Gideon; or, the patriot. An epic poem: in twelve books. Upon a Hebrew plan. In honour of the two chief virtues of a people; intrepidity in foreign war: and spirit of domestic liberty. With miscellaneous notes, and large reflections,

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

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- INTRODUCTION TO THE READER.

- GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. BOOK I.

- NOTES AND Miscellaneous REFLECTIONS ON The FIRST BOOK.

- GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. BOOK II.

- GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. BOOK III.

GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. AN EPIC POEM.

GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. AN EPIC POEM: IN TWELVE BOOKS. Upon a HEBREW PLAN. In Honour of the Two chief VIRTUES of a PEOPLE; Intrepidity in FOREIGN WAR: AND Spirit of DOMESTIC LIBERTY.

With Miscellaneous NOTES, and large REFLECTIONS, Upon DIFFERENT SUBJECTS: Critical, Historical, Political, Geographic, Military, and Commercial.

LONDON: Printed for A. MILLAR, opposite Katharine-Street in the Strand. MDCCXLIX.

INTRODUCTION TO THE READER.

THE Author of this Poem had begun one, on the Subject, many Years ago: but, doubting whether in the Plan he was proceeding on he had enough express'd the Sense of one who had the Blessing to be born and educated in a Land of Liberty, he had Discretion to stop short: and has postpon'd its Publication, for above three Times the Space prescrib'd by Horace for impartial Re-examination of a Poet's first Conceptions.—He now finds, from the Result of this Deliberation, that, tho' his General Purpose then was right, as but preferring the Monarchic, to the Popular Forms of Government; yet, had he, at That Time, gone through his Work, He was in Danger to have err'd, in one particular Point, of most essential Consequence: restraining Monarchy to its too simple Species—where It verges to, and looks like, Tyranny.

Early Prejudices are imbib'd too deeply to be rooted out at once. Experience, and Reflection, have, since, taught him, to conjoin, Ideas, which, before, seem'd inconsistent: and to know and own, as he now does, that Monarchy is there most nobly constituted, where Crowns invest their Wearers with the most extensive Power to guard, the Public Liberty: without Inducement to expect Increase of Happiness, or Glory, from Attempts to violate it.

There is That Difference, and no other, between the first, and present, Purpose of the Poem.—The Fabric is the same, as formerly: but It has firmer Ground, for its Foundation. —The Hebrew System is, and must be, Monarchy: but It is such a Monarchy, as GOD may be suppos'd, without Affront to his best Attributes, to have establish'd at the Head of a Free People: whom he would not, by a Waste of useless Miracles, have brought up out of Slavery to an Egyptian Tyrant; to have left 'em Slaves again, in a worse Country, under Tyrants, of their own Fraternity.

The Plan, as it now stands, is strictly consonant to This Idea: And so little Difference could arise from the mistaken Species, where the Genus was monarchical, that almost every thing, in the Poetic View, retains its Place, as in its first Production: with Exception only to That nobler Taste of Freedom; which the Writer ow'd to a disinterested, silent, and sincere Attachment, never confess'd, till now, to the unconscious Object of it. Here, first, and much too late, his touch'd Heart call'd upon him to record the Obligation.

It has been thought advisable to publish only Three Books at a Time: and with the first the Notes belonging to it. Partly by way of Specimen: but chiefly because relative to the Design, and general Constitution, of the Epic Species. —The Notes to All the Books, will, last, be publish'd, by Themselves: and may be bound distinct from the Poetic Part: or be annex'd to Each Book relatively; making, so, Two Volumes; at Election of the Reader: who may also, in this Method, chuse to take, or leave, the Notes, at his own Pleasure.—The Remaining Three Parts, of the Poem, will be publish'd in like manner as This First: and at the shortest Distances which can consist with Care, in the Revisal and Correction of so large a Work, and where Variety of Subjects claim the closest Application, of a Writer, not insensible with what a Reverence Men should appear before the Public Eye; who dare aspire to being held in View, beyond the Dimness of a present Prospect.

He presumes to call his present Prospect but a dim one, without Arrogance, or Satire: being equally remote from dreaming too sublimely, or too despicably, of the Age and Nation he was doom'd to take his Fate in.—He, but too well, knows 'em not the best dispos'd, in any Kind, for giving Fame to Epic Poetry: yet, must protest against so far misjudging his Cotemporaries as to suspect it possible, that many should not now be living, as completely qualify'd, as in whatever other Time, or Country, to know how far a Poet has deserv'd their Notice: and refuse it only, where It ought not to be granted.

For the Rest, he casts his Hopes upon Futurity: and, having but a short Reserve of personal Claim to Time, transfers his Expectation of Survival, to this Child of Leisure, His Poetic Representative.

He has nothing further, here, to add, concerning it, the Notes being very circumstantial, and explanatory: only, that the Work (which is of Epic, or Heroic, Species), had for Object, the chief Virtues of a People: Intrepidity, in foreign War—and Spirit of domestic Liberty.

As for the Notes, they are not merely of poetical, or critical, Intention: but consist, occasionally, of enlarg'd Discourses upon different Subjects, drawn from old and modern History; to elucidate and give Examples, to, political Deductions, which arise from Incidents, remark'd upon. They are, also, Military, Geographic, and Commercial: and include Variety of other Subjects: as the Reader will discover in their Progress.

Among these Reflections, it may possibly give Satisfaction to the Learn'd and Reverend Body of our Clergy, in particular, to see the following three Points touch'd, in the new Lights here given them.

1st, That the fine Theocracy, of the Mosaic Institution, was destroy'd, in its Progression, but by natural Consequence of one political Defect (that has not been enough adverted to, by Writers on that Subject), the Military Care disjoin'd from the Imperial.

2dly, That the Hebrew Form of Government was never, as it has by Mr. Harrington (and almost generally) been suppos'd, a Popular Republic: but a plain Hereditary Monarchy: the sovereign Power whereof was vested in the High-Priest's Person.

And 3dly, That, with Exception only to this last peculiar Circumstance, there arise great Probabilities, toward finding in the first establish'd Hebrew Model, the Original of All the manly Celtic Forms: and, in particular, of That, which constitutes the present System in Great Britain;—not relaxing from its, known, sound Principles.

Thus much seem'd needful to premise. What rests, will follow, with the Notes, conjunctively: Those on the first Book being publish'd previously, because explanatory of the General Purpose.

GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. BOOK I.

I.

GLOWING pure, with hallow'd Fire,

Seek, O Soul! some heav'nly Theme:

But, bid no Muse thy Flights inspire;

Vain the Hope, the Name a Dream.

Thou! Great, Almighty Spirit! tune my Verse;

Accept my Off'ring, sacred to thy Praise:

And while, unfit, thy Wonders I rehearse,

Strike Thy keen Lustre, sparkling, through my Lays.

Long, too long! the wand'ring Art;

Aw'd by Power, by Beauty charm'd,

Low has stoop'd to sooth the Heart:

And, with a smoaky Fire, the Passions warm'd.

But Thou! Great Origin of Harmony!

Breathe through my Numbers a diviner Strain:

And, as thy Servant Gideon, bless'd by Thee,

Broke his freed Country's hard-oppressive Chain,

So, now, all-pow'rful Guide! invig'rate me,

Successful, to redeem the Use, of long-lost Poetry!

Thou, the Great Author, of the Theme I chuse,

Inspire me, to describe it well: and be, Thyself, my Muse.

II.

War is my Subject: and That fav'rite Hand

Which, arm'd by Heav'n, redeem'd a chosen Race;

When, scarce yet warm in their new-gifted Land,

Wilful they started from protective Grace.

At length, provok'd, their High Deliv'rer vow'd

To pay with sharp Revenge their dull Disdain:

And, while, to Baal and Ashtaroth, they bow'd,

Justly, he bent their stubborn Necks to Pain:

And left 'em Slaves, to serve the Men, whose Gods they serv'd in vain.

Then, Gideon, wise and generous Leader! rose;

And taught faint Israel, by his strange Success,

That Loss of Freedom, from Corruption flows:

And Virtue's Sense restor'd, repels Distress.

Greatly determin'd, and sublimely brave,

From a low Fortune, and a Race obscure,

He, who well the Diff'rence knew,

'Twixt being base, and being poor,

Dar'd noblest Hopes, with humblest Means, pursue:

Shew'd the just Pref'rence of a balanc'd Power,

Where Prince and Senate pause, o'er weigh'd Debate;

To those blown Clouds which o'er Dominion lowre,

Where headless Hands, disjointly rash, perplex a struggling State.

When Sons of Faction, born to mis-compose,

Dar'd, proudly wanton, bid Rebellion reign;

Unvers'd in Rule, while o'er their Friends they rose,

To fall disgraceful, at the Feet of Foes,

Him, did the God of nobler Hopes ordain:

He, when his Country's just Despair scarce Heav'n's high Aid implor'd,

Redeem'd, Alone, th'unhoping Land: and her lost Law restor'd.

Hail, divine Impulse! — I thy Force obey.

Hail, glorious Theme, mark'd out by Heav'n, Heav'n's Influence, to display!

And Thou, directive Spirit! shine: to point my blazing Way.

III.

But, while I rouse th'immerg'd in Doubt, God's wond'rous Paths to see,

What human Power shall I invoke, for Aid?

What PATRON, to protect my Verse, and me,

And lead lost Taste, through Discord's eyeless Shade?

Why ask I this? — Shame, on the low Desire!

Not Earth's dim Fuel feeds celestial Fire.

Shine clear, my Soul! shun Flatt'ry's reptile Way:

Nor court th'imperious Puddlers, of a Day.

On strong Foundation, thy white Building raise:

Nor stain thy Subject by misguided Praise.

Not to Pride's transient Phantoms, poorly, kneel:

But, bid thy Work, that hopes immortal Fame,

Outsoaring Arrogance, to Worth appeal:

And bow, before some world-ennobling Name.

IV.

Hail, BOLINGBROKE! — from thy still Heights descend;

Come, Virtue's Heart, Wit's Soul, and Reason's Friend!

All the charm'd Muses Thine, the Least, now hear.

Why should they stoop to Kings, while Thou art near?

O, come — What Name shall influent Rapture find?

Great luminary Leader, of the Mind!

Ev'n could the Poet please, the Power were stole;

THY Sense of Freedom stretch'd his Muse's SOUL.

Erring, where Thousands err'd, in Youth's hot Start,

Propulsive Prejudice had warp'd his Heart;

Bold, and too loud he sigh'd, for high Distress,

Fond of the Fall'n, nor form'd to serve Success;

Partial to Woes, had weigh'd their Cause too light,

Wept o'er Misfortune — and misnam'd it, Right:

Anguish, attracting, turn'd Attachment wrong,

And Pity's Note mis-tun'd his devious Song.

Timely, thy home-bent Radiance, re-display'd,

Struck the dim Doubter, and dispell'd the Shade.

Cool-ey'd Reflection check'd th'enthusiast Rhyme,

And won the blushful Bigot, from his Crime.

— Oh! as his Heart, then, catch'd thy Patriot Glow,

Now, could his Verse, like thy sweet Accents, flow,

Music's whole Power should strike the vocal String,

And ev'ry Bird of Pindus clap the Wing.

Guided, he mark'd the interposing MOUND,

Which Licence bursting, Liberty were drown'd:

Which Monarchy, transcending, tow'rs to fall;

And, grasping more than granted, gives up All.

— Happiest of Men! most rais'd of Sov'reigns! He,

Liege-Lord of Lovers! Foremost of the Free!

Who scorns Prerogative, to taint his Will,

And reigns o'er ev'n the Power, to purpose ill.

Who shows majestic Royalty's plain Face,

With Dignity's unmask'd, paternal Grace;

Secur'd of Rev'rence, spurns tyrannic Awe,

And stars his Heav'n of Pow'r with Lights of Law;

Safely displuming Pride's imperious Crest,

And lodging Sense of Greatest, but in Best.

V.

Such were a ST. JOHN's Thoughts—such, once, his Crimes,

Doom'd, like a Lapland Sun, to down-bent Climes.

Strait was his Beam, but every breaking Ray,

Lost on th'oblique Declension, SEEM'D to stray.

— Off with the veily Metaphor's cold Shade!

Plain, to the Great, be Truth's pure Homage paid.

Malice, Disguise, and Fear, to Courts resign;

Warmth, in Thy Monarch's Cause, O Muse! be Thine.

Censures, Resentments, Calumnies, and Hate,

And all th' unlasting Levities of State,

Transient, as Dreams, shall break their Mists away,

And leave him glitt'ring, in unclouded Day.

Feel him, O Thames! to thy fam'd Stream, so nigh,

Bow thy prone Surge, and glide in Rev'rence by.

Calm, on thy Bank, in patient Pain, he smiles,

Effus'd, like Thee, the Boast of Regal Isles:

Next Neighbour to his GOD! who (close behind)

Breathes the still Altar's Influence o'er his Mind:

Swells his forgiving Heart with Joy to bless;

And bids him teach his Foes to shun Distress.

Pride of a Land, those Foes were born to stain!

Envy's vast Object! that o'ercharg'd a State,

Till Debt's proud Blush turn'd Gratitude to Pain,

And Wrongs, and Distance, eas'd thy dreaded Weight.

What shall I say, Sensations to reveal,

Which, Words not reaching, Thought but aches, to feel?

All I can be, be Thine!— Th'Eternal Eye,

That wakes for Virtue, sees, and loves, thy Claim:

Kingdoms shall rise, and in slow Ruins lie,

While new ones, in new Tongues, transmit thy Name.

VI.

O, never to be lost!—Could Wishes save,

Nations would guard Thee from th'all-cov'ring Grave:

But, 'twill not be.—Th'impatient Moments fly;

Nations, and Times, and St. John's Self, must DIE.

Die, to his Friends;—Himself Fate strikes in vain;

Death but th'Accession, of his dateless Reign.

When All those sacred Atoms sleep in Dust,

If Earth e'er veils Thee,—as, too sure! it must:

Sons of thy Soul shall each dear Remnant boast;

And he charm surest, who retains Thee most.

Realms, in Thy lucid Track, absolv'd from Night,

Shall blush for Blindness, that repell'd such Light;

Live to each Sense, thy faultless Taste inspir'd,

And bless that Leisure, which thy Wrongs acquir'd.

Freedom's broad Temple, in this bright'ning Isle,

Pillar'd, on Props, by honour'd St. John rear'd,

High, on the Front of her enduring Pile,

Shall wear th'immortal Name, through Time, rever'd.

Then, shall some happier Bard, all-friended, rise,

Whom ev'ry Muse shall aid, to touch thy Praise:

He, sweetlier-voic'd, shall these low Strains despise,

For All thy tuneful SOUL shall warm his Lays.

Mean while, O deign, through death-doom'd Aera's bright,

Buoyant, to bear aloft my Speck of Light;

Then, shall I float sustain'd, in this bless'd Page,

And one sav'd Poet 'scape a sinking Age.

VII.

NOW from the swarming East, for Sev'n long Years,

Had restless Midian pour'd her swarthy Hosts:

And, planting Canaan with erected Spears,

Aw'd fainting Israel, to her Western Coasts.

To These, old Amalek her Standards join'd;

The marching Hebrews first, and surest, Foe!

Thick, as the Locusts, in some living Wind;

A Tide of Death, o'er all the Land, they flow:

Force, and Famine, with them go!

Pangless, they stain their Front with Blood: and blot their Rear with Woe.

By God forsaken, God's proud People fly;

Valiant, no longer than obedient, found:

Hopeless to live, and yet afraid to die,

In Caves, and dark Retreats, they dwell on high.

Thence, prone, look trembling with pale Horror round,

While, from th' expos'd inferior Ground,

Their heavy Harvests load the plund'ring Foe:

And for Support of Those they curse, their Grapes and Olives grow.

Dejected now, their Joshua they forget,

Nor longer, warlike, others Lands invade:

Anxious now, their own they quit,

Poorly from reachless Rocks, to borrow Aid:

And, hid in Safety's eyeless Dusk, their boasted Glory shade.

VIII.

Westward from rev'rend Jordan's silv'ry Stream,

Where Half the Manasaean Tribe their measur'd Portion found,

Ophra salutes the Morning's op'ning Beam,

From the East Brow of an extended Round

Of high-rais'd, rugged, and imperial Ground.

Within th'extensive Circle, copious Plain,

And safe-stretch'd Pastures, high-inclos'd, remain

Impregnably secure, beneath th'exterior Mound.

Far to the North, below, was Jezreel's Valley spread:

Jezreel, by mighty Victories renown'd!

'Twas on this Mountain's broad and fertile Head,

JOASH, the destin'd Hero's Father, dwelt:

Joash, whom home-rais'd Harvests nobly fed;

Who, old in Ease, no Blast of Care had felt;

Crown'd with unenvy'd Plenty, and Respect,

He held a Power, by no proud Faction check'd;

And, sole, and nat'ral Monarch of the Place,

Reign'd in paternal Majesty, o'er all his happy Race.

Hard by his House, a rev'rend Oak there grew,

Which there had flourish'd, many a Cent'ry past;

Long before Israel GOD, or MOSES, knew,

Or from Egypt's Chain withdrew,

This Tree a Shade o'er half the Mountain cast.

Stretch'd on a Bench, beneath th'expansive Gloom,

Gideon, whose struggling Anguish long'd for Vent,

Lay, at the earliest Dawn of doubtful Light,

A far Discerner, unexpos'd to Sight;

On mighty Ends, in Contemplation, bent.

IX.

The Morning rising over Israel's Spoils,

Glow'd with a burning Blush, to see her Shame:

The wakeful Bees began their searchful Toils,

And humm'd, from Flow'r to Flow'r, with tasteful Aim.

High to the bright'ning Skies the soaring Lark

Rose, warbling Welcome to the op'ning Day:

Below, with humbler Melody,

Hopping from Bush to Bush, from Tree to Tree,

A Thousand Birds in mirthful Concert play.

Slow from the Plain, the melting Dew,

To kiss the Sunbeams, climbing, rose;

And bore sweet Odours, upward, as it flew,

To guide their balmy Influence from the Foes.

Still, some fresh Zephyr fann'd the fragrant Vale;

And still a Thousand mingled Sweets rose with the spicy Gale.

Along the Mountain's steep, but blooming Side,

The creeping Vine, and scentful Myrtle spread:

O'er the Rock's Margin, high, with frightful Pride,

The over-hanging Palm the Winds defy'd:

And rais'd, in dang'rous State, its branchy Head.

At the Hill's Foot, with hoarse, and murm'ring Sound,

A winding Riv'let roll'd its pebbly Way,

And, ling'ring thro' th'enamell'd Vale, delighting there to stray,

Late it's loud Passage into Jordan found.

Far, on either Side the Brook,

A rip'ning Harvest bent her golden Head;

Bow'd, to invite th'expected Reaping-hook:

And waving wanton, o'er its airy Bed,

Sadly, at Distance, pleas'd their Sight, whose Taste it should have fed.

X.

All this fair Prospect, with commanding Eye,

The thought-afflicted Gideon saw, from high:

Happy enough, had this been all his View!

But oh! he saw the Camp of Midian, too!

Proudly spread, in warlike Awe,

Death's whole collected Pomp, at once, he saw.

A mingled Horror glitter'd from below:

Tents, green, white, sanguine, azure, distant seen,

Varied the Landschape, with a threat'ning Show:

Whence gleamy Swords, and Lances, glow'd between;

And fill'd, with terrible Delight, the sight-alarming Scene.

Here, and there, high-mettled Steeds

Bound loose, in wanton Exercise, and neigh along the Meads,

In other Parts, the scyth-arm'd Chariots, driven,

Wheel, round each other, with elusive Skill,

Formful of future Schemes to kill:

Swift, ev'ry Way, they wind, at Signals given;

And open wide, and close again, at Will:

Their brazen Wheels with Din the Valley fill;

And shoot their clatt'ring Echoes up the Hill:

Then, all at once, with yet more thund'ring Noise,

The tortur'd Drums, and sprightly Trumpets, join'd,

Proudly proclaim the waking Conqu'ror's Joys;

And swell their savage Triumph up the Wind.

XI.

Light, from his Bench, enrag'd, young Gideon leapt,

By Doubt, and Shame, and Grief, and Anger, press'd:

GOD, who till now, he cry'd, his Promise kept,

Leaves us abandon'd most, when most distress'd!

Why, thou immortal Leader of our Race,

Why were thy Blessings heap'd upon this Land?

The Milk and Honey of thy promis'd Grace

Flow'd ev'ry-where, throughout each charmful Space;

But, oh! they flow'd to our Destroyer's Hand.

And must it be? and can no Help be found?

Said I, no Help?—Dishonest Sound!

There can, there must, there shall.—This galling Yoke,

Which haughty Midian will not ease,

May—when GOD and Israel please,

From off our Necks, at one determin'd Stroke,

Be shook, in Fury; or, by Strength, be broke.

But who, alas! what Hand shall guide the Blow?

Heartless, our Tribes indulge their patient Woe;

Half, with Treach'ry, aid the Foe:

And, false to Heaven and Us, th' nvader own:

The other Half, who hold their Country dear,

Doubting GOD's Help, because 'tis slowly shown,

Wish well for Conscience, and submit for Fear.

Now were some single Power a general Bliss:

What wanted Israel, when possess'd of This?

The Kings about us, with uncurb'd Command,

Timely directing, save their Land:

We too, once prosper'd in a Monarch's Hand.

Now, misaspiring to be loosely great,

Disjunctive Freedom but enslaves our State.

In Governments, where All would rule,—and None, by Choice, obey,

Not soon, indeed, the self-disturbing Storm

Yields to subside beneath a Tyrant Sway:

But Power, so parcell'd, melts, in Broils, away;

And noisy Contest, weak'ning Awe, must gen'ral Strength betray.

Is there a Man throughout all Israel's Names,

Who dares not, Hand to Hand, assault a Foe?

Singly, All are free, and brave;

Together, but one Coward, and one Slave!

Since, all-excentric, each the rest disclaims,

Why look we wide, th'apparent Cause to know?

We, to defective Rule, our Mis'ries owe.

Led by a Lion, Sheep, like Lions, dare:

And Lions, led by Sheep, like Sheep, despair.

He spoke; and with a swift, and manly Stride,

Approach'd the Mountain's steepy Side:

Sternly, on Midian, downward bent his Eyes,

Glow'd, as he gazing felt new Passions rise:

And roll'd 'em sparkling, to th' upbraided Skies.

High beat his warm, and wish-disorder'd Heart,

And his hot Bosom tingled with the Smart.

XII.

While thus in busy Silence, fix'd, he gaz'd,

Th'unfolding Heav'ns with streamy Brightness blaz'd.

Panting, his tongueless Terror would have spoke —

But, as he view'd th'effulgent Chasm, amaz'd,

Close, at his Ear, a bursting Thunder broke:

And a Voice reach'd him, from th'abandon'd Oak.

He turn'd, and in his late-left Station saw,

Calmly reclin'd, a Youth divinely fair,

Sitting, like some familiar Friend, some Partner of his Care.

Pensive, he lean'd his Head on his Left-hand,

His smiling Eye shed Sweetness, mix'd with Awe:

His Right-hand, with a milk-white Wand, some Figure seem'd to draw.

A nameless Grace was scatter'd thro' his Air:

And, o'er his Shoulders, loosely flow'd his amber-colour'd Hair.

As Gideon, wond'ring, tow'rd the Stranger drew,

Th' immortal Visitor approach'd Him, too.

Hail, happy Youth, he cry'd!—GOD's Chosen, hail!

Thou Light of Israel! her commission'd Guide!

Soon shall thy Sword o'er yon gay Power prevail:

Hope boldly.—GOD will war on Gideon's Side.

XIII.

Whoe'er thou art, the Hero, sad, reply'd,

Who know'st so well th'unhappy Gideon's Name;

Would thou couldst tell, since GOD is on my Side,

How comes it, he permits my Country's Shame?

Where is the saving Rod of Moses, now?

Where the lost Force of Joshua's warlike Hand?

Where the flash'd Flame from night-hid Sinai's Brow?

Oh! for that foe-preventing Cloud, by Day!

Or, by Night, that fiery Ray,

Which led our Fathers to this happy Land!

What need of all this Waste of Wonders done,

If, here, scarce seated, we must fall at last?

Why, out of Pharaoh's Grasp was Israel won?

Why the Red Sea, miraculously, past?

Sure! since our Lot's for Ruin cast,

More nobly wretched 'twould appear,

To be, in Egypt, Slaves, than here!

Why, now forsaking, was he pleas'd to chuse?

Why call us His, at first?

Never to have been blest, were lightlier curst.

Hopes, from false Prospect, cruelly amuse:

Better ne'er know a Bliss, than, known, to lose!

As for myself, fain would I credit All:

Long have I dar'd revolve proud Midian's Fall.

But, void of Means to suit th'ambitious Aim,

The Curb of Fortune keeps my Courage tame.

Of all our Tribe, the poorest Race is mine;

And of that poorest Race, the meanest I:

Be it suppos'd I should incline

War's dreadful Weight to try;

Where is my Pow'r, my Interest, my Fame?

Will Israel's haughty Tribes be led, by one without a Name?

XIV.

The Angel interrupting here, thus awfully reply'd,

Israel, bold Hebrew, has her GOD defy'd.

Since from affronted Heav'n th'ungrateful Race

Hope lost Assistance, and would still prevail,

Why have they broke GOD's Laws, renounc'd his Grace,

And poorly bow'd to Ashtaroth, and Baal?

Were These the Gods, who from th'Egyptian Land,

Freed your lost Fathers, with unhop'd Success?

'Twixt wave-built Walls conducted 'em, to Idumaea's Strand?

Safe steer'd you thro' the pathless Wilderness,

Gave awful Pow'r to the Mosaic Wand,

All proud Attempts from hostile Earth to check,

And govern Heav'n, by its commission'd Beck?

With liquid Rock to stream a springless Land,

Call manna'd Harvests from th' unfruitful Sand,

And save, and bless you, with a mighty Hand?

Since, stubborn, for an empty Idol's sake,

Your Articles with Heav'n you dar'd to break,

What vain Presumption bids you judge it fit,

Who slight the Bond, should reap the Benefit?

But-thou would'st say, Repentance dawns, at last;

That, sadly conscious of their Error past;

Groaning, in Anguish of their Souls, their Eyes to Heav'n they cast.

How small th'Atonement, and how great the Sin!

Yet, it suffices, that they, late, begin

To quit th'ungrateful Paths, they've wander'd in:

Unutterably gracious, GOD disdains

To feel a Pleasure, in his Creatures Pains.

Men, who slight Heav'n, but their own Bliss forsake:

I, the Great Pard'ner's Minister, am sent,

To arm Thee, Gideon, for thy brave Intent.

Boldly resolve; and safely undertake.

Hail, Heav'n's illustrious Instrument!

Thine be the Ends, on which thy Thoughts were bent.

XV.

Gideon sigh'd sad, and graceful bow'd his Head;

Heedful, to question, ere he yet believ'd

So strange a Message, tho' from Heaven receiv'd.

The deep-discerning Nuncio plainly read

Each Scruple, in his arguing Fancy bred:

Let me, said he, from yon forsaken Seat,

Share that small Store, thy Grief neglects to eat.

Gideon, with joyful Diligence obey'd,

And humbly, at his Feet, the Napkin spread;

And, in neat Order, hospitably laid

His little Treat of Wine, and Flesh, and Bread:

Yet, doubtful, and amaz'd, at what he did,

My Lord, said he, who Heav'n's high Will reveals,

Stoops not, I fear, to taste of mortal Meals:

The Food of Angels is not Flesh of Kid.

XVI.

Be taught, reply'd th'unbody'd Guest, from this Consent, to know,

Men, to Heav'n's Myst'ries, Faith implicit, owe.

Let the Command suffice, nor Reason's Eye,

With dang'rous Keenness, seek the darken'd Why.

Where GOD has said, I'll have it so,

All curious Inquisition must be spar'd:

And nothing sought, beyond what stands declar'd.

Be not, in human Ignorance, too scrupulously wise:

But mindful, that obedient Faith is Man's best Sacrifice.

He said: and, gently stretching out his Hand,

Touch'd the spread Napkin with his snowy Wand.

As, from hot Furnaces, the vap'ry Stream

Mounts thick, and widens its evolving Steam,

So, when the Angel his Reproof had spoke,

At the watch'd Summons of the Wand's soft Stroke,

A springy Flame from the dry Surface broke,

And cover'd, and consum'd, th'untasted Store.

Lovely the Fire rose whirling, mix'd with Smoke,

Folding, in glorious Volumes, o'er and o'er:

And upward, on a curling Cloud, the mounted Angel bore.

Gideon look'd after him, and would have spoke;

While, ravish'd with the fierce Delight, he saw him gently soar:

Till forc'd to give the th'outlength'ning Prospect o'er,

His Eyes, in wat'ry Brightness wept, for Bliss, they found no more.

XVII.

Musing a while, and dumb with deep Suspense,

Thus loud, at last, his Wonder broke its Way.

Immortal GOD! whose Glory's high Defence

Thy own Almighty Hand can best display;

Thy Hand, beneath whose angry Touch, whole Worlds would melt away!

Can it be possible! to one, like me!

Without Desert, of no Degree,

It should be left, to draw the Sword for THEE!

But dark, and wond'rous, ever, were thy Ways:

All different Means grow equal in thy Hand;

And all Things possible, where Man obeys

His Maker's high Command.

Why weigh I, thus, Decrees, I must fulfil?

'Twas holy Flame, I find, that did inspire

My Soul's ungovernable Fire;

And That was working Providence, which seem'd but wild Desire.

Hence, then, with Apprehensions, and Delays;

Hence, with all doubted Want of human Skill.

GOD, if he meant me for his Praise,

Will mould me to his Will.

XVIII.

While he yet spoke, from Ophra's neighb'ring Walls,

A winding Horn, in short and sudden Calls,

Invades his Ear, with high, and hoarse Alarms:

And, from the Town, a mingled Tumult swarms

Of every Rank, all Ages, weak, and strong:

Flowing, in Tides of Uproar, thick along:

Confus'dly arm'd, and more confus'dly led,

They seem'd, with eager Threat'nings, to pursue

A Party, which, along the Mountain's Side,

In more Disorder fled.

Gideon, in Haste, to his near House withdrew:

There, with a Spear, his warlike Hand supply'd;

And join'd th'egressive Croud, and follow'd, too.

XIX.

This was a Party, that, from Midian's Camp,

Had, in the cov'ring Dusk of Night, been sent,

To climb the Mountain, silent, and unspy'd,

And, close conceal'd till Dawn, with dire Intent,

'Twixt the Cragg's bushy Clefts their Cohort hide:

Till, at the op'ning Portal, rushing in,

Surprize might force, what Siege, would, slowly, win.

But Joash, early rising, every Day,

Took Pleasure to behold the Morning break;

To watch the first faint Shoots of Twilight play:

And Night's dissolving Shades melt soft away.

He, while his fragrant Walk he meant to take,

Round the known Borders of his well-till'd Farm,

Undreaming Danger, as unmeaning Harm,

Down the Hill's Brow discern'd the Points of Spears,

Suspiciously in sloping Covert bent;

And saw the sheltry Bushes shake, along the green Descent.

His taught Experience catch'd prophetic Fears:

Swift to the Town convey'd this strong Alarm;

And rous'd th'unwary Multitude, to arm.

XX.

Prevented, the discover'd Ambush rose,

And fast retreated down the craggy Hill:

Gideon, whose Breast pre-destin'd Honours fill,

Doubly inspir'd, in Presence of his Foes,

Wing'd his swift Feet with Heav'n's remember'd Will;

And, now nigh-reaching, gain'd upon 'em, still.

Oreb, a Midian Prince, of warlike Fame,

Who led this Party on their close Design,

Saw their Retreat, with mingled Rage, and Shame,

And labour'd, earnestly, and long, to stop their headlong Flight:

But neither Prayers, nor Blows, could now incline

His scatt'ring Files, to bear the Hebrew's Sight.

Mov'd therefore by a brave and princely Mind,

He let the rushing Numbers pass him by;

Then, following, march'd securely slow, behind:

Oft facing, with a fierce, and flameful Eye;

Himself an Army, while his People fly!

He, when he found his Rear too closely prest,

Turn'd sudden, in a steep, and winding Way,

Where scarce two meeting Friends could pass, abreast,

Such threddy Concave, here, deep-narrowing lay:

And jutting Rocks, and frightful Steeps, hung horrid o'er the rest.

Since, like a tim'rous Herd, said he, yon Cowards haste away,

Nor blush, in Arms, their Sov'reign to betray,

Let 'em enjoy their Safety, as they may;

'Tis now their Shame, who dare their Charge reject;

'Twere mine, should I the Negligent neglect:

'Tis a King's glorious Business, to protect.

XXI.

He said, and o'er an Angle of the Path,

Observ'd a tott'ring Cliff, which loosely hung,

Broke by long-drenching Rains, and wint'ry Wrath,

Acutely pendent, 'twixt two Rock's rais'd Ends,

Pond'rous it seems to arch the Road, and a roof'd Shadow lends.

High, to one pointed Prop, the Prince ascends;

Long, to the vast unweildy Weight, with struggling Labour clung:

And down, at last, across the Path, the loady Barrier flung.

Gideon, who just approach'd it, as it fell,

Strides back, amaz'd, and scarce believes his Sight:

Whoe'er thou art, he cry'd, thou tim'st it well:

And sure! to do thy envy'd Courage Right,

He, who so bravely flies, would nobly fight.

XXII.

Scarce had he spoke, when with a threat'ning Spear,

Down, on the bulwark Rock, Prince Oreb leapt.

Hebrew, he cry'd, thou art not safe, so near:

Retire: This Pass will be too strongly kept.

Speaking, aloft he shook his death-arm'd Lance,

And to the shouting Thousands turn'd his Shield:

The slow-descending Foes, now, scarce advance;

But, from th'o'ercrowded Steep, in spiral Line,

Aw'd, and astonish'd, at the fierce Design,

Stand gazing at the Wonder, they beheld.

Dreadfully bright, his gilded Armour shone;

O'er his left Thigh, a crooked Sword declin'd:

A feath'ry Plume high from his Helmet rose,

And, loosely gay, wav'd warlike, in the Wind:

Crimson, with Sable mix'd, half-shaded, flows,

Severely charming, to his distant Foes!

Of all the Press, Gideon alone comes on:

The rest, in safe Defiance, threat, behind;

Ignobly hurl their Jav'lins down in vain,

Which, clatt'ring on his Shield, rebound; and tremble, back, again.

XXIII.

Gideon, awhile, revolv'd th'unequal War,

And blush'd to see it basely wag'd from far:

Then, rais'd his Arm, in Sign, that He, alone,

Would make the gen'ral Hazard, all, his own.

Hush'd was the Storm: and Oreb, smiling, saw

One threat'ning Hebrew near him draw.

Yet, cautious, to prevent too bold Advance,

Aimful he poiz'd, and hurl'd, his beamy Lance:

Timely th'Approacher bow'd his watchful Head,

And harmless let the pointed Tempest fly;

But his reach'd Station felt th'Invader nigh:

Deep, in the cliffy Path, it Entrance found,

And, echoing its Design, with thundring Sound,

Jarr'd upward, as it stood erect, and quiver'd in the Ground.

Gideon sprung near, and from beneath the Rock,

Rising, at Hand, directs a speary Blow:

The ringing Target yielded to the Shock,

And the broad-ent'ring Steel broke thund'ring through.

Half his bright Sword, the dreadful Oreb drew:

When Fortune — blind Invertress of Event!

Thus check'd th' impatient Speed his Ardour lent;

Gideon strongly, from below,

Dragg'd hard, to disengage th' intangled Spear,

Which, while Prince Oreb's Shield retentive bound,

Lightly th'Assaulter, leaping from the Ground,

Help'd by the Staff's Resistance, firmly grasp'd,

Reach'd the gain'd Rock, surpriz'd the Foe, and his arm'd Body clasp'd.

To Heav'n a thund'ring Shout the Hebrews rais'd,

Struck, and astonish'd! and transported, gaz'd.

Far flies th'incumber'd Shield, wide hurl'd away;

Lab'ring, each strives the other's Weight to lift:

Now, curvy Grapplings every Bend, assay.

Now, with a springy Force, in Starts of Rage,

From sinewy Curb, their Joints they disengage:

Soon clos'd again, with stormy Grasp they meet,

Arms fett'ring Arms, and Feet perplexing Feet:

Elusive long, with new, and wily Drifts,

From Side to Side, th' evasive Whirlwind shifts;

They heave, they drag, they twist, bend, lift, and strain:

And tire each practis'd Nerve, yet toil in vain.

Fiercely, at length, provok'd, at Art's Delay,

Born for plain Conquest, and the Glare of Day!

Strength's utmost Effort, in one Proof, to make,

With Feet firm fix'd, and stretch'd-out Arms, the Rock's loose Clefts they shake.

Sudden, they feel their Prop's false Fabric break:

Time-worn, the flaky Pediment's press'd Slate,

Splitting beneath the human Tempest's Weight,

Roll'd one huge Fragment down, while one vast Flake,

Backward reclining, now scarce choak'd the Streight:

Distant, compell'd, th'unclosing Warriors fall,

And the freed Path unbars her Track, to All.

XXIV.

Gideon, awhile, long stunn'd, above:— Oreb, who downward fell,

Roll'd Sev'n steep Paces, ere his Feet he gain'd:

But, swift recov'ring, with indignant Swell,

Look'd back, and saw, surpriz'd, that this dire Chance,

Bursting the Pass, he had so long maintain'd,

Had left it open to his Foes Advance.

Then, hopeful, hard Pursuit would now prove vain,

Should the Persisters press his flying Train;

Swift, as a Tyger bounds, he leaps away,

Light, and regardless, where best Passage lay:

Till near behind him came th'o'ertaking Shout.

Then, paus'd he, calm, look'd heedfully about:

Mark'd in the Mountain's Side, a dusky Cave;

And enters there, with slow Suspense, his future Hope to save.

XXV.

As rapid Currents, choak'd by float-mix'd Mud,

Check'd for a Moment, smooth their troubled Flood;

Then, sluicing on, to clear th' obstructed Way,

With tenfold Force renew their sweepy Sway:

So when the Hebrews saw the Passage free,

In headlong Cat'ract, down the Steep they gush'd;

And, in rude Flow, fast by the Cavern rush'd.

Nor dreamt, that Oreb could so near 'em be.

To the Hill's outmost Verge, at last, they came,

Where a broad Terras, form'd by Nature, spread,

And, round the Mountain, rear'd a pensile Plain.

Hither, by vain Pursuit, the Hebrews, led,

Beheld th'escaping Foe the Valley gain,

And safely, there, in rallying Line, make Head.

Thence, at more Distance, cross the forded Stream,

Squadrons, from Midian's Camp detach'd, they view'd;

Whose sun-struck Weapons flash'd a threat'ning Gleam.

Then, Gideon found it prudent to retreat,

And, timely wise, reclimb'd the steep Ascent;

But, marching slowly, with attentive Feet,

Examin'd ev'ry Cavern, as he went:

From that, in which Prince Oreb lay, sudden an ent'ring File,

With Eyes cast backward, trembling, outward flew:

Close at their Heels came dreadful Oreb, too;

By Nature, always eager to pursue!

But, soon as Gideon he beheld, and knew,

He sheath'd his Sword, and with a graceful Smile,

Now first, said he, this Sword, in vain, I drew.

But, forc'd to yield, 'tis best I yield to you.

The gen'rous Hebrew, bowing mild, reply'd;

Fortune not always favours the most brave:

Had partial Vict'ry still sustain'd your Side,

She would have robb'd me of wish'd Pow'r to save.

And you had wrong'd a Hebrew Heart, untry'd.

XXVI.

While they were speaking, and the should'ring Croud,

Morosely insolent, and rudely loud,

Was climbing round, all gaping for a View,

As if the Conquest claim'd the Insult, too!

A second Chance diverts th'impatient Throng;

For some, who newly search'd the Cavern, round,

Noiseful return'd, and with 'em dragg'd along,

Ten weeping Slaves, whom, there, conceal'd they found:

Poor Fugitives of antient Canaan's Race,

Once happy Owners of that promis'd Land,

Where, forc'd to give th'invading Hebrews Place,

They, now, liv'd subject to their harsh Command.

Severely us'd, and tir'd with Length of Woe,

The new-found Ten had from their Masters run:

Drawn by the Nearness of the gen'ral Foe,

To meditate Escape, and Slav'ry shun.

They might, perhaps, with Midian join'd, be free;

Worse than they were, they knew, they could not be:

And there's a kind of mournful Ease, in Change of Misery.

XXVII.

When, to the Town, the noisy Press

Return'd with Shouts, their Triumph to express;

Shouts, the Voice of proud Success!

Th' assembled Elders, o'er the City Gate,

Sat, wisely busy'd, in serene Debate,

On Questions, which concern'd the Good, of Ophra's little State.

Sev'n was their Number; and they chose to sit

In a bow'd Crescent's Form, whose Points were fill'd

By Two of Levi's sacred Sons—best skill'd

To judge of Laws in rev'rend Myst'ry writ:

Sage, in the Centre, hoary Joash sat,

Renown'd for Virtue, and rever'd for Age:

Th' assisting Four were Men of Years and Skill,

Fam'd, Themselves, for shunning Ill:

And, therefore, thought best qualify'd, to govern Other's Will.

To These, the Croud their Ten Deserters bring,

And tell where found, and on what Errand bent:

To These they also shew the captive King:

But, loud, in ev'ry list'ning Ear, they Gideon's Praises ring.

Paint how he dar'd; act o'er th'admir'd Event:

And mock Prince Oreb's brave Resolve, to stop their fierce Descent.

XXVIII.

Slow rose Eliakim, the Town's High Priest;

The ruling Levite, and the Senate's Tongue:

A Man, who dar'd, in Zeal to Heav'n, bewail

Religion lost, and Hebrew Fame decreas'd:

He well remember'd, while he yet was young,

How GOD enabled Israel to prevail:

And sigh'd, to see th'ungrateful People fail,

Nor ever bow'd the Knee, Himself, to Ashtaroth, or Baal.

Bless'd be our Father's GOD, said he, this Day!

To whom, All owing, we would nothing pay!

Gideon! methinks, I feel thy Father's Joy.

O! may thy blooming Glory never fade!

No Envy, sure! will budding Virtue shade:

Soon does thy Country's Love thy Sword employ!

The Prince, Thy Captive, by the Right of War,

Dispose of, at thy safe Discretion's Choice:

And, since all Ophra's Sons thy Debtors are,

Accept our Thanks, as from the gen'ral Voice.

Dare on; fight: prosper! Heav'n shall bless thy Aim;

This, but the Dawning of thy destin'd Fame!

For You — and then he turn'd to Canaan's trembling Sons,

Known Custom points us to your mournful Lot:

Since ev'ry Slave, who from his Master runs,

Dies—guilty of an added Crime, or not.

He spoke: and, bending toward the bord'ring Seats,

Ask'd, if their Judgment full Concurrence lent;

And then, distinctly, his Decree repeats;

And all the Elders rose, at once, to testify Consent.

XXIX.

Gideon, whose fearless Heart was form'd to feel,

Sharer, in ev'ry Woe he could not heal!

Sigh'd, pitying the poor Slave's prevented Flight:

And, bowing graceful, spoke in Sorrow's Right.

Who, rev'rend Fathers! after This, will pause, in Honour's Chace,

The Prize so glorious, and so short the Race!

Too much you pay me, for too little won.

If, but to act our Duty claims such Praise,

For what, alas! has Gideon, further, done?

We live, I fear, in unperforming Days.

But your too kind Applause, perhaps, would raise

A future Worth, by previous Praise.

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If, wisely gen'rous, you incline

To make that grateful Lesson mine.

Consenting Will holds modest Purpose dumb:

And humbly takes your present Thanks, for Actions, yet, to come.

One Cause, mean while, not mine, I fain would plead;

I cannot wish to see the Wretched bleed:

Who knows, what Hardships, in their friendless State,

Had gall'd their patient Hearts, ere yet they fled?

But grant Them guilty — Law mistakes their Fate.

Death, in the Happy, may create some Dread:

But the cold Grave is Mis'ry's restful Bed.

There are Oppressions, of such monstrous Weight,

That 'twere the happiest Freedom, to be dead.

Such, if their Wrongs, we lose our stern Intent;

And give 'em Ease from Pain—for Punishment!

Judge not, I pray you, that I mis-presume,

Or pride myself to think, you Favours owe,

If, loving Mercy, I deplore their Doom.

Bring home an alien Danger, THEN, appeal:

Make the Case yours: and sentence, as you feel.

Israel Herself was, once, a Slave:

Grant, Heav'n, if ever she, again, be so,

She finds a Moses, or a GOD,—to save!

If, then, our Fathers found it hard, the Yoke to undergo,

And having, once, been unoppress'd, and free,

Thought it their Glory, and their Right—to fly from Slavery;

Instruct me, rev'rend Rulers! why These Men,

Now, in the Case, that was all Israel's, then,

Should merit Death, for counting, in their Claim,

That noble Thirst of Liberty, that, first, gave Israel FAME.

XXX.

He paus'd:—Approving Joash smil'd with Pride,

And heard, with kindred Joy, his Offspring blest.

Eliakim, with weak, but willing Stride,

And Hands uplifted (Sign of Zeal express'd!)

Came forward, and to blushing Gideon, cry'd,

Close let me press Thee to my hope-warm'd Breast.

No narrow Bounds of Custom, Int'rest, Will,

Shall e'er confine the Reach of Gideon's Soul.

A Mind so spacious, and so stretch'd a Skill,

Were, sure! design'd by Heav'n for wide Controul!

O! take the pardon'd Slaves, thy Mercy's Prize:

Thou plead'st too justly, to be heard in vain.

Henceforth, their Fate, in thy own Bosom, lies;

Bless'd in thy Service, the sav'd Ten retain:

What, happier can they wish?—How, happier be?

Thou gav'st 'em Life: and they shall live for Thee.

XXXI.

Th'Assembly rose: and the Remains of Day

Were, in triumphant Pastime, nois'd away:

At length, still Night her solemn Influence shed,

And dew-drench'd Sable wrapt the Mountain's Head:

Sleep's heavy Drag the Rage of Joy depress'd,

And weary Tumult hush'd herself to Rest.

But Gideon's active Mind was fram'd to wake:

His new-gain'd Honour, and the Angel's Hail,

Suffer'd Him no Rest to take:

But led him, pensive, o'er the Grounds, thro' Night's opakest Veil.

So, wand'ring wide, he reach'd the Grove of Baal.

Westward, upon the Mountain's Edge, it stood,

Where, shap'd by Art, a huge round Hill, in terrass'd Stages rose;

Whose far-seen Pyramid, Five Plains compose:

And ev'ry Stage was a small, sep'rate, Wood.

The lowermost, planted thick, with baleful Eugh,

Could, with brown Horror, quench the Glare of Noon:

But now, from Night, a deeper Dusk it drew.

The fun'ral Cypress the next Stage o'erspread;

The Third, which, narrowing, upward, wanted Room

For Trees of copious, and untonsile Head,

From deep-ting'd Laurel caught umbrageous Gloom.

Round the Fourth Platform, climbing Ivy crept,

And into bushy Shade high-arching grew:

There, in dark-tufted Roofs, black Ravens slept;

And inbred Owls, which never Daylight knew.

Flat, like a tabled Plain, the last high Stage

Nourish'd one tow'ring Oak, which strongly stood,

The time-swoln Growth of many a perish'd Age:

And bore, on one proud Trunk, a spacious Wood.

Down, o'er the shadow'd Groves, above, th'enormous Branches hung,

And form'd a sheltry Arbour, round the Bole:

Mov'd, by the Wind, with murm'ring Sweep they swung,

And blew cool Horror over Gideon's Soul.

From Stage to Stage, broad Steps, of half-hid Stone,

With curling Moss, and blady Grass, o'ergrown,

Led to the Top, where reign'd this Monarch Oak.

'Twixt the black Boughs, hung, melancholy, down,

One glimm'ring Lamp, dull'd by its own thick Smoke:

Which, feebly, thro' a Lantern's Sides, the bord'ring Darkness broke.

XXXII.

By the pale Radiance, faintly, scatter'd round,

Full in the Centre of this awful Shade,

Gideon, the Idol of the Grove survey'd.

O'er a round Altar, by green Foliage bound,

A wooden Sculpture bore the Sun's broad Face:

Hideously kind, in Act of purpos'd Grace;

Stretching thin Arms, across th'o'ershadow'd Space,

It gleam'd an added Horror round the Place.

Speechless, a while, 'twixt mingled Grief, and Shame,

This Pageantry of Godhead he beheld:

At length, revoic'd, by his remember'd Aim,

How long, said he, shall Idol Faith prevail?

How long, th'Eternal's Priests bow down to Baal?

And Stones, and Blocks, usurp th'Almighty's Name?

All-pard'ning Heav'n! I feel thy Wrongs inspire:

Burn we this Daemon, in his own dim Fire.

Where can we better Virtue's Race begin,

Than at th'eradicated Shoot of Sin?

XXXIII.

So saying, o'er the dusky Paths, he, back, explor'd his Way,

And, silent, to an outbuilt Hovel came,

Where, in safe Sleep, his new-gain'd Servants lay.

They wake, and hear him, and mistake his Aim:

Strain their stretch'd Eyes, and, trembling, ask his Name.

Be hush'd, he answer'd, and dismiss your Fear,

Only your Patron's Voice, you hear.

Rise, and assist him, in a just Design;

Or no way dang'rous, or the Danger mine.

For You—This done, I set you free,

Fear not to trust your late-given Lives with Me.

Be grateful: 'twill adorn your Liberty.

Uprush the summon'd Ten, with glad Consent,

Nor weigh, nor question, his Intent:

Enough for Them, that 'tis, by Gideon, meant.

From a rough Store of rustic Instruments,

Which next that Hovel, opportunely, lay,

To ev'ry Hand a shining Axe he gave,

Bad 'em be resolute, and brave:

And, cautious, march'd, in silent Speed, away.

In a fair Pasture, bord'ring on their Road,

A milk-white Ox, in fragrant Plenty, graz'd:

Unbroken yet, and alien to the Goad,

Chief, of a chosen Breed by Joash rais'd.

Him, first, they seize, and having bound him strong,

Drag him, hard-struggling, and displeas'd, along.

XXXIV.

Instructively inform'd, as on they went,

Hast'ning, and prompt, they reach th'unhallow'd Grove:

There, to a Tree, th'unwilling Victim tie;

Then, on the pious Mischief warmly bent,

Each, with contending Emulation strove,

Laborious, in Obedience, to outvye.

First, Baal's polluted Altar down they threw,

And scatter'd wide the Fragments, ev'ry Way:

Next, from disjointed Steps, with Toil, they drew

The massy Stones; which, in loose Pile, they lay,

A purer Altar, of new Frame, to raise:

Sacred to a diviner Pow'r, and more exalted Praise.

Now, to the Idol Form, approaching nigh,

Gideon his Sword, in zealous Transport, drew;

Witness, he cry'd, sole GOD! who hear'st from high,

Witness the Vengeance, from thy Servants due!

Thou, Baal! assert thy Pow'r, and 'scape thy Shame:

Strike, if thou can'st: I, thus, thy Cause disclaim.

Speaking, he cleav'd the Image, at a Blow,

On either Side, the parted Godhead fell:

Winds, o'er the Grove, shrill-shrieking Echoes blow,

And all the Daemons of the Place, groan'd helpless from below.

Encourag'd by their Lord, the shaking Train,

To smaller Pieces, hew the chippy God:

Atoning Fire the dreary Spoils maintain,

And the dim Lamp no longer gleam'd in vain.

Then, at th'attentive Leader's waited Nod,

Up the Grove's Edge, the back'ning Ox they strain.

XXXV.

The mounting Fire, now, blaz'd in tow'ry Pride,

When a fair Bowl, by Gideon's Hand, in previous Care, supply'd,

Apt for Libation, Aid of Sacrifice,

High-filling,—He, upon the hissing Flame,

Pour'd the warm Blood, and prostrate bow'd, to pray;

Not these imperfect Rites, said he, Lord of the Heart! despise:

Call 'em Ablution, and let Israel's Shame

Be, from this Time, for ever wash'd away!

He said; when, strait, confirming Thunder roar'd,

And cross whole Heav'n, with loud Enlargement, roll'd:

Sudden, the dazzling Gates of Light unfold,

And, while the kneeling Hero Grace implor'd,

Show'rs of thin Lustre quiver'd thro' the Trees:

The living Lights from ev'ry Quarter play;

And the Grove radiates into flashing Day.

A while the Blaze hung o'er; but, by Degrees,

Rose gently: and, in Distance, flow'd away.

Flat, the Slaves, astonish'd, fell,

And, drown'd in the refulgent Torrent lay;

With awe-mix'd Pleasure felt their Bosoms swell:

And, as th' ascending Glow unseal'd their Eyes,

Trembling, gaz'd after it, to see it rise,

And, wid'ning upward, more and more, in soft'ning Shades decay.

XXXVI.

Recov'ring, each on other, wild they glare:

Then, humbly, to their honour'd Patron, kneel:

Words tho' they want their Meaning to declare,

They more want Coldness to forbear:

For Joys, by Transport, will themselves reveal.

Phurah, best taught, of these devoted Men,

At length, found Voice, for the collective Ten.

Bless'd be the GOD of this brave Hebrew Race!

Fall our false Gods before his dreadful Face!

Never could Baal thus vindicate his Name;

Thus speak, in Thunder, and appear in Flame!

O, glorious Mortal, thus, by Heav'n approv'd!

Leave us not wretched, to be blindly free;

Since by the Great Almighty thus belov'd,

'Twere to be lost, to be disjoin'd from Thee:

And to serve Gideon, and his GOD, is noblest Liberty.

He said: and all his Fellows join'd his Pray'r,

And begg'd, with pious Tears, permitted Stay:

The gen'rous Hebrew found 'em worth his Care:

If you will still be mine, said he, you may.

Nor shall you suffer by the Lot, you chuse;

Whom GOD invites, Man ought not to refuse.

But let us, now, my new-made Friends, proceed,

And finish well the Work, we well began.

So speaking, round th'enormous Oak, he ran;

And, by the Fire's pale Cast, yet glimm'ring wide,

Saw, from that Quarter, which oppos'd the West,

That, there, the Boughs o'erhung the Mountain's Side,

Against whose Edge the grovy Summit prest.

XXXVII.

Once more, his broad well-temper'd Blade he drew,

And gash'd, with all his Strength, the knotty Tree:

Then, steely Axes following, Two by Two,

Relieving apt, a long, alternate Toil,

Lab'ring with fruitless Pain, they wond'ring see,

From the tough Trunk's big Bulk, back-bounding Blows recoil.

But, still persisting, with unweary'd Will,

Wide, toward the Root, a yawning Wound they make;

Whence scatt'ring Chips the bord'ring Bushes fill.

Then, late, the nodding Oak begins to groan;

The leafy Limbs, in gen'ral Horror, shake:

Bending, the Forest-Giant breaks, and is, at once, o'erthrown.

Down rolls the tumbling Monster, o'er the Rocks,

And sweeps the Grove before it, with its Sway:

From Cliff to Cliff rebounds, with frightful Shocks,

And gores the groaning Mountain, in its Way.

Broad, o'er the Plain below, it loads the shadow'd Ground;

And grazing Herds, with stiffen'd Ear, start, trembling, from the Sound.

NOTES AND Miscellaneous REFLECTIONS ON The FIRST BOOK.

BEFORE the Reader enters on the Notes, in referential Order, He will probably forgive a short Remark or two upon the Nature of this Kind of Poem: The Age we live in, so profusely overflowing in the Practice without stopping to consider Judgment, that, to common Apprehensions, Poetry gives no Idea but of Words with musical Cadences: that is to say, plain Sense, in Rhyme, and Measure.

It may seem surprising, that Pretenders to this Faculty (few of us having been thought guilty of too little Sensibility) should rest contented, under the Injustice of so mortifying a Contraction!—A Poet, when consider'd in this narrow Light, were so contemptible a Creature, that he must give Place to a good Piper: who unquestionably has Power of raising Sounds, much more melodious, than Adjusters of mere Words are capable of equalling.

The Truth is, Numbers, in their softest, and most pleasing Fluency, make up but one Part of the Means, mistaken for the End. They were design'd but as a Vehicle, that should insinuate the instructive Bitter, hid behind the Promise of Delight. The Music having gain'd the Ear, the Matter thence found Entrance to the Heart; and there prevail'd against Distempers, which, but for the fine Disguise it came conceal'd in, it had never reach'd with such Advantage; there being a Reluctance in our Nature apt to rise against a plain Reproof; as, in our Taste, against such Physic, as is offer'd us too coarsely.

All, as far as this, was well. The worst was, that this Sweetness in the Art expos'd it, by Degrees, to Profanation by the Ignorant. Prompt Adventurers were so glad, to find the Pleasant the most Easy, that This Handmaid of supplanted Poetry, like the treacherous Mayors of the Palace in France, sat her down in, and possess'd, the Throne, she was design'd but as a Servant to.

The Learn'd will favour me with their Indulgence, while I note, for Satisfaction of some Readers, of the Sex, that will be always surest to hold Interest in a Poet's Purposes, that Epic Poems are so call'd, from a Greek Term for speaking; because, here, the Verse runs narratively: as Stage Poems, on the contrary, are call'd Dramatic ones, from the same Tongue, in Reference to their being Acted.

But it will be still more necessary, that some Definition of this Species should be also given, by an Attempter of it, who has Modesty, and wishes to avoid a Charge of high Presumption: Critics having represented it in such a formidable Light, that they could possibly have done no more, had they been join'd in a Confederacy to prevent Attempts to write at all, instead of furnishing Instructions how to write discerningly.—It will suffice, to hear but one or two of These, as Witnesses. The Voice is all the same; one Note throughout the whole Fraternity.

‘It is (says Rapin) the most bold, and greatest Work, that human Wit is capable of. All the Nobleness, and all the Elevation of the most perfect Genius can hardly suffice to form one such as is requisite. The Difficulty of finding, together, Fancy, and Judgment, Heat of Imagination, and Sobriety of Reason, Precipitation of Spirit, and Solidity of Mind, causes the Rarity of this Character's happy Temperament. It requires great Images, and yet a greater Wit to form them.—Finally, there must be a Judgment so solid, a Discernment so exquisite, such perfect Knowlege of the Language, in which he writes, such obstinate Study, profound Meditation, and vast Capacity, that scarce whole Ages can produce One Genius fit for an Epic Poem. And it is an Enterprize so bold, that it cannot fall into a wise Man's Thoughts but it must affright him.’

By this Time, it grows needful, that I hasten to cry out, and own, that the most vain, and empty Wretch in Nature, would be such a Poet as, conceiving the tenth Part of these prodigious Difficulties in his Way, which the French Critic had, by overheating his Imagination, taught himself to think were really there, should, notwithstanding such Belief, have Arrogance enough to undertake a Work, so terribly beyond his Compass!—under which necessary Shield of honest Truth, I will dare venture yet a little farther,—into what our own Sir William Temple has declar'd on the same Subject.

‘I am apt (says he, in his Essay upon the Art we are considering) to believe so much, of the Genius of Poetry, and of its Elevation, in Homer's and Virgil's EPIC Works, that I know not, whether, of all the Numbers of Mankind, who live within the Compass of a thousand Years, for One Man that is born, capable of making such a Poet, there may not be a thousand born, capable of making as Great Generals of Armies, or Ministers of State, as any the most renown'd in Story.’

Caveats, so high-strained as These, have made it necessary for an Epic Undertaker to say something, That may justify his Modesty. A Definition of it, therefore, in the humbler Light I see it by, may hope to shew it a less arduous Adventure; and demonstrate, that the Difficulty, however certainly considerable, is by no means so insuperable, as These Gentlemen appear to think it. Critical Systems reconcile two contradictory Extremes: and are, at once, too vast, and too restrictive. The Cause is, they lean with a too partial Biass, toward a few Great Names: to whose Example they would chain down Nature.

Many Friends of Fancy, on the other Side, mistake for Epic Poems, any Story, told in Verse, containing a wild Series of Romantic Incidents, related of some Hero, whom the Piece takes Name from. But there are scarce two Things in Nature, which more widely differ, than these Histories in Verse, from Epic Poetry.—I wish I could have satisfied myself with Bossu's Definition: It had sav'd me the Presumption of attempting one, myself. But His appearing to be neither full, nor clear; and having never seen a better; I am forc'd on the necessity of hazarding a new one, of my own; which will, I fear, be, still, defective.

I take an Epic Poem, then, to mean some noble Lesson in Morality, delivered under Colour of One Action, which must be illustrious and important, in Itself, and in its Personages, interest supernatural Powers in its Successes, and be probably, delightfully, and surprisingly described, in Verse; with ornamental Episodic Parts, depending on, and rising naturally out of the main Tendency. Throughout all which the Poet keeps no view before him, but to strengthen, by Example, That one moral Lesson, he proposes to imprint, upon his Reader's Admiration.

To explain This Definition, by enlarging its Particulars.—A Man, who undertakes an Epic Poem, is not to write a History; but to propagate a Moral. Homer, for Example, had conceiv'd such Purpose.—It was not his Design to write the Fall of Troy; That Story was already known; and could have brought no Novelty, but in the Pleasure of the Verses.—Pleasure was not his chief End: He aim'd to give Advice. His Prospect was, to teach the Greeks, split into little independent States, that Union could recover Victory, when Discord had transferr'd it to an Enemy. The Grecian's Triumph over Troy was then discours'd of with much Vanity, through all their inconfederate Divisions. Homer observ'd this Sense of General Glory, and deriv'd a Story from it, that would best enforce the Moral, he prepar'd to teach 'em: borrowing Names, and Incidents from that remember'd, and high-boasted War; but giving 'em a new, and proper Turn, for the Conveyance of his Moral only.—Had Homer not been born, till Alexander had made Greece one Monarchy, the Moral he would then have chosen had been the prosperous Effect of Power in one wise, and brave Man's Hand: and what sure Benefits accrue from Subjects Loyalty. As, we see, Virgil, living in a Time, when the Republic of the Romans had given Place to Monarchy, made it the Purpose of his Poem, to reconcile his Countrymen to single Sovereignty in the Person of Augustus: under Fiction of a Prince, brave, wise, and pious, who, being guided by the favouring Gods, establish'd, on the Ruins, of the old, a new Foundation, for Dominion of so much more Potency, that the whole Empire of the World was, by Decree of Heaven, to be included in it.—From That new Empire, then possess'd by Those he writ to, All his Readers had deriv'd their Glory: so that it was easy to induce them to confide in, and to look for, the same Blessings from their Change of Government, which their great Ancestors had gain'd, by Change of Country.

To impress the Moral forcibly, some Action is to be related, pointing out an Instance, in as strong a Light as possible, where this insinuated Moral was prov'd good by an Example.—The Action must be suitable: That is, of Dignity adapted to the Greatness of Events wrought into it, as Steps toward the Result last purpos'd. It must be single: That is, unmix'd with other Actions of detach'd, or independent Tendency. There may be Incidents producing Incidents, the more Variety the better: but they must be such, as serve but to bring forward, and illustrate, the One final Action, which intends Example from the Work. Neither is this Restriction any Nicety deduc'd from the particular Opinion of This Critic, or of That: It is a natural Necessity; and a Law of Reason; because Actions not producing one another, as Effects from Causes, raise unpointed, and confus'd Reflections; and divert, and weaken an Attention, which it is the Business of This Poem to bind down to one strong Object. An Epic Poet, of the Ariostine Model, is a Traveller, who, if his Road lay strait through Crete, would take the Labyrinth, in his Journey.

The Action may be feign'd, or real: If no Story, fam'd in History, can be directly levell'd to the Poet's Purpose, He may, then, invent one, to his Liking: For the Truth, here necessary, consists not in the Reality of the Events, but in the natural Veracity existing in the Moral.

It must be illustrious, and important; and the Persons animating it, Great Princes, or distinguish'd Leaders: because Every Man submits to shrink, at Consciousness of Dangers, or Misfortunes, which he sees have Power to punish Error in these Rulers of the World. The Weakness of our Pride (that, looking down upon, conceives Itself secure, in its superior Situation, from all abject Misery) not daring to exempt itself from Menaces, It must look up to: but admitting, in this Case, the Apprehension of its own Exposure.

It must interest supernatural Powers in its Successes; the Influence of well-invented Circumstances, of this Kind, carrying Terror with it, that excites a Reverence, and induces Warmth, from enthusiastic Awefulness, into the Subject; consonant to those Impressions we are educated to religious Sense of: and which favour Disposition to derive All Good Propensities from Heaven; and throw off upon the Devil, all Instigations, which propel to bad ones.

It must be probably, delightfully, and surprisingly, described in Verse.—Probably, because whatever we suppose impossible, we find unworthy our Attention. Delightfully, because Variety of well-mark'd Characters, surprising Incidents, smooth-flowing Numbers, Strength of Imagery, exalted Thoughts, and beautiful Expression, keep awake our Expectation, stimulate the Fancy, and detain us, to the Author's Purpose.—And surprisingly is added separately, tho' a connected Consequence, and unavoidable Result, from such a well-maintain'd Succession of unlook'd for, and still varying, Beauties.

Episodes are necessary Members of extended Action: which, without them, would appear too short, and general. But all these Episodic Members must be Limbs, not Wens: They must unite with such Connexion, that displacing any One, will make the Rest imperfect; and that adding Any would disgrace the Symmetry.

In general, the Note most capable of height'ning our Regard to, and elucidating the asserted Force of Epic Poetry, is from a Recollection, that it comes down recommended to us by a Choice and Practice, that to Reason, joins the best AUTHORITY.—And without a Parable, spoke He not to them. Being ask'd by his Disciples, WHY speakest thou to Them in Parables? His Answer is, Because to YOU it is given to understand the Mysteries of the Kingdom of Heaven; but to THEM it is NOT given. That is, the Obstinacy of these People's Minds, misled by Habitudes of Evil, makes it necessary, that the Doctrine, I would teach them, should be cover'd, and approach attractively: where, else, the Pride, that alienates their Hearts, would rise against Conviction, press'd too plainly, and propos'd without Disguise; as Humble Men like you are willing to receive it.

It is probable, the Hebrews carried with 'em, out of Egypt, this delightful Way of teaching; It is clear, at least, that they arriv'd to great Perfection in it, before Greece grew civiliz'd from rude Barbarity. So far is it from true, that Homer, or some other Poet of his Country, was Inventer of the Epic Species. All the Books of the Old Testament abound with Instances, which prove the Skill of Hebrew Poets. And the Six hundred thousand Volumes in the Ptolemaic Library could hardly fail to have contain'd some of their Poems of this Kind, in their due Length and Dignity.

To shew how little Difference there is, except in Ornament, and Size, between the Epic Poem, as above defined, and the short Parables, I have been speaking of, I will select Two only: the first, taken from the Mouth of Christ Himself. The other I will go so far more backward for, as to the Reign of David, who was King of Israel so soon after the Trojan War, that he must necessarily have liv'd before the Time of Homer, to whom Greece would partially ascribe the Merit of poetically teaching moral Truth by Fable. I shall give more Instances than one, of the unwarrantable Presumption of those Grecians Vanity, in arrogating to Themselves a Praise for Arts they borrow'd from the Asiatic People; and the Hebrews, in particular.

The Persecution of the Prophets, by the Jewish Priests, was what Christ purpos'd to reprove: but knew, their Power was great; and that the Pride, It had inspir'd 'em with, would render a distasteful Doctrine little Fruit, if not engagingly insinuated. Under this Conviction, the Divine Reprover thus addresses them. ‘There liv'd, says he, in a far Country, a powerful Land-owner, who had planted Vineyards, rais'd Inclosures, and built habitable Farms, on a detach'd Part of his Territory. He let out These to Husbandmen; and went, Himself, to where his chief Seat stood; upon a very distant Tract of his Possessions.—When the proper Season came, the Lord sent Servants to demand his Rents grown due. But those ungrateful Tenants, trusting to the Distance for Security from due Revenge, instead of Payment, murder'd the Demanders; They destroy'd in the same Manner, other Servants, sent with like Commission: At last, resolv'd to try their Boldness to the utmost, His own Son was sent, to whom, it was suppos'd, they could not dare refuse their Reverence. But the Tenants, on the Heir's Appearance, hoping, by His Death, to make Themselves a lasting Title to the whole Inheritance, determin'd on That execrable Deed; and kill'd Him also: ’ —The Auditors inflam'd to an impatient Indignation, interrupt the Story, in this Part of it, and cry out angrily— ‘The Lord should have destroyed Those wicked Wretches, and let out his Vineyard to honester Husbandmen.’ And, there, condemn'd by their own Sentence, and struck dumb by conscious Shame, they catch the Application, before Christ proceeds to make it: for, as the Text expresses it, They consider'd his Parable, and perceiv'd, that he spoke of Them.

In the second Instance, Nathan reproaches David, who had robb'd Uriah of his Wife, and caus'd the Husband to be murder'd. But the Prophet, understanding well the Danger of the King's Resentment, casts about to take him by Surprize, and does it under this Disguise of Parable. ‘I am come, says he, to ask Relief from Royal Justice, in Revenge of a poor Sufferer's Distress, against the Cruelty of his Oppressor. Two Men liv'd together: one rich, the other poor. The rich Man had exceeding many Flocks and Herds; but the poor Man had nothing, save one little Ewe-Lamb, which he had bought, and nourish'd up: and it grew up together with Him, and with his Children. It eat of his own Meat, and drank of his own Cup, and lay in his Bosom, and was unto him as a Daughter. And there came a Traveller to the Rich Man: and he spar'd to take of his own Flock, but took the Poor Man's Lamb, and dress'd it, for the Man, that was come to him.’

What Effect this little Story presently produc'd the Sequel tells us. And David's Anger was greatly kindled against the Man: And he said to Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the Man, that has done This Thing, shall surely die, because he had no Pity. And Nathan said to David, THOU art the Man. He, then, proceeded, safely, and reproached him, that he had tyrannically given way to an illegal Impulse of Desire; forcing away the only Wife, of a most faithful Subject, notwithstanding the unlimited Variety of Women, who were All His own. Had Nathan spoke the Truth thus plainly, at its opening, It had prov'd, perhaps, of dangerous Consequence to his own Life: but the Cloud of the Invention shielded him; and the King's Passions having first been artfully secur'd in the Reproacher's Interest, the Reproach'd, who had confess'd a generous Sense of the Dishonesty, while not consider'd as his own, became asham'd to disavow his Virtue, when the Guilt laid Claim to his Confession. So David said to Nathan, ‘—I have sinn'd against the Lord.’ —It is impossible to produce a livelier, or more pathetic, Proof, both of the Nature and the Power of Epic Poetry: For it is evident, that these Two Parables differ in nothing, but their Want of Names, Extent, and Paint of Circumstance, from the Poems of That Nomination.

From their general Nature, I proceed to the particular Consideration of this new Attempt, upon the Plan of Gideon.

A Poet, in an Age so factious as the Last has been, must have been blind, not to discern the Usefulness of recommending Quiet, to a stormy Generation. It were saying nothing to the Purpose, to object, that we are now remote from Israel's Case, under no Yoke of Conquest, and above all Danger from a foreign Enemy. Civil Contest will be always the most likely Means of calling in, and aiding the Attempts of, such an Enemy. We have seen too recent Proofs, to doubt that Certainty. But, not to dwell unnecessarily upon our present happy Prospects, our invaded Ancestors, too often, felt the Weight of such a Situation, as had made a Gideon the most welcome Public Blessing.—Could they have found him, and could all his Miracles have serv'd but to unite them in one Wish, and one Endeavour, far less lasting, and less bloody, had Those various Insults, then, been represented, under the Disgrace whereof our History blushes, while it tells the Triumphs of so many Conquests over us,—by Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans!—Where, therefore, is the Nation to be found, that better ought to like, than Ours, a strong Example, to so sound a Moral, as, that tho' Disunion should enslave a People, joint Attachment to the Legal Government could soon recover, and protect lost Liberty?

To cloathe this Moral in an Action, some such disunited People was to be made Choice of, suff'ring under foreign Conquest, from Effect of their Divisions, and, when every human Hope had fail'd 'em, rais'd, at once, from their Despair, by Union of an inconsiderable Number, under a Restorer of their Laws and Freedom.

This being what the Critics call the Allegorical, or General, Plan, I never could have found a fitter Action to illustrate it, than the Redemption of the Hebrews, under Gideon's Conduct, from the Yoke of foreign Conquest, as impos'd with infinite Contempt and Cruelty, by a confederate Body of Arabian Princes; whom the sacred Writ distinguishes by the joint Name of Midianites. For the Events of this great War are, there, so comprehensively related, as to suit at once with the Design, they are selected for, and leave sufficient Scope for bold Invention, and Embellishment, in the particular Deduction. Whereas the Scripture History of David (Mr. Cowley's Choice) was a completed one, as Mr. Rymer has objected to it, and is so circumstantially describ'd, as to restrain a Poet's Fancy. Mr. Dryden, for this Reason, could not have succeeded, in That favourite Design of His, for forming a new Epic Poem from the Story of our Civil Wars in the last Century. Yet, I remember he has somewhere told us, that King Charles the Second, whom he had acquainted with his Purpose, very much approv'd it: notwithstanding which, I take it to have been to the Advantage of That Great Man's Memory, that his Design was never executed. The Story was too recent, to be treated, as it ought; and the sublimest Beauties of Invention would have lost their Force on Readers, in whom sad and deep Impressions, from the Misery of the real Facts, must needs have made All Fiction seem too sportive, and an unbecoming Freedom taken with their solemn Sorrow. It was the very Case of Lucan; and his Subject barring out all Aids of the Poetic Kind, at least Those warm ones, which let loose Imagination, his Pharsalia gain'd no Rank but among Histories; and Verse, indeed, is all the Right of That great Work to be consider'd, as a Poem.

The Mention, here, of Mr. Rymer leads me to remember an Objection, which, I think, he has unjustly made to Mr. Cowley's Choice of Subject, merely as a foreign one: as if it were a Violation of that natural Respect, a Poet owes his Country, to look out of it, for a great Character! If Mr. Rymer had no better Reason for this Censure, than that since Homer was a Grecian, and has writ of Greeks, and Virgil, being a Roman, writ of Romans, therefore, Mr. Cowley, as an Englishman, should have approv'd no other than an English Hero, the Argument appears, to me, to be a very narrow, and mean-spirited one.—Nature is Nature every-where; and I should never look for any Force of manly Reasoning, from a Soul not large enough, to comprehend Mankind as One Fraternity.— However, more is to be said, in Favour of a Hebrew Subject, than of All, or Any of, the Rest, whatever.—The Reverence, we conceive, from the Old Testament, for Those Objects of God's more immediate Care, has made Them Every Body's Countrymen. Besides, the many Miracles, so terribly display'd among them, are peculiar Helps, to a Poetic Fancy; and adorn their History, above that of Any other Nation. Their Country was the Scene, too, of our Saviour's Life, and Sufferings, a Reflection, which entitles it to Veneration, from All Christians. And, to add one smaller Circumstance, that still gives Strength|'ning to their Claim, They were Inventers, or, at least, Improvers, and great Practisers, of Poetry. The Song of Moses, their first Leader, lists Him early in the Number.—Miriam, Deborah, David, Solomon, and innumerable other of their Nation, were fine Poets. And This ought, methinks, to recommend their Memory to the Respect of such, who would be thought so, after them.

Having said this, the Reader, I believe, will hardly be displeas'd to see a Specimen of Hebrew Poetry. We meet with many noble ones, in the Old Testament; but they have the Misfortune to lie shadow'd under obsolete Translation. —One of our Critics has done Justice to the noble Images of these Originals, when he declares, that there is nothing, so soft, so tender, and pathetic, and at the same Time, nothing so grand, so majestic, so terrible; and so barmonious, as the Poetic Part of the Bible: to which All the Heathen Verse is flat, and low.

I look upon the Song of Moses, which Josephus says, was written in Hexameter Verse, to have been a Kind of Lyric Ode, because it seems to have been sung, to some String-Music, and to certain measur'd Motions of the Body. This is plainly gather'd from the Text. ‘And Miriam the Prophetess, the Sister of Aaron, took a Timbrel in her Hand, and all the Women follow'd her, with Timbrels, and with Dances. ’ —And, when Moses, and the male Singers, had open'd the Ode, Miriam, and the Women, answer'd, as a Chorus, ‘Sing ye to the Lord, for He hath triumph'd gloriously: The Horse, and his Rider, hath he thrown into the Sea!’

I leave out the first Verse; as conceiving it to have been but a General Head, and begin at the next following.

SONG of THANKSGIVING, by MOSES. On the Overthrow of Pharaoh, in the Red Sea.

From EXODUS, Chap. xv. The First Part only.

I.

Temples, and Altars, let us raise,

Ours, and our Father's GOD provokes our Praise.

GOD is our Strength, GOD is our Theme:

Where is Egypt's fall'n Esteem?

Pharaoh wakes from his proud Dream.

Wakes, to feel a Warrior's Hand,

Lord of a Power, more vast than His—that shakes his wond'ring Land!

Vainly, the following Foes our GOD defied,

Their rapid Wheels, in vain, tore up the Strand:

In vain they mock'd the waving Wand;

Not all their Noise could the loud Sea withstand;

The wat'ry World flow'd fearless, o'er their Pride,

A drowning Army beat th' involving Tide:

On Wave-wash'd Chariots, half-sustain'd, the trembling Captains ride!

Uplifted Hoofs paw'd loose the liquid Way:

And, round 'em, black'ning thro' the Foam, the floating Legions lay.

Down, down, th' ungrounded Footsteps go:

Strain'd, to feel for Sands, below,

Sands,—where watry Mountains flow!

Sinking, like Rocks, they clog the Deep with Prey:

High-cov'ring rose the briny Flood, and swept their Rage away.

II.

Saving GOD! Thy Hand was here!

Thou protecting, who can fear?

Threat'ning aloud, the thund'ring Legions rose,

And, at thy Chosen, shook th' extended Spear.

Behind, amaz'd! we saw th' o'ertaking Foes,

Hearts anticipating Blows.

But, while thy Blast, O, base Despair, blew keen,

Safety, from Heaven, shot down, between!

Dreadful in Wrath, Thy lifted Arm but shone,

And All th' unnumber'd Thousands melt away:

O'er stubbly Fields, so, Wind-driv'n Fire rolls on,

And sweeps the blazing Breadth, with crackly Sway.

III.

Th' Almighty's Voice but spoke a loud Command,

And, strait, th'unlinking Surges, backward, rise:

High-climbing Waves in quiv'ring Mountains stand,

And hang their billowy Horrors in the Skies!

In murm'ring Cleft, th' obedient Deep yawns wide;

And shadowy Glooms lowre dark, from either Side!

Down, thro' the horrid Vale's moist Concave, led,

Safe, and dry, bold Israel trod.

Gay, 'twixt Terrors, round her, spread!

Her tear-full Eye now-smil'd, once more, and hail'd her guardian GOD.

IV.

Hark! aloft, the wond'ring Foe!

Look! they cry'd, All pointing low,

Shall the Cowards 'scape us, so?

'Twixt the dividing Waves, they go!

Their Sorc'rer cleaves the Sea, with magic Skill;

Haste, prevent, o'ertake, and kill.

They hear, they march—they dare the mad Command:

The Shouting Squares invade the cover'd Strand;

Chariots, impell'd on fiery Wheels, gore wide th' encumber'd Sand.

Mix'd Horse and Foot, in bann'ry Pomp, descend!

See! from each Horn, th' inclining Length'ners bend,

Loose, slides the weeping Oose, to shun their Weight,

And the Deep, murm'ring, mourns the unusual State.

V.

Hark! the bursting Thunder speaks!

Waves, your watry Ranks disband.

Oh! behold! how vain, how weak,

Strength, that dares its GOD withstand!

Down, at once, from either Hand,

Hoarse-sounding Hills, o'er Hills let loose, devour the vanish'd Sand!

Helpless, engulph'd, th'immerging Squadrons roll:

Pharaoh, proud-sinking, drinks down Brine, that chills his fiery Soul.

Mix'd on th' evolving Surge, awhile, they strive;

Then, like sunk Plumbets, to the Bottom, dive.

Of all the Gods, no God, like Ours, is found!

Join, Heav'n, and Earth, Applause like His, let Men, and Angels sound.

It will not be denied, that here is the Sublime among these Images, more glowing, than in any Greek, or Roman Writer.—When Longinus seems to have been moved so strongly by That prais'd Exaltedness of Thought, where Moses, to express GOD's Power, with Energy, describes Creation, not in its extended graduatory Progress, but as starting to Existence at a Word: ‘ Let there be Light: and there was Light’ —I half suspect, with the French Critic, He had heard of, but not seen, the Hebrew Bible. He could never else have passed by the prodigious Greatness, in the Paintings, and Conception, of the Ode foregoing; and in many other Tracts of Scripture Poetry. Would he have so profusely given his Admiration to this Passage, out of Homer,

"At ev'ry Step th' immortal Neptune took,

"The Mountains trembled, and their Forests shook?"

and have said nothing, upon That of David?

Hills felt their GOD's Approach, and, veil'd in Night,

Sunk, thro' their trembling Roots, to 'scape his Sight.

We may pity, then, the Grecian Vanity, that would divide the Honour of inventing Poetry, between their Orpheus, Stesichorus, Alcman, Pindar, and a Number of their Countrymen; whereas, in Truth, the oldest of all These, who was Orpheus, was but a Cotemporary with Gideon: in whose Eleventh Year he went, a young Man, with the Argonauts to Colchos. — Now Gideon was 200 Years since Moses; and yet Moses died not till the Year of the World 2454. Forty-one years after writing the foregoing Ode, which must have been at his first landing in Arabia, after crossing the Red Sea, in the World's Year 2413.— So that the Hebrews had the practical Perfection of the Lyric Species for at least 200 Years before the Birth of this Assumer, Orpheus, whom the Greeks pretend to have been its original Inventer.

It is, indeed, the most unreasonable Improbability, that Greece should have been skill'd in so refin'd an Art as Poetry, when she was little better than a Savage; so deficient in Improvements of this ornamental Quality, that, as St. Augustine has noted, the more necessary Use even of the Grape was still unknown to the politest of those People (the Athenians), till by Dionysius, in the Time of Moses: and a Greek Poet, wanting Wine, had miss'd a surer Inspiration, than his Muse's. —Ericthonius of Athens was the first Instructor of his Countrymen, to yoke their Beasts, for Plowing: and That, not till Joshua's Days: And it was then, too, that the Use of Letters was communicated to the Greeks, by Cadmus, from Phoenicia, a close Borderer on the Hebrews.—Before that Time, having no Alphabet, how could they make Pretence to Writing? The same national Vanity was manifest again, in their asserting Ida, and Dactylus, who liv'd but after Joshua's Death, during the Government of Othoniel, to have discovered the first Use of Iron; when 'tis plain, from the Old Testament (Genesis iv. and 22.) that Tubal Cain, above a Thousand Years before, had taught Artificers the Workmanship of Iron and Brass: And nothing can be more demonstrable (from the so often-mentioned Chariots, Weapons, Armour, and vast Magazines of warlike Furniture of all Kinds, which we read of, among Kings of Egypt and Assyria), than that the People of the East were exquisitely skill'd in such mechanic Knowlege, at a Time, when Greece had yet no Name among the Nations. Thucydides, their own Historian, has confess'd, that in these early Days, wherein she would pretend to arrogate Inventions never Hers, she was unciviliz'd, and wholly rude: her Lands uncultivated, her Towns few, and mean, and the Employment of her Heroes, and high Demi-Gods, to rove for Robberies, by Sea and Land; steal Horses, and make bold with other People's Cattle; without Sense of Shame, or Secrecy.

But I forget the Elegy, which Mr. Cowley justly calls a most poetical, and excellent one. — He purpos'd to have clos'd his Davideis with it.— It appears to me a Master-piece of the pathetic Kind: and I produce it, as an Instance, that the Hebrews were thus skilful, in the simple Species; which the Greeks, too, with their usual Modesty, put in for the Invention of, long after this fine Piece had been composed by David.

ELEGY by DAVID: For the Death of SAUL and JONATHAN.

(2 KINGS, Chap. i.)

I.

O, Israel! how does all thy Beauty fade!

How are the Mighty fall'n! the Strong betray'd!

Ne'er may this Woe in Gath's full Streets be told:

Never, let Ascalon our Fate unfold.

II.

Mountains of Gilboa! may ye drink no Dew!

Let Rain's mourn'd Want turn red your verdant Hue!

Let your Vines wither, and your Olives die:

And your parch'd Fields no grainy Wealth supply.

For, there, abandon'd Saul, brave Monarch! bled:

As if no awful Oil had hemm'd his Head.

III.

Never, in vain, drew Jonathan his Bow,

Never Saul's Sword fell, frustrate, on a Foe:

Lovely, and loving! one dear Life they led:

Nor parted, dying, but together bled.

Swifter than Eagles, to the Fight they flew,

Stronger than Lions, they could Foes pursue.

IV.

Daughters of Israel! weep the Loss of Saul:

In Scarlet, and in Gold, he cloth'd you All.

Peaceful, beneath his warlike Shade, you smil'd:

And triumph'd by Their Toil, whose Hosts he spoil'd.

V.

Thee, Jonathan, my Brother! Thee I mourn,

With Grief still growing must thy Loss be borne!

Soft, and delightful Partner, of my Soul!

Two Halfs, divided, made us one dear Whole.

Vast was Thy Love, and wonderful, to me:

And never Woman lov'd, as I lov'd THEE.

I have said enough, I hope, to justify my Choice of foreign Action, and a Hebrew one particularly.—I come now to the new Structure of my Verse: where I have us'd the Liberty of varying, every-where, the Measure, and of mixing, in one Poem, All the different Kinds, that can be rank'd among Heroic.—What I hop'd from this Extent of Latitude was, to derive Increase of Power, as well as Harmony. But, as this Choice, and Application of such bold Diversity of Numbers, will require, and merit, some Defence, I will begin it with a previous Note or two in Answer to a modern Cry, that has been rais'd against the Use of Rhyme, in general.

It has been attack'd, but, since we learn'd to read, and understand, Blank Verse, from Mr. Milton's noble Work: which (by the way) lay half an Age▪ at lea•…, unfelt, unfriended, and un-notic'd, in the Country It now casts so bright a Lustre on. The Copy of it was (with Doubt and Hesitation) bought—for infamous TEN POUNDS! which not being made demandable but on Condition of a new Impression, never was receiv'd, at all; Its Author having been in his neglected Grave near Thirty Years, before his matchless Poem (and then only by Effect of One Man's single Penetration) drew the least Regard upon it from his Countrymen! to the eternal Scandal be it noted, of our high-presum'd Discernment, and the miserable State of Patronage, among us!—This was the hospitable Welcome Blank Verse found, in England: And, now (so strangely can our Currents turn!) our Gentlemen of the new Light are indispos'd to see, by any other. They affect the Reputation of a Judgment too severe, to be delighted by Effect of Sounds: and would explode all Consonance of Termination, as too trifling, and effeminate, for Ears of Understanding.

What they have objected may, I think, be summ'd up in these few Particulars. Rhyme was a Goth, and came in with the Runic Impoliteness: Rhyme is unnatural: because it puts Constraint upon Expression: Rhyme is needless; because Blank Verse has nobler Harmony, and gives complete Delight without it.

As to the first of These, 'tis quite mistaken. Rhyme did not come in with those Barbarities, they charge it to: and, if it had done so, what nobler Parentage could It have been deriv'd from, than the same to which we owe our Plans of Liberty? But, in Reality, It had a far more antient Origin. The Hebrew Poetry was writ with Rhyme. The Persian, and Arabian, so peculiarly depended on this Ornament, that they have a Kind of Poem in distinguish'd Reverence among them (and call'd Cacideh) deriv'd from immemorial Practice, and devoted to the Praise of GOD, and godlike Characters. Its Frame contains from 50 to 100 Ladies: the two leading Verses rhyme together, and the Rest alternatively, ke•ping▪ throughout, but two Rhymes only. So that these Poems run the long•st, wh•n they light upon such Terminations, as afford most Consonances. There are many such, of Giami, Hasis, Schemi, Enviri, and others. Some of them appear to have been moderniz'd Reductions (as our Chaucer's Works, by Dryden) their old Language being grown obscure, in Both of the Countries above-mentioned.—So, this Argument, of Rhyme's Defect from want of due Antiquity, will carry little Weight against it; and might have an Answer still more pointed and particular, if it deserv'd to be allow'd, that Any-thing, in its own Nature good, could be the less so, for its Novelty.

They call Rhyme unnatural, because it puts Constraint upon Expression; which, however, is not true; for Poets have not only Liberty of changing stubborn Rhymes for ductile ones, but are oblig'd to do it, till they find such new ones, as assist the Sense, instead of stiffening, or obscuring it. But, were there All the Force they would ascribe to it, in this Objection, from Constraint on the Expression, what a partial Eye is Theirs, who censure such Constraint, as an unpardonable Slavery, where authoriz'd by Custom in a modern Tongue; yet see no Consequence but That of a pretended Beauty where it borrows Sanction, but from the same Authority, of Custom, in the Antient Languages?

For, not to rest upon their hard, and troublesome Restraints, to Quantity, what Curb can possibly be more oppos'd to Nature, and her easy Order of Expression, than their interweaving Words, and ranging them in so remote, and dislocative a Position, as the patulae in Virgil's Verse hereunder, from the fagi, it immediately related to? for, while the genuine Construction is, You, Tityrus, reposing under the Shade of a spreading Beech, the Latin was constrain'd, before it could arrange the Line to Harmony, to force it into this distorted Order.

Tityre, tu, patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi.

That is, in English of the same Position,

Tityrus, you, of a spreading reposing under the Shade, Beech.

What strange Perplexity is, here (by Custom, which we can indulge, without a Question) thrown upon the Sense, to liquidate the Sound, and make the Measure musical!—Let the Reproachers of constrain'd Expression shew where Rhyme has ever wrung an English Verse into so cramp'd a Posture.

So, again, in Martial,

Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Paeto.

What a charming Figure, in our Language, does This Latin Licence make, in the same literal Arrangement!

Chast her Sword when had deliver'd Arria to Paetus.

It must not be pretended, that these Instances are chosen ones. The very Genius of the Roman Tongue made such disjointed Shuffle of the Words, for ever necessary: And, yet, which of our Exploders of the infinitely less-constraining Use of Rhyme would think it reasonable to condemn the not to be disputed Elegance of Latin Verse, in Detestation of a Practice, which is visibly unnatural?

Even their celebrated Horace, notwithstanding his peculiar Claim to the Concinnitas, and That Curiosa Felicitas, so exquisitely fine, in his Expression, could no more sail free from the oblique Propulsion of this Side Wind, that blew every Roman Poet wide of his true Course, than Any weaker, and more careless Pilot. Witness his

Me doctarum hederae praemia frontium

Diis miscent superis.

What would be thought of a Writer, in our Tongue, who, when he was purposing to say clearly, Ivy Garlands, the Rewards of learn'd Brows, rank me with the High Gods, should express it in this extraordinary Manner—Me of learned Ivy Garlands the Rewards Brows with the Gods rank high.

Surely, no Man, who, knowing Latin, knows that such Constraint as This is unavoidable, in all their Versification, will pretend to argue, against Rhyme, that It can possibly deserve Explosion for a Fault, It is not half so guilty of, as This allow'd bad Practice; which is, notwithstanding, overlook'd, and held as nothing, in Comparison with the acknowleg'd Graces, in the Tongues it throws such Intricacy on!

Rhyme, then, is neither newer, in its Practice, nor less natural, in its Use, than other Licences to Verse, which, yet, its Enemies are very partially attach'd to.—We will see, in the last Charge, whether It ought to be held needless, from Superiority of Harmony, or any nobler, or more masculine Perfection in Blank Verse—or Measure without Consonance.

Lord Roscommon, one of the first Fallers in with the Applause of Milton (newly, in His Time, beginning to attract Consenters), writes his Essay on translated Verse, in the best Rhyme he found Himself at Leisure to afford it: But, drawing near the End, and growing out of Humour with his Choice, breaks out at once into a rapturous Declamation, against Rhyme, and Bondage; in a Specimen, which he picks, here and there, and pieces artfully together, out of some of the sublimest Parts of Paradise lost, to recommend Blank Verse, where He, Himself, had just been disregarding it. I think this Manner of proceeding not a fair one: The strong Images, which animate the glowing Lines, he there selected, would have made Prose, Poetry. They shake the Fancy, and allow no Leisure to the Judgment to examine Numbers.—We are hurried on by the Exaltedness of Thought, and rise above Perception of the Mechanism! Would he have try'd the Cause impartially, he might have found a thousand Lines in Milton, every one of which had turn'd it quite to the Reverse of his Intention.

But now, to let the Reader see, what Kind of Verse it is, these Gentlemen would substitute in Place of Rhyme, I take the following Pattern from the mention'd Lord's Translation of the Ars Poetica.

These are the likest Copies, which are drawn

By the Original of Human Life.

Sometimes, in rough and undigested Plays,

We meet with such a lucky Character,

As, being humour'd right, and well pursu'd,

Succeeds much better, than the shallow Verse,

And chiming Trifles, of more studious Pens.

We shall presently discern, by only placing these lean Lines in the prosaic Order, whether they have any Title to their Claim of Poetry.—VERSE, in the literal Sense, we must allow it to be call'd, because we but derive the Word from turning back; and These, I own, do That, as oft as they have stretch'd themselves to their due Length of Measure. But observe, how readily this Prose may be unversified!

‘These are the likest Copies, which are drawn by the Original of Human Life. Sometimes, in rough and undigested Plays, we meet with such a lucky Character, as, being humour'd right, and well pursu'd, succeeds much better, than the shallow Verse, and chiming Trifles, of more studious Pens.’

If the Enemies to Rhyme had nothing better to produce in Room of it, than This, It would not fail to live and prosper; nor, indeed, is there an Argument they use for the Defence of their Opinion, but might better aid their Enemies; and serve (as most Deserters do) with double Violence, against its Masters. Meanwhile It is a pleasant Kind of Tyranny they are for exercising over Reason! First, they warp to their own Side the Pretence of Right to Harmony: and when they have apply'd all Sorts of Argument, unjustly, for their Service, and left none for ours, but what they think they may refuse us, as of Counsel for the Plaintiff, they would run us down, full Cry, as if we had no Weapons to defend ourselves withal.—It puts me in Mind of an honest Indian Traveller, who coming, in hard Weather, to ask something, at the House of a Great Man, and being bark'd at by his Mastives, stoop'd for a Flint, but found it frozen to the Surface. Deliver me, said he, from the unreasonable People of this Country! They let loose their Dogs, and fasten their Stones.

In Tragedy, Blank Verse may claim a Preference, as coming nearer to our natural Mode of Speech, and yet retaining Dignity enough, by virtue of its Measure, to exalt it above Prose. But Epic Poets speak in Person; and, describeing at full Leisure, are suppos'd to have due Time for Ornament; and it will therefore be expected from them: so that Blank Verse does not suit Their Use; since where its Flatness is not animated, as in Tragedy, by restless Agitation of the Passions, It must ever lean to one of these Extremes: either degenerating to plain Prose, as in the Example before us; or becoming harsh, affected, stiff, and obsolete; as but too many Times it does, in our Great Milton, from a Purpose to induce Appearance, of the Venerable, where the Sweet was wan•ing.

The delightful Mean is Rhyme. It keeps Prose distant, yet helps Ease, as well as Energy: for it was never meant to cramp Expression, but lend Sound a Liveliness; and, what is evidently (and indeed peculiarly) a Benefit deriv'd from this connective Aid to Recollection, is, that by Retention of the Rhyme, the Memory catching readily at the coherent Matter, it becomes much easier to hold Ideas this way given us, than in Any other Form of Words whatever▪

Mr. D•nnis, who was one, of a too numerous Brotherhood, who suffer Pangs, in mortifying Lengths of Labour, at the Birth of Every Rhyme, and therefore, naturally hate the Child, that cost 'em too much Pain in its Delivery, was for turning his broad Axe against our very Root of Argument, and has denied, that Rhyme is musical, because, says he, there is no Harmony in Unisons. The Face of this Pretence is specious: but It ought, before it can have real Weight, to find some Poem, where All Terminations close with the same Rhyme repeated. No one Note, indeed, will make a Tune: But, as we hear with Pleasure the same Note sounded sometimes twice, or thrice (in solemn Compositions more especially), and then give way to different ones, the artful Intermixture of All which is Music, so any tuneful Note, tho' sounded separately, and more than once, is Harmony.—No JARRING Note can stand in Music. Discord there must be; but That Discordance is to rise, from Oppositions All harmonious in their proper, and disjunctive Particles: and but differing (not clashing) into Melody, by joint Concurrency of Variations; not of Inconsistencies.—Neither will it be needful to confess, that Rhymes are Unisons. The Question is of no Importance, or it would be easy to explain their Difference.

Another Reason in Behalf of Rhyme is, that no Language is so naturally form'd, as English, for receiving and becoming it. The Latin Verse, tormented and constrain'd, as I have shewn it, in Pursuit of Harmony, could no way have admitted This: which that it was not in its Genius constituted for, or capable of, we need no plainer Proofs, than the sequester'd Muses of the Monks have furnish'd us— if ever Muse, at all, inspir'd a Monastery.

—Vir honoratus—jacet hîc tumulatus,

Qui prudens, gratus—justus fuit, et moderatus.

And again:

Hîc Vir pacificus Shipley Richardus humatur,

Verus Catholicus, Domus haec hoc testificatur.

Which, to english 'em, just as well as they deserve, would thus be render'd.

Here a brave Man is thrust—down deep in the Dust,

Who was true to his Trust—prudent, mod'rate, and just.

And, for the other,

Poor peaceful Dick Shipley's here left in the Lurch:

That he was a good Catholic, witness this Church.

Not even the Greek Tongue could have been capable of Rhyme: nor had it truly the least want of it.—It was so musically ductile, so sonorously significant, that it was naturally a full Tide of Harmony: It seem'd to roll along, like one of its own Homer's Torrents, down the Side of a vast Mountain; sparkling, rapid, and sounding, in all Parts of its Passage.

Yet, fain would I, with all the partial Fondness of a Lover, set in Balance some Defects, of this triumphant Rival of the Beauty I wish best to, against That great Advantage, which it would be Blindness to deny her claim to, in the tuneful Texture of her Cadences. I detest, for Instance, those abominable Aids, call'd Expletives: a mean, and lazy Crutch, which not the lamest Poet of our Nation, now, submits to heave himself along by! They were the dull, and insignificant Stop-gaps of Greek Inclosures; a Degree at least below the venerable from whences, for to's, unto's, and fine eke's and aye's, of our old cleric Compositions.

But if Sincerity refuses Patience to a calm Surveyor of this Grecian Licence, what would it not inspire Contempt to say, against the servile Disposition of a Race, call'd Commentators, who would have the Privilege, Their Poets us'd, of mixing in one Piece, their different Dialects, and altering Accents, at their Pleasure, pass for an Advantage to their Poetry! as if People, long habituated to a Pronunciation the Reverse of many of those motley Rusticisms, could, in Reverence of a worthless Skill in weaving them together, quit their natural Partiality to their own Mode of speaking!—On the contrary, rejected Idioms must have been extremely irksome to a polish'd Ear: and left a Kind of coarse provincial Brogue, upon the best Performances.

Were an English Poet, for Example, to avail himself of this licentious Practice of the Greek ones, in extending these five Words to Numbers, and due Length of Metre,—These People were learned Writers; and admit he should be told that, in some Counties of the North and West, it was a Custom to give drawling Prolongation to their Syllables, and open all the Diphthongs; and that, by Assistance of this noble Privilege, He might spin out a Verse, thus elegantly,

Le—ar—ned Writers These Pe—o—ple were.

Or, because it would be Pity to want Choice of good Examples, let it be suppos'd, that the Three Words—meet, glorious, Occasion, were to be stretch'd out, on some of these Greek Tenters.

Me—et, glo—ri—o—us, Oc—ca—si—on.

It is visible enough, the Verses are fill'd up, by Help of such a frightful Anglo-Graecism. But from what Force of Custom could we reconcile such Jargon to a London Ear? No Matter what Relief a lazy Poet might draw from it. It would never give his Reader Satisfaction. Yet, allow it but to be suppos'd, that English had been a dead Language for about a thousand Years, and now but studied, as a learn'd one, for the Sake of antient Stores of Knowlege, treasur'd up in its Remains, in That Case, even the manifest Absurdity above, as grosly as it seems to shock us, in a living Tongue, had pass'd, perhaps, unnotic'd, in the dead one, or but brush'd us, with a faint Perception.

But Peace be to the Manes of the Greek, and Latin Tongues! Their very Faults are venerable; from the early Prejudice, that roots a Reverence in us, for these first Imprinters of our School Ideas.—The modern Languages have no such Right to Preference; and their Defects may be observ'd more easily, and censur'd with less Danger.—Tassone, noting a most obvious one, in the Italian Poetry, confesses, with a candid Freedom, that he knows not, whether to impute it most to the Ill Fortune of his Country's Writers, or a certain Weakness in the Language, which, says he, wants Energy, and is unfit for high Expression. This Defect, in That so favourite Tongue, which stands acknowleg'd, by their own Consent and Testimony, chiefly flows from a Redundancy of Vowels, which, tho' sweet'ning a soft Sound, enervates it.—Italian is the Language, wherein Love would chuse to sigh, or Laughter to be light, and wanton. It supplies, with Fulness and Delight, the Uses of Intrigue, and Conversation; but wants Weight and Spring for Passion, and bends under the Demand of Comprehensiveness. 'Tis like the flowing of soft Sand, in Hour-glasses: seeming liquid, while confin'd to its close Currency; but flies dispers'd, and opens its loose Quality, as soon as shaken out, and trusted to hard Weather.

Not to insist, in this Place, on the too offensive Frequency of their Elisions, I make Haste to note another, where the rash Condemners of our own Excess in Monosyllables will wonder, I find Cause to charge it. But I take their Poverty, in That Particular alone, to be the Reason, why Italian Rhymes induce a Kind of leaping Levity, upon the Terminations of their Verses. They run generally in Stanzas, the Rhymes double, and the Structure in this Order.

- — Capitano,

- — Christo.

- — Mano,

- — Acquisto.

- — Vano

- — Misto.

- — Santi,

- — Erranti.

But disyllable, or trisyllable Rhymes, if I mistake not, carry with 'em something of the Burlesque Air; and suit more aptly with that grinning Face of Wit, that loves to wear Grimace upon good Sense, like Hudibras, than with the grave and serious Majesty, that ought to dignify the Epic Poetry.

Both these Defects are French, as visibly, as they must be confess'd Italian. But they find some Remedy in France, in that their Accent frequently is plac'd on the last Syllable of their long Words; and so their Rhymes appear to terminate more gravely, than Italian ones; which carry it upon their last excepting one. Take an Example of this best Kind of French accenting, from Boileau.

Amours

Discours.

Unif•rme

Endorme.

Ennuyer

Psalmodier.

Lecteur

Achepteur.

Here, All the Rhymes depend upon the terminating Syllable: But, yet they are not careful to preserve this Benefit; too frequently degenerating into double Rhymes, like the Italians, as in this, of the same Boileau.

De la Foy d'un Chrestien les Mystéres terribles

D'Ornemens egayez ne sont point susceptibles.

Et de vos Fictions le Mêlange coupable

Méme à ses Veritez donne l' Air de la Fable.

I will english these four Lines, as near as I can do it, to the very Trip of the French Cadence; that the Reader may conceive a proper Notion of their debonair Heroics.

Of the Faith of a Christian the terrible Myst'ries

Reject the gay Dress of impertinent Hist'ries.

And the Fictions when mix'd, tho' as well as you're able,

To the pure Truth itself give the Air of a Fable.

I judge with a too partial Ear, or there is something so distastefully alert (to use a Phrase of their own furnishing) in the pert Skipping, of this Verse, a Kind of Pause-check'd Recoil of Motion, like the Half whirl of a Spinning-wheel,— like the unlacing of a Muse, as Mr. Hobbes expresses it, or, to hit the Image better, in Lord Dorset's Simile, like the unvaried Rumbling of a Wheel-barrow, that the Numbers of their serious Poems seem as ill-adapted to their Subjects, as Jigg Tunes to a Church Anthem.—We may discover, in their very Verse, the dapper Genius of their Nation: a Sort of spirited, or animal, Vivacity, that dances gaily thro' the Fancy, without stopping at the Judgment. I except their few Examples (which have been by Nature too excepted) of a fierce, yet steady, Fire, and a Reflection both profound, and volatile.

Concerning other modern Tongues, it will be needless to say much. What has been hinted, of Italian, will effectually include the Spanish, and the Portuguese; the German must be own'd worth great Regard for its Antiquity, and Manliness; but will content itself with That just Praise, and claim no Merit from its Harmony. Whatever Roughness English may be thought to have retain'd, is but of Saxon Origin; and, to acknowlege a too obvious Truth, Poetry in High-Dutch, is like the Nile among its Cataracts: It may be rapid, and deep; but 'tis tumbling, and terrible: It has its Course obstructed, every-where, by Mountains it must clamber over.—To carry Poetry still further North, would be but dragging her to seek for Friends, among her Enemies, the Goths, and Vandals.

The English then, of modern Tongues, is fitted best for Poetry. Its copious Choice of Monosyllables (which many have been rash enough to call a Blemish) make it strong, significant, and comprehensive. Its Derivatives, from Greek and Latin, have adorn'd it with Variety of Cadences; and intermix'd its masculine Excess of Consonants with a melodious Fluency, from interposing Vowels.—It adorns, and is adorn'd by, Rhyme; yet takes it in but as a Subject, not obeys it, as her Tyrant: It is grave, slow, stately, soft, swift, wanton, or majestic. It has all the Lentor of Complaint and Pity; yet has all the Transport of excursive Energy: It is an inexhaustibly full Treasury, supplied from the selected Tributes of whatever was most excellent, in other Speeches; but possesses them with so improv'd an Aptitude, as to have made That HONEY, which was raw Juice, in the Flowers It drew it from.

But I digress too far from what I had begun to say, upon the Structure of my Verse, which differs little from a Species, Mr. Cowley, toward the Close of the last Century, first reduc'd to Practice, and misnam'd Pindaric: But if he conceiv'd a Greek Name necessary, Dithyrambic had, I think, express'd his Purpose better. From the Latitude of so diversify'd a Numerosity, there must arise a fuller Harmony, than can consist with common Measure. Else, a Concert can be equall'd by a single Instrument: our usual Couplet-writing sooner satiates, by too frequent, and too limited Returns, of the same Measure. Whereas, in this perpetual Change of Cadence, and new Course of Numbers, the Attention is beat up, provok'd, and render'd lively; the Ear, every-where, reliev'd; and Images of Actions, Sounds, or Things, how different soever they may be, are cloath'd with Words, best suited to their Nature.

The Compass, and the Freedom of this Range of Verse, have recommended its Attempt to many Practisers in Odes, and such brief Sallies; but, too generally, with bad Success: They check'd the Gracefulness of Stepping, by too visible a Fear to fall. Like Children, who, first learn to go alone, they took short, tottering Starts; and hung upon, and rested at, All stopping Places, they could stretch their Hands to. They confin'd their Muse, too humbly, to a Lyric Length of Leading-strings: and gave the snug, set, round-head Crop, to Stanzas, that should flow out cavalierly. Pindaric, in short Measure, is a Woman of Quality, in Knee-deep Petticoats; she may have very well-shap'd Feet: but they can never be so fine, as to atone the Indecorum. Lyric Numbers carry song-like and familiar Levity, quite inconsistent with the Epic Gravity. A few bold Writers of Pindaric Odes have ventur'd, now-and-then, as far as the Hexameter: but hardly dar'd so much as dream of the Heptametrical seven-footed Line, of fourteen Syllables: Indeed the shortest Measure is too long, unless That Length is fill'd with Meaning. For nothing can be more ridiculous, than a weak languishing Extent of Verse without proportion'd Vigour in the Sentiment: Such Verse plays loose, like some vast main Sail of a Ship, that flags, and flutters heavily upon the Prospect of a Breeze, but presently falls back against the Mast, for want of Wind, to swell it into Energy. It is in Poems such as These, where, as was paintedly express'd by Mr. Pope (but might have been still more so, by his length'ning out his second Verse to the Heptameter Extent just mentioned, and hereunder given it by an Addition only of the two small Words, in Roman Characters)

A needless Alexandrine ends the Song:

And, like a (weak and) wounded Snake, drags its slow Length along.

Mr. Dryden, who was willing enough to allow That Praise to Mr. Cowley, justly due to him for having introduc'd a new, and noble Way of Writing, is, however, of Opinion, that much still was wanting to his Practice, of That wish'd Perfection, which This Kind of Verse seem'd capable of. He instances the Roughness, and the oft-deficient Numbers: The Truth is, Mr. Cowley's Judgment, not his Ear, deceived him. What his learn'd, and Reverend Editor would represent, as an Effect of generous Negligence, in a too active Race of Fancy, seeming to have been the cool, and most deliberate Result of wrong Election: we may plainly gather This, from his own Note to the first Book of Davideis; where he speaks of This strange Line.

Nor can the Glory confine itself to the endless Space.

It was in his Intention, to express the Struggle of an overflowing Lustre, labouring for Room, in the whole Breadth of Heaven.—I am sorry (says Mr. Cowley) that it is necessary to admonish the most Part of Readers, that it is not by Negligence, that this Verse is so loose, long, and, as it were, vast: It is to paint the Nature of the Thing, which it describes: which I would have observ'd in divers other Places, that else will pass for very careless Verses. And then, he names these following.

Down a Precipice deep, down he casts them, All.

And This,

Like some fair Pine, o'erlooking all th'ignobler Wood.

Painting the Image, by the Sound, is, questionless, one of the liveliest Beauties, of which Verse is capable. But how far That is done, by running out of Measure, and admitting plain Prose, as an Ornament in Poetry, I leave to be determin'd by the Judgment of the Reader. He will recollect, that Homer was, and Virgil (in his Imitation) every-where, ambitious of this verbal colouring: but They neither of 'em thought it necessary to That End, to disarray, and prosify their Numbers. On the contrary, they rais'd, and added to, their Harmony, by a melodious Latitude, that circumscrib'd, at once, and dissipated, by Effect of this all-comprehending Practice. Mr. Cowley needed not have started out of Numerosity, to reach effectually the View before him.—For Example—

Nor finds the struggling Glory Room, close-press'd, o'er boundless Space.

For the Second,

Down o'er a Cliff's steep Precipice, deep down he casts 'em all.

For the Third,

O'erlooking, like some tow'ry Pine, th' ignobler Under-wood.

And here are three successive Instances, of the great Use and Benefit, an English Poet has it in his Power to make, by sparingly (and always aptly) daring to launch out, into the long Heptameter Extent of Measure. But there will be found too much obstructive VOID, in this poetic Saul's big Armour; if a Dwarf, in Genius, should attempt to wear it.

Mr. Cowley's Ear indulg'd him in another equally untuneful Practice, which (in Reverence to the never-failing strong Characteristic of the Tribe of Imitators) the Implicites in His Track have All, with devious Diligence, been careful not to start a Step from. He, too often, plac'd his Pauses, in the wrong Part of his Verse. They should, in the long Measures, be found always posited exactly. I subjoin an Instance of the Error.

Lo! how the Years to come, a num'rous and well-fitted Quire.

Here was nothing, that resembled Numbers: no Harmony at all, unless the Reader paus'd at Nume in the Word numerous: and if he did so pause, in that divided Word, he made a disagreeable Hiatus, in the Sense; and would have wounded a nice Ear, as harshly as an old Greek Expletive. How infinitely more majestically, flows the Verse hereunder, tho' the Measure is the same, and Both are Mr. Cowley's!—for no other Reason but, because the Pause is, here, plac'd rightly.

The Mountains shake and run about, no less confus'd than They.

Run about, indeed, may want a little of the purpos'd Greatness, from the too light Vulgarity of the Expression.—Strive to fly, had been, perhaps, more aptly suited to both Sound, and Image. But I introduce the Verse, in this Place, only with a View to the right placing of its Pause, so wrongly judg'd in the preceding one.

That noble Writer seems to have been sensible of the Perplexity, this Roughness of his Numbers, now-and-then, must throw a Reader into. For he gives a most exact Description of Pindaric Verse (as he then practis'd it) in his Ode upon the Resurrection.

'Tis an unruly, and a hard-mouth'd Horse,

Fierce, and unbroken, yet:

Impatient of the Spur, or Bit!

Now, prances stately, and anon flies o'er the Place:

Disdains the servile Law of any settled Pace.

Conscious, and proud of his own natural Force,

'Twill no unskilful Touch endure,

But flings Writer and Reader, too, that sits not sure.

This was the true Condition under which he left it. But if he had liv'd to give the needful Hand to what he so successfully had introduc'd, 'tis probable, he would have so far chang'd his Practice, that it had been nearlier describ'd, in This, from his fine Ode, on Liberty.

The plain Heroic Strain let others take,

Mine the Pindaric Way I'll make;

The Matter shall be grave, the Numbers loose, and free;

It shall not keep one settled Pace of Time;

In the same Tune, It shall not always chime:

Nor shall each Verse, just to his Neighbour, rhyme.

A thousand Liberties It shall dispense,

But, yet, shall manage All, without Offence,

Or to the Sweetness of the Sound, or Greatness of the Sense.

A Species, once, I think, was tried in Tragic Poetry, not wholly differing from this new Composite Order. Aristotle notes it of a Work of Cheremon, a Scholar of Socrates. The Piece was call'd the Centaur, and compos'd, he says, of All the different Sorts of Verse. He should have added, except long ones: For he disapproves That Practice, in dramatic Works, because Iambics, and Tetrameters, and such SHORT Measures were too skipping, and too light, for serious Poetry. Our Language carries natural Gravity, and might allow short Measures with less Lightness. Yet, they ought not to be often us'd, in Epic Writings, even of This new Sort: and never, but in Places, where they help the Harmony, without detracting from the Dignity.

That This Poem is divided into Twelve Books, was a Determination of so little Consequence, that 'twere impertinent to offer at a Reason for it. These are Points indifferent; and in which a Poet will not need to strengthen his own Practice by Examples. The Extent of his Design should be a Guide, in his Division of it. Mr. Cowley professedly imitated Virgil, in his Choice of Twelve Books, to his Davideis: tho', I think, he might as justly have rejected Virgil's Number, as He (Virgil) had rejected Homer's: The Number of whose Books, too, the Roman would, methinks, more gracefully have been a Borrower of, than of his Episodes, and Incidents.—Sir William D'avenant springs quite aside from this old imitative Road; but into an Extreme, as wrong, tho' opposite. He is for neither Books, nor Proposition, Invocation, or Machinery. Like some of those stiff-hearted Puritans, who dirtied his own Times, and would hear Sermons with their Hats upon their Heads, in Defiance of Church Ceremony. He divides his Gondibert into Five Acts, as if it were a Tragedy: and Each Act into Cantos, which may hold, he says, the Place of Scenes.—This Method Mr. Hobbes, in a long prefatory Tract, thought worth his Pains to justify; but was, I think, Himself, the sole Supporter of his Argument. In Matters left indifferent, the old Way, if not best, is sure to be the modestest. For my Part, if Division into Twelve Books needs more Reason than, because the Subject offer'd Matter, for That Number, I should think it fully justified, from the Division of That People, whom it treats of, into their Twelve Tribes: If still a stronger Reason should be ask'd for, take it thus. The Action of an Epic Poem ought not to be stretch'd beyond one Year; and Twelve Months make up the Division of the Term, so limited.—And now I enter on the Referential Notes, in Every Section mark'd progressively.

Sect. I. L. 2.—Seek, O Soul! some Heavenly Theme.

It was the Custom of Greek Poets to mix in one the Proposition and the Invocation. The Latins (and the Moderns, mostly, follow them) propos'd their Subject first, and then invok'd Assistance from the Muses.—It becomes a Christian Poet better, to begin with Invocation. It is a Way more solemn, and proportion'd to the Weight of an Address to our Inspirer, not alone to pray his Aid in the Performance, but his previous Guidance in the very Choice of what we go upon.—That Invocation should, by no means, be omitted, seems a Point agreed, for many different Reasons. A Work, that has its first Foundation in a Moral Purpose, owes a Reader (says Bossu) a good Example, for his Piety and Veneration. Add, that many Things must be describ'd, in Course of these Great Poems, which the Poet not being thought in any reasonable Likelihood of coming to so full a Knowlege of, by any common Means of Information, He could never hope to give his Testimony Weight enough to merit Faith, but from impressing, first, his Reader's Mind, with a Conceit, that Heaven infus'd it.—Sir William D'Avenant, then, did ill, to throw aside his Prophet's Mantle. What the Robe is to the Judge, the Poet owes to Invocation.

Sect. I. L. 18.—Redeem the Use of long-lost Poetry.

Every body knows, that the Original of Poetry was in the Worship of the Gods, and Celebration of their Glory. It is equally notorious, how degenerate It is, since, become in its too beggarly Flattery (as Mr. Cowley calls it) of Great Men. He adds, in idolizing Women; which last Observation, to discredit Gallantry He was so fitted for, and so excusable for painting, I would certainly have let alone, had I been Author of his MISTRESS.—To redeem the Use of Poetry, then, is to restore it to the Praise of God, to the Advancement of true Virtue, and to Animation of those noblest Passions, which lend Wings to human Ardour.

Sect. II. L. 4.—Wilful, they started from protective Grace.

Among the many Arguments enforc'd by Democratic Writers, against Monarchy, It seems the most immodest one, and the least founded upon Reason, when they are for Listing God Himself into Their Party! From what Appearance they deriv'd this Claim, it is not easy to discover: since the Unity of Power ascribed to the Almighty, by Themselves, as well as their Opponents, does not seem, at all, to favour any Preference, of the remotest Form of Government on Earth, from That which Heaven is rul'd by. Yet there runs no Principle, more universally asserted, through the Writings of the warm Enthusiasts of the last unquiet Century, than, that GOD declared Himself aloud for the Republican System, by his personal Command to Moses, for prescribing That selected Form to his own chosen Race of People: For they insist, that the Mosaic Model was a Popular one. They hold it, too, a Claim assigned them with so full a Right to their political Free-will, that GOD submitted Laws, and Propositions, to the People's Confirmation, or Refusal: and became the Civil Magistrate of their Theocracy. That, when accordingly they found it proper to DEPOSE Him from his temporal Authority (I use the very Word, which Oceana, and many other of their Treatises, take Boldness to make free with) and to chuse Themselves a King, who should reign with them, in His Stead, GOD blam'd but their Ingratitude, confessing, and admitting, their asserted Right, (to Samuel)—It is not Thee they have rejected; but they have rejected Me, that I should not reign over them; and, that what is meant by giving them a King IN WRATH, was a Reproach, that they inclin'd to chuse a King at all, and so, but consequential Menace, that Their Monarch should enslave 'em, into a corrected Sense of That superior Happiness, they parted with, in Favour of him.

This still continuing to be the Light, wherein they see That Hebrew Revolution, 'twill be pulling down one Prop of their political Fabric, to make plain, in Course of these Reflections, that the Government of Israel, as assign'd by GOD, was not a Commonwealth, but an Hereditary Monarchy: and that All the Hebrew's Miseries, in those successive Slaveries they fell into, for three hundred Years together, were a natural Effect of Factions, and Confusions, which the Princes of their Tribes became divided by, upon assuming to Themselves, in their provincial Severalties, a secular Direction of the military Power, which, in their first Institution, was the Sovereign's Prerogative, exclusively; together with a Right of Judicatory in the last Appeal on Civil Causes: only reserving to the Popular Assent or Dissent the Election, or Rejection of new Laws, originally to be brought before the Congregation, and enacted by and with the People's Approbation, and the Regal Fiat, of the Sovereign Authority.

I propose to leave it undeniable, that This Sovereign Power was vested in the High Priest, personally, and that Moses plac'd it, not in his defective Line, but, in his BROTHER's, who had many Children; down, successively, to whom, descended the Monarchic, with the Sacerdotal, sole Supremacy; and form'd That Species of Administration, call'd Theocracy, not to be understood, as if GOD, in his own immediate Person, condescended to be King in Israel; but as assisting with his influential Presence, always virtually (and sometimes openly, and miraculously), to inspire, and actuate, the High Priest's Determinations. I pretend to make this System clear, in all its Branches, and to reconcile to it the whole Gradation of Events, to That destructive Period under Saul, at which Time, first, the Priestly Power became subordinate to, and dependent on, the temporal Royalty: as in the other Eastern Nations, that lay nearest to 'em.

It may merit Recollection, that the Papal Claim to an Infallibility, in Christian Spirituals, has sometimes made such near Approach to take in temporal Supremacy conjunctively, as in no very wide Degree to hold Itself remov'd from Prospect of a new Theocracy. And nearer still was That, of the old Caliph's Claim, in the Mahometan first Outstart of Enthusiasm.

Sect. II. L. 10.—Then GIDEON, wise, and generous Leader, rose.

This Line begins the PROPOSITION, (and the Progress of the Section specifies the ACTION, of the Poem.)—In its Opening, it is general—to teach, in the Example of the Leader nam'd, that the Inspir'd by Heaven are to apprehend no Danger, from the most unequal Opposition: all divided Power becoming weaker, on Exertion; while united moves direct, and still grows stronger, in That Motion. The Proposition next descends to the particular: declaring it to be the Redemption of Israel, from her Yoke of foreign Conquest.

It is a terrible Dust, the Critics raise, in their Disputes, concerning the best Way of opening Propositions. Every body agrees, with them, in recommending Modesty: but Fulness, too, seems not at all unnecessary.—I can be as unsatisfied with Statius, as Bossu has been, for his encumb'ring the Proposition of his Achilleid with Declarations, that his Hero had frighted the Thunderer: as also with his personal Boasts, how nobly He (the Poet) had exhausted Inspiration; insomuch, that Thebes, so sung by Him, should reverence him, as her second Founder. In a just Dislike of This, All Men, of common Sense, must join; but, from Effect of the same Sense, they ought to quit his Cause (I mean Bossu's), when undiscerningly attach'd to every casual Choice, of Homer, or of Virgil, he deduces an Authority to state Their Practice, as a not to be disputed Standard for All Epic Plans to follow.

There is a celebrated Ipse dixit, which has been too long consented to, upon this very Subject, of the Proposition, and which it is now high Time to weigh, and find too light, even after I confess it Horace's. If I have any Notion, what it is he means, He either has meant evidently wrong, or (which 'twere bolder to suspect him guilty of) has mis-express'd his own true Meaning.—hear him, in Lord Roscommon.

Do not begin, as That old Scribler did,

Priam's proud War, and Fate, I mean to sing.

What, worth such Noise, produc'd this bellowing Bard!

How much more just spoke Homer, always wise!

Muse, paint the Man, who, after Troys great Fall,

Manners, and Men, and num'rous Cities saw!

Not Smoke from Fire, but Fire from Smoke, HE draws,

And from This Flat, to dreadful Wonders tow'rs:

To barking Scyllas, Cyclops, and Charybdis!

In the first Place, I can see no Reason, why, because One Man has undertaken to describe a War, and prov'd not equal to his Enterprize, Another therefore should be arrogant, in but proposing the same Subject. And, as to Modesty of Proposition, for the want of which the Writer is here treated ill by Horace, and accus'd of Noise, and Ostentation, I am frank enough to dare confess, that the Immodesty, if there is Any here, lies too conceal'd for my Discernment. Pray, what could any Author, who design'd That Subject, have contriv'd to say upon it, less, when he was entering on the Proposition of it? Where is the too much Fire in his Beginning? Smoke in the Progress can be nothing to our Purpose: why is there more of Pomp express'd, or why more Expectation rais'd, from a plain Promise to describe the Ruin of one Town, and Death of one Man, than to shew the Manners of many Men, and treat on the Affairs of many Cities? If we were not to expect Accounts, of not alone the Things Ulysses saw, but also why he saw them, to what End then did Homer promise any thing about 'em, in his Proposition? If we were to entertain That Expectation, certainly our Hopes are higher rais'd by Homer, who assures us, we shall hear of many Cities, and of many Men, than by the other, who propos'd to set before us but the Ruin of one City, and one Man's Destruction.

There is a Narrowness in these implicit Reverencers. They understand, and follow in their Author's Rear, with a too creeping, and too blind Servility. Who reads, and is not Horace's Admirer? and yet, who shall be afraid of saying, He would better have instructed us, by some intelligible plain Precept, on this Point, of Propositions, than by Two ill-understood, and wide Examples?—To conclude with my own humble Notion of the Matter, He certainly proposes well, who comprehends within his Proposition, the Extent of his whole Meaning, and adds nothing further: And He errs, as certainly, who, being scrupulously terrified, by Words without a Reason, is kept back by groundless Fear of saying more, than This or That Man would have said upon the Subject, and says less, than his own Meaning calls for.

Sect. III. L. 11.—Not to Pride's transient Phantoms poorly kneel.

I would not be misunderstood, in this Place, as renouncing Reverence for the Age, I live in, or for Any Great Man, who adorns it. (I except all such, whose Minds are no Partakers in their Greatness.) What I mean by my unfashionable, and not over-politic, Abjuration, is no more, than that I blush to find, it is not thought below the Condescension of a Man of Genius, to confine his Views to little Hopes, and transient Interests from the Powerful: His Business, as I take it, being rather, to assert, and vindicate, neglected Excellence, than to be poorly prostituting his Hosannah, to the HIGHEST. The Poet, and the Priest (Antiquity so join'd 'em) ought to guide their Ends, not, by the Humours, Inclinations, or immediate Passions, of the Age, they write in. They should carry down their Prospect through Futurity, and never rate their Recompence at all the lower, from their Person's being doom'd to die, before it reaches 'em.

Sect. VII. L. 2.—Had restless Midian pour'd her swarthy Hosts.

What People these Midianites were, into what Nations divided, how govern'd, and where seated, as also who are now their Descendents, I shall have Occasion to describe in the next Book. This Race had wasted Israel, for seven Years; within the last of which, about the Time of Harvest, the Poem takes Beginning: that so, the Unity of Action might be properly maintain'd, in comprehending only their Redemption, without Retrospect to their Invasion; which had form'd Two different Actions, and destroy'd the Regularity, requir'd in Epic Poetry. Critics believe they see, that for this Reason only, Homer commenc'd his Iliad, in the tenth Year of the Siege, and Virgil his Aeneid in the last Year of the Voyage. No doubt, they had been, else, incumber'd by Excess of Matter.

Sect. VII. L. 5.—To These old Amalek her Standards join'd.

This numerous and mighty Nation will have Place at large, among the Notes of the succeeding Book. They were the Hebrew's first and surest Enemies: First, because, They, first, attack'd 'em, in their March; when they were beaten, under Moses.—And surest, as the Israelites receiv'd particular Command from GOD, never to make Peace with the Amalekites, but pursue, till they had quite eradicated them. And this, at last, they very nearly had accomplish'd, after many hundred Years were past, first. What, in this Affair, I find least comprehensible, is, GOD's remembring, for a People, who Themselves had long forgot, this Right to Vengeance. They appear to have deserv'd it very little: it being after their Rejection of His Care concerning them. I am at some Loss, therefore, to account for the surprising Rigour of the Curse denounc'd on Saul, by Samuel, three hundred and fifty Years after the Injury receiv'd: in Punishment of but a generous Pity, shewn to Agag, when his Prisoner. As the Compassion was a Virtue, and 'twere hard, to think the Prophet's Love of Vengeance keener than the King's, the Anger could arise but from a Recollection, that such Mercy, shewn to Amalek, was a Contempt express'd, of Heaven: there standing out an un-repeal'd Decree, for total Extirpation of That People.

Sect. VII. L. 17.—Their heavy Harvests load the plund'ring Foe.

From the Story of this War, as in the Book of Judges, It was predatory, and incursive: and the Hebrews, after their first Contest, had abandon'd all the Plains, and open Country, and secur'd themselves among their Fastnesses, on rocky Mountains: while the Enemy, maintaining Winter Quarters in some Cities, which they held on Purpose, made Excursions thence, in Summer, to destroy the Harvest, burn the open Towns, and Villages, and carry off (as Plunder) People, Cattle, and whatever else fell into their Possession.

Sect. VIII. L. 2.—Where Half the MANASSAEAN Tribe, &c.

Jordan, that rises in the northern Part of Palestine, runs, almost strait South, through the whole Length of the Country; nine Tribes, and a Half, of the Twelve, in the Division made by Joshua, of the conquer'd Lands, had been allotted the Possession of That Tract, between the western Shore of Jordan, and the Neck of the Levant, or Syrian Sea: excepting only, that the Coast Itself, together with a Breadth of some Miles inward, was possess'd by the Philistines, and the rich, and powerful trading States of Tyre, and Sidon. The other two Tribes and a Half, being Those of Reuben, Gad, and one Half of Manassah, held the Country, lying Eastward along Jordan, which was conquer'd, first of All, by Moses, from the Amorites, and their Allies. But That Half Tribe of the Manassans, which is here alluded to, had their Allotment to the West of Jordan. It was a long, but narrow, Slip of Land, which trended, from the River's Brink, 'twixt Issachar, and Ephraim, almost to the Sea Coast abovemention'd. On a Mountain, toward the East End of this Slip of Land, in Sight of Jordan, stood the City of Ophra (Gideon's Birth-place), safe from Insults of an Enemy, by its impregnable Situation. At the Foot of this high Mountain, open'd a large, beautiful, and fruitful Valley, That of Jezreel; where the Midian Army is suppos'd to lie encamp'd at This Time, whence the Poem takes Beginning. This Valley of Jezreel has been the Scene of many bloody Battles. It was there, our Gideon overthrew the Midianites, Saul, the Philistines: Achab the Syrians; And, in more modern Times, the Tartars the Saracens.

Sect. VIII. L. 23.—This Tree a Shade o'er half the Mountain cast.

That there was a Tree, and a Bench under it, before Joash's House, we have the Testimony of the Bible, which informs us, that an Angel of God came, and sat there: but, that it was so large, and old a Tree, is a poetical Discovery. That it was remarkable however for its Size, and Situation, may be gather'd, from its being thought worth so particular a Notice in the sacred Story. But, because I have suppos'd it many Ages old, and yet in its full Flourish, It is necessary, I say something, in Defence, and Honour of these venerable Children of the Earth.

Pliny tells us of Oaks, growing in his Time, suppos'd to have been coeval with the World Itself. Their Roots, says he, were united, and rais'd into Arches, like the Gates of Cities; and the Earth was swell'd, about 'em, into Mountains.— Josephus has made Mention of a Turpentine Tree, that was thought as old as the Creation. Mr. Maundrel, in his Journey to Jerusalem, affirms, He measur'd one of the Few yet remaining Cedars of Lebanon, and found it above twelve Yards round the Body: and that, at almost one hundred Foot high, It spread out into five several Limbs, the least of which would have been singly a great Tree.—Sir Francis Drake informs us, that he measur'd a huge Mastic-Tree, in one of his Voyages, that was four and thirty Yards about! It is easy to infer, These vegetable Giants must have borne the Growth of no small Number of Ages.—St. Jerom, too, relates, that he had seen the very Sycamore Tree, Zacchaeus climb'd into to look upon our Saviour, when he rode in Triumph to Jerusalem.—But the Tree of Trees, at last, is an old English Dryad: one that Mr. Evelyn, in his Sylva, mentions, with becoming Gravity; and hands down to us the Record of such a Magna Charta in its Reverence, as deserves to be remember'd, and maintain'd, to an immortal Length of Triumph. And no Doubt, It will be so, by those bold Sons of Liberty, who boast the Honour of their Birth within due Distance of its Shadow. The abovenam'd Gentleman asserts, from his own Knowlege, that there is This pleasant Kind of Privilege annex'd to an old Oak, which has, Time out of Memory, been the Glory of Knoll Wood, near Trely Castle, in Staffordshire: The Shade of This Tree's Boughs, he says, is very ample; and, in due Respect to its Antiquity, whoever will make Oath, on Birth of any Child who must call nobody Its Father, that This Child was actually begotten within any Part of Its Shadow, the Offence is free, and stands exempted from all Cognizance, whether of civil, or ecclesiastic Magistrate.—But, to return to the Longevity of Trees, undignified by so indulg'd a Sanctuary, Mr. Lawson, in his Tract of Orchards, has brought reasonable Arguments to prove, a Pear-Tree's Life may be a thousand Years. And truly, if the Age of Man, before the Flood, was from Six hundred to Nine hundred Years, it can be no great Rashness to imagine, that an Oak, so much more durable, and solid, in its Substance, and not subject to the Dangers and Diseases, which disorder human Bodies, may be capable of living many thousand Years; the Soil suppos'd adapted, and no Accident arising, that might interrupt, or stop its Progress.— And thus much I thought it not amiss to note, in Reference to the Age I have assign'd the Oak of Gideon.

Sect. IX. L. 1.—The Morning rising over Israel's Spoils.

The Description, which this Verse begins, I took some Pains to make a pleasing one; but would not have it thought, I introduc'd it, to make Way for Ornament.—Not but Description is the Life of Epic Poetry; and it is There (as Boileau well observes) the Poet ought to lavish all his Fancy, and his Rhetoric; yet, if it serves no other End than mere Delight, the Poem will be found to languish; for, the Race of Action is too coldly stopp'd, in Favour of detach'd Ideas. BOSSU writes much, to say a very little to the Purpose, in his Chapter of Descriptions: Mr. Dennis is more clear, and hits the Point directly, in one short Remark of his Discourse against Prince Arthur. Descriptions, says this Gentleman, ought never to be made, in Epic Poems, unless necessary; which they never can be, but in one of these two Cases; either where of Use, for giving us a reasonable Account of some Part of the Action, whereby to make it probable; or when they serve to imprint strongly some important Circumstance.

It is in this last View, that the Description of the Morning, dawning over Gideon, shadow'd by his Oak, was introduc'd, in order to impress a strong Conception, not of the Place and Posture simply, but of all the hostile Prospect opening before him, to convey a local Image, and transmit the Sense of Danger, and of his Reflections on it, from the Hero's, to the Reader's, Passions, as we see in common Life how forcibly Regards of Place assist Imagination. He, who had seen Edge Hill, or Newberry, or Naseby, would have found himself more strikingly attach'd, in reading the Accounts, our History records of those three Battles.

Sect. X. L. 12.—Here and there, high-mettled Steeds.

The Use I make of Horse, in the Progression of this War, being frequent, and considerable, I take Occasion, from their first being mention'd, in this Verse, to assert the Use of Cavalry among the Hebrews, lest some hasty Doubt, perhaps, might censure it, as not in Practice, in That early Period. And the rather, because Homer, writing of a War much later, makes no Mention in His Work of Horsemen: but describes That noble Creature in no other Manner, than as harness'd to the skirmishing little Chariots, of his Greek or Trojan Captains.—How this happen'd in the Iliad I am not able to account for: tho', that his Countrymen were then unskilful to back Horses, I can easily enough believe, because, not long before, they had mistaken the first Horsemen they had ever seen for compound Creatures, Half-Man Half-Horse, and given 'em the Name of Centaurs: from the Business they seem'd fondest of, which was, to steal their Cattle. But, that such, too, should have been the Case among the Trojans, must not be so readily admitted. Troy held the Empire, then, of Asia Minor, and drew powerful Allies to her Assistance, from so many distant Places, that it is impossible to fancy, they were All unskill'd in Riding; when so many Ages before That, the Wars all over Asia had been dreadfully distinguishable for the Number of their Cavalry —Ninus, the Founder of Nineveh, had enter'd Bactria with Two hundred thousand Horse, besides his Chariots; which were above a Hundred thousand; Semiramis, his Wife, who was the Builder of Babylon, invaded India (says Suidas) with a Million of Horsemen: and of Chariots arm'd with Scyths at the End of their Axle trees, above a Hundred thousand, also.

It may be surmis'd, that Horsemen in such Numbers, in those early Ages, probably were over-rated by the Inaccuracy of Historians: Let it be so; It has no Force against the Use of Horse in War, so antiently.—If, therefore, the Assyrians thus abounded in their Cavalry, It must be past Dispute, that bordering Nations also had the Use of 'em: and cou'd not have come so far with Purpose to invade the Hebrews, without bringing Numbers, in their Armies.—As for the Hebrews Themselves, Scripture is full of Instances, how early They were able Horsemen: and it had been strange, indeed, to find them otherwise, when we remember they came out of Egypt: where the Pharaohs were so generally powerful, in Arms, and so particularly furnish'd with fine Cavalry, that One of 'em pursued the Hebrew People, in their March to the Red Sea, with Fifty thousand Horse (says Josephus) and Two hundred thousand Foot; besides all the Chariots, of Egypt.

Sect. X. L. 14.—In other Parts, the Scyth-arm'd Chariots driv'n.

Concerning these Chariots, an antient and terrible Invention, and of infinite Effect, in those vast open Plains, of Asia, the most proper Place to speak, at large, will be in the Remarks upon the second Book: and, there, a full Description will be found, not only of the Chariots Themselves, but of the different Ways of using, and avoiding them; and what Effects they did produce; and might have been made capable of producing.

Sect. X. L. 22.—The tortur'd Drums, and sprightly Trumpets join'd.

The Antients made great Use of Drums; though differing, in Shape, and Mode of beating, from the Ways in modern Practice. They were not struck upon by Sticks; but with strong Pulsion of the Hands alone, and both at Top and Bottom; being ornamented, round their Rims, with thick-set Plates of jingling Brass.— And certainly, such Drums must have deriv'd their Use from the most early Times; having been found with the Chinese, when first discover'd by the Europaeans. And, for the Trumpet, there are such concurring Proofs of its Antiquity, in Holy Writ, that I was much surpriz'd at Mr. Pope's Assertion, in his Notes on Homer, that it was not yet invented, in the Trojan War! That War was in the Time of Abdon's judging Israel; and Trumpets were so long before in Use among the Hebrews, that the Ark was never mov'd, nor any Congregation summon'd, but by the Sound of this known Instrument. They had a Festival, too, call'd the Feast of Trumpets. The Walls of Jericho fell down, at Sound of Joshua's Trumpets. Gideon blew a Trumpet, and All Abiezer was gather'd after him. Moses, in the very Wilderness, directs the making Silver Trumpets, whose Shape, and Dimensions suit exactly with Those, now, among us.—How has Mr. Pope then form'd this Notion, that they knew no Use of Trumpets in the Trojan War? Was it, because he found it not in Homer? Possibly his Greeks were, yet, too rude to have acquir'd the Practice in their Armies. Possibly they held it too inspiring, and exciting: as we read, that some of their vain Countrymen (the Lacedemonians) rejected it, long after, as a Stirrer up of Courage: which, it seems, they had a mind to represent, as naturally over-active, in their Constitution.—Therefore, march'd to Battles with the soft appeasing Sound of Flutes and Flagelets, before 'em: They would induce their Enemies to think, They rather found it needful to correct the overboiling of their Ardour, than propel and irritate it. Virgil, however, gives Aeneas a Trumpeter; and says, He had, before, belong'd to Hector: Virgil, therefore, thought the Trumpet was of That Antiquity: and, out of all Dispute, It was of older Origin.

Sect. XI. L. 1.—Light, from his Bench, enrag'd, young Gideon leapt.

From design'd Effect of those fine Prospects, which lay stretch'd before him: For the natural, and improv'd Embellishments of such a fruitful Valley, when survey'd together with the Enemy, whose Rapine held it from the famish'd Owners, must inflame the Spirit of a suffering Observer, into aggravated Sense of what he felt, and apprehended, for his Country. The natural Consequence of such a Flame, in such a Mind as Gideon's, was the rousing all those Passions, which break out in his Soliloquy:—and serve to open his true Character: the Reader being, yet, a Stranger to it: and It must have touch'd him in a fainter, and less animateing Manner, had It been, in a cool Form of Narrative, anticipated to him.

Sect. XI. L. 24.—Now, were some single Pow'r a gen'ral Bliss.

The Hebrews, after Joshua was dead, concluded only a slight War, of little Consequence, in the South Parts of Judah, during the Reign of Phinehas; and then, with one concurrent Lapse from any further Application to their instituted Modes of military Practice under general Attachment to dependent Regulation, threw That Care, in a divided Trust, to their provincial Heads of Tribes: who, now, had their allotted Severalties, in Territory, and in Civil, and Palatinate Pretensions: and fell in with the whole People's Disposition to improve, and cultivate their Lands; drinking (as the Text expresses this Desertion of the Public Duty, for the private Interest) Every Man under his own Vine, and eating under his own Fig-tree.

This universal Spirit of Defection met too little Opposition, from a Want of due Attention in their priestly Sovereigns, to the Civil Branch of their Prerogative, and of the Military still more willingly; as from their Turn of Education, less adapted to its Duties. They depended on the awful Influence of their divine Pre-eminence, and their Possession of the Ark of God, whereto lay All Appeals, and to whose final Sentence, in the High Priest's Voice, the People were injoin'd implicit, and direct, Obedience, under Penalty of present Death, by stoning; so, they took no Care to educate some martial Genius (such as Joshua's had been), and to attach him, by his Interest, to sole Dependence on the Royal Safety: under whose delegated Right to That Supremacy in warlike Exercise, the Tribes had been, till then, enur'd, and disciplin'd, and held unitedly together.

The Knot had long been loosening; but Love of Ease, and Taste of Luxury, now all at once dissolv'd it.—Till this fatal Lure, in their detach'd Divisions of the Land, the Want of Property among Particulars sustain'd no other than the general Interest. Hope of the future, from the State's Prosperity, kept every Individual Easy in his present Indigency: The joint Distress of their collective Body held it close compacted, like a Heap of Pebbles, in a watry Soil, froze hard together: The new Warmth of Self-dependency, dissolving the Adhesion, Every Off-falling Pebble became a separate Body, and contributed no longer to the Texture of the Universal. In this dispers'd Condition, what, before, had been immoveable, by virtue of its Weight, lay liable, thenceforth, to be trod down by every Hoof; and only magnified its Breadth, to ruin its Consistency.

Plenty in Ease was the first Step toward Anarchy: It drew on Disregard of public Happiness: The next was Wealth with Luxury; to which succeeded Pride; and That, in natural Consequence, produc'd Contempt of Law; soon follow'd by Defiance of Authority. The sure Result of All together was Dissension, and Confusion.—Turbulent Ambition set up Every Tribe to wish, and act, with views to Independency; and under this relax'd Insensibility to National Coherence, the Remainder of the Canaanites (whom Avarice, not Mercy, had too indiscretely spar'd) took Arms against so visible a Weakness; and succeeded frequently in their Revolts: till they not only brought this factious People to the lowest Pitch of Infamy, but taught the Nations, that surrounded 'em, to think of, and to treat 'em, with Contempt: than which no State can possibly be curs'd with an unhappier, or more dangerous, Condition.

The Progress of all This was natural.—It help'd 'em little, that they still had Strength enough, to have repuls'd their Enemies. The Feet and Arms, like Those in the Old Fable, of Menenius Agrippa, thought it hard, that they should work to feed the Stomach: and destroy'd themselves in not sustaining, what they were sustain'd by.—While those proud Hebrews multiplied their Claims into lean Independencies, Exemptions, and Immunities, they were pluck'd, One by One, away, like the Hairs of Sertorius's Horse-Tail, which if pull'd at, All together, had been found irradicable.—It is in Bodies Politic the same, as in a Body Natural: In the Rapidity of some wild Race, a Man perceives a gaping Pit, before him; what a Happiness, in such a Case, to have the Seat of Counsel, and of Power, the same! He sees the Ruin in the Moment, that he shuns it in; for, Reason and Authority, concurring in the Head, put present Stop to the retracted Members; and they stand secur'd, upon the very Verge of their Precipitation. But, could we here suppose our Limbs stuck over with fine Mouths and Eyes, like Virgil's Fame, and the imaginary Argus, and that every Mouth, and Eye, because it look'd a little like a Face, would set up for a Head too, and lay Claim to Privilege of Contradiction; what Consequence could we expect to see, from such a Popular Balance? Clamour, more than enough, there could not fail to be, to give Alarm to such a Body; but the Monster's Neck would run the Hazard to be broke, before each Member could be ask'd his Sentiment. There could not well be fansied a more lively Emblem, than, when Reasoners for Monarchy compare a Commonwealth to That imaginary Serpent, some old Writers dreamt of, with seven Heads, and but one Tail. The turbulent Reptile would, in spite of its big Hissing, only hang itself in every Hedge: whereas, with but one Head, It would draw all its seven Tails through, and find no Danger, or Incumbrance.

Sect. 13. L. 4.—How comes it He permits my Country's Shame?

The leading Character, in Epic Poetry, must be distinguish'd, not alone from other Characters of the same Poem, but from other Poem's Heroes. He is to be mark'd by some Peculiar, of a noble Kind, by which He would be known in every Company; not only as a brave, wise, glorious Man:—but as That very individual brave, wise, glorious, Man.—We are not satisfied by a too general Description, even of a fine Woman; but we listen with full-pointed Approbation, when, besides the Attributes, She holds in Common with the other Beauties, of her Sex, we are brought closer to her Image, by Communication of some one Peculiar Grace, that teaches, and appropriates, HER separate Manner of engaging. Then, we form her, to our Fancy; and become acquainted with her Picture.— Thus, in Virgil's Hero, the Characteristic is benevolent Piety. In Homer's, It is Fierceness: and in Gideon, Patriotism.

Sect. XIII. L. last.—Will Israel's haughty Tribes be led, &c.

No Observation can be juster than is That, of the Political Writers, that Authority is POWER; and Reputation is AUTHORITY. The Nature of Things, and Actions, can be examin'd but by few: their Appearance reaches Many. Machiavel had Reason for his Observation, that the only Difficulty in Ascent to Greatness will be found at its Beginning. Never Man (says he) attain'd considerable Height, from low Condition, without infinite Fatigue, and Danger from Opponents. Repose a Milstone on the very Border of a Hill; It there lies fix'd for ever, if it wants the Impulse of some new first Motion. Let That Push be given, and not a Rock, in its Descent, will have the Strength to stop its Progress. All That Envy, which impels our Opposition, when we cross the Way of some new Riser, (from the natural Stimulation of a Vanity, that makes Comparison betwixt a Consciousness of our own Worth and His) becomes extinguish'd, in Amazement, when we contemplate the Hazards, of some terrible Reputation. The Honours, of a Man so dangerously rais'd, we can no longer look upon with Malice: we surrender 'em, as but the Perquisites of the advent'rous Post, he won 'em in: and while Everybody admires, applauds, expects,—Resistance is discourag'd, and falls in with Furtherance; till, now, the Man, whom All believe most capable, grows capable, in Consequence of that Admission.

However equal, therefore, Gideon might, in Nature, have been form'd, for Prosecution of his Purpose, as to his unnoted and self-reap'd Advantages, from Meditation, Study, Virtue, Observation, Courage, or Experience, It had been to disregard the common Course of Things, had I made slight of those Restraints, which heap up Mountains upon Mountains to raise Bars against unaided Merit. I durst not, under this Conviction, dream his Virtue rash enough to have presum'd a Glory, so unlikely, and remote from his suppos'd Pretensions (wanting Power, Authority, and Reputation) till the GOD, who had inspir'd him with adapted Qualities, impell'd 'em also into Action by Impression supernatural; or, to take the Story in its literal Sense, by the Apppearance of an Angel, to encourage him.

Sect. XVI. L. 1.—Be taught, reply'd th' unbody'd Guest, &c.

Gideon distrusted the Reality of so improbable a Charge, tho' seemingly deriv'd from Heaven, because the Vastness of its Depth was more than he could sound, by the short Line of human Reason. The Celestial Missionary discern'd this natural Struggle betwixt Faith and Foresight, and removes it, by a Document, included in, and made impressive by a MIRACLE.—Reach me (said the Angel) yon neglected little Store of your last Night's Provision. Gideon, in mere Respect to the Command, complies with it, in Doubt, and Wonder at its Meaning: and That Doubt and Wonder gave Occasion to the Angel to enforce the Credit of his Errand, and exact the like implicit Reverence to it, without bold Examinations of its human Probability. I take the Liberty to look on This, as the true Meaning of the Passage in the Text: For, certainly, it could not be consistent with the Dignity of an Ambassador from God, to order Meat and Broth, to be pour'd out upon the Rock, with that too trivial Purpose, merely to blow it up, that he might vanish in the Fire, and leave Gideon in the Smoke.—Whereas ascending in the Flame after Delivery of so solemn and authoritative an Injunction, must have answer'd fully the majestic View, with which it seems to have been done: and left the Doubter animated into a becoming Faith and Resolution.

Sect. XX. L. 7.—Oreb, a Midian Prince of warlike Fame.

Too limited a Knowlege in Things military, founded on a superficial Observation of the Pride, and formulary Petulancies, of disputed Rank; and querulous Exceptions to, or Emulations of Detach'd Commands, in modern War; will probably object, against This Place, that Oreb was a Person of too high a Quality, to lead a Party out to lie in Ambush for Surprize of a small City. But I recur to antient Practice, and protest against defective Testimony.—Actions of most Renown, were These Surprisals, and light Ambushes: Ulysses, thus, and Diomede, go out disguis'd, by Night, as but Discoverers of the Enemy's Camp.—Achilles reproaches Agamemnon with his Backwardness upon Occasions of this Nature. And we must not bring down Gideon's Days to ours, and buckle Reason to Perversity of Will, in faulty Adulation of Men's Pride and meaner Passions. But, to make a large Step from Antiquity, which every-where is crouded with Examples; Modern Times have had their Proofs, that noblest Spirits fly above these petty Loftinesses. Marshal Montluc, in his Commentaries, prides himself upon appearing personally, at the Head of all such Enterprizes; and ascribes his whole Good Fortune (which was certainly the longest lasting, and the happiest, nay, indeed, the most unmatch'd and wonderful, that ever was recorded) to his resolute persisting in This single Practice: the Duke of Rohan too, in his military Work, maintains (with some Degree of Anger, that it should be question'd) that no General, who is not prompt, by his own Presence, to promote the Execution of these little Services, can ever bring his Soldiers, either to That Vigilance, or That Opinion of his Valour, which are necessary to Authority. And, now of late, in our own Times, we saw good Proof of the Validity of That French General's Remark, in the Successes of the Earl of Peterborow, overrunning some of the best Provinces in Spain, against the Opposition of an Army, in Comparison with which His own might have been well mistaken for his travelling Retinue! This illustrious Kind of Victory, which Men obtain by inbred Energy of Genius, is what properly deserves the Name of Conquest. A Power of beating down one Force, by an opposing Equal one, can claim no other Title but of Overthrow.

Sect. XXI. L. 2.—Observ'd a tott'ring Cliff, that loosely hung.

Aristotle is for the Wonderful, in Poetry; by which, however, I suppose, he could not mean, that we should disregard the Probable, in Search of the Miraculous. But, if it must be look'd upon as reasonable, that Hector in the Twelfth Book of Homer's Iliad, could throw a Stone of Weight enough to burst the Gate of the Greek's Fortification before their Ships, and throw it with such Force, too, as to break the Bars in Pieces, and snap all the Iron Hinges (which thund'ring Stroke had the Good Fortune to please Tasso, so surprisingly, that he made bold to borrow it for the Use of his Rinaldo, against the Temple of Jerusalem)—if This, I say, can, reasonably, be believ'd, it will be no great Difficulty for the Reader to allow it likelier, that Oreb should push down a Cliff, that hung half loose already: Men, who travel on the Alpes, the Mountains of Switzerland, or cross the Pyrenees; or even among our own Scotch Alps, or Welsh ones; meet with nothing commoner, than such huge Craggs, broke off from upper Rocks, and stop'd by some protuberating Point, half over which they hang, so loosely, and so tott'ring, that a very little Impulse from behind, would serve to throw 'em downward; tho' a Team or two of Oxen would have much ado to move 'em, from a Place they lay on, horizontally.

Sect. XXII. L. 19.—Ignobly hurl their Jav'lins down in vain.

This Weapon was a very antient one, in Use among most Nations: tho' 'tis now scarce known, in Europe, except only in the Turkish Part of it. They call it, there, Jeritt, and are extremely dext'rous in its Exercise. The Moors too, all through Africa, retain the Use of it; and so do the Arabians; and some Nations of East India, where it has the Name of Zagai. The Hebrew Soldiers, and great Leaders, kept 'em in their Hands by way of Ornament, in Time of Peace. Saul threw one of these Javelins at Jonathan, while he sat at Table with him. It was one of These, that Joab thrust through Absalom. They were brought early out of Asia into Use among the Greeks; for we find few, in Homer, kill'd by any other Weapon. Mr. Pope translated unreflectingly, in calling it a Spear. What graceful Image can we form, of Hector brandishing two Spears? By Spear, we are to understand, a Pike. Whereas the Javelin was but a short Staff, for casting at a Distance. The Romans call'd it Pilum, and became so fond of it, that they affected to be thought Inventors of its Use: so much is certain, that they met no Enemy, who us'd this Weapon; for what else can Lucan mean, when, in describing the Pharsalian War, he tells us that Piles threatened Piles? Had other Nations been so arm'd, This might have been the Case, in any of their Wars. But since the Use was proper to the Romans, to say Javelins against Javelins serv'd as strongly to express a Civil War, as if he had said Romans against Romans.

The People of Rome could not have borrow'd it from Greece, because we find in Livy, that They us'd it before any Intercourse had yet been open'd with That Nation. And beside, the Greeks themselves had, then, disus'd the Javelin: and been train'd to the Egyptian Practice, of long Pikes, of four and twenty Foot; in Bodies, which consisted of a Thousand in the Front, and Sixteen Men in File: sometimes, reduc'd to only Eight in Depth, the Ranks thereby extending to a double Length, when they would shun the Danger of being charg'd in Rear, by Enemies, who might out-wing them. In this Order, they compos'd a firm, impenetrable, and, on plain Ground, scarce resistible oblong Figure, call'd a Phalanx: where the Soldiers, arm'd defensively with Helmets, Tassets, Corslets, Brass-Boots, and Targets, closing Ranks, and propping and sustaining one another, with their Pikes presented over the preceding Shoulders, like the Quills of Porcupines, 'tis easy to imagine what Impression such a well-compacted Weight was capable of making; and how firmly It supported Charges from an Enemy; unless where Ditches, Hills, or other Inequalities of Ground, disturb'd, and broke their Order into little Gaps, or Intervals, at which (as in the Example of Aemilius, against Perses, at the Battle of Pydna) the Roman Legionary Maniples forc'd Entrance, and assaulting them in Flank, with their short Swords, gain'd frequent, and considerable Victories.

As to the Pilum, 'tis most probable the Romans had it, with their Trojan Founders, who no doubt brought into Italy, All Weapons they had been accustom'd to, before their Emigration. Vegetius and Polybius, Both, describe this Pilum, but a little differently. As far as can be gather'd out of Roman Tactics, It was a Staff, of weighty Wood, of four Foot long, exclusive of the Steel, one End of it was fasten'd into. This Steel Head was triangular, in Length two Foot, and very sharply edg'd, and pointed; so that the whole Length of the Javelin was about Six Foot: It was largest, where remotest from the Iron (though sometimes they are describ'd as double-headed): The poizing Place, for Grasp, was commonly about an Inch and a Quarter in Diameter.

The Legionary Foot, All, carried this peculiar missile Weapon: and could hurl it with surprising Aim, and Force, against an Enemy. The Manner of their casting it was thus—When the first Rank observ'd the Distance within Reach, they threw their Javelins, point-blank, and sunk immediately upon one Knee, to give the second Rank uninterrupted Sight, who, then, threw also, and knelt down, to give the same Advantage to the Third. And thus, when Ten whole Ranks had thrown successively (which was dispatch'd with an unceasing Swiftness, and Agility), They started up together, with a general Shout, drew All their Swords at once, and so rush'd in upon the Enemy.

What terrible Effects have been produc'd by Javelins, we have innumerable Instances in History: but none more worthy Notice, than That Great one, at Pharsalia; where Caesar, with his usual Skill, foreseeing, that Pompey's Horse, compos'd of the most warm, and fiery Spirits of the Roman Youth of the Patrician Houses, would be endeavouring to fall in upon his Rear, on That Wing, where his own few Horsemen were exceedingly out-reach'd, by Pompey's, He plac'd, in oblique Line, extending from behind the so-expos'd and threatened Flank of Cavalry, six chosen Cohorts of his veteran Foot (which made about Three thousand Men) and order'd These, when they receiv'd the Squadrons in their coming round upon 'em, to aim All their Javelins at the Faces only of Those gay young Chargers. It succeeded, to his Wish. The Horse came furiously about: but starting unexpectedly on this Reserve of such experienc'd Wounders, were receiv'd with so successive Showers of Javelins, in their Eyes, Cheeks, Necks, and Foreheads, that unable to support the Horror of such maim'd, and miserable Faces (for the Horse had no Vant-braces to their Helmets), they All turn'd their Backs precipitately, and disordering their own Foot, lost Pompey that important Day; and gave the World to Caesar.

Sect. 25. L. 5.—Then Gideon found it prudent to retreat.

There is no Chance, and most especially in War, which so effectually, and suddenly, destroys the Interests of Men, as Want of due Discernment where to stop, in the smooth Race of Fortune. They see nothing but plain bowling Way, before 'em: and, if they ever look behind, it is not till their Rear is broken in upon. There is an Eye on every Side of Prudence, and she sees all round her. Gideon, who had so lately gain'd the Out-set of his Influence, by the Valour he had shewn in the Dispute with Oreb, was to make Advantage, of the favourable Opportunity. As he was Leader, in this hot Pursuit, and saw, that he was follow'd by his Countrymen without Regard to Consequence, He might have push'd the Enemy beyond the Hill, and made considerable Slaughter, as they pass'd the River. But how, there, should so disorderly a Body have resisted, on plain Ground, the Re-inforcements coming up, to the Assistance of the flying Enemy? In calm Debate, within Himself, he found the Hope of added Glory, from the Conquest, overbalanc'd, by a Certainty of losing That already His, in case of Disappointment, and Defeat in Hazard for it. He determines, therefore, to retreat, and guard the Safety of the People with him: on whose Favour he was now to build, for All the Promise of his future Fortune.

Sect. XXVII. L. 4.—Th' assembled Elders, o'er the City Gate.

The frequent Devastations brought upon the Jews, first, by the Princes of the East, then, by the Roman Emperors, and, in All Ages since, by the Resentment and Revenge of Christian Zeal, for ever warm against them, have so irrecoverably destroy'd their Records, that, excepting their Remains of Law and History, preserv'd in the Old Testament, there can be nothing more obscure, than the Formalities in Civil Government, observ'd by this unhappy People. Their Priests, who were the sole Repositories of their Learning, Faith, and Ceremonies, have been cut off, almost to a Man, in general and commission'd Massacres: and Opportunities, which This produc'd, gave Room for Forgeries, and infinite Impertinence, and superstitious Dreamings, to their Rabbins, and their Talmudists. Nor have the Christian Writers, to say Truth, clear'd more from the Confusion, than appears to have been added to it. Josephus liv'd at the same Time with Christ's Apostles, and is one of our best Guides, in Searches of this Nature; but, besides that he is often not so full, as might be wish'd, his Countrymen had undergone so many Changes before then, that Ten Tribes of the Twelve were utterly extirpated: and the Government, and Customs of the other Two, so different, in many of their most considerable Circumstances, from the Institutions left by Moses, that for Matters of remote Antiquity we cannot safely rest on his Authority. Thus much, however, may be gather'd, from his Testimony, and the Hebrew Model, as remaining in the Bible, that Each City had a Senate, of her Elders; that These were generally Seven, with a Levite on each Hand, for Exposition of their Law, and to record, as well as regulate, Proceedings. They sat exactly in the Form describ'd: The Place above the City Gate; to signify, that Justice was to guard, and circumscribe, their Habitations. These Senates of their Cities judg'd All Points of Right within their Districts: but were under Check of an Appeal to Capitals of Tribes: the Cause might, there, be heard again, before the Prince of That particular Tribe; who had Election also of his City Senates: Lastly, from these provincial Princes, lay Appeal, in final Termination, to the Sanhedrim: But, till the general Defection alter'd the Mosaic Order, Appeal lay from the Sanhedrim to the High-Priest; and His Decision was the last; and under Penalty of Death, to be submitted to.—All which shall be progressively, made evident, in Notes upon the Books to follow.

Sect. XXX. L. 10.—Were, sure, design'd by Heav'n, for wide Controul.

The Accident, that had so lately given Occasion of Applause on Gideon's Bravery, returning with a Royal Prisoner; and which had open'd to his Countrymen an unexpected Promise from his Virtues; is the Point of Sight in his particular Case, some one, of which, Men often are plac'd in by Fortune: but whence, if they have fit Discernment to make use of the Advantage, they find All their future Way more easy. They dazle, by their sudden Splendor; and prevent Inspection, by Excess of Lustre. Like Men, who hold Dark-lanterns up before 'em, they present a strong, but undistinguishable, Glare, behind which They Themselves discern Things clearly, through the Light, which makes Those blind, who look against them.

Such a Light enlarg'd the Influence of Gideon's Virtues. It is not from the Merit of the Truths, he has been recommending, that the Senators derive their Warmth of Admiration. A Man, to whom such Sentiments were natural, would doubtless have express'd 'em many Times before, when, yet, they had produc'd no such Effect in Favour of the Speaker. But the Case is, now, grown different. It is not to Gideon, the Son of Joash, their Fellow Citizen, and old Acquaintance, they have all this while been list'ning. It is to Gideon made illustrious, by Applause and Wonder of the People. What had been common in the MAN, was grown prodigious in the Conqueror; and Words, which were, before, thought only worth Neglect, are found, by this new Light, to merit more than Admiration.

Every Thing we have heard of, Every Thing we admire, will be found, upon Reflection, to have been the Gift of Opportunity. Had not Lucretia's Death succeeded to her Rape; or some equivalent Excitement rous'd the till-then latent Indignation of the Roman People into Transport; Brutus would still have been constrain'd to have kept on his Cloak of unexampled Dissimulation; and the History of His Times had wanted one ferocious Instance, that Disguise of Passions can consist with the most stern Inflexibility.

In the same City, the same Senate, and same People, who, while under Hope, or Fear from Pompey's Fortune, gave Consent to all Indignities his Jealousy could heap on Caesar, and who, with a malignant Laziness, suppos'd him, in his Absence, of no longer Consequence, chang'd Disposition in a Moment, and had, now, no Ear for any Thing but Caesar.—Caesar's Valour! Caesar's Goodness! Caesar's Fortune!—For they saw All This by the new Light, his unexpected March to Rome had lent 'em. The terrible Success of so astonishing a Boldness taught 'em to consider, as invincible, a Courage, that could meet such Danger with a steady Eye. And That first daring Step drew Half the Nation from his Rival's Interest.

Sect. XXXI. L. 11.—So, wand'ring wide, he reach'd the Grove of Baal.

Baal was the Sun, and Ashtaroth the Moon; at least, they were most generally so reputed. But concerning these great Eastern Idols, and the different Accounts, in Writers, of their Forms, and Modes of Worship, much more might be noted, than could be of Use, or Pleasure, here.—It will be All the Subject calls for, to observe, that they were generally plac'd on Hills, with gloomy Groves surrounding them. For they were worship'd in the open Air, because it was suppos'd presumptuous to confine their Gods to Temples, who were Omnipresent, and illimitable.—Therefore, when the Hebrews (as they often did) fell off to the Idolatry of their next-bord'ring Nations, They made them Images, says Scripture, and planted Groves about 'em; and set up an Idol upon every high Hill, and under every green Tree; after the Abominations of the Kingdoms, which were round about them.

The Description of the Grove of Baal, and of the Image, was to be as full, and circumstantial, as it could be made; first, as it was a matter of Importance in the Story, there having really been, at Ophra, such a Grove, and Idol; most of the Inhabitants, and even Gideon's Father, seeming to have been its Worshipers: and secondly, as there arose poetical Occasion, for an Ornament, from the Position, Figure, Grove, and solemn Picture of the Hill; which commonly was artificial, many still remaining, in some Parts of Palestine.

Sect. XXXII. L. 17.—Where can we better Virtue's Race begin?

It is with a prophetic Spirit, Gideon's Zeal transports him in this Place; the sacred Text discovering, that the Consequences, of his cutting down the Grove of Baal, became the Means of raising him to a Capacity of gathering into one collective Body That first military Strength, to which he ow'd his own succeeding Triumphs, and his Country's double Rescue, from the Arms, and Idols, of their Enemy.

Sect. XXXIII. L. 15.—Enough for Them, that 'tis by GIDEON meant.

From the Aid he here receives from the Ten Slaves, whom he had taken in the Cave, and saved their Lives, when sentenc'd by the Senate, there arises seasonable Opportunity to speak a Word or two, concerning Episodes, in general. They never must deserve the Name, which Horace gives the independent Parts of some of his Cotemporary's Pieces; they are, instead of the DISJECTI membra Poetae, to be found attach'd, as well as beautiful. To heap together a wild Store of Incidents unlook'd for, and surprising, will require but the Assistance of a lively Fancy. To chuse which is fit, which not, This is a Business for the Judgment. There was, some time since, a Sheep, with a fine Top-knot on its Head: There was a little after, an Hungarian Girl, who had a Sister growing to her Back. Both These were Objects unexpected, and surprising; but they were, however, Monsters, and offensively unnatural. They were like the Poems of Ariosto, (and I wish I could not add, some Passages in our Great Spencer's) into which a fairy Dance of incoherent light Adventures, of the most Romantic Model possible—if we except the Tales in the Arabian Night's unmatchable Extravagancies—crouded on, and wedg'd themselves without Connection, Cause, or Consequence; All, loose, and separate, in their Natures, and yet ramm'd together by the Impulse of the Poet's Spirit. In reading such a Poem, I imagine it like looking down upon a Sea, where long Successions of huge Surges after Surges, foaming from all Quarters, without Point of View to rest upon, move Horror, tho', at the same time, they strike with a wild Kind of Wonder, something like Delight. The Whole amuses the Attention: nothing leads it, in particular. A regular Epic Poet draws along the Mind, as Rivers do the Sight: however strong the Current, and the Course tho' vast and winding, yet the Flow itself is orderly, the Force confin'd within its Banks, and if it takes in Episodical Brooks, it is, to deepen, not divide, its Chanel.

Should therefore this Deliverance of the Slaves have purpos'd nothing further, than to set off Gideon, and display his Generosity, the Contrivance had been flat, and wanted the Characteristic of an Epic Episode. For, while it could not be discern'd, that It had any Influence toward Advance of the main Action, the Reader would have thought their History too inconsiderable to atone for the Digression, they misled him into. But the Interest of these honest Men becomes intitled to our whole Attention and Concern, as soon as we observe, that, from their Gratitude, an Action is deriv'd, that gives Foundation to the great one, purpos'd by the Poem: and reflect, that no Men, less oblig'd, could have been drawn to a Participation, in so menacing a Danger.

It is probable, in actual Truth, that These ten Servants, who, the Text says, aided Gideon, in the Night (for Fear of the Inhabitants of Ophra, and the Rest of their own Family), were Persons, whom He had engag'd to his particular Interest, by Effect of some uncommon Obligation; It being impossible they should not have foreseen the Uproar and Resentment, which attended their Presumption: and no Ordinary Temptation had prevail'd on Men of Their expos'd Condition, to provoke so visible a Hazard.

It is the same again, in That next Episode; where the Defeat of Oreb's Party, and His being made a Prisoner, was not introduc'd to give a Proof of Gideon's Bravery, but, from Effect of its Exertion, to possess him of the Public Admiration. I repeat the Observation, tho' already noted, to imprint Remembrance of this not to be dispens'd with Requisite, in Episodes, that they produce, and make Each other necessary; and contribute, All, to the Completion of the Epic Action.

Sect. XXXV. L. 4. and 5.

—On the hissing Flame,

Pour'd the warm Blood.

I purposely abridge the ceremonial Rites of Sacrifice: not only as the formal Apparatus for, and Practice in 'em All (Burnt-Offerings, Peace-Offerings, Sin-Offerings, and the Rest), may be particularly found, in the Mosaic Writings, but, as Gideon, in so unforeseen a Call to the Occasion, could not be expected to have come prepar'd for the Formalities; nor was he vested, for it, with the Right of Priesthood: and He knew sufficiently, by the Direction he proceeded under, that His Offering could need no Punctuality, to render it acceptable.

But over and above All This, there cannot be denied to rise offensive Images, from a too long Detail of Cutting up of Beasts, washing their Bowels, broiling the Fat, and such carnific Circumstances. I consent with all my Heart, to Lord Roscommon's Notion of this Matter.

"For who, without a Qualm, has ever look'd

"On holy Garbage, though by Homer cook'd!

"Take foul Descriptions, in which Light you will;

"If Like, they nauseate: if unlike, they're ill.

Sect. XXXVII. L. 6.
—

From the tough Trunk's big Bulk, back-bounding Blows recoil.

I hope I need not apprehend this Line in Danger to be look'd upon, as guilty of more Roughness, than It very well can justify, from what was touch'd in a preceding Note, concerning the Assimilation of the Sound to the describ'd Idea. But, as the hard Rebound is owing here, to the selected Monosyllables, I ought to add, in their Defence, that, us'd with any Choice, or Care, they are a Beauty, and Advantage; and both tune our Language and enrich it. I will wish no plainer Proof, in Favour of, than Mr. Pope has brought, against them.

And ten low Words oft creep in one dull Line.

By the Way, creep THROUGH, had better answer'd his Intention, than creep IN. But, if it had not been for our abundant Choice of Monosyllable Words, how then could Mr. Pope have imitated, with so beautiful a Force, the very Fault he was exposing? The Truth is, It is not a long String of such short Words, that makes Verse jar upon the Ear.—Short Syllables, when they are Words, may, by judicious Intermixture of the Vowels, with the Consonants, succeed Each other with as smooth a Cadence, as can Syllables, which are but Parts of Words.—The studied Roughness, in this Verse of Mr. Pope's, arises only from a refluent Reluctance of its Accents to concur, in That Insertion into one Another, which is necessary, to make Words harmonious. I could shew a thousand Monosyllable Lines, in Mr. Dryden's, and great Numbers, too, in Mr. Pope's own Poems, than which nothing can be capable of a more exquisite Smoothness.—It is easy to derive the same Proof, even from Blank Verse, and Milton, where it seems least reasonable to suppose too nice a Care of Softness, from Selection of his Syllables.—In Eve's Reproach of Adam, for Example, Paradise lost, the Ninth Book.

Why should be mean me ill, or seek to harm?

She speaks it of the Devil; and the Author, therefore, will be scarce conceiv'd to have endeavour'd this sweet Flow of Monosyllables. Verse compos'd so, never carries Roughness, where due Care is taken, that the Syllables are heavily, or lightly ACCENTED, in just Proportion to the Sense, they move with. But, in Mr. Pope's, the Words are purposely so chosen, that Each Syllable requires Emphatical Expansion: and, in That Case, there can be no Music, for the very Reason, that makes Difference betwixt the Tolling out one Bell, and ringing a whole Belfry.

I have omitted a short Note, which ought to have been plac'd in the Beginning, The Reader will observe, I commonly make Choice of the Appellative, Hebrews.—The Word Israelite is no more fit for Poetry, than Children of Israel: To have call'd 'em Jews had been a visible Absurdity; since That was a posterior Name, on their Reduction to Two Tribes, and the exclusive Kingdom of Judah only. The other Ten Tribes, till their final Extirpation, own'd no Name but their Original one, of Israel. Their general Appellative, among the bordering Aliens, seems to have been Hebrews; which effectually includes 'em All; and was deriv'd to 'em from Heber, Sixth, in Ascent, from Abraham; and Second, from Arphaxad, Noah's Grandson.

GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. BOOK II.

I.

'TWAS Morning: and, o'er Ophra's Tow'rs, the Sun

Rose lovely, with unusual Lustre bright:

For, pleas'd to find the long-wish'd Task begun,

His Fires glow'd sparkling, with intense Delight.

But Gideon, well reflecting what was done,

Restless had mus'd away the tedious Night;

And from a Garden's silent Shade, look'd longing, for the Light.

There Joash, risen from interrupted Rest,

Found, and breath'd Blessings o'er, his pensive Son:

And, now by Wonder, now by Fear, oppress'd

Heard All distinctly; from the Angel's Hail,

To the Grove's Ruin, and the Fall of Baal.

II.

Gideon, said He, Prop of my failing Years!

If what thy Father's doubtful Love shall speak

Should seem too coldly weigh'd, too kindly weak,

Think, in Excuse of what may harsh appear,

Youth is too full of Hope; and Age, of Fear.

He paus'd, and turn'd: and dry'd a starting Tear.

'Tis great, continued He, this Thirst of Fame!

Bright, tho' dang'rous, is the Flame,

That warms thy manly Breast, with this extensive Aim.

But, art thou not deceiv'd, by some fair Dream?

Things strongly wish'd, Men oft believe they see:

For vig'rous Fancy can so subtly seem,

That Nonexistence may be thought to be.

If 'twas, in Truth, an Angel, thou hast seen,

Joash is happy, and his Country blest:

Afflicted Israel, then, shall soon find Rest:

But, if my Gideon has deluded been,

Then, who from Mis'ry my sad House shall screen?

Who, save Thy harmless Infants, from the Sword?

Thy Soul-distracting Grief, alas! will no Relief afford:

Thy Punishment include a People's Fate;

And thy too bold and honest Heart, be undeceiv'd, too late.

III.

Rev'rend, and wise, reply'd th' attentive Chief,

Your Doubt of Me, by past Experience mov'd,

Admits, obscure, and slowly, the Belief,

That I am heav'n-approv'd.

Yet; coldest Caution safely may confess,

Weakness, where GOD supports, can strongly bless.

Nor blush, unlikely as it is, the glorious Hope to own:

Occasion, oft, has latent Virtue, shown,

Where Kindred's too close Sight distinguish'd none.

Call'd by th' Almighty's leading Voice, I go,

Fearless, amidst yon Camp, on Jezreel's Plain.

Fain would I thence remove th'incumbent Foe:

Their neighb'ring Weight does my warm Wish restrain.

To Arms, till then, 'twere dang'rous to repair.

Lest our aw'd Tribes, th'Oppressor view'd too nigh,

Shrink from assum'd Resolve; disperse, and fly.

You, venerable Sire! mean while, prepare

Th'assembled Senate, for th'important Hope;

Tell 'em, God's Promise lends Contraction Scope;

The Fall of Baal, with its great Cause, declare:

And charm 'em with th'inspiring News, of Heav'n's recover'd Care.

IV.

Speaking, he bow'd; and, turning swift away,

Left the sad Father's Answer, half unmade.

Joash broke short what Prudence meant to say:

Silent look'd after him; his Words, long weigh'd;

Then, stretch'd to Heav'n his aged Arms, and begs the doubted Aid.

—On the North Range of Ophra's rugged Wall,

Rose a round Tow'r, of white and massy Stone:

Seen, from whose Summit's far-commanding View,

High-posted Archers Bows unerring, drew;

Thence, o'er steep Windings, aw'd the Road below,

Check'd the rash Hope of an advent'rous Foe:

Stopp'd Passengers, and left th' Ascent to None,

Till Who they were, and whence they came, was shewn.

Deep, in the vaulted Base, Life's languid Tomb!

A still, damp, Dungeon lodg'd eternal Gloom.

Its iron Door, which rust-worn Hinges hung,

Harsh grating, through the stony Portal, swung.

Echo's hard Groan threw sad Sensation round,

And thought-bound Silence started, at the Sound!

Painful Regard strain'd sharp her visual Ray,

To catch faint Embryos, of excluded Day;

Where, through thick Walls, oblique, thin Ghosts of Light,

Gleam'd from pale Loop-holes, quiver'd to the Sight.

V.

Here, well secur'd, the State her Pris'ners, kept:

And here, this Night, confin'd, Prince Oreb slept.

Yet, no vile Chain insulted his Restraint;

Well treated, by his gen'rous Guardian's Care;

Who, from Captivity, to chase Complaint,

Shut out no Freedom, but of Light, and Air.

Here, with swift and furious Stride,

Close-folded Arms, and short and sudden Starts,

The fretful Prince, in dumb and sullen Pride,

Revolv'd Escape, and curs'd, in Pain, his People's coward Hearts.

VI.

So Gideon finds him: and, with gentle Grace,

Accosts him thus—Great Prince! your scopeful Will

Suffers Restraint, I see, but ill.

Those Feet, long us'd your Enemies to chase,

Spurn at Detention; and were nerv'd for Space.

Tho' manly Suff'rers loud Complaint restrain,

Impatient Silence paints internal Pain.

But, Smiles are Wisdom, where Regret is vain.

Great Minds, in Want of present Ease,

Should teach some future Hope to please.

Such if your Prospect, I would aid its Claim.

Take, Sir, your Sword: and, from this Moment, free,

Re-fire your Camp, to War's recover'd Flame:

Go, ransomeless.—No Grace deserves Regard,

That stoops to barter Virtue, for Reward.

My noblest Gain, let This due Glory be,

That He, whose erring Arms oppress'd the Free,

Ow'd His own forfeit Liberty, to me.

VII.

The silent Prince, whom this new Chance alarms,

Stood fix'd, awhile, with an astonish'd Air:

Then, swift advancing, snatch'd him to his Arms.

O Baal! he cry'd, How much, in War, they dare!

Yet, after Victory, how mild, they are!

Why am I hostile, to such manly Charms?

More he had said, but Gideon, whose warm Mind

Flash'd its first Greatness o'er his Captive's Soul,

And schem'd a length'ning Lustre, yet behind;

Thus interrupted, ere he spoke the Whole.

Nations ill taught make War a barb'rous Trade:

But Men who fight for Liberty, and Peace,

When their Arms prosper, by th' Almighty's Aid,

Feel their Revenge impow'r'd: and bid it cease.

Near is your Camp. Yet, lest th'impeded Way

Prove dang'rous, while this Mountain you descend,

Myself, your Safeguard, will your Steps attend.

Charg'd with ALLIANCE, offer'd to your State,

Let your met Kings, th'auxiliar Purpose weigh,

Hold us Confed'rate, and retract their Hate.

Pledge me your Royal Faith, lest slight Pretence

Bids Force detain me: or, returning, thence,

Some ambush'd Wrong provokes unwish'd Offence.

— By the high thund'ring Baal! the Prince reply'd,

By blood-stain'd Moloch!—pale Astarte's Beam!

Hot Belial! and whole Heav'n's collective Host!

Gods, Male and Female, who yon Realms divide!

Those, whom We worship! Him, of whom You dream!

And whose joint Aid is warlike Midian's Boast:

All, who shall dare Thy Wrong, My Sword defies.

Thou shalt be safe: or Oreb, with thee, dies.

VIII.

He spoke: and stooping through a Postern Gate,

Which, from the Tow'r, led, winding, down the Hill,

Gideon, descending, with eductive Skill,

Steers his Companion, 'twixt the mazy Rocks,

And the deep Cleavings of the Hill unlocks.

Dark'ning and cool, beneath th'incumbent Shade

Of goat-browz'd Bushes; which, in Sylvan State,

Bow'd, by their own declining Weight,

Hung deep'ning o'er the ragged Cliffs, and in the Breezes play'd;

A short, unpeopled, Path, their Feet explore;

High from whose shelvy Steeps far round, hoarse-tumbling Torrents roar.

Down, cross the craggy Lab'rinth, safely flow,

From Rock to Rock they slide; from Shade to Shade;

Each lending Other, heedful Aid:

Till, from the Glooms of their untrodden Way,

As Men, from Night, wake sudden, into Day,

They saw the silver Stream, at Distance, flow:

And flash'd upon the op'ning Plain, below.

IX.

Now, on the Valley's Edge, th'egressive Pair

Outstarting, spy'd, from far, a dusty Cloud,

Which wid'ning circled tow'rd 'em, in the Air;

And half conceal'd a wild and noisy Crowd,

Through which, the Ring of brazen Wheels, was heard distinct and loud.

When to the River, unobserv'd, they came,

They found the Charioteers of Oreb, there:

Wat'ring their wanton Steeds, with heedless Aim.

Wide-dispers'd, and loose, they were:

Thoughtless of Danger, All, and void of Care.

The Prince beheld 'em, with indignant Shame:

His Pride felt Anguish, and his Eyes shot Flame.

Unwary Slaves! he cry'd—Is This the Way?

Retrieve Ye, thus, the Fame so lately lost?

My Coward Foot, in Arms, their Prince, betray:

My Horse, untaught by their Companion's Cost,

Regardless Negligence, un-arm'd, display:

And long to be as infamous, as They!

Why met I not your Outguards, posted here?

What, on this Quarter, thus expos'd, our neighb'ring Camp, defends?

Since, for me, the Road was clear,

What, if the Foe lay ambush'd, near?

Wretches! is yon strong Mountain held, by Friends?

His People heard him, with a glad Surprize:

Mix'd, in their Breasts, the vary'd Passions rise:

But Joy, triumphant, stifling Sense of Shame,

A Storm of Shouts rose ceaseless, to the Skies:

Echoing, the bord'ring Hills th'Alarm proclaim,

And the wide Valley rings, with Oreb's Name.

X.

High, on an open Chariot's airy Seat,

In State, the Prince and Gideon onward ride:

Re-closing swift, th'outstarted Squadrons meet,

And flow behind 'em, like a following Tide.

Pour'd from the Camp, the mingled Nations roar,

Sweeping, tumultuous, o'er the dusty Plain:

Loose Horse and Foot, in stretch'd Extent, still length'ning more and more,

In endless Chain of Triumph, swell the Train.

But, when Both Swarms met mix'd, upon the Green,

And Oreb's high-rais'd Chariot shone, between:

Should'ring, the clam'rous Concourse gather'd round,

And clogg'd his Progress, and o'erwedg'd his Ground:

Slow mov'd th'incumber'd Pomp, through deaf'ning Noise;

And the Prince labour'd, with the People's Joys.

So, when, within some Island's sea-wash'd Streight,

A Bark, with full-blown Canvas, holds her Course,

Two billowy Currents urge encount'ring Weight;

And, swell'd to Uproar by cross Clash of Tides;

Roll murm'ring on; and, climbing wild and hoarse,

Work o'er Each Other, with contending Force:

Heav'd through ascending Foam, the way-stop'd Vessel rides,

And scarce, with All her bellying Sails, th'encircling Roar, divides.

XI.

Safe, to th'expecting Camp, at last, they come,

Where, waiting, All th'assembled Chiefs, they found;

There, did Joy's liveliest Ecstasies abound:

And false Congratulation, too, bow'd formal, to the Ground.

From Ev'ry Side at once, the thund'ring Drum

Beat his hoarse Welcome; while, in shriller Sound,

The Trumpet's soft and trembling Note flow'd undulating round.

White, on a smooth and gently rising Hill

Full in the Centre of the Camp, was pitch'd

One crown'd Pavilion, of unmatch'd Extent;

Lin'd with an azure Field of Silk, by crimson Groves enrich'd:

Whence gold and purple Fruits, in Clusters bent,

Fed the charm'd Eye, with feastful Ornament.

Three Walls, of circly green, th'imperial Tent,

Guarded at equal Distances, invest:

Wide, round th'exterior Third, lay, far outspread,

Smooth Void, whose silent Range admits no vulgar Tread:

For, there, th'associate Monarch's Feet the hallow'd Surface press'd.

XII.

Hither, to Council, while they bent their Way,

In his right Hand, Prince Oreb, Gideon, led:

The graceful Hebrew march'd at Ease, and gay;

And from his Eyes a radiant Sweetness, shed.

Circled by Kings, and taller, by the Head,

His native Majesty eclips'd their Pride:

A Leopard's Skin, the Paws, together, ty'd,

Dreadfully gay, was o'er his Shoulder, spread:

And, to the Right, slop'd pendent, from his Side.

A rich wide-skirted Crimson Vest

O'er-wrap'd, with conscious Glow, his manly Breast:

Girt by a purple, silver-studded Belt;

In which his fated Sword at Freedom hung.

While, at each Step, his Arm, was gently swung,

The low-poiz'd Spear, majestic, seem'd to nod:

And sway'd, with threat'ning Grandeur, as he trod.

Cool, o'er his fair and bloom-enliven'd Face,

A jet-black Plume wav'd slow, with shadowy Grace.

XIII.

Now, round the enter'd Umbrage, marching slow,

The Royal Brotherhood their Places, fill.

Encircling Legions edge the Plain below:

O'er whose close Heads unfurling Ensigns flow;

And, from th'important Space to ward off Ill,

A steely Grove of glitt'ring Spears rise round the dreadful Hill.

From the Tent-door, a Chief his Jav'lin shook,

And thrice distinctly sounded on his Shield:

The watchful Guards the well-known Signal took,

And rung it downward, through the war-dress'd Field.

Silenc'd, the distant Soldiers sit, and wait

Th' Event of All their Sov'reign's joint Debate.

Gradual, the floating Roar of War subsides,

And sinking Clamour draws back All her Tides.

Soft, the sweet Trumpet's Echoes die away;

And the yet murm'ring Drum, unwilling sleeps:

Through the still Air, thin-body'd Whispers play;

And voiceless, o'er the awe-hush'd Camp, profound Attention creeps.

XIV.

Then Oreb, glowing gen'rous, thus began:

Brothers in War! Kings, of confed'rate Sway!

Lend Action Ev'ry grateful Pow'r you can:

Words are too weak, to thank this godlike Man.

If, to behold me here, alive, To-day,

Aids your Arm's Prospect, and you wish to know,

From what kind Source, my future Hope must flow,

'Twill sound surprising, in your Royal Ear,

That when, unman'd by a repulsive Fear,

Despairing Friends abandon'd Fame, and Me;

This wond'rous Foe, this Hebrew, whom you see,

Conquer'd, to save; and set me free!

Then, touch'd with Warmth, but to the Gen'rous known,

He told his People's Flight: told, how, Alone,

He stop'd the Hebrews, with the Giant Stone.

Told, how he fought, escap'd; and, from the Cave,

Pursuing Others, lost Himself, again:

Told, how his Conqueror, serenely brave,

Ransomless, his Freedom, gave.

And, shall, said He, this glorious Act, but, empty Praise, obtain?

No.—Tho' th'unvenal Benefactor's Mind

Flow'd out on Virtue, ev'n for Virtue's Sake,

They, whom such stainless Obligations bind,

Should doubly weigh the Worth, of All they take:

And, where they find the Debt without Allay,

With tenfold Gratitude, make Haste to pay.

He paus'd: —and, with a loud, concurrent, Praise,

Spread, on the Breast, his Hand, Each Monarch lays:

Jointly oblig'd, Each sep'rate, Vows Regard;

And bids the Stranger name his wish'd Reward.

XV.

Gideon smil'd satisfy'd: and, bowing low,

Reply'd—Great Kings! you Nothing owe.

Light were His Virtue, and of narrow Scope,

Who weigh'd his Sense of Duty, by his Hope.

Much you o'er-rate a Mark of due Respect:

Bless'd, as I was, to snatch th'important Care,

A Prince, of MIDIAN, to protect!

Esteem it but an Instance of That Pride,

With which our Tribes remember, who you are.

Nor think me vain, th'Occasion, so, supply'd,

If I remind you, we are near ally'd.

—Midian, the mighty Founder of your Name,

Was, ev'n as Isaac was, our ABR'AM's Son.

Both had an equal Start, and Spur, to Fame:

Both, in one Father's Blessing, equal Claim:

Tho', (thence our Grief!) in diff'rent Paths, to run.

O, Power, of Custom! Law, Religion! Place!

Little, alas! our common Parent thought,

His time-chang'd Sons, unmindful of their Race,

In diff'rent Lands, a diff'rent Int'rest taught,

With hostile Rancour, should Each Other chase;

And Wan, fraternal Glory to efface!

But, Heav'n be thank'd. It was not, always, so.—

When from proud Egypt's hard Oppression, led,

When, deep through desart Wastes, compell'd to go,

Kind MIDIAN taught our cherish'd Feet to tread:

Even to these Plains where Midian now, encamps, our fiercest Foe,

We were, by Midian, led.

When hospitable JETHRO'—Hail, great Name!

You know it, mighty Princes!—for, you claim

Deriv'd Succession, both in Blood and Fame;

When He, kind Guide! left Country, Power, and Ease,

Our March's Guardian, through its hard Degrees!

Even to This Canaan, whence, (oh, Force, of Years!)

You strive to root us out, in Blood, and Tears:

He knew, that Midian's Sons, with Israel's join'd,

Were Brothers, parted long, and re-combin'd.

Doubtless, his Wisdom had found good, to weigh,

That Countries, given to Abr'am's general Race,

Might not alone be soonest won,

By Deeds of War conjointly done;

But, that, so conquer'd, such Extent of Space

Might stretch joint Blessing, for our mix'd Embrace.

Israel, he knew, no sep'rate Claim, could lay,

Since Midian's Race had Abr'am's Right, as notedly as They.

Why are we Foes then?—Arm'd, on Midian's Side,

Lead us to Realms, whose Wealth we might divide.

As yet, the poorest Part of Canaan's ours:

Her western Coast defies even Midian's Powers.

Wide, from Gaza, Northward, spread,

Lie Countries we regard with Dread.

Who has not heard of SIDON's boastful State?

And the proud Opulence of tradeful TYRE?

We, barrenly confin'd to inland Rocks,

Unhappily are warr'd on, by our Friends:

They, unexpos'd to hostile Shocks,

Bribing Indemnity, when Pride offends,

On foodful Pastures shear unnumber'd Flocks:

And, safe, in all the Insolence of Peace,

Grasp golden Plenty: and provoke Increase.

XVI.

Oreb, with sympathetic Rapture fir'd,

Starts from his Seat, impell'd by Gideon's Flame:

Shall Hebrews, then, by alien Gods inspir'd,

For hostile Midian, point out Paths to Fame!

BAAL moves 'em!—I attest His dreadful Name:

Blast He my Fortune, if, by me requir'd,

This Hebrew's Hint re-starts my favourite Aim!

Since, lately, half-resolv'd, we weigh'd this Scheme,

Let us no longer willing Friends oppress:

'Tis Reason's Debt, Esteemers to esteem.

Pay not propos'd Attachment, with Distress.

Grant aidful Israel her indulg'd Desire:

And turn War's Thunder on devoted Tyre.

A few Days March conducts us to her Walls,

Open, the Road; the Country stor'd, and gay,

Sheds wanton Plenty o'er th'inviting Way.

What can we want then?—Haste, at once, away.

Surpris'd defenceless, now, while Fortune calls,

All Hope forsakes 'em: and their City falls.

XVII.

Grave from his Place rose Zeb, in formal State:

Heavy with Age; yet, Age his smallest Weight.

Fortune had given him only Bliss to bear:

But Nature heap'd him with a Load, of Care.

His parsimonious Soul but ill could scan

The Diff'rence, 'twixt the Monarch, and the Man.

Courage he wanted not: but held in vain—

For, his chief End, in every War, was Gain.

Deep, in his labour-furrow'd Look, his Av'rice stood engrav'd:

And even his Silence told the Eye, he crav'd.

This Tyrian War, says He, has my Consent.

Rich is the Country: praiseful the Intent.

Since Israel's Right of Kindred, we confess,

Let us her Poverty no harder press.

E'en let her, once for All, her Tribes assess:

And, gath'ring friendly what she can, buy off th'undue Distress.

Pity pleads for 'em. We can do no less

Than let 'em hold, in Peace, their thin Remains.

Spare the poor Penitents.—Alas! Their Plains

Were, long since, Ours; Their Mountains yield small Gains:

And lean Contention is not worth our Pains.

Sidon and Tyre with endless Wealth abound:

A thriving People! skill'd in gainful Arts!

Commerce their Treas'ry fills: Herds hide their Ground.

Trade a big Weakness proudfully imparts:

But trembling Hands ill guard presumptuous Hearts.

XVIII.

Agag, of Amalek, sat next:

A Prince, of temper'd Courage; wisely cold.

No rising Passion His slow Thought perplex'd:

Doubtful, with Vigour, and with Caution, bold.

A long Experience taught him to suspect:

He fear'd All Counsels; but would none neglect.

Justly he weigh'd: and did, with Choice, reject.

Alike 'twould grieve me, the wise Prince began,

To miss the Meaning, or mistake the Man.

Yet, least errs He, who weigh'd Conclusion draws;

And, seeking Consequence, looks back to Cause.

Mischief, disguis'd, may deep and dang'rous lie:

Pow'rless to hurt when obvious to the Eye.

Grant us of Strength to shake the Walls of Tyre:

Grant the March short: Have we not Foes, still nigher?

These Hebrews, wisely weary of us here,

Kindly provide us nobler Conquests, near.

Strong is our Hope: but stronger is Their Fear.

Old Claims of Blood, from Dates so sunk in Time,

Impel but faintly, where no Int'rest leads.

One Step still higher, retrorsive let 'em climb,

And, since so strongly Kindred pleads,

CANAAN's whole Offspring, ev'n her TYRIAN Race,

Name Parent Noah, but, in Abr'am's Place,

Are Midian's Brothers, with like Claim to Grace.

Last Night—nor think Night Visions always vain;

Oft, they the Wills of silent Gods, explain.

Last Night, This strange, this thrice-repeated Dream,

Harrow'd my aking Fancy, with the Sight

Of air-form'd Shapes, that chill'd my Soul to Fright!

For, ne'er did Shadows so substantial, seem!

I saw you, Princes! in th'imperial Tent

Assembled, as we now, collective, meet,

And on like Business bent:

When, from yon sable Mountain's dire Descent,

Fast in Pursuit of warlike Oreb's Feet,

Roll'd a mean rustic Loaf, of Hebrew Bread.

On-bigg'ning, into monstrous Bulk It spread;

Till, gradual, an unbounded Pile, It grew:

Whelming its Way, These Royal Seats o'erthrew.

Then, rumbling, thunder-like, resistless, round,

Swept the crush'd Camp before it, to the Ground.

Taught, by such Dreams—

—There, Oreb held, no more:

But, rising stormy, look'd him scornful o'er.

Take heed, presumptuous Prince! nor dare, said He,

Oblique, to glance reproachful Doubt, at me.

Dream for Thyself: hintful of base Distrust,

Creep beneath Faith, through allegoric Dust.

Souls, sagely impotent, or darkly cold,

Ever suspicious, thus alarm'd, behold

Th'uncover'd Climb, of Honour's active Flame:

And dive through Virtue, for some mystic Aim.

Dishonest Mark, of an infected Mind!

Whom should I fear? What View shall I conceal?

Who shall prevent, where Oreb has design'd?

Or, what, resolving, shuns he to reveal?

No.—Be it left to cautious Lumps, like Thee,

To veil fear'd Truths, or through False Mediums see;

My Heart's hot Beat on its felt Strength, relies;

And flames too furious, to admit Disguise.

But, by revenging Baal!—

XIX.

—There, Zebah rose:

A Man of Noise, and apt to interpose.

Vain-glorious, insolent, and rashly brave!

His Courage, deaf to Danger, sought his Foes:

But, to his Friends, unsure Dependence gave;

Bold, to destroy: but ign'rant how to save!

Impetuous he began; and stream'd in Tongue:

Round roll'd his Eyeballs; and his Arms, in tum'rous Gesture, swung.

Oreb watch'd stern, for what He meant to say:

And Agag, half-enrag'd, before, now smil'd his Warmth away.

What! must we, thus, in civil Broils engage?

And can we find no foreign Wars, to wage?

Last, let us jarr: nor will it then be vain,

When None to conquer, but Ourselves, remain.

But, let us, first, march on, to shining Tyre:

And leave Her brighter, in her fun'ral Fire.

I hate her: proud Engrosser of the Seas!

The wafted Pilf'rer floats from Shore to Shore;

Freighted for Luxury, and choak'd with Store

While we, far nobler, dumbly unrenown'd,

Short-elbow'ing, from our Mountain's circly Bound,

Harrass, with faint and fameless Force, the hardy Nations, round.

Were Navies ours, what could not Midian do?

Then, might we Toils worth bleeding for, pursue:

Find some new World, possess, and drain it, too:

And spread the Glory of our Arms, where Fame, yet, never flew.

Now, barr'd by Rocks, or hemm'd by barren Sands,

Why call'd they happy such secluded Lands?

Our crouded Hive ejects reluctant Swarms.

But, when yon Eastern Ocean's Depth, behind,

Shall groan beneath th'Excursion of our Arms;

Or, o'er th'Atlantic West, we Outlet find;

Then shall we grasp a Pow'r, like Zebah's Mind!

Then shall the Nations trembling ask, what Midian has design'd:

And our wide-dreaded Name be heard, in Ev'ry changing Wind.

Since Agag, safely cautious, shuns to go,

And sees sure Danger, in an untry'd Foe,

Be it His guardian Task, to watch, behind:

Distinct, in two strong Pow'rs, our Army, led,

At once, shall hold yon Hebrew Dames confin'd,

High, on their Mountain's wholsome Tops, to whiten, in the Wind;

And shake presumptuous Tyre, with Midian's Dread:

Faint-hearted Slaves, in their own Purple bred;

By Pleasure soften'd, and by Plenty fed:

Our tawny Soldier's iron Front, shall look the Miscreants dead.

XX.

Zalmunna smil'd, at Zebah's hope-wing'd Flight,

And spoke, resolv'd to close the warm Debate.

This Prince assum'd an all-superior Might:

Honour'd in chief, by Each divided State;

Tho', by Descent, and Right of nat'ral Claim,

Lord but of One, to the mix'd War, he came.

Haughty and fierce, his daring Bosom felt

A savage Pleasure, in the Wastes of Woe:

His cruel craft-revolving Depth of Mind

Dark distant Schemes, of tyrant Reach, design'd:

No Warmth of Pity his hard Heart could melt;

All Things were just, which rid him of a Foe:

All was beneath him, in the World below:

And Heav'n but bow'd to, that it might bestow.

Princes! said He, well-judg'd, Your Hopes appear.

Yet, you misconstrue Agag's Caution, Fear.

Skill'd in Discernment, let the WISE detect,

And point out Dangers, for the BRAVE's Neglect.

On, to the West: be Tyre's proud State defy'd.

Israel, oft already try'd,

Dares nothing: or must dare on Midian's Side.

Phoenicia's peopled Coast, This March makes Ours.

Then lie These Hebrews central, 'twixt our Pow'rs.

Southward and Eastward, we, already, spread,

And edge their Tribes, with a removeless Dread.

Northward, accessless Hills run rough'ning on,

From Arnon's Ridge, to ced'ry Lebanon:

Add the wish'd West; and the Sea's subject Roar

Salutes stretch'd Midian, and adorns her Shore.

So, hemm'd on ev'ry Side, and, each Way, near,

Hope Israel's Service; and conclude her Fear.

Peacefully safe, a Vassal, calm and still:

Or conquer'd Rebel, to be crush'd, at Will.

Hebrew! return: and, soon as thou shalt hear

That our resistless Arms encompass Tyre,

Bid your Twelve Tribes chuse, Each, a Legate, fit

To kneel before us with their joint Desire.

Hope, then, what Terms Compassion can admit:

Away.—Find Comfort: and your Caverns quit.

Princes! debate no more. It stands decreed.

Sidon must fall: and purply Tyre shall bleed.

Baal! bless To-morrow's Dawn; safe-guard Thy Host!

Push we the March, ere Spies alarm their Coast.

Gideon glow'd secret; pleas'd, prophetic, gay:

And Each King, rising, mov'd, a sep'rate Way.

But, Oreb's gen'rous Heart, humanely bent,

Studious to entertain his Hebrew Friend,

Led him, impatient, to his feastful Tent:

Where social Hours, in charmful Converse spent,

Brought the pleas'd Day to an unwilling End.

XXI.

All Night, the Camp hums loud, with murm'ring Swarms,

And rings with Echoes, from the hammer'd Arms.

Through ev'ry Quarter, hurrying Concourse pours:

And Preparation toils away the Hours.

At last, the chearful Morning's op'ning Eye

Glows, through the solemn Shade, from high:

Hov'ring, and moist, attracted Vapours rise.

Then, the Sun's Outset, seen and hail'd, with day-discov'ring Cries,

In worship'd Pomp, rolls glorious up, to Sight:

And ev'ry ray-touch'd Mountain smiles, and ev'ry Field looks bright.

First, the loud Drums a solemn Warning beat,

And Each rous'd Soldier, prompt to War's Alarms,

Strong, for the notic'd Movement, girds his Feet:

Then, the shrill-starting Trumpet sounds to Arms;

And All the swarthy Nations run, and at their Standards meet.

Slow, move the cumb'rous Waggons, long in Train,

And, dull of Motion, creek with Weight; and labour o'er the Plain.

Next, loaded high, the bunchy Camels go;

Stepping, with strait-rais'd Neck, sublimely slow:

One loose-ty'd Length of living Line, in stretch'd and endless Row.

With These, for Safeguard from th'attempting Foe,

Selected Bands, of active Horsemen, ride:

A dreadful Battle-ax adorns each Side;

And each right Hand, a double-pointed Spear,

To dart a distant Death, or guide one, near.

These, first, off-filing, the whole following Host

Receiv'd joint Signal, and to move began:

Each in his Turn, wheel'd martial, from his Post,

Rank behind Rank, and Man preceding Man.

XXII.

Seen, from a Chariot, on a rising Ground,

Along whose Range the Army must ascend;

Or, near, beneath whose Brow their Way they found,

Oreb sat mounted, with his Hebrew Friend.

Thence, as the Squadrons pass'd, with courteous Care,

Inform'd him, whence they came, and whose they were.

My Friend, said he, for, from this happy Day,

Let us forever, mutual, share That Name:

It joys me, that our Forces march away,

And yield wish'd Peace, to Israel's future Claim.

Swift let your Legates sent, firm Contract, bind.

Proud and imperious is Zalmunna's Mind!

But I, to aid your Envoy's purpos'd Pray'r,

Will, with a warm and well-asserted Care,

Curb his malignant Hate; and make him kind.

Mean while, this fair Occasion, safely take,

To sit, and well observe our martial Host.

No Strength, brave Nations, thus ally'd, can break.

Such Weight oppressing, if we felt you shake,

This Truth, confess'd, secures your Country's Praise;

Sev'n Years assaulted, you withstood us, All:

While in perhaps as few triumphant Days,

Before our death-diminish'd Pow'r, the Pride of Tyre shall fall.

All the wide Bosom of the spacious East

Had empty'd her Best Spirits, on your Land:

'Tis true, by Time's wide Waste, and War's, decreas'd,

Many have fall'n: nor has my Loss been least.

Yet shall you see the Numbers we command

Thick, as the Locusts in the Wind, and countless as the Sand.

Be it your Glory, you could Kings, withstand,

Who grasp'd your State with such a nervous Hand.

XXIII.

In Five broad Lines, th'advancing Army moves.

For, where smooth Plains extend unbroken Way,

Wide Order, ev'ry practis'd Chief approves;

As least expos'd, so stretch'd, in form'd Array,

And making double Marches, ev'ry Day.

See, clear 'twixt Line and Line, what Space we leave:

Some Furlong's Interval, unfill'd and free:

Hence, no Impression, we, when charg'd, receive,

Can, through more Lines than One, extended be:

But All, each other, aptly may relieve;

And, where One shrinks, th'advancing Next retrieve.

Mark this approaching Front, with heedful Care.

My Ensigns only, All These Squadrons bear.

I know not how, of late, so chang'd, they were!

They want not Skill: and have been us'd to dare.

See, how their Wings with Iron Chariots shine!

On either Horn Four hundred. Each of These

Bears Two arm'd Drivers, whom Three Horses draw,

Train'd to give Charge in a broad-breasted Line.

Impatient of the Curb, they bound, and paw!

From each strong Point of death-arm'd Axle-trees,

Sharp-cutting Seythes emerge, with edgy Slant:

These, in revertive Bend, we move, at Ease;

Rais'd, or declin'd, as the skill'd Guiders please.

But, when out-driv'n, to rush upon the Foe,

Rattling aloud their brazen Wheels advance,

How weak and useless are the Sword and Lance!

Rider and Horse, cut through, they overthrow:

And while the shaft-arm'd Archers, from within,

Point missive Deaths, in dreadful Tempest, round,

The loose-main'd Coursers, with impetuous Din,

Burst through the Ranks, and thunder o'er the Ground,

With rapid Motion some, they trample down:

Others, who, thronging back, evade their Force,

The raz'ry Scythes with reeking Edges sweep;

And mow destructive, in their bloody Course.

Of these Eight hundred, which you, passing, see,

Six hundred have no other Lord, but me.

Two hundred, watry Moab's Monarch owns:

Our Lands conjoin: confed'rate are our Thrones.

XXIV.

Now, mark my Foot: in Three Divisions led

The Midmost holds my Country's bravest Sons:

Firm Souls; to great and long-try'd Dangers, bred.

Cross our Dominions, ridgy Gilead runs:

Gilead, whose Groves sweat sov'reign Balm, to heal

The Wounds, her brave Defenders rush to feel.

Twelve thousand These; who, once, in Arms unskill'd,

The palm-producing Plains of Midian till'd.

Or scoop'd fall'n Cedars, on her Mountain's Side:

And, in light Floats, on fishy Arnon, ply'd.

Those to the right, confed'rate Moab sends,

Eight thousand Spearmen, arm'd in radiant Steel:

Bold Hiram leads 'em; Midian's high-priz'd Friends!

We love their Courage: nor their Worth conceal.

Near fenny Nebo, and moist Hesbon, They,

Cities, loudly known to Fame!

Dwell in deep Vales, whose rich, but stubborn, Clay

Does strong Resemblance to their Nature claim:

Valiant; but hardly modell'd to obey!

Who has not heard what Giants they o'erthrew?

Emims and Anakims, of duskiest Hue!

Broad-striding Champions! big-bon'd Monsters, All!

Hard, as their Oaks: and, as their Cedars, tall!

Near us here, my Foot's firm Left

Contains five thousand, Aids, from Ammon sent.

North-East, from Moab, bord'ring Ammon lies:

These also, Giants, of their Land bereft.

Ev'n to this Day, the Realm, a Giant Race, supplies.

In Rabba's Town, a Proof of strange Extent!

The iron Bed of Og, may, yet, be seen:

In Length, Nine Cubits—Four such Cubits, wide!

You know the Story well. His fatal Pride,

Vast, as his Bulk, your happier Arms defy'd:

And, by the Hand of your Great Chief, he dy'd.

On their Hill's healthy Top, delightfully serene,

A Soil, with Sage, and Rue, and Wormwood, green,

Their luckless Balak stood to curse your Race:

When Balaam bless'd you, to his Lord's Disgrace.

These three distinct Divisions, I command;

Our Army's first, and not her weakest, Line.

Warm Emulation flames, through ev'ry Band:

Fearless of Death, in War's lov'd Pomp they shine.

See! how through Clouds of Dust they march: nor Heat, nor Labour, shun!

With glowing Temples urge their Way, and sparkle, in the Sun!

XXV.

But look!—the Army's Second Line comes on.

These, too, from Midian, mighty Founder! spring.

Hard, as their hilly Country's native Stone,

They serve a rich, but an ungen'rous, King.

Mean as their Monarch's Mind; their Dress, how plain!

Zeb's homely Spirit, in his plumeless Train.

Five thousand Foot, thrice told, this Prince attend.

Three thousand Slingers, upon Camels, ride.

From This rais'd Centre, his Foot Cohorts bend,

And, Right and Left, two equal Wings, extend:

Which, rounding forward, Each with sharp'ning End,

In hollow Compass, deep, at once, and wide,

March, like a Crescent, in whose midst, their sullen Prince they hide,

Experienc'd Archers, These. Their left Hands bear

Tough and springy Bows, of Steel.

Arms of slender Proof they wear:

And the big Shield's safe Weight abhor to feel.

Across their Shoulders, loose, with careless Air,

Hang Quivers, stor'd with Arrows sharp and strong:

Hark! how they sound, as they step swift along.

From rock-built Selah, a secure Defence,

For weak-soul'd Avarice, and Wealth immense,

These half-dress'd, rough, unsightly Squadrons came:

Neighbours to Hor, a Desart known to Fame

For many a Chance! with one, by you, supply'd:

'Twas there, your venerable Aaron dy'd.

Southward, from Moab's Plain, the Region runs:

And borders, eastward, upon Edom's Sons.

Barren of Corn: a harsh, ill-water'd Soil,

Where Lab'rers, un-refresh'd, would die with Toil;

Did not rich Vineyards round the Mountains twine,

And float the thirsty Glebe, with Floods of Wine.

XXVI.

See, next, in haughty State, with conscious Pride,

Sov'reign Zalmunna's tow'rd us, tow'ring, ride.

Bounding, he leads our midmost Squadrons on:

Too wide extended, to be half discern'd.

This Monarch, who supreme Pretence, has won,

In the dark Myst'ries of Ambition, learn'd,

Rules but, by native Right, a distant Land:

Midian's utmost Southern Bound;

Along the rich Red Sea's indented Strand—

Wide, that Tract, his Realms surround,

Where your Great Moses, JETHRO's Daughters, found.

A Soil, that does with Ev'ry Growth abound,

Tho' streak'd with tiresome Veins, of fruitless Sand,

Ten thousand Horse, This mighty Sov'reign brings:

Nervously rapid, as the Eagle's Wings!

See! how, in Heat of Blood, they paw the Ground:

And champ the Bit, and Sidelong prance:

And tear up half the Plain, as they advance!

His Foot, that, bright in Armour, wing those Horse,

Are Thrice ten thousand, fam'd for wily Force:

Unweary'd Veterans, of fearless Heart,

All, deeply practis'd, in War's bloodiest Art:

Us'd to All Arms; and try'd, in ev'ry Part.

These Chariots, which, upon their Left, roll by,

Obscur'd by Hills of Dust, which, with 'em, fly;

Are Six dread Hundreds, arm'd and guided well:

The same stretch'd Number, wid'ning from their Right,

Would terrify your wond'ring Sight;

But the long Distance tires the aking Eye.

Zalmunna's Pow'r does All the King's excel:

And what his Strength, and what his Aim, 'tis Time alone can tell.

XXVII.

But, This Way now, direct thy Eye;

Where Agag, on his silver Chariot rides:

Shining far, and seated high.

Four milk-white Coursers, with hot-panting Sides,

Vex'd to be curb'd, and struggling with the Rein,

Draw him disdainful, o'er the smoaking Plain.

This Prince is Lord of Amalek's wide State:

His Seat is Pharan, and his Empire great.

Arabia's, midmost, rocky Tract, He sways,

Peopled by one of Ishmael's wand'ring Stems;

Call'd Hagareens, from Hagar, Abra'm's Maid;

The swarthy Mother of this rugged Race.

Northward, his Lands, the wind-mov'd Desart hems:

Where wandring Hords, in shifting Cities, dwell,

Safe from the Sun, beneath their canvas Shade;

Thence, swift as Roes, the Savage Wilds invade,

To hunt the lordly Lion, from his Cell.

Three thousand Horse, This crafty Monarch guides:

Each a skill'd Archer, who, in rapid Flight,

Turns in his Seat, and dext'rous, as he rides,

Aims his Shaft backward, with a dreadful Slight,

And, flying, kills more surely, than in Fight.

These, in two dusky Cornets, sweep along;

Wings, to That Centre, which, between, you see:

Firm-wedg'd with hardy Foot, rang'd deep, and strong.

Four times Five thousand, they are said to be:

Abstemious Highlanders, All rough of Soul;

Patient of Toil, but restive in Controul.

XXVIII.

Rash Zebah, last, brings up the gloomy Rear,

Impetuous as a Tempest arm'd with Hail!

All Passions shake him, in their Turns, but Fear:

O'er his warm Hope, no Danger can prevail.

Mark, with what martial Majesty he treads!

Arm'd with a Spear, and looking fiercely round,

On-foot, his Twenty thousand Foot, he heads:

And measures slowly the unheeded Ground.

Four hundred noisy CHARIOTS wing this Band:

And, yonder, boasting the same Chief's Command,

Six thousand Horsemen, loosely spread, behind,

Close the gay March: and, with elated Mind,

Lift their high Standards, to the following Wind.

Happy Arabia's aromatic Plains

Stretch their sweet Bosoms, where this Monarch reigns:

There, the rich Hills a gummy Harvest, shed;

And Myrrh and Frankincense the Groves o'erspread.

Ev'n from their Beasts, a musky Vapour flows:

And the Spice-breathing Wind, with am'rous Softness, blows.

From their broad Heaths, wild Thyme, and Camomil,

Their coarsest Air, with breezy Fragrance, fill.

Physic's wide Want, this druggy Tract supplies:

Let the sick Elephant lie down to roll,

From the crush'd Couch, balsamic Odours rise:

And the snuff'd Scent revives his savage Soul.

XXIX.

As when some sudden News alarms a State,

Of threat'ning Consequence, and full of Fear;

All meaner Cares and Themes, suspended, wait:

While This alone does worth Regard, appear.

But, when by slow Degrees, the Rumour dies,

And thought-recov'ring Crouds expect no more;

Each to his proper Task his Care applies:

And All is hush'd and languid, as before.

So, while the Prince and Gideon heard the Noise,

And saw the swarmy Legions passing by,

No other Sound their hurry'd Ear employs;

No other Object fills their busy Eye.

But now, the Army past, the Sound scarce heard,

And, each chang'd Prospect roll'd in Dust away,

Pleas'd, they observe the Plains about 'em clear'd;

The chearful Birds, above their Chariot, play:

And Nature smiling round 'em, stilly gay.

Then, Oreb, rising from his Chariot-Seat,

Beck'ning, gave Sign, to a well-mounted Band;

Which, shadow'd by a Grove's serene Retreat,

At Distance, waited their lov'd Chief's Command.

Sudden, they move; and closing in, behind,

The Prince, reseated, shakes the loosen'd Rein:

Fleet, his Horses, as the Wind,

With sounding Hoofs, fly rapid o'er the Plain.

XXX.

While to the guarded Mountain's barr'd Ascent,

Their eye-directed Way they bent,

To Gideon, thus the gen'rous Oreb spoke:

Since my illustrious Friend declines to take

Such due Returns as grateful Sense would make,

And merits Honour, but, for Virtue's Sake,

What shall I do, to shew him my Regard

Of Greatness, I confess, above Reward!

It must be left to Time, and Chance, to find

Some vast Occasion, for my Thanks design'd:

Till when, the Debt must rest unpaid, to load my struggling Mind.

Mean while; and, there, he from his Finger drew

A Ring, that glitter'd, with a dazling Ray,

From the most radiant Gem, that ere, in orient Quarries grew:

Wear This—in Mem'ry, but, of what I owe;

And, that I mean to pay.

XXXI.

Gideon, long-press'd, at last, averse, gave Way,

And smil'd, with thankful Grace: when, hid below,

On the Hill's Side, appear'd a Hebrew Band:

Which, by the late Attempt, instructed well,

Under a wary Chief's Command,

Took Place, the Night before, to watch what pass'd,

And future Mischief, in th'Advance, repel.

These Gideon saw: and from the Chariot stept;

Swift after him, Prince Oreb leapt:

And, with a zealous Warmth of Heart, embrac'd.

Then, courteous, took his Leave: and, all in Haste,

Remounting, turn'd his Horses tow'rd the Host:

And reach'd it soon, and foremost shone; conspicuous in his Post.

GIDEON; OR, The PATRIOT. BOOK III.

I.

WHILE to the Host his Way Prince Oreb bent,

And urg'd his flying Coursers o'er the Plain;

Gideon climb'd slow the Mountain's steep Ascent,

Oppress'd with Thought, and anxious for th'Event.

Deep he revolv'd, with soul-afflicting Pain,

What strange Success had crown'd his first Intent,

Crown'd with Success, in vain,

Should the chief Labour of his Hope imperfect, still, remain.

The Foe remov'd might soon receive Alarm,

And, doubly fierce, return, should Israel arm.

Well had he mark'd, and weigh'd, their dreadful Skill;

Their countless Numbers, their rapacious Will:

And All their fine and vary'd Arts, to kill.

How should dejected Israel, then, make Head?

Who should effectual Summons, spread?

Or, did they meet, how hopeless still, they would, by HIM, be led!

Much he reflected, on the gen'rous Aid

Of Oreb's Friendship: mixing Hope, with Pain.

For, while ZALMUNNA's barb'rous Pride he weigh'd,

ZEB's Av'rice; AGAG's Caution; ZEBAH's Rage:

Wisdom's cool Doubt awaken'd sad Presage,

That One Man's Truth might leave Dependence vain:

Where fraudful Numbers join'd, averse, its Influence to restrain.

Distracted thus, amid the hurry'd Sway

Of cross-cours'd Passions, clashingly, combin'd;

Deeply perplex'd, he climb'd his pensive Way:

And, now, despairing, human Schemes, resign'd.

Now, thought of Heav'n, and left all Doubt behind.

II.

But, while, in Midian's Camp, his active Thought

Had, wisely lab'ring, trac'd his Country's Good,

His Country's Sons, by no such Virtue taught,

With equal Ardour their own Bliss withstood.

For, 'mid th'o'ermantling Stillness of the Night,

While Gideon, late, had hew'd the Grove's vast Oak,

The Priest of Baal, who, on the Mountain's Side,

Cavern'd, in solitary Silence dwelt,

Heard the loud Echoes bound, from each bold Stroke,

Which the Trunk, repugnant, felt:

Saw the fierce Flame revolve its blazy Light,

Whirl'd through the Gloom, and trembling to his Sight.

Scarce his astonish'd Soul believ'd

Th'alarming Witness, which his Senses bore!

Fearing, yet longing, to be undeceiv'd,

Th'apparent Truth, still nearer, to explore,

Cautious he climb'd the Hill, with quiv'ring Knees.

There, safe, behind the Shade of sheltry Trees,

Chill'd with Amazement, he had stood, and watch'd,

While Gideon and his faithful Ten, their daring Task, dispatch'd.

III.

But, when the pious Hebrew left the Place,

And silent Horror o'er the Ruin reign'd;

Soft, the Priest, with tim'rous Pace,

Crept from his Covert; now no more restrain'd;

And, ghastly gazing o'er the naked Ground,

On which the dying Embers faintly shin'd;

View'd the accomplish'd Desolation, round.

There, when no Remnant of his God he found,

Soul-freezing Horror ic'd his coward Mind!

Bath'd in the dew-drench'd Darkness of the Night,

Trembling he stood; un-man'd with inward Dread;

If an Owl scream'd, he started into Fright;

And shrunk from ev'ry sighing Wind, that skimm'd his palsy'd Head.

Slow, the press'd Ground beneath him seem'd to rise,

Gradual a Groan broke mournful from below:

Out-roll'd a dusky Form, that brush'd his Eyes;

And, gliding upward, ceas'd not still to grow:

Huge, as the Oak it rose from, It appear'd:

And its vast Reach, unmeasurably, rear'd!

Death-like, It rais'd an Arm, but half reveal'd:

For, ambient Clouds the shadowy Dart conceal'd.

Two ghastly Meteors, lost within its Head,

With emb'ry Glare pal'd o'er its spect'ry Eyes:

Sicklying the Sable, with a bloodshot Red;

Whose glimm'ry Semblance, in appearing, dies.

Nothing distinct was seen: yet, each dark Part

Mov'd, in convul sive Writhe, and seem'd to smart.

IV.

This was the Guardian Daemon of the Grove;

Who, 'gainst superior Pow'r, too weakly strove:

Forc'd, from his Charge, in tortur'd Shame withdrew;

But, now, reproachful, vaunted, o'er the View.

—Wretch! too unmindful of my Shrine, and me!

Why hast thou suffer'd this atrocious Deed?

Trusting Thy Vigilance, and Piety,

Thee, my Grove's sacred Guardian, I decreed:

Myself, from Care of my own Altar, freed.

But, by thy Absence, or Neglect, betray'd,

Rising, I find my holy Hill profan'd:

Day's influent Range supplants my fav'rite Shade;

Burnt is my Image: and my Honour stain'd.

But one Way, now, canst thou Perdition, shun,

And 'scape th'eternal Anguish, of my Hate:

Detested Gideon, this bold Act has done.

Go: while he dares new Mischiefs meditate:

Go: rouse the faithful Ministers of Fate;

Drag him, expell'd, from the curs'd City's Gate.

Headlong, go, hurl him, o'er the Mountain's Brow.

So, expiate Ophra's Guilt: and save the State,

From high-doom'd Vengeance, that o'er-hangs it, now.

This not perform'd, presume no more to raise

Altars, or Groves, to my insulted Praise.

Unexpiated Sins move Heav'n, in vain:

Go: act my Sentence—or my Rage sustain.

V.

So threat'ning, mounted on a Flash, he rose:

And, in a Peal of Thunder, tow'r'd away.

Kindling behind, an Arch of Sulphur flows,

And streaks his Passage, with a Trail of Day.

Far from the Mount, with gradual Slope, he fell:

And, light'ning downward, sought his native Hell.

Thus, when, in War, the death-embowell'd Ball

Slants upward, o'er some hostile Mark, to fall;

In fiery Curve th'exploded Mischief flies;

And sweeps, thick-sparkling, through the measur'd Skies:

Till, on the destin'd Point, its Weight declines;

And, bursting broad with flashful Force, for circly Ruin, shines.

Who can describe the Pangs, which now opprest

The panting Heathen's superstitious Breast!

Aw'd, and un-soul'd, beneath th'unruly Fright,

Still, his Ears echo'd, to the Groans of Night:

Still the thin Phantom skimm'd before his Sight.

Wildly devout, and stung by frantic Zeal,

Swift, to the Remnant of the hallow'd Oak,

Fearful, with wide-extended Arms, he ran:

In pious Pity the mourn'd Trunk, to clasp;

Weep its dry Wounds, and warm 'em with his Grasp.

So, tir'd with Ecstasy, and toil'd with Dread,

While his age-wasted Spirits flow'd away;

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Down sunk the sleep-attracted Sage's Head:

And, senseless as his Oak, supine he lay.

VI.

There while he slept, unconscious what was done,

High, o'er his Weakness, rose the smiling Sun.

When Joash, mindful of the Grove o'erthrown,

Ent'ring the Town, with wise and early Care,

Anxious to make its Motive timely known,

Found the sought Senate close assembled there.

Of these, Eliakim, with fruitless Pain,

Had long regretted Israel, left by GOD:

Long had he view'd her Rashness, with Disdain,

And trac'd Destruction, in the Paths she trod.

Yet, taught by Pity, to attemper Zeal,

Patient, he waited some adaptive Chance,

That might contribute Balm, her Wounds to heal,

And her true Int'rest, to his Hopes, advance.

He, lately, busying many a trusty Scribe,

In secret Correspondence practis'd well,

Had one charg'd Levite, drawn, from Ev'ry Tribe;

Safely, such Schemes, to ponder, and prescribe,

As dang'rous Distance made it rash, to tell.

Chiefly, he wish'd more Weight, in Levi's Scale:

Conscious that Freedom must, with Faith, prevail:

But little guess'd he, 'midst his cool Design,

How GOD, on Gideon, had vouchsaf'd to shine:

Less dreamt He of the Idol Grove destroy'd;

Or what new Wonders his vast Views, employ'd.

Ev'n now, deputed, from the sacred Race,

Twelve aweful Delegates, commission'd, came:

Men, of high Wisdom, and distinguish'd Grace!

Propell'd, by pulsive Heav'n, beyond their Aim.

Now, first, in Ophra's Senate, taking Place,

They learnt, from Joash, what, That Night, was done:

Learnt, how an ANGEL had inspir'd his Son,

Baal's consecrated Altar to destroy:

Learnt, with Astonishment, too strong for Joy!

That, with commission'd Flame, His shining Hand

Would rise, his Country's blazing Soul; and free th'illumin'd Land!

VII.

While they, yet list'ning, weigh'd th'alarming Tale,

Th'awaken'd Priest with loud Complaint rush'd in:

Roar'd the hot Wrath of violated Baal;

And urg'd due Vengeance, on th'all-damning Sin.

The wise Assembly heard, in dumb Disdain;

Yet scarce contain'd the Warmth, with which they glow'd:

But now, cool Caution, they to Prudence, ow'd.

The People's Zeal, they knew, was fierce, and blind:

Hence, outward Marks, of purer Fire, restrain,

Till Faith's rais'd Torch might apt Effulgence, find.

Grave Joash, slowly rising from his Seat,

Soft, to th'impatient Priest, this Answer made.

No more, thus loud, thy boist'rous Prayer, repeat:

Heard were thy Words: and shall be duly weigh'd.

No Son of Mine, I think, has, yet, been known

Actor of any Deed, he dar'd not own.

Gideon returning, charge him, to his Face:

We, but for Justice, hold this aweful Place.

VIII.

'Tis as I fear'd, th'outrageous Voice reply'd:

Guilt has its Judges, on its Side:

And, by th'Abettors of his Crime, th'Offender must be try'd.

O Baal! dread Pow'r! distinguish, in thy Rage:

Thou shouldst not, canst not, thus provok'd, thy purchas'd Wrath, asswage:

Let it but on thy Foes, THESE FOES, be bent.

Nor, with the Guilty, strike the Innocent.

Speaking, he beats his quiv'ring Breast; his priestly Vestments rends:

And, madly frantic, to the Streets, with out-stretch'd Arms, descends:

There, on his Head, the gather'd Dust he threw,

And, round him wide, th'inquiring Rabble, drew.

To Ev'ry List'ner, he repeats his Tale;

Tells the God's Wrath; and aggravates the Deed:

Dwells, on the dreadful Apparition seen;

Varies his Accents, and his Looks: and trembles, oft, between.

The frighted Multitude their Fate bewail:

Howl to the Priest, with Baal to intercede,

And, from his Vengeance, Them and Theirs, to screen.

Loud, and more loud, the rising Tumult grew;

At length, All Ranks, into Itself it drew:

And, roaring wild, outswell'd Controul; and Order overthrew.

So, into Towns besieg'd, some stormy Night,

A mischief-guided Fire-ball, secret, falls:

It kindles, first, some Roof remote from Sight;

Thence, breaks augmented, o'er the bord'ring Walls.

Contiguous Houses catch th'infectious Flame,

Which, tow'ring upward, meets the wafting Wind:

Then, driv'n from Street to Street, with hungry Aim,

O'er the whole Range, in blazing Sheets, inclin'd,

Broad Wasters unresisted Passage find.

Loud, into gather'd Rage, the mingled Fires,

Combining, curl to Heav'n, with twisted Spires.

United Help, to quench, now vainly aims:

And crackling Ruin the wide Woe proclaims.

IX.

Alarm'd, by frequent and increasing Shouts,

And terrify'd by Dread of vulgar Rage,

The shock'd Assembly sat, involv'd in Doubts;

Measuring slow Means, the Tumult to asswage.

Till wise Eliakim, reflecting well,

That Popular Distaste, to soothing Arts,

Remits th'Intemp'rance of transported Hearts,

Chose rather to prevent, than to repell.

Down to the noise-distracted Streets he ran,

Where, by the gen'rous Love of Peace, inspir'd,

Feebly, with faint Advance, the Good old Man,

Whelm'd in the Torrent of the Press, began

To cool those Passions, which the Priest had fir'd.

Oft, in vain, he strove to speak:

Th'unlist'ning Rabble drown'd his Voice, in Roar:

Tott'ring and push'd, by Age, and Anguish, weak,

With stagg'ring Steps, and Arms uprais'd, he labour'd to implore.

Sometimes, the dumbly sullen Multitude,

Aw'd by his Presence, their wild Shouts forbore:

Then, suddenly again, grew loud, and rude;

And swell'd to stormier Madness, than before.

So, on the angry ORIENT's rais'd Degrees,

Some Bark, untimely, trusts repugnant Seas:

To the black Whirlwind, shifts her heedful Helm,

Careful to rise with ev'ry climbing Sweep,

Which, met transversely, would her Side o'erwhelm;

And plunge her found'ring, in the foamy Deep.

Now shocks her surge-struck Stern: now shakes, her Head:

There while she stays, check'd, motionless, and dead,

Loud o'er her Quarter, roars, with deaf'ning Sound,

Some sidelong Blast; that whirls her, dreadful, round.

Now, for awhile, the slack'ning Wind gives way:

And murm'ring Seas her answer'd Helm obey.

Then, all at once new-wak'd again, the mad'ning Tempests roar:

Deluge aloft her cover'd Decks; and wash her Topmasts o'er.

So far'd Eliakim; on ev'ry Side

Oppress'd, and floated with the should'ring Tide.

Now, short-liv'd Silence listen'd to his Prayer:

Now, thick'ning Clamour storm'd his Ear; and stunn'd him to Despair.

X.

Joash, who weigh'd his Int'rest in th'Event,

Marks, and adopts, Eliakim's Distress.

Following, he seconds the good Seer's Intent:

Fast after Him, the rev'rend Elders press;

And the twelve Levites, All, descend, to try their joint Address.

Aw'd, by such strong-combin'd Authority,

The Croud, whom one Man's Influence fail'd to sway,

Give back, when they th'united Congress see;

And, falling off, by slow Degrees, melt, murmuring, away.

But, restless, in his Idol's Cause, to fail,

All Day, from House to House, the Priest of Baal,

With lab'ring Malice, urg'd the menac'd Fate,

That lour'd incumbent, o'er the guilty State.

Paintive, he shap'd a thousand fansy'd Woes,

Woes, by their angry Deity resolv'd,

Should they, relax'd, His known Command, oppose;

And, in th'Offence unpunish'd, fall involv'd.

XI.

Night came: and, with a strong and sudden Blaze,

The smother'd Embers, into Contact fann'd,

Furious broke out, and shot rekindling Rays,

That flash'd Destruction round, on ev'ry Hand.

Gath'ring, with Swords, and Clubs, and Spears, and Staves,

Hoarse as a Sea, the rising Rabble meets:

With all its Tongues at once, the Monster raves;

And, with the Roar of Rapine, shakes the Streets.

Like some new Breach, too slightly stopt in Haste,

And pil'd and turf'd, to bar the watry Waste:

At first, effective, the short Hope is try'd:

The Bank, triumphant, checks th'assaulting Tide.

But, while, with dimply Smile, the Current glides,

And, edging on, with treach'rous Smoothness slides;

The sapping Moisture mines the Work, below,

And, trickling gradual, eats, and pierces, slow:

Then, gath'ring Strength, It flotes the soaky Mound;

Loosens the Piles, and heaves 'em from the Ground:

And All the Bank gives Way at once—and all the Fields are drown'd.

XII.

Eliakim, who judg'd, the People's Rage

Would, to the House of Joash, drive their Aim,

Found his precautious Hint no vain Presage:

Thither, Baal's Priest directs the kindled Flame.

But near each Portal, and the Hall of State,

A faithful Guard, in martial Order plac'd,

Oft as the Rabble press'd, withstood their Weight:

Broke and repuls'd 'em; and, vindictive, chas'd.

Oft thus dispers'd, oft making Head again,

In Ebbs and Flows of Noise the Night was spent.

Varying from Hopes to Fears, with pensive Pain,

The Senate, list'ning, watch'd th' unsure Event.

As Men well-hous'd, in wintry Storms of Rain,

Hear, from without, the show'ry Tempest rise:

Now, in calm Interval, the Wind blows low,

And soft and short Suspensions hush the Skies.

Then, the big Blasts, and sluicy Drifts, hoarse and impetuous, grow:

And the strain'd Beams, in swelling Gales, groan conscious, from below.

The Morning came; and cross'd the Senate's Hope;

Which promis'd Peace, with the returning Light.

But Day, restor'd, restor'd the rebel Scope,

Of headstrong Range, that had been curb'd by Night.

For, now, grown bolder, by their Number seen,

Fierce on the guarded Hall, th'Assaulters press:

The deep-rang'd Soldiers, firmly stretch'd between,

In warlike Posture, each try'd Pass, possess.

Here had Contention drawn a crimson Flood;

And civil Fury stain'd her Face with Blood:

But mild Eliakim, who, coolly, dar'd;

Whose Heart, at once, was cautious, and prepar'd,

From a high Gall'ry, fac'd the raging Croud;

Taught 'em, by speechless Signs, how Madness err'd:

Then, gath'ring, distant, round, they grew less loud,

While the lov'd Sage thus charm'd the gaping Herd.

XIII.

Alas!—What Frenzy, my misguided Sons!

Transports your honest, but impatient, Minds?

Mistaking Zeal, when It thus blindly runs,

Never the Path, to Reason, finds.

Furious Revenge toils hard, for fruitless Ends:

He must not, cannot, fall, whom GOD defends.

Oh! be advis'd: fear Heav'n; not Baal; my Friends!

Curs'd as we are, but, for this Idol Baal,

Let not the Idol's Priest prevail.

Now, ere Redemption's op'ning Path is trod,

'Twere an ill Time, t'offend a pard'ning GOD.

Gideon— if Him, These rash Resolves pursue,

Not uncommission'd, Sin's black Grove, destroy'd:

Great are the Wonders, He was born to do!

Your Faith's Redeemer, and your Freedom's, too.

Blast not the promis'd Blessing, un-enjoy'd:

Nor doubt his Triumph, since by Heav'n employ'd.

Pensive, of late, beneath his Father's Oak,

A shining ANGEL, from the op'ning Sky,

Descending near him, God's Great Purpose, spoke.

GOD SPOKE:—Hear Heav'n's Decree, proclaim'd from High.

Israel REQUIRES him: and He shall not die.

XIV.

He ceas'd to speak: and the awe-silenc'd Throng

Gaze on Each other, with repentant Air:

Some bow their Heads, in conscious Shame: Some gape, with stupid Stare:

Some weep, some pray; but All for Peace declare.

Baal's Priest observ'd it; disconcerted, long:

At last, determin'd, Craft's whole Force, to try,

Loud, he broke out; with a reproachful Eye.

—Is Baal grown pow'rless, since his Grove was fell'd?

Or, by their formless, fansy'd, GOD, expell'd?

That ye, thus lightly, lose your gen'rous Aim,

And start, and tremble, at an empty Name!

Were only Israel's Natives bless'd with Eyes?

Are All the mightier Nations, round us, blind?

Where dwells this sad, sole, Sov'reign, of the Skies,

Whose House, no People, but the Hebrews, find?

Greater, than Baal, since he pretends to be,

Why fled we, from their Arms, who worship Baal?

Sure! Such a proud, unpartner'd Pow'r, as He,

Might lend his Vot'ries, Victory!

If to inferior Gods, you must not bow,

Let this Supreme one save you, now.

If boastful Gideon has an Angel seen,

Ne'er let His Party Baal's Resentment, fear.

Since GOD's Arm stays him, Who can step between?

Why flies he Tumults, if his Call was clear?

Follow me bravely. We'll the Truth explore.

If by our Hands he falls, we cut short Sin,

And Baal shall frown no more.

But, if His God's Protection walls him in,

And from doom'd Vengeance his curs'd Head secures,

Perish, even Baal! and Gideon's GOD, be yours!

XV.

He paus'd: and the will-wav'ring Multitude,

Aw'd and hush'd but just before,

Found their first Purpose suddenly renew'd:

And burst, assentive, into savage Roar.

Thus, o'er the blasted Heath, where Storms have blown,

The light, thin, thistly, breath-obeying Down

Hangs on the Air, a Plaything for the Wind:

Moves, to each Breeze, and can no Balance find.

Now, soft-sustain'd, sinks, indolently slow:

Now, rises rapid on the Gale: and leaves the Birds, below.

Aptly, the Priest, in Choice of Season, learn'd,

The smiling Moment's op'ning Dawn discern'd.

From the next Hand, he snatch'd a glitt'ring Spear:

Haste to the Contest Each brave Soul, said he.

Gideon and Baal dispute, for Israel's Fear.

Whose Pow'r is greatest, come resolv'd to see:

Let his God fight for Him: and mine for me.

XVI.

So threat'ning, to a Postern-Gate, with Speed

He led the Way: and, after, rush'd the Throng.

That Gate, he knew, was watch'd with slacken'd Heed:

For, when, of late, the Croud swept, thence, along,

With vow'd Resolve the Senate's Wall to force;

Its Guard, off-call'd, to stem Distraction's Course,

Swift-quitting That Out-post, had march'd away:

Prompt for Defence, where likeliest Danger lay.

By this new Chance surpris'd, the Gate gave way:

Through the wide Arch, with throng'd and boist'rous Sway,

Pours the mad Multitude, in shouting Swarms:

With horrid Faces, wildly mix'd; and rage-collected Arms.

Fierce, o'er the Mountain, raves th'impatient Throng:

And, with the Rush of Ruin, roars along.

Sicilian Aetna, thus, Eruption makes,

When melted Sulphur swells her smoaky Lakes.

Through the broad Mouth, out burst the flaming Tides:

And roll their blazy Torrents down her Sides.

Rampant the fiery Streams, un-chanel'd, flow:

And, scorching dreadful, burn up Woods; and ride the Plains below.

XVII.

Joash, who heard, his House design'd for Prey,

Thither, protective, wing'd his timely Way.

There while with Vows and Pray'rs, bestow'd in vain,

He urg'd his Friends th Approaches to maintain,

Gideon appear'd: returning from the Plain.

To meet him, trembling at his Sight, the tender Father flies:

Tells the near Danger—and with watry Eyes

Thus, the safe Counsel of his Love applies.

Go, fated Youth! return: Thy Ruin shun.

Never, till now, did I thy Presence hate.

Pity thy Father's Fears, too daring Son!

Nor to his Load of Woes add Thou the Weight,

To make him Witness of Thy dreadful Fate.

While he yet spoke, the Noise grew near and loud:

And rising Dust proclaim'd th'arriving Croud.

Gideon observ'd it: and, with pious Care,

Thus, gen'rous, interrupts his Father's Pray'r.

Rev'rend and wise! whose Wishes give me Laws;

Fear were dishonest, in a Freeman's Cause.

GOD, tho' a weak and worthless Hand he chose,

Forbids his Soldier to avoid his Foes.

Let 'em come on: They who in Numbers trust

Raise tow'ry Models—but they build with Dust.

He ceas'd.—but Joash, hopeless of Relief,

Hung on his Neck, with speechless Tears: and look'd persuasive Grief.

XVIII.

Gideon, who held the Multitude in View,

Clos'd his sad Father's pale and trembling Hand;

In his brave Brother's: who, so charg'd, withdrew,

Hous'd in safe Post, to make defensive Stand.

Then, fac'd the Croud: chose a conspicuous Place:

And stood, the great Protector, of his Race.

As, when Arabian Hunters, in full Cry,

Run down the tim'rous Stag, with preyful Eye,

If, turning short, amid some winding Way,

They start a Lion, grimly couch'd, for Prey,

Sudden, the Dogs shoot wide: and, cow'ring low,

Creep trembling backward; and their Chace forego:

So, the transported and tumultuous Throng,

Hot in their Rage, and rushing wild along,

When, unexpectedly, they Gideon saw,

Fell off, confounded; and oppress'd with Awe.

GOD had impress'd him, with a Stamp divine;

And o'er his Features beam'd an aweful Shine.

Back'ning, they gaz'd, at Distance, on his Face:

Admir'd his Posture; and confess'd his Grace.

His Right Hand grasp'd his planted Spear, with nerv'd and manly Pride:

His Left, bent careless, rested on his Side:

Half-frown'd his Brow, resentive Wrath to feign;

But his keen Eye smil'd cold, with sharp Disdain.

Sudden, the Priest of Baal, who stood most near,

Felt his Joints loosen with resistless Fear:

And dropt, insensibly, his useless Spear.

The pitying Hero mark'd the Croud's Surprize;

And slow disarm'd the Rigour of his Eyes:

Yet, with reproachful Air, the Silence broke—

And, with high Voice, and aweful Mien, to the mix'd People spoke.

XIX.

Blood-thirsty Wasters of your Father's Fame!

Haughty 'midst Woes! and wanton, ev'n in Shame!

Why stop you short? Why cools your threat'ning Flame?

Your Souls are worthy of your Aim.

Baseness, by Nature, must all Danger, hate:

Well add you therefore your whole coward Weight;

To crush a Worth, you dare not imitate.

Yet, whence could all this Waste of Anger flow?

Did it, to Baal profan'd, such Transport owe?

Weak is his Godhead, if sustain'd by You!

Why does not Baal the Foes of Baal subdue?

Omniscience, sure! like His, th'Offender, knew:

Why did He not prevent him, too?

Rash Fools!—by blind and feeble Zeal betray'd!

Are Men their God's Protectors, made?

Shall Baal who could not save Himself, find Pow'r to give you Aid?

Oh! what a DIFF'RENT GOD, your Fathers knew!

No Help, from Earth, our Great JEHOVAH drew.

From His own Hand, His blastful Lightnings flew.

The dreadful Truth, when impiously deny'd,

Proud Corah, Dathan, and Abiram, try'd:

Leagu'd, against MOSES—and misled, like you!

While they, in Him, his GOD, and Theirs, defy'd;

Deep, in the swallowing Earth's wide Yawn, o'erwhelm'd with Fire, they dy'd.

No passive Baal, unprompt in his own Cause,

Stood the dread Founder of your Laws;

When, warranting Success, to Joshua's Arms,

Ev'n at the Horn's unfear'd Alarms,

Strong Jericho, in trembling Horror, falls:

And Israel enter'd her, at Ease, led o'er her prostrate Walls.

Was it Baal's Hand, that, baneful to your Foes,

To time-stretch'd Slaughter, doom'd collected Force?

Held back, twelve Hours, th'impatient Steeds of Night:

And, on the Sun's declining Track, pour'd Floods of length'ning Light?

Ungrateful! stubborn! ill-discerning Men!

Why are you, now, less blest, than were your Fathers, then?

Reigns Amalek, more pow'rful, in your Land,

Than when you chas'd him, o'er his native Sand?

But four, of Midian's Kings, remain our Foes:

Five, against meek and age-worn Moses, rose.

Twelve thousand Hebrews Those five Kings, o'erthrew:

These four, (base Diff'rence!) twelve whole Tribes, pursue!

Dream you, that Moab's present Chiefs excell

That Eglon, who, by Ehud's Poniard, fell?

Or, will your unman'd Race, in Bondage wait,

Till some brave WOMAN rise, to save the State?

Some second Deb'rah! skilful to inspire:

And warm our heartless Sex, with female Fire?

Go—since you burn with such resistless Rage,

Go, in this Brav'ry, and your Foes, engage.

Late, when at hand their shadowy Legions lay,

When, on yon Plain, with your best Plunder, gay,

Full in your Sight they shar'd your Flocks, in Prey;

And led your Wives, and Infants, Slaves, away:

Then was a Time, this Fury to display.

But you, for warier Charge, reserv'd your Fire!

To no such dang'rous Vict'ries, you aspire!

Basely secure! from the proud Foe, you fly:

And Those, who would efface your Shame, ingloriously defy!

XX.

He paus'd.—For, conscious Guilt, with Terror mix'd,

Oppress'd the aw'd and speechless Multitude:

In murm'ring Wonder, they had, first, been fix'd;

But silent Expectation, now, ensu'd.

When, panting breathless, 'twixt their Haste and Fear,

The rev'rend Elders, who pursu'd the Croud,

Brought up the sacred Twelve.—These, now drawn near,

Th'impressive Voice of Gideon, sweetly loud,

Wafted his charmful Music to their Ear.

Then, with impatient Rapture fir'd, through the mov'd Throng they press'd,

On the young Hero, laid their Hands: and his Great Purpose bless'd:

Loud Pray'rs and Praise, to fav'ring Heav'n, address'd—

To Heav'n, that re-assum'd lost Israel's Care;

And shot bright Prospect, through her dark Despair.

XXI.

Baal's Priest, by slow Degrees, with straining Eyes,

Wak'd into Reason; and repell'd Surprize:

Much, his recov'ring Thought revolv'd the Fright,

That, o'er his Soul, rose cold, at Gideon's Sight!

Fain would he, still, conclude his Vision true:

Yet, wonder'd, then, whence his Confusion grew!

And why, if Baal inspir'd his Breast, he had not arm'd it, too!

Dim, burnt His Zeal, while check'd by conscious Awe,

The rev'rend Levite's purer Flame, he saw.

His Taper, form'd for gross and gloomy Night,

Absorb'd, in Day's more pow'rful Shine, lost half its trembling Light.

At length, exerting Force to speak his Doubt,

Thus, his faint Diffidence was murmur'd out.

Much I applaud, brave Youth! your gen'rous Aim!

Yet, ah! beware, lest ardent Thirst of Fame

Disguise Ambition, with Religion's Name.

Great was This GOD, if what we hear, from you,

And what was heard by our dead Fathers too,

Be not far more traditional, than true.

These Wonders, Ages past pretend so known,

Why are they not to us, poor Suff'rers, shown?

Ask Baal's Believers, They, of Baal, unfold

Potent past Trophies, pompously enroll'd:

But one new Proof would more convince, than All th'uncertain old.

He said: and pleas'd Concurrence catch'd his Voice.

The Croud, th'Impression of his Doubt, receive:

Let Gideon's GOD, they cry'd, now, own his Choice.

Give us one Miracle: and we believe.

XXII.

Th'indignant Hero mark'd th'unfaithful Cry:

But, all unable to comply,

Pausingly thoughtful, roll'd his angry Eye.

Strait—from a bushy Covert, near behind,

Rush'd a grim Lion, furious after Prey:

To rend some Sheep, the hungry Beast design'd,

From a fair Flock, which, there, at Pasture lay.

High, o'er his Back, his Tail, turn'd upward, wav'd;

Rough and thorn-tangled hung his shaggy Main:

His lank Sides, pining, miss'd the Food he crav'd.

Red were his Eyes; and sparkled on the Plain.

He saw the Press: and, with discov'ring Stare,

Stood fix'd, awhile, in savage Glare:

Then, with a Roar, that shook the Mountain round,

Sprung on: and, like a Tempest, swept the Ground.

This was a Lion, that, for many a Year,

Had in the craggy Hill's dark Borders lain:

And filling All the neighb'ring Towns with Fear,

Was hunted, oft, in vain;

By the swift Horsemen, late encamp'd, on Jezreel's grassy Plain.

By frequent Danger, taught to shun the Vale,

Where, in Times past, his Hunger had been fed,

Hard-pinching heav'n-sent Want did now prevail:

And led him searchful, to the Mountain's Head.

XXIII.

The frighted Flock, alarm'd, together rise:

And bleating helpless skip, in Crouds, away.

Fierce in Pursuit the greedy Savage flies:

And while, amid the Multitude, they for Protection stray,

The Croud, as much alarm'd as They!

Roll o'er each other, a promiscuous Prey.

Close before Gideon's Feet, with joyful Roar,

The leaping Lion stretch'd his Paws, and one poor Bleater, tore.

Back stept the Hero; and grasp'd hard his Lance:

And watch'd, with lifted Arm, his next Advance.

Thou shalt not safe return, said he, that dar'st presume, thus near,

In Spoil of Innocence, to shake off Fear.

Sudden, he saw the Beast in Act to rise:

And, swift as Thunder, downward aim'd a Wound.

Deep, through the Monster's gaping Throat, the bury'd Weapon flies;

Vindictive Fires flash'd Lightning from his Eyes:

Half an imperfect Roar its Passage found;

And the nail'd Monster, quiv'ring, beat the Ground.

XXIV.

The ravish'd People their Applauses shout;

And Every busy Tongue its Wonder told:

To the dead Lion gath'ring wide about,

Th'extended Monster they with Joy behold:

Astonish'd at an Act so timely bold!

Gideon, just then, with glowing Foresight fir'd,

Stoop'd, by directive Heav'n inspir'd;

And, round him, from the death-disorder'd Ground,

Gather'd a snow-white woolly FLEECE, the Lion's Paws had spread:

Then freed his Spear from the retentive Wound,

And, wiping off th'ensanguin'd Red,

Wreath'd in a soft and milky Roll, the Lance's shining Head.

Approach, ye stubborn Infidels! said he,

Ye, who are Lions, where but Sheep, you see!

And tim'rous Sheep, where ye should Lions, be!

Once more That GOD, who set your Fathers free,

Unworthy as you are! will let yoa know,

That Israel, penitent, may prosp'rous grow.

XXV.

This said, in his Left Hand he took the Lance,

And held it, with its woolly Crown, erect:

Then, rais'd his aweful Right, with slow Advance;

And bow'd his Rnee to Heav'n, with deep Respect.

Dumb, the still Multitude attentive gaz'd:

Hush'd! expectant! and amaz'd!

While Gideon thus invok'd That GOD, who his new Hope had rais'd.

Thou! sacred, high, un-utterable, Name!

To whom lost Israel ow'd her antient Fame,

From whose just Anger flows her present Shame;

Pity thy devious People's harden'd Hearts;

Grosly deceiv'd, by Hell's too busy Arts.

Let some strong Influence force 'em to believe:

What their Soul sees not, let their Sense conceive.

If, by thy Servant's weak and worthless Hand,

Thou wilt save Israel, and her Pow'r increase;

Let show'ry Rains descend, at Thy Command,

And nothing DRY remain, but this soft FLEECE.

XXVI.

Scarce the pow'rful Pray'r was spoke,

When, from the West, a startling Thunder broke;

Continuous, and advancing still more strong,

Gradual it roll'd its length'ning Burst, along.

Fast after it, black gath'ring Clouds arise:

And, circling dusky, sadden all the Skies.

First, a weak Wind, with hollow Faintness, sings;

And shakes soft Moisture from its sleepy Wings.

Now, the wet Breeze, with more collected Force,

Thickens its Breath; and blows direct, and hoarse.

Then, the big Drops, in drowning Fierceness, fall:

And rushing Rains come driving, over All.

Rebounding Torrents the hard Surface dash:

And smoaking Floods the darken'd Mountain wash.

The People turn their Faces from the Show'r:

And, on their Backs, feel the broad Cat'ract pour.

Gideon, mean while, upon the rising Ground,

In a bright Ring, the heav'n-taught Floods surround.

On Him no straggling Drop presumes to fall:

For, o'er his Fleece, a sun-resembling Ball

Rolls guardful round, to slope the Show'r away:

And shows him, glitt'ring, in abstracted Day!

Behold! ye unbelieving Souls! he cry'd:

See! what a GOD you have defy'd;

And learn, from This, Who fights henceforth, on happy Israel's Side.

The People shout to Heav'n their raging Joys:

And Baal's Priest, trembling, sickens, at the Noise.

XXVII.

Once more, my GOD! cry'd Gideon, yet, once more,

Indulge the vary'd Sign their Doubts implore.

Call off these Rains: unflote the delug'd Ground—

And, when All else is round me dry, wet let the Fleece be found.

Th'Almighty heard: and, swift as rapid Thought,

Reverted Show'rs to Heav'n are caught.

The beamy Sun, again, shoots down his Rays:

And, burns restor'd, with a triumphant Blaze.

The flaming Air ejects irradiate Heat:

And cross-flash'd Lightnings, in descending, meet.

As when some sudden Whirlwind's circly Sweep

Drives the light Straws, and lifts each scatt'ring Heap,

Smoothing the Surface in its winding Way:

So, the keen Radiance, curv'd and quiv'ring round,

Mazy and wanton in its vary'd Play,

Curls its flash'd Progress o'er the hissing Ground:

And close-adhering to the steamy Soil,

With its blue Tongues, licks up the Flood; and works, with fiery Toil.

The Fleece, mean while, which swelling Moisture fills,

The raptur'd Croud behold with glowing Souls:

From its soft Sides, a trickling Stream distils;

And down the Hill, in a thin Current, rolls.

This when they saw, they on their Faces fell;

Struck with an Awe, which Hope could scarce repell:

They felt a pain-mix'd Joy, they could not tell.

But, in joint Voice, with gen'ral Ardor fir'd,

Lead us, they cry'd, Thou Chief, by Heav'n inspir'd!

Govern our State: for, under Thy Command,

Ophra, first blest, shall bless th'awak'ning Land.

Thus, was the People's Voice the Voice of GOD.

Gideon smil'd graceful, with assentive Nod.

On, to the Town, said he: Assembled, there,

These rev'rend Sages shall my Purpose share;

Aid my Endeavours; and divide my Care.

XXVIII.

Op'ning, they move, mid Triumph's wildest Noise,

Ungovernably wanton, in their Joys:

Baal's Priest, still, foremost, leads the shouting Throng;

Converted, to the other, best, Extreme!

Leaping, and turning, as he pass'd along,

The Praise of Israel's GOD, was, now, his Theme.

Next, came the mix'd and swarming Multitude;

With All their Tongues, and All their Hands, employ'd:

Long Trains of Dust their peopled Path pursu'd.

Then, was a short, respectful, Space, left void,

For the charm'd Elders, two preceding two.

'Mong'st These, the good Eliakim, o'erjoy'd,

Oft, turn'd, the following Hero's Face, with new Delight to view:

Arm'd with his fleecy Spear, distinguish'd far,

Gideon adorn'd his happy Father's Side;

Now, burst, o'erjoy'd, from his domestic Bar,

And fill'd with All a Parent's virtuous Pride!

Near, after Gideon, the Twelve Levites came;

Their Eyes on Heav'n, in rev'rend Wonder, bent:

Their Souls contemplatively fir'd, with GOD's decreed Intent!

Last, march'd the Soldiers, rang'd in length'ning Band;

These, from the City, had pursu'd the Throng;

Hast'ning, their menac'd Fury to withstand.

But, charm'd, now hail th'Event, of purpos'd Wrong:

Guard back their loud-acknowleg'd Lord: and, martial, mov'd along.

XXIX.

Ophra regain'd, to Council they ascend:

Senate and Legates share divided Place.

Moony, they, round their great Deliv'rer, bend:

Who fills the Centre, with majestic Grace.

Mild, from his Eyes, the radiant Fire to chase,

A Smile, of soft Humanity, unbends his placid Face.

As when, by Night, through some still Forest's Walks,

A Swain, from whom his fav'rite Child has stray'd,

'Twixt the dark Shrubs, in list'ning Silence, stalks;

And, joyful, starts, at ev'ry rustling Shade:

Breathless, turns short, attentive, to the Wind;

And hopes, in ev'ry whistling Breeze, an Infant's Cry, to find.

So tender, and so still, when Gideon spoke,

Th'expecting Audience swallow'd Ev'ry Word:

No breathing Sigh the solemn Silence broke;

And scarce an air-suspended Atom stirr'd.

XXX.

Fathers of Israel! we have seen, this Day,

That, if we will be bless'd, we may.

GOD, ever gracious, has new Proof display'd,

That Faith's Endeavour cannot want his Aid.

Yet must not therefore Human Care be less:

'Tis Ours to labour; as 'tis His to bless.

Heav'n but inspires us with a Will to chuse;

Reason weighs Means; and Virtue bids us use.

Hail, venerable Twelve! ye Souls of Prayer!

Rev'rend and holy, as you are,

Be it your Province, born to claim That Care,

To clear Religion's Stream, from idol Mud;

And strike lost Brightness, through her troubled Flood.

My humbler Duty but prepares the Way:

And bows th'awak'ning People, to your Sway.

Already, to my Care, They owe,

That absent Midian seeks a distant Foe.

Should Tyre be Hers, 'tis, for our Safety, won:

The Rich retains 'em: and the Poor, they shun.

Should they miscarry, they new Pow'rs provoke:

And Strength divided, by less Strength is broke.

Zalmunna, Sov'reign of their haughty Host,

Demands, from Ev'ry Tribe, one Chief, dispatch'd

Envoys, for Israel's Peace, to Sidon's Coast:

Now, be this fair Occasion aptly snatch'd!

Lend, holy Twelve! lend, All your rev'rend Weight:

From your respective Chiefs, commission'd, fly;

Th'united Representers of our State:

And shine and prosper, in th'Insulter's Eye.

Alliance granted, we are free:—deny'd,

Be it my Task, in Arms, to check their Pride.

But, to wish'd Peace while All our Hopes are led,

Wisely fore-arm'd, your martial Influence, try:

And draw th'array'd Allotments to a Head.

Known, tho' neglectful, These can promptly move:

And our old Force of warlike Order prove.

Nam'd, and enroll'd, Each comes, when Summons goes:—

Rous'd, by the fav'ring Absence of the Foes,

These, to Conjunction, urge, on Ophra's Hill.

Send 'em, unexercis'd: the active Will

Soon disciplines Obedience, into Skill.

Some Tribes, remote, too slowly, may appear:

Nor, timely, join our hast'ning Standard, here.

But Zebulon, and Asher, bord'ring, lie:

Napthalia's Tract not far remov'd: the Manasaean, nigh.

You, sacred Seers, from Those four Districts sent!

Remind your Princes, that our first Alarms,

Should they, from Tyre, call back the Midian Arms,

Bring through their Bosom, the revengeful Foe:

Thence, must Their Safety, from their Courage, flow.

That weigh'd Reflection wings their needful Speed:

And, since To-morrow's Dawn may greet you, there,

And heav'n-commission'd Wishes soon succeed,

These, who shall find War's Every Nerve supply'd,

From Stores, my previous Care shall, here, provide,

Might with so swift Advance, for March prepare,

That, on the fifth revolving Day,

They may their Ensigns, on these Hills, display.

Press their Departure, whose first Aid we need:

For, soon as Midian learns that Israel arms,

She may, perhaps, from Tyre's touch'd Wall, recede:

To blast our Purpose, with returning Swarms.

Now, rip'ning Harvest smiles on ev'ry Plain;

To heap our Magazines, with needful Grain.

Foes have, 'tis true, our ablest Horse destroy'd:

But War's chief Strength is Foot, not ill employ'd.

Next,—would my Father's Will indulge my Pray'r,

He, to this Hope, would lend his missive Care:

He, first, to OREB, Midian's noblest King,

Should bear, precautious, this credential Ring.

Say, when His hospitable Eye, your welcome Presence meets,

Gideon, oblig'd, the Royal Giver, greets:

Greets him, with Claim of promis'd Friendship due,

Say, Ophra's Gen'ral—and add, Israel's, too:

Does, with new Levies, HIS known Wish pursue.

Tell him, to war on Tyre, as Midian's Friend,

We, for joint Use, fraternal Strength, extend.

Add, that Twelve Legates, hence, commission'd, go:

To sign form'd Contract, 'gainst our Common Foe.

XXXI.

He ceas'd: and joyful Wonder, and Applause,

Concurr'd, in Rapture of avow'd Consent:

Faith, from His Measures, bright'ning Prospect, draws;

And, to pale Doubt, enliv'ning Comfort, lent.

The Senate rose; on sep'rate Charges, bent:

The People, as they pass, transported shout.

And Ophra's echoing Domes resound: and Triumph reigns, throughout.

Information about this book

Title statement

Gideon; or, the patriot. An epic poem: in twelve books. Upon a Hebrew plan. In honour of the two chief virtues of a people; intrepidity in foreign war: and spirit of domestic liberty. With miscellaneous notes, and large reflections,

Hill, Aaron, 1685-1750.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4280

ID [isbn10]

1106012798

ID [isbn13]

9781106012791

ID [TCP]

K048730.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313803406

ID [ECLL]

0670901400

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Source

— Gideon; or, the patriot. An epic poem: in twelve books. Upon a Hebrew plan. In honour of the two chief virtues of a people; intrepidity in foreign war: and spirit of domestic liberty. With miscellaneous notes, and large reflections,, Hill, Aaron, 1685-1750.. 8,147,[1]p. ; 4⁰. London :: printed for A. Millar,. 1749.. [Anonymous. By Aaron Hill.] [Books 1-3 only, with catchword "Gideon;" at the end of Book 3 (p.147). The remaining books were apparently not published.] [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [Foxon, H219] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT54314.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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