< 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 Heav'n to make one emmet more? "Too much for Chaos to permit my mass "A longer ftay with effences unwrought, "Unfashion'd, untormented into man? "Wretched preferment to this round of pains! "Wretched capacity of frenzy, thought! "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 its nature too: O Death! · "Come to my bofom, thou beft gift of Heav'n! "Belt friend to man! fince man is man no more. "Why in this thorny wilderness fo long, "Since there's no fromis'd land's ambrosial bow'r, "To pay me with its honey for my stings? "If needful to the selfish schemes of Heav'n "To fting us fore, why mock'd our misery? "Why this fo fumptuous infult o'er our heads? Why this illuftrious canopy display'd?
"Why fo'magnificently lodg'd defpair?
"At ftated periods, fure returning, roll
"Thefe glorious orbs, that mortals may compute
"Their length of labours, and of pains; nor lofe
Their mifery's full measure ?-Smiles, with flow'rs "And fruits promifcuous, ever-teeming earth, 66 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 fuch delights? Bleft animals! too wise, "To wonder; and too happy, to complain!
"Our doom decreed demands a mournful fcene: "Why not a dungeon dark, for the condemn'd? "Why not the dragon's fubterranean den,
"For man to howl in? Why not his abode "Of the fame difmal colour with his fate? "A Thebes, a Babylon, at vaft 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 "If, from her humble chamber in the duft, [defires. "While proud thought fwells, and high defire inflames,
"The poor worm calls us for her inmates there; "And, round us, Death's inexorable hand
"Draws the dark curtain clofe; undrawn no more. "Undrawn по more !-Behind the cloud of death,
"Once, I beheld a fun ; a fun which gilt "That fable cloud, and turn'd it all to gold, "How the grave's alter'd ! fathomlefs as hell! "A real hell to thofe who dream'd of heav'n. "ANNIHILATION! how it yawns before me ! "Next moment I may drop from thought, from fenfe, "The privilege of angels, and of worms, "An outcaft from exiftence! and this fpirit, "This all-pervading, this all-confcious foul, "This particle of energy Divine,
"Which travels nature, flies from star to star,
"And vifits gods, and emulates their pow'rs,
"For ever is extinguish'd. Horror! death!
"Death of that death, I, fearless, once furvey'd !--
"When horror univerfal fhall defcend,
"And Heav'ns dark concave urn all human race,
"On that enormous unrefunding tomb,
"How just this verfe! this monumental figh!
Beneath the lumber of demolish'd worlds,
Deep in the rubbish of the gen'ral wreck,
Swept ignominious to the common mafs
Of matter, never dignify'd with life,
Here lie proud rationals the fons of Heav'n!
The Lords of earth! the property of worms!
Beings of yesterday, and no to-morrow!
Who liv'd in terror, and in pangs expir'd!
All gone to rot in chaos ; or to make
Their happy tranfit into blocks or brutes,
Nor longer fully their CREATOR's name.
LORENZO! hear, paufe, ponder, and pronounce.
Juft is this hiftory! If fuch is man,
Mankind's hiftorian, tho' divine, might weep:
And dares LORENZO fmile?—I know thee proud;
For once let pride befriend thee: Pride looks pale
At fuch a scene, and fighs for fomething more.
Amid thy boafts, prefumptions, and displays,
And art thou then a fhadow ? lefs than fhade?
A nothing less than nothing? To have been,
?
And not to be, is lower than unbörn.
Art thy ambitious? why then make the worm
Thine equal? Runs thy tafte of pleasure high?
Why patronize fure death of ev'ry joy?
Charm riches? why choose begg'ry in the grave,
Of ev'ry hope a bankrupt! and for ever?
Ambition, Pleasure, Avarice, persuade thee
To make that world of glory, rapture, wealth,
They lately prov'd, thy foul's fupreme defire.
What art thou made of? rather, how unmade?
Great Nature's mafter-appetite deftroy'd,
Is endless life, and happinefs, defpis'd?
Or both with'd, here, where neither can be found?
Such man's perverse, eternal war with heav'n!
Dar'ft thou perfift? and is there nought on earth,
But a long train of tranfitory forms,
Rifing, and breaking, millions in an hour?
Bubbles of a fantastic deity, blown up
In fport, and then in cruelty deftroy'd ?
Oh! for what crime, unmerciful LORENZO!
Deftroys thy fcheme the whole of human race?
Kind is fell LUCIFER, compar'd to thee;
O fpare this waste of being half divine;
And vindicate th' economy of Heav'n.
Heav'n is all love; all joy in giving joy;
* In the Sixth Night.
It never had created, but to bless;
And fhall it, than, ftrike off the lift of life,
A being bleft, or worthy fo to be?
Heav n starts at an annihilating GOD.
Is that, all nature starts at, thy defire
Art fuch a clod, to wish thyfelf all clay?
What is that dreadful wifh !.
-the dying groans
Of Nature, murder'd by the blackeft guilt.
What deadly poifon has thy nature drank ?
To nature, undebauch'd, no shock fo great;
Nature's first wifh, is endless happiness;
Annihilation, is an after-thought;
A monftrous wish, unborn till virtue dies.
And, oh! what depth of horror lies inclos'd!
For non-existence no man ever wish'd,
But, firft, he wish'd the DEITY destroy'd.
If fo; what words are dark enough to draw
Thy picture true. The darkest are too fair.
Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour
Of defperation, by what fury's aid,
In what infernal pofture of the foul,
All hell invited, and all hell in joy,
At fuch a birth, a birth so near of kin.
Did thy foul fancy whelp fo black a fcheme,
Of hopes abortive, faculties half-blown,
And deities begin, reduc'd to duft?
There's nought (thou fay'ft) but one eternal flux Of feeble effences, tumultuous driv'n
Thro' time's rough billows into night's abyss.
Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin,
Is there no rock, on which man's toffing thought
Can reft from terror, dare his fate furvey,
And boldly think it fomething to be born?
Amid fuch hourly wreck of beings fair,
Is there no central, all-sustaining base,
All-realizing, all-connecting pow'r,
Which, as it call'd forth all things, can recal,
And force deftruction to refund her spoil :
Command the grave reftore her taken preys
Bid death's dark vale its human harvest yield,
And earth, and ocean, pay their debt of man,
True to the grand depofit trusted there?
Is there no potentate, whofe out-ftretch'd arm,
When rip'ning time calls forth th' appointedho ur,
Pluck'd from foul devaftation's famished maw,
Binds prefent, paft, and future, to his throne?
His throne, how glorious, thus divinely grac❜d,
By germinating beings cluft'ring round!
A garland worthy the Divinity!
A throne, by heav n's Omnipotence in smiles
Built (like a Pharos tow'ring in the waves)
Amidit immenfe effufions of his love!
An ocean of communicated blifs!
An all-prolific, all preferving GOD!
This were a God indeed! And fuch is man,
As here prefum'd: He rifes from his fall.
Think'st thou Omnipotence a naked root,
Each bloffom fair of DEITY deftroy'd?
Nothing is dead; nay, nothing fleeps; each foul
That ever animated human clay,
Now wakes; is on the wing: And where, O where, Will the fwarm fettle?-When the trumpet's call,
As founding brafs, collects us, round Heav'n's throne Conglob'd, we bafk in everlasting day,
(Paternal fplendor!) and adhere for ever.
Had not the foul this outlet to the fkies,
In this vaft veffel of the universe,
How fhould we gasp as in an empty void!
How in the pangs of famifh'd hope expire!
How bright my profpect fhines! how gloomy thine!
A trembling world! and a devouring GOD!
Earth, but the fhambles of Omnipotence!
Heav'n's face all ftain'd with caufelefs maffacres
Of countless millions, born to feel the pang
Of being loft. LORENZO! can it be?
This bids us fhudder at the thoughts of life.
Who would be born to such a phantom world,
Where nought fubftantial, but our misery?
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