An ELEGY on Mr. THOMAS GOUGE, To Mr. ARTHUR SHALLET, Merchant. Worthy Sir, "THE subject of the following Elegy was high in your esteem, and enjoyed a "large share of your affections. Scarce doth his memory need the assistance of "the muse to make it perpetual; but when she can at once pay her honours to "the venerable dead, and by this address acknowledge the favours she has receive "ed from the living, it is a double pleasure to,-Sir, Your obliged humble servant, I. WATTS. To the Memory of the Rev. Mr. THOMAS GOUGE, Who died January 8th, 1699-700. 1 YE virgin souls, whose sweet complaint Could teach Euphrates not to flow*, Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint, Array'd in beauty and in woe: O could my lips or flowing eyes Rocks shall have eyes, and stones While Gouge's death is mourn'd in Heav'n was impatient of our crimes, times, And to demand our prophet's breath; 3 Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound! How vast the stroke is! and how wide the wound! Oh painful stroke! distressing death! When he resign'd his breath. Sion grows weak, and England poor, 5 His soul was of th' angelic frame, The same ingredients, and the mould the same, When the Creator makes a minister of flame: He was all form'd of heav'nly things, Mortals, believe what my Urania sings, For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings. How would he mount, how would he fly Up thro' the ocean of the sky, Tow'rd the celestial coast! With what amazing swiftness'soar, Till earth's darkball was seen no more And all its mountains lost! Scarce could the muse pursue him with her sight: But angels, you can tell, For oft you met his wond'rous flight, And knew the stranger well; Say, how he past the radiant spheres And visited your happy seats, And trac'd the well-known turnings of the golden streets, And walk'd among the stars. 6 Tell how he climb'd the everlasting hills, Surveying all the realms above, Borne on a strong-wing'd faith, and on the fiery wheels Of an immortal love. 'Twas there he took a glorious sight Of the inheritance of saints in light, And read their title in their Saviour's right; How oft the humble scholar came, And to your songs he rais'd his ears To learn th' unutterable name, To view th' eternal base that bears The new creation's frame. The countenance of God he saw, Full of mercy, full of awe, The glories of his power, and glories of his grace: There he beheld the wond'rous springs Of those celestial sacred things, The peacefu gospel and the fiery law, In that majestic face. [employ That face did all his gazing pow'rs With most profound abasement and exalted joy. The rolls of fate were half unseal'd, He stood adoring by; The volumes open'd to his eye, And sweet intelligence he held With all his shining kindred of the sky. 7 Ye seraphs that surround the throne, Tell how his name was thro' the palace known, How warm his zeal was, and how like your own; Speak it aloud, let half the nationhear, And bold blasphemers shrink and fear*: [phet's name! Impudent tongues! to blast a proThe poison sure was fetch'd from hell, Where the old blasphemers dwell, To taint the purest dust, and blot the whitest fame! Impudent tongues! You should be darted thro', Nail'd to your own black mouths,and lie Useless and dead till slander die, Till slander die with you. "We saw him, say th' ethereal throng, We saw his warm devotions rise, We heard the fervour of his cries, And mix'd his praises with our song: We knew the secret flights of his retiring hours, Nightly he wak'd his inward powers, Young Israel rose to wrestle with his God, And with unconquer'd force scal'd the celestial towers, To reach the blessing down for those Oft we beheld the thunderer's hand Doubtful t'obey the dread command, While his ascending pray'r upheld the falling blow. • Draw the past scenes of thy delight, My muse, and bring the wond'rous man to sight: Place him surrounded as he stood With pious crowds, while from his tongue A stream of harmony ran soft along, And ev'ry ear drank in the, flowing good: Softly it ran its silver way, Till warm devotion rais'd the current No more return to breathe this grosser air, [care. This atmosphere of sin, calamity and 10 But heav'nly scenes soon leave the sight, While we belong to clay, Behold the man, whose awful voice He stands the herald of the threat'n- Lo, on his reverend brow the frowns divinely rise, All Sinai's thunder on his tongue, and Round the high roof the cuises flew 11 His kindled arrows still pursue, His arrows strike the atheist thro', And o'er his inmost pow'rs a shudd'ring horror spread. The marble heart groans with an inward wound: Blaspheming souls of harden'd steel Shriek out amaz'd at the new pangs they feel, And dread the echoes of the sound. The lofty wretch arm'd and array'd In gaudy pride sinks down his impious head, Plunges in dark despair, and mingles with the dead. Now, muse, assume a softer strain, Now sooth the sinner's raging smart, Borrow of Gouge the wond'rous art To calm the surging conscience and assuage the pain; He from a bleeding God derives The opening skies almost obey His wond'rous voice rolls back the 12 Come, he invites our feet to try Sharp as the spear, and balmy as the blood. In his discourse divine Afresh the purple fountain flow'd; Our falling tears kept sympathetic time, And trickled to the ground, While ev'ry accent gave a doleful sound, Sad as the breaking heart-strings of th' expiring God. 13 Down to the mansions of the dead, With trembling joy our souls are led, The captives of his tongue; There the dear Prince of Light reclines his head Darkness and shades among. tombs: The rising God! he comes, he comes, With throngs of waking saints, a long triumphing train. 14 See the bright squadrons of the sky, Downward on wings of joy and haste they fly, Meet their returning Sovereign, and attend him high. A shining car the Conqueror fills, Form'd of a golden cloud; Slowly the pomp moves up the azure hills, Old Satan foams and yells aloud, And gnaws th' eternal brass that binds him to the wheels. The opening gates of bliss receive their King, The Father God smiles on his Son, Pays him the honours he has won, The lofty thrones adore, and little cherubs sing. Behold him on his native throne, His hand rolls on the seasons, and the shining globes, And sways the living worlds, and regions of the dead, 15 Gouge was his envoy to the realurs below, 16 Vast was his trust and great his skill, Bright the credentials he could show, And thousands own'd the seal. His hallow'd lips could well impart The grace, the promise, and command: He knew the pity of Immanuel's heart, And terrors of Jehovah's hand. How did our souls start out to hear The embassies of love he bare, While every ear in rapture hung Upon the charming wonders of his tongue. Life's busy cares a sacred silence bound, Attention stood with all her powers, With fixed eyes and awe profound, Chain'd to the pleasure of the sound, Nor knew the flying hours. But O my everlasting grief! Heav'n has recall'd his envoy from our eyes, Hence deluges of sorrow rise, And mix your groans with mine: Where is the tongue that can describe Infinite things with equal art, Or language so divine? Our passions want the heav'nly flame, [songs, Almighty love breathes faintly in our And awful threat'nings languish on our tongues; How is a great but single name: Amidst the crowd he stands alone; Stands yet, but with his starry pinions [gone on, Drest for the flight, and ready to be Eternal God, command his stay, Stretch the dear months of his delay; O we could wish his age were one immortal day! But when the flaming chariots come, And shining guards, t' attend thy prophet home, Amidst a thousand weeping eyes, Send an Elisha down, a soul of equal size, [us to the skies. Or burn this worthless globe, and take TO THE Right Honourable the Countess of Hertford. www I BEG leave, Madam, to flatter myself, that the same condescension and goodness which has admitted several of these pieces into your closet in manuscript, will permit them all to make this public appearance before you. Your ladyship's known character and taste for every thing that is pious and polite, give an honourable sanction to these writings which stand recommended by your name and approbation: It is no wonder then that these Essays should seek the favour of such a patronage. Though the author professes himself much a stranger to the great and splendid part of mankind, yet since your ladyship was pleased to indulge him a share in the honours of your friendship, he cannot but take pleasure to have been a witness of those virtues, whereby you bear up the dignity of our holy religion and the blessed gospel, amidst all the tempting grandeurs of this world, and in an age of growing infidelity. He acknowledges it a part of his felicity, that he has had opportunity to learn how happily the leisure which you borrow from the magnificence and ceremonies of a court, is employed in devout contemplations, in the study of virtue, and among the writings of the best poets in our own, or in foreign languages, so far as they are chaste and innocent. But it is no easy task, as a late ingenious pen* has expressed it, "to speak the many nameless graces and native riches of a mind, capable so much at once to relish solitude, and adorn society." May such a valuable life be drawn out to an uncommon length, as the richest of blessings to your noble family! May you shine long in your exalted station, an illustrious pattern of such goodness as may commaud a reverence and imitation among those who stand round you in higher or lower life! And when your spirit shall take its flight to superior regions, and that blissful world whither your meditation and your hope have often raised you, may the court of Great Britain never want successors in your honourable house to adorn and support it. In the sincerity of these wishes, I take leave to subscribe myself, Madam, Your Ladyship's most obedient Humble servant, I. WATTS. * Mr. Thompson, in the dedication of his poem on the Spring. TO "MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS IN PROSE AND VERSE." AS every man has some amusements for an hour of leisure, I have chosen Mathematical Science, Philosophy and Poesy, for mine; and the fruits of some of those hours have been communicated to the world. I acknowledge my obligation to the present age, which has given a favourable acceptance to the Lyric Poems printed in my youth, the plain Rudiments of Geography and Astronomy, and the Treatise of Logic, published some years ago, and to those scattered Essays of Philosophy which I put together last year. These gleanings of Verse, and occasional Thoughts on Miscellaneous Subjects, which have been growing under my hands for thirty years, are now collected for a present to the public, under the encouragement it has given me to expect the same candour. That the composure of verse is not beneath the dignity even of sublime and sacred characters, appears in the example of David, the prophet and the king; to which if I should add Moses and Solomon, it would still strengthen the argument and support the honour of this art. And how far poesy has been made serviceable to the temple and the interest of religion, has been set in a sufficient light by several pens; nor need I repeat here what is written, in the preface to my book of poems, on that subject. But I must confess it needs some apology, that when I had told the world twenty-fively ears ago that I expected the future part of my life would be free from the service of the muse, I should now discover my weakness, and let the world know that I have not been able to maintain my purpose. It is true indeed, some of these copies were written before that time, yet a good part of them must date their existence since; for where nature has any strong propensity, even from our infant-life, it will awake and shew itself on many occasions, though it has been often and sincerely resisted, and subdued, and laid to sleep. And as I have found my thoughts many a time carried away into four or five lines of verse ere I was aware, and sometimes in opposition to my will, so I confess I have now and then indulged it for an hour or two, as an innocent and grateful diversion from more severe studies. In this view I offer it to my friends; and amongst the many pieces herein contained, I hope there are some which will give them an agreeable amusement, and perhaps some elevation of thought toward the things of heaven. But in order to taste any degree of pleasure, or reap any profit by the reading, I must entreat them sincerely to seek the entertainment of their hearts, as in the conversation of a friend; and not to hunt after the painful and awkward joys of sour criticism, which is ever busy in seeking out something to disgust itself. I make no pretences to the name of a poet, or a polite writer, in an age wherein so many superior souls shine in their works through this nation. Could I display the excellencies of virtue and christian piety in the various forms and appearances of it, with all the beauty and glory in which Mr. Pope has set the kingdom of the Messiah by his well-mingled imitations of Isaiah and Virgil; could I paint nature and the animated wonders of it in such strong and lively colours as Dr. Young has done; could I describe its lovely and dreadful scenes in lines of such sweetness and terror, as he has described them in his Paraphrase on part of the book of Job; I should have a better ground for a pretence to appear among the writers of verse, and do more service to the world. Could I imitate those admirable representations of human nature and passion which that ingenious pen has given us, who wrote the late volumes of "Epistles from the Dead to the Living," and, "Letters Moral and Entertaining." I should then hope for happier success in my endeavours to provide innocent and improving diversions for polite youth. But since I can boast of little more than an inclination and a wish that way, I must commit the provision of these amusements to such celebrated authors as I have now mentioned, and to the rising geniuses of the age: And may the hour of poesy be retrieved by them, from the scandal which has been cast upon it by the abuse of verse to loose and profane purposes. |