THOUGHTS in PRISON.
WEEK THE FOURTH.
Dread'st thou an earthly bar? Thou, who so oft
In contemplation serious hast employ'd
Thy dearest meditations on a Bar
Tremendously decisive! who so oft
That Bar's important terrors hast display'd
To crowds attentive; with the solemn theme
Rapt into thought profound?--And beats thy heart
With throbs tumultuous;--fail thy trembling knees,
Now that in Judgment thou must stand before
Weak mortals, like thyself! and soon, like thee,
Shivering with guilt and apprehensions dire,
To answer in dread Judgment 'fore their God?
What gives that Judgment terror? Guilt, pale Guilt;
Conscience accusing stern; the fiery Law,
The terrible hand-writing on the wall!
But vanish these,--that mighty Day's-Man found,
Who, smiling on Confession's genuine tear,
The meek repentant aspect, and the hand
With ready, perfect retribution fraught,
Urges complete his ransom, and sets free
Th' immortal prisoner.--But, ah me! on earth
Such golden mercy reigns not: here is found
No potent Day's-Man; here no ransom full,
No clement Mediator. Here stern Law,
With visage all-unbending, eyes alone
The rigorous Act. Confession here is Guilt,
And Restitution perfect, perfect loss!
Ah me the while, here men the Judges are;
And there, th' Omnificent, Mercy's source and stream!
Triumphant consolation! Firm in Faith,
And justify'd by Him whose precious blood
For Man flow'd liberal, the Soul, secure
Of future acceptation at that Bar
Of trial most momentous, soars above
The World's severest trials, 
and can view
Serene the horrors of an earthly Bar,
Tho' far than death more horrid. Yes, kind Death,
How preferable far thy sight to me!
Oh that, without this tedious, dread detail
Of awful circumstance,--this long, sad pomp
Of ministering wretchedness, thy friendly shaft
Had instant reach'd, and pierc'd my tortur'd Heart:
How had I blest the stroke, and been at peace!
But, thro' a dreary avenue of woe,
A lengthen'd vault of black distress and shame,
With mournful melancholy sable hung,
Must I be led, 
--or ere I can receive
Thine icy comforts to my chill'd Life's Blood!
Welcome, thrice welcome were they! But the call
Of Heaven's dread Arbiter we wait: His Will
Is rectitude consummate. 'Tis the Will
Parental of high Wisdom and pure Love!
Then to that Will submissive bend, my Soul:
And, while meek Resignation to the Rod
Corrective of his Justice and his Love
Obedient bows,--Oh for impartial search!
Oh for a Trial strict, to trace the Cause,
The fatal Cause, whence sprung the ill deplor'd!
And why--sad spectacle of Woe--we stand
Thus, Sin and Sorrow-sunk, at this Dread Bar!
Return, blest Hours! ye peaceful Days, return!
When thro' each office of celestial Love
Ennobling Piety my glad Feet led
Continual, and my Head each Night to rest
Lull'd on the downy pillow of Content!
Dear were thy shades, O Ham! and dear the Hours
In manly musing 'midst' thy Forests pass'd,
And antique Woods of sober Solitude,
Oh Epping! witness to my lonely walks
By Heaven-directed Contemplation led!
Ye Days of Duty, tranquil Nights, return!
How ill exchang'd for those, which busier scenes
To the World's Follies dedicate, engross'd,
In specious trifling; all important deem'd,
While gilt, O Chesterfield! with seeming gold
Of prime refinement, thro' thy fostering smile,
And patronage auspicious!
Sought by Thee,
And singled out, unpatroniz'd, unknown;
By Thee, whose taste consummate was applause,
Whose approbation merit; forth I came,
And with me to the task, delighted, brought
The upright purpose, the intention firm
To fill the charge, to justify the choice,
Perchance too flattering to my Heart; a Heart
Frank, inexpert, unhackney'd in the World,
And yet estrang'd to guile! But ye, more skill'd
In that World's artful style, Judges severe;
Say, in the zenith of bright Stanhope's Sun
(Though set that Sun, alas! in misty clouds);
Say 'midst his lustre, whom would not that choice
Have flatter'd?--And still more, when urg'd, approv'd,
And bless'd by Thee, St. David's! Honour'd Friend;
Alike in Wisdom's and in Learning's School
Advanc'd and sage!---Short pause, my Muse, and sad
Allow, while leaning on Affection's arm
Deep-sighing Gratitude, with Tears of Truth,
Bedews the Urn, the happy Urn, where rest
Mingled thy Ashes, oh my Friend! and Her's
Whose Life bound up with thine in amity
Indissolubly firm, felt thy last pang
Disrupting as her own; gently sigh'd forth
The precious Boon: while sprung her faithful Soul,
Indignant without Thee to rest below,
On Wings of Love, to meet Thee in the Skies!
Blest pair! and envied! Envied and embalm'd
In our recording memory, my Wife,
My Friend, my lov'd Maria! Be our lot
Like theirs!--But soft,--ah my foreboding thoughts!
Repress the gushing Tear;--return, my Song.
Plac'd thus, and shelter'd underneath a Tree,
Which seem'd like that in Visions of the Night
To Babylonia's haughty Prince pourtray'd,
Whose height reach'd Heaven, and whose verdant boughs
Extended wide their succour and their shade;
How did I trust, too confident! How dream
That Fortune's smiles were mine! and how deceiv'd,
By gradual declension yield my trust,
My humble happy trust on Thee, my God!
How ill exchang'd for confidence in Man,
In Chesterfields, in Princes!--Wider scenes,
Alps still on Alps were open'd to my view;
And, as the circle in the Flood enlarg'd,
Enlarg'd expences call. Fed to the full
With Flattery's light food, 
and the puff'd wind
Of promises delusive----"Onward still!
"Press onward!" cried the World's alluring voice;
"The time of retribution is at hand:
"See the ripe Vintage waits thee!" Fool, and blind,
Still credulous I heard, and still pursued
The airy meteor glittering, thro' the mire,
Thro' brake and bog, till more and more ingulph'd
In the deceitful quag, floundering I lay.
Nor heard was then the World's alluring voice,
Or promises delusive: Then not seen
The Tree umbrageous, with its ample shade:
For me, alas, that Tree had shade no more!
But, struggling in the gulph, my languid Eye
Saw only round the barren rushy Moor,
The flat, wide, dreary Desert:--Till a Hope,
Dress'd by the Tempter in an Angel's form,
Presenting its fair hand,--imagin'd fair,
Though foul as murkiest Hell,--to drag me forth,
Down to the centre plung'd me, dark and dire
Of howling Ruin;--bottomless Abyss
Of desolating Shame, and nameless Woe!
But, witness Heaven and Earth, 'midst this brief stage,
This blasting period of my chequer'd Life,
Tho' by the World's gay vanities allur'd,
I danc'd, too oft, alas! with the wild rout
Of thoughtless Fellow-Mortals, to the sound
Of Folly's tinkling Bells; tho' oft, too oft,
Those pastimes shar'd enervating, which ill
--Howe'er by some judg'd innocent,--become
Religion's sober character and garb:
Tho' oft, too oft, by weak compliance led,
External seemings, and the ruinous bait
Of smooth politeness, what my heart condemn'd
Unwise it practis'd;--never without pang!
Tho' too much influenc'd by the pleasing force
Of native generosity, uncurb'd
And unchastis'd (as Reason, Duty taught),
Prudent Economy, in thy sober School
Of parsimonious Lecture; useful lore,
And of prime moment to our worldly weal;
--Yet, witness Heaven and Earth, amidst this Dream,
This transient Vision, ne'er so slept my Soul,
Or sacrific'd my Hands at Folly's Shrine,
As to forget Religion's publick Toil,
Study's improvement, or the pleading cause
Of suffering Humanity!--Gracious God,
How wonderful a compound, mixture strange,
Incongruous, inconsistent, is frail Man!
Yes, my lov'd Charlotte, whose Top-stone with joy
My careful Hands brought forth, what time expell'd
From Ham's lost Paradise, and driv'n to seek
Another place of Rest! Yes, beauteous Fane!
To bright Religion dedicate, Thou well
My happy public Labours canst attest,
Unwearied and successful in the Cause,
The glorious, honour'd Cause of Him, whose Love
Bled for the human Race! Thou canst attest
The Sabbath-days delightful, when the throng
Crowded thy hallow'd Walls with eager joy,
To hear Truth evangelical; the sound
Of Gospel Comfort! When attentive sate,
Or at the Holy Altar humbly knelt,
Persuasive, pleasing Patterns--Athol's Duke,
The polish'd Hervey, Kingston the humane,
Aylesbury and Marchmont, Romney all-rever'd;
With Numbers more--by splendid Titles less
Than Piety distinguish'd and pure Zeal.
Nor, 'midst this public Duty's blest-discharge,
Pass'd idle, unimproving, unemploy'd,
My other Days;--as if the Sabbath's task
Fulfill'd, the business of the Week was done,
Or self-allow'd. Witness, thrice holy Book!
Pure transcript of the Eternal's Will to Man:
Witness with what assiduous care I turn'd
Daily the hallow'd page; with what deep search
Explor'd thy sacred meaning; thro' the round
Of learn'd Expositors and grave trod slow,
And painfully deliberating; the while
My labours unremitting to the World
Convey'd instruction large;--and shall convey,
When moulders in the Grave the feeble Hand,
The Head, the Heart, that gave those Labours 
Oh happy Toil! oh Labours well employ'd!
Oh sweet remembrance to my sickening Soul!
Blest Volumes! Nor, tho' levell'd in the Dust
Of Self-annihilation, shall my Soul
Cease to rejoice, or thy preventive grace
Adoring laud, Fountain of every good!
For that no letter'd poison ever stain'd
My page, how weak soe'er; for that my pen,
However humble, ne'er has trac'd a line
Of tendency immoral, whose black Guilt
It well might wish to blot with Tears of Blood!
Dear to the Christian shall my little works,
--Effusions of a Heart sincere, devote
To God and Duty,--happily survive
Their wretched Master; and thro' lengthen'd Years
To Souls opprest Comfort's sweet balm impart;
And teach the pensive Mourner how to die. 
Thou too, blest Charity! whose golden Key
So liberal unlocks the Prison's Gate
At the poor Debtor's call; oh, witness Thou,
To cruel taxers of my Time and Thought,
All was not lost, all were not misemploy'd,
Nor all Humanity's fair rights forgot:
Since thou, spontaneous effort of the last,
My pity's child, and by the first matur'd,
Amidst this flattering, fatal Era rose;
Rose into being, to perfection rose,
Beneath my humble fostering! And, at length
Grown into publick favour, thou shalt live;
And endless good diffuse, when sleeps in dust
Thy hapless Founder; now, by direst fate,
Locked in a Prison, whence thy bounty sets,
And shall,--oh Comfort!--long set thousands free.
Happy, thrice happy, had my active zeal,--
Already deemed too active 'chance, by some,
Whose frozen Hearts, in icy fetters bound
Of sordid selfishness, ne'er felt the warmth,
The genial warmth of pure Benevolence,
Love's ardent flame aspiring;--had that Flame
Kindled my glowing zeal into effect,
And to thy Counterpart 
Lov'd Institution; with its guardian aid
Protecting from the Prison's ruinous doors,
Those whom thy kindly mercy rescues thence!
Or, had that zeal, on firm foundation fix'd
Like thine, my favourite Magdalen,--the Plan,
Preservative of tender Female Fame, 
Fair Innocence and Virtue, from those ills
Destructive, complicate, which only find
Relief beneath thy hospitable roof;
How had I died exulting!--But, oh raise,
Inspire some godlike Spirit, some great Soul,
Father of Mercies! of all Love, all Good
Author and Finisher;--these, and every work
Beneficent, with Courage to pursue,
With Wisdom to complete! Oh crown his zeal;
While sorrowing Human Nature, by his Hand
Cherish'd and sooth'd, to latest times shall tell,
And bless with tears of gratitude his Name!
Mine is a different fate!--confess'd, just Judge,
The meed of human mixture in my works
Imperfect, frail; and needing, even the best,
Thy pardon, and the cleansing of thy blood!
Else, whence the frequent retributions base,
Calumnious and ungrateful, for the deeds
Of private Pity? Whence, for public Acts,
The stab opprobrious, and the slanders vile?
Or whence, at this dread moment,--from the sight
Shrowd me in tenfold darkness!--Mercy, Heaven!
And is it He--th' ingenuous Youth, so oft
Of all my being, fortune, comfort deem'd
The generous, ample source?--And is it He,
In whom, thro' drear Misfortune's darkest night,
I saw Hope's day-star rising?--Angel of Peace,
Amidst his future hours, my life's sad loss
Let not accusing Conscience to his charge
Impute, distracting!--to my crimson'd guilt
Oh let him lay it, as the forfeit due,
And justly paid!--Would Heaven that it were paid!
Oh, that with Rome's first Caesar, in my robe
From sight so killing, mantled up mine eyes,
I might receive the welcome stab; sigh forth,
"My Philip, my lov'd Stanhope,--Is it Thou!
"--Then let me die!"-----
Yet, tho' thus wounded at this Bar I stand
In pangs unutterable, witness Heaven,
With deep commiseration do I view
Their sedulous anxiety to prove
A guilt, my heart--too wounded to deny,
Wounded by that Guilt's sense, its bitterest part,--
Instant avow'd. What need then all this toil?
The deed is done! Wound not the fall'n Hart,--
'Tis cruel--that lies bleeding at your feet!
"I own the whole; I urge no legal plea!
"On dire Necessity's imperious call,
"(Sons of the Robe, of Commerce, Sons of Men,
"That call imperious have you never heard?)
"On full Intention to repay the whole.
"And on that full Intention's perfect work,
"Free Restoration and complete: on wrong
"Or injury to none design'd or wrought,
"I rest my claim;--I found my sole defence."
"Groundless,--'tis thunder'd in my ears--and weak!
"For, in the rigid Courts of human Law,
"No Restitution wipes away th' offence,
"Nor does Intention justify." So spoke
(And who shall argue?) Judgment's awful voice!
Haste then, ye weeping Jurymen, and pass
Th' awarded sentence! To the World, to Fame,
To Honour, Fortune, Peace, and Stanhope lost,
What have I more to lose? or can I think
Death were an Evil to a Wretch like me!
Yet, oh ye sons of Justice!--ere we quit
This awful Court, Expostulation's voice
One moment hear impartial. Give awhile
Your honest hearts to Nature's touches true,
Her fine resentments faithful! Draw aside
That veil from Reason's clear reflecting view,
Which Practice long, and Rectitude suppos'd
Of Laws establish'd, hath obstructive hung!
But, pleads or time, or long prescription aught
In favour or abatement of the wrong
By Folly wrought, or Error? Hoary grown,
And sanctify'd by Custom's habit grey,
Absurdity stalks forth, still more absurd,
And double shame reflects upon an age
Wise and enlighten'd. Should not equal laws
Their punishments proportionate to crimes; 
Nor, all Draconick, ev'n to blood pursue
Vindictive, where the venial poor offence
Cries loud for mercy? Death's the last demand
Law can exact: The penalty extreme
Of human crime! And shall the petty thief
Succumb beneath its terrors, when no more
Pays the bold murderer, crimson'd o'er with guilt?
Few are the crimes against or God or Man,
--Consult th' Eternal Code of Right or Wrong,--
Which e'er can justify this last extreme, 
This wanton sporting with the human life,
This trade in blood! Ye Sages, then, review,
Speedy and diligent, the Penal Code,
Humanity's disgrace; our Nation's first
And just reproach, amidst its vaunted boasts,
Of Equity and Mercy!--Shiver not
Full oft your inmost souls, when from the Bench
Ye deal out death tremendous; and proclaim
Th' irrevocable sentence on a wretch
Pluck'd early from the paths of social life,
And, immature, to the low grave consign'd
For misdemeanors trivial? Runs not back,
Affrighted, to its fountain your chill'd blood,
When, deck'd in all the horrid pomp of death,
And Gothic rage surpassing, to the flames
The weaker sex,--incredible--you doom;
Denouncing punishments the more severe,
As less of strength is found to bear their force?
Shame on the savage practice! Oh stand forth
In the great cause,--Compassion's, Equity's,
Your Nation's, Truth's, Religion's, Honour's Cause,
--Stand forth, reflecting Eden! 
Already in the honourable field:
Might thy young labours animate! The hour
Auspicious is arriv'd. Sages esteem'd,
And venerably learn'd, as in the School
Of legal Science, so in that of Worth
And Sentiment exalted, fill the Bench:
And lo! the Imperial Muscovite, intent
On Public-weal, a bright example shines
Of civilizing Justice. Sages, rise:
The Cause, the animating Pattern calls!
Oh, I adjure you, with my parting breath,
By all your hopes of Mercy and of Peace,
By all the Blood henceforth unjustly spilt,
Or wantonly! by all the Sorrows deep,
And scalding Tears shed for that blood so spilt!
In God's tremendous Name, lo, I adjure,
Without procrastination to the task
Important that you haste! With equal hand
In scales of temperate Justice balance well
The claims of pleading Mercy! Unto crimes
Inflictions just and adequate assign;
On Reformation or Example sole,
And all impartial, constantly intent!
Banish the Rage for Blood! for Tortures fell,
Savage, reproachful: Study to restore
Its young, its useful members to the State,
Well disciplin'd, corrected, moraliz'd;
Preserv'd at once from Shame, from Death, from Hell,
Men, Rationals, Immortals,--Sons of God.
Oh prosperous be your labours, crown'd your zeal!
So shall the annals of our Sovereign's Reign
Distinguish'd by your Virtue,--noble fruit
Of that high independence He bestow'd 
So freely from the Treasury of his Love
To genuine Justice--down to future Times
Transmitting the rich blessing, shine renowned
With truest glory; not by Hers surpass'd,
Th' immortal Legislator of the North!
Ah me, unhappy! to that Sovereign's Ear
Resolv'd to bring those Truths, which labouring long,
Have lain, and tost upon my anxious thoughts: 
Thence too am I excluded! Fatal Stroke,
And wounding to my peace! Rigour extreme
Of angry vengeance! "Nay, it recks not now,"
Oft, 'midst the tempest of my grief, I cried,
"It recks not now what falls me! From the House
"Of Him I honour'd, shut! Him, whose lov'd Sire
"My Muse in strains elegiac weeping sung, 
"Mixing her tribute with a Nation's Tears!
"Him to whose high-born Race,--of Liberty
"Firm Friends and Fautors--from my earliest Youth,
"My Heart, devoted, willing homage paid,
"And sacred reverence: So paternal Love
"And so my College taught, delightful Clare!"
Dear ever to my Memory for Hours
In innocence and peaceful study past;
Nor less for Thee, my Friend, my Lancaster!
Blest Youth, in early Hour from this Life's woes
In richest Mercy borne! Had I but died,
Oh had I died for Thee, how had I shunn'd
This harsh severity,--exclusion sad
From my lov'd Royal Master! how escap'd
Its ills attendant!--Reputation dies,
The darling of my Soul, beneath the stroke!
Wild, wanton curses tear my mangled Fame!
My sphere of usefulness contracted shrinks;
And Infamy herself with "ghastly smiles"
My ruin ridicules! Turn, turn, my Brain!
Distracted! madden'd, turn! of Reason more,
Religion, Duty, Eminence, dream not:
The door of Mercy's clos'd. Thee--oft from Thee
Mercy, sweet Heaven! have I sought and found;
From Fellow-Mortals seldom could I find,
How humbled e'er, or penitent, for faults;
--And who of erring Mortals faultless breathes?
Mercy; that gift of Thine, which most adorns
The Judge's Vestment, and the Monarch's Crown.
Adieu, then, to its hope; its earthly hope!
Elsewhere we'll seek it. Forth--oh forth, my Friends;
My generous, supporting, weeping Friends!
Forth from the Bar conduct me. It is past.
Justice has done her office! Mercy's fled:
And smiling, lo! she sits upon a cloud
Of fleecy whiteness, ting'd with azur'd gold,
And beams ineffable composure on me!
Light sits my bosom'd Master on his throne;
Airy and disencumber'd feels my Soul;
And, panting, wishes to spring instant up
To that white cloud,--the golden vehicle
To Realms of Rest immortal! In my Eyes,
So languid late, and all suffus'd with Tears,
Methinks I see Hope's lamp rekindle bright;
A living lustre; shedding, like the Sun,
After thick mists, Illumination's smile
O'er all my countenance, marr'd, dimm'd, and wan.
Cheerly, my Friends, oh cheerly! Look not thus
With Pity's melting softness! That alone
Can shake my Fortitude. All is not lost.
Lo! I have gain'd, on this important Day,
A Victory consummate--o'er myself,
And o'er this Life a Victory: On this Day,--
My Birth-day to Eternity--I've gain'd
Dismission from a World, where for a while,
Like You, like All, a Pilgrim passing poor,
A Traveller, a Stranger, I have met
But Stranger Treatment, rude and harsh! So much
The dearer, more desir'd, the Home I seek
Eternal of my Father and my God!
Ah, little thought ye, Prosecutors prompt,
To do me good like this! little intend
For earthly poverty to give th' exchange
Of wealth eternal! Cheronea's sage,
Thy Dogmas here, so paradoxal deem'd
By weak Half-thinkers 
--see, how amply prov'd,
How verified by Men I judg'd my Foes;--
Friends in disguise, Heaven's Instruments of good!
Freely, triumphantly, my Soul forgives
Each injury, each evil they have wrought,
Each tear they've drawn, each groan they've cost my Heart,
Guiltless tow'rds Them, uninjur'd. Hapless Men!
Down do I look, with pity: fervent beg,
And unremitting from all-gracious Heaven
Eternal blessings on you! Be your lives,
Like mine, true convertites to Grace, to God!
And be your deaths--ah, there all difference ends--
Then be Our Deaths like his, th' atoning Just;
Like His, the Only Righteous, our last End!
But oh, oblivious Memory! baneful Woe,
Which thus in dull forgetfulness can steep
My Faculties;--forgetfulness of Her
My better self; for whom alone I wish,
Thus fallen, to remember that I am!
My Wife, my Soul's dear Partner in distress,
Where sits she? lives she? Ah not lives, but drags
The tedious, torturing, horrid, anxious Hours
Of this dire day!--In solemn silence wrapt,
--Expressive silence, motionless, compos'd,
The melancholy Mourner meekly waits
The awful issue! From her lovely Eyes
Drops not a tear! not ev'n a sigh is heard
From her deep-wounded Heart: Nor thro' her Lips,
Unsever'd from the luckless morn till night,
Mute Sufferer, steals a murmur! 
So, in the mournful absence of thy Mate,
Perhaps or levell'd by the Fowler's art,
Or lur'd in net insidious, sitt'st thou alone
Upon the bared bough; thy little Head
Nestling beneath thy silvery wings; while hang
Thy pennons, late so glossy, shivering down
Unplum'd, neglected, drooping! Thro' the Day
So tried, my tender Friends,--another task,
And heavier yet, remains to be perform'd.
Oh, with the balm of Comfort, with the Voice
Of soothing Softness, the sad truth unfold!
Approach the beauteous Mourner, all-rever'd;
And tell her, "that her Husband triumphs, lives;--
"Lives, tho' condemn'd; lives to a nobler life!
"Nor, in the gladsome view of that high life,
"Feels he to Death Reluctance: Blest with her,
"Indifferent in his choice to live or die!"
Be the decision Thine, Father of Life!
Thou gavest, Thou hast right to take away;
In each alike beneficent! If Thou
Hast pleasure in me, once more shall I share
Thy hallow'd Services, my Heart's chief Joy;
If not, with happy David--oh like his
Could my Song flow repentant--every thought
Uniting, cries with Resignation's voice,
"Do with me, Lord, as it shall seem Thee Good!" 
Thus supplicating, down my weary Head
To slumber on its wretched pillow sunk,
O'erpower'd, oppress'd. Nor on the main-mast high
Rock'd by the bellowing tempest, and the dash
Of furious surges, the poor ship-boy sleeps
More soundly, than my powers o'erwrought, amidst
The din of desperate Felons, and the roar
Of harden'd Guilt's mad midnight orgies loud!
But Fancy free, the busy Soul was wake;
Anticipation pleasing of its state,
When sleeps its clayey Prison in the Grave,
And forth it bursts to Liberty! Methought
--Such was the vision--in a lowly vale
Myself I found, whose living green was deck'd
With all the beauteous family of Spring;
Pale Primrose, modest Violet, Hare-bell blue,
Sweet-scented Eglantine of fragrance rich,
And permanent the Rose: Golden Jonquil,
And Polyanthus variegate of hue,
With Lilies dale delighting. Thro' the midst
Meandering of pure crystal flow'd a Stream
The flowery banks reflecting: On each side,
With homely Cots adorn'd, whose Habitants
When sorrow-sunk, my voice of comfort sooth'd;
When sickness worn, my hand of care reliev'd,
Tended, and, ministring to all their wants,
Instructed in the language of the Skies!
Dear was the Office, cheering was the Toil,
And something like angelic felt my Soul!
When lur'd, methought, by one of glittering hue,
(Bright gleam'd the coronet upon his Brow,
Rich glow'd his robe of crimson, ermine deck'd)
I toil'd to gain a neighbouring mountain's top,
Where blaz'd Preferment's Temple. So my Guide
With smile complacent taught, and led me on,
Softening with artful speech the tedious way,
And arduous ever. As I rose, the view
Still gloomier seem'd, and dreary; the strait path
Still straiter; and more sharp the pointed briars
Entangling! With insulting sneers the croud,
Pressing the same bad road, justled me by;
Or threw me prostrate: Till fatigu'd, and faint,
With feeble voice, exhausted quite, I cried,
"Oh to my Vale restore me! to my Cots,
"Illustrious Guide! my ministrations blest,
"Angelical and blessing!"--With a look
Of killing scorn he eyed me: Instant down,
Precipitate dash'd o'er me craggy rocks,
Tumbling tumultuous; and in dungeon dark,
Illumin'd only by the furious glare
Of Lynx and Tigers' eyes, thro' hunger fierce,
And eager to devour, trembling I lay!
When, in a moment, thro' the dungeon's gloom
Burst Light resplendent as the mid-day Sun,
From adamantine shield of Heavenly proof,
Held high by One, 
of more than human port,
Advancing slow; while on his tow'ring crest
Sat Fortitude unshaken: At his feet
Crouch'd the half-famish'd Savages! From earth
He rais'd me, weeping, and with look of Peace
Benignant, pointed to a crimson Cross
On his bright Shield poutray'd. A milder form,
Yet of celestial sweetness,--such as oft
My raptur'd eyes have in the tablet trac'd
Of unaffected Penitence; of her
Pleasing similitude--the weeping Fair
Early from royal, but unhallow'd love,
To God's sole service flying 
--Fam'd Le Brun,
Thy glowing pencil's Master-piece!--Such seem'd
Repentence, meek approaching. From the den,
Illumin'd and defended by Faith's shield,
My trembling feet she led; and having borne
Thro' perils infinite, and terrors wild
And various,--fainting almost my sick soul--
She left me at a gate of glittering gold,
Which open'd instantaneous at the touch
Of homely Porter, 
clad in wolsey gray;
And ever bending lowly to the ground
His modest countenance! But what a scene,
--Admitted thro' the portal--on my sight
Transported rush'd! High on sapphire Throne,
Amidst a flame like carbuncle, sat Love,
Beaming forth living rays of Light and Joy
On choral crowds of Spirits infinite,
In Immortality and Glory cloth'd;
And hymning lofty Strains to Minstrelsy
Of golden Harps accorded, in His praise,
Love, uncreate, essential; Love, which bled;
Which bleeding blanch'd to purest white their robes,
And with eternal gold adorn'd their brows!
Dissolv'd, methought, and all my senses rapt
In vision beatific, to a bank
Of purple Amaranthus was I borne
By a superior Genius. His white wings
Distilling Panacea, dove-like spread
Refreshing fragrance o'er me: Firm of brow
And masculine he seem'd--th' ennobling Power
Angelic, destin'd in the human heart
To nourish Friendship's flame! Uprais'd my eyes
As from a Trance returning--"Spirit belov'd,
"And honour'd ever!" anxious strait I cried,
"Thrice welcome to my wishes! Oh impart--
"For you can tell--in these delightful Realms
"Of happiness supernal, shall we know,--
"Say, shall we meet and know those dearest Friends,
"Those tender Relatives, to whose concerns
"You minister appointed? Shall we meet
" In mutual amity? mutual converse hold,
" And live in Love immortal?--Oh relieve
"My aching heart's solicitude; and say,
"Here shall I meet, here know, in boundless bliss,
"Here view transported, Her, my Life's best Friend,
"My Sorrows' faithful Soother?"--Gushing tears
Impetuous stopp't my voice; and I awoke
To Earth, to Night, to Darkness, and a Jail!
April 14, 1777
2. END OF THE FOURTH WEEK.
 The verses subjoined were written by the King of Prussia,
after a defeat, when one of his General Officers had proposed to set him the example of self-destruction:
Dan ces jours, pleins d'alarmes,
La constance et la fermete
Sont les boucliers et les
Que j'oppose a l'adversite:
Que le Destin me persecute,
Qu'il prepare ou hate ma
Le danger ne peut m ebranler:
Quand le vulgaire est plein de crainte,
L'homme fort doit se signaler.
A friend having given Dr. Dodd in prison a copy of
these Lines, he was much pleased with them, and immediately paraphrased them as follows:
In these sad
moments of severe distress,
When dangers threaten, and when sorrows press,
For my defence behold what
arms are given
--Firmness of soul, and Confidence in Heaven!
With these, tho' Fortune hunt me thro'
Tho' instant, utter ruin seem at hand!
Compos'd and self-collected I remain,
at perils, nor of ills complain:
To mean Despair the low, the servile fly,
When Hope's bright star
seems darken'd in their sky:
Then shines the Christian, and delights to prove
His faith unshaken, and
unchang'd his Love!
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, et quae
Ipse sibi tradit Spectator!
So praysen Babes the Peacock's starry
And wondren at bright Argus' blazing eye;
But who rewards him e'er the more for-thy?
feeds him once the fuller by a graine?
--Sike praise is smoke, that sheddeth in the skie,
been winde, and wasten soon in vaine.
 Alluding to "Commentary on the Bible," in
three Volumes, Folio. BACK
 Referring to "Comfort for the Afflicted," and
"Reflections on Death." BACK
 He intended to have established a "Charity for the Loan of Money,
without interest, to industrious Tradesmen." Necessary Papers for that end were collected from Dublin, &c; and the
following Address, which he wrote and inserted in the Publick Ledger of the 1st January 1776, will, in some measure,
explain his purpose:
To the Wealthy in the Commercial World
I have often wished most sincerely to see a charitable Fund established in this great and trading City, for the
beneficent purpose of "lending to honest and industrious Tradesmen small sums without interest, and on a reasonable
Security." The benefits which would arise from such an establishment are too obvious to need enumeration. Almost every
News-paper tends more and more to convince me of the necessity of such a plan; for in almost every News-paper we read
Advertisements from Tradesmen, soliciting little sums in their distress; and offering--poor unhappy men! even premiums
for those little sums. It is not possible but that persons occupied in trade and commerce must feel for the
difficulties of their brethren, and be ready to promote the undertaking I would wish to recommend, although on no
interested motives;--for I am no Tradesman, nor can any way be benefitted by the plan. Pure good will, and a
compassionate respect to the hardships and distresses of my fellow-creatures actuate my heart: And from these motives,
I shall be happy to proceed upon, and prosecute this plan, with all the efforts and assiduity I am able, if it shall
be approved by the benevolent, and they will testfy that approbation, and desire of concurrence, by a line directed to
D. at Anderton's Coffee-house, Fleet-street. In consequence of which, should a probability of success appear, a
meeting shall speedily be advertised in the Papers, and all measures pursued, to put the good design into immediate
execution, which on such a meeting may be judged advisable. It may be proper just to observe, that in many cities
abroad,--at Rome in particular,--there are institutions of this sort: and there has been one established for many
years at Dublin, which is found productive of the happiest consequences. It is made in Scripture one characteristic of
the good man, "that he is merciful and lendeth"; and a very small sum, thus given to a permanent establishment, may
enable a man to lend for perpetuity! How can we better begin the New Year, my worthy and humane countrymen! than by
entering on a work, which may draw down upon us God's blessing, by our charitable relief to many sons and daughters of
honest and laborious industry?--,
 "A plan for a National Female Seminary"--since found
amongst the Author's papers; and which appears to have undergone the inspection, and received the approbation, of some
very distinguished names. BACK
 Horace's precept must for ever stand forth as
---------------------"AdsitRegula! peccatis quae poenas irroget
Ne Scutica dignum horribili sectere flagello."
Sat. 3. Lib.
 "He had sometimes expressed his thoughts about
our Penal Laws, that they were too sanguinary;--that they were against not only the laws of God, but of Nature;--that his
own case was hard, that he should die for an Act, which he always declared to be wrong, but by which he never intended to
injure any one individual; and that, as the Public had forgiven him, he thought he might have been pardoned. But now (the
day before his execution) he laid all these thoughts touching himself aside; though he continued to think in the same
manner of the Penal Laws to his end." See Ordinary's Account, p. 14. BACK
 See Mr. Eden's admirable book on Penal Laws. BACK
 Referring to the Independence of the Judges,
settled by the King, as almost one of the first Acts of his Reign. BACK
 See my Sermon on the Injustice, &c. of
Capital Punishments. BACK
 See my "Elegy on the Death of Frederick Prince
of Wales." Poems, p. 63. BACK
 See Plutarch "On the Benefits deducible from Enemies." Morals, Vol.
"I speechless sate;--nor
"Nor murmur, from my Lips was heard."
Psalms, p. 39.
 Madame de la Valiere. This fine Picture is in the Chapel of
the Carmelite Nuns at Paris. BACK