And, when unwifht, we Strive to disbeliever
Thus Infidelity our Guilt Betrays.'
Nor that the soLE detection! blush, Lorenzo!
Blush for hypocrify, if not for guilt...
The Future Fear'd? an infidel, and fear!
Fear what? a Dream? a Fábie?
Unwilling evidence, and therefore Stro, g,
Affords my cause an undefign'd fupport!
How Difbelief affirms, what it denies!
It, Unawares, afferts Immortal Life.'
Surprifing! I fidelity turns out
A Creed, and a confeffion of our Sins:
Apoftates, THUS, are orthodox divines,
Lorenzo! with Lorenzo clash no more;
Nor longer a Transparent vizor wear.
Think' thou, Religion only has her mask?
Our infidels are Satan's hypocrites,
Pretend the worft, and, at the bottom, Fail.
When vifited by thought (thought wILL intrade
Like him they ferve, they Tremble, and Believe.
Is there hypocrify so foul as this?
So fatal to the Welfare of the world?
What DeteЯation, what Contempt their due!
And, if unpaid, be thank'd for their efcape
That Chriftian candor they ftrive hard to fcorn.
If not for that afylum, they might find
A hell on Earth; nor 'fcape a worfe Below.
With infolence, and impotence of thought,
Instead of racking fancy, to Refute,
Reform thy manners, and the truth Enjoy.
But fhall I dare confefs the dire refult ?
Can thy proud Reason brook fo black a brand ♪
From Purer Manner, to Sublimer Faith,
Is nature's unavoidable afcent;
An Honest deift, where the gospel fhines,
Matur'd to nobler, in the Chriftian ends.
When that bleft change arrives, e'en caft afide
This fong fuperfluous; Life Immortal strikes
Conviction, in a flood of light Divine,
A Christian dwells, like Uriel, in the fun;
Meridian evidence puts Doubt to flight;
And ardent Hope anticipates the skies.
N
Of THAT bright fun, Lorenzo! fcale the sphere;
'Tis eafy; it invites thee; it defcends
From heav'n to woo, and waft thee whence it came :
Read and revere the Sacred Page, a page
Where triumphs Immortality; a page
Which not the whole Creation could produce;
Which not the Conflagration shall destroy;
In nature's ruins not one letter loft:
'Tis printed in the mind of gods for ever.
In proud difdain of what e’en gods adore,
Doft fmile? poor wretch! thy guardian angel weeps.
Angels, and MEN, affent to what I fing;
Wits fmile, and thank me for my Midnight Dream.
How vicious hearts fume phrenfy to the brain!
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 Lofs of Being, dreadfully fecure.
Lorer zo! 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; ftand faft; be fure to be a Knave;
A knave in grain! ne'er diviate to the Right :
Shouldst thou be Good how infinite thy loss!
Guilt only makes Annihilation gain.
Bleft scheme! which life deprives of Comfort, death
Of HOPE and which Vice Only recommends.
If fo; 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 confefs, in These.
What can Reclaim you? dare I hope profound
Philofophers the converts of a Song?
Yet know, ITS Title flatters you not ME.
Yours be the praise to make my title good;
Mine to blefs heav'n, and triumph in your praise.
But fince fo peftilential your disease,
Tho' fov'reign is the med'cine I prescribe,
As yet, I'll neither triumph, nor despair :
But hope, ere-long, my Midnight Dream will wake
Your hearts, and teach your wifdom-
For why fhould fouls immortal, made for blifs,
E'er with (and with in vain !) that fouls could die?
What ne'er CAN die, Oh! grant to LIVE; and crown
The wish, and aim, and labour of the fkies ;
Increase, and enter on the joys of heav'n:
Thus fhall my title pafs a facred seal,
Receive an Imprimatur from above,
While angels shout- An Infidel Reclaim'd.
To clofe, Lorenzo! spite of all my pains,
Still feems it ftrange, that thou shouldft live For ever?
Is it LESS ftrange, that thou shouldft live AT ALL?
This is a miracle; and THAT no more
Who gave beginning, can exclude an end.
Deny thou ART; then doubt if thou Shalt be.
A miracle with miracles inclos'd,
Is man; and ftarts his faith at what is Strange?
What lefs than wonders from the Wonderful;
What lefs than miracles, from God can flow?
Admit a GOD- -that mystery fupreme!
That caufe uncaus'd! all other wonders ceafe ;
Nothing is marvellous for him to do:
Deny HIM all is mystery befides;
Millions of myfteries! EACH darker far,
Than THAT thy wifdom would, unwifely, fhun.
If WEAK thy faith, why chufe the harder fide?
We nothing KNOW, but what is marvellous ;
Yet what is marvellous; we can't Believe.
So weak out Reafon, and fo great our GOD,
What moft furprifes in the Sacred Page,
Or full as ftrange, or stranger, MUST be true.
Faith is not Reafon's labour, but repofe.
To Faith, and Virtue, why fo backward man?
From hence the Prefent ftrongly ftrikes us all;
The Future, faintly can we, then, be MIN?
If men, Lorenzo! the Reverse is right.
Reafon is man's peculiar; Senfe, the brute's.
The Prefent is the fcanty realm of Sense;
The Future, Reafon's empire unconfin'd;
On THAT expending all her godlike pow'r,
She plans, provides. expatiates, triumphs, THERF;
There, builds her Bleffings; there, expects her praise;
And nothing afks of Fortune, or of MEN.
And what is Reafon? be the, thus, defin'd;
Reafon is Upright Stature in the Soul.
Oh! be a MAN; and strive to be a God.
"For what (thou fayeft ;) to damp the joys of life?”
No; to give Heart and Substance to thy joys.
That tyrant, HOPE; mark how the domineers;
She bids us quit realities, for dreams;
Sa ety, and peace, for hazard, and alarm;
That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the foul,
She bids Ambition quit its taken prize,
Spurn the luxuriant branch on which fits,
Tho' bearing Crowns, to fpring at Distant game;
And plunge in toils and dangers for repofe.
If HOPE precarious, and of things, when gain'd,
Of little moment and as little stay,
Can fweeten toils and dangers into joys;
What then, THAT hope, which nothing can defeat,
Our leave unafk'd? rich hope of boundless blifs!
Bifs, paft MAN's pow'r to paint it; Time's to clofe!
This hope is earth's most estimable prize :
This is man's portion, while no more than man:
Hope, of all paffions, most befriends us here;
Paffions of prouder name befriend us lefs.
Joy has her Tears; and Transport has her Death; .
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong,
Man's heart, at once, Infpirits, and Serenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
'Tis all our prefent ftate can Safely hear,
Health to the frame! and vigour to the mind!
A joy attemper'd! a Chaftis'd delight!
Like the fair fummer-ey'ning. mild, and fweet!
"I is man's full cup; his paradife below!
A bleft hereafter, THEN, or hop'd, or gain'd,
Is all!-- our Whole of happiness; full proof,
I chose no trivial or inglorious Theme.
And know, ye foes to fang! (well meaning men,
Tho' quite forgotten half your Bible's praise !)
Important Truths, in fpite of Verse may please:
Grave minds you praife; nor can you praise too much;
If there is weight in an Eternity,
and be Grayer fill. The poetical parts of.it.
NIGHT the EIGHTH.
VIRTUE's APOLOGY.
The MAN of the WORLD answerd.
In which are Confidered,
The LovE of This LIFE; The AMBITION and PLEASURE, with the WIT. and WISDOM of the WORLD..
ND has all nature, then, efpous'd my part?
A Have 1, brib'd heav'n, and earth, to plead against
And is thy fpul Immortal?what remains?
All, all, Lorenzo !→→make immortal, blest.
Unbleft immortals !➡what can fhock us more ?:
And yet, Lorenzo ftill affects the World
There, ftows his treasure; thence his title draws,
Man of the World! (for fuch wouldst thou be call'd)
And art thou proud of that inglorious stile ! :
Proud of reproach; for a reproach.it was,
In antient days; and Chriftian,-in an age,
When men were men, and not asham'd of heav'n,
Eir'd their ambition, as if crown'd their joy.
Sprinkled with dews.from the Caftalian font,
Fain would I re-baptize thee, and confer
A purer fpirit, and a nobler name.
Thy fond attachments fatal, and inflam'd,
Point out my path, and dictate to my fong::
To thee, The World how Fair! how ftrongly, ftrikes ·
Ambition! and gay. Pleasure stronger ftill!
Thy triple bane! the triple bolt that lays,.
Thy virtue dead! be THESE my triple theme;
Nor shall thy war. or Wifdom, be forgot.
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