PART II

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CONTENTS.

In the Sixth Night arguments were drawn, from Nature, in proof of Immortality: here, others are drawn from Man: from his Discontent, ver. 29; from his Passions and Powers, 63; from the gradual growth of Reason, 81; from his fear of Death, 86; from the nature of Hope, 104; and of Virtue, 159, &c.; from Knowledge and Love, as being the most essential properties of the soul, 253; from the order of Creation, 290, &c.; from the nature of Ambition, 337, &c.; Avarice, 460; Pleasure, 477. A digression on the grandeur of the Passions, 521. Immortality alone renders our present state intelligible, 545. An objection from the Stoics' disbelief of immortality answered, 585. Endless questions unresolvable, but on the supposition of our immortality, 606. The natural, most melancholy, and pathetic complaint of a worthy man, under the persuasion of no Futurity, 653, &c. The gross absurdities and horrors of annihilation urged home on Lorenzo, 843, &c. The soul's vast importance, 992, &c.; from whence it arises, 1080. The Difficulty of being an Infidel, 1133; the Infamy, 1148; the Cause, 1188; and the Character, 1203, of an Infidel state. What true free-thinking is, 1218. The necessary punishment of the false, 1273. Man's ruin is from himself, 1303. An Infidel accuses himself with guilt and hypocrisy, and that of the worst sort, 1319. His obligation to Christians, 1337. What danger he incurs by Virtue, 1345. Vice recommended to him, 1364. His high pretences to Virtue and Benevolence exploded, 1373. The Conclusion, on the nature of Faith, 1406; Reason, 1440; and Hope, 1445; with an apology for this attempt, 1472.

Heaven gives the needful, but neglected, call. What day, what hour, but knocks at human hearts, To wake the soul to sense of future scenes? 3 Deaths stand, like Mercuries, in every way, And kindly point us to our journey's end. Pope, who could'st make immortals! art thou dead? I give thee joy: nor will I take my leave; So soon to follow. Man but dives in death; Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise; The grave, his subterranean road to bliss. 10 Yes, infinite indulgence plann'd it so; Through various parts our glorious story runs; Time gives the preface, endless age unrolls The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate. This, earth and skies already[32] have proclaim'd. The world's a prophecy of worlds to come; And who, what God foretells (who speaks in things, Still louder than in words) shall dare deny? If Nature's arguments appear too weak, Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in Man. 20 If man sleeps on, untaught by what he sees, Can he prove infidel to what he feels? He, whose blind thought futurity denies, Unconscious bears, Bellerophon![33] like thee, His own indictment; he condemns himself; Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life; Or, Nature, there, imposing on her sons, Has written fables; man was made a lie. Why Discontent for ever harbour'd there? Incurable consumption of our peace! 30 Resolve me, why, the cottager, and king, He, whom sea-sever'd realms obey, and he Who steals his whole dominion from the waste, Repelling winter blasts with mud and straw 34 Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh, In fate so distant, in complaint so near? Is it, that things terrestrial can't content? Deep in rich pasture will thy flocks complain? Not so; but to their master is denied To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease, In this, not his own place, this foreign field, Where Nature fodders him with other food, 42 Than was ordain'd his cravings to suffice, Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast, Sighs on for something more, when most enjoy'd. Is Heaven, then, kinder to thy flocks than thee? Not so; thy pasture richer, but remote; In part, remote; for that remoter part Man bleats from instinct, though perhaps, debauch'd By sense, his reason sleeps, nor dreams the cause. 50 The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes! His grief is but his grandeur in disguise; And discontent is immortality. Shall sons of ether, shall the blood of heaven, Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here, With brutal acquiescence in the mire? Lorenzo, no! they shall be nobly pain'd; The glorious foreigners, distress'd, shall sigh On thrones; and thou congratulate the sigh: Man's misery declares him born for bliss; 60 His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing, And gives the sceptic in his head the lie. Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our powers, Speak the same language; call us to the skies: Unripen'd these in this inclement clime, Scarce rise above conjecture, and mistake; And for this land of trifles those too strong Tumultuous rise, and tempest human life: 68 What prize on earth can pay us for the storm? Meet objects for our passions Heaven ordain'd, Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave No fault, but in defect: bless'd Heaven! avert A bounded ardour for unbounded bliss! O for a bliss unbounded! Far beneath A soul immortal, is a mortal joy. Nor are our powers to perish immature; But, after feeble effort here, beneath A brighter sun, and in a nobler soil, Transplanted from this sublunary bed, Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom. 80 Reason progressive, Instinct is complete; Swift Instinct leaps; slow Reason feebly climbs. Brutes soon their zenith reach; their little all Flows in at once; in ages they no more Could know, or do, or covet, or enjoy. Were man to live coeval with the sun, The patriarch-pupil would be learning still; Yet, dying, leave his lesson half unlearn'd. Men perish in advance, as if the sun Should set ere noon, in eastern oceans drown'd; 90 If fit, with dim, illustrious to compare, The sun's meridian with the soul of man. To man, why, stepdame Nature! so severe? Why thrown aside thy masterpiece half wrought, While meaner efforts thy last hand enjoy? Or, if abortively, poor man must die, Nor reach, what reach he might, why die in dread? Why cursed with foresight? wise to misery? Why of his proud prerogative the prey? Why less pre-eminent in rank than pain? 100 His immortality alone can tell; Full ample fund to balance all amiss, 102 And turn the scale in favour of the just! His immortality alone can solve The darkest of enigmas, human hope; Of all the darkest, if at death we die. Hope, eager Hope, th' assassin of our joy, All present blessings treading under foot, Is scarce a milder tyrant than Despair. With no past toils content, still planting new, 110 Hope turns us o'er to death alone for ease. Possession, why more tasteless than pursuit? Why is a wish far dearer than a crown? That wish accomplish'd, why the grave of bliss? Because, in the great future buried deep, Beyond our plans of empire and renown, Lies all that man with ardour should pursue; And He who made him, bent him to the right. Man's heart th' Almighty to the future sets, By secret and inviolable springs; 120 And makes his hope his sublunary joy. Man's heart eats all things, and is hungry still; "More, more!" the glutton cries: for something new So rages appetite, if man can't mount, He will descend. He starves on the possess'd. Hence, the world's master, from ambition's spire, In Caprea plunged; and dived beneath the brute. In that rank sty why wallow'd empire's son Supreme? Because he could no higher fly; His riot was ambition in despair. 130 Old Rome consulted birds; Lorenzo! thou With more success, the flight of Hope survey; Of restless Hope, for ever on the wing. High perch'd o'er every thought that falcon sits, To fly at all that rises in her sight; And never stooping, but to mount again 136 Next moment, she betrays her aim's mistake, And owns her quarry lodged beyond the grave. There should it fail us (it must fail us there, If being fails), more mournful riddles rise, And Virtue vies with Hope in mystery. Why Virtue? where its praise, its being, fled? Virtue is true self-interest pursued: 143 What true self-interest of quite-mortal man? To close with all that makes him happy here. If vice (as sometimes) is our friend on earth, Then vice is virtue; 'tis our sovereign good. In self-applause is virtue's golden prize; No self-applause attends it on thy scheme: Whence self-applause? From conscience of the right. And what is right, but means of happiness? 151 No means of happiness when virtue yields; That basis failing, falls the building too, And lays in ruin every virtuous joy. The rigid guardian of a blameless heart, So long revered, so long reputed wise, Is weak; with rank knight-errantries o'errun. Why beats thy bosom with illustrious dreams Of self-exposure, laudable, and great? Of gallant enterprise, and glorious death? 160 Die for thy country!--Thou romantic fool! Seize, seize the plank thyself, and let her sink: Thy country! what to thee?--the Godhead, what? (I speak with awe!) though He should bid thee bleed? If, with thy blood, thy final hope is spilt, Nor can Omnipotence reward the blow, Be deaf; preserve thy being; disobey. Nor is it disobedience: know, Lorenzo! Whate'er th' Almighty's subsequent command, His first command is this:--"Man, love thyself." 170 In this alone, free agents are not free. Existence is the basis, bliss the prize; If virtue costs existence, 'tis a crime; Bold violation of our law supreme, Black suicide; though nations, which consult Their gain, at thy expence, resound applause. Since Virtue's recompence is doubtful, here, If man dies wholly, well may we demand, Why is man suffer'd to be good in vain? Why to be good in vain, is man enjoin'd? 180 Why to be good in vain, is man betray'd? Betray'd by traitors lodged in his own breast, By sweet complacencies from virtue felt? Why whispers Nature lies on Virtue's part? Or if blind Instinct (which assumes the name Of sacred conscience) plays the fool in man, Why Reason made accomplice in the cheat? Why are the wisest loudest in her praise? Can man by Reason's beam be led astray? Or, at his peril, imitate his God? 190 Since virtue sometimes ruins us on earth, Or both are true, or man survives the grave. Or man survives the grave, or own, Lorenzo, Thy boast supreme, a wild absurdity. Dauntless thy spirit; cowards are thy scorn. Grant man immortal, and thy scorn is just. The man immortal, rationally brave, Dares rush on death--because he cannot die. But if man loses all, when life is lost, He lives a coward, or a fool expires. 200 A daring infidel (and such there are, From pride, example, lucre, rage, revenge, Or pure heroical defect of thought), 203 Of all earth's madmen, most deserves a chain. When to the grave we follow the renown'd For valour, virtue, science, all we love, And all we praise; for worth, whose noontide beam, Enabling us to think in higher style, Mends our ideas of ethereal powers; Dream we, that lustre of the moral world 210 Goes out in stench, and rottenness the close? Why was he wise to know, and warm to praise, And strenuous to transcribe, in human life, The Mind Almighty? Could it be, that Fate, Just when the lineaments began to shine, And dawn the Deity, should snatch the draught, With night eternal blot it out, and give The skies alarm, lest angels too might die? If human souls, why not angelic too Extinguish'd? and a solitary God, 220 O'er ghastly ruin, frowning from his throne? Shall we this moment gaze on God in man? The next, lose man for ever in the dust? From dust we disengage, or man mistakes; And there, where least his judgment fears a flaw. Wisdom and worth, how boldly he commends! Wisdom and worth, are sacred names; revered, Where not embraced; applauded; deified; Why not compassion'd too? If spirits die, Both are calamities, inflicted both, 230 To make us but more wretched: Wisdom's eye Acute, for what? to spy more miseries; And worth, so recompensed, new-points their stings. Or man surmounts the grave, or gain is loss, And worth exalted humbles us the more. Thou wilt not patronise a scheme that makes 236 Weakness and vice the refuge of mankind. "Has virtue, then, no joys?"--Yes, joys dear-bought. Talk ne'er so long, in this imperfect state, Virtue and vice are at eternal war, Virtue's a combat; and who fights for nought? Or for precarious, or for small reward? Who virtue's self-reward so loud resound, 243 Would take degrees angelic here below, And virtue, while they compliment, betray, By feeble motives, and unfaithful guards. The crown, th' unfading crown, her soul inspires: 'Tis that, and that alone, can countervail The body's treacheries, and the world's assaults: On earth's poor pay our famish'd virtue dies. 250 Truth incontestible! in spite of all A Bayle has preach'd, or a Voltaire believed. In man the more we dive, the more we see Heaven's signet stamping an immortal make. Dive to the bottom of his soul, the base Sustaining all; what find we? knowledge, love. As light and heat, essential to the sun, These to the soul. And why, if souls expire? How little lovely here? how little known? Small knowledge we dig up with endless toil; 260 And love unfeign'd may purchase perfect hate. Why starved, on earth, our angel appetites; While brutal are indulged their fulsome fill? Were then capacities divine conferr'd, As a mock-diadem, in savage sport, Rank insult of our pompous poverty, Which reaps but pain, from seeming claims so fair? In future age lies no redress? and shuts Eternity the door on our complaint? If so, for what strange ends were mortals made! 270 The worst to wallow, and the best to weep; The man who merits most, must most complain: Can we conceive a disregard in heaven, What the worst perpetrate, or best endure? This cannot be. To love, and know, in man Is boundless appetite, and boundless power; And these demonstrate boundless objects too. Objects, powers, appetites, Heaven suits in all; Nor, nature through, e'er violates this sweet, Eternal concord, on her tuneful string. 280 Is Man the sole exception from her laws? Eternity struck off from human hope (I speak with truth, but veneration too), Man is a monster, the reproach of Heaven, A stain, a dark impenetrable cloud On Nature's beauteous aspect; and deforms (Amazing blot!), deforms her with her lord. If such is man's allotment, what is heaven? Or own the soul immortal, or blaspheme. Or own the soul immortal, or invert 290 All order. Go, mock-majesty! go, man! And bow to thy superiors of the stall; Through every scene of sense superior far: They graze the turf untill'd; they drink the stream Unbrew'd, and ever full, and unembitter'd With doubts, fears, fruitless hopes, regrets, despairs; Mankind's peculiar! reason's precious dower! No foreign clime they ransack for their robes; Nor brothers cite to the litigious bar; Their good is good entire, unmix'd, unmarr'd; 300 They find a paradise in every field, On boughs forbidden where no curses hang: Their ill no more than strikes the sense; unstretch'd By previous dread, or murmur in the rear: 304 When the worst comes, it comes unfear'd; one stroke Begins, and ends, their woe: they die but once; Bless'd, incommunicable privilege! for which Proud man, who rules the globe, and reads the stars, Philosopher, or hero, sighs in vain. Account for this prerogative in brutes. No day, no glimpse of day, to solve the knot, But what beams on it from eternity. 312 O sole and sweet solution! that unties The difficult, and softens the severe; The cloud on nature's beauteous face dispels; Restores bright order; casts the brute beneath; And re-enthrones us in supremacy Of joy, even here: admit immortal life, And virtue is knight-errantry no more; Each virtue brings in hand a golden dower, 320 Far richer in reversion: Hope exults; And though much bitter in our cup is thrown, Predominates, and gives the taste of heaven. O wherefore is the Deity so kind? Astonishing beyond astonishment! Heaven our reward--for heaven enjoy'd below. Still unsubdued thy stubborn heart?--for there The traitor lurks who doubts the truth I sing. Reason is guiltless; will alone rebels. What, in that stubborn heart, if I should find 330 New, unexpected witnesses against thee? Ambition, pleasure, and the love of gain! Canst thou suspect that these, which make the soul The slave of earth, should own her heir of heaven? Canst thou suspect what makes us disbelieve Our immortality, should prove it sure? First, then, Ambition summon to the bar. Ambition's shame, extravagance, disgust 338 And inextinguishable nature, speak. Each much deposes; hear them in their turn. Thy soul, how passionately fond of fame! How anxious, that fond passion to conceal! We blush, detected in designs on praise, Though for best deeds, and from the best of men: And why? Because immortal. Art divine Has made the body tutor to the soul; Heaven kindly gives our blood a moral flow; Bids it ascend the glowing cheek, and there Upbraid that little heart's inglorious aim, Which stoops to court a character from man; 350 While o'er us, in tremendous judgment sit Far more than man, with endless praise, and blame. Ambition's boundless appetite outspeaks The verdict of its shame. When souls take fire At high presumptions of their own desert, One age is poor applause; the mighty shout, The thunder by the living few begun, Late time must echo; worlds unborn resound. We wish our names eternally to live: Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too. 361 Instinct points out an interest in hereafter; But our blind reason sees not where it lies; Or, seeing, gives the substance for the shade. Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp. Consult th' ambitious, 'tis ambition's cure. "And is this all?" cried Caesar at his height, Disgusted. This third proof Ambition brings 370 Of immortality. The first in fame. Observe him near, your envy will abate: 372 Shamed at the disproportion vast, between The passion and the purchase, he will sigh At such success, and blush at his renown. And why? Because far richer prize invites His heart; far more illustrious glory calls: It calls in whispers, yet the deafest hear. And can Ambition a fourth proof supply? It can, and stronger than the former three; 380 Yet quite o'erlook'd by some reputed wise. Though disappointments in ambition pain, And though success disgusts; yet still, Lorenzo! In vain we strive to pluck it from our hearts; By Nature planted for the noblest ends. Absurd the famed advice to Pyrrhus[34] given, More praised, than ponder'd; specious, but unsound; Sooner that hero's sword the world had quell'd, Than Reason, his ambition. Man must soar. An obstinate activity within, 390 An insuppressive spring, will toss him up In spite of Fortune's load. Not kings alone, Each villager has his ambition too; No Sultan prouder than his fetter'd slave: Slaves build their little Babylons of straw, Echo the proud Assyrian, in their hearts, And cry,--"Behold the wonders of my might!" And why? Because immortal as their lord; And souls immortal must for ever heave At something great; the glitter, or the gold; 400 The praise of mortals, or the praise of Heaven. Nor absolutely vain is human praise, When human is supported by divine. I'll introduce Lorenzo to himself; 404 Pleasure and Pride (bad masters!) share our hearts. As love of pleasure is ordain'd to guard And feed our bodies, and extend our race; The love of praise is planted to protect, And propagate the glories of the mind. What is it, but the love of praise, inspires, Matures, refines, embellishes, exalts, Earth's happiness? From that, the delicate, 412 The grand, the marvellous, of civil life, Want and convenience, underworkers, lay The basis, on which love of glory builds. Nor is thy life, O Virtue! less in debt To praise, thy secret stimulating friend. Were men not proud, what merit should we miss! Pride made the virtues of the Pagan world. Praise is the salt that seasons right to man, 420 And whets his appetite for moral good. Thirst of applause is Virtue's second guard; Reason, her first; but reason wants an aid; Our private reason is a flatterer; Thirst of applause calls public judgment in, To poise our own, to keep an even scale, And give endanger'd Virtue fairer play. Here a fifth proof arises, stronger still: Why this so nice construction of our hearts? These delicate moralities of sense; 430 This constitutional reserve of aid To succour virtue, when our reason fails; If virtue, kept alive by care and toil, And oft, the mark of injuries on earth, When labour'd to maturity (its bill Of disciplines, and pains, unpaid), must die? Why freighted rich, to dash against a rock? Were man to perish when most fit to live, 438 O how misspent were all these stratagems, By skill divine inwoven in our frame! Where are Heaven's holiness and mercy fled? Laughs Heaven, at once, at Virtue, and at Man? If not, why that discouraged, this destroy'd? Thus far Ambition. What says Avarice? This her chief maxim, which has long been thine: "The wise and wealthy are the same,"--I grant it. To store up treasure with incessant toil, This is man's province, this his highest praise. To this great end keen Instinct stings him on. To guide that instinct, Reason! is thy charge; 450 'Tis thine to tell us where true treasure lies: But, Reason failing to discharge her trust, Or to the deaf discharging it in vain, A blunder follows; and blind Industry, Gall'd by the spur, but stranger to the course (The course where stakes of more than gold are won), O'erloading, with the cares of distant age, The jaded spirits of the present hour, Provides for an eternity below. "Thou shalt not covet," is a wise command; 460 But bounded to the wealth the sun surveys: Look farther, the command stands quite reversed, And avarice is a virtue most divine. Is faith a refuge for our happiness? Most sure: and is it not for reason too? Nothing this world unriddles, but the next. Whence inextinguishable thirst of gain? From inextinguishable life in man. Man, if not meant, by worth, to reach the skies, Had wanted wing to fly so far in guilt. 470 Sour grapes, I grant, ambition, avarice, Yet still their root is immortality: 472 These its wild growths so bitter, and so base, (Pain and reproach!) Religion can reclaim, Refine, exalt, throw down their poisonous lee, And make them sparkle in the bowl of bliss. See, the third witness laughs at bliss remote, And falsely promises an Eden here: Truth she shall speak for once, though prone to lie, A common cheat, and Pleasure is her name. 480 To Pleasure never was Lorenzo deaf; Then hear her now, now first thy real friend. Since Nature made us not more fond than proud Of happiness (whence hypocrites in joy! Makers of mirth! artificers of smiles!), Why should the joy most poignant sense affords, Burn us with blushes, and rebuke our pride?-- Those heaven-born blushes tell us man descends, Even in the zenith of his earthly bliss: Should Reason take her infidel repose, 490 This honest instinct speaks our lineage high; This instinct calls on darkness to conceal Our rapturous relation to the stalls. Our glory covers us with noble shame, And he that's unconfounded, is unmann'd. The man that blushes, is not quite a brute. Thus far with thee, Lorenzo, will I close: Pleasure is good, and man for pleasure made; But pleasure full of glory, as of joy; Pleasure, which neither blushes, nor expires. 500 The witnesses are heard; the cause is o'er; Let Conscience file the sentence in her court, Dearer than deeds that half a realm convey; Thus seal'd by Truth, th' authentic record runs: "Know all; know, infidels,--unapt to know! 'Tis immortality your nature solves; 506 'Tis immortality deciphers man, And opens all the mysteries of his make. Without it, half his instincts are a riddle; Without it, all his virtues are a dream. His very crimes attest his dignity; His sateless thirst of pleasure, gold, and fame, Declares him born for blessings infinite: 513 What less than infinite makes unabsurd Passions, which all on earth but more inflames? Fierce passions, so mismeasured to this scene, Stretch'd out, like eagles' wings, beyond our nest, Far, far beyond the worth of all below, For earth too large, presage a nobler flight, And evidence our title to the skies." 520 Ye gentle theologues, of calmer kind! Whose constitution dictates to your pen, Who, cold yourselves, think ardour comes from hell! Think not our passions from Corruption sprung, Though to Corruption now they lend their wings; That is their mistress, not their mother. All (And justly) Reason deem divine: I see, I feel a grandeur in the passions too, Which speaks their high descent, and glorious end; Which speaks them rays of an eternal fire. 530 In Paradise itself they burn'd as strong, Ere Adam fell; though wiser in their aim. Like the proud Eastern,[35] struck by Providence, What though our passions are run mad, and stoop With low, terrestrial appetite, to graze On trash, on toys, dethroned from high desire? Yet still, through their disgrace, no feeble ray Of greatness shines, and tells us whence they fell: But these (like that fallen monarch when reclaim'd), 539 When Reason moderates the rein aright, Shall reascend, remount their former sphere, Where once they soar'd illustrious; ere seduced By wanton Eve's debauch, to stroll on earth, And set the sublunary world on fire. But grant their phrensy lasts; their phrensy fails To disappoint one providential end, For which Heaven blew up ardour in our hearts: Were Reason silent, boundless Passion speaks A future scene of boundless objects too, And brings glad tidings of eternal day. 550 Eternal day! 'tis that enlightens all; And all, by that enlighten'd, proves it sure. Consider man as an immortal being, Intelligible all; and all is great; A crystalline transparency prevails, And strikes full lustre through the human sphere: Consider man as mortal, all is dark, And wretched; Reason weeps at the survey. The learn'd Lorenzo cries, "And let her weep, Weak, modern Reason: ancient times were wise. 560 Authority, that venerable guide, Stands on my part; the famed Athenian porch (And who for wisdom so renown'd as they?) Denied this immortality to man." I grant it; but affirm, they proved it too. A riddle this!--have patience; I'll explain. What noble vanities, what moral flights, Glittering through their romantic wisdom's page, Make us at once despise them, and admire? Fable is flat to these high-season'd sires; 570 They leave th' extravagance of song below. "Flesh shall not feel; or, feeling, shall enjoy The dagger, or the rack; to them, alike 573 A bed of roses, or the burning bull." In men exploding all beyond the grave, Strange doctrine, this! As doctrine, it was strange; But not, as prophecy; for such it proved, And, to their own amazement, was fulfill'd: They feign'd a firmness Christians need not feign. The Christian truly triumph'd in the flame: 580 The Stoic saw, in double wonder lost, Wonder at them, and wonder at himself, To find the bold adventures of his thought Not bold, and that he strove to lie in vain. Whence, then, those thoughts? those towering thoughts, that flew Such monstrous heights?--From instinct, and from pride. The glorious instinct of a deathless soul, Confusedly conscious of her dignity, Suggested truths they could not understand. In Lust's dominion, and in Passion's storm, 590 Truth's system broken, scatter'd fragments lay, As light in chaos, glimmering through the gloom: Smit with the pomp of lofty sentiments, Pleased Pride proclaim'd, what Reason disbelieved. Pride, like the Delphic priestess, with a swell, Raved nonsense, destined to be future sense, When life immortal, in full day, shall shine; And death's dark shadows fly the Gospel sun. They spoke, what nothing but immortal souls Could speak; and thus the truth they question'd, proved. Can then absurdities, as well as crimes, 601 Speak man immortal? All things speak him so. Much has been urged; and dost thou call for more? Call; and with endless questions be distress'd, All unresolvable, if earth is all. "Why life, a moment; infinite, desire? 606 Our wish, eternity? Our home, the grave? Heaven's promise dormant lies in human hope; Who wishes life immortal, proves it too. Why happiness pursued, though never found? Man's thirst of happiness declares it is, (For nature never gravitates to nought); That thirst unquench'd declares it is not here. 613 My Lucia, thy Clarissa call to thought; Why cordial friendship riveted so deep, As hearts to pierce at first, at parting, rend, If friend, and friendship, vanish in an hour? Is not this torment in the mask of joy? Why by reflection marr'd the joys of sense? Why past, and future, preying on our hearts, 620 And putting all our present joys to death? Why labours Reason? Instinct were as well; Instinct far better; what can choose, can err: O how infallible the thoughtless brute! 'Twere well his Holiness were half as sure. Reason with inclination, why at war? Why sense of guilt? why Conscience up in arms?" Conscience of guilt, is prophecy of pain, And bosom-council to decline the blow. Reason with inclination ne'er had jarr'd, 630 If nothing future paid forbearance here: Thus on--these, and a thousand pleas uncall'd, All promise, some insure, a second scene; Which, were it doubtful, would be dearer far Than all things else most certain; were it false, What truth on earth so precious as the lie? This world it gives us, let what will ensue; This world it gives, in that high cordial, hope: The future of the present is the soul. How this life groans, when sever'd from the next! 640 Poor mutilated wretch, that disbelieves! By dark distrust his being cut in two, In both parts perishes; life void of joy, Sad prelude of eternity in pain! Couldst thou persuade me, the next life could fail Our ardent wishes; how should I pour out My bleeding heart in anguish, new, as deep! Oh! with what thoughts, thy hope, and my despair, Abhorr'd annihilation! blasts the soul, And wide extends the bounds of human woe! 650 Could I believe Lorenzo's system true, In this black channel would my ravings run: "Grief from the future borrow'd peace, erewhile. The future vanish'd! and the present pain'd! Strange import of unprecedented ill! Fall, how profound! Like Lucifer's, the fall! Unequal fate! his fall, without his guilt! From where fond Hope built her pavilion high, The gods among, hurl'd headlong, hurl'd at once To night! to nothing! darker still than night. 660 If 'twas a dream, why wake me, my worst foe, Lorenzo! boastful of the name of friend? O for delusion! O for error still! Could vengeance strike much stronger than to plant A thinking being in a world like this, Not over-rich before, now beggar'd quite; More cursed than at the fall?--The sun goes out! The thorns shoot up! What thorns in every thought! Why sense of better? It embitters worse. Why sense? why life? If but to sigh, then sink 670 To what I was! twice nothing! and much woe! Woe, from Heaven's bounties! woe from what was wont To flatter most, high intellectual powers. Thought, virtue, knowledge!--blessings, by thy scheme, All poison'd into pains. First, knowledge, once 675 My soul's ambition, now her greatest dread. To know myself, true wisdom?--No, to shun That shocking science, parent of despair! Avert thy mirror: if I see, I die. "Know my Creator! climb his bless'd abode By painful speculation, pierce the veil, Dive in his nature, read his attributes, And gaze in admiration--on a foe, 683 Obtruding life, withholding happiness! From the full rivers that surround his throne, Not letting fall one drop of joy on man; Man gasping for one drop, that he might cease To curse his birth, nor envy reptiles more! Ye sable clouds! ye darkest shades of night! Hide him, for ever hide him, from my thought, 690 Once all my comfort; source, and soul of joy! Now leagued with furies, and with thee,[36] against me. "Know his achievements? study his renown? Contemplate this amazing universe, Dropp'd from his hand, with miracles replete! For what? 'Mid miracles of nobler name, To find one miracle of misery? To find the being, which alone can know And praise his works, a blemish on his praise? Through nature's ample range, in thought, to stroll, 700 And start at man, the single mourner there, Breathing high hope, chain'd down to pangs, and death? Knowing is suffering: and shall Virtue share The sigh of knowledge?--Virtue shares the sigh. By straining up the steep of excellent, By battles fought, and, from temptation won, What gains she, but the pang of seeing worth, 707 Angelic worth, soon shuffled in the dark With every vice, and swept to brutal dust? Merit is madness; virtue is a crime; A crime to reason, if it costs us pain Unpaid: what pain, amidst a thousand more, To think the most abandon'd, after days 713 Of triumph o'er their betters, find in death As soft a pillow, nor make fouler clay! "Duty! Religion!--these, our duty done, Imply reward. Religion is mistake. Duty!--there's none, but to repel the cheat. Ye cheats, away! ye daughters of my pride! Who feign yourselves the favourites of the skies: 720 Ye towering hopes! abortive energies! That toss, and struggle, in my lying breast, To scale the skies, and build presumptions there, As I were heir of an eternity. Vain, vain ambitions! trouble me no more. Why travel far in quest of sure defeat? As bounded as my being, be my wish. All is inverted; wisdom is a fool. Sense! take the rein; blind Passion! drive us on; And, Ignorance! befriend us on our way; 730 Ye new, but truest patrons of our peace! Yes; give the pulse full empire; live the brute, Since, as the brute, we die. The sum of man, Of godlike man! to revel, and to rot. "But not on equal terms with other brutes: Their revels a more poignant relish yield, And safer too; they never poisons choose. Instinct, than reason, makes more wholesome meals, And sends all-marring murmur far away. For sensual life they best philosophize; 740 Theirs, that serene, the sages sought in vain: 741 'Tis man alone expostulates with Heaven; His all the power, and all the cause, to mourn. Shall human eyes alone dissolve in tears? And bleed, in anguish, none but human hearts? The wide-stretch'd realm of intellectual woe, Surpassing sensual far, is all our own. In life so fatally distinguish'd, why Cast in one lot, confounded, lump'd, in death? "Ere yet in being, was mankind in guilt? 750 Why thunder'd this peculiar clause against us, All-mortal, and all-wretched!--Have the skies Reasons of state, their subjects may not scan, Nor humbly reason, when they sorely sigh? All-mortal, and all-wretched!--'Tis too much: Unparallell'd in nature: 'tis too much On being unrequested at thy hands, Omnipotent! for I see nought but power. "And why see that? Why thought? To toil, and eat, Then make our bed in darkness, needs no thought. 760 What superfluities are reasoning souls! Oh give eternity! or thought destroy. But without thought our curse were half unfelt; Its blunted edge would spare the throbbing heart; And, therefore, 'tis bestow'd, I thank thee, Reason! For aiding life's too small calamities, And giving being to the dread of Death. Such are thy bounties!--was it then too much For me, to trespass on the brutal rights? Too much for Heaven to make one emmet more? 770 Too much for chaos to permit my mass A longer stay with essences unwrought, Unfashion'd, untormented into man? Wretched preferment to this round of pains! Wretched capacity of phrensy, thought! 775 Wretched capacity of dying, life! Life, thought, worth, wisdom, all (O foul revolt!) Once friends to peace, gone over to the foe. "Death, then, has changed his nature too: O Death! Come to my bosom, thou best gift of Heaven! Best friend of man! since man is man no more. Why in this thorny wilderness so long, Since there's no promised land's ambrosial bower, 783 To pay me with its honey for my stings? If needful to the selfish schemes of Heaven To sting us sore, why mock'd our misery? Why this so sumptuous insult o'er our heads? Why this illustrious canopy display'd? Why so magnificently lodged Despair? At stated periods, sure returning, roll 790 These glorious orbs, that mortals may compute Their length of labours, and of pains; nor lose Their misery's full measure?--Smiles with flowers, And fruits, promiscuous, ever-teeming earth, That man may languish in luxurious scenes, And in an Eden mourn his wither'd joys? Claim earth and skies man's admiration, due For such delights! Blest animals! too wise To wonder, and too happy to complain! "Our doom decreed demands a mournful scene: 800 Why not a dungeon dark, for the condemn'd? Why not the dragon's subterranean den, For man to howl in? Why not his abode Of the same dismal colour with his fate? A Thebes, a Babylon, at vast expence Of time, toil, treasure, art, for owls and adders, As congruous as, for man, this lofty dome, Which prompts proud thought, and kindles high desire; If, from her humble chamber in the dust, 809 While proud thought swells, and high desire inflames, The poor worm calls us for her inmates there; And, round us, Death's inexorable hand Draws the dark curtain close; undrawn no more. "Undrawn no more!--Behind the cloud of death, Once I beheld a sun; a sun which gilt That sable cloud, and turn'd it all to gold: How the grave's alter'd! fathomless, as hell! A real hell to those who dreamt of heaven. Annihilation! how it yawns before me! Next moment I may drop from thought, from sense, 820 The privilege of angels, and of worms, An outcast from existence! and this spirit, This all-pervading, this all-conscious soul, This particle of energy divine, Which travels nature, flies from star to star, And visits gods, and emulates their powers, For ever is extinguish'd. Horror! death! Death of that death I fearless once survey'd!-- When horror universal shall descend, And heaven's dark concave urn all human race, 830 On that enormous, unrefunding tomb, How just this verse! this monumental sigh!"

Beneath the lumber of demolish'd worlds, Deep in the rubbish of the general wreck, Swept ignominious to the common mass Of matter, never dignified with life, Here lie proud rationals; the sons of heaven! The lords of earth! the property of worms! Beings of yesterday, and no to-morrow! Who lived in terror, and in pangs expired! 840 All gone to rot in chaos; or to make Their happy transit into blocks or brutes, 842 Nor longer sully their Creator's name.

Lorenzo! hear, pause, ponder, and pronounce. Just is this history? If such is man, Mankind's historian, though divine, might weep. And dares Lorenzo smile!--I know thee proud; For once let Pride befriend thee; Pride looks pale At such a scene, and sighs for something more. Amid thy boasts, presumptions, and displays, 850 And art thou then a shadow? less than shade? A nothing? less than nothing? To have been, And not to be, is lower than unborn. Art thou ambitious? Why then make the worm Thine equal? Runs thy taste of pleasure high? Why patronise sure death of every joy? Charm riches? Why choose beggary in the grave, Of every hope a bankrupt! and for ever? Ambition, pleasure, avarice, persuade thee To make that world of glory, rapture, wealth, 860 They lately proved,[37] the soul's supreme desire. What art thou made of? Rather, how unmade? Great Nature's master-appetite destroy'd! Is endless life, and happiness, despised? Or both wish'd, here, where neither can be found? Such man's perverse, eternal war with Heaven! Darest thou persist? And is there nought on earth But a long train of transitory forms, Rising, and breaking, millions in an hour? Bubbles of a fantastic deity, blown up 870 In sport, and then in cruelty destroy'd? Oh! for what crime, unmerciful Lorenzo! Destroys thy scheme the whole of human race? Kind is fell Lucifer, compared to thee: 874 Oh! spare this waste of being half divine; And vindicate th' economy of Heaven. Heaven is all love; all joy in giving joy: It never had created, but to bless: And shall it, then, strike off the list of life, A being bless'd, or worthy so to be? Heaven starts at an annihilating God. Is that, all Nature starts at, thy desire? 882 Art such a clod to wish thyself all clay? What is that dreadful wish?--The dying groan Of Nature, murder'd by the blackest guilt. What deadly poison has thy nature drank? To Nature undebauch'd no shock so great; Nature's first wish is endless happiness; Annihilation is an after-thought, A monstrous wish, unborn till virtue dies. 890 And, oh! what depth of horror lies enclosed! For non-existence no man ever wish'd, But, first, he wish'd the Deity destroy'd. If so; what words are dark enough to draw Thy picture true? The darkest are too fair. Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour Of desperation, by what fury's aid, In what infernal posture of the soul, All hell invited, and all hell in joy At such a birth, a birth so near of kin, 900 Did thy foul fancy whelp so black a scheme Of hopes abortive, faculties half-blown, And deities begun, reduced to dust? There's nought (thou say'st) but one eternal flux Of feeble essences, tumultuous driven Through Time's rough billows into Night's abyss. Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin, Is there no rock, on which man's tossing thought 908 Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey, And boldly think it something to be born? Amid such hourly wrecks of being fair, Is there no central, all-sustaining base, All-realising, all-connecting power, Which, as it call'd forth all things, can recall, And force Destruction to refund her spoil? Command the grave restore her taken prey? Bid death's dark vale its human harvest yield, And earth, and ocean, pay their debt of man, True to the grand deposit trusted there? Is there no potentate, whose outstretch'd arm, 920 When ripening time calls forth th' appointed hour, Pluck'd from foul Devastation's famish'd maw, Binds present, past, and future, to his throne? His throne, how glorious, thus divinely graced, By germinating beings clustering round! A garland worthy the divinity! A throne, by Heaven's omnipotence in smiles, Built (like a Pharos towering in the waves) Amidst immense effusions of his love! An ocean of communicated bliss! 930 An all-prolific, all-preserving God! This were a God indeed.--And such is man, As here presumed: he rises from his fall. Think'st thou Omnipotence a naked root, Each blossom fair of Deity destroy'd? Nothing is dead; nay, nothing sleeps; each soul, That ever animated human clay, Now wakes; is on the wing: and where, oh! where, Will the swarm settle?--When the trumpet's call, As sounding brass, collects us, round Heaven's throne Conglobed, we bask in everlasting day, 941 (Paternal splendour!) and adhere for ever. 942 Had not the soul this outlet to the skies, In this vast vessel of the universe, How should we gasp, as in an empty void! How in the pangs of famish'd hope expire? How bright my prospect shines! how gloomy, thine! A trembling world! and a devouring God! Earth, but the shambles of Omnipotence! Heaven's face all stain'd with causeless massacres 950 Of countless millions, born to feel the pang Of being lost. Lorenzo! can it be? This bids us shudder at the thoughts of life. Who would be born to such a phantom world, Where nought substantial but our misery? Where joy (if joy) but heightens our distress, So soon to perish, and revive no more? The greater such a joy, the more it pains. A world, so far from great, (and yet how great It shines to thee!) there's nothing real in it; 960 Being, a shadow; consciousness, a dream! A dream, how dreadful! universal blank Before it, and behind! Poor man, a spark From non-existence struck by wrath divine, Glittering a moment, nor that moment sure, 'Midst upper, nether, and surrounding night, His sad, sure, sudden, and eternal tomb! Lorenzo! dost thou feel these arguments? Or is there nought but vengeance can be felt? How hast thou dared the Deity dethrone? 970 How dared indict Him of a world like this? If such the world, creation was a crime; For what is crime, but cause of misery? Retract, blasphemer! and unriddle this, Of endless arguments above, below, Without us, and within, the short result-- 976 "If man's immortal, there's a God in heaven." But wherefore such redundancy? such waste Of argument? One sets my soul at rest! One obvious, and at hand, and, oh!--at heart. So just the skies, Philander's life so pain'd, His heart so pure; that, or succeeding scenes Have palms to give, or ne'er had he been born. 983 "What an old tale is this!" Lorenzo cries.-- I grant this argument is old; but truth No years impair; and had not this been true, Thou never hadst despised it for its age. Truth is immortal as thy soul; and fable As fleeting as thy joys: be wise, nor make Heaven's highest blessing, vengeance; oh, be wise! 990 Nor make a curse of immortality. Say, know'st thou what it is, or what thou art? Know'st thou th' importance of a soul immortal? Behold this midnight glory: worlds on worlds! Amazing pomp! redouble this amaze; Ten thousand add; add twice ten thousand more; Then weigh the whole; one soul outweighs them all; And calls th' astonishing magnificence Of unintelligent creation, poor. For this, believe not me; no man believe: 1000 Trust not in words, but deeds; and deeds no less Than those of the Supreme; nor His, a few; Consult them all; consulted, all proclaim Thy soul's importance: tremble at thyself; For whom Omnipotence has waked so long: Has waked, and work'd, for ages; from the birth Of Nature to this unbelieving hour. In this small province of His vast domain (All nature bow, while I pronounce His Name!) What has God done, and not for this sole end, 1010 To rescue souls from death? The soul's high price Is writ in all the conduct of the skies. The soul's high price is the creation's key, Unlocks its mysteries, and naked lays The genuine cause of every deed divine: That is the chain of ages, which maintains Their obvious correspondence, and unites Most distant periods in one bless'd design: That is the mighty hinge, on which have turn'd All revolutions, whether we regard 1020 The natural, civil, or religious, world; The former two but servants to the third: To that their duty done, they both expire, Their mass new-cast, forgot their deeds renown'd; And angels ask, "Where once they shone so fair?" To lift us from this abject, to sublime; This flux, to permanent; this dark, to day; This foul, to pure; this turbid, to serene; This mean, to mighty!--for this glorious end Th' Almighty, rising, his long Sabbath broke! 1030 The world was made; was ruin'd; was restored; Laws from the skies were publish'd; were repeal'd; On earth, kings, kingdoms, rose; kings, kingdoms, fell; Famed sages lighted up the Pagan world; Prophets from Sion darted a keen glance Through distant age; saints travell'd; martyrs bled; By wonders sacred nature stood controll'd; The living were translated; dead were raised; Angels, and more than angels, came from heaven; And, oh! for this, descended lower still; 1040 Guilt was hell's gloom; astonish'd at his guest, For one short moment Lucifer adored: Lorenzo! and wilt thou do less?--For this, That hallow'd page, fools scoff at, was inspired, 1044 Of all these truths thrice venerable code! Deists! perform your quarantine; and then Fall prostrate, ere you touch it, lest you die. Nor less intensely bent infernal powers To mar, than those of light, this end to gain. Oh, what a scene is here!--Lorenzo, wake! Rise to the thought; exert, expand thy soul To take the vast idea: it denies 1052 All else the name of great. Two warring worlds! Not Europe against Afric; warring worlds! Of more than mortal! mounted on the wing! On ardent wings of energy, and zeal, High hovering o'er this little brand of strife! This sublunary ball--but strife, for what? In their own cause conflicting? No; in thine, In Man's. His single interest blows the flame; 1060 His the sole stake; his fate the trumpet sounds, Which kindles war immortal. How it burns! Tumultuous swarms of deities in arms! Force, force opposing, till the waves run high, And tempest nature's universal sphere. Such opposites eternal, steadfast, stern, Such foes implacable, are Good, and Ill; Yet man, vain man, would mediate peace between them. Think not this fiction, "There was war in heaven." From heaven's high crystal mountain, where it hung, Th' Almighty's outstretch'd arm took down his bow, 1071 And shot his indignation at the deep: Re-thunder'd hell, and darted all her fires.-- And seems the stake of little moment still? And slumbers man, who singly caused the storm? He sleeps.--And art thou shock'd at mysteries? The greatest, thou. How dreadful to reflect, What ardour, care, and counsel, mortals cause 1078 In breasts divine! how little in their own! Where'er I turn, how new proofs pour upon me! How happily this wondrous view supports My former argument! How strongly strikes Immortal life's full demonstration, here! Why this exertion? Why this strange regard From heaven's Omnipotent indulged to man?-- Because, in man, the glorious dreadful power, Extremely to be pain'd, or bless'd, for ever. Duration gives importance; swells the price An angel, if a creature of a day, What would he be? a trifle of no weight; 1090 Or stand, or fall; no matter which; he's gone. Because immortal, therefore is indulged This strange regard of deities to dust. Hence, Heaven looks down on earth with all her eyes; Hence, the soul's mighty moment in her sight: Hence, every soul has partisans above, And every thought a critic in the skies: Hence, clay, vile clay! has angels for its guard, And every guard a passion for his charge: Hence, from all age, the cabinet divine 1100 Has held high counsel o'er the fate of man. Nor have the clouds those gracious counsels hid, Angels undrew the curtain of the throne, And Providence came forth to meet mankind: In various modes of emphasis and awe, He spoke his will, and trembling Nature heard; He spoke it loud, in thunder and in storm. Witness, thou Sinai! whose cloud-cover'd height, And shaken basis, own'd the present God: Witness, ye billows! whose returning tide, 1110 Breaking the chain that fasten'd it in air, Swept Egypt, and her menaces, to hell: 1112 Witness, ye flames! th' Assyrian tyrant blew To sevenfold rage, as impotent, as strong: And thou, earth! witness, whose expanding jaws Closed o'er Presumption's sacrilegious sons:[38] Has not each element, in turn, subscribed The soul's high price, and sworn it to the wise? Has not flame, ocean, ether, earthquake, strove To strike this truth, through adamantine man? 1120 If not all-adamant, Lorenzo! hear; All is delusion; Nature is wrapt up, In tenfold night, from Reason's keenest eye; There's no consistence, meaning, plan, or end, In all beneath the sun, in all above (As far as man can penetrate), or heaven Is an immense, inestimable prize; Or all is nothing, or that prize is all.-- And shall each toy be still a match for Heaven, And full equivalent for groans below? 1130 Who would not give a trifle to prevent What he would give a thousand worlds to cure? Lorenzo! thou hast seen (if thine to see) All nature, and her God (by nature's course, And nature's course controll'd), declare for me: The skies above proclaim, "Immortal man!" And, "Man immortal!" all below resounds. The world's a system of theology, Read by the greatest strangers to the schools: If honest, learn'd; and sages o'er a plough. 1140 Is not, Lorenzo, then, imposed on thee This hard alternative; or, to renounce Thy reason, or thy sense; or, to believe? What then is unbelief? 'Tis an exploit; A strenuous enterprise: to gain it, man 1145 Must burst through every bar of common sense, Of common shame, magnanimously wrong: And what rewards the sturdy combatant? His prize, repentance; infamy, his crown. But wherefore infamy?--For want of faith, Down the steep precipice of wrong he slides; There's nothing to support him in the right. 1152 Faith in the future wanting, is, at least In embryo, every weakness, every guilt; And strong temptation ripens it to birth. If this life's gain invites him to the deed, Why not his country sold, his father slain? 'Tis virtue to pursue our good supreme; And his supreme, his only good, is here. Ambition, avarice, by the wise disdain'd, 1160 Is perfect wisdom, while mankind are fools, And think a turf, or tombstone, covers all: These find employment, and provide for Sense A richer pasture, and a larger range; And Sense by right divine ascends the throne, When Virtue's prize and prospect are no more; Virtue no more we think the will of Heaven. Would Heaven quite beggar Virtue, if beloved? "Has Virtue charms?"--I grant her heavenly fair; But if unportion'd, all will Interest wed; 1170 Though that our admiration, this our choice. The virtues grow on immortality; That root destroy'd, they wither and expire. A Deity believed, will nought avail; Rewards and punishments make God adored; And hopes and fears give Conscience all her power. As in the dying parent dies the child, Virtue, with immortality, expires. Who tells me he denies his soul immortal, 1179 Whate'er his boast, has told me, he's a knave. His duty 'tis, to love himself alone; Nor care though mankind perish, if he smiles. Who thinks ere long the man shall wholly die, Is dead already; nought but brute survives. And are there such?--Such candidates there are For more than death; for utter loss of being, Being, the basis of the Deity! Ask you the cause?--The cause they will not tell: Nor need they: oh the sorceries of Sense! They work this transformation on the soul; 1190 Dismount her, like the serpent at the fall, Dismount her from her native wing (which soar'd Erewhile ethereal heights), and throw her down, To lick the dust, and crawl in such a thought. Is it in words to paint you? O ye fallen! Fallen from the wings of Reason, and of Hope! Erect in stature, prone in appetite! Patrons of pleasure, posting into pain! Lovers of argument, averse to sense! Boasters of liberty, fast bound in chains! 1200 Lords of the wide creation, and the shame! More senseless than th' irrationals you scorn! More base than those you rule! than those you pity, Far more undone! O ye most infamous Of beings, from superior dignity! Deepest in woe, from means of boundless bliss! Ye cursed by blessings infinite! because Most highly favour'd, most profoundly lost! Ye motley mass of contradiction strong! And are you, too, convinced, your souls fly off 1210 In exhalation soft, and die in air, From the full flood of evidence against you? In the coarse drudgeries, and sinks of Sense, 1213 Your souls have quite worn out the make of Heaven, By vice new-cast, and creatures of your own: But though you can deform, you can't destroy; To curse, not uncreate, is all your power. Lorenzo! this black brotherhood renounce; Renounce St Evremont, and read St Paul. Ere rapt by miracle, by Reason wing'd, 1220 His mounting mind made long abode in heaven. This is freethinking, unconfined to parts, To send the soul, on curious travel bent, Through all the provinces of human thought; To dart her flight, through the whole sphere of man; Of this vast universe to make the tour; In each recess of space, and time, at home; Familiar with their wonders; diving deep; And, like a prince of boundless interests there, Still most ambitious of the most remote; 1230 To look on truth unbroken, and entire; Truth in the system, the full orb; where truths By truths enlighten'd, and sustain'd, afford An arch-like, strong foundation, to support Th' incumbent weight of absolute, complete Conviction; here, the more we press, we stand More firm; who most examine, most believe. Parts, like half sentences, confound; the whole Conveys the sense, and God is understood; Who not in fragments writes to human race: 1240 Read his whole volume, sceptic! then reply. This, this, is thinking free, a thought that grasps Beyond a grain, and looks beyond an hour. Turn up thine eye, survey this midnight scene; What are earth's kingdoms, to yon boundless orbs, Of human souls, one day, the destined range? And what yon boundless orbs, to godlike man? 1247 Those numerous worlds that throng the firmament, And ask more space in heaven, can roll at large In man's capacious thought, and still leave room For ampler orbs, for new creations, there. Can such a soul contract itself, to gripe A point of no dimension, of no weight? 1253 It can; it does: the world is such a point; And, of that point, how small a part enslaves! How small a part--of nothing, shall I say? Why not?--Friends, our chief treasure! how they drop! Lucia,[39] Narcissa fair, Philander, gone! The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has oped A triple mouth; and, in an awful voice, 1260 Loud calls my soul, and utters all I sing. How the world falls to pieces round about us, And leaves us in a ruin of our joy! What says this transportation of my friends? It bids me love the place where now they dwell, And scorn this wretched spot, they leave so poor. Eternity's vast ocean lies before thee; There, there, Lorenzo! thy Clarissa sails. Give thy mind sea-room; keep it wide of earth, That rock of souls immortal; cut thy cord; 1270 Weigh anchor; spread thy sails; call every wind; Eye thy great Pole-star; make the land of life. Two kinds of life has double-natured man, And two of death; the last far more severe. Life animal is nurtured by the sun; Thrives on his bounties, triumphs in his beams. Life rational subsists on higher food, Triumphant in His beams, who made the day. When we leave that sun, and are left by this (The fate of all who die in stubborn guilt), 1280 'Tis utter darkness; strictly double death. We sink by no judicial stroke of Heaven, But nature's course; as sure as plummets fall. Since God, or man, must alter, ere they meet (Since light and darkness blend not in one sphere), 'Tis manifest, Lorenzo! who must change. If, then, that double death should prove thy lot, Blame not the bowels of the Deity; Man shall be blest, as far as man permits. Not man alone, all rationals, Heaven arms 1290 With an illustrious, but tremendous, power To counteract its own most gracious ends; And this, of strict necessity, not choice; That power denied, men, angels, were no more But passive engines, void of praise, or blame. A nature rational implies the power Of being blest, or wretched, as we please; Else idle Reason would have nought to do; And he that would be barr'd capacity Of pain, courts incapacity of bliss. 1300 Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom; Invites us ardently, but not compels. Heaven but persuades, almighty man decrees; Man is the maker of immortal fates. Man falls by man, if finally he falls; And fall he must, who learns from Death alone, The dreadful secret,--that he lives for ever. Why this to thee?--thee yet, perhaps, in doubt Of second life? But wherefore doubtful still? Eternal life is nature's ardent wish: 1310 What ardently we wish, we soon believe: Thy tardy faith declares that wish destroy'd: What has destroy'd it?--Shall I tell thee what? When fear'd the future, 'tis no longer wish'd; 1314 And, when unwish'd, we strive to disbelieve. "Thus infidelity our guilt betrays." Nor that the sole detection! blush, Lorenzo! Blush for hypocrisy, if not for guilt. The future fear'd?--an infidel, and fear? Fear what? a dream? a fable?--How thy dread, Unwilling evidence, and therefore strong, Affords my cause an undesign'd support! 1322 How disbelief affirms, what it denies! "It, unawares, asserts immortal life."-- Surprising! infidelity turns out A creed, and a confession of our sins: Apostates, thus, are orthodox divines. Lorenzo! with Lorenzo clash no more; Nor longer a transparent visor wear. Think'st thou, Religion only has her mask? 1330 Our infidels are Satan's hypocrites, Pretend the worst, and, at the bottom, fail. When visited by thought (thought will intrude), Like him they serve, they tremble, and believe. Is there hypocrisy so foul as this? So fatal to the welfare of the world? What detestation, what contempt, their due! And, if unpaid, be thank'd for their escape That Christian candour they strive hard to scorn. If not for that asylum, they might find 1340 A hell on earth; nor 'scape a worse below. With insolence, and impotence of thought, Instead of racking fancy, to refute, Reform thy manners, and the truth enjoy.-- But shall I dare confess the dire result? Can thy proud reason brook so black a brand? From purer manners, to sublimer faith, Is nature's unavoidable ascent; 1348 An honest deist, where the Gospel shines, Matured to nobler, in the Christian ends. When that bless'd change arrives, even cast aside This song superfluous; life immortal strikes Conviction, in a flood of light divine. A Christian dwells, like Uriel,[40] in the sun; Meridian evidence puts doubt to flight; And ardent Hope anticipates the skies. Of that bright sun, Lorenzo! scale the sphere; 'Tis easy! it invites thee; it descends From heaven to woo, and waft thee whence it came: Read and revere the sacred page; a page 1360 Where triumphs immortality; a page Which not the whole creation could produce; Which not the conflagration shall destroy; 'Tis printed in the mind of gods for ever, In nature's ruins not one letter lost. In proud disdain of what even gods adore, Dost smile?--Poor wretch! thy guardian angel weeps. Angels, and men, assent to what I sing; Wits smile, and thank me for my midnight dream. How vicious hearts fume phrensy to the brain! 1370 Parts push us on to pride, and pride to shame; Pert infidelity is Wit's cockade, To grace the brazen brow that braves the skies, By loss of being, dreadfully secure. Lorenzo! if thy doctrine wins the day, And drives my dreams, defeated, from the field; If this is all, if earth a final scene, Take heed; stand fast; be sure to be a knave; A knave in grain! ne'er deviate to the right: Should'st thou be good--how infinite thy loss! 1380 Guilt only makes annihilation gain. 1381 Bless'd scheme! which life deprives of comfort, death Of hope; and which Vice only recommends. If so, where, infidels! your bait thrown out To catch weak converts? where your lofty boast Of zeal for virtue, and of love to man? Annihilation! I confess, in these. What can reclaim you? Dare I hope profound Philosophers the converts of a song? Yet know, its title[41] flatters you, not me; 1390 Yours be the praise to make my title good; Mine, to bless Heaven, and triumph in your praise. But since so pestilential your disease, Though sovereign is the medicine I prescribe, As yet, I'll neither triumph, nor despair: But hope, ere long, my midnight dream will wake Your hearts, and teach your wisdom--to be wise: For why should souls immortal, made for bliss, E'er wish (and wish in vain!) that souls could die? What ne'er can die, oh! grant to live; and crown 1400 The wish, and aim, and labour of the skies; Increase, and enter on the joys of heaven: Thus shall my title pass a sacred seal, Receive an imprimatur from above, While angels shout--An Infidel Reclaimed! To close, Lorenzo! spite of all my pains, Still seems it strange, that thou should'st live for ever? Is it less strange, that thou should'st live at all? This is a miracle; and that no more. Who gave beginning, can exclude an end. 1410 Deny thou art: then, doubt if thou shalt be. A miracle with miracles enclosed, Is man; and starts his faith at what is strange? What less than wonders, from the Wonderful; 1414 What less than miracles, from God, can flow? Admit a God--that mystery supreme! That Cause uncaused! all other wonders cease; Nothing is marvellous for Him to do: Deny Him--all is mystery besides; Millions of mysteries! each darker far, Than that thy wisdom would, unwisely, shun. If weak thy faith, why choose the harder side? 1422 We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe. So weak our reason, and so great our God, What most surprises in the sacred page, Or full as strange, or stranger, must be true. Faith is not reason's labour, but repose. To faith, and virtue, why so backward, man? From hence:--the present strongly strikes us all; 1430 The future, faintly: can we, then, be men? If men, Lorenzo! the reverse is right. Reason is man's peculiar: Sense, the brute's. The present is the scanty realm of Sense; The future, Reason's empire unconfined: On that expending all her godlike power, She plans, provides, expatiates, triumphs, there; There, builds her blessings; there, expects her praise; And nothing asks of Fortune, or of men. And what is Reason? Be she thus defined; 1440 Reason is upright stature in the soul. Oh! be a man;--and strive to be a god. "For what? (thou say'st)--to damp the joys of life?" No; to give heart and substance to thy joys. That tyrant, Hope; mark how she domineers; She bids us quit realities, for dreams; Safety and peace, for hazard and alarm; That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the soul, 1448 She bids Ambition quit its taken prize, Spurn the luxuriant branch on which it sits, Though bearing crowns, to spring at distant game; And plunge in toils and dangers--for repose. If hope precarious, and of things, when gain'd, Of little moment, and as little stay, Can sweeten toils and dangers into joys; What then, that hope, which nothing can defeat, Our leave unask'd? rich hope of boundless bliss! Bliss, past Man's power to paint it; Time's, to close! This hope is earth's most estimable prize: This is man's portion, while no more than man: 1460 Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here; Passions of prouder name befriend us less. Joy has her tears; and Transport has her death; Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong, Man's heart, at once, inspirits, and serenes; Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys; 'Tis all our present state can safely bear, Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind! A joy attemper'd! a chastised delight! Like the fair summer evening, mild, and sweet! 1470 'Tis man's full cup; his paradise below! A blest hereafter, then, or hoped, or gain'd, Is all;--our whole of happiness: full proof, I chose no trivial or inglorious theme. And know, ye foes to song! (well-meaning men, Though quite forgotten half your Bible's[42] praise!) Important truths, in spite of verse, may please: Grave minds you praise; nor can you praise too much: If there is weight in an eternity, Let the grave listen;--and be graver still. 1480

VIRTUE'S APOLOGY; OR, THE MAN OF THE WORLD ANSWERED. IN WHICH ARE CONSIDERED, THE LOVE OF THIS LIFE; THE AMBITION AND PLEASURE, WITH THE WIT AND WISDOM, OF THE WORLD.

NIGHT EIGHTH

VIRTUE'S APOLOGY.

And has all nature, then, espoused my part? Have I bribed heaven, and earth, to plead against thee? And is thy soul immortal?--What remains? All, all, Lorenzo!--Make immortal blest. Unblest immortals!--What can shock us more? And yet Lorenzo still affects the world; There stows his treasure; thence his title draws, Man of the world (for such would'st thou be call'd), And art thou proud of that inglorious style? Proud of reproach? for a reproach it was, 10 In ancient days; and Christian,--in an age, When men were men, and not ashamed of heaven, Fired their ambition, as it crown'd their joy. Sprinkled with dews from the Castalian font, Fain would I re-baptize thee, and confer A purer spirit, and a nobler name. Thy fond attachments, fatal, and inflamed, Point out my path, and dictate to my song: To thee, the world how fair! how strongly strikes Ambition! and gay pleasure stronger still! 20 Thy triple bane! the triple bolt that lays 21 Thy virtue dead! Be these my triple theme; Nor shall thy wit, or wisdom, be forgot. Common the theme; not so the song; if she My song invokes, Urania deigns to smile. The charm that chains us to the world, her foe, If she dissolves, the man of earth, at once, Starts from his trance, and sighs for other scenes; Scenes, where these sparks of night, these stars shall shine Unnumber'd suns (for all things, as they are, 30 The blest behold); and, in one glory, pour Their blended blaze on man's astonish'd sight; A blaze--the least illustrious object there. Lorenzo! since eternal is at hand, To swallow Time's ambitions; as the vast Leviathan, the bubbles vain, that ride High on the foaming billow; what avail High titles, high descent, attainments high, If unattain'd our highest? O Lorenzo! What lofty thoughts, these elements above, 40 What towering hopes, what sallies from the sun, What grand surveys of destiny divine, And pompous presage of unfathom'd fate, Should roll in bosoms, where a spirit burns, Bound for eternity! in bosoms read By Him, who foibles in archangels sees! On human hearts He bends a jealous eye, And marks, and in heaven's register enrols, The rise, and progress, of each option there; Sacred to doomsday! That the page unfolds, 50 And spreads us to the gaze of gods and men. And what an option, O Lorenzo, thine! This world! and this, unrivall'd by the skies! A world, where lust of pleasure, grandeur, gold, Three demons that divide its realms between them, 55 With strokes alternate buffet to and fro Man's restless heart, their sport, their flying ball; Till, with the giddy circle sick, and tired, It pants for peace, and drops into despair. Such is the world Lorenzo sets above That glorious promise angels were esteem'd Too mean to bring; a promise, their Adored 62 Descended to communicate, and press, By counsel, miracle, life, death, on man. Such is the world Lorenzo's wisdom woos, And on its thorny pillow seeks repose; A pillow, which, like opiates ill prepared, Intoxicates, but not composes; fills The visionary mind with gay chimeras, All the wild trash of sleep, without the rest; 70 What unfeign'd travel, and what dreams of joy! How frail, men, things! how momentary, both! Fantastic chase of shadows hunting shades! The gay, the busy, equal though unlike; Equal in wisdom, differently wise! Through flowery meadows, and through dreary wastes, One bustling, and one dancing, into death. There's not a day, but, to the man of thought, Betrays some secret, that throws new reproach On life, and makes him sick of seeing more. 80 The scenes of business tell us--"What are men;" The scenes of pleasure--"What is all beside;" There, others we despise; and here, ourselves: Amid disgust eternal, dwells delight? 'Tis approbation strikes the string of joy. What wondrous prize has kindled this career, Stuns with the din, and chokes us with the dust, On life's gay stage, one inch above the grave? The proud run up and down in quest of eyes; 89 The sensual, in pursuit of something worse; The grave, of gold; the politic, of power; And all, of other butterflies, as vain! As eddies draw things frivolous, and light, How is man's heart by vanity drawn in; On the swift circle of returning toys, Whirl'd, straw-like, round and round, and then engulf'd, Where gay delusion darkens to despair! "This is a beaten track."--Is this a track Should not be beaten? Never beat enough, Till enough learn'd the truths it would inspire. 100 Shall Truth be silent, because Folly frowns? Turn the world's history; what find we there, But Fortune's sports, or Nature's cruel claims, Or Woman's artifice, or Man's revenge, And endless inhumanities on man? Fame's trumpet seldom sounds, but, like the knell, It brings bad tidings: how it hourly blows Man's misadventures round the listening world! Man is the tale of narrative old time; Sad tale; which high as Paradise begins; 110 As if, the toil of travel to delude, From stage to stage, in his eternal round, The Days, his daughters, as they spin our hours On Fortune's wheel, where accident unthought Oft, in a moment, snaps life's strongest thread, Each, in her turn, some tragic story tells, With, now and then, a wretched farce between; And fills his chronicle with human woes. Time's daughters, true as those of men, deceive us; Not one, but puts some cheat on all mankind: 120 While in their father's bosom, not yet ours, They flatter our fond hopes, and promise much Of amiable; but hold him not o'er-wise, 123 Who dares to trust them; and laugh round the year At still-confiding, still-confounded, man, Confiding, though confounded; hoping on, Untaught by trial, unconvinced by proof, And ever looking for the never seen. Life to the last, like harden'd felons, lies; Nor owns itself a cheat, till it expires. 130 Its little joys go out by one and one, And leave poor man, at length, in perfect night; Night darker, than what, now, involves the pole. O Thou, who dost permit these ills to fall, For gracious ends, and would'st that man should mourn! O Thou, whose hands this goodly fabric framed, Who know'st it best, and would'st that man should know! What is this sublunary world? A vapour; A vapour all it holds; itself, a vapour; From the damp bed of chaos, by Thy beam 140 Exhaled, ordain'd to swim its destined hour In ambient air, then melt, and disappear. Earth's days are number'd, nor remote her doom; As mortal, though less transient, than her sons; Yet they doat on her, as the world and they Were both eternal, solid; Thou, a dream. They doat!--on what? Immortal views apart, A region of outsides! a land of shadows! A fruitful field of flowery promises! A wilderness of joys! perplex'd with doubts, 150 And sharp with thorns! a troubled ocean, spread With bold adventurers, their all on board! No second hope, if here their fortune frowns; Frown soon it must. Of various rates they sail, Of ensigns various; all alike in this, All restless, anxious; toss'd with hopes, and fears, In calmest skies; obnoxious all to storm; 157 And stormy the most general blast of life: All bound for happiness; yet few provide The chart of knowledge, pointing where it lies; Or Virtue's helm, to shape the course design'd: All, more or less, capricious fate lament, Now lifted by the tide, and now resorb'd, 163 And farther from their wishes than before: All, more or less, against each other dash. To mutual hurt, by gusts of passion driven, And suffering more from folly, than from fate. Ocean! thou dreadful and tumultuous home Of dangers, at eternal war with man! Death's capital, where most he domineers, 170 With all his chosen terrors frowning round, (Though lately feasted high at Albion's cost,)[43] Wide-opening, and loud roaring still for more! Too faithful mirror! how dost thou reflect The melancholy face of human life! The strong resemblance tempts me farther still: And, haply, Britain may be deeper struck By moral truth, in such a mirror seen, Which Nature holds for ever at her eye. Self-flatter'd, unexperienced, high in hope, 180 When young, with sanguine cheer, and streamers gay, We cut our cable, launch into the world, And fondly dream each wind and star our friend; All, in some darling enterprise embark'd: But where is he can fathom its extent? Amid a multitude of artless hands, Ruin's sure perquisite! her lawful prize! Some steer aright; but the black blast blows hard, And puffs them wide of hope: with hearts of proof, Full against wind and tide, some win their way; 190 And when strong effort has deserved the port, And tugg'd it into view, 'tis won! 'tis lost! Though strong their oar, still stronger is their fate: They strike; and, while they triumph, they expire. In stress of weather, most; some sink outright; O'er them, and o'er their names, the billows close; To-morrow knows not they were ever born. Others a short memorial leave behind, Like a flag floating,[44] when the bark's engulf'd; It floats a moment, and is seen no more: 200 One Caesar lives; a thousand are forgot. How few, beneath auspicious planets born (Darlings of Providence! fond Fate's elect!), With swelling sails make good the promised port, With all their wishes freighted! Yet even these, Freighted with all their wishes, soon complain; Free from misfortune, not from nature free, They still are men; and when is man secure? As fatal time, as storm! the rush of years Beats down their strength; their numberless escapes 210 In ruin end: and, now, their proud success But plants new terrors on the victor's brow: What pain to quit the world, just made their own, Their nest so deeply down'd, and built so high! Too low they build, who build beneath the stars. Woe then apart (if woe apart can be From mortal man), and fortune at our nod, The gay, rich, great, triumphant, and august! What are they?--The most happy (strange to say!) Convince me most of human misery; 220 What are they? Smiling wretches of to-morrow! 221 More wretched, then, than e'er their slave can be; Their treacherous blessings, at the day of need, Like other faithless friends, unmask, and sting: Then, what provoking indigence in wealth! What aggravated impotence in power! High titles, then, what insult of their pain! If that sole anchor, equal to the waves, Immortal Hope! defies not the rude storm, Takes comfort from the foaming billow's rage, 230 And makes a welcome harbour of the tomb. Is this a sketch of what thy soul admires? "But here (thou say'st) the miseries of life Are huddled in a group. A more distinct Survey, perhaps, might bring thee better news." Look on life's stages: they speak plainer still; The plainer they, the deeper wilt thou sigh. Look on thy lovely boy; in him behold The best that can befall the best on earth; The boy has virtue by his mother's side: 240 Yes, on Florello look: a father's heart Is tender, though the man's is made of stone; The truth, through such a medium seen, may make Impression deep, and fondness prove thy friend. Florello lately cast on this rude coast A helpless infant; now a heedless child; To poor Clarissa's throes, thy care succeeds; Care full of love, and yet severe as hate! O'er thy soul's joy how oft thy fondness frowns! Needful austerities his will restrain; 250 As thorns fence in the tender plant from harm. As yet, his reason cannot go alone; But asks a sterner nurse to lead it on. His little heart is often terrified; The blush of morning, in his cheek, turns pale; 255 Its pearly dewdrop trembles in his eye; His harmless eye! and drowns an angel there. Ah! what avails his innocence? The task Enjoin'd must discipline his early powers; He learns to sigh, ere he is known to sin; Guiltless, and sad! a wretch before the fall! How cruel this! more cruel to forbear. 262 Our nature such, with necessary pains, We purchase prospects of precarious peace: Though not a father, this might steal a sigh. Suppose him disciplined aright (if not, 'Twill sink our poor account to poorer still); Ripe from the tutor, proud of liberty, He leaps enclosure, bounds into the world! The world is taken, after ten years' toil, 270 Like ancient Troy; and all its joys his own. Alas! the world's a tutor more severe; Its lessons hard, and ill deserve his pains; Unteaching all his virtuous nature taught, Or books (fair Virtue's advocates!) inspired. For who receives him into public life? Men of the world, the terrae-filial breed, Welcome the modest stranger to their sphere (Which glitter'd long, at distance, in his sight), And, in their hospitable arms, enclose: 280 Men, who think nought so strong of the romance, So rank knight-errant, as a real friend: Men, that act up to Reason's golden rule, All weakness of affection quite subdued: Men, that would blush at being thought sincere, And feign, for glory, the few faults they want; That love a lie, where truth would pay as well; As if to them, Vice shone her own reward. Lorenzo! canst thou bear a shocking sight? 289 Such, for Florello's sake, 'twill now appear: See, the steel'd files of season'd veterans, Train'd to the world, in burnish'd falsehood bright; Deep in the fatal stratagems of peace; All soft sensation, in the throng, rubb'd off; All their keen purpose, in politeness, sheath'd; His friends eternal--during interest; His foes implacable--when worth their while; At war with every welfare, but their own; As wise as Lucifer; and half as good; And by whom none, but Lucifer, can gain-- 300 Naked, through these (so common fate ordains), Naked of heart, his cruel course he runs, Stung out of all, most amiable in life, Prompt truth, and open thought, and smiles unfeign'd; Affection, as his species, wide diffused; Noble presumptions to mankind's renown; Ingenuous trust, and confidence of love. These claims to joy (if mortals joy might claim) Will cost him many a sigh; till time, and pains, From the slow mistress of this school, Experience, 310 And her assistant, pausing, pale, Distrust, Purchase a dear-bought clue to lead his youth Through serpentine obliquities of life, And the dark labyrinth of human hearts. And happy! if the clue shall come so cheap: For, while we learn to fence with public guilt, Full oft we feel its foul contagion too, If less than heavenly virtue is our guard. Thus, a strange kind of cursed necessity Brings down the sterling temper of his soul, 320 By base alloy, to bear the current stamp, Below call'd wisdom; sinks him into safety; And brands him into credit with the world; 323 Where specious titles dignify disgrace, And nature's injuries are arts of life; Where brighter reason prompts to bolder crimes; And heavenly talents make infernal hearts; That unsurmountable extreme of guilt! Poor Machiavel! who labour'd hard his plan, Forgot, that genius need not go to school; Forgot, that man, without a tutor wise, His plan had practised, long before 'twas writ. 332 The world's all title-page; there's no contents; The world's all face; the man who shows his heart, Is hooted for his nudities, and scorn'd. A man I knew, who lived upon a smile; And well it fed him; he look'd plump and fair; While rankest venom foam'd through every vein. Lorenzo! what I tell thee, take not ill! Living, he fawn'd on every fool alive; 340 And, dying, cursed the friend on whom he lived. To such proficients thou art half a saint. In foreign realms (for thou hast travell'd far) How curious to contemplate two state-rooks, Studious their nests to feather in a trice, With all the necromantics of their art, Playing the game of faces on each other, Making court sweetmeats of their latent gall, In foolish hope, to steal each other's trust; Both cheating, both exulting, both deceived; 350 And, sometimes, both (let earth rejoice) undone! Their parts we doubt not; but be that their shame; Shall men of talents, fit to rule mankind, Stoop to mean wiles, that would disgrace a fool; And lose the thanks of those few friends they serve? For who can thank the man, he cannot see? Why so much cover? It defeats itself. 357 Ye, that know all things! know ye not, men's hearts Are therefore known, because they are conceal'd? For why conceal'd?--The cause they need not tell. I give him joy, that's awkward at a lie; Whose feeble nature Truth keeps still in awe; His incapacity is his renown. 363 'Tis great, 'tis manly, to disdain disguise; It shows our spirit, or it proves our strength. Thou say'st, 'tis needful: is it therefore right? Howe'er, I grant it some small sign of grace, To strain at an excuse: And would'st thou then Escape that cruel need? Thou may'st, with ease; Think no post needful that demands a knave. 370 When late our civil helm was shifting hands, So Pulteney thought: think better, if you can. But this, how rare! the public path of life Is dirty;--yet, allow that dirt its due, It makes the noble mind more noble still: The world's no neuter; it will wound, or save; Or virtue quench, or indignation fire. You say, the world, well known, will make a man: The world, well known, will give our hearts to Heaven, Or make us demons, long before we die. 380 To show how fair the world, thy mistress, shines, Take either part, sure ills attend the choice; Sure, though not equal, detriment ensues. Not Virtue's self is deified on earth; Virtue has her relapses, conflicts, foes; Foes, that ne'er fail to make her feel their hate. Virtue has her peculiar set of pains. True friends to virtue, last, and least, complain; But if they sigh, can others hope to smile? If Wisdom has her miseries to mourn, 390 How can poor Folly lead a happy life? 391 And if both suffer, what has earth to boast, Where he most happy, who the least laments? Where much, much patience, the most envied state, And some forgiveness, needs, the best of friends? For friend, or happy life, who looks not higher, Of neither shall he find the shadow here. The world's sworn advocate, without a fee, Lorenzo smartly, with a smile, replies: "Thus far thy song is right; and all must own, 400 Virtue has her peculiar set of pains.-- And joys peculiar who to Vice denies? If vice it is, with nature to comply: If Pride, and Sense, are so predominant, To check, not overcome, them, makes a saint. Can Nature in a plainer voice proclaim Pleasure, and glory, the chief good of man?" Can Pride, and Sensuality, rejoice? From purity of thought, all pleasure springs; And, from an humble spirit, all our peace. 410 Ambition, pleasure! let us talk of these: Of these, the Porch, and Academy, talk'd; Of these, each following age had much to say: Yet, unexhausted, still, the needful theme. Who talks of these, to mankind all at once He talks; for where the saint from either free? Are these thy refuge?--No: these rush upon thee; Thy vitals seize, and, vulture-like, devour; I'll try, if I can pluck thee from thy rock, Prometheus! from this barren ball of earth; 420 If Reason can unchain thee, thou art free. And, first, thy Caucasus, Ambition, calls; Mountain of torments! eminence of woes! Of courted woes! and courted through mistake! 'Tis not ambition charms thee; 'tis a cheat 425 Will make thee start, as H---- at his moor. Dost grasp at greatness? First, know what it is: Think'st thou thy greatness in distinction lies? Not in the feather, wave it e'er so high, By Fortune stuck, to mark us from the throng, Is glory lodged: 'tis lodged in the reverse; In that which joins, in that which equals, all, 432 The monarch and his slave;--"A deathless soul, Unbounded prospect, and immortal kin, A Father God, and brothers in the skies;" Elder, indeed, in time; but less remote In excellence, perhaps, than thought by man; Why greater what can fall, than what can rise? If still delirious, now, Lorenzo! go; And with thy full-blown brothers of the world, 440 Throw scorn around thee; cast it on thy slaves; Thy slaves, and equals: how scorn cast on them Rebounds on thee! If man is mean, as man, Art thou a god? If Fortune makes him so, Beware the consequence: a maxim that, Which draws a monstrous picture of mankind, Where, in the drapery, the man is lost; Externals fluttering, and the soul forgot. Thy greatest glory, when disposed to boast, Boast that aloud, in which thy servants share. 450 We wisely strip the steed we mean to buy: Judge we, in their caparisons, of men? It nought avails thee, where, but what, thou art; All the distinctions of this little life Are quite cutaneous, foreign to the man, When, through death's straits, earth's subtle serpents creep, Which wriggle into wealth, or climb renown. As crooked Satan the forbidden tree, 458 They leave their party-colour'd robe behind, All that now glitters, while they rear aloft Their brazen crests, and hiss at us below. Of fortune's fucus[45] strip them, yet alive; Strip them of body, too; nay, closer still, Away with all, but moral, in their minds; And let what then remains, impose their name, Pronounce them weak, or worthy; great, or mean. How mean that snuff[46] of glory Fortune lights, And Death puts out! Dost thou demand a test, A test, at once, infallible, and short, Of real greatness? That man greatly lives, 470 Whate'er his fate, or fame, who greatly dies; High-flush'd with hope, where heroes shall despair. If this a true criterion, many courts, Illustrious, might afford but few grandees. Th' Almighty, from his throne, on earth surveys Nought greater, than an honest, humble heart; An humble heart, His residence! pronounced His second seat; and rival to the skies. The private path, the secret acts of men, If noble, far the noblest of our lives! 480 How far above Lorenzo's glory sits Th' illustrious master of a name unknown; Whose worth unrivall'd, and unwitness'd, loves Life's sacred shades, where gods converse with men; And Peace, beyond the world's conceptions, smiles! As thou (now dark), before we part, shalt see. But thy great soul this skulking glory scorns. Lorenzo's sick, but when Lorenzo's seen; And, when he shrugs at public business, lies. Denied the public eye, the public voice, 490 As if he lived on others' breath, he dies. Fain would he make the world his pedestal; 492 Mankind the gazers, the sole figure, he. Knows he, that mankind praise against their will, And mix as much detraction as they can? Knows he, that faithless Fame her whisper has, As well as trumpet? that his vanity Is so much tickled from not hearing all? Knows this all-knower, that from itch of praise, Or, from an itch more sordid, when he shines, 500 Taking his country by five hundred ears, Senates at once admire him, and despise, With modest laughter lining loud applause, Which makes the smile more mortal to his fame? His fame, which (like the mighty Caesar), crown'd With laurels, in full senate, greatly falls, By seeming friends, that honour, and destroy. We rise in glory, as we sink in pride: Where boasting ends, there dignity begins: And yet, mistaken beyond all mistake, 510 The blind Lorenzo's proud--of being proud; And dreams himself ascending in his fall. An eminence, though fancied, turns the brain: All vice wants hellebore; but of all vice, Pride loudest calls, and for the largest bowl; Because, unlike all other vice, it flies, In fact, the point, in fancy most pursued. Who court applause, oblige the world in this; They gratify man's passion to refuse. Superior honour, when assumed, is lost; 520 Even good men turn banditti, and rejoice, Like Kouli-Kan, in plunder of the proud. Though somewhat disconcerted, steady still To the world's cause, with half a face of joy, Lorenzo cries--"Be, then, Ambition cast; Ambition's dearer far stands unimpeach'd, 526 Gay Pleasure! proud Ambition is her slave; For her, he soars at great, and hazards ill; For her, he fights, and bleeds, or overcomes; And paves his way, with crowns, to reach her smile: Who can resist her charms?--or, should? Lorenzo! What mortal shall resist, where angels yield? Pleasure's the mistress of ethereal powers; 533 For her contend the rival gods above; Pleasure's the mistress of the world below; And well it was for man, that Pleasure charms: How would all stagnate, but for Pleasure's ray! How would the frozen stream of action cease! What is the pulse of this so busy world? The love of pleasure: that, through every vein, 540 Throws motion, warmth; and shuts out death from life. Though various are the tempers of mankind, Pleasure's gay family hold all in chains: Some most affect the black; and some, the fair; Some honest pleasure court; and some, obscene. Pleasures obscene are various, as the throng Of passions, that can err in human hearts; Mistake their objects, or transgress their bounds. Think you there's but one whoredom? Whoredom, all, But when our reason licenses delight. 550 Dost doubt, Lorenzo? thou shalt doubt no more. Thy father chides thy gallantries; yet hugs An ugly, common harlot, in the dark; A rank adulterer with others' gold! And that hag, Vengeance, in a corner, charms. Hatred her brothel has, as well as Love, Where horrid epicures debauch in blood. Whate'er the motive, pleasure is the mark: For her, the black assassin draws his sword; For her, dark statesmen trim their midnight lamp, 560 To which no single sacrifice may fall; For her, the saint abstains; the miser starves; The Stoic proud, for Pleasure, pleasure scorn'd; For her, Affliction's daughters grief indulge, And find, or hope, a luxury in tears; For her, guilt, shame, toil, danger, we defy; And, with an aim voluptuous, rush on death. Thus universal her despotic power! And as her empire wide, her praise is just. Patron of pleasure! doater on delight! 570 I am thy rival; pleasure I profess; Pleasure the purpose of my gloomy song. Pleasure is nought but virtue's gayer name; I wrong her still, I rate her worth too low; Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flower; And honest Epicurus' foes were fools. But this sounds harsh, and gives the wise offence; If o'erstrain'd wisdom still retains the name. How knits Austerity her cloudy brow, And blames, as bold, and hazardous, the praise 580 Of Pleasure, to mankind, unpraised, too dear! Ye modern Stoics! hear my soft reply; Their senses men will trust: we can't impose; Or, if we could, is imposition right? Own honey sweet; but, owning, add this sting; "When mix'd with poison, it is deadly too." Truth never was indebted to a lie. Is nought but virtue to be praised, as good? Why then is health preferr'd before disease? What nature loves is good, without our leave. 590 And where no future drawback cries, "Beware!" Pleasure, though not from virtue, should prevail. 'Tis balm to life, and gratitude to Heaven; How cold our thanks for bounties unenjoy'd! 594 The love of pleasure is man's eldest-born, Born in his cradle, living to his tomb; Wisdom, her younger sister, though more grave, Was meant to minister, and not to mar, Imperial Pleasure, queen of human hearts. Lorenzo! thou, her majesty's renown'd, Though uncoift, counsel, learned in the world! Who think'st thyself a Murray,[47] with disdain 602 May'st look on me. Yet, my Demosthenes! Canst thou plead Pleasure's cause as well as I? Know'st thou her nature, purpose, parentage? Attend my song, and thou shalt know them all; And know thyself; and know thyself to be (Strange truth!) the most abstemious man alive. Tell not Calista; she will laugh thee dead; Or send thee to her hermitage with L----. 610 Absurd presumption! Thou who never knew'st A serious thought! shalt thou dare dream of joy? No man e'er found a happy life by chance; Or yawn'd it into being with a wish; Or, with the snout of grovelling appetite, E'er smelt it out, and grubb'd it from the dirt. An art it is, and must be learn'd; and learn'd With unremitting effort, or be lost; And leaves us perfect blockheads, in our bliss. The clouds may drop down titles and estates; 620 Wealth may seek us; but Wisdom must be sought; Sought before all; but (how unlike all else We seek on earth!) 'tis never sought in vain. First, Pleasure's birth, rise, strength, and grandeur, see. Brought forth by Wisdom, nursed by Discipline, By Patience taught, by Perseverance crown'd, She rears her head majestic; round her throne, 627 Erected in the bosom of the just, Each virtue, listed, forms her manly guard. For what are virtues? (formidable name!) What, but the fountain, or defence, of joy? Why, then, commanded? Need mankind commands, At once to merit, and to make, their bliss?-- Great Legislator! scarce so great, as kind! 634 If men are rational, and love delight, Thy gracious law but flatters human choice; In the transgression lies the penalty; And they the most indulge, who most obey. Of Pleasure, next, the final cause explore; Its mighty purpose, its important end. 640 Not to turn human brutal, but to build Divine on human, Pleasure came from heaven. In aid to Reason was the goddess sent; To call up all its strength by such a charm. Pleasure, first, succours Virtue; in return, Virtue gives Pleasure an eternal reign. What, but the pleasure of food, friendship, faith, Supports life natural, civil, and divine? 'Tis from the pleasure of repast, we live; 'Tis from the pleasure of applause, we please; 650 'Tis from the pleasure of belief, we pray (All prayer would cease, if unbelieved the prize): It serves ourselves, our species, and our God; And to serve more, is past the sphere of man. Glide, then, for ever, pleasure's sacred stream! Through Eden, as Euphrates ran, it runs, And fosters every growth of happy life; Makes a new Eden where it flows;--but such As must be lost, Lorenzo! by thy fall. "What mean I by thy fall?"--Thou'lt shortly see, While Pleasure's nature is at large display'd; 661 Already sung her origin, and ends. Those glorious ends, by kind, or by degree, When Pleasure violates, 'tis then a vice, A vengeance too; it hastens into pain. From due refreshment, life, health, reason, joy; From wild excess, pain, grief, distraction, death; Heaven's justice this proclaims, and that her love. What greater evil can I wish my foe, Than his full draught of pleasure, from a cask 670 Unbroach'd by just authority, ungauged By temperance, by reason unrefined? A thousand demons lurk within the lee. Heaven, others, and ourselves! uninjured these, Drink deep; the deeper, then, the more divine; Angels are angels, from indulgence there; 'Tis unrepenting pleasure makes a god. Dost think thyself a god from other joys? A victim rather! shortly sure to bleed. The wrong must mourn: can Heaven's appointments fail? Can man outwit Omnipotence? strike out 681 A self-wrought happiness unmeant by Him Who made us, and the world we would enjoy? Who forms an instrument, ordains from whence Its dissonance, or harmony, shall rise. Heaven bid the soul this mortal frame inspire! Bid virtue's ray divine inspire the soul With unprecarious flows of vital joy; And, without breathing, man as well might hope For life, as, without piety, for peace. 690 "Is virtue, then, and piety the same?"-- No; piety is more; 'tis virtue's source; Mother of every worth, as that of joy. Men of the world this doctrine ill digest; They smile at piety; yet boast aloud 695 Good will to men; nor know they strive to part What Nature joins; and thus confute themselves. With piety begins all good on earth; 'Tis the first-born of rationality. Conscience, her first law broken, wounded lies; Enfeebled, lifeless, impotent to good; A feign'd affection bounds her utmost power. 702 Some we can't love, but for th' Almighty's sake; A foe to God was ne'er true friend to man; Some sinister intent taints all he does; And, in his kindest actions, he's unkind. On piety, humanity is built; And, on humanity, much happiness; And yet still more on piety itself. A soul in commerce with her God, is heaven; 710 Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life; The whirls of passions, and the strokes of heart. A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires; Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next, O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides; Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy, That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still; 720 Prayer ardent opens heaven, lets down a stream Of glory on the consecrated hour Of man, in audience with the Deity. Who worships the great God, that instant joins The first in heaven, and sets his foot on hell. Lorenzo! when wast thou at church before? Thou think'st the service long: but is it just? Though just, unwelcome: thou hadst rather tread Unhallow'd ground; the Muse, to win thine ear, 729 Must take an air less solemn. She complies. Good conscience! at the sound the world retires; Verse disaffects it, and Lorenzo smiles: Yet has she her seraglio full of charms; And such as age shall heighten, not impair. Art thou dejected? Is thy mind o'ercast? Amid her fair ones, thou the fairest choose, To chase thy gloom.--"Go, fix some weighty truth; Chain down some passion; do some generous good; Teach ignorance to see, or grief to smile; Correct thy friend; befriend thy greatest foe; 740 Or with warm heart, and confidence divine, Spring up, and lay strong hold on Him who made thee." Thy gloom is scatter'd, sprightly spirits flow; Though wither'd is thy vine, and harp unstrung. Dost call the bowl, the viol, and the dance, Loud mirth, mad laughter? Wretched comforters! Physicians! more than half of thy disease. Laughter, though never censured yet as sin (Pardon a thought that only seems severe), Is half immoral: Is it much indulged? 750 By venting spleen, or dissipating thought, It shows a scorner, or it makes a fool; And sins, as hurting others, or ourselves. 'Tis pride, or emptiness, applies the straw, That tickles little minds to mirth effuse; Of grief approaching, the portentous sign! The house of laughter makes a house of woe. A man triumphant is a monstrous sight; A man dejected is a sight as mean. What cause for triumph, where such ills abound? 760 What for dejection, where presides a Power, Who call'd us into being to be bless'd? So grieve, as conscious, grief may rise to joy; 763 So joy, as conscious, joy to grief may fall. Most true, a wise man never will be sad; But neither will sonorous, bubbling mirth, A shallow stream of happiness betray: Too happy to be sportive, he's serene. Yet would'st thou laugh (but at thy own expense), This counsel strange should I presume to give-- 770 "Retire, and read thy Bible, to be gay." There truths abound of sovereign aid to peace; Ah! do not prize them less, because inspired, As thou, and thine, are apt and proud to do. If not inspired, that pregnant page had stood, Time's treasure, and the wonder of the wise! Thou think'st, perhaps, thy soul alone at stake; Alas!--should men mistake thee for a fool;-- What man of taste for genius, wisdom, truth, Though tender of thy fame, could interpose? 780 Believe me, sense here acts a double part, And the true critic is a Christian too. But these, thou think'st, are gloomy paths to joy.-- True joy in sunshine ne'er was found at first; They, first, themselves offend, who greatly please; And travel only gives us sound repose. Heaven sells all pleasure; effort is the price; The joys of conquest, are the joys of man; And glory the victorious laurel spreads O'er pleasure's pure, perpetual, placid stream. 790 There is a time, when toil must be preferr'd, Or joy, by mistimed fondness, is undone. A man of pleasure, is a man of pains. Thou wilt not take the trouble to be blest. False joys, indeed, are born from want of thought; From thoughts full bent, and energy, the true; And that demands a mind in equal poise, 797 Remote from gloomy grief, and glaring joy. Much joy not only speaks small happiness, But happiness that shortly must expire. Can joy, unbottom'd in reflection, stand? And, in a tempest, can reflection live? Can joy, like thine, secure itself an hour? Can joy, like thine, meet accident unshock'd? 804 Or ope the door to honest poverty? Or talk with threatening death, and not turn pale? In such a world, and such a nature, these Are needful fundamentals of delight: These fundamentals give delight indeed; Delight, pure, delicate, and durable; 810 Delight, unshaken, masculine, divine; A constant, and a sound, but serious joy. Is joy the daughter of severity? It is:--yet far my doctrine from severe. "Rejoice for ever:" it becomes a man; Exalts, and sets him nearer to the gods. "Rejoice for ever!" Nature cries, "Rejoice!" And drinks to man, in her nectareous cup, Mix'd up of delicates for every sense; To the great Founder of the bounteous feast, 820 Drinks glory, gratitude, eternal praise; And he that will not pledge her, is a churl. Ill firmly to support, good fully taste, Is the whole science of felicity: Yet sparing pledge: her bowl is not the best Mankind can boast.--"A rational repast; Exertion, vigilance, a mind in arms, A military discipline of thought, To foil temptation in the doubtful field; And ever-waking ardour for the right." 830 'Tis these, first give, then guard, a cheerful heart. 831 Nought that is right, think little; well aware, What reason bids, God bids; by His command How aggrandized, the smallest thing we do! Thus, nothing is insipid to the wise; To thee, insipid all, but what is mad; Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt. "Mad! (thou reply'st, with indignation fired); Of ancient sages proud to tread the steps, I follow Nature."--Follow Nature still, 840 But look it be thine own: is Conscience, then, No part of nature? Is she not supreme? Thou regicide! Oh, raise her from the dead! Then, follow Nature; and resemble God. When, spite of Conscience, pleasure is pursued, Man's nature is unnaturally pleased: And what's unnatural, is painful too At intervals, and must disgust even thee! The fact thou know'st; but not, perhaps, the cause. Virtue's foundations with the world's were laid; 850 Heaven mix'd her with our make, and twisted close Her sacred interests with the strings of life. Who breaks her awful mandate, shocks himself, His better self: and is it greater pain, Our soul should murmur, or our dust repine? And one, in their eternal war, must bleed. If one must suffer, which should least be spared? The pains of mind surpass the pains of sense: Ask, then, the gout, what torment is in guilt. The joys of sense to mental joys are mean: 860 Sense on the present only feeds; the soul On past, and future, forages for joy. 'Tis hers, by retrospect, through time to range; And forward time's great sequel to survey. Could human courts take vengeance on the mind, 865 Axes might rust, and racks and gibbets fall: Guard, then, thy mind, and leave the rest to fate. Lorenzo! wilt thou never be a man? The man is dead, who for the body lives, Lured, by the beating of his pulse, to list With every lust, that wars against his peace; And sets him quite at variance with himself. 872 Thyself, first, know; then love: a self there is Of Virtue fond, that kindles at her charms. A self there is, as fond of every vice, While every virtue wounds it to the heart: Humility degrades it, Justice robs, Bless'd Bounty beggars it, fair Truth betrays, And godlike Magnanimity destroys. This self, when rival to the former, scorn; 880 When not in competition, kindly treat, Defend it, feed it:--but when Virtue bids, Toss it, or to the fowls, or to the flames. And why? 'Tis love of pleasure bids thee bleed; Comply, or own self-love extinct, or blind. For what is vice? self-love in a mistake: A poor blind merchant buying joys too dear. And virtue, what? 'tis self-love in her wits, Quite skilful in the market of delight. Self-love's good sense is love of that dread Power, 890 From whom herself, and all she can enjoy. Other self-love is but disguised self-hate; More mortal than the malice of our foes; A self-hate, now, scarce felt; then felt full sore, When being, cursed; extinction, loud implored; And every thing preferr'd to what we are. Yet this self-love Lorenzo makes his choice; And, in this choice triumphant, boasts of joy. How is his want of happiness betray'd, 899 By disaffection to the present hour! Imagination wanders far afield: The future pleases: why? the present pains.-- "But that's a secret." Yes, which all men know; And know from thee, discover'd unawares. Thy ceaseless agitation, restless roll From cheat to cheat, impatient of a pause; What is it?--'tis the cradle of the soul, From Instinct sent, to rock her in disease, Which her physician, Reason, will not cure. A poor expedient! yet thy best; and while 910 It mitigates thy pain, it owns it too. Such are Lorenzo's wretched remedies! The weak have remedies; the wise have joys. Superior wisdom is superior bliss. And what sure mark distinguishes the wise? Consistent wisdom ever wills the same; Thy fickle wish is ever on the wing. Sick of herself, is Folly's character, As Wisdom's is, a modest self-applause. A change of evils is thy good supreme; 920 Nor, but in motion, canst thou find thy rest. Man's greatest strength is shown in standing still. The first sure symptom of a mind in health, Is rest of heart, and pleasure felt at home. False pleasure from abroad her joys imports; Rich from within, and self-sustain'd, the true. The true is fix'd, and solid as a rock; Slippery the false, and tossing, as the wave. This, a wild wanderer on earth, like Cain; That, like the fabled, self-enamour'd boy,[48] 930 Home-contemplation her supreme delight; She dreads an interruption from without, 932 Smit with her own condition; and the more Intense she gazes, still it charms the more. No man is happy, till he thinks, on earth There breathes not a more happy than himself: Then envy dies, and love o'erflows on all; And love o'erflowing makes an angel here. Such angels, all, entitled to repose On Him who governs fate. Though tempest frowns, 940 Though nature shakes, how soft to lean on Heaven! To lean on Him, on whom archangels lean! With inward eyes, and silent as the grave, They stand, collecting every beam of thought, Till their hearts kindle with divine delight: For all their thoughts, like angels, seen of old In Israel's dream, come from, and go to, heaven. Hence are they studious of sequester'd scenes; While noise, and dissipation, comfort thee. Were all men happy, revellings would cease, 950 That opiate for inquietude within. Lorenzo! never man was truly blest, But it composed, and gave him such a cast, As folly might mistake for want of joy. A cast, unlike the triumph of the proud; A modest aspect, and a smile at heart. O for a joy from thy Philander's spring! A spring perennial, rising in the breast, And permanent, as pure! no turbid stream Of rapturous exultation, swelling high; 960 Which, like land floods, impetuous pour a while, Then sink at once, and leave us in the mire. What does the man, who transient joy prefers? What, but prefer the bubbles to the stream? Vain are all sudden sallies of delight; Convulsions of a weak, distemper'd joy. 966 Joy's a fix'd state; a tenure, not a start. Bliss there is none, but unprecarious bliss: That is the gem: sell all, and purchase that. Why go a-begging to contingencies, Not gain'd with ease, nor safely loved, if gain'd? At good fortuitous, draw back, and pause; Suspect it; what thou canst insure, enjoy; 973 And nought but what thou givest thyself, is sure. Reason perpetuates joy that Reason gives, And makes it as immortal as herself: To mortals, nought immortal, but their worth. Worth, conscious worth! should absolutely reign; And other joys ask leave for their approach; Nor, unexamined, ever leave obtain. 980 Thou art all anarchy; a mob of joys Wage war, and perish in intestine broils; Not the least promise of internal peace! No bosom-comfort, or unborrow'd bliss! Thy thoughts are vagabonds; all outward-bound, 'Mid sands, and rocks, and storms, to cruise for pleasure; If gain'd, dear-bought; and better miss'd than gain'd. Much pain must expiate, what much pain procured. Fancy, and Sense, from an infected shore, Thy cargo bring; and pestilence the prize. 990 Then, such thy thirst (insatiable thirst! By fond indulgence but inflamed the more!), Fancy still cruises, when poor Sense is tired. Imagination is the Paphian shop, Where feeble happiness, like Vulcan, lame, Bids foul ideas, in their dark recess, And hot as hell (which kindled the black fires), With wanton art, those fatal arrows form, Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame. Would'st thou receive them, other thoughts there are, On angel-wing, descending from above, 1001 Which these, with art divine, would counterwork, And form celestial armour for thy peace. In this is seen Imagination's guilt; But who can count her follies? She betrays thee, To think in grandeur there is something great. For works of curious art, and ancient fame, Thy genius hungers, elegantly pain'd; And foreign climes must cater for thy taste. Hence, what disaster!--Though the price was paid, 1010 That persecuting priest, the Turk of Rome, Whose foot (ye gods!) though cloven, must be kiss'd, Detain'd thy dinner on the Latian shore; (Such is the fate of honest Protestants!) And poor Magnificence is starved to death. Hence just resentment, indignation, ire!-- Be pacified: if outward things are great, 'Tis magnanimity great things to scorn; Pompous expenses, and parades august, And courts, that insalubrious soil to peace. 1020 True happiness ne'er enter'd at an eye; True happiness resides in things unseen. No smiles of Fortune ever bless'd the bad, Nor can her frowns rob Innocence of joys; That jewel wanting, triple crowns are poor: So tell his Holiness, and be revenged. Pleasure, we both agree, is man's chief good; Our only contest, what deserves the name. Give Pleasure's name to nought, but what has pass'd Th' authentic seal of Reason (which like Yorke,[49] 1030 Demurs on what it passes), and defies The tooth of time; when past, a pleasure still; Dearer on trial, lovelier for its age, 1033 And doubly to be prized, as it promotes Our future, while it forms our present, joy. Some joys the future overcast; and some Throw all their beams that way, and gild the tomb. Some joys endear eternity; some give Abhorr'd annihilation dreadful charms. Are rival joys contending for thy choice? 1040 Consult thy whole existence, and be safe; That oracle will put all doubt to flight. Short is the lesson, though my lecture long; Be good--and let Heaven answer for the rest. Yet, with a sigh o'er all mankind, I grant In this our day of proof, our land of hope, The good man has his clouds that intervene; Clouds, that obscure his sublunary day, But never conquer: even the best must own, Patience, and resignation, are the pillars 1050 Of human peace on earth. The pillars, these: But those of Seth not more remote from thee, Till this heroic lesson thou hast learn'd; To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain. Fired at the prospect of unclouded bliss, Heaven in reversion, like the sun, as yet Beneath th' horizon, cheers us in this world; It sheds, on souls susceptible of light, The glorious dawn of our eternal day. "This (says Lorenzo) is a fair harangue: 1060 But can harangues blow back strong nature's stream; Or stem the tide Heaven pushes through our veins, Which sweeps away man's impotent resolves, And lays his labour level with the world?" Themselves men make their comment on mankind; And think nought is, but what they find at home: Thus, weakness to chimera turns the truth. 1067 Nothing romantic has the Muse prescribed. Above,[50] Lorenzo saw the man of earth, The mortal man; and wretched was the sight. To balance that, to comfort, and exalt, Now see the man immortal: him, I mean, Who lives as such; whose heart, full bent on heaven, Leans all that way, his bias to the stars. The world's dark shades, in contrast set, shall raise His lustre more; though bright, without a foil: Observe his awful portrait, and admire; Nor stop at wonder; imitate, and live. Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, What nothing less than angel can exceed! 1080 A man on earth devoted to the skies; Like ships in sea, while in, above the world. With aspect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him seated on a mount serene, Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm; All the black cares, and tumults, of this life, Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, Excite his pity, not impair his peace. Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred, and the slave, A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he sees, 1090 Bewilder'd in the vale; in all unlike! His full reverse in all! What higher praise? What stronger demonstration of the right? The present all their care; the future, his. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame; his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnish nature; his exalt. Mankind's esteem they court; and he, his own. Theirs, the wild chase of false felicities; His, the composed possession of the true. 1100 Alike throughout is his consistent peace, All of one colour, and an even thread; While party-colour'd shreds of happiness, With hideous gaps between, patch up for them A madman's robe; each puff of Fortune blows The tatters by, and shows their nakedness. He sees with other eyes than theirs: where they Behold a sun, he spies a Deity; What makes them only smile, makes him adore. Where they see mountains, he but atoms sees; 1110 An empire, in his balance, weighs a grain. They things terrestrial worship, as divine: His hopes immortal blow them by, as dust, That dims his sight, and shortens his survey, Which longs, in infinite, to lose all bound. Titles and honours (if they prove his fate) He lays aside to find his dignity; No dignity they find in aught besides. They triumph in externals (which conceal Man's real glory), proud of an eclipse. 1120 Himself too much he prizes to be proud, And nothing thinks so great in man, as man. Too dear he holds his interest, to neglect Another's welfare, or his right invade; Their interest, like a lion, lives on prey. They kindle at the shadow of a wrong: Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heaven, Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe; Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace. A cover'd heart their character defends; 1130 A cover'd heart denies him half his praise. With nakedness his innocence agrees; While their broad foliage testifies their fall: Their no joys end, where his full feast begins; 1134 His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss. To triumph in existence, his alone; And his alone, triumphantly to think His true existence is not yet begun. His glorious course was, yesterday, complete; Death, then, was welcome; yet life still is sweet. But nothing charms Lorenzo, like the firm, Undaunted breast--and whose is that high praise? 1142 They yield to pleasure, though they danger brave, And show no fortitude, but in the field; If there they show it, 'tis for glory shown; Nor will that cordial always man their hearts. A cordial his sustains, that cannot fail; By pleasure unsubdued, unbroke by pain, He shares in that Omnipotence he trusts. All-bearing, all-attempting, till he falls; 1150 And when he falls, writes VICI on his shield. From magnanimity, all fear above; From nobler recompence, above applause; Which owes to man's short outlook all its charms. Backward to credit what he never felt, Lorenzo cries,--"Where shines this miracle? From what root rises this immortal man?" A root that grows not in Lorenzo's ground; The root dissect, nor wonder at the flower. He follows nature (not like thee) and shows us 1160 An uninverted system of a man. His appetite wears Reason's golden chain, And finds, in due restraint, its luxury. His passion, like an eagle well reclaim'd, Is taught to fly at nought, but infinite. Patient his hope, unanxious is his care, His caution fearless, and his grief (if grief The gods ordain) a stranger to despair. 1168 And why?--because affection, more than meet, His wisdom leaves not disengaged from heaven. Those secondary goods that smile on earth, He, loving in proportion, loves in peace. They most the world enjoy, who least admire. His understanding 'scapes the common cloud Of fumes, arising from a boiling breast. His head is clear, because his heart is cool, By worldly competitions uninflamed. The moderate movements of his soul admit Distinct ideas, and matured debate, An eye impartial, and an even scale; 1180 Whence judgment sound, and unrepenting choice. Thus, in a double sense, the good are wise; On its own dunghill, wiser than the world. What, then, the world? It must be doubly weak; Strange truth! as soon would they believe their creed. Yet thus it is; nor otherwise can be; So far from aught romantic, what I sing. Bliss has no being, virtue has no strength, But from the prospect of immortal life. Who think earth all, or (what weighs just the same) 1190 Who care no farther, must prize what it yields; Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades. Who thinks earth nothing, can't its charms admire; He can't a foe, though most malignant, hate, Because that hate would prove his greater foe. 'Tis hard for them (yet who so loudly boast Good-will to men?) to love their dearest friend; For may not he invade their good supreme, Where the least jealousy turns love to gall? All shines to them, that for a season shines. 1200 Each act, each thought, he questions, "What its weight, Its colour what, a thousand ages hence?"-- 1202 And what it there appears, he deems it now. Hence, pure are the recesses of his soul. The godlike man has nothing to conceal. His virtue, constitutionally deep, Has habit's firmness, and affection's flame; Angels, allied, descend to feed the fire; And Death, which others slays, makes him a god. And now, Lorenzo! bigot of this world! 1210 Wont to disdain poor bigots caught by Heaven! Stand by thy scorn, and be reduced to nought: For what art thou?--Thou boaster! while thy glare, Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth, Like a broad mist, at distance, strikes us most; And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand; His merit, like a mountain, on approach, Swells more, and rises nearer to the skies, By promise now, and, by possession, soon, (Too soon, too much, it cannot be) his own. 1220 From this thy just annihilation rise, Lorenzo! rise to something, by reply. The world, thy client, listens, and expects; And longs to crown thee with immortal praise. Canst thou be silent? No; for Wit is thine; And Wit talks most, when least she has to say, And Reason interrupts not her career. She'll say--that mists above the mountains rise; And, with a thousand pleasantries, amuse; She'll sparkle, puzzle, flutter, raise a dust, 1230 And fly conviction, in the dust she raised. Wit, how delicious to man's dainty taste! 'Tis precious, as the vehicle of sense; But, as its substitute, a dire disease. Pernicious talent! flatter'd by the world, By the blind world, which thinks the talent rare. 1236 Wisdom is rare, Lorenzo! wit abounds; Passion can give it; sometimes wine inspires The lucky flash; and madness rarely fails. Whatever cause the spirit strongly stirs, Confers the bays, and rivals thy renown. For thy renown, 'twere well was this the worst; Chance often hits it; and, to pique thee more, 1243 See Dulness, blundering on vivacities, Shakes her sage head at the calamity, Which has exposed, and let her down to thee. But Wisdom, awful Wisdom! which inspects, Discerns, compares, weighs, separates, infers, Seizes the right, and holds it to the last; How rare! In senates, synods, sought in vain; 1250 Or if there found, 'tis sacred to the few; While a lewd prostitute to multitudes, Frequent, as fatal, Wit: in civil life, Wit makes an enterpriser; Sense, a man. Wit hates authority; commotion loves, And thinks herself the lightning of the storm. In states, 'tis dangerous; in religion, death: Shall Wit turn Christian, when the dull believe? Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume; The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves. 1260 Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound; When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam; Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still. Wit, widow'd of good sense, is worse than nought; It hoists more sail to run against a rock. Thus, a half-Chesterfield is quite a fool; Whom dull fools scorn, and bless their want of wit. How ruinous the rock I warn thee shun, Where syrens sit, to sing thee to thy fate! A joy, in which our reason bears no part, 1270 Is but a sorrow, tickling, ere it stings. Let not the cooings of the world allure thee; Which of her lovers ever found her true? Happy! of this bad world who little know?-- And yet, we much must know her, to be safe; To know the world, not love her, is thy point; She gives but little, nor that little, long. There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulse; A dance of spirits, a mere froth of joy, Our thoughtless agitation's idle child, 1280 That mantles high, that sparkles, and expires, Leaving the soul more vapid than before. An animal ovation! such as holds No commerce with our reason, but subsists On juices, through the well-toned tubes, well strain'd; A nice machine! scarce ever tuned aright; And when it jars--thy syrens sing no more, Thy dance is done; the demi-god is thrown (Short apotheosis!) beneath the man, In coward gloom immersed, or fell despair. 1290 Art thou yet dull enough despair to dread, And startle at destruction? If thou art, Accept a buckler, take it to the field; (A field of battle is this mortal life!) When danger threatens, lay it on thy heart; A single sentence, proof against the world: "Soul, body, fortune!--every good pertains To one of these; but prize not all alike; The goods of fortune to thy body's health, Body to soul, and soul submit to God." 1300 Would'st thou build lasting happiness? do this; Th' inverted pyramid can never stand. Is this truth doubtful? It outshines the sun; Nay, the sun shines not, but to show us this, 1304 The single lesson of mankind on earth. And yet--yet, what? No news! Mankind is mad; Such mighty numbers list against the right, (And what can't numbers, when bewitch'd, achieve!) They talk themselves to something like belief, That all earth's joys are theirs: as Athens' fool Grinn'd from the port, on every sail his own. They grin; but wherefore? and how long the laugh? Half ignorance, their mirth; and half, a lie; 1313 To cheat the world, and cheat themselves, they smile. Hard either task! The most abandon'd own, That others, if abandon'd, are undone: Then, for themselves, the moment Reason wakes (And Providence denies it long repose), O how laborious is their gaiety! They scarce can swallow their ebullient spleen, 1320 Scarce muster patience to support the farce, And pump sad laughter till the curtain falls. Scarce, did I say? Some cannot sit it out; Oft their own daring hands the curtain draw, And show us what their joy, by their despair. The clotted hair! gored breast! blaspheming eye! Its impious fury still alive in death! Shut, shut the shocking scene.--But Heaven denies A cover to such guilt; and so should man. Look round, Lorenzo! see the reeking blade, 1330 Th' envenom'd phial, and the fatal ball; The strangling cord, and suffocating stream; The loathsome rottenness, and foul decays From raging riot (slower suicides!) And pride in these, more execrable still! How horrid all to thought!--but horrors, these, That vouch the truth; and aid my feeble song. From vice, sense, fancy, no man can be blest: 1338 Bliss is too great, to lodge within an hour: When an immortal being aims at bliss, Duration is essential to the name. O for a joy from reason! joy from that, Which makes man Man; and, exercised aright, Will make him more: a bounteous joy! that gives And promises; that weaves, with art divine, The richest prospect into present peace: A joy ambitious! joy in common held With thrones ethereal, and their greater far; A joy high privileged from chance, time, death! A joy, which death shall double, judgment crown! 1350 Crown'd higher, and still higher, at each stage, Through bless'd eternity's long day; yet still, Not more remote from sorrow, than from Him, Whose lavish hand, whose love stupendous, pours So much of Deity on guilty dust. There, O my Lucia! may I meet thee there, Where not thy presence can improve my bliss! Affects not this the sages of the world? Can nought affect them, but what fools them too? Eternity, depending on an hour, 1360 Makes serious thought man's wisdom, joy, and praise, Nor need you blush (though sometimes your designs May shun the light) at your designs on heaven: Sole point! where over-bashful is your blame. Are you not wise?--You know you are: yet hear One truth, amid your numerous schemes, mislaid, Or overlook'd, or thrown aside, if seen; "Our schemes to plan by this world, or the next, Is the sole difference between wise and fool." All worthy men will weigh you in this scale; 1370 What wonder then, if they pronounce you light? 1371 Is their esteem alone not worth your care? Accept my simple scheme of common sense: Thus, save your fame, and make two worlds your own. The world replies not;--but the world persists; And puts the cause off to the longest day, Planning evasions for the day of doom. So far, at that re-hearing, from redress, They then turn witnesses against themselves; Hear that, Lorenzo! nor be wise to-morrow. 1380 Haste, haste! a man, by nature, is in haste; For who shall answer for another hour? 'Tis highly prudent, to make one sure friend; And that thou canst not do, this side the skies. Ye sons of earth! (nor willing to be more!) Since verse you think from priestcraft somewhat free, Thus, in an age so gay, the Muse plain truths (Truths, which, at church, you might have heard in prose) Has ventured into light; well pleased the verse Should be forgot, if you the truths retain; 1390 And crown her with your welfare, not your praise. But praise she need not fear: I see my fate; And headlong leap, like Curtius, down the gulf. Since many an ample volume, mighty tome, Must die; and die unwept; O thou minute Devoted page! go forth among thy foes; Go, nobly proud of martyrdom for truth, And die a double death: mankind incensed, Denies thee long to live: nor shalt thou rest, When thou art dead; in Stygian shades arraign'd 1400 By Lucifer, as traitor to his throne; And bold blasphemer of his friend,--the World; The World, whose legions cost him slender pay, And volunteers around his banner swarm; 1404 Prudent, as Prussia,[51] in her zeal for Gaul. "Are all, then, fools?" Lorenzo cries.--Yes, all, But such as hold this doctrine (new to thee); "The mother of true wisdom is the will;" The noblest intellect, a fool without it. World-wisdom much has done, and more may do, 1410 In arts and sciences, in wars, and peace: But art and science, like thy wealth, will leave thee, And make thee twice a beggar at thy death. This is the most indulgence can afford;-- "Thy wisdom all can do, but--make thee wise." Nor think this censure is severe on thee; Satan, thy master, I dare call a dunce. 1417

THE CONSOLATION: CONTAINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, I. A MORAL SURVEY OF THE NOCTURNAL HEAVENS. II. A NIGHT ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE, ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE.

Fatis contraria fata rependens.--Virg.

NIGHT NINTH.

THE CONSOLATION.

As when a traveller, a long day past In painful search of what he cannot find, At night's approach, content with the next cot, There ruminates, a while, his labour lost; Then cheers his heart with what his fate affords, And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, Till the due season calls him to repose: Thus I, long-travell'd in the ways of men, And dancing, with the rest, the giddy maze, Where Disappointment smiles at Hope's career; 10 Warn'd by the languor of life's evening ray, At length have housed me in an humble shed; Where, future wandering banish'd from my thought, And waiting, patient, the sweet hour of rest, I chase the moments with a serious song. Song soothes our pains; and age has pains to soothe. When age, care, crime, and friends embraced at heart, Torn from my bleeding breast, and death's dark shade, Which hovers o'er me, quench th' ethereal fire; Canst thou, O Night! indulge one labour more? 20 One labour more indulge! then sleep, my strain! 21 Till, haply, waked by Raphael's golden lyre, Where night, death, age, care, crime, and sorrow, cease; To bear a part in everlasting lays; Though far, far higher set, in aim, I trust, Symphonious to this humble prelude here. Has not the Muse asserted pleasures pure, Like those above; exploding other joys? Weigh what was urged, Lorenzo! fairly weigh; And tell me, hast thou cause to triumph still? 30 I think, thou wilt forbear a boast so bold. But if, beneath the favour of mistake, Thy smile's sincere; not more sincere can be Lorenzo's smile, than my compassion for him. The sick in body call for aid; the sick In mind are covetous of more disease; And when at worst, they dream themselves quite well. To know ourselves diseased, is half our cure. When Nature's blush by Custom is wiped off, And Conscience, deaden'd by repeated strokes, 40 Has into manners naturalized our crimes; The curse of curses is, our curse to love; To triumph in the blackness of our guilt (As Indians glory in the deepest jet), And throw aside our senses with our peace. But grant no guilt, no shame, no least alloy; Grant joy and glory quite unsullied shone; Yet, still, it ill deserves Lorenzo's heart. No joy, no glory, glitters in thy sight, But, through the thin partition of an hour, 50 I see its sables wove by destiny; And that in sorrow buried; this, in shame; While howling furies wring the doleful knell; And Conscience, now so soft thou scarce canst hear 54 Her whisper, echoes her eternal peal. Where, the prime actors of the last year's scene; Their port so proud, their buskin, and their plume? How many sleep, who kept the world awake With lustre, and with noise! has Death proclaim'd A truce, and hung his sated lance on high? 'Tis brandish'd still; nor shall the present year Be more tenacious of her human leaf, 62 Or spread of feeble life a thinner fall. But needless monuments to wake the thought; Life's gayest scenes speak man's mortality; Though in a style more florid, full as plain, As mausoleums, pyramids, and tombs. What are our noblest ornaments, but deaths Turn'd flatterers of life, in paint, or marble, The well-stain'd canvas, or the featured stone? 70 Our fathers grace, or rather haunt, the scene. Joy peoples her pavilion from the dead. "Profess'd diversions! cannot these escape?" Far from it: these present us with a shroud; And talk of death, like garlands o'er a grave. As some bold plunderers, for buried wealth, We ransack tombs for pastime; from the dust Call up the sleeping hero; bid him tread The scene for our amusement: how like gods We sit; and, wrapt in immortality, 80 Shed generous tears on wretches born to die; Their fate deploring, to forget our own! What all the pomps and triumphs of our lives, But legacies in blossom? Our lean soil, Luxuriant grown, and rank in vanities, From friends interr'd beneath; a rich manure! Like other worms, we banquet on the dead; Like other worms, shall we crawl on, nor know 88 Our present frailties, or approaching fate? Lorenzo! such the glories of the world! What is the world itself? thy world--a grave. Where is the dust that has not been alive? The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors; From human mould we reap our daily bread. The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes, And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons. O'er devastation we blind revels keep; Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel. The moist of human frame the sun exhales; Winds scatter through the mighty void the dry; 100 Earth repossesses part of what she gave, And the freed spirit mounts on wings of fire; Each element partakes our scatter'd spoils; As nature, wide, our ruins spread: man's death Inhabits all things, but the thought of man. Nor man alone; his breathing bust expires, His tomb is mortal; empires die: where, now, The Roman? Greek? They stalk, an empty name! Yet few regard them in this useful light; Though half our learning is their epitaph. 110 When down thy vale, unlock'd by midnight thought, That loves to wander in thy sunless realms, O Death! I stretch my view: what visions rise! What triumphs! toils imperial! arts divine! In wither'd laurels glide before my sight! What lengths of far-famed ages, billow'd high With human agitation, roll along In unsubstantial images of air! The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause, 120 With penitential aspect, as they pass, All point at earth, and hiss at human pride, 122 The wisdom of the wise, and prancings of the great. But, O Lorenzo! far the rest above, Of ghastly nature, and enormous size, One form assaults my sight, and chills my blood, And shakes my frame. Of one departed world[52] I see the mighty shadow: oozy wreath And dismal seaweed crown her; o'er her urn Reclined, she weeps her desolated realms, 130 And bloated sons; and, weeping, prophesies Another's dissolution, soon, in flames. But, like Cassandra, prophesies in vain; In vain, to many; not, I trust, to thee. For, know'st thou not, or art thou loath to know, The great decree, the counsel of the skies? Deluge and conflagration, dreadful powers! Prime ministers of vengeance! chain'd in caves Distinct, apart the giant furies roar; Apart; or, such their horrid rage for ruin, 140 In mutual conflict would they rise, and wage Eternal war, till one was quite devour'd. But not for this, ordain'd their boundless rage; When Heaven's inferior instruments of wrath, War, famine, pestilence, are found too weak To scourge a world for her enormous crimes, These are let loose, alternate: down they rush, Swift and tempestuous, from th' eternal throne, With irresistible commission arm'd, The world, in vain corrected, to destroy, 150 And ease creation of the shocking scene. Seest thou, Lorenzo! what depends on man? The fate of Nature; as for man, her birth. Earth's actors change earth's transitory scenes, And make creation groan with human guilt. 155 How must it groan, in a new deluge whelm'd, But not of waters! At the destined hour, By the loud trumpet summon'd to the charge, See, all the formidable sons of fire, Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play Their various engines; all at once disgorge Their blazing magazines; and take, by storm, 162 This poor terrestrial citadel of man. Amazing period! when each mountain-height Outburns Vesuvius; rocks eternal pour Their melted mass, as rivers once they pour'd; Stars rush; and final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation!--while aloft, More than astonishment! if more can be! Far other firmament than e'er was seen, 170 Than e'er was thought by man! far other stars! Stars animate, that govern these of fire; Far other sun!--A sun, O how unlike The Babe at Bethlehem! how unlike the Man, That groan'd on Calvary!--Yet He it is; That Man of Sorrows! O how changed! what pomp! In grandeur terrible, all heaven descends! And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train. A swift archangel, with his golden wing, As blots and clouds, that darken and disgrace 180 The scene divine, sweeps stars and suns aside. And now, all dross removed, heaven's own pure day, Full on the confines of our ether, flames: While (dreadful contrast!) far, how far beneath! Hell, bursting, belches forth her blazing seas, And storms sulphureous; her voracious jaws Expanding wide, and roaring for her prey. Lorenzo! welcome to this scene; the last In nature's course; the first in wisdom's thought. 189 This strikes, if aught can strike thee; this awakes The most supine; this snatches man from death. Rouse, rouse, Lorenzo, then, and follow me, Where truth, the most momentous man can hear, Loud calls my soul, and ardour wings her flight. I find my inspiration in my theme: The grandeur of my subject is my Muse. At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace, And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams; To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour. At midnight, 'tis presumed, this pomp will burst 200 From tenfold darkness; sudden as the spark From smitten steel; from nitrous grain, the blaze. Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more! The day is broke, which never more shall close! Above, around, beneath, amazement all! Terror and glory join'd in their extremes! Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire! All nature struggling in the pangs of death! Dost thou not hear her? Dost thou not deplore Her strong convulsions, and her final groan? 210 Where are we now? Ah me! the ground is gone, On which we stood; Lorenzo! while thou may'st, Provide more firm support, or sink for ever! Where? how? from whence? Vain hope! it is too late! Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale? Great day! for which all other days were made; For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth; And an eternity, the date of gods, Descended on poor earth-created man! 220 Great day of dread, decision, and despair! At thought of thee, each sublunary wish Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world; 223 And catches at each reed of hope in heaven. At thought of thee!--And art thou absent then? Lorenzo! no; 'tis here; it is begun;-- Already is begun the grand assize, In thee, in all: deputed Conscience scales The dread tribunal, and forestalls our doom; Forestalls; and, by forestalling, proves it sure. 230 Why on himself should man void judgment pass? Is idle Nature laughing at her sons? Who Conscience sent, her sentence will support, And God above assert that God in man. Thrice happy they that enter now the court Heaven opens in their bosoms! but, how rare, Ah me! that magnanimity, how rare! What hero, like the man who stands himself; Who dares to meet his naked heart alone; Who bears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, 240 Resolved to silence future murmurs there? The coward flies; and, flying, is undone. (Art thou a coward? No.) The coward flies; Thinks, but thinks slightly; asks, but fears to know; Asks, "What is truth?" with Pilate; and retires; Dissolves the court, and mingles with the throng; Asylum sad! from reason, hope, and heaven! Shall all, but man look out with ardent eye, For that great day, which was ordain'd for man? O day of consummation! mark supreme 250 (If men are wise) of human thought! nor least, Or in the sight of angels, or their King! Angels, whose radiant circles, height o'er height, Order o'er order, rising, blaze o'er blaze, As in a theatre, surround this scene, Intent on man, and anxious for his fate. Angels look out for thee; for thee, their Lord, 257 To vindicate his glory; and for thee, Creation universal calls aloud, To disinvolve the moral world, and give To Nature's renovation brighter charms. Shall man alone, whose fate, whose final fate Hangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought? I think of nothing else; I see! I feel it! All nature, like an earthquake, trembling round! All deities, like summer's swarms, on wing! All basking in the full meridian blaze! I see the Judge enthroned! the flaming guard! The volume open'd! open'd every heart! A sunbeam pointing out each secret thought! 270 No patron! intercessor none! now past The sweet, the clement, mediatorial hour! For guilt no plea! to pain, no pause! no bound! Inexorable, all! and all, extreme! Nor man alone; the Foe of God and man, From his dark den, blaspheming, drags his chain, And rears his brazen front, with thunder scarr'd: Receives his sentence, and begins his hell. All vengeance past, now, seems abundant grace: Like meteors in a stormy sky, how roll 280 His baleful eyes! he curses whom he dreads; And deems it the first moment of his fall. 'Tis present to my thought!--and yet where is it? Angels can't tell me; angels cannot guess The period; from created beings lock'd In darkness. But the process, and the place, Are less obscure; for these may man inquire. Say, thou great close of human hopes and fears! Great key of hearts! great finisher of fates! Great end! and great beginning! say, Where art thou? Art thou in time, or in eternity? 291 Nor in eternity, nor time, I find thee. These, as two monarchs, on their borders meet, (Monarchs of all elapsed, or unarrived!) As in debate, how best their powers allied, May swell the grandeur, or discharge the wrath, Of Him, whom both their monarchies obey. Time, this vast fabric for him built (and doom'd With him to fall), now bursting o'er his head; His lamp, the sun, extinguish'd; from beneath 300 The frown of hideous darkness, calls his sons From their long slumber; from earth's heaving womb, To second birth! contemporary throng! Roused at one call, upstarted from one bed, Press'd in one crowd, appall'd with one amaze, He turns them o'er, Eternity! to thee. Then (as a king deposed disdains to live) He falls on his own scythe; nor falls alone: His greatest foe falls with him; Time, and he Who murder'd all Time's offspring, Death, expire. 310 Time was! Eternity now reigns alone: Awful eternity! offended queen! And her resentment to mankind, how just! With kind intent, soliciting access, How often has she knock'd at human hearts! Rich to repay their hospitality; How often call'd! and with the voice of God! Yet bore repulse, excluded as a cheat! A dream! while foulest foes found welcome there! A dream, a cheat, now, all things, but her smile. 320 For, lo! her twice ten thousand gates thrown wide, As thrice from Indus to the frozen pole, With banners streaming as the comet's blaze, And clarions, louder than the deep in storms, Sonorous as immortal breath can blow, 325 Pour forth their myriads, potentates, and powers, Of light, of darkness; in a middle field, Wide, as creation! populous, as wide! A neutral region! there to mark th' event Of that great drama, whose preceding scenes Detain'd them close spectators, through a length Of ages, ripening to this grand result; 332 Ages, as yet unnumber'd, but by God; Who now, pronouncing sentence, vindicates The rights of Virtue, and his own renown. Eternity, the various sentence past, Assigns the sever'd throng distinct abodes, Sulphureous, or ambrosial. What ensues? The deed predominant! the deed of deeds! Which makes a hell of hell, a heaven of heaven. 340 The goddess, with determined aspect, turns Her adamantine key's enormous size Through destiny's inextricable wards, Deep driving every bolt, on both their fates. Then, from the crystal battlements of heaven, Down, down, she hurls it through the dark profound, Ten thousand thousand fathom; there to rust, And ne'er unlock her resolution more. The deep resounds; and hell, through all her glooms, Returns, in groans, the melancholy roar. 350 O how unlike the chorus of the skies! O how unlike those shouts of joy, that shake The whole ethereal! how the concave rings! Nor strange! when deities their voice exalt; And louder far, than when creation rose, To see creation's godlike aim, and end, So well accomplish'd! so divinely closed! To see the mighty dramatist's last act, (As meet), in glory rising o'er the rest. 359 No fancied god, a God indeed, descends, To solve all knots; to strike the moral home; To throw full day on darkest scenes of time; To clear, commend, exalt, and crown the whole. Hence, in one peal of loud, eternal praise, The charm'd spectators thunder their applause; And the vast void beyond, applause resounds. What then am I?-- Amidst applauding worlds, And worlds celestial, is there found on earth, A peevish, dissonant, rebellious string, 370 Which jars in the grand chorus, and complains? Censure on thee, Lorenzo! I suspend, And turn it on myself; how greatly due! All, all is right; by God ordain'd or done; And who, but God, resumed the friends He gave? And have I been complaining, then, so long? Complaining of his favours; pain, and death? Who, without Pain's advice, would e'er be good? Who, without Death, but would be good in vain? Pain is to save from pain; all punishment, 380 To make for peace; and death, to save from Death; And second death, to guard immortal life; To rouse the careless, the presumptuous awe, And turn the tide of souls another way; By the same tenderness divine ordain'd, That planted Eden, and high bloom'd for man, A fairer Eden, endless, in the skies. Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scene; Resumes them, to prepare us for the next. All evils natural are moral goods; 390 All discipline, indulgence, on the whole. None are unhappy: all have cause to smile, But such as to themselves that cause deny. 393 Our faults are at the bottom of our pains; Error, in act, or judgment, is the source Of endless sighs: we sin, or we mistake; And Nature tax, when false opinion stings. Let impious grief be banish'd, joy indulged; But chiefly then, when Grief puts in her claim. Joy from the joyous, frequently betrays, 400 Oft lives in vanity, and dies in woe. Joy, amidst ills, corroborates, exalts; 'Tis joy and conquest; joy, and virtue too. A noble fortitude in ills, delights Heaven, earth, ourselves; 'tis duty, glory, peace. Affliction is the good man's shining scene; Prosperity conceals his brightest ray; As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man. Heroes in battle, pilots in the storm, And virtue in calamities, admire. 410 The crown of manhood is a winter-joy; An evergreen, that stands the northern blast, And blossoms in the rigour of our fate. 'Tis a prime part of happiness, to know How much unhappiness must prove our lot; A part which few possess! I'll pay life's tax, Without one rebel murmur, from this hour, Nor think it misery to be a man; Who thinks it is, shall never be a god. Some ills we wish for, when we wish to live. 420 What spoke proud Passion?--"Wish my being lost?"[53] Presumptuous! blasphemous! absurd! and false! The triumph of my soul is,--that I am; And therefore that I may be--what? Lorenzo! Look inward, and look deep; and deeper still; Unfathomably deep our treasure runs 426 In golden veins, through all eternity! Ages, and ages, and succeeding still New ages, where the phantom of an hour, Which courts each night, dull slumber, for repair, Shall wake, and wonder, and exult, and praise, And fly through infinite, and all unlock; And (if deserved) by Heaven's redundant love, 433 Made half adorable itself, adore; And find, in adoration, endless joy! Where thou, not master of a moment here, Frail as the flower, and fleeting as the gale, May'st boast a whole eternity, enrich'd With all a kind Omnipotence can pour. Since Adam fell, no mortal, uninspired, 440 Has ever yet conceived, or ever shall, How kind is God, how great (if good) is Man. No man too largely from Heaven's love can hope, If what is hoped he labours to secure. Ills?--there are none: All-gracious! none from thee; From man full many! numerous is the race Of blackest ills, and those immortal too, Begot by Madness, on fair Liberty; Heaven's daughter, hell-debauch'd! her hand alone Unlocks destruction to the sons of men, 450 First barr'd by thine: high-wall'd with adamant, Guarded with terrors reaching to this world, And cover'd with the thunders of thy law; Whose threats are mercies, whose injunctions, guides, Assisting, not restraining, Reason's choice; Whose sanctions, unavoidable results From nature's course, indulgently reveal'd; If unreveal'd, more dangerous, nor less sure. Thus, an indulgent father warns his sons, "Do this; fly that"--nor always tells the cause; 460 Pleased to reward, as duty to his will, A conduct needful to their own repose. Great God of wonders! (if, thy love survey'd, Aught else the name of wonderful retains), What rocks are these, on which to build our trust! Thy ways admit no blemish; none I find; Or this alone--"That none is to be found." Not one, to soften Censure's hardy crime; Not one, to palliate peevish Grief's Complaint, Who, like a demon, murmuring from the dust, 470 Dares into judgment call her Judge.--Supreme! For all I bless thee; most, for the severe; Her[54] death--my own at hand--the fiery gulf, That flaming bound of wrath omnipotent! It thunders;--but it thunders to preserve; It strengthens what it strikes; its wholesome dread Averts the dreaded pain; its hideous groans Join heaven's sweet hallelujahs in thy praise, Great Source of good alone! how kind in all! In vengeance kind! Pain, Death, Gehenna, save. 480 Thus, in thy world material, Mighty Mind! Not that alone which solaces, and shines, The rough and gloomy, challenges our praise. The winter is as needful as the spring; The thunder, as the sun; a stagnate mass Of vapours breeds a pestilential air: Nor more propitious the Favonian[55] breeze To nature's health, than purifying storms; The dread volcano ministers to good. Its smother'd flames might undermine the world. 490 Loud Etnas fulminate in love to man; Comets good omens are, when duly scann'd; 492 And, in their use, eclipses learn to shine. Man is responsible for ills received; Those we call wretched are a chosen band, Compell'd to refuge in the right, for peace. Amid my list of blessings infinite, Stands this the foremost, "That my heart has bled." 'Tis Heaven's last effort of good-will to man; When Pain can't bless, Heaven quits us in despair. 500 Who fails to grieve, when just occasion calls, Or grieves too much, deserves not to be blest; Inhuman, or effeminate, his heart; Reason absolves the grief, which reason ends. May Heaven ne'er trust my friend with happiness, Till it has taught him how to bear it well, By previous pain; and made it safe to smile! Such smiles are mine, and such may they remain; Nor hazard their extinction, from excess. My change of heart a change of style demands; 510 The Consolation cancels the Complaint, And makes a convert of my guilty song. As when o'er-labour'd, and inclined to breathe, A panting traveller, some rising ground, Some small ascent, has gain'd, he turns him round, And measures with his eye the various vales, The fields, woods, meads, and rivers, he has pass'd; And, satiate of his journey, thinks of home, Endear'd by distance, nor affects more toil; Thus I, though small, indeed, is that ascent 520 The Muse has gain'd, review the paths she trod; Various, extensive, beaten but by view; And, conscious of her prudence in repose, Pause; and with pleasure meditate an end, Though still remote; so fruitful is my theme. Through many a field of moral, and divine, 526 The Muse has stray'd; and much of sorrow seen In human ways; and much of false and vain; Which none, who travel this bad road, can miss. O'er friends deceased full heartily she wept; Of love divine the wonders she display'd; Proved man immortal; show'd the source of joy The grand tribunal raised; assign'd the bounds Of human grief: in few, to close the whole, The moral Muse has shadow'd out a sketch, Though not in form, nor with a Raphael-stroke, Of most our weakness needs believe, or do, In this our land of travel, and of hope, For peace on earth, or prospect of the skies. 539 What then remains? much! much! a mighty debt To be discharged: these thoughts, O Night! are thine; From thee they came, like lovers' secret sighs, While others slept. So, Cynthia (poets feign), In shadows veil'd, soft-sliding from her sphere, Her shepherd cheer'd; of her enamour'd less, Than I of thee.--And art thou still unsung, Beneath whose brow, and by whose aid, I sing? Immortal silence! where shall I begin? Where end? or how steal music from the spheres, To soothe their goddess? 550 O majestic Night! Nature's great ancestor! Day's elder-born! And fated to survive the transient sun! By mortals, and immortals, seen with awe! A starry crown thy raven brow adorns, An azure zone thy waist; clouds, in heaven's loom Wrought through varieties of shape and shade, In ample folds of drapery divine, Thy flowing mantle form; and, heaven throughout, Voluminously pour thy pompous train. 560 Thy gloomy grandeurs (nature's most august, Inspiring aspect!) claim a grateful verse; And, like a sable curtain starr'd with gold, Drawn o'er my labours past, shall close the scene. And what, O man! so worthy to be sung? What more prepares us for the songs of heaven? Creation, of archangels is the theme! What, to be sung, so needful? What so well Celestial joys prepare us to sustain? The soul of man, His face design'd to see, 570 Who gave these wonders to be seen by man, Has here a previous scene of objects great, On which to dwell; to stretch to that expanse Of thought, to rise to that exalted height Of admiration, to contract that awe, And give her whole capacities that strength, Which best may qualify for final joy. The more our spirits are enlarged on earth, The deeper draught shall they receive of heaven. Heaven's King! whose face unveil'd consummates bliss; Redundant bliss! which fills that mighty void, 581 The whole creation leaves in human hearts! Thou, who didst touch the lip of Jesse's son, Rapt in sweet contemplation of these fires, And set his harp in concert with the spheres; While of thy works material the supreme I dare attempt, assist my daring song. Loose me from earth's enclosure, from the sun's Contracted circle set my heart at large; Eliminate my spirit, give it range 590 Through provinces of thought yet unexplored; Teach me, by this stupendous scaffolding, Creation's golden steps, to climb to Thee. Teach me with Art great Nature to control, 594 And spread a lustre o'er the shades of Night. Feel I thy kind assent? and shall the sun Be seen at midnight, rising in my song? Lorenzo! come, and warm thee: thou, whose heart, Whose little heart, is moor'd within a nook Of this obscure terrestrial, anchor weigh. Another ocean calls, a nobler port; I am thy pilot, I thy prosperous gale. 602 Gainful thy voyage through yon azure main; Main, without tempest, pirate, rock, or shore; And whence thou may'st import eternal wealth; And leave to beggar'd minds the pearl and gold. Thy travels dost thou boast o'er foreign realms? Thou stranger to the world! thy tour begin; Thy tour through Nature's universal orb. Nature delineates her whole chart at large, 610 On soaring souls, that sail among the spheres; And man how purblind, if unknown the whole! Who circles spacious earth, then travels here, Shall own, he never was from home before! Come, my Prometheus,[56] from thy pointed rock Of false ambition; if unchain'd, we'll mount; We'll, innocently, steal celestial fire, And kindle our devotion at the stars; A theft, that shall not chain, but set thee free. Above our atmosphere's intestine[57] wars, 620 Rain's fountain-head, the magazine of hail; Above the northern nests of feather'd snows, The brew of thunders, and the flaming forge That forms the crooked lightning; 'bove the caves Where infant tempests wait their growing wings, And tune their tender voices to that roar, Which soon, perhaps, shall shake a guilty world; 627 Above misconstrued omens of the sky, Far-travell'd comets' calculated blaze; Elance[58] thy thought, and think of more than man. Thy soul, till now, contracted, wither'd, shrunk, Blighted by blasts of earth's unwholesome air, Will blossom here; spread all her faculties To these bright ardours; every power unfold, And rise into sublimities of thought. Stars teach, as well as shine. At Nature's birth, Thus their commission ran--"Be kind to Man." Where art thou, poor benighted traveller? The stars will light thee, though the moon should fail. Where art thou, more benighted! more astray! 640 In ways immoral? The stars call thee back; And, if obey'd their counsel, set thee right. This prospect vast, what is it?--Weigh'd aright, 'Tis Nature's system of divinity, And every student of the Night inspires. 'Tis elder Scripture, writ by God's own hand: Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man. Lorenzo! with my radius (the rich gift Of thought nocturnal!) I'll point out to thee Its various lessons; some that may surprise 650 An un-adept in mysteries of Night; Little, perhaps, expected in her school, Nor thought to grow on planet, or on star. Bulls, lions, scorpions, monsters here we feign; Ourselves more monstrous, not to see what here Exists indeed;--a lecture to mankind. What read we here?--Th' existence of a God? Yes; and of other beings, man above; Natives of ether! sons of higher climes! And, what may move Lorenzo's wonder more, 660 Eternity is written in the skies. 661 And whose eternity?--Lorenzo! thine Mankind's eternity. Nor Faith alone, Virtue grows here; here springs the sovereign cure Of almost every vice; but chiefly thine; Wrath, Pride, Ambition, and impure Desire. Lorenzo! thou canst wake at midnight too, Though not on morals bent: Ambition, Pleasure! Those tyrants I for thee so lately fought,[59] Afford their harass'd slaves but slender rest. 670 Thou, to whom midnight is immoral noon, And the sun's noontide blaze, prime dawn of day; Not by thy climate, but capricious crime, Commencing one of our antipodes! In thy nocturnal rove, one moment halt, 'Twixt stage and stage, of riot, and cabal; And lift thine eye (if bold an eye to lift, If bold to meet the face of injured Heaven) To yonder stars: for other ends they shine, Than to light revellers from shame to shame, 680 And, thus, be made accomplices in guilt. Why from yon arch, that infinite of space, With infinite of lucid orbs replete, Which set the living firmament on fire, At the first glance, in such an overwhelm Of wonderful, on man's astonish'd sight, Rushes Omnipotence--To curb our pride; Our reason rouse, and lead it to that Power, Whose love lets down these silver chains of light; To draw up man's ambition to Himself, 690 And bind our chaste affections to His throne. Thus the three virtues, least alive on earth, And welcomed on heaven's coast with most applause, An humble, pure, and heavenly-minded heart, 694 Are here inspired:--and canst thou gaze too long? Nor stands thy wrath deprived of its reproof, Or un-upbraided by this radiant choir. The planets of each system represent Kind neighbours; mutual amity prevails; Sweet interchange of rays, received, return'd; Enlightening, and enlighten'd! all, at once, Attracting, and attracted! Patriot like, 702 None sins against the welfare of the whole; But their reciprocal, unselfish aid, Affords an emblem of millennial love. Nothing in nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself: Thus man his sovereign duty learns in this Material picture of benevolence. And know, of all our supercilious race, 710 Thou most inflammable! thou wasp of men! Man's angry heart, inspected, would be found As rightly set, as are the starry spheres; 'Tis Nature's structure, broke by stubborn will, Breeds all that uncelestial discord there. Wilt thou not feel the bias Nature gave? Canst thou descend from converse with the skies, And seize thy brother's throat?--For what--a clod, An inch of earth? The planets cry, "Forbear!" They chase our double darkness; Nature's gloom, 720 And (kinder still!) our intellectual night. And see, Day's amiable sister sends Her invitation, in the softest rays Of mitigated lustre; courts thy sight, Which suffers from her tyrant brother's blaze. Night grants thee the full freedom of the skies, Nor rudely reprimands thy lifted eye; With gain, and joy, she bribes thee to be wise. 728 Night opes the noblest scenes, and sheds an awe, Which gives those venerable scenes full weight, And deep reception, in th' intender'd heart; While light peeps through the darkness, like a spy; And darkness shows its grandeur by the light. Nor is the profit greater than the joy, If human hearts at glorious objects glow, And admiration can inspire delight. What speak I more, than I, this moment, feel? With pleasing stupor first the soul is struck (Stupor ordain'd to make her truly wise!): Then into transport starting from her trance, 740 With love, and admiration, how she glows! This gorgeous apparatus! this display! This ostentation of creative power! This theatre!--what eye can take it in? By what divine enchantment was it raised, For minds of the first magnitude to launch In endless speculation, and adore? One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine; And light us deep into the Deity; How boundless in magnificence and might! 750 O what a confluence of ethereal fires, Form urns unnumber'd, down the steep of heaven, Streams to a point, and centres in my sight! Nor tarries there; I feel it at my heart. My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts; Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies. Who sees it unexalted? or unawed? Who sees it, and can stop at what is seen? Material offspring of Omnipotence! Inanimate, all-animating birth! 760 Work worthy Him who made it! worthy praise! All praise! praise more than human! nor denied 762 Thy praise divine!--But though man, drown'd in sleep, Withholds his homage, not alone I wake; Bright legions swarm unseen, and sing, unheard By mortal ear, the glorious Architect, In this His universal temple hung With lustres, with innumerable lights, That shed religion on the soul; at once, The temple, and the preacher! O how loud 770 It calls devotion! genuine growth of Night! Devotion! daughter of Astronomy! An undevout astronomer is mad. True; all things speak a God; but in the small, Men trace out Him; in great, He seizes man; Seizes, and elevates, and wraps, and fills With new inquiries, 'mid associates new. Tell me, ye stars! ye planets! tell me, all Ye starr'd, and planeted, inhabitants! what is it? What are these sons of wonder? say, proud arch 780 (Within those azure palaces they dwell), Built with divine ambition! in disdain Of limit built! built in the taste of heaven! Vast concave! ample dome! wast thou design'd A meet apartment for the Deity?-- Not so; that thought alone thy state impairs, Thy lofty sinks, and shallows thy profound, And straitens thy diffusive; dwarfs the whole, And makes a universe an orrery[60]. But when I drop mine eye, and look on man, 790 Thy right regain'd, thy grandeur is restored, O Nature! wide flies off th' expanding round. As when whole magazines, at once, are fired, The smitten air is hollow'd by the blow; The vast displosion dissipates the clouds; Shock'd ether's billows dash the distant skies; 796 Thus (but far more) th' expanding round flies off, And leaves a mighty void, a spacious womb, Might teem with new creation; reinflamed Thy luminaries triumph, and assume Divinity themselves. Nor was it strange, Matter high-wrought to such surprising pomp, Such godlike glory, stole the style of gods, 803 From ages dark, obtuse, and steep'd in sense; For, sure, to sense, they truly are divine, And half absolved idolatry from guilt; Nay, turn'd it into virtue. Such it was In those, who put forth all they had of man Unlost, to lift their thought, nor mounted higher; But, weak of wing, on planets perch'd; and thought 810 What was their highest, must be their adored. But they how weak, who could no higher mount? And are there, then, Lorenzo! those, to whom Unseen, and unexistent, are the same? And if incomprehensible is join'd, Who dare pronounce it madness, to believe? Why has the mighty Builder thrown aside All measure in His work; stretch'd out His line So far, and spread amazement o'er the whole? Then (as he took delight in wide extremes), 820 Deep in the bosom of His universe, Dropp'd down that reasoning mite, that insect, Man, To crawl, and gaze, and wonder at the scene?-- That man might ne'er presume to plead amazement For disbelief of wonders in himself. Shall God be less miraculous, than what His hand has form'd? Shall mysteries descend From unmysterious? things more elevate, Be more familiar? uncreated lie More obvious than created, to the grasp 830 Of human thought? The more of wonderful Is heard in Him, the more we should assent. Could we conceive Him, God He could not be; Or He not God, or we could not be men. A God alone can comprehend a God; Man's distance how immense! On such a theme, Know this, Lorenzo! (seem it ne'er so strange) Nothing can satisfy, but what confounds; Nothing, but what astonishes, is true. The scene thou seest, attests the truth I sing, 840 And every star sheds light upon thy creed. These stars, this furniture, this cost of heaven, If but reported, thou hadst ne'er believed; But thine eye tells thee, the romance is true. The grand of nature is th' Almighty's oath, In Reason's court, to silence Unbelief. How my mind, opening at this scene, imbibes The moral emanations of the skies, While nought, perhaps, Lorenzo less admires! Has the Great Sovereign sent ten thousand worlds 850 To tells us, He resides above them all, In glory's unapproachable recess? And dare earth's bold inhabitants deny The sumptuous, the magnific embassy A moment's audience? Turn we, nor will hear From whom they come, or what they would impart For man's emolument; sole cause that stoops Their grandeur to man's eye? Lorenzo! rouse; Let thought, awaken'd, take the lightning's wing, And glance from east to west, from pole to pole. 860 Who sees, but is confounded, or convinced? Renounces reason, or a God adores? Mankind was sent into the world to see: Sight gives the science needful to their peace; 864 That obvious science asks small learning's aid. Would'st thou on metaphysic pinions soar? Or wound thy patience amid logic thorns? Or travel history's enormous round? Nature no such hard task enjoins: she gave A make to man directive of his thought; A make set upright, pointing to the stars, As who shall say, "Read thy chief lesson there." 872 Too late to read this manuscript of heaven, When, like a parchment scroll, shrunk up by flames, It folds Lorenzo's lesson from his sight. Lesson how various! Not the God alone, I see His ministers; I see, diffused In radiant orders, essences sublime, Of various offices, of various plume, In heavenly liveries, distinctly clad, 880 Azure, green, purple, pearl, or downy gold, Or all commix'd; they stand, with wings outspread, Listening to catch the Master's least command, And fly through nature, ere the moment ends; Numbers innumerable!--well conceived By Pagan, and by Christian! O'er each sphere Presides an angel, to direct its course, And feed, or fan, its flames; or to discharge Other high trusts unknown. For who can see Such pomp of matter, and imagine, Mind, 890 For which alone Inanimate was made, More sparingly dispensed? that nobler son, Far liker the great Sire!--'Tis thus the skies Inform us of superiors numberless, As much, in excellence, above mankind, As above earth, in magnitude, the spheres. These, as a cloud of witnesses, hang o'er us; In a throng'd theatre are all our deeds; 898 Perhaps, a thousand demigods descend On every beam we see, to walk with men. Awful reflection! Strong restraint from ill! Yet, here, our virtue finds still stronger aid From these ethereal glories sense surveys. Something, like magic, strikes from this blue vault; With just attention is it view'd? We feel A sudden succour, unimplored, unthought; Nature herself does half the work of Man. Seas, rivers, mountains, forests, deserts, rocks, The promontory's height, the depth profound Of subterranean, excavated grots[61], 910 Black brow'd, and vaulted high, and yawning wide From Nature's structure, or the scoop of Time; If ample of dimension, vast of size, Even these an aggrandizing impulse give; Of solemn thought enthusiastic heights Even these infuse.--But what of vast in these? Nothing;--or we must own the skies forgot. Much less in art.--Vain art! Thou pigmy power! How dost thou swell and strut, with human pride, To show thy littleness! What childish toys, 920 Thy watery columns squirted to the clouds! Thy basin'd rivers, and imprison'd seas! Thy mountains moulded into forms of men! Thy hundred-gated capitals! or those Where three days' travel left us much to ride; Gazing on miracles by mortals wrought, Arches triumphal, theatres immense, Or nodding gardens pendent in mid-air! Or temples proud to meet their gods half-way! Yet these affect us in no common kind. 930 What then the force of such superior scenes? Enter a temple, it will strike an awe: 932 What awe from this the Deity has built! A good man seen, though silent, counsel gives: The touch'd spectator wishes to be wise: In a bright mirror His own hands have made, Here we see something like the face of God. Seems it not then enough, to say, Lorenzo! To man abandon'd, "Hast thou seen the skies?" And yet, so thwarted Nature's kind design 940 By daring man, he makes her sacred awe (That guard from ill) his shelter, his temptation To more than common guilt, and quite inverts Celestial art's intent. The trembling stars See crimes gigantic, stalking through the gloom With front erect, that hide their head by day, And making night still darker by their deeds. Slumbering in covert, till the shades descend, Rapine and Murder, link'd, now prowl for prey. The miser earths his treasure; and the thief, 950 Watching the mole, half beggars him ere morn. Now plots, and foul conspiracies, awake; And, muffling up their horrors from the moon, Havoc and devastation they prepare, And kingdoms tottering in the field of blood. Now sons of riot in mid-revel rage. What shall I do?--suppress it? or proclaim?-- Why sleeps the thunder? Now, Lorenzo! now, His best friend's couch the rank adulterer Ascends secure; and laughs at gods and men. 960 Preposterous madmen, void of fear or shame, Lay their crimes bare to these chaste eyes of Heaven; Yet shrink, and shudder, at a mortal's sight. Were moon, and stars, for villains only made? To guide, yet screen them, with tenebrious[62] light? No; they were made to fashion the sublime 966 Of human hearts, and wiser make the wise. Those ends were answer'd once; when mortals lived Of stronger wing, of aquiline ascent In theory sublime. O how unlike Those vermin of the night, this moment sung, Who crawl on earth, and on her venom feed! 972 Those ancient sages, human stars! They met Their brothers of the skies, at midnight hour; Their counsel ask'd; and, what they ask'd, obey'd. The Stagirite, and Plato, he who drank[63] The poison'd bowl, and he of Tusculum,[64] With him of Corduba,[65] (immortal names!) In these unbounded, and Elysian, walks, An area fit for gods, and godlike men, 980 They took their nightly round, through radiant paths By seraphs trod; instructed, chiefly, thus, To tread in their bright footsteps here below; To walk in worth still brighter than the skies. There they contracted their contempt of earth; Of hopes eternal kindled, there, the fire; There, as in near approach, they glow'd, and grew (Great visitants!) more intimate with God, More worth to men, more joyous to themselves. Through various virtues, they, with ardour, ran 990 The zodiac of their learn'd, illustrious lives. In Christian hearts, O for a Pagan zeal! A needful, but opprobrious prayer! As much Our ardour less, as greater is our light. How monstrous this in morals! Scarce more strange Would this phenomenon in nature strike, A sun, that froze her, or a star, that warm'd. What taught these heroes of the moral world? 998 To these thou givest thy praise, give credit too. These doctors ne'er were pension'd to deceive thee; And Pagan tutors are thy taste.--They taught, That, narrow views betray to misery: That, wise it is to comprehend the whole: That, virtue, rose from nature, ponder'd well, The single base of virtue built to heaven: That God, and nature, our attention claim: That nature is the glass reflecting God, As, by the sea, reflected is the sun, Too glorious to be gazed on in his sphere: That, mind immortal loves immortal aims: 1010 That, boundless mind affects a boundless space: That vast surveys, and the sublime of things, The soul assimilate, and make her great: That, therefore, heaven her glories, as a fund Of inspiration, thus spreads out to man. Such are their doctrines; such the Night inspired. And what more true? what truth of greater weight? The soul of man was made to walk the skies; Delightful outlet of her prison here! There, disencumber'd from her chains, the ties 1020 Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large; There, freely can respire, dilate, extend, In full proportion let loose all her powers; And, undeluded, grasp at something great. Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there; But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays; Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own; Dives deep in their economy divine, Sits high in judgment on their various laws, And, like a master, judges not amiss. 1030 Hence greatly pleased, and justly proud, the soul Grows conscious of her birth celestial; breathes 1032 More life, more vigour, in her native air; And feels herself at home amongst the stars; And, feeling, emulates her country's praise. What call we, then, the firmament, Lorenzo?-- As earth the body, since the skies sustain The soul with food, that gives immortal life, Call it, the noble pasture of the mind; Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exults, 1040 And riots through the luxuries of thought. Call it, the garden of the Deity, Blossom'd with stars, redundant in the growth Of fruit ambrosial; moral fruit to man. Call it, the breastplate of the true High Priest, Ardent with gems oracular, that give, In points of highest moment, right response; And ill neglected, if we prize our peace. Thus, have we found a true astrology; Thus, have we found a new, and noble sense, 1050 In which alone stars govern human fates. O that the stars (as some have feign'd) let fall Bloodshed, and havoc, on embattled realms, And rescued monarchs from so black a guilt! Bourbon! this wish how generous in a foe! Would'st thou be great, would'st thou become a god, And stick thy deathless name among the stars, For mighty conquests on a needle's point? Instead of forging chains for foreigners, Bastile thy tutor: grandeur all thy aim? 1060 As yet thou know'st not what it is: how great, How glorious, then, appears the mind of man, When in it all the stars, and planets, roll! And what it seems, it is: great objects make Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge; 1065 Those still more godlike, as these more divine. And more divine than these, thou canst not see. Dazzled, o'erpower'd, with the delicious draught Of miscellaneous splendours, how I reel From thought to thought, inebriate, without end! An Eden, this! a Paradise unlost! I meet the Deity in every view, 1072 And tremble at my nakedness before him! O that I could but reach the tree of life! For here it grows, unguarded from our taste; No flaming sword denies our entrance here; Would man but gather, he might live for ever. Lorenzo! much of moral hast thou seen. Of curious arts art thou more fond? Then mark The mathematic glories of the skies, 1080 In number, weight, and measure, all ordain'd. Lorenzo's boasted builders, Chance, and Fate, Are left to finish his aerial towers; Wisdom and choice, their well-known characters Here deep impress; and claim it for their own. Though splendid all, no splendour void of use; Use rivals beauty; art contends with power; No wanton waste, amid effuse expense; The great Economist adjusting all To prudent pomp, magnificently wise. 1090 How rich the prospect! and for ever new! And newest to the man that views it most; For newer still in infinite succeeds. Then, these aerial racers, O how swift! How the shaft loiters from the strongest string! Spirit alone can distance the career. Orb above orb ascending without end! Circle in circle, without end, enclosed! Wheel, within wheel; Ezekiel! like to thine! 1099 Like thine, it seems a vision or a dream; Though seen, we labour to believe it true! What involution! what extent! what swarms Of worlds, that laugh at earth! immensely great! Immensely distant from each other's spheres! What, then, the wondrous space through which they roll? At once it quite engulfs all human thought; 'Tis comprehension's absolute defeat. Nor think thou seest a wild disorder here; Through this illustrious chaos to the sight, Arrangement neat, and chastest order, reign. 1110 The path prescribed, inviolably kept, Upbraids the lawless sallies of mankind. Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere; What knots are tied! how soon are they dissolved, And set the seeming married planets free! They rove for ever, without error rove; Confusion unconfused! nor less admire This tumult untumultuous; all on wing! In motion, all! yet what profound repose! What fervid action, yet no noise! as awed 1120 To silence, by the presence of their Lord; Or hush'd by His command, in love to man, And bid let fall soft beams on human rest, Restless themselves. On yon cerulean plain, In exultation to their God, and thine, They dance, they sing eternal jubilee, Eternal celebration of His praise. But, since their song arrives not at our ear, Their dance perplex'd exhibits to the sight Fair hieroglyphic of His peerless power. 1130 Mark how the labyrinthian turns they take, The circles intricate, and mystic maze, Weave the grand cipher of Omnipotence; 1133 To gods, how great! how legible to man! Leaves so much wonder greater wonder still? Where are the pillars that support the skies? What more than Atlantean shoulder props Th' incumbent load? What magic, what strange art, In fluid air these ponderous orbs sustains? Who would not think them hung in golden chains?-- 1140 And so they are; in the high will of heaven, Which fixes all; makes adamant of air, Or air of adamant; makes all of nought, Or nought of all; if such the dread decree. Imagine from their deep foundations torn The most gigantic sons of earth, the broad And towering Alps, all toss'd into the sea; And, light as down, or volatile as air, Their bulks enormous, dancing on the waves, In time, and measure, exquisite; while all 1150 The winds, in emulation of the spheres, Tune their sonorous instruments aloft; The concert swell, and animate the ball. Would this appear amazing? What, then, worlds, In a far thinner element sustain'd, And acting the same part, with greater skill, More rapid movement, and for noblest ends? More obvious ends to pass, are not these stars The seats majestic, proud imperial thrones, On which angelic delegates of heaven, 1160 At certain periods, as the Sovereign nods, Discharge high trusts of vengeance, or of love; To clothe, in outward grandeur, grand design, And acts most solemn still more solemnize? Ye citizens of air! what ardent thanks, What full effusion of the grateful heart, Is due from man indulged in such a sight! 1167 A sight so noble! and a sight so kind! It drops new truths at every new survey! Feels not Lorenzo something stir within, That sweeps away all period? As these spheres Measure duration, they no less inspire The godlike hope of ages without end. The boundless space, through which these rovers take Their restless roam, suggests the sister thought Of boundless time. Thus, by kind Nature's skill, To man unlabour'd, that important guest, Eternity, finds entrance at the sight: And an eternity, for man ordain'd, Or these his destined midnight counsellors, 1180 The stars, had never whisper'd it to man. Nature informs, but ne'er insults, her sons. Could she then kindle the most ardent wish To disappoint it?--That is blasphemy. Thus, of thy creed a second article, Momentous, as th' existence of a God, Is found (as I conceive) where rarely sought; And thou may'st read thy soul immortal, here. Here, then, Lorenzo! on these glories dwell; Nor want the gilt, illuminated, roof, 1190 That calls the wretched gay to dark delights. Assemblies?--This is one divinely bright; Here, unendanger'd in health, wealth, or fame, Range through the fairest, and the Sultan scorn; He, wise as thou, no crescent holds so fair, As that, which on his turban awes a world; And thinks the moon is proud to copy him. Look on her, and gain more than worlds can give, A mind superior to the charms of power. Thou muffled in delusions of this life! 1200 Can yonder moon turn ocean in his bed, 1201 From side to side, in constant ebb, and flow, And purify from stench his watery realms? And fails her moral influence? wants she power To turn Lorenzo's stubborn tide of thought From stagnating on earth's infected shore, And purge from nuisance his corrupted heart? Fails her attraction when it draws to heaven? Nay, and to what thou valuest more, earth's joy? Minds elevate, and panting for unseen, 1210 And defecate[66] from sense, alone obtain Full relish of existence undeflower'd, The life of life, the zest of worldly bliss: All else on earth amounts--to what? to this: "Bad to be suffer'd; blessings to be left:" Earth's richest inventory boasts no more. Of higher scenes be, then, the call obey'd. O let me gaze!--Of gazing there's no end. O let me think!--Thought too is wilder'd here; In midway flight imagination tires; 1220 Yet soon reprunes her wing to soar anew, Her point unable to forbear, or gain; So great the pleasure, so profound the plan! A banquet, this, where men, and angels, meet, Eat the same manna, mingle earth and heaven. How distant some of these nocturnal suns! So distant (says the sage), 'twere not absurd To doubt, if beams, set out at Nature's birth, Are yet arrived at this so foreign world; Though nothing half so rapid as their flight. 1230 An eye of awe and wonder let me roll, And roll for ever: who can satiate sight In such a scene? in such an ocean wide Of deep astonishment? where depth, height, breadth, Are lost in their extremes; and where to count 1235 The thick-sown glories in this field of fire, Perhaps a seraph's computation fails. Now, go, Ambition! boast thy boundless might In conquest, o'er the tenth part of a grain. And yet Lorenzo calls for miracles, To give his tottering faith a solid base. Why call for less than is already thine? 1242 Thou art no novice in theology; What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire, on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too. To common sense, great Nature's course proclaims A Deity: when mankind falls asleep, A miracle is sent, as an alarm; To wake the world, and prove Him o'er again, 1250 By recent argument, but not more strong. Say, which imports more plenitude of power, Or nature's laws to fix, or to repeal? To make a sun, or stop his mid career? To countermand his orders, and send back The flaming courier to the frighted east, Warm'd, and astonish'd, at his evening ray? Or bid the moon, as with her journey tired, In Ajalon's[67] soft, flowery vale repose? Great things are these; still greater, to create. 1260 From Adam's bower look down through the whole train Of miracles;--resistless is their power? They do not, can not, more amaze the mind, Than this, call'd unmiraculous survey, If duly weigh'd, if rationally seen, If seen with human eyes. The brute, indeed, Sees nought but spangles here; the fool, no more. Say'st thou, "The course of nature governs all?" The course of Nature is the art of God. 1269 The miracles thou call'st for, this attest; For say, could Nature Nature's course control? But, miracles apart, who sees Him not, Nature's controller, author, guide, and end? Who turns his eye on Nature's midnight face, But must inquire--"What hand behind the scene, What arm almighty, put these wheeling globes In motion, and wound up the vast machine? Who rounded in his palm these spacious orbs? Who bowl'd them flaming through the dark profound, Numerous as glittering gems of morning dew, 1280 Or sparks from populous cities in a blaze, And set the bosom of old Night on fire? Peopled her desert, and made horror smile?" Or, if the military style delights thee (For stars have fought their battles, leagued with man), "Who marshals this bright host? enrols their names? Appoints their posts, their marches, and returns, Punctual, at stated periods? who disbands These veteran troops, their final duty done, If e'er disbanded?"--He, whose potent word, 1290 Like the loud trumpet, levied first their powers In Night's inglorious empire, where they slept In beds of darkness: arm'd them with fierce flames, Arranged, and disciplined, and clothed in gold; And call'd them out of chaos to the field, Where now they war with vice and unbelief. O let us join this army! joining these, Will give us hearts intrepid, at that hour, When brighter flames shall cut a darker night; When these strong demonstrations of a God 1300 Shall hide their heads, or tumble from their spheres, And one eternal curtain cover all! Struck at that thought, as new awaked, I lift 1303 A more enlighten'd eye, and read the stars To man still more propitious; and their aid (Though guiltless of idolatry) implore; Nor longer rob them of their noblest name. O ye dividers of my time! ye bright Accountants of my days, and months, and years, In your fair calendar distinctly mark'd! 1310 Since that authentic, radiant register, Though man inspects it not, stands good against him; Since you, and years, roll on, though man stands still; Teach me my days to number, and apply My trembling heart to wisdom; now beyond All shadow of excuse for fooling on. Age smooths our path to prudence; sweeps aside The snares keen appetite and passion spread To catch stray souls; and woe to that grey head, Whose folly would undo, what age has done! 1320 Aid then, aid, all ye stars!--Much rather, Thou, Great Artist! Thou, whose finger set aright This exquisite machine, with all its wheels, Though intervolved, exact; and pointing out Life's rapid, and irrevocable flight, With such an index fair, as none can miss, Who lifts an eye, nor sleeps till it is closed. Open mine eye, dread Deity! to read The tacit doctrine of thy works; to see Things as they are, unalter'd through the glass 1330 Of worldly wishes. Time, eternity! ('Tis these, mismeasured, ruin all mankind) Set them before me; let me lay them both In equal scale, and learn their various weight. Let time appear a moment, as it is; And let eternity's full orb, at once, Turn on my soul, and strike it into heaven. 1337 When shall I see far more than charms me now? Gaze on creation's model in thy breast Unveil'd, nor wonder at the transcript more? When this vile, foreign, dust, which smothers all That travel earth's deep vale, shall I shake off? When shall my soul her incarnation quit, And, readopted to thy bless'd embrace, Obtain her apotheosis in Thee? Dost think, Lorenzo, this is wandering wide? No,'tis directly striking at the mark; To wake thy dead devotion was my point; And how I bless Night's consecrating shades, Which to a temple turn an universe; 1350 Fill us with great ideas, full of heaven, And antidote the pestilential earth! In every storm, that either frowns, or falls, What an asylum has the soul in prayer! And what a fane[68] is this, in which to pray! And what a God must dwell in such a fane! Oh, what a genius must inform the skies! And is Lorenzo's salamander heart Cold, and untouch'd, amid these sacred fires? O ye nocturnal sparks! ye glowing embers, 1360 On heaven's broad hearth! who burn, or burn no more, Who blaze, or die, as Great Jehovah's breath Or blows you, or forbears; assist my song; Pour your whole influence; exorcise his heart, So long possess'd; and bring him back to man. And is Lorenzo a demurrer still? Pride in thy parts provokes thee to contest Truths, which, contested, put thy parts to shame. Nor shame they more Lorenzo's head than heart, A faithless heart, how despicably small! 1370 Too strait, aught great or generous to receive! 1371 Fill'd with an atom! fill'd, and foul'd, with self! And self mistaken! self, that lasts an hour! Instincts and passions, of the nobler kind, Lie suffocated there; or they alone, Reason apart, would wake high hope; and open, To ravish'd thought, that intellectual sphere, Where order, wisdom, goodness, providence, Their endless miracles of love display, And promise all the truly great desire. 1380 The mind that would be happy, must be great; Great, in its wishes; great, in its surveys. Extended views a narrow mind extend; Push out its corrugate, expansive make, Which, ere long, more than planets shall embrace. A man of compass makes a man of worth; Divine contemplate, and become divine. As man was made for glory, and for bliss, All littleness is in approach to woe; Open thy bosom, set thy wishes wide, 1390 And let in manhood; let in happiness; Admit the boundless theatre of thought From nothing, up to God; which makes a man. Take God from nature, nothing great is left; Man's mind is in a pit, and nothing sees; Man's heart is in a jakes[69], and loves the mire. Emerge from thy profound; erect thine eye; See thy distress! how close art thou besieged! Besieged by Nature, the proud sceptic's foe! Enclosed by these innumerable worlds, 1400 Sparkling conviction on the darkest mind, As in a golden net of Providence. How art thou caught, sure captive of belief! From this thy bless'd captivity, what art, What blasphemy to reason, sets thee free! 1405 This scene is heaven's indulgent violence: Canst thou bear up against this tide of glory? What is earth bosom'd in these ambient orbs, But, faith in God imposed, and press'd on man? Darest thou still litigate thy desperate cause, Spite of these numerous, awful, witnesses, And doubt the deposition of the skies? 1412 O how laborious is thy way to ruin! Laborious! 'tis impracticable quite; To sink beyond a doubt, in this debate, With all his weight of wisdom and of will, And crime flagitious, I defy a fool. Some wish they did; but no man disbelieves. God is a spirit; spirit cannot strike These gross, material organs; God by man 1420 As much is seen, as man a God can see, In these astonishing exploits of power. What order, beauty, motion, distance, size! Concertion of design, how exquisite! How complicate, in their divine police! Apt means! great ends! consent to general good!-- Each attribute of these material gods, So long (and that with specious pleas) adored, A separate conquest gains o'er rebel thought; And leads in triumph the whole mind of man. 1430 Lorenzo! this may seem harangue to thee; Such all is apt to seem, that thwarts our will. And dost thou, then, demand a simple proof Of this great master moral of the skies, Unskill'd, or disinclined, to read it there? Since 'tis the basis, and all drops without it, Take it, in one compact, unbroken chain. Such proof insists on an attentive ear; 'Twill not make one amid a mob of thoughts, 1439 And, for thy notice, struggle with the world. Retire;--the world shut out;--thy thoughts call home;-- Imagination's airy wing repress;-- Lock up thy senses;--let no passion stir;-- Wake all to Reason;--let her reign alone;-- Then, in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth Of Nature's silence, midnight, thus inquire, As I have done; and shall inquire no more. In nature's channel, thus the questions run: "What am I? and from whence?--I nothing know, But that I am; and, since I am, conclude 1450 Something eternal: had there e'er been nought, Nought still had been: eternal there must be.-- But what eternal?--Why not human race? And Adam's ancestors without an end?-- That's hard to be conceived; since every link Of that long-chain'd succession is so frail; Can every part depend, and not the whole? Yet grant it true; new difficulties rise; I'm still quite out at sea; nor see the shore. Whence earth, and these bright orbs?--eternal too? Grant matter was eternal; still these orbs 1461 Would want some other father;--much design Is seen in all their motions, all their makes; Design implies intelligence, and art; That can't be from themselves--or man; that art Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow? And nothing greater yet allow'd than man.-- Who, motion, foreign to the smallest grain, Shot through vast masses of enormous weight? Who bid brute matter's restive lump assume 1470 Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly? Has matter innate motion? then each atom, Asserting its indisputable right 1473 To dance, would form an universe of dust: Has matter none? Then whence these glorious forms And boundless flights, from shapeless, and reposed? Has matter more than motion? Has it thought, Judgment, and genius? Is it deeply learn'd In mathematics? Has it framed such laws, Which but to guess, a Newton made immortal?-- 1480 If so, how each sage atom laughs at me, Who think a clod inferior to a man! If art, to form; and counsel, to conduct; And that with greater far than human skill; Resides not in each block;--a Godhead reigns.-- Grant, then, invisible, eternal, Mind; That granted, all is solved.--But, granting that, Draw I not o'er me a still darker cloud? Grant I not that which I can ne'er conceive? A being without origin, or end!-- 1490 Hail, human liberty! There is no God-- Yet, why? On either scheme that knot subsists; Subsist it must, in God, or human race; If in the last, how many knots beside, Indissoluble all?--Why choose it there, Where, chosen, still subsist ten thousand more? Reject it, where, that chosen, all the rest Dispersed, leave reason's whole horizon clear? This is not reason's dictate; Reason says, Close with the side where one grain turns the scale;-- 1500 What vast preponderance is here! can reason With louder voice exclaim--Believe a God? And reason heard, is the sole mark of man. What things impossible must man think true, On any other system! and how strange To disbelieve, through mere credulity!" If, in this chain, Lorenzo finds no flaw, 1507 Let it for ever bind him to belief. And where the link, in which a flaw he finds? And, if a God there is, that God how great! How great that Power, whose providential care Through these bright orbs' dark centres darts a ray! Of nature universal threads the whole! And hangs creation, like a precious gem, Though little, on the footstool of his throne! That little gem, how large! A weight let fall From a fix'd star, in ages can it reach This distant earth! Say, then, Lorenzo! where, Where, ends this mighty building? where, begin The suburbs of creation? where, the wall 1520 Whose battlements look o'er into the vale Of non-existence! Nothing's strange abode! Say, at what point of space Jehovah dropp'd His slacken'd line, and laid his balance by; Weigh'd worlds, and measured infinite, no more? Where, rears His terminating pillar high Its extra-mundane head? and says, to gods, In characters illustrious as the sun,--

"I stand, the plan's proud period; I pronounce The work accomplish'd; the creation closed: 1530 Shout, all ye gods! nor shout ye gods alone; Of all that lives, or, if devoid of life, That rests, or rolls, ye heights, and depths, resound! Resound! resound! ye depths, and heights, resound!"

Hard are those questions!--answer harder still. Is this the sole exploit, the single birth, The solitary son of power divine? Or has th' Almighty Father, with a breath, Impregnated the womb of distant space? 1539 Has He not bid, in various provinces, Brother-creations the dark bowels burst Of night primeval; barren, now, no more? And He the central sun, transpiercing all Those giant generations, which disport And dance, as motes, in his meridian ray; That ray withdrawn, benighted, or absorb'd, In that abyss of horror, whence they sprung; While Chaos triumphs, repossess'd of all Rival Creation ravish'd from his throne? Chaos! of Nature both the womb, and grave! 1550 Think'st thou my scheme, Lorenzo, spreads too wide? Is this extravagant?--No; this is just; Just, in conjecture, though 'twere false in fact. If 'tis an error, 'tis an error sprung From noble root, high thought of the Most High. But wherefore error? who can prove it such?-- He that can set Omnipotence a bound. Can man conceive beyond what God can do? Nothing, but quite impossible is hard. He summons into being, with like ease, 1560 A whole creation, and a single grain. Speaks he the word? a thousand worlds are born! A thousand worlds? there's space for millions more: And in what space can his great fiat fail? Condemn me not, cold critic! but indulge The warm imagination: why condemn? Why not indulge such thoughts, as swell our hearts With fuller admiration of that Power, Who gives our hearts with such high thoughts to swell? Why not indulge in His augmented praise? 1570 Darts not His glory a still brighter ray, The less is left to Chaos, and the realms Of hideous Night, where Fancy strays aghast; 1573 And, though most talkative, makes no report? Still seems my thought enormous? Think again;-- Experience' self shall aid thy lame belief. Glasses (that revelation to the sight!) Have they not led us in the deep disclose Of fine-spun nature, exquisitely small, And, though demonstrated, still ill-conceived? 1580 If, then, on the reverse, the mind would mount In magnitude, what mind can mount too far, To keep the balance, and creation poise? Defect alone can err on such a theme; What is too great, if we the cause survey? Stupendous Architect! Thou, Thou art all! My soul flies up and down in thoughts of Thee, And finds herself but at the centre still! I AM, thy name! Existence, all thine own! Creation's nothing; flatter'd much, if styled 1590 "The thin, the fleeting atmosphere of God." O for the voice--of what? of whom?--What voice Can answer to my wants, in such ascent, As dares to deem one universe too small? Tell me, Lorenzo! (for now fancy glows; Fired in the vortex of almighty power) Is not this home creation, in the map Of universal nature, as a speck, Like fair Britannia in our little ball; Exceeding fair, and glorious, for its size, 1600 But, elsewhere, far outmeasured, far outshone? In fancy (for the fact beyond us lies) Canst thou not figure it, an isle, almost Too small for notice, in the vast of being; Sever'd by mighty seas of unbuilt space From other realms; from ample continents Of higher life, where nobler natives dwell; 1607 Less northern, less remote from Deity, Glowing beneath the line of the Supreme; Where souls in excellence make haste, put forth Luxuriant growths; nor the late autumn wait Of human worth, but ripen soon to gods? Yet why drown fancy in such depths as these? Return, presumptuous rover! and confess The bounds of man; nor blame them, as too small. Enjoy we not full scope in what is seen? Pull ample the dominions of the sun! Full glorious to behold! How far, how wide, The matchless monarch, from his flaming throne, 1619 Lavish of lustre, throws his beams about him, Farther, and faster, than a thought can fly, And feeds his planets with eternal fires! This Heliopolis,[70] by greater far, Than the proud tyrant of the Nile, was built; And He alone, who built it, can destroy. Beyond this city, why strays human thought? One wonderful, enough for man to know! One infinite! enough for man to range! One firmament, enough for man to read! O what voluminous instruction here! 1630 What page of wisdom is denied him? None; If learning his chief lesson makes him wise. Nor is instruction, here, our only gain; There dwells a noble pathos in the skies, Which warms our passions, proselytes our hearts. How eloquently shines the glowing pole! With what authority it gives its charge, Remonstrating great truths in style sublime, Though silent, loud! heard earth around; above The planets heard; and not unheard in hell; 1640 Hell has her wonder, though too proud to praise. Is earth, then, more infernal? Has she those, Who neither praise (Lorenzo!) nor admire? Lorenzo's admiration, pre-engaged, Ne'er ask'd the moon one question; never held Least correspondence with a single star; Ne'er rear'd an altar to the Queen of Heaven Walking in brightness; or her train adored. Their sublunary rivals have long since Engross'd his whole devotion; stars malign, 1650 Which made the fond astronomer run mad; Darken his intellect, corrupt his heart; Cause him to sacrifice his fame and peace To momentary madness, call'd delight. Idolater, more gross than ever kiss'd The lifted hand to Luna, or pour'd out The blood to Jove!--O Thou, to whom belongs All sacrifice! O Thou Great Jove unfeign'd! Divine Instructor! Thy first volume, this, For man's perusal; all in capitals! 1660 In moon, and stars (heaven's golden alphabet!) Emblazed to seize the sight; who runs, may read; Who reads, can understand. 'Tis unconfined To Christian land, or Jewry; fairly writ, In language universal, to mankind: A language, lofty to the learn'd: yet plain To those that feed the flock, or guide the plough, Or, from his husk, strike out the bounding grain. A language, worthy the Great Mind, that speaks! Preface, and comment, to the sacred page! 1670 Which oft refers its reader to the skies, As presupposing his first lesson there, And Scripture self a fragment, that unread. Stupendous book of wisdom, to the wise! 1674 Stupendous book! and open'd, Night! by thee. By thee much open'd, I confess, O Night! Yet more I wish; but how shall I prevail? Say, gentle Night! whose modest, maiden beams Give us a new creation, and present The world's great picture soften'd to the sight; Nay, kinder far, far more indulgent still, Say, thou, whose mild dominion's silver key 1682 Unlocks our hemisphere, and sets to view Worlds beyond number; worlds conceal'd by day Behind the proud and envious star of noon! Canst thou not draw a deeper scene?--and show The mighty Potentate, to whom belong These rich regalia pompously display'd To kindle that high hope? Like him of Uz,[71] I gaze around; I search on every side-- 1690 O for a glimpse of Him my soul adores! As the chased hart, amid the desert waste, Pants for the living stream; for Him who made her, So pants the thirsty soul, amid the blank Of sublunary joys. Say, goddess! where? Where blazes His bright court? where burns His throne? Thou know'st; for thou art near Him; by thee, round His grand pavilion, sacred fame reports The sable curtain drawn. If not, can none Of thy fair daughter train, so swift of wing, 1700 Who travel far, discover where He dwells? A star His dwelling pointed out below. Ye Pleiades! Arcturus! Mazaroth! And thou, Orion! of still keener eye! Say ye, who guide the wilder'd in the waves, And bring them out of tempest into port! 1706 On which hand must I bend my course to find Him? These courtiers keep the secret of their King; I wake whole nights, in vain, to steal it from them. I wake; and, waking, climb Night's radiant scale, From sphere to sphere; the steps by nature set For man's ascent; at once to tempt and aid; To tempt his eye, and aid his towering thought; 1713 Till it arrives at the great goal of all. In ardent Contemplation's rapid car, From earth, as from my barrier, I set out. How swift I mount! Diminish'd earth recedes; I pass the moon; and, from her farther side, Pierce heaven's blue curtain; strike into remote; Where, with his lifted tube, the subtle sage 1720 His artificial, airy journey takes, And to celestial lengthens human sight. I pause at every planet on my road, And ask for Him who gives their orbs to roll, Their foreheads fair to shine. From Saturn's ring, In which, of earths an army might be lost, With the bold comet, take my bolder flight, Amid those sovereign glories of the skies, Of independent, native lustre, proud; The souls of systems! and the lords of life, 1730 Through their wide empires!--What behold I now? A wilderness of wonder burning round; Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres; Perhaps the villas of descending gods; Nor halt I here; my toil is but begun; 'Tis but the threshold of the Deity; Or, far beneath it, I am grovelling still. Nor is it strange; I built on a mistake; The grandeur of his works, whence folly sought For aid, to reason sets his glory higher; 1740 Who built thus high for worms (mere worms to Him), Oh, where, Lorenzo! must the Builder dwell? Pause, then; and, for a moment, here respire-- If human thought can keep its station here. Where am I?--Where is earth?--Nay, where art thou, O sun?--Is the sun turn'd recluse?--and are His boasted expeditions short to mine?-- To mine, how short! On nature's Alps I stand, And see a thousand firmaments beneath! A thousand systems! as a thousand grains! 1750 So much a stranger, and so late arrived, How can man's curious spirit not inquire, What are the natives of this world sublime, Of this so foreign, unterrestrial sphere, Where mortal, untranslated, never stray'd? "O ye, as distant from my little home, As swiftest sunbeams in an age can fly! Far from my native element I roam, In quest of new, and wonderful, to man. What province this, of His immense domain, 1760 Whom all obeys? Or mortals here, or gods? Ye borderers on the coasts of bliss! what are you? A colony from heaven? or, only raised, By frequent visit from heaven's neighbouring realms, To secondary gods, and half divine?-- Whate'er your nature, this is past dispute, Far other life you live, far other tongue You talk, far other thought, perhaps, you think, Than man. How various are the works of God? But say, what thought? Is Reason here enthroned, 1770 And absolute? or Sense in arms against her? Have you two lights? Or need you no reveal'd? Enjoy your happy realms their golden age? And had your Eden an abstemious Eve? 1774 Our Eve's fair daughters prove their pedigree, And ask their Adams--'Who would not be wise?' Or, if your mother fell, are you redeem'd? And if redeem'd--is your Redeemer scorn'd? Is this your final residence? If not, Change you your scene, translated? or by death? And if by death; what death?--Know you disease? Or horrid war?--With war, this fatal hour, 1782 Europa groans (so call we a small field, Where kings run mad). In our world, Death deputes Intemperance to do the work of Age; And hanging up the quiver Nature gave him, As slow of execution, for despatch Sends forth imperial butchers; bids them slay Their sheep (the silly sheep they fleeced before), And toss him twice ten thousand at a meal. 1790 Sit all your executioners on thrones? With you, can rage for plunder make a god? And bloodshed wash out every other stain?-- But you, perhaps, can't bleed: from matter gross Your spirits clean, are delicately clad In fine-spun ether, privileged to soar, Unloaded, uninfected; how unlike The lot of man! how few of human race By their own mud unmurder'd! how we wage Self-war eternal!--Is your painful day 1800 Of hardy conflict o'er? or, are you still Raw candidates at school? and have you those Who disaffect reversions, as with us?-- But what are we? You never heard of man; Or earth, the bedlam of the universe! Where Reason (undiseased with you) runs mad, And nurses Folly's children as her own; Fond of the foulest. In the sacred mount 1808 Of holiness, where Reason is pronounced Infallible; and thunders, like a god; Even there, by saints, the demons are outdone; What these think wrong, our saints refine to right; And kindly teach dull hell her own black arts; Satan, instructed, o'er their morals smiles.-- But this, how strange to you, who know not man! Has the least rumour of our race arrived? Call'd here Elijah in his flaming car? Pass'd by you the good Enoch, on his road To those fair fields, whence Lucifer was hurl'd; Who brush'd, perhaps, your sphere in his descent, 1820 Stain'd your pure crystal ether, or let fall A short eclipse from his portentous shade? O that the fiend had lodged on some broad orb Athwart his way; nor reach'd his present home, Then blacken'd earth with footsteps foul'd in hell, Nor wash'd in ocean, as from Rome he pass'd To Britain's isle; too, too, conspicuous there!" But this is all digression: where is He, That o'er heaven's battlements the felon hurl'd To groans, and chains, and darkness? Where is He, 1830 Who sees creation's summit in a vale? He, whom, while man is man, he can't but seek; And if he finds, commences more than man? O for a telescope His throne to reach! Tell me, ye learn'd on earth! or blest above! Ye searching, ye Newtonian angels! tell. Where, your Great Master's orb? His planets, where? Those conscious satellites, those morning stars, First-born of Deity! from central love, By veneration most profound, thrown off; 1840 By sweet attraction, no less strongly drawn; Awed, and yet raptured; raptured, yet serene; 1842 Past thought illustrious, but with borrow'd beams; In still approaching circles, still remote, Revolving round the sun's eternal Sire? Or sent, in lines direct, on embassies To nations--in what latitude?--Beyond Terrestrial thought's horizon!--And on what High errands sent?--Here human effort ends; And leaves me still a stranger to His throne. 1850 Full well it might! I quite mistook my road. Born in an age more curious than devout; More fond to fix the place of heaven, or hell, Than studious this to shun, or that secure. 'Tis not the curious, but the pious path, That leads me to my point: Lorenzo! know, Without or star, or angel, for their guide, Who worship God, shall find him. Humble Love, And not proud Reason, keeps the door of heaven; Love finds admission, where proud Science fails. 1860 Man's science is the culture of his heart; And not to lose his plummet in the depths Of nature, or the more profound of God. Either to know, is an attempt that sets The wisest on a level with the fool. To fathom nature (ill attempted here!) Past doubt is deep philosophy above; Higher degrees in bliss archangels take, As deeper learn'd; the deepest, learning still. For, what a thunder of omnipotence 1870 (So might I dare to speak) is seen in all! In man! in earth! in more amazing skies! Teaching this lesson, Pride is loath to learn-- "Not deeply to discern, not much to know, Mankind was born to wonder, and adore." And is there cause for higher wonder still, 1876 Than that which struck us from our past surveys? Yes; and for deeper adoration too. From my late airy travel unconfined, Have I learn'd nothing?--Yes, Lorenzo! this: Each of these stars is a religious house; I saw their altars smoke, their incense rise; And heard hosannas ring through every sphere, 1883 A seminary fraught with future gods. Nature all o'er is consecrated ground, Teeming with growths immortal, and divine. The Great Proprietor's all-bounteous hand Leaves nothing waste; but sows these fiery fields With seeds of reason, which to virtues rise Beneath His genial ray; and, if escaped 1890 The pestilential blasts of stubborn will, When grown mature, are gather'd for the skies. And is devotion thought too much on earth, When beings, so superior, homage boast, And triumph in prostrations to the Throne? But wherefore more of planets, or of stars? Ethereal journeys, and, discover'd there, Ten thousand worlds, ten thousand ways devout, All nature sending incense to the Throne, Except the bold Lorenzos of our sphere? 1900 Opening the solemn sources of my soul, Since I have pour'd, like feign'd Eridanus,[72] My flowing numbers o'er the flaming skies, Nor see, of fancy, or of fact, what more Invites the Muse.--Here turn we, and review Our past nocturnal landscape wide:--then say, Say, then, Lorenzo! with what burst of heart, The whole, at once, revolving in his thought, Must man exclaim, adoring, and aghast? 1909 "Oh, what a root! Oh, what a branch, is here! Oh, what a Father! what a family! Worlds! systems! and creations!--and creations, In one agglomerated cluster, hung, Great Vine![73] on Thee, on Thee the cluster hangs; The filial cluster! infinitely spread In glowing globes, with various being fraught; And drinks (nectareous draught!) immortal life. Or, shall I say (for who can say enough?) A constellation of ten thousand gems, (And, oh! of what dimension! of what weight!) 1920 Set in one signet, flames on the right hand Of Majesty Divine! The blazing seal, That deeply stamps, on all created mind, Indelible, His sovereign attributes, Omnipotence, and love! that, passing bound: And this, surpassing that. Nor stop we here, For want of power in God, but thought in man. Even this acknowledged, leaves us still in debt: If greater aught, that greater all is Thine, Dread Sire!--Accept this miniature of Thee; 1930 And pardon an attempt from mortal thought, In which archangels might have fail'd, unblamed." How such ideas of th' Almighty's power, And such ideas of th' Almighty's plan (Ideas not absurd), distend the thought Of feeble mortals! Nor of them alone! The fulness of the Deity breaks forth In inconceivables to men, and gods. Think, then, oh, think; nor ever drop the thought; How low must man descend, when gods adore! 1940 Have I not, then, accomplish'd my proud boast? Did I not tell thee, "We would mount, Lorenzo! 1942 And kindle our devotion at the stars"? And have I fail'd? and did I flatter thee? And art all adamant? and dost confute All urged, with one irrefragable smile? Lorenzo! mirth how miserable here! Swear by the stars, by Him who made them, swear, Thy heart, henceforth, shall be as pure as they: Then thou, like them, shalt shine; like them, shalt rise From low to lofty; from obscure to bright; 1951 By due gradation, Nature's sacred law. The stars, from whence?--Ask Chaos--he can tell. These bright temptations to idolatry, From darkness, and confusion, took their birth; Sons of deformity! from fluid dregs Tartarean, first they rose to masses rude; And then, to spheres opaque; then dimly shone; Then brighten'd; then blazed out in perfect day. Nature delights in progress; in advance 1960 From worse to better: but, when minds ascend, Progress, in part, depends upon themselves. Heaven aids exertion; greater makes the great; The voluntary little lessens more. Oh, be a man! and thou shalt be a god! And half self-made!--Ambition how divine! O thou, ambitious of disgrace alone! Still undevout? unkindled?--Though high-taught, School'd by the skies, and pupil of the stars; Rank coward to the fashionable world! 1970 Art thou ashamed to bend thy knee to heaven? Cursed fume of pride, exhaled from deepest hell! Pride in religion is man's highest praise. Bent on destruction! and in love with death! Not all these luminaries, quench'd at once, Were half so sad, as one benighted mind, 1976 Which gropes for happiness, and meets despair. How, like a widow in her weeds, the Night, Amid her glimmering tapers, silent sits! How sorrowful, how desolate, she weeps Perpetual dews, and saddens nature's scene! A scene more sad sin makes the darken'd soul, All comfort kills, nor leaves one spark alive. 1983 Though blind of heart, still open is thine eye: Why such magnificence in all thou seest? Of matter's grandeur, know, one end is this, To tell the rational, who gazes on it-- "Though that immensely great, still greater He, Whose breast, capacious, can embrace, and lodge, Unburden'd, nature's universal scheme; 1990 Can grasp creation with a single thought; Creation grasp; and not exclude its Sire"-- To tell him farther--"It behoves him much To guard th' important, yet depending, fate Of being, brighter than a thousand suns: One single ray of thought outshines them all."-- And if man hears obedient, soon he'll soar Superior heights, and on his purple wing, His purple wing bedropp'd with eyes of gold, Rising, where thought is now denied to rise, 2000 Look down triumphant on these dazzling spheres. Why then persist?--No mortal ever lived But, dying, he pronounced (when words are true) The whole that charms thee, absolutely vain; Vain, and far worse!--Think thou, with dying men; Oh, condescend to think as angels think! Oh, tolerate a chance for happiness! Our nature such, ill choice ensures ill fate; And hell had been, though there had been no God. Dost thou not know, my new astronomer! 2010 Earth, turning from the sun, brings night to man? Man, turning from his God, brings endless night; Where thou canst read no morals, find no friend, Amend no manners, and expect no peace. How deep the darkness! and the groan, how loud! And far, how far, from lambent are the flames!-- Such is Lorenzo's purchase! such his praise! The proud, the politic, Lorenzo's praise! Though in his ear, and levell'd at his heart, I've half read o'er the volume of the skies. 2020 For think not thou hast heard all this from me; My song but echoes what great Nature speaks. What has she spoken? Thus the goddess spoke, Thus speaks for ever:--"Place, at nature's head, A sovereign, which o'er all things rolls his eye, Extends his wing, promulgates his commands, But, above all, diffuses endless good; To whom, for sure redress, the wrong'd may fly; The vile, for mercy; and the pain'd, for peace; By whom, the various tenants of these spheres, 2030 Diversified in fortunes, place, and powers, Raised in enjoyment, as in worth they rise, Arrive at length (if worthy such approach) At that bless'd fountain-head, from which they stream; Where conflict past redoubles present joy; And present joy looks forward on increase; And that, on more; no period! every step A double boon! a promise, and a bliss." How easy sits this scheme on human hearts! It suits their make; it soothes their vast desires; 2040 Passion is pleased; and Reason asks no more; 'Tis rational! 'tis great!--But what is thine? It darkens! shocks! excruciates! and confounds! Leaves us quite naked, both of help, and hope, 2044 Sinking from bad to worse; few years, the sport Of Fortune; then the morsel of Despair. Say, then, Lorenzo! (for thou know'st it well) What's vice?--Mere want of compass in our thought. Religion, what?--The proof of common sense. How art thou hooted, where the least prevails! Is it my fault, if these truths call thee fool? And thou shalt never be miscall'd by me. 2052 Can neither shame, nor terror, stand thy friend; And art thou still an insect in the mire? How, like thy guardian angel, have I flown; Snatch'd thee from earth; escorted thee through all Th' ethereal armies; walk'd thee, like a god, Through splendours of first magnitude, arranged On either hand; clouds thrown beneath thy feet; Close cruised on the bright paradise of God; 2060 And almost introduced thee to the Throne! And art thou still carousing, for delight, Rank poison; first, fermenting to mere froth, And then subsiding into final gall? To beings of sublime, immortal make, How shocking is all joy, whose end is sure! Such joy, more shocking still, the more it charms! And dost thou choose what ends ere well begun; And infamous, as short? And dost thou choose (Thou, to whose palate glory is so sweet) 2070 To wade into perdition, through contempt, Not of poor bigots only, but thy own? For I have peep'd into thy cover'd heart, And seen it blush beneath a boastful brow; For, by strong guilt's most violent assault, Conscience is but disabled, not destroy'd. O thou most awful being, and most vain! Thy will, how frail! how glorious is thy power! 2078 Though dread eternity has sown her seeds Of bliss, and woe, in thy despotic breast; Though heaven, and hell, depend upon thy choice; A butterfly comes cross, and both are fled. Is this the picture of a rational? This horrid image, shall it be most just? Lorenzo! no: it cannot,--shall not, be, If there is force in reason; or, in sounds Chanted beneath the glimpses of the moon, A magic, at this planetary hour, When slumber locks the general lip, and dreams Through senseless mazes hunt souls uninspired. 2090 Attend--the sacred mysteries begin-- My solemn night-born adjuration hear; Hear, and I'll raise thy spirit from the dust; While the stars gaze on this enchantment new; Enchantment, not infernal, but divine! "By silence, Death's peculiar attribute; By darkness, Guilt's inevitable doom; By Darkness, and by Silence, sisters dread! That draw the curtain round Night's ebon throne, And raise ideas, solemn as the scene! 2100 By Night, and all of awful, Night presents To thought, or sense (of awful much, to both, The goddess brings)! By these her trembling fires, Like Vesta's, ever burning; and, like hers, Sacred to thoughts immaculate, and pure! By these bright orators, that prove, and praise, And press thee to revere, the Deity; Perhaps, too, aid thee, when revered a while, To reach his throne; as stages of the soul, Through which, at different periods, she shall pass, 2110 Refining gradual, for her final height, And purging off some dross at every sphere! 2112 By this dark pall thrown o'er the silent world! By the world's kings, and kingdoms, most renown'd, From short ambition's zenith set for ever; Sad presage to vain boasters, now in bloom! By the long list of swift mortality, From Adam downward to this evening knell, Which midnight waves in Fancy's startled eye; And shocks her with an hundred centuries, 2120 Round Death's black banner throng'd, in human thought! By thousands, now, resigning their last breath, And calling thee--wert thou so wise to hear! By tombs o'er tombs arising; human earth Ejected, to make room for--human earth; The monarch's terror! and the sexton's trade! By pompous obsequies that shun the day, The torch funereal, and the nodding plume, Which makes poor man's humiliation proud; Boast of our ruin! triumph of our dust! 2130 By the damp vault that weeps o'er royal bones; And the pale lamp that shows the ghastly dead, More ghastly, through the thick incumbent gloom! By visits (if there are) from darker scenes, The gliding spectre! and the groaning grave! By groans, and graves, and miseries that groan For the grave's shelter! By desponding men, Senseless to pains of death, from pangs of guilt! By guilt's last audit! By yon moon in blood, The rocking firmament, the falling stars, 2140 And thunder's last discharge, great nature's knell! By second chaos; and eternal night"-- Be wise--nor let Philander blame my charm; But own not ill discharged my double debt, Love to the living; duty to the dead. For know I'm but executor; he left 2146 This moral legacy; I make it o'er By his command; Philander hear in me; And Heaven in both.--If deaf to these, oh! hear Florello's tender voice; his weal depends On thy resolve; it trembles at thy choice; For his sake--love thyself. Example strikes All human hearts; a bad example more; 2153 More still a father's; that ensures his ruin. As parent of his being, would'st thou prove Th' unnatural parent of his miseries, And make him curse the being which thou gavest? Is this the blessing of so fond a father? If careless of Lorenzo! spare, oh! spare Florello's father, and Philander's friend! 2160 Florello's father ruin'd, ruins him; And from Philander's friend the world expects A conduct, no dishonour to the dead. Let passion do, what nobler motive should; Let love, and emulation, rise in aid To reason; and persuade thee to be--blest. This seems not a request to be denied; Yet (such th' infatuation of mankind!) 'Tis the most hopeless, man can make to man. Shall I then rise, in argument, and warmth? 2170 And urge Philander's posthumous advice, From topics yet unbroach'd?---- But, oh! I faint! my spirits fail!--Nor strange! So long on wing, and in no middle clime! To which my great Creator's glory call'd: And calls--but, now, in vain. Sleep's dewy wand Has stroked my drooping lips, and promises My long arrear of rest; the downy god (Wont to return with our returning peace) Will pay, ere long, and bless me with repose. 2180 Haste, haste, sweet stranger! from the peasant's cot, The shipboy's hammock, or the soldier's straw, Whence sorrow never chased thee; with thee bring, Not hideous visions, as of late; but draughts Delicious of well-tasted, cordial, rest; Man's rich restorative; his balmy bath, That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play The various movements of this nice machine, Which asks such frequent periods of repair. When tired with vain rotations of the day, 2190 Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn; Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels, Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends. When will it end with me? ----"Thou only know'st, Thou, whose broad eye the future, and the past, Joins to the present; making one of three To moral thought! Thou know'st, and Thou alone, All-knowing!--all unknown!--and yet well known! Near, though remote! and, though unfathom'd, felt! 2200 And, though invisible, for ever seen! And seen in all! the great and the minute: Each globe above, with its gigantic race, Each flower, each leaf, with its small people swarm'd, (Those puny vouchers of Omnipotence!) To the first thought, that asks, 'From whence?' declare Their common source. Thou Fountain, running o'er In rivers of communicated joy! Who gavest us speech for far, far humbler themes! Say, by what name shall I presume to call 2210 Him I see burning in these countless suns, As Moses, in the bush? Illustrious Mind! The whole creation, less, far less, to Thee, Than that to the creation's ample round. 2214 How shall I name Thee?--How my labouring soul Heaves underneath the thought, too big for birth! "Great System of perfections! Mighty Cause Of causes mighty! Cause uncaused! sole Root Of nature, that luxuriant growth of God! First Father of effects! that progeny Of endless series; where the golden chain's Last link admits a period, who can tell? 2222 Father of all that is or heard, or hears! Father of all that is or seen, or sees! Father of all that is, or shall arise! Father of this immeasurable mass Of matter multiform; or dense, or rare; Opaque, or lucid; rapid, or at rest; Minute, or passing bound! in each extreme Of like amaze, and mystery, to man. 2230 Father of these bright millions of the night! Of which the least full godhead had proclaim'd, And thrown the gazer on his knee--or, say, Is appellation higher still, Thy choice? Father of matter's temporary lords! Father of spirits! nobler offspring! sparks Of high paternal glory; rich endow'd With various measures, and with various modes Of instinct, reason, intuition; beams More pale, or bright from day divine, to break 2240 The dark of matter organized (the ware Of all created spirit); beams, that rise Each over other in superior light, Till the last ripens into lustre strong, Of next approach to Godhead. Father fond (Far fonder than e'er bore that name on earth) Of intellectual beings! beings bless'd With powers to please Thee; not of passive ply 2248 To laws they know not; beings lodged in seats Of well-adapted joys, in different domes Of this imperial palace for thy sons; Of this proud, populous, well policied, Though boundless habitation, plann'd by Thee: Whose several clans their several climates suit; And transposition, doubtless, would destroy. Or, oh! indulge, immortal King, indulge A title, less august indeed, but more Endearing; ah! how sweet in human ears! Sweet in our ears, and triumph in our hearts! Father of immortality to man! 2260 A theme that lately[74] set my soul on fire.-- And Thou the next! yet equal! Thou, by whom That blessing was convey'd; far more! was bought; Ineffable the price! by whom all worlds Were made; and one redeem'd! illustrious Light From Light illustrious! Thou, whose regal power, Finite in time, but infinite in space, On more than adamantine basis fix'd, O'er more, far more, than diadems, and thrones, Inviolably reigns; the dread of gods! 2270 And oh! the friend of man! beneath whose foot, And by the mandate of whose awful nod, All regions, revolutions, fortunes, fates, Of high, of low, of mind, and matter, roll Through the short channels of expiring time, Or shoreless ocean of eternity, Calm, or tempestuous (as thy Spirit breathes), In absolute subjection!--And, O Thou The glorious Third! distinct, not separate! Beaming from both! with both incorporate; 2280 And (strange to tell!) incorporate with dust! 2281 By condescension, as Thy glory, great, Enshrined in man! Of human hearts, if pure, Divine inhabitant! The tie divine Of heaven with distant earth! by whom, I trust (If not inspired), uncensured this address To Thee, to Them--to whom?--Mysterious Power! Reveal'd--yet unreveal'd! darkness in light; Number in unity! our joy! our dread! The triple bolt that lays all wrong in ruin! 2290 That animates all right, the triple sun! Sun of the soul! her never-setting sun! Triune, unutterable, unconceived, Absconding, yet demonstrable, Great God! Greater than greatest! better than the best! Kinder than kindest! with soft pity's eye, Or (stronger still to speak it) with Thine own, From Thy bright home, from that high firmament, Where Thou, from all eternity, hast dwelt; Beyond archangels' unassisted ken; 2300 From far above what mortals highest call; From elevation's pinnacle; look down, Through--what? Confounding interval! through all And more than labouring Fancy can conceive; Through radiant ranks of essences unknown; Through hierarchies from hierarchies detach'd Round various banners of Omnipotence, With endless change of rapturous duties fired; Through wondrous being's interposing swarms, All clustering at the call, to dwell in Thee; 2310 Through this wide waste of worlds! this vista vast, All sanded o'er with suns; suns turn'd to night Before thy feeblest beam--Look down--down--down, On a poor breathing particle in dust, Or, lower, an immortal in his crimes. 2315 His crimes forgive! forgive his virtues, too! Those smaller faults, half converts to the right. Nor let me close these eyes, which never more May see the sun (though night's descending scale Now weighs up morn), unpitied, and unblest! In Thy displeasure dwells eternal pain; Pain, our aversion; pain, which strikes me now; And, since all pain is terrible to man, 2323 Though transient, terrible; at Thy good hour, Gently, ah, gently, lay me in my bed, My clay-cold bed! by nature, now, so near; By nature, near; still nearer by disease! Till then, be this an emblem of my grave: Let it out-preach the preacher; every night Let it out-cry the boy at Philip's ear;[75] 2330 That tongue of death! that herald of the tomb! And when (the shelter of Thy wing implored) My senses, soothed, shall sink in soft repose, Oh, sink this truth still deeper in my soul, Suggested by my pillow, sign'd by fate, First, in Fate's volume, at the page of man-- Man's sickly soul, though turn'd and toss'd for ever, From side to side, can rest on nought but Thee: Here, in full trust, hereafter, in full joy; On Thee, the promised, sure, eternal down 2340 Of spirits, toil'd in travel through this vale. Nor of that pillow shall my soul despond; For--Love almighty! Love almighty! (sing, Exult, creation!) Love almighty, reigns! That death of Death! that cordial of despair! And loud Eternity's triumphant song! "Of whom, no more:--For, O thou Patron-God! Thou God and mortal! thence more God to man! 2348 Man's theme eternal! man's eternal theme! Thou canst not 'scape uninjured from our praise. Uninjured from our praise can He escape, Who, disembosom'd from the Father, bows The heaven of heavens, to kiss the distant earth! Breathes out in agonies a sinless soul! Against the cross, Death's iron sceptre breaks! From famish'd Ruin plucks her human prey! Throws wide the gates celestial to his foes! Their gratitude, for such a boundless debt, Deputes their suffering brothers to receive! And, if deep human guilt in payment fails; 2360 As deeper guilt prohibits our despair! Enjoins it, as our duty, to rejoice! And (to close all) omnipotently kind, Takes his delights among the sons of men."[76] What words are these--and did they come from heaven? And were they spoke to man? to guilty man? What are all mysteries to love like this? The songs of angels, all the melodies Of choral gods, are wafted in the sound; Heal and exhilarate the broken heart; 2370 Though plunged, before, in horrors dark as night. Rich prelibation of consummate joy! Nor wait we dissolution to be blest. This final effort of the moral Muse, How justly titled![77] Nor for me alone: For all that read; what spirit of support, What heights of Consolation, crown my song! Then, farewell Night! of darkness, now, no more: Joy breaks, shines, triumphs; 'tis eternal day. Shall that which rises out of nought complain 2380 Of a few evils, paid with endless joys? 2381 My soul! henceforth, in sweetest union join The two supports of human happiness, Which some, erroneous, think can never meet; True taste of life, and constant thought of death! The thought of death, sole victor of its dread! Hope, be thy joy; and probity thy skill; Thy patron He, whose diadem has dropp'd Yon gems of heaven; eternity, thy prize: And leave the racers of the world their own, 2390 Their feather, and their froth, for endless toils: They part with all for that which is not bread; They mortify, they starve, on wealth, fame, power; And laugh to scorn the fools that aim at more. How must a spirit, late escaped from earth,-- Suppose Philander's, Lucia's, or Narcissa's,-- The truth of things new-blazing in its eye, Look back, astonish'd, on the ways of men, Whose lives' whole drift is to forget their graves! And when our present privilege is past, 2400 To scourge us with due sense of its abuse, The same astonishment will seize us all. What then must pain us, would preserve us now. Lorenzo! 'tis not yet too late; Lorenzo! Seize Wisdom, ere 'tis torment to be wise; That is, seize Wisdom, ere she seizes thee. For what, my small philosopher! is hell? 'Tis nothing but full knowledge of the truth, When Truth, resisted long, is sworn our foe; And calls Eternity to do her right. 2410 Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light, And sacred silence whispering truths divine, And truths divine converting pain to peace, My song the midnight raven has outwing'd, And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes, 2415 Beyond the flaming limits of the world, Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight Of fancy, when our hearts remain below? Virtue abounds in flatterers, and foes; 'Tis pride, to praise her; penance, to perform. To more than words, to more than worth of tongue, Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious hour; An hour, when Heaven's most intimate with man; When, like a fallen star, the ray divine Glides swift into the bosom of the just; 2425 And just are all, determined to reclaim; Which sets that title high within thy reach. Awake, then; thy Philander calls: awake! Thou, who shalt wake, when the creation sleeps; When, like a taper, all these suns expire; When Time, like him of Gaza[78] in his wrath, Plucking the pillars that support the world, In Nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd; And Midnight, universal Midnight! reigns. 2434

[1]'Ercles' vein:' a rousing, somewhat bombastic manner of public speaking or writing.--ee

[2]'Thrice:' alluding to the death of his wife, his daughter Mrs Temple, and Mr Temple.--See _Life_.

[3]'Philander:' Mr Temple, his son-in-law.

[4]'Lorenzo:' not Young's son, but probably the Earl of Wharton.

[5]'Veils:' a gain, profit.--ee

[6]'Maeonides:' Homer.

[7]'His, who made:' Pope.

[8]'Cytherea:' Venus, from Cythera, one of the Ionian Islands, where she was worshipped.

[9]'As some tall tower:' Goldsmith has borrowed this fine image in his description of the good pastor's death, in the 'Deserted Village.'

[10]'P----:' Portland.

[11]'Didst lately borrow:' at the Duke of Norfolk's masquerade.

[12]'Narcissa:' Mrs Temple.

[13]'Nearer to the sun:' Mrs Temple died at Lyons, on her way to Nice, accompanied by her father.

[14]Lines 270-289 paraphrase Psalms 24. Lines 270-300 provided an 'Easter Ode' popular in early 19th-Century American musical settings.-ee

[15]'Manumit:' to free from slavery or bondage; emancipate.

[16]'Paean:' healing song; hymn.--ee

[17]'Athenian:' Socrates.

[18]'Fable fledged:' Icarus.

[19]'Glebe:' The soil or earth; land. (Archaic.)--ee

[20]'Narcissa:' Elizabeth Lee, Dr. Young's step-daughter.--ee

[21]'Lorenzo' was modelled on Philip Wharton, 1st Duke of Wharton (b. 21 December 1698; d. Poblet, Spain, 31 May 1731, aged 32), powerful Jacobite politician, notorious libertine and rake, profligate, and alcoholic.--ee

[22]'Charles:' Charles V.

[23]'Quotidian:' everyday; commonplace.--ee

[24]'Oracle of gems:' the Urim and Thummim.

[25]'Cockade:' an ornament, such as a rosette or knot of ribbon, usually worn on the hat as a badge.--ee

[26]'Votary:' person bound by vows to a life of religious worship or service.--ee

[27]'Ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part:' hence Burns's famous line in his verses to Clarinda:-- 'Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.'

[28]'She:' his wife, it is supposed.

[29]'Most Christian:' Louis XIV., King of France.

[30]'Ours is the cloth,' &c.: how like the lines of Coleridge!-- 'O Lady, we receive but what we give,' &c.

[31]'Towering flame,' &c.: these lines are _reproduced_ in the close of Campbell's 'Pleasures of Hope.'

[32]'Already:' Night Sixth.

[33]'Bellerophon:' who carried letters from Proctus to Jobates, King of Lycia, which contained an order in cipher for his execution after nine days. He contrived, however, to escape.

[34]'To Pyrrhus:' by a philosopher who told him he would have been as happy had he stayed at home, instead of pursuing a career of conquest.

[35]'Proud Eastern:' Nebuchadnezzar.

[36]'Thee:' Lorenzo.

[37]'Lately proved:' in the Sixth Night.

[38]'Presumption's sacrilegious sons:' Korah, &c.

[39]'Lucia:' probably his wife.

[40]'Uriel:' see Milton.

[41]'Title:' The Infidel Reclaimed.

[42]'Bible:' the poetical parts of it.

[43]'Albion's cost:' Admiral Balchen, &c.

[44]'Like a flag floating,' &c.: hence Wilson's line in his 'Address to a Wild-Deer:'-- 'Like a flag burning bright when the vessel is gone.'

[45]'Fucus:' an old type of makeup.--ee

[46]'Snuff:' a candle-end or wick.--ee

[47]'Murray:' Lord Mansfield.

[48]'Fabled boy:' Narcissus.

[49]'Yorke:' Lord Chancellor Hardwick.

[50]'Above:' in a former Night.

[51]'Prussia:' under Frederick the Great.

[52]'One departed world:' the world before the flood.

[53]'Being lost:' referring to the First Night.

[54]'Her:' Lucia.

[55]'Favonian:' of or relating to the west wind. Mild; benign.--ee

[56]'Prometheus:' Night Eighth.

[57]'Intestine:' adj., internal; civil.--ee

[58]'Elance:' to throw as a lance; to hurl; to dart.--ee

[59]'Lately fought:' Night Eighth.

[60]'Orrery:' a mechanical model of the solar system.--ee

[61]'Grots:' grottos.--ee

[62]'Tenebrious:' Dark and gloomy; ominous.--ee

[63]'He who drank:' Socrates.

[64]'He of Tusculum:' Cicero.

[65]'Him of Corduba:' Seneca.

[66]'Defecate:' to remove (impurities, as in a chemical solution); clarify.--ee

[67]'Ajalon's:' "Sun, stand thou still on Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon" (Josh. 10:12).--ee

[68]'Fane:' place dedicated to some deity, a sanctuary, fr. fari to speak.--ed.

[69]'Jakes:' latrine or privy.--ee

[70]'Heliopolis:' meaning the _City of the Sun_.

[71]'Him of Uz:' referring to Job's language, 'Oh that I knew where I might find him!' &c.

[72]'Eridanus,' or Phaeton: famous for his fall from the chariot of the sun.

[73]'Great Vine:' John xv. 1.

[74]'Lately:' Nights Sixth and Seventh.

[75]'Philip's ear:' 'Remember, Philip, thou art mortal.'

[76]Prov. viii. 31.

[77]'Titled:' The Consolation.

[78]'Him of Gaza:' Samson.

THE END.

BALLANTYNE, PRINTER, EDINBURGH.

LIBRARY EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS.

ISSUE FOR THE SECOND YEAR.

The Publisher begs to announce that the Issue for the Second Year will consist of the Poetical Works of

BUTLER, 2 vols.; COWPER, 3 vols.; BLAIR, BRUCE, LOGAN, BEATTIE, and FALCONER, 1 vol.

These will immediately be followed by the publication of the Poetical Works of

DRYDEN, POPE, BURNS, &c. &c.

The Publisher has much gratification in referring to the reception which this Series of the British Poets has met with, and he begs to assure the Subscribers that every exertion will be made to insure this Edition being distinguished by the specific features proposed, namely, "accuracy in the text, elegance of appearance, and extreme cheapness." The arrangements which now exist for collating the text, and securing accuracy in this important feature, are such as warrant the assertion that this Edition will be found to stand a favourable comparison with any hitherto published, or any that may hereafter be issued.

The Publisher and Editor have peculiar pleasure in acknowledging the ready and hearty approval of their efforts by the press. It is seldom that any undertaking has been so warmly received, or the manner in which it has been executed so generally approved. This appreciation of their purpose will stimulate them to still greater exertions in the prosecution of their design--to produce this portion of the standard literature of our country in a style more befitting the merits of the authors than any hitherto attempted, and to secure for this series that it shall be worthy of recognition as

THE LIBRARY EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS.

Edinburgh, _November_ 1853.

LIBRARY EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS,

_In Demy 8vo, Pica Type, Extra Cloth Boards._

EDITED BY REV. G. GILFILLAN.

Now ready, Vols. 1 & 2. Milton's Poetical Works. " " 3. Thomson's Poetical Works. " " 4. Herbert's Poetical Works. " " 5. Young's Night Thoughts. And on 1st Feb. 1854, the Poetical Works of Goldsmith, Collins, and T. Warton.

FORMING THE FIRST YEARLY ISSUE TO SUBSCRIBERS OF SIX VOLUMES FOR ONE GUINEA.

ISSUE FOR THE SECOND YEAR-- THE POETICAL WORKS OF BUTLER--COWPER--BLAIR--BRUCE--LOGAN--BEATTIE, and FALCONER.

Prospectuses containing full details of the Scheme may be obtained from most Booksellers, or from the Publisher, on application. Non-Subscribers can obtain the Volumes separately at 4s. 6d. each.

Subscribers' Names received by all Booksellers for the Yearly Issue of Six Vols. for L1, 1s.

_The Publisher has pleasure in submitting the following Extracts from recent Notices which have appeared of the Vols. already issued:_--

Literary Gazette.

Coleridge said, that for a man fully to appreciate George Herbert, he must be "an affectionate and dutiful son of the Church, and from habit, conviction, and a constitutional predisposition to ceremoniousness in piety as in manners, find her forms and ordinances aids of religion, not sources of formality." Mr Gilfillan has none of the qualifications here described, yet never was the character of Herbert more highly appreciated, nor his poetry more unreservedly admired, than by this Presbyterian editor. The editorial work is done with true Christian liberality, and with the sympathy of a man of genius. The present volume forms one of the new series of the "English Poetical Classics," published by Mr Nichol of Edinburgh. In typography and appearance they are very superior, and they are issued at a price of unusual cheapness. The series will form a beautiful and valuable library edition of the English Classic Poets.

Scottish Review.

In this age of puffs and puffing, it is really pleasing to find pretensions at first somewhat startling, though modestly enough proclaimed, so well sustained. Six such volumes for twenty-one shillings! We are not surprised that they are said to be "offered at about one-third of the usual selling price." Independently altogether of the original matter furnished by Mr Gilfillan, the poetical works of John Milton, produced in such a style, are certainly worthy of a place in the best libraries. We know of no issue from the press which, as to paper, type, and general getting up, commends itself to public favour at so small a charge.

Eclectic Review.

The proposal issued by Mr Nichol is remarkable even in this age of cheap literature, and will go far to supply what has been long needed,--an accurate, elegant, and cheap edition of our Poets. Such a guinea's worth was never issued before, and we are much mistaken if the series does not obtain a large circulation. The volumes are issued in handsome style, and every care will be taken to secure the accuracy of the editions. Mr Gilfillan's temperament involves some of the choicest elements of poetic impressions, while his critical canons are for the most part sound and trustworthy.

Perthshire Courier.

It is almost unnecessary for us to say more than what is now universally admitted, that this is the best and cheapest edition of the British Poets ever offered to the public. Setting aside their acknowledged and standard elegance, they are the cheapest books we have ever seen, and their being indispensable to the literary man, as well as the educated gentleman or well-read artisan, makes them doubly so.

Tait's Magazine.

These volumes form part of a new series of the "British Poets," published by Mr Nichol, in the form of substantial and elegant library volumes, at a price less than one third of that which the public have been accustomed to pay for tomes of such goodly parts and quality. Paper, print, and binding, are all excellent, the type large and clear.... The above extracts, more than anything we could say, will commend these volumes, and the series of which they form a part, to the good opinion of the reader. As a cheap and excellent library edition of the "British Poets," they will prove acceptable to a very numerous class; and under the management of their present able editor, we cannot harbour a doubt of their success with the public.

The Monitor.

When it was proposed that, at so low a price as a subscription of a guinea in the year, six volumes, in a superior style of execution, would be issued, we could not but admire the enterprise of the publisher, and heartily wish all success to the undertaking.

These volumes, the first in the series, fully justified our fondest anticipations, and give large promise that this admirable publication will secure, as it certainly deserves, extensive patronage. They are issued in a very attractive style--in a large bold type, paper of the best quality, and in neat and substantial binding. The editorial part of the undertaking is carefully and ably executed. Indeed, we know no living person who is better qualified to edit a uniform edition of the British Poets than the Rev. George Gilfillan. We tender to both the publisher and editor of this beautiful superior edition of the British Poets our grateful acknowledgments for commencing so important and valuable an undertaking.

Clydesdale Journal.

This series has now reached the fourth volume, and is fully sustaining the very favourable opinion expressed by the press in all parts of the country. Never was a work issued combining elegance and cheapness in so remarkable a degree.

Bell's Weekly Messenger.

This volume is an additional proof of the excellency of the selection, the ability of the gifted editor, and the elegance of the publication.

Cumberland Pacquet.

This is the fourth volume of the library edition of the British Poets, projected by Mr Nichol, the enterprising Edinburgh publisher, one or two of the former volumes of which we have already had the pleasure of noticing. The design, and the style in which it was proposed to carry it out, as indicated by the first volume of the series, elicited the expression of our special admiration several months ago, and we have pleasure in stating that the volume now before us is in every respect a worthy successor to those which have preceded it. We may observe that the critical dissertation prefixed, from the pen of Mr Gilfillan, is worth the price of the entire volume.

Aberdeen Journal.

... A few words respecting the series of publications of which this volume forms a part. They are issued, as our readers are aware, under the very efficient superintendence of George Gilfillan; and we cannot speak of them but in terms of the warmest approval; for, in point of form and elegance, and correctness of typography, they are on a level with the high-priced editions; and in point of price, they are on a level with the most ordinary publications of popular works that have been got up for the popular market. The enterprise is indeed a noble one, and we wish it all manner of success.

Dumfriesshire and Galloway Herald.

This is the fourth volume of the new Edinburgh edition of the Poets--an edition, we must say, alike honourable to the publisher and editor. Mr Nichol's undertaking is a noble one. We wish him all success in it.

Glasgow Citizen.

The edition before us, with its ample page and masculine type--very suitable for feeble eyes--forms part of Nichol's fine and wonderfully cheap issue of the British Poets, under the able editorship of Mr Gilfillan. Four volumes are now out, comprising the works of Milton, Thomson, and Herbert.

Newcastle Chronicle.

The paper and printing of this volume, as of the others, are, however, beyond all praise, when compared with other "people's editions."

Montrose, Arbroath, and Brechin Review.

The editorial part is admirably performed by Mr Gilfillan; the getting up quite the _ne plus ultra_ of elegance and correctness; and the price (six volumes for a guinea) is perhaps the very greatest marvel of this marvellous age of cheap publications.

Commonwealth.

Regarded as specimens of typography--as books, in short, in the mere sense of what is mechanical, they are among the most perfect we have seen. This new edition of the British Poets is an undertaking which is worthy of commendation and encouragement, even apart from the considerations to which we have alluded.

The National Miscellany.

It is a bold speculation on the part of a publisher to offer six handsome and well printed volumes for a guinea.... The printing, binding, and general appearance is far superior to what we could have at all expected for the price; and the series being issued under the superintendence of a careful editor, entirely fulfils the import of the title, a Library Edition. The works which have already appeared, are those of Milton, Herbert, and Thomson.

Transcriber's Notes to this Electronic Edition

--Several palpable typos in the original were silently corrected, after consulting other printed editions.

--In the Distributed Proofreaders community, it is customary to flag any aspect of the text that seems wrong, for the final editor to double-check. It's also customary for later proofreaders to provide their own analysis. On this project, those proofers' notes--as explanations of why the printed text was correct--so often proved enlightening as to its meaning, that the postprocessor retained them as footnotes. They are distinguished from the original editor's notes by a suffix "--ee" ("electronic edition").