LETTER VIII ,>- a» 



TO MR EICHARDSON 

 On reading his Clarissa. 



Captive, in Dust, fall'n from her high Estate 

 Fair Sion sits, abandoned, desolate : 

 In conscious Shame her wretched Sons remain 

 On Chebar's Banks, a melancholy Train : 

 Forgot their Cunning & their sacred Fire, 

 Their Hands point only to ye pendent Lyre : 

 Damp'd is that Eapture of the tunefull Tongue 

 Which taught to Jordan's Streams ye Holy Song : 

 Degenerate Band ! — Yes, better Mute, than join 



10 Curst Baal's praises to those Strains divine. 



As late You join'd in meretricious Love 

 On each high Hill, in each incestuous Grove ! 

 O better thus, in a strange Land to lie 

 And hear ye sad responsive willows sigh ! 



But see, while Fears intrude from ev'ry Part 

 And chill wth ju6t Alarms th' infected Heart 

 Ezekiel comes ! — full of his angry God, 

 And charg'd to wave the delegated Rod ! 



Yet when He view'd each blushing tearfull Face, 



20 And Sin's wild Triumph in ye ruin'd Race, 



Fraternal Grief thro' his pierc'd Bosom ran 

 And almost lost ye Prophet in ye Man : 



(C. 3. V. 15) Down on ye hostile Earth their Limbs they throw 

 And seven long Days indulge ye kindred woe, 

 The Threat commission'd yet suspended hung. 

 The wrath defeated died upon his Tongue. 

 Then rising, to expose each shameful! Deed 

 And teach ye Heart how, usefully, to bleed, 

 To set their former Glories in their View 



30 And their Disgrace thro' it's dire Springs pursue, 



To shew why once they ruled wth wide Command, 

 Why captive now they serve a foreign Land, 

 To force their varying Breasts his Scheme to aid. 

 With Fear to check, with Pity to perswade, 

 To rule, & make their Passions all his own, 

 To reinstate Religion in her Throne, 

 To know their Hearts by true Devotion awed. 

 Worthy once more their Solyma & God, 

 The Prophet us'd (thus greatly to prevail) 



40 The Scenic Image, & the impassion'd Tale. 



O Richardson, if ought beneath those Fires 

 Which in wrapt Souls th' immediate God inspires, 

 'Tis sure the Vigour of thy moving Page 

 Can touch, reform, & save a vitious Age : 



