They then turn witnesses against themselves. Ye fons of earth! (nor willing to be more!) Since verse you think from priestcraft somewhat free, Thus, in an age fo gay, the Mufe plain truths (Truths which, at church, you might have heard in profe) Has ventur'd into light; well-pleas'd the verse Should be forgot, if you the truths retain ; And crown her with your welfare, not your praife. But praise the need not fear; I fee my fate; And healong leap, like CURTIUS, down the gulph... Since many an ample volume, mighty tome, Muft 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, incens'd, Denies thee long to live; Nor fhalt thou rest, When thou art dead; in Stygian fhades arraign'd By LUCIFER, as traitor to his throne; And bold blafphemer of his friendThe World, whofe legions coft him slender And volunteers around his banner fwarm; Prudent, as Prussia, in her zeal for Gaul. -the World; pay. "Are all, then, fools?" LORENZO cries-Yes all But fuch as hold this doctrine, (new to thee) "The mother of true wisdom is the will ;" The nobleft intellect, a fool without it, World-wisdom much has done, and more may do, ; But art and science, like thy wealth, will leave thee, THE CONSOLATION. NIGHT NINTH AND LAST. CONTAINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, I. A MORAL SURVEY OF THE NOCTURNAL HEA→ VENS. II. A NIGHT-ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. -Fatis contraria fata rependens. VIRG. A S when a traveller, a long day past In painful fearch of what he cannot find, At night's approach, content with the next cot, There ruminates, a while, his labour loft; Then chears his heart with what his fate affords, And chants his fonnet to deceive the time, Till the due feafon calls him to repose: Thus I, long travell'd in the ways of men, And dancing, with the reft, the giddy maze, Where Disappointment fmiles at Hope's career; Warn'd by the languor of life's ev'ning ray, At length have hous'd me in an humble fhed, Where, future wand'ring banish'd from my thought,. And waiting, patient, the fweet hour of reft, chate the moments with a ferious fong. Sung footles our pains; and age has pains to foothe.. When age, care, crime, and frids embrac'd at heart, Torn from my bleeding brea Which hovers o'er me, qur Death's dark fhade, th'etherial fire; Can't thou, O Night! induge one labour more? Though far, far higher fet, in aim, I trust,, Has not the Mufe afferted pleasures pure, And when at worst they dream themselves quite well. But grant no guilt, no fhame, no leaft alloy; And that in forrow bury'd; this, in fhame: |