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PIETY, OR THE VISION*. 'Twas when the night in filent sable fed,

When chearful morning sprung with rising red, When dreams and vapours leave to croud the brain, And best the vision draws its heavenly scene; ’T was then, as slumbering on my couch I lay, A sudden splendor seem'd to kindle day, A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume, Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room; And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest; Her head a ring of golden glory wore, Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore, Her raiment glittering seem'd a silver white, And all her sweet companions fons of light.

Straight as I gaz'd, my fear and wonder grew, Fear barr’d my voice, and wonder fix'd my view; When lo! a cherub of the shining croud That fail'd as guardian in her azure cloud, Fann'd the soft air, and downwards seem'd to glide, And to my lips a living coal apply’d. Then while the warmth o'er all my pulses ran Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began :

* This and the following poem are not in the octavo editions of Dr. Parnell's Poems published by Mr. Pope. They were first communicated to the public by the late ingenious Mr. James Arbuckle, and published in his Hibernicus's Letters, No. 62. GOLDSMITH.-They are now in some degree corrected, from the volume of " Posthumous Poems.” N.

“ Where glorious manfions are prepar'd above, “ The feats of music, and the seats of love, « Thence I descend, and Piety my name, "To warm thy bofom with celestial flame, To teach thee praises mix'd with humble prayers, “And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs. “ Be thou my Bard.” A vial here she caught (An Angel's hand the crystal vial brought); And as with awful found the word was said, She pour'd a sacred unction on my head ; Then thus proceeded : “ Be thy Mufe thy zeal, " Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal. " While other pencils flattering forms create, “ And paint the gaudy plumes that deck the great ; “While other pens exalt the vain delight, “ Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night; "Or others foftly fing in idle lines “How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines; “ More wisely thou select a theme divine, “Fame is their recompence, 'tis heaven is thine.

Despise the raptures of discorded fire, “Where wine, or paffion, or applause inspire " Low restless life, and ravings born of earth, " Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth, " Like working seas, that, when loud winters blow, “ Not made for rising, only rage

below. “Mine is a warm and yet a lambent heat, “ More lasting still, as more intensely great, “ Produc'd where prayer, and praise, and pleasure " And ever mounting whence it shot beneath. [breathe,

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“ Unpaint the love, that, hovering over beds, From glittering pinions guilty pleasure sheds ; « Restore the colour to the golden mines “ With which behind the feather'd idol shines; To flowering greens give back their native care, “ The rose and lily, never his to wear; 6. To fweet Arabia send the balmy breath ; “ Strip the fair flesh, and call the phantom Death: “ His bow be sabled o'er, his shafts the same, “ And fork and point them with eternal flame.

“ But urge thy powers, thine utmost voice advance, « Make the loud ftrings against thy fingers dance : “ 'Tis love that Angels praise and men adore, 66 'Tis love divine that asks it all and more. “ Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day, “ Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way ; And all in glory wrapt, through paths untrod, “ Pursue the great unseen descent of God. “ Hail the meek Virgin, bid the child appear, “ The child is God, and call him Jesus here. “ He comes, but where to rest? A manger's nigh, “ Make the great Being in a manger lie; « Fill the wide sky with Angels on the wing, “ Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousand sing; “ Let men afflict him, men he came to save, « And still affict him till he reach the grave; Make him resign’d, his loads of sorrow meet, And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet; “ I'll bathe my tresses there, my prayers rehearse, And glide in Aames of love along my verse.

“ Ah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell, “My raptures (mother what I long to tell. “ 'Tis God! a present God! through cleaving air “ I see the throne, and see the Jefus there “Plac'd on the right. He shews the wounds he bore “ (My fervours oft have won him thus before); “ How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his ear; “ He bids the gates unbar ; and calls me near.

She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to tread Its curls unfolded, and around her spread; Bright Angels waft their wings to raise the cloud, And sweep their ivory lutes, and sing aloud; The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky Is turn'd to wondrous music as they fly; And soft the swelling sounds of music grow, And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My downy sleep the warmth of Phæbus broke, And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke. Thou beauteous vision! on the soul impress’d, When most my reason would appear to rest, 'T was sure with pencils dipt in various lights Some curious Angel limn'd thy facred fights; From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew, While moons the filver gave, and air the blue. I'll mount the roving winds expanded wing, And seek the sacred hill, and light to fing; ('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays, Obedient to thy summons, found with praise.

But still I fear, unwarm’d with holy flame, I take for truth the flatteries of a dream;

And barely with the wondrous gift I boast,
And faintly practise what deserves it moft.

Indulgent Lord! whose gracious love displays
Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease!
Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss ;
Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this.

B A C CH US,

OR,

THE DRUNKEN METAMORPHOSIS,

AS

s Bacchus, ranging at his leisure,

(Jolly Bacchus, king of pleasure !)
Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,
And all his thousand airy fancies,
Alas! he quite forgot the while
His favourite vines in Lesbos isle.

The god, returning ere they dy'd,
Ah! see my jolly fauns, he cry'd,
The leaves but hardly born are red,
And the bare arms for pity spread :
The beasts afford a rich manure;
Fly, my boys, to bring the cure;
Up the mountains, o'er the vales,
Through the woods, and down the dales;
For this, if full the cluster grow,
Your bowls ihall doubly overflow.

So chear'd with more officious haste
They bring the dung of every beast;

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