Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

That animates all right, the triple sun!
Sun of the soul! her never-setting sun !
Triune, unutterable, unconceiv'd,
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;
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 fir'd;
Through wondrous beings interposing swarms,
All clustering at the call, to dwell in thee;
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. 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), unpity'd, and unblest !

In thy displeasure dwells eternal pain ;
Pain, our aversion; pain, which strikes me now ;
And, since all pain is terrible to man,
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;
That tongue of death! that herald of the tomb !
And when (the shelter of thy wing implor’d)
My senses, sooth'd, shall sink in soft repose,
O 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 turnd and toss'd fin

ever, From side to side, can rest on nought but thee : Here, in full trust; hereafter, in full joy ; On thee, the promis'd, sure, eternal down Of spirits, toild 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! Man's theme eternal! man's eternal theme! Thou canst not 'scape uninjur'd from our praise,

Uninjur'd 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 ;
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.'
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;
Though plung'd, before, in horrours 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 ? 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:

* Prov. chap. viii.

+ The Consolation.

;

[ocr errors]

Joy breaks; shines ; triumphs ; 't is eternal day.
Shall that which rises out of nought complain
Of a few evils, paid with endless joys ?
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,
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 escap'd 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,
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! 't is not yet too late; Lorenzo !
Seize wisdom, ere 't is torment to be wise ;
That is, seize wisdom, ere she seizes thee.
For what, my small philosopher, is Hell ?
'T is nothing but full knowledge of the truth,
When truth, resisted long, is sworn our foe :
And calls eternity to do her right.

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, 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 flatteries and foes; 'T is pride to praise ber ; 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 falling star, the ray divine Glides swift into the bosom of the just; And just are all, determin’d 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 in his wrath, Plucking the pillars that support the world, In Nature's ample ruins lies entomb'd; And midnight, universal midnight! reigns.

« AnteriorContinuar »