TO Mr. Henry Bendish. 

The Indian Philosopher, OR Matches made Above, But Broke in coming down.

I.

WHY should our Joys transform to Pain? 
Why gentle Hymen's Silken Chain
 A Plague of Iron prove? 
BENDISH, 'tis strange the Charm that binds
 Millions of Hands should leave their Minds
 At such a loose from Love. 

II.

In vain I sought the wondrous Cause,
 Rang'd the wide Fields of Natures Laws,
 And urg'd the Schools in vain;
 Then deep in Thought, within my Breast
 My Soul retir'd, and Slumber drest
 A bright Instructive Scene. 

III.

O're the broad Lands and 'cross the Tide
 On Fancies Airy Horse I ride,
 (Sweet Rapture of the Mind)
 Till on the Banks of Ganges Flood
 In a tall Ancient Grove I stood
 For Sacred Use design'd. 

IV.

Hard by a Venerable Priest
 Ris'n with his God the Sun from Rest
 Awoke his Morning-Song;
 Thrice he conjur'd the Murm'ring Stream;
 The Birth of Souls was all his Theme,
 And half Divine his Tongue. 

V.

 "He Sang th' Eternal rolling Flame,
" That Vital Mass, that still the same
 "Does all our Minds compose;
" But shap'd in twice ten thousand Frames,
 "Thence differing Souls of differing Names,
" And Jarring Tempers rose. 

VI.

 "The mighty Power that form'd the Mind
" One Mould for every Two design'd,
 "And bless'd the New-born Pair:
" This be a Match for This, he said,
 "Then down he sent the Souls he made
" To seek them Bodies here:

VII.

 "But parting from their warm Abode
" They lost their Fellows on the Road,
 "And never joyn'd their Hands:
" Ah cruel Chance, and crossing Fates! 
 "Our Eastern Souls have dropt their Mates
" On Europes Barbarous Lands. 

VIII.

 "Happy the Youth that finds the Bride
" Whose Birth is to his own ally'd,
 "The Sweetest Joy of Life:
" But Oh the Crowds of Wretched Souls
 "Fetter'd to Minds of different Moulds,
" And chain'd t' Eternal Strife! 

IX.

Thus Sang the wondrous Indian Bard,
 My Soul with vast Attention heard,
 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,
" What distant Lands this unknown Fair
 "Or distant Seas detain? 
" Swift as the Wheel of Nature rolls
 "I'de fly to meet and mingle Souls,
" And wear the Joyful Chain.