what protecting shade,
When the day comes, and hostile troops invade}

"Though neither blossoms on the fig appear,
Nor vines with clusters deck the purpling year;
Though all our labours olive-trees belie,
Though fields the substance of the bread deny;
Though flocks are sever'd from the silent fold,
And the rais'd stalls no lowing cattle hold;
Yet shall my soul be glad, in God rejoice,
Yet to my Saviour will I lift my voice;
Yet to my Saviour still my temper sings,
What David set to instruments of strings:
The Lord's my strength, like hinds he makes my
feet,

Yon mount's my refuge, I as safely fleet;
Or (if the song's apply'd) he makes me still
Expect returning to Moriah's hill."

In all this hymn what daring grandeur shines, What darting glory rays among the lines: