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THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.
BY ISAAC WATTS, D.D.*
[TO MR. HENRY BENDYSH. ]
A plague of iron prove ?
In vain I fought the wondrous cause,
And urg'd the schools in vain;
A bright instructive scene.
* Born 1674; dyed 1748.
15 Till on the banks of Ganges flood, In a tall ancient
Awoke his morning song ;
And half divine his tongue.
V. He sang “ th' eternal rolling flame, 25 “ That vital mass, that still the same
“ Does all our minds compose : “ But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames ; “ Thence dif'ring souls of diff’ring names, « And jarring tempers rose.
30 VI. “ The mighty power that form’d the mind « One mould for every two defign’d,
“ And bless’d the new-born pair: “ This be a match for this: (he said) « Then down he sent the souls he made, 35
" To seek them bodies here:
VII. “ But parting from their warm abode
They lost their fellows on the road,
“ And never join'd their hands : “ Ah cruel chance, and crossing fates ! 40 “ Our Eastern fouls have dropt their mates “ On Europe's barbarous lands.
VIII. “ Happy the youth that finds the bride “ Whose birth is to his own ally'd, “ The sweetest joy of life:
45 « But oh the crowds of wretched fouls « Fetter'd to minds of different moulds, “ And chain'd t'eternal itrife.”
IX. Thus sang the wond'rous Indian bard; My soul with valt attention heard, 50
While Ganges ceas'd to flow : “ Sure then (I cry'd) might I but see “ That gentle nymph that twinn'd with me,
“ I may be happy too.
X. “ Some courteous angel, tell me where, 55 “ What distant lands this unknown fair,
« Or diftant feas detain? “ Swift as the wheel of nature rolls " I'd fly, to meet, and mingle fouls,
“ And wear the joyful chain.” 60
BY AMBROSE PHILIPS,
GERON, HOBBINOL, LANQUET,
How still the fea behold! how calm the sky!
Let others stake what chosen pledge they will, Or kid, or lamb, or mazer wrought with skill: For praise we fing, nor wager ought befide; II And, whose the praise, let Geron's lips decide.
* Born 1674; dyed 1749.
Begin then, boys; and vary well your song: Begin; nor fear, from Geron's sentence, wrong, A boxen hautboy, loud, and sweet of sound, All varnish'd, and with brazen ringlets bound, I to the victor give: no mean reward, If to the ruder village-pipes compar’d.
The snows are melted; and the kindly rain Descends on every herb, and every grain : Soft balmy breezes breathe along the sky; The bloomy season of the year is nigh.
LANQUET. The cuckoo calls aloud his wandering love; 25 The turtle's moan is heard in every grove ; The pastures change; the warbling linnets fing : Prepare to welcome in the gaudy spring.
When locusts, in the ferny bushes, cry, When ravens pant, and snakes in caverns lie, 30 Graze then in woods, and quit the shadeless plain, Else shall ye press the spungy teat in vain.
fee The ground bedrew'd with fruits of every tree,