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... THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT THE FIRST.

- ON Life, Death, and Immortality.

· HUMBLY INSCRİBED To the Right HONOURABLE ARTHUR ONSLOW,Ela; SPEAker of the House of Commons.

MIR'D Nature's sweet Restorer, balmy Sleep!

He;-like the World, his ready Visit pays 1 Where Fortune smiles; the Wretched he forSwift on his downy Pinion flies from Woe, ...[fakes: And lights on Lids unfully'd with a Tear. .

From short (as usual) and disturb'd Reposes. I wake: How happy they, who wake no more:! Yet that were vain, if Dreams infeft the Grave I wake, emerging from a Sea of Dreams Tumultuous ;- w here my wreck’d, desponding Though) From Wave to Wave of fansy'd Misery,

At random drove, her Helm of Reason loft.
Tho' now restor’d, 'tis only Change of Pain,
(A bitter Change!) severer for severe.
The Day too short for my Distress! and Night,
Even in the Zenith of her dark Domain,

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: Is Sunshine, to the Colour of my Fate. ; .;

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Night, fable Goddess ! from her Ebon Throne,
In rayless Majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden Sceptre o’er a Numb'ring World.
Silence, how dead! and Darkness; how profound !
Nor Eye, nor list’ning Ear an Object finds ;
Creation sleeps.. 'Tis, as the gen’ral Pulse .
Of Life stood still, and Nature made a Pause ;
An aweful Pause! prophetic of her End.
And let her Prophecy be foon fulfillid;
Fate ! drop the Curtain ; I can lose no more.

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Silence, and Darkness! folemn Sisters! Twins : From antient Night, who nurse the tender Thought To Reason, and on Reason build Resolve, (That Column of true Majesty in Man) Aflift me : I will thank you in the Grave; ' . The Grave, your Kingdom : There this Frame shall fall A Victim facred to your dreary Shrine. :*** But what are ye? THOU, who didst put to Flight Primæval Silence, when the Morning-Stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising Ball ; O THOU! whofe Word from solid Darkness struck

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That Spark, the Sun; strike Wisdom from my Soul; My Soul, which fies to thee, her Trust, her Treasure, As Misers to their Gold, while others rest.

Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul,
This double Night, transmit one pitying Ray,
To lighten, and to chear. O lead my Mind,
(A Mind that fain would wander from its Woe)
Lead it thro' various Scenes of Life, and Death;
And from each Scene, the noblest Truths inspire.
Nor less inspire my Conduet, than my Song:
Teach my best Reason, Reason ; my best Will
Teach Rectitude; and fix my firm Resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long Arrear:
Nor let the Phial of thy Vengeance, pour'd
On this devoted Head, be pour'd in vaini.

The Bell strikes One. We take no Note of Time, But from its Loss. To give it then a Tongue, Is wise in Man. As if an Angel spoke, I feel the solemn Sound. If heard aright, It is the Knell of my departed Hours : Where are they? With the Years beyond the Flood. It is the Signal that demands Dispatch How much is to be done ? my Hopes and Fears Start up alarm'd, and o'er Life's narrow Verge Look down-on what? A fathomless Abyss ; A dread Eternity! how surely mine!. A 4

And

And can Eternity belong to me,
Poor Pensioner on the Bounties of an Hour ?

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how' wonderful, is Man ? How palling wonder HE, who made him fuch? Who centred in our Make such strange Extremes ? From diffrent Natures marvelously mixt,' Connection exquisite of distant Worlds !" Distinguish'd Link in Being's endless Chain! Midway from Nothing to the Deity! A Beam etherial fully'd, and absorbt!" Tho’ fully'd, and dishonoura, ftill Divine ! Dim Miniature of Greatness absolute! .: An Heir of Glory! a frail Child of Duft! Helpless Immortal ! :Infect infinite bow! A Worm! a God! I tremble at myself, And in myself am fost! At home a Stranger, Thought wanders-up and down, furpris'd, aghait, "! And wond'ring at her own : How Reason reels! " O what a Miracle to Man is Man, Is o ni..! Triumphantly distress'd! what Joy, what Dread! : Alternately transported, and alarmid !":niunii What can preferve my Life? or what destroy ? An Angels Arm can't snatch me from the Grave; : Legions of Angels can't confine me There.. .

'Tis past Conjecture'; all things rife in Proof: : While o’er my Limbs Sleep's soft Dominion spread,

What,

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