'Tis guilt, 'tis conscious guilt, that shakes my frame, That chills my ardor and benights my flame;
Ah! mighty GOD, vouchsafe thy quick’ning ray,
Chase from my mind those sable clouds away,
One kind regard can give again the day.
How few offenders by thy rigour fall;
Thy pity intervenes and shelters all;
Let me that vast extensive pity find,
And kindly blot my follies from thy mind:
If e'er my artless youth was thy delight,
If e'er my soul was precious in thy sight,
If it is worthy thy paternal care,
Restore me to thyself, and fix me there :
A gen'rous ardour to my breast impart,
And let thy grace divine enlarge my heart,
Then should a thousand gay delusions rise,
Should flatt'ring vice sit smiling in my eyes,
Undaunted I will go my faith to prove,
And give my GOD an instance of my love!
The bright temptation shall before me flee,
And
my untainted soul shall rest on thee.
I fear, like Saul, I have incurr'd thy hate, And as I fill his throne, should share his fate; Well I remember how th' infernal guest Tumultuous heav'd, and labor'd in his breast; Amaz'd I saw his dreadful eye-balls roll,
Whilst one continued earthquake shook his soul;
His frantic rage subsided as I play'd,
And music's softer pow'rs the sprite obey'd.
That potent harp which could the fiend com
Now drops as useless from its master's hand;
Eternal torments in my bosom rage,
My sharper griefs no music can assuage;
"Tis thou alone canst succour the distress'd,
And drive the sullen fury from my breast.
Whene'er the horrid deed I backward trace,
My soul rolls inward and forgets her peace;
Waking I dream, and in the silent night
A fearful vision stalks before my sight;
The pale Uriah walks his dreadful round,
He shakes his head, and points to ev'ry wound.
O foul disgrace to arms! Who now will go
To fight my battles, and repel the foe?
Who now to distant climes for fame will roam,
To fall at last by treachery at home?
Unhurt the coward may to ages stand,
The brave can only die by my command:
O, hold, my brain, to wild distraction wrought,
I will not, cannot, bear the painful thought!
O, do not fly me for thy mercy's sake!
Turn thee, O turn, and hear the wretched speak!
Ev'n self-condemn'd thy kneeling servant save,
And raise a drooping monarch from the grave.
Speak, mighty GOD! and bid the suppliant live, Let my charm'd ears but hear the word-Forgive; My muse shall spread the joyful tidings round, And to remotest worlds convey the sound; Whilst other sinners shall obedient prove, And taught by me shall wonder at thy love : No more their minds ignobler fires shall warm, But looser pleasures want a power to charm: My firm resolve shall their example be, To place their trust in virtue and in Thee. By other hands let the mute herd be slain, And on a thousand altars smoke in vain ; These tears my better advocates shall be, No poor atoning man shall die for me; My penitence shall act a nobler part, I bring a broken and a contrite heart: But O! if stricter justice must be done, And my relentless fate comes rolling on, I stand the mark, whatever is decreed, Be Israel safe, and let its monarch bleed : On me, on me thy utmost vengeance take, But spare my people for thy mercies' sake; O let Jerusalem to ages stand,
Build thou her walls, and spread her wide command! So shall thy name for ever be ador'd,
And future worlds like me shall bless the LORD.
SILENT Nymph, with curious eye!
Who, the purple ev'ning, lie
On the mountain's lonely van,
Beyond the noise of busy man;
Painting fair the form of things,
While the yellow linnet sings;
Or the tuneful nightingale
Charms the forest with her tale;
Come, with all thy various hues,
Come, and aid thy sister Muse;
Now, while Phoebus riding high,
Gives lustre to the land and sky!
Grongar Hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong;
Grongar in whose mossy cells,
Sweetly musing, Quiet dwells;
Grongar in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made.
So oft I have, the even still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sat upon the flow'ry bed,
With my hand beneath
And stray'd my eyes o'er Towy's flood, Over mead and over wood,
From house to house, from hill to hill, Till contemplation had her fill.
About his chequer'd sides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves and grottos where I lay,
And vistoes shooting beams of day ;
Wider and wider spreads the vale;
As circles on a smooth canal:
The mountains round, (unhappy fate,
Sooner or later, of all height!)
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise:
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly-risen hill.
Now I gain the mountain's brow,
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours intervene,
But the gay, the open scene,
Does the face of nature show,
In all the hues of heaven's bow!
And swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight.
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