And lo! the glories of th' illustrious line
At their first dawn with ripen'd splendors shine,
In DAVID all express'd; the good, the great,
The king, the hero, and the man complete.
Serene he fits, and sweeps the golden lyre,
And blends the prophet's with the poet's fire.
See! with what art he strikes the vocal strings,
The God, his theme, inspiring what he sings!
Hark, — or our ears delude us — from his tongue
Sweet flows, or seems to flow, some heavenly song.
O! could thine art arrest the fleeting sound,
And paint the voice in magic numbers bound;
Could the warm sun, as erst when Memnon play'd,
Wake with his rising beam the vocal shade:
Then might he draw th' attentive angels down,
Bending to hear the lay, so sweet, so like their own.
On either side the monarch's offspring shine,
And some adorn, and some disgrace their line.
Here Ammon glories; proud, incestuous lord!
This hand sustains the robe, and that the sword.
Frowning and fierce, with haughty strides he towers,
And on his horrid brow defiance low'rs.
There Absalom the ravish'd sceptre sways,
And his stol'n honour all his shame displays:
The base usurper Youth! who joins in one
The rebel subject, and th' ungrateful son.