From pomp and royal state aloof, Their shining guide its beams withdrew; And points their path, and points their view, To Bethlehem's rustic cots, to Mary's lowly roof. There the bright sentinel kept watch, While other stars arose and set; For there, within its humble thatch, Weakness and power, and heaven and earth were met. Now, sages, now your search give o'er, Believe, fall prostrate, and adore! Here spread your spicy gifts, your golden offerings here; No more the fond complaint renew, Of human guilt and mortal woe, Of knowledge checked by doubt, and hope with fear : What angels wished to see, ye view ; What angels wished to learn, ye know ;— Peace is proclaimed to man, and heaven begun below. TO MR. BARBAULD, NOVEMBER, 14, 1778. COME, clear thy studious looks awhile, "T is arrant treason now To wear that moping brow, When I, thy empress, bid thee smile. What though the fading year One wreath will not afford To grace the poet's hair, Or deck the festal board; A thousand pretty ways we 'll find To mock old Winter's starving reign; We'll bid the violets spring again, Bid rich poetic roses blow, Peeping above his heaps of snow; We'll dress his withered cheeks in flowers, And on his smooth bald head Fantastic garlands bind : Garlands, which we will get From the gay blooms of that immortal year, Above the turning seasons set, Where young ideas shoot in Fancy's sunny bowers. A thousand pleasant arts we'll have We'll use him as our slave, And when we please we'll bid him stay, And clip his wings, and make him stop to view Our studies, and our follies too; How sweet our follies are, how high our fancies climb. We'll little care what others do, And where they go, and what they say; Our bliss, all inward and our own, Would only tarnished be, by being shown. The talking restless world shall see, Spite of the world we 'll happy be; But none shall know How much we're so, Save only Love, and we. TO MR. BARBAULD, WITH A MAP OF THE LAND OF MATRIMONY*. THE sailor worn by toil and wet with storms, As in the wished-for port secure he rides, Joyous he tells among his jocund mates Of loud alarms that chased his broken sleep, And blesses every kinder star that led His favoured vessel though the raging deep. * The Map published under this title was a jeu-d'esprit of Mrs. Barbauld's.-EDITOR. |