^°-n*. % 4 o .-Jv- '.tf^^' r ;^^;//;/'y^-,t Winchester College, till he was chosen on the foundation of New College, Oxford, October 13, 1703, but removed in less than a year to Corpus Christi, where he entered himself a Gentleman Commoner. Archbishop Tennison put him into a law fellowship in 1708, in the college of All Souls. He took the de- gree of Bachelor in 1714, and became LL. D. in 1719. His tragedy of Busiris came out the same year ; The Revenge in 1721 ; The Brothers in 1723; and soon after his elegant poem of The Last Day, which engaged the greater attention for being written by a layman. The Force of Religion, or Vanquished Love, a poem, also gave much pleasure. These works procured him the fi'iendship of som.e among the nobility, and the patron- age of the Duke of Wharton, by whom he was induced to stand a candidate for a seat in parliament for Ciren- cester, but without,success. The bias of his mind was strongly turned toward divinity, which drew him away from the law before he had begun to practise. On his taking orders, he was appointed Chaplain in ordinary to George II. in April, 1723. His first work in his new I thiracter was a Vindication of Providence, puttished. J MEMOIRS OF as well a^ llis Estimate of Human Life, in quarto. Soon after, in 1730, his college presented him to the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire, worth 300?. per annum, beside the lordship of the manor which pertained to. it. He married Lady Betty Lee, widow of Col. Lee, in 1731- She was daughter c£ the Earl of Litchfield. By. her he had a son. Notwithstanding the high estimation in which he was held, his familiar intercourse with many of the first rank, his being a great favourite of Frederick Prince of Wales, and paying a pretty constant attend-, ance at court, he never rose to higher preferment, if^. however, we except his being made clerk of the closet i| to the Princess Dowager of Wales in. 1761, when-hfr was fourscore years of age. His Jine poem of the Night Thoughts, it is well known, was occasioned by a family distress; the lo.ss of his wife and the two cliildren, a son and a daughter, whom she had by, her first husband; these all died I within a short time of each other in 1741. The son-ini, law is characterized in this work by the name of Phi- -j lander, and the young lady, who sunk into a decline j through grief for the loss of her mother, by that of j Narcissa. He removed her, in hope of her deriving; benefit from a warmer climate, to Montpelier, in the south of Frauce ; but she died soon after their arrival in that city. The circumstance of his being obliged to bury her in a field by night, not being allowed in- terment in the church-yard, on account of her being a protestant, is indelibly recorded in Night III., of this divine poem. He was upwards of eighty when he wrote his Con- jecture on Original Composition, in which many beau- ties appear, notwithstanding the age of its -author; and Resignation, his last poem, contains proofs in eve- ry stanza, that it was not written with decayed facult ties. He died at the parsonage house, at Welwyn, A- pril 12, 1765,^ aged eighty-four years, and was buried: uDUe? the altar-piece of that church, by tke side of liis ! i DR. EDWARD YOUNG. ?■ wife. By his own desire, he was followed by all the poor of the parish, without any tolling of the bells, or any person appearing at his funeral in mourning. He had caused all his manuscripts to be destroyed before his death. He left the whole of his fortune, which was pretty considerable, with the exception of a few legacies, to his son, Mr. Frederick Young, though he would never see him in his lifetime, owing to his dis- pleasure athis imprudent conduct at college, for which he had been expelled. His character was that of the true Christian Divine ; his heart was in his profession. It is reported, that once preaching in his turn at St. James's, and being un- able to gain attention, he sat down, and burst into tears. His conversation was of the same nature as his works, and showed a solemn cast of thought to be natural to him : death, futurity, judgment, eternity, were his common topics. When at home in the country, he spent many hours in the day walking among the graves in the church-yard. In his garden he had an alcove, painted as if with a bench to repose on ; on approach- ing near enough to discover the deception, the follow • ing motto was seen : " Invlsibilia non decipiunt." " The things unseen do not deceive us." Tu his poem of the Last Day, one of his earliest ■works, he calls his muse " the Melancholy Maid, " whom dismal scenes delight, " Frequent at tombs, and in the realms of night." more of indignation than pleasantry in it, as his satire was ever pointed against indecency and irreligion. His satire, intituled The Love of Fame, or the Uni- versal Passion, is a great performance. The shafts of bis wit are directed against the folly of being devoted to the fashion, and aiming to appear what we are not. We meet here with smoothness of style, pointed sen- tpnces, solid sentiments, ssnd the sliarpness of resist- less truth. The jSight Thoughts abound in the most exalted flights, the utmost stretch of human thought, which is the great excellence of Young's poetry. " In his Night Thoughts," says a great critic, " he has exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, variegated with .leep reflections and striking allusions ; a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue and every odour." It must be allowed, however, that many of these fine thoughts are over- cast with the gloom of melancholy, so as to have an eflect rather to be dreaded by minds of a morbid hue : they paint, notwithstanding, with the most lively fancy, the feelings of the heart, the vanity of human things, its fleeting honours and enjoyments, and contain the strongest arguments in support of the immortality of the soul. * » Tkou art so witty, profligate, and thin, " Thov. scemst a JyJiltantWiil^ his Death and fun. THE COMPLAINT. mGHT I. Oli LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTAI.ITT- TO THE RIGHT HON. ARTHCH ONSLOT\-, ESft. Speaker of the House of Commons. Tir'd Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep ! He, like the -world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles ; the wretched'he forsakes Swii't on his downy pinions flies from wo, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. . From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose I wake ; how happy tiiey who wake no more ! Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought, From wave to wave of fancied misery At random drove, her helm of reason lost. Tho' now restor'd, 'tis only change of pain, (A bitter change !) severer for severe. The day too short for my distresses ; and night. E'en in the zenith of her dark domain. Is sunshine to the colour of my fate. Night, sablfc goddess ! 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 gen'ral pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause ; An awful pause ! prophetic of her end. .And let her prophecy be soon fulfiU'd : Fate 1 (ii'op tiie cwrtsqn 5 I fp iose »o mort, G THE COMPLAINT. mghll Silence 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 '! Thou, who "didst put to flight Primeval l^ilence, when the morning stars, Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ; Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck That 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. Thro' 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 froin its w*) Lead it thro' various scenes of life and death, And from each scene the noblest truths inspire. Nor less inspire my conduct than my song ; Teach my best reason, reason; my best will Teach rectitude; and rix nij^ firm resolve Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear : Nor let the phia! of thy vengeance, pour'd On this devoted head, be pour'd in vain. The bell strikes One. We take no note of tims But from its less : to give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 1 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 despatch : How much is to be done ? My hopes and fears Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge IjOok down — on what 1 A fathomless abyss ; A dread eternity ! how surely mine ! And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour? How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! How passing wonder HE who made him such ! Who center'd in our make such strange extremes ! From dilferent natures, marvellously mix'd, -Connection exquisite of distant worlds !_ pistinguish'd link in being's endless chaia! MidT^ay frouj xjothing to the lieity ! ON LIFE, DEATH, &c. 7 A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt ! Tho' sullied and dishonour'd, still divine '. Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory ' a frail child of dust! Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm ! a god !— I tremble at myself, And in myself am lost. At home a stranger. Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd, aghast, And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels ! O what a miracle to man is man, Triumphantly distress'd ! what joy ! what dread I ' 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 proof. While o'er my limbs sleep's soft dominion spreads, What tho' my soul fantastic measures 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 1 wild natives of tlie brain ! Her ceaseless flight, tho' devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod,. Active, aerial, tow'ring, unconfin'd, Unfetter'd with her gross companion's fall. E'en silent night proclaims my soul immortal; E'en silent night proclaims eternal day. For Human weal heaven husbands all events: Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. Why then their loss deplore that are not lost? Why M-anders 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. This is the desert, this the solitude : How populous, liow vital is the grave '• This is creation's melancholy vault, The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom i [The land of apparitions, empty shades 1 All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond lis substance ; the reverse is folly's creed : iiow soiid all Tvbere chaoge sbaii be no more ! . THE COMPLAINT. Night L 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, Stron- Death, alone can heave the massy baV, This Iross impediment of clay remove. And make us embryos of existence free. From real life, but little more reniote Is he not yet a candidate for light, _ The future embryo, slumb'ring i" Ji^ s'^e Embryos we must be till we burst the shell, Yon ambient azure shell, ^nd spring to Me, The life of Gods (O transport !) and of man. Yet man, fool man '• here buries all his thoughfe; Tntprs celestial hopes without one sigh. Prs'ner of earth, a'nd pent beneath the moon Here pinions all his Atishes ; 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'nug glow In his full beam, and ripen for the just, Whpre momentary ages are no more ! ^ ^^ . , W ere Se 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 ^oul immortal, spending all her fires, Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, Thrown into tumult, raptur'd or alarm d At au'-ht this scene can threaten or indulge, Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, To ■s\art a feather, or to drown a fly. Where falls this censure? It o'erwhelma myself. How was my heart incrusted by the wor d ! O how self-fetter'd was my groVling soul . How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round fn silken thought, which reptile Fancy spun, Till darken'd 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 may befriend (as sung above:) Our waking dreams are fatal. How I dreamt Of things impossible ! (could sleep do more !) Of iovs perpetual in perpetual change . Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave ! Eternal sunshine in the storms of life . . How richly were my noontide trances hung - * With .gorgeous tapestries of pictur d joy s . ON LIFE, DEATH, kc. - Joy behind joy, in endless perspective ! Till at Death's toll, whose restless iron tongue Calls daily for his millions at a meal, Starting I woke, and found myself undone. Where's now my frenzy's pompous furniture? The cobwebb'd cottage, with its ragged wall Of mould'ring mud, is royalty to me I 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 J A perpetuity of bliss is bliss. Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end. The ghastly thought would drink up all your joy, And quite unparadise the realms of light. Safe are you lodg'd above these rolling spheres ; The baleful influence of whose giddy dance Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneath. Here teems with revolutions ev'ry hour, And rarely for the better; or the best More mortal than the common births of Fate. Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous sithe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the 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 decree ! A bold invasion of the rights of Heav'n ! I clasp'd the phantoms, and I found them air. O had I weigh'd it ere my fond embrace ! What darts of agony had m.iss'd my heart.' Death ! greatproprietor 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. Amidst 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? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice ray peace was slain And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn. O Cynthia ! why so pale I dost thou lament Thy wretched neighbour ? grieve to see thy wheel Of ceaseless change outwhirl'd in human life ? How wanes my borrowed bliss ! from Fortune's smiJC; A 2 )0 THE COIVIPLAINT. Mgkt I. Precarious courtesy ! not virtue's sure, Self-given, solar, ray of sound delight. In ev'ry vari'd posture, place, and hour, How Tvidow'd ev'ry thought of ev'ry joy ! Thought, busy thought ! too busy for my peace .' Thro' the dark postern of time long elaps'd, Led softly, by the stillness of the night, J,ed, like a murderer (and such it proves !) Strays (wretched rover .') o'er the pleasing past : In quest of wretchedness perversely strays ; 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 ev'ry 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 1 are angels all beside ? 1 mourn for millions ; 'tis the common lot: In this shape, or in that, has Fate entail'd The mother's throes on all of Avoman born, Iv'ot more the children than sure heirs of pain. War, famine, pest, volcano, storm and fire, Intestine broils, Oppression, with her heart Wrapt up in triple 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 plough the winter's wave, and reap despair. Some for hard masters, broken under arms, In battle lopp'd away, with half their limbs. Beg bitter bread thro' realms their valour sav'd, If so the tyrant, or his 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, and reduce Surfeit's dominion o'er you. But so great Your impudence, you blush at what is right. ON LIFE, DEATH, &c. IJ 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, Thro' thickest shades, pursues the fond of peace^ Man's caution often into danger turns, And, his guard falling, crushes him to death. Not happiness herself makes good her name ; Our very wishes give us notour wish. How distant oft the thing we doat on most From that for which we doat, felicity ! The smoothest course of Nature has its pains, And truest friends, thro' 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 ; Hocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands ! Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings, and death. Such is earth's melancholy map ! but far More sad ! this earth is a true map of man : So bounded are its haughty lord's delights To wo's wide empire, where deep troubles toss, IjOud sorrows howl, envenom'd passions bite, Rav'nous calamities our vitals seize, And threat'uing Fate wide opens to devour. What then am I, who sorrow for myself ? In age, in infancy, from other's 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 : More gen'rous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts ; And conscious virtue mitigates the pang. Nor virtue more than prudence bids me give Swol'n thought a second channel ; who divide, They weaken too, the torrent of their grief. Take, then, O world ! thy much indebted tear; How sad a sight is human happiness To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour! thou ! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults ! Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy fate ? 1 know thou wouldst ; thy pride demands it from mc. Let thy pride pardon what thy nature needs, llie salutary censure of a friend. Thou happy wretch 1 by blindness thou art bless'd; 12 THE COMPLAINT. Ifight I. 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 prosperity, To sting thee more, and double thy distre?i?. Lorenzo, Fortune makes her court to thee : Thy fond heart dances while the Syren sings. Dear is thy welfare ; think me not unkind; 1 would not damp, but to secure thy joys. Think not that fear is sacred to the storm. Htand 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 tumults, and chastise her joys, Lest, while we clasp, we kill them; nay, invert To worse than simple misery their charms. Revolted joys, like foes in civil war, Like bosom friendships to resentment sour'd, With rage envenom'd rise against our peace. Beware what earth caUs 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 died with thee. Philander ! thy last sigh Dissolv'dthe ciiarm; the disenchanted earth Lost aU her lustre. Where her glitt'rmg tow'rs ! Her golden mountains where 1 All darken'd down To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears : The great magician's dead ! Thou poor pale piece Of outcast earth, in darkness ! what a change From yesterday ! Thy darling hope so near, (Long laboured prize !) O how ambition llush'd Thy glowing cheek ! ambition, truly great, Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within, (Sly treach'rous miner !) working in the dark, f^mil'd at thy well-concerted scheme, and beckon'd The worm to riot on that rose so red, ' Unfaded ere it fell ; one moment's prey ! Man's foresight is conditionally \\k^; I,orenzo ! wisdom into felly turns Oft the first io$taut its idea faii- ON LIFE, DEATH, &c. 13 To labouring thought is born. How dim our eye I The present moment terminates our sight; Clouds, thick as those on Doomsday, drown the next; We penetrate, we prophesy in vain. Time is dealt out by particles, and each. Ere mingled with the streaming sands of life, By Fate's inviolable oath is sworn Deep silence, " Where eternity begins." By Nature's law, what may be, may be now; There's no prerogative in human hours. In human hearts what bolder thought can rise Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn ? Where is to-morrow ? In another world. 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, spin out eternal schemCK, As we the Fatal Sisters would out-spin, And, big with life's futuritie-, expire. Not e'en Philander had bespoke his shroud : Nor had he cause ; a warning was denied : How many fall as sudden, not as safe ; As sudden, tho' for years admonish'd home ! Of human ills the last extreme beware ; Beware, Lorenzo ! a slow sudden deatli. How dreadful that deliberate surprise 1 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 to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene. Ifnotsofrequent, would not this be strange;.' 'i'hat 'tis so frequent, tliis is stranger still. Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, " That all men are about to live," For ever on the brink of being born. 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 selves applauds ; How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! Time lodg'd in their own hands is Folly's vales ; That lodg'd in Fate's, to wisdom they consign; The thing they can't but purpose they postpone j 'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool; Apd scarce in human wisdom to do mere. U THE COMPLAINT. JSight T. All promise is poor dilatory man, And that thro' every stage : Wl'«n young, indeed, In full content v,e sometimes nobly rest, Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish, As duteous sOiis, our fathers were more wise. At thirty, man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan; A.t fifty chides his infamous delay, Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same. And why? because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves : Themselves, 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 the shaft no trace is found, As from the wing no scar the sky retains. The parted ivave no furrow from the keel ; So dies in human hearts the thought of death. E'en 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 I my full' heart !— But should I give it vent, The longest night, tho' 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 melodj"-, to cheer 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. Yet be not vain; there are who thine excel. And charm thro' distant ages. Wrapt in s^adc, Pris'ncr of darkness ! to the silent hours How often I re])eat their rage divine, To lull my griels, and steal my heart from wo ! I roll their raptures, but not catch their fire. Dark, tho' not blind, like thee, Maronides ! Or, Milton, thee ! Ah, could 1 reach your strain ! Or his who made Masonides our own. Man, tpo, he sung ; immortal man 1 sing. Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds of life ; What now but immortality can pleuse 'I O h'id he press'd his theme, pursu'd the track Which opens ont of darkness into day ! O had he mounted on his wings of fire, Soar'd where I sink, and sung immortal man ! How hud it bJeit mankind, ani reicu'd lae? THE COMPLAINT. NIGHT II. ON TIME, DEATH, AND FRIE:::rDSHIP TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF WILMINGTON'. When the cock crew he wept— smote by that ey« Which looks on me, on all; that pow'r who bids This midnight sentinel, with clarion shrill, (Emblem of that which shall awake the dead) Rouse souls from slumber into thoughts of Heav'n. SJiall I too weep? where then is fortitude .' And fortitude abandon'd, where is man ! I know the terms on which he sees tne light : He that is born is listed; life is war; Eternal war with wo : who bears it best Deserves it least. On other themes I'll dwell. 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, tho' 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 leive thy heart quite disengag'd, 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 ? U THE COMPLAINT. mght IT. 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 squander'd, Wisdom's debt unpaid ! 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, Ifo composition sets the pris'ner free. Eternity's inexorable chain Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full arrear. How late I shudder'd on the brink ! how late Ijfe call'd for her last refuge in despair ! 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 song is mortal, past thy cure. Accept the will; — that dies not with my strain. For what calls thy disease, Lorenzo? Not For 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 its worth, ask death-beds ; they can telJ. Part with it as with life, reluctant; big With holy hope of nobler time to come : Time higher aini'd, still nearer the great mark Of men and angels : virtue more divine. Is this our duty, wisdom, glory, gain ? (These Heav'n benign in vital union binds) And sport we like the natives of the bough, When vernal suns inspire ? Amusement reigns P*Ian's great demand : to trifle is to live : And is it then a trifle, too, to die ? Thou say'st I preach, Lorenzo ! 'Tis confess'd. What if, lor once, I preach thee quite awake ? Who wants amusement in the flame of battle! Is it not treason to the soul immortal, Her foes in arms, eternity the prize? Will toys amuse when med'cines 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 shatter'd bark, by sudden storm Thrown off to sea, and soon to perish there, Will toys amuse ? No ; thrones will then be toys, And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale. Kedeem we time ?— Its loss we dearly buy. ON TIME, DEATH, &c. 17 What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports ? He pleads time's num'rous 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 purpos'd virtue, still be thine ; This cancels thy complaint at once_: this leaves In act no trifle, and no blank in time. This greatens, fills, immortalizes all; This the bless'd 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 yow'r, Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, 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 heav'n. On all important time, thro' ev'r)' 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 cried, Had been an emperor without his crown ; Of Rome ? Say, rather, lord of human race ! He spoke as if deputed bj^ mankind. So should all speak : so reason speaks in all ; From the soft whispers of that God in man, Wliy fly to folly, why to frenzy fly. For rescue from the blessings we possess I Time, the supreme ! — Time is eternity ; Pregnant with all eternity can give ; Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile. Who murders Time, he crushes in the birth A pow'r ethereal, only not ador'd. Ah ! how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man ! Like children babbling nonsense in their sports, We censure Nature for a span too short ; That span too short we tax as tedious too ; Torture invention, all expedients tire, To lash the ling'ring moments into .'^peed. And whirl us (happy riddance !) from ourselves. Art, brainless art ! our furious charioteer, ( For Nature's voice unstifled wo uld recal) Drives headlong toward the precipice of death, R THE complaint: Nighim Death most our dread ; death thus more dreadful madfl; Owhat a ridiUe of absurdity ! Jjeisure i3 pain ; takes olTour chariot-wheels ; How heavily we drag the load of life ! Bless'd 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 the next amusement ; The next amusement mortgages our fields ; Slight inconvenience ! prisons hardly frowc, From hateful time if prisons set us free. Yet when death kindly tenders us relief, We call him cru^-l ; years to moments shrink, Ages to years. The telescope is turn'd. To man's false optics (from his foiiy false) Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings, And seems to creep decrepit with his age ; Behold him when pass'd by ; what then is seen But his broad pinions, swifter than the winds ? And all mankind, in contradiction strong. Rueful, aghast i cry out on his career. Leave to thy foes these errors and these ills ; To Nature .just, their cause and cure explore. Not short Heav'n's bounty ; boundless our expense ; No niggard Nature ; men are prodigals. We waste, not use our time : we breathe, not live. Time wasted is existence, us'd is life ; And bare existence, man, to live ordaJn'd, Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight. And why '! since time was given for use, not waste, Enjoin'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; suchby Heav'n design'd; He that has none must make them, or be wretched, Cares are employments ; and without employ The soul is on the 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 owe. Hence our uonat'ral quarrel with ourgelTes -y. ON TIME, DEATH, &c. ^9 Our thoughts at enmity ; our bosom broil : We push Time from us, and we wish him back ; Lavish of lustrums, and yet fond of life ; Life we think long and siibrt •, death seek and shun ; Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, United jar, and yet are loath 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, And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. ]S'or death nor life delight us. If time past And time possess'd 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 ; He walks with Nature, and her paths are jteace. Our error's cause and cure are seen I see next Time's nature, origin, importance, speed ; And thy great aim from urging his career.— All-sensual man, because untouch'd, unseen, He looks on time as nothing Nothing else Is truly man's ; 'tis fortune's— Time's a god. Hast thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence ? For, or against, what wonders can he do ! And will : to stand blank neuter he disdains. !Not on those terms was Time (Heav'u's stranger) sen ' On his important embassy to man. Lorenzo ! no : on the long destin'd hour, 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 thro' a thousand worlds ; ?f ot on those terms, from the great days of hcaT'u, From old Eternity's mysterious orb Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies ; The skies, Avhich watch him in his new abode, Measuring his motions by re voiving 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, swiff as darted flame. To gain his goal, to reach his ancient resf; Aad ioJQ aasi? Eteraity bis she ; :« THE COMPLAINT. Mght If. In his immutability to nest, Wlien worlds, that count his circles now, unhing'd, (Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush To timeless night and chaos, whence they rose. 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 J Man flies from time, and time from man, too sooa In sad divorce this double flight must end ; And then where are we ? where, Lorenzo, thea Tliy sports, thy pomps ! I grant thee, in a state Not unambitious ; in the rufiied shroud. Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath. Has Death his fopperies ? Then well may life Put on her plum.e, 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! Ye delicate ! who nothing can support, Yourselves most insupportable ! for whom The winter rose must blow, the sun put on A brighter beam in Leo ; silky-soft Favoi'ius ! breathe still softer, or be chid ; And other worlds send odours, sauce, and song. And robes, and notions, fram'.d in foreign loome I O ye Lorenzos of our age ! who deem One moment unamus'd 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 thro' the tedious lengtto Of a short winter's day— say. Sages, say ! Wit's Oracles ; say, Dreamers of gay dreams ) How will you weather an eternal night, Where such expedients fail? 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 On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein, And give us up to license, unrecall'd, Unmark'd;— see, from behind her secret stand; The sly informer minutes ev'ry fault, And her dread diary with horror fills. Not the gross act alone employs her pes j She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, A TvatQUIul foe ! the formidabie gpy, G2f TIME, DEATH, kc. 21 Ijist'ning, o'erhears 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 misapplied; 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 Than this ; and endless age in groans resound. Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast I "Such is her slumber, and her vengeance such For slighted counsel -. such thy future peace ! And thinlc'st thou still thou canst be wise too soon } But why en time so lavish is my song? On this great theme kind iVature keeps a school, To teach her sons herself. Each night we die ; Each morn are born aneAv ; each day a life ! And shall we kill each day? If trifling kills, Sure vice must butcher. O what heaps of slain Cry out for vengeance on us ! Time destroy 'd Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt. Time flies, death urges, knells call, Heav'n invites, Hell threatens : all exerts ; in effbrt all ; More than creation labours ! labours more. And is there in creation, what, amidst This tumult universal, %ving'd despatch, And ardent energy, supinely yawns? — I\tan sleeps, and man alone ; and man whose fate, Fate irreversible, entire, extreme, Endless, hair-hung, breeze-shaken, o'er the gulf A moment trembles ; drops ! and man, for whom All else is in alarm ; man, the sole cause Of tins surrounding storm ! and yet he sleeps, As the storm rock'd to rest. — Throw years away? Throw empires, and be blameless. Moments seize, Heav'n's on their wing : a moment we may wish, , When worlds want wealth to buy. Bid day staad still ; ' lUd him drive back his car, and re-import The period past, re-give the giv'n hour. lx)renzo, more than miracles we want ; Lorenzo — O for yesterdays to come ! Such is the language of the man awake ; His ardour such for what oppresses the*. Ar.d w liis syrdpitf vaiD, ioreaao 1 iiQ{ 23 THE COlVrPLATNT. mglittl. That more than miracle the gods indulge. To-day is yesterday return'd ; return'd, FuU-power'd to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn. And reinstate us on the rock of peace. l As man's despotic will, perhaps one hour, (O how omnipotent is time!) decrees. Should not each warning give a strong alarm? 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 wail Avhich struck, O'er midnight bowls, the proud Assyrian pale, Erewhile high-flush'd with insolence and wine '' Like tlmt the dial speaks, and points to thee, Lorenzo 1 loath to break thy baotiuet up . 2i THE COMPLAINT. Trfghitr " O man ! thy kingdom is departing from thee ; " And 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, nice the Median, Fate is in thy walls ; Dost ask how? whence ? Belshazzar-like, amaz'd '.' Man's make encloses the sure seeds of death ; Life feeds the murderer ; ingrate ! he thrives On her own meal, and then his nurse devours. But here, Lorenzo, the delusion lies; That solar shadow, as it measures life, U life resembles too : Life speeds away From point to point, though seeming to stand still. The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth; Too 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; go those, but when more glorious reason shines. Reason should judge in all ; in reason's eye, That sedentary shadow travels hard : But such 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; E'en age itself Fresh hopes are hourly sown In furrow'd brows. So gentle life's descent. We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain. We take fair days in winter for the spring, \nd 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 promis'd 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 shorten'd 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 hp; Clean runs the thread ; if not, 'tis thrown away, pr kept to tie up nonsense for a song; Song, fashionably fruitless ; such as stains ON TIME, DEATH, &c. ^5 r JfJ"?"*^?' and "nhallow'd passion fires, Kn3il^V*'°l' *° Cytherea's fane. As beeR mivM^' ^^?^^"^"' l^at a friend contains ? Twfn, tflnT ^'T^'^^'P^ wisdom and delight ; T« ins tied by Nature ; if they part they die. Goni ^.n^ "^ -^V""^ ^° ^^^ thy mind abroad, ? Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up want air H^d Ch^;" ^''^^. """P^"'*^ to%he sun ^' '"^ *''' Speech ti,.^M'/"' '"I?"* 'P'""^ ^''^ ''««" denied; speech, thought's canal! speech, thought's criterion VvSfJ^; 't^^ ^'^f '"^y <^°^^ forth gold or dross: If ^f" ^.o^n'd in words, we know its real worth : 't! •?. k""' .1*''''^ '* '°'' t''y future use ; ^Z. u^K ^^^^ ^.^"^fit, perhaps renown. Thought, too dehver'd, is the more possess'd- reaching we learn, and giving we retain ihe births of intellect; when dumb forgot Speech ventilates our intellectual fire • bpeexii burnishes our mental magazine ;' linghtens for ornament, and whets for usp. What numbers, sheath'd in erudition, lie ' I'lung d to the hilts in venerable tomes, And rusted; who might have borne an edge, TA.P\^''^A'P/^^l'tl5' I'eam, if born to speech ! If born blest heirs to half their mother's tongue ! Ofw«\r^ fl-^^?''^"."*"' '''^'"^^ like th' alternate push A nH H f 'conflicting, breaks the learned scum, ^ And defecates the student's standing pool In contemplation is his proud resource ? 1 IS poor, as proud, by converse unsustain'd, Kude thought runs wild in contemplation's field • converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit Of due restramt ; and emulation's spur Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd. 1 13 converse qualifies for solitude, As exercise for salutary rest : By that untutor'd, contemplation raves And Nature's fool by Wisdom's is outdone. Wisdom tho' richer than Peruvian mines And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive. What is s^he but the means of happiness ' That unobtain'd, than folly more a fool • ' A melancholy fool without her bells Friendship, the means of wisdom, richly gives Na?frf .•n^ip^'i"?''?^"'^""^^'^'''"'' wisdom wis^. IN aiure, 10 zeal for huoiajo amity, B 25 THE COMPLAINT. Mght tl. Penies or damps an undivided joy. Joy is an import, joy is an exchange ; Joy fiies monopolists ; it calls for two : Rich fruit! Heav'n-planted ! never pluck'd by one. Needful auxiliars are our friends, to give To social man tiue relish of himself. Fiill on ourselves descending on a lin0, 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. True love strikes root in reason, passion's foe ; Virtue alone entenders us for life; 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 eraulously rapid in her race. O the soft enmity ! endearing strife ! This carries Friendship to her noon-tide point. And gives the rivet of eternity. Fiom Friendship, which outlives my former themes, Tilorious survivor of Old Time and Death ! From Friendship thus, that flow'r of heav'nly seed, The wise extract earth's most Hyblean bliss, Superior wisdom, crown'd with'smiliiig joy. ^ But for whom blossoms this Elysian llower ? Abroad they find who cherish it at home, l^orenzo, pardon what my love extorts, An honest love, and not afraid to frown. Tho' choice of follies fastens on the great, None clings more obstinate than fancy fond, That sacred friendship is their easy prey. Caught by the wafture of a golden lure, Or fascination of a high-born smile. Their smiles, the great and the coquet throw out For other hearts, tenacious of their own ; And we no less of ours when such the bait. Ye Fortune's cofferers? ye pow'rs of Wealth? You do your rent-rolls most felonious wrong, By taking our attachment to yourselves. Can goidgaiafiiendsbip ? Impudecce of hope ! OF TIME, DEATH, &c.j , 1 As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loan for love. Lorenzo, pride repress, nor hope to find A friend, but what has found a friend in thee. All like the purchase, few the price will pay ; And this makes friends such miracles below. What if (since daring on so nice a theme) I show thee friendship delicate as dear, Of tender violations apt to die ! Reserve 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 all hazards we can run. *' 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 ! Angels from friendship gather half their joy .') So sung Philander, as his friend went round In the rich ichor, in the gen'rous blood Of Bacchus, purple god of joyous wit, A brow solute, and ever-laughing eye. He drank long health and virtue" to his friend. His friend ! who warm'd him more, who more inspir'd. Friendship's the wine of life ; but friendship 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 ; All 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-liavour'd bliss for gods ! on earth how rare ! On earth how lost ! — Philander is no move. 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, whosebeauties languish, half conceal'd, Till mounted on the wing their glossy plumes Expanded, shine with azure, green, and gold; p THE COMPLAtNT. mghtlt. How blessings brighten as they take their flight, His flight Philander tool< ; his upivard fliglit, 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^ Kivals 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. bJtrange ; the theme most affecting, most sublime. Momentous most to man, should sleep unsung ! And yet it sleeps, by genius unawak'd, Fainim or Christian, to the blush of Wit. IMan's highest triumph, man's profoundest fall, The death-bed of the just ! is yet undrawn By mortal hand ; it nierits a divine : Angels should paint it, angels ever there ; There, on a post of honour and of joy. Dare 1 presume, then ? but Philander bids. And glory tempts, and inclination calls. Yet am 1 struck, as struck the soul beneath Aerial groves,' impenetrable gloom. Or in some mighty ruin's solemn shade. Or gazing, by pale lamps, on high-born dust In vaults, thin courts of poor unflatter'd kings, Or at the midnight altar's hallow'd flame. It is religion to proceed : I pause— And enter, aw'd, the temple of my theme. Is it his deathbed ? Ko : it is his shrine : l^ehold 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, Beceive the blessing, and adore the chance That threw in this Bethesdayour disease : If unrestor'd by this, despair your cure ; J'or here resistless demonstration dwells : A death-bed's a detector of the heart. Tleretir'd Dissimulation drops her mask Thro' Life's grimace, that mistress of the scene ! Here real and apparent are the same. You see the man, you see his hold on heav'n, Ifsound his virtue ; as Philander's sound. Heav'n waits not the last moment; owns her frieads Qa thin side death, and points them out lo meu. ; ON TIME, DEATH, &c. . A lecture silent, but of sovereign pow'r ! To Vice confusion, and to Virtue peace Wiiatever farce the boastful hero plays. Virtue alone has majesty in Death, And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns. Philander I he severely frown'd on thee " No warning giv'n .' unceremonious fate! A sudden rush from life's meridian joys • ♦' A wrench from all we love .' from ail we are ' ♦' A restless bed of pain ! a plunge opaque " Beyond conjecture ! feeble Nature's dread • '♦ Strong Reason shudders at the dark unknown ' ♦' A sun extinguish'd ! a just opening grave • " And, oh ! the last, last ! what ? (can words exDrP'ho wish disown it too; Disown from shame what they from folly crave. Live ever in the womb, nor see the light ! For what live ever here ? — with lab'ring step To tread our former footsteps 1 pace the round Eternal? to climb life's worn, heavy wheel. Which draws up nothing new '! to beat, and beat The beaten track? to bid each wretched day The former mock ? to surfeit on the same, And yawn our joys ? or thank a misery For change, tho' sad ? to see what we have seen ? Hear, till unheard, the same old slabber'd tale I To taste the tasted, and at each return Less tasteful '? o'er our palates to decant Another vintage ? strain a flatter year, Thro' 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 thoroughfares of dull debauch ! Trembling each gulf, lest death-should snatch the 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 srch examples might their riot awe. Thro' 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 Thro' 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, Aad InfaiBous for wrecks of buman hope — 'J3 THE COMPLAINT. Night in. Soar'd at the gloomy gulf that yawns beneath. Such are their triumph ! such their pangs of joy. 'Tis time, high tinie, to shift this dismal sceiie. This hugg'd, this hideous state, ■what art can cure? One only ; but that one what all may reach ; Tirtue — she, wonder-wori\ing goddess ! charms That rock to bloom, and tames the painted shrew ; And, what will more surprie, Lorenzo ! gives To life's sick, nauseous, iteration, change ; And straitens Nature's circle to a line. Believ'st thou this, T>orenzo ? lend an ear, A patient ear, thou'lt blush to disbelieve. A languid, leaden iteration reigns, And ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys Of sight, smell, taste. The cuckoo-seasons sing The same dull note to such as nothing prize. But what those seasons, from the teeming earth, To doting sense indulge. Rut nobler minds, Which reli.-*h fruits imripen'd by the sun, INIake their days various, various as the dyes On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays. On minds of dove-like innocence possess'd, On lighten'd minds, that bas-k in virtue's beams, Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves In that for which they long, for which they live. Their glorious eirorts,-wing'd with heavenly hope, Each rising morning sees still higher rise ; Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame j 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 whicli Christian motivesbest inspire '• And bliss, which Christian scheme.s alone insure ! 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 sius against this life, who slishts the next." What is this life '! how few their fav'rite know ! Fond in tbe dark, and blind in our embrace, By passionately loving lite, we make Lov'd life unlovely, hugging her to death. We give to time eternity's regard. And dreaming, take our passage for our port. I,ife has no value a.s an end, but means ; An end deplorable ! a means divine J Wiier. 'tis oar ail, 'ds nothing; worse than nought; J^ARCISSA. 29 A pest of pains ; ^hen held as nolhins, much. iAke some fair hum'rists, life is most enioy'd y hen courted least , most i^orth, ivhen disesteem'd ■ Then 'tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace • ' In prospect richer far ; important ! awfui ' ''■ ^ottobemention'd but ivith shouts of prai^^e I Not to be thought on but with tides of joy ! i he mjshty basis of eternal bliss ! Where now the barren rock ? the painted shrew ' ^ here now, Lorenzo, life's eternal rounds ' Have 1 not made my triple promise ?ood ? \ ain js t))e world ; but only to the vain. ID what compare we then this varying scene Whose worth ambiguous, rises and declines VV axes and wanes ? (In all, propitious Aight Assists me here) compare it to the moon; Udvk m herself, and indigent : but rich In borrow'd lustre from a higher sphere. U hen gross guilt interposes, lab'ring earth, u ershadow'd mourns a deep eclipse of iov- S-^""-!?-^''^^* brightest, pallid, to that font ' UHull effulgent glory whence they How. JNor IS that glory distant. Oh, Lorenzo, A good man and an angel .' these between How thm the barrier ! what divides tlieirfate ? r^rij^aps a moment, or perhaps a year; Vr n an age, it is a moment still ; A moment, or eternity's forgot, i hen be what once they were who now are god« • Be what Philander was, and claim the skies. Marts timid A'ature at ihe gloomy pass ' i he soft transition call it, and becheer'd : ^uch it 13 often, and why not to thee ? |0 hope the best is pious, brave, and wise • And may itself procure what it presumes. Life IS much fiatter'd, Death is much traduc'd • ..ompare the rivals, and the kinder crown ' ; Strange composition !"— True, Lorenzo, stran-'e ' 50 little life can cast into the scale. Life makes the soul dependent on the dust • Death gives her win;s to mount above the spheres rhrough chinks, styl'd organs, dim life peeps at light- 3eath bursts the involving cloud, and all is day • ' UI eye, all ear, the disembodied pow'r. ' 3eath has feign'd evils nature shall not feel; jife, ills substantial wisdom cannot shun. s nottlie mighty mind, that son of Heav'n, ■y tyrant Life dethroD'd. ixnpritoa'd, paia'd' 40 THE COMPLAINT. AightlH. By death enlarg'd, ennobled, deified? Death but entombs the body, liie tliesoiil. " Is death then guiltless ! hoAv he marks his way «' With dreadful waste of what deserves to shine 1 •' 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. liife is the triumph of our mould'ring clay; Death of the spirit infinite ! divine ! Death has no dread but what frail life imparts Nor life true ioy but what kind death improves. Ko bliss has life to boast, till death can give Far greater. Life's a debtor to the grave, Dark lattice ! letting in eternal day ! Lorenzo, blush at fondness for a life Which sends celestial souls on errands vile. To cater for the sense, and serve at boards Where every ranger of the wilds, perhaps Kach reptile, justly claims our upper-hand, Luxurious feast ! a soul, a soul immortal, In all the dainties of a brute bemir'd ! Jjorenzo, blush at terror for a death Which gives thee to repose in festive bower.?, Where nectars sparkle, angels minister, And more than angels share, and raise, and crown, And eternize, the birth, bloom, bursts of bliss. What need I more 1 O Death, the palm is thine. Then welcome. Death ! thy dreaded harbingeis, Age and disease; Disease though long my guest. That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of life; Which, pluck'd 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, f-ongratulate tlie dead, and crown his torn!) With wreath triumphant. Death is victory ; It binds in chains the raging ills of life : Lust and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice, ;U(a™M 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 scar us as we reap the golden grain ? J NARCISSI. 4i More than thy balm, O Gilead ! heals the wound. Birth 8 feeble cry, and Death's deep dismal groan, Are slender tributes low-tax'd Nature pays J or miehty gain ; the gain of each a life ! But O . the last the former so transcends. Life dies compar'd ; Life lives beyond the grave. And feel I, Death, no joy from thought of thee? IJeatfi, the great counsellor, who man inspires With every nobler thought and fairer deed ! iJeath, the deliverer, who rescues man ! iJeath, the rewarder, who the rescued crowns ! ^eath, that absolves my birth, a curse without it ! Kich Death that realizes all my cares, ioils, virtues, hopes; without it a chimera • Death, of all pam the period, not of joy ; Joy s source and subject still subsist unhurt; T^r ^"J^l ^°"^' ^"^ ™6 Jn her great sire, i nough the four winds were warring for my dust. yes, and from winds, and waves, and central night, ihough prison'd there, my dust too I reclaim, Uo dust when drop proud nature's proudest spheres) And live entire. Death is the crown of life ; Were death denied, poor man would live in vain : Were death denied, to live would not be life : were oeath denied, e'en fools would wish to die. Death wounds to cure : we fall, we rise, we reign ! ^ring from our fetters, fasten in the skies, Where blooming Eden withers in our sight : Death gives us more than was in Eden lost, ihis king of terrors is the prince of peace. When shall I die to vanity, pain, death ? w hea shall I die ?-when shall I live for ever T THE COMPLAINT. HIGHT IV. TEE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. CONTAINING Thz onl}) Cwnfor the Fear of Death; and proper Senti- ments of Heart or. that intstimable Blessing. INSCRIBED TO THE HON. MR. YORKE. A MrcH indebted 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 ! 1 sing its sovereign cure. ^ Way start at death ? where is he "? Death arnv'd, Is oast; not come, or gone, he's never here IS past: iiui, vv/int., "ji o^..v., .-_ - — ^_ Ere hone, sensation fails ; black-boding man Receives, not suffers, Death's tremendous blow. The knell, the shroud, the mattock and the grave; The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm?: The«e are the bugbears of a winter's eve, The tenors of the living, not the dead. Imat^ipation's fool, and error's wretch, Mac makes a death which Nature never made ; Then on the point of his own fancy lalls. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one. But were Death frightful, what has age to fear? 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 wimt recalls cie^ Look the world wouod, THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. And tell me what t The wisest cannot tell. Should any born of woman give his thought Full range on just dislike's unboL;nded field ; Of things the vanity, of men the flaws ; Flaws in the best ; the many flaw all o'er ; As leopards 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, tho' bold, would sicken at the sight, And spend itself in sighs for future scenes. But grant to life (and just it is to grant To.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 sustain'd, Or purpos'd emendations where we faii'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 Ume is come ; my world is dead ; A new world rises, and new manners reign. Foreign comedians, a spruce band, arrive To push me from the scene, or hiss me there. What a pert race starts up ! the strangers gaze, And I at them ; ray 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 suflice) My very master knows me not. — Shall I dare say, peculiar is the fate? I've been so long remember'd, I'm 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 1 Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme : Who cheapens life, abates the fear of death. Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy, Court-favour, yet untakeu, I besiege : Ambition's ilHudged effort to be rich. Alas! ambition makes my little less, Embitt'ring the possess'd. Why wish for more ? Wishing, vi all employments, is the worst 1 U THE COMPI.AINT. Night IK 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 a:s 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, thrown safe ashorej i hear the tumult of the distant throng As that of seas remote, or dying storms, And 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 1 see ; 1 see the circling hunt of noisy men Burst law's inclosure, leap tlve mounds of right, Pursuing, and pursu'd, each other's prey ; As wolves for rapine, as the fox for wiles. Till death, that mighty hunter, earths them all. Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? What tjio' we wade in wealth, or soar in fame Karth's highest station ends in, " here he lies;" 'And " dust to dust," concludes her noblest song If this song lives, posterity shall know One, tho' in Britain born, with courtiers bred, '^ Who thought e'eu gold might come a day too late, Kor on his subtle deatli-bed plann'd his scheme For future vhcancies in church or state, ^"ome avocation deeming it — to die ; Unbit by rage canine of dying rich ; Guilt's blunder ! and the loudest laugh of Hell. 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 cnamour'd of t!iis wretched soil ? Shall our pale wither'd hands be still stretch'd out, Trembling, at once, witli eagerness and age ! With av'rice, and convulsions, grasping hard? Grasping at air ! for what has earth beside J Man wants but little, nor that little long; How soon must he resign his very dust, Wbicti frugal Is ature leat bira for sjj hovir ! THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. f «ars unexperienc'd rush on num'rous ills • ihi IT ^'.-f'^"-' ^""^^^^ f'"*^™ time, has found Wbl^/°75^' '^°P'^ ^^^ g^^^^s «f death. When in this vale of years I backward Jook Firmer in health, and greener in their a4 And stricter on their guard, and fitter fa? To p ay life's subtle game, I scarce believe Is till survive. And am I fond of life, Who scarce can think it possible I live ' Alive by miracle ! or, what is next, Alive by ftlead ! If I am still alive Who long havebury'd what gives life to live, Firmness of nerve, and ener-y of thought Life s lee IS not more shallow than impure riiJrr^''^ V^^"'^ '"""^ ^-^^0" ^^how the door, Call for my bier, and pohit me to the dust. O thou great Arbiter of life and death I rvature's immortal, immaterial sun ! \. hose al prolific beam late call'd me forth rom darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay r !p ^LTt ? ^"f?™n and, in rank, beneath^ rhe dust I tread on ; high to bear my brow, 1 drink the spirit of the golden day, ^.nd triumph in existence; and couldst kaow \o motive but my bliss; and hastordain'd V rise in blessing! with the Patriarch's joy f hy call I follow to the land unknown • I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust : r life or death is equal; neither weighs • ^!lu ®,'It ^ ^" this-O let me live to thee ! Tho A ature's terrors thus may be represt, n Sr'' Snm Deatli ; guilt points the tyrant's spear aid whence all human guilt? From death forgot, .h me ! too long Iset at nought the swarm n iriendly warnings which around me flew, nd smil'd mwmitlen. Small my cause to smile ! eath s admonitions, like shafts upward shot, fore dreadful by dehiv, the longer ere ftl ^^r^^ i*"*" ^t^''t'^' ^^^ deeper is their wound, think how deep, Lorenzo ! here it stings : tio can appease its anguish ? How it burns ! ■w ■!'''",'• ^K ^^''*'''^' envenom'd thought can draw : iiat healing hand can pour the balm of peace, Ed turn my sight undaunted on the tomb? With joy— with grief, that healing hand I see : 11 ! too conspicuou-s ! it is fix'd on high. » hi^h ?-.what meaas my frenz/ ? I blaspheme ; /,5 THE COMPLAINT. Aight Ifr.' JVlas! how low ! how far beneath the skies ! The skies it form'd, and now it bleeds for me — But bleeds the balm I want — yet still it bleeds ; Draw the dire steel — ah, no ! the dreadful blessing What heart or can sustain, or dares forego ? There hangs all human hope ; that nail sujiports The falling universe ; that gone, we drop ; Horror receives us, and the dismal wish Creation had been smotherM in her birth — Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust ; When stars and sun are dust beneath his throne ! In heav'n itself can such indulgence dwell 1 O what a groan was there ? a groan not his ; He seiz'd our dreadful right, the load sustain'J, And heav'd the mountain from a guilty world. A thousand worlds so bought, were bought too dear '• Sensations new in angels' bosoms rise, Suspend 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, Much rather thou who dost these spheres inspire I Whilst I with seraphs share seraphic themes. And show to men the dignity of man, Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song. Shall Pagan pages glow celestial flame, And Christian languish ? On our hearts, not heads, Fall the foul infamy. My heart, awake : What can awake thee, unwak'd by this, " Expended Deity on human weal ?" Feel the great truths which burst the tenfold night or heathen error, w ilh 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 awful thy commands. And foul transgression dips in sevenfold night; How our hearts tremble at thy love immense '. In love immense, inviolably just ! Thou, rather than thy justice should bestain'd, Didst 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 1 Should man more execrate or boast the guilt [flamV Which] rous'd such vengeance; which such love i O'er guilt (how mountainous !) with outstretch'd arras Stern Justice, and soft-smiling Love, embrace, Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne, THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 47 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 ? i5oth rescue! both exalt'. O how are both exalted by the deed ! The wond'rous deed ! or shall I call it more ? A wonder in Omnipotence itself ! A mystery, no I^s to gods than men ! Not thus our infidels th' Eternal diaw, A God all o'er consummate, absolute, Fullorb'd. in his whole round of rays complete : They set at odds Heav'n's jarring attributes, And with one excellence, another wound ; Maim heaven's perfection, break its equal beams, Bid mercy triumph over— God himself, TJndeified by their opprobrious praise : A God all mercy is a God unju;t. Ye brainless wits ! ye baptiz'd infidels ! Ye worse for mending ! wash'd to fouler stains I The ransom was paid down ; the fund of heaven, Heaven's inexhaustible, exhausted fund, Amazing and amaz'd, pourM forth the price, All price beyond : though curious to compute, Archangels fail'd to cast the mighty sum : Its value vast ungrasj)'d by minds create, For ever hides and glows in the Supreme. And was the ransom paid '! It was ; and paid (What can exalt the bounty more ?) for you. The sun beheld it— No, the shocking scene Drove back his chariot : Midnight veil'd his face ; Not such as this, not such as Nature makes : A midnight. Nature shudder'd to behold ; A midnight, new ! a dread eclipse (without Opposing spheres) from her Creator's frown ! Sun ! didst thou fly thy Maker's pain '! 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'dofher dead? Hell howl'd ; and heaven that hour let fall a tear : [leaven wept, that man might smile ! Heaven bled, that Vlight never die ! — — [man And is devotion virtue ? 'Tis compell'd. W hit heart of stone but glows at thoughts like these 1 Such contemplations mount us, and should mouHt The mind, still higher, nor ever glance on man Uniaptur'd, unixiflamM.--Where roUiuy ttoughts i% THE COMPLAINT. Night IK To rest from -wonders ! other wonders rise, And strike where'er they roll : my soul is caught : Heaven's sov'reign blessings clust'ring from the cross, Hush on her in a throng, and close her round, The pris'ner of amaze,!— In his bless'd life 1 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 deatk. liift up your heads, ye everlasting gates, And give the King of Glory to come in. Who is the King of Glory ? He who left His throne of glory for tiie pangs of death- Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates, 1 And give the King of Glory to come in. Who is the King of Glory '! He who slew The rav'nous foe that gorg'd all human race 1 The King of Glory he, Avhose glory fill'd Heav'n with amazement at his love to man ; And with divine complacency beheld Tow'rs most illumin'd wilder'd in the theme. The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain ? ■ >i Oh, the burst gates ' crusli'd sting ! demolish'd throne !f Last gasp ! of vanqnish'd death. Shout, earth and hea- This sum of good to man ! whose nature then [ven, , Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb. Tlien, then, I rose; then first humanity Triumphant pass'd the crystal ports of light, (Stupendous guest!) and seiz'd eternal youth, Seiz'd in our name. E'er since 'tis blasphemouJ To call man mortal. Man's mortality Was tjien transfer'd to death ; and heav'n's duration. L^nalienably seal'd to this frail frame. This child of dust— Man, all-immortal ! hail; Hail, Heav'n, all lavish of strange gifts to man '. Thine all the glory, man's the boundless bliss. Where am I wrapt by this triumphant theme, On Christian joy's exulting wing, above Th' Aonian mount !— Alas, small cause for joy ! What if to pain immortal? if extent Of being, to prelude a close of wo ? ■VVhere, then, my boast of immortality? J I boast it still, though cover'do'er with guilt; ^ For guilt, not innocence, his life he pour'd ; 'Tis guilt alone can justify his death ; Not that, unless his death can justify Relenting guilt in heav'n's indulgent sight THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 49 If, sick of folly, I relent, he writes My name in heav'n with that inverted spear (A spear deep-dip'd 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 *. This, only this, subdues the fear of death. And what is this ? — survey the wond'rous cure, And at each step, let higher wonder rise ! " Pardon for intinite offence ! and pardon " Through means that speak its value infinite ! " A pardon bought with blood ! with blood divine .' " With blood divine of him I m.ade my foe ! " Persisted to provoke ! though woo'd and aw'd, " Bless'd and chastis'd, a flagrant rebel still ; " A rebel 'midst the thunders of his throne ! *' Nor I alone ! a rebel universe ! " My species up in arms ! not one exempt ! " Yet for the foulest of the foul he dies ; •' Most joy'd for the redeem'd from deepest guilt .' " As if our race were held of highest rank, "And Godhead dearer as more kind to man !" Bound ev'ry Iieart, and every bosom burn ! O what a scale of miracles is here ! Its lowest round hi.^h planted on the skies; Its tow'ring summit lost beyond the thought Of man or angel ! Oh that 1 could climb The wonderful ascent with equal praise ? Praise ! flow for ever (if astonishment Will give thee 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. rSo dear, so due to Heav'n, shall praise descend With her soft plume (from plausive angel's wing Virst pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears, Thus diving in "the pockets of the great ! 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, scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts ' ike gibbets yet untenanted, expect j heir future ornaments ? From courii and thrones , Jeturn, apostate Praise ! thou vagabond! S ■ c 50 THE COMPLAINT. Night IF. Thou prostitute ! to thy first love return ; Thy first, thy greatest, once unrivall'd them(*. There flow redundant, like Meander flow. Back to thy fountain, to that parent pow'r Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to soar, The soul to be. Men homage pay to men ; Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow, In mutual awe profound, of clay to clay, Of guilt to guilt, and turn their backs on thee, Great Sire ! whom thrones celestial ceaseless sing, To prostrate angels an amazing scene ! O the presumption of man's awe for man ! — Man's Author, End, Restorer, Law, and Judge ! Thine, all ; day thine, and thine this gloom of night? With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds, AVhat, night eternal, but a frown from thee? What heav'n's meridian glory but thy smile ? And shall not praise be thine, not human praise. While heav'n's high host on halleluiah's live 1 O may I breathe no longer than 1 breathe • ■jMy soul in praise to Him who gave my soul, And all her infinite of prospect fair, Cut thro' 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 laboured o'er, How richly wrought with attributes divine ! WhatAvisdom shines ! what love ! This midnight pompf This gorgeous arch, witli golden worlds inlaid! Built with divine ambition ! nought to thee : For others this profusion. Thou, apart. Above, beyond. Oh tell me, mighty Mind ! Where art thou 1 sliall I dive into the deep ? ■ Call to the sun '! or ask the roaring winds For their Creator? Shall I question loud The thunder, if in thatth' Almighty dwells ! Or holds He furious storms in straiten'd reins, And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel His rapid car? What mean these questions !— Trembling 1 retract; My prostrate soul adores the present God : Praise I a distant Deity ? He tunes My voi:e (if tun'd) : the nerve that writes sustains: Wrapp'd in his being I resound his praise : ^ But tho' past all diffus'd, without a shore His essence, local is His throne (as meet) To gather the di?pers'd (as standards call The liisted from afar) ; to fix a point, THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 51 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 ! pavilion'd high he sits In darkness from excessive splendor, borne, By gods unseen, unless thro' lustre lost. His glory, to created glory bright As that to central horrors : he looks down On all that soars, and spans immensity. Tho' night unnumber'd worlds unfolds to viev>, 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, Thro' beds of glitt'ring ore and glowing gems. Their beggar'd blaze wants lustre for my lay ; Goes out in darkness : if on tow'ring wing, I send it thro' the boundless vault of stars, (The stars, tho' rich, what dross their gold to Thee, Great, good, wise, 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 want, Poor their abundance, humble their sublime, Languid their energy, their ardour cold : Indebted still, their highest rapture burns, Short of its mark, defective, tho' divine. Still more — this theme is man's, and man's alone ; Their vast appointments reach it not ; they see On earth a bounty not indulg'd 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 i Could angels envy, they had envied here : And some did envy : and the rest, tho' gods. Yet still gods unrcdeem'd (there triumphs man. Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies) They less would feel, tho' more adorn my theme. They sung creation (lor in that they shar'd ;) How rose in melody that child of Love '. Creation's great superior, man ! is tJiine ; Thine is Redemption : they just gave the key 'Tis thine to raise and eternize the song, Tho' human, yet divine ; for should not this Raise man o'er man, and kindle seraphs here ■ Redemption 1 'twas creation more sublime ; 52 THE COMPLAINT. JS'ighi Jr. Redecnptioni 'twas the labour of the skies : Far more than labour — it was death in heav'n. A truth so stracge, 'twere bold to think it true, If not far bolder still to disbelieve. Here pause and ponder. Was there death in heav'n ? What then on earth ? on earth, which struck the blow ? Who struck it ? Who ? — O how is man enlarg'd, Seen thro' this medium : Howthepigmj' 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, thro' the thickest cloud Of guiJt and clay condens'd, the Son of Hea\-'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 de.?troy. 'i'o man the bleeding Cross has promis'd all ; The bleeding Cross has sworn eternal grace. Who gave this life, what grace shall he deny ? O 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 ! Clini there, and in wreck'd Nature's ruin smile. While vile Apostates tremble in a calm. Man, know thyself; all wisdom centres there. To none man seems igno'ole but to man. Angels that grandeur, men overlook, admire : How long shall human nature be their book, Uegen'rate mortal ! and unread by thee? The beam dim reason sheds shows wonders there What high contents ! illustrious faculties ! llut 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 v.ith the Ueity in that high attribute, immortal life ! If a god bleeds, he bleeds not for a Tvorm. J gaze, and as I gaze my mounting soul Catches strange fire. Eternity ! at thee. And drops tlie world— or, rather, more enjoys, How cbang'd the face of Nature ! how improv'd ! What EesEs'd a chaos, shines a glorious >vorld. THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 5 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 roll'd up in shades Unpierc'dby bold conjecture's keenest ray, What evolutions of surprising fate ! How Nature opens, and receives my soul In boundless walks 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 whate'er 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 spirit's awful fountain ; pour'd himself Through all their souls, but not an 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 ail into himself again. His throne their centre, and his smile their crown. Why doubt we then, the glorious truth to sing. Though yet unsung, as deem'd, perhaps, too bold t 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 ,Joaded for an hour. Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain, And slipp'ry step, the bottom of the steep. Angels their failino-s, mortals have their praise ; While here, of corps ethereal, such enroll'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. Michael has fought our battles ; Raphael sung Our triumphs ; Gabriel on our errands flown. Sent by the !>;OV'REIGN : and are these, O man ! Tny friends, thy warm allies ? and thou (shame bura The cheek to cinder !) rival to the brute ? Religion's all. Descending from the slde^ • To >vretched luan, the goddess io her left 64 THE COMPLAINT. Night IV. Holds out this world, and in her right the next. Religion ! the sole voucher man is man ; Supporter sole of man above himself ; E'en 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 beside : Sinks under us ; bestorms, and then devours. His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. As when a wretch, from thick polluted air. Darkness and stench, andsulTocating damps, And dungeon-horrors, by kind fate discharg'd, Climbs some fair eminence, where ether pure Surrounds him and Elysian prospects rise, His heart exul js, his sirits 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 motivessting; There sacred violence assaults the soul ; There nothing but com.pulsion is forborne. 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. If in his love so terrible, what then His wrath inflam'd 1 his tenderness on fire, liike soft smooth oil, outblazing other fires ! Can pray'r, can praise avert it 1 — Thou, my all! My theme ! my inspiration ! and my crown ! •My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth ! my world 1 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, e'en to me ; My sacrifice ! my God !— what things are these ! What then art Thou ? By what name shall! call thee? Knew I the name devoutarchangels use. Devout archangels should the name enjoy, Byrne unrivall'd ; thousands more s ublime, THE CHRISTIAK TRIUMPH. None half so dear as that which tliough unspoke, Still glows at heart. O how omnipotence Is lost ID love ! thou great PH ILANTHROPIST ! Father of angels ! but the friend of man ! Like Jacob, fondest of the yoiingerborn ! Thou who didst save him, snatch the smoking branch From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood ! How ari thou pleas'd by bounty to distress ! To make us groan beneath our gratitude, Too big for birth I to fa\our and confound ; Tochallenge, 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, (That noblest hymn to Heaven !) for ever lie intomb'd my fear of death ! and ev'ry fear, The dread of ev'ry evil but thy frown. Wliom see I yondei^o demurely smile? Ijaughter a labour, and might break their rest. Ye Quietists, in homage to the skies ! Serene ! of soft address ! Avho mildly make An unobtrusive tender of your hearts, Abhorring violence ! who halt indeed; But, for the blessing, wrestle not with Heaven! Think you my song too turbulent 1 too waim 1 Are passions, then, the pagans of the soul] Reason alone baptiz'd ! alone ordain'd To touch things sacred? Oh for warmer still ! Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my powers : Oh for an humbler heart and prouder song ! THOU, my much-injur'd 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 ray strain. Oh ye cold-hearted, frozen formalists ! On such a theme 'tis impious to be calm. Passion is reason, transport temper, here. Shall Heaveii, which gave us ardour, and has showa 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 uninflam'd? DevGtioa, wbeo lukewarm, is undevout ; 55 THE COMPLAINT. Nighi IK But when it glows, its heat is struck to heaven; To human hearts her golden harps are strung; High Heaven's orchestra chaunts Amen to man. Hear I, or dream I hear, their distant strain, Sweet to the soul and tasting strong of heaven, Soft wafted on celestial Pity's plume, Through 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? Oh when will death This mould'ring old partition-wall throw down ? Oive beings, one in nature, one abode? Oh death divine ! that giv'st to us the skies ! Great future '. glorious patron of the past And present, when shall I thy shrine adore? From Nature's continent immensely wide. Immensely bless'd, this little isle of life, This dark incarcerating colony Divides us. Happy day that breaks our chain t That manumits; that calls from exile home; That leads to Nature's great metropolis, And re-admits us, through the gu^dian 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 in a good man to be sad. Seest thou, Lorenzo, where bangs 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 I,ong golden chain of miracles which hangs From heaven 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 death, 'iurns earth to heaven, to heavenly thrones transforms 'I'he ghastly ruins of the mould'ring tomb. Dost ask me when? When he who died returns; Returns, how chang'd ! where then the man of wo ? In glory's terrors all the Godhead burns, And all his courts exhausted by the tide Of deities triumphant in hia train, Leave a .siupeiidous solitude in heaven-, THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 57 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 1 and rise Dark doubts between the promise and event ? I send thee not to volumes 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. Hast thou ne'er seen the comet's flamin? 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 Heaven's 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 e^rth, 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 ; e'en adders hear, But turn, and dart into the dark again. Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of death. To break the shock blind Nature cannot shun, And lands Thought smoothly on the farther shore. JJeath's terror is the mountain Faith removes, That mountain-barrier between man and peace. '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 Shalt 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 Avith life; live dearer of the two. Wear I the blessed cross, by Fortune stamp'd On passive Nature before Thought was born J My birth's blind bigot ! fir'd with local zeal ! No; Reason rebaptiz'd me when aduit; Weigh'd true and false in her impartial scale; My heart became the convert of my head. And made that choice which onre v.as but my fate. " On argument alone my faith is built :" Reiison pursu'd is faith ; and unperus'd Where proof invites, 'tis reason then no Kore; c2 5$ THE COMPLAINT. rfigkt IV. And such our proof, that, or our faith is right, Of Reason lies, and Heaven design'd it wrong. Absolve we this ? what then is blasphemy ? Fond as we are, and justly, fond of laith, Reason, we grant, demands our first regard : The mother houour'd, as the daughter dear. Reason the root, fair Faith is but the flower : The fading flower shall die, but Reason lives Immortal, as her father in the skies. When faith is virtue, reason makes it so. Wrong not the Christian : think not reason your's ; 'Tis reason our great master holds so dear ; 'Tis reason's injur'd rights his wrath resents ; 'Tis reason's voice obey'd, his glories crown : To give lost reason life, he pour'd his own. Believe, and show the reason of a man ; Believe, and taste the pleasure of a god ; Believe, and look with triumph on the tomb. Through reason's wounds alone thy faith can die ; AVhich dying, ten-fold terror gives to death, And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting. Learn hence what honours, what loud paeans due, To those who push our antidote aside ; Those boasted friends to reason and to man, Whose fatal love stabs every joy, and leaves Death's terror heighten'd gnawing at his heart. These pompous sons of reason idoliz'd, And vilifled at once ; of reason dead. Then deided as monarchs were of old; What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow 1 While love of truth through all their camp resounds, They draw Pride's curtain o'er the noon-tide ray, 8pike up their inch of reason on the point Of philosophic wit, call'd argument. 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 style 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 wilb grief or wonder who call tell? THE CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH. 59 Ye solel to sense ! ye citizens of earth ! (For such alone the Christian banner fly) Know ye how wise your choice, how great your gain. Behol'i the picture of earth's happiest man : " He calls his wish, it comes ; 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, " Till Nature dies, and judgment sets him free : " A freedom far less welcome than his chain." But grant man happy ; grant him happy long ; Add to life's hiehest prize 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 gulf 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 possess'd so suddenly 'tis gone ; And each swiit moment fled, is death advanc'd By strides as swift. Eternity is all; - And whose eternity? who triumphs there ? 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, eldest daughter of the Deity ! Truth of his council when he made the worlds ! 3S"or less, when he shall judge the worlds he made ; Though silent long, and sleeping ne'er so sound, 8mother'd with errors, and oppress'd with toys, That heaven commission'd hour no sooner calls, But from her cavern in the soul's abyss. Like him they fable under J^ltna whelm'd, The goddess bursts in thunder and in flame. Loudly convinces, and severely pains. Dark daemons I discharge, and hydra stings ; 'i'he keen vibration of bright truth — is hell ; Just detinition! though by schools untaught. Ye deaf to truth, peruke this parson'd page. And trust, for once, a prophet and a priest : • • Mtu jiiay live fools, but fools they car-nct i:t ' THK COMPLAINT. JS'IGHT V. THE RELAPSE. INSCRIBED TO THE RT. HON. THE EARL OP LITCHFIELD. Lorenzo ! to recriminate is just. Fondness for fame is avarice of air. 1 grant the man is rain who writes for praise. Praise 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 degen'rate sons, Retain'd by sense to plead her filthy cause, To raise the low, to magnify the mean, And subtilize the gross into refin'd : As if to magic numbers pow'rful charm 'Twas given to make a civet of their song Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume. 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 different ways, and clash in their commands. Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars ; But Pleasure, iark-like, nests upon the ground. Joys shar'dby brute creation Pride resents, Pleasure embraces ; man would both enjoy, And both at once : a point how hard to gain ! But what can't Wit, when stung by strong desire ! Wit dares atteippt this arduous enterprise. Since joys of sense can't rise to Reasons's tastej In subtle Sophistry's laborious forge, Wit hammers out a reason Dejv^ that stoops THE RELAPSE. 6, To sordid scenes, and meets them with applause. AVjt calls the Graces the chaste zone to loose- A or less than a plump god to fill the bowl : ' A thousand phantoms, and a thousand spells A thousand opiates scatters to delude, 1 o lascinate, inebriate, lay asleep, Th[!^VrJ°°K-''^'"i"'^,'^'>.''" delightfully confound. T^^t Im ^ ""^ shock'd the judgment shocks no more. That which gave Pnde offence no more offends Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes At war eternal which in man shall reign, ' By \\ It's address patch up a fatal peace, And hand-in-hand lead on the rank debauch V rom rank, retin'd to delicate and gay Art, cursed Art ! wipes off th' indebted blush rom Jvature's check, and bronzes ev'ry shame. Wan smiles in Ruin, glories in his guilt, ind Infamy stands candidate for praise. All writ by man in favour of the soul, rhese sensual ethics far, in bulk, transcend. I he flow-'rs of eloquence profusely pour'd ) er spotted Vice, fill half the letter'd world, an pow'rs of genius exercise their page, Lnd consecrate enormities with song ? tut let not these inexpiable strains ■ondenin the muse that knows her dignity iOT meanly stops at time, but holds the world ts tis, in JVature's ample field, a point, L pomt in her esteem ; from whence to start, ;nd run the round of universal space, o visit being universal there, nd being's source, that utmost flight of mind ! et spite ot this so vast circumference, f ell knows but what is moral, nought is great mg byrens only ? do not angels sing '' here is in Poesy a decent pride, Huch well becomes her when she speaks to Prose er younger sister, haply not more wise. Think'st thou, Lorenzo, to find pastimes here' o guilty passion blown into a flame, o foible flatter'd, dignity disgrac'd, o fairy field of fiction, all on flower, o rainbow colours here, or silken tale- nt solemn counsels, imatres of awe ' ruths which Eternity lets fall on man ith double weight, thro' these revolving spheres, his death-deep silence, and incumbent shade : loushts such as shall rs- visit ;your last hour, 62 THE COMPLAINT. iSlg^t Visit uncall'd and live when life expires ; And thy dark pencil, Midnight ! darker still in melancholy dipp'd, eml rowns the t\ hole. Yet this, e'en this, my laughter-loving friends, Lorenzo ! and thy brothers of the smile ! If what imports you most can most engage, Shall steal your ear, and chain you to my song. Or if you fail me, know the v.'ise shall taste The truths I shig; the truths I sing shall feel, And, feeling, give assent ; and their assent Is ample recompence : is more than praise Rut chiefly thine, O Litchfield ! nor mistake! Think not unintroduc'd I force ray way; Narcissa, not unknown, not unallay'd By virtue, or by blood, illustrious Youth ! To thee from b'looming am.aranthine bow'rs. Where all the language Harmony, descends I'ncall'd, and asks admittance for the muse; A muse that will not pain thee with tliy praise : Thy prai e she drops, by nobler still inspir'd. O thou, blest Spirit ! whether the supreme, Great antemundaiie Father! in whose breast Fmbryo creation, unborn being, dwelt, And ail its various revolutions roll'd Present, tho' future, prior to themselves; Whose breath can blow it into nought again, Or from his throne some delegated pow'r, Who, studious of our peace, dost turn the thought i From vain and vile, to solid and sublime ! I'nseen tliou lead'st me to delicious draughts Of inspiration, from a purer stream, .A.nd fuller of the God than that which burst From fam'dCastalia; nor is yet allay'd My sacred thirsrt, tho' long my .soul has rang'd Thro' pleasing paths of moral and divjne. By these sustain'd and lighted by the stars. "Bv them best lighted are the paths of thought; Nights are their days, their most illurain'd hours! By- day the soul o'erborne by life's career, Stunn'dby the din, and giddy with the glare, ft eels far from reason, jostled by the throng. •Hyday the soul is passive, all her thoughts I mpo's'd, precarious, broken, ere mature. By niglit, from objects free, from passion cool, Thoughts uncontroll'd, and unimpress'd, the bii 0{ pure election, arbitrary range, Kot ;o the limits of cue world cojifin'd, THE RELAPSE. ?ut from ethereal travels light on earth, is voyagers drop anchor lor repose. I^et Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond )f feather'd fopperies, the sun aciore ; Darkness has more divinity for me; ;t strikes thought inward ; it drives back the sou! Po settle on herself, our point supreme ! rhei-e lies our theatre; there sits our judge. )arkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull scene ; Tis the kind hand of Providence stretch'd out Pwist man and vanity ; 'ti.s Reason's reign ind Virtue's too : these tutelary.shades ire man's asylum from the tainted thron?. Jightis the good man's friend, and guardian too, t no less rescues virtue than inspires. Virtue, for ever frail as fair below, ler tender nature suffers in the crow'd, or touches on the world without a stain, 'he world's infectious ; few bring back at eve, mmaculate, the manners of the morn, omething we thought is blotted : we resclv'd, 5 shaken ; we renounc'd, returns again. 3ach salutation may slide in a sin Inthought before, or fix a former flaw, for is it strange ; light, motion, concourse, noise, lU scatter us abroad. Thought, ouiward bound, feglectful of our home-affairs, flies off a fume and dissipation, quits her chargp, ,nd leaves the breast unguarded to the. foe. Present example gets within our guard, nd acts with double force, by few repeli'd. mbition fires ambition ; love of gain trikes like a pestilence, from breast to breast : iot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe, nd inhumanity is caught from man, rom smiling man ! a slight, a single glance, nd shot at random, often has brought home sudden fever to the throbbing heart f envy, rancour, or impure desire. Te see, we hear, with peril ; saJ'ety dwells emote from multitude. The world's a school f wrong, and what proiicients swarm around 1 ''e must or imitate or disapprove ; tust lint as their accomplices or fees : 'fuit stains our innocence, this wounds our peace, rom Nature's birth, hence. Wisdom has been smit nth sweet recess, acU languisb'd for the shade. 61 THE COMPLAINT. Nighl V. 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, blackby night. By night an atheist half believes a God. Night is fair Virtue's immemorial friend, The conscious moon, thro' ev'ry distant age, Has held a lamp to Wisdom, and let fall, On Contemplation's eye her purging ray. The fam'd Athenian, he who woo'd from heaven 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 tlieme or posture till the sun (Rude drunkard ! rising rosy ffom the main) Disturbs his nobler intellectual beam, And gives him to the tumult of the world. Hail, precious moments ! stol'n from the black waste Of murder'd time ! auspicious Midnight ! hail ! The world excluded ev'ry passion hush'd. And open'd a calm intercourse with Heav'n, Here the soul sits in council, pf^nders past, I'redestines future action; sees, not feels, Tumultuous life', and reasons with the storm ; All her lies answers^ and thinks down her charms. What awful joy ! what mental libert)^ ! 1 am not pent in darkness ; rather say (If not too bold) in darkness I'm embower'd. Delightful gloom! the clust'ring 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 Urania, my celestial guest! who deigns Nightly to vi.sit me, so mean ; and now, Conscious how needful discipline to man, From pleasing dalliance with the charms of night, My wanl'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 ? fj'is (s it a Stygian vapour in my blood ? '^lo THE RELAPSE. A cold slow puddle creeping through my veins '> Or ,s .t thus with all men ?-Thus lith Jll ' If hat are we ! how unequal ! now we soar And now we sink. To be the same transcends Our present prowess. Dearly pays the soul Jor lodgmg in; too dearly rent! her clay ^ JeasoD, a baffled counsellor! but adds ^ 1 he blush of weakness to the bane of wo. rhe noblest spirit, fighting her hard fate .n this damp, dusky region, charg'd with storms 3ut feebly flutters yet untaught to fly- ^'^'' Z'J^yj^S, short her flight, and sure her fall • >ur utmost strength, when down, to rise acain Ind not to yield, though beaten,'all oir prS >v-n,!L''^'" *^ ^-^^^ '" ™^" '■o'' "lo'-e than man. ' hough proud in promise, big in previous thought ;xperience damps our triumph. I, who late ^ ' .merging from the shadows of the grave niere grief detain'd me prisoner, mounting high, rZ\^^ the gates of everlasting day, ^ ntlrl*^ ?^",''^°J *° ^^"'■y' sf'ook oirpain, ortahty shook off, in ether pure, nd struck the stars, now feel my spirits fail; hey drop me from the zenith; down I rush Ike him whom fable fledg'd with waxen wink, I sorrow drown'd— but not in sorrow lost ow wretched is the man who never mourn'd ' dive for precious pearl in sorrow's stream • ot so the thoughtless man that only grieves ?p«f-'"K^ *°.""''"* ^''^ ^^je^ts the fain' ' aestimable gam) and gives Heav'n leave lf°l:l^ ""• ''"* T""^ wretched, not more wise. If TV sdom is our lesson (and what else nobles man? what else have angels learn'd''l lef . more proficients in thy school are made an genius or proud learning e'er could boast Tacious learning, often over-fed, ^ests not into sense her motley meal. IS book-case, with dark booty almost burst, is forager on others wisdom, leaves r native farm, her reason, quite untill'd. th mixt manure she surfeits the rank soil, ng d, but not dress'd, and rich to beggary • 'orop untameable of weeds prevails • ' r servant's wealth incumber'd wisdom mourns, nd Tr real wisdom wafts us to the skies. As worldly schemes resemble Sibyl's leaves, he good man's days to Sibyl's books compare, |tn ancient story read, thou know'st the tale) 68 THE COMPLAIjS^T. Tfight K In price still rising as in number less, Inestiniabie quite his final hour. For that who thrones can offer, offer thrones ; Insolvent worlds the purchase cannot pay. " Oh let me die his death ?" all nature cries. " Then live his life."— All nature falters there; Our great physician daily to consult, To commune with the grave, our only cure. [yet, What grave prescribes the best'?— A friend's; anoli From a friend's grave how soon we disengage ! E'en to the dearest, as his marble, cold. Why arc friends raTish'd from us 1 'Tis to bind, By soft Affection's ties on human hearts The thought of death, which reason, too supine, Or misemploy'd, so rarely fastens there. Nor reason, nor affection, no, nor both Combin'd, can break the witchcrafts of the world. Behold th' inexorable hour at hand ! Behold th' inexorable hour forgot ! And to forget it the chief aim of life. Tho' 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? Nay, though invited by the loudest calls Of blind imprudence, unexpected still. Though num'rouB messengers are sent before, To warn his great arrival. What the cause, The wondrous cause, of this mysterious ill? AH heav'n looks down, astonisli'd at the sight. Is it that Life has sown her joys so thick We can't thrust in a single care between? Is it that Life has such a swarm of cares, The thought of death can't enter for the throng " Is it that time steals on with downy feet, Nor wakes indulgence from her golden dream? 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 : In the same brook none ever bath'd him twice; To tlie same life none ever twice awoke. We call the brook the same ; the same we tljink Our life, though still more rapid in its flow, Nor mark the much irrevocably laps'd, And mineled with the sea. Or shall we say (Retaining still the brook to bear us on) Taatlire is like a vessel oa the stream ? THE RELAPSE. ^^ il^Sf ^^'^•'^'l.' f ^ smootlily down the tide 3f time descend, but not op time intent - hat domineering mistress of the sou] • ' ,ike hioi so strong by Dalilah the fair » ■r IS It fear turns startled reason back ' ^:«^l°oJ[ingdown a precipice osteep ' ^is dreadful, and the dread is wisely nfac'd y Nature, conscious of the make of man ' dreadful friend it is,a terroVJind flamms sword to guard the tree oflife /that unaw'd, in life's most smiling hour e good man would repine ; would sSr iovs J burn impatient for his promis'd sk ef '' ^ ' ^ ^linm neu^"^ P^^nctilious pique of pn'de. gloom of humour, wouldgive ra^^e the roin 'undo'er the barrier, rush into the dark "^' .d mar the scenes of providence below ' IVhat groan was that, Lorenzo ? Furies rise .d drown, m your less execrable ye[l ' ' ' itanma's shame. There took her ^loomv fli-rht wing impetuous, a black sullen soul ^ °'^ yMZTitV''''' ""T'"' ^"^tof'death. callM t thn.^'fr- *^^ «^"^"t Altamont, call d, so thought— and then he fled the firlrf H^'^ th V^-J- of death than feS- of life )ritain ! infamous for suicide ' Jslaod, in thy manners, far disjoin'd ■m the whole world of rationals beside ! Ti}T}- ''^';'^? P^""ee thy polluted head >h the dire stain, nor shock the continen utthou be shock'd while I detect the Suse . -T K^*"' '^''P^'^ the monster's birth I bid abhorrence hiss it round the world ne not thy clime, nor chide the distant S'm- sun 13 innocent, thy clime absolv'd ' loral climes kind Nature never made' cause 1 smg in Eden might prevail, " proves It is thy folly, not thy fate, soul of man (let man in homage bow ' names his soul) a native of be skies ! i-born and free, her freedom should maintiia Id, unmcrtgag'U lor earth's liuie bSS ^0 THE COMPLAINT. Night Th' illustrious stranger in this foreign land, Like strangers jealous of lier dignity. Studious of home, and ardent to return SfS^iSofrS^lS?^o^«uffindul^ ?^r?aS^«;^Se^i.r^h^ But some reject this sustenance divine . To beg-arly vile appetites descend, A=k alms of earth for guests that came from heav n , Sink iirto slaves, and sell for present hire Their rich reversion and (what shares its fate) Thek native freedom to the prince who sways ?Ms nether world ; and -hen his payments fail. WheT his foul basket gorges them no more, Or the r pall'd palates loath the basket full. Are instantly, with wild demoniac rage. Fir b eak\ngku the chains of Pr^'^fnce' „,d And bursting their confinement, tho' last barr a Bylaws divfne and human -, guarded strong ■ With horrors doubled to defend the pa^s, The I ackest. Nature, or dire guilt can raise, ISd moated round with fathomless destruction, Snre to receive, and whelm them in their fall. sSch Britons is the cause, to you unknown l&i^s^r=s.--kuiit. ^Shfa^r^^Natui^smurde^^^^ At on?e to shun and meditate h'^ end When by the bed of languishraent we s t, fThe seat of wisdom ! if our choice, not late) ^ro^er our dying friends in anguish hang, winf^thc cold dew, or stay the sinking head, Ker their moments, and in every clock Start at the voice of an eternity ; See the dim lamp of life .lust feebly lift An agonizing beam at us to gaze. Then sink again, and quiver into death, THE RELAPSE. 71 perfect vengeance ? No, in pity sent, o melt him down, like wax, and then impress idelible, death's image on his heart "^^^^^' eedjng for others, trembling for himself e bleed, we tremble-we forget, we sm ie ^e mmd turns fool before the cheek is dry ir quick returning folly cancels all, ^ 5 the tide rushing rases what is writ yielding sands, and smooths the letter'd shore Lorenzo, hast thou ever weigh'd a sigh ^ studied the philosophy of tears "^ ' science yet unlectur'd in our schools.) ist thou descended deep into the breast. Id seen their source ? if not, descend with me, .d trace these briny riv'lets to their spring" ' Jurfun'ral tears from diff-'rent causes rise • It from sep'rate cisterns in the soul, various kinds they flow. From tender hearts, soft contagion call'd, some burst at once d stream obsequious to the leading eye • me ask more time, by curious art distill'd ne hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt uck by the magic of the public eye :e Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain : ne weep to share the fame of the deceas'd high in merit, and to them so dear • ' ¥,^Z^^^ ?J! praises which they think they share d thus, without a blush, commend themselves ne mourn in proof that something they could "love • 3y weep not to relieve their griel', but show ' le weep m perfect justice to the dead, conscious all their love is in arrear \e mischievously weep, not unappriz'd irs sometimes aid the conquest of an eve h what address the soft Ephesians drew :ir sable net-work o'er entangled hearts ' >een through crystal, how their roses glow lie liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek ' her's not prouder, Egypt's wanton queen, Jiismg gems, herself dissolv'd in love Z l^P f^^-f^^}}; abstracted from the dead, ce ebrate like Charles, their own decease iind construction some are deem'd to ween luse a decent veil conceals their ioy 'me weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain • jeep in indiscretion as in wo «on, blind passion .' impotently pours fS that deserve more tears, while Reasou sjeep^ 72 TffE COMPLAINT. mght 0, Or gazes, like an ideot, 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 us 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 The dreadful news, and hardly feel it more : Ko grain of ^visdom pays them for their wo. Htlf round the globe, the tears pump'd up by deat Are spent in wat'ring vanities of life ; in making foUv flourish still more fa»r. AVhen the sick soul, her wonted stay withdrawn, Reclines on earth, and sorrows in the dust. Instead of learning there her true support, Though there thrown down her true support tolear„ Without Heav'n's 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 chngs anew, 'J'he strani^er weds, and blossoms, as before, In all the fruitless fopperies of life ; Presents her weed, well-fancied at the ball, A.nd raffles for the death's head on the ring. So wept Aurelia, till the destm d youth Stept in with his receipt for making smiles, And blanching sables into bridal bloom. So wept Lorenzo fair Clarissa's fate. Who gave that angel boy on whom he doats ; And died to give him, orphan'd in his birth. TS'ot such, Narcissa, ray distress for thee; I'll make an altar of thy sacred tomb. To sacrifice to Wisdom.-W hat wast thou " Youn-^ gay, and fortunate !" Each yields a them I'll dwell on each, to shun thought more severe; fHeav'n knows I labour with severer still .) l-ll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death. A soul without reflection, like a pile W ithout inhabitant, to ruin runs. , And, first, thy youth : what says it to grej hairs . Narcissa, I'm become thy pupil now.— Flarlv, bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew, >-he sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to heav n. Time on his head has snow'd.-yet still 'tis borne THE RELAPSE. -^ Aloft, nor thinks but on another's ^rav^ wffho '"■"','* ^^<^« sets down for virtSe £• Thnf loufh '.^f.°f yi'y ^'''^■^tising youth '' £Mps^^;^2-i'-.ait, Y' Liidi iiie s loan time npen'd into ri«hf Shea, ,'':??'" 't ','"=!> 're dead already ; ^f3Sera"ii^'£;i-siSin5,„.e„ More life, more wealth, more trash of eV'ry kind And wherefore mad for more, when relihfai « ' |K,7,:Ea%?r,„tSfE;£: rnat wish IS praise and promise ;' it applauds 74 THE COx^IPLAINT. ffigM'r. Past life, and promises our future bliss. What weakness see not children in their sirei ! Grand climacterical absurdities tJrey-hair'd authority, to faults of youth How shocking ! it makes folly thrice a fool : And our lirst childhood might our last despise. Peace and esteem is all that age can hope : Nothing but Wisdom gives the first ! the last Nothing but the repute of being wise. I-'oUy bars both : our age is quite undone. What folly can be ranker ! Like our shadows, Our wishes "lengthen as onr sun declines. No wish should loiter, then, this side the grave. Our hearts should leave the world before the knell Calls for our carcasses to mend the soil. Knough to live in tenipejt, die in port; Age should Hy concourse, cover in retreat J)efects of judgment, and the will subdue ; Vv'alk 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 siiortly blows us into worlds unknown : If unconsiderVi, too, a dreadful scene ! AU siiDuld be prophets to themselves : foresee Their future fate : tiieir future fate foretaste : This art would waste the bitterness of death. The thought of death alone the fear destroys : A disiiftection to that precious thought Is more than midnight darkness on the soul, Which sleeps beneath it on a precipice, Puff'd otVby the lirst blast, and lost forever. Dost ask, I>orenzo, why so warmly prcss'd Ily repetion haramer'd on thuie ear, The thought of death l That thought is the machine. The grand machine, that heaves us from the dust, .\nd rears us into men ! That thought ply'd hom-e, Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice O'ertianging hell, will soften the descent, And gently slope our passage to the grave. How warmly to be wish'd ! what heart of fiesh Would triUe with tremendous? dare extremes ! Yawn o'er the fate of infinite! what hand, .lieyond the blackest brand of censure bold, (To speak a language too well known to thee) Would at a moment give its all to chance, And stamp the die for an eternity? Aid me, Narcissa ! aid me to keep pace With DestiHv, and ere her scissors cut THE RELAPSE. -j My thread of life, to break their tougher thread Of moral death, that ties me to the ivorld. Sting thou my slumb'ring reason to sen-d forth A thought of observation on the foe ; To sally, and survey the rapid march Of his ten thousand messengers to man ; Who, Jehu-like, behiud him turns them all. All accident apai-t, by Nature sign'd ftly warrant is gone out, though dormant yet ; Perhaps behind one moment lurks my fate. Must I then forward only look for death ' joackTfard 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 ; Ihe bold invader shares 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 be-' un. As tapers waste that instant they take fire «r?- r^ ^^^^ ^^^'■' ^^st 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 fchouid rather call on Death, than dread his call. Ye partners of my fault, and my decline ! Tlioughtless of death but when your neiahlour's knell (x.ude visitant) knocks hard at your dulfsease And with Its thunder scarce obtains your ear ! iie death your theme in ev'ry place and hour: i\o longer want, ye monumental Sires A brother tom.b to tell you, you sinll die rhat death you dread, (so great is Nature's skill ' Know you shall court before you shall enjoy But you arelearn'd; in volumes deep you sit In wisdom shallow. Pompous ignorance ! Would you be still more learned than the learn'd • i.earn well to know how much need not be known And what that knowledge which impairs yoursen^p Our needful knowledge, like our needfid food, L nhedg'd, lies open in life's common field. And bids all welcome to the vital feast. You scorn what lies before you in tlie pa^^e Of nature and experience, moral truth ! '^ Of indispensable, eternal fruit! Fruit, on which oiortals feeding, turn to "-oris 75 THE COMrLAlNT. iVight K I 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, wiiile speculation shines. Awake, ye curious indagators ; fond Of kno%ving all, but what avails you known. If you v.ould learn Death's character, attend. All casts of conduct, all degrees of health, All dyes of fortune, and all dates of age, Together shook in his impartial urn, Come forth at random ; or, if choice is made , The rlioice 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 gre^it our sorrow, greater our surprise. Like olher tyrants. Death delights to smite, Whatsmitten, most proclaims the pride of pow'r, And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme, To bid the wretch survive the fortunate ; The feeble wrap th' athletic in his shroud ; And weeping fathers build their cliildren's tombs : Me thine, Narcissa !— What though short thy date ' A'^irtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures. That life is long whicl; answers life's great end. The time that bears no fruit deserves no name. The man of wisdom is the man of years. In lioary youth 3Iethusalems may die ; O how misdated on their ilatt'ring tombs ! Narcissa's youth has lectured me thus far : And can her gayety give counsel too'!' That, like tlie JewXs fanf d oracle of gems, Sparkles instruction ; sucii as throws new light. And opens more the character of Death, 111 known to thee, Loreuzo, this thy vaunt ! " Give Dealli his-due, the wretched and the old; " E'en let him sweep his rubbish to the grave ; *' Let him not violate kind Nature's laws, " But own man born to live is 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 pi o ve, " The farthest from the fear " Are often nearest to tlie stroke of fate ?" All more than common, menaces an end. A blaze betokens brevity of life, As if bright embers sfeiould emit a flame, THE RELAPSE. 77 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 oiience, as trea-cn to the deep Inviolable stupor of his reign, Where lust and turbulent ambition sleep. Death took swift vengeance. As he life detests, More life is still more odious : and reduc'd By conquest aggrandizes more his pow'r. But wherefore aggrandiz'd ? by Heav'n's decree To plant the soul on her eternal guard, In awful expectation of our end. Thus runs Death's dread commission; "Strike, butsc. " 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 in 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 1 Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up In deep Dissimulation's darkest night. Like princes unconfess'd 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 awider empire far Than that o'er which the Roman Eagle flew. Like Nero, he's a fiddler, charioteer ; Or drives his phaeton in female guise ; Q.mte unsuspected, till the wheel beneath His disarray'd oblation he devours. He mo3t effects the forms least like himselfj His slender self: hence burly corpulence Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise. Behind the rosy blonm he loves to lurk, Or ambush in a smile ; or, wanton, dive In dimples deep : Love's eddies, which draw ia Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair. Such on Narcissa's couch heloiter'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. One eye on death, and one full (ix'd on heav'n. Becomes a mortal and immortal man. Long on his wiles a piqu'd and jealous spy, I've seen, or dream'd 1 saw, the tyrant dress, Lay by hie Uorrors, acd put wa his siaiJes. >e THE COMPLAINT. Mghl J^. Say, muse, for thou remember'st, call it back. And show 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 push'd him back vSupported by a doctor of renown, His point he gain'd; then artfully dismiss'd The sage; for Death design'd to be conceal'd. 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-fashion'd figure, andcockaded 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 equipp'd, Outsallies on adventures. Ask you where? Where is he not ? For his peculiar haunts lietthissurtice ; sure as night follows day. Death treads in pleasure's footsteps round the world, AVhen Pleasure treads the paths which Reason shuns When against Reason Riot shuts the door. And Gayety supplies the place of Sense, Then foremost, at the banquet and the ball, Death leads the diuice, or stamps the deadly dye; Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown,