230 POEMS TO THE AUTHOR OF HORE LYRICS. Let none henceforth of providence complain, As if the world of spirits lay unknown, Fenc'd round with black impenetrable night ; [thence What tho'no shining angel darts from With leave to publish things conceal'd from sense, [told, In languagebright as theirs, we are here When life its narrow round of years hath roll'd, What 'tis employs the bless'd, what makes their bliss ; Songs such as WATTS's are, and love like his. But then, dear Sir, be cautious how you use [muse, To transports so intensely rais'd your Lest,whilst th' ecstatic impulse you obey, The soulleapout,and drop the dullerclay. Sept. 4, 1706. HENRY Gaovs. TO DR. WATTS. On the fifth Edition of his Horse Lyrics. " SOVEREIGN of sacred verse; accept the lays [praise, Of a young bard that dares attempt thy A muse, the meanestof the vocal throng, New to the bays, nor equal to the song, Fir'd with the growing glories of thyfame, Joins all herpowersto celebrate thyname. No vulgar themes thy pious muse en- gage, No scenes of lust pollute thy sacred page. You in majestic numbers mount the skies, And meet descending angels as you rise, Whose just applauses charm the crowded groves, And Addison thy tuneful song approves. Soft harmony and manlyvigour join To formthe beauties of each sprightly line, For everygrace of everymuse is thine. Milton, immortal bard, divinely bright, Conducts hisfav'rite tothe realmsoflight; Where Raphael's lyre charms the celes- 'ial throng, Delighted cherubs list'ning to the song: From bliss to bliss the happy beings rove, And taste the sweets of musicand of love. But when the softer scenes of life you paint, [saint. And join the beauteous 'virgin to the When you describe how few the happy pairs, [cares, Whose hearts united soften all their We see to whom the sweetestjoysbelong, And Mira's beauties consecrate your song. Fain the unnumber'd graces I would tell, [dwell ; And on the. pleasing theme for ever But the muse faints, uneinaltotheflight, And hears thy strains with wonder and delight. When tombs of princes shall in ruins lie, And all, but heaven-horn piety, shall die, When the last trumpet wakes the silent dead, And each lascivious poet hides his head, With thee shall thy divine Urania rise, Crown'd with fresh laurels, to thy native skies Great Howe and Gouge shall hail thee na thy way, [ofday, And welcome thee to the bright realms Adapt thy tuneful notes to heavenly strings, [seraph sings.i' And join the Lyric Ode while some fair Sic spiral, sic optat Tui ataantissimus BRISANNncus,
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