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Worldly prate and babble hurt me;

Unintelligible prove ;

Neither teach me nor divert me;

I have ears for none but Love.
Me they rude esteem, and foolish,
Hearing my absurd replies;
I have neither art's fine polish,
Nor the knowledge of the wise.
Simple souls, and unpolluted

By conversing with the great,
Have a mind and taste ill suited
To their dignity and state;
All their talking, reading, writing,
Are but talents misapplied;
Infants' prattle I delight in,
Nothing human chuse beside.

"Tis the secret fear of sinning

Checks my tongue, or I should say, When I see the night beginning,

I am glad of parting day : Love this gentle admonition

Whispers soft within my breast; "Choice befits not thy condition, Acquiescence suits thee best." Henceforth, the repose and pleasure Night affords me I resign; And thy will shall be the measure, Wisdom infinite! of mine: Wishing is but inclination

Quarreling with thy decrees; Wayward nature finds the occasion,— 'Tis her folly and disease.

Night, with its sublime enjoyments,
Now no longer will I chuse :
Nor the day, with its employments,
Irksome as they seem, refuse;
Lessons of a God's inspiring
Neither time nor place impedes;
From our wishing and desiring
Our unhappiness proceeds.

ON THE SAME.

NIGHT! how I love thy silent shades,
My spirits they compose;
The bliss of heaven my soul pervades,
In spite of all my woes.

While sleep instils her poppy dews
In every slumbering eye,
I watch, to meditate and muse,
In blest tranquillity.

And when I feel a God immense
Familiarly impart,

With every proof he can dispense,
His favour to my heart;

My native meanness I lament,
Though most divinely fill'd
With all the ineffable content
That Deity can yield.

His purpose and his course he keeps ;
Treads all my reasonings down;
Commands me out of nature's deeps,
And hides me in his own.

When in the dust, its proper place,

Our pride of heart we lay,
"Tis then a deluge of his grace
Bears all our sins away.

Thou whom I serve, and whose I am,
Whose influence from on high
Refines, and still refines my flame,
And makes my fetters fly;

How wretched is the creature's state
Who thwarts thy gracious power;
Crush'd under sin's enormous weight,
Increasing every hour!

The night, when pass'd entire with thee,
How luminous and clear!
Then sleep has no delights for me,
Lest thou shouldst disappear.

My Saviour! occupy me still
In this secure recess;
Let reason slumber if she will,
My joy shall not be less:

Let reason slumber out the night;
But if thou deign to make

My soul the abode of truth and light,
Ah, keep my heart awake!

THE JOY OF THE CROSS.

LONG plunged in sorrow, I resign
My soul to that dear hand of thine,
Without reserve or fear;

That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes,
Or into smiles of glad surprise

Transform the falling tear.

My sole possession is thy love;
In earth beneath, or heaven above,
I have no other store;

And though with fervent suit I pray,
And importune thee night and day,
I ask thee nothing more.

My rapid hours pursue the course
Prescribed them by love's sweetest force;
And I thy sovereign will,
Without a wish to escape my doom,
Though still a sufferer from the womb,
Am doom'd to suffer still.

By thy command, where'er I stray,
Sorrow attends me all my way,

A never-failing friend;
And if my sufferings may augment
Thy praise, behold me well content,-
Let sorrow still attend!

It costs me no regret, that she,
Who follow'd Christ, should follow me;
And though, where'er she goes,
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet,
I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.
Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
Insipid sports, and childish mirth,
I taste no sweets in you;
Unknown delights are in the Cross,
All joy beside to me is dross;
And Jesus thought so too.

The Cross! Oh ravishment and bliss,-How grateful even its anguish is,

Its bitterness how sweet!

There every sense, and all the mind,
In all her faculties refined,

Tastes happiness complete.

Souls once enabled to disdain
Base sublunary joys, maintain
Their dignity secure ;
The fever of desire is pass'd,
And love has all its genuine taste,
Is delicate and pure.

Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,
Consults her own peculiar ease ;
'Tis all the bliss she knows :
But nobler aims true Love employ;
In self-denial is her joy,

In suffering her repose.
Sorrow and Love go side by side;
Nor height nor depth can e'er divide
Their heaven-appointed bands;
Those dear associates still are one,
Nor till the race of life is run

Disjoin their wedded hands.
Jesus, avenger of our fall,
Thou faithful lover, above all

The Cross has ever borne ! Oh tell me,-life is in thy voice,How much afflictions were thy choice, And sloth and ease thy scorn!

Thy choice and mine shall be the same,
Inspirer of that holy flame

Which must for ever blaze!
To take the Cross and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be
My portion and my praise.

JOY IN MARTYRDOM.

SWEET tenants of this grove,
Who sing, without design,
A song of artless love,

In unison with mine :
These echoing shades return
Full many a note of ours,
That wise ones cannot learn

With all their boasted powers. O Thou! whose sacred charms These hearts so seldom love, Although thy beauty warms And blesses all above, How slow are human things To choose their happiest lot! All-glorious King of kings,

Say why we love thee not?

This heart, that cannot rest,

Shall thine for ever prove; Though bleeding and distress'd, Yet joyful in thy love: 'Tis happy, though it breaks

Beneath thy chastening hand; And speechless,-yet it speaks What thou canst understand.

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SOURCE of love, my brighter sun,
Thou alone my comfort art;
See, my race is almost run;

Hast thou left this trembling heart?
In my youth thy charming eyes
Drew me from the ways of men ;
Then I drank unmingled joys;

Frown of thine saw never then.
Spouse of Christ was then my name;
And devoted all to thee,
Strangely jealous, I became

Jealous of this self in me.
Thee to love, and none beside,
Was my darling, sole employ ;
While alternately I died,

Now of grief, and now of joy.
Through the dark and silent night
On thy radiant smiles I dwelt ;
And to see the dawning light
Was the keenest pain I felt.
Thou my gracious teacher wert;

And thine eye, so close applied,
While it watch'd thy pupil's heart,
Seem'd to look at none beside.
Conscious of no evil drift,

This, I cried, is love indeed!"Tis the giver, not the gift,

Whence the joys I feel proceed. But soon humbled, and laid low, Stript of all thou hast conferr'd, Nothing left but sin and woe,

I perceived how I had err'd. Oh the vain conceit of man, Dreaming of a good his own, Arrogating all he can,

Though the Lord is good alone!

P

He the graces thou hast wrought
Makes subservient to his pride;
Ignorant, that one such thought
Passes all his sin beside.
Such his folly,-proved, at last,
By the loss of that repose
Self-complacence cannot taste,
Only Love Divine bestows.

"Tis by this reproof severe,

And by this reproof alone, His defects at last appear,

Man is to himself made known.

Learn, all earth! that feeble man, Sprung from this terrestrial clod, Nothing is, and nothing can;

Life and power are all in God.

LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING.

"I LOVE the Lord," is still the strain This heart delights to sing;

But I reply, your thoughts are vain, Perhaps 'tis no such thing.

Before the power

of Love Divine

Creation fades away;

Till only God is seen to shine
In all that we survey.

In gulfs of awful night we find

The god of our desires;

'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires.
Flames of encircling love invest,

And pierce it sweetly through;
"Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd

With sacred sorrow too.

Ah Love! my heart is in the right—
Amidst a thousand woes,

To thee, it's ever new delight,
And all its peace it owes.

Fresh causes of distress occur
Where'er I look or move;
The comforts I to all prefer
Are solitude and love.

Nor exile I, nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great;
I find a Saviour everywhere,
His grace in every state.

Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,
Exclude his quickening beams;
There I can sit, and sing, and weep,
And dwell on heavenly themes.
There sorrow, for his sake, is found
A joy beyond compare;

There no presumptuous thoughts abound,
No pride can enter there.

A Saviour doubles all my joys,
And sweetens all my pains,

His strength in my defence employs,
Consoles me and sustains.

I fear no ill, resent no wrong,
Nor feel a passion move,

When malice whets her slanderous tongue;
Such patience is in love.

SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION.

WILDS horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees,
Rocks that ivy and briers infold,
Scenes nature with dread and astonishment sees,
But I with a pleasure untold;

Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude,
I am charm'd with the peace ye afford;
Your shades are a temple where none will intrude,
The abode of my Lover and Lord.

I am sick of thy splendour, O fountain of day,
And here I am hid from its beams;
Here safely contemplate a brighter display
Of the noblest and holiest of themes.

Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose,
Where stillness and solitude reign,
To you I securely and boldly disclose
The dear anguish of which I complain.
Here, sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot
By the world and its turbulent throng,
The birds and the streams lend me many a note
That aids meditation and song.

Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night,
Love wears me and wastes me away;
And often the sun has spent much of his light
Ere yet I perceive it is day.

While a mantle of darkness envelops the sphere,
My sorrows are sadly rehearsed;

To me the dark hours are all equally dear,
And the last is as sweet as the first.
Here I and the beasts of the deserts agree;
Mankind are the wolves that I fear,
They grudge me my natural right to be free,
But nobody questions it here.

Though little is found in this dreary abode
That appetite wishes to find,

My spirit is soothed by the presence of God,
And appetite wholly resign'd.

Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led,
My life I in praises employ,

And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed,
Proceed they from sorrow or joy.

There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern;
I feel out my way in the dark;

Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly burn,
Yet hardly distinguish the spark.

I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead;
Such a riddle is not to be found;

I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed,
I have nothing, and yet I abound.

Oh Love! who in darkness art pleased to abide,
Though dimly, yet surely I see
That these contrarieties only reside

In the soul that is chosen of thee.

Ah send me not back to the race of mankind,
Perversely by folly beguiled:

For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find
The spirit and heart of a child?

Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free;
A little one whom they despise,

Though lost to the world, if in union with Thee,
Shall be holy and happy and wise.

ADAM:

A SACRED DRAMA.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF GIO. BATTISTA ANDREINI,

BY COWPER AND HAYLEY.

TO THE COURTEOUS READER.

cult from the words of Eve in persuading Adam (who had indeed the gift of knowledge infused) to HAVING Satiated and fatigued my eyes, gentle taste the apple ;-but difficult above all, from my reader, by too intent an observation of what is own infirmity, since the composition must remain passing on earth; and raising therefore my thoughts deprived of those poetic ornaments, so dear to the to higher contemplations, to the wonders diffused muses: deprived of the power to draw comparisons by the supreme Being, for the benefit of man, from implements of art introduced in the course through the universe; I felt my heart penetrated of years, since in the time of the first man there by a certain Christian compunction, in reflecting was no such thing: deprived also of naming, (at how his inexpressible goodness, though perpetu- least while Adam speaks, or discourse is held with ally and grievously offended by us, still shows itself him) for example, bows, arrows, hatchets, urns, in the highest degree indulgent towards us in pre- knives, swords, spears, trumpets, drums, trophies, serving those wonders with a continual influence banners, lists, hammers, torches, bellows, funeral to our advantage; and how, on the first provoca- piles, theatres, exchequers, infinite things of a like tion to vengeance, Almighty Power does not enlarge nature, introduced by the necessities of sin; and the ocean to pass its immense boundary, does not yet, as circumstances of affliction and punishment, obscure the light of the sun, does not impress they ought not to pass through the mind or through sterility on the earth, to ingulf us, to blind us, and the lips of Adam, although he had knowledge infinally to destroy us. Softened and absorbed in fused into him, as one who lived most happy in a these divine emotions, I felt myself transported state of innocence: deprived moreover of introand hurried by a delightful violence into a terres-ducing points of history sacred or profane, of retrial paradise, where I seemed to behold the first man Adam, a creature dear to God, the friend of angels, the heir of heaven, familiar with the stars, a compendium of all created things, the ornament of all, the miracle of nature, the lord of the animals, the only inhabitant of the universe, and enjoyer of a scene so wonderfully grand. Whence charmed more than ever, I resolved, with the favour of the blessed God, to usher into the light of the world, what I bore in the darkness of my imagination; both to render it known in some measure, that, I know myself, and the infinite obligations that I have to God; and that others, who do not know, may learn, the true nature of man, and from the low contemplation of earthly things, may raise their minds to things celestial and divine.

I remained however a considerable time in doubt if I ought, or if I were able to undertake a composition most difficult to me on many accounts, since in beginning the sacred subject from man's creation to the point where he is driven from the terrestrial paradise, a period of six years, (as St. Augustin relates in his book on the City of God) I did not clearly perceive, how an action so brief, could be formed into five acts, especially allowing to every act the number of at least six or seven scenes, difficult from the dispute that the devil maintained with Eve, first, that he might induce her to eat the apple, since we have only the text that mentions it, in saying "nequaquam moriemini, et eritis sicut Dii scientes bonum et malum,"-diffi

lating fictions of fabulous deities, of rehearsing loves, furies, sports of hunting or fishing, triumphs, shipwrecks,conflagrations,enchantments,and things of a like nature, that are in truth the ornament and the soul of poetry: difficult from not knowing in what style Adam ought to speak, since in respect to his knowledge it might be proper to assign to him verses of a high majestic and flowing style; but considering him as a shepherd and inhabitant of the woods, it appears that he should be simple and sweet in his discourse, and I endeavoured on that account to render it such, as much as I could, by variety of versification. And here taking courage in my greatest doubt, I formed, I know not how, a beginning; I advanced, if I may say so, without any determined plan: and arrived at the end before I was aware. Whence I am inclined to believe that the favour of God, regarding rather my good intention than my defects, (for as he often withdraws the heart of man from evil, so he conducts it insensibly to good) gave direction to my hand, and completed my work. Wherefore to that alone I am indebted for the little grace that may perhaps be found in the present labour; knowing, that as Omnipotence is accustomed to produce wonders from the rude and unformed chaos, so, from the still ruder chaos of my mind, it may have called forth this production, if not for any other purpose, yet to be sacred, and to make as it were a mute speak in my person, in despite of poverty of genius, as on the other hand it is ac

customed to strike mute the most eloquent tongues when they employ themselves on subjects low and profane. Let it be surveyed, therefore, with an eye of indulgence, and blame not the poverty of style, the want of dignity in the conduct of the circumstances, sterility of conceits, weakness of spirit, insipid jokes, and extravagant episodes, to mention (without speaking of an infinitude of other things) that the world, the flesh, and the devil, present themselves in human shapes to tempt Adam, since there was then in the universe no other man or woman, and the serpent discovered himself to Eve with a human similitude; moreover this is done, that the subject may be comprehended by the understanding through the medium of the senses: since the great temptations that Adam and Eve at once sustained, were indeed in the interior of their own mind, but could not be so comprehended by the spectator; nor is it to be believed that the serpent held a long dispute with Eve, since he tempted her rather by a suggestion to her mind than by the conference, saying these words, 66 nequaqum moriemini, et eritis sicut Dii scientes bonum et malum," and yet it will be necessary, in order to express those internal contentions, to find some expedient to give them an outward representation. But, if it is permitted to the painter,

who is a dumb poet, to express by colours God the Father under the person of a man silvered by age, and to describe under the image of a white dove the purity of the Spirit, and to figure the divine messengers or angels, in the shape of winged youths; why is it not permitted to the poet, who is a speaking painter, to represent in his theatrical production another man and another woman besides Adam and Eve, and to represent their internal conflicts through the medium of images and voices entirely human? not to mention that it appears more allowable to introduce in this work the devil under a human shape, than it is to introduce into it the Eternal Father, and even an angel; and if this is permitted, and seen every day exhibited in sacred representations, why should it not be allowed in the present, where, if the greater evil is allowable, surely the lesser should be allowed? Attend therefore, gentle reader, more to the substance than to the accident, considering in the work the great end of introducing into the theatre of the soul the misery and lamentation of Adam, to make your heart a spectator of them, in order to raise it from these dregs of earth, to the magnificence of heaven, through the medium of virtue and the assistance of God; by whom may you be blessed!

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