Muse, view the Turret: Just beneath the Skies
Lonesome it stands, and fixes both mine Eyes
As it would ask a Tear. O Sacred Seat,
Sacred to Friendship! O Divine Retreat!
Here did I hope my happy Hours t' employ,
And fed beforehand on the promis'd Joy,
When weary of the noisy Town, my Friend
From Mortal Cares retiring shou'd ascend
And lead me thither. We alone wou'd sit,
Free and secure of all Intruding Feet:
Our Thoughts shou'd stretch their longest Wings and rise,
Nor bound their Soarings by the lower Skies:
Our Tongues shou'd aim at everlasting Themes,
And speak what Mortals dare, of all the Names
Of Boundless Joys and Glories, Thrones, and Seats
Built high in Heaven for Souls: We'd trace the Streets
Of Golden Pavement, walk each happy Field,
And climb and tast the Fruits the spicy Mountains yield:
Then would we swear to keep the Sacred Road,
And walk right upwards to the blest Abode:
We'd charge our parting Spirits there to meet,
There Hand in Hand approach th' Almighty's Seat,
And bend our Heads adoring at our Maker's Feet.
Thus should we mount on bold adventrous Wings,
In high Discourse, and dwell on Heavenly things,
While the pleas'd Hours in sweet Succession move,
And Minutes measur'd as they are above
By ever-circling Joys, and ever-shining Love.