Night came, but without darkness or repose,
A dismal picture of the general doom;
Where souls distracted, when the trumpet blows,
And half unready, with their bodies come. 1016
Those who have homes, when home they do repair,
To a last lodging call their wandering friends;
Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care,

To look how near their own destruction tends: Those who have none sit round where once it was And with full eyes each wonted room require, Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place, 1023 As murdered men walk where they did expire. Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire, Others in vain from sight of ruin run

1026

And, while through burning labyrinths they retire, With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun.

166

Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high,
He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, 161
Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Great wits are sure to madness near allied
And thin partitions do their bounds divide;
Else, why should he, with wealth and honour blest,
Refuse his age the needful hours of rest?
Punish a body which he could not please,
Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease?
And all to leave what with his toil he won
To that unfeathered two-legg'd thing, a son, 170
Got, while his soul did huddled notions try,
And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy.
In friendship false, implacable in hate,
Resolved to ruin or to rule the state;

180

Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame,
Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name.
So easy still it proves in factious times
With public zeal to cancel private crimes.
How safe is treason and how sacred ill,
Where none can sin against the people's will,
Where crowds can wink and no offence be known,
Since in another's guilt they find their own! 185
Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge;
The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge.
In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abbethdin
With more discerning eyes or hands more clean,
Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress, 190
Swift of despatch and easy of access.

195

200

Oh! had he been content to serve the crown
With virtues only proper to the gown,
Or had the rankness of the soil been freed
From cockle that oppressed the noble seed,
David for him his tuneful harp had strung
And Heaven had wanted one immortal song.
But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand,
And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land.
Achitophel, grown weary to possess
A lawful fame and lazy happiness,
Disdained the golden fruit to gather free
And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree.
Now, manifest of crimes contrived long since,
He stood at bold defiance with his prince,
Held up the buckler of the people's cause
Against the crown, and skulked behind the laws.
The wished occasion of the plot he takes;
Some circumstances finds, but more he makes;
By buzzing emissaries fills the ears

205

210

220

For governed by the moon, the giddy Jews
Tread the same track when she the prime renews;
And once in twenty years their scribes record,
By natural instinct they change their lord.
Achitophel still wants a chief, and none
Was found so fit as warlike Absalon.
Not that he wished his greatness to create,
For politicians neither love nor hate;
But, for he knew his title not allowed
Would keep him still depending on the crowd,
That kingly power, thus ebbing out, might be
Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.

227

530

536

A numerous host of dreaming saints succeed
Of the true old enthusiastic breed:
'Gainst form and order they their power employ,
Nothing to build and all things to destroy.
But far more numerous was the herd of such
Who think too little and who talk too much.
These out of mere instinct, they knew not why,
Adored their fathers' God and property,
And by the same blind benefit of Fate
The Devil and the Jebusite did hate:
Born to be saved even in their own despite,
Because they could not help believing right. 540
Such were the tools; but a whole Hydra more
Remains of sprouting heads too long to score.
Some of their chiefs were princes of the land;
In the first rank of these did Zimri stand,
A man so various that he seemed to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome:
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,
Was everything by starts and nothing long;
But in the course of one revolving moon
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; 550
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Blest madman, who could every hour employ
With something new to wish or to enjoy!
Railing and praising were his usual themes, 555
And both, to show his judgment, in extremes:
So over violent or over civil

545

That every man with him was God or Devil.
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art;
Nothing went unrewarded but desert.
560
Beggared by fools whom still he found too late,
He had his jest, and they had his estate.
He laughed himself from Court; then sought
relief

By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief:
For spite of him, the weight of business fell 565
On Absalom and wise Achitophel;

Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft,
He left not faction, but of that was left.

290

Where copies are corrupt or lame can tell;
Restore lost canon with as little pains,
As truly explicate what still remains;
Which yet no Council dare pretend to do,
Unless, like Esdras, they could write it new;
Strange confidence, still to interpret true,
Yet not be sure that all they have explained
Is in the blest original contained.
More safe and much more modest 'tis to say, 295
God would not leave mankind without a way;
And that the Scriptures, though not everywhere
Free from corruption, or entire, or clear,
Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire,

305

310

In all things which our needful faith require. 300
If others in the same glass better see,
"Tis for themselves they look, but not for me;
For my salvation must its doom receive,
Not from what others, but what I, believe.
Must all tradition then be set aside?
This to affirm were ignorance or pride.
Are there not many points, some needful sure
To saving faith, that Scripture leaves obscure,
Which every sect will wrest a several way?
For what one sect interprets, all sects may.
We hold, and say we prove from Scripture plain,
That Christ is God; the bold Socinian
From the same Scripture urges he's but man.
Now what appeal can end the important suit?
Both parts talk loudly, but the rule is mute. 315
Shall I speak plain, and in a nation free
Assume an honest layman's liberty?
I think, according to my little skill,*
To my own mother Church submitting still,
That many have been saved, and many may, 320
Who never heard this question brought in play.
The unlettered Christian, who believes in gross,
Plods on to Heaven and ne'er is at a loss;
For the strait gate would be made straiter yet,
Were none admitted there but men of wit.
The few by Nature formed, with learning fraught,
Born to instruct, as others to be taught,

Must study well the sacred page; and see

325

ΙΟ

15

Not so her young; for their unequal line Was hero's make, half human, half divine. Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate, The immortal part assumed immortal state. Of these a slaughtered army lay in blood, Extended o'er the Caledonian wood, Their native walk; whose vocal blood arose And cried for pardon on their perjured foes. Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed, Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed. So captive Israel multiplied in chains, A numerous exile, and enjoyed her pains. With grief and gladness mixed, their mother viewed Her martyred offspring and their race renewed; Their corps to perish, but their kind to last,

20

So much the deathless plant the dying fruit surpassed.

Panting and pensive now she ranged alone, 25 And wandered in the kingdoms once her own. The common hunt, though from their rage restrained

By sovereign power, her company disdained,
Grinned as they passed, and with a glaring eye
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity.
'Tis true she bounded by and tripped so light,
They had not time to take a steady sight;
For truth has such a face and such a mien
As to be loved needs only to be seen.

30

But if they think at all, 'tis sure no higher
Than matter put in motion may aspire;
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay,
So drossy, so divisible are they

320

330

As would but serve pure bodies for allay,
Such souls as shards produce, such beetle things
As only buzz to heaven with evening wings,
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance,
Such are the blindfold blows of ignorance.
They know not beings, and but hate a name; 325
To them the Hind and Panther are the same.
The Panther, sure the noblest next the Hind,
And fairest creature of the spotted kind;
Oh, could her inborn stains be washed away,
She were too good to be a beast of prey!
How can I praise or blame, and not offend,
Or how divide the frailty from the friend?
Her faults and virtues lie so mixed, that she
Nor wholly stands condemned nor wholly free.
Then, like her injured Lion, let me speak;
He cannot bend her and he would not break.
Unkind already, and estranged in part,
The Wolf begins to share her wandering heart.
Though unpolluted yet with actual ill,
She half commits who sins but in her will.
If, as our dreaming Platonists report,
There could be spirits of a middle sort,

335

340

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1687

From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began; When Nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead.

Then cold and hot and moist and dry
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:

From harmony to harmony

Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell? When Jubal struck the chorded shell, His listening brethren stood around,

And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound:

15

20