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H what day, what hour, but knocks at human EAV'N gives the needful, but neglected, call.

To wake the foul to sense of future fcenes? [hearts, Deaths ftand, like Mercurys, in ev'ry way;

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And kindly point us to our journey's end.
POPE, who couldst make immortals! art thou dead?
I give thee joy: Nor will I take my leave,
So foon to follow. Man but dives in death,
Dives from the fun, in fairer day to rife;
The grave his fubterranean road to blifs.
Yes, Infinite Iudulgence plann'd it fo;
Through various parts our glorious ftory runs ;
Time gives the preface, endless Age unrolls.
The volume (ne'er unroll'd!) of human fate.
This, earth and fkies* already have proclaim'd.
The world's a prophecy of worlds to come;
And who, what GOD foretells, (who fpeaks in things,
Still louder than in words), fhall dare deny?
If Nature's arguments appear too weak,
Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man..
If man fleeps on, untaught by what he fees,,
Can he prove infidel to what he feels?
He, whose blind thought futurity denies,
Unconscious bears, BELLEROPHON! like thee,
His own indictment; he condemns himself:
Who reads his bofom, reads immortal life
2;
Or Nature, there, impofing on her fons,
Has written fables; man was made a lie.

Why difcontent for ever harbour'd there?
Incurable confumption of our peace?
Refolve me, why the cottager and king,
He whom fea-fever'd realms obey, and he
Who teals his whole dominion from the wafte,

*Night the Sixth.

Repelling winter-blafts with mud and ftraw,
Difquieted alike, draw figh for figh;
In fate fo diftant, in complaint fo near?

Is it, that things terreftrial can't content? Deep in rich pafture, will thy flocks complain? Not fo; but to their mafter is deny'd

To fhare their sweet ferene.

Man, ill at ease,
In this, not his own place, this foreign field,
Where Nature fodders him with other food
Than was ordain'd his cravings to fuffice,
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast,

Sighs on for fomething more, when most enjoy'd.
Is Heav'n then kinder to thy flock than thee?
Not fo: Thy pasture richer, but remote;
In part, remote; for that remoter part
Man bleats from inftinct, though perhaps, debauch'd
By fenfe, his reafon fleeps, nor dreams the caufe.
The cause how obvious, when his reafon wakes!
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise;
And difcontent is immortality.

Shall fons of æther, fhall the blood of Heav'n,
Set up their hopes on earth, and ftable here,
With brutal acquiefcence, in the mire ;
LORENZO! no! They fhall be nobly pain'd;
The glorious foreigners, diftreft, shall figh
On thrones; and thou congratulate the figh.
Man's mifery declares him born for blifs;
His anxious heart afferts the truth I fing,
And gives the feeptic in his head the lie.

Our heads, our hearts, our paffions and our pow'rs,
Speak the fame language; call us to the fkies:
Unripen'd thefe, in this inclement clime,
Scarce rife above conjecture, and mistake:
And for this land of trifles thofe, too strong,
Tumultuous rife, and tempeft human life :
What prize on earth can pay us for the ftorm?
Meet objects for our paffions Heav'n ordain'd,
Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave
No fault, but in defect. Bleft Heav'n! avert

A bounded ardour for unbounded blifs.
O for a blifs unbounded! Far beneath
A foul immortal, is a mortal joy.
Nor are our pow'rs to perish immature;
But, after feeble effort here, beneath
A brighter fun, and in a nobler foil,
Tranfplanted from this fublunary bed,

Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom.
Reafon progreffive, Inftinct is complete ;
Swift Inftinct leaps, flow Reason feebly climbs,
Brutes foon 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 fun,
The patriarch pupil would be learning ftill;
Yet, dying, leave his leffon half unlearnt.
Men perish in advance, as if the fun

Should fet ere noon, in eastern oceans drown'd!
If fit, with dim, illuftrious to compare,
The fun's meridian, with the foul of man.
To man, why, Stepdame Nature! fo fevere?
Why thrown afide thy mafter-piece half-wrought,
While meaner efforts thy laft hand enjoy?
Or, if abortively poor man muft die,

Nor reach what reach he might, why die in dread? Why curs'd with forefight? wife to misery?

Why of his proud prerogative the prey?

Why lefs pre-eminent in rank, than pain?
His immortality alone can tell;

Full ample fund to balance all amifs,
And turn the scale in favour of the just !
His immortality alone can folve

That darkest of anigmas, human hope;
Of all the darkeft, if at death we die.
Hope, eager Hope, th' affaffin of our joy,
All prefent bleffings treading under foot,
Is fcarce a milder tyrant than Despair.
With no paft toils content, ftill planning new,
Hope, turns us o'er to Death alone for ease.

Poffeffion, why more taftelefs than pursuit ?
Why is a with far dearer than a crown ?
That with accomplish'd, why the grave of blifs?
Because in the great future bury'd 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 fets,
By fecret and inviolable fprings;

And makes his hope his fublunary joy.
Man's heart eats all things, and is hungry ftill;
"More! More!" the glutton cries: For fomething
So rages appetite, if man can't mount,

He will defcend. he ftarves on the poffeft.

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Hence, the world's mafter, from Ambition's fpire,.
In Caprea plung'd, and div'd beneath the brute..
In that rank ftye why wallow'd empire's fon
Supreme? Because he could no higher fly;
His riot was ambition in despair.

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Old Rome.confulted birds: LORENZO! thou,
With more fuccefs, the flight of Hope survey;
Of retlefs Hope, for ever on the wing.
High-perch'd o'er ev'ry thought that falcon fits,
To fly at all that rifes in her fight;
And, never ftooping, but to mount again,
Next moment, fhe betrays her aim's mistake,
And owns her quarry lodg'd beyond the grave.
There fhould it fail us, (it muft fail us there,
If being fails), more mournful riddles rise,
And Virtue vies with Hope in myftery.
Why Virtue? Where its praife, its being fled?
Virtue is true felf-intereft purfu'd:

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What true felf-interest of quite mortal man?
To close with all that makes him happy here.
If Vice (as fometimes) is our friend on earth,
Then Vice is Virtue; 'tis our fov'reign good.
In felf-applaufe is Virtue's golden prize?
No felf-applaufe attends it, on thy scheme.
When felf-applaufe? From confcience of the right

And what is right, but means of happiness?"
No means of happiness when Virtue yields;
That bafis falling, falls the building too,
And lays in ruin ev'ry virtuous joy.

The rigid guardian of a blameless heart, So long rever'd, fo long reputed wife, Is weak; with rank knight-errantries o'er-run. Why beats thy bofom with illuftrious dreams Of felf-expofure, laudible, and great? Of gallant enterprise, and glorious death? Die for thy country-Thou romantic fool! Seize, feize the plank thyfelf, and let her fink. Thy country what to thee the Godhead, what? (I fpeak withawe !) Though he fhould bid thee bleed! If, with thy blood, thy final hope is fpilt ;Nor can Omnipotence reward the blow; Be deaf; preferve thy being; difobey.

Nor is it difobedience. Know LORENZO!" Whate'er th' Almighty's fubfequent command, His firft command is this

Man, love thyfelf,?? »

In this alone, free agents are not free.
Exiftence is the bafis, blifs the prize ;-
If virtue cofts exiftence, 'tis a crime;
Bold violation of our law fupreme,
Black fuicide? thro' nations, which confult
Their gain at thy expence, refound applaufe:
Since virtue's recompence is doubtful here,
If man dies wholly, well may we demand,
Why is man fuffer'd to be good in vain ?
Why to be goed in vain, is man injoin'd?
Why to be good in vain, is man betray'd?
Betray'd by traitors lodg'd in his own breaft,
By fweet complacencies from virtue felt?
Why whifpers Nature lies on Virtue's part?
Or if blind Inftin&t (which affumes the name
Of facred Confcience) plays the fool in man,.
Why Reafon made accomplice in the cheat?
Why are the wifeft loudeft in her praise ?
Can man by Reafon's beam be led astray

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