Sir Richard Blackmore M. D. - King Arthur: Book VIII lyrics

The British Captains thus with Choler boyl'd, And these Contentious Heats the Camp Embroil'd. Clotar mean time who full of Rage and Shame, Back to Lutetia for Protection came, Thus to his Servants cry'd; let Clovis come, I'll see the Rebel and pronounce his Doom. Strait did the bloody Guards in Triumph bring, The Pious Clovis to the Gallic King. When Clotar first the Captive Lord espy'd Insultingly he smil'd, and thus he cry'd. Thou dost not only Gallia's Gods reject Adhering to the Christians impious Sect, But Trait'rous to thy King art not afraid To call in Foreign Arms, and give them Aid, Striving with blackest Malice to subdue Thy Nat'ral Lord, and Native Country too. But now just Heav'n has giv'n thee to my hand T'inflict that Vengeance, which thy Crimes demand. Speak what Infernal Fury lash'd thee on, What made thee hope thy Soveraign to dethrone? He said. And Clovis fearless thus reply'd, Tis true I still have Pagan Gods defy'd. I ne'er would Incence on their Altars throw, Nor in their Groves, nor in their Temples bow. I ne'er have Worship to your Idols shewn Stupid, as are the Rocks from whence they're hewn. Gods Deify'd by Superstitious Fear, Gods whom Creating Statuarys reer. Who Pyrrhus and his Wife have far outdone, Transforming into Gods the senseless Stone. To th' unseen Mind I've still Obedience paid, Who this, and those bright Worlds above us made. This Independent Being I adore, One God I rev'rence, but revere no more. He in whose Power and Goodness I believe Will from your Rage this Mortal Life retrieve Or in Exchange will Life Eternal give. I own, I did with humble prayer perswade The Pious Briton Gallia to invade, His Arms in our Deliv'rance to employ To save a Realm you labour to destroy. How have you triumph'd and Insulting stood With Garments rowl'd in Slaughter'd Christians blood? Haughty Proscriptions, Murders, Banishment And all the Plagues that Tyrants can Invent, At your Command the Christians have destroy'd, Yet your Insatiate Rage was never cloy'd. Tormentors with their cruel labour tir'd To gain their own, the Suff'rers rest desir'd. Your frighted People from their Towns are fled, And Prisons only are inhabited. All Europe ecchoes with Lutetia's Groans, And every Land receives her straggling Sons. We justly arm'd to set our Country free From unexampl'd Rage, and barb'rous Cruelty. Subjects should Kings revere and raise their Fame, But cruel Monsters lose that sacred Name. A Father do's not arm'd with lawless Power, Instead of feeding them, his Sons devour. Wolves should they Crooks usurp, no Shepherds are, Nor Spoilers Princes, tho' they Scepters bear. Wild Violence, and Power outrageous grown Proclaim the Tyrant, and the King dethrone. Scepter'd Destroyers do themselves depose, And all their Right to our Obedience lose. This is your Case, this sinking Gallia's Fate, We, mov'd by Pity to her Suff'ring State Call'd in the Generous Briton with Intent Her universal Ruin to prevent. This I have done, and Glory in the Deed, And tho' I fall may Arthur's Arms succeed. Stedfast in Christian Faith I've always stood, And ready am to seal it with my Blood. I will not Life from Clotar e'er demand Nor ask Deliv'rance from his cruel Hand. For my expected Suff'rings I prepare, You've Power indeed, but want a Heart to spare. More had he said, but Clotar furious grew, And flashing Fire from his fierce Eyeballs flew. The Captive's Words like Spears the Monarch gor'd, And stung with Guilt and Rage aloud he roar'd: What Pity 'tis that Man but once can dy, That Life when urg'd begins so soon to fly? But oh, may thine prove tough and obstinate, Mighty to bear repeated Strokes of Fate. May'st thou be hard, resolv'd and bold in Pain, Able my choicest Torments to sustain. May baffled Tortures scarcely wast thy Breath, And mayst thou late escape my Hand by d**h. May all thy Nerves be firm, thy Muscles strong, Thy Heartstrings sound to bear thy Suff'rings long. Oh, may Gigantic Force and Vigor show That thou uncommon Racks canst undergo. Strive not by d**h basely thy self to save, Be constant on the Wheel, and prove in Torment brave. For thou canst only make this Recompence, A flight one too compar'd with thy Offence. Away the noble Captive was convey'd, And bound with iron Links in Prison laid, To be expos'd soon as the Morning came To cruel Torments, and to publick Shame. Unmov'd, unchang'd great Clovis did sustain His heavy Doom and ignominious Chain. As calm as Peace, as heav'nly Seraphs mild He view'd the Racks, and on his Torments smil'd. With easy Arms his Fetters he embrac'd, And thought himself with Marks of Honour grac'd. He thought it noble Matter of Applause, To dy for Gallia's, and the Christian Cause. What Honour is it, did the Hero cry, To dy for him that did for Sinners dy? To rescue Mortals from the Gulph of Hell, And raise them up to Heav'n from whence they fell? All our laborious Services are slight, And all our heavy Sufferings wondrous light When in a just and equal Ballance thrown Against th' excessive Bliss, and ma**y Crown Of pondrous Glory, which attends at last The constant Martyr's Zeal and Labour past. The Way to Canaan by those Martyrs trod Lys thro' a red amazing Sea of Blood. Martyrs, Elijah-like, to Heav'n aspire On ruddy Steeds, and rapid Cars of Fire. Here on a bleak tempestuous Shore I stand, Cast on a wild, unhospitable Land, Which for Disorder do's on Chaos joyn, And for its Guilt do's close on Hell confine; A wastful, howling, horrid Wilderness, Which Beasts of Prey in humane Shape possess: So monstrous dark that Heav'n's recoiling Light Bounds from the Surface of the solid Night. On the other side appears a glorious Shore Enrich'd with glitt'ring Gemms and golden Oar. The Land is all a native Theater, Where flowry Plains, and spicy Groves appear. A Paradise blest with reviving Beams Immortal Fruit, and sweet, Celestial Streams. Where Love and Peace and Friendship free from stain, Pure Light, and Truth, and Joy unmixt with Pain, Oh happy Regions! do for ever reign. To gain this Blissful Land, this Golden Coast, d**h' s interposing Channel must be crost. 'Tis true the gloomy Flood afflicts the Sight, And self preserving Nature dos affright. The Stygian Tide a dismal Horror spreads, And dusky Billows rear their threat'ning Heads. Nature upon the Brink dos shiv'ring stand, And dreads the Pa**age to the Blissful Land. She willing still terrestrial Joys to keep, Starts at the awful Prospect of the Deep. She spins out time, and lingers in Debate, And dos a thousand Ways Expostulate, Displeas'd to try a new, and Unknown State. By Various shifts she labours to Evade The frightful Gulph, and Solitary Shade. But Nature is Controul'd by Reason's sway, Reason's her Guide, Reason must lead the Way. I'll plunge amidst the Flood, and fearless stride To gain the happy Shore across the tyde, Or with bold Arms th' opposing Waves divide. What if I sink, the shore I cannot miss, We dive by d**h, but to Emerge in Bliss. The chiefest Terrors which in d**h we dread, Are in our own Imagination bred. We are not pleas'd a glorious World to know, Whereof our Senses no Impression show. Reluctant Sense declines the untrodden Path, Tho aided both by Reason and by Faith. Empty phantastic Horrors hence arise Which fright the vulgar, not the brave and wise. Th' advancing Shades of d**h weak Nature scare, As hideous Forms and Monsters drawn in Air: Which issuing forth from the dark Womb of Night Impregnated with Fear, weak Minds affright. If tender Infants who imprison'd stay Within the Womb, prepar'd to break away, Were conscious of themselves, and of their State, And had but Reason to sustain Debate, The painful Pa**age they would dread, and show Reluctance to a World they do not know. They in their Prisons still would chuse to ly As backward to be born, as we to dy. This is the Christian's Case detain'd on Earth, Whose d**h is nothing, but his Heav'nly Birth. Yet still he fears the dark and unknown Way, Still backwards shrinks, still meditates Delay, And fresh Excuses finds for longer Stay. The pious Peer in such divine Debate Prepar'd himself for his approaching Fate. His Wife mean time fair Merula, a Dame Of wondrous Beauty, who when Clovis came To Albion's Isle, in Gaul was left behind; Now to the Prison came her Lord to find. Fir'd with her Heav'nly Charms great Clovis burn'd, And she to his an equal Flame return'd. None to each other did more constant prove, None more admir'd, and fam'd for mutual Love. Long she unmov'd had born her heavy Chains, Long underwent the most afflicting Pains, But tir'd at last, her Torments to evade Her Saviour she renounc'd, her Faith betray'd. The Pagan Altars once so much abhor'd, And Gods of various Kinds she now ador'd. Yet did she constant to her Clovis prove, Apostate from her Faith, but not her Love. Her Lord thus sentenc'd, she to Clotar went Brave Clovis d**h and Suff'rings to prevent. And knowing nothing could his Life procure Unless the Christian Faith he did abjure, She thought as once revolted Eve had done, Her Lord by her Perswasion might be won To break th' Allmighty's sacred Law, and eat When offer'd by her Hand, forbidden Meat. And oh! how oft do Female Charms prevail Ev'n when the brave and wisest they a**ail? She therefore undertook by Clotar's Leave To try the pious Clovis to deceive; To form his Mind the Christian's God to quit, And to the Pagan Idols to submit. Her Son and Daughter both of tender Age The Mother brought, hoping they might engage The Hero's Pity and Paternal Love, And from his Breast his settled Purpose move. Thus Clovis she bespoke. Press'd by resistless Love I hither come To rescue Clovis, and avert his Doom. Too great a Zeal, and Labour can't be shown To save a Life far dearer than my own. 'Tis in your Power your Suff'rings to evade, Oh, that it were in mine too, to perswade My Clovis that Deliv'rance to receive, Which here with Joy I bring by Clotar's Leave. Here Clovis interrupting her reply'd, Oh Merula have you your God deny'd, Have you renounc'd the Christians solemn Vow, And learnt before the Pagan Shrines to bow, And are you in your Guilt so stupid grown, So like the Gods you worship, Wood and Stone, That to my Presence you thus boldly press No inward Gripes and no Remorse express? Should not your Crime in Crimson Blushes glow? Should not your Eyes Shame and Confusion show? Amazing Power of Guilt! one great Offence Benumbs the Mind, and stupifys the Sense, Binds fast reluctant Conscience with its Charms, And of its Sting the Worm within disarms. But, Merula, your Message tell, prepare Your Golden Bait, and spread th' alluring Snare. No Question you your Guilt would propagate, And make me quit my Faith to shun my Fate. Speak, is not this your cruel, kind Intent To change my Faith my Torments to prevent? Then, beauteous Merula reply'd, 'tis true The Means to save my Clovis I pursue. No Joy but you, no Life but yours I own, I must survive my self, when you are gone. How strong, how pure, how bright a Flame of Love To Clovis always in my Bosom strove? You're conscious of my Pa**ion, you must know That from your Presence all my Pleasures flow. If you withdraw your Light, how black a Shade Must the sad Region of my Breast invade? This World's a Heav'n to me when you are here, And Heav'n will more be Heav'n to meet you there. What I could ever Joy or Pleasure call 'Twas you I tasted, you enjoy'd in all. The Spring from whence your Stream of Life proceeds My Veins with vital Warmth and Vigor feeds. My Life's dependent and precarious Fire Must quickly cease, should you its Source retire, As Evening Rays forsaken soon expire. Deserted and defrauded of Supply Streams flow no longer, when the Fountain's dry. Should I behind my Clovis here remain, I should of Life's uneasy Load complain, And drown'd in Tears drag on th' encumbring Chain. How sad, and hard a Task it is to live When I must all that Life endears, survive? No wonder then I strive a Life to save, Where I such vast Concern and Int'rest have. I can your Freedom and your Ease procure, Nor need you e'er the Christian Faith abjure. You need but only to their Altars go, And on the Flames a little Incense throw. Th' Almighty dos you know the Heart require, And you may that preserve for him entire. When you to Images respect shall show, Your Mind you need not with your Body bow. In every place th' Eternal dos abide, And therefore must in Statues too reside. When therefore you shall Adoration pay, Your Mind may thro' the Image make its way, And Worship to the God within convey. We do not Worship to a Stone demand, To Gods created by the Carver's hand. The God we Honour has his Throne above, To whom the Image dos our Rev'rence move. Presents we prize, and Pictures we commend, Because they mind us of our absent Friend. By Nature we to Nature's Lord arise, Who dwells in Bliss conceal'd from mortal Eyes. We view his Image stamp'd on Nature's Face, And by the Creatures to their Maker pa**. This beauteous World, and all the rest above, Were made to raise our Wonder and our Love. The noblest Use that we in Creatures find Is to the first great Cause, t'advance the Mind. The Sun himself whose bright revealing Ray To it's more glorious Author shews the way, Serves Mortals more by this, than when it's Light From these dark Seats removes the Shades of Night. We can't Divine, Essential Glory see, Nor view th' Almighty's naked Majesty. We can't th' unequal Object comprehend; The Creatures must their help to Reason lend, While step by step it dos to Heav'n ascend. Wide Nature's Frame and all her steddy Laws Lead thinking Man to th' Independent Cause. And then the Creatures have their noblest Use, When thoughts Divine they in our Minds produce. Now in the Sacred Images we rear, This pious Use more plainly do's appear. These in our Breasts do warm Devotion raise, And mind us to advance th' Eternal's praise. They move our Minds his Greatness to adore, To love his Goodness, and revere his Power. They to his Duty stupid Man excite, And when he aims at Heav'n a**ist his Flight. And those who know the high and steepy way, The painful steps that reach Celestial Day, Will not of friendly Succors be afraid, But thankfully receive the proffer'd Aid. Our Senses to the Mind while lodg'd in Clay, Do all their various Images convey. Things that we tast, and feel, and see, afford The Seeds of Thought with which our Minds are stor'd. We therefore must the Deity conceive By such an Image as our Senses give. Spirits to us this only way are known, And such Conceptions we must form or none. Why then should Statues be condemn'd, design'd To raise Devotion in a Pious Mind, When if we think of God, within our Thought Some Image of his Being must be wrought? The Sacred Volumes oft th' Almighty name As having Parts and Limbs and Humane Frame. Th' Eternal to our Minds by Words and Ways Adapted to our Sense himself conveys, Whose Being still must be from Man conceal'd, If not by means that fit our State reveal'd. These Arguments my yielding Reason sway'd, When Worship first to Images I paid. And these with Clovis too would soon succeed, Were first your Mind from Prepossession freed. Oh, let no groundless Prejudice oppose The Light, that from so pure a Fountain flows. May these kind Beams dispel the Clouds, and find An unobstructed Pa**age to your Mind. Thus you'll preserve your Life with guiltless Art, And still remain a Christian in your Heart. She ceas'd, and Pious Clovis thus reply'd: In vain these artful Snares have oft been try'd. These are the Nets your crafty Priests prepare, The timorous and th' uncautious to ensnare. Such Arguments no Conquests could procure, If una**isted by the Tyrant's Power. If e'er these Feeble Arms Impression make, They from the Sword their Edge and Sharpness take. Affrighted Nature's willing to receive The dreadful Reason's d**h and Torment give. She'll by a thousand shifts her Post maintain, And feels no Argument like that of Pain. The clearest Light and Reason will displease, Which thwart our Int'rest and disturb our Ease. A lawless Rout of Pa**ions still engage In Nature's Cause with hideous Noise and Rage. Reason is in the Tumult quite supprest, And still the safest side we think the best. But let Tyrannic Power stand Neutral by, You'll soon the weakness of your Cause descry. You that would still th' Almighty Being own, And yet to Idols bow and Gods unknown, Delude your selves with an absurd pretence, That still your Minds preserve their Innocence. We to th' Eternal Mind should Honour pay, As he himself prescribes the Rule and Way. No Modes of Adoration he'll admit, Because our wanton Fancy thinks 'em fit. No other Forms of Worship should be sought, But those alone observ'd which he has taught. He oft declares you shall no Image make, And asks from whence you'll his Resemblance take. This is his Will, this his commanding Word, Shall Man contend and call his Law absurd? Subjects are to obey, and not dispute A Will so pure, a Power so absolute. In vain alas deluding Priests pretend, That they their Worship to th' Allmighty send. That all the Honour to the Image paid Is thro' the Marble up to Heav'n convey'd: Then Dan's and Bethel's Calves would be excus'd, Which by the Tribes were for Devotion us'd. They mighty Zeal to Jacob's God exprest, To honour him proclaim'd a solemn Feast, And Worship by the Calves to Heav'n addrest. When Aaron by the murm'ring Hebrews sway'd A Golden God of molten Ear-rings made, 'Twas reer'd in Honour of th' Allmighty Hand, That brought their Youth from Egypt's cruel Land. Yet in the sacred History you read How God incens'd condemn'd the impious Deed. When you Devotion to an Idol show, And on the Altar od'rous Incense throw, You make the Heathen Worshiper believe That you and he like Adoration give: You thus confirm the Pagan Votary And not a**erting God, your God deny. The Mind by Words and Actions is exprest, And secret Reservations in the Breast Whereby you think to save your Innocence Make Hypocrites, and add a fresh Offence. The jealous God will not his Honour part, Nor share with Idols a divided Heart. 'Tis not enough to own him in your Breast, He must in publick boldly be confest. Th' eternal Mind no prudent Neutral knows, We for his Cause declare, or are his Foes. The Managers who cautious Measures use, And fain would neither Sin nor Suff'ring chuse. Who like a crafty Statesman to provide For his own Safety fawns on either Side. These most th' Eternal's Jealousy provoke, At these his Vengeance aims the deadliest stroke. The Hypocrite defeats his own Design, Splits on the Rock he labours to decline. He can't himself by base Complyance save The Secret to be safe, is to be brave. We are to fiery Tryals brought to prove Our stedfast Faith, our Courage, and our Love. To shew th' Heroic Confessors are fit With Glory crown'd on Heav'nly Thrones to sit. To draw amaz'd Spectators to believe That Cause divine, that could such Courage give. You know, if you in Heart a Christian are, Our Heav'nly Founder often did declare The Marks that must his faithful Friends approve Are patient Suff'ring and their mutual Love. His Precept, and Example form'd his Friends For all the Sorrow that his Cause attends. He oft foretold them their approaching Fate And what they must expect from Tyrants Hate. He set the price, and told what Heav'n would cost, And what to gain that Kingdom must be lost. And this the constant Martyrs understood Who swam to Heav'n thro' a red tyde of Blood. Some were with Wounds, and cruel Scourging try'd, Some in the Flames with God-like Courage dy'd. Some were on Racks and Wheels in pieces drawn, Some ston'd to d**h, and some asunder Sawn. To some a Refuge from the Tyrant's Sword, The Dens of milder Beasts did oft afford. They oft Deliv'rance nobly did refuse, And Vertue when 'twas least inviting chuse. Conscious what Bliss and Life Eternal meant, The blest Reward of hours divinely spent, And what a Heaven 'tis, to be Innocent; They could the World with brave Neglect despise, And the vain Joys which charm deluded Eyes. They with the just did rather Suff'rings bear, Then guilty Pleasures with th' unrighteous share. They laid down Life in Vertue's just Defence, Dear Life, but not so dear as Innocence. But Merula could these blest Saints have taught Their Torments to escape without a Fault. The specious Arguments which you advance Will make them Martyrs to their Ignorance. Had those blest Men your nice distinctions known, They to the Idol might have Worship shown; For if their inward Thought did not consent, The Guilt no farther than the Body went; And thus their Innocence had been secure, And while the Knee had err'd, the Heart been pure. Those who alledge we cannot form a Thought But by some Image thro' our Senses brought; And therefore we th' Almighty must conceive, By some Idea which the Senses give, Will soon th' erroneous Argument detect, When on their own Conceptions they reflect. Sense do's, 'tis true, it's Object first enjoy, And that first Object do's our Thoughts employ. All Knowledge previous to the acts of Sense And in-born Notions, are a vain Pretence. But then, 'tis true, that when our Minds embrace Those Images which thro' our Senses pa**, They stop not there, but quickly higher go, And on themselves reflecting Know they Know. They their own Actions oft review, and thence Conceptions form above the Sphear of Sense. They by their Operations must conclude They are with Life, and Thought, and Choice endu'd, And hence the Intellectual World is known, While we conceive their Nature by our own. Then climbs the Mind to the first glorious Cause, And his bright Image by this Model draws. Freedom of Choice, pure Intellectual Light, Power Independent, Goodness Infinite, To form the great Idea we unite. All other Images for him design'd Debase the Glory of th' Eternal Mind; Degrade his high Perfections, and infuse Unworthy Thoughts, and Vulgar Minds abuse. He ceas'd. Fair Merula reply'd. Your Breast Is, as I fear'd, too strongly Prepossest, To be with new tho' truer Lights imprest. When to Dispute a Woman takes the Field, A Man believes he can't in Honour Yield. I am not here a Match, the Righteous Cause From my Defence great disadvantage draws. But now if Clovis who's in Reason strong, Wise in Debate, and Eloquent of Tongue, Would change the Scene, and plead my Cause, how clear How pure, he'd make my Innocence appear? Such is your force in Reasoning, such your Art That Error you to seeming Truth convert. The strangest Paradox sustain'd by you Ev'n to Sagacious Minds appears as true. But why, ala**, should Clovis thus Employ Such noble Gifts their Owner to destroy? If Reason can't let Love your Breast incline, Oh, Pity your sad fate, or Pity mine. What Words shall tell, what Accents shall relate, If you are gone, my Lamentable State? What will become of wretched Merula, What shall I do, whither my Self convey? What can my tedious Life afford to please, What can a**wage my Grief, or Sorrows Ease? I must to unfrequented places creep, And seek out secret Corners where to Weep. I must complain to Woods, and Winds, and Air, Conscious, ala**, in vain of my Despair. Forsaken, helpless, ruin'd, sore distrest With mighty Woe, and Life it self Opprest, I must behind you stay, and make my Moan To Gallic Tyrants, or to Lords unknown. Oh, let the dear Engagements of our Love Dissolve your Heart, and your Compa**ion move. You warm Affection once to me exprest, And thought me fair, pretended so at least. What dear, engaging, tender things you said, Which in my Breast the glowing Pa**ion fed? What Pleasure in my Presence did you show, And how was I still pleas'd to see you so? And do's my Presence now so much offend, That you to part for ever, thus contend? Or if your Love continue, can you go And leave me in so sad a Scene of Woe? But if from me you can so easie part, Let these your tender Children melt your Heart. Think how much Woe these Infants must attend, Without a Father, and without a Friend. See that dear Boy, how the sweet Creature stands? How just like you, he moves his little Hands? See your own Shape, your very Eyes, and Face, He has your Air, your Step, and every Grace. Then, Clovis, on his Sister cast your look, In whom you once such wondrous pleasure took. How oft you kist and Danc'd her on your Knee, And said you lov'd the Child, because she look'd like me. These are next you, of all my Joys the chief, But if you die will give me no Relief, But minding me of you, revive my Grief. When on them I shall look theyll but invite New floods of Tears, and fresh Complaints excite. Can't these endearing Pledges of our Love Dissolve your Heart, and your Compa**ion move? Can you these sweet Delights chuse to forsake, And from the helpless Babes their Father take? Think how their Lives they must in Sorrow spend, Who will you leave your Orphans to defend? You know your Foes will labour to Oppress Your helpless Widow, and your Fatherless. Can such a Father e'er Unnatural prove, Cease to be tender, and forget to Love? Can you lay by th' Indulgent Parent's care, And leave these Babes abandon'd to despair? At such Reflections do's not Nature start, And try at every Spring to touch your Heart? Do's not soft Pity's fire begin to burn, Do not your yearning Bowels in you turn? In such a case Breasts arm'd with temper'd Steel And Hearts of Marble, should impression feel. Then on her bended Knees she fell, and fast, All drown'd in Tears, his Fetter'd Limbs embrac'd. And thus she cry'd, here ever will I stay, Here will I lie, here beg, and weep, and pray, And strive in Sighs to breath my Life away; Till Clovis shall our heavy Doom retrieve, And say he do's at last consent to Live. Then the sad Mother to her Children said, Come, Children, help your Father to perswade. Your Accents full of Grief, and free from Art, Will penetrate the most obdurate heart. Your tender Cries will sure his Soul incline, Your Prayer will more successful prove than mine. The Children mov'd to see her so distrest, Burst out in Tears, and the sad Scene increast. They did about their Father cling, and cry With mournful Voice, why Father will you dy? This tender sight did Pious Clovis move; And in his Breast his mighty Pa**ion strove. Paternal Pity pain'd his lab'ring Soul, And made his Bowels in Convulsions roll. Deep Groans he in his Agony did fetch, And all his heart-strings felt the utmost stretch. Striving his Pa**ion to suppress he stood, At last broke out in Tears and wept aloud. Now Father's, Mothers, Childrens Cries unite, And in each others Breasts fresh grief excite. Confed'rate Sighs and Tears conspire to show A perfect triumph of Victorious Woe. Yet constant Clovis still maintain'd the Field, And tho' o'erwhelm'd with force refus'd to yield. So when a noble Oak that long has stood High in the Air, the Beauty of the Wood Is shock'd by stormy Winds, he either way Bends to the Earth his Head with mighty Sway. His lab'ring Roots disturb the neighb'ring Ground, And makes a heaving Earthquake all around. Yet fast he stands, and the loud Storm defys, His Roots still keep the Earth, his head the Skys. So did great Clovis in the Tempest rock, And firmly so withstood the Dreadful shock. But when the Fury and the boyling Tyde Of his Tumultuous Pa**ion did subside, Good Heav'ns he cry'd! this is too much to bear, In such a Storm what Mortal Force can steer? Nature Extended lys upon the Rack, And all her shatter'd Frame begins to Crack Th' impetuous Stress of Pa**ion bears me down, And the high tyde dos sinking Reason drown. To bear this mighty weight Heav'n grant support, All Tortures after this will be but Sport. The Bitterness and Sting of d**h is gone, When this sad part is past, this Suff'ring done. He paus'd, and then to Merula he cry'd, You now your utmost Strength and Sk** have try'd. You've chang'd indeed th' Attack with Wondrous Art, Quitting your Reason to engage my Heart. You Wisely your Artillery apply'd To the most tender, and defenceless side. You did discreetly think the task not hard To gain the illman'd Post, which Pa**ions guard. You thought to win me by your Artful Prayer, Because I lov'd you and I thought you Fair. 'Tis true when you your Innocence maintain'd By no Defection, no Rebellion stain'd, You shone Illustrious in your Heav'nly Sphear, And lovely as a Seraph did appear. But now your Crime your beauteous Eyes disarms Losing your Piety, you lose your Charms. O'er your bright Form a Night of Guilt is spread, And hangs in Stygian Clouds around your head. Like a fallen Angel Merula has lost The charming Graces which her Form could boast; Which now no longer can afford Delight, But like the Sun Eclips'd dos all affright, And with a dying Splendor pains our sight. Think not that I could Ease and Life refuse, And Ignominious d**h and Torment chuse, That I of Bosom Friends could farewel take, And Children dearer then my Life forsake, Did not th' Almighty this hard task Enjoyn, And lend the mighty Aid of Grace Divine. Down to the Yoke I struggling nature bend Rather than his Supream Command offend. I am not fond of Shame, nor do I take Pleasure in Torment, for the Torment's sake. I do not Court the Cross, nor Wrongs invite Nor in Distress, and Ruin take delight. I in Obedience, not in Pain rejoyce And rather Suff'ring make, than Sin my Choice. Nor may our transient Sorrow be compar'd With that bright Crown, that shall our Love Reward, With Heav'n's transporting, and unmeasur'd Bliss And Life Eternal in Exchange for this, 'Tis for the Prize we chuse the Painful Race, And for the Crown that we the Cross embrace. Here on a dark and dangerous Sea we steer Tost on th' uncertain Waves of Hope and Fear. Oft dash'd on Rocks, oft in wild Tempests lost, Oft chas'd by Corsairs to an unknown Coast. And shall th' affrighted Voyager recoil When Heav'n in Pity to his Fears and Toil, Shall kindly tow him to the happy Strand, And on the Shores of Light the shatter'd Vessel Land? Would Trav'llours fry'd with Lybia's burning Heat Faint with their Labour, Hunger, Thirst and Sweat, Complain if one in Pity would Convey Them to their wish'd for home a shorter Way? Men who from Heav'n derive their noble Birth Cast on a Forreign Clime live here on Earth; Where the wild Natives with loud Clamor chase To Woods and Caves the mild and God-like Race. They are insulted, vext, pursu'd and spoil'd, Both for their own and Master's sake revil'd. And should not these be willing to retreat From such a rude, Inhospitable Seat? Should Strangers us'd so ill, and so Opprest Be courted to their Home and to their Rest? Should such as these at their departure grieve, And drag'd, like lingring Lot, this Sodom leave? What dismal Seats the dying Saints forsake, To what a Blissful Place their Flight they take? There where th' Almighty's Beatific view Will crown their Wishes and their Hopes out-do. Where Joys and Pleasures shall their Breasts extend, Pleasures unmixt, and Joys that never end. But now Revolted Merula reflect On that vast Woe which Rebels must expect. Who to appease a Man their God Incense To scape Man's wrath provoke Omnipotence: Who on Almighty Goodness can't rely, But from their Saviour's bloody Banner fly, And to preserve their Lives their Faith deny. Their timorous flight no Safety can afford, They fly to meet a more destructive Sword. What if by Guilt they shun a Mortal Foe, They run but on his Arms, whose surer blow Can wound and sink them to the Shades below: Where they Alternate d**h must still repeat In Piercing Cold, or unextinguish'd Heat; Where mighty Vengeance they must ever bear O'erwhelm'd with Wrath, and torn with wild Despair. Besides when Men from fiery Tryals run, They meet worse Torments here, than those they shun. Dos not their Guilt their tremb'ling Souls affright, And place th' Almighty's Terrors in their Sight? Outrageous Conscience dos th' Apostate tear With inward Whips, and Stings him with Despair. Oh, Merula, say, did you never find Such Horror, such Remorse within your Mind? Did ne'er your Fears of Heav'n your Peace molest, No gripes or inward Pangs torment your Breast. And was not that a far more painful Rack, Than those which Tyrants sk**'d in Torment, make? Say, are you not with Consternation struck, When on your Self deform'd with Guilt you look? Do's not your secret, self-revenging thought Afflict your Soul, and lash you for your fault? An angry Judge your tender Saviour's made, Of whom you were asham'd, now are you not afraid? Your thoughts of God must have Amazement bred, You must his lifted Arm and Vengeance dread. More had the Hero said, but that he saw A suddain Storm of Grief in Merula. Her troubled Looks strange discomposure show'd, And floods of Tears down her fair Bosom flow'd. A while she staid to give her Pa**ion Vent, And when her Anguish had its fury spent: She cry'd, my heart do's with this Language melt 'Tis true, those Stings, those Torments I have felt, Which you describe, too well alas, I know What Horrors from a Guilty Conscience slow. I dare no more a**ert my Innocence, My Mind inlighten'd owns the black offence. To Save my Life and Suff'rings to evade, I have my God deny'd, my Faith betray'd. 'Tis true, when Idols I did first adore, I ne'er design'd by that compliance more, Then gaining time till I could my retreat From Gallia make, to seek some peaceful Seat, Where I might find you, and your Love enjoy, And undisturb'd my future hours employ. But now I see by your a**isting Light I'm both Idolater, and Hypocrite. How black and dismal do's my Crime appear? How sharp the Stings of raging Conscience are? Who can the Pangs and deadly Anguish bear? O let my head a weeping Fountain grow, And from my Eyes let mournful Rivers flow. Let me dissolve to Tears, let every Vein A stream of Water, not of Blood contain. Thro' all the winding Channels to my Eyes Let unexhausted Stores of Moisture rise. Let no sufficient Treasures be deny'd To feed the sad, but Everlasting Tide. Let Love's strong Flame by its Celestial Art To fill my Eyes, dissolve and melt my Heart; As Central Fire advances watry Steams Which from the Mountains spring in Crystal Streams. Rivers and Seas I want for my Relief, To Ease, and Vent unutterable Grief. I, that my Tears may to a Deluge grow, Will break my Stores up, my Abyss of Woe. Descend my Tears, in Cataracts flow down, Me, and my load of Guilt together drown. Let mighty Torrents from my Eye-balls roll, Fit to dilute th' Almighty's wrathful Bowl. Lord, strike this Marble Heart, thy powerful Stroke Will make a Flood gush from the cleaving Rock. O draw all Nature's Sluces up, and drain Her Magazines, which liquid Stores contain. My Guilt with hideous Crys do's me pursue, O, let me make the Poets Fable true; To shun the grisly, formidable Shape, And from the Monster's Fury to escape, Melting in Tears let me a River grow, And in a swift, complaining Water flow. What method is there, Clovis, to decline The black, impending Storm of Wrath Divine? What Balm can my tormenting Pain appease? What can procure my wounded Spirit ease? How to my troubled Breast shall I restore That Heav'nly Peace which I enjoy'd before? Oh, what can smooth th' Almighty's frowning Brow, Arrest his lifted Hand, and make him drop the blow? She ceas'd. And Clovis paus'd a little space, While suddain Tears of Joy ran down his Face. Then spoke the Confessor. Now you appear Fair as before, and are to me as dear. Now you regain your Form, and lovely Charms And as before are welcom to my Arms. Heav'n will embrace you too, now you return And your late fall with pure Contrition mourn. Heav'n's always ready to afford Relief To pious Sorrow and ingenuous Grief. When Penitents with self-displeasure burn, And to themselves, and to their God return. Th' Almighty mov'd with Pity will not stay, But will advance to meet them on their way. Their Errors he forgets, revokes their Doom And leads his rescu'd Sons in Triumph home. Your humble Sorrow gives even Angels Joy, Who to protect you will their Care employ. The way to make your Peace which you demand Is plain, you must the fiery Trial stand. You must your God before the World confess, And publick Shame, for publick Crimes express. We must without debate, without delay, Boldly advance where Conscience leads the way. Obedience only can our Peace secure: No Mind is easie long, that is not pure. You must Obey even at your Blood's expence, You must to Life prefer your Innocence. Regard the Joy that is before you set, View but the Prize, and you will ne'er retreat. You can't too dear Immortal Glory reap, What e'er you give, the purchase still is cheap. In Vertues Cause whate'er your Suff'rings are, Heav'n is oblig'd your Losses to repair. If you with publick Fortitude will own Your Saviour's Cause, you win the promis'd Crown. This Favourite Intercessor can alone Fit Merit plead th' Almighty to atone. Only his Blood can purge your guilty Stain, Without this Aid, your Tears descend in vain. Would you succeed in Christian Warfare, joyn Sincere Obedience to Belief Divine. He ceas'd. And thus did Merula reply, Oh, let not Heav'n its promis'd Aid deny, And I with Courage will the Cross embrace, And stare the King of Terrors in the Face. Both by your words and brave example fir'd, And with fresh power deriv'd from Heav'n, inspir'd, Back to the Field from whence I fled I'll come, And with new Life the Christian War resume. Faint from the painful Course I once withdrew, But now return, invited back by you. I will no more refuse the Christian Yoke, Nor him forsake, who never his forsook. From this vile World together we'll retire, And in Heav'n's Cause together will expire. With equal swiftness we a breast will fly, And hand in hand ascend th' Empyreal Sky. Here he embrac'd her in his Arms, and said, Now all my Cares and anxious Thoughts are fled. Kind Heav'n a**ist, that we may stedfast prove, And then Reward the labour of our Love. Then he with God-like Language did proceed The sacred flame within her Breast to feed. How nobly he describ'd the bright Reward, Th' Eternal Joys for Conquering Saints prepar'd! What high and great Idea's did he draw Of future Bliss, then cry'd, oh Merula, These glorious Triumphs will our Suff'rings Crown, And these blest Joys will quickly be our own. Thus they proceeded in Divine debate, And Heav'nly Language fitted to their State, Till Night was worn, and the declining Moon Had now past over her Nocturnal Noon. When Uriel brighter than the Morning Star, And swift as Light'ning glancing thro' the Air, Did to the Prison, from above, repair. Beauty Divine, and Grace ineffable, Did on his Cheeks and God-like Features dwell. His Eyes, like Diamonds set in polish'd Gold, Did a bright Heav'n of Light and Joy unfold. Unfading Youth did pure, Ambrosial Red, Mild Air, and blooming Honours on him spred. His Golden Hair did on his Shoulders shine Like Locks of Sun-beams curl'd with Art Divine. From his bright Face broke such Illustrious Rays As all blest Minds imbibe, who stedfast gaze Upon the dazling Beatific Sight, Ravish'd with Joy, and overwhelm'd with Light. Immortal Life his Heav'nly Mould did move, And thro' his radiant Limbs the Vital Glory strove. Ent'ring the Room the Seraph Silence broke, And thus the Pious Confessors bespoke: Th' Almighty whose all-penetrating Eye Do's search the Heart, and all its thoughts descry; Who views the bent and purpose of your Mind, Do's your Intention fixt and stedfast find, To part with Life for your Religion's sake, And do's the Will for full performance take. Me therefore in Compa**ion he has sent From his high Throne, your Suff'rings to prevent. I to your Friends will safely you convey, Then boldly follow where I lead the Way. He said, and soon the Constant Clovis found His Fetters loos'd, and fallen upon the ground. One Child the Father, one the Mother took, Who at the wondrous Stranger's Presence shook. With Fear and Joy possest, without delay They follow, and their Heav'nly Guide obey. Th' advancing Seraph touch'd the Prison Door With the bright Rod which in his hand he bore. Th' obsequious Gate obey'd, and open flew, Leaving them free their Safety to pursue. Whom to the Camp the Angel did convey, Where strong entrench'd the Valiant Britons lay. That done, thro' all the spacious Fields of Air, To his Celestial Seat he did repair.