COPY OF VERSES WRITTEN TO A. TIEBOUT.
I insert them not from any supposed excellence but for the sake of recalling
past Ideas.
Could flowing numbers animate my breast
And fire poetic raise a mind depress’d,
How would I catch from Friendship’s genial shrine
The sacred flame and call the muses mine.
The Muses—no, a higher aid I call
Before whose Throne those fancied beings fall,
Who first to Mortal Man existence gave
And next consigned him to the silent grave,
In fairer day to rise and ope those powers’Which only
budded in this world of ours.
O glorious prospect, worthy all our care,
With hope to wait and for the event prepare;
A great event, which different colours wears,
As man has reason for his hopes or fears.
To him who justice does and mercy loves
And fears the God who through all nature moves,
The prospect opens and in clearer skies
His soul expands, while radiant glories rise,
But he whose mind corrupted and debas’d,
The heavenly image of his God defac’d,
In keen remorse anticipates the day
When low in dust his guilty joys shall lay’
When vengeance threatening long, now strikes the blow
Which breaks the stubborn heart and kndles woe;
‘Till purged from every stain, Eternal Love
Removes the suppliant to the realms above,
Coeval with Eternity to sing
Th’ unbounded goodness of our heavenly King.
27th. This morning I went to town. Found my Father’s Family well’ must
see the silver tea-pot
