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A crown of glory from the King Divine,

To grace thefe nuptials, makes the Saviour fhine; While the blefs'd pair express'd in emblem ride, Meffiah Solomon, his church the bride.

Ye kind attendants, who, with wondering eyes, Saw the grand entry, what you faid suffice; You fung the lover with a loud acclaim, The lover's fondnefs longs to fing the dame. He fpeaks, admiring nature ftands around, And learns new music, while it hears the found. Behold, my love, how fair thy beauties fhow, Behold how more, how most extremely fo! How still to me thy conftant eyes incline, I fee the turtle's when I gaze on thine; Sweet through the lids they shine with modeft care, And sweet and modeft is a virgin's air.

How bright thy locks! how well their number paints

The great affemblies of my lovely faints!
So bright the kids, fo numerously fed,
Graze the green top of lofty Gilead's head;
All Gilead's head a fleecy whiteness clouds,
And the rich mafter glories in the crowds.

How pure thy teeth for equal order made,
Each anfwering each, whilft all the public aid;
Thefe lovely graces in my church I find,
This candor, order, and accorded mind:
Thus when the feafon bids the fhepherd lave
His fheep, new fhorn, within the cryftal wave;
Wafh'd they return, in fuch unfully'd white,
Thus march by pairs, and in the flock unite.
How pleafe thy lips adorn'd with native red!
Art vainly mocks them in the fearlet thread
But, if they part, what mufic wafts the air!
So fweet thy praises, and so soft thy prayer.
If through thy loofen'd curls, with honeft fhame,
Thy lovely temples fine complexion flame,
Whatever crimfon granate bloffoms fhow,
'Twas never theirs fo much to please and glow.
But what's thy neck, the polifh'd form I fee,
Whofe ivory ftrength fupports thine eyes to me!
Fair type of firmnefs, when my faints afpire
The facred confidence that lifts defire,
As David's turret, on the ftately frame,
Upheld its thousand conquering fhields of fame.
And what thy breafts! they ftill demand my lays,
What image wakes to charm me whilft I gaze!
Two lovely mountains each exactly round,
Two lovely mountains with the lily crown'd;
While two twin roes, and each on either bred,
Feed in the lilies of the mountain's head.
Let this resemblance fpotlefs virtues show,
And in fuch lilies feed my young below.
But now, farewell, till night's dark fhades decay,
Farewell, my virgin, till the break of day;
Swift for the hills of fpice and gums I fly,
To breathe fuch fweets as fcent a purer sky;
Yet, as I leave thee, still, above compare,
My love, my fpotlefs, ftill I find thee fair.
Here reft, celeftial maid; for if he go,
Nor will he part, nor is the promise flow,
Nor flow my fancy move; difpel the fhade,
Charm forth the morning, and relieve the maid.
Arife, fair fun, the church attends to fee
The fun of righteousness arife in thee;
VOL. VII.

Arife, fair fun; and bid the church adore;
'Tis then he'll court her, whom he prais'd before.
As thus I fing, it fhines; there feems a found
Of plumes in air, and feet upon the ground:
I fee their meeting, fee the flowery fcene,
And hear the myftic love purfued again.

Now to the mount, whofe fpice perfumes the day.
'Tis I invite thee; come, my spouse, away;
Come, leave thy Lebanon: is aught we fee
In all thy Lebanon, compar'd to me?
Nor tow'rd thy Canaan turn with wifhful fight,
From Hermon's, Sheniar's, and Amaua's height;
There dwells the leopard, there affaults the bear;
This world has ills, and fuch may find thee there.
My spouse, my fifter, O thy wondrous art,
Which through my bofom drew my ravish'd heart!
Won by one eye, my ravish'd heart is gone,
For all thy feeing guides consent as one.
Drawn by one chain, which round thy body plies,
For all thy members one blefs'd union ties.
My spouse, my fifter, O the charm to please,
When love repaid returns my bofom eafe!
Strongly thy love, and ftrongly wines reftore,
But wines muft yield, thy love enflames me

more.

Sweetly thine ointments (all thy virtues) fmell,
Not altar-fpices pleafe thy king fo well.
How foft thy doctrine on thy lips refides!
From those two combs the drooping honey glides;
All pure without, as all within fincere,
Beneath thy tongue-I find it honey there.
Ah, while thy graces thus around thee fhine,
The charms of Lebanon muft yield to thine!
His fpring, his garden, every fcented tree,
My fpoufe, my fifter, all I find in thee.
Thee, for myfelf, I fence, I fhut, I feal;
Myfterious fpring, myfterious garden, hail!
A spring, a font, where heavenly waters flow.
A grove, a garden, where the graces grow.
There rife my fruits, my cypress, and my fir,
My faffron, fpikenard, cinnamon, and myrrh;
Perpetual fountains for their use abound,
And ftreams of favour feed the living ground.
Scarce fpake the Chrift, when thus the Church
replies

(And fpread her arms where'er the spirit flies);
Ye cooling northern gales, who freshly shake
My balmy reeds; ye northern gales, awake.
And thou the regent of the fouthern fky,
O foft infpiring, o'er my garden fly;
Unlock and walt my fweets, that every grace,
In all its heavenly life, regale the place.

If thus a paradife thy garden prove,
'Twere belt prepar'd to entertain my love;
And, that the pleafing fruits may please the more,
O think my proffer was thy gift before.

At this, the Saviour cries, behold me near,
My spouse, my fifter; O behold me here;
To gather fruits, I come at thy request,
And, pleas'd, my foul accepts the folemn feaft;
I gather myrth, with fpice to fcent the treat,›

My virgin-honey with the combs I eat;

I drink my tweetening milk, my lively wine (Thefe words of pleafure mean thy gifts di

vine):

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O might this sweet communion ever last!
But with the fun the fweet communion paft.
The Saviour parts, and on oblivion's breast
Benumb'd and flumbering lies the church to reft,
Pufs the weet alleys while the dusk abides,
Seek the fair lodge in which the maid refides;
Then, Fancy, feek the maid at night again,
The Chrift will coine, but comes, alas, in vain.
I fleep, the fays, and yet my heart awakes
(There's fill fome feeling while the lover fpeaks);
With what fond fervour from without he cries,
Arife, my love; my undefil'd, arife!

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My dove, my fifter, cold the dews alight,
And all my treffes with the drops of night;
Alas, I'm all unṛob'd, I wash'd my feet,
I tafled flumber, and I find it fweet

? As thus my words refufe, he flips his hands
Where the clos'd latch my cruel door commands;
What, though deny'd, fo perfevering kind!
Who long denies a perfevering mind?"
From my wak'd foul my flothful temper flies,
My bowels yearn; I rife, my love, I rife;
I find the latch thy fingers touch'd before,
Thy fuelling myrrh comes dropping off the door.
Now, where's my love?-what! haft thou left
the placé,

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O, to my foul repeat thy words of grace!
Speak in the dark, my love; I feek thee round,
And vainly feek thee, till thou wilt be found.
What, no return! I own my folly pait,
I lay too liftlefs, fpeak, my love, at laft.
The guards have found me-are ye guards indeed,
Who fmite the fad, who make the fecble bléed?
Dividing teachers, thefe; who wrong my name,
Rend my long veil, and caft me bare to fhame.
But you, ye daughters of the realm of reft,
If ever pity mov'd a virgin-breast,
Tell my belov'd how languishing 1 lie,
How love has brought me near the point to die.
And what belov'd is this you would have found?
Say 'Salem's daughters, as they flock'd around;
What wondrous thing? what charm beyond

compare?

1

Say, what's thy lover, faireft o'er the fair?
His face is white and ruddy, the replies,
So mercy, join'd to justice, tempers dies;
His lofty ftature, where a myriad fhine,
O'ertops, and Epeaks a majefty divine.
Fair honour crowns his head, the raven black,
In bufhy curlings, flow's adown his back:
Sparkling his eyes, with full proportion plac'd,
White like the milk, and with a mildness grac’d;
As the fweet doves, whene'er they fondly play
By running waters in a glittering day.
Within his breath what pleafing sweetness grows!
'Tis fpice exhal'd, and mingled in the rofe.
Within his words what grace with goodness meets!
So beds of lilics drop with balmy fweets.
What rings of eastern price his fingers hold!
Gold decks the fingers, beryl decks the gold!

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His ivory fhape adorns a costly vest,
Work paints the fkirts, and gems enrich the breast;
His limbs, beneath. his fhining fandals cafe
Like marble columns on a golden bafe.

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Nor boafts that mountain, where the cedar tree Perfumes our realm, fuch numerous fweets as he. O, lovely all what could my king require. To make his prefence more the world's defire ? And now, ye maids, if fuch a friend you know, 'Tis fuch my longings look to find below.

While thus her friend the fpoufe's anthem fing, Deck'd with the thummim, crown'd a facred king;

The daughters' hearts the fine description drew, And that which rais'd their wonder, afk'd their

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Then where, they cry, thou faireft o'er the fair, Where goes thy lover? Tell the virgins where. What flowering walks invite the fteps afide? We'll help to feek him, let thofe walks be try'd.

The fpoufe refolving here the grand defcent, 'Twas that he promis'd, there, fhe cries, he went He keeps a garden where the fpices breathe, Its bowering borders kifs the vale beneath; 'Tis there he gathers lilies, there he dwells, And binds his floweréts to unite the fmells. O, 'tis my height of love that I am his! O, he is naine, and that's my height of blifs! Defcend, my virgins; well I know the place, He feeds in lilies, that's a fpotless race.

At dawning day the bridegroom leaves a bower,
And here he waters, there he props a flower,
When the kind damfel, spring of heavenly flame,
With Salem's daughters to the garden came.
Then thus his love the bridegroom's words re-
peat

| (The fmelling borders lent them both a feat) :
O, great as Tirzah !twas a regal place,
O, fair as Salem! 'tis the realny of peace;
Whofe afpect, awful to the wondering eye,
Appears like armies when the banners fly;
O turn, my fifter, O my beauteous bride,
Thy face o'ercomes me, turn that face afide;
How bright thy locks, how well their number
paints

The great affemblies of my lovely faints !
So bright the kids, fo numerously fed,
Graze the green wealth of lofty Gilead's head.
flow pure thy teeth for equal order made,
Each anfwering each, while all the public aid
As when the feafon bids the fhepherd lave-
His fheep, new, fhorn, within the filver wave:
Wash'd, they return in fuch unfully'd white,
So march by pairs, and in the flock unite.
How fweet thy temples! not pomegranates know,
With equal modeft look, to please and glow.
If Salomon his life of pleasure leads,
With wives in numbers, and unnumber'd maids,
In other paths, my life of pleasure shown,
Admits my love, and undefil'd alone.
Thy mother, Ifrael, fhe dame who bore
Her choice, my dove, my fpotlefs, owns

more;

The Gentile queens, at thy appearance, cry, Hail, queen of nations! hail, the maids reply

no

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And thus they fing thy praife: what heavenly | Thy breafts the clufter (if thofe breafts we view,

dame

Springs like the morning, with a purple flame?
What rifes like the morn with filver light?
What, like the fun, affifts the world with fight?
Yet awful still, though thus ferenely kind,
Like hofts with enfigus rattling in the wind?
I grant I left thy fight, I feem'd to go,
But was I abfent when you fancy'd fo?
Down to my garden, all my planted vale,
Where nuts their ground in underwood conceal;
Where blown pomegranates, there I went to fee
What knitting bloffoms white the bearing tree:
View the green buds, recall the wandering fhoots,
Smell my gay flowerets, tafte my flavour'd fruits;
Raife the curl'd vine, refresh the spicy beds,
And joy for every grace my garden fheds.

The Saviour here, and here the church arife,
And am I thus respected, thus fhe cries!
I mount for heaven, tranfported on the winds,
My flying chariot's drawn by willing minds.

As, rapt with comfort, thus the maid withdrew,
The waiting daughters wonder'd where the flew ;
And O! return, they cry, for thee we burn,
O maid of Salem; Salem's self return.
And what's in Salem's maid we covet fo?

Hear, all ye nations--'tis your blifs below;
That glorious vifion, by the patriarch feen,
When fky-born beauties march'd the fcented green;
There the met faints and meeting angels came,
Two lamps of God, Mahanaim was the name.
Again the maid reviews her sacred ground;
Solemn fhe firs, the damfels fing around.
O, prince's daughter how with fhining fhow,
Thy golden fhoes prepare thy feet below!
How firm thy joints! what remple-work can be,
With all its gems and art, preferr'd to thee?
In thee, to feed thy lover's faithful race,
Still flow the riches of abounding grace;
Pure, large, refreshing, as the waters fall
From the carv'd navels of the ciftern-wall.
In thee the lover finds his race divine,
You teem with numbers, they with virtues fhine;
So wheat with lilies, if their heaps unite,
The wheat's unnumber'd, and the lilies white;
Like tender roes, thy breafts appear above,
Two types of innocence, and twins of love.
Like ivory turrets feems thy neck to rear,
O, facred emblem, upright, firm, and fair!
As Heshbon pools, which, with a silver state,
Diffuse their waters at their city gate,
For ever fo thy virgin-eyes remain,
So clear within, and fo without ferene.
As through fweet fir the royal turret fhows,
Whence Lebanon furveys a realm of foes;
So through thy lovely curls appear thy face,
To watch thy foes, and guard thy faithful race.
The richest colours flowery Carmel wears,
Red fillets, crofs'd with purple, braid thy hairs;
Yet, not more strictly these thy locks reftrain,
Than thon thy king, with strong affection's chain;
When from this palace he enjoys thy fight,
O love, O beauty, form'd for all delight!
Strait is thy goodly ftature, firm, and high,
As palms afpiring in the brighter fky;

As late for beauty, now for profit too)
Woo'd to thine arms, thofe arms that oft extend,
In the kind pofture of a waiting friend;
Each mind of Salem cries, I'll mount the tree,
Hold the broad branches, and depend on thee.
O, more than grapes, thy fruit delights the maids,
Thy pleafing breath excels the citron fhades:
Thy mouth exceeds rich wine, the words that go
From those fweet lips with more refreshment
flow,

Their powerful graces flumbering fouls awake,
And caufe the dead, that hear thy voice, to fpeak.
This anthem fung, the glorious spouse arofe,
Yet thus inftructs the daughters ere he goes.
If aught, my damfels, in the fpoufe ye find
Deferving praises, think the lover kind;
To my belov'd these marriage-robes I owe,
I'm his defire, and he would have it fo.

Scarce fpake the fpoufe, but fee the lover near ! Her humble temper brought the presence here; Then, rais'd by grace, and strongly warm'd by love,

No fecond languor lets her lord remove;
She flies to meet him, zeal fupplies the wings,
And thus her hafte to work his will the fings:
Come, my beloved, to the fields repair,
Come, where another spot demands our care;
There in the village we'll to reft recline,
Mean as it is, I try to make it thine.
When the first rays their cheering crimson fhed,
We'll rife betimes to fee the vineyard fpread;
See vines luxuriant verdur'd leaves difplay,
Supporting tendrils curling all the way.
See young unpurpled grapes in clusters grow,
And smell pomegranate-blossoms as they blow:
There will I give my loves, employ my care,
And, as my labours thrive, approve me there:
Scarce have we pafs'd my gate, the scent we meet,
My covering jafmines now diffuse their sweet;
My fpicy flowerets, mingled as they fly,
With doubling odours crowd a bal:ny sky.
Now all the fruits, which crown the feafon, view,
These nearer fruits are old, and those are new;
And these, and all of every loaded tree,
My love, I gather, and referve for thee.
If then thy fpcufe's labour pleafe thee well,
Oh like my brethren, with thy fifter dwell;
No blameless maid, whofe fond careffes mect
An infant-brother in the public street,
Clings to its lips with lefs referve than I
Would hang on thine, where'er I found thee nigh :
No fhame would make me from thy fide remove,
No danger make me not confefs thy love.
Strait to my mother's houfe, thine Ifrael fhe
And thou my monarch wouldft arrive with me):
Fis there I'd lead thee, where I mean to ftay,
Till thou, by her, infru& my foul to pray;
There fhalt thou prove my virtues, drink my
wine,

And feel my joy, to find me wholly thine.
Oh while my foul were fick, through fond defire,
Thine hands fhould hold me left my life expire;
As round a child the parents' arms are plac'd,
This holds the head, and that enfolds the waist.

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So caft thy cares on me, the lover cry'd, Lean to my bofom, lean, my lovely bride; And now, ye daughters of the realm of blifs, Let nothing difcompofe a love like this; But guard her reft from each approach of ill; I caus'd her languor, guard her while fhe will. Here pause the lines, but foon the lines renew, Once more the pair celestial come to view ; Ah feek them once, my ravifh'd fancy, more, And then thy fongs of Solomon are o’er : By yon green bank pursue their orb of light, The fun fhines out, but fhines not half fo bright. See Salem's maids, in white, attend the King, They greet the fpoufes-hark, to what they fing. Who, from the defert, where the wandering clouds

High Sinai pierces, comes involv'd with crowds? 'Tis fhe, the fpoufe! Oh! favour'd o'er the rest' Who walks reclin'd by fuch a lover's breaft.

The fpoufe, rejoicing, heard the kind falute,
And thus addrefs'd him-all the reft were mute.
Beneath the law, our goodly parent tree,
I went, my much-belov'd, in fearch of thee;
For thee, like one in pangs of travail, ftrove;
Hence, none may wonder if I gain thy love.
As feals their pictures to the wax impart,
So let my picture ftamp thy gentle heart;
As fix'd the fignets on our hands remain,
So fix me thinc, and ne'er to part again:
For love is strong as death; whene'er they strike;
Alike imperious, vainly check'd alike;

Both dread to lofe, Love, mix'd with jealous dread!
As foon the marble tomb refigns the dead.
Its fatal arrows fiery-pointed fall,
The fire intenfe, and thine the most of all;
To flack the points no chilling floods are found,
Nay, fhould afflictions roll like floods around,
Were wealth of nations offer'd, all would prove
Too fmall a danger, or a price for love.
If then with love this world of worth agree,
With foft regard our little fifter fee;
How far unapt, as yet, like maids that own
No breasts at all, or breafts but hardly grown;
Her part of profelyte is fcarce a part,
Too much a Gentile at her erring heart;
Her day draws nearer; what have we to do,
Left fhe be afk'd, and prove unworthy too?
Defpair not fpoufe, he cries; we'll find the

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Large towery buildings, where fecurely refts
A thousand thoufand of my lover's guests;
The vast increafe affords his heart delight,
And I find favour in his heavenly fight.
The lover here, to make her rapture last,
Thus adds affurance to the promise past.

A spacious vineyard in Baal-Hamon vale,
The vintage fet, by Solomon, to fale,
His keepers took; and every keeper paid
A thousand purfes for the gains he made.
And I've a vintage too; his vintage bleeds.
A large increase, but my return exceeds.
Let Solomon receive his keeper's pay,
He gains his thousand, their two hundred they;
Mine is mine own, 'tis in my prefence ftill,
And hall increafe the more, the more fhe will.
My love, my vineyard, oh the future shoots
Which fill my garden-rws with facred fruits!
I faw the liftening maids attend thy voice,
And in their liflening faw their eyes rejoice;
A due fuccefs thy words of comfort mer,
Now turn to me-'tis I would hear thee yet.
Say, dove, and spotlefs, for I must away,
Say, fpoufe, and fifter, all you wish to fay.
He fpake; the place was bright with lambent fire,
(But what is brightnefs, if the Christ retire ?
Gold-bordering purple mark'd his road in air,
And kneeling all, the fpoufe addrefs'd the prayer:
Defire of nations if thou must be gone,
Accept our wifhes, all compris'd in one;
We wait thine advent! Oh, we long to fee
I and my fifter both as one in thee.
Then leave thy heaven, and come and dwell below;
Why faid I leave ?-'tis heaven where'er you go.
Hafte, my belov'd, thy promife hafte to crown,
The form thou'lt honour waits thy coming down;
Nor let fuch fwiftnefs in the roes be shown
To fave themselves, as thine to fave thine own.
Hafle, like the nimbleft harts that lightly bound
Before the ftretches of the fwifteft hound;
With reaching feet devour a level way,
Acrofs their backs their branching antlers lay,
In the cool dews their bending body ply,
And brush the spicy mountains as they fly.

JONAH.

Thus fung the king--Some angel reath a bough

From Eden's tree to crown the wifest brow.
And now thou faireft garden ever made,
Broad bank of fpices, bloffom'd walks of fhade,
O Lebanon where much I love to dwell,
Since I must leave thee, Lebanon, farewell!

Swift from my foul the fair idea flies,
A wilder fight the changing fcene fupplies;
Wide feas come rolling to my future page,
And ftorms ftand ready, when I call, to rage.
Then go where Joppa crowns the winding fhore,
The prophet Jonah just arrives before;
He fees a fhip unmooring, foft the gales,
He pays, and enters, and the veffel fails.

Ah, wouldst thou fly thy God? rafh man, forbear. What land fo distant but thy God is there?

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Weak reafon, ceafe thy voice.-They run the deep,

And the tir'd prophet lays his limbs to fleep.
Here God fpeaks louder, fends a storm to sea,
The clouds remove to give the vengeance way;
Strong blafts come whistling, by degrees they roar,
And shove big furges tumbling on to shore;
The veffel bounds, then rolls, and every blast
Works hard to tear her by the groaning mast;
The failors, doubling all their fhouts and cares,
Furl the white canvas, and caft forth the wares;
Each feek the god their native regions own,
In vain they seek them, for thofe gods were

none.

Yet Jonah flept the while, who folely knew,
In all that number, where to find the true.
To whom the pilot: Sleeper, rife and pray,
Our gods are deaf; may thine do more than
they!

But thus the reft: Ferhaps we waft a foe
To heaven itfelf, and that's our caufe of woe;
Let's feek by lots, if heaven be pleas'd to tell;
And what they fought by lots, on Jonah fell:
Then, whence he came, and who, and what, and
why

Thus rag'd the tempeft, all confus'dly cry;
Each prefs'd in hafte to get his question heard,
When Jonah ftops them with a grave regard.

An Hebrew man, you fec, who God revere, He made this world, and makes this world his [head,

care;

His the whirl'd sky, these waves that lift their
And his yon land, on which you long to tread
He charg'd me late, to Nineveh repair,
And to their face denounce his fentence there:
Go, faid the vifion, prophet, preach to all.
Yet forty days, and Nineveh fhall fall.
But well I knew him gracious to forgive,
And much my zeal abhorr'd the bad fhould live;
And if they turn, they live; then what were I
But fome falfe 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 foil I run,
I fled his prefence, and the work's undone.

The form increafes as the prophet fpeaks,
O'er the toft ship a foaming billow breaks;
She rifes pendant on the lifted waves,

And thence defcries a thoufand watery graves;
Then, downward rufhing, watery mountains hide
Her hulk beneath, in deaths on every fide.
O, cry the failors all, thy fact was ill,
Yet, if a prophet, fpeak thy master's will;
What part is ours with thee? can aught remain.
To bring the bleffings of a calm again?

Then Jonah; Mine's the death will best atone
(And God is pleas'd that I pronounce my own);
Arife, and caft me forth, the wind will ceafe,
The fea fubfiding wear the looks of peace,
And you fecurely fteer. For well I fee
Myfelf the criminal, the ftorm for me.

Yet pity moves for one that owns a blame, And awe refulting from a prophet's name; Love pleads, he kindly meant for them to die; Fear pleads againft him, left they power defy :

If then to aid the flight abets the fin,

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They think to land him where they took him in.
Perhaps, to quit the caufe, might end the woe,
And, God appeafing, let the veffel go.
For this they fix their oars, and strike the main,
But God withstands them, and they trike in vain.
The storm increases more with want of light,
Low blackening clouds involve the fhip in night;
Thick battering rains fly through the driving skies,
Loud thunder bellows, darted lightning flies;
A dreadful picture night-born horror drew,
And his, or their's, 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 fervants free,
To us he's innocent, if fo to thee;
In all the past we fee thy wond'rous hand,
And that he perish, think it thy command.

This prayer perform'd, they caft the prophet

o'er;

A furge receives him, and he mounts no more;
Then ftill'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 fhoots a cheerful day;
The fea, which rag'd fo loud, accepts the prize,
A while it rolls, then all the tempeft dies;
By gradual finking, flat the furface grows,
And fafe the veffel with the failors goes.
The lion thus, that beunds 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;
Murmuring a while, to reft his limbs he lays,
And the freed lawn enjoys its herd at ease.

Blefs'd with the fudden calm, the failors own That wretched Jonah worfhipp'd right alone; Then make their vows, the victim sheep prepare, Bemoan the prophet, and the God revere.

Now, though you fear to lofe the power to

breathe,

Now, though you tremble, fancy, dive beneath;
What worlds of wonders in the deep are seen!
But this the greatest-Jonah lives within!
The man who fondly fled the Maker's view,
Strange as the crime, has found a dungeon too,
God fent a monster of the frothing fea,
Fit, by the bulk, to gorge the living prey,
And lodge him still alive; this hulk receives
The falling prophet, as he dalh'd the waves.
There, newly wak'd from fancied death, he lies,
And oft again in apprehenfion dies:

While three long days and nights, depriv'd of
Лleep,

He turn'd and tofs'd him up and down the deep,
He thinks the judgment of the strangest kind,
And much he wonders what the Lord defign'd;
Yet, fince he lives, the gift of life he weighs,
That's time for prayer, and thus a ground for
praise ;

From the dark entrails of the whale to thee,
(This new contrivance of a hell to me)
To thee, my God, I cry'd; my full diftrefs
Pierc'd thy kind ear, and brought my foul re-

drels.

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