What rocks are those on which to build our trust?
Thy ways admit no blemish; none I find;
Or this alone," That none is to be found:"
Not one to soften Censure's hardy crime;
Not one to palliate peevish Grief's complaint,
Who, like a demon, murm'ring from the dust,
Dares into judgment call her judge.--Supreme!
For all I bless thee; most for the severe;
Her death*-my own at hand-the fiery gulf,
That flaming bound of wrath omnipotent;
It thunders; but it thunders to preserve;
It strengthens what it strikes; its wholesome dread
Averts the dreaded pain: its hideous groans
Join heaven's sweet hallelujahs in thy praise,
Great source of good alone! how kind in all!
In vengeance kind! Pain, death, gehenna, save.
Thus, in thy world material, mighty Mind!
Not that alone which solaces and shines,
The rough and gloomy, challenges our praise.
The winter is as needful as the spring ;
The thunder as the sun. A stagnate mass
Of vapours breeds a pestilential air:
Nor more propitious the Favonian breeze
To Nature's health, than purifying storms.
The dread volcano ministers to good;
Its smother'd flames might undermine the world.
Loud Etnas fulminate in love to man:
Comets good omens are when duly scann'd;
And, in their use, eclipses learn to shine.
Man is responsible for ills receiv'd;
Those we call wretched are a chosen band,
Compell'd to refuge in the right, for peace.
Amid my list of blessings infinite
Stand this the foremost," That my heart has bled." 'Tis heaven's last effort of good-will to man.
When pain can't bless, heav'n quits us in despair.
Who fails to grieve, when just occasion calls,
Or grieves too much, deserves not to be bless'd,
Inhuman or inffeminate, his heart.
Reason absolves the grief which reason ends.
May Heav'n ne'er trust my friend with happiness,
Till it has taught him how to bear it well
By previous pain, and made it safe to smile!
Such smiles are mine, and such may they remain,
Nor hazard their extinction from excess.
My change of heart a change of style demands;
The Consolation cancels the Complaint,
And makes a convert of my guilty song.
As when o'er-labour'd, and inclin❜d to breathe,
A panting traveller some rising ground,
Some small ascent, has gain'd, he turns him round,
And measures with his eye the various vales,
The fields, woods, meads, and rivers, he has past,
And, satiate of his journey, thinks of home.
Endear'd by distance, nor affects more toil;
Thus I, tho' small, indeed, is that ascent
The Muse has gain'd, review the paths she trods
Various, extensive, beaten but by few;
And, conscious of her prudence in repose,
Pause, and with pleasure meditate an end,
Tho' still remote; so fruitful is my theme.
Thro' many a field of moral and divine
The Muse has stray'd, and much of sorrow seen
In human ways, and much of false and vain,
Which none who travel this bad road can miss.
O'er friends deceas'd full heartily she wept ;
Of love divine the wonders she display'd;
Prov'd man immortal; shew'd the source of joy;
The grand tribunal rais'd; assign'd the bounds
Of human grief. In few, to close the whole,
The moral Muse has shadow'd out a sketch,
Tho' not in form, nor with a Raphael stroke,
Of most our weakness needs believe or do,
In this our land of travail and of hope,
For peace on earth, or prospect of the skies.
What then remains? Much! much! a mighty debt To be discharg'd. These thoughts, O Night! are From thee they come, like lovers' secret sighs, [thine; While others slept. So Cynthia, (poets feign) In shadows veil'd, soft sliding from her sphere,
Her shepherd cheer'd, of her enamour'd less
Than I of thee.-And art thou still unsung,
Beneath whose brow, and by whose aid, I sing?
Immortal Silence! where shall I begin?
Where end? or how steal music from the spheres
To sooth their goddess?
Nature's great ancestor! Day's elder born!
And fated to survive the transient sun!
By mortals and immortals seen with awe!
A starry crown thy raven brow adorns,
An azure zone thy waist; clouds, in heav'n's loom
Wrought thro' varieties of shape and shade,
In ample folds of drapery divine,
Thy flowing mantle form, and, heav'n throughout,
Voluminously pour thy pompous train
Thy gloomy grandeurs (Nature's most august,
Inspiring aspect!) claim a grateful verse,
And, like a sable curtain, starr'd with gold,
Drawn o'er my labours past, shall close the scene.
And what, O Man! so worthy to be sung?
What more prepares us for the songs of heav'n?
Creation of archangels is the theme!
What to be sung so needful, what so well
Celestial joys prepare us to sustain ?
The soul of man, his face design'd to see
Who gave these wonders to be seen by man,
Has here a previous scene of objects great
On which to dwell, to stretch to that expanse
Of thought, to rise to that exalted height
Of admiration, to contract that awe,
And give her whole capacities that strength
Which best may qualify for final joy.
The more our spirits are enlarg'd on earth,
The deeper draught shall they receive of heav'n. Heaven's King! whose face unveil'd consummates
Redundant bliss! which fills that mighty void
The whole creation leaves in human hearts!
Thou! who didst touch the lip of Jesse's son,
Rapt in sweet contemplation of these fires,
And set his harp in concert with the spheres,
While of thy works material the Supreme
I dare attempt, assist my daring song :
Loose me from earth's enclosure; from the sun's
Contracted circle set my heart at large;
Eliminate my spirit, give it range
Thro' provinces of thought yet unexplor❜d;
Teach me, by this stupendous scaffolding,
Creation's golden steps, to climb to thee:
Teach me with art great nature to control,
And spread a lustre o'er the shades of night.
Feel I thy kind assent? and shall the sun
Be seen at midnight rising in my song?
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