THE ECSTASY.

I LEAVE mortality, and things below;
I have no time in compliments to waste,
Farewell to ye all in haste,

For I am call'd to go.

A whirlwind bears up my dull feet,
The officious clouds beneath them meet,
And lo! I mount, and lo!

How small the biggest parts of earth's proud tittle show!

Where shall I find the noble British land?
Lo! I at last a northern speck espy,
Which in the sea does lie,

And seems a grain o'th' sand!
For this will any sin, or bleed ?
Of civil wars is this the meed?

And is it this, alas! which we,
Oh, irony of words! do call Great Britannie?

I pass'd by th' arched magazines, which hold
Th' eternal stores of frost, and rain, and snow;
Dry and secure I go,

Nor shake with fear, or cold.

Without affright or wonder

I meet clouds charg'd with thunder,

And lightnings in my way

Like harmless lambent fires about my temples play.

Now into a gentle sea of rolling flame

I'm plung'd, and still mount higher there,

As flames mount up through air,

So perfect, yet so tame,

So great, so pure, so bright a fire
Was that unfortunate desire,

My faithful breast did cover,

Then, when I was of late a wretched mortal lover.

Through several orbs which one fair planet bear, Where I behold distinctly as I pass

The hints of Galileo's glass,

I touch at last the spangled sphere.
Here all the extended sky

Is but one galaxy,

"Tis all so bright and gay,

And the joint eyes of night make up a perfect day.

Where am I now? angels and God is here:
An unexhausted ocean of delight

Swallows my senses quite,

And drowns all what, or how, or where.
Not Paul, who first did thither pass,
And this great world's Columbus was,

The tyrannous pleasure could express; Oh, 'tis too much for man! but let it ne'er be less.

The mighty 'Elijah mounted so on high,
That second man, who leap'd the ditch where all
The rest of mankind fall,

And went not downwards to the sky.
With much of pomp and show,

As conquering kings in triumph go,

Did he to heav'n approach,

And wondrous was his way, and wondrous was his coach.

'Twas gaudy all, and rich in every part, Of essences of gems, and spirit of gold

Was its substantial mould;

Drawn forth by chymic angels' art. Here with moon-beams 'twas silver'd bright, There double-gilt with the sun's light, And mystic shapes cut round in it, Figures that did transcend a vulgar angel's wit.

The horses were of temper'd lightning made,
Of all that in heav'n's beauteous pastures feed
The noblest, sprightful'st breed,

And flaming manes their necks array'd.
They all were shod with diamond,
Not such as here are found,

But such light solid ones as shine

On the transparent rocks o' th' heav'nly crystalline.

Thus mounted the great prophet to the skies;
Astonish'd men, who oft had seen stars fall,
Or that which so they call,

Wonder'd from hence to see one rise.
The soft clouds melted him a way,
The snow and frosts which in it lay
Awhile the sacred footsteps bore,

The wheels and horses' hoofs hiss'd as they past them o'er.

He past by th' moon and planets, and did fright All the worlds there, which at this meteor gaz'd, And their astrologers amaz'd

With th' unexampled sight.

But where he stopp'd will ne'er be known, "Till Phoenix nature, aged grown,

To a better being do aspire,

And mount herself, like him, to eternity in fire.

CHRIST'S PASSION.

FROM A GREEK Ode.

ENOUGH, my muse, of earthly things,
And inspirations but of wind,
Take up thy lute and to it bind
Loud and everlasting strings;

And on them play, and to them sing
The happy mournful stories,
The lamentable glories

Of the great crucified King.

Mountainous heap of wonders! which dost rise
'Till earth thou joinest with the skies!
Too large at bottom, and at top too high,
To be half seen by mortal eye.

How shall I grasp this boundless thing?
What shall I play? What shall I sing?
I'll sing the mighty riddle of mysterious love,
Which neither wretched men below, nor blessed
spirits above,

With all their comments can explain,

How all the whole world's Life to die did not disdain.

I'll sing the searchless depths of the compassion divine,

The depths unfathom'd yet

By reason's plummet, and the line of wit ;—
Too light the plummet, and too short the line;—
How the Eternal Father did bestow

His own Eternal Son as ransom for his foe.

I'll sing aloud, that all the world may hear
The triumph of the buried Conqueror.
How hell was by its pris'ner captive led,
And the great slayer, Death, slain by the Dead.

Methinks I hear of murder'd men the voice,
Mixed with the murderers' confused noise,
Sound from the top of Calvary:

My greedy eyes fly up the hill, and see

Who 'tis hangs there the midmost of the three;
Oh how unlike the others he!

Look how he bends his gentle head with blessings from the tree!

His gracious hands, ne'er stretch'd but to do good,

Are nail'd to the infamous wood :

And sinful man does fondly bind

The arms, which he extends to embrace all human kind.

Unhappy man, canst thou stand by, and see

All this, as patient as he?

Since he thy sins does bear,

Make thou his sufferings thine own,

And weep, and sigh, and groan,

And beat thy breast, and tear

Thy garments and thy hair,

And let thy grief, and let thy love

Through all thy bleeding bowels move.

Dost thou not see thy Prince in purple clad all o’er,
Not purple brought from the Sidonian shore,
But made at home with richer gore?
Dost thou not see the roses, which adorn
The thorny garland, by him worn?
Dost thou not see the livid traces
Of the sharp scourge's rude embraces?
If yet thou feelest not the smart
Of thorns and scourges in thy heart,
If that be yet not crucified,

Look on his hands, look on his feet, look on his side.