HERCULES AND THE SERPENTS.

Whilst this hard truth I teach, methinks I see
The monster London laugh at me.

I should at thee, too, foolish city!

If it were fit to laugh at misery;
But thy estate I pity.

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Ev'n thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost.

H

Tercules and the Serpents.

OW early has young Chromius begun
The race of virtue, and how swiftly run
And borne the noble prize away,

While other youths yet at the barrier stay!
None but Alcides e'er set earlier forth than he.
The big-limbed babe in his huge cradle lay,
Too weighty to be rocked by nurse's hands,
Wrapped in purple swaddling bands,
When, lo! by jealous Juno's fierce commands
Two dreadful serpents come,

Rolling and hissing loud, into the room.

To the bold babe they trace their hidden way;

Forth from their flaming eyes dread lightnings went ;

Their gaping mouths did forkèd tongues like thunderbolts present.

Some of th' amazèd women dropped down dead

With fear, some wildly fled

About the room, some into corners crept,

Where silently they shook and wept.

HERCULES AND THE SERPENTS.

All naked from the bed the passionate mother leapt,
To save or perish with her child.

She trembled and she cried;-the mighty infant smiled.

The mighty infant seemed well pleased

At his gay, gilded foes;

And as their spotted necks up to the cradle rose,
With his young warlike hands on both he seized.
In vain they raged, in vain they hissed,

In vain their armèd tails they twist,

And angry circles cast about;

Black blood, and fiery breath, and poisonous soul he squeezes out.

PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train; An awful, reverend, and religious man. His eyes diffused a venerable grace, And charity itself was in his face. Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor (As GOD hath clothed His own ambassador); For such, on earth, his blest REDEEMER bore. Of sixty years he seemed, and well might last To sixty more, but that he lived too fast; Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, And made almost a sin of abstinence.

THE PARISH PRIEST.

Yet had his aspect nothing of severe,
But such a face as promised him sincere ;
Nothing reserved or sullen was to see,
But sweet regards and pleasing sanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was armed,
Though harsh the precept, yet the people charmed.
For, letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky;
And oft with holy hymns he charmed their ears
(A music more melodious than the spheres);
For David left him, when he went to rest,
His lyre; and after him he sang the best.
He bore his great commission in his look,

But sweetly tempered awe, and softened all he spoke.
He preached the joys of heaven and pains of hell,
And warned the sinner with becoming zeal,

But on eternal mercy loved to dwell.

He taught the Gospel rather than the Law;
And forced himself to drive; but loved to draw;
For fear but freezes minds; but love, like heat,
Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat:
To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard,
Wrapped in his crimes against the storm prepared ;
But, when the milder beams of mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.
Lightning and thunder (Heaven's artillery)
As harbingers before th' Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim His style, and disappear;
The stiller sound succeeds, and GoD is there.

The tithes his parish freely paid, he took;
But never sued, or cursed with bell or book.
With patience bearing wrong, but offering none;
Since every man is free to lose his own.

The country churls, according to their kind

(Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind),

The less he sought his offerings, pinched the more, And praised a priest contented to be poor.

Yet of his little he had some to spare,

To feed the famished and to clothe the bare;