The Arminian Magazine

POE

TRY.

66

On MATT. v. ver. 44-Love your enemies.

O,

Could I view them with thofe eyes,
, Which wept on bloody Salem's fall;
And echo back the Saviour's cries,

And on my heavenly Father call:
Forgive them, O my God, forgive,
I thirst to die, that they may live!"

Send forth the fpirit of thy Son,
Which turns the leopard to a lamb;

So, fhall I put his bowels on,

Who hellish hate by love o'ercame;

Who made his murderers his care,

And fav'd them through his dying prayer.

The WINTER'S NIGHT, an ELEGY.

[By Robert Alves, M. A.]

[Concluded from page 616.].

NEXT hift'ry fpreads her living fields anew:

See the vaft fcenes unfold of ancient time!

Through every downward age the worthies view, many an empire reared, and deed fublime.

Of

Full

Full in mine eye the heroes flalk along,
With hofts embattl'd, all in dread array:
Cafars and Alexanders mark the throng,

And many modern chiefs as fam'd as they.

But far o'er all th' illuftrious Peter fhines,
Whole fame no length of ages fhall efface:
As purging fire the coarseft ore refines,

So form'd his active foul the rugged race.

Lo thy bright annals, Albion, in their turn,
Some great examples fhall afford from far:
Alfred behold with patriot-ardour burn,

For arts of peace renown'd, and bold in war.

Edwards and Henrys fill th' important page,
And female forms their graceful mien display:
Eliza, Anna! Oh! what wars ye wage,

And foar to fame, where conqueft led the way.

How pleasant thus rolls on the wintry night!

(While winds blow keen, and howls the stormy blaft,) How fweet to walk, by truth's increasing light, Through time's fair fcenes, revolving ages paft!

Next let me fearch the good fupreme, and man,
With fages old, in Athens' learned grove;
And, while intent the moral world they scan,
With fweet-tongu'd Xenophon and Plato rove,

Nor let me fcorn the learn'd of Albion's coaft,
Whofe gifts to verse or moral profe aspire ;
Whether a Pope or Addison the boast,
Or Milton's muse, or Shakespear's native fire.

The Czar Peter I.

Both

Both fkill'd alike to draw the dread fublime,

Cloud the dark heavens, or bid the thunder roll;
Or deck with beauty bright the vernant clime,
And fhed a pleasing sunshine o'er the whole.

But Shakespear's genius ampler powers expreft,
Skill'd or our joys or forrows to beguile;
What time with tragic pains he tears the breaft,
Or wakes, with humour fly, the comic fmile.

In princely Hamlet all his ferious rage,

And high-wrought Lear raves madder than the ftorms; But when the laughing hero treads the flage,

What mirth ecflatic ev'ry breaft informs!

Yet oft let Milton's ftrains my heart inspire;
His chaos wild; his bloom of paradife;
Or when fublime he fets my foul on fire,
While wars angelic fhake th' empyreal fkies.

Still do I feem to haunt the favourite bower,
Where mute attention hangs on Raphael's tongue;
Eve weaves her garland of each blushing flower,
Nor tries to reach the daring heights of song.

Hail wedded love! Hail fource of true delight!
When meek difcretion guides the modeft fair;
With beauty bashful, fenfe that fhuns the fight,
Her confort's fecret joy, and darling care.

Hail to the fimple days! The joys of yore!

Ah! whither fled with Eden's long-loft grove!

Ah! ill exchang'd for wealth, or pomp or power!
Or all that fince our guilty bofoms move!

But cease, my muse: restrain thy wandring fong;

Or fing the rage of winter's angry power;
Yet winter brings the pleasing joys along,

Both of the focial and the ftudious hour.

Then farewel, for a while, to Phoebus' aid:

His brighter fmiles let fwarthy Indians boaft;
For them let fummer drefs the verdant fhade,
And balmy flow'rets bloom through all their coaft.

May we thus still amufe the live long night
Of dreary winter; learned folace find;

And reap fuch joys from science' various light,
As warm the heart, and fill the boundless mind!

HAIL

On CONSCIENCE.

AIL foft companion of each guiltless breast!
Whofe fmile is rapture, and thy bofom reft,
No mufic charms, nor joy its triumph brings,
If thine be filent, or untun'd its ftrings:
But these attun'd, our confidence is fure,
Our fleep refreshing, and our reft fecure.

The laft lines compofed by the Rev. CHARLES WESLEY, M. A. a little before he went hence, which he dictated to his Wife, but could fcarcely articulate.