Religious and Moral Poems | Page 4

the best Judges, and is thought qualified
to write them.
His Excellency THOMAS HUTCHINSON, Governor.
The Hon. ANDREW OLIVER, Lieutenant-Governor.
The Hon. Thomas Hubbard, | The Rev. Charles Chauncey, D. D. The
Hon. John Erving, | The Rev. Mather Byles, D. D.
The Hon. James
Pitts, | The Rev. Ed. Pemberton, D. D.
The Hon. Harrison Gray, | The
Rev. Andrew Elliot, D. D.
The Hon. James Bowdoin, | The Rev.
Samuel Cooper, D. D.
John Hancock, Esq; | The Rev. Mr. Saumel
Mather,
Joseph Green, Esq; | The Rev. Mr. John Moorhead,

Richard Carey, Esq; | Mr. John Wheat ey, her Master.
N. B. The original Attestation, signed by the above Gentlemen,
may
be seen by applying to Archibald Bell, Bookseller,
No. 8,
Aldgate-Street.

*The Words "following Page," allude to the Contents
of the
Manuscript Copy, with are wrote at the
Back of the above

Attestation.
P O E M S
O N
V A R I O U S S U B J E C T S.

To M AE C E N A S.
MAECENAS, you, beneath the myrtle shade,
Read o'er what poets
sung, and shepherds play'd.
What felt those poets but you feel the
same?
Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?
Their noble
strains your equal genius shares
In softer language, and diviner airs.

While Homer paints, lo! circumfus'd in air,
Celestial Gods in
mortal forms appear;
Swift as they move hear each recess rebound,

Heav'n quakes, earth trembles, and the shores resound.
Great Sire of
verse, before my mortal eyes,
The lightnings blaze across the vaulted
skies,
And, as the thunder shakes the heav'nly plains,
A deep felt
horror thrills through all my veins.
When gentler strains demand thy
graceful song,
The length'ning line moves languishing along.
When
great Patroclus courts Achilles' aid,
The grateful tribute of my tears is
paid;
Prone on the shore he feels the pangs of love,
And stern
Pelides tend'rest passions move.
Great Maro's strain in heav'nly
numbers flows,
The Nine inspire, and all the bosom glows.
O could
I rival thine and Virgil's page,
Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan
Sage;
Soon the same beauties should my mind adorn,
And the same
ardors in my soul should burn:
Then should my song in bolder notes
arise,
And all my numbers pleasingly surprise;
But here I sit, and
mourn a grov'ling mind,
That fain would mount, and ride upon the
wind.
Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,
Not you,
whose bosom is the Muses home;
When they from tow'ring Helicon
retire,
They fan in you the bright immortal fire,
But I less happy,

cannot raise the song,
The fault'ring music dies upon my tongue.

The happier Terence* all the choir inspir'd,
His soul replenish'd, and
his bosom fir'd;
But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace,
To one
alone of Afric's sable race;
From age to age transmitting thus his
name
With the finest glory in the rolls of fame?
Thy virtues, great
Maecenas! shall be sung
In praise of him, from whom those virtues
sprung:
While blooming wreaths around thy temples spread,
I'll
snatch a laurel from thine honour'd head,
While you indulgent smile
upon the deed.
*He was an African by birth.
As long as Thames in streams majestic flows,
Or Naiads in their oozy
beds repose
While Phoebus reigns above the starry train
While
bright Aurora purples o'er the main,
So long, great Sir, the muse thy
praise shall sing,
So long thy praise shal' make Parnassus ring:
Then
grant, Maecenas, thy paternal rays,
Hear me propitious, and defend
my lays.
O N V I R T U E.
O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine
own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease
to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t' explore, or fathom thy
profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee,
and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hovers o'er thine
head.
Fain would the heav'n-born soul with her converse,
Then seek,
then court her for her promis'd bliss.
Auspicious queen, thine heav'nly pinions spread,
And lead celestial
Chastity along;
Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,
Array'd in
glory from the orbs above.
Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years!

O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to
endless life and bliss.
Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call

thee,
To give me an higher appellation still,
Teach me a better strain,
a nobler lay,
O thou, enthron'd with Cherubs in the realms of day.
TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE,
IN
NEW-ENGLAND.
WHILE an intrinsic ardor prompts to write,
The muses promise to
assist my pen;
'Twas not long since I left my native shore
The land
of errors, and Egyptain gloom:
Father of mercy, 'twas thy gracious
hand
Brought me in safety from those dark abodes.
Students, to you 'tis giv'n to scan the heights
Above, to traverse the
ethereal space,
And mark the systems of revolving worlds.
Still
more, ye sons of science ye receive
The blissful news by messengers
from heav'n,
How Jesus' blood for your redemption flows.
See him
with hands out-stretcht upon the cross;
Immense compassion in his
bosom glows;
He hears revilers, nor resents their scorn:
What
matchless mercy in the Son of God!
When the