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THE 
 
 CITY OF REFUGE 
 
 & $o*m, 
 
 IN FOUR BOOKS. 
 
 BY THOMAS QUIN. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, WITH CORRECTIONS. 
 
 " Arma Deuinque cano ***** *," 
 
 ROSS. VlRG. EVANG. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 SiMPKIN AND MARSHALL, STATIONERS'-COURT; 
 AND P. YOUNGMAN, WITHAM AND MALDON. 
 
 1824. 
 

 YOONGMAN, PRINTER, WITHAM 
 AND MALDON. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The spirit of Poetry, whether sacred or profane, is 
 embodied in figurative expressions, by which objects, 
 without being seen, are represented to the mind; and 
 sentiments enforced with all the persuasion of utterance, 
 and reality of existence. 
 
 By profane, I mean that species of poetry which has- 
 for its subject men and manners, and every thing con- 
 nected with the visible world ; the province of Religion 
 alone excepted. This is a department, which presents 
 an infinite variety of incident and character to the re* 
 search/ of the poetical observer, and it is only necessary 
 to let his imagination loose, that it may expatiate, like 
 the bee from flower to flower, through an endless suc- 
 cession of horizons, and return laden with spoils, to be 
 a 2 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 afterwards digested, arranged, and presented for the 
 future profit and amusement of himself and others. A 
 Poet of this description, if he keep probability at his side, 
 and have a competent furniture of genius and talent, will 
 never fail to ensure attention and credit: and that the 
 powers of his mind may have ample scope for exertion 
 and display, he may consider whatever is possible to be 
 probable. It is with him as with the traveller returning 
 from some distant and unexplored territory, who, if he 
 but give to the groundwork of his story the likelihood of 
 reality, and confine his inventive faculties within the 
 limits of nature and reason, will find every object and 
 adventure, which he may crowd into the narration, with 
 as great a diversity of scenery and action as he pleases, 
 esteemed worthy of patronage and reception; and the 
 more so, as they rise above the range of ordinary events 
 and existences: because mankind are always so desi- 
 rous of enlarging their stores of knowledge, and indul- 
 ging their curiosity, that new discoveries, though but 
 partially ascertained, are generally less questioned and 
 controverted, at first, than facts which have been esta- 
 blished by the acquiescence of ages, and by a demonstra- 
 
INTRODUCTION". 3 
 
 tion that invites inspection, and almost defies contradic- 
 tion. Men feel no compunction of conscience in adopt- 
 ing this hasty decision : for why, in a world so vast and 
 various, should they who see but a part, and that super- 
 ficially, doubt the testimony of another who may 
 have explored farther, and examined more minutely 
 than themselves? or why should they attempt to detect 
 the fallacy of a relation, which comes with the plausible- 
 ness of being true, and on the allowed truth of which they 
 consider the gratification of their natural dispositions, in 
 a great measure, dependent. With such prejudices in 
 their favour, therefore, and with so many advantages 
 smiling upon their labours, it is not to be wondered at, 
 that candidates for public approbation, in this kind of 
 poetry, have been in all ages the more numerous, 
 as they have never failed to reap a plentiful harvest 
 of success. 
 
 In sacred poetry, however, especially when confined 
 
 to the precincts of revealed religion, the imagination 
 
 must submit to the most rigid restraint, and move with 
 
 the nicest circumspection through a sphere of much 
 
 a 3 
 
O INTRODUCTION". 
 
 narrower compass. Here is a department, of which 
 every man who holds the Bible in his hand has the 
 chart, and reckons himself, to a certain extent, a guardian 
 and proprietor; in which every path to every object is 
 defined; its peculiarities recorded; and the limits of 
 the whole are determined by a law more sacred than 
 was ever enacted by the Medes and Persians: — a 
 department which has been surveyed and delineated 
 by Royal authority so comprehensively, as to include 
 all that is accessible to the present dispensation of things, 
 and so accurately as to brand every attempt at amend- 
 ment with the charge of imposture, or enthusiasm. 
 
 Will any one dare to be wise above what is written, 
 or hope to penetrate, in his path through this sacred 
 enclosure, beyond those mysteries which have been 
 revealed by the ministry of Angels, and confirmed and 
 enlarged by Him to whom Angels are put in subjection? 
 Let him in his rash career hearken to the voice which 
 cries ; " Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place 
 whereon thou standest is holy ground." Let him enter 
 with humble reverence ; let him gaze with delight on the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 prospect around ; and if, while he is musing — when he 
 feels his heart hot within him, and the fire burning, he 
 speak with his tongue; let him speak 'according to the 
 oracles of God'; let him describe all things 'according to 
 the pattern showed him in the mount/ 
 
 With all these restrictions, Religion still presents 
 ever-varying attractions to the poetical mind. There is 
 no passion, of a kindly, feeling, which agitates the hu- 
 man bosom, but is subject to the control which she 
 exercises over the heart and mind. She can excite 
 sorrow; which, as it is never so pungent and genuine, as 
 when experienced under a sense of sin, is never so 
 beneficial as when it works a repentance not to be 
 repented of. She can calm the troubled soul, when, 
 pointing to the Cross, she cries; " Be of good cheer, thy 
 sins are forgiven thee!" She supplies a hope that looks 
 to eternal life ; a joy that is unspeakable and full of 
 glory ; and a faith that penetrates into futurity, and com- 
 municates with the invisible world, as if it were actually 
 seen. Fiction indeed is debarred from familiarity with 
 Religion; but Fiction, 1 apprehend, is not essential to 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the well-being of Poetry. Nay, it may be averred, that 
 the Muse, with her most potent charms and persuasions, 
 can never avert the verdict which, soon or late, consigns 
 avowed falsehood to merited neglect and obloquy. Fic- 
 tion, if she ever gain ascendancy on the enlightened mind, 
 must assume the garb of truth, and in this disguise 
 she loses her name, and the malignity of her nature. 
 She is no longer Fiction, but Allegory; a spirit, ever 
 in alliance with Poetry; with which even Prophets 
 and Apostles have often been associated in the temple 
 of God. 
 
 After the preceding remarks, it remains for the author 
 to advert to the drift of the following poem. It is a 
 song in the house of his pilgrimage. It has for its sub- 
 ject the statutes, and judgments, and mercies of the 
 living God; but especially, the exceeding greatness of 
 his power towards all who believe, in redeeming them, 
 through the blood of his dear Son, from the power of 
 darkness, and in making them, by the indwelling of his 
 Spirit, meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the 
 Saints in glory. The reader, that expects, in a work of 
 
INTRODUCTION". 9 
 
 his nature, to light upon new discoveries and quaint 
 speculations, will find himself disappointed ; but if he 
 delights in the contemplation of a scenery so grand and 
 glorious, he may here behold the reflection of his own 
 mind, and hear the echo of many of his own senti- 
 ments. It is granted, that the feelings and views of 
 believers, in the same circumstances and with the same 
 prospects before them, are not always the same; but 
 they are sufficiently similar to prove, that they are 
 under the operation of one and the self-same Spirit; 
 dividing to every man severally as he will. 
 
 # * # * * Facies non omnibus una, 
 Nee dlversa tamen ; qua! em decet esse sororum. 
 
BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 Glorious things are spoken of Thee, Thou city of God. Selah. 
 
 David. 
 **#***#«*«*****•*** jju! chief* 
 I Thee Zion! * *********####**** 
 
 Milton. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 After an introductory address, descriptive of the 
 extent and duration of the glorious city, the poem ushers 
 in faith, as the only guide, by which man, in his pre- 
 sent condition, can escape from the consequences of 
 mortality. Faith directs to the pursuit of things not 
 seen; and this pursuit is attended with all those diffi- 
 culties, which are peculiar to a spiritual warfare. 
 Hence we are naturally led to contemplate, from the 
 earliest ages to the present times, those scenes, in which 
 faith has been put to the severest trial; and to admire 
 the character of those worthies, especially of patriar- 
 chal degree, who have most eminently displayed the 
 power of faith. By the constant train of success which 
 
 B 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 has hitherto attended the progress of faith , we are 
 encouraged and warranted to look forward to the 
 consummation of our belief that the whole world 
 shall eventually be under the dominion of the Word 
 of God. 
 
THE 
 
 CITY OF REFUGE. 
 
 ISoofc tf)e iftwit 
 
 I. 
 
 Thy beauty, Zion, be the theme I sing, 
 Zion, fair city of my God and King! 
 (Not that proud temple, which, of old so nam'd, 
 For gorgeous art and sanctity was fam'd, 
 Once the world's pride, its wonder, and its trust, 
 Now shunn'd as darkness, and debasM as dust, 
 Impartial fate, despoiling ev'n the tow'rs 
 Built for her God, when built with mortal pow'rs.) 
 But who can give due glory to the grace, 
 And royal grandeur of that dwelling-place, 
 b 2 
 
4 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 Which the great Being for himself hath made, 
 Not of frail dust, nor with another's aid? 
 Where the bold angel finds his art excell'd, 
 Can man put forth an effort, unrepeU'd? 
 
 II. 
 Not with the vain attempt, immortal King ! 
 T" explore thy reign with emulative wing; 
 That were a thought, which none but fools possess, 
 That were a folly, which thou could'st not bless. 
 But with deep awe, and grateful for the view, 
 I track th' angelic ardour, and pursue, 
 Distant, yet longing to behold thy day, 
 And sing of Zion, as I wing my way. 
 — Mysterious dwelling, tow'rd yon pale blue sky 
 Thoughtful I turn, but thou art full as high! 
 Thence, in my mother earth, I trace thy deeps, 
 Where, in the grave, thy silent empire sleeps. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 And far as sight or sense can stretch around, 
 Thy courts extend, and still without a bound. 
 — Vast as thy limits are, beyond compare, 
 So are thy prospects fairest of the fair; 
 The sun, the moon, the starry hosts display 
 Earth's borrow'd hue; but thou, sublime as they, 
 Art crown'd, in purer light, without their aid, 
 And they shall fail, but thou shalt never fade. 
 
 III. 
 
 Nor less, ye pilgrim-train, whose spirits long 
 For future rest, your tale shall be my song! 
 Like Israel journeying in the waste, ye cope 
 With hostile bands, array'd against your hope. 
 Hearken, whilst I recite the mingled cares, 
 The weighty charge, each brother soldier bears> 
 The strange vicissitudes of loss and gain, 
 The tears and triumphs of this dread campaign. 
 B 3 
 
6 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 What arras and armour each must wield; what foes 
 
 Seen or unseen, afar or near, oppose; 
 
 Where lies his weakness, where his strength abounds, 
 
 And who must soothe his pains, and heal his wounds. 
 
 So vast the toil, and such the glory giv'n 
 
 To those, who tread the narrow path to heav'n. « 
 
 IV. 
 
 Say first, whose wings approach to worlds unknown, 
 To distant ages — whose? O Faith, thine own! 
 Thou, with an eagle's eye, hast pierc'd the blaze, 
 Which veils yon bright abode from mortal gaze, 
 Hast search'd the myst'ries of th' eternal plan; — 
 Faith, messenger of God, and friend of man! 
 In mercy sent to win, to teach, to prove, 
 To lead from hell beneath to heav'n above. 
 Infallible, by heav'nly Wisdom taught; 
 Free as the sun, unmerited, unbought! 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK h 
 
 Without whose aid, our best attempts are vain, 
 Our hopes delusive, and our thoughts profane. 
 Thou, from the soul, hast chas'd forlorn despair, 
 And built for hope a biding temple there. 
 High on the top, with ever-watchful eyes, 
 She waits the dawning of celestial skies ; 
 Fierce elements, around her seat, engage 
 To shake her fortitude, with envious rage. 
 Strong in herself, and stronger in thy aid, 
 She bears th' assault, unshaken, undismay'd; 
 Bold centinel, allied to Love, and Thee ! 
 Of spotless race, the yet surviving thiee, 
 Who, since the foe our first possession stole, 
 Transplant a fairer Eden in the soul! 
 But Love, seen dimly thro' this mortal cloud, 
 Shines, without shadow, on the sinless crowd; 
 There, only, truly felt and understood, 
 Here, faintly seen, to be more warmly woo'd. 
 
8 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 Not, like her sister-race, confin'd t' adorn 
 Th' elect on earth; in earlier ages born, 
 To later seasons she extends her rest, 
 And shines on all, but brightest on the blest. 
 There, when the pilgrim joins that happy throng, 
 Love shall add new-born vigor to his song. 
 He best can sing the pure delights above, 
 Who feels the fulness, and the force of love. 
 
 V. 
 
 Meantime let Faith invite to yon fair goal. 
 Yet hid within the veil, the panting soul. 
 How charming is her accent to the ear ! 
 Most musical, but more than music dear, 
 Mild as the dew, which quickens the dry leaf, 
 It eases pain, as well as softens grief. 
 It finds the spirit lonely, lost, and wild — 
 It leads from wrath to mercy reconcil'd. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE—BOOK I. 
 
 — And yet, not always was her word approv'd, 
 Her message hallow'd, or her presence lov'd. 
 Once, when the soul was proud and unconcern'd, 
 Strange, as the letter to the sight unlearn'd. 
 And whoso strove to make her calling plain, 
 His speech was foreign and his labour vain. 
 Till God, most mindful, tho' forgotten most, 
 Gave to the soul the being she had lost; 
 Sight to her eyes, and hearing to her ears, 
 And Faith discovered, as she now appears. 
 Striptof disguise, she seems no more, as then, 
 A mad enthusiast, agitating men; 
 But like a queen, in royal robes array'd, 
 She gives her followers due and timely aid, 
 Gilds their short pilgrimage with pure renown, 
 And signs her passport to th' eternal crown. 
 
10 THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK I. 
 
 VI. 
 
 With what delight, with what religious awe, 
 
 Does the true pilgrim Faith's resemblance draw. 
 
 When, in the volume of the book, he reads 
 
 The record of her origin and deeds ! 
 
 — O for a portion of that sacred fire, 
 
 Which the good Spirit of her God inspire, 
 
 To fit this heart, too fond of earthly toys, 
 
 For contemplation of sublimer joys! 
 
 Of earth too vain, too cold for heav'n, I feel 
 
 Th' excess of unbelief, and want of zeal; 
 
 Else, when I read the names, of old renown'd, 
 
 Whom Faith with valour arm'd, with victory crown'd, 
 
 To dust no more my longings should decline, 
 
 But rise to nobler thoughts, and things divine. 
 
 Hail, glorious army, how the soul admires 
 
 Their high-born destinies, and bold desires! 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 11 
 
 Elected, of their God, to plead the right, 
 
 Beneath his banners, aided by his might, 
 
 Methinks, I see them, marshall'd at the word, 
 
 Gird their bright panoply, and grasp the sword. 
 
 First the weak frailties of the flesh they cut, 
 
 Then to quick rout the wilder passions put, 
 
 Undaunted, while attacked by inward foes, 
 
 At outward hosts, tho' earth, and hell arose. 
 
 O'er mount, o'er vale, with valiant heart, they press'd, 
 
 Thro' dreary deserts, to the promis'd rest. 
 
 In health and sickness, in the flood and flame, 
 
 True sons of Faith, uncheck'd by fear or shame, 
 
 Along the field, what perils they sustained, 
 
 What matchless honours, at the goal, they gain'd! 
 
 When, at the close of that hard-foughten day, 
 
 They wash'd the dust, and briny dews away, 
 
 In the soft stream, by Jesu's hand supplied, 
 
 And bath'd their wounds and bruises in the tide. 
 
12 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 The same dear hand brought out the royal vest, 
 The same dear hand their naked bodies dress'd; 
 Their former garments, left to hang the while, 
 Sacred to Faith, a monumental pile; 
 Not, in neglected absence, to consume, 
 Unransom'd ; but, at nature's general doom, 
 To rise, in form renew'd, in beauty whole, 
 And fitted to receive th' immortal soul. 
 Blest union that, which nothing can divide, 
 Where all desires are one, and all supplied ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fair army, these are they who stand array'd, 
 
 In Faith's own armour, for the true crusade ! 
 
 Not, like the motley tribes, which Europe pour'd 
 
 O'er Asia's plains, a desolating horde, 
 
 To taint, with frightful woes, a holy land, 
 
 And grasp the tomb of Christ with murderous hand ! 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 13 
 
 Abhorr'd, and still despis'd, as once abhorr'd;— 
 To sell their birthright for a fool's reward, 
 To leave their country, countrymen, and kind, 
 For joys, as earth-born as they left behind! 
 A poor exchange, atbest, if held secure; 
 But that too lost, is something worse than poor! 
 And such is earth's best portion, when obtain'd, 
 So dearly purchased, so corrupt when gain'd. 
 — Might but her victims learn her treach'rous state, 
 Ere made to know, when knowledge comes too late ! — 
 How wiser they, and more divinely taught, 
 Who think, ere forc'd to rue neglect of thought! 
 Taught to behold the fair and fragile form 
 Of life, a flow'r unsheltered from the storm ; 
 . Ev'n earth itself, with all its outward bloom, 
 A shining Eden, varnishing a tomb, 
 A covered ambush, lurking for its prey[; 
 And pois'nous asps are in that flow'ry way, 
 
 c 
 
14 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOR I. 
 
 And swift destruction, only shunn'd by flight, 
 Thrice happy! tho' thro' tempests and at night, 
 In weakness and in want, that journey lie, 
 Restless of rest, while short of yonder sky ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And oh — when Faith hath shown the promis'd land, 
 
 What numbers join to follow her command! 
 
 These eyes as soon could count the sandy beach, 
 
 The starry heav'ns, the particles of each; 
 
 As, in such hosts, discern the names of those, 
 
 Whom faith conducts to face her battling foes. 
 
 Yet, in compassion to our want, is giv'n 
 
 One leaf of that bright volume, writ in heav'u, 
 
 Where, ere creation's sun arose to sight, 
 
 They blaz'd, in lines of uncreated light. 
 
 — First of the list, young Abel, child of grace ! 
 
 Obey'd her call, and triumph'd in the race. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 Stoop'd to his cross — a brother's stern disdain; 
 Endur'd the stroke, and did not strike again. 
 On earth he left his record, seal'd with gore, 
 And suffered death to live for evermore. 
 — Next Enoch, in his days, a pilgrim trod, 
 Alone — yet not so, for he waik'd with God. 
 He walk'd, but saw him not; by Faith reveal'd, 
 The Angel of his presence held the shield. 
 " Thou art my guardian, and my guide," said he, 
 " Lead where thou wilt, I still will follow thee!" 
 God prov'd his faithfulness, and upward flew; 
 The prophet kept his hold, and mounted too. 
 — When, o'er the topmost hills, the swelling wave 
 Heav'd earth's last relics, rescued from the grave, 
 Shook at his helm, awhile the patriarch stood, 
 Appaird, and trembling for his ai;k of wood. 
 Till, cheer'd by Faith, he blush'd at vain alarms, 
 And felt, beneath, the everlasting arms. 
 c 2 
 
16 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 — So Terah's son all meaner cares forgot, 
 When, from his native fields, and father's cot, 
 To distant lands he journey'd, and denied 
 All outward succour, but his heav'nly guide. 
 There, where, in after times, the shepherd youth, 
 David, and David's Lord confirm'd the truth, 
 Before his sight the barb'rous gentile reign'd, 
 And horrid rites the promised land prophan'd. 
 Yet still he trusted in the fix'd event, 
 And journey'd still, a pilgrim in his tent. 
 
 IX. 
 
 From sire to son the gracious act descends, 
 
 And Faith shines clearer, as the gloom extends. 
 
 Clear in chaste Isaac, on his dying bed; 
 
 In Jacob clearer, destitute of bread. 
 
 Till, rising slowly, like the full-orb'd moon, 
 
 She pour'd the blazing majesty of noon, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 17 
 
 O'er the dark realm of Egypt's clouded air, 
 And cheer'd the wintry dungeon of despair. 
 Far fled the priests of hell's grim idols then, 
 Scar'd and confounded, to their inmost den ; 
 Deep in their bosoms reprobate, to vent 
 Blaspheming wrath, and fresh misdeeds foment. 
 But lo! the God had burst the chain, which bound 
 His ransom'd children, and escape was found. 
 Ev'n as the new-born pilgrim longs to soar 
 To the fair land of rest, unknown before, 
 " Delightful land, where saints immortal reign, 
 Where day excludes the night, and pleasure pain ;' ; 
 So press'd the tribes, along the desert road, 
 Whom Faith allur'd to seek the new abode; 
 Till, on the banks of Jordan's severed flood, 
 They lost their fears, and found the promis'd good. 
 
 C 3 
 
18 THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK I. 
 
 X. 
 
 All these by Faith the glorious vict'ry won; — 
 Faith ever active, till her work is done! 
 See Jesse's son, of Salem's tow'r possess'd, 
 The King of Israel seeks a better rest ! 
 Him, when the Spirit of the Godhead shed 
 Its holy unction o'er the psalmist's head, 
 Faith acted, in prophetic strain, to sing, 
 " The Lord shall reign, our everlasting King/' 
 Ev'n he, whose pow'r the gorgeous temple fram'd, 
 The man for wisdom most, and riches, fam'd, 
 In all his glory found a settled gloom, 
 And rest unknown to man till in the tomb. 
 The king — the subject had a common birth, 
 From earth they came, and have returned to earth. 
 Where saint and sinner, where the fool and wise, 
 Share the same lot, till other beams arise; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 19 
 
 Not as yon sun's — to witness all tilings vain, 
 But to prove truth, and make distinction plain. 
 
 XL 
 
 So prophets, priests, and kings, as ago to age 
 
 Succeeded, on this sublunary stage, 
 
 Condemned the world, while, pilgrims in the road, 
 
 They toil'd for rest, but not as she bestow'd. 
 
 Eager they struggled, with inquiring eye, 
 
 To hail the sign, long promis'd from ou high. 
 
 On Calv'iy s top it rose, a strange portent ! 
 
 Which darken'd heav'n, and earth's foundations rent. 
 
 The spirits of the just, from glory's height, 
 
 Stoop'd down to solve the problem of that night. 
 
 Each pilgrim smote his breast, amaz'd to see 
 
 The Lord of life, expiring on the tree ! 
 
 Sad night ; yet prelude to a glorious morn ! 
 
 For now, the vict'ry won, the veil was torn. 
 
20 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 Glad heralds, at the word, a flag unfurl'd 
 Of free redemption to a captive world, 
 Commission'd to dispense, but not for gain, 
 The saving health to nations, racked with pain; 
 And spirits, groaning with disease endur'd, 
 Its cause unknown, or how it might be cur'd ; 
 Till mercy from the plant, afar renowned, 
 lufus'd the balm, and heal r d that ancient wound. 
 
 XIL 
 
 So press r d they, dauntless, in their bold career 
 Of toil and sufFring, widening with their sphere. 
 In these late times, the pious soul surveys 
 That apostolic band, with loud amaze. 
 The little flock, in desert wilds inclos'd, 
 To cruel snares, and ravening wolves expos'd, 
 Now wandering, far from help, in foreign lands, 
 Now forc'd, at home, to bear a captive's bands ! 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK I. 21 
 
 Yet, in their perils, oh ! how calm and bold, 
 
 These earthly pilgrims of the heav'nly fold! 
 
 - 
 
 Undaunted at the tumult and the din 
 Of outward warfare, and of want within ; 
 Nor fraud, nor force, nor fortune could subdue 
 Their love unconquer'd^ and allegiance true ; 
 Nor wrest the promise, which imparted charm? 
 Of soul-felt courage to their sinking arms. 
 For God had hYd their ardour with a glance 
 Of glorious rest, the saints' inheritance; 
 And clothed their spirits with an unseen woof 
 Of temper' d mail, so ample and so proof, 
 That from its touch, as, from a sev'nfold shield* 
 Drops the rebounding spear upon the field, 
 The shafts of hate, recoiling, inight confound 
 Their vex'd assailant, with unlook'd-for wound 
 Thus, with supply sufficient for their day, 
 They brav'd the toils and terrors of th' affray. 
 
22 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK K 
 
 Esteeming, as unfit to be compared, 
 The short-liv'd ordeal, with the long reward — 
 The thorny wreath of man, the threat'ning frown, 
 With God's sweet smile, and recompensing crown* 
 Ev'n the bare hope of this enchanting prize 
 The pangs of torment and of death defies; 
 Much more fruition of such bliss bestows 
 Sense of pure joys, oblivion of all woes. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So, when their hands the precious seed had sown, 
 They rose to heav'n, and each possess'd his throne. 
 Then Faith enjoy'd her fruits, a large increase 
 Of holy numbers, and domestic peace. 
 Happy, if while the world prepar'd the blow. 
 Her sons had kept without the wily foe ! 
 Blest, if for prudence, as for courage tried! — 
 But Faith, on earth, must ever be denied; 
 
/THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK L 23 
 
 Then had they shunn'd the secret snares of guile, 
 The death, that lurks beneath a demon's smile. 
 For so the fiend, when ail his fury fail'd, 
 Besieg'd her honour, and his arts prevail'd. 
 Firm stood her tow'rs, while steel and fire oppos'd, 
 But the wav'd olive found her gates unclos'd. 
 In shining robes, and with an angel's mien, 
 The conqu'ror kept his dark designs unseen. 
 Grasp'd, in th' asserted right of God, the throne, 
 And hell, with triumph, hail'd the reign her own. 
 Then Faith saw, what she scarcely durst believe, 
 The subtle fiend, the surer to deceive, 
 Usurp her function, and impose his claim 
 To full submission, in her injur'd name. 
 She called but was repuls'd ; her suit, preferred, 
 Was quash'd as false, was hooted as absurd. 
 Then fled she, with her sons, to caves and woods, 
 O'er loftiest mountains, and o'er broadest floods, 
 
24 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 And left mankind, till her appointed time, 
 To treasure up full recompence for crime. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 O darkness, more than midnight! thrall accurst! 
 
 Of all, that e'er deluded man, the worst! 
 
 For what can heal the madness of the mind, 
 
 The dream of light, while miserably blind? 
 
 The soul, which wakes to find her hope withdrawn, 
 
 And sleep for ever absent, and the dawn'? 
 
 — Yet to such misery hath that Wicked driv'n, 
 
 Array'd in light, and in the garb of heav'n; 
 
 And such the dire result, and lasting doom 
 
 Of papal thraldom, and apostate Rome. 
 
 XV. 
 
 At length, when many a year had seem'd to cast 
 A sacred charm on Myst'ry, as she pass'd, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 25 
 
 When holy Faith look'd upward, as she fled, 
 And knew not, where she next should hide her head; 
 The Lord from heav'n look'd down, and call'd to mind 
 Her pray'r, her suff'rings, and his work design'd. 
 - — Also, the city of her rival stood, 
 Stretching its suburbs over land and flood, 
 And seem'd not (for its tow'rs were broad and high) 
 To dread th' assault, but rather to defy. 
 Yet, at the call, unaw'd by her disdain, 
 Ev'n in the bosom of her lawless reign, 
 The champion shouted, trampling on despair, 
 And flashed his signal, thro' the midnight air. 
 Earth shook, blank error started at the fall 
 Of her smit sceptre, and her shatterM wall, 
 Nor fear, nor force, nor falsehood could restrain ; 
 The voice went forth, the nations rent the chain ; 
 And Faith, with rapture, as she cried, " Reform l" 
 Saw the brave troop resist the coming storm* 
 
 D 
 
26 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 That glorious day let Britain long record, 
 Those scenes of suffering, and the great reward. 
 What murd'rous art accursed priestcraft plied, 
 To turn her children, and the truth aside* 
 But the bold martyr, faithful to the cause 
 Of God, unbrib'd by threatening or applause, 
 Endur'd the fiery baptism, and the strife 
 Of nature, struggling between death and life, 
 Till, sinking down beneath a mortal dart, 
 Death took the lifeless, life the deathless part. 
 All, that was earthy, with its kindred dust 
 Sleeps, to come forth, at morning, with the just. 
 But the pure spirit breathes celestial air, 
 Forever happy, and for ever fair. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 27 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Immortal names! while time shall last, endear'd, 
 Belov'd, while living, and in death rcver'd ! 
 Whose praise outshines the fairest earthly rays, 
 But oh! more rare, whose worth outshines their praise ! 
 How glow'd, within their breasts, the sacred flame, 
 Whose embers warm, ev'n yet, the pilgrim's shame! 
 Nor future times shall quench; nor rase the pray'r 
 Which enter'd heav'n, and still bears record there. 
 
 (Still the bright candle gilds the British shore, 
 Unspent, tho' torrents fall, and tempests roar. 
 What Rome could do, she did ; her fiery dart 
 Might pierce the fountain of their fleshly heart, 
 But while she revelFd in th' excess of blood, 
 She quench'd her lightning' in the purple flood. 
 Pale horror seiz'd her then ; abash'd and foiled, 
 She curs'd her day, her demon, and recoil'd; 
 
 Do 
 
28 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK L 
 
 Driv'n to her native den, where, sick to death, 
 Amidst her dragon-brood, she gasps for breath. 
 — Howbeit she must come forth, once more, to meet 
 Offended Justice, on his judgment-seat. 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 Such answer Faith obtain'd, whose martyr'd band 
 In the fierce flames, so lov'd their native land. 
 The land, where earth's endear'd attractions dwelt, 
 Each kinship form'd, and loves and friendships felt; 
 And freedom, foster'd by whose dawning pow r, 
 And train'd on science, truth began to flcw'r. 
 — Yet not the claims of nature, tho' so dear, 
 Could thwart their spirits in the bold career; 
 Nor tempt their fervour, with a wish, to see 
 The land which was, in that which was to be. 
 Such vkt'ry Zion, seen but through a cloud, 
 Hath gain'd o'er earth, with all its charms endow'd, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 29 
 
 And God's sweet smile can make the soul o'erlook 
 Ail joys beside, forsaking or forsook; 
 He/ the bright sun, drives darkness and regret, 
 When lamps go out, and moon, and stars are set; 
 The light, which gently soothes life's darksome vale, 
 And sweetly glows, when Jordan's floods assail. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And still there live (hell trembks at the sign) 
 A race, distinguish'd by their zeal divine. 
 Who, foes to truth, unbending once, and wild, 
 Have since put off the manhood for the child* 
 Submitting, from the grasp of the frail clod, 
 The reins of guidance to the hand of God. 
 Eternal Wisdom teaching them to know 
 Their own condition, and another's woe» 
 Such mercy found they, such the rest may find, 
 Their brethren still, tho' still to vengeance blind. 
 D 3 
 
30 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 For this — the sun, in all his fiery round, 
 Views not an earthly tract, or ocean-bound, 
 Nor dungeon deep, where men in mis'ry lie, 
 Which hath not heard, or soon shall hear their cry. 
 There is no bar, which checks their high career, 
 The wrath of man, the subtlety, the sneer, — 
 Earth's fiery billow, hell's infuriate blast, — 
 But they shall suffer, and surmount at last. 
 And oh — the joy ! that cheers their lonely way, 
 There is no land, when come it must — the day, 
 Which shall not echo back, with loud accord, 
 The song of songs, the triumph of the Lord! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Is there, to whose loud tongue, or list'ning ear, 
 The record of heroic acts is dear? 
 The man, who courts the tale, with fond delight, 
 Of king, or statesman executing right — 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 31 
 
 Or patriot, zealous to maintain the cause 
 
 Of freedom, and the purity of laws — 
 
 Or warrior, bold in battle, seaman brave 
 
 To face, or skill'd to shun the stormy wave — 
 
 Or poet, in whose much-lov'd page he reads 
 
 Th' united brethren, and coeval deeds? 
 
 O I let him not true glory thus confine — 
 
 His thoughts of wonder, to so short a line; 
 
 Lo! grander scenes await his rising view, 
 
 Fame of a riper growth, a purer hue ! 
 
 Fame, fit for heav'n, unpurchas'd at th' expence 
 
 Of justice, truth, humanity, or sense! 
 
 Fame, which entails no curse, no fear excites, 
 
 Whose lov'd approach th' angelic choir invites; 
 
 More lasting than the thrones of mightiest kings, 
 
 Most eminent of all the poet sings ! 
 
 — Hark! as, from earth, the joyous notes extend 
 
 To worlds unknown, and ages without end ! 
 
32 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 First sung on earth, amid the lowly train, 
 And now celestial hosts have caught the strain ; 
 Ev'n the Most High hath fram'd th' immortal ode, 
 And shouts the triumph of the Word of God. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Faith ! lead me to the rock — from thence to view 
 Years that approach, and wonders that ensue. 
 Here let the soul exult, the soul, that feeds 
 Sublime reflections on heroic deeds. 
 Here, but to gaze — and io ! the gates give way, 
 Out bursts a glory, which surpasses day; 
 And, cloth'd in crimson vest, and crown'd with light, 
 The WORD unbares th' eternal arm of might. 
 On milk-white steed, magnificent to view, 
 Subduing worlds, and still he shall subdue. 
 Whom not the mightiest conquerors could quell, 
 Nor arts persuade to yield, nor arms compel; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 33 
 
 The race, that scorn'd submission, or retreat, 
 Shall run to him, and worship at his feet. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Fly, swift, ye shades of night! and flourish soon — 
 
 But we must not see, yet, that glorious noon! 
 
 Nor the bright full-orb'd sun, that shines afar, 
 
 Nor the blest land, where perfect spirits are. 
 
 Enough ! that, waken'd from the deadly sleep, 
 
 We find our couch, unburied in the deep; 
 
 That Faith, from her high watch-tow'r, views, sublime, 
 
 The glimm/ring dawning, in yon eastern clime. 
 
 And, what are those dim forms in yonder sky? 
 
 Zion ! the dwelling-place of the Most High! 
 
 Are those her turrets, or, herself in rear, 
 
 Are those her shadows, and is she so near? 
 
 Sure, there is something, in these joys, which seem 
 
 So lively, more than fancy, or a dream ; 
 
34 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK I. 
 
 A substance, which th' enthusiast never finds 
 In sun-gilt clouds, the fabric of the winds, 
 Which but a moment's thought, a second glance, 
 Has long since prov'd a fiction, or a trance. 
 But Zion, all whose works are firm, as fair, 
 And her foundations, not in earth or air, 
 Excites new wonders, often as we scan; 
 And built, ere nature's works, or time began, 
 When suns and systems, from their orbits hurl'd,. 
 Have piFd the fuel of a flaming world, 
 She shall shine forth, uninjur'd in their fall, 
 The first, the last, the noblest work of alL 
 
 END OF THE FIRST BOOK 
 
BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified hhn not 
 as God, neither were thankful, but became vain in their ima- 
 ginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. Professing 
 themselves to be wise they became fools, and changed the 
 glory of the incorruptible God, into an image made like to 
 corruptible man, and worshipped and served the creature 
 more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever, Amen. 
 
 Paul to the Romans. 
 
 foul distrust, and breach 
 
 Disloyal on the part of man, revolt, 
 And disobedience : on the part of heav'n 
 Now alienated, distance and distaste, 
 Anger, and just rebuke, and judgment giv'n, 
 That brought into this world, a world of woe. 
 
 Milton. Par. L. 9. 5. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Cheered by the hope of immortality, the soul not 
 only feels reconciled to the separation from her dearest 
 earthly connections, but anticipates, with ardent desire, 
 the heavenly inheritance. She reflects upon the desola- 
 tions of sin, and traces its origin, progress, and ruinous 
 consequences among angels and men. The former it 
 banishes from heaven, and the latter from paradise. 
 The deluge, and general degeneracy of the world, in 
 misusing its capabilities, and despising the long suffer- 
 ing goodness of God. The vanity of earthly grandeur 
 and the certainty of future judgment. Nothing hut a 
 sense of the favour of God can support the soul in the 
 prospect of .mortality. 
 
CITY OF REFUGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hail! Britain, native land! adorn'd and bless'd, 
 Among the nations, more than all the rest, 
 With all, that gives the present life a home, 
 With all that fits us for the life to come. 
 A land so dear, that did not Faith fulfil 
 Hope's best desires, in one far dearer still, 
 Her gayest wreath had long since wither'd, long 
 In tears dissolv'd her smiles, in sighs her song* 
 .For who could witness, unreprov'd, the blight 
 Of all that feeds existence with delight >— 
 E 2 
 
40 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 The face of things, for man's offence, deform'd, 
 
 And the last hold of guilty refuge storm'd? 
 
 — When the long-coming hours, as sure they must, 
 
 Devote thy far-fam'd empire to the dust; 
 
 When the loud tempest shakes, the fire consumes, 
 
 And earthquakes whelm thy palaces and tombs; 
 
 Amidst the ruins of thy worldly pride. 
 
 The lightning's flash, the thunder rolling wide, 
 
 No mortal hand, along thy desert coasts, 
 
 Shall light th' alarm against th' invader's hosts. 
 
 In that dread hour, his vengeance shall not spare 
 
 Thy dust, tho' but to prove his triumph there. 
 
 Oh! when earth's fairest portion fails with thee; 
 
 Where shall the naked soul for refuge flee? 
 
 Whence, but to that new world, where Faith displays 
 
 Rest undisturb'd through everlasting days ! 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGEt—BOOK II. 41 
 
 II. 
 
 There shines perfection never to decline; 
 There bursts, in that glad hour, the song divine. 
 No dearth of theme, sufficient to inspire 
 High thought, fit matter for an angel's lyre. 
 No loss, amidst so many, which to choose, 
 Where each is fit, and every soul a muse. 
 All fair within, around, beneath, above, 
 And form'd for smiles of joy, or breathing love. 
 Love without limit, not licentious; joy 
 Felt without measure, madness, or alloy. 
 Seek they for outward objects? lo! they rise; — 
 God seen on earth, earth radiant as the skies ! 
 And form and feature, so divinely fair, 
 Ev'n thought relents at what the soul sees there, 
 Sees her once brightest vision, there surpassed, 
 And ev'n the promise more than paid at last* 
 E 3 
 
42 THE CITY OF REFUGE—BOOK II. 
 
 The soul too, much as she could wish, refin'd, 
 Feels, with her purity, such strength of mind, 
 That the full weight of beatific cares, 
 But serves to strengthen, as the more it bears. 
 So nicely balanc'd in the scale, that so 
 It neither shoots above, nor drops below. 
 The mighty Master of a work so grand, 
 Poising the whole, with such a skilful hand, 
 Makes beauty perfect, not to spare, or spend, 
 But makes him vessels, fit to comprehend, 
 DifFring, perhaps, in size, or shape, or show, 
 But all so fiird as not to overflow. 
 
 III. 
 
 Vainly the soul outspreads her wings to soar; 
 Weak in herself, her efforts weaken more. 
 Yet to the site, she turns her wishful eyes, 
 Like birds of passage to the southern skies. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. . 43 
 
 Chill blasts of winter bode the steril day, 
 But o'er such oceans who can wing the way? 
 She tries the bold adventure, once, again, 
 Nor rest is gain'd nor refuge from her pain. 
 She seeks refreshment, in her old sojourn, 
 Till greater strength and happier times return. 
 * 
 
 V. ' 
 Yes, whilst on earth to sojourn, or to roam, 
 Till the glad message fetch the pilgrim home, 
 The Spirit of his God preserve him still, 
 Patient in hope, submissive to his will. 
 Tho' prest, when earth frowns dark'ning, not subdued; 
 Not loth to journey, when her smiles intrude; 
 Not without help, when furthermost from strong, 
 Nor, when most lonely, destitute of song. 
 
U THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 V. 
 
 All earth is but a wilderness at best; 
 All life a pilgrimage to wrath or rest. 
 The rest is his, who seeks it not below ; 
 The man, that rests on earth, but waits for woe« 
 He strives not, lab'ring for the distant goal, 
 The nearest found is dearest to his soul. 
 Give but the choice, the very chance of ease, 
 Short as it may be, has success to please, 
 More than the strife, and this may not be long, 
 Which leads to that repose, which none can wrongo 
 Soon as the first allurement meets his way, 
 When skies are clear, and healthy breezes play, 
 In shade or sunshine, by the bank or stream, 
 He seats him down, to revel and to dream. 
 He has his banquet till he sleeps ; his sleep 
 Till midnight wakes him, and he wakes to weep* 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 45 
 
 When the fierce tempest and avenging hour 
 Invades his rest, he flees with all his power. 
 The storm pursues him — speechless and undone, 
 He dare not meet the wave, he cannot shun. 
 The wave comes up with a tremendous roar ; 
 Hope shrouds her beam, and flight can save no more. 
 One moment hears the shriek, the gasping breath; 
 The next is still; that stillness is of death. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Twas midnight; dawn appears; the moon hath fled 
 
 To th' western wave. I communed on my bed. 
 
 When all was still, and I was all alone, 
 
 I searched my heart, if truth were on the throne. 
 
 There in retirement of that solemn hour, 
 
 I held high converse with the heav'nly power. 
 
 The subject of our talk, profoundly grand, 
 
 Was strange to tell, and hard to understand. 
 
46 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— -BOOK II. 
 
 It was of God, the righteous One, and just, 
 Of man, condemned to banishment in dust. 
 It trac'd the current of the creature's woes 
 To that sad hour, when first rebellion rose. 
 So lonely as I lay, and musing long, 
 My thoughts grew bright, and kindled into song> 
 
 VII. 
 
 With trembling hand, and heart too prone to rue 
 The miseries of mankind, tho' justly due, 
 The soul would trace those long-enduring times,- 
 That reign of treason, and that night of crimes, 
 When the dark nations, from the truth estrang'd, 
 With guilty joy, in mad rebellion, ranged. 
 And Faith, which won the rebel from his sin, 
 As yet was scorn'd, and found no time to win. 
 There, for the millions, who denied their need, 
 Hope bends abash'd, and hardly dares to plead. 
 
THE CITY Of REFUGE— BOOK II. 47 
 
 Earth was their heav'n, whose narrow bounds coniin'd 
 All that they did, and all that they desigu'd. 
 And God, tho' none his ruling power confess'd, 
 Yet gave that portion, which they valued best, 
 Fame to their actions, honours to their tomb, 
 But spar'd his justice by their final doom* 
 
 VIIL 
 Here, pondering on the wavs of God to men, 
 Whose is the hand that dares arrest my pen? 
 The voice, that importunes to darken truth, 
 And bribes my virtue with the joys of youth? 
 • — Thoughts of my childhood ! train'd amid the rules 
 Of human discipline, and pride of schools, j 
 
 To venerate the page, which blaz'ns down, 
 In classic pomp, each feat of old renown ! 
 Soft as ye stept, and lighter than the wind, 
 How deep th' impression which ye left behind! 
 
48 THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK: II. 
 
 Long as the soul sustains the mortal part, 
 Your warm caresses circle round the heart. 
 And still I feel too partial to your suit, 
 And strangely drawn to taste forbidden fruit. 
 How many a pang has 'scaped my lab'ring breast! 
 While conscience frown'd, averse to your request ;- 
 Conscience, the stern instructress of the mind, 
 Whom neither force can move, nor flatt'ry blind. 
 No foe so crafty as t' escape her view, 
 But most, of all her foes, she watches you. 
 Still mindful, how your airy notes betray'd, 
 And left her footsteps, wand 'ring without aid ! 
 Till Faith, inspired by heav'n, dispers'd the spell, 
 And then to childhood conscience bade farewell. 
 Who scorns her counsel, must endure her curse, 
 Yes, ev'n the muse, unchartered by the verse. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 49 
 
 IX. 
 
 The mists of night disperse, the vap'ry gleam, 
 
 That cheats the pilgrim with misguiding beam, 
 
 Shrinks, at th' approach of Faith with heav'nly light. 
 
 Nor leaves a shadow to mislead the sight. 
 
 Years, long elaps'd, return ; the world displays 
 
 Her ancient birthright, and primeval days ; — 
 
 The world, young rebel! who preferred the rod 
 
 Of frowning vengeance to a smiling God. 
 
 And still confirms her choice by fell design 
 
 On Zion's rest, tho' kept by pov/r divine. 
 
 What countless throngs have her bad arts inflam'd? * 
 
 Heroes and gods, and demigods misnam/d! 
 
 All leagued in action, and one spirit fires 
 
 To the same object, with the same desires. 
 
 But Faith unrobes the passions of the crowd* 
 
 Clear as yon ether when without a cloud. 
 
50 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 The light of heav'n invades the loose disguise, 
 And spreads their my series open to all eyes. 
 
 X. 
 
 And, lo! the world our first attention draws, 
 Warm in support of what she deems her cause, 
 Proud of her lustre, she assumes the praise 
 Due to the pow'r, which made her glory blaze, 
 Which bade the limits of her reign extend, 
 Through fair creation, to its utmost end. 
 There, had not pride possess'd her easy soul, 
 The change of parts, th' agreement of the whole, 
 The whole, conjoin'd by such a secret chain, 
 That each seem'd independent in its reign ; 
 Seem'd, while the many shed their light on one, 
 To make the borrow'd beams appear its own, 
 (A monument of God's unequal skill, 
 Unbounded power, and all-effecting will, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 51 
 
 Sufficient to excite seraphic fire) 
 Had wean'd her love, through rapture and desire, 
 From objects which inflame the sense, 'tis true, 
 But sight of God, is what the soul should woo* 
 And feel her triumph, as his glory, pure, 
 Vast as his reign, and as his throne secure. 
 But, by a strange perversion and offence, 
 The world, whose vanity outweigh'd her sense, 
 Miss'd the Creator in the creature's view, 
 And proffer'd to the work, the Workman's due. 
 Strange recompence for so much good, abuse 
 Of talents fitted for a wiser use! 
 Source of all evils, which afflict the sad ! — 
 Of all the woes, that agonize the bad ! 
 Whose fktal" streams, polluted as their source, 
 Through the whole universe have sped their course; 
 A mighty deluge, not content to fill 
 These nether spheres with inundating ill, 
 f 2 
 
52 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOR II. 
 
 But heav'n's high stories, where the torrents first 
 
 Arose, and made those happy seats accurst. 
 
 Where, if excess of glory might ensure 
 
 Security, the soul had kept secure. 
 
 But, first in rank, they felt the first assault, 
 
 And, most in glory, were the most in fault. 
 
 Smit with the beauty, which their eye perceived, 
 
 And blind to that, which only Faith believ'd, 
 
 Their greatest honour sham'd their high degree, 
 
 And perfect freedom made them vainly free. 
 
 While, with a meanness, which would shame the slave. 
 
 The gift they honoured, more than Him who gave* 
 
 XT. 
 
 Thus perish'd angels, they, whose first estate 
 In greatest bliss, was good as it was great. 
 And, though susceptible of change, for all 
 But God himself, arc apt to rise or fall, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE*— BOOK Ifr 
 
 Was equal to maintain its honour still, 
 And left to lose, yet not against their will. 
 Immortal spirits! denizens of heav'n! 
 To whom a larger eup of bliss was giv'n, 
 More than the warrant, which the Maker view'd 
 In all he made, and stamp'd it very good. 
 Ev'n as their nature, their abodes possess'd 
 Peculiar gifts, excelling all the rest. 
 Fair fields of light ! which never eye surveyed, 
 Nor thought, in full magnificence, portray'd, 
 Of all, who tenant earth's unequal clime ; 
 Where sin hath nipp'd the blossom in its prime, 
 And made our portion and existence void ; — 
 But yon blest Eden God hath not destroyed, 
 Nor quench'd one star, that made it to excel, 
 Tho' sin provok'd, and warring angels fell* 
 In mad emprize the rebel army trod,* 
 And made or wished to make their chief a gocL 
 1 3 
 
5i THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK If. 
 
 Their chief, beyond his peers, in glory bright, 
 Thought that high station his undoubted right ; 
 And sanction'd by their general suffrage giv'n, 
 Usurped the function of the King of heav'n. 
 Then rose the God ; in angry mood, he saw 
 The fairest creature first infringe his law. 
 He spar'd the lovely land, th' abodes of rest, 
 Where still the faithful reign, in glory blest. 
 But the despisers of his right he hurl'd, 
 Far from the dwellings of that upper world, 
 And left them raging, but with bridled powr, 
 To heap_ up vengeance, till the judgment hour. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In an ill moment for their future rest, 
 The sons of heav'n abjur'd their Lord's behest> 
 And, for the draughts of an immortal stream, 
 Receiv'd a cup, embitter'd to the brim. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 5i 
 
 The cloudless day, spent in serene delight. 
 
 The glowing vision of the rapt'rous night, 
 
 The form, endow'd with every pleasing grace, 
 
 The heartfelt joy, the smile-illumin'd face, — 
 
 All were extinguished, when their heads, immers'd 
 
 In hell's damp gloom, for ever sank accurs'd. 
 
 Ev'n the kind intercourse of social love, 
 
 Not wholly limited to minds above, 
 
 Which soothes the wretched in the worst extreme, 
 
 Withheld the comfort of its friendly beam, 
 
 But what avails the soft-endearing voice, 
 
 Where the lost soul abhors the proffer'd joys? 
 
 Friendship's warm breathing wastes its hallow'd heat, 
 
 Where to self-love the pulse disdains to beat; 
 
 In exil'd spirits, every kindred fire 
 
 Was quen-cfc'd, and frozen ail the fond desire. 
 
 Each fear'd his brother, for he still was so, 
 
 And once his friend, tho' now his hated foe, 
 
fi& THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK II. 
 
 In whose dark features, he was wont to trace 
 His own near likeness, blasted in disgrace. 
 While painful mem'ry, like the chilly blast, 
 Or scorching lightning, glanc'd upon the past. 
 Hence social union, aggravating pain, 
 Preserved the second rank in their disdain. 
 The first, which far surpassed the rest, and drew 
 Ev'n union closer to support its view, 
 Was hatred to the God ; in this, tho' free'd 
 From all agreement else, they all agree'd. 
 Resolv'd to bury, though it fanned the flame, 
 Each private feeling in the common aim ; 
 And might the God but feel their mad despite, 
 In baffled purpose, and contested might, 
 No sacrifice too great, no toil too hard, 
 No pang too grievous for that wish'd reward. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK! II. 
 
 XIII. 
 Thus, enemies at first to God, began 
 Th' accurst to try their evil pow'rs on man. 
 He, less, perhaps, than angels fair and wise, 
 But yet found upright in his Maker's eyes* 
 They, jealous that inferior beings prized 
 The Godlike favour, which themselves despised. 
 Nor blame your lot, ye sons of men 1 if He 
 Who form'd your parent perfect, form'd him free. 
 That man's first love was not of hard constraint, 
 That man's first failure was his own consent. 
 But from the great example rather learn 
 The truth, that Faith enlightens to discern, 
 That ev'n the fairest are more strongly proiie 
 To fall than stand, if left to stand alone. 
 Nor should we still complain, in blind distrust. 
 Of woes incurable, of God unjust, 
 
58 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 Who hath not left us, fruitlessly to mourn 
 
 Our ancient wreck, like men of hope forlorn, 
 
 But in Himself hath rais'd a mighty rock, 
 
 Where, whoso stands, endures the fiercest shock, 
 
 Nor fears, while shelter 'd in those guardian arms, 
 
 To trace the footsteps of his old alarms. 
 
 We mourn, 'tis true, our father's wilful turn, 
 
 And still we feel the effects of what w r e mourn ; 
 
 But the frail paradise, so cheaply sold, 
 
 On the same tenure who would wish to hold? 
 
 We mourn the track, which scorners yet pursue, — 
 
 The wrath, which soon or late shall prove their due. 
 
 But not one pilgrim, following on to God, 
 
 Shall fear that judgment, or endure his rod. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Driv'n from the presence of their God, expeird 
 Trom Eden, which they never more beheld, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE. —BOOK II. 59 
 
 Our hapless parents, o'er th' unbeaten road, 
 Explored the natare of their new abode. 
 Unknown to them, perhaps, the full extent 
 Of sin's irruption, till the dread event; 
 The lovely scenes, so lately left; the clear 
 Unclouded atmosphere; the joyous year, 
 Crowu'd with perpetual verdure; and the beams 
 Of each mild season, shed without extremes; 
 But ill prepared them for the fatal curse, 
 And the sad hardships of that strange reverse. 
 Compeli'd, across the lonely waste to roam ; 
 T" explore, yet want, the shelter of a home ; 
 To see black clouds, the front of heav'n deform, 
 Expos'o! to darkness and the midnight storm; 
 Prest by the wants of nature, to endure 
 Fatigue, and faint with labour to procure 
 The bread of life; to pass, without delight, 
 The solitary day, the restless night; 
 
60 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK H. 
 
 These were the first results, which prov'd the bane, 
 
 Of sin, the first but lightest of the train. 
 
 Life lengthened out its texture, but to show 
 
 The tempest blaek'ning, and increasing woe. 
 
 And each new day, invoked to come with haste, 
 
 Teem'd with new griefs, more poignant than the past. 
 
 But who can trace the sorrowful remains? 
 
 To see their offspring, brought to life with pains, 
 
 Grow fond of evil, as of daily food, 
 
 And ev'n than they less mindful of the good ; 
 
 Unspeakable distress! to hear contempt, 
 
 Giv'n and returned, not ev'n themselves exempt; 
 
 View the dark broodings of domestic strife, 
 
 And brother rise against the brother's life. 
 
 Hell triumph'd in the downfal, pleas'd at last 
 
 To see her plans outdone, her hopes surpass'd. 
 
 Th' unhappy parents, worn with toils and tears, 
 
 Lost ev'u the hope of more consoling years. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 61 
 
 Child after child, and who could tell the doom 
 
 To which they went? lay silent in the tomb. 
 
 Of all their prospects, only one, deriv'd 
 
 From the free promise of their God, surviv'd; 
 
 Whose hand, in time, should bruise the tempter's head, 
 
 And raise to life the millions of the dead. 
 
 XV. 
 
 But when their parents, this their only trust 
 
 Of better state, lay mingled with the dust; 
 
 Their num'rous offspring, neither kept in awe 
 
 By God's free promise, nor his threat'ning law, 
 
 Let loose the reins of every lust, averse 
 
 To virtue, and despisers of the curse. 
 
 Them, neither hope of rest beyond the grave, 
 
 Nor dread of heavVs tempestuous wrath conld save, 
 
 From the vile thirst of wickedness, indulged 
 
 Without restraint, and without shame divulg'd. 
 
 G 
 
62 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOR II. 
 
 Yet ev'n to rebels God his truth displays, 
 Empowers his seer to warn them from their ways; 
 Proclaims his ark of mercy, if but some 
 Would enter, fleeing from the wrath to come. 
 But as to souls, contemptuously perverse, 
 The greatest blessing proves the greatest curse, 
 They mock'd his long forbearance, till the wave 
 Overflowing, swept them to the wat'ry grave. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 So sin possessed the many, death by sin. 
 
 But, lo! the wrecks of life once more begin 
 
 To float emergent, distant hell repines, 
 
 The storm disperses, and the rainbow shines. 
 
 Celestial odours on the land descend, 
 
 Acd man, once more, beholds in God a friend. 
 
 The hand, which late pour'd vengeance from above, 
 
 Overflows with show'rs of providential love. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 63 
 
 And shall the PowY, which wrought this grand affair, 
 
 So able to resent, so free to spare, 
 
 Be yet dishonoured by the creature's will, 
 
 Nor win to duty, nor with terror fill? 
 
 Hear not, ye heav'ns! O earth! in darkness hush 
 
 The dreadful tale, that man disdains to blush, 
 
 Tho' hell pronounce the weakness of her claim, 
 
 And yield to him iti award of greater shame. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 A few short years sufficed to wear away 
 
 The last faint vestige of that dreadful day. 
 
 At first, indeed, its marks were broad and plain ; 
 
 While the black clouds frown'd horrible with rain, 
 While boundless waters hid the face of things, 
 Or just had ebb'd within their ancient springs. 
 But when fresh air imbib'd a rich perfume, 
 And earth smil'd lovely, with reviving bloom, 
 
 G 2 
 
64 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IL 
 
 When nature proved prolific in her throes, 
 And a new race of num'rous mortals rose. 
 Faint and yet fainter, each succeeding day, 
 The record grew; at last, when worn away, 
 The world received in doubt the stale romance, 
 And ev'n belief ascrib'd the work to chance. 
 Save that the God preserv'd a few, the rest 
 Knew not the truth, or, knowing it, suppress'd. 
 For who that yields to sin, without controul, 
 His sacred body and more sacred soul, 
 E'er, in his bosom, treasures up the while 
 A precious thought of God's indulgent smile, 
 Full recompense for virtue 1 or the ruth 
 Of that fierce day, which enemies to truth 
 Endure, when nothing of their hope remains, 
 But " life immortal with immortal pains? " 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE —BOOK II. 65 
 
 XVIIT. 
 
 Here first mankind went wand'ring. They forgot 
 The love of God, his wrath they heeded not. 
 But deaf to past, to future dealings blind, 
 Pursued the course, to which they felt inclin'd; 
 Where the lost soul might laugh, in slothful ease, 
 Driv'n with the current, and before the breeze; 
 And no rough effort interrupt the sleep 
 Of conscience, cradled on the rolling deep. 
 For oft, as vainly chided as caress'd, 
 The faithful guardian of the human breast, 
 Started amidst her slumbers, and the fail- 
 Ideas, false as shadows, fleet as air, 
 And shudder d at the secret rocks, and death 
 And darkness lurking for their prey beneath. 
 At such short intervals, a transient gleam 
 Shot thro' th* horizon, and exposed the dream^ 
 G 3 
 
66 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 Nor could the soul's best comforter allay 
 The sick'ning horror, and the pale dismay. 
 Tho' still deceived, she fondly strain'd her eyes, 
 To the false pole-star of Elysian skies; 
 And pray'd her gods to burst the slavish bands; 
 Her gods, the creatures of a creature's hands! 
 Still restless conscience felt the deep concern, 
 Loth to proceed, yet helpless to return. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Such the last glimmering of that wond'rous light, 
 So pure, when first created, and so bright; 
 That, round the centre, where it wont to shine, 
 The human glory seem'd almost divine. 
 But when the sickly vault of flesh immur'd, 
 And earth eclips'd, and stormy gusts obscur'd 
 Its lustre, scarce the soul could recognise 
 Its ancient honour in that foul disguise. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 67 
 
 Alarm'd, she saw the little that remain'd, 
 Yet ev'n the little which she saw, disdain'd. 
 Nor, as to heav'n aspiring, ask'd for more, 
 But clung to earth, yet darker than before. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Ungrateful theme! yet still the muse shall keep 
 Her purpos'd track, and travel, tho' she weep. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 So by degrees mankind, at length, became 
 Degenerate from the dust, which form'd their frame. 
 Form'd for th' employment worthy of a God, 
 The gift perverted, they disgraced the clod. 
 Nor to neglect of God's most holy claim,' 
 To want of duty, to contempt of shame, 
 Confin'd their guilt; for, as the soul would own, 
 By conscience taught to feel, the power unknown, 
 
08 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 Their impious hearts, the wand'ring light betray'd, 
 Transferr'd their Maker's praise to what they made* 
 As if the stock or stone, since bend they must, 
 Were the first objects of their pray'r and trust* 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Of those dark times, the fairest relic built 
 By land ot sea; the most superbly gilt 
 With bust or trophy \ the renown of song; — 
 All that attests the gay, the great, the strong, 
 Whatever conceit beguii'd our infant years 
 With rapt'rous feelings, now demand our fears. 
 What tho' revolving ages, and the voice 
 Of nations ratify the public choice! 
 Proudly the lofty pile might stem the stream 
 Of time, might bask in honour's sultry beam, 
 And fair, without, amidst the world's applause, 
 Might seem to prove the goodness of its cause. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 69 
 
 Yet God could spare the works of former times, 
 As proofs of ill-us'd powers, and human crimes. 
 — Say, ye great rulers of our earthly skies ! 
 For great, indeed, ye were to mortal eyes; 
 In wealth, in pow'r, in genius, and in grace, 
 Chiefs of mankind, and glories of our race! 
 Ye, whose wide doings set the world on flame, 
 Whose hopes were built on earth, and future fame! 
 For this, did heav'n impart the form, the mind, 
 And bear your praise so far above your kind ? 
 Is He that gave, less than the gift admir'd? 
 And that possess'd, is that the sum desird? 
 When the frail hand that rais'd, returns to dust, 
 And earth dissolves, the basis of your trust. 
 
 XXIIL 
 The charm is fled. The fond deceits are o'er. 
 They sleep ; — thrice happy, if to wake no more. 
 
70 THE CITY OF REFUGE —BOOK II. 
 
 A blest exchange, could death's dark chamber keep 
 
 The soul, lock'd up in everlasting sleep ! 
 
 But there, the spirit elsewhere left to roam, 
 
 There for a time the body finds a home. 
 
 Proud kings of earth ! whate'er their pride could save, 
 
 It could not grasp salvation from the grave. 
 
 Warriors! who bound the subject nations fast; 
 
 Victors so long, yet vanquish'd there at last ; 
 
 Unconscious of the prize, for which they strove, 
 
 A name of glory, or a nation's love. 
 
 Perhaps, beside, the reVrend priests are laid, 
 
 Not all the gods, they worshipp'd, lend them aid. 
 
 Ev'n he, who charm'd the nations with his tongue, 
 
 Forgets to sing, laments he ever sung. 
 
 Unhappy bard ! whose never-easy soul 
 
 Explor'd the central, and each outward pole, 
 
 And from his earth, his heav'n, his hell combin'd, 
 
 All that could profit and delight mankind. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 71 
 
 Yet fail'd of one, the noblest and the best: 
 
 He sleeps, and with him nameless numbers rest ; — 
 
 All, who unfit themselves for great estate, 
 
 Yet felt as proud, to make another great; 
 
 And, or assisted in the deed, or lovM 
 
 Such as accomplish^, what themselves approv'd. 
 
 But death has pair'd the lordling and the slave, 
 
 As head and feet lie level in the grave* 
 
 Dark sits their night, in sable shrouds forlorn, 
 
 But soon shall rise for them the crimson morn I 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 As when some sage, from Europe's utmost clime, 
 Studious to trace the ravag'd work of Time, 
 Tempests, and toils, and perils, all surpassed, 
 Hails, in his sight, the wish'd-for scenes at last. 
 Where, on Euphrates' bank, the city keeps 
 A desert calm, through all its ruin'd heaps. 
 
72 THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK II. 
 
 And scatter'd stones, in wide disorder spread, 
 Seem but the crowded mansions of the dead. 
 As, o'er the waste, his thoughts, unutter'd range, 
 Pensive he sighs, and sickens at the change, — 
 Sees towers, once cloud-capt, low in dust overthrown, 
 And courts, where monarch s trod, with weeds overgrown , 
 And sacred halls, where science held her sway, 
 The haunt of dismal birds, and beasts of prey. 
 How from the beautiful hath beauty fled ! 
 The voice of music chang'd to notes of dread! 
 Thje proudest work of human might decay'd, 
 Nor left its name behind, nor scarce a shade! 
 Thus o'er the world, which, erst, th' ethereal pow'rs 
 Enrich'd with fruits of life, and blissful bow'rs 
 But since condemned, with all her offspring born, 
 To groan beneath the thistle and the thorn ; 
 The muse, o'erburthen'd with excess of care, 
 Suspends her harp, and mourns in silence there. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE — BOOK II. T3 
 
 Or, if she rouse to life the latent fire, 
 No flash of joy illumes the trembling wire, 
 But sad her numbers, as despair would urge 
 For some lorn elegy, or solemn dirge, 
 Since sin hath 'reft an Eden of its bloom, 
 And turn'd the realms of nature to a tomb* 
 
 XXV. 
 Thou too must pass the cold sepulchral night, 
 Child of the clay, my body! If aright, 
 The purer breathings of thy thoughts I learn, 
 The place, the period is thy least concern. 
 So that thy God be present, and support, 
 It matters not, if life be long or short. 
 So that the grave possess his watchful boon, 
 
 Come, death ! and welcome, coming late or soon 
 Let the pale worm feed its voracious lust, 
 Let earth to earth return, and dust to dust 
 
 H 
 
74 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 
 
 O glorious hope! which pierces the thick gloom 
 
 Of death, enkindling life within the tomh; 
 
 Earth, in its fleeting hour, its narrow span, 
 
 Hath not a charm, so meet for dying man. 
 
 For how can fun'ral pomp, or 'seutcheon'd name, 
 
 Or the whole world's loud anguish or acclaim, 
 
 Yield to the tomb one transport or one beam, 
 
 Where all is midnight sleep, without a dream? 
 
 All damp, all cold, all horror and disgust — 
 
 And all despair without that heav'nly trust. 
 
 For time, in spite of records or of stones, 
 
 Shall blot the name, and heave the dead man's bones. 
 
 But if my God supports me, when I die — 
 
 Secure these limbs shall rest, where'er they lie. 
 
 Whether, in yon lone Bethel's burial-ground, 
 
 Where sleep, in silent hope, the brethren round, 
 
 And, o'er the shady stillness of the grave, 
 
 In low-breathed notes the lofty poplars wave. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK II. 75 
 
 Or, doom'd by righteous heav'u, in tempests toss'd 
 To roam dispersed, but not for ever lost. 
 When He, who spoil'd corruption of its prey, 
 Shall shout, "Arise {" their atoms shall obey; 
 United by his Spirit's quick'ning breath, 
 And crown'd at last a conqueror ev'n of death. 
 
 EKD OF THE ffECOKD BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 Which tilings are an Allegory* 
 
 Paul to the Galatians. 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Episode of the unfaithful wife. Her ancient glory 
 before her fall. The temptation to which she was ex- 
 posed, for the trial of her fidelity. Her failure, and 
 the consequences. Divorced from her dignity, she 
 beheld a bondslave, exalted to the throne, in her stead. 
 Her misery and despair. The love of her royal husband 
 towards her, undiminished, notwithstanding her unwor- 
 thiness. After the death of her rival, the new-made 
 queen, he determines to deliver her from the bondage of 
 her Betrayer. The success of his expedition. Her res- 
 toration, and happiness. £p;ifjafamtu!tt. 
 
THE 
 
 CITY OF REFUGE. 
 
 IBocfc t%t C$(rlr. 
 
 L 
 
 The voice of one, whom God inspir'd of old;— 
 " Sing, O thou barren, and thy joy behold! 
 " See, from thy womb, the long-descended hosts, 
 " More numerous, than thy married rival boasts! 
 " Break forth in singing, thou, that didst deplore I 
 " Henceforth thy sorrow shall return no more. 
 " And be the subject of thy future song, 
 u So great a glory, after shame so long." 
 
THE CITY OF REFTJGE.— BOOK IIL 
 
 II. 
 
 Far from the courts of Zion she had fram'd 
 Her darksome mansion, where she sat ashaiu'd. 
 Disconsolate, and painfully distressed 
 With guilt, that knew nor remedy nor rest. 
 Fair in her youth, and dearly cherish'd wife; 
 But now a widow, in her husband's life, 
 She could but view, with anguish and remorse, 
 Her ancient failing, and the just divorce. 
 For in the bosom of her lord she lay, 
 Happy as heav'n, and beautiful as day. 
 With not a cloud to intercept her beat, 
 Nor sigh to make her blessing incomplete. 
 For he, that made such high degree her own. 
 Disdaining that a slave should share his throne, 
 Pronounc'd her free, with ample pow'r to stand, 
 And left her choice and honours in ber hand. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 81 
 
 Tliat, with increasing glory, she might prove 
 Her spotless faith, and unrestricted love, 
 And conscious worlds confirm, with just amaze, 
 The royal voice, that first announced her praise, 
 
 III. 
 
 So was the grandeur, which her worth acquir'd 
 On every tongue asserted, and admir'd. 
 And while on equal wings th' applauses flew, 
 Of him who trusted, and of her so true, 
 The rumour, which resounded thro' the spheres 
 Of their dominions, reach'd th' unhallow'd ears, 
 Where in the dark abodes of guilt and pain, 
 The Rebel lay, yet burning with disdain, 
 And tortur'd with his wounds; but this was light, 
 To what he felt from shame, and baffTd spite, 
 And envy wrought to madness, that the sword 
 And sceptre yet confess'd their lawful lord. 
 
82 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK in. 
 
 Was there no second chance, since fate denied 
 Success to battle, which might yet be tried? 
 No pass, thro' which to reach his rival's heart, 
 If not by force of arms, by stealth of art? 
 Then first his trait'rous eye, with joy malign, 
 Confess'd the birth-hour of his new design. 
 ie Or is yon creature, whom his love hath stored 
 u With such rare virtue, matchless as her lord ? 
 " Will he not shield Iier, when th' assault is made? 
 " Or stands she thus secure, without his aid?" 
 
 IV. 
 His ill-fraught project reach'd the royal house; 
 Uprose the king, and sought his lovely spouse; 
 * i Fairest of creatures, more than allendear'd! 
 " My voice hath call'd thee good, the nations hear'd. 
 <( My gifts are many, not to be prophan'd, 
 u But giv'n to grace thy glory, while maintain'd. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 83 
 
 u The foe besets thy path, and in disguise; 
 " Respect thy lord ; be steadfast, and be wise." 
 
 V. 
 
 So saying, from her sight, the king withdrew, 
 And left her to preserve her honour true. 
 He might, indeed, have thwarted all mischance, 
 Have met the foe, and crush'd his first advance* 
 But this had robb'd her of the time to prove 
 Her faith, the brightest ornament of love. 
 Besides, as he had giv'n sufficient pow'r, 
 And timely charge, to meet the trying hour, 
 His caution and his care had been for nought, 
 And '-could his wisdom form so vain a thought? 
 He might, too, when she seem'd inclin'd to yield, 
 Have interpos'd his arm, till then couceal'd, 
 And in the tempter's presence, kept her still 
 Secure from falling, ev'n against her will* 
 
84 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 But could his dignity sustain, unmov'd, 
 
 Premeditated insult unreprov'd? 
 
 Or brook, endow'd with such high honours rare, 
 
 A faulty mind in form, however fair? 
 
 So, while within his breast deep thoughts revolve, 
 
 And bright designs, he kept his first resolve; 
 
 That, in the test, her agency should be 
 
 Sway'd by her choice, and from coercion free, 
 
 And that, if destin'd or to stand or fall, 
 
 His glory should remain, supreme, in all. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Was it a vain presumption on her part — 
 A too much trusting to a woman's heart? 
 A zeal to prove how much she was exempt 
 From fear of falling, and her just contempt? 
 That urg'd her, when the tempter cross'd her path, 
 To check the first uprising of her wrath, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. S5 
 
 Halt as he halted, gaze when gaz'd upon, 
 
 Whatever she thought to do, the deed was done. 
 
 *************** * 
 
 Perhaps, it was to prove how vain and weak 
 
 His hope, that first she suffer' d him to speak; 
 
 Perhaps, there was a strangeness in his tone, 
 
 Or speech, or action, hitherto unknown; 
 
 Or knowledge, such as had not reach'd her ear, 
 
 Which, as he spoke, inclin'd her still to hear; 
 
 Still bent, that he should tell the yet untold, 
 
 She seem'd, by something worse than doubt contrclTd; 
 
 Nor heard him plead his cause, with prompt disdain, 
 
 But when referred to, answer'd him again. 
 
 ****** ********** 
 
 Whether some pique had made her mind unev'n. 
 That all that she possess'd was only giv'n ; 
 Or, as she listen'd to the traitor's lore, 
 She wish'd, but knew not why, for something more; 
 
 i 
 
8G THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 Or she forgot the counsel of her lord, 
 Or deem'd his love was greater than his word; 
 All that is known is this : that hour survey'd 
 The foe triumphant, and her lord betray'd. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then rose the shriek of horror and affright, 
 The dread artili'ry storm'd, but not in fight. 
 Thick clouds of mists and darkness wrapt the throne, 
 But, when the signal ceas'd, the king was gone. 
 Yet left his voice a dismal storm behind, 
 Reproach, and wrath, and judgment in the wind; 
 While the proud victor, with exultant yell, 
 Leap'd on the throne, and made a heav'n a hell. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But she — whose lapse brought down this deadly blow, 
 Where was her dwelling, and her comfort now? 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE,— BOOK III. 87 
 
 Her bow'rs of bliss, her garden of delight, 
 Or that, which made their beauty shine so bright, 
 The smiling look of love, the welcome kind, 
 The graceful form, the purity of mind? 
 For these were banish'd, since that dreadful day, 
 And all, that still surviv'd, was to decay. 
 For, from the moment, when the curse went forth, 
 The doom was stamp'd on every thing of worth. 
 The steps of each fair virtue soon were gone, 
 And vice, with her wan offspring, reign'd alone. 
 Quench'd were the lustres, dimm'd the shining gold 9 
 Her palace-hall became her prison-hold, 
 Where, in the midst, dismantled of her crown, 
 And but the more debas'd by past renown, 
 The culprit sat ; alas! and is she such? 
 The queen, whom once ev'n scandal durst not touch ! 
 Torn at her feet the royal garments lay, 
 The boast, and safeguard of her bridal day, 
 I 2 
 
fi8 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 And scarce a relic now suffic'd to hide 
 
 The burning blushes of her wounded pride, 
 
 And her proud soul, which, billow-like, beat high, 
 
 Beneath the loud remark, and gazing eye. 
 
 For many a gazer mark'd her penance there, 
 
 But none came by to pity, none to spare» 
 
 IX. 
 
 Thus, of her foes the victim and the scorn, 
 Guilty she sat, unpitied, and forlorn. 
 For she remembered — hence th' excess of woe — 
 How high she once was, and why fall'n so low; 
 Why turn'd, from light and liberty, to dwell, 
 A sentence, which her sin deserv'd so well, 
 Subject to him, who tempted to the deed, 
 Without the hope of flight, or to be freed. 
 How could she hope, or how approach again 
 Her lord, while yet her person bore the stain? 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK III. 89 
 
 Besides, so thick ?; mist arose between, 
 Her lord, if so it for, might no more be seen; 
 Or seen, the bold intrusion might bring down 
 Severer vengeance, and a darker frown. 
 For he, far off from that eL I domain, 
 
 Thron'd in the glories of his Father's reign, 
 Shone 'mid a thousand lights, without access, 
 And were they darken'd, still would shine no less. 
 As great, when at his side the Bondslave sate, 
 As when the Free-born shar'd his royal state, 
 The Bondslave, whom, from Sinai's mount, he led 
 To shine, the consort of his throne and bed. 
 From which strange union rose a mighty line, 
 A mingled race, half human, half divine; 
 Thro' the wide world their arms or honours known 
 Shook the pale rebel on his impious throne. 
 The frail one also heard ; her cheeks turned pale^ 
 And her heart sicken'd at the dismal tale; 
 
 I 3 
 
00 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 From many a wound her hopes were ebbing fast, 
 But this their death-blow, and it came the last. 
 
 X. 
 
 So stript of hope from favour, as from flight, 
 Shunn'd as a spectre, sorrowful as night, 
 A prey to jealousy, remorse, despair,— 
 She felt her burden more than she could bear. 
 She hVd condemn'd to die, yet, hapless doom! 
 The death deferr'd was life within the tombo 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yet was she not to endless mis'ry lost, 
 But, where she least deserv'd, remember'd most, 
 Ev'n he, whose native glories were so great, 
 Look'd with compassion on her lost estate. 
 True — he had seen, in wrath, her faith depart, 
 Had giv'n another the crown, but not his heart. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 91 
 
 Hence when his new-made queen, her work entire, 
 Approach'd the time, when she must soon expire, 
 He look'd for her decease without regret ; 
 For he remembered, never to forget, 
 Her, whom he lov'd, before he form'd her fair, 
 And lov'd her still, when nought was lovely there; 
 He caird to mind the days of old, employ'd 
 In plans of bliss, to be by her enjoy'd; 
 His earnest longing for his future bride; 
 How he should form her glorious, how provide, 
 If sin should make her first endowment base ? 
 That still his love might triumph, ev'n in grace* 
 And she had fali'n; his anger had been prov'd; 
 It now remain'd to show, how much he lov'd— 
 Why she was left to lose a garment, fair 
 Indeed, and faultless, but for her miscare, 
 Yet far less glorious, since it might be spoil'd, 
 Than that, which spotless once remains unsoil'd, 
 
92 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 And whoso wears it, henceforth shall endure, 
 Free from all changes, and for ever pure. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now, for this grace, drew near th' appointed hour : 
 But grace itself were helpless, without pow'r. 
 He wish'd to make her bliss once more complete, 
 But this were vain without the foe's defeat. 
 For, in close bondage, he that wrought her shame, 
 Kept her, determined to defend his claim ; 
 And, jealous of her flight, had closely barr'd 
 Her. prison-gates, beneath a threefold guard. 
 Yet could he not escape the sullen fear, 
 Like distant thunder, rolling deep and drear, 
 Of that dire curse, that old prophetic theme, 
 That there should come, a saviour to redeem, 
 A time, in which the gather' d cloud should shed 
 The wrath of ages on his guilty head* 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 93 
 
 Hence, to avert such omen, was the scheme, 
 
 That mov'd his waking thought, his restless dream; 
 
 Not to submit, but, with a fiercer mood, 
 
 Await the storm, and scatter, if he could. 
 
 His hold was like a castle, fenc'd about 
 
 With fosse, and bridge, and many a strong redoubt. 
 
 And that a prize, obtain' d at such expense, 
 
 Might not be lost for want of due defence, 
 
 He fix d a monster, which himself had nurst* 
 
 In the mid pathway to that den accurst; 
 
 A monster, form'd for hell, of dragon-race, 
 
 And Death's- foul look was pictured in his face. 
 
 Nor flight, nor entrance but thro' those wide jaws, 
 
 The sight of which would make the boldest pause 
 
 From glory, won amid such loathsome strife, 
 
 And flee the conflict, as the bane of life. 
 
 So thought the foe to frighten and disarm ;— ■ 
 
 Elsewhere, disguis'd with many a semblant charnv 
 
94 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 His own fair daughter, fair without — within, 
 Foul as could be the treacherous heart of Sin, 
 (Hers was the part to feed that rav'nous beast. 
 And most his hunger gloz'd a human feast) 
 With wanton arts beguil'd her victim's eye ? 
 And whom she kiss'd, was instant doomed to die. 
 Such was the triple force, and each must be 
 Subdued, ere yet the captive could be free, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But this and more could not the king affright, 
 He left his throne, he left the land of light; 
 He that gave mandate to the realms at large, 
 Now stoop'd his head to take a servant's charge. 
 Unback'd in that vast euterprize he trod, 
 His only trust, his right hand and his Qod. 
 And all the witness of his strength and aid 
 Th' undaunted courage, in that hour display'd, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III, 95 
 
 When, in the field, expos'd to public view, 
 His cause he published, arid his gage he threw. 
 The time was come to prove to whom the right 
 Relong'd — to rebel wrong, or royal right. 
 Peal'd the dread note for battle, brief and loud, 
 But all was myst'ry, for that dusty cloud ; 
 And save the shout, the rumbling, and the shock, 
 Which cleft the dwelling, tho* it stood on rock, 
 There was no token, that the strife was near, 
 Nor when it ceas'd, till all was calm and clear. 
 Then rose the morning ; on the foughten ground, 
 Vestige there was, but not the victor, found. 
 Low lay the foe, in death or bonds oppressed; 
 But where^ was he, who smote the lofty crest? 
 His was no love, which, cold or idly feign'd, 
 Would shun its object, when it might be gain'd* 
 
90 THE CITY OF REFUGE»~-BOOK III. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Smote by that arm, resistless in its might, 
 
 Obstruction fell, or sav'd itself by flight. 
 
 The beams of oak, the bars of brass gave way, 
 
 And left the dungeon to receive the day. 
 
 There lay the captive; her deliverer came, 
 
 Like a fond mother, bursting thro' the frame; 
 
 And heedless of her peril, till she sees 
 
 Her hope securd, uninjured, and at ease; 
 
 And tells, while gazing on the smiling boy, 
 
 The transport of her heart in tears of joy. 
 
 So, 'mid the scene, the lord of vict'ry felt 
 
 His mighty soul with love and pity melt, 
 
 View'd with emotions, painful and profound, 
 
 The countless woes, which guilt had spread around ; 
 
 Nor found relief, nor wipM his streaming eye, 
 
 Till he beheld the wish'd redemption nigh. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK III. 97 
 
 Yet such the veil of darkness, the lost slave 
 Knew not her saviour, when he came to save ; 
 Knew not those looks, where beams of mercy shone, 
 As if her eyes were steel, her heart were stone; 
 As if, with thought that she should e'er return, 
 All sense were lost of that obscure sojourn; 
 Till with embracing arm, and bending down, 
 He sooth'd her fears, allay'd her vacant frown, 
 And breath'd new life in words, divinely said ; 
 Then rush'd remembrance forth, as from the dead. 
 She rais'd her eyes, and shriek'd at what she saw — 
 Her lord returning, and his injur'd law. 
 Fierce throes of anguish shook her inmost frame; 
 But from that night a heav'nly morning came, 
 And she look'd up, with smiles amidst her tears, 
 To hail the voice, that hush'd her stormy fears. 
 
98 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 XV. 
 
 His voice was like the balmy breath of spring; 
 
 It eas'd her conscience of the deadly sting. 
 
 It whisper'd all her follies were forgiv'n, 
 
 A path yet open to the light and heav'n. 
 
 " Here is no vengeance, no destroyer nigh; — 
 
 " Behold ! my love, thy lord and saviour I ! 
 
 " I look'd, I waited, no deliverer came; 
 
 " Nor pray'r 5 nor plea to deprecate thy shame. 
 
 " Nor hand, except my own, to clear thy way, 
 
 46 (For with much labour, many a stern affray, 
 
 " I bring thee help) the foe beset the plain, 
 
 u Once met in fight, he dar'd to meet again, 
 
 " And bore those chains, some purpose to fulfil, 
 
 " Which still he bears, tho' now against his will. 
 
 Ci Proudly he vaunted, but I check'd his pride, 
 
 u And left him bound, till judgment shall provide. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 09 
 
 XVI. 
 
 11 The syren also — night and day, she strove 
 " To thwart my purpose, and to wean my love. 
 " And fain, upon her lap, she would have got 
 " Mine honour sleeping, but she touch'd me not. 
 « With all her arts she tempted and beguiFd; — 
 " I watch'd them all; I neither slept, nor smil'd. 
 " Till from her face, I tore the specious arms, 
 ■« And left, expos'd, the treason of her charms." 
 
 XVII. 
 " Last, nYd with rav'ning, and infectious breath, 
 " The monster howl'd, and threatened me with dearth. 
 u At the first stroke, but not without a wound, 
 (t I lopp'd his sting, and fell'd him to the ground. 
 " Yet ceas'd not here the strife, he rose, he stood, 
 " Assur'd ©f vict'ry, when he saw my blood. 
 K 2 
 
100 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 u Fierce was that conflict; but I came to save ; 
 " Struggling we fell; I left him in the grave. 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 " U my beloved ! have I then done this — ■ 
 
 u And shaltthou not return to days of bliss? 
 
 And here he show'd his hands, and feet, and side, 
 
 Pierc'd for her sake, and in their crimson dy'd : 
 
 u By these the payment covers all thy debt;- — 
 
 " I have forgiv'n ; I also will forget. 
 
 " For a short space I suffered thy remove, 
 
 " But lov'd thee still with everlasting love; — 
 
 " Hid from thy sight my gracious looks awhile; 
 
 " But now revisit with indulgent smile; 
 
 " Condemned, in this lone wilderness, to pine — 
 
 " But oh! the rest, and refuge that is. thine ! 
 
 " Not days of bliss, like those of old enjoy'd, 
 
 " Not like that glory, which thy foes destroyed; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK III. 101 
 
 " For they far off, in penal gloom, shall see, 
 
 " But shall not share the light, that shines for thee. 
 
 " Sacred, untouched, thy portion shall remain; 
 
 " Fix'd as my throne, and lasting as my reign. 
 
 €i What tho' this hand, to do the deed designed, 
 
 " Disperse this dust, these ashes in the wind ; 
 
 " Tho' not a relic tell, where once were spread 
 
 " These works around, these wonders overhead; 
 
 " Yet not one tittle of my firm decree 
 
 " Shall fail, nor one of all my love to thee. 
 
 " For, for thy rest, the blood of life flow'd fast, 
 
 " My own life's current, and that rest shall last, 
 
 " Till not an object live to taste and prove, 
 
 " And I, thy lord, no longer live to love." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then to the sacred fount, whose waters flow 
 Dispensing health, and antidote to w r oe, 
 K 3 
 
102 THE CITY OF REFUGE—BOOK III. 
 
 He leads her, smit, at all she felt and saw, 
 
 With ecstacies of soul-subduing awe. 
 
 There, in the stream, she bathes her burning veins, 
 
 Renews her youth, and purifies her stains, 
 
 And issuing forth, with meek-ey'd radiance glows, 
 
 Pure as the lily, blooming as the rose. 
 
 By this, his hand the royal robe had brought, 
 
 Of needle-work, in rich embroidery, wrought, 
 
 Woven throughout, its costly texture show'd 
 
 Consummate skill, acquired with sweat and blood. 
 
 Like snow, beneath a morning sun, it shin'd; 
 
 Without a spot, and peerless in its kind. 
 
 Imbued with wondrous force to stand the rage 
 
 Of heat and cold, and slow-consuming age; 
 
 And destin'd, on her loveliness, to shine, 
 
 Immortal, incorruptible, divine. 
 
 Yes ! she was lovely, when her lord had brac'd 
 
 The folding mantle round her girded waist ; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 103 
 
 Dear in his eyes, and worthy to be seen 
 Companion of his triumph, and his queen. 
 Nor could she, on her conscious cheek, control 
 The soft suffusion of a grateful soul, 
 When, with a burst of rapture, he perceiv'd 
 The travail of his heart, at length achiev'd. 
 Impatient to be gone, he scarce could say ; 
 " Arise, my love ! my fair one, come away ! " 
 Then softly seiz'd her willing hand, and show'd 
 The car of vict'ry, waiting for its load. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now mounted high, and seated side by side, 
 They go — the royal bridegroom and his bride. 
 From lands where sin had scatter'd seeds of woe, 
 To regions where unfading pleasures grow, 
 The living creatures of celestial breed 
 Beat up the broad expanse with winged speed; 
 
104 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOR III: 
 
 With blood-dyed hoof, and wheels, that darted fire, 
 
 Thro' scattered spoils, distain'd with gory mire. 
 
 There lay the spear, and buckler, fall'n, so late 
 
 Engines of death and unforgiving hate; 
 
 Now, by the rescued captive, seen to prove 
 
 The mightier effort of redeeming love. 
 
 What mingled feelings in her bosom wrought, 
 
 Yet found not utterance for th' overpowering thought ! 
 
 Words fit t J embody transports so renVd, 
 
 Nor exclamation for her grateful mind ! 
 
 Still she had gaz'd, but linger'd not, nor durst 
 
 Arrest her speed ; for, from behind her, burst 
 
 Quick ebullitions of terrific glare, 
 
 And shrieks that spoke the anguish of despair. 
 
 Yet she beheld, with momentary view, 
 
 Enough to prove the prophet's vision true. 
 
 For now the structure, late so proudly grand, 
 
 Stoop'd to the assault of heavV s avenging hand. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 105 
 
 The deep foundations heav'd beneath the stroke, 
 The portals burst, the towering columns broke, 
 And starry-spangled roof, and all beside, 
 Which art, divine or human, had supplied 
 To heighten beauty, grandeur to display, — 
 To move the friend's applause, the foe's dismay. 
 Sunk in the fiery gulph, a crumbled mound 
 Of shapeless ruins, and no longer found. 
 How dies this earthly pomp, like meteor-fire! 
 One moment saw the fabric, vast, entire, 
 And careless in the noon of sumptuous pride ; 
 The next, by fierce convulsions torn aside, 
 And wrapt m flames, that levell'd and entomb'd 
 The mingled heaps, consuming and consum'd. 
 Till not an ember gleam'd, nor fragment show'd 
 Where once was seen that fair, but frail abode. 
 
106 THE CITY OF REFUGE*— BOOK III. 
 
 XXL 
 
 By this the car had scal'd the boundary's height. 
 
 And thence they saw a most enchanting sight. 
 
 Before whose face, the brightest charms decay 
 
 Of earthly growth, as star-light from the day. ' 
 
 The sun, uprising o'er the distant bounds 
 
 Of ocean, when nor mist nor cloud surrounds, 
 
 With streaming rays, diftus'd through seas and skies, 
 
 (The loveliest prospect shown to mortal eyes,) 
 
 Is but a type, prophetic and unveil'd, — 
 
 A dawn imperfect, yet with raptures hail'd, 
 
 Of those unborrow'd glories, which invest 
 
 Zion the bright, the beautiful, the blest. 
 
 XXIL 
 What tongue can tell the triumph of that day, 
 When the King enter'd, and resum'd his sway. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK III. 107 
 
 High on a throne, he plac'd his beauteous bride, 
 
 While shouts of greeting echoed far and wide; 
 
 From thousand thousands, told ten thousand times, 
 
 Loud jubilees awoke the starry climes. 
 
 Like ocean, pour'd from all its rocks and rills; 
 
 Or thunder, pealing on th* eternal hills. 
 
 — But this in vain we liken or conceive; — 
 
 'Tis thine, O Faith, securely to believe; — 
 
 To wait, till, at eternity's fair dawn, 
 
 Thy happy children see the veil withdrawn; 
 
 And each repeat, as loudly and as long, 
 
 With yon etherial choir, the bridal song. 
 
1C8 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 SBpttysIsmiitim 
 
 When from the tow'rs of Bosrah's pride* 
 
 His last of foes o'ercome, 
 The royal Victor brought his bride, — 
 
 His ransom'd Fair-one home : 
 From realm to realm the welcome pass'd ; 
 
 " Ye nations, enter in r 
 Zion expanded to the blast, 
 
 And felt her reign begin. 
 
 In climes, beyond the Sinim's plaia, 
 
 Where first the morning smiles 
 On empires, rising from the main, 
 
 And ocean's utmost isles; 
 Slow to receive the saviour's voice, 
 
 They felt at last his pow'r ; 
 And rose to worship and rejoice — 
 
 A nation in an hour. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 109 
 
 O'er Gomel's northern holds of light, 
 
 A wintry waste before, 
 There burst a glow of living light, 
 
 A sun, that sets no more. 
 ? Mid flowery walks, and cloudless skies, 
 
 The multitudes, with joy, 
 Inhaled a bloom that never dies— 
 
 A bliss without alloy. 
 
 From Alp and Appennine they press'd; 
 
 From Afric's broken bond ; 
 From ' Gades and the British West;' 
 
 And western worlds beyond. 
 The people saw, with rapt delight, 
 
 What ages toil'd to see; — 
 A king, that ever guards the right;—* 
 
 A land, where all are free. 
 
110 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK III. 
 
 And Israel's remnant rode sublime, 
 
 A tempest-driven band ; 
 Who found a calm at eventirae, 
 
 And reach'd the proinis'd land; — 
 A holy land, a land of rest; 
 
 A priesthood- without stain; 
 A law, which cannot be transgress'd ; 
 
 A true Messiah's reign. 
 
 Blest, when the various tribes of earth, 
 
 Disperst for ages past, 
 United by a purer birth, 
 
 In Zion met at last! 
 Blest in perpetual peace, maintain'd 
 
 Beneath a common Lord ; 
 Around a tree of life regain'd, 
 
 In paradise restored. 
 
 END OF TIIE THIRD BOOK. 
 
BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 Awake! awake! put on strength, O arm of the Lord! 
 awake, as in ancient days, in the generations of old! Art 
 thou not it that hath cut Rahab, and wounded the dragon? 
 Art thou not it that hath dried the sea, the waters of the 
 great deep ; that hath made the depths of the sea, a way for 
 the ransomed to pass over? Therefore the redeemed of the 
 Lord shall return, and come with singing unto Zion; and 
 everlasting joy shall be upon their head : they shall obtain 
 gladness and joy ; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away. 
 
 Isaiah. 
 
 L 2 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 The everlasting counsel, between the Father and 
 Son, before all ages, the basis on which the security of 
 Zion is laid. Her glory must be diffused among the 
 nations. Her followers invited to join in the glorious 
 work of evangelizing the heathen. Soliloquy and 
 meditation upon the virtue and sufficiency of the blood 
 of Christ, as the one offering for sinners; as the alone 
 Rock on which Faith can lean for support and de- 
 liverance, amidst the trials of mortality 7 and the disso- 
 lution of worlds. 
 
 The praises of the eternal Spirit. His truth en* 
 dures, in the succession of natural events, and the 
 L 3 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 fulfilment of prophecy. The certainty of judgment, 
 of the happiness of the righteous, and misery oj the 
 wicked. The duty of the Christian to be looking and 
 preparing for the coming of his Lord. Conclusion* 
 
CITY OF REFUGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, for the light of heavVs eternal day! 
 
 Oh, for a spirit's form! to search a way 
 
 Thro' limitless expanse ; — to soar, sublime, 
 
 Beyond the track of worlds, the reach of time! 
 
 There from the goal, to which her hopes aspire, 
 
 The soul should gaze for ever, and admire [told, — 
 
 The heights, and depths, and breadths of things un- 
 
 The bright out-goings of the Word of old; 
 
 Ere earth was made a footstool, heav'n a throne, 
 
 When God was all in all, and God alone ^ 
 
116 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IT. 
 
 And, in the bosom of paternal praise, 
 
 The Word possessed the fulness of his ways. 
 
 How fair his dwellings, how sublime his rights ! 
 
 And what his counsels were, aud his delights ! 
 
 His love ev'n then for uncreated man ! 
 
 His covenant-act, and his redemption-plan! 
 
 That the fell Traitor might not, in the fall 
 
 Of guilty mortals, triumph over all ; 
 
 And that his mercy to a chosen race, 
 
 His mighty pow'r, the riches of his grace, 
 
 Might charm th' eternal ages, as they roll'd, 
 
 With praises, ever telling, never told. 
 
 II. 
 
 Such the foundation ; all her towers are sure, 
 And Zion yet shall flourish and endure. 
 Fram'd on the model of her God, she stands 
 Dear to his heart, and guarded by his hands. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 117 
 
 'Mid hostile banners, raised against her wall, 
 She gathers strength as her assailants fall. 
 Oft hid in strife, again her flag appears, 
 Rich with the trophies of six thousand years. 
 Fair city ! soon thy warfare shall expire ; 
 Thy champions from the field shall n^'er retire, 
 Till the wide world its desolation see, 
 And find no refuge, till it flee to thee. 
 
 III. 
 
 O glorious hope ! sufficient to inflame 
 A godlike jealousy, and noble shame; 
 Were not our hearts, like cold, unmelting clay, 
 Dead to the beamings of that heav'nly day, 
 And lost, and wilder'd in the servile chain, 
 And half-mistrustful of the Saviour's reign. 
 Lord of all victory ! shall the foe prolong 
 These times of darkness and oppressive wrong? 
 
118 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Whose ruthless hand would madly strive to bar 
 The door, where hope's sweet daylight shines afar. 
 Oh, let those beams, by which at first we saw 
 Our souls laid torpid in his iron law! 
 Those beams, fair opening of improving day, 
 The glorious noontide of thy pow'r display ; 
 Ripening the seed, which thy right hand hath sown, 
 Till all the plant, and harvest-fruit be grown ; 
 Till lands long cultured yield increasing store, 
 And wastes begin to bear, which never bore ; 
 Ev'h the poor heathen, whose abode unkind 
 Is yet less dark, and cheerless than his mind* 
 For there his weary limbs have found retreats, 
 From polar hoarfrosts, and solstitial heats ; 
 But, on his soul, the Sun of righteousness 
 Hath never dawn'd to brighten and to bless. 
 Lo ! Faith looks ardent on that open field, 
 And lays before us helmet, sword, and shield. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.—BOOK IV, 119 
 
 Still to heF purpose and her promise true, 
 
 Her work so vast, her workmen tho' so few! 
 
 Full in our path, the heav'n-wrought armour lies; 
 
 " And will ye then reject my gift/' she cries, 
 
 " Shall the dear brethren weep, unwept, unknown? 
 
 u Sons of your Father, coheirs of the throne ! 
 
 <l Shall these, in dark captivity, despond? 
 
 '•* Rise, faithful champions, burst the shameful bond ! 
 
 " Prove yourselves, vacant as my sons of old, 
 
 " And bring my wanderers to the common fold ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 For me, while journeying thro* this narrow vale„ 
 Short-hVd, shortsighted, apt to fall or fail; 
 If from a work, so generous and so grand, 
 Life, and a previous lot withhold my hand; 
 Or want of fitness, strength, or what besides, 
 He can discern, who counsels and provides; 
 
120 THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK IV. 
 
 Tho', for his purpose, God respects not forms, 
 But works his will in angels and in worms, 
 Each, in degree, by different means and ways, 
 Made to set forth their Maker's power and praise. 
 Still be my duty, my delight while here, 
 Tho' poor my service, circumscribed my sphere, 
 In useful tasks my talents to employ, 
 And taste in humble walks a heav'nly joy. 
 Let wise pursuits my daily thoughts engage, — 
 To smooth the care-worn brow of drooping age, 
 With zealous ear absorb the mental food, 
 And rich experience of the wise and good. 
 Or, with persuasive lips, impress the youth 
 Of listening childhood, with the laws of truth. 
 But still, whate'er I think, whate'er I do, 
 Thy presence, Faith, and aid I wish to woo. 
 Thee, when the morn's red orient breaks, I hail, 
 To steer my vessel thro' the stormy gale; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 121 
 
 Thee welcome, at dim night's return, to keep 
 My pillow calm, amid the death-like sleep. 
 When, at the lov'd approach of tranquil eve, 
 Life's bustling scene, and earthly cares I leave; 
 Gliding with hasty footstep, o'er the rough, 
 But pleasing pathway, if retir'd enough, 
 And shelter'd from the stranger's rude approach, 
 And ev'n from friendship's eye, that might encroach 
 On moments, spent in raptures, only known 
 To him that feels, and felt but when alone ; 
 Faith! guardian of my soul, be with me there ; 
 Assist my meditation, and my pray'r! 
 Calm be my seat, in solitude descried, 
 Lofty and lone upon the mountain side ; 
 And while, behind, loud tumult fills the vale, 
 Without a witness, save the passing gale, 
 In solemn musings shall my soul recline, 
 And learn from Faith to sing the tale divine. 
 
 M 
 
122 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 Author of every good and perfect gift! 
 
 To thee, great God! my thankful eyes I lift. 
 
 Lost in amaze, I view thy boundless grace, 
 
 Diffusing pardon to a ruin'd race. 
 
 Not yon bright heav'ns' unmeasur'd heights contain 
 
 Thy works of love, extensive as thy reign; 
 
 Not yon fair tenants of celestial air 
 
 Are objects only of thy tender care. 
 
 Of thy free will thy gracious act began, 
 
 Nor first was sought, nor ev'n suppos'd by man. 
 
 He to reject thy law for ever prone: 
 
 Thou still omnipotent to win thine own. 
 
 His treason, still, in thought, in deed aspires, 
 
 Nor limit knows, nor interval desires. 
 
 But who, of thine unwearied love, can count 
 
 Th' unnuraber'd acts, th' innum'rable amount? 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK IV, 123 
 
 Each day, each hour we taste th' amazing store, 
 
 In promise many, in provision more. 
 
 Each day, the debt increases on our hands; 
 
 Each day, less fit to answer thy demands. 
 
 Great God! these debts and those demands are paid, 
 
 All by thyself, without another's aid. 
 
 Not sacrifice of beasts, nor human tears, 
 
 Nor human victim paid the long arrears ; 
 
 Nor wasl/d the stain, nor turn'd aside the rod; — 
 
 Blood was the price, but that the blood of God ! 
 
 Mysterious truth, yet suited to control 
 
 The deep-felt anguish of a wounded soul! 
 
 For which nor pray'r, nor penance had suffic'd, 
 
 But ail had fail'd without the blood of Christ. 
 
 vr. 
 
 On this firm rock inclining Faith restores 
 Her fainting spirit, and her God adores, 
 M 2 
 
124 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Who leans upon this rock shall never fall; 
 
 Destin'd, thro' faith, to stand and conquer all. 
 
 Whose fix'd foundations, on the broad-built base* 
 Nor fraud can undermine, nor force displace 
 Unerring Wisdom, in th' unfathom'd mine 
 Of God's intention, formed the grand design ; 
 And, when the dawn of fleeting time began, 
 Reveal'd this fabric of mysterious plan, 
 Not to excite surprise, or wonder move, 
 But harbinger of pre-existing love ; 
 That when, imperfect in its best estate, 
 Creation sinks beneath th' o'erwhelming fate; 
 Amid the deluge of that fiery doom, 
 Some gleam of comfort, of deliv'rance some, 
 Might point the pilgrim to the wish'd-for goal, — 
 To Christ the rock — the refuge of the souL 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 125 
 
 VII. 
 
 Here, till the heav'ns and earth are roll'd away f 
 Cheer'd and enlighten'd by the blissful ray, 
 Faith shall repair, expectant of her time* 
 In spirit calm, in attitude sublime. 
 Escap'd the fury of her foes, behind 
 She looks, revolving in collected mind, 
 Thro' the wide darkness, and the stormy blast, 
 What toils she bore, what dangers she surpassed, 
 And gain'd the summit of her hopes at length, 
 With greater confidence, and greater strength. 
 That path, unled, no footstep ever trod; 
 No hand could lead, except the hand of God; 
 The hand, confess'd, was ever in her view, 
 She felt its presence, and its owner knew, 
 Seen in the still victorious aid it brought ; 
 Felt in the dread of danger turn'd to nought; 
 M 3 
 
126 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 In hour of peril, her unmatched defence; 
 In hour of peace, her brightest excellence. 
 — And wilt thou not, almighty God! extend 
 This gracious succour, till th' accomplished end ? 
 Till all thy children at the banner meet, 
 And Faith beholds the work of love complete? 
 Then, with the sons and daughters of the morn, 
 Her wings with bridal hues shall Faith adorn. 
 Henceforth no more a guardian or a guest, 
 She gives the Lamb his bride, she goes to rest. 
 Mid shouts, and singings, and seraphic cries, 
 She soars in raptures to her native skies; 
 While the last chorus of her song shall be: 
 " The Lord is faithful, holy and just is be!" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O happy they, who sing the song of Faith I 
 The bridal of the Lamb! The Spirit saitb, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 127 
 
 They rest from labour, they have their reward, 
 And live and reign for ever with the Lord. 
 
 IX. 
 
 How shall we bless the Spirit, ever true? 
 Where seek his praise, so ancient, yet so new? 
 Through all his works diffus'd, the mighty sound 
 Bears record to creation's utmost bound. 
 A thousand regions view th' extended line, 
 A thousand ages own the hand divine. 
 Thou sun, high-thron'd in heav'ns excessive blaze. 
 Shine, far-fam'd herald of his endless praise. 
 Thine is the morning, and the greater lights 
 The lesser her*s, who rules the starry night, 
 And, in the centre of her shining ranks, 
 Pours forth the mute expression of her thanks, 
 Acknowledging the source, from whence arose, 
 And from whose fulness all her glory flows. 
 
128 THE CITY OF REFUGE —BOOK IV. 
 
 The pendent earth attests thy skilful hand, 
 Which curbs her ocean, and protects her land. 
 There great whales gambol, and the finny tribe 
 Existence to the living God ascribe. 
 All, in compliance with their Maker's mind, 
 Moving and multiplying in their kind. 
 Here creeping things, and flying, we behold ; 
 Beasts of the field, and cattle of the fold; 
 And man, the acknowledged vicar of thy sway: 
 O Spirit! these thy faithfulness display. 
 The rolling year a lasting proof has stood 
 Of truth and mercy, blended for our good. 
 Thousands of years have not reversed their frame, 
 The same to day, in ancient times the same. 
 Now, as of old, the wonted sign returns; 
 The winter freezes, and the summer burns; 
 Seedtime and harvest, in alternate right, 
 Succeed, and night to day, and day to night. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 129 
 
 These, in their walks, a perfect knowledge show, 
 And all in order come, in order go. 
 Kept as the prophet, taught by thee, foreshow'd, 
 And guided in the heav'n-appointed road. 
 Nor cause, nor issue op'rates to derange 
 The just gradations of their growth and change. 
 No second deluge brings the cry of woe ; 
 Yon heav'ns bear record in the colour'd bow; 
 And in the tempest whisper, in our ear, 
 The mystic pledge, that dissipates our fear* 
 Where pow'r and faithfulness, united, shew, 
 Wrath rais'd to strike, but mercy wards the blow. 
 
 X. 
 
 Yet come that hour, it must, of vengeful ire 
 And judgment, arm'd with thunderbolt and fire* 
 This, tho' long coming, and arriving late, 
 Is sure in progress, certain in its date. 
 
130 THE CITY OF REfUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Not led by the weak hand of erring chance, 
 
 But guided by th' eternal Vigilance^ 
 
 Ere the beginning of duration's dawn, 
 
 Its noon was fix'd, its eventirne was drawn; 
 
 And each event, or aided or endur'd, 
 
 With glory untarnished, wisdom unobscur'd. 
 
 Seen the fell ruler of th' infernal trains, 
 
 Now proud in triumph, now in hell and chains; 
 
 Seen the red sword of sin, on ruin bent, 
 
 And sin's atonement, and its punishment. 
 
 Th* effulgence of the God, inherent blaze, 
 
 Creates new suns with uncreated rays, 
 
 Gives life to all, derives his life from none, 
 
 Enlarges all dimensions but his own. 
 
 World after world the growing act beholds, 
 
 And wonder rises, as the scene unfolds. 
 
 How purity, unstain'd, inviolate, 
 
 Forbears, and suffers an unholy state! 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE — BOOK IV. 131 
 
 How mercy free forgiveness can dispense, 
 And justice unimpeach'd atone th' offence! 
 Mysterious truths! too feeble to conceive, 
 We bless th' asserting Spirit and believe. 
 Not without hope, tho' school'd in evil times. 
 Where light is darkness, and where joys are crimes; 
 Not without hope, tho' destined to return 
 To dust, in -death's inanimate sojourn. 
 There shall the beams of heav'nly morning come, 
 And warm the dry bones in their cheerless home; 
 With endless life, with spotless soul refine, 
 And clothe with bloom, immortal and divine. 
 Blest morning ! when the Spirit shall have showa 
 All we know not, for all shall then be known. 
 
 XL 
 
 Yet such that day, as, in her mortal state, 
 Earth ne'er saw greater, and but one so great 
 
132 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Of all her changes, or to come, or past, 
 
 Those the most fam'd, the foremost and the last. 
 
 Then the fair drama rais'd its beauteous screen, 
 
 And now the falling curtain shuts the scene. 
 
 And see we in the flood, or flesh, or flow'r, 
 
 Proof of creative, or of vital pow'r? 
 
 These by their flight, or want, or waste, declare 
 
 How transient, weak, and with'ring creatures are. 
 
 Their living lines, by heavenly wisdom penn'd, 
 
 The blind may read, the fool may comprehend. 
 
 Types of creation, pilgrims of the way, 
 
 Heralds of glory, prophets of decay, 
 
 They show perfection, somewhere to be found, 
 
 And somewhere sought, but warn from earthly ground. 
 
 But where, debarred from treasuries of earth, 
 
 Where shall we seek this plant of matchless worth? 
 
 In what new sphere direct our long pursuit, 
 
 Or hope to find th* exotic attribute? 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK IV. 13$ 
 
 O'er the faint vestige of those guides of souls, 
 Thro' darkness and in dust, like bats and moles'? 
 Along the slipp'ry path, the thorny heath, 
 Whose aid is error, and their end is death? 
 Ev r n here, untutored by the warning voice 
 Of reason, anxious of a better choice, 
 Deep in th' abodes of mis'ry and of wrath, 
 The fatal issues of that gloomy path, 
 We might have sunk intomb'd, and still have griev'd, 
 And still have groan'd, unpitied, unreliev'd. 
 Where no celestial guardian angel, fair 
 With azure eyes and sun-like radiant hair, 
 Descends, from fields of paradise, to steep 
 The throbbing temples in mellifluous sleep. 
 But horrid is their fiery couch and hard ; 
 Fierce fiends torment it, hellish phantoms guard; 
 And dash the fev'rish slumbers of their brains 
 With bitter foretastes of foreboded pain$; 
 
 N 
 
134 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Till the great seal of judgment stamp their doom, 
 And utter exile to the land of gloom. 
 Theirs is the portion in the long, long night — 
 Who durst oppose the Saviour in his right. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Oh, that to their false peace, pernicious sway, 
 
 And ruthless end, I did not fall a prey ! 
 
 Alheit upon the sinking bank I stood, 
 
 With hands stretch'd forth to try the treach'rous flood, 
 
 Most holy Comforter! assist my pray'r 
 
 To give this glory to thy timely care. 
 
 Taught by whose light, I shunn'd, with fear-struck eye, 
 
 That awful crisis, and the fate so nigh. 
 
 Thee will I laud, while life endures, among 
 
 Thy much-lov'd children, Zion's earthly throng; 
 
 And thy blest teaching, more than rubies, more 
 
 Than man can teach or tell, will I explore. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK IV. 15 
 
 Not those frail emblems of our dying state, 
 Not nature's oracles, which show'd our fate, 
 Reveal'd, where life preserves its sacred throne; 
 Thine was the gift and teaching, thine alone. 
 They show'd th' abyss of mis'ry yawning wide, 
 But thou hast snatch'd us from the rav'ning tide. 
 To those dark realms we bid a long adieu; 
 The gates of heav'n are rising to our view. 
 Long lost, now found ; long wand'ring, now restor'd ; 
 We hail, in hope, the city of our Lord. 
 Behold her walls of precious stones, behold 
 Her gates of sapphire, and her streets of gold. 
 Unclouded light her holy court enshrines, 
 Shed from the Lamb, the sun that ever shines. 
 O happy they ! whose pilgrim days are o'er ; 
 They weep, they toil, they die, they sin no more: 
 But joy, and life, and victory, and praise, 
 Keign thro' th' immense eternity of days. 
 N 2 
 
136 THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK IV. 
 
 O happy they! with such a portion blest! 
 
 To us, still journeying to the land of rest, 
 
 " Come/' saith the Spirit, and the bride saith, " Come !" 
 
 And Faith strives hard to reach th' appointed home. 
 
 O'er the rough desert, up the steep ascent, 
 
 By difficulties unstaid, by toil unspent, 
 
 We press; still gazing stedfast on the mark — 
 
 The dawning light, which guides us thro' the dark; 
 
 Till, as the limit of our hope is gain'd, 
 
 And earth grows dim, and heavVs fair fields expand, 
 
 As on the wings of eagles, to the throne 
 
 Of God we mount. The refuge is our own. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet on the verge of judgment, while we stay, 
 Take we a solemn, yet a short survey 
 Of the proud actors of our earthly stage, 
 Th' heroic phantoms of a darkling age. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE,— BOOK IV, 137 
 
 Once the vain idols of our wond'ring eyes, 
 And paragons of all that man should prize. 
 Earth seem'd on purpose form'd for their display, 
 Yet seem'd too close for their aspiring sway. 
 Now the dark veil is from their foreheads torn, 
 And rays of godlike light no more adorn ; 
 Nor shall their fictious grandeur, or array, 
 Charm by fair semblance, nor by false betray. 
 Stript of their thin disguisement, or seen thro', 
 Their inbred characters appear to view, 
 Envelop'd in dark colours, and obscure 
 Amidst alarming hopes and thoughts impure. 
 Loud tho' the trump of history precede 
 The sumptuous march, emblazoning the dfed; 
 And poetry , with incense-season'd strains, 
 Exalt the victor to the starry plains. 
 Yet all in vain are their seducing arts, 
 To blind our eyes or captivate our hearts. 
 N 3 
 
13S THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV, 
 
 Ambition, fiend of hell, erects their nod, 
 And pride, disdaining men aud hating God. 
 Clogg'd are their chariot-wheels with bleeding dead. 
 With widows' tears and orphans', vainly shed. 
 O ! in the tumult of the madd'ning crowd, 
 Who hears the cries of Virtue, long and loud? 
 Who, with soft balm, assuages her fierce pain, 
 Aud bids her smile, and bids her hope again? 
 At what tribunal shall her wrongs be laid, 
 Her rightful claims, secure of royal aid? 
 Against her pray'r, her pleading, and her vows, 
 The tyrant shuts his ear and knits his brows; 
 Or hears the suppliant groan, with ruthless eye, 
 Aud, unconcern'd, beholds her droop and die. 
 And yet on such, the spoilers of their kind, 
 We, wretched minions, to our interests blind, 
 Fond of our base condition, lean'd for aid, 
 And crown'd them with the palm's indignant shade. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 139 
 
 Long time we bow'd, and still beneath the yoke 
 
 Should bow, but God's strong arm the fetters broke. 
 
 Loud as a thunderclap, the rescue came, 
 
 And foil'd the mighty hunter of his game. 
 
 Hush'd is the Lion's lordly rage ; no more 
 
 The world turns pale to hear his angry roar. 
 
 The ranging Bear has elos'd his horrid feast, 
 
 And the dire prowling of the Leopard ceas'd. 
 
 Nor shall the ten-horn'd monster, once the dread 
 
 Of wasted empires, long uphold his head; 
 
 Tho ? round his offspring, with insinuous tail, 
 
 The dragon watch, and, mad with anguish, wail. 
 
 Faint, and yet fainter is that gasping throat, 
 
 Unfelt, unfear'd ; retiring, and remote. 
 
 Hark, in the gale a softer note succeeds ! 
 
 The soul looks ling'ring; Faith the promise pleads. 
 
 O Lamb of God, the joyful sound increase I 
 
 Enlarge thy tents, th' abodes of perfect peace ! 
 
140 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Stretch forth that sceptre, which shall awe the world, 
 When hostile monarchs from their thrones are hurl'd. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Age after age rolls on ; — like passing clouds, 
 
 Of grand events the destin'd phalanx ciowds, 
 
 Succeeding and succeeded ; closing fast, 
 
 Eventful all, but most of all the last. 
 
 Such things as we have seen, the saints interred 
 
 Desir'd to see, to hear as we have heard, i 
 
 We not less anxious to behold the pow'r, 
 
 Now working, finished in a future hour. 
 
 The same sure sign, as they possess'd, have we, 
 
 That what the Spirit hath foreshown shall be. 
 
 Of this, the word perform'd in every age, 
 
 To them, to us is one unerring pledge. 
 
 One is the Author of our faith, the Friend, 
 
 By whom the work began, by whom shall end: 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE —BOOK IV. 141 
 
 Not like frail creature, subject to the laws 
 Of force, nor influenc'd by a second cause; 
 But has within himself all pow'r confin'd ; 
 Unbiass'd will, and unrepenting mind. 
 To whom all things, consistent with his view 
 Of right, are possible, and must ensue, 
 Each in th' appointed time, as he shall see 
 Most suitable to his divine decree. 
 Not to enlarge his glory, strength, or sway, 
 Which will not bear addition or decay, 
 But, by a living witness, to record 
 His justice, mercy, pow'r, and faithful word. 
 These, in unsullied blaze, shall shine, when all 
 Inferior lights to outward darkness fall; 
 When not a light exists, but such as gives 
 Reflection of that life, by which it lives. 
 
142 THE CITY OF REFUGE— BOOK IV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Wide as the sun his friendly light displays, 
 Whate'er our hand erects, our eye surveys, 
 The proudest monument of human sway, 
 Like foam upon the beach, shall melt away. 
 He, that casts anchor on this sandy rock, 
 Is plung'd to sheer perdition with the shock. 
 But Faith, amid the storm, her voyage keeps, 
 Warn'd of the false repose and whirling deeps. 
 With full-stretch'd sail and stedfast eye, explores 
 A surer landing on serener shores. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Thus when the stranger, with unsparing pow'r, 
 Laid low the crest of Salem's regal tower; 
 Whose sons, forgetful of their God, misus'd 
 His holy prophets, and his law refus'd, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE —BOOK IV. 143 
 
 The priest and people, joining hearts and hands, 
 
 DenTd his courts with gods of heathen lands. 
 
 Heedless of Faith, by warning unreclaim'd, 
 
 With scorn the preacher, and his God they sham'd. 
 
 Till rous'd, th' almighty hand, which proffer'd love,. 
 
 Pour'd out the wrathful vials from above. 
 
 Nor pow'r nor pray'r could save the guilty race, 
 
 Nor Zion's altar, God's own dwelling place ; 
 
 Tho' for their safety a sure guard believed ; — 
 
 A guard for sin, oh, fatally deceiv'd! 
 
 When the fierce Chaldee smote, with ruthless rage, 
 
 The people of each rank, and sex, and age; 
 
 Or spar'd to suffer, in a foreign soil, 
 
 Pangs worse than death, and with a bondsman's toil. 
 
 Here, far from Salem's broken wall remov'd, 
 
 Faith found her sons, by their allegiance prov'd. 
 
 Yet that the Lord was near at their request, 
 
 Let the rare vict'ry which they won attest, 
 
144 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 Let D lira's plain a long memorial raise, 
 
 And worlds to come, when this vain world decays; 
 
 Them not the tyrant's frown, nor smile could shame, 
 
 Nor furnace heated with a sevenfold flame; 
 
 All which they brav'd, and overcame them all. 
 
 For God was round them, like a brazen wall, 
 
 Restrained them from the foe's oppressive law, 
 
 From the tierce fire, and hungry lion's jaw. 
 
 — Thou, Lord, in all our trials and distress, 
 
 Shalt stretch thine arm in merciful redress! 
 
 And still thy pow'r, well-known in ancient days, 
 
 Shall yield to us an endless song of praise. 
 
 Ev'n when the flesh sinks deepest in the stream, 
 
 There shall descend a hope-reviving beam, [dare 
 
 Bright beam! sweet hope! for which the soul would 
 
 Each woe, the heaviest earth can lay, to bear. 
 
 And once possess'd, could wealth untold be mine, 
 
 Not in th' exchange would I my prize resign ; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 145 
 
 Content to sell, and count it gladly sold— 
 
 The world, so might I that rich heirship hold ; 
 
 So might the Spirit of all joy refresh 
 
 My soul, encumberd with her dying flesh, 
 
 And groaning with the weight that bows her down 
 
 To earth's vain smile, to sin's unholy frown. 
 
 <— Yet patiently she waits her better change, 
 
 That hour so sure to come, albeit so strange ; 
 
 When she shall shed her garb of weary growth, 
 
 Which time so soon hath soil'd, and sin, and sloth — 
 
 And, in a heav'nly garment covered o'er, 
 
 Enjoy her titles and decay no more. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The thought of this sublime reform inspires 
 The soul with transports and unusual fires. 
 Cold be the heart, and cheerless as the clay — 
 If Faith once enter, all is blithe as day, 
 
 o 
 
146 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 That to this state a better shall succeed, 
 
 A sinless state to sin, is joy indeed ! 
 
 So short a time to drag this weary load, 
 
 So soon to rest in yon divine abode! 
 
 Weighed in the balance let the worth be known, — 
 
 Here present evil, there the good foreshown. 
 
 Not all I bear, not all that may be borne, 
 
 Can make the promise void, the hope forlorn : 
 
 Death, who strikes deepest, that relentless foe, 
 
 Cuts the last cord, that binds us down to woe, 
 
 XVIII. 
 Arm'd with this thought, 1 know, with holy Paul, 
 To whom I trust, and He can keep my all. 
 Content amid the soul's unseen alarms, 
 Secure against the pow'rs of hell in arms. 
 When, press'd beneath unusual ills, I bow, 
 Still there is One, whose Spirit, even now, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE — BOOK IV. 147 
 
 In this sad strife all burden can remove, 
 And will, in yon blest hiding-place of love. 
 Or, as at times, when sore distresses frown, 
 I feel the cross, forget the promised crown, 
 Guide me, O guide me, Saviour, to the streams, 
 Where ancient seers indulged prophetic dreams I 
 To Ulai's bank, or, Hiddekel, to thine, 
 And be the cheering hope of Daniel mine. 
 Down from the realms, by mortal foot untrod, 
 The courteous Angel sought the man of God* 
 Sad was th' prophet for his native land, 
 Sad in th' assemblies of the hostile band. 
 He cast his weeping eyes upon the crown 
 Of Babel, deck'd from Zion's beaten down. 
 But God relented at his prayer, and brought 
 Relief unhop'd-for, recompence unsought; 
 From human eyes and intellect, undid 
 The film which darkened, and the mist which hid. 
 o 2 
 
US' THE CITY OF REFUGE BOOK IV. 
 
 Then, in the womb of time prepar'd, the sage 
 Beheld the product of the future age: 
 As vapours scud before the morning sun, 
 As waves succeeding waves o'er ocean run, 
 So pass'd the years, pursuing and pursu'd, 
 Till in the vast eternity subdu'd. 
 On falling kingdoms other kingdoms rose, 
 These, in their course declining, ev'n as those. 
 Till, when the mighty work design'd was done, 
 That Ancient sat on his unrivall'd throne; 
 Ancient of days, whose eyes were red as fire ; 
 And, as the snow, unspotted his attire! 
 Unuumber'd ministers attend his side, 
 The judgment-seat was set, the book laid wide. 
 Then to th' abyss the tyrant-kings were driv'n, 
 The saints admitted to their thrones in heav'n; 
 And, like a bride, the beauteous Zion rose, 
 Dress'd in the spoils and ruins of her foes, 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV, 149 
 
 Within her walls no penitential sigh, 
 No soul-exhausting groan, no suppliant cry, 
 Was heard ; nor despot rul'd with heart of steel, 
 Nor aught for ever after wrong'd her weal : 
 The peace she look'd for now adorn'd her lot, 
 And all her fears were finished and forgot. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 If, at the prospect of that glorious aid, 
 Seen by the prophet in his exile-shade, 
 His faith was strengthen'd, and his sorrow still'd ; 
 Much rather we, who see, in part fulfiird, 
 The cheering vision, should look out to greet, 
 With watchful eye, the work of God complete. 
 Lest, when he comes, he find our lamps extinct, 
 Our feet unshod, our garments unsuccinct^ 
 Lest, when we rise to realise the dream, 
 The gates be shut, and darkness be extreme, 
 o 3 
 
130 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Not long time hence, and night shall leave our sky; 
 
 The third loud watch is past, the fourth draws nigh. 
 
 Ev'n as we know the dawn of matin near, 
 
 By the shrill voice of early chanticleer, 
 
 By dews shed gently on the mossy fields, 
 
 By the small dusk, which grey-hair' d twilight yields; 
 
 So, by the signs and seasons of our age, 
 
 The time, the God not distant we presage. 
 
 — O spread, fair peace, thy soul-refreshing ray \ 
 
 Make the path clear, proclaim the coming day! 
 
 The light, which heav'n imparts to cheer the mind, 
 
 Too long to Britain's narrow shore confin'd, 
 
 Before the joyous passage of her sons, 
 
 O'er the wide waves to distant nations runs. 
 
 Not the strong barriers, nor united force 
 
 Of earth and hell, divert its rapid course. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 151 
 
 Onward it glides, and farther as it flows. 
 
 Its breadth, its depth, its influence greater grows ; 
 
 The Pow'r of darkness, as the stream invades, 
 
 From all his quarters summons all his aids, 
 
 Mix'd with his gory tides the crystal shines, 
 
 Besets his court, his altar undermines j 
 
 His throne already nods amidst his slaves, 
 
 The tyrant trembles now, and now he raves. 
 
 Now seeks to save his empire by device, 
 
 Now hopes by force to stem the victor's rise. 
 
 Vain force, vain artifice, too long employ'd 
 
 With too much luck, but now of purpose void ;. 
 
 If but the finger of our God avert 
 
 The weapon, pointed to inflict our hurt, 
 
 The hand, that wastes the world, drops harmless down ? 
 
 And dissappointment quells the demon's frown. 
 
 O, from his sceptre save the nations, Lord ! 
 
 Be faithful times, and mutual love restored ; 
 
152 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IT. 
 
 Far hence keep off those visitants of hell — 
 The fiends which vex — the furies that rebel; 
 Vile superstition, at whose ill-starr'd shrine, 
 The fire is fann'd, so falsely term'd divine. 
 O Lord ! what numbers at her altar kneel, 
 Foes to true knowledge, while so flush'd with zeah 
 Or, leagued with falsehood, would direct the storm 
 Against the truth, to darken and deform. 
 Go forth to conquer, mighty King! assuage 
 The bigot's pride, the persecutor's rage. 
 Break every faction, every thought restrain, 
 That dares oppose thy conquest and thy reign. 
 — Oh ! might we see thy gospel-glory thron'd 
 On Afric's wastes, on Asia's, and beyond ; — 
 Where'er the fiend, in many a land obscure, 
 Hath flx'd his empire, silent and secure ; 
 Or gotten for himself renown afar, 
 By monstrous funerals, and his gory car. 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE —BOOK IV. 153 
 
 Juggurnatha, grim terrific king ! 
 Whose sceptre foils awhile my daring wing, 
 
 1 hear the rumbling of thy cumbrous wheel, 
 The shout of nations, wild with frantic zeal; 
 Thy triumph swells the whirlwind ; but beneath 
 Earth speaks her verdict in the" groan of death. 
 Who shall redress the wrong — restore the right? 
 Where is the succour, where that arm of might? 
 Art thou not it, which heretofore defied 
 
 The Dagon's image, and the Baal's pride ; 
 
 The same, which henceforth is to crush the bed 
 
 Of the proud harlot, and the serpent's head ? 
 
 Still striving for thy own — for Zion's sake! 
 
 Awake to vict'ry, arm of God, awake! 
 
 The foe speaks proudly — bear's t thou not his vaunt? 
 
 Defies thy fury — shall he also daunt? 
 
 Shakes his huge spear-beam and gigantic nod, 
 
 Affecting fight ! Awake, O arm of God I 
 
134 THE CITY OF REFUGE.— BOOK IV. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 My wings press boldly to their rest, I see 
 The strife that is, the triumph that shall bej 
 That day, which in the valley shall reveal 
 The great decision, and the last appeal. 
 I see the nations, like the roaring waves, 
 Rush to the battle — to the land of graves; 
 Each idol from his ill-got honours hurl'd; 
 The last convulsions of a dying world ; 
 The life of nature, buried in her fall ; 
 The life to come, where God is all in alh 
 
 xxir. 
 
 Ye forms unseen! ye visions undenVd! 
 Ye years, that roll mysterious as the wind I 
 Hail, hosts of heav'n ! eternal ages, hail! 
 And rest, untouch'd, within your hallow 'd veil ; 
 
THE CITY OF REFUGE,— BOOK IV. 155 
 
 Or rather, till the perfect morn arise, 
 Your conqu'ring beams shall cheer the pilgrim's eyes. 
 — O Zion, I behold thy glory giv'n 
 To every land and language under heav'n. 
 Nations, as yet unknown, shall wed thy cause, 
 And hostile kings at length obey thy laws ! 
 The new-found world unheard-of tracts shall reach, 
 And plant the cross on border and on beach. 
 Europe, th' abode of discord and contempt, 
 At last, from those tormenting fiends exempt, 
 Shall rest; united, not by base intrigue, 
 But pure religion in a lasting league. 
 Th' imperial North shall see her ukase, learn'd 
 For tales of vict'ry, without bloodshed earn'd. 
 The South launch forth, on new discoveries, bold 
 In nobler enterprise, than quest of gold. 
 Ev'n Rome shall bend in meekness to adore, 
 And France usurp, and Britain war no more. 
 finis. 
 
YOVNGMAN, PRINTER, WITHAM 
 AND MALDON. 
 
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