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.
T HE 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.
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;
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.