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P O E M

M S,

Chiefly of the Lyric Kind,

In THRE E BOOK S.

SACRED

I. TO DEVOTION and PIETY.
II. TO VIRTUE, HONOUR, and FRIENDSHIP.
III. To the MEMORY of the Dead,

By I. WATTS, D. D.

“Si non Uraniê Lyram
“ Coelestem cohibet, nec Polyhymnia
“Humanum refugit tendere Barbiton."

HOR, Od. I. initat.

'Αθάνατον μεν πρώτα Θεόν, νόμο ως διάκειτα, Τίμα, (και σέζε αυτόν) έπειθ' "Ηρωας αγαύης, Tές τε Καταχθογίες, .

PYTHAG, Aur, Car.

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RECOMMENDATORY VERSES.

On Reading Mr. Watts's Poems, sacred to

Piety and Devotion.

RE EGARD the man who in seraphic lays,

And flowing numbers, fings his Maker's praise : He needs invoke no fabled Muse's art, The heavenly song comes genuine from his heart, From that pure heart, which God has deign'd t'inspire With holy raptures, and a sacred fire. . Thrice happy man! whose soul, and guiltless breast, Are well prepar'd to lodge th' Almighty guest! 'Tis He that lends thy towering thoughts their wing, And tunes thy lyre, when thou attempt'st to sing : He to thy soul lets-in celestial day, Ev'n whilst imprison'd in this mortal clay. By death's grim aspect thou art not alarm’d, He, for thy lake, has death itself difarm'd ; Nor shall the grave o'er thee a victory boalt; Her triumph in thy rising shall be lost, When thou shalt join th' angelic choirs above, In never-ending songs of praise and love. ,

EUSEBIA..

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To Mr. WATTS, on his Poems.

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То
'o murmuring streams, in tender strains,

My pensive Muse no more
Of love’s enchanting force complains,

Along the flowery shore.
No more MIRTILLO's fatal face

My quiet breast alarms,
His
eyes,

his air, and youthful grace, Have lost their usual charms. No gay Alexis in the grove

Shall be my future theme : I burn with an immortal love,

And sing a purer flame.
Seraphic heights I seem to gain,

And sacred transports feel,
While, Watts, to thy celestial strain,

Surpriz’d, I listen ftill.
The gliding streams their course forbear,

When I thy lays repeat;
The bending forest lends an ear;

The birds their notes forget.
With such a graceful harmony

Thy numbers still prolong ; And let remotelt lands reply,

And echo to thy fong.

Far

Far as the distant regions, where

The beauteous morning springs,
And scatters odours through the air,

From her resplendent wings ;
Unto the new-found realms, which see

The latter sun arise,
When, with an easy progress, he

Rolls down the nether skies.
July, 1706.

PHILOMELA.

To Mr. WATTS, on reading his Horæ Lyricæ.

HA

AIL, heaven-born Muse! that with celestial flame,

And high seraphic numbers, durst attempt To gain thy native kies. No common theme Merits thy thought, self-conscious of a foul Superior, though on earth detain'd 2-while; Like fome propitious angel, that's design'd A resident in this inferior orb, To guide the wandering souls to heavenly bliss, Thou seem?ft; while thou their everlasting songs Hast sung to mortal ears, and down to earth Transferr'd the work of heaven ; with thought sublime, And high fonorous words, thou sweetly fing'st To thy immortal lyre. Amaz’d, we view The towering height ftupendous, while thou foart Above the reach of vulgar eyes or thought, Hymning th’Eternal Father; as of old When first th’Almighty from the dark abyss

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