What, tho' my Soul phantastic Meafures trod
O'er Fairy Fields; or mourn'd along the Gloom
Of pathlefs Woods; or down the craggy Steep
Hurl'd headlong, fwam with Pain the mantled Pool;
Or fcal'd the Cliff; or danc'd on hollow Winds,
With antic Shapes, wild Natives of the Brain?
Her ceafelefs Flight, tho' devious, fpeaks her Nature
Of fubtler Effence than the trodden Clod;
Active, aërial, tow'ring, unconfin'd,
Unfetter'd with her grofs Companion's Fall.
Ev'n filent Night proclaims my Soul immortal :
Ev'n filent Night proclaims eternal Day.
For human Weal, Heav'n husbands all Events,
Dull Sleep inftructs, nor fport vain Dreams in vain,
Why then their Lofs deplore, that are not lost? Why wanders wretched Thought their Tombs around, In infidel Diftrefs? Are Angels there?
Slumbers, rak'd up in duft, Etherial Fire ?
They live! they greatly live a Life on Earth
Unkindled, unconceiv'd; and from an Eye
Of Tenderness, let heav'nly Pity fall
On me, more juftly number'd with the Dead.
This is the Defart, this the Solitude:
How populous! how vital, is the Grave!
This is Creation's melancholy Vault,
The Vale funereal, the faid Cypress Gloom
The Land of Apparitions, empty Shades t
All, all on Earth is Shadow, all beyond
Is Subftance; the Reverse is Folly's Creed:
How folid all, where Change shall be no more?
This is the Bud of Being, the dim Dawn,
The Twilight of our Day, the Vestibule.
Life's Theatre as yet is fhut, and Death,
Strong Death, alone can heave the maffy Bar,
This grofs Impediment of Clay remove,
And make us Embryos of Existence free.
From real Life, but little more remote
Is He, not yet a Candidate for Light,
The future Embryo, flumb'ring in his Sire.
Embryos we muft be, till we burst the Shell,
Yon ambient, azure Shell, and fpring to Life,
The Life of Gods: O Tranfport! and of Man.
Yet Man, fool Man! bere buries all his Thoughts; Inters celestial Hopes without one Sigh.
Pris'ner of Earth, and pent beneath the Moon,
Here pinions all his Wifhes; wing'd by Heav'n
To fly at Infinite; and reach it there,
Where Seraphs gather Immortality,
On Life's fair Tree, faft by the Throne of God.
What golden Joys ambrofial cluft'ring glow,
In HIS full Beam, and ripen for the Juft,
Where momentary Ages are no more!
Where Time, and Pain, and Chance, and Death expire!
And is it in the Flight of threefcore Years,
To push Eternity from human Thought,
And fmother Souls immortal in the Duft?
A Soul immortal, fpending all her Fires,
Wafting her Strength in trenuous Idleness,
Thrown into Tumult, raptur'd, or alarm'd,
At ought this Scene can threaten, or indulge,
Refembles Ocean into Tempeft wrought,
To waft a Feather, or to drown a Fly.
Where falls this Cenfure? It o'erwhelms myself. How was my Heart incrufted by the World! O how self-fetter'd was my groveling Soul ! How, like a Worm, was I wrapt round and round In filken Thought, which reptile Fancy fpun, Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er With foft Conceit of endless Comfort bere, forth her Wings to reach the Skies!
Night-vifions may befriend (as fung above):
Our waking Dreams are fatal. How I dreamt
Of things Impoffible? (Could Sleep do more?)
Of Joys perpetual in perpetual Change?
Of ftable Pleasures on the toffing Wave?
Eternal Sunshine in the Storms of Life?
How richly were my noon-tide Trances hung
With
gorgeous Tapestries of pictur'd Joys?
Joy behind Joy, in endless Perspective !
Till at Death's Toll, whofe reftlefs Iron Tongue
Calls daily for his Millions at a Meal,
Starting I woke, and found myself undone.
Where now my Frenzy's pompous Furniture?!
The cobweb'd Cottage, with its ragged Wall
Of mould'ring Mud, is Royalty to me!
The Spider's moft attenuated Thread:
Is Cord, is Cable, to Man's tender Tie
On earthly Blifs, it breaks at ev'ry Breeze.
bleft Scenes of permanent Delight! Full, above measure! lafting, beyond Bound! A Perpetuity of Blifs, is. Blifs.
Could you, fo rich in Rapture, fear an End,
That ghaftly Thought would drink up all your Joy,
And quite unparadife the Realms of Light.
Safe are you lodg❜d above these rolling Spheres;
The baleful Influence of whofe giddy Dance
Sheds fad Viciffitude on all beneath.
Here teems the Revolutions ev'ry Hour;
And rarely for the better; or the best,
More mortal than the common Births of Fate.
Each Moment has its Sickle, emulous
Of Time's enormous Scythe, whofe ample Sweep
Strikes Empires from the Root; each Moment plays
His little Weapon in the narrower Sphere.
Of sweet domeftic Comfort, and cuts down
The fairest Bloom of fublunary Bliss.
Blifs fublunary Blifs!-Proud Words, and vain! Implicit Treafon to divine Decree!
A bold Invafion of the Rights of Heav'n!
I clafp'd the Phantoms, and I found them Air.
O had I weigh'd it ere my fond Embrace!
What Darts of Agony had mifs'd my Heart!
Death! Great Proprietor of All! 'tis thine
To tread out Empire, and to quench the Stars.
The Sun himself by thy Permiffion fhines;
And, one Day, thou shalt pluck him from his Sphere.
Amid fuch mighty Plunder, why exhauft
Thy partial Quiver on a Mark fo mean?
Why thy peculiar Rancour wreck'd on me?
Infatiate Archer! could not One fuffice?
Thy Shaft flew thrice; and thrice my Peace was flain;
And thrice, ere thrice yon Moon had fill'd her Horn.
O Cynthia! why so pale? Doft thou lament
Thy wretched Neighbour? Grieve to fee thy Wheel
Of ceafelefs Change outwhirl'd in human Life?
How wanes my borrow'd Bliss! from Fortune's Smile,
Precarious Courtefy! not Virtue's fure,
Self-given, folar, Ray of found Delight.
In ev'ry vary'd Pofture, Place, and Hour,
How widow'd ev'ry Thought of ev'ry Joy!
Thought, bufy Thought! too busy for
my Peace!
Thro' the dark Poftern of Time long laps'd,
Led foftly, by the Stilnefs of the Night,
Led, like a Murderer, (and fuch it proves !)
Strays, wretched Rover! o'er the pleafing Paft;
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