Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

420

425

The mighty bafis of eternal blifs!
Where now the barren rock? the painted foreau?
Where now,
Lorenzo! life's eternal round?
Have I not made my triple promise good?
Vain is the world; but only to the vain.
To what compare we then this varying fcene,
Whole worth ambiguous rifès, and declines?
Waxes and wanes? (in all propitious, Night
Aflifts me here) Compare it to the moon;
Dark in herself, and indigent; but rich
In borrow'd luftre from a higher sphere.
When grofs guilt interpofes, labouring earth,.
O'erfhadow'd, mourns a deep eclipfe of joy!
Her joys, at brighteft, pallid, to that font
Of full effulgent glory, whence they flow.
Nor is that glory diftant: Oh Lorenzo!
A good man, and an angel! thefe between
How thin the barrier! what divides their fate?
Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year;
Or, if an age, it is a moment ftill;
A moment, or eternity's forgot.

430

435

Then be, what once they were, who now are gods;

480

To cater for the sense; and serve at boards,
Where every ranger of the wilds, perhaps
Each reptile, juftly claims our upper hand.
Luxurious feaft! a foul, a foul immortal,
In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd!
Lorenzo blufh at terror for a death,
Which gives thee to repofe in feftive bowers,
Where nectars fparkle, angels minifter,
And more than angels fhare, and raise, and crown,
And eternife, the birth, bloom, bursts of blifs. 485
What need I more? O death, the palm is thine.

Then welcome, death! thy dreaded harbingers,
Age, and difeafe; difeafe, though long my guest;
That plucks my nerves, thofe tender strings of
life;

[blocks in formation]

440 Are not immortal too, O death! is thine.
Our day of diffolution !-name it right;
"Tis our great pay-day; 'tis our harvest, rich
And ripe; what though the fickle, fometimes
keen,

Be what Philander was, and claim the skies.
Starts timid nature at the gloomy país?
The foft tranfition call it; and be chear'd:
Such it is often, and why not to Thee?
To hope the best, is pious, brave, and wife;
And may itself procure, what it prefumes.
Life is much flatter'd, death is much traduc'd:
Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown.
"Strange competition!"-True, Lorenzo! ftrange!
So little Life can caft into the scale.

445

Life makes the foul dependant on the duft; Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres.

Through chinks, ftyl'd organs, dim Life peeps at light;

450

Death burfts th' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the difembody'd power.
Death has feign'd evils, nature fhall not feel;
Life, ills fubitantial, wisdom cannot fhun.
Is not the mighty mind, that fon of heaven!
By tyrant life dethron'd, imprifon'd, pain'd?
By death enlarg'd, enobled, deify'd?
Death but entombs the body; life the foul.
"Is death then guiltless? How he marks his

way

455

[ocr errors]

"With dreadful waste of what deferves to fhine!
"Art, genius, fortune, elevated power! 461
"With various luftres thefe light up the world,
"Which death puts out, and darkens human race.'
1 grant, Lorenzo! this indictment juft:
The fage, peer, potentate, king, conqueror! 465
Death humbles thefe; more barbarous life, the

man.

Juft fcars us as we reap the golden grain?
More than thy balm, O Gilead! heals the wound.

505
Birth's feeble cry, and death's deep dismal groan,
Are flender tributes low-tax'd nature pays
For mighty gain: the gain of each, a life!
But O! the laft the former fo tranfcends,
Life dies, compar'd; Life lives beyond the grave.
510

520

And feel I, death! no joy from thought of thee?
Death, the great counfellor, who man inspires
With every nobler thought, and fairer deed!
Death, the deliverer, who refcues man!
Death, the rewarder, who the rescued crowns!
Death, that abfolves my birth; a curfe without it!
Rich death, that realizes all my cares,
Toils, virtues, hopes; without it a chimera!
Death, of all pain the period, not of joy;
Joy's fource and subject, still subsist unhurt:
One, in my foul; and one, in her great Sire;
Though the four winds were warring for my duft.
Yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night,
Though prifon'd there, my dust too I reclaim,
(To duft when drop proud nature's proudest spheres)
And live intire. Death is the crown of life:
Were death deny'd, poor man would live in vain;
Were death deny'd, to live would not be life;
Were death deny'd, ev'n fools would wish to die.
Death wounds to cure: we fall; we rife, we reign!
Spring from our fetters; faften in the fkies; 53
Where blooming Eden withers in our fight:
Death gives us more than was in Eden loft.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
When fhall I die to vanity, pain, death?
475 When thall I die?-When fhall I live for ever?

471

Life is the triumph of our mouldering clay;
Death, of the fpirit infinite! divine!
Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts;
Nor life true joy, but what kind death improves.
No blifs has life to boast, till death can give
Far greater; life's a debtor to the grave,
Dark lattice! letting in eternal day.
Lorenzo! blush at fondness for a life,
Which fends celeftial fouls on errands vile,
VOL. VIII.

[blocks in formation]

NIGHT THE FOURTH.

And drop this mask of flesh behind the fcens, 45
With me, that time is come; my world is
dead;

A new world rifes, and new manners reign :
Foreign comedians, a fpruce band! arrive,
To push me from the fcene, or hifs me there,
What a pert race starts up! the strangers gaze, 50

THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH And I at them; my neighbour is unknown;

CONTAINING

Our only Cure for the Fear of Death ; and proper Sentiments of that ineftimalle Blessing.

TO THE HONOURABLE MR. YORKE.

A

Much-indebted Mufe, O Yorke! intrudes.
Amid the smiles of fortune, and of youth,
Thine ear is patient of a ferious fong.
How deep implanted in the breaft of man
The dread of death! I fing its fovereign cure.
Why start at death? Where is he? Death
riv'd,

is paft; not come or gone, he's never bare,
Ere bope, fenfation fails; black-boding man
Receives, not fuffers, death's tremendous blow.
The knell, the fhroud, the matteck, and

grave:

Nor that the worst! Ah me! the dire effect
Of loitering here, of death defrauded long ;
Of old fo gracions (and let that suffice),
My very mafter knows me not-

[ocr errors]

Shall I dare fay, peculiar is the fate?
I've been fo long remember'd, I'm forgot.
An object ever preffing dims the fight,
And hides behind its ardour to be feen.
When in his courtiers' ears I pour my plaint,
They drink it as the nectar of the great;
And fqueeze my hand, and beg me come to

[blocks in formation]

60

Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme:
Who cheapens life, abates the Fear of Death: 63
5Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy,
Court favour, yet untaken, 1 befiege;
Ambition's ill-judg'd effort to be rich.
Alas ambition makes my little less;

ar

the

To

The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the

worm;

These are the bugbears of a winter's eve,
The terrors of the living, not the dead.
Imagination's fool, and error's wretch,

Embittering the poffeft: Why wish for more? 70
Wifbing, of all employments, is the work;
Philofophy's reverfe; and health's decay!
Were I as plump as ftall'd theology,
Wishing would wafte me to the fhade again.
Were I as wealthy as a South-fea dream,
Wishing is an expedient to be poor.
Wifbing, that conftant hectic of a fool;
Caught at a court; purg'd off by purer air,

Man makes a death, which nature never made; 15 And fimpler diet; gifts of rural life!
Then on the point of his own fancy falls;
And feels a thousand deaths, in fearing one.

20

73

85

Bleft be that hand divine, which gently laid 80
My heart at reft, beneath this humble fhed.
The world's a ftately bark, on dangerous feas,
With pleasure feen, but boarded at our peril;
Here on a fingle plank, thrown fafe afhore,
I hear the tumult of the diftant throng,
As that of feas remote, or dying forms:
And meditate on fcencs, more filent ftill.
Purfue my theme, and fight the Fear of Death.
25 Here, like a fhepherd gazing from his hut,
Touching his reed, or leaning on his ftaff,
Eager ambition's fiery chace 1 fee;

But were death frightful, what has age to fear?
If prudent, age fhould; meet the friendly foe,
And shelter in his hofpitable gloom,
I fcarce can meet a monument, but holds
My younger; every date cries" Come away."
And what recalls me? Look the world around,
And tell me what: the wifeft cannot tell.
Should any born of women give his thought
Full range, on just diflike's unbounded field;
Of things, the vanity; of men, the flaws;
Flaws in the beft; the many, flaw all o'er;
As leopards, fpotted, or, as Ethiops, dark;
Vivacious ill; good dying immature ;
(How immature, Narcifla's marble tells !)
And at his death bequeathing endless pain:
His heart, though bold, would ficken at the fight,
And spend itself in fighs, for future feencs.

But grant to life (and juft it is to grant
To lucky life) fome perquifites of joy;
A time there is, when, like a thrice-told tale,
Long-rifled life of fweet can yield no more.
But from our comment on the comedy,
Pleafing reflections on parts well fuftain'd,
Or purpos'd emendations where we fail'd,
Or hopes of plaudits from our candid Judge,
When on their exit, fouls are bid uurobe,
Tofs fortune back her tinfel, and her plume,

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

On big? What means my phrenzy? I blaf pheme;

Alas! how low! how far beneath the skies!
The fkies it form'd; and now it bleeds for me--
But bleeds the balm Iwant-Yet ftill it bleeds ;171
Draw the dire fteel-ah no! the dreadful blefling
What heart or can fuftain, or dares forego?
There hangs all human hope; that nail fupports
The falling univerfe: that gone, we drop; 175
Horror receives us, and the difmal with
Creation had been smother'd in her birth-
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the duft;
When ftars and fun are duft beneath his throne?
In heaven itself can fuch indulgence dwell? 180
O what a groan was there a groan not Flis.
He feiz'd our dreadful right; the load fuftain'd;
And heay'd the mountain from a guilty world.
A thoufand worlds, fo bought, were bought too
dear;

190

Senfations new in angels' bofóms rife ; 185 Sufpend their fong; and make a paufe in blifs. O for their fong; to reach my lofty theme! Infpire me, Night! with all thy tuneful spheres ; Whilft I with feraphs fhare feraphic themes, 130 And fhew to men the dignity of man; Left I blafpheme my fubject with my fong. Shall pagan pages glow celeftial flame, And chriftian languith? on our hearts, not heads, Falls the foul infamy: my heart! awake. What can wake thee, unawak'd by this, Expanded deity on human weal?"

135

When in this vale of years I backward look, And mifs fuch numbers, numbers too of fuch,125 Firmer in health, and greener in their age, And ftricter on their guard, and fitter far, To play life's fubtle game, I fcarce believe I ftill furvive and am I fond of life, Who fearce can think it poflible, I live? Alive by miracle! or what is next, Alive by Mead! if I am still alive, Who long have bury'd what gives life to live, Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought. Life's lee is not more ballow, than impure, And vapid: Senfe and Reafon fhew the door, Call for my bier, and point me to the duft. C thou great arbiter of life and death! Nature's immortal, immaterial fun! Whofe all-prolific beam late call'd me forth From darknefs, teeming darkness, where I lay The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath The duft I tread on, high to bear my brow, To drink the fpirit of the golden day, And triumph in exiflence; and couldft know 145 No motive, but my blifs; and haft ordain'd A rife in blefling with the Patriarch's joy, Thy call I follow to the land unknozon; I truft in thee, and knew in whom I truft; Or life, or death, is equal; neither weighs: All weight in this-Olet me live to thee!

140

150

Though nature's terrors, thus, may be repreft; Still frowns grim Death; guilt pointą the tyrant's fpear.

And whence all human guilt? From death forgot. Ah me! too long I fet at nought the fwarm 155 Cf friendly warnings, which around me flew; And fimil'd, unfmitten; fmall my caufe to i̇mile! Death's admonitions, like fhafts upwards fhot, More dreadful by delay, the longer ere [160 They ftrike our hearts, the deeper is their wound O think how deep, Lorenzo! here it ftings: Who can appeafe its anguifh? how it burns! What hand the barb'd, invenom'd, thought can draw?

What healing hand can pour the balm of peace, And turn my fight undaunted on the tomb? 165 With joy, with grief, that bealing hand I fee Ah! too confpicuous! it is fix'd on high;

[ocr errors]

195

[blocks in formation]

Not thus, our infidels th' eternal draw, 225 A God all o'er, confummate, abfolute, Full orb'd, in his whole round of rays complete : They fet at odds heaven's jarring attributes; And, with one excellence, another wound; Maim heaven's perfection, break its equal beams, Bid mercy triumph over-God himself, Undeify'd by their opprobrious praife: A God all mercy, is a God unjuft.

231

[235

240

Ye brainless wits! ye baptiz'd infidels! Ye worse for mending! wafh'd to fouler strains! The ransom was paid down; the fund of heaven, Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund, Amazing, and amaz'd, pour'd forth the price, All price beyond:, though curious to compute, Archangels fail'd to caft the mighty fum: Its value vaft, ungrafp'd by minds create, For ever hides, and glows, in the Supreme. And was the ranfom paid? it was: and paid (What can exalt the bounty more?) for you. The fun beheld it-no, the fhocking fcene Drove back his chariot : midnight veil'd his face; Not fuch as this; not fuch as nature makes; A midnight nature fhudder'd to behold; A midnight new! a dread eclipfe (without Oppofing fpheres) from her Creator's frown Sun! didft thou fly thy Maker's pain? Or start At that enormous load of human guilt, Which bow'd his bleffed head; o'erwhelm'd his cross;

245

250

Made groan the centre; burft earth's marble womb,

With pangs, ftrange pangs! deliver'd of her dead? 255 Hell howl'd; and heaven that hour let falla tear;

Heaven wept, that men might smile! heaven bled, that man

Might never die !

And is devotion virtue? 'Tis compell'd. What heart of stone but glows at thoughts like 260

thefe?

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

305

This child of duft-Man, all-immortal! hail;
Hail, heaven! all lavish of strange gifts to man
Thine all the glory; man's the boundless blifs. 300
Where am I wrapt by this triumphant theme,
On christian joy's exulting wing, above
Th' Aonian mount !-Alas! fmall caufe for joy!
What if to pain immortal? if extent
Of being, to preclude a clofe of woe?
Where, then, my boaft of immortality?
I boaft it ftill, though cover'd o'er with guilt;
For guilt, not innocence, his life he pour'd,
'Tis guilt alone can justify his death;
Nor that, unless his death can justify
Relenting guilt in heaven's indulgent fight.
If, fick of folly, I relent; he writes
My name is heaven, with that inverted spear
(4 fpear deep-dipt in blood!) which pierc'd his
fide,

310

And open'd there a font for all mankind, 315 Who ftrive, who combat crimes, to drink, and live: This, only this, fubdues the fear of death.

320

And what is this Survey the wondrous cure: And at each step, let higher wonder rife! "Pardon for infinite offence and pardon "Through means that fpeak its value infinite!. "A pardon bought with blood! with blood di vine! is" With blood divine of him, I made foe! "Perfifted to provoke ! though woo'd, and aw'd, Bleft, and chastis'd, a flagrant rebel ftill! 325 "A rebel, 'midst the thunders of his throne! Nor I alone a rebel univerfe!

Such contemplations mount us; and fhould mount The mind ftill higher; nor ever glance on man, nraptur'd, uninflam'd.---Where roll my thoughts To reft from wonders? other wonders rife; And strike where'er they roll; my foul caught: Heaven's fovereign bleffings, clustering from crois,

265

Rush on her, in a throng, and clofe her round, The prifoner of amaze !---in his bleft life

I fee the path, and in his death the price,

the

270

"

my

My fpecies up in arms! not one exempt! "Yet for the fouleft of the foul, he dies," "Moft joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepest guilt! "As if our race were held of highest rank; 335 "And Godhead dearer, as more kind to man!"

Bound, every heart! and every bofom, burn Į O what a fcale of miracles is here!

275Its lowest round, high planted on the fkies; 335 Its towering fummit loft beyond the thought

And in his great afcent the proof fupreme
Of immortality. And did he rife?
Hear, O ye nations! hear it, O ye dead!
He rofe! he rofe! he burft the bars of death.
Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates!
And give the king of glory to come in.
Who is the king of glory? he who left
His throne of glory, for the pang of death!
Lift up your heads, ye everlafting gates!
And give the king of glory to comic in.
Who is the king of glory? he who flew
The ravenous foe, that gorg'd all human race!"
'The king of glory, he, whofe glory fill'd
Heaven with amazement at his love to man;

230

Of man or angel! O that I could climb
The wonderful afcent, with equal praife!
Praife! flow for ever (if aftonifiment

Will give thee leave); my praise for ever flow; 340
Praise ardent, cordial, conftant, to high heaven
More fragrant, than Arabia facrific'd,

And all her spicy mountains in a flame,

So dear, fo due to heaven, fhall praise defcend,, With her foft plume (from plaufive angels wing First pluck'd my man) to tickle mortal ears, 346 Thus diving in the pockets of the great? Is praife the perquifite of every paw, Though black as hell, that grapples well for gold? Oh love of gold! thou meanest of amours! 350 Shall praife her odours wafte on virtue's dead, Embalm the bafe, perfume the ftench of guilt, Earn dirty bread by washing Æthiops fair, Removing filth, or finking it from fight, A fcavenger in fcenes, where vacant posts Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect Their future ornaments? From courts and thrones, Return, apoftate praife! thou vagabond! Thou prostitute! to thy first love return, Thy first, thy greatest, once unrival'd theme. 360 There flow redundant; like Meander flow, Back to thy fountain, to that Parent Power, Who gives the tongue to found, the thought to foar,

355

The foul to be. Men homage pay to men,
Thoughtless beneath whofe dreadful eye they how
In mutual awe profound of clay to clay, 366
Of guilt to guilt; and turn their back on thee,
Great Sire! whom thrones celeftial geafelefs fing:
To proftrate angels, an amazing feene!
O the presumption of man's awe for man!
Man's Author! End! Reftorer! Law! and
Judge!

370

Thine, all; day thine, and thine this gloom of night,

With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds: What, night eternal, but a frown from thee ? [375 What, heaven's meridian glory, but thy fmile? And shall not praise be thine, not human praife? While heaven's high host on ballelujabs live?

O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe My foul in praise to Him, who gave my foul, And all her infinite of profpect fair, Cut through the fhades of hell, great Love by thee O mqft Adorable! moft Unador'd!

380

[blocks in formation]

pomp,

390

This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid!
Built with divine ambition! nought to thee;
For others this profufion: Thou, apart,
Above! Beyond! O tell me, mighty Mind!
Where art thou? Shall I dive into the deep?
Call to the fan, or ask the roaring winds,
For their Creator? Shall I queftion loud
The thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells? 395
Or holds he furious forms in ftreighten'd reins,
And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car?
What mean these questions?-Trembling I re-
tract;

My proftrate foul adores the present God:
Praise I a diftant deity? He tunes

400

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

435

Poor their abundance, humble their fublime,
Languid their energy, their ardour cold,
Indebted ftill, their highest rapture burns;
Short of its mark, defective, though divine.
Still more This theme is man's, and man's
alone ;

Their vaft appointments reach it not: they see
On earth a bounty not indulg'd on high;
And downward look for heaven's fuperior praise!
Firft-born of Ether! high in fields of light! 44C
View man, to fee the glory of your God!
Could angels envy, they had envy'd here;
And fome did envy; and the reft, though gods,
Yet ftill gods unredeem'd (there triumphs man, 445
Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies)
They lefs would feel, though more adorn, my

theme.

450

They fung Creation (for in that they fhar'd):
How role in melody, that child of love!
Creation's great fuperior, man! is thine;
Thine is redemption; they just gave the key:
'Tis thine to raife, and eternize, the fong;
Though human, yet divine; for fhould not thie
Raise man o'er man, and kindle feraphs bere?
Redemption! 'twas creation more fublime;
Redemption! 'twas the labour of the skies;
Far more than labour-It was death in heaven.
A truth fo ftrange! 'twere bold to think it

true;

My voice (if tun'd); the nerve, that writes, fuf- If not far bolder ftill to difbelieve!

tains:

Wrap; in his being, I refound his praifg:

455

Here paufe, and ponder was there death în heaven?

« AnteriorContinuar »