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THE

COMPLAINT ;

OR

NIGHT THOUGHTS,

ON

UFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.

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THE

COMPLAINT;

OR,

NIGHT THOUGHTS,

ON

LIFE, DEATH,

AND

Immortality.

BY EDWARD YOUNG, L. L. D.

WITH THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR*

LONDON :

PRINTED FOR THOMAS TEGG,

111, CHEAPSIOE.

1812.

Co

/ t V

'^

MEMOIRS

OF THE LATE

DR. EDWARD YOUNG.

EDWARD YOUNG, L. L. D. author of the Night Thoughts, a id many other excellent pieces, was the only son of Dr. Edward Young, an emi- nent, learned, and judicious divine, dean of Sarum, fellow of Winchester college, and rector of Uphain, in Hampshire. He was born in the year 1684, at Upham ; and, after being educated in Winchester college, was chosen on the foundation of New Col- lege at Oxford, October 13th, 1703, when he was nineteen years of age ; but being superannuated *, and there being no vacancy of a fellowship, he re- moved before the expiration of the year to Corpus Christi, where he entered himself a gentleman commoner.

In 1708, he was put into a law fellowship, at all Souls, by Archbishop Tennison. Here he look the degree of B. C. L. in 1714, and in 1119,

* Disqualified on account of his years. A

VI MEMOIRS OF THE

D. C. L. In this year he published his Tragedy of Busiris : in 1721, the Revenge ; and in 1723, the Brothers : about this time he published his elegant Poem on the Last Day, which being wrote by a Layman, gave the more satisfaction. He soon after published the Force of Religion, or Van- quished Love, a poem, which also gave much pleasure, to most who read it, but more especially to the noble family for whose entertainment it was principally written. Some charge the Author with a stiffness of versification in both these poems ; but they met with such success as to procure him the particular friendship of several of the nobility, and among the rest the patronage of the Duke of Wharton, which greatly helped him in his finances. By his Grace's* recommen- dation, he put up for member of parliament for Cirencester, * but did not succeed. His noble patron honoured him with his company to All Souls ; and, through his instance and persuasion, was at the expence of erecting a considerable part of the new buildings then carrying on in that college. The turn of his mind leading him to divinity, he quitted the law, which he had never practised, and taking orders, was appointed chaplain in ordinary to king George H. April 1728.

In that year he published a Vindication of Provi- dence, in 4to. and soon after his Estimate of Human Life, in the same size, which have gone through several editions in 12mo. and thought by many to be the best of his prose performances. In 1730, he was presented by his college to the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire, reputed

* He was naturally of an ambitions temper and dis- positioo.

LATE DR. EDWARD YOUNG. Vll

worth 3001. a year, besides the lordship of the Manor annexed to it. He was married in 1731, to lady Betty Lee, widow of Colonel Lee, and daughter to the earl of Litchfield, (a lady of an eminent genius and great poetical talents) who brought him a son and heir not long after their marriage.

Though always in high esteem with many of the first rank, he never rose to great prefer- ment. He was a favorite of the late Prince of Wales, his present Majesty's father; and, for some years before his death, was a pretty constant attendant at Court; but, upon the Prince's de- cease, all his hopes of farther rising in the church were at an end ; and, towards the latter part of h\s life, his very desire of it seemed to be laid aside ; for in his* Night Thoughts he observes, that there was one, (meaning himself) in Britain born, with courtiers bred, who thought even wealth might come a day too late; however, upon the death of Dr. Hales, in 1761, he was made Clerk of the Closet to the Princess Dowager of Wales.

About the year 1741, he had the unhappiness to lose his wife, and both her children, which she had by her first husband ; a son and a daughter, very promising characters. They all died within a short time of each other : that he felt greatly for their loss, as well as for that of his lady, may easily be perceived by his fine poem of the Night Thoughts, occasioned by it. This was a species of poetry peculiarly his own, and has been un- rivalled by all who have attempted to copy him. His applause here was deservedly great. The unhappy Bard, " whose griefs in melting numbers flow, and melancholy joys diffuse around," has A2

!Viii MEMOIRS OFTHS

been often sung by the profane as well as pious. They were written, as before observed, under the recent pressure of his sorrow for the loss of his wife, and his daughter and son-in- law ; they are addressed to Lorenzo, a man of pleasure, and the world, aiid who, it is generally supposed, (and very probably) "was his j||; own son, then labouring under his father's displeasure. His son-in-law is said to be characterised by Phi- lander ; and his daughter was certainly the person he speaks of under the appellation of Narcissa : See Night 3. 1. 62. In her last illness he accom- panied her to Montpelier, in the south of France, where she died soon after her arrival in the city *.

After her death it seems she was denied Chris- tian burial t, on account of being reckoned a here- tic, by the inhabitants of the place ; which inhu- manity is justly resented in the same beautiful poem : See Night 3, line 165 ; in which his wife also is frequently mentioned ; and he thus laments the loss of all three in an apostrophe to death :

I " Insatiate Archer ! could not one suffice ? ** Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain ; ** And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fiU'd her horn."

* She died of a consumption, occasioned by her grief for the death of her mother.

t The Priests refusing the Doctor leave to bury his daughter in one of their church-yards, he was obliged, with the assistance of his servant, to dig a grave in a field near Montpelier, where they deposited the body without' the help of any of the inhabitants, who consider protestants in the same light as they do brutes

LATE DR. EDWARD YOUNG. IX

He wrote his conjectures on Original Com- position, when he was turned of 80; if it has blemishes mixed with its beauties, it is not to be wondered at, when we consider his great age, and the many infirmities which generally attend such an advanced period of life. However, the many excellent remarks this work abounds with, make it justly esteemed as a brightening before death : the Resignation, a poem, the last and least esteemed of all Dr. Young's works, was published a short time before his death, and only served to manifest the taper of genius, which had so long shone with peculiar brightness in him, was now glimmering in the socket. He died in his parson- age-house, at Welwyn, April 12th, 1765, and was buried, according to his own desire, (attended by all the poor of tiie parish) under the altar-piece of that church, by the side of his wife *. This altar- piece is reckoned one of the most curious in the kingdom, adorned with an elegant piece of needle- work by the late lady Betty Young f.

Before the Doctor died, he ordered all his ma- nuscripts to be burnt. Those that knew how much he expressed in a small compass, and that he never wrote on trivial subjects, will lament both the excess of his modesty (if I may so term it) and

* The bell did not toll at his funeral, nor was any person allowed to be in mourning.

t In the middle of it are inscribed these words, '* I am the bread oflife." On the north side of the chancel is thift inscription, as supposed by the Doctor's orders, " ViR* GiNiBLS — Increase in Wisdom and Understanding;" and opposite, on the south side, " Pubrisque — and in favour with God and Man."

See App. to Biog. Brit* A3

X MEMOIRS OF THE

the irreparable loss to posterity ; especially when it is considered, that he was the intimate acquain- tance of Addison, and was himself one of the writers of the Spectator.

In his life-time he published two or three ser- mons, one of which was preached before the House of Commons. He left an only son and heir, Mr. Frederick Young, who had the first part of his edu- cation at Winchester school, and became a scholar upon the Foundation ; was sent, in consequence thereof, to New College in Oxford ; but there be- ing no vacancy, (though the Society waited for no less than two years) he was admitted in the mean time in Baliol College, where he behaved so im- prudently as to be forbidden the College. This misconduct disobliged his father so much, that he never would suffer him to come into his sight afterwards : however, by his will, he bequeathed to him, after a few legacies, his whole fortune, which was considerable.

As a Christian and Divine, he might be said to be an example of primeval piety : he gave a re- markable instance of this one Sunday, when preach- ing in his turn at St. James's ; for, though he strove to gain the attention of his audience, when he found he could not prevail, his pity for their folly got the better of all decorum ; he sat back in the pulpit, and burst into a flood of tears.

The turn of his mind was naturally solemn ; and he usually, when at home in the country, spent many hours in a day walking among the tombs in his own churchyard. His conversation, as well as writings, had all a reference to a future life ; and this turn of mind mixed itself even with his improvemeuts in gardening : he had, for instance, an alcove, with a bench so well painted in it, that.

LATE DR. EDWARD YOUNG. XI

at a distance, it seemed to be real, but upon a nearer approach, the deception was perceived, and this motto appeared,

INVISIBILIA NGN DECIPIUNT.

The things unseen do not deceive us. Yet, notwithstanding this gloominess of temper, he was fond of innocent sports and amusements. He instituted an assembly and a bowling-green in his parish, and often promoted the mirth of the company in person. His wit was ever poignant*, and always levelled at those who shewed any con- tempt for decency and religion. His epigram, spoken extempore upon Voltaire, is well known : Voltaire happening to ridicule Milton's allegorical personages of death and sin. Dr. Young thus ad- dressed him : —

Thou art so witty, profligate and thin, Thou seem'st a Milton with his death and sin.

As to his character as a poet, his composition was instinct in his youth, with as much vanity as was necessary to excel in that art. He published a collection of such of his works as he thought the best in 1761, in four volumes, duodecimo; and another was published since. Among these, his satires, intituled, " The Love otl Fame,** or, ** The Universal Passion," are by most considered as his principal performance. They are finely characteristic of that excessive pride, or rather folly, of following prevailing passions, and aiming to be more than we really are, or can possibly be.

* In his last illness, a friend of the Doctor's calling to know how he did, and mentioning the death of a person, who had been in a decline a long time, said he was quite woi-n to a shell, by the time he died ; very likely, replied the Doctor, bat what has become of the kernal.

Xll MEMOIRS OF THE

They were written in early life, and, if smoothness of stile, brilliancy of wit, and simplicity of sub- ject^ can ensure applause, our author may demand it on this occasion. After the death of his wife, as he had never given any attention to domestic affairs, so knowing his unfitness for it, he referred the whole care and manngenient of his family to his house-keeper, to whom he left a handsome le- gacy.

It is observed by Dean Swift, that if Dr. Young, in his satires, had been more merry or severe, they would have been more generally pleasing; because mankind are more apt to be pleased with ill-nature and mirth than with solid sense and instruction. It is also observed of his " Night Thoughts, that, though they are chiefly flights of thinking almost super-human, such as the description of death, from his secret stand, noting down the follies of a Bacchanalian Society, the epitaph upon the de- parted world, and the issuing of Satan from his dungeon ; yet these, and a great number of other remarkable fine thoughts, are sometimes overcast with an air of gloominess and melancholy *, which liave a disagreeable tendency, and must be un- pleasing to a cheerful mind ; however, it must be

* The Night Thoughts undoubtedly have their defects, as well as beauties ; but it is generally allowed the latter are far more numerous, and so remarkably striking and con- epicuous to the disc^^rning Reader, as, in his view, to eclipse the failings which otherwise might be discovered therein.

Dr. Young was convinced of the impropriety of writing the Night Thoughts in a stile so much above the under- standing of common readers, and said to a frien 1, a week or two before he died, that was he to publish such another treatise ( respecting subjects) it should be in less elevated language, and more suited to the capacities of all.

LATE DR. EDWARD YOUNG. Xlll

acknowledged by all, that they evidence a singu- lar genius, a lively fancy, an extensive knowledge of men and things, especially of the feelings of the human heart, and paint, in the strongest colours, the vanity of life, witli all its fading honours and emoluments, the benefits of true piety, especially in the views of death, and the most unanswerable arguments, in support of the soul's immortality, and a future state.

G. W.

PREFACE.

AS the occasion of this Poem was real, not fic- titious ; so the method pursued in it, was rather imposed, by what spontaneously arose in the Author's mind, on that occasion, than meditated, or designed. Which will appear very probable from the nature of it. For it differs from the common mode of poetry, which is, from long nar- rations to draw short morals. Here, on the con- trary, the narrative is short, and the morality aris- ing from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reason of it is, that the facts mentioned did natu- rally pour these moral reflections on the thought of the writer.

THE

COMPLA.INT.

NIGHT L

ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.

HUHBLY INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ; SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS,

TlR'D Nature's sweet Restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes' Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe. And lights on lids unsully'd with a tear.

From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose, I wake : How happy they, who wake no more ! Yet that were vain, if dj^^pis infpst the grave. I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous ; where my wreck'd desponding thought^ From wave to wave of ^jicjLd-ijiisery, At rapdomdrove, her helnL£>f Aeaspn.lQst.

2, THE COMPLAINT.

Though now restor'd, 'tis only change of pain,

(A bitter change !) severer for severe.

The Day too short for my distress ; and Night,

Ev'n in the zenith of her dark domain.

Is sunshine to the colour of my fate.

Night, say£^gQdil£^ ! from her ebon throne. In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world. Silence, how dead ; and darkness, how profound ! Nor eye, nor list'ning ear, an object finds ; Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse Of Life stood still, and Nature made a pause ; An awful pause ! prophetic of her end. And let her prophecy be soon fulfill'd : Fate, drop the curtain ; I can lose no more.

^>jlf ncft and Darkness ' solemn sisters ! twins From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought To Reason, and on Reason build Resolve, (That column of true majesty in man) Assist me : I will thank you in the grave ; The grave, your kingdom : there this frame shall fall A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.

, But what are ye ?

i THOU, who didst put to jUight Primeval silence, when the morning stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ; O THOU, whose word from solid darkness struck Thaf spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul ; My soul, which flies to Thee, her trust, her treasure, As misers to their gold, while others rest.

Through this opaque of Nature and of Soul, This double night, transmit one pitying ray, To lighten and to cheer. O lead my mind, (A mind that fain would wander from its woe) Lead it through various scenes of life and death ; And, from each scene, the noblest truths inspire.

NIGHT THE FIRST.

Nor less inspire my Conduct, 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 vain.

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 1 My hopes and fears Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down. — On wJiat? a fathomless abyss ! A dread jternity! how surely mine ! AndcarTeternity 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 passing wonder HE, who made him such! Who center'd in our make such strange extremes I From diff'rent natures marvellously mixf ; "

Connexion exquisite of distant worlds ! Distinguished link in being's endless chain, Midway from nothin^Jto the Deity ! A beam ethereal, sully'dV and absoVpt ! Though sully 'd and dishonour'd, still djvine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! Helpless immortal ! insect infinite !

f n opr^ri j — I tremble at myself, *- ^

And~m myselt am lost ! at home a stranger, 'J'liought wanders up and down, surpris'd, aghast. And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels I

b2

4 THE COMPLAINT.

O what a miracle to man is man. Triumphantly distressed ! what joy, what dread ! Alternately transported, and alarm'd ! What can preserve my life ] or what destroy ? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; Legions of angels can't confine me there.

'Tis past conjecture ; all things rise in proef : While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spread : What though my soul l^te^stic m^,ff|siires trod O'er fairy fields ! or mourn'd along the gloom Of pathless woods ! or down the craggy steep Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool; Or scal'd the cliff; or danc'd on hollow winds. With antic shapes, wild natives^ of the bram? Her ceaseless flightTTEo' devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod ; Active, aerial, tow'ring, unconfin'd, ^

Ajjifetfpr^A \vitj> her grgss_co^rapanioiVs_£ill« i Ev'n silent night proclaims my soul immortal : Ev'n silent night proclaims eternal day. For human weal, heav'n husbands all events ; Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vam.

Why then their loss deplore, that are not lost? Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around. In infidel distress? Are angels there? Slumbers, rak'd up in dust, ethereal fire?

They live ! they greatly live a life on earth Unkindled, unconceiv'd ; and from an eye Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall On me, more justly number'd with the dead.

"^his is the desert, this the solitude : ^

JHow populous, how vital, is the grdvelsA This is creation's melancholy vault, ^^ The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom ; j The land of apparitions, empty shades ! |

-All, all on earth, is shadow, all beyond ^

NIGHT THE FIRST.

Is substance; the reverse is folly's creed: How solid all, where change shall be no mor^!

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn. The twilight of our day, the vestibule ; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death. Strong death, alone can heave tlie massy bar. This gross 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, slumb'ring in his sire.

he she_.j^,

to life, -'J^^'^^y^

Embryos we must be, till we bur_s1; the shellj/^^^ ^

Yon ambient a^ure j§|i^llr and spring to life, ^'^'^'^^y^ The life of gods^O transport ! and of man. ^^'^6^

Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts; Inters celestial hopes without one sigh. Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon. Here pinions all his wishes ; wing'd by heav'n To fly at infinite; and reach it there. Where seraphs gather immortality. On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God. What golden joys ambrosial clust'ring glow. In HIS full beam, and ripen for the just. Where momentary ages are no more ! Where time, and pain, and chance, and death expire ! And is it in the flight of threescore years. To push eternity from human thought. And smother souls immortal in the dust? A soul immortal spending all her fires. Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, rapturM, or alarm'd. At aught this scene can threaten or indulge. Resembles ocean into tempest wrought. To waft a feather or to drown a fly.

Where falls this censure? It o'eftwhelms myself ; How was my heart incrusted by the world ! B 3

f

6 THE COMPLAINT.

P how self-fetter'd was my grov'ling soul ! r How, like a wonn, was I wrapt round and round *7 J^ In silken tliought, which jeptile Fanc\ spun, J Till darkened reason lay quite clouded o'er With soft conceit of endless comfort here. Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies ! , Night-visions ma^ befriend (as sung above:) Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dreamt'**\ Of thingsjrappssible ! (Could sleep do raore?)«J (JTjoys perpetual in perpetual change ! Df stable pleasures on the tossing wave f Eternal sunshine in the storms of life ! How richly were my noon-tide trances hung With gorgeous tapestries of pictured joys ! Joy behind joy, in endless perspective ; rill at death's toll, wl'ose restless irpn tongue Calls daily for his 'millions at a meal. "^ Starting 1 woke, and lound myself undone. Where now my frenzy's pompous furniture? The cobweb'd cottage, with its ragged wall Of mouWring mud, is royalty to me ! The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss ; it breaks at every breeze.

O ye blest scenes of permanent delight! Full above measure; lasting beyond bound! A perpetuity of bliss is bliss. Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end, That ghastly thought would drink up all your joy, And quite unparadise the realms of light. Safe are you lodg'd above these ruling spheres ; The baleful influence of whose gjddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneatliT Here teems with revolutions every hour; And rarely for the better ; or the best, More mortal than the common births of fate.

NIGHT THE FIRST. '^

^^ch Moment has its , sickle, emulous OFrime's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from tlie root ; each Moment plays His little weapon in the narrower sphere Of sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss.

Bliss ! sublunary bliss ! — proud words and vain ! Implicit treason to divine degree ! A bold invasion of the rights of heav*n ! I clasp!dllhe phantoms, and I found. ilifiUL^air. O had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace ! What darts of agony had miss'd my heart ! CDeatliT^ great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. The sun himself by thy permission shines ; And, one day, thou shalt pluck him from his sphere. Amid such mighty plunder, why exhaust Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean ? Why thy peculiar rancour wreak'd on me] Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Ji/.i^i.

Thy shaft flew thrice ; and thrice my peace was slain ; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her hern. O Cynthia r why so pale? Dost thou lament Thy wretched neighbour? Grieve to see thy wheel Of ceaseless change outwhirVd in human life ? How wanes my borrow'tl bliss from fortune's smile. Precarious courtesy ; not virtue's sure, Self-given, solar ray of sound delight.

In ev'ry posture, place, and hour, Howwidow'd ev'ry thought of ev'ry joy! Thought, busy thought ! too busy for my peace ! Through the dark postern of time long laps'd. Led softly, by the stillness of the night. Led, like a murderer, and such it proves ! Strays (wretched rover) u'er the pleasing past; In quest of wretchedness perversely strays ;

8 THE COMPLAINT.

And finds all desert now; and meets the ghosts Of my departed joys ; a num'rous train ! I rue the riches of my former fate ; Sweet comfort's blasted clusters I lament ; I tremble at the blessings once so dear; And every pleasure pains me to the heart.

Yet why complain ? or why complain for one ? Hangs out the sun his lustre but for me. The single man? Are angeh all beside? I mourn for millions : 'Tis the common lot ; In this shape, or in that, has fate entail'd The mother's throes on all of woman born, Not more the children, than sure heirs, of pain.

War, Famine, Pest, Volcano, Storm and Fire, Intestine broils. Oppression, with her heart Wrapt up in treble brass, besiege mankind. God's image disinherited of day. Here, plung'd in mines, forgets a sun was made. There beings, deathless as their haughty lord. Are hammer'd to the galling oar for life ; And plow the winter's wave, and reap despair. Some, for hard masters, broken under anus. In battle lopt away, with half their limbs. Beg bitter bread through realms their valour sav'd. If so the tyrant, or Jiis minion doom. Want, and incurable disease, (fell pair !) On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize At once ; and make a refuge of the grave. How groaning hospitals eject their dead ! What numbers groan for sad admission there! What numbers, once in fortune's lap high fed. Solicit the cold hand of charity ! To shock us more, solicit it in vain ! Ye silken sons of pleasure ! since in pains You rue more modish visits, visit here, And breathe from your debauch: Give, md reduce

I

n;ight the first.

Surfeit's dominion o'er you : But so great Your impudence, you blush at what is right.

Happy ! did sorrow seize on such alone. Not prudence can defend, or virtue save ; Disease invades the chastest temperance ; And punishment the guiltless ; and alarm. Through thickest shades, pursues the fond of peace. Man's caution often into danger turns, And, his guard falling, crushes him to death. Not happiness itself makes good her name; Our very wishes give us not our wish. How distant oft the thing we doat on most. From that from which we doat, felicity ! The smoothest course of nature has its pams ; And truest friends, through error, wound our rest. Without misfortune, what calamities ! And what hostilities, without a foe ! Nor are foes wanting to the best on earth. But endless is the list of human ills, And sighs might sooner fail, than cause to sigh.

A part how small of the terraqueous globe Is tenanted by man ; the rest a waste. Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands : Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings, and death. Such is eartli's melancholy map ! But, far More sad ! this earth is a true map of man, So bounded are its haughty lord's delights To woe's wide empire ; where deep troubles toss, Loud sorrows howl, envenom'd passions bite, Rav'nous calamities our vitals seize. And threat'ning fate wide opens to devour.

What then am I, who sorrow for myself? In age, in infancy, from others' aid Is all our hope; to teach us to be kind. That, nature'^s first, last lesson to mankind ; The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels.

ae.

10 THE COMPLAINT.

More geii'rous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts ; And conscious virtue mitigates the pang. Nor virtue, more than prudence, bids me give Swoln thought a second channel ; who divide, Tiiey weaken, too, the torrent of their grief. Take then, O World ! thy much indebted tear :

rHow sad a sight is human happiness

^^o those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour'

0 thou ! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults ! Would st thou I should congratulate thy fate?

1 know thou would'st ; thy pride demands it from me, Let thy pride pardon, what thy nature needs. The salutary censure of a friend. Thou happy wretch ! by blindness thou art blest ; By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles. Know, smiler ; at thy peril art thou pleas'd ; Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain. Misfortune, like a creditor severe, But rises in demand for her delay ; She makes a scourge of past posterity. To sting thee more, and double thy distress.

Lorenzo, Fortune makes her court to thee, Thy fond heart dances, while the Syren sings. Dear is thy welfare ; think me not unkind ; I would not damp, but to secure thy joys. Think not that fear is sacred to the storm : Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate. Is heav'n tremendous in its frowns? Most sure; And in its favours formidable too. Its favours here are trials, not rewards ; A call to duty, not discharge from care; And should alarm us, full as much as woes ; Awake us to their cause, and consequence ; And make us tremble, weigh'd with our desert ; Awe nature's tumult, and chastise her joys. Lest while we clasp we kill them ; nay, invert

I

NIGHT THE FIRST. 11

To worse than simple misery, their charms. Revolted joys, likes foes in civil war. Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd. With rage enveuom'd rise against our peace. Beware what earth calls happiness ; beware All joys, but joys that never can expire. Who builds on less than an immortal base, Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death.

Mine dy'd with thee. Philander! thy last sigh Dissolv'd the charm; the disenchanted earth Lost all her lustre. Where her glitt'ring towers 1 Her golden mountains, where? ail darken'd down

.To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears ;

Jfhe great magician's dead f^ XiJiiU'POj&r* -pale-jdfiCfi Of out-cast earth^injdarkji£Ss.L what a change From^esterday ! Thy darling hope so near, (Long labour'd prize!) O how ambition flush'd Thy flowing cheek ! Ambition truly great. Of virtuous praise. Death' s_subJtle seed withia, •*-< — (§ly^ treach'rous miner!) working in the dark, Srail'd at thy well-concerted scheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose_sjQjred. c^ - Unfaded ere it fell ; one moment's prey ! Man's foresight is conditionally wise;

Lorenzo ! wisdom into folly turns j \ I VJL

Oft, the fir^t instant, its ide^ fair p^^^\ Mi^^^^-^^^aT^ To labouringtEought is born. How dim our eye!

i Tile present momeiiTTeirninates our sight; Clouds, thick as those on doomsday, drown the next;

! We penetrate, we prophesy in vain. h W aAI

Tiirnp is tolti 1^"^ ^y p^'-^'^''^« • and each, '^ I '

; Eremmgled with the streaming sands of life,

j By fate's inviolable oath is sworn

'Deep silence, " Where eternity begins." -^"7 *^

\C^y nature s law, what may be, may be no\y : /^ ^

^^"ire's no prerogative in human hours. ,

12 THE COMPLAINT.

in human hearts what bolder tliouj^ht can rise, /Crhan man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn 1

iJVhere is to-morrow ? In another world. J For numbers this is certain ; the reverse ' Is sure to none; and yet on this perhaps.

This peradventure, infamous for lies.

As on a rock of adamant we build_

^Our mountain hopes ;t|spm out eternal schemes^"^ ^^^we^llieTatal sisters could out-spin, t j

-^ Ana, big with life's fut^rities^ expire.

Not ev'n Philander had bespoke his shroud.

Nor had he cause ; a warning was deny'd :

How many fall as sudden, not as safe !

As sudden, though for years admonjsh'd home.

Of human ills the last extreme beware,

Beware Lorknzo ! a slow sudden death.

How dreadtiil that deliberate surprise !

Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer;

Next day the fatal precedent will plead ;

Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. ^Procrastination is the thief of time ;

Year after year it steals, till all are fled.

And fn thp ^f rdi^s,of a mament kaves

^Thp Yiif^i rf^nrt^rm of an eternal scene.

If not so frequent, would not this be strange ?

That 'tis so frequent, This is stranger still. Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears

CThe palm, "THiataiLiiien^are about to live,'' Eor-ijieto»4he. brink of beingnSorn. ' ^ All pay themselves the compliment to think They one day shall not drivel : and their pride On this reversion takes up ready praise ; At least, their own; their future^sel ves applaud^; How excellent that fiFe they ne'er^vill Ifeaa 1 Time lodg'd in their own hands is Folly's vails; That lodg'd in Fate's, to wisdom they consign ;

I

NIGHT THE FIRST. 13

The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone;

'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool ;

And scarce in human wisdom to do more.

All promise is poor dilatory man.

And that through ev'ry stage : when young, indeed.

In full content we, sometimes, nobly rest,

Unanxious for ourselves ; and only wish.

As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.

At thirty man suspects himself a fool;

Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;

At fifty chides his infamous delay.

Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;

In all the magnanimity of thought

Kesolves ; and re-resolves ; then dies the same. .

And why XJSeeau&e^lie^thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves ; TThemselves, when some alarming shock of fate Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread ; But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air. Soon close; where past tlie shaft, no trace is found. As frojm the wing no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel ; So dies in human hearts the thpuglit of death. ^Ev'n with the tender tear which nature sheds O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. Can I forget Philander] That were strange!

0 my full heart But should I give it vent.

The longest night, though longer far, would fail. And the lark listen to my midnight song.

The sprightly lark's shrill matin wakes the morn; Grief's sharpest thorn hard pressing on my breast,

1 strive, with wakeful melody, to cheer

j The sullen gloom, sweet Philomel ! like Thee,

And call the stars to listen : ev'ry star ! Is deaf to mine, enamour'd of thy lay. JCet be not vain ; there are who thine excel,

t

i4 THE COMPLAINT.

And charm through distant ages: wrapt in shad6,

Pris'ner of darkness ! to the silent hours.

How often I repeat their rage divine.

To lull my griefs, and steal my heart from woe !

I roll their raptures, but not catch their fire.

Dark, though not blind, like the Maeonides ! ^ ,

Or, Milton ! thee ; ah, could 1 reach your strainT*-^'

Or his, who made Maeonides our own. jMan too he sung: immortal man I sing; lOft burstsmjr song beyond the bounds of life ; •What, now, buf Immortality can please ?

O had he press'd his theme, pursued the track.

Which opens out of darkness into day !

O had he, mounted on his wing of fire,

Soar'd where I sink, and sung immortal man !

How had it bless'd mankind, and rescued me!

i

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT II, ON TIME, DEATH, AND FRIENDSHIP.

lUMBLY IN8C7<IBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF WILMINGTON.

HEN the Cock crew, he wept,'— smote by that

eye, ich looks on me, on all : that power, who bids This midnight centinel, with clarion shrill. Emblem of that which shall awake the dead. Rouse souls from slumber into thoughts of Heav^u. Shall I too weep ? Where then is fortitude 1 And, fortitude abandoned, where is man ? I know the terms on which he sees the light: He that is born, is listed; life is war; Eternal war with woe. Who bears it best, Jeserres it least.«-Oii other themes Til dwell.

I

I

16 THE COMPLAINT.

Lorenzo ! let me turn my thoughts on thee. And thine, on themes may profit ; profit there. Where most thy need. Themes, too, the genuine

growth Of dear Philander's dust. He, thus, though dead. May still befriend — What themes ? Time's wondrous

price. Death, Friendship, and Philander's final scene. So could I touch these themes, as might obtain Thine ear, nor leave thy heart quite disengaged. The good deed would delight me ; half impress On my dark cloud an Iris ; and from grief Call glory — Dost thou mourn Philander's fate? I know thou say'st it : says thy life the same ? He mourns the dead, who lives as they desire. Where is that thrift, that avarice of TIME, (O glorious avarice !) thought of death inspires. As rumour'd robberies endear our gold ? O Time ! than gold more sacred ; more a load Than lead, to fools ; and fools reputed wise. What moment granted man without account ; What years are squandered, wisdom's debt unpaid 1 Our wealth in days all due to that discharge. Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the door. Insidious Death ! should his strong hand arrest No composition sets the prisoner free. Eternity's inexorable chain Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full arrear. How late I shudder'd on the biink ! how late Life call'd for her last refuge in despair 1 That time is mine, O Mead ! to thee I owe; Fain would I pay thee with eternity. But ill my genius answers my desire ; My sickly &ong is mortal, past thy cure. Accept the wiU ;— that dies not with my strain. For what calls thy disease, Lorenzo? not

I

night' THE SECOND. 17

or Esculapian, but for moral aid. Thou think'st it folly to be wise too soon. Youth is not rich in Time, it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing ; pay No moment, but in purchase of its worth ; And what is worth, ask death-beds ; they can tell. Part with it as with life, reluctant ; big With holy hope of nobler time to come ; Time higher aim'd, still nearer the great mark Of men and angels ; virtue more divine.

Is this our duty, wisdom, glory, gain 1 (These heav'n benign in vital union binds) And sport wc like the natives of the bough. When vernal suns inspire ? Amusement reigns Man's great demand : to trifle is to live : And is it then a trifle, too, to die 1

Thou say'st I preach, Lorenzo ! 'Tis confest. What, if for once, I preach thee quite awake ] Who wants amusement in the flame of battle j Is it not treason, to the soul immortal. Her foes in arms, eternity the prize ? Will toys amuse, when med'ciues cannot cure ? When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes. Their lustre lose, and lessen in our sight, As lands, and cities with their glitt'ring spires. To the poor shattered bark, by sudden storm Thrown off to sea, and soon to perish there 1 Will toys amuse ? No : thrones will then be toys, And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale.

Redeem we time ? — Its loss we dearly buy. What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports ? He pleads time's numerous blanks ; he loudly pleads The straw-like trifles on life's common stream. From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee ; No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. Virtue, or purposed virtue, still be thine; c 3

I

16 THE COMPLAINT.

TIlis cancels thy complaint at once, this leaves

In act no trifle, and no blank in time.

This greatens, fills, immortalizes all ;

This, the blest art of turning all to gold ;

This, the good heart's prerogative to raise

A royal tribute from the poorest hours ;

Immense revenue ; ev'ry moment pays.

If nothing more than purpose in thy power ;

Thy purpose firm, is equal to the deed :

Who does the best his circumstance allows.

Does M'ell, acts nobly; angels could no more.

Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint;

'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer;

Guard well thy thought; our thoughts are heard in heaven. On all important Time, through ev'ry age,

Tho' much, and warm, the wise have urg'd the man

Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour.

*' I've lost a day,'' the prince who nobly cry'd

Had been an emperor without his crown;

Of Rome 1 say, rather, lord of human race :

He spoke, as if deputed by mankind.

So should all speak : so reason speaks in all :

From the soft whispers of that God in man.

Why fly to folly, why to phrenzy fly.

For rescue from the blessing we possess ? "^ime the supreme ! — Time is Eternity ;

Pregnan.tjwith all etermfvcan give;

Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile.

Who murders time, he crushes in the birth i ^-posveiLiitll^^real, only not adored.

Ah! how unjust to nature, and himself.

Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man !

Like children babbling nonsense in their sports.

Who censure nature for a span too short ;

That span too short, we tax as tedious too ;

NIGHT THE SECOND. 19

re invention, ail expedients tire, sh the liiig'ring moments into speed, nd whirl us (happy riddance !) from ourselves.

4rf ,. htainlpstt- Art r niir §irif^ii;i rh^rinfPPr,

(For Nature's voice unstifled would recall) Drives headlong tow'rds the precipice of death ;

feath, most our dread; death thus more dreadful made; v what a riddle of absurdity ! Leisure is pain ; takes off our chariot wheels ; How heavily we drag the load of life ! Blest leisure is our curse ; like that of Cain, It makes us wander ; wander earth around To fly that tyrant, thought. As Atlas groan'd The world beneath,, we groan beneath an hour. We cry for mercy to^heTnext amusement ; 'Hie next amusement mortgages our fields; Slight inconvenience ! prisons hardly frown. From hateful Time if prisons set us free. Yet when Death kindly tenders us relief. We call him cruel ; years to moments shrink. Ages to years. Tf^p ^elpsmpp is furu'd. To man's false optics (from his folly false) Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings. And seems to creep, decrepit with his age ; Behold him, when past by ; what then is seen. But his broad pinions swifter than the winds 1 And all mankind, in contradiction strong. Rueful, aghast ! cry out on his career.

I Leave to thy foes these errors, and these ills ; 6 nature just, their cause and cure explore, bt short heaven's bounty, boundless our expense ; b niggard, nature; men are prodigals. We waste, not use our time ; we breathe, not live,

T'ipiP wasff^r^ \f^ f^^i<it0no^^ UScd js life.

And bare existence, man, to live brdaih'd.

i

aO THE COMPLAINT.

Wrings, and oppresses with enormous weight.

And why? since Time was given for use, not waste,

Injoi^'d to fly : with tempest, tide, and stars.

To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man ;

Time's use was doom'd a pleasure: waste a pain;

That man might feel his error, if unseen :

And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure.

Not, blund'ring, split on idleness for ease.

Life's cares are comforts; such by heav'n design'd;

He that has none, must make them, or be wretched.

Cares are employments; and without employ

The soul is on a rack ; the rack of rest.

To souls most adverse ; action all their joy.

Here then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds; Then Time turns torment, when man turns a fool. We rave, we wrestle, with Great Nature's Plan ; We thwart the Deity ; and 'tis decreed. Who thwart his will, shall contradict their own. Hence our unnatural quarrels with ourselves ; Our thoughts at enmity ; our bosom-broils ; We £askJimft-fraiiUia^.^d_we wish him bacj^ . tavishof lustrums, and yet fond of life; Life we think long, and short; Death seek and shun; Body and soul like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loth to part.

Oh the dark days of vanity ! while here. How tasteless ! and how terrible, when gone ! Gone! they ne'er go; when past, they haunt us still;] The spirit walks of ev'ry day deceas'd ; I

And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. Nor death, nor life delight us. (Jf time past. And time possest, both pain us, what can please ? That which the Deity to please ordain'd. Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours By vig'rous effort, and an honest aim. At once he draws the sting of life and death;

NIGHT THE SECOND. 21

|.........,..,.„,

^F Our error's cause and cure are seen : see next Time's Nature, Origin, and Importance, Speed ; And thy great gain from urging his career.— AU^sensualjaaiJiecaus^ju^ He looks on Time as nothings Nothing else Ts truly inarTsT^s^^i^uhe s— Time's a god. Hast thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence 1 For, or against, what wonders he can do ! And will: to stand blank neuter he disdains. Not on those terms was Time (heav'ns stranger !) sent On his important embassy to man. Lorenzo ! no: on the long-destin'd honr. From everlasting ages growing ripe, That memorable hour of wondrous birth, When the Dread Sire, on emanation bent. And big with nature, rising in his might, Call'd forth Creation (for then Time was born) By Godhead streaming through a thousand worlds ; Not on those terras from the great days of heaven. From old eternity's mysterious orb,

i^-Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies ; .

I The skies which watch him in his new abode, "(i/*^

i Measuriflg.hjg motions by revolving spheres;

> That horologe machinery divine.

Hours," days, and months, and years, his children,

play, Like num'rous wings around him, as he flies ; Or, rather, as unequal plumes they shape His ample pinions, swift as darted flame. To gain his goal, to reach his antient rest. And join anew Eternity, his sire; In his immutability to nest.

When worlds, that count his circles now, unhing'd, (Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush To timeless night and chaos, whence they rose.

I

22 THE COMPLAINT.

1

Why spur the speedy 1 Why with levities New wing thy short, short day's too rapid flight Know'st thou, or what thou dost, or what is done ? Man flies from Time, and Time from man ; too soon ,In sad divorce this double flight must end : And then, where are wet where, Lorenzo, then Thy sports ? thy pomps ? — I grant thee, in a state Not unambitious; in the ruffled shroud. Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath. Has Death his fopperies 1 Then well may life Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine. Ye well-array'd ! Ye lilies of our land ! Ye lilies male ! who neither toil nor spin, (As sister lilies might) if not so wise As Solomon, more sumptuous to the sight I Ye delicate ! who nothing can support. Yourselves most insupportable ! for whom Tljp winter rose must blow, the sun put on A brighter beam in Leo : silky-soft Favonius breathe still softer, or be chid ; And other worlds send odours, &auce, and song, And robes, and notions, frara'd in foreign looms !

-J O ye LoRENZos of our age ! who deem -One moment unamused, a misery Not made for feeble man ! who call aloud For ev'ry bauble drivell'd o'er by sense ; For rattles, and conceits of ev'ry cast. For change of follies, and relays of joy. To drag your patient through the tedious length Of a short winter's day — say, sages ! say. Wit's oracles ! say, dreamers of gay dreams ! How will you weather an eternal night,

'' i Where such expedients fail 1

^^-^ O treach'rous Conscience ! while she seems to sleep

- On rose and myrtle, luU'd with syren song ;

While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop

I

NIGHT THE SECOND. 23

On headlong Appetite the slacken'd rem.

And give us up to license, unrecali'd.

Unmarked; — see from behind her secret stand,

The sly informer minutes ev'ry fault.

And her dread diary with horror fills.-m « 1 1

Not the gross act alone employs her pen ;

She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band,

A watchful foe ! the formidable spy,

Listening, o'er hears the whispers of our camp:

Our dawning purposes of heart explores.

And steals our embryos of iniquity.

As all-rapacious usurers conceal

Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs;

Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats

Us spendthrifts of inestimable Time ;

Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd;

In leaves more durable than leaves of brass,

Writes our whole history ; which Death shall read

In ev'ry pale delinquent's private ear;

And Judgment publish ; publish to more worlds -t^

Than this ; and endless age in groans resound^ " ~^

Lorenzo, such that Sleeper in thy breast !

Such is her slumber ; and her vengeance such

For slighted counsel j^ such thy future peace!

And think'st thou stm thou canst be wise too soon %

But why on Time so lavish is my song ? On this great theme kind Nature keeps a school. To teach her sons herself. Each night we die. Each morn are born anew : each day, a life ! And shall we kill each day 1 If trifling kills ; Sure vice must butcher. O what heaps of slain Cry out for vengeance on us ! Time dcstroy'd Is_Siucide,-wh€fe more thau Blood is spilt Time flies, death urges, knells call, heav'n invites, Heil threatens: all exerts; in eflfort, all ; More than creation labours \ — labours more t

I

S4 THE COMPLAINT.

And is there in creation, what, amidst

This tumult universal, wing'd dispatch.

And harden'd energy, supinely yawns ?—

Man sleeps; and Man alone; and Man, whose fat«

Fate irreversible, entire, extreme.

Endless, hair-hung, breeze-shaken, o'er the gulph

A moment trembles ; drops ! and Man, for whom

All else is in alarm ! Man, the sole cause

Of this surrounding storm ! and yet he sleeps.

As the storm rock'd to rest — ^Throw years away ?

Throw empires, and be blameless. Moments seized

Heaven's on their wing : a moment we may wish.

When worlds want wealtli to buy. Bid Day stand still,

Bid him drive back his car, and reimport

The period past, regive the given hour.

Lorenzo, more than miracles we want;

Lorenzo — O for yesterdays to come1

Such is the language of the man awake ; His ardour such, for what oppresses thee. And is his ardour vain, Lorenzo ? No ; That more than miracle the gods indulge ; To-day is Yesterday returned ; returned Full power'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn. And reinstate us on the rock of peace. Let it not share its predecessor's fate ; Nor, like its elder sisters, die a fool. Shall it evaporate in fume ? Fly off Fuliginous^ and stain us deeper still 1 Shall we be poorer for the plenty pour'd ? More wretched for the clemencies of heav'n 1

Where shall I find Him 1 Angels, tell me where. You know him : he is near you : point him out : Shall I see glories beaming from his brow 1 Or tracje his footsteps by the rising flowers ? Your golden wings, now hov'ring o'er him, shed Protection ; now, are waving in applause

NIGHT THE SECOND. 25

To that blest son of foresight ! lord of fate ? That awful independent on To-morrow ! Whose work is done ; who triumphs in the past ; Whose Yesterdays look backwards with a smile ; J^or, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly ; That common, but opprobrious lot ! past hours, " '^^ If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight, if folly bounds our prospect by the grave. All feeling of futurity, benuiok'd ; All god-Iike "passion for eternals quench'd; All relish of realities expir'd ; Renounc'd all correspondence with the skies ; Our freedom chain'd ; quite wingless our desire ; ^ ff Jjuseme dark-prison'd alL^ /2>^*^

Pronp tntliP Pi^ntrp; crawling in the dust ; Dismounted ev'ry great and glorious aim ; Embruted ev'ry faculty divine ; JHearyanry^d-in-tlie-jubbish of the JKorld. The world, that gulph of souls, immortal souls. Souls 'elevate, angelic, wing'd with fire To reach tlie distant skies, and triumph there On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters

tchang'd, mgh we from earth ; ethereal, they that fell, h veneration due, O man, to man. "^ho venerate themselves, the world despise. For what, gay friend, is this escutcheon'd world. Which hangs out DEATH in one eternal night % A night, that glooms us in the noon-tide ray. And wraps our thought, at banquets, in the shroud. Lifo's little atageis a-^mall eminence, ^^

Jiich-high the grave above ; that home of man. Where dwells the multitude : we gaze around ; We read their nlonnments ; we sigh ; and while We sigh, we sink ; and are what we deplored ; ^unenting, or lamented, all our lot! ^ "j^C

i

26 THE COMPLAINT.

J^ -~ Is Death at distance ? No : he has been on thee ; And giv'n sure earnest of his final blow. Those hours that lately smil'd, where are tiiey now 1 Pallid to thought, and ghastly ! drown'd, all drown'd In that great deep, which nothing disembogues ! And, dying, they bequeath'd thee small renown. The rest are on the wing : how fleet their flight ! Already has the fatal train took fire ;

-. A moment, and the world's blown up to tliee ;

i;;- ^ The sun is darkness, and the stars are dust.—^ 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours ; And ask them, what report they bore to heaven ; And how they might have borne more welcome ne Their answers form what men Experience call ; If Wisdom's friend, her best ; if not, worst foe. O reconcile them ! Kind Experience cries, " There's nothing here> but what as notliing weighs ; " The more our joy, tlie more we know it vain; '* And by success are tutor'd to despair.'' Nor is it only thus, but must be so. Who knows not this, though grey^ is still a child. Loose thett from earth the grasp of fond desire. Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore. ^---^rt thou so moor'd thou canst not disengage^ \Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future scenes 1 Since, by Lif^s passmg breaih, blown "up from earthy Light, as the summer's dust, we take in air ^

A moment's giddy flight, and fall again ; Join the dull mass, increase the trodden soil, And sleep, till earth herself shall be no more ; Since then (as emmets, their small world o'erthrow We, sore-amaz'd, from out earth's ruins crawl. And rise to fete extreme of foul or fair. As man's own choice (controller of the skies !) As man's despotic will, perhaps one hour, (O how omnipotent is time !) decrees

I

NlGftt THE SECOND. S??

Should not each warning give a strong alarm 1 Warning, far less than that of bosom torn From bosom, bleeding o'er the sacred dead ! Should not each dial strike us as we pass. Portentous, as the written wall, which struck. O'er midnight bowls, the proud Assyrian pale,

BT'.rp-while high-flush'd, with insolence, and wine ? :e that, the dial speaks; and points to thee, RENZO ! loth to break thy banquet up : ) man, thy kingdom is departing from thee ; Lnd, while it lasts, is emptier than my shade." 'Its silent language such : nor need'st thou call Thy Magi, to decipher what it means. Know^ like the Median, fate is in thy walls : Dost ask, How ? Whence ? Belshazzar-iike, amaz'd ]

Man's YH'^kfi^ m^iU>H<><rHiH «tHr^-sP^& of death ; — -

g feeds the murderer : jngratfiXiie thrives I ^Z i-kejLQwn meal, and tlien his nurse devours. \ But, here Lorenzo, the delusion lies; at solar shadow, as it measures life, life resembles too : life speeds away

From point to point, though seeming to stand Still.

The cunning fugitive is iswift by stealth : , ^oo subtle is the movement to be seen ;

Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone.

Warnings point out our danger : gnomons, time ;

As these are useless when the sun is set : ^

So JiuweT-bttt-'when more glorious Reason sbiB€S.'^''*''**

^eason_sbouLd judge in all; in Reason's 6ye,

That sedentary shadow travels hard.

But sucli our gravitation to the wrong.

So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish,

'Tis later with the wise than he's aware :

A Wilmington goes slower than the sun :

And all mankind mistake their time of day ;

Iv'n age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly sown D2

38 THE COMPLAINT.

In ftirrow'd brows. To gentle life's descent We shut our eyes, and think it Is a plain. We take fair days in winter, for the spring ; And turn our blessings into bane. Since oft Man must compute that age he cannot feel. He scarce believes he's older for his years. Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store One disappointment sure, to crown the rest ; The disappointment of a promised hour.

On this, or similar, Philander, thou Whose mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue ; And strong, to wield all science, worth the name ; How often we talk'd down the summer's sun. And cool'd our passions by the breezy stream ; How often thaw'd and shortened winter's eve. By conflict kind, that struck out latent truth. Best found, so sought ; to the Recluse more coy ! Thoughts disentangle passing o'er the lip ; Clean runs the thread : if not, 'tis thrown away^ Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song ; Song, fashionably fruitless; such as stains The fancy, and unhallow'd passion fires ; Chiming her saints to Cytherea's fane.

Know'st thou, LoRENZO, what a friend contains? As bees mixt nectar, draw from fragrant flow'rs. So men from Friendship, wisdom and delight; Twins ty'd by nature, if they part, they die. Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach ? Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up, want air. And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun. Had thought been all, sweet speech had been deny'd ; Stpeech. thought j^canal ! Speech, thought's criterion

too! " ~^

Thought in the mine, may come forth gold or c When coin'd in words, we know its real worth. If sterling, store it for thy future use ;

Brwi

NIGHT THE SECONDv 29

_ ill buy thee benefit ; perhaps, renown. Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more possest; Teaching, vve learnj and, giving, we retain -lV The births of intellect ; when dumb, forgot. Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; Speech burnishes bur mental magazine ; Brightens, for ornament ; and whets, for use. What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie, ^PJung'd to the hilts iu venerable tomes, ^■nd rusted in ; who might have borne an edge, ^Knd play'd a sprightly beam, if born to speech ; If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue ! 'Tis thought's exchange, which, like the alternate

push Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum, And defecates the students standing pooL ^K In contemplation is his proud resource 1 ^■Hs poor, as proud, by converse unsustain^d. ^nude thought runs wild in Contemplation's field ; Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit Of due restraint ; and Emulation's spur Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd. Tis converse qualifies for solitude ; As exercise, for salutary rest. By that untutor'd. Contemplation raves ; And Nature's fool by Wisdom is undone. ~ Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines, id sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive, hat is she, but the means of happiness 1 lat unobtain'd, than folly more a fool ; melancholy fool, without her bells, lendship, the means of wisdom, richly gives 'he precious end, which makes our wisdom wise, ature, in zeal for human amity. Denies, or damps, an undivided joy.

I y is an import ; joy is an exchange ;

80 THE COMPLAINT.

Joy flies monopolists : it calls for two ; Rich Iruit ! heav'n-planted ! never pluckt by on" Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give To social man true relish of himself. Full on ourselves, descending in a line, Pleasure's bright beam is feeble in delight : Delight intense, is taken by rebound : Reverberated pleasures fire the breast. » Celestial Happiness, whene'er she stoops To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds. And one alone, to make her sweet amends For absent heav'n — the bosom of a friend ; Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft, '. Each other's pillow to repose divine. Beware the counterfeit : in passion's flame Hearts melt, but melt like ice, soon harder froze. Tftle love strikes root in reason ; passion's foe ;

Virtue alone entenderTuFlofTife: ~ "^

I wrong her much — entenders us for ever :

Of Friendship's fairest fruits, the fruit most fair

Is Virtue kindling at a rival fire.

And, emulously, rapid in her raqe,

O the soft enmity ! endearing strife ! ^ - / >

This carrieFffiendship to her noon-tide point,

And gives the rivet of eternity.

From Friendship, which outlives my former themes. Glorious survivor of old Time and Death ! From Friendship, thus, that flower of heav'nly seed. The wise extract earth's most Hyblean bliss, Superior wisdom, crown'd with smiling joy.

But for whom blossoms this Elysian flower ? Abroad they find, who cherish it at home. LoEENZo, pardon what my love extorts. An honest love, and not afraid to frown. Though choice of follies fasten on the great. None clings more obstinate, than fancy fond

NIGHT THE SECOND. 31

^;aught by the wafture of a golden lure.

Or fascination of a high-born smile.

Their smiles, the great, and the coquet, throw out

For others' hearts, tenacious of their own ;

And we no less of ours, when such the bait.

Ye fortune's cofferers ! Ye pow'rs of wealth !

Can gold gain friendship 1 Impudence of hope !

As well mere man an angel might beget.

Love, and Love only, is the loan for love.

JLoRENZo ! pride repress ; nor hope to find ^■friend, but what has found a friend in thee. ^■1 like the purchase ; few the price will pay ; ^Bid this makes friends such miracles below. ^BWhat if (since daring on so nice a theme) ^Bhew thee friendship delicate, as dear, ^W tender violations apt to die 1

•Reverse will wound it ; and distrust, destroy.

Deliberate on all things with thy friend.

But since friends grow not thick on ev'ry bough.

Nor ev'ry friend unrotten at the core.

First, on thy friend, delib'rate with thyself;^

Pause, ponder, sift ; not eager in the choice,

Nor jealous of the chosen ; fixing, fix ;

Judge before friendship, then confide till death.

Well for thy friend, but nobler far for thee ;

How gallant danger for earth's highest prize !

A friend is worth ail hazards we can run.

I Poor is the friendless master of a world : A world in purchase for a friend is gain." So sung he (angels hear that angel sing ! igels from friendship gather half their joy) So sung Philander, as his friend went round

ithe rich ichor, in the gen'rous blood 'Bacchus, purple god of joyous wit, brow solute and ever-laughing eye.

32 THE COMPLAINT.

He dii^nk long bealth, and virtue, to his friend ; His friend, who wann'd iiim more, who more inspit Friendship's the wine of life; but iViendship new (Not such was his) is neither strong, nor pure. O ! for the bright complexion, cordial warmth, And elevating spirit of a friend. For twenty summers ripening by my side; AH feculence of falsehood long thrown down ; All social virtues rising in his soul; As crystal clear, and smiling as they rise! Here nectar flows; it sparkles in our sight; Rich to the taste, and genuine from the heart, High-flavour'd bliss for gods ! on earth how rare ! On earth how lost! — Philander is no more.

Think'st thou the theme intoxicates my song? Am I too warm? — ^Too warm I cannot be. I lov'd him much ; but now I love him more. Like birds, whose beauties languish, half-conceaFd, Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes Expanded shine with azure, green, and gold ; How blessings brighten as they take their flight! His flight Philander took; his upward flight. If ever soul ascended. Had he dropt, (That eagle genius !) O had he let fall One feather as he flew, I then had wrote, What friends might flatter; prudent foes forbear; Rivals scarce damn; and ZoiLUS reprieve. Yet what I can, I must ; It were profane To quench a glory lighted at the skies. And cast in shadows his illustrious close. Strange ! the theme most afl*ecting, most suWime, Momentous most to man, should sleep unsung ! And yet it sleeps, by genius unawak'd, Painim or Christian ; to the blush of wit. Man's highest triumph! man's profoundest fall! The death-bed of the just ! is yet undrawn

l^IGHT THE SECOND. 33

By mortal hand ; it merits a divine : Angels should paint it, angels ever there ; There, on a post of honour, and of joy.

Dare I presume, then? But Philander bids;

And glory tempts, and inclination calls.

Yet am I struck ; as struck the soul, beneath Aerial groves' ijjjgenetrabje gloom; .. Or, in some nuglit^cuin's solemn, shade ; Or^ gazing by pale lamps on high-born dust, In i'ttn?S*4K»^€o«*Is-fi£ p^^^ ;

Or. at the midnight altar's hallow'd flame. Is itTeligroirto proceed ? I pause And enter, aw'd, the temple of my tlieme. Is it bis death-bed 1 No: It is his shrine: Behold him, there, just rising to a god.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate. Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heav'n. Fly, ye profane ! If not, draw near, with awe. Receive the blessing, and adore the chance. That threw in this Bethesda your disease : If unrestor'd by this, despair your cure. For here, resistless demonstration dwells ; A death-bed's a detecter of the heart. Here tir'd Dissimulation drops her masque, Through life's grimace, that mistress of the sc«ne I Here real, and apparent, are the same. You see the man; you see his hold on heav'n; If sound his virtue; as Philander's, sound. Heav'n waits not the last moment ; owns her friends On this side death ; and points them out to men. A lecture, silent, but of sov'reigu pow'r ! To vice, confusion ; and to virtue, peace.

Whatever farce the boastful hero plays. Virtue alone has majesty in death ;

d greater still, the more the tyrant frowns.

I

34 THE COMPLAINT.

Philander! he severely frown'd on. thee.

** No warning giv'n ! Unceremonious fate !

** A sudden rush from life's meridian Joy !

** A wrench from all we love ! from all we are !

** A restless bed of pain ! a plunge opaque

*' Beyond conjecture! feeble Nature's dread!

** Strong Reason's shudder at the dark unkno\\Ti !

** A sun extinguish'd ! a just opening grave!

*' And oh the last, last, Avhat? (can words express!!

" Thought reach it?) the last — Silence of a friend! I

Where are those horrors, that amazement, where.

This hideous group of ills, which singly shock.

Demand from man] — 1 thought him man till now.

Through nature's wreck, thro' vanquished agonies (Like the stars struggling thro' this midnight gloomj What gleams of joy] what more than human peace? Where, the frail mortal? the poor abject worm? No, not in death, the mortal to be found. His conduct is a legacy for all, Richer than Mammon's for his single heir. His comforters he comforts: Great in ruin, With unreluctant grandeur, gives, not yields His soul sublime; and closes with his fate.

How our hearts burnt within us at the scene! Whence this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man? His (iod sustains him in his tinal hour! His final hour brings glory to his God! Man's glory heav'n vouchsafes to call her own. We gaze, we weep ; mixt tears of grief and joy ! Amazement strikes ! devotion bursts to flame I Christians adore, and Infidels believe!

As some tall tow'r, or lofty mountain's brow, Detains the sun, illustrious from its height; While rising vapours, and descending shades. With damps, and darkness, drown the spacious vaH I'ndampt by doubt, undarken'd by despair.

NIGHT THE SECOND.

Philander, thus, augustly rears his head. At that black hour, which gen'ral horror sheds On the low level of the inglorious throng : Sweet Peace, and heav'nly Hope, and humble Joy, Divinely beam on his exalted soul ; Destruction gild, and crown hira for the skies, incommunicable lustre, bright.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT IIL NARCISSA.

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO ^ER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF P.

Ignoscenda quidemjsciveta si ignoscere mmes. Virg.

r ROM dreams, where thought in fancy's maze ruoi

mad. To reason, that heav'n-Iightcd lamp in man. Once more I wake; and at the destined hour, Punctmal as lovers to the moment sworn, T keep my assignation with ray woe.

O ! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought. Lost to the noble sallies of the^soul ! Who think it solitude, to be alone. Communion sweet ! communion large and high Our reason, guardian angel, and our god ! Then nearest these, when others most remote ;

NIGHT THE THIRD. 37

And all, ere long, shall be remote, but these.

How dreadful, then, to meet them all alone,

A stranger ; unacknowledged ! unapprov'd !

Now woo them ; wed them ; bind them to thy breast;

To win thy wish, creation has no more.

Or if we wish a fourth, it is a friend

But friends, how mortal ! dangerous the desire."

Take Phcebus to yourselves, ye basking bards ! Inebriate at fair fortune's fountain-head ; And reeling through the wilderness of joy : Where Sense runs savage, broke from Reason's chain. And sings false peace, till smother'd by the pall. My fortune is unlike ; unlike my song ; Unlike th^ deity my song invokes. I to Day's soft-ey'd sister pay my court, (Endymion's rival !) and her aid implore ; Now first implor'd in succour to the Muse.

Thou, who didst lately borrow Cynthia's form,* And modestly forego thine own ! O thou, Who didst thyself, at midnight hours, inspire ! Say, why not Cynthia patroness of songi As thou her crescent, she thy character Assumes ; still more a goddess by the change.

Are there demurring wits, who dare dispute This revolution in the world inspir'd 1 Ye train Pierian ! to the Lunar sphere. In silent hour, address your ardent call For aid immortal; less her brother's right. - jShe, with the spheres harmonious, nightly leads |The mazy dance, and hears their matchless strain, ;A strain for gods, deny'd to mortal ear. iTransmit it heard, thou silver queen of heav*n! What title, or what name, endears thee most ? ICynthia ! Cyllene ! Phoebe ! — or dost hear

> jWith higher gust, fair P D of the skies !

*i At the duke of Norfolk's masquerade. E

h

9ft THE COMPLAINT.

Is that the soft enchantment calls thee down,

More powerful than of old Circean charm 1

Come ; but from heav'nly banquets with thee brioi

The soul of song, and whisper in mine ear

The theft divine ; or in propitious dreams

(For dreams are thine) transfuse it through the breag

Of thy first votary But not thy last ;

If, like thy namesake, thou art ever kind.

And kind thou wilt be ; kind on such a theme A theme so like thee, a quite lunar theme. Soft, modest, melancholy, female fair ! A theme that rose all pale, and told my soul 'Twas night ; on her fond hopes perpetual night : A night which struck a damp, a deadlier damp. Than that which smote me from Philander's ton Narcissa follows, ere his tomb is clos'd. Woes cluster ; rare are solitary woes ; They love a train, they tread each other's heel ; Her death invades his mournful right, and claims The grief that started from my lids for him : Seizes the faithless, alienated tear, Or shares it, ere it falls. So frequent death. Sorrow he more than causes, he confounds ; For human sighs his rival strokes contend. And make distress, distraction. O Philander! What was thy fate 1 A double fate to me ; Portent, and pain ! a menace, and a blow ! Like the black raven hov'ring o'er my peace. Not less a bird of omen than of prey. It call'd Narcissa long before her hour ; It call'd her tender soul, by break of bliss, • From the first blossom, from the buds of joy ; Those few our noxious fate unblasted leaves In this inclement clime of human life.

Sweet harmonist ! and beautiful as sweet ! And young as beautiful ! and soft as young !

NIGHT THE THIRD. 39

^pd gay as soft ! and innocent as gay ! And happy (if aught happy here) as good ! For fortune fond had built her nest on high. Like birds quite exquisite of note and plume, Transfixt by fate (who loves a lofty mark) How from the summit of the grove she fell. And left it unharmonious ! All its charms Extinguish'd in the wonders of her song ! Her song still vibrates in my ravish'd ear. Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain

»to forget her !) thrilling through my heart, long, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy, this group bright ideas, flow'rs of paradise. As yet unforfeit ; in one blaze we bind. Kneel, and present it to the skies ; as all We guess of heav'n : and these were aH her own. And she was mine ; and I was — was — most blest — Gay title of the deepest misery ! As bodies grow more pond'rous, robb'd of life ; Good lost weighs more in grief, than gain'd in joy. Like blossom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm. Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay ; And if in death still lovely, lovelier there ; Far lovelier : pity swells the tide of love. And will not the severe excuse a sigh 1 Scorn the proud man that is asham'd to weep ; Our tears indulged indeed deserve our shame.

«that e'er lost an angel, pity me ! oon as the lustre languishM in her eye, vning a dimmer day on human sight ; And on her cheek, the residence of spring. Pale omen sat ; and scatter'd fears around On all that saw (and who would cease to gaze, ' That once had seen ?) with haste, parental haste, i I flew, I snatch'd her from the rigid north,

t native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew, e2

40 THE COMPLAINT.

And bore her nearer to the sun; the sun (As if the sun could envy) checked his beam, Deny'd his wonted succour ; nor with more Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells Of lilies ; fairest lilies, not so fair !

Queen lilies ! and ye painted populace ! Who dwell in fields, and lead ambrosial lives ; In morn and evening dew, your beauties bathe. And drink the sun ; which^ives your cheeks to gloi And out-blush (mine excepted) ev'ry fair ; You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand. Which often cropt your odours, incense meet To thought so pure. Ye lovely fugitives ! Coeval race with man ! for man you smile ; Why not smile at him too? You share, indeed. His sudden pass ; but not his constant pain.

So man is made, nought ministers delight. By what his glowing passions can engage ; And glowing passions, bent on aught below. Must, soon or late, with anguish turn the scale ; And anguish, after rapture, how severe. Rapture ? Bold man ; who tempts the wrath divine. By plucking fruit deny'd to mortal taste, While here, presuming on the rights of heav'n. For transport dost thou call on ev'ry hour, Lorenzo ] At thy friend's expense be wise ; Lean not on earth ; 'twill pierce thee to the heart ; A broken reed, at best ; but, oft, a spear ; On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires.

Turn, hopeless thought, turn from her: — thought repell'd Resenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry woe. Snatch'd ere thy prime! and in thy bridal hour! And when kind fortune, with thy lover, smil'd ! And when high flavour'd thy fresh op'ning joys ! And when blind man pronounc'd thy bliss complete

NIGHT THE THIRD. 41

And on a foreign shore ; where strangers wept I Strangers to thee ; and more surprising still. Strangers to kindness, wept : their eyes let fall Inhuman tears ! strange tears ! that trickled dowB From marble hearts! obdurate tenderness! A tenderness that call'd them more severe; In spite of nature's soft persuasion, steel'd ; While Nature melted, Superstition raved ; ] That mourn'd the dead; and this deny'd a grave. '^'"

Their sighs incens'd ; sighs foreign to the will ! Their will the tiger suck'd, outrag'd the storm. For oh ! the curst ungodliness of leal ! While sinful flesh relented, spirit nurst In blind Infallibility's embrace. The sainted spirit petrify'd the breast ; Deny'd the charity of dust, to spread O'er dust! a charity their dogs enjoy. What could I dol What succour? What resource? With pious sacrilege a grave I stole : With impious piety that grave I wrong'd ; Short in my duty ; coward in my grief ! More like her murderer, than friend, I crept. With soft suspended step, and muffled deep In midnight darkness, whisper'd my last sigh. I whispePd what should echo through their realms ;' Nor writ her name, whose tomb should pierce the

skies. Presumptuous fear ! How durst I dread her foes, While Nature's loudest dictates I obey'd 1 Pardon necessity, blest shade ! Of grief And indignation rival bursts I pour'd ; Half execration mingled with my prayer ; Kindled at man, while I his God ador'd ; Sore grudg'd the savage land her sacred dust ; Stampt the curst soil ; and with humanity (Deny'd NARClsSik) wish'd them all a grave. X3

I

42 THE COMPLAINT.

Glows my resentment into guilt? What guilt Can equal violations of the dead ? The dead how sarcred ! Sacred is the dust Of this heav'n-labour'd form, erect, divine ! This heav'n-assum'd majestic robe of earth, He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast expanse With azure bright, and cloth'd the sun in gold. When ev'ry passion sleeps that can offend ; When strikes us ev'ry motive that can melt ; When man can wreak his rancour uncontrol'd. That strongest curb on insult and ill-will ; Then, spleen to dust? the dust of innocence? An angel's dust ? — This Lucifer transcends ; When he contended for the patriarch's bones, 'Twas not tlie strife of malice, but of pride ; The strife of pontiff pride, not pontiff gall.

Far less than this is shocking in a race Most wretched, but from streams of mutual love; And uncreated, but for love divine ; And, but for love divine ; this moment, lost. By fate resorb'd, and sunk in endless night. Man hard of heart to man ! Of horrid things Most horrid ! 'Midst stupendous, highly strange ! Yet oft his courtesies are smoother wrongs ; Pride brandishes the favours he confers. And contumelious his humanity: What then his vengeance ? Hear it not, ye stars! And thou, pale moon, turn paler at the sound ; Man is to man the sorest, surest ill. A previous blast foretells the rising storm ; O'erwhelming turrets threaten ere they fall ; Volcanos bellow ere they disembogue ; Earth trembles ere her yawning jaws devour. And smoke betrays the wide consuming fire ; Ruin from man is jnost conceal'd when near. And sends the dreadful tidings in the blow.

\

^NIGHT THE THIRD. 43

this the flight of fancy ? Would it were ? Heav'n's sovereign saves all beings, but himself. That hideous sight, a naked .human heart.

Fir'd is the muse 1 And let the muse be fir'd : Who not inflam'd, when what, he speaks, he feels. And in the nerve most tender, in his friends 1 Shame to mankind ! Philander had his foes ; He felt the truths I sing, and I in him. But he, nor I, feel more : past ills, Narcissa, Are sunk in thee, thou recent wound of heart ! Which bleeds with other cares, with other pangs; Pangs numerous, as the numerous ills that swarm'd O'er thy distinguish'd fate, and clusf ring there Thick as the locusts on the land of Nile, Made death more deadly, and more dark the grave. Reflect (if not forgot my touching tale) How was each circumstance with aspics arm'd? An aspic, each ! and all, an hydra woe : What strong Herculean virtue could suflice 1 Or is it virtue to be conquer'd here? This hoary cheek a train of tears bedews ; And each tear mourns its own distinct distress ; And each distress, distinctly mourn'd, demands 6f grief still more, as heighten'd by the whole, A grief like this proprietors excludes : Not friends alone such obsequies deplore; They make mankind the mourner ; carry sighs Far as the fatal Fame can wing her way ; And turn the gayest thought of gayest age, Down their right channel, through the vale of death.

The vale of death ! that hush'd Cimmerian vale. Where darkness, brooding o'er unfinish'd fates, With raven wing incumbent, waits the day (Dread day !) that interdicts all future change ! That subterranean world, that land of ruin ! Fit walk, Lorenzo, for proud human thought!

I

44 THE COMPLAINT.

There let my thought expatiate, and explore Balsamic truths, and healing sentiments. Of all most wanted, and most welcome, here. For gay Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own. My soul, " The fruits of dying friends survey ; " Expose the vain of life ; weigh life and death ; ** Give death his eulogy ; tiiy fear subdue ; " And labour that first palm of noble minds, ** A manly scorn of terror from the tomb."

This harvest reap from thy Narcissa's grave. As poets feign'd from A jax' streaming blood Arose, with grief inscrib'd, a mournful flow'r ; Let wisdom blossom from my mortal wound. And first, of dying friends ; what fruit from these ' It brings us more than triple aid ; an aid To chase our thoughtlessness, fear, pride, and guilt.

Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud. To damp our brainless ardors ; and abate That glare of life, which often blinds the wise. Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth Our rugged pass to death ! to break those bars Of terror, and abhorrence, nature throws Cross our obstructed way ; and, thus to make Welcome, as safe, our port from ev'ry storm. Each friend by fate snatch'd from* us, is a plume Pluck'd from the wing of human vanity, Which makes us stoop from our aerial heights. And, damp'd with omen of our own disease. On drooping pinions of ambition lower'd. Just skim earth's surface, ere we break it up, O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust. And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends Are angels sent on errands full of love ; For us they languish, and for us they die : And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain 1 Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hov'ring shades.

NIGHT THE THIRD. 45

Which wait the revolution in our hearts 1 Sliall we disdain their silent, soft address ; Their posthumous advice, and pious pray'r ? Senseless, as herds that graze their hallow'd graves. Tread under foot their agonies and groans ! Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths ?

Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge ; Give it its wholesome empire, let it reign. That kind chastiser of thy soul in joy ! Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far, And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast : Auspicious gera ! golden days, begin ! The thought of death shall, like a god, inspire. And why not think on death 1 Is life the theme Of every thought ? and wish of ev'ry hour 1 And song of every joy 1 Surprising truth ! .. The beaten spaniels fondness not so strange. To wave the numerous ills that seize on life As their own property, their lawful prey ; fire man has measured half his weary stage, His luxuries have left him uo reserve. No maiden relishes, unbroach'd delights ; On cold served repetitious he subsists. And in the tasteless present chews the past; Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down. Like lavish ancestors, his earlier years Have disinherited his future hours, Which starve on orts, and glean their former field.

Live ever here, Lorenzo ! — shocking thought! So shocking, they who wish, disown it too ; Disown from shame, what they from folly crave. Live ever in the womb, nor see the light 1 I For what live ever here 1 — With lab'ring step j To tread our former footsteps 1 Pace the round Eternal ? To climb life's worn, heavy wheel. Which draws up nothing new 1 To beat, and beat

I

46 THE COMPLAINT.

The beaten track 1 To bid each wretched day The former mock ? To surfeit on the same. And yawn our joys? Or thank a misery For change, though sad 1 To see what we have see Hear, till unheard, the same old slabber'd tale? To taste the tasted, and at each return Less tasteful ? O'er our palates to decant Another vintage? Strain a flatter year. Through loaded vessels, and a laxer tone? Crazy machines to grind earth's wasted fruits ! Ill-ground, and worse concocted ! Load, not life ! The rational foul kennels of excess ; Still-streaming thorough-fares of dull debauch ; Trembling each gulph, lest death should snatch t; bowl.

Such of our fine ones is the wish refin'd ; So would they have it: elegant desire! Why not invite the bellowing stalls, and wilds? ^ But such examples might their riot awe. Through want of virtue, that is, want of thought, (Tho' on bright thought they father all their flights) To what are they reduc'd ? To love, and hate. The same vain world ; to censure and espouse. This painted shrew of life, who calls them fool Each moment of each day ; to flatter bad Through dread of worse ; to cling to this rude rock Barren, to them, of good, and sharp with ills. And hourly blacken'd with impending storms.

And infamous for wrecks of human hope

Scar'd at the gloomy gulph, that yawns beneath. Such are their triumphs ! such their pangs of joy !]

'Tis time, high time, to shift this dismal scene. Tliis hugg'd, this hideous state, what art can cure] One only ; but that one, what all may reach ; Virtue — she, wonder-working goddess ! charms* That rock to bloom ; and tames the painted shreV

I

NIGHT THE THIRD. 47

\nd what will more surprise, Lorenzo! gives To life's sick, nauseous iteration, change ; \nd straitens nature's circle to a line. 5eliev'st thou this, Lorenzo? lend an ear \ patient ear, thou'lt blush to disbelieve.

A languid, leaden, iteration reigns, \nd ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys 3f sight, smell, taste : The cuckow-seasons sing The same dull note to such as nothing prize, 3ut what those seasons, from the teaming earth. To doating sense indulge. But nobler minds, iVhich relish fruits unripen'd by the sun, Vf ake their days various ; various as the dyes Oa the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays» 3n minds of dove-like innocence possest, 3n lighten'd minds, that bask in virtue's beams, ?Jothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves [n that, for which they long ! for which they live. Their glorious efforts, wing'd with heav'nly hope. Each rising morning sees still higher rise ; Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame ; While nature's circle, like a chariot-wheel Rolling beneath their elevated aims. Makes their fair prospect fairer ev'ry hour; Advancing virtue, in a line to bliss ; Virtue, which Christian motives best inspire ! And bliss, which Christian schemes alone ensure ! And shall we then, for virtue's sake, commence Apostates? And turn Infidels for joy ? A truth it is, few doubt, but fewer trust, ," He sins against this life, who slights the next." I What is this life? How few their fav'rite know! I Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace, (By passionately loving life, we make Lov'd life unlovely ; hugging her to death.

I

48 THE COMPLAINT.

We give to Time Eternity's regard ;

And, dreaming, take our passage for our port

Life has no value as an end, but means ;

An end deplorable ; a means divine !

When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing ; worse than nought ;

A nest of pains : when held as nothing, much :

Like some fair hura'rists, life is most enjoy'd.

When courted least ; most worth, when disesteem'

Then 'tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace;

In prospect richer far ; important ! awful !

Not to be mentioned, but with shouts of praise !

Not to be thought on, but with tides of joy !

The mighty basis of eternal bliss !

Where now the barren rock ? the painted shrew ?

Where now, Lorenzo ! life's eternal round?

Have I not made my triple promise good 1

Vain is the world ; but only to the vain.

To what compare we then this varying scene.

Whose worth ajubiguous rises, and declines!

Waxes, and wanes ? (In all propitious, Night

Assists me here) compare it to the moon;

Dark in herself, and indigent ; but rich

In borrow'd lustre from a higher sphere.

When gross guilt interposes, laboring earth,

O'ershadow'd, mourns a deep eclipse of joy;

Her joys, at brightest, pallid to that font

Of full effulgent glory, whence they flow.

Nor is that glory distant : Oh Lorenzo ! A good man, and an angel ! these between How thin the barrier! What divides their fate? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year ; Or, if an age, it is a moment still ; A moment, or eternity's forgot. Then be, what once they were, who now are godi Be what Philander was, and claim the skies. Starts timid nature at the gloomy pass ?

I

NIGHT THE THIRD. 49

The soft transition call it; and be cheer'd: Such it is often, and why not to thee? To hope the best, is pious, brave, and wise ; And may itself procure, what it presumes. Life is much flatter'd, death is much traduc'd; Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown. "Strange competition!" — ^True, Lorenzo! strange! ; So little life can cast into the scale.

Life makes the soul dependent on the dust; Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres. Thro' chinks, styl'd organs, dim life peeps at light; Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day; All eye, all ear, the disembody'd power. Death has feign'd evils, nature shall not feel ; Life, ills substantial, wisdom cannot shun. Is not the mighty mind, that son of heaven ! By tyrant life dethron'd, imprison'd, pain'd 1 By death enlarg'd, ennobled, deify'd ? Death but intombs the body ; life the soul.

" Is death then guiltless ? How he marks his ^vay " With dreadful waste of what deserves to shine! " Art, genius, fortune, elevated power ! " With various lustres these light up the world, " Which death puts out, and darkens human race/' I grant, Lorenzo, this indictment just : The sage, peer, potentate, king, conqueror ! Death humbles these; more barb'rous life, the man. Life is the triumph of our mouldering clay ; Death, of the spirit infinite ! divine ! . Death has no dread, but what frail life imparts ; Nor life true joy, but what kind death improves. No bliss has life to boast, till death can give Far greater ; life's a debtor to the grave. Dark lattice I letting in eternal day. Lorenzo! blush at fondness for a life,

«ch sends celestial souls on errands vile, ■

50 THE COMPLAINT.

To cater for the sense ; and serve at boards. Where ev'ry ranger of the wilds, perhaps Each reptile, justly claims our upper hand. Luxurious feast! a soul, a soul immortal. In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd ! Lorenzo ! blush at terror for a death. Which gives thee to repose in festive bowers. Where nectars sparkle, angels minister, And more than angels share, and raise, and cro^ And eternize, the birth, bloom, bursts of bliss. What need I more ? O death, the palm is thine.

Then welcome, death ! thy dreaded harbingersJ Age and disease; disease, though long my guest a That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of lil Which, pluckt a little more, will toll the bell. That calls my few friends to my funeral ; Where feeble nature drops, perhaps, a tear. While reason and religion, better taught. Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb With wreath triumphant. Death is victory ; It binds in chains the raging ills of life ; Lust and ambition, wratli and avarice, Dragg'd at his chariot-wheel, applaud his power. That ills corrosive, cares importunate. Are not immortal too, O death ! is thine. Our day of dissolution ! — name it right; 'Tis our great pay-day ; 'tis our harvest, rich And ripe : What though the sickle, sometimes keen. Just scars us as we reap the golden grain 1 More than thy balm, O Gilead ! heals the wound. Birth's feeble cry, and death's deep dismal groan. Are slender tributes low-tax'd nature pays For mighty gain : The gain of each, a life ! But O ! the last the former so transcends. Life dies, compared ; life lives beyond the grave. , And fed I, death ! no joy from thought ofthec

b^'^

I

NIGHT THE THIRD. 51

Death, the great counsellor, who man inspires - .^ '- With ev'ry nobler thought, and Mrer deed ! Death, the^tieliverer, who rescues man ! Death, the rewarder, who the rescu'd crowns ! Death, that absolves my birth ; a curse without it ! Rich death, that realizes ail ray cares. Toils, virtues, hopes ; without it a chiraaera ! Death, of all pain the period, not of joy ; Joy's source, and subject, still subsist unhurt ; One, in my soul ; and one, in her great Sire ; O

Though the four winds were warring for my dust. Yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night. Though prisoned there, my dust too I reclaim, (To dust when drop proud nature's proudest spheres) And live entire. Death isjhe crown of life ; ^ "£ T

Were deatli deny'd^ poor man^'OUld 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 rise ; we reign ! Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies ; Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. This king of terrors is the prince of peace. When shall I die to vanity, pain, death? , ., ,

n shall I die]— When shall I live for ever? ' "^\,^^ j,,

f2

THE

COMPLAINT.

NiGirr TV.

THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH:

Containing our only Cure for the Fear of Death j and pro^ Sentiments of Heart on that inestimable Blessing.

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE HONOURABLE MR. YORKE.

A MUCH inaebted muse, O Yorke, intrudes. Amid the smiles of fortune, and of youth. Thine ear is patient of a serious song. How deep implanted in the breast of man The dread of death ! I sing its sov'reign cure.

Why start at death 1 Where is he ? Death arriv'd, Is past; not come, or gone, he's never here. Ere hope, sensation fails ; black-boding man Receives, not sufters, death's tremendous blow. The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm] These are the bugbears of a winter's eve.

NIGHT THE FOURTH. 63

le terrors of the living, not the dead. Imagination's fool, and error's wretch, Man makes a death which nature never made; Then on the point of his own fancy falls ;

Pid feels a thousand deaths in fearing one. But were death frightful, what has age to fear 1 If prudent, age should meet the friendly foe. And shelter in his hospitable gloom. I scarce can meet a monument, but holds My younger ; ev'ry date cries — " Come away." And what recals me 1 Look the world around. And tell me what: the wisest cannot tell. Should any born of woman give his thought Full range, on just dislike's unbounded field; Of things, the vanity ; of men, the flaws ; Flaws in the best; the many, flaw all o'er; As leopard's spotted, or as Ethiops dark; Vivacious ill ; good dying immature ; (How immature, Narcissa's marble tells!) And at its death bequeathing endless pain ; His heart, though bold, would sicken at the sight,

^id spend itself in sighs, for future scenes.

BBut grant to life (and just it is to grant jfo lucky life) some perquisites of joy; A time there is, when, like a thrice-told tale, , Long-rifled life of» sweet can yield no more, . "^

But from our comment on the comedy, '

Pleasing reflections on parts well-sustained. Or purposed emendations where we fail'd. Or hopes of plaudits from our candid judge. When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe. Toss Fortune back her tinsel, and her plume. And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene.

With me, that time is come; my world is dead; A new world rises, and new manners reign: Foreign comedians, a spruce band, arrive, f3

I

&4 THE COMPLAINT.

To push me from the scene, or hiss me there. What a pert race starts up ! the strangers gaze. And I at them ; my neighbour is unknown ; Nor that the worst : ah me ! the dire effect Of loit'ring here, of death defrauded long; Of old so gracious (and let that suffice) My very master knows me not.

Shall 1 dare say, peculiar is the fate? I've been so long reraember'd, Fm forgot. An object ever pressing dims the sight. And hides behind its ardour to be seen. When in his courtiers' ears I pour my plaint. They drink it as the nectar of the great ; And squeeze my hand, and beg me come to-morrow. Refusal ! canst thou wear a smoother form I

Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme : Who cheapens life, abates the tear of death : Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy, Court favour, yet untaken I besiege ; Ambition's iil-judg'd effort to be rich. Alas ! ambition makes my little less ; Erabitt'ring the possess'd : why wish for more 1 Wishing, of all employments, is the worst ; Philosophy's reverse ; and health's decay ! Were I as plump as stall'd theology. Wishing would waste me to this shade again. Were I as wealthy as a South-Sea dream. Wishing is an expedient to be poor. Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool ; Caught at a court; purg'd off by purer air. And simpler diet ; gifts of rural life !

Blest be that hand divine, which gently laid My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed. The world's a stately bark, on dang'rous seas. With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril : Here, on a single plank, tlirown safe ashore.

NICHT THE FOURTH. 55

I hear the tnmwlt of the distant throng, B that of seas remote, or dying storms : nd meditate on scenes more silent still; Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death. Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut. Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff. Eager Ambition's fiery chase I see ; I see the circling hunt of noisy men, Burst law's inclosure, leap the mounds of right. Pursuing, and pursued, each other's prey ; ^k wolves, for rapine ; as the fox, for wiles ; ^ni Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all. ^BWhy all this toil for triumphs of an hour? ^Hhat though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame t Hkrth's highest station ends in ** Here he lies :'* ^Riid dust " to dust" concludes her noblest song. If this song lives posterity shall know One, though in Britain born, with courtiers bred. Who thought e'en gold might come a day too late ; ^ior on his subtle death-bed plann'd his scheme Hpr future vacancies in church or state ;

Dome avocation deeming it to die,

Unbit by rage canine of dying rich ; tf^uilf s blunder ! and the loudest laugh of hell. ! Br O my coevals ! remnants of yourselves ! Poor human ruins, tott'ring o'er the grave ! Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees. Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, Still more enamour'd of this wretched soil ? Shall our pale wither'd hands be still stretch'd out. Trembling, at once, with eagerness and age 1 With av'rice, and cojivulsions, graspmg hard ? I Grasping at air I for what has earth beside 1 I Man wants but little ; nor that little long ;

faw soon must he resign his very dust, hich fnigal Nature lent him for an hour !

56 THE COMPLAINT.

Years unexperienced rush on numerous ills ; And soon as man, expert from time, has found The key of life, it opes the gates of death.

When in this vale of years I backward look. And miss such numbers, numbers too of such. Firmer in health, and greener in their age. And stricter on their guard, and fitter far To play life's subtle game, I scarce believe I still survive: and am I fond of life. Who scarce can think it possible, 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 shallow than impure. And vapid ; Sense and Reason show the door. Call for my bier, and point me to the dust.

O thou great arbiter of life and death ! Nature's immortal, immaterial sun ! Whose all-prolific beam late call'd me forth From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow. To drink the spirit of the golden day. And triumph in existence; and couldts know No motive, but my bliss ; and hast ordain'd A rise in blessing f with the patriarch's joy. Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust ; Or life, or death, is equal ; neither weighs : All weight in this — O let me live to thee !

Though nature's terrors thus may be represt : Still frowns grim death! Guilt points the tyran^

spear. And whence all human guilt 1 From death forgot. Ah me I too long I set at nought the swarm

NIGHT THE FOURTH,

^7

\{ friendly warnings, which around me flew ; ^nd smil'd, unsmitten : small my cause to smile ! ►eaths admonitions, like shafts upwards shot, lore dreadful by delay, the longer ere

ley strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound ;

think how deep, Lorenzo! ere it stings : 'ho can appease its anguish ? How it burns ! ^hat hand the barb'd, envenom d, thought can draw 1 '^hat healing hand can pour the balm of peace, Ln turn my sight undaunted on the tomb I

With joy, — with grief, that healing hand I see ; ihl too conspicuous ! it is fix'd on high. >n high] — What means my phrenzy? 1 blaspheme; Lias ! how low ! how far beneath the skies ! !'he skies it form'd ; and now it bleeds for me — lut bleeds the balm I want— yet still it bleeds; ►raw the dire steel — ah, no ! the dreadful blessing ^hat heart or can sustain, or dares forego 1 'here hangs all human hope ; that nail supports

le falling universe : that gone, we drop ; terror receives us, and the dismal wish Creation had been smother'd in her birth- darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust ; '^hen stars and sun are dust beneath his throne !

heaven itself can such indulgence dwelH

what a groan was there ! A groan not his. le seiz'd our dreadful right ; the load sustain'd ;

id heav'd the mountain from a guilty world,

thousand worlds, so bought, were bought too dear; insations new in angels' bosoms rise ; iiuspend their song ; and make a pause in bliss.

O for their song; to reach my lofty theme! inspire me, Night ! with all thy tuneful spheres ; [uch rather thou who dost these spheres inspire ! '^hilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes, ind show to men the dignity of man ;

68 THE COMPLAINT.

Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song.

Shall Pagan pages glow celestial flame,

And christian languish? On our hearts, not heads.

Falls the foul infamy : my heart ! awake.

What can awake thee, unawak'd by this,

" Expended deity on human weal?"

Feel the great truths, which burst the tenfold night

Of heathen error, with a golden flood

Of endless day : to feel, is to be fir'd ;

And to believe, Lorenzo! is to feel.

Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Pow'r! Still more tremendous, for thy wond'rous love That arms, with awe more aweful thy commands ! And foul transgression dips in sev'nfold night; How our hearts tremble at thy love immense : In love immense, inviolably just ! Thou, rather than thy justice should be stain'd, Did'st stain the Cross ; and work of wonders far The greatest, that thy dearest far might bleed.

Bold thought ? shall I dare speak it, or repress ; Should man more execrate, or boust, the guilt Which rous'd such vengeance? which such love

infiam'd? O'er guilt (how mountainous!) with out-stretch'd

arms, Stern justice, and soft-smiling love embrace, Supportinir, in full majesty, thy throne. When seem'd its majesty to need support. Or that, or man, inevitably lost: What, but the fathomless of thought divine. Could labour such expedient from despair. And rescue both? Both rescue! both exalt! O how are both exalted by the deed ! The wond'rous deed ! or shall I call it morel A wonder in Omnipotence itself! A mystery no less to gods than men!

I

NIGHT THE FOURTH. 59

Not, thus, our infidels th' Eternal draw, A God all-o'er, consummate, absolute. Full-orb 'd, in his whole round of rays complete : They set at odds heav'n's jarring attributes; And, with one excellence, another wound ; Maim heav'n's perfection, break its equal beams. Bid mercy triumph over — God himself, fndeify'd by their opprobrious praise : God all mercy, is a God unjust. Ye brainless wits ! ye baptiz'd infidels ! worse for mending ! wash'd to fouler stains ! le ransom was paid down ; the fund of heav'n, Lv'n's inexhaustible exhausted fund,

and amaz'd, pour'd forth the price, ill price beyond : though curious to compute, Tcbangels fail'd to cast the mighty sum : Its value vast, ungrasp'd by minds create,

rr ever hides and glows, in the Supreme. And was the ransom paid ? It was : and paid

(What can exalt the bounty more 1) for you.

The sun beheld it — ^No, the shocking scene

Drove back his chariot : midnight veil'd his face ; JJot such as this : not such as nature makes ; ^L midnight nature shudder'd to behold ; K midnight new ! a dread eclipse (without

Opposing spheres) from her Creator's frown !

Sun ! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain 1 Or start

At that enormous load of human guilt.

Which bow'd his blessed head ; o'erwhelm'd his cross ;

Made groan the centre; burst earth's marble womb.

With pangs, strange pangs ! deliver'd of her dead 1

Hell howl'd; and heav'n that. hour let fall a tear;

Ieav'n wept, that men might smile ! Heav'n bled that man light never die !■

And is devotion virtue] Tis compeird

I

60 THE COMPLAINT.

What heart of stone but glows at thoughts like thes

Such contemplations mount us ; and should mount

The mind still higher ; nor ever glance on man,

Unraptur'd, uninflam'd. — Where roll my thoughts

To rest from wonders? Other wonders rise;

And strike where'er they roll: my soul is caught:

Heav'n's sovereign blessings, clust'ring from the cros*

Rush on her, in a throng, and close her round,

The pris'ner of amaze ! — In his blest life,

I see the path, and, in his death the price.

And in his great ascent, the proof supreme

Of immortality. — And did he rise?

Hear, O ye nations ! hear it, O ye dead !

He rose! He rose! He burst 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 1 He who left

His throne of glory, for the pang of death :

Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates!

And giva the King of glory to come in.

Who is the King of glory 1 He who slew

The rav'nous foe, that gorg'd all human race !

The King of glory, He, whose glory fill'd

Heav'n with amazement at his love to man;

And with divine complacency beheld

Powers most illumin'd, wilder'd in the theme.

The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain? Oh the burst gates! crush'd sting! demolish'd throne! Last gasp ! of vanquish'd death. Shout earth and

heav'n ! This sum of good to man. Whose nature, then, Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb Then, then, I rose ; then first humanity Triumphant past the crystal ports of light, (Stupendous guest !) and seiz'd eternal youth, Seiz'd in our name. . E'er since, 'tis blasphemous

I

NIGHT THE FOURTH.

To call man mortal. Man's mortality

Was, then, transferr'd to death ; and heav'n's duration

Unalienably seal'd to this frail frame,

This child of dust — Man, all-immortal! hail!

Hail, heav'n! all lavish of strange gifts to man!

«ine all the glory; man's the boundless bliss. PVhere am I wrapt by tiiis triumjihant theme, christian joy's exulting wing, above Th' Aonian mount? — Alas! small cause for joy! What if to pain immortal? If extent Of being, to preclude a close of woe? Where, then, my boast of immortality 1 I boast it still, 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 heav'n's indulgent sight. If, sick of folly, I relent; he writes My name in heav'n, with that inverted spear (A spear deep-dipt in blood !) which pierc'd his side. ^ And open'd there a font for all mankind, ; Who strive, who combat crimes, to drink and live: is, only this, subdues the fear of death. \nd what is this? — Survey the wond'rous cure:

at each step, let higher wonder rise ! *ardon for infinite oftence ! and pardon ^hrough means that speak its value infinite! pardon bought with blood ! with blood divine I ^ith blood divine of Him, I made my foe ! [Persisted to provoke! though woo d, and aw'd, ~)lest and chastis'd, a fliagrant rebel still? rebel, 'midst the thunders of his throne! for I alone ! a rebel universe ! [y species up in arms ! not one exempt! '^et for the foulest of the foul, he dies, lost joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepest guilt f

G

62 THE COMPLAINT.

'* As if our race were held of highest rank"; " And Godhead dearer, as more kind to man \"

Bound, ev'ry heart ! and ev'ry bosom, burn ! O what a scale of miracles is here ! Its lowest round, high planted on the skies ; Its tow'ring summit lost beyond the thought Of man or angel ! O that I could climb The wonderful ascent, with equal praise ! Praise ! flow for ever, (if astonishment Will give the leave) my praise ! for ever flow ! Praise ardent, cordial, constant, to high heav'n More fragrant, than Arabia sacrific'd. And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

So dear, so due to heav'n, shall praise descend. With her soft plume (from plausive angel's wing First pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears. Thus diving in the pockets of the great 1 Is praise the perquisite of ev'ry paw. Though black as hell, that grapples well for gold? Oh love of gold! thou meanest of amours! Shall Praise her odours waste on Virtue's dead. Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt. Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair. Removing filth, or sinking it from sight, A scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts. Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect Their future ornaments ? From courts and thrones Return apostate praise ; thou vagabond ! Thou prostitute; to thy first love return. Thy .first, thy greatest, once unrival'd theme.

There flow redundant ; like Meander flow. Back to thy fountain ; to that Parent Pow'r, Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soaf The soul to be. Men homage pay to men. Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow In mutual awe profound, of clay to clay.

1

HWnt

NIGHT THE FOURTH. 63

gailt to guilt ; and turn their back on thee. Great Sire ! whom thrones celestial ceaseless sing ; To prostrate angels, an amazing scene ! !0 the presumption of man's awe for man ! — jMan's Author ! End ! Restorer ! Law ! and Judge ! IThine, all ; day thine, and thine this gloom of night, iWith all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds ; 'what, night eternal, but a frown from theet jWhat, heav'n's meridian glory, but thy smile ? I And shall not praise be thine, not human praise 1 While heav'n's high host on hallelujahs live 1

O may I breathe no longer, than I breathe My soul in praise to Him, who gave my soul. And all her infinite of prospect fair. Cut through the shades of hell, great Love ! by thee Oh most Adorable ! most unador'd ! Where shall that praise begin which ne'er should end t Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause ! How is night's sable mantle labour'd o'er, flow richly wrought with attributes divine ! What wisdom shines ! what love ! This midnight pomp. This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid ! Built with divine ambition ! nought to thee ; For others this profusion : Thou, apart. Above, beyond ! O tell me, mighty Mind ! Where art thou ? Shall I dive into the deep 1 Call to the sun, or ask the roaring winds. For their Creator 1 Shall I question loud The thunder, if in that th' Almighty dwells ? Or holds He furious storms in straiten'd reins. And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car?

What mean these questions 1 Trembling I retract; My prostrate soul adores the present God : Praise I a distant deity 1 He tunes My voice (if tun'd ;) the nerve, that writes, sustains : Wrapp'd in his being, I resound his praise : g2

k

<Mi Tttfi COMPLAINT.

But though past all difFus'd without a shore', His essence ; local is his throne (as meet) To gather the disperst (as standards call The listed from afar:) to fix' a point, A central point, collective of his sons, Since finite ev'ry nature but his own.

The nameless He, whose nod is nature's birth; And nature's shield, the shadow of his hand ; Her dissolution, his suspended smile ! The great First-Last ! pavdion'd high he sits In darkness from excessive splender born. By gods unseen, unless through lustre lost. Hik glory, to created glory, bright. As that to central horrors ; he looks down On all that soars; and spans immensity.

Though night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to view. Boundless creation ! what art thou ? A beam, A mere effluvium of his majesty : And shall an atom of this atom-world Mutter in dust and sin, the theme of heav'n ? Down to the centre should I send my thought Tiirough beds of glitt'ring ore, and glowing gems. Their beggar'd blaze wants lustre for my lay ; Goes out ni darkness : if, on tOM''ring wing, I send it through the boundless vault of stars ! The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to tliee. Great ! good ! wise I wonderful ! eternal King ! If to those conscious stars thy throne around, Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing bliss ; And ask their strain ; they want it, more they ^ailt> Poor their abundance, humble their sublime. Languid their energy, their ardor cold. Indebted still, their highest rapture burns ; Short of its mark, defective, though divine. Still more — This theme is man's, and man's alone ; Their vast appointments reach it not : they sec

NIGHT THE FOURTH. 96

iCarth a bounty not indulged on high ; And downward look for heav'n's superior praise First-born of Ether ! high in fields of light ! View man, to see the glory of your god 1 Could angels envy, they had envyM here ; And some did envy ; and the rest, though gods. Yet still gods unredeemed (there triumphs man. Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies) They less would feel, though more adorn, my theme. They sung Creation (for in that they shar'd ;) How rose in melody, that child of love ! Creation's great superior, man ! is thine ; Thine is redemption; they just gave the key: 'Tis thine to raise, and eternize the song ; Though human, yet divine ; for should not this Raise man o'er man, and kindle seraphs here 1 Redemption ! 'twas creation more sublime ; Redemption ! 'twas the labour of the skies ; Far more than labour — It was death in heav'n. A truth so strange ! 'twere bold to think it true ; If not far bolder still, to disbelieve.

Here pause, and ponder: Was there death in heav'n 1 What then on earth 1 On earth, which struck the blow I Who struck it? Who? — O how is man enlarg'd. Seen through this medium ! How the pigmy tow'rs ! How counterpois'd his origin from dust ! How counterpois'd, to dust his sad return ! How voided his vast distance from the skies ! How near he presses on the seraph's wing ! Which is the seraph? Which the born of clay? How this demonstrates, through the thickest cloud Of guilt, and clay condens'd, the son of heav'n ! The double son ; the made, and the re-made ! And shall heav'n's double property be lost? Man's double madness only can destroy. To man the bleeding cross has promis'd all;

G^

(J6 Tfifi toMPLAtfit.

The bleeding Cfoss has sworn eternal grace; Who gave his life, what grace shall He deny?

0 ye ! who, from this Rock of ages, leap, Apostates, plunging headlong in the deep ! What cordial joy, what consolation strong. Whatever winds arise, or billows roll, Our int'rest in the Master of the storm !

Cling there, and in wrecked nature's ruins smile; While vile apostates tremble in a calm.

Man! know thyself. All wisdom centres there: To none man seems ignoble, but to man ; Angels that grandeur, men o'er look, admire How long shall human nature be their book, Degen'rate mortal ! and unread by thee ? The beam dim reason sheds shows wonders there ; What high contents ! Illustrious faculties ! But the grand comment, which displays at full Our human height, scarce sever'd from divine. By heav'n compos'd, was published on the cross.

Who looks on that, and sees not in himself An awful stranger, a terrestrial god? A glorious partner with the Deity Ifl that high attribute, immortal life ? If a God bleeds, he bleeds not for a worm :

1 gaze, and, as I gaze, my mounting soul Catches strange fire. Eternity ! at thee ; And drops the world — or rather, more enjoys : How chang'd the face of nature ! how improved ! What seem'd a chaos, shines a glorious world. Or, what a world, an Eden; heighten'd all! It is another scene ! another self ! And still another, as time rolls along; And that a self far more illustrious still. Beyond long ages, yet roH'd up in shades Unpierc'd by bold conjecture's keenest ray. What evolutions of surprising fate !

1

NlGftT THE FOtlKTH. 87

low nature opens, and receives my soul In boundless walk* of raptur'd thought ! where gods Encounter and embrace me ! What new births Of strange adventure, foreign to the sun. Where what now charms, perhaps, whatever exists. Old time, and fair creation, are forgot !

Is this extravagant? Of man we form Extravagant conception, to be just : Conception unconfin'd wants wings to reach him : Beyond its reach, the Godhead only, more. He, the great Father ! kindled at one flame The world of rationals ; one spirit pour'd From spirits' awful fountain; pour'd himself Through all their souls ; but not in equal stream. Profuse, or frugal, of th' inspiring God, As his wise plan demanded ; and when past Their various trials, in their various spheres. If they continue rational, as made, Resorbs them all into Himself again ; His throne their centre, and his smile their crowft.

Why doubt we, then, the glorious truth to sing. Though yet unsung, as decm'd, perhaps, too boldl Angels are men of a superior kind ; Angels are men in lighter habit clad, High o'er celestial mountains wing'd in flight; And men are angels, loaded for an hour. Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain. And slipp'ry step, the bottom of the steep. Angels their failings, mortals have their praise; While here, of corps ethereal, such enroU'd, And summon'd to the glorious standard soon. Which flames eternal crimson through the skies. Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin. Yet absent; but not absent from their love. MicHAfiL has fought our battles ; Raphael sung Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown,

68 THE COMPLAINT.

Sent by the SOV'REIGN : and are these, O man! Thy friends, thy warm allies 1 And Thou (shame b The cheek to cinder!) rival to the brute?

Religion's All. Descending from the skies To wretched man, the goddess in her left Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next; Religion ! the sole voucher man is man ; Supporter sole of man above himself; Ev'n in this night of frailty, change, and death. She gives the soul a soul that acts a god. Religion ! Providence ! an after state ! Here is firm footing ; here is solid rock ! This can support us ; all is sea besides ; Sinks under us ; bestorms, and then devours. His hand the good man fastens on the skies. And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle wliirl.

As when a wretch, from thick, polluted air. Darkness, and stench, and suffocating damps. And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate, discharg'd. Climbs some fair eminence, where ether pure Surrounds him, and Elysian prospects rise. His heart exults, his spirits cast their load ; As if new-born, he triumphs in the change ; So joys the soul, when from inglorious aims. And sordid sweets, from feculence and froth Of ties terrestrial, set at large, she mounts To Reason's region, her own element. Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies.

Religion ! thou the soul of happiness ; And, groaning Calvary, of thee ! There shine The noblest truths ; there strongest motives sting; There sacred violence assaults the soul ; There, nothing but compulsion is forborn. Can love allure us 1 or can terror awe 1 He weeps ! — the falling drop puts out the sun : He sighs ! — the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes

d

I

fTir

NIGHT THE FOURTH.

in his love so terrible, what then His wrath inflam'd ? his tenderness on fire 1 Lii^e soft smooth oil, outhlazing other fires 1 Can pray'r, can praise avert it? Thou, my All ! IVfy theme ! my inspiration ! and my crown ! My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth ! My world I My light in darkness ! and my life in death ! My boast through time ! bliss through eternity ! Eternity, too short to speak thy praise ! Or fathom thy profound of love to man ! To man of men the meanest, ev'n to me ; My sacrifice-! my god ! — what things are these !

I ^hat then art THOU? by what name shall I call

IB Thee?

L iffiew I the name devout archangels use. Devout archangels should the name enjoy. By me unrival'd ; thousands more sublime. None half so dear, as that, which, though unspoke Stills glows at heart : O how omnipotence [s lost in love ! Thou great PHILANTHROPIST! Father of angels ! but the friend of man ! Like Jacob, fondest of the younger born ! Thou, who didst save him, snatch the smoking brand From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood! How art thou pleas'd, by bounty to distress ! To make us groan beneath our gratitude. Too big for birth ! to favour and confound ; To challenge, and to distance all return ! Of lavish love stupendous heights to soar. And leave praise panting in the distant vale! Thy right too great, defrauds thee of thy due ; And sacrilegious our sublimest song. But since the naked will obtains thy smile, Beneath this monument of praise unpaid,

, And future life symphonious to my strain.

70 THE COMPLAINT.

(That noblest hymn to heav'n) for ever lie Entombed my fear of death ! and ev'ry fear. The dread of ev'ry evil, but thy frown.

Whom see I yonder, so demurely smile ? Laughter a labour, and might break their rest. Ye quietists, in homage to the skies ! Serene ! of soft address ! who mildly make An unobtrusive tender of your hearts, Abhorring violence ! who halt indeed ; But, for the blessing, wrestle not with heavn! Think you my song too turbulent ? too warm 1 Are passions, then, the pagans of the soul ] Reason alone baptized 1 alone ordain'd To touch things sacred? Oh for warmer still! Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my pow'rs ; Oh for an humbler heart, and prouder song ! THOU, my much- injured theme ! with that soft eye. Which melted o'er doom'd Salem, deign to look Compassion to the coldness of my breast ; And pardon to the winter in my strain.

Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen, formalists ! On such a theme, 'tis impious to be calm ; Passion is reason, transport temper, here. Shall lieav'n, which gave us ardor, and has shown Her own for man so strongly, not disdain What smooth emollients in theology. Recumbent virtue's downy doctors preach. That prose of piety, a lukewarm praise 1 Rise odours sweet from incense uniuflamed? Devotion, when lukewnrm, is undevout ; But when it glows, its heat is struck to heav'n ; To human hearts her golden harps are strung ; High heav'ns orchestra chants Amen to man. Hear I, or dream I hear, their distant strain. Sweet to the soul, and tasting strong of heaven, -j

Soft-wafted on celestial pity's plume, j

I

NIGHT THE FOURTH. ll

rough the vast spaces of the universe, • To cheer me in this melancholy gloom ? Oh when will death (now stingless) like a friend. Admit me of their choir? O when will death, This mould'ring, old, partition-wall throw down? Give beings, one in nature, one abode ? Oh death divine ! that giv'st us to the skies ! Great future ! glorious patron of the past. And present ! when shall 1 thy shrine adore t From nature's continent, immensely wide. Immensely blest, this little isle of life. This dark, incarcerating colony. Divides us. Happy day ! that breaks our chain ; That manumits ; that calls from exile home ; That leads to nature's great metropolis. And re-admits us, through the guardian hand Of elder brothers, to our Father's throne; Who hears our Advocate, and, through his wounds Beholding man, allows that tender name. 'Tis this makes Christian triumph a command : Tis this makes joy a duty to the wise ; 'Tis impious iu a good man to be sad.

See thou, Lorenzo ! where hangs all our hope ! Touch'd by the Cross, we live ; or, more than die ; That touch which touch'd not angels ; more divine Than that which touch'd confusion into form. And darkness into glory ; partial touch ! Ineffably pre-eminent regard ! Sacred to man, and sov'reign through the whole Long golden chain of miracles, which hangs From heav'n through all duration, and supports In one illustrious, and amazing plan. Thy welfare, nature ! and thy God's renown ; That touch, with charm celestial, heals the soul Diseas'd, drives pain from guilt, lights life in deatli. Turns earth to heav'n, to heav'nly thrones transforms.

72 THE COMPLAINT.

The ghastly ruins of the mould'ring tomb.

Dost ask me When 1 When he who dy'd returns ; Returns, how chang'd! where then the man of woe I ^ In glory's terrors all the godhead burns ; And all his courts, exhausted by the tide Of deities triumphant in his train. Leave a stupendous solitude in heav'n ; Replenish'd soon, replenish'd with increase Of pomp, and multitude; a radiant band Of angels new; of angels from the tomb.

Is this by fancy thrown remote? and rise Dark doubts between the promise, and event? I send thee not to vohimes for thy cure ; Read Nature ; Nature is a friend to truth ; Nature is Christian; preaches to mankind; And bids dead matter aid us in our creed. «i

Hast thou ne'er seen the comet's flaming flight? ^ Th' illustrious stranger passing, terror sheds On gazing nations, from his fiery train Of length enormous, takes his ample round Through depths of Ether; coasts unnumber'd worlds, Of more than solar glory ; doubles wide Heav'ns mighty cape ; and then revisits earth, From the long travel of a thousand years. Thus, at the destin'd period, shall return HE, once on earth, who bids the comet blaze : And, with Him, all our triumph o'er the tomb.

Nature is dumb on this important point ; Or hope precarious in low whisper breathes ; Faith speaks aloud, distinct ; ev'n adders hear ; But turn, and dart into the dark again. Faith builds a bridge across the gulph of death, To break the shock blind nature cannot shun. And lands thought smoothly on the farther shore. Death's terror is the mountain faith removes ; That mountain barrier between man and peace.

NIGHT THE FOURTH. W

Tis faith disarms destruction; and absolves From ev'ry clam'rous charge, the guiltless tomb.

Why disbelieve'? Lorenzo ! — " Reason bids, " All-sacred reason." — Hold her sacred still; Nor shall thou want a rival in thy flame : All-sacred reason ! source, and soul, of all Demanding praise, on earth, or earth above ! My heart is thine; Deep in its inmost folds. Live thou with life ; live dearer of the two. Wear I the blessed Cross, by fortune stamped On passive nature, before thought was borul My birth's blind bigot! fir'd with local zeal! So ; reason re-baptized me when adult ; Weigh'd true, and false, in her impartial scale; My heart became the convert of my head ; \nd made that choice, which once was but my fate. * On argument alone my faith is built :" Reason pursu'd is faith ; and, unpursu'd iVhere proof invites, 'tis reason, then, no more : \nd such our proof. That, or our faith, is right, Or reason lies, and heav'n design'd it wrong : \bsolve we This 1 What, then, is blasphemy 1

Fond as we are, and justly fond, of faith, Reason, we grant, demands our first regard ; The mother honour'd, as the daughter dear, leason the root, fair faith is but the flower; The fading flower sliall die ; but reason lives mmortal, as her Father in the skies. Vhen faith is virtue, reason makes it so. Vrong not the Christian ; think not reason yours : ris reason our great Ma&fcer holds so dear ; Tis reason's injur'd rigJits His wrath resents ;

Iris reason's voice obeyd His glories crown ; ^o give lost reason life, He pour'd his own : ►elieve, and show the reason of a man ; Bve, and taste ike pleasure of a God ;

'74 THE COMPLAINT.

Believe, and look with triunipli on the tomb ; Throuijli reason's wounds alone thy faith can die Which dying, tenloKl terror gives to death, And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting.

Learn hence what honours, what loud paeans, du( To those, who push our antidote aside ; Those boasted friends to reason, and to man, Whose fatal love stabs ev'ry joy, and leaves Death's terror heighten'd, gnawing at his heart These pompous sons of reason idoliz'd And vilify 'd at once ; of reason dead^ Tiien deify'd, as monarchs were of old ; What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow? While love of truth through all their camp resoundsj They draw pride's curtain o'er the noon-tide ray, Spike up their inch of reason, on the point Of philosophic wit, call'd Argunient ; And then, exulting in their taper, cry, ** Behold the sun :" And, Indian-like, adore.

Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding Love! Thou maker of new morals to mankind ! The grand morality is love of Thee. As wise as Socrates, if such they were, (Nor will they 'bate of that sublime renown) As wise as Socrates, might justly stand The definition of a modern fool.

A CHRISTIAN is the highest stile of man. And is there who the blessed cross wipes off. As a foul blot from his dishonour'd brow ? If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight : The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge. More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell?

Ye sold to sense ! ye citizens of earth ! (For such alone the Christian banner fly) Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gaill Behold the picture of earth's happiest man :

II

NIGHT THE FOURTH, 76

*« He calls his wish, it oomes; he sends it back,

" And says, he call'd another; that arrives,

" Meets the same welcome; yet he still calls on;

" Till one calls him, who varies not his call,

" But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound,

J^ill nature dies, and judgment sets him free;

^K freedom far less welcome than his chain/'

^feut grant man happy ; grant him happy long ;

Add to life's highest prrze her latest hour ;

That hour so late, is nimble in approach.

That, like a post, comes on in full career ;

How swift the shuttle flies, that weaves thy shroud !

Where is the fable of thy former years ?

Thrown down the gulph of time ; as far from Thee

As they had ne'er been thine; the day in hand.

Like a bird struggling to get loose, is going :

Scarce now possessed, so suddenly 'tis gone;

And each swift moment fled, is death advanced

By strides as swift : Eternity is all ;

And wliose Eternity 1 Who triumphs there 1

Bathing for ever in the font of bliss !

For ever basking in the Deity !

Lorenzo ! who? — Thy conscience shall reply.

O give it leave to speak ; 'twill speak ere long. Thy leave unask'd : Lorenzo ! hear it now. While useful its advice, its accent mild. By the great edict, the divine decree, Truth is deposited with man's last hour : An honest hour, and faithful to her trust; Truth, ehlest daughter of the Deity' Truth, of his council, when he made the worlds ; Nor less, when he shall judge the worlds he made; Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound, Smother'd with errors, and oppress'd with toys. That heav'n-commission'd hour no sooner calls. But from her cavern in the soul's abyss, H2

76 THE COMPLAINT.

Like him they fable under iEtna whelm'd. The goddess bursts in thunder, and in flame; Loudly convinces, and severely pains. Dark daemons I discharge, and hydra-stings ; The keen vibration of bright truth — is Hell : Just definition ! tho' by schools untaught/ Ye deaf to truth, perused this parson'd page. And trust, for once, a prophet, and a priest : " Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die."

THE

COMPLAINT,

mGHT V.

THE RELAPSE.

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF LITCHFIELD.

►RENZO, to recriminate is just. >Bdness for fame is avarice of air. jraiit the man is vain who writes for praise, lise no man e'er deserv'd, who sought no more. As just thy second charge. I grant the muse Has often blush'd at her degenerate sons, letain'd by sense to plead her filthy cause;

raise the low, to magnify the mean, id subtilize the gross into refined :

if to magic numbers powerful charm

^as given to make a civet of their song >scene, and sweeten ordure to perfume.

7» THE COMPLAINT.

Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute.

And lifts our swine-enjoyments from the mire.

The fact notorious, nor obscure the cause. We wear the chains of pleasure, and of pride. These share the man ; and these distract him too , . Draw difF'rent ways, and clash in their commands. ^ Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars ; But pleasure, lark-like, nests upon the ground. Joys shared by brute creation, pride resents ; Pleasure embraces : man would both enjoy, And both at once : a point so hard how gain ! But what can't wit, when stung by strong desire ?

Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprize. Since joys of sense can't rise to reason's taste ; In subtle sophistry's laborious forge. Wit hammers out a reason new, that stoops To sordid scenes, and meets them with applause. Wit calls the graces the chaste zone to loose ; Nor less than a plump god to fill the bowl ; A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spells, A thousand opiates scatters, to delude. To fascinate, inebriate, lay asleep. And the fool'd mind delightfully confound. Thus that which shock'd the judgment, shocks no more, That which gave pride offence, no more offends. Pleasure and pride, by nature mortal foes, , At war eternal, which in man shall reign. By wit's address, patch up a fatal peace, And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch. From rank, refined to delicate and gay. Art, cursed art, wipes off the indebted blush From nature's cheek, and bronzes every shame. Man smiles in ruin, glories in his guilt. And infamy stands candidate for praise.

All writ by man in favour of the soul, These sensual ethics far, in bulk, transcend.

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NIGHT THE FIFTH. 79

The flowers of eloquence, profusely pour'd O'er spotted vice, fill half the lettered world. Can powers of genius exorcise their page. And consecrate enormities with song 1

But let not these inexpiable strains Condemn the muse that knows her dignity ; Nor meanly stops at time, but holds the world As ^tis, in nature's ample field, a point, A point in her esteem ; from whence to start. And run the round of universal space. To visit Being universal there. And Being's Source, that utmost flight of mind ! Yet spite of this so vast circumference. Well knows, but what is moral, nought is great : Sing syrens only ? Do not angels sing I There is in poesy a decent pride. Which well becomes her when she speaks to prose. Her younger sister ; haply, not more wise.

Think'st thou, Lorenzo, to find pastimes here? No guilty passion blown into a flame. No foible flatter'd, dignity disgraced. No fairy field of fiction, all on flow'r. No rainbow colours, here, or silken tale : But solemn counsels, images of awe. Truths, which eternity lets fall on man With double weight, through these revolving spheres. This death-deep silence, and incumbent shade : Thoughts, such as shall revisit your last hour; Visit uncall'd, and live when life expires ; And thy dark pencil, midnight, darker still

« melancholy dipt, embrowns the whole. Ifet this, even this, my laughter-loving friends, RENzo, and'thy brothers of the smile ! , what imports you most, can most engage, «11 steal your ear, and chain you to my song.

80 THE COMPLAINT.

The truths I sing ; the truths I sing shall feel ; And, feeling, give assent ; and their assent Is ample recompense ; is more than praise. But chiefly thine, O Litchfield, nor mistake; Think not unintroduced I force my way ; Narcissa, not unknown, not unally'd. By virtue, or by blood, illustrious youth ! To thee, from blooming amaranthine bowers. Where all the language harmony, descends Uncall'd and asks admittance for the muse : A muse that will not pain thee with thy praise ; Thy praise she drops, by nobler still inspir'd,

O thou ! Blest Spirit ! whether the supreme. Great antemundane Father ! in whose breast Embryo creation, unborn being, dwelt. And all its various revolutions roU'd Present, though future ; prior to themselves ; Whose breath can blow it into nought again ; Or, from his throne some delegated power. Who, studious of our peace, dost turn the thought From vain and vile, to solid and sublime ! Unseen thou lead'st me to delicious draughts Of inspiration, from a purer stream. And fuller of the god, than that which burst From fam'd Castalia : nor is yet allay'd My sacred thirst ; though long my soul has ranged Through pleasing paths of moral, and divine. By thee sustain'd, and lighted by the STARS.

By them best lighted are the paths of thought ; Nights are their days, their most illumin'd hours. By day, the soul, o'erborne by life's career, Stunn'd by the din, and giddy with the glare. Reels far from reason, jostled by the throng. By day the soul is passive, all her thoughts Imposed, precarious, broken ere mature. By night, from objects free, from passion cool.

I

NIGHT THE FIFTH. W

Thoughts uncoiitroll'd, and unimpress'd, the births

Of pure election, arbitrary range,

Not to the limits of one world confin'd ;

I But from ethereal travels light on earth, Bp voyagers drop anchor, for repose. " Let Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond Of feather'd fopperies, the sun adore : Darkness has more divinity for me ; It strikes thought inward ; it drives back the soul To settle on herself, our point supreme ! There lies our theatre ; there sits our judge. Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull scene ; 'Tis the kind hand of Providence stretched out

Ijffwixt man and vanity ; 'tis reason's reign, ■pd virtue's too ; these tutelary shades "re man's asylum from the tainted throng. Night is the good man's friend, and guardian too ;

I^ftno less rescues virtue, than inspires, ^f Virtue, for ever frail, as fair, below. Her tender nature suffers in the crowd. Nor touches on the world, without a stain : The world's infectious ; few bring back at eve. Immaculate, the manners of the morn. Something we thought, is blotted ; we resolv'd. Is shaken ; we renounced, returns again. Each salutation may slide in a sin Unthought before, or fix a former flaw. Nor is it strange : light, motion, concourse, noise, AU scatter us abroad ; thought outward-bound. Neglectful of our home affairs, flies off In fume and dissipation, quits her charge,

. And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe.

I » Present example gets within our guard,

iHbd acts with double force, by few repell'd.

■ "mbition fires ambition ; love of gain

Strikes, like a pestilence, from breast to breast ;

I

82 THE COMPLAINT.

Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe :

Aud inhumanity is caught from man.

From smiling man. A slight, a single glance.

And shot at random, often has brought home

A sudden fever to the throbbing heart.

Of envy, rancour, or impure desire.

We see, we hear, with peril ; safety dwells

Remote from multitude ; the world's a school

Of wrong, and what proficients swarm around !

We must, or imitate, or disapprove :

Must list as their accomplices, or foes ;

That stains our innocence ; this wounds our peace.

From nature's birth, hence, wisdom has been smit

With sweet recess, and languish'd for the shade.

This sacred shade, and solitude, what is it ] 'Tis the felt presence of the Deity. Few are the faults we flatter when alone. Vice sinks in her allurements, is ungilt. And looks, like other objects, black by night. By night an Atheist half-believes a God.

Night is fair virtue's immemorial friend ; The conscious moon, through every distant age. Has held a lamp to wisdom, and let fall. On Contemplation's eye, her purging ray. The fam'd Athenian, he who wood from heav'a philosophy the fair, to dwell with men, And form their manners, not inflame their pride. While o'er his head, as fearful to molest His lab'ring mind, the stars in silence slide. And seem all gazing on their future guest. See him soliciting his ardent suit In private audience : all the live-long night. Rigid in thought, and motionless, he stands ; Nor quits his theme, or posture, till the sun (Rude drunkard rising rosy from the main!) Disturbs his nobler intellectual beam.

I

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 83

And gives him to the tumult of the world.

Hail, precious moments, stolen from the black waste

Of murder'd time ! Auspicious midnight ! hail !

The world excluded, every passion hush'd

And open'd a calm intercourse with heav'n.

Here the soul sits in council ; ponders past.

Predestines future action ; sees, not feels,

tumultuous life, and reasons with the storm ; U her lies answers, and thinks down her charms. What awful joy ! What mental liberty ! am not pent in darkness ; rather say f not too bold) in darkness Tm embower'd. Delightful gloom ! the clustering thoughts around Spontaneous rise, and blossom in the shade; But droop by day, and sicken in the sun. Thought borrows light elsewhere ; from that first fire. Fountain of animation ! whence descends Ukania, my celestial guest! who deigns Nightly to visit me, so mean ; and now Conscious how needful discipline to man. From pleasing dalliance with the charms of night My wand'ring thought recalls, to what excites Far other beat of heart ! Narcissa's tomb ! Or is it feeble nature calls me back. And breaks my spirit into grief again 1 Is it a Stygian vapour in my blood 1 A cold, slow puddle, creeping through my veins 1 Or is it thus with all men 1 — ^Thus with all. I ^^hat are we 1 How unequal ! Now we soar, I Bod now we sink ; to be the same, transcends B^Bur present prowess. Dearly pays the soul^ 1 For lodging ill ; too dearly rents her clay. I Reason, a baffled counsellor ! but adds The blush of weakness to the bane of woe. e noblest spirit fighting her hard fate, this damp, dusky region, charg'd with storms.

84 THE COMPLAINT.

But feebly flutters, yet untaught to fly ; Or, flying, short her flight, and sure her fall. Our utmost strength, when down, to rise again ; And not to yield, though beaten, all our praise.

'Tis vain to seek in men for more than man. Though proud in promise, big in previous thought. Experience damps our triumph. I, who late. Emerging from the shadows of the grave. Where grief detain'd me prisoner, mounting high. Threw wide the gates of everlasting day. And caird mankind to glory, shook oft' pain. Mortality shook off", in ether pure. And struck the stars ; now feel my spirits fail ; They drop me from the zenith ; down I rush. Like him whom fable fledg'd with waxen wings. In sorrow drown'd — but not in sorrow lost. How wretched is the man who never mourn'd ! I dive for precious pearl in sorrow's stream : Not so the thoughtless man that only grieves ; Takes all the torment, and rejects the gain, (Inestimable gain !) and gives heav'n leave To make him but more wretched, not more wise.

If wisdom is our lesson (and what else Ennobles men? What else have angels learnt?) Grie|il more proficients in thy school are made. Than genius, or proud learning, e'er cou'd boast. Voracious learning, often over-fed. Digests not into sense her motley meal. This book-case, with dark booty almost burst. This forager on others' wisdom, leaves Her native farm, her reason, quite untill'd. With mixt manure she surfeits the rank soil, Dung'd, but not drest; and rich to beggary. A pomp untameable of weeds prevails. Her servant's wealth incumber'd wisdom mourns.

And what says genius ? *' Let the dull be wise.**

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NIGHT THE FIFTH. 85

Genius, too hard for right, can prove it wrong; And loves to boast, where blush men less inspired. It pleads exemption from the laws of sense; Considers reason as a leveller ; And scorns to share a blessing with the crowd. That wise it could be, thinks an ample claim To glory, and to pleasure gives the rest. Crassus but sleeps, Ardelio is undone. Wisdom less shudders at a fool, than wit. HBut wisdom smiles, when humbled mortals weep, ^Bien sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the glebe,^ Tnd hearts obdurate feel her soft'ning shower; Her seed celestial, then, glad wisdom sows; Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil. U so, Narcissa! welcome my Relapse; ril raise a tax on my calamity. And reap rich compensation from my pain. I'll range the plenteous intellectual field ; And gather ev'ry thought of sov'reign power To chase the moral maladies of man ; Thoughts, which may bear transplanting to the skies. Though natives of this coarse penurious soil ; Nor wholly wither there, where seraphs sing, Refin'd, exalted, not annuU'd, in heav'n. Reason, the sun that gives them birth, the same In either clime, though more illustrious there. These choicely cull'd, and elegantly raug'd. Shall form a garland for Narcissa's tomb ; ^d, peradventure, of no fading flowers.

\dy on what themes shall puzzled choice descend?

^W importance, of contemplating the tomb;

'liy men decline it; suicide's foul birth;

i'he various kind of grief; the faults of age ;

ind death's dread character — invite my song."

lud, first, th' importance of our end survey'd.

lends council quick dismission of our grief: I

6(5 THE COMPLAINT.

Mistaken kindness ! our hearts heal too soon. Are they more kind than he who struck the blow I Who bid it do his errand in our hearts. And banish peace, till nobler guests arrive. And bring it back, a true, and endless peace t Calamities are friends : As glaring day Of these unnumber'd lustres robs our sight; Prosperity puts out unnumber'd thoughts Of import high, and light divine, to man.

The man how blest, who, sick of gaudy scenes, (Scenes apt to thrust between us and ourselves I) Is led by choice to take his fav'rite walk. Beneath death's gloomy, silent, cypress shades, Unpierc'd by vanity's fantastic ray ; To read his monuments, to weigh his dust. Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs ! Lorenzo! read with me Narcissa's stone; (Narcissa was thy fav'rite) let us read Her moral stone ; few doctors preach so well ; Few orators so tenderly can touch The feeling heart. What pathos in the date ! Apt words can strike : and yet in them we sec Faint images of what we here enjoy. What cause have we to build on length of life 1 Temptations seize, when fear is laid asleep ; And ill foreboded is our strongest guard.

See from her tomb, as from an humble shrine. Truth, radiant goddess ! sallies on my soul, And puts delusion's dusky train to flight ; Dispels the mists our sultry passions raise. From objects low, terrestrial, and obscene ; And shews the real estimate of things ; Which no man, unafflicted, ever saw ; Pulls off the veil from virtue's rising charms ; Detects teipptation in a thousand lies, Truth bids me look on men, as autumn leaves.

II

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 87

nd all they bleed for, as the summer's dust, Driv'n by the whirlwind : Lighted by her beams, I widen my horizon, gain new powers, See things invisible, feel things remote. Am present with futurities ; think nought To man so foreign, as the joys possest; Nought so much his, as those beyond the grave.

No folly keeps its colour in her sight: Pale worldly wisdom loses all her charms ; In pompous promise, from her schemes profound. If future fate she plans, 'tis all in leaves. Like Sibyl, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss ! At the first blast it vanishes in air. Not so, celestial: Wouldst thou know, LoRENZo! How differ worldly wisdom, and divine ? Just as the wanning and the waxing moon. More empty worldly wisdom ev'ry day ; And ev'ry day more fair her rival shines. When later, there's less time to play the fool. Soon our whole term for wisdom is expir'd (Thou know'st she calls no council in the grave :) And everlasting fool is writ in fire. Or real wisdom wafts us to the skies.

As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl's leaves. The good man's days to Sibyl's books compare, (In ancient story read, thou know'st the tale) In price still rising, as in number less. Inestimable quite his final hour,

r That who thrones can offer, offer thrones ;

olvent worlds the purchase cannot pay. O let me die his death ! " all nature cries,

hen live his life." — All nature faulters there.

r great physician daily to consult To commune with the grave, our only cure. What grave prescribes the best? — A friend's: and

yet,

12

88 THB COMPLAINT.

From a friend's grave, how soon we disengage!

Ev'n to the dearest, as his marble, cold.

Why are friend's ravish'd from us 1 'Tis to bind.

By soft affection's ties, on human hearts.

The thought of death, which reason, too supine.

Or mi^employ'd, so rarely fastens there.

Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both

Conibin'd, can break the witchcrafts of the world,'

Behold, th' inexorable hour at hand !

Behold, th' inexorable hour forgot!

And to forget it, th' chief aim of life.

Though well to ponder it, is life's chief end.

Is death, that ever threat'ning, ne'er remote. That all-important, and that only sure, (Come when he will) an unexpected guest 1 Nay, though invited by the loudest calls Of blind imprudence, unexpected still 1 Though numerous messengers are sent before. To warn his great arrival. What the cause. The wond'rous cause, of this mysterious illl All heav'n looks down astonish'd at the sight.

Is it, that life has sown her joys so thick. We can't thrust in a single care between 1 Is it, that life has such a swarm of cares, The thought of death can't enter for the throng 1 Is it, that time steals on with tiowny feet. Nor wakes indulgence from her golden dream 1 To-day is so like yesterday, it cheats ; We take the lying sister for the same. Life glides away, Lorenzo ! like a brook ; For ever changing, unperceiv'd the change. , Y

In the same brook none ever bath'd him twice : V "^^ To the same life none ever twice awoke. We call the brook the same ; the same we think Our life, though still more rapid in its flow ; Nor mark the much, irrevocably lapsed.

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 8^

d mingled with the sea. Or shall we say

etaining still the brook to bear us on) at life is like a vessel on the stream 1 In life embark'd, we smoothly down the tide X)f time descend, but not on time intent ;

mus'd unconscious of the gliding wave !

11 on a sudden we perceive a shock ;

e start, awake, look out ; what see we there ?

ur brittle bark is burst on Charon's shore.

Is this the cause death flies all human thought 1

r is it judgment, by the will struck blind,

hat domineering mistress of the soul !

ike him so strong, by Dalilah the fair 1

r is it fear turns startled reason back,

om looking down a precipice so steep 1

is dreadful ; and the dread is wisely plac'd,

y nature, conscious of the make of man. A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind, A flaming sword to guard the tree of life. By that unaw'd, in life's most smiling hour. The good man would repine ; would suffer joys, 1 And burn impatient for his promis'd skies. The bad, on each punctilious pique of pride. Or gloom of humour, would give rage the rein ; Bound o'er the barrier, rush into the dark,

Knd mar the schemes of Providence below. What groan was that, Lorenzo! — Furies! rise; nd drown in your less execrable yell, ISritannia's shame. There took her gloomy flight. On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul. Blasted from hell, with horrid lust of death. Thy friend, the brave the gallant Altamont, So call'd, so thought — And then he fled the field. Less base the fear of death, than fear of life. O Britain, infamous for Suicide ! An island in thy manners 1 far disjoin'd I3

90 THE COMPLAINt. 1

From the whole world of rationals beside f m

In ambient wav^s plunge thy polluted head, M Wash the dire stain, nor shock the continent. ■

But thou be shock'd, while I detect the cause Of self-assault, expose the monster's birth, ^

And bid abhorrence hiss it round the world. m Blame not thy clime, nor chide the distant sun ; The sun is innocent, thy clime absolved : Immoral climes kind nature never made. J

The cause I shig, in Eden might prevail, m

And proves, It is thy folly not thy fate. V

The soul of man (let man in homage bow, i^j Who names his soul) a native of the skies ! High-born, and free, her freedom should maintain. Unsold, unmortgaged for earth's little bribes, Th' illustrious stranger, in this foreign land. Like strangers, jealous of her dignity. Studious of home, and ardent to return. Of earth suspicious, earth's inchanted cup With cool reserve light touching, should indulge. On immortality, her godlike taste; There take large draughts; make her chief banquet' there.

But some reject this sustenance divine; To beggarly vile appetites descend ; Ask alms of earth, for guests that came from heav'n ! Sink into slaves ; and sell, for present hire. Their rich reversion, and (what shares its fate) Their native freedom, to the prince who sways This nether world. And when his payments fail. When his foul basket gorges them no more. Or their pall'd palates loathe the basket full ; Are instantly, with wild demoniac rage. For breaking all the chains of Providence, And bursting their confinement ; though fast barr'd By laws divine and human ; guarded strong

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 91

With horrors doubled to defend the pass. The blackest nature, or dire guilt can raise ; And moated round with fathomless destruction. Sure to receive, and whelm them in their fall.

Such, Britons ! is the cause, to you unknown. Or worse, o'erlook'd ; o'erlook'd by magistrates. Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed Is madness ; but the madness of the heart. And what is that ] Our utmost bound of guilt. A sensual, unreflecting life, is big With monstrous births, and suicide, to crown The black infernal brood. The bold to break Heav'ns law supreme, and desperately rush Through sacred nature's murder, on their own. Because they never think of death, they die. 'Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain. At once to shun, and meditate, his end. When by the bed of languishment we sit (The seat of wisdom ! if our choice, not fate) Or, o'er our dying friends, in anguish hang. Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head. Number their moments, and, in ev'ry clock. Start at the voice of an Eternity ; See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift An agonizing beam, at us to gaze. Then sink again, and quiver into death. That most pathetic herald of our own ; How read we such sad scenes'? As sent to man In perfect vengeance ? No ; in pity sent. To melt him down, like wax, and then impress. Indelible, death's image on his heart ; Bleeding for others, trembling for himself. — We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we smile. The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry. Our quick-returning folly cancells all ; As the tide rushing razes what is writ

^2 THE COMPLAINT.

In yielding sands, and smooths the letter'd shore.

Lorenzo ! hast thou evex weigh'd a sigh? Or study'd the philosophy of tears 1 (A science, yet unlectur'd in our schools !) Hast thou descended deep into the breast. And seen their source 1 if not, descend with me. And trace these briny riv'lets to their springs.

Our fun'ral tears, from difF'rent causes, rise. As if from sep'rate cisterns in the soul. Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts,^ By soft contagion call'd, some burst at once. And stream obsequious to the leading eye. Some ask more time, by curious art distill'd. Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt. Struck by the magic of the public eye. Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain. Some weep to share the fame of the deceased. So high in merit, and to them so dear. They dwell on praises, which they think they share ; And thus, without a blush, commend themselves. Some mourn, in proof, that something they could loves They weep not to relieve their grief, but shew. Some weep in perfect justice to the dead. As conscious all their love is in arrear. Some mischievously weep, not unappris'd. Tears sometimes aid the conquest of an eye. With what address the soft Ephesians draw Their sable net-work o'er entangled hearts ! As seen through chrystal, how their roses glow. While liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek 1 Of her's not prouder Egypt's wanton queen. Carousing gems, herself dissolved in love. Some weep at death, abstracted from the dead. And celebrate, like Charles, their own discease. By kind construction some are deem'd to weep. Because a decent veil conceals their joy.

NIGHT THE FIFTH. OS

Some weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain ; As deep in indiscretion, as in woe. Passion, blind passion ! impotently pours Tears, that deserve more tears ; while reason sleeps. Or gazes like an idiot, unconcem'd ; Nor comprehends the meaning of the storm ; Knows not it speaks to her, and her alone. Irrationals all sorrow are beneath. That noble gift ! that privilege of man ! From sorrow's pang, the birth of endless joy. But these are barren of that birth divine: They weep impetuous, as the summer storm. And full as short ! The cruel grief soon tam'd. They make a pastime of the stingless tale : Far as the deep resounding knell, they spread Tlie dreadful news, and hardly feel it more. No gain of wisdom pays them for their woe.

Half-round the globe, the tears pump'd up by death Are spent in wat'ring vanities of life; In making folly flourish still more fair. When the sick soul, her wonted stay withdrawn Reclines on earth, and sorrows in the dust ; Instead of learning there her true support, Tho' there thrown down her true support to learn. Without heav'ns aid, impatient to be blest. She crawls to the next shrub, or bramble vile. Though from the stately cedar's arms she fell ; With stale, foresworn embraces clings anew. The stranger weds, and blossoms, as before, In all the fruitless fopperies of life : Presents her weed, well-fancy'd, at the ball. And raffles for the death's head on the ring.

So wept AuRELiA, till the destin'd youth Stept in, with his receipt for making smiles. And blanching sables into bridal bloom. So wept Lorenzo fair Clarissa's fate;

94 THE COMPLAINT.

Who gave that angel boy, on whom he doats !

And dy'd to give him, orphan'd in his birth !

Not such, Narcissa, my distress for thee.

I'll make an altar of thy sacred tomb.

To sacrifice to wisdom. What wast thou 1

** Young, gay, and fortunate !" Each yields a them<

rU dwell on each, to shun thought more severe ;

(Heav'n knows I labour with severer still !)

I'll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death.

A soul without reflection, like a pile

Without inhabitant, to ruin runs.

And, first, thy youth. What says it to grey hi Narcissa, I'm become thy pupil now — Early, bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew. She sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to heav'n. Time on this head has snow'd, yet still 'tis borne Aloft ; nor thinks but on another's grave. Cover'd with shame I speak it, age severe Old worn-out vice sets down for virtue fair; With graceless gravity, chastisjuig youth. That youth chastis'd surpassing in a fault. Father of ail, forgetfulness of death : As if, like objects pressing on the sight. Death had advanc'd too near us to be seen : Or, that life's loan time ripen'd into right ; And men might plead prescription from the grave ; Deathless, from repetition of reprieve. Deathless? far from it! such are dead already; Their hearts are bury'd, and the world their grave.

Tell me, some god ! my guardian angel ; tell. What thus infatuates ? what inchantment plants The phantom of an age 'twixt us, and death Already at the door 1 He knocks, we hear him. And yet we will not hear. What mail defends Our untouch'd hearts 1 What miracle turns off The pointed thought, which from a thousand quivei

I

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 0&

Is daily darted, and is daily shunn'd ? We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs Around us falling ; wounded oft ourselves ; Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal still ! We see time's furrows on another's brow. And death intrench'd, preparing his assault ; How few themselves in that just mirror see ! Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong ! There death is certain ; doubtful here : he must. And soon : we may, within an age, expire. Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are

green ; Like damag'd clocks, whose hand and bell dissent ; Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve.

Absurd longevity ! More, more, it cries : More life, more wealth, more trash of ev'ry kind. And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails 1 Object, and appetite, must club for joy ; Shall Folly labour hard to mend the bow. Baubles, I mean, that strike us from without. While nature is relaxing ev'ry string 1 Ask thought for joy ; grow rich, and hoard within. Think you the soul, when this life's rattles cease. Has nothing of more manly to succeed 1 Contract the taste immortal ; learn ev'n now To relish what alone subsists hereafter. Divine or none, henceforth your joys for ever. Of age the glory is to wisii to die. That wish is praise, and promise ; it applauds Past life, and promises our future bliss. What weakness see not children in their sires 1 Grand-climacterical absurdities ! Grey-hair'd authority, to faults of youth. How shocking : it makes folly thrice a fool ; And our first childhood might our last despise. Peace and esteem is all that age can hope.

96 THE COMPLAINT.

Nothing but wisdom gives the first ; the last, Nothing, but the repute of being wise. Folly bars both ; our age is quite undone.

What folly can be ranker? Like our shadows. Our wishes lengthen, as our sun declines. No wish should loiter then, this side the grave. Our hearts should leave the world, before the kncl Calls for our carcases to mend the soil. Enough to live in tempest, die in port ; Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat Defects of judgment; and the will's subdue; Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore Of that vast ocean it must sail so soon : And put good works on board ; and wait the wind That shortly blows us into worlds unknown ; T

If uncoRsider'd too, a dreadful scene !

All should be prophets to themselves ; foresee Their future fate ; their future fate foretaste ; This art would waste the bitterness of death. The thought of death alone, the fear destroys. A disaffection to that precious thought Is more than midnight darkness on the soul. Which sleeps beneath it, on a precipice, PufF'd off by the first blast, and lost for ever.

Dost ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly press'd. By repetition hammer'd on thine ear. The thought of death 1 That thought is the machin< The grand machine ! that heaves us from the dust. And rears us into men. That thought, ply'd home. Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice O'er-hanging hell, will soften the descent, And gently slope our passage to the grave ; How warmly to be wish'd ! What heart of flesh Would trifle with tremendous ? dare extremes 1 Yawn o'er the fate of infinite 1 What hand Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold,

I

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 97

(To speak a language too well known to thee) Wpuld at a moment give its all to chance. And stamp the die for an eternity 1

Aid me, Narcissa ! aid me to keep pace With destiny ; and ere her scissars cut My thread of life, to break this tougher thread Of moral death, that ties me to the world. Sting thou my slumb'ring reason to send forth A thought of observation on the foe ; To sally ; and survey the rapid march Of his ten thousand messengers to man; Who, JEHU-Iike, behind him turns them all. All accident apart, by nature sign'd. My warrant is gone out, though dormant yet ; Perhaps behind one moment lurks my fate.

Must I then forward only look for death ? Backward I turn mine eye,* and find him there. Man is a self-survivor ev'ry year. Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow. Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey. My youth, my noon-tide, his; my yesterday; The bold invader sharies the present hour. Each moment on the former shuts the grave. While man is growing, life is in decrease; And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. Our birth is nothing but our death begun ; As tapers waste, that instant they take fire.

Shall we then fear, lest that should come to pass. Which comes to pass each moment of our lives'? If fear we must, let that death turn us pale. Which murders strength and ardour ; what remains Should rather call on death, than dread his call. Ye partners of my fault, and my decline ! ' Thoughtless of death, but vfhen your neighbour's

knell (Rude visitant !) knocks hard at your dull sense,

K

I

08 THE COMPLAINT.

And with its thunder scarce obtains your ear ! Be death your theme, in ev'ry place and hour ; Nor longer want, ye monumental Sires ! A brother tomb to tell you you shall die. That death you dread (so great is nature's skill !) Know, you shall court before you shall enjoy.

But jfou are learn'd ; in volumes deep you sit ; In wisdom, shallow : Pompous ignorance ! Would you be still more learned, than the learn'd Learn well to know how much need not be known. And what that knowledge which impairs your sense. Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, Unhedg'd, lies open in life's common field; And bids all welcome to the vital feast. You scorn what lies before you in the page Of nature, and experience, moral truth ; Of indispensible, eternal fruit ; Fruit, on which mortals feeding, turn to gods : And dive in science for distinguish'd names. Dishonest fomentation of your pride ; Sinking in virtue, as you rise in fame. Your learning, like the lunar beam affords Light, but not heat ; it leaves you undevout. Frozen at heart, while speculation shines. Awake, ye curious indigators ! fond Of knowing all, but what avails you known. If you would learn death's character, attend. All casts of conduct, all degrees of health. All dies of fortune, and all dates of age. Together shook in his impartial urn. Come forth at random : Or, if choice is made. The choice is quite sarcastic, and insults All bold conjecture, and fond hopes of man. What countless multitudes not only leave. But deeply disappoint us, by their deaths ! Though great our sorrow, greater our surprise.

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NIGHT THE FIFTH. 99

Like other tyrants, death delights to smite, SVhat, smitten, most proclaims the pride of poVr, \nd arbitrary nod. His joy supreme. To bid the wretch survive the fortunate ; rhe feeble wrap the athletic in his shroud ; ind weeping fathers build their children's tomb : Vfe thine, Nakcissa ! — What though short thy datet i^irtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures. That life is long, which answers life's great end. The tree that bears no fruit, deserves no name ; The man of wisdom is the man of years. fn hoary youth Methusalems may die; 3 how misdated on their fiatt'ring tombs ! i^arcissa's youth has lectur'd me thus far. \nd can her gaiety give counsel too 1 That, like the Jews fam'd oracle of gems, Sparkles instruction ; such as throws new light, And opens more the character of death ; [11 known to thee, Lorenzo ! This thy vaunt: "Give death his due, the wretched, and the old; '* Ev'n let him sweep his rubbish to the grave ; " Let him not violate kind nature's laws, " But own man born to live as well as die." Wretched and old thou giv'st him ; young and gay He takes ; and plunder is a tyrant's joy. What if I prove " The farthest from the fear, '* Are often nearest to the stroke of Fate V

All, more than common, menaces an end. A blaze betokens brevity of life : As if bright embers should emit a flame, Glad spirits sparkled from Narcissa's eye. And made youth younger, and taught life to live. As nature's opposites wage endless war. For this ofl'ence, as treason to the deep Inviolable stupor of his reign,

Cid turbulent ambition, sleep, k2

St

loo THE COMPLAINT.

Death took swift vengeance. As he life detests.

More life is still more odious ; and, redue'd

By conquest, aggrandizes more his power.

But wherefore aggrandized 1 By heav'n's decree.

To plant the soul on her eternal guard,

lu awful expectation of our end.

Tlius runs death's dread commission: " Strike, but

*• As most alarms the living by the dead."

Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise.

And cruel sport with man's securities.

Not simple conquest, triumph is his aim ;

And where least fear'd, there conquest triumphs most

This proves my bold assertion not too bold.

What are his arts to lay our fears asleep I Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up In deep dissimulation's darkest night. Like princes unconfest in foreign courts, Who travel under cover, death assumes The name and look of life, and dwells among us. He takes all shapes that serve his black designs : Though master of a wider empire far Than that o'er which the Roman eagle flew. Like Nero, he's a fidler, charioteer. Or drives his phaeton, in female guise ; Quite unsuspected, till, the wheel beneath. His disarray'd oblation he devours.

He most affects the forms least like himself. His slender self. Hence burly corpulence Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise. Behind the rosy bloom he loves to lurk. Or ambush in a smile : or wanton dive In dimples deep ; love's eddies, which draw in Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair. Such, on Narcissa's couch he loiter'd long Unknown : and, when detected, still was seen To smile ; such peace has innocence in death ! Most happy they ! whom least his arts deceive.

NIGHT THE FIFTH. lOI

One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven. Becomes a mortal, and immortal man. JLong on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy, I've seen, or dreamt I saw, the tyrant dress ; Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles. Say, muse, for thou remember'st, call it back. And shew Lorenzo the surprising scene; If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain.

'Twas in a circle of the gay I stood. Death would have enter'd ; Nature pushed him back ; Supported by a doctor of renown. His point he gain'd. Then artfully dismiss'd The sage; for death design 'd to be concealed. He gave an old vivacious usurer His meagre aspect, and his naked bones ; In gratitude for plumping up his prey, A pamper'd spendthrift; whose fantastic air. Well-fa shion'd figure, and cockaded brow. He took in change, and underneath the pride Of costly linen, tuck'd his filthy shroud. His crooked bow he straighten'd to a cane ; And hid his deadly shafts in Myra's eye.

The dreadful masquerader, thus equip'd. Oat-sallies on adventures. Ask you where t Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts. Let this suffice ; sure as night follows day, Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world. Whe« pleasure treads the paths, which reason shuns. When, against reason, riot shuts the door. And gaiety supplies the place of sense. Then, foremost at the banquet, and the ball. Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly die; J^or ever fiiils the midnight bowl to crown. Gaily carousing to his gay compeers. Inly he laughs, to see them laugh at him. As absent far : And when the revel burns, K3

102 THE COMPLAINT.

When fear is banish'd, and triumphant thought. Calling for all the joys beneath the moon. Against him turns the key ; and bids him sup With their progenitors — He drops his mask ; Frowns out at full ; they start, despair, expire.

Scarce with more sudden terror and surprise. From his black masque of nitre, touch'd by fire. He bursts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours. And is not this triumphant treachery. And more than simple conquest, in the fiend?

And now, Lorenzo, dost thou wrap thy soul In soft security, because unknbwn Which moment is commission'd to destroy 1 In death's uncertainty thy danger lies. Is death uncertain? Therefore thou be fix'd; Fix'd as a sentinel, all eye, all ear. All expectation of the coming foe. Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear; Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul. And fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be strong; Thus give each day the merit, and renown. Of dying well ; though doom'd but once to die. Nor let life's period hidden (as from most) Hide too from thee the precious use of life.

Early, not sudden, was Narcissa's fate. Soon, not surprising, death his visit paid. Her thought went forth to meet him on his way. Nor gaiety forgot it was to die : Though fortune too (our third and final theme) As an accomplice, play'd her gaudy plumes, And ev'ry glitt'ring gewgaw, on her sight. To dazzle and debauch it from its mark. Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man ; And ev'ry thought that misses it, is blind. Fortune, witii youth and gaiety, conspir'd To weave a triple wreath of happiness

I

(iiha

NiGHft THE FIFTH. 103

lappiuess on earth) to crown her brow. And could death charge throuj^h such a shining shield ?

That shining shield invites the tyrant's spear, As if to damp our elevated aims. And strongly preach humility to man. O how portentous is prosperity ! How, comet-like, it threatens, while it shines ! Few years but yield us proof of death's ambition. To cull his victims from the fairest fold, And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life. When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er With recent honours, bloom'd with ev'ry bliss. Set up in ostentation, made the gaze. The gaudy centre, of the public eye. When fortune thus has toss'd her child in air, Snatch'd from the covert of an humble state. How often have I ieen him drop'd at once, Our morning's envy! and our ev'ning's sigh! As if her bounties were the signal giv'n. The flow'ry wreath to mark the sacrifice. And call death's arrows on the destin'd prey.

High fortune seems in cruel league with fate. Ask you for what ] To give his war on man The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil ; Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe. And burns Lorenzo still for the sublime Of life ] to hang his airy nest on high. On the slight timber of the topmost bough, llock'd at each breeze, and menacing a fall 1 Granting grim death at equal distance there ; Yet peace begins just where ambition ends. What makes man wretched ] Happiness denyM 1 Lorenzo! no: 'Tis happiness disdahi'd. She comes too meanly drest to win our smile ; And c£llls herself Content, a homely name ! Our flame is transport, and content our scorn.

104 THE COMPLAINT.

Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her. And weds a toil, a tempest, in her stead ; A tempest to warm transport near of kin. Unknowing what our mortal state admits. Life's modest joys we ruin, while we raise ; And all our ecstasies are wounds to peace : Peace, the full portion of mankind below.

And since thy peace is dear, ambitious youth ! Of fortune fond! as thoughtless of thy fate! As late I drew death's picture, to stir up Thy wholesome fears ; now, drawn in contrast, set Gay fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand. See, high in air, the sportive goddess hangs. Unlocks her casket, spreads her glittering ware. And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng. All rush rapacious ; friends o'er trodden friends ; Sons o'er their fathers, subjects o'er their kings. Priests o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair, (Still more ador'd) to snatch the golden show'r.

Gold glitters most, where virtue shines no more; As stars from absent suns have leave to shine. O what a precious pack of votaries Unkennell'd from the prisons, and the stews. Pour in, all op'ning in their idol's praise ; All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand. And, wide-expanding their voracious jaws, Morsel on morsel swallow down unchew'd, Untasted, through mad appetite for more ; Gorg'd to the throat, yet lean and rav'nous still. Sagacious All, to trace the smallest game. And bold to seize the greatest. If (blest chance !); Court-zephyrs sweetly breathe, they launch, they O'er just, o'er sacred, all-forbidden ground. Drunk with the burning scent of place or pow'r. Staunch to the foot of lucre, till they die.

^ NIGHT THE FIFTH. 105

Or, if for men you take them, as I mark Their maimers, thou their various fates survey. With aim mismeasur'd, and impetuous speed. Some darting, strike their ardent wish far off. Through fury to possess it : Some succeed. But stumble, and let fall the taken prize. From some, by sudden blasts, 'tis whirl'd away. And lodg'd in bosoms that ne'er dreamt of gain. To some it sticks so close, that, when torn off. Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound. Some, o'er-enaraour'd of their bags, run mad. Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread. Together some (unhappy rivals !) seize. And rend abundance into poverty ; Loud croaks the raven of the law, and smiles : Smiles too the goddess ; but smiles most at those, (Just victims of exorbitant desire !) Who perish at their own request, and, whelm'd Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire. Fortune is famous for her numbers slain, The number small, which happiness can bear. Though various for a while th'eir fates ; at last One curse involves them all : At death's approach. All read their riches backward into loss. And mourn, in just proportion to their store.

And death's approach (if orthodox my song) Is hasten'd by the lure of fortune's smiles. And art thou still a glutton of bright gold ? And art thou still rapacious of thy ruin 1 Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow; A blow, which, while it executes, alarms ; And startles thousands with a single fall. As when some stately growth of oak, or pine. Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade. The sun's defiance, and the flock's defence ; By the strong strokes of lab'ring hinds subdu'd.

106 THE COMPLAINT.

Loud groans her last, and, rushing from her height. In cumbrous ruin, thunders to the ground : The conscious forest trembles at the shock, And hill, and stream, and distant dale resound.

These high-aim 'd darts of death, and these alone. Should I collect, my quiver would be full. A quiver, which, suspended in mid-air. Or near heav'n's archer, in the zodiac, hung, (So could it be) should draw the public eye. The gaze and contemplation of mankind ! A constellation awful, yet benign. To guide the gay through life's tempestuous wave Nor suffer them to strike the common rock, " From greater danger to grow more secure, " And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate."

Lysander, hapjpy past the common lot, Was warn'd of danger, but too gay to fear. He woo'd the fair Aspasia : she was kind : In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were blest . All who knew, envy'd : yet in envy lov'd : Can fancy form more finish'd happiness ? Fix'd was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome Rose on the sounding beach. The glittering spires Float in the wave, and break ag&Inst the shore : So break those glitt'ring shadows, human joys. The faithless morning smil'd : he takes his leave. To re-imbrace, in ecstasies, at eve. The rising storm forbids. The news arrives : Untold, she saw it in her servant's eye. She felt it seen (her heart was apt to feel ;) And, drown'd, without the furious ocean's aid. In suffocating sorrows, shares his tomb. Now, round the sumptuous, bridal monument. The guilty billows innocently roar ; And the rough sailor passing, drops a tear. A tear ! — Can tears suffice !— >But not for me.

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 10?

How vain our efforts ! and our arts, how vain ! The distant train of thought I took, to shun. Has thrown me on my fate — These died together; Happy in ruin ! undivorc'd by death ! Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace — Narcissa ! Pity bleeds at thought of thee. Yet thou wast only near me ; not myself. Survive myself] — That cures all other woe. Narcissa lives? Philander is forgot. O the soft commerce ! Oh the tender ties. Close-twisted with the fibres of the heart ! Which broken, break them : and drain off the soul Of human joy ; and make it pain to live — And is it then to live ] When such friends part, fTis the survivor dies — My heart, no more.

PREFACE

TO THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED, '

FEW ages have been deeper in dispute about religion than this. Tlie dispute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, therefore, the dispute, the better. I think it may be reduced to this single question. Is man immortal, or is he not 1 If he is not, all our dis- putes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. In this case, truth, reason, religion, which gives our discourses such pomp and solemnity, are (as will be shewn) mere empty sound, without any meaning in them. But if man is immortal, it will behove him to be very serious about eternal consequences ; or, in other words, to be truly re- ligious. And this great fundamental truth, unes- tablished, or unawakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, the real source and support of all our infidelity ; how remote soever the particular ob- jections advanced may seem to be from it.

Sensible appearances affect most men much more than abstract reasonings ; and we daily see bodies drop around us, but the soul is invisible. The power which inclination has over the judgment, is greater than can be well conceived by those that have not had an experience of it ; and of iVhat numbers is it the sad interest that souls should not survive ! The heathen world confessed, that they rather hoped, than firmly believe;d immorta- lity ! And how many heathens have we still amongst us ! The sacred page assures us, that life and immortality is brought to light by ,the Gos- pel : but by how many is the Gospel rejected, or overlooked ! From these considerations, and iSrcin my being, accidentally, privy to the sentiments of

I

110 THE PREFACE.

some particular persons, I have been long persuad- ed that most, if not all, oar infidels (whatever name they take, and whatever scheme, for argu ment's sake, and to keep themselves in counte- nance, they patronize) are supported in their de- plorable error, by some doubt of their immortality, at the bottom. And I am satisfied that men once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Christians. For it is hard to conceive, that a man fully conscious eternal pain or happiness will certainly be his lot, shoidd not earnestly, and impartially, inquire after the surest means of escaping one, and securing the other. And of such an earnest and impartial inquiry, J well know the consequence.

Here, therefore, in proof of this most funda- mental truth, some plain arguments are offered ; arguments derived from principles which Infidels admit in common with Believers ; arguments, which appear to me altogether irresistible ; and such as, I am satisfied, will have great weight with all, who give themselves the small trouble of looking seriously into their own bosoms, and of observing, with any tolerable degree of attention, what daily passes round about them in the world. If some arguments shall, here, occur, which others have declined, they are submitted, with all defer- ence, to better judgments in this, of all points the most important. For, as to the Being of a God, that is no longer disputed ; but it is undisputed for this reason only ; viz. because, where the least pretence to reason is admitted, it must for ever be j indisputable. And of consequence no man can betrayed into a dispute of that nature by vanity! which has a principle share in animating our mode combatants against other articles of our Belief.

THE

COMPLAINT.

NIGHT VL THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED.

IN TWO PARTS.

taining the "Nature, Proof, and Importance qf Immortality.

PART I.

Where, among other Things, Glory and Riches ar^ particularly considered,

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. HENRY PELHAM.

SHE * (for I know not yet her name in heav'n) Not early, like Narcissa, left the scene; Nor sudden, like Philander. What avail? This seeming mitigation but inflames ; This fancy'd med'cine heightens the disease. The longer known, the closer still she grew ; And gradual parting is a gradual death. 'Tis the grim tyrant's engine, which extorts,

♦ Referring to Night the Fifth. l2

112 THE COMPLAINT.

My tardy pressure's still-increasing weight. From hardest hearts, confession of distress.

O the long, dark approach through years of pain. Death's gall'ry ! (might I dare to call it so) With dismal doubt, and sable terror, hung ; Sick hope's pale lamp its only glimm'ring ray: There, fate by melancholy walk ordain'd. Forbid self-love itself to flatter, there. How oft I gaz'd, prophetically sad ! How oft I saw her dead, while yet in smiles ! In smiles she sunk her grief to lessen mine. She spoke me comfort, and increas'd my pain. Like powerful armies trenching at a town, By slow, and silent, but resistless sap. In his pale progress gently gaining ground. Death urg'd his deadly siege ; in spite of art. Of all the balmy blessings nature lends To succour frail humanity. Ye stars ! (Not. now first made familiar to my sight) And thou, O moon ! bear witness ; many a night He tore the pillow from beneath my head, T/d down my sore attention to the shock. By ceaseless depredations on a life Dearer than that he left me. Dreadful post Of observation ! darker ev'ry hour ! Less dread the day that drove me to the brink. And pointed at eternity below. When my soul shudder'd at futurity ; When, on a moment's point, th' important dye Of life and death spun doubtful, ere it fell And turn'd up life ; my title to more Woe.

But why more woe ? More comfort let it be. Nothing is dead, but that which wished to die ; Nothing is dead, but wretchedness and pain ; Nothing is dead, but what incumber'd, gall'd. Blocked up the pass, and barr'd from real life.

NIGHT THE SIXTH. 113

Where dwells that wish most ardent of the wise 1

Too dark the sun to see it ; highest stars

Too low to reach it ; death, great death alone.

O'er stars and sun, triumphant, lands us there. Nor dreadful our transition ; though the mind.

An artist at creating self-alarms.

Rich in expedients for inquietude.

Is prone to paint it dreadful. Who can take

Death's portrait true 1 The tyrant never sat.

Our sketch all random strokes, conjecture all ;

Close shuts the grave, nor tells one single tale.

Death, and his image rising in the brain.

Bear faint resemblance; never are alike;

Fear shakes the pencil ; fancy loves excess ;

Dark ignorance is lavish of her shades:

And these the formidable picture draw.

But grant the worst; 'tis past; new prospects rise;

And drop a veil eternal o'er her tomb.

Far other views our contemplation claim, ; Views that o'erpay the rigours of our life ; I Views that suspend our agonies in death.

Wrap'd in the thought of immortality,

Wrap'd in the single, the triumphant thought !

Long life might lapse, age unperceiv'd come on ;

And find the soul unsated with her theme.

Its nature, proof, importance, fire my song.

O that my song could emulate my soul !

Like her, immortal. No ! — ^the soul disdains

A mark so mean ; far nobler hope inflames ;

If endless ages can outweigh an hour.

Let not the laurel, but the palm, inspire. Thy nature, immortality ; who knows ]

And yet who knows it not ] It is but life

In stronger thread of brighter colour spun.

And spun for ever ; dipp'd by cruel fate

In Stygian dye, how black, how brittle here ! l3

THE COMPLAINT.

How short our correspondence with the suii !

And while it lasts, inglorious ! Our best de^ds.

How wanting in their weight ! our highest joys

Small cordials to support us in our pain.

And give us strength to suffer. But how great

To mingle int'rests, converse, amities,

With all the sons of reason, scatter 'd wide

Through habitable space, wherever born,

Howe'er endow'd ! To live free citizens

Of universal nature ! To lay hold

By more than feeble faith on the supreme !

To call heav'n's rich unfathomable mines

(Mines, which support archangels in their state)

Our own! T© rise in science, as in bliss,

Initiate in the secrets of the skies !

To read creation ; read its mighty plan

In the bare bosom of the Deity !

The plan, and execution, to collate !

To see, before each glance of piercing thought.

All cloud, all shadow, blown remote ; and leave

No mystery — ^bwt that of love Divine,

Which lifts us on the seraph's flaming wind.

From earth's aceldama, this field of blood.

Of inward anguish, and of outward ill.

From darkness, and from dust, to such a scene !

Love's element ! true joy's illustrious home !

From earth's sad contrast (now deplor'd) more fair!

What exquisite vicissitude of fate !

Blest absolution of our blackest hour!

Lorenzo, these are thoughts that make man Man The wise illumine, aggrandise the great. How great (while yet we tread the kindred clod. And ev'ry moment fear to sink beneath The clod we tread ; soon trodden by our sons) How great, in the wild whirl of time's pursuits. To stop, and pause, involv'din high presage.

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NIGHT THE SIXTH. 115

Through the long vis to of a thousand years.

To stand contemplating our distant selves.

As in a magnifying mirror seen,

Enlarg'd, ennobled, elevate, divine I

To prophesy our own futurities ;

To gaze in thought on what all thought transcends !

To talk, with fellow-candidates, of joys

As far beyond conception as desert.

Ourselves th' astonish'd talkers, and the tale !

Lorenzo, swells thy bosom at the thought? The swell becomes thee : 'Tis an honest pride. Revere thyself; — and yet thyself despise. His nature no man can o'er-rate ; and none Can under-rate his merit. Take good heed. Nor there be modest, where thou shouldst be proud ; That almost universal error shun. How just our pride, when we behold those heights; Not those ambition paints in air, but those Reason points out, and ardent virtue gains ; And angels emulate ; our pride how just! When mount we? When these shackles cast? When

quit This cell of the creation? This small nest. Stuck in a corner of the universe, Wrap'd up in fleecy cloud, and fine spun air ? Fine spun to sense ; but gross and feculent To souls celestial ; souls ordain'd to breathe Ambrosial gales, and drink a purer sky ; Greatly triumphant on time's farther shore. Where virtue reigns, enriched with full arrears ; While pomp imperial begs an alms of peace.

In empire high, or in proud science deep. Ye born of earth ! on what can you confer. With half the dignity, with half the gain. The gust, the glow of rational delight. As on this theme, which angels praise and share t

116 THE COMPLAINT.

Man's fates and favours are a theme in heaven.

What wretched repetition cloys us here ! What periodic potions for the sick ! Distempered bodies ! and distemper'd minds ! In an Eternity, what scene shall strike ! Adventures thicken ! novelties surprise ! What webs of thunder shall unravel there ! What full day pour on all the paths of heaven. And light th' Almighty's footsteps in the deep! How shall the blessed day of our discharge Unwind, at once, the labyrinths of fate. And straiten its inextricable maze !

If inextinguishable thirst in man To know ; how rich, how full, our banquet there! There, not the moral world alone unfolds ! The world material, lately seen in shades. And, in those shades, by fragments only seen. And seen those fragments by the laboring eye. Unbroken, then, illustrious, and entire. Its ample sphere, its universal frame. In full dimensions, swells to the survey ; m

And enters, at one glance, the ravish'd sight. I

From some superior point (where, who can tell 1 Suffice^ it, 'tis a point where gods reside) How shall the stranger man's illumin'd eye. In the vast ocean of unbounded space. Behold an infinite of floating worlds Divide the crystal waves of Ether pure. In endless voyage, without port 1 The least Of these disseminated orbs, how great ! Great as they are, what numbers these surpass. Huge, as Leviathan, to that small race. Those twinkling multitudes of little life. He swallows unperceiVd! Stupendous these! Yet what are these stupendous to the whole! As particles, as atoms ill perceiv'd ;

AS cii

NIGHT THE STIXTH. 117

s circulating globules in our veins ; ' So vast the plan. Fecundity divine ! Exuberant source ! perhaps, I wrong thee still.

If admiration is a source of joy. What transport hence ! Yet this the least in heaven. What this to that illustrious robe he wears. Who toss'd this mass of wonders from his hand, A specimen, an earnest of his power 1 Tis to that glory, whence all glory flows. As the mead's meanest flow'ret to the sun. Which gave it birth. But what, this sun of heaven? This bliss supreme of the supremely blest ? Death, only death, the question can resolve. ?Jy death, cheap-bought th' ideas ©f our joy ; The bare ideas ! solid happiness So distant from its shadow chas'd below.

And chase we still the phantom through the fire. O'er bog, and brake, and precipice, till death 1 And toil we still for sublunary pay 1 Defy the dangers of the field and flood. Or, spider-like, spin out our precious all^ Our more than vitals spin (if no regard To great futurity) in curious webs Of subtle thought, and exquisite design ; (Fine net- work of the brain !) to catch a fly I The momentary buz of vain renown ! A name ! a mortal immortality \

Or (meaner still !) instead of grasping air. For sordid lucre plunge we in the mire J Drudge, sweat, through ev'ry shame, for ev'ry gain. For vile contaminating trash ; throw up Our hope in heav'u, our dignity with man 1 And deify the dirt, matur'd to gold ? Ambition, avarice ; the two daemons these. Which goad through every slough our human herd, Hard-travell'd from the cradle to the grave.

118 THE COMPLAINT.

How low the wretches stoop! How steep they climb ! These daemons burn mankind ; but most possess Lorenzo's bosom, and turn out the skies.

Is it in time to hide eternity 1 And why not in an atom on the shore To cover ocean? or a mote, the sun? Glory and wealth ! have they this blinding pow'r 1 What if to them I prove Lorenzo blind? Would it surprize thee? Be thou then surprised; Thou neither know'st. Their nature learn from me^i

Mark well, as foreign as these subjects seem. What close connexion ties them to my theme. First, what is true ambition ? The pursuit Of glory nothing less than man can share. Were they as vain, as gaudy-minded man. As flatulent with fumes of self-applause. Their arts and conquests animals might boast. And claim their laurel crowns, as well as we; But not celestial. Here we stand alone ; As in our form, distinct, pre-eminent ; If prone in thought, our stature is our shame ; And man should blush, his forehead meets the skies*, The visible and present are for brutes, A slender portion ! and a narrow bound ! These reason, with an energy divine, O'erleaps ; and claims the future and unseen ; The vast unseen ! the future fathomless ! When the great soul buoys up to this high point. Leaving gross nature's sediments below. Then, and then only, Adam's offspring quits The sage and hero of the fields and woods. Asserts his rank, and rises into man. This is ambition : This is human fire.

Can parts or place (two bold pretenders !) make Lorenzo great, and pluck him from the throng 1

Genius and art, ambition's boasted wings.

i

^V NIGHT THE SIXTH. 110

TJur boast but ill deserve. A feeble aid ! Daedalian engin'ry ! If these alone Assist our flight, fame's flight is glory's fall. Heart merit wanting, mount we ne'er so high. Our height is but the gibbet of our name. A celebrated wretch when I behold. When I behold a genius bright, and base, Of towering talents, and terrestrial aims ; Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere. The glorious fragments of a soul immortal. With rubbish mixt, and glittering in the dust. Struck at the splendid, melancholy sight,

At once compassion soft, and envy, rise

But wherefore envy 1 Talents angel-bright. If wanting worth, are shining instruments In false ambition's hand, to finish faults Illustrious, and give infamy renown.

Great ill is an achievement of great pow'rs. Plain sense but rarely leads us far astray, leason the means, afiections chuse our end ; Means have no merit, if our end amiss.