I.

So David , to the God , who touch'd his lyre ,
The God , who did, at once inspire
The poet's numbers, and the prophet's fire,
Taught the wing'd anthems , to aspire!
The thoughts of men, in god-like sounds, he sung,
And voic'd devotion, for an angel's tongue.
At once, with pow'rful words , and skilful air ,
The priestly king (who knew the weight of pray'r)
To his high purpose , match'd his care .
To deathless concords, tun'd his mortal lays,

To look into the world of sin,
And see men shine like burning gold,
To ask myself from right within,
Can I be just the same—as bold?
And out the answer comes to me:
“The same that governs them, does you.”
Its just the way you look, you see—
But of all things, be good and true.

Let all records be searchèd o're and o're,
Such an unequal marriage as this
Was never seen or heard before,
Where heaven and earth, God and man kiss,
Where Majesty and misery do meet,
Power and infirmity each other greet.

Thou art the King of Glory, Lord of life,
Thy Spouse at best a creature poor; but since
Her fall, deformed, and not fit wife
Will make for Thee so great a Prince.
Go court the Angels then; yet they, though bright,
Are creatures too, and scarce pure in Thy sight;

How much less I that on my belly creep,

Let him, whose present fortune gives him pain ,
Scorn the low, vulgar custom, to complain:
All, that with-holds his wish , the brave will break,
Or, silent, bear those chains, 'tis poor, to shake .

The man who holds a slave and laughs at ease
Is devil with a heart of hardest stone:
The man who also lives with pride to tease
Humanity should oft be left alone.
All men should have the freedom of all rights,
For nature made no sovereign but the soul,
And all should look toward the glorious heights,
To seek the sweet enjoyment of the whole.

When selfish creature, void of love for man,
Inflicts his will upon the helpless weak,
All else should spurn him, as they can,
To force him from the sovereign evil peak.

A king has fallen on the field —
The field of war, but not by shot,
Nor even through a broken shield:
He died in exile — awful lot!
Ras Nasibu of Ogaden
Is he — the greatest of his tribe —
The man who led his valiant men
With Wehib Pasha at his side.

He died in Switzerland — afar,
Of broken heart in his exile:
He saw the end of that sad war
In which he fought without a smile.
The Brute of Italy had sent
His liquid flames of steady death
And tanks that ploughed and also rent
The land and stole the hero's breath.

All, that accomplish'd body lends mankind,
From earth , receiving, he, to earth resign'd:
All , that e'er grac'd a soul, from heav'n , he drew,
And took back, with him, as an angel's due.

Behind the ameythystine isles, the sun
Sinks down in measured silence, while upon
The sky dim heights of towering Helicon
The crimson wings of daylight flutter still,
Strewing the snowy slopes with roseate streams
That fade into the valley's moonless dreams
In paler hues, beneath each sheltering hill.
The evening violet of the watchful sea
Is purpled with the sun's inveteracy,
Till o'er the wave-wide space, an outcast bird
Flies suddenly in affright, for it has heard
Night's footsteps deep within the woodlands stirred.

Sav'd, on a shoal, the ship-wreck'd sailor stands,
And views, with watry eyes, and wringing hands,
Soul-chearing prospects, from the neighb'ring lands;
But if he tempts the waves, he toils in vain,
Big, buoyant billows rise between, and float him back again.
Oh! shameful loss of an invited kiss!
Can brittle glass impede so near a bliss?
Frail is our am'rous hope , if love must be
Subservient to a thing, so weak, as thee!
We knew, before , nor sought thy aid to prove,
That light's a nat'ral enemy to love!

Kind is that piety which doth begin
In youth: e're 'tis accustom'd unto sin
The mind white paper is, and will admit
Of any lesson you may write in it.
What's then imprinted, there doth firmly stand
Not to be blotted out by any hand,
But when that vice hath first took up the place,
'Twill be a double labour: one to rase
Out that which long hath got possession,
Another for to make a new impression;
And a much harder task you wil it find
To root out vice then vertue plant i' th' mind;
To cast one divel out is greater pain,